#ch: alysanne targaryen

[joycieillustrations]

Nine lines, Nine characters.

Thank you to @backjustforberena for the tag! I’ve gone with nine lines from a little oneshot WIP I have focused on Jocelyn and Aemon’s life together in the Red Keep - Ex libris has given me a lot of Jossy feels! Tagging @youleavethetardisbrakeson and @backjustforberena again because I know you have more AUs to share hehe

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The golden-haired figure leans down - only slightly, for she is rather small and Jocelyn is an unusually tall thing, even at the tender age of seven - and smiles at her with delight. It makes her feel a little uneasy in her tummy: she’s not used to being looked at.

“Haven’t you grown, hāedus ñuhys!”

Jocelyn blinks, not sure what a hide-us-new-ease is.

“Look, Harys-”

A man, as tall as the woman is short, appears at her side and looks down at Jocelyn with vague interest: his face, like that of his companion, feels strangely familiar.

“Is this our Jocelyn? It cannot be, she is far too grown up.”

Her uncertainty fast melts away as the man and woman smile at her name.

“I am,” she insists with earnest, delighted at being recognised. “I am Jocelyn.”

[stromuprisahat]

“The great lords would have given us another two years of war,” the fool declares in his Testimony, “it was the women who made the peace. Black Aly, the Maiden of the Vale, the Three Widows, the Dragon Twins, ’twas them who brought the bloodshed to an end, and not with swords or poison, but with ravens, words, and kisses.”

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

[unbeleveable-archive]

Rhaenys is Aly's favorite grandchild, but Aemma is also very special to her.

[ofhumanvoice-a]

Okay, so in an AU where Alysanne doesn't die the year before the Great Council. She gets utterly fed up at that point and goes to live with Rhaenys and Corlys and the kids at Driftmark.

Corlys: -whispering- How are we supposed to have sex with your grandmother living down the hall? Rhaenys: -whispering back- We'll put her in a room in the opposite wing. Alysanne: My hearing is as good as it ever was, Rhaenys, I can hear you both.

[unbeleveable]

Alysanne Targaryen and Jocelyn Baratheon have been added to the roster.

[the20thangel]

The Dragon and The Raven Ch 2

Hello, Lovely people! I plan to expand the timeline for The Dance of the Dragons by adding more. This will provide insight into Benjicot's thoughts from the previous chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

Keep up with the story: masterlist

He was gone; Davos, his brave twin, was gone. The stupid Brackens disrespected his brother and their land, and, in turn, his brother and father were lost. Davos was always the more outspoken and confident twin. Benjicot knew people thought he wasn’t fit to be Lord of House Blackwood. He seemed inclined to agree, but not for the reason others believed in. He was more reserved and quiet compared to Davos, the loud one. 

Benjicot was meant to be his brother's sworn protector. He thrived being out of the limelight and quietly doing his duty as a soldier willing to die for his brother, which he couldn’t even seem to do correctly. His job was to protect his lord, which he failed. Both his father and brother were dead, and it was all his fault. 

“My Lord…” echoed slowly louder and louder until Benjicot broke out of his guilt to his council member. 

The weary old council member looked tired from all the stress of the day, “My lord, we have finished moving the bodies to the great hall. We will begin the preparations for burials soon.” 

Benjicot nodded while following the older gentleman to the hall and seeing the masses of lost Blackwood members being mourned. In the very front lay both his father and twin. Davos was bloodied but wearing a final smirk on his face, which Benji thought was meant to be. If people needed to see Davos one last time, let it be his famous smirk he wore proudly as heir.  

Benji was worn out from the day’s events; he knew if it weren’t for how much he wept earlier in the field, he would still be crying like a babe. He had never wept this much before, not even when their mother passed. It felt like a knife was gouged in his chest, and he knew the reason was that his twin, his other half, was brutally taken from him, leaving him and his aunt to piece their house together. Speaking of his aunt, she also looked tired as she walked towards him with a letter that was brought from a raven. Where the raven came from, he cared not… not when he was too busy mourning and trying but failing to step up as the new lord of Raventree Hall. 

“Benji, news of the Battle of Burning Mill reached Dragonstone and Queen Rheanyra…” croaked his aunt, her voice raspy from yelling all day trying to keep the peace.

 As she continued, Benji was only half listening, which he knew should feel bad, but he couldn’t seem to care. His guilt was sneaking back onto him, but he was abruptly shaken once he heard his aunt say Princess and Dragon. 

“Wait, Dragon? What dragon?” he questioned his aunt and then lowered his gaze once his aunt glared at him for proving that he wasn’t listening to her earlier. 

Alysanne knew better than to hold it against her nephew, but dragons were coming, and they needed to do everything they could to best prepare for the Crown Princess's arrival the next day. 

“Queen Rhaenyra wants to express her condolences and gratitude by sending food and medical supplies with her daughter Princess Aemma on top of the princess’ dragon Sliverwing.  We must ensure our home accommodates a princess and her dragon.” Alysanne, weary, explained to her nephew that she had the same face as him. 

The last thing they needed was a Targaryen princess coming and demanding their attention rather than focusing on their dead. Still, they swore to the Black Faction and the royal family, so they must welcome the princess as an honored guest no matter how much they would come to dread it. 

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

The next day, Benjicot was a nervous wreck; the princess should be arriving soon, and he was trying to ease his mind but taking on task after task, funeral preparations, the princess's guest chambers, a clearing to house a dragon, storage to store all the supplies being brought. All of these seemed to pile on, and he didn’t have enough time to, as he heard a dragon's apparent dragon shrill and wings flap. He would not greet the princess. Instead, his lady aunt would take on the task while he stayed in the great hall, pretending to be busy. Rather than using all his energy to pretend to engage with a princess, he had no clue how to speak to the princess. 

Soon, the great hall doors were opened, and walked in a woman who knocked the wind out of his lungs. This woman had pale white curly hair that was pinned up in a simple braid reminiscent of those of the North. Her sunkissed skin glistened under her hair; she wore red and black riding leathers that seemed to have dragon scales on her shoulders, which hugged her body in all the right curves. But what took away his breath was her eyes and how she carried herself in the room. Her beautiful violet eyes held sorrow as she took in the great hall, not pity, but understanding. 

Benji studied her as she walked around the hall on her own, whispering condolences to the grieving families before she stopped and stared at one body, his twin Davos’s body. He stiffened before quickly but quietly walked towards her. The princess, he realized, before he paused once he saw her expression. The Princess looked on the verge of weeping while staring at his brother’s face. If he didn’t know any better, it would look like the princess was mourning her lover, but that was impossible as Davos and the princess never had the chance to meet. It confused Benji, but he heard her whisper Luke when it clicked on him. Prince Lucerys was the reason the realm started the war between greens and blacks. His uncle, Prince Aemond, killed Prince Lucerys. Looking upon Davos made the princess remember her sibling lost to a feud between two families. The princess understood him and his grief. At that point, he decided to be brave and let the princess know of his presence. 

“ Davos Blackwood, my princess.” Whispered Benji as he watched the princess jump, shaken, and then flush in embarrassment before she set her eyes on him. 

He then noticed how she subconsciously flinched when she looked at him, which he understood. He and his twin were identical to each other, so it can seem daunting to see one alive and the other dead. 

“That is Davos Blackwood… he... he was my twin brother.”  He explained and saw how the princess nodded with understanding, for she, too, had recently lost her brother. Before he could think of another sentence, the princess graced him with a small but dazzling smile as she spoke. 

“Lord Benjicot, my mother and I thank you for receiving me into your home, especially in this trying time; I wish to express sorrow for the loss of your father and twin brother.” 

Her voice was sweet, like a soft wind chime melodies that could melt even the strongest ice in the north. Benjicot himself returned a shy smile to the princess. 

“Thank you, my princess-”

“Aemma.” Stated the princess before continuing, “ You may call me Aemma, but I fear I will grow tired of hearing ‘my princess’ so much.” 

Benjicot stared at Princess Aemma for a second before noticing her certain witty charm, which made him feel more confident. He changed his smile to a smirk. 

“Very, Aemma. Thank you for your condolences. I ask you to call me Benji or Ben. It seems only fair,” he said, relishing in seeing her break into a bigger smile than before. 

There was a soothing pause as Benji, and the princess once again looked at the masses before he decided he needed to remove himself from the hall. Seeing his brother was still too much to bear. So he asked her if she would like to have a tour of the hall and castle grounds. She happily took his arm and wrapped it around as they walked away from prying eyes. Once out of the hall, Benji was greeted with a dragon’s shrill as the She-dragon seemed to glare at the young lord. He gulped as the princess laughed and ran to her dragon. 

As much as he knew better than to get close to a dragon, he was like a moth, following the light that Aemma seemed to release as she spoke High Valyrian in her soft-spoken voice to her dragon. She took his breath away for the second time. He had always heard Valyrians were considered higher to men and closer to gods. He never really believed it until now. This warrior goddess welcomed him to her and her dragon, a privilege only a few dared to indulge in. As he continued admiring her, Aemma turned to him, which made him flush, knowing she caught him staring at her. 

“Have you ever come into close contact with a dragon before?” quietly asked Aemma. 

Benjicot shook his head no, “ Never, my princes- um, Aemma.” He quickly caught himself as Aemma graced him with another laugh. He enjoyed hearing her laugh. 

“Would you like to? Come meet my Silverwing.” Aemma took hold of his hand and pulled him closer to her until her body flushed to his as she raised their intertwined hands to Sliverwing’s snout. 

 Benji’s cheeks could only grow more in heat, feeling the princess's body press onto his own. His body started to betray him, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. Thankfully, the princess was too busy soothing her dragon because of his presence instead of seeing the effect she was having on him.  

“Shh, Sliverwing, Lykiri , sweet one, we mustn’t scare away our host.” Whispered the princess as she guided Benjicot’s hand to rub her snout. At the same time, she was using her other hand to soothe the dragon to be calm. 

In awe of touching a dragon, Benji asked, “What does that mean… lykiri? 

Again, Aemma giggled and turned more to him, their face mere inches away. 

“ It means to be calm or calm down. I must say how impressed I am with your bravery in being so close to a dragon, my lord.”  

Benjicot, in turn, winked at the princess before teasingly replied, “Only because I have the Realm’s Pearl guiding me, and I thought we agreed to skip our titles, my princess.” 

Benji then lowered his gaze to her lips, seemingly inviting. He could lean forward and take a kiss from her if he wanted. Oh, how much his mind told him to go for it. As he was about to indulge in his thoughts, a stern and short cough snapped him out of his thoughts and made him jump away from Princess Aemma and Silverwing. Benjicot could only grow cold; there was Princess Aemma, sworn knight Ser Lorent, glaring at the young lord; Benji felt like a dead man. His saving grace, His Aunt, called to him. This gave him the perfect excuse to leave the princess, promising her to see her later at the feast.

As he walked away towards his aunt, Benji could only internally groan, seeing the smirk his lady aunt was giving him. 

“It would seem the Princess is quite fond of you, my nephew,” teased Alysanne, delighting at seeing her nephew blush brighten even more. 

Benjicot glared at his aunt as they walked to the feast hall, ensuring everything was set. 

“The Princess is just being gracious. Why would she like some lowly lord, not even a lord paramount, when she is a crown princess?” stated Benji, reminding himself that as much as he was falling for her, he had no chance with her. 

Alysanne sighed, growing tired of her nephew's self-deprecation. “ A Dragon rider does not bring a random person close to their dragon just to be nice. She likes you, nephew. You should pursue her.” 

Benji cruelly laughed, “What do I bring to her in a marriage? Is our house that rich, or high in-” 

“Benjicot Blackwood!” angrily exclaimed Alysanne. “Our house is proud and ancient; we have one of the largest armies with great warriors like you that will support her mother in the war between Black and Greens. We are just as good as any Paramount House and better than those of House Hightower and House Bracken. You, my young lord, need to see the value of your position and our house.” explained Alysanne as she angrily walked away from her nephew. 

Benji sighed, knowing what his aunt said was true. He just couldn’t fathom how someone as beautiful as Aemma could consider him a potential husband. He decided his aunt was correct. He needed to bring out his confidence, which he could easily show in the training yard; he had to be like Davos so that people would start seeing him as a strong lord of Raventree Hall.

He walked to the chambers the princess was staying in and explained to the knight that he would escort her to the feast. Ser Lorent tried to intimidate the young lord again with a glare, only to receive a smirk that one can only describe as rabid. Chuckling at the new confidence, the Queensguard nodded before walking towards the feast hall, Leaving Benji to knock on the door and patiently wait for the princess to come out. 

As Aemma came out of her chamber, leaving Benji again to admire her beauty, switching her previous braid to many intricate braids in the style of Old Valyria dragon riders. He gave her a dazzling smirk that made him know it affected her from her flushed cheeks. As they walked in the hall, Benjicot noticed the stares, especially those from his men, which made an ugly monster of jealousy creep in. Of course, these were his men; he would not hold it against them and try to enjoy the feast, stealing glances at the princess. As he was about to strick a conversation, he was tapped on the shoulder. Turning, he saw his aunt with an annoyed face and a nervous council member asking him to speak with him. 

With a sigh, the young lord walked outside and waited for the conversation to start. None spoke for a while, making the Blackwood lord grow tiresome for wasting his time when his aunt said. 

“It is your concern, council member, not mine, and I will not be the one to express them to my nephew.” 

“What concerns?” asked Benjicot as he stared at the older man. 

“My Lord, many of us are concerned about your position as lord of Raventree Hall; many are stating that since you don't have an heir, House Blackwood is vulnerable to enemies.” The elder dropped his gaze to the floor, afraid to make eye contact. 

Benji was angrily taken aback. He had just taken his position, and already, his council saw weakness in his lordship.

“I understand my position, but it is hardly weak; I am the lord of House Blackwood, and if need be, my Aunt Alysanne is my heir. I do not need to marry so soon, especially if we are to join the queen to war!” Snared the new lord at the older gentleman.  

The older man sighed in annoyance, “ Yes, since we still follow the Old gods, there is nothing wrong with having Alysanne as your heir, but your position is not secured, my lord. Should you and your lady aunt perish, we risk losing our house to those craven Brackens. Being married will ensure your future wife carries your heir to secure the future of our house.” 

