#daemon x targaryen!oc

[bohemian-nights]

Arlī(Anew)Chapter 8

Word Count: ~11,260

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; violence; blood; smut

Description: The realm would descend into madness if Rhaenyra was crowned and placed upon the Iron Throne. Not even men declared their bastards as trueborns. Let alone did they dare to make one king.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 9

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131 AC- King’s Landing

Life is not without its seasons. There is a time for peace, love, famine, and war. Sickness, heartbreak, hope, and prosperity. Destinies play out until they reach their natural conclusion. Death. In the end, we can not escape our fate, try as we might. Life does not last forever. It is not a permanent condition. The stranger comes for us all in the end. Death waits for no man, not even a king.

The Stranger had visited so very many times in Naerys life. An old friend he had become. A vulture circling its prey. A shadow creeping in the dark. From each of her parents to Laena, Laenor, and Ser Vaemond. It had taken them all. A God's work is never done. As long as there is life, the Stranger will make his appearance known soon enough.

The story of life, however, is not death. It is not even its final act. Death is not the end. It is a reminder of the impermanent nature of life, but not the end. Nothing ever stays the same, but life always finds its way to begin anew.

Death pays for life in many ways. Change is inevitable. Empires rise and fall. The sunrises and the sunsets. Rivers wither and dry up, and snows cover what once was a meadow bed, but life goes on even after death. The cycle continues. Ever repeating. Life waits for no man. Change waits for no one.

Daemon had woken Naerys up the morning after Ser Vaemond’s petition teetering on the edge of pure rapture. They had not left for Dragonstone the previous night. It was too late and their emotions ran high. Naerys had insisted that they stay and leave when the sun rose. Rhaenyra was not a threat to her. There was not much more she could do or say to them. They knew the games she played. Her well had run dry. Her luck ran out.

In her grief, Naerys had wanted her husband to alleviate her pain. Wanting to be oblivious to the world around them for just a night at least. The events of the day had left her spent. Her husband had been all too happy to oblige. Comforting her in his arms. She lost her sorrow there. “Ivestragī aōha kepus gūrogon care hen ao issa dōna riña.” Let your uncle take care of you, my sweet girl.

Daemon had taken her twice that night. The first with her riding him. She had exhausted herself bouncing upon her husband until he had to take over. Laying down upon his warm chest as he fucked up into her. The second time she woke up in tears in the middle of the night. A few soothing words whispered into her temple and strokes down her bare back and she was under him once more.

Rocking her into their bed and tearing her apart leaving them both a heady mess, His cock remained inside of her thereafter. She wrapped herself around him to keep him from leaving, not that he would ever want to do such a thing. His presence anchors her. Naerys hated the feeling of being apart from him. Wanting to cling to him even in her sleep.

Her husband must have pulled out from within her some time ago because she awoke on her back in a heady state of arousal. Drifting in and out on the edge of blissful consciousness. She came to the land of the living to a warm tongue lapping up cream overflowing from her sweet little cunt. Bringing her to her first orgasm of the day. Her uncle had always had a healthy appetite.

The sounds of his feasting on her wetness filled their guest quarters. Naerys buried her hands in her husband's silver strands while he toyed with her small bud at the apex of her vulva, replacing it with his mouth as he pushed two fingers inside her sopping heat. Finding their sensitive target with years of practice, leaving her curling into herself on the cusp of her second peak that morning.

Naerys' body began to quiver before Daemon pulled his mouth from her. Staring up at her from between her thighs. The black of his pupils overtook the violet of his iris as he flitted his gaze at where his fingers were assaulting his niece-wife’s glistening center. A welcoming sight to see if there ever was one. “Bona iksos issa sȳz riñītsos. Ñuha precious rūs. Māzigon syt issa byka mēre.” That is my good little girl. My precious baby. Come for me, little one.

Her uncle wasted no time bringing back down his mouth to latch his lips upon her puffy little button. Which resulted in her writhing upon their bed. Pleasure overtook Naerys' body. Radiating out from her spasming cunt soaking her husband's digits and the sheets underneath them.

“Muña.” Mother. Daenys light voice and a small knock came through the oak doors of their guest bed chamber. In her hazy state, Naerys thought she had been hallucinating, but then their daughter called for her again. A little more hurried than the first try. “Muña.” Naerys went to push her uncle away, but he pinned her arms down. Placing them at her sides while he let up his feasting with a small groan of annoyance.

“Aōha muñnykeā iksos lodaor engaged paktot sir byka zaldrīzes.” Your mother is otherwise engaged right now, little dragon. She tried with no use to break free of her husband's hold, but Daemon rested his head upon her thigh with a breathless chortle at her attempt. Placing a light slap on the meat of her flesh. Enjoying the sight of the jiggle.

The Rogue Prince did not stop his finger's ministrations from within her, continuing to gently circle her engorged clit with the rough pad of his thumb. Keeping her on the edge of another peak. Naerys had to turn her head into their bed to muffle her moans though the sounds from her dripping cunt were not so easy to ignore. “Māzigon arlī isse nykeā hour. Ao kostagon jenigon pār.” Come back in an hour. You can bother her then. Her husband went back to his first meal of the day. Hoping that would be the last of the interruptions, but their daughter was persistent.

“Ziry kostagon daor umbagon kepa.” It can not wait father. She called out again. This time Daemon did not stop her when she pushed him away. Letting out a huff of irritation that matched her own displeasure at her ruined climax. He climbed up her body and bent down so that she may taste herself before she rose from their bed. Heading to her dressing chambers with a slight wobble to her step and the taste of her own slick on her tongue. Naerys put on a light dress black laced with Velaryon blue. The late summer air in Kings Landing was warm. She did not need more than that.

When she entered their chambers solar, she found that Daemon had gotten up and put on his nightshirt and robe. He sat in his chair by the morning's low fire with Daenys hand in his as he laughed at something their daughter had said. His violet eyes crinkled around the corners of his face. Naerys enjoyed the sight that her favorite pair made.

Daenys was the first to notice her mother’s appearance in the doorway. Her mother noted that she did not look too distressed. Whatever matter she had to tell her could not be that worrying. With a kiss on her father's cheek, the girl took her hand and led her out of their quarters. Promising Daemon that they would be back before morning's end. Rushing her mother out to avoid her father could question where she was taking her.

Daenys led her mother in the direction of the small council. Another ambush she supposed, but it was not the time. “My love it is early.” She tried to pull her daughter closer lest the prying ears of the Red Keep hear them. Rhaenyra or those who she found in her favor could be lurking around. She would rather avoid another run-in, but the girl continued on.

“Do not fret. We will—“ The sight of Alicent interrupted her train of thought. The queen looked grave, weary no doubt from the care of her husband, but relieved to see them. Naerys peered around Alicent expecting to see Aemond, but the younger prince was nowhere to be seen.

“Thank you Daenys.” The Hightower queen took Daenys hand to give it a small squeeze. Ser Criston stood at her side like a sentry. His tan face was unreadable though he offered her a princess as a way of greeting. Naerys hesitated but her daughter bent down to whisper in her ear.

“Please hear them out muña. For my sake.” Daenys placed a faint peck on her cheek before heading down the hall in the direction of Helaena’s chambers. Naerys let out a sigh as she made her way through the council chamber's open doorway. There was no harm in hearing whatever Alicent had to say. They had a common interest after all. Perhaps combined they might be able to convince Viserys and Daemon to betroth Daenys to Aemond and end the charade.

Naerys was not surprised to see Ser Otto standing at the head of the small council chambers, but she was surprised to see Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord Beesbury, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Lord Larys seated along with Lord Commander Ser Westerlings. No one spared her a second glance apart from Ser Otto and Lord Strong.

The first greeted her as Ser Criston had. His expression held no truths like the Dornish knight. The second man she had always found to be unsettling. The newest Lord Strong had never been unkind to her. Quite the opposite in fact, but she could sense the darkness underneath his overly friendly smiles.

Laena had never liked her good brother and she got on with nearly everyone she met. “You must watch his eyes, dear little cousin.” The eyes told all. Naerys did not miss the way Alicent seemed to be startled by his presence either when she thought no one was looking. Or how she kept her children away from the Lord of Harrenhal.

Ser Tyland Lannister arrived not a moment after her. He paused at first seeing her. Naerys had never been to a council meeting. Seeing her there must have been a queer sight. An obvious sign something was not quite right. The master of ships took his seat at the end of the table. It was clear that this meeting was not about her daughter’s betrothal. A marriage plot was not at foot. At least not only a marriage plot.

Ser Tyland was the first to speak, directing his question at the Lord Hand. He seemed to be just as clueless as Naerys though he seemed not to be perturbed by the possible nature of this meeting. He was as vain as always. Making a joke of it in the way that those of his house were fond of doing. “What is it that could not wait an hour? Has Dorne invaded?”

“The king is dead.” Ser Otto wasted no time. Naerys dropped into her chair. It was not shocking. It should not be shocking. Most of Viserys had rotted away a lifetime ago. He was a shell of his former self. The stranger had clung to him far longer than perhaps he had even meant to. His time had come. His reign had come to an end. The age of peace that had lasted in Westeros since her great grandsire the Old King Jaehaerys had come to an end. The next one would be more uncertain than the last.

Daemon was Naerys' first concern. Her husband loved his brother beyond reason. A brother who defended him despite every accusation thrown his way. A brother who he had worshiped. A brother he had wanted to be as close to as possible at one point. His first champion was dead. It made sense why she had been sent instead of him.

Though older now and a bit more reasonable the Rogue Prince had well earned his moniker. He would have no doubt throttled the Lord Hand or plunged Dark Sister into his belly if it was not taken away at the mere mention of his brother's death. Accusing him of schemes and plots to do away with his brother.

