#Daenerys Targaryen x Female Reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wyvernest · 4 days

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cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

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>>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

chapter cw: smut, fluff, ANGST, explicit description of a wound

Wind's howling. The sea simmers with wrath and death.

The deck creaks and groans under you like an old beast waking from a decade-long sleep, bones cracking and jaws grinding with vengeance.

There is no crew, no captain. The ship is a wraith, and you, a speck of dust in the darkness.

You step towards the taffrail, looking down into the abyss. Terror washes over you, a raw instinct of deathly peril. Your heart thumps in your ears, and you feel the blood race through you.

Deep below, a wreckage drifts on the tides, carried by charred tongues of fallen beasts, licking its last life away. Atop, a small, frail creature, claws at the damp wood, drained and wounded.

Your throat tightens, a deeply rooted, dreamlike feeling of being bound to the creature rushes through you like wildfire. It tenses and crawls, its blood seeping into the black waters like a frozen breath leaving warm lungs for the last time.

The wind wails louder as you bend forward, seeking help, life, hope, with terror biting at your every sense. You slip over the ledge, and the void swallows you in your fall.

You awaken in your bed, the night barely pierced by the first lances of sunlight through the clouds. The fear slowly retreats, your breathing slowing down.

Cregan is still asleep next to you, lying on his stomach and facing away from you, his hair splayed messily over his shut eyes. You get up, quietly leaving his side to soothe yourself with cold water.

The castle is silent and imperturbable, a welcomed calmness following your nightly terrors. You walk like a ghost through the halls, lulled by the newfound safety, yet your mind is still imprisoned in thought.

Why would I even dream of such things? I cannot recall the last time I saw a ship, I cannot recall the last time I saw a storm at sea.

It is long past four moons since you first arrived in Winterfell, four moons since you last saw Dragonstone, your family, your brothers and sisters. The tenth day of the twelfth moon of 129 A.C. And for four moons, you haven't missed them nearly as much as now.

Perhaps it is the war, the news of Rhaenys, the murder, the unavoidable dread of death that knows no borders. Whatever it is, the dream shook you out of any serenity Cregan has struggled to settle in your heart.

“This is war. And the finality of death harrows even the toughest of men.”

But it was not the harrowing of your heart that woke you now. You would accept the night terrors every time you slept if it meant you could see your family alive and well again.

When you return to your chamber, Cregan shuffles to look at you, still lying down. He smiles, lazy and content, until he notices the strain between your brows, something you did not mean to bring back to him.

“My love?” He calles for you, but you push him back down before he could rise. You fall beside him, letting his warm hand cup your freshly washed cheek. “Did something happen?” His voice is still groggy with sleep, and the closure subdues your bleak worries.

“Just a dream.” You whisper, closing your eyes. His hand brushes over your hair lovingly.

“Tell me.” His hand moves to caress your back, pulling you closer to him.

“There is no need. All is good now.” But is it?

And yet you cast your worries aside when he drags you nearly under him, his free hand running over your waist and hip, dipping into the valley between your thighs. You cast your worries aside when you feel the coarse hair of his abdomen brush up against your belly.

Your mind goes numb when his massive body encompasses yours, as he breathes hotly into your neck, slipping himself inside you lazily; when he whispers to you of how he'll protect you, ah, love, you're mine own now, no harm will come to you.

But when his warmth leaves you, deep in the nights to come, the dreams find you again.

The second time they came with the same black waters, the drifting wreckage, but now shadows danced in the skies. Sinister serpents, prowling like enormous crows above a fresh cadaver. They pushed the clouds beneath them with behemothic wings, and you felt as though the whole night sky was coming down on you, in all its weight and darkness.

You dared look up once, up into the mirroring abyss. And then, you saw it. Through the gloom and mist, a ghost of a citadel atop a sunless hill. Perhaps there are many castles you may confound in such obscurity, but this was not one to be mistaken for something else.

Estrangement, guilt, it was, that claimed you in all these nights. A terrible shame, inexplicable for your position. You were sent North, you did not abandon your cause. But the creature in the sea bled every night, clung to the wreckage every night, and died every night.

It soon became an obsession. And weeks past, well near the end of the twelfth moon, your uneasiness bolts as Cregan receives another raven from Dragonstone.

The flying shadows. - is your first thought upon reading. The serpents swarming the skies. Though the letter should soothe you, with the notion of the Blacks’ forces finally recuperating, all you see is the black sky in a cobweb of smoke and thunderclouds. You see them much clearer; your family’s dragons stalking above the seas like starving vultures.

A broad hand on your lower back makes you turn back to Cregan.

“Word of this reached me shortly before the raven arrived.” He admitted, referring to new riders. “Your brother waited until the last dragon was mounted to write to us, but the people have been spreading the news like the plague ever since he first called for willing men.”

An overwhelming feeling of helplessness muffles out his voice. It's all amounting to the dream.

“They have fighting dragons.”

“You have fighting dragons, beloved. I dared not believe it without his testimony.”

You force yourself to smile at him, laying your head on his collarbone, the message still in hand.

“This is wonderful news.”

He kisses your forehead, taking the small scroll away. You briefly rub your fingers in its loss, as if the news had burnt your very skin.

“I am glad to know that I was able to please you, as well.” He remarks smugly, his tone laced with the honest surprise of seeing your brother quite literally tell on you.

Sudden nervousness momentarily rips you from the illusions of your distress. You scrunch up your face, as if you hadn’t already given him your maidenhead.

“Few brides have the comfort of wedding handsome men. Fewer, able men, and even fewer kind men. But …” You trail off, taunting his patience. He gazes at you, eyes squinted, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly raised. Even as a wolf, he often times held the cunning gaze of a fox, which amused you to no end, for you know it was only reserved for you. How he had the talent of drawing you out of dark thoughts with nothing but a jest or a tease.

“Well, don’t stop now.” His voice went down an octave, now sly and intimate.

“But to gain all three …” You kiss his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth.

His arms wrap around you in response. “To find yourself next to a man so strong-” another kiss, on his jaw. “- so resourceful -” another, on his lips, but so hasty that he doesn’t catch it.

“ - and yet so considerate and gentle. You hard warriors have no idea how important that is.” You stop, softly pushing him away to speak, your tone masquerading a scold. “You think it’s enough to butcher away any foes and any peril. But after that…” a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He looks at you like you’re preaching the word of gods. “ - to be able to lie in his arms, to know that these hands, that bathe in blood to protect her, will only ever touch her to caress, to fondle, to hold so dearly.” Your voice spills into seriousness, and he heeds your confession.

“That is when she truly feels safe.” You smile at him, accentuating your discourse by playfully shaking him twice by his shoulders. “And to have that, is more than any woman bargains with the gods for.”

He kisses your face, the slyness faded from his eyes.

“...And I can’t say you don’t look the part.”

He giggles, and your heart beats a little faster.

“I did not yet have the chance to truly protect you, love.” He corrects, and your heart sinks at his humble words, or more so at the recollection of your worries. “I haven’t yet spilt blood for you. Trust that I will , should the occasion arise.” That was no longer a jest, you realise. “And afterwards …” He leans into you, and seeing you do nothing to flee, he kisses your neck. “I’ll hold you, however you want, wife.”

Tonight you can barely shut your eyes without your heart thumping in your chest. After tossing and turning beside your husband, tiredness finally takes you and the visions creep over.

The nightsky rains with arrows. They snap and ring against the wooden shipwrecks like so many sharp teeth of jaws closing in on utter desolation.

Faceless, weightless, you step on the waters while the black wings dance and stalk restlessly, as the shafts hit the debris in a cacophony of wails, winds, tides crashing and roars of wrath.

And in this moment, it feels as though this cut is too deep even for time to mend. This place would never recover from such decay. Chaos has conquered the bay, irreversibly.

Death itself growls in the heavens above, blocking out the light of the moon. The sea heeds the call and drowns whatever escaped its claws, and the Red Keep stands still and cold and silent on the shores, an ill omen of rot and ruin.

The man on the rubble is dead. A snapped arrow coated in blood bore into his neck, the impact twisting his upper spine so unnaturally that he lies lifelessly atop the wreckage like a mayhem of boneless limbs discarded.

Only a hand quivers away in agony, the last semblance of a decapitated animal’s tremble.

You stomach turns.

Jacaerys!

You awaken in a sweat, with a shriek that rips Cregan from his slumber as well.

“ ‘S alright, come here, you're safe.” He cradles your still shivering hands to his chest, running a hand over your hair and back.

“ ‘m sorry.” You speak, muffled, remorseful and ashamed.

“It's no fault of yours.”

“...Cregan?”

You whisper, your limbs still tangled with each other. He hums, as attentive as he always is. The sun is just starting to show, and the dimness of the morning makes him look astonishingly beautiful.

“Would you do anything to shield me from pain?”

“ ‘course I would. What do you need of me?”

You hesitate. You know he would forbid you from fleeing, though you can not bring yourself to hide from your husband any longer. Whatever needs to be done, you ought to discuss it together.

“I need to fly South.”

There is a moment of complete silence. His face, for all you’ve grown to know, is now as impenetrable as The Wall. You cannot tell if you, indeed, sense anger or if it is only your expectations, for asking such a thing. You both get up as tension becomes unbearable.

“My men are already gathering at the White Harbour.” He speaks with patience and softness, understanding of your predicament, though stern and clearly unwavering. “In Barrowton.” He continues, “Roderick Dustin should be ready to march by week’s end. I-”

“ ‘Should’, and ‘by week’s end’…” You repeat to yourself in sorrow, too late releasing you quite rudely interrupted him. But the urgency of the issue can no longer afford gentleness nor much civility. “My family needs me, now. I dreamt of it, Cregan. You must believe me! And even if it’s wanton, even if the peril is still at bay, then I shall return safely. You mustn’t worry.”

“Wife.” His tone is demanding. It silences you, but deep in your heart you loathe him for it. You loathe him because of your dreams, because of the war, because greybeards can only ride so fast and so far, and will definitely not head for The Blackwater Bay.

“I have faith in your courage.” He begins, still holding you, yet the frost in his gaze is anew. “I do not doubt your loyalty. But as husband, I cannot allow you to risk such a thing. As warden, I cannot allow you to forsake the Queen’s command.”

“That’s your desire to protect me!” You speak hastily until your voice breaks, yet you go on. “What of me? How am I to live on knowing I could have saved someone so dear?! How am I to live with the remainder that I saw what would happen and did nothing?!”

“Dreams can be bad omens. But what if it was nothing more than a dream?” His voice escalates into the clear image of your demise in his mind. “What if you die for nothing? How would I live with that? Knowing I could have prevented it?”

“Cregan.” You brush an arm over his shoulder.

“I will say no more. You are not leaving Winterfell.” It is a command. And yet you hear him mumble, “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart sinks into your chest, and your throat tightens with unspoken pleas and cries.

Fortunately for you, Cregan is a heavy sleeper. He was still off soundly when you roused, during the hour of the wolf.

He was still undisturbed when you gently kissed his cheek, as an apology and farewell. He was unmoved when you slipped out of bed, changed into riding skirts and threw chainmail over your chemise and underneath the leather cloak.

“Lady Stark.” A reverential voice echoes in the halls when you depart from your shared bedchamber. For a heartbeat, your blood freezes at the thought that Cregan might, at last, awaken because of it.

“I have orders from Lord Stark to ensure your safety. Allow me to accompany you.”

“Oh, there's no need. I only mean to clear my mind on the battlements.”

Before he could reply, you turn your back to him and stroll off to the winding stairs. Your footsteps feel heavy, heavier than your masked armour, heavier than the dagger at your belt.

The cold, high winds hit your face as you reach the top of the castle. The merlons thin out the howling of winter gusts, but the cold dread is no less horrifying.

“Māzīs! Aderī!” (Come! Quick!)

The Godswood shivers with the call, but it does not matter. No one in the yard could be fast enough to catch you now.

Soon enough, a high pitched shriek answers as a slithering, white ghost of a cloud emerges from behind the high walls of Winterfell.

The silence of the night wails, broken, as Suvion brings his wings down, and with one, two swings, he's landing atop the tower, his hawk claws scraping the stone.

He brings his head to you, slightly frenzied by your tone and distress.

His icy scales shine with the dampness of the snow he had been dousing in, and his sheer beauty in the moonlight soothes you. He has grown. His wings are stronger. The cold had hardened him, as it did me.

“Sister!”

You halt, right before mounting.

“Sara.”

“Off on a nightly prowl?” she jests, but the moment she comes closer, eyeing your attire, her playful smile fades.

“Tell Cregan” you hesitate, pondering, “-to tell the lords he sent me on a secret scouting mission.”

She frowns, disheartened, lost, confused. After a few beats of unbearable ache, she speaks, as icy as Cregan had.

“Did you loathe it all from the beginning?”

“Sara, I cannot-”

“Is this what you'd always hoped to do?”

It's not an accusation. It's forlornness. Betrayal, and the grief of it.

“If I don't go, I will carry this burden with me for the rest of my life.”

She remains silent, but even Suvion twitches at the sound of her soft weep. You mount, shivering, with the cold, with regret, with doubt and fear, and guilt.

“If I do not return by the new moon's end, I loved him. Tell him I loved him. Tell him it's not his fault.”

With nothing but the sound of his wings, Suvion takes off from the tower.

a/n: that was quite the chapter

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icefrye19 · 2 months

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Aarizayra Targaryen dreamt of many things. As a little girl, she once dreamt of living atop a high temple, where the sun would cast its glaze, and waking up every morning to a peach tree outside her chambers. She longed for a place she could call home. After many years of wandering through the free cities and evading assassination attempts, she desired to settle down and rest.

After the death of her Uncle Viserys, Aarizayra thought she and Daenerys would finally find peace. However, more chaos ensued, following the death of her good brother-in-law, Khal Drogo, and her nephew Rhaego at the hands of a witch. More trouble arose during their stay in Qarth, where they were betrayed by their very own handmaiden, Doreah. She aided the King of Qarth in stealing their dragons and was responsible for the death of her best friend, Irri, a girl to whom she was close.

Aarizayra and Daenerys later would punish Doreah for her betrayal and crimes by locking her in King Xaro’s vault along with the King himself. Yes, it was brutal, but the young Sun Dragon considered it justice for Irri. Doreah had brutally cut Irri's throat, leaving her to die on the floor. It was poetic justice.

After leaving Qarth, the two traveled to Astapor where they successfully gained the Unsullied as an army and freed the trapped people there. They then traveled north to Yunkai and found victory there as well, conquering the slave city and gaining the allegiance of the Second Sons, former allies of Yunkai.

Weeks later, they traveled to Meereen, the greatest slave city in the world, and brought down its walls, imprisoning the slave masters in caves to await trial. Daenerys initially wanted to crucify them as they had done to the 168 children they put up on crosses, but Aarizayra advised against it. They did not know if all the slave masters were responsible, and Daenerys agreed with her niece's words, understanding that having some diplomacy was important in ruling a city. While Daenerys had claimed Meereen was theirs, it was really Daenerys's. Aarizarya never desired to sit on a throne or wear a crown on her head, let alone rule. She much preferred leaving the political stuff to her Aunt, but every now and then she would step in when she felt Daenerys was making a horrible decision when it came to the people.