This only grew Benjicot more agitated, and replied angrily, “ I will not be a bargaining chip just to secure my house’s future, and I will not marry just to have my future wife feel like a broodmare.”  

Alysanne sighed, looking at both hotheaded men, and tried to intervene, “You and the princess seem to grow close. Why don’t you discuss with her any potential ladies she may have as her or her mother’s ladies-in-waiting? Therefore, you open up the discussion of marriage without feeling too drastic or rushed. While I remain as your heir?” 

Alysanne knew better than to ask her nephew to consider marriage to the princess again; remembering their earlier conversation would only annoy her nephew more. Eventually, both men agreed and decided that the conversation was done as they walked back to the feast room. After cooling down, Benjicot’s attention was returned to the Princess as her guard called for attention. 

Princess Aemma stood, holding a paper that Benji could only assume was the Queen’s letter to his people. As she looked around the room, her violet eyes stared and made eye contact with him. Under her composed face, he could see she was nervous, so he gave a slight smirk and a nod of encouragement. Her charm will win over his people just like she did with him. 

Exhaling, she opened her mother’s letter and began to read, “My good people of Raventree Hall, I thank you for welcoming my daughter, Crown Princess Aemma, into your home. As my heart grieves for the loss of Burning Mill, I want to express my gratitude for your honor and loyalty to me as your queen. My mind is at ease knowing I have such loyal subjects, and with your help, I know we can take back my birthright from the green false king. To show my gratitude, I have sent my daughter on her dragon to bring supplies and food to help replenish House Blackwood. With her dragon, she will lead and guard the able soldiers to Harrenhall, where Prince Daemon, the Knights of the Vale, and the men of the North will eagerly await you. You all have my utmost respect and gratitude, your Queen, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, protector of the realm.” 

Once Aemma finished, the entire feast hall stood and applauded the princess, including Benji and his aunt. He felt immensely proud of how regal and compassionate the Queen and princess sounded.  After a while, Aemma raised her hand and asked for the hall to quiet down, seeming not to be done addressing them. Intrigued, Benji sat down again to listen closely to what she needed to say. 

“I thank those here today for coming out and supporting my queen. My heart is filled with the warm welcome I have received here at Raventree Hall. To know such fierce and loyal people are willing to fight for my mother, your queen, fills my heart with gratitude-” 

Someone in the back stood up and cheered, “To Queen Rhaenyra and Her Crown Princess, The Realm’s Pearl Aemma Velayron!��  

Benji wanted to laugh; it seemed his people, even after centuries, still had northern tendencies and attitudes that seemed to come out when they held feasts. The Princess patiently let the crowd cheer again before asking for silence and continued. 

“I thank you all for your cheers. To show my gratitude for everything, I propose, should your Lord Blackwood accept, my hand for marriage to create a strong and secure alliance between Houses Targaryen, Velaryon, and House Blackwood.” 

Everything seemed to freeze, did he- did he hear correctly? Crown Princess Aemma Velayron has asked his hand in marriage… As Benji scanned the room, he saw everyone openly in shock. As he returned his gaze to his princess, he saw her getting nervous, waiting for his reaction. After a beat or two, he finally was able to process that, indeed, he was asked to be married. He decided to grace her with a heartwarming smile as he rose to meet her. Grabbing her hands into his, he stared into her violet eyes. He could get lost in them every day. He leaned down to kiss her hands as he gave her his answer for only her to hear. 

“It would be my honor to be your husband, my dear princess,” he whispered, feeling giddy seeing her gracing a smile that he knew was meant for him alone. He promised himself to be the one person to bring that smile out of her in their future marriage.

[unbeleveable-archive]

Alysanne placed a withering hand on her granddaughter's shoulder. "Such is the fate of some women," she replied with gentle sympathy. "Easy to conceive but difficult to carry the child to term. It truly is cruel of the gods to inflict that sort of pain." At Aemma's request that she speak to Viserys if the pregnancy failed, the queen simply shook her head. "You mustn't end this pregnancy in your mind when the babe has barely started to grow. Who is not to say that your babe should not be born thriving this time?" She then sighed. "But of course I will talk to him if the Stranger comes for your child again, in or out of the womb. You will not be forced to keep enduring this under my watch."

Even though Aemma was not in the mood to speak to anyone, she also didn’t have the heart to send the Queen away. Her grandmother had practically raised her and even though she sometimes felt let down by her as well, she was still the best of them. Face still angled towards the sun, Aemma sighed deeply, folding her hands in her lap. “I am not ready to go through all of this again. It’s only been three months. Why is it so easy for me to fall pregnant, if it never leads anywhere? That is much more cruel than not conceiving at all”, she said softly, averting her grandmother’s gaze. “If this fails again, can you speak with Viserys? Tell him to give me time? He does not listen to me.” Aemma looked over at the old Queen, tears forming in her lavender hues. Her grandmother had lost more children than her and though many also survived infancy, not many of them had grown up, even less were growing old. Aemma’s mother was dead, so were Aemon, Alyssa, Gael and Baelon. Now Aemma seemed to be repeating the same curse over and over again, except her children didn’t even get to take their first breaths most of the time. Being a Targaryen woman was not a kind fate, she often came to think. Maybe she should have married outside of the family and lived a quiet life elsewhere. One that didn’t ruin her.

[mmogurl]

In The Shadow of Dragons Chapter 6: The Flight of Dragons

18+ | 7.5k | Daemon Targaryen X Female OC | possessive, protective, objectifying, simping, raunchy Daemon | Uncle / niece incest, Dragon riding, Targcest, Courtship

This chapter was a real whopper at just shy of 7500 words! It was affectionately titled 'dragon date' as I was writing it, and that is exactly what it is. Daemon and Ryna take their dragons Caraxes and Silverwing to the skies and have a bit of fun. It's no secret that I love dragons, so I had an especially good time writing this scene. I hope the imagery of it comes across well. Told from Daemon's POV. P.S. Has anyone ever read the book The Flight of Dragons that the chapter is named for? It was my first exposure to dragons when I was maybe 5 or 6 years old and I have been in love with them ever since.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9 Also on AO3

Comment to be added if I missed you! Tags: @coffeebooksrain18, @immyowndefender @purple-1995 @claud012 @tent4yu @xcinnamonmalfoyx

“Seven hells!” Daemon burst out in genuine surprise, whipping his head to stare at the girl by his side. The carriage shook against the cobblestones as they were ferried by a small accompaniment to The Dragonpit. Among the contingent of some five or six men escorting them was Ser Erryk Cargyll, Ryna’s newly appointed guard - likely assigned just to ensure that the Rogue Prince behaved himself.

Initially, Viserys had been amenable enough to his request to take the princess out dragonriding, but his brother’s habitual nitpicking soon became apparent as time went on, and he imposed additional conditions for their outing.

“You must be back when the sun is directly overhead,” the king had originally demanded. Thankfully, Daemon was able to convince him that sundown was a much more realistic expectation, but immediately his brother sprang back with another stipulation. “You must land in the presence of a chaperon.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Daemon had balked at the ridiculous requisite, but his brother would not be moved.

“You must not be alone in the wilderness unaccompanied,” Viserys had retorted with indifference to his plight. Suffice it to say, Daemon didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. It seemed they would be having their picnic by the water as Ryna had originally suggested, or at least somewhere close by enough that their babysitters could follow.

Ryna clutched a brimming basket packed with foodstuff in her lap, looking down and fidgeting with the red cloth that covered it. It had been prepared for their luncheon rendezvous by the kitchen staff, likely with more food then they could ever possibly hope to eat on their own. Perhaps they could share with the nursemaids who would soon be overseeing them as though they were children.

More interestingly though, was the tale his little princess had just been regaling him with of how she tamed the majestic beast known as Silverwing, a dragon that had gone unclaimed for nineteen years since the death of Queen Alysanne.

“Are you mad?” he spat with a mix of shock and awe, focusing back on what his niece had just said.

“I won’t lie, there was a part of me that was terrified in that moment,” she explained, her features brightening with excitement as she spoke. “She dwarfed me and I felt like a kitten in her shadow, but there was also something knowing in her eyes, something that spoke to me. She voiced without words that we were one in the same and somehow… I just knew that I had to stand my ground.”

“But to chase after the beast, into her lair after she denied your initial advance, without the aid of the Dragonkeepers and with no battle training is not only dangerous, it is foolish.” He couldn’t help but feel protective of her even retroactively, but there was a strong sense of pride welling in his chest as well. It was a brash action that he himself would have taken.

“It is simply the way it must be done at times… If you are tame a beast akin to a god. They will not accept you if you cannot prove to them that you are worthy. That you are just as powerful as they are. And even still, there must be a bond, and I sensed that connection with Silverwing already. We had encountered each other many times on my visits to Dragonstone, and when I was six and ten I could no longer deny the call I felt to claim her.” She sounded almost like a prophetic seer in her explanation.

Daemon knew she was right though. How could one expect to tame a dragon without being as willful and bold as they were. And yet, it had been incredibly perilous of her to attempt alone. It was something he could never have dreamed the small girl would do, but he would certainly never accuse her of being a weak, mewling pet. No, not after that story and how she had stood up to Rhaenyra as well. His beloved niece was a fierce Valyrian warrior, fire made flesh, demanding what was owed to her from one of the most fearsome and magical creatures known to existence.

“Worthy indeed,” he let out a low scoff, though he was clearly impressed by the tale. “To tame a dragon such as Silverwing in such a daring way is truly astounding. I would wager that my dear brother would have fainted on the spot if he had witnessed his daughter performing such a feat.”

Ryna turned to him looking a touch sheepish as though she were recalling Viserys’ reaction on the spot. “He was not pleased when he found out that I had sailed across the bay to Dragonstone without his leave. But he could not complain for long when he found out that I had returned with a dragon of legend.” She smiled enthusiastically, seemingly proud of her subjugation - not just of her dragon, but also of her father’s ire.

Daemon chuckled at the thought of poor old Viserys upon realizing what his daughter had accomplished. “Oh, I expect not. But, he must have been overjoyed in the end, having another fierce mounted dragon in the hands of the family.”

His eyes began to wander over his niece thoughtfully, a feeling of respect fluttering through his mind and down to his heart. She looked so lovely, so noble sitting there beside him with such a resolute countenance.

And then suddenly and without warning, he blurted out the uppermost thought that would not escape his head, “You are very beautiful, Princess.”

Her gaze shifted from looking out the carriage window back towards him, a startled surprise in her slack lips as her eyes focused on his. “T-thank you, Uncle,” she replied with a girlish sweetness, her cheeks blushing slightly with the compliment.

The prince let out a low hum, enjoying the soft blush that spread across her porcelain skin. Daemon leaned over to her just as the coach took a jolting turn around a tight corner, hitting a rock and sending her sliding into him further. He relished in her proximity, so close that he could smell her delicate scent.

“No need to thank me,” he murmured softly, letting his cheek fall against the soft tresses atop her head for a moment and feeling a sense of intoxication as a result from the honeyed smell of her shampoo. “I’m only speaking the truth, my little dragon.”

She smiled shyly as a sense of quiet pervaded the royal coach. It was not an awkward silence, but a contented moment shared by two who truly appreciate each other’s company. His arm snaked naturally around her shoulders, pulling her snugly to his side. The feel of her warm face nestled against his chest sent his mind spiraling back and forth between gentle affection and primal lust. It was hard not to think of doing unspeakable things to her just then, but the sounds of trotting hooves and wheels scraping against cobblestones helped to distract him from his desires.

Eventually, the carriage slowed as they neared the entrance to the massive gates atop Rhaenys’ Hill and while Daemon found himself loathe to part from her company, even temporarily, he was also rapt with the idea of seeing his little Ryna mounting an incredible beast like Silverwing. He stepped out of the carriage, jumping to the dusty ground below and offered his hands up to take the basket first and then helped his niece down as well.

Ser Erryk had already dismounted his steed and was standing at the ready to assist, but Daemon couldn’t help but resent his presence. He tossed the basket against the knight’s chest and offered his arm to Ryna with a slight scowl. He did not harbor any malice towards the man, in fact Cargyll had served under him quite faithfully when Daemon had been Commander of the Gold Cloaks. But, he still wasn’t sure if this Cargyll twin would be loyal to him or the king in the event of witnessing any untoward behavior, and thus he begrudged the intrusion.

“Meet us down by the overlook. Across from the harbor. We’ll land there,” Daemon barked as he pointed off in the direction he meant to fly. The Kingsguard nodded solemnly in return.

With Ryna at his side, they started toward the open maw of the Dragonpit. Daemon mused on their approach that the back entrance looked more like a yawning cave with jagged stone teeth than its name suggested. The warm air of the city, carried up by the sea and mixed with the sulfurous reek of dragonshit blew through the opening and assaulted their nostrils.

Several Dragonkeepers stood at the entrance in reception. Three were attending to Caraxes, who reluctantly allowed himself to be led out into the open, while a couple others stood guard at the mouth of the pit. The massive wyrm hissed with displeasure as it came fully into view, its scaly hide gleaming bloody crimson in the light of day. Caraxes’ neck extended out into the air with a roar as Daemon approached and it gave him a measure of comfort, a reminder of who he was if ever there was one.

He let go of Ryna’s arm to close the gap between him and his mount. His hand reached out to stroke the great Blood Wyrm on his snout, soothing the temper of his dragon and earning a low, content rumble from deep within the beast’s chest. Caraxes’ eye fixed on him with the flicker of recognition, a connection born from years of shared adventures.

“Lykirī, Caraxes,” he reassured the great creature - Be calm. The giant serpentine creature seemed much happier now that it was surrounded by two Targaryens. “You remember my niece, old boy. Don’t you?”

Another grumble escaped Caraxes’ maw, louder and louder until eventually it came out sounding like the beast was purring. Its head reached out for the young girl in all his fearsome glory, the long slender neck stretching to sniff at the familiar Valyrian blood that coursed through her veins.

Daemon felt something inside of him brace. Caraxes had never defied him as such to bypass his hold for another. Though it wasn’t crossness that gave him pause, but a split second of worry. Yet, Ryna was already taking those steps to close the distance between them, meeting his dragon without hesitation as though it were a domesticated pet. She stood beside her uncle, her fingers resting right beside his own against Caraxes’ hard, yet flexible scaling.

She is fearless.

