#and you know daemon is not shy

[allyriadayne]

also if grrm wanted us to understand daemon wanted to get rid of the strong boys he would have made it clear in f&b it's so funny seeing antis admit there's no indication in the book and still turn around and go anyway he totally would have usurped the throne from jace

yeah i just don't believe daemon wanted to usurp the throne. early in the book you can say that he used rhaenyra for his own gain, that maybe he could reign through her but he really doesn't give me that impression. neither in the book or in the show. i really liked this internal journey for daemon in s2 and i think it fits very well that he is struggling to find his place when as a man he's the one who should be ruling. and i agree, you are supposed to read in between the lines with f&b but if daemon's intention was to get rid of ALL three of rhaenyra's sons by harwin, then there should've been at least a hint. not to mention how convoluted it is when there are just too many people ahead of baby aegon and when daemon's daughter IS getting one of the highest positions in the realm. tbh if daemon wanted the throne for himself it makes more sense for him to make his own faction, not marry rhaenyra and enmesh himself with her family.

[drunk-person]

Weeds

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: Aemond approaches Rhaenyra's daughter in childhood, always bringing her small daisies that are not flowers, but simple weeds.

WARNING: No age restriction. Mentions of blood, previous injuries and medieval medical procedures. Other than that, just cuteness and sweetness. No reader discretion!

Word cont: 7.500 k

Author's note: This story was the result of a request sent by an anon, it was the first time I received a request and it made me very happy because usually when I make a request to a specific author it is because I like how that person tells the stories from their own point of view, so… thank you. It is not 100% focused only on what is in the request, since I have already read several stories with this same theme, so I decided to adapt and tell it in my own way. I hope you like it! 🥰💕

Ps: Y/n can be the daughter of either Harwin, Laenor or Daemon, you choose!

The day dawned sunny and warm in Kings Landing, bringing many of the nobles out into the courtyards and gardens of the red keep. While the adults whispered gossip and negotiated positions and power, the children simply played and laughed around the Keep.

-I don't know why you like these silly flowers so much. - Jace rolled his eyes as he watched his younger sister braid the freshly picked bouquet of daisies into a flower crown. - They're not even real flowers! I heard the septa say to a girl that they are weeds!

-I like them. - Y/n sighed in a soft voice, shrugging her shoulders without stopping to braid the flowers. - They're delicate and make beautiful crowns!

Jace rolled his eyes and pulled the flower crown from his sister's hands and lifted it slightly in the air so that the younger one couldn't reach it.

-Jace! - The girl scolded, getting up from the floor and brushing the dust off the blue dress she was wearing for the day. - Give it back to me or I'll tell Mom!

-Leave her alone! - Before Jace could answer, Aemond's shy but firm voice sounded through the courtyard, making Y/n smile and go to meet him, forgetting about the flower crown stolen by Jace almost instantly.

-Hi Aemond! - She smiled, tilting her head to the side in a sweet way, making Jace roll his eyes even more deeply.

-I want to see if you have so much courage when training with dragons… - The brunette spoke provocatively and then started laughing. - Oh, I forgot… you don't even have a dragon.

-If you continue to be mean, I'll tell Muña what you and Aegon did yesterday! - The youngest screamed when she saw Aemond's embarrassment, and Jace's eyes widened and he ran away right away, leaving her alone with the older one.

-What did he and Aegon do yesterday? - Aemond asked curiously and the youngest shrugged her shoulders with a confused look.

-I don't know, but Jace probably wouldn't want our mother to know.

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle at the girl's answer, but the smile slowly faded when he saw the sad look on her face when she saw her bouquet of daisies crumpled on the floor.

-Jace ruined them. - She sighed in a sad voice as she played with the crumpled petals on the floor.

-Don't be sad. - The oldest sat next to her. - I'll get some more for you.

-But you said they only grew in the south of forest! - She sighed even more sadly. - You can't go there alone and there won't be another hunt for another 2 moons!

-I'll find a way to get them for you. - Aemond shrugged as he subtly brushed his fingers against hers, who didn't really believe him, but was happy that he cared so much.

-Aem? - Her sweet voice called him moments later as she looked at the sunny blue sky, full of white clouds.

-Yes? - He looked at her curiously when he heard the nickname coming from her lips.

-Don't pay attention to what my brother says. - She muttered, looking at him. - He can be very silly sometimes.

-Something that our brothers apparently have in common. - He rolled his eyes, making the youngest laugh.

-If Aegon and Jace are mean to you again, I'll tell Hūraxes to set them on fire. - The little girl hissed decisively and the older boy gave a small smile.

-I don't know why, but I don't think our mothers would be happy with that. - Aemond rolled his eyes, lowering his gaze, making Y/n smile too.

The next day, the sun had barely risen and Aemond was already chasing Sir Cole through the courtyard, vehemently insisting that he needed to go to the kings wood.

-I just don't understand what you want to do there, my prince. - The knight looked at him confused. - We were there about two days ago.

-I just want to go, Criston. - Aemond rolled his eyes, poorly raised. - And if you don't go with me, I'll find a way to escape and go there alone.

And overcome by tiredness and fearful that the young prince known for his stubbornness would actually keep his promise, Criston reluctantly led him to the forest.

The morning passed quickly at Red Kepp with the adults immersed in their daily activities while the children just attended their daily classes and played among themselves.

Y/n was laughing amusedly as she watched a rabbit that had entered one of the Kepp gardens, it was very white, fluffy and skittish making her laugh as she tried to imitate it. She had been looking for Aemond all morning, but without success in finding him and only now had she found something fun to do alone.

Until, amidst the soft rustling of the leaves, Aemond's voice rang out through the garden, calling her name softly.

-Aem! - She ran to him excitedly. - Look! A bunny!

But Aemond didn't seem very excited about the fluffy animal, he just waved and continued to look at her, looking a little embarrassed.

-Is everything okay? - She tilted her head to the side. - Was Jace bad again?

-No, it's nothing like that. - He sighed after gathering courage. - I just brought you a gift.

And taking his hands from behind his back, he handed the youngest a beautiful bouquet of fragrant, freshly picked daisies, still with a few drops of morning dew on them.

Y/n's eyes widened and became full of brightness at the same time, a smile lit up her childish face as she extended her hands expectantly to the eldest, who smiled at her reaction.

-How did you get them? - She sighed, smelling the flowers with a whiff of air as she looked at Aemond through the bouquet.

-I asked Sir Criston to take me to the forest and I picked them for you. - He shrugged, lowering his gaze a little blushing, and Y/n smiled even more, tilting her head to the side, admiring him.

-They're beautiful, Aem. - Y/n hugged him, being careful not to crush the beautiful daisies. - The most beautiful bouquet I've ever received!

-Have you received many bouquets? - He raised his eyebrow a little laughingly, and Y/n gently pushed his shoulder.

-Don't be silly, Aem.

The rest of the day Princess Y/n spent weaving beautiful flower crowns for herself using the flowers from the bouquet, except for a few that she separated and kept inside her favorite book, just as she had seen her mother do a few times.

And when Rhaenyra smiled and asked who had given her the flowers with her eyebrows raised in confusion, the little girl simply replied that it had been a secret admirer, making her mother roll her eyes with a smile as she kissed her forehead and stroked her hair.

Time passed more and more, and as friendship and love blossomed between Y/n and Aemond, enmity and hatred grew between him and her brothers. Everything reached its peak on the night of Laena Velaryon's wake, when Aemond reclaimed Vhagar and Luke in return gouged out his eye.

Y/n hadn't seen the commotion, she was a little scared after the wake and hearing Rhaena and Baela crying made her almost cry too, and for a moment she thought about how she would feel if she herself lost her mother. With that thought Y/n left the room she shared with her brothers and cousins ​​and ran to her mother's room, lying down alone among the covers waiting for her to return, sleeping in the middle of the wait.

The girl was woken up in the middle of the night by shrill screams and raised voices breaking through the Driftmark fortress. And even fearful she left her mother's room and walked to the main hall following the sound of the voices. The Vision that greeted her was one of the most terrible she had ever witnessed in her life.

Aemond sat rigid in a chair, biting his lower lip tightly without making a sound, while the maester stitched up a furious red wound where his beautiful eye had once been.

At the same moment, tears ran down Y/n's face. Unable to make a sound, she ran to the foot of the chair, throwing herself on her knees and taking Aemond's hands in hers as she cried and sobbed. She didn't even notice her mother and brothers standing further away.

-A-Aemond. - She finally sobbed the name of the eldest after a few moments. - What happened?

Aemond didn't say anything, he just lowered his head, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze in the room on them both and barely able to open his lips for fear of succumbing to the pain and screaming if he did, even though he had already drunk a certain amount of poppy milk.

-What happened? - Alicent shouted, drawing everyone's eyes back to her. - I already said what happened! My son was attacked in an ambush and had his eye gouged out by Lucerys Velaryon!

Y/n shook her head in internal denial, still firmly pressing Aemond's hands in hers, barely noticing the blood that had not yet completely dried on his hands, staining hers. Finally noticing Luke's broken nose and crimson-red stained face, while Jace hovered protectively in front of him.

She didn't know what to think at that moment, and suddenly felt like a loud ringing was in her ears, and she just held her breath when her mother and the queen faced each other in the middle of the room with a dagger between them. The fear from earlier took over the girl's heart again at the same moment when she saw the blood running down her mother's wounded arm, and before things got any worse, Aemond stood up, assuming a very firm and straight posture.

-Don't cry for me, mother. - He spoke in a firm voice and without wavering even once. - I might have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.

The youngest looked at him confused, not understanding what he meant by that. And when Alicent dragged Aemond back to his room, Y/n tried to follow him, but was stopped by her mother's soft touch on her shoulder, who looked at her with a stern look while shaking her head negatively.

-Why did you do this to him! - Y/n shouted, walking hard towards Luke, her eyes burning with fury as the others left the main hall.

-It wasn't his fault! - Jace shouted back, interposing himself between his younger brothers. - Luke was just defending himself against your dear friend Aemond!

-Lie! - She shouted at Jace while the two were fighting, not listening to Rhaenyra who ordered the two to stop arguing immediately.

-He stole Vhagar, beat Rhaena, broke Luke's nose and then tried to hit me with a stone! - Jace enumerated furiously, staring at the youngest. - All this while calling us bastards…

-Jace! - Rhaenyra practically shouted, reprimanding him firmly for using such a word.

Y/n just stood still for a moment, her eyes wide as she heard that while she slowly shook her head.

-You're lying. Aemond wouldn't do that. - She practically whispered, not her dear Aemond who hugged her and picked wild daisies just to make her happy, he would never do something like that without reason. - I don't believe you.

-But it's the truth! - Jace hissed between his teeth.

-What did you do to him? - Y/n shouted, livid with fury once again, glaring at her brother while ignoring her mother's reprimands. - He wouldn't attack you without reason!

-But he did! - Now it was Rhaena who shouted. - He stole my mother's dragon that was supposed to be mine and then attacked us.

-If you wanted Vhagar so much, you should have gone to her before someone else did! - Y/n spat back, facing the girl.

-Don't talk to her like that because of him! - Jace snapped back, now in front of Rhaena.

And before the argument could continue any longer, Rhaenyra reprimanded them both firmly, this time, leaving no room for questioning. And fearing that the argument would prevail, she took Y/n with her to her own room, taking her away from her brothers and cousins.

Hours later, when the day dawned looking more gray than anything else, Y/n waited until her mother was busy enough with the preparations for the trip and slipped into the room where she knew Aemond was. She was staring at the door in the distance at the end of the hallway, when suddenly it opened and Alicent left the room.

Taking a deep breath to gather courage, Y/n walked quickly over there, closing the door carefully behind her.

-I just want to be alone, mother… - Aemond's voice died when he noticed Y/n there, and as if she hadn't seen the injury the night before, he tried to hide it, turning his face to the side quickly while holding his breath.

-Aem. - She approached the bed slowly.

-Don't look at me. - He hid even more. - I'm completely deformed.

-T-There's nothing wrong with you. - She murmured, extending her hand slowly, fearing that he would move away once again and when he didn't, she slowly stroked his hair with her fingertips.

-I'm leaving for Dragonstone. - She sniffed, looking at his back and seeing him tense up at the same instant. - I just wanted to let you know that I don't believe anything they said about you. And that I'm happy for you to reclaim Vhagar.

As if those words had a calming effect on him, the older boy back relaxed slightly.

-Thank you. - He practically murmured, still feeling her soft touch on his hair.

And interrupting the moment, Y/n heard her mother's voice calling her from a distance, her eyes widening immediately afterwards.

-I have to go. - She sighed, slowly removing her hand. - Aemond?

-Yes?

-Can I see your face before I leave? - She whispered and he didn't move a muscle. - Please. I don't know when I'll be able to see you again.

Taking a deep breath, Aemond decided to end it and break his own heart once and for all when he saw the repulsion he knew would be in her eyes when she saw his mutilation in the light of day.

He slowly turned to her, barely looking her in the eyes as he did so, fearing what he would see there, and when he finally looked at her, what he found was not what he expected. Y/n had approached him with her face hovering inches away, and when he thought he couldn't get any closer, she left a gentle, soft kiss on the stitches that closed the reddened skin of his cheek that had become a mess of patched skin.

-You're still perfect for me, Aem. - She sighed against his skin delicately, making him almost gasp in surprise.

And hearing her mother call her once again, Y/n said "Goodbye" in a very low voice, feeling tears fall as she ran towards the door, heartbroken for leaving the injured Aemond behind.

After that, weeks passed before the two spoke again because they were so far apart, until one morning Aemond got up practically before nightingale time and ran to send a raven saying he was sorry for not having said goodbye properly weeks ago, placing with the letter a small daisy with slightly wilted petals that he had picked in the forest two days before.

The answer came a day later in the form of a long letter in which Y/n detailed everything that had happened at Dragon Stone in the last few days while stating how much she wished he was there, and how much he would enjoy the place.

From then on, it became common for both of them to exchange letters in secret, talking about their own lives and telling each other daily secrets week after week, month after month. Aemond's letters always included a small daisy attached, which made Y/n smile as she felt the sweet aroma of the flower while reading the contents of the letter.

Until the day Aemond sent her a letter informing her that the Master was preparing to perform a procedure on his missing eye to reduce the constant pain he had been feeling lately, and that he recommended inserting something so that the pressure would help his body readapt.

He did not receive a reply to that letter for days and when he thought, with his heart heavy with pain and shame, that the reply would no longer come, he received a small note through a raven with only a few words written and Y/n's name signed below.

Meet me on the middle island at the hour of the wolf.

Y/n

And without blinking he went.

In the middle of the night he sneaked through the secret passages until he reached the royal forest, where Vhagar slept soundly when she was not flying, and mounted her, leaving as stealthily as he could considering the enormous size of the centuries-old dragon.

As he approached the island, he noticed Y/n sitting on the grass, looking up at the starry sky, her head resting on Hūraxes' wing, covered in silver-blue scales. He caught his breath immediately when he noticed how much she had grown, as had her dragon.

As soon as she noticed Vhagar's approach, Y/n stood up, very anxious, admiring the grandeur of Aemond and his dragon in the sky. And when he got down and walked towards her, the two of them were barely breathing, staring at each other in the darkness, with only the moon illuminating them.

-Hello.

-Hi.

The two murmured at the same time, overcome by shyness and embarrassment after not seeing each other for so long and speaking only through letters.

-Y-You're taller. - Y/n whispered, not knowing whether to look up and stare at him or look down and stare at her own feet.

-Mmmm. - He didn't know what to answer, he was too lost in the melodious and sweet sound that her voice had developed over the years.

The two remained silent, staring at each other for what seemed like hours, while little Hūraxes bothered Vhagar by poking her with her nose and the older one turned away, occasionally snorting when she was prevented from sleeping.

-You called me? - Aemond murmured almost inaudibly after the long silence and Y/n widened her eyes, as if she had forgotten that she had planned all this.

-Y-Yes. - She cleared her throat after stuttering. - Yes, I did.

Aemond looked at her questioningly and with a sigh the younger one walked over to Hūraxes, whispering for him to be quiet and leave Vhagar alone in Valyrian, making Aemond smile and close his eye slightly as he felt a pang in his chest.

-I wanted to give you something as a gift. - She looked back as she took something that was firmly attached to her dragon's saddle, and Aemond frowned in confusion at the prospect of receiving a gift from her.

And without saying anything else, Y/n approached and slowly unwrapped the cloth that previously covered what Aemond noticed was a large block of sapphire.

-You told me that the maester is going to do a procedure to alleviate your pain. - She began a little awkwardly, fearing that he would not like the idea. - And that you would need something for the inside.

With a little more courage she reached out her hand slowly and touched him over the eye patch in a gentle caress.

-I always thought your eyes looked like them when I was a child. - She sighed, looking him in the eye now. - As bright as sapphires.

And seeming to have no control over himself, Aemond inclined his head to her gentle touch.

-I thought I would need something that would do at least justice to the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen in my life. - And without thinking about how indecent that would be considered, Y/n leaned forward and put her forehead against Aemond's, staring straight into his eyes. - I found the stone myself, with the help of my guard, of course.

The older one didn't know what to say. He just stood there, staring at her almost breathlessly.

-I am not worthy of so much praise. - He finally muttered a few moments later with his gaze down and Y/n smiled wistfully.

-You are worthy of even more.

And slowly pulling away, she passed the sapphire block to his hands, feeling the touch, previously so soft when they were children, rough and calloused, causing strange goosebumps on her skin.

-I am sorry for not being with you that night. - She lamented, looking at the floor and then looking up at him again. - What my brothers did to you was unforgivable!

-There was nothing you could do, Y/n. - He spoke in a muffled voice, squeezing the sapphire block between his fingers. - You would only hurt yourself too, and I couldn't bear that.

-I also can't bear that you got hurt without me being able to do anything to help. - The pain in her eyes was visible even in the darkness and Aemond would rather be dead than see suffering in her eyes.

-You shouldn't blame yourself for this. - He murmured getting closer to her. - It wasn't in your power to save me.

-But I am grateful for being my confidant all these years, never leaving me alone even for a moment. - Aemond placed the sapphire block on a rock on the ground and held her hands between his affectionately, making her smile with her gaze downcast.

-I have something for you. - He murmured a little shyly, reaching into his pocket and taking out a slightly crushed daisy, making Y/n's eyes light up almost instantly. - I had brought you more, but the wind on Vhagar's back tore them apart, I could only save this one.

-She is perfect. - The youngest smiled, taking the flower from his hands and placing it behind her ear with her eyes shining. - The most beautiful flower I have ever received.

-Have you received many flowers? - He asked with a simple side smile, making her smile beautifully when she realized that he remembered it too.

And breathing deeply as she heard the rustling of birds in the trees as the first rays of morning appeared in the sky, Y/n left a quick kiss on the left corner of Aemond's lips, making him widen his eyes in shock as she ran away with flushed cheeks towards Hūraxes, leaving Aemond stunned behind.

Only when Y/n was already flying through the dawn with her dragon was he able to move again, breathing deeply, feeling his lungs burn as he smiled with his hand on the place where her soft lips had touched.

And still smiling, he reached for the sapphire block on the rock, realizing at that moment that there was a note attached to the bottom, with an anxious look he opened it as fast as his hands could.

"I will be praying to the gods every day and every night for your recovery. I hope you will accept this gift as a demonstration of my eternal affection for you.

With all my love, Y/n"

And looking at the paper affectionately, he put it in his pocket, close to his heart, walking again to Vhagar, feeling his chest heat up uncontrollably.

⚜⚜⚜

The procedure performed by the masters was a success, and even in the midst of recovery, Aemond did not stop writing to Y/n, who was elated to receive the first letter after the meeting, as she feared that he would take her for an dishonorable girl judging by that night.

After that first escape and the healing of Aemond's skin, meetings like that on that small island became frequent for the two. Escaping in the middle of the night and meeting under the moon and stars while they talked and smiled at each other. Every now and then, when he felt bold, Aemond would steal a kiss from her sweet lips, and then they would both blush to death, looking at each other shyly.

A few months after the eye procedure, Aemond felt comfortable showing his almost completely healed eye again to Y/n. He thought it was unfair not to let her see it since she had given him the stone, and he knew she was curious, but he was afraid she would find it grotesque beyond measure and not want to see him anymore after that.

He was completely wrong. As soon as she saw the sapphire attached to the socket where his beautiful blue eye had previously been, she sighed with contentment, carefully bringing her hand to the area and gently caressing the scar.

-Gevie. (beautiful)- She sighed in Valyrian, barely noticing that she had changed languages ​​due to surprise and making Aemond blush slightly with such a feeling of approval for himself.

Over time, Aemond learned a way to bring the daisies to Y/n without them arriving completely crushed and destroyed, and she was overjoyed with joy with each bouquet of flowers she received from him.

There was just one problem, someone started to notice Y/n's constant happiness and the fact that she was constantly surrounded by those weeds that everyone knew didn't grow in Dragon Stone's volcanic soil.

And one day, taking advantage of his sister's distraction, he followed her in Vermax to a small island, landing stealthily among the trees and frowning when he saw her alone admiring the sky. Until a monstrously large shadow covered the moon's brightness over the earth, making him almost lose his breath. And when Vhagar landed with its enormity, the entire land of the island trembled.

Jace's eyes shone with fury when the older man took a bouquet of those damned weeds and held it out to his sister, who accepted it with a bright smile, leaving a kiss on the corner of his lips.

-Get your paws off my sister! - Jacaerys shouted in fury, walking towards them both, making Y/n's eyes widen in shock.

-Jace? What are you doing here?

He didn't answer, he just pulled her arm hard, making her hiss in pain as he snatched the bouquet from her hands and threw it hard on the floor. At the same moment, Aemond pushed him to the ground without making the slightest effort, his face contorted with anger, while Hūraxes approached, growling in an furious manner.

-Don't you dare hurt her, you damn thing! - He growled, taking hard steps towards Jace, causing Vermax to jump from where he was hiding among the trees and threaten to breathe fire on Aemond. But that didn't do much to scare him, since now he had Vhagar who, upon seeing the knight under threat, stood up in a more than imposing manner, hovering behind Aemond and making Vermax back down with just a powerful snort that made the plants spread across the ground.

Aemond threw a smile of maximum arrogance at Jace who was still down, and Before he could hit him again, Y/n intervened with wide eyes, making him stop at the same moment, staring at her fixedly.

-You're going to come home with me. - Jace snorted, standing up, now even more furious at being easily surpassed by Aemond both in physical strength and in the strength of his dragons. - And when I tell our mother and Daemon that you were alone, at dawn, in the middle of nowhere with that cripple, she'll ask for his head for dishonoring you!

Jacaerys had barely closed his mouth when Y/n gave him a loud slap on the left cheek, her eyes burning with rage.

-Don't you dare refer to him that way again! - She shouted angrily, making Aemond's eyes widen. - Do you hear me?

-You want to know? - Jace laughed without humor and even more angrily. - You can stay here with him! It'll be even better to see our mother's and Daemon's reaction when I tell them that you're still here with him.

And after spitting out the words, he turned and climbed onto Vermax with ease, already flying towards Dragon Stone.

-No! - Y/n screamed desperately, unable to stop him, and even at a disadvantage since he had left first, she ran to Hūraxes, ready to mount.

-Y/n! - Aemond's voice sounded tense. - Where are you going?

-I need to stop him! - She practically cried, staring at him in despair. - If my mother finds out, and especially… if Daemon finds out, they'll say you dishonored me and they'll want to hurt you for it!

-You can't go like this! - He murmured, visibly worried, as he caressed her face affectionately.

-I'll be okay. - She forced a smile, stroking the dragon's silver-blue scales. - Hūraxes will take care of me.

Y/n was preparing to climb onto the dragon, but then a terrible idea crossed her mind. What if she never saw Aemond again? What if everything went wrong and the two were separated forever? And faced with these catastrophic thoughts, she turned back and kissed him on the lips. A real kiss, different from all the others they had shared up until that moment. Their tongues intertwined and danced between them, and they only let go when they were practically out of breath.

Aemond pressed his forehead against Y/n's, and they both closed their eyes in silence for a few moments, trapped in that mutual understanding that had always been so common and certain for them.

And with a final sigh, Y/n separated from him and climbed onto Hūraxes' saddle, feeling tears almost escaping her eyes as she flew away from her former safe haven.

Aemond looked at the other beautiful daisies, now crushed and trampled on the ground, and feeling his heart heavy with pain, he mounted Vhagar and took flight towards Kings Landing.

Unfortunately, no matter how fast her dear Hūraxes was, Y/n couldn't get to the Dragon Stone before Jacaerys. And when she landed on the sandy ground and walked towards the castle, Y/n could see her mother and stepfather with deadly looks on their faces.

-Y/n, I want you to tell me the truth. - Rhaenyra spoke in a restrained manner as soon as she reached the top of the stairs. - Did you let him touch you?

Rhaenyra wanted to say more than kisses and soft hugs in the starlight, but Y/n didn't know that and so she just stared at her own feet, blushing, unable to say a single word.

-By the gods. - The older woman sighed, looking at her husband.

-For me, the solution is clear, we ask for his head for taking away her virtue and solve all our problems at once. - Daemon hissed furiously, making Y/n's eyes widen.

-No! - She practically screamed. - It wasn't that way! Aemond never touched me like that, I swear!

-How do I know you're not just trying to protect him? - Rhaenyra looked at her very seriously.

-Muña, I swear to you! - Y/n pleaded. - I swear! He would only kiss me and bring me flowers! That's all! Don't hurt him, please!

-Go to your room right now and get ready, we're going to Kings Landing! - Rhaenyra's voice sounded very serious, making Daemon smile widely while Y/n shivered in panic.

-Muña, I'm begging you. - Y/n cried, looking deeply into the older woman's eyes. - Don't hurt him. If anything happens to Aemond, it will be as if it had happened to me!

And wiping the tears with the back of her hands, she walked with long strides towards the chambers, finding Jace standing in the way.

-If Aemond suffers any harm or is exiled because of you, I will disregard you as my brother! - She practically spat those words angrily at Jacaerys, making him shiver.

Rhaenyra and Daemond argued all morning before leaving for Kings Landing, the shouts in Valyrian could be heard from miles away. Y/n understood some parts, especially what Daemond was saying, since his angry voice could reach the seven hells at that height.

Basically, he continued to ask for Aemond's head or exile, which according to him was the best possible option and the most beneficial considering the whole situation and thinking about a not too distant future. Y/n wanted to understand what her mother was saying, but she used a strangely low tone of voice with screams when she was angry, making it difficult to hear anything from a distance other than angry and disjointed growls.

Rhaenyra didn't even want to leave by ship, since only Y/n, Jace, Daemon and Rhaenyra herself would go to the capital. They all went by dragon, and Y/n had never had such a terrible flight in her life, feeling her stomach churn to the point of almost vomiting on poor Hūraxes.

