#daelor targaryen

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Aenora Targaryen aesthetic

Aenora Targaryen, eldest daughter of King Aenys Targaryen and his Lady wife Alyssa Valeryon. Aenora is the twin sister of Rhaena Targaryen and elder sister to Aegon Targaryen, Viserys Targaryen, Jaehaerys Targaryen, Alysanne Targaryen and Vaella Targaryen.

Aenora was taken and forced to marry her uncle Maegor Targaryen at the age of ten and six. Aenora birthed nine children to the rumored barren King, Baelon Targaryen, Visenya Targaryen, Naella Targaryen, Gaemond Targaryen, Rhaegor Targaryen, Daelor Targaryen, Aemon Targaryen, Maelor Targaryen, Saerys Targaryen. Six sons and three daughters, all fair haired and purple eyes of different shades leaving no doubt whose their father alongside the height and size of the boys almost rivaling that of their father.

Aenora Targaryen rode the white he dragon Crystalwing with the blue flames and yellow eyes later on ridden by her grandson Prince Valerion Targaryen son of her daughter and son Visenya and Baelon. Aenora Targaryen stayed by her husband’s side and ensure he would not be killed or usurped off his throne until her last breath in 78AC at the age of fifty-five.

[chaosordoffl]

Some Valyrian/Targaryen/Velaryon names. No expertise here, simply following patterns to see what sounds and looks nice + canon sources and Valyrian dictionary plucks. In chrono & thought order.

Canon — Rhaenys, Rhaena, Rhaella, Rhaenyra, Rhaegel, Rhae, Rhaelle, Rhaegar (All Targ)

Derived — Rhaenion, Rhaenelle, Rhaenella, Rhaegor, Rhaegon, Aenyra, Rhaelion, Rhaenyx, Rhaelyx, Rhaenar, Rhaenyar, Rhaenel, Rhaelys, Rhaevel, Rhaevis, Rhaevys, Viserrhae, Rhaenya, Rhaenior, Rhaenor, Rhael, Rhaen, Rhaejel, Rhaeqan, Rhaellor, Rhaemon, Rhaemond, Rhaenyron, Rhaema

Canon — Aenar, Aegon, Aerys, Aelyx, Aerion, Aethan (1 Velaryon), Vaegon, Aenys, Aerea, Naerys, Aegor, Aelor, Aelora (Rest Targ)

Derived — Aegar, Aelon, Aelys, Aelar, Aelara, Aella, Aelinor, Aeral, Aeron, Aelion, Aegys, Aegal, Aelia, Naera, Naeron, Naerion, Naerelle, Naerella, Naerea, Aethal, Aethelle, Aethys, Aethion, Aethar, Aethial, Aenor, Aethor, Aerelle, Gaelyx, Aenyx, Aeryx, Baelyx, Aelial, Aeliar, Aelior, Vaegal, Vaegor, Vaegar, Vaelior, Vaelor, Aerial, Aeriel, Aelan, Aevys, Aevelle, Aevella, Haelyx, Haelian, Aenir, Haethan, Haelan, Haelor, Aekor, Haeral

Canon — Gaemon (T), Daemion (T & V), Daemon (V & T), Aemon (T), Aemma (T [Andal?]), Vaemond (V), Aemond (T), Daeron (V later T)

Derived — Daemyra, Daemys, Daemyn, Daemelle, Daema, Gaemar, Daerelle, Daerion, Aemys, Aemar, Aemor, Aemir, Aemira, Aemara, Aemora, Daemor, Daemora, Vaemon, Gaema, Gaemond, Gaemyn, Gaemion, Aemion, Gaemor, Aemior, Aemyn, Aemin, Aerona, Aemona, Aemia, Aeman, Aemal, Aemelle, Gaemia, Aemol, Aemil, Aemila, Aemilon, Aemilor, Aeminor, Daemyron, Daeminor, Haemon, Naemon, Haemia, Naema, Haemal, Haemar, Naemior, Naemor, Daemian

Canon — Daenys, Daenerys, Daella, Daenaera (1 V), Daena, Daenora (Rest T)

