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novaursa · 24 days

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The Last Dragonslayer (1/2)

- Summary: When young Luke came to Storm’s End as his mother’s emissary, Aemond wasn't the only one there to greet the young Prince.

- Paring: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: Reader is a Dragonslayer (a warrior) that saves Rhaeyra's child and fights for her. This is based on the request below, with my own twist in it, and it's the result of the votes that ended yesterday:

- Rating: Mature 16+ (last part will be rated higher)

- Word count: 8 000+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen is currently under construction. It will be posted once the second part of this work is out. Also, for more of my works visit my blog.

The storm rages fiercely over Storm's End, the winds howling through the stone walls of the castle like a restless beast. You stand in the shadowed alcove, your eyes tracking the young prince as he dismounts from his dragon, Arrax. The creature’s scales gleam wet in the flickering torchlight, its eyes wide with agitation. The beast feels it, the looming presence of something much older and much deadlier. You know without looking that it is Vhagar, the monstrous she-dragon that casts her shadow over the stormy skies.

Lucerys Velaryon, the boy prince, has the look of a cornered deer as he glances around the courtyard, his gaze inevitably drawn to the dark silhouette of Vhagar looming ominously in the distance. His heart beats wildly in his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The dragon he rides is no match for the ancient beast that waits, almost as if it hungers for the boy’s fear.

But it is not Vhagar that makes Arrax twitch nervously, shifting its massive claws on the slick stone ground. No, there is something else—another presence that unnerves both dragons. A primal fear ripples through the air, a fear that runs deeper than any rivalry between dragonriders.

You know what they feel. It is the Banshee, your mount, your companion. She lies in the caves beneath the castle, her leathery wings folded, her shriek an unspoken warning to all dragons that a Dragonslayer is near. You’ve ridden her across the skies of Essos, and now you have brought her to this cold, storm-battered land, a place so different from the sunlit shores of your origin.

As Lucerys is escorted into the great hall, you follow silently, a shadow among the guards, your steps barely a whisper against the stone. The hall is dimly lit, the flames flickering in their sconces as the storm rumbles outside. Lord Borros Baratheon sits upon his chair, his face a thundercloud of displeasure, while Aemond Targaryen stands off to the side, his single eye gleaming with malicious intent.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon,” Borros announces with a voice as heavy as the storm, “sent by your mother, the Queen.”

Lucerys takes a breath, standing tall as he faces the Lord of Storm's End. His voice is steady as he presents his mother’s terms, but you can see the tremor in his hands, the boy struggling to maintain his composure under the weight of the situation.

Aemond steps forward, his presence dark and threatening, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “You’re a brave boy to come here alone, nephew,” he sneers, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword. “But bravery only goes so far. You owe me an eye.”

The demand hangs in the air like the threat of lightning. Lucerys’ eyes widen, his breath catching as the terror grips him. He steps back, his hand instinctively moving to his sword, though you can see he knows it is futile.

Aemond’s voice drips with venom as he draws closer, reaching for the sapphire in his empty eye socket. “Don’t be afraid, boy. It’s a simple thing, really. Just a payment for what was stolen from me.”

Your movement is like a shadow across the floor as you step out from your place against the wall, your boots making soft, deliberate sounds against the stone. Aemond’s attention snaps to you, curiosity flashing in his eye as he sees a figure unlike any other in this hall.

“Who are you?” Aemond demands, his voice tinged with both suspicion and interest. The hall seems to quiet, even the storm outside pausing as if to hear your reply.

Lord Borros rises from his chair, turning his gaze to you, and his expression is a mixture of awe and unease. “This is the emissary from the Free Cities,” he says, his voice uncertain. “She arrived a few days ago, from across the Narrow Sea. An emissary, she claimed, from an ancient order.”

You tilt your head slightly, regarding Aemond with those eyes of yours, eyes that many have said carry the weight of ancient knowledge, of secrets lost to time. When you speak, your accent is thick, your voice smooth, yet carrying a hardness beneath it, like a blade wrapped in silk. “The boy will return to his mother,” you state, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Aemond’s eye narrows, his curiosity turning to annoyance. “You think to order me around in my own land? I am a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon. And you—what are you?”

“I am Y/N,” you say simply, letting the name hang in the air, as though it should explain everything. And to those who know, it does. “And I have no interest in your games, dragonrider. The boy leaves. Now.”

Lucerys looks at you with wide eyes, relief and confusion mixing on his young face. He knows not who you are, nor why you would intercede on his behalf, but he knows better than to question the chance at survival you offer.

Aemond, however, is less easily swayed. “You do not command me, woman,” he snarls, his hand finally gripping his sword hilt.

Your eyes lock onto his, and there is a cold, ancient fury in your gaze that makes Aemond pause, just for a moment. “Do you hear that?” you ask softly, almost a whisper.

He frowns, confusion crossing his features. But then he does hear it—a low, keening wail, barely audible over the storm, but there nonetheless. It is a sound that twists something deep in his chest, a primal fear that is older than his bloodline, older than even the dragons themselves.

“That,” you continue, your voice never rising, yet commanding all attention, “is a Banshee’s call. Do you know what it means, dragonrider?”

Aemond doesn’t answer, his grip tightening on his sword. But you see it, the flicker of doubt in his eye, the instinctive fear that his ancestors would have known all too well.

“It means,” you say, taking a step closer to the prince, “that the Dragonslayers are near.”

Silence falls heavy in the hall, the only sound the storm raging outside and that distant, eerie wail of your mount. Aemond’s confidence wavers, just for a heartbeat, and you seize the moment.

“Return to your mother, boy,” you say to Lucerys, your tone softening slightly as you address the prince. “And tell her the Dragonslayers have not forgotten.”

Lucerys doesn’t hesitate. He turns and strides from the hall, the guards parting before him. Aemond watches him go, his eye flicking between you and the retreating prince, torn between pride and the icy fear that grips his heart.

As the doors close behind Lucerys, Aemond turns back to you, but you are already gone, melted back into the shadows of the storm. The Banshee’s wail echoes in his ears, a sound that will haunt him long after this night has passed.

And in the distance, through the storm and the dark, Lucerys Velaryon rides his dragon into the night, the words of a stranger echoing in his mind as he returns to his mother—a warning, a promise, and a name that will not be easily forgotten.

The storm's fury is unrelenting as Vhagar takes to the skies, her wings cutting through the tempest with the power of a creature that has lived through centuries. Beneath her, the world is a blur of rain and lightning, the roar of the wind nearly drowning out the beat of her wings. Aemond’s eye is fixed on the smaller silhouette ahead, the young prince Lucerys and his dragon, Arrax. His pride, his rage, they drive him forward with a singular, furious intent.

"Do you think you can escape me, boy?" Aemond mutters to himself, the thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins. His grip on the reins tightens as he urges Vhagar onward, the ancient beast responding to his will, her massive form gaining on the fleeing dragon.

But then, something shifts.

It begins with Vhagar. The she-dragon, who has known no fear in over a century, falters mid-flight. Her great head swivels, nostrils flaring as if sensing something that doesn’t belong in this world. A deep, rumbling growl escapes her throat, a sound of unease that Aemond has never heard from her before.

"What is it, girl?" Aemond calls out, his voice straining against the storm, frustration creeping in as Vhagar slows her pursuit. He yanks at the reins, but the dragon resists, her great body twisting in the air as if trying to turn away from something unseen.

Then it comes—a sound like no other. Piercing, shrill, it cuts through the storm with an unnatural clarity. A cry that chills the blood, a scream not of any living thing, but of something that should never have existed. Aemond feels it like a knife in his gut, a primal fear that shakes the core of even a Targaryen prince. Vhagar responds with a bellow of her own, but this is not a sound of defiance—it is one of terror.

Through the torrential rain and flashes of lightning, Aemond sees it. Emerging from the swirling clouds above, the Banshee appears, its form massive and menacing, a creature out of nightmares and ancient legends. It is larger than any dragon, its wings long and leathery, resembling those of some dark, twisted bat. Its body is sinewy and powerful, covered in scales as dark as midnight, its maw filled with razor-sharp teeth that seem made to tear through dragon flesh. Eyes that glow with a sickly green light fixate on Vhagar, and in that gaze, there is nothing but hunger.

A hunger that could swallow the world.

The Banshee shrieks again, and this time, the sound is closer, more intense, reverberating through the storm as if the very heavens themselves are crying out in fear. Vhagar roars back, but her voice wavers, no longer the dominant force of the skies. She tries to pull away, her vast wings beating furiously as she begins to ascend, desperate to escape the horror that has locked its gaze upon her.

And there, atop the Banshee, you sit. The storm whips around you, yet you are steady, your body moving fluidly with the creature’s every motion. Your eyes are fixed on Aemond, a cold determination set in your features as you close in. The distance between the two monstrous creatures shrinks with every heartbeat, the Banshee’s speed unnatural, as if it is not bound by the same laws of the world as other beings.

"Vhagar, no!" Aemond shouts, desperation creeping into his voice as he feels his mount’s fear, her once obedient nature slipping through his control. He pulls harder on the reins, but the ancient dragon does not heed him. She banks sharply to the side, attempting to flee, the instinct to survive overpowering all else.

"Stay and fight, damn you!" Aemond roars, but his voice is lost to the storm and to Vhagar’s terror. For the first time, Aemond realizes that he has lost control. Vhagar, the greatest of all dragons, is fleeing like a hunted beast.

From behind, Lucerys and Arrax, seeing their chance, dart downwards toward the safety of the clouds below. The boy doesn’t look back, but his heart pounds with both fear and gratitude, his only thought now of returning to Dragonstone and the safety of his mother’s arms. The storm swallows them, the smaller dragon vanishing into the darkness, seizing the slim opportunity for escape that has been granted by the terror you’ve unleashed.

You see this, the boy’s escape, and though you could chase, though you could end him as well, your focus remains on Aemond. This is a message, a warning, and it is Vhagar who must carry it back.

Aemond’s face twists with a mix of rage and helplessness as he feels Vhagar’s massive body turning, wings beating harder now, not in pursuit, but in retreat. You let out a command, your voice carried by the storm, not in words that Aemond understands, but the Banshee does. She dives, a predatory speed that belies her size, closing the distance between them in seconds.

Another scream from the Banshee, and this time, Vhagar shudders violently, nearly throwing Aemond from her back. The ancient dragon, who has seen countless battles and burned entire cities to ash, is utterly broken by the presence of this creature from a bygone era. She dives desperately, fleeing into the clouds, seeking any refuge from the horror that chases her.

For a brief moment, as you pull back, allowing Vhagar to escape into the storm’s embrace, your eyes meet Aemond’s. In that gaze, he sees something that shakes him more than the sight of the Banshee or the fear in Vhagar’s eyes. He sees the cold, unyielding power of an order thought extinct, a legacy that has returned from the shadows of history.

And then you and the Banshee vanish into the storm, your form melding with the darkness as if you were never there. Only the lingering echoes of that terrifying scream remain, fading into the storm, a sound that will haunt Aemond for the rest of his days.

Vhagar continues her frantic flight, the once-proud dragon now reduced to a fleeing beast, her rider clinging to her, his pride shattered, his mind reeling. Aemond’s thoughts are a whirlwind of anger, fear, and humiliation. He came to these skies with the intent to prove his dominance, to assert his strength, but now he returns with the bitter taste of defeat and the knowledge that there are forces in this world even dragons fear.

And far below, Lucerys and Arrax race through the storm towards the safety of Dragonstone, the boy’s heart pounding with relief and terror. He will make it home, but the memory of this night will stay with him—the night he was spared not by his own hand, but by a mysterious stranger on a creature of nightmares.

The Dragonslayers have returned. And the dragons of Westeros will never be the same.

The skies over Dragonstone are dark, heavy with the remnants of the storm that raged over Storm's End. The air is filled with unease as the guards and retainers of the castle stand vigilantly on the battlements, their eyes scanning the horizon. They know who they are waiting for, though they dare not speak of the dread that gnaws at them.

Suddenly, through the mists and rain, a shape emerges. A dragon, smaller than most, with wet and weary wings straining to keep it aloft. Arrax lands heavily in the courtyard, his scales slick with rain and his breath labored from the flight. The beast's eyes are wide, pupils darting in a way that betrays its fear.

Atop him, Lucerys Velaryon sits slumped in the saddle, his small form trembling, soaked to the bone. He barely has the strength to dismount, nearly collapsing as his boots touch the ground. His hands are shaking uncontrollably, and his eyes—those eyes that should be bright with the fire of youth—are wide and haunted, filled with the terror of what he has just endured.

From across the courtyard, Queen Rhaenyra breaks from her retinue of Queensguard, her heart seizing as she sees the state of her son. “Luke!” she cries, her voice cracking with fear and relief as she rushes to him, her skirts billowing as she nearly stumbles in her haste.

“Mother,” Lucerys gasps, his voice a whisper against the wind. He’s shivering violently, his teeth chattering as the cold and fear clutch at him.

Rhaenyra reaches him, wrapping him in her arms, her grip firm and protective as she pulls him close, heedless of the rain that soaks through her own clothing. Her heart pounds in her chest as she feels the tremors racking his small frame. “Gods, what happened?” she whispers, her hand cupping his face as she tries to meet his eyes, searching for any sign of injury, any indication of what has terrified her son so deeply.

Lucerys buries his face against her shoulder, his breath hitching as he tries to find the words. “I—I saw him, Mother,” he begins, his voice shaking as badly as his body. “Aemond was there… at Storm’s End. Vhagar was with him.”

Rhaenyra stiffens, her blood turning to ice at the mention of Aemond and his dragon. “Did he harm you?” Her voice is fierce, though a mother’s terror lies just beneath it. “What did he do to you?”

Lucerys shakes his head frantically, clutching at her arms as if grounding himself in her presence. “He… he wanted to take my eye, Mother. He said… he said it was a debt. But…” His words trail off, his breath catching as he struggles to explain the horror he witnessed.

Rhaenyra’s grip tightens, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of rage and fear. “But what, Luke? What happened?”

Luke pulls back slightly, his wide eyes meeting hers, filled with a confusion that mirrors his terror. “She… she saved me, Mother. A woman… a stranger. She stopped Aemond.”

Rhaenyra blinks, her mind racing. “A woman? Who was she? What did she look like?”

Luke swallows hard, his voice trembling as he continues, “She… she wasn’t from here. She looked… different. Like no one I’ve ever seen before. She had an accent I didn’t recognize. Lord Borros called her an emissary from the Free Cities.” His voice drops to a whisper, as if saying the next words might summon the creature back. “And she had a… a beast with her. Not a dragon, but something else. It was… it was terrifying, Mother. The dragons, even Vhagar… they were afraid of it.”

Rhaenyra’s heart pounds faster as she listens, trying to make sense of her son’s words. “A beast? What did it look like?”

Luke’s eyes glaze over slightly as he recalls the image burned into his mind. “It was… huge, bigger than any dragon I’ve seen, with wings like… like a bat’s. And its scream, Mother… it was like nothing I’ve ever heard. It made the storm itself seem quiet. And she was riding it… commanding it.”

Rhaenyra’s blood runs cold, her mind racing through the possibilities, but nothing matches the description her son gives. A creature that could frighten Vhagar, the largest and oldest of the Targaryen dragons? It sounds like a nightmare given form, a horror from ancient times.

“Are you sure of what you saw, Luke?” she asks gently, her tone softening as she brushes his wet hair from his face. “Could it have been… something else? A trick of the storm?”

Luke shakes his head vehemently. “No, Mother. I saw it. I heard it. She told me to go, to return to you. And when I left… Aemond was chasing me, but then the creature came after him instead. Vhagar fled, Mother. She was terrified.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, a shiver running down her spine at the thought. If Vhagar, the mightiest of all dragons, could be driven to flee… what manner of beast had her son encountered? And who was this woman, this stranger who had saved her child from a fate worse than death?

A feeling of unease settles over her, a realization that something far greater and more dangerous than she had anticipated is at play. The knowledge that ancient powers, long thought to be myths, might have returned to the world shakes her to her core.

But for now, all that matters is her son. She pulls him close again, holding him tightly as if to shield him from whatever darkness lies out there, whatever force has set its sights on the Targaryen bloodline. “You’re safe now,” she whispers, trying to convince herself as much as him. “You’re home, and you’re safe.”

But even as she says the words, her mind is already racing ahead, planning, fearing, wondering what this new player on the board means for the future of her house, for her claim, and for the survival of her children.

The night is still and heavy with the remnants of the storm, the winds howling softly through the dark corridors of Dragonstone. Rhaenyra is deep in a restless sleep, her mind troubled by the events of the day, her dreams haunted by the image of her son, drenched and trembling, speaking of a beast that defied all she knew of the world.

But suddenly, her sleep is shattered by a sound so primal, so raw, that it feels like the earth itself is tearing apart. The roar of dragons, rising in a cacophony of fear and fury, echoes through the stone walls of the castle. It’s not just any dragon’s roar—it’s the sound of dragons in terror. Rhaenyra bolts upright in her bed, her heart pounding in her chest as the walls seem to tremble around her.

She hears another roar, louder this time, unmistakable in its ferocity—the Cannibal. The ancient, wild dragon’s scream is so powerful that it seems to shake the very foundations of Dragonstone. The deep, guttural sound reverberates through the castle, making the torches flicker as if the flame itself is afraid.

And then, cutting through the night like a blade, comes another sound—a wail, high-pitched and unnatural, unlike anything she’s ever heard. It’s the cry of the Banshee, echoing through the skies above the island, a sound so filled with dread that it makes her blood run cold.

Rhaenyra leaps from her bed, pulling on a robe as she rushes toward the door. Her heart races, a mix of fear and adrenaline driving her forward. She flings open the door, her voice breaking the silence of the corridor. “Daemon!”

As if summoned by her cry, Daemon Targaryen appears, already dressed and armed, his face set in a grim expression. He doesn’t need to ask what’s happening—the screams of the dragons and the wail from the skies tell him all he needs to know.

“They’re afraid,” Daemon says, his voice rough with tension as he strides toward her, his eyes blazing. “The dragons are terrified, Rhaenyra. Whatever it is, it’s here.”

Rhaenyra nods, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she hurries to follow him. The two of them rush through the castle, Daemon’s men falling in around them, their faces pale as they hear the screams that fill the night. The ground beneath their feet seems to tremble as if the very earth is trying to recoil from the presence that has arrived on its shores.

They reach the courtyard just as another roar shakes the air, but this time it’s different. This time, it’s a sound of submission, of retreat. In the distance, high atop Dragonmont, the dragons that make their home in the ancient volcano are pulling back, their massive forms retreating into the dark, smoke-filled caves, away from the open sky. Even the Cannibal, the most feared and untamed of all the dragons, has gone silent, its defiance turned to fear.

Rhaenyra’s eyes follow the direction of the retreating dragons, and there, near the rocky coastline, she sees it—the Banshee. It stands on the blackened sand, its vast wings partially spread, casting an ominous shadow that stretches out over the churning waves. The creature is even more terrifying than she had imagined from Lucerys’ description, a monstrous form that seems to absorb the darkness around it, its eyes glowing with that sickly green light that cuts through the night.

And before the Banshee, standing with an air of calm command, is the woman—Y/N. She stands tall, her presence as formidable as the beast behind her, her eyes fixed on the castle. Even from this distance, Rhaenyra can see the confidence in her stance, the ease with which she controls the horror at her side.

Daemon’s hand moves to the hilt of his sword as he stares at the woman and her beast, his eyes narrowing in a mix of fury and awe. “Is this the creature the boy spoke of?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Rhaenyra nods, unable to tear her gaze from the sight. “It is,” she whispers, her voice tinged with fear and a growing sense of foreboding. “And that… that is the woman who saved him.”

Daemon takes a step forward, his gaze shifting to Caraxes, who is visible in the distance, his great head peeking out from the entrance of his cave. The Blood Wyrm, who has faced down dragons and men alike, recoils, his body pressed low to the ground as if trying to melt into the rock itself. He refuses to come forward, his instincts telling him that this is not a foe he wishes to face.

Rhaenyra watches as Daemon's knuckles turn white around the hilt of his sword. “Even Caraxes is afraid,” he mutters, almost to himself. “What manner of beast is this? And who is this woman?”

Before Rhaenyra can respond, Y/N takes a step forward, moving with a grace that belies the danger she embodies. Her voice carries across the distance, strong and clear despite the howling wind. “I come not as an enemy, but as an emissary.”

Rhaenyra feels a shiver run down her spine at the sound of the woman’s voice. There is something in it, an authority, a power that feels ancient, something that commands respect and fear in equal measure. She steps forward, placing a hand on Daemon’s arm to still him, her eyes never leaving Y/N.

“You saved my son,” Rhaenyra calls out, her voice steady, though her heart is pounding in her chest. “Why?”

Y/N’s gaze meets hers, and for a moment, Rhaenyra feels as though she’s being weighed, measured by a force that sees far beyond the physical. “Because the time has come for old debts to be paid, and old alliances to be rekindled,” Y/N replies, her accent unfamiliar, each word carrying an air of inevitability.

Daemon steps forward, his posture rigid, every muscle coiled with tension. “What are you?” he demands, his tone edged with suspicion. “And what do you want from us?”

Y/N regards him calmly, her eyes as unreadable as the stormy sea behind her. “I am the last of the Dragonslayers,” she says, her words cutting through the air like a blade. “And I seek what was lost to time—an alliance, forged in blood and fire, that will reshape the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Rhaenyra’s breath catches at the mention of the Dragonslayers. The name is one of legend, spoken of only in whispers, a myth more than a reality. Yet here stands proof, undeniable and terrifying. “An alliance?” she echoes, her voice a mix of intrigue and caution. “With whom?”

Y/N’s gaze sharpens, and a ghost of a smile touches her lips. “With House Targaryen,” she says, the name carrying weight as if it alone could alter the course of history. “If you will accept it.”

The words hang in the air, filled with promise and threat alike. Rhaenyra and Daemon exchange a look, the gravity of what is being offered sinking in. The roar of the dragons has died away, leaving only the sound of the wind and the waves crashing against the rocks.

The Banshee shifts behind Y/N, its wings rustling like the ominous whisper of death itself. Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, stepping forward, her voice firm as she speaks. “Come inside,” she says, a queen’s command, but also an invitation. “We will speak more.”

Y/N inclines her head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment, before turning to her beast. With a simple, fluid motion, she mounts the Banshee, the creature responding to her touch with a soft, almost affectionate growl. “I will come,” she says, her voice carrying across the distance. “But know this, Queen Rhaenyra—what I bring is not just an alliance, but the power to change the very destiny of your house.”

With that, the Banshee lets out one last, bone-chilling wail that echoes across the island. The creature takes to the skies, its massive wings beating against the wind as it rises into the air, carrying its rider away from the shore and into the stormy night.

Rhaenyra watches as the dark silhouette disappears into the clouds, her mind racing with a thousand questions, her heart heavy with the knowledge that whatever comes next, it will be like nothing Westeros has ever seen.

Daemon stands beside her, his eyes still fixed on the sky where the Banshee vanished. “We must be ready,” he says quietly, his voice laced with both determination and unease. “Whatever she brings, it will not be easily controlled.”

Rhaenyra nods, her gaze steely as she turns back toward the castle, already thinking of the steps she must take, the alliances she must forge, and the preparations she must make. “Then we shall be ready,” she replies, her voice firm with resolve. “For House Targaryen will not be brought low, not by dragons, and not by beasts.”

Together, they walk back into the heart of Dragonstone, the weight of their decisions pressing heavily upon them, the storm outside now a mere whisper compared to the storm that is yet to come.

The great hall of Dragonstone is eerily quiet, the only sound the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth, its flames dancing in the dim light. The storm outside has settled into a steady, rhythmic beat against the stone walls, as if the very island holds its breath, waiting for what comes next.

Daemon Targaryen stands by the fire, his eyes fixed on the flames, deep in thought. The warmth of the fire does little to chase away the cold unease that has settled in his bones since the arrival of the stranger and her beast. Rhaenyra sits at the head of the table, her posture regal and composed, though her gaze is sharp and searching as it rests on the woman before them—Y/N, the self-proclaimed last of the Dragonslayers.

You stand before them, calm and composed, the flickering firelight casting shadows across your face. Your expression is inscrutable, your eyes reflecting a depth of experience and knowledge that stretches far beyond the walls of this ancient castle.

Daemon finally speaks, his voice low, but filled with the weight of old memories. “When I was a boy, I used to sit at my wet nurse’s feet as she told me the tales of old Valyria. Stories of dragons soaring above the world, of their might and majesty… and of the terror that once threatened them.” He turns his gaze from the fire to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She spoke of the Dragonslayers, warriors from an ancient order, born from the fear and hatred of those who had no other means to fight back against the dragons. It was said their beasts were as fearsome as the dragons themselves—monstrous creatures that could strike terror into the heart of even the most battle-hardened Targaryen.”

He pauses, his lips curving into a wry smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But those were just stories. Tales meant to frighten children and remind us of our place in the world. When the Doom of Valyria came, the Dragonslayers were said to have perished along with the dragons. Swallowed by the same flames that consumed the Freehold.”

Daemon’s smile fades, replaced by a hard, calculating look. “So you must excuse me, Lady Y/N, if I find it difficult to believe that I now stand face to face with a ghost from those old tales. A Dragonslayer, here to negotiate with the very people her kind once hunted. It seems… unlikely, doesn’t it? Like a dragon holding court with a woman who eats dragons.”

Rhaenyra watches you intently, her fingers lightly drumming against the arm of her chair as she waits for your response. The tension in the room is felt, the air thick with unspoken questions and unvoiced fears.

You meet Daemon’s gaze without flinching, your expression unreadable as you consider his words. When you finally speak, your voice is steady, carrying an authority that demands attention. “You are right to be cautious, Prince Daemon. The tales of the Dragonslayers are shrouded in myth, and much has been lost to time. But make no mistake—those tales were born from truth. My order existed long before Valyria rose to power, and our purpose was never simply to destroy dragons.”

You pause, your eyes flicking between Daemon and Rhaenyra, measuring their reactions. “Our purpose was—and still is—balance. The world must be in balance, or it risks falling into chaos. The dragons of Valyria were a force of nature, powerful and wild. But when they were allowed to spread unchecked, to conquer and dominate, the balance was threatened.”

Rhaenyra leans forward slightly, her brow furrowed in thought. “And now? What is your purpose here, in Westeros? You say you seek balance, but what does that mean for my house? For my children?”

You turn your gaze to her, your expression softening slightly as you consider your words carefully. “The balance is delicate, Queen Rhaenyra. It is not my intention to see the dragons of Westeros wiped out. That would tip the scales too far in the other direction. The dragons are a part of this world, just as you are, just as I am. But if they are allowed to overwhelm this continent, to destroy all in their path, or if they are allowed to die out entirely, the balance will be lost. And when the balance is lost, it is not just the dragons that suffer—it is the entire world.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow as he considers your words, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though he makes no move to draw it. “So you would see yourself as some kind of guardian, then? A protector of the balance? And what if that means turning against the very dragons you claim to protect?”

You meet his challenge with a steady gaze. “If it comes to that, Prince Daemon, then so be it. But understand this—my purpose is not to hunt dragons for sport or to seek vengeance for old wrongs. My purpose is to ensure that the world does not fall into chaos. If that means working with the dragons and their riders to maintain the balance, then that is what I will do.”

Rhaenyra exchanges a glance with Daemon, her expression one of deep contemplation. “And what would you ask of us, then?” she inquires, her tone thoughtful, though there is a note of steel beneath it. “What role do you see House Targaryen playing in this balance you speak of?”

