#The Princess of Dorne Series | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rennalaqotfm · 5 months ago

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𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART IV)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Sexual content (but MDNI 18+ just to be safe), dry humping (-ish?), violence, alcohol consumption, toxic dynamics, swearing, themes of prejudice and misogynism, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said, (not proofread).

WC: 5.6k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

As the winds guided Ser Tyland's ship to the Free Cities, the excitement regarding the wedding of the future Princess of Dorne and the Crown Prince buzzed in the air. No ravens had to be sent, for the whispers began within the palace walls, spread through the bustling streets of Sunspear, and were carried by the desert winds across the dunes, reaching the furthest Dornish houses.

Princess Y/n sat before her mirror, watching her handmaiden, Melynda, fasten the back of her dress. A sweet girl of one-and-twenty, Melynda had been brought from Pentos on a cramped boat, a former slave traded by her master for coin. Ever since she had served the Princess with quiet devotion, her nimble fingers always making a masterpiece out of her.

Despite being draped in the finest fabrics of deep sapphire, adorned with intricate golden swirls and beads of amber, Y/n stared blankly at her reflection. The celebrations leading to the wedding were set to last a fortnight, a long stretch filled with feasts, ceremonies, and endless politicking. In mere hours, she would be facing the guests, forced to smile and charm as she and the Velaryon boy persuaded them to align with Rhaenyra's cause. She didn't even know where to begin looking for the strength and willpower she had to gather to convince those lords to join a war she herself didn't fully believe in.

“Is it too tight, Princess?” Melynda asked meekly, noting how Y/n had remained quiet the whole time she had been preparing her. "Princess?"

Suddenly, Y/n's bottom lip began to quiver as she felt a knot forming in her throat.

“Gods be damned…” she muttered, feeling her tears pooling in her eyes. “How did it all come to this?”

“If it's too tight, mayhaps I could—”

“Of course, it’s bloody tight! It’s damn near crushing my guts!” the Princess burst out, causing her handmaiden to stumble backward, her hands trembling. “I apologise, Melynda,” she sniffed, feeling the guilt pool in her chest. It wasn’t the first time she had taken her anger and frustration out on the younger girl. Of all the people in the palace, she was the least deserving of such crude treatment. “It’s just—”

“I understand, Princess,” Melynda smiled sadly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Y/n held her hand softly, holding back her cries. “To be betrothed to someone who you don't truly love must be a punishment for the soul.”

“I’ve been trying to avoid this all these years. Gods forbid a woman who wants to live a life free from all this nonsense," she muttered bitterly.

“You are to be the Princess of Dorne. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“But not with a Targaryen… someone who sees us as nothing more than goatfuckers.”

“Once you get to acquainted with one another, I’m certain he’ll see past the veil of prejudice that blinds the rest of Westeros.”

“Oh, we’re well past the point of acquaintances, and I’m certain we’ve both made it clear that we’d rather kill each other than push forward with this betrothal.”

“And yet, you've hardly spent a moment alone together, away from prying eyes. Forgive me if I'm wrong, my Princess, but this hostility you feel towards one another... it feels more like the weight of your houses than your own. He’s not truly wronged you, nor have you wronged him... well, apart from the few wounds you’ve exchanged.”

“I wish it were as simple as you say, but the hatred between our houses runs deeper than that trial. We’re talking about years of bloodshed, of lives torn apart by their desire to conquer what was never theirs. How can we ever forget that? If anything, those Targaryens are only reaping what they've sown.”

“I understand, Princess, but is it truly fair to place the sins of the forefathers upon their children? Yes, the Targaryens once sought to conquer Dorne, but they failed. And since then, they’ve left us to rule our lands. Why should Prince Jacaerys suffer for the wrongdoings of his ancestors when he himself hasn't harmed you?”

“You speak the truth, Melynda. But do you truly think the rest of the Dorne will see it that way?” She stared at her handmaiden's reflection. “The pain the Targaryens have caused... it’s not just written in our histories, it’s engraved into the souls of our people.”

“I’m not saying that your betrothal to Prince Jacaerys will reconcile your houses overnight, Princess. In fact, it may take generations to heal these wounds. However, if Queen Rhaenyra proves to be the rightful and just ruler she claims to be, and honours your demands... and you and Prince Jacaerys unite the Seven Kingdoms as promised, then mayhaps it could be the beginning of something.”

Suddenly, both women were startled by a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Y/n cleared her throat.

“My Princess,” Ser Domeric said from the other side. “The guests have begun to arrive, and your presence is expected shortly.”

Princess Y/n quickly composed herself, ensuring that any trace of sorrow had vanished from her face, and replaced her semblance with a mask of indifference.

The late afternoon breeze crept through the palace windows, stirring the heavy air in the Hall but doing little to lift the mood. Spirits were low and the lingering music was drowned out by the quiet murmurs of the guests. Lords and ladies from House Yronwood to House Qorgyle had traversed across the arid deserts to Sunspear, not out of enthusiasm, but out of duty, their gazes shifting warily as they gathered to pay tribute to the Princess. Even Y/n herself, appeared as though she wished to be anywhere else.

At the high table, the Martells sat alongside the Targaryens, not able to look one another eye to eye. They faced the great houses, whose semblance didn’t hide their disdain for the dragonriders. They showed no efforts for forced pleasantries, bracing themselves for the next chapter of conflict rather than celebrating a wedding that would unite the Seven Kingdoms.

Before anything, Prince Qoren stood up, ready to speak before his people.

“It is truly an honour to welcome you all this evening, and I thank each and every one of you for making the long journey to Sunspear. Tonight, we gather not only to celebrate the betrothal of my beloved daughter, Princess Y/n Martell, to the Crown Prince Jacaerys Velaryon... but also, the union between House Martell and House Targaryen,” he spoke, the enthusiasm fading in his voice.

The crowd fell into an immediate hush, the lords and ladies exchanging uncertain glances, some full of resentment, and some full of disgust. Y/n felt each pressing gaze suffocating her and tried to hide her discomfort behind the rim of her cup, already expecting those pessimistic reactions. After all, who in their right mind would willingly wed a Targaryen?

“Out of all of the suitors that have lost their lives willing to serve you and our realm, you chose to spare the one whose ancestors sought to conquer our lands?” Lady Liara from House Briar’s voice trembled, barely able to hold back her anger. “Could you not have shown mercy to my sweet boy Eldritch instead?”

The Princess had always been taught to hold back in such moments, especially in front of such a large audience, but before she could stop herself, the words were already spilling out of her mouth.

“My Lady,” Y/n began, trying to push down the feeling of irritation rising up her chest. “Remind me… who sent your son, alone, to seek my hand? As far as I know, someone that young shouldn’t be burdened with ‘providing me a strong heir’ or ‘making Dorne more prosperous than it already is.’ Those aren’t words a boy of three-and-ten should be speaking.”

Lady Liara sank back to her seat with a scowl. The Princess’ gaze swept across the Hall, their faces etched with grief and bitterness, never forgetting the lives lost in pursuit of her hand.

Whilst the guests sat in silence, waiting for either Prince Qoren or Princess Y/n to justify such a decision, Rhaenyra seized the moment to capture the crowd’s attention. She cleared her throat and rose slowly, her lilac eyes lingering on each guest, meeting the same eyes that had carried pent-up hatred for generations.

“By coming here, we are not denying the sins of House Targaryen,” she paused, allowing her words to settle, her gaze never leaving the crowd. “I understand that to many of you, we are still the enemy. I am aware of the blood that was spilled and the pain that has lingered for generations. But the true enemies now are the Greens, who have usurped the Throne and seek to bring all of Westeros to its knees. And I know Dorne will not bend without a fight. Join us, and we will stand together. We can prevent the war that the Greens will bring to your lands.”

Despite Rhaenyra's words, the guests still mumbled with one another and her plea fell on indifferent ears. She clasped her hands together, holding her composure.

“So, the Greens are the enemies now, eh?" A voice echoing across the hall finally broke through the whispers. “To them, you are the usurper. And as far as we are concerned, they have yet to come to our lands to pester us with this petty war of yours.”

“Do not mistake their silence for mercy, my Lord. When they come, they will not ask. They will take. And by then, it may be too late to decide where your loyalties lie,” Daemon retorted.

“They have left us with no other choice,” Lord Lysander Dayne scowled. “Is this why you brought these beasts? So they can burn us if we refuse to join?”

Upon the mere mention of the dragons, the fear of the crowd became palpable. Prince Qoren’s face was flushed with anger, seeing that the celebration had somehow turned into a council meeting.

“Enough of this nonsense!” Prince Qoren bellowed, rising to his feet and jabbing his fist to the table. "We are here to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my daughter, not to squabble over this bloody war! If I hear more of it tonight, I’ll throw you in a pit of scorpions myself," his voice cut through the crowd, making the lords shrink back into their seats as he glared at Rhaenyra.

The music, which had momentarily ceased, began to play again. Princess Y/n exhaled deeply, gripping her cup as she swirled the crimson liquid. If she was going to endure the remainder of this night and persuade those thick-skulled lords to support Rhaenyra, she would need wine. A lot of it. She downed the first cup, the sweet taste lingering on her palate as her gaze shifted across the room, spotting the lords she had to sway.

Lord Lysander of House Dayne sat with his lady wife, his stern face etched with displeasure. He had made it clear where he stood, opposing any involvement in the war. Yet, he was infamously known for his ambition; he was the sort of man who would bend the knee for the right price, advancing his own house in exchange for his formidable army. Then there was Lord Thaddeus of House Yronwood, head of the second-most powerful house in Dorne, capable of providing enough supplies to sustain the armies at sea; a practical man, loyal to tradition, but always open to negotiation. On the other side of the Hall, she spotted Lord Ander of House Jordayne, who owned the largest fleet in Dorne.

Ser Domeric, being part of House Uller and their loyal informant, would provide whatever support was asked. And lastly, House Santagar, though not enthusiastic, had always been fiercely loyal to the Martells and would stand by their house regardless.

Despite the collective disappointment lingering in the air, as the feast came to an end, the guests stood up to salvage what remained of the evening. Jacaerys’ eyes followed Y/n as she rose from her seat, weaving through the multitude and making her way to Lord Lysander. The man bowed his head and extended his hand, offering the Princess a dance which she accepted with a smile that seemed far too charming than she would normally allow herself to be. Jacaerys couldn’t tear his gaze from Y/n, watching how she leaned towards Lord Lysander, her lips closely brushing his ear, as he nodded eagerly so as not to disappoint her.

“A celebration of our upcoming betrothal?” Jacaerys scoffed, already feeling his blood boil at the sight of the Princess with another man. Had they been at the Red Keep, the whispers would have already circled around, rumours of the Princess enjoying the company of other men, even while bound by a betrothal to him, that would call into question not only her honour but the legitimacy of their future children. He could already hear the council’s scandalous whispers behind closed doors–whispers that had been haunting him all his life.

“She’s quite gifted, isn’t she, my dear sister?” Elyas remarked, turning to Jacaerys. “She has a way of making men dance in the palm of her hand.”

“Only if one is foolish enough to fall for whatever games she is playing,” Jacaerys muttered.

Jacaerys and Elyas watched how Lord Lysander placed a kiss on top of her hand. With one final whisper, she slipped away from his arms and disappeared into the crowd, only to be seen again; that time with Lord Ander, who offered the Princess his hand without hesitation.

“There are a couple of things you should know about her,” Elyas said with a sneer, glancing at the Princess. “One of them is… you’ll never be her only one.”

“You need not tell me what I can already see. It seems your sister is not familiar with the notion of faithfulness.”

“Faithfulness? As far as I’m aware, neither of you are bound by vows just yet,” Elyas grinned, noting how Jacaerys clearly wasn’t enjoying the conversation. "But listen, this celebration isn’t meant for you to sulk in a corner, watching my sister dance with every lord in Dorne. It's for indulging. There’s a place not too far from the palace, where we know how to truly celebrate. Who knows? You might not even survive this war you’re throwing yourself into. You may as well enjoy the finest pleasures our land has to offer before it’s too late," Jacaerys’s knuckles whitened around his cup, his repulsion palpable, but Elyas only leaned in closer.

As much as Jacaerys despised watching Princess Y/n flit from lord to lord, he wasn’t about to lower himself to her games. What was she trying to prove? Was she testing him, daring him to show any signs of jealousy or anger? Or mayhaps she was simply making it clear, once again, how much she misliked him?

Jacaerys refused to give Elyas the satisfaction of a response and merely shook his head. Elyas smirked, amused by Jacaerys' restraint, and stood up, ensuring he ruined the evening even more before leaving.

“Oh, and just so you know… whatever illusions you have about loyalty and honour, you'd best cast them aside. If you think my sister will suddenly change her ways after this betrothal of yours, then you’re completely wrong. I’m telling you now, she won’t. She’s as Dornish as they come… untamable and always chasing trouble. The more you tighten the leash, the more she’ll struggle to break free. And she’ll keep playing her games, whether you like them or not... so you better learn how to play them if you don't wish to end up as another one of her playthings,” Elyas said, slapping Jacaerys’ shoulder playfully before walking away.

Jacaerys hadn’t even realised how tightly he was clenching his jaw until the sound of Elyas and his sworn protector’s fading footsteps pulled him back to reality. He let out a breath, trying to shake off the bitterness away, and downed a gulp of wine.

But what he hadn’t noticed was a pair of dark wide eyes watching him from the other end of the table. It was Farien, whose gaze had been flickering between him and Elyas the whole time. When Jacaerys caught the boy's gaze, his expression softened. He set down his cup, watching how the little boy stood up and made his way over to him.

“If you marry my sister, does that mean you’ll become my brother?” Farien asked.

“I suppose,” he forced a smile, though he wasn’t sure if the little boy was particularly glad about that.

Farien climbed on to the empty seat beside Jacaerys, glancing around the nearly deserted table and making sure none of his family members were nearby. All of the Martells were tending their own business, leaving the Targaryens seated in silence. The boy leaned in close, cupping his small hands around Jacaerys’s ear, scared that someone might hear what he had to say.

“So, does that mean I get to ride your dragon?” He whispered.

Jacaerys looked at him, his eyes widening in surprise.

“If your father allows you, then I suppose you could… but are you not afraid?” He asked.

“I’m really, really scared. But I wonder what it must feel like to see the world from up above. The closest I’ve ever gotten to flying is in my dreams, you know? It feels like I’m one of Father’s falcons, soaring high in the skies. Father says I have the gift to turn into one of them at night and watch over the desert,” he glanced up, his eyes gleaming in wonder.

Jacaerys looked at the boy and allowed himself to smile, as Farien somehow reminded him of his younger brother, Joffrey, whom he hadn't seen in a long time.

“Anyway,” Farien continued, “I think we could be brothers, you and I. We even look alike, see?” He pointed at Jacaerys’ curls. “It would be nice to have another brother... because, well, Elyas... he’s nice, sometimes. But not always.”

Jacaerys held back a scoff, figuring as much.

“And what about your sister?”

“We like sneaking sweets from the kitchens and feeding them to the horses,” Farien’s eyes suddenly lit up. “And she loves fighting, too. But not the angry, shouting kind, no. She says that sometimes, fighting feels like dancing, and that’s why she enjoys it. She’s really good at it. And I think you are too. But my sister is better.”

Just as he was about to ask Farien what other things his sister enjoyed, one of the little boy’s servants approached them.

“My Prince, your father has sent me to take you back to your chambers to rest,” she smiled at the little boy, who had no choice but to accept dejectedly.

As the servant took him in her arms, Farien waved at Jacaerys with a small smile. He nodded at the little boy, unable to stop himself from smiling back.

“At least the little one is not as irritating as the rest of his family,” Rhaenyra said as her gaze softened, noticing how the little boy never tore his eyes from them as he got further and further.

“Give him a couple of years. He will turn out exactly like his older brother,” Daemon muttered.

Then, Jacaerys' gaze trailed back to the Princess once again, who was still locked in a dance with Lord Ander. The exchange of whispers seemed to grow more intense, as his lips lingered on the shell of her ear, making her nod as her smile never left her lips.

“Jacaerys,” Daemon’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts. “Do you not have a duty to fulfil?”

“I have been fulfilling them since the moment we arrived,” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation. As Jacaerys had been doing everything he could to uphold his duties, Daemon merely sat back, watching the spectacle he had set in motion unravel before him.

“You have, but sitting and watching the Princess be courted by every lord in Dorne is not one of them. Listen to me, these men are doing everything in their power to pull her away from our alliance since they can see she does not favour you,” he paused leaning in closer. “You are no stranger to this. If you two are to rule the Seven Kingdoms, she needs to be seen by your side.”

Jacaerys rose from his seat as he exhaled, growing frustrated by the second. It was all in the name of duty, after all. He headed towards the Princess with steady steps, disappearing into the crowd and dodging every drunken lord and lady that stood in his way. Lord Ander, who seemed to have more intentions than just dancing with the Princess, held her close, too close, his hands lingering on her waist.

“My Lord,” Jacaerys cleared his throat, barely containing himself. Lord Ander snapped his head towards his direction. “I would hate to interrupt your conversation, but the hour is quite late, and Princess Y/n needs to rest.”

“Is that so?” He pulled Y/n even closer to him, making Jacaerys’ blood boil. “How come the Princess seems to be enjoying herself?”

Jacaerys’ eyes flicked to the cup in her hand, the liquid threatening to spill from the rim. He wasn’t a stranger to that dazed look and that loose smirk playing on her lips.

“The Princess seems to have indulged in one too many cups. You may continue whatever… conversation you were having on the morrow, my Lord,” Jacaerys forced his words through his teeth.

“Is that an order from the Crown Prince? Or from a boy who is still learning how to hold a woman’s interest?” Lord Ander raised a brow, sliding his hand even lower on her waist.

The Princess’ gaze flicked between the two men, unaware of the escalating tension. She took another sip from her cup, her eyes landing on Jacaerys, finally acknowledging how dashing he looked in a Dornish ensemble of deep blues and golds.

“Gods, spare me,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “You two sound like you’re ready to start another war.”

“If it means winning your favour, Princess,” Lord Ander said with a grin.

“Mayhaps that's a battle for another day. Besides, the Prince is right, the hour is quite late,” she said softly, growing tired at the show of bravado between the two men. She moved away from Lord Ander and took a step towards Jacaerys.

Jacaerys, whose heart was pounding with both anger and relief, offered her his arm. Y/n would’ve hesitated at first, but under the effects of wine, any qualms were long gone. She noted how he tensed his arm uncomfortably, unaware that she was putting pressure on the wound she had given him not too long ago.

Casymir leaned against one of the pillars with a hint of amusement on his face, watching the whole scene unfold before his eyes. Once Jacaerys and Y/n were away from the crowd, he finally pushed himself off the pillar, approaching Jacaerys, who was struggling to keep her in place.

“Allow me, my Prince. The Princess is in good hands with me,” he said, extending his arm.

Jacaerys glared at Casymir as he adjusted her weight in his arm, wondering what he was smiling for.

“You are the Princess’ sworn protector, are you not?” He raised his brow.

“Yes, my Prince,” he smiled proudly.

“Yet all you did was stand and watch how the Princess wandered into the clutches of men with less than noble intentions,” Jacaerys tried to keep his composure, though his anger simmered beneath the surface.

“Do you question my service to the Princess, my Prince?” He chuckled, brushing the Prince’s concerns aside. “The Princess was in no immediate danger. And as far as I’m aware, a dance with a lord hardly constitutes a threat.”

“If you think a man whose ulterior motives are clearly written in his face not to be dangerous, then mayhaps we have very different understandings of the word danger,” Jacaerys said.

“You greatly misunderstand the Princess. Lord Ander was eager, but he knew better than to cross the line. And besides, she would’ve ended his attempts long before you stepped in. As you might have already… experienced, the Princess knows how to handle herself and hardly needs to be coddled,” his blue eyes trailed at the way their arms were intertwined. “Though, it seems she doesn’t mind letting you try.”

“So, what are you here for, then? Just for decoration?”

“Is picking fights with other men a favourite pastime of yours, my Prince?” The Princess laughed, poking fun at Jacaerys as she unconsciously tightened her grip around his injured arm. “You do seem to have a talent for making enemies wherever you go.”

Jacaerys hesitated, unsure if replying to the Princess was even worth the efforts given her current state, so he merely scoffed, shaking his head in defeat. However, one thing he couldn’t ignore was the feeling of having her so close as she mindlessly ran her hand up and down the length of his arm. He tried to calm his heart, but he couldn’t keep his composure with each stroke of her fingers that made him lean into her touch ever so slightly.

Once they reached the Princess’ chambers, Casymir leaned on the door, his arms crossed with an infuriatingly calm expression on his face.

“If you wish to be escorted back to your chambers, my Prince, I can call for a servant,” Casymir offered, implying that Jacaerys had overstayed his welcome.

“No. I wish to stay. The Princess and I have a few words to exchange,” he said.

“I’ll be fine, Cas,” the Princess slurred, assuring her sworn protector with a slow nod.

“As you wish, my Princess. I'll be just outside, should you require any assistance.”

Jacaerys stood by the door, unsure of what to do now that he was inside the Princess’ chambers. It wasn’t improper of him, as her soon-to-be husband, to be seen there, so he found himself leaning against the wall, trying to regain the composure that he had repeatedly lost throughout the night. His eyes trailed around the intricately carved golden statues that adorned the corners and the colourful tapestries that swayed slightly, catching the faint breeze that slipped through the windows and bringing with it the distant murmurs of the ongoing celebration.

Only when he heard a soft clink and the steady stream of wine being poured into a cup, he snapped out of his thoughts. Before he could even think, he turned to Y/n, walking towards her and snatching the cup and jug from her hands, causing her mouth to hang open in disbelief and indignation.

“You will not drink any more tonight,” he ordered, pouring the liquid out of the window and slamming the cup aside.

“Well, isn’t this absolutely perfect?” She spat, throwing her arms in the air in defeat. “Not only will you take away my freedom, but now you wish to take away one of the few things that bring me joy?”

“You must live a very miserable life, Princess, if wine and men are the few things in life that bring you joy,” Jacaerys burst out, no longer able to contain the pent-up anger that had been brewing all night.

“Oh, believe me, I’ll have a miserable life once I marry you.”

“And what makes you think I want to marry you? That behaviour of yours… is unacceptable,” he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I do not wish to marry someone who is a slave to their desires.”

“A slave to my desires? Is that what you think of me?” Y/n shouted, unable to control the fury taking over her voice.

“What else am I supposed to think when you go from lord to lord like a marionette whose strings had been cut?” He paused, taking in her dishevelled appearance. “I was not aware how these Dornishmen could name someone so ruthless and so debauched as their Princess.”

“And I didn’t know you Targaryens go around crowning bastards just to keep your house on the Throne,” she spat, making sure to rest her gaze on his dark eyes and on his brown locks long enough.

“You whore–!”

Before Jacaerys could finish his sentence, Y/n's palm collided with his cheek in a stinging slap, his head snapping to the side. His eyes widened, more in shock than pain, as his hand instinctively rose to the reddening mark on his face.

“A whore? A savage? A goatfucker?” Y/n's voice trembled with fury. “Is that all you see me as?” She shoved him hard, sending him stumbling backward until his back hit the wall. Her finger jabbed into his chest with every word. “You,” she spat, “should be thanking me for getting my hands dirty, persuading those lords to join your petty war!”

Jacaerys was stunned into silence momentarily, feeling every ounce of her rage bleeding through her words.

“And who told you to do that on your own?” Jacaerys shot back. “You could have asked me, we could have gone together and spoken to them like it is expected of us!”

“You overestimate yourself,” she scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. “Do you even know what those lords think of you? Of your family? If it weren’t for our betrothal, they would have driven a spear through your chests without a second thought. Because to them, you Targaryens are nothing but bloodthirsty murderers who’ve come to take our lands all over again.”

“Enough!” Jacaerys grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her, slamming her against the wall. “You think I do not know that? You think I do not feel it every time I step into a room? The way they look at me? At my family? You think I enjoy being the enemy?” He seethed, feeling his throat grow raw with each word. “Gods, you are infuriating,” he grunted, realising how close their faces were to one another.

The Princess’ lips curled into a smirk, a flicker of satisfaction lingering in her eyes. She had struck a nerve, realising how Jacaerys was always quick to react to whatever blasphemous speech she had to say about his family, and once again, she had managed to unleash the dormant wrath that blinded his actions.

As the Princess found herself cornered between his arms and the wall, she crouched low, slipping beneath his arms in a fluid motion and spinning around to pin Jacaerys against the wall, pressing her chest to his back. Jacaerys reacted instinctively, kicking off the wall to shove her back. The sudden force sent her stumbling as she crashed on the ground, and he followed, landing on top of her in a tangle of limbs.

Just as he was about to stand up, Y/n yanked him back down and rolled on top of him, keeping him in place by locking her thighs around his waist and pinning his arms on the floor with one swift movement. Truth be told, Jacaerys could have easily pushed her away as her usual strength was halved by the wine; yet he remained still, feeling the warmth of Y/n’s body pressed into his, and how their faces were inches apart yet again, her breath hot on his skin.

Once again, he found himself under her mercy.

She stared down at him with half-lidded eyes and lips slightly open as she breathed lightly, taking in the sight of Jacaerys’ flushed face and his gaze clouded by desire. Jacaerys looked up at her and gulped, feeling his erection stirring uncomfortably beneath his breeches.

His eyes locked onto her plump lips and trailed towards to the hollow of her neck, down to her chest. He stared hungrily as she leaned towards him, his fingertips itching to explore the skin hidden beneath the fabric of her dress. As she got closer and closer to his face, Jacaerys’ breath hitched, and without realising it, his lips parted slightly as his eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. His pulse quickened, waiting for the warmth of her lips pressing against his.

But instead of the kiss he craved, he felt the hot caress of her breath graze the shell of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Her voice, low and smooth, held him captive with each honeyed word.

“If you want to win this little war of yours, you better start by respecting me,” she whispered as she let go of one of his wrists and began tracing delicate patterns with her finger. “Just because I’ve chosen you as my betrothed doesn’t mean I won’t change my mind,” she bucked her hips against his hardened cock, causing Jacaerys to groan at the sudden spark of pleasure coursing in his veins.

In that very moment, Y/n had uncovered yet another emotion—the primal desire that, despite her infuriating attitude, she had managed to set ablaze. If Jacaerys had to ask himself how it happened, he wouldn’t know where to begin answering. Had it all started when they first met, when she held little regard for him? Was it in the arena, when she brazenly humiliated him in front of everyone? Or was it the fact that they always seemed to find themselves pointing a blade at each other’s throats? Behind all that anger and hatred, and the prejudice that blinded him from seeing the Princess as she truly was, lay a spark of curiosity. Something he knew that once he began to explore, that spark would turn into wildfire.

With each passing second, he fought against the temptation to place his hands on the curve of her hips and make her grind herself against his cock.

“Remember, my Prince,” she purred in his ear, bucking her hips once again. “The wedding has not taken place yet, and anything could happen.”

A/N: For some reason, i keep beating my wordcount record. istg my fanfic wc is way bigger than all of my uni papers combined, and bare in mind i was a humanities student lmfaooo.

anyway, i feel like this chapter was a mess. jace's patience continuously getting tested by everyone, and our reader making things even harder for him. i actually feel sorry for those two but the way they are handling things is not very demure, mindful or cutesy. we got the exact opposite.

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a (continued in comments)

#dragonspear #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon smut #jace x you #jace x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #house martell #oc x reader #oc x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader smut #jacaerys velaryon x you smut

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msmorningstaarr · 1 year ago

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let me fill you up | Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

ao3 | masterlist

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

Summary: You, a Targaryen princess were married into the Lannister fold to ensure the alliance between the two houses, ensuring your eldest brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. Now, Lord Jaime makes your days filled with happiness and makes you eager to present him babies.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: rhaegar wins AU, no targcest, smuff, fluff, breeding kink, praising kink, a lot of pet names (sweet girl, princess, love), reader has no physical description besides the silvery white targaryen hair, creampie, oral (f receiving), a very devoted husband commited to your pleasure, smut, sex;

a/n: Happy new year! I had posted I wanted to write something like that and it's been a while since I want to write something other than holy and heathen because I must admit I'm not very satisfied with what I've been writing lately. Some validation kudos, comments and reblogs would be very important to me, seriously :') I’ve been thinking in turning this into a small series but I’m not so sure. Could you give me your thoughts on this too? please, enjoy your reading!

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

You are sitting surrounded by your maids and children on a breezy night, covered with a fur coat and a crimson silk dress under it. Attentively, you go stitch by stitch and slowly form a lion, sigil of your husband’s house. Ever since Robert’s Rebellion ended and your brother, King Rhaegar Targaryen won, you became promised to the former knight of the Kingsguard, now Lord Jaime Lannister. Life in the lion’s den was not difficult, once Lord Tywin treated her with the most kindness and Jaime was still coming out of his shell. At first, he was your sworn sword in King’s Landing and spent plenty of time together in an unbalanced relationship. Now, you two are sharing a bed after a tumultuous year of war and destruction, as equals. In the beginning, you were sceptical about marrying into the Lannister household, but as the months went by, you found yourself drowned at him. Jaime is careful, gentle and kind. He brings you a small dandelion every morning once he knows it reminds you of home.