Derived — Daenyra, Daenar, Daenor, Daenelle, Daenal, Daen, Nerys, Naera, Daenir, Daenyx, Daeryx, Daerys, Daera, Daerya, Daenya, Daenyron, Daenorion, Norion, Daenyrion, Daenarion, Daenaeron, Daellar, Daelar, Daelon, Daelor, Daelan, Daelana, Daelanys, Daelenys, Daelyn, Aenaera

Canon — Maegon, Maegor, Maegelle, Maelor, Maekar (All T)

Derived — Maegar, Maela, Maelys, Maegys, Maegera, Maegara, Maegerys, Maegal, Maegyn, Maegan, Maekor, Maekaera, Maegaera, Maegaela, Maekion, Maelyra, Maegyra, Maelara, Maelar

Canon — Elaena (T), Valaena, Laena, Laenor (3 V), Helaena (T)

Derived — Laenys, Laenyra, Laenar, Laenelle, Helaenys, Elaenor, Elaenys, Laenion, Laenir, Laenyx, Elaenar, Laenora, Haena, Vaena, Alaena, Haela, Norys, Alaenys, Vaenys, Galaena

Canon — Visenya, Viserys, Viserra (T)

Derived — Viserya, Visenys, Senys, Saenys, Saenya, Saenar, Saenelle, Saenyelle, Saenyella, Serya, Serra, Serys, Saenir, Saenyx, Saenor, Viselya, Senial, Serial, Saerial, Visellan, Visarys, Visenna, Virenna

Canon — Baelon, Baela, Baelor, Balerion (Blackfyre), Valerion (Rest T)

Derived — Baelys, Baelar, Bael, Baelir, Alerion, Aleria, Aelir, Valeria, Valerys

Canon — Jaehaerys (T), Jacaerys (V), Lucerys (V), Jaehaera (T)

Derived — Lucerra, Lucerion, Jaehaerion, Jaerion, Lucerya, Jacaera, Jaena, Jaenelle, Jaecelle, Jaesir, Jaekar, Jaeron, Jaela, Jaelon, Jaelor, Jaerys, Haerys, Haera, Kael, Kaecion, Kaeciel, Kaecelle, Kaerys, Kaerion, Kaeriel, Lucarys, Jaeca, Nicerys, Nicaerys, Hecaerys, Nicerion, Hicaerys, Niceria, Nicae, Lucarya, Lucaenys, Lucaena, Nocorys

Canon — Lianna, Larissa (V [Andal? First Men?]), Alarra (FM [Massey]), Alyssa (V & T [Andal? FM?]), Alysanne (T)

Derived — Alysor, Lianys, Lianor, Sianna, Amanna, Alanna, Noranna, Narra, Nyssa, Anyssa, Alarya, Asenna, Norissa, Irenna, Orissa, Lysarra, Lisarra, Aranna

Canon — Valarr, Vaella (T)

Derived — Vaelys, Valarys, Alarys, Alarya, Valarya, Valarra, Vaellan

Canon — Gael, Saera, Shaera (T)

Derived — Saerys, Gaelys, Gaelor, Gaelon, Gaelion, Saerion, Shaerys, Shaerial, Shaerelle, Shaelle, Shael, Shaelys, Saevys, Shaerion, Gaela, Shaela, Shaehaera

Canon — Corwyn (V [Andal?]), Corlys (V)

Derived — Corla, Corlia, Corlaenys, Cora, Corys, Corlenys, Corlea, Corlae, Corvan, Corvana, Corvys

Malentine

Rhogar(/Rogar?/Rogare? [FM? HV?])