You take a deep breath, your gaze steady as you address both of them. “House Targaryen is at the center of the storm that is coming. The dragons you command are both a weapon and a symbol, and their power must be wielded wisely. I offer you an alliance, a way to ensure that power is used to preserve the balance, rather than disrupt it.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, his skepticism still evident. “And if we refuse?”

You smile faintly, a hint of something ancient and knowing in your expression. “Then the balance will be lost. And I will do what must be done to restore it, with or without your cooperation.”

Silence falls over the room, the weight of your words sinking in. Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker with a mix of emotions—fear, determination, and something akin to respect. She finally rises from her chair, stepping toward you, her gaze unwavering.

“You speak of balance, but know this—we are not easily swayed, and we do not take threats lightly,” she says, her voice strong and clear. “But if you are truly here to preserve this balance, then we will consider your offer. For the sake of our children, and for the future of this realm.”

You incline your head slightly, acknowledging her words. “That is all I ask, Queen Rhaenyra. Consider my offer, and know that I am not your enemy. Not unless you make me one.”

Daemon watches you closely, his hand still resting on his sword, but for now, he remains silent, his thoughts unreadable.

Rhaenyra turns to him, her expression one of quiet resolve. “We will speak more of this, Daemon. But for now, we must be cautious. This alliance may be what we need to ensure the survival of our house.”

Daemon nods slowly, his gaze still locked on you. “Very well,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “But know this, Lady Y/N—if you betray us, if you threaten what is ours, you will find that dragons are not so easily tamed.”

You smile slightly, a knowing glint in your eyes. “Nor are Dragonslayers, Prince Daemon. But I hope it does not come to that.”

With that, the tension in the room begins to ease, though the underlying unease remains. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, and the storm outside continues to rage, a reminder that the true storm has only just begun.

The night has settled over Dragonstone with a profound stillness, the earlier storm having finally exhausted itself. The air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, and above, the sky is a vast canvas of stars, twinkling like distant, forgotten fires. The castle itself is quiet, the flames of the torches flickering softly in their sconces, casting long shadows across the ancient stone.

Rhaenyra finds herself drawn to the open balcony, her steps light as she moves through the corridors, her thoughts still heavy with the weight of the day’s revelations. As she approaches, she sees you standing there, your back to her, gazing up at the night sky with a stillness that almost seems inhuman. The soft light of the stars bathes you in an ethereal glow, and for a moment, Rhaenyra is struck by your presence. There is something otherworldly about you, a beauty that is both mesmerizing and unsettling, even to one of Targaryen blood, who is no stranger to the idea of beings who are not entirely of this world.

Your figure is tall and graceful, your hair catching the faint light as it moves gently in the breeze. Your clothes, simple yet elegant, seem almost to blend with the shadows, as if you are a part of the night itself. There is an air of timelessness about you, something ancient and enduring, and it stirs a deep curiosity within Rhaenyra, a need to understand the enigma that is Y/N.

You speak before she can announce her presence, your voice soft but clear, carrying the weight of knowledge and memory. “It is said that my people came from those stars,” you begin, still gazing upward, your eyes tracing the patterns in the sky. “Long ago, when the world was young, their ship crumbled down in fire, crashing into what would become the Valyrian Freehold. Can you imagine it, Rhaenyra? A ship that sails among the stars, crossing the vast emptiness between worlds?”

Rhaenyra pauses at your words, her breath catching as she considers the image you’ve painted. The idea is both wondrous and terrifying, something beyond the scope of anything she has ever known. She steps closer, her eyes moving from your figure to the sky above, trying to see what you see.

“It’s a beautiful thought,” she says softly, “but also a frightening one. The idea that something so vast, so unknowable, could exist out there. Or worse, that there might be nothing at all. We would be so small… so insignificant.”

You finally turn to face her, your eyes meeting hers with a look that is both kind and ancient, as if you hold secrets that span the ages. “That is the truth of it, isn’t it? The vastness of the universe, the endless expanse of stars… it can make one feel so very small. All the battles we fight, all the kingdoms we build… in the end, they are but whispers in the wind compared to the forces that drive this world and all the others.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softens as she looks at you, the intensity of your words resonating deep within her. She takes another step closer, her voice tinged with gratitude as she speaks. “I wanted to thank you… for what you did for Lucerys. You saved my son’s life. For that, I am in your debt.”

You incline your head slightly, acknowledging her thanks with a faint smile. “What I did was just,” you reply simply, as if there could be no other course of action. “The boy’s life was not meant to end that day.”

Rhaenyra studies you, her curiosity growing, fueled by the mysteriousness that surrounds you. She has faced dragons and men alike, but there is something about you that captivates her in a way she does not fully understand. “You said you were the last of your kind,” she begins, her voice gentle but probing. “Does that mean you have no family left?”

You turn back to the sky, your expression unreadable as you consider her question. “There are a few others of my order,” you say after a moment, your voice touched with a hint of melancholy. “They are scattered across the world, trying to survive as best they can. But they are not of my blood. My true family… they are gone.”

Rhaenyra feels a pang of sympathy at your words, a sudden connection to the pain you carry. She knows the weight of loss, the emptiness it leaves behind. “I am sorry,” she says quietly, her voice filled with genuine compassion. “To be the last of your kind… it must be a heavy burden.”

You nod slightly, your gaze distant as you continue to stare at the stars. “It is,” you admit, your voice softening with the weight of memory. “But it is the burden I was born to bear. The last of my bloodline, the last of those who once stood against the might of dragons. My family was everything to me… and now, they are nothing but memories and dust.”

Rhaenyra steps closer, standing beside you now, her gaze also turning upward to the stars. She feels a strange sense of kinship with you, this woman who has seen so much, who carries so much pain within her. “I understand what it is to lose those you love,” she says quietly, her voice filled with a sadness that mirrors your own. “I have lost many, and I fear I may lose more before this is over.”

You turn to her, your eyes searching hers, seeing the strength and sorrow within her. “That is the way of the world, Rhaenyra,” you say softly, your tone both comforting and resigned. “We are all bound by the same fate—loss, pain, and eventually, death. But it is what we do with the time we have, the choices we make, that define us. We must find the strength to carry on, even when all seems lost.”

Rhaenyra nods, her heart heavy with the truth of your words. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, to find the resolve she needs to face the challenges ahead. “I will do what I must,” she says, her voice filled with quiet determination. “For my family, for my children… for the future of this realm.”

You give her a small, understanding smile, a flicker of something almost like pride in your eyes. “You have the strength within you, Rhaenyra Targaryen,” you say, your voice firm with conviction. “I see it, just as I see the stars above. You are meant to be more than a queen—you are meant to be a force that shapes the world.”

Rhaenyra feels a surge of emotion at your words, a mix of fear, hope, and a deep, unspoken bond with this woman who seems to understand her better than anyone. She looks back at you, her gaze filled with both gratitude and a growing respect. “And what of you, Y/N?” she asks softly. “What is your place in this world, now that you are the last of your kind?”

You turn away from the stars to meet her gaze once more, your expression resolute. “My place is wherever I am needed,” you say simply. “I will do what must be done to preserve the balance, to ensure that this world does not fall into chaos. Whether that means standing beside you, or against you, remains to be seen.”

Rhaenyra nods slowly, understanding the gravity of your words. She feels a deep respect for you, for the strength and resolve you carry, and she knows that your path and hers are now intertwined, whether by fate or by choice.

For a moment, the two of you stand together in silence, gazing up at the stars, each lost in your own thoughts, yet connected by the shared understanding of the burdens you bear. The night is a vast and heavy dread of what lies ahead, but in this moment, there is a sense of calm, of quiet resolution, as if the stars themselves have blessed this fragile alliance.

The morning sun has risen over Dragonstone, casting a warm, golden glow across the ancient stone walls and the restless sea beyond. The storm of the previous night has left the air fresh and crisp, with only a few lingering clouds on the horizon. The castle is stirring with life, as servants go about their duties and the guards stand watchful at their posts.

You are standing in the courtyard, the early light catching in your hair, giving it a strange, almost ethereal sheen. You are calm, composed, your posture relaxed as you watch the sea, seemingly lost in thought. The events of the previous night, the tension, and the conversations have left their mark, but you show no outward sign of it. You stand there, a figure of quiet strength, almost as if you belong to another time, another world.

Luke approaches you cautiously, his small feet making soft sounds against the stone. He is dressed in simple, practical clothing, appropriate for the heir of a noble house, but his expression is one of nervousness and gratitude. His young face is still pale from the fear of his encounter at Storm's End, but there is also determination in his eyes, a resolve to confront what haunts him.

He stops a few paces away from you, hesitant at first. “Lady Y/N,” he begins, his voice small but earnest. “I… I wanted to thank you. For what you did at Storm’s End. You saved my life.”

You turn to him, a gentle smile curving your lips as you look down at the boy. There is a kindness in your eyes that seems to ease his nerves, though the depth of your gaze still holds a mystery that he cannot quite grasp. “You owe me no thanks, young prince,” you say softly, your voice steady and warm. “I did what was just.”

Luke swallows, glancing down at the ground for a moment before looking back up at you. “But… Aemond,” he continues, his voice trembling slightly at the name. “He won’t forget what you did. He’ll come after you. He won’t stop until… until he gets what he wants.”

You regard him with calm assurance, unbothered by the warning. There is a quiet power in the way you stand, as if the threats of men and dragons alike hold no sway over you. “Let him come,” you reply, your tone even, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. “Aemond Targaryen is not the first to seek revenge against me, nor will he be the last. I have faced dragons before, and I have survived them. If he wishes to challenge me, then he will learn that some battles are not so easily won.”

Luke looks at you with a mixture of awe and confusion, struggling to understand the depth of your confidence. He is young, and the world is still a place of fear and uncertainty to him, but your words carry a weight that he cannot ignore. “But… aren’t you afraid?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilt your head slightly, considering the question with a faint smile. “Fear is a natural thing, young prince,” you say gently. “But I have learned that there are things far greater and more terrifying than a man or his dragon. We are all small in the grand scheme of things, and what we fear today may be forgotten tomorrow. What matters is how we face that fear—whether we let it control us, or whether we rise above it.”

Luke nods slowly, taking in your words. There is a wisdom in them that speaks to him, even if he doesn’t fully understand it yet. He looks up at you with a newfound respect, feeling a little braver, a little stronger in your presence. “I’ll remember that,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet determination.

As you and Luke speak, Rhaenyra watches from a distance, her eyes flicking toward you every so often. She stands near one of the arches that lead out to the courtyard, her gaze following the interaction between you and her son. There is something in the way she observes you—a mixture of curiosity, admiration, and perhaps a touch of something more that she doesn’t fully acknowledge, even to herself.

Rhaenyra notices the ease with which you speak to Luke, the way your presence seems to calm him, to give him strength. There is a grace in your movements, a calm assurance that draws her attention, almost as if you are a beacon of light in the chaos that surrounds them all. She sees the way Luke looks up at you, his young face filled with awe, and she cannot help but feel the same pull, the same captivation.

She remembers the conversation from the night before, the way you spoke of balance, of the vastness of the universe and the insignificance of their struggles in the grand scheme of things. It had left her feeling both humbled and intrigued, as if she were standing on the edge of some great revelation, something that could change everything she thought she knew.

But now, as she watches you with her son, she sees another side of you—a protector, a guide, someone who understands the fears of a boy and can ease them with nothing more than a few well-chosen words. It is a quality that Rhaenyra cannot help but admire, and it deepens the connection she feels toward you, a bond that is growing stronger with each passing moment.

Luke takes a deep breath, standing a little taller now as he looks up at you. “Thank you, Lady Y/N,” he says, his voice more confident this time. “For everything.”

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “You are a brave young man, Luke. Never forget that. The world is a dangerous place, but you have the strength within you to face whatever comes. Trust in that.”

Luke smiles, a small, genuine smile that lights up his face, and then he turns to go, feeling a little more at peace with the world. As he walks away, he glances back at you one last time, as if to hold onto the strength you have given him.

Rhaenyra steps forward as Luke leaves, approaching you with a mixture of caution and curiosity. “He admires you,” she says softly, her voice carrying a note of gratitude and something more, something she does not name.

You turn to her, your expression thoughtful as you meet her gaze. “He is a good boy,” you reply. “He will grow into a strong man, one who will carry the weight of his name with honor. But he is still young, and the world is full of challenges he has yet to face.”

Rhaenyra nods, her eyes lingering on your face, taking in the details of your features, the way the light plays across your skin. There is something almost hypnotic about you, something that draws her in, and she finds herself feeling a connection that she cannot fully explain. “I can see why he admires you,” she says softly, her voice tinged with both respect and something deeper, something that stirs within her like the rising tide.

You hold her gaze, your expression unreadable, but there is a softness in your eyes, a recognition of the connection that is forming between the two of you. “And I can see why you care for him so deeply,” you reply, your voice gentle, almost tender. “He is your son, your legacy. You have given him strength, Rhaenyra, just as you will need to give him guidance in the days to come.”

Rhaenyra nods again, feeling a surge of emotion at your words. There is a bond forming between you, something that goes beyond mere friendship or alliance. It is a connection born of shared understanding, of mutual respect, and perhaps even of something more, something that neither of you is ready to name just yet.

For a moment, the two of you stand there in the courtyard, the world around you falling away as you share a quiet, unspoken understanding. The sun continues to rise, casting its golden light across the castle, and in that light, the bond between you and Rhaenyra grows stronger, deepening with every passing moment.

And in the distance, the sea continues to churn, its waves crashing against the shore, a reminder that the world is vast and full of challenges. But in this moment, on this morning, there is peace, and there is a connection.

#hotd rhaenyra #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x female reader #rhaenyra targaryen

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violet-eng · 10 months

Text

You teach Neuvillette what sex between humans is like. | Sub!Neuvillette x dom!fem!reader | NSFW🔞

someone asked for sub!Neuvillette so here I am.

Summary: You have a sort of crush on Neuvillette, and you've discovered that he's actually the Hydro Dragon. So one casual evening at his house, you slowly tempt him, and end up showing him that his horny human physiology isn't just used during mating season like dragons do.

Warnings: +18, reader!dom! Fingering, riding/cowgirl, piv, nipple sucking, unprotected sex.

MDNI

Average of 3k words ig.

🎨: hamusutaaa_ on Instagram

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Fontaine's Iudex had kept his true identity hidden with arduous caution for long enough... so the revelation of his true form had come as quite a shock to you. Neuvillette was the true face of the Hydro Dragon you had heard so much about as a child ... Now it all made sense, the pieces found their place and fit together perfectly. You had never met such a man before, with a cold gaze and unwavering mettle, fierce convictions and indelible fidelity.

That sense of justice that so tormented the Iudex, that detached perception he possessed about humans -as he called them-, his perspicacity and stubbornness, the truthfulness of his actions... all those attitudes and virtues were indeed incapable of coexisting in an entirely human body.

"It must be exhausting for you to have to coexist with creatures you don't know in their entirety" you say looking out the window of his house.

"On the contrary, I find it very enriching. I did not know such complex beings, or at least not with such closeness" he answers from his armchair, while crossing his arms.

"To that curiosity I owe then the constant storm of questions you ask me when you go to my library?" you ask walking towards him, with a slow step and the gaze fixed on his eyes.

While the revelation of Iudex Neuvillette's true form had shocked you, it had not stripped you of your feelings for him, after all, in your eyes he still looked like a human.

Neuvillette swallows saliva, failing to hide his growing anxiety beneath his stoic facade. He drops his gaze on your figure, which is advancing towards him, he runs his gaze over your face, your shoulders, the curve of your waist and hips... and your legs... he imagines them spread apart for him... he would know how to treat you if given the opportunity to...?

"It seems that Chief Justice is undergoing an inner trial" you whisper resting your hands on your hips, tilting them to the side and smiling.

"This human form is very different from my original form y/n" says the Iudex, voice subtly losing the firmness that always accompanies it, "It comes with sensations I am unaware of... and reactions I cannot control."

Having mentioned that, you notice the growing bulge in Neuvillette's pants, along with his flushed cheeks. Is he humiliated?

You can't help but laugh at the image of Fontaine's unyielding Iudex in front of you, erect and ashamed of his new physiology. Neuvillette rests his elbow on the chair and covers his cheeks with a gentle wave of his hand.

"I guess that doesn't happen to dragons often" you say, shortening the distance between the two of you, "you have nothing to be ashamed of, dear Iudex" you add leaning down, taking his hand and kissing the back of it.

He looks away pressing his lips together, turning only his gaze to observe your cleavage, where he can appreciate the shape of your breasts. He immediately regrets it, and berates himself for behaving like a pervert.

"I have to admit," you continue, moving closer to his ear, warm breath brushing against his earlobe, "that I've always wanted to cross certain boundaries of decency when I see you in my library.

"Y/n~," he lets out, stifling a groan, resting his hand against his length, just short of destroying his pants.

"Allow me to show you, Monsieur Neuvillette, that we humans do not only have sex when we are in heat... that we have sex when we want it and with whom we want it," you drop your hand to his, pressing against his throbbing member.

Neuvillette does not know how, in what way you have acted and why he is in his own bed, naked, completely exposed to you, who admire his figure from your position.

You are standing in front of his bed, observing the Iudex's gifted physiology, his elbows resting on the silk sheets, his hair on his scarred shoulders, his member raised, almost suggesting that you are coming to him.

You undress slowly, without taking your eyes off him, first your blouse, your stockings, then your pants and your shoes, remaining in your underwear. You watch Neuvillette, who can't control his breathing and seems to drip a little when he sees the thin fabric covering your breasts and your sex.

He wants you, fuck, he wants you as much as you want him....

"Since when do you have these feelings for me, Monsieur?" you ask as you remove the clasp of your bra.

"I... ah~" the Iudex can't find the words.

"Don't rush..." you reassure him as you undo your panties, which are sliding down your legs to the floor, you push them aside with your foot.

And when you are completely naked in front of him, you notice how he clasps his hands and puckered his lips, he's as instinctive as you thought.

"My dear Neuvillette..." you whisper as you crawl over and sit astride his form, "so pitiful... poor thing, you have nothing to be ashamed of," you say as you stroke his cheek.

You brush aside the strands of silver hair and tuck them behind his ears, admiring the soft fall of his hair, like a waterfall cascading down a mountain.

With your thumb, you caress his cheek, feeling the warmth of his pink, sweaty, smooth skin. His lips, they are thick and wet, begging you to take them and devour them without hesitation. And his eyes... fuck... you've never seen that pleading look in the Iudex, so fervent and devoted, so eager for you to use him at your whim.

How strange to see him in this state, when he is the one who is often in the position of power in court....

"Y/n..." he whispers, his voice cracking and his eyes watering.

"No Monsieur, don't cry... at least not yet, we don't want it to rain," you say, laughing.

You take Neuvillette's hands, much larger than yours, and place them on your thighs, letting him caress the warm skin under his palms. The Iudex lets out a choked moan, arching his back at the shock as his nipples harden.

You guide his hands over your waist and to the base of your breasts, causing him to squeeze the soft flesh and let out a distinct moan. His grip is precise, and the heat of his fingers makes a flame grow in your center.

"May I?" he asks, wetting his lips with his tongue as he stares at your breasts. You nod at his request, surprised at how quickly he catches one of your nipples in his mouth.

He sucks on your nipple like a hungry infant and bites your skin while making guttural and very embarrassing sounds if anyone else could hear. His hands anchor behind your back, shaping your waist under his nails, which dig gently into your skin in ecstasy.

You throw your head back as you guide his head to your other nipple, which also seeks the attention of his desperate tongue.

"Fuck, Iudex," you moan, clutching at his hair, the skill of his mouth was something you did not expect at all, the way his tongue ran along the tip of your nipple and traveled to its base, leaving soft nibbles on the underside of your breast.

Growing ecstasy makes you guide one of his hands to your center, his soft digits brushing the skin of your lower abdomen, the crease between your thighs and your womanhood.

You slide one of his digits between your folds, parting the wet, glistening vestibule. Neuvillette allows himself to feel the elixir flowing from your pussy, bathing his fingers and yours, the sound of the goo flooding his ears, his lobe reddening at the musical he encourages with the rubbing of his fingers against your center.

He is inexperienced, you know, so you help him find your clit, throbbing anxiously for contact, thirsty to be rubbed without propriety.

"Right there, Monsieur~" you whimper, throwing your head back. The pressure of his fingertips on your nub of nerves makes you roll your eyes and bite your lip, the sensation rising in your belly and your pussy aching to feel more of him.

Neuvillette's fingers are clumsy at first, clouded by the sweet song of your muffled moans, and eventually he loses himself in his own pleasure. He regains his composure and becomes quite apprehensive, sliding his fingers from side to side, in circles, at a steady pace, applying light pressure to your clit.

"Am I doing it right?" he whispers, his face pressed to your chest, the heat of his breath hitting your breasts, coated with his saliva.

"You are a... good apprentice, Monsieur~" you hold back the cry caught in your throat, the fruit of his good skill.

You move your hips slowly, back and forth, increasing the contact of his skin against yours, at the same time he accelerates the movement of his fingers, the fluid of your pussy drowning his digits that are about to bring you to your climax.

"Like that, just like that~" you almost shout, clinging to his back, your hips suddenly bucking over his hand, rather vulgarly, like a dog rubbing.

The heat grows in your belly and between your legs, flooding all your femininity, sending electric waves through your legs, fluttering unashamedly around the Iudex's hips.

"Ah! Neuvillette!" you scream as you feel the flame burst out, your nails digging into his shoulders, marking his pale skin, your core contracting and your substance leaving your insides.

Fuck... Did he make you cum just by rubbing your clit?

"It can't be," you whisper. It's the first time something like this has ever happened to you, and you sense confusion on Neuvillette's face.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, frightened and ready to apologize.

"You have done nothing wrong, my dear Iudex," you say, caressing his cheek, brushing his lower lip with your thumb, circling the softness of that lovely fleshy feature of his that begs for a kiss.

You join your lips to his, it's a wet, passionate kiss, and between each nibble he moans for air. His shy tongue can't resist any longer and intertwines with yours, an erotic dance that reveals the animal side of the oh so subtle Judge.

"You've been a good boy, Neuvillette," you whisper against his lips, "let me show you how good boys like you should be rewarded," you say, pushing his shoulders so that his back slams against the sheets, feeling him almost swallowed by the silk of the sheets.

You lift Neuvillette's arms above his head, trying to grab his wrists with only one hand.

You tilt your head at the image, his muscles tense, sweat running down them, his shoulders defined, with the marks of your nails, and his hands, fingers glistening from the orgasm he just tore from you.

You look down at his length and...what?...you'd swear he wasn't this big a few minutes ago.

"It won't fit," you say to yourself...you've been with big guys before, but this was definitely beyond you. Maybe it's a characteristic of dragons...

"Please...it has to fit," whispers Neuvillette, whose heightened senses have allowed him to hear you, his voice, an almost muffled whimper, choked by his own ecstasy that has crossed his boundaries, completely taking over his human side and showing only his instinctive side.

"I'm going to ride you, Neuvillette, like you'll never be ridden again in your life," you interject abruptly, the words leaving your lips in a frenzy of anguish whipped by desire, the thought of having his thick cock inside you was eating away at your mind.

Your hand is not enough to cradle the base of his member, the fingers remaining spread even as you raise and lower your hand up and down its length. You align his throbbing manhood with your entrance, your pussy contracting against the nothingness in anticipation of what awaits you, your juices rewetting your center.

His cock slides in slowly, parting you completely, with inordinate amplitude. Your walls contract at the colossal invasion, and a moan falls from your lips, almost like a sob.

"So~" Neuvillette moans, his chest rising and falling in desperation, the sensation of his cock being devoured by your hungry pussy driving him wild. "So tight."

This provokes nothing more in you but your lust takes over completely, ignoring the pain, you let yourself fall all over Neuvillette's hips, his cock penetrating your depths, hitting that spot on your cervix that feels oh so fucking good.

You continue to squeeze him and he can only let out a grunt of pleasure, feeling that little pussy all to himself, gripping his length completely, you had been brave to take that risk.

Fuck. What a good time the Iudex was having.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, eyes closed and lips parted, lost in the pleasure you were provoking in him, the way you were using him to your advantage, he had never been in a position like this before, he was always the one....

"Fuck, y/n!" his thoughts were shot down by the circular movement of your hips, the friction of his member against your walls, the oil bathing you both, the sweat falling on your breasts, you are a goddess to him and you ride him like one.

The Judge was vocal, fucking vocal, the jerky movements of your hips, the way you jump on his member, tearing loud moans from his lips, hoarse howls, deep, raspy moans. Your name, overflowing from his bruised throat, makes you move with greater speed, resting your hands on his pecs, nails marking his skin again, making him yours and yours alone.

"Tell me you like the way I ride you," you command, your movements relentless, merciless.

"I~" he babbles, "I like the way you ride me y/n~" he flatters.

Neuvillette becomes a storm of praise as you bend further over him, giving him as much access to your loins as possible. He clings to the sheets, hiding his face in his shoulder.

"Say you're mine," you whisper, your hand around his throat, forcing him to look into your eyes.

"But..." he hesitates. The Hydro dragon cannot belong to anyone, especially a human, it disturbs the free and wild nature of its kind... that means shame and...

"Why do you stop moving?" he asks, almost like a small child, terribly worried.

"I won't let you cum until you tell me..." you say flatly, almost coldly, your gaze hard, almost unrecognizable.

"Please," Neuvillette pleads, grabbing your hips and trying to move them in a pathetic attempt at self-pleasure. "Y/n!," he begs fervently.

Neuvillette is not humiliated by the situation as he thought, damn it... this attitude of yours does nothing but turn him on beyond measure, drowning his insides in flames of desire, of desire to belong to you, to ignore his nature and abandon everything just for you, for your pussy that takes him so well.

"I belong to you, completely, for eternity. My being does not deserve a lover as fervent as you, I refuse to disappoint you in the future, to disappoint or deny you. My fidelity is totally pervaded by you, by your wishes and commands. My dearest y/n, you are my lover, the only one on this earth who can have control over me," he pauses, waiting for you to respond in some way to his plea.

Hours have passed and Neuvillette continues to cum in your insides. His eyes are rolled back, completely empty, tearful, he has come out of himself, your movements have brought him to paradise.

Outside, Fontaine is inundated by torrential rain, the inhabitants unaware that the rain is not due to the season, but to the fact that their respectable judge is getting the fuck of his life.

It's almost inhuman what you've endured on his cock, but the way his seed overflows inside you has proven to be addictive. He is addictive.

"Neuvillette~" you moan, resting your hands on his knees, his tip abusing your G-spot, your pussy inflamed from the abuse of the last few hours.

"I think I'm going to... Ah!~" your last moan is almost a cry of desperation, your I don't know how many orgasms of the night have overtaken you, and this time it is indeed your last.

You let yourself fall onto your lover, who wraps you in a warm, trembling, restless embrace, stroking your hair and your back. You hear the raindrops on the roof of the house, and you lean on your hands to look into Neuvillette's eyes.

You gently wipe away his tears, kissing his cheeks and the remnants of the sobs that the pleasure you gave him caused him.

"Why didn't you do this before?" the judge asks.

"I didn't have the courage," you answer, falling back to rest on his chest, exhausted as he is.

Your heart beats slowly, your muscles succumb to the abuse and your eyes close, lulled by the soft fall of the rain.

"We should do it again tomorrow," the Iudex says.

"Judge's orders?" you ask teasing.

"Tomorrow I'll show you how the hydrodragon fucks that little pussy of yours, " he decrees, his voice firm, the one he uses to deliver the verdict during trials, "you won't be able to walk for days".

