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j-k-writes · 1 month ago

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The Bronze Targaryen - 4

Summary - In the weeks leading up to the royal wedding, Prince (Y/N) spends his time getting used to the workings of his uncle’s court, Princess Rhaenyra attempts to better understand her betrothed, and Prince Daemon leaves for Dragonstone with hopes that his son will find his fire.

Warnings - classic Daemon behavior (the man's got anger issues), general HOTD warnings, injuries

The sunlight burned through (Y/N) like Dragonfire, and he groaned, head pounding, he turned over in his bed and pulled the bedding up to cover his face. He heard a man laugh at his actions, causing him to groan again. (Y/N) silently prayed to the old gods as he slowly opened his eyes, pulling the bedding down slightly.

He was greeted by his father’s smug face peering down at him, “Did you have a fun night?”

“What do you want, father?” (Y/N) shut his eyes again.

“I am flying to Dragonstone.” Daemon said, “I will be gone for a while.”

(Y/N) ran his hand down his face. “I am sure someone would have informed me, you did not have to wake me.”

He felt the bed dipped near his legs, and opened his eyes to see his father sitting on his bed. “I wished to say goodbye.”

“You never have before.”

Daemon scoffed, giving his son a long level look. “Must you make everything an argument?”

(Y/N) sat up, letting the blankets pool by his hips, “I was simply pointing out a fact.”

Daemon glared. “You were acting like a child.”

The only response (Y/N) gave was a hum, which seemed to agitate his father further. He reached (Y/N) before the teen could have time to respond, grabbing his face harshly and digging his fingers into (Y/N)’s cheek. (Y/N) struggled, but his father’s grip only grew tighter.

“You can blame me for the strain in our relationship, (Y/N).” Daemon seethed, “But know this, your mother is not as blameless as you would like to believe”

“Liar.”

Daemon released (Y/N)’s face, hand moving to gently cup this stinging skin, “I have never lied to you. Not once, and I do not intend to start now.”

(Y/N) averted his gaze, and when he received no verbal response from his son Daemon sighed. He stood up, straightening his tunic. “I will be back in time for the start of the celebrations. You should dress, Rhaenyra will come looking for you soon enough.”

Daemon turned on his heel to leave, and (Y/N) opened his mouth to call out but thought better of it and silenced himself. He watched his father walk out of the room, flopping back down onto his bed with a sigh. Servants soon entered the room, and (Y/N) laid there as they worked.

“We have brought food, and laid out clothes for you, my prince.”

“Thank you. I will dress and eat on my own, you may go.”

(Y/N) dressed and ate in silence. He chuckled at the dragon-embroidered coat laid out for him, putting it away in favor of a plain brown coat. He accepted the rings laid out for him, adoring his fingers with the metal and gems. He brushed his hair back into a neat bun, smiling to himself when in the mirror he saw Rhaenyra enter his chambers behind him.

“Good you are awake.”

“My father paid me a visit.” (Y/N) turned to face her.

“Daemon?” Rhaenyra stood in front of him, pulling a loose piece of hair from his bun. “Why?”

“He wished to say goodbye.” (Y/N) said, “He is leaving for Dragonstone.”

“To what end?”

“We did not get to that part.”

Rhaenyra clicked her tongue knowingly, “You two fight like children.”

“He started it.”

“Oh I doubt that.” Rhaenyra laughed. She grabbed his hand, tugging him up from his seat. “Come, I wish to go flying.”

“You do not need me for that, Nyra.”

She tugged him along, smiling at him. “Come.”

She dragged him through the halls, laughing as they went, and (Y/N) followed, smiling at his cousin.

His weeks at Kingslanding had been more pleasant than he had expected. His cousin had taken the task of showing (Y/N) around the keep and its courtiers. Rhaenyra had introduced him to her dragon, Syrax, just days after their official betrothal, finding delight in (Y/N)’s wariness around dragons.

“Perhaps I could have a new saddle made, one fit for two?” Rhaenyra said as (Y/N) finally allowed himself to relax by the dragon. “Or, perhaps you could claim your own.”

“I fear I am content as a spectator.”

King Viserys seemed delighted in the activities of the two, likely priding himself on a match well made. (Y/N) paid his uncle's pride little mind, focusing his attention on his newly betrothed. He found himself genuinely enjoying Rhaenyra’s company, seeking her out even when he had no real need for her. He was glad to have found friendship with his cousin if nothing more.

