#Visenya the stillborn girl of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bananadrinkxxx · 1 year ago

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THE BLOOD CROWN

[Aemond Fanfiction ]

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC female!

Warning: Dark Romance / Enemies to Lovers.

PART 7

The night Rhaenyra Targaryen lost her daughter was the night she also lost something of herself. A part of herself.

It was a feeling she would never forget.

A knife thrust that never healed and kept hitting the wound it had once left.

This powerlessness, this ignorance, was unbearable. It taunted her every day, hitting her again and again.

She had lost a child once before.

Her stillborn girl was the second.

Lucerys was not allowed to become the third.

It was like a slap in the face when they had brought her the news that they were holding Lucerys captive. Not only were they stealing her throne, they were stealing her son.

Rhaenyra knew she shouldn't favor a child, a mother didn't, but everything about Luke reminded Rhaenyra of her lost child, her poor girl, out there somewhere alone, without her.

When Lucerys was young, her little boy was always afraid. He had always clung to her skirt and blinked out from there when he thought it was safe. A trait he had developed only after Aemma was gone.

The absence of his shadow haunted her. She clung to Aegon, bouncing him on her hip and kissing the top of his white-blond hair as he pressed against her, small fists knotted into the heavy black fabric that stretched across her breasts.

Aegon was now as old as Aemma had been then.

Rhaenyra pushed away the despair and fixed her pale gaze firmly on the painted table lit with fire.

"I have considered giving up my throne," she confessed. Daemon looked up, his gaze dark. "I have considered it. For the realm, for my children, for.... For Aegon's dream." She looked to Aegon, who looked at her questioningly. He didn't understand what she was talking about. Good. He should keep innocence as long as possible. "But then they took my children from me. One by one."

She pressed her lips together.

It would have been a girl.

A second girl.

Would that have been cheating on Aemma?

She had wanted to name it Visenya. Aemma had loved that name. She had always wanted a little sister, just like Rhaenyra had when she was young.

Rhaenyra looked at Daemon again. Their eyes met. He looked down.

A snort left Rhaenyra.

He couldn't look her in the eye. He hadn't been able to since he put his fingers around her neck, and then she had to stop herself from laughing in his face. The demon's shame is a tangible thing, wet and beating, and every time his gaze met hers, she saw the plea for forgiveness he hoped she would give him.

Her father had always told her the idea that the Targaryens controlled the dragons was an illusion. She sees the truth every time she looks at her husband. Every time she looks in the mirror. They were dragons. Daemon was a dragon.

No one could control him. It was just a matter of time now. He wanted war and Rhaenyra had opposed him. She wondered if she had given in to his desire for revenge and blood, if Lucerys would be sitting here with her. With her, safe.

"It's their fault that I lost Visenya," Rhaenyra whispered to the flames. Her hand ran through Aegon's hair. His eyes were closed. "They stole my crown. They stole my son. And they probably stole my beloved Aemma, too." It was the first time that Rhaenyra also uttered these words. Previously, she had always banished the thought that Alicent could have taken her daughter from her. She had believed in the good in her former friend, a woman she had loved as her own sister. By the gods, how much she had loved Alicent after all. "And they will answer for it. One by one. If I have to claim every head for it."

She promised. Rhaenyra Targaryen was the queen of the Seven Kingdoms. It was her birthright. It is the birthright of her children.

Slowly, Rhaenyra got up and handed her sleeping child to one of the wet nurses.

"Daemon," she said, looking at the table in front of her. The coals were still glowing. They showed her who was her friend and who was her enemy. Traitors. They would all burn. One by one they would burn. "I will get my son back. I will let Westeros burn if they take Lucerys from me, do you understand me?"

Rhaenyra remembered that Alicent had not even written to her when Aemma disappeared.

She had hoped so much that her old friend would stand by her.

Betrayed by her own friend.

More than once.

Rhaenyra looked at her husband. "Daemon," she insisted, voice trembling. It felt wrong and right at the same time.

She had not wanted this war.

Daemon looked into her eyes. "Where do we start, my queen?" he asked. He stood up and stood at the table.

"Tell me what you know," Rhaenyra demanded. "Tell me who my allies are. Allies I can count on. Leave nothing out."

Daemon named her allies and the one who had turned against her. Despite oaths. He named those who hesitated.

"What will happen if I give the order to attack?"

Daemon looked at her. "They will burn."

"And I'm going to be the one who started this war, right?"

"They started it when they crowned Aegon king."

"What will happen to Lucerys? Are they going to kill him?"

"Probably." She winced. Alicent would never let that happen, she believed. But she didn't know Alicent anymore. Maybe she had never known this woman.

"What if I bend the knee? Will they give it back to me?"

Daemon said nothing, but she already knew the answer.

Probably it was the only thing she knew.

That the Greens would never leave her in peace.

Even if she bent the knee.

They would always demand a sign of her loyalty. Something to weaken her.

If she chose this war, she would choose against Lucerys.

Against Jacaerys. Against Joffrey.

Against every single child.

Rhaenyra looked at her own hands and realized that she did not know them.

Basically, she didn't know anything about herself anymore.

Would she still be a mother they could respect?

Would she still be a mother she could respect?

Was the respect of her children worth more to her than the lives of her children?

Rhaenyra had to confess. She didn't know.

Who was she anymore, anyway? What had the Greens made of her? Was she capable of being a monster? Was she capable of becoming a murderer?

She did not know.

The only thing she knew was that there was this possessive feeling of revenge inside her. She would destroy those who wronged her. Took something from her. She knew that no matter how she made her decision, it would always go one way. Revenge on those who took her children from her.

̶T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

Alicent was no longer as stupid and naive as she had been when she was a girl.

When she was a girl, she had firmly believed that one day she would be happy, with a lord who loved her and her best friend Rhaenyra. She remembered their conversations, how they spoke longingly of having adventures and eating cake. Every time Alicent had gnawed on her own fingers to fill the fear in her belly, Rhaenyra would gently grab her hands and tell her that she would save her from every haunted thought she ever had. That she would protect Alicent, and Alicent had believed her. Every single word. When Alicent was a fool, she dreamed of knights who would save her from her folly, and that Rhaenyra would stand by her side, but Alicent was no longer a young fool. If you marry a dragon, give birth to dragons, Alicent may not be a dragon, but she knew how they think. She knew how they worked, and how they needed to be guided, rather than told to do things. Always under the cloak of support. She was not stupid. A woman's word had to be supportive, perhaps still instructing, but not commanding.

"My queen," Talya says, fiddling with a fresh set of bed linens. She met Alicent's eyes and then her gaze flickered away.

"Talya," Alicent says. She looked at her fingers. They were disgusting.

"My queen, are you all right?" asked Talya.

Alicent stared at her for a long moment, then slid out of bed. "Yes," she answered, "help me get dressed." Talya remained silent and did as she was told.

When Alicent was dressed, Alicent surveyed herself in her mirror for a moment. She looked tired, exhausted, old. Not a reflection she liked to see. The last few days had been tiring for her, had driven her to despair.

Visery's death had affected her more than she had thought. She had done her duty, been a good wife to him and supported him, and even though he was never someone she had imagined for her later life, she had developed a love for him that she had not thought possible. He had been a good man. A lovable one, and Alicent had loved him. It was far from, the passionate love she had imagined as a little girl, but it had been a love that had warmed her heart. Not romance, perhaps. But love.

Ser Criston was waiting for her after standing watch. He greeted her and she returned his greeting. After that, they were silent. Alicent felt no need to speak. Krieg was at her door, knocking on it, demanding her blood. The blood of her children.

She knew that Lucerys captivity would not go unpunished. That Rhaenyra would not forgive them for this act. She would come. And she would claim their heads for it. And if it wasn't Rhaenyra, it was Daemon.

Alicent drove away the feeling of injustice that was thoughtlessly trying to befall her. She was not innocent. Perhaps she had never been. It had begun with her concealing from Rhaenyra her secret meetings with the king. Then with the fact that she had bullied Rhaenyra for years. There were hundreds of points Alicent thought back on and wanted to slap her memory of. She didn't deserve her own pity.

She had sinned and she knew that the Stranger would hold it against her the day she died.

If Rhaenyra would not beat him to it.

But that was not possible, was it?

Aemma was gone, presumed dead, Larys had assured her that all the men involved in her abduction were dead and that there was not a single witness.

She had seen Aemma go overboard.

There was no way a five-year-old could survive that. Right?

"We've been hiding too long," Aemond said as the small council gathered. He is deliberate with his words and drew the attention of those present. "The blacks are gaining strength with each passing day. Daemon flies through the Riverlands gathering allies around him, allies for the Blacks. With every second we let pass, Rhaenyra becomes more powerful."

Ottos nodded. "That is true, my boy, but what do you intend to do?"

Aemond leaned forward and drummed his fingertips on the table. "Let's give Rhaenyra one last ultimatum. I will fly to the Riverlands myself on Vhagar and deliver it," Aemond said. "I will remind them of our strength, and if war breaks out, let it be the Blacks' fault for gathering them. For refusing our generous offer."

"I think that's a mistake," Alicent interjected. She chewed on her fingers. "It's too dangerous."

"I fly the world's oldest dragon, Mother," Aemond noted. "I'm not afraid."

"I believe you, but Daemon is unpredictable."

"I'll go with him," Aegon suggested, but Alicent immediately shook his head. "No way, you're the king."

"A king hiding here while he sends his brother off to war?"

"You stay here," Otto agreed. "It would be far too hasty. Aemond will remind the lord's and lady's who sits on the iron throne. Supporting Rhaenyra is treason and they should all know it. Nothing more."

They had all agreed in the end that Aemond should fly alone. No war had officially broken out yet and they suspected that Rhaenyra, like themselves, would not make the first move.

As Aemond flew away on Vhagar, Alicent looked after him dejectedly.

̶T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

Since their kiss, Aemond had ignored her.

At first, she had been almost relieved not to have to face this unpleasantness, but the realization had quickly given way to confusion.

It didn't surprise her much, but it still hurt her in a way she hadn't thought possible.

She wondered if he was angry with her, or regretted the kiss.

Probably the latter.

Aemond had set out this morning. She had watched him take off into the sky on Vhagar. He was gone and had not even said goodbye to her. Not that he would have to.

"Where are you with your thoughts?" asked Dyana, bringing Rose back to reality. She was getting new bedding for the prince, Dyana was doing the same for Prince Daeron. She was now assigned to the youngest prince.

"I just didn't sleep well," Rose lied, though it actually wasn't even a lie. She was actually sleeping poorly.

The kiss with Aemond haunted her dreams and tortured her during the day.

"How is Prince Lucerys?" asked Rose to divert attention from herself. She knew Dyana was one of the few women assigned to the prince. Rose had not seen him since the day Aemond caught her with Lucerys. She did not dare to ask him if she could visit the young prince. The probability that the prince would cut off her head as a result was too high.

"He is tired, exhausted, eats not much," Dyana said. Her voice was pitiful. "He asked for you."

Rose looked at her in surprise.

"Did he?"

Dyana nodded and moved closer to her to whisper. "He talks about you a lot. I guess you've made a lasting impression." A meaningful smile was on her lips, but Rose just shook her head.

It wasn't like that.

Rose couldn't describe the connection to Lucerys, but he had triggered a feeling in her as if she had known him since forever.

"Well, then. Let's just hope Princess Rhaenyra bends the knee and the prince gains freedom."

"You think she'll bend the knee?"

Dyana considered for a moment. "Probably rather not. But I don't want to imagine what will happen to the prince if she doesn't."

Rose didn't want to either. She wondered if the Greens were it to execute a prince.

Kinslayer.

Would Aemond dare to kill his nephew? She knew that he hated Lucerys. In part, she understood his anger, too. He had taken his eye. It had been no small thing, but she wondered if his hatred went so far that he would accept his nephew's death for it?

"That's the girl!," a voice suddenly sounded behind him, and Rose turned in surprise. The septa was standing a few feet away from them, and to Rose's horror, pointed directly at her. Confused, she dropped the bedclothes when suddenly two guards from the Kingsguard approached and grabbed her. Their grip was hard and unyielding.

"What's happening?" asked Dyana fearfully. Rose looked startled at the men dragging her along. Rose did not know what happened to her.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Rose, trying to break away from the men, but to no avail. They were much stronger than her and two of them at that.

Rose looked fearfully at Dyana, who shared her fear, but when she tried to step forward, the septa grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back.

"Stay here, child, or you too will sin."

Sin?

What sin was she supposed to have committed?

Rose's gaze met Septa's eyes and she saw the evil in them. Hatred and satisfaction as Rose was held clutched, completely at the woman's mercy.

"Take that wench to the dungeons."

#aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #house of dragons #aemond the kinslayer #prince aemond #rhaenyra targaryen #game of thrones #house targaryen #aemond x oc

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horizon-verizon · 11 months ago

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On Dragonstone, no cheers were heard. Instead, screams echoed through the halls and stairwells of Sea Dragon Tower, down from the queen’s apartments where Rhaenyra Targaryen strained and shuddered in her third day of labor. The child had not been due for another turn of the moon, but the tidings from King’s Landing had driven the princess into a black fury, and her rage seemed to bring on the birth, as if the babe inside her were angry too, and fighting to get out. The princess shrieked curses all through her labor, calling down the wrath of the gods upon her half-brothers and their mother, the queen, and detailing the torments she would inflict upon them before she would let them die. She cursed the child inside her too, Mushroom tells us, clawing at her swollen belly as Maester Gerardys and her midwife tried to restrain her and shouting, “Monster, monster, get out, get out, GET OUT!” When the babe at last came forth, she proved indeed a monster: a stillborn girl, twisted and malformed, with a hole in her chest where her heart should have been, and a stubby, scaled tail. Or so Mushroom describes her. The dwarf tells us that it was he who carried the little thing to the yard for burning. The dead girl had been named Visenya, Princess Rhaenyra announced the next day, when milk of the poppy had blunted the edge of her pain. “She was my only daughter, and they killed her. They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.” And so the Dance began, as the princess called a council of her own. “The black council,” the True Telling names that gathering on Dragonstone, setting it against the “green council” of King’s Landing. Rhaenyra herself presided, seated between her uncle and husband, Prince Daemon, and her trusted counselor, Maester Gerardys. Her three sons were present with them, though none had reached the age of manhood (Jace was fourteen, Luke thirteen, Joffrey eleven). Two Kingsguard stood with them: Ser Erryk Cargyll, twin to Ser Arryk, and the westerman, Ser Lorent Marbrand.

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pgs 402-403

🎨: ERTAÇ ALTINÖZ, from Rise of the Dragon

#fire and blood quotes #asoiaf quotes #the blacks and the greens #visenya targaryen #visenya targaryen (rhaenyra's daughter)#the black council #dance of the dragons #dying of the dragons #fire and blood #asoiaf #cw blood depiction

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starrynightmuse · 1 year ago

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You Owe Me a Debt: Chap 4

Masterlist / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Author's Note: This is definitely not a parody. You should take everything in this fanfic 100% seriously. This story is true to canon. It really happened. Trust me, I was there.

Story Summary: As the second son of King Visery's second wife, Aemond Targaryen is given only a small allowance. The measly funds were nowhere near enough to pay for the prince's daily necessities, such as his 16-step Olaplex haircare routine. The young prince is secretly forced to live on credit and he must count every last cent he spends. One day, someone steals his money, leaving Aemond penniless and angry. Will he be able to get his money back or will his broke ass be humiliated in front of court for not being able to pay his Klarnax installments for his sapphire?

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Visenya Targaryen (Rhaenyra's Daughter) but ironically.

Rating: PG 13

Chapter 4: The Drag Queen Vhagar

Words: 3.931k

Warnings: Communism, violent Gold Cloaks, someone gets stabbed.

The girl grinned — a haughty smile that made her uncannily similar to someone he knew, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly who it was. Aemond stared at her in bewilderment.

“My name is Visenya Targaryen, daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, and Prince Consort Daemon Targaryen,” she said proudly with her chin up, as if she were speaking in front of a royal court and not to a young man in puke-stained clothes beside a giant garbage bin at the back of a theme park's visitor center. There was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I didn’t fancy seeing you here, Kepus. It is wonderful to finally meet you. I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to get vomit on me.”

She had a rather fast way of speaking and Aemond had to take a moment to process her words. Trying to salvage the last shred of dignity within him, he stood up and quickly composed himself into the cool, confident demeanor that he had trained himself to possess.

“Apologies, Niece. I did not know my half-sister had a daughter,” said the prince.

“Well, technically, she doesn’t. Not yet, at least,” said Visenya. Aemond gave her a quizzical look. She continued, leaning towards him to whisper as if she were sharing a secret, “I’m not supposed to have been born yet.”

“Then how are you here?”

“Because the fandom likes me and there’s quite a lot of people who ship us.”

“They— what?”

“They ship us. In fandom language, it means that they think we’d make a cute couple. It also means that they write fanfics about us making babies together.”

Every word that came out of her mouth caught him off guard and he was sure he was gaping like a fish out of water.

“Does that mean— do we get— married?” Aemond stammered.

“Oh, no no no. Not in this universe, anyway. My mother won’t give birth to me until Viserys dies, and I was stillborn so I never actually even lived. Plus, I’m not your type. You like wet nurses who are twice your age and have a name that sounds similar to your mother’s.”

“I do not,” protested Aemond, emphasizing the not.

Visenya grinned as if she knew something he didn’t. They’ve only just met and yet she was starting to get on his nerves.

“What brings you to King’s Landing, Princess?” Aemond asked, his tone laced with the slightest tinge of irritation.

The princess offered a small, impish grin. “I’m on official family business. King Viserys has summoned everyone. He is rewriting the order of succession and he wants to make you his heir.”

There was a moment of silence as Aemond’s eye widened in shock before narrowing in suspicion. Visenya burst into laughter.

“You should’ve seen your face—” she wheezed, a hand clutching her stomach.

“I do not have time for your games,” he snarled. Any hint of warmth in his tone was now gone. “If you came here to mock me, I suggest you leave.”

“Apologies, Uncle. I meant no harm. The truth is that I ran away,” Visenya confessed. She blew out a breath. “I… got tired of Dragonstone. I’m not supposed to be here. I snuck out.”

He studied her for a moment, reading her expression. Aemond had lived at court his whole life and he has spent years reading faces. He could see a thin layer of guilt settle over his niece’s eyes as she talked. But behind that was something fiery. It was a fervor, a determination, a certain stubbornness to get what one wanted — or to die trying. It was the same expression he saw on himself this morning when he snuck out of the Keep.

“Hm. That explains the peasant clothes,” he said finally.

“They’re actually Recession core clothes.”

“What?”

Visenya waved his question away. “Why were you in a Vhagar costume?”

Aemond pressed his lips together. “You saw nothing.”

“Well, right now I can see that you need something new to wear,” said his niece, gesturing at his soiled tunic. “Wait here, I’ll be back.”

Visenya came back five minutes later carrying a bag with a Journey into Old Valyria logo.

"I got something from the gift shop for you," she said. Visenya stretched out her hand and offered the bag to Aemond. He accepted it from her and dug around its contents.

Aemond took out a bright, neon green T-shirt with a picture of Vhagar printed on the front. The words "THE DRAGON QUEEN VHAGAR" was written in a large comic sans font, except the last two words of “dragon” was nearly faded so instead it looked like it said “THE DRAG QUEEN VHAGAR.”

It looked atrocious.

“You brought me a Vhagar T-shirt,” he said in monotone, trying to conceal his feelings towards it. “And… a wig?” He held up a straight black haired wig. It was as long as his real hair and had sleek strands that had a plastic shine to them.

“Well I’m not walking around with a guy who looks like he’s a part of the Westerosi mafia,” Visenya said, putting her hands on her hips. “You can keep the sunglasses, but that cloak has got to go. Plus, you’ve got some puke on it too.” She pointed to a spot at the hem of his cloak. “The wig will cover your hair in its place.”

“I am not wearing this wig.”

“If you want, I can get a wig for myself too so we can be twinsies.”

“No. I’m not wearing this wig.”

“You will if you don’t want people to recognize you while you’re wearing a The Drag Queen Vhagar T-shirt,” said Visenya. “Actually, that would be kind of hilarious. Westeros Today would have a field day. By the way, is it true that you’re an outfit repeater—”

“Turn around,” Aemond snapped.

“What?”

“I’m going to change.”

The princess turned her back as Aemond began changing out of his tunic. He tossed the dirty shirt into the garbage bin.

“I never took you for a shy one, Kepas,” she said, her back still turned. She kicked around some of the pebbles at her feet. “What are you hiding under there that requires my eyes adverted? Tits?”

“You and Aegon would get along well.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment.”

After he finished changing, Aemond let Visenya know that she could turn. When she saw his new look, the princess gave him a smile so wide that it kind of scared him.

“Ooo la la!” She sang. “You look so vampy. Like one of the Volturi guys from Twilight. Aro. Well, Aro if he was a highlighter.”

“I told you not to mock me,” Aemond grumbled.

“I wasn’t,” said Visenya. “I think Aro is hot.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

At Visenya’s request, they stopped at the gift shop before they left. She picked out a jet-black wig identical to Aemond’s and went into the privy to put it on. When she came back out, her uncle was standing rigidly in front of a shelf full of dragon figurines.

“How do I look?” she asked. Visenya twirled dramatically in front of him, the long ebony locks flying outwards.

“Ridiculous,” he replied. With the sunglasses, she couldn’t read the expression in his eye, but she did see the corners of his mouth turn up slightly.

Visenya paid for her wig and they made their exit, the gift shop door swinging shut behind them. The warmth of the bright afternoon hit her face as the noises of the squealing children and the mechanical whirs of the park rides enveloped them once more.

Aemond walked along silently beside her. Her uncle was not a man of many words, Visenya discovered.

"You still haven't told me why you were in the Vhagar costume," said Visenya, tilting her head up at him.

Silence.

Visenya tried again. “Do you come here often?” She gestured towards the rides around them.

Silence.

She decided to change tactics. “Where did you buy that sapphire behind those shades?” Visenya asked. “It’s very pretty, by the way. It suits you.”

Silence.

Well, okay, she thought. Point taken. No talking.

She didn't say a word for the rest of the way towards the park exits. But before leaving for good, she and Aemond stopped by at a Subway inside the park near the ticket stations. Visenya bought sandwiches for both of them and they quickly refueled, gobbling up the food in minutes.

When they got out, Visenya was shocked to find that there was quite a commotion. The streets were packed with people, many of them carrying solid red flags and chanting. She couldn’t make out the words, but there was a powerful force to the crowd as they surged forward, carrying her along with them like a current. Before she knew it, she and Aemond were part of the vast herd, all heading in the same direction with determined faces and fists raised in the air. The noise of their shouts were deafening.

Visenya struggled to keep her balance as the crowd pushed her around and she yelped, stumbling. Aemond reached for her hand, pulling her close to his side.

“What’s going on?” Visenya shouted, her eyes darting around frantically.

“I don’t know,” he yelled, his face serious. “But I intend to find out.”

They pushed their way towards a crowded square, Visenya following her uncle’s lead. She stared around in awe.

There were hundreds of people, a sea of red flags gleaming in the late afternoon sun, and a cacophony of chants, all rising in unison. It was a sight to behold. There was something raw and unrestrained about the energy of the crowd… Everything about the scene was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was both frightening and exhilarating, and she felt adrenaline surging through her veins.

Despite Aemond’s reserved demeanor, Visenya could tell that he was distressed by the tight grip he had on her hand.

In the midst of the chaos, the sound of a megaphone reverberated through the air as a burly man stepped on top of a soapbox at the center of the square. He was a tall, muscular man dressed in leathers with a sword strapped to his side. Long, brown hair fell loosely around a stern face, a deep scar across one side of his cheek. He seemed to be around middle-aged. Visenya wondered if he were a sellsword. There was a sense of power and command about him that she could not ignore, a sense that if he were to speak, all would pause and listen.

“Comrades!” his voice boomed.

The crowd fell silent. Visenya looked up at her uncle, trying to catch his eye, but he was staring intently ahead at the speaker. Aemond’s forehead was creased and his lips were set in a grim line.

The man’s voice was firm and determined as he addressed the crowd gathered before him.

“We live in a city of great wealth and power,” said the man. There was something about his accent that seemed Northern. “King’s Landing is the biggest city in all of Westeros, the very beating heart of the continent, the home of our Targaryen dragonlords. We live in a city rich with history, trade, and culture. But we also live in a city where too many are suffering.”

He looked around at the faces in the crowd, a mix of anger and desperation on their faces.

“We see our brothers dying of disease, lost and alone in the bowels of Flea Bottom. We see our sisters, selling their dignity, just to provide for their infants. We see our children going to bed each night with hunger pains while those who have the power to help choose to turn a blind eye.”

The man’s voice rose. “The lords will tell you that they have your best interests at heart, but they only seek to maintain their own wealth and power. Do not be fooled by their lies!

“It is we, the workers, who create the wealth of the kingdom with our labor. And yet, it is the nobles who live in luxury while us smallfolk struggle to make ends meet. Well, I say to that, no more!” A cheer went up.

“We will not stand idly and watch as our fellow citizens suffer. All people, nobility or not, have the right to a decent life. The time for change is upon us! We must rise up and overthrow this oppressive system and establish a worker’s paradise. One where the fruits of our labor will be shared equally among all. One where the power will belong to the people, and not to the few!

“We shall not rest until our demands are met. We shall not yield until justice is served. For the people of King’s Landing, for the future of Westeros, for the future of our families and the generations to come, we are here to say that ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!”

The crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer as the man lifted his fist in the air.

Enough is enough! the people cried. Enough is enough!