#neuvilette smut #neuvilette x reader #neuvillette #neuvilette fanart #neuvilette genshin #genshin smut #genshin impact

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flowerandblood · 4 months

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The Downfall (Oneshot)

[ Hamlet • dark Aemond x Ophelia • female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, sex content, fingering, virgnity loss, violence, suicide, angst, smut, obsession, remorse ]

[ description: When she attracts the attention of Prince Aemond during the wedding feast of his brother and his sister, she knows that something terrible is going to happen. His figure lunges towards her like black storm clouds and she feels that, along with his desire, he will bring on her downfall. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

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

My other works: Masterlist

_____

"Tis I who should receive this honour. I, second son, rider of the greatest dragon in the world, experienced in wielding the sword, educated in history and philosophy, 'tis I who should…" He didn't finish, pressing his lips into a thin line. He stopped in the middle of the chamber, not looking at her but at the floor, his eye wide open in rage, his nostrils twitching in accelerated breath.

She swallowed hard, clenching her fingers on the material of her gown, sitting in one of the chairs at the table, fearful of him as usual when he behaved in this way, making her unsure how to act.

To endorse his words would have meant betrayal, so she had to remain silent, though her heart was pounding like mad in her chest, a drop of cold sweat running down the back of her neck.

Their betrothal had come as a surprise to her; the prince had caught sight of her at a grand wedding feast held in honour of his brother and his sister, dancing among dozens of other couples.

She dared not look at him, knowing of the arrangements between the Red Keep and Storm's End, not wanting to ridicule herself by begging like some of the women for his attention.

Apparently that was what made his bright, cold, dangerous eye notice her figure and his sight did not leave her until the end of the evening. At first she thought she was just imagining it, then, however, glancing towards the table standing in front of the Iron Throne she met his gaze, his lips curving into a grin that was disturbing to say the least.

She was terrified.

The next day, her father was asked to extend their stay in the Red Keep and enjoy the King's hospitality, though it was not explained to them for what reason.

She was frightened because she understood what it meant – she never went anywhere alone, always taking a servant with her, having heard numerous stories of what Prince Aegon did to women who caught his eye.

She didn't want to see for herself if his younger brother was the same.

It seemed to her that black clouds had gathered over her, that it was a matter of time when something would happen, and indeed, when she came across him passing through the courtyard during one of his sparring sessions, though she turned her head away, his deep, mocking voice stopped her.

"My Lady."

She swallowed hard, knowing that if she didn't answer anything, if she didn't look at him, she would commit a great discourtesy and offend him.

She couldn't afford it.

Therefore, she turned towards him, looking at the ground, seeing only his legs and waist clad in black leather garment, bowing before him.

"Your Highness."

She felt for a moment that her heart stood in her throat – the only thing she could hear around her was the clinking of steel and the voices of servants discussing something with each other behind her back. She saw the legs she was looking at move towards her and she closed her eyes.

"What a scared little bird you are. Hm?" He hummed, his voice soft and teasing at the same time, amused, as if he were speaking to a small child.

She swallowed hard and looked up at him – he towered over her with a smirk that was mysterious and unsettling, his healthy eye bright and wide open, his gaze piercing to the core, his lips swollen and full.

She felt herself grow hot with shame.

What was she supposed to answer to such a question?

The prince cocked his head, apparently ignoring her silence, taking advantage of the fact that they were standing so close to each other, watching her as if she were some curious being he had never seen before.

"I watched you dance last night. Did you feel my gaze lingering on your figure?" He asked, and she swallowed heavily, lowering her gaze, involuntarily betraying herself. The Prince grinned under his breath, seeing her reaction.

"You did." He said and looked to the side, as if he wanted to make sure no one would hear what he was about to say, leaning over her ear. "I will marry you."

She drew in the air loudly, shocked and surprised, freezing for a moment, tense, looking at him with big eyes – she shook her head, not understanding how he could say such a thing. He, however, only grinned broadly in a way that made her shudder and stepped away from her, turning to Ser Criston Cole, letting him know that they could continue.

Ser Criston gave her one terrified look that told her everything.

She was doomed.

She didn't tell her father about the prince's words because she was convinced that he was mocking her, wishing for certain that she would succumb to him and spend the night with him, only to disappear from his life forever.

She knew she couldn't let that happen if she wanted to marry any self-respecting lord and decided she would just stay inside her quarters.

And then their betrothal was announced.

There was a feeling of emptiness in her mind as she looked at him, at the wide, mischievous grin stretched across his face as he sat at the table, while his mother, the Queen, spoke to her of the King's decision, apparently persuaded by his son, wondering how she was supposed to tame such a man, tame such a fiery, unpredictable nature.

She was scared.

To her despair, her father had been invited to take on the role of one of the treasurers under the direct authority of the Small Council, which he welcomed with joy. It meant that their family was to stay in the Red Keep, and her betrothed could slowly clamp his claws around her neck.

He followed her like a wraith, sinking her further and further into his darkness, making her slowly melt into one with him, not knowing where his soul ended and hers began.

On the day he was to see his nephews again years later, she locked herself in her chamber, unwilling to watch this theatre of malice and humiliation – she knew what her betrothed thought of them, how often he mused about slitting their throats or gouging out their eyes to later gift them to his mother.

She knew he was furious, wanting to show her off like a pretty object he had in his possession, but she offered him a passive resistance that drove him to the brink of madness.

She drew in a loud breath as he surprised her by silently sneaking up to her chamber at night – she heard the loud creak of the wood beneath his body as he lay down behind her.

His one hand took place on her womb, as if he was already imagining in the back of his mind as it swelled from his seed, the other went under her jaw, stroking her skin warningly, his lips against her ear.

"You're hiding from me. You're avoiding me. You move through the keep like a shadow." He whispered, however there was no threat or frustration in his words, which she felt instead in his hand that slowly clenched around her long neck. She swallowed quietly, looking ahead at the night, starry sky outside the window.

She did not answer him.

She rarely used words in his presence.

Unfortunately, this only deepened the state she aroused in him.

A curiosity bordering on obsession.

She tilted her head back and sighed involuntarily, feeling the tickling heat spilling over her lower abdomen as his moist, full lips ran over her cheek, the tip of his tongue leaving a wet, cool trail on her hot skin.

"– I needed you –" He hissed in a trembling voice, pressing his body against hers from behind – his hard, swollen manhood hidden under the material of his breeches pushed against her buttocks, pulsing steadily. Her nipples hardened at his words, a shiver of fear and excitement ran down her spine.

His hand from her womb slid lower, between her thighs, his fingers closed on her womanhood – she knew how he learned these tricks, knew that he had played with whores before he met her, but she couldn't convince herself that she particularly cared.

The delicacy and uncertainty of the movements of his fingers did not match how she perceived him: apparently it seemed to him that one too aggressive gesture on his part and she would fall apart in his hands.

Thus, he merely teased her through the material of her nightgown, waiting as usual for her breath to grow heavy and ragged, for her buttocks to begin to roll to the flicks of his wrist and rub against his throbbing erection.

They both moaned quietly as his hand impatiently lifted the material of her long robe, seeking the warmth between her thighs and finally found it, her pulsing, swollen slit leaking from her sticky wetness.

The fingers of his hand from her neck rose higher, to her cheeks, closing on it in a rough gesture, forcing her to turn her face in his direction – she didn't resist him as his slick tongue burst deep between her lips, as his mouth pressed against hers with a loud, lewd click in a greedy, ravenous kiss that took her breath away.

She let him do whatever he wanted with her lips – he was sucking, licking and biting them, as if he were some kind of animal that had grabbed its prey and wasn't going to let her go until he devoured her.

She didn't care, because her mind seemed to be muffled, as if she was underwater, focused only on the touch of his fingers as they dug into her puffy, delicate folds, teasing again and again her warm, pulsing opening.

Her body tensed like a string, knowing what he was about to do, and then at last the tips of his fingertips broke into her hot, throbbing interior with a quiet click of her moisture.

She moaned a tad too loudly into his mouth, making him sigh deeply into her throat, freezing for a moment, his hard erection slapping impatiently against her buttocks.

"– fuck –" He gasped, startling her completely – he let her go and turned her onto her back, laying on top of her, looking at her with his mouth parted wide, breathing heavily.

She had thought that, as was his custom, he would just simply take out his manhood and make her squeeze it with her hand, touching her at the same time to give her fulfillment.

He, however, after he untied the material of his breeches, grabbed her nightgown with his hands and lifted it above her thighs, making her voice froze in her throat, her hands clasped helplessly on his shoulders.

"– n-no – no, please –" She muttered, knowing that if he took her maidenhood, took what he desired, he would never marry her, would send her and her father back to where they came from humiliated and ridiculed.

"– I need this – I need to feel you –" He breathed out, as if he was in some kind of frenzy, heedless of her helpless attempts to stop him, forcing her to spread her thighs open. She cried out, tilting her head back, closing her eyes as she felt the head of his cock begin to push against her swollen slit.

"– no – please, Aemond, please –" She whimpered, raising her trembling hands to his cheeks, stroking his jaw, trying to give him what he wanted, what he was apparently dreaming of in his black, grim mind.

"– you don't understand –" He growled, in a sharp, impatient motion trying to slide deeper into her, opening her little cunt on his throbbing, long erection. "– I fucking needed you today –"

She whined as he forced his way deeper into her body, filling her so much that she felt like he was going to tear her apart from the inside – she clenched her fingers against the material of his leather tunic, shocked at how foreign, frightening, painful and exciting this sensation was.

"– I know – I know, just a little bit more – it's almost in – shhhh –" He hushed her, stroking her head with his broad hand as he thrusted his thick root all the way in into her, one last cry of effort left her lips.

She seemed to feel him with her whole being, breathing loudly through her mouth, feeling like she was suffocating – her heart pounded like mad, her whole body quivering in his arms, his lips placing warm, moist, reassuring kisses on her cheek.

"– that's it – there we go – I'm going to start moving now –" He hummed, in a slow, lazy manner beginning to rock his hips, sliding out of her a little and sliding back in with a quiet click, trying to force her body to adapt and receive him with greater ease.

He hugged her face to the hollow of his neck, without accelerating or making sudden movements, letting her fingers tighten vulnerably on his back.

"– good girl – calm down and let me fill you with my seed –" He whispered, as if he wanted to soothe her, to reassure her that he took no pleasure in her discomfort and suffering, even though he himself was the cause of it.

She nodded, not having the strength to stand up to him, breathing loudly to relax, to endure what he wanted to do to her. A low, loud groan of pleasure erupted from his lips when he felt it, and his thrusts became a little more sure, deep, loud.

"– g-gods –" She breathed out, feeling with horror that he was teasing a spot inside her from which shivers ran through her, waves of cold terror and hot pleasure surging through her body, causing a complete void in her mind – all she could focus on was the wooden canopy of the bed above her head.

"– yes – ah – so fucking wet for me – all warm and soft –" He breathed out into her ear, licking her hot cheek with his tongue, pounding into her with sharp, deep thrusts of his hips, making her feel the tickle in her lower abdomen, in her puffy lips and in her hard nipples, the bed beneath them began to creak loudly.

She felt the familiar hot tension building within her, the tension that he aroused in her when he touched her with his fingers, that, to her despair, she began to take pleasure from this animalistic, simple act of slapping their naked, sweaty bodies against each other.

She tilted her head back and sighed as she let her hips tentatively begin to roll to his thrusts, her hands slid from his back to his bare buttocks, stroking them. He shuddered all over and groaned, blindly seeking her mouth with his own, joining her in a sticky, messy, loud kisses, licking and sucking her lips.

"– yes – yes, just like that, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckkk –" He gasped, pressing his forehead to hers, slamming into her so quickly and aggressively that he was barely sliding out of her, his thighs slapping against her buttocks again and again, opening her wide on his throbbing, fat cock.

They both were moaning shamelessly, looking at each other wide-eyed with their mouths open, listening to the shameless, sticky sounds her slick cunt made with each of his thrusts.

"– just a little more – ah – f-fuck, yes –" He groaned in elation, his final, deep, messy slaps prolonging the inevitable – she heard and understood little as a wave of pleasure shook her and something hot spilled deep inside her, their mingled wetness ran down her buttocks.

"– such a good girl –" He gasped, pulsing inside her for a moment longer, filling her with the remains of his spend.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled, feeling her little cunt clamp down on his half-hard manhood, sucking it inside her again and again.

He fell on top of her without strength, panting heavily, and they both remained silent for long time. She finally heard him swallow hard, not even daring to look at her, his face sunk into the crook of her neck.

"– will you forigve me, little bird? –" He muttered in a weak, deep, trembling voice.

At his question a single tear of sadness, regret and emptiness ran from the corner of her eye down to the side of her face, falling onto his forehead.

He felt it and lifted himself on his arm, wanting to look at her, but what he saw apparently made something inside him break.

He clamped his eyelid shut, swallowed hard and pressed his body against hers, burying his face in the pillow.

She didn't know why her hand lifted and laid on his head, stroking his hair with gentle, calm movements, why she felt a squeeze in her heart, why she wanted to comfort him.

Why she let him stay with her that night, cuddled into to her as if he were a small child.

And then the King died.

Her betrothed walked into her chamber the next day, pale, not looking into her eyes, twitching all over, as if in shock.

"My father is dead…" he began, and her mouth opened wide, looking at him in horror, "… and my grandfather demands that I marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters."

She stared at him dully, feeling her heart stop in her chest, her stomach twisting in pain as if she was about to vomit.

"I admitted to my grandfather what I did to you. I refused to let him send you away. You will become a Septa. You will be safe and retain your dignity I wrongfully took from you." He said and flinched hard as she grinned at his words, looking at her in disbelief.

"Do you think I'm surprised? I knew you wouldn't keep your word the day I saw you."

It seemed to her that something in her words broke him, for his lower lip began to tremble without the participation of his free will, his eye turned red, his nostrils twitched in heavy, accelerated breathing.

He was unable to get anything out of himself.

On the evening of the day before she was to leave the Red Keep, she demanded that a bath be prepared for her.

She knew he would come to her, she knew his conscience would not let her go without a farewell, she knew he would want to take her one more time before he abandoned her once and for all.

When she was left alone she slipped under the water, sinking her head into it as well, and closed her eyes, feeling strangely calm as the air stopped flowing into her lungs, a shudder shook her body indicating that some part of her still wanted to live.

It was said afterwards that the prince had found her and pulled her out of the water, that he had sobbed and wailed over her bare body, that he had locked her in his embrace, not allowing anyone to come near her, kneeling with her cuddled into his chest on the cold stone floor.

It was said that after that evening he stopped to speak and leave his chamber, staring dully into the fire for hours, playing between his fingers with a lock of her hair, the only memento he had left of her.

It was said that the prince's heart had died with her.

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thebadboyfanclub · 4 months

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I Will Never Leave You (Daemon x Reader)

I think this more a love letter to Rhaenyra than anything but I’m really proud of this one cause I adore writing characters like this, I hope you guys enjoy it

Rhaenyra adored her mother since she drew her first breath, yet the woman she admired the most and desperately seemed her nod of approval was her beloved aunt (y/n) Targaryen, the middle child of prince Baelon and princess Alyssa, the seat between the brothers suited her, (y/n) had the good heart and the bright mind of her older brother that went hand in hand with the wild spirit and the constant need to protect the ones she called her own that she passed down to Daemon.

(Y/n) had been by Rhaenyras side when she needed her the most, wrapping her arms around the shaking frame of the young princess burying her face at the crook of (y/n)s neck.

“Dracarys”

Even though the dragon was not (y/n)s, beautiful Syrax complied whilst Rhaenyra broke down at the arms of her aunt, (y/n) ran her fingers through Rhaenyras long hair to offer her comfort as she whispered the lullaby she would sing to her when she was little.

She had also been the one to almost harass her beloved brother and king to name Rhaenyra his heir.

“As much as I love my lord husband, he is not fit to lead, the weight of the realm will crush him until he bursts into flames, we can prevent this, you can prevent this”

“And name Rhaenyra my heir? A queen has not sat the iron throne”

“Why not name the princess your heir? She is the second born”

Otto had questioned, (y/n) side eyed the man before she looked down to collect her thoughts, the wound of her brothers digging their claws on that piece of metal had brought such mental combat between them, turning blood against one another, if she had taken a go at them then all efforts for a harmonious family would have gone to war ages ago.

“I am afraid it is too late for me to claim what could have been or some could argue “should have been” but the time is just right for my niece, Rhaenyra is the result of the love you shared with the late queen Aemma, you have already wronged her, do not turn your back on the only thing you have left of her”

(Y/n) and Daemon had wed a fortnight after Viserys and Aemma, their wedlock’s were as similar as the sun with the moon, Daemon and (y/n) mirrored one another, their fire burned bright and their thick skulls could cause the the strongest storm to lash, still at the end of the day they ended up in each others arms, holding each other tight and whispering words of love and admiration.

(Y/n) was the only one that could keep Daemon on a leash, staying by his side as he raged for the “disrespect” their brother had shown, in a delicate manner (y/n) would always grab his hand and bring it up to her cheek to ground him.

“I love you and your bravery, however I do despise when you let your rage overtake everything that’s good in you, let me fix this for you”

Daemon would always take her in his arms and kiss her lips with all the might he could master. (Y/n) was his life line, her eyes were like a much needed breath after a deep dive, her smile resembled the feeling of the brisk air on the early hours of a summer day, her hair was as soft as a birds feather as it brushed on his skin, and her touch, oh that touch of hers…like a soothing balm on Daemons wounded heart.

“What is the matter, my love?”

“We must fly to kings landing by the morrow”

“Has something happened?”

“Lucerys’s claim is at question by Vaemond, Lord Corlys has not even passed and they are already circling around Rhaenyra like crows”

(Y/n) half mumbled half explained whilst her fingers rubbed circles on her temples, (y/n) had never voiced it still a pang of guilt ate her soul as slow as the carnivores ate their dead prey whenever she exchanged letters with Rhaenyra, she gave up on her, she left her alone to fight against those Hightowers, withering away as the bastards started to tighten the rope around the heiress’s neck.

Daemon puffed out a breath, the conversation had always been the same, (y/n) would often bring up her concerns over Rhaenyras well being, asking Daemon if mayhaps they made a mistake by leaving her, fabricating elaborate scenarios of how things could have been different.

With caution Daemon approached his lady wife and once he reached her he placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing circles on her aching shoulders as she slouched back and a grunt of pleasure left her, the flames from the fireplace licking her face in such a complimenting light, had he not touched her he could assume she was just an extremely accurate portrait from the hands of an exceptionally gifted artist.

“Rhaenyra is strong, she will overcome this”

“Rhaenyra is alone, our brother is barely able to make a sentence, she cannot stand alone at court”

“And what do you think our presence will do? We have been cast away for far too long, no one will pay attention to what we have to say on the matter, besides, driftmark is none of our responsibility”

After the birth of their first born daughter Enora Daemon and (y/n) decided to leave kings landing and reside in Pentos, granting protection with their dragons they were gifted with land and lived like the Targaryens only knew how to live.

“It is under the Targaryen rule, our closests bond to old Valyria”

“Dragons are our bond, which we have our own”

(Y/n) stood up from her chair to face her lord husband, fury that intertwined with confusion painted across her face as her eyebrows furrowed and her lips half open from the shock that his dismiss had caused.

Daemon resented when they fought, he did not enjoy his love being cross with him, though he loved a battle he would hang on dear life on anything and say whatever to make her curl up in his arms with content.

“You do not want to come with me” (y/n) stated

“I do not believe we will change anything”

“You believe that? Out of all I thought you would be the one to get on your dragon the fastest”

“You are with child, our other children are happy here, must we indulge in that mess?”

“That mess? Our brother has been crippled, our niece tortured by the Hightower and now she asks for our aid and you think I will just ignore it”

“You are emotional”

“I am, and proud of it, I will fly to kings landing with my children, you can choose to stay and hide behind our thick and tall walls of this castle. I will not leave our legacy, our blood, to slowly perish. It is your decision at the end of the day”

Daemon puffed out of breath before he reached for (y/n)s arms to which (y/n) stepped back to avoid, her eyes that spewed fire starring right into his soul.

(Y/n) was the diplomat out of the pair, one can imagine the surprise of her stubbornness when it came to this, which also revealed how important this was for (y/n).

“You mustn’t get upset in your condition”

“That is something you should remember, I was fine until I saw that the years turned you into a coward”

(Y/n) spat inches away from his face, with hurried and swift motions she intentionally bumped his shoulder as she made her exit of their chamber, Daemon did not catch a wink of sleep, (y/n) had never slept at another chamber separately since they had wed.

As the sun started to shyly make its descent (y/n) was assisting her three children on their dragons for their journey to kings landing.

“Hold on”

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder to find her husband with his dragon walking towards them, she had to admit that leaving without him would have costed her a great deal, she wanted him by her side, to help her, to hold her, to have her.

“What made you change your mind?”

“My astonishing devotion to you and your stubbornness, I won’t leave you alone with the wolves”

Daemon reassured her before he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, a smile making its way to (y/n)s lips as she gazed at him with love, that sparkle of joy was what kept Daemon alive, he would risk anything to see her well.

A giggle that came from their youngest children interrupted their sweet moment, Daemon and (y/n) looked up as the twins sat on their dragons, admiring the deep affection that oozed out of their parents, Daemon only winked at his children in response and turned back to his lady wife.

“Allow me dearest”

A shriek was heard when Daemon swiped the princess off her feet and lifted her up at her green dragon Zephyr. The family landed unexpectedly since they had not given any information to their visit, Otto and Alicent were fuming upon their arrival, the pair would stir the pot and cause chaos all in the princesses name, Otto was certain of it.

However no one could expect the ever defiant (y/n) holding Viserys by his right arm and the stoic prince Daemon holding the king by the left.

“King Viserys of house Targaryen, first of his name, king of the andals, and the rhoynar and the first men, Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm, with princess (y/n) Targaryen and Prince Daemon Targaryen”

Time stood still as they entered the throne room, (y/n) had persisted on visiting her brother, encouraging him to stand and back Rhaenyras claim, begging him to find his strength and sit on the iron throne.

“I will sit the throne today”

Viserys was able to say to Otto who only bowed his head and stepped aside. When (y/n) gently assisted her brother to sit comfortably his crown managed to move and fall, Daemon was the one that caught it and placed it back on Viserys head. As the pair took a step back (y/n) was the first to curtsy in front of him.

“My king”

She whispered before she smiled, Viserys managed to get a hold of her hand and bring it up to his deformed lips, as cold and slimy the weird texture of his lips left on her hand (y/n) looked back on that memory until the end of her days, as many times as they fought (y/n) held a spot for Viserys, one of loyalty and respect.

Daemon snaked his arm around her waist as they went down the steps and took their place next to a baffled and ecstatic Rhaenyra, (y/n) subtly nodded and side eyed Rhaenyra letting her know she is her for her.

As Viserys reaffirmed Lucerys claim and Rhaenys announced the betrothal of Baela and Rhaena (y/n) was ready to turn and hug her dear niece when Vaemond stepped in front of the king, interrupting the glorious moment.

“You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir, don’t you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon, No, I will not allow it”

“Allow it? I do not think anyone hear asked for your opinion Ser…. Apologies I haven’t been at court in so long, what is your name?”

(Y/n)s words sliced through Vaemond like Valyrian steel and Rhaenyra struggled to hide her chuckle, Daemon stood proudly by her side though his grip tightened around her waist when Vaemonds eyes fell on her for a brief moment before he pointed to Lucerys.

“THAT! is no true Velaryon and certainly not a nephew of mine”

Rhaenyra as the mother that she is took a step forward to stand closer to Vaemond and in front of Lucerys, what no one had seen was an important question that (y/n) had whispered at her husband.

“Which side is your sword on today?”

“Go to your chambers, you’ve said enough”

“Lucerys is my true born grandson and you are no more than the second son of drift mark”

“You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine, my house survived the doom”

“To which you owe it to much greater men than you Vaemond, men that knew their place and played their part in history, something that you refuse to do”

“And you think that you can tell me what my place is? Your brother skipped over you and gave the name of heir to your niece, the gods know what you have done to make him skip over you and your… husband, my name survived and gods be damned I will not see it ended on the account of this”

“Say it, say it”

Daemon antagonised the man, (y/n) assumed her position and slipped away from Daemons grip, her hand gliding from his back all the way down to his sword, dark sister, and pulled it out the sound of metal brushing against its scabbard was enough to make (y/n) grind her teeth in annoyance, thankfully no one seemed to pay attention to what she was up to.

Except Daemon whom had already a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as he internally thanked whoever blessed him to change his mind and was now going to be a witness on this wonderful event and as he viewed it “important milestone” in his lady wife’s life.

Vaemond was caught in his own fury and sense of entitlement to see his end coming, even if he had seen (y/n) with a sword he would pay her no mind, a man of such ignorance wouldn’t feel threaten by a woman with a swollen belly or any woman for that matter.

“Her children are BASTARDS and she.is.a.whore”

“I will have your tongue for that”

Daemon watched with pride as his wife lifted the sword and with one clean slice Vaemonds head was cut right above his tongue. Enora was taken aback by her mothers acts while her two siblings Alastor and Aelia hid behind their fathers legs to avoid witnessing the gruesome sight of the corpse at such a young age.

(Y/n) stood still as the sword touched the ground to support her, glaring down at the man that had so much to say, a man that thought himself as indestructible and yet he laid on the cold floor as his blood gushed out of him and pooled on the ground.

“He can keep his tongue, to explain his treachery to the gods”

“Disarm her”

Otto commanded as his voice boomed through the throne room like a proper king that would command his kings guards to obviously attack (y/n), though the real king -Viserys- had just opened his mouth to stop this when Daemon took only a step forward.

“Don’t you dare”

Daemon warned them, in a rather surprisingly composed way for the situation Daemon approached her and took the sword from her, wiping it away at his clothes lazily before he placed it back on its original spot, his hand brushed a few strands of hair that had moved and let it glide behind her shoulder, he preferred it when her hair was out of her face, so he can fully take in her beauty.

(Y/n) was seen smiling brightly, basking in her accomplishment that was so grotesque that some reported that a numerous ladies that had been witnesses had fainted or vomited at the sight.

“You must rest, my love”

“Before that”

(Y/n) proclaimed, she left her husbands side momentarily only to stand before Rhaenyra, her hands going up to cup her nieces cheeks and place a kiss on top of the heiress head, a gesture that held such affection and compassion, (y/n) had Rhaenyra in her heart and her mind as her own daughter, images of the princess running careless on the grass and finding refuge in (y/n)s hug flashed before (y/n)s eyes.

“My dear niece”

“(Y/n)” Rhaenyra breathed out

“I will never leave you, ever”

Requests are open!

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divinesolas · 6 months

Text

Through it all, its still you

r.q: hellooo lovlieee omg i am so inlove with your newest fic with jacaerys, my jaw was on the ground. could I request a fic with jacaerys were it's during the war between blacks and greens and your his betrothed. He goes north and you stay in dragonstone, but then you get taken by the greens. Everyone thinks your dead but you manage to escape and bond with a dragon. then when jacaerys is fighting against the greens, you Show up with your dragon and fight this epic battle. omg I got so carried away sorryyy. maybe with some fluff at the end ?? anyways take care <3

w.c: 4.2k (god i love writing for jace)

c.w: tyrell!reader, written with f!reader in mind but i dont believe theres any mention of gender of reader if so barely, angst, FLUFF! happy ending though it takes awhile to get there, poorly written battle scene, blue fire breathing dragon :3, not proofread

You had not known how long you were sitting in the silence of your room. Usually dragonstone, though you had not been there for very long, was booming with life, jacaerys and lucerys arguing with one another and joffrey laughing, the babies crying or laughing at nothing, baela and rhaena chatting together. But today there was nothing but somber silence. Lucerys was dead. Though you did not know him as well as everyone here did, your heart ached at the thought of the young boy being gone.

