#all worlds draw to an end: vaella

[allxthingsxglxtter]

@thebridgestarters

Vaella had been enjoying Sydney's chaos for a long, long time now, and she had no plans on stopping anytime soon. She had left the public eye for a little while to take care of things, but she was back at The Phantom, the bar full of energy despite the clinging warmth of the evening.

Leaning against the bar, she smiled at the person currently approaching her and raised her glass in greeting. "Hello there, welcome to the party. You look like someone looking for a good time." Vaella knew she was difficult to read, people either assuming she was being playful or vaguely dangerous, and the sorceress expected that both of those assumptions could easily be true.

[novaursa]

Part 15

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word count: 9 000+

- Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, Final

As the carriage rolled through the streets of King’s Landing, Aegon’s heart pounded with anticipation. The sight of the Dragonpit in the distance brought both relief and anxiety. He feared what condition he might find his wife in, but the hope of seeing her outweighed his fears.

The carriage came to a halt, and Aegon leaned heavily on Orwyle as he disembarked. He scanned the area, his eyes searching for any sign of Vaella. Finally, he saw her, surrounded by Kingsguard, her once-pristine appearance marred by blood and ash. His heart clenched at the sight.

“Vaella!” he called out, his voice breaking with emotion.

Vaella turned at the sound of his voice, her eyes lighting up despite her exhaustion. “Aegon,” she replied, her steps quickening as she moved towards him.

The Kingsguard parted to allow her through, and in moments, Vaella was in Aegon’s arms. They embraced tightly, the world around them disappearing as they held each other. Aegon’s hands gently cupped her face, his eyes scanning her features with desperate concern.

“You’re here,” Aegon whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re safe.”

Vaella nodded, tears filling her eyes. “We made it back. Cannibal and I… we made it.”

Aegon’s gaze traveled over her, taking in the blood and ash that covered her. His heart ached with worry. “Are you hurt? The baby—”

“We’re okay,” Vaella assured him, her hand resting protectively on her belly. “Just exhausted and bruised, but we’re safe.”

Aegon let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him. He pulled her closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I was so afraid, Vaella. When I saw Cannibal’s flight, I feared the worst.”

Vaella leaned into his embrace, drawing strength from his presence. “It was close, Aegon. We faced Vermithor. It was a battle like no other.”

Aegon’s eyes widened with shock. “Vermithor? Gods, Vaella, how did you…?”

“Cannibal fought bravely,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “We barely made it out. Vermithor is dead.”

Aegon’s eyes softened, his love for her shining through. “You’re incredible. The strength you showed… I’m in awe of you.”

Vaella smiled weakly, her fatigue evident. “I had to survive. For you, for our children.”

“And you did,” Aegon said firmly. “You came back to me, to us.”

Vaella hesitated for a moment, then began, “Aemond—”

But Aegon shook his head, cutting her off gently. “I don’t want to talk about my brother right now. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

Vaella nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you, Aegon. I just needed to see you, to know that we’re together.”

He kissed her gently, pouring all his relief and love into the kiss. “We’re together, and that’s all that matters.”

The Grand Maester approached, his eyes filled with concern. “Your Graces, we must see to the queen’s wounds immediately.”

Aegon nodded, his grip on Vaella’s hand tightening. “Do whatever is necessary. She and our child must be safe.”

Vaella looked up at Aegon, her eyes filled with gratitude and love. “We’re home, Aegon. We’re safe.”

Aegon smiled, his heart swelling with emotion. “Yes, Vaella. We’re home, and we’ll face whatever comes next.”

As the attendants led Vaella away to be treated, Aegon watched her go, his heart full of love and pride. The challenges ahead were great, but with Vaella by his side, he knew they could overcome anything. Together, they would face the future with all the strength and determination of House Targaryen.

The Kingsguard, having ensured the queen's safe return, stood by respectfully. Aegon turned to them, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you for bringing her back safely."

The captain of the Kingsguard bowed deeply. "It was our honor, Your Grace. The queen showed incredible bravery."

Aegon nodded, his chest swelling with pride. "She always does. Now, let's make sure she gets the care she needs."

As they made their way back to the Red Keep, Aegon couldn't help but replay the events of the past hours in his mind. The sight of Vaella covered in blood and ash haunted him, but the knowledge that she had returned, safe and alive, gave him the strength to face whatever lay ahead.

…

The corridors of the Red Keep were a blur as Vaella was escorted to her shared chambers with Aegon. The exhaustion weighed heavily on her, but the comfort of being home and the presence of her husband gave her strength. Once inside, she promised Aegon that she would see their children, Baelon and Daena, after she had cleansed herself of the blood and dirt.

"I'll see them soon," Vaella said, her voice soft but resolute. "I don't want them to see me like this."

Aegon nodded, understanding. "They will be overjoyed to see you, Vaella. But first, you need to rest and recover."

The attendants prepared a warm bath, the steam rising gently in the air. Aegon helped Vaella to the edge of the tub, his hands gentle but firm despite his own struggles. Every step was a reminder of his physical limitations, the pain from his still-healing hip and burns that refused to heal still. He moved slowly, but his determination to help his wife overshadowed the discomfort. Vaella slipped into the water, letting out a sigh of relief as the warmth enveloped her aching body. Aegon settled into a chair nearby, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position, his eyes never leaving her.

The silence between them was comfortable, a silent understanding that words were not necessary at that moment. Aegon watched as Vaella slowly washed away the grime and blood, her movements deliberate and weary. The water turned murky, a testament to the battles she had faced.

After a long while, Vaella looked up, meeting Aegon's gaze. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of weariness and something deeper, something darker. Aegon sensed it immediately, a knot of concern tightening in his chest.

"Vaella," he said gently, "what is it? What's troubling you?"

Vaella hesitated, her hands stilling in the water. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "

Aegon, there's something I need to tell you. Something that happened after Vermithor fell."

Aegon leaned forward, his eyes filled with concern despite the pain the movement caused him. "You can tell me anything, Vaella. What happened?"

Vaella's gaze dropped to the water, her fingers tracing patterns on its surface. "After Cannibal took Vermithor down, we... we were both injured, exhausted. But there was this compulsion, this primal urge that I couldn't resist."

Aegon's brow furrowed. "What kind of urge?"

Vaella's voice trembled slightly as she continued. "Cannibal began to feast on Vermithor. And... and I joined him. Vermithor was still alive, and I couldn't stop myself. I tore into his flesh, ate it raw. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I felt stronger, more connected to Cannibal, but it was horrifying."

Aegon was silent for a moment, processing her words. The horror of what she described was evident on his face, but so was his empathy and understanding. "Vaella," he said softly, "you've been through so much. The bond between a dragon and its rider is powerful, and in such extreme circumstances... I'm just relieved that you’re alive."

Vaella looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I was scared, Aegon. I didn’t recognize myself in that moment. I felt like I was losing control."

Aegon stood, wincing as he moved, and made his way to the edge of the tub, kneeling beside her with a slight grimace. He took her hands in his, his touch gentle and reassuring. "You are the strongest person I know, Vaella. You faced something unimaginable and survived. That’s what matters. We’ll figure this out together."

Vaella squeezed his hands, drawing strength from his presence. "Thank you, Aegon. I was afraid you’d see me differently."

Aegon shook his head, his eyes full of love. "Never. You are my queen, my love, the mother of our children. Nothing will change that."

They sat in silence for a moment, the bond between them growing even stronger in the face of adversity. Vaella finished her bath, and Aegon helped her out, his movements careful and deliberate due to his own injuries. He wrapped her in a soft, warm towel and led her to the bed, where she could rest and recover from her ordeal.

As Vaella lay down, Aegon brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Rest now, my love. We’ll face whatever comes next together."

Vaella nodded, her eyes already heavy with sleep. "Together," she murmured, closing her eyes.

Aegon watched her for a long moment, his heart swelling with love and pride. As the night deepened, the sounds of the Red Keep quieted, leaving only the soft, steady breathing of Vaella as she slept. Aegon sat beside her, his hand resting on hers, a silent guardian in the darkness. They were home, and together, they would find their way through the shadows that lay ahead.

…

On the storm-swept island of Dragonstone, preparations were underway for the departure of Princes Aegon and Viserys Targaryen. The decision, made by Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, was for his half-brothers to be fostered with the Prince of Pentos until their mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, had secured the Iron Throne. The princes would depart on a Pentoshi cog named the Gay Abandon, with seven warships from the Sea Snake's fleet to escort them across the Narrow Sea.

The docks were a hive of activity as sailors, soldiers, and courtiers prepared for the journey. The air was filled with the sounds of shouting orders, the creaking of ship timbers, and the lapping of waves against the stone piers. Amidst this organized chaos, Rhaenyra stood with her sons, her expression a mask of calm resolve despite the turmoil in her heart.

"Mother," young Prince Aegon said, his voice trembling slightly. "Will we be safe in Pentos?"

Rhaenyra knelt to his level, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. "You will be safe, my sweet. The Prince of Pentos is a trusted ally, and the Sea Snake's ships will protect you on your journey."

Viserys, who was younger and more apprehensive, clung to Rhaenyra's skirts. "Will you come for us, Mother? When you are queen?"

Rhaenyra's eyes softened as she looked at her youngest son. "Yes, Viserys. I will come for you as soon as I can. This is only temporary, until we secure the throne."

Jacaerys stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Aegon's shoulder. "I will make sure they are well taken care of, Mother. They will be safe in Pentos."

Rhaenyra stood, her gaze sweeping over the bustling docks before turning back to her sons. "Remember who you are," she said firmly. "You are Targaryens. Blood of the dragon. Stay strong and stay safe."

With final embraces and whispered words of love, the princes were led aboard the Gay Abandon. The Sea Snake’s warships, their sails unfurled, prepared to escort the vessel. As the ships began to move away from the dock, Rhaenyra stood tall, watching them until they disappeared over the horizon.

Once the princes were safely on their way, Rhaenyra turned to Daemon, who had been watching silently. His expression was one of grim determination. "We need to focus on the next steps," she said, her voice steady.

Daemon nodded, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Indeed. I received word this morning—Vaella and Cannibal managed to kill Hugh Hammer and Vermithor."

Rhaenyra's expression hardened. "Vaella? She always was formidable."

"Formidable, yes," Daemon agreed. "But Cannibal is badly wounded. Not the outcome we hoped for, but it is still favorable. This could be an opportunity for us."