Aemond leaned in towards Visenya's ear. "We need to leave. Now."

And then all hell broke loose.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Aemond saw a dozen Gold Cloaks surrounding the square. Just as he pulled Visenya with him to make a run for it, one of the guards punched someone at the edge of the crowd and a brawl began. The sounds of metal clashing against bone echoed around the square as the people screamed and pushed.

Aemond sprinted onto a narrow road, Visenya following close behind him. The two zigzagged their way through the maze-like streets, trying to put as much distance between them and the trouble in the square as possible.

"Oi! You two! Stop right there!"

Aemond dared to glance back. Two of the Gold Cloaks were hot on their heels. Aemond felt blood rush to his head, his heart pounding. He cursed Visenya for getting him a ludicrously conspicuous T-shirt.

They ran past a bakery with bags of flour stacked on a wagon at the storefront. Thinking fast, Aemond took out a dagger he had hidden in his boot and slashed the flour sacks. With a sudden burst of energy, he pushed the bags onto the street behind them. Powdery dust exploded in the air as he took Visenya’s hand and continued to run down the streets.

Aemond heard the guards' footsteps stop as they let out a howl. The men started coughing and hacking flour out of their lungs.

Once he and Visenya had put behind a safe distance, Aemond slowed down and led them into a narrow deserted alleyway off the street. The sun was setting now and long shadows were growing on the buildings and cobblestones. He leaned against the cold stone wall of the alley, catching his breath, his heart racing a mile per minute.

To his surprise, Visenya was laughing, her chest heaving as the sound escaped her. The light from the burning lamps on the road casted a warm glow on her face, and he saw that her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of the chase, her eyes shining with amusement.

"That was fun," she said.

"Fun? We could've gotten killed," Aemond said.

"But we didn't."

Aemond didn’t say anything to that. He took a few moments for his breathing to return to normal. They stayed in a comfortable silence for a while, hidden in the darkness of the alley, as they watched the people passing up and down in the street.

"That was a Communist rally," he said after a while. Visenya looked at him, waiting for him to go on. "I had heard rumors of such gatherings occuring in King’s Landing but I never thought they existed in such a scale."

"They seem extraordinary," the princess said. “Did you see how that man was commanding the crowd? He—”

"The Communists are a threat to our way of life," Aemond snapped. “The highest treason against the crown. They want to pull us down to their level and have everyone live on scraps. If they had their way, there would be chaos everywhere. The Red Keep, sacked. Our dragons, killed. A complete dismantling of the system. Westeros would disintegrate into total anarchy.”

“He seem to have meant well, though,” Visenya said meekly.

“Meant well?”

Aemond felt his anger boiling. Visenya stayed silent, watching him intently with keen eyes. He clenched his fists, then unclenched them — a habit he had developed when he felt frustration.

“It is not only the nobility who are at stake,” said Aemond. “The Communists spread poison into the ears of the smallfolk as well. You heard what the man said back there. He was urging them to rebel. The Communists have been organizing strikes around the city, and it has only made poverty worse. The common people cannot afford to simply not work.”

“I’m just saying, he did make some good points,” Visenya shrugged.

“You’re simply saying that because you think he’s handsome.”

“I do not,” said Visenya, emphasizing the not. “The things he said about the small folks… Them starving, working their arses off, and getting nothing in return—”

“The smallfolks are lucky to have a job. They don’t need Communists ruining their livelihoods. The gods know it’s hard enough to even find a job in this city.”

“What would you know about jobs, Uncle?” she quipped. There was a bite in her tone.

“I know a lot more than you do,” He growled.

His niece opened her mouth to say something but suddenly paused. She shut her mouth again, realization dawning on her.

“You had been working,” she said. It wasn’t question and her voice didn’t hold any of the prior edge it had. She said it as a simple statement. “Journey into King’s Landing. The Vhagar costume. It was your job.”

If Aemond wasn’t drowning in a wave of utter humiliation, he would’ve admired his niece for her quick wit. Instead, he turned his head, opting to stare out into the street. He didn’t say a word to her, but he supposed there was much communicated within his silence.

Aemond counted the seconds until his anger calmed down and he turned to his niece once more.

“You will say nothing about it,” the prince said firmly. "If I hear that you’ve uttered a single word…” he trailed off. There was nothing he could threaten her with. She was Rhaenyra’s daughter, and that meant she was higher than him in status. At least, while Viserys was still alive.

But the princess nodded. “Your secret is safe with me, Kepas,” she said. Visenya’s eyes met his with an intensity.

“May I ask you a question?” she said.

“Hm.”

“Why do you have a job?”

Aemond’s expression grew stern, for she added hastily. “I meant no offense. You’re a prince of Westeros. Your father is King Viserys the first. You don’t have to work—”

“—And yet I do,” the prince lamented. “I was born the second son, but I am even less than that. I am the only second born male child in this entire realm who is not even a spare.”

“I am sorry that it troubles you, but you are still a prince and you will be brother to the future queen. Surely, you do not need to—”

“The future queen who cares not for her siblings? The future queen who hogs all the funds set aside for the royal family for only her and her brood? The future queen who sits comfortably at her seat in Dragonstone while her siblings are counting each coin they spend while being buried knee-deep in debts? You mean that selfish, future queen?”

“I will not allow you to talk about my mother that way.”

“I will talk about my half-sister as I wish,” Aemond snapped.

“Then I bid you farewell, Uncle,” Visenya said coldly. “Have a safe trip back to the Red Keep.”

The princess stormed out of the alley without looking back.

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The further Visenya walked, the narrower the street got, and the shabbier the buildings around her became. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt a chill run down her spine despite the warm summer night.

It was getting darker and darker and too late to turn back. Visenya knew she needed to get off the streets quickly.

She stopped at the first inn she saw. It was an old, seedy building with a door that creaked too loud when she pushed it open.

Visenya stepped into a dim room, lit with only a single oil lamp that was perched on the bar counter. A man — which she could only guess was the innkeeper — sat behind it, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He was a sorry sight, with rumpled clothes and red-veined eyes. The bar was almost empty, save for a sleeping drunk at a table in the corner, snoring loudly with his head under a blanket. The air hung heavy with the scent of ale and sweat.

The innkeeper grunted as she approached the bar.

“A room, please,” Visenya said quickly, wanting to get it over with.

“Name?”

She wondered if the man would even remember her tomorrow. “Visenya.”

“Vagina?”

“Visenya.”

“Lasagna?”

“Sue. My name is Sue.”

“Alright, Stew. This here’s your key,” he tossed a brass key towards her. “Up the stairs, third room to the left.”

Visenya started towards the stairs, which were located at the far end of the room. She was only a couple feet away from the railing when she felt a large hand grasp her shoulder.

“Say, miss, whatcha doing wandering around here alone?” Visenya flinched at the foul stench of the innkeeper’s breath as he leaned in to speak. His grip on her shoulder was like iron, and she struggled to pull free. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Get your hands off me, or I’ll have your head, you filth,” she snarled, fury flaring in her eyes.

The innkeeper laughed, his laughter sounding like the rasp of a dying animal. “This whore thinks she’s a princess.” There was a dangerous edge to his voice, and Visenya knew she had to get away fast.

A sharp voice cut through the air. “Step away from her.”

Aemond. Still keeping a fierce grip on her, the innkeeper turned towards the direction of her uncle. The man hesitated at first, and then he burst out laughing.

“I am not a fan of the City Watch but I think we need to summon the Fashion Watch for that hideous shirt,” he sniggered. Aemond, wearing his neon green The Drag Queen Vhagar tee, was unamused. The innkeeper continued. “Is this your whore? I must say, she’s a weird bitch too—”

Visenya didn’t let the innkeeper finish. Seizing the opportunity the distraction gave her, she elbowed him in the stomach and broke free from his grasp. However, before she could escape, the innkeeper reached out and pulled her hair with a vicious yank, hoping to drag her back to him. Instead, he snatched her wig off, revealing her silver locks.

The innkeeper froze, clutching the black wig. “What in the world?” he gasped. “A Targaryen? But—”

Suddenly, the man gasped as blood gushed out of his mouth. He staggered off balance and started to fall forward. Visenya jumped out of the way and towards Aemond’s open arms as the innkeeper hit the floor, face first, with a loud thump. There was a stab wound at his back, a dark crimson stain in his tunic.

Behind the space where the innkeeper had stood was a young man with roughly cut shoulder-length white hair, a bloody dagger in his hand.

“Hello, Brother,” he said, nodding at Aemond. He turned to Visenya and grinned. “Hello, Stew.”

Chapter 5: Coming Soon

Author's Note: Aegon to the rescue! This chapter was chaotic to write. Thank you for reading :)

#hotd #hotd memes #hotd shitpost #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond x original female character #aemond x visenya #aemond fanfic #aemond stannies #hotd aemond #pro green #team green #aegon targaryen #aemond imagine

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ifandomus · 2 months ago

Note

Obviously it is tragic, but considering Visenya’s condition when she was born, there is no way she would have survived even if she had been born later.

This is how Fire & Blood describes her:

"a stillborn girl, twisted and malformed, with a hole in her chest where her heart should have been and a stubby, scaled tail."

To be fair, the account does come from Mushroom, which means that we should take it with a grain of salt. However, we do know that Targaryens sometimes have stillborn babies who are part dragon (for example, all 3 of Maegor the Cruel’s children, probably book Laena and Daemon’s youngest child, and Daenerys and Khal Drogo’s child). So, a part dragon stillborn is definitely plausible.

Now, considering that description, I think it's pretty safe to conclude that there is no way Visenya could have survived even if she hadn't been born too prematurely (actually her being born early might have saved Rhaenyra because she would have been smaller than if she had been carried to term), because a human being cannot survive without a heart. And chances are that at least some other vital parts of her body were also affected by this.

It’s also easy to conclude that the greens aren't actually responsible because the only way they could have been responsible is if they had poisoned Rhaenyra early in her pregnancy, which there is no evidence for (I dont think that irrational and groundless accusations made during a traumatic event counts evidence) and wouldn't make any sense considering that if they were going to poison her, they would have done it when she was pregnant with Jace (her first child and heir) and/or Aegon (her first child with Daemon), not Visenya (her sixth child overall and third with Daemon). At most, someone might be able to argue that the greens were responsible for the timing, but even that is a bit of a stretch.

The next part includes a couple of sort of graphic pictures of the prop they used in hotd, so I'm putting it under a text cut

And this was the silicone model they used in the show:

Source: An Instagram post made by Barrie Gower, who worked as a prosthetic designer

I’m pretty sure that there isn't a hole in the chest; however, there is no way that none of her organs and/or any of her other vital body parts weren't severely impacted by this, which would most likely make it impossible for her to survive even with modern medicine.

I dont understand team blacks insistence that the greens killed her daughter. Yes the two gut punches of Rhsenyras father being dead and Aegon being crowned triggered her into an early birth, but she was very clearly far along already, and that child didnt come out premature then die later in the same way Baelon did. It was a still birth. Still births dont happen at birth it happens before that and the mother tragically in those days would never know it.

She had 3 healthy children with Harwin, then 2 children with her uncle. And unfortunately, when Targaryean women have children multiple times with men in their own family, miscarriages and stillborns are not uncommon.

It's horrible, but her daughter not making it was not the greens fault, it was a tragedy that has happened to many women in Rhaenyras family including her mother.

Like her daughter not making it obviously effected her even more considering how close it was with Lucerys's death, but I don't grasp why they call her death murder and that it's the greens fault.

Its nothing short of a miracle for Rhaenyra that she had 5 healthy children up to that point with little complications. I get why Rhaenyra blames them in her grief, but I don't get why team black fans blame them when we should have the objective knowledge to know better.

Because didn’t you know? Everything that happened during the Dance was the Greens’ fault! Even things that are scientifically impossible!

I agree. The fact Rhaenyra had as many healthy kids as she did for the tine period is incredible! But things happen, especially in that time, and it’s no one’s fault

I feel like the reason they blame the Greens is purely because Rhaenyra says they killed her daughter, even though we are supposed to see this as delusional. Black fans really do just agree with whatever she says and not think deeper (unless thinking deeper means that you claim that everything in the book is Maester/green propaganda)

#hotd #fire & blood #anti team black #anti rhaenyra targaryen #<- for filtering #anti team black stans #team green #the greens

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optimizche · 2 years ago

Text

Missing (Part 3) [Aemond Targaryen x Reader]

Warning: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF THE DRAGON SEASON 1 EPISODE 10. Be careful!!!! And please comment with your feedback! ❤️

"I couldn't possibly-" you said, shaking your head violently, an incredulous smile on your lips. "I will burn to death."

"You must, sweet one," Jacaerys implored, the Lords gathered around the Painted Table nodding solemnly.

It was then that you turned to Prince Daemon. "I have no Valyrian blood in me, My Prince. How could I possibly even hope to bond with a dragon? Let alone ride it into battle?"

Threat of the looming war was now closer than ever.