She had a confidence about her in the presence of this great wyrm that she did not exude in other areas of her life. Perhaps it had been squashed by her family after years of neglect, but here in the shadow of his dragon, it was all too obvious that she had the makings of a fierce dragonrider. She might even be capable of claiming more than one beast, should she desire it. He couldn’t help but smile as the awe struck him.

Caraxes’ head pressed in towards them in what was undoubtedly a demanding plea for affection and Daemon could do nothing but chuckle as the great beast sought after the attention of his sweet niece. “Looks like he’s just as fond of you as I am,” he commented with a measure of amusement in his voice.

Ryna smiled with a childlike glee present in her eyes as she suddenly pressed her cheek directly against the flat spot before Caraxes’ eye. The dragon grunted and settled, pushing into her gently as if in approval.

Then it is not only me that is enthralled by you.

He felt a pang in his chest, almost akin to jealousy. She had ensnared not one, but two beasts with her beguiling innocence and effortless beauty. It was an amazing display to the point of being surreal given she had not been this close to Caraxes for many years. Daemon couldn’t deny the rush of affection and lust he felt at the sight, mixed with the slightest bite of envy. An envy not to share in her ways, but to selfishly keep them all to himself.

“He is magnificent,” she finally said, replacing her cheek with her hand on Caraxes scales. She beamed with a pride that can only be felt by those adept at taming a creature as wild and fierce as a dragon.

“Yes he is,” Daemon responded with a measure of warmth in his voice. “Magnificent and brutal,” he noted, running a hand along the outstretched neck of his wyrm.

Ignoring his owner’s touch completely, Caraxes gave a few adoring nudges against Ryna’s palm. The Blood Wyrm practically begging to be pet and scratched now, purring like an oversized house cat for the girl’s attention. You enormous whore. I’ve never seen you so desperate before.

Ryna obliged his pleas for care, rubbing the tips of her fingers into the scaling enough to massage the musculature down below, but taking care not to snag her nails on the edges. Caraxes was certainly eating up all the attention, groaning and grunting with every touch. Daemon was definitely starting to feel a bit jealous by now.

“You’d think he’s never been pet before in his entire life until now with how he’s carrying on for you,” he said with a hint of contempt, shifting his gaze to the dragon’s massive golden eye. Daemon shook his head and rested a hand on Ryna’s waist, staking his claim lest Caraxes get any ideas about who she belonged to.

A low grumble came from within the red wyrm’s chest, a mostly silent acknowledgment of Daemon’s presence, but no more than that. Still Ryna kept at kneading all of over the dragon’s face and clearly Caraxes wished her to continue with her pampering, but Daemon had enough of it.

“Come now, sweetling,” Daemon interrupted the display. “Caraxes is not the only one craving your attention.” He spoke in a sultry low tone as he gently pulled her away from the beast. His dragon gave an unmistakable grumble of protest, a displeased moan that sounded like a child being denied their favorite toy. “Besides, you still have to introduce me to your Silverwing.”

“Oh yes! I almost forgot,” she said with a shocked look of remembrance. “Sorry for getting carried away. I just love them so.” Ryna gave Caraxes a wave goodbye and then peered around to the idling Dragonkeepers. “Why haven’t they brought my dragon out as well though?” she mused with a furl of her brow.

Daemon eyed the men at the entrance to the pit and a sudden sense of alarm overcame him. The keepers looked far too nervous and unsettled and he had been too preoccupied watching Ryna with Caraxes to notice it until now.

They left Caraxes and approached the huddle of keepers at the entry that led down into the Dragonpit.

“Skoriot iksos Silverwing?” Where is Silverwing? She asked with confusion. After all the Dragonkeepers were typically consummate professionals that revered the dragons as gods. It was unlike them to not have the great beasts prepared when it had been requested.

“Ziry jāhor daor rȳbagon.” She will not listen. The response came first from the eldest keeper present while the two much younger and inexperienced men around him cowered their heads slightly.

“Iksos ziry nykeēdrosa iemnȳ? Is she still inside?” Ryna didn’t seem entirely surprised.

“Daor, ziry-“ The keeper began but was cut off by a deafening screech. No, she-

The beating of large wings sent air in all directions, kicking up the dust as everyone’s gaze shot to the air to take in the spectacle. The massive, pale dragon’s scales shimmered, almost blindingly opalescent in the sunlight as it hovered directly above them, sending the keepers retreating into the eye of the cave. Silverwing darted in the air, crashing down to the side of the landing with a few more shrieks, causing the earth to tremble beneath them.

“She does not like to be chained,” Ryna explained with a mild embarrassment as she rushed forward to meet her dragon before it could cause anymore ruckus.

Daemon stood back, watching with a mixture of wonder and concern as Silverwing let loose her displeasure at being confined for so long. The great silver beast had a reputation for being the tamest and most friendly dragon in Westeros, but clearly living in the wild for so many years had changed its disposition.

As Silverwing roared and snarled at the keepers who had run to seek shelter from the enraged beast, Daemon turned and held his hand up to stay Caraxes who had become unnerved by the display of a larger dragon’s aggression. Once the crimson wyrm calmed, he took the chance to observe Ryna. It seemed his niece had no fear in her when it came to these winged creatures.

“Rāpirī!” she called out loudly, the sound cutting through the dragon’s complaints as her neck stood straight with awareness. Be calm!

Silverwing’s rigid stance visibly relaxed as the princess approached, taking several lurching steps forward to meet her halfway. Daemon was surprised by the tone that erupted from her small frame in the wake up such an imposing beast.

“Daor, Silverwing! Konir sagon daor ñuhoso naejot sagon!” No, Silverwing. That is no way to act!” Ryna’s tone was strict and chastising, but the way she embraced the dragon was anything but.

The dragon towered even Caraxes in size and yet it acted docile when faced with his niece. He had to laugh as he walked across the yard slowly, watching the beast press the front of its head against the height of her entire body and somehow failing to knock her over.

“How is she not crushed under the weight of that beast!?” Daemon pondered aloud with a smirk as the scene unfolded before him. It seemed like a completely ridiculous sight, even by his standards, to see a dragon envelop the form of a little girl and have her not suffer even a single broken rib.

He kept his distance, not wishing to agitate Silverwing as she enjoyed the moment of finally being free of the cramped confines of the Dragonpit. Yet, he couldn’t resist smirking to himself as he saw his young niece standing tall with her hand resting upon the top of the great dragon’s head.

After some moments had passed, Ryna turned back to him with a look of delight upon her face, her hand motioning in circles to pull him closer.

“Don’t worry, Uncle,” she said encouragingly. “She was just a touch ornery with the keepers, I think.”

Daemon had to laugh at that. “Ornery is putting it lightly,” he replied, walking closer to join them. “I think I’d use something more potent. Perhaps savage is a more apt description.” Daemon jested as he took position not far behind Ryna marveling at the sheer mass of the dragon’s enormous body.

Silverwing’s bright orange eyes watched him discerningly, but she had obviously decided to take her rider’s lead in trusting him for the moment. In the sun, the dragon’s scales appeared almost white, the spine and underside of her wings were pearlescent with hues of coral pink shining through the most. The flicker of silver lined the underside of each scale and Daemon could tell the beast would be just as gorgeous in the dim twilight as well.

She was a beast of both grace and beauty, no doubt, but Daemon could also sense the sheer power and ferocity that exuded from this dragon. Silverwing may be docile for the moment, but appeared like a creature that would bring ruin and death to her enemies if given the chance. “A glorious wyrm, to be sure,” he admitted as his hands came to a rest at his hips.

“She certainly looks like she belongs to you, sweetling. Pale as snow and just as stunning,” he added with a thoughtful grin.

“Uncle…” she turned her head back to him, a rose in her cheeks at the compliment. “You must stop praising me so. I don’t know how to handle such flattery.”

“Surely you’re used to praise by now,” he teased as his eyes scanned her form up and down in a predatory manner. That beautiful blushing face and those pouty lips that beckoned to be bruised and used. “I’d wager you’ll handle it just fine, sweetling,” he answered in a suggestive tone. His eyes lingered over her delicate body for a second longer before he returned his gaze to Silverwing.

“I’ve heard this beast was quite docile, even obedient, when last it was ridden by the Queen Alysanne,” he inquired curiously. “Why has she become so easily agitated?”

“I’m not sure,” she pondered, stroking down the neck of Silverwing with the flat of her hand. “It could be that she is restless and misses her mate, Vermithor. They had been bonded for decades and even after the passing of their riders, remained so upon the Dragonmont. But, it might be that she is no longer accustomed to being bound after living free for so long. It is difficult to say, but I may stop forcing her to be chained. It is getting more dangerous for all involved. Save me, of course.”

Ryna then took him by the wrist and led him closer. “Shh… Shh, Silver. Renīs,” -Touch, she warned the giant white beast as she prepared to place his hand upon her dragon’s hulking face. Silverwing let out a low growl, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she watched Daemon carefully. He was not weary of the creature, but wished to give it the space it needed, regarding it back with his own calculating expression.

“It is alright, Silver,” she let go of Daemon’s hand and continued to coo, almost using the tone one might speak to a young child with. “He may be a rogue, but he is with me.”

The great silver dragon continued to rumble and hiss, her orange eyes fixed on Daemon with doubt, but Ryna’s soothing voice started to calm her into a tolerant complaint of his presence.

“Oh, she’s very protective of you, hm?” he teased with a smirk on his face. “But she should know that I would never dare harm her precious rider.”

“Perhaps you should tell her that yourself… And maybe she’ll even believe you.” She quipped back with a playful leer.

“And what might persuade her that I’m a man worth trusting?” Daemon chuckled at his niece’s jest as he looked back to Silverwing. Those blazing, fiery eyes continued to stare at him, almost like they were peering deeply into his soul. He took a step closer to the dragpm, his hands held up in a gesture of peace.

“Don’t worry, riña,” -girl, she stepped forward and clapped the side of the dragon’s massive jaw. “He might look dangerous, but he is actually quite sweet once you get to know him a little better. A little mischievous too. But that only serves to keep things interesting.” She gestured for him to come even closer as Silverwing relaxed considerably.

A little mischievous? That is the understatement of the century.

“Sweet, you say?” he barked sarcastically while shifting his gaze to Ryna. “I don’t think that’s a word many people would use to describe me,” he teased as he continued to carefully advance, closing the final distance between him and Silverwing.

The giant eye flicked to her rider for a moment before shifting back to Daemon as he raised his hand up slowly to touch her. Finally, he lowered his palm down upon the scales below her snout. Silverwing rumbled slightly and then settled, finally relenting her fussing over his nearness. He couldn’t help but marvel at how soft her scales were, like touching snow in the summer, but supposed it was balanced out by the fearsome spikes that protruded out from around the crown of the dragon’s head.

“There we are, girl,” he whispered as his hand stroked over those fine as silk scales, coming to rest along the curve of her jaw. He turned to the princess with a smug smirk, unable to help himself from gloating. “I guess I’m not such a lost cause after all.”

Ryna rolled her eyes playfully, running her hand down the throat of her mount. “I knew she’d accept you. She’s mine after all, isn’t she?”

“Indeed, sweetling,” he replied as his hand brushed lines along the underside of Silverwing’s jaw, taking care to avoid the jagged spurs jutting out. Just as you are mine. The words danced on the tip of his tongue, holding back a possessive smirk from forming on his lips.

Daemon’s focus shifted to his niece as she ran her hands over Silverwing’s smooth plates of shining armor. He couldn’t help but imagine how those same sweet hands would feel upon his body, caressing his chest and running through his hair. He was still conflicted with how to balance the lust he felt for the girl and the confines of the courtship. A line he was not supposed to cross yet, no matter how tempting it was.

“Now that everyone is at peace with each other. Shall we go flying, Uncle?” Ryna asked with a smile, grazing her hand against his for a moment as she stepped back away from the towering silver white dragon. “I think this shall be the best courting date that was ever had.”

The brief contact of her fingers touching against the back of his knuckles felt like fire upon his skin.

“The best, sweetling?” he replied with a wicked grin as he followed her in giving Silverwing space. “Oh, I could think of a few ways to make it even better.”

His niece shook her head at him with a telling expression of both desire and impishness. “Ebrot, Silver!” she boomed with authority. Down.

The giant scaled beast lowered it’s neck down, it’s chest practically touching the ground as she spread her wing out like a step ladder. Ryna climbed up the hard alula of her dragon’s outer wing with the deftness of a seasoned thief, sliding into the saddle with a thump. The saddle appeared just as he’d expect, made for a princess with a royal blue fabric lining and a frame made of oxidized silver that looked magnificent against the creature’s milky skin.

Daemon had to bite his tongue to keep his expression nonchalant as he watched that great power between Ryna’s legs, making it look like Silverwing’s back was her very own throne.

And she makes it look so good.

Giving the princess one final glance, he nodded and turned on his heels to stride over to where Caraxes was, already waiting for him and impatient to take to the skies. Daemon hauled himself up into the leather saddle as the Blood Wyrm let out a sharp screech of excitement that echoed across the Dragonpit and likely the streets below. He settled his knees onto either side of the beast, straddling the saddle and gripping the rein in his fists as he urged Caraxes back towards Ryna.

The dragons hissed and spat, each giving off their own intimidation tactics as they attempted to vie for dominance, but were stymied by their riders.

“Daor, Caraxes!” he bellowed like thunder and the crimson wyrm rumbled once more before settling. As the beasts calmed, Ryna walked Silverwing beside him so that they were both facing each other.

“Now, Uncle… There’s just one question left to answer.” Ryna smirked mischievously. “Do you know what it is?”

Daemon gave his princess a look of annoyance, pretending as if he was too distracted by the antics of their dragons, but there was no hiding the grin of anticipation that soon pulled at his lips. He knew damn well what was coming his way, almost like a child understands without instruction that a game is near at hand.

“Enlighten me, sweetling,” he answered in feigned ignorance.

“Who will be faster?” she challenged him as her eyes grew wide. Her hands clutched the reins of her saddle tightly and she shouted, “Sōvēs!" ordering Silvering to fly.

Oh, you ’re on, r i ñītsos. Little girl.

As the immense silver dragon bolted forwards, great wings unfurled as she lunged into the sky, Daemon’s competitive nature kicked in and he ordered Caraxes to quickly follow suit. The crimson beast took off into the air with a powerful leap, its wings flapping furiously to gain speed as he gave chase to Ryna and her mount.