Only a few weeks into Daenerys’s reign, they learned of the most stunning betrayal from Ser Barristan: their most loyal companion, Ser Jorah Mormont, had been spying on them for years for the Usurper, selling information back to Westeros about their movements, Daenerys’s marriage, and her child. Jorah all but confirmed their suspicions and went on his knees, weeping before his Khaleesi, begging for a second chance, claiming he loved her. Heartbroken and angry, Daenerys rebuked his words and banished him from Meereen, threatening that if he ever came back, she would cut off his head and throw it into the Jade Sea.

A year later, Daenerys’s reign begins to slip as uprisings spark throughout Meereen, and the newly freed people start slipping back into their chains by choice, worried about the slave masters' wrath upon them. In order to pursue peace, Daenerys betroths Hizdahr zo Loraq, a wealthy former slave master and a member of one of Meereen's prominent bloodlines, to her niece Aarizayra. Upon learning of her aunt's plans to marry her off as a breeding mare, Aarizayra becomes angered. The two argue for days over it, resulting in Daenerys asserting her queenly authority over her niece. Just like that, Aarizayra finds herself being back to a tool used by Viserys, Magister lllyrio and others to get ahead.

Over the next couple of weeks, Aarizarya all but ignores Daenerys. Not being able to be around her aunt without lashing out, and spends most of her time by the river with her children. Every day, Aarizarya would head into town, visiting the people and getting to know each of her subjects. Playing with the children, braiding their hair and passing out coins to them.

She would return to the Pyramid at nightfall, dine in her chambers with Missandei, and sleep. However, this night would unfold differently than planned. Instead of envisioning a battlefield of fire, she saw something much more horrific.

Aarizarya opened her eyes and found herself standing in front of the Iron Throne. The room was covered in ice and snow. She stepped forward, making her descent up the stairs, and saw that the Iron Throne itself was also covered in ice and snow.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a familiar voice said from behind her.

She turned around and saw Daenerys standing there, a wide smile on her face. The Dragon Queen made her way toward her niece, descending the stairs, and gazed at the throne in awe. She reached out with her hand, touching the armbar of the throne.

“ It will be ours one day.” Daenerys said.

The young Sun Dragon almost wanted to scoff at her aunt’s words knowing she meant to say hers. She had no desire to sit on that ugly chair that thousands die over, a chair that killed her mother and siblings.

"The Throne it’s covered in ice?" Aarizarya remarked.

Daenerys nodded. "Yes, it seems this vision is trying to tell us that maybe we will conquer the Iron Throne next winter."

"But it doesn't snow in King's Landing," the young Sun Dragon replied. "And what about the ice marks on the walls?" She gazed up at the ancient inscriptions.

The two dragons lifted their gaze and saw unusual writing etched into the walls. Aarizarya squinted, trying to get a closer look, but all she could make out were the words: "Destroyer of All Mankind, All Bow."

"My throne," a dark, chilling voice said from behind them. They turned around and saw a figure of a man made of ice standing before them, his icy blue eyes descending towards them.

"Your throne?" Daenerys hissed, glaring at the man. "Who do you think you are—"

Suddenly, a cold hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing tightly. "I am the Night King, destroyer of all mankind. Fire shall bow to ice," the man said, smirking at the Dragon Queen.

"Dany!" Aarizarya cried out, trying to pull the man off her, tugging at his hand. Her hand began to glow amber, and her eyes glowed.

The Night King let out a painful growl, releasing the Dragon Queen from his grip as he felt his ice-cold, dead skin begin to melt under the sun dragon's fingertips, which started to consume him.

The Night King stumbled down the steps, screeching in pain and holding his hand, as he saw a black hole form in the middle of it.

Aarizarya pulled Daenerys into her arms, grabbing her face gently, her eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked, her gaze scanning her aunt’s neck to see any sign of injury, but was relieved to see there wasn’t.

With a nod, Daenerys touched her neck where the Night King’s hands were a moment ago. “ Yes, I’m fine.”

The Night King gazed back at the two dragons, his eyes blazing at the young Sun Dragon intensely. “ You will not defeat me, child.” Ice shall never bow to the Sun.

“ What?” The young Sun Dragon asked, gazing at the man confused. What are you talking about?

This couldn't be happening. After thousands of years of remaining undefeated and immortal, he would not face defeat at the hands of a girl. The Sun will reign over all; ice will submit to the Sun. You will be no more than spoiled water. Your time is coming to an end, Night King." The words of the Children of the Forest echoed in his mind. For years, they had prophesied his end and the defeat of the White Walkers. He had scoffed at it, believing there was no power in the world to stop him.

But now, he feared the prophecy had come to light. The girl had melted his skin, burnt him. Dragonfire could not harm him; his skin was layered enough in coldness to withstand it. No dragons had dared cross over the Wall because of him and his White Walkers. The Good Queen Alysanne had once tried to cross the Wall on her dragon, Silverwing, but Silverwing denied her mistress's orders, turning back three times. Dragons were no threat to him, and now, a hundred years later, he had heard that dragons had returned to the world by the Dragon Queen and the Sun Dragon. Yet again, he was not afraid.

However, this time he felt afraid. The Sun Dragon’s power was fierce and mighty, unlike anything he had encountered before. The girl had touched him and burnt his skin, damaging his life force. Winter was coming soon, and he knew the final battle was approaching. He would soon cross over the Wall with his White Walkers, take over the world, turn the humans into White Walkers, and rule Westeros as its king. For the first time in millennia, doubt crept into his mind. Would he face defeat at the hand of the Sun Dragon, has the Prophecy came true?

He gazed up at the child, staring at her intensely, and cleared his throat before speaking. "You will see soon enough," he spat out.

He walked towards the two of them, gazing at them darkly. Aarizarya and Daenerys held each other protectively in their arms. "Your ancestors and their dragons did not have the courage to cross the Wall and face me and my White Walkers, and neither will the two of you," he added. "I shall see you very soon, Aarizarya Sunfyre and Daenerys Stormborn." With that, the Night King disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke.

“ Are you okay?” Daenerys asked, turning to her niece.

“ Yes, just a little shaken up.” She mumbled.

“We need to return to Westeros soon and lay our claim on the Iron Throne before this Night King does,” Daenerys spoke up.

“What? Did you not hear what he just said? He's the destroyer of all mankind!” Aarizarya exclaimed. “He nearly choked you, and you wish to return to Westeros and you still wish to claim that hideous chair!

“I was born to sit on the Iron Throne, and I will, no matter the cost or danger that lurks ahead,” Daenerys hissed. “Our ancestors built the Iron Throne, our family ruled it for hundreds of years until my father was betrayed by the Kingslayer. The Lannisters took our kingdom from us and slaughtered our family.

“After everything we have achieved over the years and all the struggles we went through, we will not give up the Iron Throne all because of this false Night King and his blabbering nonsense,” she added. “We are Fire and Blood; we can’t submit ourselves to fear. We must fight for what is ours.

“They will never accept us, Dany,” Aarizarya said. “The people of Westeros have long forgotten about House Targaryen. They will not welcome us back nor support us.”

“Then, we make them accept us,” Daenerys replied. “They can live in our new world or die in their old one.”

The young Sun Dragon shook her head, gazing at her aunt in disbelief. “By threatening to burn them like our ancestor Aegon the Conqueror did? We vowed not to follow the customs of past Targaryen. We swore to be better than our ancestor and change the world for the better?

“And we will,” Daenerys said. “When we take the Iron Throne back and free it from the hands of tyrants, we will reshape it into something more powerful and stronger. We will establish peace.

“ Like our ancestor said, there must always be a Targaryen on the Iron Throne, just like there must be a Stark as the ruler of the North.” She added. Look at how much destruction and violence the Lannisters have caused. Women, men, and children are starving. When the Targaryens ruled, King’s Landing was a place of prosperity. The city was blooming and healthy. No civilian was starving.

“Dany, don’t you see we have our very own Iron Throne here in Meereen?” Aarizarya said. “The people of Meereen need our help; we have yet to establish peace among them. If we were to leave Meereen and pursue the Iron Throne, it would revert back to slavery again. We took the city of Meereen to free its people from their chains. It’s our duty to keep that from happening. I think it would be best if we stay in Essos, forget the Iron Throne, and establish our own chair of swords. Except the chair will resemble the chains of the people we have saved and freed.”

Daenerys sighed. She knew what her niece was saying was true. She wanted nothing more than to keep Meereen from falling back into the hands of the slave masters, but she had a calling to Westeros and couldn’t ignore her birthright any longer.

Clearing her throat, she spoke. “Ari, if you wish for us to bring peace to Meereen and its people, then you should wed Hizdahr zo Loraq without any complaints.”

“He’s a snake, Dany. We can’t trust him. How do we know he’s not playing us and leading us into a trap?” Aarizarya exclaimed. “And you’re the Queen. If you want peace just as much as I do, then you would wed him instead of using me as a scapegoat all the time.”

Daenerys’s eyes widened in shock at her niece’s words, gazing at her in disbelief. “My womb is barren, Ari. I will never be able to have children,” she said, her voice cracking. “I would gladly marry him and spare you from the confinements of the marriage bed, but I can’t. And I’m sorry for that.”

“I need an heir to leave the Iron Throne to. I can’t produce a child, but you can,” she added. “Whatever heirs you and Hizdahr have, they will be Targaryens, blood of the dragon. You will be my successor, and any child you have will inherit the Iron Throne.”

The young Sun Dragon shook her head. “Have you ever asked me what I want, or is it always about your wants and needs?” she snarled.

“What more could you possibly want than for you and your children to sit on the Iron Throne?” Daenerys asked. “You have always said you desire a home, to have a loving husband and a family, and I am giving that to you. I don’t understand why you must complain all the time.”

Aarizarya’s eyes blazed with anger as her hands balled into tight fists. “I don’t want the Iron Throne; I have never wanted it.” She bellowed. Why would I want to live in a wretched city that killed my mother and siblings, and for my children to sit upon it, only to be cursed and die?”

“Then what do you want, Ari?” Daenerys bellowed, throwing her hands up in the air. “I truly don’t know what else to do to make you happy. I’ve tried everything in my power to provide you with everything you need, and it’s never enough for you.”

“All I have ever wanted was to find somewhere to call home,” Aarizarya answered. “Westeros has never been a home to us. We may have been born there, but we weren’t raised there. We were raised in Essos. We have no knowledge of the land we come from or its laws.”

“We can learn,” Daenerys defended.

“Westeros will never accept us or support us, Dany!” Aarizarya added. “In Essos, we have everything we’ve dreamed of: freedom, peace, happiness, a home. Meereen feels like home to me.”

“Drogon, Elliaryre, and the others love it in Meereen,” she continued.

“It’s not our home. Dragonstone is our home!” the Dragon Queen exclaimed. “Our ancestral home, the land that is our birthright, and you want to give it all up?”

“You should listen to your niece,” a voice said behind them. “You will only experience pain and loss in Westeros if you dare return.”

The two Targaryens lifted their gaze and saw a beautiful woman with red hair, elegantly clothed in a red gown, a red pendant hanging around her neck. “Who are you?” they asked.

“I am Kinvara, your graces,” the woman introduced, bowing. “I am a fire priestess from Asshai. I serve the Lord of Light.”

“Witch, you mean,” Daenerys corrected, glaring at the woman. “What do you want?”

Kinvara lifted her hands in surrender, stepping towards them. “At ease, your grace. I am not here to harm you,” she said. “I am here to help you. The Lord of Light has called upon me to guide the Dragon Queen and the Sun Dragon to the right path.”

“I come with a warning,” the priestess added.

Aarizarya and Daenerys exchanged a look. “What warning?” Aarizarya asked.

“Stay in Essos. Your destinies are no longer tied to Westeros and the Iron Throne,” Kinvara said. “The Iron Throne will soon be no more. Winter will sweep across the land, freezing everything in its path. The Iron Throne will be destroyed, and the Seven Kingdoms will fall into war and darkness.

“You two are meant for greatness in Essos. You will bring forth a powerful empire of dragons, conquer the free cities, and a new dawn of light will emerge.” She added.

“You mean for us to give up the Iron Throne, our birthright?” Daenerys scoffed. “Leave it in the hands of this murderous lion? No, we will return to Westeros with fire and blood, and those who oppose us will die in the flames.”

Kinvara shook her head. “If you do not heed the Lord of Light's warning, you will be your own undoing. You will be slaughtered by a man you love and trust, who will sink his dagger into your heart, stealing your joy and life. Your children will be killed—one by ice, the other at sea.”

The priestess turned her gaze on the Sun Dragon. “And you, Princess, will forever be alone and unhappy. While your children will live, they will never fly freely again, for many of your enemies will be ready to fire their bolts at them, killing them.”

“Do not let your pride be your downfall,” she warned, turning her gaze back to the Dragon Queen. “Stay in Essos, and you will find happiness and peace. If you return to Westeros, you will only experience death, the loss of your loved ones, and betrayal at every corner.”

Daenerys let out a booming laugh, her eyes watering with tears. “You tell quite a convincing story. I almost believed it for a moment. You witches love to tell folktales and make empty promises. You give people a sign of hope, only to take it away the next moment.”

“I am not a witch, I am a priestess,” Kinvara said. “I have come before you two at the request of my Lord of Light to help guide you on the right path.”

“Why?” The young sun Princess asked, gazing at the woman suspiciously. “What reason does your Lord of Light have to help us?

“I don’t know; it is not my place to question his reasoning,” Kinvara answered. “All I know is that my Lord means no harm towards you. He only wishes to help you two become who you are meant to be.”

“We don’t believe you or your Lord of Light!” Daenerys said. “Begone, witch!”

“ Your Grace, I beg of you please listen to me.” The priestess pleaded.

“We have listened to you, Lady Kinvara,” Aarizarya replied. “We do not trust you or your Lord of Light, nor do we wish to hear any more of your words.”

Suddenly, Kinvara’s pendant began to glow and tighten around her neck. She let out a painful groan. “You have failed me,” the Lord of Light hissed in her ear.

Kinvara fell to the floor, doubling over in pain as she felt her lord drain her life force away. “I’m sorry, my Lord,” she wept. “I have tried to get them to listen to me, but they have chosen to ignore me.”

“Then, you know what you must do, my servant” the Lord of Light whispered. Get them to see reason if not then your life will be mine.

Kinvara’s eyes began to glow a crimson color as she raised her hand. A cloud of red dust began to surround Aarizarya and Daenerys.

“What are you doing?” the two asked, in unison gazing at the woman in horror.

“I’m sorry,” Kinvara said with a sorrowful gaze. “In order for you two to embrace who you are, you must first learn the truth of your history by experiencing it firsthand.”

“ What do you mean?” Aarizarya asked.

“ All will be revealed soon.” Kinvara reassured them. Don't worry about the place I am sending you, you will be safe.

