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pixii33 · 4 months ago

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 3

Summary: after that night, no matter what you do, no matter what you say, no one believes you. You're done. You want to quit being his therapist but you still haven't seen the worst part...

Warning: paranoia, abuse, mental illness.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

PART 1, PART 2, PART 4

It had been days since that night—days since the dead doves, the blood on the walls, the police visit to the Targaryen home. Days since Y/N last felt normal.

Now, the walls of her apartment seemed to close in on her. The curtains remained drawn, blocking out the light of day. The once-cozy space was now a prison, suffocating her with silence, except for the incessant scratching at the back of her mind. The feeling of being watched, of not being alone. Every creak, every whisper of wind against the windows made her jump.

She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. Her body felt weak, and her mind was clouded in a haze of paranoia. Her hair was greasy, her skin pale and blotchy. Dark circles framed her eyes—eyes that were wide with fear, darting around the room, always expecting him. Expecting Aegon to appear from the shadows. She had stopped showering, afraid that if she closed her eyes for even a second, he’d be there when she opened them. Her reflection in the mirror was foreign, ghostly, a stranger trapped in a body consumed by terror.

And her boyfriend…he was tired. More than tired. He was done.

"Y/N, for fuck's sake, you have to stop this," he snapped, his voice breaking the silence like glass shattering on the floor. He stood in the kitchen, staring at her with a mix of frustration and pity, while she sat at the edge of the couch, her legs pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them.

"You don’t believe me. You never believe me,” she muttered, her voice hoarse from days of crying, of pleading. "I saw him. It was him. I know it was him." Her eyes were wild, flicking toward the corners of the room as though Aegon might materialize from the shadows at any moment.

Jacob sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we've been over this a thousand times. The cops checked him out. There was nothing—nothing—to suggest he did anything. No evidence, no signs, nothing. He’s just some guy going through a rough time, and you're his therapist. You’ve taken this too far."

She flinched at his words, the sting of them sinking into her chest. "No…you don’t get it. You don’t see him like I do. He’s dangerous. I’m not safe. He knows where I live. He wants me." Her voice trembled as she spoke, each word a desperate plea for him to understand.

But he didn’t. He was tired of this, of her, of everything.

"You're obsessed, Y/N. Obsessed with this guy. You spend all your time thinking about him, talking about him, dreaming up this whole fucking scenario in your head like you're the main character of some horror movie. But this isn't a movie—this is real life, and you're making shit up!" His voice grew louder, angrier with every word, his patience long gone.

Y/N shook her head, her body trembling. "I'm not making it up. You have to believe me—please. I’m not crazy. I’m not—"

"Yes, you are!" He cut her off, his face twisted with frustration. "You’re fucking crazy, Y/N! Years of being a therapist have finally caught up with you. You’ve absorbed all the bullshit from your patients, and now you’re projecting it onto this guy. Aegon didn’t do anything to you—he’s just some poor bastard who had the misfortune of being assigned to you."

Her stomach lurched at his words. The pain of his accusation was worse than anything she’d felt before. It was like a knife twisting inside her, carving out the last remnants of hope she’d clung to. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

"I'm not crazy," she whispered, her voice broken, fragile. She didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

Jacob slammed his hand on the counter, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Then why are you acting like it? Why can’t you just let this go? You're ruining your life—our life—because you’re so fixated on this guy. You won’t eat, you won’t sleep, you’re a fucking mess, Y/N! I can't keep doing this! Every time I try to help you, you just spiral deeper into this delusion!"

Tears streamed down her face, but she barely felt them. "I’m not delusional," she repeated, but her voice cracked, betraying her.

"Yes, you are!" He shouted, stepping closer, his face red with anger. "You’re making this shit up because you’re obsessed with him. Admit it! You’re obsessed with Aegon. You’ve let him get into your head, and now you’re the one who’s losing it."

"No!" she cried, her voice raw. "I’m not obsessed with him! I don’t care about him like that! I’m scared—he’s going to hurt me! I know he is!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, give me a break. You’ve been so wrapped up in this guy, you probably want him to do something, just so you can play the victim. Just so you can have some sick thrill of being the center of his attention. It’s pathetic, Y/N."

His words felt like a slap in the face, each one tearing at her like claws. She stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe that this was happening—that he was saying these things to her. The one person who was supposed to protect her, to believe her, had turned against her.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with anger. "I can’t keep pretending that you're okay, because you're not. You need help. Professional help. Maybe you should check yourself into a fucking psych ward, because right now, you’re acting like a fucking lunatic."

Her breath hitched in her throat. The room seemed to spin around her, her vision blurring with tears. "How can you say that?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "How can you say that to me?"

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly done with the conversation. "Because it's the truth. And deep down, you know it. You're spiraling, Y/N. And I’m not going to stand here and let you drag me down with you."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. She felt as though the world had collapsed around her, the last piece of her sanity slipping away.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you think I’m crazy…then just go. Leave me."

He stared at her for a long moment, the anger still simmering in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the dark.

And for the first time in days, the silence felt more dangerous than ever.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, her eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights. She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days, and each missed call had sent her deeper into a pit of despair. But today was different. Today was the day she would finally face Aegon.

Her hands shook as she brushed her hair, her fingers trembling with every stroke. Her reflection looked haggard—dark circles under her eyes, skin pale and sickly. She barely recognized herself, but she needed to pull it together. She had to pull it together.

"He’s just a man," she whispered to herself, her voice shaky but determined. "Just a man… I’m in control. I have to be in control. I can’t let him win."

Her eyes flickered toward the closet. She needed to choose something to wear, something that made her feel strong, confident. Something that would hide how utterly broken she felt inside.

She reached for a black turtleneck, one of the few pieces of clothing that didn’t feel too vulnerable, too exposed. The fabric clung to her body in a way that was both comforting and suffocating, but she convinced herself it was armor. Something to shield her from the weight of Aegon’s gaze. She paired it with dark jeans and boots, feeling the weight of each step as she slipped them on.

"It’s just another session," she muttered, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. "I’m going to confront him. I’m going to tell him it’s over. He can’t do this to me anymore."

She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to find some semblance of the person she used to be. Her hands gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles white from the pressure.

"You're not crazy," she told herself, her voice stronger this time. "He’s messing with you, but you can stop this. You can end this. Just get through today, and then you’re done. You’ll quit. You’ll never have to see him again."

Her heart raced at the thought of being in the same room with him again, but she forced herself to breathe.

"In and out," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "Just…in and out. You can do this. You have to do this."

She tried to picture how it would go. She’d walk into the room, sit across from him like she always did, but this time, she wouldn’t let him get to her. She wouldn’t let his twisted words sink into her skin like poison.

"I’m the therapist," she reminded herself, pacing back and forth now, her boots tapping against the hardwood floor. "I’m the one in control. He’s just a patient. He’s just…" She trailed off, the image of Aegon’s wide eyes and the way he had silently told her to shut up flashing in her mind.

She shook her head, trying to push the memory away. "No, no… Don’t think about that. You’re stronger than this. You’re not scared of him. You can quit. You can walk away."

But her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. She stared at them, willing them to be steady. "Breathe," she muttered, forcing another deep breath into her lungs. "Just breathe."

She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, the weight grounding her for a moment. "You’ve got this," she whispered one last time, trying to convince herself.

But as she headed for the door, the creeping sense of dread wrapped around her, cold and suffocating.

Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the door, the silence of the room pressing in on her. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the knot of anger in her chest only grew tighter. She gripped the edge of her desk, her fingers turning white. She was done with Aegon. Done with his games, his manipulations, his stalking. Today, she was ready to confront him—she was ready to make him understand that she wasn’t going to be his victim anymore.

The memory of the dead doves, the blood, still haunted her. Every night, she barely slept, feeling like his eyes were on her, even when she knew she was alone. And yet, despite all of it, he had gotten away with it. He had made her look crazy, gaslighted her in front of the police and her boyfriend, made her question her own reality. But not anymore. Today, she was taking control. Today, she would end it.

Her jaw clenched as she imagined him walking through the door, with that smug, twisted grin. Her mind raced with the confrontation she had been playing over and over in her head. She would scream at him, shout at him until he admitted what he had done. Until he finally stopped pretending to be some innocent victim.

The minutes dragged on, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the clock. And then, finally, the door creaked open.

Aegon stepped in, but something was different. He wasn’t the man she was used to seeing—there was no smirk, no defiance. He looked�� broken. Shattered.

Her eyes widened in shock. His face was a mess of bruises, swollen and discolored, with dark bags hanging under his bloodshot eyes. His clothes were disheveled, stained with dirt and blood. He walked with a limp, his steps small and hesitant, like every movement hurt him. His hands were clasped tightly together in front of him, shaking as they fidgeted against each other. He kept his head down, glancing around the room like a trapped animal, flinching at every noise, every movement.

Y/N blinked, completely taken aback. This wasn’t the Aegon she knew—the arrogant, unhinged man who had stalked her, terrorized her. No, this was something else, something… disturbing. He looked like someone who had been run over, like life had chewed him up and spat him out, and now he stood there, fearful and fragile.

For a split second, she felt something almost like pity creep into her chest. But then she remembered who he was. What he had done. And the anger surged back to the forefront.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, eyes darting around, avoiding her gaze. His lips trembled, but no words came out.

She slammed her hands on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Aegon!" she snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of game are you playing now?"

At the sound of her raised voice, Aegon jumped, visibly flinching. His body curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller, his shoulders hunching as his knees gave way. He dropped to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth like a scared child.

Y/N’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion and a creeping sense of dread. "Aegon, what the hell is going on?" she asked again, but this time her voice was quieter, uncertain.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he started muttering under his breath, his voice shaky and broken. "What’s the matter?" he whispered, his words barely audible. "What’s the matter, Aegon?"

Her heart sank as she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to… himself? His voice trembled as he repeated the words, like a broken record. "What’s the matter, Aegon? No. I’m not gonna hurt you. Come here. Come on. What’s the matter?"

Y/N felt her stomach twist as the phrases spilled out of his mouth over and over again, each repetition more unsettling than the last. It wasn’t Aegon’s voice. It was someone else’s, echoing through his broken mind.

She watched in horror as he hugged his knees tighter, his entire body trembling. "I’m not gonna hurt you, Aegon. See? That wasn’t bad," he whispered, tears streaming down his bruised face. "That wasn’t bad. That wasn’t bad."

It hit her like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t some act, some manipulation. Aegon had been abused—horribly, painfully, to the point where his mind had fractured. And now, as he sat on the floor, shaking and crying, he was reliving it. Over and over again.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him like this. She had never imagined this side of him—the scared, broken side. The side that had been hurt so deeply that he could only repeat the words of his abuser like a mantra.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her hands shaking as she stood there, unsure of what to do. Part of her still hated him—still wanted to scream at him, to blame him for everything. But another part of her… felt something else. Something terrifying and sad.

She knelt down beside him, her voice soft and hesitant. "Aegon…"

He didn’t respond, just kept rocking back and forth, his tears falling faster now.

"I’m not gonna hurt you," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "See? That wasn’t bad."

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Aegon," she said softly, "I’m not going to hurt you either. It’s okay."

He didn’t seem to hear her. He was too far gone, lost in whatever memory had taken over his mind. His eyes stared blankly at the floor, wide and terrified, as if he were seeing something she couldn’t.

She reached out slowly, carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, his whole body recoiling, but she didn’t pull away.

"Aegon," she whispered again, trying to keep her voice steady. "It’s okay. You’re safe here."

But he wasn’t safe. Not really. Not with whatever had broken him, not with the darkness that clung to him like a shadow.

He rocked back and forth, mumbling, "Come here. Come on, what’s the matter, Aegon? No, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest. Whoever had done this to him—whoever had hurt him—had left a mark that ran deeper than anything she could understand.

For the first time, she realized she wasn’t dealing with just a stalker or a psychopath. Aegon was something much darker, much more broken than she had ever imagined.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the fear out of her voice. "Aegon," she said quietly, "It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid."

But as his sobs grew louder, as he curled tighter into himself, Y/N knew that nothing she said could reach him.

The real Aegon—the one who had tormented her, who had done horrible things—was still there, somewhere. But so was this… this terrified boy, trapped in his own mind.

And she didn’t know which one scared her more.

Y/N swallowed down the terror rising in her throat, her hand trembling as she reached out to softly pet Aegon’s head. At first, he flinched, his body jerking away from her touch. But then, as if something clicked in his broken mind, he looked up at her—really looked—and his tear-streaked eyes seemed to recognize her for the first time. His lips trembled as he whispered her name, broken, like a child.

“Y/N…”

Before she could react, he clung to her, his body collapsing into her lap, his head pressed against her chest. He sobbed quietly, his whole body shaking, his hands clutching her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. She froze for a moment, completely caught off guard, but then instinct took over, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. His tears soaked through her clothes, and she could feel the tremors in his frail, battered form.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his hair, trying to calm him. “It’s okay, Aegon. You’re safe now.”

His sobs eventually began to quiet, his breathing slowing as she rocked him gently, her voice soft in his ear. “Shh… it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

For a long time, they stayed like that—her holding him, him clinging to her like a lifeline. The moments stretched into eternity, and Y/N could feel his grip slowly loosen as the storm inside him settled. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but he refused to meet her gaze, his head turning away as he tried to wipe at the tears that continued to fall.

“Aegon…” she began softly, “What happened to you? Who did this?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tight, struggling to control the tears still running down his face.

“Aegon, please…” she pressed, her voice gentle but firm. “You have to tell me.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might respond, but then he muttered something, barely audible. “I… I hate it. When she… when my mother does horrible things to me.”

Y/N felt her breath catch. His mother? She had always known that Aegon’s relationship with his family was fraught, but this? There was something darker here, something that had broken him in ways she couldn’t fathom.

“But it’s okay,” Aegon continued, his voice shaking. “Because I love her. And that’s what matters, right?”

“No Aegon–”

"I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N," Aegon said suddenly, his voice softer now, almost childlike. "I was angry that night, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to hurt him. I didn’t like the way he looked at you. The way he touched you."

She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Aegon…"

He turned to her then, his bloodshot eyes wide and full of sincerity. "You can hit me, you know. I won’t stop you. You were so angry, I could see it. You can hit me if it makes you feel better."

Y/N’s blood ran cold. "What? No, Aegon, I’m not—"

"You can," he repeated, almost eagerly. "It’s okay. You’re mad at me. You can hit me." He smiled then, a soft, unnerving smile that made her stomach churn. "I won’t even flinch. I promise."

"Aegon, that’s not—"

“You can beat me if it makes you feel better,” he continued, his voice unnervingly soft, as though he were offering her a gift. “It’s okay. I’ll let you do it. I deserve it, right?”

The pit in Y/N’s stomach twisted. His words, his tone—it was as if he was trying to convince himself, not her. Like he was rationalizing the abuse he had endured.

He turned his head just slightly, enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye. “You’re like me,” he whispered.

Her body tensed at his words. “What… what do you mean?”

He wiped at his face with trembling fingers, still not fully meeting her eyes. “Even though your boyfriend hurt you… you still think about him, don’t you?”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She felt the fear creeping back in—the terror that had been gnawing at her ever since the day the dead doves appeared at her door. The stalker. The horror. It was all coming back.

Aegon finally looked up at her, his eyes glittering with something dark, something sinister. “You love him… don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the air thick with a suffocating dread.

Aegon’s lips twisted into a smile—that smile. The one she had seen before, the one that sent chills down her spine.

“I hate him,” Aegon said softly, his voice dripping with venom. “I hate the way he treats you. The way he talks to you. Hurts you. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She could feel her pulse quickening, her mind racing, trying to piece together what he was saying—what he was implying.

“Do you know,” Aegon asked, his tone disturbingly calm, “why he hasn’t answered your calls?”

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days. He had stormed out after their last argument, refusing to answer her desperate calls or texts. She had been terrified, worried sick about him—about what he was thinking, about whether he’d come back. But now, sitting here, listening to Aegon, that fear morphed into something far worse.

He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have.

Her entire body went cold.

“What… what do you mean?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Aegon’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something inhuman, something evil. He didn’t answer directly—he didn’t have to. The look in his eyes told her everything.

He leaned back, his voice light and playful now, like they were discussing a joke. “Did you open the gift I left for you?”

Her heart nearly stopped.

Gift? What gift? She hadn’t seen anything—hadn’t thought about it. But then, the morning came flooding back to her. The moment she had left the house, her mind too wrapped up in her terror and paranoia to notice anything out of place.

Her blood ran cold as her mind raced with horrible possibilities. The gift. What if it wasn’t just some harmless object? What if it was—

No. No, no, no.

She stood up so fast that she almost tripped, her eyes wide with panic. Aegon was laughing now—a soft, eerie laugh that filled the room, the sound making her skin crawl.

“Oh, Y/N,” he cooed, his voice mocking. “You really should check your door more carefully in the mornings.”

Her mind was spinning, her heart racing. She had to get out. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here—not with him, not with his laughter ringing in her ears, the sick grin spreading across his bruised face.

She grabbed her keys from the desk, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped them. Aegon was still sitting there, watching her with that horrifying smile, his eyes gleaming with delight.

“You’ll thank me later,” he called after her as she bolted for the door.

Her mind was screaming, her heart pounding in her chest as she tore through the office, slamming the door behind her. His laughter echoed in her ears, following her down the hallway, filling her with a terror so deep she could barely breathe.

And as she ran, the only thought in her mind was the horrifying possibility of what she would find when she opened that gift.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

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0silver0dreams0 · 4 months ago

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✦✧ Masterlist ✧✦

"Whispers of Devotion" ✦ In a world torn apart by love, loyalty, and obsession, (Your Name) finds herself reborn as the youngest daughter of Queen Alicent and King Viserys Targaryen. Once a modern soul, she is now trapped in a fragile body, caught in the crossfire of a deadly rivalry between the Queen and Princess Rhaenyra. What begins as innocent affection from those around her soon twists into a dangerous obsession. With each passing year, (Your Name) feels the grip of those who claim to love her tightening around her throat. ✧

| Storyline | | Headcanons |

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novaursa · 5 months ago

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Where Dragons Dare (3/3)

- Summary: Years later, Vaemond Velaryon petitions for his rightful claim to Driftmark. And a broken family must mend wounds that were inflicted long ago.

- Pairing: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. If you want to read more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 7 000+

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

- A/N: this was requested by @witch-of-letters. I hope you enjoy this conclusion to the story. 🙂

- Previous chapter: 2

- Bonus part: Lost Chapters

You sit beside Alicent in your private chambers, the golden light of the late afternoon filtering through the high windows of the Red Keep. The day had been long, burdened by the weight of ruling in your father’s stead, and yet the discussion you’re having with your wife weighs heavier still. Rhaenyra’s impending visit to King’s Landing brings back memories—some bittersweet, some festering like old wounds—and it’s all been cast into sharper focus by Corlys Velaryon’s grievous injury. Now, with Vaemond Velaryon’s petition to claim Driftmark, the political storm brewing could tear apart the fragile peace you've fought to maintain.

Alicent’s eyes are fixed on you, concern mixed with resolve in those familiar dark depths. She’s changed over the years, just as you have; she’s no longer the uncertain girl manipulated by her father, but a woman of keen insight and strength—your equal and partner in every sense.

“It’s clear why Vaemond is pressing his claim,” she says quietly, her voice laced with tension. “He isn’t wrong to seek what he believes is his by rights. Driftmark belongs to the Velaryons, and the boys… well, it’s plain they’re not Laenor’s blood.”

Your eyes snap to hers, a flicker of warning there. “You shouldn’t speak of such things aloud, Alicent. Not with the walls of the Red Keep so eager to whisper.”

“It’s true, Y/N,” she replies firmly, her gaze unyielding. “Everyone knows it, even if they pretend not to. Viserys decreed them legitimate, but we all see the truth. The danger is in the pretense, in clinging to a lie for the sake of peace. But what peace is this, really? Vaemond’s words hold merit. Driftmark’s true heirs are being passed over for a fabricated legacy.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, the air thick with unspoken tensions that have lingered since the day of Laena’s funeral. Your thoughts drift, unbidden, to that dreadful night when everything unraveled—when Aemond claimed Vhagar and lost his eye for it. The memory of his pained screams still haunts you, a knife twisting in your heart each time you recall it. He bore it bravely, far braver than you expected from a boy his age, but the scars left behind were not just physical.

You let out a weary sigh, leaning back against the cushioned seat as your gaze falls to the intricate patterns on the stone floor. “I demanded justice for Aemond,” you murmur, bitterness seeping into your tone. “Luke should’ve been punished, but Father protected Rhaenyra as he always does. Her children are his blind spot, even now. She never truly acknowledged her son’s fault, not really, and from that moment on… everything between us was strained. We’re twins, yet she became a stranger after that day.”

Alicent’s fingers brush against yours, a silent comfort in her touch. “I’ve never forgotten what happened. I never will. It’s easy for Rhaenyra to speak of unity and family, but the truth is her actions always served her ambitions. She’s isolated herself on Dragonstone with Daemon, as if that distance absolves her from the mess she’s left behind.”

Your frown deepens. You love your sister, you do—but those love-blind affections have long been clouded by bitter reality. The bond you once shared feels frayed, worn thin by years of conflict and choices that placed her interests above everything else. Her sons—Jace, Luke, and little Joffrey—hold a place in your heart, but even that affection is tainted by the lies everyone is forced to maintain. You cannot forget how easily your own pleas for justice were disregarded, how Viserys himself demanded silence when you spoke of the truth.

“Viserys is clinging to a fantasy,” you say after a moment, your voice hard. “He wants to die believing that everything he’s built will remain intact, that the realm will carry on in harmony with Rhaenyra and her children. But there’s rot beneath the surface, and the realm won’t turn a blind eye forever.”

Alicent watches you carefully, her expression unreadable for a moment before softening. “It’s not only you who sees it. The lords whisper, the court shifts uneasily. And now Vaemond has brought that truth into the open, no longer content to pretend. The coming days will test the loyalty of those who have only remained silent out of fear.”

A silence falls once more, only broken by the distant cries of gulls and the muffled sounds of the capital below. The sun has dipped lower in the sky, casting sundown shadows across the room, but you can’t bring yourself to end this conversation, not when it feels as though so much is at stake.

“I don’t know what Viserys will do when Rhaenyra arrives,” you admit quietly. “He’s always favored her, always turned a blind eye when it comes to her and her children. If he sides with her again, if he dismisses Vaemond… it will spark something we may not be able to contain.”

Alicent shifts closer, her hand finding yours once more. “Then we must be ready for what comes. You are Prince Regent, Y/N. You have the authority to act, to protect the realm as you see fit. I know where my loyalties lie.”

You look at her, seeing the determination in her eyes, the quiet devotion that’s never wavered. She’s your wife, the mother of your children, and the one person who has stood beside you through all of it. The bitterness that lingers between you and Rhaenyra doesn’t extend here; with Alicent, there’s no pretense, no lies hidden behind strained smiles.

As night finally creeps over the capital, the light outside fading into a deep indigo, the two of you remain locked in conversation. You speak of the future, of what may come when Rhaenyra and Daemon set foot in the Red Keep, of the lines that may be drawn in the sand.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth as the night deepens, emitting warm flickers of light across your private chambers. The weight of the day’s troubles has lessened, replaced by the comfort of Alicent’s presence. The two of you remain close, sharing lingering touches and quiet words. As you move behind her, your hands begin to wander, gliding across the soft fabric of her gown. You hold her close, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath beneath your fingertips. Your lips brush against her ear as you murmur, “I think I must confess my sins before the gods, though I fear they are far too many.”

Alicent turns her head slightly, raising an eyebrow at your words. There’s a moment where she appears to take your confession seriously, but then her expression shifts, lips twitching as she fails to suppress a laugh. “That was horrible,” she chuckles, shaking her head, her laughter lightening the mood.

You grin, enjoying the way her laughter sounds, how it brightens the shadows of the evening. “Perhaps, but I’m not sure the gods would easily forgive me if they knew the true extent of my sins,” you jest, voice low and teasing as your hands tighten around her waist.

Her laughter softens into something more intimate as she turns fully toward you, her gaze lingering on your lips before she closes the distance. The kiss is slow at first, a familiar dance of lips and breath, but it quickly deepens as passion flares between you. Her fingers thread through your hair, pulling you closer, and the world outside the chambers fades away. It’s just the two of you—no titles, no crowns, only the warmth of her body pressed against yours.

In the growing heat of the moment, clothing becomes a hindrance, something to be discarded in favor of the closeness you both crave. Your hands make quick work of her gown, letting it slip from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She helps you shed your attire just as quickly until bare skin meets bare skin. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before Alicent pushes you back onto the bed with a determined glint in her eye.

You watch as she climbs atop you, her every movement measured and deliberate. The sight of her like this—confident and in control—ignites something in you, a hunger that’s always been there but now roars to life. “You look like a queen,” you whisper, voice husky, your hands finding her hips as she guides you into her. “My heart, my love.”

Alicent gasps softly, closing her eyes as she sinks onto you, the slow, steady rhythm she sets sending shivers through you both. The pleasure builds gradually, each movement deliberate and teasing. You can see the mischief in her eyes as she reaches for a nearby candle, tipping it just enough to let drops of warm wax fall onto your chest. The heat is a sharp contrast against your skin, but it only spurs your desire further.

“To raise the dragon with fire,” she whispers, her voice low and filled with a playful edge as the wax continues to drip.

You chuckle darkly, gripping her hips more firmly as you thrust upward. “The dragon is already raised, my love.” Your words send a thrill through her, and the pace quickens as she moves above you, her moans mingling with your own.

The candles forgotten, they clatter to the floor as her movements become more intense, both of you teetering on the edge of release. But just as you feel yourself ready to fall over that precipice, Alicent suddenly stops, lifting herself away from you. The absence leaves you throbbing with frustration, your desire only heightened by the way she watches you, a knowing smile curving her lips.

“What are you doing?” you groan, the teasing ache almost too much to bear.

She leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss that only stokes the fire in your blood. “Patience, my love,” she whispers against your lips, her voice dripping with teasing amusement. But patience has never been your strong suit, not when it comes to her.

With a growl of determination, you flip her beneath you, your body pressing hers into the soft sheets. You position her on her stomach, her back arched as you take hold of her hips and guide yourself back into her. She moans your name, the sound sending a rush of satisfaction through you as you begin to move with renewed urgency, your rhythm rough and intense, driven by the need to claim her fully.

Alicent’s fingers clutch at the sheets as each thrust draws another cry of pleasure from her lips. You lean down, your mouth brushing against her ear as you whisper praises between ragged breaths, telling her how beautiful she is, how perfect, how she belongs to you as much as you belong to her. The words seem to drive her wild, her voice trembling as she reaches for that peak again.

