#corlys velaryon
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
literaturedog Β· 10 hours ago
Text
πš†πš‘πš’πš•πšŽ πš›πšŽπš›πšŽπšŠπšπš’πš—πš πšπš‘πš’πšœ πšπš˜πš› πšπš‘πšŽ πš›πšŽπš‹πš•πš˜πš, 𝙸 πš‘πš˜πš—πšŽπšœπšπš•πš’ πšπš˜πš—'𝚝 πš›πšŽπš–πšŽπš–πš‹πšŽπš› πšπš‘πšŽ πšŽπšŸπšŽπš—πšπšœ πšπšžπš›πš’πš—πš πšπš‘πš’πšœ πš™πšŠπš›πš, 𝚜𝚘 πš’πš'𝚜 πš—πš’πšŒπšŽ πšœπš˜πš›πš 𝚘𝚏 πš›πšŽπšŠπšπš’πš—πš πš’πš πšπš˜πš› πšπš‘πšŽ πšπš’πš›πšœπš πšπš’πš–πšŽ πšŠπšπšŠπš’πš—
𝙸 πš•πš˜πšŸπšŽ πšπš‘πšŽ πšœπšπšŠπš›πš” πš‘πšŽπš‘πšŽ πšŒπš˜πš—πšπš›πšŠπšœπš 𝚘𝚏 π™°πš•πš’πšŒπšŽπš—πš πšπš›πš˜πš– πšπš‘πšŽ πšŒπšŠπš—πš˜πš— πš–πšŽπšπš’πšŠ πšŠπš—πš πšπš‘πšŽ πš˜πš—πšŽ πš’πš— πšπš‘πš’πšœ πšπšŠπš—πšπš’πšŒ, πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ πšœπš‘πš˜πš πš’πš—πš πš‘πš˜πš  πš–πšžπšŒπš‘ πšœπš‘πšŽ πš πšŠπš—πšπšŽπš πšπš‘πš’πšœ πš›πšŠπšπš‘πšŽπš› πšπš‘πšŠπš— πšπšŽπšŽπš•πš’πš—πš πšπš˜πš›πšŒπšŽπš 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 πšπš‘πš›πš˜πšžπšπš‘ πš’πš πš‹πš’ πš‘πšŽπš› πšπšŠπšπš‘πšŽπš›. 𝙸 πšŒπš˜πšžπš•πš 𝚜𝚊𝚒 πšπš‘πšŽ πšœπšŠπš–πšŽ πšπš‘πš’πš—πš πšπš˜πš› πšπš‘πšŠπšŽπš—πš’πš›πšŠ 𝚝𝚘𝚘.
πšƒπš‘πšŽ πšπš›πšŠπšπšžπšŠπš• πš‹πšžπš’πš•πš πšžπš™ 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πšŽπšπšπš’πš—πš πš‹πš’πš πš’πšœ πšœπš˜πš–πšŽπšπš‘πš’πš—πš 𝙸 πšŒπš›πšŠπšŸπšŽ πš’πš— πšœπš–πšžπš, 𝙸 πš›πšŽπšŠπš•πš•πš’ πšπš˜πš—'𝚝 πš”πš—πš˜πš  πš‘πš˜πš  πš™πšŽπš˜πš™πš•πšŽ πšŠπš›πšŽ πšŠπš‹πš•πšŽ 𝚝𝚘 πšŒπš˜πš—πšœπšžπš–πšŽ πšŒπš˜πš—πšπšŽπš—πš πš•πš’πš”πšŽ πšπš‘πšŠπš πš πš’πšπš‘πš˜πšžπš πšπš‘πšŽ πšŒπš˜πš—πš—πšŽπšŒπšπš’πš—πš πšπšŠπšŒπšπš˜πš› πš‹πšŽπšπš πšŽπšŽπš— πšπš‘πšŽ 𝚝𝚠𝚘 πš˜πš› πš–πš˜πš›πšŽ πšŽπš—πšπšŠπšπš’πš—πš πš™πšŠπš›πšπš’πšŽπšœ.
