#caraxes baby boy

[kingsroad]

𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 — favorite dragon. caraxes.

[floatyflowers]

Dark! House Of The Dragon x Game of Thrones! Reader|Part 2

<<<Part 1

Through the years spent at Dragonstone, you managed to strengthen your ties with your siblings, your mother, Baela and Daemon.

You even visit Rhaenys and Corlys, and became best of friends with Rhaena despite Rhaenyra feeling possessive of you leaving her side.

This is all necessary to keep strong connections with the Velaryons, knowing very well that Rhaenys and Corlys know that you and your siblings are not their son's children

You even wore House Velaryons color at all times to please them and it worked very well.

Rhaenys and Corlys even requested to stay with them at Driftmark but Daemon and Rhaenyra rejected the idea.

Strangely enough Queen Alicent and your grandsire request the same thing, but of course, they got the same reply.

Rhaenyra felt threatened by the idea of you leaving her side and wed you to Jace earlier then expected.

Rhaenyra sensed your nervousness at the wedding and hugged you in assurance.

"Don't worry, I will be with you every step of the way, my sweet girl"

She didn't know that you remembered yours and Robb's wedding.

Daemon and Rhaenyra agreed to have the wedding on Dragonstone in the old valyrian custom.

They didn't invite anyone except the family members on Dragonstone.

Viserys was disappointed but not more angry then Alicent who found offense.

It's not like she invited Rhaenyra to Aegon and Helaena's wedding anyways.

Or maybe she did, but your mother didn't want you anywhere near the Hightowers.

Rhaenys also held grudge against Rhaenyra for doing such a thing, meanwhile Corlys was furious as he wished for the wedding to be on Driftmark.

Aemond felt heartbroken and stopped writing to you while Aegon drank away his pain.

Meanwhile Luke felt a bit jealous as he kind of had a crush on you, and your other younger siblings just enjoyed the celebrations.

Daemon encouraged Jace to impregnate you and ignore Rhaenyra's advice against having babies early.

And when you announce your pregnancy, Rhaenyra became so fearful for your life.

Especially when she saw how weak you were during the pregnancy.

You reminded her of her mother, Aemma.

Her paronia reflected on Jacaerys and Lucerys, thinking that you might not make it.

Meanwhile, in reality, you weren't ill, you were sad, because you wished for Cersei to be here.

Despite what she did to your previous husband, but still, Cersei loved you and this was clear.

On your fifth month, Rhaenyra announces that she is also pregnant just so she can support you and ease your worries.

You and Jace already chose the names for the babies, if it was a boy he will be named Aenar, and if it's a girl, then she will name Aemma.

Luke and Joffrey chose the perfect egg for the baby from your dragon's clutch.

Baela would read you stories as to pass time while you stay in bed.

When you want into labour, the whole castle went in chaos to ensure you have a safe delivery.

Daemon threatened the maesters that if anything happens to you, he will feed them to Caraxes.

Jace was on his way to support you during labour, but when he arrived, you were already holding his daughter.

Everything was going on well, with your new small family.

Until your grandsire, Corlys fell ill, and Vaemond decided to question the legitimacy of you and your full brothers.

Part 3>>>

[nrilliree]

I really hate it when people… okay, when TG stans keep pointing out that "Laenor wasn't the father!!!!!!11111oneone". Laenor was the father of Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. He wasn't their biological father, but he was their father. The father who taught them to catch fish, sing sailor shanties and who gave them candy, because he had a weakness for cake.

Yes, Jace was Harvin's biological son. But above all, he was Laenor's son. That's why in his conversation with Baela he described Harvin as gentle and fierce, which is what Harvin was like, but when describing Laenor he talked about what Laenor did.

TG can call Jace Strong, they can call him Waters, they can call him a bastard, but it doesn't change the fact that Jace was Laenor's son. That Lucerys was Laenor's son. It was because of him that Lucerys knew the sea (if he didn't, Corlys wouldn't have pointed out that Joffrey didn't know anything about the sea - so Luke was prepared to take on his role), and that Corlys loved him as his grandson, to whom he wanted to give a twin of his own dagger.

Jace emphasized that Laenor was a good father, and Harvin loved them. Luke was loved by Corlys, who wanted to give him something that would connect them. Joffrey had a toy in the shape of Caraxes - most likely given to him by Daemon, who had been his stepfather since he was a baby. Does it really hurt TG that much that Rhaenyra's boys - those "horrible bastards" - were loved by so many people, when their green lawful princes were despised even by their mother, who would sell them for her own freedom?

[queers-gambit]

Daddy Takes Care

prompt: ( requested ) in comparison, your first pregnancy was a cakewalk. this time around? not so much. good thing Daemon's there to help where he can.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader no specified House or race

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.4k+

warnings: cursing, daughter named Visenya, angst 'cause pregnancy isn't all sunshine and glow and rainbows, hurt and comfort 'cause happy (but abrupt) ending, author has never been pregnant so please forgive inaccuracies, not edited.

"My Prince! My Prince! Prince Daemon!"

Daemon purposefully ignored the errand-boy, hoisting his daughter higher on his hip. "Easy, little dragon," he spoke in High Valyrian, "Caraxes is not known for his patience."

Visenya giggled, "Caraxes likes me, Daddy."

The dragon rumbled as if in agreement, blinking his eye as Visenya laid her head on his snout; half-way out of Daemon's arms, but still maintaining a vice grip. "My Prince, please," the servant pleaded, "i-it is your wife."

Daemon whipped around, Visenya being rightened in his arms when her father glared at the young man who panted from his sprinting. "What?" Daemon demanded.

"Sh-She is with the Maesters now, my Prince, and your brother, His Grace, and the Queen Alicent, too, The baby started - "

But the lad gasped when Caraxes gave a harrowing growl as Daemon charged forward; Visenya in his arms as his dragon's breath seemingly propelled his stride forward. Visenya whimpered when Caraxes stalked out of the Dragon Pit with Daemon, only stopping when he could go no further; but he thundered his displeasure and suspicion in a grumble that made the little girl wince into Daemon's chest. "It's okay, love," Daemon told her gently in their Mothers Tongue, approaching the Royal wheelhouse they used when traveling with Visenya. He spoke softly, "We're going to see Mummy, Caraxes is just worried."

"What's wrong with Mummy?" Visenya asked in the Common Speech when they boarded.

"Go! Do not stop until we get to the Keep!" Daemon barked at the coachmen before settling his daughter down. He saw the big tears swelling in his daughter's eyes and sighed, telling her softly, "I am sorry, my sweet dragon. Daddy doesn't know what's wrong with Mummy, that scares Daddy sometimes, and when Daddy's scared, he gets a little mean."

"That's okay, Daddy," she nodded at him, looking sheepish. "I get scared, too."

"It's okay to be afraid, fear is natural," Daemon told her softly, "but it's important we do not let it define us."

Her little legs swung, "Like Lord Larys."

Daemon snickered, "Oh, you naughty girl, I told you not to repeat that."

She grinned, looking far too innocent to be Daemon's spawn. "Mummy says we should be nice to Lord Larys."

"She does?"

"Mhm," Visenya nodded, "she said 'cause he knows too much."

His head cocked, "Little Dragon, has Lord Larys ever approached Mummy? Spoken to her?"

"He tries," Visenya nodded, "but Mummy walks away, she doesn't like him." The little girl lowered her voice, telling Daemon a secret, "Mummy said his breath smells like poo."

Daemon smirked, whispering back, "I know."

When they arrived at the Red Keep, the wheelhouse was barely slowed before Daemon was scooping Visenya into his arms and getting ready to disembark. When they stopped, he didn't wait for anyone to open his doors, announce his name; he just surged out, charging for where he knew the Maester's chambers were.

However, Otto Hightower was waiting for him in the foyer, greeting, "Prince Daemon, Princess Visenya."

"Hi," Visenya waved, holding onto her father's neck shyly.

"Where is she? Where's my wife?" Daemon demanded.

"Resting in your chambers, my Prince," Otto answered, not being offended when Daemon turned heel to change direction and left him in the dust.

Nobody intercepted Daemon, but it wasn't like any tried. He didn't look at anyone, they never met his eyes; but most took note of the way he all but galloped to get to his chambers. When the shoulder that wasn't holding his daughter barged through the door, he didn't slow, just demanded, "What is this? What has happened?"

"Daemon," Viserys sighed in reprimand.

"What is the matter?" He charged forward to reach the bed. "Give Daddy a second with Mummy," he told his daughter in Valyrian as he set the little girl down and took the spot beside you instantly. You had a knowing smirk on your lips, hand taken by both of his, not even blinking when he barked, "Well? What has happened!?"

"When you take a breath, we will tell you," You told him softly, squeezing his hand and smiling with closed lips. "The Maester's have only just left, you did not miss much."

He shook his head, "I should've been here none the less."

"And deprive our little dragon rider the opportunity to bond with her favorite mate?" You teased, looking to Visenya and opening your arm (after pulling yours from Daemon's clutches), "C'mere, little one. Come to Mummy."

She was careful and slow in her movements, curling up beside you; shimmying under the covers to cuddle into your side. She pet your belly, "Does it hurt?"

"No, not right now," you answered honestly, never wanting to lie to her. It would do no good in the long run, being truthful and honest were traits you can teach (not always) and you and Daemon took it very seriously.

This was a cruel world, why sugarcoat it? So your daughter would depend on some man - some man like Larys Strong? Nope. Not on your watches. She'd be the belle of the ball with the meanest right hook in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Daemon," Viserys spoke with a calm tone, earning the attention of the room, "you must know, these sort of things can happen at anytime."

"Is it The Curse? I-Is it The Curse? Does it prevail?" He asked in desperation, looking distraught.

"No," you assured, taking your only free hand to lay one of his on your swollen belly.

"No...? No?" He repeated, then scoffed, "So, why is it I was - "

"False labor," Alicent cut him off, making his jaw steel as he glared at her. "It can occur, the mind tricks the body into thinking and reacting that it's time to deliver the babe."

"But it's too soon," he pointed out, "she's still, what? Two, maybe three months left?"

"It can happen," Alicent nodded.

He frowned, glancing at his brother, then to you. "I was with the Queen when I got this terrible pain," you explained to Daemon. "There was fluid and some blood under my skirt, we thought it couldn't be right, so, she brought me to the Maesters and sent for you."

Daemon looked vaguely surprised, leaning down to press his lips to your belly. With a sigh, his forehead rested on your bump, lifting to peck another kiss, then righten his spine, asking, "And now?"

"All was clear, I was brought back here, and your brother did not wish to leave me alone - but nothing else was able to be said before you arrived," you chuckled, caressing his cheek.

"Thank you," he told Viserys, sniffling as his eyes lifted to Alicent, "both of you, truly, thank you."

"We are family," Viserys assured, "we would not want to be elsewhere."

"There's a whole Realm to - "

"Sometimes, politics can wait and family cannot," the King spoke wisely. "We are simply relieved the Lady is feeling better and all is well. The babe will stay in her womb until the end, should she remain in bed."

"Oh, Gods, Viserys," you groaned, "we agreed not to tell him that!"

"You agreed, I did not," he shot back at you.

"What do you mean, brother?"

The King answered, "She is to remain in bed until the end of her term - with natural limitations."

"Which means?"

"She may move around the room, but not much farther; she may use the privy, keep her blood circulating, but she is to remain down for most of the time as it will help keep the babe in place."

He nodded rapidly, "Of course."

"We'll let you rest," Alicent told you both softly. "I'm sure you want time with your family."

"Actually," you sighed, "might I ask for one more favor?"

"Anything, name it," Viserys agreed.

"Take Visenya for an hour? Daemon and I need to speak privately."

"Of course," Alicent nodded, stepping up to the bed. She waited as you and Daemon promised Visenya you'd be with her soon, that you needed an adult conversation, and after giving you both a kiss on the cheek, she marched off the bed to take Alicent's hand. Viserys hobbled out after them, and when the doors shut, Daemon deflated.

"Oh, Seven fucking Hells," he muttered in a muffle against your belly. He let your hands rake into his long strands of hair, pulling any knots, just soothing him with the scrape of your nails. "I was so worried," he admitted quietly, "I just - I did not think. I have feared this possibility so much, I think I tricked myself into thinking it was reality."

"What's that, my love?"

"The Curse... The Targaryen Curse."

"Daemon - "

"We were so lucky with Visenya," his tearful eyes lifted to meet yours, "and half of the pregnancy was wasted on our worry that something would go wrong. I might've created this reality."

"You did nothing," you promised. "Neither of us caused this, it's just what happens."

"But you've suffered for months," he whispered, eyes reddening by the second. "You had endless nausea, you threw up daily, my love, you developed night terrors, and you cannot say it was anything but ideal."

"Perhaps not ideal, but so perfectly us," you answered, watching him stand with a frown. "Daemon - where are you - "

"I only mean to change," he promised, already shedding his clothing and boots and weapons belt. When he joined you in bed again, he laid off your legs but beside them, head on your belly to hold and letting your hands rake through his platinum white locks again. It was quiet for minutes longer, just enjoying the other, but he whispered, "I should've been here."

"We did not know."

"Still," he frowned, kissing your bump tenderly, whispering, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't here, but do not take it out on Mummy. She's so brave," another kiss, "so very brave to take the time and give you the most perfect place to live for now. We can't take it out on her. Not Mummy, anyone else, but not Mummy."