The cloud of red dust consumed them until they felt themselves disappearing into the dusk.

Tags : @athenastar27 @helo1281917 @13thal-I0lita @beebeechaos

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gulnarsultan · 5 months

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Since requests are open 👀 may I request yan!wife Daenerys Targaryen? Headcanons, please! I love her in not a healthy way and I adore your writing 😍

Hello darling. I'm so happy to see you sent a request. I hope you like it. 💞 Feel free to send more requests. 💋

Yandere wife Daenaerys Targaryen headcanon.

~Daenaerys is a strong and brave leader admired by her people. She is vengeful and harsh towards her enemies. It is a difficult opponent to defeat with its dragons and fans.

~ But that doesn't mean Daenerys doesn't have weaknesses. Daenerys had a bad childhood and adolescence. She grew up deprived of basic concepts such as love, care, understanding, kindness and trust. Moreover, the actions of her older brother Viserys left scars on Daenerys' soul. Let's not forget that she has insecurities.

~ Most likely, Daenerys is the type who believes in love at first sight. When she sees your reader, she will think that she has found the man of her life.

~ She will use her Targaryen genetics (eye color, hair color, and skin pale) to attract the reader's attention.

~ She may try to manipulate the reader by using the subject of Viserys' evil deeds, her forced and unhappy marriage, and the baby she lost. She will try to make the reader sympathize with her.

~So she won't hesitate to play the role of the needy little girl who needs help to win over your reader.

#yandere game of thrones #house of targaryen #daenerys targaryen #house targaryen #yandere daenerys targaryen x reader #yandere female #yandere daenerys targaryen

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freakassfemme · 6 months

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(Smut) Captain's Quarters - Yara Greyjoy x CisF!Reader

Summary: Princess Y/N, sibling of Queen Daenerys, has returned with her sister for a visit to the Iron Islands. These visits used to be more commonplace, but the two have not visited the islands since before the Battle of Winterfell. Y/N has a strong attachment to the islands, but finds her attachment has extended to its reigning monarch in a new, unfamiliar way.

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: loss of virginity, oral sex, fingering, praise kink (kinda), the works

A/N: Long time no see! I got so sick and tired of there being no reader insert for Yara that I arose from the dead with 4.2K words of yara-posting. Yara-yearning, if you will.

NO MINORS BEYOND THIS POINT

The night was surprisingly warm for the Iron Islands, and the salty mist of the beaches hung heavy in the air and clung to the sway of your hips and undone hair. Your hands clutched your silken robe shut as you leisured through the sand, a soothing waft of lavender from your recent bubble bath hitting your nose with a gentle breeze.

You paused at the base of the shore, where the brine nipped at your toes and you tilted your head back, deeply inhaling into your chest. Your eyes slipped shut.

It wasn't often you and your sister were able to visit the islands, but gods above, you had missed it. Queen Yara had earned a special place in Daeneyrs's heart after her proven loyalty to the Dragon Queen, and thus routine visits were necessary to uphold the alliance between the Greyjoys and the remaining Targaryens. Sometimes it felt like you had grown up here, and sometimes the coldness of Pyke felt more familiar to you than anything back home, despite how long it had been since you had returned.

You would never admit it, but something about the sea and the people on this particular side of the world had consumed you during all these years of visits. Something about the people's wildness and the way it mimicked the ocean that mothered the island spoke to you and whispered to you at night and danced on your eyelids in spirals and swirls.

Some other nights, when the whispers never came, you would hold a large shell up to your ear and pray. The beloved gift had always answered you with the melodic pounding of waves against rocks, against ships, and lured you to sleep. In your dreams, you would sink into your deepest desires.

In this realm, much below the surface level of what was true and probable, you would find yourself standing beside an iron throne. This was not unusual for you -- you had been born to stand behind your brother, and then readjusted to beside your sister. Your duty had always been protecting the honor of this seat and whomever presides in it, and yet this integral piece of your mind, heart, body and soul vanished in these moments, and instead, you found yourself for once atop of the throne.

Well, atop of its monarch.

Clawing at the throne, which was not particularly jagged and sharp like the one your sister sat upon, and clawing at the crowned, whose calloused hands curled inside you and rough lips whispered filthy promises to you in a voice that sounded an awful lot like

"Yara!"

You stumbled away from the shore, whose once soothing pulls had now gone ice cold and stabbed at your feet and at hem of your robe. Your hand readjusted the collar of your robe out of instinct, as your sense slowly settled, though your burning cheeks lingered a bit too long.

Turning towards the disturbance, your eyes caught on the closest (and largest) docked ship, whose windows and deck harbored light and celebration. A group of sailors and soldiers drank merrily and called for a straggling participant, who marched towards the boat and waved them off, enjoying the attention in her own way. In this moment, you were grateful that the shadows of the cliffs behind you hid your so very clearly out of place figure.

Your attention followed Yara as she boarded the ship, and despite the distance, you could make out the way they all greeted her with a clasp on the shoulder, pat on the back, or smack on the bottom. The corners of your mouth turned up at the raw, unabashed display of admiration.

Shudders ran down your back and you ignored the way your stomach turned. For a moment, you thought about heading back to the castle. Nauseatingly, you thought about knocking on your sister's door and spilling these secrets to her and beg for direction, a command, anything.

Daenerys was the closest thing you had to a mother, and the urge to crawl into her arms and wait for guidance on this troubling issue consumed you as it always had, but you were a woman now, a delicate one, but blossomed and bled nonetheless, and you had witnessed your own sister's call to these womanly urges, and it was incredibly reminiscent of this pull you felt to the Ironborn Queen.

Your mind wandered back to your arrival this morning.

"It has been so long since I've returned," you said to Daenerys as you marveled over the aged walls of Pyke. Your hand danced across the slotted stone, digging your finger into chipped areas and rubbing your thumb against the in-between space.

Daenerys smiled knowingly, hands clasped softly in front of her. Missendei, Tyrion, and Greyworm trailed closely behind.

"How long has it been?" You murmured, mostly to yourself.

"Not since before the war, my lady," Tyrion added, and you turned to him, nodding with a solemn smile.

"It has been nearly that long since I have seen the rest of the Greyjoys, as well. Not since Theon."

Tyrion and Daenerys nod respectfully, reminiscing on Theon's death and the bravery that presumed it. A small silence ensued.

"I never understood how you have adapted so well to this cold, my lady," Missendei said, sweetly cutting the silence.

"She is a dragon," Daenerys replied, reaching out to brush a bit of her sister's hair back into place. "She provides her own warmth."

The throne room was modest in size but exuberant in its carvings, luxurious enough to suggest status but rugged enough to represent the people it ruled. You couldn't help but admire it all, it being so vastly different from the outright lushness of Mereen or even Dragonstone.

Of course, the architecture was not the only thing you were interested in. You turned your attention to the throne, and immediately stopped. Your sister continued for only a few steps more, taking her place in front of you.

"Yara," Daeneyrs greeted with a warm smile.

Yara strutted forward with an unmatched level of confidence, and you couldn't help but stare at the way her leather tunic hugged her strong shoulders. You were used to Yara not dressing like any other lady you had known, but couldn't help but always think the natural defiance in her pants and boots exuded power and self-assurance. Yara looked somehow more bold and stronger than you had ever seen her, and it was admirable in an unfamiliar, indescribable way.

"My queen," Yara bowed in her own way, a half-smirk ever-present, "It is an honor."

The two clasped arms, and Daenerys smiled before turning to you.

"I'm sure you remember my little sister, Princess Y/N."

Yara's attention followed, and you couldn't help the way you held your breath and stared up at her with widened eyes. It was like you were seeing her for the first time.

"Princess Y/N."

Yara said your name like she was trying it on, but in truth she had always used formalities in this way, especially towards you. In your aw-stricken mind, you'd like to think that her gaze softened a bit. She had never looked at you like this before.

"Your return has been long-awaited."

She outstretched her hand, and you took it with both of your hands, feeling yourself relax into it. Your eyes watered a bit, and you squeezed, unable to avoid the way you beamed up at her.

"I have missed the islands dearly."

Your sister had given in to her own desires, and she had lived to tell the tale. Perhaps you would too.

The ground seemed to push you towards the ship, and by the time your eyes unglossed and you regained clarity, you found yourself standing at the base of the footway. You of course had been on many vessels that belonged to the Iron Fleet, and you knew the people on board rather well, but you couldn't help but feel nervous now. These men were rather drunk, and you knew you probably should have an escort this late. Not even status could always safeguard a lady from the hands of depravity and sin. Stupidly, you grabbed on to the ropes of the ramp and pulled yourself aboard.

Immediately the overwhelming stench of ale and piss cause you to wrinkle your nose.

"Gods above," you whispered to yourself. Though you had been quiet, the sailors very quickly took notice of your presence.

"Princess!" one called, waving at you with his mug of ale. It sloshed over the sides and splashed, narrowly missing you. The men around him jokingly scolded him.

"Come on Ravos, you don't want to ruin her dress," a dark haired, stout man called Yohn slurred.

"Don't look like she's wearing much of a dress to me."

The men turned to you once more, and your ears burned, now with a much more uncomfortable feeling as they eyed you. One coughed and shifted on his feet.

You wrapped your robe tighter, straightening yourself up like you had been taught. You narrowed your eyes slightly, and responded directly to Ravos.

"Where can I find Yara?" You asked, hoping you exuded more authority than the piece of meat you felt like.

Reacting much more appropriately, he turned and pointing towards the North end of the ship.

"Captain's quarters," he grunted, avoiding eye contact.

You nodded, and the fifteen or so men stumbled backwards to allow for a path.

Carefully you stepped over puddles of questionable substances and shards of glass, maintaining as much grace and fierceness as you could muster. Behind you, the men resumed their activities, seemingly already over the drunken encounter. You knocked once on the Captain's door, before hurriedly slipping inside, eager to escape the sailors.

As you shut the door and turned to face her, you had to carefully force out a normal respiration rate. Yara was propped up in her chair with her boots resting on the desk, holding her own stein, though her sobriety seemed much more intact.

"Hello, princess."

Yara didn't bother hiding her surprise. She set her stein down and dropped her arms to the ends of her arm rest. A smirk creeped across her face, and she leaned her head back as she very obviously eyed you up and down, legs spreading a bit for a better view. Despite her brute persona, she did seem to try to hide the way she stuttered over the V of your robe.

You noticed anyways.

"A little far from the dressing room, are we?" She nodded at your outfit. You blushed and nodded with a smile. She smiled back and sat up. "You should know better than to walk around alone at night like that, especially here."

"I'm not alone now," you replied softly. Here in the candlelight, she was able to see you fully.

Yara took notice of the way you wrung your hands together, the way your eyes were glued to the loose laces of her tunic, the rose hue of your cheeks and ears, and your long, snow-white hair falling in loose curls around you.

Yara had known you for half a decade at this point. When she first met you, you were a scrawny, timid little girl who watched from Daeneyrs's shadow. To be fair, you were still quite shy, but you were a woman now, not nearly the little bird of a lady that you used to be. Now, in the warm lighting, she could see that these days you were more of a snow leopard than a cub, and you looked almost regal.

For a moment, Yara wondered what you would look like on the throne instead of your sister. Her hands squeezed at her chair at the idea, and she concluded that that was an image that would inspire millions.

Yara's eyes returned to your face, recomposing her commanding demeanor. She shrugged and stood, traipsing leisurely towards you.

Your eyes' followed each other, studying the other until they met. Yara had never looked at you this way, not that you could recall, and the curiosity in her face sent a thrill down your spine and fueled your ego.

"Oh, but I am as much as of a predator as any man out there, princess," Yara countered.

Peculiarly, you stepped forward, taking Yara by surprise at this newfound confidence. She watched you, and noticed something lurking behind your irises, something Yara was very familiar with and could feel exuding off of your body, but ten fold. She knew why you had come.

"And I am a dragon," You murmured, meeting her eyes without hesitation. Up close, you looked even more feral than before, with the sea spray making a wild mess of your hair, and each rock of the boat interrupting your breaths.

Yara backed up to sit on the edge of her desk, and you followed, keeping the distance small but not yet close enough. Yara waited for you to make a move with unusual patience. You raised your hand to caress the open area of her shirt with your palm, then push it aside just a few inches to trace her collarbone with your index and middle finger.

"Are you scared of dragons, Yara?"

"Anyone in their bloody right mind is scared of dragons," she replied, watching your hand as her breathing grew heavy. You giggled, reaching your hand around to cup the space between her ear and neck, letting your thumb rub her jaw.

"Are you scared of me?" You spoke quietly, like it was a secret meant to be kept safe between the two of you.

"I'm hungry for you," she growled, eyes heavy with desire. You felt your core throb in an entirely new way, letting out a small whimper at the feeling.

Finally, Yara reached out, hand splaying across your lower back, where she could finally feel that the robe was the only thing preserving your modesty, and she could've fainted at the realization.

"I've never been with a dragon before," Yara confessed, halfway a joke, yet halfway entirely all too true. You brought up her other hand to truly cup her face, bring her attention to you.

"I've never been with anyone before," You whispered, and for a second Yara could see that familiar timidness she knew of you flicker between the lust clouding your vision. "You are the only person I've ever wanted."

Yara let out a small noise at this. "Then you must be starved."

You nodded, eyes falling to her lips.

"Can I?"

"Please."

The first thing Yara noticed was how warm you are. Your lips against hers were like fire, and your soft whimpers made her want to crawl inside the flames and be burnt alive. You practically fell against her, knees going week, but she grasped you with both hands and held you up.

This alone was like nothing you had ever experienced. Your ears rung from the intensity and your nails dug into Yara's skin ever so slightly, illiciting a gasp from her that you greedily swallowed.

Yara reached back with one hand, pushing herself off to stand, keeping you slotted between her legs. She turned you both, pushing you against the desk until you were sitting atop it now. You raked your hands over her shirt, grasping at it and pulling her as close as you could. Yara put her hands between you and undid the tie to your robe, hurriedly pulling it off your shoulders. She reached under your thighs, lifting you up by them and letting the robe fall on to the floor.

As Yara angled you on to the desk, you propped your arms behind yourself, baring your legs to her. She paused, staring at your bare form and licked her lips.

"Gods below," she growled, running her hands up your body. You shivered as they danced over your thighs and ghosted over your breasts. "You're fucking stunning."

Yara pushed back between your legs. The warmth of her skin against yours and the cold leather of her pants pressing against your bare sex made you moan. Yara shoved her hand back behind your back and laid you down flat.

"Such a pretty cunt," she whispered, tracing her thumb over you. You gasped at the touch, and watched as she brought it up.

"Do you know what this is, sweet girl?" Yara watched the way the wetness glistened on her finger, and you nodded your head.

She grinned, then brought her thumb to her mouth and sucked it clean. You whimpered at the sight, nearly panting now in desperation.

She leaned down to kiss to you and forced her tongue into your mouth. You moaned at the feeling and at the taste, grabbing on to the back of her head and pushing back with your own tongue. Yara groaned into your mouth and grabbed you by the neck, deepening the kiss, if that was even possible.