Daemon and rhaenyra had basically locked themselves in the council room after informing you of the news. You worried for them especially after seeing how angry and heartbroken they looked but the person you worried for most was jacaerys. He was off in the north oblivious to what had been happening here. You felt sick to your stomach as you imagined his face finding out the news. He had confided in you before he left. He worried for lucerys and how he would fare on his trip to storm's end and you helped assure him lucerys would be alright.

You sit in your nightgown clutching hard onto the necklace jacaerys had given you early on into your courtship.

You had been promised to jacaerys when you were very young much to the dismay of alicent and her father. You were your fathers only daughter and due to the fact he had no uncles, no cousins, no nephews and no direct other male family members you were to inherit everything in highgarden once he passed. You were immediately very fond of jacaerys as soon as the two of you met in the keep. Though the two of you did not get to spend as much time together as you were soon taken back to the highgarden after a couple moon cycles. Before you had left the keep however he had given you this necklace. It was a metal carving of a dragon painted in the colors of his dragon vermax. He had told you he hoped while you were apart you could feel protected by him with his dragon and you cried into his shoulder before you were soon dragged off and did not get to see him for many years.

Soon enough your name day came and you turned eight and ten and were granted the ability to go to Dragonstone to meet with jacaerys and begin wedding preparations with rhaenyra. What you nor your father had known is that soon war would strike. You knew tensions were high between the family especially after attending the families final dinner where you help jacaerys place ointment on his cheek after aemond had punched him but you did not think things would turn out so horrid for the family.

So deeply lost in your thoughts you do not notice the quiet footsteps entering your room through an opened window in your room until something a stab punctures your arm and a hand covers your scream before a heavy object slams into your head knocking you out cold. He allows you to sit out cold for a bit, letting your blood pool on the ground soaking your gown and your necklace. While you're passed out the mysterious man scoops you up into his arms, ripping the necklace from your neck and tosses it into the pool of blood before he carefully manages to carry you out through the window and down to an awaiting boat with a couple other masked men who help him chain you down and soon sail away, the image of dragonstone fading farther and farther away.

Only hours later does jacaerys land back on dragonstone hoping to be greeted by you. Happy that he had been able to secure all the alliances for his mother and felt full of pride when he imagined how happy you would be. What he did not expect when he entered the main room was a somber atmosphere, he notices rhaena has fresh tears sliding off her face and baela attempting to comfort her. Joffrey clung to his rhaenyra side also seeming to be crying. He quickly looks over at daemon who is staring right back at him. “What has happened? Where is lucerys? Where is my betrothed? Tell me at once.” rhaenyra makes her way over to him and clings to him, shoving her face in his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” he refuses to be true, it can't be true. But when daemon walks over to the pair and opens up his hand to show the necklace jacaerys had given you all those years ago, covered in your blood.

When you open your eyes the first thing you notice is how much your arm hurts, you groan and grab your arm. The sound of a screeching chair and the quick fleeing of the room meets your ears as you sit up and notice your sitting in a very familiar room. This is the room that you had stayed in during your time in the keep, looking exactly how you left it. A part of you is telling you this is a dream, you reach your hand up to wrap around your necklace your grow frantic as you realize it is not there. You feel around the bed and look upon the dresser next to you but there is nothing. In your haste the door opens and your head shoots up. “You are finally awake.”

“Where is my necklace?” alicent looks at criston next to her who shakes his head, “you did not come wearing a necklace miss.” you groan and immediately try to stand out from bed but immediately feel so dizzy you have to sit back down, your arm throbbing heavily. “What did you do to me?”

Alicent takes a hesitant step closer to you, her arms out as if to comfort you, “you should relax.” “asking me to relax after you kidnap me, are you insane?” you are unable to control your temper as you spit your words at her. Criston immediately clutches his sword and takes a step forward, “that is no way to-” alicent gives him a pointed look and he immediately deflates taking a step back. She hesitantly makes her way to the end of the bed and sits on it looking at you. “I simply wish to speak with you. “So you decide to kidnap me, that makes perfect sense.” you can tell she's irritated at you but does not let it show on her face as she takes a deep breath, a somber look on her face though you cannot tell if it is serious.

“With your fathers passing everything in highgarden has been left to you, we believe it is in your best interest to declare house tyrell for aegon-” “my father is dead?” you cannot handle the influx of emotions you feel as your hand clenches around the space where your hanging dragon should be craving the feeling of the cold metal and sharp edges on your skin. She nods, placing her hand on your knee and for some reason you let her, the look in her eyes tells you she feels sorry having to break this news to you herself. “Yesterday night in his sleep, his final wish was for you to have highgarden. He stated it to be so.” all you can do is look down, your eyes clouding and you begin to crave the presence of jacaerys. Taking you silence as an opportunity to continue alicent begins to speak, “I care, not only about you, but about the future of your house which is why you should declare for aegon-” “you are asking me to declare for him? I knew you were crazy but this is just insanity.”

Though your face is covered in tears it does not hide the furious look you have on your face as you push her hand away from you and hug your knees to your chest. “It is the best path for you and your house my dear you must believe me i only wish the best for you. And should you do this you will be a lovely addition to our family. I am looking for a wife for my son daeron.”

“I am already betrothed. You know this.” she shakes her head and stretches out further on the bed attempting to touch you once again, “you must understand-” “i would rather you kill me than marry your stupid hightower son and declare for that pig wearing a false crown on his head.”

The room goes silent and she sighs and stands, fixing her dress before moving to leave the room. As she stands by the door she turns back to you, “I hope you will one day change your mind.” “I will not.” you quickly spit at her before she and criston leave the room leaving you trapped in there. All you can do is sit and cry in your bed, you miss jacaerys, you miss your father, you even miss dragonstone. You spend that whole day and night in your room praying that jacaerys was alright, you knew it is foolish to wish he could climb though the window to save you but the childish part of you dreamed he would come to your rescue.

His foot taps on the floor in rapid succession. Jacaerys finds he can barely sit still these days. He cannot believe you were ripped from his hands so quickly. Though many expected him to lock himself in his room and cry for days mourning the loss of the love of his life and his younger brother he did not even shed a tear. Even at the funeral for the two of you the worst he got was glassy eyed as he clung onto his brother's robe and your necklace which he has begun wearing. It was as if he became a shell of himself, only speaking when spoken to and only truly wished to speak time planning out the moves of the war with daemon. Rhaenyra grew more and more concerned and distressed over her son as the days passed. Whenever she would go and try to talk to him she would only be greeted by his dead eyes and his emotionless words and she felt as though she lost two of her sons not just the one.

Due to his erratic emotions, Jacaerys could not decipher how he felt. Grief? Anger? Sadness? Spite? All of the above? He had no clue. But in his mind he had no time to feel anything. He had a duty to make sure his mother won this war and he could deal with his feelings later. He tried to ignore that heart clenching feeling everytime he wrapped his hand around the dragon necklace. The selfish part of him believes you are still alive, in his defense there was no body, just a large pool of blood soaking the floor, the room had been bare and mostly untouched which led daemon to conclude it happened without and fight and quickly. If you were truly dead it gave him a bit of piece you had not been put through any sort of torture or torment as daemon seemingly had put halenas kid through when he sent out blood and cheese.

He has many regrets and will hate himself for the rest of his life, he let his mother down, he was a bad brother and worst of all he failed to protect you, the one he had sworn to protect forever. He wont allow himself to mourn you, or mourn anyone for that matter. The only thing that mattered was the war and when daemon once again called him in the council room he soundlessly followed. He would at least avenge you in any way he would. He wanted them to feel the pain they had put him through, they put his mother through, he wanted to hurt them so badly he could barely contain himself but he must be rational despite how hard it is. Whenever he looked at the dragon on his neck he could only think of you and he grew angrier with himself. He had to avenge you. No matter what.

The days in the keep are boring. For the first few days all you do is sit on your bed crying. Whenever a guard entered your room to bring you food you never ate any of it. The only time anything happened all you could hear was screams and cries but they were so distant you did not know what was happening. You only found out when aemond had come to integrate you about the incident. Asking if you had somehow let this ‘blood and cheese’ into the keep so they could kill one of halenas kids. You were mortified and said you had no clue. After a bit of pushing and reports from the guards who were stationed outside your room there was no way you could have done anything and they promptly left. The rest of your days continued the same with you not if so barely eating until it became too much and alicent showed up to your room. “You must eat.” you scoff, you had finally gained your strength back and were sitting at one of the tables in the room with a book in your hands. “I don't need to do anything.” She sighs and looks around the room. You take notice of the box she holds in her hands along with a bowl of what looks like fruits in it. “What is that?”

She looks down at her hands and lets out an oh before looking back at you hopefully. “I.. was hoping you would play cyvasse with me..” she trails off and for a moment you notice how young she truly is. Much closer in age to not only yourself but her oldest son and all of her children forced into a role she is not fit for. A wave of sympathy falls upon you and she continues, “i have no one to play with, aemond is far too busy haelena cannot bring herself to get out bed and obviously aegon does not know how to play-” “ill play.”

She looks at you shocked as if she had been expecting you to turn her away and tell her no. “Though I should warn you that I have not lost a game in a very long time, I am a fierce competitor.” a smile graces her face and she nods quickly moving to sit down across from you and sets up the board. “I have not lost in forever either dear. I'm sure I will not lose to you.” you close your book and toss it towards the bed and shake your head at her. “I would like to see you try.”

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you two begin to play. So lost in the game you occasionally pop a piece of fruit in your mouth. She was right, she is very tough competition but you can hold your own against her causing her to sit and think for long periods at a time. “It's a bit stuffy in here don't you think?” you lift your gaze from the board and up at her as you shrug, “if it is i do not notice it.” as you look back down at the board she hums and stands to open up one of the windows before moving to sit back down. “I hope you have thought about what I told you.” you sit still for a moment before moving on of your pieces and leaning back to look at her. “I have.” a hopeful look crosses her face, “and i will continue to tell you no.” she sighs and stares down at the board. Many more silent moments pass before the door slams open and the two of you look at it alarmed.

“Ser Cole, what's wrong?” “You must come quickly with me, my queen, the prince has found something.” she stands alarmed and rushes towards him before looking back at you for a moment, “we will continue this later.” All you can do is nod at her and watch as the two of them rush out the room. You lean back on the chair and close your eyes and sigh. You wonder how long she planned to keep you here. You felt as though you made it rather obvious you never planned to submit to Aegon or marry her son but it seemed she still held on hope you would. In the midst of your thoughts a breeze brushes you and you jump out of your seat and look over to the window. It was still open. You walk over to the window and look out, this was your chance. You could escape, surely it could not be so hard to scale down the castle. You could die but so what? The longer you resist them the closer you get to one day just being executed and they put someone who would listen to their every whim in the high gardens. You look around the room and throw a spare cloak which had been in the room and look for anything valuable to sell before you say a small prayer to yourself before climbing out of the room and beginning to descend the castle.

It is not easy, if anything you would think this is impossible by the way your hands, knees and feet begin to bleed the way you continue to scrape along the harsh walls of the castle. You don't dare look down out of fear someone will notice you or you’ll realize you've made no progress and get so frustrated you cry. After what felt like hours you stumble and fall to the ground and struggle to pick yourself up. Looking around you, noticing you are in an empty alley. You had really escaped. You stand frozen for a moment unsure of what to do. You had not thought this far. Maybe you could try to make it to high garden but they would surely notice your absence before then and high garden would be the first place they look for you. You decide you’ll sell the stuff you had managed to take first and figure out the rest later. When you had made it to one of the stands the seller was shocked to see all the real gold items you had with you and was more than eager to offer you a large chunk of change for it. Now that you had the money you had no clue what to do but as you were walking you hear a group of people discuss that they planned to travel out of the city and decide you could try and hitch a ride with them.

“And why would we let you ride with us little girl?” you show him the large amount of gold you can just acquired and his eyes widen as he looks at it. “How much?” “I would give you all of it,” he looks alarmed, “you desperate to get out of the city?” “more than you know.” later that same day you were sitting in the back of their large carriage. One of the girls in the group offered you a change of clothes and fixed up your wounds for you question free. You watch the city fade away from you and let out a breath of relief as you finally pull down your hood allowing the group to see your face. “Hey aren't you that hightower girl?” you look over to your right at the man from earlier and shrug, “maybe.” If he wants to ask more questions he does and goes back to fiddling with his blade and you begin to pray once more for jacaerys and that the gods will be kind enough to allow the two of you to reunite.

You travel with them for a couple days. You find out they are actually a traveling circus who is struggling to make business right now due to the war. They are kind people who don't ask you unwanted questions and provide you with a ride and some food and that's all you can ask for. One day it's the middle of the night and you have all taken camp near a mountain. You grow more and more restless to get as close to dragonstone as possible to try and see jacaerys but you know these people are being more than kind to you so you must not push them. “I heard a rumor about this place,” jim, the guy you had talked to the first day he seemed to be the leader of this little group, says to jane, the woman who helped you fix your wounds takes a sip from her flasks and gives jim an unamused look. “Jim if this is one of your fairytales again,,,” “no no no seriously, apparently there's a dragon around these parts.'' This immediately catches your attention and you gaze at jim. “Seriously?” Jim nods confidently and Jane shakes her head tapping you on the shoulder, “don't believe him pumpkin he's always talking shit.” “i am being serious-”

A loud roar off in the distance causes the three of you and the rest of the camp to grow completely silent. Jim mouths a ‘told you’ in your direction and you watch as a dragon flies over your head and out to a field not too far away from where you all were camped. “We're gonna die.” you hear one of the other guys say and all you can do is admire the dragon. It's pure white with piercing blue eyes that seem to be looking directly at you. You feel completed to go towards it, its gaze luring you in as you stand at the alarm of Jane and Jim and begin to walk off. “Where the hell are you going?” you reach in your pocket and toss and large bag of coins you had at jim, “im going to claim a fucking dragon! Or die trying!”

The morning came and the blacks had finally managed to put a pin on where one of the large green camps were and we're currently stationed to ambush them. Jacaerys sat wordlessly on his dragon as baela sat on her next to him and called his name causing him to look over at her. “I hope you know she would not resent you. When you were gone you were all she could talk about. She couldn't hate you, it is not possible.'' He just stares at her and opens his mouth as if he wished to speak but he couldn't and all he could do was turn away so as to not get choked up. He hoped she was right, that you could not hate him because he fears if you did it would kill him. He clutches the necklace once more before the call is made to charge and he flys up with his dragon to fight. Despite the fact it had been an ambush the greens seemed way more prepared to fight than they had been expecting and the situation grew more and more dire as the fight went on.

As if it was a grace from the gods he heard a roar off in the distance and prayed it had not been aegon or aemond heading there way but when he turned his head and saw a white dragon? When close enough a wave of blue fire came out of its mouth to douse the greens. He could not see if the dragon had a rider due to its erratic movements but soon enough the dragon flew by him and he felt himself freeze. His betrothed. The one he feared he had lost. You. Y/n Tyrell. On a fucking dragon. Soon after your arrival the greens begin to retreat, unable to over power your dragon and its blue fire. Once the tides had settled and people began to cheer he quickly began to move towards where you were and you also rushed off your dragon and ran towards him, “jacaerys!” He grabs your face and kisses you with all his heart. He hopes you can feel the force of his love pouring into you with every move his lips make and with the grip he holds your face on, so gentle yet strong as if he knew he was holding the whole universe in his hands. It was not just any universe it was his universe and as you two pull away he can barely breathe. “You're alive?” you nod and peck him on the lips, “i will never leave you my love.” he finally feels all the emotions he's held back crash into him and he hugs you so tightly as if he fears you'll slip from his grasp should he let go. You feel him begin to cry and stroke his hair as you close your eyes and find yourself crying too. “I was so scared you had,,” “shh do not even speak it. I am here, I promise and I am not going anywhere.”

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komotionlessqueenmm · 3 months

Text

Cherrywood

(1-2)

Short story # 19

Gif NOT mine.

Summary - On this night your land experiences the worst storm it's suffered in nearly a hundred years. Amidst the storm came a crashing noise like no other, and curiosity gets the better of you. When you find the source of the commotion, you are stunned to find the Rouge Prince unconscious beneath his fierce dragons wing.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - SFW

Reading time (roughly) - 15 minutes

I haven't watched the show, or read the books. So please excuse any inaccuracies there might be.

"Easy boy, it's just a storm." (Y/n) murmured softly to her sheepdog, who whimpered and growled with every crack of thunder. She pet behind his ear, hoping to console her loyal dog. While still idly tending to her dinner over the hearth. "I hope Zero is okay." She muttered aloud, thinking of her horse sheltered in the barn. With a particularly loud crack of thunder, Leo whimpered and scurried under the nearby table. "Some guard dog you are." (Y/n) teased her pet playfully, felling sorry for him, but trying to make light of the situation. As she herself was afraid of what this storm would bring, and the damage that was bound to occur as it swept over her orchard. Thunder struck once more, but alongside it came a near deafening crash. "Oh no." Afraid the barn might have collapsed, (Y/n) rushed to grab her cloak. "Stay here." She called back to Leo, before rushing out the door of her cottage and into the storm. Lifting her head just enough to spot the barn, she was relieved to find it standing intact. But what had caused such a noise?

An animalistic yowl of sorts emitted from the shore afar, a sound unlike anything she'd heard before. Curiosity getting the better of her, (Y/n) began her treck towards the beach, wondering what sort of creature could make such a sound. The ground was soft and muddy beneath her boots, causing her to slip every so often, though she maintained her balance enough not to fall into the muck. Again the sound emitted from the beach, much louder now that she neared it's source. All that was left between her, and the creature, was a steep hill. With slow meticulous steps, she made her way up the hill, careful not to slip and fall all the way back down. When she reached the top, she cautiously peered over the top, as another deafening roar ripped through the night air. Her eyes immediately landed upon a mighty red dragon, and she was quick to duck her head back down, fear surging through her body at the sight of the beast. Again it roared and it sounded distressed, perhaps even in pain. "Gods protect me." She whispered softly, going against her better judgment, and peering over the hill at the mighty beast.

This time she observed a saddle strapped to the dragon, and when it shifted, she noticed the sigil for house Targaryen. "Not good, definitely not good." She muttered softly, as she scanned the beach for any sign of the rider. Her eyes quickly snapped back to the dragon, when it again shifted, this time lifting its wing just high enough for (Y/n) to spot the silhouette of someone laying in the sand. Assessing the situation (Y/n) concluded that something must be wrong with the rider, and the dragon was trying desperately to wake them with no success. "I must be crazy." She muttered under her breath as she worked up the courage to stand. Despite her body telling her to run for the hills, (Y/n) rose from her spot, and slowly descended down the hill towards the beast. Before she even reached the end of the hill, the dragons attention snapped to her, growling low in warning. "Definitely crazy." She breathed out quietly, holding her hands up in surrender to the beast. With slow steps she began walking towards the dragon, hoping it would understand that she meant no harm.

It's nostrils flared, as it bellowed smoke at her, halting her in her steps. "I only want to help, let me help please." She called out to the crimson beast, hoping she wouldn't be burned alive. The dragon shook its head, as if to dismiss the idea. "Their hurt, let me help." She tried again, her heart hammering when the dragon spread out it's wings, which covered the span of the beach itself. "I don't mean you harm, I just want to help." She kept her hands held out, bowing her head a little even, in hopes that it would understand her submission to its power. The dragon once more shifted, and turned its head to the side. It's furthest wing tucking back into its side. While the other wing over their rider remained outstretched. She took slow steps, not wanting to spook the beast into aggression, but wanting desperately to help the rider. When she finally reached them, she wasn't surprised to find that the man was definitely a Targaryen. If his clothes and dragon weren't enough to convince her, the long mane of snow white hair definitely was. His hair lay around him like that of a halo, and (Y/n) found herself stunned by how handsome he was, even drenched to the bone with rain.

She felt the dragons eyes on her, and tried to ignore it as she knelt beside the man. Carefully she pat his cheek, in a vain attempt to stir him awake. Though she suspected that if the loud bellowing roars of his dragon couldn't wake him, she would be just as unsuccessful. That is if he was even alive to begin with. Pulling her hood down, (Y/n) pressed her ear against the man's sternum, trying desperately to hear the rhythmic beating of a heart, over the rain pattering noisily on the dragons wing. Closing her eyes to try focusing better, she slowed her breaths, and strained to listen over the storm. "He's alive." She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally heard his heart beating steadily. She looked closely over his body, assisting that he had no major wounds that needed immediate tending to. Only to then realize she needed to get him back to her cottage somehow, and soon lest the cold take him while he sleeps. Looking back at the dragon she worried if it was something the beast would even allow. Though it had allowed her to come this close, perhaps even it knows what needs to be done.

She rose from her spot beside the man, removed her cloak, covering him with it, in an attempt to keep him warm. "I'll be back, I promise." She spoke to the dragon, still hoping it wouldn't lash out at her. It blew air out of its nose in her direction, and remained in place guarding its master. (Y/n) took that as her queue and dashed off towards her orchard. She became drenched in no time, shivering from the cold, but she ignored it and kept running home. Once there she made a beeline for the barn, barging in with enough force to startle her horse Zero. She rushed about, finding what she would need in order to transport the man back to her cottage. And old sled from when she was a child, which was designed to be pulled by a horse, was her go to. She also gathered rope and several blankets, before getting Zero's saddle onto him, along with the harness needed to strap the sled to. Once everything was ready, (Y/n) grabbed the spare cloak in the barn, pulled it on, and led Zero out into the storm. After she'd ensured the sled was secure, she pulled herself up onto the saddle, and set Zero into a trot back to the beach. Praying to the old gods and the new to protect her, to let the man still be alive, and to keep his dragon docile.

As she neared the hill Zero began to snort in discomfort and fear, sensing what was beyond the hill. "Easy buddy, we have to do this. Stay with me." She soothed him before ushering him to climb the hill. He neighed and pounded his hoof, before doing as he was told. When they reached the top of the hill, the dragon looked to them, and Zero reared up a little. "Easy Zero easy, it's okay." (Y/n) soothed him once more, her heart pounding noisily in her ears. The work horse snorted and trot in place for a moment, before slowly calming as the dragon showed no aggression. "Come on." She urged him forward, breathing a sigh of relief when he did so without hesitation. The dragon once more turned its head away when they neared, and Zero snorted in displeasure. "It's okay, we'll be okay." She assured him, hoping she was right about that. Once close enough (Y/n) dismounted Zero, and moved back to the man's side. Quickly and carefully she moved him onto the awaiting sled, covering him with several blankets to try and keep him somewhat dry, and clean from the mud Zeros hooves would kick up.

When she was satisfied with her work, she moved to secure several pieces of rope around him and the sled, to ensure he wouldn't fall off at any point during the trip. Certain that they wouldn't come untied or loose, she rose to her feet, gently patting Zero on the side. "Home Zero, take us home." She instructed the horse, remaining beside him to better watch over the man. Zero huffed once and began walking back towards home, his pace slow and calm. (Y/n) watched the dragon cautiously as they began the treck up the hill, hoping it would remain docile and wouldn't suddenly grow aggressive. However her anxiety didn't calm as the beast moved to follow them on foot. Trailing behind them like some massive winged dog, still loyal to its master and refusing to leave his side. Steadying her breathing she tried to focus on the task at hand, subconsciously wondering how in seven hells this all could have possibly happened. She'd heard the stories of the Targaryens, and they were renowned for their skill at dragon riding. Was it merely the storm that knocked them out of the sky? Or was it the work of something else entirely? What would happen if the man dies? Will the dragon kill her for not saving its master? Would the Targaryens kill her for not saving him?

Shaking her head of those thoughts she kept her eyes forward, as they neared her home. Pushing Zeros side a little to guild him to the barn. The dragon walked the opposite direction, making itself comfortable beside the cottage, though still watching (Y/n)'s every move. Quickly she removed Zeros saddle and harness, ushering him into his stall which she latched behind him. Still utilizing the sled, (Y/n) picked up the straps and began hauling him out herself, closing up the barn, then continuing on to the cottage. Luckily the front door was wide, which allowed her to pull the sled straight into the cottage and out of the rain. "Stay." She warned Leo who was still under the table where she'd left him. He wined but complied to her command. Setting to work (Y/n) removed the ropes and blankets, and even removed the top layers of the riders clothes. Knowing he needed to get warm, and into dry clothes before the cold could set in and make him sick. Thinking momentarily about the things her mother had taught her, she determined that it would be best for his health, if she just removed all of his wet clothes.

Before doing so she pulled the sled closer to the hearth, so he could get warm and dry off faster. Uncomfortable with the thought of a naked man she didn't even know laying unconscious in her home, she found a clean dry cloth and covered his modesty. "Leo come." She called to her sheepdog, who rushed to her side and followed her into her room. Closing the door behind her, (Y/n) quickly shed off her own wet clothes, dried herself with clean linen, and redressed into dry clothes. "Stay." She told Leo before she left the room, closing the door behind her for good measure. Afterwards she made her way to the room her and her brother shared when they were children, finding a decent pair of trousers tucked away in a chest. With those in hand she made her way back to the main part of the cottage, assessing the man to see if he was dry. Determining he was plenty dry, she worked to get him changed into the trousers, relived to find that they fit him just fine. Noticing the bruises on his ribs she retrieved a healing salve she made herself, gently rubbing a generous amount onto all the places she found bruises and scratches. Aside from those he seemed relatively unharmed. Again she walked off to her childhood room, retrieving a loose top from the same chest as before.

And before leaving the room, she assessed the only remaining bed within the room. It was a little dusty, but it would have to do for the night. She pulled the furs from the bed, and replaced them with cleaner furs. Flipping over the pillows she hoped it didn't smell musty, and the man would simply appreciate that she even helped him at all. Satisfied with her work, she grabbed the shirt, and made her way back to the man. Dressing him in the shirt with a gentle touch, she wondered who exactly this man was. Judging by his exquisite clothes he had to be a Targaryen of some importance, although most of them as far as she knew were of great importance. Mustering her strength, and bracing herself, (Y/n) carefully hauled the man up from the sled. And carried him as best she could to the bedroom she intended on letting him use. When she reached the room, she fell backwards onto the bed with an exhausted huff, groaning at the added weight of the man now laying on top of her, with his back against her chest. Carefully she maneuvered her way out from under him, then pulled him the rest of the way onto the bed. Afterwards tucking him under the fur covers, then leaving to rest by the hearth for a while.

After eating her dinner, (Y/n) determined that his clothes would need to be cleaned soon. Securing her cloak around her shoulders, she rushed out into the rain. Her heart jumping at the sight of the sleeping dragon, having forgotten about its presence until now. Swallowing the lump in her throat she made her way to the well, gathering several buckets of water over the span of several minutes. And filling a large cauldron over the hearth to warm the water in order to properly clean the clothes. When the water was sufficiently warm, she transferred the water from the cauldron into the washbasin. Thoroughly cleaning the clothes with care as to not cause them any damage, but get them sufficiently clean and tidy. She worked into the small hours of the morning, cleaning the clothes, and hanging them near the hearth to dry faster. Afterwards she cleaned the mess from doing laundry, and the small mess she'd made earlier in the day while preparing dinner. Lastly she cleaned up the mess made from the muddy sled she'd dragged into her home. By the time she was finished, the sun was beginning to rise, the storm subsiding a short while ago. And in that time she'd accidentally fallen asleep sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall across from the hearth.