When they finally arrived and got off the carriage in front of the Red Keep, Y/n didn't know if it was just her impression, but the silence there seemed morbid while Alicent and Oto waited at the top of the stairs.

-My princess, what brings you here without giving us any warning? - Oto murmured, raising his eyebrow in curiosity.

-This is still our house Hightower. - Daemon spat, rolling his eyes. - We don't need to give you any warning or ask for your permission to come.

-That's not what I said, my prince. - Oto spat back, trying to maintain his composure.

-I came to discuss very serious matters with my father. - Rhaenyra finally spoke, and before Oto could open his mouth she cut him off with a serious voice. - Only with my father!

-You don't need to guide me, I know the way. - And without saying anything else she put her right hand on Y/n's back, guiding her into the Keep.

Y/n couldn't feel anything other than fear. All she could think was Aemond. Her eyes ran through every corner and crevice of the castle, looking for even a figure that could indicate his presence, but she didn't see him anywhere.

When they arrived at Viserys' room, a strange smell took over Y/n's nostrils, momentarily distracting her until she realized where the smell was coming from when she saw her grandfather sitting reading a book in an armchair with twice the wounds he had the last time she had seen him.

–Dad? - Rhaenyra whispered and the old man's eyes instantly shone as he looked up.

-My beloved girl! It's so good to see you!

And Rhaenyra hugged him, feeling warmth in her chest as she did so, and for a moment Y/n thought she would reconsider bothering the king by seeing him in such conditions, but she didn't reconsider. She whispered something inaudibly in his ear, making Y/n's skin crawl with pure anguish.

-This calls for an audience with all those involved. - Viserys finally spoke out loud and Y/n felt her heart drop in her chest.

Almost an hour later, they were all gathered in the main hall with Viserys wearing the crown for the first time in months and sitting on the Iron Throne.

Alicent and Otto had morbid looks on their faces while Aemond remained motionless, avoiding looking at Y/n so as not to make the already bad situation even worse.

-As your king, your father and your grandfather, I order you to be sincere. - Viserys did his best to keep the firm voice he once had.

-Aemond, did you take away Y/n's virtue?

After that question, the empty hall was dominated by a deadly silence, and with a sigh Aemond murmured.

-No, I would never dishonor her in that way.

-But would you take her to a piece of land in the middle of nowhere at the hour of the wolf to just exchange kisses? - Daemon mocked and Viserys gestured for him to be quiet while Rhaenyra glared at him with a deadly look.

-Y/n, is what Aemond says true?

-Yes, your grace. - She spoke as firmly as she could while holding her hands tightly so as not to tremble. - He never touched me in an inappropriate way.

-Well, if they both vehemently deny any accusations against my son, you can't do anything against him! - Alicent scolded with contained fury facing Rhaenyra.

-Nothing may have happened between them, but tongues speak! - Rhaenyra hissed very rigidly. - Servants hear things and tell each other and before we know it, the royal houses are aware of everything that happens within our walls too!

-Father… - She looked seriously at the throne. - I will not allow my only daughter to be defamed.

Y/n felt tears blurring her vision, prepared to beg her grandfather not to listen to her mother when she demanded Aemond's head or exile.

-I demand that Aemond marry my daughter so that she will not be dishonored! - Rhaenyra growled unyieldingly and Y/n almost froze in shock, barely feeling the tears roll down their cheeks at that moment.

For the first time in that day, Y/n and Aemond's hearts beat in surprise and then in joy.

-What? - Alicent hissed furiously, and Y/n could see from the corner of her eye that Daemon didn't seem happy with the idea either.

The only one in the room besides her and Aemond who seemed happy was Viserys, who upon hearing Rhaenyra's solution seemed to almost shine with a breath of life again.

-I accept the princess's demand.

Alicent's eyes widened as did Oto's upon hearing Viserys speaking, making the decision so seriously and clearly. And before either or both of them could intervene, the morbid king continued.

-It is hereby proclaimed that from this moment on, Aemond of House Targaryen and Y/n of House Velaryon are betrothed and shall be married within a maximum period of three moons from today.

Y/n could very well die of such happiness with those words. And when she looked in Aemond's direction, her heart brightened even more when she saw the almost palpable joy in his eyes, even though his face was serious, and he could hide it from everyone, but Y/n could notice the curve in his serrated lips.

As she left the hall, Y/n could not hear the sounds around her, it was as if a sweet song sounded softly in her ears, bringing her peace of mind while a smile of enchantment hovered on her lips.

She found Jace waiting anxiously outside, not even having been called to say what he had witnessed, she simply hugged him and left a loud kiss on his cheek before walking, still humming, towards her own chambers, being closely followed by a member of the royal guard so as not to stray from the path.

And when a secret passage opened hours later and Aemond appeared inside the room holding a single, slightly wilted daisy in his hands, Y/n ran towards him, hugging him fervently, laughing outrageously when he spun her around in the air, holding her by the waist.

-We're engaged. - He murmured as incredulous as she was, his eyes still shining with that uncontrollable joy. And Y/n just shook her head positively, holding his face between her palms, bringing their foreheads together, still smiling.

Aemond left a soft, sweet kiss on her lips, and carefully placed the daisy behind Y/n's ear when he let her go.

-She remained in the bag, separated from the bouquet. - He smiled, caressing her soft hair with the back of his hand in a reverent way, and Y/n practically trembled with joy at the sound of his voice and his touch.

Hearing footsteps coming down the hallway, Aemond left a sweet kiss on her forehead and disappeared through the secret passage. And when Rhaenyra entered, she only arched her eyebrow when she noticed the slightly wilted flower stuck in her daughter's hair, but decided not to comment.

From then on, the days seemed to pass like the wind in winter. The rest of the family came by ship from Dragon Stone, while the preparations for the wedding were made with all the care in the world, with Y/n smiling and giving her opinion on every detail.

Jace was appalled by everything that had happened. The intention was to disappear with Aemond, not to marry him to his sister. And no matter how much he tried to dissuade his mother, she was adamant about the idea, as for Y/n, she laughed at his expense, constantly emphasizing the great fool he had made.

Letters and more letters with invitations were sent, and as the wedding day approached, nobles from all over the kingdom arrived in Kings Landing to witness the celebration of a marriage that many believed would bring lasting peace to the kingdom.

When the day of the wedding ceremony finally arrived, Y/n could barely breathe. She hadn't been able to see Aemond up close for two weeks, it was to be expected that the bride and groom would be able to spend time together, but she saw him more when they were hidden than now, with so many eyes watching every possible slip-up before the wedding.

Besides the fact that with so many political and royal tasks for both of them before the ceremony, there was barely any time to talk. She couldn't wait to finally be married to him and nobody never be able to separate them again.

That afternoon, when the sun was high in the sky, Princess Y/n Targaryen entered the sept of Baelor in a beautiful white and gold dress, with a radiant smile on her face, and her arms linked to her stepfather, Prince Daemond, who, on the contrary, had a dark frown on her face.

But what caused whispers to take over the sept was the fact that a Targaryen princess, currently considered third in line to the Iron Throne, behind only her mother and older brother, was getting married with her hair loose and a simple crown of daisies braided on her head, with dozens of other daisies sewn onto the train and skirt of the wedding dress..

"A princess marrying with simple weeds on her head!"

Exalted voices whispered through the sept, trying not to be heard.

What none of them knew was that even though he was up to his neck in tasks, Prince Aemond had woken up early that morning riding his horse and headed towards the royal forest just to pick a bouquet of fresh daisies for his future wife, leaving it on the table in her bedroom for her to find when she woke up.

When Y/n woke up that morning, a smile of pure joy took over her lips as she wove the most beautiful flower crown she had ever made in her life to wear at her own wedding. And making the royal seamstress almost growl at her, Y/n ordered the rest of the daisies to be sewn into the train of her wedding dress, only being satisfied when the last of the flowers was attached.

She didn't care about any mocking looks or laughter from the other nobles who spoke of her dress full of weeds. The only eye that mattered was Aemond's, which looked at her wide-eyed and full of happiness so wide that it almost made the already huge smile on her face tear up her cheeks.

When Daemon finally handed her over to Aemond reluctantly, heading to his place next to Rhaenyra, the septon stood up and everyone immediately fell silent as the wedding ceremony began.

The two repeated the septon's words, breathing deeply as they looked at each other in love with an almost childlike happiness overflowing from their eyes.

After uttering their oaths of fidelity and love, Aemond removed a sapphire ring from his cloak, making Y/n's eyes water at the same time while her lips trembled with anticipation.

-Is-Is that the one? - She whispered only for him to hear amidst a trembling smile as she extended her hand to Aemond.

-Mmmm. - He murmured as he nodded positively with a sideways smile. - Exactly the same stone. - He whispered very quietly, but with a palpable pride in his voice. - United forever now, wife.

And under the watchful eyes of the septon and the entire court, Aemond kissed her hand, making her smile beautifully at him, and then he caressed her daisy-scented hair, gently running his thumb over the flower petals.

-Forever now, husband. - She sighed back, laying her head against the palm of his hand and closing her eyes as she felt the soft touch that would forever be hers now, ears ringing moments later with the deafening noise of the court's applause as Aemond finally placed a sweet kiss on her lips, the first they had finally married, the first of the beginning of a lifetime together.

divider credits, It took me hours to find this perfect divider, thank you to the sweet person who created it! 🥰💕

Final notes: I saw somewhere (I don't remember where) that daisies are weeds! And I became obsessed with this fact because I had no idea that a flower that I like so much is considered a weed by many! From this subtle information and the request mentioned here, this story came about! I hope you like it! 💖💖💕🥰

Ps: Aemond only didn't call Jace a bastard on the island because Y/n was there, and he wouldn't be foolish, but know that inside he did! 🤡😂

[flowerandblood]

The Song of Promises [3/3]

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: full sex content, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, targcest stuff, smut, angst, description of the childbirth, lack of communication in intimacy, adult nursing, breastfeeding kink, manipulation, slight descriptions of violence ]

[ description: Aemond is filled with pride when it turns out that his young wife will give him an heir. However, the Red Keep trembles to its foundations, because the old king is weak and his death is inevitable. Rhaenyra appears in King's Landing with her family, wanting to defend Lucerys' rights to Driftmark. Daemon sees his daughter again after years, and their meeting changes everything. ]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Aemond

The clang of the steel rang out across the training yard of the Red Keep that noon, sharp and rhythmic like the toll of a war drum. He moved like a shadow, precise and fluid, with his white hair clinging to the damp skin of his neck. His breath was steady and controlled, a contrast to the weight and speed of the broadsword he wielded – Cole matched him strike for strike, their blades meeting with great force.

He relished these mornings – before the court stirred, before the noise of politics and duty threatened to drown him.

Here, he could breathe.

Here, he was nothing but fire and steel.

Despite being crippled, he surpassed his brother not only as a philosopher and strategist, but also as a warrior: no one, except perhaps Daemon Targaryen, could match him in wielding a sword. He desired for everyone to witness how another ‘second son’ became more powerful than the firstborn male heir.

His mornings with Criston were sacred to him: even after his nuptials, despite the heat of his wife's bare body lying in his bed tempting him to remain in her blissful embrace and sleep on, he did not abandon his customs.

In fact, his cousin never expected that of him; she knew that the stable rhythm of his day, the fact that he had his own order, calmed him down. Of course, now that he was married, he had arranged everything in his head so that he could also find time during the day to spend with her.

They would meet after his sparring sessions in his chamber and take a long, refreshing bath. She would have just finished her morning meal, still sleepy and in disarray, walking around his quarters wearing nothing but her nightgown. He liked this sight: her, with her hair down, the shy outline of her bare body under the thin linen fabric.

When he took her, despite his enormous physical exhaustion, aroused by what he was seeing, she complained incoherently between one thrust of his hips into her warm, moist cunt and the next that he smelled of sweat and dragon.

“You married a dragon rider and warrior, wife,” he panted, digging the tips of his fingers deeper into her bare buttocks, giving his movements a calm, steady rhythm, the loud slaps of their bare flesh echoing through his chamber, “you have what you wanted.”

That was why when he heard the sound of footsteps, measured and purposeful, his jaw tightened.

He did not stop.

No one, no one had the right to interrupt him.

“My Prince,” he heard a familiar voice, “ser Criston,”

He slashed forward with a sudden burst of strength, forcing Criston back a pace, before pivoting toward the sound. He froze for a moment and just stared at her, not knowing what to think.

There she was.

His wife.

The morning light caught in the auburn strands of her hair, her cheeks flushed not with exertion, but something else – her eyes were wide open, her lips parted as if she’d been holding her breath. She wore one of his favourite gowns, made of thin blue fabric, fastened at the waist with a wide golden belt, emphasising the soft shape of her breasts.

Although he thought she looked beautiful, he didn't comprehend why she was disrupting his routine now, given that she was aware of how much it frustrated him when someone interrupted him.

He lowered his blade but didn’t speak.

She approached him with hesitation, ignoring the onlookers who now watched them with veiled curiosity. Nobles, servants, guards – they all paused, watching her intently, apparently wondering whether they would witness the prince publicly losing his temper with his wife for the first time.

“Husband,” she said warmly, a shy smile on her face.

Had she come to tempt him?

Was it really so urgent that it couldn’t wait until he returned to their chamber?

Part of him thought that, in fact, he could fuck her right now in one of the forgotten corridors of the Red Keep, but it definitely wouldn't be gentle lovemaking.

She stopped in front of him, looking at him with obvious concern. He thought she knew perfectly well that she was walking on thin ice, and wondered why she was risking upsetting him so early in the day.

“I hope it's something important,” he said dispassionately, keeping his eye on her, the hilt of his sword stiff in his hand.

“Yes,” she confessed timidly, her fingers reaching for his free hand.

He swallowed hard, surprised and displeased by the fact that she was forcing him into this kind of physical interaction in public – he opened his mouth to reprimand her when she took his fingers in hers, but she didn’t let him get a word out.

“I know this isn’t the time,” she said quietly, her voice wavering just enough for him to notice, “but I had to tell you now.”

He frowned, his eye narrowed as her hand moved with his to her belly, her fingers trembling slightly.

“I’m with child.” She whispered.

For a moment, he simply stared at her, blinking as though he hadn’t understood. His hand remained limp in hers, her words echoed in the stone walls of his mind without sinking in.

“What?” He gasped.

“I’m with child,” she repeated, firmer this time, grounding the moment in reality, “I was waiting to be sure, but the Maester confirmed my suspicions this morning.”

The sword slipped from his hand onto the ground with a dull clatter – he did not know why the muscles in his body suddenly relaxed, why his chest filled with a wave of wonderful, warm bliss.

Neither of them neglected their marital duties – on the contrary, his wife spent every night since their nuptials in his bed, much to his satisfaction. Sometimes he allowed her body to rest so as not to cause her pain when he once again rooted into her with his length, but he made sure that her womb did not remain empty for more than a few days.

Her monthly bleeding filled her with sadness, especially when she looked at Helaena, whose abdomen was growing larger every day. He never dared to resent her for the fact that his older sister was already carrying his brother's heir; he knew that when she would be with child was not their choice, but that of the gods.

He couldn't bring himself to broach the subject, so he watched from the sidelines as she quietly grieved each crimson stains that appeared on her nightgown. Instead, when they lay in his bed in the evenings, he would pull her into his arms, run his fingers through her hair, and let her hide her face in the warmth of his chest.

He wished to comfort her, to confess that he wanted her just as she was, but he remained silent.

Instead, he prayed to the gods so that they would not punish her for his pride and vanity.

And for the first time in his life, they heard his pleas.

He exhaled sharply and took a step toward her, placing his other hand over hers, pressing both against her abdomen.

“Are you certain?”

She nodded, her eyes lit up with joy. “Yes.”

He looked at her, at her gaze filled with cheerful hope, at her cheeks flushed with emotion, her shoulders raised in uncertainty as to how he would react to what he had heard.

He took one of his hands away from her womb, instead clenching his fingers in her hair, leaned over and kissed her – his lips melted with hers in an act so passionate that his heart hit harder in his chest.

It was not a reserved, chaste kiss fit for courtly audiences, but something deep, desperate, grateful.

She gave him what he wanted.

“You carry my blood,” he whispered into her mouth, his voice soft as silk, “you carry our future.”

Something changed in his perception of her that day. He had always enjoyed her presence, and watching her gave him quiet pleasure, but now, knowing that his legacy was growing inside her with each passing day, he felt a constant need to touch her.

It wasn't purely sexual; his hand would involuntarily find her bare shoulder, her neck, her abdomen as they spoke, his fingers lazily tracing the lines of her body, which filled him with such pride.

In secret, when she fell asleep, exhausted by the first discomforts of pregnancy, he read books that explained a little bit about what a woman goes through during such an important period. Everything he didn't understand frightened him: gaining knowledge on the subject allowed him to regain control over his life.

He was going to be a father.

From the writings of various Maesters who had lived in Westeros for centuries, he learned that, above all, a pregnant woman must not be upset or afraid: such a state threatened both her and her child. What's more, they stated that various female cravings during this period should be taken very seriously, as their instincts told them what the child in their womb needed.

That is why, when his cousin muttered in the middle of the night that she dreamed of eating a juicy, sweet apple, he woke up his servant and ordered him to bring him a whole bowl of these fruits without delay. In fact, to his surprise, within the next day, there were none left, and his wife was bubbling with good humor.

He tried not to think about it, but he always found himself turning to the chapters that scared him the most, reading them with the utmost concentration.

Childbirth.

The vision of Aemma's death haunted him; he dreamed of his cousin with her womb slit open at his command, her bloodied, violated body and mouth wide open in dead despair causing him to wake up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat.

He would never do such a thing to her, but what could he do if the baby didn't want to come out?

How could he help her?

All his life, he had told himself that he was not dependent on anyone, and even if someone suddenly disappeared from his life, he would bear it with the utmost indifference. But now, with the shadow of his wife's death in childbirth hanging over him like a black, gloomy cloud, he could stare at her sleeping face for hours, feeling an unpleasant lump in my throat.

His hand would find her warm, life-pulsing cheek, his knuckles gently caressing the soft surface of her skin, her calm breath soothing his senses.

She was alive.

Lady Royce

The first months of her pregnancy passed in a haze of cautious joy. She quickly discovered that the grandeur of bearing a prince’s heir came with a relentless tide of nausea, weariness, and pain that clawed at her every morning. Her appetite was uncontrollable and the heat of the Red Keep became unbearable to her; her back ached long before her belly began to swell.

She felt that if she could, she would sleep all day, but following Maester's advice, she went for short walks in the royal gardens to enjoy some fresh air. Helaena, who had given birth to her twins a month earlier, also needed some time alone and a change of scenery, so she accompanied her as they walked through sunny meadows full of wildflowers.

Helaena did not find herself in the role of a wife, but she certainly enjoyed being a mother; contrary to her fears, her children clung to her, and she immediately felt a warm, tender love for them.

Aegon, to her surprise and that of everyone else, showed great interest in his children. He willingly helped his sister-wife, allowing her to rest while he carried and calmed his little heirs in his arms.

“He is a bad husband,” Helaena told her, “but he is a great father to my children. He is the only one I trust with them. Thanks to this, we have reached an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?” she asked curiously, sensing that there had also been a change between her and her husband that she could not name.

His touch and gaze were softer, his voice calmer and quieter in her presence, his manner much gentler, devoid of the aggression and sudden mood swings he had shown until now.

“We fulfill our marital duties only when necessary and give our children the kind of parental love that we ourselves never experienced,” she explained.

She blinked, surprised and moved by her words, so sincere, straightforward, and true.

She realized that none of them, including her husband, had experienced true, healthy fatherly love.

Aemond, for all his strength and pride, had no experience with softness, no guide on how to be gentle in this new situation they found themselves in.

He wasn't sure when and if he could touch her, what topics he should discuss with her so as not to pose a threat to her or the babe.

She understood that he too faced a new challenge, a new duty that he was eager to fulfil, but his own father had not set him an example of how to do so.

He asked her bluntly what she needed, and when she struggled to answer, he would pace through his chamber like a caged beast.

“When you look at me like that, I feel like a burden,” she told him once, clutching the basin after a particularly violent bout of nausea.

He crouched beside her, reaching to hold her hair back.

“You’re carrying my child,” he said, “you are more precious now than any steel I’ve ever wielded.”

It was not poetry, but it was his truth.

And she loved him for it.

When her belly began to round beneath her gowns, she guided his hand to rest there, under the silk. His fingers lingered, hesitant at first, then firmer, as if he might feel the heartbeat within.

He frowned, discouraged.

“I don't feel anything.” He muttered, clearly hoping that what she was doing had some deeper meaning.

In fact, it did.

“But you will soon,” she promised, resting her hand atop his, “our child hears you, even now.”

He blinked, confused by her words.

“Do you truly believe that?”

“I do,” she admitted with a certainty that surprised him. “I read about it. When a man speaks to and touches his wife's womb, their children are able to recognise him after birth. They calm down when they hear the voice or feel the touch of their father.”

She thought her cousin didn't believe her, but that night she asked him to say something to their child anyway. He scoffed at the idea, but when she took his hand and pressed it again to her lower abdomen, something changed in his facial expression.

In the quiet of their chamber, lit only by firelight, he cleared his throat.

He spoke in High Valyrian – low, murmuring words of strength and legacy left his lips.

“– you will fly among the clouds, with only the starry sky above you,” he hummed in the language of their ancestors, “you will be admired and loved by the Kingdom. Your dragon and your sword will cause terror and fear among your enemies. And I, as long as you remain small, will protect you.”

She watched him, barely breathing.

And then, she felt a twitch beneath her skin.

She gasped and he flinched, looking at her with wide eyes.

“What was–”

She grabbed his wrist, breathing loudly with disbelief.

“The babe moved.”

He stared at her stomach, then looked at her, astonished. His mouth parted, then closed, as if emotion had left him speechless.

“Do you hear me, zaldrītsos (little dragon)?” He asked in a trembling voice, his hand resting on her skin beneath her skirt.

They both jumped in place when something in her belly pulsed again and pressed against his fingers.

“Gods–” he muttered and leaned down, burying his face in her rounded lower abdomen.

She guessed that he didn't want her to see his expression and how much he hoped that what she had told him was true.

He wanted to be the kind of father he never had.

Their intimacy changed. His hunger for her never dulled, but he adapted, reverent in every touch. She forbade him full joining in the early months, fearing risk, and he did not protest. Instead, they returned to the kind of intimacy that had brought them so much joy and pleasure when they were first discovering the exciting, sweet secrets of the body.

Late at night, when the world was quiet and her back ached from the weight of their growing child, he would undress her slowly – he kissed the curve of her belly, murmuring to their son in her womb how proud he was of her. His hands found her breasts, fuller and heavier than before – he cupped them with awe, his thumbs brushing across her nipples until it stiffened under his touch.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, “gods, I had no idea how much more I could crave you.”

She blushed, but let him do what he pleased. “Touch me there again, husband. Please.”

He obeyed with a smirk on his face – his mouth closed over the peak of her nipple, sucking it gently with the flick of his tongue. She gasped, running her fingers through his hair, feeling a warm throbbing deep inside her body.

“I'm wet,” she confessed shyly, involuntarily spreading her legs in front of him.

“Already?” he teased, slowly tracing his lips down her body with lazy, tender kisses.

When he slid between her thighs, he took his time – he kissed and teased her delicate skin, his tongue parting her folds until she was trembling. He tasted her like a man desperate to savor every drop of her moisture, sighing softly when she cried out for him.

“I need this,” she panted, her hand gripping his forearm. “Gods, Aemond, please.”

He moved away from her to look at her face, something she knew well in his gaze.

He loved it when she begged him.

He entered her with his two fingers without warning, slow and deep, curling them just right until she shuddered. She let out a little cry when he found her sweet spot, digging his fingertips into it, kneading it with intense circular strokes.

“– brother –” she gasped, involuntarily rocking her hips to the rhythm of his thrusts, feeling the wonderful tension in her lower abdomen slowly reaching its peak, promising her sweet fulfilment.

“Let go, hāedar (little sister)” he whispered, “let me feel you come for me.”

And she did, biting her lip as she spilled over his fingers with her breath caught in her throat, her thighs trembling around his wrist.

“Now it's my turn, isn't it?” He asked with a kind of threat, looking curiously at her face, which expressed pure bliss.

“Yes.”

He liked the fact that when he knelt before her on the bed, there was not a hint of hesitation in her movements: her hands easily and nimbly unfastened the buckle of the belt of his tunic, then untied his breeches, freeing his swollen, heavy erection.

A sigh stuck in his throat as she leaned down and placed a gentle, warm kiss on his manhood, grasping its base in her free hand. She squeezed it gently at the root, massaging that part of his length softly, running her lips up and down. She felt it pulse strongly between her fingers.

“– yes – take it slowly –” he whispered with some kind of vulnerability, as if this sight completely overwhelmed him.

Although he never mentioned it, she knew that he desired to be caressed; such sensations made him experience the entire act more intensely, and his fulfillment was stronger. That was why she waited a moment before lifting her head and parting her lips, finally allowing him to slide the tip of his fat, throbbing erection deep into her throat.

Without any command or guidance from him, she involuntarily began to suck.

A quiet, almost boyish gasp of pleasure escaped his throat: she knew that this was exactly what he had been waiting for, her hands caressed his bare buttocks tenderly, giving him the feeling that she loved his whole body just as it was.

The shamelessness of her touch, the fact that she dared to caress him in such intimate, private places, aroused him even more.

His broad hands clenched helplessly in the dark curls of her hair, setting their movements to a common rhythm – it wasn't long before his thighs slapped against her flushed cheeks, his length swollen and sore between her lips.

“– fuck – ah – yes – mmm –” He panted between quick, desperate thrusts deep into her throat until he reached his peak with a loud groan of relief.

She swallowed everything he gave her, breathing loudly through her nose, not wanting to waste a single drop. He didn't pull out of her mouth as long as his warm, half-soft erection throbbed with pleasure.

They satisfied each other completely, building a bond of desire and restraint that left them both breathless.

Afterwards, wrapped in each other’s arms, she whispered.

“You’ll be a good father.”

He stared at the ceiling and said nothing, but his arm tightened around her.

She often dreamed of their child – sometimes with Aemond’s pale hair, sometimes with her dark eyes. In those dreams, the child always laughed.

Her husband never spoke of dreams, but she knew that as she fell asleep in his arms, he watched her for hours – sometimes he whispered things he dared not say aloud, probably too embarrassed by his deeply hidden desire.

To her.

To their child.

To himself.

When the final moon of her term crested above King’s Landing, a sharp pain lanced through her spine like a hot blade. It was early dawn – the fire in their chamber had burned low, casting orange halos over the bed’s edge. She lay curled, with her hand upon her belly – she tried to rise, but a contraction stopped her.

