#The Princess of Dorne Series

[armandisdaddy]

A Viper and A Dragon

Chapter One-The First Meeting

[Pairing:Daemon Targaryen x OC Fem Character]

[Warning/Content: Masturbating,Sexual Tension,Teasing, Arranged marriage, Lots of lusting after one another.]

Allyria was a beautiful young woman from Dorne. Her family was of noble blood and highly respected by the Targaryens. Her father grew up with King Viserys. In-fact Viserys treated him like a brother. Even though she was one of the most gorgeous young ladies in Westeros she had managed to evade marriage for quite some time since her name day which was a few years ago. Her mother often threatened she’d be an old maid by the time she intended to marry, but in her mind she wished to be independent after all she could do well without a man they only complicated things after all. Unfortunately she couldn’t evade it any longer and with King Viserys’s invitation Allyria’s father intended on marrying her off to someone in King’s Landing.

Meanwhile in King’s Landing Daemon had been begging his brother once more to let him marry Rhaenyra. And yet again he denied him of it, she was to be married to Laenor Velaryon. “I have someone else in mind for you brother. You won’t be disappointed.” Viserys assured him. “Yes, the same way I was assured about the bronze bitch…” He scoffed rolling his eyes in annoyance he figured in his defeat he’d go off and have a drink or two; maybe three. Who’s counting really? The next day he came in stumbling smelling of wine and ale. One of the King’s guard dragged him into the throne room where he saw a few familiar faces all but one.

Allyria stood tall her dark hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back. Her dressed was orange and gold and was held together by golden chains that laced over her back while the fabric of her dress clinged to her body ever so loosely. The prince was prepared to be scolded by his brother once more, but not in front of such a beautiful creature. His pride would not have it. He stood to his feet quickly fixed his mussed up hair and fixing his clothes. The king finally noted his presence and stood to his feet. “Brother you’ve finally come to join us we were waiting for you.

“You remember Lord Balereon and his Lady wife Anisa. Also their daughter Lady Allyria I invited them for the tourneys coming in a few days. There is a future celebration to be had.” Daemon nodded and bowed respectfully while Allyria watched from the corner of her eye. He was rather handsome she thought. Also he looked like he could bed a woman good. She hummed to herself looking away to get her mind back on track. It had been years since the King asked for her father to come here personally so why now? “Lord Balereon, Lady Anisa come we have something important to discuss. Daemon can show Allyria around and he will be respectful and noble I assure you.” He emphasized noble mainly speaking to Daemon when he did.

Daemon put on his charm and have a dazzling smile before he held out his arm for her. She laced her arm into his and smiled back at her father and mother as she walked away. They were silent as they walked for a while Daemon was in awe of the woman that stood before him. She was even more captivating this close and she didn’t say a word and yet he could feel himself being pulled toward her. “Are you going to say something Prince Daemon or are you just going to gawk at me the entire time?” He was pulled from his trance once she spoke and he chuckled at such a remark.

“A beautiful face with the tongue of a viper you are rather interesting, Lady Allyria.” She smiled watching the lords and ladies watching hungrily or enviously either way she enjoyed the attention. “That was a compliment was it not, my prince?” She looked to him with the rich brown eyes that flowed like pots of honey when the sun hit them. He stammered a bit still mesmerized by her beauty. “Oh…yes of course.” Her lush lips curled into a knowing grin. “So where is it you go to have fun. I’d like a drink.” He raised a brow at her and teased, “A young lady like you could possibly handle a drink.” She looked at him as if he was challenging her. “I’ll have to show you what I’m capable of I see.”

“I know just the place.” He took her hand as they ran off through a narrow path to get to the outskirts of the castle. He took her to one of his favorite taverns and of course every eye turned to look at her once they arrived. She sat upon a table her rich coppered skin glittering like gold. She was given their best ale and she almost gagged at the taste. “I told you m’lady you cannot handle your drink.” She down the cup without a moment to breathe and she laughed. “That shyte is disgusting we have way better ale in Dorne who made that swill anyway.”

He was a bit amazed he had never met a woman like her. Ever… not even Rhaenyra held a candle to her. She was a rare jewel indeed and had to have her. After a few more drinks she ended up carrying him back to the castle it was time for dinner and they were late. Once they arrived Viserys placed a hand over his face and began to apologize for Daemon. “My King there is no need to apologize I’m sure my daughter had something to do with this.” She giggled sitting him down and finding a seat next to him. “Forgive me, My King…I was rather bored of promenading through the castle I asked prince Daemon to take me somewhere for a decent drink and well here we are.”

Viserys laughed and quickly reassured her that there was no harm done. “I’m glad to see that their may be someone in this world that can actually keep up with my brother. The two of you seem to be getting along well with one another. Now that your father and I have gotten the matter settled let us raise our cups to the wonderful union of our two houses.” Allyria’s smiled faded and Daemon was too sloshed to even notice. Her family noted her flat expression and silence for the remainder of dinner.

Finally, being able to dismiss herself she made her way to her chambers but was stopped by a hand grabbing her wrist. It was The Rogue Dragon himself. With a bit of food on his stomach he came back to himself a lot quicker. “I see you are not happy about our betrothal.” She turned to face him with anger fuming. “It is that obvious? I had thought that me being unmarried long enough would make my father stop trying entirely. I thought wrong apparently.” He felt a bit upset from her reaction but tried not to show it. “We seemed like we were enjoying ourselves I thought you and I seemed made for each other.”

“I enjoy your company, but I know as well as the whole entire realm knows that you want The Iron Throne and Rhaenyra. Let us not mention the rumors of you getting rid of Lady Rhea. Just so you could be free to marry the princess. Word travels far, m’lord. How long will it take before I can no longer hold your affections or attentions, my Prince? How long will it take for you to discard me like some used thing? I do not want that for myself. I would rather be free and alone.” She snatched away from him before she quickly found sanctuary in her chambers.

The next morning she was awakened by a knock on the door. “Come in.” It was her mother coming in to see how she had been fairing since she heard the news. “I know you aren’t happy, Little Lotus. You’re father and I are what we think is best for you.” Allyria laughed it off , “What’s best for me? Or what is best for our house. I’m sure with me marrying The Prince and siring an heir that will forever bind us to the powers that be. I may be a young woman mother, but am not simple.” Anisa sighed and shook her head. “Things are different in Dorne for women and you know that. Why would I want to leave such a liberated country to be sought after by men and envied by women who’ve never had an ounce of freedom since the day they were pushed from their mother’s cunt?”

“Dearest, it is not a punishment. Your father and the King have known each other for quite some time this is an honor for our family, please just try to make the best of it.” Allyria nodded softly and sighed. “It’s not like I have a choice in the matter. Like a nightingale in a cage..” Anisa left her to get ready for the day but didn’t leave without reminding her the wedding was in three days time. “Ysilla, come in please I’d like to get dressed.” Her handmaiden didn’t take much time to come in and quickly started to get her lady ready.

Allyria loved letting her deep brown tresses down in its natural state. Thick and wavy. “Ysilla can you grab that red dress for me.” She smiled at the choice. “The red is an excellent choice, miss.” Grabbing the garment she helped her put it on. When she looked at herself in the mirror she smiled to herself looking at the masterpiece that was her. “Thank you, Ysilla. I’ll be showing myself around the castle for a while.” Ysilla bowed her head and left her. She sighed softly and decided to hide out in the library. But upon arriving she spotted Daemon in the courtyard below and sparring with one of the King’s guards. She leaned on the stone watching him rather closely.

He was arrogant and rather egotistical and unfortunately she loved that in a man. How beautiful was he…attacking his opponent gracefully but with so much power behind each strike. She bit her lip feeling her thighs rubbing together causing friction. She sighed wantonly wishing to find relief, but her thighs were just making things worse. Her soft digits pushed the thin red linen to the side and slowly rubbed over her soft folds parting them to find her bundle of nerves. Circling over it slowly it sent soft shocks through her body as she continued to watch her betrothed.

The way he grunted with each attack. The sweat dripping from his face due to the action itself was primal. She trembled and whimpered softly trying not to be heard. Her eyes rolled as her two fingers began to fill her walls up touching that one spot that were send her over the edge. She thought of him grunting and rutting against her like an animal. Pulling her hair and reaching spots her fingers could not. “Daemon…” she cooed lovingly and to her surprise she felt a hand touch her shoulder. “And why are you calling my name so deliciously, My darling Viper?”

She looked to the courtyard and saw everyone was gone. Hesitant to turn around she held her hands behind her back hoping to hide the evidence of her arousal. “Did I? Forgive me, my Prince I did not mean…” He pulled her hand from behind her and examined the evidence. He smiled smelling her scent and instinctively he took her fingers into his mouth and licked them clean. “So sweet…” He muttered. She nearly fainted from seeing such a thing. He grabbed her waist pulling her in as she tried to make a step back. “I’d take you right here if I didn’t respect your father or my brother. On our wedding night you won’t be able to escape me.”

She winced at the idea of marriage internally, but the idea of their love making made her reconsider it a bit. “I guess we will see what my dragon is capable of then, yes?” She grabbed his chin and kissed his lips tasting a mixture of her sweet nectar and his saliva which made him groan into the kiss before she pulled away and went to go find the library. “Until our wedding night, my Prince. I’ll be waiting for you.” She disappeared down the hall and now his head was filled with nothing but her..was he in love or did he just want to fuck her brain loose..

To be continued…

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

[rennalaqotfm]

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)

[msmorningstaarr]

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."

[lady-pug]

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!

Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

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.

“I​​ksā 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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[asongoficeandfiresource]

Meta: A Tale of Three Daenerys’

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

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

Daenerys, the Retconned Princess

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daenerys of Dorne

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

--

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

--

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

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

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

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

--

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

--

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

Conclusion

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

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch

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

Masterlist of Series

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.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

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 :(

[novaursa]

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.

[themotherofblood]

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.

next chapter

[bellofthemeadow]

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.” 

Next chapter

[atopvisenyashill]

The thing that is so amazing for me about Doran is that he is essentially the FIRST father we get in this series (we are like FOUR THOUSAND PAGES IN AT THIS POINT BTW) who realizes he has allowed his own faults to harm the trust his daughter has placed in him and then takes responsibility for how he has hurt her. Doran is livid with Arianne until she finally makes the comment about believing he is set to disinherit her and give Dorne to Quentyn and then his anger completely deflates, and he says very clearly to her, “Dorne will be yours. You have my word on that, if my word still has any meaning for you.”

“IF MY WORD STILL HAS ANY MEANING FOR YOU.”