“My Princess,” Ser Harrold nodded to them as they approached, three stable boys leading steeds behind them. “My Prince.”

“Ser Harrold,” (Y/N) smiled at the knight, another surprising friendship in the court. “Will you be keeping me company at the Dragonpit today?”

Rhaenyra scoffed, “I thought I was your company.”

“How can you be my company from atop a dragon?” (Y/N) asked, mounting the horse given to him.

Rhaenyra followed suit, “You can always join me.”

“Then who would keep Ser Harrold company?” (Y/N) heard Ser Harrold sigh, and he gave him a smile.

“Keep yourselves company then.” And with that Rhaenyra took off to the surprise of the two men. He and Ser Harrold spurred their horses, racing after the princess.

The three rode to the Dragonpit in relative silence, (Y/N) breathing in the fresher air deeply, he hadn’t grown as used to the stench of Kingslanding as he had hoped. Rhaenyra seemed more relaxed herself the closer they got to the Dragonpit.

Syrax was already outside the Dragonpit when they arrived, chirping at the sight of the riding party. Rhaenyra dismounted eagerly, and (Y/N) followed her lead. Rhaenyra pressed her face to Syrax’s side, and (Y/N) smiled at the sight. He stepped up to the dragon, pressing his palm next to Rhaenyra’s head. Syrax rumbled at the touch, and Rhaenyra turned to smile at her betrothed.

“She likes you.”

“I am glad,” (Y/N) said, “I’m far too young to become dragon food.”

Rhaenyra playfully swatted at his shoulder, “You’re ridiculous.”

(Y/N) took his place next to Ser Harrold, watching Rhaenyra take to the sky. (Y/N) walked toward the Dragonpit, taking in the vast cavern. The dragonkeepers were always eager to talk to the young prince, answering his questions about their profession happily. One of the last features of Old Valyria left to the world would always be interesting to (Y/N), even if he had no desire himself to claim the sigil of his father’s house.

When Rhaenyra returned, Syrax landed in front of the prince bowing her head, and (Y/N) obliged the dragon’s wishes and softly rubbed her snout. Rhaenyra dismounted, hair windswept, and face flushed. She smiled at the sight of her betrothed and Syrax, she grabbed his free arm and rested her forehead against his bicep.

“Do you have any plans for today?” Rhaenyra asked, looking up at (Y/N).

He smiled at her, “I was going to watch the training in the yard, unless you have other ideas.”

She shook her head, blushing softly, but enough for (Y/N) to take notice. “No, no, I was just wondering if I could join you.”

“Of course.”

They rode slowly and silently back to the keep, Ser Harrold trailing just far enough behind them to give the illusion of privacy. Rhaenyra glanced over to the prince every so often, but as soon as (Y/N) would catch her eye she would look away.

The knights were already training when they reached the yard, Ser Criston leading the session. They handed the reins of their mounts to the stable boys, and Rhaenyra followed (Y/N) as he took a place off to the side to watch the spectacle.

(Y/N) spent most of his time in the yard at Runestone, but he felt more out of place in the yard of the Red Keep than he’d ever felt in his life. He didn’t know these knights, and they didn’t know him. He could feel their eyes sizing up the son of the famous Daemon Targaryen every time he moved through the yard.

“Will you be joining us today, my prince?” (Y/N) turned at the sound of the voice, coming face to face with a tall man with long brown hair, and soft eyes. The man smiled at him and Rhaenyra, nodding to the princess. “Princess.”

“Ser Harwin.” Rhaenyra smiled, “(Y/N) this is Ser Harwin Strong, Commander of the City Watch, and son of The Hand.”

(Y/N) eyed up the man. “Ah. Well, it’s nice to be able to put a face to the name. I’ve heard much about you Ser Harwin.”

“Good things I hope.”

“Very good.” (Y/N) smiled at the man, and Rhaenyra made a sound under her breath. (Y/N) looked at her, and she just gave him a look that made his skin hot under his tunic.

Rhaenyra cleared her throat, looking between the two men, “You have not answered Ser Harwin’s question, (Y/N). You should join.”

She nodded toward the training grounds, and Harwin extended a blunted sword toward the boy, raising an eyebrow.

“I-” (Y/N) laughed, “I am not sure the knights would be happy with my presence.”