While she rest soundly in the main room of the cottage, Daemon began to stir awake. Hissing in discomfort at the stinging pain in his sides, and the dull throb of his head. He felt hungover, and as if he were half on deaths door. Regardless he opened his eyes, blinking away the drowsy need to close them again. Realizing quickly that he didn't know where he was, or how he got there. Clearly it wasn't the castle, and the more he tried remembering the night before, the more confused he was. He remembered arguing with his brother, about something trivial, and then taking Caraxes for a ride. Then he remembered the storm, he remembered flashes of lightning nearly striking them out of the sky. And he remembered falling for what felt like an eternity. He quickly rushed out of the bed, trying to ascertain where he ended up. Barging out of the room, he half expected to be in a tavern or maybe even a brothel. And he was admittedly a tad bit surprised to find himself in a quant cottage instead. He wandered around the room, only realizing he wasn't in his own clothes, when he saw his hanging near the hearth. Peering around the hearth he finally spotted his host, sound asleep and looking exhausted.

He wondered how longs she'd been awake, and if she had been the one to bring him into her home. Caraxes made a noise from outside, startling the woman awake, which made Daemon smirk softly. "You're awake!" She breathed out in near astonishment, quickly standing from her spot on the floor. "Who might you be?" He asked her, committing her face to memory. "(Y/n) Voss, my lord." She bowed her head respectively. "I am no mere lord, sweetling, I am Prince Daemon Targaryen." He held his head high, smirking again at her clear surprise. "My Prince." She bowed more respectively, but Daemon waved it off. "Daemon will suffice." He hummed watching her closely as she relaxed before him. "How did I get here?" He asked with a tilt of his head. "I brought you here, I found you on the beach last night during the storm. Your dragon... It made quite a commotion, and I went to investigate." She looked almost bashful, making the Rouge Prince smile. "And he let you bring me here?" He inquired curiously. "It took some convincing, but he's a smart creature, and I think he knew I only wanted to help you." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You must be a special creature to gain the trust of a dragon so quickly." Daemon mused with a grin, loving the faint blush that dusted her cheeks.

Buy me a coffee sometime? ☕️

(Click the coffee for my Kofi link, IT'S NOT NECESSARY BTW.)

Part two ->

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the-fiction-witch · 3 months

Text

My Perfect Bride

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - Smutty Word Count - 1119

Jacaerys shifted and squirmed a little against the black sheets of his bed, the fire glowing in the darkness, the storm raging beyond the walls of DragonStone, he shifted trying to get comfortable but he was still half awake however his shifting seemed to stir the other body in his bed, Y/n laid in the other half of his bed, his betrothed. She wasn't supposed to be here so late or share his bed but given their wedding coming in only a few short days they bent the rules tonight for a cuddle, she laid in the end in her blue nightgown gracefully over her body, her curls loose on the pillow, her chest rising and falling with each of her slow breaths, her lips parted and her eyes softly closed.

Jacaerys heavy arm rested over Y/n's waist and pulled her closer to him. He kissed her shoulder and the base of her neck slowly, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair and the warmth of her body. Slowly his arm tightened around her waist, pulling their bodies even closer together. He nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck, leaving a trail of light kisses there.

Y/n stirred and shifted, her voice grumbled a little sound that sort of resembled his name,

His hand slipped under the hem of her nightgown, his fingers tracing languidly along her inner thigh. He couldn't stop the smile that spread over his face Jacaerys loved the way she felt against him. His fingertips continued their gentle caress along her inner thigh. "Say my name. Say my name again," he whispered in her ear, his voice husky with desire. "I want to hear it." He nipped at the soft skin of her neck, his thumb stroking lazy circles just above her hipbone.

She wiggled and squirmed in her sleep as she woke more and more each second "Jace... What are you doing?" She yawned,

He moved his hands upwards, his fingers skimming over the bare skin of her hip and up to the trim of her nightgown. "I can't sleep," he mumbled against her neck, his voice still low and husky. "Just keep lying on your side, I want you so much."

"I'm not sure this will help you sleep Jace, more likely to wake you up I'd assume?" She teased

Jacaerys let out a sound between a laugh and a groan, his lips trailing along the expanse of Y/n's neck. "You're perfect," he murmured between kisses, his fingers slipping beneath the flimsy strap of her nightgown and sliding it off her shoulder. "Don't want to sleep. Want to touch you."

"alright Jace..." She yawns close to drifting back to sleep once more too tired to debate with him

Jacaerys kissed and nipped his way down her shoulder, pulling the strap of her nightgown lower on her arm. He kissed her skin reverently, his touch both gentle and urgent as he explored the curves of her body. His thumb traced patterns on the bare skin of her stomach, his fingers sliding further up her thigh. He wanted to touch her everywhere, commit the feel of her skin to memory. Jacaerys felt a pang of desire shoot through him at the sight of her the way the moonlight illuminated her skin, the way her body responded to his touch. His breath hitched, his fingers tracing along her side towards her breast. "Y/n," he whispered, "I want to touch you, taste you, feel you. please."

"what is it, Jace?" She yawns

He pressed his body closer to hers, his chest pressed firmly against her back, his lips ghosting over her neck. "I can't stop thinking about you. All day, all night, it's like you're all I have in my mind. I want to touch you, taste you, claim you as mine. I'll do whatever you ask, say whatever you want, but please, let me have you." Jacaerys' breath was heavy, his voice thick with desire.

"We shouldn't we're not married yet…"

His lips were tantalizingly close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "Please, just a taste. Just a small indulgence before the wedding, just this once. No one has to know, I'll behave, I'll be good. Just let me have you, just for tonight." His thumb traced gently along her inner thigh, sending shivers down her spine.

"... alright jacaerys just... Be gentle"

His breath hitched in his chest, a rush of affection flooding him at her words. He knew how much control it had taken her to surrender to his desires. "I promise," he whispered, his hand still tracing gently along her inner thigh, the other moving to tangle in the mass of her curls. He pressed his body closer, his hips flushed against hers, his lips moving to her neck.

she giggled clearly excited too she moved sitting up and lightning a small candle beside the bed, she turned kissed his lips softly, they shared a few small innocent kisses but Jacaerys couldn’t wait his hands slipped down from her waist to the hem of her nightie and quickly threw it from her body, leaving her completely exposed to his eyes, she couldn't stop her giggles as she laid down on his bed on her back letting him soak all of her in,

Jacaerys' breath caught in his throat at the sight of her naked body laid bare before him, his hands instantly moving to touch her, his fingers skating over her curves in an almost reverent manner. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life," he murmured, his eyes roaming over her in wonder. "My perfect bride."

"your not disappointed?"

He shook his head emphatically, a smile spreading across his face as he touched her like he had dreamt about for so long. "No," he said softly, his eyes fixed on hers. "You're perfect. You're everything I want, everything I need. And now you're going to be my wife. How could I be anything but happy?" He kissed her deeply, pouring all of his love and admiration into it.

"I don't know if you imagined your wife better?”

Jacaerys chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. He knew this was an insecurity that had been weighing on her for a while, and he wanted to banish it. "No," he said firmly, his eyes locking with hers. "Not bigger, not smaller, just perfect. There isn't a single thing I'd change about you. I love the way you look, I love the way you feel. You're perfect. And you're mine. And once we are married I promise I will make you know how much I love your body every single night," He pressed closer against her body, his fingers roaming over her skin as he kissed her deeply, his tongue slipping inside her mouth hungrily…

Masterlist Of Jacaerys Velaryon

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n0tamused · 3 months

Note

Hi! Could I request Jiyan, who didn't realise he was in love with his best friend!reader until he almost lost them. The moment he held them unconscious in his arms everything just clicked.

Angst with a happy ending, please.

A/n: sorry this took some time to write! I initially planned to write this as some short drabble/scenario but as you can see, things went out of control lol I do hope you enjoy this :) Also a small note - I initially wrote this with you/yours stuff, but I wanted to experiment this method, so I do apologize if there is some mistakes left here regarding that. Do tell me which one you guys prefer more? You/yours or they/them/she/her.

Contents: Jiyan x GN!Reader, they/them pronouns, blood and injuries, angst but turns to bittersweet at the end, fluff? They both live at the end so we can count it as a happy ending.

Words: 3867

'I can't do this without you'

Holding the weight of a body in his arms never felt heavier before. The gradual added weight on his heart and lungs kept getting heavier and heavier by the moment, he was sure it would make his ribs burst from the pressure. And he wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he looked down he saw his own heart beating outside his very body. (Y/n) was pale, bleeding and giving no response to any action he took. “Please..” His lips muttered, but to what extent his plea stretched out, no one could tell.

His dragon came crashing through the waves of TDs like a storm, breaking apart their limbs and turning them to ash before he himself emerged from its glowing maw, jumping in front of (Y/n) with spear in hand. Jiyan’s face twisted in a fierce scowl, his sharp eyes hooded beneath his knit brows as he plunged into the remaining monsters that lurked around. But not even after he dealt with them did he achieve the quiet that usually followed a concluded battle. The buzzing in his ears did not stop. His heart beat still thundered between his ears, and the sound only multiplied once his golden eyes landed on the falling body of his dearest companion.

There was no time, he told himself, gathering all the courage and patience he found within himself, gathering them in his arms and fleeing from the charred fields as if fire was threatening to lick up his heel. The buzzing sound was deafening, so akin to silence yet it was everything but. He heard nothing else, but he heard it all. As he pushed his way past the soldiers at the front, eyes wide and staring into the void, trusting only his feet to find the path for him. He needs nothing else but to hurry and scold himself for not being able to go faster.

He carried them into the first medical tent his eyes landed on, the flap of the tent slapping out of place and before his form and before he could process the light slap the material did to his cheek, he was placing them down onto one rolled out mat in the corner. He saw the lips of the medical staff move, but no words reached his ears, and for all he knew he could’ve been barking or whispering at them to do something - to help them. He joined in the efforts, plucking out the gauze and the antiseptics from the corners of the tent and gathering them next to the mat as one healer already began to cut away their dirty clothes to gain better access to the wound.

The bare skin glistened with blood, the only shade of theirs that could make Jiyan feel sick to the stomach. Other healers in the tent looked at him in bewilderment as his breathing was yet to calm down, labored and ragged, but his hands held utmost care and precision as he started on the gauze, already keeping steps ahead and waiting until the healer next to him peeled the clothes away. Each layer unfolded like a wet petal, revealing the yawning gash underneath. Jiyan’s golden eyes turned a shade darker under the pressure and the light in the tent, turning a shade of olive instead, sick with worry. Were they gone already? He looks at their face, glimpsing their peaceful expression, dotted with splatters of blood and grime. They’re still bleeding, he notes as his fingers become slick with blood whilst he worked on their wound, there was still a beating heart inside of them, and that meant life. His mind spun prayers on repeat, prayers he thought he had long since forgotten the words of, favoring battle chants over putting his hope into something he couldn’t see or touch. How long till (Y/n) wakes?

Long time has passed until his mind has reeled back around to the present. He was alone now, aside from (Y/n), huddled on a small wooden chair in the opposite corner from which he could see them, patched up and under the light. His hands, once so calm and steady, had begun to shake as realization settled within him. How he could have so easily lost them, with so many words yet to be spoken, hurt more than any wound he sustained. Blood caked on his fingers, falling off into dust as he flexed them into a fist before releasing again. All the worry made him angry, and anger never suited him. It made him think badly, irrationally, and in the silence that followed the medical emergency of their state, all thoughts took root deep within his mind and soul, festering like a neglected cut. (Y/n) shouldn’t have been allowed on the front lines, he should have set them back, or even better - he should have misused his position and sent them home, risking to humiliate them for being sent home for seemingly nothing, other than his selfish need to keep them safe on all accounts.

Sighing, Jiyan shuddered at his own mind’s skilled ways of wearing him down. It played out his image and character in ways he knew he’d never act. He’d never do those things, but in such a state as he was in, he nearly believed it all. Pressing his forehead into the clean heels of his palms he stared at his own boots until the silence became a soft comforting buzz. Sleep had tried to pull himself down his eyelids, but each time he refused it, eventually finding himself sitting at their side again, instead of the faraway corner. Long hours had passed, and Jiyan felt the camp go to bed with the night settling in the corners of the world. But he couldn’t, it would be a disservice to you if he left you alone, but his duty called - and he internally begged for forgiveness as he stepped out of the tent to check up on all the others, cleaning his hands while he was at it.

There was blood on his hands.

And it was theirs.

And he’d never be able to wash it away, no matter how hard he scrubbed, or how many times he washed his hands.

Morning came chill and misty, but Jiyan’s body felt none of it. The cold clung onto him like a second coat, greeting him like an old friend and embracing him as the same. He only hoped the cold did not embrace them too. The night was sleepless for Jiyan, and after he had ensured the safety of others and checked in with his Captains, he had found his way back to the medical tent he left (Y/n) in.

“There’s a lot for me to say, my dear…friend..” Jiyan’s pale lips formed the last word hesitantly, treating it as an impostor instead of the usual warming endearment in which fashion he used it years ago. The word had long since become strange to him, yet he wished not to risk disrespecting them in this state, heavily considering the fact they may not even share in his sentiments. “Yet you seem so eager to cut your life short.. “ he sneered lightly, not at them, but rather at himself, blame always within reach to be pulled towards himself by his very hand.

“What would I do without you..? Who would I be without you?” The world around him seemed to quiet down in silent sympathy. “You mean so much more than you believe, more than you know.. I’ve wished to tell you, but all you force me to do is scold you and weep over you like some child… like when we were kids…”

A twitch, and then the fingers of (Y/n)’s hand grasped into a fist, making his eyes widen at the sight he barely glimpsed with his head hanging low, staring at the ground. His golden eyes snapped to their face, seeing the corners of their lips curl downward into a pain filled scowl.

“(Y/n)!-” he beamed with all the softness his surprise would allow him as he kneeled beside them in one swift swoop. His hand came over their eyes to shield it from the light once he saw how their nose scrunched and brows knit together. Relief filled their eyes as the intrusive light no longer tried to pry them open so cruelly. Dizziness was still huge, feeling as if it split their blood apart, making it as light as clouds, and making them float on top of the mat.

“What’re you.. rambling about…?” (Y/n) muttered, throat dry and voice coarse and wincing, their face once more ended up in a painful twist. Jiyan didn’t need all his medical knowledge to see they were still out of it, his frown deepening, but his heart raced up to climb into his throat.

“I was saying how reckless you can be..” he whispered, blinking away the nervousness from his eyes. His other hand hovered over them, refusing to touch them in fear of hurting them. But his eyes drank in everything, looking for any anomalies that he may have not noticed before, although the chance he missed something was astronomically low with how keenly his eyes kept vigil over you throughout the night. “Are you in pain? Tell me, I’ll help make it better” he told them, shuffling as he loomed over their body.

(Y/n)’s eyes still refused to open after they fluttered shut, their throat bobbing, but swallowing nothing with how parched it felt. “Water..” They croaked, and suddenly light was kissing their eyelids again as Jiyan moved away in haste to fetch a bottle of water.

He returned as quickly as he left, swift as the wind and helping them drink with one hand stabilizing their head and the other holding the bottle to their chapped lips, watching them carefully as they languidly took sips to drink. The gloved iron claw on his finger faintly scratched against their scalp, tangled between their hairs. Letting out a small sigh, thirst finally quenched, they finally opened their eyes to see just how disheveled and worried Jiyan looked.

“Jiyan..” (Y/n) called him, watching as his face both hardened and mellowed at the drop of his name in that worn out tone. Their face looked confused to see him like this, not that they ever doubted he’d worry if they got injured, but the tension within this space felt like a maw of a beast, ready to snap its jaws shut. Something was amiss, something they couldn’t quite place. The aching throb in their side didn’t subside, but they were able to somewhat ignore it for now, worry poisoning them into thinking of the worst - whatever could be worse than their own life nearly being taken away. The question remained unsaid, but it appeared as if Jiyan didn’t need the verbal communication to respond.

“Nothing- don’t worry about it.. Please, lay down and tell me how you feel” He urged as he placed his palm onto their sweaty forehead, pushing it back onto the small pillow below. (Y/n) blinked, confused and scared and exhausted as he pawed gently at their skin, only pulling away after he ensured there was no rising heat.

“I’m.. aching.. that’s all.. and sore all over”

“I believe that to be an understatement, this isn’t some small scratch.. You nearly..” Jiyan looks at the bandages, splotches of red already having bloomed through like little poppies in a faraway field. “I’ll get you something for the pain now… Don’t move.” It was a command, that last part, and left no room for any question or rebuttal as he lifted himself away, painfully severing the moment in favor of searching the place for painkillers and herbs. If there was a way to remain glued to their side and heal them in that way, he wouldn’t have ever left, and that option would have done his heart many favors.

“When will you start listening to orders?” he asked as he walked back to the mat, his hand grasping the gorge shaped pill box his mother gave him, his tone now heralding the lesson he was about to drop on them. His eyes refused to meet theirs as he crouched down again, popping the lid of the gorge open and letting two pills fall into his open palm.

“Whenever you... decide to be less dense..” (Y/n) responded with a small cough that rippled the pain from their wound, and wincing they forced themselves to stay still. He did not take sweetly to the jest, his eyes focusing on them like a target, a beloved one at that.

“You should have called out.. I was there, I could have helped you out. You didn’t need to get hurt, and all because of your faulty sense of independence” Jiyan kept going, urgency for them to understand his side coloring his voice. He helped them sit slowly, apologizing for making them move in a husky and quiet tone, apologizing for making them sit and be here and be in pain, swallowing the big tasteless pills.

Keeping their silence, (Y/n) looks down, guilt seeping through their veins and weary body which seemed to know no rest now.

Sore and worried and dizzy and ever forgetful in this half slumbering state they could only grasp at the thin strings of consciousness as Jiyan loomed over them like a hawk, restless in his pursuit to help, yet he remained in the dark as to how else to do so. What else could he do except think of healing magic he had no possession of. His teeth grinded together, golden eyes flickering over them and then up to their face, meeting their bleary gaze.

“I’m sorry…”

(Y/n) whispered, one hand over their chest as they took breaths in, slow and weak, but good - they were not the shallow breaths you took when he was racing back to the medics and other healers with them in his arms. This was better.

Jiyan’s heart stuttered at the low tone that broke under the pressure he had placed upon them, unwilling yet it was no less necessary if he wished to have them understand. Too many times he had sat down with them, told them to be careful, to follow protocol and all the talked about strategies, to value the teammates at their sides, yet it all seemed for naught. What did those conversations mean, they could not heal you now and make you whole again.

A shaky sigh drops from Jiyan, pulling all the weight from his shoulders and making him sag in his spot, head hanging low and heavy. What was he supposed to say? He had words too many to share.

“It’s… fine.. What’s done is done, and we can’t change what happened.. It’s alright..”

“You’re mad at me..”

Of course he is. Grief has never bitten him so hard as in the moment he saw them stagger in the field, it made his stomach churn and his sides tickle as if wind passed through the hollows between his ribs. And he grieved as if he lost them while patching you up, so much so it poisoned him and made him mad, angry.

“I.. I am not mad at you.. ” ‘I love you, why can’t you see?’ - a part of him wanted to say.

Blinking at him, tears bubbled up to their lash line, listening to him huff, unknowing of the inner turmoil he struggled through, the answer to close yet so far, holding you in suspense. Like a word about to be spoken.

“Why can’t you just listen to orders.. You throw yourself into danger as if you have lives to spare” Jiyan began, finding their eyes in a stern glare which mellowed out quickly. “You are not valued only as a soldier to be thrown across the board but as a human, someone’s companion.. (Y/n)..”

There’s a plea in his tone, and another in his eyes, and his fingers itch with the need to hold onto them, to let the venom of his grief seep into them too, to make them see, understand. It’s like a beast he’s hardly keeping at bay. When was the last time he felt so strongly about someone? Anyone? And to the point he’s shedding his general persona to give way to a man desperate to keep the few people he holds dear alive. Jiyan couldn’t name anyone.

“I understand that, but Jiyan.. how many nights have we spent talking about the day of peace? When there’s going to be no wars to fight? I know-” A cough interrupts them, but Jiyan does not jump at that opportunity to cut them off and scold them - he waits. “..I know it’s a childish dream, a hope, but peace is achievable. And if it means getting battered and bruised and hurt along the way, then so be it - the road to peace is not paved in a bed of flowers..” (Y/n) frowns, nearly pouting, and in some absentminded state, their hand flails in the air in search of his, a purchase he gladly grants without a thought.

Shaky fingers curl around his gloved ones, a tinge smaller, and more fragile than his own with the state now. They lack the grip they usually possess, yet they grasp and hold and he holds back, squeezing a bit tighter. God knows, he shares their view, their childish hope, but he can’t agree with it, not now. “(Y/n).. Peace will mean little if you’re dead to see it..” It’s a whisper, as fragile as the wings of a hatchling, and as soft as the summer breeze.

“That all will mean nothing to me either, it won’t be peace if you’re not with me to see it..” he added, his other hand grasping over their own, thumbing at their soft skin. He swallows thickly, hoping to wish away the tears that threaten to come up to his eyes. “I lo-... I love …you…”

Realization is slow to settle, but he sees it in their face, their eyes that fail to blink as they take him in, deciphering his words one by one, failing, at first, to understand their weight from the usual affections they shared before. Parting their lips, they fail to respond, their eyes flickering to the surroundings before they return to him, and it was as if all air had been knocked out of their lungs. The meaning is written all over him, communicated through all ways but verbal and it was enough. They were children together, growing up and exploring the world, plucking strange berries from nature and sharing them together, they grew up together.

Now they are grown, and (Y/n) focuses on the thought that has appeared in their mind countless times before - growing old together. It was just out of reach, and it was not guaranteed and their actions on the battlefield nearly made it certain that the future would not embrace them together. Trying to blink the tears away, they look at Jiyan, apologetic and ashamed, but where they wished to seek forgiveness was unneeded, as Jiyan had already forgiven it, no matter the hurt.

“I love you too-” The words were accompanied by a stray tear wetting their cheek.

Hushed breaths and shuffling of clothes flutter, and in a blur, Jiyan had pulled himself ever closer, sitting at their side and ever so carefully drawing them to his chest. His movements are slow and calculated even in the face of such strong emotion, too fearful to hurt them.

He lets them rest their face into the crook of his neck, eyes fluttering closed as they both simply hold onto one another, and it was in that moment he felt them squeeze him back, full of blooming life and energy. His fingertips itched for a stronger embrace but he controlled himself.

“I love you..” he repeated, even more quiet and directly beside their ear. “Please.. listen to me.. I only wish to keep you safe.. alive most of all.. Understand me..” They nod their head against him, their fingers clawing at his back with a little more strength, holding on as if he was a ghost ready to vanish. “You’re my candlelight leading me through the darkness.. I can’t do it without you..”

“Oh, Jiyan..” They crack their voice over his name, eyes seeing a mosaic of colors through tears ready to be shed. “I only wish to help you.. Under all this armor and uniform, I can see you struggling too.. How can I not become a little desperate when I see all my other attempts to help you have failed?” They sigh, their breath tickling the skin underneath this chin and he shudders to think of this mutual tug-of-war. They can’t win, neither can.

“You leave my struggles to me.. I do not withhold them for no reason, but I see that has done me, us, more harm than good..” He says but fails to make another sentence, knowing he’d rather not burden them with his own worries, and he’d much rather hear of their own.

“Just.. promise me this” he begins, pulling away and making them face to face. “You will not jump to take any more blows for me, in no amounts at all. I’m the one that should guard you, and not the other way around” He is firm in his case, and even if (Y/n) had the strength to argue, they wouldn’t. This was final.

Closing your eyes and giving a little bow of their head, they profess their agreement to his words without a word of their own. And sinking back into his embrace felt like sinking into a bed of feathers, soft, warm and welcoming. “Fine..”

“We’ll talk more about this once you’ve healed..” Jiyan muttered, his lips ghosting their brow and feeling them nod against him again. His hand rubs up and down their back, and his lips land on their cheek, lingering there in a gentle expression of his love that knew no bounds.

The flickering light and the sudden silence made his mind wander, and his body began to rock back and forth slowly, hoping to ease you into slumber. He wondered how it would feel to hold them again, when they were healed and not even a scar remained of their injury; how it would feel to kiss their brow and hold their cheek in his palm, to see those lights stare back at him from within their eyes, full of mirth and devoid of pain; he thinks how comforting it would feel to feel you flush against him each morning, holding your warm body close and tucking them under the covers when they shift in their sleep… So many images run through his mind, and he prays he gets to see them materialize in reality.

For now he was fine with holding them, serving their needs until war reeled its ugly head again, and he had to leave once more. For his people and (Y/n) he’d grow great miles to achieve peace, even if it meant losing his own peace.

#-dragon.treasure #-better an arrow than you #Jiyan #Jiyan x reader #Jiyan x you #Jiyan x gn reader #Jiyan imagine #jiyan angst #jiyan x y/n #wuthering waves jiyan #wuwa jiyan #jiyan wuthering waves #angst to fluff #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #wuthering waves x gn reader #wuwa x reader #wuwa x you

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saltandfire-blog · 23 days

Text

All Time Favorite Lucemond Fics

Thought I’d post some baddies to help us heal from this last season.

ñuhon - When Lucerys lives and wakes up to oblivion, Aemond decides that—more than an eye for an eye—Lucerys in his entirety would be for Aemond to completely own.

In other words: Omega Lucerys survives yet loses his memories, and Alpha Aemond takes his revenge on him creatively.

Holy fuck, this might actually be one my favorite fics of all time. INCREDIBLY well written and perhaps one of the most tragic/romantic lucemond pieces I’ve ever read. I also find myself adoring the Daeron/Joffrey dynamic that is unexpectedly thrown in that I didn’t know I wanted.

all I had to give - Lucerys has waited for Aemond to find him again since his fall. He is only surprised it took this long.

I think this was technically my first a/b/o lucemond verse fic that blew my heart away. Aemond and Luke’s portrayal in this might actually be my favorite. And the added Alysmond is a +❤️

real gods require blood - Before King Viserys I Targaryen draws his last breath, the Greens make their move. Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family find themselves prisoners in the Red Keep, cut off from their dragons and at the mercy of a new king.

Terrified of what fate awaits his family, Lucerys Velaryon turns to the only person at court willing to help him, no matter the price he has to pay.

Or: Lucerys offers himself in exchange for his family’s safety. Aemond could never refuse.

Not only is this fucking incredible to read, it might be my favorite smutty fic out there. The dialogue between Aemond and Luke just hits sooooo amazingly, this is one of those fics I go back to regularly to reread. I await the authors part 2 of this with baited breath!

Consanguinity - When the bastard Addam of Hull claims Seasmoke, it throws House Velaryon into disarray. All except Corlys, who spies the perfect opportunity to help his heir out of the delicate situation he has found himself in with an impromptu suggestion.

Though quite why Prince Aemond seems so affronted by the match is anyone’s guess.

Speaking of fics I go back to reread - this is definitely another one!! @nashiriel is an absolutely incredible writer and I can’t wait to see where she goes with this! I don’t like to spoil other people’s work…but I love a pregnant Lucerys a/b/o verse with a deliciously angsty twist ❤️

Divenire - Lucerys survives Storm's End however now he needs to survive Aemond, his obsession over a debt paid and the Dance of the Dragons.

This is one of the first Lucerys/Aemond fics that blew my mind. Is it insanely demented and toxic? Yes. Is it amazingly well written? YES! You decide if it’s your cup of tea, but I always return back to this one every once in a while when I want a pure hate no happy ending fic.

Heir of the Tides series - In 120 AC, Aemond Targaryen lost an eye to his nephew. In 129 AC, he demands the price to be paid.

Later on, Lucerys Velaryon will tell his mother that it was a fair exchange. (or, the author went out and wrote the eye fic she so wanted to read).

I admit, I am an absolute sucker for the idea of Luke taking his own eye out. Add on top of that a Luke who takes more of a role in his Velaryon inheritance - and can’t forget the battle of the Gullet 🤌🏻 !! Definitely a series to invest in.