He doesn’t try to put the blame back on her after this, and in fact he puts the breaks on the conversation, making it clear that the problem here was his lack of communication and not Arianne's mistrust. And more than that, just this tiny little acknowledgment that he’s done her wrong is enough for Arianne to completely forgive him! All she needed in the end was a simple acknowledgement that he was being unfair. The moment she gets it she is determined to be her father’s dutiful daughter all over again, even after years of resentment and mistrust. It is, ultimately, i think all most of the daughters who clash with their fathers need in the end and that really only Arianne is lucky enough to receive; a simple acknowledgement that he is the one who messed up, and that she was right to be wary of him. And that little acknowledgement is all either of them needs to face whatever comes next -

“Go swiftly, go safely, be my eyes and ears and voice… but most of all, take care.” “I will, Father.” She did not shed a tear. Arianne Martell was a princess of Dorne, and Dornishmen did not waste water lightly. It was a near thing, though. It was not her father’s kisses nor his hoarse words that made her eyes glisten, but the effort that brought him to his feet, his legs trembling under him, his joints swollen and inflamed with gout. Standing was an act of love. Standing was an act of faith. He believes in me. I will not fail him.

Doran makes the effort to try. He is not perfect but at least he tries for Arianne and it gives Arianne the confidence to pick herself up and try again as well.

[two-white-butterflies]

As Lovers Often Do - c. 1

Description: Alyssa Strong was born to be Aemond's wife. As the dance occurs, certain consequences are levied upon her.

"An eye for an eye. A son for a son."

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"Prince Alyssa and Prince Aemond were taken by the water, but her legacy lives on; in the Martells of Dorne, the Starks in Winterfell, the Arryns in Eyrie and in you, my sweet sister. Name is everything. Legacy is everything. You may think yourself clever in deceiving the King, but a thousand years from now they will still see your children as his and his legacy will live on, while your name fades."

-Tyrion Lannister to Queen Cersie.

Alyssa was the second child of Princess Saera and Ser Harwin. Her mother was always a blunt creature, always making it known that certain responsibilities came with the luxury of being royalty, that she was expected to marry a lord from a good house - she couldn't blame her mother as the same expectations were levied upon her too - and the thousands of ladies that came before her.

Her worth would be measured by the lord that she'd marry. What was a wife but a mere extension of her husband?

"Are you nervous?" Saera opened her mouth, quickly fading into Alyssa's periphery with rehearsed grace. "Must we attend?" Alyssa pouts, unable to tame her silver locks.

"Must we breathe?" her mother returned the question, eventually taking another step towards her - combing through her hair easily. "Tis' only uncle's nameday, and you are not exactly fond of him." she persuaded, earning a small chuckle from her mother.

"Believe me, my dragon - if we had a choice we'd still be in Dragonstone. It is of utmost importance that we attend. Queen Alicent will be expecting us." she gently reminded.

Oh, Queen Alicent would be most offended with their absence - She didn't plan on leaving her daughter with a Queen that hated her. "It will be nothing but eating and watching people dance." she huffed. "You can dance too," Saera insinuated and a groan escapes her daughter's mouth. "I do not wish to dance." "Then don't,"

"- all that's important to me is that you attend, and you pretend to be happy about it." Saera hummed, braiding Alyssa's hair softly - Alyssa's hair was almost white, bleached by the sun as she lounged around the beach with careless action. "You are a cruel mother," Alyssa frowned and her mother laughs in return.

"Of course, I am horrible and I wish death upon you." she humored, pressing a soft kiss on her daughter's forehead. "Behave, Alyssa." she urged and Alyssa nodded her head. "Yes." she sighed.

Alyssa looked around the Great Hall - impressed with the decorations and lavishness that her grandfather provided. Uncle Aegon wasn't exactly his favorite child. "It looks good," Daegon mumbled while pushing his sister towards the Royal Table.

"Do you think that the same effort will be given on our nameday?" Alyssa pondered and her brother shook his head. "Why would they waste the Crown's coffers on us?" he scoffed, sitting down on the chair beside Jacaerys. "Because we're the only ones who look like Targaryens," she mumbled to herself.

"I heard that," Lucerys crossed his arms - angry that his cousin was making such comments about them. "I was joking," Alyssa frowned, taking a seat in between Daegon and Lucerys.

"Happy nameday, my prince." she smiles falsely at her uncle. "Yes, yes." Aegon waves her away - quick to settle his hand on some servant's behind.

Saera rolls her eyes.

"I'm sure that we can afford some decorum, Aegon." she lightly scolded, and Alyssa didn't fail to recognize the sour expression on his face. "I apologize, sister." he could only smile in return - feeling the burning gaze of Prince Daemon.

"I will not have you doing this during celebration, Aegon. Now, why don't you dance with Helaena or Alyssa for the meanwhile." Queen Alicent smiled - but everything she does always has a purpose. She intends for Aegon to marry either Helaena or Alyssa - to keep the 'bloodline' pure (a bloodline that does not belong to her.)

Daegon leaned slowly towards his sister.

"I'm bored," he whispered while fiddling with the tablecloth. "I've been bored three hours ago," she grits her teeth, at some point - she even tried to convince herself to bolt away. "- I want to leave but I don't want to miss the action." he whispered with a childish twinkle in his eyes. He knew something.

"Do you care sharing?" she grumbled, annoyed that he was keeping a vital information from her. "There's one person that refuses to attend this celebration." he smiled and she looks around their table. Right! Uncle Aemond wasn't here. "Aemond." she breathed and he nods.

"Why do you think so?" she gossiped, prepared to share this with her mother the following day. "Now you didn't hear this from me - but apparently during Aemond's nameday a few moons ago, Aegon brought him to a brothel." he continued sharing the story.

"Oh no, he must've thrown a fit - he probably believed that the Seven Hells would eat him whole." Jacaerys joked, earning a light chuckle from Daegon. "Probably, and now he refuses to attend his own brother's celebration." Daegon finished - taking a sip of his wine.

Alyssa takes a bite of her potato.

"I completely understand his reaction! Older siblings should protect their younger siblings." she defended and Jacaerys shoots Daegon a knowing stare. "Older siblings should protect their younger siblings." Jacaerys repeats to his cousin. "Hey! I protect Alyssa, remember that time when Aegon wanted to kill her cat?" he argued and the three of them erupt into bouts of laughter.

She rolled her eyes, turning her gaze towards the other parts of the hall. Her eyebrows furrow slightly, seeing the doors open and Aemond step inside of the room. "Seven hells," she mutters, poking Daegon's ribs and pointing at her grown uncle. "Holy fuck," he sneered, leaning towards Jacaerys' ears to whisper a few insults.

"It's a good thing we didn't leave, no?" he joked once more, Alyssa elbows his ribs - annoyed with his constant jabs at Aemond. "Jacaerys, might be best to keep Lucerys out of his sight." Alyssa humored - the prince beside her slightly pales.

"Happy nameday, Aegon." Aemond halts in front of his brother. The atmosphere between the both of them was evidently tense - they didn't need to speak to each other in order to understand what they were feeling. "Thank you, brother." he answers with a gulp.

Aegon points at the big table; "Our family is right over there, you should greet Saera and Rhaenyra - they traveled all the way from Dragonstone." he switches the topic. Aemond was the tallest of all the Targaryen siblings - his shoulders were wide and menacing, his legs were long - one would even assume that he was the oldest one, if it weren't for his older sisters having children of his age.

"I assume that you've already thanked them for arriving," Aemond breathed through his nose. Aegon never had a knack of diplomacy - all he knows is to waste the people's money on his vices. "I saw no need," he avoided and his younger brother scoffs.

He was the youngest of the two and yet ... he was the only one who cared about civility - the only one who studied history and swordfighting while his brother spent his days around whores and wine. Why was Aegon born before him? When he was most worthy of the title 'first son'.

"Of course you didn't."

"Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Saera, Prince Daemon - thank you for attending our brother's nameday in such short notice." Aemond's lips pressed into a thin line before sitting on the empty spot beside his mother. "We wouldn't miss it for the world, brother." Saera smiles.

"It seems like yesterday when Aegon was yet a babe, small he was - but according to the Queen he came without a fuss." Rhaenyra enunciated the last word, as if it had another meaning.

"A small babe, we thought that he wouldn't make it past the fortnight - but he's grown to be healthy and capable." Alicent responded, her words also with a second meaning. "Capable of being Rhaenyra's hand, I surmise." Saera notes while rubbing circles on her swollen belly. Aemond clenches his fists - Aegon as Rhaenyra's hand? It was almost laughable.

What would the realm turn into, then?

"Words are not done deals," Alicent's eyebrows raised. Aegon needed to be the next king after his father, it was only right. "Indeed," Aemond answered quickly.

He turns his head towards Lady Alyssa, who was sitting parallel to him. "Lady Alyssa," he greets and she smiles - they were the only ones who could understand each other in Kingslanding.

"How old is Aegon? Sixteen - seventeen?" Daemon suddenly opens his mouth after holding it too long. "Seventeen," Aemond responds. "By the grace of the seven gods, at that age I was already married to the Lady Rhea Royce for 2 years." Daemon comments, seemingly pointing out Aegon's lack of maidens.

"Which is why I planned on speaking to Princess Saera. Lady Alyssa is of a comfortable age, mayhaps we could betroth her to Aegon." Alicent recommends and the atmosphere turns cold. Alyssa's eyes quickly turn towards her mother - waiting for her response.

"No." Daemon answers instead.

"I agree with my husband, Queen Alicent. Aegon is far too old for my daughter - not to mention his reputation. And it would not benefit House Strong to marry into House Targaryen once more." Saera reasoned and the Queen smiles bitterly.

"Prince Daemon is much older than you, Princess Saera - and my memory serves me well. Your uncle's reputation was not exactly beautiful." Alicent reminds, not allowing the slander to permeate throughout the mind of her son.

Aemond looks at his niece.

"Princess Alyssa, do you wish to marry my brother?" he stares at her, gawking as he waits for a reply. "It would be an honor, but such decisions should be placed upon the hands of my mother and lord." she smiled, not wanting to make a fuss out of her hand.

"Mother, she does not wish to marry Aegon." Aemond interrupts plainly, and Alicent glares at him - mad at his boldness. "Oh, my sweet boy, if every parent followed the whims of their sons and daughters - half of us in this hall wouldn't exist." she says.

"Enough of this, Alicent. We intend to enjoy our evening." Daemon says rudely and the Queen turns away.

"God, could you even begin to imagine me as your brother's wife." Alyssa chuckled while taking a sip of her ale. "Princess Alyssa Targaryen, fitting but not for the right reasons." Jacaerys agreed while sitting beside Aemond.

