#became a whole dragon lord

[ravennhearted]

Sometimes I think about how Merlin took place over 10 years—a whole decade—and the thought of the show spanning that long feels entirely too long and like an infinite amount of time and that it can’t actually have been ten years

And then I think about how Merlin is 16-18 in the first season. And I just—

That means, at the oldest, Merlin was only 28. He wasn’t even 30

And then I just start losing my mind for a whole different reason

[athalantan]

I was detail-diving. Belaur was the oldest of the Warring Princes of Athalantar, and was 29 when El was 12. El's father, Elthryn, was born fourth. If we assume close births, then Elthryn was likely 26 when he was killed. Could've been a bit older but only by a year or two (god help their mother). That means he was likely 14 when El was born

[prokopetz]

Something I love about The Far Roofs is how much of a swerve its premise is if you're coming to it uninitiated.

Okay, so there's these talking rats with a culture of swashbuckling heroism – basic Redwall/Reepicheep stuff.

Also, there's a magical realm called the Far Roofs which exists above every human community, and that's where the rats go adventuring; a little weird, but you can see the precedents in popular fiction. It's like wainscot fantasy taken to its logical-yet-absurd conclusion.

By default, the game wants you to play as a fictionalised version of your (presumably human!) self and go up onto the Far Roofs to have adventures with the rats. All right, now it's coming together: it's like isekai fantasy meets The Muppet Show, with you as the obligatory human character, right?

Then we get to the nature of those adventures: the rats have this whole culture built around questing against beings they call "the Mysteries" – beasties with names like Harpy and Goblin and Unicorn. So basically it's a bunch of muppety rats on the roofs fighting Dungeons & Dragons monsters, and you go up and help them do it. Great.

And then you get to what the Mysteries are actually like, and... well, I'm going to let the following excerpt carry the weight here. (This particular bit of text also appears in a previously published work by the same author, so I'm not giving anything away that's still under wraps.)

Unicorn, which is named Numinous, dwells three steps away and beyond the world, but most often in the Farthest Roofs, where the Steppes of the Sky come down to touch the Vast and Earthen Court. There it is stepping upwards from the world, as it has always been stepping upwards from the world, caught in a moment of transcendent glory that does not complete. It simply is. Melanthios heard the footsteps of Unicorn. Melanthios heard the ringing of Unicorn’s bells. So Melanthios chased Unicorn off to the Farthest Roofs, and Melanthios did not return. Anton and Karel, who were his sons, were wiser than their father. They heard the bells but they did not follow. Instead, they memorized the scent. They gathered swords, and ropes, and nets, and they went out. They brought food and water and all manner of gear. They clung to the roofs with all four feet wheresoever after Unicorn they went. It proved no good. Anton looked up, and Karel to his brother. The world came down— That’s what Karel said. He had time to look away. He had time to bury his head in his paws. He did not see the fullness of Unicorn’s presence. He only saw Anton his brother become unreal. In the light of the moment of the Unicorn, Anton became as a paper figure in the fire. His reality burned out. His shadow seared into the roofs behind him. Where he’d stood, for just a moment, the Steppes of the Sky came down to touch the Vast and Earthen Court; and Anton was gone away. So Karel ran and Karel ran and Karel ran from the Unicorn; and all his life, he envied but was more fortunate than his brother.

These are gods. You're going up there to kill God.

Like, it's still silly wainscot fantasy with funny talking rats, but there's that tension. It's like if Fraggle Rock occasionally took a hard turn to serious cosmic horror – Lord Dunsany by way of Jim Henson – and that tonal juxtaposition was treated as something unremarkable.

Basically what I'm saying is go back The Far Roofs.

[ellastone-olsen]

Could I request something Rhaenyra x Stark!reader smut with them being feral codependent soulmates? I love that trope. They would totally be unhinged and in love wives together plus the fire and ice parallels 😭 Like after Laenor “dies”, Rhaenyra’s goes looking for a new spouse and runs into Stark!reader and it’s just love/obsession at first sight?

MY QUEEN IS CRUEL

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!Stark!reader

Summary: your family comes from Winterfell to the capital at the invitation of the Targaryen family. Princess Rhaenyra announced that she would choose a new spouse. Your brother was a contender from the House of Stark, but it seems to the princess that another contender from the rulers of the north is more interesting.

Warnings: NSFW 18+, soulmates dynamic, mentions of blood and alcohol, innocent reader, virginity loss, oral, fingering

Word count: 3.1k

AN: omg my first House of the Dragon fic, I hope I translated some titles and names correctly. Thanks for the request, it took me so long to write this, but I love Rhaenyra so much 💕

Rhaenys's bitter, heartbreaking cry is heard in the silence of the room. The woman looks at the burnt body that just a few minutes ago was her son. “Who allowed this?! Why wasn’t anyone around?!” Corlys embraces his wife in rage and grief. That day, sadness became the main companion of the grieving parents.

No one knows that on the shore, the one who is now considered dead is running towards the boat. Laenor Velaryon sails away to disappear forever from this life in which he was imprisoned. Rhaenyra gave him a chance at happiness and Laenor will not forget this.

Rhaenyra Targaryen is officially recognized as a widow. It is expected that rumors about the death of the princess's husband began to spread like a plague, from servants to other servants, and those to their families, from there the plague was transmitted to all seven kingdoms. Some believed in the official story, others, like the grieving mother, blamed the Targaryen family for everything, they said that the princess ordered the murder, that she was tired of her husband. But for Rhaenyra it was enough to know that this was absurdity and slander.

“So what are you going to do next?” Daemon approached unnoticed. Rhaenyra didn’t look at him, her gaze was directed far out to sea. "I think I'm looking for a new spouse." Damon thought the hint was crystal clear. He thought that she still wanted him, wanted to finish what they started that night all those years ago. “Rhaenyra...” He was interrupted, “No uncle, leave it alone. Kiss me and let me go. If you do not...” A ringing silence hung between them. The phrase did not need to be continued; he already understood it.

King's Landing was filled with lords, princes and princesses from all over Westeros. The royal family invited all the noble houses, announcing that the heir to the iron throne would thus choose a new life partner.

“I don’t understand why you took me with you.” Your carriage was approaching to the King's Landing. Your parents were, as always, calm and cool, as befits the Starks, the rulers of the north. Your younger brother looked around the windows excitedly, clearly excited about his first trip outside of Winterfell. “Your mother and I think that you also need to see the capital.” Your father, as always, spoke directly and to the point. You smiled bitterly. “Only we’re here to try to marry Rob to this pompous princess.” You didn’t hide your bias towards this whole thing, which was more like an auction. “Y/N just try to say something like that about the princess in public and you will disgrace the entire House of Starks.”

For the rest of the trip you rode in silence, only occasionally fiddling with the hilt of the sword hidden in a sheath under your heavy black coat. Perhaps you had a little curiosity about the princess. What does the one who will take the iron throne look like, against whom there was so much outrage just because she was a woman. You thought that she must be strong and stubborn just like her ancestors. The same as the previously lived Visenya about whom you once read.

The carriage stopped.

“Do I have to wear this? How will I take my sword with me?” Your mother stood in the chambers that had kindly been allocated to you and watched as a maid helped you lace up a black dress with antique long sleeves. “You don't need the sword today, honey. This is a royal ball and you are not a knight in service." You looked in the mirror, and even though dresses weren't something you wore often, it didn't look bad at all for your taste. Still, the velvet in tandem with the large fur coat that you took from Winterfell looked harmonious.

“But what if something goes wrong and I’m left without a weapon?” You insisted. After so many years of training, the sword became an extension of you, and going out without it was akin to death. "The Royal Guard will protect us all." Your mother tried to be gentle and calm your worries. The woman came up behind you and put her hands on your shoulders. “For just one evening, be a princess and not a rude warrior. For me." You covered her hands. "Okay, just for you."

All arriving guests entered the huge hall in turn, after which they were seated at long tables, which were bursting with an abundance of dishes kindly offered by the royal family. “The Starks of Winterfell,” the man shouted and your family entered the hall. You followed your parents straight to the table in the center, at which the Targaryen couple was already sitting with the king and that famous Princess Rhaenyra at their head. Finally, you were close enough that you could see a woman with dazzling white hair and sharp purple eyes. Your breath caught somewhere in the depths and you couldn’t look away. It seems at this moment the ice and skepticism inside you broke, burst into a thousand pieces. You had to lower your head according to the rules of etiquette, but you couldn’t tear yourself away from contemplation. And when she finally looked at you, when your eyes met, you realized that you had problems. “Your Grace, this is our son Rob and eldest daughter Y/N.” Your father, as the head of the family, introduced his children and added, “I hope that Rob can claim the place of your husband Princess Rhaenyra.”

At these words, you remembered why you were here and a little jealousy pricked somewhere in your chest. You were almost jealous of your brother. But who are you to be jealous, because you just met. This is all becoming too strange, but so tempting. You sat down and the evening began.

Wines of different varieties continually filled the glasses of rich gentlemen, everyone laughed, joked and discussed who the heiress would choose as her husband. The Lannisters were sitting next to you and you could hear snatches of greasy jokes about how their eldest son could have Rhaenyra in all poses. Anger boiled inside you, how could this bastard say such things about this woman. “And they also say that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The loud laughter of the Lannisters infuriated you even more. “Then your house is no better for having sworn allegiance to a whore.” You thought you said it quietly, but they apparently heard you.

“I didn’t hear what the pup from Winterfell was barking just now?” Everyone who was at your table fell silent and the whole room also paid attention to this. “I said what I meant.” The man was already deeply drunk and clearly in the mood for a fight. He stood up and you stood up next, you were the same height. “If you are so brave, then say out loud what you think of the princess.” Rhaenyra's purple eyes watched your quarrel carefully, it would be a lie to say that she did not look at you all evening, knowing that all the men in this room would be denied. She definitely liked your spark and wanted to see what happened next.

“I said that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The man said the last word slowly, syllable by syllable, everyone present was in suspense. King Viserys took out his favorite blade. "I'll cut out your filthy tongue." As soon as he finished the phrase, a knife, prudently hidden under a fur coat, appeared in your hand and pinned Lannister’s palm to the table. He tried to get it. “There are a lot of vital veins in this part of the arm; if you try to pull it out, you will bleed to death.” The white cloaks immediately drew their swords and stood ready. Rhaenyra's entire being was hypnotized in delight by your actions and words, at that moment she chose her spouse. The entire Lannister family stood up and was ready to tear you apart.

"Get them out." For the first time that evening, Rhaenyra's voice broke the silence of the event. The bastard's face lit up with a smile. “My princess, thank you...” But before he could finish speaking, the guards twisted his hands, pulling the knife out of his palm, causing the man to let out a bitter scream. The entire Lannister family was disgracedly eliminated from the feast; there was silence for several more minutes, only whispers were heard from different sides.

"What are you doing." Your father pulled you by the arm, urging you to sit down, and glared at you with eyes full of rage. “Your mother asked you not to take weapons with you.” “She asked not to take the sword, dear father.” Rhaenyra stood up. “Today, to our great regret, unpleasant and unacceptable events occurred for the royal court.” She paused, her gaze returning to you and a smile gracing her lips. “But let’s not let these events overshadow our holiday, let’s raise our glasses and have a feast.” The crowd cheered and raised their glasses as they praised Princess Rhaenyra's wisdom and resilience. The celebration continued until late at night, you drank several glasses of wine after the incident and by the end you were decently drunk.

All evening you kept looking at Rhaenyra, your head was filled with thoughts about how beautiful and wise she is, about how wrong you were, how you regret that you didn’t want to go to the capital. But then these euphoric thoughts were darkened by the fact of her imminent marriage to one of the men of these noble houses and perhaps even to your brother.

You headed to your chambers, every now and then passing by local servants. Your legs dragged you heavily, your mind only thought about taking a warm bath and washing away inappropriate thoughts about the heiress. The heavy door opened with a slight creak, letting you into the semi-darkness of the room. You thought that you asked the servants to extinguish all the candles, but for some reason they were burning. Your gaze caught on an unfamiliar figure standing with his back to you, and the knife that had recently been in the Lannister’s bastard was again in your hand, waiting to defend yourself from intruders.

"You're a little warrior aren't you?" A velvety voice broke the silence and the stranger turned to face you. You immediately lowered the knife. “Your Grace, forgive me, I didn’t know it was you.” You immediately bent your knee in front of her. You were absolutely at a loss and the whole situation was a little confusing, why was the princess, the heir to the throne, waiting for you in your chambers in the middle of the night? “No need for formalities, please stand up.”

She walked through your chambers looking at some of your personal belongings until she found the sword. “Oh, this is your main weapon, as I understand it, you don’t to swing a knife every time of course ...” she bent down to take a closer look at the sparkling silver blade. “Such a beautiful thing, to match the owner.” Her compliment made your already red cheeks flush. “Did you want to talk about what happened, Your Grace?” you desperately wanted to change the topic.

“Did your mother ever tell you the legend of soulmates?” You were dumbfounded by her question. “Your Grace, I don’t quite understand...” She continued to walk around the room. “Don’t they really tell such stories in the north?” Her tone sounded fakely upset. “They say I know one.” “Then tell me too.”

You didn’t understand anything, Rhaenyra Targaryen came to you at night to listen to fairy tales for children? Perhaps something was put in the wine and now you were hallucinating, but it seemed like everything looked real. The woman lit the fireplace and, unbecoming for a future queen, sat down on the soft fur in front of the fire. She looked up at you, inviting you to sit next to her, you obeyed. The crackling of logs, the heat of the fire and the soft floral perfume of Rhaenyra lulled to sleep.

“My mother... told me when I was a child that there was a belief...” you cleaned the throat. “That every person has their own soulmate, but not everyone is able to find it, it’s like a person who was created by the seven gods just for you.” Rhaenyra began to unravel her tight braid; her head began to hurt unpleasantly from her hairstyle. You watched out of the corner of your eye as her snow-white strands gradually fell onto her shoulders. “And how do you understand who exactly your person is?” She encouraged you to continue. “I don’t remember exactly, but they said that when you see him or her, you will immediately understand, just the first glance or the first meeting and…boom.” "Boom?" She asked again, not quite understanding your strange wording. "Yes." You were looking at the burning logs when Rhaenyra's hand covered yours. She has already unbraided her hair. “Do you want to brush them?” Something strange was clearly happening. But who are you to refuse, you nodded and took the wooden comb brought from Winterfell from the nightstand. Hands carefully took strands of silver hair and combed them, as if they would break from the wrong movement.

“Do you believe in this legends?” You thought for a second. “I’m not sure, or rather I didn’t believe it before, but now these fairy tales don’t seem so stupid to me.” You put comb down, combing all hair perfectly. “I don’t understand why these questions are asked, Your Grace.” Your head was a complete mess due to the mixture of alcohol and adrenaline caused by the woman next to you. “Please call me Rhaenyra.” She turned to face you. “You understand everything, little warrior, don’t lie to me.” The woman moved closer and closer until she placed one hand on your shoulder. "Your Grace...Rhaenira." She leaned in so close that her lips were almost touching yours. "I want you." You looked into bright purple eyes, which shone yellow in the firelight. “Tell me the wolf of Winterfell, do you want me?” Her perfume smelled so delicious, her soft skin, white as her hair, that the dress did not hide, begged to be touched, “I...yes please, I want you.”

Rhaenyra's lips touched yours, sharing the sweetness of the recently drunk wine. One of the woman's hands grabbed the collar of your velvet dress and began to pull it down your shoulders to free your soft breasts. She carefully laid you on your back, on the soft fur, holding the back of your head. Her lips moved to her neck, then to her shoulder and then wrapped around her pink nipple. The action caused you to place your hand on her head, stroking her silver hair. The princess's hands lifted the skirt of the dress to the waist and stroked the skin of your soft thighs. "Cute little thing." She giggled and touched your lips again. The kiss was untidy, but full of tenderness and desire. Rhaenyra relieved you of underwear, her fingers slipped inside without a barrier, you were completely wet, just for her, but then she remembered. “Is this your first time?” She stopped any action, waiting in horror for an answer. "Yes, my grace." Rhaenyra buried her nose in the crook of your neck and began to kiss you, whispering, “I’m sorry, I should have asked earlier.” Your hand rested on hers that was still between your legs. “Please continue, I want this more than anything.”

And she continued, gently pounding and curling her fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside that made you see stars and whine like a pup. "Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, oh please my grace." Your hand touched the sensitive bud for additional stimulation. “Oh fuck, fuck...I'm gonna...” “Cum for me, cum for your queen.” Her movements became faster and clearer until you came, squeezing around her long fingers, biting your hand so as not to scream from the new sensations that she was giving you. She pulled out and showed you her hand, which sparkled in the firelight from your release, and then licked every last drop, causing your eyes to darken.

When you came to your senses, you stood up, only to strip completely and push Rhaenyra towards the bed, urging you to sit on it. "Please let me return the favor." You knelt in front of her, lifting the skirt of her dress up to expose her stockinged legs. Your lips kissed every centimeter of skin, no one worshiped it like you. When your mouth reaches her pussy, you notice that her arousal has left a wet mark on the bed linen. The tongue draws a line along the entire length, collecting her arousal, and the woman moans, lowering her hand to stroke your cheek. “My little savior, tell me, would you have killed him if I had not intervened?” You kiss her palm. "Yes my grace." And you hug her sensitive bud with your lips, simultaneously pushing three fingers inside, immediately picking up a fast pace. "Oh Gods!" She moans and screams without being embarrassed to be heard, the way you stretch her drives the woman crazy. “Fuck, that’s it!” and “Yeah right there, that’s my good girl.” You fuck her, trying to please your queen as best as possible and feel how she clench around your fingers. “Fuck fuck Y/N!” She cums, for a long time, and you fuck her through orgasm until she whines from overstimulation, asking her to stop.

You move onto the bed and lie on top of her again, kissing her. “I didn’t believe in soulmates until I saw you.” She hugs you, covering your naked body. You lie there, again inhaling the aroma of her perfume and not believing in the reality of what happened. “I would like to believe that it’s true,” she replies and you think.

“Have you already chosen someone to be your spouse?” You say this quietly, in a whisper. It was at this moment that you remembered why your family came here in the first place and how you may have acted meanly towards your brother. She laughs and you don't understand. "Yes, I chose you."

You lift your head sharply, looking into those purple eyes to see if she's deceiving you. “But...what if people are against it, what will you do?”

She thought about it, she knew that there would be dissatisfied people. “Then I will personally give Syrax the command to burn to the ground anyone who questions my choice.”

[missglaskin]

Yandere Aegon's Conquest (platonic) headcanons

AKA Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys as your yan!parents + Aenys and Maegor as your yan!Brothers

Characters: Aegon the conqueror, Visenya Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen, Maegor & Aenys Targaryen, Orys Baratheon

Note: Adopted and female!reader, toxic relationships, some interpreted romance/incest, Fire and Blood spoilers

You may have joined the Targaryen family through any of them. Brought to King's Landing as an offer, a hostage from Dorne. Whatever the reason was, you have now become the obsession of three dragon riders.

Naturally, there was some opposition at first. It's enough to keep a whole kingdom together; with lords either bending the knee willingly or by force, having the faith tolerate their marriages, and now they bring a child into the fold who didn't seem to bear much resemblance.

Yet despite widespread opposition, there was utter silence when it became evident what would happen if someone were to comment on your legitimacy. It's frightening to face Aegon's wrath, but he and his sisters combined; downright terrifying. 

They tended to differentiate when it came to ways of parenting. You would have likely been overindulged if it weren't for Visenya, who adopted a stricter role in place of Rhaenys and Aegon. On the other hand, it's Aegon who adopts the role of the meditator, keeping the peace whenever his wives come to disputes.

Orys is the only one Aegon truly trusts along with his sisters and despite Rhaenys and Visenya sharing Aegon's trust, they're not exactly thrilled about sharing you with anyone else. It’s noticed how quickly Orys steps into the role of an uncle, adding more fuel to the gossip (being Aegon’s brother). Like everyone else, he's just as protective and is more than willing to personally handle anyone who dares to cross you. But also similar to Aegon, beyond being protective, he's pretty laid-back. During your younger years, he'd times have you seated on his lap or playfully throw you up in the air.

As mentioned, Visenya is fiercely protective and sometimes may come off as a bit harsh, but her intentions are solely for your well-being. Her kingsguards are not only ordered to protect the king but are specifically trained to protect their little princess. She’s involved in your education, ensuring that you embrace your ‘Valyrian’ heritage. 

Each day she’ll have you rehearse your words, recount the history of your family house, and fulfill all your supposed duties. It’s Aegon and Rhaenys who urge Visenya to give you a break from time to time (not just because they want to spend time with you). Visenya also insists on training you despite her brother and sister’s wishes. Rhaenys thinks your gentle hands shouldn’t touch a blade with Aegon claiming you’re protected enough.

While they might disagree on many things, both Aegon and Rhaenys agree with Visenya's idea of giving you your own dragon egg. Given as a gift on your nameday. And even if the dragon hatches and you may never ride it, they are sure to let it recognize you as their owner; to let it be yours and yours only. Besides it’s further proof to the rest of the kingdom that you’re indeed one of them.