Ever since Princess Rhaenys had flown to Dragonstone on Meleys, bringing the news of the death of King Viserys The Peaceful and the crowning of Aegon instead of the rightful, named heir, Princess Rhaenyra, chaos had erupted.

Queen Alicent and her Green Council had successfully managed to usurp the Iron Throne.

Ser Erryk had arrived to Dragonstone mere hours after Princess Rhaenys, carrying with him King Viserys' crown, the same crown Prince Daemon had placed on The Black Queen Princess Rhaenyra's head during her coronation, days after Aegon's coronation at King's Landing.

The House of the Dragon was now officially divided, ready to tear itself apart in the midst of war.

During the discussion around the Painted Table this morning at dawn, the topic of adding more dragons and dragonriders to the Black faction had arose.

Princess Rhaenyra had Syrax, Prince Daemon had Caraxes. Princess Rhaenys had Meleys while her two granddaughters, Rhaena and Baela had Morning and Moondancer respectively. Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey were bonded to Vermax, Arrax and Tyraxes respectively.

This brought the number of dragons on the side of the Blacks to an impressive eight.

The Greens, Queen Alicent's party only had three dragons for her three children, Sunfyre, Dreamfyre and Vhagar each bonded to Aegon, Helaena and Aemond respectively.

Even though the Blacks vastly outnumbered the Greens in terms of dragons, Prince Daemon and the young princes Jacaerys and Lucerys were adamant that more dragonriders were needed on our side.

You yourself had been a witness to Prince Daemon awakening Vermithor, a dragon once ridden by King Jaehaerys I Targaryen.

"We need more dragons with us, little one," Prince Daemon urged, the anger at his wife being robbed of her crown palpable in his temper. "You must try to bond with one of the dragons here at Dragonstone."

Jace and Luke spoke up in your support, trying to bolster your courage. "We won't let anything happen to you."

But it was when you looked at Queen Rhaenyra, who had just suffered a miscarriage of the daughter she carried, Visenya, you found your own resolve hardening.

It was the news of Aegon's coronation that had sent The Black Queen into an early labour. Far too early, leading to considerable blood loss and the birth of a stillborn baby girl, Visenya.

While your healing powers had restored the health of the Queen and brought her to her feet, she was stricken with grief over the loss of her sixth child and only daughter. Just a few days ago, you shuddered at the memory of how the Queen had wept and cursed as she bled during her premature labours. The tragedy had shaken all of you to the core.

You knew you had to bind yourself to a dragon, even if it killed you, for the sake of the Queen.

--------

Your years of studying and training in combat had done nothing to prepare you for this moment, as you stood within one of the largest pits of Dragonstone, staring up at the beast that slumbered before you.

A female dragon, the size of a mountain, she had scales of lavender interlaced with aquamarine.

"She's… formidable," you chuckled nervously, glancing at Prince Daemon, Jace and Luke, who stood on the sidelines, nodding encouragingly along with the dragonkeepers.

Steeling yourself, you slowly approached the dragon, reaching out tentatively with your palm.

"Dohaerās!" you called out, your voice echoing in the cave, awakening the she-dragon who looked at your comparitively miniscule figure with aqua coloured eyes.

"Dohaerās!" repeating the command with a determination in your voice that impressed you, given how much anxiety was gnawing away at you.

The dragon huffed, it's breath washing over your face as it raised its head.

Please don't open your mouth, you silently begged. Please don't burn me.

"Lykirī!"

Sensing the dragon's uneasiness, you attempted to calm it, but you knew that it wasn't listening to you. One wrong move and you'd be burnt till even your bones disintegrated. But you were desperate to bond with the dragon. You didn't want to disappoint the Queen when she needed you the most.

You stepped even closer to the dragon, right in front of it and all of a sudden, it opened its mouth, letting out the most thunderous roar that shook you to your bones.

"Dohaerās!" you commanded, yet again, undeterred.

"Stand your ground, little one," came Prince Daemon's advice. "Be firm."

Taking a deep breath, you kept your eyes focused on the dragon's.

"Dohaerās!" you cried out, your own voice echoing in the cave, almost as fierce as the dragon's roar.

The silence following your cry rang through your ears and you were certain that at the very next moment, you'd be burned alive by the irritated dragon.

You closed your eyes, bracing for the worst…

Instead, you felt the nudge of the dragon's head against your still outstretched palm.

"Gods be good, you've done it," Prince Daemon exhaled.

You opened your eyes to see the she-dragon bowing its head before you, a wild and unrestrained smile breaking across your face.

You had bonded with a dragon.

"Mount her!" Jacaerys shouted, rushing to his own dragon, Vermax.

"Fly with us!" Lucerys urged, already climbing Arrax.

Suddenly emboldened, you found yourself climbing swiftly up the dragon's back, patting it encouragingly as you gave it the High Valyrian command to fly. "Sōvēs!"

Laughing, Prince Daemon clapped his hands, moving aside as your dragon now rushed toward the exit to the cave, breaking all her chains in the process.

"What will you name her?" he asked between chuckles.

"I'll call her Aquerion!" you screamed back as the dragon spread its lavender aquamarine wings, ready to fly.

Perhaps your ancestry did contain a drop of Valyrian blood after all, you thought, exhilarated by the wind in your hair as you flew skyward, Arrax and Vermax flanking Aquerion on either side.

----------

While you spent your subsequent days training and honing your dragon riding skills with Jace, Luke, Rhaena and Baela, the Black Council made a decision to send envoys to the various powerful houses of Westeros, hoping that they'd swear themselves to Queen Rhaenyra's cause.

A raven came to Dragonstone, containing a message from one of Prince Daemon's spies in King's Landing that Prince Aemond had flown on Vhagar to Storm's End to secure House Baratheon.

This elicited a roar of laughter considering that Lord Borros Baratheon was a cousin of Princess Rhaenys and a staunch supporter of King Viserys. There was no chance that he would ally himself with the Greens, you were told. He was certainly going to support Queen Rhaenyra's cause, you were told.

You weren't so convinced, knowing full well that Borros Baratheon had four unmarried daughters. A betrothal to the new King's own brother could easily sway House Baratheon over to the Greens. And given that the Greens were not above usurping the Iron Throne from its rightful heir, you knew they were now capable of anything to secure their position in the approaching war.

As much as the idea of Aemond marrying a Baratheon girl perturbed you, you were even more disturbed when it was decided that Lucerys would fly to Storm's End as an envoy of Queen Rhaenyra.

Alone.

"My Queen," you begged the night before the morning of Lucerys' departure. "Please let me accompany Luke to Storm's End. He might need me."

Over the course of the years you had come to think of Lucerys as your little brother. Naturally, you had grown very protective of him.

"There will be no need for that, my dear," Queen Rhaenyra said, waving off your suggestion. "Luke is certain to receive a warm welcome at Storm's End. House Baratheon favours Princess Rhaenys and us."

"But, My Queen, Aemond will be there," you insisted in urgent but hushed tones. "He has no love for Jace, Joffrey and especially Luke since the incident at Driftmark."

"Dearest, are you questioning my decisions now?" she asked you, a brow raised.

You were suddenly flustered. "Of course not, My Queen, I was merely concerned about-"

"Lucerys will be fine, dear," she said, giving your hand a squeeze. "He is eager to prove himself and I've made him swear to the Seven that there will be no fighting on his end with that Aemond."

You bowed your head, agreeing reluctantly to her decision, an inexplicable sense of dread overcoming you.

The very next morning as soon as dawn broke, all of you assembled in the Great Hall to say goodbye to Lucerys.

"Don't fret, little one," Prince Daemon remarked, noting your concern. "Lucerys will be fine."

"Of course!" the boy said, hugging you tightly and giving you a bright smile before moving on to hug his mother.

As much as you wanted to believe it, something in your heart made you quite unsure, leaving you feeling unsettled as you watched Lucerys take to the skies on Arrax's back.

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Hours had passed with no word from any raven of Lucerys safely reaching Storm's End. He had promised you and Jacaerys that he would send a raven as soon has he landed at the Baratheon stronghold.

Prince Daemon had watched your mounting anxiety, noting how you did not indulge in even one of your favourite sweetcakes at breakfast that morning.

Jacaerys could tell by how distracted you were during your morning lessons with Maester Gerardys that you were still apprehensive about Luke. You paced restlessly through the hall while Jace studied High Valyrian with the Maester, before running to consult the great almanac that sat open on the stone table nearby.

"It predicts a cruel storm at Storm's End today," you read, murmuring more to yourself than to anyone else. "Gods, Luke…"

While you were almost sure that Lucerys could deal with Aemond well enough by himself as he had already done during that night at Driftmark, you knew that Aemond and a storm made for a rather difficult combination to navigate for little Luke.

"Maester, may I be excused? I'm feeling quite unwell," you said, placing a hand on your stomach to feign a stomach ache.

Jace eyed you with suspicion, not believing your excuse for a single moment but letting you leave nevertheless.

You rushed headlong down the corridors, making your way down to the basement of the building.

The armoury, I need a weapon, you thought, a plan already formulating itself in your head as clear as day.

Sneaking into the armoury, you found a vast array of blades. Swords, daggers, spears, bows and arrows. All fashioned from either Valyrian steel or Dragonglass.

You picked a sword you knew you would be able to wield, along with a couple of Dragonglass daggers.

Prince Daemon is out searching for more dragon eggs, you thought to yourself, running toward the dragonpit before quickly changing from your gown to your riding leathers. Queen Rhaenyra is abed, resting. Princess Rhaenys is tending to Rhaena and Baela…

You found Aquerion waiting for you, the gorgeous she-dragon having already anticipated your arrival with the sound of your footsteps. Perhaps you had gotten more close to your dragon than you ever realized.

Climbing up on her back, you mounted the supple leather saddle, grasping the reins in your gloved hands, looking around for any dragonkeepers guarding her nearby. There were none present.

"Sōvēs, Aquerion!" you commanded, your voice confident and crystal clear.

As you leaned down to pat your dragon as it charged toward the entrance of the pit, you knew that you needed to get to Storm's End and quick.

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Aquerion, being a mighty dragon had large, well-built wings, the wingspan almost double the size of her body.

She carried you swiftly up the sky and within a few hours of flying, if the change in landscape was any suggestion, you were nearing Storm's End.

It had begun to drizzle, the clouds growing thicker and more grey the closer you flew to your destination, a thin mist permeating the air. Hampering your visibility.

Wiping a stray lock of wet hair away from your face, you silently prayed that you'd reach your destination safely.

Gods, I only hope that Lucerys is alright…

You flew straight into the eye of the storm where the wind was whipping at you, the rain coming down thick and merciless. Drenching you to the bone through your riding outfit.

You were flying right above a ravine when a blast of fire cut through the storm.

Dragonfire.

Heartbeat rising tenfold, you turned Aquerion in the direction of the fire only to find a small dragon being violently pursued by a giant one.

Arrax and Vhagar.

Despite the rain and the mist, your eyesight allowed you to make out the silhouettes of their dragonriders, Lucerys and Aemond.

"There is a debt to be paid, boy!" Aemond bellowed, chuckling ruthlessly as he pursued Luke.

"Lucerys!" you cried out for the Prince, seeing him turn to see you and Aquerion approaching from the right.

Queen Rhaenyra's son shouted your name in palpable relief, seeing your much larger dragon arrive in the middle of the chase.

"Dracarys, Aquerion!" you commanded, aiming her dragonfire at Vhagar in an attempt to distract Aemond. "Fly away, Luke!"

Your dragonfire hit Vhagar's wing, a pained screech emitted by the old dragon almost shaking you to the marrow.

On Vhagar's back, Aemond looked bewildered, looking hard through the rain and fog to see who it was who had dared to attack him.

When he spotted you on Aquerion's back, for a moment in time, Aemond looked shell-shocked.

"Dracarys!" you roared yet again, sending more dragonfire at Vhagar, aiming at her head this time as you charged head-on at her with Aquerion.

Over your shoulder, you looked to see Lucerys staring at you with worriment etched on his face, even as Arrax safely carried him out and away from Vhagar's reach, to Dragonstone.

He was safe, you thought, the ghost of a smile gracing your own face as you became distracted for a fraction of a second…

All of a sudden, it felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs, your dragon, Aquerion colliding with Vhagar.

The momentum of the push was powerful enough to send both dragons plummeting toward the ground, their roars echoing in the skies. You clutched desperately at her reins to prevent yourself from being knocked off the saddle, bracing yourself for the impact at the top of a cliff.

Vhagar fell first, with a screech, Aquerion falling a few yards away from the other dragon with a pitiful whine.

For a moment, it felt like the world itself had been plunged into darkness, unconsciousness tugging at your senses, trying to pull you under to keep you sheltered from the immense pain you felt.

A broken arm for sure. Perhaps a few broken ribs?

You fell from the back of your dragon, collapsing to the ground before hesitantly raising a hand to your abdomen, feeling blood weep from a wound there.

