#Daemon came to me in a vision

[furnace-arden]

To add to my "not a furry, but" allegations, I drew and colored a few character designs for my potential sona, Daemon Nightingale

He's just a little guy and wants to be included. So far their hobbies are just baking, but I feel like he's a bit of an amateur artist

[crueldesire]

daemon x rhaenyra, house of the dragon / ‘i’m your man,’ mitski

[tweedfrog]

Men's rights podcast in Westeros where they talk about being "high valueryian men"

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Our Little Dragon

Summary - She battles through excruciating labour, consumed by pain and fear, desperate for her husband's presence. As the chaos around her intensifies, his calm arrival becomes her only solace. In the midst of agony, their shared strength will shape their future.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Childbirth, strong language

Word count - 2397

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Daemon! Where is Daemon?!" I cried, my voice breaking, as I clutched the collar of the handmaiden standing before me. Her wide, terrified eyes met mine, but I could barely focus on them. 

A surge of pain ripped through my body, and I moaned, doubling over as another contraction tore through me like a blade.

The girl recoiled from my grip, her hands trembling, and instinctively took a step back. "I do not know, Princess," she whispered, her voice quivering with fear.

I looked around the room, the faces around me blurring in my vision, but their voices grew louder, muddled, a cacophony that only fed the storm of rage rising inside me.

I was drowning in pain, in fear, and in helplessness. My stomach was like a battleground, each wave of agony tearing through my body, but I was determined.

With a growl of frustration, I staggered to my feet. But before I could take another step, several hands reached out to steady me, pulling at my arms, my shoulders, as if they could contain me. 

As if they could control this fury, this pain.

"Back. Away. Now!" I roared, my voice laced with command. I clutched my swollen belly, my body trembling under the weight of another contraction, and my breath came in sharp, desperate gasps. 

The room swirled around me, but I couldn't focus on them. I needed him. I needed Daemon.

Each breath felt like a betrayal, my own body fighting against me, my mind warring with the impossible task of bringing life into this world. 

I had wanted this—had prayed for it—but no one had told me it would feel like this... like breaking into pieces, shattering and trying to put myself back together.

"Find me my fucking husband!" I howled, my forehead pressing against the bedpost, my body quaking with the intensity of it all. 

The frantic movement in the room seemed endless, people darting about as if they could make a difference.

"Princess, perhaps you should lie back down," Nysah, my most trusted handmaiden, murmured gently, her voice calm, almost too calm in the midst of the chaos. 

She stepped closer, her face etched with concern, her hands hovering as if unsure of what to do.

But I didn't want comfort. I didn't want softness. All I wanted was him.

I turned my head, my gaze fierce, and shot Nysah a look that could have withered stone. 

"Nysah, you have served me for eight years. You know me better than anyone in this room. And for that reason alone, I haven't already thrown you out of this chamber," I snapped, my voice low and cold, dripping with the weight of my frustration.

She frowned, taking a step back, and I felt the ache in my body intensify. The contraction was unrelenting, but so was my need to find him. To feel his arms around me. Daemon...

The door to the chamber creaked open, and the room fell into an almost eerie silence. Everyone froze. The air seemed to hold its breath as a figure stepped into the doorway—Daemon.

His presence was immediate, commanding, but there was a certain ease about him, as if he were strolling through a casual afternoon, not amidst the chaos of a woman in labor. 

His eyes flicked over the room, landing on me with an expression that bordered between amusement and concern.

He raised an eyebrow as he took in the scene. "Well, well," he said, his voice dripping with that unmistakable smirk. "Yelling at everyone, are we, my fierce little wife?"

A quiet, collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the room as the tension lifted with his words. His command over the situation, even with the chaos around us, was palpable. 

For a moment, I almost hated him for it—he was always so calm, so unruffled—but the sight of him steadied me in a way nothing else had.

I could barely stand, my body racked with another wave of pain, but Daemon was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around me with that familiar strength, his touch grounding me. 

His hand pressed gently to my back, guiding me back toward the bed with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before.

As I sank back onto the soft sheets, the sharp, biting pain eased for a moment, and I allowed myself a deep breath. 

But then, the words slipped out before I could stop them: "Where the fuck were you?"

Daemon's lips quirked, a light laugh escaping him as he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. 

"Relax, love," he said, his tone warm but teasing. "I was just out retrieving an egg for our little one."

I blinked at him, my mind struggling to make sense of the absurdity of it all. 

"An egg?" I repeated, incredulous, a bitter laugh almost choking me. "How nice. While I feel like I'm being ripped apart from the inside, you're out egg hunting?"

Daemon chuckled softly, shaking his head as he sat beside me on the bed, brushing more strands of hair from my face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. 

"You know I would never leave you if I thought you didn't need me," he murmured, his voice softer now. "But I wanted to ensure that our little dragon has a dragon of their own."

His words, simple yet filled with such affection, made my chest tighten, even as my body screamed with pain. He always had a way of making the impossible seem so... effortless. 

I wanted to snap at him, to remind him that I was the one who had to endure this agony, but in that moment, I couldn't bring myself to.

Instead, I simply closed my eyes, letting the sound of his voice soothe the chaos in my mind. If he could make light of it all, then perhaps I could, too. But only just a little.

"You're insane," I whispered, my hand reaching for his, gripping it tightly as another wave of pain rolled through me.

He laughed again, low and rich, and squeezed my hand. "And yet, I still make sure you're never alone in the madness, don't I?" 

His eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to mine.

"You're right," I muttered, my breath shaky but steadying. "You do have a way of making everything better."

Daemon smiled, brushing a final kiss across my brow, his voice a soft promise in the midst of the storm. "Just wait, my love. Soon, we'll have a dragon of our own to raise."

The hours seemed to stretch on forever, each one a new battle as the pain intensified, waves crashing over me relentlessly. 

I couldn't tell where one contraction ended and the next began—only that my body felt like it was being torn apart, stretched and strained beyond its limits. 

Yet through it all, Daemon remained at my side, unwavering. His presence was a steady anchor in the sea of chaos, his hands never leaving mine, his voice constantly soothing.

"You're doing wonderfully," he whispered each time I gasped for breath, his fingers gently stroking my palm. "My fierce girl, keep breathing."

His words were a balm, though they did little to quell the fire burning inside me. But I clung to him, to his quiet confidence, because it was the only thing keeping me from losing myself entirely to the pain. 

When the pressure built again, and I could feel the moment coming closer, I wanted to scream at him—ask him why this was so difficult, why my body had to go through such torment to bring our child into the world. 

But I knew he was feeling it too. 

His worry was barely hidden behind his calm demeanour, his eyes darting to the door as though expecting someone to burst in at any moment or perhaps hoping for something that might make it easier for me.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the moment arrived.

I cried out as the final contraction ripped through me, my body tensing, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I squeezed Daemon's hand so hard I thought I might break it, but he didn't flinch, didn't pull away. His eyes never left mine.

"Almost there, love," he murmured his face inches from mine, his voice a low murmur against the deafening noise of the room.

And then, with one final, soul-shattering push, everything shifted. I felt her—a tiny, warm life slipping into the world. 

I breathed in ragged, exhausted breaths as the handmaiden placed her on my chest, her small, wriggling form warm and soft against my skin.

Daemon's hand gently brushed my damp hair from my face, his voice barely a whisper. 

"It's a girl," he said, his eyes wide with awe as he looked down at the tiny creature in my arms. "A little dragon."

I gazed down at the baby in my arms, her face red and scrunched in that unmistakable newborn way. She had tufts of silver hair, her tiny fingers already clutching at the fabric of my gown. 

Her eyes were still closed, but there was something so perfect about her, so fragile, so ours, that I couldn't help the tear that slipped down my cheek.

"Daeneys," I breathed softly, the name slipping from my lips as if it had always been there, waiting for this moment. It felt right, the name resonating deep within me. 

Daeneys. She was our little flame, our legacy.

Daemon smiled, his hand brushing over her tiny head. "Daeneys," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, as though the weight of the moment was finally settling over him. 

He leaned down, kissing my forehead gently, and I could feel the quiet pride radiating off of him. "She's perfect, my love."

I nodded, blinking back tears, my exhaustion making everything feel hazy and distant, but there was a fierce joy in my chest that no pain could ever erase. 

"She is," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "She's ours."

Daemon carefully reached over, taking Daeneys gently from my arms. His hands were steady as he cradled her, and I watched in awe as he looked down at the tiny girl in his arms. 

There was a look in his eyes—so full of wonder, so full of love—that I had never seen before. It was the look of a father, and in that moment, I knew he would be everything for her.

"She's going to be a great woman, just like her mother," Daemon said softly, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips as he looked up at me. 

His voice was warm, full of pride, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes as if he knew the future ahead of us would be as full of challenges as it was of love.

I laughed weakly, the sound soft and unsteady as I watched him with our daughter. 

"Let's hope she doesn't inherit my temper," I joked, feeling an unfamiliar sense of peace settle in my chest, the weight of the pain slipping away.

Daemon's laugh was low, filled with affection as he brushed his thumb across Daeneys's tiny hand. 

"If she has your temper," he said with a wink, "she'll be a force to be reckoned with."

I watched as Daemon cradled our daughter with a tenderness that left me breathless. It was then that I realized: this little girl, our little Daeneys, was not just the beginning of something new for us. 

She was the bridge between two worlds, a little dragon who would carry both our legacies, and perhaps even forge her own path. 

A new chapter had begun, and I couldn't wait to see what it held for us.

Daemon leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "I promise you, she'll never be alone. Not while I'm here."

I nodded, my hand slipping into his as I watched him with our daughter. It was over. The pain, the uncertainty—it had all led to this perfect moment.

Daemon moved gently as if the world might shatter if he moved too quickly. 

Cradling Daeneys in his arms, he carefully walked toward the small cradle beside the bed, where the freshly acquired dragon egg lay. Its smooth, cool surface gleamed softly in the dim light, an unspoken promise of the future. 

He placed Daeneys down, her tiny body nestled comfortably in the soft blankets, and for a moment, he stood there, gazing down at both her and the egg with a look of profound pride.

I shifted in the bed, exhausted but unable to tear my gaze away. 

My heart swelled as Daemon reached out to tenderly adjust the blankets around Daeneys, making sure she was settled, her small chest rising and falling with each breath. 

His hands were careful, deliberate, as though he feared disturbing the fragile peace of this moment.

Then, slowly, he turned his eyes to me, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. "She's perfect," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, as he looked from our daughter to the egg in her cradle.

I nodded, my heart full, my body still heavy from the hours of labour. "She is," I whispered, my voice hushed, reverent.

Daemon stepped back a bit, just enough to take in the sight of the two things that would forever tie us together—the tiny, fragile girl who had changed everything, and the egg beside her, a symbol of the future we would build for her.

He glanced down at Daeneys, then at the egg. "One day, our little dragon will have her own dragon," he said, his tone light, yet full of a quiet certainty. "She'll grow into her name."

I smiled, watching the two of them—Daemon, so sure, so steady, and Daeneys, so fragile yet full of promise. 

I could already see the strength in her, the legacy we would build for her, and I knew without a doubt that she would carry it forward in ways we couldn't even imagine yet.

Daemon brushed a hand through his hair, still gazing down at the cradle, his fingers brushing over the egg. 

"Our little dragon and her dragon," he repeated, his voice soft, almost a vow. 

And for a fleeting moment, the world outside that room faded away, leaving just the three of us—Daemon, me, and our daughter—and I knew that whatever came next, we would face it together. 

Proud, unbroken, and with a future ahead that no one could take from us.

A/n - Not my fav tbh I didn't really know what direction it was going until I finished so it may be a bit all over the place.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 18

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17 18 19

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: im tryna finish this fic fr | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

Thunder and lightning conversed in the halls as another Targaryen is born. Alicent had started her labors at the hour of the owl and a servant came to rouse you. Daemon, barely meeting a deep sleep since his return, nearly smothered the girl who had come to alert you of your sister's condition.

Helaena was born amidst a storm. It was rather poetic, thinks Daemon; the child inflicted the same weather over his heart.

You loved her dearly. You loved her as much as you loved your beloved Aegon. Alicent was grateful for your presence. You were more than a welcome reprise and a steadfast support during this time. Still, she was careful not to burden you with too much, as the image of you holding your own babes flash behind her eyes each time she sees you hold her hers.

It tears at Alicent to see you with Aegon, and now Helaena. As much as she knows being with them heals you, she can't help but worry it also chips away at you in equal fervor.

It goes without saying this worry is tenfold to Daemon. As greatly agitated he is with how frequent and prolonged your visits to your sister and her children were, he choked it down and allowed you your space, your sacred privacy. He could not bear to see you behold the babe anyway.

Helaena, to you, was as much as a storm, your eyes were nary dry when you held her. Daemon had watched you once, you examined her fingertips and ears, smelled her feet and cheeks, traced her nose and brows. You laughed only to cry. Once was enough.

Viserys, in all his gladness to see his third born, tried to comfort him, but the you-will-have-this-joy-soon was not a welcome sentiment, nor was it comforting.

He only had ill-thoughts.

The gods supplied you your lost children through your younger sibling.

Daemon did much to drown out his melancholy, and yet it seemed to follow him wherever he treads. Even now, his mount was just as ill as he, if not worse.

"How fares he?" Daemon asks, mostly himself as he walks towards the blood wyrm— he finds he could not lately call Caraxes that, as his scales were uncharacteristically blanch.

"Ñuha dārilaros," a dragon keeper walks over to him, "Caraxes ēza daor ipradārin." My prince, Caraxes has not eaten.

The prince frowns as he brushes his hands on his mount's face. Caraxes, at least, acknowledges Daemon's presence with a huff, but it does not ease his worry, "kostagon ao sylugon naejot mazverdagon zirȳla ipradagon arlī?" Can you try to make him eat again?

The dragon keeper nods, "hen rhinka." Of course.

Daemon watches as three live goats are offered up to Caraxes. They bleat in front of the beast's face, unaware of their doom, and yet it seems there was no doom, as the creature turns away in disinterest.

Daemon huffs and pats his mount's cheek, "ao qopsa run," he walks into Caraxes's direct line of sight, "gaomagon jaelā nyke naejot kisikagon ao nykēla?" He stares at the dragon, who seemingly grumbles. The prince draws Dark Sister. You difficult thing. Do you want me to feed you myself?

With swift strokes, Daemon slays one, two, and three goats, their blood sputters on the ground, pooling by his shoes; he cares little for it. He sheathes his sword and grunts as he lifts a severed head to his dragon's maw.

"Ipradagon," the prince commands. Eat.

Caraxes turns to his master, sniffing the air.

"Ipradagon, valītsos," Daemon speaks like a father to his petulant son. His sigh of relief and irritation is of the same fashion as he watches Caraxes stretches his tongue towards his arm. Eat, boy.

The sound of the goat skull crunching between dragon teeth is, in truth, disturbingly loud, but to Daemon, it was a noise most welcomed. He raises a brow as Caraxes lifts his head a little, parting his large jaws in a rather submissive manner.

Daemon is unable to withhold his eyeroll, but the quickly picks up the two other heads on the floor, "fussy thing."

The dragon keepers watch the prince and his ride, feeling relieved the creature is finally feeding, and of course, wholeheartedly enamoured by their dynamic.

After Caraxes swallowed the crisp goat heads, he opened his mouth again and made a soft screech at Daemon.

Daemon was not having it, "gaomagon nyke jurnegon hae aōha urnerys?" He places his hands on his hips, which only made Caraxes whine more. Do I look like your keeper?

He makes a face at the screech, especially because the exhale was laced with foul dragon breath. With a poing to the felled goats the dragon keepers move forward and pick up the bodies, ready to throw it into the dragon's mouth. Except, before they could get close, Caraxes screeches, causing Daemon to flinch and scold his mount for his loudness. The dragon keepers immediately heed the warning, and drop the goat body, stepping back.

Caraxes grits his teeth and huffs, nudging his rider with his snout.

Daemon topples and pushes his dragon back in annoyance. Regardless, he bends down with a huff and picks up the largish goat with a grunt. Caraxes gratefully feasts on his meal once he's fed it.

Daemon grumbles and repeatedly swats Caraxes on the neck, "iksā hen qogron." You are out of line.

Caraxes responds only by opening his mouth again.

"Bah," the prince makes a face, "ao iēdrosa emagon hubre isse aōha relgos!" You still have goat in your mouth!

The dragon remains still, mouth agape.

Daemon groans sharply and struggles to feed him the other two carcasses, but does manage it in the end, much to the satisfaction of his prissy dragon.

As true as he could say his vexation was, there was truer affection in Daemon as he watched his dragon eat. He was glad to be needed by Caraxes. In fact, it fed an emptiness in him that was left gaping by his wife.

He sighs.

His wife.

He strokes Caraxes's scaly cheek.

You would undoubtedly still be in Halaena's nursery, though you should really be having lunch. Daemon frowns as Caraxes leans into him. He sighs and wonders if he could ever merit such affections from you. He would feed you like Caraxes, if need be, without a single complaint.

Through all this vexation and affection, there remained a worry within Daemon that only blossomed when Caraxes rolled over after swallowing his meal. Part of him wishes that it was all a ploy, and the astute creature wanted only to receive more attention, but he knew if that was the case, the blood wyrm would act more volatile rather than torpid.

Daemon instructs that if anything happened or if Caraxes refuses to eat again, he be alerted immediately. With that, the prince bids his dragon goodbye and cleans the goats’ blood off himself.

The sun shines through the halls of the Keep, and yet he grows icier the closer he gets to Helaena's room.

"Uncle."

He slows when Laenor approaches. Daemon silently nods in regard.

The young prince asks him if he's off to see you then adds, "she is presently in the solar with the Queen and her children. I've just come from there."

"Ah," Daemon nods slowly, "I see."

"They are having biscuits," Laenor offers, "you ought to join them for a snack."

The prince clears his throat, not necessarily liking that he was being told what to do. Still, Daemon nods, "ēza ñuha ābrazȳrys ipradārin? Iksis ziry sȳrī?" Has my wife eaten? Is she well?

"Se sikagon hen dārilaros ēza maghatan zirȳla rōvēgrie kirimves se teptan zirȳla kustikāne, nyke pendagon," Laenor's face softens. The birth of the princess has brought her great joy and given her strength, I think.

"Yes, but..." Daemon shakes his head, "it is not so simple as joy and strength."

Laenor nods, "you should go to her."

"Does she want me?"

He huffs and shrugs, "I do not know, uncle."

Daemon nods, neither do I.

Still, as Laenor and he part, Daemon heads to the solar, wanting nothing more than to see you.

It is quiet in the solar, save for the sound of your voice. It's a wonder no one heard the creaking of the door as Daemon entered, but then again, he too would be so deeply engrossed in your singing if you ever humbled with a song.

He already knew Helaena would be in your arms with Aegon nearby, but he did not know a Cargyll would be by your side instead of your sister. The brazen knight was not only carrying the prince in his arms, as if he was his father, he gazed upon you with such apparent warmth, as if he was your husband.

"— so come rest ye all safe and sound," you sing, stroking Helaena's forehead gently.

Aegon sleepily sighs. His back was pressed against the Kingsguard's chest plate and was sat on his forearm like a chair. He reaches out to your cheek, "again."

"Again?" you chuckle at the boy, "but I've sung it mayhap one hundred times over, my love."

Aegon whines, "again."

You sigh and brush his cheek, "oh, my sweet darling."

The boy leans into your touch and makes your heart melt.

"I will sing if Ser Erryk sings with us."

Daemon grips the doorknob tightly.

Erryk makes a sound, "I will wake the poor princess with my voice, and you know it."

"Nonsense," you hum, "you've sung me to sleep more times than I can count."

Daemon gulps uncomfortably.

"Tis only true because you are weak with numbers."

You chuckle.

Daemon feels like he's being ground alive.

"Again!" Aegon whines rather loudly.

You and Erryk are quick to hush the boy.

As Aegon fusses, you're left with little choice but to give in to him, lest his sister begin to fuss with him. You softly begin to sing, rocking your darling niece in your arms as you did so, "the fishes swim in seas of blue-"

"And dragons breathe fire so red," Erryk harmonizes with you, "all the birds sing sweetly for you, so come rest ye darling wee head."

Your separate melodies blended incredibly together; the richness of your voice seemed to belong with the richness of his. It was fucking unbareable.

"The apples grow up the trees, and flowers rise up from the ground. All the stars shine brightly for you—"

You, Erryk, and Aegon turn to Daemon when he shuts the door with rather excessive force. Daemon clenches his jaw and tries to control the trembling of his hand, "īlen ivestretan aōha hāedar iksin kesīr." I was told your (younger) sister was here.

You face him, still rocking Halaena, "īles... ziry sepār geptot naejot emagon iā kōdrion." She was... she just left to have a bath.

"Mmm," Daemon makes a noise as he slowly walks over to you, "emagon ēdā iā kōdrion tubī?" Have you had a bath today?

You slowly nod, "kessa." Yes.

Daemon grips his hand and nods, "emagon ao ipradārin?" Have you eaten?

"Kessa, lēda ñuha hāedar." Yes, with my younger sister.

"Se aōha mīsior?" he says, eyes trained on you. And your guard?

You take a moment to respond, "... kessa."

Daemon sucks a sharp breath, turning to the said man, "you may go, Cargyll. I will stand as ward for my wife."

"And what of later?"

You turn to Erryk. Daemon grinds his teeth, "what of later?"

"I understand that you do constant visits to the pit, my prince. If you are urgently needed to go there, then princess will be forced to go with you and-"

"My business is my own," the prince bristles, "do not speak to me of my dragon or my wife, as if it is your business."

Aegon begins to wrangle out of Erryk's grasp. The knight promptly sets the boy down, "the only business I have as a knight is to safeguard your wife," he rises and nods, "your grace."

The way he says your wife irks him to no end. Daemon draws in a deep breath in the hope it would calm him down.

"Anne!" a small voice calls. Horse.

Daemon looks down and finds Aegon raising a small wooden figurine of a horse, repeating in High Valyrian, "anne!"

Aegon seems to be handing the toy to Daemon. Daemon feels ill. He mutters softly, "iā sȳz anne, valītsos." A fine horse, boy.

Aegon beams and reaches out to his uncle, as if he wanted to be carried by him. Daemon feels sourness rise to his throat as he bends down to pick the boy up. His stomach rolls when he smells him; he smells faintly like you. Aegon pushes the toy gracelessly to Daemon's face, hitting his nose unintentionally on the way, "fast."

Daemon pulls his head back, "kessa. Anni issi adere." He bounces him slightly, "adere, hmm?" Yes. Horses are fast. Fast, hmm?