The pace grows frantic as you both reach the edge together, your bodies locked in perfect harmony. With one final thrust, you feel the tension snap, sending you both spiraling into a shared high that leaves you breathless, your minds lost in the euphoria of your union.

When the last waves of pleasure fade, you collapse beside her, gathering her into your arms as you both catch your breath. The night is quiet now, only the distant hum of the city outside breaking the stillness. You press a kiss to her temple, your heart still pounding in your chest.

For now, in this moment, everything else can wait.

The corridors of the Red Keep echo softly with your footfalls as you walk side by side with your eldest son, Aegon. The council meeting had been more taxing than usual, and you could see the strain in the boy’s eyes, though he hides it behind a practiced indifference. You glance at him, noting how he chews the inside of his cheek—a habit he’s never quite grown out of.

“Father, I—” Aegon starts, his voice tense, betraying the anxiety that simmers beneath his confident exterior. “I didn’t mean to sound insolent when I questioned Lord Lyman, I just—”

You stop, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “You did well, Aegon,” you say, cutting through his worry. “There was no fault in what you said. You spoke with strength and clarity, and you asked the right questions. We must be clear in our decisions, especially when others are too hesitant to say what needs to be said.”

Aegon blinks, the tension easing from his brow. He nods slowly, his expression softening. “Thank you, Father.” His voice is quieter now, laced with gratitude, and as the two of you continue walking, his steps seem lighter. The bond between you is often tested by his impulsiveness and uncertainty, but moments like this remind you that beneath the bravado, Aegon seeks your approval, your guidance.

You approach the sunroom, where a midday meal awaits. The bright sunlight streams through the windows, bathing the space in warmth. Already seated are Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, each engaged in their own conversations. Helaena’s face lights up the moment she sees you, her smile wide and genuine.

“Father! I finished my collection,” she announces excitedly, almost bouncing in her seat. Her gaze sparkles with the kind of innocent joy you’ve always cherished in her.

You smile back, a rare softness in your eyes. “That’s wonderful, Helaena. I promise I’ll come by later and see it. I’m sure it’s even more impressive than the last one.”

She beams at your words, her contentment visible, before returning her focus to the small assortment of insect jars she’s arranged on the table.

Aemond and Daeron, standing nearby, approach you as well. Aemond, ever the observant one, nods in greeting. “Father, it seems preparations for tonight’s feast are nearly complete. Mother mentioned that Rhaenyra’s arrival will likely set tongues wagging.” His tone is measured, hiding a touch of wariness behind his composed demeanor.

“Let them wag,” Daeron adds with a grin, his youthful energy apparent. “We’ll hold our own, as we always do.”

You can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in your chest at how they’ve grown—each of them distinct in temperament, but unified by the bonds of family. “We will,” you agree, placing a reassuring hand on Daeron’s shoulder.

Before the conversation can continue, the door to the sunroom opens, and Alicent steps inside. Her eyes sweep across the room before settling on you. A subtle crease forms between her brows as she notices the slight grimace on your face—a telltale sign of discomfort you’ve never been able to fully mask from her. She moves toward you, concern evident in her expression.

“Y/N, is your leg bothering you again?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

Before you can answer, Helaena, ever attuned to things others overlook, speaks up from her seat. “It’s the weather. The clouds are moving in. His leg hurts when the air changes like that.”

Alicent’s alarm deepens. “Should I summon Grand Maester Orwyle to examine it? Perhaps there’s something he can do.”

You shake your head, offering her a comforting smile. “It’s nothing to worry over, Alicent. Just an old pain from that fall off Dallax years ago. It comes and goes with the weather, as Helaena said. I’ll be fine.”

Though she nods, you can see that she’s not fully reassured, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm, a silent expression of her lingering concern.

The moment is broken by a knock at the door, and one of the guards steps inside, bowing slightly. “Your Grace, the Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon have arrived with their children. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Vaemond are with them as well.”

A heavy sigh escapes you, the weight of the situation pressing down like an iron mantle. “Of course they have,” you mutter under your breath, straightening your posture. Turning back to Alicent, you catch her worried gaze, knowing she senses the unease that tightens in your chest. This reunion has all the makings of a volatile confrontation, and the old wounds that have never fully healed threaten to bleed anew.

“I must go and welcome them,” you say, your voice measured but weary. The obligations of duty pull you forward, even when your heart longs to stay here with your family in this fleeting moment of peace.

Alicent steps closer, her fingers brushing against your sleeve in a silent gesture of support. “We’ll be by your side.”

You nod, grateful for her presence, and glance back at your children, who watch you with varying degrees of concern and curiosity. Even now, they look to you for strength, for guidance, and you cannot fail them. Not today. Not ever.

With one last glance at the warm sunlit room—a sanctuary from the political storm outside—you prepare yourself for the inevitable tension that awaits in the great hall. The time for peace and warmth has passed; now, you must step back into the fray.

The throne room is heavy with the weight of history, the distant clang of armor and murmured whispers echoing through the vast chamber. You stand at the base of the Iron Throne, the twisted swords looming behind you like the sharp shadows of past decisions. This place has always felt suffocating—the power it represents, the burden it imposes—but today, it seems even more so. The air is filled with anticipation, with all the words left unspoken over the years, words that now hover like ghosts between you and your sister.

The grand doors creak open, and in walks Rhaenyra, flanked by Daemon and her children. The entourage is impressive in its own right. But your eyes meet Rhaenyra’s first, a mixture of affection and lingering resentment flickering in her gaze. Daemon’s expression is inscrutable as ever, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, as if he’s already prepared for whatever battle this day might bring.

“Brother,” Rhaenyra greets, her voice formal but laced with a warmth she struggles to fully suppress. The distance between you isn’t just measured by the steps she takes toward you but by the years of strained silences and fractured trust. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long indeed,” you reply, giving her a nod. “Though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

She glances back at her children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey—who linger closer to their stepfather. It’s a small, subtle act, but one that doesn’t escape your notice. The lines have already been drawn, loyalties established, even within family. Your eyes shift momentarily to Lucerys, who shifts uncomfortably under your gaze. The memory of that night, when Aemond lost his eye, still lingers in the corners of your mind like a festering wound.

Daemon steps forward, offering you a mocking half-bow. “Prince Regent,” he drawls, the title rolling off his tongue with a hint of amusement. “I trust King’s Landing hasn’t dulled your edge in all this politicking?”

“King’s Landing has taught me that sharper edges are often hidden behind polished words,” you counter, meeting his smirk with one of your own. “But some things remain constant, no matter how much time has passed.”

There’s a flicker of something in Daemon’s eyes—approval, perhaps—but he gives nothing more than a faint nod. The moment stretches as if both of you are waiting for the other to strike first, but the tension is cut by the sound of more footsteps entering the throne room.

Alicent appears, resplendent in her green gown, with Aegon and Aemond trailing just behind her. They take their places beside you, Alicent’s presence a quiet assurance amidst the charged atmosphere. Her eyes briefly meet Rhaenyra’s—a mixture of cordiality and something more guarded passing between them.

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts back to you, her expression tight. “All this—Vaemond’s petition, this charade in court—is unnecessary. Corlys has already named Luke as his heir. This is nothing more than a farce driven by Vaemond’s ambition and desperation.”

You hold her gaze steadily, the words she speaks true, but there’s a bitterness beneath the surface that neither of you can quite hide. “Rhaenyra, you know as well as I do that perception is as powerful as truth in the eyes of the court. Vaemond’s claims are not without support among those who see blood over words. He’s leveraged the uncertainty surrounding Corlys’s health to rally those who resent the decree Viserys made years ago.”

“Resentment or ambition, it hardly matters,” Rhaenyra counters, her voice hardening. “Luke is Corlys’s chosen heir. This is nothing more than a blatant attempt to undermine our family, to sow discord in favor of personal gain.”

Before you can respond, Aemond’s cool voice cuts through the tension. “And yet, the matter has been brought before the court. The Driftwood Throne is more than just a seat; it represents the stability of our alliances and the power of the Velaryon fleet. Vaemond knows this well.”

Aegon shifts beside his brother, clearly eager to speak, but there’s an undercurrent of caution in his posture. “Let them debate the bloodlines and the claims. It’s all they seem to care about. But it’s our family’s unity that hangs in the balance.”

Alicent’s hand subtly rests on Aegon’s arm, a silent encouragement to temper his words. You can feel her worry radiating beside you, though she remains composed. “We cannot afford to be careless,” she adds, her voice steady. “The lords and ladies of the court are watching closely, each with their own interests at heart. We must tread carefully, especially with those like Vaemond, who are prepared to exploit any perceived weakness.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softens only slightly, the strain of years apart visible in the lines around her eyes. “I don’t want this to tear us further apart, brother. The realm needs stability, not more division. But it feels as though every step I take, every decision I make, is met with suspicion.”

You take a breath, weighing your words carefully. “Rhaenyra, I never wished for distance between us, nor did I want our paths to diverge as they have. But the choices we make carry consequences—sometimes ones we never intend. I want to believe that we can still find a way forward, even with everything that stands between us.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow slightly, watching you with a calculating gaze. He’s never been one to shy away from conflict, but even he seems to recognize that this moment is a delicate one.

Before anything further can be said, Alicent’s attention shifts as she catches sight of movement near the entrance. “It seems our guests have arrived.”

The doors swing open again, and in walk Princess Rhaenys and Lord Vaemond Velaryon, their presence commanding attention. Vaemond’s expression is one of grim determination, while Rhaenys’s gaze remains neutral, though there’s an underlying tension in the way she holds herself.

You sigh inwardly, the weight of what’s to come pressing heavily on your shoulders. “I must welcome them,” you say quietly, though the words feel more like a duty than a choice.

With a final glance at Alicent and your children, you steel yourself, ready to face whatever storm this day may bring.

The throne room is filled with an air of tension so thick it nearly suffocates, a place where every word and glance carries the weight of the realm’s future. You sit in front of the Iron Throne, flanked by your family—Alicent at your side, with Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron standing proudly beside you. Otto stands as a silent sentinel to your left, his expression carefully neutral but his calculating mind undoubtedly working behind those cold eyes.

This is your trial to preside over, not his.

Vaemond Velaryon stands before the court, his expression carved from stone, his voice carrying the authority of a man with righteous conviction. “I speak plainly because this matter is not one of politics, but of truth! The Driftwood Throne is a legacy that cannot be tainted by a lie. Lucerys Velaryon is no true Velaryon. He carries no blood of our house—he is not the son of Laenor Velaryon!”

Murmurs ripple through the gathered lords and ladies, some leaning in, eager to witness the drama unfold. Vaemond’s words are like daggers thrown across the room, aimed directly at Rhaenyra and her children. You can see the steel in her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line as she holds her composure. Daemon stands beside her, eyes narrowing at the offense, but he remains still, his calculating mind no doubt waiting for the right moment to strike.

You raise a hand to silence the room, your voice calm but firm. “Lord Vaemond, you’ve made your case. But it is not solely yours to decide. Princess Rhaenys, as the wife of Lord Corlys and the one who has stood by his side through every battle and storm, you have the most voice in this matter. Speak now, for the realm listens.”

Rhaenys steps forward, her presence commanding respect. Dressed in the deep blacks and reds of her house, she carries the pride of House Velaryon on her shoulders, yet her expression remains inscrutable. You watch her closely, knowing that her words will determine more than just the fate of Driftmark—they will shape alliances and define loyalties.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she begins, her voice clear and unwavering. “It is true that my lord husband is gravely injured and unable to speak for himself. But before he took ill, he made his wishes clear. He named Lucerys as his heir. My husband’s word is law on Driftmark, and I intend to honor it.”

Vaemond shifts uncomfortably, but remains silent for now.

Rhaenys continues, her gaze moving to Rhaenyra before settling on you. “Furthermore, Princess Rhaenyra has proposed a union—one that would not only preserve the legacy of House Velaryon but strengthen it. She has offered her son, Lucerys, to wed my granddaughter, Rhaena. A match I wholeheartedly support.”

The court stirs at this revelation. You feel the weight of Rhaenys’s decision pressing against your chest. Her words do more than just confirm Lucerys’s claim—they solidify Rhaenyra’s position in this fight. The offer to wed Rhaena to Lucerys would ensure that Driftmark remains in Velaryon hands, through Laena’s trueborn daughter. It’s a maneuver as brilliant as it is decisive. Rhaenys has thrown her support behind Rhaenyra in a way that cannot be easily countered.

You pause, considering the ramifications. Your eyes briefly meet Rhaenyra’s, searching for some sign of what she’s truly feeling beneath her stoic mask. She knows the significance of Rhaenys’s declaration; it’s more than just the inheritance of Driftmark—it’s a public alignment of houses, a strengthening of her line.

Just as you’re about to speak, Vaemond’s voice rises again, sharper now, with barely concealed fury. “This is an insult! A mockery of our house! You may support these... false heirs, but I will not allow Driftmark to be handed over to bastards!”

The word hangs in the air, searing through the room like a brand. A cold silence falls, eyes darting between you and Vaemond. Even Otto’s composed mask slips slightly, his eyes narrowing at the brazenness of Vaemond’s outburst. You feel a ripple of anger stir within you, a flame that you must keep controlled, for it would be too easy to let it consume you here.

Daemon steps forward, his smile a dangerous thing as he drawls, “Say it again, Vaemond. Go on.” His hand rests casually on the hilt of his blade, the invitation clear.

You rise from your seat, your gaze locking onto Vaemond with the weight of a dragon’s stare. The silence that follows is heavy, the tension crackling like lightning in the air. The audacity of his words echoes through the chamber—bastards. A line has been crossed, and everyone knows it.

“Enough,” you command, your voice low but resonant, silencing the whispers that had begun to stir among the lords and ladies. “You forget yourself, Lord Vaemond.”

Vaemond’s face twists with fury, but he stands defiant, unwilling to yield. “Your Grace, I only speak the truth that everyone here knows but dares not voice! Driftmark is the seat of House Velaryon, a house built on blood and salt. That blood should flow true, and Lucerys Velaryon carries none of it! The realm cannot be governed by lies and pretenses.”

You take a step forward, your presence a shadow over the defiant lord. “You speak of truth, but your truth is tainted by ambition and grievance. Driftmark’s future is a matter for Lord Corlys’s bloodline, and it has been decided by the one who holds that legacy. Princess Rhaenys has spoken clearly on her husband’s wishes and on the betrothal that will secure Driftmark’s future.”

Rhaenys’s head lifts, her expression one of quiet strength. It is a rare thing for the ‘Queen Who Never Was’ to publicly choose a side so explicitly, and in doing so, she has thrown the full weight of House Velaryon behind Rhaenyra and her children.

But Vaemond is not done. His eyes blaze with a dangerous mix of pride and desperation. “And you would have us swallow this pretense, this farce? I will not see my house’s name sullied for the sake of politics!”

Rhaenyra’s expression is a careful mask, but you know her well enough to see the tension coiled beneath the surface. Her sons stand rigid, their youth apparent in how they strain to keep composed, particularly Lucerys, whose gaze keeps darting toward you as if searching for some semblance of reassurance. You can feel Alicent’s eyes on you as well, a silent plea for this matter to end without bloodshed.

You straighten, feeling the weight of the crown’s authority settle around your shoulders. “This is not about what you will or will not see, Lord Vaemond. The decision is not yours to make.” You look to the gathered lords and ladies, letting your words carry across the room. “House Velaryon’s seat belongs to Lucerys Velaryon, named by Lord Corlys and affirmed by his lady wife. This court upholds that decision.”

There’s a murmur of agreement among some of the gathered lords, though others shift uncomfortably, clearly aligning themselves more with Vaemond’s view, whether they dare voice it or not. Vaemond’s defiance hardens into something bitter, his eyes flicking briefly toward Daemon, who remains a silent sentinel, the edge of his smile dangerous.

“Lucerys Velaryon is not a true Velaryon,” Vaemond growls, his voice rising with barely-contained rage. “He is—”

“Say it,” Daemon’s voice slices through the air like a dagger, his smile cold, daring Vaemond to cross that final line for the last time.

For a moment, it looks as if Vaemond might take the bait, the word trembling on his lips, but the air is thick with unspoken threats. You can see the flicker of fear in his eyes, a recognition that his next words could cost him more than just this claim. He hesitates, but the anger does not fade.

“The truth is plain,” Vaemond finally says, quieter now but no less venomous. “You can wrap it in silks and gold, but it remains a lie.”

Your patience wears thin. “Your passion is noted, Lord Vaemond, but you would do well to remember where you stand and who you address.” You glance at Rhaenyra, who remains poised despite the insults cast her way, then back at Vaemond. “This court has rendered its judgment. The matter is settled.”

The finality in your tone leaves no room for further argument. Vaemond clenches his jaw, his fists trembling at his sides, but he knows he’s lost. His pride is wounded, and though he has supporters among the court, none will openly defy the crown’s decision. He gives you a look filled with loathing, and for a heartbeat, you think he might lash out.

Before anything can escalate, Alicent steps forward, her presence bringing a calming effect, if only briefly. “This matter is closed,” she says with cool authority, echoing your decree. “The realm must look forward, not cling to the past.”

You nod, turning your attention back to the court. “The feast tonight will be held in honor of family and unity. I expect all to attend.” You emphasize the word family, knowing it holds different meanings for those gathered. Your gaze lingers on Rhaenyra and her children, then back to Vaemond, whose seething gaze is impossible to ignore.

Vaemond’s face is twisted with barely-restrained fury, but he bows stiffly. “As you command, Your Grace.”

The lords and ladies begin to disperse, the unrest easing as conversations shift to safer topics. But the undercurrents of unease remain. Alliances have been made clearer, but new fissures have formed as well.

As the court disperses, you catch Rhaenyra’s gaze. There’s a gratitude there, mingled with sadness, a recognition of the unspoken rift that still lies between you. “Thank you, brother,” she says softly when she approaches, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and weariness.

You nod, offering a small, strained smile. “For now, let us put aside the politics and remember that we are family.”

Rhaenyra inclines her head, and though the words are spoken with good intent, there’s a heaviness that neither of you can ignore. The politics of blood, inheritance, and loyalty remain like shadows between you.

As Rhaenyra and Daemon leave the throne room with their children, you feel Alicent’s hand lightly rest on your arm. “You did well,” she says softly, her gaze searching yours for any trace of what you’re truly feeling.

You give a faint nod, but the weariness of the day weighs heavily on your mind. “Perhaps. But this is only the beginning. There are storms yet to come.”

Alicent’s eyes flicker with concern, but she remains composed. “Then we will face them together, as we always have.”

With that, you steel yourself for the next gathering—the feast, where smiles will hide sharpened knives and toasts will be laced with hidden meanings.

The Great Hall is aglow with the warmth of countless candles, their light reflecting off the polished silver goblets and rich tapestries lining the walls. The air is thick with the aromas of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the subtle sweetness of honeyed fruits. At the head of the table, King Viserys sits, smiling broadly, the years of weariness lifted, if only for tonight. His eyes, though dulled by age and illness, sparkle with the joy of seeing his family gathered together—just as he has always dreamed.

You sit to his right, with Alicent beside you, her presence a quiet, steadying force. Your children—Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron—are arranged around you, each reflecting the shared Targaryen and Hightower legacies. Across the table, Rhaenyra sits with Daemon, their children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Baela, and Rhaena—filling the seats beside them. For once, the invisible line that has divided you all seems to blur, softened by the promise of reconciliation that hangs in the air.

Viserys raises his goblet, his voice trembling but rich with emotion. “To family,” he declares, looking first at you, then at Rhaenyra, his gaze lingering with unspoken hope. “We have all weathered many storms, but tonight, let us put aside our differences and remember the ties that bind us. Blood is what unites us, and that is stronger than any quarrel.”

You lift your goblet, meeting Rhaenyra’s gaze from across the table. There’s a flicker of warmth in her eyes, a reflection of the shared memories from when you were younger—before ambition and politics built walls between you. “To family,” you echo, letting your voice carry across the hall.

“To family,” Rhaenyra agrees, her voice softer, but sincere. The tension that usually clings to her words is absent, replaced by a genuine desire to find common ground. Daemon follows suit with a small nod, raising his goblet, though his eyes never lose their sharpness.

The others join in the toast, and for the first time in a long while, there’s a shared sense of unity at the table. The feast begins, and conversation flows more easily than you had expected. Laughter echoes, and even some of the past hurts seem to fade as old stories are shared, tales from when you and Rhaenyra were children, and the world was simpler.

Aegon, emboldened by the good cheer, leans toward Jacaerys with a grin. “So, cousin, when do we finally see if your swordplay has improved? Or are you still hiding behind the idea of ‘diplomacy’?” There’s a teasing lilt to his words, but it’s free of malice.

Jacaerys chuckles, accepting the challenge with grace. “Any time you wish, Aegon. Perhaps tomorrow, in the yard? I could use the exercise.”

Aegon laughs, and for once, it’s genuine. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Nearby, Helaena leans close to Rhaena, showing her a small, delicate beetle she’s been keeping. “This one’s new. I found it in the gardens this morning. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Rhaena’s face lights up with interest. “It is! You’ll have to show me where you find them. Perhaps we can look together tomorrow?”

Aemond, ever observant, listens as Daemon regales Daeron with stories of old Valyria, his tone as dramatic as ever. “You mustn’t rely only on strength, young prince,” Daemon advises with a sly smile. “There’s more power in a sharp mind than a sharp blade, though it’s best to wield both.”

As the night progresses, the atmosphere becomes lighter, laughter filling the hall. You notice Rhaenyra watching you, and when your eyes meet, she offers a tentative smile. There’s a pause, a moment where neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of unspoken words—regret, apology, and perhaps most importantly, a desire to heal what’s been broken.

“Brother,” she finally says, her voice tinged with emotion. “I’ve missed this—us, being together. I know there have been… difficulties, but I hope we can start anew.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the sincerity in her words. The distance between you hasn’t been easy, and the weight of your past grievances still lingers, but you find yourself nodding. “I’ve missed it too, Rhaenyra. We’ve both made mistakes, but we’re stronger together. Let’s try to move forward—for our family, for our father.”

Viserys beams at this exchange, his hand trembling as he lifts it to wipe away a tear. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. For all of us to be united, to leave behind the bitterness of the past.”

Alicent watches this with a soft smile, her hand slipping into yours beneath the table. “This is what he’s longed for,” she whispers. “You’ve given him peace, if only for tonight.”

As the meal continues, the tension that once plagued these gatherings begins to dissipate. Rhaenyra and Alicent exchange kind words, complimenting each other’s children. Daemon, though still carrying his usual edge, seems content to keep his barbs light, focusing more on keeping the mood lifted than on stirring the pot. Even Aemond, usually so guarded, appears more at ease, his exchanges with Jacaerys and Lucerys devoid of the usual undercurrents of rivalry.

At one point, Rhaenyra lifts her goblet again, a more private toast this time. “To new beginnings,” she says, looking at you with hope.

You smile, raising your own goblet in kind. “To new beginnings.”

The night stretches on, and for once, it feels as though the past might truly be put behind you. The bonds of family, strained though they’ve been, begin to mend. The ghosts of old wounds fade into the background as laughter, warmth, and shared memories take center stage.

Viserys, exhausted but happy, leans back in his chair, his hand resting on yours as he closes his eyes, a contented smile on his lips. “This… this is how it should always be,” he murmurs.

And for that night, at least, it is. Family, love, and unity win out, and the weight of the crown feels a little lighter.

From the Chronicles of King Y/N Targaryen I, The Reign of the Unified Flame

From “Fire and Blood: A History of House Targaryen” by Archmaester Melys:

Upon the passing of King Viserys I in the year 129 AC, the realm held its breath, fearing that the simmering tensions within House Targaryen would ignite into the civil war prophesied by many. But where the histories might have diverged into bloodshed and ruin, they instead tell a tale of unity and wise rule under King Y/N Targaryen, the Heir of Dragonstone, who ascended the Iron Throne as Y/N I, known to later generations as “Y/N the Peacemaker” and “The King of Balance.”

Though many lords whispered of conflict, it was King Y/N’s first decree that set the tone for his reign. Gathering his family—Queen Alicent, Princess Rhaenyra, and their respective children—he held council not in the Red Keep, but atop Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen. There, in the shadow of their ancestors and the elder dragons, they swore an oath of unity before gods and men. It is said that Prince Daemon himself, ever the rogue, was the first to lay down his blade, pledging his loyalty to his nephew. With that, the seeds of war were quelled, and the Dance of Dragons was averted.

High Speton Eustace credits King Y/N’s wisdom and firm hand for this peace, stating, “His Majesty’s reign was marked by clarity of vision and an understanding that compromise is often the sharpest weapon.” Mushroom, in his typically bawdy accounts, attributes the peace to the deep affection between the King and Queen Alicent, jesting that, “It was her gentle whispers at night and not the threats of swords that kept the realm from tearing itself apart.”

Under King Y/N’s rule, Westeros saw another golden era of peace and prosperity. His approach to governance combined the fiery decisiveness of his Targaryen blood with a measured balance that many compared to his mother, Queen Aemma Arryn. The king’s court was diverse and inclusive; Princess Rhaenyra was granted full authority over the small council alongside her brother, with the Velaryons remaining staunch allies after the successful betrothal of Lucerys Velaryon to Rhaena Targaryen. Driftmark’s legacy was secured without further bloodshed, ensuring that the sea lanes of Westeros remained open and secure.

King Y/N’s family played a crucial role in his reign. His children with Queen Alicent grew into respected figures in their own right. Aegon, though restless in his youth, became a trusted commander, leading the royal navy in expeditions to Essos that solidified trade routes. Aemond, despite the loss of his eye, was known as “The Iron Shield,” a prince famed for his discipline and loyalty, who often served as Hand of the King when his father took to Dragonstone for respite. Helaena’s prophecies, often dismissed in earlier years, became valued by the court, guiding many decisions with a wisdom that bordered on the mystical. Daeron, the youngest, was known as the people’s prince, a bridge between nobility and common folk, fostering goodwill in the Reach and beyond.

The reign of King Y/N I was not without its trials. The Ironborn rose in rebellion more than once, but swift action by Aemond and Daemon in a rare alliance quickly subdued the threat. The Riverlands also saw unrest when Lord Grover Tully’s ambitions threatened to spill into open conflict, but the King’s deft diplomacy resolved the dispute before it could escalate.

Even so, the unity within House Targaryen remained the cornerstone of Y/N’s reign. It is said that Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent, once rivals after their marriages, grew back into a friendship they shared in their youth, sharing their roles as matriarchs to an ever-growing brood of dragonlords. Mushroom—never one to miss an opportunity for scandal—claims that their peace was ensured by shared interests in a secretive cabal of noblewomen, but wiser heads discount this as the jester’s usual mischief.