“All the more reason to join, my prince.” Harwin wiggled the sword playfully, and Rhaenyra pushed him forward.

“Do not pretend to be shy, (Y/N).” She smiled, making a shooing motion. “I will still be here when you are finished.”

(Y/N) sighed, smiling at the both of them. He took the sword from Ser Harwin whose face lit up at his decision. “Alright then.”

“I hope Lord Lannister chokes on his wine.” (Y/N) whispered to Rhaenyra who stifled a laugh. She walked away from the Prince, making her way to the opposite side of the table to pour the lords of the small council their wine.

(Y/N) was really only in these meetings to observe, at least that’s what his Uncle had told the lords when they’d commented on his appearance. He could tell they had no love for the young heir, likely stemming from their own distaste for his father. He paid them little mind, their distaste of him did not matter when he would inherit Runestone and his wife would inherit the Iron Throne, they could keep their love for all he cared.

(Y/N) held little love for the politics of the realm, he understood its importance of course, how could he not? But the cunning whims of some fat lord made his stomach twist, and he’d rather face enemies on the battlefield than in council chambers. At least on the battlefield, he could tell who he was fighting and who was fighting beside him, the lords of his uncle’s council did not wear their alliances on their sleeves.

A commotion at the door of the chambers caught the attention of everybody in the room. Ser Harrold opened the door, and a dragonkeeper came rushing in, breathing heavy.

Another Kingsgaurd followed him in, “I am sorry, your grace. But there is a raven from Dragonstone.”

Viserys’ eyes widened, “What is it?”

The Dragonkeeper spoke, “Vermithor ēza geptot.”

“Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma geptot?” Viserys asked, eyes slowly falling on (Y/N). (Y/N) tensed, he knew his uncle was thinking of Daemon as the dragonkeeper continued to speak.

“Gaomi daor gīmigon skoro syt, yn ēza geptot Zaldrīzesdōron. Gaomi daor gīmigon skoriot issa.”

“Kepa.” (Y/N) spoke, meeting Viserys' eyes. Viserys seemed to understand his nephew's tense posture, and he nodded to (Y/N).

“I will send word to Daemon,” Viserys stood. “I would talk to my family alone, the council is dismissed.”

The dragonkeeper took his leave, as did the lords, albeit with discontented grumblings. Viserys’ rubbed his brow wearily.

(Y/N) approached his uncle cautiously, “Do you think my father is behind this?”

“I do not know.” Viserys said. “It is possible, although I doubt even Daemon can force Vermithor to do anything.”

“He’s been at Dragonstone for days.” (Y/N) said, voice tightening as he spoke. “He did not give an explanation when he left, and now a dragon has gone missing.”

Rhaenyra touched his arm, “You are looking for guilt in Daemon, (Y/N). We do not know the truth of things.”

“I don’t trust him.” (Y/N) bit out, the venom of his voice causing Rhaenyra to step back.

“You do not know your father, (Y/N).” Viserys said, taking a long hard look at his nephew.

“And who is at fault for that?”

Viserys sighed, looking down at the floor. Rhaenyra stayed silent, watching her father and cousin warily. (Y/N) scoffed, turning sharply on his heel and exiting the chambers. He shoved the doors open, paying no mind to the, now startled, guards. His feet carried him to his own chambers, and he turned to the guard stationed outside of them.

“No one is allowed to enter. I would like to be left alone for the rest of the day.” He didn’t wait for an answer before entering his chambers and closing the doors behind him.

Sneaking through the halls of The Red Keep was harder than (Y/N) thought it was going to be. He was allowed anywhere at any time without so much as a sideways glance, his grandsire's attempts at keeping the boy from leaving at night long forgotten.

Dressed in a black cape, hood pulled down to the tops of his eyes, (Y/N) silently crept through the halls of the keep. He did not doubt that he’d most likely been spotted leaving the keep at the hour of the owl, but his uncle would simply have to find it in himself to forgive him. He could not stew in the suffocation of his chambers any longer, he needed fresh air, as fresh as he could find in Kingslanding.

He made his way through Flea Bottom, keeping to the alley’s and the darkness of the night to stay unnoticed by the smallfolk. His hand rested atop the dagger at his side. As desperate as he was to find his way out of Kingslanding for the night, he was not fool enough to forget the dangers that surrounded a man of his title.