You felt yourself dozing off, humming in contentment when Daemon took note and started a conversation with the babe - just simply detailing his day. He said there was soon to be another clutch of dragon eggs and their sister would choose the most perfect egg for them; being all Visenya's spoken of for weeks. He told the babe how excited they all were to meet them, but when he noticed you were asleep, he hated himself for getting out of bed.

It was only to pull a dressing robe on and locate his daughter; being easy as she was in Alicent's arms two halls over - both admiring the tapestries. "Daddy said this was a big fight," Visenya was heard, pointing at the drape.

"He's right," Alicent nodded, "this depicts Aegon's Conquest."

"Big dragons," she sighed dreamily, looking at the stitching. "That's Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes. Cousin Laena rides Vhagar now."

"Very good, sweetheart," Alicent praised.

"My Queen," Daemon called, approaching almost stiffly.

"Daddy!"

"C'mere," he grunted, accepting his daughter as she lunged for his embrace. "Thank you," he told Alicent.

"Is everything all right?"

"She's resting," Daemon nodded, trying to hide his fear from his voice but Alicent saw it in his eyes.

"The Maester's know how to help, my Prince," she assured softly. "She might fight against the limitations, but it's for everyone's health. She'll be okay, Daemon," her hand reached out to gently touch his forearm, "her body just needs time to adjust."

With her words thrumming in his mind, Daemon spent the next several weeks at your bedside. He was everything and more: he got you water, tea, anything to eat; always making sure you ate even a little SOMETHING three times a day. He made sure you took your medicine, wiped your flushed skin with cold cloths, braided your hair to keep it off your flesh. He read to you, rubbed your ankles and feet to help any circulation of clots, held your trembling form when you threw up. Daemon remained strong where you felt weak, doing whatever he could to assure you that your predicament wasn't a burden to him.

"You're not listening!"

"All I do is listen!"

"Daemon!" You snapped, "For weeks now, you've been at my every beck and call - catering to my whims. You are not canceling flying with Visenya, she'll be crushed."

"But you're closer to your birthing," He pointed out sharply.

"And I have not moved from this bed in days," you snapped back. "I will endure another day of this if it means you go take Caraxes out, I hear he's been a right menace."

Daemon shook his head, but something in his posture fell from defense. It made you sit up a little and beckon to him, his hand reaching for yours as he dropped to the place beside you; leaning against your mountain of pillows. "I do not know how to do this," he whispered, leaning his head to the crook of your neck in a vulnerable show of emotion. "And I know we are learning together, but I feel pulled apart - that I will disappoint one of you while catering to the other."

"My sweet husband," you whispered against the crown of his head. "You worry for nought."

"I worry for all," he whispered. "Visenya needs me, Viserys needs me, Caraxes needs me, the bloody White Cloaks need me, you need me - "

"Do not stress yourself further about this," you insisted. "Viserys has other advisors. Visenya has her aunts, uncles, cousins, anyone she could play with. Caraxes does need you, yes," you chuckled, "but he's also violently independent so I would not worry about him. And I am under the care of the Maesters, so I'd argue only the White Cloaks need you - you are their Lord Commander, after all."

"No," he refused, "I am a husband and father first, brother second, Prince of the City third, and Lord Commander fourth. I will be where I am needed, I just do not have enough hours in the day to do it all."

"You do not need to do it all," you whispered.

"You all need me."

"Visenya and I, yes," you agreed, "your job is important, too... Fuck the rest. 'S just noise."

He chuckled, you felt the pull of his lips on your neck. He hummed into your flesh, licking gently before pulling back to mutter, "I wish you could come with us."

"I do, too," you smiled softly. "But I'll be right here for you both to come back to - tell me all about it."

Daemon chuckled, "Surely."

Speak of the Devil, and He will appear.

"MUMMY!"

"Vizzy!" You half-scolded, laughing when the door burst open to reveal your daughter in her dragon-riding gear. Not a moment later, your usual handmaid, Carlee, appeared out of breath, sighing with relief when she located Visenya. "I'm so sorry, Carlee, she's just like her father and avoids all authority," you laughed when the little girl climbed onto her father's lap.

"No, I apologize, Lady," Carlee panted, "I-I tried - but she - she's very fast."

"I've got her," Daemon dismissed stiffly, your glare doing nothing to him.

"Thank you, Carlee, we've got it from here," you amended to the kind, portly woman with greying red hair. She bowed out as you reached over to tickle Visenya, "And you, my little monster! Didn't I tell you to stop giving the nice ladies a hard time. Hmm? Yes?"

She laughed happily, squirming in Daemon's arms. He 'saved' her by snuggling his nose in her neck; the squealing continuing as she shouted, "He's tickling me, Mummy! Mummy! Mummy! Help me, Mummy!"

"Mummy can't help you," Daemon playfully growl, gnawing into her neck as she flailed in his grip.

"Daddy! Stop it!"

He sighed dramatically, "Oh, I suppose I could... If a certain princess promises to behave from now on."

"Of course, Daddy, it's riding day!" She exclaimed, settling more in his lap now that he stopped tickling her. Because it wasn't often that Daemon took her riding, she was usually always on her best behavior to ensure her favorite day actually occurred - but that didn't mean it was an exact science.

"Visenya, be good for Daddy, yes?" You directed, puckering your lips for her. She pecked them quickly, promising to be good, and then rushing away when Daemon told her to go get her gloves and boots. When alone again, he looked at you almost sadly.

"One day, we'll fly as a family," he promised, forehead to your own. "Do you need anything, love?"

"I'm good, thank you, though," you whispered. Then, your hands caressed your belly, sighing, "Not long now, huh?"

"It's both the longest and shortest time of my life," he laughed lightly. "But soon, we'll pray for the quiet of your womb again."

You laughed, bringing him in for a kiss. He reciprocated before you pulled back, insisting, "Go, before she burns the Keep down. You know Caraxes would do it, too, that beastie would do anything she says."

"So would we," he winced.

"We might wanna work on that..."

"In time," he teased, kissing you again. "Stay put."

"Yes, sir." He gave you a look, making you amend, "Yes, Daddy."

He chuckled, kissed you a final time, and then rose. Just as he was exiting the door, you heard him yelp your daughters name before a small bang - making you think Visenya had run full sprint at him and knocked him back a step or two.

Another few days dragged by. You were agitated, you were stir crazy, you were on the shortest fuse known to man. Visenya liked reading to you, working on her writing skills with you in bed; she even got to practice her hair braiding skills. When you snapped at servants and maids, Visenya was always chiding, "Mummy, that's mean."

She kept you level-headed.

Daemon was a wreck, however.

He was only one person and the fact that he needed to be several was far too stressful than he was ever willing to admit. "Daemon, my love," you called sternly, "stop your pacing and come here. Lay with me, please."

"I do not get that luxury - "

"It is not a luxury to nurture your seed in my body," you deflected. "Now, come here. Now."

Daemon glared, "Do not think you command me, woman."

"The vows we took certainly think I do. Armor off, boots off, hair down, get the fuck over here - now, Daemon."

He sighed and grumbled, grunting as he did what you told but made it known he wasn't happy about it. When he was dressed in nothing but linen trousers, he laid beside you. "Now what?" He snapped.

"Now hold your wife and child and just fucking breathe," you shot back, readjusting so you cuddled into him. "You reek tonight."

"Your list of demands did not include bathing, excuse me, Princess," he sneered in a condescending tone.

"Daemon, I just want you to take a pause," you bit. "You've been runnin' 'round with your head chopped off since finding out about this... This complication."

"I have much to do."

"I know, and that is why it's important to just slow down and simply breathe. Please, just breathe with me, Daemon, I need us both to be as okay as we can be for when this babe finally comes."

"There's no time - "

"We make our time,' you insisted. "Please, just pause."

He did, Daemon actually paused to just take a deep breath. After one, he took another... Then another, and another until he was doing it with ease and confidence. "I'm sorry," he whispered against your forehead, bringing you in closer. "I do not mean to take it out on you, pet, I am just... Well, you know."

"I know you're worried," you sighed. "Which is why we need this. Tell me of your day, today?"

Daemon didn't want to at first, but then relented and started on a snowball tangent that explained his foul mood. You listened, ear pressed to his pectoral; hands tracing absent patterns on the contours of his abdomen. Daemon usually tried his best to restrain himself with you, but you actively encouraged him and the more he talked, the more words that spewed from his mouth in a messy jumble. One arm remained wrapped around you, keeping you close, and his free one moved about in exaggeration.

"And to top the day off, you know what the bloody Septa told me? The one Alicent insisted was worth utilizing?"

"Septa Amelia?"

"Whatever," he huffed.

"What'd she say to you, my Prince?"

He sighed at the endearing tone you used for his title, knowing it wasn't a reference to his real station but instead, a pet name you had for him. Daemon sighed, "That Visenya might need shipped off to Dorne to attend that grueling, military school."

"She's only just turned five - "

"I am aware," Daemon cut you off. "I cursed at her before taking Visenya."

"Good, then I shall know who to yell at, too," your voice hardened. "Why do they complain about her so? 'S all I bloody hear, how our daughter's wild and untamed - saying we are unfit parents by the looks of her."

"She's fire in her blood because she is the Dragon's Seed, just as this one is, too," His hand laid over your belly. "And yet, I cannot understand why others voice their opinions on our family, which they are not entitled to an opinion on. Visenya grows within the Red Keep, she is not some wild animal, but perhaps, she lacks stimuli."

"How could we remedy that?"

"A tutor... Or a few, perhaps. From across the Narrow Sea," he told you, already sounding like he wasn't as angry as before. "Find us proper tutors who will take her on as a student to guide her where we cannot - and where others give up. What kind of a man would I be to ignore what someone blatantly needs that I can easily provide?"

You offered a small smirk, taking a fond note, "This isn't just 'someone', Daemon, you speak of our daughter. You're so good at this, you know... Taking care of us. Daddy takes care."

He tightened his hold, "I always will, my sweet."

It was quiet again, your stomach churning with discomfort; questioning, "Though I am wondering what she did today to prompt such a comment?"

He scoffed, "So, she set fire to some curtains, who bloody cares - "

You gasped shrilly as you sat bolt upright, "Visenya did what!?"

"No, hey, no," he reached for you, "no stress, no - "

But you were hobbling out of the bed before he could stop you, grumbling the entire time; yet the moment your feet hit the floor, you paused to heave for breath, stood, and felt the trickle of fluids from between your legs. "What?" You gasped, realizing what just happened, begging, "What? No, no, no, no, not now, little one, please, stay in there!"

Daemon vaulted himself over the bed and was at your side in an instant, guiding you to sit once more and promising, "I will get the Maesters. Just ease yourself, no stress, no worries, I'll get help - I'll get the Maester's." He meant to move away.

"No," you insisted, reaching for his tunic's collar to grip, yank, and hold him close, "I need you with me. We all do, please, do not leave me to do this life alone. D-Daemon, please, I'm so scared, do not leave me, I can't do this without you."

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised, taking your hand to hold, "but I need to get you help. Please, my love, you need the help."

You whimpered and got back on the bed by yourself as Daemon raced for the chamber door. He only took half a step, then shouted, "YOU! HEY, YOU! GET THE BLOODY MAESTERS! NOW! YOUR PRINCE DEMANDS IT!"

Ignoring whatever else he shouted, you got comfortable as the cramps began to twist in your lower gut - shooting pains down your legs, up your back, even tingling into your fingers. Sweat took hold of you like a bad fever, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew something couldn't be completely right. This sensation was strange, it wasn't at all a feeling you had when pregnant with Visenya.

Hours drug by as if sap dripping from a tree.

Your pain increased; sweating, grunting, moaning, groaning with displeasure. Daemon was stoic and quiet, just watching you writhe in pain as his heart cemented in his chest to sink into his feet and anchor him there. Visenya wasn't anything like this; he'd been present for that birth, too, and remember thinking how easy it appeared since the baby practically fell out of you.

This was much different.

"My Prince," the Maester approached him with a deep frown, "a word?"

"What?" He snapped, watching the Maester step to the side. Daemon sighed and followed, glaring, arms crossing as he demanded, "What is it?"

"My Prince, the babe will not come. I do not wish to beat around this bush, so I will tell you plainly. Sometimes, when the fetus is in a compromising position, a decision must be made: either the babe is cut from the womb and it survives or they both die or only the babe dies - there was a way to remove the baby surgically if that's the case. But you need to choose."

"Why do I have to choose? It's her decision - her body, her life, her choice."

"She is delirious with pain," the Maester deflected, "and if the babe is a boy, wouldn't you rather know and have him?"

"And lose my wife?" Daemon growled. "I think the fuck not. You will not put this decision on me, it is for her to decide."

He pushed past everyone to take the spot beside you and instantly pick up your hand. "Daemon," you sobbed, "for fuck's sake, please, please, just let this be over. Get the babe out."

"You're almost there, sweetheart."

But one of the Septas assisting the Maesters squeaked in mild alarm, and when Daemon looked, there was a significant amount of blood blooming under you. "She's bleeding, could be a hemorrhage," the Maester rushed, lifting your thin gown to judge the birthing canal.