"Adere," Aegon mutters softly.

Daemon nods, "sȳz." Good.

You watch your husband and nephew. Where Daemon once believed the boy to be his son and offered him warmth, he now offered him reluctant and half-hearted interactions.

You could not blame him, in fact, your heart hurt for him. You oft wondered how Aegon was to him, perhaps a casual but flesh-grating reminder of what you've both lost, or maybe a physical manifeststion of the Lord Hand's schemes. You don't talk of such things, and you don't think you ever will. Helaena's birth has only wedged you further apart.

"We should bring them back to their nursery," you speak, making Daemon turn to you, but you turn to Erryk. His heart feels like it was being sawed in half. You shift Helaena in your arms, "Daemon and I can go by ourselves."

Erryk lifts his chin reluctantly before nodding, "shall I tell my brother to continue with his shift?"

You turn to Daemon, raising your brows.

Daemon turns from you to Erryk, "I will manage."

Erryk clenches his jaw and nods, "as you command."

The walk to their nursery is filled with chatter, thanks to Aegon and his wooden horse. Daemon is amazed by how many words the child knew in both common tongue and High Valyrian. He evidently loved mixing both speeches together.

"And princess with zaldrīzes—" Aegon babbles as his toy horse runs across Daemon's chest. Dragon.

"What did the princess do?" asks Daemon, eyes on the boy.

"Sōvegon!" Fly!

You chuckle and Aegon makes a roaring sound.

Daemon pulls a dubious expression, "se dārilaros kostagon sōvegon?" The princess can fly?

Aegon nods, "DRACARYS!"

You laugh a little louder. Daemon's breath hitches at the sound, his violet eyes immediately landing on you. You reach a hand to Aegon, brushing his chin, "Caraxes really left a mark on him."

Daemon watches you pull away. He longs to be touched similarly, "his soul nearly left his tiny body. His fearful screams nearly rendered us all deaf."

You snort, raising a brow, "he was overwhelmed, as would anyone be the first time they meet a dragon."

"I was not."

You huff and turn to Helaena, "rijes aōt." Congratulations.

Daemon smirks softly.

As you drew near to the nursery, you find that Alicent was on her way back to the solar. You smile at her and she smiles back at you, though her expression slightly dampens at the sight of Daemon.

"Sister," Alicent greets you, reaching out for Helaena. You gently hand over her daughter and she sighs, kissing her forehead. She gives you a look, "will you join me as I breastfeed?"

You shake your head, "I..." you motion to Daemon, turning to him as well. You don't know what to say though.

Daemon finally puts Aegon down and the boy gratefully goes up to his nursemaid by the door to his room, showing her his wooden horse. Your husband speaks, "I would like to have my turn with her."

You rub your hands together.

Alicent turns to him only to turn back to you to smile softly, "yes... I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course, my love," you rub Alicent's shoulder.

Daemon watches you pull away. He feels his own shoulder grow cold.

Alicent retreats into her children's nursery. You and Daemon walk off in silence.

It remains silent until you break it, "where to?"

Daemon turns to you, "hmm?"

"Where are we heading?"

He stares at you. He gulps at the sight of your skin, of the furrow of your brows, of the baby hairs framing your face. He knows that you smelled so good, that you were so warm, that you were so soft. What torment it was that he could not simply touch you.

Your brow raises, "Daemon?"

"Hmm?"

You stop in your tracks.

His heart stops. He begins to slightly panic, especially due to your expression.

"If you wish to visit Caraxes in the pit, I will not stop you."

He says nothing.

"It's just that if you must go there in haste, I will not be able to keep up," you rub your hands, "as Erryk menti-"

"Please," he raises a hand, "do not name him so cordially."

You press your lips together.

"Pray, do not mention him at all," he lowers his hand.

You raise your brows and slowly shrug, "as you wish..." you motion vaguely, "but are we to go to the pit?"

Daemon shakes his head, "if you wish it. I saw him just before coming to you."

You turn to your hands as you think, "is he quite unwell?"

He watches you fidget with your fingers.

"I do not know if my presence is welcome," you slowly look up at him, "perhaps I will make him more ill."

Daemon furrows his brows, "you would not."

"... what's more, perhaps I am the reason for his illness."

Daemon's brows tighten further. The sentiment gnaws at his rib. He tilts his head as he shakes it.

You watch him shuffle in his spot, and you realize rather quickly, he did not know whether or not to reach out for you. He doesn't.

He crosses his arms instead and huffs, "you believe your tiny being is the cause of illness for a creature a hundred times your size?"

"... one need only a few drops of poison to kill."

"You speak as though your blood is poison."

You look away, shrugging once more, "it might as well be."

"Yet it is not so," Daemon finds himself chuckling incredulously. The sound makes you turn back to him with a hardened expression; it softens his own. He gives into himself and takes your wrist, "I-"

The feeling of you flinching makes him tense.

He sighs and continues slowly, "I... highly doubt that if you were poisonous, your presence would cause people— Aegon, Helaena, Alicent... your damned wards, to bloom."

Daemon measures your reaction. He does so with such singlemindedness, he does not realize he was rubbing your pulse. It causes your skin to prick with gooseflesh.

"You've made even Laenor think so kindly of you," he slowly releases your hand, "why would he bother if you were so... perilous?"

He notices the way you rub the area he touched as though you had been burned. He tries not to take it to heart, but everything you do goes straight to it. You blink rapidly to avoid from tearing up, "pity."

"Pity?" Daemon repeats, jaw hardening at your rapidly increasing sorrow. He mutters softly, "you would paint the world so generously and believe so many souls sympathize with the sorrows of others than simply believe you are not poisonous?"

You chuckle dryly and turn away, rubbing your eyes, "I would-"

"You are lovely."

You turn back to him, wiping your face.

"I-" he starts, choking on his spit, "I love you."

Your lips wobble.

Daemon is winded when you reach for his cheek. A shiver runs down his spine as he immediately presses his hands atop yours. He leans into your touch, his eyes searching your own.

You frown and rub his chin, "apologies..." you sniffle, "I do not mean to cause you such misfortune."

Daemon stops your attempt to pull away, "a prince is nary misfortunate."

You pull away after a prolonged moment of staring.

You do not know why you both end up in dragon pit. You find it was a rather bad idea, as the sight of Caraxes sprawled on the floor like a soggy piece of parchment made your stomach curdle.

Daemon leads you towards him and Caraxes barely perks at the sight of you. He does huff though when Daemon presses your hand to his snout. You frown at him, "ñuha mijegindita valītsos." My poor boy.

Daemon turns to you and ponders if perhaps the gods made his mount this way so that he could have a reason to share such tender moments with you. The gods give as they take.

"Do the keepers know what is wrong with him?" you ask Daemon.

He merely shakes his head.

You sigh and rub Caraxes gently, "never mind it. I will keep you in my prayers."

All the prince wants to do in this moment is to embrace you, but all he does is wonder if he was in your prayers... and worry if you still prayed the same terrible one.

[daemonsversion]

Hightower Girl | Daemon x Reader

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Female (Hightower) Reader

Summary: Sometimes it seems like Daemon has made it his life's mission to annoy you as much as possible. However, when he learns that your father has practically arranged a marriage for you, a long hidden desire comes raging to the surface.

Content etc: profanity, slight masturbation but not really, smut (fingering, loss of virginity) I never know what to put here tbh. Sorry for any mistakes, I only read back through it once or so.

Word count: 6,935 (my first fic on this page was NOT meant to be this long help)

The air held a chill as you turned your gaze up to the sky. You were standing at one of the large windows, looking out over the courtyard as the morning light continued to grow. It was beautiful to look at, yet the chill felt similar to the one that ran through your heart.

With a sigh, you turned away and retreated down the corridor. Last night your father, Otto Hightower, had told you of his plans to marry you off to one of the lords on the small council. You would, quite frankly, rather eat your own head but when you tried to protest all he'd done was get upset with you and tell you it was long overdue that you wed.

So you had been in a downward spiral ever since, trying to decide what - if anything - you could do to get out of it. It was a feeling of powerlessness that had you in its grip as you lamented that there might actually be nothing that you could do about it. Unfortunately, in many ways, you were seen as your father's property. To effectively sell off as he saw fit.

You didn't see him at first. Your eyes were fixed firmly ahead as you walked but they were not really working as they should. You had tunnel vision, moving mainly on autopilot. It wasn't until you'd walked right into Prince Daemon and trodden on his foot that you realised he was anywhere in the vicinity.

"Ah-careful!" He hissed, though not out of real anger, just a bit of surprise and pain because you'd really stomped down on his toes without meaning to. His hands had shot up to your shoulders, pushing you away from him, holding you at arms length.

Your gazes met at the same time and he blinked, abruptly letting go of you and stepping back, his eyes looking you up and down. "Oh." Hightower girl.

You frowned at his reaction but you were not in the mood today to get into an argument with the prince of the city, though some days you almost lived for it. "Forgive me, I was not looking where I-"

"No. I daresay you were not." Daemon smoothly interrupted, causing a flash of irritation to go through you. As much as you tried to conceal it, it did not go unnoticed and his lip curled into an amused smirk.

He leaned in slightly, his eyes now full of mischief as he saw the reaction he'd drawn out of you. Very similar to the ones you often drew from him, merely by the circumstance of your birth. He had not the stomach for Hightower cunts, after all, but he had absolutely found some use for you - getting to make you scowl and want to stomp your pretty little foot was the highlight of his day sometimes.

"You know, if you wanted to be close to me, all you had to do was ask." He purred, a hand coming up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face.

Your own hand immediately came up to slap his away before he could even touch you. Daemon chuckled, straightening up and letting his eyes roam down your form once more, from head to toe. This time it felt like there was something more than just derision there... and a sort of heat started to creep through you. Once his eyes met yours again, he gave you another one of his irritating smirks and then turned on his heel and vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

With a glare, you watched him leave, ignoring the deep ache that started to gnaw at you somewhere within and then you turned away and continued about your business.

Idiot.

Hours later, your frustrated footsteps took you through the keep, away from your father's office, out into the fresh air. The expression on your face was anything but happy, the argument you had just had with Otto fresh in your mind. You had, of course, gone to him intending to have a very levelheaded conversation about all of this but as usual it had descended into madness.

'It is high time you wed and start a family of your own, I have coddled you too long. Grow up. You will marry him.'

The words were spinning in your mind as you exited and stormed out to the Godswood. Not for any reason other than the fact that you knew it would be empty of people and your main desire was to be alone.

You didn't even want to talk it out with your little sister right now because you knew Alicent would only try and defend him. Ever the little appeaser, she would probably say that Otto was only doing what he thought was best. If he wanted to do what was best for you, why not let you marry someone you wanted, when you wanted?

A large pair of hands suddenly gripping you by the waist from behind and pulling you backwards, flush up against a hard body, startled you from your web of thoughts.

"You know the Gods aren't actually listening, don't you?" Daemon's lips grazed your hair and his breath was hot in your ear.

With a squeal, you scrunched in on yourself, squirming out of his grasp, twisting around to shove him away by the chest. "Daemon!" Your tone was scolding.

He only chuckled, leaning against the nearest tree as he looked back at you. "What?" He asked innocently.

You could only frown. Usually you had no problem giving back what you got but you simply don't have the heart for any of it today.

"Oh, what?" Daemon practically sneered, his lip curling as he stared at you. "Cat got your tongue, Hightower girl?" He knew your name but he never bothered to use it, simply out of a desire to further annoy you. You only ever called him by his name and he never called you by yours.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a look but there was not as much fire in it as usual and he found that this disappointed him a little.

"I saw you leaving your father's office." Daemon continued, watching the way your jaw tightened just slightly. He smirked. "Is it your cunt of a father that has upset you, hm?"

Where he expected to see a scowl at his insult against Otto, perhaps even a little fight, you instead huffed a humourless laugh and threw your hands up in a defeated manner. Upset was an understatement, you felt so far beyond just upset.

Daemon frowned, his expression becoming more serious. Well, teasing you was no fun if you did not react in the way he had become accustomed to. It seemed that he might have hit the nail on the head here without even really meaning it - he thought your mournful look was due to his presence, though now that he thought about it you had stormed out here in something of a temper. He had followed you all the way from inside, after all, so he'd seen the swiftness of your steps.

"What has he done now?" He asked then, studying your face with a look you rarely saw on him.

"Nothing." You mumbled, looking down at the ground. The last thing you wanted to do was pour your heart out to Daemon fucking Targaryen.

"It does not look like nothing." Was all the prince said in response.

Just that, not a hint of mockery in his tone, and you lifted your head to frown at him again. He did not look his usual level of cruel amusement. He looked almost like he... actually just wanted to know. That couldn't be right.

However, something about that made you just blurt the words out. Your father had basically sold you off to one of those stupid, stuffy lords on the small council. You had no choice and you felt like you were suffocating!

After you finished venting, Daemon's expression changed again. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but you caught the slight narrowing of his eyes as he stared at you in silence. The smugness seemed to have been wiped completely from his face. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him without it.

"What?" You asked, confused now as well as frustrated. Why was he not making fun of you about this? Why was he not taunting you with your looming fate?

Daemon gave the slightest shake of his head, his gaze dropping away from your face slightly. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then he closed it again as if he'd changed his mind. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and then he turned his face, looking away over the trees.

Your gaze had dropped to his mouth but you ignored the feeling in the pit of your stomach that the glimpse of his tongue gave you and tried to focus.

"What?" You asked again, a little more firmly this time. Daemon's silence was setting you on edge.

"What do you mean, what?" Daemon practically hissed as he turned his face back towards you.

Your glare returned at his tone. That was more like it. More familiar. "What do you think I mean? What is your problem?"

"You are my problem!" Was his furious reply as he took a step towards you.

"I have never done anything to you!" You exclaimed back. It was always him! Starting an argument or saying something snide in passing. He'd started this whole thing! If you were such a problem, why did he keep seeking you out just to bother you?

"Oh, do not act as though you are blind!" Daemon said, exasperated.

"What are you talking about?" You could not understand how a discussion about your predicament had spun so out of control. Why was he so angry? He was the one who'd asked! You were the one who was being given to some random man! "This is typical Daemon Targaryen. Everything is always about y-"

"You know very well that I have desired you, do not try and deny it!" Daemon snapped.

The silence that followed was absolutely deafening. You stared at him, your expression now one of shock. He stared back, his one of anger and also regret for speaking the words aloud.

"You..." Was all you could get out before you fell silent once more. This did not make sense.

In one of the most surprising moves he had ever pulled on you, Daemon closed the remaining distance in an instant. Taking your face in between his hands, he held you in place for a moment as his dark gaze burned across your features, and then his mouth descended upon yours and you were thrown so far into shock you were not sure you would ever come back from it.

His kiss was hot and passionate and his tongue was in your mouth before you knew what was happening as you... kissed him back, the desire that had been fighting for attention inside you for years now taking control.

His hands moved from your face and took hold of your waist as his mouth continued to explore yours, guiding you backwards towards the tree and pressing you gently up against it. You would have expected him to be rough and quick but he was not. His touch was gentle and soft and your heart was practically flying in your chest.

His body pressed up against yours as he deepened the kiss and you couldn't stop a soft sound of desire leaving you. It spurred Daemon on as a hand moved up from your waist, sliding up over your dress. He groaned into your mouth at the shape of you and you felt like you were on fire.

Only when Daemon's fingers began to fiddle with the lacing at the front of your bodice did you come back to your senses, turning your face to break the kiss and the hands that had moved to grasp his shirt began to push him away. "Stop... stop..."

The kiss stopped but Daemon did not immediately move away, his nose grazing your hair and his breath now hot against your ear as he fought to get his lust under control.

Eventually, he pulled away, his hands leaving you, stepping back to put distance between you both.

You were in an absolute whirlwind. Had that actually just happened? You had kissed Daemon. Daemon had kissed you. He'd been desiring you? For how long? Why? He hated you, did he not? You had so many questions and a moment later you turned your face back so you could see him.

Daemon stood where he was for another few moments, breathing heavily as he stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then he suddenly turned on his heel and started walking off.

"Daemon!" You called, stepping after him in surprise. What? He was just going to leave? This was not finished!

The prince said not another word, nor did he turn around, simply picked up his pace and disappeared.

The night was quiet.

The hour of the wolf had come and you had still not managed to fall asleep. It was not just your marriage predicament playing on your mind this night, it was also the moment with Daemon in the Godswood.

His hands on your waist. His tongue in your mouth.

You would be lying if you tried to convince yourself that you had never imagined it before. Despite the way he often spoke to you, and the remarks or looks you sometimes even gave him back, you had always had that funny feeling around Daemon. Try as you might (because he was a complete bastard, there was no denying it) you just hadn't been able to shake it. That desire.

Desire. He'd said he had desired you. How long had he felt that way? Why had he never said or done anything? To be fair, you knew why, and it probably had everything to do with your father.

Otto Hightower was the snake in Daemon's boot.

You thought about the way he'd looked at you when you'd told him about Otto's plan to marry you off. The speechlessness you had never witnessed before. The way his anger had risen quite quickly, causing him to just blurt out these apparently hidden feelings he'd been harbouring.

Your thoughts began to wander, wondering what would have happened if you had just let him continue what he'd been doing. If you'd let him pull at the laces of your dress and go further. He'd already had you up against the tree, what would it have been like if you'd just... let him take you?

As you imagined it, an ache began to grow steadily down between your thighs. Sighing, you squirmed. It was too late for this! You needed to sleep... yet it would not go away and your thoughts would not quiet.

With a frustrated noise, you shifted and your hand slid beneath the sheets. You couldn't believe that you were about to do this. Touch yourself to the thought of Daemon fucking Targaryen. That rude, arrogant, self-centred...

Your eyes drifted closed as you pulled the hem of your nightdress up and moved your fingers where you wanted - no, needed - them.

The lightest of touches was all you were afforded before you heard the sound of soft knocking at the door. You flinched, eyes flying open again as you sat up on your elbows and stared at the door with a frown.

The hour was so late. Who could that possibly be?

"Who is it?" You eventually called out, in case it was Alicent or maybe a guard informing people of a problem - though you had not heard any activity in the halls.

Instead of receiving a reply, your heart leapt into your throat as the door was simply pushed open upon hearing you were awake and a figure slipped into the room. It took you a moment to realise it was not any old intruder.

"Daemon!" Your heart rate slowed again, though not by much. The fact he was here at all was very improper.

He did not speak but stayed standing by the now closed door, staring at you through the darkness.

His silent, lingering presence in your dark chamber unnerved you slightly. "What are you doing?" You hissed.

Daemon blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever reverie he'd found himself in. He had been staring at you in the bed, not having been prepared for the sight even though he'd known logically you would be in it. "I thought that we should speak." He said, taking a step away from the door.

You sat up even further in the bed. "At this hour? In my chambers? You should not be here."

"I could not sleep." He said simply. Even through the darkness you could see the way his gaze flickered very quickly over your sheet-covered form.

"What has that got to do with me?" You asked even though you were pretty sure you already knew the answer. Had he been thinking about it too? Had it kept him awake as it had kept you?

Daemon's slight smirk returned as he took another step towards the bed and slowly moved to sit down on the edge of it. He wanted to touch you but he refrained. You were right, it was late and inappropriate but he just hadn't been able to rest. He had been pacing a hole in the floor of his own room for the past few hours.

You shifted in the silence that followed, refusing to be the first to break it. Your eyes were glued to him.

"I would say sorry about earlier," his voice came again. "But I would not mean it."

"Why are you here, Daemon?" You asked, ignoring what he'd just said completely.

He smiled a little wryly and his gaze dropped briefly to the low neckline of your nightdress and back up to your face. The moonlight streaming in through your window was the only thing illuminating the room.

"I think you know why I am here." He murmured, lifting a hand as if to reach for you face.

As earlier in the day, you lifted your own hand and lightly smacked his away before he could touch you. "I am not one of your whores!" You snapped, offended.

"Give yourself to me and I will never take another whore again, I swear it." Daemon said simply, his voice low as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving your face.

"What?" You leaned backwards but the pillows didn't let you move too far from him. You could feel that ache again... the closer he got, the more he spoke.

"I mean it, I am being serious." He stated, lifting his hand again to graze the backs of his fingers down your cheek. This time you let him. "You do not wish for your father to marry you off to that stuffy idiot." He whispered, shifting closer. "Well, neither do I." His tone had darkened a little on that, taking on an almost possessive quality that made your heart somersault. "I presume you are a maiden." It tended to be something of a good bargaining chip for arranging unions between houses, after all.

Daemon's touch travelled slowly down your cheek towards your jaw and he eventually curled his long fingers under your chin, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "Give yourself to me," he repeated. "And I will deflower you and make it known... the marriage will be over before it is even begun." He knew this particular lord well and he knew he would not want a wife who had been sullied.

You stared at him in stunned silence for a long moment, trying to ignore the tightening in your belly and the racing of your heart at his proximity and his words. "To what end?" You asked in a helpless little whisper. "I would not have to marry this lord, no, but then what? I will surely be...-" Unwanted by most, seen as ruined perhaps, used. And gods the fury of your father when he found out...

As much as you desired him you did not want to be just one of Daemon's conquests, especially when it would leave you ostracised with no options while he continued to swan around doing whatever he wanted with no consequences. Oh, to be a man, you thought bitterly.

However, you did not get to finish your thought as Daemon interrupted, with a frustrated little frown on his face as if he'd expected you to piece that together on your own. "You would marry me."

A silence followed in which the two of you simply stared at each other. You were stunned. Did he mean that or was he being annoying? Despite the frustration on his face, which was also kind of born from his lust, you got the feeling he wasn't making fun of you. Not this time.

"What?"

"I said you would marry me, Hightower girl, are you deaf?"

A small scowl appeared on your face at his response and you pulled your face from his grasp. No, you were not deaf, but it was a bit of a bloody shocking thing for him to say, wasn't it?

"I have a name you know, you arrogant-!" You cut yourself off before you could say something too terrible but the irritation remained on your face. He had never in all the years you'd known him told you off for not using a title with him, yet he had also never called you by your own name from what you could recall. No doubt he had probably long forgotten it!

Daemon smirked at the sudden rise of fire in you. You had been off for most of the day due to wallowing in your misery and fighting with you had not felt quite as satisfactory as it usually did.

"There she is." He muttered, reaching for your face again. This time he took it with both hands like he had in the Godswood and he stared directly into your eyes, amusement shining on his face as he said your name.

Something about it falling from his lips, the way his mouth moved as he spoke it, coupled with the slowly growing desire in his eyes made you cave. Something flickered in your eyes. Daemon saw it and he immediately took it as a yes and leaned in. You did not object, tilting your head slightly once his mouth came down on yours, kissing him deeply.