He made it to the Iron Gate unapproached, and a small smile made its way to his face as he slipped through the gate- only to crash directly into someone. He immediately tightened his grip on his knife, taking a defensive stand before he got a good look at the man he ran into.

Ser Harwin looked confused at the sight of the prince. “Prince (Y/N), what are you-”

(Y/N) shushed the man, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a dark corner. “You must let me pass.”

Harwin looked around, “How did you- are you alone?”

“Please, Harwin.” (Y/N) pleaded, he could not remember a time in his life when he genuinely pleaded for something from anyone other than his family. “I will be fine, I just-”

He sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. “I just need some fresh air. I won’t stray off Rosby Road, and I’ll be back before they even know I am missing.”

If they didn’t already know.

Harwin looked conflicted, “If anything happens to you-”

“It won’t.” (Y/N) clutched the commander’s arms. “Please, Ser Harwin.”

(Y/N) could see the moment Ser Harwin relented. He sighed, “Off you go then.”

He beamed, “Thank you, my friend.”

And then he was off, slipping silently through the gates and making his way toward Rosby Road.

He did end up straying off the road, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for lying to Harwin. He would forgive him if he found out, and (Y/N) would have gone mad if Harwin brought him back to the keep. When he determined he was deep enough in the trees to be safe from onlookers he took his hood off, relishing in the cool air against his skin. He untied his hair, running his fingers through it.

(Y/N) smiled at the quiet sounds of the forest. Breathing in the smell of the trees and moss around him, it was a different scent from the forests of the Vale, but it was a welcomed scent after weeks of the stench of Kingslanding. (Y/N) inspected the trees around him until he found one he deemed fit, and he started to climb.

He had been banned from climbing the trees in the Vale after he’d stumbled and fell from a high branch when he was a boy. He didn’t remember much from the incident, kept mostly unconscious with dreamwine until he was deemed fit enough to rise from bed. But his mother hadn’t let him attempt to climb for years after the incident, and his back still bore the scars of where the fallen branches had cut him when he hit the ground.

But his mother was gone, and (Y/N) was no longer a boy of eight, he didn’t fall anymore.

He took a seat on a thick high branch, resting against the trunk of the tree. He closed his eyes, letting the agitation of his day wash away. Exhaustion crept down his spine, and when he opened his eyes again he wasn’t sitting on the tree.

He looked around his new surroundings, getting up from where he was sitting. He was in the great hall of Runestone, it was empty and dark as it often was on the nights where his grandsire wasn’t hosting feasts. (Y/N) walked around, running his hand along the wall as he went. He pressed his face into the cold stone, sighing at the relief it brought to his sweaty skin. A sharp wind cut through him, causing him to gasp and jump back from the wall. Whispers filled his ears as he looked around for the cause of the sound.

“Hello?” (Y/N) called out, reaching for the dagger he kept at his belt. Only to find its sheath empty. He looked down at his clothes, furrowing his brows at the leather armor. He wasn’t dressed for war, that much he was sure of, but the clothes, and the runes carved into them, were still unusual attire for the young man.

A glimmer of metal caught his attention, drawing it toward the high table at the end of the room. He walked over, taking in the sight of the sword resting on the table. It was unsheathed and glimmering as if someone was holding a candle right to it. (Y/N) immediately recognized the sword, Lamentation, having seen it decorate the great hall his entire childhood.

He ran his fingers down the runes carved into the Valyrian steel sword. He grasped the hilt of the sword, holding it up to examine it further. It was perfectly balanced in his hand as he adjusted his grip. He gave it an experimental swing, gasping and dropping the sword when the room lit up. The sword hit the ground with a loud clang as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light.

The light grew brighter and brighter, and (Y/N) had to shut his eyes. He covered his ears as the whispers that echoed through the hall earlier started again, louder this time. The whispering grew louder and louder and the light grew brighter, surrounding (Y/N).

And then it was silent.

(Y/N) opened his eyes, looking around the now dark room. He breathed out a shaky sigh of relief, laughing softly to himself. He looked down to where he’d dropped the sword, only to find it missing. He turned around confused, only to let out a wordless gasp as his abdomen flared in pain. He looked down at his stomach, finding Lamentation cutting right through him, blood dripping from the blade.

