#daemon x reader x viserys

[just-some-random-blogger]

Truly, Madly, Deeply

Daemon Targaryen, Viserys Targaryen, Otto Hightower x Targ!Reader + with a hint of Aemma x Reader

Summary: This follows the five (and a half) accounts you, the princess, get ravished by your immensely loyal subjects.

Word Count: 20k+

Warnings: fem!reader, twin!reader, targcest (brother fucker), aged up!everyone, pwp that spiraled out of control, so much smut (masturbation [fic literally opens w it], voyeurism, threesome [f/f/m, f/m/m], vaginal penetration, dom/sub dynamic, anal penetration, double penetration, oral (f receiving), marking, cock warming, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink, public sex, hair pulling, edging, biting, spanking, choking/breath play, cream pie, overstimulation), internet translated high valyrian, slow burn, fuck boy!Viserys, stupid puppy!Daemon, church boy!Otto, baby girl!Aemma, city girl!reader, angst, fluff, jealousy, possessiveness, typos, etc.

A/N: you guys imma be so for real this shit is nasty like NASTY 🥲 DD/DNE MINORS DNI btw i did the math for their ages during this time and 💀💀💀💀 i aged them up cos viserys is canonically 16 when he and aemma were wed which means daemon is 14. We're all going to agree everyone is in at least their 20s cos aint NO fucking way im writing about children fucking. Also the fact i almost made her fuck otto twice but i got too tired to write it HAHAAH. title is a 1d song btw, or a savage garden one, depends on who you are Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @sloanexx @esquivelbianca

"Though Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa had one set of twins and, sequentially, a son, it was not uncommon for many to think or mistake their children as triplets, moreover when they reached a certain point of maturity. It was almost ascertain that where one of the three was found, the two would not be far off, especially during the fires of their youth. Though eventually, both Viserys and Daemon would outgrow their sister in height and weight, neither would outgrow her wit and command over them, leaving her apparent as the head, and the two as her shoulders." --Excerpt from 'The Songs in the Dance of Dragons' by Grand Maester Hamish, circa 500 A.C.

Daemon laid on his back. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and chest. He had gone to bed in the clothes he was dressed in the night before, though it was drenched in all sorts of fluids. He could not be bothered to change then, he could not be bothered to change now, not even as the hour passes swiftly.

His sister would soon return from Citadel for their brother's wedding.

And he loathed it.

He loathed to know his sister, that you would shine your face upon him, only because Viserys asked you to come.

Viserys asked.

Viserys asked you to come.

Daemon's breath strains in his neck.

"Come, sister... come on my cock."

Daemon grits his teeth at the words, willing that sour memory away, cursing his brother's existence.

It was not helping him get what he needed from his hand right now.

Damn you. Damn you and the fact he had woken with an uncomfortable hard on, for he had dreamt of you.

He dreamt of your cheeks, of your shoulders, of your waist. He dreamt of how you embraced him tenderly against your breasts, and how snuggly he fit against you, for he was still at an age where you were taller than him. He belonged against your ribs then.

He pants as he strokes himself rapidly up and down.

He belongs against your ribs now still.

He tricks his senses with the memory of you. He recalls the way you smelled, the way you caressed his cheek, and the way you furiously defended him against Viserys' coarseness.

Daemon remembers a moment wherein he wept against you, there against your ribs. His tears that day were sweet, for he had you on his side.

He imagined that moment as he touched himself. He willed the memory of your scent and your voice into existence as he tightly pleasured his pulsing manhood. He recalled the softness of your palm as you brushed his chin affectionately. He pretended his working hand was yours.

Daemon's heart pounded as he chased after the feeling growing in his loins. He further quickens his actions.

The next part of the memory plays in his head against his will. Viserys barks at him and you, pointing out that he too was injured by their argument-turned-brawl.

Daemon heaves heavily.

Fucking Viserys.

He screws his eyes shut as he curls on the cushion, shifting on his spot as his arm began to tire.

He tries to freeze the memory in his mind, wanting to think only of your feel, your fragrance, but his mind is not on his side. He watches with his subconscious how you break away from him to go to Viserys, to go to your twin, your wretched half, to him he could never compete with. Yes, he too was injured, though, in Daemon's opinion, he was undeserving of your attention, for Viserys had inflicted a much larger wound on him.

Daemon's nostrils flare as his eyes rip open.

Where the pattern of the ceiling should be, he sees how you kissed Viserys to calm him down.

He heaves heavily, body straining even more as he fucks himself with hand, a growing bitterness in his mouth. It was not the morning breath that tasted so.

And again, he remembers it; the sour memory.

"Viserys," you moaned.

Daemon shakes his head furiously.

"Come, sister," Viserys panted as he thrust roughly into you, "come on my cock," he sighs, "be a good girl and come for your beloved twin, my pretty."

Daemon feels tears build in the corner of his eyes as he seals his lids tightly together. He relives the sounds his older siblings made that horrid afternoon.

He chokes on his spit as he thinks of your oh-face through the small crack in the door you idiots carelessly left open. He remembers how Viserys stuffed himself into you while on your knees on the guestroom bed, how he yanked your silver locks back and slapped his hand on your mouth to shut you up.

It didn't work; Daemon could still hear your lewd sounds slip through his fingers. He heard them clearly, even now.

Daemon comes to the thought of Viserys spilling into you. He comes to the remembrance of how his brother pummeled forward into you and how his sister plummeted down because of him. Daemon thinks about the strain on Viserys' neck as he spasmed into you and how your spine arched as you screamed into the cushions.

Daemon feels his heat shoot out and sputter hotly into his hand. He catches his breath and feels his heart race. His length softens.

He catches his breath as he cranes his neck and checks the mess he's made. He clenches his jaw, irritated by how much of himself he spilled on to his breeches at the thought of his older siblings coupling.

He grunts and angrily sits up. He growls as he stands and rips his clothing off, throwing them onto the floor. His long, light hair bounces by the ends of his shoulder blades as he heads for his bath.

It had been a few years when he caught you and Viserys, and yet the memory was still vivid. It was forever seared into his mind. He was boiling with an unnamable emotion. He was unsure if it was rage, hurt, or envy, but it was burning true.

That day, Daemon he had been looking for you, wanting to gift you a necklace as a remembrance of him for your departure to Essos. It would be one of the many solo travels you'd have since then. And it would be the first time the three of you would be apart, the first time you would be away from Daemon. He wanted so badly to see you that day, and instead he saw treachery in its truest form.

That same day, later that afternoon, as Daemon recounted against himself the unspeakable acts he bore witness to while staring blankly into space in the gardens, the twins came looking for him.

He was repulsed by how you two acted so nonchalant, like everything was normal, like you two hadn't just been fucking in secret, like you had not just been sharing each other's spit and slick. He then hit him like a boulder, that this nonchalance was present because you two had most definitely been going at it long before today.

He is immediately hostile when you reach out for him. Daemon slaps your hand off and threatens. Viserys immediately steps forward as you reel back, and puts Daemon in his place.

Daemon remembers all of this as he washed himself in with a sweet smelling water in his tub.

The smell was reminiscent of you.

He hates it.

He hates that Viserys soiled you. He hates that had taken your maidenhead. He hates that he no inclination to tell their parents that he intended to marry you. He hates that because he wouldn't have done the same. He hates that you seemingly enjoyed being taken advantage of, by your twin, no less. He hates that you touched him with the same hands you used to touch Viserys.

Yet, he hates that he had shoved you away in his disgust. He hates that you had fallen into Viserys' arms because of it. He hates how he had gotten berated by his older brother for hurting you. He hates that he had stormed off after. He hates that he had never given you the necklace. He hates that you had still left on dragon back that day although he was upset with you. He hates that you had incessantly sent him letters, although he never responded.

He hates that you arrive with late today. He hates that he's been so agitated because of how late you were. He hates that Viserys sees through him. He hates that his older brother tries to calm him down. He hates that his words help.

He hates that he comes alive when you emerge. He hates that you cut through the festivities. He hates that your holy halo steals everyone's attention.

He hates that you immediately greet Viserys. He hates that your beloved half drops what he is doing for you. He hates that you embrace Aemma as well. He hates that you so eagerly dote on her.

He hates that you reach your arms out to him, like everything was fine between the two of you. He hates that you pull him for a kiss. He hates that he goes weak. He hates that he nuzzles his face into your neck. He hates that he feels himself twitch in his trousers at the scent of your perfume.

He hates that he missed you. He hates you so much.

Daemon braces you against his chest. He feels you rub your cheek against him. He releases a sigh. You belonged there, against his ribs.

Your long silver hair was wound in curls and braids pinned with shining metals and jewels. The back cut of your red dress went past your shoulder blades, the front was deliciously right above your cleavage. His hand rubbed the curve of your waist, familiar yet so foreign against him. By your nape dangled baby hairs that tickled your skin. He finds jealousy of it. He tickles his nose and lips against your milky neck, making you curl at the feel and giggle in response.

He missed you... so much.

You pull back. Daemon doesn't want you to, but he is powerless against your wishes. You slip from his fingers and he finds it mildly bearable only because you smile at him. You kiss him on the cheek again and tuck his hair behind his ear.

"Skorkydoso ēza ñuha valonqar issare?" you coo as you caress his cheek, "ēza Visērȳs issare sȳz naejot ao?" How has my baby brother been? Has Viserys been good to you?

Daemon licks his lips as he watches yours curve into a bigger smile. His violet eyes meet your own as you rub his chin with your thumb. He is a child in your clutch all over again.

"Oh, damn him," Viserys calls from his seat. You and Daemon were standing across him.

With an eye roll, Viserys grabs his chalice of wine and mutters, "he's no better than when he was four, sissy."

Aemma beside him chuckles but says the name of her betrothed in a scolding manner.

Daemon watches as you turn to your twin, "do not insult my darling, you imbecile."

Your twin turns to you, "pah! I will say what I want about the fucker. It is my day, you brat!" He points a finger, "kessa daor sagon pryjata ondoso ñuha idaña." It will not be ruined by my twin.

Daemon turns to Viserys as you scoff.

"And pray tell, what will you do about your bratty twin, Viserys?" you raise a brow in challenge.

Viserys smirks and leans back on his seat, "I'll have her over knee and discipline her like when we were younger."

Daemon clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth could break.

Aemma laughs and slaps his shoulder, "hush, love. You will do no such thing. Much less on our wedding day."

Daemon thought Aemma looked none the wiser as she said that. He looks at Viserys, catching a darkness behind his eyes, then back to you, finding the same shadow. You roll your eyes at him. It takes everything in Daemon not to burst at the seams. If only Aemma knew. Gods be good, his tongue itched to finally be granted retaliation.

But he couldn't do that. He couldn't do that to his dear cousin, Aemma, at her wedding. Seven hells, he couldn't even do that to Viserys, though he loathed him so. But most of all, he couldn't do that to you.

So he kept his mouth shut.

You release a sigh and click your tongue at Viserys.

"Ahh, my love," you turn to Aemma, "how joyous yet tragic that you will deal with him for the rest of your life."

Aemma holds back her giggles, "well, it's not like you will be able to rid of him entirely either, my princess."

You grin form ear to ear as your eyes dart back to Viserys, "an unfortunate truth."

Your twin takes his turn to roll his eyes.

Suddenly, you grab Daemon's hand and reach out the other to Viserys, "might my brothers indulge their favorite sister to a dance?"

Daemon's ears perk. He quickly pulls you into him, but you repel him slightly, wanting the eldest to join in. He eyes Viserys, mentally telling him to decline the offer.

Viserys raises his brows, "you're our only sister."

"Precisely," you purse your lips.

"And you're quite irritating," he adds, earning another scold from Aemma.

Aemma leans into him, "come now, my love. Your sister has traveled far to attend to our day. The least you can do is share a dance with her."

Viserys turns to Aemma, face softening at her lilac doe eyes. He sighs then stands, turning to you and Daemon, "fine. But I shall make it a point to step on your toes."

You cock your head to the side, "funny. You're acting as though you are capable of anything but."

Daemon sizes up to Viserys as he approaches and takes your hand. The eldest catches his expression and scoffs, "oh, bugger, I will not steal your sister from you, Daemon. She's all yours."

Daemon seethes, and yet before he can bark anything back, you yank both of them to the dance floor and eye both of them hotly, "I will not have my brothers quarrel on such a lovely morn."

"When have we never not quarreled for your attention, sister," Daemon finds himself retorting with little thought, with little emotion.

"Oh, Daemon," you mutter, leaning into him, "emā dōrī ēdas naejot vīlībagon Visērȳs syt bona." You have never had to fight Viserys for that.

Viserys scoffs out a chuckle, "aye. She would rather feed me to her mount before she ever ignores you."

Daemon begins to bristle at the thought, at the lies his older siblings were shoving down his throat.

The three of you dance to the upbeat music. The two men alternate between steps to fill in as your partner.

As quickly as he was made furious by the words he was just told, he was struck with awe at your form. You danced between them, expertly spinning towards Daemon and Viserys at every other down beat. It was a sight to behold. It was so mesmerizing everyone began to watch.

He had forgotten how good you were at this. How easy it came to you to entertain them because you had always made it a point to dance with both brothers at every occasion. He had forgotten how happy it was to dance with you and Viserys.

Daemon missed you so damn much.

Viserys catches you as you twirl toward him. He places his hands on your waist and glides with you for a whole 8 counts. Afterwards, you continue the steps and move towards Daemon. You and him circle around each other, smiling fondly as you did.

Aemma, from her seat, feels her heart soar at the sight of the siblings making merry in the middle of the room. She was overjoyed that you had caused this shift, that you had made the occasion, and the princes, as sparkle in a way only you could.

Her breath hitches when you catch her gaze as you danced with the two men, both unwilling to avert their eyes from you. They very evidently missed you greatly. She was glad her wedding was a good enough cause for your return. Aemma shifts in her seat when she sees you bite your lips. She missed her beloved cousin as well.

"It was known that Queen Aemma and her good sister were incredibly fond of each other. Their sisterly bond would never be bruised or broken by any issue. Most notably, the princess attended to Queen Aemma whenever she was with child. She would treat the queen's only heir, Rhaenyra, as though she was her own, would mourn the passing of each of the queen's stillborn children, and would be greatly changed after Queen Aemma's sequential death from labors. Her death was a source of strife between the princess and her twin brother, King Viserys." --Excerpt from 'The Blood of the Dragons' by unnamed maester, circa 350 A.C.

Aemma moaned as you kissed her and reached your fingers into her soaking thighs. She grabbed at your hair and you instantly pulled back, swatting her hand away, giving her a stern look, "you'll ruin my braids, lovie."

She sighs as you crawl down body, peppering kisses all over her skin as you did. The fabric of your dress rubbed against her naked form and the bed dipped where you propped your hands and knees as you continued your descent.

Aemma could not help herself and reached out to you again as you sucked on her skin. She rubbed the sleeves of your dress and felt goosebumps form on her chest where your cold necklace dragged down her hot skin.

When her hands involuntarily clawed into your scalp, you pull away, shifting on your knees. You hiss and grab her wrists, giving her a stern look, "filthy bitch. I warned you once before. Don't be naughty or I won't let you come."

Aemma takes in the sight of your swollen lips and licks her own, feeling a pit form in her belly at your beauty.

Viserys, who was lying beside Aemma, feels himself get hard as his sister looks down on his wife.

I tilt my head at her, "I taught you how to be a good girl, didn't I? Hmm?"

Aemma nods slowly.

"Then be a good girl," you slap her wet folds, making her yelp, "and hold up my hair while I feast on your pretty cunny," you purr, kissing Aemma's left breast as you gathered your long hair up.

Aemma shudders and takes your hair in her hands, curling up slightly as you travelled south.

The sound Aemma makes when you kiss her tenderness makes Viserys' cock twitch. He heaves as he watches you rub your nose into her pearl and grab her supple thighs, willingly squeezing your cheeks between them.

Aemma calls out your name hoarsly. Viserys calms himself, remembering he promised to only watch as you gave your good sister her wedding gift.

Aemma's back arches as you work your tongue into her. She cannot help but rip at your hair though she tries her best not to.

"So sweet, and all mine," you purr, "isn't that right, Aemma?"

Aemma coils in her spot and screws her eyes shut. She knows she will be in trouble if agrees, she knows she will be in trouble if she doesn't, and she knows she will be in trouble if she keeps her silence. So, she responds with what is best for her in that moment, "yes."

You lift your eyes, feeling yourself grow damp at the sight of her wantonness, "yes what?"

"Kessa, ñuha dāria, Iksan aōhon," Aemma sighs. Yes, my queen, I am yours.

You moan, wild for the sound of High Valyrian, and chuckle darkly, eating her out more eagerly, "sȳz riña." Good girl.

Aemma screams when she feels your teeth nip at her.

Viserys had had enough at that point.

He climbs off the bed and walks behind you with his raging erection. Neither of you seem to notice, but you finally do when he rips your skirt up and rubs his tip into your pulsing heat.

Aemma's eyes break open as you pull away from her to look behind, "you filthy fuck, I s--"

You do not continue because your words are sliced in half by the lewd moan that rips out of your mouth when Viserys thrusts into you. You feel two pulses in you, your own and his. He grunts when he feels you clench around him.

He feels different, snugger inside you somehow. You brush it off to the fact it has been a while since you've had him.

"I promised to only watch my beloved as you tongue fuck her--" Viserys leans down and takes your hair from Aemma. She gratefully releases it and reaches out for your cheeks, wordlessly begging you to attend to her again.

"--but I did not say I wouldn't touch you, pretty whore," he smiles as he begins to thrust a rough pace.

You squirm and tighten your grip onto Aemma's thighs as he does this.

"Jikagon va, rene" he pants, "kesā daor gaomagon ñuha ābrazȳrys isse jaelagon." Go on, slut. You will not keep my wife in want.

Aemma licks her lips at the sight of her husband fucking you in front of her. She feels her core flutter at the familiarity. She feels her pulse in her core more prominently now. She places the back of her knee onto your shoulder, breathily begging, "please."

You whimper as you turn back to Aemma and huff hotly onto her flesh.

And so as you feasted on Aemma's weeping womanhood, you were battered by Viserys' angry manhood.

The sounds in the air were obscene, squelching, delirious, and as you all slowly rode toward your highs, Viserys made it a point to make it difficult for you.

He yanks at your hair and makes eye contact with Aemma, "you will come when I do, but this bitch between us will not."

You lift your head upon hearing that, but Viserys pushes you down, making Aemma yelp at the way your face digs into her. You pull up to catch a breath, lest you suffocate on princess cunt. It wouldn't be the worst way to die.

"Did you not say that I shouldn't waste my seed, sister," Viserys taunts as he quickens his pace, "I will throw you to the side and come in Aemma's pretty cunny, as I should-- as you said I should," his hands reach between your thighs and begins to rub you there, "līvi ȳdra daor māzigon." Whores don't come.

Aemma whines when you begin to slow your pace and desperately lifts her hips up for more friction.

The sound of her helpless whines send a spiral through your belly. You would not dare leave your darling girl unsatisfied. Aemma is grateful that you begin lapping eagerly at her again.

"What say you, come slut?" Viserys hisses, "you have quarrels with your king?"

You groan when Viserys begins to rub your sensitive nub harsly, making Aemma, in turn, squeak.

You're in no place to pick a fight with him and so you breath against Aemma, "inside."

Viserys' ego inflates, "skoros iksin bona?" What was that?

"Iemnȳ, Visērȳs, kostilus." Inside, Viserys, please.

He smirks, "Iemnȳ qilōni?" Inside who?

"Iemnȳ nyke." Inside me.

Aemma's breath strains as she opens her eyes. She does not want to miss this.

Viserys laughs, "greedy little stupid whore," he slaps your ass, "maybe I should fuck a babe into you too. Maybe then you'd cease with your slutty urges."

You take out your frustrations on Aemma. She loves it.

"Aemma wouldn't mind, wouldn't you darling?" Viserys says, "you want to grow a babe the same time as your good sister?"

Aemma whines and nods, "yes! Yes."

Viserys imagines the sight of his two girls filled with his seed, carrying his children, "mmm, fuck."

Suddenly you're all coming.

It was unintended, but the gods made it be. The three of you shiver and spill into each other. The room is heated with your breath and your voices echo through the chamber. Aemma is the loudest, a high pitched squeal ripping through her throat. You shake and squirm, glad to have gotten Aemma spasming beneath you as you spasm above her yourself. Viserys grunts as he digs his fingers into your hips as he bottoms out.

The white noise that plays is one of pure bliss.

When Viserys pulls out, he carelessly drops your hair onto your right shoulder and then jumps beside Aemma as he catches his breath.

You lift your head and look at Aemma who is staring at you with blown eyes. You smile at her and kiss her navel, "like my gift, pretty girl?"

Aemma nods as she heaves, "yesyes," she sighs, "thank you, my love."

You feel your skirt fall down your legs as you crawl over Aemma to kiss her on her lips. Her tongue darts out onto your wet ones, relishing the taste of her on you.

When you pull away, you wipe your lips then slap your damp hand onto Viserys chest with a fury, "stupid fuck."

Viserys yelps and recoils at the harsh assault but breaks into a laugh. He pulls Aemma into his chest as your crawl off the bed, "what?" he asks innocently as he kisses Aemma's temple, eyes not leaving you at all, "I did what you begged me to, darling."

You stand and walk over to dresser, grabbing yourself a damp piece of cloth stationed there, wiping yourself down, "you'll fuck a babe into me, will you?"

Viserys laughs. You roll your eyes as you look at your reflection on the vanity.

"What?" he says again, "Aemma truly wouldn't mind, wouldn't you, lover?" Viserys turns to her as Aemma turns to him.

Aemma, no longer drunk with lust, makes a face.

You answer for her, "you would let me mother a bastard like a true whore, brother?" You eye him as you lift your skirt and wipe the evidence Viserys left in you, "that's not very prince-like of you." You chuck the towel at him after cleaning yourself, "but then again, you've always been the bigger whore between the two of us."

Viserys tires to dodge the towel, but he does not.

Aemma turns to you and offers a smile, "she is right, Viserys. As much as I would love to have children with her, I would not have her be ostracized for it."

You smile back at Aemma and walk over to her, pushing your hair back as you lean in to give her another kiss.

Viserys watches as you do this then mutters, "then I would make her my second wife."

You pull away from Aemma and roll your eyes yet again, "I will be no ones second."

The married couple watches as you walk away. The man calls out, "you're my second! Second in birth, second in life, my sweet half."

"No, I was your first," you correct sternly, heading for the door, "you married your second." You turn over your shoulder to add, "no offence, Aemma."

Aemma shakes her head, "I am honored to be both your seconds."

With that, you give them one last look and open the door, "enjoy your marriage."

Aemma leans into Viserys shoulder and smile. The latter answers, "there is talk that I will ascend grandfather's throne. I will wed you then, sister."

You roll your eyes and close the door, loudly calling out, "goodbye, brother."

You begin to venture down the halls and find yourself strolling down the gardens. You feel of the breeze on your skin and breathe in deeply the fragrance of the flowers. You smile to yourself, shutting your eyes as you basked in he sunlight.

You had gone a great many places, yet still, there was no place like home.

"There you are," a voice calls. Soon after a hand comes to your back. It doesn't take long for your to figure out who it its. "I have been looking for you everywhere."

You open your eyes and smile at Daemon, "and I was just looking for you."

You watch as Daemon's lips curl into a smile. You catch how he tries to hide how pleased he is by the sentiment. You push his hair away as the wind blows it to his face, "I thought you would be off on dragonback."

Daemon purses his lips. How could you possibly know that was his plans?

You chuckle at his expression and link your arms with his, "you've forgotten I'm always right."

"Well, I was about to," he leans into you, a grin playing on his lips, "but then I thought it would be better if I had you to accompany me."

"Dōna valītsos," sweet boy. You smile and nod, "I would love to ride with you."

Your younger brother and you begin to leisurely stroll down the area, savoring the weather as well as each other's presence.

You press your cheek upon Daemon's shoulder, "I am certain Alaerion will enjoy riding with you and Caraxes again. She hates being bound or caged, but she was excited to go back to the pit after being away for long."

Daemon feels his chest swell with joy upon hearing that. "I am excited to see her too. It's been a while since red and indigo graced the skies together."

As you make your way to the dragon pit, you are intercepted by an unexpected face. You halt in your tracks, stopping Daemon along with you, upon seeing the man in green across us.

The man stops as well and immediately greets you with a reverent bow, "your majesties."

"Otto," you mutter with a surprised smile. Daemon eyes this Otto persona as he rises, violet eyes immediately poking daggers into his form.

You break away from your brother and push your hair behind you, "what brings you to King's Landing?" you tilt my head to the side, "it's an awful long way from Old Town."

Daemon clenches his jaw tightly as Otto steps forward. It was all to clear to him that the cunt was smitten by you.

"I have been offered a position to represent my house in the small council," he presses his lips into the faintest of smiles, "I have merely accepted the honor."

"Ah," you lift your nose, "I see."

Daemon comes to your side and pulls you into him. His stare does not leave Otto, and soon enough his violet eyes lock with his green ones.

You topple into Daemon due to the force of his action, but you do not mind. You enjoy how you are roughly handled by your brothers, more often than not. You bring your arm around Daemon as he rubs your side.

Otto blankly stares. Daemon notices the clench of his jaw. You notice the building tension and break it.

"May I present Prince Daemon Targaryen," you announce, though you do not turn away from Otto, "rider of Caraxes, and my darling baby brother."

"It is an honor to meet your acquaintance, prince Daemon," Otto bows in regard.

Daemon turns to you just as you turn to him and offer a mischievous expression.

Daemon's eye twitches. Him? Really?

"Darling, this is Lord Otto Hightower," you speak to your brother, though your eyes go back to the said man. You finally notice how Otto clenches his jaw as he smiles and nods at the prince.

You turn back to Daemon. Your brows furrowing at the sight of the lines on his forehead. Hmm. Odd.

"He was a friend I made during my tours in Citadel," you reach out to his face and rub on the creases forming on his skin.

Daemon breaks his hard gaze from Otto, and softens when he turns to you.

"He was kind to me, and even spoke on my behalf to see the place, though he was actually sent to escort me away. He, himself, is adamant a woman had no business at the place," you turn back to Otto, "but I think I have become the exception."

Otto turns to you and instantly croaks out, "not an exception, princess. I would much rather lose my honor than subject a woman like you to the life lead by a maester--"

You laugh.

"--but I am not a man without reason," he shifts on his spot, "you told me your stance and I was moved by your case. I merely spoke what you told me to the Grand Maesters, thus allowing you to tour Citadel freely."

"And I am thankful for your services," you give a lopsided smirk, "I was beginning to think my travels would have been for naught had you not..." you trail off, "come."

Daemon's ears clap. He grinds his teeth as he watches Otto's reactions closely. The prince's nostrils flare at his poker face. The fuck does not betray himself at all, and it makes Daemon's insides boil. He will kill him the moment he does betray himself, and Dark Sister will enjoy the blood bath.

Otto is nonchalant even as he to turns to your brother. And when he does, you speak again, "I look forward to seeing you around, Otto," you smile, making the brown haired man turn back to you.

"My brother and I will be taking our dragons for a ride," you raise a brow, "perhaps you would like to join us."

Daemon face falls as he hears your offer. He look to you in betrayal and disbelief.

You feel the hot gaze of your brother.

Otto as he pipes up, "I would not like to intrude upon you and your brother, your grace."

"Come now," you speak to him, though you tilt your head at Daemon, "I'm sure my beloved brother can find it in his heart to bring you along."

Daemon stiffens as he stares at you.

You hold back a laugh and point to Otto, "surely Caraxes wouldn't mind if he dangled beneath his belly, Daemon."

Daemon pulls his head back.

Otto does so too, then his eyes widen at the insinuation.

The prince suddenly breaks into a toothy grin and laughs with his whole chest. You follow suit.

Daemon turns back to the lord, "sissy's right," he raises a hand jovially, "my boy would appreciate a live necklace. And I think you would make quite an amusing one."

Otto grunts where the Targaryens giggle.

Daemon leans into you as he laughs and you shake your head at his exaggerated movements. You sigh and turn back to Otto, "I jest, Lord Hightower. Very truly, I agree that anyone who wishes to squeeze between Daemon and I would be intruding."

Daemon catches his breath and finds himself kissing your cheek. You turn to him, smiling at his affection. He pulls you in close.

"We must away," you turn to Otto, offering a final smile, "I look forward to seeing you around, my lord."

Daemon's smile flattens when he hears Otto's oily response, "as do I, my princess."

"It was no secret that Lord Otto Hightower was repelled by Prince Daemon Targaryen, just as he repelled the latter. When the prince's brother ascended as king and announced Lord Otto as his Lord Hand, tensions grew between all of the mentioned parties. Though many could attribute their dislike for another to the Rogue Prince's uncouth tendencies and the Lord Hand's disapproval of it, there are a great many rumors that say their conflict was borne out of their mutual desire for Lone Woman of Citadel, The Fanged Beauty, the Princess-" --Excerpt from 'The Histories of the Hightowers' by Lord Baelor Hightower & Maester Lucien, 209 A.C.

You had been in the middle of getting ready for the day when there was a knock on the door. You were sat on a chair in front of your vanity in nothing but your shift dress, combing your silver tresses. You pulled up the neckline of your soft, thin dress as you awaited whoever wanted to seek entrance. A moment later, it was clear it was not your a servant because they did not immediately announce themselves.

You turned from the reflection of the door to the door itself from over your bare shoulder. You continue to brush your silver hair and smooth it out with fragrant oils.

"Who is it?"

"Who would dare intrude on the princess as she dressed?"

You smile upon hearing the voice. You turn back to your reflection and call out, "go away then, Dae-dae."

The doors break open and in comes a grinning Daemon, "I will do no such thing, sissy."

You snort as you watch him walk over from the mirror. You set your brush down and turn to him as he leans down and brushes your hair to the side. He kisses your neck then takes your hand and kisses the visible blue veins there. You chuckle and roll your eyes, "alright, what have you done?"

Daemon smirks and pulls away, walking over to your bed, "I have no idea what you mean."

Your eyes follow him as he sits at the side of your bed, crossing his arms, looking out to you with a rascal look.

You take in his attire, the sharply cut leather of his top that complimented his figure, his shiny black boots and his snug pants. He has grown to be a dashing man, you think. You smile fondly at him and lean your head into your hand, "you nary show me affection simply because you want to, Daemy."

He cringes at the nickname; that being the one he really did not like. You enjoy it so precisely because of the fact. You bubble in amusement of his face.

Daemon leans on the headboard, "is it a crime to want a change of pace then?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes, "not at all, my love."

His stomach rolls at the pet name.

Daemon does nothing but watch you after that.

He watches as you throw your hair behind your shoulders, as you lather your skin with lotions, as you paint your skin with rouge. He jumps off the bed when you grab a necklace and attempt to put it on. He eagerly mutters, "let me."

You turn to him as he circles behind you, handing him the gold chain with blue jewels. You gather your hair up, looking at his reflection as he fixed the necklace upon your throat.

Daemon makes it a point to brush the back of his hand against your jaw and nape as he hooks the piece of jewelry around you. Once it is fastened he takes your hair and smooths it down, "gevie." Beautiful.

His attention is focused solely on stroking your hair so he does not see that you smile at his reflection as you say, "hae issi ao, lēkia." As are you, brother.

He ceases his actions upon hearing that. He stills in his spot for a long moment. Your smile fades when he remains rigid too many seconds too long. You straighten up and blink rapidly a few times. You decide to break into smile and tease, "I should ready myself for the flock of ladies that will throw themselves at you."

Daemon finally turns to you, or rather your reflection.

You tease further, grin growing, "and perhaps I should ready potential matches for you, my prince."

You reach out for your earrings and begin to put them on. You offer him a playful look as you do so. You freeze at his response.

"What about you?"

You furrow your brows and hook your golden earrings to your ear, "what about me?"

Daemon watches as you put on your other earring then turn on your chair to face him. He looks down on you and shifts on his leg. He links his hands in front of him, "you are four years my senior. You are a woman," he reaches out to your cheek, "my woman."

You raise a brow at his words.

"If anything tis I that should be fussing over your matches, princess."

You close your eyes as you chuckle softly. You take his hand and look back at him, "oh, my baby. You needn't fuss. You needn't ever fuss about me at all," you shake your head, "ever."

Daemon's gaze is locked upon you as you stand and kiss his knuckles. You tilt your head at him and bring your hands down. You pout softly, "or have you forgotten how formidable your sissy is? Lest you forget, I will remind I broke your baby teeth because you wanted to steal the pony father gifted me."

Daemon cannot help the snort that leaves him and looks away from you. You find yourself smiling at his reaction.

"I will fuss over you. I will care for you. You are my responsibility, Daemon. Twas I that promised mother-" you suck in a breath, "that you would not be without one when she-"

"But I am not your baby!" Daemon snaps at you, "I am not a child and I have no need of your coddling anymore!" he quips, yanking his hands out your own.

The action, though not physically painful, hurt you deeply. You immediately feel your chest tighten as he walks away from you. He head to your bed again but does not sit and just stands by its side, back turned to you, "you overcompensate your mollifying for the time you've spent away from me. I despise it." He turns back to you, eyes very suddenly red with hurt and anger, "you say you care for me, but you leave me for many moons and stay for but a few days!"

You feel your throat constrict at his accusing tone, "I send ravens for you every--"

"YOU THINK I WANT YOUR FUCKING LETTERS?!" Daemon bursts as he marches over to you, gripping your shoulders tightly.

You look at him in bewilderment, and soon enough, your eyes begin to glass. Daemon watches your tears spill and your lips quiver.

"So... that is why you never respond to me."

Daemon's forehead wrinkles and he releases your shoulders. He drops his head and huffs, "that's not what I meant."

You release a deep breath, "then what do you mean?"

"I-" he lifts his face slowly, reluctantly looking at you, "I do not want this from you."

His words stab at you deeper. You shake your head and clutch your chest, "you no longer want me to care for you? Is that what you want?!"

"No," he weakly retorts, grabbing your hands, squeezing them tightly. His knees buckle, "that's not what I want."

"Then tell me what you want!" you cry out, "do not speak hurtful things to me like you did once before then never explain why."

Daemon recalls that day. That day he meant to give you a necklace but never did. He looks at the one on your neck now then remembers where he stashed away the object that reminded him of you and Viserys' treachery. He blinks as he brings your hands to his face, "I want you to love me the way I love you."

You caress his cheeks and shake your head, unsure of what to say, "I love you so much, Daemon."