It almost felt like a rush of energy, when you heard footsteps approaching you, making you rise shakily to your feet as you raised your sword.

"You would dare to raise a sword against me? Your childhood friend?" Aemond asked, his own sword now unsheathed, as he stood before you, bleeding from a gash on his head.

"You would dare to attempt to slay your own kin? Your own nephew?" you asked in retaliation, stepping forward, sword raised, should he attack, a hand pressing into the wound in your abdomen.

There was no chance in seven Hells that you'd survive a swordfight against Aemond Targaryen. But you weren't going to perish without a fight.

"I see you ride a dragon now," he said, nodding toward Aquerion where the poor beast lay in pain. Recovering from the fall.

"Which Baratheon girl did you betroth yourself to?" you taunted.

It was this that sent Aemond charging at you, your swords clanging as you held the blade up to defend yourself against his every swing.

Matching his reflexes as best as you could.

"Oh, wait," you sneered, between offensive blows of your own, blows that he dodged with ease. "You've been too occupied with your sister to take someone else to wife-"

With a roar, Aemond slashed violently at you, the blade of his sword cutting into the wrist of your dominant hand. Disarming you as your fingers let go of the sword from the sudden pain.

You cried out as he pushed you onto the ground with astounding force, straddling you with his sword now at your neck. The blade pressing into the column of your bare throat.

"Kill me," you urged him, the pain in your heart far greater than the pain from any wound you had suffered. "Kill me and be done with me."

Aemond looked pained, wrenching the patch away from his eye to reveal the sapphire underneath it. To show you who he really was.

"Do you truly think I would kill you?" he asked, aghast from your words. "Do you truly think so low of me?"

"You only ever needed me around to heal your wounds, to heal your eye. I was nothing more to you than my abilities," you said, your heart breaking at the pain you felt, your own eyes burning with tears.

How had years of friendship and affection come down to this?

Hearing him growl, you felt the blade vanish from at your neck as he threw his own sword to the side, his gloved hands finding your face.

"You were my best friend. The best part of my life," he said. "I loved Helaena but I loved you more, you fool."

He pressed his forehead against yours, a single tear from his own eye falling on your cheek.

"You were my solace, the only one who ever gave me true peace. When you left, I lost a part of who I was," he said and you felt your eyelids fluttering, your strength seemingly abandoning you with every drop of blood that gushed from your abdomen. "When will you ever understand this?"

Tears now felt freely from your eyes as you whimpered quietly, a sudden relief filling you at his words. For how many years had you ached to hear them?

You felt his own chest wrack with sobs, raising your bloodstained hand to touch his cheek underneath his scar. Mixing your blood with his, flowing from his head.

"You're hurt…" he said, placing his palm over your hand, his eye examining the huge bloodstain on your waist, terrified.

"But your children? With Helaena?" you asked, struggling to keep your eyes open.

He opened his mouth to speak but your mind tuned out the words he said, too exhausted and fraught to stay awake.

Seconds later, your world turned black.

Part 4

#angst #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond x helaena #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x helaena targaryen

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years ago

Text

“ᴍʏ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ.” | ᴅ. ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

GIF by @fireandbloodsource

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader (OC)

summary: Being the oldest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma was a blessing and a curse at once. But Visenya– as cunning, intelligent, and brave she was– prepared her very own path with the help of the one man who held her heart in his hands and kept her back at all time.

word count: 10.5k i don’t know what happened here.

warnings: canon typical incest (i’m sorry okay?), cursing, fluff, violence, mentions of blood, injuries, and a sword fight, threats, canon typical misogyny, more fluff, dragons, High Valyrian presented you by an online translator, conversations about death and stillborn babies, a bit of angst, slight HotD s1 spoiler

author’s note: I love Rhaenyra with all my heart, but I need to indulge in this one, sorry! This is my first time writing something GoT related and my first time writing for Daemon, so be gentle with me, thaaaaanks <3 This one got longer than intended. My Vhagar is inspired by the design for Rhaegal in GoT byyyyye

A decade ago.

With wide, curious eyes, the firstborn of Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma entered the smoke and fire-filled halls underneath Dragonstone, taking in the sight of the ancient mural paintings similar to those in the caves further down the beach. They depicted the history of old; showing how Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys conquered Westeros with their dragons and built what her family ruled over now.

Her fingertips softly stroked over the uneven wall of solid stone, reminding her of the strength laying within her family. They would rule as long as Dragonstone existed; she was sure of it.

“Visenya.”

Her father’s voice called her over, beckoning her back into reality and out of her dreaming mind. She turned, the edges of her charcoal cloak softly flaring, and the sound of her boots echoed through the grand halls filled with dragon eggs as she headed over to him and her waiting mother. The prince smiled down at her as she regained her place next to him, one of his large hands softly put on her shoulder.

“Your mother and I went her while she had bear you. It is a holy moment in our family to claim a dragon egg, and she knew which one to choose for you– because you chose Rhaegar,” Viserys explained to his daughter while her eyes settled upon her mother, who now stood in front of the bared eggs who would be ready to hatch in a handful of weeks. “How did I know which one to choose, father?” Her voice was filled with curiosity and wonder, not understanding how someone, who wasn’t even born, could make those life-altering decisions. Her father shrugged softly and smiled down at her. “No man knows.”

Visenya scoffed under her breath, not quite satisfied with her father’s answer but a movement behind one of the many pillars scattered through the grand halls distracted her. A flash of familiar silver hair and the last remnants of a smirk lingered in the air, and after Viserys had turned his attention back to Aemma, who now held an egg in her hands, Visenya slipped away to find the spectator of this moment.

With slow steps, she rounded the pillar at which she had seen him but was greeted by emptiness. Furrowing her brows, the princess walked around the next one, and frustration started to bubble up within her delicate body as she was greeted by an empty space again. Shaking her head slowly, the silver-haired girl opened her mouth in order to speak up and call him out, but as she turned, her breath hitched in her throat.

Daemon Targaryen stood awfully close to her, and Visenya had to take a step back not to have to look up to him at this horrendous angle. Sometimes she despised how tall the prince loomed over her and how her neck protested if she granted him one look too many.

“Daemon,” she greeted him, and the Targaryen prince smirked down at her. “Visenya,” he returned and bowed mockingly. She cocked a brow, not surprised at all at his display of… what? Mockery? Hatred? Envy? She wasn’t sure which one it was today, except for the hatred. She could ignore that thought because they never hated each other. They may quarrel and insult one another on a daily occasion. Still, she knew the meaning behind those lingering glances because she wasn’t stupid and felt how her heart started to race every time she felt those violet eyes lingering on her.

She may be young, but she wasn’t stupid. She had handmaidens and listened to their hushedly whispered confessions to one another when they thought the princess was still asleep in the early morning light. She knew about love and physical lust, about desire and heartache. With her six and ten name day on the horizon, she even was considered suitable for marriage by her uncle and his Small Council, but her father held objections against it.

And she was thankful for that; it saved her from a marriage with an old lord from who-knows-where ultimately– and she could spend more time with Daemon.

Who just had gotten a hold of her hand and gently– it surprised even him how tender he could be– the older Targaryen pulled her back into reality, to him. He always wished to have her undivided attention so that those eyes with the soft but sometimes mischievous glimmer lay on him and him alone. He hated the feeling always creeping up on him as soon as one of those lordlings tried to steal her away from him. Gladly, she never stayed long with them and always returned into Daemon’s line of sight, granting him the vision of the smile reserved explicitly for him.

He was a lucky man indeed.

“Come with me,” was all Daemon mumbled before pulling her further with him, placing her hand in the crook of his arm. The familiar feeling of it calmed them both, and Visenya followed him without objection, straight out of the sacred halls of their family and into the open of a partially clouded summer’s day. Compared to the capital, the summer at Dragonstone was bearable; the salty breeze was always present, and clouds hid the unforgiving sun. The volcano behind Dragonstone probably was the cause of it.

The breeze swept through her silver hair, and the few rays of sun kissed her skin. With closed eyes, Visenya enjoyed it while walking close to Daemon, who would never let her fall. She knew he observed her doing, as he always did, especially when they were alone, but she didn’t mind. It never had bothered her because she watched him as well but mostly without his knowledge.

It was a fun game.

But she knew that it would always stay precisely this: a game.

The heavy sensation of heartache settled within her chest, and the princess tried to shake it off, scolding herself silently for letting it happen again. Visenya knew that the Small Council– or her father– would never allow such a union, not until all Seven Hells were frozen. She had to keep her mind and heart realistically instead of pursuing a childish hope she would chase her entire life.

“Daemon, it is probably not wise to-…” But he hushed her while his long finger reverently caressed the hand still situated on his arm. “I know with shocking clarity that you were not able to ride Rhaegar all week long, so I thought I would accompany you. Steal you away from all the duties and lordlings to finally have you all to myself for only a handful of hours.” She couldn’t deny him if he continued to speak in that voice that always let her resolve crumble like mere stone walls in the face of the force of a dragon.

Visenya sighed deeply and glanced up at him, her brows still furrowed, and her heart still ached. “That is very thoughtful and kind of you, but I still don’t think it is a wise thing to do, uncle.” She had to make him understand from where she was coming, what her mind had to work through. But Daemon only chuckled and stopped to turn his body to her. He took her hand from his arm while also grasping for the other at her side and brought both to his face. He bent his head, silver threads tickling her skin, and kissed her knuckles as gentle as a butterfly’s touch. “I think it is the wisest thing we could do, niece,” he returned without a second or third thought, pressing another set of kisses on the skin of her hands.

Her heart ached so bitterly but beautifully at the sight of the Rogue Prince’s soft side, and a small smile began to tuck at her full lips. “Fine,” the princess spoke in a soft whisper, ignoring his victorious smirk, and drew back both hands out of his still lingering grasp. She turned again to continue their path, a full smile settling on her face at the sound of his following steps and the warm, heavy feeling of his hand at the small of her back.

She was lost; she knew it at this very moment as Rhaegar and Caraxes landed in front of their riders. The girl watched as Daemon softly greeted her dragon, who usually never let another soul near him except for his rider, but the prince was the one extraordinary exception. Caraxes eyed her intently as she stepped to Rhaegar and let her hand affectionately stroke over Daemon’s back; she was too weak, and everyone around her would soon realize it.

The hated prince looked down at the loved princess as she pressed her forehead against her dragon’s scales with closed eyes, her hand still resting on his back. He bent down to press a lingering kiss on the crown of her head; he was too weak, and everyone around him would soon realize it because he did not have the intention to let this jewel be married off to a different man than him.

She was his, and he was hers.

;

Seven years ago.

“Where is Prince Daemon?”

The princess’s voice echoed through the hallway, and in surprise, Ser Harrold turned around to bow before the eldest of House Targaryen. “My princess,” he greeted her and waited until she reached him. Her eyes observed his face intently before asking the same question again. “Where is Prince Daemon?”

He had promised her an hour of his time on this day, but he was nowhere to be found, not even in his most preferred places in the Red Keep she knew of. But she had a feeling that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard could know about the man's current location, and she couldn't shake off the certainty of her supposition. And she had been right because, at the sight of the barely visible twitch in Ser Harrold's brow, Visenya knew it had been the right call to find him and ask him first before heading to her father.

"Yes?"

She waited until the Kingsguard cleared his throat. "I was told not to interfere, my princess, and this would entail not telling you his current location." Ser Harrold knew her too well, but he must know too that she would never let go of it until she had heard a satisfying answer to her question. So all she did was cocking a brow and stand her ground, waiting for the older man to spill it out for her to chase after him. Visenya may have promised herself to stop chasing after Daemon Targaryen because it would only bring her heartache and a potential break of said organ, but she just couldn't keep her distance.

It was like a curse cast upon her.

"I won't leave until you are telling me what you know, Ser Harrold," she announced in case the knight lost his memories of all the moments of persistence from her side they had lived through over the years, and he sighed deeply at the realization of her perseverance. She would make a fine queen, was all he thought before sharing his knowledge with the princess he grew rather fond of ever since she had been born and lived under his protective watch. "He left after the first lights of day, riding into the Kingswood to conduct a duel between him and Ser Gwayne Hightower."

Closing her eyes, Visenya sent a quick, silent prayer to the gods because she knew what had led to this very duel which would cause more trouble than it would cause a truce. The memory of a drunken Ser Gwayne at the feast the night before sneaked back into her mind, remembering his warm, disgusting breath fanning over her cheek as he had leaned closer and closer, his hand resting too low to be still proper on her hip. He had pushed her into a dark corner of the hall, the sounds of the lavish feast still surrounding them but too far away at the same moment. He had trapped her there, and she had been frozen, which was so unlike her that it had scared her even more. Never before had a man dared to touch her this way, especially not without her consent of coming as close as he had done, invading her much preferred personal space, and the shock had settled into the princess's bones. She didn't dare to think about the possibilities of outcomes if Daemon hadn't found her in that dire situation.

She knew with shocking clarity that he did this for her– for her honor.