His only quirk was the strange attachment to his sister, Lady Cersei. But after being sent to Dorne to marry Prince Oberyn of House Martell and getting distant from each other, your relationship with your husband seemed to finally thrive.

“It appears to be beautiful, my lady.” Said one of her maids, taking care of your youngest son, a small silvery blonde figure of two years of age.

“A bright lion handkerchief for Jaime to carry with him.” You reply, admiring your piece of work. “Do you believe your father will like it, sweetling?” You then ask your eldest daughter, an adorable child of four. Your daughter eagerly nods her head and wraps her hands around one of your fingers to pull the fabric closer to her eyes.

“Dada will love it, mama!” The little one exclaimed, spinning around with the kerchief on her tiny hands.

“What will I love, if I’m allowed to ask?” A tall, blonde figure shows up in your private bedchambers, wearing a classic Westerland attire with a crimson fabric and intricate strings of gold shaped into the sleeves and collar. You smile sweetly to Jaime as he approaches you and grabs your middle child to hold in his arms.

“Papa!” The blonde little girl runs towards her father to embrace his legs and your maids stand up to bow to their lord.

“Have you missed me, dear?” Jaime asked and the fussy children eagerly nodded at him, embracing their father even more. Sometimes, seeing Jaime being so loving and kind towards your children simply melted your heart. You felt the urgency to kiss him and dig your fingers onto his bright hair, begging him for another child. Your cunt ached in pleasure to the thought of Jaime pumping his seed inside of you. You were still young and could bear many more children.

“Mm-rrhm…” You scoffed. “I have missed you too, husband.”

The three children giggled and the child on his arms hid his face on the crook of Jaime’s neck. The eldest covered her laugh with her tiny hands and the youngest beamed along their siblings. Jaime came closer to you and caressed your cheeks with his free hand. Then, a single and gentle kiss he places over your forehead, making your heart flutters with love and passion.

“I have missed you too, my love.” Jaime said, passing his fingertips on your chin and smiling at you.

Your maids quickly stood up and bowed at their overlord as a sign of respect. “Excuse me, my lord, my lady,” Said the servant girl. “Let us take the children so you can rest.”

“But I want to stay with papa!” Said the elder daughter, pouting and crossing her arms. The other two children whined and complained along, but you lowered into their level whilst Jaime talked to the youngest on his arm.

“Sweetlings,” She said, caressing their cheeks. “Your father is rather tired after riding for so long. Go with her, I promise you, your siblings, me and your father will have plenty of time together on the morrow. Is that understood, my loves?”

“I can take you to ride a horse tomorrow and even let you eat lemon cakes before super. What do you think?” Jaime asked, delivering the fussy child from his arms to the other maid. In unison, the three infants agreed and left disappointed. Once you and your husband were alone in your bedchambers, Jaime smiled at you gallantly. You embrace him intimately and are finally able to feel the warmth of his muscular body and feel the softness of his golden hair. His lips reach yours and in a whirlwind of sensations, your cunt is already dripping in anticipation just by a simple touch coming from him. Once he breaks the kiss, he keeps holding you by your waist and gazing at you with admiration.

“You have been gone for too long, love.” You say, passing your fingertips on his lips. He smiles and gives you a peck on the lips before speaking.

“I had duties with your brother, Our Grace King Rhaegar, sweet girl.” Jaime replies, pulling her out gently and grabbing the fabric she embroidered for him.

“I hope you like it, I made it just for you.” You point out, joining your hands to follow him. He keeps smiling as he observes attentively the intricate work you did.

“I shall cherish it and take it wherever I go, dragon princess.” He replied, folding and putting the kerchief in one of his pockets. You giggle as you hear him calling you ‘dragon princess’, a custom he chose to never abandon as a form to remember the late days of their relationship “I wish I had more time to be around and play with the children, I have been missing them and you.”

“They made drawings every day and left it on your desk at your office.” You reply, walking to the window and being followed by him.

“I will make sure to have them guarded in our chambers. Safe as our gold.” He says, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck lightly. You beam in ecstasy feeling his body smother you into a comforting embrace and full missing him.

“Sometimes I still cannot believe we are wedded to each other. You were my sworn shield in King’s Landing!” You exclaim as his hand caresses your empty belly and it tingles by his touch. He grins at your words and says.

“Most people are not so lucky to know your spouse before the wedding day. I consider myself the most lucky man in the world because I could be in your acquaintance from so long ago.” He replies, falling his head on the crook of your neck.

You turn around to be face to face with Jaime, feeling the cold breeze of the rock hitting your back and giving you small shocks as Jaime caresses your back, making you experience a thermal shock and shudder to his touch.

“I feel very lucky to be your wife, Jaime. Most women are not so fortunate to have such a kind, loving and handsome husband.” You mutter as he strokes your hair, in awe with your beauty.

“I guess we are fortunate to be together after so many troubles in war. We even brought new lives into this world to paint a new, brightful history.” He replies, caressing your womb. You stare at his fingers passing up and down your belly and glances at him with a sweet smile.

“And we could have more, love. I must admit I feel empty for so long and I want to give you more children… I know I can give you an entire army of your own. Half lion, half dragon. Unstoppable creatures.”

“You feel empty, love?” He asks, smirking and you eagerly agree with him. “Then allow me to fill you up…” Jaime finished, slowly undoing the intricate laces of your dress to reveal your bare skin under the crimson fabric. In response, you open his attire slowly and little by little his white tunic appears to her eyes.

By this point, your cunt is already sore in anticipation for the moment about to happen and clenches around nothing once he pushes the last section of string holding your garment, releasing you from the pressure tightening your upper body. Jaime pushes down your dress and your underwear is now on display for him, which makes him bite his lip and eagerly take down your white camisole to show him your bare body. You moan as he squeezes your breast and pinches your nipples whilst kissing you. You quickly take off his own undershirt to show off his chest.

“So eager is my dragon princess.” He playfully says, leading you to bed and carefully laying you down. With devotion, he starts to kiss your feet, legs and knees, his hands roaming through your thighs and hips. “Spread your legs for me, little dragon.”

You part your legs, obeying his soft command. “So wet… I can see you truly missed me, my love.” He says, kissing your inner thighs as your body squirms in pleasure before he reaches your intimacy.

“Oh… I have missed you so much, my lion.” You moan your words as he kisses your groyne and passes his fingers lightly over your clit, making your womb tremble and convulse to his touch.

“I can see that, just as I missed you, my dragon princess. Do I have permission to give you a lord’s kiss?” He asks and you only nod in response, making Jaime wet his lips with his own saliva before diving into your dripping core and you to scream involuntarily as his tongue and lips eat you up with full desire. Jaime circles his tongue around your clit and roam around your entire intimacy, making your hips bounce onto his direction. It was his costume to make you come every time before he would be inside of you, now could not be different.

You feel your body explode as if someone threw you into dragon fire as Jaime relentlessly pleases you, making magic with his tongue. Skillfully, he explores your intimate area inch by inch with eagerness, making you dig your fingers on his golden curls, pulling him closer to your cunt and you contorses your body urging for more. Tears of pleasure fall off as you feel goosebumps once you realise you are close to your climax.

As the intensity builds, Jaime's movements become more deliberate, pushing you closer to the edge of bliss. Your breath hitches, and your fingers entwine in his golden locks, urging him on. The world narrows down to the pleasure he provides, the connection between you deepening with every passing moment.

When the climax finally crashes over you, Jaime doesn't relent. He continues to caress your sensitive core with his tongue, prolonging the sweet release. Your body shudders with pleasure, and you feel the bond between you and Jaime reaching new heights.

“Husband…” You try to stop him and give yourself some time to take a breath, but Jaime does not back off and part your legs once more, holding it as he keeps licking, kissing and sucking your pussy.

“No no, wife… let me please you and bring you to climax once more…” He cuts your words and gently goes back, but now he plays with his fingers on your clit, with far less pressure and slowly draws circles around it, taking soft moans from you. Jaime rises to hover over you, a wicked glint in his eyes. His fingers trace patterns on your flushed skin as he leans in for a heated kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips. “Taste yourself, love.”

And not so long after, you scream his name as you feel waves of pleasure hitting your body as a lightning bolt hits the ground in a storm. Your body is trembling and your legs seem to be two wooden sticks, barely able to stand.

“Please… inside of me, Jaime… I need you…” You plead with him, pulling his body to be on top of yours.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” He replies, kissing you passionately once more and positioning between your legs. Jaime's eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. The anticipation was hanging heavy in the air, your bodies aligned perfectly, and as he slowly entered you, a shared moan escaped both of your lips.

The sensation is electrifying, the culmination of the pleasure he bestowed upon you and the intimate connection between your bodies. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deepening the bond that exists only between you two.

“My perfect princess takes me so well…” He grows as thrusts into you going back and forth nonstop. You lock him by involving your legs around his waist and feeling his hard cock entering your cunt in full force, reaching your cervix and making you beg for more in his ear.

The room echoes with the sounds of your shared ecstasy, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies, creating a tapestry of love and passion.

“Put another babe on my belly Ser, please…” You beg him as moans leave your mouth and the sound of crashing bodies fill the room quickly.

“With pleasure, love…” He says once more. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deeper inside of your pussy in farfetched positions. He missed you too much after months away from you and it shows by the way he kisses you as he moves desperately to have more of mounting his dragon. The room echoes with the sounds of your shared passion, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies. As Jaime's movements become faster, the pleasure intensifies, and you find yourself on the verge of another climax. The pleasure is overwhelming, and your bodies move in perfect harmony.

With a final, fervent thrust, Jaime succumbs to the ecstasy and releases his seed deep inside of your womb, growling and grunting with relief and utter bliss. You hit your own orgasm as you feel the warm jets of his seed invading your walls and your body squirm and you scream his name, crying out.

Your bodies tremble in the aftermath, and he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is filled with a comforting silence as you both catch your breath. Jaime's fingers gently trace patterns on your skin as you bask in the warmth of the afterglow. “Do you think we created one more life for our household, love?” You ask him, laying your head on his chest. The world outside your chambers seems distant, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, lost in the serenity of each other's embrace.

“Depending on your fertile womb, my love, I have no doubts you are.” He replies, caressing your silvery white hair. “But we must endure in our pursuit on a daily routine. Just to make sure our fourth babe is on the way.” He playfully replies, smirking at you, who mischievously smiles back at him and kisses his lips, wiping some strings of sweat from his face.

Jaime presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur, "I love you, my dragon princess."

And you, wrapped in the arms of the man you love, whisper back, "And I love you, my lion shield."

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meganmeyers · 25 days ago

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POMEGRANATES & WINES

ACT TWO: DRIFTWOOD THRONE

jacaerys velaryon x aunt!targtower oc

word count: 11.5k

previous part: part one

masterlist: intro

warnings/includes: fighting, internalized religious trauma, body dystrophia, angst, self loathing, psychological trauma, alicent is an awful mother and gives averillia all her issues, sexual awakening (not smut she’s like a little baby still.), eye fucking across the dinner table but not really and it’s really awkward, jacaerys causes intense sexual tension but doesn’t realize it because he’s kinda an idiot, averillia is lowkey a freak and severely touch starved, but she’s also afraid of intimacy(?), jacaerys is also a freak but he’s a teenage boy going though puberty so cut him some slack, first kiss, borderline freakiest kiss between two hormonal mid puberty teens i’ve ever seen.

Summary: Princess Averillia Targaryen was the 5th born child of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower in 117 A.C. Close in age to her nephew Jacaerys Velaryon a close friendship formed in between the two vicious families.

Note: Hello everyone! Thank you for the love on the first part! I’ll mention now that this part will get into some more darker themes. I’ll probably be rewriting the first part of this series as well, I’ve felt that I could have added more to the story than what I had done. Also! This next part is not canon timeline accurate! Instead of six years it will be four years!

Princess Averillia was not seen by the royal court much after the incident at Driftmark. The Princess was hidden in her rooms or upon the skies with her dragon mount. Nobody saw the young princess roam the halls of the Keep or even attend meetings of the court. Some believed that Queen Alicent Hightower had locked her away in her bedroom as a punishment for being involved in the maiming of Prince Aemond Targaryen. As if the princess receiving her first ever course was not enough humiliation for the young girl. The people only saw the princess when she was dragged to the Sept by her mother. During those rare times in public the princess did not ever look happy, more terrified in fact. She would stand as far behind or away from the Queen as appropriately possible. The maids in the Keep gossip on how the only people ever seen entering and leaving the princesses apartments were her personal maids and the lady in waiting she was given. Some noble girl from the Dornish lands of house Dayne, quiet the spectacle considering the relations between Dorne and the conflicts in the stepstones against the crown. The girl was no older than ten maybe when she arrived to the Keep. She was a small girl who was quiet and always kept her head down, the queen must have liked her quiet nature to keep her around in the Keep after these many moons. The only thing the small Dornish girl received from home was pomegranates. The reddish and pink fruit grows in warmer and dryer climates. The girl did receive many fabrics and dresses at times, but no letters or ravens ever arrived for the young lady, many in the court speculated something scandalous happened but in Dorne and that’s why the young girl was sent to serve in enemy territory.

“My Lady, you mustn’t stain your dress now! I don’t need to hear anymore from your maids about how awful it is the try and scrub the juice from your skirts!”, The young darker haired lady complained to the princess. The young princess turned to look at the girl from her couch, “How many times have I told you Elia! It’s Illia to you not ‘My Lady’. You are my only friend not someone my mother and father employs.”. “Friend or not, you still mustn’t stain your dresses.”, The young girl hit the princess on the top of her head with a letter. The darker girl made herself comfortable on the opposite end of the couch across from the blonde princess.

“I’ve found some news that shall brighten your day. Possibly get you to stop lounging around your room, draped in fabrics that barley cover you.”, The girl had teased the princess for her habits. She did indeed lounge around in her room draped in fabrics Elia’s family sent her. Modesty was lost on her return from Driftmark, especially after the princess had Elia arrive as a lady in waiting for her services. The two girls had shared stories with one another during the early nights in each other’s company. Elia had told her about how women and men dress and act down in Dorne and the differences of women and men here in the crownlands. Averillia had found the stories fascinating and thought the fabrics in the dresses Elia wore were the softest fabrics she’d ever felt. The princess often wore the fabrics in lounge wear or had them made into the underskirts of her dresses. The fabrics were very sheer, only to be worn in the privacy of her personal staff.

“What news do you bring me that will, as you say brighten my day?”, Illia ended her sentence in a sarcastic tone. “Court is to be held on the legitimacy in the driftwood throne on who will inherit, now that the sea snake has fallen ill. W-“ The lady had been interrupted by the princess letting out a loud and annoyed sound of disgust. She rolled herself off the couch and over to the table filled with drinks and other treats to pour herself a glass of wine. “Must you drink now? Gods Illia, its barley mid-day and I haven’t even finished the news. You may grow a gut like Aegon’s if you intend to drink this much.”. Illia turned around towards the girl who now leaned over the arm of the couch she had just been resting upon, a disgusted face greeted the girl when the princess turned. “Never compare me to that disgusting drunkard again! Gods do you hate me so to wish that fate upon me?”. Elina had rolled her eyes at Illia’s dramatics and just went back to the letter, “Because court is to be held, the princess Rhaenyra’s family will be arriving in Kings Landing on the marrow and be staying for a weeks’ time while court is being held. Isn’t that exciting Illia? You’ll get to see Rhaenyra, Jacaerys, and-“, “I’ll have to watch my mother and grandsire completely belittle my sister and nephews again because of some resentment my mother and sister hold. Sounds like another fight waiting to break out again.”. The blonde took a long drink from the glass of wine she poured, “Illia why can’t you see the good in this? All you do every day is lounge around and read books or work on silly needle work.”. “My needle work isn’t silly! You’ve told me many times that it’s beautiful and quiet elegant and that its even more elegant than Helaena’s work!”.

Elina was often seen asking the Queen for permission to either leave the castle grounds for errands for the princess or sitting in court without the princess to hear of what news and gossip is shared among the ladies in high court. While she’s out she does often run into the Queen in Princess Helaena’s chambers with the two young children the princess carried. She’s seen the beautiful needlework Illia’s sister created that decorates the twin children’s clothes and blankets during her few times in the chambers of the elder princess.

“Illia can you at least try and see the good in this? For an entire week you get to visit with your eldest sister and those two boys of hers who adore you! So quit being such a poisonous viper and enjoy their company while they are here.”

“Fine. Whatever, but if my mother makes any comment- “, “Oh gods Illia! I’ll be right there with you, I won’t let you face that cruel women alone.”

The family arrived half by ship and the other half by dragon back on the following marrow. The dragon shadows that had flown past her windows confirmed the princess’s waiting’s.

Two carriages had pulled into the courtyard of the Red Keep while the Princess was seen sprinting and hopping steps in a blur of light blue, white, and golden honey blonde with her Lady following in close proximity in a blur of dark blues and gold with black hair flying behind her.

The family was exiting their carriages, while waiting for them was the Queen dressed in a dark color of green and her three other children dressed in the similar shades of greens. Other members of the court stood waiting to greet the royal family. As they had settled themselves on the ground and had their traveling cloaks and dress covers removed, they turned back to the members of the court. The doors of the castle opened quickly and an out of breathe Princess Averillia and an equally out of breath Lady Elia Dayne had rushed to stand in line with the green-styled family. Frantically adjusting their hair and dresses, trying to at least be a bit more presentable.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon wouldn’t have recognized the princess if it wasn’t for her opposed color palette to the rest of her family. Her hair had gotten longer, and her face slimmed out of the childish fat he had last seen her with. She had truly grown into a more women body for a girl at the age of three and ten. Her hips had widened, and her breasts had gotten into a larger womanly shape, but they might just only look bigger compared to the slimness of the rest of her, he could see her collarbones from across the courtyard and her ribs were slightly visible through her gown. She was still beautiful, nevertheless to him. The girl next to her was a girl he did not know. She was a slightly darker skinned girl with black hair and purple eyes, she looked Dornish, but the eyes did not resemble the color of Dornish people. She had on a gown of dark blue fabrics with golden lace decorations and goldish color necklaces and headwear. She had a dark blue veil on as well. He did not recall a girl that looked like her during his years at the Keep.

“Princess Rhaenyra! Welcome back to Kings Landing. I hope the journey here was not to much trouble?”

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen was dressed in a dark red gown decorated with black trims and lace; in her arms she held a bundle wrapped in a blanket. Prince Daemon Targaryen stood next to her holding a small white-haired boy, Illia had heard the news of her sister and uncles’ marriage but nothing about children born of said marriage. Next to them four children stood, three boys with black hair and a girl with white curly hair wrapped into a updo that looked like something Illia would not sit through. Her eyes had turned to Jacaerys, He had grown sense she’d seen him last. He had gotten taller and slimmed himself down, his jaw was more angled than before and his cheeks he had were gone. His hair was short but had curled locks upon it rather than the thick fluff of hair he used to have. He was holding a small boy who also had dark hair, it had to be Joffrey Velaryon. She remembers seeing him the day of his birth but never again, not even at Driftmark four years ago.

“Thank you, Your Grace. It is unexpected to be back so soon.”, Queen Alicent had given a smile and quickly rushed her children dressed in greens back inside with members of the court following, leaving only Averillia and Elina in the courtyard. The princess waited for the doors to be closed before starting off sprinting at Jace. The teen prince quickly handed his younger brother to Rhaena before capturing the golden-haired princess in a tight embrace. He had taken a couple staggered steps back at the force of the impact from the teenage princess but nevertheless held her close. A few laughs were heard from the elder couple at the princess’s excitement. Lady Elina had walked up to the royal family offering her greetings.

“Princess Averillia, I believe there are other members of the party who also wish to greet you.”, the princess had loosed her embrace on the teenage boy and turned to her friend with a very unamused face, which in turn made the lady laugh at her friend before pointing her head towards the eldest sister. Illia had broken herself from Jace’s arms and walked to Rhaenyra and hugged her, avoiding crushing the small bundle in her arms. “Is this your mothers old dress, little sister?”, the girl had given a small smile before confirmed her eldest sisters’ suspicions.

“Come sweet girl, we must catch up. It’s been far to long sense we’ve spoken.”

The family had gotten comfortable in the elder princess’s old apartments, maids had hurried to bring in sweets and refreshments for the royal family before making their leaves quickly.

“Now sister who are these two children? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced!”. “This one is Aegon, and the newest one is Viserys.” Rhaenyra had passed her sister the small infant to hold. Elina leaned over Illia’s shoulder to look at the infant closely. The babe slept peacefully in the princess’s arms, “Sister when shall you have a girl? You’ve had far too many boys, I may be sick of seeing boys between my brothers and your sons.”. Rhaenyra laughed at her sisters jokes knowing in truth she was correct. Jace and Luke who had been sitting on the opposite couch let out a few remarks back towards the princess who in turn just poked her tongue out of her mouth. “Now who is this lady sitting next to you, Illia? I’m afraid I don’t recognize her.”

“I am Elina Dayne, of House Dayne in Dorne, Your Grace. I am Lady in Waiting to Princess Averillia Targaryen, Your Grace.”, Illia turned to her friend with only a few words to reply. “Quit calling me Averillia, It’s to much of a mouthful.”. The family had all laughed at the girls’ antics, “She is also my only friend and companion here in this dreadful place. Isn’t that right Viserys?”. The girl had talked to the young babe in a silly voice to try and entertain the babe, but he just kept sleeping peacefully. “Sister, I must retire now. I have lessons to attend, and Gods forbid I miss them.” The princess handed her youngest nephew back to her eldest sister before making her way out the door.

“Elina, you can run any errands you need too. My lessons will take up much of my time.”. The dark haired girl nodded before going in the opposite direction of the princess through a different corridor. The girl made haste to her own apartments after her friend left her sight. Closing the door of her room closed, she found nobody inside her chambers. “Thank the Gods.”. Illia had looked towards her desk at the stack of papers, scrolls, and books from her Septa. She hated many topics they taught her, they bored her entirely. She would rather fall upon a sword than be stuck learning forever.

Her complaining would not make the books and scrolls go away anyways, she has learned that the harder way. She just grabbed her needle hoop and went back to the blanket she was decorating. She found a place along one of her rooms windows and had gotten comfortable. The window gave her a clear view of the training yard which was always much of an annoyance hearing the men yell and the metal hit against one another constantly but it’s different when she caught a glimpse of Jace and Luke standing along the outskirts. Even from up high she could see how much Jace had changed in the last four years. He had indeed grown into a handsome man. His curly hair did amplify his looks and aided well with his face shape. Gods she has not seen a man look so handsome in years, or possibly ever. His Valyrian features was one of the seller points for her sudden attraction towards him, his jaw, cheek bones, and the dark purple eyes had made him look even more like someone to belong to the Gods than with Man. She did wonder what was hidden under his doublet, did he also lose the boyish fat and built muscle along his upper torso and arms? Did the Gods bless him with such beauty for the rest of him as they had for just his face?

“Ouch!”

She had stuck herself with the sewing needle in her realm of thinking. Blood droplets quickly collected to the surface on her finger and dripped down to the floor.

“You foolish girl! You’ve ruin yourself for your future!”

She flung herself from the cushions she had been sitting on and quickly examined the cushion. No blood.

Those were the last words Alicent ever said to her. Months after the incident Alicent could not even be in the same room as her, she would just walk out of the room or have someone remove Averillia from the room. It was always one of Alicent’s maids to enforce her to get dressed to go to the Sept with her after she had gotten over herself. The entire trip she would not speak a word to her. She would just give the girl certain looks when she would do certain things. Dinners had turned sour fast, if the girl spoke any words or do anything unproper she would give Averillia this intense stare. If Alicent was angry enough she had the guards remove her from the table and sent to her chambers without being able to finish her meal. Soon she had started to be subjected to eating alone in her chambers. Isolated completely. Sometimes her father would have her join him for a meal in his chambers where they would have small discussions; but his condition has worsened, and he was unable to make it to the table. She was soon invited to her fathers’ chambers just for discussions, but her mother soon found out and forbade her from attending her own fathers company.

Complete Isolation.

After Driftmark her Septa, this older woman whose chin hung far over her neck covering; had taken her to the Sept for prayer, but not the normal prayer. Prayers that had talks of purity and virtue and how sacred such a gift is, how giving it to a man you’re not married to will destroy you. How the stranger will take you away and burn you for your sins. Pleasure and lust were sins against the Gods and blood was the punishment and shame for such a girl to bear if she ever thought and engaged in such sins. The girl cried during such prayers and sermons for still being shaken up by the events just mere weeks earlier. She had been isolated from her sister Helaena during this too. “She is to be a married women and lay with her husband before the Gods as a virgin maiden. Do not corrupt her as you have done for yourself.” She had not been allowed to Helaena’s wedding either due to that fact. She had that Septa for two years until Averillia had knocked over a lit candle stand causing the Septa to catch fire and soon strike the girl across the face with her hand. Her father had removed the Septa from the princesses’ services and replaced her with younger and peaceful Septa. She would sit and work on needlework while Averillia worked on her own studies and never brought her to the Sept for prayer.

Aemond would not speak to her ever. He never admitted to the truth of what happened that night either. The only family member she was able to speak to was Daeron. She would send ravens at least once every few weeks to him in Oldtown considering he was the only sibling who would even speak to her. She had the fear that her mother was going to ship her away to Oldtown for what she had done but her father did not allow it. Her grandsire Otto never spoke to her, even so he never did before anyways. He just hid in the shadows along the walls like a spider in a dark corner.

Illia was used to so little company that she did not need any at all.

Elina had returned hours later carrying in gowns and a bright smile, “Illia! You will never believe it.”. The girl had taken the gowns and thrown them on the couch before joining Illia on the mattress. “Rhaenyra had stopped me in the corridor, and she had insisted that you join her family for supper tonight! We must get you ready!”. Before Illia could even refuse the offer, Elina had dragged the girl from her bed to her washroom to an already filled tub of warm water. “Take off your clothes before I wash you with them still on!”

Elina had scrubbed her skin and covered her with soaps and oils with warm scents from the Dornish lands. She dried the princess and then started her hair and using even more oils to have her curls be more prominent. She had seen Elina do it to her own hair but never hers. Elina had made her standby her long mirror exposed before going and finding a gown suited from the ones she had just picked up today. Illia had laughed at her friends’ antics before turning back to the mirror. She looked at herself before moving downwards. “Elina? Have my ribs always been this exposed?” No answer came. She had traced each individual rib under her breast, and her collar bones had now shown more prominently than before. Elina had come back with arms filled with a pile of dark blue and gold fabric. “It’s the perfect gown.”. The gown was of golden fabric underneath dark blue, a long train skirt and sleeves that draped from her elbows to mid skirt. Gold needle work lined the trim of the gown. Elina insisted on a golden belt for her waist and a golden pendant for a necklace.

A knock came from the door of her chambers to which both girls had whipped their heads too. Elina quickly rushed to see who had been outside and in hush whispers had spoken to the stranger outside. The girl beckoned Illia to join her at the door. She opened the door wider to find not one but two boys standing before the doorway. Lucerys Velaryon and Jacaerys Velaryon were standing outside her chamber doors. Lucerys was dressed in a lighter blue doublet, similar to the color of her dress earlier in the day, with white tunic sleeves. Silver detail covered the doublet. Jacaerys had on a black doublet, it was more fitted than Lucerys was. The shoulders had been more set to give him a wider frame and black detailing lined the collar and chest. Dark black fabric hung from one should and across his back in a cape like motion. It complemented him more than the black and red doublet he had on during his arrive. Jacaerys hair had been put more together than after his journey on dragon back here. It also hung in defined curls, hardly longer than the nape of his neck and past his ears. He did not stink of dragon either, he smelled of salt and smoke in a way. He looked even more handsome up closely than at a distance from her window.

“My Lady, the princes have come here to escort you to dinner.”, Elina had given her a look before gently guiding her out the door. Jacaerys had been the first to offer his arm to her with a slight bow of his head, “My Lady, would you be so forgiving in allowing my brother and I to escort you to dinner this evening?”. Staring at him with wide eyes she had only given a nod before taking Jaceaery’s arm in hers. Lucerys was quick to take her other arm, putting her in the middle of the two brothers. “Well then, we shall be off My Lady.”

Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Rhaena were the only other ones in attendance for supper that evening. Jacaerys had led her to her seat and pulled her chair out before pushing it in and making his way back around to the other side of the table to sit across from her. Rhaenyra was sat to her left and Rhaena was sat to her right, while Daemon and Lucerys sat across from them. Cups of wine were poured for the parents and two older children while water was given to the younger two. Maids and Servants filled the families’ plates with meats and vegetables. The family had started to quietly eat their portions of the meal while Averillia sat with her hands in her lap. She had touched nothing in fear of angering her sister or her uncle.