Naerys was lost in her own thoughts until she heard the mention of Aegon’s name. King. They wanted to crown him king. Plans which had been made would at long last be set into motion. Plans on who to replace amongst those who were loyal to Rhaenyra. With luck, the crown Princess had left the capital for Driftmark at Princess Rhaenys invitation. Now was the time to strike! Where ravens needed to be sent to call upon their dearest allies in the reach, riverlands, and the westerlands.

Prince Daeron, who was being fostered with his newly lorded Hightower cousin in Oldtown, needed to be sent for or at least prepared for what would come. An envoy was needed for an alliance with House Baratheon. No one seemed shocked to hear of such arrangements apart from herself, the Lord Commander, and Lord Beesbury.

Lord Beesbury was the one to voice his displeasure at hearing such plots. Reminding them all of the loyalty that they owed to Princess Rhaenyra. The king's chosen heir. The rightful heir. The lords of the realm had sworn oaths of loyalty. Visery had stayed true to his daughter. They could not go back on their words now. What was a man without his word? To do so would descend the seven kingdoms into chaos. To place Aegon on the throne would be to place a pretender at the helm.

Lord Jasper and Ser Tyland refuted his arguments in rapid succession. Aegon was not just some lord or some prince. He was the king's son. His eldest son. The king could have changed his mind. Finally coming to his senses in the end. The oaths of loyalty to Rhaenyra were made half a lifetime ago. A great many of the knights and lords who had sworn them were dead. The Great Council of 101 AC had set a precedent a male heir came before his female relations. It would be a profound error to crown her queen on the wishes of a dead man who could never put aside his remorse.

Lord Beesbury turned to Naerys. She had some authority. She was a princess in her own right and a member of House Targaryen. She could lend her voice and join him in his reason. Surely she could see past this foolishness.

This was disloyalty of the highest order, but Naerys could not agree with the reach lord. He could not truly ask her to defend her cousin's claim. Not after she had tormented her and her marriage. For years without end. Dangling the promise of sons in front of Daemon’s face. Sons that the younger princess could never give their uncle. Sons he had so desperately wanted.

The events of yesterday were too fresh in her mind. The old lord had not been present for the petition, but he must have heard the goings on around court. Of what happened to her uncle. The image of Ser Vaemond’s headless body being carried away to be fed to Syrax was a hard one to shake.

Rhaenyra might have been the king's chosen heir, but Aegon was well within his rights to claim the Iron Throne for himself. No matter how unfit he may be, and both he and his sister had the temper and gluttony of their house in equal measure, he was the rightful heir by the laws of men and Gods alike. Sons came before daughters, even younger sons.

Viserys had been wrong not to put aside Rhaenyra in favor of her brother, but he had a guilty conscience. The memories of his first wife and what he had done to her plagued his very soul. Haunting him till his dying day. Till his dying breath no doubt. He could not let down the daughter as he had the mother and the realm would be left to deal with his weakness. The seven kingdoms would pay for a dragon's pride.

There was also the issue of the legitimate line of succession should Rhaenyra be crowned queen. Her only heirs were bastards. Sweet gentle boys, but bastards nonetheless. One could not seat a bastard upon the Iron Throne. Placing Rhaenyra on that very throne would cause more of a headache in the long run than it was worth.

Lord Beesbury was not fazed by the silence in favor of Rhaenyra’s claim. Standing on his own in face of the opposition. He would not be deterred. He had known the king's wishes. He would not go back on his word. The lord was a man of integrity and honor. He had not forgotten where his loyalty lay.

A man’s honor. His honor. The path of righteousness, or a form of it, at court rarely led to recognition or a favorable outcome. Lord Beesburys defense of Rhaenyra could be considered honorable, but honor was worth little within the pale stone walls of the Red Keep.

“This is seizure!” The lord’s last protests. The old lord stood up from his chair to look around the room. Accusing everyone. “It is theft! It is treason at the least!” Grand Maester Orwyle, who had been quiet up until now, advised him to mind his tongue before it landed him into trouble, but the lord continued on despite the advice of the dark maester. Making his gravest accusation against the council yet. Regicide.

Naerys held her breath. If her husband had been there with them he would have been in agreement. His misplaced grief would lead him to it. Searching for someone to blame for his brother's end, they all knew the truth.

The king's death was a natural one and a long time in the making. Lord Jasper asked the reach lord who he suspected of the murder, but he could not say. The king was dead and he believed it was at their hands. “Whether it was one of you or all of you I care not. I will have no part-” With a swift push of his head into the table Ser Criston had been the one to silence Lord Lyman Beesbury before he could finish his allegations and take leave of the council to alert his queen.

Lord Bessbury’s skull had been punctured by the marble ball he had placed in front of him. Vicious crimson fluid spilled out from the side of his head onto the small council table. Grand Maester Orwyle went to check for signs of life, but it was a wasted effort. The blow had killed him instantly.

It could have been an accident. It was more than likely one, but the force Ser Criston used had been excessive. The queen looked shocked by her loyal knight's actions reaching out to grasp Naerys arm when she jumped in fright. Ser Criston himself could not take his dark eyes of the old lord's lifeless body

The Lord Commander stood shocked as the rest of them, but he pulled out his blade once the surprise had worn off. Seeing what could happen Ser Tyland quickly moved out of the way lest he be caught in the crossfire. Ser Westerlings asked his subordinate to vacate his position on the Kingsguard and turn in his sword and cloak immediately. He had killed a defenseless man. He was not worthy to wear the white cloak of Kingsguard. He would stain it with his misdeeds.

Ser Criston would not hear of it. Pulling out his own sword in defense. “I will not suffer insults to her grace the queen.” The two men stood at odds. Staring at each other from the tips of their weapons. The Dornish knight only lowered his blade once his queen assured him that she had not been insulted.

Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that Lord Beesburys body be removed, but Ser Otto held him off. They had business yet to discuss. Council reconvened as a steady stream of blood leaked from the dead lord's head.

The issue of Storms End and its lord became the next topic for consideration, but Naerys remained lost in her fright. Images of Ser Vaemond’s headless corpse and Lord Beesburys combined. Each death played over in her mind. The first acts of violence before the ensuing chaos. Statements. Each of them. It hit her then. The true meaning of this meeting. They were going to war. That is why she had been called for.

“Do you plan on killing Rhaenyra?” A sense of dread led her to ask the question. Naerys did not need an answer for it. Alicent would do anything to insure her children's safety. Ser Otto held little love for the would-be queen and had always thirsted for her uncle's throne.

“Princess, a living challenger invites battle and bloodshed.” The Grand Maester supplied her with as if she was a halfwit. What could she expect? It was a sacrifice that had to be made in order to usher in Aegon’s peaceful reign. She knew the logic behind it. The younger princess herself was finding it difficult to feel sympathy for her cousin at times, but she did not wish for her death.

“Perhaps my aunt might help her to see sense.” There had to be another way around it. Rhaenyra was many things, but not even she deserved death. She was no real threat anyway. If someone were to get her to recognize her younger brother’s claim and conceded to it she would be no threat.

If Rhaenys could convince the younger princess to bow out gracefully there would be no need for bloodshed. She was a woman with bastards for heirs and a thinning list of allies. She could not challenge Aegon.

“Do you believe that your cousin would extend the same courtesy to you princess if you were in her position?” Ser Otto stood up to stand behind her chair. “Do you not wonder what Rhaenyra might do if she is crowned queen?” The Hightower knight grabbed her hand. Admiring the dark bruise on her brown skin from where the would-be queen had clawed at her on the way to Ser Vaemond’s petition yesternoon. “She has always been less than fond of you and overly fond of your husband.” He placed a pat on her hand before he released her. “A queen’s limits are few to none.”

When Naerys did not protest further, sitting in a half-daze, Ser Otto called for Lord Commander Westerlings to take his knights to Dragonstone and do away with Rhaenyra. The commander's reply was to turn in his cloak. He served the king and would continue to do so. He would not kill the king's heir. A woman he had known since her girlhood. Ser Westerlings left without another word.

“Ser Tyland is right.” Naerys unsteady voice interrupted the heavy silence that had fallen over the council chambers in the wake of Ser Westerlings' unexpected departure. “Lord Baratheon will side with you if you offer him a betrothal.”

She grabbed hold of her own bruised arm. Rubbing her wrist as she brought it to her chest to calm her nerves. “He does not hold his cousin in high regard.” The present lord of Storm's End had always cared little for his cousin. Viewing his late father's devotion to Rhaenys as a misplaced effort. “He holds less affection for Rhaenyra and her sons.” The man never and he had sworn no oaths of loyalty as his father had.

“Daeron would do nicely for the eldest of Lord Borros’ daughters then Ser Otto went back to his seat looking pleased though he tried his best to hide it. Alicent took her hand, gave it a squeeze, and offered her a small smile. Color was returning to the queen's cheeks.

“He would prefer Aemond.” Aemond was third in the line of succession and second if the realm wanted stability. The Baratheons were not overly ambitious, but they did have enough self-importance to make up for it. Especially Borros Baratheon who was a brute if there ever was one. To offer him a third son for his eldest daughter might be seen as a slight. They were descended from a dragonseed after all and they were a great house. They wanted their fair share.

“Aemond is already spoken for.” Daenys. Her willful girl. Her daughter had made a deal without her. She and Aemond. Naerys could not be surprised. The two young dragons wanted each other just as much as the other.

Alicent would not deny her second son what he desired nor would her father say a word against the match. Dragonstone had long been sought. It would even the odds in the war to come. Ser Otto would not let it get away even if it was for a Baratheon. At any rate, Lord Baratheon would not don his war hammer in favor of a queen who he detested. Daeron would have to do for them.

Naerys felt a mixture of emotions on her walk back to their chambers. Unease being the chief among them. The Red Keep was eerily quiet. Ser Otto had ordered half of the court to be locked within their chambers or made to swear oaths of loyalty to their new king whose present location was unknown.