King Y/N’s dragons also played a vital role in securing his legacy. His bond with Dallax, the Night Fury, became legendary. Dallax, with his black scales and green eyes, was a fearsome sight in battle, but it was his presence at royal negotiations that often quelled rebellious lords before blood could be spilled. The dragon’s reputation as both guardian and enforcer of the realm added to the mystique of King Y/N’s rule.

In 143 AC, King Y/N I presided over the Grand Council at Harrenhal, where matters of succession and law were codified, ensuring stability for generations to come. It was there that his wisdom was most evident; by balancing the interests of all regions and houses, he secured peace in the realm without resorting to brute force. When the Maester's Conclave reviewed the royal lineage in later years, it was agreed by many that King Y/N’s efforts had preserved not just the peace but the very legacy of House Targaryen.

Mushroom’s final words on the reign of King Y/N are perhaps the most fitting. “In an age where dragons danced upon the edge of war, it took not just a dragonrider, but a man who saw the value in holding back the flame, to keep the realm whole. Where others would have chosen fire and blood, he chose balance, and in doing so, left behind a reign that many would envy.”

King Y/N Targaryen I passed away in the year 150 AC, leaving behind a legacy of unity, prosperity, and a realm spared the horrors of civil war. His children carried forth his wisdom, and under their guidance, Westeros thrived in an era known as the “Second Golden Age.” And thus, the realm’s history turned, not on a dance of dragons, but on a single king’s steadfast resolve to keep his family—and his realm—united.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x male reader #hotd reader insert #hotd x reader #hotd alicent #alicent x y/n #alicent x you #alicent x reader #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #daemon targaryen

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j-k-writes · 4 months ago

Text

The Bronze Targaryen

Summary - After his mother's death in 115 AC Y/N Targaryen is summoned by his father Daemon to King's Landing in the hopes of forming a betrothal between the new heir to Runstone and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Warnings - General HOTD warnings, Canon character death, grief and mourning (if I miss any let me know)

I tried my best with the timelines and research but between the books and show it's so convoluted so forgive me for any mistakes

A fifth arrow hit the target with a soft ‘thump’ as the sky transformed the already slick training ground further and further into mud. (Y/N) pulled a sixth arrow from his quiver, wiping the metal tip clean of any rain, before notching it and drawing the bow string back.

“I think you’ve proved your mettle M’lord.” Called a voice from behind the young heir.

(Y/N) turned his head, making eye contact with Osric Stone, “Leave me Osric.”

The (H/C) teen returned to his target, drawing the string back again. He loosed the arrow and smiled to himself when he heard soft clapping from behind him. Tearing his eyes away from the target once more, (Y/N) faced the stable boy.

“Very impressive, M’lord.” Osric smiled at him, “Now, will you please come inside?”

“Has my mother returned from her hunt?”

“No M’lord-”

(Y/N) turned from the bastard boy, pulling another arrow, “Then I shall wait here until she does.”

“You will be ill if you stay out here any longer M’lord.”

“It’s a spring rain Osric I will survive.” He released his arrow, smirking as it pierced another down the middle. “I will remain until my mother arrives, it shall not be long now.”

He heard Osric sigh behind him, “‘M’lord I beg you.”

“Osric,” (Y/N) turned to face the stable boy, temper rising. He yearned to be left alone, his mother had promised she would not be gone more than a few days and yet it had been a full week since (Y/N) had last heard from her. He knew his grandfather was not worried, but (Y/N) could not help the shivers that raced down his spine when he thought of his mother’s tardiness. “I like you, but remember that I am your lord not your friend.”

Osric straightened, “I will leave you M’lord.”

(Y/N) sighed as he watched the stable boy retreat. He had not meant to snap at Osric, who was, no matter what he said, his friend- perhaps his closest one. But he often said things he did not mean in fits of anger, his mother did not comment on the trait, but he knew she saw him behind (Y/N)’s violet eyes when his words burned poor lords who had the misfortune of catching her heir at the wrong moment.

He rolled his shoulder’s back, wincing at the pain of stretching the taught muscles, and pulled another arrow out of his quiver. Banishing his thoughts of worry he continued his shooting.

“My lord,” (Y/N) tore his eyes away from his blade, setting the sharpening block down on his table. “Your grandsire requests your presence in his chambers. He claims it’s urgent.”

(Y/N) shot up from his seat, dread coiling deep in his gut. As he strode through the halls of Runestone he already knew what news would await him when he reached his grandsire. He’d known the news was coming for days since they sent a party after his mother on the fifth day she failed to return.

His hand shook as he brought his fist up to knock upon the door to his grandsire’s chambers. Maester Pate opened the door, his face conveying the grim news to (Y/N) before his grandsire even had the chance to speak.

“They have found her.” (Y/N) spoke, stepping into his room and coming face to face with his grandsire.

Yorbert sighed, rubbing his gray brows, “Yes.”

“Is she-” (Y/N)’s voice trembled, not daring to speak his worst fear aloud. Yorbert motioned for his grandson to sit. When (Y/N) complied, he spoke.

“She is alive but not well.” His grandsire paused, throat working as he struggled to speak, “It is said she fell from her horse and suffered a grave injury. Maester Pate-”

“I want to see her.” (Y/N) stood, the force of his movement causing his chair to fall back against the floor. He whipped around to face the maester, who took a step back from the heir. “Where is she? Take me to her.”

“(Y/N) please,” His grandsire said, “You must listen. You are now the heir to Runestone-”

“You said she lived.” His grandsire paused at his interruption.

“What?”

“You said she lived, I cannot be heir to Runestone unless my mother has passed.”

“(Y/N) please, sit back down.”

Against his wishes (Y/N) complied, picking his chair up from where it had fallen and retaking his seat. When his grandsire spoke again (Y/N) seethed, there was no doubt among the Vale that the Lady Rhea was one of the best hunters in the Vale, for her to fall off her horse bad enough to be on her death bed seemed folly to her son. His hands shook as he reached past Yorbert and grabbed the pitcher of wine filling the cup placed in front of him to the brim. His grandsire sighed as he watched (Y/N) tip the cup back before standing once again.

“I will see her.” (Y/N) steadied his voice as he spoke, “I would say my goodbyes before she passes.”

His grandsire nodded, granting (Y/N) his leave.

He almost returned to his grandsire when he saw what had become of his lady mother.

She lay pale and gaunt amongst the white sheets of her bed. Her eyes were shut, and the bandage that covered her wound, brown and red with blood, messed her already tangled hair further.

(Y/N) took his place by her side, reaching out to grasp her frail hand. “Do not let anyone in without my grandsire’s leave or mine.”

Maester Pate nodded, closing the door behind him on his way out of the room. As the door shut with a soft click, (Y/N) returned to his mother, his tears finally coming as he watched her chest move silently. He wiped furiously at the tears spilling down his cheeks. He placed his mother’s hand on his cheek, shivering at its chill.

“Mother,” He whispered, “They say you fell, but- but I do not believe it. Tell me what happened mother, please.”

His mother stayed silent, eyes still closed. He doubted she was awake to hear him, but he kept speaking. He begged her to wake, to live, to speak to him, to do anything but lay there like she was already dead. He spoke about how he waited for days for her return, how he’d snapped at Osric, and how he’d apologized later. He prayed to the old gods for her recovery, and cursed his mother for refusing his wish to join her on her hunt.

He was half-asleep in his chair when she finally woke.

“(Y/N).”

He opened his eyes and sat at alert at the sound of her raspy voice.

“Mother.”

She smiled at him, “My boy.”

“Mother what happened.”

Rhea paused, and (Y/N) feared she’d slipped into unconsciousness once again. She licked her lips, giving him a faint apologetic smile, “I fell from my horse.”

“No.” (Y/N) shook his head, “Mother you would not-”

She shushed him and he quieted, “Listen to me, do not look for vengeance where there is none. It was an accident, nothing more.” She paused before continuing, “I am sorry. You are so young, too young.”

“I am ten and seven mother.”

She laughed softly, wincing at the pain it brought her. “Again, too young. But you will be a good heir, as I always knew you would be.” She intertwined her fingers with his, face turning serious, “Do not let your father’s rot reach you, you will be safe from it here, but here alone.”

“Mother what-”

A haze covered her gaze and her coughing interrupted his question, causing him to yell for Maester Pate. He was pushed out of the way by his grandsire as Maester Pate rushed to his mother offering her milk of the poppy. She refused him, asking for (Y/N) but as (Y/N) attempted to approach her his grandsire held him back.

“She is not right of mind, boy.”

She shook with pain as she cried for him, and (Y/N) had to turn his face into his fist to muffle his sobs. Maester Pate soothed her and offered her milk and poppy once again, which she accepted. Minutes later she slipped into unconsciousness, and later that night as (Y/N) sat vigil by her bedside she took her final breath.

The letter came three weeks after his mother’s death.

(Y/N) had been unconsolable the days following his mother's death. Confining himself to his chambers he left the plates of food left by his bedside virtually untouched, only exiting his bed to empty the pitchers of wine left by servants until his grandsire ordered them to leave no more. He lay unwashed in his bed, ignoring the pleas by both his grandsire and maester to eat and bathe. On the fifth day of his grief-stricken haze, his cousin dragged him from the bed, easily fighting off his weak attempts at breaking free.

“Let go of me!”

His cousin held him tighter, dragging him toward the bath, “You cannot let yourself rot any longer, (Y/N). It’s been almost a week, I understand your grief but we must bury your mother and your grandsire will only do so with your presence.”

(Y/N) yelped as he hit the water, still fully clothed. He thrashed harder, only causing Gerold to hold him tighter.

“I am sorry, but we cannot delay any longer.” Gerold gave him a pitiful look as he shivered at the cold water, the fight leaving him as exhaustion and hunger finally caught up with the young heir. “Bathe, and then eat. After the funeral I will let you get your revenge against me, but you must gain your strength back, cousin. Weakness is not a good look on you.”

“Leave me.” (Y/N) slumped into the water, shaky hands coming to unlace his tunic. His cousin nodded, leaving him with a soft pat on his shoulder.

(Y/N) tossed his soaked underclothes onto the floor, mentally apologizing to the poor servants sent to clean the chamber. He washed quickly, wishing the water was at least tepid instead of frigid, but he supposed it would’ve been warmer if he’d bathed when he was first asked to. Servants came in silently as he bathed, leaving fresh clothes by his bed and a plate of food by the bath.

He ate and dressed, grimacing at the dark bruises under his violet eyes and the (H/C) stubble littering his face. He left his weapons in his chambers, and headed to meet his grandsire. His grandsire looked relieved at the sight of him, greeting him at the door to his chambers.

“I am glad to see you out of bed, (Y/N).” His grandsire smiled at him, placing his hand on his grandson's cheek.

(Y/N) looked to his cousin Ser Gerold, giving him a small nod before speaking, “I did not have much choice in the matter, but I apologize for my absence.”

“Nonsense,” His grandsire shook his head, “We all grieve in our own ways.”

His grandsire brought him close, allowing him to rest his head atop his shoulder. He whispered comforting words to his heir, sitting (Y/N) down gently by his side as he explained the funeral rites prepared for his mother and his new responsibilities as the sole heir to Runestone.

He stood by his grandsire and cousin's side as his mother was buried, staring at the crypt in silence hours after the funeral was over. It was only when his cousin came to retrieve him for supper that he finally moved from his spot.

The weeks after his mother’s burial passed (Y/N) by in a haze. His new responsibilities as heir of Runestone left him too preoccupied to wallow in his grief. He spent his days by his grandsire's side helping him run Runestone, and in the training yard training with the Master-at-arms and defeating the poor squires and knights who reluctantly took up arms against him.

He was with his grandsire when the raven arrived.

“Prince Daemon summons his son Prince (Y/N) Targaryen to Kingslanding to join him at court.” Maester Pate read from the parchment, and (Y/N) scoffed pacing around the room.

“To what end?” (Y/N) questioned, he’d never stepped foot in Kingslanding, and his father had not spoken to him in years. Maester Pate swallowed, shooting a nervous look to Lord Yorbert, revealing to the young heir that his grandsire already knew of his father’s plans. “What.”

“Your father hopes to secure a betrothal.”

(Y/N) paused his pacing, “A betrothal? Daemon has not spoken to me in years and he hopes to be in charge of my marriage?”

“I do not like your father any more than you (Y/N)-”

“And yet you have hidden this from me!” (Y/N) seethed, “How long have you known of my father’s wishes? How long have you kept me in the dark?”

His grandsire sighed, “I do not plot against you (Y/N), you must understand that.”

“How long?”

“Since the prince returned from his campaign in the stepstones.”

(Y/N)’S face blanched, stuttering over his words as he spoke again, “Did my mother know about this? Or did you plot with her husband to steal her son away from behind her back?”

“(Y/N) how dare-” Yorbert cut himself off, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know your relationship with your father is strained but he is still your father.”

“I am your heir not Daemon’s!”

Yorbert sighed once more, visibly frustrated with (Y/N), “Your mother did not wish for anyone but you to have a say in your marriage, but this is a royal summons-”

“It’s my choice?”

“Yes (Y/N) but-”

(Y/N) ignored his grandsire, turning to the maester. “Maester Pate write back to Kingslanding and let them know that I will not be answering their summons.”

“(Y/N)-”

“It is my choice grandsire. That was my mother’s wish was it not?”

His grandsire nodded letting the argument die out, his defeated stance making him look more than his age. As (Y/N) turned to leave the room Maester Pate spoke.

“What would you have me write to your father, my prince?”

“Write any words you must Pate but do inform the prince that Lord (Y/N) will not be coming.”

#house of the dragon #x male reader #house of the dragon x male reader #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon x reader #x reader #x y/n #house of the dragon x y/n #rhaenyra targaryen x male reader #rhaenyra Targaryen x reader

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slavicdelight · 1 year ago

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The High Tower and the Dragon's Heir

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x male!Targ!reader

Summary: Lady Alicent Hightower was the closest friend of Princess Rhaenyra, yet she couldn't help but fall for her older brother, Y/N.

Warnings: none, following canon divergence

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Alicent Hightower gracefully strolled the corridors of the illustrious Red Keep, her morning lessons with her inseparable companion, Princess Rhaenyra, having just concluded. The echoes of footsteps accompanied her every stride as she made her way towards the luncheon appointment with her father, Ser Otto Hightower, the King's Hand. The castle bursted with vibrant activity—servants hurriedly carried out their duties, knights stood in vigilant postures, and nobles engaged in animated conversations, exchanging the latest court gossip.

As she ascended a majestic staircase, the voice of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Westerling, reached her ears. With a soft smile, Alicent reciprocated the courteous greeting. The anticipation of her father's chambers lingered in the air as she approached, each step echoing with the weight of her familial responsibilities.

However, the routine of her morning took an unexpected turn when, just before she reached the sanctum of her father, a sudden force collided with her, threatening to send her sprawling. A gasp escaped her lips, but before the cold stone floor could meet her, strong and reassuring hands prevented her from falling. These hands belonged to none other than Y/N Targaryen, the eldest son of the reigning monarch, King Viserys.

In that fleeting moment of unexpected encounter, the bustling ambiance of the Red Keep faded into the background. Alicent found herself lost in his gaze. The air crackled with an unspoken tension, and as Y/N steadied her with an effortless strength, Alicent's heart quickened, realizing that even in the most predictable corridors, destiny had an uncanny way of intertwining lives in an unexpected matter.

"Oh my, Lady Alicent. I'm so sorry; I didn't notice you," the young Prince expressed with a charming smile, nearly as enchanting as the prince himself. His gaze held a hypnotic quality that left Alicent momentarily flustered. Deep down, she possessed an immense fondness for him, but the fear of rejection and the potential repercussions from his younger sister stopped her from ever expressing them.

"No, my Prince. It was I who should've been more careful," Alicent nervously replied, her voice betraying a subtle hint of admiration. The unspoken tension between them lingered in the air. Her father's disapproval of the prince added a layer of complexity to the situation. Otto Hightower believed him to be the same as his uncle, Prince Daemon, hence the mutual hostility.

"Were you heading to your father, perhaps?" the prince inquired, his curiosity evident. Alicent hesitated, aware of the strained relationship between her father, Ser Otto Hightower, and the prince. Otto's opinions about Y/N's fitness for becoming king often clashed with the prince's aspirations.

"Yes, my prince," Alicent replied cautiously, choosing her words with care. The prince graciously took a step back, allowing her to continue her journey towards her father's chambers.

"Then do not let me stop you," he said with a small, understanding smile, his gaze lingering for a moment before gracefully descending the stairs, resuming his own path through the corridors of the Red Keep. That brief encounter, had left Lady Alicent soft in her knees.

Entering the Hand's chambers, Alicent immediately noticed her father seated at the table, a large variety of dishes laid out. She greeted him respectfully and took her place on the opposite side. "Alicent," he acknowledged with a nod, his eyes shining with a mix of sternness and affection. "How was your morning?" he inquired, motioning her to being eating.

"It was fine. I studied with the Princess the whole morning after breaking fast with her and Queen Aemma," Alicent replied, offering a light summary of her activities. The mention of encountering Prince Y/N on her way to her father's chambers prompted a subtle change in his demeanor. His brow lifted, and a stern look accompanied his response. "Prince Y/N is not a good influence. I advise you to avoid him," he coldly said, his voice carrying a weight of disapproval as Alicent cast her gaze downward. "Very well, father," she agreed, and the remainder of their lunch unfolded in a heavy silence.

As Alicent's thoughts drifted back to the violet-eyed prince, she couldn't comprehend her father's disdain for him. In her eyes, he was gallant and the epitome of a perfect prince. The unspoken tension between father and daughter lingered, leaving Alicent with a sense of conflict between her loyalty to her father and a growing curiosity about Y/N.

A fortnight later, the joyous occasion of a tournament took place in order to celebrate the King's anticipated new heir gripped the Red Keep. Nobles from far and wide were invited, marking the event as a grand affair. Queen Aemma, began her labours early in the morning, enduring the suffering alone, as King Viserys presided over the jousting festivities. Prince Daemon, displaying exceptional skills, unseated Alicent's brother Gwayne from his horse.

Victorious, the Prince then diverted his attention towards the stands where Alicent sat. With a charming smile, he asked for her favor, stating, "Lady Alicent, I'm sure your favor would ensure my victory today." Casting a fleeting glance at her father, Alicent handed Daemon her favor. Unbeknownst to her, a certain prince of the crown observed the exchange with a glare and a clenched jaw.

The joy of the tournament swiftly gave way to a somber hush when a messenger arrived bearing the tragic news of Queen Aemma's death. The atmosphere within the Red Keep became grim, mournful mood reigned for weeks. The funeral, held on a distant hill, marked a solemn occasion where the lifeless forms of the Queen and the young Prince lay upon the pyre, awaiting the embrace of dragonfire from Syrax and Shadowspine, the loyal companions of the Queen's surviving children.

Following the ceremony, Alicent found herself once again in her father's chambers, the weight of grief hanging heavily in the air. "How is Rhaenyra?" her father inquired, slight concern etched across his face. Alicent, her fingers idly picking at her fingers, replied, "She just lost her mother." The sorrow that lingered in her words mirrored the collective grief that shrouded the entire Keep.

Not being one to hide his ambitions, her father suggested, "Perhaps you would like to offer the King some comfort. Losing a wife is a terrible thing. He would surely rejoice in a visit." Alicent reluctantly agreed to undertake this solemn task, driven by her desire to please her father. As she turned to leave, she overheard her father's additional instruction, his voice low and laden with subtle implication—indicating that she should dress herself in one of her late mother's gowns.

Rather than heading to the King's chambers as initially intended, Alicent found herself standing before the doors that guarded Prince Y/N's residence. A guard announced her presence, and she entered, greeted by a scene of disarray. The room resembled the aftermath of a storm—furniture upended, decorations scattered in chaotic way. Amidst the disorder, she discovered her prince, seated on the floor, his back against the bed stand, his once-silky hair now tangled, and his eyes holding a haunted look. The scent of alcohol lingered in the air.

Taking a seat beside the prince, Alicent met his gaze, prompting him to question her presence with a strained voice, revealing the results of earlier screams. "I came here to see how you're holding up, my Prince," she replied calmly, her eyes scanning the wreckage around them. He only scoffed in response.

Drawing on her own experiences, Alicent shared, "When my own mother died, people looked at me with pity. I didn't want it. All I wanted was to hear they were sorry." Her empathetic words hung in the air, and she continued, "I'm so sorry for your loss, my Prince," concluding her condolences with a soft look, her eyes reflecting genuine compassion. Y/N stared at her in silence, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, as he began to unveil the weight of his heartache.

"My father's quest for a second son is to blame for this tragedy. He never considered me worthy of the throne," he confessed, his voice full of bitterness and sorrow. "He wished for another son, a better son. One he could put on the throne after himself. I was never enough. Rhaenyra wasn't enough. He killed my mother for a new heir. And now, my brother is also dead," he uttered.

Alicent's heart ached for him, the immensity of his suffering echoing through the confessions. Despite already bearing the responsibilities of being the Heir, this added layer of tragedy made the burden almost unbearable. In her earnest attempt to offer solace, she stood by both Y/N and Princess Rhaenyra, a pillar of support during these dark times.

As Y/N was officially declared Heir before the realm, Alicent stood steadfastly by his side, witnessing the unfolding of destiny. She remained present during the uncomfortable prospect of their father's remarriage, understanding the siblings hesitation. The more time they spent together, the threads of friendship between Alicent and Y/N began to intertwine with the delicate threads of love.

When the time came for the Prince to choose a wife, he declared his intent to marry Lady Alicent, much to Rhaenyra's dismay. While Viserys rejoiced in the prospect, Otto, though reluctantly, agreed to the union. Though not a fervent supporter of the Prince, Otto recognized the strategic significance—marrying his daughter to the future king ensured the placement of his bloodline on the throne.

The union of Alicent and Y/N was immortalized in what became known as the White Wedding. It was a testament to the pure and evident love that bound the newlyweds. The ceremony resonated with the harmonious union of two souls, their vows exchanged amidst the sacred walls of the Sept.

Shorty after their nuptials, the arrival of Aegon Targaryen marked a new chapter in the royal family. The beautiful boy, with the coloring of his father and the distinctive facial structure of his mother, embodied the perfect mix of the royal couple. Aegon, the newest Prince, became a living testament to the love that flourished within the Targaryen lineage.

As Alicent carried the weight of their second child, King Viserys sought to hold a celebratory hunt on his grandson Aegon's second name day. The relationships within the Targaryen family began to mend, albeit slowly, and the noticeable favoritism towards Rhaenyra, perhaps due to her resemblance to her late mother, didn't escape Y/N's notice. Despite the slight discomfort, he chose to focus on his growing family, diverting his attention away from the nuances of favoritism and concentrating on the joyous moments that bound them together.

The grand hunt orchestrated by King Viserys brought a sense of delight to Otto Hightower, who relished the opportunity for both entertainment and strategic alliances. The men, engaged in the pursuit of a White Hart—a symbolic creature representing royalty—set out with purpose, leaving the women to find solace within the safety of the camp.

As Alicent sat beside her husband, Y/N, who held their young son Aegon in his lap, an unexpected intrusion disrupted the peace inside the tent. Rhaenyra, the spirited Princess, burst in with determination, her grievances clear. Viserys, in his pursuit to secure her a suitable match, had orchestrated a connection with Jason Lannister, much to Rhaenyra's vocal displeasure. The fiery Princess asserted her autonomy, rejecting the notion of being treated as a prize to be sold to the highest bidder.

The repercussions of this confrontation left Alicent aware of the strain in her once-unbreakable bond with Rhaenyra. The princess, fueled by a desire to ascend to the throne, resented the twist of fate that seemingly diverted Y/N's affections toward Alicent, who had become the new Princess consort.

In the next years, Rhaenyra's fate took a turn as she was forced into a marriage with her cousin, Ser Laenor Velaryon, because of previous liaison with her uncle Daemon in a pleasure house that added further complexity to the situation. The marriage, arranged against her will, led to the birth of bastards, whom she attempted to pass as legitimate—a move not lost on the eyes of the court.

Despite Viserys's blindness, the court recognized the discrepancy in the children's Valyrian features. Whispers spread, hinting at a connection with Ser Harwing Strong, the Commander of the Gold Cloaks, who served closely under the Princess.

These choices made by Rhaenyra made Alicent bitter. The apparent disregard for duty exhibited by Rhaenyra, coupled with the ability to evade consequences, fueled Alicent's resentment. Yet, in the face of this, the legitimacy of the children born to Y/N and Alicent remained unquestionable. The unmistakable resemblance of each child to their father nullified any potential doubts that might have arisen.

As their children matured, distinct personalities emerged, painting a portrait of the Targaryen legacy. Aegon, the mischievous firstborn, delighted in playing pranks and causing mayhem within the castle. Despite occasional mischief, his loyalty to the family prevailed, a testament to the intricate balance of his character.

Helaena, their only daughter, embodied sweetness and warmth. Though closed off to many, she harbored a great heart, often murmuring riddles that, while dismissed by most, held significance to her parents who recognized her as a dreamer with visions of her own.

Aemond, a mirror image of his father, shared not only physical similarities but also akin personalities. The only distinction lay in Aemond's shyness. His passion for history forged a special bond with King Viserys, who favored the small Prince. Their shared love for learning brought them together in frequent discussions about the boy's recent discoveries.

The youngest, Daeron, charmed all who crossed his path, earning the title of the most popular son among their subjects. His charm and charisma propelled him to Oldtown, serving his mother's uncle as a cupbearer and squire.

Amidst the dynamic growth of their children, Y/N and Alicent's love stood resilient. Any hopes Rhaenyra harbored of a falling out between the couple were in vain; their bond, an indestructible force, continued to strengthen.

The visible strain within the ruling family had spilled beyond the walls of the Red Keep, earning them the titles of "blacks" and "reds" among the common folk and nobility alike. Y/N, recognizing the fractures within his family, attempted reconciliation with his younger sister, but Rhaenyra remained consumed by anger towards him for marrying another and harbored resentment for Alicent, his wife for being said woman. The rift seemed irreparable.

Despite the familial tensions, Y/N maintained a close involvement in the training of his sons, personally overseeing their progress with the assistance of Ser Criston Cole, who had shifted his allegiance from Rhaenyra to the royal family. Aegon and Aemond exhibited remarkable progress, overshadowing their cousins.