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

Daemon's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "With Aemond and Vhagar away from the capital, King's Landing is more vulnerable. Cannibal, in his weakened state, might not be able to defend it effectively. We could exploit this and strike while they are off guard."

Rhaenyra considered his words carefully. "It's a risk, but it could give us the advantage we need. What about the defenses at King's Landing?"

"The city will still be heavily guarded," Daemon acknowledged. "But without Aemond and Vhagar, their dragon strength is significantly reduced. We need to act swiftly and decisively."

Rhaenyra nodded, her resolve firming. "We will need to gather our forces and plan meticulously. If we can take the capital, we can turn the tide of this war."

Daemon's lips curved into a predatory smile. "Then we move quickly. We will strike before they have a chance to recover. I'll send word to our allies and begin preparations."

As Daemon strode away to organize their forces, Rhaenyra looked out over the sea, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and plans. The news of Vaella's victory and the loss of Vermithor was significant, but it was clear that their enemies would not be easily defeated. They would have to be cunning and relentless.

A shadow passed over her, and Rhaenyra turned to see her dragon, Syrax, circling overhead. The sight of the golden dragon filled her with a renewed sense of purpose. She was a Targaryen, and she would not rest until she sat upon the Iron Throne.

…

The dawn was still breaking over the Narrow sea as the Triarchy’s fleet swept into the Gullet, the waters around Dragonstone coming alive with the movement of ninety warships under the banners of the Three Daughters. The fleet, commanded by Admiral Sharako Lohar of Lys, had split into two squadrons, entering the Gullet from the north and south, catching House Velaryon’s fleet off guard.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, aboard his dragon Vermax, was quick to respond. The morning sky blazed with the rising sun as Jacaerys flew out to meet the advancing enemy. Below him, the Lysene galleys cut through the water, their crews shouting and readying their weapons. These sailors were no strangers to dragonfire, having faced Prince Daemon Targaryen and Caraxes during the war for the Stepstones. Yet, the sight of Vermax descending upon them filled their hearts with dread.

"Hold steady!" Sharako Lohar commanded from his flagship, his voice carrying across the deck. "Focus your fire on the dragon! Bring it down!"

Spears and arrows were loosed into the sky, a deadly hail aimed at Jacaerys and his dragon. But Vermax was swift, his powerful wings slicing through the air as he breathed fire upon the ships below. One Lysene galley caught fire, then another, the flames spreading rapidly across the decks.As the sailors cried out in panic, their captains tried to maintain order. "Stay your course! Keep firing!"

The battle intensified as Ulf the White on Silverwing, Nettles on Sheepstealer, and Addam Velaryon on Seasmoke joined the fray. The sky was filled with dragons and the roar of their fire, the smell of burning wood and flesh thick in the air. The Triarchy’s warships faltered, their line breaking as one galley after another turned away from the onslaught.

"To the south!" a captain shouted, trying to regroup his men. "We must hold the line!"

But the dragons were relentless, their riders directing them with precision and fury. Silverwing’s golden fire rained down upon the ships, while Sheepstealer’s dark form swooped low, scattering sailors with its terrible roar. Seasmoke darted between the vessels, his rider Addam directing their fire with deadly accuracy.

In the midst of the chaos, Vermax flew too low, caught in the crossfire. A Myrish crossbowman, taking careful aim, loosed a bolt that struck the dragon in the eye. Vermax roared in pain, his flight faltering. Below, a burning galley’s grapnel hooked onto the dragon’s wing, pulling him down into the sea. Vermax struggled, entangled in the rigging, his flames sputtering out as he sank beneath the waves.

"Jacaerys!" Addam Velaryon shouted, his voice barely audible over the din of battle.

Jacaerys leapt from Vermax’s back, landing in the water with a splash. He swam for the shore, but the Myrish crossbowmen were ready. A volley of bolts flew through the air, striking the prince. Jacaerys’ body went limp, floating on the surface as blood spread around him.

North and south of Dragonstone, the battle raged on into the night. The northern squadron clashed with the remaining Velaryon fleet, the sounds of steel and cannon fire echoing across the water. The southern squadron, bypassing Dragonstone, set their sights on Driftmark.

"We cannot assault Dragonstone directly," Sharako Lohar decided, his eyes scanning the defenses. "It is too well fortified. But Driftmark... Driftmark is vulnerable."

The fleet altered course, heading for the island. The first rays of the setting sun cast an eerie glow over the harbor of Spicetown as the Triarchy’s fire ships approached. Flames erupted, consuming the docks and spreading into the town. The inhabitants fled in terror, but there was little escape from the inferno.

"Burn it all!" Sharako commanded, watching with cold satisfaction.

Driftmark's harbor was a scene of chaos and destruction. Houses and shops were engulfed in flames, and the screams of the dying filled the air. Myrish and Tyroshi soldiers poured into the town, slaughtering the inhabitants and looting what they could before the flames consumed everything.

"Leave nothing standing," a Tyroshi captain ordered, his men cutting down anyone in their path.

High Tide, the seat of House Velaryon, was next. The Myrish and Tyroshi soldiers stormed the castle, setting fire to its grand halls and priceless treasures. Lord Corlys Velaryon’s servants were cut down as they tried to flee, the bodies left as carrion for the crows.

"Take everything of value," a Myrish officer commanded, his eyes gleaming with greed. "Burn the rest."

As night fell, Driftmark was a smoldering ruin, the flames visible from Dragonstone. The southern squadron of the Triarchy’s fleet sailed away, leaving destruction in their wake. The battle of the Gullet had ended, but the cost was high. Jacaerys Velaryon was dead, Vermax lost to the depths, and Driftmark lay in ashes. Aegon the Younger and Viserys were lost, with no word of them. And Aegon’s small dragon, Stormcloud, was seen plummeting to the depths after he was striked numerous times with crossbow arrows.

On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra received the news with a heavy heart. The loss of her son was a blow from which she would never fully recover, but her resolve hardened. She would avenge their children and reclaim what was rightfully hers.

"Daemon," she said quietly, her voice filled with cold fury. "We will strike back. They will pay for this."

Daemon’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "Yes, they will. And we will make sure they never forget the price of defying a Targaryen."

As the embers of Driftmark's destruction smoldered, the fires of vengeance burned brightly in Rhaenyra’s heart. The war was far from over, and she would see to it that the dragons’ wrath would be felt by all who opposed her.

…

The council chamber of the Red Keep was a hive of activity as the lords and advisors of the Greens gathered to discuss the latest developments in the war. The news from the Gullet had reached them, bringing a mixture of relief and concern. Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, was already present, his face a mask of steely determination. Dowager Queen Alicent, Grand Maester Orwyle, Lords Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, and Tyland Lannister took their seats around the table, the weight of their responsibilities evident on their faces.

The door opened, and King Aegon II Targaryen entered, moving with a newfound strength and purpose. Though still bearing the marks of his injuries, he was well enough to participate in the council once more. He took his seat at the head of the table, his eyes scanning the faces of his advisors.

"Your Grace," Lord Tyland Lannister began, his voice respectful. "It is good to see you well enough to join us again. We have much to discuss."

Aegon nodded, his expression serious. "Indeed, Lord Tyland. Let us begin."

Tyland glanced at the others before continuing. "Firstly, we have received word that our allies in the Triarchy have achieved a significant victory at the Gullet. They have broken the blockade and secured the passage. Admiral Sharako Lohar's strategy proved effective."

Otto Hightower leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Our alliance with the Triarchy is paying off, as I knew it would. This victory strengthens our position considerably."

Dowager Queen Alicent nodded, her expression a mix of relief and caution. "This is indeed good news, but we must remain vigilant. Rhaenyra will not take this defeat lightly."

Lord Jasper Wylde, the Ironrod, spoke up. "How fares the Queen, Your Grace? Her role in the battle was pivotal."

Aegon's eyes softened as he thought of Vaella. "She is resting. The fight with Vermithor took a toll on her, but she is strong. Grand Maester Orwyle has assured me that she will recover."

Orwyle nodded in agreement. "The Queen is resilient. She needs time to heal, both physically and emotionally. Her strength and courage are a beacon for us all."

Jasper then shifted his focus. "And Cannibal? What of the dragon's condition?"

Aegon's expression turned grave. "Cannibal is also recovering, but it will take months before he is fully healed. The injuries he sustained were severe."

Alicent's face tightened with worry. "Rhaenyra will undoubtedly retaliate for this defeat. The loss of her sons will drive her to desperate measures."

Otto cleared his throat, drawing the council's attention. "I have received word from our allies that one of Rhaenyra's sons, young Viserys, has been taken hostage. This could prove to be a significant advantage for us."

The room fell silent, the gravity of Otto's words sinking in. Aegon frowned, his mind racing with the implications. "Viserys is a valuable bargaining chip, but we must tread carefully. Rhaenyra's wrath will be fierce."

Larys Strong, the Master of Whisperers, spoke up, his voice smooth and calculating. "We should use this to our advantage. Rhaenyra's desperation could lead her to make mistakes. We must be prepared to exploit any weaknesses."

Tyland nodded in agreement. "The blockade at the Gullet may be broken, but we cannot afford to be complacent. Our defenses must be strengthened, and our strategies carefully planned."

Alicent looked at her son, her eyes filled with concern. "Aegon, you must be cautious. Rhaenyra's anger knows no bounds, and she will stop at nothing to claim the throne."

Aegon reached out and took his mother's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I understand, Mother. We will proceed with caution and strength. We have come too far to falter now."

Otto leaned forward, his eyes meeting Aegon's. "Your Grace, we must also consider our next moves carefully. Rhaenyra's forces may be weakened, but they are not defeated. We need to press our advantage and ensure our allies remain committed to our cause."

Aegon nodded, his resolve firm. "We will. Our victory at the Gullet is just the beginning. We must remain united and vigilant. Together, we will secure the Iron Throne and bring peace to the realm."

The council members nodded in agreement, their faces reflecting a shared determination. 

As the meeting drew to a close, Aegon rose from his seat, wincing slightly as the movement caused a twinge of pain in his hip. He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each of his advisors. "Thank you for your counsel. We will face whatever comes next with strength and unity. For the realm, and for our future."

…

The morning air over King’s Landing was filled with an uneasy stillness. The people of the city went about their daily routines, but an undercurrent of tension lingered. The war between the Blacks and the Greens had cast a long shadow over the capital, and everyone sensed that a storm was brewing.

