#daemon i blackfyre

[novaursa]

Fire Never Forgets

- Summary: Daemon swears to have you. No matter the cost.

- Pairing: sister!reader/dark!Daemon I Blackfyre

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (blood, gore, violence and all the other fluffy stuff)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The halls of the Red Keep were always alive with whispers, faint and elusive, as if the very stones had ears. You heard the rumors, of course—the ones that slithered into your chambers like serpents in the night. The court buzzed about Daemon Waters, the king’s unruly bastard son, the rogue boy who roamed the training yard with a smirk and a blade that sang like a lover’s sigh.

You were young then, barely past the threshold of maidenhood. Your world was still golden and unmarred, a delicate tapestry woven with tales of dragons and the dreams of kings. You had seen Daemon before, always from a distance—his pale hair gleaming under the sun, his violet eyes like shards of amethyst, sharp and cutting. There was something about him that unsettled you, a feral energy that prowled just beneath his skin.

It was not long before he noticed you.

The first time he truly saw you was during one of the king’s lavish feasts. You sat quietly at the high table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, eyes cast downward as the lords and ladies roared with laughter around you. Daemon was seated at the far end of the hall, amongst the lesser-born nobles and the bastards, his place at court as unsteady as his name. But his gaze found you nonetheless, cutting through the noise and the distance as if drawn by an invisible thread.

You felt it before you saw it—the weight of his stare, heavy and unrelenting. When you glanced up, your eyes locked with his across the room. A chill danced along your spine, though the air was warm and thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. Daemon tilted his head, a wolfish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It was the beginning of everything.

The next morning, you found him waiting in the gardens.

"Princess," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, a serpent’s hiss wrapped in honey. "I thought I might find you here."

You hesitated, your fingers clutching the edges of your silk cloak. "Ser Daemon," you replied, though he bore no knightly title. "What brings you here?"

He stepped closer, his movements languid and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. "You."

The single word hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. You swallowed hard, your heart fluttering in your chest like a caged bird.

"You flatter me, my lord," you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. "Surely there are more interesting pursuits for someone like you."

Daemon chuckled, the sound dark and rich. "Perhaps. But none as captivating."

His eyes roved over you, unabashed and possessive. You felt exposed under his gaze, as though he could see every hidden part of you. The court had warned you of Daemon Waters—his ambition, his cunning, his charm that could melt steel. But standing before him now, you realized they had not warned you enough.

"I should go," you murmured, taking a step back.

"Why?" he asked, his tone almost playful. "Afraid of me?"

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. He took the opportunity to close the distance between you, his fingers brushing against your hand. His touch was cool, sending a shiver up your arm.

"You shouldn’t be," he whispered, his voice a caress. "I would never harm you."

The way he said it, soft and almost reverent, made you feel both comforted and unnerved. You pulled your hand away, your cheeks flushed.

"My father would not approve of this," you said, your voice firmer now.

Daemon’s grin widened, and for the first time, you saw the glint of ambition in his eyes—the fire that burned brighter than any dragon’s flame.

"Your father underestimates me," he said. "But you won’t. Will you, sister?"

The way he said the word sister made it sound like a claim, a bond that could not be severed. You took another step back, your mind racing.

"I must go," you said again, turning quickly and fleeing the garden.

Behind you, Daemon watched your retreating form, a smile curling on his lips. He had set his sights on you, and Daemon Waters was not a man who let go of what he wanted.

Not ever.

The throne room of the Red Keep was silent, save for the rustle of courtiers shifting in anticipation. King Aegon IV sat upon the Iron Throne, a mountain of swords forged in fire and blood, and the weight of his presence was suffocating. His indulgent grin held the promise of spectacle, for today, his bastard son, Daemon Waters, would be legitimized.

You stood among the lords and ladies, your place at court dutifully observed, though you wished to be anywhere but here. Your eyes darted to Daemon, who stood at the foot of the dais, head high, shoulders squared, a predator cloaked in finery. His hair gleamed like a crown beneath the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows, and his eyes burned with a fire that had always unnerved you.

The king raised a hand, silencing the murmurs that rippled through the court.

"Today," Aegon began, his voice booming, "I honor my blood. Daemon Waters, my son, I hereby legitimize you. From this day forward, you shall bear the name Blackfyre, a name as fierce and enduring as the blade I bestow upon you."

Gasps echoed through the chamber as a knight stepped forward, holding the famed blade Blackfyre in his hands. The sword, a symbol of Targaryen power, shone in the light, its Valyrian steel etched with dark ripples that seemed alive.

Daemon stepped forward, but instead of taking the blade, he turned his gaze to you. The intensity of his stare rooted you in place, and your breath caught in your throat. The court grew restless as Daemon spoke.