Life for life, eye for eye - Aemond finds his nephew, somehow surviving the death of his dragon over Shipbreaker Bay, washed ashore, an empty socket where his right eye should be. The message, to Aemond, is obvious: the gods have given Luke to him, to do with him as he sees fit.

Meanwhile, when Luke wakes up, prisoner to his uncle, his world quickly narrows to one thing and one thing alone: surviving, so he can return to his mother, and the rest of his family, alive.

In which Aemond surpasses Daemon for title of 'worst uncle' by several miles and Luke suffers.

Ok so please beware, this is about as dark as it gets. If you’re triggered easily, this isn’t the fic for you. It explores extreme Lima and Stockholm syndrome forsure, but if you’re into this ship I’m sure you must know it consists of a broad spectrum of very dark, toxic fics, and this is one that just so happens is amazingly well written. Please keep in mind, if you don’t like, don’t fucking read.

Portrait of a Prince on Fire - Ser Luke Strong, legitimised bastard of the lord of Harrenhal, has found favour at the sumptuous court of Viserys I as a court painter. But he is also Lucerys Waters, unacknowledged bastard of Princess Rhaenyra of Dragonstone. The secret of his true parentage and the life he could’ve had eats him up, and he drowns his regrets in drink and brawling.

Prince Aemond hasn’t been seen outside court since he lost his eye, over a decade ago. Now he is about to be wed — and the king commissions Luke to paint the portrait that will be sent to Aemond’s betrothed.

They hate each other at first sight — but as Viserys lies dying, the portrait sets them on a collision course that will send them spiralling inexorably together. And as the realm descends into war, they will have to decide whether to hold on to each other as the world they knew begins to shatter.

Another fic I am completely obsessed with! @fruitageoforanges has probably written one of my all time favorite portrayals of Aemond and I love the refreshing take on Lucerys I’ve never seen done before in this ship. A 17th century AU that has an awesome amount of fashion I adore and is an absolute must read 😉❤️

Star-Crossed - Lucerys is taken captive by the Greens after his fall. When Aemond is assigned as his constant guard, and so constant companion, the romance that blooms between them spins the Dance of the Dragons on its head.

Or: two young lovers from rival factions of the royal family come together in a violent world.

I can’t list off lucemond fics without giving this one an honorable mention.

Dirección de la Luz - A decade had passed since Hwa Yeong was exiled from Yin. He had traveled through the entire empire three times and still had not found his death.

Until one day he met the dragon prince.

Or: Pregnant and solely with the company of his dragon Arrax, Lucerys Velaryon travels to the Yi Ti Empire and begins a new life away from his family and Aemond Targaryen.

A fic published in Spanish, but there is a translated version linked or you can translate yourself as I found myself doing because this story drew me in SO hard I couldn’t wait for the translator to update lol. This is such an original idea and SO fascinating to read with the authors portrayal of Yi Ti culture with such amazing detail!! I can’t give this author enough praise and encouragement to keep going!

the beast you’ve made of me - Lucerys Velaryon is no coward. He is frightened. He is alone. He is a bastard. He is a prisoner of a war he would do anything to stop. But he is no coward.

Lucerys survives Shipbreaker Bay. Aemond is baptised in the storm. This is the aftermath.

If you want Team Green Lucerys, this is your story. When you have to join the enemy to save your family with long term goals, Luke really goes through it in this one, but the political seesaw between his love for Aemond and his family is fabulous to read unfold 🤌🏻

Hope I’ve given you guys some beauties to read if you haven’t already 💎🗡️🩸

Lucemond is a beautiful, terrible place 😉

(Tried to @ as many as I could that are here on tumblr)

#lucemond #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #lucerys velaryon #fire and blood #lucemond favorites #lucerys velaryon x aemond targaryen #lucemond fanfiction #lucerys x aemond #remember: don’t like don’t read!#hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction

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kckt88 · 2 months

Text

Skoros iksos ñuhon

Summary:

Vaelyssa is not the only one at Storms End seeking the support of Borros Baratheon.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Langauage, Arguements, Vulnerability, Realisation, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, Fingering, Oral Sex, P in V.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C NIECE

Skoros iksos ñuhon - What is mine.

Word Count: 7922

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

Vermithor landed with a heavy thud in the courtyard, water spraying in every direction from the force of his landing. Princess Vaelyssa climbed down from his back; her long silver hair plastered to her face by the rain. She ran a hand down Vermithor's scaled body, feeling the warmth radiate through her fingers. The dragon let out a low, contented rumble as he nuzzled against her.

Suddenly, a louder, more ominous growl echoed through the courtyard. Vaelyssa's heart skipped a beat as she turned to see the massive form of Vhagar, looming over the wall.

If she was here, then that meant Aemond was here as well. The hostility that been brewing between their family over the years had finally erupted, now the Greens had usurped the Iron Throne and had crowned Aegon as King of the seven kingdoms, defying her mother, Rhaenyra's, rightful claim, as set forth by the recently deceased King Viserys.

Vaelyssa took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. The knights of Storm's End approached, their armour clinking softly as they moved.

“I am Princess Vaelyssa Velaryon and I have a message for Lord Borros Baratheon, on behalf of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen”.

The knight gazed at Vaelyssa; his expression unreadable as he turned and gestured for her to follow.

"Come-“ he said, his voice carrying over the rain. "Lord Borros Baratheon waits in the Great Hall."

She nodded, casting one last glance at Vermithor before following the knights. The courtyard was a blur of grey stone and wet banners as they made their way inside, the heavy wooden doors closing behind them with a resounding thud.

Inside, the Great Hall was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the walls. Lord Borros sat on his makeshift stone throne, his round imposing figure radiating authority. His eyes were sharp as they took in the sight of the drenched princess.

"Princess Vaelyssa, of house Velaryon"

As Vaelyssa stood silent, her gaze shifted to Aemond, who stood off to the side with one of Borros Baratheon's daughters. He stood tall and confident; his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of ease that belied the underlying threat he posed.

The daughter, a striking young woman with dark hair and piercing eyes, seemed captivated by his presence, her attention focused solely on him.

Aemond's expression was inscrutable, but Vaelyssa could sense the smug satisfaction radiating from him. His presence here was a calculated move, a silent assertion of the Greens' unwillingness to wait for an answer to the terms that Otto Hightower had delivered to her mother on Dragonstone. His singular amethyst eye caught the torchlight, glinting with a mix of amusement and menace.

Vaelyssa's eyes narrowed as she observed him. It had only been a number of days since she had last seen him, strutting out of the dining room after his final tribute to her younger brothers had resulted in a fist fight.

Before that she’d not seen him since that fateful night on Driftmark where he had lost an eye but gained a dragon.

Never would she forget the painful grimace on his face as the Maester’s stitched his skin back together, nor would she forget the crazed look on his mother Alicent’s face, as she demanded one of Luke’s eyes in return.

“There is a debt to be paid”.

The King had demanded that they make their apologies and show good will to one another, but no such apology came, sides were taken, and the chasm between their family widened even further.

But here, now she could not afford to show any sign of weakness or hesitation.

Her mother's claim to the throne depended on her ability to secure Lord Borros's support, and she could not let Aemond's presence intimidate her.

“Lord Borros-I brought you a message from my mother-The Queen”.

“Yet earlier today I received an envoy from the King-which is it. King or Queen. The House of the dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it” laughed Borros.

Vaelyssa glanced over at Aemond who cocked his head to the side and smirked.

“What’s your mother’s message?” asked Borros impatiently.

Vaelyssa handed a rolled up scroll to one of the escorting knights who rushed forward and handed it to Borros, who couldn’t read a single word that was written and had to summon a Maester.

Whilst the Maester relayed Rhaenyra’s message, Aemond stared at Vaelyssa, his hands still folded behind his back.

Not one to be cowed, she glared back. They had been friends when they were children but gone was the sweet boy who stole honey cakes for her, and in his place stood a man, leather clad and lithe, his features sharp almost as if he had been carved by the gods of old Valyria themselves. He truly was beautiful, just a shame he was such a loathsome cunt.

“Remind me of my father’s oath. King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids-which one of my daughters will your brother’s wed?”

“My lord-I’m afraid that only two of my brothers are of age and neither are free to marry, they are already betrothed” replied Vaelyssa.

“-And what of you Princess?” asked Borros stroking his chin.

The rain outside Storm's End intensified, turning from a steady downpour into a relentless deluge. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and lightning occasionally lit up the dark sky.

“Me? My Lord” questioned Vaelyssa.

“I have no longer have a wife-and you are of age to marry” said Borros “You are young and if you are anything like your mother, I am sure you will give me many sons”.

“My Lord I-“

“My late wife blessed me only with daughters-I am left without a male heir” replied Borros.

“Under my mother’s rule-the eldest would inherit lands and titles regardless of their gender” said Vaelyssa.

“But that is not my desire Princess-“ quipped Borros as he leaned forward slightly.

“Apologise my lord but I am not free to marry either-” replied Vaelyssa, her gaze momentarily fixed on Aemond who’s eye widened slightly at her announcement.

“Is that so?” asked Borros leaning forward slightly.

“My brother travels North to offer my hand in marriage to Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell”.

Again, Vaelyssa looked towards Aemond who’s hand was now resting around the pommel of his sword, his jaw clenched tight.

His chosen Baratheon girl was trying to speak to him, but he paid her no attention.

“Then you come with empty hands-you will tell your mother that the Lord of Storms End is not some dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes”.

“I will take your answer to the Queen” replied Vaelyssa as she bowed her head politely.

As she turned to go, the wind howled outside, and the heavy wooden doors of the hall rattled in their frames. The storm was worsening by the minute.

"Wait, Princess-" Lord Borros called out, his voice carrying over the sound of the storm. She paused and turned back to face him; her curiosity piqued.

"In good conscience, I cannot allow you to risk traveling back to Dragonstone in this storm," Lord Borros continued, his tone unexpectedly gentle. "The weather is too treacherous. I offer you a room for the night. You may leave in the morning once the storm has passed”.

Vaelyssa hesitated for a moment, then inclined her head in gratitude. "Thank you, my Lord. I accept your generous offer."

Lord Borros nodded, and then his gaze shifted to Aemond, who had been silently observing the exchange with a faint, unreadable smile. "Prince Aemond," Borros said, "I extend the same courtesy to you. It would be unwise to travel in such conditions."

Aemond's smile widened slightly, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Your hospitality is appreciated, Lord Borros. I, too, will stay until the storm passes."

Vaelyssa's eyes met Aemond's for a brief, tense moment before she turned away, following the servants who had been summoned to show her to her room. The castle corridors were dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone walls.

The sound of the storm outside seemed to grow louder, the wind howling and the rain lashing against the windows.

She was led to a modest but comfortable chamber, the bed adorned with thick furs and a fire crackling in the hearth. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the chill of the storm outside, and Vaelyssa felt a sense of weariness wash over her. She thanked the servants and closed the door behind her, allowing herself a moment of solitude.

As she sat by the fire, her thoughts turned to the events of the day. The refusal of Lord Borros was a setback, but she could not dwell on it now, Storms End might be a lost cause but mayhaps her brothers would have better luck.

Cregan Stark was said to be an honourable man and if he allied with her mother then the rest of the North would follow and Lady Jeyne Arryn was their kin, it was doubtful she would turn against them.

Vaelyssa stood by the window, gazing out into the stormy night. The rain pounded against the glass, and the wind howled like a restless beast. The food the maids had recently brought was only partially eaten, and the wine was bitter on her tongue.

Almost as if he sensed her unease, Vermithor’s deafening roar pierced through the storm. His massive, bronze-scaled form was a reassuring presence in the midst of her lingering uncertainty.

Almost immediately, Vhagar answered with an equally impressive roar, her call reverberating through the walls of Storm's End.

Vaelyssa let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, seeing Aemond here had unsettled her and she couldn’t stop thinking of the look he had on his face when she announced that she was not free to marry, it was the same look he’d given her when she stood next to Jacaerys in the throne room for the petition for Driftmark and again when she sat next to him at the feast.

Never had a man looked at her in that way before.

She began to undress, her mind preoccupied with the events of the day and the challenges that lay ahead.

As she removed her outer garments, the door to her chamber suddenly opened. Startled, she turned to see Aemond standing there dressed in only a cotton shirt and leather trousers, his tall figure framed by the flickering light of the torches in the hallway. He stepped quickly inside, and shut the door, making sure to lock it behind him.

"What do you want, Aemond?" Vaelyssa demanded, her voice steady but edged with irritation. "Leave, or I will make you."

Aemond's lips curled into a smirk, his single amethyst eye glinting with amusement. "The fight would be little challenge," he said, his tone mocking.

“You clearly don’t know me very well” replied Vaelyssa, he face growing hot as she noticed Aemond’s gaze sweeping over her, pausing at her breasts which were no doubt visible through the thin material of her shift.

Aemond closed the distance between them, a determined glint in his eye. "There is a debt to pay" he said, his voice low as he reached up and removed his eyepatch, revealing the sapphire embedded in the socket where his left eye had once been.

Clearly her uncle was trying to intimidate her, but she would not fall for his provocations.

Vaelyssa scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Is that supposed to frighten me? Because I can tell you now that it doesn’t, and neither does it impress me qȳbor" (Uncle).

Aemond's jaw tightened, his anger barely contained. "What if I demanded your eye in payment for the one, I lost?" he asked.

Vaelyssa met his gaze unflinchingly, her expression defiant. "Not my debt to pay and I thought your claim of Vhagar was worth the loss of an eye," she retorted. "Or is your hoary old bitch of a dragon no longer worth it?"

The insult hit its mark, and Aemond's face twisted with fury. His fists clenched at his sides.

"You dare speak of Vhagar that way?" he hissed, his voice trembling with rage. "You know nothing of what it means to ride her, to command the largest dragon in the world."

"Tell me, Aemond," she began, her tone mocking, "Do you truly believe the almighty Vhagar could withstand a combined attack from Vermithor, Caraxes, and Meleys? She might be the largest dragon in the world, but even she is not invincible."

Aemond simply stared at her, his expression unreadable as he processed her words.

"You always seem so eager to remind everyone how large Vhagar is," said Vaelyssa, a sly smile playing on her lips. "One might wonder if you're trying to overcompensate for other-smaller matters."

Aemond's face twisted in anger once again "You think you're so clever," he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "But your sharp tongue won't save you from the reality of this war-your mother is not fit to rule.”

Vaelyssa's eyes blazed with defiance as she met his gaze. "And what about your precious Greens?" she shot back. "You cling to the throne like parasites. Your brother is nothing but a puppet, and you, Aemond, are his most pathetic string."

“You dare-“

“Tell me, does it sting knowing that your older, wastrel of a brother is given everything while you, the dutiful son, gets nothing?”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I do,” Vaelyssa purred as she reached out and ran a finger down Aemond’s chest. “Tell me, do you not envision yourself sitting upon the Iron Throne? Don’t you think yourself worthy to be King? Or are you content with always living in Aegon’s shadow?”

Aemond’s fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. “You think you can provoke me with your petty words?”

“Petty?” Vaelyssa laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. “-I’m merely pointing out the obvious. You serve, you obey, you sacrifice, and for what? To watch your drunken, whoring wastrel of a brother wear the crown that you believe should have been yours?”

Aemond took a step forward, his face contorted with anger. “Aegon is the King. That is the order of things.”

“The order of things?” Vaelyssa scoffed. “And you, so loyal and dutiful, never once imagined it differently? Never once thought that you could do better, be better?”

Aemond’s eye blazed with fury, and he took another menacing step toward her. “You presume too much”.

“Do I?” she challenged, her voice cold and piercing. “Or is it that I’ve struck a nerve? You can lie to yourself, Aemond, but deep down, you know the truth. You want the throne, you crave it, it is my mother’s by right, she is the named heir”.

“Viserys changed his mind”.

“According to who?” snapped Vaelyssa, her voice sharp and incredulous.

“My mother was tending to him in his final moments, and he declared in her presence that he wished for Aegon to be King,” said Aemond, his tone defensive but resolute.

Vaelyssa's eyes blazed with fury. “And my grandsire who that very same day, dragged himself out of his sickbed to defend his daughter in front of the realm—only to change his mind hours later? Do me a favour,” she retorted, her voice dripping with scepticism.

“Are you calling my mother a liar?” Aemond's singular eye narrowed, his jaw tightening.

“My grandsire steadfastly upheld my mother’s status as his heir for over twenty years. He wouldn’t change his mind, not like that” Vaelyssa said, her voice firm with conviction.

Aemond's face darkened with a mixture of anger and frustration. “You think I would lie about something like this?”

“You’ll believe what you want to in order to justify your actions-this entire situation reeks of Otto Hightowers manipulations, after the death of my grandmother he shoved his own daughter under a grieving Kings nose and used her to further his own ambitions”.

“That’s not-“ muttered Aemond.

“-What happened? Of course it is. Even down his clever manipulation of Viserys. He played on my grandsire’s fears over my father and advocated for my mother to be named heir because he knew damn well that it would be easier to usurp a woman-”

“Daemon was too much of a risk-” said Aemond.

“The only risk was my father seeing Otto Hightower for what he really is-” snarled Vaelyssa.

“Loyal and unwavering-“

“A CUNT!” snarled Vaelyssa.

“Your language is unbecoming of a Princess-“

“I don’t give a flying fuck-your grandsire is nothing but an oath breaking cunt who seeks to reach far beyond his station and it’s not a question of if my mother takes back the Iron Throne, it’s when and I can tell you that when she does your grandsire will find himself a head shorter, and so will the other treasonous dogs who plotted against her”.

Aemond observed her for a moment, a strange expression on his face before he seized her by the back of her neck, pulling her close. His lips crashed into hers with a fierce, almost brutal intensity. The kiss was rough, a clash of wills, a battle for dominance.

At first, Vaelyssa was stunned, her body rigid with surprise. But as the heat of the moment consumed her, she found herself responding, pulling him closer.

The initial shock melted away, replaced by a fiery passion that surged through her veins. She returned the kiss with equal fervour, their lips moving together in a furious dance.

Aemond’s grip on her neck tightened, his other hand snaking around her waist to press her against him. Vaelyssa’s hands found their way to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him even closer.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their faces flushed. Aemond’s eye burned with a mix of anger and desire, and Vaelyssa’s own gaze mirrored that intensity.

"Is this what you wanted?" Aemond growled, his voice low and rough. "To provoke me?"

Vaelyssa’s lips curled into a defiant smirk, her breath still coming in ragged gasps. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to see if you truly were a dragon and not a slithering green Hightower snake."

Aemond’s grip on her neck loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. "You’ve seen my fire," he murmured, his voice softer but no less intense. "Now, what will you do with it?"

In response, Vaelyssa leaned in and kissed him again, this time slower, more deliberate. The passion between them didn’t wane; if anything, it grew hotter, more intense. The kiss was no longer a battle but a mutual surrender to the heat that had been building between them.

As they broke apart once more, their foreheads resting against each other, the reality of their situation began to seep back in. They were on opposite sides of a war, bound by duty and loyalty to their respective causes. But in this moment, none of that mattered. All that existed was the fire they had ignited between them.

"We are playing with fire, Aemond," Vaelyssa whispered, her voice tinged with a mixture of exhilaration and trepidation.

"Let it burn," Aemond replied, his tone equally resolute. "Let it consume us both."

Vaelyssa had lost most of her senses the moment Aemond had pressed her onto the bed and knelt down between her open legs.

“My niece-my sweetest-” whispered Aemond.

Vaelyssa’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

She bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to slowly tease her entrance.

“None of that. I want to hear how good I make you feel” growled Aemond as he began moving his tongue against her, in rhythm with his fingers.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Vaelyssa, as she writhed against the sheets.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen. Come for me” whispered Aemond, his tongue moving across her pearl.

Vaelyssa arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond slowly crawled up her body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Vaelyssa blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself issa zaldrīzes” muttered Aemond, as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth, sucking off her slick. (My dragon).

Goosebumps erupted over Vaelyssa’s skin as Aemond removed his hand from his mouth and then took hold of her breast, his fingers teasing her rosy bud.

“A-Aemond” whimpered Vaelyssa.

“Sīr gevie” growled Aemond (So Beautiful).

“W-What are you doing?” asked Vaelyssa as Aemond’s hand slid down her body and began teasing her folds.

“I-I need to prepare you a little more” whispered Aemond.

“P-prepare me?” whispered Vaelyssa.

“I assume you are a maiden-I don’t want to hurt you” replied Aemond.

“Aemond” exclaimed Vaelyssa as he slowly slipped a finger inside her, the slick from her first peak easing the way.

Aemond buried his face in Vaelyssa’s neck as he began peppering kisses along her smooth skin as he added another finger, moving them in and out slowly.

“So warm-so wet for me” rasped Aemond, his hot breath tickling her skin.

“I-I think I’m ready” whispered Vaelyssa.

Aemond removed his fingers and then moved between her open legs, supporting his weight on his left arm as he reached down and took his hard cock in his hand and placed the tip of it against her slick entrance.

“A-Are you sure?”

“Yes-I want you Aemond-all of you” replied Vaelyssa as she felt him running his cock along her entrance.

“Y-You must tell me if it hurts” whispered Aemond.

Vaelyssa nodded and shut her eyes tight, taking a deep breath as Aemond sheathed himself within her.

“Your doing so well-” muttered Aemond trying to control himself.

“I-It h-hurts-“ whimpered Vaelyssa, the burning sensation bringing tears to her eyes.

“If it’s too much I can pull out-” offered Aemond.

“N-No just give me a moment” replied Vaelyssa softly as the tears ran down her cheeks.

Aemond leaned down and pressed gentle kisses to her cheeks, his tongue catching her fallen tears.

Aemond’s cock twitched and throbbed with need, and he released a shuddered breath while Vaelyssa sighed in relief.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond.

“I-I think you can move now” whispered Vaelyssa her hands running along the smooth plans of Aemond’s back.

Slowly Aemond withdrew and then moved forward, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Are you ok?” repeated Aemond as he thrust inside her.

“Y-yes-I think you can move faster”.

Aemond rested his head in the crook of her neck as he thrusts faster, his moans muffled against her skin.

“Ooh Aemond-that feels good” whined Vaelyssa.

“Your perfect-” whispered Aemond.

Feeling a spark of pleasure Vaelyssa dug her fingers into Aemonds back, holding him close.

“P-please Aemond. F-faster. H-harder” exclaimed Vaelyssa.

“Lyssa-” moaned Aemond as he began to pound into her, his hips slapping against hers.

“-I-I f-feel-” whimpered Vaelyssa, an odd sensation creeping across her stomach.

“-Let it happen-my sweetest, peak for me” exclaimed Aemond.

“OH-”

“Fuck-that’s it-that’s it” muttered Aemond as he slipped his hand between their bodies and slowly began rubbing her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaelyssa as her peak exploded, making her entire body shake.

“I-I’m going to give you my seed-see you all round and swollen with my child-your breasts filled with milk” moaned Aemond.

“Yes-yes. Aemond. I want it-” babbled Vaelyssa as his thrusts became more frantic.

“Fuck-” groaned Aemond as he felt the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“-Aemond” whimpered Vaelyssa.

“ñuhon, ry ñuhon” moaned Aemond pushed into the hilt for one last time, his cock throbbing as he spilled rope after rope of his seed (Mine, all mine).

“Ry aōhon” whispered Vaelyssa, as Aemond rested on top of her (All yours).

“A-Are you ok?” Aemond as he gently pulled his softened cock from Vaelyssa, he looked down and saw the mixture of his seed and her maidens blood dripping onto the sheet.

Vaelyssa nodded slowly, as she allowed him to enfold her in his arms and hold her close.

"What happens now?" asked Vaelyssa softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Are we just to go back to being enemies in the morning?"

Aemond hesitated for a moment, his fingers tracing absent patterns on her bare shoulder. "No," he replied finally, his voice low and steady. "I will accompany you to Dragonstone and declare for Rhaenyra."

Vaelyssa's eyes widened in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. "You-you would declare for my mother?" she asked, incredulous.

Aemond nodded, his expression serious. "Yes," he affirmed. "For you."

Vaelyssa searched his face, trying to comprehend his sudden change of allegiance. "Why, Aemond?" she pressed gently. "Why would you do that?"

“Nyke jaelagon naejot dīnagon ao” replied Aemond (I wish to marry you).

“My father will have his sword at your neck the moment you leave Vhagar’s side”.

“That maybe so, but surely your mother will see the benefits of our union, without Vhagar Kings Landing is vulnerable and my brother’s position as King will be weakened, no doubt your father’s bloodlust will be sated by rooting out the traitors who conspired against his Queen-” said Aemond.

“-If you declare for her, then she is to be your Queen as well” muttered Vaelyssa.

“Only if she accepts my request for your hand in marriage," admitted Aemond, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "-And by our marriage, one day I will be King."

Vaelyssa blinked, processing his words. "Is that what this is? You desire the throne, and your using me to get it” she asked quietly, her mind racing with the implications of his confession and admittedly the thought of him using her did sting.

“Do you remember when we were children, when everyone else had their dragons and we only had each other”

“Yes” muttered Vaelyssa softly.

“-How I used to steal honey cakes for you and then we’d sit under the weirwood tree dreaming of our future-”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Vaelyssa.

“My vision for the future was of us-together. We have always been fated, bound by more than blood. You label me Hightower, but I am a dragon, and I have found my treasure. We belong together you and I” muttered Aemond.

“-And the throne?” asked Vaelyssa.

Aemond sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "-I do want to be King, but only with you by my side as my Queen".

“Your ambitious, I’ll give you that-but why not just displace Aegon?” mused Vaelyssa.

"When you steal something, you spend your whole life fighting to keep it. I want a legitimate route to the throne, through the bonds of marriage".

“What about your betrothal to one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters?” she asked softly, her fingers tracing patterns on Aemond’s chest. “He might see it as an insult that you promised to wed one of his daughters, yet you plan to take another to wife.”

Aemond scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips. “A boar is nothing compared to a dragon,” he said dismissively. “Lord Borros can be placated. If your mother accepts my terms, she can make the necessary arrangements for a marriage between Floris and some lord of note.”

Vaelyssa couldn’t help but smile at his confidence, but she knew the complexities of politics couldn’t be brushed aside so easily. “And you believe Lord Borros will simply accept this?”

Aemond’s expression turned serious. “He is ambitious, but he is also pragmatic. An alliance with House Targaryen, especially one that strengthens Rhaenyra’s claim, would be more valuable than a slighted promise. Besides, Rhaenyra can offer him, a position on the council and favourable marriages for his other daughters. He will not refuse such a boon”.

Vaelyssa nodded slowly, considering his words. “You have given this a great deal of thought” she admitted. “But there may be other who whisper of false promises”.

“Let them,” Aemond replied with a shrug. “The realm is on the brink of war. Loyalties will shift, alliances will be made and broken. In the end, what matters is who sits on the Iron Throne”.

“One might think you’ve been planning this for years.”

Aemond’s gaze was intense as he held hers. “I have,” he admitted, his voice low and fervent. “You are all I’ve wanted, since I was old enough to know the ache of wants and desires. My grandsire usurping the throne convinced me that my dream would no longer be achievable, and that placing the wants and needs of others above my own desires was something I would just have to accept.”

He paused, his fingers tracing the contours of her face. “But your arrival at Storm’s End was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I am a determined man, Vaelyssa, and I learned long ago that nothing was ever going to be handed to me. If I wanted something, then I would have to take it.”

Vaelyssa’s breath caught in her throat at his confession. “You would risk everything for this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “For us?”

Aemond nodded, his expression resolute. “Yes. I would. Because for the first time, I see a path to the life I’ve always wanted. A life where I am not just the second son, where I am not bound by the whims of others. A life with you-providing of course that your mother accepts all of my terms-”

"What exactly are all of your terms, Aemond?" asked Vaelyssa curiously.