Monford

Monterys (All V)

Derived — Terys, Teraea, Taeraea, Taerion, Monys, Monerys, Montys, Rhogel, Malentys, Malenta, Monterion, Monterra, Mona, Monae, Monarra, Malentina, Lentys, Lenta, Lenya, Taenys, Taena, Alentys, Malya, Malys, Malea, Malena, Malenna, Malaena, Amalla, Alenna, Marissa, Monassa, Monessa, Monerra, Mosarra, Malarra, Malenys, Amarys, Mantys, Malta, Maltys, Maltine, Maltina, Amalta, Amaltine, Alta, Altys, Altarra, Maltar, Maltarys, Marion, Maltior, Malerion, Mornys, Mortys, Morton, Omorr, Omon, Malenion, Malenior, Almys, Monissa, Montissa, Montessa, Omona, Omorra, Maltion, Malton, Almont, Almae, Maltorra, Torys, Garys, Garla, Galtys, Torrine, Tarine, Maltarine, Maltarra, Almerra, Almarra, Almorra, Alterra, Lamina, Monta, Monte, Montae, Taera, Taerine, Taerin, Taerys, Manta, Almina, Almine, Rhonal, Rhonior, Rhomys, Almar, Malar, Malarr, Malarys, Almarys, Maline, Rhomalt, Rhomion, Rhomior, Rhomia, Rhoma, Rhoton, Rhomine, Rhomal, Rhogal, Rhomina, Rhomon, Rhomar, Rhomorr, Almassa, Rhomys, Rhomyn, Torial, Malial, Rhovys, Rhowyn, Matarra, Atarra, Rhomond, Rhomorra, Tormon

Matarys (T)

Derived — Matarya, Matara, Matys, Tarys, Tarya, Atara, Atarys, Tarial, Tarhael, Matarr

Canon — Orys, Borys, Orryn (Baratheon)

Derived — Orial, Ora, Orya, Orra, Borya, Boria, Boryl, Orelle, Orianne, Orael, Orrael, Orhael, Borion, Orion, Bora, Orian, Oryal, Oryas, Orias, Orios, Oryos, Rys, Ryssa, Ryssal, Orlisse, Rysla, Ryn, Rynel, Rynella, Boryn, Borryn, Rynal, Dorys, Orella, Dorella, Oryl, Orgillac, Orgyll, Borella, Borylla, Bolia, Bolas, Orlas, Ollyn, Olys, Olya, Orianna, Lorys

Bonus: Argellys

Canon — Maelys, Haegon, Aeryn, Calla, Rhalla, Shaena (Blackfyre)

Canon non-Westerosi Valyrians:

Jaenara Belaerys, Aurion

Canon Dragons:

Urrax, Terrax, Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes, Vermithor, Caraxes, Meleys, Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes, Tessarion, Shrykos, Morghul, Viserion, Rhaegal

Unknown — Gaelithox?, Aegarax?

Original & HV Derived (some more suitable for dragons) — Aelsior, Qaelys, Qylys, Vhenys, Vhenya, Vhinyae, Vhanir, Vaenir, Vaenyx, Baelykos, Lykael, Lykaera, Raqael, Raqel, Raqys, Raqyssa, Raqissa, Raqar, Raqir, Raqor, Raqora, Raqior, Kionar, Malkion, Malkios, Vhaltir, Malkior, Vaedys, Vaedar, Elenys, Elenia, Elēnar, Elenarys, Elenarya, Elenara, Kostys, Kostir, Kostior, Pelarys, Pelonia, Pelonys, Eledrae, Eledrys, Eledryn, Peria, Perza, Perzys, Zysa, Amisor, Amisa, Aexior/Aeksior, Aexion/Aeksion, Raenion, Raenior, Qana, Qanys, Qantys, Ēbrior, Ēbrion, Ēbria, Jelmys, Jelmarys, Jelmazys, Jelissa, Tessarys, Tessara, Tessarae, Dessan, Dessenae, Hārys, Tōmarr, Tōmarys, Tōmasyn, Tessarax, Syrion, Syriel, Jēdarys, Jēdaria, Jorrael, Trēzos, Elilla, Vāedarys, Ōrbēdenos

Possible High Valyrian roots for names:

Rhaen — to; meet, find, encounter, discover

Bael — to help, to aid, to assist

Jael — to want, to wish/to store, to house

Jaelarys — hope (possible name)

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Dark!Aemond x oc (Pillars of salt, pillars of sand, Chapter one)

🔷Summary: You are Rhaenyra and harwins daughter, Jace's twin sister. You dont expect when Floris, your best friend, writes you that she is sick, to find your uncle at Storm's end. He offers you a choice. Bend the knee to Aegon or see your brother be fed to his dragon. It is not a difficult choice to make. But as with difficult choices, the consequences are much harder to carry than the choice.