Staring up to her favorite Kingsguard, the princess decided her course of action.

She wasn't a scared little thing. She was the firstborn princess of House Targaryen. She was a dragon rider. She was not a mere silly girl who would fear the presence of a single man. And Ser Harrold seemingly caught up to her intentions because he was right behind her as Visenya spun around and left the Red Keep to ride to the Dragonpit.

—

Rhaegar raised his charcoal head as he sensed the presence of his rider, his gleaming eyes watching the silver-haired young woman coming closer with long strides, ignoring the words of the dragon guards.

"But, my princess, he doesn't carry his saddle!" One of them shouted over the rumbling of Rhaegar, who didn't like the sight of how close the guard stepped to her. "I do not need one," was all Visenya answered as her dragon had left the cave and stretched his wings before sinking down to the ground so she could climb on top of him. Ser Harrold watched the princess with worried eyes, not looking forward to her flying without the support of the saddle and reins, but he knew he couldn't stop her.

The charcoal beast, almost as giant as Caraxes himself, shook his massive head and bared his teeth while Visenya claimed her spot between his wings and held onto his scales. She didn't need to give him the command; instead, Rhaegar took off into the sky without a single uttered word from his rider because their souls were connected through the strongest bond a rider could acquire to his dragon.

—

The sounds of steel crashing against steel echoed through the Kingswood. Labored breathing was heard in the clearing between high rising trees and the grand river dividing the woods like a blue open wound. Nervously dancing horses with their equally nervous riders were scattered around the field of duel, their eyes watching the ongoing fight with worried expressions. Not because they feared the prince and their Commander could get hurt, but because of the repercussions following this act for either of the two sides.

Daemon gritted his teeth as Gwayne almost struck him with the tip of his laughable sword. He let the knight dance around him, Dark Sister securely in his hands, while his lilac eyes followed every move of his opponent before attacking him again. He roared as the memories of Visenya and him flashed before his eyes, and Dark Sister attacked the Hightower man with such force that he had to stumble backward, almost falling to the soft wooden ground.

“You deserve to be beheaded for what you did,” the Rogue Prince seethed, and the other man scrambled back up to counter the next attack. “Putting your hands on her is considered one of the worst crimes in the fucking Seven Kingdoms.” Maybe Daemon exaggerated because he felt sick to the core at the flashes of memory in his mind, but he didn’t care.

He touched her so he would get punished for it.

Gwayne scoffed before spitting out blood after the handle of Dark Sister had made contact with his jaw. “Don’t fool me, my prince, you only regret that it wasn’t you who had the idea before me.” His anger reached a newfound intensity. “Every bloody fool in King’s Landing knows about your preferences; that you’re lusting after pretty, silver-haired maidens,” the knight continued with an evil smile which soon disappeared as Daemon attacked him anew– a cry for blood leaving his mouth.

Dark Sister almost sang in his hands as the blade, made out of Valyrian Steel, tasted fresh blood, and he reveled in the sight of the crimson red liquid spilling out of a wound at his arm. He despised the events which ultimately led him to this point, but oh, how he loved to see the blood spill out of a man’s body.

“Utter a single word, and I will not leave it at a mere duel,” Daemon threatened the Hightower son, already imagining how he sent his head to Otto. It was a delightful thought. The blade of his sword was held high and pointing straight against the man’s throat, his intentions clear as day, but the sound of mighty wings and a looming shadow above them let Gwayne look up. Even Daemon seemed surprised, instantly thinking that Caraxes had somehow escaped the Dragonpit to find his rider, but instead, he watched how Rhaegar flew slow circles over the clearing before landing in the middle of it.

His fiery eyes settled upon the spectacle in front of him, growling loudly and scaring the horses– and Gwayne. The knight scrambled over the ground to get as far away as possible from the beast, but Rhaegar followed him, his head lowered to have better access to him if his rider spoke the words.

Daemon took one step back and looked up to Visenya, sitting on bare scales, hair despite the many braids out of perfect order, cheeks reddened from the flight, and eyes taking in the scene in front of her.

“Skoros istan ao otāpagon?” (What were you thinking?) She may speak High Valyrian with her entire family and even some people at court, but for him, it was entirely reserved for her. Visenya raised a brow at his words. “Nyke gaomagon daor gīmigon skoros ao nūmāzma,” (I do not know what you mean.) she returned, remaining on Rhaegar because she didn’t trust the Hightower knight anymore, not even with Daemon and some of his City Watch men at her protection. Rhaegar was her most trusted companion, after all, and nobody would dare to try anything with him at her side. “Nyke ivestretan zirȳ naejot lua ao konīr. Skoros gaomagon ao gaomagon kesīr, Visenya?” (I told them to keep you there. What do you do here, Visenya?)

The princess locked eyes with the prince before turning her gaze to Gwayne Hightower, distaste and hatred clearly visible in her gleaming eyes. “Nyke jeldan naejot ūndegon ziry nykēla.” (I wanted to see it myself.) But then she looked back at Daemon. “Nyke jeldan naejot mīsagon ao hen aōla,” (I wanted to protect you from yourself.) Visenya continued, and now it was for the silver-haired prince to watch back to the knight, but returning his gaze soon back to the woman he desired more than anything else. He smiled a small smile now. “Ao gaomagon daor emagon naejot gaomagon ziry. Nyke kostagon mīsagon issa hen nykēla,” (You do not have to do it. I can protect me from myself.) he spoke in the softest of tones before a shouting groan escaped Daemon at the feeling of steel piercing through the back of his thigh.

“Daemon!”

Gwayne Hightower couldn’t react fast enough as Rhaegar roared as if he was struck himself. He moved forward, eyes fixed on the knight, but Visenya didn’t care what would happen to this fool of a man because she slid off Rhaegar’s back and landed on both hands and knees. But she was quick to get up to her feet again, rushing over to where Daemon knelt now, the sword stuck in his leg. She fell back to her knees, not caring for her breeches, and her hands cupped his face, looking him over for other injuries, while his City Watch cornered the knight with a furious Rhaegar at their disposal.

“Skorkydoso kostagon nyke dohaeragon?” (How can I help?) Daemon laughed choppily between groans. “Nyke glaesagon rȳ tolī kempa ōdria,” (I lived through more severe wounds.) he promised, a smirk tucking at his lips. Visenya had to smile despite the situation. “Am I allowed to burn him now?” Now, Daemon laughed wholeheartedly but stopped as the sword moved in his leg. “If I were the one asking you this question, you would tell me I have to think with my mind and what it would bring over this bloody kingdom,” the prince reminded her, and Visenya sighed. Sometimes she hated that she most often was the more responsible one in their dynamic. “At least let me throw him into the Black Cells,” she tried again to distract him from the pain until two of his guards came and held him in order to remove the sword from his thigh.

Daemon groaned deep in his chest, and Visenya softly caressed his cheek while one of the men wrapped a clean cloth around the wound so that the maesters could see to it back at the Red Keep. “You have an evil mind, dear,” the Rogue Prince whispered as she helped him stand up and supported him with an arm around his back. She smiled devilishly up at him. “I have to match a certain someone if I want to keep up with him.”

Walking over to Rhaegar, who held his gaze fixed upon the knight, already preparing to kill him, Daemon chuckled. “You do not have to. I would want you anyway.” Those words were entirely meant for her ears only, and she almost blushed but kept her composure.

The dragon continued to growl, his fiery breath almost scorching the man in his armor and letting the sweat run over his face. “You can consider yourself lucky for the time being, Ser Gwayne,” the princess spoke, eyeing him with vivid disgust. “But do not start to believe it will be a lasting state. The king will decide upon your punishment after you arrive back in King’s Landing. Good luck, Hightower.” Ignoring his starting pleads, Visenya looked up to her dragon. “Rhaegar,” she called his name gently and with deep affection evident in her voice. The Shadow of King’s Landing, as her father liked to call him, moved his head and lowered himself back to the ground, so Daemon could slowly climb up. “No reins?” The princess shrugged and grinned widely. “I do not need them.” She followed after him, but Daemon pulled her in front of him, wrapping an arm close around her slender body and letting her bring them home.

;

Six years ago.

The battle was brutal, and Daemon defended himself with the utmost grace of a skilled swordsman. Somewhere in his mind, a voice was screaming; a voice telling him that something horrible would happen no matter how hard he would fight.

It was something inevitable.

He didn’t know what it could be because, so far, his troops fought bravely and loyally, even though the enemy was strong and had more men. But he had dragons. Caraxes roamed the skies above his rider’s head, killed enemies with the force of his flames, and pushed their troops to retreat for the time being. But the bright red dragon was not the only creature aiding the Targaryen fighters. The deafening sound of Rhaegar’s roar echoed over the battlefield of flames, and the charcoal beast with specks of gold and red broke through the thick wall of smoke and ash, his rider securely on his strong back.

The sight of a furious Visenya was a vision to behold, and his chest swelled with pride. He knew she would get to hear something after their return to King’s Landing because Viserys had explicitly forbidden that she would follow Daemon into battle, but they would push through and overcome this little obstacle.

Rhaegar spat another wall of fire and roared as loud as the first dragons, circling over the battlefield with Caraxes. The prince paused for a split moment to watch the girl who had become a woman practically overnight, a skilled warrior in the light of gods. But an approaching knight interrupted him, and Daemon killed the man with a few swift motions with Dark Sister in his hand.

The prince couldn’t revel in this next small victory because the distressed shriek of Rhaegar let him move his eyes back into the sky to watch helplessly as he lost altitude. His wings weren’t widely stretched anymore. Instead, they flattered useless in the air, not carrying the heavy body safely to the ground.

“Visenya!”

His shouting voice was filled with fear and uncertainty, and suddenly, the awful feeling from before crept back into his bones, the voice again whispering in his mind. His legs started to carry him in her direction, killing every single man who dared to get into his path.

The Dark Shadow, as the commoners had started to call Rhaegar, crashed into the ground, and Caraxes emitted a roar while slowly gliding to his dying companion. His massive flaming head searched the ground for the female rider and protected these two with a storm of flames while observing the area for his own rider.

Visenya coughed as she slowly and unsteadily emerged in the cloud of sand and smoke, her hand raised to shield her face from the bright flames surrounding her. Crawling, the princess reached her dragon’s head, and tears formed rivers on her dirty cheeks. She had felt it at the moment the spear had hit her companion, and she tumbled from the sky. It was almost physical; as if the spear had pierced her very own body instead of Rhaegar’s.

“Rhaegar,” she whispered underneath the escaping sobs, her hands caressing his dark and shining scales. She could feel his shallow breaths while his golden eyes were trained on the woman kneeling in front of his head. Pure agony filled her at the sight of the lack of life creeping in on them, and she pressed her forehead against his still warm body as his last breath escaped him.

A scream pierced through the thick atmosphere of battle and let several fighters halt their movements before the first few brave men dared to sneak up on the princess.

Killing her would be the greatest achievement of their entire life.

But she heard them, and with a cry for battle, Visenya rose from the ground, drew her sword, and killed the three men within a blink of an eye. Daemon stopped in his tracks at the sight of his niece, took in her tear-stained face, and didn’t have to know more. She raised her eyes from the dead bodies in front of her, her bloody sword dangling between the tips of her fingers, and looked straight into his own eyes. He could see her lips moving, and he knew she had called him.

Daemon reached her trembling form at the moment her legs gave up and couldn’t carry her any longer. His arms wrapped the young woman in the most protective embrace ever witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms and held her close while the sounds of dying men surrounded them.

—

The Red Keep was in turmoil at the news of the vanished princess and even more so as the red dragon returned to the pit with both his rider and their princess on his back. Viserys searched the sky for Rhaegar, but at the sight of his daughter’s distress, he knew what had happened. Aemma was quicker than him in her path to their eldest child and wrapped her in her motherly love after Daemon softly had brought Visenya to the ground. His eyes settled on his brother, and the Rogue Prince shook his head to confirm his thoughts.

“He is dead,” the King heard his daughter sob, and Aemma glanced over to him, dreadful worry etched into her beautiful face. “He is dead, and it is my fault!” Now, the sobs shook her body again, let her tremble in her mother’s embrace, and Viserys was quick to cradle her in his arms to carry her into the safety of their home. Daemon watched him with envy in his eyes but followed the procession nonetheless after bringing Caraxes back into the now empty den.

Even the blood-red beast mourned his long companion in the upcoming night, and Daemon situated himself in the corridor in which the princess had her chambers to keep watch over her.

—

Days passed within a blink of an eye.