She gasped.

“Aemond,” she howled.

He stirred beside her instantly, awakened from a deep sleep. His eye flew open, and he was upright, already reaching for her.

“What is it?”

“I think–” she gasped again, clutching her abdomen. “–I think it’s time.”

She saw that panic flared in his eye. He had faced war, dragons, death – but nothing had prepared him for this.

He rose swiftly and shouted for the midwives – within minutes, their chamber was filled with bustling hands, warm water, herbs, towels. The air turned thick with tension, while he circled their bed like a predator with his eye wide open, his mouth slightly parted in heavy, restless breaths.

Was he thinking of Aemma now?

Of her slit womb and his father standing over her?

One midwife moved to usher him out.

“You must wait elsewhere, my Prince. It is not the custom–”

“No,” she mumbled, her hand found his wrist in some helpless gesture of fear, “my husband is to stay.”

They both looked at her with genuine surprise. Her cousin opened his mouth, apparently wanting to explain that even if he wanted to, he couldn't help her, but that wasn't what she meant.

“Your presence will give me strength and courage,” she stammered in a trembling voice, clutching his tunic sleeve more tightly, “don’t leave me now, when I need you more than ever.”

The midwife hesitated and opened her mouth to say something, but her husband did not let her, as he spoke first, his gaze cold as steel.

“She is my wife. I will not leave her.”

So he stayed.

She was drenched in sweat, strands of hair clinging to her red cheeks heated from exertion. The pain was unbearable, wave after wave crashing over her body with each progressive contraction.

Although she had never been in a panic before, now she truly wondered if she was going to die.

Helaena could clearly read her thoughts, her hand gently wiping the sweat from her forehead with a damp, cool cloth.

“Stand up or kneel on the beeding. It'll be easier for you. You shouldn't lie down all the time.” She said.

She nodded, groaning with effort as she raised herself up on her elbows, wanting to do anything that might hasten the whole process. She heard the bed creak beside her, a familiar smell filling her nostrils.

“Lean on me,” he whispered.

He knelt behind her, legs braced to hold her weight. He put one arm around her chest, the other cradling her belly – she immediately clasped her hands around his arms, breathing heavily, shifting her weight onto her knees.

“You are strong,” he whispered into her ear, “you are safe.”

She screamed – it was a raw, primal sound from the depths of her lungs. Her nails dug into his arm, but he didn’t flinch.

“I can’t–” she sobbed.

“You can,” he said, his voice rough. “You will.”

Minutes stretched into eternity, while her body, in successive spasms, tried to push the baby down the birth canal. The women around shouted instructions and guided her pushes, driving her to the brink of madness.

“Enough! Enough! Shut your fucking mouths, you useless whores!” She howled in rage, thinking to herself that it was easy for them to tell her what to do when they weren’t in her position and it wasn’t their body that was trying to push a child out into the world.

Her husband did not comment on her outburst or her choice of words, holding her in his iron grip and not letting her fall as she pushed, each effort wringing the air from her lungs.

Then she felt it.

She heard it.

Sudden, overwhelming relief.

And then, a sharp cry.

Wet, furious, alive.

The babe emerged from between her thighs, red and squalling, his clenched fists flailing. The midwife caught him and quickly cleared his mouth and nose, wrapping him in soft cloth.

“A boy,” she announced.

She collapsed into her husband’s arms, sobbing in relief – she felt him embrace her from behind at the waist, his lips pressing a long, loud kiss full of pride on her sweaty forehead.

“You did it. Just look,” he whispered in her ear, clearly elated by what had happened, yet tired and frightened at the same time.

She took the child from the midwife into her hands, trembling with awe – she laughed, loudly and cheerfully, as if all the effort and despair of a moment ago had completely vanished.

White hair.

Brown eyes.

Her son blinked up at her, whimpering quietly and writhing in her arms, calming down as soon as he felt her closeness. Her cousin's hand touched his plump, red cheek, his fingers trembling as he ran them over the delicate structure of his skin.

“He's so small,” he whispered softly into her ear so that only she could hear him.

“He is your heir,” she hummed, looking at him with a strange, overwhelming calmness, “give him a name.”

“Aerys,” he said. “His name is Aerys.”

Her husband leaned his forehead against her temple, his breath shaky in his throat.

“He’s perfect.”

She smiled through her tears, feeling only relief, numb to the pain and everything else she was going to experience in the coming days.

In that quiet moment, the three of them together, she felt peace.

Peace and fear the world would try to take it away from them.

Aemond

A few days later, long after the midwives had gone and the sun set behind the horizon, he sat at the edge of the bed, watching his wife sleep.

He knew she was just pretending.

She was curled on her side, facing away from him, her breath uneven. Her body trembled, probably from the pain, exhaustion and fear. Aerys lay in his cradle, snuggled in black-and-red swaddling, fast asleep with his belly full of milk. But she?

She didn’t rest.

When he reached out to touch her shoulder, she flinched.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, not turning to him.

“Hm?”

“I am no longer beautiful.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“Why do you think so? Your body needs to rest after months of exertion. It has carried a huge burden and responsibility.”

She pulled the sheet up over herself tighter.

“My breasts hurt. My belly is marked. I’m bleeding. I feel broken. I will never look the same again.”

He stood up, stepped to her side of the bed, and knelt before her.

“You carried a dragon inside you,” he said. “You bled for our son. You screamed his name into existence. There is nothing broken about that.”

She looked down at him, her eyes wet with tears of pure saddness.

“I… I can barely walk.”

“I lost an eye,” he said, his voice soft. “And I wear that scar proudly. Do you know why?”

She shook her head.

“Because it reminds me of who I became. What I survived. What I protect. You–” he reached for her hand and placed it against his chest, just above his heart. “You have become something more than I ever dreamed. Your body is not ruined. It is marked by something significant.”

She looked at him with her eyebrows arched in pain, watching as he kissed the inside of her wrist, then her fingers, then her palm.

“I want to see you,” he said. “All of you. Let me.”

She shook her head.

“It will disgust you. You will never want me again.” She mumbled in a breaking voice, tears rolling down her red cheeks one after another.

Without a word, he reached for his sapphire eyeball and, though he never thought he would do such a thing, he removed it from its socket. She froze, looking at him in disbelief – her trembling hand rose, gently brushing the spot beneath his eyebrow where his eyelid had once been.

Now there was darkness, emptiness, bone filled with muscle and scarred skin.

“If I wanted to take you now, would you refuse me?” he asked calmly, and she shook her head quickly, stroking his cheek with her hand.

“I want you more than ever,” she assured him, her hot gaze making his manhood throb softly in his breeches.

“So let me perform my duty to my wife,” he said calmly, his fingers combing through her long, shiny hair.

Hesitant, she sat up slowly, letting the sheet slip from her shoulders. Her nightdress clung to her body – damp with sweat, wrinkled and stained. She reached to pull it off, but her hands trembled.

So he helped her.

Gently, reverently, he lifted the fabric over her head – her body was soft, tender and newly unfamiliar under his fingers. Her breasts were full and heavy in his hands, the swell of her stomach loose, a dark line running down the center, on her skin the little marks of strain and life.

He looked at her for a long moment without saying a word, his healthy eye rose to her face only when a sob escaped her lips. He moved forward and wrapped his arms around her, feeling every inch of her tremble against him.

“I can't do it. Not now, when the pain between my thighs is still so strong. I won't enjoy it, and I'll only make you miserable.” She mumbled regretfully, trying to cover herself with her arms.

He wouldn't let her.

“I'll wait as long as you need, but don't cover yourself from me. You were there for me when I was a child, lying with my eye socket so swollen that I couldn't recognize my own face. My scars have healed, the swelling has gone down. Your body, though different, will find a way to return to its proper state.”

She nodded her head.

She believed him.

A few weeks later, when the swelling had indeed begun to subside from her lower back and abdomen, and the marks had lost their intense color, her mood improved significantly. His touch between her thighs still caused her pain, so they refrained from intimacy, but to his satisfaction, she allowed him to touch other naked parts of her body.

At that moment, they both focused on something else, or rather someone else: on the babe.

He stood stiffly by the cradle with his arms crossed, eying his son as if preparing to face a duel. The fire had been stoked to keep the chill from Aerys’s tiny limbs, and the chamber smelled faintly of milk, lavender, and parchment.

His wife watched him with amusement from the cushioned chair by the hearth, cradling a warm cloth to her sore abdomen.

“You can touch him, husband” she hummed. “He won’t bite.”

“He’s so… small,” he said. “What if I hurt him?”

“You won’t.” She assured him.

She stood up and walked over to him, with a lightness that aroused his jealousy lifting his son swaddled in soft fabric.

“Here. One hand behind his neck. The other under his hips. Support his spine.” She said, placing the baby in his arms.

He obeyed with military precision, focused like never before in his life. Aerys blinked slowly, then yawned and he stared down at him, completely still.

“He’s warm,” he said, as if surprised.

“He recognizes you.” She said with a smile.

“Does he?”

“You’ve spoken to him since before he was born. He knows your voice.”

He turned back to the babe, his posture still rigid.

“Relax your shoulders,” she said softly, stepping behind him to guide his frame with her hands. “You’re not carrying a sword.”

“I’d feel more confident if I were.”

She laughed at his words.

“You’re doing fine.”

Aerys stirred, his tiny fingers gripped the edge of his tunic. He froze again, stunned.

“He’s holding me.”

“Yes,” she hummed. “He is.”

That night, while his wife rested, he remained by the cradle, sitting down in the window alcove with a leather-bound book, its pages worn and ancient.

Tales of the Old Valyria, myths of dragons before the Doom.

He began to read.

Aerys stirred in his sleep, his mouth curved faintly, as if smiling. He didn’t know if his son understood, but the baby quieted hearing his voice. Sometimes his hands curled near his face and then he reached out blindly in sleep – once he brushed his thumb.

He stilled, looking at him with awe and leaned closer, pressing a kiss to the baby’s temple.

“You’ll never be alone,” he whispered. “Not while I breathe.”

He remained there until the stars climbed high.

And Aerys, son of fire and war, slept cradled in the shadow of peace.

Measter recommended short, pleasant walks in the fresh air for both the child and the mother. Since he could not imagine them strolling alone now, when their son was so small and his wife so weak after giving birth, he accompanied them every afternoon.

That day Aerys, usually soothed by the rhythm of his steps and the sound of his heartbeat, was restless. He squirmed and whined, once in a while letting out a frustrated cry.

He frowned and bounced him gently.

“Hush now. You were fine a moment ago.”

“Let me try,” his wife said, brushing her hand over Aerys’s head.

The babe only wailed louder.

“He’s not tired,” she hummed. “He’s hungry.”

He stiffened at her words.

“Let's go back to our chambers then.”

“There’s no one else here,” she said, glancing around. “And he needs to eat now.”

He hesitated, feeling his jaw clench.

“It won’t take long.” She assured him.

He sighed heavily with dissatisfaction and looked around, ensuring that no curious male eyes would focus on his wife's exposed breast. Finally, he gave her a short nod.

“Very well.”

He stepped in front of her as she sat on a low stone ledge. Turning slightly to give her privacy, he stood tall, with his arms crossed behind his back.

He heard that she unpinned her bodice and shifted her gown just enough to free her breast. Aerys latched immediately, the sound of his suckling quiet and steady.

He dared a glance over his shoulder, looking at the sight with a strange kind of satisfaction and excitement.

He saw her raise an eyebrow in amusement.

“What?” He huffed.

“You enjoy this view, don't you?” she asked lightly, gently adjusting their son in her arms.

For a moment, he saw a glimpse of her nipple and swallowed hard, feeling a warm throbbing in his breeches.

He hadn't fucked her for so long.

“Of course I do. You're feeding my son. You're giving him strength.”

Her expression softened.

“You can look at it as much as you want, husband.”

He hummed, but answered nothing.

When Aerys finished, she hid her breast back under the material of her gown, and he gently helped her up.

That evening, the room was lit by low firelight. Aerys stirred with a hungry whimper, and his wife shifted on the cushioned settee with her gown already loosened. She brought her son to her breast with practiced grace, humming softly while he suckled.

He sat by the fire and watched them in silence, pulling at the cuticles around his nails.

He had seen her like this before, yet something about the moment – its stillness, its intimacy – struck him differently that night. Perhaps it was the light on her skin, or the sight of their son so content in her arms, or the curve of her breast as it disappeared into the child's tiny mouth.

He swallowed loudly, feeling his manhood harden painfully.

She noticed it; her gaze met his over the infant’s head, calm and knowing.

“You stare,” she said softly.

“I always do,” he answered.

She smiled, shifting Aerys to her other breast.

When the boy finally released with a sigh, milk-drunken and sated, she placed him back in his cradle and turned back to him, still standing with her breasts exposed.

“If you wish to know what it tastes,” she said, her voice sweet and teasing, “you need to only ask.”

He froze, his heart hit harder in his chest.

“You're mocking me.” He muttered.

“I don’t.” She said as she sit back on the soft bedding, exposing the full swell of her breast to him, a bead of milk glistening on the tip of her nipple.

He swallowed hard again.

“You want me to…”

She raised a brow.

“I’m offering. Come, if you wish.”

He stood up slowly an crossed the room, as if unsure whether he was walking toward temptation or something far more sacred. When he knelt before her and she smiled softly, her hand rose to stroke his cheek.

“What should I do?” he asked with a strange kind of dread, filled with fear of humiliation.

“What you’ve always done. Your instincts will guide you,” she said calmly, her fingertips brushing his jaw, sending a strong shiver down his spine.

He was completely hard.

He leaned down to her chest, placing one of his hands on her back and the other gently cupping the curve of her breast, letting his mouth close over her nipple.

Indeed, it was as she had said: as he began to suck, her taste spread over his tongue and palate, warm, soothing and sweet. He sighed with delight at this new sensation, about which he himself did not know what to think. Her fingers ran through his hair as he suckled – tentative at first, then needier.

A moan escaped her lips.

“Aemond...gods.”

The sound of her voice broke something in him – he pulled her gown further down, his mouth claiming her other breast in a passionate and violent act.

He drank, he worshipped, he devoured.

She gasped, shifting beneath him, heat pooling between her thighs.

“Take me,” she whispered.

He didn’t hesitate – he pushed her onto the soft bedding and unfastened the clasp of his tunic, freeing himself from it. He reached deep into his breeches for his erection while his wife lifted the fabric of her skirt up – he didn't even have to check.

He knew she was soaking wet.

They both froze and sighed softly as he guided the tip of his swollen manhood to her opening. With soft, uncertain movements of his hips, he stretched her folds with his length, only to slide into her with a groan of relieve after a moment.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

Her legs wrapped around his waist when he began to move inside her, the sight of her breasts bouncing in front of his face made him lean down again to her nipples and close his mouth over one of them.

Each pull of her breast made her warm cunt clench around his length, each thrust made her cry out softly.

“It's mine,” he growled against her nipple, the snap of his hips loud and decisive as he sank again and again between the familiar heat of her thighs. “Only mine.”

“Yes,” she breathed out. “It's yours.”

They moved together in growing urgency – his hands gripped her hips, her back arched as she moaned beneath him. He latched onto her again, helpless to resist the taste, the rhythm, the claiming.

She shattered around him, convulsing on his cock, a strangled, sweet cry torn from her throat as she came. He followed her moments later, buried deep in her breast, drinking from her like it was life itself.

When they stilled, tangled and breathless, he rested his head on her chest, his tongue still teasing her nipple.

She stroked his hair, trembling again and again from his caresses, but neither of them spoke.

There was no need.

The next morning, however, their calm shattered into pieces.

Rhaenyra and her children, including Lucerys, were on their way to King’s Landing. A royal summons had been issued – Vaemond Velaryon was to challenge Lucerys’s legitimacy before the court.

Before the throne.

Before him.

He could feel the old wound pulsing, phantom and hot, the weight of the eyepatch dug into his temple like an accusation.

“Luke,” he growled. “That fucking bastard. He dares to show himself here as if it were his home. As if he is not a fucking lie wrapped in gold thread.”

“Aemond,” she pleaded, seated on the bedding, Aerys asleep in her arms.

He didn’t stop.

“He stole my eye. My childhood. And now he returns under the guise of diplomacy.”

His voice rose, sharp and cold like a blade drawn without thinking. Aerys stirred in her arms, then whimpered quietly.

She stood up quickly, gently bouncing their son.

“And my mother invites them here like honored guests. As if their treason isn’t etched into their fucking bones!”

Aerys's sudden, distraught cry made him stop in mid-step and look at him as if he had awakened from a deep sleep.

Aerys wailed, his tiny face red and scrunched with fear.

His wife rocked his son gently, murmuring soft nothings, but her eyes were fixed on him.

He stared at him – at the tears rolling down his round, pink cheeks – and his heart sank like a stone into the sea.

“I frightened him,” he mumbled.

“Yes,” she answered quietly. “But only for a moment. He will calm down soon.”

He approached them slowly, his hands trembling.

“I didn’t mean to–”

“I know,” she said, shifting the child toward him.

He hesitated, but then took Aerys into his arms – the babe still sniffled, his tiny fists clenched hard.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I would never harm you.”

His son looked at him and sighed loudly, as if in the fury he had just witnessed once again he saw his father.

The cries quieted.

“He heard my rage,” he said bitterly. “The same rage that has taken so much.”

His wife's hand found his arm and stroked it in a gesture of tender concern.

“Then show him something else. Let him see the man who holds him after the storm.”

He nodded.

The tension he felt was so strong that, fearing he would frighten his own child again, he ordered Criston Cole to train with him earlier than usual the next day. The sun caught the edge of his longsword as he struck, quick and precise, driving Cole back a step before resetting into a defensive stance.

The court, chattering and alive with what was about to happen, gathered around them and watched their struggles with unconcealed curiosity.

He caught sight of them mid-pivot.

Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon stood in silence among the crowds, their brown eyes fixed on him.

He smiled at the thought of how absolutely terrified they looked.

They were both smaller than him, their posture frail and weak. He thought with amusement that Daemon didn't give a shit about them, because if he cared, he would make sure they looked like men, not little boys.

He turned fully towards them with his sword still raised high.

“Nephews,” he called, his voice carrying like a challenge. “Have you come to train?”

He stepped forward with slow menace, the tip of his blade pointed directly at Lucerys. He saw how Jace’s hand twitched near his own sword hilt and grinned, ready to cut off both of the bastards' heads.

And then he heard a familiar sound.

A high-pitched, joyful squeal.

His wife emerged from the cloisters, her steps sure and light, her eyes calm and impenetrable, fixed on him. In her arms, wrapped in cloth of black and crimson, their infant son stirred.

Aerys.

The baby let out another coo, his small fists flailing with excitement at the sight of his father.

He smiled at the sight.

The tension bled from his shoulders and he lowered his sword slowly, letting its tip touch the ground. Without a word, he turned and crossed the courtyard, wanting to meet them, his hands sheathing the sword at his side.

Aerys wriggled and gave him a delighted sound as he reached out to him to stroke his cheek with his fingers.

His expression softened in a way few had ever witnessed.

“My little dragon,” he hummed.

His wife smiled, calm and composed, dressed in an emerald gown made of thin material.

She chose to wear green.

He knew that she must have seen the silhouettes of his nephews from the window and that she had only come to distract him from them.

His wife.

Before the gathered eyes of the court – and of Lucerys Velaryon – he leaned down and kissed her.

A claim not just of affection, but of legacy.

When he pulled back, he met Luke’s gaze across the courtyard.

And in his silence, the message was clear:

I have everything and you have nothing.

Lady Royce

The throne room of the Red Keep had never felt so grave. Targaryen banners hung limp in the still air, as if mourning already for the blood yet to spill. The Iron Throne, forged from the melted blades of a hundred enemies, loomed jagged and ancient, a monument to power and the weight of impossible choices.

She stood among the greens, her son Aerys pressed tightly against her chest, wrapped in cloth in the colors of his House. The child shifted in his sleep, unaware of the storm raging around him, oblivious to the blades behind words and the blood behind smiles.

She held him not as a decoration or shield, but as a proof.

Proof that her and her cousin's marriage was valid even though her father never consented to it.

Her eyes sought for him before anything else – Daemon Targaryen stood in the far reaches of the throne room, draped in black leathers, his silver hair tied at the nape of his neck. His arms were crossed, his gaze sharp – there was no warmth in his expression, piercing her like a cold blade.

She turned her head the other way, unable to bear the sight of him.

Aerys cooed against her shoulder, unaware of the danger.

Their son was the sweetest child she could have ever imagined. She wasn't certain if it was because of his nature or because his father had spoken to him a lot while he was still in her womb, but Aerys happily let her husband hold and comfort him.

His voice alone calmed him; his crying and squeals of discomfort would cease in the middle of the night when her cousin would take him from his cradle and lie down with him next to her on the bed, placing him on his chest. Aerys raised his large brown eyes and looked at him, his father's hand lazily stroking his little fair head.

“My son,” he whispered softly, apparently unaware that she was awake. “My sweet little boy.”

She swallowed hard, standing next to her husband behind his brother's back. Aegon gave them a bored look, but smiled at the sight of their son – his finger tickled his cheek, and Aerys squealed with delight, his laughter echoing through the throne room.

“Are you sure you're his father?” Aegon asked, but her husband only sighed, folding his hands behind his back, standing straight and stiff.

Aegon's taunts did not concern him that day.

His gaze was fixed on someone else.

The absurd scene that took place right in front of them seemed endless to her. Vaemond was stating what everyone already knew, yet they had to pretend to be surprised by this turn of events.

The truth was that Lucerys was not Leanor's son, so he had no right to Driftmark.

However, no one dared to say this out loud.

Rheanyra, on the other hand, spoke of the baselessness of his accusations, reminding everyone gathered that her sons were direct heirs to the Iron Throne.

She glanced involuntarily to the side to see her husband's face and swallowed hard when she came across the emptiness in his good eye, his lips twisted in a dangerous grimace that could have resembled a smile if not for the deadly glint in his gaze.

He sank deep into his own head, his regret, his hatred.

Then the great doors groaned open and the gasps of those gathered echoed through the hall.

Moving forward with great difficulty, King Viserys descended the stairs.

Silk and gold could not hide the decay of his form: the stooped shoulders, the drawn pallor, the tremor in his hands. The crown wobbled on his head like it belonged to another man, and yet, he moved – step by step – toward the Iron Throne, as though he could hold the realm together with sheer force of will.

Her husband moved restlessly at her side; his mouth created a thin line, his lone eye burning with something too vast to name. His gaze was locked on the frail man before them – the man who had given him life and saved his love for another child.

Rhaenyra.

It was always Rhaenyra.

Aemond’s lips twitched, not with anger, but with the ache of old wounds reopening. He did not blink: his shoulders rose and fell with controlled breath, as if he was trying to calm down.

Only she, who knew him better than any living soul, saw the short moment when his trembling hand brushed his belt, reaching for his sword.

The only sign that her husband, stoic and battle-hardened, was unraveling in silence.

She slid her hand toward his, brushing her fingers against the back of it, not forcing a grasp, but offering one.

His fingers twitched against her skin, but he didn’t take her hand.

King Viserys, pale and barely upright, was lifted onto the throne by his brother. The old king groaned but waved away help once seated, his eyes fixed on the chamber below – he was barely more than a whisper of the man he had once been, yet his voice, when it came, cut through the air like a falling sword.

The moment they saw him, they knew the matter was settled.

Luke will remain the heir to Driftmark.

And just when it seemed, to her relief, that it would all finally be over and they could return to their chambers, Vaemond lunged forward like a enraged dog, his shouts accusing Rhaenyra's children of being bastards and her of being a whore echoing through the throne room.

A silence dropped over the court so deep it rang in their ears.

And then steel flashed before her eyes.

A scream escaped her throat, and her body involuntarily turned away from the sight of the headless corpse in a desire to escape. Her fingers clenched tighter around her son's figure, pressing him against her chest: her husband took a step forward, shielding them with his body, as if trying to protect them from what they had just witnessed.

She turned her head slowly in his direction and to her surprise, he was looking at her too.

In that long, unspeakable moment, she saw him as he was: a boy who was never chosen, noticed, appreciated, a man made of resentment and restraint, now standing in a room where his father had used the last of his breath not to acknowledge him, but to exalt the one who had never suffered consequence.

She shifted Aerys in her arms and took a step closer, their son’s small body pressed between them like a heartbeat. He looked down at their child, at the quiet miracle of their mingled blood.

His throat moved as he swallowed hard.

After what had happened they returned to his chamber to calm down. Her husband, apparently trying to distract her from what was happening to him, decided to focus on their child.

“Did he see... that?” He asked uncertainly, looking at Aerys' silhouette pressed against her chest, his chubby fingers deep in his mouth.

“No. And even if he did, he didn't understand any of it anyway.” She sighed, putting their son down in his cradle.

The boy cried in displeasure, but his face lit up when she gave him one of the soft dragon-shaped toys.

Aemond wanted to say something else, clearly unable to stop himself from giving his opinion of what they had seen, however he closed his mouth when the door to his rooms opened with a quiet creak.

One of his servants stepped inside and bowed before them.

“My Lady. Your father wishes to see you and his grandson.” He said.

“That is out of the question.” Her husband growled. “You will not do such a thing.”

“I will do what I desire, husband. Or am I your prisoner?” She asked lightly, throwing him a tired look.

His lips pressed into a thin line out of fury that she dared to answer him this way in the presence of his servant.

“My son stays.” He said coldly.

She sighed heavily at his words.

“Very well. I will return soon.” She replied without thinking, his wounded, bitter gaze escorting her to the door.

She knew this awaited her and she had to face it.

Although she was a grown woman and a mother, walking down the corridor towards the quarters where her father was staying she felt like a little girl again. She knew what she would hear, she knew how he would look at her: he had considered her a traitor the day she fled with her cousin on the dragon's back, and nothing could change that now.

His wife's guards opened the door for her, and she stepped inside with her head held high. Her father sat in one of the beautifully decorated oak chairs, looking at his nails with boredom.

“Leave us,” he commanded loudly, his familiar voice making a cold shiver run through her.

She was afraid of him.

She feared him more than anyone in the world.

Daemon lifted the gaze of his bright eyes to her, his face expressing something close to a cold disappointment.

“He didn't let you take him here, did he? That's the freedom this ridiculous marriage gives you.” He mocked, spreading comfortably in his seat, crossing his legs with a loud creak of wood.

His remark made no impression on her.

“He is his father and he has as much right to decide his fate as I do. I came as you asked. What do you want from me?” She asked calmly, feeling her heart all the way in her throat for some reason.

Daemon furrowed his brow at her words and snorted.

“I wanted to look at you. To see what’s become of the girl who fled from Dragonstone like a thief, thought I might find some sign of regret in your eyes. Maybe even shame.”

She flinched at his words, but said nothing.