🔷Author's note: Another dark aemond because idk how to write anything else. Though you are warned, i try to out-dark my aemonds everytime.

🔷Warnings: Wounds, torture, eye-removal, bastardy, corrupt guards, kidnapping, hostage-taking, torture, non-con and high valyrian that is not so good because my translator was off. GORE BLOOD (Found anything else? Let me know) forced marriage, abuse, material abuse.)

Your dragon knows the way to Storm’s end all too well. You have been there countless times with Justyce before, after all. Name Day parties with Floris Baratheon, grant balls where both of you snuck out to the kitchen to steal chocolate cakes, and of course the new and certainly not appreciated suitor-meetings that your stepfather and her father set up for both of you. ‘’You are a princess, Maella. The only princess we have. You will do your duty, and marry.’’ Daemon Targaryen would say.

A prince, Daelor from Volantis was supposed to be your suitor for that night. Poor Daelor never had met an actual dragon before, and you have the feeling he won’t soon forget how you threatened to cut his balls and to feed them your own dragon for squeezing your ass. 

You take the reins of Justyce in your right, dominate hand, steering the dragon through the gathered storm clouds, to the impressive castle that lies below, almost hidden and covered. In your other hand, you hold the letter your friend, your closest and most important childhood friend wrote you. Floris’s words echo through your head as you land your dragon in the courtyard. Once this was a difficult task but now you are used to the space you have. You land without kicking over a flower basket. 

Dearest Maella.

I am not well since a few moons ago. I feel as if the Stranger can come get me any moment now. I fear we will never find out if that prince will declare war on us all for your insult with your dragon. My friend, I know your mother’s labor is soon and I understand you are a busy woman who gains more responsibility and power every passing day. Yet I do hope we can say goodbye to one another, one last time. Perhaps even have a chocolate cake while we are at it. 

Your friend in life and whatever comes after, Floris Baratheon.

Storm’s end would not be named Storm’s end if it wasn’t storming there often. Now is unlike any other day. The rain reminds you of how you broke down crying once the letter from Floris reached you. You often wonder if the weather is the reason most Baratheons are that gloomy, Floris included. She is a marvelous person but she has an improper dark humor befitting a servant of the stranger, not a lady. You feel worry starting to grow as you look at the doors of the impressive stronghold. You remember playing here when you were both 6 summers old, with Floris. How time flies. You can't imagine a life without her. So you won’t.

You straighten your back, eye the guards that are standing near to the door and speak with a loud voice, and for a moment you even feel the storm hold back when you yell your titles at the commander, demanding to be let in. ‘’I am Princess Maella of house Velyaron. I am here to see my friend.’’ The commander nods, before escorting you inside, together with the other men.

You are forced to follow him, but you have the feeling something is amiss. ‘’Commander Storm, you don’t have to escort me. I know the way very well.’’ You tell him, catching up with his long legs. He refuses to meet your eye as he announces you to the Baratheon throne room, and once more your titles are heard. 

‘’Princess Maella of house Velyaron. Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.’’ So he has not heard yet that your mother became Queen. You enter the room, impatiently waiting for them to open the doors for you.

You know the shortcut to the staircase, to Floris’s bedroom very well. Floris’s bedroom is on the tirth. You plan to run past Lord Borros. Lady Elenda is likely off reading somewhere so you won’t have to worry about her. She always asks the most nonsense things. ‘’How are you doing, princess? Is your mother well, princess? Are you engaged yet, princess?’’ You wish she would just let you be.

The guard’s footsteps blend in well with your own, echoing in the ancient halls of storm’s end. You anxiously play with your braided hair as you pass into the dark halls and enter the throne room. This is where the grant balls are held, the majestic feasts are thrown and the guests are received. 

You have been here countless times before. Yet this time feels unmistakably different. It is as if you are asleep and can awake any moment now. From a good, nice dream. 