"What's wrong?" You asked in a half-slur.

"Nothing, you're okay," Daemon assured softly, kissing your hand.

Your screams through labor echoed through empty stone halls. Your pain was tangible, your fear paramount. "What's wrong!?" You begged the room, "Why aren't they coming? Why won't our baby come?"

"We're trying, Princess," A Septa spoke softly.

You only cried until your exhaustion outweighed your consciousness; your mind going blank, eyes rolling back, and slipping into the weighted darkness from the blood loss. Daemon frantically shook your shoulder, begging, "My love, please! Wake up! Wake up now! What's going on!?"

"There's too much blood!"

"I told you to choose!" The Maester snapped at Daemon. "Now they will both lose their lives!"

Daemon felt his chest hallow - figuring the words were true enough. He couldn't decide, he refused to, and now you suffered and the possibility of losing your child was larger than before. "My Prince," a Septa approached, "you need to wait outside."

"No - "

"They need to operate, you cannot linger here," she insisted. "You will be called for."

He steeled his jaw, pointing a warning finger at the Maester, "Don't make the cut else your loved ones will only see you on a spike around the Red Keep."

Prince Daemon waited outside for another few hours. He paced, he refused food and drink, he simply wanted to be in there with you but had to begrudgingly put faith into the medical team working on you. He smirked when he saw his daughter, Visenya, round the distant corner and sprint up to him - Carlee chasing her.

"Are you skipping lessons, again, Little Dragon?" Daemon grunted as he caught his daughter - swinging her onto his hip by using the momentum from catching her.

"Where's Mummy and the baby?" She demanded.

Daemon sighed, "The baby doesn't want to come out, yet, love, so we can't see them yet."

"But it's been a day, Daddy!" She whined.

"I know, pet," he sighed with a frown, glancing at the closed door. "It's all right," he told the maid, "she can remain here with us."

"My Prince, she'd miss - "

"Lessons? You dare try to say lessons are more important?" He snapped.

"Daemon," Viserys frowned from his wheelchair. "Your anger is misplaced."

He hummed, readjusting his daughter on his hip as Alicent dismissed Carlee; letting Daemon begin to pace again. When the door opened, he whipped around, but only an in-training Maester slipped out of the room - giving no time to peer inside. "Well?" Daemon demanded.

"We are still working, My Prince, but I am to fetch more material," he answered, nodding once, then dashing away. It did nothing to settle his nerves, in fact, they tripled when the lad returned with a procession of aids - all carrying different material. They reentered the room, and Daemon felt his heart snap.

"Stay with Uncle, Little Dragon," Daemon told his daughter, approaching Viserys, offering him the child to which he accepted. "Stay here, do not move, Daddy has to check on Mummy. Yes?"

"Is she sick?" Visenya frowned.

"I'll check, my love."

"I can go, too, Daddy."

Daemon sighed through his nose, his daughter making him melt into a pile of nothingness - but reminded himself to stay firm. "No, love, you just stay here and Daddy will check," he assured softly as Viserys lifted his hands to keep hold of the young girl and ensuring she did not follow Daemon when he nodded, turned, and shoved through the door into the birthing chamber.

"My Prince!"

But Daemon couldn't move.

There was blood everywhere. Soiled linens, a drenched nightgown, scattered puddles of splattered life source across the floor. You looked delirious, confused; not fully present in your mind, and when he noted the Milk of the Poppy, he understood your pain was trying to be managed. Blood painted up and down your thighs; blood pooling under your cunt, but there was a baby's head visible.

Startled, he rushed for your side and knelt to take your hand. "My love," he breathed, "can you hear me? Are you with me? Please. Please, sweet wife, open your eyes and look at me."

When you did, he could tell you were unfocused and unsure who he was before realization dawned over your facial expression. "Daemon," you whispered, squeezing his hand slightly.

"I'm here, love," he promised. "Right here - I'm with you."

"The baby?"

"Almost," he promised, watching your eyes flutter.

"She needs to push, my Prince," the birthing maester instructed. "C'mon, c'mon, now's the time - push! Push, Princess, push!"

"C'mon, love!" Daemon encouraged, watching sweat glisten over every exposed surface of skin; jaw clenching, bearing down and pushing with might.

The screams echoed through the Keep, only drowned out when a storm rolled in that evening. The thunder masked the profanities shouted, lightning accompanied by each scream of pain as birth split you in half. Daemon did not leave your side, encouraging you through the entire ordeal, his trousers saturating with your blood as more dripped to the floor as you pushed, pushed, pushed, and pushed with all the strength you had.

"You gotta keep goin', love," Daemon would tell you, "gotta keep fightin' for this - don't stop now. I need you with us, our children will need us, this is not something I can do alone. Please," he begged, "do not make me say goodbye. Not until we're fat and old, remember? Huh? My precious love, you're almost done, but you have to keep fighting. It'll be worth it, soon. Just keep going!"

By the following morning, a babe was being pulled from your cunt with a gushing wave of fluid and blood - reminding the Maester very briefly of cattle birth. However, while relief colored your system, the medical attendants felt panic flood theirs - muttering, hushing, consulting the baby to the side as the Maester saw you through the afterbirth. "W-Wait," you slurred, "wh-where are they? Where? Daemon, wh-what is it? Girl or boy?"

He frowned, Septas, Silent Sisters, and other maids all huddled together without your child in sight. "I-I do not know, yet, sweetheart, but remain calm. The worst is over..." But when he looked down at you, he noticed how still you laid and felt his panic skyrocket. He begged your name several times, demanding you wake up, but you remained silent and still - skin even turning clammy as sweat dried. Daemon was actually pulled out of the way, two Maesters attending to your side, and he felt impossibly in the middle.

To his left, his child. To his right, his wife. Both of whom appear in distress, both of whom hold his worry. "She's clots again," he heard from the Maesters. "Not breathing," he heard from the Septas.

So, this is what Hell was like...

A shrill cry pierced the air, adrenaline draining from Daemon's blood as he realized this only meant the babe was okay. When he was approached with the bundle, he worried, "She should be the first to hold them."

"It's all right, my Prince," the Septa spoke softly, "you may hold her now, and later, you can lay her on your wife's chest."

Daemon nodded, taking the baby. He blinked, "Did you say, 'she'?"

"A girl, my Prince, healthy, strong, full-term."

"What's wrong with her?" He demanded. "Why does my wife not wake?"

"The blood loss," a Maester muttered, "'s gotta be the blood loss."

He couldn't move or breathe. His daughter screamed, still, but he was terrified by the sight of the Maesters flocking over your still-body. Daemon protested, but once more, he was asked to leave the chamber and had to be escorted - but he wanted to remain. He wanted to linger, to watch you, to ensure you were taken care of... Yet the bundle in his arms wriggled and sobbed, reminding him that he had a responsibility to his daughter that needed his attention.

"Daemon," Alicent perked up when the door opened, eyes widening at the sight of the Targaryen swaddle.

"Brother?" Viserys worried, eyes glistening as he assumed the worst.

"She's... She's not waking up," He spoke without emotion, "the Maesters are still working."

Viserys nodded, holding a sleeping Visenya on his lap still. "You need rest," he recommended.

"No, I think I will stay," Daemon refused.

"You can't function this way," Alicent tacked on. "The Maesters will still be at work, and even after, she will not be awake for hours. Milk of the Poppy is potent, and with her exhaustion, it's sure to be an intense combination."

He nodded slowly, "I want to be here."

So, Daemon remained.

He let Visenya sit with him on the stone bench outside the birthing chamber; his brother remaining to offer moral support alongside his wife until royal obligation can calling. He remained stoic, holding his daughter and only passing her off to the wet nurse when a feeding or cleaning needed attended to. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when the doors opened, Daemon shot to his feet; leaving his infant daughter in Visenya's lap.

"She's asking for you," the Maester told Daemon, smirking slightly when the Prince charged for the room. He looked around at the disarray and how dwarfed you appeared in the bed; sheets still saturated with blood.

Never before had he felt such relief, dropping to his knees as if in prayer at your bedside; tearfully picking up your hand to kiss the back of it. "You're alive," he whispered in shock, "oh, bless the Seven, you're alive - you're still here with me. With us."

You could only manage a tired, half-smile, "Can't be rid of me that easy."

He snorted his amusement, "Thought I lost you for a moment there..."

"Sorry to scare you," you whispered, "but 's not easy pushing a baby from your cunt, huh?"

"No, definitely not. Especially a Targaryen, born of Fire and Blood," he looked close to tears, "they are known for their harsh entrance into this world."

"I'd endure all of it for our children," you mumbled, taking a long breath. "I'm tired, Daemon."

He looked to a lingering Maester, the one in training, asking, "Can she move back to our chambers?"

"She might not want to walk, yet," the lad advised, "but yes. Perhaps a familiar environment will help the healing process."

Daemon had a Maester carrying his infant daughter and escort Visenya to your living quarters while he brought you. He laid you in bed, ensuring your comfort before taking his daughter back in his arms, dismissing the staff, and telling Visenya to change into her loungewear. They were going to take a nap with Mummy...

"Daemon?" You mumbled.

"I'm here, love," he rushed to your side, "you all right? What do you need?"

"It's hurting," you frowned.

Daemon laid your daughter beside you in bed, furthest into the mattress, so he could prepare your next dose of Milk of the Poppy. Visenya, changed for the lazy day, jumped into bed with you, smiling at her new sister as Daemon changed himself. When he joined you in bed, he kept the baby between the two of you as Visenya deflated on Daemon's chest. She all but instantly fell asleep, both parents allowing for several long minutes to pass; ensuring their slumbering state.

"Did you pick a name?" You asked, tracing your fingertip along your baby's belly in soft, ticklish motions.

"Not yet," he answered. "Thought that should be a decision we agree on."

"I have no preference," you told him softly, "I'm just relieved she's here."

"You and me both," he whispered, leaning over to kiss your forehead. "You did such a good job, sweetheart, to endure this Targaryen Curse for our family - such a good job."

You smiled at him, catching his lips in a full kiss as the poppy released into your bloodstream. "I love you," you promised him.

"I love you," he echoed; the serenity surrounding you both in a warm embrace. Unable to help himself, Daemon teased, "So, when do you want our third child?"

You both had to suppress your humor to protect your sleeping daughters from being rudely woken.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[writingsofwesteros]

Imagine Daemon and his Baratheon wife he don’t love at first, bratty prince. He would at least consummate their marriage but only because she’s Valyrian and scared of Rhaenys oops. He hates that Caraxes is obsessed with her, his scary dragon getting grumpy if he hasn’t seen the princess at least once. It’s not until the maesters announce she’s with child that he has a change of heart. The blood wyrm refusing to leave the capital or storms end because he knows the prince is trying to avoid her. He won’t admit it til later but he use to love watching his dragon cuddle the princess belly for far away, happily screeching when the babe kicks. The princess would be surprised to hear that her husband had been eagerly waiting outside the doors of her labor chambers. The couple sharing a quiet moment together with their babe, a chubby little pink boy with lots of silver hair adoring his head. Daemon would be in love at the sight of his wife holding their little boy but it doesn’t mean he won’t get grumpy at his clingy dragon. The dragon refusing to take flight unless the princess joins them for the babes first flight.

THE CUTEST! Why is Caraxes so sweet, I can't deal with him.

Stupid Daemon and his ways as his poor Princess is trailing behind him :(

She would hear the comments of the Ladies in court too, but his dragon was a great comfort to her and now their bouncing baby boy

[miiroki]

𝘿𝙖𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 & 𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙘𝙚! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧/𝙤𝙘

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥'𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?

Warning: targcest, (niece and uncle) 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

one: ✶ two: ✶

It was in the wee mornings on a warm day that Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City, had been forced to partake in breaking fast with his family.

Consisting of his father Prince Baelon the Brave, his mother Alyssa Targaryen, his elder brother Prince Viserys, and his lady-wife, Aemma Arryn.

For a young prince of merely 16 name days old, Daemons world was small, and only consisted of his family, sword fighting, and Caraxes. His thoughts of marriage and husbandly duties were of no importance to him, and held no precedence in his mind.

Daemon walked the bustling halls of the Red Keep, his head held high as the servants, guards, and common men alike showed respect by bowing slightly to the young boy.

Reaching the dining room, he was welcomed with the smell of warm food, his mother calling out to him and patting the seat next to her.

Daemon quickly situated himself, readying his stomach for the food and quickly pounced on the meat pies across the table, slightly splashing Viserys’ beige tunic.

—

The day seemed to drag on for far to long. It was late into the afternoon that Daemon was made aware that he was now an uncle to two Targaryen babes.

The news had him running to the birthing chambers, where his brother and his wife sat, cooing at the whining twin girls.

Feeling awkward, Daemon stood rigid near the entrance of the large room.

“Brother, come. Would you like to see them” Viserys had hollered. If Daemon didn’t know any better he would have guessed that Viserys himself birthed the babes, he looked even more elated than Aemma did, which was hard to achieve.

Daemon shuffled quietly near the couple, and peered down at the babes. He couldn’t help but poke the cheek of the one in Viserys’ arms.

“Be gentle Daemon” Viserys somewhat scolded him.

Before Daemon could retreat his finger, the babe had grasped it with both her tiny hands, babbling quietly.