The maesters had suggested giving the princess milk of the poppy in order to soothe her grieving and self-destructing mind and to offer her at least some hours of peace and rest. Aemma had sat by her side through each and every night, not daring to leave her, not even as Viserys almost begged her to watch after herself. Young Rhaenyra had sneaked into her older sister's room on the second night of her return; she had pressed her body against her side, just as she usually did when the older Targaryen princess told her stories each and every night. The queen did not object to her daughter's behavior. Instead, she started to sing softly for hours on end, always the same old melody and lyrics of an old Valyrian song about the ancient gods and goddesses of the lost civilization, which had been the only words to soothe young Visenya in her cradle right after she had been born. During the third night, even the king had accepted how things were now and had himself situated in his eldest's chambers, holding a watchful eye on her sleeping form. Only Daemon stayed out of her rooms, preferred his lonely watch in the dark shadows of the hallway, ignoring the hushed whispers of the servants and handmaidens seeing him every day and night sitting unmoving in his chosen spot, eyes closely settled upon the door of her chambers.

The tenth night was the night in which Visenya finally opened her eyes.

Uncountable candles softly lighted her room; the sound of their small flames let the agony within her heart appear again. Silent tears left her eyes and rolled over her cheeks, vanishing in her unruly locks of matted hair. A barely audible snore pushed her to move her head to the source of the sound - the movement alone was almost too much for her to bear - and the picture of a sleeping Daemon Targaryen greeted her still tired eyes. He had his head tucked away between his arms which lay on top of the soft blankets covering her frame, his face relaxed and bare of every deception and malicious thought.

It was a rare sight, and even though her soul screamed in agonizing pain, Visenya enjoyed seeing him more relaxed than ever. He was here, right at her side, and that was almost enough to soothe some of the dread constantly spreading inside her.

Slowly, the woman turned onto her side and stretched an arm to brush through his soft silver hair, but at the mere touch of her fingertips, Daemon opened his eyes and raised his head. His lilac eyes found her face immediately, and utter relief filled his handsome features.

“Visenya,” was all he whispered as his hand cupped her cheek. The pad of his thumb caressed her distinct cheekbone, and his eyes moved over her face to reassure himself that she was indeed awake and alright as much as she could be after everything that had happened. Her cold fingers closed around his wrist, and with a deep, long sigh, she let her eyes fall shut again. “It is my fault, is it not?”

Her question pulled him out of his almost frozen state, and Daemon shook his head even though she couldn’t see it. “No, it was not,” he assured her with certainty, and she opened her watery eyes again. “But why does it feel like it is?” A sad smile etched onto the prince’s face, and he continued to caress her cheek. “Because you, my love, always believe to be the epitome of wrongdoings. It is a horrendous habit of yours.” Daemon felt pride rising in his chest at the sight of the twitch of her lips. The smile didn’t want to show, but that was more than alright. It would take time.

Visenya scooted closer to the edge of her bed to be closer to him and sighed again as their foreheads found one another, and she felt his skin against hers. Their eyes locked into the respective pair and a pleading expression sneaked into hers. Daemon would give her everything she desired; they both knew it.

“I want to go home,” the princess whispered, and the prince knew which place she meant.

Dragonstone.

He nodded softly, propped his chin atop the soft blanket, and dared to steal a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I will bring you home, issa jorrāelagon,” (my love) he promised.

And Visenya knew that he would hold his word.

;

Three years ago.

“Brother.”

Daemon forced himself to bow in front of the king and his Small Council, throwing Otto a glaring look but ignoring him after that. He had much more important matters to discuss.

Viserys raised both brows in wonder at his younger brother’s rare presence during one of the meetings. “How can I help you, Daemon?” He must want something from him– the Rogue Prince never bothered himself with unpleasantries if he couldn’t gain something. The older man knew that something certainly was coming.

And he was right.

Daemon’s piercing stare settled entirely on him, and the world most definitely had stopped at his following words the council would never have expected to leave his mouth willingly. “I intend to marry.” Grand Maestor Mellos almost choked on his own spit. Lyonel Strong’s eyes seemingly popped out of his skull. Corlys Velaryon cocked a brow and eyed him. “Which pitiful soul do you have in mind, your highness?” The master of ships asked curiously, with a hint of malice in his tone. Daemon couldn’t hide the slight smirk appearing on his face before looking over at his brother again. “I am asking you, dear brother, for Visenya’s hand in marriage. Technically, I do not need your blessing because I do not care if you approve of this or not and because Visenya already answered the apparent question. But in any case you decide to name her your official successor and heir to the Iron Throne instead of me or a possible male heir you still have to produce, I will not lessen her status by a union you do not know of. And-…” The prince stopped for a moment, remembering the way he had left the princess still tucked away in her blankets, before continuing. “-and she wishes for your blessing, brother.” And how was he to deny her such a request?

At least he would try to gain what she desired in this particular situation, and if Viserys was too stubborn or simple-minded, he couldn't change that. But no one could call him a coward after this meeting, and even these old bastards knew that with shocking certainty.

Yet...

"Are you out of your mind?"

Daemon slowly closed his eyes. He took one deep breath, followed by another one. He had to stay calm because Visenya almost begged the older Targaryen not to lose his temper. But his dear brother just made it too easy to forget about the given promise.

"Seven Hells, Daemon. I can't let you marry my eldest, let alone your niece!" The king’s voice roared through the Small Council's rooms. Everyone at the table flinched at the outburst, but the prince stood taller than ever. "It is custom in our family, brother, or do I maybe have to freshen up your knowledge about the marriage history of Targaryens?" Viserys scoffed, and his balled fist suddenly crashed against the massive table. His eyes almost spat fire in his direction. "You. Will. Not. Marry. My. Daughter. Don't try to fool me, Daemon. She would be the heir to the Iron Throne and maybe the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but you would move the pieces on this chessboard!"

The younger Targaryen now cocked an eyebrow. "You have a very low esteem of your daughter, my King. She has the strongest mind in all of Westeros, and if you think for even a second she will dance to another man's tunes, then you do not know her at all." It was quiet in the room; only the crashing sea was heard underneath the Red Keep.

But Daemon had one last card to play.

"She asked me," he announced and couldn't hide the pride-swelled chest of his. Visenya was an utter wonder in his eyes; a wonder he sometimes couldn't grasp with his mind. She was braver than anyone before her, and every other woman– the ones he had and the ones he only had considered– faded in his mind until nothing of their memories was left.

Viserys obviously forgot how to breathe in the short moments since Daemon's revelation. He wasn't sure if the king thought about his words or thought nothing at all due to the shock evident in his paling face, but whatever it was, Daemon didn't really care. The Small Council could go to all Seven Hells and let him marry the woman he loved more than his life and let her rule if the time comes. Yes, he would prefer it to be named heir to the Throne, but he could live with Visenya on that forsaken thing very easily. It would mean that he could continue his killing of enemies while always finding time to watch his queen in her doings.

It sounded like the perfect life.

Viserys furrowed his brows and observed him, acknowledged his presence finally with a seriousness he had never shown before. "She asked you? You did not pressure her to sa-..."

"No man nor god could pressure Visenya Targaryen to anything, brother."

Viserys slowly nodded, fingertips resting against one another, his eyes settled on his younger brother as to try to decipher him and his intentions. But he couldn’t utter another word because suddenly, hurried steps were heard outside the doors of the Small Council until they got opened for the eldest princess of House Targaryen. Visenya stopped at the three steps leading down to the council’s table, her eyes trained on her uncle and a brow slowly raising.

Daemon had turned to watch how this storm of a woman entered and almost helplessly shrugged at her disapproving look thrown in his direction. “I thought we agreed upon speaking to them together,” she spoke while stepping down the few steps and stopping next to him. He couldn’t stop his wandering hand from wrapping itself around her waist and pulling her closer. “You were still asleep, so I thought, why waste another meeting and day?” The princess rolled her eyes at him and shook her head before looking over to her father and the rest of the council.

“Is it true? Did you ask him for his hand in marriage, your highness?” Maester Mellos spoke up, and Visenya cocked her brow again. “You sound like it is so surprising for a woman to make her own decisions and not wait upon a man to finally find his courage, Maestor,” she countered, and the old man cleared his throat awkwardly. “It was not my intention to assume anything, my princess. My apologies.” She nodded shortly before turning her attention back to Viserys, who now focused his entire mind on his daughter.

His utmost joy.

The Realm’s Pride.

Upon these thoughts, the king decided to give her what she desired because he could never deny her anything – not since the day of her dramatic birth.

“Is it your truest desire to marry him?” After all, Viserys still couldn’t believe this, not with all the fitting suitors his daughter had trailing behind her ever since her ten and second name day. She nodded without hesitation. “It is, father. I would have never asked him if I were not sure of it,” she told him, voice full of sincerity and… he didn’t like to admit it, but certainty. Viserys sighed deeply and slowly shook his head. “With all those good men asking for your company and hand, displayed for your pleasure in front of you, and you chose him.”

Visenya knew that she had won, and softly shrugging, the princess started to smile. “They were after me for the possibility of a crown– not me as a person.” Otto scoffed loudly and didn’t hide his displeasure. “As if he would think differently,” the Hand of the king mocked before turning to the king, an urgent expression settling on his face. “You do not seriously consider letting them have their way, do you, your majesty?”

Daemon couldn’t react fast enough to beat Visenya next to him. She took the last steps to the table, the sound of her boots echoing through the room, and propped her flat hands on top of the massive wooden table, her violet eyes gleaming like a dragon’s breath.

“Do not dare and talk as if I am not in this very room, Lord Hightower. I am not a child anymore; I am your princess, so respect my rank and address me accordingly if you please to talk about something involving my very person,” she seethed, and the Hand had to swallow dryly at the sight of the furious princess. Everyone in this palace knew that she never recoiled from a battle– it was insignificant if that battle was fought by blades or words.

Corlys Velaryon grinned behind his cup of water– he never drank wine during the Small Council meetings– and watched the scene unfold while eying the Rogue Prince out of the corner of his eye. He may have misjudged the prince; he had to admit that at the sight of a sincere display of emotions on the Targaryen’s face as he observed the princess’s doings.

Otto Hightower bowed his head after a long exchange of unbudging stares. “Yes, my princess,” he mumbled but didn’t dare to speak another word. Humming approvingly, Visenya pushed herself back up, straightening her posture, and threw her father a questioning look. “So, this is settled, then?”

And Viserys nodded.

“For now, yes. We have to prepare everything accordingly, so it will give you more time to think about it.” Eye rolling, the silver-haired princess sighed. “If it makes you happy, father,” was her only verbal reply to it before spinning on the spot, charcoal coat flaring softly behind her, braided silver hair swaying over the proud scaled shoulder section, and leaving the room with Daemon right at her side.

Just where he belonged.

—

“If the situation occurs and the Queen and I will not produce a male heir, I want Visenya as my successor and heir to the Iron Throne.”

The Small Council almost roared in protest. Especially the Master of Laws, Lyonel Strong, held objections against it, directly followed by the Hand himself.

“Your majesty, first this outrageous proposal, and now this?” Otto dared to express his thoughts as first in the round, but Viserys raised a hand to silence them all. He didn’t know when this thought had occurred for the first time, but ever since that ominous day in the past, the king knew that the realm would be in good hands with her as their queen. “My mind is settled upon it,” he declared and rose from his chair at the head of the table.

“If the time comes and I will not have produced a male heir by then, I will name my firstborn daughter Visenya Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, as my official successor and heir to the Iron Throne. She is what the realm needs.”

;

One year ago.

The raven arriving at King’s Landing brought distress and turmoil into the Red Keep.

“What does it mean, she is gone?” Rhaenyra asked her mother after hearing her father reading the letter in question out loud. She knew the meaning of said words, but it didn’t make any sense. Her sister would never run away, especially not without her husband, who had just arrived after flying from Dragonstone back to the capital.

Her mother rubbed over her shoulders and sighed. “Maybe your uncle can tell us more,” the queen mumbled as Daemon entered the private chambers of the king, who now started to roar in frustration and anger. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” The Targaryen prince stopped and glared at his brother. “Do you think I witnessed her wandering off without holding her back?!” Viserys threw the paper scroll onto his table. “Well, it seems like it, does it not? What in the Seven Hells happened?!”

Daemon sighed deeply and let himself fall into an unoccupied chair, not giving a single thought to how he looked now. He didn’t care if he looked defeated.

“I do not know, brother. We ate dinner last night, as we usually do, and everything seemed fine…” Daemon recalled the past night, remembering her smile and her soft touches at the table before they ignored the food entirely, so he could carry her into their chambers and their bed. He felt as if he could feel her searing kisses still on his lips. “In the morning, she was gone without any trace.”

Aemma looked from one man to another. “Do you think she left you?” The prince’s head jerked up to watch the queen with an icy expression. “And why would she do that?” The entire realm knew that the newlywed couple was probably happier than any other in the Seven Kingdoms– a love match indeed. They had witnessed it first hand at the grand royal wedding in the Sept of Baelor, even though they had a secret ceremony in the Gods Woods weeks before the spectacle of the year. The queen sighed again and shook her head. “Where could she have gone? Did you receive any ravens? Viserys?” The question was asked for both men to acknowledge, but both shook their heads in unison.