His eyes shot open with a gasp, and he had to steady himself before he went toppling over the side of the branch. He cursed at the sight of the sun peeking out from behind the hills of Kingslanding. Immediately he began to climb down the tree, swiftly making his way through the woods and back to Rosby Road.

His legs were shaky as he walked back to the road, his breaths coming in short gasps. He had to stop after just a few feet to rest his forehead against the trunk of a tree. (Y/N) could still feel the blade in his stomach. He’d never had a dream like that one before. He didn’t know what to make of it, and that scared him. Maester Pate had taught him the histories of House Targaryen, including the story of Daenys the Dreamer and her dreams of the doom.

(Y/N) quickly banished that thought from his head, taking a deep breath and gathering himself. He was stressed and missing Runestone, nothing more. He started on his way once more.

He’d only been walking for a few minutes when the trees started to bend as the wind picked up, and (Y/N) ducked as a loud whoosh was heard above him. He threw himself to the ground, groaning as the fallen branches cut his exposed skin. He turned onto his back looking up at the sky, and the breath was knocked out of his lungs at the sight.

An enormous bronze dragon was flying above him, circling the spot where (Y/N) laid. He stumbled to his feet, watching with wide eyes and a pounding heart as the dragon seemed to follow his movements.

He did the only thing that he thought to do.

He ran.

He stumbled as he ran from the beast, tripping over the exposed roots of the trees in his haste. His stomach lurched at the crunch his nose made as his face hit the ground. He did not pause to see if he had lost the beast, for he knew the answer, it was like he could feel the dragon pursuing him.

He pushed himself up, ignoring the stinging sensation that covered his skin. He continued on, not once looking behind him. The dragon roared, his breath blowing (Y/N)’s cloak like the wind, and (Y/N) pressed forward faster.

He knew he could not outrun the beast, and the bronze dragon seemed to know it too. The dragon pressed further down into the tree line, tree’s collapsing under the weight of its beating wings. (Y/N) turned to look at it as he ran, screaming at the beast.

“Keligon!” He cried out, stumbling slightly as he took a sharp left turn. He continued to run, screaming obscenities and commands at the dragon pursuing him. He turned around to catch sight of the dragon, only to skid to a halt at what he saw. He could still hear and sense the dragon, but he could not see it. (Y/N) looked around wildly, taking a defensive stand. He grabbed the dagger at his side, not that it could do much but it brought him some comfort all the same.

The bronze dragon dove down from behind the boy, causing him to yell. He fell onto his back in shock, dropping the dagger next to him. He closed his eyes tightly, expecting the dreaded dragonfire, but none came. He opened his eyes slowly, watching as the dragon just stared at him, blinking.

No.

This was not how it happened. Dragons do not claim Targaryens, Targaryens claim dragons and (Y/N) was a Royce. He would not claim a dragon.

“I do not claim you!” (Y/N) roared, staring up at the bronze beast. He waved his hands frantically, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “Go! Henujagon!”

The dragon did not move, staring the young man down as he continued to cry out. He screamed at the beast, trying everything from trying to anger the dragon to trying to scare it, nothing worked. He begged, pleading with the old gods, and the new, to let this be false to let the dragon either kill him or leave him in the woods. The dragon did not move, keeping the young prince on the ground. (Y/N) eventually tired himself out after what felt like hours of yelling at the dragon, and he sighed, letting his head fall back against the ground.

The dragon seemed pleased at his acceptance, bowing his head to the prince. (Y/N) let tears fall down his cheeks, chest rising and falling rapidly.

It seemed the gods did not care for (Y/N)’s wishes, and neither did his dragon.

---

Translations -

Vermithor ēza geptot. - Vermithor has left

Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma geptot? - What do you mean left?

Gaomi daor gīmigon skoro syt, yn ēza geptot Zaldrīzesdōron. Gaomi daor gīmigon skoriot issa. - We do not know why, but he has left Dragonstone. We do not know where he is.

Kepa - Paternal Uncle

Keligon! - Stop

Henujagon - Leave

#would vermithor act like that ? no. however for plot reasons he will be #also not quite sure what i'm going to do with hugh but also season 2 itself is a mystery and fight of book versus show canon so #we will approach that when it comes #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon x male reader #rhaenyra targaryen #x male reader #house of the dragon x y/n #rhaenyra targaryen x male reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #x y/n #x reader #harwin strong

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