A moment later his hands left your face and he was tugging at you to get you to lie back down. You shifted, still reeling slightly, and lay down again in the bed. Your heart was racing. You should not be doing this.

Any further thought was momentarily ceased as Daemon slid over top of you, hovering for a few seconds as his eyes seemed to take in as much as they could of you through the dark. "You are beautiful." He mumbled, so quiet that you thought he'd probably said it accidentally. His mouth immediately descending upon your own to prevent any response strengthened this thought.

You kissed him back right away, not in the state of mind to fully think on it anyway. Your desire was rising and the ache that had kept you awake was growing once more.

You made a small sound into his mouth which made Daemon press his body down against yours a little. The contact just made you feel hotter.

His hand slowly moved up to the neckline of your nightgown and this time you did not try to stop him. You let his fingers tug at the little ties, feeling it loosen with each one he pulled free. Your heart was now hammering so hard in your chest that you wondered how you had not passed out.

This is wrong, your mind was screaming.

But if it was wrong... then why did it feel so right?

Your thoughts ceased again when Daemon's fingers touched the bare skin of your right breast, having gotten the laces at the bust undone while you were kissing. You made a sound into his mouth and then he broke the kiss, pulling back so he could look down at you, wanting to see you properly.

The light in the room was dim but his eyes were keen enough and he groaned at the sight of you, gently pulling the rest of the fabric aside.

Again, Daemon continued to surprise you. Earlier, in the Godswood you remembered expecting his kiss or his movements to be rough and demanding yet it had been soft and gentle. In bed, you had imagined (yes, shamefully, you had imagined) Daemon ripping clothes off impatiently and taking what he wanted, yet he was taking his time undressing you and he was looking at you like you were something special, not just a body he wanted to use.

There was a funny, fluttery feeling in your stomach that you ignored as Daemon's eyes met yours again. He just held your gaze for a few seconds and then his lips were on yours once more. While his tongue explored your mouth, his fingers roamed your breasts - pinching, rubbing, tweaking, caressing - until you were squirming and whining.

You felt the beginnings of one of his trademark smirks and he broke the kiss with a chuckle, pulling back and looking down at you with amused eyes. Before you could complain about his teasing, a hand reached down and began to pull the skirt of your nightdress higher up your legs.

Briefly, you tensed. You tried to hide it but Daemon, who had been watching you very closely, immediately stopped his hand.

"Tell me to stop..." He said quietly. "And I will."

You could have. You could have told him to stop. You could have pushed him off. You could have told him to get out of your room. You could have stopped this whole insane plan right there and then.

But you didn't.

Because you wanted him.

You shook your head and Daemon raised an eyebrow, still not moving. He needed more than that.

You wriggled in frustration. "Please." You muttered, a little embarrassed to seem like you were begging for it, but Daemon did not mock you. His gaze seemed to darken with desire and his fingers clawed at the fabric once more, pulling it all the way up your thighs, wanting access to you. He might not seem it but he was growing impatient. He could feel the proof of it straining against his breeches, practically screaming to be let out.

But he would not be selfish and greedy. Not tonight. Not with you.

His fingers reached your most forbidden area and your mind immediately went blank once more, a gasp catching in your throat as he began to touch you there. His eyes did not leave your face once, wanting to see every little expression of pleasure that passed across it.

Daemon let out a groan when his fingers slid up and down your centre, feeling how wet you already were for him. He could scarcely believe his luck, it took everything not to just hold you down and finally make you his.

It was all he had been thinking about for months, probably even longer. Every whore he'd fucked to try and banish the thought of you from his mind had only succeeded in lodging you deeper into his heart.

He circled your clit a few times, drinking in the way you writhed at the sensation and then he slipped a finger inside of you. Your breath caught in your throat and he felt you tense slightly once more, an involuntary reaction. He'd felt such a reaction many times before. This was not his first deflowering.

"Shh.." He soothed, leaning in to press soft kisses to your cheek and jaw. "Shh... relax."

Daemon began to move his finger slowly, to allow you to become accustomed to the feeling. He felt you relaxing in response to his kisses and his gentle movements and soon it felt nice and you were making those sweet little sounds once more. He swiped his thumb over your clit again and then inserted a second finger, moving them both in and out with a gentle rhythm.

His lips came back to yours and he stayed like this for a little while, tongue exploring your mouth while his fingers worked you, slowly increasing speed. Your body felt hot, you were shaking and moaning... and Daemon was growing more and more turned on.

When he finally drove you to climax, he could take no more and he grunted, pulling his mouth from yours and leaning back to watch you come undone on his fingers. You were almost dizzy from the stars he'd just made you see but your eyes reopened as you felt him move away, whimpering slightly as his fingers left your heat.

You heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled and your heart started to race.

His fingers were starting to becoming impatient as he freed himself of his bothersome clothing and then moved himself back on top of you. When he kissed you this time, you felt something pressing up against you that was certainly not his hand. You shuddered and moaned into his mouth.

Daemon's lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw to your neck. He let them linger there, kissing and licking your skin as his hand moved back down your body, caressing your breasts and familiarising himself with the shape of you. He gently nudged your legs apart with his knee, trying not to rush too much because the last thing he wanted to do was go too fast and ruin the experience for you, but he wanted you to badly by this point it was almost painful.

Your body was on fire and your mind was focused on nothing but him, him, him. If there had been any lingering doubts anywhere inside of you, there wasn't any longer. You wanted this. You craved it. You had craved it for a long time, though you had not fully let yourself think it.

Daemon's hand took hold of his length and he gave himself a lazy stroke as his teeth gently grazed against your neck. The scent of you and the way you were responding to him was driving him absolutely mad. He wanted nothing more than to be inside of you. For you to finally be his.

He guided himself to your cunt and began to slide himself through your wetness, not quite pressing in yet, teasing you over and over as he got you used to the feeling of him.

You whimpered desperately.

Daemon groaned, his breath hot against your neck. "Gods, I want you." He muttered. He was frustrated, almost guilty, that he had not the patience to spend more time on your body. He wanted to taste you, but he told himself next time.

"Please..." You whispered, once more practically begging him. The feeling of his cock gliding through your slick was too much, you needed more, you needed to feel him. "Please." You said again, in a whine that caused Daemon to groan again in response.

He pulled his head back and looked down at you. "Say you want me."

"I want you." The words fell from your lips easily. They were true. They had always been true.

"I want you too." He whispered, leaning back in to kiss you one more time before he pulled away again and then shifted slightly. He kept eye contact with you the whole time as he began to press himself into you, your arousal making it so easy for him to slide himself into your heat.

Gods, the slick between your thighs made you feel like such a wanton little thing. He almost growled.

Another few seconds and he was buried inside you. He gave a deep moan as he pressed his face back into your neck, dizzy on the feeling. He wasn't so far gone that he didn't feel the tension rise in you once more though and he leaned back up, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your face and jaw again.

"Shh..." He soothed once more as he heard your breath catch in your throat when he shifted his body. He had gotten you ready for him and been as gentle as he could but he knew you were hiding the fact it still hurt a little.

"Look at me." He murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips and then looking down at your face. "Good girl." He purred when your eyes met his, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The praise awoke something inside you and you made a soft sound. He smirked slightly, having felt the fluttering of your walls around him. "Mhm. You liked that." Daemon teased.

If your face was not scarlet before, it was when he said that. Still, all panic had left your body as you were now just focused on the pleasure of the moment. When Daemon tested the waters by shifting his hips a little bit, a soft moan left you and he could tell it was feeling better for you. So he moved again. Then again. And again.

Soon, he had built up a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you. The room filled with lewd sounds and you could do nothing but revel in it. The burn had faded and now each thrust of his hips gave you a jolt of pleasure. Daemon was good at this. You supposed it was to be expected with all the experience it sounded like he had.

He wanted to last. He really did. But he had wanted you for so long and he felt like he was about to burst with each little sound that left you, each little wriggle you made underneath him, each time your nails gently bit into his arms as you clung to him.

His movements began to get quicker and you whined as he rubbed repeatedly against a certain spot inside of you. He grunted hard as he realised the reaction you were having. Daemon, however, was slightly unhappy with something. You were not reaching release quick enough and he was worried, with the way things were going, that he would before you did. He would be damned if he left you unsatisfied.

He moved his hand back down between your bodies and found your clit again, circling the little bud with skillful fingers. It was not long after that you were trembling and then shattering as he pushed you over the edge once more.

The sounds that your release pulled from you were so hot that he pretty much fell apart there and then. He groaned helplessly and buried his face back into your neck, breathing heavily as he moved his hips a few more times, his movements becoming a little less controlled as he felt himself nearing completion. With a harsh moan, Daemon then spilled himself inside of you and collapsed on top of you.

For a few minutes, the room was filled with nothing but heavy breathing as the two of you lay there like that, tangled together, all hot and sticky. You felt utterly boneless. Your eyes were shut and your breathing was ragged, your heart racing, your body limp beneath his weight.

It was perfect.

He was perfect.

"I will speak... to my brother to... tomorrow." Daemon muttered against your neck, slowly coming back to himself. Even if Otto held any reservations after what happened, Viserys would no doubt smooth them over somehow and convince him that you marrying Daemon was the best (and only) option to come out of this.

You could only hum in response, delighting in the kisses he began once more pressing against your skin. You felt warm and content and when he eventually moved and rolled off you, you couldn't hold in a sound of disappointment. Immediately you felt embarrassed but Daemon's arms coming around you and pulling you to him distracted you from it.

Opening your eyes, you blinked at him. "You can't stay."

"We are to be married." He said simply, a small smirk on his face. "I have taken you. Everyone will find out anyway." He reminded you. That was the plan after all.

"Yes, but..." Your cheeks felt hot but hopefully he would think you were just still coming down from the high because you partly were. The idea of being caught with a man (Daemon Targaryen of all people) in your bed was too scandalous. A step outside your comfort zone. "...you..."

"I will go, do not worry." Daemon purred in your ear, flicking his tongue out lightly over the outer edge, smirking as he felt you shiver. "I only want to hold you until you fall asleep. Does that not sound nice? Hm?" He did not say that he simply could not stomach the thought of just rolling out of bed and leaving you lying here all by yourself after your very first time. He did not want to leave you alone in the dark.

You sighed, acting bothered, but it did sound very nice and you were already so comfortable. He was very warm... so you were quick to relent. "Fine. But as soon as I am asleep..." Your voice held as much warning as you could muster.

Daemon chuckled softly, nodding as he adjusted slightly, getting more comfortable in the bed and pulling you up tighter against his body. "Yes, my lady." He said it as if you had given a command and he liked the way his teasing tone made you giggle.

It did not take you long to fall asleep. Indeed, you were so exhausted, you were out in a few minutes.

Unfortunately, Daemon was also so exhausted that he fell asleep mere moments after you did.

When Alicent entered your chambers the next morning, she got quite a shock... and quite an eyeful, as Daemon had kicked himself out of the covers at some point during the night, giving the poor girl an unfortunate glimpse of his backside that did not leave her memory for the rest of her days.

Her shriek was what caused your father to come running into the room. You were not sure you had ever seen Otto quite so angry in your whole life. After the initial shock wore off, you thought he might actually be so angry he would lay hands upon the prince but he managed to somehow hold himself back.

The look of disappointment was clear as your father turned his gaze on you but Daemon, now standing, shifted in front of you the second he saw it and blocked Otto's view.

If anyone would take Otto Hightower's anger, it would be him.

"What's say you and I go and have a talk with my brother, hm?" Daemon muttered, his eyes narrowed.

Otto stared at him with barely concealed rage. The last thing he wanted was his child linked to a man like Daemon Targaryen. He had been a thorn in his side for years. And now he had... defiled one of his daughters! He tried to look at you again but Daemon cleared his throat.

Otto glared at the prince. "You may wish to put on some clothes first." Was all he said before turning and sweeping from the room, dragging Alicent out by her elbow, letting the door slam behind them.

You would have burst into tears if you were not so shocked. You watched Daemon turn to pull his clothes back on. When he looked up at you, he was smirking.

"It's not funny!" You exclaimed.

"Oh, come on." He teased, sitting down on the bed and leaning closer. "It is a little bit funny."

You turned your head so he couldn't kiss you, frowning. You had never felt so embarrassed and ashamed in your whole life. Though it would have come out anyway when Daemon told his brother and you confirmed but to have been walked in on by your father and sister was another thing entirely!

Daemon sighed, lifting a hand to your chin and gently turning your face back towards him. "I'm sorry."

"You said you would leave!"

Daemon blinked, feeling a little bit guilty because he could see this actually had been difficult for you. "I did not do it on purpose, I fell asleep!"

You scoffed. "Right."

"Hey. I mean it." He said and he looked and sounded so serious that you did believe him.

There was a brief silence and then Daemon smirked again.

"What?" You asked, half snapping at him.

Your tone did nothing to rid him of his smile, the smirk turning into a bit of a grin. "When I return," he said as he leaned in again. "You and I will be betrothed."

You could not stop your face from breaking into a smile of your own. "You seem very confident in that fact." After what he'd just walked in on, you were pretty sure your father would be vehemently against this, perhaps simply out of spite and anger.

"Don't you know by now, Hightower girl?" Daemon's eyes glinted with mischief as he closed the distance and kissed your lips once more. When you parted, he was smirking again. "I always get what I want."

[nebulaafterdark]

Blood & Cheese (Pt. 1)

Summary: After the events of Blood and Cheese, Rhaenyra’s daughter returns to King’s Landing in hopes of speaking to her childhood companion. Based off this request.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)! Reader

18+ ONLY, MDNI

Targcest, mentions of death, loss of virginity

Y/N and Aegon never had an ordinary relationship. They grew up together, they loved each other, knowing all the while they could not marry.

Aegon is promised to Helaena. He marries her, performs his duty, though he loves her as a sister and nothing more.

Y/N does not wed. Rhaenyra is in no hurry to marry off her only daughter.

Years pass, Y/N visits Aegon and Helaena often. Watching their children grow. Twins named Jaehaera and Jaehaerys.

“He looks like you,” Y/N muses, holding his sweet boy.

Aegon smiles, wistfully. Stroking a hand over the back of his son’s hair as he stares at her. What might our children have looked like? He kisses her cheek, “indeed.”

Y/N and Helaena understand each other well enough. Helaena loves Aegon as a brother and nothing more.

Helaena tells her, “I find myself happiest when you are near, as does he.”

Y/N holds her hand out, hoping the other woman will take it. “I should like to be here more, help with the children.”

“Aemond would wed you.” Helaena says, as if the offer is no more complex than the color of the sky. “He likes you well enough and has no qualms about your feelings for Aegon.”

That was before he killed Lucerys. A distant dream now. Y/N makes her way into the castle as servants hustle about.

“The King and Queen have lost their only son.”

Y/N finds the children’s apartments undetected; unable to believe what she has heard until she sees….one bed instead of two.

The door jostles open and someone steps inside, muttering to themselves. A voice Y/N knows well, she waits, huddled in the corner, until she can be certain they are alone.

“Helaena,” her name is whispered from the shadows, as she paces her children’s chamber.

She’s seen nothing of Aegon since the incident, she has been largely alone. Her mother and husband focus largely on finding the men responsible. Helaena knows it will change nothing. Instead she clutches the throw blanket embroidered for her son.

“Helaena,” the voice sounds, again. Y/N creeps out of the corner. Her eyes wide and haunted.

She isn’t real. She can’t be.

“I am so sorry for what’s happened.”

“You are always sorry.” In visions of her and when she stands before her. “Must be an awful way to live.”

Y/N swallows hard, “it is.”

“You are my brother’s only love…I believe he is yours. He’s often down at the pleasure house…wanting for you. You return to him like this? Now?”

Y/N assures her. “I wish only to see him.”

“I will not begrudge you happiness, nor him. But I’ve no wish to remarry, and I’ll have no more children. You might give him a son.” Helaena says.

“I did not come here to bed him, I came here tell him-”

Helaena’s eyes find Aegon’s. Whatever Y/N came here to do matters little now.

“You,” he sneers, approaching Y/N at a pace that sends Helaena scurrying from the room. “One wasn’t enough for you? You had to come yourself to finish the job?” Aegon takes Y/N’s face in his hands so harshly her jaw aches.

“No,” Y/N shakes her head.

“By raven, you might have contacted me.” His wide, mad eyes search hers.

“I thought it best to see you,” Y/N stammers, “so we might talk about this, the way we always have.”

“What is there to talk about?” Aegon scoffs, “my son is my legacy! My son is heir to the throne!”

“From the depths of my soul, I am sorry.” Y/N tells him.

“I never wanted this, I never wanted to marry Helaena, I never wanted to be King. I wanted to marry you, but I love my children. I wanted this to be peaceful and now it cannot be because your mother has killed my child. My sister is distraught, I am distraught.” Aegon pulls himself away, fighting for composure.

“That is why I’ve come.” Y/N tells him, “my mother did not order this, it was Daemon.”

Aegon runs a hand over his face, “so that fixes everything?”

“It doesn’t,” Y/N admits, “I know that much, but if we could stop this war-”

Aegon laughs, low and menacing. “I do not want to stop this war. I intend to fight it.”

“Aegon,” she breathes.

“Will you stand at my side or against me?”

“I have no wish to stand against you. Especially now, after all you have lost. But I would not know my place here.”

“Your place is with me.” Aegon insists.

“But Alicent-”

“I am the king. She made it so,” Aegon reminds her. “I love my mother, sister, and house. I will not abandon Helaena in this.”

“Of course not,” Y/N nods.

“Still you could…” Aegon moves back toward her, “be my wife. My second wife. Take the burden off Helaena.” He nods, “our children will be spared from acts such as these, when I am asked again to produce a male heir.”

“My love,” she cups his face in her hands, “I will do this for you. But not now, not like this.”

“I need you.” He argues.

Y/N strokes his cheeks, “I am here, the rest will sort.”

His lips are on hers then, in a soul crushing kiss. Pouring all of his sadness, loneliness and regret into it. “I love you.” It is a horrid, awful thing to say, following the death of his child, birthed by another woman.

“I love you too.”

He also mourns what might have been, had their mothers not been so stubborn. He wishes Jaehaerys were hers, it might have spared him. “Come with me.”

Y/N nods, allowing him to lead her down the hall to his rooms. Tearing at her clothes, and then his own, falling back onto the bed, with her beneath him. Panting as she stares up at him.

Aegon spits into his hand, wetting his cock as he does not have the patience for much more.

She means to tell him she’s never lied with a man, to warn him about her maidenhead. But she cannot bring herself to ask him to be gentle. She wants it to hurt…and it does. “Ahh.”

Aegon moves slowly, realizing what he’s done. The blood over his cock as he withdraws, “you were saving yourself?”

“It matters little.”

“It matters to me,” Aegon insists, “I’ve hurt you.”

“I want to do this for you.” She shakes her head, “I want you to split me open and bury your sorrows inside. I want to be yours. Your comfort, your strength.”

“Be my wife.”

“I will.”

“Be truthful with me.”

“I will.”

His strokes are slow and deep, kissing her sweetly as he fucks her perfect little cunt, getting her used to the feeling of fullness. “Does this hurt?”

“Yes,” Y/N admits.

Aegon slips a hand between them, rubbing her pearl in tight circles, “is that any better?”

Y/N gasps, “yes.”

Aegon smiles, “good.”

Y/N weaves her hands into his silver locks. Kissing him, holding him, consuming him. “I love you.”

Aegon groans, “I love you, dearly. I’ve longed for you each day we were apart.”

“Aegon.” She sighs, cunt tense with her impending peak.

“You’ll give me children, won’t you?”

“As many as you’d like.”

“And you will love them?”

“Of course,” Y/N nods.

“My daughter…Jaehaera, will you accept her and treat her as your own?”

Again, Y/N nods.

“Nothing could ever replace my son, but I will survive this, so long as I have you. Our children, Jaehaera, Helaena as well.”

Y/N smiles, “that sounds nice.” The love between Aegon and Helaena is not one she will ever understand. She loves her brother, but she has not bore him children. It would be different, surely.

Aegon lets out a sob as he empties his spend at the mouth of her womb.

Her high comes quick and unexpected, milking Aegon dry and pulsing around him. His cock softens, remaining inside her until he hardens again.

She is sore when morning comes and Aegon bathes her in rose water. Leaving his rooms only long enough to wed before returning to their bed.

Aegon is restless in those early moons, before Y/N’s belly begins to swell with child. She plays with Jaehaera and keeps Helaena company, she writes to her mother when time permits.

Jaehaera giggles loudly as Y/N toys with her doll, walking it towards her. The little girl points to Y/N’s belly.

“Soon.” Y/N tells her, “a little sister or brother for you to play with.”

Jaehaera nods.

Helaena looks to Y/N with a soft smile.

“You know which it is, don’t you?” Y/N can tell by her face.

“Aegon will be pleased,” Helaena says, with finality.

Based off her words, Y/N spends the next months under the impression she’s to have a son. Instead, she bears Aegon a daughter, then two more the following year.

The King does not mind, in fact, he has all but accepted that Jaehaerys would be his only son. Until their fourth child is born, a little boy with silver hair.

“He looks like you,” Y/N says, acknowledging the bittersweet irony of it all.

Aegon nods, with a sad smile, “indeed.”