Those that refused were placed in the Black Cells beneath Maegor's Holdfast while they searched for Aegon. They could keep their honor and loyalty, but they would wither away in it. The princess’s aunt Rhaenys had been among those who were confined to their quarters. That matter would have to be dealt with later. There were more pressing issues to deal with now

The princess would have to tell Daemon of his brother's fate. She would have to break the news to her husband. She would have to walk a delicate balance. Naerys knew her husband. His reaction to Viserys' passing would not be pleasant.

For all the bitter disagreements throughout their long years between the two men she knew what they meant to each other. Naerys knew how Daemon felt about his elder brother. He loved, worshiped, and resented him in equal measure in various degrees throughout his life. Death would not vanquish his sentiments.

Viserys always stood out of reach. Keeping him at an arm's length had frustrated his younger brother to no end, especially in his younger years. He was the second son desperate to belong somewhere. To be at his brother's side. He had been born for it. In another life. If circumstances were different. If they were different they would have been more. Targaryen's obsession with blood purity dictated it, but in this life, he had to forge his own path.

True enough the Rogue Prince was no longer blinded by his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing. He had grown to see past his own lusts and wants. To see past himself. To find unselfish happiness and devotion to something more than just Targaryen tradition and customs. While admirable it did not change the fact that his brother in many ways had been his first love.

Naerys came back to their bed chambers to find her husband putting on his riding leathers. Their servants had come in and left. Most of what they had brought had been packed away. “Daenys needs to stop bothering my brother.” Daemon let out an amused sigh greeting her with a grin as he motioned his wife over to help him button his undershirt.

“If she keeps this up he won’t make it till the end of the moon much less the year. She gets that from you, you know. Your beautiful stubbornness.” He kissed her forehead. Naerys tried to distract herself with her task at hand. Each second would bring her closer to having to tell of all that had happened. Daemon was always two steps ahead. Noticing that she had not met his eyes once since she arrived back to their guest chambers. With a stroke down her soft cheek, he took her face between his rough hands to bring her gaze up to meet his.

Her husband's eyes darkened when she began to worry at her plump little lip. Taking the offending feature between her teeth to calm her nerves as Daemon stared down at her. “What did they do?” His eyes traveled across her face. He could see the look in her amethyst orbs. He knew.

Naerys could never hide anything from him, try as she might. She had always been a terrible actress. Her uncle could always sniff her out without her even having to say so much as a word. “What did they do to my brother? She knew that his ire was not directed at her, but he would, sure enough, try to find some target for his anger. The princess reached up a small hand to stroke her husband's pale cheek mirroring his actions in the hope that it would provide him comfort in the wake of such news.

“Viserys died in the middle of the night kepus.” Naerys swallowed hard and released a breath that she had been holding back. She felt her eyes watering. It was unexpected and not completely surprising when her husband collapsed. Falling to his knees and burying his pale face into her stomach. “I am so sorry.” She caressed his pale head placing a kiss upon it. The bond of brothers. Targaryen brothers at that. They had shared more than blood. Daemon had never lived in a world without him. He had always been there. Waiting.

“That bitch he calls—called his wife poisoned him.” His voice was muffled as he spoke it into her skirts. Venom was clear in his gravelly voice. She knew he did not really mean it. Viserys had looked worse for wear for the past ten years. He had grown ill so very long ago. Aegon had been ready as ever to take the throne for just as long. If Alicent and father had wanted Viserys gone they would have done so moons ago.

“He did not have to marry her. He had Rhaenyra. He had me.” It was said more to himself. The slight that had never been righted. Daemon had been his heir even before Rhaenyra. He had been good enough, but Viserys still sought to deny him his rights. To replace him with others when he had been right there. His rejection still stung. “I could have provided him with heirs. We could have. Worthy heirs.”

“You did your duty to him. There is nothing left that you could have done for your brother.” She tried to soothe her husband's brooding thoughts. His regret. The last of his wants and needs to be accepted by his brother would never be fully realized, but he had been more than adequate.

Naerys placed another kiss on his silver head. Petting the strands with a practiced hand. There was no way to stop Viserys' fate. There was no point in worrying about the past. Of what could have been. All her husband could do was grieve for his loss. “He’s at peace now, kepus. He does not have to suffer more.”

Daemon let himself be comforted by his wife. Letting her soothe his inner turmoil with soft strokes to his white head. He was like a child in her hands. A child who needed reassurance. He would do the same for Naerys. He had done the same. It was only right that she provided him with a balm to his mournful soul.

It was no surprise when her husband sprung up from his kneeling position. Cupping her face between his hands before crashing his mouth upon hers in a searing kiss. Making quick work of their clothes as he does so as to bring her to their bed. Tumbling on top of the freshly made linen without breaking apart. Never forgetting her needs, Daemon moved a strong hand down to Naerys center. It did not take much to arouse her. Merely igniting the flame from earlier that morning with his skilled fingers.

Daemon plunged his hard length into her willing channel in a matter of minutes. Driving in and out of her sopping heat with a frenzy. The sounds of their lovemaking overtook their guest quarters. No words were exchanged between them. Only a symphony of grunts, whimpers, and moans.

There was no battle. She let him use her like she was a doll. His doll. She was his beloved lady wife after all. He was well within his rights to gorge himself and slack his lusts and pent up emotions on her supple flesh.

Their coupling is not unkind. Daemon was not truly rough. Only impassioned. It was never unpleasant, not even in his anger and hurt. Whatever ill feelings he held within dissipated. He drew as much comfort from her as she does from him. Give and take. Equals in their own way. All too soon he spills his seed inside her. Her own peak followed not moments after from his continued pressure and small rough circles made upon her little pearl.

As they lay in a sweaty naked heap of bare limbs upon the now-ruined bed the chamber descended into silence. Daemon remained half hard inside of his wife, keeping their combined spends from leaking out onto what was once clean sheets. He was far from being down with her as he rested his head upon her breast.

Daemon occasionally took a nipple within his mouth to suckle upon. Leaving her little brown peaks engorged and themselves in a constant state of arousal. He was sated. Naerys continued to console and dote upon her husband as he returned and basked in her affections with a tight grip on her person. It was a spell before either spoke again. “Skoros gaomagon se vipers jaelagon?” What do the vipers want?

Daemon lifted his head from her breasts to gaze down at his niece. His face was still ashen, but she could see that he would heal from this setback. Some of the mischief had returned to his violent orbs. Naerys felt relief. He would come to terms with the nature of his brother's death. “Skoros gōntan pōnta call ao syt byka mēre?” What did they call you for little one?

Daemon was not stupid. He knew what Viserys death entailed. Why they had called his wife to a council meeting instead of himself. It was not just his propensity for violence that caused them to seek out Naerys to deliver the news. No, above all else the schemers and lackwits that had run his late brother’s court and council wanted a mother’s heart. A mother’s gentleness would convince a dragon of a father to see the merit past the blatant ambition.

“Aōha tala se Aemond jaelagon naejot dīnagon.” Your daughter and Aemond wish to wed. It was better to start out with words of love. To remind him of the familial bond he shared with Aemond. To dance around Otto’s true aim. Dragonstone.

Naerys knew that they saw Daenys as a means to secure their seat and the arsenal it held, but that did not mean that was an absence of fondness. Of care and affection on the part of the young people around. It was their duty as Targaryen’s to marry for the good of their house. Why not wed the two who wished to be together? Perhaps duty and love could coincide. No matter how rare, it would not be the first case of it nor the last.

Daemon was not heartless. He could be rash, but even a dragon's heart could bend to those who laid a claim to him. He loved Daenys. He would die for her as he would live for her. As they all would. Let his love for his daughter sway him towards acceptance of the union.

“Ziry iksos tolī hāeda.” She is too young. An excuse. A poor one at that. Daemon himself had wedded and bedded her when she had been little older than their daughter and he was twice her age. Aemond was only a cousin rather than an uncle. There was a mere six years between the two. Her uncle had no room to talk.

Naerys would not usually push the issue, war or no war, but the two did care for each other. Daenys had been smitten with her older cousin since she could talk and Aemond was a stern enough though devoted boy. Matches were made with less. Her own had. She barely knew her uncle when she was thrust upon him.

“They love one another.” That counted for everything. It had to. “If we do not agree to it, she will be lost to us.” Daenys had too much of her father’s spirit. She would play nice for now, but her desire would win out. Aemond was little better. He had inherited the dragon's blood. All fire and blood willing to burn for each other. It was sweet if not a little terrifying.

“Skoros would ao gaomagon lo ao could daor emagon issa? What would you do if you could not have me?” Naerys brought a hand up to caress his jaw. Clenching her heat around her uncle’s member. It was playing dirty, but she was left with no choice. Daemon had said that she was made for him. She had been what he needed and he reviled in her light.

The Rogue Prince would gladly commit every sin according to the gods old, new, and anyone else in between for her. He had threatened to live in sin to have her. Was it truly damning to have someone you wanted by your side? If an old dragon could not be made to give up what he desired, what made him think that two young dragons would give in to his commands?

Aemond and Daenys could not be stopped even on Daemon's account. They were both young, hot-tempered, and too caught up with each other. The two would force her father’s hand if he did not give his blessing willingly. A scandal that could be avoided if the old prince saw reason.

“Ziry iksos nykeā Hightower.” He is a Hightower. Daemon brought his forehead down to nuzzle hers as his violet eyes closed shut. He breathed his wife in as he held back a groan from his wife’s inner walls fluttering around his cock. She would be the death of him, oh but what a blissful end it would be.

Naerys tried and failed to stifle her laugh which turned to a whimper when Daemon rocked up into her swollen cunt. A playful punishment for her cheek. Kicking a poor man while he was down. Her husband had acted like a spoiled child who seemed to take joy out of denying his nephew. He was running out of excuses and they both knew it.