She takes a deep breath, after a few more hours of arguing - the children decided to spend their time outside - in the garden but bathed in moonlight. "What do you think, Aemond? Why is Queen Alicent so hellbent on having me married to Aegon? I've heard the rumors, does she really want him as king?" she questioned.

Aemond shook his head; truly unsure.

"I don't know," he responded and Jacaerys turns to look at him. "But you agree and recognize that my mother is the rightful heir." Jacaerys' eyes narrowed - it was his first time breaking bread with his uncle, after years of being trained to think that he was the enemy.

"The rightful heir will still be decided upon, you'll never know if the King changes his mind." Aemond sneered, earning a glare from all three of his nephews/niece. "That's a real class way of saying that you don't believe that Princess Rhaenyra is the rightful heir," Daegon points out - not fully trusting his sister's friend.

Alyssa rolls her eyes; "Everyone knows that Aunt Rhaenyra will be Queen after kepazma. (grandfather)" she says for certain, shooting her uncle a knowing stare. "Then Jacaerys and his children, which he is yet to have." Alyssa mutters while leaning on the wall.

Aemond stares at Alyssa and she already knows what he thinks. He believes that Jacaerys and his siblings are not real Targaryens - sullied by Ser Harwin's blood, but wouldn't that make her tarnished too? Because her father was Ser Harwin Strong.

"You bore yourselves with politics, but do you wish to know what I really think of the situation?" he inquires and the trio nod. "What?" Alyssa's eyes twinkle as she scoots closer towards her uncle. "That Daegon and Jacaerys will be married soon," he begins.

"Who would've thought of that?" Daegon teased and Aemond's eyes narrowed saying; do you want me to continue? "But keep talking," Jacaerys looked at the far distance. He would be a good king - always listening to the advice of others.

"Daegon to some Martell or Stark and Jacaerys to one of the Velaryon twins or a Baratheon." he surmised, gathering all of the information he heard from the servants.

"Whether we like it or not, war is evidently brewing - as long as our King stays lenient to mistakes. Prince Daemon wouldn't allow this of course, he has a mind for war." Aemond compliments with admiration to his own uncle. "You have a twisted liking to our kepus," Daegon humored - allowing the ale to take full control of his brain.

Alyssa chuckles. "Don't let mother hear you, she'll burn all of us alive."

"When you say that war is brewing, do you mean that your faction will start it?" Jacaerys keeps his eyes focused on Aemond's general direction. Instead of replying, Aemond takes a deep breath. "The night has been long - and I must retire." he bid his goodbyes, standing up - and feeling the pairs of eyes glare at him.

next chapter >>

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[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART I)

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: 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. 

"Do we really have no 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.

If you wish to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form for easier management.

Until next time ;)

[wardenparker]

The Viper's Bride - Epilogue

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: T, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.5k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid. This is a MMFFF polycule, folx. Get on board or don't click to keep reading. Pregnancy!* Childhood illness, vague descriptions of surgery, child in pain, pregnancy. Epilogue time is fluff time. Summary: In the years after returning to Dorne, your family grows exponentially. Notes: I'm just utterly heartbroken to say farewell to our favourite Dornish prince this week, but hopefully you all enjoyed the ride and were as glad to see this family grow as we were to tell the story 🧡🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Ch 16

The sun is not up yet when the door to your chambers pushes open, and small feet pad across the smooth floor. You had been up late last night, celebrating another pregnancy with your husband although you have long since stopped keeping track of who the father actually is. Having now born two children that deeply resemble Oberyn and two that distinctly carry Raeden’s features, it no longer matters whose offspring you bear next. This beloved little girl, though, at nine years old, is the first of your children and very definitely resembles her Sand Snake sisters. Antonia Martell, Princess of Dorne.

There is more gray in Oberyn's hair than black, his body slower to recover from nights of excess, but his eyes open as soon as a little hand touches his arm. "Princess." He rasps, opening his arms to allow her to climb into the large bed. She knows that there might be times when others are there as well and has never questioned it yet. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Antonia shakes her head fiercely and her lip trembles as she snuggles in next to her father. “I can’t sleep,” she whispers, round eyes wide with tears as she tries not to wake her mother.

"What is wrong, my little date cake?" His eyes are brighter, clear and focused on his daughter as she grimaces. He had nicknamed her that after all the date cakes you had stuffed yourself with, lovingly provided by your half brother.

The sound of one of your children will always wake you, and even if you are a bit groggy you make sure to be able to focus on them. Right now, Antonia pulls that focus. “Did Kira keep you up, sweetheart?” At only six years old, little Kira often crawls into her older sister’s bed in the nursery, wondering out loud until all hours of the night or begging Antonia to tell her a story even though you and Oberyn take turns reading to them every night.

“No, Mama.” Even if she had, Antonia wouldn’t tattle on her sister. Her pout grows fiercer and she points to her side with a great sob. “It hurts.”

"What hurts?" Oberyn is sitting up instantly, reaching for his little girl to pull onto his lap. "Star, light the candles." Even though it could just be a stomach ache from too many sweets, Antonia isn't one to complain too much.

In a flash you are out of bed, grabbing a candelabra from the nearby table and bringing it close to the bed with care once it is lit. “Show us, sweetheart.”

Antonia is careful, pointing to her side without touching herself at all, and for the first time you notice her nose is a bit runny and her skin is damp with a thin sheen of sweat. “My tummy hurts,” she tells you both, chin trembling terribly.

“My poor little date cake.” Oberyn keeps his voice soothing, wanting to comfort her as he slowly presses his hand to her side, hating that she cries out in pain. “We need the maester.” He grunts, pulling his hand away and stroking her hair. “Sorry my love, I didn’t mean to cause you more pain. Papa would never want to cause you pain.” Instead of calling for Cal or Leyth, knowing they are still abed, Oberyn stands with his daughter in his arms. “Come, sweetheart.”

"Go, my love. I will look in on the others." If Antonia has gotten sick there is a chance that she will spread it to the others or even their nurse. If you are going to have four sick children, you would rather know sooner than later. You wrap yourself in a thin robe and pick up a single candle to walk with, moving swiftly down the hall toward the nursery.

He doesn’t hesitate. Striding naked through the halls of the Water Gardens since the family had moved there after the death of his brother, Doran. Once he gets out of the family wing, he starts to bellow for the maester to get his ass out of the bed and ready his tonics and cures.

Maester Strode is a relatively young man with a jolly disposition and warm countenance, but when he hears the prince shouting he leaps from his bed and lights the nearest lamp. "What is wrong, your Grace?" He asks, appearing at the end of the hallway with the light held high.

“The Princess is feverish and she is complaining about her side hurting.” Oberyn is grateful for the younger maester, eager to learn and he had taken well to the atmosphere of Dorne.

"Bring her inside at once." Strode knows that the Prince and Princess take the welfare of their children very seriously and moves to follow Prince Oberyn as he carries his heir through to the main room of his chamber. There is an examination table there, for the sick, and he lays Princess Antonia on it with a pillow for her head. "Does anything hurt other than your side, princess?" He asks, moving to a stand against the wall where he can wash off his hands before examining the child.

“No.” She sobs out, a pitiful sound. “It just really hurts.” She’s not sure what she’s done to cause this pain but she never wants to feel it again. Squirming slightly as she lays on the cool table with her little chin trembling.

“Alright, princess…” The Maester soothes, drying his hands before he returns to her side. “Your Grace, if you would hold the light over her?” He motions for Oberyn to stay close during the examination. “Do you feel sick, princess? Warm? Or dizzy, perhaps?”

“I’m cold.” She pouts, even though she is covered in sweat. “And my head feels yucky. Like I drank too much of Papa’s wine again.”

Bracing himself so he does not frown and upset the little girl, the Maester nods and holds up his hand. “May I touch your side, princess? So I can feel where exactly you are hurting?” There are any number of things that could cause these symptoms in the child, but if the pain is specific - if it is one precise thing that he fears - then time is of the essence.

“Careful.” Oberyn warns. “She screamed when I touched her skin.” He tells the maester, his own mind racing with what kind of poison could have possibly caused this. He has kept the younger children away from the chamber where they are stored; but children, especially his, are curious.

“Of course, your Grace.” When the little girl sets her face in a fierce imitation of her father and nods, only then does Strode gently prod the lower right side of her abdomen. When she screams outright he backs away immediately and nods. “How long have you felt this pain, princess?” If the pain is moving quickly, he will have to act fast.

“Just when I woke up.” She complains. “I didn’t sneak sweets, Papa, I swear.” She promises her father. She and her siblings have been known to raid the kitchens for treats. Especially the special tarts that Salin makes.

“Sweets would not cause this.” The maester tells Oberyn with certainty. While it is good that the little girl has only felt pain for a short time, the fact that it is so intense does not bode well. “Your daughter’s side is swollen, your Grace. It is possible that she will worsen quickly.”

“What kind of poison would cause this?” Oberyn demands. “I did not see a bite wound from a viper.”

"It was no poison. She was not attacked." The younger man shakes his head solemnly as he moves to the shelf that holds his most potent remedies. The princess will need something for her pain, and then he will talk to her father. "Could you drink something, princess? If I gave you something to help soothe the pain?" He asks, already reaching for the bottles that will help her temporarily.

Oberyn watches the maester carefully, not because he does not trust the man, he has delivered the last three of your babies, but because he wants to know what he gives her. “Drink up, my little date cake.” Oberyn urges.

The princess bravely manages the small amount of liquid that the maester administers and whimpers but stops cradling her side within just a few minutes. Reassured that his theory is correct, the maester brushes Antonia's curls from her face and assures her that she will start to feel better quickly before he nods for Prince Oberyn to step aside with him. "She is ill, but I believe I can help her," Strode tells him.

"What is wrong with my daughter?" Oberyn demands, now wearing a pair of breeches that a servant had thoughtfully slipped into his hands as he had watched his daughter carefully. "What illness does she have? Will it affect the other children?" Beyond the younger three, there are also Margarey and Raeden's children to worry about. Their third child was Oberyn's for certain and it was questionable if the fourth was Raeden's or Cal's.

“No, your Grace. The others are safe.” It would be far too painful to think of all the babes he had delivered for Houses Martell and Sunstone being gravely ill, and the maester shakes that idea from his head. “There is an organ, just here, in a person’s side,” he explains quietly, trying to let the young princess rest. “As far as I have studied, maesters and doctors have never been able to divine its purpose, but it is always there. Sometimes it swells, causing great pain and other discomforts, and in the worst of these cases it sometimes bursts. When it bursts, it nearly always claims the life of the ill party.”