"I am honored by the name and the sword," he said, his voice smooth yet laced with danger. "But there is something I desire more."

The hall fell deathly silent, every eye shifting between Daemon and the king. Aegon’s brow furrowed, his indulgent smile slipping into something harder.

"And what is it you desire, Daemon?" Aegon asked, his tone wary.

Daemon’s lips curled into a smile, predatory and triumphant. He gestured toward you, his hand outstretched as if he already owned you.

"I want her," he said simply. "Your daughter. My sister."

The air left your lungs as gasps and murmurs erupted around the chamber. Your heart raced, your hands trembling as you felt the weight of hundreds of stares boring into you. Aegon leaned forward on his throne, his face darkening with rage.

"You dare?" Aegon’s voice was sharp, cutting through the noise like a blade. "You speak of your own sister, my daughter, as if she is a prize to be claimed?"

Daemon did not falter. "She is more than a prize. She is mine. Always has been."

The court erupted into chaos, but Aegon raised his hand, silencing them once more. His expression was a mix of fury and disbelief as he addressed his son.

“Daemon!” The king’s voice thundered through the hall. “You will take the sword and hold your tongue, or you will leave here with nothing!”

For the first time, Daemon faltered, his eyes narrowing, his jaw tightening. He looked up at the throne, his defiance unyielding.

"So be it," Daemon said softly, his voice carrying the promise of violence. He turned back to the knight holding Blackfyre and seized the sword in one fluid motion. The Valyrian steel hissed as he swung it through the air, testing its weight. He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.

"If I must bloody my way to her, so be it," Daemon declared, his voice ringing through the hall. "I will carve a path through this world until she is mine, no matter who stands in my way."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and you felt your knees weaken beneath you. He turned his gaze back to you, his expression softening into something almost tender, though it only made your skin crawl.

"Wait for me, sweet sister," he said, his voice dripping with possession. "This is not the end."

Before anyone could react, Daemon spun on his heel and strode out of the throne room, the sword gleaming in his hand, his silver hair streaming behind him like a banner of war.

The silence that followed was deafening. Aegon slumped back in his throne, his face ashen. The lords and ladies whispered among themselves, casting furtive glances in your direction. You stood frozen, your heart pounding in your chest.

Daemon’s promise echoed in your mind, a dark and terrible vow that you knew he would keep.

Daemon Blackfyre stood atop the battlements of his newly-claimed stronghold, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the Red Keep loomed in the distance. The sun dipped low, but the fire in his chest burned brighter than the dying light. Blood stained the earth beneath his boots—Targaryen blood, Velaryon blood, noble blood—all spilled in his name, all spilled for her.

The sword in his hand, Blackfyre, felt like an extension of his will. The weight of it was a comfort, a promise, a whisper in the dark that urged him onward. The blade, black as night and sharp enough to carve destiny itself, gleamed faintly in the twilight. It had tasted blood that day, and it craved more.

But no amount of blood would satisfy him until he had her.

She haunted him, her image as vivid in his mind as the first time he had seen her. The delicate curve of her neck, the soft sway of her silken gown as she walked, the light in her violet eyes that burned like dragonfire. She was everything he wanted—everything he deserved—and she was denied to him by a man who called himself king. His father had dared to refuse him, dared to speak as if she was some prize to be withheld.

“Mine,” Daemon growled under his breath, the word a low, guttural snarl that escaped without thought. She was his. She had always been his, from the moment he first laid eyes on her. The rest of the world just hadn’t realized it yet.

His tent that night was a place of solitude and chaos, mirroring the storm within him. Maps and letters lay strewn across a wooden table, inked with the names of those who had pledged to his cause. Lords who whispered of justice, of a bastard’s right to the throne, of their disdain for the Targaryens who ruled. Fools, all of them. They thought this rebellion was about a crown, about power.

They didn’t understand. None of them did.

This war wasn’t about the Iron Throne. It wasn’t about Aegon IV’s rejection, or the legacy of the sword he now carried. It was about her. Every step, every stroke of his blade, every castle he burned and every knight he cut down—each was a step closer to her.

He paced the tent, his blood singing with the madness of his obsession. Visions of her filled his mind. He could see her now, standing on the steps of the Red Keep, her hands clasped nervously, her lips trembling as she spoke his name. Not with disdain, not with fear—but with reverence. With love.

He paused, his hands tightening on the edge of the table. Love. The thought of it twisted in his gut, raw and consuming. Did she love him? Could she? Or was she as blind as the rest of them? Did she see him only as a bastard, a rogue prince, a usurper?

No. She would love him. She had to. He would make her see.