Part 2

[danyyytarggg]

HOTD is just a complete mess of a story with such abysmal writing that it’s actually mind-boggling to me that the writers really saw no issue with it.

there is no consistency or continuity to the show, and events seem to happen just to happen with no real impact on the story. examples: why did team green exist before viserys’ death if their motivation was going to be watered down to “viserys named aegon heir”? the show tried to beat in that alicent’s children were not safe under rhaenyra’s rule, further emphasized and solidified by aemond losing his eye; this was supposed to be the main motivation for putting aegon on the throne and the scenes on driftmark were perfect in showcasing the validity in alicent’s fears as well as solidifying alicent’s motivations for aegon. then, it’s all PROMPTLY forgotten in favor of a lame misunderstanding being the reason for aegon taking the throne. so really, what was the point in all that? another example, making aegon such a despicable person in season 1. really, what was the point in that if there was to be no continuity or impact or rhyme or reason for making aegon that way? none of it is ever mentioned again, none of his actions had any sort of impact, etc. no continuity or impact whatsoever, so what was the reason for having such triggering content in season 1? tasteless and disgusting. also, the deaths in this show serve NO impact and are forgotten from the minds of the characters so quickly: visenya, lucerys, jaehaerys, rhaenys, sunfyre (maybe?), the almost-death of aegon - there’s a lack of continuity in emotion and impact. the deaths happen, the characters react somewhat appropriately or not at all, and then they move on to the next episode and everything before is forgotten. ESPECIALLY emphasized by the fact that rhaenyra demanded a son for a son as if jaehaerys wasn’t dead for that exact reason. or helaena urging daemon on in his vision as if he’s NOT the man responsible? aemond caring for, at the very least, his mother and sister? gone. alicent caring for her children so much so that she tried to attack lucerys for aemond and stepped in front of a dragon for aegon? gone. aegon being forced on the throne when he never wanted it? gone and now is being given up by the woman who put him there. daemon being supportive of rhaenyra’s rule by the end of season 1? gone. there also seems to be no impact from the larys x alicent scene from season 1, so WHAT was the point of that?

the characters make absolutely no sense to me at this point. aemond, who cared for alicent and helaena, now cold, callous, power hungry, does not care for family. aemond cares more about his actions against lucerys than his actions against anyone in team green. alicent, who is driven by duty, honor, responsibility, religion and cares for her family, though has trouble showing it due to her trauma - sells out all her family members with the exception of helaena to rhaenyra? then asks rhaenyra to run away with her? huh? also, for the same reasons above, having alicent x criston cole makes no sense without showing us their progression. it just doesn’t make sense for alicent’s character to have a lover without showing us exactly how it all came to be instead of just showing us that it happened. and then for her to casually just bring it up to rhaenyra? alicent would NEVER. helaena attempting to help daemon despite the fact that he’s responsible for the murder of her son. even the sudden shift in helaena’s personality/character in the very last episode gave me whiplash and i’ve been wanting her to have a more substantial role in the plot. baela is continuously used as female reinforcement for everything rhaenyra says or does and as jace’s emotional support (that being said, i LOVE jacela, but baela’s character deserves more than just these two roles). rhaena is given like two or three talking scenes and then the rest is her just chasing after a dragon, leaving behind her younger siblings btw. which, i think having her character find strength and power without having a dragon would have done wonders but okay. aegon, i can’t even take seriously bc of his season 1 actions. same goes for larys. corlys forgetting that rhaena exists as an option for heir of driftmark, as if she isn’t the most deserving of that title.

EVERYTHING being boiled down to pro-rhaenyra. rhaenyra can never be in the wrong about anything. even jace’s very legitimate concerns, baela swooped in to convince him why he’s wrong in feeling the way that he does. rhaenyra imposes a blockade on king’s landing, a known fact, the people starve, she sends food - “rhaenyra remembers us even now!” daemon seeing a vision of rhaenyra on the throne, helaena urging daemon to do what’s right, alicent turning herself in to rhaenyra then asking rhaenyra to run away w her. one of her councilman voicing his concerns to daemon and whether rhaenyra is right for the throne because rhaenyra hasn’t done a single thing, does not attend council meetings, is not protecting her allies, refuses any sort of action at all - then demonizing said councilman even though his concerns are entirely founded. even making team green’s motivation for putting aegon on the throne being from a misunderstanding is inherently pro-rhaenyra. bc if their entire motivation is based on “viserys named aegon heir,” which we know is a misunderstanding, then OBJECTIVELY, team green is in the wrong. rather than going with the safety/protection motivation for team green, which wouldn’t have left them being so objectively in the wrong. and for all the love the show writers give to being pro-rhaenyra, they can’t even write rhaenyra well. she’s indecisive, takes no actions, just continuously begs off to go fight, doesn’t attend council meetings, cannot make a single plan on her own (all of her plans and wins have come from either mysaria or jace), is overall, not a strong or competent leader. after all this, they girlbossify her at the end when, after a whole season of doing basically nothing, she acquires three more dragons (which ALSO wasn’t an entirely smart move).

which can i also complain about the lack of strategy, diplomacy, and wits in the show? everything gets watered down to DRAGONS, which is also why rhaena’s arc is so disappointing imo.

additionally hate the lack of development and depth team black members get. it just all goes to rhaenyra and daemon (and SOMEWHAT jace), and that isn’t even done right. then you have team green who the writers TRY to give depth and development to but completely and utterly fail at creating anything truly meaningful.

lastly, i truly believe rhaenyra x alicent was a mistake, ONLY because the writers don’t know how to write it correctly. i really did enjoy the concept in season 1 until they made their relationship hijack the entire show. because of this, we didn’t get to see rhaenyra vs aegon at their full potential at ALL. it was replaced in favor for rhaenyra x alicent. i also believe this relationship is what screwed over the motivation of team green in the show because alicent needed a “just” reason to betray rhaenyra, therefore giving us the dumb misunderstanding trope. it also keeps either of the characters from diving into the potential their characters both have! it keeps them from engaging in war to its fullest extent! not to mention, having alicent throw away her entire family for rhaenyra is CRAZY. then to have her ask rhaenyra to run away with her? after everything? please. if they didn’t know how to write it in a well-written way, they shouldn’t have done rhaenyra x alicent at all bc i fully believe that it is a large reason as to why the show got so epically ruined with bad writing.

oh also, helaena and alys just spoiling major dance of the dragons plot points? i’m really not a fan of that, personally. and i really don’t know how the show is going to build off of this. it also takes away the impact that these scenes would have left on viewers if never spoiled onscreen.

oh last points promise - jaehaerys and jaehaera continuously NOT being called by their names and instead being called “the boy,” “the girl,” “the child,” angers me so much and is crazy minimization of their characters - probably to lessen the blow and impact of blood and cheese? and gwayne confronting criston cole about him sleeping with his sister, the dowager queen, in public, in front of everyone, with everyone watching? so poorly written and read like a badly written fanfiction on wattpad. the show writers forgetting that alicent x criston cole is very much not allowed in westeros and could get both in such crazy trouble by having that gwayne scene and alicent casually admitting to having a lover to rhaenyra is just bonkers.

[ozai-the-bonsai]

Memento Mori

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: loads and loads of tension in the air!!!!

A/N: I absolutely loved writing this chapter, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did - I am excited to see what you think about it!!!

After supper, Daemon found her lurking around Caraxes, she shined like a beacon in the dark of the night.

During the meetings with the riverlords, Lúthril had been by Daemon’s side, keeping her distance from everyone around her, only interfering to offer Daemon her wisdom or when Daemon asked her to provide her opinion on certain matters. Even though she kept saying that she had no King, in front of the little lords of the Riverlands, she did indeed act as if she had pledged her loyalty to Daemon as her king.

In everything she did, she was just too perfect: the way she carried herself ever so gracefully, the way she talked, her choice of words… It felt somehow wrong, making Daemon feel uneasy around her. Of course, at such moments, he would remember that she was no human and the uneasy feeling would go away. Deep down, he knew it only made sense for her to be perfect after having spent many years with the Gods.

Others in Harrenhal were mesmerised by her beauty the moment they saw Lúthril for the very first time that day – Daemon could swear he had seen Simon Strong drooling. Many tried to question her about where she came from and who she really was but Lúthril had a way with words – before they even knew it, she would brush the questions under the table, changing the subject or offering her wisdom about something completely irrelevant.

Before supper, Simon Strong had ordered the servants to prepare a room for the Lady to use as her chambers. Daemon could only imagine how different it had to feel to finally have a bed after hundred years of imprisonment.

As he approached Caraxes, the memories of the conversation earlier haunted him once again that day. Lúthril’s knowledge of his darkest deeds unnerved him. She was not just an advisor. She was a force—one he could not yet comprehend. But whether she was his salvation or his undoing, only time would tell.

“You give me the feeling that you enjoy the presence of my dragon more than my own, my Lady.” Daemon said, causing Lúthril to raise her head to meet his gaze. Throughout the day, he had got used to addressing her as my Lady to make the riverlords believe that she was some lady from somewhere. “Have you ever seen one this close before?”

Lúthril nodded as she placed her right hand on Caraxes’ scales. To Daemon’s surprise, the dragon was actually allowing her to touch itself, to come near itself. Daemon had no information about the Valargon’s relationship to the dragons; however, the view in front of his eyes was enough to intrigue him.

“We lived in Valyria amongst the dragonlords for a long time,” she responded, “but long before Daenys the Dreamer had her visions about the Doom, our Seers told us that we had to move to Westros.”

“So you can speak High Valyrian,” Daemon swiftly switched to his mother-tongue, causing Lúthril to giggle as she walked towards him.

“Of course I can,” Lúthril responded in High Valyrian. “Back then, the wealthiest dragonlords of Valyria could also speak the language of my people.”

Daemon took a few moments before continuing the conversation – the way Lúthril spoke the language had him mesmerised. The way the words rolled off her tongue, how High Valyrian added even more grace to her (as if it was possible) made Daemon want to stay there and just listen to her speaking in the language of his ancestors for the rest of his life.

“What about the dragons? Why do they know you?” Daemon asked, trying to gather his thoughts on the present moment but it was hard not to drift away. “Your people were no dragonlords, yet Caraxes seems to recognise your blood somehow.”

“Do you know how Targaryens became dragonlords, Daemon?” Lúthril asked, switching to the common tongue. Her intense gaze was causing different emotions to rise within Daemon, which had been confusing him ever since he met her. He didn’t really know her and yet, he was feeling the strongest attraction he has ever experienced in his life. It was exhilarating and also unsettling.

Daemon followed her when she started walking. “Of course,” he said, trying to understand where she was headed with this question. “They used blood magic – even Targaryen babes know about this.”

Lúthril sent him a confident look as she slowed down her steps. “And who do you think taught them how to carry out the blood magic to bind the dragons to the descendants of Valyrian blood?” Upon seeing the change in Daemon’s expression, she laughed. “I believe you now know the answer.”

“So it was your people?” Daemon asked, he found it hard to believe that the Valargon had played such a huge part in shaping the Targaryen dynasty – by teaching them how to be dragonlords. “That made us kings?”

She shook her head, causing her long hair to sway. “No, we simply taught you how to bind the dragons – the rest, you have accomplished yourselves.” Taking a deep breath, she rested her forehead against Caraxes’ scales, her feet stopping. It was astonishing that Caraxes was allowing her to get that close to him and that Lúthril was not getting any burns since the scales of a dragon tended to get very hot, even steaming during cold nights. “We gave you dragonfire, which eventually became our death. Destiny works in funny ways.”

Standing behind her, Daemon kept still for a moment, trying to decide whether he should listen to the wicked whispers crowding his thoughts. His reason was screaming at its lungs, telling him it was wrong, flashing him memories with Rhaenyra to make him feel awful about himself. However, the yearning after Lúthril and the desire to touch her skin was way stronger, coming from his very essence. The moment he laid his eyes on her, he would forget about Rhaenyra in a heartbeat.

At that instant, all Daemon wanted was to have her.

Listening to the whispers, Daemon took a big step towards Lúthril, resting his hands on either sides of her head, which still leaned the warm scales of Caraxes. The dragon’s hard scales were warm against Daemon’s skin, still leaving his hands unburnt. Upon realising the movements around him, Caraxes raised his long neck in an uneasy manner; however, upon seeing Daemon, the dragon let itself rest again.

“How interesting that might be, it still doesn’t answer my question – why does Caraxes recognise you?” Daemon whispered in her ear in High Valyrian. The way Lúthril shivered when his warm breath reached her ear was visible to Daemon as well, causing the edge of his lips to curl upwards.

“It is not just Caraxes,” She responded in High Valyrian, still her back was facing Daemon. “All dragons recognise us – the Valargon blood has been known to them ever since the first hatchling flapped its wings. They can smell our magic and realise its similarity to theirs.”

With slow movements, Daemon raised his right hand for a brief moment to gather Lúthril’s hair on her right shoulder. Then, he leant in for his lips to be on a level with her ear. His warm breath licked her exposed neck, causing her to take a deep breath. “In that case, I am certain Caraxes would gladly let you fly with me.” Daemon’s words were lower than a whisper. “Have you ever ridden a dragon?”

Lúthril paused for a moment before speaking, Daemon wished he could know what she thought at that moment or how she felt; however, she had a strong grip on herself, trying to show Daemon as little as she could. Well, the Rogue Prince always welcomed a challenge – the harder it was to unravel her mysteries, the more satisfaction the prize at the end brought.

“Flown I have,” Lúthril switched to the common tongue as she slowly turned inside Daemon’s arms to face him. The small distance between their bodies felt like it could burn any moment with the tension heavy in the air. “But not on dragonback.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow at her, looking down to meet her gaze. She seemed to know how to play this game as well; however, her moments of hesitation were more visible to the naked eye than his. “I believe you have to provide me more details as to how it is possible to fly without a dragon.”

A smirk found its way to her lips as she pushed back a strand of hair falling in front of her eyes. “Daemon Targaryen, you do forget who I am often enough,” she spoke with a playful tone. “Why should it puzzle you that a being able to see your past, present and future can fly too?”

“I have never seen a person floating on their own in the sky,” Daemon responded with his quick wit, following the same playful tone Lúthril has set. He leaned in even further so that his lips were brushing against hers when he spoke, “have you?”

Even the brief touch of their lips in that single moment sent a shiver down her spine, Daemon had to try hard not to put on his victory smirk. He wanted to make her desperate for himself for he enjoyed this little game more than he could put into words.

He felt… alive after a long, long time.

Lúthril’s response took him by surprise. “It saddens me that your mind insists on restricting me to the fragile human body.”

“Ah,” Daemon spoke as he took a step back. “A shapeshifter, then.” It was a thought which has not occurred to him before; however, given everything the enchantress could do with her magic, shapeshifting was really not so surprising. “Which body does my Lady prefer for a pleasant flight?”

A giggle escaped her lips as she followed Daemon on his way to Caraxes’ saddle. “An eagle,” she responded, “a white eagle.”

[POV change]

You wrapped your hands tighter around Daemon’s waist as Caraxes flew through the night sky. Even though you had flown yourself, dragonback was a far different experience – far more thrilling and far more terrifying – even for someone like yourself.

In Valyria, conquering the skies amongst the dragons used to be one of your greatest pleasures in life – but that was another time, another life, when fire had not yet consumed your world, turning everyone you once held dear to ashes.

The wind tugged at your hair, the cold air biting against your skin and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel the warmth of Daemon’s body through the leather garments he carried. Strange, you thought. He had a fire burning within him, one that not even the flames of his dragon could match.

And yet, he did not know how easily he could be consumed by it.

Perhaps I myself, too, do not know how easily I can be consumed by it. The fire burning with the dragon.

For centuries, you had been untouchable, even in your imprisonment. Men, mortal or otherwise, held no sway over you. Yet, this one—Daemon Targaryen—made you question your restraint. His touch was a flame you didn’t wish to extinguish, though you knew it was dangerous to let it burn too brightly.

Your fingers, so accustomed to cold distance, now gripped him as though clinging to the last rays of the eternal light. Vulnerability, once alien, now crept beneath your skin like an uninvited guest, and you wondered how long you could allow yourself to burn.

Knowledge made it even more sweeter, the taste of the fruit. Knowing that the connection between you and Daemon had been woven into the very fabric of the time.

Is this why I find it impossible to walk away from him? you thought as you inhaled his scent, which somehow brought peace to your mind. Or is it something else?

Being close to him was becoming more intoxicating each time – you could not even recall the last time you had experienced such feelings towards another person, Valargon or human. It felt… exciting, in a different way. Despite knowing his past, present and future; Daemon was still a mysterious new book needed to be read – you had to let yourself get lost between its pages to taste its mysteries.

Desire was, indeed, quite hard to put a leash on.

“You have been quite,” Daemon spoke, breaking the silence. “Is everything alright?”

“I am simply enjoying the skies,” you responded with a content tone, “it is truly wonderous – exploring the night sky on dragonback.”

For a quick moment, Daemon looked over his shoulder to meet your gaze, his purple eyes shinning with joy. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself, my Lady.”

After a short pause, you spoke. “I do enjoy your presence, too, Daemon Targaryen.” A soft chuckle followed. “Not just your dragon’s.”

Daemon’s laugh sent shivers down your spine, you found it hard to believe how much you had grown you like that sound. It was utterly enchanting, leaving you wanting to crawl into his arms.

After dismounting Caraxes, you both stood next to each other, looking at the cursed castle of Harrenhal in silence. The night was still calm but the wind was getting colder and the full moon was slowly leaving its place to the waning crescent, its light reflecting from the diamonds on your dress.

Upon feeling his gaze on yourself, you turned your head to the left, Daemon’s purple eyes awaiting you. The flirtatious aura he normally had around himself was quite thin at that moment; all you could see in his eyes was… adoration. You couldn’t recall the last time someone looked at you that exact way.

“The diamonds on your dress,” Daemon spoke slowly as he raised his right hand. His fingers brushed against the diamonds adorning the neckline of your dress. “They make me feel like as if they have captured the light of the stars inside.”

A small smile formed on your lips. “You are not entirely wrong,” you responded, causing him to raise an eyebrow. “These diamonds were forged under the light of thousand stars, during the brightest night in the Land of the Gods.”

Daemon’s hand moved up to your shoulder, the ghost of his fingers trailing down your left arm over the fabric of your silver dress, giving you goosebumps. You took a deep breath. The effect of his touch on you was terrifying – your heart was on a race, breaths getting deeper, your body aching for more.

“So they did capture the light of the stars,” Daemon muttered as he gently held your hand. “Any less wouldn’t do your beauty any justice.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

The distance between your bodies seemed to get less and less, until you stopped yourself – you knew today was not the right time. Upon seeing the confused look in Daemon’s purple eyes, you placed your right hand on the side of his face, your left hand holding his right one.

“Not today,” you whispered, your lips slightly touching his as you spoke. “The stars move in their own time, Daemon. Let us not rush what’s already written.”

Standing on your fingertips, you left a kiss on his left cheek, a chuckle leaving Daemon’s lips. “You are a strange kind of woman,” he spoke as you stepped back.

With a smile on your lips, you turned around to head back to the castle. “Good night, Daemon.”

Taglist: @throughgoeshamilton @mirandastuckinthe80s @xicesam @mariamyousef702 @eddiemadmunson @dont-try-pesticide @sweetybuzz25 @hc-geralt-23 @schniiipsel @ttae-yong @syrma-sensei @asiludida164 @kaitieskidmore1 @irmavanity-blog @pax-2735 @trickrtreatart @shanzeyxsyed @random-human02 @scarwicht @xcallmetaniax @instabull @niiight-dreamerrrr @my-dark-prince @stargaryenx @abaker74 @babywolff @sonnensplitter @bi-narystars @softtina @sadmonke @avalyaaa @superintenseart @immyowndefender @claud012 @ayamenimthiriel @vavafaure1994 @ilovegrishaverse @avadakadabra93

[calmingmelody96]

The Dragon's Niece

Chapter 18 - The Dragon's Rage

Warnings: medival sexism, forced marriage, uncle-niece incest, rape, non-con/dub-con, forced oral, sexual abuse, sexual punishment, abusive behaviour, dirty talk, humiliation, name calling, spit kink, cum swallowing, breeding kink, possessiveness

Masterlist

The chamber door shut behind her with a soft, echoing thud. The firelight cast restless shadows over the stone walls, but the true heat in the room came from the man sitting by the hearth.

He was seated in the high-backed chair by the fire, a glass of wine in hand, boots stretched out lazily. But there was nothing relaxed in the way his eyes found her... sharp, glinting with an edge that made her stomach tighten.

“Come here,” he said, his voice smooth, but heavy with purpose.

She obeyed, chin lifted though her heartbeat fluttered with something between anticipation and dread. When she stopped before him, Daemon’s gaze trailed over her slowly, like a man assessing what belonged to him.

“So,” he murmured, “you thought you could keep secrets from me, little wife?”

She froze, lips parting slightly.

The look on his face was dangerous, frightening enough to send a chill crawling down Maeliora’s spine. She could feel the echo of his words from the day before, ringing like a warning bell in her mind:

“Everything you have now — the freedom, your son, this comfort... it’s because I allow it. Because I want you happy and kept. So be good, Melly. Be obedient. Don’t give me reason to reconsider.”

Now she had given him reason. A big one. And she could see in his eyes. Did he know about the moon tea — she wondered. No, it cannot be that. Lyra would never betray her. Then how did he find out? Her breath caught. The room felt suddenly smaller.

He stood up and took a step toward her. Then another. Slow, deliberate. Each footfall seemed to shake the air around her. Maeliora stood frozen, her hands clenched by her sides as Daemon came closer and closer, until she felt impossibly small beneath the weight of his fury.

He seized her chin in his hand rough, unyielding. His fingers dug into her skin, forcing her to meet the blazing fury of his violet stare.

“You little bitch,” he snarled through clenched teeth, “you thought you could kill my child and I wouldn’t find out?”

Maeliora tried to speak, but her throat locked. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. The grip on her jaw tightened merciless.

“Answer me!” Daemon shouted.

Her breath hitched. Her lips parted, but no sound came. There was a knot in her throat thick and painful, strangling the words before they could form.

“You little whore,” he spat. “Going behind my back. You really thought you could trick me like some dim-witted lordling? Perhaps I’ve been too merciful. Too soft with you. But that ends now.”

He released her face abruptly, and she stumbled a half step back, dazed and breathless.

“Uncle, please…” she finally choked out, voice shaking. “I’m sorry…”

Daemon didn’t respond at first. He just looked at her, his breathing heavy, his jaw flexing. Then, slowly, he circled her like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You're sorry?” he repeated quietly, but the quiet was more dangerous than his shouting. “No, sweetling. You’re not sorry yet. But you will be.”

He stopped behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.

“Kneel.”

She froze. The command struck like a blade.

The silence stretched too long, until his hand pressed between her shoulder blades, pushing her down onto the fur rug beneath them.

“You want to act like a whore?” he hissed, voice low and venomous. “Then you’ll serve like one.”

Maeliora knelt, trembling, her heart pounded like a war drum in her chest, shame prickling over her skin like thorns. She dared not meet his eyes, not with the way he loomed above her, a storm barely restrained behind those violet irises.

Daemon’s voice was a low growl, laced with contempt and hunger. “You know what whores do on their knees, don’t you, niece?”

Her breath hitched. She did.

She knew what was coming, and her entire being recoiled. This wasn’t love. This was punishment. Humiliation. Brutal and degrading.

She shook her head faintly, whispering, “Please… don’t make me…”

But Daemon only let out a humorless laugh, dark and low.

“You look afraid, Niece,” he said with a dark smile. “You should be. Actions have consequences.”

She wept openly now, torn between shame and dread, a sick twist of emotion coiling in her gut. Her knees throbbed. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. And her face burned with humiliation.