Daemon furrows his brows and straightens, rubbing your arms back and forth. "I want you to love me like you love Viserys," he heaves heavily and takes your pulse to kiss it, "but I want you to love me more."

"Oh, Daemon," you rub his cheeks with your thumb, "I already love you more than I love Viserys. I always have loved you more, since the day you were born."

Daemon heaves heavily upon hearing that, anger and frustration building within him.

When you pull him in to kiss him, he leans towards your mouth, but so swiftly bring his head down and kiss his forehead instead.

It destroys him.

He shoves you away and you look at him like a deer that's just gotten shot. He gives you one last look before storming away.

You call out to him in hopes of stopping him. You so badly wanted to chase after him, but you were too afraid that he would shove off all over again, and things would end the same way the ended the first time you got into such argument. You did not want to go through all of that for the second time. So you let him leave.

Daemon looks over his shoulder as he storms off, laughing bitterly at the lack of calls. So, you don't care enough to follow after, huh?

After you got dressed, you quickly look for Viserys, eager to spill speak your woes, but when you found him, you see a great many Lords discussing many things with him. Undoubtedly they were trying to get into his good graces for he was now unofficially the heir to the Iron Throne.

You would not interrupt him at this time. You did not want all of those Lords to see you in this state anyway.

So instead, you find yourself seeking solitude in the small shrine room for the Seven. There you knelt before the bust of the Mother and wept to her, praying for comfort.

You do not realize someone knelt next to you until he speaks.

You gasp and turn to your right. Otto Hightower mutters a prayer, "I pray the Mother will give comfort for our sorrows and wipe away our tears."

You release a breath and you take in his closed eyes. You turn to the statue.

"I pray that she guide us through our heartache, that we may find peace."

You sniffle and look to your linked fingers, "will you pray for me as well, Otto?"

Otto turns to you and responds, "I am praying for you, my princess."

You hold back your tears as you meet his gaze. Otto's solemn expression falls even more grave when he sees the tears streak your cheeks.

You whimper and give him a sad smile, "thank you, my lord."

Otto continues to pray for you, pacing his prayers to your breathing. By the time you've calmed down, he ends his supplication to the gods. His heart is heavy as he looks at you. So badly, he wishes to dry your tears.

Otto clenches his jaw, "we can continue to pray, or, if you'd like," he turns to the statue of the Mother, "you can vent your sorrows to me. Perhaps I could do something to... remedy your issue."

You release a soft chuckle. You turn to him with a soft smile and nod your head, "I would be grateful if you listened as I spoke my troubles."

Otto looks back upon you, taking in your undone hair and your pink face. Whichever fool dare wronged you will not rest easy.

"I only need you to listen," you nod quicker, "that is all. I would not require you to do anything for me, Otto."

Otto thinks he would do anything for you. He would kill for you. He does not say that though and only shifts on his spot, turning his whole attention to you. He offers you his hand in comfort.

You gratefully take it and shift closer to him.

Otto wishes to wipe your soft cheeks but he knows that if he does so, he will not be able to hold himself back from doing his other urges, ones that were far less noble and descent. After all, he sneaks a look to his side, the Mother is watching.

"My brother and I got into an argument," you sigh as you look at him through tear laced eyes.

Otto knows exactly which brother you were referring to and yet he still asks, "your twin, or your... baby brother?"

You wipe your face roughly, "I argued with Daemon."

"Mmm," he hums, "prince Daemon is a rather rugged character. I cannot say I am surprised by his actions."

You feel a protective anger surge through you. You glare at him and pull your hand away.

The sentiment strikes through him.

"You are supposed to be listening, are you not?"

Otto does not respond.

"I do not need you to weigh in on my brother's character. I know his far tendencies better than anyone else."

Otto submits and bow his head, "forgive me for my crassness, your grace."

You turn away from him and look up to the face of the Mother before you.

He watches the tears continue to fall from your violet eyes. Fucking Daemon Targaryen. He takes in how silver strands of your precious silver hair cascade over your face and shoulders and thinks you are Mother incarnate. He draws in a deep breath to calm himself and to rip of all the unholy thoughts that were building in his head.

"He cuts me so deeply, Otto," you mumble, "I love him dearly," your lips quiver, "I only want the best for him, but it's like... it's like-- it's never enough. It's like my love is not enough. It's like I am not enough. I cannot be me. I cannot want the best for me..." you turn back to him, "I want to see the world with Alaerion. I want to feel the wind in my hair. I want-" you choke, "... he spurns me for my want."

You shake your head and try to hold back a fiercer wave of tears that threaten to spill out of you. You cannot help that you break and crumble into your hands.

The lord cannot help himself any longer either, and pulls you into him as you weep in sadness. You clutch him tightly and pour your heart out into his chest. He shushes you, strokes your hair, and pats your back.

You both end up sitting on the floor to better accommodate your shared embrace. It was still pretty uncomfortable, but both your knees were grateful for the change of position.

He feels the way you shake your head against him.

You sigh, "I'm sure you scoff at my ideas," you pull away from him. Your hands go to his shoulders, "you do not agree that mere women are meant to do such things."

"But you are not a mere woman," Otto clutches your cheeks, "you are a Targaryen princess," he wipes your tears away, "you are closer to the gods than men," he shakes his head, "you do not crumble, you conquer."

Your lips part at his words. No more tears fall from your eyes after.

"Do not waste your energy on a boy who does not recognize you as what you are," he says, hands slowly going down your neck.

You take in a deep breath. You shift on your spot, "and what exactly am I?"

Otto swallows a lump in his throat as you crawl onto him and straddle his lap. Immediately, he feels his pulse in his trousers, and though his eyes momentarily flick to the Mother behind you, he does not make any attempt to push you off. You were the Mother. He nearly tells you this, but manages not to. Instead he speaks as he swipes the pad of his thumb to your pink lips, moist with tears, "a queen."

You place take his hands in yours and lift your nose, "you would make me your queen?"

"You are already my queen," he mutters under his breath. He sits up straighter and brings his hands to the swell of your hips, adjusting you atop him. Your own hands go back to his shoulders again. Otto adds, "I would make you whatever you desire."

You lean into him until your foreheads were pressed together. He makes a sound when your hot breath hits his face.

"And what would you do to be able to give me my desires?" you say this in slightly amused tone. You say this to taunt him.

Otto knows this, but he doesn't care. He answers seriously regardless, "whatever it takes."

His soul nearly leaves him when you whimper.

Right after you make that sound, he traps your mouth against his. You instantly lean into him and moan at his warmth. Your fingers scratch up to his collar, then they dig into the roots of his dark hair. He, himself, moans when you tug firmly.

Otto wastes no more time and quickly digs into your skirts, ripping them up until he had access to the softness between your thighs. Sweet mother, he's missed you. He eagerly touches your core and it makes you break away from him, in lieu of groaning as you leaned into his shoulder.

He's gotten practice since the last time you've met. You being his first, he quite clumsy with his touch. You did not get to teach him much in Citadel, for your escapades were always rushed and unplanned, not unlike what it was this very moment. He made it a point to get better though, knowing he'd see you again once he got to King's Landing.

"Seven fucking hells," you mutter against his ear as your one hand squeezes his bicep.

Otto rubs his cheek into yours and whispers, "feels good, doesn't it? I've practiced for you."

You squeal as rubs his fingers in purposeful circles and maneuvers according to your reaction. He feels you pull his arm closer, so teases a finger into you. Instantly, you let out a sharp moan and whimper. The sound of his name echoes through the shrine and it was the holiest thing he had ever heard.

His other arm hand goes around your torso and secures you in place, "I will make you feel better, my queen."

You moan against his neck and suckle on his skin there. You begin to rock your hips into him as you begin to weep from your cunt.

When he feels you dripping, he finally slips a fingers into you, and you groan at the feel of. He nips at your earlobe and works into you in a similar pace that you buck yourself to.

"More," you mewl.

He adds another finger.

He feels himself grow harder than he already was. It begins to feel uncomfortable, but he rather liked hearing you make the noises you were making.

You push his arm off, making him grow rigid. You shake your head and kiss his lips. You did like the way he was stretching you out, but that was not enough.

Otto's actions slowly grow reluctant because of your head shake. You dive your hands into your skirts and sigh softly, "need you now, Otto."

He immediately perks, in more ways than one, and helps you as you grab onto his pants.

The moment he is free, you feel your cunt clench and your mouth water at the sight of his throbbing cock.

You waste no time and quickly lift yourself up and mount him through a strangled breath.

He spirals with a string of veneration, praising the Mother for the glorious feeling of your soaking heat. He grips your hips for dear life as you slowly begin to fuck yourself on him. Holy, holy, holy.

"Do I feel good, Otto?"

Otto grunts and tightens his old on him, helping you with your bouncing, "so good, my queen. So good, my love."

You whimper at the sound of his endearment. You bite your lip and grab his face, forcing him to look at you. You heavily pant, "you going to fuck me good in front of Mother?"

His eyes widen then dart away from your momentarily. He does not respond.

You do not like that.

You clench your jaw and bring your thumbs to his parted mouth. You dig your fingers into his teeth and push his jaw down, "I asked you a question, boy," you heave, "will dare ignore your queen?"

Otto lets out a guttural noise at the sound of your words and chokes when he feels clenching around him. He breathlessly responds the moment you pull your thumbs out of his mouth, "no, my queen."

You let out a grunt when he begins to match your movements with upward thrusts. You drag out a prolonged exhale and rub your nose against his, "then what, you sycophant?"

He heaves.

"What will you do to me, church boy?"

Otto growls and digs his fingers into your waist. He digs his heels into the floor, allowing him to ram himself into you with more ease and viciousness. The squeaks and yelps that leave your throat adds further fuel to the flames into his body. He attaches his teeth to your neck and bites down. He hotly speaks against you, "I'm going to fuck you good in front of Mother."

You moan and throw your head back as his movements begin to grow more erratic that your own. Otto yanks at the neckline of your dress and claws at your breasts that threaten to spill out. He hungrily stuffs his face into that spot. As he does so, he unintentionally breaks off the gold chain on your neck and the thing trickles down your cleavage.

Otto pull away tp stick his fingers into your top and fishes for the thing. You you take his face and push him back into your chest. He brings his hands underneath your skirt and squeezes your bare thighs.

"I'm close, Otto," you whine, finally finding his tempo as you maneuvered over him.

Otto licks the skin from your sternum up to your collarbone, then kisses all the way up to your jaw, " 'm fucking you good enough then."

You groan and dig your hands into his hair . You pull at his brown locks as you sigh, "so good."

When he comes, he says a rough prayer of thanks to the Seven under his breath. The feel of his spilling into you and the sight of his rolled eyes, paired with the sound of his prayer was so twistedly delicious that you come a few second later.

"Vaogenka līve," you whimper as you continue to ride your high, "ao rattan bisa tolī olvie." Dirty whore, you liked this too much.

Otto does not stop in his movements, as the overachiever he was, though it was quickly beginning to be painful for him. He literally pushes through it and only stops until you begin to squirm. Even then he makes it a point to roughly flick his hips before finally stopping to catch his breath.

You go jelly against him and defeatedly lean into his chest as you even your heavy pants.

Otto rubs your thighs and nestles his face against yours, relishing the feel of your heartbeat.

You brush his hair away and kiss his ear, "what would your gods say about the sinful acts you've been doing in their temple with the princess?"

Otto kneads at your thighs and it is only then that you feel there is something in his clutch. He huffs, "my faithful servant is a man of duty," he looks upon your face, "he is most loyal to the crown and has gone to great lengths to assure it's... contentment."

Your lips curve into a smile, "great lengths, you say."

Otto leans in and nips at your lip, "a humble length."

You giggle, and as does he. He cannot help but moan at the feel of your clenching around him because of it. He then pulls his hands out of your skirt and wraps his arms around you.

"I broke off your necklace, princess," he mutters through a kiss on your neck.

You hum, "I think that is treason."

Otto bites at your neck, "and what is your sentence?"

You moan at the feel of his tongue on your pulse. You comb through his hair, "mmm, fuck me good in front of the Father."

His laugh echoes across the room. The feel of his amusement vibrating into your core begins to excite you all over again.

"Filthy girl," he whispers.

"You're worse than I," you retort.

"Mmm," he pushes your hair back and takes in the shimmer of your face, "then I ought to replace your necklace only to be able to rip it off you again when I make you come in the shrine of the Father."

You give him a wicked smile and shake your head, "see... you're worse than me."

"Well, I learned from the worst," he kisses your shoulder.

"One of the first issues King Viserys took up when he ascended was that his twin sister. Many frowned upon the fact she was inching past the age where a well-bred lady ought to be married, and yet still went off on tours with her dragon mount. It was no secret the princess was a free spirit. Beyond her renowned and well-documented travels across Westeros and beyond, it is said she left trails of broken hearts and longing lovers, all willing to offer their inheritance and very souls in exchange for her hand. Many a man came to contend for the honor of being her husband, but there were less than a few that were even considered. In the end, her only real prospects were Otto Hightower, the hand of the king, Daemon Targaryen, the brother of the king, and Viserys Targaryen, the king himself." --Excerpt from 'Chapter 3: The Fanged Beauty' of 'The Lone Woman of Citadel' by Grand Maester Mateos, 354 A.C.

Daemon was ignoring you.

He was choosing to ignore you.

It was not a coincidence, it was an active choice.

Perhaps it was believable the first few times that, when you walked in a room, he was leaving, but then the days passed and you made attempts to seek your brother out. You called to him only to be shunned.

You were set to leave again, soon. Daemon knew this. He found no point in facing you if you would leave him all over again.

Yet things after this would happen so quickly. Your grandfather would order you to stay for the proclamation of his heir, he would pass come days later, and your twin would then be named king, your younger brother, his heir.

You thought that the rift between you and Daemon would ultimately repair itself as it did before, but he was difficult with everyone, with you especially. Now it's come to a point where you no longer speak, you only argue.

And now, there was a storm between you, both real and not.

The hour grows late and the rain has become more brutal. You waited by the keep's entrance for your younger brother that had left early morning and yet still has not arrived. With every roll of thunder, you grew increasingly worried.

"We will bring him back, your grace," Ser Harrold Westerling assures you for the hundredth time, ceaselessly patient with you.

You clench your jaw and nod as you pace around, "Caraxes would be in more unrest if something had happened to his rider, but he is calm in his pit, so I am calm."

Ser Harrols sighs at your words. A disingenous and unconvincing sentiment.

You say this mostly for yourself but still, the commander of the kingsguard nods, "aye."

You huff and nod as you pace around some more. A crack of lightening makes you begin to worry now for the guards that have been deployed to look for the heir apparent. You suck in a breath and take Ser Harrold's arm, "what if something happened to your men? Dear gods, I wou-"

"My men are capable of caring for themselves, princess," he speaks calmly, placing a hand atop on your own. You nod rapidly at his words and pull away from him. He catches your arm before you do, "your grace."

You turn back to him.

"Pardon me, but it has been hours since you've been pacing."

You give him a guilty expression, "yes... Forgive me, ser Harrold. You may leave if--"

"Perhaps you ought to sit-"

His words are cut off by the sound of the gates opening. You both look to the door in anticipation. In comes a wet prince, dripping in rain water from head to toe.

"Gods be good," Ser Harrold speaks as you pull away from him and rush towards Daemon.

Expecting him to come in soaking, you grab the towel you had prepared and immediately wipe his face, "skoriot se qogralbar emagon ao issare?" Where the fuck have you been?

Daemon stills as he looks you. He lets you wipe his soaked face and hair for a few seconds before he rips the towel away from you and throws it off to a distance.

You turn to where he discards the item and Daemon walks away from you.

"Ȳdra daor geron qrīdrughagon hen nyke," you seethe under your breath. He does not stop. You snap, repeating much louder, "DON'T WALK AWAY FROM ME!"

Ser Harrold watches as the prince stops in his tracks. He watches as Daemon heaves heavily as his sister walks up from behind him. He knows this will be a long and brutal sermon.

"Emā daor paktot naejot gaomagon bisa, valītsos," you hiss as you march in front of him, "ao daor gaomagon daor sytilībagon naejot aōla. Iksā dārilaros naejot se Dēmalion Āegenko."

You have no right to do this, boy. You no do not belong to yourself. You are heir to the Iron Throne

Daemon's soaked hair sticks to the side of his face. Rain water drips to the floor as he laughs at your words. He steps forward and snatches your arms, yanking you into him.

Your clothes immediately absorb the water in his. His angry breath fans against your face, "pār gaomagon daor vēdros nyke, iā eminna ao ilzitan hen."

Then do not anger me, or I will have you thrown out.

Your expression drops upon hearing this. You are at a loss for words at his blazing admission.

Daemon shoves you off and walks past you; your shoulders collide with each other as he storms off. You gulp heavily as you watch him leave puddles of murky water behind. There is an ominous crack of thunder.

"Then I'll save you the trouble and leave on the morrow," you call out as your eyes begin to mimic the weather. "It is clear now that any effort on my part to make peace with you will be put to shit."

Daemon halts. His boots skin as he turns, "you've made no such effort."

You laugh loudly and throw your arms out, "then what the fuck am I doing now?!"

"You are caring for the heir to the throne," Daemon barks and raises an accusing finger, marching back to you.

Your face twists at his words and you scream through a hurt expression, "AND WHO IS THE HEIR, BROTHER?!" You meet him halfway and grab him by the collar "is it not you, Daemon Targaryen?" you shove him off, "does it appear as though I care not for you?!"

"I don't WANT your mothering!" he blares, grabbing your cheeks, "I do not want you to look at me with those-" he drops his head, "those eyes that scorch my--" he catches sight of the jewel on your neck. He clenches his jaw tightly at the wretched emerald and rips it off you, casting it off to the end of the hall.

At this point, Ser Harrold cannot keep still nor silent. He steps forward and warns, "Prince Daemon!"

You recoil at his actions, hands coming to your now bare décolletage.

Daemon fumes, "that lecherous cunt is pushing his luck," he shakes with anger, "I will have his head on a spike if he deigns your form with cheap bribes again."

You hate that he is evading the real argument all over again, "do not change-"

"I do not know why you enjoy his company. He is a spineless, ugly fuck that-"

"Is that all you have to say to me, Daemon?!" you seethe, shaking your head in disbelief, "you only want to pick a fight over a man who has been kind to me while you have been cruel?"

Daemon takes those words like a stake to the heart.

"Don't you want to get whatever it is that has gotten your cock so far up your arse out?" you shudder as anger spills out of you in a form of tears.

The prince vibrates in anger.

"Hen rhinka ao gīmigon skoros ziry iksos hae naejot emagon someone's orvorta bē aōha gundja," Daemon retaliates, "ao ivestragī mirre vaoreznuni qogralbar emagon iā jikagon rȳ aōha orvorta

Of course you know what it's like to have someone's cock up your ass. You would let any sorry fuck have a go at your cunt.

You release a dry chuckle. Tears of hate burn down your eyes, "so you resolve to framing me into whore? When you and Viserys have been whoring around in brothels sinc-"

"You are a whore," he quips loudly.

You pull your head back and your expression drops. There were suddenly no more tears left for him. "Then very well, my prince. I am a whore," you agree, "but I will no longer be fucked over by you."

Needless to say, the rift between you two was greater now more than ever.

Otto, who had been watching you from the mezzanine near the gates the whole time you waited for your boorish brother, heads for your chambers as you walk away from your brother.

You freeze when you see him standing by your door. Immediately, you run into arms and crumble into his chest.

He grunts and strokes your hair, leading you into your room, sitting you on your bed.

Otto cannot help himself and says, "the king is being pressured by the council to remedy your brother's disruptive behavior as of late. Hear me when I say I will have him relocated somewhere out of sight and out of mind."

You pull away from him and look at him through teary eyes. He wipes your cheeks, "I'll have him married off to someone in the farthest corner of the realm. The burden of him will no longer be your own."

You sigh and lean into his touch, "save yourself the bother. I will leave come day break and continue my travels across the realm."

You bring his hands to your lap, "I only stayed because the late king asked me to. I stayed to witness the anointment of my beloved half as ruler. I stayed to make things better with Daemon. And, now, I have done all that I must and could, so... I will away."

Otto does not like this. He does not like this idea at all.

He tightens his grip on your hands when you make an attempt to stand, "I cannot stomach the thought of you leaving and myself doing nothing about your insolent brother."

You watch how his face hardens, how he is unable to withhold the lines that tighten around his features. You release a sigh and shake your head, "cast your concerns for my brother aside. I do not need you to avenge me."

His brows furrow furiously, "he is an insipid man-child who enjoys spitting on his older sister that does more for him than he will ever know. I will not let him go unpunished."

You tick at his words.

You release his hands. Your expression goes blank as you stand and peer down upon him, "hear me when I say this, Otto Hightower. If you harm a single a hair on my brother's head, I will never forget it," you mutter as you take his chin between your fingers.

Your words are soft spoken and monotonous, yet Otto feels his body grow rigid with uneasiness.

"A confidant can be quickly chosen, a suitor can be found in the streets, a lover can be made in an evening. I may well be wed to many different men in my lifetime, should they meet tragic ends, and, yes, I will never cease to mourn the death of any of my children," you release your grip on him, "but, the truth is, they too can all be replaced."

Otto watches as you raise your brows, "who then, however, can grow me another brother?"

You clench you jaw and await his response.

He does say anything or move.

You've made your point crystal clear.

"So, I say even plainly, my lord," you articulate, "you will not harm my brother for my sake."

He rises to his feet and nods in respect, "as you command, my princess."

You nod once. He turns back to you, watching the fire in you cool.

You take his face, brush his hair back, and offer a small smile, "the hour is late. I must rise early tomorrow if I wish to leave with no further troubles." You give his cheek one last touch before pulling away.

Otto does not let you. He pulls you towards him, hands coming to your sides. He breathes heavily as he surveys your face. You knit your brows at him in concern.

"I do not wish to see you off."

You release a chuckle, "then you do not have to. Sleep in and-"

"Do not leave," he sighs.

You purse your lips at his words then place your hands on his chest. A small smirk places on your face, "and who are you to order me?"

"Lord Hand," he mutters, "I outrank you."

I break into a laugh, "do you now? You are but a lewd little church boy to me, Otto."

"Then I will outrank you," he whispers as he leans closer, "I will ask the king for your hand and make you a Hightower..." he runs the back of his hand down my neck, "my Lady Hightower"

You snort loudly, "oh, he's gotten it twisted," you coo, "I would still not be outranked if you managed that, you candlestick."

Otto feels the corner of his lips twitch into a soft smile as youbreak into a fit of giggles. He leans down to kiss you jaw, "but then you would no longer find it in you to leave your poor husband by himself, now would you?"

Your stomach flutters as he begins to kiss your neck.

When you begin to undo his buttons, he pulls away, "we will not continue if you do not swear to me you'll stay."

Your expression slips into shock. You break into a breathy laugh. "Iksā iā vaogenka valītsos." You are a dirty boy. You pull at his belt, forcing him into you, "a scheming viper in the grass."

Otto peers down as you undo his collar. He brings his hands to your back begins to work on the laces of your dress. He kisses your shoulder, "I take this as agreement." His lips travel to the base of your neck where he realizes that you were bare of any of the jewels he gifted you.

He bites down on you and speaks hotly, "my hands will make a pretty necklace, don't you think?"

You let out a lewd noise, "you better make my stay here worthwhile."

Otto shoves you onto your bed. Your heart races at the sight of his rabid expression.

Later that day, during the council meeting, the issue of your courtship was brought up, as it has been since the moment Viserys was crowned king.

The king made it known once before that he was set on allowing you to chose your match; he owed it to you, as his beloved sister. It was a sweet sentiment no one at all cared for. Still, Viserys said that if he was allowed to wed who he wanted, then he would assure the same for his twin. At least this is what he told the council members.

None but he, and mayhap Queen Aemma, knew his true intentions. He was waiting upon your decision to become his second wife. True, you had turned him down many times over, but he knew that no one could match the flame of a Targaryen better than another Targaryen.

Daemon knew this too.

Daemon knew that no man could survive the ferocity of your fire. And he understood suddenly ,as an old fuck on the council droned over potential matches, why you never wanted to marry Viserys though you gave him so much.

He was weak.

Daemon watched as Viserys smiled pleasantly at the sagging fuck through his horrible attempt at selling his son to him as a potential match for you. If it were him, he wouldn't have let him speak as long as he did.

And even now, Viserys heard out the qualms of another Lord, because this was his nature. He went through at the politicking because he lacked the balls to exercise his soverignity.

The prince was certain you recognized this in your twin. This was why you let him have your maidenhead but not your hand. Rest assured, you will recognize nothing of the sort in him.

Daemon slams his hand on the table, making the room go silent as all eyes turned to him.

Viserys looks darkly upon his brother.

Otto turns to him, wanting nothing more than to press his boot upon his throat and put him in his place. So he does the latter, "have you lost all sense of decorum and self, prince Daemon?"

Daemon whips his head to Otto and narrows his eyes as they twitch, "the fuck did you just say to me?"

"Not only did you interrupt Lord Awyen, but you have, yet again, disrespected the king with your thoughtlessness."

Daemon jolts out of his chair and angrily growls, "you fucking cunt-"

Viserys barks, "Daemon!"

The kingsguard begin to press forward.

Daemon slams his hand on the table again and points at the Hightower cunt, "I am saving him the seconds he will never get again," he turns to his brother, "we all know that you will not consider any of these fucks' dimwitted sons," he looks out to the rest of the men, "nor will the princess even spare them a moment's glance."

It became quite apparent quite quickly to Otto where Daemon was taking this conversation. He will not let him have the final say.

"I am her only real match, brother," Daemon says, confirming Otto's thoughts, making the other men at the table mumble under their breaths. He turns to Viserys. "I am the only one who can honor her in a way that is-"

"Honor her?" Otto scoffs, shoulders stiffened with ire, "my prince, are you not the same man who has ceaselessly been coaxing your sister into tears whenever you have the misfortune to cross paths?"

Steam nearly whistles out of Daemon's ears. He lets out high pitched chuckle, "and you really think that all the fancy collars you've given her has made her into your bitch?"

"DAEMON!" Viserys fumes.

"If you think for a second, mutt," Daemon begins to circle around the room, "that I would let my sister end up with a slobbering-" the kingsguard come upon him, holding back before he can come close enough to strike Otto, "-pathetic excuse for a m-"

"Fucking get him out of here!" Viserys barks.

Daemon fights out of the arms of two guards' who have him apprehended, "fucking LET ME GO!"

They do not and hauls him out of the room.

Otto looks out in as Daemon wrangles and growls. Viserys releases a deep breath and thinks about how he would really rather not have to tell you this happened.

And he doesn't, because before Daemon is even released by the kingsguard back to his chambers, the servants have already whispered about the incident each other and your trusted handmaiden informed you promptly what happened as you visited Alaerion in the pit.

You didn't even need to seek Daemon out this time, because the next thing you knew, he was marching over to you as you brought your dragon back in. Alaerion's screech is what makes you realize he was here.

You turn away from her and see your distraught brother marching over.

"Daemon, wh-"

"Iksan ēdrugī hen umbagon. Kesā dōrī ūndegon, sīr kesan urnēptre ao nykēla," he heaves as he walks over. You pull away from your large mount and walk towards the prince as he continues, "tolvie ñāqatubis ao zālagon nyke lēda aōha laehurlion. Ao jurnegon rȳ nyke yn gaomā daor ūndegon nyke."

I'm tired of the wait. You will never see, so I will show you myself. Every morning you burn me with your face. You look at me but you do not see me.

Daemon grabs your wrists and pulls you toward him, "I have not been a boy for years. You will no longer treat me like one."

Alaerion begins to circle around the two of you. She roars for attention, but neither of you give it to her. She shakes her head and cranes her dark hued neck up, looking down upon you both.

His hard gaze dig into the internal wounds that he had just inflicted. You suck in a breath and yank out of his grip, "then do not act like a child around me."

Alaerion goes on the defensive when you shove Daemon back. She may be fond of him, but she would not hesitate to protect her rider.

You raise a hand at your dragon as she hisses, "arlī bē." Back up.

Alaerion begrudgingly obeys.

You watch as she lies down but keeps a close watch on the two of you. You turn back to your brother, who looks like he had suffered horrible whiplash, "ziry iksos iā doru-borto hen ao naejot vīlībagon nyke isse naejon hen Alaerion."

It's a stupid of you to fight me in front of Alaerion.

Daemon shakes his head, "I'm not trying to fight-"

"Then WHAT do you want from me?!" you throw your hands out in question.

"I WANT YOU!" Daemon bursts with frustration.

You freeze in your spot as he steps forward and grabs your face. His breath hitches, "I want you to see me for what I am!" His hands drag down to your neck, "and I am a man with needs," your hands grab onto his top, "with wants," he heaves, "with desires."

"Daemon-"

He shuts you up with a kiss. He is done wasting time. The time is now. He has to have you.

You are shocked by the kiss. You are shocked by how hungry it is. You are shocked how wonderfully his lips fit against yours. You are shocked by how easily you mold against him.

Daemon feels his stomach flurry as he brings his hands to your side and digs his fingers into your dress. Your own hands come to his nape and tug at the roots of his long hair.

He breaks away from you to whisper against your cheek, "you will no longer scorn me. And you will not refuse me."

You let out a yelp when Daemon bends and pulls your skirt up. He drops on his knees and scratches up your legs, nails intent on leaving their mark, "I have made it known to the old fucks at the council that no man is worthy of you."

He brings himself under your and sinks his teeth to your thigh, "none but me, sweet sister."

You moan out his name, as you feel his hands slowly knead their way up to your hips. You snap out of the rabid trance you were being pulled into because of Alaerion's loud huff.

"My love, the doors are wide open, someone could-"

"Ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon," Daemon cuts you off and suddenly rises to his feet. He looks out of breath and starved. He takes your shoulders and shudders, "ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon bona ao sytilībagon naejot nyke."

Let them see. Let them see that you belong to me.

Daemon shoves you down, bringing you to your hands and knees. You look back at him as he undoes his breeches. You turn away and gulp. You try to calm yourself but the thought of someone walking in on you, added to the fact you could hear the prince ripping at his trousers, was making your insides burn.

He gets on his knees, rips your skirt up, and hisses at the sight before him. He immediately grabs your thighs and rips you apart. He wanted nothing but to taste your sweet building slick, but he has to claim you now. His fingers find your entrance. He lets out a grunt as he toys with you with two fingers while his other hand continues to free his steadily hardening cock.

You let out a shaky moan as Daemon circles his thick fingers around your tender flesh. Your jaw drops and you shoes dig into the floor when two digits shallowly enter you.

"I've gotten much practice," Daemon mutters, "learned everything for you," he mutters, "want to touch you better than Viserys."

Your heart drops at his words. Your head whips over your shoulder. Just then, Daemon pulls his hand away from your core and looks at you. His eyes darken and he grabs your hair, effectively ruining your braids. He brings his glimmering fingers to your lips. You have no shame, or at least not in that moment, and you instantly suck on him, tasting yourself on him.

""Nyke pendagon nūmāzma bona tubis nyke ūndan ao lanta mirre se jēda," he huffs as he ruts against you, "sesīr skori nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon naejot."

I think about the day I saw you two all the time. Even when I don't want to.

Your let out a loud sound when he unceremoniously thrusts into you and yet he does do anything beyond gripping your hips tightly.

Daemon rubs at your fleshy backside and releases a string of High Valyrian curses as you feel yourself clench around him. He acts in retaliation of his hated sour memory, shoving into you only once out of spite, making you release a cry that echoes across the room.

A few more moments pass and, still, he does nothing, you bring one hand to your side and place it atop of his knuckles. You arch your back and begin to maneuver against him faintly, "my love," you speak in a wanton manner, "please move."

Daemon's face contorts.

You squeak when he slaps into you once more then stops again. Without another warning, he further ruins your hair with his careless grip and then begins to fuck into you like there's no tomorrow. In truth, they may well not be one for him if someone catches you and Viserys' anger is inspired.

You feel your neck crack as Daemon yanks your hair. At the same time, you let out a guttural cry that bounces across the room. This is finally enough to rouse your dragon with concern.

Alaerion stirs and lifts her long neck, looking down upon her rider as she is mounted from behind. The creature knew well enough what was happening, and she happened to like Daemon, which was why she watched for a second before letting out a bleat, along with smoke through her nostrils.

You really don't have the sense to speak to your ride, much less make any sound that was remotely intelligible, so you effectively ignore her as you feel a pressure in your belly build.

Daemon releases your hair, making your head drop and shake in relation to the his ministrations.

Gathering his strength, he hoists your hips up slightly, making your shift your weight on your fidgeting toes. This allows him to rip into upward and in doing so, hits a needy little nerve in you that makes you release a helpless cry every moment it is hit.

You call out Daemon's name in response, arms shaking through its attempts to keep you up.

"You like being fucked by your brothers, don't you?" he sighs through his brutish actions, "you wanted to be filled up so bad that you couldn't wait for me to take my place in you."

You don't respond with anything coherent. You feel dribble slip down through your open mouth.

Your limbs begin to tire, and your belly begins to grow tighter and hotter. You focus on the feeling building in your stomach and make yourself go wild at the thought of the prince filling you up with his seed. You release a moan but it rips into a yelp when he slaps your ass then yanks at your hair again.

You nearly choke on your spit. You begin to beg to him in High Valyrian.

Alaerion catches this and finds no more tolerance. She begins to growl.

Daemon chuckles as he leans in to you, "your dragon has issue with her master being bred roughly," he nips at your lobe, "tell her off."

You whine.

Rather desperately and unconvincingly, you order Alaerion to back up and calm down. You know for a fact that the sound she made was one that was dissatisfied with the order, and yet she forces herself to calm and decides to curl into herself.

Daemon reaches his breaking point, and moves as ruggedly and as quickly as he possibly could. He elicits another yelp out of you when he slaps you again, "udligon ñuha másino." Answer my question.

You're lucky to even know what the hell he is talking about, so with a loud gulp you let out a strangled answer, "kessa." Yes.

Daemon growls, "which brother?"

You whine, "ao, Daemon," you sigh as he pummels into you, "sīr sȳz." You, Daemon. So good.

And as though that was the trigger, you bounce against him some more and then you come so good around him that it squeezes the air out of you and makes your eyes roll back.

You continuously call out his name as he sequentially spurts out with burning ripples of him. He makes sure you are shivering and overstimulated, and that he, himself, was fully done for before slowing and eventually stopping.

Daemon catches his breath as he rubs the fleshy part of your backside. You can feel yourself twitch around him as he does so, and you so badly wanted nothing more than to hold him right now.