“Illia? Are you not going to eat?” The girl’s attention went to Jace who had been putting his wine glass back down, staring intensely directly at her. He had licked his lips getting off the dark red wine residue that had been left behind. Rhaenyra had looked to the girl and she had looked guilty of being caught of something. “Illia? Sweet girl, are you alright?”, the older women grabbed the girls hand to get her attention. Her head whipped quickly to her and ripped her hand away, starting her in the process. “I- I am sorry!”, the younger princess was quick to say aloud. “Illia, you have done no wrong to warrant an apology. I was just making sure you are feeling well, you have not touched anything on your plate.” The older women ran her hand over her younger sister’s hair in attempt to comfort her. “Oh, sorry ‘Nyra. I was just simply lost in a thought.” The girl had quickly picked up her fork and started to pick at some of the vegetables on her plate. The women had not quiet believed the girl, especially when a young servant boy had walked up from behind Daemon and whispered a few words into his ear while he filled the older prince’s glass of wine. Daemon’s lips had tightened into a fine line before he drank more of his wine. A conversation was indeed meant to happen later about what had been shared.

“Father? When will Baela and Grandmother be joining us?” Rhaena was quick to change the topic of conversation, “On the marrow before court is to be held.”. “Oh Averillia! You must show me your needlework, I was told you have quiet the talent for it.” The white blonde had turned herself towards the golden blonde during her talk, “Please Rhaena call me, Illia. We’re family.” The girl drank from her glass of wine while the younger girl let out a giggle and falling back against her chair. Illia had forgotten the girl next to her was only two and ten. Such behavior was to happen, even if Illia was only a year older than her.

The girl had gone back to her plate of food only to look up and see Jace staring right at her. He looked away after a few pauses. That is how supper had continued, a few conversations were held with one another and stories were shared, and Jace and Illia had been sneaking glances back and forth across the table.

Once supper had ended and the two younger had been ushered to their chambers, Jace had offered to escort her to her chambers himself. Illia had said her goodnights to Rhaenyra and Daemon before being pulled out the door by Jace. He had walked a few paces before stopping the pair, “How would you like to show me the gardens?” She had turned to him at the request, her lilac eyes wide and her mouth parted open. “What?”, “Oh please Illia! It will be fun, just like old times sake. Come on let’s go!”. She did not even have time to refuse the prince before he pulled her through halls to the gardens outside.

The night sky was quite clear tonight, Illia could see almost every star in the sky and the moon all clearly. The gardens were tall bushes adorned with flowers and vines in an elaborate maze placement. “Come on Illia!” Jace had let go of her arm and taken to running ahead of her into the gardens entrance. “Jace wait!” the girl cried, she watched his cape disappear behind a wall before picking up the bottom of her skirts and running in behind him. She heard his laughs and encouragements for her to keep following him. She had truly lost the boy, she must have taken at least two wrong turns before coming upon a deadened wall. She had thrown down her skirts and let out a frustrated cry.

“Jacaerys Velaryon, this isn’t funny!” She cried to the sky before turning around. In a moment Jace had ran towards her and grabbed her under the waist, lifting her into the air while going around in circles. The golden haired princess let out and terrified shriek and cursed the boys names. She had thrown her hands against the prince’s head and back in fits of rage. He had just laughed at her as he placed her back down on the ground, before he could settle his footing the girl had given him a rough shove causing the prince to fall upon his rear onto his back. He laughed even more at the actions the girl had taken to him. “Oh that’s it Averillia Targaryen. You better run.”

The girl didn’t hesitate to start running. She gripped the front end of her skirts turning corner after corner not remember the way she came. She heard the prince’s heavy footsteps behind her getting closer. She made the fatal mistake to look behind her, she had unknowingly slowed down enough for the prince to grab her dress skirt and pull her to him. He wrapped him arms around her and had thrown her over his shoulder. Defenseless against the older boy she just wiggled her body to try and make her escape. He walked her through the maze to the opening in the middle of the garden. He placed her onto the dirt and untangled himself from her, in the struggle she had kicked his one supporting leg and caused him to fall right onto the blonde. Pained grunts were shared between the two before Jace supported himself again, face to face with the blonde under him.

“How do I look from down there?” he asked her. The blondes face had been flushed a bright red from underneath him, she just stared with her mouth agape staring at him. Her chest started to feel very hot in the moment, unsure from the embarrassment or attraction. The boy had let out a loud laugh and rolled himself onto his side. Illia sat up after Jace rolled off of her and had gone to fix her skirts. Once Jace had his laughs did he sit up and notice the girls pout. “Oh Illia, I’m sorry. I was just trying to brighten your mood from dinner. Something was obviously troubling you. Please don’t be mad at me.”

The blonde had turned to him and saw him looking up at her through his curled bangs a slight pout on his lips. She took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of him. She looked away faster than she had originally looked. Her ears must be red at this point from him. Jace did not like the answer she gave him and instead got up behind her and hugged her. She let out a small quiet squeak from the embrace. “Illia. Please forgive me.” The boy had whispered in her ear. She felt his hot breath on her neck and his arms tighten around her waist. “Jace, you must not do this. Someone will see.”

The boy removed himself to be sitting next to her and facing her during it. “Illia, we are doing nothing wrong.” He grabbed her face in his which was equally as warm as his breath on her skin. She closed her eyes and held his hand making him drop it from her face and instead lay in her lap. “I have missed you ever so dearly, Illia.”

“I have also missed you quiet dearly too, Jace.”

“Daemon what had the servant boy tell you?” Rhaenyra had been changed into her night dress undoing her hair when she asked the question. Daemon turned to her to see her looking at him through the mirror. “Exactly what the green dressed woman had put Averillia though during theses past four years.”. “What would you mean by that?” Rhaenyra had turned her entire body around on the stool to look at her husband as he started to tell her about the temperament Alicent had with the girl after Driftmark.

“I- I must go speak with my father.”

The blonde women rushed out of the from their shared quarters and the door closed quickly behind her.

The bright light of morning followed soon. Elina had wasted no time in getting into her ladies room as soon as the dawn broke. She had ripped open shades letting the bright morning light shine directly onto the princess. Illia had let out a loud groan at the unannounced sudden light that blinded her. “It’s time to get up my lady! Court in to be held today and you must attend!” In turn she had pulled the princess from her warmer sheets to get her into the bath. She had made Illia sit through a torturous twenty and two minutes of defining her curls and leaving a braided hairband crown onto of her head to pull her hair away from her face. “I should be receiving a hefty price for putting up with your antics my Lady. – the girl had turned towards the box of jewels and headwear before continuing - You sit worse than a small child does.” The princess in offence had taken the hair comb and thrown it at the lady hitting her straight in the chest. An eyebrow raised in return to the girls pathetic attempt. “You’re now acting like a child. A girl of ten and three should not be throwing fits over having their hair done.” “You pull hard!” Illia had replied but Elina had already turned her back towards the wardrobe. “You are just tender headed, my lady!”

The bigger fight was the dress Elina had made for Illia to wear. “That is to extravagant Elina! What makes you think I will wear that?” The gown was of a fuller skirt of light grey silk under a dark greyish blue overdress of satin. A corset had also needed to be worn for such a cut in the neckline. The sleeves just feel into what looked like waves from her elbows. Silver needlework decorated the bodice and sleeve cuffs. Small silver chains decorated the neckline in pairing. The gown looked like a torturous contraption for Illia. “You are to be presented in front of the entirety of the court and more importantly it is blue. No green, a silent support for prince Lucerys Velaryon today.” The princess still was not sold on the idea, no matter how much she knew it would make her mother lose her mind. “Also if you do care to know, A maid friend of mine told me that the elder prince is to be wearing shades of greys and reds and he looks quiet charming in his outfit.” Elina knew just the right words to make the princess agree to her minor demands. “You are a cruel woman, Elina Dayne.”

“The princess looks more like she would belong to the houses of Velaryon or Arryn in her color choice in gowns for heaven’s sake! She fits better to be a princess of King Viserys and Queen Aemma then the lady Alicent Hightower.”

“Is that the Dayne girl with her? Why would his Grace the King allow such a girl into our lands?” “I heard she had been casted out for killing her own baby brother in his sleep! How would they allow her to be in Keep with the Princess Helaena’s children here?”

“I am surprised they kept the simple princess even near the family! Did you not hear about what she had done to prince Aemond with his grotesque scar?”

“My word, my Lady. I thought I had seen more vipers in Dorne, but I fear I’ve been mistaken.” The princess let out a snort at her companion’s comment. A few heads of the court turned to her before looking back away. “You are quiet right, my friend. About more than on thing.”

Elina followed her friend’s eyes to see them land upon the royal family across the room, specifically at the eldest prince in the pack of dragons. “Oh, my Lady. He could have been dressed in nothing covered in sheep’s dung and you still would have found him charming.” Illia had turned around to face her. Eyes wide and her cheeks and ears a bright pink tint. “You mustn’t speak like that in public Elina! Someone may hear you!” The Dayne girl laughed at how easily she had made her friend flustered by a simple image.

The princess huffed at her friend and turned back around towards the front. Her eyes slowly went across the way to Jacaerys. He did indeed look charming in his attire. The darker grey doublet was once again fitted to his form, it was trimmed with red fabric and grey needle work was decorating the red. He wore a belt on his waist and a sword hung from the belt. He hadn’t had one on the day before and in her eyes it made him look more grown. His hands rested on the hilt of the swords handle, veins protruded from the tops of his hand being very visible in the light shinning through. The same hand she had held the night before in the garden. Illia had wished later on after she had retired to her chambers that she hadn’t moved his hand. That they still held her cheeks for the entirety and did not let her go. Oh how she wished he had held her longer in the embrace they had shared before she had forced him to break it. Averillia felt a tightening and intense heat in her breasts, her breathing labored as she felt the tightening feeling crawl up from her breasts to her neck. Choking her in a way. Oh how the Gods would punish her for thinking of such sinful thoughts.

“Though it is a great hope of this court that lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds, we gather here with he grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters. The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon, please start us off.”

“The seas foulest serpent gets to place his poison.” The lady Dayne had whispered just loud enough for the Targaryen princess to hear. She delivered a small smack with her hand to the girl next to her causing the two to break into small audible giggles. The eldest black dragon prince had looked over towards the two girls draped in blues when he heard the giggles. They had both been looking at the sea snakes’ brother who was walking up to the front of the court. He furrowed his brows in confusion on what could be so funny in this moment, the lady of house Dayne had seen the princes confused look and had taken her two fingers and curled them over. She made a sharp motion with the two fingers as if she were piercing something. He was even more confused at the girls action, he had clearly missed the joke shared.

“The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’s closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”

The princess has certainly had enough of Lord Vaemond’s words. The show he was putting on had almost made the princess turn and leave the court room. She looked to the dragon brothers and saw Lucerys scared face and his elder brothers face had also seem to have had enough of Vaemond’s words.

“As it does my sons, the offspring of the late Laenor Velaryon. Or have you forgotten that in your own ambitions?” Princess Rhaenyra had interrupted the man before he could continue.

“Maybe if the sea serpent did care so much about his own houses blood, he would not be so bold in spreading his venomous accusations against its rightful heir.” The girl next to Averillia had commented, but clearly she had spoken to loudly as the mans eyes had turned around right towards her as well as both families in black and green. “Lady Dayne, do you care to repeat yourself and share loudly of your witty comments?” Vaemond had asked the lady, a clear look of evil in his eyes.

“Of course, Ser Vaemond.” She stepped out from around Averillia closer to the middle of the group. “I had said, ‘If the venomous Sea Serpent did care for his own houses blood, he would not be so emboldened in to spreading such poisonous accusations against its rightful heir’. Must I make clear what fatal accusations you speak of? His Grace, King Viserys would not take kindly to such accusations against his own grandson, his own heirs second born son. Would your brother Lord Corlys Velaryon take such gratitude in your rebuttal against his own heir that he’s upheld sense the boy was born from his own mothers womb?”

“What do you know of accusations, Lady Dayne? Considering you come from Dornish land where men lie with men and women lie with women. Men and women produce bastards and they get to inherit still. Your people know nothing of our customs – the man had gotten closer to the young lady, chest to chest talking down to her - and for such an opinion of a dornish girl, what do you know of Velaryon blood, Lady Dayne? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn’t recognize it.”

“I shall gladly provide you the blade, Ser Vaemond. Maybe in that case you can remove your tongue with the same blade for the king and I’ll present it to him on a sparkling silver platter!” The eldest princess had pushed herself between the two tempered people as Prince Jacaerys had pulled the lady Dayne and the princess Averillia behind him with the help of Prince Daemon.

“Princess Rhaenyra, you will make your own petition for your son but have the courtesy of allowing Ser Vaemond’s to be heard. I also apologize ser Vaemond for Princess Averillia’s lady in waiting and her out of turn words. She will be sure to keep her lady in check.” The Queen Alicent had walked over to guide Vaemond away from the princess Rhaenyra and continue on the conversation.

“Of course. My Queen and my Lord Hand, I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor, the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides.”

“Thank you, Ser Vaemond. Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

Rhaenyra walked up to the center of the room after Vaemond had walked away. She looked in the embodiment of a dragon. Draped in a black dress and dragon fire like needlework and beads designed the bodice. “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very-”

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

The crowd had turned to see the king enter in. He walked with a club foot like limp. He would try to stand tall but would go back down with every limp. Coughs racked him into stopping and taking a hard lean onto his cane as he walked. “Father…”

The princess draped in blues was fast to go to her fathers aide with her lady following quickly behind her. Both girls standing on each side of him to help him stead himself. “I will sit the throne today.” The weakened king had called out to his Lord Hand. The king looked to his youngest child, “I have always delighted in when you wear blues, my dear girl. You look much like my late Aemma.”. The princesses eyes had gone wide and gathered lightly with tears at his words. The girl has not seen her father in almost two years because his condition was worsening. He has mistaken her mother for his late wife Aemma Arryn a couple times, but he never compared her to the late queen before that moment. He smiled to his daughter before turning to his daughter’s lady in waiting, “Lady Dayne, please allow me to walk myself. I will be fine.” Averillia and Elina shared a look of uncertainty before letting the old king walk himself.

He continued his path up to the throne before having yet another coughing fit. He hunched over himself having the Targaryen crown fall from his brow to clatter on the floor. The girls in blue were quick to aide the old king but his younger brother had beat them to his aide. Daemon had signaled the girls to back away in which they were lead by Rhaenyra and Jacaerys back towards the pact of black dragons.

Daemon helped his brother to the seat of the throne and placed the golden crown on his brow.

“I must… admit… my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present… who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’s wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.” Behind the pact of dragons came out the Princess Rhaenys, followed behind her was the young Baela Targaryen. The girl had grown into a beautiful girl since Driftmark, she had grown taller and filled into the brighter blue dress she wore.

“Indeed, Your Grace. – she had taken a pause before continuing - It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his true born son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her son Lucerys Velaryon to Lord Corlys’s granddaughter, Rhaena Targaryen. A proposal to which I heartily agree.” Both Rhaena and Lukes heads had turned to the other one after that statement. Luke was quick to turn away after Jace had given the boy an encouraging shoulder bump, face flushed a bright red color. Illia had only turned to the younger girl and gave her hand a squeeze and a gentle smile.

“Then the matter is settled. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.” The king broke into another coughing fit before a voice spoke up.

“You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

“”Allow it”? Do not forget yourself.”

The man had walked closer to the pact of dragons making the children take a few steps back, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine!” Elina Dayne had been the one to step up to the hot tempered man before he had gotten closer to the younger prince. Rhaenyra had quickly put herself before the girl, “Go to your chambers. You have said enough.”

“Do not lose your tongue Ser. You are only no more than a second son of Driftmark.” The Dornish lady had a pause before the hand of the Sea Serpent had struck her across the face. “Elina!”

“You may run your house as you see fit! But you will not decide the future of mine! My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned, I will not see it ended on the account of this!”

“Say it”

“Her children – he had paused and taken in a deep breath – are bastards! And she is a whore!”

Gasps had been heard from the court before the king demanded the mans tongue.

In an instant Daemon had moved to the man and swung his sword, Jace was fast to push Illia behind him with his younger siblings. Blood had flown through the air from the blade of dark sister falling onto the children. Jace and Illia being covered the most after the body fell and the blood had sprayed from the mans exposed inner skull. Jace’s boots had fully been soaked and the entirety of Illia’s skirts had been covered. The blood went from the fallen body through the stones cracks right to the bloody blondes shoes.

“You foolish girl! You’ve ruin yourself for your future!”

Averillia’s chest started to tighten and taking in rapid breaths. Her hands had started to tremble and her eyes darted from the body to the trail of blood that led right to her. This was how the Gods punished her for such impure thoughts. Her sins are paid in blood.

“Illia!” Her eyes snapped to the prince who had been trying to get her attention. Blood had gotten onto his face across his cheekbone, his eyes looked at her with complete concern at her labored breaths and trembling hands.

“Sins are paid for in blood. You mustn’t touch me!” The princess pushed herself from the prince. She backed faster to turn to the door and quickened her pace.

“Averillia?”

“My Lady!”

“How good is it to see you all tonight, together.”

The table had been set for all 13 family members. A family divided by black and green cloaks and gowns. Both of the head women sat on either side of the king across from their children. She had been placed on the end next to Aemond. Why the seating had to be so she did not understand. She was across from Rhaena and Luke so she had a familiar friend at least. Baela was next to her and Jace was sitting between her and Aegon.

Jace had changed from his bloody court wear into a finer doublet, it was another black one, it had from even halfway down the table fit him nicely. The hook clasps of the doublet were of silver and the draped fabric along the back had been of a dark purple, almost black. Darker than her own purple dress but matched the beads and needle work along the collar of the dress and also the bands at the bottom of the shoulder puffs into long tight sleeves. The gowns neckline was square cut but had dipped lower than some of her other gowns. When the gown was tightened to the proper tightness it made her breasts more prominent. Elina had insisted on the gown for dinner that night. Illia was starting to suspect the minor connections in their outfits had been more intentional than her friend was letting on.

He was quiet a beautiful man, in the candlelight his face held more definition. His eyes looked much more black than purple in the dimly lit room. She had started to wonder if they would still look like this blackened shade if he was in the moonlight that casted through her chamber windows right onto her bed. Would the curls of his hair cast such shadows on his eyes or would he had his hair pushed back for her to get a clearer look at his face as he laid under her in the moonlight? Would he have held her in a warm embrace without the feeling of clothing layers blocking them. Before Illia had been able to indulge deeper into her sinful dreams her father had interrupted with his speech.

“My grandson, Luke will be the future lord of the tides with his cousin Rhaena by his side. Further strengthening the bond between our families. A toast to the young couples betrothal!”

“Hear, hear”

“I also have another celebration to announce.” The eyes of the table had once again turned to the old king. “I have decided… to betroth my grandson, Jacaerys Velaryon to my last daughter, Averillia Targaryen. A strong future king needs the right queen by his side and I am certain that Averillia will stand by faithfully.”

Averillia had taken in a quick breath at her fathers announcement. She looked to Jace who had already been looking at her, he formed a smile before turning away and drinking from his glass.

“Husband, you cannot be truthful. You never consulted me on a choice of husband for our daughter.” Alicent had been quick to rebuttal the kings news. “The daughter you have not spoken a word to in about four years? I wasn’t going to wait around for our daughter to become a spinster because you can’t seem to forgive her for a accident that happened when they were children. I wish to be present watching all my daughters be wed and happy with their new families before I am cold and dead in my grave.” The elder women had been taken aback by her husbands outburst as had the rest of the table. Nobody spoke of the woman’s grudge for her own daughter.

The king let out a loud sigh before continuing, “Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

Everyone at the table had gone silent with awkward glances around the table to one another before Rhaenyra had moved to stand up, “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood… more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.” She seated herself back down before Illia’s own mother stood, “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

The table seemed to be at peace until Jace had slammed the table and jumping from his seat, a certain glare at Aegon. He quickly grabbed his glass and held it up for a toast. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond, we have not seen each other for a few years but I do remember the fond memories in our shared youths, and as men – he paused for a moment before continuing – I hope we can see eye to eye and place any harmful intentions behind us to possibly be friends and allies for our families good health, dear uncles.” A smirk had played on his face before sitting himself down.

Illia had let out a quiet giggle at his joke. Unaware of Aemond’s small glance at her. Attention had been changed to Helaena who had stood herself up. “I would like to toast to Averillia and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Illia had realized what her words meant and quickly drank her glass of wine. Music started to play in the background as her heartbeat was in her ears. Would her father have her marry at three and ten as they had done with Helaena? Will she have to carry heirs at such an early age? Will she perish just as Lady Laena did in childbirth?

A hand poking at her wrist had changed her attention to the man next to her, Jace was standing there holding out his hand to her. She took his hand as he quickly guided her to the open area of the floor. “Are you feeling well?” He asked her as they walked. She gave a quick nod with her head before the dance started. They spun around and taken little hops together to the song that played. He also in the moment taken to catching her waist and spinning her around in a few fast circles in which the girl had burst into giggles.

A bang had paused any movement in the room. The young couple had stopped dancing to see Aemond standing having all the attention drawn to him. “Final tribute.”

“Aemond.”

“To my sister and nephew, Averillia and Jacaerys. They are to be married soon, let us drain our cups to my sisters health and usefulness in delivering him healthy and… strong boys.” “I dare you to say that again.” Jace had straightened himself out putting Illia behind him. “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think my foolish sister won’t be able to understand even the act of making a child correctly?”

That was the final straw for Jacaerys when he walked up and landed a blow right to Aemond’s jaw. He hadn’t moved but he pushed Jace backwards a few steps. Aemond was ready to throw his punch into Jace’s jaw but Illia had gone to try and catch her betrothal and instead caught Aemond’s fist to her forehead. The young couple had been knocked to the stone floor. Baela had been quick to jump from her seat and come to Illia’s aide as Jace jumped right back onto his feet, bring the unbalanced Aemond to the ground and was quick to get a couple hits back. Daemon and a guard had grabbed the dragon prince and pulled him off the one eyed prince. The boy wiggled free from the men’s hold and went straight to his betrothal.

“Cease this fighting at once!” The king had yelled aloud to the room. “To think that you’ve all grown you yet still act like children! It shall be final. Jacaerys Velaryon and Averillia Targaryen shall be married a moon after her six and tenth nameday. No later. Aemond Targaryen shall be sent to reside on Storms End until the wedding. I will not allow theses acts of violence to continue occurring in my own home.” King Viserys of house Targaryen had fallen back against his chair in exhaustion.

Back in her chambers the princess was being closely looked at by her lady in front of her vanity. “Elina I am fine! Please stop fretting over me.” “Illia you had been hit to the floor by your own brother, back home my brother would have had his hand cut off for striking his own sister.” Illia had rolled her eyes at her friend, “Well the boy already is missing his eye. You can’t take a limb from the man too. Now please just let me go to bed, it’s late.” The girl had let out a huff before agreeing to the girls pleas.

Illia watched her walk out the door before she started to undo her own hair from the elaborate style Elina had put it in. The girl went to take out the blasted dangling earrings that caused her great discomfort before a knocking sound was heard. She turned to the door, not expecting a visitor for how late in the night it was. She opened the door to find no one in the corridor. She closed the door unsure why a knock had been heard. Not a step later, another knock was heard. She opened the door quicker and found not a single soul again. She walked to her wardrobe and opened the double doors to find only gowns and cloaks hanging. Averillia let out a huff in annoyance. For the night she has had, she was especially not in the mood for jesters.

“Did you know it’s rude to not answer your betrothal when he knocks upon your wall?”

The princess had turned around quickly to find Prince Jacaerys in her chambers leaning against her bed post still in his attire from dinner.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“I did not know that my betrothal used such vulgar language.” He had a smirk upon his face at her utterly shocked face.

“How the fuck did you get in here?”

“The wall?”

He moved and pointed to the corner of the room where a chair had now been moved. A corner with two stone walls.

“The wall? I may have been hit in the head but I am not a dimwitted fool, Jacaerys Velaryon.”

The boy had rolled his eyes at her attitude and walked closer to the girl. He reached into her wardrobe and pulled out a black cloak. “Put this on.”

“Why?”

“Must you ask so many questions?”

The girl had listened to him and thrown the cloak on, it covered her entire body with arm hole slits in the front. She had finished tying the cord around the neckline to find him leaning against the stone wall in the corner.

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

In an instance he had opened the wall as if it was a door and had gone through. Illia was fast to approach him and walk through. She looked around before the door closed behind her.

“Follow me.”

The pathways lead the couple all the way outside the castle to a open plain of grass. “How did you know about those tunnels?” “I had found them before we left for Dragonstone.” A sudden sound of two dragons landing had made the girl turn to see both Vermax and Silverwing waiting for the couple. “Would you care to go on a dragon fly with me to the little islands?”

“Race you!”

The princess had shoved the prince back before taking off into a sprint to her own dragon.

“No fair!”

The dragons raced through the cloudy night sky across the open body of water towards the collection of small islands. They were to small of land for anyone to live but the dragons seemed to enjoy resting on the islands during their flights. Averillia and Silverwing had beaten the boys to the island in record time. Vermax let out a little huff of fire when he landed, obviously the dragon had known he’d been beaten and wasn’t happy about the lost. “You cheated!”

“I did not! You’re just a sore loser!” Illia had screamed back to the prince at his accusation towards her. The prince was fast to grab the girl and tickling her restlessly. “Jace no! Please don’t! I am sorry! Please no!” the boy had gotten on top of the girl and tickled her sides relentlessly while she begged him to stop. “You have to admit you cheated and then I shall cease the tickling.” “Anything else! Please!”

“Ok fine, You have to kiss me than!”

“What?!”

“Those are your only options, Princess. Either admit your wrongs or kiss me, that’s the only way you are getting yourself out of here.”

The girls giggles sounded louder as he kept tickling her. “Okay! Okay I surrender!” Jace had stopped his hands for one moment to look at her. The blonde princess had wiggled herself to sit upon her bum and grabbed his face and placed a kiss on his cheek. It had been a quick peck upon his cheek, but still a kiss none the less. He had frozen up still at the girls kiss and stared her in the eyes. The moon which started to shine through the clouds shined right upon her. Jace had thought she looked of a goddess in the moonlight, her hair was a beautiful golden color as if a halo around her and her eyes had almost shined pale purple in the light. He had taken her all in and noticed how milky pale her skin was, it looked to be a soft feeling. Her neck looked as if every breath she took was going to break her, her shoulders went up with every intake of breath she took and down with every outtake. She had been leaning back on her hands which exposed her chest in fuller view, He had seen her lower cut dress at dinner but he did not seem to mind, especially not now. Her breasts looked as if they were to spill out from her gown with how much father the gown had been pulled down. He knew it was not polite to stare, especially with how many times his mother had enforced that rule but gods how could he not. She looked of utter radiance and she was to be his, and his alone.

Illia wondered if the prince above her was feeling well. He had been staring at her for a few good minutes without staying a word. “Jace?” The boy had rested his palm against her waist before following the seam of her bodice up to her bust, her neck, and ending on her jaw. “Jace? Are you feeling well?” He had taken his other hand and held the back of her head. “Jace? What are you doing?” her hand held his wrist that was on her jaw. He was freaking her out with how hard he was staring at her. “Do you trust me?” His eyes jumped between her eyes and lips as she gave a slow nod. He didn’t hesitate to bring her lips to his. It was an awkward feeling for the girl, having never kissed or been kissed by anyone before. Slowly she relaxed and had started to enjoy the feeling.

Jace was far to excited to function properly. Her skin was indeed soft, most likely the softest thing the prince had ever felt. Her lips had a comforting warmth to them that he does not think he could find anywhere else. He had inevitably pulled away from her to catch his breath. The girl under him was truly the most beautiful thing ever in this world. Without any hesitation, he again pulled his hand that was tangled in the back of her hair to him in another kiss. He had laid her down in the dirt once more and continued kissing her. His hand moved from her hair down to her waist as her hands had moved to his bicep and his own hair. She had pulled him deeper into the kiss with a small moan escaping her mouth. Jace had felt his trousers tightening at just her simple sound, if he could he’d never wish for her to stop that sound. He had felt her break away from him and quickly flipped him so he was the one in the dirt and she was on top. He pulled her closer by her waist and brought his lips to her jaw, her neck, her clavicle, and end at her breasts. As soon as his lips touched her gown collar, she had thrown herself from his lap and pushing his upper body straight back into the dirt.

She had been only a foot away from him when he sat up, her chest was breathing rapidly, her hair had been a mess, her eyes wide like a doe, and her lips swollen covered in her own spit. “Illia, oh gods. Illia I am sorry, I did not mean for it to be taken so far, and it was not even my intents to bring you out here just for that. I just wanted one moment alone with you before we go back to Dragonstone on the marrow. I-“

“You’re leaving again? But you’ve only just arrived?”

In Jace’s rambling she had herd the words that made her heart sink into her stomach. Tears had welded into her eyes at the sudden news. “You’re supposed to be here for five more days? Why are you leaving me again?”

“Mother thinks its best considering Aemond’s temper.”