Daemon's laughter filled the tent, low and dark and unhinged. It echoed off the canvas walls, a sound that would have sent shivers down the spines of lesser men. He reached for Blackfyre, lifting the sword and examining its edge, still stained crimson. His reflection stared back at him from the blade, wild and fierce.

“If she won’t come willingly,” he murmured, his voice soft yet brimming with malice, “then I will take her.”

The thought ignited something feral within him. He imagined storming the Red Keep, the doors splintering beneath his strength, the court scattering like frightened sheep as he strode through their midst. He would find her, wherever she was hidden, and she would look at him the way he dreamed. She would finally see the man who had razed kingdom for her, who had spilled oceans of blood for her name.

They will write songs about me, he thought, a twisted grin curling his lips. Daemon Blackfyre, the bastard who burned the world for love.

A knock at the tent's entrance pole pulled him from his thoughts. One of his captains, bloodied and battered, stepped inside. “My lord,” he began, bowing low. “The forces from House Peake are prepared to march. We await your orders.”

Daemon turned, the grin fading from his face as he fixed the man with a piercing gaze. “We march at dawn,” he said, his tone calm but laced with menace. “And we do not stop until the Red Keep falls. Tell the men that anyone who stands between me and what is mine will die screaming.”

The captain nodded, a flicker of fear crossing his face, and quickly left the tent. Daemon stood alone once more, the weight of his obsession settling over him like a cloak.

He stepped outside, the cool night air washing over him as he gazed toward the distant capital. “Soon,” he whispered, gripping the hilt of Blackfyre so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Soon you’ll be mine, my sweet sister. I’ll paint the streets of King’s Landing with blood if I must. But you’ll come to me. You’ll see there’s no escaping me.”

The stars above were cold and distant, their light pale and indifferent to the madness unfolding below. But Daemon didn’t care. The world could burn, the heavens could fall, and the gods themselves could descend to stop him—it wouldn’t matter.

He would have her. And nothing, not man nor trueborn dragon, would stand in his way.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was eerily silent, its grandeur overshadowed by the chaos and death that lingered just outside its walls. The banners of House Targaryen still hung, but they were no longer symbols of your family’s strength. They were torn and bloodstained, fluttering weakly in the ash-laden breeze that seeped in through shattered windows.

You stood at the foot of the Iron Throne, your hands trembling as you clutched the fabric of your gown. Your heart was a hollow ache, a wound that bled for the family you had lost. Your father, your brothers, the loyal men who had sworn to protect you—they were all gone. Their screams echoed in your mind, drowned by the roar of Daemon Blackfyre’s armies as they stormed the capital.

Now, the victor was coming to claim his spoils.

The doors to the hall groaned open, and the sound of boots against stone shattered the stillness. Your head snapped up, and there he was. Daemon Blackfyre. His armor was stained with blood, his black and red cloak torn at the edges, but his posture was as commanding as ever. Blackfyre, the ancestral blade, hung at his hip. His violet eyes locked onto yours the moment he entered, and the air seemed to grow colder.

Behind him, his allies flanked him like wolves circling their leader. They carried the weight of victory on their shoulders, but it was Daemon who held the room in his grasp. He strode forward with purpose, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Leave us,” he commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding.

The men hesitated for a moment, glancing at each other before filing out of the hall. The heavy doors closed behind them, and the silence returned, thicker and more suffocating than before.

“You’ve taken everything from me,” you whispered, your voice cracking. Tears brimmed in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “My family, my home… everything.”

Daemon stopped a few paces away, his lips curling into a smirk that made your blood run cold. “Not everything, my sweet,” he said, his tone soft but laced with menace. “Not yet.”

He stepped closer, and you instinctively backed away, your heels hitting the edge of the steps that led to the Iron Throne. You had nowhere left to run. Daemon noticed and chuckled, the sound low and predatory.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he said, his voice a dark caress. “I warned them. I warned you. I would spill oceans of blood to have you. And now, here you are.”

You shook your head, your throat tightening as panic clawed at your chest. “Please… don’t do this.”

His expression softened, but it only made him more terrifying. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Oh, sweet sister,” he murmured, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “This is what was always meant to be. You and I, ruling together. Fire and blood, united.”

Before you could respond, his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you toward him. His lips crashed against yours, demanding and unyielding. You froze, every muscle in your body screaming in protest, but Daemon was relentless. His kiss was a claim, a branding, a promise that you belonged to him and no one else.

When he finally pulled away, you gasped for air, your chest heaving as tears streamed down your face. Daemon’s thumb wiped one away, his smile dark and triumphant.

“Bring the Septon,” he called, his voice echoing through the empty hall.