"I've imagine doing this so many times, my princess," he mutters through a breath and stops his rubbing motions, "I've imagined making you mine more times than I can count."

You hiss when you feel him slide out of you. Sequentially, you feel his orgasm drip for your convulsing womanhood. Daemon uses a gentle touch as he brings your skirt down and slowly gets to his knees. He quickly puts his softened self away but makes sure to help you to your feet before doing anything more. You sluggishly move to stand and take his hand as he reaches out to you.

Daemon tugs you into him and looks upon you with solemn eyes. He brushes your hair back and you look at him then his undone laces. You find yourself smiling as you reach for his pants whilst feeling a hot bead burn down the inner part of your legs.

You happily tug at the string of his trousers and tie them up for him. You cannot help the playful expression that spreads across your faces as he makes attempts at smoothing your hair out.

You look at his face once, catching the concerned line between his brows. You turn back to his waist as you finish tying the strings, "do I look utter ruined, sweet boy?"

Daemon releases a breath. His hands come to your neck, his thumbs rub at your collarbones. You lean into his touch as your lips curl into a brighter smile.

"Ao jurnegon hae ñuha māzīlarion," he retorts, taking one step forward, face leaning close to yours, "nyke zālagon syt ao." You look like my future. I burn for you.

Your breath hitches when he places a gracious kiss upon. Daemon is warm and gentle as he leads your lips through this dance. You reach out for his torso and let yourself drift through the feel of his warm mouth.

"Nyke ānogrosa nehugon syt ao," Daemon whispers as he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. He takes your hands and places it upon his chest, "iksā mirre nyke jeldan, mandia." I bleed for you. You are all I ever wanted, sister.

You feel your stomach roll, "ñuha Daemon." My Daemon.

"Take me as your husband," he retorts, pulling away to look you straight in the eyes, "I would honor you better than any man could. I would smite all that wrong you. I would fly across the realms with you. I would clear the way of anything that hinder you. I would father your dragonlings. I would teach them the pride of our house," he shakes his head, "I would have you till my dying breath... if you'll have me."

You cannot help the tears that begin to fog your vision. You pull you hands from him to clutch his jaw and rub it lovingly, "oh, Daemon," you let out a soft chuckle, "you have always been the most important person in my life. I would give you the world if you asked it of me," you curl your lips into a smirk, "and now I can put to rest all my worries for your betrothal."

Daemon breaks into a smile. He chuckles softly. He wraps his arms around you and presses you tightly against him, "not all your worries. You will still need to plan it."

You laugh as he kisses your neck. You relax against him and dig your fingers into his nape, massaging the area gently, "you would let me fuss about it all by myself?"

"I nary care for the formalities," he mutters against you, "I'd wed you in the gutters and still be the happiest man alive."

You snort and push him away. You give him a look as he tucks hair behind your ear, "we are not going to be wed in the gutters, Daemon."

"Of course not," he raises his brows, "I will not allow such offence be made to my bride."

You find your stomach fluttering at his words, "your bride."

Daemon's face grows solemn all over again. He rubs your lips, "my bride."

You smile at him and nod decidedly, "I will speak with Viserys about this and promptly begin preparations."

Though the words should have made him overjoyed, the prince felt a pang of dread rip through him as he heard them. Daemon clenches his jaw, "I should speak to him. It is only right I implore brother for you hand."

You take in his expression and find yourself chuckling softly, "you fought with him, didn't you?"

Daemon does not retort.

You laugh louder and shake your head, "then do not further inspire his fury, my love," you smooth out his hair, "let me do the talking. After all, he will not refuse me."

Daemon places his hands atop yours, causing you to still your actions, "he may not refuse you but he may want to spite me."

"Daemon," you sigh, "Viserys may be difficult, with you especially, but he means be out of love," you kiss his nose, "leave your worries to sissy."

Daemon sighs then nods. He sinks his head do your shoulder and you pull him close. He kisses your skin and thinks he belongs here. He belongs against your ribs.

Alaerion rolls over.

"Prince Daemon, though adopted many infamous names, would notably be remembered for overcoming what would be known as the Four Horrid Tasks, issued by his older brother in exchange for their sister's hand. King Viserys' had always been extremely fond and protective of his twin. He made clear many times over that she would wed whom she chose. Yet through constant pressure, in the end, he made a proclamation for all those interested in her: 'He who be daring and gallant enough to accomplish but four tasks for the king, Viserys of House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, will be allowed to take the princess, the King's twin and younger sister, as his wife.' It is heavily debated whether or not the decision was made to silence the voices of the council from further pestering him with the matter of the princess' hand, or to dissuade his younger brother into pursuing their beloved sister any further."--Excerpt from 'Daemon Targaryen: A Prince Larger Than Life' by unknown author, circa 100-120 A.C.

Daemon took deep breathes and sure strides on his way to his brother's chambers.

Yes, you told him to leave it up to you, but he could not find it in him not to speak to Viserys about the matter.

The events at the dragon pit yesterday were clear in his mind. He could still hear your cries, feel your soft flesh, taste the tenderness of your words.

He knew, truly, that if it was the issue was of your hand, you were the only one who the king would ever listen to its regards. And yet even after hearing from both guards and servants alike that King Viserys made it known he would not be interrupted in his room or bothered with any royal matters for today, he pressed forward still and now stood before his brother's chamber doors.

The prince decided to knock and announce himself, which was honestly not his nature.

He waited for a few moments, listening in for a response, before raising his knuckles to rap on the door again. He does not though, as he hears the sound of a whimper seep through the crevice before him. Daemon straightens as a high pitched voice continues to whine. It was very obviously not Viserys making that sound, and somehow, he was certain that was not Aemma either.

He clenches his jaw, it was you.

"Enter," the king barks.

Daemon wastes no time and pushes the door open. He makes it a point to keep his eyes down and only look up once the door was closed behind him. When he does, he feels his insides gurgle at the sight of his twin siblings.

Lo and behold, there sat the King at the edge of his bed, chest bare, hands rested upon on his lap, or rather, the lap rested upon him. You were sat on Viserys, lips parted as you heaved heavily, clad in nothing but your shift. To make matters worse, your clothes were bunched up by your hips and Viserys' hand was unabashedly in between your thighs.

Daemon wouldn't know that your fluttering cunt was filled up with his brother's seed and your ass with filled up by his cock up until later.

He could clearly see how his brother was touching you with his fingers, evident by the strain in his arm and how you would slightly flinch intermittently.

"So, baby brother," he starts, "you caught me fucking sissy once before, huh?"

Daemon neither moves nor responds.

Viserys keeps his eyes on him as he nuzzles his face into your neck and makes you whimper by shoving his fingers into your leaking entrance with little regard, merely keeping them there. You grip on his arm and mutter his name out in a plea.

The king does not like that and looks at you as he thrusts upward, making you squeak helplessly, "funny that now you remember my name now, whore."

Daemon's nostrils flare at the crude name you're given.

Viserys turns back to Daemon as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. He enjoys watching his brother's face tick at the sight of him sullying the woman he wants to make his wife. He pulls his mouth off you and speaks to the prince, "you remember when I first took you to a whorehouse, Daemon?"

In truth, Daemon doesn't want to reply, but he decides that he probably should, "yes."

"If the princess wasn't born a princess, she would've be the best whore in the Street of Silk," Viserys turns back to you, "iksis bona daor paktot?" Is that not right?"

"Paktot," Right, you reply like clockwork.

Viserys releases a groan that bubbles into a laugh, "my poor girl is so desperate to come, isn't she?"

You let out a needy sound and arch your back against him when he begins to move his fingers inside you. One of your hands go to the side of his face and another goes atop of his working hand, urging him with gentle stroke to continue pleasuring you.

Gods be good, the sight of you coiling up against Viserys was a torturous sight. It was making Daemon's breath shorten and his insides churn. And yet, at the same time, he could feel his pulse in his pants thud strongly in reaction to what he saw.

"Do you deserve to come, byka rene?" Little slut.

You readily nod at your king's words, "kostilus." Please.

Viserys begins to feel your folds tighten against his fingers. He promptly pulls away and grabs your neck with the hand he just used to fuck you with, "I don't think you're sorry enough."

You whimper as he presses down on your airways.

Viserys then turns back to Daemon, "you know why she's here?"

Daemon watches as you let out a choking sound. He shifts uncomfortably in his spot but does not get to reply as the king answers himself.

"My pretty twin is here to convince me to give her to you," he sighs deeply, releasing his chokehold to grab one of your breasts and knead them roughly, "the gods made her the same day they made me. They molded her next to me in our mother's womb, and I molded my cock into her with a vengeance," he eyes Daemon hotly, "she belongs to me. Why would I give her to you?"

Hearing those words make you momentarily slip out of your lustful trance. You turn to Viserys and rub your nose against his cheek, "brother, please-"

"If the fuck says he wants my throne and you'd kill me in cold blood and give it to him, wouldn't you," the king seethes, flicking his hips upward, making you screech, "all he does is complain like the little boy he is and calls you cruel if you ignore him for even a second, yet you think he's worthy? Worthy to be king? Worthy of my prized half's cunny?

"He doesn't even know how much you favor him," Viserys continues through a growl and slowly stops his vicious movements. You let out a tired cry as he rubs your belly and turns to Daemon, "when he first shared a whore, brother, I immediately thought of sissy. I so badly wanted to share her with you."

Daemon watches as Viserys hands come between your thighs again. The latter explains further, "I thought she would look so pretty leaking from both holes after her brothers fuck her like the slut she was made to be-- made for us."

The prince swallows heavily.

"But no," Viserys pulls his hand away from your thighs, "she said she did not want to taint you," he scoffs out a chuckle, "as if she was unaware of the fact you were a bigger whore than both of us combined."

Daemon shifts in his spot again.

"Why don't you tell our sweet sister how much of a whore you are, Daemon," the king announces, "tell her how you made your painted whores swallow your seed and not waste a drop, for it was an honor to even have a Targaryen load in them. Tell her how you spit between their arse cheeks and made them weep as you tore through them with your cock," he turns to Daemon, "tell her how you touched yourself to the thought of us-"

He lets out a strangled breath.

"Tell her how badly you want to be me," Viserys gives a wolfish grin as he begins to rock his hips upward, making your whine, "how badly you want to fuck her with me right now."

For some reason, Daemon finds his brother's words as a trigger to step forward. He manages two steps before he realizes what he is doing and stops in his tracks.

Viserys face darkens as he stills. You whine again. He tilts his head in a beckoning manner, "take her dress off, brother."

Daemon does not know why he hesitates, but he makes up for the seconds with eager steps towards you.

Before he reaches you two, the eldest speaks up again, "you ought to know that she rather readily gave herself up to me as she mused about the idea of your marriage."

Daemon stops when he is before you. He feels himself stiffen further at the sight of your sweaty face as you turn to him.

Viserys looks up as well, "and while we were fucking, the bitch called out your name instead of mine."

Daemon cannot help the way his eyes widen at that.

"Syt sīr bōsa, nyke mirre ao kreni, se syt skoros?" he yanks you by your hair, "naejot emagon ao isse jaelagon hen orvorta hen ñuha lēkia." For so long, I kept you pleased, and for what? To have you in want of the cock of my brother?

"That's enough," Daemon rebuts.

Viserys releases your tangled hair upon hearing this and laughs. He turns to Daemon and shakes his head, "enough? Pull her dress off and you'll see how whorish she is. You'll see her leaking with me because I fucked her and didn't make her peak. You'll see her grinding down subtly cause I have her ass impaled."

So he does just that.

He pulls your dress off and sees your wet curls and thighs, painted white with the with sticky remnants of the king. You lift you hands so Daemon can rid your clothing altogether, and he quickly chucks it to the side. He licks his lips as he finally notices the miniscule circular motions you were doing on top of Viserys' lap.

The said man raises a brow, "you still want your hussy?"

Daemon does not get to respond as you are pulled back onto the bed. Viserys falls onto the sheets and drags you up, all while keeping himself snug inside you. He pushes you to your side and grabs your leg, bringing it behind you, over his hip.

You whimper as you feel come spill out of you. Your sounds intensify when Viserys grabs your breast and begins to thrust into you. He twists you carelessly as he fucks into you with little regard.

Daemon's mouth nearly foams when you raise a hand and call out for him, "jorrāelagon ao sīr olvie." Need you so much.

Viserys pants, "come one, little brother. Your come slut awaits."

Daemon can feel his hands trembling as he strips himself naked. He works as fast as he can but when he hears your cry, he decides to climb over to you although his dress shirt remained on him.

You whimper as tears prick in the corner of your eyes, reaching out to Daemon as he takes his place next to you. The said man rubs your hips and grabs his hardened length, easily slipping into your soaking folds.

You release a loud cry when you feel him enter. You scratch at his clothed back and tug at his shirt, "off, please, off-"

Daemon does not dare deny you this, and though he struggles, he eventually rids himself of his final piece of clothing. After this, he finally begins to move into you. He pumps in and out at a much slower pace than Viserys, but matches the same ferocity.

You let out quick and shallow pants at the delicious feel of fullness in you. As you were denied and teased for so long, you could feel yourself quickly reaching your peak. You arch your back and pull Daemon into you as you clench around them

Viserys, knowing your body well, grabs your neck and whispers into your ear, pushing your further to your edge, "greedy minx. Coming already? Daemon's just getting started."

You can't help that you come right after that, shuddering and shaking as you feel heat spill all over you. You feel your lungs wring out all the air inside it. It only intensifies as Viserys keeps his hands secured around your neck. Needless to say, you're seeing stars at this point.

Daemon releases a groan as he feels your cunt convulse around him. It makes him increase his tempo to a point where he's moving about as fast as his brother.

With the added roughness, your high is surely lived out up until there was nothing left. Soon enough you were squeaking helplessly, twitching at the overstimulation.

Neither of the two could keep themselves from chasing after their own need even as you very clearly began to grow tense in discomfort.

At one point, everything became all too much that you choked out a soft sob.

It was at this point that Daemon begins to relent in his ways, slowing down to offer your brief repose.

Viserys, however, was not letting you have any of that, "don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop," he grunts. "She can take it," he leans into you, "can't you pretty girl? Can't you pathetic whore?"

Daemon watches as you choke out a yes through tears and a strangled breath.

You lift your leg off Viserys and prop it atop of his hip, "want to make you feel good," your grab at Viserys' neck, "want to make both my boys feel so good."

The king loses himself after that. With merely a few more thrusts, he bursts into you and releases a hot load that has you yelping.

He tightens his grip on your neck before he releases you abruptly, grabbing onto your shoulder as he uses you to satisfy his remaining needs.

He calls out your name and tilts your head back to kiss you. You catch a quick breath before he connects your lips together. Your mouths mingle against each other's sloppily, up until you're only breathing and grunting against the other, no longer kissing.

When Viserys stills behind you, he watches as Daemon pummels into you like a man on a mission, and, to be fair, he was.

Daemon takes his turn, bringing your face to him and kisses you much tenderly than Viserys did. He grabs at your leg and pulls you closer to him as he chases the building fire in his belly.

Part of the king knows his brother was probably being held back by the position you were in, and as much as he wanted to see him suffer and to keep himself buried in your plush tush, he decides to be a magnanimous king and pulls out of you, causing you to whimper as you swollen hole oozes with his creamy delight.

Viserys rolls to his side and takes a moment before standing up and grabbing his ever ready wash cloth on his cabinet, wiping himself down as he turns to watch his brother break into his twin sister.

Immediately, Daemon has you pushed on your back, sprawled out beneath him. He wraps your legs around him and fucks into you with more vigor now that he had you all to himself.

"D-Daemon," you whimper as you wrap your arms around him, clinging onto him for dear life.

He nuzzles into your neck and mutters sweetly, "need me so badly, sweetheart?" he groans and whispers, "need me to fuck you better than Viserys?"

You whimper in response as the bed creaks at his movements.

Daemon pushes your legs down your sides and licks your tear stained cheeks, "you want to come again, love?"

You shake your head in disagreement as your poor cunny was still very much reeling from being teased too much.

He whines, "what if I want you to come, pretty girl, will you come for me?"

You sob at the idea, "Daemon please-"

"Shhh," he sneaks a finger between you, "you can do it, can't you?"

You digs your nails into his back and you scream out when he begins to rub at your sensitive pearl.

"Gōntan ñuha dārilaros daor ivestragon ziry kessa tepagon nyke mirros?" he mutters against you, "kessa ao daor tepagon nyke iā byka run hae bisa?" Did my princess not say she shall give me anything? Will you not give me a small thing like this?

Tears rush out of your eyes as you hear this, "Daemon kostilus." Daemon please.

Viserys lets out a heavy breath as he hears your whimpers. He finds himself smirking, "where's the Fanged Beauty's teeth? You can take it can't you?"

Damon groans and answer for you, "she can take it," he grunts, "take it like a good girl. Sissy's always been good at taking care of us."

You whine and let out a long breath. You allow yourself to relax against him and eventually, with all of Daemon's ministrations, you calm and feel yourself begin to tighten around him all over again.

"Gaomagon sȳrī, riñītsos, tolī mirre, iksā doing bisa syt zirȳla, daor?" Viserys speaks as he walks off to get himself a cup of wine.

Do well, little girl, after all, you are doing this for him, no?

The king sips on his drink as he watches the obscenities playing out on his bed.

Daemon feels himself fall closer to his limit. Sequentially, he no longer actually gives a shit whether or not your come with him or not, though he really wanted to feel your cunt choke him as he pushed into you.

It was a good thing that you suddenly began to pant out his name and dig your fingers into his hair, "I'm close, Daemon."

He smirks and nods, "like a good girl."

You whimper and rapidly feel yourself inching towards your undoing. The final blow is delivered after Daemon sputters out curses as he unravels above you. He releases into you with his nails digging into your sides. He twitches and shudders with the intense bolt of pleasure. It surges hot, molten, and thick. It fills you up until you're overflowing.

The sound you make is piercing. It rips through Viserys' ears, inspiring him to call you a string of vulgar names in your shared mother tongue. On the other hand, it makes Daemon hiss hotly against your neck as his ego soars while he concludes his fuck. His stiff body slowly begins to grow limp and your own terse one spasms until its putty.

By the time the prince is a melted sky above you, you catch your breath and hold onto him, as though he was your deliverer, as though he was your beloved; both of which were true after all.

Daemon buries his face next to your own and whispers sweet nothings to your ear.

You nuzzle your face against him. Slowly, your heart began to calm.

"Hen rȳ istin," Viserys pipes up, cutting through your tender moment, "ivestragī īlva ūndegon se mess emā vēttan." Off at once. Let us see the mess you have made.

The king walks over to the side of his bed and motions his head at Daemon, who barely wanted to roll off you as it was, now it was the last thing he wanted to do. Still, he looked at his brother, thinking that he had a withering cock, and gave you a quick kiss before separating from you.

Though Daemon did so in a gentle manner, you still could not help but curl your toes tightly and whimper as the weight above you shifts off. Immediately, your pulverized holes began to weep out the lustful load the two dragons left in you.

The two men cannot help the fascination and the enthrallment they feel upon seeing the way your swollenness flutters, nor, frankly, can they turn away.

Daemon does not move too far from you and, in fact, lies by your side, nuzzling his face between your breast, wrapping an arm over your side, pulling you close to him. He rubs his cheek on your skin and plays with your pert nipple.

"Filthy whore," Viserys smirks, "to think you could have had us both long ago had you not been so persistent in babying your precious baby brother."

You do not respond to him but you do begin to lightly brush through Daemon's hair. You breathe through your lips as you slowly bring your head down to look upon the youngest, "I do not regret it."

Daemon looks up at you as you mutter through a smile, "I prefer knowing him like this."

Viserys' eye twitches at this. He clenches his jaw at the sight of you both and downs the drink in his hand. He walks off to set it down and then finds himself scoffing. He feels a bitterness settle in his stomach and as he turns over his shoulder. Suddenly, a smirk spreads on his lips.

"Dirty girl," he mutters, "if you were to fall with child," he turns around, "no one would be able to tell if it was me or Daemon that fathered it."

Daemon turns to Viserys as he walks over.

"Maybe you'll bare twins like mother and then Daemon and I can share a child."

You turn to him and sit up slightly when he says this. You notice that, though his tone was mischievous, there was a serious glint in his eyes. You raise a brow at him, "don't be ridiculous."

"I am not ridiculous," he shrugs, "I am king."

Daemon immediately sits up.

Viserys raises a finger.

The two brothers stare at each other for a moment before the latter speaks, "I have heard your pleas. I will consider them kindly at the council tomorrow."

[ophelieverse]

when my girl talks,you listen to her!

[shuichiakainx]

🤟😂🖤

[maidragoste]

The Decision

Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader, minor Harwin Strong x Velaryon!Reader, Rhaenyra Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

Again another AU with the reader of The Sea Dragon, The Clubfoot and The Green Queen (you don't need to read it to understand this one shot because this story starts LONG BEFORE the canon of that universe).

Summary: When King Viserys announces that he plans to marry you, you make a decision to avoid becoming the king's wife.

Now you can read this bonus!

TW: This is NSFW (if you don't like it you can read only the Rhaenyra and Harwin parts)

I was dying to share this with all of you so I hope you like it!

If you want to read more of this Reader and Daemon, don't hesitate to let me know in the comments or in my inbox 🤭

REBLOGS, comments and likes are always greatly appreciated 🥰🥰💖💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. Also this is my first smut so sorry if it's weird to read.

You felt your heart hammering as you waited for the king to make his announcement. Your stomach wouldn't stop spinning and you have no idea how you still hadn't vomited up what you had for breakfast.

With every passing second you have to keep yourself from running out of the council chambers. You couldn't stop looking at your father, a part of you wanted to take his hand and ask him to get you out of here but you didn't trust him anymore. You were in this situation because of him. You always knew that your father is a proud and ambitious man but you never thought that his ambition would be greater than his love for you. If your father really loved you he wouldn't have sent you to the king's chambers. He wouldn't have made you start wearing dresses that showed more skin for your visits with him. Gods, you wanted to hit your father so badly, you wanted to wipe the smile off his face because both he and you knew what Viserys was going to announce. Everyone knew it, you noticed that Otto Hightower was trying to hide his annoyance from everyone, the only one who seemed unaware of the tension in the room was Rhaenyra.

“I have decided to take a new wife,” the king began and you noticed how he and Rhaenyra exchanged a look. You were surprised to see your cousin nod as if she was permitting him to move on. Did Rhaenyra know? Did she approve of this? “I intend to get married,” he continued, this time looking at you and your father. You forced a smile as you dug your nails into your palms, feeling helpless for being in this situation “with Lady Y/N Velaryon before spring.”

Your eyes met Rhaenyra's purple ones. There was none of the love or fun you usually saw. Now she was looking at you with a mixture of pain and fury. The pain in your stomach got worse. Nyra had never looked at you like that. This shouldn't be happening.

It was obvious that she didn't know that her father was planning to marry you. You wanted to scream, you wanted to hug her and tell her that this wasn't what you wanted, that you weren't trying to steal her mother's place, that you would never do anything to hurt her.

"Rhaenyra" the king called her but the princess left the chambers anyway. You couldn't take this anymore so you went after her, ignoring your father's calls.

You followed the princess. You could feel the fabric of your dress sticking together due to perspiration, you didn't know if it was because of your nerves or because you were practically almost running after Rhaenyra. It was uncomfortable but right now you didn't care. You needed to clear things up with her. You couldn't stand that she hated you.

"Nyra" you called when she finally stopped. You two were in the gardens, in front of the heart tree. Where more than once you had Rhaenyra lay with her head in your lap while you sang her any song she wanted. Where you two used to stay out in the sun complaining about the septa's lessons while you combed her hair. This tree has so many good memories and now you fear there will be no more.

"How could you?!" she yelled at you furiously. She couldn't believe how you had been by her side, comforting her, accompanying her in her grief, remembering the stories the both shared with her mother so that later you went behind her back to conquer her father. When her father told her that he needed to take another wife she thought it would be Laena Velaryon. Not from you. Never from you. You were supposed to be hers.

"Please, Nyra, don't hate me" you begged and grabbed her hands desperately, pulling her closer to you "I swear I didn't want this but my father" you shook your head and forced yourself to continue talking trying to ignore the knot in your throat "I'll find a way to fix this, I promise" you kissed her hands.

The princess studied you for a few minutes. She needed to check that you weren't faking this just to avoid her anger. Your eyes seemed to be glazed over from the tears you were holding back and your hands clung to her desperately.

“I believe you,” she finally said and you sighed in relief.

"Thank you", you said with a shaking voice

This time it was Rhaenyra who kissed your hands and rested her forehead against yours. You closed your eyes feeling at peace for a moment knowing that she didn't hate you.

"I won't marry your father, Nyra. I promise."

If it weren't for the fact that she was now the heir to the throne, Rhaenyra would have told you that you would run away with her, that the two of you would go together on your dragons and travel the world together, and that you didn't need a husband, that if you wanted her, she would take you as a wife. But now she had obligations, she couldn't abandon everything for you even if her heart screamed for her to do so.

After clearing things up with Rhaenyra you went to your chambers. Of course, your father was waiting for you, he scolded you for your abrupt departure but he left you alone once you told him that you had managed to calm the princess's annoyance. Being alone you decided to put your plan into action, first you took a bath with the purpose of relaxing and getting rid of any trace of nerves you had before, then you put on one of your simplest dresses and placed a hooded cape on top to hide your hair. You were leaving the castle and you didn't need anyone to follow you.

You successfully slipped away and headed out into the streets in search of Harwin. You knew that today he had to stand guard on the streets of Flea Bottom. A girl in your position shouldn't be here but you didn't care. You needed to talk to him as soon as possible.

“Harwin” you called him when you finally found him.

“Lady Velaryon, you should not be here,” said the guard, gently hugging you by the shoulders and taking you to a corner further away from the people.

It felt bad to hear him call you in such a formal way when for weeks he had been calling you by your name or “sunshine”, the nickname he had given you. You remember like it was yesterday when you kissed him for the first time after he explained to you that the reason he called you that was because you brightened his days every time he saw you.

This sudden formality was like a slap in the face and he confirmed what you already feared.

“You know,” you declared sadly.

“My father told me,” he admitted, releasing you. You weren't surprised since Lyonel is on the council and had been present at this morning's meeting. You suspected that Harwin's father thought it would be best for him to find out from him rather than from someone else since you were sure that Lord Strong and your parents knew about the meetings between you and Harwin. You thought it was no secret that he was courting you, but apparently, not everyone knew because otherwise, Viserys would not have chosen you as his wife. Or maybe he knew but didn't care.

“This doesn't have to change what's between us,” you said as you stood on tiptoe to have his face closer to yours. “I don't want to marry the king. I want you” you whispered against his lips but without touching them. Harwin had to control himself from closing the small distance between you and kissing you. “Make me your wife,” you asked before capturing his lips with yours.

You froze when Harwin walked away from you.

“I can't,” he whispered and closed his eyes to avoid seeing the disappointment on your face.

“I thought you loved me” In your voice there was more anger than sadness but your body language was different, you found yourself hugging yourself trying to comfort yourself. You were disappointed.

“I do,” he stated firmly, opening his eyes so you could see that he spoke sincerely. “I love you. If it were any other man he would fight for you but…”

His silence told you everything. He loved you but it's not enough to face the king.

“You're a coward,” you spat and left the way you came.

You didn't really think Harwin was a coward but you were hurt by his rejection. You felt stupid to believe that whatever Harwin felt for you would be bigger than any coherent thought but you can't blame him after all any intelligent person would be afraid to go against the king's wishes and steal his fiancée…

But all was not lost, you knew someone well who was not afraid of Viserys and could help you. It was a desperate move and your parents would think you were an idiot for this but you refuse to be the king's wife. You had seen how as the years went by and with each pregnancy, Queen Aemma deteriorated. You didn't want the same thing.

You wrote to Daemon. You told him that the king wanted to marry you but that you were seeking to avoid this marriage and that you needed his help. You waited anxiously for his response while you had to feign excitement every time someone talked about your wedding preparations. Luckily it didn't take that long for a crow to arrive with the rogue prince's answer. There were no reassuring words in his letter, the only thing the scroll said was "Come to Dragonstone."

And that's what you did. Nobody suspected when the next day you went on the back of your dragon since everyone knew that there was not a day in which you did not disappear for a couple of hours to go flying with Nightwing.

"My prince, Lady Y/N Velaryon!" The guard announced your arrival before letting you enter the chambers where the prince was staying.

Daemon, who had seen you approach with Nightwing from the window, had his back turned but turned to look at you. He hasn't seen you in months. Your hair was longer and you seemed to have changed the way you dressed. The blue dress you were wearing seemed to have more cleavage, it wasn't anything scandalous enough for the court to talk about but it did draw attention.

"It's good to see you, Y/n" Daemon stated making you smile. You were sure that this was the first sincere smile you had given in days.

You waited for the guard to leave. Once you heard the sound of the door closing, you began to walk towards the prince without haste, trying to show as much confidence as possible. Normally you wouldn't be nervous around Daemon but you hadn't seen him in months and he was the only person who could help you. You didn't want to ruin this.

*I'm wondering the same. These months without you were boring "You weren't lying or trying to sugarcoat it to achieve your goal, it was simply the truth. Every time he leaves court you wish for his return.

"You still didn't come after me" Daemon held back his smile when he saw the surprise in your eyes.

He liked seeing that look in your eyes. Every time he brings you something new from his travels, every time he teaches you a new move in the training yard, every time he asks you for his favor in tournaments. How he had missed seeing you. He wouldn't tell you but he had missed you these past few months. So imagine his fury when after so long the first news he receives from you is that his brother plans to marry you. You are too much of a woman for Viserys. His brother wouldn't know what to do with you. You would spend the rest of your life bored. Daemon couldn't allow it.

"I didn't know you wanted that," you said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"I invited you to go with me on my next trip, didn't I?"

Before Queen Aemma's death, when you helped Daemon put on his armor for the tournament you complained about the lengthening of his travels. The prince's response was to invite you to go with him next time. You were so excited to accompany him on his trips that you didn't wait for the tournament to end to ask your parents for permission. But then Aemma died and you didn't dare leave Rhaenyra.

You laughed. “That wasn't a trip, Daemon. Viserys exiled you.”

"And now he will exile you" he mocked, making you irritated but you quickly forgot about your irritation when Daemon placed his hands on your waist and pulled you closer to him, leaving your bodies pressed together. You should be uncomfortable with this but you're not. "You understand? Right? You know what you were asking for when you asked me for help?" He asked, studying your reaction. He needed to see that you really understood what you were about to do. This was your time to repent. But he didn't find uncertainty in your eyes if not desire, you looked at him with pure desire.

"I know," you responded, trying to ignore the flutter of emotion you felt at the intensity of the prince's gaze. You should be against doing this after all your reputation would be ruined but deep down you always wanted to have even a little bit of Daemon.

In reality, there was always a tension between the two of you. More than once you two ended your fights in the yard more irritated than you were before you started because after so much friction, touching, and sweat you both wanted to do something else that you couldn't. You didn't want to be the other woman and Daemon for once wanted to make things right with you. He hoped that one day Viserys would annul his marriage to Rhea Royce to take you as his wife. That day never came but that didn't matter anymore.

"You will take me as your second wife" While you spoke your eyes couldn't help but stop a couple of times on his lips.

Daemon tilted his head a little and gently brushed aside a strand of hair to whisper in your ear "I'll do it. If you want that" you shivered as you suddenly felt his breath on your neck. It doesn't take long for you to feel his warm lips against your skin. You unconsciously stretched your neck, leaving him free to continue spreading more kisses. With each kiss, you felt your body warmer. You can't help but wonder how his lips will feel just as good on another part of your body. “People will talk about us,” he warned, snapping you out of your fantasy.

You knew what Daemon was referring to, not only would it be a scandal if the king's fiancée married another but also if that other is Daemon Targaryen, the king's brother, and an already married man. People who don't understand his family's customs won't think your marriage is legitimate, and if you were to have children with him people would probably think of them as bastards. Also, the court could compare your marriage to one of Maegor Targaryen's many marriages. The kingdom would talk a lot about you two, even your family's name and respect could be damaged by this. Your father might never want to speak to you again in your life and your mother would be disappointed in you. You had thought about all this at night before receiving the prince's response. And yet you were determined to go ahead with this.

“Are you worried that the court will call you Second Maegor? Because I'm sorry to inform you but they already call you that” you said, managing to make Daemon laugh a little. You smiled when you heard him but your smile was soon replaced by a gasp as you felt his teeth biting into your neck.

“A wife shouldn't make fun of her husband,” he said making you roll your eyes, knowing that he wasn't serious and just wanted to mess with you. “If you marry me, this will not be just a marriage in name.”

You weren't an idiot. It wasn't enough for you to just marry Daemon. Viserys might still want to annul the marriage if he saw that you were a virgin but if it was known that Daemon had already had you then the council would tell the king that he should take another wife.

You walked away from him. “Are you afraid of taking me as your wife? You keep walking around instead of ordering them to start preparing everything for the ceremony. “The prince could see the challenge in your eyes and he loved it.” I'm not a little girl, Daemon. I know what I'm getting into by marrying you."

And those words were enough for Daemon to finally join his lips with yours. There was nothing soft about his kiss, not like Harwin's. This kiss was hungry, you felt like he was devouring your mouth but you weren't far behind either, taking him by the neck, pulling him closer to you. It seemed as if neither of you two could get enough of the other. Finally giving free rein to the desire the both felt for a long time. You felt his hands trying to untie the back of your dress so you walked away from him with heavy breathing.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you hummed, now placing your hands on his chest, hoping to keep a little more distance. “You can't have me until we're married,” you declared, looking at him mischievously.

“You're so fucking annoying” Daemon complained and tried to kiss you again but you pulled your face away with a teasing smile. "Good. But then you won't leave the room until I'm done with you,” he warned you and he gave you a little squeeze on your waist before leaving, determined to prepare everything in the shortest possible time.

Daemon thinks he'll never get tired of this. See how you move on his cock, how focused you look with every jump you take in search of your pleasure, how you open your mouth and let those sinful sounds escape when you finally find your sweet spot, and above all the feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock.

Hearing Daemon's groan overwhelms you. It overwhelms you because, for the first time, you realize that you have power over him. It's too much to hear him say your name like you're a god while you're riding him. See how hungry he is for you, how he can't seem to get enough of you, how he can't go a minute without his mouth on you, without biting or sucking on your neck, without having his hands touching you. By now your body was covered in hickeys, marks, and bruises leaving the trace of your crime on display. You're sure that tomorrow when the maids came to help you dress they would be horrified to see the mark of Daemon's palms on your thighs after he held you for what seemed like hours while he devoured your cunt over and over again.