Aemond met her eyes, his expression resolute. "If Rhaenyra wants me to bend the knee to her, then she will allow us to marry," he stated firmly. "Our union will strengthen her claim and bring House Targaryen closer together, just as my dearly departed father always wanted-"

Vaelyssa nodded slowly "And what else?" she prompted.

Aemond's features softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability showing through his stern facade. "I want assurances that my family will be safe," he said, his voice quiet but determined. "-My mother, Aegon, Helaena, their children and Daeron—no harm will come to them. They must be allowed to live in peace."

“You will not advocate for your grandsire?” asked Vaelyssa.

“No-”

“Just as well, as my father wouldn’t allow him to live, not after what he’s done” replied Vaelyssa.

“Your father isn’t my only concern, your mother-” said Aemond.

"-My mother is not the monster you believe her to be," she began, her voice gentle yet firm. "Only those who actively repudiated the succession and conspired against her will be dealt with."

Aemond scoffed, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "Did she not demand that I be sharply questioned as a child?" he retorted, his voice growing colder. "To learn where I heard such slanders against her children—slanders which, by the way, are true."

Vaelyssa’s expression softened, a mix of sadness and determination in her eyes. "It doesn’t matter," she said quietly but firmly. "Laenor claimed us as his children, so therefore in the eyes of gods and men, we are his. He loved us as his, cared for us as his."

Aemond shook his head, his frustration evident. "The truth is plain to see, when it comes to your brothers at least, Rhaenyra's claim to the throne is weakened by those lies."

Vaelyssa took a deep breath, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. "The truth of our parentage does not change the fact that we are my mother’s children, and Laenor’s by law. We have the right to be acknowledged and accepted. We cannot let old grudges and suspicions destroy what we are trying to build."

Aemond’s eye softened slightly, though his jaw remained tense. "You ask much of me, Vaelyssa. To overlook what I know to be true, to forgive and forget what happened".

Vaelyssa took a deep breath, looking into Aemond’s eye with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "I am not asking you to forgive Luke for what he took from you," she began softly. "But I am asking for an understanding that all were in the wrong that night. Your claiming of Vhagar was ill-timed, at the funeral of her previous rider no less. You could have waited—but I understand. I know that feeling of not being enough, of having an egg that doesn't hatch-you weren’t the only one to be mocked for not having a dragon-”

Aemond's expression hardened slightly, but he listened intently, his jaw tense.

"-Vhagar chose you for a reason, just as my bronze fury chose me" Vaelyssa continued, her voice steady. "Your claim of her should have been celebrated, not marred by conflict. The fight shouldn’t have happened. You shouldn’t have tried to bash Jace’s head in with a rock, and Luke shouldn’t have taken your eye. But he was scared, and only wanted to defend his brother."

Aemond looked away, a mix of emotions playing across his face—anger, pain, regret. "That night changed everything," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Vaelyssa nodded, her hand reaching out to gently touch his. "It did," she agreed. "And we cannot change what happened. But we can choose how we move forward. We can choose to understand each other’s pain, to acknowledge the mistakes that were made."

Aemond turned back to her, his eye searching hers for sincerity. "And what then?" he asked, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Do we simply forget? Pretend it never happened?"

"No," Vaelyssa said firmly. "We remember, but we also strive to be better. To not let the past dictate our future. We use our pain, our experiences, to guide us in making wiser decisions, in fostering a realm where our future children won’t have to face the same heartaches."

Aemond’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his hardened exterior. "It’s not easy," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "To let go of the anger, the need for vengeance."

"I know," Vaelyssa whispered, squeezing his hand. "But we have to try. For us, for our future, and for the realm. We can’t let the mistakes of our past define who we are now or who we can become, look at what it’s done to those who came before us-We must be the ones to break the cycle, or it will just keep happening until there is nothing left of House Targaryen"

Aemond's expression shifted as he absorbed Vaelyssa's words. A flicker of amusement danced in his eye, and he leaned closer, a teasing smirk curling his lips. "Our future children, you say?" he remarked, his tone playful.

Vaelyssa blinked, momentarily taken aback. "I'm trying to be sensible here and that's what you focus on?" she retorted, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Aemond's smirk widened, a glint of mischief in his eye. "I quite like the idea of seeing you swelling with my seed," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper. "Being all full of me. I think we should do all we can to ensure my seed takes”.

Vaelyssa's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal, a shiver running down her spine at his words.

She opened her mouth to reply but found herself momentarily speechless as she felt Aemond’s hard cock pressed against her hip.

“Pār gūrogon issa, tepagon issa aōha nūmo se nyke shall tepagon ao nykeā tresy””muttered Vaelyssa as she coiled her hands in Aemond’s long silver hair (Then take me, give me your seed and I shall give you a son).

“Nyke jāhor emagon ao naenie jēdi bisa bantis” growled Aemond as he rolled on top of her (I will have you many times this night).

“Hae naenie jēdi hae ao jaelagon issa dārys” (As many times as you wish my King).

The morning sun broke through the clouds, casting a golden glow over Storm's End. The storm had cleared, leaving the air crisp and fresh.

Vaelyssa stood beside Vermithor, her hands resting on his warm, rough scales, her cheek pressed against him. "Jēda naejot jikagon lenton issa dōna," she murmured softly (Time to go home, my sweet).

Vermithor trilled happily, a low, rumbling sound that reverberated through her bones.

She took a deep breath, savouring the moment of calm before the journey ahead. As she glanced over, she saw Aemond climbing the rope ladder attached to Vhagar's saddle, his movements confident and swift.

He caught her eye and gave a slight nod, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Vaelyssa couldn't help but smile back, feeling the dull throbbing sensation between her legs—a reminder of the night they had shared.

Aemond had made good on his promise, his appetite for her had been ravenous, he kissed, sucked, licked, and fucked her well into the hours of the night. Never fully satisfied until he’d filled her with his seed another three times.

Even just this morning he had reached for her again; he had refused to let her bathe afterwards and had worked himself into such a frenzy at the thought of her returning to Dragonstone with his seed dripping from her that he bent her over the small desk and fucked her hard and fast. His fingers digging into her hips as he lost himself to the pleasure he sought, his loud moans echoing around the room as he spilled himself inside her.

She placed a hand on her stomach and wondered if his seed had already taken root. She’d had her moonblood a fortnight ago and she would not take moontea so there was a chance.

Her thoughts then turned to her mother. She had been sent to secure Borros Baratheon's support, but she was returning to Dragonstone with a far greater alliance.

Vaelyssa wondered how her mother would react to the news. Would she see the wisdom in their union, the strength it would bring to her cause? Or would she be wary of the potential complications?

Vaelyssa knew one thing for certain: she had to convince her mother of the value of this alliance. She stroked Vermithor's scales one last time before stepping back, ready to mount.

Aemond was now settled atop Vhagar, his gaze steady and unwavering as he watched her. Vaelyssa climbed onto Vermithor's back, her movements graceful and practiced. She looked over at Aemond one more time, a mixture of resolve and tenderness in her eyes.

"Ready?" Aemond called out, his voice carrying over the morning breeze.

Vaelyssa finished securing the straps of her saddle and nodded, her heart pounding with anticipation. "Ready."

With a synchronized roar, Vermithor and Vhagar spread their massive wings, the powerful beats stirring up the air around them. They took to the sky, the ground falling away beneath them as they soared higher and higher.

As they flew side by side, Vaelyssa felt a sense of exhilaration and determination. She was not just returning to Dragonstone with a message; she was bringing back a promise of unity, a chance for a brighter future.

The wind rushed past her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning the world they could build together—a world where their children would grow up in peace and prosperity.

Opening her eyes, she looked over at Aemond once more, their paths now intertwined by fate and choice. Together, they would face the challenges ahead, and together, they would shape the destiny of their house and their realm.

Vermithor and Vhagar, circled Dragonstone in wide arcs, their loud roars echoing across the cliffs and the surrounding sea, announcing their arrival to all within earshot.

As the two dragons descended, their enormous wings created gusts of wind that swept across the grassy cliffs.

They landed with resounding thuds, the ground trembling beneath their combined weight. Vaelyssa swiftly unlatched herself from Vermithor's saddle, her movements practiced and fluid. She slid down his side and landed gracefully on the ground, her gaze turning to Aemond.

Aemond climbed down the rope ladder attached to Vhagar's saddle, his every movement exuding a calm confidence. When he reached the ground, he immediately sought out Vaelyssa, his eye locking onto hers. He crossed the short distance between them and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

The pair stood firm, side by side, as they awaited the arrival of her mother and father.

It wasn’t very long before the unmistaken shuffle and clang of armour permeated through the air.

Her mother and father were slowly making their way towards them, surrounded by the Queens guard.

Daemon's hand, as always, rested on the hilt of his sword, his gaze was sharp and assessing, taking in the sight of Aemond standing beside Vaelyssa.

The golden crown atop Rhaenyra's head shone brilliantly in the sunlight, a symbol of her rightful claim to the throne and the burden of the responsibility she bore.

As Rhaenyra neared, her expression one of regal composure mixed with a hint of curiosity and concern, as Aemond's grip on Vaelyssa's hand tightened.

"Mother," Vaelyssa greeted, her voice steady, though she felt the flutter of nerves in her chest.

Rhaenyra's eyes softened as she looked at her daughter, but her gaze quickly shifted to Aemond, a mixture of suspicion and curiosity evident. "Vaelyssa” she acknowledged.

Daemon stepped forward, his gaze flicking between the two. "Why is that Hightower cunt here” he asked, his voice carrying an edge of scepticism.

Vaelyssa took a deep breath, standing taller. "Please, Father let me explain-" she began, her voice strong. "As you know I was sent to secure Lord Borros Baratheon's support-but instead I have returned with an even greater alliance."

Daemon’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze locking onto Aemond. "Explain," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for evasion.

Aemond let go of Vaelyssa’s hand and stepped forward, he unsheathed his sword and dropped to one knee.

“I Aemond of House Targaryen pledge my loyalty and that of Vhagar to you Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm-”

Daemon's gaze bore into Aemond with a piercing intensity, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. "And what assurance do we have, that this isn't some ploy?" he demanded, his voice edged with scepticism. "How do we know you're not seeking to gain our trust only to betray us later?”

Aemond met Daemon's challenging stare, his expression resolute "I swear upon my honour" he declared firmly, his voice carrying across the tense silence "My intentions are honest. I wish no harm to Queen Rhaenyra or her rule”.

Vaelyssa stepped forward, her voice joining Aemond's in earnest plea. "Father, please," she urged, her eyes pleading with Daemon. "Aemond has shown his commitment. He risked much to declare his support openly. We must consider the alliance this could bring."

Daemon's expression softened slightly as he regarded his daughter, then turned back to Aemond. "Words are wind," he stated bluntly, his tone challenging. "Actions speak louder. What will you do to prove your loyalty boy?"

Aemond's jaw clenched briefly before he spoke, his voice steady and unwavering. "I will swear any oath, undergo any trial, to prove my sincerity," he replied, his gaze locked with Daemon's.

Rhaenyra, who had been observing the exchange with a measured silence, finally spoke. "Daemon, let us hear him," she said softly, her eyes never leaving Aemond's face. "Let us hear what he proposes."

Daemon considered his wife's words, then nodded slowly. "Very well," he agreed, his voice gruff. "Speak, Aemond. What oath will you swear to prove your loyalty to the rightful Queen?"

Aemond straightened, the weight of the moment heavy upon him. He rose to his feet and took a step forward, his gaze unwavering as he addressed the Queen and her consort. "I swear by the old gods-" he began solemnly, "-that I will serve the rightful Queen with unwavering loyalty and devotion."

A murmur rippled through the Queen's Guard, and Rhaenyra raised a hand to silence them, her eyes never leaving Aemond's face. "And what do you seek in return?" she asked, her voice cool and measured.

Aemond glanced at Vaelyssa, drawing strength from her presence. "I ask for your daughter's hand in marriage," he said clearly. "And assurances that my family—my mother, my siblings and their children—will be kept safe and unharmed."

"And why do you not advocate for your grandsire?" Rhaenyra questioned; her voice measured.

Aemond met her gaze evenly. "Because it would be a pointless endeavour- he actively conspired against you" he replied firmly.

Daemon's voice cut through the silence that followed. "Who were Otto's co-conspirators?" he demanded, his tone sharp and demanding. "There is no way he acted alone. Speak the truth, boy-"

Aemond's jaw tightened briefly, his resolve unwavering. "I will name those I know of," he answered, his voice steady. "But I cannot guarantee it is an exhaustive list."

He took a breath and began, each name a weighty admission in the cold air. "Tyland Lannister” he stated plainly, his gaze flicking briefly to Vaelyssa "As well as Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle and Larys Strong-”

“I shall see everyone of those traitorous cunts suffer for this-” snarled Daemon, his knuckles turning white as he tightly gripped the hilt of Dark Sister.

Rhaenyra considered Aemond’s words carefully and finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke.

"I agree to your terms, brother-" Rhaenyra declared, her voice resonating with authority. "I will guarantee the safety of Alicent, Aegon, Helaena, their children, and Daeron."

Aemond's expression softened slightly, a flicker of relief crossing his features. Beside him, Vaelyssa's eyes shone with gratitude and hope.

"But-" Rhaenyra continued, her tone firm, "-Only when I have reclaimed the Iron Throne will I permit you and Vaelyssa to marry. For now, you will be betrothed, as a pledge of our alliance."

Aemond bowed his head respectfully. "Gratitude-Your Grace”

"Now the two of you will be escorted inside-" Rhaenyra announced, her voice commanding yet tinged with a touch of warmth. "-Baths will be prepared. You both smell of dragon"

Vaelyssa and Aemond exchanged a glance, their expressions reflecting a mixture of relief and anticipation. "Of course, Your Grace," Aemond responded respectfully.

"And I expect the both of you at dinner tonight," Rhaenyra added firmly, her eyes shifting between them to emphasize her expectations.

"Yes mother-” Vaelyssa affirmed with a nod, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within her.

As they turned to make their way back toward Dragonstone, Daemon halted Vaelyssa with a gentle yet firm grasp on her arm.

Aemond hesitated momentarily, but Vaelyssa reassured him with a reassuring glance and a soft-spoken promise to join him shortly. He nodded and followed Rhaenyra and the Queen's Guard towards the castle.

Alone with her father, Vaelyssa felt a surge of pride mingled with a touch of vulnerability as Daemon gently took her face in his hands and turned her head to the side to see the various love bites that graced her skin.

"Well done-” muttered Daemon, his voice gruff yet tinged with unmistakable approval.

Vaelyssa smiled, her heart swelling with gratitude at his words. "I learned from the best,"

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292 notes · View notes

madame-fear · 9 months

Note

req: a reader who has dragon dreams sort of like helaena, and foresees what happens at storms end, so she begs lucerys not to go? or syraight up sneaks along with him?

*ೃ༄ 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐁 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐓 𝐕𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐑 (𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐨) .ೃ࿐

★ amira speaks! : This was very entertaining to write my dear Nonnie, thank you very much for requesting it and I truly hope you enjoy it + it was what you expected !! 💕 — summary : [ — ✧ request ] — word count : 1.3k

— pairing : lucerys velaryon x prophetic!reader — genre : slight angst, but turns into fluff. mentions of reader seeing Luke’s death at Storm’s End.

“Mother will be sending me to Storm’s End in the morrow.”

It was daunting, to remember his words as you spoke earlier during the day.

It was daunting enough for you to know, that Lucerys would be going to Storm’s End by himself while his brother Jacaerys was to be sent to Winterfell. You understood the implicances of the imminent war and the need for alliances between Houses, especially if Rhaenyra had to claim her birthright — but at the same time, something inside of you felt wrong at the thought of Lucerys going to seek alliance to House Baratheon.

A gut feeling, perhaps. And when it came to guiding yourself by your own intuition, you were never wrong. Most of the time, Rhaenyra often seeked your thoughts and intuition in certain cases, and whenever you spoke about the rights or wrongs of anything, it never failed in certainty.

But what was worse, was when you foresaw situations through your own dreams. Your breath hitched sharply, and the sound of your silk sheets being continously ruffled as you shifted ubcomfortably from one side and another invaded your chambers. It wasn’t uncommon for you to have those type of foreseeing dreams, and you dreaded it. Especially when it came to life-depending situations.

By the moment you abruptly woke up from your sleep, panting heavily and with your body drenched in your own sweat, the rowdy noise of the violent storm you had seen in your dreams remained disturbing you. You mentally could still hear the wicked, mocking laughter of Aemond Targaryen while riding Vhagar, haunting Luke as he chased after him, calling out for the young Velaryon and the “debt” he owed him — his eye.

The noise of the loud thunders cracking violently leisurely faded away as you had foreseen Luke getting away from Storm’s End in your dreams, seemingly missing Aemond out of sight as the bright skies were clear. But, suddenly, what jolted you awake trying to steady your gaspy breathing, was the sight of Vhagar harshly eating Luke as a whole, and ripping of Arrax from parts of his own body — falling into the vast sea above them.

Remembering the horrid sight, knowing deep inside of you that that was exactly what would happen to him if he travelled to Storm’s End, a lump was formed on your throat. Your lips quivered, trying to calm yourself down and fight back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes at any moment. Luke didn’t deserve such horrendous fate. It took you a few minutes until your quivering body recomposed itself, but without doubting it, you had to go tell Lucerys. You knew he would believe you in the blink of an eye.

In a hurried manner, your hand rapidly tossed the ruffled silk sheet barely covering your body, immediatly getting out of bed. Your delicate lips were partly opened, allowing soft pants to escape from them as your shaking body quickly guided your steps out of your chambers. As you got out, you shut the door behind of you quietly, surreptitiously sneaking into the halls.

Through the dimly lit halls, your feet felt as if they dragged themselves through the floor, with faint footsteps as you tried to reach Luke’s own chambers. With each quiet, sneaky step you made, you could feel a wave of corporal trembling — wobbling weakly from the fright and angst you felt at the sight of the dream. You fought hardly to hold back the tears to escape right there, and you could never want for Luke to see you in such dreadful state.

It felt an eternity to arrive to his quarters, and when you did, you wasted no time on knocking the doors; swinging open the wooden doors. Not only you hadn’t knocked because you didn’t wish to alert any passing guard, but as well because it felt like an important emergency to let him know of the dreams you had.

With his eyes fluttering open sleepily, Lucerys rapidly turned around; his brunette curly hair completely messy from having been suddenly woken up. The Velaryon Prince lazily rubbed his eyes swiftly, frowning his eyebrows in confusion. Closing the door behind of you sloppily, Luke began speaking, in a groggy, yet concerned tone. “(y/n)? Are you alright?–” you intrrupted him, crawling quickly on his bed to desperately approach him.

“Don’t go.”

“W-What?” he stuttered briefly, propping his body on the mattress by his elbows.

“I said don’t go.” you repeated slowly, breathing out some pants. The lump on your throat intensified, nearly choking you. “Don’t go to Storm’s End. Please.” those last words came as a plea, and maybe, they were.

Leisurely, his eyes blinked a few times until his sight properly adjusted to you, and his surroundings. His eyebrows remained furrowed, but his facial expression softened the moment he noticed tears beginning to gently roll through your soft skin, across your cheeks. Before he could mutter a words, a rather loud sob spurred from your lips, gazing down at the bed timidly.

“I saw you—” you paused, trying to catch your breath and stop yourself from tearing any further. His hand tenderly was placed on your arm, rubbing it. “I-I saw, in my dreams... Aemond chasing you,” the words struggled to come out. His green hazel eyes widened slightly at your dream, immediatly moving his hand gently to slip his fingers under your chin, trying to lift it to make eye contact with you.

“H-He was shouting after you, a-and...” you trailed off, feeling some more tears leaving their hot trails through your cheeks as you tried to catch some air. “A-And he... No, Vhagar, killed both Arrax and you. I-I saw it.” merely remembering the image and having to express it to Lucerys made your body feel weak. You nearly choked yourself with the lump formed on your throat.

His heart nearly dropped inside his chest, not managing to stutter a word out of his rosy lips to give you a proper response. All Luke felt able to do, was quickly wrap his arms firmly around your body as you collapsed in tears and sobs on top of him. “I-I don’t care if I have to convince you, or your mother, a thousand times–” you muttered in between sobs, desperately hugging him back. “— But I beg of you, Lucerys, please don’t go there. I can’t stand the thought of you being harmed in any way.”

Your nails scraped on his nightclothing, as if you felt the need of feeling him alive and well under your desperate clinging to his body. Lucerys, with his breath sharpened slightly at the thought of what you had foreseen in your dreams — knowing they always became true — embraced you tighter, pulling you closer to him as his hand moved up and down on your back; his caresses were an attempt to soothe you.

It felt as if his heart shattered at the mere sounds of your fervent sobbing, feeling your spilling tears leave wet spots on his nightwear. Your nose nuzzled his neck, inhaling his sweet vainilla scent, and hiding your crying face on the crook of his neck.

Luke returned the same affection for you, rocking your body slightly to the sides, seeking to comfort you as his eyes fluttered shut. You felt so comfortably warm, and Lucerys could never do anything that would possibly harm you both physically, and mentally. “I-I will not be going.” he responded, in a whisper. His nose nuzzled back your neck, moving his lips upwards to tenderly smooch the top of your head.

The mere thought of his uncle seeking revenge and chasing him down to the point Aemond managed to kill him, was frightening enough already. And of course, he could only imagine both the pain and fear you were going through when dreaming the situation, feeling every bit of the adrenaline.

“It’s alright, issa dōna riña.” he whispered back in between smooches, his hands continuing to sweetly stroke your back in a leisure manner; hearing your saddening sobs fade away at the comfort of his warmth, and his affection. Convincing his mother of not going to Storm’s End wouldn’t be a difficult task, now.

“I’m here for you now, and I’m not going anywhere else.”

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#lucerys velaryon x reader #luke velaryon x reader #lucerys strong x reader #lucerys targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon x you #hotd imagine #hotd fic #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon imagine

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novaursa · 23 days

Text

The Last Dragonslayer (2/2)

- Summary: The conclusion of a journey, for you, one of the many.

- Paring: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 1

- Bonus part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The council chamber is cold, the stone walls adorned with banners of House Targaryen, their crimson and black fabric swaying lightly in the draft. The weight of history presses down upon you, the ancient stones whispering secrets of kings and conquerors. You stand at the edge of the chamber, watching Rhaenyra from beneath the hood of your cloak. The lords seated around the table glance at you uneasily, their gazes lingering too long, discomfort plain in their eyes. You are a foreigner, an anomaly, a reminder of tales and nightmares they would rather forget.

Rhaenyra, the Queen, sits at the head of the table, her presence commanding even as shadows darken the skin beneath her eyes. She’s been restless since Daemon left for Harrenhal, pacing the halls of Dragonstone like a caged beast. Now, she listens as her advisors bicker, her expression tight, her gaze distant. They speak of the war, of the blood that’s already been spilled, and the blood that will flow if they do not act.

Alfred Broome, his voice tinged with frustration, slams his fist on the table. “We cannot continue to sit idle, Your Grace. The Greens gain more ground with each passing day! Aemond’s attack on Storm’s End—”

“—was an act of war,” interrupts Lord Celtigar, his tone measured but firm. “They have already crossed the line.”

“And yet we remain here, waiting!” Broome snaps, glaring at the others. “Waiting for what? A miracle? A sign from the gods? Aemond tried to kill Prince Lucerys, and still, we do nothing.”

You watch as Rhaenyra’s knuckles whiten, her fingers digging into the arms of her chair. Her grief is palpable, a dark cloud that has yet to lift since news of Lucerys’ narrow escape reached her. But she remains silent, her eyes flickering with a storm of emotions she refuses to let loose before these men.

It’s then that you decide to speak, your voice low, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Action without strategy is a fool’s errand, Lord Broome. Perhaps you are eager to throw away lives in a show of haste, but the Queen’s duty is to her people, not to your impatience.”

The lords turn to you, their eyes narrowing, some in suspicion, others in outright disdain. You meet their stares unflinchingly, the cold fire of your homeland reflected in your gaze. Your hand rests on the hilt of your sword—a sword older than any of them, a relic of a time when the world was shaped by fire and blood, but not by dragons alone.

Broome sneers, his lip curling. “And what would a foreigner know of our wars? Of our dragons?”

More than you could ever understand, you think, but do not say aloud. Instead, you take a step forward, the shadow of your Banshee—your mount, your companion, and your weapon—seeming to loom behind you, though it remains far from these walls. The lords shift uncomfortably as if sensing its presence. They fear it, as they should.

“I know,” you say, your voice steady, “that Aemond did more than just attack Storm’s End. He was driven away. Chased off by something he did not expect, and that something was me. You may not trust my motives, but understand this: I have chosen to stand with the Queen, to see balance preserved in Westeros. You would do well to heed her wisdom and not let your fear cloud your judgment.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours across the table, and for a moment, the storm within her clears. There is gratitude there, and something else—something that has lingered between you since the night you arrived at Dragonstone, the night you saved her son. The pull between you is undeniable, a silent promise that neither of you has yet dared to speak aloud. But in her gaze, you see it as clearly as the flames of a dragon’s breath.

Lord Celtigar clears his throat, cutting through the tension. “The Lady Y/N speaks true. We cannot act rashly. The Greens expect us to strike without thought. We must outmaneuver them, not merely meet them on the field of battle.”

The room falls silent, the lords exchanging glances. Broome’s scowl deepens, but he holds his tongue, his eyes flickering to Rhaenyra, who now seems more resolute.

Rhaenyra straightens in her seat, the weight of the crown evident on her shoulders but her voice strong. “We will act, but we will act wisely. The Greens will not find us easy prey. We will not fall into their traps, nor will we be goaded into hasty decisions. Lord Celtigar, begin preparations for the fleet. We’ll strike where they least expect it. And Lord Broome,” she adds, her gaze hardening, “you will ensure that our forces are ready when the time comes.”

Broome stiffens but nods, his anger barely concealed. “As you command, Your Grace.”

The council continues, the lords discussing strategy, but your attention drifts to Rhaenyra. The tension in her shoulders has eased slightly, but the burden she carries is still heavy. You find yourself stepping closer, a silent offering of support that she acknowledges with a slight nod, a flicker of something warm in her eyes as she turns back to the map spread out before her.

Later, when the council disperses, and the lords retreat to their chambers, you linger. The chamber is quiet now, the echo of the lords' voices fading into the stone. Rhaenyra stands by the hearth, staring into the flames, her thoughts far away. You approach her, the weight of your sword still at your side, a constant reminder of who you are and what you represent.

“You were right to keep a level head,” you say softly, your voice breaking the silence. “They do not understand the full scope of what we face.”

She turns to you, the firelight casting her features in a warm glow. For a moment, she looks younger, almost fragile, but then her eyes meet yours, and the steel within her is evident once more. “It is difficult,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “To know when to strike, and when to hold back. But with Daemon gone, I must be even more cautious. I cannot afford to lose another child… or more allies.”

“You won’t,” you reply, your voice firm. “Not while I’m here.”

A small, wry smile tugs at her lips. “I am grateful for that, Y/N. More than you know.”

The air between you shifts, charged with the unspoken words that neither of you dare to voice, not here, not now. But the promise remains, woven into the fabric of your alliance, and something deeper, something personal.

You reach out, your hand brushing against hers—a fleeting touch that sends a jolt through you both. Rhaenyra doesn’t pull away, her fingers curling slightly, as if to hold onto the warmth you offer. For a brief moment, the weight of the crown, the war, the bloodshed all fades, leaving just the two of you standing by the fire, bound by something stronger than duty.

“Stay with me,” she murmurs, her voice soft, vulnerable in a way you’ve never heard before. “Just a little longer.”