When Daemon broke free from her grasp, she started to wail, and wail she did. So he quickly extended his finger to satiate the crying newborn.

Viserys and Aemma let out a shared chuckle, before offering the babe for Daemon to hold.

“What if I drop it” He whispered.

“It is not an ‘it’ brother, her name will be Rhaella” Viserys stated while softly stroking the girls head, “and the youngest will be Rhaenyra”

Daemon reluctantly held the babe awkwardly in his arms, adjusting to fit to the curve of the squirming girl.

Once settled Rhaella quickly found comfort in her uncles arms, and fell asleep, chest slowly falling up and down. Daemon kept his eyes on her, and his gaze never faltered. He wasn’t much for babies and children, but he knew he’d adore his new niece.

Aemma giggled from her position of the bed, “Rhaella seems to be quite fond of her uncle already” she rocked the sleeping Rhaenyra calmly. “Let’s hope young Rhaenyra will feel the same way”

—

“Rhaella, come out!” A man’s voice had echoed in the gardens of the Red Keep, situated behind the throne room.

Daemon was now 1 and 20, while his darling niece was only a mere 5 name days old. She was currently playing with him by hiding in the palace bushes, that littered the gardens of the Red Keep.

“I’m coming to get you…” Daemon said tauntingly, knowing that Rhaella can hear him well thanks to her frenzied giggles, that bounced off the stone walls.

Daemon slowly stalked deeper into the garden, while his eyes followed a girl shaped shadow that darted from bush to bush.

He sighed and stopped in the middle of the grassy area, hands on his hips. “Where is that little girl? When I find her I'm going to gobble her up” he dramatically stated to himself, making sure he’s heard.

Rhaella had wanted to move to the bush to his far right but before she could leave her spot she was caught and lifted into the air.

“I got you now!” Daemon declared, lifting her by her arms and bringing her closer to his chest while he pretend to eat her dramatically like a dragon.

Rhaella’s giggles and laughter could be heard all throughout the halls of the Keep, as she flailed her arms and legs out, trying to escape the dragons grasp. “Not fair uncle” she whined, when Daemon finally settled her on his arms.

He grinned and laughed slightly, brushing parts of Rhaella’s hair away from her face. “Don’t you think your uncle is mighty and clever enough to find you wherever you are?”

Rhaella huffed and flopped into Daemons chest admitting defeat.

Daemon laughed louder as he held onto her tightly, bundling her up in his arms even as she giggled and squirmed.

[velvetcastel]

Queen Alysanne Targaryen

Young Queen Alysanne whit her dragon Silverwing and one red egg (caraxes) for her first baby boy Prince Aemon♡🐉✨️

[silmarillaure]

What you're favorite Targaryen Dragon/Rider bond says about you.

Daenerys/Drogon - You are very attached to your pets. You love them like your babies. Or you may just like joint slays between icons.

Aegon/Balerion - You like things simple and reliable.

Visenya/Vhagar - You support women's wrongs.

Rhaenys/Meraxes - All you want to do is fly a dragon, and/or you're a horse girl.

Aenys/Quicksilver - You think having a dragon as a pet would be nice.

Aegon/Quicksilver - You're a dumbass probably.

Maegor/Balerion - You wanna commit crimes.

Rhaena/Dreamfyre - You love women, and only women.

Jaehaerys/Vermithor - You've thought of yourself as an Alpha male before.

Alysanne/Silverwing - You have good vibes.

Aerea/Balerion - You are/were a rebellious child.

Alyssa/Meleys - You're a horse girl.

Baelon/Vhagar - You probably liked Pokemon as a kid.

Aemon/Caraxes - You love the idea of a beautiful Angel bonding with a terrifying creature.

Daemon/Caraxes - You think those who slay together, stay together.

Aemond/Vhagar - You like how they bring out the worst of each other.

Daeron/Tessarion - You like pretty boys, pretty animals, and joint slays.

Helaena/Dreamfyre - You're lost in you're own world 90% of the time.

Aegon/Sunfyre - You want to be loved unconditionally.

Rhaenyra/Syrax - If they're your favorite... you are a show only watcher (or show only enjoyer).

Viserys/Balerion - You don't exist lmho.

Rhaenys/Meleys - You like girlbosses.

Laena/Vhagar - You like the idea of owning an atomic bomb just for funsies.

Laenor/Seasmoke - You love the gays.

Addam/Seasmoke - You value loyalty.

Baela/Moondancer - You're also a horse girl.

Rhaena/Morning - Barbie is your idol.

[syndrossi]

Oh my god, the au where Daemon and the boys end up in Winterfell has hilarious potential.Ned is frantically looking for a way to hide 2 kids and 2 dragons, Cat is first furious because of suspicions of repeated treason and then terrified because it looks like they're about to commit treason.Robb, Jon, Bran and Theon are dying to find out what these strange children they met on the way back from the execution are.Robert if he finds out about the boy who looks like Rhaegar will be furious, Cersei is absolutely thrilled (she's willing to wait). Daemon who was "thrown" further away from Winterfell goes after his children, which horrifies half the North.I'm especially curious how Viserys and Dany will react to the new Targaryens. Jon Connington better not be told about Rhaegar, he'll have a heart attack.

Any time you throw a bunch of Targaryens and dragons into a world that has zero-to-few of either, it's gonna be a mess. And holy shit, Cersei being "willing to wait" is so horrific but also so in character. 😱 (OTOH, Daemon is also a very handsome man and not dissimilar to Rhaegar, and he's about to be seizing power. In the brief window before Daemon learns about the Lannister treachery and how it killed OG!Rhaegar's children, she might have some ambitions there.)

I hadn't thought about them encountering Jon and Rhaegar on the way back from the execution. That's probably too early, since that's when they get the dire wolves, which is roughly two months before Robert arrives. Daemon would surely have found the twins by then and/or wreaked enough havoc with Caraxes in search of them to change the course of Robert feeling safe enough to travel North. But perhaps Daemon is displaced slightly in time as well? That gives Jon and Rhaegar time to settle in, grief-stricken at losing Daemon and the world they'd grown to regard as their own, and vulnerable with their young dragons. Oh, but the heartache of Jon seeing the other Jon with baby!Ghost and feeling the loss of his own Ghost.

Viserys's instability is pretty set at this point, so I suspect he doesn't survive long once he and Dany join Daemon's growing gaggle of Targaryens. (He might even make an attempt on one of the boys to steal one of their dragons.). Since Dany is pregnant and with Drogo at this point, it might be more of a struggle to extract them unless we handwave the book timeline a bit to have Dany's marriage happen not when she's thirteen ffs.

I do think that bb!Rhaegar will be regarded as Daemon's son and not the original Rhaegar because no timeline makes sense there; he can't be Rhaegar's dead son Aegon because the ages don't match up and obviously he's not Rhaegar himself. Even DAEMON being around makes no sense, but people are slightly more willing to accept that he's himself, given Caraxes and Dark Sister. And sure, okay, he has two other sons that history doesn't know about by his first wife. But anyone who knew Rhaegar before and sees him is gonna be making those comparisons, in the same way that Resonant!Jon and Ned's Jon are gonna be compared. Eerily similar, but also noticeably different in ways where their relation to Daemon is clear.

Politically, I think it's a terrible decision for Ned to shelter the boys and their dragons, but given how alike this Jon looks to his own, and Jon himself saying things that only his Jon would know to convince him to protect them--he's going to be torn.

[bucknastysbabe]

Hi, could you write something that deals with this? ......

https://www.tumblr.com/mhsdatgo/737617577019408384/gorgeous-little-piece-of-shit-king-that-lives-in

So at first I was like lmfaooooo but then I was like wait I can put this little blonde bitch in the WORST situation. I shall do my best, thanks for the request, I hope to get back to my pathetic Aegon roots for this one.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dark divergence from canon, Aegon is more cutthroat, King Aegon, Lannister!Reader, she’s a daughter of Tyland, Tyland is on his king behavior, meanwhile dumbass Jason, Aegon has the wife parade, he’s literally still little baby man, Manipulative and morally gray reader, Aegon Is A Pain Slut, ye olde cock ring, ruined orgasms, Degredation, bratting for like 1s, breeding kink, boobs fixation, overstimmimg, pnv!sex

A/N: Wayyyyyy off canon and just so I can make this guy cry also I try to stray from making oc’s but bc it’s a Lannister reader y’know. Body type/face/skin/hair texture is up to you, just know gold hair and green eyes. Also kinda got into a storyline? Idk smut is here!!!

As Tyland Lannister’s only daughter, he sought to keep you on Casterly Rock. It was rare for a house as proud and mighty as yours not to have their fairest ladies sent to catch a dragon’s eye. Or merely have it chosen for you. Jason would’ve had you wedded and bedded to any of the white haired boys by now. Your father was stated once in a letter, “I’d liken it to a den of snakes rather than dragons.”

From his reports they were strange or downright deviant, controlled heavily by their green side of the family. Rhaenyra’s brood was of a better nature but obviously born from the seed of Harwin Strong. So you went about your duties, becoming a fine educated highborn lady to sit around and pop out babies. Maybe order fancy dresses out of boredom.

Although you childishly dreamt that a handsome white-haired man would take you dragon riding, that was not your future. Fate had other plans. Firstly, you were barred from going to the grand wedding of Prince Aemond to Lady Cassandra Baratheon. Strangely enough, it was to be held at the Hand’s gloomy accursed Harrenhal. You wrote an angry letter to your father and another to Jason, downright distraught over missing another royal wedding. You could find a potential mate at one of these gatherings!

Tyland wrote back simply, “I do not want you in that bewitched place. I have an uneasy feeling about this. I pray for you and love you dear lioness of Lannnister, still roaring her heart away.”

The initial anger faded into fear. Then the news had returned. Your Maester read the report. Dragon against dragon, blood to blood, they would call the failed union the ‘Green Wedding.’ Crown Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, all children dead but her toddling boy and blonde babes on Dragonstone

King Viserys had died the night before. Otto Hightower took matters into his own hands. Some would say it was well executed but not thought out. Princess Helaena had perished, the Blood Wyrm Caraxes attacking her in a fury before she could make it to her own dragon.

Prince Aemond and Aegon had taken to scorching Rhaenyra’s tent and all of her accompanying vassals. Harrenhal was lit aflame again— the Strongs burning up in a sea of smoke. The rest of the Hightowers had been haphazardly thrown into a wheelhouse, Queen Alicent purportedly retching and sobbing, crying for her daughter and late husband. They lay in boxes behind the cart. She had the young Daeron only for comfort.

Your mouth twisted up at the retelling of the scene of kin slaying and wretchedness. Your family had no love for the Blacks but for the Greens to so vilely destroy their own flesh and blood? You idly wondered about all of those dragons without riders. What Corlys and Rhaenys would do? She was fierce yet only had the young Baela and Rhaena.

Tyland had written to stay put, the Westerlands swore to the new King Aegon. War broke out as expected. The dragons saw an end to the strife rather quickly due to the help of Targaryen bastards mounting the riderless beasts. The realm was back under the control of the inept and horrid King Aegon the Second. They called it the half-year’s war. People spoke in hushed tones even at Casterly Rock.

Accursed family, we’re all doomed.

Otto Hightower should be sent to the wall— alas, then we’d have an idiot as a king.

Is the King going to marry soon?

You personally hoped he would marry soon. Jason had requested a portrait of you. There was no hidden reason why— he wanted lion’s blood on the already drenched Iron Throne. Your own father was staunch against that, writing that he had received a proposal from the Reynes of Castamere. You had smiled at that, their heir Ser Lynden was particularly handsome and kind. They had the riches to keep your lifestyle the same.

Not like the Targaryen’s didn’t. King Aegon could maybe see for a Dayne girl with their ashen hair and purple eyes. Or a Celtigar, they still had Valyrian blood. Mayhaps import one from Old Volantis— they claimed strong ancestry.

Alas. The raven came, your father’s anger poorly concealed.

“Even after all of my duties and help to the crown, asking for the Hand to keep my only daughter out of this, you are requested to be shown before the king along with the other highborn ladies of the Realm. I thought about setting my fool brother’s portrait on fire. Regardless, it shall be good to see my young lioness. I will be there every step of the way. Be kind.”

Your stomach sank to your toes before rising back up with anger. If that kinslaying mongrel deviant whore thought for a second he would enjoy your company? He would be sorely mistaken. Dragons may have claws, but so do lions and they are long and sharp. Huffing in anger, you stormed away from the letter.

The trip to the Red Keep was abysmal. It rained the entire way, you had to stop at Deep Den for a night to let the rains up. Their stony, cold castle was damp and you barely slept a wink. You awoke to ride to the Gold Road until the city walls and the Red Keep towered in the distance. You awed at the Dragonpit and the great Sept and it’s crystals.

Regardless of the magnificent buildings, the stench of the city was vile, air putrid with rotting fish and dung heaps. Nasty little peasants ogled your gold and red wheelhouse. Your frown deepened, anger boiling your blood. There was no way one could enjoy living here, fight to be here! King's Landing was a pile of shit with a Castle on top.

You were warmly welcomed by your father, a maid holding your dress aloft so the golden filigree wouldn’t get all mucky. Tyland hugged you and exhaustion fell over your body. You missed him dearly, the singular parent. Although your grandmother was very dear, she too had passed not too long ago.