I ran away because of you, she thought.

Daemon leaned forward slowly. “And yet here you are. Dressed in your green silks. Wearing his child like armor. Playing loyal wife to a boy who clings to you like a lifeline.”

Her throat tightened at his accusation.

“He clings to me because I have never turned away from him.” She said coldly.

Her father scoffed. “He’s using you. You think he chose you for love? Aemond married you to spite me. To stain my name. To bind you to his cause and steal what little decency you carried in you.”

“I chose him,” she said with voice low but firm. “I chose him again and again. When I fled, I chose a man who saw me – not as a pawn, not as a mirror of my mother, but as myself.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Daemon said loudly, rising to his feet, his face darkened with dissatisfaction. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve tied your soul to a boy with rage in his blood and fire in his eye. He will never be satisfied until everything is ash. And when he burns, you will burn with him.”

She took a step back – she was surprised that she still had it inside herself. That unconditional instinct to run away when he towered over her, when he destroyed her sense of self-worth, intelligence, independence.

He’d never struck her, not once.

But he didn’t need to.

She remembered what it was to be a child in his presence.

To be the object of his silence.

His fury.

His impossible expectations.

But now she was not a child.

“I may burn,” she said softly. “But at least it will be for something I chose. Not something you forced upon me.”

Daemon’s mouth twisted in a grimace that might have resembled a smile if not for the dangerous glint in his eye.

She felt a cold sweat on the back of her neck as she realized that her husband sometimes had the same expression on his face.

“You’re afraid of me,” he said. “Still, after all these years.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But I came anyway.”

He studied her for a long time without saying a word.

“So you mean to stay with him.”

“I mean to stay with my son. With the man I love. With the life I built without your permission.”

He looked away, to the fire, his face a little softer, his gaze expressionless.

Empty.

“Then may the gods have mercy,” he said.

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

“If war comes – and it will – you will not be spared. Not by blood, not by name.”

She paused at the threshold and put her hand on the doorframe.

“Then it’s a mercy I learned to breathe fire,” she hummed.

And she left him with his silence.

The door to their shared chamber slammed shut behind her, but not before the echo of the latch caught like flint against stone. Her husband paced the room tense and dissatisfied, his gaze that met hers cold and bitter.

Aerys cried, red-faced and inconsolable in the cradle near the hearth.

“You went to him,” he growled, barely restrained. “After I asked you not to. You left our son who's been wailing for an hour, and I can't fucking calm him down.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed.

“He’s my father.”

“And what am I?” he hissed, turning to her now, his expression full of fury. “What is he to our child besides a shadow? He howled for you the moment you left.”

She approached Aerys' cradle, scooping him up gently. The boy nestled into her shoulder, still hiccuping small, uneven sobs – she soothed him with slow, rhythmic motions, pressing her cheek to his soft hair.

“He felt your anger,” she said.

Her husband blinked.

“What?”

“He’s not crying because I left,” she continued. “He’s crying because he’s your son, and your rage shakes the room like thunder.”

His jaw clenched at her words, but nothing came out his mouth.

“He’s a baby, Aemond. He doesn’t understand blood feuds or who wronged whom. But he knows when the air is full of fire.”

“You defied me.” He stated. “In the presence of my servant.”

“I needed to face him. You think I wanted to stand in that room? To look into his eyes and feel like I was twelve again, made of silence and obedience? I went because I had to.”

“You don’t need his approval.”

“I wasn’t seeking it.” She said with pain, not understanding why he couldn't comprehend what she felt after so many years. “I was severing what power he still held over me.”

His mouth opened, then closed as if her words made him think and realize something.

“Did he threaten you?” He finally asked, a little calmer now.

“Of course he did. He tried to make me doubt everything I’ve built with you.” She said with obvious tiredness in her voice, feeling tears behind eyelids for some reason.

Was it so hard to love her?

She stepped forward, shifting Aerys in her arms so she could meet his father’s eye.

“He thinks you’re weak. He thinks I’m foolish. But I told him the truth – that I chose you, not in defiance of him, but in recognition of myself.”

He reached out, brushing Aerys’s cheek with his hand – almost unwillingly, his fingers found hers.

“He wants to take you away from me,” he sighed.

“He can’t,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”

His shoulders dropped and his silhouette relaxed, but tension still clung to his posture like a second skin. He looked away, toward the fire, then back at her again – at the small boy nestled against her breast, now asleep once more.

“He still lives inside you,” he said hoarsely, “and his words can still wound you. Why?”

She looked down, feeling a lump in her throat. She thought that if she didn't get it out now, she'd never tell him, and there'd be a lingering unspoken word between them forever.

“I'm afraid of him. I always was. Of his unpredictability, of never knowing what to do to make him content. I would hide from him when I heard his footsteps, when his voice called me, I would burst into tears. He would look at me then, as if he had never seen a more pathetic human being. He would ask me: why are you crying again? and I didn't have the courage to tell him that it was because of who he was. When he took me to the Red Keep, I thought it was out of love. But I quickly realized that he had hoped to marry me off to Jace: to join forces with Rhaenyra after his brother's death and take the throne. That's why I ran away with you that day.”

When she raised her head, she met the gaze of his healthy eye, filled with disbelief, his mouth slightly parted in shock.

“Of course he wanted to give you to that bastard,” he said more to himself than to her, “he hoped to father more children with Rhaenyra, and that they would eventually become his successors.”

She looked at him for a moment, feeling an overwhelming wave of sadness wash over her.

“You admire him, don't you? You always have.”

Her husband gave her a surprised look, as if offended, and snorted, heading for one of the windows facing the courtyard.

“Don't be a fool.” He said.

“You two are alike. You and him. I realised that today.”

He turned towards her, his expression somewhere between dissatisfaction and disgust.

“If that's what you really think, how does that reflect on you?”

She felt tears rolling down her cheeks one after another: she smiled at him, but it was a smile that made him see fear and doubt in her eyes.

“Exactly, my dear lord husband. How?”

He swallowed hard, clearly trying to cope with the accusation she had just made.

“I didn't force you to run away with me. I didn't force you into my bed, into my heart. I didn't force you to marry me. You gave me all of that yourself.”

“You told me before we ran away that you wouldn't give me a second chance to choose. You took my maidenhood in the way you saw fit, without even asking me if that was how I imagined it. Our children could have been bastards, or your rightful heirs.” She said softly, wondering where she had found the courage to express it that way.

And yet, even though she truly loved him.

Did he ever really give her a real choice?

Aemond looked at her in disbelief: she had the impression that something in his mind had frozen, his mouth parted in heavy breaths told her that her words had completely surprised him.

Had he ever looked at it that way?

Could he see their world through her eyes?

“What do you want to say by that?” he asked slowly, his voice tinged with menace and regret.

“I want to say that there were moments in my life when I was afraid of what you would do to me if I refused you.” She muttered, struggling to catch her breath.

I love you, she thought.

I love you, but sometimes you scare me.

Just like him, back then.

Her husband closed his mouth, swallowing her words heavily: he lifted his chin and adopted a proud posture.

“I see.”

The banquet hall of the Red Keep glittered with torchlight and opulence, but beneath the sheen of polished silver and flowing wine lay a palpable tension – something too thick to breathe and too sharp to swallow. She entered the room beside her husband, her gown flowing like smoke over the stone floor.

They did not touch: his hands remained clasped behind his back, his eye fixed forward, his lips drawn in a line of unyielding silence. The air between them, once alive with glances and unspoken understanding, now felt cool and cavernous.

The words she had spoken that afternoon clung to the corners of her thoughts.

She stole a glance at him – at the rigid set of his shoulders, the twitch of his jaw, the way he refused to meet her gaze even when she turned slightly toward him as they took their seats. The space between them was no longer metaphor – it was battle line.

They were placed directly across from Rhaenyra’s children; Jacaerys sat upright and tense, his eyes watched them carefully from a distance. Lucerys tried and failed to mask his discomfort, flicking glances toward Aemond and then quickly turning away. Rhaenyra herself sat poised with Daemon at her side.

Their unity was undeniable.

She sat with practiced poise, but her fingers curled tightly on her lap – she wanted to reach for her husband, to press her hand against his, but she couldn’t.

Not when he wouldn’t even look at her.

Not when his silence had the weight of judgment.

Daemon was seated diagonally across from them, his goblet in hand, his gaze far too knowing. When his eyes met hers, he smirked – not with amusement, but with quiet, smug satisfaction.

Everyone rose from their seats when King Viserys was brought into the chamber. He walked with obvious effort, breathing heavily, part of his face still hidden behind a golden mask. She glanced involuntarily at her husband: he was looking at his father with an empty gaze, upright and proud, closed off in the fortress of his mind from everyone, including her.

Everything around her seemed to be happening at once. Rhaenyra toasted Alicent. Alicent returned the gesture. Polite nods of all of them that had nothing to do with sincerity or truth.

The illusion of unity.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aegon leaning over Baela and sighed heavily as she heard Jace's fist slam down hard on the table. Jace stood up, followed by her husband.

She knew that Aegon had surely said something inappropriate to enrage Rhaenyra's son, and he had done it with ease.

Her husband, on the other hand, was looking for any excuse to cause blood to be shed.

She knew all this, but she only silently raised her wine-filled cup to her lips and took a deep sip.

She realized that these were not her worries, her wars, her problems.

However, Jace showed some common sense and decided to withdraw from a possible conflict.

“To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”

She smiled involuntarily at his words and raised her cup together with Jacerys, causing her husband to give her a quick, angry look. As he sat down in his chair while she took another, deeper sip from her cup, his broad hand clenched warningly on her thigh.

Her nails ran gently across his skin in a gesture of defiance, but also of strange, aggressive closeness: she heard him draw in his breath loudly, surprised and frustrated, his fingertips digging into her skin hidden beneath the thin layers of her gown.

“You're walking on thin ice,” she heard his quiet, menacing voice, his words leaving his throat like a sigh.

“Maybe I want to drown in the sea of your rage,” she whispered so that only he could hear, her hand still resting on his.

“Is that what you want? Do you want to see what I'm capable of?” he asked indifferently, watching emotionlessly as the servants lifted his father, who had suddenly felt unwell, Helaena and Jace dancing together across the hall, much to Aegon's displeasure.

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

Some part of her wanted to die.

“Very well.” He hummed, and then he took a deep, loud sip of wine from his cup.

They left the supper early, using fatigue and Aerys as excuses. No one really cared why they left: everyone at that table wanted it all to end as quickly as possible.

They walked into his chambers in tense, deathly silence. The first thing she did was look into Aerys's cradle: her husband had dismissed his wet nurse, saying they wouldn't need her that night.

When the door closed behind her, she heard his voice, calm and cool.

“Is he asleep?”

She swallowed hard, feeling her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She looked down, her hands subconsciously reaching for the lacing of her gown and loosening it. Ribbon by ribbon, she freed her bodice until she felt the fabric slip slightly from her shoulders.

She knew he was watching her: she heard the click of his buckle, the rustle of his leather tunic being pulled off and falling to the floor.

She thought she would lose everything that day, and there was something liberating about that thought.

She finally turned towards him: he was standing on the other side of the chamber, looking straight at her with his head slightly bowed, as if he were thinking intensely about something.

“Do I remind you of your father now?” he asked lightly, cocking his head in curiosity.

She swallowed quietly and nodded.

“Yes.”

He hummed under his breath, as if he had expected this answer, and moved lazily towards her. Her whole body tensed when he stopped in front of her, towering over her like a mountain.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and she obediently did as he asked.

His good eye was fixed on her face, the flashes of the burning fireplace nearby reflecting in it like a mirror.

“What do you think your father would do now?” he asked, his hands folded behind his back.

“He would express his disappointment,” she said calmly, lowering her gaze to her feet like a small, scolded child.

She waited for the blow, the stab to her heart that would crush her, allowing her to accept that, for both of these men, she had been nothing more than a pawn in a larger game from the very beginning.

Her husband was silent for a moment.

“I am disappointed. I am disappointed, because I thought you understood me. That you knew that a reasonable objection expressed with respect would not cause me to punish you. That I would not mock any of your fears or requests, because I have never done so before. You chose to remain silent on many issues, and now you blame me for it. Do you consider yourself to be fair in this matter?” He asked coldly.

She swallowed hard, feeling his words hit her like a slap in the face, even though she had expected to hear something else: the wave of hot shame that flooded her chest was heavy and suffocating, like the weight of his words.

Was she really fair in what she said?

If she had explained to him why she was afraid to escape from Dragonstone, what her father would do, would he really never give her a second chance?

If she had told him when he took her maidenhood that he should do it more slowly, would he have been deaf to her needs, even though he had always cared for her in bed before?

Didn't he himself desire and strive for their children, if they ever came, to be born of the marriage bed, to be his rightful heirs?

She realised that the space of her thoughts, the questions in her head, were not black and white, but grey: the way they had been raised, what their fathers had done to them, had made them both unable to communicate properly, carrying the burden of the trauma their parents had left on their hearts.

But was it his fault?

Didn't she know him well enough to realise that he was unable to put his feelings into words?

“When you put it that way, I'm not so sure anymore,” she finally muttered.

She heard him sigh heavily, his chest rising and falling in front of her face, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him shake his head.

“During our first union, I followed my desires, my fantasies: I wanted you and I took you, but the gods are my witnesses that if I had known I was hurting you, if I had known you were afraid, I would have stopped. You held me tight, you moaned with pleasure beneath me. So can you tell me why you didn't say anything then?” He asked with a pain that surprised her.

“Because you gave me pleasure and I wanted you too. It's just that afterwards I felt regret that you didn't even ask me if you should slow down. If I wasn't afraid. If I was ready.” She stammered in a breaking voice, feeling a lump in her throat.

His hand ran over his lips and chin in a gesture of impatience or disbelief, she wasn't sure.

“It was my first time too. I hoped that if I did something wrong, you would tell me.” He confessed regretfully, to her surprise, his voice was also breaking, as if he wanted to cry. “I don't know what to do with your words now that so much time has passed. Am I to conclude that I took you against your will back then? That I am like my brother?”

“No,” she replied quickly, feeling tears roll down her cheeks once again that day, “I had wanted you for a long time. I just didn't understand what was happening, it was all foreign, new, sudden. Another body forced its way into mine, and I was overwhelmed by how pleasant and terrifying it was at the same time. Everything happened so fast.”

She chocked out and burst into tears: not only because of what they were discussing, but because of what her father had said to her that day, because of how bad she felt about herself and who she was.

How unloved she felt.

She covered her face with her hands and gasped loudly when she felt his fingers clench around her wrists: he didn't use force, though, he just held her as if he wanted to tell her something.

“Forgive me. Forgive me for not being able to behave like a mature man when you needed me.”

She threw herself into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his broad chest, sobbing loudly into his linen shirt.

To her surprise, he returned her embrace, his fingers clenching tightly on the fabric of her gown at her back.

“I'm not like your father,” he gasped. “He never loved you the way I do. Don't choose him. Don't leave my side.”

“I would never do such a thing, Aemond. Never.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes. From the day I flew away with you on the dragon's back. The day you freed me from him.” She whispered, snuggling into his familiar-smelling body, feeling his warmth relax all her tense muscles.

A quiet silence fell between them; she could hear his heart beating fast against her cheek, his fingers tracing the length of her back as if he wanted to memorize its shape.

“If that's what you desire,” he said at last, “we can do this now the way you wanted it then.”

She nodded.

And that night, they made love slowly.

He had never been so gentle, so attentive to her body: his hands traced her curves as if he were touching the surface of water, his full lips placing warm, wet kisses on her bare skin. His hands found her waist, her thighs, then slid up beneath her nightgown, reverent and aching. She gasped when his fingers brushed the swell of her breast, her nipple hardening under his touch.

“Look what you're doing to me,” he whispered into her collarbone, “how much I need you.”

She cupped his face between her palms and looked at him.

“You are the love of my life.”

He stared at her for a moment in a way she knew very well.

He was moved.

Instead of answering, his lips moved lower, trailing fire along her ribs, then across the sensitive underside of her breasts. He worshipped her there, his mouth hot and wet, his tongue circling slowly around her nipple. She arched her body into him, her hands twisted in his hair.

“Aemond… yes,” she mewled.

He murmured against her skin, clearly pleased with her reaction.

“Tell me what you need.” He hummed, his hand slid lazily down her stomach to between her thighs, teasing the delicate skin of her womanhood with just his fingertips.

“You,” she gasped, “I want to feel that you love me.”

He obeyed, sliding his fingers deep between her legs, parting her with ease – he groaned into her breast at the feeling of her, dipping one finger inside, then another. His thumb found her pearl, rubbing it with slow, teasing pressure and when he felt that she was ready, he slid lower, burying his face between her soft legs.

She stroked his long, silver hair, breathing heavily, her mind clouded as his tongue found her folds between her thighs, teasing them with just the tip of it, sending her body into spasms. She was soaking wet for him, and he licked up everything that flowed out of her with soft, shameless clicks.

She moaned his name, begged him to put his manhood deep inside her, but he gave vent to his lust only when she was on the verge of fulfillment. She guided him inside her, gasping softly as he filled her with himself; the stretch was familiar, yet new.

Her thighs wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper; he stilled for a moment, buried inside her to the hilt, their foreheads resting together as they breathed as one. Her delicate walls, all swollen of desire, accepted his fat erection with great difficulty: his first pushes into her were deep and slow, giving her time to feel well every shiver of delight that shook her body.

She felt her cunt clench around him in delight, her hips rising to meet his rhythm. He moved with exquisite care, as though afraid to hurt her again; their gasps filled the chamber, rising and falling like waves while he quickened his pace. She buried her face in his neck, her tears mingling with his sweat.

“I need you,” she sobbed, “don’t let me go.”

“Never,” he breathed out, his voice breaking.

He reached between their bodies, brushing with his thumb against her bud in slow, tender circles. She arched her back, her mouth falling open as pleasure surged through her.

She came with a soft cry, trembling around him, biting her nails into his back. Her body clung to his, drawing him deeper, her release pulsed around his cock – he followed her soon after, burying his face in her hair as he spilled inside her with a low, breathless groan.

They collapsed together onto the bedding, panting hard, their skin slick with warmth and devotion.

“Mine,” he gasped, and she nodded.

“Yours.”

When it was over, they lay in complete silence, facing each other, her hand resting on his. There was no more of that cruel tension between them, only relief and peace that they both needed so much. For a long moment they said nothing, just enjoying what they had.

“When my father dies,” he began out of nowhere, surprising her completely. “War will break out.”

She blinked, turning restlessly on the soft bedding that smelled of their wetness and fulfillment.

“How do you know that?”

Her husband's face remained stony.

And then she understood.

Everything was already settled.

“They intend to crown Aegon king. Your grandfather and your mother,” she mumbled in disbelief.

His lower lip twiched once, but he said nothing.

“Will you support them? Against your father's wishes?” She asked in disbelief.

He just looked at her, not saying a word.

“What do you expect from me? What should I answer you? That I'll betray my father?” She mumbled in pain.

Her heart pounded harder in her chest as his mouth finally opened.

“You will do nothing. You'll stay where you are. You'll take care of our son. You will not interfere.”

“Aegon will expect me to kneel. That is not nothing.” She replied.

“You'll say I forced you. In this theater of illusion, in front of everyone gathered, I'll grab you by the hair and press your face to the ground in front of the Iron Throne. No one will dispute the fact that you've become my prisoner.”

She looked at him in disbelief, only now realizing that he had been planning all this for a long time.

“When were you going to tell me about this?” She asked, and he sighed heavily.

“Never. But here we are. Honest and exposed, with nothing to hide.” He said with a calmness that surprised her.

“I do not consent to any of those bastards being the heir to the Iron Throne. It might be different if it was one of Daemon and Rhaenyra's sons, but if it happened, Rhaenyra would admit to the whole Realm that she had been lying about it all these years. Lucerys would lose Driftmark. That is why she will never do it.”

She looked at him in disbelief, unable to find words for the chaos of thoughts and feelings that filled her head.

“Are you thinking of running away?” His question tore her from her thoughts, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

"What–,” she mumbled.

“You can, if that's what you want. I won't stop you. I won't make you my prisoner – not really. But our son will remain by my side.”

She looked at him in horror, feeling her heart pounding hard in her chest.

“And where would I go, without you and my child? To my father?”

Again his silence answered her.

She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, thinking in the back of her mind that they were all going to die.

“Very well, then. Explain to me what I should do when the time comes. How to behave.”

And then she saw something that was as rare as seeing a wild dragon flying through the sky.

He smiled.

_____

Author's Note:

I'm ending it here because otherwise I'd have to dive into the whole Dance of the Dragons. Maybe I'll do it sometime in the future if you want. In this chapter I used a lot of my experiences related to pregnancy and how wonderful it is to experience it with your partner (in my case my husband). He also talked to my belly a lot, and our daughter actually kicked when she heard his voice! Apart from that, I also wanted to touch on the topic of communication in intimacy and that not everything is black or white. That sometimes we need many months or years to understand ourselves, our needs and desires: or that if we could, we would do something differently. It's natural and it needs to be talked about. Thank you all for reading this mini (fucking long) series.

[princessbellecerise]

Unexpected

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | In which you take control on your wedding night

warnings | smut, oral (m. and f. receiving), f!dominate

this fic is eighteen plus. minors please do not enter

divider by @princessbellecerise

Jacaerys Velaryon

When Jacaerys is first introduced to you, he thinks the absolute world of you

He adores you and believes you to be the epitome of a lady with your sweet smile and giggles that melt his heart

Absolutely nothing, nothing could have prepared the prince for your wedding night, when all of a sudden your innocent act is dropped and Jacaerys gets to see the real you, the one you’ve been dying to show him ever since your marriage was announced

And as soon as you get the prince alone, you pounce

Jacaerys had the entire room set up for the two of you and he even called off the bedding ceremony, thinking that someone as innocent as you should have privacy for their first time

Little did he know though, you were anything but innocent though you did still appreciate the gesture

You weren’t exactly as…pure as a lady should have been, and it was evident in the way you jumped on your new husband and immediately got to work

Hot, heavy kisses that you initiate nearly have Jace fainting on the spot, shocked when you take control and seemingly know exactly what to do

You’re shedding your clothes in no time, and along the way you’re barking out orders for Jace to undress, to touch you in places only a husband should, and the prince is so stunned that he can’t even react

His thoughts of you being this shy, innocent girl are immediately shattered the minute you wrap your mouth around him, pleasing him like a professional which has Jace moaning in no time

You love the way his face scrunches up, a mixture of confusion and desire clouding his features as you go down on him

You can tell your dominance and knowledge on what exactly to do in the bedroom shocks the hell out him, but honestly Jacaerys isn’t complaining

He quickly finds himself fascinated with you all over again, looking at you with stars in his eyes when he cums and you swallow every last drop

And as if the sight of you swallowing his seed wasn’t enough to rile him up again, Jace quickly becomes hard when you grab his cock and whisper how much you can’t wait to ride him

You take the poor, flustered prince’s hand and swipe his fingers between your folds, showing him how wet you are for him and Jace swears he’s in heaven

He’s not sure how the hell he completely missed this side of his new wife, but he’s certainly not complaining—not one bit

Lucerys Velaryon

Poor baby Luke is absolutely TERRIFIED for your wedding night and most of all he’s terrified of not being able to please you, his new wife

We all know he has severe anxiety so despite reading up on the topic of coupling and having one very long, very painful talk with Daemon before the wedding, Luke is still very much anxious and honestly has no clue what to do

You’re a couple years older than him which only makes his desire to please you even greater

He hypes himself up, gets a pep talk from Jace…and it turns out that Luke needs none of it because you’re on him the minute the bedroom door shuts

There is no bedding ceremony and no witness so you’re free to let loose and have fun with your new husband, who completely freezes when you pull him into kiss and press your (barely clothed) body against his

Poor Luke—all that stressing and he’s got absolutely nothing to worry about because you take reigns, talking him up and guiding him to do exactly what he wanted to do

He can’t lie, he’s a little shocked that you’re so good at this and it’s obviously not the first time you’ve done this. But honestly, Luke is just so relieved that one of you knows what you’re doing that he doesn’t even care. He just relaxes like you tell him to and enjoys the ride—literally

Poor boys is redder than a tomato when you first get naked for him, showing him your body and teasing the young prince

He’s a stuttering mess when your hands get to work undressing him, trying to form a coherent sentence but he can’t because he’s too excited and too nervous

He only nods and does the things you ask without question, but you can tell he’s absolutely losing it by the way he moans and turns to putty under your touch

You think it’s cute really to see him so eager to be with you, and Luke is such a sweetheart that he stops you from going down on his and offers to get you off instead

You’re so touched because even the older men you’ve been with have never been as gentle and kind as Luke. And with a little guidance, the young prince blows you away by exceeding your expectations

You never in a million years expected to come from just his tongue alone, but when you do, you’re shook to your core

And Lucerys (when he finally comes up for air) is looking at you with worried eyes wondering if he’s done something wrong, not knowing that he’s the first ever to make you orgasm

And just for that, you decide to finally give your husband the night of his life

Thanks to his tongue, it’s easy to slide yourself down onto his cock, smiling when the young prince can’t contain himself

He nearly dies and goes to heaven when you start riding him, and you know he’s not going to last long so you savor his sweet face and whisper in his ear how lucky you are to be married to him—and you’d be willing to bet anything that Lucerys absolutely feels the same

[desigal-26]

I just finished reading "desert snake" and damn this is so well written! Sooo can I get a part two (and maybe a 3 or 4, who knows?🤭) with more of daemon and Martell reader's relationship and their relationship building, more of them in this game of seduction and flirting before marriage, please? (maybe she'll create a special nickname for him too?)

You demanded, I served

Red Wings

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Reader

Read Part One here

He had never been one to fear blades or a little blood. She had never feared drawing both

Daemon had many assumptions about his new intended who had made a home in the corners of his mind—with only just a meeting. But a few of those assumptions are broken as their courting continues under the shine of the moonlight.

Warnings: SUGGESTIVE. Sexual tension, Daemon having explicit thoughts about Reader, Flirting (or sexual innuendos, I can’t decide), Reader knows how to yield a sword, Daemon being unhinged (like grabbing a blade with bare hand unhinged), Blood, Almost foreplay-ish thing, a little bit hint of breeding kink. This turned out more sinful than I wanted it to be. My writing(?).

Word Count: 2.8k

The Martell Princess was everything Daemon hadn’t expected her to be.

In his mind, he had imagined a naïve, young lady with youthful features and charm and shy eyes that would never dare to look him in his amethyst ones. Someone who—much like the ladies of King’s Landing—would flatter under his gaze and blush and smile before realising that he is everything their parents warned them about. The kind of prince they should stay away from.

After all, he is the Lord of Flea Bottom.