His heart stops the moment he hears he could lose his daughter. He's fought, he's killed, he's loved and lost, but he would not survive the loss of any of his children - let alone his precious Antonia. She might be the most like him of all of his daughters and his jaw clenches. "Is there anything to be done?" He demands. "Tell me you can save her."

"It is...not often done." Strode admits, wondering how insistent the prince would be about attempting a rarely tried treatment. "Removing the organ before it bursts will keep her safe. But a child recovering from such a wound is still in danger in other ways. She would be in bed for weeks afterward."

"Re–removing the organ." Oberyn repeats. "Cut her open? Can she live without it?"

"Yes. And yes, she can." The younger man nods. "If you wish to consult with her mother before a decision is made, I advise you to speak to your wife quickly. She is already in immense pain and the tonic that I gave her will not outlast a burst."

Oberyn nods seriously and frowns as he looks back at his daughter as her eyes slip closed now that the pain is gone. Drifting off to sleep. He doesn't want to leave her, but he doesn't want her to be in danger of this organ bursting and causing even more problems. "I will bring the Princess back for you to explain to her." He decides. "I will be back in moments."

"I will stay by her side." Strode promises, nodding as the prince hurries back out of his chambers and down the hall.

Oberyn finds you closing the door on the nursery chambers. All the other children are fast asleep and comfortable. He rushes up to you and takes your arm. "Come." He grunts, tugging you away from the door. "Strode needs to talk to you. Now."

"What is wrong?" The only thing you know is that your oldest child is in pain and your husband looks terrified, and those two facts do not combine well so you run swiftly after him.

"She is ill. There's something Strode needs to cut out of our daughter, Star." Oberyn explains as the two of you race back towards the Maester's chambers.

"Cut out?" The panic rises in your voice and you cling to his hand all the harder as terror twists in your belly.

"He can explain it better than I can." There had been a moment when he had stopped listening, he couldn't. Not when he could hear the blood rushinging in his ears and his heart was pounding in fear so loudly that he couldn't think over the sound.

The maester is standing by his examination table when the prince and princess appear in his doorway and he motions for them to be quiet when it looks as though you might explode with concern. "This way," he insists, motioning for you to join him on the other side of the room despite never taking his eyes off of the sick little girl that was brought to him. "She is sleeping, thank the gods. I do not want to disturb her while it lasts."

"Tell my wife what you told me." Oberyn demands, his eyes don't move from his daughter, foolishly afraid that she might disappear if he stopped watching her. Your breathing is shallow and rapid, both from the run and from fear. "Remember the babe," he reminds you, squeezing your hand.

Maester Strode recounts everything he had told Oberyn previously, stressing that there is danger in waiting and that if all goes well with the - admittedly unconventional - procedure, the little princess will be just fine afterward. "Have you done it before?" You ask, running one soothing hand over the side of your belly to remind yourself that panic will not help you or your unborn child, let alone Antonia.

Strode shakes his head regretfully, but puts out his hands to reassure the couple while the prince looks ready to mutiny. "I have been present for it. I assisted. So I am far better prepared than any other maester in Dorne."

"You haven't done this before!" Oberyn hisses angrily. Feeling helpless because he cannot fix this. There is nothing that he can do.

"I assisted Maester Rhodestone with a nearly identical situation while I was still at the Citadel," Strode tells you, hoping the mention of his mentor's name will help to soothe the prince. He knows that Prince Oberyn had also studied under the recently passed maester's tutelage. "He was the first to theorize that it would work, and he was correct. The little boy recovered completely with only a scar to remember the pain by."

Wiping his hand over his eyes, the prince sighs before he looks at you. “Star?” He asks softly. There’s not a choice, but he wants to be sure that you agree with the risks.

"What choice do we have?" As scared as you may be for your daughter, the path is obvious. If you do nothing, the risk is losing Antonia altogether. And that is a risk you are absolutely not willing to take.

“Leave it to the gods.” Oberyn isn’t happy with that idea at all, but that is the choice if he does not agree to this. “And I do not want to do that.”

“I will not stand by and do nothing while my baby suffers,” you insist firmly, although the idea of having to cut her open is terrifying.

“How soon can you do this?” Oberyn demands. “Will she be awake? Feel anything?”

“There is a way I can induce sleep in her. Keep her from feeling the pain outright.” Strode nods. “It will be preferable for this. So she does not move while the organ is being removed.”

“That would be preferable.” Oberyn knows that she could do a lot of damage if she was awake and moving. He’s attended enough battlefield wounds to understand that. “You will use my healing mix for her as well, yes?”

“Yes, your Grace.” The Maester can agree to that easily, considering the prince’s proclivity for herbal work rivaled his abilities with poison.

“Do we need to do anything? Fetch you anything?” Oberyn demands, striding back over to Antonia to check her forehead. “Anything you need, you will have it.” Despite his words to the maester, his eyes are fixed on his precious daughter.

“Fortunately, I have everything I need.” The younger man glances out the large windows in his chambers though, and frowns. “I will keep a watchful eye on her until sunrise. The light will be better than if I worked by candlelight.”

“We will dress and return.” If you do not wish to stay, he won’t make you, but he won’t leave his daughter’s side while she goes through such a thing.

“You go first, my love.” Looking to where Antonia is sleeping, you bite your lip and almost quake with the effort not to cry. “I would hate for her to wake in pain and one of us not be here. You go and change, and I will go when you return.”

"I will be back before you can blink." He promises, pulling you in and crushing his lips to yours in a desperate attempt to calm you both down. "Tell her Papa will be back if she wakes before I can return."

Thankfully, it is past sunrise when Antonia wakes again. The maester has had time to prepare his tonics and treatments, and you have sat up with Oberyn for a few hours discussing how to handle her healing time and how to explain to her siblings that she needs to be allowed to rest and cannot play for at least a few weeks. When her little eyes open again she winces and whimpers in pain but you are both right there beside her.

"Princess." Oberyn leans down and coos as he brushes his daughter's hair back. "I know you are still in pain but Maester Strode is going to make you sleepy and then he is going to make the pain go away." He explains gently. "Will you be brave for me? You will have to be lazy for a little while, I know how much you like snuggling with Ellaria on the chaise. And you will have a scar where your stomach hurts."

“He can make it go away?” She asks warily, as if she thought that would never happen, and yet if anyone had asked her the question she would have said that her Papa could make it better.

"Yes," He leans over and kisses her little forehead softly. "I want you to be brave, my little date cake."

“It won’t h—hurt anymore?” The question falters when she wails in pain again and tears form in her eyes immediately.

"You will be sore, Princess." The maester does not believe in concealing possibilities from those seeking treatment from him, not even the younglings. "You will be stitched up and will have to be very careful how you play. But the sharp pain you have now will be gone."

Antonia is afraid, you can tell that easily, but you stroke her forehead and offer her the most maternal smile of support you possibly can. "It will be alright, sweetheart. Maester Strode is going to help you, and we will be here the entire time."

"You promise?" She asks, her voice small and scared, reaching for and clinging to your hand as she looks between you and her father.

"I promise, darling. Papa and I are going to be right here, and afterward I will carry you back to bed myself." Pregnant or otherwise, you could be on death's door and you would still insist on being the one to carry Antonia back to her rest. "Can you be a good girl for the maester now, and let him help you?"

She nods solemnly, even as she pouts when the cup of tonic that will make her sleep is brought over. "You will need to drink this, Princess." Strode urges.

The smell makes her nose wrinkle but the pain is far worse than a little bad smell, so Antonia swallows the tonic and grimaces only slightly while still keeping your hand in her tight little grip. "I hope it works fast," she mumbles with a fierce pout.

If there is a moment of lightness, this is it. Oberyn chuckles and nods in agreement. “Us too, my sweet girl.” He pets her hair as she drinks the concoction down, making an unhappy noise when it’s done.

It takes only minutes, thankfully, and the maester is satisfied that the little princess will sleep soundly through her treatment. "I will ask you both to let me work," he insists in the most polite way possible. "It will be very distressing to watch your daughter be treated in this way, so I will ask you now to consider whether or not you can remain in the room without interfering. The more swiftly I can see to her illness, the sooner I can stitch her wound and return her to her bed to heal."

Oberyn turns to you and puts his hands on your shoulders. “Star?” He asks quietly. He knows that you are fiercely protective of your children, and he wonders if you can stay.

"I will hold my tongue, but I cannot possibly leave her." Of the two of you, you know that you are the more likely to protest. But the fact is? You promised her that you would be here and you would not break that promise for all the gold and jewels in the world.

“I understand.” Cal has slipped into the room behind Ellaria, ready and willing to take any and all news back to the others. Raeden, Leyth and Margaery are watching all the other small children and keeping them safe.

"Work swiftly and true, maester." You tell Strode, not knowing what else you can do but let the man do his job. His job of saving your child.

Oberyn pulls you away from the table as he readies his tools. “It will be well.” He murmurs against your ear, holding you close. Ellaria comes closer and she wraps her arms around you and presses against your back.

"I thought it was difficult when Lina broke her arm last year." Sniffly quietly against Oberyn's chest, your hand winds around Ellaria to hold her closer to both of you. Admittedly, you had panicked last summer when your second daughter - the first you share with Raeden - had fallen from a tree and broken her arm while playing. This somehow seems worse than that. "This is unbearable. She did nothing wrong. Nothing to cause this."

“Things happen.” Oberyn reminds you gently. He rubs your arms and pushes down his own fear. You need him to be strong for you and he can almost guarantee his oldest eight had come with Ellaria and are waiting out in the hall.

"That is not a comfort, my love." You sigh deeply, knowing that it is not his fault, and wipe tears from your eyes before they can fall and cause you to sniffle. Antonia may be asleep but the sound of her mother crying should never happen near her unless it is weeping for joy. "Thank you for coming, El."

“Where else would I be?” Your lover and Oberyn’s soulmate huffs, knowing you need everyone you can have right now. “Rae and Margaery would be here, but they are keeping the little ones from storming the castle.”

"This family is blessed to have all of you." Swallowing a deep breath before you lean in to kiss her softly, you know this morning is going to be more difficult than any of your births - or even Margaery's and hers had been far more treacherous than yours. "I think we could all take turns with Antonia as she is healing? It will help her to not be so restless if she has different faces each day."

“That is an excellent idea, my love.” Oberyn leans across you and presses his lips to hers. “Unless Lord Sunstone has pressing matters to attend to.” The clinking of tools makes him want to look over, but if he does, you will and he wants to distract you for as long as possible.