Like Visenya, Rhaenys is very much involved in your life and rarely lets you out of her sighs. She’s much smothering and the most affectionate out of her siblings, known to watch you with great fondness and expect to be praised for even the smallest accomplishments.

Rhaenys takes charge of your wardrobe, dressing you in the colors of House Targaryen and embellishing you with all sorts of jewelry. The many songs she has ensured to be dedicated, praising your elegance and beauty that they are believed to have passed down generations.

That’s not to say Aegon isn’t involved, he is but tends to be overshadowed by his sisters; finding himself stuck in the middle of their disagreements. Despite this, he makes his stance known and will use all types of excuses to steal you away. Aegon goes as far as making you his cupbearer, though while the council members are hesitant to take you away from the king's side. Only Orys dares to have you come and fill his cup.

They often find themselves in childish arguments on who you should ride with. Aegon occasionally claims victory, it helps Baelrion is the largest. In fact, whenever any of the siblings go for a flight, they are likely to bring you along. During their shared flights, they would showcase all sorts of tricks like getting close to the water or letting their dragons spit fire in the open air just to witness the excited look on your face.

Aegon spoils you (rotten) and is ready to fulfill almost all your whims and desires. While he’ll gladly gift you with jewelry and gowns like Rhaenys, Aegon is more inclined to make grand gestures like contracting statues and naming things in your honor. If you were to ask, he'd happily construct a bathhouse, a vast garden, you just need to ask.

Aegon is surprisingly someone you find it easy to turn to whenever you get in trouble, along with Uncle Orys. He's perfectly fine with you doing your own thing, playing away while he watches from a distance.

Despite their occasional arguments, at the end of the day, they are united through their care for you. You mean everything to them, and though each may express it differently, they all just want to see you happy and safe.

Adding Maegor and Aenys into the mix just makes everything more chaotic. While it's not much of a hidden secret that Rhaenys and Visenya favor you, they attempt to keep it subtle. Aegon isn't very adept at hiding it, and there have been discussions where he expresses the desire for you to be his heir instead. However, by the Westerosi tradition, Aenys is the expected heir.

Aenys and Maegor are particularly attached to you, even when their parents clearly seem to favor you. Being a bit older than Aenys, Rhaenys actively encouraged the bond between you two. She always insisted your small self to hold him and it became well-known among the castle servants that baby Aenys would cry until you came at his side. 

The death of Rhaenys threw everything into chaos. Visenya and Aegon, if possible, became even more protective, god forbid if Dorne were to make an attempt (or try to bring you back). You became the outlet for their grief, with Aegon demanding your presence more than ever. Aenys clung to you for comfort, a child who doesn’t seem to fully understand where his mother went. 

A year or two passed before Maegor was born, and he was already different from the start. Aenys, always smaller than the other kids, remained easily carried by your child self even as he grew. You'd lift him up on your back as he squealed with delight, but Visenya would scold you; your back could get hurt and Aenys is heir, he must be expected to behave like one.

Maegor, on the other hand, was bigger than most kids, with round and full cheeks that you couldn't resist poking and pulling. Similar to Aenys, he constantly demanded your attention, but unlike Aenys who cried, Maegor caused tantrums, pushing other kids you interacted with and throwing things until he got the attention he sought.

A rivalry started between the brothers, and more often than not, you found yourself in the middle of it, but it was mostly one-sided with Maegor often starting the conflicts. Moreover, Aegon directed most of his attention toward Aenys with kingdom duties and all, leaving you mostly with Maegor and Visenya.

Unlike Rhaenys, who didn't have the time to mold her son, Visenya did. She made sure that her son knows that it’s his duty to protect and care for you, deeming Aenys as weak in her eyes. Maegor learned to value you above all else. Sparring was no longer necessary, as according to Maegor he’ll be the one to protect you from now. In one incident, Maegor attacked a noble boy who had jokingly insulted you. Aegon and Visenya never punished him, with the excuse that Aegon didn't want to cause a scene.

Aenys, much like his mother, is naturally affectionate. Openly embracing you in front of the entire court or hold your hand as you walk together. Such displays of affectionate were a never-ending lecture from Visenya and Aegon and all it did was fuel Maegor’s jealousy. 

As all three of you came of age, there was a flood of suitors vying for your hand in marriage. Aegon would use any excuse to deter them, but deep down, he secretly wished to wed you to Aenys but he knows Visenya might insist on Maegor instead, further fueling the rivalry between the brothers. The reactions of your brothers toward your suitors only intensifies, with Maegor eagerly challenging anyone who seeks your hand and Aenys wearing a mask of happiness for you while secretly desiring to have you all to himself.

It becomes even messier if the brothers are wed to other women. Alyssa and Ceryse, in particular, feel the pressure to be on your good side, knowing that a gesture from you could sway their husbands in your favor. Despite being married to them, the wives can't shake the feeling of being the "other women". The awkwardness is heightened by Aenys, who insists on you being close to his children, going so far as to let you be one of the first to hold baby Rhaena. 

The family was struck with a moment of grief upon Aegon's death, leaving Visenya as the sole parent. With Aegon, and even Orys, no longer present, Visenya had the freedom to enforce her regulations and expectations without interruption. Maegor, being a wild card, proved difficult to control. Despite Aenys' perceived weakness, he stepped into Aegon's place, not directly opposing Visenya and Maegor but making it clear that you were a line not to be crossed. Your place is to be with him and his family, by his side in council. 

Aegon's death set off a chain reaction, fueling the underlying war within the family that had already been brewing.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — KNIGHT! GOJO x PRINCESS! FEM READER

Gojo has devoted his entire life to protecting you as your dedicated guard. A greater force is conspiring to keep you apart. 

wc — 3.7k

tags — royal au, childhood friends, forbidden love, protective Gojo, sneaking around/flouting social etiquette, period drama-esque tension between repressed princess and rakish knight, mutually possessive, title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

part 1 of the hand which holds the knife

Everyone knew Satoru Gojo was supposed to be yours. 

You claimed him the day you knighted him. He wore your colors and answered to your demands. The physical evidence of your ownership was all over him, the way someone would mark a well loved pet. Even the neck of his jacket carried your embroidery like a collar. To anyone with eyes, he was your adored guard dog. 

When all of your memories blur into one stream of consciousness, the day you knighted him remains clear. You remember everything, including your father stealing him out from under you. 

You were the only one who truly thought he was ever going to be yours. It was part of the promise you had sworn to each other as children, playing princess and the guard with wooden swords and flower crowns. 

Looking back, you can see the gears of court machinations turning. It was no simple coincidence that the only heir to House Gojo ended up in close proximity to you, any more than any other of your introductions to sons of highborn houses. 

Gojo has no interest in pretending to be a prince. It was boring for him to be trapped in restricting uniforms complete with epaulets. He found more pleasure in protecting you from danger while you preened in your gilded cage, none the wiser through his efforts. Safe and unaware, the way he liked it. You would never have to know how dangerous the world was if he simply destroyed everything in your path before it got to you. 

You didn’t understand the way the adults looked at the two of you. All you knew was that you couldn’t bear to be apart from him. You rose each morning looking for him, and went to bed waiting for the minute you’d be reunited again. He was your whole world, your one and only friend. It was his hand that guided you through childhood adventures. He was the sword and shield that had cut down kidnappers and serpents for you. 

The first wedge in your relationship comes with his twelfth birthday. 

You chase his back through the years, watching it broaden in front of your eyes. His body changes. His voice drops. The first time you hear it after the pitchy squeaks of puberty clear from his throat, you feel the sickening wrench of something in your stomach. It had never mattered before that Gojo was a man, potentially your betrothed. 

Now it burns you to look at him. He became gorgeous while you weren’t looking, all long willowy limbs and snow white hair. The women of the court have started looking at him now. They call him the beautiful dragon, after his house crest. 

Even though you know reasonably that you can do nothing about this, really, you have no right to, that galls you. You’re a princess. You’re used to being able to deal with things that upset you with little more than a nod to Gojo. But he can’t solve issues that he’s the root of. 

The only way to show everyone that Gojo’s devotion belongs to you is to tie him to your side. At twelve, he’s already the strongest squire in the entire kingdom. Better than most knights, even. It’s a clear path to being the greatest knight of his time, throughout all of history, even. He already promised to be your sword when you were children. All you have to do is wait. 

Gojo trains and you begin to learn the extent of your royal responsibilities. Study etiquette. Marry well. Become a dutiful wife. Give the king heirs. 

Gojo becomes Lord Gojo. He calls you princess now. Although part of you rebels at the idea that he would ever call you anything other than your name, another part of you can’t help the queasy feeling you get when he says your title, low and soft. Like he means it for your ears only. Like princess is just another way of showing how much of him is yours. 

Gojo is not usually a proud man because he doesn’t have to be. His abilities speak for himself. But he’s cocky to a fault. He knows the extent of his capabilities, which means he won’t capitulate to anyone. Why would he? 

When it comes to you, however, he bends his neck and accepts the collar willingly. The strongest can only be tamed by what he allows to tame him and it’s you, it’s always been you. 

Perhaps that’s why things turn out the way they do on the day you knight him. 

Or, as you find out later, your father knights him. 

It was the day after your sixteenth birthday. Gojo himself had turned seventeen three months and six days before. It was strangely old for a boy of his caliber. He was so talented he could’ve been the youngest knight in the realm, but no one could make Gojo do something he didn’t want to do. 

There was no shame in it, either. Everyone knew Gojo was too talented and well-connected for it to be anything other than his own choice. The only heir of House Gojo, he was destined to become a knight even if he did nothing to earn it. And he had done much to earn it. 

Winning wars single handedly tended to do that. There were already legends blooming from the battlefield by the time he came home and tossed the unlucky enemy commander’s head at the king’s feat. His bow wasn’t nearly low or respectful enough to be addressed to the king, but he had been lighter-hearted back then, more willing to forgive. 

Especially for Gojo, who had cut a killing swathe through the ranks of the opposing army so ruthlessly they began to call him a god of death.

Gojo kneels at your feet, his white head still high. He’s a little too tall for you, even at this angle. Lord Commander Yaga clears his throat. Gojo looks up through the wisps of hair that have escaped to obscure his eyes. They’re piercing, an attractively violent blue. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, so low no one else could’ve heard the two of you even if you hadn’t been standing alone on the podium in front of the king’s throne. “Am I too tall for you now, princess?” 

“Don’t tease,” you whisper back, flustered despite yourself. The pommel of the sword is clammy in your grip. You’re scared to drop it and accidentally take a finger off with it. 

You’re taking too long. It’s making you anxious. You’re distinctly aware of your father’s stare boring into your back. You’ve been sheltered since you were young by your father’s paranoia, but he’s recently begun letting you apply yourself more to your royal duties. You can’t give him any reason to doubt you. 

Gojo dips a little lower. 

With this change in angle, you can place the flat of the blade on each of his shoulders. It’s your father’s sword, too large and unwieldy in your hands. Standing over Gojo is a strange experience. It’s uncomfortable looking down on someone who’s been taller than you for all your life. 

You wish he would stop looking at you like that. His gaze is searching. You feel naked underneath it, even with layers of dresses on. When he says his vows, it feels intimate, like he’s speaking them to you. For you. 

Gojo rises, shaking his hair out of his eyes like a shaggy dog. Like this, you’re reminded suddenly of how strong he is. His shoulders are broad underneath his silver armor. Lean muscle cords his legs. There’s an easy, effortless grace to the way he moves - the confidence of a man who has never been bested in his entire life. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He’s still standing too close. If it were any other man, your father would have demanded he be whipped by now, but Gojo has always gotten away with things no one could. He ducks his head so he can speak directly into your ear - dangerous, even for him. He says his piece fast. “I’ll see you in your rooms, my lady.” 

Then he pulls back. 

There are thunderclouds gathering across the king’s face, but when you shake your head, your father relents. He smiles and kisses your temple as you climb up the steps of the platform of his throne to return the sword to him. 

Years later, you learn that the moment you leave the throne room, your shoulders sure with the knowledge that Gojo is finally secure in your grasp, your father takes up the sword you had held and knights him. Princesses have no authority to confer knighthood. Only kings. 

You know your father means well. He loves you. You’re all he has left. If Gojo pushed for your hand to be one that he swears loyalty to first, then your father would have been happy to comply either way. You just wish you would’ve known that it meant nothing. 

There’s a sharp rap on your door, followed by two short, one long. A code you had devised a long time ago. You pull open the door and Gojo all but falls into your room. He’s pressed up against you, front to front as he closes the door behind him, tumbling you into your bed. 

“Hi, princess,” he says, his breath warm against your neck. You squirm in his hold, feeling heat rush through your veins. It’s getting harder and harder to hide the way he affects you, but you don’t want anything to change between the two of you. Though sometimes, you swear Gojo likes using your title so much precisely because he knows how you react to it. 

“We have to stop doing this,” you tell him, like you tell him every time. “It’s inappropriate.” 

He groans and pushes away from you. You mourn the loss of contact. “Come on, don’t make me do this again. Who cares if it’s inappropriate? Who says?” 

“Dame Zenin thinks we’re too close.” 

“Dame Zenin is an idiot,” Gojo says. “You know she only says that because she wants to get rid of me so you’ll look at Naoya. As if you would ever, even if I was gone.” 

“Still.” 

Gojo grabs your chin in his hand. “You are a princess and I am the only heir to House Gojo. We bow to no one, understand? What right do mice have to judge dragons?”

He’s the dragon, you think. Your crest is the rose. You exist to be judged. That’s the role of a princess. 

Gojo sprawls out on your bed. He’s so tall he takes up more than half of it, even though your bed was built to be more than twice your size. His eyes are shut, his long white lashes soft. He looks gentle in repose, almost like a lamb with his coloring. 

He’s beautiful. He always is. You want to touch, to hold, to claim. You want to press your ear against his chest and steal the thunderous beat of his heart for your own. You want to press your rouged lips to his neck and collarbones, to mark his body with a muted rose. 

Instead, you sit stiff, prim and proper. 

He opens his eyes. “Come here,” he says, his arm reaching for you. You let him pull you closer. 

As always, he has to reach out first. You can’t allow yourself to take what you want. It’s not in your nature, the way you were raised. 

You bury your face into the space between his neck and his shoulder. 

“There we go,” he coos. Your face burns with the condescension of it, the way he treats you like an animal that has to be carefully coaxed closer. But he’s not wrong, and that’s why you let him pet you into submission, gently stroking your sides as he tangles his legs with yours. 

You were never so affected by him as children. Somewhere along the way, Gojo had become unmanageable to you, and you don’t know what to do about it. 

“Stay with me,” he murmurs against your hair. “Where are you going off to in that pretty head of yours?” 

“I’m with you,” you whisper against his neck. “I’m always here.” 

You’ve spoiled him, you think. When you were a child, you didn’t know any better. Gojo was just Gojo. Letting him stay by your side even as you got older was an indulgence that he now pushes the limits of. He’s never cared about propriety. 

“You have to go back to your room now,” you whisper reluctantly. You’re always the more cautious one of your duo. It’s been too long. Someone will become suspicious. For once, you wish you could just let go of your worries, but someone has to check Gojo. If both of you just did whatever you wanted, it’d be the ruin of your houses. This is how it has to be: Gojo pushes and you pull back. 

The dim light of the dying candles make his blue eyes appear black. “Give me something of yours first,” he says. 

You know what he’s asking for. You climb up from the bed and go into your dresser to search, turning up one of your handkerchiefs. It bears the colors of your house and your careful embroidery.

He kneels at your feet. 

“Stop,” you say, trying to pull away. 

Gojo presses a kiss to your hand. His lips are soft against the skin of your hand, temptation incarnate. Your fingers tremble lightly in his grasp, torn between wanting to seize him and wanting to run away. The enormity of your desire for him terrifies you. If you ever let him in for one second, you can see how easy your descent would be. 

“I’m yours, princess. Don’t forget it.” 

With that, he ties your favor around his wrist and finally leaves you to your room, panting like you’d run through the halls. No matter how old you get, Gojo always leads in your interactions. He plays with you, enjoying the way he can make you react to him. 

It’s normal for a princess to visit the training yard, you try to convince yourself the next day. There’s nothing strange about stopping by while you’re on your afternoon walk. After all, you should keep abreast of everything within your castle. 

Gojo stands in the center of the yard. He’s demonstrating one of his self created drills, a complicated set of maneuvers only he can pull off. In short, he’s showing off while pretending like he’s doing the class a favor by trying to teach them something. 

Lord Commander Yaga notices you the moment you set foot in the yard. You should expect it. After all, it’s his territory. 

“Attention,” he bellows. “The princess is here.” 

Gojo perks up and finishes his final set of movements even faster. He throws his sword carelessly to the side, leaving a young squire scrambling to catch the priceless weapon as he strides towards you. 

He’s a little sweaty. You want to wrap your arms around him anyways, but you restrain yourself. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” you say. 

Gojo grins at you. It’s a sharp thing, his smile, hungry and wolfish. “Not at all. I was just thinking of you, my lady.” 

You tilt your head at him curiously. 

Around you, the men are scrambling to line up into neat little rows. 

“I’m picking a squire,” Gojo says. “Would you like to make the decision for me?” 

It’s a question that shocks you. You whirl to look at him again, see if he’s joking like usual, but he seems perfectly serious. “I don’t know anything about knighthood,” you tell him the truth. 

He moves closer. You’re tempted to step back immediately, but you don’t. You don’t want a sign of discomfort to be misinterpreted and used against him. Besides, you relish the proximity. Seeing Gojo in public feels like dancing on blades. The adrenaline terrifies you, but you can’t stop wanting more of it. 

“You may not, but you know people. I trust your judgement.” 

A cursory scan of the boys in front of you reveals little. They’re all stiff and proper, their backs as straight as they can make them. Some stand with their arms glued to their sides, others fidget with their swords. Every single one of them is eager for the chance to be acknowledged by the princess. They’re equally hopeful for the chance to squire for the greatest knight in the kingdom.

None of them catch your eye on the first or second passes. 

Only on the third, a boy with pink hair smiles at you. It’s such a small gesture. But for a boy who had looked just like everyone else at first, the toothy smile splits his features. It opens him up. He looks kind. 

You gesture him forward. 

Lord Commander Yaga nods approvingly. “Itadori is a good one, Your Royal Highness. He’s one of the best in this batch. Naturally strong, but just as hardworking.” 

“See,” Gojo says. “I knew you would choose well.” 

He touches your hand briefly, slipping a white scrap of paper inside your closed fist before he grabs Itadori by the shoulder and hauls him off for further training. Although disappointed, the other squires still look starstruck to be in his presence, though Yaga disperses them all to train themselves soon enough. 

In elegant cursive, Gojo has written a time and place. 

You shouldn’t go. 

You can’t risk it. 

All eyes are on you and Gojo as it is. People already suspect the two of you of something unsavory. Courtly love is one thing, but you and Gojo are too close for an unmarried man and a woman. As a princess, your sole purpose is to marry well and bring alliances to your house. You can’t risk damaging your reputation. 

But every stolen encounter with Gojo steals your breath away. You sneak through the halls, quiet and empty. 

A hand slaps over your mouth before you can scream as someone tugs you into a dark corridor. 

You kick and lash out, forgetting everything Gojo has taught you in favor of blind violence. 

“Shh,” comes a voice in your ear. “It’s just me.” 

You bite him. 

He hisses and pulls back, shaking out his hand. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Why would you do that? You scared me!” 

“You’re not careful enough, princess. There was a maid coming up on your left that you hadn’t even noticed.” 

You sigh and lean into him. You can’t help it. 

He laughs. “Are you that happy to see me?” 

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll show you exactly how happy I am.” 

“Come on,” he tugs you out towards the gardens. It’s dangerous, but you follow him anyway. Being with Gojo is so threatening not despite his strength, but because of it. You rely on him too easily, trusting him to see you safely through any peril. It’s easy to relax when he’s with you, his presence the promise of security. 

You expect him to tell you why he called you here, but he’s silent when he tugs you down on the bench next to him. 

“Gojo?” 

“Here,” he says, opening his hands. A single crushed violet sits on his palm. You laugh, picking it up and raising to your eye. It’s all the more fragrant because it has been mangled, the delicate petals bruised. 

Gojo’s mouth lifts in a smile, too. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize.” 

“You really know how to win a girl’s heart,” you tease. 

“Hopefully I know how to win over her father’s, too.”

You freeze. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to ask your father to be your dedicated knight tomorrow. Do I have your permission?” 

You hesitate, worrying your lip with your teeth, but Gojo understands. Years of watching after you, bandaging your scrapes that you refuse to cry over or avenging your honor after you pretend your pride hasn’t been hurt has taught him a lot. He can see right through you. You never need to hide when you’re with him. 

“It’s alright,” he says. “We can wait.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want you to be my guard,” you say in a small voice. “I just-” 

“I know,” he says. “But I’m the strongest. Who else would your father ask to protect you but me?” 

“Do you think he’ll say yes?” 

Gojo looks at you seriously. “I’ll get down on both knees and beg him if I have to.” 

“Don’t do that,” you gasp. 

“I don’t care,” he says. “You’re what’s most important to me. More than pride, more than honor. Can I ask your father for you?” 

You look at the crushed violet in your hand. 

Who else but Gojo? 