He could just barely hear her shouting through the current of wind assaulting his ears, "Vēzot! Vēzot!" urging the creature 'Up, up!'

“We can’t let her beat us, now can we, Caraxes? I’ll never hear the end of it!” he yelled to his mount with an amused laugh. He then ordered his dragon to climb into the sky as well, goading his smaller, more agile dragon forward, “Aderī! Aderī!” Faster!

Daemon gained on her swiftly, only a beat behind her as Ryna soared higher and higher, finally reaching the boundary of the clouds and pushing through. In a crest of hazy fog, they were both above the canopy of mist in direct reception of the blazing sun. Caraxes let out a sharp cry of pleasure as the warm sunlight washed over them, both dragons now gliding through the clear air with ease.

His bride to be’s dragon shone like a rainbow after a storm, breathtaking in its splendor and he could not help but feel awed by the sight of it. But, even the beauty of Silverwing’s gleaming scales could not deter his focus as his eyes locked onto Ryna’s, watching as she sat astride the great dragon as if it were an extension of her own body. Her flowing hair was golden in the light, illuminating her with a radiant glow that made her look like a goddess.

The princess’ playful smile, soon became a bit more serious as she returned his gaze, an unspoken promise of more to come. He was so captivated that he almost forgot about their race. Almost.

“You may be lovely, Niece, but you’re not going to win!” he yelled out, a teasing lilt to his voice despite the volume.

She turned back with a beaming smile and shouted "That's what you think!"

Ryna pulled back hard on the reins with a devious look on her face.. "Embrot, Silverwing!! Down!" The dragon rolled up once more and then dove back down into the clouds and Ryna let out a screaming cheer as they descended.

As the shimmering pearl of a beast dove into a dizzying free fall, Daemon’s eyes widened in surprise watching them disappear beneath the cloud cover, cursing under his breath, “You little cheat!” She wasn’t going to play fair it seemed, which suited his own nature just fine.

He urged Caraxes into a steep drop in hot pursuit of the princess, the great red serpent’s wings tucked close to its muscular body as they hurtled through the cool air. His heart was racing with excitement, the adrenaline rushing through his veins as he chased after Ryna through the billowing white haze.

Truly, this very feeling was what life was all about for those of the Valyrian bloodline: the adventure, the daring, and the freedom. Those who could ride dragons and knew the boundless liberation of flying could never truly find happiness with a ground laden person. He’d hoped to find that connection with Laena, but supposed the salt and sea that coursed through her veins, her steady flow, had a way of drowning out the fire in his own. Daemon had been restless with her, reclusive and entirely unlike himself, but now it seemed he’d found the fire he was meant to burn together with and it felt sublime.

A great whoop escaped his lungs as the clouds parted and he emerged through the bottom of the fog bank. The sensation was addictive, like the most concentrated milk of the poppy, the feeling of freedom that flight brought to his life mixed with the very thrill of the hunt as he pursued Ryna. He hadn’t felt this good in years, as if somehow all of his confliction, all of his struggles had suddenly gave way to clarity. He could see his path clearly and knew exactly what he wanted.

He had smoldered for Ryna for quite some time, but those embers had now been stoked becoming a raging firestorm of lust, desire, and need that spiraled forward without restraint just as he now cut through the air towards his goal.

The crimson wings of Caraxes spread as the dragon slowed its descent, hovering directly above Silverwing as its nostrils flared in and out taking great heaping breaths. Daemon’s cornsilk head was now almost directly above Ryna, looking down at her as a great smirk formed on his lips.

“You will not beat me that easily, you little minx!” he shouted, though his playful tone was heavily tinted with the thirst of the battle-high.

The princess threw her head back to look up at him, her lips loose with a wide smile as she brazenly reached a hand up. Daemon felt a jolt of heat rush through him and pool low in his belly as he gazed down at Ryna below him. She looked so radiant, her face flushed with exhilaration, her silverspun hair streaming, whipping wildly as she rode upon the back of her majestic silver dragon. It sent an aching throb through him, seeing his future bride looking so wild and free.

Gods, she is glorious.

He didn’t think he could reach her, but he extended his arm to Ryna anyway, feeling as though he might slip right out of his saddle if not for the downward motion holding him in place. The tips of their fingers grazed against each other for the slightest of moments as her mount’s great wings streamlined even more against the opaline crusted body, causing her to dive faster.

Daemon laughed out loudly, not angry at all by her cunning little tricks, but rather more amused than anything. For all her sweetness, the princess certainly had a playful streak to her and he very much enjoyed it.

“You little brat…” he said under his breath, grinning as he told his dragon to go after her. “Follow her, you big red brute!” Caraxes let out a great screech in response and took off after Silverwing once more, gaining fast as they headed down towards King’s Landing.

The pair of dragon riders glided over the city, circling and looping around one another, neither truly gaining the upper hand as the competition between their mounts turned into a game with no real rules nor rituals. They danced around one another, Silverwing twisting and banking beneath Caraxes, keeping him constantly on the defensive as Daemon took advantage of his mount’s greater maneuverability, testing the limits of his agility and speed.

It must have been a sight to behold for all the commonfolk down below and if rumors had not yet circulated of their coming union, then they most certainly would be spreading like wildfire now.

They swooped past the massive dome of the Dragonpit before pulling back up, their great beasts twisting and twirling through the air as Ryna shot towards the River Gate and over the Blackwater Rush. She followed the path alongside the river and Daemon pursued close behind. The princess was already slowing to look for a spot free of trees to land upon along the edge of the Kingswood.

The princess was already slowing to look for a spot free of trees to land upon and he took the opportunity to speed past her. For he knew exactly where their destination was, a large clearing that preceded a rocky outcropping that overlooked the Blackwater Bay on the boundaries of the Kingswood. Daemon rushed ahead, satisfied that he would win the race and ordered Caraxes to land, “Ninkiot!”

The Blood Wyrm flared his wings wide, slowing his descent as he landed on the soft grass with a heavy thud that shook the earth. Caraxes let out a triumphant shriek, sharing in the joy of victory as he lowered his body to let Daemon dismount from his back. His legs were a little wobbly as he jumped from the beast, a slight disorientation as he stepped on solid ground again. He pat his mount proudly on the head as he turned to await Ryna’s arrival.

Silverwing glided down near the treeline, wings outstretched and hovering for a moment before landing with a crash like thunder. The princess climbed down from her silver dragon’s back and turned towards him, face bright and exuberant from the thrill of their little race.

“I have never flown with another rider before!” she shouted from across the way, striding swiftly to meet him. “Tell me, Uncle… Why has it taken me so long to experience the delight of such play?”

As she made her way towards him, he drank in the sight of her. The way her hair curled in silvery gold ringlets, wind-swept from their flight and the flush of her cheeks. Her eyes gleamed with a happiness he could not remember seeing on her beautiful face since youth.

Daemon felt a pang of guilt well up as he thought of all the years of missed opportunity. How much time he’d wasted when they could have been spent together like this.

It matters not. You ’re mine now.

He opened his arms as she approached him, giving Ryna a charming smile. “It’s been long overdue, my sweetling,” he replied, pulling her against him in one fluid motion, their chests pressing firmly together without a hint of space between them. The heat from her skin permeated through the fabric of their clothing and he could feel her heart pounding against his chest.

Daemon pulled back slightly, gazing down at her for a moment. “You’re a very fast flyer, Niece. I had a hard time keeping up with you,” he teased, his voice a low rumble. He wrapped an arm around her slender waist as they walked together towards the edge of the cliff that looked out over the water.

“It’s a beautiful view,” Ryna said ignoring his playful jab. She gasped softly as the sun broke through the clouds and caused the sea to sparkle before them.

He stood at her side, arms encircling her waist, hunkered down slightly so he could prop his chin on her shoulder. The ocean breeze whipped at their hair, stirring the air and bringing the salt of the water to meet them.

“Hm, gevie,” Daemon whispered, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck. Beautiful. But, he was not speaking of the sea. He savored the feeling of her closeness, the scent of her skin, perfume, and hair all enticing him to bury himself in her and never leave.

Thankfully, the babysitters hadn’t yet arrived and they would be allowed a moment of reprieve from the intrusion of onlookers. Surely Ser Erryk was speeding ahead at full throttle to watch over them at the king’s behest, so they likely wouldn’t have time to do anything much.

As if reading his mind, she turned towards him, her small hands creeping up his chest slowly. Ryna looked up at him, her eyes heavy with desire and her lips parted enough to invite him in. Daemon was powerless to resist her silent request, his breath quickening as he ran his thumb across the plump redness of her lower lip. His gaze flickered over her face, lingering on the pale shine of her lilac irises before finally joining their mouths.

A deep, guttural moan rumbled in his throat as a familiar heat spread throughout his body. He deepened the kiss, pulling Ryna closer against him, their hips aligning as he pressed his arousal into her involuntarily, the need taking him over.

She gasped a soft little moan against his lips and he wondered if she had ever felt a man in this capacity. He’d had her pretty close to him on the night of the banquet, but with all of those skirts bunched up beneath her, Daemon doubted she had actually felt anything discernible. It would be hard to mistake it for anything else now though and her startled response made him want to throw her down on the grass, to see what other sounds he could coax from her innocent mouth.

Her body stiffened ever so slightly as his tongue invaded her mouth, tasting her sweetness eagerly. He pushed his tongue in deeper, wanting to consume every little whimper and movement she made. Daemon gripped her tighter, his hands resting firmly in the curve of her hip as he pulled her flush against him. She felt so good, like a missing piece that had finally found its rightful place in his arms.

He nipped at her bottom lip, tugging and pulling it between his teeth before burying his face back into the crook of her neck. His lips traced a slow, searing path across her jaw and down to her slender throat as his hand moved up her bodice, greedily clutching the soft mound of her breast.

Fuck, she feels so good. So soft and supple.

The feel of her tight little body pressed against him was already driving him wild. He was aching to sink his teeth into her neck, that smooth expanse of milky flesh calling to him. He could imagine the whimpers and mewls his sweet Ryna would make and it caused his blood to rush even faster, pumping into his cock as the fabric of his breeches constrained him painfully.

Slow it down, you lecherous bastard.

The audible rumble of wheels and hooves was now fast approaching from down the banks of the river. Daemon gave her breast a final gentle squeeze, reluctantly releasing his lips from her skin with a final kiss to her shoulder as he stepped back. It was an agonizing thing to do and the desperate look on her face was almost as painful as the taste of her still persisting upon his lips.

He was playing a dangerous game, attempting to see how far he could push himself before he lost all control.

“We must stop,” he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I can hear the carriage. Our nursemaids will be here soon.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ryna looked down the length of the clearing, her cheeks flushed and her chest still heaving from the excitement.

Daemon raked his fingers through his blond locks, trying to collect himself. He felt light-headed and shaky, the effects of their heated encounter still fresh in his mind, and not just the heavy petting, but the incredible race they’d just had on dragonback as well. This courtship was a torture levied upon him by his self-righteous brother who wanted nothing more than to watch him squirm.

He would stay within the boundaries of the game if not just to spite Viserys for saddling him with such a burden in the first place.

And then a thought occurred to him causing a wicked grin to cross his face as he considered the ways he might further bend the rules.

“I have something in mind, sweetling. Other means of continuing our play,” he suggested, taking her hands in his and rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

“Oh?” she asked with a curious lilt in her tone. “Are you up to no good again, Uncle?”

The prince laughed, his dastardly plan coming more fully to fruition in his mind. “Perhaps a little,” he replied lifting her hand up to his lips. He placed a soft kiss upon her fingers, watching her carefully with a mischievous smirk upon his face. “Can you keep a secret, sweetling?”

“Of course I can,” she agreed quickly. “What is royal life without secrets and subterfuge?” Ryna giggled, matching his expression with her own of shared deviousness.

Daemon gave her a nod, satisfied with her answer and pleased by her guile. The princess was a quick study, eager to please, and most importantly, easily molded with the pliability of youth.

“Good. I have an idea,” he said, leaning close so that his lips hovered just a breath away from her ear.

The carriage finally peeked out from around the bend of the forest, following the path beside the river just as he finished whispering the last of his plans in Ryna’s ear. It was risky, but if he failed at his brother’s imposed game, there was nothing to stop him from simply eloping with his niece directly into another exile. It was not an ideal situation, but such a back up plan meant that he could never truly lose the match.

They both stood to face the small caravan as it neared with scheming smiles on their faces. Read Chapter 7

[adarkandmagicalforest]

An Irritation Ch 6

pairing: Otto Hightower/Original Female Character (Aella Targaryen, twin to Daemon)

warnings: cockwarming but make it hurt/comfort, smut, mood swings, unsexy lashing out

next: Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Epilogue

Aemma was a few months younger than Aella was, but it was difficult to tell - after the multiple pregnancies, both failed and not, had taken it's toll on the Queen, making her much slower and more strained than her sister by-law as she'd attempted to waddle away from the shocking seen. The princess though easily hurried after the Queen, the Hand only three steps behind her after he'd realized she hadn't kicked him away without reason.

"Aemma!" Aella called after the other woman once she realized with relief that she wasn't headed back to the dinner to immediately oust her to Viserys and the rest of the family.

But the Queen didn't acknowledge the call - she didn't say anything nor did she stop walking until they reached an open terrace where she immediately went to lean against the railing.

"Your Grace - " Otto attempted once they paused, his rasp touched with something tense.

Which became considerably worse when Aemma whirled on them, her eyes flashing as she threw her hand out at them in exasperation, her only word being, "No." 

"Sister, let me - " Aella 

"No." Aemma repeated firmly.

The Queen was a softer type of woman. She was not as Alysanne had been, who had given orders to men as confidently as Jaehaerys has, serving as a ruling Queen like that of the Conquerors. But it seemed as if Aemma had just been shocked into such a role, as her words now contained some hidden steel. It took several minutes for her to actually begin addressing them with more than just 'no.' And she began with Aella.

"You despise him." 

The princess wasn't sure what she could say to that. So she remained quiet.

But that seemed to suit Aemma fine, because she turned to the Hand then.

"And you. I've heard you rant about her and Daemon a hundred different times in a hundred different ways... Viserys says you once wanted them exiled to Dorne." 