Heads were still on pikes behind you. The smell of rot was stronger in the courtyard. You said in a miserable warble, “I detest it already, please dress me up ugly, maim me.” The fool Jason patted your back and laughed, “Ah, I missed your acrid tongue. King’s Landing is an acquired taste. Your quarters are facing the Blackwater so you can get some fresh air.”

“Others take you and that damn portrait,” you hissed at your nuncle.

Tyland led you quietly into the huge keep, prying eyes from all around. No pale-haired Targaryens to be seen. You could hear them whisper about the gold of your hair, the wealth oozing from the gown. Yes, like any of you have seen true class since the Conciliator Passed.

Once in the room you snapped at a servant to pour wine, sipping while other’s shuffled in and out to bring your trunks of goods. Tyland even spoke up, “Careful with that dress, please, it is for tomorrow.” You spat, “Tomorrow?”

He held a finger up, exhaustion lacing his face. Swirling the wine around you watched the bay and waited until it was just the two of you in a comfortable silence. Tyland had taught you that— know without speaking, listen when to listen. Tyland looked aged as he sank into the cushioned chair. He ran a hand over his face and sighed, “I thought the Dowager queen would have my back. Her son is much more willful than we thought. Otto wants our coin.”

“Borrow it from a bank and maybe they’ll root these vipers away,” you whispered under a covered hand. You’d been informed of the spies all about under Larys Strong. Tyland hummed a laugh, beckoning you over. Crawling into his lap, you felt as if you were a child again, emotions welling. You began to weep softly.

He rubbed your heaving back and shushed your cries. You hiccuped, “I-If he-he-he ch-chooses me!” Tyland sighed and finished in a quiet murmur, “You will show him that a lion is nothing to play with. King Aegon may be a pandering fool but he is easily swayed. Most of us think he has eyes for the Tyrell cousin.”

“Good,” you heaved. You cried in your father's arms until he put you to sleep at some point, kissing your forehead. Sleep was restless and pointless, you managed to gather some hours before the maidservants came to dress you.

They bathed, scrubbed, and used imported Westerland items. The smell made you homesick. They braided and twisted your hair, pinning a red and gold piece on top. The dress was just as proud— gold, rubies, pearls decorating the sleeves and neckline. Myrish lace was up to your chin, secured by a choker of more exquisite jewels and peridot to bring out your eyes. It cuffed at your wrists too. Maybe it would be too much for the weak-willed king.

The choker represented who you would always belong to— House Lannister, the sigil in solid gold and red enamel. A larger version cinched your waist. He could take the maiden with her tits corseted to her chin. The king merely needed a broodmare. A lingering voice tutted, “He may find holes where he pleases, but the king needs a queen.”

The door opened, Tyland extended an arm, lips in a tight line. He knew what you looked like. A queen.

The hall was full of highborn Ladies as you entered, you instantly recognized most of the sigils and house colors. King Aegon sat on the monstrous throne lazily, sipping wine while Otto ordered around women. A girl in the colors of Rosby didn’t even make a step up before he said, “No chin, next,” he looked down at Otto, “I’ll never believe a portrait. The Lannister girl probably looks like Jason with teats.”

Anger bubbled in your chest at his flippant demeanor and comments. The queen sat next to Otto, chiding Aegon. Thankfully you had a while in line. A while to get rightfully furious with this brat of a king! You had met squires with more dignity than he!

As you neared the imposing throne, you gauged the King’s looks. Definitely Valyrian with his pretty white waves and big violet eyes— hazy with drink and boredom. He was not of a warrior’s build, much to your chagrin. Aegon had shapely thighs but the rest seemed to be softened from his infamous gluttony.

Aegon yawned and pointed, “Redwyne? Not bad, Cole, go put her in the ‘perhaps’ section. Green eyes moved to the score of ladies looking fearful over toward the side. How crass. You could cut his cock off. So embroiled in coming up with torture scenes you blinked suddenly at the boom.

“Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock, daughter of Tyland. Aged 19.”

You stepped forward and kept your chin high, holding Aegon’s gaze intently, lips stiff. The king perked up, moving forward to get a look. He laughed, “Your father is on my council and you don’t pay obeisance?” With a grimace, you gave a weak curtsy to the young King.

Jason looked wide eyed from the side, mouthing, “PLAY NICE!”

Aegon hummed, standing up to walk down the throne, crowds gasping. As he drew closer you noticed the burns going down his cheek to curl below his collar. His violet eyes swam with something, a ringed finger tapping your tilted chin. He rasped, “A lioness for sure. Just overjoyed to get yanked from your golden castle. Is that why you out-dressed the entire kingdom?”

“I had to make sure you knew who I would always be, my liege,” you hissed, “Dragons can be tamed.”

“So can lions,” he quipped back, full lips splitting into a grin. He curled burned fingers into the lace guarding your neck. Aegon cooed, “I do wonder what you’ve got hiding under here. I’m guessing you have some nice teats. That’s my favorite game at the brothels.”

“You’re a vile little kinslaying creature.”

Otto and Alicent seemed to panic before Aegon laughed— a shrieking giggle. He stepped back up onto the dais and cheered, “I have chosen! The Lioness shall be mine blushing bride. Cheers!”

There was the sound of more defeated ladies but their fathers were likely inwardly cheering. Tyland looked ghastly grim, nuncle coming to peel him away. You refused to face the crowds, stepping over to the queen and the hand, fully curtsying. The queen grasped your palms and pled, “Please, guide him the best you can. I see a strength in you I haven’t seen since…,” she looked off and grew drawn. Lord Otto smiled, “More Lannister’s the merrier. Maybe Tyland can lighten his load.”

Aegon asked, “Alright, so when do we begin planning?”

You huffed and went to your father, hot tears soaking your cheeks. You misjudged. You thought he would be repulsed by a powerful woman. Instead he plucked you right up and now held you in this cage for a home.

‘A caged lion is still a lion, yes, yes’, you thought.

Tyland stated with a fury you had never seen before, “You will make that spoilt dragon break and bend.”

“Of course father.”

Aegon whined from between your feet, a dainty gold chain clasping his wrists, connected up to a gold collar engraved with rubies. This king you once hated belonged to you- heart and soul. He’d do anything, but you just preferred him to listen and be your pretty fuck toy. You felt love for him, differently, still love.

You wore a lace shift, the fabric barely covering anything, full tits and the gold curls of your cunt showing through. Aegon made to lave at your knee, getting slapped off. The blonde mewled, “Whyyyyy? I’ve been good?” Toeing his flushed cock, the pathetic thing whimpered and his prick oozed on the marble. You asked, “Tell me why you’re in trouble, My King?”

He swallowed around the collar, doe eyes watery and lashes clumped. Aegon’s cheeks turned red and he barked, “I’m the fucking king, I can say what I like!” You picked up the oak paddle and slapped his soft pooch of a belly, Aegon whining and writhing— the freak spurting more cum, hunching over and wheezing at the pain to his tender tummy.

“If you aren’t going to be my special boy, then I’ll just let you sit here and think about your actions.”

“No! No, I’ll be your special boy. I should not have japed at that squire over dinner.”

You cocked your head and leaned closer, “Why is that hm?”

Aegon sobbed sharply, pouty lips blubbering, “Be-be-because Iburnedhisfamilyscastleafterkinslaying.” You smiled and patted his unruly waves, smiling, “Good boy. The Seven may give you a chance. Probably not because you set your sister and uncle aflame, then proceeded to burn half the kingdom. You should be at the Wall with other war criminals.”

He nodded and cried, spreading his creamy thighs out for you. It was vastly amazing how much Aegon loved to be degraded yet praised. Your special boy. Sliding down the chair you perched on the king’s thighs, cradling his head with your sharp nails. You cooed, “Just needed a guiding hand, look how the kingdom has blossomed since you became my special boy? So pathetic and hopeless. My pretty little baby needs his queen."

He whined, arching into your touch, begging for a kiss. You relented, letting the needy little thing lap and press fervently to your own. He drooled, you wiping it away and taking over the lip lock. Nibbling gently at bitten lips, lapping into a tongue that tasted like sweetened wine. Aegon relaxed into your embrace, leaking all over your thin gown.

He began to rut and rut against your cunt, whining into your kisses. You indulged him until he was swelling and stuttering, backing off and fitting the gold ring around his cock. Aegon wailed and fell back pathetically, the ruined orgasm fucking up his senses.

“Noooo, no, no, I apologized!,” he protested meekly.

Shaking your head you shrugged, “I decide when you are absolved, not a thought in that pretty blonde head. Above men, we are gods, pfft.” He grumbled and squirmed, digging his toes down in frustration.

You returned to play with him, massaging his soft belly while suckling on the tip of his purpling prick, fingers rudely shoved up behind his heavy balls. Aegon moaned and shook, calling your name and begging for release. You drank down his bitter cum, leaking from the attention to his sweet spot from below.

You pulled off to thumb around the crown of his cock, cooing, “Oh you’re so gorgeous. My pathetic, soft little dragon. Feels so so good, yes?” He was practically riding your fingers, shying away from the intensity of the stimulation to his cockhead. The blonde keened, “S’good, g-gonna!” He wailed and thrashed harder, tears streaking a blotchy face. Only a thin stream leaked from his second ruined orgasm.

Aegon was babbling apologies now, promising dresses, jewelry, lands, his heart in a box if he could. It was garbled with his heavy tongue and fervent need. Gibberish really, if one didn’t see this side of their pouty king. What the wretch turned into when denied a good release— a snotty, sobbing, wonderfully broken mess.

He heaved sobs now, oversensitive to even the cool air. But his balls were full and swollen. Patting a limp thigh you asked gently, “Do you want to come now? Inside me? Your punishment is over.” Aegon sniffled, “Please my love.” You would keep the ring on for now but take it off once it didn’t seem he may blow on sight.

Aegon whined high in his chest, more tears falling as you eased onto his plump prick, extra swollen and hot. You gasped and grabbed blonde hair, praising, “Mmm- yes my darling precious boy. Filling your queen up good.”

He groaned and feebly arched, grabbing your tits and holding them as you rode his overused cock. Aegon cried and whined for a suck, you allowing him to take off the shift and shudder as plump lips enveloped your tits. He squirmed and lapped eagerly, loving to have a mouthful of your teats. Especially during that first pregnancy.

You were already close from the intensity of the punishment, swirling fingers around your button while unlatching the gold ring from behind. Aegon’s eyes flew open as he moaned vigorously, balls pumping you full immediately as he writhed around, still attached to your full chest. Your lashes fluttered at the warm feeling, cunt sucking and enjoying the heat, slick, and pressure of so much seed..

Hopefully this would take too. Another little one to dote on. Aegon was full on sobbing now, overwhelmed with emotions. You helped him to sit upright, still inside. He mewled, “S’too much.” You hugged his frame and cooed, pressing little kisses to his tender scars, “It’ll numb out, we want this to take do we not? Be good.”

“M’ still your special boy?,” he asked with reddened eyes.

Petting a full cheek you responded, “Knew whether I liked you or not, you would be. Hush now, relax, we’ll get some dinner and a warm bath my sweet. Tomorrow is a busy day.” He nodded and nuzzled between your tits like a babe. You smirked. Who knew this power could be claimed without bloodshed?

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Blood, grief, sadness, suicidal thoughts.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Oh boy, get the tissues ready. Mummy and daddy have returned to the Red Keep for their baby, and honestly? I think we have all been waiting for this reunion. Not long now till we finish this holy smokes! Enjoy <3

Chapter 106: The Rightful Heir 

The room rushed around you as you stared at your parents. 

How long had it been?

How long had it been since you last saw them?

Held them?

Rhaenyra’s eyes were filled with tears as she ran swiftly across the chambers towards you, her steps faltering as she saw you did not stand to meet her.

Buttoned high across her neck were her riding leathers, but across her chest was cuirass of a black armour, the insignia of your House raised at the front of it. Her long hair was braided and pulled back and away from her face, golden crown nestled amongst the silver strands.

She was dressed for battle. 

They both were.

Daemon donned riding leather and armour alike. His hair was messed, braided back and half down, pressed against his scalp likely from the weight of his helmet, which was nowhere to be seen; tossed to the ground as he ran through the Keep with your mother in search of you.

Each pauldron was crafted to look as though they were dragon wings, curling down over the length of his shoulders and upper arms. Each rerebrace and and vambrace slotted over each other down his arms like dragon scales. The same for his chest piece and faulds, perfectly made to look like the belly scales of Caraxes, dripping down his body sharply, meanly.

A new set of armour you had not seen before, made for this moment.

“Y/n?” Rhaenyra whispered, almost in disbelief, head tilted as she looked at you.

But your fathers reaction was different. 

He walked slowly, as though assessing a risk in the room, as though he was waiting for some unseen danger to reveal itself. As if you were being used as bait to lure the two of them out. 

But it wasn't just his careful scouting of the chambers in search of his nephew, his eyes told another story. A story which entailed just how shocked he was to see you, in the way that you were, blood covered and crown atop your head. Your fathers mind not quite catching up to the image before him. 

Daemon's eyes cast over Larys Strong’s body, jaw tensing, but then a small smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

It reminded you so much of Aemond.

And yet you did not move towards them. You sat and watched as your parents looked up at you from the bottom of the Iron Throne. Questions on the tips of their tongues, barely held resolve vibrating in their bodies.