Your husband noticed that you were starting to get tired but you still didn't want to stop, not when you were already so close to cumming again but you were too proud to ask him for help.

“Let me take care of it,” he said, stopping to suck on one of your nipples.

He knows how stubborn you are so he didn't even give you a chance to refuse when he lifted you off his cock. You groan against his neck as he pushes you down onto his cock again. He begins to move you up and down as if you weighed nothing.

"Faster" you demanded with heavy breathing, feeling dissatisfied with the pace of his movements.

Daemon doesn't hesitate to follow your orders and makes you bounce faster. His grunts and moans do nothing but send heat to your core. You feel your legs tremble at the speed and depth of his thrusts. You want to have your share and leave your marks on your husband too but you can't focus as much time on biting or sucking on his neck when he's fucking you so good. You sob when you finally feel the knot in your stomach release and you cum on his cock.

Suddenly one of his hands leaves your waist and pulls your hair, stealing a gasp from you, making you stop hiding your face in his neck and thus trap your mouth again in a messy kiss.

"You take me so well," Daemon gasped against your lips, feeling your warm cunt not stop squeezing his cock.

The sound of skin slapping only increases the temperature of the room. Like the groans and gasps. Neither Daemon nor you were trying to be quiet, it was more like you were both competing to see who could make the other louder. You should be embarrassed and try to be quieter, that's what a good lady would do but you couldn't care less what people thought, not when you felt so good. And while you felt how Daemon filled your cunt with his seed a petty part of you couldn't help but think that you were hoping that this would reach Viserys' ears, that one of the servants would write to the king to inform him of the spectacle you and Daemon were putting on so that Viserys wouldn't want to have anything more to do with you.

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[athenasarahsstuff]

Who else saw this scene rewind it a few times to make sure this was baddie Aemond Targaryen. Raise your hand!! 🙌

[zephyrrr101]

Not like her

Pairing: Daemon x niece reader

Warning: Targcest/incest, DUBCON?, size kink and breeding kink light, mention of somnophilia, slight manipulation, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, first intercourse, sweet Daemon, Daemon being a soft uncle hubby.(Because I simp) All ASOIAF warnings. MINOR DNI (but do with hungry bitches care?) also not proof read. High Valyrian translation might or not be wrong.

You looked around the Throne Room which had now was filled with hoards of people, All the nobles have made there way to King’s Landing to attend your sider sister, Rhaenyra’s wedding to your cousin Ser Laenor Velaryon. It was a match made out of convenience, you had known that.

Father had not told you much, nor had your maids and lady companions, all having been sworn to silence by your father. But it didn’t take much for news to not get to your ears. Red Keep was never able to keep gossips.

Apparently, Rhaenyra had been seen beyond the walls of Rad Keep during hour of wolf with someone in unseemly situations. There were no proofs that anyone had, but it had been enough for your father to set this betrothal to push the rumours away.

They weren’t rumours.

It was your sister’s sworn shield who had been the man who Rheernyra had shared her bad with that night. She had spoke to you of this a week after, since you broth were always close, your mother’s death bringing you even closer. You did not mind. Several lords went around having bastards, women too laid with men before marriages, you knew of it, why must Rhaenyra be kept from something she wanted But your sombre mood was not for your sister’s situation. Rhaenyra was strong and she welcomed things in her life with courage, even this marriage. Your issue was that your father, after he had talked with Rhaenyra, had a conversation with you too. You will be wed by the next year to a man of your father’s choosing. He did not seem to want another one of his daughters going and finding trouble.

You had hoped your father would give you the same liberty of choosing your husband that was given to Rhaenyra. You would not had minded choosing, you weren’t picky. You were a second daughter, getting many in a good family was always supposed to be your job. But you would have rather preferred if you could have a little bit of choice in it.

Thank you, Rhaenyra, I love you. But you fucked it up for me, Fuck you.

“Something on your mind, sweet niece?” You turned to Daemon who sat on your right. You were given the seat beside the Queen Alicent, not your preferable place, things between you and Alicent were awkward. She was your sister’s friend turned step-mother. You didn’t talk much, it was weird.

You sighed, turning to your uncle, who had come back from his trip to Stepstones a few days back. He had proven is determination when it came to the barren land. He had won it and now with your father’s blessings looked after the protection of Westros from there, visiting the place some times. “Father is setting up my betrothal.”

Daemon frowned, you could tell he was not happy, Daemon had been a constant in your and Rhaenyra’s life even of he was banished half of the time, more to you. While Rhaenyra had your father, you had your uncle. “Who?”

“I cannot say,” You fiddled with your cup of wine, you had lost your focus, drifting off in solace of solitude. “Father has not told me. But he says I will be wed by this time next year.”

Daemon did not reply. And you turned your attention to middle of room, Rhaenyra and Laenor had started to dance. You tipped your cup up, finishing your wine in one go you did not notice anything after that.

You did not notice how Daemon’s hand clenched around his cup as he glared at anything he could see, how his lilac eyes would fall over you, locking at your distressed race, how he counted each line that marred your forehead, how your tongue had slipped out of your mouth to catch the stray drop of wine and how licked it, your red tinged tongue moving over your lips wetting them. And you certainly did not notice the way he gripped Dark Sister’s pommel when Ser Harwin had come to ask you for a dance and you had agreed, leaving with the large dark haired knight.

No you did not.

You danced with other lords but again found Your way to Ser Harwin, or he did to you.

He spoke something to you, learned down so only you could hear him, Daemon could only imagine how he would be taking in your scent of jasmines, such a calming fragrance.

You nod.

He could not hear you from the distance but he had been around you for a lot longer to imagine how sweet your laughter must be in Strong knight’s ears.

This was it.

Daemon slammed his cup on the table, gathering attention of a few people around him and walked away, his brother’s cautioned words, blurred in his ears.

Ser Harwin was telling you about his tales of City Watch, how he sometimes sees the most hilarious things. Your favourite being the one where a certain lord was hit and thrown out of a pleasure house by one the workers and Ser Harwin had found him crying drunk with a bruised cheek. You had not noticed Daemon’s presence until he asked Ser Harwin if he could have a dance with you.

Who was he to say no to a seasoned warrior and dragon rider who could burn him to ashes if declined what he wanted.

“Ziry issa?” Is it him? Daemon asked you, you had well spotted the frown on his face and anger that was flowing in his lilac eyes. Something you could not comprehend.

“Skoros?” What?

Daemon takes your hand his, you let him guide to where ever he wants to, which happens to the farthest part of the dancing area, lesser people are here and you understand that whatever it must be that he wants to speak of he doesn’t want other to hear.

“Harwin,” He looks away from you and you follow his eyes, finding them on your father. It takes a moment for you to realise what he is asking.

“gimin daor,” I don’t know. You sighed. “It doesn’t matter does it, kepus? I must trust Father in his choice.”

“Your father’s choice?” He whispered, you could feel his breath tickling on your neck. “Look at this choice of his. Laenor is a good man but he will bore your sister senseless. And let us not forget his tastes.”

“It’s not that I don’t wish to marry, kepus,” You mutter, you suddenly found his doublet more interesting than the music or the dance. “But...”

Daemon hummed, his hand softly drew circles on the small of you back, you felt a shiver going through you.

“I understand politics but... I’d rather not be used as a pawn for gain without my say. At least without me knowing who I will be tied to for my whole life. I love my father, I really do,” you sighed, your eyes fell on your father and Alicent sitting beside him in a green dress. This wedding looked more like a disaster. “Look how miserable Alicent is. I do not wish to be another Alicent, kepus.”

Daemon listened to every word that left your mouth keenly. He embedded all of them in his very soul. His niece, his sweet and young niece who had been nothing but kind to him despite everything he might have one that could have hurt her. Even when his brother had sent him away for giving a moniker to his dead nephew all those years before. She had come to say good bye to him. Told him how she did not care for a boy who she didn’t even knew and wished him a safe journey, His little doll who always came to him when she didn’t like the braids her maid would put in her hair and have him redo everything.

I do not wish to be another Alicent, kepus.

And he imagined you, sitting beside some very aged lord, with life span of no long than a few years, who didn’t seem to be caring about anything but the cup of wine in his hands, children standing beside you and one in your hands, all while you looked sullen.

No. He couldn’t let it happen, Not when he knew how marriages like that ended up being.

He smiled at you, one his hand grabbing yours and other one caressing the soft skin of your cheeks, He looked at you with such intensity, with such fondness that you couldn’t help but feet the heat crawling up your neck.

“You won’t end up like her.” He told you and you knew better than anyone that his words were not hollow. It was an unsaid promise.

The wedding did turn out to be a disaster. Rhaenyra’s sworn shield had murdered Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, an event which had led to a rushed marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor. As soon as the chaos erupted, your uncle had pulled you away towards the doors of the hall since you both were closer to it than the royal table.

The stress had caused your father to collapse and another thing had come to light some disease was eating him alive and now he had lost his arm.

In all, the day had been a like riding a wild dragon.

From what you could tell it was past midnight. And you could think of nothing better than trying to put yourself to sleep. It hadn’t taken much too. As your head hit the pillow and darkness engulfed you.

You had been sleeping deeply and peacefully. The tiring and stressed moments of the wedding had lulled you like an infant after having drunk a tummy full of milk.

You could not understand what it was that had woken you up. You felt hot. Surely it wasn’t winter and days in King’s Landing were hot sometimes but not so much to cause her such bother. Though it was not enough to cause you to get out of your sleepy reverie.

You let out a whine when you felt something moving over you leg and your shoulder, making you pull your leg away and shake your shoulder to put whatever was causing you discomfort away. The point between your legs felt wet, making you a bit worried about your moon blood but you were too far gone in sleep to care.

It was the wine you had drank like water before going to sleep. Curse the fucking thing.

It was a sound, something like a chimes that hit each other when wind flowed, that made you snap out of our daze a little bit. You forced you eyes your to open as much as they could which wasn’t a lot. You were drunk and sleepy. But you could recognise that voice and figure even in your blurred sight.

“Kepus?”

Daemon smiles at you. There were very few people who had seen him really smile genuinely. You were one of them. But this smile was different. There was something different about it. You couldn’t comprehend it.

Daemon hushed you, his hand softly laying you back again, It was then when you slowly started to come to sense. He was hovering over you and you felt his other hand between your legs, right on your...

“Kepus, what are you doing?” You almost shrieked, understanding what was going on, “Kepus, what—"

“Be quiet, sweet girl,” Daemon whispered, and leaned down, his lips falling on your cheeks, so, so close to your lips. His fingers circling your cunny, a place that was not supposed to be bare to anyone but your husband. “You didn’t want to be a pawn, right?”

“But-but Daemon—” whatever you were thinking of saying was long forgotten when you felt his his finger entering you, your breath hitched at the foreign sensation. “We shouldn’t.” You whispered, you weren’t sure if you had spoken it or if it was in your mind only.

“And why?” His voice low, you felt as if you were speaking of some centuries old secret with him. “I promised you that I wouldn’t let you be married just like this. I will keep my promise, sweet niece.”

“Daemon,” you whispered, your denial was dying on your lips with him adding another finger in you, his thumb rolling around your nub and his lips on your neck. He hummed and those were the sweetest vibration you had ever felt on your skin, a shiver passing from the junction of your neck and shoulder to your core. Some cold wind had not caused this. This you know. It was him, your kepus who did this.

Your hands went to his shoulders, bare shoulders, he did not have his tunic on. Your skin touching his warm one. He was always warm. Like a dragon. “Please,” you gasped feeling his fingers go deep in you and you squeezed his shoulders.

His fingers moved faster in you, his teeth biting at your ear, “Is this what you are asking, sweetling?”

If only you knew what you wanted. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to let go of this feeling. “Yes-fuck-kepus!” You moaned feeling his fingers curl in you. And then another on being added.

“Don’t worry,” Daemon kissed your forehead, and you realised how really small you were in front of his tall stature. Even laying he could easily reach you forehead when his fingers were far down. “Kepus will take care of. Always.”

You knew he would. Mayhap, it was that fact that you had not called out for someone.

You felt your lower abdomen clenched, you weren’t sure it was. It felt as if someone was pulling at it but from inside. And somehow it felt good too. “Kepus, Kepus, there...”

“I know, sweet girl,” his fingers moved in you even more faster, and that was all you could feel. “Let go. Just let go.”

His thumb softly pressed on your nub and you gasped.

Something washed over you, something ecstatic. You felt free. Just like when you were on dragon back.

You panted, feeling as if you were knocked out of breath. Maybe you were. You look at Daemon, as he softly pulls his fingers out of you, putting them in his mouth, you couldn’t help the heat on your face when you remembered that it was your arousal that he was happily sucking off his fingers.

You looked at him in daze, everything seemed hazy for a few moments. Daemon leaned over you, his knuckles brushing your cheeks before his lips dropped on yours.

They were surprisingly soft, you had always imagined him having a hard touch but here he was, touching you as if you were made of glass, that you would break at the slight wrong caress. You felt his tongue on your lips, and you opened, letting his soft muscle of his mouth melt into yours.

You let him do what he wished to for some moments, unaware of what you were supposed to do but it didn’t take you long to catch up and you moved your tongue against his, you felt losing breath by every moment though nothing seemed to matter. It was heaven where Daemon was taking you. And you did not want to fall down from there.

“Fuck!” You heard Daemon curse as he parted from you, and his lips fell on your jaw and something hard rubbing your core. Your hips bucked up, unconsciously and you moaned. “Stop doing that, sweet girl,” Daemon spoke, his lips were moving down and down from your jaw to your neck, his hands pushing the sleeves of your slip down, his mouth leaving wet trails between your breast.

“kepus,” you were too lost. Your uncle looked like one of those Gods of Old Valyria. So beautiful, his burnt skin like stars on the dark sky. Your hands wrapped around his arms, feeling his full strong muscles, your finger traced the healed wounds, you felt your inside twist and turn. “kepus,”

Daemon pulled away, his eyes were dark, almost pitch black, he was sat between your legs. When did that happen you weren’t aware. You chest heaved as you took each breath greedily and watched his hands moving to his breeches’ laces, pulling them and he shed off them off. You eyes were on him, whole of him and your breath hitched.

So lost in the sight of him you didn’t know when he came back and kissed you, until his cock rubbed into you and you moaned. “Kepus,”

“Shh. It’s alright.” He whispered, his hips moved, you could feel him even when he wasn’t inside you. “Fucking hells, you are wet. You want this just much, don’t you?”

You didn’t get to answer him, feeling his head on your entrance, at this moment.

“This will hurt, sweetling.” Daemon kissed your forehead, his hands brushed your cheeks and hair just like when he wanted to comfort you at any peril of your. “but it will become better. I will make it all better.” And with that he pushed inside you, slowly, and you felt yourself stretching around him as he moved in slow, sucking in breath sharply and curses leaving his mouth, all faded to you.

He wasn’t lying when he said to would hurt. “kepus,” Your nails dug into his shoulders and he kissed your cheek with caressing your head all the while.

“Good girl, such a sweet girl, taking my cock so nicely.” You could hear his groans loud and clear even when he was speaking softly and slowly. “so tight, so firm. But you will take it, won’t you?”

You didn’t answer but hid your face in his neck, tightening your hold on him. You felt tore apart, yet you didn’t want to let go. “so big, kepus,” you whispered as he continued to bottom himself inside you and he kissed your neck saying words of praises.

It felt like hours when he stopped, Daemon by then had bit on your neck several times, you felt as if you’d had bled, but there was no worry about it. He won’t hurt you. You knew.

“Open your eyes, love,” He whispered and you did, he was just a hair width away from you and you could look at his eyes so clearly, his pools of lilac, light than that was your. You wished to have his eyes in your childhood.

He kissed you again and you kissed back. You couldn’t have enough of his mouth on yours, the taste of yourself and the wine mixed in both of your mouth was so sweet to you.

“Come to Dragonstone with me,” His forehead touched yours. Both of you were breathing each other in, “Take me to husband and I will take to you wife, in tradition of our house. You won’t be like her. Ever.”

You won’t be like her, he said. And you knew he was true to his words. He will be. He will not. Not like Alicent.

Not like her.

“Avy jorraelan, Kepus.” I love you, uncle.

Daemon smiled. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen in your life. “Avy jorraelan, donus rinus.” I love you, sweet girl.

Daemon moved in you, slow at first, so deep, you moaned at each stroke, every time his hips met yours, you couldn’t help but cry out first in discomfort and then in pleasure.

His lips descended upon your breast, taking your nubs in his mouth, he suckled at one like a babe hungry for their mother’s milk, his other hand playing with your other and his hips pushing into yours. You couldn’t hear anything but his grunt and groans and your moans and whimper.

Daemon held your legs, putting them around his waist. If you thought he was deep before, he was reaching way inside you.

“This cunt, your cunt was made for me, sweet girl. Look how good it take me. Even when you were asleep. Getting wet for me. It knows it’s mine. You know that too, don’t you?” you ought to feel humiliated and offended at such words. Being owned by some was not something you liked. But the way Daemon said it only made you clench harder around him making him groan, “fuck, yes. Yes, you do.”

“Yes. Yes, Kepus.” You whimpered at his fast pace inside you. Lost in the world of pleasure you were, you couldn’t hold your noises anymore. But of course you uncle would remedy it for you, putting his lips on yours, drinking every single sound in which left your mouth.

You clenched, your hands in his hair, pulling at them, feeling the tugging feeling as before in you. Daemon knew it all well.

“Going to give you my seed and you will swell with our child, sweet,” Daemon muttered in your ear. You felt yourself liking the prospect. Even imagining it in your head as your uncle rutted in you.

Our child.

“Yes”, you nodded, kissing his neck, “a babe, Kepus. With your eyes. I love your eyes.”

“Whatever, my sweet girl wants.” He grunted and you clenched on him again.

“Fuck, kepus.” You moaned, you were sure by now you had scratched his back bloody. “I... I feel it. It hurts.”

“I know, sweetling,” he muttered, “Let go. Just like before. Let it go.”

It wasn’t long you felt the same bliss wash over you and you felt warmth fill you in. Daemon’s seed, you knew it was as you both panted. Daemon stopped moving inside you after a few more strokes, but he did not pull out. He lowered himself to your bed and pulled you on him.

You rested your head on his chest, some silver hair, rubbing against your cheek, you took in the scent of his sweat, his skin glistening under the moonlight that fell in your room.

You felt him pull the sheet over the both of you, his hand running over your hair and exhaustion began to take over you. Your eyes drooped but you kept blinking the sleep away.

“Sleep,” Daemon kissed your head and you fell asleep just as quick as you had woken up, you hands wounded around his neck.

You prayed it not to be a dream.

[lady-ashfade]

´*໒:⋆˒- Symbol Reborn

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ House Of The Dragon x Fem!Reader (Yandere)

╰･ﾟ✧☽ summary: The gods could be cruel. And since the day you gained consciousness you knew they had been especially unkind to you with the hands they laid you in. A child of the storm, the realm’s highest power, a god to be praised. The targaryen family held you close as their own, and they had no reason to believe otherwise. The only gift the gods gave you was..sight.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: Yandere behavior: obsession, protective, unhealthy behavior, toxic, death, violence, visions, the hotd world, mini series, un canon events.

∴ season one spoilers, the dance of dragons ends differently.

Table Of Contents

Chapter One……. *unpublished*

Chapter Two……. *unpublished*

[0silver0dreams0]

✦✧ Masterlist ✧✦

"Whispers of Devotion" | Storyline ✦ 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. ✧

✦ >>Part I (Your name) died in a horrific way, but she has been reborn in a new world, where the body she is trapped in is (your name) Targaryen, daughter of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen, who took her own life after the death of her dear sister Helaena, who was very close to her.

✧ >>Part II Despite her mother, Queen Consort Alicent's attempts to control her, (your name) felt a stronger attachment to Rhaenyra and her children, which created jealousy and tension within the family. Aemond's frustration at not having a dragon fueled his anger, which grew daily, especially after Laena's tragic death. This escalating conflict ultimately led to a tragedy.

✦ >>Part III | Coming Soon… Gradually, as time passes, the girl she once was begins to transform into a woman. Those around her take notice, and the actions of those in her life start to bear consequences. As tensions rise, rivalries deepen, and complex feelings begin to intertwine.

✧ Part IV | Coming Soon…

[hisfavegirl]

Loneliness - Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader.

summary : your mother's decision to leave you alone in the red keep and start a new life with daemon made you become cold to your own family. but you found something more valuable in the red keep.

The world had shifted, and so had you. The corridors of the Red Keep, once familiar, now felt colder and more suffocating. The weight of whispers followed you everywhere — quiet murmurs of “bastard” and “orphan” carried on the air like an ever-present shadow. But you had learned not to flinch. Not anymore.

Aemond’s injury at Driftmark had been a turning point, not just for him but for you as well. The rage, the blood, and the searing accusations that followed lingered in your mind like a bad dream that refused to fade. His loss of an eye became a symbol of the growing rift between your family and theirs. You had watched it all, your heart pounding in your chest, knowing that no matter what you said or did, it wouldn’t be enough to stop the storm.

Then came the departure of your father. Sudden. Unexplained. No goodbyes. One day he was there, and the next, he was gone. The ache it left in you was raw and hollow.

But the final blow came with the news of your mother’s marriage to Daemon. The whispers grew louder after that. The court’s disapproval was palpable, their eyes darting to you with barely concealed scorn. “Daughter of the princess and the rogue prince.” The words dripped with venom. It didn’t help that, after her marriage, your mother chose to return to Dragonstone — without you.

“It’s safer for you in the Red Keep,” she had told you, her voice firm but her eyes sad.

You had grown colder after that. Quieter. The smile you once wore so freely became a distant memory. You no longer sought out the company of others. You stayed in your chambers longer, speaking only when necessary, your heart guarded behind walls no one could breach.

The Greens noticed. Of course, they did. Queen Alicent’s watchful eyes never missed a thing. You felt her gaze on you at meals, in the training yard, and whenever you walked the halls alone. Sometimes she would speak to you, offering honeyed words about “duty” and “family unity.” Other times, she would simply watch, her face unreadable, as if trying to solve a puzzle only she could see.

But you had learned to keep your face still, your eyes sharp, and your words measured. They could call you “bastard” as much as they pleased, but they would never see you break. Not like before.

On one particularly cold evening, you sat by the window, gazing out at the courtyard below. You looked Aemond who were training with Ser Cirston, but you had little interest in watching. Your thoughts drifted like clouds in a stormy sky. You could see the sea in the distance, and it made you think of your father. Does he think of me too?

A knock came at the door, but you didn’t answer. It opened anyway, and you knew before you turned who it would be.

Queen Alicent.

She stepped inside with the same quiet grace she always carried. Her green gown trailed behind her like ivy creeping along stone. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, her eyes calm but focused.

“You’ve been keeping to yourself more than usual,” she said softly, her voice like silk over steel. “It’s not good for a child to be so alone.”

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes still fixed on the sea.

“I’m not alone,” you finally said, echoing the same words you’d told her once before. “I have my thoughts. They keep me company.”

Alicent tilted her head, her gaze sharp as ever. “Thoughts can be dangerous if left unchecked,” she replied, stepping closer. “Sometimes, they lead us to dark places.”

Her words lingered, heavy with meaning. You glanced at her then, your gaze steady and cold. “I am not afraid of the dark, Your Grace.”

She raised an eyebrow, perhaps surprised by your boldness. But she didn’t scold you. If anything, her lips curved into a faint smile — though it was not one of warmth.

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You are your mother’s daughter, after all.”

Silence hung between you, thick as smoke. She watched you for a moment longer, as if searching for something she wasn’t sure she would find.

“Be careful with that pride,” she warned before turning toward the door. “Pride has a way of making orphans of us all.”

Her words echoed long after she had gone, her footsteps fading down the hall. Alone once more, you sat by the window, eyes on the sea, your heart a fortress with walls higher than any castle. If pride would make an orphan of you, then so be it. You would rather stand alone in the storm than kneel before those who called you “bastard.”

You leaned against the headboard of your bed, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your chest. The dim glow of the fading sun seeped through the window, casting soft orange hues across the room. The stillness around you was suffocating, the silence broken only by the distant calls of seagulls and the gentle hum of the Red Keep’s endless murmurs.

Your gaze was distant, eyes locked on the ceiling as thoughts swirled in your mind like a storm at sea. What did I do wrong? The question had haunted you since the day your mother left for Dragonstone. It echoed with every quiet moment, every glance from Alicent, and every sharp whisper from passing lords and ladies.

Was I not enough? you wondered. Did I fail her somehow?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, blinking away the sting behind your eyes. You were too old to cry over such things. But it was hard not to feel abandoned. Your mother was supposed to teach you, guide you, and be your shield. But instead, she had gone — with Jace, with Luke, with her new husband — and left you here. Alone.

A quiet knock pulled you from your thoughts. The door creaked open, and one of your maids stepped inside, her eyes lowered in respect. She held a small piece of parchment in her hands, the edges of it sealed with the unmistakable red wax of House Targaryen. Your heart leapt at the sight of it, the faintest flicker of hope blooming in your chest.

“A letter from Dragonstone, princess ,” the maid announced softly, walking toward you with careful steps.

You sat up quickly, heart pounding in your chest. She placed the letter in your hands, then stepped back, her gaze flickering with quiet curiosity before she lowered her eyes once more.

You stared at the seal for a moment, fingers tracing the mark of the three-headed dragon. Mother. For a moment, you hesitated. Part of you feared what it might say. Would it be filled with more promises to “see you soon” that never came true? Or would it finally be an explanation?

With a deep breath, you broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, eyes scanning the familiar, flowing script.

Your hands tightened around the parchment, the familiar ache in your chest returning tenfold. Her words were kind, warm, even loving — but they were just words. You couldn’t feel her arms around you through ink and parchment. You couldn’t hear her voice telling you everything would be all right.

The maid watched you carefully, perhaps waiting for some instruction or response, but you stayed silent. Your eyes lingered on the words “I love you with every breath I take.” For a moment, you believed it. But it didn’t fill the hollow space her absence had carved into you.

Slowly, you folded the letter and placed it under your pillow, as if keeping it close would make her feel closer too. You leaned back against the headboard, eyes once again drifting to the ceiling.

If you love me, why did you leave me? you thought bitterly. But you didn’t say it aloud. No one would hear you. No one ever did.

The next morning, you made the decision to visit your grandfather, King Viserys. You hadn’t seen him in some time, not since his illness had worsened and confined him to his chambers. There were whispers in the halls about his condition — how the disease was slowly consuming him, how he had become a shadow of the man he once was.

The walk to his chambers felt heavier than usual. Every step echoed against the cold stone walls, and the silence of the Red Keep pressed down on you. When you reached his door, the guards glanced at you briefly before stepping aside, allowing you entry.

The room smelled faintly of herbs and medicine, the air thick with the warmth of a fire that burned low in the hearth. Curtains were drawn, allowing only slivers of light to seep through. The soft, steady wheeze of your grandfather’s breathing filled the room, the sound uneven and strained.

He lay on the grand bed, his once-strong frame now frail and sunken. His face was pale, his skin stretched thin over his cheekbones, and his eyes, though closed, twitched beneath his eyelids as if he were trapped in a restless dream. His crown, once a symbol of his might, lay on a table beside him, cold and untouched.

Quietly, you approached his bedside, your heart aching at the sight of him. This is not the king I remember, you thought. The man who had once carried you on his shoulders during feasts, who had smiled so warmly when you brought him wildflowers from the gardens, was now barely a shadow of himself.

You pulled a chair close and sat by his side. For a moment, you only watched him, taking in every rise and fall of his chest, every line on his weathered face. Slowly, you reached out and took his hand in yours. His skin was cool to the touch, rough in places where age and illness had left their mark.

Gently, you ran your thumb across his knuckles, your movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid he might break beneath your touch. His fingers twitched slightly at the contact, and you wondered if he knew you were there.

“Grandfather,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s me.”

His breathing hitched for a moment, and you thought you saw his eyelids flutter. Slowly, his eyes opened — not fully, just enough to see you. His gaze was foggy, distant, but after a moment, recognition flickered within them. His lips parted, and his voice, cracked and hoarse, barely made it out.

“…child,” he rasped, his eyes squinting to focus on you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to cry. You smiled at him, leaning in a little closer. “Yes, it’s me,” you said, your voice more steady now. “I came to see you.”

He tried to smile, but it came as little more than a twitch of his lips. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place — pride, perhaps, or sorrow. Maybe both.

“You look… so much like her,” he murmured, his voice strained with effort. “So strong… just like her.”

You knew he was speaking of your mother. People often said you resembled her, though you weren’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or a curse. Still, hearing it from him felt different.

“I miss her,” you admitted quietly, still stroking his hand. “She left for Dragonstone with Jace and Luke. I stayed.”

His brows knitted together in confusion or concern. His gaze sharpened just a little, like a dying flame flaring briefly before fading. “Alone?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You nodded, feeling a familiar ache settle in your chest. “I stayed so she wouldn’t seem weak. So they wouldn’t say we were running away.” Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep speaking. “But sometimes… I wonder if she forgot me.”

Viserys’s eyes softened, his grip on your hand weak but deliberate as he squeezed it gently. “No,” he said with surprising clarity. “She could never forget you.”

The words broke something in you. Your head dipped forward, and you clutched his hand tightly, holding on as if he were the last tether keeping you from drifting away. His breathing grew more labored, but he didn’t let go of you. Not yet.

“You are her heart,” he whispered, his words faint but certain. “Her blood. No distance… no crown… can change that.”

You pressed his hand to your forehead, eyes shut tight as tears spilled down your cheeks. You didn’t make a sound, didn’t want him to hear you cry, but you stayed there, letting his words settle into you like warmth after a bitter cold.

You sat beside your grandfather, the warmth of the fire flickering against the walls of his chamber. The familiar weight of the old, worn book rested in your hands as you read aloud, your voice soft but steady. It was his favorite story — one he had read to you when you were younger, back when his voice was strong and his mind sharp. Now, it was your turn to read to him.

His breathing was slow and uneven, each inhale a struggle, but his eyes were closed in peace. Every so often, his fingers would twitch in your grasp as if to remind you that he was still listening, still here. Moments like these were rare, and you cherished them.

Your voice filled the quiet space, weaving the tale of knights and honor, of dragons and kings. It had always been his favorite — a story of legacy and duty. How fitting for him, you thought with a faint smile.

But then, the sound of the chamber door creaking open shattered the peace. You paused mid-sentence, glancing toward the entrance. Two figures stepped inside — one familiar, one foreign.

Your heart stopped.

It was her. Your mother.

Her silver hair flowed freely down her back, her presence commanding the room as if she had never left. By her side was him. Daemon Targaryen, his sharp features as unyielding as ever, his gaze sweeping the room with quiet calculation. His hand rested lightly on your mother’s back as if he had every right to be there.

They had returned.

You sat frozen for a moment, still clutching the book as if it were an anchor. Your eyes met your mother’s, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Her gaze softened, lips parting slightly as if to say something, but the words didn’t come.

Too late, you thought bitterly.

Daemon’s eyes flicked to you, cold and unreadable, but he said nothing. He never had to. His presence alone was a statement, a reminder that everything had changed.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy like fog. Slowly, you closed the book, the soft thud echoing louder than it should have. You stood, brushing off your skirts as if preparing for battle, your gaze sharp and steady. No tears. Not here. Not now.

“May I be excused?” you asked, your voice calm, measured, and far too grown for someone your age.

Viserys stirred, his eyes flickering open just barely. “Stay,” he rasped, his weak voice pleading. “She’s… here now.”

But you didn’t look at him. Your eyes were locked on your mother, waiting for her to speak. Waiting for her to give you a reason to stay.

Say something, you thought. Tell me you missed me. Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me anything.

But she didn’t. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and though her eyes brimmed with something — regret, guilt, love — it wasn’t enough.

You lowered your gaze, your heart feeling heavier than before. “I’ll be in my chambers,” you said softly, stepping away from the bed.

You didn’t wait for permission. You didn’t wait for her to call after you. You simply turned and walked toward the door, each step carrying you further away from them.

Behind you, you could hear Viserys coughing weakly, the quiet murmuring of your mother’s voice as she rushed to his side. But she hadn’t come to you. She had come for him.

And so, you left. Alone, as always.

You ran as fast as your legs would carry you, your heart pounding in your chest harder than your footsteps echoed against the cold stone floors of the Red Keep. The corridors blurred around you, familiar paths that you had walked a thousand times before. But now, they felt endless, like a maze you couldn’t escape.

The moment you reached the garden, you didn’t stop. You pushed past the hedges and flowers, past the sweet fragrance of blooming roses that felt so out of place against the storm in your heart. Only when you reached the large weirwood tree at the center of the garden did you finally stop.

Breathing heavily, you leaned against the rough bark, letting it press into your back like a grounding weight. Your head tilted up to the sky, eyes stinging with unshed tears. But it wasn’t long before they escaped, hot trails down your cheeks.

She didn’t even say my name.

That thought replayed over and over, sharp and cruel like a dagger twisting in your chest. She had looked at you. She saw you. But she said nothing. No “stay,” no “come here,” not even your name. It was as if you were no one at all.

You pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, trying to stop the tears. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Not for her. Not for them. But the ache in your chest was too much, and the more you tried to hold it in, the harder it became to breathe.

“Crying doesn’t suit you,” came a cool, familiar voice from behind you.

You stiffened, slowly lowering your hands. The voice was sharp but steady, a quiet command that didn’t need to be loud to be heard. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Aemond,” you muttered, wiping at your face quickly, trying to hide any trace of weakness. “What do you want?”

Footsteps crunched lightly against the gravel path until he was closer. You could feel his presence, sharp and deliberate, like the edge of a blade hovering just out of reach.

“Nothing,” he replied simply. His tone was calm, but there was something beneath it — curiosity, maybe, or something colder. “I was only passing by. But it’s hard to miss someone running through the Keep like they’re being chased by a shadow.”

You scoffed, arms crossing over your chest as you turned your head slightly to glance at him. He stood a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight and proud as always. His silver hair glowed faintly in the afternoon light, the eyepatch over his left eye making his sharp features seem even more severe.

“Then keep walking,” you said quietly, leaning your head back against the tree. You didn’t have the energy to argue with him today. “I’m not in the mood for your games, Aemond.”