Aella couldn't help it. She scoffed, glancing at Otto with her lips curled with bemusement. "Dorne?" She asked wryly.

The Queen immediately held a hand out, a wordless instruction to stop. Then, her eyes widened, and her small hand turned to a fist which she shook. "Daemon is going to kill him."

Aella swallowed. "He will not know." She replied.

"He will." Aemma said, making her guts churn uncomfortably. "If I tell Viserys he will tell Daemon, he will. And then - oh gods, he's going to kill you, Otto, and then he will force us to eat your body. I don't want to eat you - Aella I cannot eat him, what if he is gamy? I could not keep it down, and it would make me a cannibal! Oh - oh, but what if I do, what if the babe makes me begin to crave it, forcing me into a man-eating cannibal?!" The Queen exclaimed, looking more and more mortified the longer she spoke about this so called future she had just imagined.

"Perhaps we should discuss this at a - " Otto's words were stiff and disjointed, and he was standing as if a lance had been stuck down the back of his doublet. "At a later date." He completed the sentence dryly, his eyes looking between them with wariness.

"No, no, I cannot - " Aemma muttered in distress.

And then the sound of footsteps came, clicking against the stone of the terrace.

But to their luck, it was only little Rhaenyra, peering up at them from behind the loose curtains.

"What're you all doing out here?" She asked, her eyes full of curiosity.

"Nothing hatchling." Aella assured immediately, taking care to remain flippant. "We were just planning your nameday celebration." 

Rhaenyra's little blonde brows bobbed up her forehead before narrowing them, unimpressed at the lie. "I want a lemon cake the size of Cannibal then. Also, Father's wondering where you've gone." 

The Queen nodded her agreement and told her that they'd return promptly. It was only then did her niece left them did she look cautiously to the Aemma, whose alarm seemed to have subsided, at least for now. 

"Aemma?" She said slowly, now that the air had grown tenser with the other woman's silence.

"I'll say nothing." Her sister by-law finally said, reaching her hands down to press against her belly, round with child. "In fact - I never saw this. Any of it. I never saw either of you." She decided, turning to face the two of them with a decision in her expression. She rose one dainty hand, pointing it at them. "I'm going to the privy now - and when I return, none of us will ever speak of this again." 

"Yes, Your Grace." Otto replied, coarse and grave. He seemed to still be affected, he would not even look at her. He hadn't looked at her once since they had been seen.

Aella rubbed her palms together, attempting to stop the crawling chill from coming up over her arms. When her sister by-law looked at her, she found that couldn't quite speak yet, so she nodded instead, earnestly meeting Aemma's eye, hoping beyond reason that this would well and truly 'never be spoken of again'.

The two of them seemed to both be glued in place while Aemma left the terrace. They were there in silence, dead silence, as the flickering candles grew lower and the evening sky darker. Dinner would be done with soon.

And then, after several mountainous heartbeats rattled from within her ribcage, her dry lips parting as she forced herself to speak - speak anything. "Shall we continue where we left, Otto?" Was what came out.

The Hand though, did not appear in the mood for these words. In fact, this seemed to spark something in him, but not one for pleasure. He was incandescent now, and his very breath seemed to exude distaste.

She heard his steps but could not look at him. She only saw him vaguely, the shape of him and the color of his trousers.

"Have you lost your mind?" That voice demanded coldly.

Aella did not blanch. She did not. The princess took a half step forward, without thinking, to prove as such - but Otto took a large step away, as if revolted.

"Do you know what we have done?" He doubled down, low and deep. The evening was a spring one, but winter still whispered in the air. "What has just happened? Do you not understand the gravity that has taken its hold, what we both might face if Her Grace decides to speak of this?" With every word, he appeared to shake, though his words were quiet in his seething. But her throat had closed up, like a hand had reached up from her stomach and clenched down on it tight. So she stood there. His steps came back, but this time she wanted to back away.

"Our affair - this sin. This mistake could cost more than just your reputation, but my life could very well be forfeit! But a princess with the blood of the dragon could never hope to know such a thing, could she?" 

And then he turned away. He left her there. 

Her whole body seemed to be made of wood now. Wooden arms and wooden legs. A wooden head and wooden feet. If only she was on fire. She would be warmed then.

Aella was unsure of how long she was left alone - it must have only been minutes, because footsteps, short ones, from leather boots, came from her right. She could not see.

She thought maybe it would've been Viserys - he had been looking for them.

But it was not her brother's voice she heard.

"Was my Father horribly cruel to you, Princess?" Gwayne Hightower inquired, a hesitant smile in his voice.

Aella turned to look at him, reminding herself that she was not made of wood, no matter how her head felt on a dowel on her neck. 

"No more than usual, ser." She replied stiffly.

The knight bobbed his head shortly in a nod, straightening his back as he approached her boldly, stopping only a foot away from her. He wanted to touch her. He'd been eager to touch her from their first encounter, when he'd dropped to his knees and placed his tongue between her legs. "I'm sorry, anyway. He can be - well I'm sure you know. You've lived with him almost longer than I have."

"True." The princess said. She reached a cold hand up to her ivory hair. It felt too long. It clung to the back of her neck in a way that felt so uncomfortable. 

"So - What did he say?" Gwayne asked nosily, his voice nothing alike his Lord Fathers. He was boyish and arrogant and could be very obnoxious. She'd never be able to stand being married to him.

"How much he didn't want me to marry you." Aella half-lied softly. She needed - Daemon, Mother, Father - 

He touched her arm without leave, his hand encompassing her bicep lightly with his bare, warm hand. "Do not listen to him, Princess. I will marry who I decide. And if the King commands it, who is he to refuse your hand?" The lad then smirked - smirked? Could it be a smirk if his teeth were showing?

Gwayne's fingers gently squeezed her arm, one he meant to be comforting perhaps. It wasn't - but there was heat in his touch, and that was enough for her to slowly ask:

"Would you escort me back to my chambers, ser?"

/~/

The moment Otto stepped within the Tower, he knew he could not stay.

That most horrid flurry of emotions, violent and whirling and alarming had ruled him from the moment they had been caught until he'd seen the inside of his chamberdoor. It was once his boots touched the stone did the fury seemed to drop like a stone, as if expelled.

Lashing out at Aella had been - unworthy of him. 

He had been shaken after being caught. It had been lingering on the back of his mind, should they be seen it would have been a maid or serving girl. Easily paid or dismissed, he'd thought. But when it had been the Queen - 

Looking upon the encounter, Otto felt a deep rooted shame. Upon return to the memory he could now recognize Aella's increasing decline. She'd been merely uncomfortable at dinner, but once they had been seen? Every moment that passed drove her deeper and deeper within herself, her gaze stony and unseeing, just as she'd been when he'd found her resting on the Iron Throne. And he'd lashed out, snapped at her. She'd even stepped to him and he'd moved away... He'd called her a sin.

She enjoyed his fury most days. Aella would take pleasure in rising it up, toying and infuriating him with the simplest of smirks to her lips.

But this had not been that fury this had been wrong. He'd actions were poor and unseemly and they shamed him.

Otto turned back.

He went back to the terrace he'd left her in, not knowing if she would still be there. She was not. If she had been, he was certain he would not have been able to recover from the sight.

But it was empty, and the dining hall as well. 

So her chambers, he'd thought, swiftly turning away and ignoring the chirping of a maid whom he'd nearly bowed over with his quick turn. It had taken the good part of the day and evening to pull her from her reverie that day on the Throne. Her fires were burning low, she'd said. Then blood, she'd wanted. Otto had no idea of what to give her, how to soothe this strange melancholy that had cast itself over his lover. 

So he'd set the fires larger and he'd sat with her. For hours until the fires brought her back.

Aella's chambers were further away from the rest of the royal families - hers and Daemon's both. But with the strides he was taking, it did not take him long to reach her doors, not when the staff and maids, upon seeing the way he was storming through, were ducking out of his way. 

He didn't knock. It was unlocked.

The Hand took large steps inside and sent his eyes gazing across every surface, looking for that spot of pale hair and ivory skin. He found her - but Aella was not there alone. 

His son was seated there with her, touching her. Gwayne's lips were against her neck while his hands were pushed up her loosened silk shift, groping her pert breasts while she sat there still, her eyes closed. But Otto knew without knowing what was behind them. Because she was unnaturally placed. She was pale. She was doing nothing more than silently allowing his son to do as he wished. Her fire was not low, it was gone. He had extinguished her, he had wounded her and this was the result.

Otto's hand grasped the back of his son's neck harder than he'd intended. And he'd thrown him down on the floor harder too, than he'd meant to. 

Though the sound had been satisfying. 

"What - " He said dangerously to his boy, staring down at him as if he could vanish him from the very room with look alone. "Do you think you are doing?" 

"Father." Gwayne gasped, clearly shocked. His clothes were in a disarray and his pupils blown. "I was - "

"I will not hear of it." Otto stated, stepping over him to prevent him from getting up onto his feet. His son tried to back away, extremely unsettled, clearly looking for some words he could find that would prevent him from being punished. "You will go. Now. Leave this room or I will summon a white cloak myself to serve your discipline of taking such advantage of the princess' virtue." 

The color drained from Gwayne's face - his mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. He might've thought to claim her hand, or her virtue, it mattered not to his Lord Father. He would leave this room with nothing but his damaged senses if he had any of his own. So he slunked back - though he had, with his final motion, sent one last pleading look at the princess just as the door of her chambers closed behind him. 

Otto locked it. Tightly. 

And he returned to her.

"Why did you do that?" Aella's voice was dull. 

So he hurried. He removed his doublet swiftly and did what he could to remove his boots before he knelt before her. It was times such as these that he was reminded of how small she was. Often Aella took up such a large space in his mind, a larger than life figure whose every breath and action took hold of him and kept his attention hostage. But she was a small girl. She stood shorter than most, teetering between Queen Aemma and the Princess Rhaenyra in height, making her appear all the more delicate when compared to her brothers. And especially to himself.

In their encounters he was able to take her in his arms and pin her wherever pleased them, against a bed yes, but also against stone walls, pillars and just from the his own force keeping her up. But even then she had never seemed small. 

Not like now.

Otto was face to face with her even on his knee, which was helpful in this moment as he reached a gentle hand to cup her pale cheek, leaning down and pressing his forehead against hers, not allowing her to refuse.

"You're not answering me." Aella complained, squirming. He held her regardless.

"Because it is not worth answering." He replied. He knew what she needed in this moment was physicality. He'd thought it queer in the beginning, but he appreciated it all the more now. It made more sense to him as their encounters increased. When her mood swung low, heavy like a pendulum, she needed touch, sexual, intimate or sensual. The heat, the grounding sensation of another focused her attention, it brought her back down from wherever it had taken her.

"Damn all, Otto I needed - " The princess twisted in his grip, trying to push herself free, but he didn't allow it. 

"I know what you need." Otto promised her gently. His hand raked up from her cheek then up through her pale blonde hair, letting his fingers lightly scratch along her scalp until she shivered. "But first you must listen - no, Aella listen to me!" Her restarted squirming stopped once as she withered beneath his snap. 

His guilt resurfaced in earnest then, and it forced his hand.

Near all Targaryens were born with the purple eyes of Old Valyria. And Aellas, he found, were especially beautiful. A shade between violet and lilac, made more startling under the gleam of candlelight or when flashing with her own fire. But now, he found that as they looked upon him now, soft and vulnerable in a way he rarely ever saw in her -

They caused a strong wash of tenderness to bloom within him. And he was not able, or willing, to shake himself free of it. 

"I must offer you my deepest apologies." Otto said to her. Her lashes fluttered slightly and her eyes finally met his properly. A lovely purple to plain brown. He leaned closer, brushing the bridge of his long nose brushed along her smaller one. The tip of her nose was cool. There was no fire burning in her chambers. "It was wrong of me to say such things to you. The dire circumstances were ours both, and to suggest you were not affected by the same consequences was unfeeling and unfair to you. I apologize, sincerely, Aella." 

His princess swallowed. She did not prefer her intimacies to be spoken allowed, but that was no matter to him. He needed to speak aloud his regrets, and needed her to listen and understand it.

So it wasn't until Aella nodded shortly did he do as she needed.

Otto took her by her waist, lifting her into his arms as he took her place on her featherbed. He wasn't hard, and he was certain she wasn't wet, but he would do what he could. He pulled up her silks, reaching his hand between her thighs. She wasn't even damp, but he patiently began petting her anyway, rubbing the pads of his fingers in circles around her pussy.

In his arms, she rocked and lowered her forehead to rest against his shoulder. He kissed her when she did, first her cheek and then along her jaw while his hand slowly moved. Romantic touches, things she normally would never abide. But she let them now, as she held to him weakly. 

Soon, only once he felt his fingers moving more easily against her as she dampened from the attention, did his cock properly begin to stir, growing to half-mast, but enough for his purposes. He dragged his hand lower, grinding his palm against her until her breathing had hitched in his ear and he knew his princess was prepared enough.

"Up now, Aella." Otto commanded softly of her, his free hand lowering to his lap as he freed himself from his trousers, pumping it idly. His lover did, rising up further onto her knees, placing her weight onto his shoulders as she did, not yet wishing to remove herself from his neck. He did not mind it.

He positioned himself against her, the sensation of pleasure of the sensitive tip rubbing along her wet core enough to make him fully stand at attention for Aella who immediately began to sink herself upon him. She did so not not as prepared as she should have been, but she would not allow such a thing to hold her back. Every inch of himself was claimed, from every part of his cock to his flesh and bone and what remained to his thoughts as he was once again forced to fight against the rapture that was being inside of her - 'riding a dragon,' she'd once said to him with a wry smile, nude and glorious to behold. 

But now was the time for her physical comforts, not his own pleasure. But the half smothered, "Seven," that escaped him could not be helped. 

Only once Otto was kept tight and warmly inside of her, did Aella relax even slightly. Once inside of her she slackened, settling into his lap as her hands slowly moved up his head to then wrap around his shoulders in a closer embrace. 

His hands rose up as she clung to him, running them beneath he shift and along the delicate curve of her back, letting his own heat warm her as he stroked her, petted her. He'd seen her do much the same to the wild dragon she rode, the connection of dragon and rider ran deep, perhaps even deeper than he suspected. Targaryens were otherworldly - closer to Gods than man. This he'd resented, often, even during the time of Jaehaerys, back when the old King rode Vermithor. 