During a training session, as Ser Criston instructed the young princes, Y/N was reluctantly pulled away by the demands of his duties as the Heir. King Viserys, observing from the terrace, keenly followed the lesson. The knight, calling upon Aegon, challenged him to a sparring match and taunted, "Let's see if you can touch me. You and your brother." The confident Prince, Aegon, responded with a cocky assurance, "I've won my first bound, Ser Criston. My opponent sues for mercy."

Undeterred, Ser Criston introduced a new challenge, pitting both Aegon and Aemond against him. The two princes advanced, swords in hand, but the seasoned knight skillfully blocked each of their attacks, showcasing his experience and expertise. The training ground became a battleground of skills, the clash of steel echoing the intricate dynamics of power, loyalty, and the indomitable spirit of the Targaryen lineage.

The training ground, alive with the clang of swords and the shuffling of feet, fell into a momentary silence as Ser Harwin approached, offering instructions to the brown-haired princes. His voice redirected Ser Criston's attention toward the younger boys. "It seems like the younger boys could use your attention, Ser," Harwin remarked as he walked closer. A subtle tension hung in the air as Criston questioned, "Are you questioning my method of instruction?"

In response, Criston motioned for Aegon to face Jaecerys, declaring it an "eldest son against eldest son" spar. The white-haired Prince's age and strength became evident as he overpowered the younger Jaecerys. However, as Aegon advanced, he found himself roughly seized by the shoulder and pulled away by Ser Harwin. Aegon, outraged by the intervention, protested loudly, resulting in a reprimand from the King.

Tensions flared further when Criston began questioning the Commander of the Gold Cloaks's interest in the princes' training, suggesting affections that a man might harbor for his children. The insinuation proved too much for Ser Harwin, who snapped and attacked Criston. The incident led to Ser Harwin's banishment from King's Landing, and a few days later, he perished within the walls of Harrenhal along with his father.

More sorrowful news followed swiftly. A raven brought the grim information of Lady Laena Velaryon's death, casting a pall over King's Landing. The weight of Laena's death cast a somber shadow over Y/N, who had considered her another sister growing up. The entire family traveled to Driftmark to pay their respects, attending a funeral marred by Lord Vaemond's continuous accusations directed at Princess Rhaenyra and her bastard sons. Prince Daemon's laughter, strategically employed to deflect attention, added a layer of tension to the already heart-wrenching day.

Once the children retired for the night, Alicent found a moment to speak with her husband. In the quiet confines of their chamber, she gently inquired, "Are you alright, my love?" Y/N, standing by a window overlooking the view of Driftmark, confessed, "She was one of my closest friends, and she died alone. Without her family or friends, because Daemon denied her return. She didn't deserve such a fate."

Alicent, though not as intimately acquainted with Lady Laena, offered words of solace, acknowledging her bravery and kindness. Y/N, appreciating his wife's comforting presence, sighed and turned to look at her. "I'm sure you're right, darling," he said, caressing her face. In that moment, they found solace in each other's embrace, a comforting respite from the sorrow that permeated their hearts.

With a shared understanding, Y/N guided Alicent to bed, where they surrendered to the embrace of sleep, seeking refuge from the weariness that accompanied the emotional journey. Their intertwined forms, nestled in peaceful repose, reflected the enduring strength of their bond in the face of life's inevitable trials.

The tranquility that enveloped Y/N and Alicent was shattered abruptly when a maid, panic-stricken, banged on their door, delivering news of a grave accident involving their son. Swiftly dressing into presentable robes, they rushed towards the hall where their children were present. The sight that awaited them was horrifying—Aemond, their beloved son, was a bloody mess, missing an eye. Alicent's anguished scream pierced the air as she ran towards her injured child.

Demanding answers, Y/N interrogated the Knights, learning that the Prince had been mauled in a brawl with his cousins. The King, arriving on the scene, angrily questioned the guards for allowing such an incident. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys soon joined, but Y/N's attention shifted to the absence of Princess Rhaenyra. When she finally appeared, followed by Prince Daemon, their disheveled appearance hinted at a liaison that further fueled Y/N's anger. How could they disrespect Lady Laena's memory like this?

Amid the chaos, Rhaenyra declared the incident a "regrettable accident," but Alicent argued it was a planned attack. Rhaenyra defended her sons, claiming they were being attacked with vile insults against their legitimacy "Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned on where he heard such slanders". Y/N's anger flared; his sister intended to torture his gravely wounded son over a truth that was evident.

Rhaenyra's attempt to extract information from Prince Aemond, who had heard the alleged slanders, only heightened tensions. Y/N, protective of his son, forbade any harm to befell Aemond. As the King sought apologies and forgiveness, Alicent snapped, demanding justice and ordering the eye of Lucerys Velaryon to conduct it. Chaos ensued as Alicent, fueled by rage, advanced towards Rhaenyra with a knife. Y/N noticed his uncle making way to two women to undoubtedly aid Rhaenyra, which he couldn't let happen and stopped him before Daemon could reach her.

The struggle between Alicent and Rhaenyra unfolded, the room becoming a battleground of emotions and grievances. In the midst of the chaos, Aemond, now with one eye, offered comfort to his mother, stating "Don't mourn me mother. I might've lost an eye but I gained a dragon". Y/N joined the embrace, and as his father declared the matter over, the fractured family clung to the remnants of peace amidst the aftermath of pain and turmoil.

As the years unfolded, the Targaryen family found solace and unity in each other's company. Every meal became a cherished time for discussion, laughter, and shared moments, further strengthening the familial bonds that had weathered storms and emerged resilient.

Aegon and Helaena's marriage flourished, blessed with their two beautiful children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Aegon transformed into a caring and attentive husband, shedding his earlier tendencies to become the perfect Prince fit to one day ascend the throne. Aemond, despite the challenges posed by his limited vision, emerged as a formidable warrior under his father's tutelage. Determined not to be hindered by his condition, he trained with unparalleled dedication, surpassing many in skill and prowess.

Y/N and Alicent, beaming with pride, reveled in the achievements of their children. However, their joy was tempered by the somber responsibility that befell them. With King Viserys succumbing to sickness, he lay bedridden, casting a long shadow over the realm. The inevitable reality loomed—the time was approaching when a new monarch would ascend the throne.

Amidst the bittersweet echoes of Viserys's declining health, the Targaryen family stood united, ready to face the challenges that awaited them. The transition of power loomed on the horizon, and the legacy of House Targaryen stood at the threshold of a new chapter in the annals of Westeros.

The arrival of a raven bearing Ser Vaemond Velaryon's challenging petition for the Driftwood Throne thrust the Red Keep into a state of heightened anxiety. The assertion that Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their children would return to the heart of the realm brought a cloud of unease over the castle, especially given the recent mysterious death of Laenor Velaryon.

In the midst of the commotion, Alicent navigated through the corridors toward the King's chamber, where she knew Rhaenyra and Daemon would be discussing the pressing matter of King Viserys's condition. Upon entering, she greeted them with courtesy, acknowledging the lapse of time since their last encounter. Daemon responded with a nonchalant hum, while Rhaenyra inquired about the authority overseeing the trial of her son.

A new voice cut through the tension as Y/N entered, a smirk playing on his lips. He revealed himself as the authority presiding over the trial, promising a fair judgment even as he acknowledged the accusations thrown at his wife. The room held its breath, and Alicent, standing beside her husband, added, "We have pressing matters to attend to, but please, make yourself at home." With that, the married couple walked away, leaving the guests to navigate the looming trial and the shadows of familial discord that cast their pall over the Red Keep.

The throne room buzzed with tension as the petitions unfolded, each speaker presenting their case before Y/N, who sat on the throne in his father's stead. The weight of judgment rested heavily on his shoulders. Lord Vaemond Velaryon was the first to address the court, delivering a lengthy discourse on bloodlines and the survival of House Velaryon.

However, the proceedings took an unexpected turn when, during Rhaenyra's turn to present her defense, the door opened, and in walked King Viserys. Ready to defend his favorite child, the ailing monarch cast a shadow over the proceedings. The air thickened with anticipation as the confrontation unfolded.

In a swift and brutal turn of events, Vaemond found himself condemned for openly declaring the princess's sons as bastards. The throne room, once filled with the echoes of legal arguments, now bore witness to the irrevocable consequences of familial discord and political maneuvering. As the lifeblood of House Velaryon spilled in pursuit of power and legitimacy, the court faced the stark reality that the struggle for succession and survival could exact a heavy toll on those entangled in the webs of Westerosi politics.

The atmosphere in the dining hall was thick with tension, mirroring the strained relationships within the Targaryen family. Viserys, lying in his seat of honor, served as the symbolic divide between two estranged siblings, Rhaenyra and Y/N, as the air was charged with unspoken grievances.

Jace and Luke, Baela and Rhaena, each engaged in their own conversations, while Aegon and Helaena shared a tender moment, the Prince gently rubbing his wife's hand. Aemond and Daemon, ever vigilant, sat observing, their tension a reflection of the underlying conflicts.

As King Viserys was carried in, the room stood in a display of respect. The king began his speech, adressing his family. “It’s good to see you all together. My heart aches when I see the faces dearest to me so full of envy and drifting apart form each other. House of the Dragon must be united, so let us forget all and stay strong. If not for the realm, the for this old man, who loves you all dearly.“ But the damage had been done, and the fractures within the family ran too deep to be easily mended.

Rhaenyra's toast, seemingly a gesture of reconciliation, momentarily shifted the mood. Alicent responded gracefully, highlighting the common ground between them as mothers, but the facade of harmony was shattered by a seemingly innocent gesture—a pig brought before Prince Aemond, triggering memories of the Pink Dread incident.

Aemond's explosive reaction disrupted the fragile peace. The room fell into an uneasy silence as he stood, expressing a "final tribute" to the health of his nephews, ending the speech with an insult towards the boys calling them "Strong". Chaos erupted as the young princes clashed, and the adults scrambled to intervene. The disastrous dinner culminated in Princess Rhaenyra's decision to retreat to Dragonstone, leaving behind a shattered illusion of family unity. The scars of the past ran too deep, and the once-grand gesture of a family dinner had unraveled into a painful reminder of the irreparable divisions within House Targaryen.

The dimly lit corridors echoed with quiet footsteps as Y/N made his way to his father's chamber. Upon entering, a solemn atmosphere enveloped the room, and Y/N approached King Viserys. As he assisted the ailing monarch in preparing for sleep, Viserys muttered incoherent phrases, and amidst the confusion, Y/N discerned a recurring theme—Aegon's prophecy.

In the hushed moments of their interaction, the weight of impending succession hung in the air. Viserys, in his final moments, seemed to impart a significant task to his son, urging him to fulfill the prophecy. The murmurings faded as the night unfolded, and King Viserys the Peaceful drew his last breath.

As dawn approached, the realm awaited the news of a new leader who would step forward to succeed the late monarch. The corridors, once traversed by Y/N in anticipation, now held the echoes of transition and the uncertainty that accompanied the changing tides of leadership within House Targaryen.

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A/N: This one is slightly longer, but I couldn't help but give Alicent and her kids the husband and father they deserved. We all could agree that Viserys absolutely sucked in these roles. Thank you for all the support and it would mean the world to me if you checked out my other works ♡

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bumblesimagines · 7 months ago

Text

Obsessions and Cruelty

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Despite the love Princess Alyssa and Prince Baelon had for their twins, Prince (Y/N) and Prince Aegon, Daemon never truly forgave (Y/N) for causing the death of their mother; but he'll never genuinely hate him either.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD warnings, Targcest/Incest (Brother-Brother), mention of childbirth caused death, mentioned death of a sibling (Lil Aegon), toxic behavior?, Daemon stop insulting women challenge (impossible)

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Princess Alyssa and Prince Baelon had been overjoyed when (after a long and excruciatingly painful childbirth) the Mother bestowed them with the gift of twin boys whom they happily named Prince Aegon and Prince (Y/N). Their two older brothers, Viserys and Daemon, welcomed them into the family with ease, making plans of all the things they'd teach the boys.

All had been well, until six months later when Alyssa passed after being unable to fully recover from having the twins, her body too weakened from the hours of pain and blood loss. Tragedy struck again with the weaker of the twins, Prince Aegon, passed just shy of his first nameday, leaving the family in distress and an ocean of grief.

Prince (Y/N) had been born sickly as well, and the boy had hardly cried or fussed when he'd been born; so much so that the midwife and maester present feared he'd been stillborn until Baelon took his boy into his arms and the little one finally kicked off with some wails. His health fluctuated throughout his first few years of life, having its highs when he raced down the hall with his little legs and a flurry of maids following as well as its lows when he could hardly get out of bed.

While his father deeply grieved the loss of his beloved sister-wife and child, he refused to allow it to push him away from his youngest boy. He ensured to assign (Y/N) a personal maester, one who'd only tend to the boy when asked and would give him all the attention he needed.

Others assumed (Y/N) would pass before becoming man-grown, but the prince proved them all wrong, much to the relief and glee of his father and eldest brother, Viserys. His second eldest brother, Daemon, stewed in his grief and growing resentment.

Daemon had loved their mother wholeheartedly. Alyssa had been a fierce, determined, daring princess who taught Daemon much of what he knew. He loved her, from her blonde hair to her mismatched eyes to the fact she rode the beautiful Red Queen, Meleys, because she'd been denied of riding Balerion. Alyssa's wild spirit had passed down to her son but she'd been stolen from him before she'd ever get to see him in action.

He despised it, despised how much they coddled him, how much they fretted over a weak little thing. Daemon spent much of his time avoiding the boy, for the sight of him alone reminded him of the night he learned of his mother's passing. Perhaps it was guilt too, that made him ignore his brother, for he also reminded him of the thought that he screamed in his mind during the funeral.

I wish they'd died instead.

Daemon hadn't looked anyone in the eye when little Aegon had been pronounced dead from a harsh fever; an inevitable death, the maester had claimed, for the boy had been weak for months. But Daemon believed the Gods had done it to remind him they were always listening.

(Y/N) had been around four when Daemon's resentment first spilled over into actions. The younger prince had been left without a playmate after their brother left for training lessons, and (Y/N) had refused to play with the willing maids in favor of stumbling out of his room in his stubby toddler legs to search for his other brother.

When he approached the seven-year-old in his bedchambers, Daemon snatched the wooden toy wolf and snapped its head clean off with the threat of doing the same to the rest of his toys if he ever approached him again. (Y/N), of course, bursted into tears and Daemon awkwardly watched until their father arrived to scoop the little one into his arms and give Daemon a scolding.

Baelon attempted to get the two to reconcile a few days later with a hug. When Daemon extended his arms out toward (Y/N), the little boy made a face and ran right back to their older brother who immediately gathered him up into his arms. It'd been then that Daemon felt a twinge of bitterness, not at (Y/N) for having Visery's attention but at Viserys for being chosen over him. He forced it away and told himself it was what he wanted. He hated him after all. Or so, it was what he told himself in the years that followed.

Without fail, the weeks leading up to each of (Y/N)'s namedays seemed to set something off in Daemon and he'd make it his life's mission to bother the boy into tears. The first few years resulted in many wails and scoldings from their father, brother, and eventually even their new sister, Lady Aemma. His life had resulted in the death of the woman Daemon loved most, and he'd never forget it. But, Daemon soon learned everyone, even sickly weaklings, had their limits.

On (Y/N)'s tenth nameday, Baelon had settled (Y/N) on his knee after the celebration and began recalling stories of Alyssa, starting with the fact she'd always followed him around in their youth like a shadow. (Y/N) had been enthralled, eyes big and wide and head eagerly nodding for more tales of the woman he'd never get to meet. Grief made Daemon's chest constrict, and without thinking, he'd blurted out: "There'd be more stories if you and Aegon hadn't killed her."

The room had fallen deathly silent afterward, only family members lingering around who all turned to stare at the boy wide-eyed. His grandparents and father seemed on the verge of lecturing him when (Y/N) slipped off Baelon's knees, walked right up to the spot on the floor Daemon was sitting on, and landed one good punch to his nose that left a heavy flow of blood. Some in the room laughed, others shook their heads but Viserys had ensured to swoop in and separate the two until the maesters arrived.

And while Daemon had a maester tend to his bleeding nose (luckily dismissing the possibility of it being broken), (Y/N) sent him a triumphant grin from across the room that made Daemon seethe. Still, he couldn't deny the hint of pride that swelled in him, as well as a new bubbling feeling.

From then on, fighting and bickering were the only thing the boys seemed to do together, mostly because picking on (Y/N) was the only way to get him to pay Daemon any sort of attention. His accusation had been enough to permanently cement him as the enemy, even with all the coaxings and reminders of blood being thicker than water. He leaned into it, even if it meant having to sit back and grumpily watch (Y/N) happily cozy up to Viserys and sometimes even Lady Aemma.

The Gods had cursed him for wishing the Stranger on (Y/N), he was certain of it. Why else would he care so much?

By the time the two were in their teens, Queen Alysanne had wed Daemon to Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone. He'd been sent off to live with her in the Vale, perhaps the most boring place in Westeros and annoyingly far from home. When he'd returned home for a visit, he'd learned from Viserys that the soon-to-be seventeen-year-old (Y/N) had many marriage prospects. Daemon had hoped to find himself thrilled at the idea of (Y/N) moving far away to become the new lord of some noble house but it only soured his mood whenever someone brought it up.

"I hear Lady Lusia is quite beautiful." Lady Aemma told (Y/N) one afternoon, a cup of sweetened milk in hand and a gentle smile on her face. Daemon scoffed quietly at her words, a bitter taste forming in his mouth that made him angrily swallow the piece of apple he'd been chewing. Lady Aemma seemingly ignored him. "I hear she has a fascination for dragons. I'm certain she'll love Sōna."

"Or Sōna will eat her in a single bite the moment she lays eyes on her." Daemon piped in, pushing himself up from the couch he'd sprawled himself across and smirking at the eye-roll (Y/N) sent his way. Truthfully, Sōna was exactly like her rider in more ways than one: spoilt, easily annoyed, and downright bratty at times. The pretty beast had certain food preferences, for Gods' sake. Lady Aemma merely shook her head and sipped on her drink whilst Viserys finally tore his attention away from the book in hand.

"Perhaps you have someone in mind then, Brother. You seemed against Lady Katherine and Lady Breyna as well." Viserys's finger dragged along the edge of the book, an amused twinkle in his eyes as he regarded his brother in a way that seemed to say I know. Daemon scowled at him, unable to resist the heat creeping up along his neck.

"I'm saving those ladies from a lifetime of misery, more like. (Y/N) would probably drop dead if he saw a woman naked."

At that, (Y/N) whirled around to look at him with a sneer. "It wouldn't be my first time!" He snapped at him, and irritation rolled over Daemon like a crashing wave. He'd been gone from court for a little less than a year and had already missed so much. His new wife's family had insisted he stay in Runestone with her despite her indifference, but he hardly cared for her or the Vale of Arryn. She was plain-faced, boring, and never bothered to converse with him. He much preferred the bustle and hustle of the Red Keep.

But nobody mentioning his little brother had bedded someone while he was away? It shouldn't have annoyed him as much as it did but the thought of some lousy little lady - or anyone, truly - laying hands on his brother in a less-than-friendly way made his blood boil. Had she even done it right? Had she even kissed him with passion or just with the desire to boast about lying with a Targaryen prince?

"Who?" Daemon demanded, springing up to his feet and chucking the apple aside so hard it slammed into the wall and broke apart. Lady Aemma flinched at the noise and gave her husband a bewildered look that was met with a quiet sigh. Daemon's long silver hair spilled over his shoulders as he grasped the back of (Y/N)'s chair and leaned down to glower at him. "What dumb bitch decided you were worth laying with?"

(Y/N) bristled like an enraged stray cat and shot up from his seat, planting his hands on Daemon's chest and shoving him back. Daemon stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his boots, and scowling immediately but before he could cut the distance, Viserys planted himself firmly between the two. At twenty-four, Viserys had no business being forced to stop fights between the two, but he believed it to be his job as eldest much to their annoyance. Daemon opened his mouth to spout some more things but he bit his tongue when he noticed the way (Y/N)'s eyes glistened.

"Nyke vēdros ao." (Y/N) spat venomously, and Daemon's shoulders sagged, his body reeling back as if he'd been struck. (Y/N) stormed past the two of them, the doors shaking violently when he slammed them close behind him. Lady Aemma frowned at him, shaking her head with a soft sigh of disappointment.

I hate you.

He'd meant it, Daemon was sure of it. He'd been a bother since (Y/N) had been born, just a baby prone to illness who had no memories of their beautiful mother. The birth had impacted Alyssa severely, sure, but the twins had never asked to be born. Daemon had realized that early in his teenhood, but most of the damage had been done and he'd never been one to apologize or admit wrongdoing, to begin with. But as he stood there, staring into nothingness while the words replayed over and over in his head, he swore he felt his heart cracking.

"Go apologize," Viserys told him softly, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it an encouraging squeeze. "Make things right before it's too late. Father intends on having him wed before the winter."

Silently, Daemon turned on his heel and left the couple alone in their room to make his way down the hall. He'd upset (Y/N) enough to make him cry, something he hadn't done in years, so he felt certain the teen had rushed off to his bedroom before he could be seen. The servants and guards he encountered along the way were quick to step out of his way, and the ones stationed at (Y/N)'s bedchambers opened the doors for him without having to be asked.

(Y/N) sat at the edge of his bed, legs crossed and lips pouting like a child but Daemon could only wince at the tear stains on his cheeks. His hands messed with his boots, undoing the laces of one and throwing it onto the floor. When he spotted Daemon lingering by the doors, he threw the other one at him, nearly hitting him in the thigh. "Go away," He demanded.

"Your aim's better." Daemon simply told him, slipping off the holster holding Dark Sister to his waist, and leaning the sword against the wall. (Y/N) reached down for the boot he'd tossed on the floor, scooping it back into his hand and throwing it at Daemon. His brother caught it with ease before it could slam into his chest, causing (Y/N)'s cheeks to puff out in annoyance and Daemon to smirk.

"Come to laugh at me some more?" (Y/N) asked bitterly, his eyes following Daemon as he made his way further into the room. With nothing else within grabbing distance to throw, he remained seated on the bed with a glare and curled hands ready to hit him. Daemon eyed his tense form and took a seat beside him, scoffing when (Y/N) scooted away.

"You act like a child." Daemon sighed, snatching (Y/N)'s wrist into his hand and squeezing the skin exposed when his sleeve rode up. (Y/N) struggled at first, angered muttering falling from his lips, but he slowly relented and gave in with a heavy sigh. Daemon gave him a hard tug that forced (Y/N) to fall onto his side, a grin gracing his lips at (Y/N)'s narrowed eyes.

"And you act like an arse." He replied, shifting around to sit up straight again.

"I didn't..." Daemon pursed his lips. Viserys knew how to apologise, knew all the right things to say to make things better. Daemon only knew how to hurt and break things. "I didn't mean to-... to make you cry."

"Liar." (Y/N) huffed and Daemon's jaw clenched, his temper flaring up with ease. "You like seeing me cry. You probably get off on it."

Daemon bit his tongue, this time literally, so he could fight the wicked smirk from spreading on his face. "Yes," Daemon exhaled, the breathy, amused tone making (Y/N) grow still with suspicion. "I get off on the thought of you crying from how much you desire me." He said lowly, moving an inch closer so their noses would bump together. He relished the quiet hitch of (Y/N)'s breath.

"I- I- You- I would never- What-" (Y/N) sputtered, tongue twisting so violently he almost choked on his words. Daemon's free hand rose to grab his jaws, fingers digging into the heated skin of his cheeks. He delighted in the heat, for he believed it meant there was a chance of his feelings being mutual.

"Who did you lay with?" Daemon questioned, his fingertips digging into the skin of (Y/N)'s cheeks and pulling his face ever so closer. He dragged his lips over his cheekbones, trailing them over his little brother's nose and brows and any part of his face he could reach. (Y/N) squirmed in his grip, his closed hand pressing against Daemon's chest in a half-hearted attempt at pushing him back. "Tell me."

"No." (Y/N) grumbled, ever the disobedient one.

"Was she worth it?" Daemon prodded, pushing his brother back onto the bed until his back was flat against the covers. He swung one leg over (Y/N)'s hips to straddle him, laying his weight down on the prince's thighs to prevent him from getting up. (Y/N) glared up at him, lips forming a deeper, more pronounced pout. He pinned the wrist in his hand beside his head, ensuring to keep a steady grip on him.

"Better than you'll ever be!" (Y/N) spat, the challenging tone in his voice only making Daemon's desire flourish, the overwhelming feeling pumping through his veins. He swooped down and slammed their lips together, swallowing the squeak that escaped (Y/N) and shoveling his tongue into his mouth when (Y/N)'s lips parted. He suckled his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it until he tasted a hint of metallic.

"You should've come to me, sweet brother." Daemon sighed, tongue lapping up the small trickle of blood that stained both their lips red. (Y/N)'s fingers curled around the collar of Daemon's tunic, battling between pushing him back and drawing him closer. "You need not for anyone else. I will take care of you, regardless of what anyone else dares to say." He cooed, pressing a sloppy, bloody kiss to his cheek.

"You hate me." (Y/N) murmured, his nose crinkling at the taste of blood dancing on his taste buds. Daemon frowned at him, hands harshly squeezing (Y/N)'s jaw and wrist for his words. When (Y/N) grimaced, he released his jaw and instead tenderly stroked his knuckles over his cheek.

"I do not." He assured, nuzzling their nose together and kissing him again, savoring the shudder that went through (Y/N) when he pressed down on the small cut. "I care for you. More than you'll ever know, little brother."

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delusionalwritingsofagay · 5 months ago

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Hi! I saw requests are open and I wanted to request this if you don’t mind!

May I request Daemon Targaryen x Male! (or trans male! ) Reader thats pregnant with their first child and how they are with the child? I would like headcanons if that’s possible as well :)

Thank you so much if you get to this!!

Daemon Targaryen x Male Reader that's pregnant with their first child

Daemon is incredibly protective of his husband throughout the pregnancy. He often places his hand on his partner's belly, feeling the baby move, and reassures him with comforting words.

Daemon takes the lead in preparing for their child. He insists on a nursery that reflects Targaryen lineage, complete with dragon motifs and warm, vibrant colours.

Daemon begins to read stories to the unborn child. He chooses tales of Targaryen history and legends, believing it's important for their child to understand their heritage even before birth. His husband often finds this endearing, watching Daemon bring the stories to life with dramatic flair.

There are moments when Daemon's stoic exterior cracks. He gets emotional during quiet moments together, holding his husband and marvelling at the life they’re creating. He often expresses concerns about being a good father, revealing a softer side that only his husband gets to see.