Yara's scent and touch and taste consumed you, feeding into every one of your senses and bleaching them until all that was left was her.

Finally, Yara put her hand against your chest and pushed you back against the desk.

"Be a good girl and open your legs a bit more for me," she commanded, and without a single underlying thought, you obeyed, gasping at the way your stomach turned at the petname. You watched with slightly parted lips, panting, as Yara sunk to her knees, staring into your eyes so intensely that you couldn't even think about looking away.

She settled between your legs and brought her hands to rest up on your thighs, just in case. You pushed up on your elbows, trying to see what she was going to do, when she pressed a firm kiss to your sex. You groaned, cheeks going pink, and Yara reacted similarly.

She kissed again, this time open mouthed, and gently sucked on your growing bud. You could feel your cunt pulsing, and your thighs quivered around Yara's head, but she held firm.

She licked stripes around your clit, teasing you before giving it a direct swipe that had you balling your fists and curling your toes.

"Yara!" You gasped, perhaps a little too loudly, because the voices outside of the room suddenly quieted. You froze, looking down at her in panic, but she didn't share the same concern.

Instead, Yara chuckled, murmured your own name against your cunt almost tauntingly, and without any warning, eased her tongue inside of you. Your whole body stuttered, and you slammed your hand against the desk. Yara gripped your legs even tighter and repeated the motion, and you couldn't find it in you to keep quiet, not with the way Yara was working you like she was eating her last meal.

"Fuck," you groaned, back arching. You head fell back, curls falling with it, and Yara swore she had never seen anything more stunning or satisfying. Yara's own cunt throbbed impossibly hard, but she continued her merciless assault, drawing curse after curse from you, until Yara was certain the men outside knew exactly what was going on and with whom.

Yara stood and pulled your hips closer to the edge of the desk. Holding you by your hips, she rocked her hips against your core, and you gasped at the new sensation. You grabbed her shoulder, holding yourself up.

Yara cradled your face with one hand, and you buried yourself in her arm, ear pressed against her chest, whining and whimpering. She pressed kisses into your neck, nipping at it and bruising it. Slowly, Yara stopped her hips, and just as you started to get question it, she spoke.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?" She teased, and you cried out, nodding desperately into her arm. Yara laughed, and then when you felt her middle and ring finger prodded at your entrance, you clenched down, gasping.

"Relax, sweetheart," she whispered, kissing right behind your ear. "I'm going to take good care of you."

You shuddered against her, but tried your best to settle down. Yara started pushing in again, and you clenched again out of instinct, this time clamping down on her fingers. She groaned into your ear.

"You're so tight," she whispered, and you pulsed around her fingers, whining. Once she was entirely inside, Yara curled her fingers, and your whole body reacted.

Your legs wrapped around her, holding her in place, and your fingers dug into her lower back while you saw stars. You bit down on her arm, at least still attempting to keep quiet, and Yara moaned loudly. When you finally loosened you grip on her arm, she pulled your face back by your hair.

"Does that feel good?" She whispered against your lips, and you panted, pressing kisses between each breath.

"Yes, y-yes," You cried out, and she pressed a knowing kiss to your temple.

"I'm going to move them," she warned, and you nodded, eyes glassed over and lips parted. She kissed your fiercely, then held eye contact as she started pumping her fingers. You groaned loudly, then started moving your hips to meet her hand. As your body adjusted to the foreign feeling, you grew confident.

The sound coming from it was obscene, and you pulled Yara down to sloppily kiss her. Yara pushed harder, and so did you. Soon, you developed a rythym, and you could feel a pressure building up in your stomach. Yara glanced down at her hand, then back up at you, eyes unbelievably filled with even more lust. You followed her gaze and practically melted at the sight.

Thick, hot cream spilled out of you and on to Yara's hand, and gods above, her hand was huge. Her palm practically framed your whole cunt, and the sight made you dizzy.

Yara flicked her thumb over your clit, and you choked, grabbing her neck to hold you up from falling backwards. Your whole spine tingled, and your vision started to blur.

"Y-Yara, I'm," you gasped, but you weren't entirely sure what was going on. "I'm, I think I'm gonna -"

"Cum, sweetheart," Yara groaned. "You're going to cum for me." She pumped her fingers harder, and you sobbed into her arms, feeling your stomach ball up tighter, tighter, tighter, and then burst.

You screamed into her shoulder as your cunt gushed over her hand, and Yara moaned your name into your ear at the feeling. Your hips stuttered, but Yara kept pumping until you were shaking uncontrollably and babbling nonsense. Then, she eased out of you.

She tilted your head up with one hand, then brought the other soiled one between the two of you. You looked up with watery eyes and red cheeks, and watched as Yara licked your cum off of a few of her fingers. Then, she prodded your lips with the remaining two, and you opened your mouth, accepting it gratefully.

You pushed her fingers farther and farther down your throat, chasing that high and letting the bittersweet flavor swirl and cloud your taste and mind. You looked up at Yara through wet lashes, and she swore she could've creamed herself.

"Fucking hell," she groaned, and pulled her fingers out of your mouth, worried you'd probably suffocate yourself on them if she let you work at them any more.

You coughed and gasped, and regained your breath just before she pressed a firm kiss against your mouth. When she pulled away, you stared at her with wide eyes and she panted down at you. You couldn't pull a single word to say off your tongue.

She kissed your temple, then the side of your head, and rested her forehead against yours. "Gods below, are you sure that was your first time?"

You nodded breathlessly, swallowing thickly.

"You fuck like a-"

"- I want to do it again."

Yara pulled back, studying your face. Her face was expressionless, and for a moment during the silence, you were worried you had angered her, or somehow shamed her skill. Then, the corners of her mouth curved into a smirk.

"You want to do it again?" She asked, tilting her head until her lips were almost slotted against yours. You nodded your head.

"Is that okay?" You asked, no shyness left to spare.

Yara laughed loudly and kissed you. She stepped away, running her hands through her hair.

"Yes, fucking absolutely," she assured. She reached down and grabbed your robe. "But not in here, I have other things to show you."

You quickly got dressed. Your body shook, so Yara helped you with it extensively, and kept you steady. You looked up at her quizzically. "Other things like what?"

She grinned wickedly before pulling you up into her arms, one arm under yours and the other under your knees.

"You'll see, princess," she assured.

In her brutish style, Yara kicked open the door to her quarter's. The soldiers remaining on deck went absolutely silent, staring at the two of you with both terrified and amused expressions.

Yara coughed loudly and you buried your face into her shoulder to hide your embarrassment.

"If you gentleman will excuse me, me and the lady are going to retire for the night."

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damn-stark · 10 hours

Text

Chapter 21 Icarus

Chapter 21 of Moonlight

A/N- Someone makes a special appearance in this chapter!

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, violence and blood, ANGST!!, fluff, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 449-452

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

As if kept apart for years with just distorted words repeating in his mind, and only able to cling onto the ghost of your scent to try and keep your memory alive, when night falls and you’re laying in bed, Aemond holds onto your waist with a tight grip as if he faltered even a bit you would slip from existence. He buries his face in your lap and occasionally you feel wet kisses pressed against your flesh.

His demand to be clinging when you returned from scouting is not something that bothers you, you quite enjoy him not being able to be without you. You find solace in the warmth of his hand when you navigate through corridors, and feel giddy when you catch his lingering stares that burrow deep within you as if he’s trying to grasp the fact that you’re by his side.

It’s all so sweet and you love it when Aemond is sweet. Yet you can’t help but start to wonder why he hardly let you out of his sight since you returned from scouting.

“Is something wrong?” You finally break the peaceful silence and stroke his hair.

Aemond remains as he is for a moment before he just slightly tilts his head up to look at you between the strands of his hair that stick to his face. “Does there have to be something wrong for me to be this way with you? It’s not uncommon for us to lie like this.”

“I know,” you say softly as you gently tuck his hair behind his ear. “It’s just…I don’t know…I feel like something’s wrong with you. Are you okay?”

Aemond holds onto your gaze and tries to brush you off, but those three words seem to cause him to fight an inner conflict that makes his eye soften and then harden before a swift conclusion brings tears to his eye, causing your eyebrows to immediately furrow out concern while your breath hitches out of surprise because he’s being so expressive.

“Aemond?” You whisper and slide your hand down to cradle his cheek.

Said man slowly pulls his hands off your waist to grab your hand on his cheek and press a lingering kiss on the heel of your hand, making you grow even more concerned.

“Can I just look at you for a moment?” He asks and your eyebrows knit together before you lean toward him and probe.

“Aemond what is it?” You have to keep probing before your concern kills you, but your dearest husband just sighs deeply and continues with silence while he makes your hands slip off his face as he sits up with his head hanging low.

You want to keep pressing him with words, but you use a more desperate plea by brushing his hair back with your hands before you grab his face and find his gaze to plead that way. Desperately and deeply concerned.

Albeit Aemond presses his forehead against yours and draws in a deep breath with his eye closed.

“My love,” you coo, and he keeps quiet for a moment longer before he pulls back to face you and finally speak about what's troubling him so.

“You are…” he trails off in a whisper and his gaze slowly slides off you.

“Aemond,” you whisper.

Said man’s gaze slowly drifts to the corner of the room and remains in the shadows before he blinks and looks back at you with a more determined gaze.

“You are to remain out of war councils,” he speaks in a voice slowly lacing with a coldness so you know that this is no jest. “You are to stop dueling and scouting. And most importantly you will not under any circumstance take part in any battle be it in the sky, on the sea, or the ground.”

Your concern falls as you’re struck with disbelief. “This,” you stammer. “This is some jest.” You shake your head. “It has to be because—it’s not funny, Aemond.”

He clenches his jaw and averts his gaze as he shakes his head. “No, it is not some jest. It’s how things will be from now on.”

Your eyes widen with that same disbelief still running its course within you as it doesn’t fully hit you just yet that what he speaks of is real.

“You…” you trail off to slide off the bed. Aemond quickly mirrors you and follows after you as you stride away from the bed. When he captures your arm you turn around with a look of hurt painted on your face—“Am I not good enough? I can try harder, I can. Just…don’t make me stop.”

Aemond’s gaze softens again and he grabs you with both hands now.

“No,” he rebuttals right away. “It’s not that. You are great, but—”

“Is it what Ser Criston said in the corridor?” You cut him off in a sudden burst of anger. “Because if it is, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just some low-life knight who doesn’t know anything about Targaryens.”

Aemond shakes his head and swallows thickly before he interjects to finally give reason to his decision. “It’s a decision I made myself because I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out there while you’re with child. It’s a war, not some game. I can’t put you at risk. I won’t.”

A flicker of hurt passes through you, threatening you towards using sorrow to argue back, but the anger and frustration burst through, drowning out the sadness that built up at his words since he knows that being cast aside is something that wounds you deeply.

“You,” you mutter before you yank your arms out of his grasp and push him back over and over again with each word that leaves past your lips. “It’s always you. You. You. You! What about me?!” You bark and push him back one more time before you stand up straight with your chest puffed out, your lips parted as you heave, and your gaze spewing rage and disbelief that still lingers within you. “What about what I want, huh?! What about what I want, Aemond!”

“I just want to protect you!” He counters back but not in the same anger you display, he just feels frustrated because you’re not understanding. “I’m protecting you, don’t you see that?!”

“I can protect myself!” You hit your chest. “You've seen that! You can’t make me stand idly by your side! I will not be gawked at! I can fight,” you cry. “I can do it! I am something, I am someone! I have,” you exhale. “I have proved it. I have.” You nod gently as you lose that rage and agony returns.

“I won’t lose you,” Aemond’s voice breaks whilst his gaze is pointed at you as he’s feeling nothing but determination to defend his decision even if you keep arguing. “I won’t. I cannot lose you!”

You take a moment to catch your breath and process the agony behind his own words. When you have somewhat calmed down you step toward him and look at him softly. “You won’t lose me. I’m here. I will always be here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Aemond drops his head and draws in a deep breath. “You won’t. That’s right,” he whispers before he brings his head up and looks at you with a narrowed look. “I already told you. You will not take part in any fighting of any kind, or any war councils. You will remain Princess Regent, but that’s all you’ll be, no more Blood Dragon or Fire Demon. I’m sure you can do a lot of Regent duties even from here.”

You nod gently and slowly lower your gaze to try and find your thoughts on the ground. Anywhere really. Yet all that you can come across is more disbelief that leaves you saying only one single word that holds no meaning. “Alright.”

You then shove past him and as you grab your robe he questions your actions that you hardly give any thought to. “Where are you going?”

You stride to the doors and give your answer to the moist air. “The Godswood. Can I do that?”

Aemond calls out your name to retort your sassy remark, but you just leave your quarters in a huff. When you’re in the corridor you take a torch from the wall and pace down the corridors like a ghost haunting the castle with your mind still focused on your argument, and don’t snap out of your stupor until you’re outside with your feet in the cold lakes shore.

The cold water forces you to take in your surroundings and wonder what changed and why so suddenly.

Is it really because of what he mentioned? Or is it something else? Something far more complicated like him not thinking you’re good enough.

Why?

You don’t—you can’t just sit by with a plastered smile watching as the world goes on living around you like you’re some caged bird. You have to be more than that right?

Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re forever destined just to be unremarked and not amount to a thing. Just a forgotten name with a forgettable face.

Is that all you are to this world? To everyone you cherish?

You are more than that…

Cregan would think so. But would he have done the same thing as Aemond? You have to wonder as you look across the lake with just the stars as your company, unbeknownst to the fact that on a small hill that overlooks the Gods Eye, the soul you think of has you in his mind and wonders when he’ll have to stop depending on just his memories to see you again. He wonders how you are after the death of your beloved brother, and if you’re okay; that one is heavy in his mind because there’s only so much he hears about you and it's never what he truly desires to know. And it’s not like you can send each other letters anymore.

Even if you are so close to one another during this tragic war, it still feels like the same distance between Winterfell and King’s Landing stands between you since letters can’t be exchanged, and neither of you can see face to face even if you are so close.

Memories are all you have, and it’s why you realize that Cregan wouldn’t be much different than Aemond. Cregan is protective too, more stubbornly so. Which is why it’s not like you can go to him either, you would be stuck in the same predicament.

And the same goes for your mother, so there’s truly nowhere you belong now—

Maybe at the bottom of that lake…

Nevertheless, because of the silence that surrounds you at night, it’s easy to catch the sound of footsteps approaching, and recognize that they’re lighter than Aemond’s would be, so it’s not him. It can only be a select few, so you turn around and your curiosity is answered when you see Alys approaching.

“It’s late, why are you not abed?” You break through the sound of crickets singing in the distance.

“I wonder the same thing about you,” she redirects and then falls by your side before she continues. “Troubles with your husband?”

You draw in a sharp breath and turn around before you exhale slowly and walk over to a large rock to sit on it. “Tell me why you’re still here Alys. You’re a witch, I imagine it’s easy finding ways to leave these wetlands.”

Alys mingles by the lake for a moment before she turns around and drags her feet toward you to sit on a lower rock next to you. “This is my home,” she puts it simply. “Where would I go?”