The silence was abruptly shattered by the thunderous roar of dragon wings. High above Aegon's High Hill, two great dragons circled—Prince Daemon Targaryen on Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, and Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen on Syrax, the golden beauty. Their massive forms blotted out the sun, casting dark shadows over the city below. The sight of the dragons sent waves of panic through the streets of King's Landing.

"Dragons! Dragons above the city!" a merchant cried out, dropping his wares as he fled towards the safety of his home.

People screamed and ran in all directions, seeking cover from the terrifying sight. The city had seen dragons before, but never like this—never as harbingers of war and destruction. The sheer presence of Daemon and Rhaenyra on their dragons was enough to sow chaos and fear among the populace.

Cannibal, grounded near the Dragonpit due to his injuries, sensed the arrival of the rival dragons. His roars echoed through the stone halls of the Red Keep, a mix of pain and frustration. The mighty dragon’s cries shook the very foundations of the castle, causing the servants and guards to cower in fear.

Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower paced the council chamber, her face a mask of anxiety. "We must send word to Aemond," she insisted, her voice tight with urgency. "We need reinforcements. Riders! Ravens! Now!"

Lord Tyland Lannister and Lord Jasper Wylde exchanged uneasy glances. "The city is in turmoil, Your Grace," Tyland said cautiously. "It may be difficult to get word out quickly."

Alicent's eyes blazed with determination. "We have no choice. Do whatever it takes."

Grand Maester Orwyle nodded, standing from his seat. "I will dispatch the ravens immediately."

Unbeknownst to Alicent and the other members of the council, the gold cloaks, the City Watch of King’s Landing, had already turned. Their loyalty lay with Daemon Targaryen, who had once been their commander. The gold cloaks moved swiftly, ensuring that the defenses of the city were compromised.

As Orwyle made his way to the rookery, he was intercepted by a group of gold cloaks. "What is this?" he demanded, his voice filled with authority.

The leader of the gold cloaks, a man named Luthor, stepped forward. "I'm afraid you won't be sending any ravens today, Grand Maester."

Orwyle's eyes widened in shock and realization. "You traitors! Do you know what you're doing?"

Luthor’s expression was cold and resolute. "We are restoring the true order. Seize him!"

The gold cloaks moved with practiced efficiency, grabbing Orwyle and binding his hands. Despite his struggles, the old man was overpowered and led away, his cries for help echoing through the halls.

Meanwhile, amidst this turmoil, Lord Larys Strong moved swiftly through the hidden passageways of the Red Keep. His mission was clear: to smuggle King Aegon II and his family to safety.

In the depths of the Keep, Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne stood guard at a concealed entrance to the secret tunnels. They awaited the arrival of Queen Vaella and her children, Princess Daena and Prince Baelor. The plan was set: Aegon and his family would be escorted separately to increase their chances of escape.

"Where are they?" Ser Rickard muttered, his eyes scanning the darkness.

"Patience," Ser Willis replied, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "They will be here soon."

As if on cue, Vaella appeared, holding Daena's hand while Baelor clung to her side. Her face was pale but resolute, her steps steady despite the fear that gripped her heart.

"Mother, where is Father?" Daena asked, her voice trembling.

"He is safe, my love," Vaella assured her, forcing a smile. "We will see him soon."

Ser Willis stepped forward, bowing slightly. "My lady, we must hurry. The city is no longer safe."

Vaella nodded, tightening her grip on her children's hands. "Lead the way."

As they moved deeper into the passageways, the air grew cooler, the walls damp and rough. The sounds of the city in turmoil were muffled but still present, a constant reminder of the danger they were fleeing.

In another part of the Keep, Larys guided Aegon through the narrow, twisting corridors. Aegon's injuries had not yet fully healed, and every step was a struggle, but his determination to protect his family kept him moving.

"We are almost there, Your Grace," Larys said quietly. "The boat is waiting just outside the Red Keep."

Aegon nodded, his jaw set in determination. "We must ensure Vaella and the children are safe. That is all that matters."

Larys's eyes flickered with understanding. "They will be, Your Grace. Trust in Ser Willis and Ser Rickard."

As they approached the exit, a sudden, sharp cry echoed through the passageways, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. Larys and Aegon exchanged a worried glance, their pace quickening.

Meanwhile, in the other passage, Vaella suddenly stumbled, a sharp pain radiating through her abdomen. She gasped, clutching her belly as the realization hit her.

"The baby... it's coming," she whispered, her face contorting in pain.

Ser Willis's eyes widened in alarm. "Here? Now?"

Vaella nodded, her breath coming in short, labored gasps. "I can't move... the baby is coming."

Ser Rickard quickly scanned the passageway, spotting a small alcove just ahead. "This way," he said, guiding them to the sheltered spot. "We need to help her."

Vaella sank to the ground, her face pale and covered in sweat. Daena and Baelor clung to her, their eyes wide with fear.

"Mother, what's happening?" Baelor asked, his voice trembling.

Vaella managed a weak smile, her hand reaching out to stroke his hair. "It's all right, my sweet. The baby is coming."

Ser Willis knelt beside her, his expression one of determination. "We'll get through this, my lady. Just breathe."

As Vaella labored, Ser Willis and Ser Rickard did their best to assist her, their movements careful and deliberate. The children stayed close by, their presence a source of comfort and strength for their mother.

In the other passage, Aegon and Larys reached the exit, where a small boat waited at the water's edge. The sight of it brought a mix of relief and anxiety.

"We made it," Aegon said, his voice filled with both hope and concern. "But Vaella..."

Larys placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "They will be here soon, Your Grace. Trust in your knights."

Aegon nodded, but his heart ached with worry. He looked back at the entrance, willing his family to appear. 

As the labor continued in the hidden alcove, the sounds of the distant city seemed to fade away, replaced by the quiet strength of a family fighting to survive. Vaella's breaths came in short, determined bursts, her will to bring their child into the world unyielding.

Ser Willis and Ser Rickard remained by her side, their presence a steady anchor in the storm of labor. The children held their mother’s hands, their faces filled with a mixture of fear and awe.

The dimly lit alcove in the secret passageway was filled with the tense anticipation of labor. The stone walls seemed to close in around them, the air thick with the mingled scents of damp earth and the sweat of exertion. Queen Vaella Targaryen, her face contorted with the effort of childbirth, lay on the rough ground with Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne attending her, while her children, Princess Daena and Prince Baelor, watched with wide eyes.

"Breathe, my lady, just breathe," Ser Willis urged, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of pain and effort.

Vaella gripped his hand, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "I can feel it… the baby is coming now."

Ser Rickard moved to assist, his face a mask of concentration. "We need to be ready. It won’t be long now."

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the world outside fading away as Vaella focused on bringing her child into the world. Finally, with one last push, the small chamber was filled with an unsettling silence. 

"A boy," Ser Willis said, his voice barely a whisper as he looked down at the tiny, motionless form. The baby’s skin was pale, his eyes the same violet as Aegon’s, but he did not cry, only took shallow, weak breaths. Ser Willis quickly wrapped the newborn in his white cloak, the soft fabric enveloping the fragile body.

Vaella’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at her son, her heart breaking at the sight. "He’s so small," she whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek. "But he is Targaryen. He will be strong."

Ser Rickard, ever vigilant, moved to lift Vaella. "We need to get you out of here, my lady. It’s not safe."

But Vaella shook her head, her expression resolute despite her exhaustion and worry. "No, Rickard. One of you must stay armed and ready to defend us if we’re attacked. We cannot afford to be caught unprepared."

Ser Willis hesitated, the baby still cradled in his arms. "But my lady, you need to be carried. You’ve just given birth."

Vaella’s gaze was fierce and unyielding. "I will walk if I must. But you, Rickard, take my children and get them to safety. That is an order."

Rickard’s face tightened with emotion, but he nodded. "As you command, my queen."

Vaella turned to her children, her heart breaking at the thought of being separated from them. She reached out, pulling them close. "Daena, Baelor, you must go with Ser Rickard now. He will keep you safe."

Daena’s eyes filled with tears. "Mother, I don’t want to leave you."

Vaella stroked her daughter’s hair, her voice gentle but firm. "I know, my sweet. But you must be brave. For me, and for your baby brother."

Baelor clung to her side, his small body trembling. "Mother, will we see you again?"

Vaella’s heart ached, but she forced a reassuring smile. "Yes, Baelor. We will be together again. But now, you must go."

Ser Rickard stepped forward, taking Daena’s hand and lifting Baelor into his arms. "I will protect them with my life, my lady," he vowed.

Vaella nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. "I know you will, Rickard. Go now, quickly."

As Rickard led the children away, Vaella watched them disappear into the shadows, her heart heavy with the weight of their parting. She turned back to Ser Willis, who stood ready, his sword drawn.

"Willis, we must move," she said, her voice firm despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her.

Ser Willis nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of respect and concern. "Yes, my lady. Lean on me if you need to."

Vaella took a deep breath, steeling herself. She reached out, placing a hand on Willis’s arm for support. Together, they began to make their way through the passage, each step a painful reminder of her recent ordeal.

The passageway seemed to stretch endlessly, the faint light from their torches casting eerie shadows on the walls. The sounds of the city in turmoil were muffled but still present, a constant reminder of the danger they were in.

As they neared the exit, Vaella felt another sharp pain, this time more intense. She knew she couldn’t go on. "Willis, you need to go. Take the baby and ensure his safety."

Ser Willis looked at her in shock. "I can’t leave you here alone!"

"You must," Vaella insisted, her voice filled with authority. "One of us needs to be able to fight if necessary. Go now and protect my children. That is an order."

Ser Willis hesitated for a moment, then nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. He gently took the baby, cradling him securely. "I will protect them with my life, my queen."

Vaella nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Go now, Willis. Quickly."

As Willis disappeared into the shadows with the newborn, Vaella remained behind, leaning against the cold stone wall for support. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever might come. She was alone now, but she was determined to protect her family at any cost.

As the echoes of footsteps faded, Vaella took one last look at the passage through which her children had been taken to safety. Her heart ached with the pain of separation, but she knew they were in good hands. She was alone, but not defeated.

…

The small boat bobbed gently on the water just outside the Red Keep, hidden from view by the shadows cast by the towering walls. Aegon II Targaryen paced anxiously, his eyes constantly darting towards the hidden exit of the passageway. Larys Strong, the Master of Whisperers, stood nearby, his face a mask of calm despite the tension in the air.