“I think not.” Ellaria shakes her head but does not let her expression grow concerned or melancholy. “They spoke of only the children last night. Not business.”

“Then I am sure that they will have no problem with the idea.” All five adults, really seven if you include Cal and Leyth, were adored by the younger children and could be seen as a beloved aunt or uncle if they were not the parents. It really was a village of children and adults in the Water Gardens these days.

“She will be fine.” Ellaria soothes, running one hand up and down your back when she feels you tighten with nerves again. “It is natural to be scared, but remember how Maester Strode helped Margaery when Martine was born. He is skilled and earned your trust well.”

“I know.” You cannot help it, though, and have to stand with your back to the table so you do not look. “This fear has nothing to do with not trusting him. It is only because she is my little girl.”

“Of course, my love.” Oberyn hums softly, his eagle eyes fixed on the maester’s movements and his body tenses the moment the sharp knife cuts into his daughter’s small body.

“Is he doing it?” When Oberyn tenses you can only guess why.

“Yes.” He squeezes you quickly, making sure that each one of the moves the maester makes is not one that hurts his baby. At the thought of that, his hand slides down to your stomach. “Don’t fret too much, you will make yourself sick.”

“I am honestly surprised not to have been overtaken by it already,” you admit with a sigh. “Perhaps this babe is finally going to be calm, if only for her mother’s sake.”

Oberyn snorts, about to make a joke but he bites his lip on it. “Let us hope.” Ellaria strokes your back and sighs. “The girls are outside. They wanted to be here.”

“All of them?” The only surprising thing is that you are surprised by it, and it actually brings the nearest thing to a smile to your lips that you can manage. “Eight older sisters and they do nothing but dote on the little ones. They’re such sweet girls.”

“They would do anything for them.” She is proud of them, all wanting to come and wait. Understanding the risky procedure might not have a happy outcome and believing guarding the maester’s door might keep Antonia safe.

“I’m grateful for them.” You tense when Oberyn’s breath hitches slightly, and swallow down the fear that will surely lead to tears if you allow it to surface. “And for you, El.”

“My love, there is nowhere else I would rather be.” Ellaria leans in and kisses your shoulder and hugs your back.

The process takes more than an hour. And though the Maester is quick, quiet, and sure of himself, you do nothing but quake with fear the entire time. It is only when he is inspecting her stitches in the bright morning light that you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“It is done.” The Maester sighs, straightening up and moving to clean his hands again. The procedure had been a success and he is relieved that it had gone so smoothly.

“And our daughter?” She is still sleeping, lying on that table, but she is breathing and she is not quite so pale anymore.

“She will be perfectly fine.” He tells you with confidence. “She should wake up soon and she will be sore, but she will make a full recovery, your highness.”

"Can we move her before that?" You ask immediately, stepping quickly up to the side of the table and wincing at the sight of cleaned blood around her stitched wound. Your poor darling... "Let her wake up in her own bed, I mean?"

“It might make her feel better.” Strode nods. “Although I have a feeling that she might wish to be close to her parents for the next day, and have you close to her. So I would put her in your bed, your highness.”

"Just so." With Oberyn's help, you keep Antonia steady in your arms as you pick up her little body and look to the maester with deep gratitude. "I will forever be in your debt for keeping her safe, Strode," you declare quietly, almost as if being too loud might wake your oldest child. "If Maester Rhodestone were with us, I know that he would be proud to see you carry on his work."

“It is my pleasure that I can continue his work.” Strode reaches for Ellaria and presses a bottle into her hand. “Just a drop into some juice will keep her comfortable while she recovers.”

"Just one." Ellaria acknowledges, understanding that with medicine as with poisons - dosing is everything.

Maester Strode nods and quickly moves to the table to start cleaning up from the surgery and to examine the organ he has removed from the princess. Much could be learned by studying it.

******

The maester was correct that Antonia's recovery would take some time. It is entire weeks in bed with the tonic for pain deposited in her juice, until she is strong enough to be sitting up and playing cards or other games with her siblings. In the next few weeks Antonia spends a few hours at a time at the Water Gardens with all of her sisters and her few brothers. But the thing that truly delights every single one of you once you see that she is healing well? Antonia will soon have her very first scar. And that is a very exciting thing to happen when the adults all around you have found their soulmates - and then earned more on top of the first.

“Your father and stepmother are here, Star.” Oberyn tells you as he walks out into the gardens with the couple trailing behind him. Your father had decided when he had been reunited with Marlee, finding her alive and well, that he did not wish to spend another minute apart from her. Taking her and her children back to the Vale so he could relinquish his titles to your eldest brother and let your brothers meet the soulmate that should have been their mother. Surprisingly? They had quickly accepted the kind hearted Dornish woman and her children as part of the family. Even accepting that their father wished to return to Dorne to live out his days. Leaving the cold of the Vale behind as well as the painful memories of time lost.

There is little to no formality within your family despite the high titles, and you pop up from dangling your bare feet in the water to give your parents tight hugs. Your father’s hair is completely white now, and the cane he walks with is not just for show, but he has been more lively in the almost ten years since reuniting with his soulmate than ever before. “I am so very glad to see you both,” you hum. The sentiment is true no matter how often you see them.

"Princess." Despite the fact that you have asked Marlee to just call you by your name for years, she cannot help but use your title. Her arms still open to embrace you warmly. "We wanted to come see the grandchildren and to check on you." She is not a grandmother by blood to the children, but it does not matter and she dotes on each one of the children and spoils them as if they were her own.

“We are always happy to see you.” Your children have known no other grandmother and for that you are immensely grateful. They adore their Uncle Salin as well, who keeps them well supplied with sweets and stories of the world outside of Dorne.

“We thought that perhaps we could care for the children tonight.” Marlee explains. “To give the five of you a break?”

“That is so very kind of you.” It has been obvious, in the years since your father has remarried, that he had lost his spirit and his happiness to your mother’s cruelty. Now that he is reunited with his soulmate and living his life on his own terms, a happier man does not exist. “We could all have our midday meal together before we slip away? I know the little ones will be so glad to see you that they will not even notice we have gone.”

“We would be delighted.” Your father answers with a smile. “I can share the raven I received from your brothers.”

“I am not sure if that is exciting or ominous,” you tease with a grin. Your brothers have been thriving in the Vale, grown men living their lives happily with their wives and children all growing into bright young people with their futures sprawled out in front of them. “Oh my dears!” You call out, turning back to where the kids are splashing in the water and Antonia is playing dominoes with Raeden to keep her from getting too rambunctious. “Look who will be spending the afternoon with us!”

“Nonnie! Poppie!” Antonia screeches, her face lighting up and the other children, including Margaery and Raeden’s, all start screeching the nicknames that the eldest had bestowed on their grandparents. Margaery stands from where she was wading with her smallest toddler and waves happily. Delighted to see the parents she had adopted as her own since her father had never spoken to her again before his death when King’s Landing had been burned by the Targaryen queen.

“How is my little warrior feeling today?” He might not be walking as fast as he once did, but your father is still just as determined as ever to have his grandchildren in his life. He bends down now with great care, not wanting little Antonia to over extend herself. “I hear you are healing better than the Maester predicted.”

“I am almost ready to play like normal.” She had been patient with your caution, but she was eager to run and play with her siblings, even picking up the toy spear her Papa had given her to practice with. “I have missed you and nonnie.” She hugs his neck tight and kisses his leathery cheek with a loud smack.

“We have missed you too, little one.” He smiles so dotingly and bops the tip of her nose playfully with one finger. “That is why we are going to spend all day and night with you and your siblings. Because we have been away far too long.” In truth, they have only been traveling a little while, but Marlee’s younger daughter had just given birth and they wished to meet the new babe.

“That is the best gift ever!” She cries out happily and grins. While the servants will still be there, all the children adore time spent with their grandparents. Their soulmate story was a favorite bedtime story as well.

“Come, little one.” He puts out both his hands to her to help her stand. “Let us wash, and we will see what your Uncle Salin has made for lunch, hm?”

“He will have made tarts.” Antonia declares with a grin. “He’s made them every day along with the date cakes Mama loves.”

“Tarts, you say?” That is his favorite, of course, but he wonders if you have a specific craving this time, with his next grandchild already squirming and kicking in your belly. “Well, we know why there must be date cakes, don’t we?” He asks her, taking her hand so they can walk together while the other young children scramble out of the water and into the palace for their lunch.

“Mama’s going to have another baby.” She tells you happily. “They have been talking about celebrating because Aunt Margarey is having a baby too.”

“We always enjoy having a few pregnancies at once,” you agree, taking Antonia’s basket from her so she can walk with her grandfather — her flower crown weaving has come along beautifully during her recovery. “Do you know why else we want to celebrate, sweetheart?”

“Because you and Papa have been married for a long time? Your– your ani– ani–birthday?” Antonia asks, frowning slightly because she knows that’s not the word she wants to use.

“Anniversary.” Her substitution works very well, though, and you grin. “Not quite yet, pumpkin. It’s for you! Because you have been such a brave girl and so patient while you’re healing, we’re going to celebrate you getting your very first scar.”

Her eyes widen once you say that out loud. “A scar?” She asks quietly. “Like– like a soulmate one?” She knows that soulmates are special and you and papa are extra special. “Do you think we know mine? Or will I be like Aunt Margaery?”

“We don’t know yet, sweetheart.” Aunt Margaery, though she never gained another set of marks over her life, has been immensely happy in her romantic life. “We might know yours already, or we might wait many years before we meet them. Both are perfectly okay.”

“Okay.” It’s something fun but it’s not overly concerning to her right now. “I’m hungry.”

That draws an amused chuckle from both you and your father. Truthfully? It is probably good that your nine year old is not too excited about growing up. Let her be a child for as long as she is willing.

“Do soulmate scars hurt?” She asks after a few moments, biting her lip and frowning slightly. If she’s got to have a soulmate, she doesn't want to cause them any pain.

"Only for a moment, precious." Her concern is commendable, and a point of pride as you and Oberyn have always tried to teach your children empathy. "You had pain for weeks to earn it, but they will only have pain for just a moment. And after that, they will know that you are out there somewhere."

“Okay, good.” The pout clears up and she smiles happily. “I don’t want to cause them pain for too long.” She tells you. “Papa said you always weep when he gets scratches.”

"That is because I worry too much." You tell her, giving your father the stink eye when he chuckles in agreement. "I don't like it when Papa gets hurt, just like you don't want your soulmate to hurt, either. But there's no need to cry. I just worry."

“It’s okay Mama. Papa is the strongest, fiercest man alive.” She boasts, with the sense of confidence of a child that worships her father can have.