He earned that name, not by fluke, but by his constant visits to the taverns and pleasures houses—enjoying his drinks and whores to his desires before leaving to fulfil his duties as the Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks. He earned that name because he sat with those people—the common folks his brother seldom thinks off—and treated them like an equal, because he never discriminates between the comrades he drinks with.

Daemon wondered why Viserys had a problem with the betrothed couple from meeting before the ceremony. But then again, the King does not trust his brother when it comes to arranged marriages and women. And he is right for it. Because if things worked the way the Rogue Prince wished them to, he would have seduced the Martell Princess to his bed already.

How can someone not be enthralled by her beauty? He would argue. How can someone resist something as exotic as her?

He wondered how she looks beneath the flowy silk fabric of her dress that bares just enough to have him intrigued but not enough to satiate his imaginations. And hence, he lets his mind wander, conjure images of her laid upon the deep crimson sheets of his bed, bare as the day she was born.

He could partially feel the warmth radiating off her body, the flushed skin masked underneath a thin layer of sweat that shone in the most tempting manner when the sun hit it in the right direction. The delicious manner of her muscles twitching underneath his calloused hands once he is done with her—for the time being.

Because Daemon knows, once he have had her all to himself, he would not be done with her for a very long time. And a part of him hoped that the last be mutual—not that it would take him much to let her reciprocate them.

After all, he has a way with his women’s.

His mind conjured up the soft noises she would make—whimpers and moans and pleas that would vary from “don’t stop” to “please” to “no more”—and the feel of her touch over his scalding skin—nails scratching his back, fingers tugging at his hair, plump lips worshipping every inch of his c—

A knock interrupted his thoughts, forcing out a scoff as he stood up, running a hand through his slicked back hair in frustration. Whosoever had interrupted him surely seemed to have the worst timing and little to no hand in luck. For who crosses the dragon when he is deep in thoughts of his dear mate but the one with a death wish.

“Come in,” he grumbled, making his way to the table where he had discarded Dark Sister. The legendary sword of Visenya Targaryen which was bestowed upon him by his grandfather Jaehaerys—the only gift from his family that he truly cherishes that day. But he knew, that would change in due time.

The door opened with a silent creak before closing, making him look over his shoulder to find a woman standing in his chambers. A Dornish woman—not his betrothed—but someone of importance. The woman was older than the princess, dressed in a less revealing dress than what he had seen on his intended. A sheer cloth masked her features, only baring the eyes to the Rogue Prince.

“My Prince,” the lady dipped in a curtsy before taking two steps towards him, hand extended—holding a single piece of folded parchment.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his gaze flitting between the paper held out for him and the lady who didn’t even introduce herself to him. The thrill of the situation lingered in his spine, and he knew that this has something to do with his desert snake. After all, a viper seldom ever attacks when she knows that her prey is in his domain. No, she draws it out to her domain, where the prey is more likely to panic, and then attack.

He smirked at the thought, taking the parchment from the woman who only bowed and quietly slipped away from his chambers, intriguing the prince even more.

The piece of paper was smooth beneath his fingertips, like it was made of silk itself. He unfolded it with great care, eyes scanning the small message scribbled on it in a fancy handwriting that he assumed belonged to the princess.

Training grounds. The hour of witches. Bring your sword.

He had expected her to obey the rule made by his brother—to not meet until the wedding ceremony was upon them, especially alone, without a chaperone. But she clearly doesn’t seem to be someone who obeyed the words of another—much like he was.

She had picked the place with due consideration—that was clear to the prince. For the training grounds were the only place in the entire Maegor’s Keep that was truly isolated and unsupervised under the moonlight. No prying eyes, or ears that would listen. Only the moon and a sole observer of whatever shall transpire between them.

His eyes flickered to his sword, mind running miles away and he wondered why she would ask him to bring Dark Sister—his beloved sword. Surely the rumours he had heard of her being able to yield a sword must be false—for which noble women has been allowed to learn that. None, as he remembers it, except for of course his ancestors. But then again, Targaryens were always…different. Queer to the traditions of the lands they rule upon. But is there a possibility that his betrothed knows how to yield a blade like a knight yields it in battle?

The thought excited him to the unforeseen limits, causing a shiver down his spine before he made his way to the desk, opening a leather-bound tomb of “Aegon and his Conquest of the Seven Kingdoms” and placing the invitation in it before closing it.

Daemon wasn’t a sentimental fool, but how can he not store something as exciting as this? An invitation, a challenge to his brother’s nonsensical rule, an evidence that she is just as unhinged as he is when it comes to the barriers of the court.

The sun had been gone for hours now, and as the moments to the witching hour ticked closer, Daemon found himself glancing outside at the moon that hung from the starless sky—a sole figure of light in the dark night that seemed to hold its breath for what was to come, just as the Rogue Prince was holding his while his fingers clasped the pommel of his sword tightly, twisting and moving and flipping the familiar blade around, seeking solace in that weight and the control it brought.

Slowly, once the moon was overhead, he moved, slipping into a secret pathway to go to the training grounds undetected by the guards that were stationed around the royal wing. After all, all the fun will be ruined if his brother catches wind of his meeting with the beautiful desert snake with eyes that challenged him silently.

The flickering light from the torch he held in his hand danced across the plain walls of the tunnel that ran across the fortress—a secret that only a few knew. He had more than once spied on his brother and his treacherous council from behind these walls, heard the words never meant for his ears, learnt secrets no one should have known. But now, these tunnels were going hold one of his secret—a visit no one must know off except for him and her.

His empty hand grazed the stone wall that marked the end of the pathway, nudging it open to step out in the vacant space of the training ground’s entrance. Torches were scarce with no one in sight, but he could hear the distant noise of a blade swishing in the air, connecting with what he assumed was a dummy.

His steps were quiet—covered by the dewy grass that grew around the entrance—a smirk on face as his gaze captured the sight in front of him, committing it to his memory.

The princess had her back to him, tight training leathers accentuating the best of her body, almost providing it on a platter for his eyes to feast. Her long and dark hair were bound in a thick braid that slithered down her back, almost mixing into the dark leathers she wore. The pants she wore were visibly tailored for her, fitting her to every inch of her shapely legs. Combat boots, laced and polished, provided her the balance she required to swing the longsword that shone underneath the moonlight.

“That is very un-ladylike of you, desert snake,” he commented dryly, stepping out of the shadows while she turned around swiftly, sword clutched tightly in her hand, a smirk forming on her lips while sweat beaded her forehead. She tilted her head to the side, letting her eyes rave over his tall figure before humming to herself.

“I had assumed you wouldn’t come,” she mused, her eyes challenging him to come closer, to do something they shouldn’t. And Daemon was never the one to turn down a challenge.

He unsheathed Dark Sister, the blade shining menacingly, before he raised it in her direction. The tip of the sword gleamed in an equally challenging manner and it had her smirk growing while she herself bent her knees slightly, legs apart and her own sword raised to cling against his in a ‘challenge accepted’ manner.

Their eyes studied each other, learning and looking for any weakness that might become an asset to a win. Two predators circling each other with their teeth bared but no growls yet. Just a quiet precision that didn’t come from being entitled but from forging oneself into being worthy of something—of being not only a predator, but an apex predator.

Daemon was the first one to attack, lunging forward while his body moved in his own accords, watching carefully and she danced away with a sharp smirk before she tried attacking, forcing him a few steps back—her braid swaying with each of her movement. Their swords clang midair, the sound echoing but to them, it was all distant.

All of their world was centred on each other, in studying and contemplating one another’s next move, of the anticipation of what came next.

“I do not shy away from challenges,” he growled, making her grin, her body diving for a spot he had intentionally left unprotected, instantly retorting back when she realised that it was more of a trap than a mistake. Her eyes gleamed under the silvery light of the moon, defiance and excitement dancing in a dangerous ballad as the swords met again and again while the two traded attacks and defensive measures. None ready to lose just yet.

“Good, because I do not like women who can’t keep me intrigued.”

She chuckled, her flexibility helping her in a dangerous move which ended up with Daemon’s back pressed to the wall behind him, the tip of her longsword hovering right above his frantically beating heart, just enough pressure applied to make him feel the sharpness of the blade and the woman.

“You lost, Red Wings.”

The Rogue Prince raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing at the nickname. He tutted, his hand twisting his sword until its tip rested above her covered stomach, pressing just enough to make a nick in the leather, revealing a sliver of tanned skin that had his gaze darkening and blood pumping.

“Did I, Desert Snake?” His other hand grabbed the blade pressed against his chest, twisting it and bringing her closer until his dominant hand reached for waist, slamming her back to his chest while blood bloomed in his left hand from the cut of her blade.

Her breath hitched at the sudden move, being caught off guard as her back hit his lean yet muscled chest, arching off while she tried to move away but the looming sharpness of Dark Sister around her abdomen had her stopping mid step. Her own longsword was clutched in her right hand, its blade still in Daemon’s grip, blood glistening over it.

“That’s unfair,” she protested, panting. Her face turned to her side, chin tipped up to look at the smirking prince who perched his face on her shoulder, his voice dropping down an octave while he whispered, “you do not know unfair yet, princess.”

She shivered despite her better judgment, eyes widening at his implications, before she moved her hips against him, making him growl warningly at her.

“Yield now, princess. And I won’t torment you much on our wedding night,” he threatened, the Dark Sister’s gleaming Valyrian steel growing an inch closer to her heaving abdomen, teasing the ties in front that held her training clothes together.

“And who knows, might be that I thrive under torment, my prince,” she replied back with a cocky smile, making him chuckle in a deadly manner that promised danger and something too sinful to be named. His lavender eyes roamed over her features hungrily, a promise for violence and sin in his gaze before he knocked out her longsword away from her hand in a skilled move.

The sword forged in Dorne fell to the ground with a sharp clang, while Daemon’s now free but bleeding hand gripped her waist, before gently moving to unsheathe a dagger hidden in the shallow depths of her clothes.

His fingers grazed the pommel in a reverent gesture, the sunspear sigil of the House Martell a centre piece in the design apart from the slender snake that moved across its body. He flipped it expertly, smirking as he watched her eyes following the movements of his hand while Dark Sister drew ever so close to her.

“You do not poke a sleeping dragon.” His words were followed by the dagger trailing over her covered body, a teasing presence that had her stilling. Her eyes flickered to the two blades that trapped her body against her betrothed’s—a legendary Valyrian longsword and a dagger that belongs to her.

“Or what else?” She challenged still, enjoying the thrill of danger and adrenaline that coursed through her body, intoxicating and sinfully dangerous. But since when have the Martells ran away from anything dangerous? Never.

Daemon didn’t answer her question verbally, instead, the dagger trailed above, tracing the curve of her heaving chest before tearing through the top clasp, baring to his hungry eyes the tanned skin of her cleavage and only enough of the swell of her bosom to make salivate. He felt her gasp, heard the sound and committed it to his memory for the days counting up to their wedding.

“I am not a religious man, desert snake,” he let the words hang in the charged air surrounding them before continuing, “and I do not give a mind to the stupid traditions of the Seven.” His lips grazed the tip of her ear, biting in with enough force to have her meal beneath him, her hand grabbing on to his—the one holding the Dark Sister.

He enjoyed it—the power he had gained over her in this moment. The feeling of her completely at his mercy. The authority that had him stiffening in his breeches, moving his hips against the swell of her ass and had her choking on to her breath.

The sounds that she made were music to his ears, and gods, did he want to take her right then and there. But he won’t. Not when he can have her to himself once she is lawfully his in only a few matter of days—wrapped in white silk and lace, dolled up for him to take her, bed her and fill her up with his child.

His blood had smeared her clothes already, his scent latching onto her body and the night had given him enough to spend the next days in imagination.

He let her go, the dagger dropping on the ground beside her sword while he withdrew Dark Sister, letting her step away from him with panting breaths and wide, unguarded eyes. The smirk usually on her face was gone, and she looked every bit of a maiden Daemon had ever taken—wide eyed, innocent and his to take.

“I will see you at the end of the aisle, desert snake.”

[novaursa]

Bonsoir

my English is not very good sorry 🥹

I’m obsessed with Sir Gwayne Hightower..

Can we imagine something like reader is the younger sister of Rheanyra and she fell in love with him during the tournament.

The king Viserys love his daughter so much that he accept her demand. They lived in Oldtown where they raised Daeron, and they also have children maybe 5/6?

Later they came back to King’s Landing and it’s their child’s who got attack the night (idk if one died like you want) and both of them goes furious agains Rheanyra and Alicent.

A House Divided

- Summary: During a tourney your father organized for the birth of his heir, your heart found a flame in Ser Gwayne Hightower.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The requests are now closed!

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The grand tourney was in full swing, the air mingling with the scent of churned earth and sweat, and the clamor of metal clashing against metal reverberated through the stands. You sat in the royal box, perched between your elder sister, Rhaenyra, and her closest companion, Alicent Hightower. The three of you made a striking tableau, clad in the rich velvets and silks befitting your station, your hair arranged in intricate braids that sparkled with delicate gems. The sun beat down mercilessly on the field below, casting a golden hue over the proceedings as knights in gleaming armor paraded before you.

Rhaenyra leaned forward, her attention rapt, as one of the knights she had favored rode out onto the field. "Ser Harwin Strong," she whispered, more to herself than to you. "They say he could fell a dozen men in single combat."

You barely heard her, your gaze fixed on the next rider in line. He wore the silver and green of House Hightower, his helm adorned with the familiar sigil of the fiery beacon. Ser Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s brother, guided his horse with practiced ease, his posture straight and noble, as befitting the son of the Hand of the King. But it wasn’t just his prowess on the field that caught your attention. No, it was the way his eyes, even from beneath the shadow of his helm, seemed to seek yours.

You felt a flutter in your chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer sun. Your heart skipped a beat when his gaze locked with yours, lingering for a moment too long to be mere coincidence. His expression, though partially obscured by the helm, betrayed something—an unspoken acknowledgment, a silent exchange that sent a shiver down your spine. You offered him a small, shy smile, one that you hoped would convey the burgeoning emotions that you could barely understand yourself.

Beside you, Alicent noticed the exchange. She turned her head slightly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "He is quite skilled, isn’t he?" she remarked casually, though the hint of amusement in her tone did not escape your notice.

"Yes," you replied softly, trying to keep your voice even. "He is."

Alicent’s lips curled into a knowing smile, but she said nothing more, her attention shifting back to the tournament as the next knight prepared to ride. But your thoughts remained on Gwayne, your mind replaying the moment over and over again.

The peace of the moment was shattered when a thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd. A new rider had entered the lists, one who commanded immediate attention. The black stallion he rode was as imposing as the man himself, its powerful muscles rippling beneath the dark coat as it trotted confidently onto the field. The helm he wore was unmistakable, the dragon sigil of House Targaryen gleaming in the sunlight. Your uncle, Daemon, the Rogue Prince.

A tension gripped the air, as palpable as the steel of the swords being brandished on the field. Daemon was not merely a competitor; he was a force unto himself, and his mere presence sent ripples of unease through the crowd. You knew well enough of the strained relationship between him and the Hand, and you could feel a foreboding sense of what was to come.

Your heart lurched as Daemon’s gaze swept the field, his eyes narrowing with calculated malice. He was looking for an opponent, someone whose defeat would send a clear message to the court. And then, with a wicked smile, he made his choice.

"Ser Gwayne Hightower!" the herald announced, his voice carrying over the din of the crowd. 

The smile you had shared with Gwayne moments ago felt like a distant memory, replaced now with an overwhelming sense of dread. You watched in horror as Daemon spurred his horse forward, his eyes gleaming with cruel intent. Gwayne had no choice but to accept the challenge; to refuse would be to invite dishonor upon his house.

Alicent gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "He’s doing this to spite my father," she whispered, her voice trembling. "He means to humiliate us."

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened as she glanced between you and the field. "Daemon is always looking for ways to make his mark," she said, her voice edged with frustration. "But this…"

Your hands tightened around the arms of your seat, knuckles turning white as you watched the two knights prepare to charge. The tension was almost unbearable, your fear for Gwayne warring with the knowledge that there was nothing you could do. He was skilled, yes, but Daemon was ruthless, and the outcome of this bout felt all too predictable.

The sound of hooves pounding against the earth filled your ears as the two men charged at each other, lances poised to strike. The crowd held its breath, the world seeming to slow as the distance between the riders closed in an instant.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. You didn’t want to look, but you couldn’t bear to look away either. The moment of impact was sudden, brutal. Daemon’s lance struck true, sending Gwayne crashing to the ground in a blur of motion. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and gasps, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears.

Alicent’s hand found yours, squeezing it tightly, and you realized she was trembling just as much as you were. Rhaenyra leaned closer, her voice a whisper meant to comfort. "He’ll be all right," she said, though even she didn’t sound entirely convinced. "Ser Gwayne is strong. He’ll rise again."

But as you looked down at the field, where Gwayne lay motionless in the dirt, your heart was filled with fear and uncertainty. The triumph on Daemon’s face as he rode past only deepened your dread. You knew that this was just the beginning of a dangerous game, one in which the stakes were far too high.

And though you wanted nothing more than to rush to Gwayne’s side, to ensure that he was truly all right, you could only sit there, helpless, as the tourney continued around you, your thoughts consumed by the image of his fall and the lingering touch of his gaze upon yours.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet, the bustle of the day having given way to the stillness of the evening. You walked with purposeful steps, though each one felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the thoughts swirling in your mind. The events of the tourney still haunted you, particularly the moment when Ser Gwayne Hightower had been unseated by your uncle Daemon in such a brutal manner. The memory of Gwayne lying motionless on the ground was seared into your memory, and you had spent every waking moment since then worrying about his well-being.

You had learned earlier that day from Alicent that Gwayne was recovering in a guest chamber within the Keep, his wounds being tended to by the maesters. The relief that had washed over you upon hearing he was alive had been swiftly replaced by an overwhelming need to see him, to ensure with your own eyes that he was truly all right.

But more than that, you felt a deep sense of guilt. Gwayne had suffered because of your uncle’s vendetta, and though you knew Daemon was not your responsibility, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you needed to apologize on his behalf. It was as if your worry for Gwayne had ignited a flame of something more within you, something you hadn’t fully understood until now.

You approached the door to Gwayne’s chamber, hesitating only briefly before knocking lightly. The sound echoed softly in the empty hall, and you held your breath as you waited for a response. A few moments passed, and then you heard the shuffling of feet from within. The door creaked open, revealing Gwayne’s face—pale but still handsome, his hair slightly disheveled, and his usually bright eyes dulled with pain. When he saw you standing there, surprise flickered across his features, quickly replaced by something warmer.

“Princess Y/N,” he greeted, his voice soft but filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “I did not expect a visit from you.”

“I… I wanted to see how you were faring,” you replied, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” he said, stepping back to allow you entrance. “Forgive the state of the room. I’ve not been the best company, I’m afraid.”

The chamber was modest, yet comfortable. The bed in which Gwayne had been resting was neatly made, though the pillows were slightly askew, evidence of his struggle to find a comfortable position. A small table beside the bed held a pitcher of water, a few books, and some bandages that had been used by the maesters. The room smelled faintly of herbs, likely to aid in the healing process.

You walked slowly into the room, your eyes briefly scanning the surroundings before settling on Gwayne again. He closed the door behind you and made his way back to the bed, moving with a slight limp. You felt a pang of guilt seeing him in such a state, knowing that it was your uncle’s doing.

“Please, sit,” he offered, gesturing to a chair near the bed. You took a seat, clasping your hands in your lap, unsure of where to begin. Gwayne settled back onto the bed, wincing slightly as he did so.

“I’m sorry, Ser Gwayne,” you blurted out, unable to contain the words any longer. “I’m so sorry for what my uncle did. It was cruel and unnecessary, and… and I’m sorry you had to endure it.”

Gwayne looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he smiled—a gentle, almost affectionate smile that made your heart ache in a way that was both unfamiliar and comforting.

“There’s no need for you to apologize,” he said softly. “Your uncle is his own man, and his actions are not your burden to bear.”

“But I feel responsible,” you insisted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “He is family, and yet he… he targeted you because of your own.”

Gwayne reached out, his hand brushing lightly against yours where they rested in your lap. The touch was soft, hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure if it was welcome, but the warmth of his skin against yours sent a shiver through you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, you felt the full force of the connection that had been growing between you.

“I am a knight, Princess,” he said, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “I knew the risks when I entered the lists. Your concern honors me, but please do not blame yourself for what happened.”

You nodded, though the guilt still lingered at the edges of your mind. “I’ve been so worried about you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “When I saw you fall… I’ve never felt such fear before.”

His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, the small gesture sending a thrill through you. “And I have never been so honored to be the cause of someone’s worry,” he replied, his tone laced with warmth. “But I’m all right. The maesters say I will heal fully, given time.”

The weight on your chest lifted slightly at his reassurance, and you allowed yourself to truly take in his appearance. Despite his injuries, there was a strength in him that shone through, a resilience that you admired. And more than that, there was a kindness in his eyes, a softness that made you feel seen, truly seen, in a way you hadn’t before.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice filled with sincerity. “For being so understanding… and for not holding my family’s actions against me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I care for you, more than you might realize. Seeing you here, knowing that you came for me… it means more than words can express.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the unspoken feelings that hung between you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were acutely aware of how close he was, how the slightest movement would close the distance between you.

“I care for you too, Gwayne,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the admission. It was the first time you had spoken those words, the first time you had allowed yourself to truly acknowledge what had been blossoming between you.

His eyes softened, and for a moment, you thought he might lean in, that he might bridge the gap and close the distance between you in a way that would change everything. But instead, he merely tightened his grip on your hand, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that felt almost reverent.

“I will heal, Princess,” he said, his voice low and filled with a promise that made your heart swell. “And when I do, I will strive to be worthy of your care.”

“You already are,” you replied, your voice firm despite the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. “You have always been.”

The two of you sat there in silence for a long moment, your hand still held in his, the world outside the chamber forgotten. There was no need for further words; everything you needed to say was conveyed in the gentle touch, in the shared glances, in the understanding that passed between you.

Finally, you knew it was time to go, though leaving him was the last thing you wanted. You reluctantly pulled your hand from his, rising from your seat with a heart that felt both heavy and light all at once.

“Rest well, Ser Gwayne,” you said softly, your voice filled with warmth.

“And you, Princess,” he replied, his eyes lingering on yours as you turned to leave.

As you walked back through the quiet corridors of the Red Keep, your heart was filled with a new kind of certainty. The connection you felt with Gwayne was undeniable, you knew that you had found something precious in the midst of all the turmoil—something worth holding onto, no matter what the future might bring.

The years that followed the tourney saw your life change in ways you could have never anticipated. The bond between you and Gwayne Hightower deepened with each passing day, blossoming into a love that defied the expectations of courtly life. What began as shy smiles and stolen glances grew into something much more profound—conversations that lasted long into the night, tender moments shared in hidden alcoves of the Red Keep, and a connection that seemed to transcend all the chaos and political maneuvering that surrounded you both.

Gwayne became your constant companion, his presence a source of comfort and strength. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes. He was always there when you needed him, his steady gaze grounding you when the pressures of your station became too much to bear. And in return, you gave him your heart, knowing that he would cherish it as he had cherished you from the very beginning.

It was in the quiet moments, away from the prying eyes of the court, that you truly fell in love with him. You would sit together in the godswood, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves as you shared stories of your childhoods, your dreams, your fears. He would listen intently, his gaze never wavering, and you would feel a warmth in your chest that you had never known before.

But as the years passed, you both knew that your love could not remain a secret forever. The time would come when you would have to seek the blessing of your father, King Viserys, if you were to be together openly. And so, one evening, after much deliberation, you found yourself standing before him in his chambers, your heart pounding with a mixture of hope and fear.

Viserys had aged in the years since your mother’s passing, the weight of the crown bearing heavily on his shoulders. His marriage to Alicent had brought stability to the realm, but there was a sadness in his eyes that had never truly left. Yet, when he looked at you, there was still warmth, a father’s love that had not dimmed with time.

“Father,” you began, your voice steady despite the anxiety gnawing at you, “there is something I must ask of you.”

He set aside the parchment he had been reading, giving you his full attention. “What is it, daughter?” he asked, his tone gentle.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “I wish to marry Ser Gwayne Hightower.”

Viserys blinked, clearly taken aback by your request. “Gwayne?” he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. “You… you wish to marry him?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. “I love him. He has been a constant presence in my life, and I cannot imagine my future without him.”

There was a long silence as Viserys studied you, his expression contemplative. You could see the thoughts racing behind his eyes, the calculations, the concerns. Marriages were rarely matters of the heart in the Targaryen dynasty; they were tools of politics, alliances forged to strengthen the realm. But you had always been different from your sister, Rhaenyra. You had always followed your heart, and now you were asking your father to allow you to do so in this most important of matters.

“Does he love you?” Viserys asked finally, his voice quiet.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation. “I believe he does.”

Viserys sighed, his hand coming up to rub his temple. “You know what this would mean, don’t you? You are a princess of the realm, a daughter of the dragon. To marry a Hightower… it would tie you to their house in a way that cannot be undone, like it did me.”

“I know, Father,” you said. “But this is what I want. I’ve thought long and hard about it. I’ve considered the implications, the responsibilities. And still, my heart tells me this is the right path.”

At that moment, the door to the chamber opened, and Otto Hightower stepped in, his expression as calculating as ever. He must have overheard your conversation, or perhaps he had been summoned, for it was not uncommon for him to linger near the king’s chambers.

“If I may, Your Grace,” Otto interjected, his voice smooth, “a marriage between the Princess and my son would fully solidify the bond between House Targaryen and House Hightower. It would further strengthen the realm, ensuring the continued loyalty of Oldtown.”

Viserys glanced between you and Otto, his frown deepening. But when his gaze returned to you, it softened. “You truly love him?” he asked again, as if needing to hear it one more time.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice filled with a sincerity that could not be denied.

Viserys nodded slowly, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “Then I will grant your request,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of the decision. “You may marry Gwayne Hightower.”

Relief washed over you, and you rushed forward to embrace your father, the smile on your face brighter than it had been in years. “Thank you, Father,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

Otto’s expression was one of quiet satisfaction, and you knew that he was already calculating the benefits this union would bring to his house. But at that moment, you didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were free to be with the man you loved.

The wedding took place in the Starry Sept in Oldtown, a grand affair that was attended by the most powerful lords and ladies of the realm. You wore a gown of deep crimson, the color of your house, with delicate silver thread woven into the fabric. Gwayne stood at the altar, resplendent in his armor, his eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration as he watched you approach. The ceremony was solemn and beautiful, the vows you exchanged echoing in the vastness of the Sept as you pledged your lives to one another.