It was clear they wished to come to you, run to you and hold you, but they didn't, and all because you didn't take the first steps.

Your heart ached in your chest. You wished they could feel it. Feel how much you wished to run to them, to leap into their arms and feel their hands and lips against your cheeks and head. To smell their scents around you, and hold them to you finally, in ways that you had longed to for months on end.

But you could not move, like you had grown to the throne, flesh and bones curling around each pommel and blade that your weight sat heavily on. Unable to lift yourself from it as you leant back, gut churning with anxiety. But what was more, an unavoidable rage and anger prevented you.

Prevented you from giving up something you had given so much for.

The war.

The losses.

Aemond.

You breathed deeply.

“I’ve had some time to think.” You licked your lips, the skin dry and cracked as you spoke down to them, Rhaenyra’s posture stiffening, and Daemon’s eyes roaming your body rapidly, finally landing at the bloodied crown that sat atop your head.

"About what I have done." You continued, voice becoming louder, firmer, more authoritative, "What I have endured to sit here. What I have had to do to sit here. And the more I sit, the more I think; Why?”

Rhaenyra shifted on her spot, brows furrowed in concern as she looked over you, trying to assess if any of the blood that was drying upon your skin was yours, “Why what, my sweet?”

Your lungs expanded as you sucked in a deep breath, the sound of guards and men outside yelling, no doubt Rhaenyra and Daemon’s, claiming the Red Keep and Kings Landing. 

But it was the bitterness of disdain that settled heavily upon your tongue, the anger that you would have to live forever more with your choices, the denial of it creeping across your skin.

In that moment, in those months you had been locked away, kept away, trapped, it was hard to not feel anger. To not feel hate. Or pain. Or anguish. To not feel righteous and justifiable disdain at all who did not suffer the way you had.

And so you channeled that rage, and you let it pour from you like a steady stream of fire.

“Why should I give the throne to you?” Your voice sounded foreign as it passed your lips. The presence of a silver haired man in your periphery as you spoke caused you to inhale sharply, blinking to try and get him out of your sight, “Why should you sit here, on a throne I have earnt with my blood? Why should you sit here, after all I have done to ensure it. After all I have lost. After all I have sacrificed.”

“Tala," Daughter, Daemon's voice rose, confusion, concern, and sorrow in his voice, "Skoros ēza-“ What has-, But your voice raised higher, angry and resentful as you interrupted him, Rhaenyra flinching at his side.

“-I have earnt this, more than you." You sneered down at them, "I have been raped and defiled for this throne." You watched their faces crumpled, "I have been beaten and mocked, before the court... The realm, to laugh at, to jest. Trapped and kept from my family in this vipers nest for a year! I have lost a child, and gained another to survive. To win this throne for you.” Your heart beat rapidly against your chest as blood rushed in your ears.

Rhaenyra’s face crumpled further, the softness of her eyebrows pulled down, and the violet of her eyes seemingly sparkling as tears gathered in the corners. 

Even in her sorrows, she was beautiful.

Daemon however, looked enraged. 

“But what have you done for me?” Your voice cracked, “You left me here.” You took a shuddering breath, watching as Rhaenyra shook her head in denial, chest rising and falling brokenly.

But then your voice hardened, lips twitching as you held back a sneer, "You made Jacaerys your successor, and me your Hand." You scoffed, "I have lost a dragon and gained another. I have been plucked from the sky and lived. The small folk say we are closer to Gods than man, but I must be a God if I am standing here today. If I sit where I sit. If I have survived what I have endured.”

Rhaenyra’s guards flooded the chambers, ensuring the safety of their Queen and King, eyes all cast up to you, their daughter, who sat upon the Iron Throne, Conquerors Crown atop her head. 

Your knuckles gripped the arms of the throne tightly, blade of your dagger scrapping loudly against one of the swords as you leant forward, “It is I the eldest daughter, the Merciless Queen, who should sit this throne. I have earnt it. It is mine by right.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s brow hardened, and her lips pulled down as you spoke, though a traitorous tear escaped her eye, sliding down her face. Daemon shifted beside her, looking up at you through his white lashes, his jaw ticking and hands at his side flexing.

“So you are to depose me of the throne? Like my brother? Your own mother?” Her voice cut across the chambers.

Your nostrils flared, trying to push the tide that surged within you. But it built, just as it always did, rising and climbing inside of you, dragging you down into its cold and murky depths, suffocating you in its clutches.

It was sorrow.

Loss.

Grief.

You licked your lips again, voice crackling in the back of your throat as you felt your own tears prick at your eyes, "The thought of sitting here, despite me earning it with my own hands, is agonising, muña." Mother, You clutched a hand against your chest, wringing the bloodied chemise in your fist, and watched as Rhaenyra's head tilted to the side sadly.

"It fills me with sorrow, knowing that sitting here would mean to depose you. That it would be another usurpation of the Iron Throne. Another of my own mother, who I love dearly. Who I have suffered for months for. And my father. Kepa.” Father, Your lips shook as you spoke, a small sob falling from them as you said kepa.

A tear tracked down your cheek, “It tears my heart in two to even think of such a thing, the pain more mighty than what has been done to it these past moons.” You shook your head, clenching the arm of the throne, a sharp sting running up your fingertips, the blades of the slicing at the flesh that gripped them tightly, knuckles white.

“I did this all for you, muña. I stayed for you. Because I love you, because it is your birthright. Because it was my duty. So much so, that I have committed the most egregious of sins. I have done something that can never be undone." A loud sob filled the chambers, "I will never be whole again.”

It was quiet. 

So very quiet in the throne chambers as you mother and father looked at you with tear filled eyes, wet tracks sliding down Rhaenyra's face. But they waited, they waited for you to continue, as they always have done, knowing that you had not had a chance to be open with them for so long, opening the door for you to speak your truth, which had been taken from you since the very moment you had arrived to the Red Keep. 

Your chest ached, pain spreading across your body, and up your throat.

Was this how Aemond felt? When you betrayed him?

When you pierced his throat with the blade he had given you?

Was this how it felt when he looked up at you as he died?

That lump settled in the back of your throat once again as you desperately tried to swallow it.

“Iksan ēdrugī." I am tired, "I am weary, muña. Eman issare pryjatan, kepa." I have been broken, father. "And yet I sit on this throne, babe in my stomach; the son of the One-Eyed King." Rhaenyra's eyes widened, "A man I loved. A man I killed. And all for you. I pierced his throat with mine own dagger in our bed; a dagger he gifted me, to keep me safe from Aegon. And what did I do?” Another tear slid past your cheek.

"I betrayed him." You sneered, anger at yourself rising.

Daemon lifted a foot and set it on the first step below the throne, his hand holding Rhaenyra’s tightly for grounding. The both of them wishing to run to you, to hold you, to feel you with their hands and make sure you were real, and not an illusion.

But the chill was back. And Aemond's presence in your periphery became harder, and harder to ignore.

You wished it was anyone but him.

Lucerys, Helaena, even Larys.

But it was him.

And he was there.

Watching.

“If I give you this throne, what do I get?” Your tone became icy, emotionless and cold, the warmth having bled from the tip of your tongue as you tapped it at the back of your teeth, “What is my payment for months of rape and torture. Of Aegon! Of Aemond."

The anger was back, bursting through you like wildfire, uncontrollable and ungraspable. You couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the heat that continued to rise inside of you.

“Will you banish me to Dragonstone, never to be seen again? Will you strip me of my titles once more, and give them to Jacaerys? Will my actions have no reward? No recognition? Will you turncloak against your own daughter?”

Daemon’s eyes opened in horror before narrowing into slits, angry, remorseful, bereft, “Why didn’t you tell us?! I would have burnt the kingdom to the ground! We would have come for you!

“And then where would we be?!” You cried back, “Still crownless, with a broken daughter and a war once again. You have sat at Dragonstone growing fat from my achievements, none the wiser to my suffering as I have lost myself and my senses for this throne. So tell me, what do I get?”

You saw Aemond's body shift, directing his eye to your parents.

Watching.

Waiting.

Supporting.

A tear slid down Rhaenyra’s porcelain cheek, “Why did you let yourself suffer so? My sweet girl." She said sorrowfully, and a tear slid down your cheek, "What horrors have you been subjected to that you have not yet told us?" Her hand tensed in your fathers grip, and you watched as his thumb brushed over her skin to soothe her, to calm her. But you knew it was more for himself.

"Why did not call for us sooner?" She sobbed, and another piece of your heart broke, "We would have come to get you. What of the people we had here for you? The maids? The Maester? I would have died for you to come home. To come back to us.” Her voice crackled and broke at the end, her pale hand spread against the sigil of her breastplate, fingers digging into the cold metal.

You leant back in the throne and shut your eyes sadly, not being able to bear the sight of your parents looking so broken, so horrified, so remorseful for something they had no control over.

You had made your decision to stay.

Not them.

You breathed in, and your voice came out quieter this time, softer, the fire simmering in the background, “I sat in these walls and dreamt of you coming to save me. But you never did. And you couldn’t have. Because it would have been for naught. All my suffering, my blood spilt, it would have been for naught if I had sent that raven to you earlier." You opened your eyes to look down at them.

Daemon and Rhaenyra had crept up three steps more, as your eyes had been shut, desperate to get close to you. Desperate to hold you.

You continued, "And I had tried once. I wrote a letter, but quickly dashed that hope into the flames of the hearth and watched them burn away. I stayed because I knew it was my duty to do so.” 

Duty.

Duty.

All of it was for duty.

All of this had been for duty.

And what had duty done for you?

Nothing but losses.

You straightened yourself in your seat, tapping your dagger against the metal arm in thought, “I have conquered this throne by right, not just one King, but two. I did that, and alone no less. No one else. Me.” You raised your head high. “Aemond slayed Aegon for me. And I have slayed Aemond for you.” 

The flames were back, and they licked at your face hotly.

“What could we possibly give you that could take this pain away?” Rhaenyra breathed, unsure of what to do, what to say, whilst Daemon stared at you the way you had stared at Aemond's corpse; with nothing but grief.

“What could we have possibly done without knowing the truth of what has happened here? I never wanted this for you, you forced my hand! I would have never let you come here if I had known you would suffer so." She all but cried.

You laughed humourlessly, “I am a fools Queen. A Queen, muña. The Broken Queen. The Queen Maker... And a Queen for a Day.”

Rhaenyra Targaryens face morphed into one of confusion before settling on shock, half blinking as another tear slid down her cheek. Daemon took another step towards you, but was held back by his wife, who’s arm was stretched out, keeping him from ascending any more stairs to you.

There was that anger again.

Anger that was not justifiably directed at them, and you knew it. You knew it to your core. But it still ate away at you, tearing at your flesh, and resolve, and strength, piece by piece. Sharp claws lashing at your heart with every word spoken.

They had been none the wiser to what had happened here, perhaps small whispers from the maids and Maester, but you had promised you would call for them, summon them with two little words if it became too much, if it became too violent, if it became the horrors that not even yourself could quite conceive just yet, but you hadn't. And it did not erase the hurt. It did not erase the pain.

And you were punishing yourself.

Keeping yourself from them. Hurting them. Lashing out at them, trying to be the worst version of yourself so that you could justify what you had just done in the mere early hours of the morning, before the sun had even risen.

Trying to justify that you were a worse monster than he had been. Trying to convince yourself that you deserved it. That you deserved the pain. The abandonment. The grief.

Because you betrayed him.

In his softest of moments, in his most honest of moments, in his most vulnerable of ones, you had betrayed him.

And how could you ever forgive yourself for that?

How could they ever forgive you for that if they knew the truth of it?

And they would.

They would know the whole truth of it.

And they would come to fear you, be horrified by their daughter, you were sure of it.

It nagged at the back of your head, like the scratching of Lucerys' whispers that had haunted you for months on end. A darkness in the back of your mind that you knew was yourself, a part of yourself you could never escape. A part of yourself that had always been there, that had been fed by the violence you had endured, and doubled in size in the violence you had committed.

It was there.

Just like it was there in him.

Always there.

To burn together.

Monster.

How could you ever do it?

How could you ever betray them?

You could not.

You would not.

If you did, you would die.

Your heart would stop beating itself, you were sure of that. It would still in your chest as it felt it would now, as though it would no longer beat for another. As though when Aemond's had stopped, yours had with it.

You couldn't do it.

You could not take this from them.

From her.

From your mother who had loved and raised you.

From your father who had done the same.

You would sooner throw yourself into the ocean, or onto the spikes at the bottom of Maegor's holdfast to be pierced upon, in a way you felt you deserved, and then, only then, would you be reunited with him. Would you get to hold him once more.

Would you get to love him, and never be threatened, or taken from him again.

Another tear fell.

You gave them a small smile, a sad smile, of regret, of sorrow, of mourning, “Let me have a moment more… Please.” You spoke quietly to them, and only to them.

Guards stationed themselves at the door to secure the chambers, the sounds of dragons flying above the Keep loud and ever present. You breathed in again, closing your eyes as you found the strength to speak once more.

“To see how it feels to sit on a throne I have earnt, and to know, that it was I who put you here. For never again shall I sit here. For after you, it will be Jacaerys, and then his heir, and their heir after. Let me be the Queen I was fated to be, if only a moment more.”