The doors opened, and the trembling figure of a Septon was ushered in by two of Daemon’s men. The holy man clutched his robes tightly, his face pale as he took in the scene before him.

“We will be married,” Daemon announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And then I will be crowned. The throne is mine, and so is she.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “You can’t—”

Daemon turned to you, his hand gripping your chin firmly as he forced you to meet his gaze. “I can, and I will. You are mine, now and forever. You can fight me if you wish, but it will change nothing.”

The Septon hesitated, his voice trembling as he began the rites. You barely heard the words, your mind spinning with the weight of what was happening. When the time came for Daemon to speak his vows, his voice was strong and sure, each word dripping with obsession.

“I take you as mine, in fire and blood, now and always,” he said, his gaze burning into yours. “And I swear, before gods and men, that we will make this world kneel before us.”

When it was your turn to respond, you hesitated, your voice caught in your throat. Daemon’s hand tightened on yours, a silent warning. You forced the words out, each one feeling like a blade to your heart.

As the ceremony ended, Daemon turned to the Septon and dismissed him with a wave. The poor man fled the hall as quickly as his legs would carry him. Daemon’s attention shifted back to you, his smile returning as he gestured toward the Iron Throne.

“Come, wife,” he said, the word thick with satisfaction. “Our union is not yet complete.”

Your eyes widened in horror as his meaning became clear. You shook your head, backing away, but Daemon’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist like iron.

“Do not fight me,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “I promised myself this moment, and I will have it. We will make love on the Iron Throne, and the realm will remember it as the night House Blackfyre truly began.”

Tears streamed down your face as he pulled you toward the throne, his grip unyielding. The jagged steel of the throne loomed before you, a monument to power, cruelty, and now, the dark desires of the man who had taken everything from you.

Each step up its dais felt like a climb toward your doom, a spiral into the depths of Daemon's madness. His hand never left yours, his grip unrelenting as he guided you to the seat that had claimed the lives of kings. The steel beneath you was cold and unforgiving, a perfect mirror to the man who now stood before you.

Daemon's eyes were brilliant with triumph, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he towered over you. He had everything he had fought for—the Red Keep, the realm, and you. The fire in his gaze burned hotter than the dragons of old, and you realized then that there was no escape.

He lowered himself to his knees before you, though there was no reverence in his act, only possession. His hands found your waist, his touch firm and commanding as he pulled you to him. The kiss he pressed to your lips was fevered and insistent, a claim written in fire and blood.

"Mine," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. "Always mine."

You closed your eyes, tears slipping free as you endured his touch. The throne cut into your back, its cruel edges biting through the delicate fabric of your gown, but Daemon seemed unbothered. He was relentless, his obsession driving him to take what he believed was rightfully his.

Time blurred, the world narrowing to the cold steel beneath you and the scorching heat of Daemon's presence. His whispers filled your ears, promises of love and power tangled with threats of what would happen if you ever tried to leave him. When it was over, the throne room was silent once more, save for the sound of your ragged breathing.

Daemon rose, his expression one of dark satisfaction. He reached down and pulled you to your feet, his hands lingering on your waist as he steadied you. The throne stood behind you, its cutting edges now marked with the blood of your union.

He stepped away briefly, retrieving something from a nearby table. When he returned, your breath caught in your throat. In his hands was a crown—a twisted masterpiece of Valyrian steel and black diamonds, its design sharp and imposing. It was a thing of dark beauty, as haunting and unyielding as the man who had commissioned it.

"This," he said, his voice reverent, "is yours. A queen must have her crown."

You shook your head, your lips trembling. "Daemon, please—"

"Silence," he interrupted, his tone firm but not cruel. "You are my queen, my wife, my equal by blood. This crown was forged for you, and you will wear it."

He placed the crown upon your head, his fingers brushing against your hair as he adjusted it. When he stepped back to admire his work, his expression softened, a rare glimmer of tenderness breaking through his dark obsession.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. "You are everything I dreamed of and more."

You stood frozen, the weight of the crown pressing down on you like the weight of the world. Daemon extended his hand, his smile widening as he awaited your response. When you hesitated, his gaze hardened.

"Take my hand," he commanded. "Stand beside me, and let the realm see its king and queen united."

Slowly, reluctantly, you placed your hand in his. His grip tightened immediately, a silent reminder of his control. Together, you descended the steps of the Iron Throne, Daemon leading you toward the hall’s open doors where his allies and soldiers awaited.

As the doors swung open, the crowd erupted into cheers. They hailed Daemon as the king who had taken what was rightfully his, and you as the queen who would rule at his side. But you saw the truth in their eyes—the fear, the uncertainty, the unspoken acknowledgment that their loyalty was born of necessity, not love.