You glance across the lake with a longing look and sigh deeply before sharing the first place that comes to mind. A place you haven’t dreamt of going to in some time. “Yi-Ti. I heard it's beautiful there, full of wonderful and bad people alike. It’s somewhere far, where you can be something...”

Alys steals a look at you before she sits up and keeps her eyes on the horizon. “Have you considered it? You have a dragon and money that a lot of people only dream about. I imagine it would be easy for you too.”

You swallow back the lump that grows in your throat and nod slowly as you look up at the endless sky now. “I could go to King’s Landing and take my son and leave to never return. It would be easy, I could be something there that I’m not allowed to be here.”

Alys nods gently in comprehension. “But it would be selfish,” she says words that go against her nod, words that cut you deeply. “Leaving it all behind because of what? A disagreement.”

You scoff as you drop your head. “No,” you mutter. “It’s…you wouldn’t get it.”

“Perhaps so. Then leave.”

You don’t know her so you can’t take apart her words and understand if she’s leading you on or being serious. Thus you slowly raise your head to look at her, catching her gaze already on you with nothing but sincerity. She’s serious, she’s pushing you to do what you want and that slight pressure is what makes you falter. Just enough for her to pick you apart.

“Why is it that you’re so dedicated to your Prince?” She asks and looks with a slight smirk playing on her lips. “Your dragon is not chained and you’re not chained, you may leave whenever you desire. Yet even with your mother on that throne you still stick by him, why?”

It’s simple. The answer is quick to come to mind and slip past your tongue. “Because he loves me selfishly. All of me, the dark part of me. Because loving him is consuming in the best way possible. Because he understands the inner workings of my conflicted soul and to let him go…would be like losing a part of my soul.”

Alys sighs deeply and doesn't fret to speak boldly. “And what about the Wolf of the North?”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief, and there in the depths of your chest, where your heart used to be is a faint jolt. Be it nerves or some reconnection to what you thought was lost, you don’t know. All you know is that you feel it.

“He,” you whisper with no control of your words, it’s easy to speak to her. Even if you don’t know her you know for some reason that nothing you say will be spread like a disease. “He has this way that he looks at me…like no matter how dark, how far, or how many people may be swarming him he only has eyes for me. He will always find me. He looks at me like he’s found salivation, hope. Loving him is exciting,” your words come easy, and a faint smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “Maybe it was because it was a secret, but…I don’t believe that to be true.” You sigh shakily and drop your head once again.

Alys hums and gently hits the side of her thigh before she quips. “I don’t envy you. Loving two people sounds exhausting.”

You shake your head to contradict her and try to say it’s the farthest thing from the truth, but you don’t want her to ask you to pick one so you stay quiet. Not because it’s hard, it’s easy. You truly, honestly, and deeply love them both.

You do. It’s selfish, yes, but it’s true.

“You can’t leave,” Alys returns your conversation to what you were initially speaking of before she sidetracked you. “Not to Yi-Ti, and not to King’s Landing. Not yet.”

You drag your leg up to prop your elbow on your knee and rest your chin on your hand as you look at her with confusion. “Why is that?” You probe. “At least in King’s Landing, I can be with my son.”

Alys draws out deeply and slowly meets your gaze. “Because then all of that wisdom that I let you see will be for nothing…”

You blink slowly in disbelief and sit up as your face goes hard. “What do you mean?” You ask in a threatening manner.

“Just that. I let you see the truth about your father and your mother's plan. It was me,” she reveals, and it clicks. That’s why she was so familiar. That’s why it feels like you know her, because of that vision in the fire that she gave you.

“Why?” You deadpan without blaming her for anything. You’re honestly thankful that she let you see the truth.

“Because you would have died otherwise,” she shares, making you scoff—“And that can’t happen yet. I needed you to go down a different path in life.”

“You know,” you interject and get up to look at the stars with an inkling of frustration. “I am getting sick of people telling me I am going to die, and trying to save me from it.”

Alys follows you to your feet and takes a step forward to grab your attention and make sure you’re meeting her eyes and not lost in the stars as she reaches deep within her to share what you need to hear. So you know that you don’t need to exhaust yourself to prove yourself. So you can see clearly what you are, what people like Aemond and your mother see, but you don’t. She wants you to know who you have been all along.

“Listen to me, I know how you feel. I have lived a long time, I have gone through the trials you are facing in life, and it’s why I’m telling you that you need to stop thinking that you’re lesser than you are. It’s not true. I saw it, everyone that resides in this castle saw it, and you know it.”

Your eyes water and for the first time since Jacaerys died those tears break out and roll down your cheeks. “How do you know?” Your voice quivers.

Alys’ eyes dig deeper in your watery gaze to connect deeper with you so you know that every word that is going to come out of her is the truth. “I know because there’s already whispers about you traveling throughout the Kingdoms. They whisper about the Fire Demon born to the Queen. The Fire Demon who damned the Triarchy. Fear is gripping onto them because of you. Because of what you are and what you were gifted with. The Princess who rose from the ashes. A warrior and so much more.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smirk, but that pride that starts to rummage within you doesn’t get a secure hold of you yet. Disbelief and confusion still linger.

“That’s who you are,” she presses confidently. “But not all you will be.”

You tilt your head up as you start to grow smug.

“You need only keep walking down that path, if you steer away because of your own doubt and insecurity you will lose and everything that you fear will come true.”

Self-doubt whispers in your ear to not trust her, it sinks its claws deep in your flesh and wants to sabotage you. It threatens to. “How do you know? How do you know I won’t steer? Hope?” Your doubt speaks for you, making Alys raise her head and scoff.

“Hope is folly. Hope doesn’t make change, we do.” She speaks with confidence laced in every single word, reassuring you, and fighting off that doubt that gripped onto you until you don’t even feel it linger. You trust her completely and get rid of that doubt you carried about yourself and that tormented you after your argument with Aemond.

Alys sees that with a glimmer in your eyes and her own smugness only heightens. And it’s also because you choose to trust her blindly that she steps back and points to the Godswood in the distance. “Come, I need you to see something.”

She walks ahead while you linger behind and look back at the lake with a flicker of longing to see those grey eyes that paid your mind a visit.

Yet you don’t linger behind too long, you catch up to Alys and she leads you right to the base of the Weirwood tree where you’re face to face with the weeping face, and hear it again. The whispers from before. And like the other times, they are incoherent, but louder and louder, urging you to reach for the white-wooded tree. Yet no matter how inclined you are to come in touch with the dripping sap your eyes are the only thing you keep on the tree.

That is until Alys’ cold hand wraps around yours and she lifts it for you.

“Are you sure?” You ask as you drift your gaze to the corner of your eyes, and all she does is hum her response before she connects the tip of your fingers to the crimson sap that falls down the white bark.

Right away the whispering is silenced and a soft humming fills your ears with a melody you recognize as a haunting one from the book of songs and ballads Aemond gifted you. It slowly grows louder and goosebumps slowly grow along your skin while the red sap that runs down the bark grows thicker and flows down faster, covering your hand completely before it drops on the ground.

You follow the substance down with your eyes and there reflected on the surface of the thick sap is a pair of eyes that are not yours. This pair of eyes are sharper, they carry a venom in the blue of their eyes.

You want to identify who it is. You want to narrow your gaze to see if the answer will become clear, but then the gaze turns away and disappears from the puddle of red sap. You quickly look up to try and catch who it is you saw, but suddenly you’re transported to a battlefield stained with splotches of thick blood, littered with bodies both cut up and burnt and lively with bodies still alive and fighting. Night is turned to evening, and the sun is a raging red with all the smoke that pollutes the sky.

The pair of eyes you saw reflected in that puddle of sap now has a womanly body with gold-silver hair gathered in a long braid. She carries the Valyrian sword, Blackfyre, in one hand that’s stained with blood, and carries another object in the other, but that’s something you don’t see, all you know is that it’s leaking blood and that you grow insatiably curious to the point that you follow the woman in a stomping stride.

However, when you reach a large boulder right in the center of the battlefield and catch up to the woman, she slowly starts to peer back, but you can't stop storming forward. You can’t stop. There’s a certain ferocity that fuels your blood, one so hot that you burn but don’t hurt. The burning is delicious and enthralling. When you get to the point that you go through the woman you were following, the woman that was guiding you to that boulder in the middle of the bloody battlefield, you can see in a pool of blood around your feet that who you see looking back at you now is yourself.

You can see yourself clearly in that pool of blood, donning a black chainmail gown with a gold chest plate slathered in blood. Meanwhile, your head is covered with gold chainmail, and over your face are blood-soaked chains that fall down your face like a bleeding veil, and don’t hide the venom in your eyes that matches the woman you can now identify as Queen Visenya Targaryen. She was the one guiding you here, through the thick of the battle, and now you took her place. Now you hold the blood-soaked sword and…a head.

It’s you. All you. It’s your future. It’s not something that’s said, but it is something you know for certain. This is you. You stand on the battlefield and you climb up the boulder dragging the tip of Blackfyre against the stone. When you reach the top you stand over a battlefield that’s a lot thicker and bloody, filled with large men with grey beards, and others that all fight under the same banner as you; the banner that belongs to your mother, the Queen.

Once again nothing is outright spoken to you, but you know the context deep within and you grow proud, just like you grow proud of the head you carry. Albeit unlike the knowledge just given to you, this time you can’t identify the head you carry. They have manly features so you know they’re a man, young too, with blond-silver hair, and one brown eye that stares off at the ground because the other has an arrow punctured through it. Which only feeds your curiosity, but you don’t grow ravenous to put a name to the face, you grow enthusiastic and malicious as you tilt your head up and face the army of men.

“The Daring is dead!” Your voice booms, and when the attention of your men is given to you, you throw your hand up to show off the head like a trophy and all the men cry out cheers.

“BLOOD DRAGON!”

“BLOOD DRAGON!” Is scattered around the field and more goosebumps grow along your skin.

“FOR—“ you cut yourself off as a large shadow is cast over you, and when you roll your head back to look up, you catch a small dragon torpedoing to you with its mouth open. Yet even if you see the dark she-dragon filling her mouth with fire as she comes at you, you don't run because you know Astraea is behind you and flying directly toward the threat to protect you. And you especially don’t try to take cover or shield yourself from the fire because you know you won’t burn. You welcome the rain of fire with a wicked smile.

Nevertheless, as the dragon fire bathes you, suddenly the hot blazing flames are not what hits you. Suddenly you’re smacked with a sharp and bitter coldness that forces you to turn your face away to shield your eyes.

After the breeze passes you slowly drop your hand, open your eyes, and get greeted with a fresh blanket of snow in every perimeter your eyes can see. When you fulfill your need to lift your head, you’re now hit with a wave of emotions that is not laced with venom; all the emotions are warm and blissful which make your heart swoon rather than race with malicious excitement because what you see is joy.

There’s no question about it. You’re overfilled with joy as you see a young man with dark brown curly hair wearing thick and warm winter clothes, and a thick grey fur cloak clasped over his back.

“Mother,” a soft voice speaks and you can’t help but gasp at the sound of his voice that you know deep in your bones does not belong to Aerion. This young man is different, younger than your Aerion, but he is still your…son. Your youngest boy. You know that, you feel that deep inside you. He calls out to you from where he stands in front of a large Weirwood tree in a familiar Godswood up North.

“My boy,” you whisper softly and he drops his clasped hands before slowly turning to you, causing your breath to catch in your throat when you meet his big soldem grey eyes.

“You…” he trails off and flashes you a charming smile. “Look at you.”

Tears fill your eyes and before you know it you march over to him and the first you do is grab his face. “Look at you,” you redirect and caress his cheeks, making him drop his head to hide his timid smile.

“<Please stop crying>,” he whispers in High Valyrian. “<We’ll meet again. When our time comes.>”

He lifts his head and his eyebrows furrow as his gaze grows just as serious as a man you know.

“<You look like your father>,” you comment as you study his face.

The young man scoffs and grabs your hands you keep on his face. “<Listen>,” he says and makes you find his gaze.

“<Let me look at you>,” you plead, making a warm smile melt that ice-cold expression. “<How can I see you again? How can I be certain that our paths will cross?>”

The same serious expression returns to his features as he gives you an answer. “<You must go home, mother. You will come across a crossroads again. You’ll know it when you get there, and when you do, you need to go home…back to her. That’s where you belong, she’s never forsaken you. Neither of them ever did.>”

You nod even if deep inside you don’t know if you mean it. How can you with the shattered heart that she took part in breaking?

“<After that you must deliver them to victory. Lead them. Be the great fire, for Winter is coming, Mother, and we need to light the way for The Prince that was Promised.>”

He then points his finger to the side and as you follow the direction he points to you don’t come across the thick of the forest that fills the Godswood, you see an endless dryland horizon that is cast by a blazing sun and there sitting in the midst of the drylands is a woman sat with no clothes, she’s nude, and giving her back to you.

Yet even if her back is to you, making her unidentifiable there’s a sense of familiarity—no, that’s wrong, you have seen her before in another vision. You know her. And this time she carries with her three hatchlings; a black, a green, and a cream-colored hatchling that all cling to her.

There she is, The Prince that was Promised. And then she isn’t. All of sudden you’re back in the cover of night at the Godswood of Harrenhal, feeling an emptiness, and a deep aching longing to be returned to your youngest son.

“Let me see him again,” you break the silence and spin around, coming face to face with Alys. “Please. One more time.”

Alys shakes her head stiffly. “No. You will meet again.”

You swallow back the lump that grows in your throat and even if you want to argue you just keep your head down and accept it, letting a silence seep in.

“You know what you must do. You know your place now,” Alys interjects as she reaches over and grabs your shoulder to make you slowly find her gaze.

“I’m a woman. How can I lead anyone?” You place doubt in yourself and your place.

“I already told you why you can lead. You know who you are at this point of our story,” she reassures you as she holds your gaze intently. “Don’t underestimate faith, Princess. They see you, the Princess unscathed by fire, and they see all their prayers answered.”

Without speaking a word you ask with your eyes alone if she’s sure, and without saying a word in return she looks at you with a hint of smugness mingling in her smirk.

You hold her gaze as you draw out a deep breath and push out all the lingering doubt with it to mirror her smirk in the darkness of the Godswood.

——

*4 MONTHS LATER*

It’s been four months of being in the Riverlands, at Harrenhal, which has not turned out to be so bad with Alys becoming your best friend. You’ve been inseparable since that night at the Godswood, much to Aemond’s dismay. And the only thing you can say since those four months is how much you hate about being away from Aerion for so long.

It’s been four months since you’ve seen his little face and his little smile, and it’s been four long months since you’ve heard a single word of him. All you know is that he’s 9 months old now and probably spoiled rotten by your mother. Vanessa hasn’t been able to send anything on any matter, nor can you send a raven asking for an update because of the tension between the fractions. You’re left in the dark with only Alys’ reassuring word as an offer.