Hours passed, each minute stretching into what felt like an eternity. The night was eerily quiet, the distant sounds of chaos in the city muffled by the thick stone walls. Aegon’s worry grew with each passing moment, his thoughts consumed by the safety of his family.

Finally, the sound of footsteps echoed from the passageway. Aegon’s heart leapt as he saw Ser Rickard Thorne emerging from the darkness, holding Princess Daena and Prince Baelor by the hand. The children’s faces were pale with fear, but they were safe.

“Father!” Daena cried, rushing into Aegon’s arms.

Aegon knelt, hugging his children tightly. “Thank the gods you’re safe,” he murmured, kissing their foreheads. He looked up at Rickard, his eyes filled with gratitude. “Where is Vaella?”

Rickard’s face tightened with emotion. “She… she stayed behind, Your Grace. She went into labor and insisted I get the children to safety.”

Aegon’s heart skipped a beat, a mixture of relief and dread washing over him. “Labor? Is she… is she alright?”

Before Rickard could answer, the sound of more footsteps reached them. Ser Willis Fell appeared, cradling a small bundle wrapped in his white cloak. Aegon’s eyes widened as he realized what had happened.

“A boy,” Willis said softly, handing the newborn to Aegon. “Your son.”

Aegon took the baby, his hands trembling. He looked down at the tiny face, a cocktail of emotions washing over him—joy, fear, love, and an overwhelming sense of loss. “Vaella… she gave birth?”

Willis nodded, his expression grave. “Yes, Your Grace. She gave birth quickly and cleanly. But the baby is weak, born too early.”

Aegon’s heart pounded in his chest. “She’s not coming, is she?” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Larys stepped forward, his face filled with concern. “Your Grace, there is no time. We must leave now. The city is in chaos, and we cannot risk staying any longer.”

Aegon’s eyes blazed with fury and desperation. “I will not leave her behind!” He tried to move towards the passage, but Rickard and Willis quickly stepped in front of him.

“Your Grace, please,” Willis urged. “We must go. The queen gave her life for the safety of the children. Honor her wishes.”

Aegon’s rage boiled over, and he struggled against them. “This was not our deal, Larys! I bargained for the lives of my wife and children!”

Larys’s eyes were sad but resolute. “Your Grace, I understand your pain. But we must protect your children. Vaella made her choice to ensure their safety. We must respect that.”

The knights, with a heavy heart, pushed the furious and struggling Aegon into the boat, holding him steady as the vessel began to move away from the shore. Aegon clung to the baby, his heart breaking with each passing moment.

“Vaella!” he screamed, his voice echoing over the water. “VAELLA!”

The boat glided silently through the night, the city of King’s Landing growing smaller behind them. Aegon’s cries of anguish filled the air, his body wracked with sobs. Daena and Baelor clung to him, their own tears mingling with his.

Larys sat opposite them, his face a mask of calm determination. “We will reach Dragonstone soon, Your Grace. It is empty now. There, we will regroup and plan our next move.”

Aegon looked at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of fury and sorrow. “This was not our deal, Larys,” he repeated, his voice choked with emotion. “I bargained for the lives of my wife and children.”

Larys met his gaze, his expression unreadable. “We did what we could, Your Grace. Vaella’s sacrifice will not be in vain.”

As the boat moved further from the shore, Aegon held his children close, his heart heavy with grief and determination.

…

The sky above King's Landing continued to be a maelstrom of fire and shadow as Caraxes and Syrax circled high above Aegon’s High Hill. The sight of the two mighty dragons, ridden by Prince Daemon Targaryen and Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen respectively, struck fear into the hearts of the city's defenders. Below, the once-mighty capital of the Seven Kingdoms teetered on the brink of chaos.

The first to react were the seven commanders of the city gates, handpicked for their unwavering loyalty to King Aegon II Targaryen. As the dragons’ shadows fell over the Red Keep, these commanders swiftly mobilized their men, unaware that their loyalty had already sealed their fate. Each of them was a veteran, seasoned in battle, but even they were not prepared for the betrayal that awaited them.

Captain Cedric Lannister, stationed at the Mud Gate, barked orders to his men, his voice barely audible over the din. “Hold your positions! Prepare for an assault! Do not let them through!”

But even as he rallied his forces, a group of gold cloaks, their faces grim and resolute, moved silently through the ranks. These were men who had once served under Daemon Targaryen, their loyalty to him unshaken by time or distance. With deadly efficiency, they turned on the commanders.

At the King’s Gate, Captain Roland Buckler felt the cold bite of steel as a dagger plunged into his side. He gasped, turning to see the betrayer—a gold cloak he had trusted. “Why?” he managed to choke out, blood spilling from his wound.

“For Prince Daemon,” the gold cloak replied coldly, pulling the blade free.

One by one, the commanders fell. Those who were not killed outright were bound and dragged away, their protests silenced by the grim determination of their captors. The city gates, now undefended, stood vulnerable to the coming onslaught.

At the Dragon Gate, Ser Gwayne Hightower, the second in command of the City Watch, realized the depth of their betrayal. As he reached for the alarm bell, a hand clamped down on his wrist, and he was pulled back by Luthor, a gold cloak loyal to Daemon.

“Gwayne,” Luthor said, his voice a mixture of regret and resolve. “This is for the good of the realm.”

Gwayne struggled, fury in his eyes. “Traitor! You’ll doom us all!”

With a swift motion, Luthor drew his dagger and plunged it into Gwayne’s heart. The second-in-command’s eyes widened in shock before the life faded from them. Luthor lowered his friend’s body gently to the ground, a somber expression on his face. “May the gods forgive me,” he whispered.

The gold cloaks moved quickly, opening the city gates to the army of the Sea Snake, Lord Corlys Velaryon. The fleet had arrived to the east of Blackwater Bay, and now, its soldiers poured into King’s Landing unopposed. The once-impregnable defenses crumbled as the Black’s forces flooded the city.

At the River Gate, the last bastion of resistance held firm. Thirteen knights of House Hightower, along with a hundred men-at-arms, stood resolute against the attackers. Their commander, Ser Tristan Hightower, rallied his men, his voice ringing out over the clash of steel.

“Hold the line! For King Aegon! For the realm!”

For eight grueling hours, they repelled wave after wave of attacks. The defenders fought with a ferocity born of desperation, knowing that their defeat would spell the end for the Green’s cause. The gate became a battlefield, littered with the bodies of the fallen, both friend and foe.

“Ser Tristan!” a young knight called out, his voice strained. “They’re coming from within the city! We’re surrounded!”

Tristan’s face darkened, but his resolve did not waver. “We fight to the last man. Show them the courage of House Hightower!”

The other six gates, however, fell swiftly. The gold cloaks, having neutralized the loyal commanders, opened the way for the invaders. The Black’s army entered the city unmolested, spreading through the streets like a dark tide. The fall of King’s Landing was swift and brutal, the city’s defenses crumbling within a day.

In the Red Keep, Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower watched the unfolding disaster with a heavy heart. She had known this day might come, but the reality was no less devastating. The sounds of battle grew closer, and she realized that the end was inevitable.

“Gather the council,” Alicent ordered, her voice calm despite the turmoil. “We must decide our next steps.”

As the remaining loyalists assembled, their faces were grim. Alicent took a deep breath, her gaze sweeping over them. “The city has fallen. We cannot continue this fight. Too many lives have been lost already.”

Lord Jasper Wylde, the Ironrod, clenched his fists. “We cannot simply surrender! There must be something we can do!”

Alicent shook her head, her expression sorrowful. “We have done all we can. Further resistance will only lead to more death. I will not see our people slaughtered needlessly.”

Lord Tayland Lannister stepped forward, his eyes filled with understanding. “Your Grace is wise. The time has come to seek terms.”

With a heavy heart, Alicent nodded. “Then it is decided. We will surrender and seek mercy for our people.”

As the order was given, the Red Keep fell silent. The battle was over, and the fate of King’s Landing was sealed. The Blacks had taken the city, and the Greens were left to face the consequences of their defeat.

In the secret passageways below the Red Keep, Vaella Targaryen remained alone, her heart heavy with the knowledge of the sacrifice she had made. Her children were safe, and that was all that mattered. She would face her sister and uncle, ready to defend her family with every ounce of strength she had left.

…

The Iron Throne loomed imposingly in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, its twisted metal and jagged edges a symbol of ultimate power and the treacherous path to claim it. Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen sat upon it, her face a mask of determination. The hall was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and soldiers, the air thick with the tension of recent victory and the uncertainty of what was to come.

Daemon Targaryen strode into the hall, his eyes sharp and searching. He approached the throne, bowing slightly before addressing his wife. “The city is secure, but there is no sign of Aegon or his children. They must have been smuggled out through the secret passageways.”

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened, but before she could respond, Daemon continued. “However, my gold cloaks found Vaella as they searched the passageways.”

Rhaenyra’s face changed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. She took a deep breath, composing herself. “Bring her before me.”

Moments later, the doors to the Great Hall opened, and Vaella Targaryen was led in. She was bloodied and pale from childbirth, her strength clearly waning but her spirit unbroken. As she was brought before the throne, she lifted her gaze to her sister—the sister she had once loved more than anyone in the world. Despite everything, she guessed she still did, even if this Rhaenyra before her was all twisted and crooked by the power of the throne.

“Vaella,” Rhaenyra said, her voice cold and commanding. “You look… worse for wear.”

Vaella managed a weak smile, her eyes filled with both sorrow and defiance. “And you look quite comfortable up there, sister. Is it as you imagined? I wouldn’t know, having never climbed up there myself.” She glanced pointedly at the numerous small cuts marring Rhaenyra’s skin, evidence of the throne’s treacherous nature.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger. “Do not mock me, Vaella. You know nothing of what I have endured.”

Vaella’s smile faded, replaced by a look of deep sadness. “I know more than you think, Rhaenyra. We have both suffered losses. But power… power has twisted you.”

Rhaenyra’s expression grew bitter, her grief for her lost children simmering just beneath the surface. “You and Aegon stole my birthright! You conspired against me and took what was rightfully mine!”

Vaella’s eyes blazed with fury. “Stole your birthright? Neither Aegon nor I wanted the throne! We were pushed to take the crown, forced into this conflict. It was you, Rhaenyra, who started to rebel first. You could never let go of the throne.”

Rhaenyra’s face contorted with rage. “How dare you accuse me? I did what was necessary for the realm!”

Vaella took a step forward, her voice ringing out with conviction. “No, you did what was necessary for yourself. You were willing to destroy everything to hold onto this foolish notion that the realm would accept your disputed claim. You are egocentric and malcontent of your own doing, and look where it has led us.”