πš€πšžπš’πšπšŽ 𝚊 πš“πšžπš–πš™ πš’πš— πšπš’πš–πšŽ πšπš›πš˜πš– πšπš‘πšŠπš πš™πš˜πš’πš—πš 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ πš—πšŽπš‘πš, πš‹πšžπš 𝙸 πš•πš’πš”πšŽ πš’πš πš—πš˜πš—πšŽπšπš‘πšŽπš•πšŽπšœπšœ, πšŽπšœπš™πšŽπšŒπš’πšŠπš•πš•πš’ πš πš‘πšŽπš— πšπšŽπšŠπšπšŽπš› πš’πšœ πšœπš‘πš˜πš πš— 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πš’πš—πš” 𝚘𝚏 πš‘πš’πšœ πšπšŠπš–πš’πš•πš’ πšŠπšπšπšŽπš›πš πšŠπš›πšπšœ. 𝙸 πšπš‘πš’πš—πš” πšπš‘πšŠπš'𝚜 πšŠπš— πšŠπšπš˜πš›πšŠπš‹πš•πšŽ πš•πš’πšπšπš•πšŽ πšπšŽπšŠπšπšžπš›πšŽ.
π™Όπš’ πšŠπš™πš˜πš•πš˜πšπš’πšŽπšœ πšπš˜πš› πšπš‘πšŽ πš•πš˜πš—πš πšŒπš˜πš–πš–πšŽπš—πš πš‘πšŽπš‘πšŽπš‘πšŽ π™ΌπšŽπš›πš›πš’ π™²πš‘πš›πš’πšœπšπš–πšŠπšœ 𝚝𝚘 πšŽπšŸπšŽπš›πš’πš˜πš—πšŽ, πšŽπšœπš™πšŽπšŒπš’πšŠπš•πš•πš’ πšπš‘πšŽ πšŸπšŽπš›πš’ πšπšŠπš•πšŽπš—πšπšŽπš πš πš›πš’πšπšŽπš› 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πš’πšœ πšœπšŽπš›πš’πšŽπšœ
Where Dragons Dare (2/3)
Tumblr media
- Summary: After your declaration to marry Alicent in the small council meeting, the day of the wedding finally comes. And so does your first wedding night.
- Paring: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower
- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.
- Rating: Explicit 18+
- Word count: 5 000+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog
- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❀️ Battle of the Stepstones is add as a bonus, because I love writing dragon battles. The last part will be posted later tomorrow once it is done.
- Previous part: 1
- Next part: 3
Tumblr media
The grand hall of the Red Keep is awash with the glow of thousands of candles. The flames dance across golden tapestries depicting the histories of Old Valyria, but today the storied past pales in comparison to the momentous occasion unfolding before all in attendance. The wedding is one spoken of in whispers and rumors, but now it blooms before the gathered lords and ladies with all the splendor and gravitas worthy of House Targaryen.Β 
You stand at the altar draped in black and red, the rich silk of your doublet catching the light in subtle ways. The fine Valyrian embroidery at the hems speaks of dragons in flight, each thread imbued with dark crimson that shimmers like fresh blood. A black cloak, edged in deep scarlet, flows from your shoulders, fastened at your throat with a clasp shaped like a coiled dragon. Your hair, the silvery-white of pure Valyrian descent, is tied back, letting your angular features and sharp violet eyes take in every gaze, every emotion displayed openly or hidden away. At your side hangs Blackfyreβ€”your birthright as Prince of Dragonstoneβ€”its pommel set with a ruby that gleams like a beating heart.
Before you, Alicent Hightower stands radiant in a gown of deep emerald green. The dress, fitted perfectly to her frame, billows out in layers of silk and fine lace, each shimmering with golden accents as she moves. A delicate crown of silver leaves and pearls rests atop her auburn hair, carefully arranged in elegant curls. Her eyes, a brilliant shade of brown, reflect a mixture of pride, joy, and the quiet steel she’s honed under the pressures of courtly life. There is a softness in her gaze, however, reserved only for you as her eyes meet yoursβ€”a silent understanding, a shared relief, and a promise of what is to come.
The Septon's voice rings out, leading the words of the traditional vows. Beside you, Rhaenyra is practically glowing with excitement. Her smile is unrestrained, her eyes darting between you and Alicent with genuine happiness, a sister’s joy at seeing her twin brother embrace his own fate. She wears a gown of pale red, adorned with the colors of House Targaryen and a crown of silver atop her flowing locks, her presence radiating confidence as the heir’s sister and a firm ally to your cause.Β 
King Viserys is seated in a place of honor, his face full of warmth and pride. His smile is wide as he watches his only son wed the woman who has become a daughter to him over the years. He has the contented look of a father who finally sees his children happy, a rare expression in a court filled with ambition and schemes. He lifts his cup in a subtle toast to you and Alicent, his eyes misting over slightly with emotion.