“Ziry iksos aōha lēkia tresy.” He is your brother’s son. Aemond was a Targaryen even if his mother was a Hightower. Targaryen’s appeared to always be meant for another. He loved Daenys and she loved him. There could be no argument about their feelings toward each other. There was certainly no argument that could be made on who would be more suited for her than Aemond. “Who would you rather have her marry?”

A part of Naerys knew why her husband hesitated to wed the two. It was more than a father's overprotective nature rearing its ugly head. Targaryen’s were a special lot. There was no denying that. Blood belonged with blood. Daemon had wanted his blood for his daughter. It was more than just a want for an heir. He wanted a son for Daenys. It was natural. It was what was expected. His parents had a natural blood mate as had their parents. Why not his daughter?

But Naerys had failed to give birth to a living son. Daemon would never hold it against her, but she knew why he resented Aemond’s presence so much. He stood as a reminder of what could have been. Perhaps in another life things were different, and things were just as they should be, but in this one, their nephew would have to do.

Another part of her, the naive young princess that her husband had first married, wondered if he had truly found peace. If he were as happy as he claimed to be. He defended her to no end, but she still could not stop the dark thoughts that roamed around in the back of her head.

To marry Daenys to Aemond would mean cutting off Rhaenyra for good. To side against his niece. His first niece. The princess he had originally put all of his hopes and desires into. There would be no going back if he chose this path. A war would permanently separate the two.

There was always another option. Daemon could choose to honor Viserys' wish. His brother's last decree. To marry Daenys to Joffrey. To take up for Rhaenyra’s cause. To give her the legitimacy she so desired. To crown her queen.

Daemon did not miss a beat. He kissed away the worry that washed upon Naerys little brow from her troubling thoughts. Sighing into her temple. Not for the first time did he regret his treatment of his little wife during the first moons of their marriage. He should have told her of his sooner of his feelings toward her, but he had been too clouded by his own conceit and resentment.

He had almost lost her in her attempts to prove herself worthy. She, apart from their daughter, meant more to him than all the breath in his body. His brave gentle girl. He did not deserve her yet he had her heart and devotion nonetheless. He should have stayed away from her. Let her marry one of her Velaryon cousins as Ser Vaemond had planned, but he had been too selfish. Too greedy to be denied her. If he couldn’t have Rhaenyra he’d have his other niece for a wife. Daemon was better off for it in the end.

“Ziry jāhor emagon naejot sagon gaomagon gō aegon iksos crowned.” It will have to be done before Aegon is crowned. He whispered it to his little wife. Conceding at long last. Neither Ser Otto nor the prince would trust one another before the deed was done. Too much bad blood stood in the way without the tie of kinship keeping them from harming each other.

“Se Zaldrīzes Ripo jāhor emagon naejot gaomagon.” The Dragonpit will have to do. The Rogue Prince would not have his daughter marry in a sept and they did not have time to journey to Dragonstone and back to wed her in the proper place. Naerys felt the bulk of her woe disappear as she let out a breath of relief which quickly turned into a moan. Her husband had captured her mouth in another sweet yet feverish kiss.

There was no need to prepare themselves for their next round of coupling. With a swift thrust, Daemon was once more buried deep within her love-soaked heat. Where he belonged. The day was still early. They could worry about the ceremony later. Right now her husband had need of her. He was still grieving after all.

Mid-afternoon descended upon the Red Keep before Daemon ceased his amorous affections. He had left his wife feeling achingly sore and reluctant to leave their bed chamber, but there was much to still be done. The castle was in a somber state of half mourning as they prepared for their new king's coronation on the morrow.

Aegon had been located, but the soon-to-be king was found in a drunken state hiding within the Grand Sept. He was dragged back to the Red Keep by a disappointed Ser Criston and a disgruntled Aemond.

The lecherous prince protested bitterly against taking up his late father’s mantle. He did not wish to see himself seated upon the Iron Throne. The boy had some awareness. Naerys would give him that. “Let my sister have it or one of my brothers. I don't care! I do not want it!” If it was up to Daemon she knew that he would place Aemond in his stead with Daenys at his side. Their grandson would be the future king.

The realm might be better for it, but they had chosen the side of duty and order or at least the appearance of it. Aegon would be made king whether he wanted it or not. It was not an issue with which Naerys would concern herself. His mother and grandsire had it well within hand. Rhaenys was at the forefront of her mind now.

“Are my granddaughters safe?” Her aunt's unnaturally cold voice greeted her before she could even shut the door to her chambers turned holding cell. Rhaenys stood facing her windows. The shutters were closed leaving the fire and freshly lit candles to provide light on the eve of the dying day. The older princess' body was rigid as she stared out below at the sweltering capital.

“They arrived safely back to Driftmark this morning.” She reached out to lend a reassuring hand but the older woman flinched away. It stung as Naerys moved her arm back to her side. Wringing her wrist to keep her hands busy. “No one will go after them.” She would not stand for it. She would allow it.

Naerys owed Laena who had been a sister to her in all but name. She would not see any harm come to her late cousin's daughters. Laena would do the same for her. At any rate, the Greens did not have any quarrel with either Baela or Rhaena. They were mere girls who had the misfortune to be betrothed to their bastard half-brothers. “You have my word aunt.”

“The word of jailers and traitors means little to me Naerys.” Rhaenys finally turned her rapidly graying head around to face her. Narrowing her violet eyes in cool inspection. The younger princess tried her best not to cower under her good aunt's gaze. It is a funny thing how we revert into the children we once were from something as simple as a disapproving glare.

“Aegon is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.” Naerys held her ground. Her aunt let out a huff in amusement. As if her words were so ridiculous. Truth had become humorous in the face of lies that they had told for so very long. Mayhaps she had even forgotten it. What a strange world they lived in. “From where I stand, Rhaenyra is the traitor.”

“Traitor to what exactly?” Rhaenys would not lend her candor to the situation. She had made her bed with Rhaenyra. She would not give in now no matter the truth. It need not be said. They could skirt around it for all they like. The truth after all was a fickle thing that changed as easily as a late summer breeze. “She is the king's chosen heir.” That meant little now and they both knew it. To crown Rhaenyra queen would be folly.

“She has obvious bastards for heirs.” Her aunt could not even refute it. It may not be treason per se, but it was chaos. The realm would descend into madness if Rhaenyra was crowned and placed on the Iron Throne. Not even men declared their bastards as trueborn. Let alone did they dare to make one king, but her cousin had Targaryen conceit in abundance. “The realm can not withstand her reign.”

“You are so quick to tear another woman down Naerys.” It was Naerys turn to let out a snort in amusement. Though she did not flinch back as she had when the older princess reached out to admire a silver curl with a sneer. She had forgotten that her aunt was a Targaryen like the rest of them. A dragon rider with a dragon’s heat.

“I thought I taught you better than that.” Her aunt knew good and well why she would not side with her cousin. Rhaenys had been there when Rhaenyra tried to accuse her of treason. Her cousin had judged her to be an enemy and wanted her head just as she had wanted Ser Vaemond’s.

“We would not be in this mess if you had not let them steal your crown out from under you.” The Naerys spat out. She would not be dismissed as a woman acting out of malice and spite. If her aunt wanted cruelty she would show it to her. If she wanted to hurt. She would hurt back. It was petty, but she had reason enough. She would not cower and hide like a frightened girl.

The Queen Who Never Was. Naerys knew how Rhaenys hated it. Hated being called it by those closest to her. The constant reminders from her uncle the late Lord Boremund Baratheon. Whispers from her husband Lord Corlys. Even Ser Vaemond’s mocking sneers

Rhaenys was the firstborn daughter of the firstborn son. She was the rightful heir, but the Old King wanted a male heir to succeed him rather than his late son's daughter. Her position as heir died the moment her father had.

Rhaenys was passed over thrice. First by her uncle, Naerys grandsire, then Naerys father, and finally Viserys. The crown should have gone to her, but it went to a worthy successor with only a whimper of a protest and that came from her uncle the Sea Snake. Her aunt had always said she had gotten over the slight, but she could see a brief flash of envy in her violet eyes sometimes when they gazed upon the Iron Throne, Viserys, or even Rhaenyra.

“You talk of the good of the realm. Everything I have done has been for the good of the realm.” Her aunt's face was set in stone. Her eyes held little light in them. Years of practice made the lack of emotion on the subject appear natural on her pale visage. “If I recall your mother made the same decision when she let Viserys take your crown as well niece.” Though her tone was not biting, Rhaenys curled her lips in a jeer. A blow for a blow.

“My mother did not even have the support of her own brothers.” True enough, Ser Vaemond had supported her father’s claim, but he did not put up much of a fight once Prince Aenys had been sent to an early grave. Lord Corlys had offered his protection. He would never let a hand raise in harm against his only sister or his babe niece, but he offered little else.

“She had no choice! I was a child! You had the might of House Velaryon at your disposal. You had a dragon!” At the time, only Daemon had claim to a full-grown dragon. Little stood in her way. “You had a son who would rule after, yet you still gave up your crown for a man not even worthy to rule Dragonstone, let alone the Seven Kingdoms!”

Viserys was a weak man who spread disease and poison wherever he went. He played the role of peacemaker, but he caused more damage than all of them. Trampling on tradition while he gained everything he had ever had from it. “You won’t even stand up to her husband to make Baela heir.”

“Do not lecture me niece.” Rhaenys laughed. It was a bitter one this time. “Everything I do is for my granddaughters.” The years of pent-up frustration brewing finally bubbled over at the surface. “You are a mother now Naerys. You ought to know better. You are a woman grown now. Since you are so concerned with who is a worthy heir, push for your claim and your daughters. Ask the Greens that you side with to call for a Great Council. Ask your husband to start a war for you. See where that gets you!”

She did not doubt that Daemon would start a war of succession for her. It was well within his nature, but there was no denying that it would only end in needless bloodshed. Naerys had no sons and no means to provide the realm with them other than Daenys. While the smallfolk might love their Rogue Prince the lords of the land were less than fond of her uncle and would like him less as their King consort.