She says you’ll see Aerion soon, and you believe her. You wish she could say more, you want to know more, but she can only tell you so much because she says that knowing too much of the future is a burden you don’t want. And you don’t argue about it either, you know Helaena, and you know how her dreams weigh down on her. And with everything already going on, you don’t want to carry that on your shoulders, so you don’t bother to ask about the future, it’s already changed you as it is.

You can’t say it hasn’t, because it has. It’s changed your fight. Once you fought for your own selfish desire to stay alive; and yes even now that instinct still resides within you, but there’s also something else that lives within you; a need to fight for something grander.

You must light the way and so you shall. That’s what you’re meant to do. That guarantees that the future of your house, your bloodline, and that of your family's bloodline, flourishes. That guarantees the birth of the Prince that was Promised. But how can you leave Aemond?

You could leave on top of Astraea any time you wanted, Aemond can’t chain her and he wouldn’t follow you to the Red Keep, but…you can’t find the need to leave him. You can’t part from him, and you can’t fathom the thought even if he’s changed as well.

Being at Harrenhal seems to have made Aemond paranoid, and more protective, and has him lost in thought a lot of the time which only leaves him more erratic. He’s more violent and prone to bursts of anger. Have you made it easier? You can’t say you have. You admit it. You’re still upset about what he forbade you from doing, of keeping you like a caged bird unable to be part of any war councils. You’re not riddled with those insecurities that once took a hold of you before, but he still has you trapped and estranged from anyone who wanders too close. You’re like his shadow, or some tapestry only good to admire. That’s what you are to him. All he lets you be to everyone accompanying you.

Yet that’s why it’s easier to hide in the shadows with Alys. No one bothers you there, only each other.

“You were right,” you tell her as you come to a stop on the balcony that overlooks that massive grande hall and see Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne preparing to leave with the army of men, but without Aemond and you.

It seems last night they had an argument about what it is that needs to be done. Food is starting to run short, horses and men are dying to sickness and hunger, and forging parties have to go past burnt fields and burnt towns alike to try and get what is needed.

Yet no matter how many forging parties leave, none return. And those Western men, well, Cregan and the Northman have really made a name for themselves when they joined forces with the Rivermen because they demolished the Western army. They took heavy losses, but at the end of the battle that the men call the Fishfeed, banners for the Queen are all that were seen.

You wish you could see the glory, but the best you could do was hear about the glory through the mouths of people who weren’t there, and Alys who paints a much more gloomy picture. Yet it’s through those words that you can say the Battle by the Lakeshore impacted your stance at Harrenhal; the glory that Aemond wanted to take from Daemon did not even grow twice the size, it was just a sad attempt that failed miserably.

And even then he refuses to leave, you can assume that’s why Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne are taking the army. There’s no need for you to be here anymore so you can only imagine they’re going to join the Hightower army now. If the Rivermen and the Northmen allow them to that is.

“You should bid your farewells,” Alys suggests as she stands by you and watches over the same scene below.

“Should I really?” You quip and press your hand on your swollen belly as you drift your gaze to focus solely on Aemond. And even if tension lies between you that has turned you both distant, you still look at him like he’s the brightest star in a sky littered with smaller and duller stars. You admire the way he stands so poised and has his jaw clenched, flexing his sharp features. You admire the way he silently damns the men with his pointed glare. And you smile softly like you do when you admire the brightest star; the morning and evening star.

“You know how much I detest Ser Criston,” you grumble to Alys. “I’m actually thrilled he’s finally leaving.”

“What of Ser Gwayne?” She then brings up. “He’s quite charming.”

You drift your gaze to her and slowly but surely realize she’s right so you push yourself away from the balcony and turn away, at that moment missing the way Aemond lifts his gaze and catches the way your gown twirls as you turn away. When you’re in the corridors and know that no soldiers are lurking in the shadows you interject. “Will it bode them well to leave?”

Alys’ gaze falls on you and she responds but with a question. “What do you think?”

You draw out a deep breath and share your running thoughts. “With the Northmen and Rivermen now standing triumphant, I’ll say they will be walking into a field of fire they won’t be able to evade.”

Alys stays quiet so you continue sharing your piece of mind. “If I had been at that council I would have advised them to do as Daemon did, take the host around the enemy and evade a fight to be able to join forces with the Hightower army. Lands there aren’t destroyed, there’s food and more horses for the taking.”

Alys turns her head as you do and you catch a proud smirk on her face, showing that she praises your response.

“Alas, you were not there. Don’t worry yourself of their struggles anymore,” she says as you both continue to look ahead.

Once you reach the great hall where Ser Criston, Ser Gwayne, and Aemond are, they all stop what they’re doing to give you their attention.

“I have come to bid my farewells,” you tell the pair of men ready to march. “Good luck in your battles to come, Ser Criston. I hope we see each other again,” you lie straight through your teeth and offer him a sweet smile before you glance at Alys to flash her sly smirk.

In return, she offers you a slight nod that you alone catch before you slide your eyes back to the knight and lift your hand to offer it to Ser Criston Cole.

The second the knight catches what you seek from him, his eyes find Aemond to speechlessly ask for an excuse to not do what you want from him and what will make him bow to you, but Aemond only backs up your request by lifting his chin and expecting the Knight to go ahead.

And thus, the Knight lowers his head from its ever so prideful hold, letting his gaze fall on your face for a second, and in doing so making you lift your nose in the air to show off your power over him because no matter if he’s a forced to be reckoned with and a legendary swordsman, all that amounts to nothing compared to you. You will always be above him in every way, and he hates that you are, he hates knowing it, and he hates seeing it on your face as you look down on him with the thick gold circlet around your head gleaming against the ray of sun that shines over you at that moment. As if the gods themselves approved of you’re holier than thou status in this world.

Then again, nothing outshines the wicked mischievousness that plays in your eyes as his gaze falls on your hand decorated with expensive rings. When he takes your hand he does so with the most delicate touch, not because he thinks you’re delicate, but because it’s eating at his pride. That’s why he's hesitant and slow as he bends down and presses his lips on your knuckles. All while you lower your head, making the chains attached to your circlet lightly clink against each other whilst your eyes show off the smugness you can’t show off with a smirk.

Once Ser Criston has done his part he pulls his hand away and stands to his given height. Yet you’re not done tormenting him yet. You proceed to step forward and press a light kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Princess,” he’s forced to say.

You pull away and offer him a teasing smile you manage to play off as sincere.

“Farewell, Ser,” you offer him one last time before you roll your eyes away and face Ser Gwayne with an actual sweet smile. “Good luck to you Ser. I hope you see many victories.”

Ser Gwayne offers you a warm smile and he willingly takes your hand to press a kiss on your knuckles before you offer him a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Please tell Daeron we send our greetings,” you tell him before you go. “And that we’re looking forward to joining forces with him and Tessarion soon.”

“I will,” he assures you and presses his hand on your belly. “You take care, and learn a new song so I may hear it when we reunite.”

You flash him a grin and nod in agreement before you reach over to give his arm a squeeze and then step away. After you offer both men one last look you then turn with the intention to leave, but first steal a glance at Aemond, catching his gaze on you so you let your own gaze linger on him.

“Come find me at the Godswood later,” you break the silence that was between you. “Okay?”

A flicker of relief and shock flickers in his gaze as he’s not hesitant to nod in agreement, letting you offer him a genuine and sweet smile that he doesn’t take for advantage. He cherishes the smile you offer him, the smile now rare to see directed at him. A smile so captivating he can’t help but admire you and almost leave it all behind to follow your lead at that moment as you finally walk away.

Yet even if his body turns towards you as you get further and further away, he doesn’t follow after you, he stays put and keeps in mind your invitation to go find you later.

“Has there been a sighting of Sunfyre?” You ask Alys as you make your way to the Godswood while the men that occupied the castle slowly file out. “The Golden Dragon?” You clarify.

“No, not beside the time he flew away from Rook’s Rest.” She says news you already knew but still welcome to let an idea form in your mind.

“He lived by miracle, which is great, but we’ll have to kill him,” you mention your idea. “Or his rider. Whichever it is, we can't let them reunite. The Blacks may have the numbers, but a dragon with a dragonrider is still a threat. And with the crown having the people against them, regaining Sunfyre is an advantage we can’t have.”

“What do you suppose you can do from here?” Alys remarks, making you slowly look at her with an annoyed look before you scoff and retort.

“You want me to leave you alone?”

Alys tilts her head and her lips turn to a slight smile. “I could never forget you for as long as I live.”

“Memories don’t make you laugh. I make you laugh, me,” you quip and she scoffs before she leans towards you and bumps into your side.

“I already told you…”

“We’ll never be out of each other's lives,” you finish for her since she’s already assured you of that piece of the future. “I know, but…”

“You can’t avoid your mother forever,” she adds for you, making you drop your gaze as you keep walking—“it’s not possible with the state of things.”

“I can’t leave Aemond,” you mutter and look back at her with a conflicted gaze. “He needs me too. I need him.”

“What of your son?” She counters with a comment that makes you go quiet and sorrowful all the way to the Godswood, and when you’re sitting on a boulder a few feet away from the Weirwood tree.

You can't seem to break the solemn silence that Alys cast over you as all that occupies your mind is guilt for the little one who hasn’t felt his mother’s warmth in 4 months because you can’t stop being petty, and have all your attention centered on your husband.

Aerion deserves better than that. He deserves a mother who’s there for all his needs, for all his firsts as he nears one years old, but instead, you’re here still trapped and foolishly dedicated to a man you have a strain with. You’re being selfish and meanwhile, he’s growing up without you.

“Here.”

You lift your eyes off your hands and look up to see Ser Jason approaching you with a beautifully decorated cord in his hand—“So when you miss your son you have this to remember him by when you’re apart,” he continues sharing as he comes to a stop in front of you and shows off a beautiful cord decorated with beads, shells, and an orange pearl.

“I just know how much you long to see him again, and well I thought it would be nice,” he begins to ramble nervously. “My own mother made one for me so I could remember her when I was away. Of course, I was young but it was reassuring.”

You blink repeatedly as your cheeks begin to burn out of heartwarming disbelief. “Oh,” you gasp and carefully take the cord. “Thank you, Ser. How sweet,” you coo and gently brush your thumb over the enchanting orange pearl. “How beautiful. Are you sure? This pearl…it looks rare.”

Ser Jason nods rapidly and then takes a seat next to you. “Yes, I’m sure, and it is rare, but who better to have it than you?”

A smile creeps on your lips. “Thank you, Ser, you’re sweet. And,” you pause and swallow thickly, feeling that smile fall all too fast. “I’m sorry for having you stay here,” you finally address the guilt that you carry about him. “I know it’s not ideal, it's always so gloomy here, and resources are running scarce.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he lets the word slip, making you giggle which in turn causes him to catch what slipped out of his mouth—“Forgive me that’s no way to speak. Sorry.”

You shake your head. “Do not worry, Ser. It’s alright.”

Ser Jason keeps his eyes on you for a second longer as he quietly scolds you for not really correcting him the way you should, but since you don’t add on the matter he leaves it be and instead continues with what he was going to say. “I’m your sworn protector, my place is by your side even in the darkest of days.”

Your eyes soften and a smile slowly reappears on your face.

Yet like before the smile is all too short-lived when suddenly a booming voice rips through the Godswood. “YOU!”

Your eyes snap up and there stomping over is Aemond with rage twisting his face and keeping his focus locked on the man sitting next to you.

“Who do you think you are?!” He barks out. “Leave her alone!”

You stand to your feet and as you reach out to try and stop his blinding rage, Alys grabs your arm and pulls you towards her whilst Aemond reaches Ser Jason and rips him off his seat to drag him back against a wall.

“Aemond!” You bellow out. “Stop it!”

Said man wraps his hands around Ser Jason’s throat and slams his head against the stone wall, making your eyes widen with horror and confusion as to what brought this on. Ser Jason was only being nice, he wasn’t even touching you, he was just sitting next to you. That’s all!

“Aemond, leave him alone!” You try to get him away from your sworn protector, but it’s like he can’t even hear you, like once again he’s lost in a completely different world than yours.

“You’re nothing more than a bastard,” you hear Aemond sneer at your sworn protector. “You are nothing. You will never be anything, do you hear me? Do you?!”

Ser Jason manages to bring his hands up and tries to pull Aemond’s hands away, but your husband only tightens his hold, making the knight start to gasp for air.

“Do you think I’d let you get away with it?! Do you think I would let you hurt her?! Kill her?!” He keeps exclaiming and once again slams him against the wall so hard Ser Jason groans at the impact. “She’s mine,” Aemond growls. “I won’t let you hurt her!”

“Aemond!” You cry out and rip away from Alys to run over and try to pull Aemond off Ser Jason, but when Aemond feels your hands wrap around his hand he doesn’t even turn his rageful glare toward you. It’s locked on the man before him so he doesn’t see that it’s you, he just swings his arm back so hard that you lose balance and hit the floor on your side, feeling a flash of fear when you’re on the cold ground.

“Alys,” your whisper trembles and it’s at that moment when your voice hits his ears that Aemond snaps out of his blinding rage and finally sees you frozen on the ground, whilst the woman you called for rushes to your side and is quick with her efforts to help you.

“Here let’s get you up,” she insists in a hushed tone as she grabs your arm to help you to your feet. When she starts to be overbearing and examines your side, your fear slowly fades away and you’re left with a stinging pain on your side and palms.

Even then you try to play it off as you’re in disbelief as to what just happened. “I’m fine,” you try to assure her. “I think I just scraped my side.”

Alys doesn’t see any blood coming out from your sides, nor does she notice any coming out from between your legs so she then grabs your hands and yanks them towards her, noticing at that moment that your palms are the only ones that are bleeding.

“Not fine,” she quips.

You pull your hands away from her grasp and insist otherwise. “I am fine, just tend to Ser Jason. Please,” you press with both your words and your eyes.

Alys seems hesitant, but when she glances back at the man behind her standing in horrified disbelief as to what he caused, she gets the hint of what you want to do and does as you said.

However, even when she walks away with Ser Jason, you fail to face Aemond. Your mind is running wildly, bouncing from thought to thought and feeling to feeling as it’s all in shambles not knowing what to do or what to think next.

All that’s clear is that Aemond hurt you. He might have not meant it, but he hurt you. He did. And it might not hurt, it may not scar like when he accidentally slashed your cheek, but the scrapes sting and you remember the short-lived fear that you had because of the twins you’re carrying.

“I…” Aemond trails off and you hear him stepping toward you. “Are you okay?”

Those words. Those damn words always work to bring out your emotions and this time it’s no different. Yet rather than feeling cared for when he asks, you instead feel…anger. Anger that only heightens when you finally look up and meet his gaze filled to the brink with tears, worry, and guilt.

“I…” he trails off again and once again he steps towards you, but this time without stopping. He reaches you and his eyes wander your body for any blood. “I didn’t see you. I didn’t know…I,” his words quiver and he finds your gaze, finding nothing more than anger in your eyes. There’s no warmth that lets him feel reassured, that lets him know you’re truly unaffected by the accident. All your anger is accumulated in your eyes at this very moment and it all stares right back at him in the face. There's not even angry words that escape you that help him work this out, which actually tells him a lot more than words ever could.