You press the flower back into his palm. “I trust you to do what’s right.” 

His eyes soften. He leans closer. 

“Gojo,” comes a voice. “What are you doing in the gardens this late at night?” 

You stiffen. The owner of the voice is drawing closer.

“Do you trust me?” Gojo asks, as cool and collected as ever. 

You nod, not trusting your voice not to give you away. He cups your face in his hands and ever so delicately presses a light kiss to your cheek, tilting his head towards you. 

“Stop,” he tells the man behind you. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll scare her.” 

“A new plaything?” Asks the Lord Commander. “I’m not so scary, am I?” 

Gojo notices you tremble harder. He lifts a hand to the back of your head and presses it gently towards his shoulder, obscuring your face even further. “Come here, darling,” he murmurs. “That’s right, what a good little thing,” he says as you press yourself into him. He pulls you over his lap, your legs straddling his waist as he runs his hand up and down your back. “Keep your head down,” he whispers to you. You tuck your face farther into the crook of his neck. 

Louder, he responds to Yaga. “The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is a terrifying man, or so I’ve heard.” 

“Just escort her to her room when you’re done,” Yaga says gruffly. “I don’t need to tell you to be a gentleman, do I?” 

“No, sir,” Gojo says cheerfully. 

In hindsight, you’re still not sure if Yaga recognized you or not. On one hand, he’s known you since you were a child. He watched, a silent guard, as your father raised you. On the other hand, he’s never brought it up to you. 

The only other reason you suspect he realized who you really were was Gojo’s induction into the kingsguard the very next day. 

[fan-goddess]

A Mutual Feeling Of Hate

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong!reader

Summary: As Aemond Targaryen rounds up the male Strongs, he realises one man is missing, and in his hunt for him, he finds you…

Warnings: Explicit talk, p in v smut, breeding kink, murder, talk of SA, oral f receiving, praise in Valyrian, riding, sadism and masochism, jealously sex, exhibitionism, marking, let me know if I’ve missed anything

Taglist: @valeskafics, @arcielee, @blue-serendipity,

Authors note: I’m not as happy as I’d like to be, but still here we go hope you guys like it. It was my first time writing on Google docs 😅

Harrenhal had never truly been your home. Throughout the years you were forced to live there, in your eyes it had always been your husbands. Although according to him and, in the more recent years to come it would soon become the home of yours and his children too..

Your husband, Geralt Strong, had been merely a second son when the two of you first married. Yet after the tragedies that struck Lord Lyonel Strong and his eldest son and heir Harwin, it soon hit you that your husband was only an accident away from being appointed the supposed honour of representing his house as its Lord. However, you were not the only one who noticed this predicament, as soon after Larys was appointed with no wife or children of his own, your husband decreed it was time for you to fulfil your wifely duties, and provide him with heirs of his own.

He’d been drunk every time that he tried to force himself onto you, but apparently he was too weak-souled to do it while sober. The man would become so incapacitated, that he’d pass out from overindulgence before he could even properly get off his breeches. For the first time in your life, you were grateful to be married to such a weak minded man.

Although, to play your role in the supposedly ever so slowly closing in win of his succession, you would force yourself to finish taking off his breaches, and stroke him till he burst in your hand, to make it seem like he’d actually completed his part. When he eventually spilled, you would always feel disgusted, wanting nothing more than to wash it all off and clean your whole body of his filth, and yet you found a strange joy  in it. Thinking that whenever you were forced to lick the salty taste off of your hands, you were practically eating his children, and his legacy from your very hands. In a strange way, you found honour as you played one of the gods…

Still, when your husband was not drunk, and managed to have his way with you, you still requested moon tea. A wet nurse that you surprisingly found yourself becoming close confidants with named Alys, would somehow always come to you whenever you need it, a small vial in her hand in preparation.

However, when the banners of war were officially brought out of hiding, and calls for soldiers and blood broke out amongst the land, your husband became much too preoccupied by the impending doom of Harrenhal to bother you. You can remember clearly in your mind the day Daemon and his men came for you all. It was something everyone present would remember. Ser Simon, the man who led House Strong while Larys was in kings Landing, was not a man in your eyes that day, as he surrendered easily during the assault of Daemon's attack. It was not difficult to spot Daemon Targaryen amongst the many of his men from your window, the colouring of his hair making him stand out when his helmet was shrugged off, and the wish that your husband could’ve been more like him stood out to you whenever you saw the man. You could not help but feel envious of the usurped queen whenever you saw him standing valiantly and without fear.

That however, was why It was strange, when the prince and all of his men left all of sudden in the night. All pondered over the reason, but then came the sound of a dragon's wings, and the distinctive noise of a dragon's roar, the sound of it echoed and vibrated through the air. It was not Daemon coming back, no. It was the colour green of their banners that told you who they were, and what this meant for you. It was time for you to shed yourself of that ‘Strong’ husband of yours.

Your husband in question has pushed past you to look on in horror as the men in green and gold marched closer. And while he was gawking down below at the sight, you yourself took hold of the intricately carved dagger that was gifted to you by your mother. There was no real need for you to be quiet, as Geralt's eyes remained solely on the now revealed Targaryen below, and when you stood behind Geralt silent to also get a glimpse of the sight, you were most definitely not disappointed.

It was not hard to decipher that it was Aemond Targaryen who stood there, and demanded that a sword be given to Simon Strong. The eyepatch that hung over his disfigured left eye made it easy to realise which Targaryen stood there. He uttered something to the trembling man, but sadly you were unable to hear what it was he spoke.

You were surprised though, when Simon Strong it seemed had finally grown a backbone, as he fought the prince in what was seemingly a trial by combat. However, it seemed he grew it too early, as the sound of clashing of swords was soon over, and instead the sound of a dragon's cry echoed soon after. It wasn’t until you heard the screams till you realised that the prince had fed the mangled corpse of the man to his dragon Vhagar. He made the man, who to you was undeserving of his own blood, into something as meaningless to his dragon as a common sheep. If you weren’t occupied with standing a few paces back from Geralt ready to strike him down, you most likely would’ve gone down to the prince and given him your utter devotion and loyalty, if he didnt make you into food for his dragon too that is.

The voice of Aemond Targaryen rings again, as you yourself twirl the dagger in your hand in preparation, and it booms loud enough for all to hear throughout the castle. “Bring me the rest of the men who possess the blood of House Strong!” You cannot help but feel excited at the tone the prince holds. Madness, and a type of pure unrelenting rage. It’s not hard to tell what the intention of his demand is, even the dumbest of men would be able figure out what he wants to do.

You almost miss your opportunity as you get swept up in your own excitement. Still, you make a noise similar to a yelp in an attempt to draw Geralt's attention from the spectacle below, and when he responds just how you had planned for him to act, with his body and neck turning swiftly to you in sudden alarm, you waste no time in plunging the dagger deep into the flesh of Geralt's neck. You can feel the warm specks of his blood as it splatters onto your face as you withdraw the blade, and as he staggers towards you while clutching the profusely bleeding wound in a poor attempt to stop it, you cannot help but find yourself smiling at the utterly pathetic sight. Thanks to the one-eyed prince and his hatred, there will be no more ‘Strong’ men left to stand in your way to freedom, and no so called ‘respected’ witnesses to your crime.

There’s a small series of grunts that manage to make their way from your husband's blood gargling throat. Although, soon his stumbles become too weak, and he collapses onto the hard stone floor. His movements are weak, as he seems to use all of his energy so he could look up and stare up at you. If you were honest with yourself, the sight before you feels like the greatest honour you could ever think of, to watch the life leaving Geralt's eyes. You feel like you are playing one of the Gods, because thanks to you, they are now forever immortalised with a permanent look of confusion and betrayal.

It hits you though, a thought of realisation that makes your very spine shiver in annoyance. The thought being, that there is no doubt about it, that the prince already has a list of names of those that he needs to kill in his rampage, in order to properly eradicate the house Strong once and for all. If he didn’t… Well then, the prince is more of an idiot than you took him for. Your husband was the man set to inherit everything if and when Larys Strong is to pass. So there is no doubt in your mind that he’ll be one that the prince will wish to make sure is dead at his feet.

There is a sudden knock at the door that drives you away from your thoughts, and you just know that it is the prince's men who have come to fulfil their orders. You take a moment to prepare yourself to play the role of the already mourning wife. The tears you feel drop from your eyes are fake, and yet as you open the door a fraction, the men who look at you see no difference. They’re young, only a couple name days older than you, and you thank the gods because of it, as with their inexperience they will be unable to decipher your tricks. In their eyes, you have already seen the taking of your husband, and by the blood on your face, he was taken not so long ago with some force.

They say no real words to you, other than a small grunt you presume is a type of apology, and leave you to your supposed mourning of your husband in solitude. Though as soon as you shut the door, you grab a chair and manoeuvre it to the window to watch the show below go on.

The sight of the one eyed prince successfully slaying an entire house brings a small smile to your face. He makes the man or boy say their name, and what makes them a Strong. The first to be slaughtered was Ser Simon, and soon after it was clear to all that not even the unclear bastards, with blood muddled and unknown origin, were even safe. None were spared from the Kinslayers blade.

From the balcony soon after the full-blooded men were slaughtered, you watched the beheading of an eleven name day old child. From your understanding of Harrenhal, the only reason that boy was here was because his mother was forced upon by the wrong man, and he refused to allow her the opportunity to rid herself of the child. It’s a sad sight, even you must admit, but there is truly nothing you can do other than let the show below go on.

It’s not long until the pile of corpses stops being enlarged, as the prince's men are forced to halt in their duty in bringing the men. The sounds of bloodshed are soon broken by the many sounds of high pitched women crying for their loves and their families. When you turn your head to look back at your own husband, still laying there in his own blood and filth, you can’t help but let out a scuff of disgust and disbelief, before turning back to continue to watch the prince.

You cannot help but ponder when it’ll happen. What will happen when the prince will eventually realise that no man has come forward to be slaughtered bearing the name of your husbands. Though it appears as soon as you begin to question it, the prince questions it too. “WHERE IS THE MAN THEY CALL GERALT STRONG?” He shouts. His voice somehow managed to echo over the sounds of the crying wives and daughters that resonated from their windows.

One guard steps forward, possibly one of the two who had visited your chambers earlier, but he’s too far to tell or not. He leans to whisper something into the prince's ear, and when the guard leans away, the prince looks somewhere in your direction. You can almost swear that you lock eyes with him, though he soon quickly looks away, before whispering some words to a knight, and beginning to walk towards the part of Harrenhal you reside in.

He disappears from your line of sight, and you begin to wonder if he’ll be searching all the rooms for Geralt. Though once again, It’s not long before you hear the sound of your chamber door being opened, with a loud creak of the handle. There is a sound of footsteps, although they seem to halt quickly. If you had to guess, they must have spotted the corpse. When you turn your head slightly, your eyes once more meet the single lilac eye of the princes. Although he does not make the contact last long as he breaks it to stare at the pitiful view of Ser Geralt Strong, still laying there in the pool of his own blood.

His face gives no indication of any particular emotion other than annoyance. Though you can’t help but notice an unfamiliar glint in his eyes as he looks back at you. “I thought I had ordered my men to bring me every living male strong.” It is not a question, as there is not a single inch of confusion in his tone. This was a statement.

“I know…” It's a strange feeling that resonates within you the longer the prince looks at you. One that makes your entire body strangely burn in a pleasurable sense. Not that you’d ever know what that would even feel like… “Your men followed their orders as they were told, my prince. As he was not alive before your men rounded them all to be apart of your genocide.”

You see that glint once more in his eye. It looks almost similar to admiration?

“I presume you are Geralt Strong's lady wife. Did you truly hate the man that much for you to risk your safety to kill him?” Again, this was not a real question. This was another statement and a demand directed for you. From the look in his eye, he already knew the answer.

“You are correct.” You say no more, and you don’t even need to, as the now dried blood that is still present on your face, slightly sticky to the touch you figured, and your eyes that have managed to remain bone dry with a matching expressionless face. They seem to say more than you ever could. Plus if anything, it seems the prince is the more emotional one in the room between the two of you. His own face holds in its possession a small smile, which looks much more akin to a prideful smirk, while your own is hellbent in an attempt to stay blank.

The two of you stay silent, him standing there not taking his eye of you, while you yourself continue to sit in your chair unmoving. It was strangely peaceful, until the prince began to walk towards you and took your throat in his hand, holding it firmly to not allow you head to move, but not too hard that you couldn’t breath.

“I suppose I must thank you…” He seems to muse, taking in your face as he presents it to himself. “Although-” He cuts himself off, peering down at your stomach with an almost pondering look. “How do I not know that you are currently hiding a Strong inside of your womb from me at this very moment?”

“Because I drink moon tea of course, my prince. Why would I wish to potentially burden my future children with the tainted blood that ran through my husband's veins, when there are hundreds of men throughout the seven kingdoms who easily possess blood ten times purer than his ever did?”

“And who are these men then my lady? Could you name a few so I may have an idea of your idea of pure blood?” He’s playing with you. Testing you even. And yet you must admit that it’s honestly the most fun you’ve had in Harrenhal the entire time you’ve been held practically as a captive there.

“Well there’s your brother of course, the king of the seven kingdoms…” The trail was unintentional, but you couldn’t help but let the next words die on your tongue just so you could admire the thundering glare on the prince's face at the mention of the king. You had heard about the disputes between the two, but you had no idea that this supposed brotherly hate ran so deep between them.

“Tell me who else,” He growls. The sound of it mixed with the feeling of his hand tightening around your neck sending the pure feeling of electricity straight to your already wet core.

“Why there’s many men, my prince! It wasn't like it was hard to possess purer blood than that of a Strong! There’s Dalton Greyjoy… Cregan Stark… Joffrey Arryn… I would even count your own Uncle Daemon to be possessing purer blood than my husband. He is probably one of the few men I would allow to give me my pure children…” With each man you list, the prince's face darkens more and more. You intended to play with the prince at first by making sure to name the men who appeared to side with his half-sister in regards to the throne. Similarly to how he had been teasing you moments ago. However, it seems you played too close to the flames. As when the name of his uncle, and now the name of a man seen as a sworn enemy of the crown, is mentioned from your lips, the prince pulls your face towards his own by the grip on your neck, and claims you with a fiery kiss. The warmth of him spread throughout you, and It truly at that moment felt like you were playing with a true dragon…

“What about me, sweet girl? Am I of purer blood than that of your dead tainted husbands? Am I worthy enough to overflow your womb with my seed and show the kingdoms of how worthy I am?” His whispers make your whole body burn up, as if the blood of the dragon was running through your veins.

“I cannot say my prince… I think you’ll have to show me if you truly think you are worthy enough…” It is the feral-like sound from which the prince releases from deep within, that reminds you once more who it is who is about to claim both you and your body. A dragon. That is what stands before you, and is ready to claim you and change your life forever.

The feeling of the prince's body forcibly overpowering your own as he drags you from the chair you were previously on to the bed, brings a feeling throughout you that Geralt could never have ever achieved.

“Present yourself fully to your prince.” The words drip with lust and desire, as he does not even wait for you to properly respond. Instead, he just tears the weak material straight from your body, leaving you left in only your small clothes before him. His single eye roams over your body greedily to take all of your nude self in. However, you can see it stop at the sight of your heaving chest, your shallow breaths leaving your chest to stutter slightly.

“Gevie…” He mutters before taking a hardened nipple in his mouth and sucking hard, no doubt forcing deep coloured marks to form soon after this is over. His mouth wanders even lower though, sucking and biting gently in his wake, before stopping at the skin of your inner thighs, biting softly at the flesh. The sensations make small whines to leave your mouth whenever his teeth seemingly went deep enough to leave indents of his teeth.

The prince does not appear to be in a hurry. As instead of acting like a true dragon would and just taking you, he just stares at the fabric concealing your dripping core from him with a hooded eye. He does not even attempt to move it, as a lone hand of his simply brushes over the fabric lightly. Your head tilts back at the pleasure, so you are unable to see him grinning proudly at the sound of your whines for him when he does this again, and again. Maybe this is your punishment for mentioning his traitorous uncle? Or maybe he is just simply teasing you again…

“Please my prince… show me how I deserve to be blessed with your seed…” You whine, the words must have driven some part of him, as the next thing you know, your smallclothes are being torn off you like the rest of your clothes, and a warm wet tongue is feasting on your cunt giving you the best pleasure you’ve felt in your whole life.

“Oh fuck!” You shout. There is no real need to be quiet, as who is there to hear you? While you yourself are moaning loud enough for the seven to hear, you almost miss the sounds of the prince's own groans, seemingly already addicted to the taste of your arousal that all but leaks from your quivering body onto his awaiting and eager tongue.

“Ao sylutegon se sȳrje … kesan brōzagon ao ñuha mērī ābra sir till se mōris…” He groans into the depth of your cunt, the vibrations adding that extra arousal needed to begin your push over the edge. The words themselves mean nothing to you, and you find that you don’t really care, as you feel the coil deep within you begin to tighten more and more. “Please my prince let me cum!” You shout, “Please my prince!” You try to stop yourself from releasing, you really do, but at the sight of the prince's head seemingly nodding in allowance, you feel yourself releasing on the prince's talented tongue harshly, leaving you breathless and lightheaded.

While you attempt to try and recover from your peak, you can still feel his tongue inside of you, the wet sounds reaching your ears. He acts as if he was trying to claim and taste the last remnants of your peak and arousal, before he no doubt soon rips another from your quivering body.

As the prince lifts his body up to take off his own clothing, you get the glimpse of his arousal covered face. In the current light, you can see his mouth and his chin shining, and it spreads an entire new feeling of arousal within you you didn’t even know was possible. It only worsens though, as you watch him collect some of your juices from his chin with his finger, before sucking on it with an appreciative sound as the taste glides over his tongue.

“Do not call me your prince, call me by my name. Call me Aemond.” He mutters, before he silences your response as he bends to your level to claim your lips with his own.

It’s the combined taste of your arousal on his lips, and the feeling of his erect cock touching the skin of your inner leg, that makes a pathetic whine leave your lips. You almost release another, when the prince, no Aemond, backs away for a moment to look at you with a hooded expression. He truly looks like a dragon about to devour you…

The prince's hands trail over your sweat layered skin with the kind savagery only seen belonging to a man in war. Because by technicality, he is. Aemond Targaryen has no idea when he will die in this Targaryen bloodshed, so he makes sure that he acts on his desires and takes all that you will give to him with great pleasure.

He pumps his cock a few times, to which you watch with eager eyes at the sight of beads of his pleasure coming from the tip of his cock. Much to your surprise and gratitude though, he inserts himself slowly inside of you, and the mixed sounds of his and yours groans of pleasure echo in the room, mixing as one.

Soon, the feeling of the prince's careful and precise thrusts whilst pleasurable, becomes not enough for you. Your legs hook around the prince's waist, and you take Aemond by surprise as you turn the two of you over and take no time in beginning to bounce harshly on his cock.

The deep groans that the prince lets out at the new position are easily one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard in your entire life. “Qogralbar… Konir sagon ziry… sȳz līve gūrogon aōha pleasure hen aōha dārilaros…” Again, the strange words' ,most likely to be that of Valyrian, are lost on you. But the way they sound coming from his tongue specifically, spark something almost primal deep inside. The grip that Aemond has on the skin of your thighs, will no doubt leave harsh and deep coloured bruises, and yet when you feel the sparks of pain from his actions, equally arousing sparks of pleasure get sent all the way up your spine.

Your hands grasp at Aemonds skin for some kind of stability, and your nails dig into his skin so harshly as you try to ground yourself, that you can see small droplets of blood beginning to mark the surrounding flesh. The very sight of it though does not deter you, and if anything it makes you harsher in your efforts for another peak to wash over you.

Although, Aemond surprises you by gripping at your hips and beginning to harshly thrust himself upwards into your wet heat. His cock reached the rough patch deep inside of you that you never knew existed. You were so invested in this new pleasure though, that you had no idea that at this development you had begun to practically shout your pleasures loudly and clearly into the room.

As his cock head bullies that spot inside you, one of his hands reaches to take hold of your neck similarly to earlier. But the grip he holds you now is harsher and less careful, and it makes you breathless. “Oh fuck…” You murmur as your head begins to fill with a strange fuzziness sensation. You feel like you could honestly die there and then. You’ve never felt this type of pleasure before. Never with your husband, and not even with yourself whenever you tried exploring your body as a young girl. The feelings that Aemond was giving you, made the entire world numb, and your body fucking electric.

“Will you let me shoot my seed deep inside you?” Finally, he speaks some words you can understand, other than his deep groans he was serenading you with moments ago. “Will you allow me to show the seven kingdoms the woman who carries my babe in her belly?”

The whine you let out is involuntary, as well as the imagery that comes to mind of you walking eagerly with the prince, a swelling belly officially holding the babe of a man worthy of possessing his blood inside of your womb.

“Yes my prince… show me exactly how worthy you are of me…” A devious idea comes to mind, and a smirk is present on your face as you next speak. “Show me if you truly are better than my husband, the Strong…”

Aemonds face visibly darkens with anger, and the grip that he holds your skin with tightens. His thrusts are harsh as he forcibly brings you to your peak, the feeling of it all rushing through your body at speeds you had no idea was imaginable.