Rhaenyra’s hands tightened on the armrests of the throne, her knuckles white. “You dare defy me? After all I have lost, after all I have done for this throne, you think you can stand against me?”

Vaella’s voice was calm but firm. “I am not standing against you, sister. I am protecting my children, as any mother would.”

Rhaenyra’s anger flared, her voice rising. “You will be held captive, along with Alicent, and confined to your chambers until I decide what to do with you. Guards, take her away!”

The gold cloaks moved to obey, their expressions grim. As they led Vaella away, she cast one last, sorrowful look at her sister. “Rhaenyra, please, do not let this throne destroy you. Remember who you were, who we were.”

Rhaenyra’s face remained hard, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—regret, perhaps, or doubt. She watched as Vaella was taken from the hall, the weight of her choices heavy upon her.

As Vaella was escorted to her chambers, the pain of her recent labor and the sorrow of her situation weighed heavily on her. Yet, her thoughts were focused on her children. They were safe, and she would endure whatever came to ensure their continued safety.

In the Great Hall, Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, the murmurs of the courtiers and soldiers around her fading into the background. She was alone with her thoughts, the weight of her crown pressing down on her. The throne was hers, but at what cost? 

…

The next day dawned with a grim sense of finality hanging over King’s Landing. The once vibrant city was now shrouded in a tense silence, its streets patrolled by soldiers loyal to Queen Rhaenyra. The Great Hall of the Red Keep was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and the heavy presence of armored guards. It was a day of reckoning for those who had opposed the new regime.

Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, her face set in a mask of determination. Beside her stood Daemon Targaryen, his expression equally resolute. Before them knelt Lord Otto Hightower and Lord Jasper Wylde, their faces pale and drawn.

“You are both guilty of treason,” Rhaenyra declared, her voice echoing through the hall. “You conspired against the rightful queen and supported the usurper. For this, you will pay with your lives.”

Otto Hightower lifted his head, defiance still flickering in his eyes. “I served the realm, Rhaenyra. Everything I did was for the good of Westeros.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened. “You served yourself, Otto. You sought power at any cost, and now you will pay for it.” She turned to the executioner. “Carry out the sentence.”

With a swift motion, the executioner’s sword fell, and Lord Otto Hightower’s head rolled across the stone floor. A murmur of shock and horror rippled through the hall. Lord Jasper Wylde, trembling, was next. His pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, and he met the same fate as Otto.

As the bodies were carried away, Lords Rosby and Stokeworth were brought before the throne. Their faces were masks of desperation as they tried to plead their cases.

“Your Grace,” Lord Rosby began, his voice shaking. “We swear our loyalty to you. We were misled, but we are ready to serve you faithfully.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger. “Faithless friends,” she spat. “You turned your backs on me when it suited you, and now you beg for mercy? I cannot trust men who switch allegiances so easily.”

Lord Stokeworth fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Please, Your Grace, show mercy. We have families—”

Rhaenyra’s expression remained cold. “You should have thought of that before betraying me. Take them away and execute them.”

The guards dragged the pleading lords from the hall, their cries echoing in the stone corridors. The executions were swift, and by midday, their heads adorned the walls of the Red Keep as a grim warning to any who might think to betray Rhaenyra.

In another part of the castle, Ser Tyland Lannister’s screams filled the air as he was tortured for information about the crown’s treasure. His loyalty to Aegon was tested to its limits, but Tyland remained steadfast, refusing to reveal the hiding place. His endurance only fueled Rhaenyra’s frustration and determination to break him.

Grand Maester Orwyle was confined to the black cells, his protests of innocence and pleas for mercy ignored. The dark, damp cells were a far cry from the comfortable quarters he was used to, and he knew that his days might be numbered.

Later that day, Daemon entered the queen’s chambers where Rhaenyra sat, the weight of the day’s events heavy on her shoulders.

“We’ve dealt with the traitors,” Daemon said, his voice low. “But there’s another matter that requires your attention.”

Rhaenyra looked up, exhaustion etched in her features. “What is it?”

Daemon sighed, his expression troubled. “The local populace is growing restless. Vaella and Aegon were much loved in King’s Landing. The people are not taking kindly to their sudden absence and the executions.”

Rhaenyra’s face tightened. “What do you suggest we do?”

“We need to address their concerns,” Daemon replied. “Show them that we are here to rule justly and with their interests in mind. But we also need to be prepared to deal with unrest swiftly.”

Rhaenyra nodded slowly. “You’re right. We cannot afford to lose the support of the people. Arrange for a public address. I will speak to them and assure them that we are here to bring stability and prosperity.”

Daemon’s eyes softened slightly. “And Vaella? What will you do with her?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze darkened. “For now, she will remain confined. I need time to think about what to do with her. She is a threat, but she is also my sister.”

…

Vaella Targaryen was led through the royal quarters of the Red Keep by Rhaenyra’s men. The stone walls echoed with their footsteps, the silence heavy and oppressive. She felt the weight of her recent childbirth, her body still weak and trembling, but her spirit remained unbroken. As she passed through the corridors, she was suddenly stopped by the sight of Dowager Queen Alicent being escorted in the opposite direction.

Alicent’s eyes met Vaella’s, wide with worry and fear. “Vaella,” she called out, her voice trembling. “Are the children safe?”

Vaella nodded, her expression resolute despite the exhaustion etched into her features. “They are safe, Alicent,” she replied, her voice strong. “Do not worry.”

Before either could say more, the guards pulled them apart, each escorted to their separate fates. Vaella’s heart ached for the dowager queen, but she had to remain focused. She was taken to a chamber where a bath had been prepared for her, the steam rising gently from the water.

The servants undressed her with practiced efficiency, their expressions neutral. Vaella sank into the warm water, letting out a sigh of relief as the heat soothed her aching muscles. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to relax, if only briefly.

Her mind raced with thoughts and worries. How could she reach Helaena in the Vale and Aemond and Criston at Harrenhal? The family needed to be reunited, to plan their next move. But for now, she was trapped in the heart of the enemy’s stronghold, her movements watched and controlled.

She thought of her husband Aegon, wondering if he and their children had safely escaped. The thought of their safety brought her a measure of comfort, but it was fleeting. She had just given birth, and she had not even had the chance to name her baby boy. The pain of that loss cut deeply, a fresh wound in an already battered heart.

The door to the chamber opened, and one of the guards stepped inside. “You have a short time, my lady. Do not take too long.”

Vaella nodded, her mind still a whirlwind of thoughts. She had to stay strong, to find a way to communicate with her family and ensure their safety. The task seemed monumental, but she was determined to succeed.

As she bathed, she replayed the recent events in her mind. Rhaenyra’s anger, the accusations, and the execution orders. She wondered how her sister had become so twisted by the power of the throne. They had once been so close, and now it seemed a chasm had opened between them, filled with bitterness and mistrust.

She recalled her argument with Rhaenyra, how she had stood her ground despite her weakened state. The memory of Rhaenyra’s face, twisted with rage and grief, haunted her. Vaella knew that her sister was hurting, that the loss of her children had driven her to the edge. As did the death of Aeron her. But that did not excuse Rhaenyra’s actions. Vaella had to remain vigilant, to protect what was left of her family and find a way to reach them.

As she finished her bath, she dressed in the clean clothes provided by the servants. The simple gown was a stark contrast to the regal attire she was accustomed to, but it would do. She had no need for finery now, only for resolve and strength.

The guards returned, escorting her back to her chambers. The journey through the corridors was silent, the weight of the recent executions hanging heavily in the air. Vaella glanced out of the windows as they passed, the city of King’s Landing sprawling below, a city now under the rule of her sister.

Upon reaching her chambers, Vaella was left alone, the door closed and locked behind her. She moved to the window, looking out over the city, her thoughts turning to her family once more. She whispered a silent prayer for their safety, her heart aching with the distance that separated them.

[smutcraft]

Little Dragon, Loose Lips | Daemon Targaryen x Fem! Reader

"I want to hear you cry out for me, little dragon," Daemon growls against your ear as his hips pick up speed. "Let the world know that I ride you, and you will take no other."

Smut ahead! 18+

Gif Credit to daenerys-stormborn

When Daemon Targaryen has a chance encounter with you during your betrothal tour in King's Landing, he is reminded of how infuriatingly indifferent you act around him. So when he learns the maesters are concocting a harmless "truth draught," he decides to take matters into his own hands and force out the truth of what you truly think of him, once and for all.

Words: ~5,000

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60314251

“May I help you, Lady Vaella?”

You freeze at the sound of Prince Daemon's voice. As always, you can't decide if the Rogue Prince is being sincere or sarcastic. Does he know you’re in the process of fleeing to your chambers before your brother Laenor can summon the first suitors on your betrothal tour? You glare at Daemon from outside the throne room, opting to say nothing in the end.

"You look like you're caught in the middle of something...intriguing," Daemon observes, quirking an eyebrow. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

At his haughty tone, you draw yourself up. "No need," you reply curtly. You don’t trust Daemon Targaryen as far as you can throw him -- none of the Velayrons do. "No need for your help, either, my prince. I'm quite busy at the moment, thank you."

"Is that so," Daemon says, clearly amused as he draws nearer. "And what exactly keeps Lady Vaella busy when the most eligible bachelors of King's Landing will soon be awaiting her presence?" Now within arm's reach, he folds his arms and lifts his chin to await your reply. "Perhaps she’s already under the thrall of someone special, hidden away from court?"

You glance anxiously behind Daemon. To your horror, you can hear the approach of your suitors. On impulse, you seize Prince Daemon by the arm and drag him around the corner and out of sight - you don’t trust him not to alert Laenor and his entourage if left to his own devices. To his credit, Daemon allows himself to be led away with his usual sinuous grace.

"My 'special someones' are none of your business, Prince Daemon,” you hiss under your breath. “Loose lips sink ships, as we say in House Valyron, and mine are sealed."

Daemon grins. "You are quite right to put me in my place, my lady. My curiosity often gets the better of me." True to form, his gaze wanders slyly to appreciate the flushed skin of your décolletage.

You’re on the verge of rebuking the prince when you hear the sound of Laenor's voice drawing closer. "Vaella?" Laenor calls out, equal parts vexed and perplexed, by the sound of it.

"Your suitors must be anxious to meet you,” Daemon says quietly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Shall I distract them while the lady makes her escape?"