Truth be told it was a relief in a way that she had not been made queen. Aegon was right. Above all the Iron Throne was a curse more than it was something to covet and hold in one’s possession.

“Our house finally has the chance to seat a woman upon the throne and yet you stand in your cousin's way the same as the men who stood in our way.” Perhaps Rhaenys had deluded herself into thinking that Rhaenyra would be a just and fair ruler. Perhaps Rhaenyra might be a good queen, but Naerys would have no part in helping her cousin to the throne.

This went beyond who was worthy of holding the throne. “You side with the men of the realm just the same.” Her aunt tried one last time, but it was in vain. Naerys would not be bullied into acceptance by a hypocrite who sided with a woman who had made her own daughter's marriage a misery. “We all must make sacrifices Naerys.”

“She accused me of treason.” After ripping out the tongues of her Velaryon cousins and ordering the beheading of her uncle no less. Naerys would no longer dance around the truth. She could not. She had the bruise to prove Rhaenyra’s intent for her. If it was not for her husband's affection toward her, her head would surely be in Syrax’s belly next to Ser Vaemond’s. “Forgive me if I am not so sympathetic to her plight.”

“I will send for someone to deliver you to your granddaughters.” There were still those loyal to the crown princess. It would not take much to sneak her out of the Red Keep. She could enlist Ser Westerlings' help if need be.

Naerys would not see Baela and Rhaena alone in this world. The girls had been through so much. They would undoubtedly be pushed aside if their grandmother was not there to protect and defend them. Even if it meant giving Rhaenyra one more dragon rider, Laena's girls needed her.

Rhaenys reached out to grasp Naerys. Seemingly releasing the mistake in her chastisement. She had been too cruel, but the younger princess flinched away. Pulling open the chamber doors she did not turn around to face her aunt. She could not do so without crumbling. “Good luck aunt.” Making her way back into the hall Naerys let out a silent prayer to the Mother that she would not meet her in worse circumstances than this.

Aemond and Daenys wedding ceremony was a quiet and hurried affair. Neither she nor her cousin turned nephew turned good-son seemed disappointed by this fact. A septon had been procured with surprising speed, but Daemon insisted that he would officiate the ceremony. After of course he had called his soon-to-be good-son to their chambers for a pre-wedding bonding of sorts.

“If you ever hurt my daughter.” Her husband sat upon his armchair polishing Dark Sister in his sword hand. His other pale hand he placed upon Aemond’s shoulder. “If I find out that you have ever made her unhappy.” He gestured to the blade in his grasp. Twirling it around with a small smirk that did not reach his darkened eyes. He looked every bit the vengeful Valyrian God of old. “This will find a home in that empty hole you call your eye, sweet nephew.”

The younger prince did not flinch at his uncle's words. Only bowing his head slightly. “I would gladly accept that fate, nuncle.” It was his simple reply. One that seemed to satisfy Daemon who got up from his chair to place a heavy pat on Aemond’s with a mirthless chortle.

Naerys did not doubt Aemond’s sincerity. He was utterly devoted to Daenys. She had not seen him so much as looked at another maiden. He was not a drunken lustful fool like his older brother nor was he neglectful as his father had been.

He had some darkness in him, but it was familiar. The same darkness she saw in her own husband. The same need to prove himself as a second son, but he was overall a dutiful Targaryen prince. In any case, Naerys would burn Aemond herself with Silverwings' help if he was ever untrue to their daughter.

Daenys' lady companion, a bubbly girl of ten and six who was the daughter of their steward, had brought Naerys wedding robes to the Red Keep at the young princess's request. To that, her mother could not be surprised. It was clear that her daughter had not planned on leaving Kings Landing without what or rather who she wanted.

Helaena had taken care to pin flowers picked by her children into her little sister's hair alongside her headpiece after Naerys had pinned up her silver curls. Beaming at the finished result. “Ao jurnegon hae pretty hae aōha muñnykeā byka zaldrīzes.” You look as pretty as your mother little dragon. Daemon’s violet eyes were glassy in the candlelight as he gazed at his daughter. There was no denying that Daenys looked every bit the Valyrian bride. Though her mother thought that the robes fit better on her daughter’s frame than they had ever looked on her.

Naerys could not help, but compare her daughter's wedding to her own. Truthfully could only remember her nerves. The bulk of that fateful day had been a blur. Even when it had been fresh in her mind. She did recall though that Daemon had to draw her blood for her. Her hand had been too shaky.

Daenys had been able to cut her own lip without Aemond’s assistance. She did not wince when her new husband placed their combined blood upon her forehead, the only person who had done so had been Alicent though her bright smile held the truth of her feelings towards her new good-daughter.

Daenys repeated her vows in Valyrian with perfect diction. She beamed up at Aemond, who looked the happiest Naerys had ever seen, as she did so. Daenys was a glowing vibrant bride and her mother was glad for that.

The feast afterward was a rather interesting experience. Aegon had sobered up enough to attend the family gathering in late fathers Nos his private solar. He had not, however, recovered enough from his past libations to have full control of his wits. The soon-to-be crowned king had called for the bedding twice. The first was met with dark glares from both Aemond and Daemon which should have kept him from egging on the situation, but not a quarter hour later did he call for it to be done again.

“Your bride is very pretty brother.” Having been banned from wine and ale for the duration of the feast Aegon took a swig of water from his goblet. Continuing on with a half-drunken smile. “It is a pity that Good Queen Alyssnne saw fit to do away with the first night.” Helaena who sat next to her husband blanched, though his next words would cause them all to stir in anger and recoil in horror.

“My dear little sister could have had two princes breaking her in tonight. Perhaps she still might.” The singers had stopped their music at the last of their new king's declaration. The room went deathly silent. Before either Daemon or Aemond, who were both armed, could enact harm against Aegon, before he was even crowned no less, Ser Otto sprouted up from his seat at the table's end to diffuse the situation.

“I believe that it is time that you retire, your grace.” The hand of the King motioned Ser Criston over to where his eldest grandson sat by a furious Aemond who had only been stopped from committing kingslaying and kinslaying from his young bride's honey hand on his pale one. “You will need your strength for tomorrow.” Aegon protested, but Ser Criston and some of his men were able to lead him back to his bed chambers without too much fuss.

While there was no bedding that did not stop Daemon from trying to hold off Aemond and Daenys departure for as long as he could. The thought of his daughter being swept away to be misused by his nephew made him ill. So he took to glaring at Aemond from where he sat on Daenys left during the duration of the feast. Taking his daughter's smaller hand in his and placed a paternal kiss upon the honey skin. It was almost amusing at first, but as the feast progressed it soon enough became an unbearable sight to watch. The Rogue Prince's mood only became more gloomy with each minute that passed.

Daemon would not even let Daenys join her new husband for so much as a dance, lest Aemond might somehow whisk his daughter away to defile her. Never mind the fact that he was well within his rights to do so now. She was his wife.

Aemond returned his new good father’s glower in kind, but he did not say anything to the older man. Not wanting to provoke his uncle's ire at his own wedding feast. Their poor girl, despite her smile, looked like she was suffocating under her father's smothering. Having to placate both men who she sat into between.

Naerys did not like the idea of what would happen after the feasts either. Their daughter would always be her baby. Her only living child who she had been blessed by the Gods to carry inside her belly for nine moons. It was she who had cared for her before anyone else had known her. She had been a part of her and would always be. She knew Daenys better than her own self, but the young princess was a married woman now. It would not do for her husband to act as he did.

It was only when Naerys had been asked by Ser Criston to join him for a dance, that her husband turned his back on the newlyweds long enough that the two were able to sneak out and head for Aemond’s chambers. Away from prying eyes as they spent their first night as man and wife.

Naerys could not hold back her laughter at the look on her husband’s stern face when he realized that his daughter and good-son had left for their chambers. He was pale as a ghost as he scanned the king's private solar for a glimpse of Daenys. “īlon jāhor ūndegon zirȳ isse se tubis kepus.” We will see them in the morning, uncle. They did not get much rest that night though she counted it lucky that Daemon had not sought to make their daughter a widow on her wedding day.

The ride to Aegon’s coronation the following day was pleasant enough. Naerys rode with her daughter and niece, the soon-to-be crowned queen. The girls sat huddled opposite to the older princess exchanging whispers and giggles amongst themselves. With a rosy flush coloring her honey face, Daenys was the very picture of a new bride. Outside their wheelhouse was a different story.

Both Aemond and Daemon rode ahead of them on horseback. The two had not spoken to each other since the ceremony, but as long as neither prince attempted to harm the other their wives would not force a connection between them. At least not yet anyway.

The hopes for the coronation were low. The Dragonpit had been filled enough with small folk. Though completely sober for mayhaps the first time in his adult life, Aegon was sullen and pale as he made his grand entrance. His eyes watering over as he kneeled next to his sister-wife to be anointed and blessed by Septon Eustace in the frail High Septon’s absence.

Ser Criston held up the crown of the conqueror for all to see before placing it upon the prince’s white head. Proclaiming him the heir and king in the name of the seven. From the corner of her eye, Naerys noticed her good-son staring at his brother's head. A second son bound by duty. Daenys grabbed her husband’s hand in comfort. Aemond gladly took her little honey hand further into his grasp, but his eyes remained on Aegon.

Alicent went forward to place her own crown upon her daughter's fair head. Giving her a kiss on her cheek before bowing to her. “My Queen.” The girl would not quite meet her mother’s eye though the dear little queen did accept her mother's gesture with a half smile.

Ser Criston had been the one first to bow his head to their new king. He had done so without thought. Tradition dictated that they follow the Dornish knight's lead. In recognition of their new king, each standing on the Dragonpits dais, apart from Helaena who remained kneeling, dropped to a half curtsey, a head bow, or a jerk of the head in Daemon’s case which had been stiffer than Aemond’s half-hearted attempt. Naerys' husband would give him no more than that.