Even when you feel yourself try to recover, the overstimulation begins to set in as Aemond continues to thrust up into you, even as you begin to go numb all over. Still, you’re thankful at the sound of Aemonds deep growl as you feel the warmth of his cum fill you to your brim.

As you gaze down at the heaving body of Aemond, your eyes drink him all in. The blood that you had caused to be brought up from his chest, ran in small delicate trails down his skin, and it excited you all over again to see it. 

A knock rings from the door, and to your surprise, Aemond merely sits up to hold you in his arms and tells the person to enter.

It is not a man who enters, but a boy who looks as if he was already scarred by the war he has joined. It is a pity to even look at, but it certainly looks up as you see the shock on the boy's face when he observes the room and spots the body of your former husband, now stiff and pale on the floor.

“What is it you need?” Aemond snaps, his tone making the boy's eyes snap to look at him, only for the boy's eyes to wander to you, and takes over you unashamedly. He is only able to see the nude form of your back, and yet your body still burns with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal at the situation.

“Ser Cole said that when we are sure all the male Strongs were dead, we were to await your orders my prince.”

“Now that the males are dead, I command you to tell the others to make sure that they leave no Strong alive, except this one… this one will be of great use to me…” Aemond murmurs, a single finger tracing the skin of your face to look only at him, as he gazes at you deeply.

You can hear the door shut behind you, and while the silence overcomes the room you cannot help but question Aemonds previous command. “What of the women like me?” The prince raises a single brow, as if he is confused. Yet he is Aemond Targaryen, the man who has near successfully committed a whole genocide on a single house in one day. You cannot allow him to dodge a question on the basis of fake confusion. “Women born not of house Strong, and yet sold to them to be wedded and bedded for their blood to be spread?”

“Why little one they too must die, for they have had the seed of a strong taint their womb forever more. While you on the other hand my lady, knew of the tainted blood of House Strong, and rightfully rid yourself of any opportunity to taint yourself. House Strong must die, my darling, and not only by blood, but by name as well. Surely you must understand, given out shared hatred moments ago?”

“Is my name not Strong currently, my prince?” You tease. Your face widening in a content smile as Aemond dots wet and no doubt marking kisses on the skin of your neck, high enough so your collars may not cover them, so all could see who has done this to you.

“Soon my darling… soon it shall be Targaryen. And it shall also be the name of my son who is currently sleeping in your belly…”

His hand traces your skin, and you hope he does not raise it higher in fear that he will hear the sound of your heart racing at his words. You cannot find yourself able to reply to him, as the words seem to die in your throat. Instead, you simply lay your head on his shoulder, and try to blank out the high feminine screams of your fellow women as they begin to echo on the cold castle walls. The single tear that begins to roll from your eye could easily have been from the emotional turmoil you have faced, or it could easily be sadness and regret of what you have just done. You will never know…

High Valyrian Translates Part:

• Gevie - beautiful

• Ao sylutegon se sȳrje… kesan brōzagon ao ñuha mērī ābra sir till se mōris - You taste the best… I will call you my only woman now till the end

• Qogralbar… Konir sagon ziry… sȳz līve gūrogon aōha pleasure hen aōha dārilaros - fuck… thats it… good whore take your pleasure from your prince

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. VI

tags: @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @hueanhdang @delaynew @purple-1995 @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97 @mandeepandee1997

With the fourth day come and gone with no ground behind them, the little party wasted no time in packing up their belongings and trudging on once again.

Daenys was awoken from a dreamless sleep by a suffocating feeling. She was jerked awake by her own breathlessness, opening her eyes to be met with the brown fur of Dusk, who had grown impaitient with her sleeping in and made her chest his one personal bed. "Off, boy." She grunted, wheezing at the weight. She swore he could rival Morningstar in weight alone.

Cregan, at the opening of the tent and pack over his shoulder, snickered at the sight. He clicked his tongue twice, shooing the direwolf away. He leaned over Daenys, who was rubbing her eyes. Her hair lay around her in long, unruly waves, surely something that her handmaiden back in Dragonstone would have scolded her for. She usually slept in a loose braid but had forgotten her nightly routine in favor of passing out cold.

"Morning, Princess." Cregan greeted softly, watching her groggily wake herself up. He had been ready and packed long-ago, wanting to let Daenys sleep in and not worry about packing her belongings, most of which were tied to Mylo's saddle.

"Good morning," she mumbled back, stretching out under the furs. The scent of him lingered pleasently. She sat up slowly, the cold of the North making her body ache in the mornings more than it ever did in the South.

Daenys' hair fell around her shoulders and back, nearly to her waist. She cursed the fact that she'd have to spend another morning doing the entire thing all by herself, knowing her arms would be aching before she could even mount her horse. Just when she was contemplating chopping it all off, Cregan offered–"Would you like my help with...all that?" The offer was polite, not wanting to push any boundaries that might make the Princess shy away.

A man doing hair? That was almost laughable. If Daemon made the same offer to Rhaenyra, the whole family would be squaking with amused chuckles, knowing he had no clue how to do something as gentle as that. Perhaps that was why he chopped off his own long locks—or so Daenys heard.

"My hair?" Daenys questioned, looking up to him. He nodded, and she took a moment to think. How did he know how to braid? Briefly, she wondered if he had ever courted someone, perhaps in his youth before he was busy in his lordship.

"My sister, she insisted that I learn by practicing on her. Said it would help with my 'husbandly' responsibilities, whatever that means." They both laughed, while she guiltily felt a sense of relief. She rummaged through her bag briefly, searching for her wooden brush.

"Hm, I would have thought you might have a secret Lady Wife hidden away in Winterfell." Daenys mused, turning her back to him and sitting up straight. He sat behind her, taking the brush she had handed him in a big hand. Their hands touched for a moment, his bare hand making contact with hers for her first time. It was warm, though calloused from years of swordtraining, opposite of her own perfectly manicured ones. Had he taken off his gloves for this? It would be easier, she thought.

"Who's to say I don't? And perhaps a few heirs are already running about, playing as squires." When she glanced behind her, brow raised, he only chuckled and guided her head to turn back.

"I jest, of course. If I had a wife, she would be no secret." He said, grabbing small portions of her hair at a time, brushing from ends to scalp. The white mess quickly became calm waves once more with his handywork. Cregan paused a moment, "what braids would you like?"

Giggling, "how many can you do, Lord Stark?"

"You underestimate me. I have had all sorts of requests from Sara. The least I can do is try."

Daenys pondered what might be a quick one for him to do, deciding on her front pieces being pulled back into a crown, braided in a curving line together across the back of her skull. The rest hung down, providing a small shield against the wind on her neck. Cregan's hands worked smoothly, dexterous, and surprisingly gentle. He apologized for every tug, and was done quickly.

🗡

A young Daenys sat in front of Laenor Velayron, both of them on the floor in front of the lit hearth in Rhaenyra's chambers. Rhaenyra had left a few hours ago, leading young Jacaerys to go play with Aegon while she went to spend time with baby Luke in the nursery.

Laenor had some downtime, recently returning from a voyage to Dorne. Even though he rode the loyal Seasmoke, Laenor was a seaman at heart. He never went too long between being on his ship, which was gifted to him by Lord Corlys of Driftmark. After Daenys' fifth nameday, he lovingly allowed her to name the ship Eveningstar to match her dragon's name.

"How does the mighty Princess wish to wear her warrior's braids this morning?" He asked her in a dramatically knightly voice. "I can do anything you command."

"Dragon!" Daenys exclaimed excitedly, wishing for her hair to be done in the shape of her dragon, who was growing like a weed and already not allowed to be in the Red Keep due to terrorizing Alicent Hightower's children.

Laenor paused, brows high on his forehead. "Perhaps...the Princess overestimates this lowly knight's skill. Maybe a simpler design would appease her?"

Straightening up, Daenys glanced back up at him and scrunched her nose playfully. "I thought you said you could do anything."

Her father chuckled nervously, the scrutiny of the young girl reminding him much of Rhaenyra's sharp gaze. Luckily, Daenys' wrath was much more forgiving than her mother's. "I can do anything, within human limits." He mimicked her whining tone.

Daenys sighed loudly, thinking about what she wanted again. "What about the gems? Can you put them into the braid, at least?"

Laenor grunted as he stood up, joints in one place for too long. He rummaged through Rhaenyra's vanity, knowing she wouldn't mind if it was for Daenys. He plucked out some bright blue ones, with small holes carved in the middle for hair to poke through. "Blue?"

Daenys nodded, hair ruffling out of place from the jerking movements. Blue reminded her of the skies, the view she was gifted when she rode through the clouds on Syrax or Seasmoke with her parents. It was also quite like the sea, which she saw often at the docks with Laenor. It was perfect for today.

As Laenor returned to his position, he started his work. Different sized braids adorned the back of her hair, with the front pieces in bubbled loose strands separated in inches by the stones. The rest hung down in its usual waves, more stones hanging down from them. They twinkled when Daenys moved her head side to side.

"All done, my girl." Laenor told her, patting her shoulders.

"Can we go on a boat ride?" She pleaded with her father. She had been wanting to be out on the sea all morning, wishing to spend time with her father in one of their favorite places. Even if it meant dealing with the fishy scent of their catches, she loved the sailor's life and the boisterous people who lived it daily.

"I don't think so, Daenys. Your mother gave me an earful about letting you near the crew, last time." He told her, petting her hair back comfortingly when she frowned.

"Can we swim, then? At the beach?" She changed the question, knowing her mother's word was absolute. 'The Beach' was a little island between Dragonstone and King's Landing, which the dragonriders oft visited because of its seclusion from court and fisherman.

Laenor thought for a moment. Rhaenyra wouldn't be upset about it, surely. "What about your hair? We spent so much time on it."

She shook her head, the stones sparking together in turn. "It will be fine, I won't dive today."

Likely story, Laenor thought, but bit his tongue. "Very well, we'll take Seasmoke to the beach." He gave in, as always. No one could resist the little girl's charms, especially her father.

Daenys thought for a moment to bring along Jace but decided against it. He couldn't yet swim, and would only feel left out on the shore. Ever the jealous boy, Aegon would have to be his company for today.

Laenor took Daenys to the dragonpit, packing a small picnic for two and their swimclothes. The two spent the majority of the sunlight frolicking in the sand and salty water, enjoying small sandwhiches that the maids prepared beforehand.

Upon the Princess and Ser's return, Rhaenyra was gifted with many pretty seashells in a sincere apology for Daenys losing many of the blue gems. A small white sand dollar was placed next to Luke's crib quietly, Daenys knowing better than to place objects on his soft bedding. Jacaerys was given a sturdy red shell, but all-too-quickly returned it to Daenys' sandy hands as a crab popped its little black eyes out of it.

"Father!" Daenys called after Laenor, who was on his way out of the keep and to the docks. "There's a crab in this one. Can we return it to the beach?" She begged, jumping up and down and tugged at his sleeve.

Sighing, Laenor knew it would be a while til he made it to the docks. He couldn't resist that face, after all

🗡

Daenys felt the soft braid with her fingertips, satisfied at the evenness. She looked behind her, a grateful smile meeting his eyes. "Thank you, Cregan. I appreciate it."

He hummed, gathering her bag for her after putting her brush back into it. Cregan parted the tent flaps again, allowing the sunlight to peak through once again. Dusk was sitting outside of the tent, lying on her discarded dress. Whether he or Cregan moved it there was a mystery. They left the tent, Cregan folding it up while Daenys went to Morningstar.

The beast greeted her with a small chuff, though she did not lift her head. "What's the matter, pretty girl?" Daenys asked her lifted a hand to pet her cheek. The dragoness turned her head away, setting it on the clear ground below it. All the snow had long melted away around her in a ring, the dragon's body heat not giving it a chance to return. "Morningstar?"

A huff.

Daenys rolled her eyes at the dragon's brattiness. "I'm sorry, please forgive me. I promise It won't happen again, Cregan has looked after me." She spoke the apology in her mother tongue, sincerely. She never got a chance to last night, falling asleep right after the hunt.

The she-dragon lifted her head, eyeing Cregan as he walked up to them. "I heard my name?" He asked, an amused smirk on his lips.

Morningstar and Daenys turned to him together, four violet eyes squinted at him as if to say, 'stay out of it.' The dragon grumbled, shifting the stand on her wings. Cregan looked to Daenys, wondering why she wasn't happy to see her rider, as she usually was. Daenys opened her mouth to answer, only to be knocked down into the snow by a shove of Morningstar's snout. Confused, Daenys looked up to her, mouth agape. The dragon playfully nudged Cregan, asking for his attention.

Traitors.

Cregan laughed loudly at the display, giving in to the dragon's whims. Not like he had any choice, he feared what an angry dragoness might do to him if he rejected her so rudely.

Dusk sat himself next to Daenys, who had since sat up. The direwolf growled at the affection display, jealous of Cregan giving his attention to another creature, more specifically the dragon who had been hovering their whole trip. She ruffled his thick fur, enjoying the softness compared to Morningstar's smooth scales. Morningstar seemed to eye the two on the floor, grumbling again into Cregan's fur-coated chest.

Cregan helped Daenys up from the snow, letting her brush herself off before they untied the horses. Mylo greeted her with a lick to her palm, happy to see her again. They both sat upon their horses, eyeing the spot where Seamus' tent had been.

"Where's Seamus?" Daenys asked him, in a hushed tone as she leaned toward the man.

He sat up straight, not caring if Seamus overheard his words. "He went ahead when I was waking you. Claimed that he wanted to 'scout' ahead. As if Dusk can not do that." Cregan seemed irritated at the mere mention of the elder, so Daenys chose to nod and drop the topic.

The two horses walked side by side, while Daenys and Cregan idly chattered. "Your sister, Sara, where is she now? I never got to see her at Winterfell."

"She is residing at Mormont Keep now. A good friend of mine, the third son of Lord Grendys Mormont, proposed marriage a year ago. I'm expecting good news from Sara soon." Cregan smiled at the mention of his only living sibling. It had been nearly a year since she'd found her love match and left Winterfell for good.

"Eager for a niece or nephew already?" Daenys asked, corners of her mouth lifting. One day, she hoped for many nieces and nephews to surround herself with if she truly did end up a spinster. If so, she was comforted with the fact that she had only brothers, thus would have all their wives be moved to Dragonstone or the Red Keep to allow everyone to be close together.

"Indeed. It's been a while since Winterfell's keep has been graced with younglings."

Daenys almost snorted at the strange name for children but kept it to herself in hopes of not offending him. Northerners and their strange vocabulary. "I quite agree, it is rather quiet in the Great Keep."

"That is partially my fault, I must admit. My council and bannermen have been urging me to take a wife since I was but three and ten. For heirs, they say. I see it as them anxiously anticipating my early demise." He snorted.

"Perhaps a noble's real duty is to tolerate their council's nagging. I envy your patience, Lord Stark."

He turned his head toward her, a questioning look in his eye. "My patience? I have not seen you pushed to anger once in our time together, Princess."

"Whatever is there to be angry for?" She fired back. She'd never been a snappy person, except perhaps when her brothers stole her desert one too many times, but never was she considered an impaitient person.

Cregan stumbled slightly, trying to find the right words, "nevermind." he mumbled, cheeks pink.

Daenys bit her cheek, holding another laugh. Seeing the young Lord flustered amused her greatly. "Cregan," she began.

Perking up, he tilted his head towards her, "yes, Princess?"

"Do you think we ought to have spotted Seamus by now?"

He hummed, looking forward with careful eyes. "Mayhaps, but I think he is avoiding us purposefully to calm himself. He was quite humiliated last night."

Daenys snickered, remembering the taught look on the older man's face, red all the way to his neck. "Serves him right. Slaughtering an animal is one thing, but dishonoring it entirely is another. It is not right. Any respectable man would have left its head with its body so its soul could rest easy."

Cregan was silent for a few beats after her words. "I agree, the animals killed in defense have as much right to respect as the ones we hunt for food. Is that a Targaryen or a Velayron belief?"

Daenys shifted in the saddle, twitching at the mention of her blood. "Velayrons believe that we shall return to the sea, where we come from. Targaryens burn their dead, in the way of our ancestors."

"Which would you have to honor you after your death?" The question surprised her, seeing Cregan's sincere gaze upon her like a calmness in a storm.

"It's hard to say. My father burned when he died, and we could only lay his ashen bones in the casket that we sent into the sea. He never got a proper Velayron death as he would've wanted." She told him. "Perhaps it would be my fate to die like a Targaryen, on my dragon and being burned by my opponent. I must admit I have always been partial to the sea, though. Or, if the Gods will it, Morningstar and I would fall together. If such a thing does happen, perhaps buried in the crypts alongside her." She rambled on. Faces flashed in her mind. Drunken Aegon, spiteful Aemond, sweet Helena, even young Daeron. All dragonriders on the opposing ride, all her potential killers.

"Do not say such things, Princess. You will live to be an old dame, I am sure." The Northerner said, tapping his foot out of his stirrups to her own booted one.

"Apologies, my Lord. It is an awfully morbid topic for a Lady." She rescinded.

An awkward silence washed over the two, neither knowing if they offended the other nor what to say next. Curse her stupid big mouth. What kind of Princess talks to a man about her own death? Not one that will gain any prospects, surely. Daenys kissed her teeth, biting back a sigh. She wished to withdraw into a tent, or better yet, the skies atop of Morningstar.

It was hours before the two stopped for a break, watering and feeding the horses. Dusk rounded back to them, content with taking a break after his watch. He laid his large head on Daenys' lap, and she struggled not to tense at the reminder.

Cregan stole many discreet glances at her as she stretched out under a large tree. Her silence had worried him greatly, and the Lord feared that she would tuck herself back into her deep shell. Maybe literally, with all those coats over her shoulders. The roots were robust, sticking out of the ground and study enough to sit herself on.

He approached her after allowing her some minutes of respite. Offering his hand, Cregan lifted her to her feet, though he did not let go of her hand. Daenys stilled, wondering what he wanted.

"Do you have the dagger on you?" He asked.

Daenys nodded, "are we going hunting?"

He shook his head, backing away a step from her. "We have the spare rabbits still. Grab it." Suddenly, his voice seemed to change from his gentle one to a more firm one. Like the one he used for his men rather than for Daenys.

Bemused, she grabbed the dagger from under her skirts—she had decided that the belt of her garters would make a fine shealth. Cregan's gaze flittered to her exposed legs for only a moment before he forced it back to her face. Holding it out for him to take, she was surprised when he closed it back around her fist.

"It is still yours. I want you to attack me."

"Attack you?!" Daenys exclaimed, clutching the dagger toward her chest. "I will not do such a thing."

Cregan chuckled shortly, shifting on his feet. "I am asking you to, Princess. You will not hurt me, I assure you."

"I am well confident in your skills, my Lord. But, anything could happen, even accidentally. A Lady does not wield weapons against her own bannermen–or at all." Daenys stammered out.

Even Rhaenyra, who was made heir for the throne at seven and ten, was not made to learn the ways of weaponry. She had her loyal guards to protect her at all times, and that's not to mention Daemon, who is one of the best swordsmen Westeros had to offer.

He sighed at her stubbornness. "Humor me, just this once. I want to show you how to wield it without losing your grip, at least. As long as your weapon stays in your hand, you are still in the fight."

"I have my dragon." She insisted, sniffing.

"And where was she when you were wandering the woods, Princess?"

Daenys clenched her teeth, knowing she couldn't argue with his bite. Morningstar couldn't always be there to help her, something that she learned the hard way. In the woods, indoors, underground: all places that her dragon could not defend her in unless she wished to burn with the enemy.

"Come on, my Lady. This is what is best for you. I wager you will need to use such skills against an opponent some day soon, without the shield of Morningstar." He seemed tense, similar to his state when first coming across Seamus Knott.

"Cregan..." She pleaded, looking up at him with her dagger limply hung at her hip.

"Daenys." He was unmoved, though his eyes flashed with a unique softness briefly. Daenys' name coming from his lips made her belly fill with butterflies, a warmth spreading throughout her at his low tone.

She sighed, giving in to him. How could she not, when he looked at her like that? Every bit the ruggedly gentle Northern man she had grown to know well.

She shifted her stance, pulling the hand holding the dagger in front of her face, eyeing him over it. He had not moved, only observing her carefully, noting every breath she took.

Daenys stepped forward, swiping the knife towards his chestpiece, the safest option, only to stumble on her feet when Cregan grabbed her wrist and tugged her into his chest. "You were staring at my chest the whole time. Don't make it so obvious where you want to strike."

He kept her tight in his grip, the other hand on her back firmly. "I shouldn't be able to pull you off your feet so easily. If I can simply hold you like this so easily, imagine what a lesser man could do without breaking a sweat."

Daenys flushed at the implication, face warm with embarrassment. He paid no mind to it, releasing his grip and allowing her to stand straight again. Cregan shifted behind her, breath hot against her ear. "Stand lower, center yourself so you can not be felled so easily." He placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing down gently until her knees bent slightly. He pushed her with one hand, appeased when she only bent instead of falling into the snow. Cregan traced a hand down the expanse of her arm, reaching her hand and taking it in his own. He adjusted her grip on it, folding his larger hand around hers, "hold it like this if you wish to swipe instead of stab, like you intended."