Daemon raised your joined hands high, his voice booming over the crowd. "Behold your queen!" he declared, his tone filled with triumph. "She is mine, as this throne is mine, and together we shall forge a new world—one ruled by House Blackfyre."

The crowd roared its approval, but you felt none of their enthusiasm. Your heart ached for what had been lost, for the family and the life that had been torn from you. But as Daemon’s hand gripped yours, unyielding and possessive, you realized there was no escaping him.

This was your life now—a crown of blood and ash, a throne forged in obsession, and a king who would stop at nothing to keep you by his side.

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Valyrian Couples: Part II

Aegon IV Targaryen, Naerys Targaryen and Aemon (son of Viserys II) Targaryen

Daemon I Blackfyre and Daenerys (daughter of Aegon IV) Targaryen

Brynden Rivers and Shiera Seastar

Aelor Targaryen and Aelora Targaryen

Aerion "Brightflame" Targaryen and Daenora Targaryen

Jaehaerys II Targaryen and Shaera Targaryen

Aerys II Targaryen and Rhaella Targaryen

Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen

By Jota Saraiva

PART I

[direwolfrules]

So like, I just think it would be so funny if in the pre-Blackfyre Rebellion era, Daemon Blackfyre’s thing for Daenerys was one-sided. Like, there’s Daemon being a creepy weirdo and Daenerys is just like, “which bastard half-brother are you again?” Give me a Daenerys who absolutely does not give a fuck about Daddy’s favorite little tool to insult his trueborn heir for the high crime of *checks notes* being responsible. Give me Daenerys going to her brother who’s basically old enough to be her dad and being like, “Thank the gods you betrothed me to Maron Martell, I cannot stand Daemon’s constant talk about taking a second wife”.

Listen, I know George said in a word of god interview thing that Daenerys was in love with Daemon or whatever, but I simply do not care. If he wanted us to truly believe that she loved Daemon, he should have had her mourn him. I’m in the camp that the whole “BUT THEY WERE IN LOVE” thing in universe is just maesters making shit up for dramatic effect and also by Blackfyre rebels to try and add some romance to their cause, to spread the belief they’re fighting for some noble purpose or whatever.

Anyways, this is an anti-Daemon Blackfyre zone (joking, he can be so interesting but I do NOT believe he holds an actual claim to the Iron Throne, I’m actually much more interested in Daena, Rhaena, and Elaena trapped in the fucking Maiden Vault because Baelor decided to live out an eternal No-Nut November).

[linaartsblogsworld]

▪️𝑴𝑨𝑴𝑨'𝑺 𝑩𝑶𝒀𝑺 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔: 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐧 ,𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐟𝐲𝐫𝐞 ✨🖤

[haltraveler]

House Blackwood stays winning.

[allyriadayne]

finished the sworn sword dunk n egg book 2! some thots/livereading about maekar, the blackfyre rebellion and tensions between trueborn and bastards:

interesting that egg mentions bloodraven also being in the council during daeron's reign. probably another favor like giving him dark sister to keep brynden to his side. he could not afford to alienate more of his half siblings. brynden then continues this same 'protocol' after he becomes hand, probably giving high ranking roles to the other formerly bastard siblings (gwenys and mya hive riseeee). and of course, obviously he would want to surround himself with people loyal to him.

also interesting to note a sort of "rivalry" between baelor and brynden. If he had been king I don't think he would've named brynden as a hand like his brothers. egg also mentions that maekar (no more maekar wisdoms please) believes the septons about bastard's distrustful nature, wonder if baelor believed it too.

this is really funny. when baelor was alive maekar was a loser. now with aerys, maekar is winning except he can't stand up to bloodraven. he won against rhaegel but he's still the fourth son. nobody cares about maekar in universe but i know he's constantly like "and I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for my alive brothers!"

maekar oh my god shut the fuck up. he's too scared to complain about aerys because of bloodraven the way he did about baelor when he was alive. at least maekar can say he has children, he's winning for the bare minimum

GIRL I know. so baelor dies and suddenly maekar is NOT the wisest bestest strongest prince? why did he kill him anyway

I love egg defending his dad but he's also a victim of maekar's inferiority complex. save him. I'm not saying maekar wasn't a good battle commander but saying that he's the best now that baelor is dead just screams little brotherism and also just something that he has probably said out loud.

imagine if you were good but not great and your enemy was also your favorite brother whom you killed and was forever remembered as the best king westeros would never have. and you still were a fourth son. I would kill myself. and maekar's sigil is FOUR dragons. one more than baelor's. of course.

now onto serious matters. the sword /is/ the kingdom, and daeron knew it. it's why he gave dark sister to brynden as a countermeasure even when brynden was /not/ a swordsman either. he had to do something to lessen aegon's mistake

Aegon did not give daemon the crown because daeron i lost it lol but if he had it..... the question of the blackfyre rebellion is down to the same one as the dance: which has more weight, the king's word or tradition?