“Take me with you! Do not leave me here with those awful people! Do not leave me, Jace! Please do not leave me again!”

The tears had started to consistently stream down her cheeks. “Illia, please do not cry. I can not stand to keep watching you cry like this. I do not want to leave you so soon either. I had begged my mother to take you but she knew it wasn’t possible. Your mother wouldn’t have allowed it.” He crawled over to the girl to try and console her. She had attached herself to him, hoping holding him longer will make him stay.

They sat in that spot for hours that night trying to find comfort in the departure between the two but there was none.

Jacaerys Velaryon, the dragon prince and Averillia Targaryen, the simple princess were once again pulled apart from one another once dawn had broken though over the sea line.

endnote: Thank you everyone for reading! The next part shall take me some time to write but if you’re still interested in reading the story please like or reblog to bring you back to them! (Did you guys also see the Epic reference I put in??? I believe it’s the most fitting lyric in the entire musical) also I had changed Jace’s appearance in this time frame, I love my man but the curls eat more then his season one wig. The finale part to this trilogy shall be released sometime at the end of next week or two!

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jace velaryon #hotd #hotd jacaerys #jace targaryen x reader #prince jacaerys #jace x reader #original character #house of the dragon #hbo #house targaryen #house velaryon

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daemonbrain · 1 month ago

Text

Little Viper

Prologue | Chapter 1

(Daemon Targaryen x Dornish!Reader)

Summary: The sun could not reach you here, not in this city of rain and stink. (Un)fortunately, you found yourself at the mercy of a dragon's fire.

You've missed the heat, you supposed.

6k, CW: arranged marriage, canon divergent, canon-typical violence, canon-typical misogyny, reader is homesick, smut, will update as I post.

a/n: This was def a bitch to write lol, I really need to get back into it. I haven't decided whether i'm going to turn this into a proper multi-part series or not so I encourage you to leave comments if this is something you'd be interested in :) Edit: This was previously ch. 1, but I decided I didn't love the pacing so this is now the prologue!

To My Lord-Father,

It has been well over a week's time since you’ve sent me- your dearest child- away. A few days time since I last felt the weight of the sun's warmth upon my skin. The overcast weather befitting of my current disposition and this city, nay, kingdom’s shortcomings compared to our beloved Dorne.

I arrived a few hours ago, though I swiftly left the company of King Jaehaerys and the rest of his court's brazen stares upon arrival… you’d think they had never seen a Dornishmen before. However, the reason being for my early retreat was not the scrutiny, rather that I don’t feel particularly well. You know I've never enjoyed sea travel, for it makes me sickly. Or this may just be my body’s desperate act of resistance against this poorly-conceived match you’ve sold me to. Be that as it may, it does not do to dwell as you would say.

I am willing to do this wretched duty as Princess of Dorne, to bring upon us a lasting peace. At the very least for Qoren’s sake, I suppose.

Though I am cross with you, I cannot say it isn’t regrettable to hear that your ailment has rendered you unable to make the journey to King’s Landing… your absence will be strongly felt, father. Just as it has been.

On a less glum note, I feel my dreadful spirits being lifted. It’s as if I can sense my brother's approach to the Blackwater Bay where I will eagerly await him on the morrow, perfectly on time for the ceremony.

I miss you and shall count the days until I am able to return home? Sunspear home to see you. Do not strain yourself while Qoren and I are away.

Best Regards, Your Daughter.

100 A.C

Had you been in your previous state of fury and pettiness, you might have crossed out “daughter” in favor of “forsaken issue”. Mayhaps if you had the energy at present, you would have.

While on the sea, you had been given much time before your grand entrance to reconcile yourself with your forlorn state of affairs. The reconciliation being overindulgence of barrels worth of Dornish Red on board. The “wedding” gift Qoren so thoughtlessly japed.

Your pitiful drunken outbursts in the privacy of your quarters, lest you cause any rumors before even arriving at the port. You would curse the day you were born, the day your father was born, the day his father before him.

Prince Daemon and his drunkard bride, a blessed match.

However, after the unremitting bouts of nausea ultimately won over your desire to numb your senses. Leagues away from the Dornish border and fast approaching your fate, your anger could not sustain you so wholly in the middle of the Narrow Sea.

Taking a moment from your trivial displeasure, you hunched over, placing your forehead to the wooden desk in your guest chambers with a thud. Holding yourself tightly as if that would dull the unpleasant rumble in your belly, rocking your body as the ship had mere hours ago.

A warm welcome to this shitpile of a city. You chuckled to yourself, to the empty room. You could only assume the things Qoren would say about this horrid place. How dull the walls were, the lack of open air. No bright colours and suns embellishing every piece of fabric.

He would make a wisecrack remark, “Oh how drab the Targaryen splendor is!”

Though he would say it in a far more humorous way. His asinine character a natural talent to a prick such as himself you believed.

Pushing yourself up with your ink covered hands, you groaned and ambled over to the opened window where the steady whistle of the wind entered. The moon was shrouded in the looming storm clouds, doing little to nothing in regards of illuminating the Red Keep’s disappointingly plain architecture (you may be biased) and the city below. If you gave too much focus, you might begin to smell the… aromas King’s Landing had to offer from all the way up here. None pleasant.

Your belly ached and gurgled as you thought back to the putrid smell that overwhelmed you as you were transported from the Blackwater Bay to the Red Keep.

Before you could dwell any longer, you sighed and shut the window tightly, nothing deemed interesting enough to watch anyways. Instead, your newfound anxieties find their way back to entertain you, the only thing keeping your company as of late.

You had a duty to keep, reminding yourself like a mantra.

Marriage alliances have been custom through the centuries in Westeros. Your own flesh born of political maneuvering and courtly expectations. Why was it now as you stood before your responsibility, your chest tightened at the very thought? At the briefest mention?

You did not like this, but it was your burden to bear. You had no wish to feel this way.

You could only conjure a faint image of the moment your brother unwillingly delivered your fathers verdict on your future. It had been a beautiful day, the gardens' serene quality creating a profusely deceptive sense of security.

Mayhaps it was the way your head was sent spinning immediately after the words left Qoren’s mouth? The rush of anger which possessed you? The way it caused you to barge into the council room, any trace of warmth or softness you commonly afforded to your father absent.

Nonetheless, it was all a blur of shouting, salty tears, pleas and comforts falling deaf to your ears. Whatever it was no longer clear to you.

Sighing, you begin to slip out of the dress you had travelled with, the hem of the sleeves stained from your letter writing.

You briefly considered stripping down to your undergarments and sleeping as such. Though, upon further deliberation you thought it best to wear a simple nightgown in accordance with the cold draft of the castle.

Slipping under the fur lined covers you couldn’t help the feeling that crept into the cavity of your chest. It burned within you, leaving a rancid taste in your mouth. This was it. Come this time tomorrow, you would not even belong to the house of your kin.

Wrapping the covers more firmly around your quaking form, it’s indiscernible whether the chill or your fear was the source.

“Daemon” You dared to whisper, willing yourself to speak the Targaryen Prince’s miserable name into the empty bedchamber. You did not like how it sounded on your tongue.

Do you feel this dread as I do?

“Does my Prince find himself in need of comfort?” The whore spoke out, reaching to graze the silver-haired Prince’s hand which held his third- fourth cup of wine.

Dornish Red Daemon had complained. He always favored Arbor Gold.

He had been in this place since the previous night, an angered promenade with a few of the guards he trained with on occasion. They laughed, feasted, fucked through the streets of King’s Landing without shame nor respect for the Prince’s wedding ceremony taking place on this very day.

Daemon did not deem it worthy of his attention. Let the King’s guard or whatever the fuck else other soldier his grandsire and father will send drag him from this place. He would stay put in the meantime, enjoying his time sunken in his whore and cup much more than he would with the Dornish wench they’ve bound him to.

Daemon smirked as his gaze ran down to the woman’s breasts shamelessly, watching the way her nipples hardened under the flimsy gown she wore. The cold winds from the opened window biting at her form in a delectable way.

When his eyes arrived back to her face his own violet eyes were met by her blue ones. Her unmistakable silver hair shining in the candlelight. This was what he was deserving of.

His previous visits to this particular establishment were met with loyalty by the owner. She spoke of a girl to his tastes. He was pleasantly surprised with the dragonseed waiting for him in the deeper parts of the building.

The sound of moans echoing from within the brothel, the lecherous men seeking reprieve from their lives by giving up their coin to service the women who milled about.

All the distractions which blared loudly in his ears could not distract his active mind as he drunkenly and loudly complained of his circumstances.

How could they expect him to sit idly by as they took his future into their hands. To marry him to a hot-blooded Dornishmen. The blood of the dragon does not dwell with sand people he had told his brother Viserys.

Slamming his now empty goblet to a random table, he allows the silver-haired woman to lead him to an empty couch amongst other patrons and working girls alike.

She pushes him to the couch and flicks her hair to the side. He leers at the beauty born of his house’s ardor. Her sharp features, tresses which reached her waist. Grabbing on to her with a firm hand, he pulled her down to his lap as a familiar need spread through his body. Deserving.

Daemon was not one to hold back his desires, and why should he? A dragon's blood is made of fire, and nothing burns hotter than a dragon's lust.

As she lightly grinded her hips against him, a familiar rising began

This is what he is deserving of. He had no need to see his intended, for he already knew what the Dornish were. Most certaining nothing he was interested in binding himself to.

“My Prince is most eager,” she breathily stated, her breath clipped as Daemon wasted no time fastening his mouth to hers, roughly coaxing his tongue into her mouth. “Your Prince needs a good fuck.” His tone husky, words slurring slightly. His lips breaking apart from hers, hands exploring her dress-clad form. A thin bit of fabric which he could make quick work of.

“Spend your night with me and it may be your best fuck yet, my prince…” Gods had he not been so displeased by his circumstances he would have taken to banter with this seductress. Would have let her worship him, and he would worship her in turn. However, the sound of the stitches on her flimsy gown ripping from his grip on her waist was a tell-tale sign this was no such night for that sort of intimacy. This was a night for animalistic intentions.

His hand greedily roamed the expanse of her soft skin, marks from previous patrons visible- he did not care. Her perfume almost nauseatingly strong. It did not matter.

The two were lip locked. Groans and heavy breaths as they practically merged into one another. The fervor of which Prince Daemon kissed at her skin, beautiful and unsightly.

If the Targaryen’s were believed to be closer to the gods then men, why was it that they crumbled all too similar to even those of the lowest birth who frequented these houses of ill-repute. For any who caught a glimpse of the young Prince and his company of the night, that very notion could be challenged as he desperately clutched on to any purchase of skin he could find, the need for anything pleasurable in this wretched day. Seeking solace in the arms of a beautiful woman with an underlying need to reclaim the power he deemed stolen from him.

Pulling back from the kiss, the woman latched her skillful lips to his pale skin. With a sharp inhale, Daemons went muscles taut at the way she nipped and licked at his skin.

“That’s it..”

A short groan escaped him as his hand went to cradle the back of her head, taking a handful of her hair. As he pushed her closer to his skin he could have sworn this woman was a witch.

When she began to palm him through his breeches he was sure. At the tender touch, his cock chubbed up. In the daze his eyes slowly peered at the sight before him, but before he could admire the feast laid before him another irritating sight caught his attention.

Another girl, distinctly sun-kissed skin that was certainly not from the gloomy skies of the Crownlands during the winter, and dark locks of hair forming waves down her back as she vigorously worked her mouth on another patron.

Before he is able to grit his teeth in annoyance, the silver-haired woman's dexterous hands continue to gently touch him through the fabric of his breeches, he momentarily has to toss his head back to let go of a deep breath, his drunken state causing a small whine to escape.

After a hearing a small giggle, he focuses back on his own pleasure and groping of the much more interesting beauty-

His eyes quickly peered back over to the other whore.

Damned Dornish. Worming their way into all facets of his life now? The thought made him want to scoff.

Dishonourable Dornish. Known throughout Westeros for their cowardly fight tactics, uses of poison.

More crudely also known for their lust, their thirst.

Daemon could not help that his wine-addled mind brought him back to his fucking betrothed. He wondered if the rumors held true. Daemon had fucked wenches prettier than a fair few of the noblewomen in court. He had no issue avoiding the bedding entirely if she happened to be one of the more plain featured.

Though, his fathers fury would know no bounds were he to not consummate the union, the key piece to such an "important" alliance... were it up to Daemon to provide council (which it very much wasn't) they would come to the walls of Sunspear atop Vhagar and Caraxes to subdue this folly entirely.

Would the Princess descend to her knees like the woman in his view? Gaze up at him in pleading to fulfill her bottomless appetite. His cock, his fingers, his tongue. After all how could such an insatiable creature react well to her own husband refusing to fuck her.

Gods he hoped she wasn't ugly.

If she was lucky enough, perceptive enough to beg, the Prince would jeeringly stroke her hair and whisper his taunts before pulling her on to him.

Were you the sort of woman able to take a man to his base? Or would you ask him to slow his pace?

Continuing to watch the Dornish woman, he allowed a groan to slip past his lips at both the ministrations of his paid companion and the sight before him.

The whore deftly performed. Perhaps you would try to please him with such fervor. Leave eager licks at his sack of stones as you indulged in such carnal desires. Delightedly hum as you suckled at his tip.

“You distract yourself, mighty dragon” His companion interrupted while grabbing his face on either side. Had his body not already been ready to boil over, it certainly was now at her words. A mighty dragon he was.

Shaking his head, he centers his thoughts back on to the woman whose legs were dangled across his thighs. Unbearably hard, he ached to see her bare. And with that desire came the end of her cheap gown. He ripped the fabric down the middle, her chest now on full display for him to enjoy.

Unfortunately for his poor intoxicated attention span, the loud sound of squelching hit his ears and he could not resist the temptation to look back.

He watched as the man hungrily began to leverage his position over the other woman, choosing to forgo her teasing in favor of fucking her mouth.

Daemon wouldn't do that- not like that. His mind wandered off again. A place where a Dornish Princess sat between his legs determined to inch-by-inch feed his cock into her hole. No, he would let her tease. He would let her and then when he no longer wished to, she wouldn't need to try so hard anymore. For he would begin to snap his hips forward to make up for what she couldn’t. Breaking that infamous Dornish resistance by forcing her poor throat to adapt to the too-large intrusion.

He would relish in wounding the Martell pride after all, justifiable revenge for his own. The only thing he may be granted in this ridiculous union.

He would be gentle and rough all the same, mocking through it all.

The whore clearly knew what she was doing, patiently and prettily sitting there while suctioning her cheeks, bobbing along with the rhythm. He would have let her work a little longer before devolving so fast as the man had. To each their own.

He didn’t know if it was the view or the feeling of his pants being unlaced which had him beginning to sweat.

Would his bride sit as pleasantly he wondered or would fat tears slip down her cheeks at the bombardment? Too overwhelming for the likes of a noblewoman. Or perhaps she would prove to be the opposite and enjoy such treatment, utterly unbefitting to her station.

Would her own cunt glisten as the whore's does in pleasure, calling to him as if it was of the utmost fascination? Would her spittle drip down from her face to her thighs? Would they be rubbing together in need as he buried himself deeper. Her body ready to entrap him should he lose his wits to a viper of all things. A little thing trying to fool a dragon.

In a matter of seconds, the man's tempo slowed significantly as his legs began to weakly quake. Taking this opportunity, she sped up, and as if sensing this she pulled off. Jerking his manhood over her face while looking at him with a sultry stare, he turned away bashfully, his peak quick.

Daemon would have pulled the Princess the whore close, nuzzling her nose to the very base of him where his silver hairs grow. Shaft as far as it could be. He would watch as her eyes grew hazy from the closeness, from the seed which slithered down her throat.

If you are pretty enough, he would find no shame in returning the favour. A lusty Princess, certainly a rarity left unseen by him (lest he recounts the stories of his denounced aunt Saera Targaryen).

If the rumors of the Dornish are anything to go by, a pretty girl with loose legs was the best he could expect out of these circumstances. At worst, another person which he would dutifully ignore and loath as best he could.

Without taking notice, the woman on his lap gestured the Dornish whore over, slipping her hands away from Daemon’s.

Before the husband-to-be could object to the separation, the two women dragged him bare and ready to a more private chamber in the back grabbing a pitcher of wine on the way.

Dornish Red.

You had been quick to rouse from your rest, your body protesting the sounds of the morn outside of your door. A clear indication it was time for you to rise. You struggled, it was not as if sleep came easily to you the night before, nor effectively when it befell you for that matter.

But as the sharp knock of your maid came to the locked wooden door of your chambers there was no escape. Your paranoia comes back to bite you as you were forced to trudge over, utterly unready to face the homely, friendly woman you had taken with you from Dorne.

After opening the door and curt pleasantries are exchanged, your hair is made to a neat style and you are helped into a fine dress suiting the chilly weather.

Had you been at home you would have opted for expensive lace and airy fabrics. You’d be bejewelled and by the prudish standards of King’s Landing, “scantily” dressed. Though, you’d bid the Lord’s and Lady’s of this court to attempt a summer in Sunspear wearing their usual constricting and heavy fabrics.

Running your hands over the tightly corseted waist, the maid speaks up while collecting loose items marring the tidy space.

“The discomfort is a small price to pay. Should you be beholden to Prince Daemon this morning, he will think you stunning in such a piece.”

Raising a brow to her comment on the Prince’s… likes, you speak semi-irate. “Does the Prince enjoy his women light-headed and immobile then?”

You knew little of Daemon beyond the rumors which circulated about him, let alone enough to presume his tastes.

A second-born child just as you were, he was a knight described as tall and hardened where his brother Viserys was more plump.

You oft fantasized of what it would be to truly be with a fighter. Now faced with the possibility of being bound to a glory-hungry Targaryen, you could not find in yourself the same excitement you felt when studying the soldiers of Dorne. In fact, it would not be a stretch to say there was faint distress.

You studied the woman's reflection in the mirror and she looked at you once and then twice over.

“Ah!” The maid scampers over to where your jewelry is laid and brings a gold albeit simple necklace. Strapping it around your neck she claps her hands together softly.

Deeming her work satisfactory, she meets your eye once more with a commiserating stare.

“If that will be all Princess?”

“That will be all.”

She bowed and left without another word. Your unpleasant behavior was something anyone employed by your father to serve you in King’s Landing had begun to become accustomed to. Their good Princess grows bitter in the absence of the sun.

With a sigh, you turn when you hear a knock at the door. It is then you see your ever stoic knight Ser Edmyn.

With tan skin and hair that was but a wisp, he was an experienced fellow. Even with old age the knight was able to keep up with any man half his years. An imposing size and frightening demeanor alone enough to ward any undesirables away. One of the best in Dorne deemed the best protection for his Princess.

“Good morning Ser Edmyn.” You smiled small while approaching him at the door, (un)ready to leave the safety and solitude of your bedchambers.

“Good morning, Princess.” He smiled small back. A pleasantry which was reserved for you.

As the both of you fall into step you continue to speak while observing the bustle of the corridors, decorations coming to and from even in this wing of the castle. “It is busy today. I suppose all this chaos is to be expected...”

“There is to be a royal wedding after all. Though I deduce you would not like to be reminded.”

With a chuckle you shake your head “No, ser, I do not. However, I would like to pick your brain for what you know of my brother's arrival. I would like to be there as soon as his boat is, I am most excited to see him again.”

“It is to my knowledge that your brother will not arrive until noon.”

With an aimless hum you keep your eyes trained ahead, lest you embarrass yourself with the anxious expression on your face. A few more unbearable hours until they are made just a slight bit better. Mayhaps Qoren will be able to bring a spot of light to this dreary city.

After a few minutes of allowing Ser Edmyn to lead you, you recognize the faint smell of food. Gods it has been a time since you last ate. On cue, you begin to salivate over the thought of a freshly cooked meal.

An unfamiliar voice interferes with your fantasies, coming to a stop in front of you with a polite smile. “Princess,” The servant bowed respectfully, clearly in a hurry. “her royal highness Princess Aemma requests you join her to break fast.”

Looking at Edmyn with annoyance displayed, he only responds with an inappreciable shrug. Mayhaps the woman would further rub your nose in all of this bother. This family has ruined your happiness, they may as well ruin your meal.

Offering the servant a reluctant nod, he stiffly leads you and your protector to a dining room.

Bowing, the servant leaves after delivering you in front of your destination and Ser Edmyn takes his place on the wall outside of the opened door. Pushing all the thoughts from your head you assume a neutral expression as you walked into the room.

Without so much as looking at Aemma’s face, you nod your head with respect due to someone of her status. “Princess Aemma.”

It was when you heard a soft babble, your mind went soft. You tilt your head back up to see Aemma giving you a bright smile and you spot a girl no more than three in her arms.

“Or… Princess’s, apologies.”

“Princess,” your name slipping from her lips as she wrangled her wriggling daughter. “No need for such apologies. I hope I did not interrupt your busy morning!” She spoke with jollity, as if this was a day which deserved such joys.

“Not at all. I’ve yet to eat anything. Nothing to tend to until my brother Qoren’s arrival.” You mustered a friendly looking smile, trying (and failing) to reciprocate the amiable spirit of the Arryn.

“Come. sit, sit!” grabbing hold of her daughter's wrist, she gently waved it in your direction, “Say hello Rhaenyra.” she told her daughter, the two letting out a little giggle at the contact.

“Helloooo” The girl playfully obliged.

As you sat down, you could not fail to take note of the way her silver hair and violet eyes stood out amongst all of it. A true little Targaryen.

You presumed they all started this lovely. One could almost forget they grew to be wicked dragonlords.

Unknowing of your distasteful thoughts, Aemma continued putting the young Princess in her chair as the help served her up a plate.

“I figured it would be pleasant for the both of us to meet in a more intimate setting. You left so briskly the past night, I could not introduce myself. I do hope you were able to remedy the travel sickness you mentioned?” She turned her head upwards to you.

“Yes… pleasant.” You continued, “sleep always proves to be the best cure to my ill-state.”

Bang!

You jumped at the sound. How pleasant to dine to the sounds of the young Princess whacking silverware to the wood.

“Feed mummy! Food!” she whined.

Without casting a glance to Rhaenyra, Aemma places a light hand to her little fists to placate the girl. “Patience Rhaenyra… Apologies, my girl is quite insistent.” As the beginnings of cries begin to persist, Aemma turns to Rhaenyra with a soft smile.

Motherly.

“What do we say Rhaenyra?”

“No Mummy! Feed!”

Aemma giggles a bit before continuing. “Kostilus. Say it my girl, say what your father taught you. Kos-til-us.”

With a final resistant pout, red-faced and desperate to be fed, the girl parrots her mother. “Kostiles!” Rather she tries to.

At her daughter yielding and speaking this mystery word, Aemma begins to spoon feed her, attention returning back to you.

“It means please in High Valyrian. Viserys, Prince Baelon… Daemon, they are all fluent. ‘Tis quite important that a Targaryen is fluent in the mother tongue.”

You hum in agreement as you take a sip of your drink. The ancestral tongue of cruel war instigators. Fitting.

“I must say how wonderful it is that Prince Qoren will come! I’m sure you are very happy to see him on such a special occasion.”

You thank the server who set out a plate with something of palatable substance compared to the meals you were served on the sea.

Taking a few bites of the food, you will yourself slow down, responding after you’ve swallowed. “Yes, such a… special day.” You gulped and barely held back your grimace.

In need of a different topic, you continue. “But to say I am very happy would be phrasing it far too mildly. I am quite fond of my brother. We are inseparable and it has been strange to be without him for so long.”

“It must be hard to be away from him, especially… in a place so different.” You see a flicker of sympathy in her gaze as she turns to gently wipe at Rhaenyra’s mouth with a cloth.

You watch as she mothers her daughter with the same soft gaze. You did not need someone years your younger looking at you as if you were a lost lamb, it only caused your annoyance to be inflamed.

“Yes, well, as is my duty.” You responded in a way which sounded more clipped than you intended.

In spite of sensing your blunt tone, Aemma continues cooly. “I myself am not close to my half-siblings. They are all quite a bit older than me. I was never lucky enough to have a relationship like the one you describe.” She smiled wistfully. “I do hope in the near future Rhaenyra will be able to have such a bond.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered down to your empty finger. The tan line a reminder of your gold signet ring. Yet another thing you reluctantly miss.

Your annoyance softens at Aemma’s kind words and the reminder of your “lucky bond” with your brother as you decide to initiate a question. “Did you like Vale? I have never visited.” You asked, unsure of how to proceed.

“Oh yes! It would snow in the winter, sometimes so hard one could mistake for Winterfell! And in the spring the prettiest flowers would bloom! Little blue ones all around. It all becomes a little blurry as time passes on-”

You felt your heart skip once as she carried on. Would it be you one day dining with someone, talking of Dorne as a memory?

“But of course I've been in King’s Landing since I was a girl of eleven. I’ve built a fondness for this home as well.”

That caused you to pause.

What a horrible thing to be ripped from your home at such a young age.

Taking another bite of your food, you watch as she continues to prattle on about how “pleasant” King’s Landing could be if you looked closely. Gulping down your food, it is your turn to look at her with sympathy.

As you both goalessely chat with occasional interruptions from Rhaenyra, the topic of your intended is breached even with your skillful avoidance.

“He is not as bad as people say, you know. Just… passionate. He is kind to Rhaenyra and I. He loves his brother very much. Perhaps he could make…” Aemma’s voice wanes off as she thinks on her next words.

A part of her wanted to reassure you by saying “a fine match.” However, she did not wish to sour this new amity by feeding you lies. You were going to be her sister and you did not seem like the type to take kindly to blatantly dishonest consolation. It was not right.

Not when she had heard the cruel way Daemon had spoken about you to Viserys only nights ago.

“A tolerable match.”

You were a nice girl… angry perhaps. She found herself hoping vainly Daemon would not ruin you.

“How reassuring Princess.” you chuckled, allowing yourself to go lax a bit.

And how this delighted Aemma. “Having said that, I do not think you will have to… concern yourself with him before the ceremony.” she grinned quietly.

“That disappoints me so.”

Amidst the comfortable silence which ensued, you’re interrupted by Ser Edmyn.

“Princess, I’m sorry for the intrusion. Your brother's ship approaches the Bay. I thought it important to inform you, we will need to leave soon if you wish to welcome him.”

Aemma could see your harsh air lighten evidently. The announcement of your true brother's arrival bewitching you with a smile of what looked to be perfect glee.

You shot up from your seat immediately, pivoting towards the Princesses. “I do hope you forgive my abrupt departure, but I-”

“Go! It is fine. I look forward to meeting Prince Qoren!” She simpered.

Without another word, you were in the buzzing hallways of the Red keep. “Make haste Ser Edmyn!” You laughed as you picked up your skirts, bursting with joy that even the constraints of this damned corset could not stop you.

Had this been a few hours ago, spotting the orange Martell banners carried alongside Targaryen, flowers, and chairs you might have been sent into a dizzy spell. You just might the moment you arrive back at the castle. Not now though. For now, your brother was here!

After a brief carriage ride you are offered a hand by your knight as he gently leads you down. Uncaring of the light rain which splattered over your new dress, you stumbled upon the stones which littered the shore as you raced to catch a glimpse of the vessel.

Your heart threatened to burst and for the first time since you arrived, you graced King’s Landing with the brightest of smiles. A smile meant for the ship which flew the familiar sun, spear striking it through.

You had been angry and bitter, but that did not change the simple fact that you longed to be in the presence of your brother. Desperately. You wished to put all of this nasty business behind you and embrace him as family again.

As the ship grew closer, you began to register the faces of the crew. How vain he was. Hiding from a bit of rain, no doubt to avoid soiling his clothes.

Today would be a miserable loss, but perhaps a bearable one now.

The ship docked and you were growing restless. As two familiar Lord’s, advisors to your father, disembarked you wasted no time in approaching them.

You looked a mess. Tightly bound hair damp, your dress dragging in the wet sand but it simply was no matter to you.

As the advisors took you in, you assumed it was your disarrayed appearance which caused the apprehensive air.

“My Lords, I do hope the journey was all well!” You chirped.

They bowed in greeting, the uneasy look they exchanged going unnoticed. “Quite well, my Princess.”

“I do hope my brother is not fussing over the rain in there. ‘Tis somber all the time here, he must grow used to it. As will both of you I'm sure.”

…

“I am…” Taking a breath in, one of the men paused observing your blissfully ignorant expression. “Prince Qoren sends his sincerest regrets, but he will be absent-”

Your smile dropped as quick as it had appeared. He continued speaking and you stopped listening. Absent.

Absent.

He spoke of duty, he spoke of loyalty. And where was he on this most “auspicious” day. Was each and every reassurance a callous means of pacifying your temper? The fucking traitor. The whole lot of them. Your brother, your father, his council, your home for gods sake! By their will, cast into the fire while they reap the spoils of peace.

What of your peace? Was he so cruel as to not see you off in gratitude for your sacrifice? He was no “exalted” viper, he was a snake.

“... Princess?” One of the advisors questioned, most like realizing your inattention to his excuses on Qoren’s behalf.