He reached down, taking her chin in a firm grip. “This is what happens when you try to rid of my child like a whore hiding some bastard sired by a stranger. Except I am your lawful husband.”

He undid the ties at his waist with slow, deliberate precision, never taking his eyes off her like a predator savoring the stillness before the strike. When his breeches fell, Maeliora’s breath caught. She dared a brief glance, and what she saw made heat coil low in her belly, equal parts shame and something darker, more dangerous.

He stood hard and ready, his length proud, the tip flushed and smooth. Every instinct screamed this was wrong... yet beneath the conflict, something primal stirred. A pulse of heat bloomed between her thighs, treacherous and insistent, and to her own horror… she wondered how he might taste, even though she’d never imagined herself doing anything so depraved.

“Open,” he ordered, taking hold of his length and pushing it towards her face.

He stood so close she could already smell him — an overwhelming mix of heat, leather, and something unmistakably male. His musky scent filled her senses, heady and inescapable.

She shook her head once, feebly. A sob escaped her.

“Open your mouth, Maeliora. Do not test my patience.” he commanded, firm and unwavering.

When she hesitated, he gave her a light slap with his hard cock, enough to sting but not truly hurt, and then gripped her jaw again, rougher this time, guiding her where he wanted her.

Maeliora looked up at him, broken and burning with humiliation.

His fingers in her hair were unyielding, and when she finally relented, when she let her lips part and gave herself over to him, he let out a sound that was almost feral.

Daemon’s dominance was absolute. He didn’t ease into her... he claimed her, slowly at first, but with growing intensity. His hand rested at the back of her head, holding her steady, guiding her rhythm. Her knees burned against the stone, her jaw strained, and yet… beneath the tears, beneath the shame, a flicker of arousal grew in her.

His length felt hot and heavy on her tongue, the taste of him unmistakable — bitter at first, then musky and salty, lingering on her palate with every movement. He used her mouth for his pleasure, slow and unrelenting, and she could do nothing but yield.

“Look at you,” Daemon said, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. “A highborn princess… on your knees, like one of the brothel girls on the Street of Silk. Is this what you’ve been longing for, Niece? To be treated like a whore?”

Tears gathered in her lashes, but her thighs pressed together, betraying her. She wanted to deny it, to shake her head, but her body burned, pulsed, responded. She hated how much she ached for him, even in this moment of humiliation.

She felt the loss of his warmth and then the return of it, his hand tangled in her hair, guiding her, breaking her pride with every movement. But even as he moved inside her mouth, there was something else beneath the anger. A hunger. An ache that was darker than lust. A need to own her completely.

He used her mouth as both punishment and possession, groaning low at the way she looked like this — lips parted around him, cheeks flushed with shame, eyes wide and glistening. She hated how much she felt her own need, the sticky warmth between her thighs becoming unbearable.

How did I end up like this? she wondered, humiliated, breathless, undone.

When he finally pulled back, Maeliora gasped, face wet with tears and spit, body shaking. She looked up at him, broken and burning, but still aching for more.

Daemon towered over her, gaze smoldering with possession, one hand curled beneath her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his.

"Open, my little slut," he said, voice low and unmistakably commanding.

She hesitated, confused and unsure what he wanted. Without warning, his hand struck, not hard, but enough to jolt her, to stun her still. He gripped her chin again, harder this time. “I said, open,” he hissed, his thumb brushing the edge of her lower lip.

She did, breath shallow, her lips parting for him.

Daemon leaned in slowly, eyes locked on hers, the weight of his dominance pressing down like a storm. He gathered the moment... and let it fall. His spit landed in her open mouth, a deliberate, claiming gesture.

Her breath caught the moment it happened... warm, sudden, unexpected. For a heartbeat, she froze, wide-eyed, stunned by the intimacy of it. She hadn’t expected that. Not this. Not from him. Heat rushed to her cheeks, not just from the act itself, but from how quickly her body responded, how the shock bled into something darker, deeper. Her pride flinched… but her mouth stayed open.

“Swallow, Maeliora,” he said, voice low and unrelenting. “You’ll take everything I give you.”

Her body trembled, shame and obedience warring within her. And yet… her throat worked without hesitation, her eyes meeting his.

He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. A smirk ghosted across his lips.

"Good girl," he murmured, and it wasn’t just praise, it was approval, ownership, and affection, all tangled together in that single phrase.

Her cheeks burned. She felt the shame rising, but also a deep, unspoken thrill... the way her submission was being demanded, not asked.

Daemon moved with dark confidence, gripping her hair and shoving himself back into her warm inviting mouth, claiming control not just of her body but her breath, her will. It was a punishment, but it was also a reminder. Of who held the reins. Of who she belonged to.

Her knees ached. Her jaw tensed. Her pride burned, but she didn’t stop. Because underneath the discipline, underneath the words meant to humiliate, there was something else: twisted devotion. And desire.

Daemon’s breath grew heavier, each exhale brushing against her skin like the coming storm. His hand tightened in her hair, firm and possessive, as if anchoring himself in the moment. The tension in his body sharpened. He could feel his stones tightening, signaling he was close. He firmly pressed her lips to his pelvis, holding her there, commanding without words as she choked and struggled for a breath.

She felt the tremor that ran through him — raw, fierce, unrestrained as he reached to his peak, releasing his first shot of hot and salty seed right into her throat. Retracting slightly he continued to shoot his seed into her mouth allowing her to savor his taste.

Swallow, wife," he said, voice like smoke and iron. "Since you have no desire to carry my seed in your womb, you’ll take it where I give it."

He held her there for a moment longer, not letting her pull away, fingers threaded tightly in her hair, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breath. Her lips were swollen, her knees aching, her cheeks stained with the tears of shame and submission.

Daemon looked down at her, eyes gleaming with satisfaction and something darker... possessive and proud. There was no praise in his gaze. No gentleness. Just the satisfaction of a man who had broken past her defenses and claimed the part of her she was too proud to give freely.

Maeliora remained still, her breaths shallow, her lips trembling as the bitter taste lingered. Her throat burned with the effort as she swallowed more of his essence unwillingly.

Daemon stood over her, slowly withdrawing once he was certain she had swallowed everything, his fingers curling beneath her jaw as he lifted her gaze to meet his. There was a terrible pride in his smirk, as if he had just carved his mark into her soul, claiming not only her body but her will.

"Good girl," he said, low and rough. The words weren’t gentle, they were a verdict, a possession, and a taunt all at once.

She hated how her skin burned under his praise. She hated that it stirred something inside her. Her stomach turned. Guilt laced with arousal, disgust twisted with longing. She wanted to scream. She wanted to slap him, run from him... but gods, she wanted him too. And that frightened her more than anything.

“You'll never lie to me again, Maeliora,” he said, voice calmer now, but no less terrifying. “And you will give me another child.”

Then, as quickly as the storm had come, he turned and walked away, leaving her on her knees, trembling, shivering from more than the cold. Maeliora stayed there a moment longer, eyes brimming with tears, trying to gather herself, trying to decide if what she felt was humiliation… or power in surrender.

♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen, @claud012, @aleemendoza2425-blog

[asongoficeandfiresource]

Meta: A Tale of Three Daenerys’

An element of authenticity George R. R. Martin adds to the ASOIAF universe is the repetition of names. The same names appear repeatedly within specific cultures and the spread and popularity of certain names is used to illustrate how one culture has influenced another. Just look at the wide popularity of Targaryen names throughout Westeros, especially Alysanne.

With Daenerys Targaryen, GRRM has created two other characters with her name, so far: Daenerys, daughter of Aegon IV and Naerys, and Daenerys, daughter of Alysanne and Jaehaerys I. Both of these characters seem to be used to lay the groundwork for elements of the canon era Daenerys’ story and character arc.

Daenerys, the Retconned Princess

In The World of Ice and Fire, Jaehaerys I and Alysanne do not have a daughter named Daenerys. In fact, in the main series, Daenerys of Dorne is referred to as the first. But with the release of Fire and Blood Vol 1, Martin restructured the birth order of Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s children, which included not just reshuffling, but also removing and adding children. One of those additions was Princess Daenerys, who took the place of Alyssa as the second born child and oldest daughter of the family.

So the question is, why did Martin retcon TWOIAF just to add a new Daenerys? Part of the reason is likely to flesh out the reign of Jaehaerys and Alysanne with more information and loss. But why name her Daenerys and not Rhaenys after their grandmother or any other name? There is a wealth of Targaryen names Martin could have given this new child, but he chose Daenerys, the name of one of his main five characters in the core series. He likely made that choice to give additional foreshadowing for the canon era character.

At first glance, the two Daenerys’ don’t have much in common with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s daughter being born into a stable family and kingdom as their oldest living child who grew into a confident girl but died young, while our Dany was born an orphan and an exile, and grew up constantly afraid, gaining confidence and strength in her teens. In that way, they are narrative foils. But where the foreshadowing comes in is with how Alysanne views her daughter.

Based on a combination of moments in Fire and Blood, there is a possibility that Alysanne had the gift of foresight, like other Targaryens in the series. For some unexplained reason, Alysanne is very insistent on Daenerys becoming queen after her father. This is strange because equal primogeniture is not the norm in their culture. Visenya did not become queen regnant, her younger brother Aegon became king. Rhaena did not become queen regnant, her two younger brothers and uncle became kings, though Aegon the Uncrowned was only a claimant. What’s more, Alysanne never pushes for Rhaena’s rights over Jaehaerys’. But she does push for Daenerys’ rights over her son’s. Why? Because she knows Daenerys will be a great queen:

[Princess Daenerys] so enchanted Alysanne that for a time Her Grace even began to eschew council sessions, preferring to spend her days playing with her daughter and reading her the stories that her own mother had once read to her. “She is so clever, she will be reading to me before long,” she told the king. “She is going to be a great queen, I know it.” – Fire and Blood

This is a rare issue where Alysanne is certain about something, but turns out to be wrong, since her daughter dies before having the opportunity to become queen regnant. It is very possible that Alysanne’s certainty over her daughter’s future and Martin’s purpose for retconning this child into existence was to foreshadow Dany’s eventual position as Queen of Westeros. Often with prophetic visions, they can be misunderstood by the person experiencing them as seen with Daeron the Drunken and Daemon II Blackfyre in the Dunk and Egg novellas. While both of their dreams came true, they happened very differently than what they initially believed. So the great queen named Daenerys who Alysanne might have seen wasn’t her daughter but her distant descendant.

Daenerys of Dorne

The Princess Daenerys who married Maron Martell was initially mentioned in passing in a Dunk and Egg novella, The Sworn Sword, but wasn’t named in the text until A Dance With Dragons where her connection to both the series era Dany and Martell family was emphasized. She is cited by Davos as the person Dany was named after and is the source of the Targaryen blood that gives Quentyn the belief that he can tame one of the dragons. She is also the reason the Water Gardens were built and through that palace was able to impact every generation of Dornish children after her.

Unlike the previous Daenerys, there are quite a few parallels between Daenerys of Dorne and the canon era Dany. They were both the products of extremely unhappy and abusive marriages. They each had significant age gaps between them and their siblings, with their older brother having reached adulthood and had a child or children of his own by the time of their birth. Their brothers married them to men outside of their culture. While Dany was exchanged for the promise of an army to take back Westeros, Princess Daenerys’s marriage was part of a treaty that united Dorne with the rest of Westeros. Both women marry for duty despite loving other men. Each of them are particularly protective and caring toward children. They also look beyond the social status of individuals and see that everyone is equally worthy of protection and a quality life.

While Dany pushes for freedom and justice in Slaver’s Bay, Princess Daenerys used her position in Dorne to benefit children regardless of class:

“Beautiful and peaceful,” the prince said. “Cool breezes, sparkling water, and the laughter of children. The Water Gardens are my favorite place in this world, ser. One of my ancestors had them built to please his Targaryen bride and free her from the dust and heat of Sunspear. Daenerys was her name. She was sister to King Daeron the Good, and it was her marriage that made Dorne part of the Seven Kingdoms. The whole realm knew that the girl loved Daeron’s bastard brother Daemon Blackfyre, and was loved by him in turn, but the king was wise enough to see that the good of thousands must come before the desires of two, even if those two were dear to him. It was Daenerys who filled the gardens with laughing children. Her own children at the start, but later the sons and daughters of lords and landed knights were brought in to be companions to the boys and girls of princely blood. And one summer’s day when it was scorching hot, she took pity on the children of her grooms and cooks and serving men and invited them to use the pools and fountains too, a tradition that has endured till this day."

——

"I told the story to Ser Balon, but not all of it. As the children splashed in the pools, Daenerys watched from amongst the orange trees, and a realization came to her. She could not tell the highborn from the low. Naked, they were only children. All innocent, all vulnerable, all deserving of long life, love, protection. ‘There is your realm,’ she told her son and heir, 'remember them, in everything you do.’ My own mother said those same words to me when I was old enough to leave the pools. It is an easy thing for a prince to call the spears, but in the end the children pay the price. For their sake, the wise prince will wage no war without good cause, nor any war he cannot hope to win.– ADWD

It might seem like a simple thing to allow a large amount of commoner children to partake in privileges alongside highborn and royal children, but this is hugely significant since it allows children of higher stations to form positive relationships with children of lower classes. The rest of Westeros does this at a far smaller degree, but usually at the convenience of the highborn. This act essentially put all of the children who stay at the Water Gardens on equal footing, even temporarily so they can all see that at their core, they are all made the same. This allows the royalty and nobility to empathize with commoners which will impact the choices that will impact everyone. Princess Daenerys’ impact on the ruling family kept Dorne mostly out of the War of the Five Kings, meaning that while the common people of nearly every region have been slaughtered and abused in the conflict, only one Dornishman has died so far, Oberyn Martell, a prince in full control of his actions rather than thousands of commoners ordered onto the battlefield.

Even though Dany is still a queen at war in the series, there are similarities between her motivation and choices. As noted above, both Daenerys’ have a weakness for children. Princess Daenerys fills the Water Gardens with “laughing children”. Dany wishes to do the same:

I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. – ACOK

But more than that dream, when it comes to children Dany shows she is willing to take direct action to protect and avenge them. When the slavers of Meereen murder slave children and taunt Dany by mounting their bodies on milepost, Dany made sure to see them herself: "I will see every one, and count them, and look upon their faces. And I will remember.” (ASOS) Then she avenged them by killing the exact number of slavers in the same way the children were killed. Even when she doubts whether she did the right thing, she insists it was done for the children. Then, when Drogon kills a child, Hazzea, Dany tries to chain all of her dragons so that never happens again, though she only manages to capture two of the three. Despite the fact that she considers the dragons to be her own children, it only takes the death of one child to push her to imprison them, showing just how much she prioritizes the lives of these people. Even when it comes to the children of the slavers, Dany refuses to harm them regardless of what crimes the adult slaver commit:

Dany had grown fond of her young charges. Some were shy and some were bold, some sweet and some sullen, but all were innocent. – ADWD

Where the strongest parallel comes into play is with the way both Daenerys’ realize that there is no fundamental difference between people of different social classes since they are the same when brought down to their bare essentials:

On another island two lovers kissed in the shade of tall green trees, with no more shame than Dothraki at a wedding. Without clothing, [Dany] could not tell if they were slave or free. – ASOS

--

As the children splashed in the pools, Daenerys watched from amongst the orange trees, and a realization came to her. She could not tell the highborn from the low. Naked, they were only children. All innocent, all vulnerable, all deserving of long life, love, protection. – ADWD

The only thing that separates the highborn from the low or the free and the enslaved are societal restrictions. Since there are no natural physical differences between people of different ranks in society, that means they are all deserving of freedom and good lives. While Princess Daenerys acted upon this realization to effect change through the inclusion of all children from different walks of life into the Water Gardens, Dany fights for the freedom of slaves and allows freedmen places of power in her government and gives them a voice at court alongside people who were born free. Here are just a few of the many examples of Dany attempting to establish equality for the freedmen:

Reznak would have summoned another tokar next, but Dany insisted that he call upon a freedman. Thereafter she alternated between the former masters and the former slaves. – ADWD

--

Rylona Rhee had played the harp as sweetly as the Maiden. When she had been a slave in Yunkai, she had played for every highborn family in the city. In Meereen she had become a leader amongst the Yunkish freedmen, their voice in Dany’s councils. – ADWD

--

“The freedmen work too cheaply, Magnificence,” Reznak said. “Some call themselves journeymen, or even masters, titles that belong by rights only to the craftsmen of the guilds. The masons and the bricklayers do respectfully petition Your Worship to uphold their ancient rights and customs.”

“The freedmen work cheaply because they are hungry,” Dany pointed out. “If I forbid them to carve stone or lay bricks, the chandlers, the weavers, and the goldsmiths will soon be at my gates asking that they be excluded from those trades as well.” She considered a moment. “Let it be written that henceforth only guild members shall be permitted to name themselves journeymen or masters … provided the guilds open their rolls to any freedman who can demonstrate the requisite skills.” – ADWD

Princess Daenerys also helped to cement a permanent peace between House Targaryen and House Martell with her marriage uniting Westeros. That combined with the tradition of creating a closer bond between people of different classes and the continued caution on thinking of the people while making decisions that will affect them, she continues her legacy of peace. Our Dany also keeps the people who choose to follow her at the forefront of her thoughts with every decision she makes. She too wishes for peace and takes action to achieve that, even at her own detriment.

“Peace is my desire. You say that you can help me end the nightly slaughter in my streets. I say do it. Put an end to this shadow war, my lord. That is your quest. Give me ninety days and ninety nights without a murder, and I will know that you are worthy of a throne. Can you do that?” - Daenerys IV ADWD

--

She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. Better a few should die in the pit than thousands at the gates. This is the price of peace, I pay it willingly. If I look back, I am lost. - Daenerys VIII ADWD

--

Like all good queens she put her people first—else she would never have wed Hizdahr zo Loraq—but the girl in her still yearned for poetry, passion, and laughter. – ADWD

Conclusion

While the three Daenerys’ don’t have anything close to similar lives, each of the Daenerys’ of the past seem to intentionally have call backs or call forwards to the series era Dany. Both of them seem to foreshadow Dany’s current and future storylines with pushes for social progress and her future as the reigning Queen of Westeros. So far, Martin has included only three characters with this name, but with the positive change Dany is bringing to Essos and will bring to Westeros when she helps save the world from the Others, it would only be natural for the name to grow in popularity.

[apothe-roses]

Dance of the Sugarplum Prince

Nutcracker!Aemond x Clara!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: violence, character death, smut, tiddy sucking, oral (f-receiving), uncle-niece incest, unprotected sex, piv sex, breeding kink, possessive Aemond, obsessed Aemond

A/N: I may not be the first nor the last to do a nutcracker au, but I’m doin it anyways! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. All rights go to HBO and George RR Martin

The snow falls heavy and thick outside the window. You watch the snowflakes dance to the ground while your family makes a ruckus behind you. The adults Gossip amongst themselves while your brothers laugh and joke amongst themselves. You love your family, but you’ve grown tired of your overbearing aunties trying to set you up with “nice boys” they know.

You notice a figure making their way towards the front door, making your own way towards it to greet them. Right after the doorbell rings, you open the door, smiling at the woman on the other side.

“Aunt Alys,” you smile and embrace the older woman.

“Forgive me for my tardiness, but it’s nearly impossible to make one’s way through that,” she replies, indicating to the storm outside. Other family members come to greet Alys, so you move to the side and let them. She pulls a large case out from under her coat. She reveals several beautifully made dolls, winding them up and letting them dance across the carpet. Your family is in awe. While they’re distracted, Alys approaches you.

“I have a special gift for you,” Alys says. She opens her bag, gingerly pulling out a final doll. He was a beautiful man with long silver hair and black armor accentuated with gold.

“This,” you aunt explains, “is no ordinary knight. He is a prince of a faraway land.”

“Oh Alys, she’s too old for dolls!” your mother calls from across the room.

“Oh, but he’s so beautiful!” you rebut. “Couldn’t I just put on on my shelf and admire him?”

“You can put these dirty dishes in the kitchen,” your mother tells you. You sigh, setting your doll on the windowsill. Alys follows you into the kitchen.

“Perhaps you should’ve brought me a real prince. That would’ve made mother happy,” you laugh. Alys simply smiles at that.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounds from the sitting room, followed by your mother shouting “Luke!” You rush into the room. Your doll is lying on the floor at your brother’s feet.

“It was an accident!” Luke explains. “I only wanted to get a closer look!”

You rush over, picking your doll up off the ground. One of his eyes is broken. Luke apologizes profusely while you carefully extract the broken pieces. Alys approaches.

“I couldn’t find a spare eye, but this should fit,” she says, handing you a small sapphire. You slip it into his empty socket; it fits perfectly. She provides a small strip of black fabric that you use as a makeshift eyepatch.

“Thank you, Alys,” you say, giving the older woman a hug. You don’t notice the worried look she gives your doll.

BONG

BONG

BONG

Was it midnight already? You must have nodded off at some point. You look down at your prince, admiring his handsome face. Perhaps it’s the dim light, but it looks as though his mouth twitches.

You’re about to go to bed when something moves at the edge of your vision. A small man walks out from under your Christmas tree! For a moment, you think it’s your prince. However, this man has two eyes and looks older. He wears a crown that looks like it’s made of wood. He’s looking around, clearly searching for something. You stay as still as possible, hoping he doesn’t notice you. Theres a possibility you’re still dreaming, but you’re not willing to take that risk.

“Looking for someone, Daemon?” a voice calls out. Both your heads snap to the corner where it came from. Your mouth falls open. It’s your prince! But he’s alive! He approaches the man, sword drawn.

“Aemond,” Daemon greets. “It appears you’ve suffered a horrible accident. Shame. I was hoping for a fair fight.”

“And you’ll get one,” Aemond snaps. At that moment, more figures storm into view. You recognize them as your brothers’ toy soldiers.

“Alright. Two can play at that game,” Daemon raises a hand, and several mice scurry out from nowhere. You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to scream. Daemon and Aemond draw their swords, circling one another. Daemon strikes first, but Aemond is quick to block. The mice and toys launch at each other. You’re enthralled. Though bloodless, the battle is intense.

Suddenly, Daemon strikes Aemond’s blind side. He’s sent flying to the floor, his sword clattering away. Daemon smiles viciously, standing over his nephew. He raises his sword to strike the killing blow and—

WHAM!

A giant slipper knocks him off his feet. Aemond glances at you, noting you are now missing a slipper. He grins, then springs into action. He draws a dagger, races to his uncle, and plunges the blade into his neck. Daemon never had time to regain his senses before he bleeds out, choking and clasping at his throat. The battle stops. The now leaderless mice scurry off, and the toy soldiers return to where your brothers left them originally. Aemond walks over to you. As he does, he grows until he’s the height of a normal man. You stare up at him, lips parted. He’s tall, and even more handsome as a man.