[dyannawynnedayne]

Terros Next Top DILF: Round 1

Cregan: art by moncuries, AWOIAF Page

Daemon: art by lotreckk, AWOIAF Page

BRACKET LINK

[nixiefics]

What could have been...

[novembermorgon]

Could you draw daemon blackfyre and rohanne of tyrosh one day please....she gets no attention ever

lucky i had a long flight and gave some thought to daemon blackfyre today

[wodania]

“Be my dog, ser. The night’s alive with promise. We can howl together, and wake the very gods.”

prince daemon and ser duncan 🎻🌳

[midnight--sadness]

Giving dragons to non-dragonriding Targaryens.

(Note: this makes no sense in terms of timelines, it is just for fun! 😊)

Daenerys: Morning -- no great philosophical reason, I just think my girl deserves a pretty pink dragon

Daella: Viserion -- he is such a gentle dragon, she would (probably) get over her fear of them if she had him contantly cuddling her

Saera: Syrax -- a spoiled dragon for a girl who always desired attention

Viserra: Sunfyre -- the most beautiful of Alysanne's daughters must have the most beautiful dragon in the known world

Aemma Arryn: Tessarion -- the Blue Queen would match with Meleys the Red Queen, whose rider Rhaenys is Aemma's cousin

Viserys II: Rhaegal -- I feel like between Drogon and Viserion, sometimes Rhaegal is forgotten, which is also something I feel happens with Viserys, particularly in the midst of the tragedy of the Dance

Aegon IV: Syrax -- both very fertile and pampered

Naerys: Dreamfyre -- both of Dreamfyre's previous riders, Rhaena and Helaena, had twins, so I wanted to have that connection to Naerys

Daeron I: Meraxes -- the obvious Dorne connection and both Queen Rhaenys and Daeron have Velaryon mothers

Daena: Caraxes -- the Blood Wyrm being ridden by Daemon's wild granddaughter OR Meleys

Elaena: Arrax -- his coloring perfectly matches her hair OR Moondancer -- she "stole" her aunt Baela's husband and also her dragon

Daeron II: Silverwing -- only appropriate that Good Queen Alysanne's dragon is ridden by King Daeron the Good

Daemon Blackfyre: Balerion -- the Black Dread for the Black Dragon

Aegor Rivers: Vermithor -- the Bronze Fury for a perpetually angry man

Brynden Rivers: the Cannibal -- known for eating other dragons and Brynden is a supposed kinslayer OR Caraxes -- the Blood Wyrm for Bloodraven, both lean and formidable

Shiera Seastar: Seasmoke or Silverwing -- a silver dragon that matches her aesthetic

Baelor: Sunfyre -- golden like the sun of Dorne and his name "sun" like the Martell sigil, in honor of his mother Myriah Martell, and "fire" connects to the Targaryen words

Maekar: Vhagar -- a war dragon

Aemon: Viserion -- Daenerys' sweet boy for the man who so desperately wanted to protect her

Aerion: the Cannibal -- the dragon's menacing green eyes are the color of wildfire

Rhaegar: Grey Ghost -- a wild dragon, known for his elusiveness, is mysterious and avoidant of people, and would be a good companion to Rhaegar and the way no one really knew him

Rhaenys: Balerion -- she named her kitten after the Black Dread, so it is only fair that she gets to ride him

Please let me know what you think!

Do you think there is another dragon/rider combination or is there someone here you would assign another dragon?

[novaursa]

The Black Dragon's Claim (runaway)

- Summary: Daemon steals you on your nameday, and the realm is never the same.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Daemon I Blackfyre

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The night air stings against your skin as Daemon’s horse thunders across the darkened plains, carrying you further from the Red Keep and deeper into the heart of rebellion. The wind howls, the stars above bright yet cold, as if they bear witness to the scandal that has just unfolded. You clutch Daemon’s cloak to keep from slipping, your body pressed tightly against his. Each thunderous beat of the horse’s hooves mirrors the frantic rhythm of your heart.

His men ride close behind, a shadowy army escorting their prince and his prize—the Targaryen princess now stolen from the very heart of King’s Landing. You know that soon the news will spread like wildfire. Every noble house, every smallfolk in the streets will hear the tale: Daemon Blackfyre has claimed you. The realm will break in half, some in outrage, others in fervent support of the man who now holds you close.

You should be terrified. You should be furious. And yet, a part of you feels alive, more alive than ever before.