"Distract - ? You would do that?" you marvel under your breath. Your pleasant surprise is tinged with suspicion. Daemon Targaryen is not known for being particularly helpful or charitable, after all. Before you can accept his offer, however, Laenor stumbles upon the two of you.

"Ah, Vaella! Here you are, sister," Laenor says grandly, though his wide eyes betray his horror at seeing his sister alone with the Rogue Prince. "Prince Daemon was just showing you the way to the throne room, was he?"

"Indeed I was," Daemon replies smoothly, stepping aside with his hands folded behind his back. "It seems Lady Vaella had....lost her way." He bows slightly in your direction before sauntering off, leaving you behind with your disappointing entourage of prospective husbands.

*****

Unbeknownst to all, Daemon watches the throne room’s proceedings through the window of a hidden alcove at the back of the throne room. Most of the men gathered before Vaella Velayron are pompous old fools, though a younger Stark lad appears to catch her eye. Ser Eyan Stark of Winterfell is certainly the least horrible of her sycophantic options, but he is still an unbearably grim and ill-humored marriage prospect for Vaella – and nowhere near worthy of such a Velayron lady, thinks Daemon before slinking from the alcove with his hood raised.

His mind swirls with thoughts, plans, potential outcomes. How best to procure what he wants?

First, a visit to their ever-pliable king, Daemon decides. And then a visit to the grand maester.

*****

As fate would have it, you encounter Daemon again the following morning, before breakfast. Once again, you don’t see him at first - only now, instead of lurking away from the throne room, you’re pacing back and forth before the dining hall entrance. Though you don't know it, Daemon slows his approach and casts his eye along a side corridor so that you believe yourself to spot him first.

“Daemon!” you whisper urgently. As soon as a passing servant has rounded the corner and out of sight, you grip his arm and tug him away, around a different side corridor. Already the gesture feels familiar.

"Good morrow, Lady Vaella," Daemon says with an easy grin. "Did you enjoy the attention of our most eligible Westerosi bachelors?"

“One of your handmaidens has just informed me,” you hiss, ignoring his attempt at coyness, “that King Viserys plans to foist *you* off upon me instead.” You force yourself not to look away from Daemon’s face, curious as to whether he was already aware of this possibility - and his instinctive reaction to it, if not.

But Daemon's eyes merely flicker with their bottomless amusement. "Is that so?” he asks. “My dear brother seems to have quite an imagination when it comes to matchmaking." He pauses, considering you. "But what do you think, Lady Vaella? Do you desire me to be your lord and husband?"

You sweep your eyes around the room before satisfying yourself that no waitstaff linger nearby to eavesdrop.

"What *I* desire is of no consequence, as you know. Were the decision in my hands, I'd prefer a kind and gentle husband - and you'll pardon me for saying so, my prince, but you are not known for your kind or gentle nature."

Daemon snorts. "You reveal what little you know of me, my lady. You suppose me to be nothing more than the Rogue Prince, the one who is feared and whispered about in corridors. You've not considered that there's more to me than meets the eye."

At the approach of a servant, you quickly step back, keeping a more respectable distance between the two of you for the sake of propriety. At this, Daemon looks more amused than ever.

"Perhaps I could persuade you to find some enjoyment in this arrangement," Daemon continues, his voice low and husky. He takes a step closer, and his gaze slides down your form before returning to your eyes.

"You are a scoundrel, Daemon," you snap, your face coloring. "You haven't a shred of respect for any woman, have you?"

"I'm a Targaryen," Daemon replies smoothly. He takes another step, his chest mere inches from yours. "What we have is what we want, when we want it. And I want you, my lady."

You slap the Rogue Prince before you can help yourself. You cannot seem to string two words together, however, as you stand there with your chest heaving.

Daemon catches your wrist as your hand drops. He studies you, his eyes unreadable for a moment before he chuckles softly. "I think I like you more each day, Lady Vaella." With a nod and a wink, he turns away from you, releasing your wrist. "Get used to the idea, little dragon. *I* won't be so easily deterred." With that, he strides away, leaving you standing in the corridor, your hand stinging.

You breakfast in silence, your mind whirling. To your surprise, no mention is made of your new marriage prospect, and you are able to forget your worries - at least for a little while. As soon as you’re alone, you march straight to the Dragon Pit to have Duskfyre saddled. A peaceful ride along the coast of the Narrow Sea is just what you need.

Yet even hundreds of feet over King's Landing, you cannot seem to get away from the most irksome Targaryen. After an hour or so you recognize the distant shape of Caraxes, Daemon's spindly dragon, with the Rogue Prince himself astride. Curious, you lean forward, commanding Duskfyre closer. In no time you’ve come up alongside Daemon and Caraxes, coasting so closely over the water that the ocean spray mists your skin.

You raise your slapping hand in a teasing wave to the prince, your mood more buoyant now thanks to the fresh air and sun. You will not be reduced to girlish attacks or petulant sulking any longer, you decide - you will meet Daemon on whatever battlefield he chooses.

Daemon tilts his head back, grinning at you and Duskfyre. You can’t help but admire his regal confidence atop his dragon as he lifts his own hand to return the greeting. "I see you've decided to come play with the big boys, my lady," he calls out, his voice ringing over the wind.

It's true enough that Daemon is much larger than you, and Caraxes is slightly larger than Duskfyre. However, the unusual shape of Duskfyre's wings allows your dragon to twist and turn most unexpectedly. You use this to your advantage now, playfully commanding Duskfyre in High Valyrian to ambush your company by clipping a wing against the ocean's surface. You grin as the deluge of water thoroughly soaks Daemon and startles Caraxes.

Daemon's sputter of surprise carries over the water. "I see you've learned to play to your strengths!" he shouts, his begrudging laughter carrying over the roar of the wind and sea. "My lady is more formidable than I thought." He steers Caraxes higher into the air with an easy grace, a grin never leaving his face.

"And what might be your strengths, my prince?" you call in reply.

"That is only for a wife to know," he calls back, his tone teasing. He nudges Caraxes higher and banks around, waving goodbye with a flippant smile.

You are left with much to ponder in his wake. Seeing Daemon's easy companionship with his dragon has softened your in a way you hadn't expected. The bond he shares with Caraxes is obvious. Perhaps the Rogue Prince is not quite as awful as your family has made him out to be...

*****

Later than evening, exhausted from a long day of flying, you retire to a small library near the Red Keep to read before bed. You’ve barely cracked the cover of a tome about the First Men, however, when Daemon appears in the doorway with two goblets in hand.

"Would our guest enjoy a nightcap of mead before retiring for the evening?" he asks softly, his tone smooth, unassuming.

You accept the goblet he holds out to you, nodding your thanks without a second thought. "To the imprisonment of marriage," you toast, raising your goblet to Daemon's. After taking a sip, however, your eyes widen, and you hasten to add, "Apologies. What a tasteless thing to hear so soon after the loss of your lady wife."

"Fear not, my lady. The late Lady Rhea is the least of my concern at present." Daemon raises his own goblet, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he drinks deeply from it. As he sets the cup down, he continues in a low murmur, "Your thoughts, on the other hand, concern me very much.”

You match his greedy drink from your own goblet of mead, which tastes differently than it did at supper, more like honeysuckle and melon. "My thoughts?" you repeat, confused. "Whatever on?"

"The ones that dance behind those pretty eyes of yours. I imagine they're filled with desires and secrets just waiting to be discovered." You merely snort in reply, but Daemon watches you closely, with a look that’s almost…expectant. As if he’s waiting for something. "I'm afraid to disappoint you, Daemon, but my 'pretty eyes' are filled with no such thing. Unfortunately for you, I'm a very simple character. What you see is what you get."

Daemon chuckles softly, his smirk returning. "Oh, I don't know about that. But perhaps your dreams are more vivid than your waking life?" He leans closer, lowering his voice to an intimate whisper. "Tell me about the dreams you keep hidden, my lady."

You finish your goblet of mead as Daemon's last words sink in. "Why this sudden interest in my dreams and secrets?" you ask with an eyebrow quirked.

In the next breath, however, as if someone were plucking the words from your mouth, you add: "I once feigned a fever while the Grand Maester was away just so his apprentice would examine me in private."

Daemon's eyes widen slightly. Unbeknownst to you, a serum intended for a criminal trial this evening is already working its effect on you, and the prince is more than intrigued to hear more from you. "And what happened when the young maester came to check on your well-being?" he asks, his voice huskier than before.

"I undressed under the covers and pretended to be only half-awake when he arrived," you continue without hesitation. What in the seven hells is happening?

"And then?" Daemon prompts, his voice thick, his eyes unwavering from yours.

Another torrent of damning words escape your lips: "I saw him grow hard. But he was a man of infuriatingly high scruples and left without touching me as I desired." Your face reddens further as you continue, "Afterward, I dreamed of him giving me a sponge bathe and granting my release with only his fingers. Since then I still grow wet whenever he attends to me with the Grand Maester."

“Do you now," Daemon's voice deepens as he processes your words, his eyes fixed on your flushed face. "What else do you dream about during the night?" His hand reaches out to brush against your exposed arm.

You jump at his touch as if shocked. Laying eyes on your goblet, suspicion dawns much too late. "I dream about you, my prince.” The words pass your lips you with a jolt. You immediately brace your hands over your mouth to prevent any more from escaping.

"And what do I do in these dreams?" Daemon asks, his voice huskier than ever.

You merely shake your head and spring to your feet to get away from him. But Daemon shifts and easily blocks your path, looking almost predatory in the way he towers over you.

He moves closer, leaning down to whisper into your ear. "You may as well speak plainly. There's no use resisting me now." His fingers gently brush against the backs of your hands, attempting to pry them away from your mouth.

You give a muffled cry of anguish and attempts to dart around Daemon, the color high in your cheeks. You keep your hands clenched tight over your lips, which are already trembling, on the verge of revealing all. You’d sooner die than admit to the fantasies you’ve harbored about Daemon Targaryen.

Daemon grabs you by your arm, pulling you back into his grasp before you can escape. "Vaella," he growls low in his throat, the intensity of his gaze burning through yours. Clearly, he’s determined to learn your secrets one way or another.

You do your level best to squirm free from his grip, but with your slight frame, you’re simply no match for Daemon's height and brute strength. He seizes your forearms in his hands and looks in your eyes, relishing your anguish before forcing your hands to your sides.