“You saved me,” he states, kneeling at your side.

“I-it was nothing,” you stammer, blushing. “I didn’t want him to…kill you.”

Aemond’s lips curl into a smirk. “Such a sweet thing you are,” he muses. He reaches out, winding a lock on your hair around his finger. “It’s not every day a man can say he was saved by someone so beautiful or kind.”

Your blush deepens. “You’re too kind,” you whisper.

“You must come back to the castle with me. My family will want to meet the girl who helped defeat my wicked uncle and his wretched mouse army,” he stands, extending a hand to you. You look around the empty sitting room, wondering what to do.

“It’s only for tonight. I promise to have you back by morning,” he assures you. You bite your lip, not noticing the way his gaze darkens. Then, you smile and take his hand. When you stand, you notice how much taller he is. you look down shyly, but he tucks a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to his. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. But then he says, “let’s be off then,” and leads you to the Christmas tree. With each step, you shrink until you can easily walk under the branches.

You spot a castle in the distance. A beautiful red fortress perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a sprawling city. The faint ringing of bells can be heard.

“It seems word of our victory has spread,” Aemond observes. “I imagine the celebration is well underway.

“Oh, but I’m not dressed!” you realize.

“Look down, little one,” Aemond replies. You do, and you gasp. Your simple nightgown had been replaced with a beautiful white dress, tied by a large red ribbon. The skirt floats in light layers down to your calves. Your feet are covered by red slippers with ribbons wrapped around your legs.

“How…?” you start to ask, the question dying on your lips when you look up and see Aemond had changed as well. He’s wearing a black and red jacket adorned with golden epaulettes, and also matching breeches and shiny black boots. His hair is loose, and the swath of ribbon covering his eye is replaced with a proper eyepatch.

“Come,” he requests, extending his hand. “We don’t want to miss out on the festivities.”

The walk to the castle is filled with merriment as the small folk throw flowers over your heads and dance and cheer. Inside the castle is even more merry as ball is in full swing. You spy the king and queen at the end of the hall, their matching silver hair catching the light.

Aemond leads you to the middle of the dance floor and leads you in a waltz. The night passes in a series of twirls and lifts, until a hush falls over the crowd.

The king leads his queen off the dais into the center of the crowd. Everyone pushes back, forming a wide berth around them as they lead a solitary waltz. You feel a large hand on the small of your back.

“Come with me,” Aemond whispers. His breath tickles your ear.

He leads you out of the room. The two of you race down the halls. You haven’t felt this exhilarated since you were a child chasing your brothers outdoors.

You’re lead into a bedroom that you presume is his. You don’t have time to take in the decor, as he grabs your face and kisses you hungrily. You kiss him back, hands tangling in his soft hair.

He deftly undoes the bow on your back. He tries to untie the laces, but he gets impatient and just tears your dress open. You gasp as your dress falls from your body.

Aemond scoops you up and lays you on the bed. He looks over you like a lion about to devour his kill.

“Have you ever been with a man before little one?”

“N-no,” you stutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Well,” he starts, “allow me to show you.”

He tears the rest of your underthings off, leaving you bare before him. Without breaking eye contact, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. Your head rolls back as he sucks on the sensitive flesh, kneading your other side.

“So beautiful,” he gasps, switching to the other tit.

“So perfect.” He trails kisses down your torso. He fingers swipe through your folds. He brings them to his lips and sucks them clean; his eyes roll back and he groans.

“I knew you’d taste sweet,” he purrs. He lowers his head to your mound and drags his tongue through your folds. You gasp and instinctually shy away, but he pins you with this hands on your hips. You can only moan as he relentlessly devours your cunt.

“M-my prince…”

“Aemond. Call me Aemond,” he breathes, sending a shiver through you. You feel your peak approaching, closer and closer. It’s just about to wash over you when he pulls away. You whine at the loss of stimulation.

“The first time I make you come, it will be on my cock,” Aemond states, once again leaning over you. He sheds his clothing with ease. He’s truly one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. His cock is long and thick, and already leaking. He strokes himself as he gets into position.

“What if it doesn’t fit?” You ask innocently.

“It will fit.” He replies. “I’ll make it fit.”

He angles his cock and enters you with one sure thrust. You gasp loudly, clinging to his shoulders.

“Gods you’re tight,” he whispers. He begins to rock in and out of you, setting a steady pace.

“So wet, and I’ve barely touched you. Such a needy little thing. Absolutely begging to be fucked.”

You babble incoherently in response. Aemond chuckles and starts playing with your pearl.

“Already cockdumb are we?”

He pinches your pearl.

“I could keep you here you know. Fuck you—breed you— day and night, until your belly swells with my child. You’d like that wouldn’t you? My perfect little princess. My broodmare. Mine.”

You’re a little frightened by his declaration, but you’re to overwhelmed by pleasure to do anything about it. You can only lay there as you climax, the pleasure melting your bones and heating your blood.

“That’s my girl. That’s my good girl,” he groans, and you feel his cock pulse followed by a sense of warmth. He keeps his cock plugged inside until he starts to soften, then he pulls out. You feel a mixture of your fluid and his seed leak out. He hold your legs open, admiring the sight. Then, he lays down, pulling you into his arms.

“You’ll want for nothing. I’ll make sure of it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You lay against his chest, and it isn’t long before sleep claims you.

“Sweetheart, wake up!” you hear your mother call. You reluctantly open your eyes. You’re in your own bed, in your own room.

“I don’t mean to rush you, but we have some surprise guests waiting downstairs,” she pulls open the curtains, and you wince at the sudden brightness.

“Get dressed quickly! I need to get back downstairs!” she rushes out of your room, closing the door behind you.

At first, you don’t move. There was a heaviness in your chest. It had all been a dream. Of course it had been a dream. Mice soldiers, living dolls, and princes could only be the product of dreams. This is the real world, and there are guests waiting for you.

As you get dressed, you realize your prince doll is nowhere to be found. You must have left him downstairs.

Voices could be heard in the sitting room as you make your way downstairs. Unfamiliar voices. You round the corner and freeze. Sitting around the room are three very familiar faces.

“Darling, these are my half-siblings.” She leads you to the Sugarplum King. “This is Aegon,” then to the Queen, who smiles sweetly at you, “Helaena,” then finally to the most familiar of them all, “and this is Aemond.”

He takes your hand in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles. You stare up at him with wide eyes. He’s wearing an eyepatch. Over the same eye your brother broke. Was he hiding a sapphire under there?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you breathe.

“Please, the pleasure is all mine, niece,” he purrs, looking at you in a way an uncle should never look at a niece.

“What happened to your eye?” Luke asked abruptly. Jace whacks him on the shoulder, admonishing him.

“Ow!”

“It’s alright. It was an accident long ago,” Aemond replies.

“Oh, let’s not dwell on unhappy memories,” your mother says, turning to Helaena. “How is Alicent? It’s been too long since I’ve heard from her.”

The conversation carries on, but you’ve stopped paying attention. You’re not looking at him, but you feel his gaze on you. Just as intense as it had been when he made love to you in your dream.

A dream.

It had only been a dream.

Right?

[darklinaforever]

So ! I need to say that !

Hades & Persephone's relationship is canonically a loving and quite healthy relationship in the context of Greek mythology which represents a form of balance for the world through the cycle of the seasons. Persephone is not a victim of Hades either... Anyone who has studied Greek mythology can actually explain it to you.

That's a bad vision of the original myth due to a too modern interpretation. It's not the modern era that romanticizes this basic relationship. This was already the case in Greek times...

It even seems to me that Hades and Persephone were often represented on the vases given to newlyweds (pretty crazy, since Hera was literally the goddess of marriage) because they were always described as having a loving, supportive and harmonious marriage.

And if you're looking for a real culprit in the union of Hades & Persephone, there's literally Zeus, who authorized the marriage between the two after Hades came to ask him. Hades didn't kidnap Persephone as soon as he saw her. He first asked to his father, Zeus, for her hand in marriage, as in the Greek traditions of the time.

In some versions of the myth, it even seems to me that Aphrodite is the one who provoked Hades' love for Persephone by sending Eros to plant an arrow in her after being upset by a refusal. But for now, I'm not sure of Aphrodite's real involvement.

But regardless, in the original myth, the one blamed is actually very clearly Zeus. He is the one, once again, having authorized the kidnapping of Persephone, which in Greek traditions translates into an engagement, and who has caused the whole messy situation with poor Demeter.

As for the grenade episode, it doesn't seem to me that we can know the original version. So the whole "Hades forced Persephone to eat the pomegranate" thing is also bullshit.

There doesn't even seem to me to be any indication of Persephone having been mistreated in any way by Hades in the myth. It's again bullshit.

I'm making this post because I've had yet another person explain to me that Persephone is a victim of Hades and that our modern age romanticizes the relationship between the two.

"Yes. Like Persephone gets bastardised. Persephone was Hades's assault victim. People try to "modernize" her by making her want Hades (all while making Demeter to be in the wrong). Mina was Dracula's assault victim. People try to "modernize" her by making her cheat on Jonathan for Dracula."

Except no. Persephone is not a victim of Hades in the context of Greek myth. That's a stinking modern vision. Kind of ironic, when you argue that it's the modern view that stands in for the real version of Persephone being a victim of Hades when... well no. It's the modern era that makes Persephone a victim of abuse at the hands of Hades, (this all reminds me of how people make Rhaenyra a victim of grooming in her relationship with Daemon) while that is not the case in the context of the original myth. As I explained above, this interpretation is modern bullshit. And it is very important to transcribe the myths in their ancient context to understand their various messages, otherwise you will miss the point.

But I won't elaborate further because @cthonisprincess has already explained it very well. I invite you to go and see these reblogs below which detail the whole affair of Hades and Persephone in much more detail :

I even recommend this video :

My god, I can't believe that in 2024, people are still at the stage of demonizing Hades, even though he is one of the rare decents gods, and still claiming that Persephone is an assault victim of Hades... This is a shameful distortion of the original myth and a real bastardization of the goddess Persephone.

Also... we're literally talking about a myth. The goal of a myth is to be reinvented according to the times. So what does it matter that there are adaptations of the myth that differ from the said myth, or rather from the biased vision that some have of making Persephone a poor victim of the evil Hades ?!

@aleksanderscult

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (the call)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: legacy of fire

- Next part: winds from the east

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial @l3thal-l0lita @alkadri-layal @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

The air in Casterly Rock had grown heavy with the weight of war, though no battles had yet reached its gates. The West remained untouched, a fortress of its own making, and Jason had ensured it stayed that way. But beyond the hills of his domain, beyond the deep valleys and rich mines, the rest of Westeros burned.

The Dance of Dragons had truly begun.

It was a morning like any other when Grand Maester Halford entered Jason’s solar, his gait slow but his expression carefully schooled into neutrality. He was a man of quiet wisdom, with the habit of delivering ill news without alarm—a trait Jason had come to appreciate over the years.

Jason, seated at his great oaken desk, glanced up from the ledger he had been reviewing, noting the tight grip Halford had on the parchment in his hand.

“What is it?” Jason asked, leaning back in his chair.

Halford hesitated only for a breath. “A raven from Dragonstone, my lord. It bears the personal seal of Queen Rhaenyra.”

Jason exhaled slowly, holding out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Halford obeyed, setting the sealed parchment into his lord’s waiting palm. Jason turned it over in his fingers before breaking the wax with his thumb, unfolding the letter with measured ease.

The words inside, however, set his teeth on edge.

He read silently, his brows furrowing deeper with each line.

"Sister," Rhaenyra had written, "I call upon you once more. The war grows fierce, the blood of Targaryens stains the realm, and yet you remain silent in the West. I will not ask you to take up arms, but I ask you to come to me. Bring your children. They are of our blood, and there are dragons still waiting on Dragonstone. If the gods are kind, your daughters, your sons, may claim them and strengthen our House for the battles ahead."

Jason’s fingers tightened around the parchment.

"Daemon misses you. He has not been the same since he faced Aemond and saved your life. He speaks little. His fire is dimmed. I believe only you can bring him back to himself."

Jason nearly scoffed aloud at that.

Daemon Targaryen, a man of fire and blood, a warrior of renown, brought low by the absence of one woman? It sounded like a ploy.

But it was Rhaenyra’s mention of their children that soured Jason’s mood further.

"Your children are dragons, just as we are, just as you are. The beasts that roam my island wait for riders worthy of them. Bring them, let them claim what is rightfully theirs, and let the realm see that the House of the Dragon will not be broken."

Jason set the letter down, his jaw tight.

Halford, ever the careful observer, watched him with patient curiosity.

“Does your lady wife know of this letter?” the maester asked.

Jason snorted. “It came to my hands first, did it not?”

Halford nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken meaning behind his lord’s words.

Jason did not yet wish for you to know of this summons.

Not now.

Not when he had just begun to see you return to yourself, free from the nightmares, the whispered visions, the distant look in your eyes.

The past moons had been a blessing and a curse. Though the war raged beyond the Westerlands, life within Casterly Rock had been peaceful. Jason had taken every effort to keep his family untouched, unburdened. He had worked tirelessly to ensure the realm knew that the West would stand alone, away from the ruin of dragons.

And yet, Rhaenyra would not relent.

This was not the first raven she had sent urging you to fly to Dragonstone, to bring your children to the wild dragons, to stand with her in her war.

But this was the first time she had used Daemon as a lure.

Jason let out a slow exhale, dragging a hand down his face before tossing the letter onto his desk.

“She will not be pleased when someone reads this to her,” Halford mused, ever the voice of reason.

Jason clenched his jaw. “She is still recovering.”

“She has recovered.”

Jason’s gaze snapped to the maester, his temper flashing, but Halford met his eyes with steady patience.

“I say this not to provoke, my lord, but to remind you that she is not a woman to be kept in the dark,” Halford continued. “She is of Targaryen blood. She was never meant to be kept still.”

Jason sighed, leaning back in his chair, gaze flickering to the flickering hearth.

He knew that.

He had always known that.

He had married a woman of fire, and though she had lived among lions, her soul still belonged to the skies.

Jason knew what he would have to do.

But he did not have to like it.

“Leave me,” he finally muttered.

Halford hesitated, but with a slight bow, he turned and exited the chamber, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts.

For a long while, Jason simply sat in silence, watching the flames dance in the hearth.

Then, with measured patience, he reached for the parchment once more, rolling it into a tight scroll.

Tomorrow, he would give it to you.

Tomorrow, he would let you decide.

But he already knew what you would say.

And he already hated it.

The morning light filtered through the windows of Casterly Rock, casting a warm glow over the stone chamber where you sat with Rhaelya and Alysera, your twin daughters. Their golden hair shimmered in the sunlight, the strands interwoven with the faintest hints of silver, a clear mark of their mixed heritage. Though identical in looks, the girls were distinct in their mannerisms—Rhaelya’s fingers were steady and precise as she stitched, while Alysera fidgeted slightly, losing patience with the delicate work.

Your own hands worked fluidly, guiding the needle with a grace born from years of practice. Even without sight, your fingers knew the fabric, felt the tension of each thread, and understood the rhythm of each stitch. The quiet was peaceful, save for the occasional murmur of your daughters, who asked small questions about their patterns and colors.

Then came the sound of approaching footsteps—measured, deliberate, heavy with purpose.

You knew them instantly.

Jason.

Before he even spoke, you felt the shift in the air.

The girls must have felt it too, for they both looked up from their embroidery as their father entered the chamber.

“Rhaelya, Alysera, leave us. I need to speak with your mother.”

Jason’s voice was firm but not unkind.

Alysera was the first to protest. “But we are not finished—”

“Now, girls.”

Though his tone did not change, there was an edge to it, one that neither daughter dared to challenge.

You heard the rustle of fabric, the shift of the chairs as Rhaelya and Alysera obediently rose, murmuring their farewells before padding toward the door.

Once the chamber doors clicked shut behind them, Jason let out a slow exhale.

You set your embroidery down upon your lap, turning your head toward him. “You are tense.”

Jason scoffed. “When am I not?”

A small smile touched your lips, but it faded when Jason moved closer, lowering himself onto the cushioned seat beside you.

He was quiet for a moment.

Then, in a tone that lacked its usual sharpness, he said, “A raven arrived yesterday.”

Your breath hitched, just slightly.

You tilted your head. “From where?”

“Dragonstone.”

The air in the room shifted.

Your hands clenched around the embroidery fabric, your fingers gripping the delicate material as if it were the only thing anchoring you.

Jason saw it. He sighed.

You turned your face slightly toward him. “What did she write?”

Jason hesitated, and you knew.

You knew exactly what was coming.

“She wants you to come to her.”

Your lips parted slightly, but Jason was not finished.

“She wants you to bring the children. She believes they can claim dragons.”

The breath you had been holding slipped from your lips.

Your sister had written before, had urged you before. But this was different.

Jason continued, his voice lower, careful.

“She also wrote of Daemon. She says he misses you, that he has not been the same since...” He trailed off, but you knew the rest.

Since he saved you.

Since he fought Aemond and drove him away.

You swallowed.

Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting beside you, likely running a hand through his hair as he often did when frustrated.

Then, his tone grew sharper.

“She wants you to come to her, to stand with her, and— Seven hells, she acts as though we are blind to her intentions! She knows what bringing our children to Dragonstone would mean. She wants us in her war, she wants us tied to her banners, and she will not stop until she gets what she wants.”

He scoffed. “Even Daemon is a pawn in this.”

You shook your head slightly, your fingers curling around the embroidery in your lap.

“I do not believe that.”

Jason let out a short, humorless laugh. “You do not believe your sister plays her game as cleverly as the rest of them? You think this letter is just an innocent invitation?”

You did not answer.

Because part of you knew he was right.

Still, you whispered, “I have not seen Daemon in moons.”

Jason’s jaw tensed.

Your fingers found his arm, tracing over the fabric of his tunic, feeling the corded muscles beneath.

“Jason, I will not be swayed by a simple letter,” you said softly. “But I will not ignore it, either.”

He turned fully toward you now, his green eyes sharp even if you could not see them.

“I know you. I know what you are thinking.”

Your lips pressed together, but Jason continued.

“You want to go. You want to hear her voice. You want hear his. You want our children to touch dragon scales, to feel their birthright.” His voice dropped. “Do you not?”

You hesitated.

And Jason saw it.

His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your face ever so slightly.

“Say it.” His voice was low, controlled.

You inhaled.

And then, quietly, truthfully, you said, “Yes.”

Jason closed his eyes. For a long moment, he did not speak.

When he did, his voice was lower, softer, “You would fly into the storm, wouldn’t you?”

Your fingers curled over his, pressing firmly, “The storm is already here, Jason. We are only pretending we are not standing in the rain.”

Jason did not respond.

But you heard his sigh, felt the weight of it, felt the reluctance in his silence.

You knew this would not be the end of this conversation.

Jason Lannister was not a man who relented easily.

And you were not a woman who could be caged.

The halls of Casterly Rock seemed narrower today, the weight of his anger pressing against the very walls. Jason strode through the corridors, his boots echoing in the silence, his mind a storm of unrelenting thought. The letter burned in his memory, every word, every demand, every carefully veiled attempt to pull his family into a war he had no desire to fight.

Rhaenyra.

Daemon.

They would not stop.

For moons, Jason had kept the West untouched by this madness, ensuring that no king nor queen could lay claim to his lands, his banners, his coin. He had built a fortress of neutrality, an empire within an empire. And yet, his wife’s family—her cursed, insatiable bloodline—sought to drag him into the flames nonetheless.

His fists curled at his sides, his jaw tightening as he turned a corner, only to come upon a sight that gave him pause.

In a quiet chamber, bathed in warm afternoon light, his mother, Lady Leonella Lannister, sat beside Aemerys, their eldest son. The boy, now a young man in his own right, had grown swiftly, his silver-gold hair catching the glow of the hearth, his lilac eyes alight with intelligence.

Leonella was speaking to him in gentle tones, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her rings gleaming in the candlelight. Aemerys, ever the eager listener, sat upright, his posture one of both attention and restrained curiosity.

Jason’s steps slowed, his ire shifting into something heavier, something more complicated.

This was why he fought so fiercely to keep them out of the war.

For his son, his daughters, his family.

Not for Aegon.

Not for Rhaenyra.

Not for whatever legacy the Targaryens thought themselves owed.

Leonella noticed him first, her golden brows lifting slightly, but she made no move to rise.

Aemerys followed her gaze, turning toward the doorway where Jason stood.

“Father,” the boy greeted, his voice now carrying the depth of a young man rather than the high timbre of childhood.

Jason exhaled, running a hand down his face before stepping into the room.

“What are you two plotting?” he muttered, his tone more wry than accusatory.

Leonella smirked, ever the composed matriarch. “Plotting? Do you think me the sort to conspire in dark corners, my son?”

Jason gave her a look, the agitation still simmering behind his gaze.

Aemerys, for his part, leaned back slightly, his arms crossing. “Grandmother was telling me stories of the old days. Of when you and Uncle Tyland were boys.”

Jason let out a short breath, half a scoff, half a sigh. “And what lies has she told you?”

Leonella huffed in mock offense. “Not lies, my dear. Simply truths you wish forgotten.”

Jason shook his head, but his agitation had not faded.

Aemerys, perceptive as ever, tilted his head. “You’re angry.”

Jason’s gaze snapped to his son. He opened his mouth, then shut it, his teeth grinding together.

Aemerys saw too much.

Felt too much.

Perhaps he had inherited more than just the blood of the dragon.

Leonella, watching the exchange, simply folded her hands, ever the image of patience. “Tell us, my son, what weighs so heavily on you?”

Jason inhaled, exhaled, and then dragged a chair forward, sinking into it with a deep, measured sigh. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers pressed together. Then, in a low, tight voice, he said, “A raven came from Dragonstone.”

Leonella did not react at first, though her gaze sharpened.

Aemerys, however, did.

“Mother’s family.” It was not a question.

Jason nodded, his fingers tapping once against his knee. “Your aunt.”

Aemerys’s face remained impassive, though Jason saw the slight tensing of his jaw.

Leonella sighed softly. “And what does Queen Rhaenyra desire?”

Jason’s voice was flat, unyielding. “She wants her sister to bring you and your siblings to Dragonstone. She believes your siblings are ready to claim dragons.”

For a long moment, silence.

Then, Aemerys leaned forward slightly, his lilac gaze unblinking. “Is she wrong?”

Jason’s spine stiffened.

Leonella’s breath hitched, just barely.