When she obeyed, he nodded satisfactorily. He backed away again, standing in front of her. "Again." His voice was hard, rougher than he perhaps knew.

Daenys gritted her teeth, frustrated at his attitude. Was he angry with her for being so green with a weapon? Did most Northern ladies know all this stuff by the time they could walk? She hated the way he looked down at her, as if she was one of his soldiers instead of just Daenys.

Hours passed, with Daenys panting and exhausted from her exertions and Cregan perfectly unharmed in front of her. Daenys improved slightly after every attempt, much to Cregan's approval. They had lost track of time, well into the afternoon before they had eaten and set off riding again. They rode in a deafening silence, the only sounds being the horses' clompering steps. She wished to speak with him to understand why he suddenly was so stressed for her safety. He had promised to stay by her side. Why would she need to protect herself unless he was planning on leaving her?

He hadn't humored any of her longing glances, gaze as straight as his regal posture. In the sunset's glowing light, he looked quite like a Northern Prince sat upon his steed. She wondered if she looked the part of a Princess on her own, or ever. If she didn't have the signature Targaryen white hair or purple eyes, would anyone guess what she was? Jacaerys was always recognized, even without the sigil on his tunics. He always fit his role as heir perfectly. If she had shared his plain features, Daenys guessed that she would be mistaken for a random noblelady of a forgotten house. Her face familiar but none quite able to recall her name.

The two settled in a small clearing, the biggest they had been able to find for hours. Morningstar hovered for a bit before settled down in their find. She had been gone for the entirety of their little training session, most likely to hunt her own meal in the pause. The dragon curled up near the tent, already melting the surrounded area. Maybe the tent would be warmer tonight thanks to her.

Cregan and Daenys sat in front of the fire, roasting the skinned rabbit. Daenys glanced at him several times over the flames, only to be pointedly ignored. She sighed, standing to her feet. "I'll be back." She told him, getting a small hum in return. He assumed she was using the bathroom, so he made no move to stop her. Daenys wandered slightly in the wood, stretching her legs and enjoying her moment of peace. Whilst she was plotting her next words to Cregan concerning his silent attitude, she was stopped by Seamus, standing imposingly in her path.

"You've been gone quite a while." Daenys greeted with a short nod, shifting uncomfortably. He only stared back. "Are you going to set your tent up with ours?"

More silence. He didn't seem to have his pack on his back anymore, only his sword on his belt and a dagger's shealth on the other side to mirror it. She tensed, mouth drying up. Whatever his intentions might have been, none were good.

"Princess Daenys." He started, voice dark with spite. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for an opportunity like this. For twenty long and painful years, I served the Watch. Patient, biding my time until I can be restored to my rightful place as Lord Knott."

Daenys stepped back, reaching slowly to bunch up her skirt, trying to reach her knife without drawing much attention to it.

He mirrored her step. "I won't let that little brat take his place as pretender any longer. Because I have you, now." He grinned, baring his teeth down at her. His black beard was a stark contrast to his shining teeth, saliva parting at his lips. He reminded her of a rabid dog, slobbering and desperate to bite down on anything to relieve its own pain. He slowly unsheathed his dagger, pointing it at her from his spot yards away. "If I take you to the King, I will be bestowed with riches and titles above anyone. He will have to make me Hand in exchange for giving up the usurper's daughter!"

Seamus laughed at his own proclamation. It was a good plan, she admitted. Aegon would be generous enough to give him back his seat at House Knott. Daenys shook her head, taking more slow steps back. When she was about to attempt to reason with him, he lunged. Seamus wasted no time pinning her to the floor, covering her mouth with a dirty hand. "Oh no, Princess. Can't have that little brat ruining this for me. Just like his damned father."

She thrashed, kicking and clawing at his face. Even with the small lines of blood dripping from his face, he never faultered. He placed the dagger at her throat, pulling her roughly to her feet.

He pushed her in front of him all the way to the campsite, where Cregan was already looking to the treeline to spot her return. He stood immediately when Daenys came back, steel placed deadly close to her neck. He drew Ice to his hand, pointing it at the older man.

"Release the Princess, Knott." He growled.

The man chortled behind Daenys, hot breath on her neck, making gooseflesh rise to her arms uncomfortably. "Put that down, boy. You know you cannot harm me without hurting the little lass."

Cregan grit his teeth harshly, jaw ticking. He glanced to Daenys, who guiltily blinked up at him. Sorry, she seemed to say. For wandering off stupidly once again.

Dusk was gone, hunting his own dinner for the night. How convenient for the kinslayer.

Seamus slowly walked to the dragon, who had long since awoken when she spotted Daenys at the mercy of her aggressor. The dragon roared when he approached, hot breath washing over them both and the wind strong enough to make him stumble back slightly. "Command your beast to obey, or she will not have a rider to listen to anymore. Remember, Princess, I need you alive, not unharmed." He sneered.

"I will find you, Daenys." Cregan spoke firmly, standing at the base of Morningstar's wing.

Daenys, with the steel still cold at her neck, commanded Morningstar shakily. "Lykiri, Morningstar. Rual īlva naejot kipagon." She nodded stiffly when the white dragon whined, distressed at what she was being forced to do.

Reluctantly, the dragon lowered its wing to allow both onto her saddle, Daenys still sitting in front of him. He pressed himself tight against her back, one hand squeezing her waist in an almost choking manner. She felt nauseous, glancing to Cregan for reassurance. For the first time, the man looked helpless. Ice was discarded onto the snow, and his throat bobbed with tension.

"Fly, girl!" The man snarled, making Daenys flinch at the loudness. Cursing, she commanded Morningstar to lift off. "You will take us to King's Landing. Anywhere off course, and you will lose your little fingers one by one."

Daenys nodded, gaze straight at the dark sky, the blackness of the night providing her a lonely comfort. She knew Cregan was watching her disappear into the cloud's cover, not being able to do a thing.

Morningstar furiously roared and growled and cried out into the skies, helpless once again to help her rider.

Daenys patted her scales softly in a comforting motion, whispering to the dragon, "īlon jāhor ērinagon."

🗡

Rual īlva naejot kipagon - allow us to ride

Lykiri- Calm

īlon jāhor ērinagon - we will/shall win

Cregan's guilt for not being there for Daenys is eating at him 🙂‍↔️ and coming off all wrong. Whatever shall the young lovebirds do?

what is it that one post said a few weeks back, "paws that he calls hands"? I always think of that when writing about his hands its suck in my head

I should probably establish ages. With Laenor's flashback, its kinda wonky. Joff and Rhae + Daemon's youngest kids' age don't matter because they will have no importance to the story sorry not sorry

Cregan - 21

Daenys- 20

Jace - 18

Luke - 14

Joffrey - 5-7

Aegon and Viserys - Under 5

[mayullla]

Title: Princess rescued by the hero

Character(s): Hero (Named character/original work)

Summary: A Hero arrived to save you yet you could not help but fear him more than the villain.

Tags/Warnings: Princess!reader, male!yandere, general yandere themes, implied manipulation, drabble: 680 words

It was a classic tale of a princess, a hero, and a villain. The princess was taken away from her home and family by the villain, only to be trapped within an old and dusty castle, and later saved by a hero.

You thought that they were just stories, nothing more.

Your captor was a man who knew how to use both dark magic and the sword. His subordinates were monsters and shadows that he created to rule over the kingdoms and nations. You wondered what you had done to catch the eyes of such a man, but in the end, there was always a hero.

Someone who would save you from the grasp of the wicked man…

"Thank you for saving me." It was hard for you to breathe as you stood in front of the ruined halls of the old castle and stared at the hero's face. The man who saved you placed a hand on his chest as he got down on one knee along with his team. You couldn't see his face as he looked down, bowing at you in a respectful manner. "You are now safe, princess."

Maybe it was best that you didn't see his face, you thought to yourself as you looked at the hero and his group.

You were still conscious of what happened in the fight. Your hands shivered at the thought when the dark lord turned into a dragon to kill the hero’s group, only to die at the hands of the hero who stabbed his sword into the monster’s chest.

You looked to your side to see the dead dark lord who took you away from your home, or what was left of him. He had turned into nothing but a burnt corpse consumed by the flames that he made.

The fight was still fresh in your mind, the spells that were cast on both sides from the dark lord himself and a wizard from the hero's group. Arrows flew at both sides in such a small space, and the crashes of swords still rang in your ears.

"What is your name? I need to know the hero who saved me." You spoke, holding on to whatever little pride you had. Holding yourself back from stuttering after everything you have gone through till now.

"My name is Vale," he said, his head still down. You didn't want to see his face. You were grateful truly that you were saved, and able to return home, but you could not help but become suspicious of the hero.

The hero who saved you was someone you feared.

"Thank you, Sir Vale, for killing the dark lord and saving me from him," you said as you lowered yourself down to take the man's hand, telling him to stand up and asking him if he was okay. “I will not forget you and your group's sacrifices.”

You didn't have any pity for the dark lord, for he was the one who destroyed homes and killed many. You weren't sympathetic to his death. But the moment when the hero stabbed the dark lord in the chest, the determined look on his face held something else.

You avoided the hero's eyes. Avoided looking at the blood splatter on his clothes. You could not help but wonder if there was something that you didn't know here. His eyes held a certain kind of insanity within them. The overconfidence of knowing that he would win as if this whole scenario was staged from the start.

A stage that was to reach a goal.

And you knew that this had something to do with you. When your eyes met his, you were sure of it as he held your hand tightly, warning but also clinging. The love in his eyes was crazed as he looked at you with so much passion. You were familiar with those eyes of his even before he became a hero, and tried to avoid him. Was he the one who created this stage, you wondered by yourself.

You were a fool, as you have placed yourself right on his hand.

[flowerandblood]

Aemond & Rhaenys's children

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

I've decided to create moodobards and descriptions for each of Aemond and Rhaenys' children from The Fall from the Heavens series to make it easier to place the events of the final chapters in space-time. I am adding descriptions created later by the maesters, giving a more detailed look at each of the children of the ruler-regents. The only warning is sibling incest, lol.

Viserys

Firstborn son. Quiet, calm, empathetic. He inherited his hair color from his father and the color of his eyes from his mother. As he aged, he resembled his mother more and more.

King Viserys saw his parents as if they were demigods: the path they set him on was the one he wanted to follow. As a child, he was reserved and shy, gazing at his father's figure like the mightiest of heroes, flying on the world's greatest dragon. His mature demeanour and ability to take good advice made him a wise and prudent ruler, acting violently only when necessary, concerned for the welfare of his family and the Kingdom as a whole.

When his uncle, Prince Aegon, began plotting against him in the Eyrie after the death of his mother, Rhaenyra, declaring himself the true heir to the throne, he sent Aegon's father, Daemon, and his younger sister Visenya to him, hoping to resolve the conflict peacefully. Visenya, to their grandfather's amusement, was to say to her uncle:

‘I will return to King's Landing with the message that you will kneel, or with your head.’

His marriage to his uncle's youngest daughter, Princess Alyssa, although met with resistance in the form of his grandfather Daemon and his father wanting him to marry his own sister, Visenya, proved successful and happy; the young king became a father after just the first year of their marriage. Queen Alyssa, known for her kindness, laughter and sense of humour, filled the entire court with joy. They lived to have six children.

Queen Alyssa and their first-born son, Aemond

Aegon

Three years younger than Viserys. Mischievous, clever, arrogant. He inherited his father's white hair and the color of his eyes. Like his father, he did not forgive easily.

Many compared him to his grandmother's husband, Prince Daemon: like him, he was hot-tempered and easily enraged. However, where his uncle would burn and destroy, he would delve into his mind, clever enough to devise a plan by which he could crush his opponents. His elder brother's enemies were his enemies and they could count on neither forgiveness nor oblivion. He and his younger sister, Visenya, became honorary members of their brother-king's Kingsguard.

To strengthen the bond between the North and King's Landing, his brother ordered him to marry Lord Stark's daughter, which he did. The Prince, although at first aloof and unhappy with how quiet and prudish his wife was, grew to love her when he discovered, while staying in Winterfell, her deeply hidden nature.

It turned out that his wife not only understood what lust was, but also what the art of war was, and after only a few months the people of the North could watch Prince Aegon teach his lady-wife archery. They lived to have four children, and he spent his life travelling on his dragon between Winterfell and King's Landing.

Aegon and Visenya

Daeron

Six years younger than Viserys. Honorable, wise, prudent. He inherited most of his siblings from his mother and his grandfather, Harwin Strong. Many at court said he resembled his uncle, the ruler of Dragonstone, Prince Jacaerys.

Viserys' beloved brother, the Sun Prince. He inherited his mother's ease of conversation as well as her gift for diplomacy along with his father's fierceness and directness. He and Viserys shared a unique bond from childhood and remained close companions throughout their lives. Though devoid of Targayren hair colour, it was he who aroused the greatest desire in the opposite sex, and every lady of the court dreamed of becoming his wife.

To their despair, his gaze was directed at only one woman: his sister, Aemma, whom he loved deeply from the day she was born. Throughout their childhood they remained inseparable, and in moments of separation they exchanged long, affectionate letters with each other. When Aemma turned sixteen, Daeron visited his father to ask him for her hand, and he agreed.

Daeron turned 23 and Aemma 18 when they stood together in the Great Sept, becoming husband and wife. Their marriage was successful and happy, and they did not part with each other for a moment. They lived to have eight children, and after their parents flew off on their journey to Essos, Daeron became the Hand of the King, taking his father's place.

Daeron and Aemma

Visenya

Seven years younger than Viserys. Harsh, fierce, untamed. She inherited her father's hair color, curls of her mother and the eyes of her grandmother, Rhaenyra.

Called by some the Fiery Princess, Daemon's favorite grandchild. The whole kingdom rejoiced at the announcement that a daughter had at last been born to the ruler-regents, but it was not known at the time that she would become a true dragon. In secret from her father, she unfastened his dagger from his belt and, to his fury, practised wielding it in solitude.

Although neither he nor his wife considered her interests worthy of a lady, her character left them no room for compromise and, to their despair, eventually the whole of the Red Keep could watch their daughter confront her own brother, Aegon, in a sword fight.

She refused to wear gowns, dressing exactly like her father, choosing mostly black, fitted tunics and breeches. In a frenzy of rage, deciding that her hair was getting in her way while flying on her dragon, she cut it to shoulder height one day, startling the entire court. Walking with her sister through the gardens of the Red Keep, she looked from behind as if she were a man.

The people of the court lowered their eyes in fear at the sight of only two people: King Regent Aemond and his eldest daughter. It was said that her gaze, gait and smile were animal-like, menacing and warning. Her mood changed like the weather and one never knew what would please or anger her, while arguments between her and her father made it seem as if the whole keep was shaking.

If it could be assumed that Princess Visenya ever loved anyone, it was certainly her younger sister, Aemma. Though like fire and water, her older sister always kept her safe, relying only on her opinion. When her parents wanted to reason with her, they would send her younger sister to speak with her. When the betrothal between Prince Daeron and Princess Aemma was announced, Visenya was to say:

‘If I were a man, I would have abducted her long time ago and taken her as my wife in the tradition of Old Valryia.’

Her brother-king gave her a choice: she could, like her brother Aegon, be married off or become an official member of his Kingsguard. She opted for the latter, becoming her eldest brother's shadow from then on.

Aemma and Visenya

Aemma

Eleven years younger than Viserys. Devoted, bright, compassionate. She inherited the dark curls of her mother and the brown eyes of her grandmother, Alicent.

Called the Light of the Kingdom: according to those who knew and described her, she could only be matched in beauty by her mother. Beloved child of her parents, full of warmth, joy and generosity, she resembled a Queen Regent the most out of her siblings.

Her gentle, patient nature meant that she was the only one able to get through the fortress her father had created around his mind, discussing with him for hours by the fire. She was very close with all of the members of her family, adored and loved, however, the closest relationship she had was with Visenya, and the ladies of the court said that it was her elder sister who stole her first kiss.

Although she was originally to be betrothed to Lord Lannister's grandson, her mother very quickly recognised the exceptionally close bond between her and her brother, and it was not long before Daeron himself asked his father for her hand.

Their father gave his consent to their marriage, and just a few months later their nuptials took place in the Great Sept in front of the entire Realm. The ladies of the court were to say at the time:

‘Prince Daeron and Princess Aemma spoke little during the feast, looking at each other with eyes full of tears, smiles on their faces that told all gathered that this was the happiest day of their lives. As they danced with each other, they seemed to see no one around them, their hands entwined together, refusing to let go, holding them close to each other.’

Daeron and Aemma

Aemon

Fourteen years younger than Viserys. Withdrawn, intelligent, humble. He inherited his mother's dark hair and his father's eyes.

The only one among his siblings from whose egg a dragon did not hatch. The Septon confessed to his parents that from an early age he showed signs of genius: he learned to read and speak extremely quickly, discussed lierature and philosophy as if he were a grown man and was perpetually hungry for knowledge. He expressed his desire to become the maester, and despite his mother's despair, his father agreed to send him to the Old Town, so he could receive his education there.

Saera

17 years younger than Viserys. Sensitive, introverted, observant. She inherited her grandmother's white hair and her mother's eyes.

Ever since she was a small child, she had been telling her parents about dreams that she did not understand: it was only after a discussion with her aunt, Helaena, that it became clear that they were both seeing similar images, hearing similar sounds and smelling similar smells when they slept. This worried their parents, because they didn't want their youngest, most sensitive child to carry the burden of visions that could overwhelm her, so when they were unable to reason with her, Helaena spoke to her.

Author's note: I spent hours correcting the saturation, light and tone of all the images to match, I colored some of them too (hair). You can reblog this post, but do not repost my edits. Thank you. 😇

[the20thangel]

The Dragon and The Raven Chapter 9 (Seasmoke)

Chapter Summary: Aemma discovers her mother is letting Dragonseeds start claiming dragons. She and Benjicot fly to Dragonstone. If someone is going to claim her father's dragon, she should try to see the person she thinks is worthy of Seasmoke. As they go to witness the people, Seasmoke decides to surprise them all.

Taglist: @callsignwidow @whimsicalmystic02 @mercedesdecorazon @rhaenyrathecruelwithteats

Tags: NSFW words, mentions of potential miscarriage.

Keep track of the story: masterlist

Aemma and Benji’s relationship slowly started to heal after their fight. Aemma always took the time to assure her husband of how attractive and loving he was towards her. Of course, Benjicot also took the initiative to reciprocate those actions. He missed her so much from their time separate. Every day, he would wake her with a kiss on her brow before getting ready for the day. Per the healer's orders, he would allow the princess to sleep in to ensure the princess would get enough rest to help their babe. 

Aemma was finally introduced to Kermit and Oscar Tully. The Tully brothers were awed by meeting the princess; words that described her beauty were unmatched by the real picture. As they expressed loyalty to her mother, Aemma noticed how the two young men tried but kept failing to ogle her. Benji also saw this, sending a glare to his friends, causing the boys to flush, stammer, apologize, and quickly leave. No one wanted to be the cause of Benjicot’s ire. 

“They are your friends, Ben,” whispered Aemma as she tried to console her husband. 

“Which is worse because they know I do not like it,” stated Benjicot, growing to hate how easily it was for him to get jealous. He knew his wife was gorgeous, and men would always stare, but that never meant he had to like it. 

Aemma sighed, knowing his feelings were valid, “Yes, in your defense, they probably should know better, but in their defense, they have no chance. Why would I want the attention of some other man when I have yours? Why should I care for another person’s attention when you provide all the attention I want? I carry your babe, not theirs, and you are the only one who makes my body and soul burn for you.” 

Feeling devious, she walked closer to her husband, pressing her body to him and whispering to his ear, “You are the only man who can make my thighs ache and wet for your cock. You are the only man who can satisfy a dragon, making her scream and shout your name. This whole camp knows my body belongs to you. Even now, my body wishes you would take me..” 

Aemma gasped as Benji's hungry kiss cut her off. As he raised her in his arms, he walked back into their tent, wishing to show the princess how much her pretty words had affected him. Aemma giggled and sighed, feeling his kisses on her neck; oh, how much she missed this. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Benjicot left a satisfied princess sleeping, he walked towards the training ground, where he found Cregan Stark and his Aunt dueling. Benjicot could not help but notice how much time the two were spending together, wondering if he soon would have to speak with Lord Stark about doweries, knowing that he was technically in charge of any potential marriage regarding his aunt. As the pair noticed the young lord, they stopped and walked towards him. Aly asked for Aemma, to which Benjicot said the princess was sleeping. Aly nodded, stating that she would bathe before checking on her. Aly became very overprotective of the princess since their fight. 

As both men watched Aly Blackwood leave, Cregan glanced at Benjicot. 

“How is Aemma truly?” pondered Cregan as he began to polish his sword, not once removing his eyes from Benjicot. 

“She is getting better; her illness is finally relieved from her. Thank the gods,” stated Benji, feeling slightly nervous after seeing the piercing gaze the Wolf Lord gave to the lord of Raventree Hall.

Cregan nodded, “That’s good; she was looking a little frail, which worried me…” Cregan notices the slight frown on Benjicot’s face. 