Suddenly, Rhaenyra looked up after being deep in thought in the past moments. “She told me something about her dreams,” she spoke up, and everyone stared at the young princess. “Dreams?” Viserys asked and took place on the seat opposite his second daughter. The girl nodded. “Visenya told me about a reoccurring dream she had in the past two years. It never changes, only the intervals change. She said it would be more frequent the closer the days gets to the day Rhaegar died.”

Now, Daemon furrowed his brows, remembering how he sometimes woke up to an empty bed and found his now wife leaning next to the widely opened windows overlooking the city or the bay of Dragonstone, mind always sunken deep in thought. She always had told him that she just couldn’t find sleep and didn’t want to wake him with her tossing and turning because he sometimes tended to be a light sleeper. He never objected to it, never thought it seemed off, and now he wished he had.

“Did she ever tell you what those dreams contain?” Daemon asked the young princess, and Rhaenyra slowly nodded. “She once told me that she sees a dragon. Not Rhaegar, a different one. But she never gets close enough to see him or her clearly. It’s always only a looming shadow in the blue sky,” the girl ended and looked from one adult to another. “Maybe she is looking for it. Maybe it is her dragon that is calling for her.”

The queen wasn’t sure if it could be. “Rhaegar had been her dragon, Rhaenyra, just as Syrax is yours. But maybe you are right, and she is following her path.” She eyed Daemon and how he now clung to this new hope and Viserys, who had folded his hands. “We will see what the days will bring. Ser Harrold.” The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stepped from his place at the entrance and bowed. “My king.” Viserys raised from his chair. “Let the guards patrol the walls at Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea. If there is any sign of Visenya, let the bells ring.” The Lord Commander bowed again before retreating out of the chambers and preparing the order.

“We will know when she returns home,” the king promised with a wary look outside the opened windows.

–

It took exactly two days full of worry and a gloomy cloud hanging over the Red Keep until something happened.

Daemon and Viserys had just left a Small Council meeting addressing the princess's disappearance– the meeting had ended in a quarrel between the Hand and the Rogue Prince– and walked over the palace’s wall facing the Narrow Sea. It wasn’t an often sight to see the two brothers side by side in almost something resembling harmony. But desperate times required desperate measures, and not knowing where his wife was, was most definitely a desperate moment in his life.

“She will come back,” Viserys spoke up, and Daemon almost flinched at the feeling of his older brother’s hand on his shoulder. “She fought bravely for your union, and that is why I am most certain that she will come back to you. Visenya could never abandon you, as strangely as I still find it.” Now, the prince had to chuckle under his breath because this sounded more like his brother. But then, he turned serious again. “I hope so, brother.”

His words only had left his lips as commotion caught the guards on the lower wall, and the change in winds signaled something coming. As a dragon rider, Daemon knew that feeling of anticipation lingering in the air, and his eyes traveled over the horizon to find the source of said feeling. Viserys felt it as well and rested both hands on the warmed stone of the Keep’s walls, face turned to the Narrow Sea.

There, at the horizon, loomed a dark shadow between white clouds and the blue sky. A shadow that grew larger and larger with every passing moment. The bells started to ring, just as ordered by the king, and Viserys shortly looked up to see Ser Harrold nod in his direction, holding a binoculars in his hand.

The mighty roar, shaking King’s Landing in its very foundations, echoed over the Narrow Sea and traveled even further into the Seven Kingdoms. The dragon grew even bigger, and Daemon shielded his eyes with a hand against the unyielding sun, staring up into the sky with a baffled expression.

The shadow soon morphed into the sight of the largest dragon this world probably has ever seen: sea green scales, peppered by red and blue, wings as far-reaching as seemingly half of King’s Landing, and Daemon knew that the creature’s eyes would be of the clearest green a man could ever witness.

The dragon soon reached the shore and roamed over the sky of the capital, another roar escaping it. The prince instinctively felt that Visenya was atop its back, securely tucked away between the mighty wings, holding onto the scales. And he was right.

Viserys stood in awe at the sight of the flying dragon– the last of the old ones. “Vhagar,” he spoke in wonder, eyes wide and not believing what they were seeing just now.

Vhagar closed her circle over the city and continued her flight to the massive building of the Dragonpit, to which Viserys and Daemon followed straight away.

—

The horses danced around nervously as they approached the landed dragon, but Vhagar didn’t move a single powerful muscle as the king and the prince landed on their feet and stared up at the beast’s head. The oldest of all living dragons– too big for the pit, so it had landed on the outskirts of it– looked down at them, unimpressed, but moved her head as a voice on her back talked gently to her.

“Ziry iksos ry paktot, Vhagar,” (It is all right, Vhagar) the princess calmed her, could she feel her tensing muscles underneath her body after all. Raising her head, it poked up behind the she-dragon’s shoulder, and Daemon hadn’t seen his wife this radiant in a very long time. She sure was radiant every day, but she held a different light to her after flying with her dragon. And ever since Rhaegar died, Visenya had stayed on the ground.

“Dōrī gaomagon bona arlī. Gaomagon ao rȳbagon issa?,” (Never do that again. Do you hear me?) Daemon shook his wife at her shoulders after she had climbed off the dragon and stood in front of him. Visenya softly cradled his face in the palms of her hands and pulled his forehead down against hers. “I am sorry, issa jorrāelagon.” (my love) The woman whispered against his lips and let Daemon capture her in his strong arms to lift her off the ground. She circled her arms around his neck and closed her eyes as the Rogue Prince buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent with the old but new smell of smoke and fire. “This was what was absent,” Daemon mumbled against her skin, and Visenya pushed silver strands out of his face and behind his ears after he had put her back on the ground. “Am I whole again, then?” Her words betrayed her smile, but Daemon nudged the tip of her nose with his and soothed her rising doubts.

“Do you feel whole again?”

Visenya looked into his eyes, shortly turning her head to watch Vhagar, who growled at everyone coming too close to her new rider, before turning back to Daemon.

“I believe I do.”

;

Present Day.

She missed the days when she was able to wear her perfectly fitting coats and breeches, laced boots up to her knees, and gloves covering her fingers as soon as she left the Red Keep. Well, those times may only be over for the next couple of days, but it was enough to put her already stressed mind into an even more anxious state.

Watching her reflection in the full-length mirror occupying the spot right next to the opening to the balcony in their shared chambers, Visenya let her hands brush over the soft fabric of the dark red dress one of her handmaidens had put her in and smoothed the flaring fabric over her lower body half, revealing the small curve which had made its appearance a few weeks ago. It had been hard ever since because even though she had been thrilled to be able to give her husband their first child finally, it scared her. She knew what had happened to her mother; Visenya had heard her screams echoing through the hallways of the Keep after the maesters and her father had pushed her out of her room without so much as a teary-eyed whispered Goodbye.

And now, she could be in the same position as her beloved mother, who was now dead– and her beautiful boy had followed right after. Daemon could have to choose between her and the babe, and Visenya never wanted to put him through this torture. She currently saw what it had done to her father.

Swallowing dryly, her eyes were settled unmoving on the curve of her stomach where a life had started to grow and she didn’t realizes the arrival of the prince. He entered their rooms slowly and silently, his eyes instantly resting on his wife. His fingers opened the sword belt to put Dark Sister on the top of their bed covers, and his feet carried him over to her still form. Daemon circled his arms around Visenya’s waist, propping his chin atop her right shoulder, and his ring-clad hand softly stroked the growing belly of the love of his life.

“Good morning, wife,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her jawline, and pulled her back against his strong chest. Visenya looked at him through the mirror, a loving expression on her face, the fear gone for the moment. “How are the dragons?” She smiled at his chuckle; the smell of fire and smoke wafted through the air around them. “I think Vhagar misses you, but I am not entirely sure because she still is not my friend.” The princess now grinned and leaned her temple against the side of his head. “She will someday come around,” she mumbled and closed the lilac eyes as Daemon continued to stroke her stomach over the fabric. “And how is my prince or princess?”

Visenya swallowed again but softly shrugged. “Apart from the pestering sickness in the morning?” Daemon nodded, his eyes transfixed on her body, still wondering how he had achieved this miracle of turning his life into something resembling this bliss. “The maester said everything is how it is supposed to be,” she whispered, not daring to look into his eyes as the prince raised his gaze. “I did not ask what this old sucker with his wandering hands told you, issa jorrāelagon.” (my love) Visenya sighed and felt the fear rising again within her body. “I am scared.” The confession left her lips in a hushed mumble, almost too ashamed to confess. As if she didn’t appreciate and love the baby they had created together– the perfect combination of Daemon and her. But she just couldn’t shake off the feeling lingering since the day of her mother’s death and the discovery of her very own pregnancy mere weeks later.

Daemon now softly turned her around in his embrace and guided her to one of the two grand chairs facing each other in front of the balcony, the soft fur of a glorious stag on the stone floor in front of them. The prince coaxed the princess to sit down, even though she started to protest. “It is nothing, really. Only a silly thought. We must go anyway; we cannot let them wait on this particular day.” His stone-hard stare silenced her as he kneeled in front of her, and Visenya looked down at her tangled fingers, watched how the morning light let the stone of the ring Daemon gifted her on their wedding night shine. “I do not care a single fuck of what those bloody bastards think,” he murmured and let her play with the ring for a second. He knew that soothed her.

But then his strong pointer finger underneath her chin moved her gaze back up to him. “It is because of your mother, is it?” Visenya nodded, barely palpable, and Daemon sighed. He had suspected something, especially because the court still didn’t know about the happy news, but the prince didn’t dare to ask her when they would announce it. He knew she had to process everything– the grief over her mother, the fright over the traumatic birth he knew she had witnessed in parts, the knowledge that something so life-affirming could turn into something so dreadful.

But he could take one of her fears right here, right now.

“Issa jorrāelagon,” (my love) Daemon called her gently, his voice bringing her back into reality, back to him. Visenya lost the distant expression in her eyes and focused her entire being on the man on his knee in front of her. “Gaomagon daor zūgagon ziry,” (Do not fear it) he continued, and something very peaceful settled within her chest as he talked in Valyrian to her. It had always been their way of communicating. “Nyke jāhor daor iderēbagon se rūs toliot ao.” (I will not choose the baby over you) The princess swallowed thickly and leaned her cheek more into his palm as Daemon cupped it as soft as a breeze on her skin in summer. “Ao issi se sȳrje mirre isse issa glaeson. Daorun jāhor arlinnon bona. Daorys jāhor arlinnon bona.” (You are the most important/the best thing in my life. Nothing will change that. No one will change that.) She could see the heartache in his eyes; the fear of losing her to something he could never control because it was one of the few things the gods reserved entirely for themselves.

Visenya cupped Daemon’s cheek, her thumb caressing the skin over his cheekbone. “Yn ao jaelagon ziry. Ao jaelagon nykeā prince,” (But you want it. You want an heir.) she whispered, and Daemon smiled the smile entirely reserved for her eyes to witness; a smile so small but containing so much love, it always amazed her. “Nyke jaelagon ao tolī. Nyke jorrāelagon ao tolī,” (I want you more. I need you more.) he returned with a certainty she could live with. “Se īlon kostagon va moriot sylugon arlī. Nyke gaomagon daor mind se mirre.” (And we can always try again. I do not mind the work) His suggestively raised eyebrows made the princess laugh, and Daemon smirked.

“But I mean it,” he now changed back into the common tongue. He pulled Visenya closer to him at her waist, closer to the edge of the chair, so she had to spread her legs in order to make room for him. The princess settled her hands around his neck, carded her fingers through his silver strands, and played with the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. “I will not make the same choice– and mistake– my brother, did all those weeks ago. I will not sacrifice you in order to get a potential heir because we can try uncountable times– but I only have one Visenya.” Blinking, Visenya tried to hide the tears and prevent them from falling, but Daemon knew her all too well. “I may cannot take the fear over the birth and the upcoming weeks, but I will promise you that I will be by your side, protect you whatever might come– especially protect you from those wandering hands. It is as if I still can see them on you.” With that, Daemon gripped her hips tighter and pulled her face to him to finally kiss her.

But a knock at their chamber’s door let Visenya hold back. “Yes?” Daemon grumbled, and one of the servants opened the door. “Your highnesses.” He bowed shortly. “The court is gathered in the Great Hall and awaits your arrival, princess.” She sighed and nodded. “You can tell them their future queen will be there when she is ready.” Daemon stood tall in the room and strode over to the door to close it with much more force than was really necessary. The poor servant had to stumble back into the corridor with a baffled expression.

“Daemon,” Visenya scolded him and pushed herself off the chair. She softly rolled her eyes as the prince gathered her back in his arms and leaned his head down. “As I said: They can wait for their queen.” His voice rumbled low in his chest, and the princess closed her eyes as his lips made contact with her forehead, slowly wandering down over her temple to her lips. “My Queen,” he rasped before kissing her like a starved man.

;

I really don’t know where all these words came from, and I’m sorry for this shitty work, but I had to write it down to get it out of my head :x The next Daemon work will be much better hopefully!

But thanks for reading! As usual: comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated <3

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