But he didn’t move. He stayed where he was, his lone eye watching you carefully, studying you like one of his history books. His silence was heavy, expectant, like he was waiting for you to say something more.

When you didn’t, he stepped closer. “Did she say something to you?”

You froze at that, your fingers digging into your arms. You knew exactly who he meant. He always knew.

“Why do you care?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. You turned to face him fully, eyes still red but blazing with defiance. “Come to gloat, have you? Come to remind me I’m the forgotten child, the one they left behind?”

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as if considering your words. He didn’t smile, didn’t sneer — he wasn’t like Aegon. No, Aemond was too controlled for that.

“I don’t need to remind you of something you already know,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the air like ice. “But you should know this — being forgotten isn’t the same as being weak.”

His words hung there for a moment, sharp and cold but strangely… honest. He stepped forward, and for once, you didn’t move away. He stopped just an arm’s length from you, his gaze unwavering.

“Do you think I don’t know what it’s like?” he continued, his tone quieter now, more deliberate. “They may look at me, but they don’t see me. Not as I am.” He glanced away briefly, jaw tightening, as if the admission had cost him something.

Your breath caught in your throat. For all the times you had argued with Aemond, for all the cold remarks and sharp looks exchanged, this was different. You recognized the weight in his words because it was the same weight you carried.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The garden was quiet except for the distant chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Finally, you sighed, looking down at your feet. “It hurts,” you admitted, barely more than a whisper. “No matter how much I tell myself it doesn’t, it still hurts.”

There was another pause, then the sound of footsteps. You expected him to walk away, to leave you to your thoughts. But instead, he stepped closer, his shadow falling over you. When you glanced up, he was right there in front of you, his face unreadable but his gaze steady.

“Then let it hurt,” he said quietly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Let it hurt, and then make sure they regret it.”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the quiet ferocity in his tone. He wasn’t offering comfort, not in the way others might. But he wasn’t mocking you either. This was something else — a challenge, perhaps. Or a promise.

For once, you didn’t argue with him. You didn’t have the strength.

You glanced away, wiping at the last of your tears with the sleeve of your dress. “You sound like Daemon,” you muttered, half-expecting it to annoy him.

But Aemond only huffed a quiet laugh. “Daemon thinks with his heart,” he said, his lips twitching into a brief, fleeting smile. “I think with my mind.”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Which one do you think is better?”

His smile faded, and for a moment, he seemed to genuinely consider it. “Both are useful,” he said finally. “But only one will win a war.”

You didn’t know if that was meant to be advice or a warning. Maybe both.

The two of you stood there in the quiet of the garden, side by side but not quite together. The ache in your heart had dulled to something more bearable. Not gone — it would never be gone — but bearable.

“Come,” Aemond said after a moment, tilting his head toward the path. “If you stay here too long, they’ll think you’ve run away.”

His words could have been a jest, but his tone was too matter-of-fact. You stared at him for a moment longer, then pushed away from the tree, your legs steadier now than before.

He didn’t offer his hand, and you didn’t ask for it. But he walked beside you, his stride matching yours as you made your way back toward the Keep.

And for once, you didn’t feel so alone.

As you and Aemond made your way down the hallway, the silence between you both felt less oppressive, though still distant. There was an odd sense of companionship in the quiet that lingered as you walked side by side, but it was short-lived.

As you reached the stairs, you spotted Alicent. She stood at the top, watching both of you with an unreadable expression. Her gaze flicked between you and Aemond, and for a brief moment, the tension between the three of you seemed to stretch thin, like a thread pulled too tight.

She descended slowly, her steps deliberate, until she reached the landing where you both stood.

“You,” she began, her voice steady, though there was an underlying sharpness. She looked directly at Aemond. “Take her to her chambers. I need to speak with you after.”

Aemond met her gaze, his expression unchanged. “Yes, Mother,” he replied, his tone respectful, though the slightest edge lingered in his voice.

You felt the air around you grow colder, her eyes now turning to you. They were calm, almost calculating, but there was a trace of something else beneath — concern, perhaps, or something more complicated that you couldn’t quite read.

“I’ll speak to you shortly,” Alicent said, her voice gentler now as she directed her attention to you. There was no warmth, but there was something like understanding, or at least the semblance of it.

You nodded silently, not trusting your voice to stay steady. For a moment, you thought of resisting, of telling her you didn’t want to meet her in her solar. But the words didn’t come, and the thought seemed almost futile. So, you allowed Aemond to guide you silently toward your room, knowing that an inevitable conversation with your mother loomed ahead.

Aemond didn’t say anything as he walked beside you, his presence more of a shadow than anything else. You couldn’t help but wonder what had transpired between them, what conversation lay ahead, and if you would ever get the answers you sought — or if it would only ever remain a silence, a chasm growing between you and those you had once trusted most.

You stepped into your room, the door creaking softly as you entered, your mind still heavy with the encounter on the stairs. You turned to Aemond, giving him a small, brief thank you. He only nodded in return, his expression unreadable, before turning on his heel and leaving without a word. His presence was gone just as quickly as it had arrived, and the silence that followed felt almost suffocating.

The moment he was gone, you closed the door behind you, your hand lingering on the handle for a moment before you turned away. Your gaze swept across the room, and something caught your eye — a soft green fabric sprawled across the bed.

A gown. A rich, flowing green gown. The fabric shimmered faintly in the dim light, elegant and carefully placed, as though it had been waiting for you.

You walked over, your steps hesitant as you approached the bed, your fingers brushing against the soft material. Confusion washed over you. What was this? Why was it here? The last thing you expected was to find a gown, especially one so formal �� so… green.

It was then that a thought crossed your mind — the color. Green. The color of the greens. Was it a sign? A reminder of what was expected of you? You didn’t know, but the weight of it made your chest tighten. Why was it left here, and by whom? Your mother’s choice, or something else entirely?

You stared at it for a moment longer, your thoughts tangled in confusion and frustration. You didn’t want to wear it. Not today. Not when everything felt so wrong. But there was no time for indecision.

Just as you were about to turn away, you heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching outside the door.

Your breath caught, and before you could stop yourself, you straightened up, knowing exactly who was coming.

You turned at the soft sound of footsteps, your heart tightening as you saw Queen Alicent standing in the doorway. Her presence filled the room with an air of authority, yet her eyes seemed softer than usual, though the resolve in them was unmistakable.

She stepped inside, her gaze briefly scanning the room before it landed on you. “There will be a proclaiming,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “To determine who will be the next Lord of the Tides. It is important that you stand beside me during this.” Her eyes flicked toward the green gown on the bed, her lips curling into a slight, knowing smile. “Please, wear this. It is fitting for the occasion.”

You stared at her for a long moment, feeling the weight of her words. The tension in the room seemed to grow heavier, as if the walls were closing in around you. A proclaiming. The announcement of a new Lord of the Tides. This was not just a simple event, but a reminder of the shifting allegiances and the subtle games at play. You had no choice but to be a part of it.

You glanced at the gown again, the rich green fabric glistening in the dim light. It felt like a symbol — of power, of expectations, of your place in the game. But you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse her. Not now.

“I understand,” you said softly, your voice betraying none of the turmoil inside you. “I’ll wear it.”

Alicent’s gaze softened for a brief moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. She nodded and walked closer, her presence commanding yet strangely comforting. “I know this isn’t easy for you,” she said quietly, her voice gentler now. “But this is part of our duty, of our role in the realm. And we must play our part.”

You stood there, caught between the pull of duty and the ache of what you had lost. The world around you seemed like a distant echo, and you struggled to hold yourself steady.

“Once you’re ready,” she continued, breaking the silence, “I’ll send ser Criston to take you to the throne room. ”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the gown that lay before you. The decision was clear. There was no turning back.

You reached for the gown, your fingers brushing against the fabric as you prepared yourself for what was to come.

As you sat in front of the mirror, the soft hum of your servant’s movements filled the room. She carefully arranged your hair, pulling it into an elegant style, but your thoughts were far from the delicate strands of your hair. The reflection before you felt distant, almost unfamiliar, as if the person staring back was a stranger.

You wore the green gown that Queen Alicent had provided for you, its rich fabric flowing elegantly down your form. The color, so associated with the Greens, seemed to weigh heavily on your shoulders. You couldn’t help but wonder what your family would think when they saw you in this.

What would your mother think? Would she see the daughter she had left behind in King’s Landing, dutiful and obedient, yet broken by the distance between them? You remembered the warmth of her embrace when you were younger, the way she would comfort you, guide you. Now, with her absence, you felt the heavy responsibility of the crown pressing on you from every angle.

And Jace and Luke — your brothers. What would they make of all this? They had been so close to you, always protective, always there when you needed them. Now, they were far away, living their own lives in Dragonstone. Would they understand your choices? Or would they see this as a betrayal, as a surrender to the life they had feared for you?

Your reflection in the mirror seemed to mock you with its silence. You had once imagined yourself in a life full of love, happiness, and freedom. But now, all of that felt distant, slipping away like sand through your fingers. the alliances, the politics — they all had a price. And you couldn’t help but feel like you were paying it all alone.

You tried to push those thoughts aside, but they lingered, a constant ache in your chest. You had no choice but to play the part. To be the dutiful daughter, the obedient noblewoman, and stand by your mother, even as the weight of it all crushed you from the inside.

“Are you ready, princess?” the servant asked, her voice pulling you from your thoughts.

You gave her a small nod, but the truth was, you weren’t ready. Not for any of it. But the moment had arrived, and there was no turning back.

You turned your head toward the door, your heart racing as you saw Ser Criston standing at the threshold, ready to escort you to the throne room. His presence was as stoic and reassuring as always, though you couldn’t ignore the slight tension in the air.

You straightened yourself, taking a deep breath, and walked toward him, your head held high, despite the turmoil swirling inside you. As you passed through the halls of the Red Keep, the whispers started — soft at first, but quickly growing louder. You could hear them all around you: gasps of surprise, murmurs of disbelief. The green gown, the color of the Greens, a stark contrast to the black and red of House Targaryen, was the reason for their shock.

It was a deliberate choice, one that left no room for doubt. This was a statement. And you knew exactly what it meant. The gown was a symbol, not just of your family’s current position in the court, but of the power games at play. It felt like a chain, heavy and binding, even as you walked with the grace you had been taught since childhood.

The stares followed you every step of the way. Eyes widened in disbelief, some full of judgment, others perhaps curiosity. Some were too polite to stare openly, but you could feel their gaze burning into you as you moved past them.

And yet, you didn’t falter. You walked proudly, your back straight, your expression carefully neutral, though inside, you were anything but calm. The whispers stung, but you pushed them aside. This was your duty. You had no choice but to fulfill it.

Ser Criston walked beside you, his gaze ahead, ever watchful, ever loyal. He didn’t say a word, and neither did you. But his presence gave you a small sense of comfort, as if someone, at least, understood that there was more at stake here than just the gown you wore.

Finally, you reached the grand doors of the throne room. You paused for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on you, before you stepped forward, the heavy wooden doors opening with a creak, revealing the sea of faces awaiting you inside.

This was it. The proclamation was about to begin. And you, standing in Queen chosen gown, would have no choice but to face the consequences of every decision made in this ever-shifting game of power.

As you entered the throne room, your eyes immediately found Queen Alicent’s. She stood tall and regal, her gaze meeting yours as you approached. Her lips curled into a soft, approving smile. “You look very beautiful in green,” she said, her voice warm, though there was something else beneath it — a knowing smile, perhaps, or a hint of satisfaction in seeing you fully embrace the role she had set out for you.

You merely nodded in acknowledgment, not trusting yourself to speak. Her words felt like both a compliment and a reminder of the expectations placed on you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to truly believe in them.

Your attention shifted quickly back to the large, imposing doors at the far end of the room, your heart quickening in anticipation. Your mother, Rhaenyra, and your brothers, Jace and Luke, were yet to arrive. The throne room was silent but for the murmurs of the court, the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

The eyes of the gathered lords and ladies were on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet their gazes for long. You focused instead on the door, waiting for the sound of footsteps that would signal your family’s arrival. The uncertainty gnawed at you, and as you stood there, a part of you wished for the moment to be over, to have clarity — to know where you stood in this world of shifting alliances and loyalties.

But the time stretched on, the door still closed, the air thick with the tension of what was to come.

The heavy doors of the throne room creaked open, and there, standing in the doorway, was your mother — Rhaenyra, her posture regal and graceful, but something about her presence seemed different today. Her figure was rounder than before, the unmistakable sign of pregnancy clear to anyone who looked closely. At her side was Daemon, ever watchful, and your brothers, Jace and Luke, followed closely behind.

You could feel your heart skip a beat as they stepped forward, but your gaze locked onto Jace almost instantly. His eyes widened, a flicker of shock flashing across his face before it was quickly replaced with a deep, almost painful, disappointment. The sight of you standing with the greens, wearing their color, was something he hadn’t expected — a stark contrast to the loyalty you had once shown to your family, to House Targaryen’s black banner.

The disappointment in his eyes cut deeper than you anticipated, and for a moment, you felt the weight of every unspoken word between you both. He looked at you as though he didn’t understand, as though you had betrayed something sacred between you.

You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. The silence between you two stretched on as his gaze bore into you, so full of emotions that you couldn’t quite decipher. Was it betrayal? Pain? Confusion?

Rhaenyra and Daemon took their place further away from you, near the center of the room. Yet, your mind couldn’t pull itself from Jace’s stare. You tried to steady your breathing, but the realization of the rift growing between you and your family felt like a weight in your chest.

The room was charged with an uneasy tension, everyone watching the scene unfold — the daughter of Rhaenyra, standing with the Greens, while her family stood apart. The quiet disappointment from Jace was almost louder than anything else in that moment.

You felt the walls close in, unsure of how to navigate this new reality. All you could do was stand there, caught between the old loyalties and the new allegiances that were now expected of you.

Aemond stood beside you, his presence unwavering as he occasionally glanced at you with an almost unreadable expression. His words were calm but sharp, as though he was trying to reinforce something that you had already come to terms with, but the sting of it still lingered. “Green is your color, not red or black,” he said softly, his tone as cold as ever. It was a statement of fact, something that left no room for argument, and yet, it only made you feel more distant from everything you had once known.

You remained silent, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders. You didn’t respond — there was nothing to say. You had already accepted your place in this new world, even if it came with a bitter taste.

The room fell into a tense silence as the proclamation began. Vaemond Velaryon, with all his pride and ambition, stepped forward. His voice carried through the hall, commanding attention as he declared, “I am the rightful heir and the only true choice to be the Lord of Driftmark.”

His words reverberated in the space, each syllable a challenge, a bold assertion of power and legitimacy. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the reactions of those present. You could feel the weight of Vaemond’s claim, the undeniable tension that followed. This was more than just a family dispute — it was a battle for control, for legitimacy, and for the very future of House Velaryon.

Your mind raced, thoughts colliding in confusion and discomfort. The stakes had never been higher. Would your mother support Vaemond’s claim? Or would the blood of House Targaryen — your blood — be enough to sway the tide? You glanced at your mother and Daemon, standing nearby, their expressions unreadable.

The tension was palpable as the room awaited the response, each passing second heavier than the last.

The atmosphere in the throne room grew even more tense as your mother, Rhaenyra, stepped forward with a calm yet resolute expression. Her voice, steady and authoritative, filled the hall. “Corlys’ decision remains the same,” she declared. “He has chosen Luke as the next Lord of the Tides.”

A murmur ran through the room, some faces showing surprise, others nodding in agreement. The declaration was bold, but it was backed by the powerful figure of Rhaenyra, who stood unwavering in her stance. Her words were not just about the title; they were a symbol of defiance, a challenge to those who sought to undermine the legitimacy of her children.

Rhaenys, standing beside her, nodded in firm agreement, her voice calm but carrying the weight of years of experience and authority. “My husband’s decision has not changed,” she added. “Luke is and will always be the rightful heir.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, all eyes turning to Vaemond, who had no choice but to stand down for now, his claim weakening in the face of Rhaenyra’s unyielding support.

Then, your grandmother dropped another bombshell — one that took the room by surprise. “And as part of the future of House Velaryon, I am pleased to announce that Luke and Jace are betrothed to my twin grandchildren Baela and Rhaena.”

The words hit like a thunderclap. The idea of this new betrothal, the joining of two powerful houses, added yet another layer to the intricate web of politics, alliances, and promises that had been carefully woven over the years. You could feel the weight of those words as they settled in the room, many eyes darting between you and your brothers, whispers beginning to rise once again.

You could feel the eyes of the court on you, and your heart pounded in your chest. What would Jace think about this announcement? What about Luke? The news of their betrothals, coupled with the tension surrounding Driftmark, was only going to fuel the already high stakes.

Your thoughts raced, but you kept your gaze steady, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. The room buzzed with murmurs, but you remained focused, wondering what the next move would be in this dangerous political game your family had been forced to play.

As the tension in the room thickened, the doors to the throne room creaked open once more. All eyes turned toward the entrance, and the atmosphere seemed to hold its breath. There, standing with the aid of a cane, was King Viserys. His frail form was supported by a servant on either side, and his once-vibrant presence now seemed diminished by the ravages of time and illness. Yet despite his weakened state, there was an undeniable authority that still emanated from him.

The murmurs of the court fell silent as King Viserys slowly made his way to the front, his steps deliberate and measured. With a deep, rasping breath, he finally spoke, his voice strained but still commanding. “Otto,” he began, his eyes locking onto his Hand. “I will be the one to lead this proclamation.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Otto Hightower, standing near the throne, appeared taken aback by his father’s decision, but he quickly masked his surprise with a bow of his head, acknowledging the king’s authority.

The weight of his words reverberated throughout the room. King Viserys had reclaimed his place at the center of this crucial moment, despite his frailty. His determination to lead, to assert his authority even in his weakened state, was evident to all present.

You could see the shock and uncertainty in the eyes of the court members, and perhaps even in Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s expressions. The course of events was shifting yet again, and with it, the balance of power in the room seemed to tip ever so slightly in the king’s favor.

Viserys, with a look of exhaustion but unwavering resolve, turned his attention to the gathered lords and ladies. “The time for further disputes ends now,” he said, his voice gaining strength with each word. “I will make my decision on this matter.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as King Viserys’ declaration rang out through the hall. “Luke shall remain the rightful heir to Driftmark,” he said firmly, his voice filled with the weight of his authority despite his frailty.

For a moment, the court seemed to hold its collective breath, but it was not long before Vaemond Velaryon’s voice cut through the tension, harsh and unrelenting. He stepped forward, his anger palpable, and his eyes were ablaze with fury. “This is wrong!” he shouted. “These children are bastards! They have no rightful claim to Driftmark, no matter how you spin it!”

His words were venomous, and as he turned his attention to your brothers, Jace and Luke, the venom in his tone grew sharper. “You two are no better than the filth you came from,” he spat, his words aimed directly at them. “You’re nothing more than the children of a whore, born from lies and treachery!”

The insult stung in ways that words could not fully capture. You could see the hurt and anger flash across Jace’s face as he stepped forward, as if ready to respond, but it was Luke’s stiffened posture that caught your attention. The weight of Vaemond’s accusations hung heavily in the air.

Vaemond’s fury, however, did not stop there. His gaze swung over to your mother, Rhaenyra, his expression twisting with contempt. “And you,” he sneered, his voice rising with scorn, “You are nothing but a cunning, deceitful whore, the one who corrupted the bloodline of House Velaryon.”

The insult was deliberate and cruel, a direct attack not only on your mother’s honor but on the legitimacy of your entire family. The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of Vaemond’s words hanging like a storm cloud. You could feel the tension spike, the atmosphere thick with the undercurrent of anger and betrayal.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you thought you might break — but instead, your gaze hardened. You stood there, watching the scene unfold, unsure if you were more shocked by Vaemond’s audacity or by the way the room seemed to shift in the wake of his challenge.

The king, still gripping his cane, seemed poised to speak again, but the silence lingered, heavy and oppressive. It was as if the very air around you had been thickened with the weight of the words exchanged — the accusation of bastardy, the callous insult to your mother’s reputation.

You knew that this would not end quietly. The delicate balance of power had already been shaken, and the game was far from over.

The events unfolded in a blur, so sudden and brutal that it barely felt real. One moment, Vaemond's voice echoed through the throne room, his hateful words hanging in the air like the toll of a bell. The next, there was a flash of steel - sharp, quick, and final.

The sickening sound of flesh and bone being cleaved echoed louder than any shout. Gasps and cries filled the hall as Vaemond's head was split clean in two. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, with the top half of his skull tumbling to the cold stone floor. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and glistening, seeping into the cracks of the throne room's tiles.

You froze in place, eyes wide with shock, your breath caught in your chest. It felt like time had stopped. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out the horrified murmurs of the lords and ladies around you. Before you even realized what you were doing, your hands shot up to cover your eyes, blocking out the sight of Vaemond's mutilated body. But the image was already burned into your mind.

Helena's small, sharp gasp echoed beside you, her voice strained and filled with as much fear as your own. She pressed her hands to her face, her breathing shaky, and you knew she had seen everything too. You both stood there like statues, caught in a moment too terrible to process.

Daemon stood at the center of it all, calm as ever, his sword still raised, blood dripping from the blade in slow, deliberate drops. His eyes were sharp, unbothered by the stares or the gasps of the court. His gaze shifted only briefly to you, as if to ensure you were still standing, before he turned his attention back to the king.

"Say it again," Daemon's voice was low and deadly, his words laced with cold fury. But there was no one left to answer.

The silence that followed was suffocating. No one dared to speak, not even Otto Hightower, who watched with tightly pressed lips and narrowed eyes. Alicent's face was pale, her hands clasped in front of her as if in silent prayer. Even your mother, Rhaenyra, stood frozen for a moment, her eyes flicking between Daemon and the lifeless body of Vaemond.

King Viserys' breathing was heavy and labored, but he did not reprimand Daemon.

Instead, he raised a trembling hand, his voice brittle but clear. "I will have no more of this," he declared, his eyes hard and tired. "This matter is settled. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark. Let no one speak of it again."

The room remained still, filled with the metallic tang of blood and the quiet rustle of fabric as lords and ladies shifted uncomfortably in place. Your breathing was shallow, your fingers slowly lowering from your eyes. You glanced toward Aemond, whose gaze was locked on Daemon with an intensity that made your chest tighten. He wasn't horrified like the others. No, his face bore the faintest hint of something else - respect, or perhaps something darker.

Your eyes flickered back to Helena, her hands still over her face, her shoulders trembling.

Without thinking, you reached for her, gently placing a hand on her arm. She flinched but didn't pull away. The two of you stood like that for a while, the world around you too loud and too quiet all at once.

You felt Queen Alicent’s hand gently grip your arm, firm but not harsh. Her touch grounded you in the midst of the chaos, her presence a steady force as she guided you and Helaena toward the exit of the throne room. Your legs moved on their own, your mind still clouded by the horrific scene you had just witnessed.

Behind you, you heard it — Jace’s voice, sharp and desperate. “Sister! wait!” he called out, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. For a moment, your heart ached, and you nearly stopped. Nearly.

But Alicent’s hand gave a gentle tug, and you kept walking. You didn’t turn back. You didn’t look at Jace. The weight of everything pressed on you too heavily to face him right now. Helaena walked quietly on your other side, her hands still clasped tightly together, her eyes darting around like she was trying to wake herself from a nightmare.

The echoes of the throne room faded as the heavy doors closed behind you. The hallway outside was quieter, colder, the distant hum of the Red Keep filling the silence. Your breathing was shallow, your mind replaying the moment Daemon swung his sword, the flash of steel, the wet sound of impact. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the image away, but it clung to you like a shadow.

Alicent slowed her pace, her gaze flickering between you and Helaena. Her brow was furrowed, a mixture of concern and calculation playing on her face. She said nothing for a while, her eyes searching your face like she was trying to read every thought you were too afraid to voice.

“Come,” she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of certainty that left no room for argument. “You don’t need to see any more of this.”

Her words were kind, but there was something beneath them, something deeper. Protection, yes — but also possession. You were under her care now, just as Helaena was. She was making that clear to you with every step you took away from the throne room.

Your chest felt tight, a swirl of emotions you couldn’t name twisting inside you. Shame, fear, anger — they all swirled together like a storm you had no control over. Jace’s voice echoed in your mind, that one, desperate call of your name. But you kept walking. You didn’t look back.

You glanced up at Alicent, your voice steady but quiet. “May I return to my chambers, Your Grace?” you asked, your hands clasped neatly in front of you, just as you had been taught.

Alicent turned toward you, her eyes soft but searching, as if she were trying to gauge your state of mind. Her gaze lingered for a moment before she gave a small nod. “Of course,” she said, smoothing the fabric of her sleeve. “But be ready for tonight. The king has requested a family supper to welcome everyone back.”

Her words carried a weight you couldn’t ignore. A “family supper” sounded simple, but you knew it would be far from it. Everyone would be there — your mother, your brothers, Daemon, and the greens. You could already imagine the tension that would fill the air like a storm waiting to break.

“Yes, Your Grace,” you replied, lowering your head slightly in respect. Without another word, you turned and began walking toward your chambers.

Your footsteps echoed softly in the corridor, each step pulling you farther from the garden’s stillness. You could feel Alicent’s eyes on your back as you left, watchful and calculating as always.

When you were far enough away, you let out a slow, steady breath. The weight of everything — the throne room, the blood, Jace’s eyes filled with hurt — pressed down on you all at once. You kept walking, your face carefully blank, just as you had learned to do. But inside, your thoughts churned like a restless sea.

A family supper. It sounded so simple, but you knew better. There would be glances that lingered too long, words that cut sharper than swords, and silence that spoke louder than any proclamation. You would have to endure it all — just like you had endured today.

When you reached your chambers, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, your eyes shut tight. The world outside felt so far away, but it was never truly gone. You could still hear echoes of it in your mind — the clash of duty and blood, of love and expectation.

For now, though, you had a moment of peace. You crossed the room and sat by the window, gazing out at the distant sea. It shimmered under the afternoon sun, vast and endless. For a moment, you allowed yourself to dream of it — the idea of flying away, of escaping it all. But dreams, you knew, were dangerous things.

With a quiet sigh, you turned away from the window and sat at the edge of your bed. You would be ready for supper. You had to be.

You stood in front of the mirror, your hands smoothing over the deep red fabric of your gown. It fit you perfectly, every stitch a reflection of your house’s pride and legacy. Red, the color of House Targaryen. The color of fire.

A sudden knock echoed from the door, pulling you from your thoughts. Your brow furrowed as you turned to face it. Without waiting for your response, the door creaked open, revealing one of Queen Alicent’s handmaidens. She stepped inside with careful grace, her gaze lowered in quiet submission, but her presence alone was enough to send a ripple of unease through you.

In her hands, she carried a gown. It shimmered in the soft glow of the chamber’s lanterns — a rich green fabric adorned with delicate golden embroidery, the sigil of House Hightower subtly woven into the design. It was beautiful. Too beautiful to be ignored.

“The queen requests that you wear this for supper tonight, princess,” the handmaiden said softly, her eyes flicking up to meet yours for only a moment before lowering again. Her words were spoken with the same practiced courtesy all of Alicent’s attendants used, but you could feel the weight of them pressing against you. Requests — no, it was not a request. It never was.

Your gaze lingered on the gown, your chest tightening as a quiet storm brewed within you. You glanced back at the mirror, your reflection staring back at you. Red. The color of Targaryens. Your house. Your blood. Your mother.

But now, green had come to claim you. The queen’s color. The color of peace, they claimed. But you knew better. It was the color of strategy, of quiet conquest. The queen’s influence wrapped around you as tightly as this gown soon would.

You turned slowly to face the handmaiden, your eyes sharp but your expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched thin like a thread about to snap.

“…Leave it on the bed,” you said at last, your voice calm but firm. The handmaiden hesitated, perhaps expecting you to argue, but she nodded and placed the gown carefully on your bed. She gave you a small curtsy before slipping out of the room as quietly as she had come.

You stood there, frozen in place, your eyes locked on the gown. It gleamed with an almost unnatural brightness, as if it demanded to be seen. Demanded to be worn.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. You took a step toward it, your heart pounding in your chest. Every step felt heavier, like you were walking toward a choice you could never take back.

You reached out, fingers hovering just above the soft fabric of the green gown. Your breathing was shallow, each inhale sharp and uneven. This gown would change how they saw you. How she saw you. How they saw you.

Your hand trembled as it hovered between the two choices. Red, the gown you had chosen. Green, the gown she had chosen for you.

As you stood before the mirror, the soft fabric of the green gown slipped over your skin, the color striking against your complexion in a way that felt almost too deliberate. It was beautiful—there was no denying that. But it was more than just fabric. It was a symbol. A symbol of a decision you never wanted to make but felt you had no choice but to accept.

Your fingers trembled as you adjusted the gown, the weight of the choice pressing down on you like a stone. A betrayal. That’s what it felt like. You were wearing the colors of the queen—the very woman who had pulled your mother away from you, who had taken her from the Red Keep, from you. You had always held onto the hope that your mother would return, that she would come back and find you the way you had left her, but now… it felt like you were abandoning her too.

You had never wanted to choose this path, you thought, your eyes staring back at you in the mirror. But a quiet part of you—the part that had been wounded by her departure—found a strange sense of justification in it. This was your answer. Your response to the cold distance she had placed between you and her.

You couldn’t hear your mother’s voice anymore, not in your thoughts, not in your heart. Instead, you heard the sharp command of Queen Alicent, whose presence seemed to linger in every corner of the Keep. A woman who had woven her influence around you so deftly, it was almost invisible, like the subtle green of the gown now hugging your frame.

The handmaidens moved around you with quiet care, pinning your hair into place, but you felt disconnected from their hands. It wasn’t their fault, you knew, but each touch felt like a reminder of everything you had lost. The warmth of your mother’s guidance. The presence of your brothers. The certainty that had once been the foundation of your life. Gone.

Instead, you chose to free your hair. The weight of the green gown already made you feel bound, and the act of letting your hair fall in loose waves around your shoulders felt like a small rebellion. The strands framed your face, a visual testament to the woman you had once been before everything began to crumble.

You glanced at yourself once more in the mirror, the reflection of the woman staring back at you felt unfamiliar. A part of you wanted to scream at the image, to demand that this not be your future, but there was no escaping the reality.

When you were ready, you took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. Tonight, you would attend the feast. Tonight, you would play your part. But inside, a quiet resolve had settled within you. Whatever came next, you would face it head-on. Just like the Targaryens always had.

Even if you had to sacrifice everything to get there.

The hallway felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the quiet corridor. The weight of the green gown pressed down on you with every movement, the gold accents catching the dim glow of the torches. Your fingers brushed against the fabric at your sides, grounding yourself as you neared the private solar of King Viserys.

Your heart beat steadily, but with each step closer, it grew louder. You knew what awaited you on the other side of that door. Your family. Your brothers. Your mother.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the large wooden doors. Beyond them lay gazes that would judge, eyes that would accuse. Your grip on your skirt tightened, but before you could waver, the doors were pulled open by the guards.

The room was warm with the glow of the hearth, and the soft hum of conversation died instantly as the sound of the doors opening echoed through the space. Every head turned. Every gaze fixed on you.

Your breath hitched in your chest, but you didn’t falter. Your head rose higher, your steps deliberate, slow, and steady. If they would look at you, then you would let them look. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing doubt on your face.

The first face you noticed was Jace. His brown eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if he was about to say something—but he didn’t. His gaze swept over you from head to toe, taking in the unmistakable green of your gown. Disbelief twisted his features into something sharp and pained. Betrayal. That’s what you saw in his eyes.

Luke wasn’t much different. His confusion was more childlike, his brows drawn together, lips pressed into a tight line. He looked up at Jace, as if seeking an explanation for what he was seeing. But Jace’s eyes never left you.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He didn’t look surprised, only entertained, like he had predicted this moment long before it happened. His sharp gaze followed you like a hunter stalking prey, eyes half-lidded with amusement, his fingers drumming lazily on the armrest of his chair.

Then, there was her. Your mother. Her face was unreadable at first, her eyes sharp and searching, like she didn’t recognize you. But slowly, her expression shifted, her lips pressing into a thin, almost pained line. Her eyes softened with something akin to sorrow—or perhaps disappointment.

The silence in the room was suffocating. You could hear the quiet crackle of the fire and the distant call of gulls outside the window. No one spoke. Not yet.

You didn’t dare look at Alicent, though you knew she was watching. You could feel her gaze, steady and unwavering, like a silent claim on you. She had won this battle, and she knew it.

You moved toward the only empty seat, your chin held high as you passed them all. Their stares felt like knives in your back, but you didn’t flinch. You wouldn’t flinch.

When you sat down, your eyes flickered briefly toward Jace. His gaze was still on you, hurt and confusion written plainly on his face. His jaw was tight, and you could see him clenching his fists on his lap, his knuckles white. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the air.

“Why are you wearing that?”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye but didn’t answer. What could you say? That you had no choice? That you had been abandoned and left to fend for yourself? No. Jace wouldn’t understand. Not now. Not like this.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Daemon’s soft chuckle broke it. “Looks like the little dragon has found a new den,” he muttered, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Rhaenyra shot him a warning glare, but he didn’t stop. He tilted his head at you, watching you the way a cat watches a bird.

“Careful, child,” Daemon said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “Green may suit you now, but remember — dragons breathe fire, not peace.”

Your hands curled in your lap, nails pressing into your palms. You refused to look at him. You refused to give him the reaction he wanted.

“Enough,” Alicent’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. Her presence was like a wave crashing onto the shore, and all eyes turned to her. She stepped forward with the calm authority of a woman who knew she had already won. Her gaze swept over Rhaenyra, over Jace and Luke, over Daemon, and finally settled on you.

“Tonight is meant to be a night of peace,” Alicent said with an air of finality. “We are family, no matter the colors we wear.” Her gaze softened slightly as she looked at you. “And family deserves to be welcomed, not judged.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your gaze falling to your lap. Family, she said. But which family did you belong to now?

Jace was still staring at you, his eyes hard but filled with quiet hurt. You had never seen him look at you like that. Like you were a stranger.

Family, you thought bitterly. Whose family do I belong to now?

The weight of the silence hung heavily in the room, broken only by the soft clinking of goblets and the faint crackle of the hearth. You glanced around, feeling the pressure of their stares. Your heart thudded in your chest, but you lifted your chin, unwilling to be seen as weak.

“I did what I had to,” you said firmly, your voice steady but laced with quiet defiance. “No one else stayed for me.”