He sighed. Hearing from Aly that Benjicot tended to be easily jealous, he needed to clarify before the lad thought anything. 

“I love Aemma as a sister. Jace and she endeared themselves to me when they went to the north, and they often reminded me of my own siblings. Seeing someone so fierce and happy as Aemma to be knocked down over a sudden illness just worried me. She barely had enough time to mourn Prince Lucerys, who I know was close to Aemma; I felt everything was going too fast. Nevertheless, I vouched for you when Jace was adamant not to accept you, so I was worried the “illness” was just an excuse and you two were having troubles.” explained Cregan Stark, trying to see any cracks in Benjicot’s face, but the young lord had a good poker face. 

In reality, on the inside, Benji wanted to scream, his guilt returning to him with the troubles he and Aemma were going through.  Benjicot pondered if he should tell Stark what happened or not. After a while, he decided to give some information, knowing the Stark lord would appreciate it. 

“In truth, we just found out that Aemma is expecting, but many of the foods have so far not sat well with her, so she was feeling frail, which caused more worry once the healer stated that Aemma was at risk of losing the babe. She felt she was failing at her duty, which I had to assure her she was not. Another babe can come if the gods wish to bless us, but the gods can’t give us another Aemma Velayron.” explained Benjioct, staring up at the sky and seeing two dragons dancing in the air, Caraxes and Sliverwing. 

Cregan exhaled as he stood clasping Benji’s arms and clapping him on the back, “Congratulations, but truly, are she and the babe doing better?” 

Benjicot slightly smiled, “Yes, with each day, both are getting stronger, but the healer has asked us not to share anything until her fourth moon, just to be sure. So Please, only you and my aunt know outside of Aemma and me; please don’t share the news until we feel ready.” asked Benjicot, feeling more at ease. 

Cregan nodded, overjoyed that this surrogate sister was having a baby. After dealing with their house losses, Houses Targaryen and Blackwood were receiving a new life. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Aly reached the tent, she was met by a few handmaidens running through it, preparing the princess for the rest of the day. Noticing one holding a letter, Aly went to her, asking if she wanted to give it to the princess, as the maiden nodded and left. Aemma saw Aly and grinned at her, finding how much they enjoyed each other’s company. 

“May I ask the princess what tired her out in the middle of the day to warrant a nap? Hmm?” teased Alysanne, grinning more as she saw Aemma blush and turned away. 

“All I will say is your nephew, and that should be enough,” Aemma said as her handmaiden giggled, finishing putting the princess together. 

Alyssane rolled her eyes but was secretly glad to hear that Ben and Aemma were coming back together like before the whole Aegon debacle. 

While waiting for the last Handmaiden to leave, Aly went to Aemma, looking at the girl leave and placing a hand on the princess’s ever-growing stomach. “How are you both dwelling today?” she whispered. 

Aemma smiled, placing her hand on Aly, “We are doing well. I don’t get as sick anymore, but I crave lemon cakes. But I don’t want to make it too obvious by asking for them. Those were the tall-tale signs in my mother’s pregnancies.” stated Aemma, flushing in embarrassment as Alyssane laughed. 

“Just let me know; Ben and I will sneak all the lemon cakes our princess commands us to take.” 

Aemma laughed, hitting Aly on her shoulder playfully. She was glad to make a friend. Moving to Raventree Hall after the war would be easier. 

Before Aly forgot, she handed Aemma the letter she held in her other hand. Aemma opened the letter, reading that her father wished for her and Benji to speak with him. Frowning, she asked Aly if she could do the favor and asked Benji to meet her at the hall in Harrenhal. Aly worried and asked if everything was fine, but Aemma shrugged, not knowing what her father wanted. 

As Aemma and Benjicot entered, they saw her father sitting at the table, drinking wine and looking at papers before him. Looking up, he saw his daughter and good-son walking hand in hand, better than a few weeks ago when they would barely touch each other. 

“Good afternoon, Kepa . Has something happened? Is mother well?” Aemma questioned her father. 

“Good afternoon, My Sea Dragon, has your ailment finally felt you …hmm?” raised a brow the Rouge Prince, seeing both freeze for a second before relaxing. 

“Yes, it was just the food that wasn’t sitting with me quite right, and with the worries of grandmother, I fear it was all too much too quickly,” smoothly lied Aemma. Her father had no right to judge the events that transpired in her marriage, not when he had his own problems with her mother. 

“You did not answer my second question. Is everything alright in Dragonstone?” pondered Aemma. 

“I received two letters from Dragonstone. Your mother has found a few Dragonseeds willing to claim any unmounted dragons on Dragomount… She only wanted to notify us to keep it looped, but… Your brother Jacaerys sent one as well. He is urging you to come to Dragonstone.” Explained Daemon, seeing Aemma’s face scrunched with confusion. 

“Why does Jace want me back home… I’m sure he could handle the situation regarding the dragon seeds. What could worry him about them and the drag-” Then Aemma paled as she quietly gasped. 

Hearing his wife, Benji quickly turned and steadied her, growing worried, looking back at Daemon. 

Daemon turned to Benji and nodded at the boy, a silent thank you for being there for her. 

“That is why I am asking about your ailment… do you think you are strong enough to ride with your husband to Dragonstone? Jace is asking for you to come, per the chance one of them tries to claim Seasmoke, Leanor’s dragon, that you be there…” explained Daemon, seeing tears pool into Aemma’s eyes. Leanor's disappearance left a hole in Aemma, and knowing someone might take her father’s mount made it seem fair for Aemma to say goodbye to the dragon should it happen. 

Aemma nodded as she left to prepare Sliverwing for the journey. As Benjicot was following when Daemon called out to him. 

“You are going to see another side to my daughter in Dragonstone; Aemma was always known as the kind princess like her grandmother, Queen Aemma, but as I said, dragons are overprotective of things they love. She will be very hostile to any of the people who will try to claim Seasmoke… try to stop her from setting one of them on fire,” stated Daemon as he quietly laughed at his joke. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Aemma and Benjicot arrived, Rhaenyra was shocked to see her daughter’s new appearance. She looked drastically different from when she last saw her; she was practically glowing. She narrowed her eyes… could she… turning to Rhaenys, who glanced and nodded. 

“My pearl, seeing you and your husband away from Harrenhal is a surprise. Is there anything I need to know?” asked Rhaenyra, smiling at her daughter but then frowning at her daughter's hardened look. 

“If you are going to give out dragons so easily, then I think your second eldest should be here to see what kind of people are willing to risk themselves getting killed for a dragon,” stated Aemma as she stared down the people near her mother, all who quickly turned away from the princess’s gaze. 

Aemma's eyes narrowed, and she saw two young men with dark skin, white hair, and brown eyes. She then turned to her grandparents, who would not see her eyes. Benjicot looked at his wife with a smile; Daemon’s statement seemed correct. Rhaenyra sighed as she quickly glared at Jacaerys, looking too smug to see his sister here. Of course, her two eldest children would always team up against their parents when they didn’t get their way. 

“Aemma, my sweet, we need allies, and we have many dragons who are unclaimed; you did not need to come all the way here-” 

“I do when you are planning to give away my father’s dragon! ” quickly replied Aemma, her eyes ignited with fury. Bennji tried to calm her, pressing her back to him and whispering sweet words. Aemma closed her eyes and sighed, letting her husband comfort her. Rhaenyra sent a grateful smile to her good-son, relieved to see them so close again. 

“ I think that Jace and I deserve to see who might claim him… please Mother, grant me this..” pleaded Aemma. 

Rhaenyra nodded, “Alright, we were planning to go in an hour, but if you feel tired..” 

“No, just let my husband and I place our things in my room, and we will meet you in Dragonmount. Jace, help me,” commanded Aemma as she left the room, Benjicot and Jace following her. 

As everyone watched the dragon princess leave, they stared in awe; there they saw was the actual presence of a dragon. 

As the large party arrived in Dragonmount, many dragons seemed to know what would transpire, each leaving their caves, flying in the air, and landing. Almost like they were exhibiting their finest qualities, waiting for someone to try and claim them. A few tried and were chased away, or some tragically passed to claim a dragon. As everything was happening, Aemma stared at Seasmoke, her father’s dragon, who was restless and crying. Aemma’s heart ached. She, too, missed Leanor as much as Seasmoke did, wishing there was a world where Aemma could have had both Leanor and Daemon co-existing and being her fathers. She was selfish, yes, she knew, but she was only human. Benjicot turned his gaze to where his wife was staring, taking a break from the intense setting of people dying and getting maimed in trying to claim a dragon. He was not afraid or disgusted but instead getting bored. 

“Was that your father’s dragon?” asked Benji, noting his wife nodding. 

“Yes, He and I would take Seasmoke and Sliverwing out together. People called us the fog of Dragonstone because of how much we flew together,” explained Aemma as she reminisced about her father. 

Aemma smiled, seeing Seasmoke land nearby, chirping and recognizing the princess. Her excellent mood, although quickly soured when she saw Addam of Hull come… she could care less if he was her grandsire’s bastard; she only cared that he seemed to think of himself worthy of her father’s dragon. Turning sharply at her grandmother, Rhaenys only grimaced and nodded to Aemma, letting her know she was allowing it to happen, making Aemma's nose flared in anger. Benji noticed and pressed her tighter body to him. 

“Calm, sweet girl, don’t stress yourself; it's not good for you and the babe,” whispered Benji as he stared at Addam, trying to pet Seasmoke. 

Seasmoke stared at the young lad, sniffing his scent before the dragon roared angrily, nearly biting the man’s hand off. Addam fell to the ground as everyone gasped in shock. Seasmoke became angrier with the presence near him. Aemma, gasping, not thinking clearly, ran off, trying to calm the dragon. She knew running to a dragon that was not hers was foolish. Rhaenyra gasped, shouting for Aemma to step back. Hearing the shouts from the queen, Benji ran to his wife, capturing her arm as he roughly pulled her back to him; he was not risking losing her. Seasmoke ran towards them and screamed at their faces, causing the two to flinch and close their eyes. Sliverwing, hearing the commotion, landed behind her rider, screeching back at the younger dragon to back off. Everyone was tense, not wanting for the two dragons to fight. They became more nervous when they heard Vermithor growling, not liking his mate so near a male dragon. After a long beat, Seasmoke lowered his head in submission, recognizing Sliverwing and her rider before gazing at Aemma. Aemma stares back at him before shakily raising her hand to him. 

“ Lyikri , Seasmoke, do you remember me?” whispered Aemma as she soothed the male dragon. 

Seasmoke moved his head to the side, staring at the princess, almost looking like he did remember her. Moving slowly closer, he began to sniff her, and then Benjicot, a scent near them, was calling to him. Then he moved lower towards her stomach; he sniffed her stomach. This made Aemma gasp as she and Benji touched her stomach.  Seasmoke then started chirping, nuzzling her stomach, laying in front of her, and continuing to chirp and nuzzle. Everyone who was not Aemma looked at the grey dragon in confusion before Rhaenyra and Rhaenys gasped, both remembering how Syrax and Meleys reacted to their own pregnancies in the past. Rhaenys allowed her tears to flow; it seemed Leanor wanted his future grandchild to have his dragon. 

Rhaenyra smiled, turning to the confused audience, “Seasmoke is no longer available to be claimed.” 

Alynn, confused, turned to the dragon queen and asked, “But I thought one rider was not allowed to have more than one dragon?” 

Addam nodded in agreement, feeling that he was being robbed of a chance to prove himself to Colrys Velayron. 

Rhaenyra smiled, “That’s true. Never has a rider claimed two dragons from what we know, and Aemma is not different, for it wasn’t Princess Aemma who claimed Seassmoke… but the babe in her stomach.’ she explained, tears falling as she stared at her daughter. 

Everyone turned to the princess and her lord husband, trying to see a bump. Corlys could see a slight bump as he grew overjoyed; he was to be a great-grandsire! 

Aemma and Benjicot froze; they weren’t planning on telling anyone yet… but it seemed the gods were not letting them have control over that. Seasmoke was letting them know he had claimed their child. Benji stared at the dragon and then caressed his wife’s slight swelling. His child seemed to be a future dragon rider, a first for House Blackwood.

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire (the final chapter)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the curse

- Next part: the ravine

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @punk-in-docs @barnes70stark

The air was bitterly cold, the sharp wind slicing through the rugged terrain as Jason Lannister rode at the head of a small escort. The men of the Vale flanked him, their faces grim and their cloaks pulled tightly against the chill. The mountains loomed around them, jagged peaks that seemed to scrape the heavens. The further they traveled, the more oppressive the atmosphere became, as though the land itself mourned.

Jason’s armor was dulled by dirt and wear, and his face, unshaven and shadowed with exhaustion, betrayed the sleepless nights he had endured since leaving the Riverlands. His green eyes, usually bright with wit or confidence, were now hollowed with worry, fixed on the path ahead. Every step of his horse brought him closer to what he both dreaded and needed to see.

The captain of the Vale escort, a grizzled man named Ser Arnall, rode up beside Jason, his expression grim. "We’re near the place, my lord," he said, his voice low. "The shepherd described it well. It’s just beyond this ridge."

Jason nodded curtly, his jaw tightening. He didn’t trust himself to speak, afraid his voice might crack under the weight of his emotions. He urged his horse forward, his heart pounding as the path narrowed and the jagged cliffs rose higher on either side.

When they reached the ridge, the escort halted, their faces pale as they stared ahead. Jason dismounted, his boots crunching on the frost-covered ground as he stepped to the edge of the ravine.

The sight before him was haunting.

A massive black pit yawned open in the earth, its jagged edges descending into an abyss so deep that no light could reach its bottom. The air above it was heavy with the faint stench of charred flesh and sulfur, the unmistakable remnants of dragonfire. Jagged rocks jutted out from the sides of the ravine, their surfaces slick with frozen condensation. It was as if the pit itself had swallowed the two dragons whole, leaving no trace but the desolation surrounding it.

Jason’s breath caught, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “This is it?” he asked, his voice low and strained. “This is where they fell?”

Ser Arnall nodded, dismounting to join him. “Aye, my lord. The shepherd who saw the battle swears by it. He said they plummeted together, locked in combat, straight into this pit.” He hesitated before continuing. “No one’s dared to climb down, my lord. It’s too treacherous, and no dragons have been seen since.”

Jason stared into the black abyss, his mind racing with images of Y/N and Morrath. He could see it so clearly—Morrath’s amber eyes blazing with defiance, her powerful wings struggling against Vhagar’s might. He thought of Y/N, her fierce determination, her strength… and the horrifying possibility of her lying broken somewhere in that bottomless void.

“Have you searched the surrounding area?” Jason asked, his voice sharper now. “There could be something—anything—that tells us what happened.”

Ser Arnall nodded. “We’ve scoured the cliffs and the woods nearby. There’s no sign of the dragons or their riders, my lord. Only this.”

Jason’s throat tightened, and he turned back to the pit, the weight of the moment crushing him. The others began murmuring among themselves, their voices hushed, as though afraid to disturb the silence.

“Leave me,” Jason said suddenly, his voice cutting through the cold air like a blade.

Ser Arnall blinked, confused. “My lord?”

“I said leave me,” Jason repeated, his tone steely. He turned to face the escort, his green eyes blazing despite the grief shadowing his features. “All of you. Return to your camp. I’ll stay here.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to argue. Ser Arnall hesitated, his brow furrowed. “My lord, it’s not safe—”

Jason raised a hand to silence him. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Ser Arnall. Go.”

Reluctantly, the escort began to withdraw, their footsteps crunching against the frozen ground. Ser Arnall lingered for a moment longer, his gaze filled with concern, but Jason didn’t look at him again. Finally, the knight mounted his horse and followed the others, leaving Jason alone on the ridge.

As the sound of hoofbeats faded into the distance, Jason stepped closer to the edge of the ravine, his breath visible in the cold air. The wind howled around him, carrying with it the faint echoes of memories—her laughter, her voice, the way she looked at him when no one else was watching.

He sank to his knees at the edge of the pit, his gloved hands gripping the frozen earth. The abyss seemed to stretch endlessly before him, a black maw that swallowed everything—hope, love, and life itself.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “If you can hear me… if there’s anything left of you… I’ll find you. I swear it.”

The wind answered with a mournful wail, and Jason closed his eyes, his heart heavy with despair.

The halls of Harrenhal had grown colder with each passing day, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on every soul within its ancient walls. The fires in the great hearths did little to chase away the chill, for it was not the cold of winter but the cold of unanswered questions. The news—or lack thereof—about Princess Y/N, Aemond Targaryen, and Lord Jason Lannister had left the camp in a state of uneasy limbo. Even the most battle-hardened soldiers cast wary glances at the sky, as if expecting Vhagar or Morrath to appear at any moment.

Daemon Targaryen stood at the head of the war council, his presence as commanding as ever despite the grim atmosphere. His violet eyes burned with a cold fire as they scanned the map laid out before him, the Riverlands and the Crownlands marked with careful strokes of ink. Around him, his commanders and advisors stood in tense silence, waiting for his word.

Loren Lannister was among them, his youthful face shadowed with worry and barely contained frustration. His pale curls so reminiscent of his mother's, framed a furrowed brow as he stared at the map, his fists clenched at his sides. It had been a moon since his mother’s fall and his father’s departure, and the uncertainty gnawed at him like a wound that refused to heal.

Daemon’s voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and commanding. “We can wait no longer,” he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The Greens are vulnerable. Vhagar’s absence is a gift, and I intend to use it.”

One of the Riverlords, a grizzled knight with a scar running down his cheek, frowned. “But, my prince, without confirmation of Vhagar’s fate—”

Daemon’s glare silenced him instantly. “We know enough,” he said coldly. “The largest dragon in their arsenal has vanished, and so has the one-eyed bastard who rides it. If Vhagar still lived, Aegon would have unleashed her fury on the Riverlands by now. Instead, they cower in the capital, hoping we’ll hesitate.”

He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “But we will not hesitate. We march for King’s Landing. With Harrenhal as our foothold, we’ll strike at the heart of their false king’s power. The Greens will regret the day they spilled Targaryen blood.”

Loren stepped forward then, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart. “And what of my father, Prince Daemon? My mother? Do we leave them behind while we move on the capital?”

Daemon’s gaze softened slightly as he regarded the young man, seeing the fire and anguish in his eyes. “Your father made his choice,” Daemon said, his tone firm but not unkind. “He searches for your mother because he believes she lives. I cannot fault him for that, but we cannot let the war grind to a halt while we wait for answers.”

Loren’s jaw tightened, his green eyes blazing. “If they’re lost…” He faltered for a moment, his voice thick with emotion. “If they’re lost, then I’ll avenge them. But if there’s a chance—any chance—they’re alive, I won’t rest until I know.”

Daemon nodded, respect flickering in his expression. “You have your father’s resolve,” he said. “And your mother’s fire. Use it wisely, Loren. They would expect no less.”

Another Riverlord spoke up then, his tone cautious. “But to march on the capital… it’s a bold move, my prince. Do we have the numbers?”

Daemon smirked faintly, his confidence unshaken. “The Riverlands are with us. The North sends men even now. And with Harrenhal secured, the Greens’ support in the Crownlands is tenuous at best. Their fear will do half our work for us.”

Loren, still standing tall, placed a hand on the table. “And the Lannister banners from the Rock will hold the West. My brother and sisters are safe, and I will see to it that our forces join yours, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon’s smirk widened, his sharp features shadowed by the flickering torchlight. “Good. Then let the lion roar alongside the dragon. Together, we’ll tear Aegon from that wretched chair.”

The room buzzed with newfound resolve as Daemon began issuing orders. Scouts were dispatched, messengers sent to gather their forces. The camp, which had been steeped in uncertainty for weeks, now hummed with purpose.

As the council broke apart, Loren lingered, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he stared at the map. Daemon approached him, his tone softer than before. “You’ll have your answers, Loren,” he said. “But remember this: your parents would want you to fight for more than vengeance. They would want you to fight for your family.”

Loren nodded, his gaze unwavering. “And I will,” he said, his voice firm. “For them. For my siblings. For the West.”

Daemon clapped him on the shoulder, his expression approving. “Then let us march,” he said, his voice filled with determination. “And let the Greens tremble.”

Outside, the soldiers of Harrenhal prepared for war, their banners unfurling in the cold wind. The dragon Caraxes roared from the castle’s heights, his crimson form a harbinger of the storm to come. And though the fate of Jason and Y/N remained unknown, their legacy—fury and fire—would shape the next chapter of the Dance.

The air within the Great Hall of Dragonstone was heavy, the weight of Rhaenyra’s decree pressing on everyone present. The Painted Table, its intricate carvings illuminated by the glow of candlelight, reflected the grim reality of the war as Rhaenyra stood at its head. Her violet eyes burned with determination, the queenly resolve she carried masking the turmoil beneath.

Around her, her sons Jacaerys and Joffrey stood to one side, their faces etched with the seriousness of the moment. To the other side were her nieces, Leona and Aemma, their expressions mirroring the dread in the room. Behind them, trusted knights and advisors waited silently, the flicker of the flames casting shifting shadows on their armor and cloaks.