Jason’s gaze locked onto his son. “That is not the question to ask.”

Aemerys frowned. “Then what should I ask, Father?”

Jason’s eyes were steady, piercing. “Ask yourself whether you wish to be dragged along by your brothers and sisters into a war for dragons you do not need.”

The boy said nothing.

Jason exhaled slowly, running a hand through his golden hair, before finally leaning back. “You are not a boy anymore, Aemerys. You are the heir to the Rock. And that means making decisions not for yourself, but for the future of this land. You think Rhaenyra asks this for your sake? For your mother’s sake? No. She asks because she seeks more power. She seeks to drag the West into her war, one way or another.”

Aemerys’ lips parted slightly, his jaw tight, as if struggling with what to say.

Leonella watched her son carefully, and then, in a measured, quiet voice, she asked: “And what will my daughter-in-law say to this?”

Jason’s gaze flickered.

And in that moment, Leonella knew.

Jason exhaled, dragging a hand down his face, “She will want to go.”

Leonella sighed.

Aemerys’ jaw clenched, but his voice remained even. “Then what will you do, Father?”

Jason’s gaze flickered to his son, to his mother, to the hearth that burned quietly behind them.

Then, in a quiet, firm voice, he said: “I do not know yet.”

The dining hall of Casterly Rock was quieter than usual, the only sounds the faint clinking of silverware against plates and the low flicker of the hearth. The long table, often filled with family and advisors, held only two tonight. The servants had been dismissed, leaving the chamber bathed in an almost eerie silence.

You sat opposite Jason, your fingers lightly tracing the rim of your goblet, sensing the unease that hung between you. He was silent, which was unlike him.

Your husband was not a quiet man—not in council, not in battle, not in your chambers. Jason Lannister always had something to say, always had an opinion ready, sharp and deliberate. But tonight, he had spoken only in short phrases, his replies clipped, his voice tight with thought.

You tilted your head slightly, listening.

He was still there, still seated across from you, but there was something unspoken weighing on him.

You took a careful sip of the rich red wine, setting the goblet down softly before speaking.

“You are quiet tonight, my love.”

Jason’s fingers paused on the stem of his own goblet, but he did not respond immediately.

You turned your face fully toward him, your voice gentle but firm.

“Are you angry with me?”

A soft exhale left him, and then, after a moment, the sound of his goblet being placed back onto the table.

“No.”

A pause.

Then, more softly. “Not with you.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Then with whom?”

Jason let out a short, humorless breath, leaning back in his chair. “You already know.”

You inhaled, understanding, yet not accepting his reluctance.

He was angry with Rhaenyra.

Angry with Daemon.

Angry that the war, no matter how fiercely he had fought to keep it from his doorstep, continued to find its way to him.

To you.

To your children.

“You have barely spoken to me since you showed me the letter.” Your voice was even, but weighted with meaning. “You have left me to guess at your thoughts.”

Jason’s green eyes flickered across the candlelit room before settling on you again.

“You advised me once to wait.” His voice was calm, but pointed. “Not to take a side, not to be lured into madness by the rest of them. And I did. I held fast. I kept the West out of it. And now—” He exhaled, shaking his head, his voice dipping lower. “And now you wish to go to them.”

You folded your hands in your lap, thoughtful. “I have not said I will.”

Jason huffed. “You did not have to. I see it in you.”

You turned your unseeing eyes toward him, head tilting slightly. “And what is it you see?”

Jason leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice sharper now.

“Daemon.”

Your breath hitched at the name.

Jason’s gaze was unrelenting.

“This is about him, isn’t it?” His voice was measured, but there was something else beneath it—something raw.

You hesitated for a moment too long.

Jason sat back slowly, his jaw tightening.

You exhaled. “Daemon has always been dear to me, Jason.”

Jason scoffed. “Yes, I am aware.”

You ignored his tone. “He saved my life. He fought Aemond for me. And now he suffers. I—” You hesitated, then continued softer. “I cannot pretend that does not matter to me.”

Jason’s fingers curled into a fist on the table. “And what of me?”

You stiffened. “Jason—”

“What of me?” he repeated, voice lower now, rough with something unspoken. “I have fought for you too. I have held this kingdom together for you. I have spent years ensuring that no dragon, no king, no queen, no war would ever take you from me. And yet now, you would go to him.”

Silence.

You inhaled slowly, reaching forward, your fingers finding his hand.

Jason flinched at first, but did not pull away.

“I do not go to him. I go for my sister. For my family. For my children.”

Jason shook his head, his voice quiet, bitter. “Daemon is part of that family, whether you admit it or not.”

You sighed. “Yes. He is. But you are my husband. You are the father of my children.” You squeezed his hand. “And I have not left yet.”

Jason exhaled slowly, his fingers finally relaxing beneath yours. For a moment, the tension drained from him, but only just.

Then, after a long silence, he spoke softly. “If I asked you not to go—if I begged you—would you stay?”

Your heart clenched.

Jason was not a man who begged.

And that was why you could not answer.

The silence was answer enough.

Jason’s jaw tightened. He nodded once, slowly, accepting.

Then, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before releasing you.

Neither of you said another word for the rest of the meal.

The air in Casterly Rock had turned thick with indecision.

An unusual thing for you—to hesitate.

Aemerys had spent his whole life watching you move through the world with quiet grace, a woman who had never once faltered despite your blindness, whose steps were always measured, whose words never wavered. You were a dragon, bound in flesh, a daughter of fire who had built a life amongst lions and made them love you.

And yet now, as he stood before you in your private solar, he could sense the weight in your shoulders, the way your fingers traced absently over the fabric of your sleeve, your lips pressed together in thought.

You were hesitant.

And Aemerys knew why.

Because of Father.

He stepped forward, his voice careful but firm. “You are troubled.”

You exhaled softly, turning your face toward him, though your sightless eyes could not see the way his gaze searched yours. “You have always been able to read me, my son.”

He hummed. “Because you have never been a woman who hesitates. And yet—” He stepped closer, lowering himself onto the cushioned seat beside you. “Here you are. Torn between fire and gold.”

A sigh slipped past your lips as your fingers lightly traced the embroidery of your gown, the same way you always did when deep in thought. “I do not wish to divide my family, Aemerys.”

He did not immediately reply, watching you closely, carefully. Then, after a pause, he said, “Is it because of us? Or is it because of Father?”

Your lips parted slightly, as if to deny it, but no words came.

And that, in itself, was answer enough.

Aemerys inhaled deeply, shifting his weight. “You love him. That is not in question.”

You tilted your head toward him but remained silent.

“But you are also a Targaryen. You belong to the skies, as I do, as my sisters do. As our blood demands.” His voice lowered, turning more careful, more deliberate. “And yet, I have never heard you hesitate before when it came to dragons. You did not hesitate to place me next to Valyros when I was a babe. And now, you do.”

Your body tensed ever so slightly.

“Because if I allow them to claim dragons, if I take them to Dragonstone—” You swallowed, your voice dropping. “It will mean I have truly chosen. It will mean I have pulled our House into a war that my husband never wanted.”

Aemerys nodded slowly, understanding.

You were not wrong.

Jason had fought against this for years.

Had kept the West out of the war, had refused to allow banners to be raised for Rhaenyra or Aegon, had burned traitors alive for daring to force his hand.

And yet, no matter how fiercely Jason had fought to keep dragons and war from your gates, the truth remained:

You were a dragon—the only dragon the West had ever known. And that had always made you part of this, whether Jason wished it or not.

Aemerys leaned forward, his voice gentler now, but firm.

“Mother.” He reached for your hand, guiding your fingers to his jaw, letting you feel the shape of him, the warmth of him, the son who had inherited both your blood and his father’s.

You sighed, your fingers brushing softly over his cheek, as if you were memorizing him.

Aemerys swallowed. “You are afraid of losing Father. I understand that.”

Your breath hitched just slightly.

But Aemerys continued.

“But Father knew what he was doing when he married you. He knew what it meant to take fire as his wife. He knew what it meant to sire dragons in the West.” His voice softened. “You cannot fight who you are. And you cannot let his love for you keep you from your birthright.”

A sharp exhale left your lips, as if you had been holding your breath.

And for a long time, you said nothing.

Then, after a moment, your fingers tightened around his hand.

And in that silence, Aemerys knew.

You had made your choice.

The great hall of Casterly Rock was eerily silent. The long tables, usually filled with voices and the clatter of cups, stood empty. The only sound was the crackling of the hearth and the faint clink of a goblet against polished wood.

Jason sat alone at the high table, a near-empty cup of Arbor Gold in his hand, his gaze fixed on the golden liquid as it sloshed slightly with each small movement of his wrist.

He had dismissed everyone hours ago, seeking solitude, yet found none.

Because the war was still at his door.

Because Rhaenyra would not let go.

Because Daemon had returned to haunt his thoughts.

Because his wife—his perfect, impossible wife—was slipping further into the war with every passing moment.

Jason exhaled heavily, lifting the goblet to his lips and draining the rest of it. The burn of the wine was dull compared to the fire in his chest. He had never been a man to question himself, never been a man to hesitate. He had ruled the West as he saw fit, had kept his lands free of dragonfire and bloodshed, had burned traitors and crushed dissent with little remorse.

And yet, now, he could do nothing.

Nothing but wait.

Nothing but watch as his wife wrestled with a choice that would drag him—drag their children—into war.

The doors to the hall groaned open.

Jason barely flicked his eyes up as Alester Lannister strode in, his cousin pausing in the doorway before shaking his head with mock exasperation.

"Seven hells, Jason. You look like you've been sentenced to death."

Jason let out a low grunt, turning his goblet in his hands before setting it down with a dull thud. "Not yet. But I imagine it's only a matter of time."

Alester huffed, moving toward the table, grabbing a nearby pitcher, and pouring himself a cup. "That bad?"

Jason rubbed a hand over his face. "Worse."

Alester took a long sip before pulling out a chair across from him, leaning back with the kind of ease that Jason currently envied.

"Let me guess, this isn’t about your wife."

Jason tensed slightly, his fingers curling against the table. "Why would you say that?"

Alester snorted. "Because for all the years I’ve known you, Jason, I’ve never seen a man more besotted than you are with her." He lifted his goblet, smirking. "You’re many things—cunning, arrogant, a right bastard when you choose to be—but an unfaithful husband is not one of them."

Jason sighed, rolling his cup between his hands, before muttering, "It’s Daemon."

Alester arched a brow. "Of course, it is."

Jason exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "He slithers into her thoughts like a phantom. Even after all these years. Even after all I've done for her, he still—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.

Alester watched him for a moment before leaning forward. "Daemon saved her life, Jason. That’s not something one forgets easily."

Jason clenched his jaw. "I know that."

"Then why do you act as though she would ever choose him over you?"

Jason froze, his fingers stilling against the wood.

Alester tilted his head. "I have seen you two together, cousin. And I have never, not once, seen a woman more devoted to her husband. She is yours, Jason. Has been yours since the moment you won her. And yet, you sit here drinking yourself into a stupor because Daemon Targaryen still breathes."

Jason gritted his teeth.

Alester scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re a bloody idiot."

Jason shot him a stern look.

Alester simply grinned. "I mean it. I have never seen a more lovesick pair in all my life, and yet here you sit, brooding like a jilted lover."

Jason huffed, grabbing the wine pitcher and refilling his goblet.

Alester watched him for a moment before leaning back again, shaking his head. "Let me ask you something, cousin. Do you trust her?"

Jason’s grip on his cup tightened.

And then, after a long moment, he exhaled. "More than anyone."

Alester nodded, taking a slow sip. "Then stop acting like a scorned boy and start acting like the Lord of Casterly Rock."

Jason let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

But the words lingered. And for the first time that night, the weight in his chest felt a little lighter.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 22

Part 1 [...] 20 21 22 23

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i just realized sunfyre didn't hatch for aegon and he had to claim him... anyway since I already wrote it like that, just roll with it ok?? ALSO PLEASE SPARE ME A COMMENT/REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS because it feels so aimless T_T anyway next part wont be... hopefully <3 | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

You find yourself awakening to the feel of hands brushing through your hair. You slowly open your eyes and curl inward, sensitive to the sunshine beaming in through the window. You are pulled in with a contented sigh.

You realize two things then, one, your head was upon Daemon's chest, and two, he was singing something under his breath. You slowly lift your head, finding his face. His eyes were closed, though he was still combing through your hair with a tune upon his lips. He was beautiful.

Your heart tightens as you reach for him.

Daemon stills when he feels your hand on his cheek and promptly opens his eyes.

Your own water as he takes your hand to press a kiss upon in.

"Sȳz ñāqes." Good morning.

Your lips tremble, "issi ao drējion?" Are you real?

His brows furrow as a tear runs down your cheek. He quickly shifts, wipes it away, and pulls you tightly into him, "kessa." You instantly seal your arms around him. He presses a kiss upon your head, "iksan kesīr, ñuha jorrāelagon." Yes. I am here, my love.

You sigh into his shoulder as he secures you over him. You mumble against his skin, "I dream of waking to you often."

"As do I," he brushes his nose against you.

He rubs your back as he feels wetness build on his collar. He holds you tighter, hoping his embrace will dam your tears. He whispers your name in an attempt to soothe you.

You pull away and examine his face.

Daemon frowns at how pinkish and puffy your eyes were already.

You gently swipe his pout and smooth the line between his brows. He seems to relax slightly as you continue to trace the rest of his features. You sniffle, "are your dreams vivid?"

He watches you— you, who seemed to be so enamored by him. He clenches his jaw and squeezes your hip, "sometimes I feel you in my arms."

You lock gazes.

"But then I find a pillow in my embrace when I rouse."

You frown slightly, "my dreams feel like memories that never were. They quickly fade when I open my eyes."

Daemon shifts, sitting up so your head was no longer hovering. He pulls you against his chest, kissing your temple, "I am an awfully persistent presence. I will not fade, even if you insist upon it."

You chuckle softly.

He smiles, squeezing your arm, as if urging that you bless him with the sound once more.

"I would never insist that you fade," you rub his cheek, "especially not for me."

He takes your wrist and kisses it.

"I do have one dream that I have not forgotten... one and only."

He hums in interest.

"I was praying in the temple, and you came to me."

Daemon's throat tightens.

"It was after the last dinner we had with the late queen Aemma, after all the ruckus from it."

He hums again, brows tightening at the memory.

"The next thing I know I was in bed and you were looking down at me," you brush your lips, "then I was kissing you, holding you, pulling you i—"

"Wait," he shakes his head, "this was the night before the tourney, was it not?"

You nod as you trace the burn scars across his chest. You frown and kiss him there.

He shifts and looks down at you, taking your face to steal back your attention, "that was not a dream."

You look up at him, "hmm?"

"I went to you in the temple," he shakes his head, silver hair falling to his face, "I knelt with you then carried you back to your chambers. You asked me to stay and I did."

Your brow furrows as you sit up, "y-you did?" You shake your head, "but I-" your eyes water, "I woke up alone, I-" your lips wobble.

Daemon feels dreadful. He almost mentions that he knows what you've prayed for all your life, but he does not want to speak it into existence if that was no longer the case. Instead, he says, "I had to rouse early for the games."

You whimper, "do you speak true?"

He clutches your cheeks and nods slowly, "I did not want to. I waited until the last moment to leave. I didn't have the heart to wake you."

You scratch your eyes, not wanting to cry, "I... that was why I could not bear to go to the games... I was so bitter that my dreams were so sweet and reality- .... reality—" you cannot withhold your sob.

Daemon pulls you against him, guilt rising up his neck as he recalls the cruelty he handed you once you do arrive. Jealousy soon replaces guilt when he thinks of Gwayne. He grits his teeth, "would you have still gone to your brother had you not believed our love making was a dream?"

You sniffle, "... what?"

He examines your once more dampened cheeks and hangs his head, "would you have been more partial to me had you known I actually stayed with you that night?"

Your heart throbs, "do you ask me if I would have cared less for my twin?"

"No," he looks away, "I ask if you would you have cared more for me."

"I do care for you," you reach for his cheek.

"More than your beloved Gwayne?" he turns back to you.

You frown, "now, yes."

He should be happy, but he bristles at the context. He chuckles dryly, "you loved him more then."

"It still hurt me to know you saw me as a pawn in your game," you simultaneously shrug and shake your head, "I do not mind it now, so long as you do not abandon me."

"You are no pawn," he wipes your cheeks, "you are my queen."

You purse your lips, "Aemma told me something similar... that pawns turn into queens."

"You are no pawn to me," he repeats firmly.

You lower your gaze, "be it as it may... a queen must provide her king an heir and..." you wipe your face, "I- I am not strong enough."

He speaks your name, gently shaking you.

You hide behind your palms.

He parts his mouth, but finds nothing to say.

For a moment, a moment far too long, you crumble into despair. Your affliction does not take control of you though as Daemon's touch keeps you grounded.

He desperate to soothe you, "I am second born."

You take deep breaths to steel your tears.

"Rhaenyra's been named successor..." his voice is soft, "I've no use for heirs."

Your pull your hands away, face falling, brows tightening at his words. You rapidly shake your head, "do not comfort me with lies."

"I don't need to," he mutters, "my words are true, I..." he shrugs, "... need no heirs."

"You would have me believe you do not want me to sire you sons or daughters?"

He places his hands on your belly, his large hand rubs warm circles, "... that is not what I said."

"Daemo-"

"There is nothing to inherit from me," he shrugs.

Your forehead curls. You shift beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, "you would not have them inherit your tenacity or your comeliness?"

His nostrils flare. He leans into you, "you find me comely, wife?"

"I find you beauteous."

A deep chuckle passes his lips. "Do not flatter me so," he rubs his nose against yours, "I will not let out of this bed."

You kiss his neck, "you will not hear a complaint from me."

Daemon groans and hurtles himself into you, crushing you beneath him. You giggle as he kisses you, mouth hungry for yours. He finds the back of your knee on instinct, and is soon strapping your legs around him. His lips, tongue, and teeth take a moment on your skin.

You are dazed when he pulls away. His heart races at the sight of your swollen lips and glazed expression.

You comb through his hair, "your hair is longer."

"Mmm," he brushes your hair off your shoulder, "do you prefer it short?"

You shrug, "I prefer you how ever."

Daemon chuckles, hand coming to your cheek. He traces your lips with his thumb, "very well," he squeezes your thigh and bucks into you, "I shall bed you before breaking fast."

Your belly swirls. You close your eyes when he kisses your neck.

He licks your pulse, "I shall fill your belly with my seed-"

Your eyes open.

"-that you might feel my warmth inside you," he massages your waist.

"Daem-"

"Then you shall have your fill of moon tea."

You tense. Daemon continues to kiss you until he can no longer ignore the rigidness of your form. His eyes lock with yours as he examines you. He sees your trepidation. He tucks hair behind your ear.

I-need-no-heirs plays in your mind. Your throat tightens, not knowing what to think. Is he sick of you, sick of your inadequacies? He wants children but... not by you? He no longer wants to try—

The sound of your name pulls you out of it. He kisses your jaw reassuringly, "None of me desires to gain children but lose my wife. I've already had a taste... it is too bitter to bear."

You grip his shoulder, tight enough that his flesh punctures beneath your nails. You want to speak, but you know not what.

"You will regain your strength and then," he stresses, "then shall children come."

Your lips wobble, "a-and if I don't—"

He silences you with a kiss, mumbling, "you will get better."

He takes no other word from you save his name moaned in pleasure.

Daemon is gentle.

He does not rush.

He draws your love making until his hair is dripping in sweat and your skin is sticky with him. You're consumed wholly by him and he is consumed wholly by you. Once you're both coming down from your high, you latch yourself around him, unwanting him to pull away from you.

He adores it, yet, the same moment, he finds he is, in fact, just a man and you were feminine divinity overwhelming him. "My love," Daemon grunts against your neck, "... let up."

"I want you inside my ribcage."

He both chuckles and whines against your jaw, "I am still inside you, lover."

"I want to eat you."

Daemon, overwhelmed still, but gravely besotted, nips at your ear, "later, I swear it."

You find yourself giggling at the sound of him.

"I admit..." Daemon whispers, "... I wish to rouse... I worry terribly for Caraxes."

You immediately loosen your grip on him.

Daemon whimpers, suddenly ungrateful at the release. He looks at you, brows furrowed in worry, "he must want to eat me as well... though unlike you."

You frown at his expression and shake your head, "he misses you. I've had my turn. You should go to him."

"I can be shared," he licks his lips, "come with me?"

You knit your brows and nod, "of course."

‎Daemon holds your hand tightly all the way to the pits. Part of you wants to tell him you're not going to vanish into thin air, but in truth, you enjoy the fervor of his hold.

‎When you arrive, the pit is bustling. The first thing you both notice is Caraxes is feasting, feasting as if his life depended on it, as if he hadn't eaten in months, which he hasn't, not properly.

Daemon squeezes your hand, and so do you, turning to him with a smile. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes were glassy. You reach for his arm and rub his bicep. He leans into you, scratching his eyes.

"You did it, he's better now," you mutter.

Daemon sniffles and sighs, looking back to Caraxes. He pulls you along with him as he walks towards one of the head keepers and has conversation with her.

As he does, you watch the blood wyrm scarf down food as if his life depended on it. He was crunching on beasts twice your size like apple. You vaguely hear something about him eating 10 cows before a loud, high pitched cry of your name rings across the space.

You turn and find Aegon, already running up to you with a kingsguard running after him. The child was too lithe and the guard's armor too heavy for the prince to be caught. You gasp and pull away from Daemon, immediately alerting him.

Daemon's throat tightens as you walk towards the boy, grunting as he jumps into your arms. Before his jealousy claws at him, Caraxes, with his new found strength, turns and hisses at the villain, the child in your embrace. Like master, like mount.

"Caraxes," Daemon raises a hand in correction. He walks over to him and strokes his face. The dragon pushes into him, showing his displeasure. He hushes him, "Nyke gīmigon, Caraxes. Istiti gūrēñagon ityragon." I know, Caraxes, we must learn to share.

Caraxes makes a sound, as if knowing how incredibly stupid the notion was.

You bend down, allowing Aegon to take your cheeks and kiss you, "muña, I'm going to ride Sunfyre." (Maternal) aunt.

Daemon watches. When his throat tightens, he thinks of the boy's brother, Aemond, and how he felt holding him last night. It calms him down enough that he can offer his mount affection.

You raise your brows apprehensively at the boy, "you are?"

"Yes! Yes! I'm a big boy!"

You hear clanking and find the kingsguard now behind prince. You stand and raise a brow at him, "the prince says he will be riding today."

Daemon turns back.