The words lingered in the air like the smoke from a dying fire. Jace’s eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing deeply. Luke glanced between you and him, uncertainty in his young gaze. Daemon raised a brow, his lips twitching into that infuriating smirk. He tilted his head back and let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound rumbling like distant thunder.

“Spoken like a true player of the game,” Daemon said, raising his goblet in a mock toast before taking a slow sip of wine. “Careful, that kind of thinking will have you wearing a crown before you know it.”

His words dripped with mockery, but there was a glint of something else—approval, perhaps? It was hard to tell with Daemon. His eyes gleamed with mischief, as if he enjoyed the chaos brewing in the room.

The tension was palpable, every breath measured and every glance sharp as blades. Rhaenyra’s eyes were locked on you now, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked at you not with anger but with something deeper—disappointment. It stung more than you cared to admit.

Before anyone could say another word, the grand doors at the end of the room creaked open. The sound echoed loudly, commanding the attention of every soul in the room.

The slow, uneven footsteps echoed like a drumbeat of fate.

All eyes turned toward the entrance, and there he was. King Viserys. The weight of his crown was visible on his frail body, his once-proud frame now hunched and weakened by disease. His breaths were shallow, his face pale and worn. His robes hung loosely on his frame, and his eyes—though clouded with pain—were still sharp with purpose.

He was not alone. Two Kingsguard knights supported him on either side, their grips firm on his arms as they helped him walk forward. Every step was a struggle, but he pressed on with the resolve of a king who had no time left for weakness.

The room fell utterly silent, all eyes now on him. Even Daemon’s smirk faded as he sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing at his brother’s arrival. Alicent moved forward instinctively, her eyes full of concern, but she did not approach him.

You felt your chest tighten at the sight of him. This was not the man you remembered from your childhood—strong, warm, and full of life. Now, he was a shadow of that man, worn down by years of pain, loss, and duty.

“I am glad…” Viserys’s voice was hoarse but resolute as he was guided to the head of the table. The Kingsguard helped him into his chair, and he leaned back, his chest rising and falling with every labored breath. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes moving over each face in the room. “I am glad… to see my family… together again.”

His words hung in the air like a prayer. No one dared to speak.

His eyes found you, and for a moment, his gaze softened. The tired, weathered king saw you—not as a child, not as a player in the game, but as his granddaughter. His lips twitched into a faint smile, one that you hadn’t seen in so long.

Your throat tightened, and you looked away before anyone could see the shine in your eyes.

Alicent moved to his side, adjusting his blanket as he sat at the head of the table. She whispered something softly in his ear, and he nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving his family. His whole family.

“Tonight,” Viserys said slowly, his voice strained but clear, “we put aside… our grievances. Tonight, we are… one family.” His gaze shifted from Rhaenyra to Alicent, lingering there, as if willing them to understand the weight of his words. “Let us dine as such.”

Silence filled the room once more, but this time, it was different. No sharp gazes. No cutting words. Just the weight of a king’s final wish.

The servants began to move, placing dishes of roasted meats, bread, and fruits onto the long table. The warmth of the food mingled with the warmth of the hearth, and for a moment, the Red Keep felt less like a battleground.

You glanced at Jace. He was still looking at you, his jaw tight, his hands clenching and unclenching. Luke was whispering something to him, trying to pull him back from whatever thoughts had taken hold of him.

You turned your eyes to your plate, suddenly feeling the weight of every gaze upon you. But when you dared to glance up again, you saw him.

King Viserys was still watching you. His eyes, heavy with pain and wisdom, met yours, and for a moment, it felt as if he saw you completely. Not the girl in green. Not the daughter of Rhaenyra. Not the pawn in someone else’s game. Just you.

His lips moved slowly into a smile, small but true. You pressed your lips together, holding back the emotions swirling in your chest.

If only it were that simple, you thought to yourself as you lowered your gaze once more.

The soft melody of the music filled the hall, weaving through the gentle hum of conversation. Plates clattered lightly as servants moved around, pouring wine and placing fresh dishes on the long table. Laughter echoed from different parts of the room, a sound so rare in the Red Keep that it felt almost out of place.

You sat beside Helaena, her gentle smile and quiet musings a welcome comfort in the tense atmosphere. She spoke of her children, her dreams, and the little things she found joy in—like the pattern of a moth’s wings or the way the light danced on water. Her words were simple, yet they felt like a balm to your heart.

A soft laugh escaped you as she made an offhand comment about how “even the crickets have more sense than most lords.” She giggled too, her soft, airy laugh lightening your spirit in a way you hadn’t expected.

But then, your eyes wandered. You didn’t mean for them to, but they did. They found her—your mother.

She was seated at the other end of the table, her face illuminated by the warm glow of the firelight. Her silver-gold hair framed her face like a crown, her smile soft as she leaned toward Daemon. He whispered something to her, his lips close to her ear, and whatever he said made her smile widen, her eyes crinkling with genuine joy.

Genuine joy.

Your heart clenched, a deep ache blooming in your chest. The warmth you felt from Helaena’s laughter was gone, replaced by a dull, hollow pain.

There she was—the mother who had left you behind. The mother who had taken Jace and Luke with her to Dragonstone, but left you alone in the Red Keep. The mother who smiled now, so freely, so openly, as if she had not abandoned you. As if she hadn’t left you to stand among people who questioned your very right to exist.

Her gaze never once drifted to you. Not once.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the goblet in your hand. Your nails dug into the cool metal as you fought to steady your breathing.

“Does it hurt?” Helaena’s voice was soft, almost distant, as if she were speaking to herself.

Your eyes darted to her. She wasn’t looking at you, her eyes instead focused on the table, tracing patterns on the wood with her finger.

“What?” you asked, your voice quiet but sharp.

“Being unseen,” she said softly, her voice lilting with the strange tone she sometimes took when speaking of things only she understood. Her eyes lifted slowly to meet yours. For a moment, it felt as if she knew. As if she could see everything you’d been trying to hide behind your carefully raised chin and unwavering gaze.

Your throat felt tight. You didn’t know how to answer, so you said nothing. But Helaena only smiled that sad, knowing smile.

“It does,” she said for you. “It hurts.”

Her words settled into the quiet spaces of your heart, filling them with a truth you didn’t want to admit. Your eyes flickered back to your mother, watching as she laughed softly, her hand resting on Daemon’s.

She looks happy, you thought bitterly. She looks happy without me.

Your gaze fell to your lap, your vision blurring slightly. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of them.

But even as you tried to push it down, the weight of it was suffocating. The betrayal. The loneliness. The unspoken truth that, no matter how many times you wore green or smiled for Alicent, it would never be enough. It would never fill the space your mother had left behind.

And yet, here you were. Alone, in a room full of people.

You leaned back in your chair, feigning interest as Aegon rambled on about his day with his usual blend of arrogance and mischief. His words drifted in and out of your mind, more noise than substance, until a presence settled beside you — steady, calm, and unmistakable.

You glanced to your side and met Aemond’s eye. His gaze was sharp, as it always was, but there was something more tonight. Without a word, he extended his hand toward you. His fingers were long and calloused, his palm facing up — an offering.

“Shall we dance?” His voice was low, a quiet murmur meant only for you.

For a moment, you hesitated. You knew every eye would be on you if you accepted. You knew Jace and Luke were watching, just as you knew your mother would see it too. But as you glanced around the room, you saw her still seated with Daemon, her gaze not even flickering in your direction.

She doesn’t care.

So, you placed your hand in Aemond’s, your fingers curling lightly around his. His grip was firm but not unkind. Together, you rose from your chair, the weight of a hundred stares pressing on your back as you walked to the center of the room.

The soft hum of voices dimmed, replaced by the quiet, expectant melody of the music. Every step echoed louder than it should have, but you kept your head high, your gaze unwavering.

Behind you, you could hear them.

“She’s changed,” Luke muttered, his voice sharp with disbelief.

“She’s with them now,” Jace replied, bitterness lacing his tone. “Look at her.”

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t give them the satisfaction.

Aemond’s hand found its place on your waist, his other hand still holding yours. His gaze remained fixed on you, as intense as the flames that lined the hall. You placed your hand on his shoulder, and for a moment, the world fell away.

The music guided you both, your movements precise, controlled. Each step, each turn, was deliberate. There was no softness in Aemond’s hold, but there was control — sharp, steady, and sure. It was nothing like the dances you had shared with Jace in your childhood. Those had been filled with laughter, stumbling steps, and teasing grins. This was something else entirely.

“You wear green well,” Aemond said, his eye flickering down to take in your gown. “It suits you better than red ever did.”

You didn’t answer at first, letting the silence linger between you as you spun together. His words were a test, you knew that. But you were not a child anymore.

“Green is a color of peace,” you replied evenly, your eyes meeting his. “Strange how it always seems to follow war.”

His lips twitched at that, just a slight upward pull at the corner, too small to be called a smile. “Peace is often born of fire and blood,” he said, his voice as sharp as the edge of a blade.

You twirled under his arm, the fabric of your gown sweeping the floor like a wave. As he caught you back into his hold, you felt his grip tighten ever so slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he was there — that he would always be watching.

“You hear them, don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly toward Jace and Luke. Their voices were quieter now, but you could still hear the murmurs of your brothers behind you, still feel their gazes burning into your back.

“I do,” you admitted softly, eyes distant for a moment before you refocused on him. “But it doesn’t matter.”

Aemond tilted his head, studying you with a look that felt too knowing for comfort. “Doesn’t it?” he murmured, his voice so low it was nearly lost to the music.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because deep down, it did matter. It mattered that Jace and Luke saw you. It mattered that your mother didn’t. And it mattered that you were here, in a green gown, dancing with the man they hated most in the world.

But you wouldn’t let it show. Not tonight.

So you held Aemond’s gaze with all the strength you had left and let him lead you across the floor. For once, you didn’t falter. Not even when Jace’s voice cut through the air one last time.

“Traitor.”

The word was quiet, but it struck like a sword.

You felt Aemond stiffen ever so slightly, his hand pressing more firmly against your back. His gaze flicked briefly past you, his lips curling into something far too dangerous to be called a smile.

“Ignore him,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the way your heart ached. “He still thinks love will save him.”

Aemond’s gaze returned to you, his expression unreadable. “And what do you think will save you?”

You looked at him for a moment, really looked at him, and for once, you let yourself be honest.

“Nothing.”

As the final notes of the dance faded, you began to step back from Aemond, only for another hand to seize yours with a sudden, playful grip. You turned, startled, to see Aegon standing there with his ever-present smirk.

“Mind if I steal her, brother?” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery as he gave Aemond a pointed look. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled you toward him with a dramatic spin, earning a few quiet chuckles from onlookers.

“Aegon,” you muttered, a hint of exasperation in your tone. His antics were as familiar as the Red Keep’s stone walls.

“What?” he said with a grin, placing one hand on your waist and holding your hand with the other. “I figured you’d had enough of the one-eyed shadow for one night.”

You glanced briefly at Aemond, who stood at the edge of the dance floor. His face was a mask of indifference, but his gaze followed your every move.

“Careful, Aegon,” you warned, your eyes narrowing. “You’re starting to sound brave. Bravery doesn’t suit you.”

He barked a short laugh, spinning you with a surprising amount of grace. “Bravery suits me just fine, dear niece,” he teased, his grin sharper now. “But wine suits me better.”

You rolled your eyes but allowed him to lead the dance. He wasn’t as precise as Aemond, nor as steady. His steps were a bit too loose, his movements too relaxed, but somehow, it still felt easy. There was no tension, no pretense. Just him being the same Aegon you had always known.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said after a moment, his grin dimming into something softer. His voice had lost its usual edge. “Not like you.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the shift in his tone. He wasn’t mocking you, not this time. He was looking at you with something that almost resembled concern.

“I suppose I’ve had a lot to think about,” you replied, glancing down for a moment.

“Ah,” he hummed knowingly. “Let me guess — it’s them, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer, but your silence was enough. He gave you a slow nod, his face unusually serious.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Aegon muttered, his eyes flickering toward where Jace and Luke sat. “They’ll always hate you for standing where they can’t reach.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you replied quietly. “They never loved you to begin with.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, sharper than before. For a moment, you thought you’d gone too far, but then he snorted a bitter laugh. “True enough,” he muttered, his gaze distant for a heartbeat before he looked at you again. “But that’s exactly why I can tell you this — it’s better to be hated than forgotten.”

His words hit harder than you expected. You knew what it felt like to be forgotten. You’d been living with that feeling since the day your mother left you in the Red Keep.

“You think I should be proud of it, then?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Aegon tilted his head, his grin returning, but it was smaller this time — almost sad. “No,” he said. “But you should wear it like armor. People are less likely to stab you if they know the blade won’t break you.”

You both moved in silence for a while, the music filling the space between words. His grip was looser than Aemond’s, but there was something comforting about it. No pretense, no expectation. Just Aegon being Aegon.

When the dance finally ended, he leaned in close, his breath smelling faintly of wine. “You look good in green,” he whispered, his voice too low for anyone else to hear. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

He pulled away with a wink, leaving you standing in the middle of the floor as he sauntered off toward the wine table. You stood there for a moment, letting his words settle.

Your gaze drifted back to your brothers. Jace was staring at you, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and disbelief. Luke sat beside him, quieter but no less disappointed. Their faces said everything they wouldn’t.

But you remembered Aegon’s words — it’s better to be hated than forgotten.

So, with steady hands, you lifted your chin, turned away from them, and walked back toward the table where Alicent and Helaena were waiting.

Alicent’s gaze lingered on you as you returned to your seat. Her smile was warm, almost maternal, as if she were proud of you for wearing the green. She reached out to adjust a stray strand of your hair, tucking it gently behind your ear.

“You did well,” she whispered, her voice as soft as silk. “They see you now.”

You nodded, offering her a small, strained smile. But the weight of it all sat heavy on your chest.

King Viserys, seated at the head of the table, raised his cup, his voice raspy but firm as he addressed the gathered family. “It brings me great joy,” he began, pausing to catch his breath, “to see my family together again.” His gaze flickered between you, Jace, Luke, and your mother. “My grandchildren… soon to be wed. Jace to Baela, Luke to Rhaena. A union that will strengthen our house for generations to come.���

The room erupted in polite applause, but you barely heard it. Your eyes flicked toward Jace, who was watching you closely, his face unreadable but his gaze sharp.

Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, Viserys coughed and leaned forward, his eyes searching the faces at the table. “But there is another of my grandchildren whose future we must also secure.” His gaze stopped on you. “She has grown strong, wise… and beautiful.”

You felt every eye in the room shift toward you. Your heart began to pound in your chest.

“Yes,” Viserys continued, his smile soft but determined. “It is only right that we speak of her future as well. A match that will honor her lineage and ensure her protection in these troubled times.”

Silence fell over the room, thick with unspoken tension. Your hands gripped the edge of your chair as you glanced at your mother. She sat stiffly, her face a mask of calm, but her eyes were fixed on you with a mixture of concern and calculation.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as if amused by the sudden shift in conversation. His eyes darted toward Alicent, catching the faintest twitch of her smile.

“An excellent suggestion, my love,” Alicent said, her tone smooth and agreeable. She glanced at you, her eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Pride? Possession? “She is of age, after all. And there are many fine suitors who would be honored to claim her hand.”

Your chest tightened as you realized what was happening. They weren’t talking to you — they were talking about you, as if you were a prize to be bargained over.

“Her future should be decided with care,” Rhaenyra interjected, her tone sharp, her eyes cutting toward Alicent. “She is still young, and such decisions must be made with her consent.”

Alicent tilted her head, a gentle smile still on her face. “Of course, Princess,” she said sweetly. “But surely, as her mother, you must understand the urgency of ensuring her safety. A strong match would protect her from the dangers that surround us all.”

“Her safety was never in doubt until you made it so,” Rhaenyra shot back, her voice laced with venom.

Viserys raised his hand, his face twisted with exhaustion. “Enough,” he rasped, his voice strained but firm. “This is a family matter, not a battlefield.” He turned his gaze back to you, his eyes soft with affection. “My dear girl, you will have a say in this. No match will be made without your will. You have my word.”

For a moment, you felt relief wash over you. But then Daemon’s quiet laugh echoed from the other end of the table.

“Words are wind,” he muttered into his cup of wine, glancing sidelong at Viserys. “Promises mean little when thrones are at stake.”

His words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Alicent’s fingers drummed softly against the table, her gaze flicking toward Aemond, who sat with his arms crossed, his face as unreadable as ever.

Aegon let out a low chuckle, leaning toward you with that same mischievous grin. “Careful, little niece,” he whispered, his breath warm with the scent of wine. “They’ll have you betrothed before dessert.”

Your eyes darted to him, but you said nothing. Your mind was already racing. You could feel it — the weight of it all pressing down on you. It wasn’t a choice. It never had been.

Aemond’s voice broke through the tension like a blade through silk. “If she must marry, it should be someone worthy.”

His single eye landed on you, sharp as a dragon’s gaze. He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. His words carried no jest, only a cold, calculated certainty.

“Someone strong,” he added, his eye slowly moving toward Jace. “Someone who knows the meaning of loyalty.”

Jace leaned forward, his eyes locked on Aemond, his jaw clenched tight. “Careful, uncle,” he muttered. “Loyalty is a word you use when you have none of it yourself.”

The table grew still. The air was so tense it felt like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

But you could feel it. This wasn’t about you anymore. This was about them. All of them. Your fate was just another piece on the board.

Silence fell over the room like a shroud. Every movement stopped — goblets paused mid-air, glances darted from one face to another. You froze, your breath caught in your chest.

King Viserys leaned forward in his chair, his milky eyes filled with quiet determination. “Aemond is a fine match,” he said, his voice hoarse but resolute. “A bond of blood. A union that will heal the wounds that have festered far too long.”

Your eyes darted to your mother. Rhaenyra’s face was pale but firm, her lips pressed into a thin, unmoving line. Her eyes found yours, silently pleading with you to stay calm.

Daemon let out a low, mocking laugh, swirling the wine in his cup. “A fine match, indeed,” he drawled, his sharp eyes flicking between Viserys and Alicent. “How convenient for some.”

Alicent kept her composure, folding her hands neatly in front of her. Her gaze shifted to you, her eyes filled with gentle resolve. “It is a wise decision, husbanb” she said softly, her tone carrying the weight of finality. “It strengthens the family, unites the bloodlines, and ensures her protection. It is what’s best for her.”

You glanced at Aemond. He sat still, his face carved from stone, his single violet eye locked on the table in front of him. No flicker of surprise, no sign of agreement or resistance. Just silence.

“Has anyone asked her?” Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, sharp as a blade. Her gaze burned with defiance. “Has anyone thought to ask my daughter what she wants?”

Viserys turned his gaze to you, his expression softening. “What say you, child?” he asked gently, his voice kind but expectant. “Would you accept this match for the good of the realm? For the good of your family?”

Every gaze in the room turned toward you. Jace stared at you in disbelief, his mouth opening as if to speak but no words came out. Luke’s wide, innocent eyes were full of confusion and hurt.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest. This was it. They were offering you the illusion of choice, but you knew the truth. This was not your decision to make.

Your eyes moved back to Aemond. His gaze was on you now, piercing and unwavering. He said nothing, but something about the intensity of his stare unsettled you. There was no kindness in it, no affection — only cold, hard calculation.

Rhaenyra rose from her seat, her voice trembling with barely restrained rage. “She is a child, Father. My child. She is not a pawn to be traded for your fleeting sense of peace.”

“She is not a child anymore, Rhaenyra,” Alicent replied, her voice deceptively soft but firm. Her eyes stayed on you, unyielding. “She is a young woman, and a young woman of her station must understand the duties that come with it.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, her chest heaving with quiet fury. “You mean your duties, don’t you, Alicent? Duties that serve only your ambitions.”

“Enough!” Viserys’s voice boomed, louder than you had ever heard it before. His eyes burned with a fleeting glimpse of the king he once was. “We are family, and family must stand together!” His gaze softened once more as it returned to you. “Child, speak your heart. I will hear you.”

The weight of every gaze in the room pressed down on you like a mountain. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. Speak your heart, he said, as if it would truly matter.

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his eye still locked on you, studying you as if he already knew what you would say. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe — he simply watched.

Jace leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “Say no.”

But Daemon snorted, raising his cup in mock salute. “Say no, and they’ll find another way to force you,” he muttered, taking a slow sip of wine.

The silence stretched, endless and suffocating. Your gaze met your mother’s once more. She gave you the barest shake of her head, her eyes pleading with you to refuse. But in those same eyes, you saw something else — helplessness. If you said no, it would change nothing.

You took a slow, steadying breath, feeling your fingers tremble at your sides. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to have a choice.

“Grandfather,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. “If this is what is best for the realm… then I will not refuse it.”

Rhaenyra’s face crumpled like parchment. “No,” she whispered, taking a step toward you. “No, don’t do this. You don’t have to—”

“I do,” you said, cutting her off, your eyes flicking to hers with quiet resolve. “I do.”

The room erupted in murmurs. Luke’s small voice echoed faintly in the background, “Sister…?” Jace slammed his hand on the table, his chair scraping back as he stood. His face was flushed with anger and betrayal.

“You’re letting them use you,” Jace hissed, his voice trembling. “You’re letting them win.”

You turned away from him, your gaze fixed firmly on the stone floor. If you looked at him, at Luke, at your mother — you knew your resolve would crumble.

“Then it is decided,” Viserys declared, his tone final, his breath heavy with exertion. “The betrothal is sealed. She will wed to Aemond.”

Aemond finally moved. He stood slowly, his eyes never leaving you. He walked toward you, his footsteps steady and deliberate. When he stopped in front of you, he reached out his hand, palm up.

You stared at it for a moment, heart pounding, before placing your hand in his. His grip was firm, almost too firm, his fingers cold like steel. His face remained impassive, but his eye burned with something you couldn’t quite name.

Possession.

“Wise choice,” he said quietly, his lips barely moving. “You’ll find I am not as cruel as others would have you believe.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they sent a chill down your spine.

Rhaenyra was staring at you, her face hollow with betrayal and heartbreak. Jace’s eyes burned with disbelief and fury. Luke, sweet Luke, simply looked confused and hurt, like a child who didn’t understand why the world had suddenly changed.

Alicent placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her touch light but firm. “You will be well cared for, my dear,” she said softly, as if she had won a great victory. “This is the beginning of a new future for you.”

But you knew the truth.

You hadn’t won anything.

You’d been claimed.

The room fell into a suffocating silence. All eyes turned to you as the words you had never dared to say finally spilled from your lips.

“You have no right over me, Mother. Not after you left me."

Your voice was steady, but the weight of it was undeniable. Rhaenyra flinched as if you had struck her. Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her chest.

“I left to protect you,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “I left to protect all of you."

“No, you didn’t,” you replied, your voice rising with the anger that had simmered for far too long. Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “You left with Jace. You left with Luke. You left with Daemon. But you left me here — alone.” Your chest heaved with each breath, and every word dripped with the pain you’d been forced to swallow for so long.

Jace took a step forward, his face contorted with guilt and disbelief. “It wasn’t like that—”

“It was exactly like that!” you snapped, cutting him off. Your gaze turned to him, your brother who had always been your partner in everything — until he wasn’t. “You followed her, didn’t you? You followed her to Dragonstone, and you didn’t look back. Not once.”

Luke’s wide eyes filled with tears, his small voice barely a whisper. “We didn’t want to leave you…”

You shook your head, your lips pressed together tightly. You didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not when the wounds were already wide open.

“Don’t pretend it wasn’t a choice,” you said coldly, eyes locked on Rhaenyra. “You chose them. You chose Daemon. You chose your crown. But you did not choose me.”

Rhaenyra stepped toward you, her eyes desperate. “I never stopped loving you,” she pleaded, her voice cracking under the weight of her own guilt. “I thought you’d be safe here, with your grandsire —”

“Safe?” you echoed bitterly, your eyes narrowing. “Do you even know what it’s like to live here without you? To have everyone whispering about me, calling me a bastard to my face? ” Your voice broke, but you didn’t care. “You weren’t here, Mother. You don’t get to decide for me now.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?” Rhaenyra’s voice was trembling with a mix of disbelief and hurt. Her face twisted in pain, as though you had struck her. “You are my daughter—”

“You left me,” you interrupted, your voice cold and steady despite the pain that twisted in your chest. “You left me alone here, and now you’re telling me what I should do with my life? You have no claim over me anymore.”

The words stung, even as you said them, but there was a part of you that felt a small sense of relief. Finally, the weight of everything you had held in for so long had been released.

Rhaenyra’s eyes searched yours, her lips trembling as though she were trying to find the right words, but they eluded her. “You know that I had no choice… I did what I had to do for my children.”

“Your children? What about me?” you asked, your voice rising despite yourself. “What about me? I was supposed to be your daughter, your priority. But you left. You chose Dragonstone over me, over us.”

Her eyes filled with sorrow, and for the first time, you saw the weight of her guilt. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

The weight of your words settled over the room like a storm cloud. Jace looked at you as if he didn’t recognize you anymore. Luke looked heartbroken, tears spilling down his cheeks. Even Daemon, so often unbothered by the chaos around him, regarded you with quiet curiosity, his eyes sharp with recognition.

But it was Rhaenyra who wore the most pained expression. Her lips quivered as if she wanted to say something, anything, to refute your words. But she couldn’t.

Alicent stepped forward then, her presence steady and deliberate. She placed a gentle hand on your back, a silent show of support. Her green dress shimmered in the light of the flames, and for the first time, it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt safe.

“She has spoken her mind, Princess,” Alicent said softly, though her gaze was firm. “Her choice is clear.”

“Her choice was forced,” Rhaenyra shot back, her eyes blazing with fury as she turned on Alicent. “Do not pretend you had no hand in this, Alicent.”

“I did nothing but offer her a place where she was valued,” Alicent replied, her voice smooth as silk. Her hand remained on your back, grounding you. “Can you say the same, Rhaenyra?”

The words hit like a dagger. Rhaenyra’s breath hitched, her eyes darting to yours as if searching for something — forgiveness, understanding, hope. But you gave her none of it.

“Leave it, Mother,” you said, your voice hollow. Your eyes dropped to the floor, no longer able to look at her. “It’s already done.”

Your gaze lifted to Aemond, his sharp features calm but watchful. He said nothing, merely offering a small nod, as if he knew this moment had been inevitable.

Rhaenyra took a step forward, but you stepped back, shaking your head slowly. “Don’t.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she clenched her fists at her sides. “I’m still your mother.”

“Then act like it,” you whispered, your voice cutting through the air like a blade. “But you don’t get to act like it now.”

Aemond, standing at your side, watched the exchange silently. He didn’t speak either, his face unreadable. But there was something in the air between you — a quiet understanding, perhaps. He didn’t need to say anything because the truth had already been laid bare.

Finally, it was Viserys who broke the silence, his voice shaking with the effort. “Enough,” he rasped, his frail form leaning heavily on his cane. “This is not the time for more conflict. Let us move forward with peace.”

But Rhaenyra’s eyes never left you. “I won’t let this happen,” she whispered, almost to herself. “You will not be forced into a marriage you don’t want, not by him.” Her voice was a low growl, filled with desperation and a hint of defiance.

“I’ve already made my decision, Mother,” you said, the words heavy on your tongue. “And I’m not asking for your approval anymore.”

The room seemed to shrink in the silence that followed. Rhaenyra’s face crumbled, the weight of your words settling deep within her. But you couldn’t bring yourself to regret them.

Daemon’s laugh echoed through the hall, cruel and mocking. “There it is, Rhaenyra,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your precious daughter, no longer your little princess.”

Aemond took a step closer to you, his presence solid and unyielding. The tension was palpable, but he said nothing, only standing by your side as your mother and Daemon exchanged heated glances.

For a moment, you felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders, and yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of freedom.

The silence stretched on, and though the room was heavy with unspoken words and emotions, you knew one thing for certain: you would no longer let your mother dictate your life. You would not be a pawn in this game anymore.

The decision had been made. And nothing would change it.

The sudden pull of Jace’s hand, harsh and forceful, sent a jolt of pain through you. You winced, feeling the weight of his grip, but your heart ached more from the words you knew were about to follow.

“Stop, Jace!” you gasped, struggling to break free from his hold. “Let me go!”

But he didn’t listen. His face was twisted with anger and desperation, and his eyes were filled with hurt as he tried to pull you away from the chaos, as though he could fix everything. “You can’t do this! You can’t marry him, you—”

Before he could finish, Aemond stepped forward, his hand swiftly clasping Jace’s wrist, pulling it away from you with surprising strength. The tension between the two brothers crackled in the air, and the room fell silent for a brief moment, everyone holding their breath.

“Let her go,” Aemond said, his voice low but commanding, his eyes never leaving Jace’s.

But Jace wasn’t done. In a fit of rage, he swung his free hand at Aemond, landing a sharp blow to his face. The room erupted with shocked gasps as Aemond stumbled back, more surprised than hurt, but his glare burned with intensity.

“You will not touch her,” Jace spat, his chest heaving with anger. “Not like this. Not ever.”

“Enough!” you shouted, your voice shaking but firm. The words felt like they came from somewhere deep inside, pushing past the confusion and hurt you felt. “Enough, Jace!”

You tore your hand from Aemond’s grasp and turned to face your brother. Your eyes, filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow, locked onto Jace’s. “You are not my brother anymore,” you said, the words leaving your lips like poison. “Not after everything you’ve done to me. Not after you abandoned me here, alone.”

Jace froze, the words sinking into him like daggers. His eyes softened, as if he didn’t understand what you were saying, but the hurt in your voice was undeniable.

“You think you can control my life just because we’re family?” you continued, your voice shaking with emotion. “You don’t get to decide what happens to me, not anymore. Not when you’ve done nothing but leave me to fight for myself.”

Aemond, now standing tall beside you, didn’t move, but his presence was a stark contrast to the chaos around you. He watched you with an unreadable expression, his hand still clenched at his side.

Jace stood there, his anger faltering as he processed your words, but his face twisted with disbelief. “I never left you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always been here for you.”

“No,” you responded coldly, shaking your head. “You haven’t. Not when it mattered.”

The silence in the room was deafening, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a thick fog. The tension was so thick you could almost feel it pressing against your skin.

Jace took a step back, his face crumpling with a mix of guilt and confusion, but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when everything you once believed in had been shattered so completely.

Without another word, you turned away from Jace, your heart heavy with the painful truth that you no longer recognized the people who were once closest to you. You didn’t look back as you walked toward the exit, your steps steady but filled with a new sense of resolve.

This was no longer a family. This was a war, and you had chosen your side.

Alicent’s arms enveloped you, pulling you into a tight embrace. Her warmth, unexpected and gentle, washed over you, grounding you in the midst of the chaos. For the first time in so long, you allowed yourself to break. Tears, which you had kept bottled up for so long, finally spilled down your face as you buried your head in her chest.

You had been strong for so long, but in this moment, the weight of everything—your family’s betrayal, your pain, and the overwhelming sense of loneliness—became too much. You cried in silence, unable to stop the flow of emotions.

Alicent didn’t say anything, but her hold on you tightened, a silent comfort that you hadn’t known you needed. She didn’t judge you, didn’t try to fix things; she just let you cry, offering a shoulder when the rest of the world seemed too cold to care.

Through your tears, you caught sight of your mother standing at the other end of the room, her eyes filled with sorrow. There was no anger, no harsh words—just a deep sadness. She looked at you as if she understood, as if she saw the broken pieces of the child she had left behind.

But that only made the pain worse. Her gaze pierced you, a reminder of the distance that had grown between you both. She didn’t come to you, didn’t offer comfort, and that only deepened the wound in your heart.

Alicent seemed to sense the shift in your emotions. She gently pulled away, cupping your face in her hands, her green eyes meeting yours with an understanding that felt both foreign and familiar. “You don’t have to face this alone,” she whispered softly.

You nodded, wiping your tears away, though they kept falling. But you knew, deep down, you had already made your choice. You had already chosen who would be there for you, who would stand by you when your family turned their back. And as much as it hurt, you knew the road ahead would be one you would walk alone, despite the faint hope that things could have been different.

Your mother’s eyes lingered on you from afar, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her. Not now. Not yet.

The silence between you and Aemond as you walked toward your chamber was deafening. Every step seemed to stretch on forever, the weight of what had just been decided pressing down on you like an unbearable burden. You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak, the words trapped in your throat, your emotions tangled up in confusion, anger, and sorrow.

Aemond, for his part, said nothing either. His usually sharp, intense gaze was focused ahead, but there was an odd stillness to him. You could feel his presence beside you, the tension in the air thick enough to be felt, but there was no comfort in it. He didn’t offer any words of solace, nor did he attempt to break the silence. It was as though both of you were stuck in a strange limbo—neither fully facing what had just happened nor able to walk away from it.

As you reached the door to your room, Aemond stopped, his hand briefly resting on the handle before he turned to look at you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to search yours for something—maybe understanding, maybe regret, or perhaps something else entirely.

“You should rest,” he said finally, his voice low, almost indifferent. “There will be much to prepare for in the coming days.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the floor. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, not without breaking down, not without giving voice to the emotions swirling inside of you. The last thing you wanted was to show any more weakness in front of him, or anyone, for that matter.

Aemond hesitated for a moment longer, then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts then.” He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading as he left you standing at the threshold of your room.

As the door closed softly behind you, you let out a shaky breath, the floodgates inside of you threatening to open. But you held yourself together. You couldn’t afford to break—not now, not in front of anyone.

Your mind raced as you stared at the empty space in front of you. The reality of the situation seemed impossible to accept. The wedding, the marriage, everything that had just been decided felt like it belonged to someone else, not you.

But there was no escaping it. This was your fate now. And no matter how much you wanted to rebel, to run, you knew you were tied to this family, to these bloodlines. The only thing left to do was endure.

With a heavy heart, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears finally came.

As you walked through the quiet garden, the path ahead was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The air was cool, a slight breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers, but it did little to calm the storm raging inside you. Your heart felt heavy with every step, each one taking you further from the bright, unbearable reality of your wedding preparations.

You couldn’t escape the thoughts that constantly echoed in your mind—the betrayal, the abandonment, the silence that had grown between you and your family. It was impossible to reconcile what was happening with the love and loyalty you once felt for them.

In the distance, you spotted Jace and Luke, their figures emerging from the trees, walking toward you. They had likely come to try and make amends, to explain themselves, but you knew their words wouldn’t change anything now.