After the wedding, you moved to Oldtown, where Gwayne took up his duties as a lord and you settled into your new role as his wife. It was in Oldtown that your family grew, and soon your household was filled with the laughter of children. You and Gwayne were blessed with six—three sons and three daughters, each one as beloved as the last. The boys, with their father’s hair and your violet eyes, grew strong and healthy, while the girls, with their mother’s grace and their father’s determination, were the joy of your heart.

But it wasn’t just your children who filled your home with love. Prince Daeron, your young Targaryen half-brother, had been sent to Oldtown to foster with you, and he quickly became as much a part of your family as your own children. You and Gwayne raised him as your own, and the bond between Daeron and your children was as strong as any sibling tie.

One afternoon, you found yourself standing on the balcony of your chambers, watching your children play in the garden below. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the scene. Your sons were chasing each other with wooden swords, their laughter ringing out as they pretended to be knights defending the realm. Your daughters were sitting in a circle, weaving flower crowns and giggling at some shared joke. And in the midst of them all was Daeron, his silver hair shining in the sunlight as he played with your youngest daughter, lifting her up onto his shoulders with a grin.

A sense of peace settled over you as you watched them, a deep contentment that came from knowing that they were happy, that they were safe. This was the life you had always dreamed of, the life you had fought for, and it was more perfect than you could have ever imagined.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a familiar chest. Gwayne rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he looked out at the scene before you.

“They’ve grown so much,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet wonder.

“Yes,” you agreed, leaning back into his embrace. “It feels like just yesterday they were all babes in our arms.”

Gwayne chuckled softly. “And now they’re growing into little warriors and ladies, ready to take on the world.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man who had given you so much. “I could not have asked for a better life,” you said softly, turning your head to press a kiss to his cheek. “Or a better husband.”

He tightened his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple. “Nor could I have asked for a better wife,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “You have made me the happiest of men, my love.”

You stayed like that for a long while, watching your children play, the warmth of Gwayne’s arms around you grounding you in the moment. This was your life now—a life filled with love, laughter, and the joy of raising a family together. And though the future was uncertain, as it always was in the world of thrones and dragons, you knew that as long as you had each other, you could face whatever came your way.

The laughter of your children and the gentle breeze of Oldtown were the sounds of your happiness, a happiness that you had fought for, and that you cherished with all your heart. And as the sun began to set on another perfect day, you knew that this was just the beginning of the life you had always dreamed of—one filled with love, family, and the promise of a future built on the strength of your bond with the man you loved.

The Red Keep had always been a place of grandeur and tradition, but in recent times, it had become a breeding ground for fear and treachery. You had come to King’s Landing with your family for what was meant to be a brief visit, a time to reunite with your kin and remind your children of the world beyond Oldtown. But that night, your worst fears were realized in a way that would haunt you for the rest of your days.

It was late when the nightmare began. The corridors of the Keep were quiet, the usual bustle of court life having settled into the stillness of the night. Your children had been put to bed hours ago, and you had just finished reading to your youngest son, his tiny form nestled under the blankets, his eyes fluttering closed as sleep claimed him. You kissed his forehead, smoothing his hair as you whispered goodnight, believing, as any mother would, that your children were safe within these walls.

But safety was an illusion.

The first sign that something was wrong came with the faint sound of footsteps—too heavy, too deliberate. You had barely turned toward the door when it burst open, and two men, shadows in the flickering candlelight, stepped into the room. 

Their presence was overwhelming, the stench of blood and malice clinging to them like a shroud. The taller of the two, Blood, held a cruel smile on his lips, while Cheese’s eyes were as cold and dead as the steel they carried. They moved with purpose, their gaze settling on the crib where your youngest son slept, blissfully unaware of the danger looming over him.

“No!” The word tore from your throat as you surged forward, your only thought to protect your child. But Blood was faster, his hand lashing out to seize your arm and wrench you back. You struggled, tears of desperation burning your eyes as you fought against his iron grip, but it was futile. They were too strong, too determined.

“Shhh,” Cheese hissed, his voice a mockery of gentleness as he approached the crib. “No need to cry, Princess. We’re here on a simple task.”

“You can’t—please, don’t do this,” you begged, your voice breaking. “He’s just a child…”

Blood’s grip tightened on your arm, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “It’s a son for a son, Princess. A fair trade.”

His words sent a jolt of terror through you. You knew the price they had come to exact. Rhaenyra, your own blood, had ordered this—vengeance for the loss of her son, Lucerys, at the hands of Aemond. The knowledge twisted your insides with a sickening realization. This wasn’t just a random act of violence; it was retribution, and your innocent child was to be the offering.

“No! Please, take me instead! Take me!” you cried, desperation lending strength to your struggles. But Blood merely laughed, a low, chilling sound that sent ice through your veins.

“Sorry, Princess, but we’re here for the boy.”

Before you could react, Cheese reached into the crib, his movements swift and practiced. Your son awoke with a start, his sleepy eyes widening in confusion as rough hands lifted him from the bed. His small, frightened cries pierced the air, tearing at your heart as you screamed for mercy.

“Please!” you wailed, struggling even harder, your voice breaking under the weight of your terror. “Don’t hurt him! Please!”

Cheese’s expression remained cold as he cradled your son in one arm, his other hand drawing a knife, its blade glinting in the dim light. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of panic through you, your body trembling as you watched, powerless, knowing what was about to happen.

But instead of the killing blow you feared, Cheese moved the knife down, slicing through the delicate skin of your son’s leg. The scream that followed was inhuman, a sound of pure agony that would forever haunt your nightmares. Your son’s body jerked in his captor’s arms, blood pouring from the wound, staining his clothes and the floor beneath him.

You collapsed to your knees, your strength drained, your screams turning to choked sobs as you reached out for your child. “Please, please, stop…” you begged, your voice hoarse and raw.

Blood released you then, his mission complete, his cruel smile lingering as he watched you crawl toward your son, your hands shaking as you tried to stem the flow of blood with the hem of your gown.

“Consider this a warning,” Blood sneered, his voice low and menacing. “A message to all who would betray their kin. The price of treachery is paid in blood.”

With that, they turned and left, vanishing into the shadows as quickly as they had come, leaving you alone in the darkness with your wounded child.

You gathered your son into your arms, rocking him gently as his cries weakened, his tiny body shaking with shock and pain. Blood stained your hands, your gown, the floor beneath you, and the horror of it all threatened to overwhelm you. But you couldn’t fall apart—not now. You had to save him. You had to hold on.

“Maester!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the empty corridors. “Maester, please!”

Moments later, Gwayne burst into the room, his face a mask of horror as he took in the scene before him. “No…” he breathed, his voice trembling with the same disbelief that had gripped you. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over your son, as if afraid to touch him, afraid that the sight of his broken body might shatter what remained of his composure.

“They… they came for him,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. “They came for him, and I couldn’t stop them…”

Gwayne’s eyes blazed with fury as he looked at the door, as if willing the men who had done this to reappear so he could tear them apart with his bare hands. “Where are the guards? Where were they?” he demanded, his voice rising with each word. “How could they let this happen?”

But no one could answer him. The guards who finally arrived were too late, their faces pale with the realization of their failure. And then came Alicent, her nightgown hastily thrown over her frame, her face as white as a ghost as she took in the horror that had unfolded in her own keep.

“Gwayne… my God, what’s happened?” Alicent gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she saw the blood, the broken child in your arms.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Gwayne spat, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “They came for us. They came for my son. Your nephew!” His voice broke, and he shook his head, the anger in his eyes giving way to grief. “They maimed him, Alicent. They maimed my boy…”

Alicent’s face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks as she moved to kneel beside you. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I’m so sorry…”

But her words did nothing to ease the pain that tore through your heart. You held your son closer, rocking him as his cries grew weaker, his little hands clutching at your gown as if trying to hold on to you, to life.

“Why was my family not protected by the guards?” Gwayne demanded, his voice shaking with fury. “Rhaenyra... this is her doing! She ordered this! She wanted a son for a son, and now my son lies here, bleeding, because of her!”

Alicent flinched at his words, shaking her head. “Gwayne, please… Rhaenyra… she… she wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t she?” Gwayne cut her off, his eyes blazing. “This is her vengeance, Alicent! She ordered this! And for what? For Lucerys? And now my boy suffers because of it!”

You could see the pain in Alicent’s eyes, the realization of the rift that had been torn between her family and yours. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. There was nothing she could say that would bring back the sense of safety you had lost, nothing that could erase the horror of what had been done to your child.

The Maester arrived, his face ashen as he quickly set to work, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to save what remained of your son’s life. Gwayne held you close as the Maester worked, his hands trembling as they gripped your shoulders, his breath ragged in your ear.

“We’ll leave this place,” Gwayne whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ll take our children and leave this cursed place. We’ll go back to Oldtown, where they’ll be safe. I swear it.”

You nodded, unable to speak, your tears falling silently as you clutched your son to your chest, willing him to live, willing the nightmare to end.

But deep down, you knew that nothing would ever be the same. The bond between your families had been shattered, the trust you once held in Rhaenyra, in the Targaryen blood, irreparably broken. You had lost more than just a sense of security that night; you had lost the belief that family could protect you from the darkness of the world.

[fayesia]

Teach ~ dbf!daemon x reader

warnings: nsfw 18+, p in v, fingering, doggy style, cowgirl, bondage? (belt used to tie hands), dirty talk, face fucking, sir used like once, slapping (mentioned briefly), age gap, degrading kink + a bit of praise

The two of you first met you when your dad invited him over for dinner, the weekend after he had moved into the house next door. Both of you grew closer during special holidays, where the neighbourhood would come together and throw parties. There would be shared glances and conversations filled with innuendos that lead you to walk around feeling hot and flustered.

It was after you left for college when you realised how much you'd miss the small interactions that you assumed meaningless to him.

When you returned for the holidays, your parents invited a few close friends over for a dinner party, including Daemon, meaning you paid extra attention to how you looked.

Dressed to the nines in a beautiful evening dress that hugged every one of your curves perfectly, you made your way into the living room where people were spread out in numerous groups of conversation, soft jazz playing from your parents stereo. That's when you saw him.

Leaning against the wall beside your parents' wine cabinet, the two of you locked eyes, and it seemed like time had ceased, like the room had gone silent just for the two of you. Pouring a small glass of champagne, you let the bubbly liquid flow down your throat in hopes of diminishing the nerves running through you.

Stood in front of the kitchen's floating island, You were glad to escape the insistent question from family friends about your studies and finding a good boyfriend they could meet one day. All you found at college were meaningless hookups that were meant to make you forget your stress... seemed to only make those boys forgot that you wanted to be pleasured too.

Pulled away from your thoughts you felt Daemons hand wrap around one of yours, bringing the back of it to his lips to lay a gentle kiss on it.

"How beautiful you look tonight sweetheart, has been so long since you've come home to visit, hm."

Your cheeks flushed, returning his compliments with a shy smile. "Thank you Mr Targaryen, you look well yourself."

"You flatter me sweet girl but I'm well into my years"

You laugh at his joke, allowing for the release of tension you were bearing on your shoulders since you had stepped out of your bedroom.

The two of you continue the conversation moving to the steps of the staircase, as Daemon asks about college, and you comfortably share stories knowing your secrets would be safe with him.

He reminisces about nights he spent trying weed with his friends while you poked fun at how he struggled to take a hit and passed out in an hour.

But then he asked the question he really wanted the answers to. About the boys at college. What they were like, if you liked any? You grew shy but confided in Daemon, leaving out details you deemed too inappropriate to say. Trying hard to ignore memories of the nights spent imagining him doing the things you wished those boys did to you.

Leaning closer the two of you had moved to sit outside your bedroom wall, supporting each other after too many glasses of champagne and wine.

Daemons mouth scraped the flesh of your ear, "are you still a virgin, sweet girl?". The question caught you off guard, your mouth growing dry while your throat grew tighter and your face hotter.

"No need to be shy. I know what college is like, I apologise if I crossed a boundary-"

Cutting him off you answered, "No...but I'm not experienced or anything". Nodding his head Daemon stared at you a small lift in the corner of his lips, he was thinking of the many more questions he wanted to ask. You continued to speak filling the silence, a bad habit of yours that couldn't be helped.

"It's just...the boys I'm with-no nevermind forget I saw anything." Hanging your head you tried to hide behind a layer of your hair but Daemon reached his hand up, tucking your the locks behind your ear while his hand stayed firmly against your cheek, lifting your face til your eyes met his.

"Continue sweetheart, I'm listening...I hope I'm not assuming wrong.. but I can imagine no college boy knows how to please a girl properly, is that right?"

Nodding your head blushing, "It's silly I know but I just want to experience it properly" Dameon understood what the it was you referred to, to shy to say sex in front of your neighbour who was old enough to be your own father.

"Is that what you want? Someone to show you how real pleasure feels?"

You nod again a small "yes" escaping your lips in a whsiper easily missed. "I can give you that. If you want" Dameons face drew closer to your own own, "is that what you want?"

Your lips are now a mere inch apart from his, with all your courage you answer with a breathy "please" and before you can register Daemons soft lips are pressed against your own.

The lips you imagine on you so many nights alone in your dorm, with a hand down your underwear as you pleasured yourself until release. They were now all over you, on your lips, your neck, your collarbones. And those hands, God, they were just how you dreamt them to feel, rough and calloused as they caressed from your arm to your neck and came to rest on the side of your breasts.

You make a noise of protest at the loss of Daemons lips when he carries you into his arms, laughing at your eagerness, pushing the door open before roughly dropping you onto your bed and closing it behind him.

He pulls off his shirt, removing the belt from his suit pants, while you're patiently kneeling on the bed, your dress having ridden up your thighs and knees spread. Daemon soaks in the sight of you, his gaze matching that of a predator before making the killing move at its prey. "Showing me what you're truly like, huh? Such a pretty fucking slut."

Reaching your arms out, his mouth is back on yours as he positions you to lie down, the movement of his tongue exploring your mouth distracting you from the belt now wrapped around your wrists above your head. The top half of your body is now immobile as Daemon drags down the front of your dress until your tits are bare to him.

His lips wrap around your nipple, sucking and biting at both until your hips grind up against Daemons prominent bulge, the movement eliciting needy moans and groans from both of you. The size of it larger than most you're used to feeling, the thought only making you more eager to see it, touch it or even taste it.

"Be patient, baby, you'll get your reward if you're good. Want to be my good girl l don't you?"

Quickly, you nod your head, eager to take anything Daemond gives you. His hand drags your dress completely off you, stripping you down to the deep red lace panities you wore. His hand traces the small details on it, teasing you when he reaches the area you need him most.

"Mm so soaked for me already. Been so good, pussy so deserving of its reward."

Your panties are harshly ripped down to your ankles as Daemon positions you on all fours, the palm of his hand positioning you into a deep arch. You're fully exposed to him now, and there's no hiding this time. With your hands binded by his belt and your ankles tangled by your own panties.

His hand traces down your spine to the flesh of your ass where he grabs the soft skin. *slap* the feeling of Daemon slapping you comes quickly and in succession with another 3 hits. You're whining against the sheets by now, the wetness of your pussy dripping down your inner thighs which you're sure he can see.

"Please Daemon, want you so bad"

"Yeah? What do you want from me baby"

"anything please just-just fuck me"

"want me to fuck you like those little boys in college can't. You need an old guy like me to. Fuck you so hard you'll never want another cock again. Ruin you for anyone else."

His words have you arching deeper as you present more of yourself to him. Your mouth letting out a near pornagraphic moan when his fingers brush against your folds, two fingertips pressing against your clit.

His other hand comes up quickly to cover your mouth. "Wouldn't want anyone else to hear you be a fucking whore for me now would we, especially not your father. What would he think of his precious daughter being fucked like a pathetic whore by his friend in her childhood bedroom."

Nodding in agreement, you try to hold your moans in, only by the time he has three fingers roughly stuffed into you you're only able to let out a muffled scream into his palm.

He slaps your ass, harder this time "shut up slut what did I say, or do you want someone to come in and see you, pussy being stuffed my fingers" your pussy tightens at his harsh degrading words. Hands tightly gripping the sheets in desperation to grab something as your climax nears, but just as you feel yourself getting closer, Daemon removes his fingers, leaving you whining at the loss of contact "Want you to come around my cock sweetheart."

He stands up to remove his jeans quickly dragging them down along with his boxers, his cock is thick and veiny, it's pulsing head is red and dripping with precum. He wraps his hand around it, leaning his head back in pure pleasure "You don't know how long I've wanted to do this baby, been waiting for you to let me" he's a bit shocked to open his eyes and see you've moved from the bed and down to the floor on your knees.

He nearly cums right there on the spot at the sight of your eyes wide and dilated, your lips wet and swollen from his harsh kisses and bites. "Fucking hell you're a sight for sore eyes aren't you honey" Daemon leads his cock to your open mouth, the feeling of your lips and tongue wrapped around him forces out animalistic groans you've never heard before. But you know you like it when you feel a rush of wetness leak out of you, definitely soaking the floor beneath you.

You try your best to fit all of Daemon in your mouth, which comes as a difficulty, instead wrapping your hand around the remainder which didn't fit. Except the method becomes pointless when his hands grab the sides of your head and he holds you in place.

"Let me fuck your face baby please, you're doing so good for me."

You nod which is all he needs to see before thrusting himself down your throat, the sheer force of it causing tears to stream down your face. The explicit noises of you gagging around his dick and his harsh growls bounce off the walls. You can feel the spit dripping down your chin to your neck as well as onto Daemons balls which slap against your face with each thrust. He's groaning loudly now without a care of who might hear what over the music downstairs, now having changed from jazz to house party tracks. You tap at Daemons thighs when you can't take the lack of oxygen anymore. Your head feels all fuzzy, but it almost feels too good to stop. Dragging himself from your mouth, Daamond pulls you up from the floor, gently placing you into on the bed.

He removes the belt from your wrist which is now sore and red, gently placing soft kisses against them.

"Been such a good girl, you get your reward now baby."

"please sir wannna feel you so bad. Hurts so much, jus' want you to fill me up."

Your brain is barely working at this point. The thought out coming is the only one left in your head. Holding your hip in place Daemon holds his cock, pushing its head in and out of you. The teasing only drawing out more noises of begging from you. When he's had his fun he pushes himself into you, down to the hilt, the laughs from him turning into deep groans of animalisitic pleasure that roar over the squeals that come from you.

"Fuck oh fuck you feel so much better than I thought, just like that yes, fucking tightening around me, like a stupid cock drunk whore"

"Oh-fuck-oh my god Daemon, thank you, thank you fucking me so good" you struggle to get even a few words out, you'd be shocked if he understood anything of what you said. Your hands scratch harsh lines on his well defined back while his lips suck and bite at your chest. You're both sure to find souvenirs from this moment in the morning. His received in the marks of red stinging lines while yours are a mess of red and purple bruises that cover you from your neck to the top of your breasts.

Daemon pounds into you relentlessly, the head of his cock reached your sweet spot so perfectly its like your pussy shaped itself around him the minute he had fully entered you.

He grabs your hips, rolling you over so that you're now riding him. The change in position pushes his dick even deeper into you "fuck you're so deep Daemon-wait Oh my godd" but instead he lifts you up halfway off him and drops you back down to be fully filled up again. Your tits bounce up and down as he tugs at your nipples. Your hands brace against his chest, and he revels at the sight of your face morphed into one full of desire. You bounce up and down on top of him, clenching around the girth of his cock that your pussy can feel almost every ridge and vein he has.

"This is what it feels like, to fuck, with a real man, someone who can give you what you want. Only I can give you what you want" your eyes are closed but you nod at every word he says hanging onto them as you get closer and closer.

The breaking point is his fingers rubbing against your clit. "I'm gonna come, please Daemond just wanna come please please"

"Wait, baby wait for me, let me cum inside you watch it drip out of you, complete your look of being my personal fucking cumdump."

Your nails scratch more marks across Daemons defined chest and as you clench around his length one more time, he grabs hold of your hips tightly keeping you in place while he shoots his loud deep inside of you. "Arghh fuck yes, fuck you so full of my cum have it dripping out of you for days, so you can always remember who fucked you the way you deerve to be. Like a bitch in heat."

His words are barely heard through the ringing in your ears, Daemons cock feels like it's deep in your stomach and all you can see are white flashes in front of your eyes. The only thing keeping you in place is his hold on you, his dick pushing your mixed fluids deeper inside of you.

Cradling you against his chest, he peppers your face in kisses, his arms wrapping around you as your legs intertwine. The two of you lay in a silent embrace before Daemon speaks, "Got to get back before your parents start looking for either of us. Seems like the parties died down a bit." He was right.

The music had dulled to a soft classical number that you knew signalled the end of the night as everyone said their goodbyes and made their leave. Rolling off of Daemon you felt his cum drip out of you, tainting the already ruined sheets with more proof of your sins. As he silently redresses, you smile at Daemon, a lazy post-orgasm one but a smile nonetheless.

Which is all he wanted, to know this wasn't a mistake you would hate him for. Flattening down the mess you made of running your fingers through his hair, Daemon leans down leaving a kiss against your head. "Sleep well sweet princess, and thank you."

"Goodnight Daemon, and thank you."

Letting out a small huff of laughter, Daemon makes his way out of your room and back downstairs to wish your parents a goodnight. Unbeknownst to them that he just gave their daughter the best dicking down of her life that still has her feeling fuzzy and dazed. So much so she didn't even notice the missing pair of red panties from the pile of clothes and pillows carelessly tossed on the ground.

[happilyhertale]

Shared future – Daemon Targaryen x fem!niece!reader

Summary: As on so many other nights, your betrothed Daemon sneaks into your chambers. But tonight he has other plans for you.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!niece!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Oral (f receiving); Fingering

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.6 k

Shared future Masterlist

Other stories of mine

12 days of smuff

As the last candlelight fades, you retreat into the cosy embrace of your bed, snuggled up in the warmth of your blanket. Listening to the muffled sounds of the night, you wait patiently for the inevitable. Quickly and quietly, the hidden door in the wall of your chambers swings open, an enchanting routine that unfolds with each passing night. Your gaze turns to the entrance, a smile curling your lips as a figure with silvered hair slips gracefully into the room.

A slight bite on your lip betrays your anticipation, and your grin widens as your betrothed approaches. He removes his waistcoat and trousers and lies down in bed with you, immediately wrapping you in his arms. The gentle press of his lips against your hair, soft kisses and the familiar rumble emanating from his chest create an intimate atmosphere that you never dreamed possible with your future husband.

His fingers run over your form with a delicate touch, caressing the soft expanse of your skin. To the outside world, the rogue prince may appear to be a figure without such tenderness. But inside your chambers, a transformation is taking place – he longs to give you tenderness. And he has mastered the art of cuddling and caressing to perfection – and he honours your wish to defer the surrender of your maidenhead for the time being.

But that doesn't mean he keeps his fingers still. Daemon has already driven you to ecstasy countless times and pushed you to the limit. He has made you squirm and whimper and awakened a desire in you that makes you crave more and more.

His fingers slide southwards, but somehow it feels different this time. His fingers seem greedier and there's another slight grumble in his chest as he gently kneads your bum. "Love... come on, sit on my face," he suddenly murmurs into your neck as gentle kisses caress your skin. And never before has the blush rushed to your face so quickly.

"What...?" you mumble a little incredulously and feel a grin forming on his lips.

"Sit on my face..." he repeats, gripping your bum a little tighter.

"I-I heard you..." you whisper, "but... your face?". The familiar warmth in your lower abdomen spreads despite your irritation as memories of the wonders Daemon can perform with his tongue come to your mind.

A slight growl sounds again and vibrates in his chest, "I expect my future wife to take a seat on my face with her elegant arse... so that I can enjoy her to the full," he murmurs.

You're lost for words – not even a "what" leaves your lips. And as the silence spreads throughout your chambers, Daemon slowly pulls his head back and turns his gaze towards you. His purple eyes meet yours and he simply grins, enjoying the fact that you are at a loss for an answer. His princess, who is never at a loss for words, is speechless.

You're breathing a little heavily, your lips are slightly parted, but you feel his hands suddenly grab your hips and make you move slightly. Your gasp fills the air of your chambers, but you follow his movement.

"Daemon..." you say quietly, but you only feel his hands gripping the back of your thighs as you sit astride him. He smiles at you, and although you usually can't get enough of his smile, you know he's happy that you're so shy right now, and you'd love nothing more than to make him suffer right now.

His big hands don't let go of your thighs and push you further up and instead of a cheeky statement, you just gasp a soft "Daemon" as your hands grab the headboard of your bed and your warm core hovers right above his face.

You bite your lip lightly and look down. His smile remains hidden from you, but you are sure that the grin has not left his lips. His hands slowly slide up the back of your thighs under your nightgown and are suddenly on your bum. He grips it firmly, making you whimper, and then you feel him pull you down. The unforgettable sensation floods through you as his tongue glides through your folds. You whimper again and your hands literally dig into the wood of your bed.

Another "Daemon" escapes your lips and breaks the silence as he begins to slide his tongue inside you. His hands push you further down, further onto his face, letting his tongue penetrate you deeper. The worry that he might not get enough air leaves your mind as his tongue glides all the way through your wet folds and the vibration of his moan literally flows through you.

You moan as his tongue caresses your bundle of nerves. He only chuckles softly as you breathe heavily and moan again. But the artistry of his tongue doesn't let up. Not even when you finally grab your nightgown and pull it over your head.

It falls to the floor beside your bed, accompanied by Daemon's grunts as you move your hips and he continues to pleasure you with his tongue. He savours the sounds of your pleasure, the way your body writhes above him as he devours you with a possessive hunger.

He buries his face deep inside your most intimate part of your body as you suddenly feel him insert two fingers inside you.

As his lips close around your sensitive bundle of nerves again and he begins to suck, your moans echo through your chambers as his fingers continue to penetrate you. Daemon's tongue dances over your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to elicit another moan from your lips. He plunges deeper, his tongue swirling around inside you, soaking up every drop of your arousal.

As if of your own accord, you push your cunt further towards him, wanting – no, needing – to feel more. Daemon grunts slightly as he senses how eager you are, angles his fingers differently and rubs the rough patch deep inside you.

"You like that, don't you?" he purrs against your folds, his voice full of satisfaction. "You like it when I taste you, when I make you cum," he growls as his tongue flicks faster and harder, his hand on your hip tightening as he pushes you closer to the edge. He's determined to bring you to the peak of pleasure, to make you scream his name once more.

But you can only moan loudly and bite your lip quickly so as not to make too much noise. But Daemon is watching you closely as he savours you. Your eyes are closed and you relish all his movements and caresses. Your mouth is open, but your breathing is intermittent and a whimper that ends in a moan leaves your lips.

Daemon inserts another finger into you and you cry out a little. Your one hand slides from the headboard of your bed into his hair, gripping it tightly as his tongue circles your clit faster and his fingers thrust into you.

"Daemon... Daemon... Daemon..." escapes your lips again and again as you breathe heavily. You feel him moan again as he notices how your cunt begins to clench around his fingers. And then it comes over you – you cry out slightly again as you come. Your eyes are closed as your hips continue to move.