Daemon Targaryen, your uncle, stands near the rear of the gathered nobles, his silver hair catching the light as he observes the ceremony. His expression is inscrutable, but those who know him well enough can see the slight curve at the edge of his lips, the way his gaze sharpens whenever it falls upon you. For all his unpredictability, there is a flicker of pride thereβ€”a satisfaction, perhaps, that you finally asserted yourself against the forces that sought to control you. Daemon has always favored those who carve their own path, and today you have done just that.
As the ceremony draws to a close, you step forward to place a cloak upon Alicent’s shoulders, the symbol of House Targaryen enveloping her as you claim her as your own. The green of House Hightower blends now with the red and black of the dragon, a union that cements alliances but more importantly binds two hearts that have long yearned for this day. When you lean in to kiss her, there is a softness, a tenderness in the way her lips meet yours, and the hall erupts in applause, though the world shrinks to just the two of you in that fleeting moment.
As the applause dies down, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, watches with a carefully controlled expression. His eyes flicker between you and Alicent, a mixture of satisfaction and unease buried beneath his calm demeanor. Though this is a victory for him in securing his daughter’s position, there’s a tension in his jawβ€”he had hoped to control this outcome more closely, but you’ve slipped from his grasp, a dragon untamed. He studies you with the gaze of a man who sees both a rival and a dangerous ally.
At the feast, Rhaenyra approaches you first, practically throwing herself into your arms. "You did it, Y/N! I knew you would," she beams, her joy infectious. "Alicent looks so beautiful, and youβ€”you were magnificent. I’ve never seen the council so speechless!" Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "And Uncle Daemon, I think he’s actually proud of you for once."
You chuckle, wrapping an arm around your sister. β€œHe probably is. But I didn’t do this for him or the council. This was always for her.” Your gaze drifts back to Alicent, who’s engaged in conversation with a group of highborn ladies, her laughter soft and genuine.
Viserys claps a hand on your shoulder. "You’ve brought honor to our house, Y/N. I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become. Your mother would be so proud, too." His voice carries a slight tremor as he mentions Queen Aemma, but it is quickly overshadowed by his joy.
You offer him a warm smile. "Thank you, father. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that this union strengthens our house."
Daemon is the next to approach, a goblet in hand and that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "I didn’t think you had it in you, nephew," he says, voice laced with amusement. "I was beginning to think you’d let others chart your course forever. But you’ve surprised us all, haven’t you?"
You meet his gaze squarely, your own smile more restrained but no less confident. "Some paths are worth fighting for, uncle. Even if they’re not what others expect."
Daemon raises his cup in a mock salute. β€œSpoken like a true Targaryen. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than I thought.”
The feast carries on with music, laughter, and the clinking of cups. You and Alicent share dances with the lords and ladies of the realm, but every now and then, your eyes find each other’s, and the world falls away again, leaving just the two of you in this sea of people.
When you finally manage to steal a private moment with her in a quiet corner of the hall, she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. β€œI was so afraid,” she admits in a hushed voice, her eyes reflecting the firelight. β€œAfraid that we’d never be able to reach this moment. But here we are.”
You brush a strand of hair from her face, letting your hand linger against her cheek. β€œYou’re mine now, Alicent. I’ll fight for you, for us, against anyone who tries to tear us apart.”
A flicker of relief passes through her expression, followed by a warmth that softens her usually reserved emotions. β€œAnd I’ll stand by you, no matter the storm we face.”
The words hang between you like an unspoken vowβ€”one more binding than anything recited before the Septon.Β 
Tumblr media
The night deepens as the feast continues, a blur of music and the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off the ornate dishes piled with food. Laughter and the sound of clinking goblets fill the Great Hall. You and Alicent sit side by side at the high table, your hands occasionally brushing against each other beneath the table. The touch is small, but each time it happens, there’s a comforting warmth, a silent reassurance between the two of you. Alicent’s soft smile, reserved just for you, never quite fades from her lips.
As you’re enjoying a brief moment of quiet conversation, the sound of footsteps approaches. Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s brother, strides up, his eyes bright with joy. "Sister! Y/N!" he greets, his voice tinged with the exuberance of youth. His resemblance to Alicent is striking, though his features are more angular, his posture that of a man eager to prove himself. "I couldn’t let the night end without offering my congratulations." He gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder, his grin broad. "It’s about time someone put a spark in this old court! You’ve done well, my friend. I’ve known you since we were boys, and I’ve always believed you’d find your way."
You return his grin, reaching out to clasp his forearm in the familiar gesture of comrades. "Gwayne, your support has never gone unnoticed. I’ve always valued your friendship, even when we got ourselves into trouble as children. But I think this time, we’ve both stepped into something greater than mischief.”