You stopped in your tracks, holding up your hand to stop them before they could reach you. Your chest tightened, and a coldness crept over you. You had once been close to them, but now… now they were strangers to you. Their betrayal, their silence in the face of your suffering, stung deeper than anything else.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice cold and firm, though the pain behind it was undeniable. “I don’t want to hear it. I hate you both.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you expected. Jace’s face faltered, his expression one of shock, but Luke—Luke’s eyes were full of something that hurt even more: regret. Yet, none of it mattered. It couldn’t matter.

They didn’t deserve your forgiveness, not after everything that had happened. Not after they had stood by as your life was stolen from you, as you were cast aside in favor of their own selfish desires.

Jace opened his mouth, as if to speak, but you shook your head, silencing him. You didn’t want to hear any more excuses or apologies. You had heard it all before, but it was never enough.

“Go back to your own lives,” you added, your voice trembling slightly despite the anger. “Stay out of mine.”

Without another word, you turned away from them, walking quickly in the opposite direction. You could feel their eyes on your back, but you didn’t care. There was no turning back now. You had made your decision, and it was too late for apologies.

As you left them behind in the garden, a part of you felt a strange emptiness—an ache where the love you once had for them used to reside. But you knew it was for the best. There could be no more pretending. You couldn’t keep clinging to people who had abandoned you when you needed them most.

You entered your room, the weight of the day’s preparations still heavy on your shoulders, only to be met by the presence of Alicent and Helaena. They were waiting for you, their faces soft with anticipation. Helaena smiled warmly at you, her eyes filled with quiet admiration, while Alicent’s gaze was approving, though there was something more restrained in her expression.

“Come, my dear,” Alicent said gently, guiding you toward the mirror. “It’s time to try on the gown.”

The dress, a stunning white creation, shimmered under the light as you stepped into it. The fabric clung to your form in all the right places, its delicate lace and intricate embroidery making you feel like you were stepping into a dream, albeit one you never wished for. The gown was undoubtedly beautiful, but it was also a constant reminder of the role you had to play in this political arrangement.

As you stood in front of the mirror, Alicent and Helaena’s gazes lingered on you, their approval evident.

“You will be the most beautiful bride the realm has ever seen,” Helaena said softly, her voice filled with wonder. “The gown suits you perfectly.”

Alicent nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “Indeed. Aemond is lucky to have you. This marriage will solidify not only your family’s power but also your beauty, my dear.”

You felt their words, meant to be comforting, yet they seemed hollow. In that moment, the gown felt like a shackle more than a symbol of celebration. The compliments were warm, but they couldn’t erase the feelings of betrayal, the weight of your family’s expectations, and the uncertainty of what your future with Aemond would hold.

Still, you forced a smile, nodding as they admired the way the gown fit you. “Thank you,” you said quietly, though your heart wasn’t in it. “It’s beautiful.”

Alicent’s expression softened, as if sensing the quiet storm raging within you. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, offering a small, reassuring smile. “This is a new beginning for you. You must embrace it, no matter how difficult.”

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a new beginning at all—it was the closing of another chapter, one that left you questioning everything you thought you knew about your family, your future, and yourself.

As you sat alone in your room, your gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the fireplace, the warmth doing little to chase away the chill in your heart. The weight of the approaching wedding, the tension in the castle, and the heavy silence that seemed to engulf you were overwhelming. For a moment, you closed your eyes, hoping to escape the reality of your situation, but then a sound broke through your thoughts—the scraping of stone against stone, followed by a faint, almost imperceptible sound of footsteps.

You turned, startled, as a figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the room. Aemond. His presence, once so commanding, now seemed almost surreal as he stepped from the darkness of the secret passage. The cold air of the corridor seemed to follow him, making the room feel even colder than before.

“I needed to see you,” Aemond’s voice broke the silence, low and steady, as he closed the distance between you. His pale eyes locked onto yours, unreadable, as always.

You remained silent, unsure of what to say. He was always like this—so distant, yet somehow insistent on maintaining his place in your life, even when it felt as if there was nothing between you but obligation.

Aemond’s eyes flicked to the fire, then back to you. “I know this marriage isn’t what you want,” he said quietly, his tone almost softer than you’d expected. “But it’s necessary. For both of us.”

You could feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you. His words, though practical, didn’t erase the hurt, the resentment, the confusion. He stood there, seemingly unaffected by the circumstances, and yet… his presence in your room, at this moment, felt like a faint attempt at connection. An attempt that was too little, too late.

“Necessary,” you repeated, your voice carrying a bitter edge. “Yes, I know.” You turned back toward the fire, trying to keep the emotions from spilling over. “For both of us. But what about what I want? Or what you want, Aemond? Is this really what either of us wanted, or is it just what’s been forced upon us?”

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving you. When he spoke again, it was measured, almost as if he were considering every word carefully.

“I don’t know if I want it,” he admitted, his voice surprisingly honest. “But I have a duty. And so do you.” His words hung in the air between you like a heavy cloud. “This marriage… It’s just another duty to be fulfilled, nothing more. But we’ll get through it, together.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest like a stone. You turned to face him fully, trying to find any trace of sincerity in his eyes, any indication that he might understand what you were feeling, what you were going through. But there was nothing. Only cold determination.

“Together,” you echoed, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. “Yes, I suppose we will.”

Aemond’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone before you could fully process it. He looked away, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to steady himself against the emotions you both knew were lurking beneath the surface.

“You should rest,” he said quietly, his voice no longer as firm. “Tomorrow will be another busy day.”

You nodded, though you felt no comfort in his words. There was no rest for you, not with the weight of the coming days pressing down on your shoulders.

You looked at Aemond, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. His presence, despite the weight of your situation, somehow brought a sense of comfort—something you hadn’t realized you craved. You didn’t understand why, but for a fleeting moment, it felt like you weren’t entirely alone.

“Aemond…” you began, your voice soft but tinged with something that resembled vulnerability. “Stay. Just for a little while.”

His gaze met yours, his sharp, cold eyes seemingly surprised by your request, but he didn’t speak, just took a hesitant step closer, as if he, too, felt the strange pull between you. But before either of you could say anything more, a sharp knock on the door broke the silence.

You froze for a moment, instinctively bracing yourself. It was your mother. You could hear her voice—gentle but strained—calling from the other side.

“May I come in?”

Aemond’s presence suddenly felt too heavy, too dangerous in this moment. You didn’t want your mother to see him, not now, not like this. You quickly motioned for Aemond to hide, a silent plea in your eyes. His jaw clenched, but after a long pause, he nodded and slipped into the shadows of the room, his figure vanishing from sight like a shadow in the dim light.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come, and then called out.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, and there she stood—your mother, her face etched with a mixture of regret and sadness. She stepped in cautiously, her eyes searching you as if she were looking for some sign of forgiveness. But you felt none. Not yet. Maybe never.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I should never have left you alone here. I… I failed you, and I know that.”

You felt a coldness settle in your chest as you looked at her, the years of pain and abandonment rising to the surface like a tide you couldn’t stop. Your heart, once full of love for her, now felt numb.

“I’m not sure that apology matters anymore,” you replied, your tone flat, devoid of the warmth you used to give her. “You left. And I was left behind. I’ve learned to live without you.”

Her face fell, a tear slipping down her cheek. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It wasn’t about the apology anymore. It was about what she had done—and what she hadn’t done when you needed her most.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t shut me out.”

You shook your head, the words coming out harsh, like the bitter truth you’d buried deep inside you for so long. “You don’t get to come back now, Mother. You don’t get to walk in and pretend like you can fix everything. You chose them. You chose to leave me.”

She seemed to flinch at the weight of your words, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. Not anymore.

“Leave,” you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. “Please, just go.”

Your mother stood there for a moment, silent, tears streaming down her face. She seemed to hesitate, torn between reaching for you and walking away. But in the end, she turned and left, the door closing softly behind her.

As the sound of her footsteps faded, you sank back onto the chair by the fireplace, your heart heavy but somehow… relieved. Aemond reappeared from the shadows, his eyes meeting yours in the silence that followed.

He didn’t speak, but his presence was comforting—an odd, unspoken understanding between the two of you. For a moment, it felt like you were not entirely alone in the world, and that strange comfort lingered in the air, even as you struggled to process the emotions swirling within you.

But for now, you didn’t have to face them alone.

You froze, startled by Aemond’s sudden movement, but before you could react, he gently pulled you into his embrace. His grip was firm, yet strangely comforting, as if he was offering a shelter from the storm that raged inside you. His hand moved up and down your back in a soothing rhythm, the tension in your chest slowly starting to ease with each touch.

“Everything will be alright,” he whispered softly, his voice low and steady. The words were simple, but the way he said them—calm, reassuring—brought an odd sense of peace you hadn’t expected.

For a moment, you felt the weight of your emotions shift. You had expected the emptiness, the bitterness, the pain. But in his arms, there was none of that. Just a strange, unfamiliar sense of security.

You didn’t know why, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to believe his words, if only for a second. It was as if his presence was a small promise that, no matter how twisted your world had become, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his embrace, the familiar ache in your heart slowly beginning to quiet. “Thank you,” you whispered, unsure of what else to say, but grateful for the moment of solace he had given you.

The day of your wedding had finally arrived. You sat still, surrounded by your servants who were fussing over your hair and dress, their hands moving quickly to ensure every detail was perfect. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your heart heavy with a mix of emotions—nervousness, uncertainty, and an aching emptiness. The woman staring back at you seemed so different, yet familiar. The elaborate wedding gown, the delicate veil, the way everything had come together… it all felt like a dream.

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, the door creaked open and Alicent stepped into the room. She paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of awe and pride. Her eyes softened as she took in the sight of you, the woman you had become.

“My dear,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “You look… absolutely breathtaking.”

You managed a small, bittersweet smile, not quite sure what to say in response. Your eyes met hers, and in that moment, something shifted. Her presence was warm and comforting, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so alone.

Alicent stepped closer, her gaze tender as she placed a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman,” she continued, her voice softening. “And I… I think it’s time for you to start calling me ‘Mother.’”

The words hit you like a gentle wave. “Mother.” You had never called her that before, not in the way she probably wanted. But now, in this moment, you realized that maybe it was time to accept the bond she was offering. There was no turning back now, and despite the complicated feelings you harbored, you felt a sense of comfort in her words.

With a deep breath, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mother,” you said, testing the word on your lips. It felt strange, but somehow, it also felt right.

Alicent’s expression softened, her eyes glistening with emotion. She gave a small, proud smile, her hand gently cupping your cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

The room fell into a comfortable silence as you both took a moment to soak in the weight of the occasion, the sense of change, and the new life that was about to unfold.

The journey to the sept was a quiet one, the rhythmic movement of the carriage the only sound accompanying the silence between you and Alicent. Your fingers nervously traced the edge of your veil, your thoughts swirling with uncertainty and apprehension. The weight of the day felt heavier with each passing moment, and despite Alicent’s comforting words, you couldn’t shake the anxiousness knotting in your stomach.

“Everything will go smoothly,” Alicent said gently, her voice calm and reassuring, as though she sensed the turmoil brewing inside you. “You’re ready for this.”

You gave a soft nod, though the tightness in your chest betrayed your uncertainty. The silence stretched, the muffled sound of hooves on cobblestones echoing outside the carriage. You closed your eyes for a moment, steadying yourself as the weight of the moment settled over you.

Eventually, the carriage came to a halt with a soft jolt, and the door was opened by one of the attendants. Alicent helped you out, her hand steady on your arm. As you stepped onto the ground, you were greeted by a wave of sound—a chorus of cheers and applause from the gathered crowd. The people of the Red Keep and beyond had come to witness the union, their excitement palpable in the air.

The sight of the crowd was overwhelming. The colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, the sun casting a warm glow over the scene. People called out your name, their voices filled with enthusiasm, but all you could focus on was the way the crowd seemed to part for you as you moved forward, your heart pounding in your chest.

Alicent, walking beside you, smiled proudly, her presence a shield against the storm of emotions swirling within you. “This is your moment,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours with a look of reassurance.

As you walked towards the sept, your gaze lifted and you saw the familiar, yet distant, faces of your family standing at the altar. The weight of their gazes, mixed with the nervous excitement that filled the air, made everything feel surreal. The sound of the crowd, the warmth of the sun, the flutter of your veil, and the presence of Alicent beside you—it all blurred together in a haze of emotions.

The time had come, and despite the storm of feelings inside you, you knew there was no turning back.

As the High Septon’s voice rang through the hall, the final words of the ceremony echoed in your ears. “By the light of the Seven, I declare them husband and wife.” You stood there, the air thick with anticipation, the eyes of your family and the crowd on you. Aemond, beside you, remained composed, his gaze steady and intense, never leaving yours.

The moment felt surreal, the weight of the vows just spoken sinking in. You could feel the tension building, as the next words hung in the air.

The High Septon then turned to Aemond, his voice clear and firm. “Aemond, you may kiss your wife."

For a brief moment, there was a quiet stillness, and you felt the world around you blur. Aemond’s eyes locked with yours as he slowly stepped forward, his hand gently cupping your face. The soft brush of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and in that moment, you understood the gravity of the life you were about to share with him.

Then, with a movement as deliberate as it was tender, Aemond leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt like the beginning of a new chapter. The kiss was brief but full of unspoken promises, sealing the union in front of all who gathered.

As you pulled back, your heart raced, unsure of what the future held, but in that moment, you were bound to him, for better or worse. The cheers and applause of the crowd filled the room, but you were lost in the silence that followed, in the realization that your life had just changed forever.

As you and Aemond descended the steps from the altar, your hand firmly in his, the cheers and applause of the gathered crowd filled the air, echoing through the sept. The weight of the moment settled heavily upon you, but there was a strange, quiet calmness in the chaos of celebration.

Amidst the joyful noise, your gaze found Alicent. Tears shimmered in her eyes, reflecting the light of the candles around you. Without thinking, you reached out and embraced her, the warmth of her embrace offering a fragile sense of comfort in the whirlwind of emotions.

“You’re beautiful,” Alicent whispered softly, her voice full of pride and love. Her arms tightened around you for a moment longer before she pulled back, wiping her eyes gently.

As you stood there, holding her, you couldn’t help but notice the figure of your mother standing at the far end of the hall. Her eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a sadness so deep it nearly took your breath away. Her face was an expression of regret, of longing for something that had been lost.

But it was too late, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t stop the lump that formed in your throat as you held Alicent, her comforting presence a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt when you looked at your mother. You knew you had to turn away from her. Your life had changed, and the bonds of the past could not be rekindled so easily.

Yet, even as you walked away with Aemond, his presence beside you strong and resolute, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on your back, knowing that this new chapter of your life had already set you on a path that would never allow you to go back.

As the carriage rocked gently, you sat beside Aemond, your hand resting on your lap, and your thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. The celebration was still fresh in your mind, and the weight of the vows you had just taken hung heavily in the air around you. Despite the grandiosity of the wedding, the tension between you and your new life was palpable.

Aemond sat with his usual composed demeanor, his eyes gazing ahead through the window, his face unreadable. The silence between you both was thick, a stark contrast to the celebrations you had just left behind. He glanced at you briefly, his sharp gaze briefly meeting yours, before turning back to the window.

You could feel the unease in your chest, the uncertainty of what the future held now that everything had changed so dramatically. The faces of your family, especially your mother’s sad, distant eyes, lingered in your mind. You wanted to ask Aemond something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

After a few moments of silence, Aemond finally spoke, his voice low and steady. “This is just the beginning,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Tonight will be a celebration, but our real journey starts now.”

You nodded silently, unsure of how to respond. His words, while true, only served to deepen the unease in your heart. The path ahead felt uncertain, filled with obligations and expectations that you hadn’t been prepared for.

The carriage jolted slightly as it continued down the road toward the Red Keep, and you couldn’t help but wonder what awaited you there. Would it be a new chapter of your life, one you could come to accept? Or would it be a never-ending struggle, one you were ill-prepared for?

For now, you stayed silent, lost in your thoughts, while Aemond remained ever watchful, his presence a constant reminder of the new reality you both now had to face.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was filled with an air of formality as the feast began. The tables were laden with food, and the chatter of the nobility filled the air, but the weight of the moment hung heavily over you. You sat beside Aemond, your hand resting lightly on the table, surrounded by the most important figures of the realm.

Alicent sat beside you, her presence a reminder of the expectations that now rested on your shoulders. Across from you, your mother sat next to Aemond, her face carefully neutral, though you could feel the distance between you. Aegon and Helaena flanked the table, their expressions unreadable, their usual carefree demeanor absent.

The king, Viserys, raised his goblet, his voice booming through the hall as he stood to give a speech. “Tonight, we celebrate the union of two great houses,” he began, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a solemn smile. “Aemond, my son, and my dear granddaughter, we welcome you into this new chapter of our family’s legacy. May your marriage strengthen the ties that bind us all.”

The guests raised their glasses, their eyes upon you, as the king continued with a few more words of congratulation, but his voice felt distant. You could feel the tension in the room, the expectations, the silent judgment of those who were watching you both closely. It was as though your marriage was not just a union of two people, but a political alliance with the power to shape the future of the realm.

Aemond remained calm, his gaze steady and unwavering, as always. His posture was perfect, the image of a prince, and yet you couldn’t help but feel the distance between you both. Your fingers tightened on the edge of your goblet, your mind swirling with the reality of the path ahead.

The king’s speech concluded, and he returned to his seat, raising his glass one more time in honor of your union. Everyone followed suit, including your mother, who briefly met your eyes, her expression a mix of sorrow and pride.

But you were left with your own thoughts, the words of your new husband echoing in your mind. “This is just the beginning.” What did that truly mean for you, for your family, for your future?

The night continued on, the banquet proceeding with laughter and conversation, but the weight of it all remained on your shoulders.

As Aemond stood and extended his hand to you, the noise of the banquet seemed to fade into the background. The warm glow of the torches in the hall illuminated his intense gaze as he led you to the center of the room. You hesitated for only a moment, before accepting his hand. There was a silent understanding between the two of you as he guided you to the dance floor.

The music played softly, its slow, melodic rhythm matching the beating of your heart. Aemond’s grip was firm, his touch grounding you as you moved together in perfect harmony. For the briefest of moments, the weight of the world seemed to lift. The chaos, the whispers, the tension—they were all forgotten as the two of you danced.

“You don’t have to think about any of it,” Aemond’s voice broke through the silence between you, calm and assuring. “The whispers, the looks, the expectations—they don’t matter now. You have me.”

His words, simple yet resolute, settled into your chest. The unspoken bond between you both deepened in that moment, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to feel something other than the heavy pressure of duty and destiny.

You met his gaze, a small, quiet smile playing on your lips. His presence, steady and unwavering, was a comfort amid the storm of your emotions. You didn’t have to say anything. His words alone, as rare as they were, were enough.

The dance continued, your bodies moving effortlessly together, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. Perhaps there was more to this than just an arranged marriage—perhaps there was a chance to build something real, something of your own.

For now, it was just you and him, lost in the rhythm of the music, the eyes of the world no longer mattering in that moment.

As the music reached its crescendo, Aemond spun you gracefully, your gown swirling around you like waves of silk. The world seemed to slow, the flickering glow of the torches casting golden light on the two of you. When you turned back to face him, his hands found your waist, steadying you with a firm but gentle hold.

His gaze locked onto yours, unwavering and intense. There was something different in his eyes—not the usual cold calculation, but a warmth reserved only for you. Without a word, he leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

When his lips finally met yours, the room erupted in cheers and applause. The lords and ladies clapped, their voices rising in celebration, but it all faded into a dull hum in your ears. The kiss was soft but sure, filled with a quiet kind of promise. His touch was not a claim of possession but one of reassurance, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his tunic. The warmth of him, the weight of his presence, was steady and constant. You could feel the world watching, but for once, you didn’t care. Here, in this moment, it was just the two of you.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on you, his hand lifting to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His eyes traced your features as if memorizing them, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. The cheers grew louder, but Aemond didn’t turn to face them. His eyes remained on you, as if to say, Let them watch. Let them see who you belong to—but more than that, see who belongs to you.

The moment lingered like a held breath before he finally turned with you in his arms, facing the crowd with that familiar cool, commanding presence. But his hand never left yours, his thumb tracing soft circles on your palm—a silent reminder that, no matter who watched, he was yours now, and you were his.

The hall fell silent at the lord’s boisterous shout, the echo of “Bedding ceremony!” reverberating off the stone walls. Whispers spread like wildfire through the crowd, lords and ladies exchanging glances with growing excitement. The atmosphere shifted, filled with a mixture of amusement, expectation, and mischief.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, rose from her seat, her face tense with barely restrained anger. “That will not be necessary,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the noise with regal authority. Her eyes darted toward you, a silent plea for you to follow her lead.

But before she could say more, you stood. Your eyes swept across the crowd, meeting the stares of lords and ladies alike. Their gazes carried a mixture of curiosity and judgment, but you did not falter. Aemond’s hand tightened around yours, a steadying presence at your side.

“Tradition is tradition,” you said, your voice clear and calm. The murmur of the crowd quieted as your words settled in the air. “If this is what is expected of us, then we shall fulfill it.” You raised your chin, every inch the daughter of a queen. “Let them see that I am not afraid.”

Aemond glanced at you, his gaze unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curved into a small, sharp smile. Pride flickered in his eye, and he turned to face the hall, his voice sharp and commanding. “You have asked for tradition,” he said, his tone like steel wrapped in silk. “Then tradition you shall have.”

The lords erupted into cheers and laughter, their earlier whispers turning into roars of approval. A few of the younger knights began to rise from their seats, ready to follow the old custom of carrying the bride and groom to the marriage bed.

Alicent’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parting as if to protest, but she quickly pressed them into a thin line. She glanced at you, her face filled with something that looked like pride… and perhaps a flicker of guilt.

Rhaenyra, however, looked furious. She stepped forward, her eyes locked on you, pleading silently. But you didn’t look away. This was your choice now. Her power over you had waned the moment she left you in the Red Keep. She knew it too.

As the knights approached, you glanced at Aemond, and he inclined his head ever so slightly—a silent promise. You knew, in that moment, that you would not be alone in this. You were no longer just a daughter of Rhaenyra. You were now a wife, a queen in your own right, and with Aemond by your side, you would not be moved by whispers or judgment.

The hands of the knights reached for you and Aemond, lifting you both into the air as the crowd’s cheers grew louder. Your heart pounded in your chest, but not from fear. You met Aemond’s gaze as you were carried together toward the chamber doors. His eye was sharp with focus, his lips barely moving as he whispered words only for you to hear:

“Let them watch. Let them know we are unbreakable.”

And as the doors to your chamber swung open, the noise of the crowd behind you felt distant, their jeers and cheers like echoes from another world. The heavy oak doors shut behind you with a resounding thud, cutting off the outside world entirely.

In the quiet of the chamber, with only the soft crackle of the hearth to fill the silence, Aemond’s gaze shifted. Gone was the sharpness, the command. His eye lingered on you with something softer—something only for you.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You met his gaze, steady as your heart finally calmed. “No,” you replied softly. “Not anymore.”

He reached for you slowly, his hands gentle as they touched your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheekbone. “Good,” he said, his voice a whisper of steel and warmth. “Because neither am I.”

you looked at aemond, his hand gently caressed your cheek. his touch was so soft, you closed your eyes when you felt his lips touch yours. he slowly untied your dress until it fell around your feet, then he led you towards the bed without breaking the kiss.

you lay down while staring at his face, his silver hair framed his face softly. he slowly opened the tunic that was attached to his body, you could hear whispers from behind the curtains in your room. they were watching. but you weren't afraid, no.

Aemond kissed you again and then he moved to kiss your shoulder, you sighed softly when he started kissing your neck. "are you ready?," he whispered softly in your ear, making sure only you could hear his voice. you nodded.

without thinking aemond kissed you again, you put your hands around his neck. giving him orders to do more to you, his hands began to untie his pants and now he and you were both naked.

"I need your permission" he breathed into your skin.

his fingers dancing around your entrance. you can feel the eagerness radiating off of his body, daring him to push forward into you. He needed to hear you say it.

"Oh god..." you breathed, "yes- Aemond please."

Without warning, he pushed two fingers deep inside of you, hitting your sweet spot. Your mouth dropped open, silent gasps escaping between those swollen lips. You pushed your hips up against his hand, searching for more. You was searching for release but he didn't want to give it to you yet.

His thumb flicked against your clit, sending your eyes into the back of your skull. "Fuck, she looked so fucking good like that." he thought as he feel his erection growing and pushing against your inner thigh. It was enough to drive him mad - utterly insane.

"I want you..." he hissed into your mouth, your breath mixing together in perfect harmony.

"Then take me….." you fired back, That's all the permission he needed you to say. His lips crashed into your with passion and hunger. Your hands moved up into his hair, yanking and pulling at it.

He snaked his head back down to your neck, sucking the sweet, sensitive spot that he knew would cause you to moan.

Sweet, earth shattering moans escaped your lips and your eyes rolled back in your head. Instantly, you pushed and pulled against him, trying to get the friction to release the pressure that you was feeling between your thighs. You wrapped her legs around him tightly and he pulled you in closer, feeling his cock push against your cunt. In one smooth motion, you both feel backwards into the bed. Your kisses become erratic and sloppy as you gripped onto each other for dear life. It was like you couldn't get enough of each other in that moment; you both needed more.

Herubbed his hand over his throbbing length. Slowly, he rubbed his tip over your opening, feeling your arousal coating the tip.

"this one might hurt" he breathed through clenched teeth.

He grabbed your hips and slowly pushed into you, letting you adjust to his size. He watched as your back arched in sheer pleasure and pain.

"You are squeezing my cock" he growled, "relax." as he kissed your face, he pushed into you deeper, gripping your hips tightly. He slowly move in and out of you.

"You are so tight" he breathed.

He felt your walls squeeze his length tightly. He watched as you squirmed under him, wanting more from him.

"Please, Aemond fuck me " she demanded.

You reached up for him, pulling his body against your own. The feeling of your bare flesh against each other was so erotic. he could feel your all around him in that moment. You snaked your hand around his neck, pulling his head to your's as your foreheads collided.

"Fuck..." you both moaned in unison.

His hips thrusted into you over and over again, causing you to cry out in pleasure each thrust. He watched you under him arch your back in sheer pleasure. His hands pushed into your hips, keeping you steady while he fucked you as deep as he could.

"I'm going to...." your eyelids fluttered shut.

"That's it-" he breathed into you, "come undone for me, love."

He hovered over you, throwing your legs over his shoulder, thrusting deeper inside of you. You felt so good, he was losing his mind. Your walls clenched around his, as your mouth fell open. He felt a rush of liquid move over his cock as you covered him with your wetness. He wasn't finished with you just yet. He grabbed your hips and in one swift movement flipped you around, bending you over the bed.

He wrapped one hand around your hair, yanking your head back. His other hand reached around your body. Moans escaped your lips, echoing throughout the stonewall of your chambers. He watched as his cock slid in and out of your wetness.

"Fuck" he breathed.

You looked over your shoulder at him, your wet hair plastered to her face and your dark eyes bright.

"Come for me, Aemond" you breathed. "fill me with your seed"

those words made him come inside you, you moaned as you felt his warm seed fill you up. you felt him kiss your shoulder and then he hugged you and laid you down on the bed

He pulled the blanket over you with gentle hands, his touch careful and deliberate. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead — warm, steady, and reassuring. It wasn’t the fiery passion you expected from a husband, but something deeper. Something that made you feel safe.

“Rest now,” Aemond murmured, his voice low but firm, the kind of tone that left no room for argument.

And for once, you didn’t argue. Your eyes grew heavy as exhaustion from the long day finally claimed you. The last thing you felt was the warmth of his presence next to you, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you to sleep.

When you woke the next morning, the sun was peeking through the curtains, casting soft golden rays across the room. You blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. Slowly, you sat up, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs.

But something was missing.

You glanced to your side, your hand brushing against the cold, empty space on the bed where Aemond had lain. Frowning, you scanned the room. The chair near the hearth was empty. The sound of footsteps, the rustle of clothes — none of it was there. He was gone.

Your fingers lightly grazed the pillow he had used, still faintly warm but already cooling. A sigh escaped your lips. You knew where he was. It was Aemond, after all. Of course, he was already up.

“He must be training,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your eyes. It was just like him to be up at dawn, perfecting his swordplay while the world still slept.

You lay back down for a moment, staring at the ceiling with quiet thoughts swirling in your mind. It wasn’t like you expected him to stay, but… a part of you had hoped he would.

You stood before the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your gown. The rich green silk hugged your form perfectly, adorned with delicate golden embroidery that shimmered in the morning light. This color — once foreign to you — had become a part of you now. It no longer felt strange. It felt inevitable.

With a steadying breath, you turned from the mirror, lifting your head high as you made your way toward the door. The clinking of your heeled footsteps echoed down the stone corridor as you stepped out. Your gaze was sharp, forward-facing, and unwavering.

Servants and courtiers paused as you passed, their murmurs and whispers too faint to hear but their eyes loud with judgment. Some glanced at you with shock, others with disapproval, and a few with quiet respect. “The daughter of Rhaenyra, wearing green,” you imagined them saying. But none of it mattered. Not anymore.

You didn’t slow your pace. You didn’t lower your head. Let them stare. Let them talk. Their words were hollow, and their gazes held no power over you. You had learned that power didn’t come from pleasing them — it came from walking forward, unbothered and unyielding.

The warmth of the sun filtered in through the narrow windows, streaking the cold stone with golden light. The air smelled faintly of the sea and ash, a scent so familiar it had become part of you. Your gown flowed behind you like a banner, the symbol of your new place in this game of thrones.

Green. Not red, not black. Green. And as you walked, you realized something. You no longer felt the need to justify it.

You were walking along the corridor of the Red Keep, your steps light as you made your way to the balcony that overlooked the training yard. The sounds of clashing swords and the shouts of soldiers filled the air, the yard alive with activity. You spotted him almost immediately—your husband, Aemond, sparring with Ser Criston. The two were moving with precision, their swords flashing in the sunlight.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you watched him. There was something oddly reassuring about seeing him in his element, focused and commanding, even in the midst of a battle. You felt a warmth spread through you, a strange comfort knowing that this was the man you were now bound to.

But before you could indulge further in the moment, you heard footsteps behind you. A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Is this how you spend your days now?” Jace’s voice was tinged with frustration as he appeared in your line of sight. His expression was a mix of sadness and anger, but it softened when his eyes met yours.

You turned to face him, your smile fading slightly as you noticed the hurt in his gaze. “Jace,” you greeted softly, feeling the tension in the air. “What brings you here?”

He stepped closer, his eyes flicking toward Aemond in the yard, then back to you. “I had hoped you’d be different,” he said quietly. “I never thought you would join them, that you would choose this… this life.”

You felt a pang in your chest. Jace’s words, though quiet, cut deeper than you’d expected. But you couldn’t let them sway you, not now. You had made your choice.

“I didn’t choose this easily, Jace,” you replied, your voice steady, though there was a hint of sadness lingering. “But it is my choice, now."

Jace looked at you for a long moment, his face softening. He opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could speak, you turned your attention back to the training yard. Aemond had finished his sparring and was now walking toward the side of the yard, wiping sweat from his brow. He was still too far to hear, but you could feel his presence in the air.

“Please understand,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Jace. “This… this is the life I have now.”

Jace didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you. It was clear he wasn’t ready to let go of what once was, but you had to. You had no choice.

Aemond’s voice cut through the tension, his presence near you a steadying force. Both you and Jace turned to face him, and you could see the protective glint in his eyes as he stood beside you, his posture poised but fierce. He glanced at Jace for a moment, his gaze sharp, before looking back at you.

“Is he bothering you again?” Aemond’s voice was low, but there was a clear edge to it.

You shook your head quickly, not wanting the situation to escalate. “No, Aemond. Everything is fine,” you said, offering a small smile, though there was a lingering sadness in your heart. You didn’t want Aemond to get involved in this—didn’t want him to see the cracks in your relationships with your family.

Jace, however, didn’t look convinced. His gaze lingered on Aemond for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully before speaking. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” Jace said, his tone cooler now. “I just wanted to talk. But it seems things have changed.”

You sighed, stepping away from the edge of the balcony, feeling the weight of both men’s eyes on you. “Things have changed, Jace,” you said softly, unable to avoid the truth. “I have changed.”

Aemond’s hand subtly brushed against your back, a silent gesture of support. His presence was a comfort, even if Jace’s disappointment was hard to ignore.

Jace took a step back, his gaze lingering on you one last time. “I wish you hadn’t chosen this, but… I understand.” There was no anger in his voice now, just a quiet sadness. He turned to leave, but before he did, he looked back once more. “Take care of her,” he said to Aemond, his voice surprisingly soft.

Aemond gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable, but you knew that he would honor the unspoken promise. As Jace walked away, the silence between you and Aemond grew, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“You okay?” Aemond asked, his voice now gentle, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

You looked at him, grateful for his understanding. “I am now,” you whispered.

tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd

[br0kenangel]

Baby Targaryens as adults headcanon: how would they fall for you? How they are in a relationship in general?

characters: Jaehaerys, Maelor, Aegon III, Viserys II.

Jaehaerys doesn’t fall in love gracefully. No, he sees you once, maybe catching you out of the corner of his eye while he’s busy rolling them at Aegon or suffering through some royal function he doesn’t want to be at. His first thought? “Great. Another distraction.”

But something about you makes him pause, something makes him stare a little longer. And before he even understands it himself, the moment he lays eyes on you, in that deadpan, signature cold style of his, he mutters under his breath, “beautiful.”

Jaehaerys is different from other men in court. He doesn’t care to charm you, impress you, or, gods forbid, flirt with you. No, that’s Mealor’s job, with his smiles and "how are you this fine evening, my lady?" Jaehaerys? He just glares at you across the room, assessing. He doesn’t need to court you. You’re already his—he decided that five minutes ago. Now he’s just waiting for you to realize it.

If he ever does try to flirt, it's the most awkward, detached, disastrous thing you’ve ever witnessed. He’ll stare at you for a bit too long and say something like, “Your hair... it’s fine, I suppose.” Or worse, “You don’t annoy me as much as everyone else.”

It’s so unintentionally rude that you almost laugh—but he’s dead serious, just standing there, completely oblivious to how bad he is at this.

It doesn’t help that Jaehaerys is unreasonably attractive. He’s taller than his father, with that same Targaryen beauty, but he’s always looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. People fall all over themselves around him, but he just rolls his eyes. When you don’t, he’s intrigued. It’s almost like a challenge to him. Why aren’t you impressed? he wonders, eyebrows raised. You’re not supposed to be immune to him.