The ride is long, the silence heavy, save for the pounding of hooves and the distant howl of wolves. You finally dare to speak, your voice trembling just enough to betray your shock.

"Daemon, what have you done?"

His grip on the reins tightens, and for a moment, he does not respond. Then, in that voice that has always unnerved and drawn you, he answers, “What was necessary.”

You narrow your eyes, your breath coming faster. “You’ve stolen me. Do you think the realm will let this stand?”

He laughs softly, a sound dark and dangerous. “Let the realm try to stop me. They’ve always wanted to see us broken, but now I hold the most precious prize.” He glances down at you, his gaze burning in the moonlight. “You, my love, are the symbol they will rally behind.”

You want to argue, to fight against the fire that rages between you. But deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve always been loved by the people, a daughter of the dragonblood, the one untouched by the ugliness of court politics. Daemon taking you as his bride will divide loyalties across the realm. But what is most unsettling isn’t that fact—it’s the realization that a part of you is willing to let it all burn.

You travel through the night, and by the time dawn breaks over the horizon, Daemon leads you toward a sprawling camp at the edge of a river. Tents rise like a small city, banners bearing the Blackfyre sigil fluttering in the wind. Soldiers pause in their tasks, watching with wide eyes as Daemon dismounts, pulling you gently down with him. His men bow, their loyalty unquestioning. They don’t see you as a prisoner—they see you as their queen.

He holds out his hand, and for a moment, you hesitate. Your whole life has been defined by duty, by what you must do for the crown, for the realm. But as you look into Daemon’s violet, storm-filled eyes, you feel the weight of something different—desire, freedom, and the thrill of the unknown.

You take his hand.

The men cheer as Daemon pulls you to his side, lifting your joined hands high for all to see. “I present to you,” Daemon declares, his voice carrying over the camp, “the woman who will stand beside me as I take back what is rightfully ours. My bride, the trueblood of Targaryen lineage.”

Your stomach twists at the proclamation, but you lift your chin high. You know that what follows will be perilous. You’ve stepped into the eye of the storm, where there is no turning back.

Daemon takes you inside the largest tent, which is lavishly adorned compared to the rest of the camp. The flickering light of the braziers casts shadows against the walls, giving the space an almost ethereal glow. Once inside, he turns to you, his eyes softer now, yet still filled with the intensity that defines him.

“You may hate me for this,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “But I will not apologize. I’ve wanted you from the moment I knew of your birth. You were meant for more than a hollow life in the Red Keep. With me, you will have fire, blood, and the world at your feet.”

His words stir something deep within you, something primal. The court had always tried to shape you, to contain you within their expectations of what a princess should be. But with Daemon, there are no limits. He offers you a crown not forged by duty, but by power.

You meet his gaze, and the space between you seems to shrink. “You’ve risked everything,” you whisper, your voice a mixture of defiance and awe. “The throne, the realm, even your life—all for me?”

His smile is slow, dangerous, but genuine. “I’d burn the world for you.”

There it is again, that reckless flame that burns inside him, drawing you in like a moth to the fire. And now you’re in the center of it, your future bound to his rebellion, to his ambition.

But a thought crosses your mind, one you cannot ignore. “The realm will come for us,” you say, your voice low. “My brother Daeron, the royal court—what we’ve done will not go unpunished.”

Daemon’s expression darkens for a moment, but his confidence never wavers. “Let them come. I’ve waited long enough to make my move. The rebellion was already in motion, but with you, it has become unstoppable. They will either bend the knee or fall.”

You shiver, not from the cold but from the realization that this is your life now—standing beside the man who has stolen you from everything you once knew. You are no longer just the beloved Targaryen princess. You are the queen of the Blackfyre rebellion, and the realm will bleed for it.

Daemon steps closer, cupping your cheek with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushes over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You are mine now,” he whispers, his voice low and possessive. “And together, we will carve a new legacy.”

You close your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest as you lean into his touch. You know that this path will not be easy, that it will be filled with blood and fire. But as you stand here with Daemon, in the quiet before the storm, you find that you no longer care.

You are his, and the realm will know it. Let them come.

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Daemon I Blackfyre on the Redgrass Field

And there was his mortal error, for the Raven’s Teeth had gained the top of Weeping Ridge, and Bloodraven saw his half brother’s royal standard three hundred yards away, and Daemon and his sons beneath it. He slew Aegon first, the elder of the twins, for he knew that Daemon would never leave the boy whilst warmth lingered in his body, though white shafts fell like rain. Nor did he, though seven arrows pierced him, driven as much by sorcery as by Bloodraven’s bow. Young Aemon took up Blackfyre when the blade slipped from his dying father’s fingers, so Bloodraven slew him, too, the younger of the twins. Thus perished the black dragon and his sons. ~The Sworn Sword (George R. R. Martin)

By vazdelart

[fadingstudentbananacookie]

It's hilarious how Daemon and Rhaenyra's grandchildren carry the Green's legacy in spirit by destroying House Targaryen through internal conflicts decades later.