And so you sat, watched on by your mother and father as you felt the weight of the crown atop your head, the Conquerors Crown. A crown you had, by design, conquered.

The blood of the King drenched heavily atop your body, darkening your hair and skin and chemise, the sharp cold of the blades of the Iron Throne beneath you.

A crown forged in blood.

You stared at them, a moment more as they gave you the time you requested, watching as they stood stiffly, eyes shimmering with tears, their faces having fallen as you sat a moment more. And then, all too soon, your resolve and anger melted away, and a tidal wave of grief and relief flooded over you.

You stood shaikly, legs aching as you stretched to your full height, your parents looking up at you in anticipation, taking steps backwards away from the throne.

Your chest heaved, as you took one step, then another, and then flew down the steps and crashed into their waiting arms, Daemon lifting you off the stairs, turning you to face your mother, who buried her face into the crux of your neck. A small sob fell from her lips as they both held you tightly for the first time since you had left them at Dragonstone.

You cried, loudly, sobbing into Daemon, who cooed and kissed at the top of your head, fingers digging painfully into your flesh as he gripped you tightly. Making sure you could not leave him again.

Your father almost collapsed as you felt him cry and shake with you in his arms. Holding him so tightly to him you could scarcely breathe, hands shaking so violently that they almost vibrated.

“Ñuha byka vīlībāzmio.” My little warrior, He whispered into your blood clumped hair, “Issi ao ōdrikagon?” Are you hurt?

You sobbed louder, heart feeling like it would give out, stomach hardened and in pain with how it clenched, "Ñuha prūmia iksis pryjatan.” My heart is broken.

Rhaenyra hushed you gently, pressing a kiss thrice against your cheek, and oh how you missed it. How you missed the way she always did it, always in three's, always the same. Familiar. Yours. Hers. Whispering praise into your ear, promising that you were safe, that they were here now, that they loved you, that they came for you. 

And they had.

“I loved him.” You wailed brokenly.

“We know.” Daemon whispered, smoothing your hair at your back.

“I’m with child. And I killed him. I killed the man I loved.” You bawled.

“Ñuha dōna riña.” My sweet girl, Rhaenyra took you from your fathers arms, and you buried your head into her neck, feeling Daemons heat behind you, gripping you tightly, as you inhaled her scent, "He would forgive you. I know he would. My brother would understand. He understood."

It didn't do much to help calm you, but it helped to reassure you that they were truly there, and that they were not a vision like your brother, or Helaena or-

You lifted your head, opening your eyes to the chambers behind Rhaenyra.

There, at the back of the room, hidden amongst the shadows, was the violet and sapphire gaze you would come to miss the most.

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[goodeapple]

one more cregan crumb from you.. PLEAK 🙏🏼🙏🏼

if i must 😔✋

“everyone is around here somewhere. i think all that’s left is my sister.” jace says, dropping his duffel next to the couch before flopping down on it with a heavy sigh.

cregan grabs the framed picture off the side table, looking at the pre-pubescent faces of the targaryen kids. jace is all sunburnt baby fat, and luke’s curls are a mop on his head. little joff is splayed out on the quilt they're all sat upon, tucked carefully between his siblings' knobby knees. the only girl, ysilla, smiles with all her teeth and throws up a peace sign with her left hand. it was taken at the summer place they have in pentos- jace had brought him along on holiday last june. 

"the last piece on the targ chessboard. can't say i'm not kinda excited to meet her." the northman hums, setting the picture back with careful fingers, the heavy crystal frame threatening to tumble from his grip.

jace looks at him oddly before recognition dawns on his face. "i always forget you two've never met. which is kinda crazy because my sister's my rock. she's been there for everything."

cregan admires the unity of his friend's family. they're all joined at the hip- heart on their sleeves, everything laid bare for each other to pick and tear apart, but they don't. they love with a tenderness that cregan can't begin to understand. feelings, especially talk of feelings is far from a northern custom.

"only girl outta all you boys- poor lass probably ran away to join the silent sisters." cregan japes, collapsing into the plush sofa with a pleased groan. he hates traveling when it's hot (he's not built for it).

jace snorts, face shoved into a pillow. "yeah right, they'd kick her arse out."

somewhere in the spacious estate, a heavy door slams and syrax and caraxes go barking mad.

"im home! where is everybody!" a clear chiming bell of a voice echos cathedral-like from the foyer.

jace pops up like a fresh daisy. "silli! come 'ere, want you to meet someone."

cregan feels oddly nervous as he catches the fall of footsteps coming up the hall. his heart hammers thickly in his chest as a figure appears in the doorway, sliding into place like she's always been there.

"creg, man, this is my older sister, ysilla. 'silla, this is my best mate, cregan stark."

small fuckin' world.

cregan makes his legs work before his mouth can catch up. he rises, knees like jelly in a jar and edges in for a handshake. ysilla regards with him a careful, calculating look, shock clinging to the edges of her expressive eyes, but meets him halfway.

"pleased to meet ya."

"pleasure's all mine... i've heard so much about you... cregan."

the halloween playlist hooked up to the aux is playing "thriller" for the third time in a row and it would be beyond irritating if it wasn't doing a fantastic job of muffling the pleased moans and whimpers coming out of the coat closet.

"sssooo good, seven hells." the girl purrs, rocking forward on cregan's lap with steady swells of her hips.

floris always throws quite the celebration, but cregan's never had this good of a time.

they've been dancing together all night, a spark ignited between two strangers, kindled by jungle juice and floris' remark of ohhhh my gosh, little red riding hood and the big bad wolf! you two would just make the cutest couple! he hadn't even caught her name- a real one that is, but 'little red' would do in a pinch.

"you're a loud little thing." he whispers at her ear, the guava in her lotion sticky on his tongue from where he'd licked the sweet dip of her shoulder.

"mmm, i can't help it. you have a really nice dick." the cinnamon on her breath from the firewhiskey shots they shared make her kisses melt like butter. cregan dips his tongue into her mouth and takes a sip.

"wait 'till i give it to ya from behind."

"doggystyle, eh?" little red giggles, then gasps as cregan curls his grip over the top of her thighs, dragging her deeper onto his cock. the low rumbling coming from his chest booms like thunder. he's more of a hands on kind of man but he'll take this and die happy.

"gotta live up to my namesake." he unties the knot keeping the ruby red cloak over her shoulders. it sheds itself in a crimson wave, the heavy velvet gliding down her bare skin like ribbon off of a present. his present, one he doesn't intend to spoil.

the big bad wolf, even with carpet burn on his cheeks.

jace looks at ysilla expectantly, blinking at her in that well? kind of way.

"what?" she snaps. he gives her a funny look, shouldering past her with an irritated huff, and repeats himself as he disappears down the hall.

"creg's stayin' with us for the rest of the summer. he's gonna crash in the room next to your's, mum wanted me to give you a heads up. be nice."

the silence between the two not-so strangers is every bit of uncomfortable as you'd think it'd be.

"guess we're neighbors." ysilla murmurs, her tone one of resigned acceptance.

"looks that way." cregan catches her eye and holds it. i can go. he tries to say without speaking. i'll fib to jace and get the fuck out of your house in no time flat, just say the word.

the silence returns and he won't lie- he checks her out. it's such a shame he met her under the glow of dimly lit jack-o-lanterns and purple string lights, because if he thought she was beautiful then, she's a fucking knockout now.

"if you ever need a cup of sugar, just knock on my door." ysilla jokes dryly, an olive branch, complete with her sincere/bashful grin that crackles warmth through the ice in his veins.

"just don't huff and puff and blow my house down, alright?" with a mischievous smirk and a matching wink, she leaves him grinning like a fool. he's staying through october, jace already planning a party to end all other halloween ragers.

maybe cregan and ysilla can make a tradition out of it all.

"you got it, little red."

.

[starogeorgina]

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targ oc

Warnings: Swearing, smut, incest

1.18

Notes: Massive thank you to everyone who's supported this story!💕

You start to grow nervous waiting on the carriage arriving from Winterfell. After waking up earlier than normal, you skipped breaking fast and went straight to the courtyard to wait on your children, your heart beating rapidly with excitement at the thought of seeing them so soon. The maester was supposed to change the bandage on your hand first thing, but this was too important; you didn’t want to miss such an important moment.

“I hope nothing has happened. It is a long journey.”

Jace tightens his grip around your waist. “Daemon is out flying on Caraxes, to make sure nothing happens. If something was wrong, we would know by now.”

Turning your head back, you look up at him and say, “I know you’re right, but I can’t stop worrying.”

“All your fears will settle once you see them.” Jace smiles and presses a kiss on your cheek. “I don’t know who will be more excited to see us—our children or Clara. She will need a few moons to recover—Lyarra!”

The gates to the courtyard open, and a carriage with a banner of House Stark comes into view. Hand in hand, you and Jacaerys run down the steps to greet them.

“My babies!” You smile so much that it starts to hurt your cheek. Bliss was the only word to describe how you felt. “Oh, my love's are finally home.”

The carriage stops just before the steps, and as soon as the door is open, Avery and Aethan burst out, and Jacaerys picks them both up. You kiss the backs of their heads.

“Mother! Kepa!”

Before Aemma can even step foot on the ground, you pull her into a hug and say, "My girl, my sweet girl.” You hold out your other hand for Rhaenys to take. “It’s okay, my darling.”

Looking behind her, Rhaenys reaches her hand out to touch something and says, "Come on, pup.” She jumps out and comes towards you, as does a direwolf pup. She cuddles into your side, “mummy.”

Jace places your sons back down to go to the carriage to receive your babe from Clara.

Tears sting your eyes when your son’s hold onto your skirts. The noose you felt around your neck had loosened since Aegon’s demise, but you never felt completely free of it until now. All you needed was for your five children to be at home, and your world should feel whole again.

“Where is Prince Daemon?” Jace asks; his eyes are trained on the handmaiden’s empty arms. “Where is our son?”

For a split second, you fear the worst until you see an unfamiliar young handmaiden appear from the opposite side of the carriage with your babe sleeping in her arms. “The lady of Winterfell kindly allowed one of her handmaidens, Lady Mormont, to assist me in bringing the children back.”

Tears of relief swell in your husband's eyes. He takes Daemon from her and holds him close, kissing the crown of his head. You would have the chance to hold your babe soon enough, but for now, you were content seeing him in his father's arms.

Quietly, you ask, “I’m presuming she is trustworthy.”

“I would not allow her near them if I didn’t believe so.”

You catch Jacaerys eye, and the two of you share a look and smile.

—

Lightly rocking your babe you watch as his brown eyes start to close over. His belly was full from feeding, so he would be settled for a couple of hours. His dark hair was starting to curl, closely resembling his father’s. He was truly beautiful.

“Ow!”

“Boys, be more gentle with your toys,” you say softly.

You feel the warmth from the fireplace against your back as you sit cross-legged on the floor, facing the rest of your children. Avery and Aethan were playing with their toys, wooden horses, and dragons. Rhaenys was curled up beside her pup, which, according to Clara, Lord Stark gave her as a gift since the pup followed your daughter everywhere. Aemma tried to fight sleep but has fallen asleep on your bed.

The excitement of being reunited with you and Jace, seeing their new rooms, and trying to comprehend their grandmother now being the queen was exhausting for your children.

“It is rude to stare, my love.”

“I’m only admiring,” Jace chuckles.

He had entered the room silently moments ago, but you had felt Jacaerys watching closely, taking everything in. He sits beside his sons on the floor, and Aethan hands him a toy and says, “Thank you.” Jace inspects the miniature dragon in his hands and asks, “What is this one called?”

“Arrax. It looks like Uncle Luke’s dragon.”

Jace’s eyes are full of tears; he ruffles the boy's hair. “That it does, son, that it does.”

It was hard coming to terms with all the deaths and betrayals your family has suffered, but you prayed time would help. The wounds of losing two brothers would never completely heal, but hopefully it would hurt to speak about them one day.

Five moons later

“I’ve written to Lord Stark, like we spoke of. He and his son Rickon will be our guests of honor in Dragonstone.”

Jace tilts his head, waiting for you to continue. He was sitting across the table from you while breaking fast with your children. “Dragonstone?”

“We are the prince and princess of Dragonstone; what better place to host them than our own castle? I spoke to her grace, and she wants to throw a grand feast to thank Lord Stark and his army for their support.”

He swallows down the food in his mouth while nodding in agreement. “Perhaps once things have settled and the realm has healed, we should return. It’s only a short distance on dragonback; we could still do our duties and spend time with our mother, Daemon, and brother while learning how to rule in our own name.”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” You smiled. Jace had a point. As much as you loved watching your mother become queen, you had started to miss the island you called home.

“Mummy.”

Feeling Avery tug on your nightgown, you help him sit on your lap. Unlike his other siblings, who all settled into their new routines and lived in the keep, your sweet boy had only clung to you and spent most nights crying until he was in bed beside you and Jacaerys. Avery reaches his small hand out and takes a piece of fruit from your plate, then rests his head against your chest.

Jace leans over and strokes his silver hair. “What do you think, my boy? Should we return to Dragonstone soon?”

Seeing the way your son’s face lightens up at the mention of returning home was all the confirmation you needed to know it was the right thing to do.