"Oh, by the Seven, Daemon," you groan. "I've dreamed of you, of us..." You breathe in frantic gasps, fighting to regain control over your speech, but it's no use. "I dream of us...doing things...that would shock even the lowest whores of Flea Bottom."

Daemon's grin widens as the words spill from your lips. "Tell me," he breathes, moving closer until he's almost nose-to-nose with you, the front of his breeches stiffened. "You'll have to share all of your dreams with me, my lady. I won't rest until you do."

You shudder and speak with your eyes unable to raise above Daemon's chest. “I was once in disguise on the street of silk when I heard two women speaking of the Rogue Prince's prowess with his tongue, and that night I - "

You press your face into Daemon's chest before your last words can be heard.

But Daemon only tightens his grip your shoulders and smiles wickedly before kissing the top of your head. "Fear not, Lady Vaella. I daresay you'll enjoy your confessions."

With this, he forces you against the wall of the library, leaving you with no more options to stifle your speech.

"I pleasured myself with thoughts of your face between my legs," you blurt, your face a mortified red. "And I dreamt of you lashing me to the bedpost, when another prostitute spoke of you restraining her.”

Daemon's eyes darken at the mention of his whorish escapades. He moves closer still, his body now pressed against yours, his desire palpable. "Good girl, making these confessions to your prince. And when I take you, my lady," he growls in your ear, "I'll show you how much better I can make you feel than any of my whores ever have."

"I want it," you gasp. "Gods help me, I want you to bar the door and consummate our marriage before it's begun."

A feral grin spreads across Daemon's face. "A promise I can keep." He leans in and seizes your mouth in a brutal kiss, his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh as he takes control, leaving no doubt about his intentions. You melt into his touch with a grateful moan. To your horror, however, whatever strange draught he’s given you isn’t losing its potency.

"I have other dreams of you," you gasp, "that shame me. I cannot bear to share them. I want - "

You shake your head furiously, gnashing your teeth.

Daemon's grip tightens on your thigh as your words falter. He nips at your bottom lip before pulling away, his eyes filled with an intensity that borders on menace. "Come now. There is no shame in fantasy,” he says, pressing his body against yours, his voice a rumble that sends a thrum of pleasure to your core. "Tell me the whole of it, little dragon."

In one last final attempt to keep your secrets unspoken, you lean forward to capture Daemon's lips in another kiss. But the prince pulls away, grinning darkly, with each frantic attempt. Already he can see your lips wavering.

"You've dreamt of being at my mercy, haven't you?" Daemon presses on, his hand drifting up your thigh, his fingers teasing the edge of your skirts.

"Often," you confess with a sound of purest longing. "Those dreams are most depraved, my prince. I have pleasured myself at the thought of you examining my body at a brothel house, as if I were a purchase to be enjoyed no longer than an evening. I have thought of you parading me about while I'm naked for the amusement of your drunken comrades on the city watch."

Daemon inhales deeply as you make your confession. "You enjoy the thought of being my property, don't you?" He moves closer to your ear, his hand stroking along your thigh, making you quiver. "Why don’t you tell me how I ought to use my property.”

"I want you to spread my legs and drive me incoherent with lust. To inflame and refuse me with every touch. I want you to ignore my pleas and lay me low in my desire until my body is just another of the Rogue Prince’s many cheap playthings.” You are trembling by the end of this confession, overcome with shame and humiliation. You cannot bring yourself to meet Daemon's eyes. What if this is all a jape? Your heart drops at the thought of Daemon laughing at you and sending you from the room in tears.

Instead, Daemon’s hand slips higher under your skirts until it finds the damp patch of fabric he’s searching for. He grunts with something like approval as he teases you through the fabric, making you hiss and buck against him, your eyes still downcast – until his thumb rubs gently over your clit. Only then do you lift your gaze to meet his. Daemon meets your gaze with a intensity that promises everything you’ve dreamt about, his thumb working a new magic against you through the fabric.

"Your prince will see it done,” he says, as if making a threatening vow.

And then his fingers slip beneath the final clutch of fabric, to your slick folds. He circles your entrance with a deftness borne from experience, his eyes still locked with yours. Your breath intermingles as he whispers against your lips, "Soon, little dragon. Soon you will be the prince’s plaything in more ways than even your whorish mind has conceived of."

You groan in reply before pressing your lips hungrily against his. "I want to taste you, Daemon - "

"And I want to devour you, my lady.” With a crooked twist of a smile, Daemon kneels before you, his eyes never leaving yours.

At the sensation of his breath against your skin, you cry out before you can help yourself. You fear what the servants will say if anyone rushes into the room at the sound, but Daemon only grins, if anything. His lips trace a path from your inner thigh to the apex of your thighs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The scent of your arousal fills his senses, and he smirks wickedly before lowering his head further. His tongue circles your honeyed entrance before he fully buries his face between your thighs, nosing at your clit. Your back arches in response, your moans growing louder with each stroke of his skillful tongue.

"Daemon," you cry out, writhing. But as you writhe, Daemon stops.

"Be still for your prince,” he commands in High Valyrian, "or you will regret it."

Daemon resumes your torment with renewed vigor, his clever tongue driving you closer and closer to the edge with each expert touch. But just as your body trembles, signaling your impending orgasm, Daemon removes himself from between your legs and stands. With a simple jerk of his chin, he signals that you’re to move to the daybed in the far corner of the small library.

You clutch at the dress falling from your shoulders. Your dignity is in tatters, Gods be good, but still you cannot help yourself from complying with Daemon's silent command by slinking silently to the daybed. You cannot remain entirely quiet as you kneels at its center, however.

"I wonder," you say silkily, "whether my prince would like any more mead.” You gesture to the remains of your goblet on your desk and watch as Daemon considers your request, his expression unreadable. "Go on, my fearsome dragonlord," you say in your most honeyed voice. "Allow me to hear your darkest dreams, as you've heard mine.”

You watch eagerly as Daemon approaches the desk and twirls the cup in his hands. “If you like,” he says only, draining it all at once until nothing is left. He tosses the empty container aside with scarcely a grimace, despite having downed the equivalent of nearly half a bottle of wine. As a result, the effects seem to take hold of him more quickly.

His eyes lock on yours once more as the serum takes hold. He returns to your side with a primal slowness, his voice dark. "I dreamt of having you beneath me the moment I first set eyes on you, my lady.”

His eyes never leave yours as he unbuckles his belt and pushes it to the side, revealing the shape straining against the fabric. He leans in to nip at your breast while his hand slides under your skirts to spread your folds. Your hands grasp at the arm of the daybed as he moves south to nip at the skin beneath your breast, along your ribs, and along the edge of your lower hairline. And then Daemon's fingers are teasing the boundary of you, dipping in and out of your wetness as he nips at your flesh, his breath hot against your skin.

Only when he sees you on the verge of cresting the clouds again does he push inside.

The size of him is a shock. Inch by inch, he fills you in a way you’ve never been filled before. “My lady is even tighter and wetter than I imagined when I first kissed her hand,” Daemon jeers through your bliss.

You can only moan in reply and press your forehead to his. "What do you want of me, Daemon?" you pant, reveling in the knowledge that he's now under the same spell as you.

Daemon thrusts into you, groaning with each motion. "I want you to cry out for me, little dragon," he growls against your ear as his hips pick up speed. "Let the world know that I ride you, and that you will take no other."

You hiss with satisfaction as Daemon slides in up to the hilt. "Daemon," you cry out, loudly enough for someone to hear if they happened to be passing the room from the outside, and then louder still, as Daemon moves to pulls you astride him. He grunts in approval while you find your rhythm, his hands gripping your hips. "Tell me you want me to breed you," he orders, his voice hoarse as his gaze drifts from yours to admire your expanse of bare skin. "Say it.”

You groan as you ride him, meeting Daemon thrust for thrust. "I do want you to breed me, my prince," You gasp in his ear. "I want you to fill me until I’ve taken all you can give. Fill me so I can bear your dragonlord sons and daughters. Fuck…Daemon," You calls out, with urgency, daring him to stifle you now. “*Daemon*!”

Daemon groans as he picks up pace, his thrusts becoming more violent. He grinds his hips against yours, his fingers digging into your hips as his thrusts become more erratic. His cock throbs within you, his release imminent.

"So deep,” you groan, your tongue still loosened from the truth draught. "Do you enjoy stretching me like this, Daemon? Will you enjoy watching me struggle to walk tomorrow?"

Your filthy words have their desired effect. Daemon growls his approval, his body tense as he empties himself of his pleasure. His hips grind as he pumps himself into you, every drop that he has to spare. He pulls out slowly, watching with an appreciative gleam in his eye as the evidence of your coupling drips onto your lovely dark skin.

Before you know it, a new resolve is already glittering in the prince’s eyes. "Taste yourself,” he commands in a snarl, pushing you off of him to face you on his knees. “Taste me.”

You open your mouth all too eagerly to catch the cum dripping from the head of Daemon's cock. You’ve scarcely swallowed before he gives an almighty shudder and forces you, harshly, onto all fours.

His tongue flicks over the rosette of your ass. From between your legs, you watch his mouth twist in another wicked grin as he coats his length in your generous arousal and positions himself between your legs. You can feel the tip of him pressing against your tight entrance, making you arch your back and gasp in pleasure. Has the truth-telling draught unleashed some kind of side effect on his libido?

"Daemon," you moan, your hips undulating in search of more. You press your face deeper into the cushion, shamelessly exposing yourself for his pleasure.

Daemon laughs more darkly than you’ve ever heard him. "Beg me for it," he demands in High Valyrian, his voice low and commanding as he prods at the spot that makes you squirm. "Tell your prince how much you want him to claim your ass, my depraved lady. Tell me how much you need it."

Daemon's words flood you with lust all over again. Already on the brink of your climax from the wicked ministrations of his tongue, you're unable to resist bucking backward again, seeking friction.

"Take me there," you beg, your face red with humiliation. "Please, Daemon."

He grins at your submission, his cock twitching in anticipation. He spits on his fingers for good measure and circles your entrance, preparing your body for this new invasion.

"Louder, my lady. Tell me you need this. Tell me how desperate you really are,” he says, his voice low as he presses in.

At first, you grit your teeth against this new invasion. But the sensation of being stretched this way, along with Daemon’s savage rumble of pleasure, quickly has you whimpering, your body betraying your eagerness. The added sensation as Daemon works his fingers around your sensitive pearl is almost too much to bear without tipping over the edge. But you know what he wants, and you force the word out:

"Take me...I beg you, Daemon. My body is yours. Only yours…” With this, you press your hand over his, driving more pressure against your sensitive pearl and driving your ass out farther. You savor the delicious stretch as he seats himself within your rear entrance. The feeling is not entirely uncomfortable - only intense.