At this moment, as you glare at him, and he looks at you, he sees a decision. He sees the path that you both walked down hand in hand coming to a crossroads and breaking you apart by your choice alone. If it was up to him he would always choose to walk down the same path hand in hand, but he sees as clear as day that you’re drifting down a different path.

“I’m returning to Aerion,” is all that your anger lets you say, and it’s all that you actually want and need to say to express your resolve.

There’s no more confusion or disbelief. Only anger and resolve. Where there was once hesitance to leave Aemond, now there’s an urgency to leave. Which is why you swiftly spin around and storm away toward your quarters to try and get the belongings you can carry. You’ll have Ser Jason bring the rest by horse. You just can’t and won’t stay. No matter how much he starts pleading and spewing out apologies.

“You cannot go, your place is here with me,” Aemond says after you, but you don’t respond, you just pick up your pace.

“Are you listening?” Aemond calls out in response to your silence. “Where will you go?!”

“To my mother,” you snap back, making him lunge forward to grab your arm and turn you around to face him.

“You will be a traitor,” he sneers with his anger returning but faltering all in the same while.

“Then kill me. You can’t burn me, so you will have to kill me, Aemond,” you counter spitefully before you tilt your head and become bold. “Because I am a traitor. Before I found out my mother lied I was sending her letters about the plans you and your Green council made.” You snicker and feel a smirk twitch on your lips. While Aemond blinks in disbelief and lets you go as he tries to search in your eyes if you’re lying just to have him let you go, but all he sees is sincerity. You’re speaking the truth and when he realizes that his lips part and a breath escapes him.

And even if the sadness in his eye makes you falter, and aches your own soul, you don’t let it take over. You can’t stay a moment longer, this is not your place anymore. Not after what he did, so after a deep breath you slip away from his hold and return to your raging path.

Once you reach your chambers you don’t hear him after you so it’s easy to collect your immediate belongings and stuff them in a bag. He’s not trying to stop you like before, he’s not snatching your things out of your hands so it’s all easy.

However, as surprised and relieved as you are that there’s no fight. It was too easy indeed because the moment you turn around with the intention to walk out, the door is slammed shut and you hear a key turn before you hear something blocking the door. And since only one person was after you trying to stop you from leaving, you realize your revelation didn’t affect Aemond the way you wanted it to. He didn’t care in the grand scheme of things.

“Aemond,” you call out with confusion and drop the bag to run to the door and try to open it, but it’s locked and you’re met by an overpowering force. “Aemond?” You call out again desperately.

“I…had an inkling you were never loyal to our side. Not until you found out the truth,” his voice travels through the wooden door. “You always detested Aegon, and I always knew you had a blinding loyalty toward your mother, so as shocking as it is to hear you admit it, I expected it.”

You try to open the door again but when you’re met by the same force you tap the door with your palms. “Then just let me go. Aemond, please.”

Something presses against the surface on the other side before he speaks softer. “That was in the past, It doesn’t bother me all that much. What bothers me…what I cannot stand is you leaving, because if you leave and something…happens when I’m not there to help you I’ll lose you…” he trails off and a thump hits the door. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Aemond,” you whimper and drop your forehead against the door. “Please, my love. Please don’t lock me in here.”

“I will leave men here to make sure that nothing happens to you and make sure that you stay here. They will also guarantee that the witch brings you food and cleans what it is that needs cleaning while I’m out okay?” He says through the door. “I’ll return soon.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Where are you going?” You query.

Silence follows for a moment before he responds. “We’re surrounded by traitors. It’s time they pay the price, and once word reaches Rhaenyra of what is happening, Daemon will come to meet me so I stop burning their allies' lands. That’s when I’ll finally rid this world of my uncle's existence. We can win after that.”

“Aemond,” you cry out as you shake your head against the door. “Please, please don’t do this. Please.”

You hear him sigh before he speaks quietly. “I love you. There’s no one I love or could ever love more than you. It’s why I’m doing this. It’s for your own good.”

Tears slip out of your eyes while your chest clenches as you start to realize that nothing you say will change his mind. All the pleading will amount to nothing at this moment in time because he believes that what he’s saying is right. He believes that he is doing right by you.

But he’s only hurt you more, doesn’t he see that? Doesn’t he hear it in your desperate pleas?

“Aemond,” you whimper.

Said man doesn’t respond with words, his shadow lingers under the door frame before it departs as you hear his footsteps recede.

“Aemond?!” You call out louder and pull your head away from the door. “Aemond?!” You cry out with tears streaming down your cheeks. “Aemond! Let me out! Let me out! Please! Let me out damn it!”

Yet no amount of shouts or desperation changes his mind. He leaves you trapped in your chambers. He leaves you alone in Harrenhal as he mounts Vhagar and ascends the skies without you.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens

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paulyenvol6 · 3 days

Text

Byka Atroksia (Chapter 4)

Contains: just a little angst and Rhaenyra being bipolar

Masterlist of this story

Wordcount: ~2.40k

Just when you were about to fall asleep you could feel Daemon roll off you.

It made you open your eyes again and you were back in the present moment. He exhaled loudly and stared at the ceiling while you felt weird at the loss of his weight on you. You felt exposed and cold suddenly.

Now that you were fully awake again more thoughts were floating through your head and a lot of emotions were washing over you. Slowly, you left the beautiful haze you had remained in after the intercourse and were pulled back into reality. You had just lost your virtue, your honor. Gods be good, what had you done? You weren’t married and yet you had just lost your maidenhood to your uncle. It wasn’t uncommen in your family to marry relatives but the point was that your father had no intentions marrying you to Daemon.

You felt your hands starting to shake. That was a catastrophe. A big, fatal mistake you had made. Maybe it was a dream, you thought. Maybe you would wake up in a couple of seconds and find yourself alone in your bed, right where you were supposed to be at this hour.

But then you turned your head and saw your uncle next to you, still breathing heavily and you felt yourself panick. If anyone would find out about this it would have terrible consequences. Your father would be furious, probably disinherit you and not call him his daughter anymore. Rhaenyra would look at you with disgust and suddenly you felt so dirty and filthy.

"Daemon.", you said with tears in your eyes. He slowly opened his eyes. "Mhmm…?", his voice sounded tired and annoyed by your disturbance.

"W-We shouldn’t have done this.", you whispered desperately and sat up on your uncle’s bed. "It was wrong, I-I was supposed to – How could we have – " Tears ran down your face and you pressed your hands over your mouth shocked by your action.

Daemon sighed deeply and slowly sat down on the bed as well. He reached out to you, grabbed both your upper arms, pulled you towards him and held you against his chest. He would have prefered to get some sleep now and wasn’t delighted by your outburst but did what he had to do. So he caressed your hair as he felt his skin getting wettened by your tears

"It’s alright…" "No it’s not, I – They’re gonna put my head on a spike for this." Daemon shook his head even though you couldn’t see it.

"They’re not, Vhaela."

"But w-when I'll be married some day my husband is gonna notice that I have lost my maidenhood already." Daemon exhaled. "Every woman is different. Some are tighter, some not. Some bleed, some don't. Perhaps he will be too much of an idiot to notice."

"But he COULD notice. And that would be… a disaster!" Suddenly you pulled away from him and looked at him with a serious look on your face.

"Please don’t tell anyone, uncle. They can’t know." He reassuringly nodded. "Yes. I will not."

You took a deep breath and tried to collect yourself. "We – That was so stupid, Daemon." He rolled his eyes and took your hand. "I think it was rather nice.", he whispered slowly as he pressed little kisses on the back of it.

"I didn’t know you were such a filthy, wicked beast." You blushed and there was the hint of a smile on your face.

"But now you need to rest, gevie riña (beautiful girl). You’re exhausted." You nodded in response and Daemon reached to the end of the bed to grab the blanket. He pulled at it to cover you both with it but you uncertainly watched him and played with your fingers.

"But, won’t they see us together in the morrow if I stay here in your chambers?" Daemon didn’t answer you immediately but put his hands on your waist and moved you so you laid next to him.

"No, they won’t. The servants don’t come in here in the morrow. I’ve told them not to countless times." He moved the hair out of your face.

"You don’t need to worry so much, little owl. I’ll protect you." You looked up to him with big eyes and it felt good to hear him say these words. They gave you comfort and made you think that actually everything would be fine.

"Such a sweet, little, innocent thing.", he whispered and kissed you on your forehead. "Sleep now."

~~~~~~~~~~

You were woken by the daylight in the morrow and needed a moment to remember what had happened the night before. You felt a little tension in your belly and you weren’t certain if it was caused by the memory of Daemon’s hot touch on your body or the fear what might happen if someone was to find out about your sins.

Daemon was still asleep next to you but only a few minutes after you had woken up he opened his eyes as well.

"Mhmmm.", he grunted and yawned. "Good morrow, uncle." He stretched his arms and turned to his other side. "Good morrow."

Did he really want to go back to sleep now?

"Daemon, I have to go now. The risk is too high that someone is gonna see me here." You looked at him with big eyes and Daemon slowly sat up. "Then go. There is the door." You frowned and he chuckled sleepy. "Sorry."

"I didn’t know you were so grumpy in the morrow."

He didn’t answer to that but got off the bed to grab his clothes which you did in the meantime as well. Then he turned to you.

"You should go through the secret tunnel from my room into the city and then back to the keep." You were confused and looked at him questioning. "What?"

"My sweet Vhaela, you’re the one who’s so concerned so this is me trying to come up with a plan that will make sure no one will suspect anything." You still didn’t know what he was talking about.

"We left the feast yesterday and there were probably enough people to tell my father that we left together. If you want to avoid rumours we have to give them an explanation for what we were doing. If you leave the keep through the tunnel that leads from my chambers right into the city and you enter the Keep now in the early morrow they will think that you have spent the night out. Which is exactly what you’re gonna tell them. And as nobody has seen either you or the two of us together they will believe it. You and I left the feast together and I shortly after went up to my chambers. You, on the other hand went out to… I don’t know, come up with something. It wouldn’t make sense to assume that we were together in the city if you return alone and I myself remain in my bed until noon."

You slowly nodded. Everything he had said made sense and you admired him for how quickly he had thought of a clever plan. So you let him lead you to the wall behind his bed but when your gaze fell on the bed you stopped.

"Daemon.", you said. He turned to look at you and then his eyes followed yours. There was a red stain on the sheets and of course you knew where it came from. You had bleeded when you had lost your maidenhood and now there was proof on the bedsheets. Daemon understood and shrugged his shoulders as if he thought it was nothing.

"I can get rid of it. I can burn it if necessary."

"Really?" He kept walking to the wall and left you looking at the blood stain.

"Yeah, of course." You gulped but then followed your uncle. Then everything happened very quickly. He opened the door to the secret passage and you stepped out of the chambers and into the tunnel.

"Be careful, little owl. Promise me that." You nervously looked at him. "Is it gonna be…. I haven’t been to the city a lot. Is it dangerous?" Daemon caressed your cheek. "If you keep your head down and your Targaryen hair hidden…", he adjusted the scarf he had just wrapped around your head. "Then you’ll be fine."

You nodded. "Alright. I… I’ll see you soon." Your uncle nodded and couldn’t hide a smirk looking at his not so innocent niece.

~~~~~~~~~~

You felt a stitch in your side as you walked up the many stairs. You were out of breath and the sun was already burning down at you which you had appreciated once you had arrived in the city but now it was too hot. Everything had worked so far and you hoped that your father would believe the story you had come up with during your walk.

You had fought with your sister (which wasn’t a lie), then talked to your uncle who had noticed your bad mood. He had suggested you needed some fresh air and escorted you out of the hall and into the gardens. There, you had said that you needed some time alone and Daemon had gone to his chambers while you, who had felt out of character and risky last night, had decided to go down into the city to just be in a different environment for once. You had strolled through the streets, watched all the attractions one could find and then fell asleep on a hay ball in a shed after drinking a little too much. You knew that you father would be angry nevertheless. His daughter, the Princess drunkily spending her time in bars and sheds? You gulped. But it was better than telling him the truth.

The guards at the red keep let you pass once they recognised you without asking what you had done in the city at that early hour. You felt miserable when you entered the hall. Not only did you fear the upcoming conversation with your father but thinking about you activities last night put you through hell as well. You had sinned, had committed an unspeakable crime. And you hated how much you had enjoyed the time with your uncle. You should feel disgusted now, thinking about his touch, but you didn’t. Because you hated that you did that, that you had lost your honor and virtue and that you had such a lack of will strength but at the same time it made your breath go faster thinking about Daemon’s hands on your body.

"Vhaela!" You quickly turned around with widened eyes and saw your sister walking towards you.

"Vhaela, where have you been?" Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around you and held you tightly. "We were so worried, has something happened to you?" You gulped loudly and felt tears in your eyes.

She and your father had been scared for you while you had done such a terrible action. And why did Rhaenyra had to be so caring and kind to you right now? It only made you feel worse than you already did.

"No, I’m fine, sister." Rhaenyra ended the hug and observed you intensely. "But where were you? I saw you leaving the feast with uncle, what did you do?"

You tried to look as honest as possible and started speaking. "After our fight… I didn’t feel very well and uncle saw that. We went out to get some fresh air and then he left me alone and I… I went to the city." Rhaenyra looked at you with an open mouth.

"What? Vhaela, you… Why? How could you do that?" You looked to the ground. "I’m sorry, I-I felt so odd yesterday. After everything I just felt like I needed a change in my environment. See something else than the keep."

Rhaenyra let out something that sounded like a cry and took your hand. "Vhaela. I’m sorry."

"What? What are YOU apologising for?" Your sister shook her head and looked sad. "Our fight… I was nasty yesterday. I don’t know what it was, but I’m sorry. Gods, and you brought yourself into such danger because of me…"

"No. No. I acted with full responsibility. I promise you this, Rhaenyra, it’s not your fault. And nothing happened to me anyway." Rhaenyra sighed deeply.

"What exactly did you do, Vhae?" You gulped and just wished you could tell your sister the truth. You didn’t always get along but right now she was kind and genuinely cared about you.

"I aimlessly walked through the streets and watched all the street artists. And then I… I drank some wine in a tavern and fell asleep on a hay ball."

Rhaenyra looked to your interlocked hands and desperately shook her head. "The things that could have happened… Gods be good, Vhaela, you could have get hurt. Someone could have used your drunk state and rape you." You intensely looked at her, trying everything to make her calm down and not making her feel responsible for what she believed to had happened.

"But nothing did happen, Rhae. I swear this to you, I’m perfectly fine. And I will not do this again. Ever."

Rhaenyra once again pulled you into a hug. "You will not. Oh Vhae, I can’t believe you’re 16 already.", she then whispered. "You’re my little sister after all. My little sister that needs to be protected."

You rolled your eyes and chuckled. "I don’t need to be protected." Rhaenyra looked stern and bit her lip.

"Just promise me. Promise me you won't act so stupidly again." You nodded a few times and tightly held your sister’s hand. "I promise you, Rhaenyra. On our mother’s memory." Rhaenyra exhaled loudly.