Your vacant stare focuses back to the man as you furiously willed your tears to stay put. He sighs and looks at you with pity, aware of your blaring disappointment.

Pulling something from under his cloak, the Lord outstretched his hand with a brown piece of parchment, little water droplets staining the paper as the rain began to intensify. “He tasked us with delivering this to you… it seemed-”

“That is all.”

“Princess…”

Snatching the letter up, you fixed them with a hard glare, a weak manifestation of the anger which seethed within you. A letter. His consolation was even pathetic.

As the two men hurried off, you opened the letter, uncaring of the way the rain lashes at your frame now, the overcast beach full of people hurrying off of the boat.

Dear Sister,

I take no joy in writing this note, for it is with remorse that I must tell you I am unable to attend your wedding ceremony, nor visit you in King’s Landing hereafter. I know you will be angry and I am sorry. I am so very sorry and I beg of you to not lose heart, to not be frightened. I beseech you to accept my lamentable apologies and understand this is not how I wished this day to go.

-Qoren

You cared not for the rest, only the reaffirmation of your brother's non-attendance. As the rain slid down, your tears mingled with the droplets. Crumpling the letter, you allowed it to drop down in the sand, watching it slowly turn soft from harsh rainfall.

Abandoned by your own family, the gods and men would bear witness to your entrapment.

#daemon x reader #hotd fanfiction #daemon targeryan #hotd #daemon x you #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #daemon fanfic

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lady-pug · 5 months ago

Text

Written Between the Lines

Chapter IV - Where Lions Preen and Dragons Feast

Summary: Yours and Aemond’s relationship flourishes as you wait for your wedding to arrive. But when Jason Lannister steps out of line, insulting not only yourself, but also your mother and your future husband, you putting him back in his place elicits an interesting reaction from Aemond.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 4,8k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); Aemond being pussydrunk; Jason Lannister being a major asshole; Aemond is a simp through and through (I plead my case)

Notes: Hello my dears, how have you been? I bring you the next chapter of this series (this is also my second time ever I writing smut so bear with me please, I apologize in advance)

Just to explain some things, Aemond and Reader call each other husband and wife in High Valyrian even though they are not married yet because apparently there is no word for betrothed, fiancé, bride, groom or anything similar in High Valyrian, so they call each other that (it’s meant to be more affectionate than a indication of their relationship status anyway)

Also, I again used an online translator (if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you've enjoyed this story so far and that you enjoy this chapter!

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Things had been calm, albeit quite hectic all the same, at least for a while. On the very same night after the spectacle that was the hearing over Driftmark, King Viserys had passed away in his sleep. Your mother, bless her soul, was with him when it happened, and promptly called for the maesters’ help but there was no longer anything they could do, leaving his body in the care of the silent sisters. Her coronation, reluctantly, happened on the very next morning. Rhaenyra wanted time to mourn her father, but an heir had no time to mourn a king, for the realm demanded a new one. Or, in this case, a queen.

In order to remind the lords of all the great houses of the oath they’d sworn to King Viserys almost twenty years before, Rhaenyra sent out every dragonrider to all corners of the Seven Kingdoms. Daemon flew to Riverrun; Jace paid the Lord Cregan Stark a visit; Baela, accompanied by Rhaena, was sent to the Vale; Aegon and Helaena took flight to Casterly Rock to negotiate with a promise of maintenance of Ser Tyland Lannister’s chair on the Queen’s Small Council and a future betrothal between Jaehaerys and Jason Lannister’s daughter, Cerelle; Luke headed to the Reach.

You, on the other hand, were sent to speak with the Prince Qoren Nymeros Martell with a proposition to join the Seven Kingdoms under Targaryen rule, which he of course refused and practically laughed in your face. But you were nothing short of prepared, coming up with an alternative: should he recognize your mother as the Queen of Westeros, even if Dorne remained an independent kingdom, he could keep the Stepstones and incorporate it into Dornish territory. You’d even personally aid them with your dragon in driving away the Triarchy; the only catch was, after that, he’d have to maintain it of his own accord. If he was successful in keeping the Stepstones going forward, they were his to do what he pleased so long as he kept open commerce with the rest of the realm. He’d eventually caved in, an impressed smile adorning his features (and a proposition to warm your bed, which you politely turned down) as he agreed to your terms.

The only two great houses who gave any indication of trouble accepting your mother’s claim to the Iron Throne were Houses Baratheon and Greyjoy. Lord Borros Baratheon, although vexed at having to bend the knee to a woman, didn’t seem so bothered after negotiations with his cousin, the Princess Rhaenys, and a proposal to wed one of his daughters to the previous king’s youngest son, Daeron. Lord Dalton Greyjoy, on the other hand, was quick to bend the knee to Rhaenyra the moment he set his eyes on Vhagar flying above Pyke, the sheer size of her rumored to be bigger than the whole castle itself, and Aemond barely had to do any negotiations at all.

All of this, allied with the extensive gatherings of the Small Council (which Rhaenyra decided not to change most of its members for the time being, just rearranging their positions and reinstating Lord Corlys Velaryon as Master of Ships) meant yours and Aemond’s wedding got pushed back several weeks, if not moons, the last thing on anybody’s minds at the moment. The betrothal itself was only announced after the return of the last of the dragonriders to King’s Landing, almost a whole moon after the death of your grandsire. By then, the expected date for the birth of your mother’s and Daemon’s babe was approaching, and so it was decided to wait until after the babe was born so as to not cause Rhaenyra unnecessary stress that came with planning a whole wedding feast.

In the meantime, you and Aemond would spend every waking moment in each other’s presence; wherever one was, the other was never too far behind. Especially after your betrothal was formally announced the two of you could often be found walking together around the gardens, your hand tucked on the crook of his elbow, or breaking your fast together. Sometimes you’d be found reading together in the library or you’d watch him train on the balcony above the courtyard. Your handmaids often jested with you calling him your shadow, as he never strayed too far, almost like a lost little puppy.

What the ever watching eyes of court didn’t see, however, was the way you’d often drag Aemond by the hand to some deep alcove away from everyone, or to the darkest hallway of in Maegor’s Holdfast, holding tightly onto the lapels of his leather doublet and crushing his lips to yours. Sometimes the kisses were unhurried, soft and gentle, everything you’d once dreamed of in your youth when your father, Ser Laenor, would tell stories of knights and princesses. Other times the kisses were fervent, passionate, his hands locked on tightly to your waist to stop them from wandering elsewhere. He’d been getting better the more you practiced together, more deliberate, sometimes catching you unguarded with a finger under your chin and a tilt of your head upwards, or a hand on your head and nimble fingers tangled in your hair. These stolen kisses, stolen moments, you shared had become the highlight of your days, and you suspected they were his too.

Almost two moons after her coronation you’d, regretfully, turned down your mother’s offer to spend some time with her in the middle of the morrow, promising to do so during the afternoon’s tea.

“You just want to gawk at your future husband training with a sword, don’t you?” she spoke, not even trying to hide the smirk hanging from her lips, much to your dismay. You felt the tips of your ears burning but didn’t try to deny it, for she knew you too well and could spot when you were lying.

Scurrying off to the courtyard you were pleasantly surprised to find it was practically devoid of the usual onlookers, not even the ladies of court were perched on their spot on the balcony, probably due to the gray and chilly weather that had briefly taken over the capitol.

Only a few knights occupied the yard, engaged in heated training matches. On one corner Ser Erryk, who had been appointed by your mother as your sworn protector, sparred with his twin, Helaena’s sword and shield. Jace was also present, slaughtering a hay stuffed dummy with his sword; normally Daemon would supervise his and Luke’s (and your own, in secret) instruction, having picked up where Ser Harwin left off, but with the late stages of his wife’s pregnancy he chose not to venture too far from her side should she need his assistance. And Aemond, dedicated as ever, found himself in a match against Ser Jason Lannister, who had been briefly summoned away from Casterly Rock by his brother for some reason or another.

Emboldened by the lack of people who would possibly berate you or gossip behind your back about your ‘unladylike’ conduct (and considering you didn’t particularly care for the opinion of the likes of Jason Lannister) you decided to join the men in the courtyard, sitting down on some crates near where your betrothed was sparring, meaning to watch him from closer than usual.

Aemond was good. He was more than just good, he was phenomenal. He moved effortlessly, swiftly around the makeshift battlefield, embodying the first rule your father ever told you when he began to train you: ‘the sword is an extension of your arm’. He was one with the steel, moving with a graciousness that rivaled that of the greatest dancers. You could only imagine how many hours he had put into achieving such mastery, considering the incident had most likely completely changed his depth perception. Watching him fight, even as just a training exercise, winning match after match against Ser Jason, was doing funny things to your heart as it beat wildly in your chest, heat expanding from your cheeks and down to other places.

The sun, partially hidden by gray clouds, was already high up in the sky when both men decided to call it a day. Aemond had already re-sheathed his sword and was making his way towards you when Ser Jason stopped him, trying to engage in some rather interesting conversation.

“My prince,” the man started, loud enough for you to hear, only getting an impatient hum in response “I hope not to take up too much of your time. I was just hoping you could maybe have a word with your grandsire.”

“What about?” Aemond’s eye barely flitted to the man in front of him, his gaze settling on you over Jason Lannnister’s shoulder as he talked his ears away.

“The changes in the Small Council.” he shrugged, as if it was the most trivial thing in the world “Lord Velaryon being named Master of Ships barely seems fair, especially with the state of his health.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, you see my prince, with a new reign just beginning I was hoping to be named Master of Coin.” he explained, finally gaining Aemond’s attention “But with the announcement of Lord Corlys for what was once my brother’s post, Tyland has now been appointed Master of Coin instead.”

You could see Aemond pursing his lips in thought, somewhat amused with the whole tirade Ser Jason was making.

“But you are the Lord of Casterly Rock, my lord. Shouldn’t that be enough for one man?”

“Ah, but to be granted a seat at the King’s Small Council is a great honor!” he kept on talking, not even noticing the slight jab aimed his way “Although the Queen’s Council just doesn’t have that nice of a ring to it.”

“Do you question your Queen’s decisions, my lord?” your betrothed asked, clearly meaning for Ser Jason to fall onto his trap and put his foot in his mouth. And oh, did he do it.

“I mean,” and that had you perking up on your seat “she hasn’t been known to always make the best decisions. My bet is she did this to appease Lord Velaryon about the death of his son. I simply don’t buy this tale of him being murdered by his squire. I am most sure she and that husband of hers had him killed so they could be together, she always had eyes for him in her younger years.”

He was speaking as if you weren’t even there, not noticing or simply not caring for your presence. You’d always known Jason Lannister was a fool, but you never took him for an idiot.

“She is a woman after all. They are more emotional creatures, thinking with their hearts rather than their brains.” he chuckled maliciously “Although a woman like Rhaenyra Targaryen probably thinks with her cunt more than anything.”

You were on your feet in an instant and even Aemond seemed surprised as the man started bad mouthing your mother, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, calling her every possible name under the sun.

“She would fuck any man who even glanced her way. Who knows who the father of all of her children even is? It might be one father for each offspring, we might never know.” Aemond’s expression got increasingly darker as the man talked about your brothers and you “The ones sired by her uncle are more likely to have purer Targaryen blood than the other three. What was she thinking, naming one of those counterfeits as heir?”

One moment you were watching the whole thing go down from afar and the next you were between the two men, holding Aemond back with both hands on his chest.

“You dare speak lowly of my betrothed, my future wife?! Your future queen?!” he tried lunging at Ser Jason but you stopped him, using all your strength to keep him from strangling the moron “I should have your tongue cut out and feed it to Vhagar, then feed her the rest of you along with it!”

“Aemond!” you held his face in your hands, firmly yet gently forcing him to look at you instead of the object of his ire “Ivestragī ziry jikagon, valzȳrys! Issa sepār mirrī vala, iksā sȳrkta than zirȳla.”

He exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring at the effort of calming down, until you eventually felt him nod curtly against your hands.

“Might I remind you, Ser Jason, that the one you speak ill of is none other than your Queen, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and that the last man who called her a whore lost his head for it at the hands of that husband of hers.” you spoke over your shoulder, throwing his words right back at him, smirking mockingly “And if my memory serves me well, Lord Lannister, you actually sent in a request to take her hand in marriage when she was younger, a request she herself rejected. So, by your own words, she would fuck any man who even glanced her way except for you.”

Aemond stared at you wide eyed, and you couldn’t decipher if his expression was one of indignation or awe. As for Ser Lannister, whereas any smart man would have stopped talking by now, Jason Lannister was no smart man, and it seemed his wounded ego and pride only fueled his loose lips.

“You hide behind a woman, my prince? I never took the One-Eyed Prince for a coward. What next, are you going to kneel at her feet and worship the ground she walks on?” he chuckled cruelly before mumbling under his breath, just loud enough for the both of you to hear “Maimed freak.”

The ringing in your ears and the way your name fell off of Aemond’s lips in a warning tone were the only indication of your next moves, and the next moment you found your hand wrapped around the handle of his sword. He couldn’t react fast enough, for you had already unsheathed his sword and turned, the tip of the blade pointing at Ser Jason’s neck.

“How about you kneel?” you hissed at him, noticing the other two knights and your brother intending to move forward and intervene, but they stopped with a gesture of your head.

The sword was longer, heavier than you were used to, but it would do. You held the Lannister’s stare daring him to move. He, in turn, unsheathed his own sword, clashing it against yours and proceeded to try to attack you.

One lesson Ser Harwin had taught you that had stuck with you for the rest of your life was that most of the knights in the realm were physically stronger than you. It was a given fact. But you were faster, more agile, not wearing several pounds in steel armor that slowed you down meaning you were light on your feet in turn.

“The realm isn’t a nice place for ladies such as yourself, princess.” you remember him saying, a wink thrown your way “The world will not play fair, so you must use every advantage you are given.”

So you waited, dodging Ser Jason’s every blow. You waited for a moment, for just one small falter on his part. It didn’t take long; he was angry, humiliated even, and thus he was reckless, giving you a large window of opportunity to strike. In an instant, while his arm was pulled back way above his head to strike down at you, you twisted your wrist, hitting him square on the nose with the pommel of your sword. He tumbled to the ground, one hand clutching his now bleeding nose and the other blindly feeling around for his sword, which had fallen out of his hand during the fall.

“Yield.” you pointed Aemond’s sword at his neck once more “Yield and those present might just be merciful and overlook your transgressions, forget your treason.”

Both Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk had their hands placed on their own swords, prepared to defend you at a moment’s notice and arrest the treacherous lord should you just say the word. Jace, on the other hand, looked like he was trying his hardest not to burst out laughing at the situation, a strained smile painting his face.

“Why don’t you control your wife?!” Ser Jason spat at Aemond, gurgling on his own dripping blood as it ran down his face.

“She is not yet my wife. And besides,” Aemond smirked playfully at you, despite you not being able to see him “no one can control her.”

Seeing as he was vastly outnumbered, Ser Jason couldn’t see any other option than to accept defeat, raising his hands. Once you were sure he wouldn’t try anything funny again you turned back around, giving Aemond back his sword before stalking off, fuming at the man’s audacity.

You didn’t get very far, however, feeling a large warm hand wrapping around your wrist. You turned around, ready to give whoever it was a piece of your mind, but you faltered once you realized it was Aemond who had reached out to you. His expression was firm, determined, as he started dragging you by the wrist, finding one of the secret doors that lead to the hidden tunnels in the Keep and pulling you behind him with a steadfastness similar to the one he held himself with on the training yard.

“Aemond?” you asked while he pulled you deeper and deeper into the secret passages “I’m sorry.”

You feared you might have offended him. When you started approaching the age suitable for marriage, your mother had sat you down to explain what you should expect and to prepare you for what was to come. She told you most lords expected their wives to be proper, never speak out of turn and bend to their every whim with a head bowed. You replied, indignantly, that what they wanted then was a servant they could sire children with, something that prompted a full belly laugh from Daemon who had been standing closeby. You were worried that, by putting Ser Jason Lannister back in his place for insulting not only yourself and your mother, the Queen, but also your future husband, your actions reflected poorly on Aemond himself.

He only stopped walking when you were very far into the tunnels, turning you around and pushing your back against one of the stone columns. He was standing so close to you, staring at you so intently, you couldn’t help but swallow nervously.

“Please, uncle, forgive me! I do not know what came over me, he started insulting you and I just-”

The force with which he crashed his lips against yours was so intense it almost sent you tumbling backwards; your head would have surely been slammed against the wall behind you were it not for his hand gently cradling the back of it to prevent you from hurting yourself. He kissed you fiercely, and by the Gods, had he gotten good at it. His tongue moved against your own with rapid movements, his fingers tangling in your hair and tugging, electing a small breathy whimper out of you, to which he hummed in return, nipping at your bottom lip. He shoved one leg in between yours, keeping them apart, crowding you even further against the wall as his slender fingers pulled at your hair again to tilt your head to the side, allowing his lips to trail a path down your neck to the junction of your shoulder.

“Ñuha nēdenka zaldrīzes,” he groaned against your neck, nibbling softly at the skin “ñuha zaldrītsos mīsagon nyke hen mirrī kēlio.”

Arousal pooled in your core at his words, not even realizing your hips had started mindlessly moving back and forth against his thigh. It was over all too soon, however, as he took a step back from you, to which you whined at the loss of contact. But what he did next surprised you even more.

Aemond sank to his knees in front of you, his hands caressing from your hips to the back of your thighs.

“W-what are you doing?” you asked breathlessly.

“Proving some of Jason fucking Lannister’s words right.”

It dawned on you then what he meant, as he started bunching up your skirts.

“Are you going to kneel at her feet and worship the ground she walks on?”

“Hold these for me?” he asked softly, holding the front of your dress bunched up against your navel, and the way he was looking up at you with so much adoration almost broke your heart.

“Aemond, I told you, we can’t-”

“Fear not, ābrazȳrys, this will not break your virtue.” he mentioned, hoisting one of your legs bend over his shoulder.

He spoke with so much conviction you wanted to believe him.

“And how do you know that?”

“Aegon may have mentioned something of the sorts.” he said casually.

“Are we trusting what Aegon says now?” you asked, exasperation dripping from your voice.

“My brother may be an idiot, but his expertise lies in two places:” he explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world “his wines and the pleasures of the flesh.”

Your laughter echoed in the empty halls.

“Aegon does not strike me as the type to know how to please a woman.”

“I said he knows the pleasures of the flesh, not necessarily how to do it right.” he chuckled along, before his expression turned serious once again. He turned his head slightly, laying a kiss on the side of your knee “But if you really don’t feel comfortable, we can simply forget this ever happened and just wait for our wedding night.”

You pondered for a moment, not wanting for this moment with him to end. You were rather quickly realizing that there wasn’t much you wouldn’t do for him, and that thought brought a light fluttery feeling to your stomach.

“No no, I trust you.” you smiled reassuringly at him “If Aegon says it is fine, then I trust your judgment.”

“Good.” he inched closer to your core, pushing your smallclothes to the side “But please, stop talking about my brother. His name is not the one I want to hear coming out of your mouth while I feast on your cunt.”

As he was about to dive in, a hand holding onto his locks prevented him from doing so just yet.

“Would you rather I chanted Daeron’s name instead?” you jested, giggling at the annoyance that took over his features.

“Iksā iā ōdres.” he pinched the skin on the back of your thigh where his hand was resting, his other hand snaked around your leg perched over his shoulder, helping to keep you balanced “Ñuha brōzi kessa sagon se mērī mēre ao hīghagon.”

“I mean, you did agree to marry-” your jesting was interrupted by a soft moan that left your parted lips, the feeling of his tongue licking a broad stripe between your folds catching you off guard.

Never in your entire life had you felt anything like it. A tingling feeling spread across your entire being, starting from where his lips and his tongue were diligently moving against your soaked slit. He worked smoothly against you, alternating between gentle strokes of his tongue over your entrance and soft kitten licks on your little bundle of nerves on the apex between your thighs.

“A-Aem…-” you tried uttering his name, now completely lost to the blissful sensations he was eliciting out of you, your fingers knotting on his hair and pulling hard.

And then something in him changed. Like a switch had been flipped in his mind, his grip tightening on your thighs as he started devouring your cunt with renewed vigor with a groan, its vibrations against your skin sending your toes curling from unbridled pleasure. You couldn’t fathom what could have possibly caused it, if it was the way you tightened your hold on his silver strands, the breathiness in your voice or, as you’d later be reminded, the accidental use of a long forgotten sobriquet you hadn’t given a second thought to in several years.

Aemond feasted upon you like a man on a mission, desperately leaving open mouthed kisses and broad licks against you cunt like he was starved. It felt like he wanted to memorize the very taste of you should he perish tomorrow, pulling moan after moan from you. Had anyone been venturing these tunnels, they could have surely guessed what was happening, the wet noise of his mouth against your cunt and the way you weren’t even trying to muffle your cries of his name giving it away.

The way his tongue worked in vigorous movements, swirling swiftly around your clit and then down to your entrance again, had you shoving his head even closer to you, canting your hips against his face. The motion caused his sharp nose to bump against your clit, prompting a sharp whine to tumble from your lips.

You couldn’t help rocking your hips against his lips, feeling something warm and almost tangible, like liquid fire, steadily pooling in your core. You felt the pressure of it mounting higher and higher, like a coil threatening to snap, streams of pleasure climbing up your spine and turning your mind into mush. Your thoughts were hazy, like a fog had taken over your thoughts, and you could barely register that Aemond was murmuring something on your skin, but what you couldn’t tell.

Opening your eyes again, for you haven’t even realized they had fallen closed, you stared down at him in between your legs. He looked ethereal, his eye closed as he savored you, some strands of his normally neatly groomed hair messy from where your fingers had pulled. You wanted to see him, for him to gaze up at you, so you grasped his fingers which lay upon your thigh and gave them a little squeeze. His eye fluttered open almost lazily, violet hue half-lidded as he stared up at you. For just a single moment, your traitorous mind was reminded of Aegon, for Aemond looked like he was honestly drunk on your dripping cunt, like it was the finest of Dornish reds he had ever tasted, expression fogged up as if his mind was far away. The small pang of guilt you felt at the comparison was quickly replaced by blinding pleasure as he, upon you smiling down at him with quivering lips, wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked sharply.

Then that coil snapped, your head thrown back in ecstasy. That liquid warmth spread over your body like a tidal wave as your muscles trembled, and had he not been holding you up you’d have surely dropped to the ground, consuming every part of you and leaving a pleasantly tingly feeling in its wake. He switched back to gentler motions as you rode out your high, eventually coming to a halt when you finally stopped twitching. He dropped your leg and climbed to his feet, a glazed sheen against his chin and lips as they found yours, the tangy taste of your cunt invading your senses as he kissed you softly, so very different from just moments ago.

Aemond pulled back, resting his forehead against your own, both of your breathing hard against each other’s mouths.

“I’d get on my knees every day if you asked it of me.” he mumbled.

Your heart fluttered at his words, clenching in your chest.

As he embraced you, you couldn’t help but notice the bulge that had formed in his trousers, but as your hand started to untie its laces, he stopped you, intertwining your fingers together.

“Later.” he whispered, laying a soft peck on your lips “I wanted to do this for you.”

“Let me assist you, like you have done for me.” you pleaded, voice a bit hoarse from how loudly you had been chanting his name in pleasure.

“Tis’ but a small inconvenience. I will take care of it by myself later.”

You pulled back only slightly in his arms to look down between the two of you and couldn’t help but jest.

“It seems like quite a large inconvenience if you ask me.” you smirked.

Aemond stared at you, expression blank, for but a beat before bursting out laughing, and you decided right then and there, in his arms, that it was your favorite sound in the whole world. You’d get on dragonback and watch all of Westeros succumb to dragon fire if it meant he’d never stop laughing. You could only hope on bated breath your wedding arrived sooner rather than later, for you couldn't wait to spend the rest of your life with him.

High Valyrian translations: - ivestragī ziry jikagon, valzȳrys - let it go, husband - issa sepār mirrī vala, iksā sȳrkta than zirȳla - he is just a little man, you are better than him (meant as in ‘it isn’t worth it’) - ñuha nēdenka zaldrīzes - my fierce dragon - ñuha zaldrītsos mīsagon nyke hen mirrī kēlio - my little dragon defending me from a little lion (‘little dragon’ meant affectionately while ‘little lion’ is meant with condescension) - ābrazȳrys - wife - iksā iā ōdres - you are a pain (meant as in ‘you are a menace’) - ñuha brōzi kessa sagon se mērī mēre ao hīghagon - my name will be the only one you scream

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#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic

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asongoficeandfiresource · 1 year ago

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Meta: A Tale of Three Daenerys’

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

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

Daenerys, the Retconned Princess

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daenerys of Dorne

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen (daughter of jaehaerys)#daenerys targaryen (daughter of aegon iv)#canondany #gotdaenerystargaryen #targnation #targaryensource #asoiaf #asoiafedit #gotedit #hotdedit #gameofthronesdaily #iheargot #usergif #litedit #tvgifs #dailyflicks #house targaryen

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shesjustanothergeek · 6 months ago

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The Gods We Can Touch

Archmaester Gyldayn’s Testimonies of Princess Aelora Targaryen’s Youth

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Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: This is kind of a filler chapter until I can finish chapter 7. I was planning on either putting this at the end of chapter 6 or the beginning of chapter 7, but here is as good as any. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll be able to finish chapter 7 by next Sunday. Thank you for your support and patience. Love y'all! (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

Chapter Warnings: mentions of childhood SA, mental illness, suicidal ideations, Targaryen queerness.

Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest child blossomed into a captivating presence at Dragonstone, earning admiration from those close to her but invoking fear and ire in those who dared to cross her. Known for her unpredictable temperament, she would fall into fits of anger and sorrow, during which her judgment would become clouded, leading to subsequent regret. In bouts of profound grief, she sought solace in Aegon’s Garden with the company of flora and fauna, finding peace and consolation by tending to the roses and lilacs and fashioning delicate flower crowns for her siblings to wear.

When Princess Aelora was approximately ten and two, eyewitnesses observed her standing on the balcony railing for an extended period during one of her episodes, seemingly trance-like. Despite numerous attempts to persuade her to step down, she adamantly refused, stating her desire for a better view of the landscape. In response to this concerning behavior, Princess Rhaenyra took the drastic measure of ordering the balcony doors to be permanently sealed shut. The exact cause of her distressing episodes remains shrouded in mystery. While many attributed it to the infamous Targaryen madness in her bloodline, the Fool Mushroom believed it was linked to a specific incident involving Prince Aegon during her early years.

Late one night, he claims to have spied on Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon in their bed chambers on Dragonstone. He overheard the Princess confiding in her husband about her eldest’s behavioral problems and impulsivity. He alleges that she confessed to a rape committed by Prince Aegon on her daughter while they were living in King’s Landing. However, this information is heavily debated, as there has been no further mention in oral or written records.

When Princess Aelora reached ten and four, scandalous rumors began circulating on Dragonstone about her relationship with her twin brother, Prince Jacaerys. It was whispered that their stepfather went to her rooms after reports of suspicious sounds emerging from behind closed. Prince Daemon was rumored to have discovered the Prince in a compromising position between the legs of the Princess. In response to the gossip, Princess Rhaenyra sent her daughter to study abroad at the Citadel and in Dorne as a gesture of goodwill, hoping it would ease her troubled mind. This separation was particularly difficult for the twins, as it was the first time they had ever been apart. Prince Jacaerys was visibly upset during this time, spending hours upon end sulking inside his chambers and absconding his duties until Princess Aelora finally returned home once they both came of age.

Nevertheless, Princess Aelora radiated warmth and kindness to all she encountered. She was admired for her outgoing and naive nature, and she took great delight in her love for nature, herbalism, botany, and medical techniques gathered from her journeys around the realm. Her fondness for citrus plants was evident as she carried the sweet scent of the fruits wherever she roamed, though they were difficult to cultivate on Dragonstone’s soil. Adorned in her late father’s distinguished Velaryon blue, she was never seen without the elegance of pearls, aquamarine, topaz, and sapphire, with a delicate headpiece and veil enshrouding her dark, lustrous locks.

When eligible suitors ventured to Dragonstone intending to court Rhaenyra’s eldest daughter, she dismissively turned them away, leaving the cock hurt Lords to return home scorned. It was said that during a gathering of the court, Princess Aelora boldly declared that she harbored no yearning for a marital alliance, as she found solace in the enduring companionship of her beloved dragon Gaelithox and her loyal brother, firmly indicating that she had no intention of entering into matrimony.

IMO, the reader suffers from borderline personality disorder. People with BPD are often mistaken for having depression, but the main qualifier is periods of mania with impulsivity, which is more susceptible to hypersexuality and addictions. They're typically triggered by actual or perceived separations, disagreements, and rejections. Highly sensitive to abandonment and being alone, which brings about intense feelings of anger, fear, suicidal thoughts and self-harm, and very impulsive decisions. People with high-functioning BPD experience frequent negative thoughts, fear of rejection, and regret about expressing their feelings. I'm by no means a mental health expert. This is just my head cannon.