You nod, your hand gently clasping hers, the two of you standing side by side as the fire crackles softly in the hearth, the flames a quiet witness to the bond growing between you.

The wind howls through the trees, rustling the leaves and sending a shiver down your spine. The forest is dense, the shadows long as dusk begins to settle over the land. You stand alone in a clearing, your cloak billowing around you like a dark shadow, the hilt of your ancient sword gleaming faintly in the dim light. The ground beneath your feet is soft, the earth freshly disturbed by the recent passage of men and horses—Ser Criston Cole’s forces, on their way to seize Duskendale for the Greens.

The quiet of the forest is broken by the distant sound of hooves, growing louder with each passing moment. You remain still, your gaze fixed on the treeline as they emerge—riders clad in armor, their banners snapping in the wind. At their head rides Ser Criston Cole himself, his face set in a stern mask, followed closely by Ser Gwayne Hightower and several dozen men-at-arms. They slow as they approach, their horses snorting and stamping as they take in your solitary figure.

The men spread out in a semicircle, surrounding you, their weapons at the ready. Ser Criston rides closer, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your appearance. The tales of your deeds have reached his ears, no doubt—whispers of a foreigner with an ancient sword, a beast that haunts the skies, and the power to make even dragons flee. But it’s clear he does not yet understand the full measure of what stands before him.

“Who are you to stand in our path?” Criston’s voice is hard, commanding, as if the answer to his question will determine whether you live or die.

You don’t flinch under his scrutiny, your voice calm as you reply, “I am Y/N. I have come to give you a chance, Ser Criston. Turn back now, and you may yet live to see another day.”

A murmur ripples through the men, some of them exchanging uneasy glances. They’ve heard the tales too, and the sight of you standing alone, unafraid, seems to unsettle them. But Criston is unmoved, his expression hardening as he spurs his horse closer, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

“You expect me to turn tail at the sight of a woman?” He sneers, his tone dripping with disdain. “You may have frightened Aemond, but I am no craven boy. I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect the true king. Step aside, or I will cut you down where you stand.”

His men shift in their saddles, emboldened by their commander’s bravado. Ser Gwayne smirks, drawing his sword, the blade catching the dying light of the sun. “It would be wise to heed the Commander’s words, foreigner. You are far from home and outnumbered.”

You remain still, your expression unreadable, the forest around you eerily silent. The air grows colder, the breeze carrying the scent of earth and leaves. You speak again, your voice carrying an edge of steel. “This is your final warning, Ser Criston. I am not here to play games, nor am I here to waste lives. Turn back, or face the consequences.”

Criston’s eyes narrow, his patience clearly worn thin. He raises his sword, the motion sharp and decisive. “Enough of this. Men, bring me her head.”

The order is given, and the men begin to close in around you, their horses snorting, the sound of metal clinking as they draw their weapons. You don’t move, your hand resting lightly on the hilt of your sword, the weight of it familiar and comforting.

As the first rider approaches, sword raised high, you draw your blade with a fluid motion, the ancient steel singing as it cuts through the air. The rider barely has time to react before your sword meets his, the force of the blow sending a shockwave up his arm. His eyes widen in surprise, and in that moment of hesitation, you twist your blade, disarming him with a swift, practiced movement.

He falls from his horse with a cry, his weapon clattering to the ground. The other men hesitate, clearly not expecting such a swift and effortless display. But Criston’s voice rings out, cold and commanding. “Press the attack! She’s but one woman!”

But you are not just one woman. You are Y/N, the last of the Dragonslayers. And this is not your first battle.They charge at you, swords flashing in the dim light, but you are ready. Your movements are a blur, each strike precise, each parry executed with lethal grace. One by one, the riders fall, unhorsed by the skill of your blade or the sheer power behind your strikes. The clearing becomes a battlefield, the air filled with the clash of steel and the cries of men.

In the chaos, you catch sight of Ser Gwayne, his face twisted in anger as he drives his horse towards you. You meet his charge head-on, your swords clashing with a force that reverberates through your arms. He grits his teeth, pushing against you with all his strength, but you hold firm, the ancient power of your blade surging through you.

“You should have listened,” you say, your voice low, as you twist your sword, breaking his stance and sending him reeling. He barely manages to stay in the saddle, his eyes wide with shock as he realizes just how outmatched he is.

“You’re a demon!” he spits, his voice trembling as he regains his balance, but the fear is evident in his eyes.

“No,” you reply, your voice cold, “I am justice.”

With a final, powerful strike, you knock him from his horse, sending him crashing to the ground. He groans, trying to rise, but you place the tip of your sword against his throat, pinning him in place. The other men halt, unsure whether to continue their attack or flee.

Ser Criston watches the scene unfold, his face a mask of fury and disbelief. He dismounts, striding towards you, his sword at the ready. “You think you can best me?” he snarls, raising his weapon.

You turn to face him, your blade still poised at Gwayne’s throat. “I don’t think, Ser Criston. I know.”

Criston lunges at you, his strikes fast and furious, but you are faster. Your swords clash, the sound ringing through the clearing like a bell. He fights with the ferocity of a man with everything to lose, but you match him blow for blow, your movements fluid, almost effortless. He’s strong, but strength alone is not enough.

The battle drags on, but with each passing moment, Criston’s strikes become more desperate, more reckless. He overextends on a particularly vicious swing, and you seize the opportunity. You parry his strike, stepping inside his guard and slashing across his chest. He stumbles back, blood blooming across his white cloak, staining it red.

He grits his teeth, refusing to fall, but the wound has taken its toll. You don’t give him a chance to recover, pressing the attack with a series of swift, precise strikes. He barely manages to parry, each blow pushing him further back until he’s on the defensive, his movements slowing.

Finally, with a powerful upward swing, you knock his sword from his hand, sending it flying across the clearing. He falls to his knees, clutching his bleeding chest, his face pale, eyes wide with disbelief.

You stand over him, your sword raised, its tip pointed at his throat. “I warned you,” you say softly, your voice carrying the weight of inevitability.

Criston glares up at you, defiance still burning in his eyes, but there is also fear—fear of the unknown, of the force that now stands over him. “Kill me, then,” he spits. “But know this: you will never defeat one true king, Aegon.”

You lower your sword slightly, considering him for a moment. “I do not need to defeat your king, Ser Criston. I only need to preserve the balance.”

With that, you withdraw your sword, stepping back. Criston’s eyes widen in surprise, but you give him no time to react. You whistle sharply, and from the shadows of the forest, your Banshee emerges, its massive form blotting out the last of the daylight. The men around you recoil in terror as the creature lets out a bone-chilling shriek, the sound reverberating through the clearing like the cry of a thousand tortured souls.

Criston stares up at the creature, his face drained of all color, and for the first time, you see true fear in his eyes.

“Tell your king,” you say, your voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge, “that Duskendale is under my protection. And the next time we meet, I will not be so merciful.”

With that, you turn and mount your Banshee, the creature’s wings unfurling as it prepares to take flight. The men watch in stunned silence as you ascend into the sky, the wind whipping around you as your mount carries you away from the clearing and into the night.

Below, the soldiers of the Greens stand frozen, their leader humbled, their will to fight shattered. The tale of what happened in that clearing will spread, carried on the winds of fear, and it will be known that the last of the Dragonslayers walks the earth once more.

The great hall of Dragonstone is quiet as you enter, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the walls. The air is thick with the scent of salt and smoke, the sea and the dragon forges mingling to create an atmosphere that is both heavy and foreboding. Rhaenyra and her council are gathered around the massive oak table at the center of the chamber, the map of Westeros spread out before them. Their faces are drawn, tense with the weight of decisions yet to be made.

You stride forward, the sound of your boots on the stone floor echoing through the chamber. The lords and advisors turn to you, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. You are a mystery to most of them, a shadow in the midst of their struggles, but your presence commands attention.

Rhaenyra looks up from the map, her violet eyes locking onto yours. There is a quiet strength in her gaze, tempered by the grief and burdens she carries. She nods to you, her silent signal for you to speak.

“The Greens will no longer trouble themselves with coastal points, Your Grace,” you begin, your voice steady and clear. “I intercepted Ser Criston Cole’s forces before they could reach Duskendale. They were forced to retreat, and word will spread of their defeat. They will not dare to strike at our shores again, not while I stand with you.”

Murmurs ripple through the council, some lords exchanging glances of relief, others still wary of the enigmatic figure before them. But Rhaenyra’s expression is one of satisfaction, a glimmer of approval in her eyes.

“Well done, Lady Y/N,” she says, her voice carrying the authority of a queen. “You have once again proven your value to our cause.”

You incline your head slightly, acknowledging her words. “It is my duty, Your Grace.”

The council continues for a while longer, discussions of strategy and the next moves in the war filling the chamber. But you notice that Rhaenyra’s attention drifts back to you frequently, her gaze lingering as if she has something more on her mind. Finally, as the meeting draws to a close, she dismisses her advisors with a wave of her hand.

“Lady Y/N,” she calls, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. “A word, if you will.”

You nod, following her as she leads you from the great hall. The corridors of Dragonstone are dimly lit, the stone walls cold and unyielding. Rhaenyra’s pace is slow, measured, as if she is gathering her thoughts. You walk beside her in silence, the only sound the faint echoes of your footsteps.

She leads you to her chambers, a grand room that still manages to feel intimate despite its size. The air is warm here, a stark contrast to the chill of the hallways. A bath is drawn, the steam rising gently from the water, scented with herbs and oils. It’s clear that Rhaenyra sought this moment of respite, a small comfort amidst the storm of war.

She gestures for you to sit by the fire, where a table is set with a decanter of wine and two goblets. “Please, join me,” she says, her voice soft but carrying a hint of something more—curiosity, perhaps, or even a touch of longing.

You take a seat, watching as she pours the wine, the deep red liquid catching the light of the flames. She hands you a goblet, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments. The touch is fleeting, but it lingers in the air between you, unspoken.

“I wanted to speak with you, Y/N,” she begins, taking a sip of her wine as she settles into a chair opposite you. “I realize I know so little about you, despite all you’ve done for me. You’ve proven yourself a loyal ally, but there is much I would like to understand. Who are you, truly?”

You swirl the wine in your goblet, considering her question. There is so much to tell, more than could be shared in one evening, or even in a lifetime. But you see the sincerity in her eyes, the genuine desire to know you, not just as a warrior, but as a person.

“I have seen much, Your Grace,” you say slowly, your voice carrying the weight of centuries. “More than most could ever dream or fear. I have witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the death of loved ones, the shifting tides of history. From the brilliant Yo Ti Empire to the shadowed lands of Asshai, to the great wonders beyond the western seas… I have wandered this world longer than I care to remember.”

Rhaenyra listens intently, her eyes wide, a shiver running down her spine at your words. But it is not fear that grips her—it is something else, something that makes her heart quicken, her breath catch.

“How old are you?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she is almost afraid to hear the answer.

You smile faintly, the lines of your face softening as you look into the flames. “Too old, Your Grace. Old enough to have seen the world change many times over. To be bound to a Banshee is a terrible purpose.”

Rhaenyra sits back in her chair, the goblet forgotten in her hand as she takes in the enormity of your words. For a moment, the weight of your age and experience presses down upon her, making her feel small and fleeting in comparison. But then, she realizes something—despite all you have seen, all you have endured, you are here, by her side, choosing to stand with her in this tumultuous time.

She reaches out, her hand resting lightly on yours, her touch warm, grounding. “And yet you have chosen to fight for me, for Westeros. Why?”

You look at her, truly look at her, and see not just a queen burdened by war, but a woman who has suffered, who has loved and lost, and who is determined to protect what remains. “Because, Your Grace, you fight for balance. For the hope that the world might find peace, that the fire of the dragons might warm rather than burn. That is something worth fighting for.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes soften, her heart touched by your words. She gives your hand a gentle squeeze, her gaze never leaving yours. “Thank you, Y/N. For your honesty, and for your loyalty. It means more to me than I can express.”

The room seems warmer now, the tension of the day melting away as the two of you continue to talk. You share stories of your past, tales of lands and people she can only imagine, and she in turn shares her own hopes and fears, her dreams for her children, for her realm.

As the night deepens, the conversation grows more intimate, the barriers between you falling away. The flickering fire casts a soft glow on Rhaenyra’s face, highlighting the beauty and strength that have drawn you to her from the beginning. And though the specter of war still looms over you both, for this moment, in this room, there is only warmth, only connection.

The wine flows, the stories continue, and as the night wears on, the bond between you and the Black Queen deepens, becoming something more than mere alliance, more than duty.

The night deepens as you and Rhaenyra continue to talk, the warmth between you growing with each passing moment. The wine in your goblets has long since dwindled, but neither of you seems to notice, too absorbed in the quiet intimacy of your conversation. The fire crackles softly, casting flickering shadows across the room, but it is the light in Rhaenyra’s eyes that holds your attention.

As the conversation naturally lulls, a silence falls between you—not an awkward one, but rather filled with unspoken words and lingering glances. You notice how Rhaenyra’s gaze occasionally drifts to your lips, how her breath catches slightly when your hands brush. It is a delicate tension, a quiet yearning that neither of you has fully acknowledged until now.

Finally, Rhaenyra breaks the silence, her voice hushed, almost tentative. “Y/N… there is something I have been wanting to do for some time now.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the shift in her tone. “And what might that be, Your Grace?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, instead leaning in closer, her eyes locked onto yours. The distance between you shrinks until you can feel the warmth of her breath against your skin, your hearts beating in tandem. Then, without another word, she closes the remaining distance, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that is soft yet filled with a deep, unspoken desire.

The kiss is tentative at first, testing, but as you respond, it deepens, becoming more urgent, more passionate. Rhaenyra’s hand finds its way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while your own hand rests on her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric of her dress. The world outside the room fades away, leaving only the two of you, bound together in this moment.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s as you take in the reality of what just happened. Rhaenyra’s eyes are dark with desire, her voice a mere whisper as she speaks. “Join me… in the bath.”

There is no hesitation in your response, only a quiet nod of agreement. You both rise from your seats, the space between you charged with anticipation. Rhaenyra’s hand slips into yours, leading you toward the bath that still steams softly in the corner of the room. The heat from the water fills the space, creating a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

Standing beside the bath, you turn to face each other, the moment heavy with significance. Slowly, reverently, you begin to undress one another, your hands moving with a gentle purpose. Rhaenyra’s fingers trace the edges of your cloak, slipping it from your shoulders, while your own hands find the laces of her dress, loosening them with deliberate care. Each piece of clothing falls to the floor with a whisper, leaving you both bared to each other, not just in body, but in soul.

Rhaenyra’s gaze sweeps over you, appreciation and desire evident in her eyes. She reaches out, her hand trembling slightly as she brushes a lock of hair from your face, her touch tender, almost reverent. “You are… beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.

You smile softly, your own hand coming up to cup her cheek, your thumb brushing against her skin. “As are you, Rhaenyra. You are radiant.”

There is no more need for words as you step into the bath together, the water embracing you both in its warmth. You sink into the water, Rhaenyra following, her body pressing against yours as you both settle into the comfort of the bath. The heat of the water contrasts with the cool air of the room, heightening every sensation.

You share another kiss, this one slower, more languid, as if savoring each moment. Your hands begin to explore one another’s bodies, tracing the curves and lines with a tenderness that belies the passion simmering beneath the surface. You feel the strength in her arms, the softness of her skin, and the way her body trembles under your touch.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitches as your hand moves lower, finding the heat of her womanhood. She mirrors your movement, her fingers slipping between your thighs with a surety that makes you shudder. The contact is electric, sending ripples of pleasure through both of you. The world narrows to the sensation of her touch, the way her breath mingles with yours, the warmth of the water lapping at your bodies.

There is a rhythm to your movements, a dance of desire and affection that grows more intense with each passing second. Rhaenyra’s moans mix with your own, her voice breathy and desperate as she clings to you, her hips moving in time with your hand. The water sloshes gently around you, the only witness to this intimate exchange.

As the pressure builds within you both, the touches grow more urgent, the kisses more fervent. Rhaenyra’s hand tightens on your shoulder, her eyes squeezing shut as she reaches the edge. You follow her soon after, your bodies trembling together as the waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you both breathless, your hearts pounding in the aftermath.

For a moment, there is only the sound of your breathing, the gentle lap of the water, and the warmth of Rhaenyra’s body pressed against yours. Slowly, the intensity of the moment ebbs away, leaving behind a deep, abiding connection.

Rhaenyra leans her head against your shoulder, her breath warm against your neck. “That was… incredible,” she whispers, her voice still tinged with the aftershocks of pleasure.

You smile, your hand gently stroking her back as you hold her close. “It was,” you agree softly, feeling a profound sense of contentment.

The two of you remain like that for some time, simply holding each other, basking in the warmth of the water and the closeness of your bodies. There is a gentle, unspoken understanding between you now, a bond forged not just by passion but by mutual respect and deepening affection.

As the water begins to cool, Rhaenyra lifts her head, looking into your eyes with a soft smile. “Let’s dry off and rest,” she suggests, her voice gentle. “There is much we still need to talk about… but for now, I just want to be close to you.”

You nod, helping her out of the bath and wrapping yourselves in the towels that were left nearby. As you dry each other off, the touches are more tender, more affectionate, than before. There is no rush, no urgency—only the simple pleasure of being together.

Once dry, you both slip into the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin. Rhaenyra curls up beside you, her head resting on your chest, her hand lightly tracing patterns on your skin. You hold her close, your own hand gently stroking her hair, the intimacy of the moment filling you both with a deep sense of peace.

“Tell me more about your journeys,” Rhaenyra murmurs, her voice drowsy as sleep begins to tug at her.

“Of course,” you reply softly, your voice soothing as you begin to share more tales of distant lands and ancient times. Rhaenyra listens, her breathing slowing as she drifts off, content in your embrace.

As she falls asleep, you continue to hold her, your own eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. But before you succumb to sleep, you take a moment to appreciate the warmth of her body against yours, the comfort of her presence.

Together, in the quiet of the night, you both find rest, the bond between you stronger than ever before.

The dawn is just breaking over Dragonstone, casting a pale golden light across the harbor. The sea is calm, the waters reflecting the first light of day like molten glass. The ships are ready, their sails furled and waiting for the wind to carry them across the Narrow Sea. Rhaenyra stands on the dock, her expression stern, though her heart is heavy. The decision to send her children away, to safety in Pentos, has not come easily. Aegon and Viserys cling to her skirts, their young faces filled with confusion and fear, while Lucerys stands beside her, trying to put on a brave face for his younger brothers.

Jacaerys, their eldest, stands a short distance away, his jaw set in determination, though there is a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He is prepared to escort his brothers, to protect them as best he can, but the weight of responsibility is a heavy burden on such young shoulders.

Rhaenyra kneels to embrace her children, whispering words of comfort and love, even as her heart aches with the knowledge that she may not see them again for a long time—if ever. As she stands and turns to Jace, a shadow passes over the group. She looks up, expecting to see a cloud or a bird, but instead, it is you, descending from the sky on your Banshee, the creature’s leathery wings creating a powerful downdraft as it lands gracefully on the docks.

You dismount with practiced ease, your cloak billowing around you as you stride toward the group. The lords and soldiers present step back instinctively, the stories of your deeds still fresh in their minds. Jacaerys stiffens as you approach, sensing that something is about to change.

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra greets you, her voice laced with surprise but also a trace of relief. “You’ve come to see them off?”

You nod, but your gaze is focused on Jacaerys, who meets your eyes with a mixture of respect and defiance. “No, Your Grace,” you say calmly, “I’ve come to take Prince's place.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrows in confusion, and Jace steps forward, his voice firm but uncertain. “But Mother has tasked me with escorting my brothers. I can’t leave them to face this journey alone.”

“You won’t be leaving them alone, Jace,” you reply, your tone gentle but unyielding. “But your place is here, by your mother’s side. She needs you now more than ever.”

Jace opens his mouth to protest, but you raise a hand, silencing him. “You won’t make it past the Gullet,” you continue, your eyes narrowing slightly as you speak. “On my last flight, I saw ships from the Free Cities approaching fast, likely in league with the Greens. They will be waiting for you, and you will not have the strength to fight them off. But I can.”

The gravity of your words sinks in, and Rhaenyra’s hand instinctively tightens on Jace’s arm. The boy hesitates, torn between his duty to his brothers and the growing realization that you speak the truth.

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts from her son to you, her eyes searching yours. There is a deep understanding between you, born of the time you have spent together, the shared battles, and the nights spent in quiet conversation. She knows you too well, and she can sense what you are not saying.

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra begins, her voice low and laden with concern. “You intend to go alone, don’t you?”

You nod slowly, the sadness in your eyes betraying what you cannot bring yourself to say outright. “This is something I must do, Rhaenyra. It is time for me to fulfill my calling, to see this through to the end.”

“No,” Rhaenyra says firmly, shaking her head as she steps closer to you. “You are not just an ally, Y/N. You are more than that. You have become… indispensable to me, to us. I cannot let you go, not like this.”

You offer her a sad smile, one that speaks of centuries of experience, of knowing when a path must be walked alone. “I have only ever obeyed one master, Rhaenyra,” you say softly, reaching out to gently cup her cheek. “And that is my calling. This is something I must do, for myself, and for those who have gone before me. My time here is coming to an end, and it is time for me to go home.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she blinks them away, her voice breaking as she speaks. “Will I ever see you again?”

You take a deep breath, your gaze lifting to the sky, where the first stars of evening are beginning to twinkle faintly, though the sun has barely risen. “I will be watching over you every night, Rhaenyra,” you reply, your voice tender and filled with an unspoken promise. “Whenever you look up at the stars, know that I am there, looking at you.”

For a moment, there is only silence between you, the weight of the world hanging in the air. Rhaenyra reaches up, placing her hand over yours where it rests against her cheek, holding on to the warmth of your touch as if she could somehow keep you with her.

“Then promise me,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, your lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “I promise I will do everything in my power to return,” you say, your voice filled with the sincerity of your oath. But there is something unspoken in your words, a truth that both of you know but do not want to acknowledge—that sometimes, not all promises can be kept.

Rhaenyra steps back reluctantly, releasing your hand, her eyes never leaving yours. She nods, accepting your words even as her heart rebels against them. “Go, then,” she says, her voice filled with the strength of a queen but the sorrow of a woman who knows she may be losing someone dear. “But remember that you have a place here, with us, with me. And if you can… come back to it.”

You bow your head slightly in acknowledgment, your expression one of quiet resolve. “Take care of your family, Rhaenyra,” you say, turning to the children, your eyes lingering on Jacaerys for a moment. “And remember what I’ve taught you.”

With that, you mount your Banshee, the creature’s wings stretching out in preparation for flight. You glance back at Rhaenyra one last time, committing her face to memory—the strength in her eyes, the sadness in her smile—before turning your gaze forward, to the horizon where your destiny awaits.

The Banshee’s powerful wings beat the air as you take off, soaring into the sky above Dragonstone. Below, you see Rhaenyra and her children watching, growing smaller and smaller as you climb higher into the sky. The wind rushes past you, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the distant promise of what is to come.

As the island fades into the distance, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. You have made your choice, and it is the right one.

And somewhere below, on the shores of Dragonstone, a queen stands alone, her gaze lifted to the heavens, searching the skies for a glimpse of the one she has come to care for more than she ever thought possible. As the stars begin to emerge, she knows that, wherever you are, you are looking at them too, and perhaps, just perhaps, you will find your way back to her, to the home you have both made together.

But for now, all she can do is wait, and hope, and hold on to the memory of your final kiss, a promise that will echo in her heart for as long as she lives.

Years have passed, and the Red Keep stands tall against the night sky, its ancient stones bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. The castle, once a symbol of unyielding strength, now bears the weight of countless battles, of loss and victory, of the bloodshed that shaped the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, despite the passage of time, one constant remains: the stars, ever-present, watching over the realm with a silent, timeless gaze.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, now older and wearier, stands alone on the balcony of her chambers. The years have etched lines of sorrow and wisdom onto her face, and her once fiery spirit has been tempered by the trials she has endured. Her long silver hair, once a brilliant cascade, now carries strands of white, a testament to the time that has passed and the burdens she has carried. She wraps her cloak tightly around her shoulders, shielding herself from the cool night breeze that whispers through the Red Keep.

Her gaze is fixed on the sky, on the stars that glitter like diamonds against the velvety darkness. The constellations are familiar to her, their patterns etched into her memory from countless nights spent searching them for solace, for answers, for a glimpse of the past. The night is clear, the sky vast and endless, and yet Rhaenyra feels a deep, aching loneliness that even the stars cannot fill.

She lifts her chin slightly, her eyes tracing the paths of the stars as they twinkle serenely above. It has become a ritual of sorts, this nightly vigil, a way to connect with something greater than herself, to find comfort in the constancy of the heavens when everything else has changed.

But tonight, the stars seem more distant than ever.

She remembers those who have been lost to the ravages of time and war—her children, her loved ones, and the countless souls who once stood beside her. She remembers the faces of those who are no longer here, their voices now echoes in her memory. And among those memories, one stands out more vividly than the rest.

It has been years since you left her, years since you took flight from Dragonstone, vowing to protect her children, to do what needed to be done. You had promised to look after them, to see them safely to the other side of the Narrow Sea. And you had promised, in your own way, to return—to find your way back to her, to the place you both shared.

But you never did.

Rhaenyra’s heart tightens at the thought, a pang of sorrow so deep it threatens to overwhelm her. She has long since stopped searching the skies for your return, knowing deep down that you had fulfilled your destiny, whatever it may have been, and that she would never see you again. And yet, on nights like this, when the stars are particularly bright, she can’t help but wonder if somewhere, in some distant part of the world, you are still watching over her, as you had promised.

She leans against the cold stone of the balcony, her hands resting on the worn edges, her gaze unfaltering. The years have taken so much from her, but the memory of you remains, as vivid as the night you shared on Dragonstone, as real as the last kiss you gave her before you took to the skies. It is a memory she holds close, a fragment of warmth in a world that has grown increasingly colder.

The wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves of the trees far below, carrying with it the faintest scent of the sea. It is a reminder of a time long past, of a love that was as fleeting as it was profound. Rhaenyra closes her eyes for a moment, letting the wind brush against her face, imagining it is your touch, soft and comforting, as it once was.

But when she opens her eyes, the night remains as it was, unchanged, the stars twinkling impassively above. She takes a deep breath, the weight of the years pressing down on her, and yet, there is a certain peace that comes with it. She knows that you are out there, somewhere beyond the reach of mortal hands, and that perhaps, in your own way, you are still watching over her.

Rhaenyra lifts her hand, as if to touch the stars, her fingers stretching out toward the endless sky. It is a futile gesture, and she knows it, but it brings her a small measure of comfort nonetheless. She lets her hand fall back to her side, her gaze lingering on the stars for a moment longer before she turns away, retreating into the warmth of her chambers.

As she closes the balcony doors behind her, shutting out the chill of the night, Rhaenyra takes one last look at the sky. The stars continue to shine, distant and unwavering, and she knows that they will be there long after she is gone, just as they were before she was born. They are a reminder of the constancy of the universe, of the passage of time, and of the fleeting nature of life.

And as she steps back into the familiar confines of her room, she carries with her the memory of you—of the love that once was, of the promises made beneath the stars, and of the bittersweet knowledge that some things are not meant to last forever.

But even in that knowledge, there is a certain beauty, a quiet acceptance. For Rhaenyra knows that, in the end, it is not the length of time that matters, but the depth of the moments shared. And though you are gone, the memory of those moments remains, a light in the darkness, a star in the sky, guiding her even now.

And so, she closes her eyes, allowing herself to rest, knowing that, wherever you are, a part of you is still with her, in the stars above, in the memories you left behind, and in the love that will never fade, no matter how many years pass.

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