But this time it feels different.

"Daemon.. stop," you whimper as his lips close tightly around your pearl again, his fingers thrusting further into you.

"Daemon..." you whimper again as a strong pressure builds up inside you. But he only growls again as his fingers continue their work, sucking even harder on your clit. Your eyes open again, your breathing quickens and you realise from his gaze that he's not going to stop.

"Daemon, stop!" you gasp, trying to sound serious. But then it happens. You cry out again slightly as the pressure suddenly eases, then moan out loud.

Daemon grunts loudly, swallows all your elixir and savours how you lose yourself completely in ecstasy. When the overwhelming feeling subsides, you look down into his eyes again. Your breathing hasn't calmed down yet, your cheeks are all flushed. Daemon sucks on your pearl one last time before letting go of you. You move slightly away from his face as his lips release you. A grin plays around his lips – his lips and chin are soaked.

You bite your lips a little embarrassed, "Daemon... I-I made a mess," you whisper.

Daemon wipes his mouth with his hand and pulls you down to him in one movement, wrapping you in his arms.

"I don't want to hear that, love..." he murmurs, showering you with soft kisses.

"My wife won't apologise for the climaxes she's about to experience... I want her to enjoy the full ecstasy," he whispers.

You look at him and suddenly a warmth flows through you that has never made you feel so good. You lean your head slightly in his direction and kiss his lips, your lips meet almost greedily and move in unison.

Over the muscles of his chest and stomach, your hand glides gently to his crotch and he responds with a slight growl as you rub his hard manhood, which presses almost desperately against his undergarments.

"Love... don't start something you can't finish..." he whispers against your lips.

But your fingers continue to glide slowly along his length, "Then.. show me how to finish it," you whisper a little shyly.

Daemon hesitates, looking at you questioningly as you suddenly free yourself from his arms and move downwards, just grinning slightly. As you kneel between his legs, you pull his undergarments down. His hard member springs free and you bite your lips as you see it twitch slightly.

"Show me..." you whisper a little uncertainly and look up at him a little helplessly. But Daemon just nods slightly and guides your hand to his hard member.

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @bl4ckph0enix @autumnhymns @fan-goddess @msmorningstaarr @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbitchlibrary @aemondsbabe

[xxaraaq]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙑𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙚

masterlist

Synopsis | Alicent is a Godly woman who's morals stand high above everything else. She's given everything she's supposed to to the realm. She is so selfless, so fucking her husbands brother is the one thing she can keep to herself, right?

Word count | 1.5k

cw | Infidelity, spoken violence, corruption?

Authors note | Hi y'all. I know I haven't posted in literally the longest time ever but if I'm being honest I've been fighting with life it up until about a week ago it was beating my ass. Anyways, I'm back now, and I hope that this will make up for it, enjoy! Not edited.

She is a good queen.

That’s what she thinks to comfort herself whenever the regrets of her past set in.  She has done her duty to the realm, giving birth to formidable sons and a beautiful daughter. She did what she was supposed to do, she just happened to do it with the wrong man.

No one could blame her for her choices. Her husband, a now senile, miserable old man who had no romantic love for her, failed in his role as her source of comfort. Once Rhaenyra went off and fucked her uncle in a brothel, she felt as though she had no true friends, no real allies.

No one except you.

You were the youngest of you, Viserys, and Daemon. Meaning that you had no real responsibilities. You had close to if not no chance of inheriting the iron throne, and you accepted it. Instead of struggling futilely trying to climb your way up the line of succession, you sat back, kicked your feet up, and enjoyed the life of a royal, of a Targaryen.

With you and Alicent being so close in age, you only being four years her senior, she found it easier to converse and jest with you compared to her husband and virtually everyone else around her. You were light hearted, a companion she often sought the company of. And even though her fathers concern grew about the influence you have on her that grows with each passing day, she paid it no mind. After all, she was the queen, and no one could tell her no.

It was the day the ‘rumors’ spread about Rhaenyra that you swooped in. Exhausted, you were the first person she went to to deliver the news. 

“Your sister has ruined almost any chance she has at marrying a suitable lord.” Alicent huffs, pacing back and forth around the room. You chuckle, amused by the entire ordeal. “She is a princess, maiden or not, my brother will surely find a wealthy husband for my niece.” You say, trying to ease her nerves. It obviously doesn’t help, her looking at you like you have two heads. “This is nothing to joke about. Your niece might run your entire house into ruin with the horrid accusations circling about. Have you no care in what happens?” She yells, desperate to get you to understand her frustration in it all. “Accusations? Alicent, my closest friend, you are no fool. You and I both know she fucked my brother in a whorehouse. You can speak freely with me, I promise you that.” You stand from your chair, making your way towards her. You love your niece and brother, but you’re also not one to deny the truth.

A tear slips from her eye, the stress of it all pouring down on her. “Oh, my dear, don’t cry.” You cup her face in your rough hands. A chill runs down her spine, something she’s never felt before. The look you have in your eyes is not what she’s seen from you before. Your eyes are dark, a smirk on your face that means nothing but trouble.

“You are a good woman, I must say. A loyal wife, an obedient daughter, a great friend. You never fail to be there to fulfill the needs and wants from others around you. But what about your needs, hmm?” You ask, tone sultry with an emotion she can’t pinpoint. “I-I don’t understand what you mean.” She stutters, growing shy from your demeanor. “You know what I mean, Alicent. When’s the last time you’ve truly felt fulfilled? Rhaenyra is too busy chasing after Daemon like a lost pup to spend time with you. Your husband is still stuck on Aemma even though he’s the reason she passed on in the first place, God's rest her soul. And your father, as much as he may love you, sees you as nothing more than a tool. I am the only one who has genuine intentions for you. The only things I care about ensuring is your well-being and happiness. A life full of not knowing what it’s like to be pleasured and to bring pleasure is not one worth living.” 

She knows that you mean this deep down in your heart, and that makes her want to give in all the more. ‘We can’t, what if someone finds out?” She asks, fear covering her features. You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Who would be so impudent as to try and tell the King that his youngest brother is fucking his wife?” You say. 

She thinks for a second, then two, then three. “I’m… I’m not certain that having an affair would be for the best.” She says, backing away until she hits the edge of a table. “Let me show you what I could do for you, please? If you don’t like it, just say the word and I’ll never make an advance again, I promise this to you.” You almost plead, desperation laced through every word you speak. You have to have her, you’re sure you’ll die if you don’t.

Her silence fills the room, making your heart beat all the more harder. You almost dropped to your knees to thank the Gods for having you in their favor the moment she nodded her head yes. It was slow at first, a kiss on the neck, a light caress on her thigh, but then you stopped holding back, and you took her to that table in a matter of minutes. You held your hand to her mouth, trying to keep her as quiet as possible as you fucked into her tight cunt with a fervor you’ve never felt before. Everything about her drove you crazy as you corrupted her. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the way she so futilely used her hand to try and push you from her as your thick cock plowed through her. 

Your secret relations kept on through the years, past the birth of Ageon and the rest of the children. The both of you knew that all four of them were yours, words not needed to be spoken to know that you were the one to sire the king's heirs and not the king himself.

As everyone grew, so did the tensions concerning the birth of your niece's sons. You had to laugh when you first saw Jace’s brown tufts of hair. How could she be so transparent about her infidelity? It was Rhaenyra’s actions that truly caused the hatred to stir within Alicent. You knew as well as everyone else that it was only a matter of time before things grew too large to keep a blind eye to it all.

The day that Aemond was maimed was one that nobody could ever forget. It was truly just a blurry haze of squeaky voices, deep insults, and the sound of a sheathed blade. The royal blood that covered the pavement that night would never be forgotten. You were the one that escorted the queen back to her room that night, providing an environment where her tongue could be as loose as need be. You shut the door, the creakiness that shows its age filling the silence. “That vile woman and her, her…” She couldn’t even get the words out, she was so furious. “Bastards? Say it Alicent, we all know it to be the truth.” You say, leaning against the stone wall. She groans, hand running over her face as she goes back to her habit of pacing the room. “The king is so shielded by the love he has for her, he can’t even see the vile things she has done.” She says, pupils so dilated with rage she can’t see straight. “Must I remind you that we are in the same boat as her, only that her’s has started to sink while ours stays afloat?” You say, quick to point out the sins she has also committed. The words catch in her throat, taken aback by your sudden correction. “Are you taking her side?” Her voice trembles with stress as she picks at her nail beds. “Do you not remember how I to this day sneak into you room through secrets passageways to fuck you to sleep every night? How I’ve filled your womb with so much seed I’ve impregnated you four times? Or have you forgotten how all our children are bastards as well?” You say, your voice sarcastically sweet as you grip her waist, pulling her backside flush to her chest. You lay kisses on her neck and shoulders, soothing her tenseness almost immediately. “What happened to our son is a tragedy that may never be avenged. But as he said, the reward for losing his eye was much greater than the pain he suffered.” You whisper in her ear.

She is a good queen, she thinks to herself. 

She is a good queen, even as she lets you fuck her up against the bed posts, mouth cover by your calloused hands once more to keep her muffled sounds of ecstasy hidden from the outside world

-Nene

[writingsofwesteros]

a smile from the Gods one shot please

AN: Hi , I hope you like it x

PART 1

The waves crashed against the harsh, cold stones with practised ease as the cold air moved over the cliff. It was as if the place itself was mourning with its grey skies and the threat of rain coming down. Not for the first time, did she believe herself to be an outsider even with her husband’s presence beside her. The farmer’s daughter is surrounded by royalty; so far from her once life. Her sweet boys clung to her skirts, their small bodies humming with shyness, while she stared straight ahead. As Lord Vaemond spoke; the words moved over them as her daughter subtly moved to stand in front of her mother. Her hand gently rested on her daughter’s shoulder; playing with those soft locks of hers - half to calm her own nerves.

Daemon subtly stepped closer to his wife; the rogue Prince could feel the stares coming their way and he fought against a smirk tugging on his lips. His pride was for all to see even as his wife’s shyness clung to her like a second skin. Lord Vaemod’s words only became quieter before finally coming to a close. As silence fell over the gathering, Daemon leaned closer to his wife. His larger hand found the curve of his wife’s back; a brief touch before he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. An act she could only lean into. Her shoulders eased if only slightly as his presence as ever brought her peace of mind - for now.

“Watch the boys,” he whispered in her ear. Those boys of his were quite mischievous once their shyness would escape them. Daemon knew this time would be no different. His wife only shared a knowing smile with him before nodding her head. His hand reached for his daughter’s curls before stepping towards his own brother. The unease settled in her stomach as soon as her husband was paces away from her; the desire for him to be close once more nearly overwhelmed her. A soft sound of footsteps drew her attention as she turned to see the Princess Helaena approaching with quiet grace and those bright eyes of hers; so like her own children locked on.

“You are beautiful,” Helaena’s words escaped her before she could comprehend, which was more often than not. A faint blush made its way over her cheeks, “Thank you.” The farmer’s daughter did not know what else to say - their worlds so very far apart and if she was honest; the Princess was slightly unnerving. Not that the children seemed to mind. It seemed her boys were forgetting their once shyness as her older one blurted out, “You have a dragon.” As if that was the most important aspect. And for his small mind, she imagined it was. He was, after all, so taken by his father’s dragons. The children’s own dragon eggs had still not hatched - much to their disappointment.

She watched as her children conversed with the Princess; the feel of unease slowly falling from her now. Before long, another set of footsteps approached again. This time more composed and steady; and they could only belong to the Queen. “Helaena, darling, it's time to go.” The Queen’s voice was softer than she had expected; Daemons’ words carried in her mind. “You smell like lemon cakes.” Her daughter whispered out before Helaena could answer her mother. A sweet laugh escaped the Princess and Alicent seemingly softened even more at the sound of it. “Your Grace, I'm –.” The apology was waved off elegantly; Alicent’s rings shining in the strong sunlight.

“Are you the Queen?” Her oldest seemed to follow his sister as his own words babbled out without warning. She could only watch on as Helaena gently took her daughter’s hand whilst the Queen turned to reply. “I am,” she whispered, kneeling slightly to be at their height. “That is the King with your father.” Alicent pointed over to where the two brothers stood. She watched as her son nodded seriously; taking in every word. The sight brought a soft smile to her face. Still, her shy boy stayed by her side and Alicent could also see the similarities with Aemond as she watched on. “I do believe there are some lemon cakes.” Alicent whispered as Helaena only tugged on her new friend’s hand.

“It seems Helaena has found a new friend,” Daemon’s wife could not describe the Queen’s tone and she worried a line had been crossed. Still, both women shared a smile as her hand reached for both of her sons to hold. “Come now,” she whispered down; her fingers moving through their locks - this time without the unease. Gracefully, she followed behind the Queen as the giggling of Helaena and her daughter only continued. The stare of the rogue Prince only followed her; not that his wife seemed to notice as she gracefully moved. Viserys could only watch his brother; the Prince’s facial expressions softened in ways the King had never seen before. Not even with his daughter. 

“Brother,” Viserys began as a flash of disappointment came over Daemon’s face as he was interrupted. “She is good for you.” The king continued as Daemon’s eyes flickered to his wife and their children who were easily growing from their shyness. “She is. Too good.” The rogue Prince admitted. Viserys could only watch on; half glad that his brother’s attention had fallen from Rhaenyra and half happy for him. It seemed all would be well. A moment of comfortable silence moved over the pair as Daemon only watched over his family some more. He did not even notice the stares coming from the realm’s delight.

Alas, the King did as he brought his brother’s attention back to him.

“Aegon, be polite.” Alicent scolded her oldest as the Prince could only pout; the goblet of wine was now taken from him. An amused smile tugged on her lips as she watched the exchange; it was a different picture than her husband had painted but he always was one to expand his stories, she thought to herself. The movement from her side caught the farmer’s daughter’s attention as she subtly turned her face. The Princess Rhaenyra herself was beginning to make her way towards her; with Alicent’s body straightening even more - if that was even possible. “Princess,” the words fell from her with ease as she gracefully bowed her head.

She could not stop her eyes from moving over the obscenely dark hair of Rhaenyra’s children but made no comment, not even mentally. “My Lady,” the Princess’ voice was calmer than she expected, especially after Vaemond’s not so subtle words. It did not seem to worry the Princess in the slightest and she nearly had to admire such a thing. It seems the Queen had the complete opposite mindset as the two women stared at each other for a second too long. “Alicent,” the Queen’s lips parted as if to speak when a large, rougher hand took her own. She would recognise her husband’s touch for as long as she lived. 

“Father, look.” Their oldest boy desired his father’s attention as Daemon pressed a soft kiss to her temple before turning to his son. She watched as he pointed to the rogue Prince the dragons set on top of the cliff. “Caraxes will become jealous, my son, if you start having other favourites.” Daemon could not help but tease. She could not stop the smile that tugged on her soft, plump lips as the conversations easily flowed before her.

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Innocent

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Targaryen reader Part two

————

The Red Keep had always been a place of shifting alliances, whispered treachery, and fleeting pleasures. Daemon Targaryen knew its games well. He had mastered them, weaponized them. But nothing—not his ambitions, his victories, nor his conquests—had prepared him for her.

The first time he saw her grown, the flickering torchlight caught in her silver-blonde hair, the Targaryen hallmark. She was laughing, a soft, musical sound, surrounded by a circle of sycophants who fed off her charm like moths drawn to flame. His niece. His blood. A princess, untouched by the sharpness of the world, standing at the precipice of womanhood with a naivety that only added to her allure.

Daemon had seen beautiful women before. He had bedded them, discarded them. But this… this was different. She was untouched by the grime of ambition, unaware of the power her very existence commanded. She was innocence wrapped in the fire of their bloodline.

It began as curiosity. He watched her during feasts, the way her lips curled when she smiled, the way she would tilt her head, curious and attentive, as someone spoke. She carried herself with a grace that came so naturally it seemed almost otherworldly. And yet, for all her poise, there was an edge of naivety that made her a temptation impossible to resist.

But as the days turned into weeks after his return, curiosity gave way to obsession. He found himself drawn to her in ways that unsettled even him. He would linger in the shadows, his violet eyes tracking her movements like a dragon circling its prey. When she spoke to others—lords, knights, even the handmaidens—Daemon’s blood would boil, irrational jealousy searing through his veins.

She didn’t see it, of course. How could she? She was too… pure. Too unaccustomed to the darker edges of human desire. And that was part of her charm. She wasn’t calculating, not like the women who adorned the court, who whispered sweet lies in his ears while plotting his downfall. No, she was genuine. She would look at him with wide, curious eyes, unaware of the storm she was conjuring within him.

And gods help him, she led him on. Not purposefully, no. But she didn’t shy away from him as others did. She would smile at him, her cheeks flushing faintly when he paid her compliments. She would laugh, soft and breathless, when he teased her. She would linger, just a moment too long, when he pressed his hand to the small of her back, guiding her through the crowded halls of the Keep.

Daemon knew it was wrong. She was young, unspoiled, untouched by the machinations of the court. But the more she smiled, the more she lingered, the tighter his obsession coiled around his heart.

He began to insert himself into her life. Offering to escort her to the dragonpit, where he’d watch her marvel at the great beasts, her eyes wide with wonder. He’d bring her small gifts—silk ribbons in the color of her house, delicate jewelry that seemed to glow against her fair skin.

And she accepted them all, her lips curving into that soft, innocent smile that made him feel like the most powerful man in the world.

But then, she would turn that smile on others. And that was when Daemon’s possessiveness would rear its head. A courtly knight who dared to compliment her gown. A visiting lord who kissed her hand a moment too long. He’d watch, his fists clenched, the urge to destroy them barely contained.

She didn’t understand the way his gaze darkened when she laughed at another man’s jest. She didn’t notice the way his jaw tensed when another dared to touch her, however briefly.

But he noticed. He noticed everything.

She was his. She just didn’t know it yet.

And so, Daemon began to weave his web. He would find ways to isolate her, to pull her away from the sycophants and suitors who sought her attention. He would whisper in her ear, his voice low and intimate, planting seeds of doubt about those who sought to court her.

“They don’t understand you, sweet niece,” he would say, his lips brushing against her ear as they stood on a balcony overlooking the city. “They don’t see you for what you truly are. They only see the crown, the power you represent.”

And she would look up at him, her eyes wide and trusting, and he would feel his grip on her tighten.

Daemon was a dragon, and dragons did not share. She was his treasure, his fire, his light in the darkness of the Red Keep. And he would burn the world before he let another man take her from him.

In her innocence, she didn’t realize the danger she courted. The way her soft smiles and shy glances fed the fire of his obsession. She didn’t see the predator lurking beneath the surface, the dragon poised to strike.

But she would.

Oh, she would.

[justmymindandstuff]

Jacaerys Velaryon:

Love doomed to fail (Jacaerys Velaryon x TargtowerReader) summary: The divide between the blacks and the greens is deep. A final attempt to overcome the hostilities is the betrothal between Rhaenyra´s eldest son Jacaerys and Alicent's younger daughter. A constellation that is cursed from the start. Especially if your heart belongs to someone else. Or maybe not?

What if/ KingJaceAU/noDanceAU Trust conquers fate [What if to Love doomed to fail] (Jacaerys Velaryon x TargtowerReader) summary: The realm is on the brink of war. Aegon has taken the throne from his mother. You and Jacaerys have the difficult task to bring peace between your families. A peace that can only be achieved if you trust each other. Is you love enough to save House Targaryen from destroying itselve? Or is it already too late? by your side (Jacaerys Velaryon x TargtowerReader) summary: As you go into labour with your first child, your husband Jacaerys is painfully reminded of his mother's death during childbirth. His thoughts go into a spiral. Even his unusual company cannot stop the fear from rising inside of him.

Cregan Stark:

his choice (Cregan Stark x WifeReader) summary: Cregan and you have lost your child. A miscarriage after only a few moons in your pregnancy. While you sink into your grief, Cregan has to deal with his Lords. Until they make a suggestion that drives Cregan to the brink.

color of the wolf (Cregan Stark x WifeReader) summary: It's the Harvest Festival in Winterfell. And Cregan is looking forward to an evening with his wife by his side. But your attention is constantly needed elsewhere. At some point he's had enough and takes matters into his own hands.

Sunrays and Snowflakes (Cregan Stark x MartellReader) summary: Jacaerys comes to Winterfell to secure the North for Queen Rhaenyra. He is greeted warmly and friendly. But Cregan doesn't like how friendly Jace is with his wife. But what can he say? You are a princess and he is a prince. Maybe this is the match you deserve.

Shadows of the past (Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader) summary: Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, is forced to remarry after the death of his first wife and childhood sweetheart. His new bride is the eldest daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce. Cregan fears the worst. But his wife is sweet, gentle, beautiful, kind. Everything he could wish for. He starts thinking you are slowly building a life together in the north, however he realizes that it is not as idyllic for you as he thought.

crushing worry (Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader) summary: You are happy and in love with your husband Cregan Stark. The birth of your first child is imminent. But something changes in Cregan and suddenly you feel overwhelmed by his protectiveness. Your husband seems to have forgotten that you are a dragon princess, you are not made out of glass.

your beloved Fury (Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader) summary: Cregan meets your beloved Dragon Vermithor for the first time. He is more than scared, he is terrified. Not that he would ever admit that to you.

Pact of Ice and Fire (Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader) series summary:In return for his support during the war, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen gives her only daughter to Lord Cregan Stark as his wife. Cregan's new wife is a fearless princess who doesn't shy away from defending her mother's claim. If necessary with fire and blood. Cregan is head over heels for his beautiful Lady Stark. But he must restrain himself, giving you time to get to know him and trust him. Little does he know that you, too, have already lost your heart to him. But war doesn't wait. moadboard jump scare summary: you and your twin Jacaerys follow Cregans invitation to the wall. As your Dragon refused to fly over the wall he sees a glimps of your temper. At that moment he knows that you, as the future Lady Stark, will bring trouble into Winterfells halls. Fiery suprise summary: On the way back to Winterfell, Cregan and his men go on a hunting trip, which ends with a fiery surprise. lets start with trust - smut/18+ summary:You and Cregan marry to seal the pact between Targaryen and Stark. Cregan gets a headstrong, wild princess as his wife. When it's time to retire to your marital chambers, you reveal your insecure side before melting in his arms.

Dutyfull Wifes (Cregan Stark x WifeReader) summary:You've been avoiding Cregan's touch all day. As you finally tell him the reason, his worst nightmare becomes true. He hurt his wife. The reason you didn't tell him sooner shocks Cregan deeply.

Aegon II Targaryen:

Dragons and Roses (Aegon II Targaryen x Y/N Tyrell) series masterlist summary: You are Helaena's childhood friend, your job at court is it to entertain the princess and be a friend to her. But often you crash together with her careless husband-brother Aegon, who gets on your nerves terribly. You try to be his friend but quickly realize that it's not just friendship that connects you two. You struggle with your father's expectations and goals, the rumors at court, and your own confusing feelings for a married man. Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4

Dawn and Dusk (Aegon II Targaryen x Sister (Reader)) - smut/ 18+ summary: Aegon was crowned king. He has stolen the throne from your half sister and war is at your doorstep. But you don't care about any of that the second his hands wrap around your hips. For far too long you have to miss your brothers touches because his kingly duties cost all his time. This night you give into your desires.

Helaegon:

Bounded by... (Helaena Targaryen x Aegon II Targaryen) Bounded by fire and pain (Helaegon// Green siblings) summary: In the night Aemond finally gets his dragon, he also loses an eye. Aegon can hardly bear the guilt and hatred. He can't stand the sight of himself. Strangely, the person who helps him the most is the last person he expected it from. His sister and future wife, Helaena. And somehow Aegon manages to find his place again. Bounded by fire and love (Helaegon) - smut/dark/18+ Summary: Aegon has tried to be a good brother. He knows he hasn't always been successful. Now the day he had feared has come, his wedding day. He must marry his sister and do his duty. Now he will drag her into his dark abyss with him. But Helaena surprises him with her desire and he manages to find comfort in her arms.

Helaena Targaryen:

My Mothers Rage (Helaena Targaryen) Summary: Helaena doesn´t talk much, but she sees everything. She sees how her father mistreats her mother. Heleana sees her mother slowly withering away and burning up in her anger. Her mother can't do anything, but Heleana sees and she doesn't forget.

Aemond Targaryen:

melting Ice (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) Summary: You are about to marry Aemond Targaryen. Your arrival at the Reed Keep is greeted with coldness and you have a hard time settling in and coming to terms with marrying into this strange family. But after a restless evening you can't take it anymore and go to talk to Aemond. This evening brings you and your betrothed a little closer as he lets you see behind his facade.

She was sunshine I was midnight rain (Aemond Targaryen x WifeReader) Summary: Aemond is Prince Regent. Finally he got everything he wanted. But was the way there the right one? Aegon was in his way and he had to go. Now Aemond and you can start to build the realm after you imagination. You and him can finally rule together. It doesn't occur to him that you don't want that at all.

Learn to Love you (Aemond Targaryen x WifeReader) summary: Aemond tries to understand his new wife, but you are too much like his sister. He can't get through to you. One evening he tries it with direct confrontation and is rewarded with a glimpse of you and hope for the future. After this evening his wife is not a complete stranger anymore.

sweetest flame (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) summary: Alicent invites to a gathering in the Red Keep. Aemond usually hates these kinds of distractions, but today is different. He knows you will be there. Now he just needs enough courage to talk to you.

Alicent Hightower:

everything he demands (Alicent Hightower) summary: Viserys demanded everything from her. He made her his queen and Alicent paid a high price for the crown. But now he wants to take her youngest son Daeron away. Alicent has to change his mind

Main-Masterlist

[earenwen-leafwhisper]

"Reject" Part 2 (Smut)

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem wife reader

Summary: Y/n finally put Daemon in her bed.

Warning: Smut. So minors, do not interact with this post.

English is not my native language.

Part 1 : Here

Masterlist : Ø

A little thank you for the like

The solid oak door slammed in a heavy noise. Y/

n had just come in after Daemon. He was standing with a smile on his face.

"So... my dear wife has a tongue."

"I’ll be clear. No more whore. No more infidelity. Even less insults. I’m sick and tired of your behavior."

The voice of Y/n did not leave room for a lament from Daemon. The tone of her voice was different, more assured.

Daemon looked at her in another way barely perceptible, far away was the shy young woman he thought to be his wife.

"Well, what are you gonna do?"

"Undress yourself. Completely."

"If my wife wishes." Daemon smiled curly.

Slowly, Daemon took the bottom of his tunic, lifting the fabric along his torso, under the eyes of Y/n. Daemon’s hair falls in cascade along his back and partly on his chest. The eyes of Y/n ventured on Daemon’s skin, skin she had never seen so much before.