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Jace and the reader fulfill the Targaryen queerness. Who would've thought? XD

Thank you for reading! (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

P.S. the reader wears what's called a French hood. I couldn't find one that matched her aesthetic unfortunately.

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason :(

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hisfavegirl · 1 month ago

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Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

One Shot :

One Mistake - Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Jace Velaryon.

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Jace Velaryon. Summary : You, the daughter of Alicent Hightower, once married to Aemond Targaryen, find yourself in a marriage born out of duty rather than love. The relationship with Aemond has always been a battleground of lies and heartache, and the arrival of a child born from his affair with Alys Rivers only deepens the chasm between you both.Heartbroken, betrayed, and feeling utterly alone, you escape the suffocating walls of King’s Landing, seeking solace in Dragonstone with your half-sister, Rhaenyra. In this new chapter of your life, you begin to heal, finding peace in the company of those who truly care for you. Among them is Jace, the son of Rhaenyra, whose quiet affection and steady presence begins to rekindle the spark of hope in your heart.

Tangled Hearts - Jace Velaryon x Sister!Reader.

Pairing : Jace Velaryon x Sister!Reader. Summary : You now stood on the precipice of an uncertain future. The very air felt heavy with the weight of the decisions you were about to make. The prophesied marriage to Aemond loomed over you like a shadow, a marriage that had been arranged by your mother in the name of duty and alliance. But your heart was elsewhere, with Jace, your closest confidant and the one you had shared your deepest fears, joys, and love with.

The Edge of Desire - Jacaerys Velaryon x Wife!Reader.

Pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Wife!Reader. Summary : You had entered his life like a storm sweeping through the desert sands. A princess of Dorne, your heritage was as fiery as the blood of Old Valyria that coursed through his veins. Your union had been born of political necessity—an alliance to strengthen Rhaenyra’s claim and solidify ties between the Targaryens and the Martells. But what began as duty quickly became something far deeper, far more consuming. Jace had not expected to fall so utterly, so fiercely. Yet with every smile, every glance, every whispered word exchanged beneath the stars, he found himself more ensnared by you. In you, he saw a partner, an equal, someone who challenged him and brought him peace in equal measure. And in him, you had found not just a husband but a man who would move the heavens and earth for you.

Unlawful Desire - Dark!Jacaerys Velaryon x Sister!Reader

Pairing : Dark!Jacaerys Velaryon x Sister!Reader. Summary : Jace was patient, biding his time as he crafted his manipulations, sowing doubt, pulling at your strings with the gentlest of touches. You were nothing more than a puppet in his eyes, and with each passing day, his control over you tightened. His affection became a weapon, his words laced with poison, all delivered under the guise of love. And as the night wrapped itself around Dragonstone like a cloak, Jace’s plan unfolded, one subtle step at a time. Soon, you would realize that your brother’s affection was never truly about love—it was about power. And once you understood that, it would be too late to escape the web he had spun for you.

Series :

Endless Battle Of Love - Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Pairing : Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female. Summary : Fear had been your constant companion for far too long. It clung to you like a shadow, whispering in your ear, reminding you that escape was impossible. No matter how hard you tried to run, no matter how many times you wished for freedom, the chains of your past held you in place. For years, you endured. Trapped in a relationship that wasn’t built on love, but on control. A prison disguised as an engagement, a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. The weight of it all crushed you—until Jacaerys Velaryon

#hotd #hotd imagine #hotd one shot #hotd x reader #jace targaryen #jace velaryon #hotd jacaerys #jace x reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #prince jacaerys #hotd fanfic

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atopvisenyashill · 4 months ago

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Please bring back the anon mode, I fear sharing my opinions publicly like the coward I am. Since your name is atop Visenya’s hills, I have to ask

Do you think the fandom mischaracterize her too much? I always see it in fanart, discussions that Visenya was the big bad person and Rhaenys the good natured silly princess and last time I checked both of them were trifling at times. I like Rhaenys duality as a trifling at times character but truth is still that she was wilding out.

Rhaenys went ahead and instigated a war in Dorne by bunting Planky Town😭 civilians, not the ports, not the exits, old, women, and children😭 I never seen one conquest of hers where she didn’t get to violence.

Rhaenys depsite being the favourite wife still had affairs. Before the “rumours by the maesters” gang come for me, Rhaenys was the most liked of the two wives. Visenya is accused of sorcery and even when it’s admitted people thought she was beautiful they had to add “Even those who loved her best found her beauty to be more austere than her sister Rhaenys”. They can’t even let her have her stans. It’s also funny that Rhaenys surrounds herself with comely young men, can you imagine a man surrounding himself of comely young ladies, mummers and dancers, no matter how fond of the arts he was! Now Aegon still spending 10 nights with Rhaenys over Visenya maybe a form of cuck fetish, maybe she was having affairs to stress him out so he’d overdo attention to her but that’s not my point. Maybe since it was an unconventional marriage they all fucked whoever they liked and Rhaenys is the one who got caught. Whatever

Visenya maybe was sterner but she wasn’t without softness or warmth. Created the Kingsguard, had sense to not surround herself with side pieces, and she was nice enough to Ronnel to be comfortable with her, the child didn’t seem distress by her presence despite the giant dragons so I assume she wasn’t all mean.

People often use the usurpation as a defining moment but often forget that for YEARS she’s kinda been pushed to the limit? Aegon straight up neglected her son and left them on Dragonstone, man approved the match to Ceryse who was 10 years older. And Aegon absolutely fostered the distance between Aenys and Maegor because there’s no other way Aenys would feel bold enough to take Dragonstone from Maegor. Not to forget Aegon had married her to steal her claim to Dragonstone since if married, his claim would supercede hers.

Another mis characterization is that Rhaenys is always curvier (hips, chest) mind you she was the slender one, but Visenya is explicitly described as curvaceous and seductive. They even took away her titties and her rizz😭 FREE VISENYA

asljfdlksjdafdkj sorry i kept getting like mean anon messages, i was honestly deleting the most out of pocket ones and posting the ones i thought were funny but i had gotten like 6 in one day and i was like alright enough i can't fucking do this rn and that's why i turned anon off but i'll probably turn it back on soon.

last time I checked both of them were trifling at times.

no because REAL. i do think visenya often has this reputation In The General Fandom as this like unfeeling evil ice queen, not dissimilar from for comparison's sake the way cersei and catelyn are characterized in fandom - her flaws are inflated or made contextless from what she has experienced and people just kinda pretend like she's a one note villain to Rhaenys' sweet charming queen. but i don't think that's at all accurate to how she's characterized in the series nor do i think rhaenys as the ~sweet never wrong favored wife~ is very accurate for Rhaenys. Look at the beginning of the conquest for an example - Visenya rolls up to Cracklaw Point, to a people who don't really want her there, and instead of just threatening them with fire and blood, she just kinda points at Harrenhal and goes "if you submit right now without a fight i won't give you any overlord but the crown itself" which is a pretty nice deal for a region that has been regularly fighting off being ruled by other people! she takes it bloodlessly through diplomacy! now what does rhaenys do when she goes to dorne? she immediately starts making threats! she refuses to see why perhaps the descendants of the rhoynar aren't high on the idea of being ruled by what's left of valyria! she just threatens and leaves. and when it's time to take dorne, what does she do? she burns planky town the home of the orphans of the greenblood, the last stronghold of rhoynish customs and culture! she completely and totally botches the dornish conquest!!

now this isn't to say that visenya isn't also a) weird about dorne (because basically every single targaryen up until daeron ii is weird as shit about dorne) and b) full of vicious and self righteous violence herself. but as you say both of them do some extremely stupid shit yet only one of them has a reputation for being evil!

and yeah, the thing is, while i think aegon is very smart in how he handles his lords (again, outside of dorne) he is dumb as a box of rocks about how he handles his own sons. he's just very clearly playing favorites, letting the rift get bigger and bigger, actively antagonizing visenya, and not only that but like - visenya isn't wrong that there is a slight succession issue here between maegor and rhaena, given that visenya is the oldest wife and the first wife, but he completely handwaves this off, which really heavily implies a rejection of visenya and maegor completely. should they have reacted the way they did? well no lmao but it's stupid to pretend like aegon doesn't set his kids up for failure here when he sees how deeply unhappy visenya and maegor are and does absolutely nothing to help the situation.

Also damn you're right, I have always had this issue with the way the conquerors are depicted, especially the women as being these two barbie bombshells but like, canonically, VISENYA IS HOTTER the same way Rhaena is considered hotter than Alysanne but whereas Alysanne always gets depicted with her yellow hair and mismatched eyes and a kind of cute, round face to Rhaena's much more Valyrian steely looks, Rhaenys is ALWAYS this Valyrian bombshell. Rhaenys should be drawn the same as Alyssa T and Alysanne though like where do we think they got their looks hmmmm??? IT WAS RHAENYS. RHAENYS IS NOT A BOMBSHELL SHE'S A REGULAR LADY. SHE'S 'CUTEST GIRL IN YOUR ANTHROPOLOGY 101 CLASS' HOT!!!!!!! SHE'S NOT A MODEL!!!!!!!!!

#JUSTICE FOR VISENYA MY GIRL DID THAT SHIT BUT SHE HAD GOOD REASONS #asks #romanoff carter

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novaursa · 5 months ago

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The Price of Fire (18)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: This series is almost done.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 200+

- Previous part: 17

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska

The sun hung high in the sky, scorching the battlefield as the armies of Dorne and the Crown faced each other. Dust swirled in the dry breeze, carrying with it the heavy scent of anticipation and sweat. Rhaegar sat tall on his horse, his hair catching the sunlight, eyes scanning the field with a quiet intensity. Beside him, Oberyn Martell wore a crooked smile, his hand resting on the hilt of his spear, eager for the battle to begin.

The Dornish forces stood ready, their golden sun-and-spear banners fluttering in the wind, their formations tight and disciplined. They had been bred for this—warriors of the desert, fierce and unyielding. Opposite them, the forces of the Crown gathered under the red and black dragon of House Targaryen, though the men that followed Aerys seemed driven by something far more reckless than mere duty.

Across the battlefield, the wild, untamed presence of King Aerys himself was unmistakable. His banner flew high, but the sight of his forces moving forward—chaotic and disorganized—immediately struck Rhaegar as odd. These were not seasoned soldiers fighting with strategy and purpose. These men were little more than cattle being driven forward by the mad king’s whims, and the recklessness of it sent a chill down Rhaegar’s spine.

"Something is wrong," Rhaegar muttered, his brow furrowing as he watched Aerys’s soldiers march toward the Dornish lines. There was no order, no cohesion in their movements. They stumbled, tripping over one another, some already breaking ranks before the battle had even begun.

Oberyn let out a low, amused laugh. "That’s no army," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "That’s a slaughter waiting to happen."

Rhaegar’s grip tightened on the reins of his horse as the Crown’s forces advanced, their swords raised, but their movements erratic. Aerys had driven them to the brink, their fear of the king and his wrath greater than any sense of self-preservation. These men were not here to fight with honor or discipline—they were here because Aerys had given them no choice.

Without warning, the battle began. The front lines of Aerys’s forces crashed into the Dornish vanguard like a wave breaking against a rock, the clash of steel ringing out over the field. Swords flashed, spears thrust, and the cries of the dying filled the air. The Dornish soldiers held their ground, their spears cutting through the disorganized ranks of the Crown’s army with ruthless precision.

Blood splattered across the sun-bleached earth as the Crown’s forces faltered, unable to match the discipline and ferocity of the Dornish. It was clear within moments that this was not a battle of equals. The men fighting for Aerys were driven by madness, not skill. They threw themselves into the fray with a wild desperation, as though trying to avoid some unseen terror, but they were cut down in droves by the Dornish spears.

Rhaegar urged his horse forward, his eyes narrowing as he watched the chaos unfold. He had expected resistance—he had expected a fight—but this was madness. Aerys’s forces were throwing themselves against the Dornish lines with no regard for strategy or survival. It was as though the men were being herded to their deaths, driven forward by sheer fear rather than the desire to win.

The sound of steel clashing grew louder, the chaos of battle unfolding around him. Rhaegar drew his sword, the familiar weight of the blade in his hand grounding him as he urged his men forward. His own soldiers moved with purpose, cutting through the disorganized lines of the Crown’s forces with ruthless efficiency. But as more and more men fell, something gnawed at Rhaegar’s thoughts—this was no way to fight. This was a massacre.

Oberyn, riding beside him, let out a shout of triumph as his spear pierced the chest of a Crown soldier, the man crumpling to the ground in a heap. "I almost feel sorry for them," Oberyn shouted over the din, though there was no sympathy in his voice. "This is hardly a battle!"

Rhaegar didn’t reply, his focus locked on the blood-soaked field before him. Aerys’s men were falling in droves, their bodies littering the ground like broken dolls, yet more soldiers rushed forward, heedless of the slaughter unfolding around them. They were like cattle, driven into the waiting spears of the Dornish, their deaths swift and brutal.

But something about it chilled Rhaegar to his core. This wasn’t how an army should fight, not even one loyal to a mad king. There was no coordination, no plan. These men were dying for nothing, driven to their deaths by fear or insanity—perhaps both.

Suddenly, a horn sounded from the far side of the battlefield, and more of Aerys’s forces poured forward, though they moved with the same erratic desperation as the rest. Rhaegar’s eyes scanned the field, searching for some sign of Aerys, but the king was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his men continued to charge forward, their eyes wide with terror, as though they were fleeing from something far worse than the Dornish blades that awaited them.

Rhaegar’s horse shifted beneath him, sensing the unease in its rider. He tightened his grip on his sword, his thoughts racing as the battle raged around him. What was driving Aerys’s men to fight like this? Was it fear of the king, or something more?

The clash of steel and the cries of the dying grew louder as the battle intensified. Blood splattered across the field, staining the earth red, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat, death, and fear. The Dornish fought with calculated precision, their spears and swords cutting through the chaos with ease, but Rhaegar couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.

Oberyn wheeled his horse around, his spear slick with blood as he grinned at Rhaegar. "This is almost too easy," he shouted over the din. "Are you sure Aerys isn’t just sending these poor fools to die for his amusement?"

Rhaegar’s lips tightened into a grim line as he watched another wave of Aerys’s soldiers rush forward, only to be cut down like wheat before a scythe. "Something’s not right," he muttered, more to himself than to Oberyn. "This isn’t how an army fights."

The chaos of the battle continued to unfold around them, the clamor of swords and the cries of the dying filling the air. Blood splashed against the dry earth, and the sun beat down on the field of carnage, unrelenting in its heat.

The wind carried a biting chill as dusk approached, its gusts tugging at your gown as you stood near Terrax. His eyes followed your every movement, sensing the urgency in the air. Your heart pounded in your chest, your hand resting on the swell of your abdomen as you watched the horizon, knowing that Rhaegar and Oberyn were out there, fighting for the survival of your family.

But you weren’t alone in your resolve. Behind you, Arthur’s voice broke through the quiet, laced with worry and desperation. “You can’t do this, Y/N. Not now. You’re too far along, and the risks are too great.”

You turned to face him, his expression torn between anger and fear, his hands clenched at his sides. He had always been your anchor, your protector, but this was a decision you couldn’t let him make for you. The burden of your family’s survival had been placed on your shoulders long before, and it wasn’t something you could ignore now.

“I have to,” you replied softly, though your voice was firm, unyielding. “Rhaegar needs me. The Dornish might have strength in numbers, but Aerys won’t stop. I can’t stand by and wait.”

Arthur stepped closer, his eyes pleading as he reached for you. His hand rested gently on your arm, his touch warm against your skin. “There’s still time to reconsider. Oberyn’s forces can handle this. They’re prepared for what’s coming, and Rhaegar—he’s strong. He’ll lead them.” His voice dropped, and his gaze flickered to your abdomen. “But our child… You… I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

You placed your hand over his, offering a small, sad smile. “I know what’s at stake, Arthur. But this is something I have to do. For Rhaegar, for our family, and for the child growing inside me. I won’t sit idle while everything we’ve fought for is torn apart.”

His grip tightened, and his brow furrowed, but he didn’t argue further. He knew you too well, understood the resolve burning within you. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I can’t stop you, can I?” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

You closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the feel of him, the love and fear mingling between you. “No,” you whispered back. “You can’t.”

Arthur sighed, his lips brushing against your temple before he pulled back to look at you, his eyes filled with both admiration and sorrow. “Then go. But promise me you’ll be careful. Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I will,” you whispered, though the weight of the promise settled heavily on your heart. You couldn’t guarantee what would happen once you were in the sky, once you were in the fray, but you would do everything in your power to return to him.

Without another word, Arthur kissed you, the kiss filled with urgency and a depth of emotion that made your heart ache. When he pulled away, his hand lingered on your swollen belly for just a moment longer, as if he was committing the feel of it to memory.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.

You turned then, your gaze settling on Terrax, whose restless energy matched your own. The dragon had sensed the shift in the air, the tension building. His massive wings flexed, and he lowered his head, as if beckoning you forward. You placed a hand on his warm scales, feeling the familiar pulse of the bond between you.

Arthur stepped back as you began to climb onto Terrax, his eyes never leaving you. The strain of your pregnancy made the task more difficult than it had been before, but the determination in your heart pushed you forward. The saddle that Rhaegar and the Dornish had crafted for you made the task easier, but the discomfort of mounting while heavy with child was unavoidable.

As you settled onto Terrax’s back, the dragon shifted beneath you, his wings unfurling in anticipation of the flight to come. But just as you tightened your grip, the voice returned, soft and distant in your mind.

"Blood brings the vicious beast."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, the cryptic message a reminder of the dark bond you shared with Terrax, the unsettling connection that had been forged during his hatching. The meaning behind the words was lost to you, but the urgency in them was clear. Terrax was ready to fight, to tear into whatever enemies lay before him.

You glanced down at Arthur one last time, his figure growing smaller as Terrax rose higher. His eyes followed you, his face tight with worry, but there was something else in his gaze too—pride. He knew what this meant to you, what it meant for your family, and though he feared for you, he understood.

With a powerful beat of his wings, Terrax lifted off the ground, and the world fell away beneath you. The wind rushed past, carrying you higher and higher into the sky, the battlefield stretching out below like a distant painting. You felt the familiar thrill of flight, the rush of adrenaline, but it was tempered by the weight of what lay ahead.

Arthur remained in the courtyard, his eyes never leaving the sky as you flew farther from him. The distance grew, but even as the land blurred beneath you, you could still feel his presence, his love, connecting you to this world.

The battlefield was a chaotic, bloody mess. Dust and smoke hung in the air, thick and choking as the Dornish and Crown forces clashed relentlessly. The sun blazed high above, casting harsh light on the carnage below, turning the earth into a gruesome tableau of bodies and broken weapons. The cries of men and the clash of steel rang out, but beneath it all, there was an eerie, disorganized feel to the fighting that Rhaegar couldn’t shake.

Rhaegar fought on horseback, his sword cutting through the disarray of soldiers with grim efficiency. His Dornish allies fought bravely, holding their lines and striking with precision, but the Crown’s forces... something about them was unsettling. There was no discipline, no order. They fought like madmen, throwing themselves into the Dornish spears without strategy, without care for their own lives. It was as if they were driven by something far more sinister than duty.

Rhaegar swung his sword, parrying an attack before swiftly dispatching a soldier in a tattered Crownland tabard. He paused for a moment, scanning the battlefield, his heart pounding in his chest. The battle should have been more organized, but this was little more than a brawl—a senseless, bloody skirmish. The Dornish were disciplined, their formations tight, but Aerys’s men were like cattle rushing to slaughter, heedless of death. They charged in waves, breaking on the Dornish like water against stone, and yet they kept coming.

As Rhaegar caught his breath, he saw something that made his blood run cold. In the distance, on the far side of the field, a group of Crownland lords—men who should have been commanding from a safe distance—were riding directly into the chaos of the fight. And at the front of that group, clad in black armor that gleamed like oil in the sun, was King Aerys himself.

Rhaegar’s breath caught in his throat as he saw his father—his father, the king—charging into the fray with reckless abandon, flanked by several lords loyal to the Crownlands. Lord Staunton, Lord Darklyn, even the hulking figure of Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, loomed near him. They weren’t leading from the back as lords and kings were meant to—they were in the thick of it, driving forward into the heart of the battle like men possessed.

Aerys’s silver hair, wild and unkempt, streamed behind him like a banner of madness as he rode with a twisted grin on his face, his eyes blazing with something close to ecstasy. He swung a sword—a sword!—with a ferocity that was terrifying to behold. He was no seasoned warrior, no knight trained in the art of combat, but his strikes were savage, each blow fueled by the raw, untethered rage that had come to define him.

"What is he doing?" Rhaegar muttered to himself, his voice filled with disbelief. His father had always been unhinged, but this—this was madness on a scale Rhaegar had never witnessed before. The king was putting himself directly in harm’s way, and the sight of it filled Rhaegar with both horror and a grim understanding that this battle had taken a far darker turn.

Oberyn, fighting not far from Rhaegar, caught sight of Aerys and let out a short, incredulous laugh, his spear slick with blood. "Your father’s mad," he called over the din of battle, though there was no surprise in his voice, only dark amusement. "Does he think this will end in his favor?"

Rhaegar said nothing, his gaze fixed on his father’s wild form as Aerys hacked and slashed at anything that came near him, his lips moving, though the words were lost in the chaos. Whatever Aerys had planned, it was clear he was beyond reason now. He fought like a man possessed, as if his death would somehow win him the throne for eternity.

But Rhaegar’s attention was soon pulled away from Aerys by a low, rumbling sound—a sound that made the earth beneath his feet tremble. It was a sound he recognized all too well. He turned his gaze to the sky, his heart pounding in his chest.

And then he saw it.

Terrax.

The massive black dragon appeared on the horizon, his wings stretched wide as he cut through the air with terrifying grace. The sun glinted off his obsidian scales, and the golden fire of his eyes burned with a fierce, almost predatory light. As Terrax approached, the sound of his wings beating against the wind filled the battlefield, and all at once, the skirmish seemed to shift.

The men on both sides faltered, their heads turning skyward as the enormous beast swooped down, the sheer size of him blotting out the sun for a moment. Soldiers fell back in terror, their weapons dropping from nerveless fingers as the dragon descended, his presence altering the very atmosphere of the fight.

But Aerys—Aerys stood there, his wild grin widening into something manic, something grotesque. His eyes locked on Terrax, and he raised his arms high, as if welcoming the dragon with open arms. He laughed—high, shrill, and unhinged—and the sound cut through the noise of battle like a blade.

"Yes!" Aerys screamed, his voice filled with the kind of madness that sent chills down Rhaegar’s spine. "My dragon! My fire! Burn them all!"

The sight of Terrax, however, did not terrify Aerys. It excited him. The king was ecstatic, his body trembling with the sheer joy of it. To Aerys, the arrival of the dragon was a sign, a promise of fire and blood that he had been waiting for.

Rhaegar’s chest tightened—he knew this moment was coming, but seeing you there, riding the beast into the chaos, it became all too real.

With a sharp command, you urged Terrax forward, the dragon diving toward the battlefield. His wings cut through the air with terrifying grace, and with a powerful exhale, he unleashed a torrent of fire.

The flames poured forth like liquid death, consuming everything in their path. Enemy soldiers screamed as they were engulfed in the blaze, their bodies turning to ash in moments. But Terrax’s fire was indiscriminate—it did not care for friend or foe. Dornish men too, caught in the inferno, perished, their cries joining the cacophony of the dying. The ground beneath you turned to blackened earth, the heat so intense that it left nothing but charred remains in its wake.

Circling above, Terrax bellowed his fury, his wings carrying him higher again as you watched the battlefield beneath you transform into a hellscape of fire and destruction. Your heart pounded in your chest, but the voice that had always whispered in your mind had fallen silent. All that remained now was the heavy sound of Terrax’s wings and the crackle of fire consuming everything below.

From your vantage point, you saw him—Aerys.

The mad king stood in the heart of the carnage, his face twisted into an expression of pure ecstasy. His eyes gleamed with an almost supernatural delight as he watched the devastation unfold, utterly unfazed by the death and chaos around him. His lords, wild-eyed and half-mad themselves, stood close by, some shouting orders, others simply watching with equal fervor. But Aerys—he was in his element, drunk on the destruction Terrax had wrought.

Your stomach churned as you saw his gleeful expression, a sickness crawling through you at the sight of your father relishing the very fire that should have terrified him. This was what he wanted. This was what had driven him here, to the front lines of the skirmish.

Terrax, sensing your shift in mood, circled once more before diving down toward the heart of the battlefield. The dragon’s massive body slammed into the earth with a heavy thud, sending dust and debris into the air as his talons scraped against the ground. Soldiers scattered in terror, their courage crumbling in the face of the monstrous beast before them.

Terrax snarled, his head lowering, golden eyes fixed on Aerys, who stood unfazed, his expression twisted with manic joy. The dragon’s breath came in short, sharp bursts, the heat of his rage palpable, but Aerys merely tilted his head, as though Terrax’s presence was nothing more than a delightful spectacle.

You slid from the saddle, your feet hitting the scorched earth as you stepped forward, placing yourself between Terrax and the king. The tension in the air was thick, the smell of fire and death overwhelming. But your voice was steady as you spoke, loud enough to be heard over the crackling flames.

"You came here because of me," you said, your gaze never leaving Aerys’s face. "Well, here I am."

Aerys blinked, his wild grin faltering for just a moment as he focused on you, his daughter, standing before him. The madness in his eyes flickered, but the hunger remained. "My daughter…" he murmured, his voice carrying over the battlefield like the whisper of a storm. "You have finally come to me."

Terrax growled behind you, his massive body shifting restlessly, but Aerys was utterly unfazed, his attention fixed solely on you. The fires burned around him, the screams of the dying echoing across the battlefield, but for Aerys, there was only you—and the dragon.

From a distance, Rhaegar watched, his heart pounding in his chest. He could barely make sense of what he was seeing, the confrontation between father and daughter at the heart of the madness. Beside him, Oberyn narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on the reins of his horse.

"Well," Oberyn muttered, his voice low and grim. "This is about to get interesting."

Rhaegar said nothing, his gaze locked on you, his sister, standing before the mad king, with a dragon at your back and fire in your eyes.

The battlefield still raged in the distance, but here, in the center of the carnage, it felt as though time had slowed. Terrax stood behind you, his massive frame looming, muscles taut, his golden eyes fixed on the mad king before him. Every breath he took came with a low, guttural rumble, a sound that made the ground tremble beneath your feet.

But your father—Aerys—seemed oblivious to the threat. His eyes, wide and glittering with that manic gleam you had come to recognize all too well, were locked on you. He stood there, his hair disheveled, his armor tarnished and ill-fitted. He looked more like a specter of the man he had once been than the king you remembered from your youth. And yet, despite everything, a flicker of the father you once knew seemed to remain. That glimmer kept you rooted in place, apprehensive to make the first move.

"Father," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but the word hung heavy in the air. The weight of that single word was unbearable, torn between loyalty and horror at the man he had become.

Aerys’s lips curled into a twisted smile, his hands twitching at his sides as if barely containing his excitement. "Yes, my daughter," he cooed, taking a step closer. "You’ve returned to me at last. My blood, my dragon child. You see now, don’t you? You belong with me, Y/N. The fire, the blood—it’s ours. You and I—together, we are unstoppable."

You took an involuntary step back, feeling the heat of Terrax's presence behind you. The dragon’s thoughts stirred in your mind, fragmented and wild, like a distant storm you couldn’t quite grasp.

"Blood burns. Blood sings."

The voice rippled through your consciousness, the words erratic and unsettling, but you kept your focus on Aerys, unsure whether the voice in your mind was warning you of him—or something else.

Aerys continued to move closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You don’t need to fight, my dear," he purred, his voice soft and dangerously persuasive. "You were born of fire, just like me. The babe, I'll let it live if you wish—it will be our babe—and it will be the greatest of us. You see that now, don’t you? We will rise together, burn away the enemies that surround us, and rule forever. You, me, and the child."

Your stomach twisted, revulsion and sorrow battling within you as you took in his words. The insanity in his voice was undeniable, yet some part of you still hesitated. Memories of the father who had once cared for you, before the madness consumed him, flickered in your mind. He had not always been this way. He had once been a king, a father you had looked up to. But that man was long gone.

"Father," you began again, more firmly this time, though your voice wavered slightly. "I can’t go with you. You need to stop this. You have to see what you’re doing—it’s destroying everything. You—"

"Destroying?" Aerys barked, his expression twisting into one of disbelief. "No, no, my sweet. This is creation! Fire is life. Fire cleanses the world of its weakness, and from the ashes, we will rise stronger. You and I are the flames, my dear. And he—" He gestured wildly toward Terrax, his grin widening. "He knows it. Our dragon knows."

At the sound of Aerys’s words, Terrax growled low, his wings twitching in agitation. You could feel his dread building beneath your hands, his wild thoughts still swirling in the back of your mind.

"Beast, beast, beware the beast."

Your pulse quickened, the words creeping into your thoughts like dark whispers. Terrax was alert, and though you couldn’t fully grasp what was coming, you knew that something inside the dragon was stirring—something dangerous.