Gwayne chuckles. β€œYou certainly have, Y/N. And Alicent—” He turns to his sister, his tone softening with genuine affection. β€œI’ve never seen you look happier. I’m glad you’ve found this happiness, even if I’ll be the one who has to keep a closer eye on courtly matters with you from now on.”
Alicent smiles warmly at her brother, her hand gently resting over yours atop the table. β€œThank you, Gwayne. Your words mean more to me than you know. And don’t worry, we’ll both make sure to keep you busy in your duties, though perhaps with fewer pranks than when we were children.”
The three of you share a laugh, the ease of old friendships and sibling bonds lightening the mood.
Soon after, the familiar figures of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys approach. The Sea Snake is every bit the powerful figure one expects, his deep blue doublet adorned with intricate silver embroidery resembling the waves of the sea. Rhaenys is resplendent in crimson and gold, her presence commanding yet warm. There’s a certain wisdom in her gaze as she looks between you and Alicent, as if she sees beyond what most do.
β€œPrince Y/N, Lady Alicent,” Corlys begins, his voice deep and steady. β€œCongratulations are in order. The union of Targaryen and Hightower is a strategic move, and one I hope will bring stability to the realm. But more than that, it’s clear to see the bond you share.” His eyes linger on you, a hint of approval in his expression. β€œAnd perhaps this is the start of a new chapter where the young find their own path amidst the expectations of the old.”
Princess Rhaenys nods, her lips curling into a knowing smile. β€œIt is good to see love and strength walk hand in hand. The history of our houses has often been marked by conflict, but this—” she gestures subtly between you and Alicent, β€œβ€”this has the potential to change much. You both carry the future on your shoulders now.”
You bow your head slightly in respect. β€œThank you, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys. Your wisdom is always welcome. I hope to earn that respect in time and prove that this union is more than just a political move.”
Rhaenys’ eyes glint with something sharp and approving. β€œOh, I believe you will, Y/N. The blood of Old Valyria runs deep, and you’ve shown you’re willing to chart your own course. I, for one, look forward to seeing what comes next.”
As they step away, Lord Tyland Lannister, clad in rich reds and golds, approaches next. His sharp features and keen eyes give away his nature as a man ever mindful of the shifting tides of power. β€œPrince Y/N, Lady Alicent, it is a joyous day indeed.” His voice is smooth, practiced, yet there’s an undercurrent of genuine intent behind his words. β€œHouse Lannister is ever eager to lend its support to the Targaryen line. May your union be fruitful and prosperous. It seems the dragons have found a way to blend strength with the grace of the Reach.”
You nod, ever cautious with Tyland’s honeyed words. β€œThank you, Lord Tyland. Your support will be remembered, and I hope our alliance will benefit all corners of the realm.”
He offers a slight bow before moving off, ever mindful of where the winds blow.
The feast begins to wind down, and as tradition demands, there is the looming expectation of the bedding ceremony. The air in the hall thickens with the anticipation of it. Some lords and ladies begin to gather, murmuring and glancing toward you and Alicent with barely hidden excitement. The tension, the ribald jokes, the whispersβ€”it all threatens to reduce the sanctity of this moment to a spectacle.
Before anyone can make a move to initiate it, you rise to your feet, the air of command in your posture silencing the crowd before the teasing can begin. β€œThere will be no bedding ceremony tonight,” you declare, your voice clear and firm, leaving no room for argument. The hall quiets instantly, the murmur of protests caught in the throats of those who thought to see the night end in such a manner.
Daemon, standing with arms crossed at the edge of the hall, lets out a low chuckle, his approval evident in the sharp nod he gives you. β€œLet the young prince make his own choices,” he says, his voice carrying across the room. β€œThere’s enough spectacle in these halls without turning the most sacred of nights into another charade.”
The crowd hesitates, unsure whether to push the matter. But when you meet your father’s gaze, Viserys nods slowly, an expression of both surprise and respect on his face. Otto Hightower, who had been watching with tension in his eyes, finally relaxes, a subtle sigh escaping him. His face settles into an expression that resembles something close to approval, a rare look from a man who values tradition and order above all.
Alicent looks at you with deep gratitude and admiration, her fingers squeezing yours as she stands. You turn to her, your expression softening as you offer her your arm. β€œShall we retire, my lady?” you ask, your voice laced with tenderness.
She dips her head slightly, eyes shimmering with emotion. β€œLet’s,” she replies, her voice barely more than a whisper as she takes your arm.