Aegon IV grows up to be far more extreme and gluttonous than Aegon II could ever be, coupled with a greater degree of cowardice (Aegon II would never). His sister Naerys is a little Helaena/Alicent-coded, but her cousin Daena mirrors Alicent more than I could imagine. And I am precisely talking about book!Alicent here.

Both Alicent and Daena were unapologetic in their pursuit of power after years of abuse and neglect, demanding the realm recognize their sons as kings by birthright. Neither of them gave two fucks about starting a civil war and I call that a slayyy. Go, my queens!

If Daena had been more like Rhaenyra, believe me when I say I wouldn't have liked her as much. It's their defiance that makes both Alicent and Daena more compelling characters.

I don't necessarily think Daena would have liked Alicent, but she would have definitely felt grudging respect and admiration for her courage.

Daeron the Young Dragon is just like Daeron the Daring (both are extremely popular among the nobles and the smallfolk). Both died young and were eternalized. Baelor the Blessed is obsessed with catholicism and guilt to a point that would even scare Alicent and Criston.

Aemon the Dragonknight is essentially a more refined, though not necessarily cooler, version of Aemond One-Eye. Aemon literally stood aside while his sister endured years of sexual and psychological abuse from her brother-husband. Aemond would never have stood by if Aegon II had tried to harm Helaena. His loyalty and protectiveness towards his sister would have driven him to intervene. Their love stories are similar too, with many fans shipping Aemond with Helaena, and Aemon with Naerys.

Elaena is intriguing, but there's not much to say about her or her sister Rhaena.

Daemon and Rhaenyra's grandchildren are worse than the Targtowers in every aspect. Alicent (the Hightowers) and her children de-stabilized House Targaryen during the Dance, but Rhaenyra's grandchildren did so much worse by starting a civil war that lasted for generations to come. Team Black got the realm and power back, and they still fucked up. Again.

Another intriguing aspect is that Alicent and her children had legitimate reasons to resist and fight for Aegon's claim to the throne by feudal right—even if those reasons were fueled by spite and revenge. Alicent endured years of sexual abuse from Viserys, bearing children he barely acknowledged. She was humiliated in court and called "mad" when her son lost his eye, and Rhaenyra's son faced no repercussions—not even a slap on the wrist.

The Targtower children were neglected by their father for years and were practically forgotten when Rhaenyra lived in the Red Keep with her sons in tow. (And if you think Rhaenyra didn’t use her father’s love and rejection of his other children as a political machination, then you’re an absolute idiot.) If usurping her throne was the biggest fuck you they could give Rhaenyra and Viserys, then I fully support it!

Despite their complicated and angry feelings towards each other, the Greens would never act on them to cause significant harm. They understood that they only had each other for support and protection. But Rhaenyra's grandchildren, who were also in a similar situation, harbored outright hatred for each other for no reason! You'd think after the Dance, they would have learned a thing or two about the importance of family, but the gang didn't give a single fuck LMAO.

Daemon and Rhaenyra's grandchildren didn't have significant opposition. House Targaryen still held substantial power and ruled over the other Great Houses. Although they had to be more cautious without having dragons to threaten others, the internal strife could have been avoided if Daena and her sisters had been treated like actual human beings rather than cattle. (If Alicent was treated better and her children were acknowledged by Viserys and the rest of his family). The lack of care and respect towards them sowed the seeds of war, leading to the internal conflicts that ultimately weakened the dynasty.

The generational cycle of abuse and neglect within House Targaryen is one of the main key reasons why they were driven to extinction in merely three centuries. House Hightower and House Baratheon only did so little to show their true color.

Rhaenyra's claim that "The only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon was itself," couldn't be more accurate!

[jays-asoiaf-reblogs-and-archive]

Art by Jota Saraiva

[visenyaism]

bittersteel voice the lib-er-als *pause for boos* you know, you get it. i heard the woke liberal mob wants to rename the conqueror they-gon targaryen. *pause for boos* They-gon! and that’s true! the founder of our dynasty! and the woke dornish, they’re trying to make it happen. but we’re not gonna do that here. not in this kingdom *pause for cheers* we are keeping marriage between one man and his dubiously underage sister *pause for cheers* we are bringing back conquest *pause for cheers* and we are bringing back kings who bear the sword *pause for cheers* and that’s why daemon blackfyre is gonna be the best king westeros has ever had the very best