Aegon turned his hollowed-out eyes to gaze at his family and council before turning to face the crowd. King Aegon. The second of his name. For a brief moment, it seemed as if the boy’s low spirits would continue on, but then the crowd began to cheer. He was king. He was the lord of the seven kingdoms. Protector of the realm and he only just now realized it. He basked in the small folks' acceptance of him. Pumping his sword in elation, until an unexpected visitor arrived.

Rhaenys. In her full armor, she rode on top of Meleys. The scarlet she-dragon burst from underneath the floorboards. Crushing the small folk who had been unlucky enough to be in her path. Naerys had not forgotten her aunt. Nor how they left things between them, but she did not expect her to pay her kindness with this.

Chaos reigned over the Dragonpit. Ser Otto commanded the gates to be open as the occupants inside scrambled to exit from the dome lest they wind up crushed or trampled by the Lady of Driftmark and her dragon. Naerys found herself being pushed behind her husband. She let out a breath of relief when she turned her silver head and saw that Aemond had done the same with their daughter who stood clinging to her husband.

Meleys and her rider stared down Aegon and Alicent. The dowager queen ordered Ser Criston to protect her daughter who had moved back from the center of the dais, drawing her son in back of her. Naerys felt all the blood leave out from her body when the dragon began to growl down at the mother and her son.

Her aunt had never been a violent woman, but war makes monsters of us all. Meleys let out a piercing roar at the dowager queen and the freshly crowned king. No heat came. A scream. A battle cry. Nothing more.

Naerys was left reeling as Rhaenys took to the skies heading for Driftmark. Her aunt could have left in peace with Ser Westerlings. The loyal knight had been more than willing to offer her his sword. To take the older princess quietly, discreetly back to her home, Or gather her granddaughters from Hide Tide and bring them here to her, but she had chosen to torment them instead. She had chosen to play at war. She had chosen her queen.

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[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

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>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark.

cw: slow burn, fluff, eventual smut, angst, follows book events with slight deviations, im planning to let jacaerys live! every chapter is around 2k wc

chapter cw: tension, fluff, a little angst, they are starting to fall for eachother

“The ceremony will be held tomorrow.” Cregan’s deep and steely voice rings with an imposing echo onto the stone walls of the great hall of Winterfell. “My lady is worn from the journey.”

Although the order seemingly held some benevolence to your sore legs and southern blood barely adjusting to the newfound cold, his voice feels so detached that you find yourself wondering whether he truly did care for your spirits, or if he only wished it as a polite formality.

“I will take my leave before sundown, sister.” Jacaerys places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I must be back at Dragonstone before the new moon.”

“Ill news?” you ask, already troubled and feeling incapacitated from protecting and helping your family.

“Ser Criston Cole marches on Duskendale lands. I must be present at the council to take action.”

“What about me?” You worry, and only after speaking do you realize how stupid the question was.

Jacaerys takes a moment to reply, evidently not wanting to make you feel more secluded than you were.

“I will not make any decision that you wouldn't have in my stead.” He decides, “I will send you ravens to inform you, and represent you.” a pause, “unofficially.”

There is nothing more to be said. Any words he could sweeten end with the same inevitable finale. No raven could fly fast enough to deliver your ideas soon enough for the Greens not to gain an advantage over the reluctance of your team.

You are a pawn. Your dragon is a pawn. And you will only read about the war as if it were history before you could contribute.

“I understand.” You manage to let out without showing how disturbed you are and possibly making the northern lords think that you were terrified to marry their leader.

With a hug too frail to even begin to express how much you will miss him, your brother mounts his dragon after the welcoming festivities in the great hall and takes off with a blow of wings that normally would have had you taking a few steps back from Vermax.

But now it didn't matter anymore. You watch as your only friend dissolves into the skies thick with white clouds, becoming nothing but a raven in the distance.

Suvion cries out, a sharp, strained screech that only pain as great as yours could have caused, and the clouds answer, though you cannot see him anymore.

You are taken aback at the feeling of heavy pelts placed upon your shoulders, and only then you realize how cold you are. Your frigid fingers reach around your own neck to grasp at it and keep it from falling.

“The cold is treacherous. One moment you may think you're warm, and the following, your heart stops.” Cregan comes to stand next to you, looking away to where Vermax had disappeared.

“Thank you, my lord.” You speak coyly, quietly, so he wouldn't catch the crack in your voice and think you weak and soft. Perhaps in a different situation, you would have blushed at his kindness, but the ice wall you felt between you and him was now more palpable than ever. Alone, with a stranger.

“You should come inside.” He insists, but it is not advice, it's a courteous command.

Without a word, you turn and listen. You are escorted to your chamber in the castle, and as you pass through the halls, you look around like a lowborn in a dragonpit. At least that's what it must look like, but in your heart it was storming; how different the place was from what you have known your whole life, the people, the sounds in the yard, the very air of the keep.

He stops in front of your door, beckoning you inside.

“Send for me should you need anything your handmaiden cannot provide.”

His voice is softer, as if trying to indulge you and your loss. As if he understands.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Cregan.”

You do not know for certain if there truly is a gleam of affection in his eyes as he says it, but you do know that you held yourself back from leaning forward in his arms.

Oh, how you wanted to just let it out, and how you wanted him to hold you through it. To offer some comfort that, at least, he cared for you. That he wasn't a cold hearted man with nothing warmer than diplomatic skills. Whom you would have to learn how to love the hard way. Only you know how your heart briefly yearned for him to offer you strength.

But alas, it was not proper. Too soon.

“Cregan.” You accept, and he barely hears it. Your heart sinks when he nods politely and slowly shuts the door, and it sinks further at the sound of his boots on the cold stone outside your chamber, walking away.

A terribly tragic thought slips into your tired mind; that he is betrothed to you, yet his heart belongs to another. Northerners love northerners, and the Stark men have mostly married into vassal houses of the north in the past.

No matter how loyal he is to be from now, his thoughts will always be about her, the people will always know about her.

Suvion's head appears at your window, blocking out the moonlight.

“Oh, you,” You whine, opening the windows and laying your upper body on his snout.

You hear someone gasp and scream in the courtyard, no doubt because of the dragon clawing at the walls of the castle.

“We should find some place good for you. Somewhere safe and warm.” He growls sorrowfully, as if aware.

But it doesn't last long. As quickly as he came at the window, Suvion rips away from your touch and carefully leaps out of the castle yard and up into the night sky. His otherwise white scales now partly reflect the dark of night in their shine, making it impossible for you to even tell how high up he was.

Alone again. You knew he wouldn't go far, that he only needed to hunt and come back, but you wished for leverage that was now gone.

Restless and troubled, you decide to take a stroll around the keep that is to be yours in less than a day.

You follow your curiosity back to the great hall, from where you hear whispered voices and see glimmers of lit torches.

“...of the beast. Food is scarce.”

“It will set eyes upon us.”

“Lord Glover, this is necessary. I do not wish-”

The lords at the table turn abruptly at the sight of the shadow you cast into the obscured hall.

“My lady. Is everything alright?” You hear Cregan's voice, his face away from light.

You feel embarrassed and stupid, interrupting a clearly important talk of resources that did not yet concern you and making the impression of a spoiled, uneducated woman.

“No- I didn't mean to intrude.”

“You could never be intruding on talks of our domain.” He attempts to soothe your nerves, although the implication of responsibilities is indomitable in his tone.

You approach them, carefully eyeing the other lords, feeling quite literally akin to a lizard slithering into a den of wolves. You cannot read anything on their stern faces, and it doesn't fail to make you uneasy and put your guard up.

“The dragon, my lady,” one of them starts, a man well past his youth, “he is a welcomed weapon in the North, although -”

“Although it is true that war has brought us both here, my lord, a dragon is not a weapon.” You warn with a poised expression, as respectfully as you could, yet fire dripped from your words.

The other men frowned in surprise and disapproval, but said nothing. You glance at Cregan, by your side, hoping to be faced with kindness, but instead your heart skips a beat at the sight of a cutthroat look he was throwing at the men, protective of your contribution.

“-apologies. The dragon is a welcomed ally. But livestock is barely enough to get us through what's to come. What are we to offer? Sheep?”

“We have endured harsher winters with lesser than we have today.” Your betrothed reassures, despite the evident growing concern.

“Suvion is big enough to hunt for himself, I dare say. The cold doesn't seem to burden him. There is absolutely no need to thin out the herd for him, my lords.”

You struggle to conceal a sharp gasp when his hand runs up your lower back. A way to show approval of your input, no doubt, yet you find that every crumble of affection he grants you is more than enough to spark fire in your body. Is that what you have come to?

You were worried enough that the rough stoicism of the north man wouldn't provide half the love you dreamed of, yet now you falter on that thought. If such a touch is already setting you alight, what would more do?

“A good omen. Prince Velaryon’s first visit wasn't as uneventful.”

“It is settled then. We will discuss other matters after the wedding.” He commanded, and your stomach flipped at the mention of your union.

With the lords out of the room, Cregan turns to you.

“I thought you would be resting. It's near the hour of the ghosts.” He speaks gently with a warm vibration in his voice, as if you have been wedded for years and he knows all about your practices and nature.

“I couldn't. The more I lay there waiting, the more it felt like I would never find sleep again.”

A faint smile lights up your tense visage, an instinctual way of wanting to see him soften as well.

He looks intently, clearly understanding of your friendliness, but it does nothing to soothe his brow further.

“Come. I wish to speak with you, since neither of us cannot find slumber.”

Neither of us? What is that supposed to mean?

You once again hook your arm around his, his body heat immediately warming you up and putting you at ease. He leads you into his chambers, a strong fire already lit in the hearth.

“Is this proper?”

“Whoever shall dare speak ill of my wife will never speak again.”

A shiver runs up your spine. Whether it's a pleasant or a distressed one, you cannot tell anymore.