"Will you be able to take responsibility of him?" you ask the guard.

The knight huffs, looking down at the prince.

You purse your lips at that and lean back towards your nephew, "has the dragon keepers said that you can?"

Aegon hums and looks away.

You sigh, "Aegon—"

"But I want to!" Aegon stomps his foot, turning to back to you, "skoro syt gaomagon eman rȳbagon se urnerys?!" Why do I have to listen to the keepers?!

"Ae-"

"Ao ȳdra daor," a deep voice speaks from behind you. You don't.

Aegon looks up at Daemon, eyes watery in frustration.

His uncle crosses his arms, feeling no sympathy for weepy looks of the child, "yn lo gaomā daor, pār ao daor limagon lo ao jiōragon ōdrikagon." But if you do not, then you cannot cry if you get hurt.

You turn as well, straightening up, "Daemon."

"Emā naejot rȳbagon naejot aōha muña," he raises a finger, "va moriot." You have to listen to your (maternal) aunt. Always.

"Daor," Aegon grumbles. No.

Daemon's upper lip curls. He steps forward, "eminna ao toliot ñuha ybon." I will have you over my knee.

"Daemon," you press a hand on his chest.

Daemon grits his teeth.

You take his cheek and make him look at you. The tension on his shoulders quickly melt away. You offer him a smile but quickly turn back to Aegon when he begins to stomp around in defiance.

He shrieks, "I WANT TO FLY!"

"Aegon!" you try to take his arm, but he wrangles out of your grip.

Aegon squeals in protest and Caraxes begins to react, earning Daemon's attention again. The older prince turns and raises a hand, commanding the dragon to stay back.

Your grip is weak, thus why your nephew slips out of your grasp. When he spots Sunfyre being ushered out the pits, he immediately tries to run to him, but his guard snatches his arm before he can. The golden dragon reacts in like with his rider's tantrum.

In the end, because the pair's emotional meltdown, they were both escorted back to their rooms, and you were left feeling terrible to see Aegon be carried away while he cried out for you.

Daemon is satisfied that you stayed with him. He rubs Caraxes's snout, continuing to calm him. He calls out your name and reaches a hand to you.

You take his hand, sighing as your husband pulls you into his chest. He kisses your temple and places your palm upon his dragon's scales. You are glad to feel that Caraxes warm again.

He cannot help himself, as jealousy lingers in his mouth, "spoiled fucking brat."

You raise a brow at him, "Aegon a child."

"No child of mine," Daemon scoffs, "how terrible to think there now is three."

Your face twist, "you act as though you would not put up a fight if you were pried away from your dragon."

You notice his jaw clench. You place your hand on his shoulder, silently demanding that he look at you.

Daemon huffs, "... fine."

You watch him give you a look.

"Let us pray your sister does not birth another brat."

She doesn't, she births a darling babe named Daeron four years later. Of course, in Daemon's eyes, he was a fussy nuisance, and he despised that his wails were audible in your chambers some nights. He was, in fact, a brat. A demanding one at that.

The boy demanded so much attention that apparently Alicent was not enough. Daeron did not sleep if he was not being held, and your bleeding heart was ever so weak for your sister and her spawn.

This was why you presently held the youngest prince in your arms; he needed to sleep and the queen had much else to attend to.

The sun shines upon your form in the training square. Daemon watches as you rock the child in your arms, tucking dark hair behind your ear as a gust of wind blows it into your face. He grunts when his sparring partner hits his hip.

"Got you!"

Daemon eyes the boy, and deflects with his wooden sword when he tries to hit him again, "didn't I tell you to take a break?"

"I'm not tired, kepus!"

The tiny prince tries to go at him again but Daemon pushes him back with no effort, "nice try."

You look up from Daeron when you hear tiny skidding feet. You adjust the babe in your arm and cup the side of your mouth, "be nice, darling."

Daemon looks out to you, finding your raised brow, then turns back to the boy, "hear that. Your aunt told you to be nice and listen to your uncle."

None the wiser, the boy whips back at you then nods at Daemon, "okay, uncle."

He chuckles as his opponent gets back into fighting stance. He sighs, equally impressed and exasperated by the boy's spirit, "fine," he tilts his head, "let us make a deal. If you defeat me, I'll let you have my cakes at lunch time."

He gasps.

"But-" Daemon raises a finger, "-if I win, you have to give me all your cakes."

The boy freezes.

Daemon's lips curl in to a devious smirk.

He can only stare in silence after hearing the conditions.

"Well?" he raises his brow, "what say you, Aemond?"

Aemond turns to his feet. He lowers his practice sword, "... maybe ..."

"Maybe?" Daemon repeats.

Silver hair flutters across his eyes as Aemond lifts his gaze, "maybe we can take a break... ?"

Daemon laughs, reaching a hand out to the boy, "good choice."

Aemond gratefully takes his uncle's hand and the two walk towards you.

You smile at them and reach for your nephew's face when he's near, "done training, my love?"

"We're taking a brea-"

"We are," Daemon corrects as he sits. He rests his chin on your shoulder, "I'm tired."

You turn to him.

Aemond whines in protest, "you said we're taking a break."

"Yes, well," Daemon pushes your hair to the side and kisses your neck, "I'm starving."

"But kepus!" the boy whines, "it's not lunch time yet!"

He does not even look at Aemond, instead, he sneaks an arm behind you, pulling you closer to him, "if you don't let me have lunch now, I'm I'm going to eat your aunt."

Aemond gasps, immediately pulling your skirt away from him, "NO!!!!!"

You chuckle but click your tongue, "Aemond, I might drop your brother."

Daemon eyes the frantic Aemond, circling an arm around you as he bites your shoulder.

"NOOOO!" Aemond squeals, trying his best to save you from attempted cannibalism.

When you spot the boy's watery gaze, you shrug Daemon off and slowly come to a stand, "ȳdra daor limagon, ñuha jorrāelagon, aōha uncle tymagon lēda ao." Don't cry, my love, your uncle plays with you.

You secure Daeron in your arm before stroking a gentle finger across the boy's cheek.

"Daor," Daemon stands as well, eyeing Aemond, "I am a dragon. I gladly eat your aunt every nig—"

"Daemon!"

He breaks into a laugh while Aemond breaks into a sob.

You disapprovingly call out Daemon again, and he immediately picks the boy up, though he continuing to laugh. Aemond scratches his eyes as his uncle easily holds him in one arm, brushing his silver hair off his face

You glare at him, "it's not funny."

Daemon, enamored by the boy, kisses Aemond on the cheek, "little bit."

You continue to give him a withering glare.

When he finally catches it, his smile fades slightly. He sighs, "māzigon sir," he rubs Aemond's back, "mēre hae kostōba hae istia daor limagon." Come now. One as strong as you must not cry.

Aemond woefully looks at Daemon, lips trembling, "muña iksis va moriot ōdrikagon. nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao naejot ōdrikagon zirȳla." (Maternal) aunt is always hurt. I don't want you to hurt her.

Your face falls, "oh, my love."

This promptly wipes Daemon's grin away. He sighs and strokes the boy's arm, "Kessa, kessa... shijetra ñuha tēmire." Yes, yes... forgive my cruelty.

Aemond sniffles, embracing Daemon as he drops his head on his broad shoulder.

Daemon rubs the boy's back. Aemond's empathy begets guilt into to him. It only flares at the sight of your disappointed expression.

"All is well, my love," you pat Aemond's head, "we shall eat cakes now."

Aemond perks, quickly turning to you.

Daemon's eyes crinkle his simpleness.

"Shall we wait for your siblings in the solar?" you smile.

Aemond nods eagerly.

Daemon chuckles softly, bouncing him in his arm.

You send off Daeron to his wetnurse while you, your husband, and your sister's children eat in the solar. Aegon and Helaena had returned from dragonback, and the former was excitedly telling you about the experience, much to the annoyance of Daemon.

Now eight, Aegon was an energetic and audacious thing. He was more so Daemon's villain now than he was then. He and the boy were competing constantly for your attention, and he did not like it one bit.

"AND SUNFYRE MANAGED TO DO CIRCLES IN THE SKY!" Aegon motioned with a fork from where he sat at the head of the table.

You immediately raise a hand but it is Daemon that sharply snaps, "do not play with your fork."

The boy obeys, but does not acknowledge his uncle at all, eyes still fixed upon you, "Helaena and Dreamfyre could barely keep up with us."

You turn to your niece, who sat beside you, quietly eating her food. You brush her hair back, "if that is so, you must slow down for her."

"NOOOO!" Aegon groans, leaning back into her chair, "that's no funnnnn!"

Daemon, who was on your other side, turns to the second born, "is your brother horrid with you, girl?"

"AM NOT!" Aegon protests.

Helaena turns to her uncle, glimmering eyes telling that she left her head in the clouds after riding through them, "Aegon is only Aegon."

She was capable of speaking only like this, like a dreamer. It once fascinated Daemon to see the gift manifest in her, but he quickly realized he had no patience for it, not in listening, much less deciphering. You, however, had eternal patience and lent your ear to every nonsensical word she spoke, even the ones of bugs. Unlike the jealousy her older brother inspired from coveting his wife, he could not find fault in Helaena; she was a gentle thing.

Your brows slightly furrow at Helaena's words, knowing that Aegon has grown to be rather stubborn and expedient.

Daemon sees it as a clear opportunity to villainize him, "so you were being horrid."

"WAS NOT!" Aegon whines, pulling at his hair in frustration.

"Hush," you raise a hand, glaring at Daemon before offering Aegon a sympathetic look, "you weren't. But you, yourself, said you didn't wait for Helaena-"

"BECAUSE SHE'S FUCKING SLOW!"

"Aegon!" you quip, "watch your tongue!"

Daemon chuckles to himself, reveling in how the boy exemplified his horridness. Just as Daemon takes a bite of his food, Aemond, who sat beside him, tugs at his sleeve, pointing to the cake in the middle of the table.

Aemond's plate was not even half finished, and he and Daemon both knew it would greatly displease you if the boy had dessert already. Yet, your husband steals a glance at you amidst your attempt to calm your bratty nephew and casually reaches for a cakes, quickly handing it to Aemond.

The young prince gratefully curls into his chair and smiles at his uncle, "thank you, kepus."

Daemon hums and shifts, turning his body that you might not catch the child eating dessert already.

He would never admit it, but everyone knew, Aemond was his favorite. Holding him after his return from Essos, at a time he was so vulnerable, forged an profound partialness for the boy. He tried to convince himself he'd be just as wretched as his older brother, but he simply was not. Aemond was quiet, observant, obedient, and most importantly, he was not nearly as interested in you as his siblings. He was interested in Daemon, and Daemon adored it; he adored him.

Once Aegon was calm, he continued finishing his meal. Unlike from your vantage point, Aegon could clearly see Aemond snacking on cakes, and so he purses his lips and takes one for himself.

You immediately react, "finish your food first."

"BUT AEMOND IS EATING CAKE!" Aegon points.

Daemon's face darkens. Rat.

You inspect Aemond, and Daemon no longer shields him. The boy wanted cake, let him face the consequences.

"Aemond!"

Aemond turns to you, violet eyes innocent, mouth covered in frosting.

"You haven't finish your vegetables!" you reach for the cake in his hand.

Aemond whines, crushing most in an attempt to continue eating it.

You click your tongue at the mess and elbow Daemon while you're at it. You brush your nephew off while muttering sharply, "you know better than to feed the boy sweets."

Daemon raises his hands, "I did-"

You silence him with a glare.

He tenses, finding it pointless to feign innocence.

After lunch, you and Daemon bring the kids back to their rooms, the latter is eager to have you all to yourself now. As you were about to leave, Alicent arrives. She constantly look troubled as of late, now that Viserys health went on a visible decline.

"Sister," she sighs, coming to you in haste.

Daemon's expression sours when he hears the queen ask if you could spare her a moment. He grits his teeth when you, in all your kindness, readily agree, and immediately get pulled out the room.

He sighs. He watches Aegon and Aemond play with blocks and wooden dragons for a moment and quickly decides to terrorize them while waiting for your chat to end.

When you walk back in, Daemon had roped in Helaena as a fellow antagonist. Though his intentions were truly meanspirited, the children saw only amusement in their uncle as he fashioned himself as the Black Dread, kicking down the castles they were building while Helaena clung on his back, pretending to be The Conqueror.

The sight pinches your heart tightly.

Aegon squeals, trying to push his uncle away as Aemond scrams to rebuild a tower. The older boy yells, "HURRY!"

"I'M TRYING!" Aemond trembles in his haste.

Daemon sees you, sighing through a faint grin, "thank the gods."

The sound of Helaena's laughter as she's put down to your feet should have made you want to laugh with her, but it made you want to cry instead.

"No wait," Aegon cries out, "not yet! We're not finished!"

Daemon shakes his head, not budging as the boy pulls at his arm. He walks over to you, slipping out of Aegon's grasp, "I'm exhausted, boy."

Aegon whines, "but uncle!"

Soon, Aemond is begging Daemon to stay as well. Your heart continues to ache for the kids, but clearly your husband is unmoved. He eyes the boys expressionless, but then notices that even Helaena is hovering. His resolve slightly chips, "enough. I should like a nap, as should you lot."

The boys whine.

You frown.

It was a mistake to look at you then. He is powerless beneath your gaze. He curses softly in High Valyrian then waves a hand, "one last game."

The children cheer.

You watch them play. Daemon is far gentler now which makes the game far more fun. Your heart tightens over how much joy you feel that you have to step out of the room to calm yourself down.

The game is truly over then.

Daemon is quick to your side, egregiously worried at how you were clutching your chest.

You tell him you're alright, but you were so out of breath he does not understand it. He frantically mutters High Valyrian in an attempt to calm you as he rubs your back and keeps you upright.

Again, you say, "I'm alright," and he finally understands you, though he obviously cannot believe it is true.

"Shall we go for a swim?" Daemon mutters softly, so not give himself away to his panic.

You shake your head as you the tightness in your lungs slowly wanes. You lean into his chest, lulling yourself at the sound of his heart beat.

He never knows if he should wrap his arms around you during these times. He waits until you hold him for him to return the affection.

You were soft beneath his touch, no more the shell of what you were when he had first left you for the Stepstones. You were stronger now, more than even how you were when he first met you, brighter too; you had been so sad then. He revels in knowing it was because of him.

"I want to lay down," you mutter against his doublet.

Daemon nods. The lines in his forehead do not fade, for you look exhausted.

Yes, you were stronger, but it seemed even your affliction was. It didn't happen as much, and he was glad of it, but when it did, it was too much.

He rubs your arm as you slowly head back to your chambers. In an attempt to distract you, Daemon asks, "what did your sister say?"

When you look at him, it seems this was not the best choice of conversation.

He immediately shakes his head, "did I already tell you about how Caraxe-"

"It's Daeron."

He purses his lips, already knowing whatever it is will not be good.

"She cannot care for him and manage the king's health and all her duties at once. He'll be sent 45to ward in Oldtown."

Daemon's brows furrow.

"She asked me if I wanted to go with him—"

"What?" he stops you both in your tracks.

"— or if Gwayne should come here to-"

"Get the fucking cunt to crawl here. Why should you have to fucking travel to that hellhole?"

"..."

"..."

"... I-" Daemon sighs and shakes his head in frustration. He squeezes your hand, "I jus-"

"I was not going to go."

Daemon gulps.

"I am not foolish enough to believe my strength would last a day if we are apart."

Your words make him relax, and yet your soft smile makes his lips curl into a guilty frown.

"My sister too is well aware of this," you squeeze his hand back, "she asked with the intention that you'd come with me."

Daemon tenses. He does not like the sound of it.

Clearly to you and your gentle heart, you believed your sister urges such things to your betterment, and perhaps it was so, but he was not gentle. His gut screamed that the Hand had something to do with this, that it was he that planted this idea in the Queen's head. He does not speak it for your sake.

You lick your lips and take a breath, "the last time I was able to take my pregnancy to term was when I went back to Oldtown."

He tenses and knits his brows. He reaches for your cheek and shakes his head, "we've only started trying."

You look off aimlessly before turning back to him, "we started trying when Aemond was two. He is four now, and Daeron is due his first nameday."

"Do not measure yourself against your sister," Daemon's expression hardens, "she's not known a fraction of your suffering."

You do not respond. When you look away again, you do not look back.

He sighs in frustration. He does not mean to break your spirit. He slowly calls out your name.

"You're right," you shake your head, "I just-"

"Want to go to home," he whispers, scared to say it too loud.

Your gaze lands on him. Your eyes are slightly beady, which is why your chuckle confuses him. "Silly boy," you reach for his cheek, "you are my home."

His heart rattles in his chest. He takes your wrist and kisses it.

You smile, "I do however... want to go to Oldtown."

Wistfulness captures your expression, causing him to frown. He squeezes your hand gently.

"The air is different there," you shrug, "kinder, I think."

"Kinder?" he cannot control his laugh, "the land wherein your father was molded is kind?"

You do not respond.

He regrets it, as your eyes are downcast yet again. He gulps and decides to simple tell you, "it might be he that put such notions in Alicent's head."

"My father?"

"Who else?" Daemon raises a brow, "he wants me far from my brother, that he may poison him further." He adds, as if you didn't already know, "he requires a cane to walk now."

You nod, "I know."

"I know you know, I just-"

"It's fine," you raise a hand, "like I said, I was not going to go."

Daemon feels ill to see you like this, but he does not say a word as you go back to your chambers.

[kurokawaia]

❛ OMNIPOTENCE ❜

Uzumaki Kawaki X Fem!Reader

WC; 1k + | !MDNI! | TW/CW :: MANNGA SPOILERS!! not many spoilers here otherwise, Eida don't exist it's the reader instead, same with Daemon :D

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 : (filled request) Hello ! So kinda following the Kawaki childhood friend request : Could you please write hcs about his s/o being the one to cast Omnipotence please ? Like he sees her feeling bad about unintentionally hurting people she loves during 3 years and they work together to beat Code/Ten-Tails ? Thank you 🙏 - ANON

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𝐻𝐸𝒜𝒟𝒞𝒜𝒩𝒪𝒩𝒮

ˑ • You are not fully aware of the scope of Omnipotence, it was obvious that you were modified by Amado, and unlike the other eight cyborgs that got put away, they thought that you would be safer, less dangerous if you got embraced instead of locked away.

ˑ • But, in the end you always accidently use Omnipotence by accident, on the smallest things and the outcomes deeply affect you. You don't mean to cast it but you do sometimes, it's like you can't control any of your thoughts. Your intentions are always good for yourself at least! However, due to this it affects you a lot emotionally.

ˑ • For three long years, the guilt gnaws at you, especially when you see the damage you’ve caused to those closest to you. Even Kawaki, the one person who always stood by your side, got caught in the crossfire of your power. You pull away, afraid that you’ll hurt him more, but no matter how distant you try to be, he refuses to leave you alone in your sadness

ˑ • Kawaki would never blame you. No matter how many times you apologize, trying to explain how everything feels out of control, Kawaki just looks at you with those steady eyes and tells you, "It’s not your fault."

ˑ • He knows what it's like to feel like a weapon, to feel like your own strength could hurt the ones you love. So, Kawaki understands what's happening do he'll stay by your side.

ˑ • Jigen had the two of you train together, mostly because you were strong enough to train Kawaki, given that you could beat him if you didn't have any of your limiters on. In secret, you two train to figure out how your ability works.

ˑ • He pushes you, knowing you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. When you falter, doubting your ability to control your power, he reminds you that strength comes from your heart, not just your abilities.

You sat inside the quiet villa where the you sensed something in the air which made tingles shoot down your spine. The sun streamed in from the open window, but your mind was elsewhere, consumed with recent events and the thoughts of Kawaki.

But, something was wrong-you could feel it.

Your senses came into sharp focus and your heart raced as a sudden vision flooded your mind. Kawaki, running, chased down by the forces of Konoha, your eyes widened, what had he done now? The image flickered, and you were whisked away to the moment of before. Kawaki stood over Lord Seventh and Hinata, sealing them away with Isshiki's Jutsu.

He did it.

Kawaki had sealed Naruto and Hinata away to protect them, but at what cost. The village would most certainly turn against him now. Your breath caught and, without much thought, you leaped into the air, flying towards him with your heart pounding against your chest. You needed to reach him before things went to shit. Before they caught him.

In moments, you found him, sprinting through the trees, his breathing ragged as the Konoha shinobi closed in on him. You touched down in front of him, and he skidded to a stop, his eyes widening in surprise.

"You—" he began, stumbling back, his hand instinctively reaching out for yours. He pulled you close without hesitation, desperation flickering in his eyes. "We have to run. They're coming for me."

But you didn't budge. You leaned forward and carefully cupped his face between your hands, pressing him to lock gazes with you. His breath caught, and for one moment, he was lost to the sensation of your touch, confusion washing over his face. Then, before he could continue, you were rising into the air, his body floating along with your own as you floated above the treetops.

You whispered, "Kawaki, it's going to be okay," unsure if you were trying more to convince him or yourself. His taut grip on your hand tightened, his eyes sweeping yours for answers. BUt as your lips gently grazed his own, tingles shot down your body and his own, the moment felt right to kiss him, but you couldn't fully bring yourself to.

Then you had that familiar feeling of power within you, rising, pleading to be set free. The sky above you began to flicker and turned into a glittering galaxy, with stars whirling around like whirlpools in the dark void. You closed your eyes and tried to channel that raw, untapped energy, the weight of it was almost intolerable.

Kawaki's eyes widened in realization as the air hummed with power, but he didn't utter a word before you flipped Omnipotence on.

The world shifted. The very stars in the sky bent, twisting into streaks of light as reality itself unraveled and reformed. The memories of everyone on the planet-their perceptions, their understanding of the world-flickered and changed.

Everything flipped in an instant.

Kawaki was no longer the hunted, the threat, now it was Boruto who would carry the mantle of being the one who killed Lord Seventh adn Hinata, of being the one to destroy it all. Everyone had come to think of Boruto as the traitor and of Kawaki as the hero, the savior of the world.

You opened your eyes, breathless, your hands still framing Kawaki's face. He stared back at you, shocked by what had just transpired.

"What did you-?"

"I reversed it," you whispered low, the strain of your power tingeing your tone. "I switched everything. You're no longer the one they're after.

Kawaki's eyes gentled as he sees how venerable you look right now, everything you'd ever done for him hanging in the air between you, god, he loves you so much. His hand rose to cover yours, his fingers quivering with the weight of holding your hand against his face.

"Why?" he breathed.

You smiled weakly, still bobbing around each other in the glittering galaxy above. "Because I couldn't let you bear this burden alone anymore."

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

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