Y/n thinks that she should have ordered Daemon to undress quickly, his slow movements adorning him for an eternity when he finishes removing his shoes, rising up to place his hands on his belt. The sound of the buckle was almost mocking her, when passing each hole in the belt. The worst part was that Daemon knew exactly what he was doing. The lasing of his trousers was not of an unnamed complexity, yet it seemed to be a padlock without key, so that a deformation formed more and more against the lashing.

Y/n tried to keep a calm breath. But how to do when the man in front of you is a beauty, who decides to tease you? It's with a great self-control, that Y/n, didn't jumped on him to rip off his remaining clothes.

In a fluid movement, the pants fell along his legs to his ankles followed by his underwear, releasing his thick, hard manhood, one of two thicker veins ran through his cock from the base to the tips. The tips was not offset, a drop of pre-sperm flowed from the tips.

Y/n unconsciously squeezed her thighs and moved her hips in order to create friction, a heat and wet clenched more and more present between her thighs. Y/n wanted to get close to Daemon, go through her hands along the skin of her husband, finally discover his body, but she knew very well, that first she had to teach him a lesson. A lesson, on how to treat your wife.

With a movement of the head, she pointed him the bed. Y/n watched Daemon move towards the bed, watching him lie down.

"Raise your arms above your head."

The tone of her voice was calm, her anger always present, even if diminished at the sight of Daemon naked form on her bed. Daemon wanted to protest, but raising his arms, as looking at y/n who opened a drawer and pull out leather straps. Surprised would not have been the appropriate adjective to Daemon’s feelings seeing the straps.

"You’re going to be a good husband." Y/n started tying Daemon’s wrists to the head of her bed, avoiding hurting Daemon.

Daemon tested the straps, but quickly understood that these were well attached. He noted mentally that he had to ask how it was that she had thoses. Over all know how to tie them.

Daemon shook his head slightly, before looking in the direction of his wife, who was beginning to undress. His erection was starting to hurt. The anticipation palpable. "Fuck... she is beautiful..."

Daemon growled when Y/n sat on his hips, refusing any contact between his cock and pussy. He pulled his arms but was stuck.

"No, no... first of all, you’re going to prove to me how skillful you are with your tongue."

Y/n slowly pulled up Daemon’s body, even if she didn’t want to show it. She was going to take her pure pleasure from him.

Daemon growled when he saw the pussy of Y/ n, his eyes dilated, he breathed deeply, smelling the sweet smell of his exitation. He pulled on his traps, he wanted to put his hands on her thighs to make her sit against his face, it frustrated him to not to be in control. Feeling the tension rising, Y/n sat gently on Daemon’s face, her husband’s breath made her tremble without being able to control herself, a slight moan coming out of her mouth at the touch of Daemon’s tongue, Y/n held back at the head of the bed, before dropping her hips on Daemon’s face.

Daemon who discovered that his wife was most delightful. He, who had never lowered himself to ear the pussy of one of the prostitutes, discovered the pleasure and taste of his wife and how much he did not wanted to stop. Daemon licked and sucked the big and small lips, collecting the pleasure fluid of Y/n with his tongue, his nose by moment rubbing on the button of pleasure, swollen of Y/n. He pulled on his traps, wanting to grab the thighs of his lover, to stick it more against him.

"D... Daemon!..." Y/n began to move her hips, rubbing openly against his face.

"That’s right, go on." Daemon smiled full teeth before plunging back into the nectar.

Daemon’s erection was at its peak without him or her even touching, it bounced against the belly of Daemon. He wanted terribly to caught Y/n, to turn her and take her with force, to finally feel her sweet pussy enveloping him in its warmth. But more than anything, he wanted to see the pleasure in the face of Y/n. Because now he understood what he had missed.

"I want to feel you in me." The voice of Y/n was filled with desire.

If at any time Daemon would have thought that his wife would give him the impression that his heart was going to explode when he heard her desiring him. He would have thought he was crazy. But the vision of Y/n completely naked, straddling him, her pussy against his cock, moving in a slow up and down. He didn’t care that he was seen as completely crazy about Y/n.

"Release me... let me touch you..."

Y/n seemed hesitant, her hands trembling softly, Daemon’s eyes following the slightest gesture.

He sigh when the traps were untied. Without waiting any longer, he passed his arms around the body of his lover, turning them over, placing his body between her legs. For the first time since their marriage, Daemon kissed her, far away was the little kiss. Daemon embraced Y/n with passion, moving his hands wherever he could, marking every inch of skin. His lips moving with his hands, sucking, marking Y/n finally as his wife.

Their hips moved against each other, creating a friction of the most excise. One of Daemon’s hands walked the side of Y/n’s body, moving to her thigh, where he grabbed the muscle/fat, his grip was going to leave marks the next day, but neither of the two thought about it.

"You’re so wet... so ready for me..."

Daemon placed a finger between the small lips of Y/n, before slowly entering her. Y/n moans softly of discomfort, before the movements of in and out makes her replacing the discomfort by pleasure. Daemon took his time, preparing her pussy for his dick. A second finger was buried in this soft, warm and wet space, where he made a scissor movement.

"Y/n...." Daemon had rumbled her name, feeling her moving her hips against him.

Daemon looked at her, looking in her eyes, her movements.

"D... daemon... please..."

"Patience, love, patience..."

Y/n began to see stars, her legs trembled more and more, her hips were seeking for contact with Daemon’s hand. Her moaning does not end. It is at that moment that she felt it, the point of no return. Her ears whistled as she closed her eyes, the only sound coming from her throat being the name of Daemon.

Daemon looked at her, finding that the woman in his bed was even more beautiful in this moment of pure pleasure. He waited a minute for her to take back her breath, before placing his tips against her entrance.

"I’ll take you now..." his voice was hoarse. "Is that still what you want?..."

Y/n opened his eyes to look at him, really look at him. The man above her, long silver hair, fell on her, Daemon’s chest was covered with sweat, his breath fast, his eyes filled with a desire... a desire never seen before. There was something else in his eyes.

"Yes... I want you..."

Something she saw the first time in Daemon. At the moment their hips were touching, he, being completely inside her. Y/n could see a birth of affection, in his eyes. An affection that she hoped. One day would become love.

------

Ps : Hello, I hope this part 2 was good, thank you for reading so far, I’m sorry for the mistakes in the spelling and grammar that are sneaking like every time. It’s been a long time since I had written smut, I hope it was not a disaster or too "nice" ^-^ '

Tag list : @avalyaaa @immyowndefender

[visenyaism]

assume fire and blood 2: electric boogaloo has the same issues with writing women as the first volume. which of the remaining targaryen princesses and queens in the family tree do you think would slot into the sexy tomboy category, the submissive waif category, and the evil femme fatale category? and who you think is going to be the rare well-written female character (my money is on elaena)

I don’t want to put people in categories like this because i want fire and blood 2 to be less sexist even though I know it won’t be. Heres some predictions though:

Morning gets poisoned in Oldtown because they want to kind of confirm the maesters are up to something. Rhaena dies of grief or childbirth or being a woman over the age of 35 in these shortly after.

Laena Velaryon has a kid with some random and then goes on a voyage to Valyria to find Elissa Farman’s dragon eggs and disappears.

Baela Targaryen early Blackfyre loyalist even though she dies when Daemon Blackfyre is like 5 years old because she is team let Daena do whatever she wants. She has a meeting in the capital with Viserys like 3 days before Baelor gets maybe-poisoned which could mean nothing.

Daeron Dreamer and Dae2mon Blackfyre hook up #real

All of Maekar’s siblings and children are described as “exceptionally pale” because GRRM’s racist freak advisors need everyone to know that even though they are half to three-quarters dornish everyone involved in this story is Whiiiiiite.

Every single Blackwood character gets the hereditary archery powers. Missy has a close call where she tries to shoot Barba Bracken and pins her braid to a tree. We already know Bloodraven shot Daemon Blackfyre but one of his sisters actually helped (the other one didn’t because she was too sweet and shy see this is fire and blood.) Betha Blackwood is a trick shooter who can thread a needle with a bow and arrow from 20 yards out and this is how she met Egg.

Aelora Targaryen mystery still a complete mystery.

In the interest of complicating the narrative, Bittersteel is now an antihero and Daeron II gets the Jaehaerys treatment. Fire and Blood II gets accused of being pro-Blackfyre.

Shiera and Shaera are both pro-valyrian revanchists we learn nothing of real import about. Shiera disappears off the face of the earth but someone matching her description is seen leaving Summerhall right after it happens

One of Eggs non-entity sisters is a lesbian and the other is a Septa

[elodieunderglass]

I've been rotating your horrible horse family in my head and the image of the Horf Children (C) sittibg on/by the couch when you talked about Charlie's sense of self has stuck with me. Specifically, the way that Colm is fretfully patching up Killie. It makes me wonder if he ended up getting first aid training or even going and becoming a vet - since that would be the only way his family would allow him to study something medical, because then they'd not need to pay a vet to deal with Horf Problems and could even charge other people for it, and thus get some use out of their longshanked youngest. I looked through your blog, though, and it seems that nobody actually knows what Colm even does. He's just sort of around.

Anyway, all this to say, daemon for Colm?

Ohh of course! Colm is an Irish Setter - I mean -

I mean in a Horse Dynasty daemon!AU, he'd have an Irish Setter daemon.

You see the vision.

and within this vision I have to admit that I've been as bad as his whole family re: the utter unforgivable flaw of overlooking Colm. It's very very bad of me! Colm is the Head Lad at the training yard, really, and that's enough of a job for three Colms and a five-book series. and I'm the one who overlooked that! Just as bad as the rest of them! I just waved my hand and says "oh whatever, he's mostly just there because Killie has to be a Tormented Oldest Child and needed a sufficiency of siblings. Lives at home and does horse jobs all day. Drives a Land Rover when you need a Land Rover idk. I literally never think about Colm" - as if being a racehorse groom isn't an entire microcosm of the universe. As if Head Lad isn't the polestar of a training yard. Just because he isn't Killie! Just because he's too heavy for a flat jockey, and lacks the courage for a steeplechaser, and just because he's too shy and quiet to be front-of-house in the industry. He's Head Lad! What was I THINKING!

I ought to do a post about what actually goes on in a racing dynasty's training yard - oh, my friend, it is a VAST and FASCINATING secret engine, full of mad people devoting their lives, hearts and souls to an ancient and arcane calling, which the outside world doesn't really care about.

Colm would have made a brilliant farrier or vet (and that's what Charlie would have personally done, before returning home to be Patriarch) but the Horse Dynasties keep people close, and often have a working-class sort of suspicion of studying away, when there's so much work to do at home. It would have been good for Colm, but he IS a busy person.

The Training Yard is essentially a company, comprising the training yard itself, the old stud, stabling for 100+ horses-in-training, and housing for 30+ family members who live in farmworkers' cottages and properties around the land, and who provide labour in exchange for housing/jobs/access to Horsefulness, without which many of them cannot imagine living. Bill is the Trainer, but is also Landowner of all the property including everyone's house, CEO of the family business, Front of House and All The Bleedin' Paperwork and Strategy for 100+ Individual Beasts. Ciara is the Trainer's Assistant (Dad's disability being a bit of a problem for some parts of his job), Colm is Head Lad (Stable), Bren'n'Blaw are Dodgy Deputies/Head Lad'n'Lass (Travelling, And Getting Too Old For It), and cousins of working age fill in varying roles from stablehands/grooms/work-riders/jockeys/greenkeepers/groundskeepers/odd-jobs.

Jockeys and stable staff suffer being diminutive'd a lot, which makes their jobs sound small, and Lad is a pretty dismissive term - but Head Lads and Lasses are the leaders of an army of stable staff. And Head Lad of a 100+ horse 30+ staff racehorse training stable is chief and represents home while the Travelling Lad is thain and represents road a job that can easily absorb every hour of a life. He gets up at 4:30 am, feeds (every horse a different diet) and waters and grooms and cleans stalls, supervises the staff, organises the exercise riders and rides out himself, skips lunch, sorts out which horses are going where, ships them off, stays home if needed (the vet/farrier/dentist/owners/feed merchant is coming) or supports the Travellin' Lads by driving the horsebox himself, possibly to England (everyone got their passports?), unpacks and sorts out the ENTIRE race day, chucks the jockey on top, takes the horses home - or else is at home, dragging Dad off the feed merchant. And he's the partial caretaker of retirement-age father who thinks a spinal injury can be shrugged off lightly, if you have feed merchants to tackle. Bandages, liniments, fielding random rich owners who drop in to see their babies-in-training. Ciara appears with snotty enquiry about location of specific bay colt, discovered placed by groom in wrong stall: Head Lad's fault. Outbreak of worrying symptoms traced to panicked groom putting in too much sanitiser in the bit-cleaning buckets at that end of the yard. Horse hydrotherapy for the ones who get that, which is also Colm hydrotherapy (he does not want it).

A hundred horses tucked into bed, thirty people are mad at you, and the kick you took seems to be bruising nicely; workday ends 7 pm. Cousin Bartley has left dinner in the slow cooker - some sort of low-calorie vegetable stew and brown rice - as if anyone in the house ever eats. Racing Post, help Dad unpick lost 3000 euros in accounts (mislabelled - Ferry Crossing Fees (racehorse) mixed up with Ferry Crossing Fees (travel costs) (happens all the time) (Bill has 24 excel spreadsheets open at a time and uses computer as ashtray). shower, laundry, bed. No weekends or holidays off, and if you have pneumonia, no you don't. Ciara sneaks off to drive 40 minutes to Dublin for aspect of mysterious social life, but Head Lad has 4:30 am start so doesn't do that.

Receive, with silent warm glow, a text from Killie reading "K?"

Text "K, u?" with all of your painful overflowing silent affection. He puts a thumbs-up emoji on it, and you miss him so much you have to read a book before falling asleep or you'll think about it.

Sometimes Colm eats dinner, though he never gets a lunch.

References: Meet John Gosden's travelling head lad | "When you work with these horses every day (their interior lives) become second nature to you; but that's the travelling lad's job, to make sure it is second nature."

Kick the Latch by Kathryn Scanlon - sparse nonfiction book weaving together interviews with an American woman racehorse groom. (misidentified around the internet as a "horse trainer" but she was a professional groom.)

#RacingStaffWeek | 🗣 Meet Simon Olley, Head Lad at Philip Kirby Racing "It's a hard job - you have to be prepared to give up your Christmases and Bank Holidays, and things your mates wouldn't give up; but if you work hard, it's rewarding."

A Day in the Life of a Racehorse - a senior travelling groom talks through her day, which starts at 4:30 am. the groom is the one who intimately knows everything about the horse, and the jockey is a just a piece of lightweight dandelion fluff that they throw on top of their prized treasure.

https://www.horseracing.co.uk/news/bryony-frost-who-makes-up-a-racing-team/ jobs in a training yard and what they do.

those are some things stable staff may do in a day.

[ophelieverse]

I have an idea,Lia angel🪽can you please write Daemon x Hightower!reader where she is Otto youngest daughter and she is religious like Alicent and her father betrothed her to Daemon?Maybe with a little bit of 😏😏Thank you my angel🤍🤍

⊱ •There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

-Summary:In order to gain full power,Otto Hightower betrothed both of his daughters in the House of the Dragon.

-Warnings:Age gap,a little bit of smutty time,religious topics.

-Thank you for requesting and let me know what you think🫶🏻🩷

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The wind that caressed her bare back no longer carried with it that scent of saltiness that had weighed down her nostrils and kneaded her mouth,while sobs,wheans and bells had shaken her violently in following the ship and the wake of foam that moved away from the beach of Dragonstone and disappeared beyond the horizon.

It had become a pleasant breeze with floral and fruity hints,which rippled her skin filling her with chills,although Lady Y/n Hightower,youngest daughter of Otto Hightower the Hand of the King,was not cold.

She could not feel cold under the scorching sun of the island on which she had been abandoned by her family.Her father who gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and her older sister who cried silently with her,to be alone with her betrothed,the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, not when it was her own body that radiated heat,turning it on from the inside.

Maybe earlier,those days were her father gave her the information of his new plan.Before,perhaps,she had perceived the icy breath of what being married to a man like her future husband would mean,but now... Now those endless tears that had blinded her eyes and moistened her beautiful face had also dried.

«Father,Smith,Warrior,Mother,Maiden,Crone,Stranger.»Y/n whispers those names in her mind with her eyes closed,as if praying could purify her of what is happening to her body.

By the way Daemon hands creep under her nightgown and run through her skin,lingering on places she never dared to explore even on her own.Her hands instead she’ll the rosary of the Seven,to prevent herself from pushing him away or to bring him even closer.

Her whole body felt on fire,her immaculate skin was covered in goosebumps as the night sky engulfed her figure.Daemon had been waiting for her body,for her mind,soul and heart to be completely his.Maybe he suggested to Larys Strong to suggest to that cunt of her father to have her hand to him out of spite,maybe he did because Y/n had always been kind and gentle towards him unlike her father.

What he was certain of was that in that moment she looked like a holy figure,with her hair all sandy,her lips swollen,the skin of her jaw still covered in spit and wine.She looked like one of those gods that she loved tho pray and only now,taking in every inch of her body,he understood why people were religious.Why they needed something to turn to,someone to get on their knees for and chant their names.

Daemon wasn’t a religious person,but he liked to think that the gods had made Y/n just for him.

It was easy in the beginning,when it all started just to see Otto Hightower rage as the prince gave his younger daughter all those attentions.But after a short time,Daemon started to realize that there was something more that was pushing him to always look at her,to caress the back of her neck,to toy with her hair.

It was only when she told him that she prayed for him every night before going to sleep,that everything changed.No one has aver prayed for Daemon,maybe his brother had prayed him to change,but he never went down to his knees before his bed and asked to the gods to always protect him.

From that day he started to pay her more attention,to see the shy way she carried herself,always looking down at her feet,never saying anything without being asked.Always at her father side.She was wasted like this,such a young and beautiful girl that could bring the whole world to its knees to worship and cherish her just like the goddess she was.

When Daemon had caught the whispers of her father wanting to send her back to Old Town to become a Septa,he had to intervene.

He knew Y/n wouldn’t never gave herself to someone like him willingly,not without a promise.And so it was done,in less than a month they would’ve been husband and wife and he could have all the time to see her shine for who she really was,without the dark cloud of her father shadow on her.

Daemon wanted her to want him as he wanted her.Desperately.He wanted to make her shiver from his touch,he wanted to hear her voice breathless and shaky.Oh he wanted to hear her say his name like a prayer,like he was her new god.Full of devotion.

«You should stop crying,Y/n,am I hurting you?»Daemon murmured above her chest,his eyes not leaving the precious and untouched skin of her breast.

«T-that's not what I want.»she lied,her voice was weak and she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

Daemon takes her nipples in his mouth,one at a time and she can’t stop them from becoming erect and turgid.Her mother made her believe that no one could suck her breasts except her children,that sex was only meant for child-bearing but right now Y/n feels anything but a mother and a pure virgin.She felt dirty,she felt like a whore,she felt good for the first time in her life.

«You are a liar.»her betrothed taunted her,his rosy lips were soft,his tongue warm and wet made her thighs clench.

«Father,Smith,Warrior.»she whispered again,one of her hands was now grasping at Daemon long silver hair as he groaned.

Y/n dwells on those figures with a hint of fear,aware that none of them will come to save her now.Not her father who sold her to the Rogue Prince in marriage.Not the warrior,her sworn protector,that was waiting at the castle for Daemon to be done with her before escorting her to her maidens.In the absence of the smith,her father trusted a demon,Larys Strong,and his advices to strength Alicent oldest son claim to the throne by forging their union just to have Daemon on their side against Rhaenyra when war will come.

«You want this.You want me.»Daemon said looking up at her with lustfull eyes,releasing her nipples.

Y/n face was burning red,her lips were quivering with soft prayers«You should s-stop.»she pleaded.

He was still holding her,his fingers felt like pure fire on her ribs.He kissed his way down from under her breast,savoring the sweet perfume of strawberries and the clean and sinful taste of her immaculate skin.

«Stop where?Here?»he asked,he bit and sucked right under her ribcage making her gasp.

His hands were hiking up the gown of her white nightgown,the smooth and silky texture of her bare legs made his head spin.

«Daemon.»she called for him breathlessly.

«What do you want?Tell me,my beautiful princess.»he whispered.

She tries to stay motionless like a statue,but her body trembles,quivers,while he puts a finger in her and then a second, making her find her more wet than she would have liked.

Her language pronounces aloud the names of the Seven,to prevent herself from yelling at him to stop or to keep going forever.

«You want all this, you want me.»he reminds her,taking in all of her beauty.

«How could I?You're a horrible man.»

She spreads her legs wide and feels him rubbing the tip of his manhood erected against her opening without daring to enter yet,and she hates herself for how reflexively she pushes her pelvis against him,for how she widens her legs even more.

«Maybe you're horrible too.»

Y/n head was spinning and it was difficult to remember how that change had happened,how she had started crying at the betrayal of her family when shortly before she had found herself aching for him,for the man above her as the most unfortunate of disasters;nor how she had come to grasp with her lips a pasty and strong flavor, capable of awakening every sense,capable of awakening in her new desires and instilling new life in her.

When Daemon had walked her to a secret area on the beach of Dragonstone and eased her thirst with the most intense,tasteful wine of the known world she had found herself on her knees for him.Till a week before she used to lift her gowns and get down only to pray her gods,now she was doing for the man that her father had raised her to despise and she loved it more than the gods her mother had taught her to worship.

Then she had found herself laying on the cold and wet sand,Daemon on her like a beast on the pray.

Y/n followed with her tongue the route of a thick drop and found a small bump in her mouth.She enclosed it inside and sucked so as not to disperse any of the spicy notes of that purple liquid.The fingers that had played with his long moon hair tightened their grip in a tacit warning and she chased another trail finding herself flattening her tongue on solid muscles,provoking them with the tip to make them contract and relax to their liking.She sucked in other stylls and bit the skin she found underneath to memorize its texture and remember how even the salty of the sweat could turn into sugar.

She knew that the gift,which was dripping from that chest and which had been offered to her so generously, was not to be wasted and she would savor it greedily.

«Good princess.»Daemon had praised her,his eyes,of the same color of the wine,capturing her every movement.

Y/n blinked and the blurred view allowed her to admire the work of a skilled sculptor.The advent of the chest she was worshipping,stained with other droplets waiting for her passage,caused a wave of desire in her belly.Those paths she was entering would soon lead her to the place where she would finally find peace and a new pang of anticipation caught her unprepared.

She strove to bring back to mind how she ended up like this,on her knees for him.A man with the blood of the dragon in his veins,a man who was undoubtedly a deity:he had dazzled her with an estatic vision of immortal creatures singing and dancing,so colorful and lively that he enchanted and chained her to them.And that drink she had tasted first from his cup,then from his hands and, finally,from the rest of his limbs.

Y/n kneeling between the sea and the rocks, looked up at him eyes and,all of a sudden,she didn't care about anything anymore.Her pupils burned,foamed like the liquid she was collecting,and rested her soul.

Then she had found herself underneath him and somehow,she also founded the strength to pray for forgiveness.For the person she was about to become,for the person she was letting him create.

Maybe she was horrible too.

«I want to be.»she whimpered against his mouth«I want to be just like you.»she pleaded,scratching down his back,the rosary long forgotten on the cold sand.

Mother,Maiden,Crone.

Y/n turns to those names but without really praying to them:she thinks of the Mother,the one that she had lost,the one that she had watched her sister turn into and who is the only definition their father had imposed on both of them,of the Maiden who she is no longer,of the Crone who she does not want to be yet.

And never,never,never like right now she was just Y/n,a woman,as she feels the member of Daemon finally slip into her to its entire length.The intrusion snatches a cry of surprise from her,but even though it’s the first time she feels no pain and she is amazed.

Her lips opens immediately when Daemon one’s looks for hers,his tongue caressing hers slowly as his arms brings her impossible closer to him,almost as he wanted to be one with her.

«Tell me that you are mine,Y/n.Not your father,but mine.»Daemon sounded desperate,moving in and out of her at a languid pace to savor more of the gentle creature he was corrupting.

«I’m yours.»she immediately answered him with a little moan«And you are mine?»she still had that white innocence in her that made him fall in love with her.

«Soon we will be one under the blessing of the Seven.You are mine and i’m yours.»he promised her and she believes him,he’s her new god,one that was created only for her to worship just like he worship her.

Daemon enters and leaves her at an increasingly rapid pace,sinking more forcefully at the end of that provocation;it should be a punishment, perhaps,it is instead for Y/n is a relief.It’s not a torture,not when he fills her,but the emptiness he leaves when all of this will end.She hates how her body does not consider that as a shameful act,making love before being married on the beach,a humiliation,as,in spite of everything,even her mind recognizes that disgract on his virtue infinitely more pleasant than the honest marital duty that her sister had told her about.

Stranger.Stranger.Stranger.

There is no other god left,as she opens her eyes and feels lost in her own release that hits her like the waves that crush on the shore.Daemon is not far behind her,his lilac eyes shining in hers as he empties himself in her.

Y/n surrenders to him,to the only true Stranger she knows,and thinks that after all she could also die in that moment,because she is dying less now than she died for all her life.Because being with Daemon couldn’t be worse than being with her father,because the unprecedented heat that explodes inside her suddenly can be nothing more than death itself.

She opens her lips and Daemon is the only name she outrageously prays as she opens her hands to hold him now to herself,to draw him closer instead of pushing him back,while he sinks for one last time.

The rosary breaks and the beads fall to the sand,like the gods it represent.

«I’m sorry.»he says.

«Everything is alright.»she says back.

Daemon lays on her and begins to caress her with an unexpected and inconsistent sweetness,like that remorse to which she gives voice,but which she understands after all.He would not have been able to ask for all this without offering her father to marry his daughter,because,in any case,if he had only asked for a fun night together she would have said no.

But now of her rabid cruelty nothing remains but a painful fragility;he is a god who falls too,a god who bows to her.It's ironic how she almost feels obliged to console him,to thank him for taking her away from her father hands.

«Thank you,my prince.»Y/n whispered.

Deamon closed his eyes,laying on her bare chest and enjoying the warmth of her skin«You're the only beautiful thing I will ever have,Y/n.I will make you a happy wife.»and he sounded sincere,she believed him.

Father,Smith,Warrior,Mother,Maiden,Crone,Stranger.

She no longer worships the gods now,because they are cruel,those who brand such a sweet pleasure as a sin.

She doesn't think about the gods anymore,Y/n, because now she knows what it means to be human.

There is no longer any god,not after the Hour of the owl,when Daemon gives unconditional whispers,love and mercy.Because he no longer needs blackmail as a pretext and Y/n no longer has religious images to hide behind.It was only them now,to believe in and to love.

«I love you.»he says

«I love you too.»she says back.