Together, you walk down the long aisle toward the doors leading out of the Great Hall, every eye on you both as you leave. There is a certain weight lifted from your shoulders as the doors close behind you, the noise of the hall fading as you enter the quieter, more intimate corridors of the Keep.
As you walk side by side toward your chambers, the echoes of your footsteps and the distant flicker of torchlight create an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Neither of you speaks, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the knowledge that this is just the beginning. When you reach the doors to your shared chambers, you pause, turning to face her fully. You lift her hand to your lips and press a soft kiss to her knuckles, your eyes never leaving hers.
β€œNo more performances,” you murmur. β€œThis is just us now.”
Alicent’s eyes shine as she steps closer, her other hand rising to rest against your cheek. β€œI’ve never wanted anything more than to be with you, like this, away from prying eyes.”
With that, you open the door and guide her inside, the world outside forgotten as the heavy oak doors close behind you both, sealing away the courtly intrigue and the expectations of the realm. In this moment, it’s just you and her, bound together by choice, love, and a shared determination to forge your own destiny.
Tumblr media
The chamber is bathed in the soft light of the fire, shadows flickering across the stone walls as the door closes behind you both. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable but full with the awareness of what comes next. For all the warmth you share, the affection that’s blossomed over years of quiet moments and unspoken glances, this is new for both of you. The air is tinged with the sweet fragrance of candles, the soft rustle of fabric as you both stand there, suddenly unsure how to proceed.
You turn to face her, meeting Alicent’s gaze. There’s a nervousness in her eyes, a slight quiver in her breath, but beneath it lies trust, and something moreβ€”desire, hesitant but real. You step closer, reaching out to take her hands in yours, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a gentle, soothing motion. β€œAlicent,” you murmur, your voice softer than usual, tinged with both affection and concern. β€œAre you sure? If you’re not ready—”
β€œI am,” she interrupts softly, her voice a tender whisper in the quiet of the room. Her cheeks flush pink, but her eyes never leave yours. β€œI’ve never been more certain of anything.”
You nod, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Slowly, you lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss, tender and delicate. Her lips are warm against yours, the kiss a gentle exploration rather than a fervent rush. You both linger in the simplicity of it, letting it ease the tension from your bodies. When you pull back, you see her chest rise and fall as she steadies her breath, her eyes searching yours for reassurance.
Your hand moves to the clasp of her dress, fingers hesitating for a moment before you look at her once more. β€œMay I?” you ask softly.
She nods, her voice catching slightly. β€œYes… I want you to.”
With careful fingers, you undo the clasp and let the fabric slip from her shoulders, revealing the pale skin beneath. The dress pools at her feet, and she stands before you in just her shift, delicate and vulnerable. Her eyes flicker down, shyly avoiding your gaze as you take her in. In turn, she reaches out, her hands trembling slightly as she begins to unlace your doublet. There’s an unspoken agreement between youβ€”a mutual understanding that this moment is as much about trust as it is about desire. You help her with the laces, guiding her hands until your clothing is cast aside, leaving you both bare in the warm glow of the fire.
For a long moment, you simply stand there, your breaths mingling, your eyes tracing the curves and lines of each other’s bodies. There’s a sense of curiosity mixed with reverence, your gazes shyly meeting before drifting again, both of you learning and memorizing the sight of each other.
β€œBeautiful,” you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. Alicent’s breath hitches at the word, her eyes shining as she looks up at you, her lips parting as if to say something, but words fail her. Instead, she just reaches out, fingers brushing over your chest, her touch sending a shiver through you.
You gently take her hand and guide her toward the bed, the furs soft beneath your feet as you lead her down onto the mattress. You lay her down with the utmost care, your eyes never leaving hers, searching for any sign of discomfort. Her lips part as she draws in a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze is steady, trusting.
You lower yourself beside her, your hand caressing her cheek as you lean in to kiss her again. This time, the kiss is deeper, a gradual melding of lips as you both begin to relax into each other. Your hand trails down, brushing against her collarbone, then lower, until it rests just above her breast. You pause, your eyes flicking to hers for permission, and when she nods slightly, you continue, cupping her breast gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin. A soft gasp escapes her lips, her back arching slightly as you explore her.
β€œYou’re so beautiful, Alicent,” you murmur against her lips, and she responds with a soft sigh, her hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer.
Your kisses begin to wander, trailing down her jawline, to the tender skin of her neck. You feel her pulse quicken under your lips, her breath growing more uneven as you move lower. When your mouth finds her breast, she gasps, her fingers threading through your hair. You take your time, savoring each reaction, each soft sound she makes as your lips and tongue explore her.