Aerys stepped closer, his hand outstretched toward you, as though to pull you into his madness. "Come with me, Y/N," he whispered. "Together, we will burn away the lies, the enemies. The throne is ours, and you are my daughter. My blood runs through your veins."

The moment his fingers brushed your arm, you felt a jolt of dread rush through you.

The grip of Aerys’s hand on your arm was cold, even through the heat of the battlefield. His fingers dug into your flesh with a desperation that sent a shiver of dread down your spine. The wild gleam in his eyes was unmistakable, a wildness that had long since consumed the man who had once been your father. For a brief moment, time seemed to slow, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you—father and daughter, locked in this terrible moment.

"You belong with me," he hissed, his voice low and urgent, a whisper laced with venom and longing. His eyes bore into yours, wide and unblinking. "You see it, don’t you? The fire, the blood. It is ours. Together, we can burn away the lies, destroy the enemies of our house, and build a new world. A world for us, for our bloodline. Can’t you see it, my daughter? Can’t you feel it?"

And for a heartbeat, you did see it. As Aerys’s grip tightened, a vision unfolded before your eyes—an impossible, twisted future. You saw King’s Landing in flames, the red and black banners of House Targaryen flying high above the ruins. Terrax circled overhead, his flames pouring down like rain, turning stone to ash and bone to dust. Aerys stood at the center of it all, his face lit with a sick, triumphant smile as the city burned around him. And beside him stood a woman, heavy with child—you. Your belly swollen with life, but your eyes hollow, empty of the spirit that once lived within them.

In this vision, you saw yourself as little more than a shadow, tethered to Aerys’s madness, bound to his vision of endless fire and blood. You saw the child he spoke of—your child—born into a world consumed by flames, shaped by Aerys’s obsession, doomed to carry the same curse of madness that had devoured your father.

"No," you whispered, the word escaping your lips before you could stop it. The vision twisted, darkened, and the suffocating weight of it pressed down on your chest.

The spell of the vision broke, and the battlefield roared back to life around you. Aerys’s face twisted with frustration, his fingers digging deeper into your arm, but his eyes were still alight with that same manic fervor. "You will come with me!" he demanded, his voice rising with hysteria. "Together, we will reign, Y/N! You will be mine, and we will—"

Before he could finish, a thunderous growl erupted from behind you. Terrax moved faster than you could think, his massive head snapping toward Aerys, teeth bared in a terrifying snarl. The dragon's fury rippled through the air, sending a shockwave of raw power that rattled the very ground beneath you. His golden eyes blazed with an intensity that bordered on pure rage.

"Father melts like a moon now. Mother shan't be pleased."

The fragmented thoughts of the dragon echoed in your mind, chaotic and wild, but they carried a clear warning. Aerys’s grip on you faltered for just a moment, his eyes widening in shock as Terrax advanced, the heat of his breath washing over you both.

With a surge of adrenaline, you yanked your arm free from Aerys’s grasp, stumbling backward toward Terrax. The dragon’s enormous tail whipped between you and your father, a clear and unmovable barrier, separating you from the man who had once claimed you as his own. Terrax’s wings flared, his teeth bared in a menacing display of protection.

Aerys staggered back, disbelief and fury etched into his features as he stared at you. "You dare to defy me?" he spat, his voice trembling with outrage. "I am your king! I am your father! You cannot run from this, Y/N. You cannot run from me!"

You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, but the words that left your lips were steady, resolute. "I’m not running, Father. I’m standing against you."

His face twisted with anger, veins bulging at his temples as his hands trembled. "You—"

But before he could say another word, Terrax let out a deafening roar, the sound reverberating across the battlefield. It was a roar of defiance, of finality. The dragon’s eyes locked on Aerys, a growl rumbling deep in his throat, daring the king to take another step.

Aerys faltered, his eyes flicking between you and the beast behind you, confusion and betrayal flooding his expression. He had always believed you would return to him, that the blood you shared would bind you to him forever. But now, the truth was laid bare. You were not standing with him—you were standing against him.

Without another word, you scrambled onto Terrax’s back, your hands gripping the saddle tightly as you swung yourself up, the effort strained by the weight of your pregnancy. Terrax shifted beneath you, his wings unfurling with a powerful beat that stirred the dust at your feet. You could feel his tension, his anger, vibrating through your connection, but there was also a deep, unwavering sense of protection.

Aerys took a step forward, his face contorted with rage, but before he could make another move, Terrax launched himself into the air, his wings beating furiously as he lifted you skyward. The wind howled in your ears as the dragon ascended, leaving the battlefield—and your father—far below.

From the heights of the sky, you looked down and saw him, a small figure on the ground, watching helplessly as Terrax carried you farther and farther away. Aerys’s face, even from this distance, was twisted with disbelief and fury, his outstretched hand reaching toward the sky as though he could still pull you back to him.

But that was the answer he had sought since the night Arthur took you away to Starfall. Now, he knew—he had lost you.

As Terrax soared higher, the wind rushing past you, you glanced down toward the battlefield, where Rhaegar and Oberyn stood at a distance, watching the confrontation unfold. Rhaegar’s face was tight with worry, but there was also a flicker of something else in his eyes—relief. He had seen it too. The choice had been made.

You were no longer bound to Aerys’s madness. You were free, and so was your dragon.

And as Terrax carried you higher into the clouds, the fires of the battlefield fading beneath you.

Rhaegar watched from the rise as Terrax ascended into the sky, carrying you far away from the chaos of the battlefield below. His heart, already heavy with the weight of the rebellion, tightened further as he saw your silhouette disappear into the clouds. Relief warred with fear in his chest. You had escaped Aerys’s madness, but at what cost? How much longer could any of this last?

Beside him, Oberyn Martell shifted in his saddle, his dark eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and grim determination. "Well, that was quite the show," he muttered, his gaze trailing after Terrax as the dragon vanished. "Your father’s about to lose what little mind he has left."

Rhaegar remained silent, his thoughts tangled. His violet eyes were focused on Aerys, who stood below in the center of the battlefield, his face contorted in a twisted mask of rage and disbelief. Aerys’s hands shook at his sides, his body trembling with fury as he screamed into the void where you had been only moments before. The sight of the mad king losing control, now that his last desperate hope had flown from him, was both tragic and terrifying.

Aerys’s voice carried across the field, shrill and cracked. "Rhaegar!" he screamed, his voice filled with venom. "You traitor! You thief!" His words were nearly incoherent with rage as he pointed a shaking finger toward his son. "You will pay for this! You will burn! All of you will burn!"

Rhaegar clenched his fists, his knuckles white as he watched his father from the distance. The Dornish forces had already begun to pull back, regrouping in the face of the Crown’s disorganized retreat. Aerys’s men, no longer driven by their king’s madness, were faltering, unsure of what to do without their master’s unhinged orders. The skirmish was breaking apart, and yet Aerys remained, screaming into the void, his fury at losing you blinding him to the state of the battle.

"Look at him," Oberyn said, shaking his head in disbelief. "The king of ashes. He’d sooner burn us all than admit he’s lost."

Rhaegar’s lips tightened, his gaze never leaving Aerys. The sight of his father, reduced to this shell of a man, filled him with a deep, gnawing sadness. But there was no saving Aerys now. His mind had fractured long ago, and what remained was a man lost to madness, clinging to power through fire and fear.

Aerys continued to scream across the battlefield, his voice cracking as he raged at his son. "You will not escape me, Rhaegar! I will find her! I will burn you all! You cannot hide from me!"

But Rhaegar’s mind was no longer on his father’s threats. His thoughts were consumed with only one thing—getting you, his sister, and their mother, Rhaella, away from this nightmare. Away from the flames of Aerys’s obsession. Varys’s promise echoed in his mind like a lifeline, a whisper of hope in the darkness. The Spider had vowed to take them to Essos, where they would be safe, far from Robert’s rebellion, far from Aerys’s madness.

"Essos," Rhaegar murmured to himself, the word barely audible.

Oberyn glanced at him sideways, raising an eyebrow. "What was that?"

Rhaegar didn’t answer immediately. His mind was already moving ahead, planning. Varys had assured him there was a ship ready, hidden in the docks, waiting to take them away. You, the child you carried, and Rhaella. They could escape before the final blow fell, before Robert’s forces reached King’s Landing, and before Aerys burned it all to the ground.

"We need to leave," Rhaegar said finally, his voice low and tense. "This is all falling apart, Oberyn. My father will destroy everything. He will kill everyone—there’s no reasoning with him anymore."

Oberyn studied him for a moment, his usual smirk fading as he recognized the seriousness in Rhaegar’s tone. "You mean to run?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

"I mean to save my family," Rhaegar replied, his gaze hardening as he looked toward the horizon, where Terrax had disappeared with you. "Before it’s too late."

Oberyn nodded slowly, his expression darkening. "Then you’d better move quickly. Your father won’t stop until he’s torn Westeros apart, piece by piece."

Rhaegar turned back to the battlefield, his eyes locking on Aerys, who continued to shout at the retreating Dornish forces, his voice hoarse with rage. The mad king was a shadow of his former self, consumed by his obsession with you and the fire that had devoured his sanity.

Aerys pointed once more toward Rhaegar, his words garbled with fury. "You will burn, Rhaegar! You will all burn! The fire will take you all!"

But Rhaegar no longer cared for his father’s threats. His mind was set. The rebellion, the war—it all paled in comparison to the survival of his family. Aerys could burn himself and the world around him, but Rhaegar would not let you or their mother be caught in those flames.

"Let him rage," Rhaegar muttered, his jaw set with grim determination. "We’re getting out of here."

And as Aerys’s screams continued to echo across the battlefield, Rhaegar spurred his horse forward, his heart already focused on the future—on escaping this nightmare and finding safety across the Narrow Sea. The storm that was brewing would consume Westeros, but Rhaegar had already made his choice.

He would not let Aerys take them all down with him.

#asoiaf x reader #asoif/got #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #got #house of the dragon #hotd #arthur dayne x y/n #arthur dayne x you #arthur dayne x reader #arthur dayne #rhaegar targaryen #aerys ii targaryen #house targaryen

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rennalaqotfm · 6 months ago

Text

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART I)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Content Warning: Swearing and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said.

WC: 3.9k

Series Masterlist

(A/N at the end of the chapter)

The cold castle of Dragonstone stirred back to life in the early evening as the Black Council was hastily reunited after receiving news from an unknown sender, most likely one of Lady Mysaria's informants. The hall was silent as the members of the council cocked their brows in confusion.

"An alliance with the Triarchy?" Rhaenyra Targaryen shook her head in disbelief.

Daemon took the message from her, not believing what she had just said. He tossed the piece of parchment on the table, letting everyone have a look.

"An alliance with the Free Cities is a risk, but a necessary one nonetheless. Their hold on power currently hinges heavily on Vhagar. Aemond knows that the city will be defenceless once Vhagar leaves King's Landing and we could easily overtake it. That is when the Triarchy will come in, to break the blockade of the Gullet," Daemon said, adding a ship figurine to the Table Map.

"We should have enough ships—" Lord Corlys said.

"Forgive me, Lord Corlys, but I do not think they will be enough. The Triarchy can muster a much larger naval power than any house in Westeros, including House Velaryon."

"Are you underestimating my fleet, my King Consort?" Lord Corlys said through his teeth.

"I am just being realistic. It is not just the Triarchy we might end up encountering," Daemon countered, adding two more ship figurines to the Table Map. "The Greens know that we will solely be relying on the Velaryon fleet, and with enough luck, we would be able to defend ourselves against the Triarchy. Which is why they would also want to send Hightower and Lannister fleets."

"We would be outnumbered," Rhaenyra muttered.

Daemon shook his head as his eyes scanned the map, realising that the Greens had managed to amass a larger number of allies, from the Crownlands, all the way to the Westerlands. He raised a brow in a particular spot in the South, a place the Targaryens haven't been able to tame after centuries of their rule.

"Not if we make an alliance with the Dornishmen," he finally said.

After a brief moment of silence, everyone in the Black Council but Daemon erupted in laughter.

"I don't know which is worse, the Greens making an alliance with the Triarchy or us with those goatfuckers," Ulf laughed.

"Have we no other choice?" Rhaenyra muttered, staring at the map. "The Hightower and Lannister navies would need to sail around Dorne before reaching the blockade, after all."

"My Queen, you cannot possibly be considering this," Jacaerys stepped forward. "We cannot make a deal with those barbarians. Our houses have been at each other's throats for generations... What makes you think that they would want to help us? There is a reason why the Greens would rather turn to the Triarchy instead of House Martell."

"The Prince is right, my Queen," Lord Corlys said. "We do not know how those Dornishmen operate, where their loyalties lie. What if they withdraw their support after making a deal, or demand more than we agreed upon? I should not be reminding you of this, my Queen, but the Dornishmen... Well, they are known for being unpredictable. They might even end up switching sides and joining the Greens."

"That will not be happening, Lord Corlys. After all, the Greens are still Targaryens. At present, the Dornishmen have a neutral stance. They do not wish to partake in this war—"

"Because they're just watching everything from afar and placing bets on who's gonna win," Ulf sniggered, earning a glare from Rhaenyra.

"As I was saying, they do not wish to partake in this war," Rhaenyra paused, watching as Daemon picked up another ship figurine and placed it strategically in front of the Hightower and Lannister ships. "But if we manage to convince them to join us, then we could eliminate the Triarchy and block the Summer Sea, preventing the Lannister and Hightower fleets from crossing it."

"Convince them to join us? How are we going to do that?" Lord Corlys shook his head, growing irritated as Rhaenyra seemed to have decided to carry on with the plan. "This is another reason why Aemond has not even bothered negotiating with those barbarians in the first place. Those Dornishmen—House Martell... they would not easily accept any deal. They are too proud. And in this case, we need them more than they need us. We cannot show our desperation or else they will bleed us out—"

"But we are growing desperate, Lord Corlys, and we are running out of options," Rhaenyra raised her voice, causing everyone in the Council to flinch. "The Velaryon fleet alone does not stand a chance against all of them."

"This is absolutely—" Lord Corlys burst out, clenching his fists as he tried to hold his ire.

"Making a deal with them would be the hardest part, but I am certain they would be satisfied if we offered them a dragon," Daemon suggested. "Ulf, how do you feel about flying to Sunspear with Silverwing and spending the rest of your days with those... goatfuckers?"

"I don't really have a choice do I?" He grimaced. "But it wouldn't be all too bad, I s'ppose. I've yet to taste a beautiful Dornishwoman and—"

"Looks like it is sorted," Daemon waved his hand, cutting him off.

"Send a raven to Sunspear," Rhaenyra ordered Maester Gerardys.

"My Queen, please listen to me," Jacaerys raised his voice, catching everybody's attention. "This risk that we are taking is completely unnecessary. We do not even know whether the Greens would be sending the Hightower and Lannister fleets. If they do not, then we would have wasted our time in trying to reason with those savages. Besides, how would that make us look? To think that you are even considering trading Silverwing for a handful of ships..."

The Black Council grew quiet, letting Jacearys' words hang in the air, and they hummed in agreement.

"Listen, boy," Daemon cut him off. "Aemond just burned Sharp Point out of anger. Do you think he is the type to hold back? He is going to want to strike with everything he has, and House Lannister and Hightower would not want to miss a single chance to appease him."

"But House Martell—?" Jacaerys snapped.

"It will not just be House Martell, Jacaerys. If we somehow manage to convince them, then other Dornish houses will follow. Think about House Allyrion, Blackmont, Dayne..." Rhaenyra tried to reason with her son. "Maester Gerardys, send a raven to Sunspear. Now. We have no time to spare."

The room was filled with exasperation. Some were nodding their heads, murmuring and pointing at the map, whilst others shook their heads yet kept their mouths shut nonetheless. The maester himself began to hesitate as he began to write the message:

To the Honourable Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear,

In these dire times, as the fleets of the Triarchy, Hightower, and Lannister press upon us, Her Grace, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, seeks the aid of House Martell to join forces with our Velaryon allies at sea. In return for your assistance, we offer the protection of our dragon, Silverwing, as a symbol of our alliance and mutual respect. We acknowledge the history between our houses, but now, unity is essential more than ever. We hope to set aside past tensions and forge a partnership that will benefit both our realms.

From Maester Gerardys, in service to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

To Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,

House Martell has long stood apart from the conflicts of the rest of the realm, and we see no benefit in entangling our house in this war. Our independence is our strength, and we will not risk it, even for the promise of a dragon. Dorne will continue to walk its own path.

Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear.

Three weeks have already passed, only to receive a cold rejection from the Martells. Their enemies were already making their move, as according to one of Lady Mysaria's informants within the Red Keep, the Green Council had agreed to send Tyland Lannister as an envoy and were soon going to start preparing the ship for the lengthy journey to the Free Cities.

After reading the message, Rhaenyra scoffed and threw the note in the fireplace, watching as the paper shrivelled into ashes. The Council needn't ask what the Martells had replied since the indignation from the rejection was written all over her face.

"I told you they were too proud, my Queen. Making a deal with those savages... it was never going to work," Lord Corlys said.

"Do not give up so easily Lord Corlys. That just meant our deal was not good enough," Daemon said.

"You cannot be serious. They have already refused to help, even with the promise of a dragon," Jacaerys snapped. Baela placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.

"What else could they possibly want?" Rhaenyra inhaled deeply as she closed her eyes.

Daemon paced back and forth as his eyes wandered on everyone present in the hall.

"Maester Gerardys, remind us again of the children Prince Qoren has sired," Daemon asked.

"Don't name the bastards, though. We'd be stuck 'ere forever," Ulf joked, only to be met by an awkward silence and glares from those in the council.

"His eldest is a daughter of two-and-twenty, Princess Y/n Martell; Prince Elyas Martell, of nine-and-ten; and Prince Farien Martell, of seven, my King Consort," Maester Gerardys said.

"And is Princess Y/n betrothed?" Daemon asked.

"Not that I am aware of, my King Consort."

"It seems that securing an heir is not her main priority," Rhaenyra muttered. "I wonder why she remains unwed..."

"Well, with the number of bastards Prince Qoren has sired, they would never run out of heirs," Lord Corlys muttered under his breath.

"I do not know, my Queen. I am not entirely familiar with Dornish customs, but I have heard that Prince Qoren has yet to find a suitable match for his daughter," Maester Gerardys said.

"If I may speak, my Queen," Addam bowed his head, waiting for Rhaenyra's nod of approval. "Some of the men who've sailed in Dornish waters have shared stories about why Princess Y/n Martell remains unwed. It's not that Prince Qoren hasn't found a suitable match for his daughter; rather, many of those suitors have met... untimely ends. Their bodies have been discovered in the desert, feasted upon by scorpions. Of course, I can't say how much of this is true and how much is mere sailor's tale."

"Fuckin' hell..." Ulf exclaimed in amusement at Addam's story. "Hopefully that princess was worth dying for."

The Council grimaced, their prejudice somehow convincing them that everything they'd just heard was true. Jacaerys was starting to grow uneasy, feeling Daemon's gaze piercing his as Addam of Hull told the story. He didn't like where the conversation was going, and even if he knew what Daemon was going to say, he still wasn't prepared to hear those words.

"We present Jacaerys as a suitor for Prince Qoren's daughter," Daemon declared, silencing the council.

"No. No. Absolutely not," Jacaerys clenched his fists, his voice trembling with anger as he shook his head furiously. "I am to wed Princess Baela," his gaze darted to Rhaenyra, desperation in his eyes. "The Queen would never agree to such a preposterous match," he said, searching his mother's face for reassurance. But Rhaenyra's gaze was cast downward, and fear gripped his heart. "Mother... you would not marry me off to a savage, would you?"

Rhaenyra felt her son's pressing gaze upon her, yet she refused to look him in the eye. She turned away from the table and stared at the fireplace illuminating the room, trying to find answers in the dancing embers. At first, she found Daemon's proposal outrageous, but his unconventional thinking often led to surprisingly effective strategies. The fire seemed to whisper to her, telling her it was the right thing to do. The Martells. Dorne. She slowly began to realise that if they managed to secure the support of House Martell, and most importantly, the hand of Princess Y/n, then the whole realm would be united.

However, as everyone in the Black Council had already warned her, it wouldn't be an easy feat. House Martell despised the Targaryens after the mass destruction Aegon the Conqueror had caused during the First Dornish War in his attempt to bring Dorne under Targaryen rule. Cities were burned to the ground, leaving much of Dorne a barren waste of sand and ashes. But even then, the Dornish resisted. Led by House Martell, Dorne fought fiercely for their independence at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives. Yet it was all worth it in the end, as they remained free from the binds of Westeros.

Then she thought of her father, Viserys, and his dream of The Song of Ice and Fire, and how he urged her to unite the realm for what was to come. The alliance with Dorne was necessary, and though they were in dire times of war, there was no better time to unite the two realms.

With a heavy heart, she turned to face her son, Prince Jacaerys, whose eyes were full of desperation. As a mother, she had hoped she could've spared the heavy burden of her duties from her beloved son, but it couldn't be helped. He was going to be the Crown, and sooner or later, he was bound to carry the burden one way or another.

Rhaenyra exhaled and slowly nodded her head, mustering the courage to speak her final decision. If there was one thing she could handle, it was the hatred from her enemies and the smallfolk, but being despised by her own son was something she wasn't sure she could bear.

"Maester Gerardys," Rhaenyra spoke, trying to ignore how her son's eyes widened in disbelief at her words. "Send another raven to Sunspear for a marriage proposal between Prince Jacaerys and Princess Y/n."

Jacaerys stormed out of the room, and Baela looked at Rhaenyra for permission to go after him.

As Rhaenyra looked at the Table Map, she felt a hand momentarily ghost at the small of her back.

"You made the right call, my Queen," Daemon whispered, his lips lightly brushing against her ear, causing a chill to run down her spine.

To the Honourable Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear,

I write to you once more on behalf of Her Grace, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, about the proposal concerning an alliance between our houses. While we understand and respect your initial decision, the urgency of our situation compels us to make another appeal. In light of the escalating threat posed by the combined forces of the Greens, we recognise that the need for strong allies has never been more critical. As such, we wish to renew our proposal.

Her Grace is prepared to betroth her son, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, who eagerly seeks the hand of your daughter, Princess Y/n Martell. We believe that this union will not only strengthen our positions but also signify an enduring alliance between House Targaryen and House Martell.

From Maester Gerardys, in service to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Rhaenyra's footsteps echoed in the stone hallways of the castle as she made her way to her son's chambers. The night was quiet, nothing but the flickering sounds of the torches and the distant waves crashing against the shore could be heard. A few days had passed since she ordered Maester Gerardys to send the raven to Sunspear, and she decided that it was best to give Jacaerys some space so he could come to terms with his future betrothal to Princess Y/n.

Jacaerys refused to speak to anyone, not even Baela, and Rhaenyra's concern for her son was beginning to keep her awake at night to the point she began to question her decisions. However, the raven had already been set, and there was no turning back.

Rhaenyra knocked on the door, only to get no answer. After the second and third try, she sighed, debating whether she should just give up and leave her son. But she knew how Jacaerys felt, and she couldn't bear to see him so distant, losing himself at the thought of marrying a foreign princess they all knew little to none of. Rhaenyra thought Jacaerys was justified to feel the way he did.

She was pleased the marriage proposal between Jacaerys and Baela was approved by her father Viserys. She thought she could give her son the gift of betrothing someone close to him, someone familiar, someone he could eventually grow to love, just as she had been lucky to have been married to Laenor first, and though they weren't each other's preferences, they managed to come to an agreement.

"Jace, let me in," she said one last time. "We need to talk."

Jacaerys still refused to reply, and she expected as much. Rhaenyra slowly opened the door, only to find her son looking through the windows, watching how the waves violently crashed against the cliffs. She couldn't believe how much her son had grown over those past few years, the babe she used to carry in her arms had turned into a man of eight-and-ten, with sharp, handsome features and dark brown curls framing his face. Her heart was full of pride knowing that the Crown would be in good hands with her son, as not only he excelled in politics and affairs of the realm, but he possessed the kindness and compassion her father Viserys did.

"Jace..." She slowly approached her son, placing a hand on his broad shoulder.

He flinched at her touch and stepped away, refusing to look at her.

"I wish to be alone, Mother."

Rhaenyra closed her eyes and sighed, leaning forward as she also gazed at how the ocean infinitely stretched before her eyes, not knowing how to address the situation.

"I cannot even imagine how you must feel, Jace. If your grandsire had put me in the same position as you, my feelings would not be any different from yours... Though I still recall how your grandsire had me sit down and meet a never-ending line of suitors," she smiled sadly, feeling the soft breeze of the sea blow gently on her face.

Although Jacaerys remained silent, she still listened to his mother. They rarely had the opportunity to talk so casually about matters he deemed trivial, but he always appreciated those few times they got to talk about anything but war and politics.

"My grandsire already approved of my betrothal with Baela," he mumbled. "I wonder what he would think if he found out you wanted to wed me to a savage."

The sound of the sea seemed to have carried the whispers of her father's wish, as she heard distant voices murmuring The Song of Ice and Fire.

"Your grandsire would be proud," she smiled.

Jacaerys turned to look at her with furrowed brows, wondering if what she had just said was nothing more than a jest. But when his gaze met hers, he could see the love her mother carried for his grandsire Viserys reflected in her eyes.

"Before your grandsire made me heir, he said that I must unite the realm, and this alliance with House Martell is the key to that. This is not just about the ships and this war, Jace. It is beyond that. There are things you will come to understand in time. If this betrothal between you Princess Y/n comes forth, the two of you would finally be uniting the Seven Kingdoms," Rhaenyra said, with a faint glimmer of hope in her eyes, something Jacaerys hadn't seen in a long time.

"I know my duty as the Crown Prince, Mother," Jacaerys said, his voice heavy with resignation. "I understand that there is no undoing the proposal," he sighed. "But it pains me deeply, how you all discussed it as if I were nothing more than a pawn in a game, moved around as you see fit. Baela and I have known each other since childhood; it feels only natural that we should marry. We were just talking about the ceremony we would have once the war is over, imagining weeks of feasting and celebration... only to have it all snatched away from us."

"I am not saying you should, but if worst comes to worst, you could always make an... arrangement with Princess Y/n," Rhaenyra said.

"An arrangement?" Jacaerys scoffed, shaking his head. "What for? So I can sire more bastards like me?"

Rhaenyra's features hardened as she glared at her son, a flare of anger igniting within her as he brought up those bitter rumours she had buried deeply in her memories.

"Do not speak of yourself that way," Rhaenyra snapped, her voice shaking as she spoke. "You are a true Targaryen, born of fire and blood, and of salt and sea. Let no one, not even yourself, suggest otherwise."

Jacaerys shook his head, growing tired of hearing the same words of denial coming from his mother.

"I will do what I must for the realm and I will do my best to win the hand of Princess Y/n," Jacaerys muttered in defeat with his gaze cast downwards. "But I will not repeat your mistakes, Mother. I swear I will not sire any bastards, for I will not condemn my future children to face the same humiliation and torment that has haunted me all these years."

To Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,

How amusing it is, to send a mere bird in place of a prince, when seeking the hand of my beloved daughter. Mayhaps you are unaware of our customs, or mayhaps you believe a Targaryen name is worth more than the effort or courtesy. Here in Dorne, we value actions over titles. The hand of my daughter is not something to be bargained for in letters.

Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear.

"My Queen, Ser Tyland Lannister has been reported to depart to the Free Cities on the morrow," Lady Mysaria spoke before the council.

Rhaenyra clenched her jaw in irritation, not taking House Martell's second rejection well. Daemon read the message over her shoulder, amused at the words of Prince Qoren. Jacaerys hoped that his mother would give up the negotiations, but after the discussion they had weeks ago, he knew that she was going to do everything in her power to secure the deal with House Martell.

"Calling us cravens for sending a raven..." Daemon sneered. "What, were they expecting us to march to Sunspear in person, just to deliver the message?"

"We are running out of time, my Queen. It's only a matter of weeks before Ser Tyland reaches the Free Cities if the winds are in their favour," Lady Mysaria said.

"That is not all, my Queen," Maester Gerardys intervened, concerned. "Just as the King Consort predicted, we have just received various ravens from our allies reporting that they have sighted an alarming number of fleets departing from Lannisport and Oldtown a fortnight ago."

The Queen breathed in, feeling the pressure to make a decision as the enemy took another step. Reading Qoren Martell's letter one final time, she crumpled the parchment in her fist and turned to her council.

"Value actions over titles..." Rhaenyra muttered at the boldness of his words. "If what he desires are actions, that is what he shall get. Daemon, Jacaerys and I shall depart for Sunspear on the morrow on dragonback."

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! I hope you enjoyed the first part of this series. This chapter was basically the Targaryens and the Martells sending emails at each other lol. I don't wanna spoil anything but this story will kinda go from 0-100 hehe. Chapter 2 is like 90% finished, but still needs a lot of editing. Anyway, would you guys prefer if I have a regular updating schedule (once a week), or if I just upload whenever a chapter is finished (obviously there will be times when I won't be able to update as much but I sometimes get random bursts of energy)? I would love to know what you think.