Aegon, his one and only friend (though Jaehaerys would never admit it), notices Jaehaerys watching you with a bit more interest than usual and teases him endlessly. Jaehaerys, tired of the teasing, the world, and quite frankly, of you for making him feel something, just glares and says, “Shut up, Aegon.”

Aegon keeps poking him, though. “You like her, don’t you?” And Jaehaerys’s face twists in annoyance before he just groans, “Gods, Aegon, leave me alone. I just want to sleep.” Which, funnily enough, is his attitude about everything. He’d much rather be napping than dealing with feelings.

Most lords would play the long game, trying to win your favor, doing all the polite things. Jaehaerys? Nah. He doesn’t care. He sees you, he wants you, and that’s it. End of story. He walks up to you one day, fully expecting the conversation to end in you being his.

His approach? Straightforward and blunt: “We’re going to wed. That’s not a question.”

You’re stunned. “Excuse me?”

“I'm in love with you,” he says flatly, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, “So you’re mine now.”

There’s no pleading, no coy smile. He’s already made the decision for both of you.

He’s deeply annoyed by the fact that he even has feelings for you. He’ll be sitting in his chambers, brooding, trying to read, but all he can think about is you. He scowls, tossing the book aside. “Why?” he mumbles to himself, irritated. “Why do I even care?”

He’s annoyed that you’ve distracted him, that you’ve taken up residence in his mind, and yet, he’ll spend hours watching you from afar. He won’t admit it, but you’re the only thing that makes him not hate everything for a little while.

The moment you show interest in someone else? Forget it. Jaehaerys is right there, appearing out of nowhere like some shadowy ghost. He’ll stand between you and anyone who dares approach, giving them a cold, dismissive look. And he’ll say, in that cutting, dry voice of his, “She’s not interested.” He doesn’t even ask how you feel—he’s already made the decision for you.

People often comment on how lucky you are to have caught Jaehaerys’s eye, because—let’s face it—he’s gorgeous. But the moment he opens his mouth? Everything gets awkward. He’s either blunt, rude in the most polite way, or just plain dismissive. You’ll walk into a room, and someone will say, “You look beautiful today.”

Jaehaerys, overhearing, just rolls his eyes and mutters, “She looks beautiful every day. Obviously.” Then adds under his breath, “Can we leave now?”

The thing with Jaehaerys is, once he decides he wants you, there’s no escape. Not in a creepy way, but in a he-will-not-leave-you-alone way. He’ll suddenly be everywhere—at your side, giving you that I’m-annoyed-but-interested look. And when you try to argue, he just cuts you off with, “Don’t bother. I’ve already decided. You’re mine.”

You realize, in a strange, funny way, that it’s almost comforting—knowing that once Jaehaerys chooses something (or someone), he’s completely devoted. Even if he’s the most sarcastic, emotionally unavailable person on the planet, he’s yours.

Maelor has an unmatched talent for getting into trouble, but the way he struts into it is almost impressive. He’ll walk into a room, compliment someone on their ridiculously oversized hat, steal the silverware off the table, and wink at you on the way out like it was all part of some grand performance. When you ask him why he does these things, he just shrugs and says, “It’s called living, love. Try it sometime.”

Flirting is basically Maelor’s second language. He’ll start with something overly dramatic, like, “You, my dear, are the moon to my drunken stumbles,” and before you can even roll your eyes, he’s convinced the entire room that you’re madly in love with him. Even if you’re not. Especially if you’re not. When you point this out, he grins and says, “Can you blame them? Look at me.” (He’s very humble.)

Maelor does not believe in subtlety when it comes to his wardrobe. He’ll walk into a council meeting wearing a deep purple silk tunic, velvet cape, and, of course, his beloved golden earring. He’ll probably have a feathered hat, too, just because he can. When you tell him he’s dressed like he’s going to a festival and not, you know, preparing for day, he’ll just smirk and say, “I know, I’m practically a walking work of art.”

You’d think Maelor’s silver tongue would be infallible when it comes to flirting. But when he really likes someone, the smooth talk disappears. He’ll go from “You’re the most stunning creature in Westeros,” to “You…uh…have very…nice shoes? I guess.” The more he likes you, the worse it gets. You’re watching a man who can talk his way out of a dragon’s mouth completely lose it because he can’t think of a single charming thing to say.

Maelor has a special talent for vanishing from the scene of his crimes just in time, leaving you in awe of his ability to slip away right when things go south. Whether it’s after “borrowing” a lord’s prized horse or sweet-talking his way into a highborn feast, he’s gone with a blink and a laugh. He’ll reappear later with a cup of wine and a grin, saying, “Hello darling.” (He never learns his lesson because somehow, he never gets caught.)

Maelor loves wine. And not just a casual love—he’s borderline obsessed with it (worse than his father). At every meal, he’s got a goblet in hand, and he’s always trying to top yours up like you’re both on some extended holiday. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had this vintage,” he’ll say, pouring you a cup while simultaneously swiping an entire bottle for later. If you ask him why he always has to drink, he’ll flash a charming grin and say, “Life’s too short to be sober.”

Maelor flirts with everyone—it’s just who he is. But with you? There’s a sincerity behind his teasing that isn’t there with anyone else. When he calls you “gorgeous” or “darling,” it’s not just part of his game—it’s real. And when he flirts with others in your presence, it’s to get a rise out of you, just to see that flash of jealousy in your eyes. “What’s wrong? You know you’re my favorite.”

That golden earring he’s so proud of? He thinks it’s the height of fashion. He’ll casually flip his hair just so it catches the light, and if you compliment him on it (even sarcastically), he’ll give you a knowing look like you’ve just confirmed his suspicions of being the most fashionable man alive. He’ll say, “Ah, you’ve noticed. I knew you had taste.” You can’t even tell if he’s joking or not.

Maelor loves pulling pranks and stealing random things, but he’s the worst at being subtle about it. He’ll swipe a coin purse or a golden goblet, only for you to see it sticking out of his coat five minutes later. When you point it out, he’ll just laugh and say, “Oops. Must have slipped in there.” He’s too charming to be mad at, and he knows it.

When Maelor really likes you, he becomes an absolute disaster. His usual suave lines turn into awkward stumbles. “You…uh, look nice. I mean, not that you didn’t look nice before, but like…yeah.” You watch him go from the most confident man in the room to someone who can’t even make eye contact. It’s adorable, really, watching him struggle to be smooth when he’s head over heels.

One moment, Maelor is all smiles and teasing, and the next, he’s quiet, watching you with a calculating gaze. It’s like he’s always thinking three steps ahead, figuring out how to get you closer to him without you even realizing it. When he’s like this, he’ll casually brush a hand against yours, lean in just a little too close, and murmur something so soft it’s almost dangerous: “You know you’re the only one who can keep up with me, right?”

Maelor’s idea of a “cunning plan” usually involves a lot of improvisation and almost no foresight. He’ll convince you to help him steal something valuable or sneak into a lord’s private party, assuring you he has it all figured out. Spoiler: he does not have it all figured out. But somehow, through sheer luck and charm, it always works out. “See? Told you I had a plan,” he’ll say with a grin, as if you both weren’t two seconds away from disaster.

Maelor doesn’t get jealous in the traditional sense, but he’s definitely possessive in his own subtle way. If someone else is flirting with you, he’ll step in with that dazzling smile and start charming them instead, all while keeping you close. “You’re coming with me, love,” he’ll say smoothly, completely unbothered by the competition. And when he steals you away, he’ll shoot you a knowing grin, as if to say, “You’re mine, and we both know it.”

If there’s one thing Maelor loves, it’s teasing you. He’ll steal something of yours, just to watch you get flustered trying to get it back. “Looking for this?” He’ll dangle it in front of you with that mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. But as soon as he sees you getting genuinely upset, he’ll soften, handing it back with a playful wink. “Alright, alright, here you go. I’m only teasing, darling.”

Maelor steals more than just gold—he steals hearts, too. You didn’t mean to fall for him, but it’s hard not to when he’s always pulling you into wild adventures and making you laugh. You’ll be fuming because he just got you both chased out of a tavern, but then he’ll look at you with those pretty eyes and that teasing smile, and suddenly you’re not so mad anymore. He knows it, too. “I’m irresistible, admit it,” he’ll say with a wink.

Maelor can flirt, trick, and outsmart most people, but when it comes to saying goodbye? He’s the worst. He’ll tell you he’s leaving for a trip, only to sneak back into your chambers hours later with a bottle of wine and say, “Miss me yet?” It’s impossible to get rid of him, and honestly, you’re not even sure you want to anymore.

Aegon is the definition of effortlessly charming, with that roguish smile and easy-going nature. He’s the type to charm everyone at court without even trying, and half the time, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. So when he falls for you, it’s not because he’s trying to win you over—he’s just being his usual, flirtatious self, flashing you that cheeky grin and thinking, “Well, why wouldn't you fall for me?”

Aegon doesn’t flirt. He exists and somehow, people think he’s flirting. He could be talking about the weather, and it would still sound like the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard. When he meets you, it’s no different. “You look lovely today,” he says casually, while inside, he’s mentally patting himself on the back for keeping it smooth. But he’s secretly freaking out because, for once, he actually wants to impress someone.

Aegon is normally laid-back, but with you, it’s different. He catches himself staring at you all the time, whether you’re in the middle of a conversation or just passing by. He’ll be sitting in court, pretending to pay attention, but all his focus is on you. And when you catch him staring, he’ll just wink and give you a little smirk, like it was totally on purpose.

Aegon is a very physical person, and once he decides he’s into you, that’s it. He’s always finding ways to touch you, whether it’s a hand on your back, a playful nudge, or just casually throwing an arm around your shoulders. It’s his way of saying, “Hey, I’m into you,” without actually saying it. And if anyone else tries to get too close? Aegon’s immediately at your side, leaning in close and making sure everyone knows who you belong to.

Aegon is a sweet-talker through and through. He’s always showering you with compliments, and the thing is, they sound genuine. You’ll be sitting there, minding your own business, and he’ll just pop up with, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, you know that?” And you know he’s probably said it to a dozen people before, but somehow, with you, it feels different—like he actually means it.

Subtlety is not Aegon’s strong suit. If you’re trying to play it cool or make him work for it, forget it. He’ll take your coy responses as a challenge, and instead of backing off, he’ll just double down on the charm. “Playing hard to get, huh? I love that.” He thinks it’s all part of the game, and he’s having a great time, completely oblivious to how flustered he’s making you.

Aegon has big golden retriever energy. He’s the type who gets excited about everything, especially you. If you say something even remotely interesting, his face lights up, and he’s instantly hooked. “Wait, say that again? That’s amazing!” He’s like a puppy, hanging on your every word, and it’s almost impossible to stay mad at him because his enthusiasm is so infectious.

Aegon’s usually the easy-going type, but if someone else shows interest in you? Oh, he’s stepping in real quick. He’s not possessive in a creepy way, but he’s definitely the kind of guy to slide in next to you with a bright grin, casually draping an arm over your shoulder and making very clear that you’re his. “Hey, love, everything alright here?” He says it with a smile, but his eyes are daring the other person to try something.

Aegon is rarely serious, always cracking jokes and making light of situations. But when he’s with you, sometimes the jokes stop, and he’ll get this intense look in his eyes. He’ll brush a strand of hair behind your ear and say something like, “You know you mean the world to me, right?” And it’s so sincere and unexpected that it catches you off guard. Just when you think he’s nothing but playful charm, he hits you with a moment of real vulnerability.

Underneath all the flirting and jokes, Aegon is deeply loyal. Once he’s decided that he’s yours (and you’re his), he’s all in. He might be playful with others, but with you, it’s different. He’s always there when you need him, ready to drop everything for you. And despite how easy-going he seems, he’s serious about his feelings for you. You’ll never have to wonder where you stand with him, because he’s always making it abundantly clear how much you mean to him.

Aegon loves grand gestures. He’s the type to show up at your window in the middle of the night with flowers, or whisk you away for a spontaneous trip, just because. He’ll leave little notes for you, filled with sweet, silly messages like, “I’m thinking about you. Don’t miss me too much.” He may act like a carefree person, but when it comes to you, he’s an absolute romantic at heart.

Aegon’s favorite thing in the world? Making you smile. He’ll go out of his way to do it, whether it’s through jokes, playful teasing, or simply being his charming self. He’s the kind of guy who, if he sees you upset, will drop everything to make you laugh. And once he’s got that smile out of you? Mission accomplished. You’re his world, and he’ll do anything to keep that smile on your face.

Viserys is the grounding force in Maelor’s whirlwind of trouble and adventure. While Maelor is off flirting, tricking, and scheming, Viserys is the calm, steady one, always there to clean up the mess. He watches from the sidelines with a soft, knowing smile, ready to step in when things go too far. Maelor often drags you into his escapades, but it’s Viserys who quietly ensures you’re safe. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you both survive Maelor’s next ‘great idea.’”

Viserys is the type to care deeply but silently. He’s not the type to loudly declare his feelings, but his actions speak volumes. He’ll subtly make sure you’re taken care of, always offering help without you having to ask. Whether it’s making sure you’re comfortable during a long journey or pulling you out of one of Maelor’s risky games, Viserys is always there, quietly protecting you. He’ll brush it off with a modest smile, saying, “It’s nothing,” but you know better.

When Viserys falls in love, he falls hard. He doesn’t do things halfway—once he’s set his heart on you, that’s it. You’ll notice how his attention lingers on you more than anyone else, how he’s always looking out for your needs before his own. He’ll give you his full attention, listen to everything you say, and remember the smallest details about you. It’s not dramatic or flashy, but it’s deep and unwavering. “You matter more to me than you realize.”

Viserys and Maelor are a duo that’s practically inseparable. While Maelor is the mischievous troublemaker, Viserys is the one who always steps in to help him out of sticky situations. Maelor gets himself into ridiculous trouble all the time, but Viserys is the one who makes sure things don’t go completely off the rails. “Honestly, Maelor. What did you do this time?” He’ll say it with a sigh, but there’s affection in his eyes as he helps his best friend out yet again. It’s a relationship built on deep trust, and you’re often caught in the middle of their dynamic.

Viserys’s love is soft and gentle. He’s not the type to overwhelm you with grand gestures, but he’ll show his love in small, meaningful ways. He’ll remember the way you take your tea, ensure your favorite book is waiting for you after a long day, and offer a reassuring smile when you need it most. His presence is soothing, like a steady flame that never burns too bright but never wavers either. “I’m here for you, always.”

Viserys is smart—incredibly so. He’s the one who sees ten steps ahead, the strategist who quietly observes and plans, ensuring that no one can outwit him. When Maelor’s wild schemes start spiraling out of control, Viserys is already two steps ahead, subtly pulling strings to fix everything. With you, he’s just as attentive, always knowing what you need even before you realize it. “You’re more predictable than you think, but I like that about you.” He’ll say with a teasing smile, his eyes warm with affection.

There’s something about Viserys that’s endlessly comforting. He’s the rock in a storm, the one who remains calm no matter how chaotic things get. When Maelor’s antics get overwhelming or life becomes too much, Viserys is there, offering quiet support. He doesn’t need to say much to make you feel at ease—just being near him is enough. His hand on yours, the way he softly says your name—it’s like everything is okay again.

Viserys is an excellent listener. He’ll sit with you for hours, listening to everything you have to say with genuine interest, no matter how trivial it might seem. He makes you feel heard, like every word you say matters to him. He doesn’t interrupt or offer advice unless you ask—he’s just there, present and engaged. “I’m always here to listen, you know that.”

Viserys’s loyalty is absolute. Once he’s decided he cares for you, there’s no changing his mind. He’s fiercely protective of the people he loves, though he does it in a quiet, understated way. If anyone tries to harm you or Maelor, Viserys won’t hesitate to step in, but he’ll do it with such calm precision that no one will see it coming. He’s the kind of person who would go to great lengths to protect you, without ever needing to brag about it. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll always take care of you.”

Viserys may not be as overtly flirty as Maelor, but he has his own way of showing affection. He’ll give you knowing looks from across the room, say something that seems innocent but has a deeper meaning, and brush his hand against yours just enough to send a shiver down your spine. It’s all so subtle that you might not even realize he’s flirting until you catch the way he smiles when you blush. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Once Viserys falls in love, everything he does starts to revolve around you. He’ll prioritize your needs over his own, making sure you’re comfortable, happy, and safe. He might not be as vocal about his feelings as some, but the way he makes you his priority in every situation speaks volumes. “Your happiness matters to me more than you know.”

Viserys rarely gets rattled. While Maelor might be loud, dramatic, and prone to theatrics, Viserys remains calm and collected in nearly every situation. It takes a lot to get under his skin, and he’s always the one diffusing tense moments with a soft word or a calm demeanor. Even when Maelor gets himself into the wildest situations, Viserys never loses his cool. “I expected this from you.” He’ll say with a sigh, shaking his head fondly.

When Viserys finally admits his feelings, it’s like a dam breaking. All of the quiet affection he’s been holding back comes flooding out in soft, earnest confessions. “I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure… but I can’t keep this to myself anymore. I love you. Deeply.” His love is steady, unwavering, and all-consuming in the best way possible. Once he’s yours, he’s yours completely, and there’s no turning back.

Maelor and Viserys are best friends through thick and thin. Maelor might be the more adventurous one, but Viserys is always there to support him. He doesn’t get involved in Maelor’s schemes for the thrill—he does it because he cares. And even when Maelor gets them into trouble, Viserys never holds it against him. It’s the same with you—once Viserys cares about someone, his loyalty is unshakable.

Viserys’s romantic gestures are thoughtful and subtle. He doesn’t go for grand displays of affection but instead does things that show how much he knows and cares for you. He’ll leave your favorite flower on your pillow, write you a heartfelt letter when he’s away, or make sure you’re always warm on a cold night. It’s not about impressing you—it’s about making sure you feel loved every day. “I don’t need to shout it from the rooftops. You should know by now how much you mean to me.”

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

[novaursa]

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.

- Paring: (male!targ) reader/Alicent Hightower

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

- Rating: 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.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Truly, Madly, Deeply | Teaser

"It was said that when Princess Alyssa Targaryen was first with child, she sought a seer to inquire about the life in her womb. It is said the seer read their future through the entrails of a rabbit. This was what was written: 'in your womb grows two dragons, one that would bear the weight of the Seven Kingdoms, and one that would bare its teeth to it.' The birth of her twins was telling of the writ of the Targaryen dynasty, and would echo their destinies, for her labors were swift and easy with her son, and grueling and painful with her daughter." --Excerpt from 'The Women of the Dragon Dynasty' by unnamed maester, circa 100 A.C.

Daemon, Viserys , Otto (& Aemma) x Targaryen!Reader

Coming multiple times on 23/05/23

A/N: yes this is the 20k+ grotty fic that spiraled out of control that i made a poll for too. it might be 22k after doing the revisions because 🤪✌ it be like that. tbh i just made a teaser because adding the moodboard to the fic felt like overkill. (sorrows, sorrows, prayers)

READ IT HERE!

[goldensunflowe-r]

You'll take one look at them and think that the love between them is unmatchable.

But then you see this and think, Does love even exist?

[shuichiakainx]

[missglaskin]

Yan!HOTD Characters as Greek Gods

I want to thank @aphroditelovesu for giving me the inspiration, also side note do not take the gods canonical relationships literally

Viserys as Hades + God of the Underworld and the Dead

Viserys was a god who stood out from the gloomy darkness of his realm. The seat once shared by his beloved wife is now long dead with all the other souls. No temples were erected in his honor on the earthly soil, for the underworld served as his shrine. Still, Viserys lent many of his powers and crafts to help the other gods defeat their enemies, either it be a monster or a titan. When he needed to see his family, he would emerge to the earth itself. There a moral caught his eye. 

Viserys spent a great deal of time observing your everyday life. He enjoyed catching on to all your little habits and tendencies. The god was prepared to wait until your life's string came to an end. In the mean time, all good things came your way. While he wouldn't be able to stop your death from happening, he can certainly make it as peaceful and painless as possible. Viserys will welcome you with the greatest warmth when you arrive in his realm, and you will be surrounded by servants who will carry out your every wish.

Just as he has done all those other times Viserys will give you the time and space you need to adjust to this new, strange world. Desiring your happiness, Viserys might let you visit Earth but only for a short time. The god can't go too long without you by his side. He detests the idea of using coercion to get what he wants, but Viserys must make sure you never leave him. It is a blessing that you are a mortal, completely unaware of the pomegranate seeds that are given to you.

Daemon as Ares + God of War and Courage 

It was Daemon, out of all the gods, who was most frowned upon, the one with the endless list of foes. Many came to fear him and they had every reason to. For Daemon was a powerful god-quick to anger and raring for a fight regardless of the consequences. A jest spread among the gods was that Daemon's one and only true love was war itself. But what a shock it was to see the mortal in the god's arms. With his remarks and the severe violence he inflicted upon the mortals, Daemon, again and again demonstrated nothing but contempt and superiority over them.

Why you attracted the god of war's attention will forever remain a mystery. Could it be you had a fire inside of you that never went out or you had such a gentle soul that the god saw it as his duty to ruin you, or perhaps he saw you as a fair trade for one of his victories. Truthfully, Daemon himself is not fully sure what drew him to you. Still, the god comes to you, luring you in with lavish gifts and words sweet as honey. And if you aren’t compliant, the god sees no issue picking you up while you struggle to free yourself-screaming and clawing. 

Daemon has no care for what other Olympian deities thought when he kept you near him. They were already not fond of him and he was amused to no end to see their frustration, even having you displayed seated on his lap. Your life with Daemon is strangely not as dull and miserable as one might anticipate. He will always be rough and harsh, but you are shown a rare side of gentleness. You may never know if the god truly loves you, but you can be sure that if someone takes what he views as his, he will go to war a hundred times over it.

Rhaenyra as Athena + Goddess of Wisdom and War

Rhaenyra is a goddess with pride. A great warrior. Rhaenyra does not, however, hold humankind in such low regard as the many gods who came before her. She saw herself as their protector and rewarded those who came to worship in her temple. But it's not as if she isn't dangerous. The goddess is unmerciful in her use of curses. Any offense or insult will result in a terrible fate. And what fate bestows upon you when the goddess herself watches you. Desiring you from the very moment she caught sight of you. 

She is a master of disguise. Every word she spoke enticed you further and further into her grasp. There were the fleeting touches the goddess made to your skin to pique your desire. Her lips were painted with a smile that lowered your guard. You find yourself becoming a puppet as Rhaenyra hovers over you, pulling the strings to speak the words she wants you to hear, to touch her how she wants to be touched, and look at her how she wants to be gazed upon. 

Rhaenyra never wants you to leave her realm. The goddess is ready to gift you whatever your heart desires, but the earth is no longer a place you can call home. Rhaenyra will never lay a hand on you; gentle and soft with you. The only times you no longer see your lover but the goddess of war is if you are foolish enough to believe you can get away from her. She won’t understand. Has she not dedicated herself to you. Has she not given you every ounce of her heart. Whatever the reason is, your place remains by her side and she will make sure you know of this.

Rhaenys as Hecate + Goddess of Magic and the Moon

Rhaenys, the goddess of sorcery and the moon, who her domain also extends to creatures of the night; particularly hounds and ghosts. She’s often seen accompanied by her black hounds, donning a long robe, holding burning torches. Neither was she evil, nor was she wholly benevolent, but she did reveal her nature through actions, rewarding loyalty among her followers. Captivated by your presence in her temple, the goddess of sorcery was drawn to your compassion and innocence. She found herself spending more time just observing you, enchanted by how your features glowed in the gentle embrace of moonlight. 

Rhaenys has always been confident and assertive, when she’s certain that she desires you, she’ll do whatever it takes to have you by her side. However, she’ll stray away from using force. If she’ll seek your companionship, Rhaenys resolutes in waiting it be your choice, to love her the same rather than do it with instilling fear in you. Her introduction was gradual, allowing you to adapt in time to her presence. Much of this is involved in simple conversations, where she enjoys getting to know the little details of your life (even if she already knew most of it). 

Instead of overwhelming you with extravagant gifts, she opted for small trinkets. And adding to the ease of your connection, Rhaenys’s mystical hounds display a fondness for you, allowing you to pet them. Even when you remain in her domain, Rhaenys remains steadfast in not forcing you to love her. She has all the patience as the goddess begins to slowly express her affection more openly with gentle caresses to your face as she presents you with more lavish gifts. Her patience was rewarded seeing how eager you are to spend every moment with her.

Corlys as Poseidon + God of the Sea and Waters

Not only was Corlys the god of the seas but also associated with earthquakes and horses. He stood out as a highly ambitious deity and known for his unwavering loyalty to Mount Olympus. Unlike some deities, Corlys is willing to engage with mortals, after all, they have a dependence on the seas for trade and travel. However, it’s also known that when dealing with the god of the sea, do not try to trick or cross him, for he has demonstrated a vengeful nature when felt insulted. 

It was during your many ventures near the beach, having a profound love and fascination for the sea that you encountered the god of the sea. In your frequent visits, the shores yielded treasures ranging from the most beautiful seashells to even a literal pearl, a gift from the god. Upon making his presence known, Corlys takes matters into his own hands. Taking you to the temple beneath the sea as he cannot rely on chance encounters by the shore and it’ll save him all the trouble of finding you if you choose to never visit again. 

Your place from now on remains with Corly’s temple. He has made promises to make you visit the shore from time to time once he’s confident you won’t attempt an escape. Eager to please, Corlys has an allure of lost treasures within his home, offering you any if you desire. He also takes great care to ensure your comfort, harboring no intention of causing harm or raising his voice. His desire is clear- to have you willingly at his side. 

Laena as Aphrodite + Goddess of Love and Beauty

Laena was more than just being thegoddess of beauty and love; she was one of fertility, pleasure, and eternal youth. Occasionally she presided over marriage. Legends went so far as to attribute her beauty to being the cause of the Trojan War. Despite her being desired and adored by everyone, even capturing the affections of the infamous god of war himself, Laena's heart chose you; a mortal who didn’t seem all that extraordinary. But none of that mattered to the goddess of love, who found herself drawn to you, desiring nothing more than for you to share her boundless love and adoration. 

When Laena first approached you, she displayed no hesitation in expressing her clear intentions of wanting to court you. Doves and sparrows seemed to fly around you. In the vicinity of your home, myrtles and roses bloomed abundantly and Laena took it upon herself to personally hand you the blossoms, alongside the most marvelous seashells. Whenever you expressed gratitude or attempted to deny her gifts out of politeness, Laena would firmly assure you that you deserved nothing but the best. As she would engage in conversations, Laena would hold your gaze, running her fingers on your cheek or shoulder with such tenderness. 

Even after you became hers, Laena never stops showering you with praise and luscious gifts. The dresses she adorned you with were among the most lavish you had ever seen, and men would certainly go to war for the jewelry that adorned your skin. And for her home, which she claims is now your home too, she’s willing more than anything to accommodate any of your demands to make it all the more welcoming. Whether it’s placing all your favorite books or presenting you all your favorite foods. After all, you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with her.  

Otto as Zeus + God of the Sky and Thunder 

Otto stood as the god among gods, the force behind the establishment of order and justice in Olympus. It was his duty as king, to reign and ensure harmony throughout the divine realm. He had a number of children; it counted those that were outside of his marriage. Mortals and gods alike collectively averted their gaze, as the god of thunder desired to maintain an image of a prudent and a pious. And while like any god, he considered himself above mortal beings, he would observe them with keen interest. 

Unfortunate for you, if you happened to catch his eye, resisting him was a futile endeavor. It began with him orchestrating ways to make your life more comfortable — discovering the lushest trees near your home, bearing the most delectable fruits you'd ever savor. An eagle, acting as his messenger, would shower you with all sorts of gifts, from fragrant olive oils to delicate silver coins and ivory trinkets. The weather seemed to dance to his whims, birds serenading under the radiant sun.

It was also his way to signal his presence, a silent acknowledgment a being beyond the mortal realms was watching. And when his presence becomes known, he vows to treasure you for eternity (hinting at what’ll become of your mortal life). It’s difficult to deny him with all the myriad blessings he bestowed upon you. Once you’re brought to his home, he will present you with a luxurious silk robe and servants who dutifully follow your every command. Even if you resist, his determination remains unswayed. As a god, time was his ally and he believed in due course, you would succumb to his temptations.

Alicent as Hera + Goddess of Marriage and Childhood

Alicent stood as the embodiment of matrimony and domestic life, a revered figure to whom women turned in prayer for the blessings of harmonious marriages, the safe return of their husbands, and in hopes of birthing a healthy child. Despite her attempts to project a demure demeanor, the goddess had a silent reputation for her jealousy and occasional vengefulness. Alicent had divine authority, navigating the intricate game of politics and perhaps that was why no one dared to question her decision to bring a mortal being along.  

It was all under the reason of needing a servant though you were not yet married, still, no one dared to voice it. As her supposed servant, you were strangely exempt from menial tasks such as washing clothes or scrubbing the floor; such duties were deemed beneath you. Instead, the majority of your days were spent in the company of the goddess. You found yourself dressing and brushing Alicent’s hair as she shared her grievances about the perceived foolishness surrounding her court. 

Your time was further consumed by tending to Hera’s children and grandchildren, and her strictures extended to where you were not permitted to eat meals with other servants. In truth, the goddess had little need for another servant. But you a mortal, had sought her prayer, coming to her temple wishing for a happy life for the arrangement your parents orchestrated for you. But Alicent had been watching you long before and you have become the object of her desire. She promised to find you a suitor but the intensity of her gaze and the uncanny resemblance between the necklace of hers and the one she gifted you hints at something beyond that. 

Aegon II as Dionysus + God of Wine and Pleasure 

Aegon is known for seemingly lazy nature and rarely being seen sober, he’s notorious for the wild parties and dramatic theaters he orchestrates. The many lovers he has are ones that no one bothers to learn their names, as they typically don’t linger beyond a day. The few bastards he fathered are not accounted for. When the god of wines comes upon you, there was an unmistakable eagerness to have you in his bed. While you and others are at no fault to assume that it was driven solely by lust, you soon find it unraveled beyond that. 

As a mortal, the prospect of rejecting a god was not a reasonable one. His presence was suffocating with a possessive jealousy over your interactions with others and an incessant need for you to be near him. At times, he would pull you into his lap, craving for your affection and praise. Besides his constant need to have you share his bed at every turn, his lingering hands, and wanting your every attention, it’s not as terrible as one initially assumes. 

The god of wine provided you with the sweetest food, accompanied of course by his signature wine. He adorned you in exquisite clothing, though in the privacy of his chambers, they were far more revealing and sheer. While it was somewhat accepted to have fleeting lovers for a day, appearing with you by his side on every occasion garnered disapproval from the other gods. However, Aegon was indifferent; no stranger to being considered a disappointment. You were the one thing he was sure of, even harboring a secret desire to make you immortal, hoping you don’t notice how different your wine tastes.

Helaena as Persephone + Goddess of Seasons and Vegetation

Helaena possessed a kind of gentleness that was unusual among the gods. She carried herself with such grace and consideration. Helaena grew up to be a lovely woman who caught the interest of gods and humans alike. With mortals, the goddess did not look down on them. If anything, Helaena seemed to see the goodness and beauty in them despite all of their flaws. It therefore comes as no great surprise when the goddess seems so enchanted by you-a simple mortal. 

Helaena spent many days watching you. She possessed unending patience. What a fascinating sight you are. Deemed by the goddess to be the most beautiful being to ever walk this earth. Helaena cared nothing more than your happiness hence why you come home to a plethora of gifts and trinkets. It could be the most delicious fruit you've ever eaten or a dress the goddess sewed herself. And wherever you are, you found plants growing all around that never seem to wither-fruits and vegetables you never imagined would ever grow there.

Helaena was content as long as she could see you every day. Even if she couldn't speak or stand before you. All that mattered to her was to see your lovely smile as you open her gifts or to hear your joyful laughter. But shall you wish to meet her. Shall you seem unsatisfied with your life. Helaena will make her presence known. The goddess is nothing but a tender lover. Giving you all the time you need to adjust to her realm. Happy to watch from a distance and just speak with you.

Aemond as Apollo - God of Sun and Art

Aemond was also a god of music, truth, and healing, he was considered wise even at such a relatively young age. He enjoyed writing poems and believed in law and order. Unlike his brother, Aemond was recognized for his numerous contributions, particularly in the realms of medicine and prophecy. Aemond shows intense loyalty to his family and a great love for his mother but also is known for his jealousy and a wrathful nature; particularly when he perceives insults directed at his family or either himself. 

Many of your actions could’ve caught his eye, your visits to his temple, your singing voice echoing through the fields, how you immersed yourself far away from everyone else with the books you read. He doesn’t wish to frighten you,  guided by a gentle approach to engage you in conversations. You can feel his gaze follow you, a silent presence that seems to accompany your every move. In due time, Aemond would express his desire for you to be his lover, to not only give him your body, but your mind and soul. Even if you do not share his feelings, denying him is not advisable, Aemond is not one for rejections. 

Even if you were to deny him, Aemond would still bring you to Mount Olympus, introducing you to the other gods, making sure you understood that your place belonged with him. And while he attempts to give you some space, the god of the sun cannot bring himself to stay away. Aemond sought to spend every moment of the day with you, from sharing the same bed, to waking together to sharing meals. He yearns to hear your every thought from the flowers you liked to your opinion on the poetry he’s dedicated to you.

Criston as Heracles + Demi- God of Strength and Heroes

Criston was born a mortal. Yet even as a child, Criston showed such strength and courage unmatched by any other. He has proven to be a fierce warrior over the years. While he was hailed as a hero, many of his rage-fueled actions beg to differ. It took Criston to die to be reborn as the Demi-god. Taken from the flames to Mount Olympus where he was granted eternal youth and the right to live among the gods. He was offered a goddess, but Criston had his eyes set somewhere else.

Criston believes he must protect you. That you need him far more than he needs you. You are just a mere mortal. One fall can be fatal. Doesn't matter that his involvement could be the very reason your life is at forfeit. Makes no difference the many times you struggle and try to escape him. Criston holds you in his arms, repeating the same mantra over and over. That you have a need for him. That he must shield you from all those who will harm you. He rarely leaves your side, and no amount of begging or insults will convince him to do so.

As your lover, you have a man capable of crushing a village to ruins, capable of winning against an army. You bring out the worst in him, the madness. A madness seen in the mere thought of you being in another’s arms. Criston won't accept the possibility of your death. He was blessed with the gift of immortality and will stop at nothing to grant you the same blessing. A wonderful thought to him, but a nightmare to you. Given the chaos that will be left behind, the gods may grant him his wish.

[slavicdelight]

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 ♡