"Yes he is, sweetheart. He defeated an entire Mountain while you were still in my belly." Brushing some curls from her eyes, the smile on your face bolsters into something equally proud. "But just because someone can withstand hurt, does not mean they should have to."

“I know.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s just good that he can because I always want Papa here.” She tells you quietly. “He’s the best papa in the world. He even promised me a dragon.” Her eyes widen happily. “That’s better than a pony.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Though you all but roll your eyes, it does make you smile. Oberyn’s devotion to children is complete and no one could ever doubt that. “That does sound like the best papa in the world.”

“He is.” She insists happily. “He told me that first I have to make sure that I can keep the little lizard he let me keep alive. Because he says dragons are like giant lizards.”

"That is what they say." Never having seen one, you cannot say for sure, but if there is anyone whose readings you would trust it is Oberyn. As the group of you walk into the dining room at the Water Gardens, you are met with a whole group of other people waiting. A group which includes Raeden and Margarey who are beaming with excitement as they stand on either side of their oldest son by the windows. The young boy is only a few months younger than Antonia and looks every inch his father's son, but with his mother's quick wit and sense of humor. "Oh, dear," you hum in amusement, seeing the way Margaery looks as if she is about to burst at the seams. "What have you been up to, my dear? You like the cat that got the cream."

“It is– we have news.” Margaery nearly vibrates with happiness. The life she has had here, the life so willingly shared with the most surprisingly wonderful people, is one that she never could have imagined so many years ago. Despite the fact that she does not share marks with her husband, she does share love with Lord Sunstone. Love that is equally shared with you and Ellaria and Oberyn. The outlandish and improper request she had made so long ago had been her salvation and she is forever grateful for it. Which is why she now hopes this news will be celebrated with the people she loves most. “Bryer has gained a mark!” She cries out happily.

The room seems to freeze, all occupants at once have their eyes on either Bryer Sunstone or Antonia Martell — and all of these eyes are wide. Your hand grabs Oberyn's arm tightly beside you on instinct and you almost choke in surprise as you stare down at your little girl and then immediately force your eyes up to the little boy she has been steadfast friends with for her entire life. "Is– Margaery, is it–" The words will not even come, but many tears do instead. "Is it a funny shape?" Antonia bursts out with an entirely different question, obviously not having made the instant connection that every adult in the room already has. "Where is it, Bry? Can you show me? I bet it's more fun than mine."

“Nia.” Bryer huffs and rushes towards his best friend and now his soulmate. He had seen her mark when she was wearing stitches and knew what it looked like. It was good he’s always felt really good around the older girl, like she was the best part of a tart. He bites his lip and lifts his shirt to show the matching mark on his skin to hers. “It’s your scar.”

The sound of her mother's broken sob of joy seems to go right over Antonia's head at the moment as she stares at her best friend's stomach and her already wide eyes grow three sizes as her mind races to understand what has happened. One of her fingers comes out to poke the mark as though it were made by coal and she could smudge it, but no. No. It is there as deeply and truly as her own, and she lets out an equally overwhelmed squeak before finding Bryer's eyes. "So...we're...soulmates?" She breathes out, clearly astonished by the very idea.

“I–I think so.” He’s always felt so close to the Princess. But he shrugs. “Unless– unless you don’t want to be.” He offers, knowing that sometimes people aren’t soulmates and love each other. His parents are like that. So why couldn’t people be soulmates and not love each other?

“I don’t think we get to pick.” Antonia reminds him, but within seconds the little girl is smiling broadly. “But…” Mischievous by nature, Antonia Martell has always been the most like her father of any of his children and delights in making adventures out of everyday life. “But that means we can be best friends for everything, Bry!”

The breath Bryer had been holding whooshes out of his chest and his own grin lights up his face. “I know!” He drops his shirt and grabs her hand. “Let’s go pick out what we are going to do first!”

“Nuh-uh, you two. Not quite yet.” You barely manage to stop them as they try to bolt past you, and you shake your head the way only a mother can. “Best friends still need to eat lunch, and Nia still shouldn’t be running.”

“Maaammmmmaaaaaaaaaaa.” Antonia whines, pouting fiercely. “I’m not hungry.” She complains, even though she had just been say she was hungry. “I want to figure out what to do with my soulmate.”

“And you can.” Oberyn interjects, reaching out and taking his daughter’s should to turn her slightly. “You have the rest of your lives to plan, but now…” he tell her. “I want you to plan to eat lunch with your family and your soulmate.”

******

“Nia?” Still half asleep, Bryer stretches in bed and frowns to not find his soulmate beside him. After arriving at the Water Gardens late last night he had slipped into her chamber and curled around her for his first good night’s sleep in a month — four weeks at his father’s side traveling their lands and tending to their people was important but he had missed Antonia desperately.

Antonia groans, wiping her mouth and grimacing as she looks down into the chamber pot. “I’m here.” She tells him, standing back and reaching for a cup of water. Wine has been turning her stomach lately.

“Are you alright, love?” In the ten years since discovering they were soulmates, Bryer and Antonia have become bonded entirely. They are each other’s constant companion even more than when they were children and the occasional joke about their inevitable marriage had started well before that was even a possibility.

The fact that her father was the first to recognize the symptoms will forever be a source of embarrassment to Antonia. Not because she is ashamed of sex, she never would be because of the relationship her parents share with Ellaria and Bryer’s parents. She was embarrassed because she should have figured it out herself. “I have a confession.” She admits, shamelessly moving towards him as naked as the day she had been brought into this world.

“That sounds terribly ominous,” Bryer teases, trying to lighten the mood from the serious look on his beloved’s face. “Lover, you know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.” Setting the cup down, she sits on the edge of the bed as her soulmate and lover moves closer to her. His hand automatically reaching for hers. “I didn’t want to send a raven, I wanted to tell you in person.” She bites her lip as she looks down at their joined hands. She knows Bryer loves her, but she’s unsure of how he will feel about her announcement. “I am expecting your first child.” She tells him, looking up to stare into his eyes.

The way the air gets sucked out of the room for a moment should have had both of their heads spinning, but when Bryer’s mouth finally catches up with his mind he nearly loses his jaw to the ground. “You—we—a child?” He gasps, looking down at her belly as though a bump has formed there instantly.

She nods, hoping the shock is just that and not disappointment. “Papa recognized the symptoms and asked mama to take me to Maester Strode. He confirmed it. I am two months gone with your child.”

When he can find it in himself to move again, Bryer lunges forward and kisses Antonia with the most earnest, heartfelt honesty that he can muster. “Marry me.” He breathes out, practically laughing with how light he feels. “They cannot possibly tell us we are still too young if we will soon be parents.”

The girl deflates in relief and nearly barks out a laugh as she throws her arms around her lover’s neck. “Papa is already plotting it.” She promises. “He knows you must secure your heir properly. And he knows how much you love me.” In reality, you had no issue with them marrying young, Oberyn had just wanted to give the boy an opportunity to sow wild oats before marrying, if needed.

“I do love you,” he insists, cradling her in his arms and tugging her impossibly closer. “I always have. Since the moment I knew what love was.”

“I love you.” She promises, pressing her lips to his softly and smiling. “We have always been meant to share this life.”

“What do you think of trying some breakfast?” He asks, pressing kissing along her neck and shoulder and holding her as close as can be in his arms. “Or do you feel too sick for it?” He knows that he has heard his own mother, and hers, and Ellaria bemoan the way an uneasy stomach gets in the way of being hungry, and he wants to do everything he can to take care of her.

Humming softly, she leans into his embrace. “I think that I can stomach some date cakes.” She admits with a small giggle, reminded of her own mother’s eating habits while you were carrying her siblings. “And some of the fruit that your mother loves.”

“Whatever you want, my love. Anything.” Resisting the urge to tease, Bryer nuzzles against her again and kissing her shoulder. “Should we go down to breakfast and let our parents know that you have told me?”

“Mama and Papa already know.” She reminds him. “There’s a good chance they have told your parents. Papa had said that they were all going to be together, since they had all been missing your father in the big bed.”

“Well…” Bryer laughs softly. “The least they can do then is tell us what they have planned for our wedding.”

“Of course.” She rolls her eyes but she knows that her parents and his would want them both to have everything they ever wanted. “Let me dress.”

“If you must,” he pouts, always preferring her bare when he can get it. Even more so now that something primal and territorial is creeping into his mind with a baby in her womb.

“While our parents might parade around the Gardens nude when they think we are asleep, I don’t know if I could.” She teases. Many nights when Bryer had come to her chambers, they had heard their parents frolicking in the waters well after dark.

Nodding, Bryer climbs from the bed and begins to dress himself in turn. “I know that they have found their happiness in the freedom to share love with so many, but…I want only you,” he admits with burning cheeks. “You are all I want and all I need, Nia.”

“Bry–” She shakes her head. “I have only been with you and that’s perfectly fine with me.” She rolls her eyes and walks over to throw herself in his arms. “Mama says that if we choose many or just each other, all that matters is that we are happy.”

“Your mama is a very wise woman.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Yes she is.” That point, Antonia would never argue. “Let’s go tell your parents they are going to be grandparents.”

“My mother is going to cry,” he predicts with a grin before scooping Antonia against his side and heading off with her down the hall.

Of that, she has no doubt. Lady Sunstone, or her Aunt Margaery, had developed a habit of crying when she was happy. She explained it one day, telling Antonia that when she was younger, she could never show her true feelings so they just kind of bubbled up as tears now.

“I half suspected the two of you might sleep through breakfast,” you tease when your oldest child appears in the doorway of the dining room with her soulmate wrapped around her as young people in love so often do. “Or even have trays brought to you in bed. Welcome home, Bryer. You were dearly missed.”

“Thank you, your highness.” Despite being his soulmate’s mother, Bryer still uses your title despite you telling him not too many times. His father, your soulmate, still called you princess and he was his father’s son. “It is very good to be home.”

“Very good indeed.” You agree, trying very hard not to smirk in your daughter’s direction. “Come. Join us. We were all catching up on the news.”

The news. Antonia eyeballs her mother and wonders if she had told everyone. “Apologies. It has been a slow morning for me.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Do not worry about that.” The table is full this morning — with more than a dozen children and five adults seated around it — and you all take from plates piled high with fruits, cakes, cheeses, and last night’s leftovers from the banquet. Salin had outdone himself with two whole roast boar and pot upon pot of spicy stewed lamb along with all the other elegant dishes he had provided. It was sure to be just as delicious this morning. “Lord Sunstone was bringing us up to speed on the prosperity of the farms in his region, and how well Bryer’s second tour with his people went.”