Rhaenyra’s voice, steady and commanding, broke the silence. “The time has come,” she announced, her gaze sweeping over the room. “The Greens have held King’s Landing long enough. Daemon and our allies have already begun their march. Now we will do the same. The capital will be surrounded, and the usurper will have nowhere to run.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the room, but it was short-lived as Rhaenyra raised a hand, silencing them. Her gaze fell on her sons and nieces, her voice softening but retaining its edge of authority.

“Jacaerys, Joffrey, Leona, and Aemma,” she said, her tone heavy with the weight of what she was about to say. “You are to remain here, on Dragonstone.”

Jacaerys, standing tall and proud despite his youth, immediately stepped forward. “Mother, I—”

“You will stay,” Rhaenyra interrupted firmly, her gaze locking with his. “I need you here to defend Dragonstone. This island is our seat, our stronghold. Should anything happen to me, it must remain secure.”

Jace’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, though his fists clenched at his sides. “Yes, Mother.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened briefly before moving to Joffrey, her youngest son. “Joff, you too must remain. Your strength will be needed here.”

Joffrey nodded solemnly, his face pale but resolute. “I’ll do whatever is needed, Mother.”

Rhaenyra turned to Leona and Aemma, her expression filled with equal measures of pride and sorrow. “Leona. Aemma. You have shown your bravery time and again. But I cannot risk you on the battlefield. You are the future of our house. Your strength will be needed here.”

Leona’s eyes blazed with defiance as she stepped forward, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “Aunt Rhaenyra, my place is with you. My parents—my mother—” Her voice broke, but she steadied herself. “They may be gone, but I am still here. Let me fight for them.”

Aemma placed a hand gently on her sister’s arm. “Leona, we have our orders. We must honor them.”

Leona’s jaw clenched, her hands curling into fists as she struggled to contain her frustration. “How can I sit here and do nothing while my parents’ deaths go unanswered?” she demanded, her voice cracking.

Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hand resting on Leona’s shoulder. “Leona,” she said softly, her tone laced with empathy. “Your time will come. I promise you, the Greens will pay for every life they have taken from us. But your strength is needed here, with your betrothed. You and Jacaerys will stand as the future of our house, should anything happen to me.”

Leona’s defiance faltered as she met her aunt’s gaze, the weight of Rhaenyra’s words settling heavily on her. Finally, she nodded, though her expression remained hard with grief and anger. “I will do as you command, Aunt,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.

Rhaenyra stepped back, addressing them all once more. “Should I fall, Jacaerys will take the throne as my heir,” she declared, her voice ringing with finality. “Leona, as his betrothed, you will stand beside him as the queen. Aemma, Joffrey, you will defend Dragonstone with your lives if it comes to that.”

The room fell silent, the gravity of her words sinking in. Rhaenyra’s gaze lingered on each of them, her heart aching with the weight of what she was asking. She knew the risk she was taking by leaving them behind, but the war demanded sacrifices, and she would not allow the Greens to take more from her family.

“Promise me,” Rhaenyra said softly, her voice trembling just slightly as she looked at her sons and nieces. “Promise me you will stand together. No matter what comes.”

Jace stepped forward, placing a hand over his heart. “I swear it, Mother.”

The others echoed his words, their voices filled with quiet resolve. Leona’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she nodded firmly, her voice steady as she said, “We will not fail you.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She stepped forward, embracing each of them in turn, holding them tightly as though she could shield them from the storm to come.

When the moment passed, she straightened, her queenly composure returning. “Prepare the troops,” she commanded, her voice ringing with authority. “We march at dawn.”

As the room began to empty, Leona lingered for a moment, her gaze fixed on the Painted Table. Aemma placed a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder, but Leona didn’t turn.

“We’ll avenge them,” Leona murmured, her voice low and fierce. “No matter what it takes.”

Aemma nodded, her expression solemn. “We will.”

The Fall of King’s Landing and the Wrath of the Dragons

(As chronicled by Mushroom and High Septon Eustace)

The taking of King’s Landing in the waning months of the year was a sight that neither bard nor chronicler could ever forget. It was a day of fire, blood, and vengeance—a reckoning long foretold by the stars, as claimed by the mystics, or long manufactured by the ambition of Targaryens and Hightowers alike.

The Attack on King’s Landing

High Septon Eustace writes that the assault on the capital began at dawn, with the black banners of House Targaryen flying above two separate armies. Daemon Targaryen, astride his crimson-scaled dragon Caraxes, led the vanguard with Loren Lannister, the eldest son of Jason and Y/N Lannister, commanding the Lannister and Riverlands forces. From the north side of the city, Queen Rhaenyra herself descended, her forces bolstered by loyal Crownlanders.

The twin assaults upon the city were brutal and swift. Mushroom’s account is far less decorous than Eustace’s, describing how the city gates, long thought impenetrable, crumbled beneath dragonfire and siege engines. Caraxes led the charge, unleashing a torrent of flames upon the Gate of the Gods. Loren’s black-armored cavalry, their banners of crimson and gold streaming, swept through the smoldering rubble, cutting down any resistance. The once-proud city watch, loyal to Aegon II, scattered like leaves in the wind.

Rhaenyra’s forces, meanwhile, broke through the southern gates. Syrax soared above her, her roar reverberating through the city as her flames engulfed enemy battlements. The smallfolk screamed, scrambling to escape the inferno that had descended upon the capital.

Both chroniclers note that the assault was not without great loss. Scores of men fell on both sides, their blood soaking the cobblestone streets. Yet the outcome was never in doubt. By midday, King’s Landing had fallen.

Daemon and Loren’s Wrath

While Rhaenyra focused her efforts on the Red Keep, Daemon and Loren turned their vengeance outward. Eustace claims that Daemon, once the Rogue Prince, burned with righteous fury as he took to the skies on Caraxes. Mushroom, less complimentary, describes him as a man consumed by rage, a fire in his heart that matched that of his dragon.

Together, Daemon and Loren led their forces southward, burning everything in their path. Mushroom writes that Loren, though young, fought with a ferocity that rivaled his father. “The cub of the lion roared as loudly as the dragons,” Mushroom quips, “and his blade was no less deadly.” Villages and strongholds loyal to the Hightowers fell to their wrath.

Their path led straight toward Oldtown, the seat of Hightower power. Mushroom gleefully notes the irony: “The mighty tower that cast its shadow over the realm now cowered before the flames of vengeance.”

The Red Keep’s Reckoning

While Daemon and Loren exacted their revenge, Rhaenyra claimed the Red Keep. Mushroom paints a vivid picture of the queen’s entrance into the throne room, her armor stained with soot and blood, her crown gleaming in the dim light. She found the usurper’s court in disarray, with Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, attempting to rally what remained of their forces.

Otto’s efforts were in vain. Rhaenyra ordered his immediate execution, a decree carried out in full view of the court. Larys Strong, the clubfoot who had served as Aegon II’s master of whispers, was next to face her wrath. “The queen herself swung the blade,” Eustace writes, though Mushroom claims she allowed her eldest son Jacaerys the honor. Regardless, both men met their end in pools of their own blood.

Aegon II, the usurper king, was found cowering in the dungeons. Mushroom’s bawdy account describes how he wept and begged for mercy, though Eustace insists he maintained some semblance of dignity. Rhaenyra ordered him stripped of his crown and thrown into the dungeons, a fate that many considered more merciful than he deserved.

Alicent Hightower, along with her daughter Helaena and Helaena’s surviving children, was confined to her chambers. Rhaenyra decreed they would live, though under constant watch. Mushroom claims this was out of pity for Helaena, while Eustace attributes it to Rhaenyra’s desire to keep the surviving Green bloodline under her control.

The Queen Triumphant

By nightfall, the banners of House Targaryen flew above the Red Keep once more. The usurper’s reign was over, and Rhaenyra had reclaimed her birthright. Yet the fires of vengeance still burned, both within the capital and beyond its walls.

The Marriage

The Great Hall of Dragonstone was adorned with banners bearing the sigils of House Targaryen and House Lannister, their vibrant reds, blacks, and golds intermingling to symbolize the unity of the realm. The hall was filled with the hum of conversation, a mixture of laughter, tension, and hope. The wedding of Leona Lannister and Jacaerys Velaryon was not just a union of two houses but a symbol of the crown’s efforts to stabilize the fractured realm after months of bloodshed and chaos.

Leona stood tall at the altar, her gown a shimmering masterpiece of black and gold, the sigils of the lion and dragon embroidered intricately across the bodice. Her scar, once hidden behind a mask, was now proudly displayed—a testament to her resilience and strength. Jacaerys, beside her, wore the black and red of his house. His expression was one of quiet determination, though his gaze softened when it rested on his betrothed.

Rhaenyra, seated on the throne, looked on with a mixture of pride and relief. This marriage, she hoped, would cement alliances that could ensure her rule and bring a measure of peace to a realm still smoldering from the fires of war.

Mushroom’s account of the ceremony is predictably bawdy, describing how the young couple exchanged vows with a passion that seemed to set the hall alight. High Septon Eustace, however, writes of the solemnity of the occasion, noting the weight of expectation that hung over the young pair. “A marriage born of war,” he called it, “but with the promise of peace.”

After the vows were exchanged and the blessings given, the hall erupted in applause. The feast that followed was a spectacle of opulence and revelry, with lords and ladies raising their cups to the health of the bride and groom. Yet beneath the laughter, there was an undercurrent of unease. The war was not yet over, and the fates of Jason Lannister and Princess Y/N weighed heavily on the hearts of many.

Daemon’s Search

While the realm celebrated the union of fire and gold, Daemon Targaryen had already set his sights elsewhere. With the Greens defeated in King’s Landing and the capital secure under Rhaenyra’s rule, Daemon left Harrenhal behind to scour the Vale for any sign of his niece and her husband.

Mounted on Caraxes, Daemon’s search was relentless. High Septon Eustace describes his mission as one born of guilt and obligation. “He sought to repay the debt of blood, for he had encouraged her courage and boldness,” Eustace wrote. Mushroom, however, claims Daemon’s motives were simpler: “He was driven by fury, for the thought of his niece lost to that one-eyed bastard was more than even the Rogue Prince could stomach.”

Daemon’s search was thorough, visiting shepherds, hunters, and villagers near the Crownlands-Vale border. Rumors swirled of a ravine that swallowed dragons whole, though no concrete evidence of their fates emerged. Still, Daemon pressed on, his determination unyielding.

The Return of Loren

In the West, Loren Lannister returned to Casterly Rock, now named its lord. The young lion carried himself with a newfound gravity, though the weight of his parents' unknown fate was evident in his every step. The Rock welcomed him warmly, its banners flying high in honor of their new lord. Baela Targaryen, ever sharp-tongued and fiery, accompanied him, her presence as commanding as any knight’s. Their betrothal, announced shortly after their arrival, was met with approval by the Westerland lords, who saw the match as a union of strength and fire.

Rhaena, Baela’s gentler twin, chose to stay at the Rock as well, finding joy in the company of Loren’s younger siblings. Little Rhaelle and Rhaegel had grown especially fond of Rhaena, trailing after her like ducklings as she spun tales of her time on Dragonstone. And young Tyland and Daena became her best friends. Mushroom’s account notes the twins' contrasting roles at the Rock: “Baela ruled the halls with fire and fury, while Rhaena mended hearts with kindness.”

The Return of Aegon and Viserys

Back in King’s Landing, Queen Rhaenyra received her youngest sons, Aegon and Viserys, who had been sent to safety during the height of the conflict. Their return marked a moment of rare joy for the queen, who embraced them fiercely. The capital, though battered, was beginning to heal under her rule, its streets no longer shadowed by fear of dragonfire or civil war.

The sight of her sons seemed to reignite Rhaenyra’s resolve. “The future rests with them,” she declared during a council meeting. “We have endured too much to falter now.”

The Realm’s New Order

Though the war had not yet ended, the realm began to take its first tentative steps toward peace. The marriage of Jacaerys and Leona was a beacon of hope, their union a symbol of what could be achieved through unity. Yet the shadow of those still missing loomed over the celebrations.

For Loren, now Lord of the Rock, the uncertainty surrounding his parents’ fate fueled his resolve to safeguard his siblings and his people. For Daemon, the search for his niece and Jason Lannister became an obsession, one that would drive him to the edges of the known world. And for Rhaenyra, the victory was bittersweet—her throne secured, but at what cost?

The Arrival of Winter’s Hand

As the cold of winter ebbed and spring touched the realm with its tentative warmth, Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, rode into King’s Landing at the head of ten thousand men. His arrival was as much a declaration of strength as it was a gesture of loyalty. The North had come, its banners of the direwolf unfurled against the sky, and its lord ready to stabilize the realm and dispense justice under the rule of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

High Septon Eustace writes that Lord Stark’s presence brought with it a sense of gravity and honor. “The wolf walked into the dragon’s lair, not to rend flesh, but to preserve peace.” Grand Maester Orwyle, who survived the war and lived to serve Rhaenyra, noted that Cregan’s mere presence was enough to quiet even the most fractious lords.

The Pact of Ice and Fire

Cregan Stark’s first act upon arriving at the Red Keep was to bend the knee to Queen Rhaenyra. He pledged his loyalty to her and her line, reaffirming the pact made during Jacaerys Velaryon’s journey to Winterfell. But there was another matter to attend to—his bride, Aemma Lannister.

Aemma, still a girl of tender years, was present in the great hall alongside her cousin Jacaerys, her sister Leona, and the queen. Rhaenyra, though reluctant to see her niece wed to the North so young, honored the pact made by her son.

Grand Maester Orwyle records the moment Lord Stark addressed Aemma with the solemnity befitting a Stark. “You are a lioness bound for the snow, my lady,” he said, his voice measured. “And you will rule with strength unmatched in the North.” Aemma, poised but shy, responded with the decorum instilled in her by her mother, though her nervous glances toward her cousin Jace betrayed her unease.

The Letter from Jason Lannister

As preparations for Aemma’s eventual departure began, Cregan Stark revealed to Grand Maester Orwyle that he had received a letter from Jason Lannister moons earlier. The letter, penned after Jason learned of the betrothal agreement, was, in Orwyle’s words, “a testament to the peculiar wit and unyielding pride of the Lannister lord.”

The letter read as follows:

To Lord Stark of Winterfell,

Greetings from the Riverlands, where I have spent the better part of my days ensuring your southern neighbors remember their place. It seems you and I have more in common than I would have thought—we are both men tasked with safeguarding our families in a time of turmoil.

I understand you have entered into an agreement with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon to take my daughter Aemma as your bride. While I have little love for such arrangements, it appears I am to endure this one for the sake of the realm. Rest assured, Lord Stark, my daughter is a lioness, and if you intend to keep her in the North, you will need the strength to withstand her roar.

Treat her well, for she is as dear to me as gold to the Rock, and her happiness will mean your continued existence should I ever return to claim her hand back myself. Consider this my blessing—or my warning.

Lord Jason Lannister

Shield of the West, Protector of Casterly Rock, and a father who would rather face a thousand winters than give his daughter to a Stark.

Grand Maester Orwyle notes that Cregan read the letter with a rare flicker of amusement. “He saw in it the spirit of the man, both fierce and irreverent. And though he found little humor in matters of marriage, he respected Lord Jason’s sentiment.”

Shadows of Uncertainty

Despite the solemnity and grandeur of Cregan Stark’s arrival and the stabilization of the realm under Rhaenyra’s rule, shadows still loomed over the court. There was still no word of Princess Y/N, Lord Jason, or even Prince Daemon. It was as if the three had vanished into the abyss that had claimed Morrath and Vhagar.

Mushroom writes that the court whispered endlessly about their fates. Some claimed Y/N and Jason had perished in the ravine, their bodies lost to the depths. Others whispered that Daemon’s search had uncovered something so horrifying that he had not returned to report it. Mushroom, ever eager for scandal, suggests that Daemon remained in the Vale because he could not bear to face Rhaenyra after failing to find her sister.

Rhaenyra herself was haunted by their absence. High Septon Eustace describes her as “a queen surrounded by victories yet hollowed by losses.” She often wandered the Red Keep at night, her eyes searching the horizon as though willing the dragons to return.

The Realm Holds Its Breath

As the preparations for Aemma’s eventual journey to the North were made, and as Cregan Stark dispensed justice in the queen’s name, the realm held its breath.

The Crowning of King Jacaerys I Targaryen and Queen Leona Targaryen

After the death of Queen Rhaenyra, the realm saw the ascension of her eldest son, Jacaerys Velaryon, now King Jacaerys I Targaryen, to the Iron Throne. His wife, Leona Targaryen nèe Lannister, stood beside him as queen consort, her violet eyes fierce and her scar now a mark of pride, emblematic of the strength and resilience she brought to the crown.

High Septon Eustace writes that the coronation was a grand affair, marked by a renewed sense of unity across the Seven Kingdoms. “The dragons’ roar was tempered by the lions’ might,” he remarked, “and the realm was reminded of the strength that lay in their union.”

Mushroom, ever colorful, paints a different picture, claiming that Leona’s scarred visage unnerved some of the more traditional lords of Westeros. “She was no soft queen,” he wrote, “but a warrior’s bride, as fierce in her words as her king was in his decrees.” Yet even Mushroom admits that their union was one of love and partnership, a rarity among royal marriages.

Under their rule, the realm entered a period of tentative peace, though the scars of the Dance of the Dragons lingered in the hearts of its people.

The Marriages of the Next Generation

Time had brought changes to the great houses of Westeros, and with them, new alliances through marriage.

Loren Lannister had wed Baela Targaryen, their union solidifying the bond between the West and the Crown. Mushroom notes their relationship as fiery but enduring, with Baela often described as “the flame that kept the lion warm.”

Aemma Lannister, after coming of age, had married Cregan Stark in Winterfell. The match, agreed upon years earlier, proved to be one of mutual respect. Aemma, who had grown into a poised and capable lady, adapted to the harsh North with surprising ease. “She was the lioness who roamed the snows,” Eustace wrote, “and the wolves howled in her honor.”

Prince Aegon Targaryen, the son of Rhaenyra and Daemon, was betrothed to his cousin Rhaelle Lannister, daughter of Jason and Y/N Lannister. The match was seen as a gesture to further unite the bloodlines of dragon and lion, though Rhaelle’s mother and father remained figures of mystery, their fates unknown.

The Mystery of Princess Y/N, Jason Lannister, and Daemon Targaryen

Despite the years that passed, the fates of Princess Y/N, Lord Jason Lannister, and Prince Daemon Targaryen remained shrouded in mystery. Their disappearances became the subject of songs, tales, and countless rumors, though no definitive answers ever surfaced. Grand Maester Orwyle noted that their absence left “a shadow over the realm, one that even the brightest flames could not dispel.”

Rumors Surrounding Their Fates

1. The Bottomless Ravine:

Many believed that Y/N and her dragon Morrath perished in the ravine where they fell battling Aemond and Vhagar. Jason, it was said, had thrown himself into the depths searching for her. Some claimed that Daemon, after arriving moons later, met the same fate. The shepherds near the Vale spoke of hearing dragon roars echoing from the pit long after the battle, but no one dared venture too close.

2. The Silent Vale:

Mushroom suggests a darker tale: that Y/N survived the fall but was captured by Aemond and kept hidden away. He claims Daemon uncovered the truth and sought vengeance, but both were killed in a final confrontation. “The Silent Vale,” Mushroom called it, “where secrets die with their keepers.”

3. Exile Beyond the Narrow Sea:

Another tale, whispered among sailors and traders, suggested that Y/N and Jason were not dead but had fled across the Narrow Sea. Daemon, some said, discovered them and chose to remain in exile rather than return to a realm that had taken so much from them. This theory often included claims of a small, dragon-guarded island far to the east where the three lived in seclusion.

4. The Ghosts of the Vale:

A particularly haunting tale claimed that Y/N, Jason, and Daemon had become specters, cursed to haunt the skies above the Vale. Shepherds and hunters spoke of seeing shadowy figures atop dragons in the moonlight, their cries echoing through the mountains like the wails of the damned.

5. The Last Dragon War:

Some believed that Aemond survived the battle and had taken Morrath’s dragon egg to hatch another beast, and that Y/N, Jason, and Daemon had been drawn into an endless hunt to find and destroy him. This rumor often ended with their eternal struggle playing out far from Westeros, a private war that the realm would never witness.

A Legacy of Uncertainty

As King Jacaerys I Targaryen and Queen Leona ruled from the Iron Throne, the shadows of those who had been lost loomed large. Rhaenyra’s reign had ended in victory, but the scars of war lingered in the hearts of her children and the realm alike. The question of what happened to Y/N, Jason, and Daemon became a legend unto itself, woven into the larger tapestry of the Dance of the Dragons.

Mushroom, in his final account of their tale, wrote:

"The lion, the dragon, and the rogue—three flames that burned too brightly to be extinguished. Yet like all flames, they left only smoke and shadow in their wake, leaving us to wonder what light they might have brought, had they burned together a little longer."

Honymoon Tour of the West

The dawn broke over Fair Isle in hues of amber and pink, the waves of the Sunset Sea shimmering like molten silver beneath the first light of the day. The air was cool and briny, carrying the scent of salt and the cries of distant gulls. You stood waist-deep in the water, the soft crash of waves brushing against your skin as you tilted your head back to feel the rising sun's warmth on your face. The hem of your white chemise clung to your legs, translucent from the seawater.