All of the greatest Targaryens rode dragons. First Aegon and the Black Dread, Visenya and Vhagar, Rhaenys and Meraxes. Every child knew this, the stories of the dragon riders who began it all. But Cannibal, vicious creature it was to all who could ever hope to approach, had been nested in Dragonstone even before the settling of the Conquerors. And he belonged to Aella. A wild dragon, older than the conquest.

And he liked to be petted. As she liked to be petted. 

Otto pressed his fingers deeper against her back, allowing his claws to roam up and down her back as she absorbed his warmth and affection.

He enjoyed her fighting. He enjoyed her arguments, her snips and digs and the way her voice became so silky when it dropped into High Valyrian. 

But her in his arms, vulnerable - this was a cherished thing.

Otto shifted. His cock, warm inside of her, was going to grow soft soon without more friction. So he rocked very slowly, just enough to keep himself hard while he warmed her. He did not count how long he held her. There was just her quiet, her flame not even flickering - and then, minutes, ten, twenty, however many later, did she speak.

"Do you believe me a sin, Otto?" She asked, only a hair above a whisper. Her head had risen up from his shoulder, parting only far away enough so she might meet his eye.

"You could never be a sin." He promised, his words deep and full of truth.

Aella's arms slackened slightly then from around his shoulders, and soon her hips were beginning to move on their own, slow and purposeful. 

Otto slipped his hand between them, pressing his fingers there against her pleasure, just firmly enough that her rosy lips parted.

Her rocking began growing steadier, sturdier as she held onto his body to arch herself in the way she liked best. But her grip was still uneasy, her fires not yet aflame, and her needs were still difficult to grasp at.

"Otto - I need," Aella muttered, her breathing deeper and more frustrated as she was now becoming wet, truly wet on his cock.

His arms wrapped around her, his hand reaching up and cradling the back of her head as he turned them, letting her lay back upon her bedding as he recaptured her lips. Their kisses were often full of clashing teeth and battles for dominance, but he would not accept that here. Here he tasted her, her kiss sweet and tart in equal measure as she accepted him, her legs drawing up and pulling against his hips. But the Hand paused in his capture and looked down upon his lover, his hand drawing down over her body, his eyes trailing over the motion until he was able to devour the sight of where her pussy kept him wetted and warm inside - and then her face, stunning especially when drawn in frustration and pleasure...

He could do nothing else but make love to her. 

[daenysthedreamer101]

Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Ch 1 - To King's Landing

Targaryen!OC x Harwin Strong (eventually lol)

Warnings: none

Prologue

Masterlist

"In 107 AC, the King held a seven-day celebration in honor of Princess Rhaenyra's tenth name day. The young Princess was named 'the Realm's Delight' by the minstrels at court. Rhaenyra was a precocious child, bright, bold and beautiful. She became a dragon rider at only seven years old, riding her yellow she-dragon, Syrax. The tourney would also mark the return of Prince Daemon to King's Landing. He spent most of his time away in the Vale, with his lady wife, Rhea Royce, and their young daughter, Princess Daena.

Princess Daena was a lively, cheerful girl only a year younger than her cousin, Rhaenyra. She became a proficient huntress in thanks to her lady mother. Some at court frowned, saying it was inappropriate for a lady to hunt down animals and cover herself in dirt and blood, but Rhea and Daemon paid them no mind, letting their daughter do what she liked. 'She's not just a lady...she's a Princess of House Targaryen. Dragons don't fear blood' Prince Daemon was heard saying in defense of his daughter."

(Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros, by Archmaester Gyldayn)

~

107 AC, King's Landing

This was Daena's second time visiting King's Landing. Well third, if you count the time her parents brought her when she was a baby so that her great-grandparents, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne could meet their newest great-granddaughter. It was said the Good Queen wept tears of joy when she held Daena in her hands for the first time. The Queen was old and frail, having to walk with a cane. Nonetheless, the Queen gave her blessing and proclaimed that Daena would be a great beauty one day.

Now, Daena and her father, Prince Daemon, were visiting King's Landing once again. This time because of her cousin Rhaenyra. Her uncle, King Viserys I, was holding a great tourney in honor of Rhaenyra's 10th name day. Even after 14 years of marriage, Viserys and his wife, Queen Aemma Arryn, only had one living child - Rhaenyra. The King was known for spoiling his only child with many things, and "seven days of celebration for her name day seemed only appropriate", according to His Grace.

Daena spent much of her childhood at Runestone. She was taught how to ride a horse and hunt with a bow and arrow by her lady mother, Rhea Royce. Her mother was a strong, intelligent woman and was the ruling Lady of Runestone. Daena was very proud to be her daughter and always strived to make her mother proud. Daena didn't look much like her mother. She looked more like her father's side of the family. With fair skin, long silver hair, and lilac eyes, she looked nothing short of a true Targaryen Princess. Nonetheless, she knew she had many other things in common with her dear mother. 

Her mother didn't join them. She said she needed to look after Runestone, that it was her duty. But even as a child, Daena knew it was because her mother never liked her father and she simply didn't want to spend time with him. It made Daena sad, that her parents disliked each other, but they tried to be cordial with one another for her sake. She once asked her parents if she would ever get a sibling. Her mother choked on her wine while her father frowned and told her not to be silly and ask stupid questions. She never asked again.

~

"Are we there yet?" Daena asked Amanda, one of her mother's nieces who went South with them. Lady Amanda was from the cadet branch of House Royce - House Royce of the Gates of the Moon. Amanda was a pretty maid of 16 summers. Nearly a woman grown, Lady Rhea sent her young niece to King's Landing to look after her daughter and also for a potential marriage.

 Amanda had long dark brown hair and round brown eyes. Daena liked her very much. She was fun and kind and taught Daena how to sew. "We'll be there in a short while, Princess," Amanda answered while looking out from the small carriage window. 

Daena didn't like that she was in a carriage. She wanted to fly with her father on Caraxes but he refused her, saying she was too young. So, she would travel by carriage. She looked out the window and saw a giant castle made of red stone. 

"The Red Keep..." Daena whispered under her breath. She has never seen King's Landing. She did visit in 101 AC, when her great-grandfather, Jaehaerys passed away. But she didn't remember much from that whole ordeal. She only remembered that everyone was sad and quiet. 

Daena was 9 years old and slightly taller than most girls her age. She was thin and slender and had long silver hair she liked to keep in a single long braid. Father said it made her look like Queen Visenya. Daena would love nothing more than to be like the legendary Visenya. 

"Do you think Rhaenyra will let me see Syrax?" Daena quietly asked Amanda. She would never admit it, but she was a bit jealous that Rhaenyra had a dragon. Daena's dark purple egg never hatched. She still had it, it was held back at Runestone, but she didn't like looking at it.

It made her sad and angry. Some kids back at Runestone would mock her and call her Daena the Dragonless. The words of her mother's House were 'We remember' and in keeping with that, she never forgot or forgave the people who mocked her. She hoped that since she was in King's Landing, she could claim an already hatched dragon. 

"I'm not sure...Perhaps a bit later." Amanda said cautiously. She knew how important dragons were to the Targaryens and it hurt her to see Daena so sad. 

"Open the gates!" A guard shouted. They were already there. They were about to enter the Red Keep! Daena sat up straight and smoothed her red and black silk dress. Her silver hair was braided at the top to look like a crown. Small ruby earrings dangled like blood droplets from her ears. The gates were opened and the carriage entered the courtyard. 

The doors of the carriage opened and Daena could see her father dismounting his horse. A page boy helped her get out. Once her feet hit the ground, a guard announced them. 

"Prince Daemon Targaryen and his daughter, Princess Daena!" Her father beckoned her over and so she quickly walked over to him. He put his arm around her little shoulders.

"Prince Daemon...Welcome..."A voice said. She finally focused on the person standing in front of the castle doors. It was Ser Otto Hightower - the Hand of the King. 

"Princess..." He greeted her as well, though he sounded and looked like he didn't want to be there. She didn't curtsy to the lord, she didn't have to as a Princess. She felt her father protectively pulling her closer to him. 

"Ser Otto...", her father managed to say through gritted teeth. Even as a child, she could tell the two men heavily disliked each other. 

"Amanda, take Daena inside. Visit the Queen if you can. I'm sure Her Grace would like that" Daemon told Amanda. The young Royce girl nodded and took Daena's hand and they walked inside. Once they reached the Queen's chambers, they entered the spacious room. 

"Princess Daena, Your Grace", a maid announced Daena. The Queen was heavily pregnant and was sitting on a chaise lounge in front of a big window and was propped up by lots of pillows. Her silver hair was down and fell freely. She wore only a nightdress and a pretty, pink, embroidered silk robe. The Queen turned her head and smiled lightly at her young niece. 

"Daena, my dear...How you've grown. I haven't seen you in ages." Aemma said softly as she looked over Daena. The young princess curtsied to Aemma. The Queen beckoned her and gave her a warm hug. 

"Your Grace," Daena said politely. 

"Come, sit here." Aemma gestured to a nearby chair. Daena sat. Aemma looked over Daena's shoulder and saw a pretty brunette in the corner. Daena noticed. 

"Your Grace, this is Lady Amanda Royce of the Gates of the Moon. She's my cousin. She came here with me, I hope you don't mind." Daena introduces Amanda to the Queen. 

"No, not at all. It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady" Aemma greets the Royce girl. 

"The pleasure is mine, Your Grace. Thank you for having me" Amanda says and bows to Aemma. The Queen and Daena talk for a while, about the Vale, about Runestone, and how much Daena has grown.

"If I may ask...where is my dear cousin Rhaenyra? I haven't seen her yet." Daena asks after a while. Aemma sighs and fans herself with a fan.

"I believe she's having her lesson with Septa Marlow" Aemma explained. Daena hums in acknowledgment. 

"Princess Rhaenyra", a maid announces after a while. In came Daena's older cousin. She was fair-skinned with pretty purple eyes. She was a bit shorter than Daena, but they both had long silver hair.

"Cousin! It's been so long!" Rhaenyra greeted Daena with a warm smile and a tight hug. 

"Nyra!" Daena exclaimed in joy. Rhaenyra greeted her mother and they talked for a few minutes.

 "Come, dear cousin. Let's go for a walk." Rhaenyra suggests and takes Daena by the hand. 

"Your Grace, I hope you have a nice day." Daena bid the Queen politely. Aemma smiled sadly at the two girls.

Daena and Rhaenyra were walking in the Royal Gardens in the afternoon sun. They sat under the weirwood and talked for hours. In the distance Ser Harrold Westerling, Rhaenyra's sworn shield, was keeping guard. At sundown, Amanda came around and told them they were summoned for supper with the King.

"Will you show me Syrax one day?" Daena asks. 

"Of course, I would love to, " Rhaenyra answers. 

"We can even fly together once she gets big enough" Nyra adds. 

Once they were ready, Ser Harrold escorted them to the dining chamber where they were to have supper. As they entered, Daena could see her uncle, the King, sitting at the head of the table. To his right was his wife, Queen Aemma, who looked tired. To his left was her father, Prince Daemon. To Aemma's right was Princess Rhaenys and her husband, Lord Corlys Velaryon - the Sea Snake. Daena was surprised to see them there. Shaking her head, she sat next to her father. Nyra sat next to her. 

"Girls, we've been waiting for you for some time," King Viserys says lightly scolding the girls.

 "Forgive us, father. We were talking and we got distracted." Nyra says sheepishly. Viserys smiles and looks over to his niece.

 "Ah, Daena...I haven't seen you since you were a toddler. How you've grown..." Viserys says to Daena. She smiled awkwardly and the food was served. The adults talked amongst themselves. Daena and Rhaenyra quietly traded gossip with one other. Daena tried her best not to look at the Sea Snake and his wife. Rhaenys was her aunt, but she always found the woman kind of scary, though she would never admit it. 

After supper, Daena bid her cousin goodbye and left with her father to their chambers. 

"I'll see you in the morning Nyra" Daena says and hugs Nyra. She and her father enter her chambers. 

~

"Wow..." Daena gasps as she sees her room. Her chambers back at Runestone weren't nearly as big. 

"I already told the maids to fix you up a bath," Daemon says to her. He walks over to her and pets her head, caressing her silver hair. She hugs his waist and looks up at him with tired eyes. He smiles at her. 

"Issi ao ēdrugī, riñītsos?" (Are you tired, little girl?) He asks her. She nods her head. 

"Come here..." He says and picks her up easily and puts her down on the bed. He starts unbraiding her hair. He knew most men wouldn't even consider doing something like this. He didn't think he had it in him to be like this. So soft, and gentle...and caring. But the second he held her when she was born...he knew he would do anything for her. He would burn the entire world if it meant she was safe and sound. 

Once he was done unbraiding her hair, he turned her head toward him. He studied her face. She looked just like him. Silver hair, lilac eyes, it was all him. But she had her mother's oval face. He didn't like his wife, whatsoever. But she helped him create Daena. His precious Princess. His little girl. His little dragon. 

"I'll call Amanda. She'll help you bathe." He told her and got up to leave. Before he was able to leave, she caught him and pulled him by the sleeve of his shirt. He bent down to her level. 

"What is it, sweet girl?" He asked her. 

"Sȳz bantis kepa. Avy jorrāelan" (Good night Father. I love you) she told him sleepily and planted a kiss on his cheek. He smiled once again and kissed her silver hair.

"Avy jorrāelan tolī, dōna riña" (I love you too, sweet girl). He told her and left her chamber.

---

High Valyrian:

Issi ao ēdrugī, riñītsos? - Are you tired, little girl?

Sȳz bantis Kepa. Avy jorrāelan - Good night Father. I love you.

Avy jorrāelan tolī, dōna riña - I love you too, sweet girl.

***

Omg, the first chapter is finally here! It's mostly an introduction to Daena and it establishes many relationships that will develop/deteriorate over time.

Hope you liked it, and thanks for reading! ❤❤❤

If you have any opinions feel free to comment!

[sansa286]

F&B Propaganda: Paternity Disputes (or Lack Thereof)

Something that's always confused me when reading Fire & Blood is why some characters have their paternity placed under scrutiny due to a lack of resemblance to one parent, while others are given a pass. These are some thoughts and analysis I had on the subject.