As you move lower, her breath catches, her fingers tightening in your hair when you kiss the curve of her hip. You glance up at her, seeing the mixture of nerves and anticipation in her eyes. She’s never experienced anything like this, and neither have youβ€”not truly. But you remember the lessons Daemon half-teased, half-instructed you on during that one visit to the brothel, showing you the ways of pleasure in a more practical, if unconventional, manner. While you hadn’t partaken that night, you watched, curious, and the knowledge lingers now, guiding your movements.
You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she lets out a soft whimper, her fingers clutching at the furs beneath her. You murmur a line from an old Valyrian poem, the words ancient and filled with meaning, letting the sounds roll off your tongue as your kisses grow more intimate. β€œGevives isse tolvie jelevreβ€”beauty in every breath,” you whisper, your breath warm against her skin.
When your mouth finally finds her core, she gasps, her body tensing for a moment before she melts into the sensation, her hips shifting instinctively toward you. Her breath comes in shallow bursts, her hand gripping your shoulder as you apply what you’ve learned, taking your time, listening to the way her body responds. When she lets out a soft moan, her voice trembling with pleasure, you smile against her, murmuring another line from the poemβ€”words of love and devotion that have been passed down through generations.
Slowly, you trail your kisses back up her body, feeling her trembling beneath you. Her hands reach for you, pulling you close, and when your lips find hers again, the kiss is hungry, filled with the taste of her desire and the passion that’s been building between you both.
You position yourself above her, your eyes locked on hers as you ask one last time, β€œAre you sure, Alicent?”
Her response is a breathless nod, her hand cupping your cheek as she whispers, β€œI want this. I want you.”
You enter her gently, inch by inch, mindful of her innocence, watching her every expression for any sign of pain. She winces slightly at first, her brow furrowing, but her fingers dig into your back, holding you close as she adjusts. When she finally opens her eyes again, there’s no hesitation, only trust. β€œMove,” she breathes, her voice barely audible, but full of need.
You start slowly, each movement careful, deliberate, letting her body adjust, her warmth enveloping you. Her breaths come out in soft, quick bursts, her nails dragging lightly across your skin as she holds on to you. The tension in her body gradually gives way to something else, her hips meeting yours in a rhythm that’s both instinctive and hesitant.
As the moments pass, the awkwardness gives way to a deeper connection. The tenderness remains, but passion begins to take root. Alicent’s breath hitches when she wraps her legs around your waist, her hands pulling you closer. You respond to her need, moving with more urgency as she finds her own rhythm, her body moving against yours in a dance that’s both new and timeless.
When she pushes herself up, shifting into your lap, there’s a sudden surge of boldness in her gaze, something wild and free. You guide her movements, your hands steadying her as she takes control, her breathless gasps mingling with your own. The intimacy between you grows not just in the physical connection but in the way you respond to each other’s needs, desires, and unspoken fears. It’s a union forged in trust, love, and the desire to explore the depths of what you share.
Eventually, when the night reaches its quiet peak, you collapse together into the furs, breathless and spent, your limbs entangled as you hold her close. Here, in this moment, there’s only the warmth of her skin against yours, the sound of her steadying breaths, and the knowledge that this is only the beginning of your shared life together.
As sleep slowly claims you both, you press a final kiss to her forehead, murmuring words of love in Valyrian, promising her with every breath that this night is just the start of what you’ll build together.
Tumblr media
The sky is a bruised shade of twilight, thick with smoke and ash. The stench of blood, sweat, and salt fills the air as the waves crash against the jagged rocks of the Stepstones. This place is a wastelandβ€”a battlefield stained with the bodies of the dead and dying. For over two years, the Crabfeeder’s men have held these islands, turning them into a butcher’s yard. But today, you intend to end it. Today, the dragons return in fire and fury.
You sit atop Dallax, your black-scaled beast, perched on a ridge overlooking the main encampment of the Triarchy’s forces. His green eyes gleam in the dim light, and his body shifts restlessly beneath you, eager to unleash his wrath. His teeth, hidden within the dark flesh of his jaws, retract only when his rage is stokedβ€”a menace lying in wait. You run a gloved hand along his neck, feeling the raw power coiled within him. β€œSoon,” you whisper, your voice firm yet laced with anticipation. β€œWe will end this.”