You can feel life being drained from the room before you enter. You wonder if that is what being sick is like. The letter said Floris was ill, but it did not mention any family members. Your speed of walking on increases and increases and before long you are running into the throne room, lifting your red with black gown to avoid tripping on the fabric.

You want nothing more than to go right up Floris’s rooms, to see your friend. To say your goodbye. Tears sting your eyes as your painful chest and muscles remind you you are not used to running so fast, so long and so carelessly. It is unbefitting, but you think that this calls for an exception from your usual properness. You want to rush to the door, to the stairs, to your friend. 

But someone stops you, by calling out your name in a soft, yet tauntingly dark matter. ‘’Lady Strong. How lovely it is to see you again.’’ Chills go down your spine when those words are spoken to you. There is one man that you know that possesses the audacity to use that insult openly, for he has done so before during a dinner. He speaks more confidently now than he did during that night. Your legs stop, frozen and glued to the stone floors.

Your uncle, Aemond Targaryen calmly stands left of Lord Borros’s throne, slightly tilting his head at you as his only good eye goes over your body, judging your dress. His hands remain on his back, properly. He carries a sword. You did not think to bring any weapons. You would visit your friend. Why would she harm you?  

He stares you down, changing you to deny your true parentage. He wants you to scream at him that you are not a Strong, or perhaps as Jace did, slap him in the face. Both are tempting. Yet you manage to ignore him. He knows how to get under your skin. But you know nothing will annoy him more than ignoring him, pretending he does not matter. Just as he did not matter before he claimed Vhagar. He wants attention, the bully that he is.

You notice a beautifully dressed figure standing aside of him, wearing both the Baratheon colors and a smile. Her smile is enough to break your heart, and to make it bleed. You scowl. Floris Baratheon is there. And she looks far from sick.

Floris is terrified, as her smile is forced and her hands are folded to hide the fact that they tremble. There are a lot of thoughts going through your mind but the one thought that connects it all is treason.

You eye the guards that stand behind you, keeping an eye on you closely. You force yourself to remain calm and glance at Aemond unfazed. You turn your head to Floris, letting your glare be noticed. You want her to feel your anger before you run at her, ignoring your dress and your heels. You don't have a weapon. You don't want to hurt her.

You just want to shake her a bit. Perhaps hit sense into her. You are known for your mother's beauty...And her awful temper. "Lady Floris!" You speak, forcing your voice to become joyful and full of condescension. You hope that she hears the thinly veiled ire in your voice. You hope she can hear your pain. "I received word you were ill. So I came to you. Yet here you stand, dressed and well, with a traitor. For the sake of our friendship, explain yourself." You demand her as her princess.

If Aemond Targaryen gave a damn about your insults he does his best to not show it. He is in all ways; Unbothered. 

Lord Borros listens to the conversation unfold as well as Floris, her mother and her sisters. Yet no one defends Floris. No one.

Aemond finally steps closer and closer to you, closing the distance rapidly. You back away, intimidated. Only when he can reach for you, you let go of Floris. You are seething. 

You left your mother for this. Your mother who can have her baby any moment now. Your mother who always warned you about picking your friends so carefully.

The prince speaks, wettening his soft pink lips before his soft yet rough voice fills the hall. "I am insulted. You should know to treat her uncle better than that, little princess." He speaks. "You might learn I took something important from you." He adds with a smirk. 

You scoff. Aemond does not know you. He never bothered to do so. He only cares for himself. He has nothing on you. You smugly reply. "I don't think you would be able to recognize what is important to me , not even if it slapped you across your face, uncle. You barely know who I am."

He returns a pleased smile, happy with your answer. Pleased even. The smile is forced and broad, terrifying you in every sense of the word. ‘’Isn’t family important to you?’’ He asks.

He knows it is.

‘’It is. Which is why I am returning to Dragonstone right now. The gods will grant my mother another child today.’’ you smirk, preparing to leave the castle.

The guards stop you before you can, however. You freeze as you watch Aemond give them the command, to turn you around and to bring him to you. "Lord Borrros! Lord Borros!" You speak, your voice betraying your fear.