“I know how you must feel, although it may not seem like it.” He begins, beckoning you to sit on the edge of the bed. “It's the duty that comes with the name.”

“Yes.” You agree, wanting to hear more of what he wishes to tell you. “Although my biggest concern lies with my position. I feel…” You cease before you could say something like “trapped” or “exiled”. He has been nothing but good to you since you arrived and you do not want to seem ungrateful or hostile. You do like him.

But before you could find the right words, he kneels in front of you on the floor and takes your hands in his. Your heart stops. Your brain shuts down. Gods.

“-powerless.” He untangles your mind and finishes your thought. “But you aren't. We will offer help, I do not intend to trample the oath I swore to your brother. The oath I am to swear to you.” He adds, his tone is soft and tender yet his words so meaningful and heavy, you hear them as though their echo reverberated in the entire room around you.

His thumb delicately rubs over your knuckles, his expression as stoic as ever, only his actions speak differently. He leans forward and places a kiss on the back of your hand, assuring and loving.

You draw in a sharp breath, as if you haven't felt affection before in your life.

“Cregan.” is all you manage.

“It is true that this union was made with interest. But you are not unwanted, my lady. I believe we will find more than allies in each other.”

TAGS!! im sorry for those that don't work its tumblr's fault i checked all of them multiple times

@cost234 @dracaryxzs @cherrymallowtm @ithilwen-blackwood @lady-targaryens-world @lightdragonrayne @krokietino @sukunassfinger @rey26 @beebeechaos @melsunshine @aemondwhoresworld @romeavecryst @raynetargaryan2 @fireandblood-mharmie @mitski9328373 @drwho-ess @dorkysupernova @nitimurinvetitumsposts @ghitakhnifissa @darylspersonalwhore @helo1281917 @delaynew @poochies04 @accidentpronedork @fiction-fanfic-reader @rha3nyra @wallacewillow0773638 @star-serpent @potionsclub @drwho-ess @moadvx @jellybeanstacey0519 @italianchameleon @ephemeralninon @sithapprentice @cloveradora @hawkins-2000 @thatspiderwebinthecorner

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@squidscottjeans @itchkhiara @klutzylaena @heylittlelollita @scrumptiousloser @karmaswitch

[happilyhertale]

Fire and blood - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Author’s note: Before I got into my usual summary, this fic is part of a collab with a bunch of my lovely moots! @lady-phasma came to us with an ask about period sex and Daemon and being as lovely as she is, she offered us all the chance to collab on it. Choosing our own characters and how to play the story.

Please find the masterlist of everyone's fics here.

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Summary: You haven't been married to your husband Daemon Targaryen for very long - but you've learnt to enjoy your marriage to the Rogue Prince. But unlike normality, you haven't sought out Daemon for a few affectionate visits throughout the day, and that makes him suspicious…

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Period smut; fingering (f in v), p in v sex - implied

Word count: 2.2 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Daemon opens the door, but only darkness reveals itself to him. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but steps into your shared chambers. He is looking for his wife, who has been by his side for several moons now.

During this time, he has already become accustomed to you seeking him out throughout the day, sometimes just to get a little peck and sometimes because you want to tell him something - but today you have not sought him out.

His heavy footsteps sound in your chambers as he walks further inside.

"Are you hiding from me, woman?" he murmurs.

He walks over to a small table with fruit and sweet dishes on it. He takes a bunch of grapes between his fingers before letting them disappear into his mouth.

"Has another moon gone by?" he asks into the room and turns to your bed, where he recognises the outline of a figure under the covers. A slight grin plays around his lips before he walks towards the bed.

But as he gets closer, he picks up an unusual scent.

"What's that smell?" he asks.

And suddenly your voice rings out, "It's oak bark tea... My abdomen is a cramp," you mumble from under the covers.

He's still smiling and comes closer to the bed.

"What have we got here? I wonder what trouble could be brewing under here," he says, reaching lightly for the blanket.

"No... Go away," you say quietly and try to hold the blanket tight.

But Daemon pulls the blanket down further and kneels on the bed with one knee.

"Ah... there you are... what a view," he says sarcastically as the blanket reveals your face. Your hair lies dishevelled on the pillow, your face a little sleepily puffy as your annoyed gaze meets his. "Yes....my beautiful wife," he says and smiles. He pulls the blanket down further and a "Go away," sounds from you again.

He smiles at your words, "Why would I do that when I have such a sight in front of me?" he says, a hint of sarcasm still in his voice again.

You sigh and try to turn away, but you feel Daemon kneel down further on the bed and his hand grips you gently.

"Ah, ah, ah," he says and lies down next to you, his arm wrapped around your middle.

His warm breath brushes the back of your neck as he presses his face into yours, "What's wrong," he whispers.

You sigh again and already feel his large, surprisingly warm hand on your abdomen... a warm touch of your dragon.

"I'm bleeding..." you say almost inaudibly, but Daemon hears your words and smiles slightly. He knows how you feel during your period. You're vulnerable and sleepy. The cramps force you to lie down and only warmth and strange teas from the maesters give you some relief... well, and other things.

But you're his wife and according to him, you should always feel carefree - but he can't refrain from teasing you a little.

"Pardon?" he whispers, smiling slightly, while you sigh lightly again.

"I'm bleeding..." you repeat your words and mumble into your pillow.

"Love..." he whispers again.

You close your eyes and feel this inner tension that tickles your fingertips.

"I'm on my period," you say a little louder into the pillow.

"Love... Sorry, I don't understand," Daemon replies and his lips graze your neck.

His behaviour makes you seethe, why can't he leave you alone?

"Daemon! Seven hells! I'm on my period! I'm in pain and I'm bleeding!", you call out and raise your head slightly.

He chuckles, "It's fine... no need to shout like that..."

You shake your head slightly, wanting to push his arm away, but he has a firm grip on you. His hand slides slowly downwards, his fingers make light, circular movements and you stiffen slightly.

"Daemon, what are you doing," you suddenly whisper.

"I want you to feel good, love... It'll help you relax..." he murmurs into your ear, nibbling lightly.

You gasp and hold his hand back, "Daemon... there's blood... a lot... it's the first day..." you say hesitantly.

He continues to nibble on your earlobe, his fingers sliding along your thigh, not in the least impressed by your words.

"You know there's nothing to be ashamed of. A woman's body is a natural, beautiful thing.... It's beautiful because it's you," he kisses your cheek and lets his nose glide gently along it. His hand strokes along your thigh and you feel a slight throbbing between your thighs alongside the numbing pain in your abdomen.

"Do you want me to take care of you?" he whispers, kissing the soft skin behind your ear.

You bite your lip lightly, but you shake your head slightly.

"Daemon... There really is a lot of blood..." you repeat your words quietly.

He chuckles softly again, another kiss landing on your neck, "Love... a true warrior isn't afraid of a little blood..." he murmurs.

His hand slides further, "Just relax..." he whispers and you try. Slowly, you close your eyes and try to concentrate on his touch as a heavy breath leaves your lips.

Gently, he kisses your neck and shoulder as he holds you close."It's nothing to be ashamed of either. Especially not my wife. It's natural," he whispers in your ear.

His fingers pull your nightgown up, very slowly. His fingers leave a fiery trail on your thigh and you try to ignore the dull ache that runs through your abdomen.

You can't suppress it, your hips begin to move in slight circular motions as his fingers glide through your pubic hair, caressing you. You gasp as you can already feel his arousal from behind as he presses himself lightly against you.

His fingers reach their destination, slowly running along your folds, and you gasp again – your legs spread slightly.

"That's it... I'll take care of you..." he whispers in your ear and you nod slightly.

The sweetest moan escapes your lips as his fingers find your pearl and apply light pressure. Your legs spread wider and a smile graces his lips.

"Daemon..." you gasp.

"I know..." he whispers, nibbling on your earlobe again as his fingers rub gently over your clit.

"Your body is natural and beautiful. Even in all its bloody glory," he whispers and you nod, your breathing quickening.

He kisses you on the cheek again as his fingers tease over your glistening entrance, gently spreading your folds.

You feel the familiar stretch as his fingers slide inside you. But not all the way in, he teases you a little and you exhale heavily, your hips moving towards his fingers, longing for his touch. And then he fulfils your craving – his fingers stretch your walls, trying to find a good angle, pushing deeper. He revels in the slickness that coats his fingers, the evidence of your arousal mingling with the blood that flows.

"Feel how wet you are for me," he whispers teasingly, his smile pressing against the back of your neck.

"Daemon!" you gasp, but also a small moan leaves your lips.

He chuckles briefly, but your concentration is once again fully on his movements as his fingers penetrate deeper.

"Gods..." you gasp and he grins. Slowly, but firmly, his fingers push forward. He can feel your walls clench, longing for release.

"You know I love all the sounds you make, but I love your moans the most. I can feel your walls tighten around my fingers as if your body wants to hold me inside you while I make you tremble..." he whispers in your ear.

You moan again as his thumb grazes your pearl. He continues his expert ministrations, he is determined to make you forget the discomfort, to lose yourself in a wave of pleasure that only he can provide.

His fingers curl inside you, beckoning you as his thumb presses against your clit again.  You press your arse against his hardness and he moans into your neck. As he feels your hips moving towards his fingers, urging for more, he complies, increasing the intensity of his movements. He curls his fingers, angling them to hit that sweet spot within you, knowing exactly how to drive you wild with desire.

"Moan for me…" he commands, his voice laced with dominance, "Let me hear your pleasure, let it echo through these chambers."

And you obey as his fingers thrust deeper. He bites into your neck as his fingers tease your walls. His fingers continue their exploration, delving deeper inside you, seeking out the spots that make you writhe with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, his touch skilled and attentive to your body's responses.

Smacking noises echo in your chambers as his fingers pump in and out faster. His fingers sliding in and out of your wetness with ease. With each thrust of his fingers, he can feel the slickness and warmth of your arousal, heightening his own desire.