"You're taking me well," Daemon praises, his voice low as he begins to pull out and push back in, setting a slow rhythm. "Let's see how long you can take it all."

He nudges your thighs apart further, his hands roaming to grasp at your chest. But Daemon's praise makes you weak.

"I’ve dreamt of this too," you cry out in admission. "I have spied on you in the pleasure houses while you used your whores as you use me now." Clearly the truth-telling draught is still wreaking havoc over your better judgment.

Daemon's grip on your hip tightens at your admission. Looking back at him, you see his lips spread with deepest satisfaction.

"And how did you feel watching me?" he growls against your ear, the rhythm of his thrusts picking up pace. Clearly he likes this, the thought of you secretly watching and wanting, for he tightens his grip on your hip, driving into you with renewed vigor. "Did you think to join me in those pleasures?"

"I felt envious," you confess, much to your dismay. "I longed to be in their place while you tasted them and chased your pleasure down their pretty throats. I longed to join you only so I could force them aside and make them watch as you fucked me senseless in their stead."

Daemon's eyes flare with delight as you admit your jealousy. "You should have," he growls, his voice low and thick with lust. He slams into you, the force of his thrusts driving you forward onto your forearms. The thought of your sudden arrival in one of his previous escapades has him groaning with pleasure, his pace increasing even faster now.

As you near your own climax, pressing your fingers frantically against your sensitive pearl, you can't resist looking back to meet the dragonlord’s gaze. "Daemon," you groan in appreciation as one of Daemon's hands replaces yours, trapping your sensitive bud between his fingers. “Claim me," you groan in High Valyrian. "Let no other stuffy lord think himself worthy of me. Let all know that I belong to the Rogue Prince of Westeros.”

Daemon grins, his eyes glinting with mischief and lust. His voice is laced with approval as he speaks, watching your face flush. "They will know it soon enough," he replies in kind. "They will know you are mine, taken and tamed.”

He leans forward, his lips brushing against your ear as he reaches the height of his pleasure. His thrusts become more erratic, his hips slamming into yours before he empties himself deep within you, shuddering as release overtakes him. With your hand pressed tightly over his, you shudders in equal pleasure, your mind a wonderful blank as Daemon’s touch sends you over the edge.

Several shuddering moments later, Daemon withdraws from you with care, his chest heaving as he collapses beside you. His hand reaches out to brush the hair from your face as he gazes down at you with a look of satisfaction – and smugness, above all.

"Sleep now, little dragon. Tomorrow we'll continue this lesson of ownership until there is no question of whose bed you belong in." With that, his eyes drift closed, his breathing becoming slow and steady as he falls into a deep sleep.

You merely smile, enjoying the sound of that prospect more than you care to admit. You wait for Daemon to fall asleep before dressing and slipping quietly from the small chamber, knowing all too well how your reputation would be toiled if you were found together like this in the morning.

Someday, you promise yourself. Someday you’ll collapse at his side, your skin beaded once more from your lusty exertions, and it won't matter worth a damn who knows...

[allxthingsxglxtter]

Look who just woke up- is that DICHEN LACHMAN? No, I must have been mistaken, that’s VAELLA from NARNIA (OC). I heard she is IMMORTAL and stuck here just like everyone else. Even in the 20’s, they still give off a DARK MAGIC AT HER FINGERTIPS, ASHES OF HER DESTROYED WORLD, THRIVES IN CHAOS, SEEING ENDLESS WORLDS, USED TO BEING ALONE impression. In Sydney, they work as a BAR OWNER. They’re known to be quite CLEVER AND FEARLESS but have a tendency to be UNPREDICTABLE AND RUTHLESS on their bad days. 

Gender/Pronouns :

She/Her

How long have they been in Sydney : 

She's been here since it started, so about 6 years.

Which suburb do they live in? 

She lives in King's Cross, near The Phantom

Personality description (in your own words) : 

Vaella is charming and friendly, but there's always an edge to her, a sign of how dangerous she is if she wanted to be. She's immortal and has seen so much she's easily bored now, but is much happier here in Sydney thriving on the chaos. Vaella's not evil per-say, she does look after her gang members and will do what she can to protect the people she cares about, but also can be ruthless, and tends to enjoy seeing the city in chaos.

Memories of their real life : 

Vaella is from the city of Charn, which was on a now dead world.  Every one of the inhabitants were filled with magic, and as Vaella was growing up she loved every part of it, wanting to learn everything she could get her hands on about everything.  Because of her aptitude she came into contact with the royal family, and namely Jadis, one of the greatest sorceresses of their world. She was trained by the woman who would go on to become Narnia’s White Witch, and taught every dark spell in her repertoire.  Vaella was taught a great deal of dark and horrible magic no one was meant to know, and when she decided her training was complete, and Jadis was locked in a war for the throne of Charn with her sister, Vaella decided to leave her homeworld to the destruction she knew was coming.  

She spent her existence before Sydney traveling all over existence through different dimension doors, mastering new magics and learning about each place.  It was during her exploration of earth she encountered Susan, and she found what became of her former mentor.  She and Susan ended up striking up a friendship, bonded through the shared experience of living in different dimensions.

Here in Sydney she’s made a new life for herself, still using her magic occasionally but running a gang for those that are against or afraid of magic.  Magic proved to be the undoing of her home civilization, the magic-caster’s there using it for every frivolous thing they desired.  Vaella might have ridiculous amounts of power, but her cunning is what she relies on, knowing that she, more than her magic, is what should be feared in this world.   

She rules her gang with a strictness, but it’s undisputed that if you’re loyal Vaella will have your back as a part of Exitum.  However, if you prove to be an idiot, or make a mistake, you can trust that punishment will come and swiftly. She keeps it a secret that she's the leader, most only knowing that she is their leader's messenger, and carries out their interests.

What was their fake life like : 

Vaella doesn't have any fake memories, and tends to just make things up.

Location she works at:

She runs a factory in Balmain, but spends most of her time dealing with Exitum business and illegal side-activities.

Quote:

"Anything worth doing takes a little chaos."

[allxthingsxglxtter]

Vaella moved through the Phantom with ease, giving warm smiles to others in Exitum while also keeping an eye on the non-gang clientele.  While the gang war had provided the sorceress with endless entertainment, she still kept a sharp eye out for those in her gang.  They might not know she was their leader, acting as if she was just close to the top of the chain of command to keep herself even more in the shadows, but she kept an eye on all of them.  She had a quietly ruthless reputation, and Vaella definitely didn’t mind it.

Pausing when someone stepped into her path, the woman gave them a sly smile, unsure whether this was someone cute enough to flirt with or someone that had business to discuss and spoke with ease.  “Need something?  Or have we merely crossed paths by accident?”

@thebridgestarters​

[allxthingsxglxtter]

@thebridgestarters​

“What a disappointment.”  Seeing the other gang leader explode like some sort of petulant child over such a small insult was almost laughable, Vaella rolling her eyes a bit before moving from her place on the stairs.  It seemed Persephone had let her emotions win, rather than thinking of this as the game of chess that it was.  Luke had gone to an extreme, taking an Arcadia man’s head from his shoulders, but it had also been his mistake in trying to ambush Luke.   Magic might be a part of the fabric of Arcadia, but it seemed to be making them weaker, or at least more stupid.  Exitum members had to be skilled, and think through their battles, rather than just rely on innate gifts.  Filled with magic herself, Vaella considered herself above it.  Very few problems require magic to be solved, though it certainly came in useful from time to time. 

With a flick of her wrist the Exitum members around her moved, either to fight or flee, as she made her way across the floor.  She almost wanted someone to be dumb enough to challenge her, though she was also keeping an eye out for the law or an Exitum member who might need a hand.  With a night like tonight, anything was possible. 

[allxthingsxglxtter]

@rosewaterdrunk​ || For Anyone

“That could’ve been handled better.  Getting emotional over things never works out.”  Vaella sighed, rolling her eyes a bit at the chaos around and just continued walking back towards her bar, her sharp gaze falling on the bystander. “Do you need help home or are you comfortable there?”  The other seemed uncertain somehow, and it was just an easy statement to break that silence.

[allxthingsxglxtter]

Look who just woke up- is that DICHEN LACHMAN? No, I must have been mistaken, that’a VAELLA from NARNIA (OC). I heard she is IMMORTAL and stuck here just like everyone else. Even in the 20’s, they still give off a DARK MAGIC, DESTROYED WORLD, THRIVES IN CHAOS impression. They’re known to be quite CLEVER but have a tendency to be RUTHLESS on their bad days

Pronouns: 

She/Her

How long has she been in Sydney?

Since the start of it all.

Job:

Exitum Gang Leader, owns a factory on the side as a legit business.

Which Suburb does she live in?

She lives in King’s Cross, near The Phantom.

Memories of her real life?

Vaella is from the city of Charn, which was on a now dead world.  Every one of the inhabitants were filled with magic, and as Vaella was growing up she loved every part of it, wanting to learn everything she could get her hands on about everything.  Because of her aptitude she came into contact with the royal family, and namely Jadis, one of the greatest sorceresses of their world. She was trained by the woman who would go on to become Narnia’s White Witch, and taught every dark spell in her repertoire.  Vaella was taught a great deal of dark and horrible magic no one was meant to know, and when she decided her training was complete, and Jadis was locked in a war for the throne of Charn with her sister, Vaella decided to leave her homeworld to the destruction she knew was coming.  

She spent her existence before Sydney traveling all over existence through different dimension doors, mastering new magics and learning about each place.  It was during her exploration of earth she encountered Susan, and she found what became of her former mentor.  She and Susan ended up striking up a friendship, bonded through the shared experience of living in different dimensions.

Here in Sydney she’s made a new life for herself, still using her magic occasionally but running a gang for those that are against or afraid of magic.  Magic proved to be the undoing of her home civilization, the magic-caster’s there using it for every frivolous thing they desired.  Vaella might have ridiculous amounts of power, but her cunning is what she relies on, knowing that she, more than her magic, is what should be feared in this world.   

She rules her gang with a strictness, but it’s undisputed that if you’re loyal Vaella will have your back as a part of Exitum.  However, if you prove to be an idiot, or make a mistake, you can trust that punishment will come and swiftly.

Fake memories?

She has no fake memories.