—

The library was empty aside from yourself and Jacaerys, although he hadn’t noticed you yet. After spending the morning in the training yard while Daemon continues to teach you, Rhaena, and Baela basic swordsmanship, you went looking for Jacaerys. There was no queen council being held until later in the day; your older children were attending their lessons, and your babe asleep with a stomach full of milk.

Jace jumps when you sneak up behind him, placing your hands on his waist. “You are a sneaky thing,” he laughs. “How did training with Daemon go?”

“Fine,” you say, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I had you alone, dear husband.”

“Lyarra,” his breath stutters when he feels your hand rubbing over his clothed cock. “You will be the death of me. Please, don’t tease.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Jace turns his head around, grips your face, and presses his lips against your own. “Gods, no.”

Grinning, you untie his breeches, then fall to your knees, freeing his cock as you did.

You take Jace’s hardness into your mouth; your tongue swirls over the tip of his penis, then you start to bob your head back and forth as you suck and lick him. Tears roll down your cheeks when you gag, feeling his cock start to jolt in your mouth. It had been a while since you were intimate, and the last time Jace was focused on your pleasure, and it doesn’t take him long to come undone. He moans loudly while spilling his seed into your mouth.

You wipe away the saliva from your mouth and stand back up, just as Jacaerys fixes his breeches. He pulls you into his embrace and kisses the side of your neck. He whispers, “My love, I need to confess something to you.”

“What?”

“I’ve fantasized about taking you in many different ways in Dragonstone. The council room, the gardens, the great hall…” Jace holds you closer to him. “And when we return, I intend to do just that.”

The thought of Jace bending you over the table in the great hall causes heat to pool between your legs. Giggling, you shake your head and say, “Well, your fantasy will be a reality soon enough.”

“Come, let us go back to our chambers. I’ll have a bath drawn for us.”

Two years later

“Is it true Alicent has died?"

Clara nods and explains further while braiding your hair. “The winter fever took her, princess. The maester had her confined to a secluded room in OldTown when she started showing signs. They say that in her final days, she began asking to see her sons and daughter again.”

You had no love for Alicent; she was the bitch who made your mother's life as awful as she did yours. But you also had no room for hatred or ill-will in your heart. Now that Alicent was at peace, perhaps she was reunited with her family. You twirled the rings on your fingers; the reminder of outliving a child was painful. Aemma has already declared that if she is to have a son, he will be named Rhaegar.

“That’s…sad. How did you hear about this so soon?”

Her cheeks reddened slightly. “My friend—who currently serves as a handmaiden in OldTown mentioned it in her last letter to me.”

Her friend was the same handmaiden who traveled back with her from Winterfell, a pretty Northern girl with copper hair. You were more than certain the ladies were closer than most friends, but to avoid rumors spreading, they stopped visiting one another as frequently. “Princess Aemma will be in need of her own lady-in-waiting soon,” you point out. “Perhaps Lady Mormont would want the position as she is familiar with my children.”

Clara smiles and nods her head. “I shall say to her. That’s the braiding-finished princess.”

“Thank you—” You’re cut off when you hear fast-paced footsteps entering your room. The door to your chambers is opened, and Rhaenys runs excitedly. Her hair was styled identically to the way you wore it most days. “Reni, what have I told you about running in the halls?”

The walls outside your chambers were decorated with dragon statues. As a girl, you bumped into the solid objects many times and knew how painful it could be.

“Sorry, mother,” she says as she steps in front of you and twirls. “Do you like it?”

The dress Rhaenys was wearing was the first one she had designed for herself. The gown was olive green with pale orange ribbons and embroidery on it. The smile on Jacaerys face when he saw the dress with colors identical to his own dragon was priceless; he almost became teary-eyed.

“You look beautiful, my girl.”

When Clara finishes the last touches to your outfit, you hold your hand out for your daughter to take.

It was Avery and Aethan’s name day, and a small celebration was being held in the great hall. A ship with Daemon, your siblings, and Lord Corlys arrived the night before. Princess Jaehaera and Prince Maelor would be present as well; both children inherited their gentle nature from their mother.

Her grace, the queen, had flown to Dragonstone Syrax a few days prior. The longest you had gone without seeing her was a week. Even living apart you had remained extremely close.

Four years later

Hearing your agonizing screams of pain, Jacaerys barges into your shared martial chambers. The maester and midwives kept assuring him that nothing was wrong and he should remain waiting outside, but he could take it no longer. You are thankful this labor was quicker than the last; your water had only broken the night prior, and now that the sun is rising again, you are only a few pushes away from the pain being over.

“Jacaerys!”

He comes to your side and takes hold of your hand. “I’m here, I’m here!”

“It fucking hurts!” You sob, “It hurts so much.”

“The pain will be over soon,” he says, planting a kiss on your sweaty forehead. “And you’ll have the babe in your arms.”

“One more push,” the midwife orders.

Screaming, you use all your remaining strength to bring another child into the world. Holding out your arms, desperate to hold your newborn for the first time. The seconds it takes for the midwife to wrap the babe in a blanket feel like it's never ending.

“A strong boy, kicking like a goat.”

Tears roll down Jace’s cheeks as he watches the babe finally be placed in your arms. “I’m proud of you, Lyarra.”

“My sweet boy,” you say, taking in the newborn's appearance. He has typical Targaryen features aside from his dark hair, like his fathers. “He’s so tiny and perfect.”

—

After your handmaidens help you change into a fresh gown and the bedding is changed, Jacaerys assists you over to the chairs by the fireplace in your chambers. You take his arm before sitting down.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen her grace this delighted in a long time,” Clara, who had followed closely behind, “As are the children, they are keen to meet the newest prince to grace us in Dragonstone.”

Since the day the maester confirmed your pregnancy, your mother and Daemon have been overjoyed with excitement. Rhaena was expecting her first child within the next moon, so it only added to the joy of knowing you got to bond over experiencing being with child at the same time.

Jacaerys opens the door for your mother to enter the room, and he and Daemon go to inform your children and siblings that it’s a boy before bringing them through to be introduced to him. “Lyarra, my sweet,” your mother says, walking over to you with tears in her eyes. “The gods have been kind and granted you another beautiful babe, have you thought of a name yet?”

“No, not yet,” you say, lifting your gaze from the babe to meet hers. “Can you stay longer than a few days this time?”

She brushes fallen hair out of your eyes and says, “I will stay however long you want me, my love. If I’m needed at court, I can go on Syrax, then come back.”

You rest your head on her shoulder when she sits beside you and says, “Thank you.”

“You are my daughter; I’ll always be here for you.”

—

Hearing footsteps, Jacacerys looks up from the book in his hands, smiling when he sees you walking towards him. The room is almost in complete darkness, aside from a few candles and the moonlight.

“It’s late; you should be resting.”

“As should you, my prince.”

Jace puts the book down and offers you his hand to help guide you down onto the chair beside him. He kisses the back of your scarred hand. “I swear by the faith of the seven, you are the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop,” you blush. “It’s a sin to lie, husband.”

“I speak only the truth,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

The day had been overwhelming, to say the least. It was hard to believe your son was almost a day old and was still yet to be named. “I’m exhausted, but I reckon the babe will wake up for a feed soon.” You cuddle into Jace’s side and say, “I’ve thought of a good name, one of great honor.”

“What is it?”

“Jacaerys.”

Jace plants a kiss on the crown of your head and says, “I love you, now and forever.”

𝘎𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯, 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘩𝘰𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘔𝘦𝘯, 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘮, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦.

𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘓𝘺𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯.

[jays-asoiaf-reblogs-and-archive]

Art by Ackerbangbang

Artist comment [In the book Aemon got a cradle-egg however it’s unclear if that egg hatched into Caraxes but I like to think that yes, it was Caraxes all along. Also have a little more of baby noodle boi]

[captain039]

In plain sight

Aemond x niece!reader

Warnings: AOB, swearing, HOTD things, targcest, incest uncle/niece, tension, angst, smut, sexual things, reader is Rhaenyra’s daughter (specified brown hair), plus size reader, fat shaming

Can I fix him? Probably not. I fucking love his actor Ewan omg he is a precious baby boy😭 Aemond can fucking die by dragon fire 👌🏻😂 but I will still write about him because I’m delulu

Your dragon: Another Daughter of Silver wing roughly the same size as Caraxes, looks like Syrax just different colour and size with a different shape head closer to Silverwing mix of grey body and white wings Name - Elea

Set around after Rhaenys’s death

PART 1

Being sent back to the red keep was daunting, your mothers story’s of her life in the keep didn’t seem this daunting with her fathers rule and her mother when she was alive. Nobody knows you here, if they did it’d be a shock nobody regards you as a Targaryen, they see you and think of a lowlife piglet as some have said. Despite your mothers proudness of you, despite her always wanting to say this is my first born show some damn respect or suffer dragon fire, you always dressed down, made handmaid dresses, common folk dresses and stood on the crowd or to the side line. When your mother would spot you she would try to beckon you over, you always told her you were too sick to go to the meetings, party’s, gatherings whatever was happening, but instead you’d been there as a servant hidden. When your mother would address it you’d shrug her off, more than once have you snapped at her accidentally before apologising and just saying it’s for the best. You’ve never ridden your dragon, to scared too even when she came out of the dragon pit and claimed you. It scared you that day when your mother was heading to go out on Syrax and another dragon appeared, much bigger than Syrax and the colours of the moon with silver eyes staring at you. She bent her neck to you while your mother beamed proudly urging you to go on. You didn’t, you apologised to the dragon in high Valyria, ordered it to go back to its den and bid your mother farewell. Your dragon Elea did not take kind to being told to go back to bed, you were out taking a walk when she swooped you, landed heavily in front of you and snorted angrily. How you ever explained to dragon that you cannot ride her was beyond you, it took three weeks before she gave in to your demands to reside where she lived and be merry on her own before she chose you. Now with everything that’s happened, your mother has been more persistent about you riding Elea, this war turning to the dragons to take down the Queen of them all, Vhagar and her prince rider. You couldn’t though, so you snuck off.

You weren’t here to reminisce though, or think about how you left your mother without telling her or Elea. You went to the red keep, managed to get past the guarded gate with the help of Mysaria and her whisperers and got a job as a maid in the castle right under their noses. You thought all was going well till you met eyes with the prince regent and his one good eye glinted. You were pouring drinks at the council, standing off to the side with a jug of wine in hand pretending not to listen. This is what you were good for, listening, gathering information, not riding dragons into war. You see the flick of fingers and walk to pour more wine into the princes cup. You hold your breath, too many times have you caught his scent and frozen from it. You glanced briefly to his face, first mistake, his nose flared, jaw clenching his one good eye staring at you. Another gift from your father no true light purple Targaryen eye colour. You quickly looked away and resumed your post. Nothing of importance in these meetings so far apart from the prince regent taking his mother off the council.

You were roaming the halls hoping to steal some secrets or whispered when someone called your name, your true name and not the servant name you made up. You pretended not listen knowing that voice too well till you were snatched into a thankful empty room, an angry alpha prince staring down at you.

“My prince!” You say surprised and bow your head.

“Drop the act little niece” his words are venom but you keep your eyes on the ground and shake your head.

“I am of no relation to the prince, apologies if I have deceived you in that way” you bend your knees in a curtsey keeping your eyes on the floor and your breath still. He says your name and you try not to flinch at the smoothness of it. Instead you take a small breath regretting it when his scent hits your nose. Two fingers go under your chin and you’re forced to look at him, you don’t know how he could recognise you, how anyone could, nobody knew you.

“My prince I am late for my duties” you say in hopes of deterring him. He holds your chin and tilts your head to the side slightly making you frown before he leans down. Hot breath fans against your neck and your body shudders.

“I could always sense you in the shadows” he mutters.

“Smell you close by but always hiding” he adds and you try to relax your body.

“Are you embarrassed of being a Targaryen?” He asks and your hand moves without warning. You grip his wrist and tug it from your chin his head lifting up. Your hand holds his wrist tightly like you want to snap it off and you struggle to breathe.

“I am the embarrassment” it slips from your lips. You stare harshly at his top buttons on his jacket, eyes narrow.

“So you admit you are who I say you are?” You can hear his smirk and realise you hadn’t let go of his wrist. Holding it between you both.

“Excuse me my prince” is all you manage before you’re holding your dress just above your feet and rushing down the halls to the servants quarters a burning in your chest.

Next part ->

[writingsofwesteros]

https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/764513455764127744/imagine-daemon-and-his-baratheon-wife-he-dont

Oh now imagine daemon having a babe with their mother’s features. Poor princess being overwhelmed with the court ladies gossip, the comments finally getting to her and fearing to go back to their love less marriage. But daemon and his little boy are obsessed with the black haired baby girl. Sweet thing sleeping in her father’s arms while his little boy toddles behind them, clutching his dragon toy and sister’s dolly. His precious wife already waiting for them in the dragon pits with Caraxes.

THE CUTEST!

Caraxes happily chirping away as he nudges the pretty Princess he's obsessed with. She giggles and gently pats his head before the sound of footsteps had them both looking.

She couldn't help her heart warming at the sight as her sweet boy comes running. "Look, mama!" He pushes the dolly into her hand as she began to kneel.

Daemon could only watch on before raising an eyebrow at his dragon whilst his sweet girl snores away in his arms