While Daemon loves feasting and wine, he puts in extra effort to ensure his husband’s diet is healthy. He insists on meals that are nourishing, often seeking out herbal remedies from the maesters

Despite the seriousness of impending fatherhood, their relationship remains playful. Daemon teases his husband about cravings, often jokingly offering him outrageous foods just to see his reaction. It keeps the atmosphere light and fun.

Daemon surprises his husband with thoughtful gifts for the baby, such as tiny dragon figurines or intricately crafted toys. He loves to watch his husband’s face light up with each gift,

Daemon was excited when They went to pick a dragon egg for their child to place it in their babes cradle

The couple engages in heartfelt discussions about potential baby names. Daemon holds a fascination for names with Targaryen significance, while his husband favours less Targaryen names.

Daemon often daydreams aloud about their child's future—What they will look like, teaching them to hold a sword and how to speak Valyrian

Daemon frequently talks to the baby, even before birth, often indulging in a mix of fierce pride and gentle affection.

Daemon, known for his fierce and sometimes reckless nature, surprises everyone with how gentle he is with their new-born. He often finds quiet moments to hold the baby, whispering stories of dragons and their family history, creating a strong bond from the very beginning.

Y/N plays the role of the calm and steady caregiver, tending to the baby’s needs with patience and love. He often crafts beautiful toys by hand, infusing them with love and his own personal touch.

Just like when Daemon was a baby and his mother took him on her dragon to fly for the first time, Daemon does the same with their child.

Like all parents, they face challenges. Late-night crying fits bring out Daemon’s impatience, but Y/N ’s soothing presence helps keep the peace.

#x male reader #lgbtq #x male!reader #house of dragon x male reader #house of the dragon #house targaryen #house of the dragon x male reader #house of dragons #daemon targaryen x male reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryan #hotd daemon #daemon x reader #harrenhal #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #mpreg

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lady-ashfade · 1 year ago

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Please do a alicent hightower x rhaenrya targayren twin brother who she marries and become princess consort. Alicent want him to herself ,so she tries break relationship with the male oc and rhanearya.

Manipulation

Yandere!Alicent Hightower x Male!Reader

I made this last night very late, the sun rising. But I just now reread it and idk if you meant rhaenrya marrying the reader or Alicent. But I made this think Alicent married the reader because that’s what I did all the way through until I went back to edit it. I apologize but I still hope you like it!

Warnings: Yandere tactics, manipulation, obsession, stalking, one mention of something gory.

Readers very existence changed everything about what happened, there would be no war. Do to the reader being the first born son, raised along side rhaenrya he would be it’s rightful hair.

Aemma was proud to have birthed a son for Viserys and a beautiful daughter. She loved her children and always kept a close eye on them, them both being strong headed.

Viserys loved both of them equally. But most of his time was filled with teaching y/n how to be a man and one day a king. From the age of three he took y/n with him on hunts, a memory he cherishes deeply. Rhaenrya was with her mother and was the talk of all the ladies as they gushed over her Beauty.

This being said rhaenrya was raised to believe in her brother who she loved to death. He was her twin and the gods created them together to be in this world. So as time went on she did not resent her brother because she did not feel like she was being replaced for a male heir.

Alicent knew y/n for a short time while she was by the young princess side. Y/n loved to play with rhaenrya and in his free time spent most of it with her. Alicent, being her best friend, was there a lot. He was charming and even though he was younger she never failed to blush when he would comment her. He was a gentleman, his mother and father made sure of it. But y/n never really payed that much attention because he was talking with his sister.

A feeling started to fill her mind of wanting his attention to on her so she started to speak up more. She’d dropped somethings and the reader would help, or get close to him and say something. Her crush got deeper and within a year after realizing, she had fallen deeply in love with the prince. Her attitude started to change when he was around and become all about him. Butting in on conversations, grabbing his arms slightly.

Things took a change when the prince was sent to study in Pentos and around the world to become a better king. Alicent was heartbroken over this news and she cried for days. She never was the same again. After two years her obsession slowly faded but she always seemed to think of him when she got lost in thought. His laugh, the way he made her smile and feel.

Rhaenrya looked passed her obsession for a small crush and did not blame Alicent back then since they were children. Her brother was a handsome boy and she couldn’t blame alicent. Tho, she did like to tease her friend sometimes.

Alicent and Rhaenrya sat together while Alicent read to her. They laughed and tried to get by with rhaenryas consent bickering and pokes of fun. But the city rang of a dragons roar and a deep one at that, their eyes looked up and saw a black dragon with spikes fly above them and casted a shadow down.

Rhaenrya hops up with a huge smile and a laugh, “He’s back.” She shot up and ran off without another word. Alicent was panicking to grab all the stuff she had brought and follow the princess. As she ran her chest filled with butterflies and her mind flashing of images of the boy she remembers. He was still young but could he have grown a beard? How tall was he now? Would he remember her, or better yet, would he be kind to her? She felt sick but her feet ran faster to see her prince.

When they got outside to the dragon pits she placed the books on the ground and grabbed ahold of rhaenrya in excitement. They watch his dragon land and the ground shake below their feet. The beasts mouth opened and screamed at the top of its lungs, a faint male voice shouting. Y/n petted his dragon and spoke to it and laughed. Everyone saw their prince stepping off his dragon and he looked different. His pale skin and freshly cut silky white hair, his frame grown and more muscly toned.

“Quite the entrance brother. Always loved attention.” Rhaenrya pulled away from Alicent and walked towards her brother with a fake face. The boy turned with a smiled while taking off his gloves, “And you dear sister, being betrothed to Lord Strong? Quite a lovely tale.” He smirked as they stood a few steps away from each other.

Rhaenrya broke and leaped towards her brother and hugged him close, his arms wrapping around her and lifting her up. The two laughed in joy to be reunited together again after years. The hug lasted a few seconds before he placed her back on the ground but still holding onto each other. “We must see mother and father at once.” Rhaenrya smiled and tugged him backward with her.

“I’m sure they eagerly await your return.” A new voice pulled the twins apart and around. Y/n took a moment and his breath hitch’s as a bigger smile popped onto his face. Alicent Hightower, the girl who always was kindhearted and soft. It seems her beauty grew with age. She was once’s one of the most beautiful girl he has ever seen but now he is not sure she could be topped in rank.

“Alice Hightower?” He let go of rhaenrya and walked closer and the brunette bowed her head down in respected. “It seems you both grew into beautiful woman, how jealous the other ladies must be.” Her cheeks flushed and the pressure in her chest she felt all those years ago returned. But harder then before. Rhaenrya rolled her eyes at his comment and pulled his arm. “Mother will not like you taking long to see her. Neither father really.” Alicent watched his attention go back to rhaenrya and she felt anger.

Alicent from there got his attention anyway she could. Learning his schedule and always “Bumping” into him at times. Or how she’d dress in prettier dresses to show herself off. Y/n found his alone night walks to never be alone with the hands daughter following him everywhere.

Otto did the same thing he did to Viserys and pushed his daughter into y/n. But Alicent was already doing it by herself and had no problem. Slowly otto got into the kings mind of marrying the two.

“Any girl peak your interest my boy?” Viserys asked while they chatted in the kings chamber. “Have you already picked a woman for me?” His father only smiled and patted his back and took the figure from his sons hands and placed it back down. “You are the future king but my son, I want you to find a match like I did with your mother.” Y/n smiled and looked back down. “There is this one girl…” Viserys cheered and shook his sons shoulders more.

“Is it the Lady Alicent?” The boys head shot up and looked surprised to hear her name. “I see the way you look at her, or the way she looks at you.”

“She’s kind, will make a loving queen.”

Alicent was surprised when one day the reader asks her to take a walk with him in the garden without rhaenrya. But she didn’t hesitated to take his arms and walk with him. The reader was sweet when he asked her to marry him and had a fresh flowers picked just for her. He said she did not have to marry him if did not want but the thought didn’t even cross her mind.

After the betrothal she started to pull the reader away from everyone to keep him to herself. Especially rhaenrya. The thought of having to share her darling made her fingers dug into her skin at the thought. The reader was hers, only hers.

Alicent didn’t even want the reader be around his family at the wedding. Rhaenrya couldn’t even ask for a dance without Alicent pulling him on the dance floor by herself.

The castle saw less and less of him because if he wasn’t studying or with the king, then he was with Alicent. Aemma got to see her son if he had time but rhaenrya was out of the question. The dinner table was awkward with tension between the girls. If rhaenrya was around then Alicent would be right at the readers side.

Reader is so blind to see what’s happening. Alicent is good at playing the innocent girl so he suspects nothing of her manipulating tactics. She is his wife and he needs to care and love her, plus he is very busy with heir things so it is no one’s fault he doesn’t get to see his family anymore.

But does shit get worse she Alicent announces she is pregnant. You think her possessiveness is bad before then this is like hell. You study with in your chamber at the table while Alicent relaxes and reads. She wished for this child since you came back so she loved it dearly, even happy about it as she rubs her belly and whispers. “You are a gift of our love, he has given you to me.”

You love your wife dearly so you do anything you can to make this easy for her. Until the death of your mother happens. She was pregnant again, surprising everyone after years of no children being born. But sadly died in childhood birth along with your baby brother. Everything gets hard on you.

You sneak around to comfort your sister when Alicent thinks your out at the library, or your father when you can since you still see him a bit. Everything is hell and they all look for you but Alicent has you in her clutch.

I haven’t mentioned Daemon yet so here it is. Hates Alicent since he watched her flirt with you in the halls or at feast when you came back. Hates her so freaking much for stealing you away from your twin and even him, platonically. His anger gets more like rhaenrya when she kept you away from your family and took over your mind. Thinks she was a witch and put a spell on you, drugged you, or even threatened you if you did not love her. He constantly tries to get you away.

After months of mourning and your mental state being drained your body was restored by one second of seeing your son. He was so tiny and beautiful. He looked like you so much and you took him in your arms and cradled him. You cheered around the room that you had a son and praised your wife for her hard work. Making sure she had the best of medication and care after. Alicent loved that you focused on the babe while knowing it was a new way to keep you with her.

Aegon was his name, and he was raised by a loving father. Next, a daughter who you were very protective over with her strange like ways but loves her no less. Then your son aemond who couldn’t hatch a dragon egg but you held no grudge. You would tell him stories of how one day he will have a dragon and you will help him hunt it. Daeron your youngest who took mostly after you, his kindness and level head.

Your children grew to be just as protective of you as their mother and hated to let you go. Always kicking and screaming when you tried to leave and cry, they were slightly spoiled. But they followed you around like ducklings and the boys tried to act like you. Even watching you practice and copying your moves, walking even and everything about you. Rhaenrya had children and you wanted to be in their lives so you forced Alicent to have the children spend time with them. You missed your family and it was time to be together.

Oh, but did your kids hate rhaenryas kids- Well, Helaena and Daeron didn’t mind because she was sweet, and Daeron was off in old town. But Aemond and Aegon didn’t like their cousins every much. They hated when you gave them attention or trained them as well, so they’d trip the boys or do something to get your attention.

Rhaenrya tried to talk to Alicent about how she wished no harm to steal you away in hopes to calm her down. Maybe even hang out with you once and a while. But Alicent didn’t give up.

Not only did you have a yandere for a wife, but Yandere children as well who can manipulate you. You belonged to them and no one else.

Extra because why not:

The only way I see Rhaenrya trying to take back the throne is with Daemon in her ear. They see how Alicent has you in control and knows she could do anything. It wasn’t about you because if Alicent was never in the picture you would be a good king. But now Daemon thinks that Rhaenrya needs to have a claim to the throne as well.

Rhaenrya named her fourth child after the reader and Alicent gets pissed about it. Even asks/screams for her to change it because she had no right.

Aegon is different from the show and is more..Better? A loving parent can make all the difference so he turns out, kinda okay. Don’t get me wrong he’s still a dick but he’s better about it. But with the reader by his side actually trying to do good, Aegon wants to impress him and becomes a good man.

Aemond clings to y/n the most because he feels lesser then his siblings for the lack of a dragon which the reader never puts him down for. If the boys are teasing him all it takes is one word to dad and everything will be okay.

Helaena really loves her dad so much. He listens to her, reads to her or gets her bugs from around the world. Even asks her questions of what she is saying. Helaena feels a comfort in him unlike anyone else. She is a daddy’s girl for sure.

#yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #yandere house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere aegon ii targaryen #yandere alicent hightower #yandere Alicent hightower x reader #rhaenrya targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x male reader #yandere house of the dragon x male!reader #yandere house of the dragon x male reader #house of the dragon x male!reader #daemon targaryen x reader #rhaenrya targaryen #yandere rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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anna1306 · 5 months ago

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The Gone Prince

Daemon Targaryen x brother!Targaryen Reader

I know it has been a long, long, looooong time. I am so sorry for keeping you waiting on that. I am going to return to writing, more or less. can't promise to return to posting every single day, as I did before, but I am going to return to writing and posting. It has been a long time of depressed time, disorganised time and simple no strength time. This part I wrote and rewrote two or three times and I hope you will like what I come up with in the end. Love you all)

Part 1 here

Princess' chambers were big and full of light. It reminded you of quarters of your grandmother, always warm and welcoming to her family. You were sitting there on the sofa, speaking with your niece for the last ten minutes or so. You didn't want anyone to eavesdrop on your conversation, so you approached her later, not during the feast. After that same feast Viserys insisted that Rhaenyra and her family stay in the Red Keep for at least a week or maybe even longer, not wishing for his pregnant daughter to endure two big travels in a row. Also... You had to wait for Daemon to leave her alone. He wouldn't let you talk calmly to each other, not after all these years, you just knew it.

"If the King asked for you, I am glad to have you here." Rhaenyra said, as you noticed hint of coldness in her eyes, probably brought by Daemon's opinion, which he, no doubt, generously shared with his wife. You only smiled in response. You could understand why she didn't trust you fully. And it definitely didn't hurt that much. At least not like it did with your brother.

"You sound just like her, it is crazy." You said quietly. She looked at you confusedly, not understanding your words fully. "Like Aemma." Her expression softened at your words, as her hand came to rest on her rounded belly. "I am sure she is proud of you, watching you from the other side."

"I can only hope so... She never mentioned you, now that I think of it." Princess said. You shrugged, trying to stay calm and nonchalant about it.

"Not many people here did." You tried to hide your feelings behind a smile, something you learned to do long time ago. "I remember her mostly from our childhood. How Viserys was madly in love with her. He often made a fool out of himself and was so scared she would reject him. And Aemma only laughed and smiled at him with so much kindness in her eyes... One time he tried to graciously ride in front of her on the horse to show her that he is a good rider. Poor animal got scared of something and sent him flying face flat on the ground. He was so red in the face, but didn't say a word, I thought he would burst with embarrassment." Rhaenyra laughed, imagining her father at the scene, as you watched her attentively with a little smile on your face.

"I can imagine how amusing that was." She agreed. You nodded, looking away from her, knowing that she was still watching you closely. "Did the King say why he called you back after all those years?"

"To help him. Viserys is... Full of many feelings and guilt is one of them. Guilt for a lot of things, which I am finding out only now. That is one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you." You looked back at her, meeting her gaze. "He wants me to mend the rift in his family." Her smile faded a bit, as she lowered her eyes on her belly. Rhaenyra understood perfectly well what were you talking about without you having to pronounce it. "I was told you were friends with the Queen Consort once, weren't you?"

"It was years ago. I feel like it was the other life." She answered with a sad smile. Rhaenyra looked at you again, her expression once again calm and stoic, almost rid of all emotions. "I once knew a girl, my friend, who was kind, honest, supportive and who looked at bright side of things, who was romantic and hopeful. Now Alicent is different, full of..."

"Spite?" You suggested. The woman nodded slowly, almost unsurely. You sighed, having a strong feeling your emotions about losing someone that close to oneself could be similar in some way. "Tell me, do you think there can be a slight possibility of you getting back to being friends? Or at least... Not at each other's throats?"

"I don't think so. There were many things between us, to lead me to Dragonstone and out of any possibility of mending this. You probably heard about what had happened in Driftmark. She... The Queen showed everyone her true colours. Her true thoughts and intentions behind this righteous facade."

"Lucerys severely wounded her son, I can understand her rage and wish for justice to some extent. Not 'eye for the eye', but still." You argued with her.

"Her son is spewing lies. Both of them. She placed traitorous lies in their minds, spreading rumours about me, about my sons! All of them are just..." She hissed suddenly, grasping her belly and closing her eyes, almost wincing in pain. You shot up from your place immediately, ready to go for help, but Rhaenyra stopped you with a motion of a hand. "I'm fine... Just... Daemon's child is really active." She smiled tiredly, as you clutched your goblet with wine in your hand, distracting yourself from your thoughts with a drink. "Nonetheless... I am not sure there is a way to get through to her." Princess said calmer now.

"If there was a way... A possibility of bringing back this peace, if not friendship. Would you be willing to put the bitter past to rest?" You asked, sitting back on the sofa. Rhaenyra didn't say anything for some time, your words hanging in the air. She diverted her attention from you, watching her maids serving breakfast on the table, long silence surrounding both of you.

"In ideal world... I guess I would want that." She admitted quietly. You smiled to her a bit, nursing wine in the goblet. "She was my friend once, the closest person in this Keep. But what she and her father did..."

"Yes, men like Otto, can influence even the dust to hate the wind." You scoffed, agreeing with her. After seeing what was going on in the Keep, you understood that one of the main roots of problems was the King's Hand. Yes, he helped the King to rule the realms, almost ruling them himself from time to time instead of sick Viserys, but he pursued his own goals first and foremost. You could understand ambitions, it was explainable, but your priorities in this matter were different.

"Alicent isn't innocent. She willingly ate those lies and now she is a spitting image of Otto..." Rhaenyra made a pause, sighing, as she looked at you. "Alicent has that thought that my children aren't... Trueborn. She spreads this rumours everywhere, you know it." You nodded, hearing these rumours already. You had your doubts about it too, but didn't care much, they were children of your niece, that was all you needed to know about their parentage. "Every time I gave birth, she demanded I present my child to her immediately after. She isn't such an innocent girl she claims to be." Your gaze hardened at the realisation. You put away your goblet and looked at Rhaenyra seriously.

"If she orders that you should present your child like this again, don't even move from the bed. I will be near and I will deal with it myself." You promised her. "She can come to you herself if she wishes to see the child so much. And if she doesn't understand why her request is wrong, I will explain it to her personally." You answered her with determination. Princess smiled at you slightly and moved to stand. You helped her up and stepped away from her. "I better give you some space. If I can do anything for you, tell me. And just... Think about possibility of it. Just try..."

"I probably will... Thank you. I appreciate the talk." She nodded, looking at her. While you could see that she still didn't trust you completely, at least you two talked calmly and discussed matters at hand. Just as you were about to leave, the door opened. Daemon walked in, and the air left your lungs at the sight of his figure lightened in the sunlight coming from the windows. His eyes met yours and what little softness he had, instantly turned to coldness and distaste in a second.

"You?" He only said in disgust.

"Me.” You nodded with a sigh. “I am leaving already. Have a good day." You smiled softly at your niece before heading out, not wishing for your brother to get angry at your presence near his wife. He could hate you from the distance, you thought. You could handle it… Even though you were too sober for his hate not to hurt.

***

"It was great!" Jacaerys was almost jumping in his steps excitedly, as he walked a little bit ahead of you. You smiled, taking off your gloves still hearing three loud growls of your dragonbehind you both.

"I am glad you like the ride. They liked you too, little prince." How could you say no to those eyes, when he asked if he could fly with you on your dragon. You understood him, as they were rarity, the first three-headed dragon known to Targaryen House, at least according to the known records.

"Is controlling him different? Different from ours, I mean." He turned to you with a curious look. You shrugged, contemplating your answer.

"You tell me, I only flew on them." His excitement about the new dragon was big. So of course he was curious as to whether or not it was similar to the flight on the one-headed dragon. Vermax wasn't big enough yet, but he flew with his mother already. And you flew on Vhagar with your father or on Caraxes with Daemon too long ago to remember it correctly, so you couldn't really draw the comparison.

"You sure they wouldn't drop me?" Daemon was hesitant, standing several steps behind you, as you petted one of the long necks of your dragon. You turned to him, raising your brow.

"Don't tell me you are afraid." You smirked at your brother teasingly, watching his expression hardening.

"I am never afraid. Not of the dragons, I am a dragon myself!" He exclaimed, earning growl from one of the heads in response. "I just don't know how it would be." Daemon said quieter, glancing between them and you. You smiled, offering him your hand.

"Nuhys zaldrīzes(my dragon), do not fret. You said it yourself, you are a dragon, as they are." He smirked more relaxed, giving you his hand. You pulled him closer, placing his palm near yours. "See?"

"I know what dragons are to the touch, dummy." He scoffed, petting your dragon. You glanced around, making sure noone was there to witness it and kissed him on the cheek. "Hey!"

"Let's go, I want to kiss you in the sky." You smiled at him, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the side of your dragon, to the saddle, hearing his chuckle, as he didn't struggle against your grip one bit.

"I will be next!" Baela’s voice distracted you from your memories. You looked at the excited girl with a little smile. She was eager to fly with you too, but let Jace go first. You nodded to her, knowing that your dragon didn't mind flying several times in a row.

"You sure?" She eagerly nodded at your question. You glanced at her sister, standing beside her, her expression more serious though. "And you, Rhaena?"

"No." She snapped back, almost aggressively. You were a bit taken aback, and even if you didn't want to press her into saying anything else, you still looked at her, contemplating your next words. She glanced at you, noticing your stare and seemingly understanding that she was rude. Under your attentive, but soft eyes she shifted on her spot unsurely and pursed her lips in a thin line. "You cursed us." Rhaena finally said quietly.

"Sorry, what? I cursed you?" You chuckled, not expecting this answer at all. You crouched on the ground to be even with her height and look in her eyes. "What makes you say that, ñuhys bykus embōñys dārilaros(my little sea princess)?" You asked her. She wasn't confident anymore, glancing at her sister, who remained silent, as you talked. You patiently waited.

"Father said you cursed us. Your dragon has three heads which you stole from other dragons. That's why I don't have a dragon." She answered finally, as your heart tingled with pain once again. Strange... And you thought this pain was constant and couldn’t be that prominent anymore. You scoffed in disbelief. Daemon said you cursed their family? His silver tongue and sarcastic side definitely grew over the years. He was more like your father than you thought. You sighed, lowering your head, gathering thoughts of what to say to her.

"Maybe I did. But only because I want to strengthen you. They hatched in my cradle. I never tried to tame anyone and work for success." You carefully said, looking at wary Rhaena again. "I never tried hard to find a dragon and bond with him, make him respect me and listen to me. But you are going to be stronger than me. Like your mother and father one day you are going to tame the strong, mighty dragon. You are going to be more powerful than me, the one who cursed you."

"You are only telling me this, so I won't be mad." She mumbled, but you could tell that she was more at ease with you now.

"Maybe yes. Maybe no. Who knows." You shrugged with a smile, standing up. You gave her your hand. "Come on. They can fit us three. Maybe one of them is the one I stole from you, and he would like you more than me." Rhaena hesitated, looking at you with her eyes, so familiar to you. You could almost see shy Daemon in his childhood… She took your hand nonetheless, still wary, but more trusting you now, as Baela took your other hand with a smile, herself, brave like Daemon. For some reason you felt in peace with yourself at this moment.

***

"You got your mother worried, you know?" You sighed, noticing the boy with an eyepatch sitting under the tree in the Godswood with barely any light around, night dark sky looming over the city already. Aemond looked up at you and turned away from you instantly. You sighed, walking closer to him. While you didn't trust his grandsire and mother fully, the children weren't at fault. They were your nephews and niece, no matter the other blood. "What are you doing here? It is dark already."

"And? I am not a little kid, I can defend myself." He snapped at you, glaring angrily with his one eye at something in the dark. You sat near him, not really caring for his discomfort in the matter. From what you had seen, he was just not used to physical affection, but you didn't reach out for him, you just... Were there.

"I know that. But running away from the castle just because your nephews are there, isn't very brave." You answered almost in a thoughtful voice. He grumbled something in return that you couldn't quite understand. You glanced at him with soft smile. "You can't hide forever."

"They weren't punished! That dick... Sorry." He mumbled, losing his fight after one swear word, apparently being scolded for it beforehand. You only shrugged at this.

"Lucerys did a bad thing. I guess you can say he was kind of a dick that day." Aemond scoffed at this, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "But he's just a child. Like you are. And he tried to protect his family."

"I was maimed!" Aemond exclaimed, tones of Alicent's intonation and voice coming through his childish one. "He cut out my eye, and they were entitled enough to not carry any punishment!"

"Let me tell you something, and I want you to listen to me and hear me out, alright?" You asked him, as Aemond nodded gloomily and almost hesitantly, still being very angry. "If you held a stone over my brother's head, threatening to hit him in the head with it, threatening to kill him, calling him names and telling him that he was going to die screaming, I wouldn't cut your eye out. I would cut your throat."

"That..."

"Would you not protect... Helaena? Or your mother?” You continued with your point. “If someone would have tried to hit them with a stone, insulting and threatening them. If you had a weapon, what would you have done?" You looked at him, as the boy lowered his head, seemingly contemplating your words. He wasn't presented with the other point of view, it seemed.

"I... I would kill those who dared to hurt my family." He sighed defeatedly. You smiled sympathetically

"Aemond, I am not glad that Lucerys went unpunished. He should have gotten at least some kind of retaliation for what he did. Like serving some other House for some time as a ward, or I don't know, limitation of his dragon’s lessons, this is a bad punishment enough for his age. But not carving his eye or killing him. That wouldn't return yours." You pretended you didn't notice Aemond moving closer to you. You just let him be comfortable and at peace with himself.

"But that would bring me satisfaction. That would be fair." He still mumbled. You sighed and smiled slightly, looking at your nephew.

"You would become a great warrior one day, Aemond. Yes, even with one eye, believe me. You have one of the greatest dragons, you have dragon blood and very fiery heart. But one thing that a warrior should know – is when and where to stop. Not becoming unhinged monster to scare little children. But to be a good fighter, a hero they will write songs about."

"Like your father? Prince Baelon The Brave?" You shivered and stopped at this question. Looking at a child beside you, you didn't see him. You almost fell into your memory, where violet eyes were enraged. Brave was the prince who exiled his own son, not accepting anything about him. Brave was the prince who threatened to kill innocent people who just helped his son in his attempts to reach out to his own family. Brave was the prince who called his own son a leech and a taint on their reputation.

"Yes. Like him." You forced a smile and a calm tone. Looking away, you tried to calm yourself. Your father was long gone, but your heart and fear of him showing up behind any corner, was very much present. Irrational and illogical, almost childish. But it still lived inside your soul. "What do you say, should we go inside?" You offered.