Below, Daemon Targaryen plays his part to perfection. Clad in soot-streaked armor, a white banner clutched in one hand, he approaches the enemy lines. The Crabfeeder’s forces, a mix of hardened sellswords and conscripts, watch from behind their sharpened stakes and crude fortifications, unsure whether this is truly surrender or another of Daemon’s ruses. The Prince of the City moves with a calculated slowness, his steps deliberate, his head lowered just enough to give the impression of defeat. But you know him better. There’s a fire in his eyesβ€”a fury barely contained behind that facade of submission. The plan hinges on this moment, on the Crabfeeder’s arrogance and greed.
From your vantage point, you spot Lord Corlys Velaryon’s forces hidden in the shallows, ready to pounce the moment the trap is sprung. The Sea Snake commands his men with a veteran’s precision, their silence a stark contrast to the braying jeers coming from the Crabfeeder’s ranks.
Daemon finally stops, mere feet from the Crabfeeder’s line, where a grotesque figure emerges from the shadows. Drahar, the Crabfeeder, is a ghastly sight, his face hidden behind a cracked and twisted mask, his skin mottled from disease. He raises a hand, halting the jeers, and for a moment, silence reigns.
Then, chaos erupts.
Daemon’s false surrender is cast aside as he draws Dark Sister in a blur of Valyrian steel, cutting through the nearest soldier in one swift, practiced motion. Blood sprays into the air, catching the dim light as the battlefield roars back to life. The Triarchy’s soldiers charge forward, desperate to claim the prize they believe within reach, but they are rushing headlong into a trap.
It’s your moment.
With a word in Valyrian, you urge Dallax into a dive. His wings unfurl, dark as midnight, blotting out the dying light. The air screams past you as you plummet toward the battlefield, the ground rushing up to meet you. β€œDracarys!” you roar, the command slicing through the din of battle.
Dallax responds with a torrent of flame that incinerates everything in its path. The first line of the Crabfeeder’s men is engulfed in a roaring inferno, their screams swallowed by the relentless fire. Armor melts, flesh sizzles, and bone turns to ash in mere moments. You bank sharply, pulling Dallax into another dive, this time focusing on the siege engines positioned along the ridge. The ballistae, meant to keep the dragons at bay, are shattered under the crushing weight of dragonfire and claws. Timber explodes, splinters raining down on the screaming soldiers below as you rip through their defenses with ruthless efficiency.
You catch a glimpse of Daemon, now fully engaged in the melee, his sword a blur of lethal grace as he carves a bloody path through the Triarchy’s forces. He fights with a savage joy, laughing as he dodges and counters, the battlefield his stage. Corlys and his men surge from the shallows, catching the enemy in a brutal pincer. The once-confident soldiers of the Crabfeeder are thrown into disarray, their lines crumbling under the combined might of dragon and steel.
You circle back, eyes locked on Drahar, who attempts to retreat deeper into the labyrinth of stakes and pits his men have constructed. But there’s no escape. You guide Dallax lower, skimming the ground, his claws gouging the earth as you close in on your prey. The Crabfeeder looks up in desperation, his eyes wide behind his mask as he realizes his end is near.
β€œEnd him!” Daemon’s voice echoes in your mind like a phantom’s dare, though the words are drowned out by the roar of battle.
Dallax’s jaws snap open, his teeth glinting as they slide out from their hidden sheaths. With a snarl, he lunges, clamping down on Drahar with a sickening crunch. The Crabfeeder’s mask falls away, revealing a twisted visage frozen in terror before his body is torn apart in a spray of blood and gore. Dallax shakes his head, flinging what remains of Drahar’s corpse into the dirt before incinerating it with a final jet of flame.
Around you, the battlefield is a scene of utter carnage. The ground is slick with blood, littered with the hacked remains of soldiers. Men scream, their limbs severed, or burn as they try to flee, only to be cut down by Corlys’s disciplined troops. The cries of the dying are a symphony of suffering, underscored by the relentless roar of flames. Dallax moves among the survivors like a shadow, crushing and burning any who dare to resist.
As the last pockets of resistance are snuffed out, you land amidst the ruins, stepping down from Dallax’s back. You scan the battlefield, taking in the broken fortifications, the piles of charred corpses, and the men who now kneel in surrender. Victory is yours. The Stepstones are won.
Daemon approaches, blood splattered across his armor, a wild grin on his face. β€œWell done, nephew,” he says, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. β€œI thought I might have all the fun, but you’ve stolen quite the show.” His eyes gleam with shared triumph, the bond between you strengthened through battle and bloodshed. β€œThe Crabfeeder will feast no more.”