"Now you will have to listen to father’s outburst but I guess you deserve it a second time. And I also have a few things to say to uncle." Your head rapidly turned to your sister. "I simply can’t believe him, I can’t believe he’d leave you alone in the gardens at such a late hour."

As you didn’t know what to answer to that you just silently followed your sister who brought you straight to your father’s chambers. You both knew that you couldn’t avoid this conversation and like your sister you thought it was best to get over with it as quickly as possible.

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mawofmeraxes · 2 years

Text

Nothing That Will Stop Me

request: hello! i saw your recent post and was wondering if i could request a jaime lannister x reader fic, where the reader was captured (much like he was in season 2) and he kept looking for her but couldn’t find her, and she finally finds her way back to him after months. and it’s like their reunion and he’s so relieved yet concerned and he takes care of her and yeah :)

thank you and i hope ur having a good day! and ofc feel free to ignore this if you don’t feel comfortable writing it <3

summary: After enduring months of suffering under the hand of your captor, the dragon queen Daenerys Targaryen, your memory and studies of the guards allows you to narrowly escape and make your way back home to the one person who never stopped trying to find you, Jaime.

characters: jaime lannister x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: angst, fluff, happy ending, romance, reunion, captivity, wounds, cursing, imprisonment, almost death, murder, unsexual nudity, bathing scene, anti-daenerys targaryen

masterlist

In hindsight, maybe it had not been a good idea for you to accompany Jaime for the capture of Highgarden.

But you were a warrior just like he was, and neither your gender nor the expectations put upon you would stop you from participating in the fight that surely was to occur as you took Highgarden and all of its resources.

Your only regret was that Lady Olenna had to die.

While she may have seemed like a stone-cold bitch (and she was), she was also a woman that you had admired very much.

She would speak her mind with no regard or care for who was listening, got people to do what needed to be done, and even got shit done herself.

You had been suspicious over the true identity of Joffrey's murderer, as you simply knew that it could not be Tyrion who had done it.

So when Olenna had confirmed it for you and Jaime after drinking the poison, you were not surprised at all. No, you knew exactly why she had done it. For her lovely granddaughter.

The same granddaughter who was now ashes where the Sept of Baelor used to be.

Ironic, wasn't it?

Not long later found you, Jaime, and Bronn on the road back to King's Landing, watching as the carts and the men slowly made their way with the new resources.

Bronn had been paid handsomely, as was expected, and you just sat there and waited for what your lover wished to do next.

The main reason why you coming was a mistake, Jaime would later think, was that nobody thought about what the dragon queen would do in retaliation.

The Dothraki screamers were a sight to behold, and you had truly never been so scared of anything more in your entire life. Those men were ruthless, skilled fighters who knew exactly what they were doing.

And then Daenerys Targaryen herself flew in on her dragon and began burning everything in sight, and that's when you knew you were truly fucked.

You didn't foresee being captured at all. You simply thought that you would be slain in battle due to the chaos that surrounded you. Assumed that you would die while attempting to protect yourself.

Losing sight of Jaime was a clear mistake. You didn’t see him again during or after the fight. Perhaps that was a good thing, but you didn't know if that meant that he got away or if he was burnt to a pile of ashes.

When you later stand among the captured men being threatened by a dragon to kneel and submit to the new queen, you knew you could not do so. Simply for your loyalty to Jaime. No one else.

You would never betray him.

When you saw Tyrion Lannister you were not entirely shocked. Knowing that somehow you would be crossing paths with him again. And when Daenerys questioned a woman being a soldier you had simply stared at her, no words to say for the spiteful woman who had just burned so many men alive.

She was clearly ready to burn you alive as well, a look of pure rage and death in her eyes, but luckily for you, Tyrion's oh-so-smooth tongue and fanciful words about your connection to the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister seemed to sway her, and suddenly you were a prisoner.

You had lost track of time as the days went on. You did not know if it had been days, weeks, or months since you had been separated from Jaime.

You did not even know where you were at this point. Dragonstone? Where Daenerys had set up her base? Maybe you were somewhere in Essos, shipped off far away never to be found again before you die. You simply had no idea. All you knew was that you were carted off for days upon days on land before being brought onto a ship where you remained for a few more days. Before leaving the boat you were blindfolded and bound and dragged to the cell where you have stayed ever since.

You had thought about escaping of course, but you knew that your chances of surviving were slim, as all of the people in the queen's employ were ruthless and willing to do anything for her.

So here you remained. Unknowing if the love of your life was dead or not. Clueless as to whether you would be able to get out of this alive and try to find him.

But if he was alive, was he even looking for you? Was he even trying to find you?

You didn't know.

Maybe you never would. Maybe you would die in this dark, cold cell with no one even remembering who you are or what your name was.

But you didn't want that. You really didn't.

The only upside to being sequestered to the same cell day in and day out is that you've been able to just sit and watch when your guards changed, what time of day it was, how long each guard would stay for, and everything else that would help you plot your escape.

You knew exactly when the perfect time for you to attempt it was, the only problem that you were going to encounter was figuring out where exactly you were the second you got out.

Being brought here on a boat brought about the biggest problem that you would come across. If you were on Dragonstone, which would make the most sense, you would somehow need to find a smaller boat of some sort to cart you back onto the mainland.

So you hoped you weren't on Dragonstone.

You ended up being on Dragonstone.

Honestly no surprise there, you saw it coming from a mile away.

You could also see the dragons that circled in the sky.

If they hadn't almost killed you the day you had been captured, you would have thought them beautiful and majestic up there. But now, all you could think about was the death and fear they wrought.

Getting far away enough from the castle and using your knowledge of the maps you had studied had luckily gotten you to the single village that resided on the island. Finding some food and a boat to steal from there hadn't been any harder, and you had luckily been able to row yourself east until you hit land, rowing until you could barely feel your arms.

The plan from there was to start heading south until you would hopefully hit Kings Landing and be able to see if Jaime was there, hopefully still alive and breathing and not burnt to a crisp like many others.

When you did end up finding land, you decided that sticking to the coastline would be your best bet of not getting lost and went south for a whole day on foot until you reached Duskendale. When you asked the barmaid at the nearest tavern and inn how far Kings Landing was from there, she told you on foot it would take about a day and a half of travel.

Exactly what you needed to hear.

You spent the night at the inn using the coin that you stole while on Dragonstone.

It was honestly the best night's rest that you had had in ages. Whether it was due to the hay bed that you laid on or the fact that you knew that you were going to be reunited with Jaime soon, you were luckily able to rest through the night with no disturbances. You continued your journey in the morning.

You weren't used to walking long distances like this anymore. After your imprisonment, you were feeling weak and tired. The muscles that used to line your body were no longer strong due to disuse, and the lack of good food and water helped to ensure that you were not at your best.

So the day-and-a-half trip that was predicted turned to two and a half days, as you rested often and refused to push your body to the limits.

No use in rushing back home if you would just die along the way.

And almost three days later when you kept walking and began to see the red keep in the distance you could have cried in relief. It would only be a few hour’s walk and then you would be home. With Jaime.

If you didn’t die in the slums of Kings Landing first.

Arriving in the city was no different than the thousands of times you had done it before. The only difference this time was that you would have to make your way to the red keep on your own, with no guards or carriages to cover you.

Luckily you were not recognizable at this point as a proper lady. Your hair was marred with dirt and tangled from your imprisonment. Your clothes were ratty and almost falling off of your back. You blended in completely with some of the poorer folks of the city, and as you continued making your way through street after street you started to become worried that you wouldn’t even be allowed in the red keep at this point.

Luckily you had spent many a moon in the castle. Which meant that you knew some of the secret passages like the back of your hand.

It was easy to find the nearest one that led to Jaime’s room again. You had never forgotten it even when you spent moons alone in your solitude.

You had spent many nights sneaking in and out of his rooms, doing things that you shouldn’t have been doing, and going into the dangerous city when you knew it wouldn’t be recommended for a lady of your status.

But the lady of your status that you were supposed to be was non-existent, and the warrior you were captured as had much to say and much to do. Like sneaking into the city.

But that didn’t matter anymore.

All that mattered was being home.

You were walking up the last staircase now, taking your time as they took their toll on your weak frame.

Just a few more steps and the wall on the left would push straight into Jaime’s room. Opening up right behind a large tapestry that no one would have suspected.

Luckily the sun was still high up in the sky, meaning that you wouldn’t be coming into the room while he was possibly sleeping.

If he was even here.

During your time getting back to King's Landing you had much time to think about where Jaime could be. If he had made it out of Daenerys’ attack. You hadn’t seen him when you had been lined up with the others, but that could mean anything. He could have been able to get away or he could have been burnt to ash. Unrecognizable to everyone. A pile of ash.

You had to hope that he was still alive though. That he had made it out and had been hoping, waiting, and searching for you while you plotted your escape from the dragon queen.

Now would be the time to find out if it was all for nothing.

If you were to enter this room just for him to be dead, you would have escaped for nothing.

You would have rather died in that damp musty cell than come all the way here just to have your heart broken.

At this point, you don’t even know what you'd do if you were to find out that he was gone. You didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not while you were so close.

The door was right there now. All you had to do was push and it would lead you straight into his room.

When you did so, it didn’t feel like anything special. It was just any other secret passageway door. It opened until it was slightly hindered by the tapestry that rested against it. But you kept pushing with all of your might until there was enough room for you to slip through and push it back closed.

When you turned to take in the room it was like nothing had changed. It still looked the same as the last time that you had seen it. Lush, red, and gold, with some of Jaime’s belongings strung about.

And there, in almost the center of the room, sat Jaime.

He was at the table that you both frequently ate at, drinking a glass of wine and staring at the table as though it had the secrets of the world inside of it. He had a blank look on his face, not portraying any clear emotion.

You felt the tears start to well up in your eyes at the sight of him.

After all these months, all of this struggle you had finally made it back to him. And he was okay.

He was alive. It’s the only thing you could have ever asked for. Prayed for.

You stood there for a moment, taking in the mere sight of him. Absorbing it all.

It was like he hadn’t changed at all. His golden brown stair still shined the same. His rugged beard that lay on his jaw was unshaven and messy, exactly how you liked it. The only difference was the bags under his eyes. He looked restless and like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he was so heartbroken and worried over your capture that he had not been able to sleep properly the whole time.

Of course, you were right.

You couldn’t stand there any longer, you needed to hold him. Feel him.

“Jaime…” Your voice croaks out.

His eyes widen, and his head jerks a little but his eyes remain glued to the table. Like he can’t believe he heard your voice. Like you're unreal.

You murmur his name again, and this time he turns his head to look in your direction. His eyes are wide, full of shock and disbelief. “What…” He whispers it, the sound barely heard from where you stand across the room. He stands up slowly, eyes still on your frame as though you’ll disappear if he looks away. “Is it really you?” He questions, slowly stepping towards you as though you were a frightened doe.

A smile starts to spread across your face, your eyes widening in relief. “It’s me, Jaime.” And take your own steps towards him, meeting him halfway.

When you both come together again everything feels right. His arms wrap around you as tight as they possibly can, his right arm around your waist while his left wraps around your shoulders with his hand cradling your head. Your arms come to wrap around him just as tight.

You stand there for a moment, feeling the warmth that his body emits. His breath hot as it brushes the top of your head in quick pants. You can feel the scratchiness of the top he wears.

But then you feel the shuddering that begins in his chest and leaves his mouth as a sob. He pulls you in tighter, breathing picking up as he begins gasping for breath as more and more sobs leave his body and warm tears start to fall onto the top of your head as he cradles it into his chest.

Tears have started welling up in your own eyes at this point, soon turning into sobs of your own as you both hold each other with plans of never letting go.

At this point, Jaime had thought you dead. He thought that you had been either killed in the Reach or captured by the false queen and executed for being her enemy. But here you were. Warm, whole, and in his arms again. Although you did look worse for wear. Hair tangled in knots while your clothes lay in almost tatters on your body. You were dirty, mud and dirt smudged across your face and under your nails. But it was you, and at this moment you had never looked more beautiful to him. You were alive.

He loosens his grip around you and pulls back slightly so he can look at your face. His eyes meet yours and you smile in joy when you see that happiness that reflects back at you. “I thought you dead.” He whispers, his left hand moving from the back of your head to cradle your cheek.

You move your own hand to cover his, “I thought you dead as well. I did not know if you had escaped or not.” You turn away a little bit and close your eyes at the memory of the nights you cried until you passed out in the cell. Cried at the thought of him dead forever. “I had no way of knowing if you died. The fields were ash by the time she captured the rest of us.” You turn to look back at him now, the look on his face mimics your own.

“I had hoped for so many nights that you were not dead, but the thought of you captured did not sound any better.” A scowl starts to mar his face. “Knowing that that false queen had you this whole time-” He cuts himself off and abruptly pulls his arms off of you, not taking note of you jumping in shock at the action. He then starts to pace the floors of the room, running his hand through his hair. “I will have her head for what she has done.” He continues pacing, not looking at you as he shakes his head in anger at the audacity of that Targaryen whore before he abruptly turns his head in your direction and stops pacing. “Look at you.”

He walks back over to you, picking at the rags that cover your body. “I’ll have the maids prepare a bath for you.”

And then he’s walking towards the door, calling out to the maids for a meal and a bath.

All of the maids come rushing into the room in a flurry, and you just stand there and wait as Jaime directs them on what food and clothes he wants them to bring for you.

You only stand there waiting for a few short minutes before the bath is ready, as it’s the one thing he impressed upon the maids as most important.

When you walk into the bathing chambers the large marble bath that rests within it is full of steaming water filled with flowers and oils. You feel all of the stress simply fall off of you as you breathe in the warm air and let it soothe you.

Jaime walks in immediately after you, folded clothes resting in his hand for you to change into when you are done bathing. He sets them done before walking over to you, eyes wide and open. “Allow me to help you, my love.” He says and you simply nod while he begins to undress you.

He pulls off the tattered tunic that you wear, throwing it to the side before he unwraps the band you have covering your breasts, allowing you to breathe freely with no restrictions. Next, he rids you of the breaches that you wear, basically tearing them off due to the rips and holes that they already possess.

The entire time you watch him as he works, watching as he uses his one hand to help you undress, providing one of your hands in assistance whenever he has trouble. Something that you have both long since grown used to doing.

Once you stand bare before him he lightly grabs onto your shoulder to guide you over to the tub. “Rest in the tub for a moment, love.” He helps get your weak frame into the water. You only realize now how exhausted you are. You haven’t eaten a proper meal in months and using your muscles after going so long without has proven to be a strain on your energy. You simply nod as you feel the hot water soothe and calm your aching muscles.

You don’t know how long you sit there before Jaime is asking you to dip your head back into the water to wet your hair so that he can brush through it for you.

“I never wish to be separated from you again, Jaime.” You whisper into the warm air, turning your head so that your eyes can meet his.

He looks into your eyes, his green ones meeting your own, “Trust me, we will never be apart ever again.”

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