"They are still there." He scowled at the thought of going back to his nephews.

"Why don't you try and... Befriend them again? I know you were close with Lucerys before." You noticed, as Aemond scoffed and looked to the side, seemingly angry again in mere second.

"He maimed me. I don't want to be his friend!" He said sternly, but you heard more behind child’s anger.

"Do you miss him?" He looked at you angrily, but sighed, his eye more pained than enraged.

"No!" Boy exclaimed, looking away and almost pouting. He sighed heavily, lowering his head and mumbling under his nose. "He was closer to being my friend though. Even if he teased me for being dragonless, he wasn’t like Aegon or Jace. But he cut out my eye! I hate him!" He added louder. You sighed, taking his hand into yours, choosing your words carefully.

"I miss one person too, you know... A lot. I would give anything to return to that person. And I know they are missing me as well to some extent. But they hate me. It is a strange balance." You started. "I hated them too once. I did horrible things because of them. I lied in their name. I even killed some people in their name. I framed people, I broke laws and all just because of their wish. I made everything they wanted of me." You told the boy quietly, holding his hand, but looking into the darkness of the garden thoughtfully. "My life was destroyed because of them. I was gone because of them. I lost everything because of them." You chose your words carefully, remembering everything that was happening so long ago, it felt as another life altogether.

The commotion from the Throne Room was heard well even in the hallways. You carefully stepped to the door, watching at the events inside quietly and silently. The Lord before the Iron Throne pleaded his innocence, but your father, Prince Baelon appointed to lead this trial, wasn’t going to listen. You stepped aside, when guards were dragging the lord out of the Throne Room through the door you were standing at. When they walked out of the Throne Room, you looked at them.

“What is going on here?” You asked them, feigning innocence. Guards bowed their head slightly to you.

“This Lord was accused of stealing a dragon egg. Prince Baelon sentenced the thief to thelife on the Wall.” One of the guards said. You nodded looking at the panicking and horrified lord, who looked down, seemingly not noticing you.

“That is a fair sentence. That would teach him to keep his mouth shut and not jump over his head, trying to take what is not his.” You said coldly. Lord suddenly shivered and looked up at you, as if suddenly realizing something.

“You… It was you… Let me go!” Lord screamed, trying to get out of guards hands and get to you. You just stepped to the side, letting knights drag the screaming lord away. Familiar footsteps coming from behind, you met with a slight smile.

“Was it the Lord, who saw us and tried to…” Daemon started.

“To threaten you, yes.” You nodded and glanced at your brother. “He is going to the Wall. And don’t ask what I did. Because the answer is nothing.” You walked beside him, slightly touching his shoulder. It was hard to convince servants to place a dragon egg in his rooms, but in the end it was all worth it.

"Do you hate them, uncle?" Aemond asked curiously, looking at you. You glanced at him, almost flinching, as if remembering he was still there. You smiled slightly and put a hand on his hair, caressing his white hair.

"I do to some extent. But I would die for them in an instant. I would kill and do everything I had done for them all over again." You answered him with a sad smile. "I hate them, as they hate me. But I love them at the same time. And I would get destroyed and crushed again for that person. It is... A weird balance."

"Can you... Teach me how to find this... Hate and love?" Prince asked quietly. You nodded.

"Yes, but not here. And definitely not in one day. It's getting cold and you can get sick. You wouldn't want to fall sick and miss our flight tomorrow?" You winked at him, as Aemond nodded with a smile.

"Let's go! I want to hear about that person!" He stood up, waited for you to stand as well and only after that he went to the castle with fast pace. Even being close and quiet child, he was still a kid. You looked at his back, missing the fact that a dark shadow from behind the bushes watched and heard your talk.

***

The flames of candles danced around the dark room. Skull of Balerion brought back memories to you, both of pleasant times and not much. Your life had changed, everything changed. And the family you were supposed to change with, wasn't the one you remembered anymore. Yet you still sought out comfort in this place.

You sighed, turning away from the skull as you heard steps behind you. As you assumed, that was Daemon. Over the years his footsteps became quieter, but still he was too familiar for you not to recognize him. His look was wary, he was tensed up as his hand rested on the hilt of the dagger on his belt.

"You chose a good place for a murder, almost poetic." You noted. Daemon scoffed.

"Don't tempt me." You could argue with him that temptation was more of his job in many ways, but you chose to stay silent on the matter.

"If you don't wish to kill me, I am at a loss of why are you here." You said to him, being pretty honest.

"I wanted to talk to you." He said, stepping to you. You smiled, shaking your head and refusing to admit even to yourself how much this single step made your heart shiver.

"Talk to me? It isn't your usual way. I think you better prefer not to speak with me at all or kill me. Or at least avoid me." You admitted, turning to the skull and igniting the candles, just to get yourself busy with something. "What do you want?"

"Where does the lie end and the truth starts?" He asked in response. You hummed in surprise, definitely not expecting such a question first.

"Such deep thoughts. Why so suddenly?" You heard another step, but you only raised your eyes to look at the skull of mighty beast. You wouldn't dare to fight your own death after all this time if it came to this. You wouldn't dare to fight him ever.

"We are surrounded by half-truths, lies and intrigues. You can fully trust noone and nothing. Tell me, nuha lēkia(my elder brother), how much did you lie?" You glanced across the shoulder at your brother. He was serious, his eyes were fixated on you, but there was something deeper inside him. You shrugged, looking at the fire on the end of a splinter with which you lighted the candles.

"Like many people, nuhor valonqar(my younger brother). A lot." You answered, not understanding why he was talking with you like that. He couldn't possibly know the truth, could he? You didn't tell anyone and made sure to be careful about it. And your father was too… Careful to not leave any trace of what had happened that day.

"I know that. You lied that you love me." He accused you, making you glance at him. "You lied that you will never leave me. You lied that you will protect me." His jaw tensed, and you were sure that this would be the end. Him accusing you of everything and you just accepting it. He probably just wanted to accuse you and be done with it. Suddenly, Daemon raised his head, narrowing his eyes, but not taking them away from your figure. "But I'm not here to tell you about those lies. I want to hear another one."

"You want me... To lie to you?" You laughed quietly, looking at Daemon in surprise. He was silent for a moment, before nodding, strangely serious about it.

"Let's play a game. Lie to me.” He repeated firmer, his hard eyes not changing, as he glared at you. “What did you say to my daughters?" Daemon asked. You raised your brows, not understanding what he was doing.

"What?"

"Lie to me about the things you said to Rhaena." He repeated, stepping closer. You sighed, mirroring this step to the side, keeping the same distance between you two, pretending you were just igniting the candles. Daemon was playing some game of which you knew nothing and wanted you to participate in it as well. And yet you let him have this moment.

"Let's see... I told her about how I cursed our family and how I'm going to make sure that she would stay dragonless." You spoke slowly, unsure smile creeping on your face. At the very least you could have some kind of fun.

"What did you say to Rhaenyra, when I interrupted you that morning?" He insisted, his step echoing through the high arches of the ceiling again.

"That she needs to end Alicent and her children once and for all, no matter the consequences." You simply breathed out, not even turning to him.

"What did you do when Rhaenys was promised to Corlys?" You giggled, remembering what happened such a long time ago. Honestly you were surprised that he remembered that.

"Nothing, I stayed at the Red Keep, not going anywhere." You answered, once again lying, remembering how you sneaked upon their ship, to say goodbye to your favourite cousin of all. Baelon scolded you, when you were returned back to the Red Keep, and Daemon didn't let you go for a week, afraid you would disappear from him again.

"What were you talking about with Aemond?" Another step along with the words. You scoffed, igniting another candle, looking at the flames.

"How he should hate Lucerys and wish him nothing but death." The game was weirdly funny, it almost made you forgot about everything that was brewing between you. Lies flew from your tongue before you could even process it.

"Why did you leave for Braavos?"

"Because I wanted to." You blurted out a lie before realising it. For a moment you froze, slowly turning around. There you saw Daemon barely a step away from you. His eyes became tense, dark violet, as he watched your face after you repeated a lie known to everyone in this game, where you should have lied. "I hate you."

"I didn't ask you to lie about your feelings." He retorted coldly, stepping to you, as you stepped away, your throat dry all of a sudden. "Enough lies. What happened?"

"Nothing." You shook your head and sighed. You wanted him know the truth, yet you also knew that it didn't matter anymore. Not with his family, not after all those years. It would only complicate things. "Daemon, you better go. Just continue hating me, this would be… Right."

"I said, enough lies." He crossed what little distance you had between you, backing you to the candles. Daemon grabbed you by the clothes, watching closely your face. Your heart beat like mad at the mere presence of your brother near you. "What happened?"

"Daemon..."

"What had happened that morning you left? Tell me the truth!" He demanded, his eyes boring into your soul. "I won't let you go before you say. I deserve the truth after your betrayal, after your lies and all the harm and pain you caused me..."

"He saw us!" You exclaimed, having had enough. Your feelings were overwhelming you to the point of just not caring about the consequences. "Our father saw us. He saw you on your knees, saw me in your bed, he saw everything."

"What?" His grip on you lessened, his face frozen with shock and still that angry expression. Yet you made no move to free yourself from his grip.

"He saw us. He learned the truth. And he was so mad at me for... How did he say? Right... "Corrupting you". So enraged hat he just threw me out of the Keep." You blurted out in one breath.

"You lie. If he... He would have punished me as well. Why didn't he punish me, why didn't you write anything to explain anything?" His voice was raising as well, mirroring yours.

"You still don't understand? You were his favourite. Not Viserys even if he was the eldest. Not me even if I listened to him always. You. Mother loved you the most, father adored you. He couldn't comprehend that you could lay with a man willingly. If I was some common whore or even a sister of yours, he wouldn't have batted an eye, but I am a man. And I can't want you, as it's a sin. As I am corrupting and tainting you with mere thought of it, let alone a touch. Putting a disgrace on your name. It was easier for him to believe I made you do this. Easier to hate one son and threaten to kill every person that brought my letters to the Keep. Easier to send dead ravens and tell his own son that he would be burned alive if he even dared to show his face again at his home." You couldn't stop words pouring from your mouth, you were silent for far too long and that pain had never left.

"No..." Daemon shook his head, seemingly not wanting to listen to you anymore, but at this point you had little to no care about his wish.

"And I knew he would be furious if I admit that you were the one to come to me. It would have killed him. And if not... He would have destroyed your life as well. And I lied, yes, I lied, I took it upon myself. I destroyed my life for you. I destroyed my life because of you, Daemon!" You raised your voice at him. He looked enraged and shocked, almost feral in the light of candles.

"Shut up!" He pushed you harshly back. You stumbled to the skull, the impact making you fall onto some candles and hitting your head against an old bone in your fall. You cursed quietly, feeling something sticky on your face. For several moments you layed on the floor, not moving, fighting with the headache and shock. Slowly you sat, grunting, warm wax sliding from under your hands. Your lip was split, as you could feel, and according to some stickiness on your temple, there was at least a gash on your forehead.

You looked up at him, his face not cold anymore, but full of many different emotions. Anger, sadness, fear. You groaned, trying to move. Leaning onto the skull, you carefully stood up, giving yourself a second of rest.

"Y/N, listen, I..."

"You are the Rogue Prince, future King or Prince Consort, King of the Narrow Sea, previous commander of the Gold Cloaks, husband to the heir of the throne and father of her future children." You stated in resignated tone, glancing at his frozen form. "I am the Gone Prince, who spent most of his life in Braavos. I am noone and nothing, with no lands or wealth. I am a leech, who taints the house reputation just by thinking of you. I am father's disgrace." You tried to straighten your back, but sudden nausea hit you, and you bent over, leaning onto the skull once again. "And I am here to help Viserys. Don't dwell on the past, as it can't be returned." You forced yourself to smile and look at him. "Go back to hating me. It would be easier... For both of us." You breathed out, slowly walking away from the basement, Daemon not making a move to follow you.

***

The evening was busy. It seemed that every person in the Red Keep decided to visit you. Firstly, there were Rhaenyra, who was alerted that you asked for maesters. Next was Alicent, who decided to visit you, the atmosphere becoming tense between two women for a hot minute, but they kept their temporary peace. Next was the King. Viserys got really nervous about hearing the news of your wound. He demanded to know what happened and who did this. The answer was simple.

"I fell." You lied again, as the maester cleaned your wound and gave you advices on treatment. After all those people visited you, you were exhausted and confined to your chambers. Following maesters' orders, Viserys forbade you to go out at least for two days. You tried to tell him that it was just a scratch, and you just need a good sleep, but he was too worried. Too afraid to lose another family member, as it seemed. So you relented and just read through some of King's journals he gave you to better understand the situation in the court, occasionally writing something in your notes.

You heard the door opening and closing and some quiet steps. Sighing, you turned the page, not wanting to face the person who entered your room.

"I don't need anything, Jenny, you may go for the night." You said, not wishing to see anyone right now after all of the commotion and noise. Not after the conversation down at the skull...

"I must consider adding that name to the list of my titles." That wasn't your servant. You turned to look at the man, who entered your room. Daemon. Of course. Without his weapon, without his dark attire, in white simple shirt, almost looking like he was fresh out of bath. Boy, did it bring back memories.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, obviously confused. Daemon shrugged.

"Can't I visit my brother, who clumsily fell and hit his head?" He said, making you shake your head with a quiet sigh. "Y/N, we need to talk."

"We already talked. I don't have anything else to say to you, so you are wasting your time here." You turned back to the journal again. There was silence and for a second you thought Daemon would leave you alone. You should have known better. Suddenly there were haste steps, after which the journal was ripped from your hands. You looked up at him, his determined look pointed right back at you. "Dae..." He put a hand on your mouth, shutting you up and making you freeze at the sudden physical contact.

"No! You said you don't have anything to say, so I will be the one who does the talking." He stated sternly, looking in your eyes. You slapped away his hand, but said nothing in response. Daemon sighed, still standing in front of you. "If what you have told me is truth, I didn't know it. Let me finish!" He interrupted you, as you tried to say something. "All these years I blamed you for leaving me without a word. Without a letter or explanation. I... I thought you did something for me again, that was noticed and made you guilty. I thought father found out of what you did to protect me. Then I thought you found someone else, some young pretty boy who adored you more than I did. It was easier for me to hate you." He admitted, and your heart broke a bit at his words ad his expression. You wanted to forget about what had happened and just take him into your embrace and not let go of him. But you both were too far gone for that. And revelation of the truth did provoke this conversation, but it couldn't change everything else.

"It is still easier for both of us to stay away from each other." Daemon scoffed in response to those words, leaning on the table, looking down at you.

"You can't be serious, Y/N. I know the truth now, that it wasn't your wish to leave me. And you expect the hate from me?"

"What do you expect? Us going back to where we left things? You aren't ten and six anymore, Daemon. I am not ten and nine. You are a different person, that I know nothing about. Hell, you have a family and duties." You breathed out, trying to stay calm.

"But I don't have you. And I haven't had you all those years. I have changed, yes. You have changed as well, hell, maybe even more than I have. But the fact that I need my elder brother never changed, no matter how much I hated and despised this thought." Prince looked at you stubbornly. You shook your head, looking at the notes on your table, just not to look at him.

"We can't go back to what we had, Daemon. It is impossible. I can't be your lover. And I doubt I can be your friend after all these years. You are a different person, completely unknown to me."

"Then I don't see a problem with anything. We just start anew." He reached out to you, grabbing your chin, making you look at him, his eyes burning with fire and passion. You pursed your lips, trying to calm your heart that was beating out of your chest just from a single touch of his. You had to learn to control yourself near him all over again.

"What we had was a sin. We are brothers. Even if our blood doesn't stop us as our House has queer customs, we are men. It is viewed as a sin. I won't put your reputation under a hit. The ending will be the same, Daemon. Us parting ways. It was hurtful the first time, there is no need to return to that." You tried to sound convincing enough for both him and you, but his grip on your chin only tightened, as your words sparked him with anger.

"There is no sin in this. This is us. We are both dragons, our blood belong together. There is nothing more true in this world than us. And if it is a part of us, if it is the most real part of us, it can't be sin." Daemon said stubbornly, as you put your hand on his, gripping his wrist in attempt either to bring him back to his feelings or pull it away from you.

"It is. We are brothers and we can't do that. If I was a princess or you were one, everything could be different. But we are what we are and this is wrong.” You lowered your head, leaning back into the armchair. “Father might have been right. If the gods punished me and not helped me all this time, then I am a sinner and a leech."

"Where the fuck did you take all of this, you have never been religious!" Daemon spitted out, looking at you, as his brows furrowed. You just tried to push him away, with your words, with your actions, but he never budged, on the contrary becoming more and more persistent. "Or someone is telling you this? Who is this cunt that spread this nonsense to your head?" He demanded of you.

"Noone, Daemon. This is my thoughts." You breathed out, as the prince sat on your lap suddenly. He had become heavier with years for certain, trainings and battles made him stronger, and you couldn't help but feel the stomach-curling feeling of familiarity of his body against yours.

"You were never like this. You loved me. You loved my body. You didn't think of me as of something wrong." He stubbornly said, as you pressed yourself into the chair, trying to distance yourself from him, even if it wasn't physically possible. "And I know you still feel the same, I can see this in your eyes."

"You are not wrong. I am. I made you like this." You breathed out, putting hands on his shoulders, looking at his hard face. Your repeated your father's words just to get him to see the reason and step back. "Daemon, this is wrong. Please, I beg you, go back to your wife, to your family."

"You are my family. You are my blood. I want to be here with you now, not with them." Daemon stood his ground stubbornly. He didn't want to leave you apparently, but you couldn't have him risk it all again because of you, no matter how much you longed to hold him again in your embrace.

"I can't be the reason to hold you back. You loved them this morning more than anything. You hated me this morning. One conversation can't change that. You love Rhaenyra, you bled for her, you suffered for her, you long for her, you love her, not me and I can't..."

"All this time I was suffering for you. I wanted to forget you, believe me. I tried it all… Whores, wine, blood, killing, everything!" He cupped your face with his hands, looking intensely in your eyes. "I tried. Rhaenyra... She is good, she deserves love. And I love her. But she isn't you. It is different with you, and you know it. And if I had to choose, I would choose you every time."

Your heart clenched at the thought that he tried to forget you. His eyes were honest, and even after all those years away from him, you could always tell when he was telling the truth. He was sincere in his words at this moment. But you couldn't let him do that again. You didn't want pain for you, nor for him.

"Daemon, you are talking on emotions. You miss what we had once, but... Fuck, don't make this harder than it is." You pleaded with him, every reason to leave everything as it was fading in the face of his confidence and determination. You were losing this fight and couldn’t come up with any more reasons or words to convince him. To convince yourself.

"You are the one making it harder. Lēkia, you told me yourself once, we were born from one flame and blood. We were supposed to be together. I cried only for you, not one person saw my tears, because you are the only reason for them. I didn't mourn father, grandsire, Aemma, Laena, noone. I cried for noone but you. I need you in a way no word in Westerosi or Valyrian can describe. Now more than ever." He whispered, inching closer to your face, as something inside you was slowly breaking.

"Daemon..."

"Start with me anew. There is no reason for worry, I promise. All the time you stayed away, you protected me. You lied, you..." He scoffed, remembering your words he heard in the garden. "You destroyed your life for me. Let me now rebuild it."

"Daemon..." You touched his cheek, shuddering at the long forgotten feeling of his skin under your touch.

"Let me think for the both of us this time, Y/N." He squeezed your cheeks in his palms, looking in your eyes. "Let us sing dragon's song together again. Like we never stopped."

You breathed out, looking in his eyes. You saw anger, flames of indomitable passion dancing in his eyes, violet irises determined and fiery. He wouldn't step back. Even if he still felt some hate for you, even if he loved his family he had, you were something different for him. You were his centre, around which his world was turning. As he was your centre in return.

And you gravitated to your dragon, like always, leaning into him.

The Gone Prince Taglist: @wai-who @midnightprincess18 @fan-goddess @weird-addiction @rawinia @cannibalcoyote @cherry1a @darlinqvi @caelumwingstar @louventcavaliersx @parca0charos @azrealbanerstark @britany1997

#house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #reader insert #x reader #male reader

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lestatdelivncvurt · 11 months ago

Text

𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

When the heir of the Sea Snake fell in love with the Rogue Prince. A forbidden relationship hidden away from prying eyes with the promise of marriage.

fanfiction | House of the Dragon

━─━────━─━────༺༻━─━────────━─━

The Rogue Prince had ventured to Driftmark when the war was raging fiercely. Your beloved whom you haven't seen for an eternity. A love that blossomed in secret. Forbidden it may be, but love knows no boundaries as he speaks.

When night descended, you sought him. He sat in his chamber by the flickering fireplace. The flames burned proudly, reminiscent of dragonfire, yet dragonfire burns with a brighter flame. The door softly opened, heralding your clandestine arrival. The prince turned his gaze towards you. A smile gracing his lips as you approached him with purpose.

It was your curves and form that captivated him, alluring and enchanting. Oh, and your armor too. The gleaming armor stirred a primal desire within him.

"I've longed for your presence, Daemon," You uttered as you reached his side. His visage softly illuminated by the fire's glow. Your hand caressed his chin, sending a delightful shiver down his spine. A shiver of pleasure. Then, you gently held his chin between your fingers, brushing against his lips tenderly. You savored his breath, his gaze upon you, his exquisite beauty. You would gladly absorb it all like a parched hound.

Daemon smirked at you, pecking the finger that grazed his lips. "You remain as radiant as ever, jorrāelagon," love, he whispered. The endearment stirred your heart. You merely smirked back, concealing your emotions.

Choosing to broach another subject, you spoke, "Father desires me to be wed with another." Daemon's hand clenched at the words, his eyes ablaze with anger yet he remained silent. "He seeks an alliance with-"

The prince did not mask his feelings as he rose from his seat and drew near. His arm encircled your waist while his hand cradled your cheeks firmly, almost possessively. His eyes brimmed with fervent love and devotion. "You shall not be joined to another, jorrāelagon. If marriage is in your fate, it shall be solely with me."

"Our love does not know titles and customs." He murmured to you, "I will wed you." His gaze flickered to your lips before meeting your eyes again. Your faces dangerously close, "You shall be mine." And he was determined to make it a reality sooner rather than later.

A gasp caught in your throat as you whispered in return, "I want you. I accept you as you are. I will be wed to you." A silent vow that hung in the air as you both pressed your foreheads together. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the fervent love that enveloped you both.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x male reader #daemon x reader #house of the dragon #x male reader #x reader

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luv-lock · 2 months ago

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⸻ ʟ ᴏ ᴠ ᴇ ᴍ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: Dark Aegon I Targaryen x Fem Reader

Summary: Aegon spends his life desperately trying to win the love of his sister. And yet he's never enough.

Warning: Non-Con (rape), targcest, physical violence, murder, obsessive and delusional behavior, child loss/grief.

Notes: English is not my first language. Art belong to Denis Maznev. Hope you enjoy!

She was always there.

From his earliest memories, her face is etched in his mind like a cold, pale moon. She never smiled, never laughed. Never cried. Just looked. Always watching, always silent. Even as children, while Rhaenys played with him, she was a shadow in the background. A constant presence that gnawed at him, her cold eyes watching him with that empty gaze. It was as if nothing could move her, nothing could please her. But he tried. Gods, how he tried.

He was barely seven, still small but proud of the sword his father had given him. He had trained for hours, his arms aching, his legs sore, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to show her. He wanted her to see him—really see him—for once.

He had run to her, his little chest puffed out with pride, holding his wooden practice sword like it was Blackfyre itself. "Look! Look what I can do!" he had said, his voice bright with excitement. He swung the sword in wide arcs, spinning and thrusting as best as his small body could manage. "Did you see that? I’m going to be a great warrior! You’ll see!"

But she just stood there. Watching. Her face expressionless, her eyes cold, as if she hadn’t seen anything at all. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t even blink. It was like he wasn’t there, like his efforts were meaningless.

He had felt something tighten in his chest then, a feeling he didn’t understand. A hollow ache that made his hands shake as he gripped the sword tighter. He tried again, swinging harder, faster. "Are you watching?!" he had shouted, frustration leaking into his voice.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything.

She never did.

And that’s how it always was. Every time he tried, every time he showed her something—his victories in the yard, his skills in battle—she just watched. Her cold eyes always on him but never giving him what he craved. Never giving him anything.

But then, that day came. The day that broke something inside him.

He remembers the sound first. The sound of her laughing. It was so foreign, so unexpected that he almost didn’t believe it at first. He had stopped in his tracks, heart racing, the sound of her laughter echoing in his ears like the sweetest music he’d ever heard. For a moment, just a moment, he thought it was meant for him. Finally, he thought, she was laughing. She was happy. Maybe, just maybe, he had done something to make her feel.

But then he saw it.

She wasn’t laughing with him. She wasn’t laughing for him.

She was laughing with a man. Some nobody. A fool. A good-for-nothing who could never even begin to understand her, let alone deserve her. And yet, there she was, her eyes shining, her lips curved into a smile—something Aegon had never seen in all his life. She was radiant, her laughter like music, but it wasn’t for him.

The rage came fast, burning through his veins like fire. How dare this man, this insignificant speck, be the one to bring her joy? How dare she smile for him, laugh for him, when she had never once given Aegon anything but that cold, dead stare? He could hardly see through the fury as he drew his sword, his heart pounding in his ears, and with one swift strike, he cut the man’s head clean off.

The blood sprayed across the floor as the man's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, useless. And Aegon, triumphant, stood there holding the severed head, his heart racing with the thought that maybe now—now—she would see how much he loved her.

He brought the head to her, a smile tugging at his lips, presenting it like a gift, like an offering to a goddess.

But then, for the first time, he saw her cry.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, silent, like everything else about her. She didn’t wail or scream, just wept, her cold, distant eyes filled with sorrow. But not for him. Never for him. The realization hit him like a dagger to the chest. She wasn’t crying for him. She was mourning the other man, that worthless fool.

Could she not see? Could she not understand what he had done? He had killed for her. For her. To prove his love. Why couldn’t she see that?

It was worse now. So much worse.

He stands in the room, their child’s room, staring at the small bed where their son had once slept. His heart is heavy, his chest tight with grief that he can’t seem to swallow. Tears burn in his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Their child is dead. Gone. And he can barely breathe from the weight of it.

But when he looks at her, she’s standing by the window, her back to him, staring out into the night as if nothing had happened. As if their son wasn’t lying cold and still in the crypts below.

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t even move.