You smirk, wiping sweat and grime from your brow. β€œSomeone had to keep you from getting killed. I couldn’t let you take all the glory.”
He laughs, the sound cutting through the dying echoes of the battle. β€œYou’re learning. Perhaps there’s more of me in you than anyone cares to admit.”
As Daemon moves to rally the remaining men, your thoughts drift, carried away on the winds of victory. The image of Alicent appears in your mindβ€”her gentle smile, the way her hand rests on the curve of her belly, swollen with the child she carries. You think of your son, Aegon, barely more than a year old, his bright eyes so full of curiosity. It is for them that you fight, for the future you intend to build, for the family you have claimed as your own.
The taste of blood and ash lingers on your tongue, but underneath it all is the yearning to return to them, to hold Alicent in your arms and feel the soft weight of your son as he rests against your chest. You think of how you will recount this victory to themβ€”how Aegon will listen in awe, his little hands reaching out as if to grasp the tales of dragons and battles. You smile to yourself, imagining the way Alicent will scold you softly for the bloodshed, though you know she will be proud all the same.
β€œSoon,” you murmur to yourself, the words almost lost in the wind. β€œSoon I’ll be home.”
But for now, the battle is done, and the Stepstones are yours. The fires burn low as you gaze out over the broken landscape, your thoughts with your family, even as your dragon’s shadow stretches long over the conquered land, a reminder of the price of victory.
396 notes Β· View notes
ladyofthehightower Β· 2 days ago
Text
boots, boots, boots, boots… moving up and down again
there’s no discharge in the war.
[house of the dragon]
23 notes Β· View notes
gameofthronesdaily Β· 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 02.05 x 02.07
Tumblr media
6K notes Β· View notes
darejani-artist Β· 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
π’―π’½π‘’π“‡π‘’β€™π“ˆ π“ƒπ‘œ π“Œπ’Άπ“‡ π“ˆπ‘œ π’½π’Άπ“‰π‘’π’»π“Šπ“ π“‰π‘œ 𝓉𝒽𝑒 π’’π‘œπ’Ήπ“ˆ π’Άπ“ˆ 𝒢 π“Œπ’Άπ“‡ π’·π‘’π“‰π“Œπ‘’π‘’π“ƒ 𝓀𝒾𝓃, 𝒢𝓃𝒹 π“ƒπ‘œ π“Œπ’Άπ“‡ π“ˆπ‘œ π’·π“π‘œπ‘œπ’Ήπ“Ž π’Άπ“ˆ 𝒢 π“Œπ’Άπ“‡ π’·π‘’π“‰π“Œπ‘’π‘’π“ƒ π’Ήπ“‡π’Άπ‘”π‘œπ“ƒπ“ˆβ€¦β€ ❀️‍πŸ”₯
4K notes Β· View notes
myfandomprompts Β· 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON SEASON 2 OUTFITS
7K notes Β· View notes
redbelles Β· 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
I grieve my grandmother who loved me, but I carry her on with me.
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 2.05 Regent
4K notes Β· View notes
lilhawkeye3 Β· 5 months ago
Text
protect him at all costs πŸ₯Ί
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
7K notes Β· View notes
nicetoseesofttotouch Β· 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
A Dragon claiming YOU
Iconic behavior
6K notes Β· View notes
shellsnroses Β· 4 months ago
Text
β€œWhat I do now… I do for her.”
3K notes Β· View notes
ophelieverse Β· 9 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
because where tf is him HBO?!?!?
4K notes Β· View notes
vices-aand-virtues Β· 6 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
House of the Dragon + Reductress Headlines (16/?)
2K notes Β· View notes
gameofthronesdaily Β· 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 02.08 The Queen Who Ever Was
Tumblr media
4K notes Β· View notes
debustee Β· 4 months ago
Text
❗️Commission of Velaryon - Targaryen dynasty for wonderful @laelinc πŸ’™
Tumblr media
2K notes Β· View notes
gotham-at-nightfall Β· 5 months ago
Text
House of the Dragon Playing Cards
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The King and the Queen
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The Cast-Aside Queens
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The Queen's Right-Hand men
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The Second Sons
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Daughters of the Rogue Prince
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The Innocent and the Guilty
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The New Hands
Tumblr media
The Warden of the North
By Dvincii
2K notes Β· View notes
weirwoodarrow Β· 7 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
3K notes Β· View notes
alicenthighstower Β· 6 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Rhaenys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 2.02 | Rhaenyra the Cruel
2K notes Β· View notes