So, we all know F&B is a pseudo-history book written from a plethora of unreliable pseudo-sources, some of whom very well may be telling the truth, other's who are fibbing a bit (or a lot), and the rest that told flat-out lies and regurgitated gossip. Therefore, certain inconsistencies, like paternity debates, are not showing that GRRM is an inconsistent writer, but rather him pointing out the blatant favoritism and narrative spinning that happens when history is written. Simply put: unless/until we get the events of F&B written in an ASOIAF style multi-POV structure, most of the stuff in F&B is meant to be taken with a grain of salt, some grains bigger than others. For example: Visenya being "jealous" of Rhaenys over Aegon preferring her romantically is clearly out-of-character, but treated as legit because Visenya is not a well-liked person in the grand-scheme of Westerosi history and culture. Therefore, painting her as envious is a way to spin her as "bitter" and "unlikable," when she more than likely just had a lot of ambition, and/or did what she thought was right for the Targaryen cause (flawed those actions may be).

We all know Rhaenyra was the subject of side-eyes over her three eldest sons, Jacaerys Velaryon, Lucerys Velaryon, and Joffrey Velaryon, who are officially recorded as sons of Laenor Velaryon; however, it's widely believed (and canon in the show) that they are biologically the sons of Harwin Strong, who Rhaenyra had an affair with because Laenor was gay and their attempts to conceive children were not successful. The reason in-universe people believed (both in the books and the show) that they were Harwin's is due to their dark hair and eyes (Harwin has green eyes in the show, but in the books it's inferred that they're brown like the Velaryon boys'.)

However, the Velaryon boys are not the only ones who don't share the same coloring as their parents (or the parents on paper). There are actually two others that come before them in the Targaryen bloodline that share that in common, however their paternity is never called into question. They are Alysanne and her daughter, Alyssa.

Biblically accurate Alysanne Targaryen. "Her eyes were blue rather than purple, her hair a mass of honey-colored curls." - Fire & Blood (pg. 131, ch. "The Year of the Three Brides")

Alysanne is the fifthborn child and secondborn daughter of Aenys Targaryen and Alyssa Velaryon. Her older siblings were Aegon, Rhaena, Viserys, Jaehaerys (who she married), and Vaella (passed away in the crib). All of Aenys and Alyssa's children are inferred to have had stereotypically Valyrian features (silver hair and purple eyes); Rhaena is the only one we get a full description of outside of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, but if the others didn't look Valyrian, it definitely would've been noted in the book. Aenys and Alyssa are noted for both having Valyrian features (par. 3 here & F&B p. 127; Aenys weirdly enough never gets hair color mention, but if it were anything other than silver we'd know, but we'll get to Aenys in a minute). We're told explicitly Alysanne has a head full of honey colored curls and blue eyes. But this is never brought up as a point of contention or placed her paternity up for debate. It's just assumed that it's due to her maternal grandmother, Alarra Massey, being an Andal woman.

However, this assumption is never mentioned in F&B. Her features are just mentioned and that was it. The theory laid-out by fans is that her hair and eyes come from her grandmother, however, Alarra's looks are never detailed in F&B. We only know that she was considered very beautiful (p. 127); and there are plenty of people of Andal descent who do not have blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Her [Alyssa Targaryen] hair was a dirty blonde tangle with no hint of silver to evoke the dragonlords of old, and she had been born with mismatched eyes, one violet, the other a startling green." - Fire & Blood (pg. 287, ch. "The Long Reign-Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny, and Pain")

Which brings me to her daughter, Alyssa Targaryen, who was also noted for having non-traditional Valyrian features (dirty blonde hair, green and purple heterochromia eyes). But Alyssa's paternity is also never brought up as possibly being anything other than what was recorded at her birth. (As for the show, Daemon's perspective on his mother is warped due to being knee-deep in the Targaryen sauce, so that's why I think his mother doesn't look like what she's supposed to in the show. If they ever do an adaptation of Jaehaerys' reign, I hope they don't throw a silver wig on her, but given what they did to Rhaenys who tf knows?) Interestingly, Alyssa is also described as long-faced, which is a trait associated with the Starks, and Alysanne was noted for being close to...Alaric Stark (I'll spare you that theory though.)

This is all fascinating with the knowledge of the dance being in the exact same book, because Rhaenyra has three dark haired and dark eyed boys and there's all of this speculation. Some may assume it's because both Rhaenyra and Laenor have silver hair and purple eyes, but so did Alysanne's parents, Aenys and Alyssa V. And like their great-great grandmother, Alysanne (if we're to believe she simply looks like her grandmother), Jace, Luke, and Joff also have a grandmother with non-Valyrian looks in Rhaenys, who in F&B had dark hair. There is no report of catching Rhaenyra and Harwin screwing around, jut observing the differences in looks of her children and Laenor. Surely, if we're to never assume that Alysanne is not a bastard because her grandmother (may have) had the same features/genes that simply skipped a generation, we could also do the same for them?

Sidebar: I am not saying that Alysanne is secretly a bastard or that the Velaryon boys' actually are trueborn, just that the reasons for this assumption are silly. If one kid is going to have their paternity scrutinized for not resembling their parents coloring-wise, then all kids who fall in that category should. That being said it is important to point out that it's not IMPOSSIBLE for Alysanne and the boys being/ not being a bastard to be true. It's been pointed out for years by the fandom that the people in ASOIAF don't understand genetics. The only reason Ned had a leg to stand on is because Cersei straight-up admitted to sleeping with Jaime, and letting him father her kids. Had Ned realistically went to Robert without Cersei's admission, and said that her children are not his because they have blonde hair and green eyes, he would be laughed at because a child resembling their mother and not their father is common. And on the off-chance that he does get some traction with it, well, not enough people would believe him, and Tywin would make a bigger example out of House Stark than he already has.

But again, secret-bastardy/secret-trueborness is not the point I'm trying to make. And if Alysanne were really a secret bastard, then, honestly, more power to her. She'd only become more iconic in my eyes.

So this begs the question: why are some people not speculated on for not resembling one or both parents coloring-wise while others aren't? It brings me back to the introduction: F&B is propaganda and certain pseudo-historical figures need to be portrayed in a certain light in order for the story they want to tell to be successful. This goes doubly-so for those that were close to Jaehaerys, and in this case: his mom (Alyssa V), his wife (Alysanne), and his daughter (Alyssa T).

Jaehaerys is considered the peak of the Targaryen dynasty and well liked by the establishment in Westeros (the Citadel, the Faith, various lords and ladies of the major houses). He is the Great Conciliator. Therefore, certain "creative liberties" being afoot is quite expected and this is not above the antics we see take place during his reign. Just look at how the true cause of Gael's death was covered up for years and the fishiness of Saera's disappearance and Viserra's death.

Alyssa V is considered a perfect mother, despite the less-than-stellar choices she made with her children outside of Jaehaerys. She's considered to be so great that the lords that sat the Small Council were able to put aside their misogyny and allow themselves to be ruled by a woman until Jaehaerys came of age. She is one of the main reasons Jaehaerys was able to take the Iron Throne in the first place. It would not go well if the man who was considered to be the greatest king of Westeros had a mother who may have cuckolded his father. Compare this to Aenys, who despite having Valyrian features had a one-off rumor about him being the secret bastard of Rhaenys the Conqueror and one of her male favorites mentioned in F&B; and this is 100% due to the fact that Aenys is considered by Westerosi historians to have been a weak and incompetent king. (Just think: if Aenys, who resembled his parents, had bastard rumors - do you seriously expect us to believe that neither Alysanne nor Alyssa ever had any?) "But, Jaehaerys is strong, brave, diplomatic, wise, etc... of course he comes from a mom who embodies Westerosi ideals to a tea. She even died trying to give her second husband more heirs despite her delicate age. Such a moral [debatable] man could only be born from a woman who was nothing but dutiful."

Alysanne is considered the perfect wife and queen consort, highly regarded for the active role she took during her husband's reign. She was intelligent, altruistic, birthed many children, and rode a dragon. She was so good at her job as queen she got several laws passed that now share her name. "Not only could such a woman not be born a bastard, but she in addition to being Jaehaerys' wife is also his sister, and could surely not be born from a woman who would ever risk bringing a bastard into this world."

And then, there's Alyssa T, the secondborn daughter and fifthborn child overall of both Alysanne and Jaehaerys, and was a wife to the highly regarded Baelon (also her brother), which means she was never going to be on the receiving end of those accusations. She even escapes having the usual witchcraft practitioner and/or lesbian/queer rumors that are usually thrown at women in Westeros who do not fit the traditional ideas of being a woman (even Visenya had those accusations). Her preferring boyish activities is never painted as a negative by the narrative unlike with other women in Westerosi culture. "Of course she's straight as an arrow and brags about how much sex she's having with her well-beloved and cherished-by-all brother-husband who was considered a peak heir and would neverrrrrr marry a bastard. Of course she thought most girls were idiots. Of course she brags about how many sons (never daughters) she's going to give her husband. Of course she does not care about anything outside of being a broodmare after being married like all good girls do. Bastard? Never. Two of her grandsons were kings we fondly remember. She is trueborn like her mother. She is Athena if she fucked."

But Jace, Luke, and Joff? Their mother was the first ever female heir apparent (not presumptive, apparent) to the Seven Kingdoms, and kept this status even after her father had three sons. She never apologized for this. And she entered a war over for her claim. "She wore a braid like that crazy warrior-witch Queen Visenya. She's breaking tradition by going ahead of her brothers in succession. She's bitchy sometimes. She's not thin like good women are supposed to be even after birthing several children. Speaking of children, yeah she did her duty and had many male heirs but some of them have dark hair and she's a whore, so they must be bastards. She's trying to take over a man's place. Of course she's evil and reveled in the deaths of her baby nephews. Of course she fucks outside of marriage. Honestly, I'd be more surprised if they weren't bastards!"

TL;DR: F&B uses paternity debates as a way to attempt to delegitimize/sow doubt against people the narrators don't like, this only prove by how inconsistent one's potentially faulty paternity is evoked on the basis of looks and nothing else. The chances of any of your trueborn faves secretly being a bastard is never zero. Now, I kind of want Alysanne to be a secret bastard.

UPDATE Sept. 5, 2024: Edited for grammar, word-flow, and minor spelling mistakes.

[memswritesficsarchived]

I'll be with you - Ch.2

Summary: Did Daemon wish to abandon his wife never to give a sh*t about her ever again? Did Rhea think she would have to endure this treatment from her absentee Lord husband all her life? Would they ever find a way to live without having to deal with one another?

Or would fate change in the blink of an eye and somehow bring them closer together despite their painful past?

| Chapter 1 |

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen & Rhea Royce Word Count: 2780 words

Chapter 2: Your kingdom needs you

He should not be touching her.

Rhea had known Daemon Targaryen for as long as she could remember. Touching her had never been one of his priorities. He was notorious for many things, the least of which being his refusal to bed his wife, as was his duty. As for his many lovers? Rhea had lost count of the times she had had to sit through meetings with arrogant and impertinent lords who thought that dragging her barren marriage into the discussion would destabilize her position as the rightful lord of her keep. And then they would proceed to list off her husband's latest dalliances in the Street of Silk.

As if Rhea hadn't been bombarded with the same insults since the day she had been married to him. She still remembered being only ten and five years of age, her heart in her throat and her cheeks burning with shame, when she overheard two servants gossiping about her husband. "Haven't you heard?" one of them had said. "The second prince would rather bed a common whore than his lady wife." And then, of course, there were the pitying looks and the whispered words of sympathy: "Oh, poor Lady Rhea."

Sometimes, on her worst days, those pitying looks would be accompanied by malicious remarks: "I don't blame the prince. Have you seen the lady? She's just a meek lamb to his grace's beastliness. No, Prince Daemon should have married someone better. Someone more beautiful, someone who could have kept his attention more than a country lass ever could."  Rhea knew more than many people gave him credit over her. She knew that her husband was a philanderer.  She also knew that he had no interest in her. She had learned not to let it matter to her. Anything pertaining her lord husband was none of her concern. Since she was the rightful Lady of her keep, and she would not let anyone take that away from her.

Certainly, this marriage had been fruitless and full of neglect on his part. But was it not the same marriage and the same husband she had to put up with for the first few years? She was well familiar with his rage, every scathing remark he was capable of making, and every biting way a young husband could have harmed his virgin wife by degrading insults and remarks. And he had seen her at her worst. For all the composure and poise that everyone had always complimented her on, with him she was not herself. She was only ever angry, indignant, or ruthless. And he had taught her to be this way with him. By the end of it, just as the news of Queen Alysanne's death reached Runestone, they had exhausted their burning fury on one other, and seeing her lord husband depart for the final time on the back of his prized steed Caraxes was the only way they could find peace.

So to an extent, does she even know Daemon Targaryen? If it weren't for the trivial little facts that a woman should know about her husband, then at least she was more than well acquainted with his ferocity, his anger. But most of all, that usual distance he deliberately kept. Daemon was always to her, the husband who would rather bed a common whore than his lady wife. She had often thought herself so repulsive to him, so foul of a woman. So homely. She was aware that it was foolish of her to have put so much weight into his abject refusal to come to their marriage bed. Then have that reflected in how she viewed herself. But how could she not? When he was still, despite everything, her lord husband. 

He was vowed to her, and he had every right than any man ever did to have touched her, to have lay claim to her, to have given her what a man ought to give to his wife. But he had never done it. He kept himself away from her as though she were a plague to be avoided at all costs. And it was for that very reason that she had thought, so simply, that there must have been something lacking in her, on top of all his stubbornness. He had never once desired her. And she had been just as stubborn as he was in retaliation to what he gave her. She realised that at least they shared that trait in the most contentious of manners. 

Except he was here. Breaking all of those conceptions about him. With what he had just done.

Why was his hand softly caressing her cheek with such gentleness? Why was he treating her with such caution? Why was it so obvious in the way he leaned in? Strong, but not harsh. He was a strong creature, a restless dragon who was not afraid to take up whatever space he needed. Yet whatever roughness she had believed he would not restrain in such acts seemed to have vanished when all Rhea received was this new sensation he was giving her. 