His son, their child, lay lifeless, and yet...she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. The realization gnawed at him, twisting in his chest like a knife. If it had been another man’s child, would she be mourning now? Would she cry for that child, like she had cried for that worthless fool?

"Do you...do you not care?" His voice cracks, the words barely a whisper. He feels like he’s choking on the silence. "He was our child. Our son." His hands tremble, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Why… why?"

She doesn’t answer. Of course, she doesn’t.

She never answers.

The hollow ache that had plagued him since childhood is back, sharper than ever. He stares at her, at her still, cold form, and something inside him snaps. He can feel it, like a tether breaking, a dam bursting inside his mind.

"Why?" he growls, his voice low, trembling with fury. "Why can’t you love me? Is it really so hard?!" He steps toward her, fists clenched, his heart hammering in his chest. "I’ve done everything for you. Everything!"

His hands shake as he grabs her by the shoulders, spinning her around to face him. She looks at him with that same blank, emotionless expression, her eyes cold and distant, as if she’s not even here. As if she’s not even alive.

"I killed for you!" His voice is rising, desperate, wild. "I’ve fought for you, bled for you! I’ve done everything you could ever want, but you—" He pauses, his breath coming in harsh gasps as a dark, twisted thought coils in his mind. "Is this because of him? Because I killed that servant? Did you really think he could love you more than I do? That he deserved you? Him?"

His grip tightens, fingers digging into her flesh. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the rage coursing through his veins. "I am the one who loves you. I’m the one who’s always loved you!"

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. Just stares at him with those empty, cold eyes.

The silence is unbearable. It breaks him.

With a roar, he grabs her dress, tearing at the fabric, ripping it apart in his hands. He’s rough, vicious, his fingers leaving bruises on her pale skin as he forces himself onto her.

She doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t scream. She just lies there, blank, her body cold and still beneath his. The more she doesn’t react, the harder he thrusts, the rougher he becomes, as if he can force her to feel something—anything. He can feel the blood, can see the bruises forming on her skin, but she just keeps staring at him, those empty eyes boring into him, cold and unfeeling.

But it didn’t matter.

She will love me. She will.

"You will love me," he growls, his voice low and savage, each thrust more brutal than the last. "You will love me. You’ll see. I’ll make you."

But she doesn’t change. She never changes.

Even as her body bleeds, even as he takes her in the most violent, twisted way, she just looks at him with that same cold, distant stare. As if he’s nothing. As if nothing will ever be enough.

Her eyes stayed cold.

Her eyes stayed empty.

And still, he kept going.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

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weird-addiction · 4 months ago

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'Targ is gonna Targ' you're so right for that 😭 obviously you don't have to write this if it's too much! <3

Daemon Targaryen x Nephew!reader where reader is Rhaenyra's brother/twin (you can choose if they're twins or not) and gets jealous of all the attention she is getting from Daemon and begins to become bitter about it. Reader wants to be the favorite and tries to win his affection so much that it starts to become noticeable. You can choose how it ends I don't mind whatever outcome, obviously doesn't have to be smut but I just need some Daemon x male reader there's just so little 🧎🏻

All the Attention

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Nephew!Reader

Genre: Neutral

Warnings: Targcest, Uncle x Nephew relationship, childbirth death, kind of rushed writing, suggestive themes

A/N: I got super busy lately this should have been a while ago

The day he was born was also the day his mother died, Queen Aemma could not survive the twin as it was unexpected and her body had failed.

Viserys had fallen into grief while Daemon had his attention on his older sister Rhaenyra. He had no one.

Growing up was just a pain for him as no one paid any attention to him. Even though he was his father’s heir, he still paid more attention to Rhaenyra than him. He only called for him for lessons on their history and stories. He was in small council while his sister was the cupbearer, he hardly listened as no one even paid him any thought.

It was not until his father remarried to the Lady Alicent Hightower that he started to pay attention. He may not listen during the council meetings, it did not mean he did not hear the whispers around the castle. He knew Otto was the snake, he knew Daemon knew, but yet, he did not know how to approach his own uncle about it.

He decided it one night when he could not sleep.

Knocking on his uncle's door, he entered when he heard the voice on the other side to allow permission.

“Uncle. It’s me.”

Daemon turned to look at him over his shoulder from the couch he had. The Rogue Prince’s hair was short, it being cut when he was in the stepstones.

“Nephew. What has you seeking me at this time of night?” He took a sip from his wine goblet.

“I believe you know best of the Hightowers. Father would not have married Alicent out of duty, he only loved mother you have always told. So why did he-”

“Otto Hightower is a cunt.” Daemon cuts him off, his words harsh but he did not care.

Y/n smiled at his words. “So you know as well as I do.”

Daemon shot him a look. “Come. Sit by me.” Which Y/n did as his words had told.

They were quiet for a few seconds before Daemon turned to his nephew who looked so alike to him, which he himself had told since Y/n’s birth that it was wrong.

“The Hightowers want power. And now that bitch queen has your half-brother, no doubt she will push your father to put him on the throne instead of you.”

“Father won’t let that happen. I’m his first born son.” Y/n retorted, he was so sure of his words.

“Power hungry men will do anything they can to get what they want.” Daemon states, there was truth in his words and Y/n knew it.

But then he thought about it, there was something that tied into Daemon's own actions.

“Aren’t you the same.” Y/n rolled his eyes.

Daemon scoffed when he heard that, meaning he agreed.

“You are around my sister all the time, you just want her for yourself. I can see it. The maids and servants whisper it. I may not listen to the council but I do hear the whispers that echo in the halls.” Y/n held his own authority and ground, he did not back down.

Daemon threw the now empty goblet onto the table before gripping his nephew’s neck, pinning him to the backrest of the couch.

“Do not mistake me, nephew.” They locked eyes. “If you wanted my attention then all you had to do was ask.”

Y/n smirked, it seemed like his uncle knew him better than himself. Within the next couple of seconds, their lips connected, their eyes closed as they felt each other. His hand went under Daemon’s shirt trying to pull it off.

But they pulled away before it went too far. The night was still far too young for them to do this. Y/n’s mood turned bitter and Daemon saw it clear as the blood of the dragon that burned through his veins. The air around had changed, just waiting for one of them to make the move.

“Careful nephew, your father may take me for treason.” Daemon teased.

“It’s not treason if I am the crown.” Y/n countered.

“Your bitterness is showing. Are you that jealous that I gave your sister the attention and not you?”

Y/n sneered as he heard that. “My father doesn’t pay attention to me unless it’s for lessons. My mother is dead, my sister is always elsewhere, you only have eyes for Rhaenyra, my new stepmother is awkward to talk to, and my half-brother can’t even talk. Any more questions?” He smiled mockingly.

Daemon was amused by his nephew’s words, though he nodded nonetheless knowing that was the reality and truth.

“Then I can give you the attention you crave, but only if you ask.”

“You better. Otherwise I am going to tell father to exile you again.”

“Don’t be bitter dear nephew, you have all my attention now.”

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0silver0dreams0 · 13 days ago

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Love against hatred

When affection turns obsessive, even hatred cannot extinguish love. A lover, consumed by longing, refuses to accept rejection as the end. To him, hatred is not an end but a challenge — a sign that feelings still linger. While the beloved sees betrayal and pain in every glance, the lover envisions a future where their bond is restored. With unwavering devotion, he will stop at nothing to bridge the divide, for in his eyes, love against hatred is still love — and worth any cost.

✦ Jacaerys Velaryon was never one to shy away from his emotions. From the moment he could understand the concept of affection, he had felt drawn to you, his cousin. Your grace, your wit, your strength — they all captivated him, like a moth hopelessly drawn to a flame. As children, your laughter had been his favourite sound, your approval his greatest reward. Yet, as the years passed and tensions between your families deepened, that love turned into an obsession, a need to protect you, to have you near, despite your growing disdain for him.

✧ Jacaerys had always admired your poise and strength. To him, you were the embodiment of everything noble and pure, a light in a world often tainted by ambition and betrayal. When you were children, you had been his confidant, the one person who could make him laugh, who made the burdens of being the heir to the Iron Throne seem lighter. He remembered how you used to smile at him, how you used to hold his hand without hesitation. But those days were long gone.

✦ After the fateful night when Aemond lost his eye, everything changed. The bond that had once united you both was shattered. You blamed his family for the pain inflicted upon your brother, and that blame extended to him. The warmth in your eyes turned to cold indifference, then to outright hatred. Yet, Jacaerys could not bring himself to let you go. If anything, your rejection only fuelled his determination to win you back.

✧ Your hatred hurt him, but it also fascinated him. How could someone so perfect harbour such a fierce, burning loathing? He told himself that it was born from misunderstandings, from the poisoned words of those around you, that Aemond and Alicent were at fault. If only he could make you see his devotion, his unwavering love, you would surely come to love him again.

✦ Jacaerys would watch you from afar, his dark brown eyes lingering on you with a mixture of longing and frustration. He hated the walls you had built between the two of you, but he respected them enough not to tear them down outright. Instead, he sought to find cracks, little moments where he could remind you of what you once shared. A fleeting glance, a stolen conversation, a carefully chosen gift left at your chamber door.

“She hates me,” he would tell himself late at night, lying awake and staring at the ceiling. “But hate is not indifference. At least she still feels something.” It was a twisted comfort, but it kept his hope alive.

✧ In his mind, your hatred was a challenge, a test of his love. He would endure it, weather it, and prove to you that he was worthy. No matter how many times you spurned him, he would not falter. To him, your rejection was not a door slammed shut but a wall to be scaled.

✦ His tendencies manifested in subtle ways. He ensured that no one else could come close to you, quietly sabotaging potential suitors and watching them retreat in confusion. He would find reasons to be near you, orchestrating encounters that seemed coincidental but were anything but. Even in the council chambers or the training yard, his thoughts were never far from you. From a distance, he watched over you, guarding you in ways you never noticed but always ensuring your safety. Rhaenyra, whether knowingly or not, only fed these tendencies. She often spoke of how much he cared for you, how his devotion was proof of his strength as a man and a future king. Her words validated his obsession, turning it from a private torment into something he felt was righteous and inevitable.

✧ Yet, despite his obsession, Jacaerys’ love for you was genuine. He wanted to protect you from the harshness of the world, to shield you from the political machinations that had driven your families apart. He dreamed of a future where you could forgive him, where your laughter would fill the halls of Dragonstone once more.

✦ But for now, he endured your hatred, clinging to the hope that, in time, love would prevail. Even if it meant waiting a lifetime, even if it meant enduring the sharp edges of your scorn, Jacaerys Velaryon would never stop loving you. To him, your love was worth any price, even the pain of your hatred.

Because, in the end, love against hatred was still love — and that was enough to keep him going.

Taglist:

@ursinaw @dakota-rain666 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @pookiedragonfire @jjggdfvvy @maryldrsstuff @1soultaken @ceramic-raven @eissaaaa @moodyblueberrytree @xadaboo @labryel @zoeyburton @hopingtoclearmedschool

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novaursa · 5 months ago

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Where Dragons Dare (1/3)

- Summary: After you are left greatly injured by a dragon riding accident, the small council puts pressure on your father, King Viserys I, to have another male heir.

- Pairing: (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: Mild 13+ (rating will go all the way up for the last two parts)

- Word count: 9 000+

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

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. ❤️ I hope you enjoy the first part. I've tried to fit into this one most of the information you've given me. The rest will be in the next two parts.

- Next part: 2

The council chamber buzzes with tension, thick as smoke, as the lords gathered around the long table cast uneasy glances at King Viserys. The king, grey hairs creeping into his Targaryen silver, wears the weight of the realm across his brow. His gaze is distant, fixed on the empty chair at the end of the table where you, his only son, should be sitting, were it not for the incident that left you bed-ridden, your ribs shattered and your leg mangled. The air is tight, a storm brewing beneath the grand stone arches and tapestries that adorn the walls.

Viserys lets out a weary sigh as Grand Maester Mellos, hunched and robed in the dull grays of his order, speaks. “Your Grace, the Prince’s injuries are… severe. His recovery remains uncertain, particularly with the damage sustained to his leg. There is concern that even if he does survive this ordeal, he may never ride Dallax again.” Mellos’ tone is cautious, as if picking each word with tweezers.

At that, Otto Hightower, ever poised and calculated, leans forward with his usual practiced air of concern. “It is regrettable, Your Grace, but these events could have been avoided had the young prince exercised more restraint. Dragonriding is no sport to be taken lightly, yet Prince Y/N chose to put himself and others at risk with those… dangerous maneuvers during Maiden’s Day celebrations.”

The jab is subtle, but the intent is sharp. Otto’s words are always carefully weighted, his voice smooth as oil yet edged like a blade. There’s a flicker of something behind Viserys’ eyes at the mention of your name, but it’s Corlys Velaryon who rises to your defense before your father can respond.

“Dangerous, you say, Lord Hightower? A dragonrider’s bond with his mount is not something to be dictated by the whims of others,” Corlys counters, his voice deep and resonant. “The Prince, young as he is, shares a bond with Dallax that most dragonriders would envy. To stifle that connection for fear of injury would be to deny what it means to be Targaryen.”

Tyland Lannister, ever opportunistic and sharp-eyed, cuts in with a smooth smile, “While that may be true, Lord Corlys, we cannot ignore the situation at hand. The heir is gravely injured, and we do not yet know the extent of his recovery. The Crown’s stability must be maintained, especially with Queen Aemma carrying another child. We all pray for a healthy son this time, as it would ensure—”

Viserys’ eyes narrow, cutting off Tyland mid-sentence. “You would dare place my son’s potential death before the birth of another heir?” There’s a warning in the king’s tone, though it lacks the sharpness it might have once had. He looks tired, older somehow, as if the weight of his crown presses down harder with each passing year. “Y/N will recover. He is strong, like his mother.”

Otto’s voice slices through the tension again, softer but no less cutting. “No one doubts the Prince’s strength, Your Grace. However, we must be practical. The realm must always have a clear line of succession. Given the uncertainty surrounding Prince Y/N’s condition, ensuring that the Crown is secure with another male heir is not an option to be taken lightly.”

Corlys shoots Otto a disdainful glance, his irritation evident. “It seems some here are quick to forget that Prince Y/N is still very much alive. Would you so easily cast him aside, Hightower?”

Otto doesn’t flinch. “I speak only of the reality we must face. The Prince’s injuries are a reminder of the dangers inherent to our lineage. Daemon Targaryen was much the same in his youth, reckless and bold. Look where that has led him. The realm cannot afford another… unsteady Targaryen to destabilize it.”

Viserys’ face hardens at the mention of Daemon, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. It’s no secret that Otto sees you as another Daemon-in-the-making—bold, fiery, and likely to cause as much chaos as your uncle once did. But Corlys, undeterred, presses forward.

“The Prince is no Daemon, and it is folly to compare the two. Y/N is his father’s son, and he carries his mother’s heart in him as well. You speak of him as though he were already lost, yet he fights even now to return to us.”

Mellos interjects, his voice soft yet firm. “We must consider all possibilities. Should the worst happen, the realm would be thrown into disarray if another male heir is not secured. Queen Aemma’s pregnancy provides an opportunity to ensure stability. No one wishes harm upon Prince Y/N, but the Crown must prepare for all outcomes.”

The chamber falls silent as Viserys leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His eyes flicker from one lord to the next, the weight of their words heavy upon him. It is clear that this is not just about your health, but about the fear that haunts every Targaryen king—the fragility of power, and the burden of legacy.

At last, Viserys speaks, his voice measured but lined with steel. “Y/N is my son, my heir. He will recover. We will not speak of replacing him while he yet breathes and fights. The Queen’s child—should it be a boy—will not supplant my son’s birthright.”

The lords exchange uneasy glances, but none dare press the matter further. Otto’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes calculating, already plotting his next move. Corlys gives a satisfied nod, as if some silent victory has been won in this battle of words.

“Let us end this meeting,” Viserys declares, standing abruptly. “My son needs me at his side, not in this chamber, bickering over shadows.” With that, the King strides from the room, leaving the lords in tense silence.

The echoes of that discussion linger, the council divided, the seeds of doubt planted. But in the end, it is your fate, your strength, that will determine the realm’s future. Whether you rise again or fall will shape the course of House Targaryen’s history, and those who doubt you now will soon see just how much fire runs in your veins.

Alicent Hightower’s fingers work restlessly, picking at the skin around her nails until they redden, a nervous habit she can never seem to fully break. Her eyes, tinged with worry, flicker toward Rhaenyra, who paces before the hearth, her face a storm of emotions. The princess is rarely still, her movements a reflection of her restless energy. But today, there’s an undercurrent of unease in her steps.

Rhaenyra finally pauses, catching Alicent’s gaze, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re worried about him too, aren’t you?” Rhaenyra’s voice carries a note of exasperation, though it’s more for her brother than for Alicent. “Everyone is,” she adds, her tone a mix of annoyance and affection.

Alicent nods, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress as she carefully forms her next words. “I heard the fall was… grave. My brother, Gwayne, he’s been beside himself with worry. He asked after Prince Y/N’s condition, but I haven’t had the heart to tell him much, as I didn’t know the truth of it myself.” Her eyes search Rhaenyra’s for any sign of reassurance.

Rhaenyra gives a small, mirthless laugh, though there’s fondness in her voice. “It was a bad fall, yes. Several broken ribs, a twisted leg… it was awful to see him like that, especially with all the blood. But you know my brother—his head’s still intact, and that’s all he seems to care about. He was already jesting the moment I rushed in to see him after it happened. Can you imagine?” She shakes her head, lips curving slightly. “The first thing he told me was that the dragon landing was all Dallax’s fault, as if the creature hadn’t been trying to save him mid-air.”

Alicent lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The tension in her shoulders eases just a fraction, and despite herself, a soft smile graces her lips at Rhaenyra’s words. “That does sound like him,” she says quietly, her voice warm with a touch of relief. “He’s always been kind to me, even when others were not. I thought I might visit him, to see how he fares. But I didn’t want to intrude… especially with everything happening.”

Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes catch the shift in Alicent’s tone, the nervous edge behind her request. Her smirk returns, a knowing look that dances in her violet eyes. “Is that all, Alicent? You simply wish to return a kindness?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but it isn’t cruel—rather, it’s affectionate, as one might tease a younger sister.

Alicent’s cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink, and her fingers return to picking at the skin of her thumb. “I only thought it would be polite…” she trails off, clearly flustered under Rhaenyra’s knowing gaze.

“Polite,” Rhaenyra repeats, almost to herself, savoring the word like it’s some private joke. Then, with a mischievous glint, she steps closer and leans in as if sharing a secret. “Why don’t we visit him now, then?” she suggests, her voice both challenging and inviting. “I was planning to see him anyway, and I imagine he’s bored out of his mind. You’d be doing him a favor by distracting him from all the fussing Grand Maester Mellos has been doing.”

Alicent blinks, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. “Now?” she echoes, her heart skipping a beat. She had been expecting to arrange a visit discreetly, perhaps later in the day, but to go now, with no time to compose herself or prepare… She hesitates, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly. But then, she straightens her spine, smoothing out the folds of her dress. “Yes,” she replies with quiet resolve, the flush still faint on her cheeks. “Let’s go now.”

Rhaenyra’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “Good. He’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure of it.” She turns and leads the way, her stride confident and purposeful, and for a moment, Alicent is struck by how effortlessly her friend carries herself, a blend of grace and fire that draws everyone’s eyes.

Alicent hurries to match Rhaenyra’s pace, her thoughts racing as they walk down the long corridors of the Red Keep. She’s already imagining what she’ll say when she sees you, how she’ll carefully choose her words to avoid showing too much concern, or worse, revealing the affection she’s kept hidden for so long. It’s no secret that she and you share a certain awkwardness in each other’s presence, a tension that dances between propriety and something unspoken. But perhaps this visit will be different, she tells herself. Perhaps today she’ll find the courage to speak more freely, to let you see the care that lingers behind her usually composed exterior.

The clang of armor and the soft murmurs of passing courtiers fade into the background as the two young women make their way toward your chambers. The air seems heavier the closer they get, anticipation thickening with each step. Rhaenyra glances at Alicent from the corner of her eye, noting the way her friend’s hands twist together nervously. “You know,” Rhaenyra says casually, breaking the silence, “he’s probably expecting me to bring news of the council meeting. But I think he’ll be more interested in who I’ve brought along.”

Alicent’s breath hitches, but she quickly composes herself, offering a light, practiced smile. “I only hope I don’t disturb him.”

Rhaenyra chuckles softly. “Disturb him? You’re more likely to brighten his day, Alicent. He’s been locked away in that chamber long enough. I’d say he could use the company of someone with a gentle touch.”

As they near your chamber doors, the conversation fades, leaving only the echo of their footsteps in the dimly lit hallway. Alicent’s heart pounds in her chest, nerves battling with the quiet thrill of finally seeing you after days of anxious waiting. She takes a deep breath, her hand resting briefly over her stomach as if to steady herself, before glancing at Rhaenyra, who gives her an encouraging nod.

The heavy oak door creaks open, and the first thing Rhaenyra and Alicent see is Queen Aemma, heavily pregnant, perched on the edge of your bed, fussing over you with the care only a mother can give. Her hand smooths the unruly strands of silver hair from your forehead, her gaze filled with a mixture of sternness and deep worry.

“You should be resting more,” Aemma chides softly, adjusting the pillows behind you for the third time. “It’s a miracle you survived that fall. You push yourself too hard, my sweet boy.”

You chuckle, though the sound is edged with the discomfort you try to hide. “Mother, I’m hardly on death’s door,” you say, your voice light despite the tightness in your chest from the bruised ribs. “You’re embarrassing me, fussing like this in front of my guests. I’ve survived worse—remember the time Dallax nearly knocked me off during that storm over Dragonstone?”

Aemma gives you a look of mock disapproval, though her eyes glisten with affection. “That’s no reason for you to go risking your life every time you’re in the saddle. But I suppose I’ll leave you to your visitors. If you need anything, send for me at once.” She leans in, ignoring your protest, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Behave yourself, and don’t be too stubborn,” she adds with a small smile, before gracefully rising from the bed.

As she turns, Aemma’s gaze softens when she sees Rhaenyra and Alicent by the door. “He’s in good hands now,” she says warmly, giving Rhaenyra a brief but knowing smile, before excusing herself from the room.

Once Aemma is gone, Rhaenyra moves closer, her usual air of confidence returning as she grins down at you. “So, how is my brave brother faring today? Still planning to be back in the saddle by week’s end, or has the council convinced you to take up a life of courtly entertainment with Mushroom?”

You chuckle again, though it comes out more like a wince. “Well, if I can’t fly, I suppose I can stand in the throne room and juggle while Mushroom tells his bawdy tales. It might be just what the court needs to liven things up.” Your eyes gleam with amusement, though there’s a hint of frustration beneath your humor, the kind only Rhaenyra would notice. You’ve never been one to take well to being bedridden.

Rhaenyra snorts in amusement, shaking her head. “I’d pay good coin to see that. Though I doubt our dear father would find it as amusing as the rest of us.”

Your gaze drifts then, catching sight of Alicent standing just a little behind Rhaenyra, her hands clasped together nervously. She gives you a small, polite curtsy, her cheeks tinged with a soft flush. “Prince Y/N,” she greets, her voice gentle, almost tentative. “I heard about your fall, and… I was worried. I hope I’m not intruding by coming here. I—”

“Alicent,” you interrupt, your tone softening as your expression shifts into one of genuine warmth. The playful banter fades, replaced by something quieter, more sincere. “You could never be a bother. I’m glad you’re here, truly.” Your words seem to ease some of the tension from her shoulders, and the corner of your mouth lifts into a reassuring smile.

Rhaenyra looks between the two of you, her smirk deepening, though she wisely stays silent for the moment, letting the exchange unfold.

Alicent takes a hesitant step closer, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she looks down at her hands. “I… I wanted to bring you something,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper as she reaches into the pocket of her gown and retrieves a small, delicately woven ribbon in shades of deep crimson and gold. “It’s just a token, to wish you a swift recovery. I know it’s nothing much, but I thought…” She trails off, the blush deepening on her cheeks as she holds it out to you.

You reach out to take it, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment—a touch so light it’s almost imperceptible, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you. The contact lingers in both of your thoughts longer than it physically lasts, and you catch the way her breath hitches slightly, the same way yours does. “Thank you, Alicent,” you say, your voice softer than before. “It means more than you know. I’ll keep it close—perhaps it’ll speed along this recovery of mine.” Your thumb brushes against the fabric of the ribbon, savoring the thoughtfulness behind the gift.

Alicent’s lips curl into a shy smile, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and something else—something tender that neither of you have the words for yet. “I’m glad… if it helps even a little,” she murmurs.

Rhaenyra, ever perceptive, clears her throat pointedly, though there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Well, now that you have such a fine token to aid in your recovery, brother, you’ll be back on your feet in no time. And if you do decide to take up juggling, I’ll make sure it’s the talk of the court.”

You roll your eyes at Rhaenyra’s teasing, but there’s warmth in your gaze as you turn back to Alicent. “Next time, maybe you could bring Gwayne along. I’m sure he’s been worrying just as much as you have.”

Alicent nods, still holding that shy smile. “I’ll see if he can visit soon. He’s always asking after you.”

Rhaenyra steps back, giving Alicent a pointed look before quirking an eyebrow at you. “So, shall we sit and keep you company, or do you have other princely duties to attend to from your bed?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, wincing slightly as your ribs protest. “I think I’m due for a bit of entertainment. It’s been dreadfully dull in here with nothing but Mellos’ remedies and reports from the small council. Stay—both of you.”

With that invitation, Rhaenyra finally settles into a chair near your bed, while Alicent quietly takes the seat on your other side. For a moment, a comfortable silence settles in, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the quiet sounds of the Red Keep outside your window.

But beneath that surface calm, there’s a new feeling—not unpleasant, but charged with possibilities unspoken. You and Alicent exchange brief, sidelong glances, your minds both swirling with thoughts you’re not yet ready to give voice to. And though Rhaenyra pretends to be absorbed in adjusting her skirts, you know your twin far too well to miss the satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

The morning sun filters through the stone arches of the courtyard, casting crooked shadows as you make your way through the Red Keep. The steady thunk of your cane against the cobblestones marks each step, your gait still uneven from the injury. Though you’re no longer bedridden, the limp remains, a constant reminder of the fall that nearly cost you everything. Despite this, there’s a quiet determination in your stride—strength buried beneath the calm exterior. The deaths of your mother and brother cloak your soul and heart with grief, but you continue to go on as months drag on. Because your mother would wish for you to stay strong, you know this in your bones.