“Oh?” Antonia beams proudly at Bryer. “I know he will be a very good lord when the time comes, just like his father.” She has the utmost respect for Lord Raeden, and thinks of him as a second father.

"He has compassion and intelligence." Raeden commends his son from across the table, even with his youngest child sitting in his lap. "Two things which will be necessary for him to harness when things are bad or good with our people."

“The Sunstones are an asset to Dorne.” Oberyn agrees. “Every one of them.”

"And the next generation will be, too." Bryer declares, chest puffed and drink held aloft, proud to be a part of this conversation but also to usher in the next as he beams at Antonia beside him.

“To the next generations.” Margaery agrees, beaming at her eldest son and her husband’s heir. Proud of the son she had birthed and raised here in Dorne. “We have created enough of them.” She jokes.

"It is high time our children took over, I could not agree more," you hold up your own glass, but push a glass of juice toward your daughter. "I could not take wine when I was pregnant with any of you, pumpkin. It only makes sense that you cannot, either."

It is fitting that her mother be the one to announce it and Antonia’s eyes dart towards Bryer parents. No shock on their faces, only excitement and pride. “Mama!” She cries, pouting at you. “You told them!” She’s not angry, but she is going to see how sheepish you are over it.

"I could not resist," you admit, laughing and covering your face for just a moment to show embarrassment even though you barely feel absolutely any. Being excited for your first grandchild is your motherly right. "Forgive me, sweetheart? It is such good news to be shared."

“She could not keep it in, and I am so happy she could not.” Her future mother by marriage leaps up and rushes around to hug Antonia. “I could weep last night so you do not think I am anything but thrilled.”

"It brings our families as close together as they could possibly be." You are on your feet as well, hugging Bryer while Margaery squeezes Antonia to pieces. "And we are so very excited for both of you."

“Bryer is excited.” Antonia announces, looking over at her father. “Shocked. I thought he was going to choke on his own tongue.”

"That is about how I reacted when I found out that his mother was expecting him," Raeden chuckles. He, too, has joined the press of parents embracing their children and he hugs Antonia tightly. "His mother could have knocked me over with a feather. He is more like me than even he knows, sometimes."

“Thank you.” She whispers to him. “For making him a man I am proud to love.” She smiles up at the older version of him. While there are glimpses of his mother in him, he is far closer to his father in resemblance.

"Loving you has made him a good man." Raeden promises her. Just as love had made him a good man so many years ago - in so many different ways.

Leaning in, she kisses his cheek and then hugs her papa after he embraces Bryer. “I can’t believe it papa.” She tells him. “I’m going to have a baby.” Oberyn chuckles, folding his daughter into his arms and kisses her hair. “I believe it. Boy was sneaking into your bed every night.” He tells her. “Now he can just go through the door, rather than climbing through the window.”

Antonia puts on a performatively guilty face, but does not feel bad about it for a moment. "Do you not always say that love should be celebrated, Papa? We are only following your principles."

“I do say that. And I’m proud that you have found your love, my little date cake.” He kisses her cheek. “I love you Princess, all I want is for you to be happy and healthy.”

"I am happy, Papa." Antonia promises him, tears welling behind her eyes. "So incredibly happy."

“That’s all that matters, my love.” He promises her. “You were created in love, raised in it and you will carry that love to your own children and the people under your Lord husband’s protection.” Oberyn predicts. “Dorne is strong and you are a Martell.” He caresses her cheek. “You have lived up to our motto and I am so proud. Unbowed, Unbent,” he winks at the daughter conceived in King’s Landing so many years ago. “Unbroken.”

______

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My Masterlist!

[jacesvelaryons]

prologue.

the reluctant empress.

(19th Century Imperial Austria AU)

series masterlist

chapter 1 (soon)

jacaerys (jace) velaryon x female!original character

original work: house of the dragon

rating: rated g (will become pg 18+ in later chapters)

summary: this is a dangerous game we play. as rhaenyra sits on the iron throne and the crown lands on her head, she ensures nothing will risk her reign, and that her son, with all his promise, follows after her. and nothing will stop her.

genres: historical, romance, intrigue, smut (to follow)

word count: 1.0k words

Compromise. That was the word Rhaenyra had heard over and over again, uttered until it became repetitive and meant so much until it was empty.

Never had there been an Empress in her own name since Maria Theresa in the Imperial house, and many of her descendants made sure a woman like her could not rise up again whether by inheritance or coup d’etat.

When King Jaehaerys died unexpectedly in the dawning days of 1852, her father Archduke Viserys befell the throne and crown on his head. Long widowed and mourning the loss of his wife and her mother Aemma, Viserys was a peaceful, kind man, gullible and easily influenced, who suffered bouts of melancholy and locked himself away in his room for days and weeks.

After a series of uprisings from the Vale and failed conquests of Dorne, Rhaenyra managed to convince her somewhat feeble-minded and defeated father to abdicate and hand the throne to her, a princess at age of twenty, fresh from having given birth to her third son Joffrey with spouse Laenor Velaryon, who had taken court with her at Dragonstone, at their ancestral home.

Ever since Jacaerys sat on his grandsire’s lap, chestnut orbs full of wonder and curls forming on his head, as Viserys told him that seat would be his one day - it would be her greatest ambition to succeed him on that throne and pave the way for an even greater reign to come in form of her son.

Since the hatchling sat on her son’s chest and crawled over his wooden crib, Jacaerys was meant for greatness and she knew. He, who picked up reading and writing sooner than any babe, who was crawling already when most did not coordinate their spindly limbs together. Whose eyes read voraciously as he was pressed to her breast or a wet nurse’s. ‘Alysanne reborn’ they would call him sometimes - it’s as if she had swallowed texts and candles while she carried him in her womb.

As the scintillating diadem landed on her head full of silver hair up, Rhaenyra was a step closer to making her dream come true. Sapphires emblazoned on her collar, she honoured her mother Aemma wherever she went, avenging all misdeeds done against her, so that she may have the final laugh after all.

Seeing her father all hesitant, appeasing and letting himself be led on by ill meaning snakes who only wished to take advantage of him for their own personal gains had taught her that compromise can only go so far before it eats you up alive. And she won’t let that happen to her. Or to her son.

…

This is the best I can do. Or at least that’s what Alicent’s father told her when he was able to secure a match for her, a second son’s daughter, to a sickly, old Lord Targaryen who was a distant cousin to the conqueror himself. Not as wealthy or influential as the main branch of the family who sat on the throne, but this is the most she can dream for when most lords turned their heads at the sight of her and her brothers.

The old lord, as wealthy as he was, had no great lands but a humble castle in the middle of nowhere in the Crownlands. Loyal and content he was to his family, he had no drive or ambition of his own, after fighting the same war that had gotten Prince Aemon struck with an arrow, returning with maladies that only added to his already delicate health.

Left with two daughters and a granddaughter from the eldest who was now also left a widow, Alicent felt she had no escape, a hole dug so deep there’s no other way but down.

Meek, obedient, people pleasing and content, Helaena was born first, so quiet and unmoving they were afraid she was stillborn and lifeless, answering the prayers of long assumed infertility her husband had assumed from his failure to sire children from his two previous wives. Plump and round faced, her silver hair was nearly pale and had the blue eyes of her father.

Religion was an escape, a soothing balm to her wounds and sensitive nature, to Helaena as it was for her mother. Although Valyrian and raised in Targaryen customs, she was never found without a copy of the seven by her desk, a beloved edition passed down from her maternal grandmother. She married the Lord Celtigar’s second son, a handsome, dashing, brave, rather foolish young man who perished squashing the wars of rebellion in the Vale, never meeting his shy, reclusive daughter Jaehaera.

The second, youngest daughter Y/N - where do we even start? Auburn hair like her mother’s, with dark purple eyes common in the Freehold, was anything like her beloved sister. As close they were, they were opposites in every way. Whereas Helaena was hesitant and shy, Y/N was an accomplished equestrian, loved to hunt and explore the streets of the common folk as her father did in his childhood. Born kicking and screaming, she was nearly double the size of her elder, loud cries so piercing it could be heard throughout the keep.

Her cousins the Lord of Oldtown were aghast to see how her youngest daughter turned out, not made in the image of the Mother, but too Targaryen for their taste’s, yet they could not fully turn away their own kin.

Yet for all her feracious character and restless spirit, Alicent knew from her early age that there was an unsettling beauty to her daughter that she could not fully comprehend. It only seemed to haunt her as her youngest grew, learned to climb and walk and run.

A woman’s household, her father mockingly told Alicent, and although she at first felt humiliated and in despair at her hopelessness, a sense of hope sprouted in her. Draped in obsidian mourning clothes, clinging to the last good lace in her treasury, she receives a letter from her once childhood friend whom she had served as lady in waiting to in her youth, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Queen has invited the Lady Alicent to join her royal court alongside her two daughters, especially as she was considering one who may be the future wife of her son and heir Jacaerys, Prince of Dragonstone. This was Alicent’s ticket to salvation and financial freedom that would save her ailing family from despair - making Helaena a future Queen and her blood on the throne.

…

[horizon-verizon]

This had been bothering me for awhile but I only now stumbled into this by accident. Certain people love to whine that Rhaenyra is a "hypocrite" for not forcibly instituting realm-wide genderless succession. They favour the line "this isn't Dorne" and then claim that she's a bad person for not making it into Dorne, while pretending that they wouldn't call her reckless or tyrannical if she'd tried to do so.

Of course (at least, people should see it as "of course"), that simply wouldn't work. Not just because it would be unprecedented for the Crown to enforce their own rules of succession, but also because you just cannot implement an involuntary system like that in a patriarchal society. If you left it uncertain, enforcing it on a case-by-case basis upon Houses that did not agree to it, you create uncertainty from which countless succession crises will occur after the head of house dies without naming the daughter over the younger son. If you implement it on a universal basis, you pretty much guarantee mass rebellions in a realm like Westeros. Those were the concerns of the Black council. But there's yet another. Even if the Crown had the power to enforce genderless succession, to squash or dissuade rebellion, you're left with yet another inevitability that we have seen in real life when you tell families in a patriarchal society that their legacy might be reduced to only a daughter.

In my opinion, there is no "realistic" way to write a change like that going through, being forced through in Westeros that doesn't result in mass infanticide and abandonment of first-born girls. And that's on top of the rebellions.