This felt almost dreamlike. It couldn't have been real. Why was it even happening? What was going on in that mind of his? Why? Those were the questions that raced through her right then. When they parted, Rhea was not so foolish to think herself a blushing maiden, heart thumping inside her chest miles a minute as it would in songs or romantic tellings of bards. In fact, though there was a trance to how she received the kiss, it was mostly reflected in her features out of intrigue.

.........................................................................................

Being the second son meant he could be easily discarded. He was hardly worried about since he was simply the spare. And because he was the spare they had decided to discard him to the Vale. To that dull countryside, and to this dull countryside daughter and heir of the Vale when they were both young. He remembered thinking that she was even better than him at least. That she was an heir to something while he was not. How that had infuriated him so much about her. She would inherit her own little kingdom already. This small boring land that he held no attachment towards. It would be hers. Only hers which had made her several steps ahead of him in that regard. 

While he still lingered behind. Still impatiently wishing for his own kingdom. One which was much, much grander than this tiny hole. Except all the while an obstinate part of him fully knew that he would never attain what he strived for -- the Iron Throne.

That elusive prize was too far away from his grasp. Yet that never stopped him from trying. If anything, he was born to be a fighter. Born to be tenacious. Born to never quit. Not unless he wanted to. For now, however, he had decided to take a small reprieve. Acquaint himself with this wife of his and perhaps learn more than he had allowed himself to before. He couldn't leave what he wished for behind but he could still learn to know her. Learn from her even. Why not? What could he possibly lose? Hardly anything. 

If anything she had been the one who had shown him care more than anyone else had during his time of need. She was the one who had shown him honour more than anyone else had. She was still here, attached to him and his name and defiantly so. Despite his numerous misdeeds and many attempts of walking away while subjecting her to vile gossip and the words of lesser men. Men he knew she could more than easily best. If not for the mere fact that she was his wife and she was made of strength and bronze and that he had instilled it within her even more with his fire. The fire of his mistreatment which had only made her stronger. 

And in light of everything that had happened between them. She was still the one person who was his own, if only by name. She had shown him more devotion than he believed he deserved. Is it enough if he can never give her peace?  Destiny had entwined their lives, and she was his. Her integrity made him appear insignificant, and his unbending stubborn acts made it appear as if he was squandering her loyalty. He didn't want to any longer. Not tonight, at least. Not when he was thoroughly himself once again. He had been barely conscious most of the many nights she had spent at his bedside whilst he was sick with the fever. But the few times hed regained consciousness she had always been there. Whereas he had never been there for her. She was his polar opposite. She was unrelenting in her fidelity. Beating him down with that stubborn loyalty she held onto steadfastly.

.............................................................................

When he had spoken and told her that he hadnt been mistaken in his action. His words were honest. That was the one thing she appreciated about him; that he rarely ever cared enough to lie. Even at his worst. Rhea knew she could always rely on that, trust it. And, what a surprise it was to find out. That he had intended to kiss her. That it hadn't been as she had thought. His feverish delirium allowed him to think that she was another. Rhea's eyes simply squinted at him with scepticism. She didn't back away. His height didn't intimidate her, nor did this new change in proximity. She only allowed that statement to sink in before she closed her eyes and sucked in a breath between her teeth. 

"I shall do neither," her hand tentatively reached for his elbow before Rhea boldly curled it around his palm instead. It is... strange. She hadn't touched her own husband since she was five and ten years old and was married to him in front of the sept. She noticed that his hands were warm. That must be the dragon's blood.  The blood of the vale was always a little too cool. "My lord husband, you need to rest, to eat, to recover. Your kingdom needs you."

She did not add your desolate kingdom, if only not to worsen their current amicable mood as she proceeded to tug him back to bed.

He observed that she had not moved away from him. She hadn't taken any backward steps. He was not surprised. Why would she withdraw from him when he knew she was just not meek in his presence? Even though he had noticed a peculiar softness in her. It had been a fleeting moment. She wasn't her usual force of fierce rebellion, which he was more than aware had been instilled in her through his apathy and abandonment. His cruelty toward her has always been part reactive, and part feeling betrayed by both the gods and his own grandmother.

He watches her touch him and cocks his head to the side, mildly amused by her demeanour, which was neither maidenly nor timid. Except her words irritated him. She surprised him by not retaliating when he gave her the perfect opportunity to walk away from him. But, of course, she wouldn't. Her cherished righteousness and honour, which she gripped like a badge with both hands, would never allow her to stoop to his roguish level.

She was much better than him after all. And she was showing him just that once again, much to his ire. Except that hadn't been the thing that was of the most nuisance to him, no. it had been the manner with which she had unspoken words lingering after the ones she had just spoken.

Your kingdom needs you.

"Tch. do not ridicule me, woman. that useless pile of stones, crabs and dead bodies is nothing but a wasteland and we both know it. The only reason I took it over was to show my weak king of a brother that I was better than him and could do what he could never do." 

He allowed her to guide him towards the bed but then took her waist in his arms and brought her flush against him. Uncaring of decency, for what was that even between a man and his wife? "I know what I need to do, wife. You have done your best to nurse me back to health and now," his voice was a deep whisper, close enough to brush every word against the smoothness of her cheeks as he reclaimed a cheek in his firm grasp once again.

"I don't want to rest. I want you. now." 

.............................................................................

He was forceful.

Not so rough that she was certain will leave bruises. But familiar enough in that forcefully demanding manner that steadies her to take a deep breath, prepared for the worst. She didn't, however, immediately push him away. She believed she was far too fascinated for her own benefit. While the most logical course of action would have been to immediately push him away, or put some distance between them. Given their history, the turmoil that lay deep between them, and the fact that they would never stray far from their usual routine of enraging one another. She had hoped that state was one they both didn't need at the moment. With all those thoughts plaguing her, she glanced upwards to meet his gaze.

She watched him like a hawk while she waited for whatever move he would make. As though she were a daring prey challenging its predator. His admission regarding his intentions for taking on this battle in the first place had not been surprising. Though she didn't say it. She was still glad that he had taken the initiative and had been involved in the fight for stepstones, a seemingly meaningless chain of isles it may have been. But Rhea knew their value all the same. She also always thought her lord husband was more than suited to be in this war, as strange of a conclusion that would be. 

Many wives would disagree, she pondered. Though those same many wives would undoubtedly have loving or adoring husbands they wanted to have return home. Still, she remained steadfast in her opinion. For if one were to put aside the neglect this barren marriage had endured, she had to admit that her lord husband thrived in chaos. In it, he found his glory; he found his place.

After all, wasn't he the one who tamed and elevated the status of King's Landing's gold cloaks? Hadn't his rule over Fleabottom been extremely efficient, despite the fact that blood had been spilt to the ground under his intimidating control?

True, the land her lord husband had conquered was one kingdom Rhea was not ecstatic to have aided in its diplomatic defence while he was bedridden and ordered to be placed under strict restraint. But that didn't mean she wasn't proud to be the wife of the prince who had slain the kingdom's enemy head-on. And without his dragon, to boot. Who would dare question his true prowess now? Who would now dare utter a word of protest when everyone has heard, and everyone will know, how seamlessly Dark Sister cuts into the enemy?

Not that she would tell him those words out loud. These thoughts were her own unless he dared pry them out from her.

His subsequent words finally elicit a reaction from her. How bold of him - how uncouth. Should she even be surprised? To be perfectly frank, she truly wasn't. It was the underlying meaning of such a request. Could it be that he finally desired to consummate the marriage that he abandoned? She had no choice but to grin. Except it wasn't a pleasant grin. It was half-mocking, with her own arrogance shaping the look to make her appear not as soft as she had been prior.

"So, am I to be your reward then? Is that the case? The prince's health has been restored, so now he must defeat the next wet cunt to make him feel better."

She was unrelenting in her words. Defiantly so. He must have forgotten who she was. She was the wife chosen by his own blood. She was also as stubborn as he was; and just as uncouth, if need be.

"I should grab the nearest sheep for you then, husband. What was it you would tell your men? The sheep are prettier than my bronze bitch." She brushes his hand away from her but doesn't pull back. "Lay down. You haven't had proper food in days. I will call for the staff to bring you dinner." 

[stromuprisahat]

“No mother should ever have to burn her child,” the queen had said at the funeral pyre of her son Valerion, but of the thirteen children she bore to King Jaehaerys, only three of them would survive her, Aegon, Gaemon, and Valerion died as babes. The Shivers took Daenerys at the age of six. A crossbow slew Prince Aemon. Alyssa and Daella died in childbed, Viserra drunk in the street. Septa Maegelle, that gentle soul, died in 96 AC, her arms and legs turned to stone by greyscale, for she had spent her last years nursing those afflicted with that horrible condition. Saddest of all was the loss of Princess Gael, the Winter Child, born in 80 AC when Queen Alysanne was forty-four and thought to be well past her childbearing years. A sweet-natured girl, but frail and somewhat simpleminded, she remained with the queen long after her other children had grown and gone, but in 99 AC she vanished from court, and soon afterward it was announced that she had died of a summer fever. Only after both her parents were gone did the true tale come out. Seduced and abandoned by a traveling singer, the princess had given birth to a stillborn son, then, overwhelmed by grief, walked into the waters of Blackwater Bay and drowned.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Yeah, I'm sure Alysanne's age during the pregnancy had no effect on Gael... Especially since Alysanne almost died during her two previous births...

[unbeleveable-archive]

@wcrriorhearts gets an aly starter for aemma

"What do you think, dear one?" Alysanne asked as she set Aemma down before the array of jewels laid out on the bed. "Which should I wear for the feast tonight?"

[ofhumanvoice-a]

This just in: Alysanne loves Silverwing more than she loves Jaehaerys. At least post-the First Quarrel.

[destroyerofnations92]

Chapter one of up unto the overturned keel has been made public on my Patreon. If you enjoy Daemyra, are Team Black, or just really like the Rogue Prince and his Delight, go have a read.

If you're interested, I have several other multi-chaptered WIPs, as well as more chapters of the above-mentioned story. All of them are set in the wonderful World of Westeros (Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon).

up unto the overturned keel [House of the Dragon]: “Tales of great kings and mighty warriors are whispered with revery amongst the smallfolk, but how do things change when a peaceful king makes way for a martial one?”

a dragon’s wroth [House of the Dragon]: “Much had been written about Daemon Targaryen – brother to a king, husband to a queen and father to yet another queen – and even more had been said of him, but none could deny the devotion to his blood.”

i wake and feel the fell of dark, not day [House of the Dragon]: “Rhaenyra and Daemon’s rage would be whispered of for generations to come. As would the bloody trail of death and despair that followed in their wake.”

the girl in the green dress [House of the Dragon]: “Only fools wake a slumbering dragon. Let this fool not be wearing green as well?”

amidst salt and smoke [Game of Thrones]: “It has been seven years since Bran the Broken was named Lord of the Six Kingdoms, and Tyrion Lannister has rebuilt the realm, bringing forth peace and change. However, tensions with the independent Kingdom of the North and the Lords Paramount endanger the prosperity created by the Lannister lord’s Handship, as does the Hand’s own instability—for he dreams of those he has lost. What is real and what is not?”

You're in luck because there is also a one-week free trail before you have to commit to anything. 😉

For those interested, below is a short snippet of chapter one.

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The maesters murmured amongst themselves for days after the birth, with lesser courtiers chiming in at times, whispering about the queerness of the young prince: silent, yet according to the few maids that were allowed near him by the babe’s mother, he burned hotter than a Dornish summer’s day.

What newborn does not weep? Does not shed any tears at all? Instead just watches those that stand over his hand-carved dragon crib with those deep purple eyes. No smiles, no tears, just staring. And that damned heat.

The royal family must have heard the whispers. How could they not? Yet, it was only when the Prince of Dragonstone confronted Lord Rickard Connington about his gossiping and threatened to disembowel him in front of his young wife and children, that the overt speculation died down. Though Prince Aemon knew there was still talk of his beloved sennight-old nephew within the halls of the Red Keep, at least it no longer happened within his or his lady wife’s earshot, nor that of his brother and their sister.

When born, the prince’s eyes had been the darkest of purples, closer to black than anything, yet with an unmistakable shine to them. As expected, the few tufts of hair on the babe’s head were the traditional Targaryen platinum, but more silver than white. The maesters believed that both might change in time. His eyes could lighten up and his hair might to on more of a blonde or white hue, but decades later, both would remain the same.

The birth of any prince or princess of the blood was always a cause for celebration, and while the King was jubilant at the birth of his youngest grandchild, it was Alysanne who adored the newborn prince above all else. The Good Queen would spend entire days within the young prince’s chambers, just looking at him, while he stared back at her.

Daemon. A name the prince and princess had only settled upon a day prior and which would be formally announced to the court soon enough. While many would assume the newborn prince was named after the Conciliator’s uncle and former Hand of the King, or even the Conqueror’s first Master of Ships and his most loyal of supporters, those who truly knew the Spring Prince and his sister-wife knew better.

Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, more than any Targaryen since the sorceress queen had perished four decades earlier, had a deep-rooted admiration of the ancient Freehold and its near-mythical prowess. When dragons still roamed the sky by the dozens, grand buildings were erected, perfect roads lay with the magic of blood and fire, and Lords Freeholders were worshipped as gods come flesh, a great dragonlord sat as First Lord for more than half a century… Daemon the Blackhair.

The Blackhair, much like his name suggested, missed the famed Valyrian white hair. Born a scion of the House Volterys, many assumed he was a bastard born of his mother’s dalliance with one of the lower blood, a servant maybe, though his powerful father seemingly paid the rumours no mind. His ascendency to the parriarchy of his ancient house at the age of seven and ten would have been considered controversial if he had not yet claimed the dragon Ghidorax. Nearing her fourth century, the grand she-dragon was considered the mightiest mount in at least ten generations.

Though the Volteryses were considered traders rather than warriors or politicians, Daemon would make a name for himself within the Civic Legions, and be granted command of its most elite of brigades at the young age of one and twenty. There started his meteoric rise: from command of the First Brigade to the entire Civic Legions, Archonship of Mantarys and Consulship of the Gierūlnon – the ancient assembly of lords freeholders – and finally, to the vaulted office of First Lord. The most powerful man in all of Valyria, maybe even the known world. For three-and-fifty years, the Blackhair sat on the Blood Throne and in that time he brought Ghis to heel, forced the Dothraki from their borders, and even settled an outpost in the west.

Who better to name their son for?

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