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Until next time ;)

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themotherofblood · 2 years ago

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CHAPTER 1| RIVER OF GOLD |

The Lady | T.L x READER |

series masterlist | main masterlist

~ and if I was a child, did matter? If you got to wash your hands. ~

“He scares me, just a little. Not a violent way I suppose but as if he knows everything about me, though he might if he paid for spies. I am to be his wife, never thought I’d lay with a Lannister and yet here I am. Father has forbade me from writing to Doran, he would be mad at me. Lannisters and us have had a bitter history, my sweet aunt lost at the cost of war but perhaps this would be my first taste of power. I would be his wife, I would hold the sword.”

Grey, the skies were grey in the Westerlands. Black adorned every noble lord and lady's bodies as they stood by the falls. Five children stood as they mourned the death of their mother, along with many other houses who had only come to pay respects; out of obligation. Only five young bodies knew the truth of what had happened.

"Our princess took a terrible fall." the Maesters and handmaidens said, a truth laced with an ugly lie.

Our mother killed herself

The silk that wrapped the former princess's body held the further truth, if one peaked in they would see her bashed left cheek from the impact, a little lower they would see her crushed collar bone and even lower they would see blackened bruises from the fall. They would also see scars, yellowing bruises and fingerprints all over her skin, the testament to the brutality she had to suffer at the hand of her lord husband.

She was gone, and a candle that all five children held in the storm; blew out with her. The oldest boy Jeagir stood with his arm around his sister, you. Her hands rested on the shoulders of her two younger sisters Ellia and Nyela and their Maester Crasden, that stood next to them with an asleep toddler in his arms; the youngest Loren.

While the younger girls wept silently, their older siblings silently boiled in rage. All four children were handed torches as they walked to the four corners of the pyre their mother laid on, a Dornish priest went on with words that were muffled in the noble children's ears. While some remembered the screams from that night, some could only hear the crackling fire in their hands. In unison they lit the four corners of their mother's final rest. She would be safer now, nobody would hurt her now.

Your mother had written to you six moons ago, "Fly back to me, child." She had written. Her Martell uncles had managed to get her on a ship within the next day of the letter's arrival. The ship flung the banner of House Martell and delights filled the cargo of the ship for their dear sister.

"Give her my love." Doran Martell had said as he kissed the top his niece's head, a girl he had raised as his own for the past twelve years.

The morning you arrived to Lannisport, your receiver and long friend Fredrick also brought the doomed message.

"Princess Elina took a terrible fall."

One look at your mother's dead body and the guilt in your mother's handmaiden's eyes, the horrified sullen eyes of your sisters and the rage in your brothers eyes. You knew.

Your mother killed herself.

Lannisport was controlled by the most powerful family in the Westerlands, the Lannisters. More specifically Tywin Lannister. That man knew everything that went on in his lands and surely a Dornish ship with Martell sails entering his harbour was to be brought to his attention. He had ridden out that day, as he did every other day to visit Lannistown and the port. Mostly to set his own eyes upon the visitors from Dorne, he had taken extra guards as a welcome party.

He watched from high ground as the ship docked itself, five boats emerged from the ship. One with a golden pavilion shade, harbouring most likely a person of noble decent. He wondered if the Martells finally had come for his head, but out emerged a young lady at best in a pink Dornish dress, you.

His brother Kevan had rode down to the ports to enquire about the arriving party before riding back to his brother. Tywin watched as a man stood with the banner of his sworn house Maerilys, he watched as the man greeted you dressed in pink, then he watched you speak and for a moment all the colour drained from your face. It seemed as though everyone around you had frozen too, then he watched as your hand came up to your forehead, your lips widen as all the men and women that came with you hung their head low. A message came for him too, a rider rode out from Casterly Rock with the message.

"Princess Elina Martell of House Maerilys has passed."

Kevan too returned from the ports.

"That's Lord Maerilys's eldest daughter."

Tywin had arrived to Deep Den after the funeral, he had known Princess Elina personally having been a close companion to his late lady wife Joanna, the woman wasn't much older than him but he knew wits when he saw it, though he never liked the man she married. Lord Loren Maerilys, clearly named after his ancestor but Tywin knew that man held no kingly qualities. The house provided a good chuck of the Lannister fleet and armies, siege weapons and other labour personnel to Casterly Rock.

Lord Maerilys was a cruel man, the Mad King had his own reasons but Maerilys was another kind of evil, he flaunted his affairs in his lady wife's face, he beat her and humiliated her. Princess Elina on the other hand suffered through it all, many never understood why, she was Dornish. If she had written about the true brutality of her husband to her brothers. They would have landed an army right at her front gates to take her home. She never did, she suffered it all.

When you were born to the household, Lord Maerilys was not pleased, had it not been for his advisors and Maesters, he would have thrown your babbling form into the sea to wash off your existence, to another father you may have been a delight, a gorgeous little girl. But to your father, you were weakness, you couldn't carry their house's name.

Maester Crasden protected you as alittle girl as best he could, keeping you for longer lessons or away from your father's sight most times. However she you fell in the trap of your father's violence, instead of staying in your bedchambers one night as your mother's muffled wails rang through the halls, you hid a dagger stolen from the armoury in your skirts and walked into your parents chambers. Your little hands were ineffective, the blade you wielded ended up giving you a bigger cut than her father and a swollen bruise to her cheek from a backhanded slap.

"You insolent cunt! I could have your head for this." He screamed like a mad man as the little girl's glare never left him. That night her mother wrote to her brothers for help for the first time. She urged them to take her daughter, to raise her as their own with her nieces and nephews.

"Protect my girl, do not let her flame die." She had written.

Tywin had strayed from his riding party for a while, he rarely got to breathe in the country and the serenity of its views. He wanted to tarry a bit, as his riding party prepped for his arrival. The Old Lion had taken a guard along with him, surely he was learned enough to know that he was safe no where. There was a faint rush of water from the great falls in the mountains by Deep Den, the birds sang their songs as the air in the forest remained thick and humid, and Tywin walked through it all like he owned the forests. He had taken a long deep breath, closing his eyes as his head lifted upwards, allowing himself to unravel for just a moment. Though his moment of peace was interrupted by the whoosh of an arrow that nearly missed him and lodged itself onto the tree trunk behind him.

His guard drew their swords, at alert as Tywin sat strong on his horse. All of them looking around to find the source of the attack, a rustle in the bushes and most of them were prepared to fight. Until from the bushes and vines emerged your figure dressed in commoner rags, out of breath and sharp as you looked around before your eyes widened at the men with their swords out. You hands instinctively held tighter on your bow as your chest heaved, looking at all three men skeptically; until the armour they wore gave their true identity away. Lannisters.

You dropped the bow, raising your hands in defence. Gulping at the glare, the lord had fixated on you. If you weren't mistaken, you stood in the presence of Tywin Lannister. Comely and stern looking man.

"Forgive me, my lord. I thought you were a deer," you looked at him apprehensively, as you prayed to the gods, that this man knew nothing of your identity.

"Clearly not," He nodded at his men to sheath their steel.

Tywin didn't trust the girl, and the only way he knew that he would make out of these woods without killing you, was to take you with him. You were clean, too clean for a commoner. Your posture and nimble fingers, too relaxed to be an assassin. You looked familiar and yet he couldn't quite put a name to the face.

"Who are you girl?" Tywin commanded, his eyes capturing every detail of the sweet maiden before him. The velvet of your dress pointed that you were no mere peasant girl, though your unruly hair and mud over your hands would unlikely make you of noble birth.

"I am a kitchen wench, from the Den my lord," you tried to hold his gaze to not seem as if you were lying through your teeth. The lord gave you a grunt of answer before turning his horse around.

"Come along then. No girl like you should be out here alone." He ordered but you stood your ground

"Forgive me my lord, strange men offering escort in the middle of the woods, not exactly reliable," you made your case "I can find my own way home." With that you ran, abandoning your weapon. You ran through the very well known forests as the Lannister guards wandered deeper into the forest with no avail.

You huffed in exhaustion as you returned home, sweaty and covered in dirt. What was to be a trip to clear your head turned out to be a rat chase. The maids all looked scared for their Lady, for surely if Lord Maerilys saw his daughter in this condition, not only would he have your head but also the gaurds that were supposed to be escorting you.

"You must change, before your father sees you my lady." A man called out, Fredrick Serrert. When you had left the shore he was merely a boy but when he came to receive you, he stood a man grown at nearly six foot three.

Down in the Deep Den's hall, Lord Maerilys. A stubbed, and disgruntled old man greeted their liege lord. Both lord exchanged words of formality before Tywin walked himself to the rear gardens, where a burnt out pyre of ashes remained, still gusts of simmering smoke emitted from it. There laid Princess Elina, he still remembered her face, how young him and his betrothed were when his father had brought him along to their wedding. An elaborate affair, the Dornish princess was set to marry the older Maerilys brother, yet tragedy struck Daven Maerilys and her "condition" (the birth of your brother) left her in choice but to wed the younger brother Loren Maerilys instead.

"They say you look for a wife, Lord Tywin." Lord Maerilys asked, the old lion just nodded in reply.

"I have three. The older one just returned from Dorne, and my two younger one's are yet to bleed but should be of cause my lord." Tywin's face scrunched up in disgust, though his face looked away from Loren, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sure Tywin had imposed a marriage on his daughter, but sell out your daughters that young. Then out of the blue, it hit Tywin.

"Kitchen wench." He scoffed under his breath. He hadn't been outsmarted in a while but surely he was looking forward to meeting this Lady as he put a name to the familiar face. He remembered you from the docks

All the Maerilys kids poured out one by one. Olyvar came first, head held high and the spitting Dornish image of his mother, behind him trailed the two younger girls, Nyela and Ellia. They stood in a line as Tywin was introduced to them, he shook the oldest boy's hands and charmingly complimented the little girls on their hair. Then burst through the doors was another, your hurried feet found you standing next to your little sisters, with a toddler in your arms. You gracefully bowed.

"This is my eldest daughter." your father introduced you, every cursed word you could think of you used on yourself internally. You prayed that he would keep his mouth shut about earlier, and thank the gods he did.

"And who might this be?" Tywin gestured at the child wriggling in your arms, your sweet brother you had only seen painted palm prints off in your mother's correspondences

"Harolld Maerilys, my lord." you voice spoke up, a lot gentler then earlier, almost a whisper as you tried to not startle the child.

Tywin that night thought of the proposition Lord Maerilys put forth, there was something about this girl that just made you tick. Tywin wasn't a child that merely beauty would sway him, though you were quite a sight he had seen in a while, full lips, expressive eyes. There was something commanding about you, the way your eyes never left his, your head held high even admist all this sorrow. He saw a gain in this too, an alliance between Martells and Lannisters, you were important enough for them to send you home with Martell sails.

The next morning he made his wishes heard, he would court you for the week he was to reside at Deep Den, and leave with a bride by him.

You were having none of it, a screaming match broke out in the hall. As servants and soldiers turned a deaf ear to them yet again. You had nothing against this wedding but you refused to leave you little sisters behind at the hands of a monster.

"The girls will leave with me to Dorne!" You yelled over your father's voice

"You watch it girl, I could sell you and sisters for a lump sum and no one would bat an eye!" Your father threw back, menacingly nearing your proximity. However you weren't a child anymore, you stood your ground glaring up at your father. His hand shot forward, yanking your head up from the root of your hair making you yelp out in pain.

"Hurt me, go on. My uncles will cut your hands off if I tell them about this." your words were laced in venom and yet the truth. Doran Martell, was viciously protective over you and Oberyn, your sweet uncle Oberyn. You were his sunshine, though he may never see you more than just his little niece, your heart once yearned for more with your Uncle Oberyn. Many whispered at Sunspear that you had given your maidenhead to him and how you wished that were true.

"My lord." Maester Crasden's voice made Lord Maerilys push his angry daughter away, as tears threatened to roll down your face. You sat on the chair with your head on the table, rubbing the spot your father had held onto. Crasden came over, his fingers gently parting your hair to check for injury, you sweet lady would be fine.

"Marry him child." you scoffed at Crasden but he looked at you as if he wasn't finished, he sat down next to you.

"You would be the Lady of Casterly Rock, our liege lady," he cleared his throat before going on "you could order your sisters away to Dorne." His hand patted your cheek "You would hold power, I could not help your mother child. Let me help you."

The old maester's words had sunk deep within you as you began to ponder on the topic of your marriage and finally gave in, other than Tywin's cruelty on the battlefield and politics, there was no account of him ever imposing himself on women, you began to think of if you'd be safe and the only way to confirm your queries would be from the source itself.

You and Lord Tywin had found yourselves in your mothers gardens, you had called for him yourself and Tywin was curious to hear what you had to say.

"I realise how auspicious of a union this is, however I have questions and terms of my own before I agree to this." you kept your voice strong as you voiced yourr feelings on the matter.

"Go on then, my lady." Tywin walked past you to sit down.

"I truly hope that you know my disdain isn't toward you my lord, but merely a worry for my prospects." you stated as you sat down across from him, you didn't want to elaborate further, not wanting to slander your father in front of his liege lord.

"I am aware, my lady" Tywin's stress on the word made you look away. If your mother's troubles had been so known, how come none of these vast noble lords come to her aid.

"You needn't worry about me imposing myself on you" He suggested making you look at him, grateful and confused

"You would be well looked after and eventually sponsored for when the time came for your duties at Casterly Rock." He elaborated further.

"I knew your mother, I have a debt that still needs to be paid." The mere mention of your mother made the your eyes gloss over.

"And I would be safe?" There was a gentle crack to your voice.

"You would be safe." He reassured you, the green of his eyes glinting against the sun.

So it was setttled, Lady Maerilys was to wed Lord Tywin Lannister, ravens flew from Deep Den to Castley Rock, The Red Keep and to Sunspear. The news of this alliance spread through both families, both his children and the Martells were furious at about the wedding but it was done. A small affair at the Great Hall, you wore your mother's ivory dress that was fit to your sizing, that morning your mind nearly changed again as you tried to make a break for the ports but was stopped by Olyvar. If not for yourself then you performed her duties to protect her sisters.

"Father."

"Smith."

"Warrior."

"Mother."

"Maiden."

"Crone."

"Stranger."

"I am hers and she is mine."

"I am his and he is mine."

"From this day until my last day."

A chaste kiss between the two sealed this union. You were now Lady Lannister of Castley Rock, and hell was to pay if anyone tried to hurt you.

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bellofthemeadow · 1 year ago

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Dawn ends the Night

Aemond Targaryen x Dayne!Reader

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: As a newly woman grown, you learn of your fate as a woman in a men's world.

Notes: Guess who's back? Back again?! I AM BACK (again)!

Hello everyone, I'm thrilled to announce that I'm back! 🎉 After a brief hiatus due to my final undergraduate semester (which I just completed this past Monday – yay!), and amidst the hustle of graduate school applications, I'm finally able to return to writing.

I'm incredibly excited to embark on a brand-new series with you all. I've recently tumbled down the HOTD rabbit hole, and my obsession with Aemond Targaryen knows no bounds! 🐉 I assure you, my other fanfictions haven't been forgotten. I'm currently working on them and, with the festive season around the corner, I look forward to dedicating more time to writing and establishing a more consistent posting schedule.

Your support means the world to me and I love you all so so much💖 Feel free to reach out if you have any special requests, ideas, or if you'd just like to chat. I'm always so happy to connect with mutuals!!! Love you all

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Prologue - The Ghost of Starfall

All your life, your father had assured you that you would marry into the Martel family, destined to reign over Dorne like the ancient Dayne kings of the Torentine. But these plans shifted when Quoren Martell welcomed his daughter, Aliandra, who was destined to become the future Princess of Dorne and Lady of Sunspear. And although the Dornish were much more unrestrained than their counterparts on the continent, you were quite certain that they would not accept you becoming the princess’ consort. Two women officially ruling Dorne? Even that would be a bit too radical for the love-loving Dornishmen.

After his plans to make you the future ruling princess of Dorne fell through, your father started to envision a different future for you. You could still vividly recall nights spent perched on his knee, gazing up at the starlit sky. The cool desert breeze caressing your skin as you looked on in awe, your father's voice weaving tales of the grand life awaiting you as the Lady of Starfall. Those few precious moments, however, faded into memory with the arrival of your 13th birthday and the birth of Gerris. That misty morning marked a shift in everything when your brother came into the world screaming his little lungs out marked the end of your future as the Lady of the Dawn. As although Dorne's inheritance laws, shaped by Nymeria and the Roynar, endorsed absolute primogeniture, the stony Dornish your kin, those with deep roots in the First Men and the Andals, still favored the firstborn son. Technically, you knew you could challenge this tradition. You had the right, the means, and perhaps even the support of Qoren Martell to retain your birthright.

Yet, as you watched your father, his eyes brimming with wonder and joy at the sight of his newborn son, a decision settled quietly within 13 years old you. And with a heavy heart but resolute spirit, you chose to step aside. You withdrew silently, without protest or fanfare, setting aside your claim for the love of your family. And as the years passed you by, you found yourself amid whispers and wishes for Gerris who was still but a babe, to inherit the revered honor of your house — the title of “Sword of the Morning," a symbol of unmatched valor and prestige among your kin, that only the braves and more chivalrous could inherit. Each mention from the courtiers was a poignant reminder of your own path, not as a son of House Dayne, but as its daughter. Not as the lady of the castle, but as its ghost, a ghost of better times, simpler times. But in quieter moments, you tried to find solace in the belief that there were other, perhaps more subtle, ways to serve and honor your family. You had read all that there was to read about rulership, about history and about philosophy and you knew that true power could manifest in a myriad of forms, not solely in the strength of arms. As you gaze upon the intricate tapestry of your family's history, you knew that your role was no less significant and that you would radiate with your own bright light.

But for you, whispers of Dawn or grand destinies were absent, their echoes replaced by a more pragmatic reality. In place of tales of great adventures beyond the narrow sea, the halls of Starfall began to fill with a different kind of anticipation. The noble houses of Blackmont, Toland, Uller, and even the Yronwood sent their envoys and heirs. This cavalcade of suitors, a stark contrast to the dreams of your future before Gerris’ birth solidified your new role within the walls of your father’s castle. It was a shift, subtle yet profound, marking both an end and a beginning. You were no longer the future ruling Lady of House Dayne; you were now a key figure in its political future.

Duty became a familiar companion, yet melancholia was your closest confidante, a shadow that dimmed the brightest of days. This deep-seated wistfulness made entertaining suitors an arduous task and instead, you found solace gazing from the high castle walls, eyes wandering over the sandy mounds and the winding Torentine, over the stony mountains that cradled Starfall away from the continent's heart.

There, atop those ancient walls, you would lose yourself in dreams, wrapped in the embrace of solitude. It was in these moments of quiet reflection that you yearned to be something more, something beyond the expectations set upon you. They began to call you the 'Ghost of Starfall'. An ethereal presence, haunting the corridors and ramparts, a spirit adrift in her own thoughts, her dreams unfulfilled and stretching endlessly before her.

But to your astonishment, your father never sanctioned any betrothals. Representatives from Yronwood, Blackmont, and Uller came and went, each departing without a pledge from the enigmatic ghost of Starfall. You refrained from asking why, harboring a fear that your inquiry might prompt your father to reconsider, possibly sending you away from your beloved star-gazing haven to the austere castles of Uller or the strict Yronwood.

After your father's latest refusal of a suitor — a young, landed knight from the Reach, his brown curls soft and eyes a mesmerizing blend of green flecked with gold — you looked at your father, filled with uncertainty. “He seemed kind father.” you softly whispered. You could imagine yourself marrying this man, with long lazy days spent gazing into his warm eyes. In response, your father rose from his starry throne and approached you, placing a gentle kiss on your brow. "My little star deserves more than a mere knight," he said softly. "I will find you a suitor worthy of the starry heavens, my sweet love." After this declaration, suitors ceased to arrive.

Until this morning.

In the dim pre-dawn light, your mother gently roused you, her movements quiet in the stillness before the castle stirred to life. With tender hands, she dressed you, her fingers weaving your hair into an intricate half-up updo, the lower strands cascading in soft curls. Her touch was soothing, almost melodic, as she adorned you in a gown of white and purple samite. Its gauzy sleeves fluttered ethereally, transforming you into the very ghost of legend whispered in the halls of Starfall.

"Is it time?" you asked, a hint of apprehension in your voice, as she fastened a necklace around your neck, its purple stone shaped like a star glimmering softly.

In lieu of a direct answer, she pressed a kiss to your forehead, her lips whispering a silent prayer. "Come, my sweet girl," she murmured softly into your hair. "Today, you must be strong." Hand in hand, she led you towards your father’s personal solar, each step resonating into the stillness of the morning.

As you and your mother stepped into the solar, a sense of confusion washed over you. Before you, your father and Prince Qoren Martell stood in hushed, intense discussion, surrounded by a sea of scattered papers. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they failed to notice your entrance, prompting a deliberate cough from your mother.

"Ahem," she cleared her throat pointedly, breaking their focus.

The two men spun around, their expressions shifting from concentration to surprise. Your mother regarded them with a mildly unimpressed gaze, her poise unshakable.

"My lords, a touch of gallantry, if you please," she chided lightly, gesturing towards you.

As their eyes found you, you executed a graceful curtsy, the fabric of your gown whispering against the floor. Prince Qoren's face broke into a broad smile at the sight.

"No need for such formality, my dear," he chuckled warmly. "Look at you, outshining the stars themselves! Fortunately, you've inherited your mother's beauty and not your father's," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

A blush crept across your cheeks at his words. "Thank you, Prince Qoren," you replied shyly, "Your flattery is most kind."

"It's not flattery if it's the truth, my dear," Prince Qoren Martell retorted with a playful wink. A heavy silence then descended upon the room, enveloping your parents and your distinguished guest, the great prince of the lands you called home. You felt like an unwitting participant in a jest whose punchline you didn't know, the unwitting fool in an unspoken joke. Yet, no laughter broke the silence. Compelled by your uneasy curiosity, you posed the question that hung unspoken in the air.

"The journey from Sunspear must have been arduous, my Prince. We are honored by your visit," you began, your voice steady. "May I inquire as to the urgency of your need for me this early, and why the esteemed Prince of Dorne would grace us with his presence?"

"Your wit matches your beauty, Lady," Prince Qoren replied with a sincere smile. "I've traveled from my home to discuss a certain missive, one that concerns both your father, yourself and the future of Dorne."

"I gather this missive must be of great import to summon me before even the servants begin their day," you ventured, a hint of steel in your voice. "It seems a matter of secrecy."

"Indeed, my daughter," your father interjected. "We've received a proposal regarding your hand in marriage."

"And who might this suitor be, that his proposal warrants Prince Qoren's personal involvement?" you asked, your eyebrow arching with skepticism.

"As your father's dear friend and as someone who has always taken a keen interest in your future, my Lady, all of Dorne has its eyes on you," the prince answered, meeting your gaze.

Your skepticism remained. "So much so that it necessitates a journey from Sunspear?"

Your mother, sensing the rising tension, interjected softly, "Come, sit with us, my dear." As you took your seat, your father tenderly grasped your hands, planting a soft kiss upon your knuckles. "The Dragons have expressed interest in you," he revealed, his voice laced with a mixture of pride and concern.

Your breath hitched at the mention of 'Dragons.' There was only one house in all of Westeros and beyond that was associated with the winged fire breathing beasts. Starfall knew more than anyone else the dangers of their fire and of their wrath.

Prince Qoren clarified, "This request likely originated from Otto Hightower. Our spies from the capital suggest the Greens are maneuvering for the throne. With old Viserys nearing his end, they're placing their pieces on the cyvasse board. Hightower may be a contemptible leech, but his cunning is undeniable." He stroked his dark beard thoughtfully

But why would Otto Hightower want me?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of confusion and urgency. "Dorne isn't even part of their kingdom! We've aligned with the Triarchy and have been opposing the dragons since their arrival on our shores." The plea in your voice was evident as you looked over your parents and your prince, who stood unmoving yet deep in thoughts.

"That is precisely why Otto Hightower is interested – not just in you, but in Dorne," Qoren Martell explained gravely, looking into your eyes. "We Dornish have a history of standing against dragons. We've never bowed, broken, or bent the knee. We know how to fight them, and we know hot to kill them. Now, Hightower wants our alliance to counter Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen's claim when they make their move for the throne."

"But is Princess Rhaenyra not the legitimate heir? By Dornish law, she should be the future queen. If we were to engage in their politics, should we not we support the Blacks?" you questioned.

"We might have aligned with Princess Rhaenyra," Qoren admitted with a hint of regret, "if not for her union with Daemon Targaryen. Remember the Stepstones? That debacle alone shows why it's dangerous for Daemon to wield any real power. He's not just a rogue; he's a warmonger."

Qoren paused, weighing his words carefully. "Should Rhaenyra ascend the throne, Daemon would be right there, whispering in her ear. And let us be frank, he'd relish any excuse to launch an assault on Dorne, trying to conquer what Aegon the Conqueror couldn't. Whether it's for personal glory or just to satisfy his lust for war, it's a risk we cannot afford."

A shudder ran through you at the thought of Dorne, bloodied and broken. Determined to prevent such a fate for your people, you asked in a subdued tone, "What is expected of me?"

"Oh, my sweet girl," your mother murmured, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. "You are not obliged to do anything. If you wish, we will send Otto Hightower away with a message to shove his seven-pointed star straight up his arse, and we will stand against Daemon Targaryen if need be." she tearfully proclaim, her face in your hair.

"You won't be forced into anything you're not willing to embrace. As for Otto Hightower, trust isn't a luxury I afford him as my experience with this man has taught me to be wary of his machinations. He is adept at playing the long game, and his latest maneuver is quite telling. By extending this proposal to your father and deliberately excluding me, he seeks to sow seeds of discord, perhaps hoping to weaken the unity that has long been our strength.His intentions, I surmise, are to draw you into the Hightower fold through marriage. Such a union could potentially sway Dorne's allegiance in the looming conflict for the Iron Throne."

Pausing, Qoren looked out the window, then back at you with a solemn expression. "This is not merely a question of matrimony. It is a strategic move and our response will shape the future, not just for us, but for all of Dorne."

You furrowed your brow in contemplation. "Why would we even entertain his proposal if his intent is to divide us?" you questioned.

Prince Qoren's expression turned shrewd, cunning playing in his dark brown eyes"Precisely because we understand his motives. By accepting his offer on our terms, we control the game. It's like holding all the key pieces in cyvasse; we dictate the moves, and we can make the dragons dance to our tune."

Your mind whirled, grappling with the enormity of everything they were telling you.

"Consider carefully, my little star," your father said, "This decision rests in your hands. Whatever path you choose, know that we stand with you."

"If I agree, may I set my own terms?" you asked softly.

"Of course, my Lady," Qoren grants.

"Accept Otto Hightower’s offer of marriage, tell him that we will aid him in his future conflict against Daemon Targaryen and the Blacks, but it comes with a non-negotiable stipulation: Dorne's independence is sacrosanct. We shall not yield to Targaryen sovereignty. Instead, we shall stand as allies, lending our support whilst retaining our autonomy. This, of course, hinges on your approval, Prince Qoren."

Your mother's face registered shock. "But that would mean you'd be separating from Dorne, becoming part of their realm, no longer ours."

“If it spares Dorne from being shackled by dragons, then I am willing to pay that price," you declared, feeling a shiver trace its way down your spine. With those words, you realized all that you were giving up. No longer would you be a daughter of Dorne; gone would be the nights spent stargazing from the ramparts, where stars seemed close enough to touch. You would miss the long walks on the ancient, stony steps, each one etched from the history of your ancestors.

Gone, too, would be the fierce embrace of the desert sun in the mornings, its rays painting the sands in hues of gold and amber. You would yearn for the sweet scent of orange blossoms, a fragrance that always seemed to hold the very essence of your homeland. Instead, you would find yourself in the capital, and it would be there, in a place far from the lands that shaped you, that you would remain until the end of your days.

My brave girl, stronger than any man in this land. A true Nymeria reborn," your mother said, her voice tinged with pride and sorrow.

You mustered a smile, though it tasted bitter on your lips. "Nymeria was never bartered to a man she did not know. She carved her own destiny, fiercely and freely."

"My girl..." your mother began, but you cut her off gently.

"It's alright, Mother. I will fulfill my role to the end," you assured her, your voice steady, but your inside twisted uncomfortably. Who were you trying to convince, her or yourself? Your mother's breath hitched at your words, she closed her eyes holding you closer as if you would become a babe again, clutching at her skirts – not nearly a woman grown, ready to be delivered into the claws of the enemy.

"Rest assured," your father added sternly, "If the dragons dare mistreat you, we will not shy away from invoking Joffrey Dayne's legacy and we will burn their city like their cursed beasts!”

A pause hung in the air before you finally asked, "Who is it that Otto Hightower has in mind for me to marry?"

"The King's second son, Prince Aemond Targaryen... the one-eyed prince.”

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