And this whole time I've been assuming that "Dornish" genderless succession was either a world-building error on GRRM's part, or something he meant to clarify or flesh out later on (misunderstanding or not, Arianne's worries must have had a deeper, environmental foundation after all). Because it's been so long since I read the books cover-to-cover (between GoT seasons 6&7 do NOT make me think about the year and time passing) I suppose I might have just let "fanon" shape my view of it. Because there IS a very widespread assertation, one that's gotten very loud as of late (very interesting how one "other" is so often used to tear down the worse "other." For another time though.) that all of Dorne somehow has embraced genderless succession and this is of course for some reason mostly brought up to argue about how Rhaenyra is a bad person for wanting to be the special exception, or how House Targaryen is bad for wanting to be the special exception in this regard.

But these are GRRM's words.

A ruling princess of Dorne would =not= take the name of her consort. And some of the major Dornish lordlings also follow this custom, in imitation of the ruling house.

And this is why before diving in further to a Targ-Martell comparison I ask you, resident expert in remembering and cataloging all those kinds of details, if there's some line in the main series outright contradicting this. Because if not, I'm pretty sure House Martell made itself a special exception. That the genderless succession they follow is the exception and not the rule even in Dorne. And by making themselves a special exception, they ended up setting an example that some houses follow on a voluntary basis.

And for some reason... no one is whining about it. 🤔

No, it is true other houses in Dorne have female heads and heirs before/during the main series timewise and thus practice absolute primogenture:

Delonne Allyrion, the Lady of Godsgrace (heir = Ryon, male) [current]

Larra Blackmont, Lady of Blackmount (heir = Jynessa, female) [current]

Clarisse Dayne, the Lady of Starfall [Maegor I's reign]

Myria Jordayne, heir of the current lord Trebor Jordayne of the Tor

So yes, some Dornish houses do practice absolute primogeniture and the Martells are not an "exception". It's not ubiquitous nor is it rare or uncommon. Nymeria had her warrior women marry many pre-Nymeria Conquest Andal-Dornish lords as well as shared Rhoynar metal and customs that over time simply reshaped a lot of Dorne forever; the northmost Dornish tend to be "less" Rhoynar in custom or practices, but apparently the non-Dornish marcher lords still see them as Other and gripe about their accents a lot. The northenmost Dornish are called "stony" by Daeron I, and tend to have members who can be lighter in ski and hair than other Dornishmen. Same trend for absolute primogeniture, though yes, much less specific bc George doesn't really get into Dorne aside for the Martells, Arianne, Dorna, and the Sand Snakes/Areo Hotah.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Game of Thrones Fic List

🖤= tw:dark content

🍑= smut

📚= series/multi-part

💌= requested

For Whom the Bell Tolls (Margaery Tyrell x Baratheon!Reader)

A glance and a sassy comment. The more time you two spent alone together, the less of a sister you became to one another. It wasn’t your intention to fall in love with the wife of your brother. You had never really felt bad about it when Maragery was married to Joffrey, but now that she was wed to your sweet Tommen. . . You couldn’t do that to your sweet lion.

Between Saints and Sinners (Sandor Clegane x Reader)

It had been years since you last saw Sandor Clegane. Years since you had last been in employment at Lord Baelish’s brothel.

A Stark Bride (Aegon Targaryen i x Stark!Reader)

Aegon Targaryen reduced your father, Torrhen Stark, to a mere lord. The Targaryen conqueror had taken the title of king for himself. You wanted to depise them, those beautiful Targaryens with their lavender eyes and silver tresses. But they were beautiful. Terrifying and beautiful just like their dragons.

Promises (Oberyn Martell x Reader) 🖤

Having witnessed the brutal murder of your family, your uncle Oberyn is the only one to fend off your nightmares and the only one you could ever feel an attachment to.

Shedding Skin (Arthur Dayne x Targaryen!Reader) 

You wouldn't let your brother Rhaegar humiliate you. No. Faking your own death, you travel to Dorne and there shed your dragon skin to become a new person. A happier person.

A Touch of Gold (Margaery Tyrell x Stark!Reader)

If Renly was to have a lover, then Margaery wanted one as well. And she decided that it just had to be the visiting (y/n) Stark.

Gold and Red (Jaime Lannister x Reader) 🍑

How could you bring yourself to have sex with your child husband? Jaime, however, was a full grown man.

Stupid, Pretty Little Things 🖤

She was the only gift Joffrey wanted for his name day. And Joffrey would be damned if anyone forbade him to what was his.

Targaryen Daughters 

After so long staying safely hidden in the privacy of a Sept, you discover your younger sister Daenerys is very well alive. Alive and with three dragons.

A Good, Mean Dog (Sandor Clegane x Baratheon!Reader) 📚

The Princess and the Hound. What a story that would be

Horns That Hold A Crown (Rhaegar Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader)

The only daughter of Steffon Baratheon, and to Aerys you were th eonly suitable bride for his son Rhaegar. Your previokus engagement to Ned Stark was broken. Now you found yourself the bride of a dragon instead that of a wolf.

Ruined Hallelujah (Margaery Tyrell x Baratheon!Reader)

You had expected such a move from Robert, maybe even Stannis, but never from your brother Renly. He was well aware of your affair with Margaery, even supported it. Yet he had married you off to Robb Stark, King in the North.

Misfit (Daenerys Targaryen x Greyjoy!Reader) 🖤

Nightmares, your nightmares were filled with the blazing symbol of a kraken. As you travel with your siblings to Meereen you hope Queen Daenerys would be willing to help you in defeating Euron.

One True Queen (Rhaegar Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader)📚

What he had done was the greatest insult to you. One that you thought he would never do. You knew he loved you with all his heart, that was certain. You were his sister and his wife. However, that all changed when he took Lyanna Stark as his second wife.

Knight in Blue and Red (Rhaegar Targaryen x Tully!Reader)

You wanted to be in charge of Riverrun when your father died, but because you were the third and youngest daughter of Hoster Tully that was highly impossible. You would show him. Show him that you would be a better successor than your brother Edmure.

Belladonna  (Young Robert Baratheon x Reader)

With the death of his father, Robert Baratheon found himself the young lord of Storm's End. A new lordship requires a wife.

Dragon (Daenerys Targaryen x Reader)📚

She had trusted her Unsullied with her life. That was why when one attacked her with a knife she doesn't have him killed. Instead Daenerys wants to get down to the problem. Only when she removes the Unsullied's helmet she is met with the face of a young girl.

A Lion’s Vow (Jaime Lannister x Stark!Reader)💌

This game the both of you played was your only real entertainment in the mess that was the Red Keep. Knowing it’s true nature, your father attempted to keep you close to his side. Reminding you not to trust anyone easily, especially those that belonged to the House of the Lion. 

A Mouse in a Lion’s Den (Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader)📚

A little mouse surrounded by ferocious lions? It didn't look to be a good situation, even if those lions happened to be your family.

Exiled (Arthur Dayne x Reader)💌

You run into Ser Arthur Dayne in Essos. Along with a dark haired, gray eyed child.

Glow (Daenerys Targaryen x Reader)

Why she had taken a liking to you among all the others she had freed, you would never know. You had been a personal whore for one of the masters and had gotten pregnant. There were many others like you. Your story was nothing special, but Dany had found you worthy enough to be her close companion. There were even times when you thought that maybe you could be more than her companion.

The Doe That Chases the Hound (Sandor Clegane x Baratheon!Reader)

Normally in a hunt it was a hound’s duty to chase down deer. You went against the natural order of things. This time it was the doe who sought after the hound.

Crimson Lady (Ramsay Bolton x Bolton!Reader, Sansa Stark x Bolton!Reader) 🖤

Sansa should have known better. Of course she'd be every part of a Bolton as her brother Ramsay was.

Loveless (Rhaegar Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader) 🖤💌

There was nothing Rhaegar could do about your sudden engagement. Try as he might, he couldn’t persuade Aerys to marry you to him. It didn’t matter that he proclaim his undying love for you. Didn’t matter how you got on your knees in front of the iron throne and begged him to reconsider. Instead of mercy, the Mad King simply laughed at you.

Just For You (Ramsay Bolton x Reader) 🍑💌

The cruel Ramsay Bolton has an unknown side to him. Not just for anyone though. Only for the maid whom he loves to taunt. 

From the Ashes (Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader)📚

A year has passed since (y/n) and her brother Jaime fled from King's Landing to the vast and foreign world of Essos.

Mine First, Mine Last, Mine Even in the Grave (Ramsay Bolton x Reader) 🍑

Even at such a young age, Ramsay was proving a difficult and willful child. He was somewhat twisted in nature that sometimes disturbed his mother. However once he laid eyes on the little baby, he immediately grew attached to her.

Birth of Dragons (Aegon i Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader) 📚

It wasn’t fair of him to choose a favorite between his sisters. Fearless Visenya, playful Rhaenys and loving (y/n). Above them all he secretly placed (y/n) close to his heart.

The Most Impossible Battle (Robert Baratheon x Targaryen!Reader) 🍑

Robert hated all Targaryens. Wise words from those close to him though make Robert Baratheon give in to the idea of taking (y/n) Targaryen as his bride.

Wrap Around (Oberyn Martell x Martell!Reader) 📚🖤

Oberyn was beside himself at the return of his baby sister (y/n). For a year she had been off in Essos, experiencing the rest of the world outside of the safety of Sunspear. Now she was returning to Dorne. Returning to Oberyn.

By Any Other Name (Margaery Tyrell x Reader)

Another Life (Rhaegar Targaryen x Stark!Reader)

Lyanna watches Jon from atop of the courtyard's parapet, her eyes crinkling with pride as she watches Jon best Theon Greyjoy at the dance of swords. Every victory Jon made resulted in him outgrowing the label of bastard. He was so much more than a bastard of Winterfell. Not even Catelyn saw him as such. Many were so shocked when the news came that Ned had brought back his bastard one day. In fact Cat had shown up at Winterfell by his side as he held the infant in his arms, for she was one of three that knew the truth about Jon Snow. 

What We Sow (Theon Greyjoy x Greyjoy!Reader) 🍑🖤💌

This was his home, a place where the salt of the sea and the cries of seagulls were a constant presence and where you were. Waiting so patiently as always. His queen, his sister, his wife. He'd been dreaming of the moment when he'd be reunited with you after so long. 

Omission (Theon Greyjoy x Stark!Reader)💌🍑

Robb wasn't being dramatic when he claimed your change toward Theon. From innocent children to teenagers, everything happened so fast that you weren't really able to comprehend what was going on with your own head. When Theon first arrived to your family, you were a small child. You and Robb grew attached to him immediately. For so long you saw him as a brother. Then it just stopped the moment you bled.

Hummingbird (Petyr Baelish x Baratheon!Reader) 💌