You’re just about to reach the library when you hear the low, familiar drawl of your uncle, Daemon Targaryen. “Another council meeting, and once again, your name was left unspoken,” he says, stepping out from the shadows of a nearby pillar. His silver hair gleams in the light, and there’s a sharp edge to his eyes that matches the curve of his smile—part amusement, part disdain.

You pause, turning to meet his gaze, though you remain composed, unbothered by the subtle provocation. “I’m used to it by now, uncle,” you reply, your voice even, almost indifferent. It’s not a complaint, merely a fact, a truth you’ve come to accept. The small council rarely considers your presence necessary these days, not when Otto Hightower holds sway over your father and lords like Tyland Lannister whisper about the need for more ‘stability’ in the line of succession.

Daemon’s expression darkens, his eyes narrowing. “Used to it?” he echoes, his voice dropping with barely contained irritation. “They push you aside as if you’re nothing more than an afterthought, a decoration. And you’ve grown comfortable with it?” He steps closer, the intensity in his gaze unmistakable. “You’re the king’s son, his heir, yet you let them treat you like some soft-spoken scribe, buried in books and songs while that leech Otto tightens his hold around your father’s neck.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the cane, though your expression remains calm. You meet his eyes steadily, unflinching in the face of his scorn. “I prefer to choose my battles, uncle,” you say quietly. “Like Dallax, I know when to show my teeth. There’s no sense in snapping them at shadows.”

Daemon scoffs, a mix of exasperation and grudging respect in his tone. “Spoken like a poet, not a dragon. You should be making them fear you, not waiting for the perfect moment that may never come. They should see fire in you, boy, not this... apathy.” His frustration is clear—he’s never had patience for subtleties or caution, preferring the boldness of action over waiting in the wings.

But you don’t flinch. You’ve long learned that the fire in your blood doesn’t need to be on display at every moment. “And where did being feared get you, uncle?” you ask with a hint of amusement in your voice. “You’ve been exiled twice, alienated half the court, and have more enemies than friends. If that’s the path you think I should follow, then perhaps I should throw more reckless tournaments and provoke the lords with tales of misrule.”

Daemon’s eyes flash, though there’s a hint of grudging admiration beneath the irritation. “Perhaps I’ve made mistakes, but at least I act. I don’t hide behind patience while others pull the strings. You speak of showing your teeth when the time is right, but when will that time come? When Otto’s scheming has woven its webs so thick that there’s no air left to breathe?”

You give a small, knowing smile. “You mistake stillness for inaction. Even a dragon rests before it strikes.” Then, with a touch of humor, you add, “And besides, Dallax may have thrown me, but I landed well enough.”

That draws a snort from Daemon. “Landed, yes. With a leg that’ll remind you of it every day.” Despite his harsh words, there’s a glimmer of reluctant approval in his eyes. “But you’ve got a point—Dallax hasn’t eaten you yet, so perhaps you’ve earned a measure of respect. Just don’t think that quiet strategy will protect you forever. Sooner or later, you’ll need to show them who you are, nephew. And when you do, make sure they remember it.”

You nod slightly, letting the words hang between you for a moment before you turn away, your pace deliberate as you resume your walk. “I’ll keep that in mind, uncle,” you call over your shoulder, a hint of dry humor lacing your tone. “Perhaps one day, we’ll both show them our teeth together—when it truly matters.”

Daemon watches you go, his eyes lingering on your form as you disappear into the corridors. Despite the tension, there’s an unspoken understanding between you. You both know that fire is not always meant to be unleashed at every provocation—it can burn hotter when contained, waiting for the moment to strike with devastating precision.

But for now, you choose patience, aware that when the time comes, it will be all the more powerful for having been held in check. As you leave your uncle behind, a small, satisfied smile touches your lips. You know your strength, and you’ll reveal it when it’s most needed—not before.

The fire crackles quietly in the small chamber as Alicent sits across from her father, Otto Hightower. The room is dimly lit by the glow of the hearth, and the air feels heavy with unspoken tension. Otto’s eyes are fixed on his daughter, sharp and calculating, as he recounts the events of the recent small council meeting.

“The council remains divided,” he begins, his tone measured. “The matter of succession is still a delicate topic, but it’s clear that the King will not remain unmarried for long. The realm demands stability, and he knows it.”

Alicent’s brow furrows, her head snapping up at the implication in her father’s words. “Father, you can’t possibly be suggesting—”

Otto’s gaze remains steady, unyielding. “I’m not suggesting, Alicent. I’m stating a reality. The King is vulnerable, grieving, and the pressure of the realm weighs heavily on him. It’s only a matter of time before he considers remarriage, and when he does, you must be ready.”

Alicent’s expression hardens, a rare defiance flickering in her eyes. “I won’t do it,” she says firmly, though there’s a tremor beneath her voice. “I won’t be used like this.”

Otto’s patience visibly thins, a tightness forming around his mouth. “Is this about the Prince?” he asks, his voice edged with irritation. “You’ve grown fond of him, haven’t you? You think that because he’s been kind to you, that he’s somehow different, somehow worthy of your loyalty?”

Alicent shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers twisting in her lap as she struggles to find the right words. “He is different,” she insists, though her voice is quieter now. “Y/N is the heir, Father. He’s kind, thoughtful, and gentle in ways that others aren’t. He doesn’t play these games like the rest of them do.”

Otto’s expression tightens, his frustration barely masked. “The boy is reckless,” he snaps, his tone cutting through her protest. “Too much like Daemon, whether you see it or not. He flies that dragon of his in dangerous stunts to impress the smallfolk, and he’s already alienated half the council with his indifference to their politics. You think kindness will make him a strong king? He’s more likely to lead the realm into chaos than rule it with a steady hand.”

Alicent’s chest tightens, anger flaring in her eyes. “He’s not Daemon!” she retorts, her voice stronger this time. “He’s nothing like him. Y/N has a heart that Daemon lacks, and he cares deeply for those close to him. You only see what you want to see because it fits your plans.”

Otto’s eyes narrow, his patience worn thin. “And you see him through the lens of a girl smitten by his gentle words and kind gestures. You think he’ll protect you from the harsh realities of court, but you’re wrong, Alicent. This isn’t about what you want—it’s about what the realm needs. The King’s decision must be guided carefully, and you will play your part.”

Alicent’s heart races, her throat tightening with a mixture of fear and resentment. She knows there’s little room for argument when her father takes this tone. “I won’t betray him,” she whispers, her resolve wavering under the weight of her father’s expectations.

Otto leans forward, his gaze intense. “You’re not betraying him, you’re securing your future—and the future of our house. You will do what’s necessary when the time comes. The King’s affections can be swayed, and when they are, you must be there. You’re a clever girl, Alicent. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. Remember, loyalty to your house comes first.”

She lowers her gaze, the firelight casting shadows across her face. The thought of maneuvering against someone she’s grown to care for—a young man who has only ever shown her kindness—makes her stomach twist with guilt. But Otto’s expectations press down like a vice, and she knows all too well the consequences of disobedience.

“Prepare yourself,” Otto says, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “When I give the word, you must be ready to act.”

Alicent swallows, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of her father’s will. She nods, unable to muster more than that, her mind churning with conflicted thoughts as she tries to reconcile the path being laid out before her. Her heart aches with the burden of what she knows may come—sacrificing her desires for the sake of duty.

As the conversation falls into a tense silence, the crackling of the fire is the only sound that remains.

The Red Keep is quiet in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting shadows through the stone corridors. You walk with only a slight hitch in your step now, the limp almost entirely gone after months of healing. It’s a small victory, but one that fills you with a new sense of freedom, a reminder that you’ve come through the worst of it. Yet, as you round the corner into one of the smaller courtyards, the sight that meets you sends a jolt of concern straight through your chest.

Alicent is seated on a stone bench beneath a tall tree, her shoulders trembling with barely contained sobs. Her hands cover her face, and even from a distance, you can hear the quiet, heart-wrenching sounds of her crying. It’s a rare thing to see her like this; Alicent is usually so composed, so careful in maintaining the image of poise that’s expected of her. But here, alone—or so she thought—she’s unraveling.

Without a second thought, you approach her, the concern plain in your eyes. “Alicent,” you call softly, your voice gentle, almost hesitant as you close the distance between you. She startles slightly at the sound of your voice, quickly wiping at her tears in a futile attempt to regain her composure. But it’s clear that the floodgates have already opened, and there’s no hiding the raw emotion in her eyes.

“Y/N,” she manages, her voice catching as she forces a tremulous smile. “I didn’t think anyone would be here…”

You kneel down in front of her, ignoring the twinge of discomfort in your leg. “What’s happened?” you ask, your voice full of warmth and concern. “You’re crying, Alicent. Talk to me. What’s troubling you?”

For a moment, she can’t meet your eyes, her hands clenching in her lap as she struggles to hold back more tears. But when she finally looks at you, the anguish in her gaze cuts straight to your heart. “It’s my father,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession. “He’s… he’s been instructing me, pushing me to get close to the King. He… he wants me to…” Her words trail off as a fresh wave of tears spills down her cheeks. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be a pawn in his games.”

Your expression softens even further as you take in the depth of her distress. Without hesitation, you reach out and gently cup her cheek, wiping away her tears with the pad of your thumb. “You’re not a pawn,” you murmur, your voice low and steady, infused with a tenderness that you reserve only for her. “You’re Alicent—kind, thoughtful, more than any of these schemes or plots.”

She closes her eyes at your touch, leaning into the comfort you offer, as if drawing strength from your presence. “But what choice do I have?” she whispers, her voice cracking. “He’s my father. If I don’t do as he asks, I’ll be seen as disobedient… or worse. I feel trapped, Y/N, and I hate it. I hate how helpless I feel.”

The fierce protectiveness that surges through you is almost overwhelming. You lean in closer, your other hand finding hers and holding it firmly, grounding her. “You’re not helpless,” you say with quiet determination. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You have my word, Alicent. No matter what schemes your father or anyone else tries to weave, I’ll be there. You’re not alone in this.”

Her eyes snap open at your words, searching your face for any hint of doubt, but all she finds is unwavering sincerity. There’s a softness in your gaze that she’s come to rely on, a steadiness that offers her a sense of safety she’s found nowhere else. “But how can you protect me from all of this?” she asks, her voice laced with desperation. “You can’t control what the King decides, or what my father pushes me to do.”

You smile, a gentle curve of your lips that holds both reassurance and quiet confidence. “Perhaps I can’t change everything,” you admit, your thumb still brushing away her tears. “But I can stand by you. I can make sure you don’t have to face any of this alone. And if they try to force your hand, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

Her breath catches at the intensity of your words, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the weight of courtly duties and schemes fading into the background. She clings to your hand, drawing strength from the way your fingers entwine with hers. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “You don’t know how much it means to hear that.”

You squeeze her hand gently, offering a small but genuine smile. “You deserve to be happy, Alicent, not burdened with all these games. Whatever happens, you have a choice—and I’ll be here, no matter what.”

There’s a long pause as she looks at you, her heart in her eyes. It’s a look that speaks of more than just gratitude; it’s a mixture of emotions that neither of you can quite name yet, a deepening connection that lingers just beneath the surface. “I believe you,” she says softly, her voice steadying at last.

For a moment longer, you stay there, kneeling in front of her, your presence a quiet but steadfast comfort. The world outside the courtyard feels distant, irrelevant. Here, in this quiet corner of the Red Keep, the schemes and pressures of power seem to hold no sway.

As you help her rise to her feet, your hand still holding hers, you can see a spark of resolve returning to her eyes. “You are not alone,” you tell her, a promise wrapped in those simple words.

And for the first time in what feels like ages, Alicent allows herself to hope that she won’t be swallowed by the games of court—that, with you by her side, she might find a way to reclaim her own path amidst the chaos.

The council chamber is as it always is—filled with tension and the murmur of hushed conversations as lords and advisors deliberate the future of the realm. The lords gathered around the table speak in low voices, with Otto Hightower presiding over the meeting with his usual composed authority. Viserys, looking more weary than ever, listens half-heartedly as discussions about trade routes and tax levies dominate the conversation. Rhaenyra stands off to the side, holding the wine jug as she fulfills her role as cupbearer, her expression one of faint boredom—until the door suddenly creaks open.

All heads turn as you stride into the chamber, unannounced, your cane in hand though you walk with almost no noticeable limp. The lords freeze in surprise, the very air growing still as you make your way directly to your seat at the council table. Your presence is commanding, purposeful, as if you’ve planned this moment down to the finest detail. Rhaenyra’s eyes gleam with amusement as she watches from the sidelines, a smirk curling her lips—she’s the only one in the room not taken aback by your unexpected arrival.

The council members shift uncomfortably in their seats, unsure how to respond. Otto Hightower is the first to speak, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation. “Your Grace, this is most inappropriate. You were not summoned—”

You cut him off sharply, your gaze piercing as it sweeps across the table. “And it is most inappropriate that I have not been summoned to these talks,” you say coolly, your tone brooking no argument. “I am the heir to the throne, yet it seems my presence is no longer deemed necessary while decisions are made that affect my future and that of this realm.”

Viserys opens his mouth to intercede, but you raise a hand, your eyes never leaving Otto’s. “Save your apologies, Father,” you continue, your voice growing firmer. “This is not a matter of oversight or courtesy. It’s a matter of respect—respect that has been slowly eroding while certain parties here conspire to keep me in the dark.”

Beesbury and Tyland exchange nervous glances, both lords visibly shifting in their seats. The weight of your accusation hangs in the air like a blade, unspoken but understood by all. Otto, however, remains collected, though there’s a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes. “No one seeks to replace you, Prince Y/N,” Viserys says, attempting to smooth over the tension. “You are my son, and my heir. There is no question about that.”

You scoff, your gaze now locked onto Otto with unyielding intensity. “Is that so?” you reply, your voice laced with challenge. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe when whispers circulate through the court, and when my own seat at this table has been deliberately left empty.” Your gaze flickers briefly to Beesbury and Tyland, who both quickly avert their eyes, before returning to Otto. “I know about the talks. I know about the concerns for the continuation of the Targaryen bloodline. If that is what worries this council so deeply, then perhaps it is time I address it myself.”

The room goes utterly silent, every lord and advisor hanging onto your next words. Viserys looks puzzled, while Rhaenyra’s smirk widens, her eyes alight with curiosity and pride. “What are you saying?” Viserys asks, trying to understand where this is leading.

You straighten in your chair, your voice clear and decisive as you deliver your next statement. “I have decided that I will marry.”

The words drop like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples of shock through the room. Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, while several of the lords exchange stunned looks. Even Rhaenyra, though aware of your intentions, seems momentarily caught off guard by how bluntly you’ve declared it. But the greatest reaction comes from Otto Hightower, who immediately tenses, his carefully constructed mask of composure slipping just slightly.

“Marry?” Otto repeats, disbelief tinging his voice. “Your Grace, this is a most sudden decision—”

“Sudden, perhaps,” you say, cutting him off again, “but necessary. If the continuation of the Targaryen line is such a concern, then I will see to it myself. And I already know who I intend to wed.”

The room waits with bated breath, every eye fixed on you as you pause for dramatic effect. Then, with absolute certainty, you deliver the bombshell: “I will marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”

A shocked silence follows, broken only by the sound of Otto’s breath catching in his throat. The lords gape, disbelief etched into their faces, and Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of confusion and relief crossing his features. But it is Otto whose reaction is most striking—his face blanches, a rare display of genuine shock. “This is…” he begins, clearly scrambling for control, “This is not—”

You turn to him, your expression hardening, your voice cold and edged. “Are you offended, Lord Hand?” you ask pointedly. “That your daughter would one day be Queen? Is this not the very opportunity you’ve sought?”

Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out as he searches for a response. You can see him weighing his options, assessing whether to push back or accept the twist of fate you’ve thrown at him. Before he can gather his wits, Corlys Velaryon’s deep voice rumbles through the chamber, breaking the silence.

“If Lord Hightower finds this match disagreeable, perhaps the Prince would consider my daughter, Laena, instead. The blood of Old Valyria would be preserved, and such a union would strengthen House Targaryen’s ties with the Velaryons.”

You hold back a smile at Corlys’s calculated offer, knowing full well that he’s taking advantage of Otto’s moment of hesitation. Otto’s eyes narrow at Corlys’s interjection, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he realizes he’s being cornered. Backing down would mean missing out on the very outcome he’s been subtly maneuvering toward, even if it wasn’t quite in the manner he’d intended.

After a long moment, Otto exhales slowly, carefully regaining his composure. “Of course, Your Grace,” he finally says, his tone clipped but respectful. “I… only wish for what is best for both you and the realm. If this is your decision, then I will see to it that the arrangements are made.”

You nod, satisfied, as you see the acceptance in his eyes. “Good,” you reply, your voice firm and unyielding. “Because I have no intention of letting anyone else dictate the future of this house. The realm needs strength, unity, and continuity, and I will see that it is achieved—on my terms.”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, realizing that they’ve just witnessed a pivotal shift in the dynamics of power within the Red Keep. Rhaenyra’s smirk remains, her eyes gleaming with admiration as she watches you assert your authority, while Viserys seems both relieved and unsettled by your newfound determination.

As the meeting continues, there’s no doubt left in anyone’s mind—you are no longer the sidelined prince. You are a force to be reckoned with, and the council now understands that you will not be ignored or underestimated.

The sun filters softly through the arched windows of the Red Keep, casting warm golden light over the ladies of the court as they gather in one of the sewing chambers. The room is filled with the gentle murmur of idle conversation, the sound of thread sliding through fabric, and the occasional soft laugh. Alicent sits among them, her focus on the delicate embroidery she’s working on. Her hands move with practiced grace, though her thoughts are distant, lingering on the conversation she had with her father and the weight of the expectations he’s placed on her.

She’s lost in her thoughts when a familiar figure bursts into the room with the energy of a brewing storm. Rhaenyra sweeps into the chamber, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Alicent. The princess’s expression is one of unbridled excitement, a grin wide and mischievous spreading across her face. “Alicent!” she calls out, her voice ringing with barely contained glee.

The ladies of the court look up from their work, startled by the princess’s sudden entrance. Alicent rises from her seat, her brow furrowing in confusion as she sets aside her embroidery. “Rhaenyra,” she says warmly, though with a hint of uncertainty. “What’s gotten into you? You look like a dragon who’s caught a sheep.”

Rhaenyra steps closer, her grin widening as she takes Alicent’s hands in her own. “I wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” she says, her eyes alight with barely restrained amusement.

Alicent blinks, bewilderment etched across her delicate features. “Congratulate me?” she repeats, glancing around at the other ladies, who are now watching the exchange with rapt attention. “I don’t understand—what are you talking about?”

Rhaenyra leans in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for the other ladies to hear and exchange curious glances. “You don’t know? Oh, Alicent, you’re going to be married.”

The world seems to tilt for Alicent, her breath catching in her throat as her heart pounds wildly in her chest. “Married?” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. “What… what do you mean? To whom?”

Rhaenyra’s grin softens into something more sincere as she watches the realization dawn on Alicent’s face. “To my brother, of course. Y/N announced it himself in the council meeting not half an hour ago. He declared that he’s decided to marry you.”

For a moment, the room seems to spin, the words hitting Alicent like a physical blow. Her chest tightens, and she feels a flush rise up her neck as her mind races to catch up with what she’s just heard. “He… he said that?” she asks, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else—something that makes her heart skip a beat.

Rhaenyra nods, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she squeezes Alicent’s hands. “He did. Right there in front of everyone. You should have seen the look on Father’s face—he was stunned, and Otto nearly choked on his own breath. And you know what’s even better? He said it with such certainty, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He’s chosen you, Alicent. You’re going to be a queen one day.”

Alicent’s legs feel weak beneath her as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Her mind flashes back to the conversation with her father, to the pressure and expectations, to the fear that she would be forced into a match she had no say in. But this—this is something entirely different. Y/N chose her. Not because of Otto’s schemes or because it was expected, but because he decided it. The thought is overwhelming, both terrifying and thrilling all at once.

She struggles to find her voice, her emotions swirling in a chaotic mix of disbelief, gratitude, and apprehension. “I… I never imagined…” she stammers, unable to form a coherent sentence as she tries to process what this means for her.

Rhaenyra’s expression softens as she sees the turmoil in Alicent’s eyes. “You’re shaking,” she says gently, releasing one of Alicent’s hands to brush a stray tear from her friend’s cheek. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you should have seen the way he spoke about it. He was so resolute, so determined. And you—you deserve this happiness, Alicent. You deserve someone who sees you as more than just a tool in their schemes.”

Alicent’s breath shudders as she tries to regain control of her racing thoughts. “But what if… what if this is just another game? What if he’s being pushed into this?” she whispers, her voice laced with fear and doubt.

Rhaenyra shakes her head, her expression turning fierce. “No. This isn’t like that. My brother’s no fool, and he’s not one to be forced into anything he doesn’t want. This was his choice, and I think it’s about time someone reminded the court that he’s more than capable of making his own decisions.” Her grin returns, wry and full of pride. “And besides, I think you know him better than anyone else. You’ve seen how he looks at you.”

Alicent’s eyes widen, and a fresh flush colors her cheeks. She’s known for some time that there’s been an unspoken connection between her and Y/N, but she never dared to hope it would lead to something so monumental. The thought of being his wife, of standing beside him as queen—it’s as daunting as it is exhilarating.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she finally manages, her voice thick with emotion.

Rhaenyra’s smile softens into something more tender as she pulls Alicent into a warm embrace. “Then don’t say anything yet. Let it sink in. But know this—you’re not alone, Alicent. You have me, and you have him. And now, you have a future that’s yours to shape.”

As they part, the ladies of the court begin whispering excitedly among themselves, the news spreading like wildfire through the chamber. But Alicent barely notices, her mind still spinning as she tries to grasp the enormity of what’s just been revealed. For better or worse, everything has changed in the span of a single afternoon.

And somewhere deep in her heart, beneath the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of hope begins to bloom.

The sound of your boots echoes as you step into the Dragonpit, each footfall deliberate and heavy against the ancient stone floor. The cavernous space looms around you, darkened by shadows cast by the great arches above, yet the air hums with the presence of power—dragons and their keepers. You wear a deep, crimson coat embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of coiling dragons, the rich fabric tailored perfectly to your frame. Beneath it, your tunic is a dark charcoal, cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt, and black riding gloves encase your hands. Your hair, a cascade of silver, is tied back in a loose knot, allowing a few strands to catch the breeze. The light armor you wear, adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen, adds an edge of battle-readiness to your regal attire. Today is not merely for show—it’s a declaration of your return to the skies.

The Dragonkeepers, clad in leather armor and bearing the scars of long service to the dragons, bow slightly as you approach. Their deference is not out of fear, but out of respect for what is to come. With a silent nod from their leader, they move aside to reveal the imposing silhouette of your dragon.

Dallax emerges from the shadows, his massive form a study in sleek, predatory grace. His scales are a deep, inky black that gleams like polished obsidian under the faint light. Unlike most dragons, his eyes are not the usual shade of fire-yellow; they are a striking, luminescent green, gleaming with intelligence and an almost unsettling awareness. His pupils narrow to slits as he focuses on you, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. His body is built for agility and speed, lean but powerful, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. But it’s his teeth that make him most unique—when he’s calm, they are hidden away, retracting into his jaw, giving him a deceptively benign appearance. But you know better; when agitated or in the heat of battle, those teeth emerge like rows of daggers, sharp and menacing. It’s no wonder Rhaenyra affectionately calls him “Toothless” when she’s in a playful mood.

You take in the sight of him, a thrill running through your veins. It’s been months since you last mounted him, but the bond between you remains unshaken, as if it were a living thing forged in fire and blood. Dallax’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment, the unspoken understanding passes between dragon and rider. He has waited, patient but eager, for this moment as much as you have.

The Dragonkeepers pull back as you stride forward, your limp almost unnoticeable now, a testament to the months of recovery you’ve endured. With a firm hand, you reach up and grasp the saddle harness, your fingers gripping the familiar leather. In one smooth motion, you pull yourself up and swing your leg over Dallax’s back. You settle into the saddle, feeling the comforting weight of the straps as you secure yourself. Dallax shifts beneath you, his wings unfurling slightly, the dark membrane stretching wide, catching the breeze as if testing the air.

You take a deep breath, the scent of leather, smoke, and ancient stone filling your senses. “Fly,” you whisper in High Valyrian, a command and a plea all at once.

With a growl that vibrates through his entire frame, Dallax lowers himself briefly before launching into the air with a powerful surge of muscle. The ground falls away beneath you as his wings beat with precision, each stroke lifting you higher until the walls of the Dragonpit are a blur. The rush of wind tears at your hair, your coat billowing behind you like a banner as Dallax ascends into the open sky.

As you break free into the sunlight, the city of King’s Landing sprawls out below, the rooftops and winding streets glinting in the late afternoon light. Dallax roars—a sound both thrilling and terrifying—as he soars above the Red Keep, his shadow sweeping across the stone battlements like a predator stalking its prey.

From her chambers, Alicent stands by the window, her eyes fixed on the sky as she watches you fly. Her hands are clasped in front of her, a mixture of awe and fondness in her expression as she traces your flight path. You cut through the clouds with an effortless grace, Dallax responding to every shift of your body as if you are one being. For the first time in what feels like ages, there’s no tension in Alicent’s shoulders, only the quiet joy of seeing you in your element—free and commanding, a true Targaryen heir.

Behind her, Otto Hightower steps forward, his expression a mix of calculation and displeasure. He watches silently for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he observes the ease with which you handle your dragon, the majesty of it undeniable. “He’s just like his uncle,” Otto mutters, more to himself than to Alicent. “All fire and pride—reckless.”

Alicent doesn’t turn to face her father, but her smile lingers, soft and secret. “Perhaps,” she replies, her voice distant, her gaze still following your every move. “But there is more to him than you see, Father.”

Otto’s mouth tightens into a thin line, but he says nothing more, turning away from the window. To him, dragons are dangerous, unpredictable forces that must be controlled. But to you, they are freedom itself—a reminder that no matter how thick the walls of the Red Keep or how intricate the webs of intrigue, you are a dragonrider first and foremost, and no one can cage that fire.

As you guide Dallax into a steep dive, pulling up at the last moment to skim over the rooftops of the city, you feel a deep, exhilarating rush. The wind in your face, the roar of your dragon, and the vast sky stretched out before you—it’s a sensation unmatched by anything else, a reminder that the world is yours to claim, one way or another.

You circle back toward the Red Keep, allowing Dallax to level out and glide effortlessly. From below, you see Alicent at the window, her face turned upward, her smile radiant and full of something unspoken—pride, affection, and hope. For a brief moment, you dip your wings in her direction, a silent acknowledgment that she sees you for who you are, beyond the politics and the expectations.

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