Behind you, Jason waded in, his golden hair catching the sunlight like a halo. He grinned, his green eyes filled with amusement and a touch of exasperation. “You couldn’t have waited until after breakfast to start your frolicking?” he teased, the water splashing as he made his way toward you.

Turning to face him, you laughed, your voice carrying over the waves. “And miss this? Come, my lord, the sea is calling!”

Jason groaned in mock protest, but his smile betrayed him. “You’re mad, you know that? But if I must chase you into the sea, so be it.” With a theatrical sigh, he plunged into the water, his laughter mingling with yours as he reached you.

The waves lapped around you both as Jason swept you into his arms. “You didn’t have to follow me,” you teased, brushing wet strands of hair from his face.

Jason’s grin softened into something deeper, something more tender. “Oh, I think I did,” he said, his voice low but full of meaning. “I would plunge into the surf, the storm, or even the abyss itself if it meant finding you there. Just to feel your warmth.”

You stilled at his words, a strange feeling washing over you—not just love, but a sense of gravity, of something unspoken and eternal. You cupped his face in your hands, pressing your forehead to his. “You’re too dramatic for your own good,” you whispered, though your smile betrayed you.

“Maybe,” Jason replied, his smirk returning as he tilted his head closer, “but it seems to have worked.”

Your laughter dissolved into a kiss, the kind that felt as endless as the sea itself. The world around you fell away, leaving only the two of you and the soft rhythm of the waves. When the kiss broke, you were both breathless, your laughter returning as Jason hoisted you higher in the water.

“You’re soaking,” you said, feigning scolding as water dripped from his tunic.

“Whose fault is that?” he shot back, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.

Before you could reply, a fisherman’s boat drifted closer, the crew shouting and waving jovially as they passed by. Jason turned slightly, shielding you with his body as if to protect your modesty, though his grin widened. “Seems we’ve an audience.”

You rolled your eyes, your cheeks flushing as you buried your face in his shoulder. “Only you could find humor in this.”

Jason laughed, his chest vibrating against yours. “It’s not every day the Lord of Casterly Rock is caught cavorting in the shallows with a princess.” He planted a quick kiss on your forehead before turning toward the shore. “Come, my lady. Let’s save the rest of our adventures for when the fishermen aren’t watching.”

He carried you out of the water, the sea cascading from your clothes as he walked. His strength never faltered, and his arms felt like the safest place in the world. As you both reached the shore, Jason gently set you down on the warm sand. The sunlight framed him like a painting, his grin boyish yet confident as he reached for the cloak he’d left on the beach.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you said, shaking your head but unable to hide your smile.

“And yet, here you are,” Jason quipped, draping the cloak over your shoulders and pulling you close. “I must be doing something right.”

You sighed, leaning into his embrace as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The waves whispered their eternal song behind you, and for a moment, the world was nothing but warm light and the man who held you as if he’d never let you go.

“You’ll follow me into the abyss?” you murmured, your words teasing but your tone serious.

Jason’s smile softened, his green eyes meeting yours with a rare sincerity. “Always,” he said, his voice unwavering. “There’s nowhere you could go that I wouldn’t follow.”

You kissed him again, letting his warmth chase away the morning chill. And as the day began in earnest, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his words would echo in your heart long after the waves of Fair Isle had faded from memory.

[drakaripykiros130ac]

“Rhaenyra and Alicent are the same. They are both greedy, selfish women who fight for the throne.”

No, they’re not. They are not the same.

Rhaenyra Targaryen was a very happy child (up until her mother died, at least).

All she ever wanted was to live her princess life, marry the love of her life and ride her dragon, Syrax.

Rhaenyra never cared about the Iron Throne. She was more than okay with her mother giving her a little brother who would shoulder the responsibility.

But everything changed when Viserys chose her as his heir. That meant the world to Rhaenyra. Imagine being the first princess in history chosen by your father to succeed him. That has never happened before. It gave her a sense of worth, of purpose, which she adored.

And then for the first time in history, the lords of the Realm presented themselves in front of a princess and swore to uphold her claim.

In that moment, it was as if Rhaenyra herself had sworn an oath to the Realm, to be their future Queen. She took on the responsibility, and sat beside her father at Court, learning everything about politicking. She then moved to Dragonstone when she was sixteen and learned to govern.

Rhaenyra was willing to give up on her dreams so she could make her father proud, so she could take on the responsibility and lead her House. And that’s just what she did. She spent years preparing to rule. She had to endure a marriage to someone like Laenor Velaryon (the ultimate challenge: have children with a man of a different sexual preference, and who is also unwilling to bed you, at a time when the whole Realm expects you to produce heirs).

And then…to have all that she was promised taken away from her.

I would rage.

To have sacrificed all these years of my life, to have endured childbirth for the sake of the Realm despite knowing that my own mother died in childbirth, to have to deal with greedy and backstabbing people all on my own…all that for nothing.

Rhaenyra didn’t covet the throne. She never wanted it, but it was promised to her. And for all she had sacrificed, she would be damned if she let her abusive stepmother and her worthless, lazy spawns take away what she worked hard for.

Alicent Hightower, on the other hand, was an upstart from the beginning. Being the daughter of a second son who had no fortune of his own, she couldn’t have expected to have too many prospects. She therefore slithered her way in Court life with the help of her father, became a lady in waiting and bid her time until the moment came to seduce the King and take the crown. She became the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, the Queen. She was given privileges which she abused, her children were well taken care of and lacked for nothing (and they rarely appreciated it).

But this was not enough for Alicent (or Otto). She wanted more. She was greedy. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than having her own blood on the throne, and she committed high treason to make that happen. A decision which destroyed her family.

So, no, the stories of these two women are not the same.

Rhaenyra fought for the oaths which had been sworn to her, for her father’s wish.

Alicent fought for her own selfish desires.

[fantasybabygirlslutsworld]

The Realm's Light - 3

Part one

Part two

Safe to say, the celebration of Princess

Mariana's birth would be far grander than her own parents's wedding. King Jaehaerys I of his name had announced that a grand feast with hunting and tourneys would commence for a month inviting all the lords and ladies of the seven kingdoms and free cities to honor the birth of his great granddaughter.

While preparing for the grand feast for their immediate family, Queen Alysanne had questioned her eldest son about the whereabouts of her other grandson.

" Baelon, where is Daemon? It's been more than 6 hours after the babe was born but he hadn't come to see his niece till now." Prince Viserys had already sent a guard to inform his brother about Princess Aemma's labour.

" You know about Daemon, mother. When informed about Aemma's labour, he immediately flew on Caraxes to Dragonstone to fetch a dragon egg for his little niece or nephew ." Crown Prince Baelon replied to his mother." We should soon find a match for that boy so that he can embrace his responsibilities." Queen Alysaane gruffly said.

"Mother, did you invite Vaegon and Maegelle to the feast." Prince Baelon asked his mother. Ever since Vaegon Targaryen became an archmaester in Citadel and Maegelle as a Septa to the faithful seven,their visits to king's landing had been limited.

" Vaegon informed that he will not be able to attend today's gathering but he will come during the tourney next month to see his grandniece and sweet Maegelle had gone to a village near the riverlands to se fellow followers." Queen Alysanne said to her son .

After the death of her two daughters, Princesses Alyssa and Viserra, Septa Maegelle had became the only comfort for the old queen. "I hope that the birth of the little Princess may unite our family,Baelon." The old queen said to the spring Princ.

The crown Prince agreed with his mother as the house of the dragon was slowly starting to break away after the death of Prince Aemon soon followed by Prince Baelon given the title of Prince of Dragonstone instead of  giving it to Princess Rhaenys,Prince Aemon's only daughter.

If the problem was not solved then, there would be a future filled with destruction for House Targaryen.

As the news of the birth of his niece soon reached him , Prince Daemon closed his eyes and did nothing but smile for a minute. The gods had granted his prayers. Now,it is time for him to fulfill his part in the plan . But first,he needed to find a suitable dragon egg for his darling niece.

Words are that the people in the village near Dragonstone saw a dragon flew to an isolated cave a moon ago. Prince Daemon went alone to look for the dragon and see if there is any egg with it. As he went near the cave a familiar pungent smell of blood hit him. Someone must have died here recently.

When he went inside the cave,a dragon was seen lying motionlessly with no external injuries with it's silver scales glittering in the darkcave. 'It must have died from childbirth ' Prince Daemon thought . However,Something had caught his eye before he could fully examine the dragon. In the corner lays an egg so white that it brightens the whole cave.

Prince Daemon took the egg in his hands and decided that it would be perfect for his Issa dōna hāedar. He then went outside the cave and called Caraxes. The Blood Wyrm roared and landed near his rider. Prince Daemon touched it's about and said " Are you excited to see īlva tolie half, Caraxes?". After saying that, he claimed on his dragon to attend the family gathering tonight and meet a special someone.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The preparations for the celebration had kept every servants on their toes . Lord Corlys Velaryon and his children had arrived to king's landing and was now sitting with King Jaehaerys, Queen Alysanne,Prince Baelon and Princess Rhaenys in the royal dining hall prepared for the occasion while the Velaryon siblings were taken to their chamber to sleep by heir wet nurses .

" Uncle Baelon,do you know where is Daemon ? He was not present here during Aemma's labour " Princess Rhaenys questioned . Before the spring Prince could reply, " I told you,Baelon. That son of yours doesn't care about his duties and was only interested in jousting and riding his dragon. Yesterday, I had gotten a velry good proposal from Lord Roland Royce of the Vale to make a betrothal with his only daughter to Daemon." Queen Alysanne angrily said to her son.

" I know about Daemon, mother. Even if he doesn't seem to care about the royal court, he is loyal to our family. Even now, he had gone to Dragonstone to fetch an egg for his niece. He should be coming now at anytime. And about Lord Royce's proposal, let Daemon decide about it, mother." Prince Baelon softly said to his mother. Before the Queen can reply, a piercing roar of a dragon echoed through

the walls. a knight had entered the hall and said " My King, Prnce Daemon had arrived at the dragon pit with his dragon".

" Well,  Daemon had chosen to come at the perfect timing with us speaking about him,  grandmother." Princess Rhaenys slyly replied. " Inform Prince Daemon to  come here soon." King Jaehaerys ordered. " Yes, y King " the royal gaurd replied and went away.

Meanwhile, Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma were getting ready for the celebration in their own bedchambers while their newborn daughter lied in the baby cot in her parents hared chamber.

Suddenly, the footsteps of a person echoed through the palace halls and the person stopped at the chamber where the young Princess was present.

The door of the chamber was opened by the royal gaurd to let the person in and the first thing that caught his eye was the

Cot made of mahogany wood.He then made his way and stopped right infront of the babycot.

In the moonlight,it can be seen that the person stnding there was the rogue Prince himself in a red tunic and black breaches. He was intensely gazing at the small figure lying on the cot in a white gown made of fine silks,her platinum blonde hair symbolising her as a Targaryen. That the same hot dragon blood coursing through his body is also in hers made him wondered.

As if sensing his presence, the littlest Princess opened her eyes to see the intruder.A gasp left Prince Daemon upon seeing her eyes.One emerald green and another Targaryen violet just like how his mother, Princess Alyssa, once had.

Now seeing the same eyes on his niece made his heart warm and a smile tugged in his face. " Welcome naejot īlva lentor, issa dōna darling . " Prince Daemon said to his now wiggling niece.

" I see my daughter had met her kepus already. " Prince Viserys had said while walking into the chamber. " Well, you all had been here from her. She must have yearned to see someone younger while surrounded by older people, brother "

Prince Daemon snarkily replied.

" I am only 20 summers old, Daemon. Besides who are you calling old when you yourself was going to be an adult?"

Prince Viserys retorted. " Oh Please! Don't start your verbal brawl in the presence of my daughter. I don't want her to bicker like you both." Princess Aemma intervened and said.

" Please,I had no wish to start a brawl with my brother after flying for hours on Caraxes to and from the Dragonstone. But it was so much worth it doing for my darling niece." Prince Daemon said while looking at the new addition of his family who was holded by his brother .

" Do you want to hold her, brother?" Prince Viserys asked his brother. " What if she might break in my hold?" Prince Daemon whispered. " She is not a glass,Daemon. She will not break" princess Aemma chuckled and said.

Carefully,the rogue Prince took his niece from his brother and held her in his arms. The young Princess looked at his hair and face and showed her toothless smile. The rogue Prince smiled back. " So, my daughter likes her uncle very much that she smiled for the first time." Princess Aemma said with amusement.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door and a kingsguard entered the chamber to inform that everyone of House Targaryen was present and now waiting for them. " Let's attend the family gathering, brother. Word of warning, I heard that grandmother was working on your betrothal to Lord Royce's only daughter." Prince Viserys said to his brother before walking towards the dining room with his wife.

" She can try but I won't marry anyone of her choosing " Prince Daemon muttered while following his brother while holding his niece.

" Stop talking, you both and Daemon, I knew Rhea Royce from childhood and she is an excellent leader and skilled in hunting." Princess Aemma whispered to them . Soon they reached the entrance of the royal dining hall while the guard outside announced their presence.

" Prince Viserys and his Princess consort Aemma of House Targaryen had arrived to the hall.Prince Daemon Targaryen, wielder of dark sister had arrived to the chamber."

As soon as he announced, They had entered the hall and sat on their respective seats in the table . King Jaehaerys had sat on the head of the table with Lord Corlys on the other end of the table while the old queen sat beside her husband and across her older son with Princess Rhaenys beside her husband and Pricess Aemma on her other side and across Prince Daemon.

Prince Viserys sat beside his brother and father.Prince Daemon can be seen holding his niece who was staring at the huge chandelier hanging above .

" I am glad that most of our family had  gathered here for celebrating the birth of my great granddaughter today. In her honour, let's toast for her good health and hope she brings glory to our house. Hear,hear." King Jaehaerys announced.

" Hear, hear " Everyone drank the wine in their glasses except Prince Daemon as he was only 15 summers old and still a child in their eyes. "Prince Viserys, I congratulate you for the birth of your daughter and may she grow with beauty and happiness." Lord Corlys said.

" Thank you,Lord Corlys,we are happy to see you here after sailing for a day from Dreamfort . " Prince Viserys replied back.

" Cousin,my husband and I have prepared a gift for our niece. I hope she likes it in the future " Princess Rhaenys said while signalling someone to present the gift." Oh my goodness! These are the rare type of pearls which possess different colours when shown in the sunlight " Queen Alysanne exclaimed looking at the chest of pearls in various colours. " We have imported them from the Braavos which took almost a week of sailing" Lord Corlys proudly said. " We express our gratitude for your wonderful gift, Lord Corlys " Princess Aemma said to them.

" Son , I too have prepared a gift for my granddaughter. I have named her as the Lady of the spring manor which is in the north where your mother liked to spend time " The crown Prince said to his son with mirth in his eyes." Thank you, father " Prince Viserys replied.

" Now, if you all have finished,can we start the dinner?" Queen Alysanne playfully questioned them. " Wait, grandmother .what is a Targaryen family gathering without dragons?. I too have gift for my darling niece. The one which will be the most precious to her than jewels and manors." Prince Daemon said. Everyone except Prince Baelon was puzzled at what his gift was . One of the guards came forward and kept a Iron container in the middle of the table. Prince Daemon handed his niece to her mother and opened the container took out an object.

In his hand,lays a dragon egg so white, that it shined brighter than those pearls. Everyone was perplexed at the sight of the egg ." I had never in my life saw a dragon egg of this colour. Where did you obtained this egg ,boy" King Jaehaerys questioned his grandson. " I had retrieved it from a dead dragon in a cave near Dragonstone, grandfather. It must have recently died from childbirth." Prince Daemon replied.

" Thank you, brother. It would be the most precious gift to my daughter anyone can give to her. " Prince Viserys thanked his brother. " And Aemma and I have decided a name for our child " he said to everyone present there . " And the name of my daughter will be Mariana Targaryen ,the first of her name , the Realm's Light. " Prince Viserys proudly announced."

Everyone was overjoyed about learning her name and toasted for another time but both Prince Baelon and Prince Daemon got emotional upon hearing her name. Princess Alyssa had always wished to name her daughter that but never gotten chance. Prince Baelon smiled at his eldest son for gratitude while Prince Daemon looked at his niece with a strange gaze.

The celebration continued as everyone shared shared some of the interesting incidents and ate dinner with whole heart . As wished upon, this gathering had made House Targaryen stronger than ever and hope it will remain stronger at difficult times.

Only future holds the answer to the questions.

Part four Part five Part six

___________________________________________

Author's Note: I hope you like the chapter done by my amateur writer self.

Do vote for my story if you like it.

@snowtargaryen @sadmonke @girl-of-multi-fandoms @cwallace02sblog

@bitchycollectorvoid @immyowndefender @kpopstanforlife2007 @hc-geralt-23 @beebeechaos

@ayamenimthiriel

[rie-092]

CURSED CHILD

lout of the count's family | child! reader | masterlist

Cale Barrow didn't expected that the small child that he once tried to ignore became his whole world. But he cannot give up his dream for his precious child. So he stole the red and black egg, and after killing the members of the dragon slayer village, he also killed his daughter in the most painless way that he know. And because of breaking the vow of death that the dragon slayer village made with the last dragon lord. He got cursed, but little did he know, because of what he did. His innocent and fragile daughter also got cursed because of him. Now the question is, will she be able to break her curse after meeting Cale Henituse?

• first chapter : the lunatic.

• second chapter : the rumour

[hadesisqueer]

hows is it obvious that daenerys was the prince who was promised?

im not saying she is not i just havent read the books and im curious

I mean, I read the books a long time ago, so I'll tell you what I remember after a bit of research.

There are two figures, The Prince That Was Promised, which is a prophecy hero, and Azor Ahai, a legendary hero from thousands of years ago who'd be reborn. They have been used interchangeably, which implies that they're believed to be the same person.

There are several characters who are believed by others to be —or who believed themselves to be— Azor Ahai reborn/TPTWP. Melisandre thought it was Stannis, then if I recall she thought it was Jon Snow. Rhaegar, who was obsessed with the prophecy, thought it was him, and then he thought it was his son Aegon (the son of Elia Martell, not Jon; Jon is not really confirmed to be R + L's son in the books yet if I recall, and we don't know if his name would actually be Aegon... probably not tbh because who names his two sons Aegon). Maester Aemon first thought it was Rhaegar, and then he became convinced it was Dany.

After looking back, I remember that a witch told Jaehaerys II (Dany's grandpa) that TPTWP came from his children Aerys and Rhaella's line, which is why he arranged the marriage with each other. If we assume that that is true, then actually there would have been six possible TPTWP: Rhaegar, Aegon VI, Rhaenys, Viserys, Daenerys and Jon Snow. Rhaegar, Viserys and Rhaenys are all dead, so I guess whe could scratch them. Aegon VI (Young Griff) is supposedly still alive in the books and he fits one part of the prophecy —and so did Rhaegar in a way. But lots of people are not really sure that Aegon is actually who he says he is and that he might be a fake.

Melisandre believed it could be Jon. If I recall, there's a part where she said something like 'I ask the lord to show me Azor Ahai and all I see is snow' or something like that (again, it's been a while since I read the books, sorry?).

Now, Daenerys? She fits the prophecy to a T.

Born of Aerys and Rhaella's line? She is their daughter. Check.

Born amidst salt and smoke? Well, she was born in Dragonstone, a volcanic island, so literally born amidst salt (from the sea) and smoke (from the volcano). Metaphorically speaking though, she was also reborn amidst the salt of her tears and smoke from Drogo's funeral pyre. So... Check. Twice, I guess.

A 'bleeding star' would be a herald for the arrival of the prince. There was a Red Comet when Daenerys went into the funeral pyre, where she was reborn. So-- Check.

It was also said that TPTWP would 'awake dragons from stones'. While there are other characters that fit other requirements, Daenerys is the only one who fits this one, unless someone else manages to make three petrified dragon eggs hatch like she did. So-- Check.

Now, the whole thing: Lightbringer. Lightbringer was Azor Ahai's legendary sword. He tried making it three times, but the first two times the sword broke when he tried tempering; he finished the sword by stabbing his wife in the heart. It was said that Azor Ahai would be reborn when stars bleed and cold comes or something like that, and that that warrior would draw Lightbringer as a flaming sword from a fire.

Does Daenerys have Lightbringer? As an actual, physical sword, no. Metaphorically-- yeah. It's Drogon.

She tried to make her dragons hatch (create her weapon) twice and fails-- until she kills her husband and places the eggs in his funeral pyre: she places Drogon's egg beside Drogo's heart, just like Azor Ahai stabbed his wife there and that's where Lightbringer came to be. Then she emerged from the pyre with dragons while there was a red comet (again, bleeding star; the 'cold' would be The Others —White Walkers in the show— and the Winter that comes). Dragons, well-- are fire made flesh. So-- yeah. While she doesn't have a literal sword, Daenerys has her Lightbringer, and it's Drogon.

So, yeah. While people have a lot of theories about who TPTWP/Azor Ahai reborn would be, and there are other characters who fit some requirements, Daenerys is the only one who fully fits the prophecy. That's why a lot of people aren't shocked that it's her in HOTD. It is kind of obvious in the books lmao