Aemond smirk becomes bigger and bigger befitting a truely sick monster. ‘’I have something important.’’ He repeats once you are in front of him. He stares at your lips softly, running a finger over it. "Hm." He mutters to himself when you take a step back. He chuckles. "īlon istan naejot dīnagon, byka līve." He hisses in your ear. You take in the words in shock.

We were supposed to marry.

Aemond ignores you and gestures to the guards to bring him something. ‘’Bring him." He barks.

The staircase door is unlocked and Commander Storm takes something as you await Aemond's surprise. 

When you see who it is, your heart drops. It is your little brother, Lucerys. 

His dark black hair is cut, with clear scars on his head revealing what happened to it. His face is the worst. His beautiful once so sweet face. He has a split lip, missing teeth and a bloody nose. His eyes are closed. You run to him, unable to stop the tears from streaming down your face.

Aemond grabs your arm, holding you back from your brother. "I have him, Lady Strong. Look at what I did with your little bastard brother." He boasts proudly. You smack Aemond on his nose, anger getting the better of you. He growls as an angry beast. "I will return that insult, little whore.' He growls at you, forgetting his happiness and pride. Good.

You pretend you aren't afraid of him. You are dragged by him to Lucerys. Aemond approaches you in his arms, as if you belong to him. Aemond even smells your hair as you turn away, disgusted. He mutters in your ear. "Jāhor aōha orvorta tuzigho hae sȳz, nyke pendagon?" You gasp by those words and wonder if he is jesting. He has to be.

Yet one look and you can tell he is not. You hear the words again finding the translation easy.

Will your cunt smell as good, I wonder? That is what he said.

The Baratheons have no idea that your uncle said that to you. Luc needs you first.

"Luc! Luc, speak to me." You beg him, when shaking his body full of bruises, kneeling down beside him. You glare at Aemond. "You monster!"

Aemond chuckles. "Careful, Lady Strong. You are already on your knees."  You cradle lucs body. You place your ear on his heart and hear a soft beating. You break into tears. He is alive. Thank the gods.

He advances on both of you and you protect Luc. Aemond snaps his fingers and points at you. Two guards from Borros take you into custody when Aemond takes Lucs body. He kicks luc awake with his leather boots. You scream when it happens for it to stop until your throat is dry.

Finally luc's eyes go open along with his mouth to moan in pure pain and agony. You search for his eyes. But he has none. He has two hollow sockets where once an eye used to be. It is stitched up badly and quickly. Unlike Aemonds scar. They bothered to take their time. This is rushed. The blood still drips. 

Aemond digs in the pocket of his coat before proudly presenting you the familiar brown lovely eyes of your brother. "They are a bit too big to play marbles with, but they do look marvelous don't they lady strong?"

You scream a second time. A soldier is annoyed by it and slaps you to shut you up across your face. Aemond sighs when putting the eyes back, kicking luc until he doubles over on the ground. Luc is blinded. "I never thought you were capable of this." You speak to Aemond. "I thought you..."

The prince smirks. "You thought wrong. You know nothing about me. Which is why I was able to set this lovely trap. Your friend wrote you the letter, "I have you now, Lady Strong."

"No." He does not have you. You refuse to believe that. You refuse to accept any of this. You whimper for your brother. Your beautiful brother. He will never see again. 

The monster grows impatient and he growls at you, spitting in your face on accident."Yes, I do. You have two choices. You will come with me to King's Landing and bend your knees to my brother, or I will feed Lucerys  to Vhagar." He says.

Your stomach turns. "Yo-you can't uncle. We are family. You would never risk starting a war-"

"The war started the second my brother was born years ago. You are blind and naive. Don't worry, my sweet little niece. I will educate you.'" You hear a double meaning there that terrifies you. He asked about your cunt before. He reminded you that you were supposed to be married. 

"Now, will you be a sweet good girl for your uncle, or will you be a bad one?" He chuckles before dragging his nails over your back, causing holes in your dress and pressing your front to his own. He takes hold of your throat and smirks. "You will make the choice; little Lady Strong. Just make sure you make the right one."

a/n:

yeah its another story woop woop hope you all like it.

Specially edited for the redacted