He starts to apply more pressure and lets a third finger slide in. He knows what you like and he gives it to you the way you need it. He stretches your walls while they continue to clench around his fingers. Daemon's eyes gleam with a mixture of desire and possessiveness as he feels your response to his touch. He revels in the power he holds over your pleasure, his fingers moving with a practiced precision.

"Oh, my sweet wife," he murmurs, the words laced with a mixture of possessiveness and anticipation. "You are so responsive, so eager for my touch."

His body presses against yours, his hard length grinding against your backside as he continues to pleasure you with his fingers. His lips find your ear, his breath hot against your skin. Your fear of smearing him with your blood is forgotten, you need more.

"Daemon... Daemon," you whimper again and again, your arm reaching back, to the back of his head. Your fingers reach into his silky hair and he grunts. As he continues to drive you towards the peak of pleasure, Daemon's own desire grows, his need for release becoming undeniable. But at this moment, he's focused solely on your pleasure, on taking you to the edge and beyond, on helping you forget your discomfort.

"Yes... my love... Come on, come on my fingers, milk them like you always milk my cock when I fuck that delicious cunt," he growls into your neck.

And that pushes you over the edge. You cry out, your walls tightening around his fingers and Daemon grunts out.

You whimper, your hand gripping his hair tighter as he kisses your neck. Your eyes are closed, your breathing rapid as he pulls his fingers out when your walls stop clenching. A pleasant warmth flows through your abdomen, soothing away the pain more effectively than every maester's tea could.

As you catch your breath, you glance slightly over your shoulder and look at Daemon. He chuckles as he looks at his fingers, they're covered in blood.

"This is a sight I couldn't have imagined at the beginning of the day..", he kisses your neck again, "But I'm going to enjoy it“, he whispers into your ear.

"Daemon, no!" you say with wide eyes.

He just grins as you avert your eyes and blush. You hear the smacking sound as he licks his fingers.

But now you have to laugh as you stare at him again – his eyes are closed and he seems to be enjoying it.

"You're impossible..." you say softly as he still licks his fingers.

"Daemon, stop it!" you say and giggle, but he just grins and pulls you closer to him again.

"Delicious," he murmurs.

He starts stroking and caressing your belly again.

His breathing slows down as he holds you close. The sounds and smell of you, your little body in his embrace, it's almost more than he can bear at this moment.

He gently grabs your chin, as if he were holding something fragile and precious, and gently pulls your head upwards. When you return his gaze, it is gentle and tender.

"And you are my wife. You may feel sick, you may bleed, sometimes I may even be the cause of your anger. But that's all part of your body's natural rhythm. So please, my sweet girl, never hide from the pain, never keep your misery a secret. Otherwise, I promise you, it will cause me more grief than your blood..." he says gently. These moments with him are rare, but you savour them – your lovely husband. You lean towards him and let your lips slide onto his. He growls slightly and you feel his hand on your arse. You giggle slightly and feel his smile on your lips.

But the grip on your arse tightens and he pulls you towards him, positioning you perfectly against his crotch. He still can't hide his excitement and you gasp slightly. Your lips are still dancing around each other, you can feel the coppery taste on his tongue as he starts to undo his trousers. He growls again as his hand spreads your cheeks slightly and presses his hardness between your thighs from behind. You whimper as his cock slides along your folds.

"Let's see if we can give you a little more relief, shall we?" he growls against your lips and you moan as the tip of his cock presses against your slick entrance.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[arabellasleopardcoat]

To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

[n0cturnalp1g]

Tale As Old as Time

Summary: Prince Daemon Targaryen hated everyone and anyone that has the name Hightower in it. But there was an exception to it, the oldest sister of Alicent and Gwayne Hightower, the Wretched Hightower as she was infamously known for. But Daemon was on a mission to ensure she will be called by any other name–even if it means putting his own as a result. Characters: Daemon Targaryen x Female!Reader!Hightower. Otto Hightower. Alicent Hightower. Viserys Targaryen. Word Count: 1,360 Chapter Warnings: Not Edited. Slight Profanities. Otto being Otto. Author's Note: Enemies to Lovers anyone?

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prince Daemon Targaryen knew how much of a cunt Otto Hightower was. It goes for Alicent and Gwayne too. But somehow, such disdain and loathing cannot be said about you. His exception as he fondly calls you.

You were known as the Wretched Hightower that did not stay long in Oldtown for causing far too much destruction and the only way for your father to ever control you was if you were close to him–or rather have the Kingsguard and even the City Watch constantly under surveillance of you.

Hence, this was the very reason why Daemon was so fond of you. How even his most skilled City Watch or even the Kingsguard themselves was no match to your resourcefulness and how easy it was to evade each and every single one of them at night as you spent your nights in Fleabottom, away from the constant control of the Keep.

“Here you are again, it seems.”

Daemon looked at you, defiance all too evident in your eyes as you looked right at him. One too many run-ins with each other, the surprise has finally worn off your face every single time he catches you strolling around. But never once did the dagger in your grasp ease away in the numerous instances of seeing you.

“I’m sure at this point you are just following me, Your Grace.” You spoke, no sense of decorum or politeness unlike your sister. You were very much a woman with a mind of your own not controlled by your father.

“I am simply doing my job. Somehow, my patrolling the safety of King’s Landing also has an additional responsibility of making sure the Wretched Hightower does not cause a scene.”

At the mention of the moniker, your eyes darken and your knuckles turned white as your grip on your dagger tightened. If he pushes you further, there might even be a chance you might make use of it–on him more specifically.

“I apologize for adding to your responsibilities, Lord of Flea Bottom.” You curtsied mockingly in front of him to earn a huge grin on his mouth. He loved this, you play as hard as he does, every single time, you will not let anyone else win if you had a chance. Never one to allow anyone else to have the last word.

But the Rogue Prince wasn’t known for his patience, more known for his pettiness.

With a nod, he moved quicker than you anticipated and you were lifted into his arms before moving until you were now on his shoulder. An annoyed scream escaped your lips, your dagger was taken before you could make use of it.

“Let go of me you stupid fucking lizard!”

“My, does your father not teach you manners, or respect?” He teased as he began his journey back to the Keep, anticipating what that Cunt Otto would do now. “I could even cite you for attempted regicide.”

“I don’t give a damn about your laws, Targaryen! Let go of me!” You continued to scream, your fist hitting his armored back. He was genuinely surprised by how unmoved you were by the metal he wore–but then again anger and spite was the best remedy for pain but he was all the more certain you will be feeling the damage was all was said and done.

“I’m sure your father would love to hear you and your opinions of the law in the Seven realms.” He chuckled, ignoring the eyes that had now come glued to all of them.

He ensured even in your already embarrassing state, you were decent. The hand holding onto your dagger also ensured your skirt did not show more than you intended to.

“Make sure you rest well, the next time I see you I’ll make sure to slit your throat and bathe in your blood.”

“A woman after my own heart.” Daemon continued to point out with a wicked grin as he walked further away from the chaos of Fleabottom. “I can only hope you still have that fire when we return to the Keep, Lady Hightower.”

Daemon only knew what your father would think of this situation, more so when he was once again responsible for taking you back without harm on a single hair on your pretty little head.

“You continue to bring shame upon the family name, you insolent brat!”

You have been so used to your father’s scolding, but the only difference with this time was the fact that he wasn’t alone. Daemon Targaryen had made a spectacle out of you, bringing you into the throne room in front where your father, the King’s Hand stood, arms crossed and veins on the brink of popping.

In the throne room also resided a few key figures in the parading embarrassment that was Daemon’s own making.

The King himself, amused as much as he was tired of your antics sat on the throne, the grin openly evident on his face but no one was to question him for his emotions for he was afterall the King.

Your younger sister and the King’s wife, Alicent, was also present. Ever the lapdog of your father was also disappointed in you as you strived for your own freedom–something she did not have since agreeing to marry the King.

Then there was the man that was responsible for your predicament. Prince Daemon Targaryen. A smirk all the more evident on his face, victorious for one upping you in this imaginary war you somehow waged with the Rogue Prince since your nightly escape.

“Are you done, father?” You inquired.

“This is the reason why I should have married you to that Lord in the south!” Otto continued, voice growing louder now.  “I can’t control you, your Uncle could not control you, your husband might control you as he should!”

You scoffed. You knew as much as he did that there was no Lord in the south. His first plan of many was for you to marry the King the first moment that the late Queen was burned in the Hill of Rhaenys. But as Wretched as you were known in the realm, you still had common decency. You will never marry a mourning man who lost his wife and child for the sake of a better standing for the family. The same could not be said about your younger sister, now married and now carrying her second child with the King.

“I’d rather be a Septa than marry a man that will never keep up with me, Lord Hand.” You spat.

You glared at the chuckle that escaped the Rogue Prince’s lips.

“I think there will be a much better way to handle this dispute, Lord Hand.” King Viserys pointed out, the fun of the situation now gone and it left nothing more than a family dispute that he should not be a part of.

“Nothing could control her, no Kingsguard nor City Watch can tame her, and I am having second thoughts of throwing her into sept instead.”

You rolled your eyes. He never truly cared about you, your brother, or your sister. It was always like this with him. If he finds no use out of you, he will throw you out like a used toy. It was a cycle that you were all the more familiar with. Lived through it for years, long before either Alicent or Gwayne was born.

“Perhaps I could be of assistance.” Daemon began.

All heads turned to the man, your heart lurched from your chest as if already having an idea of what he had in mind. The games this bastard was playing.

“I am in need of a new wife…as you may all know Lady Rhea Royce has recently passed and our union did not bless us with any children.” He continued as the grin on his lips grew wider, all the more seeing his brother, the King convinced with the idea.

“No!” For once you and your father was in agreement with something, who would have ever thought it would be to oppose a man you had both equally despised–but for reasons far different from one another. 

[maglors-grief]

I'm so confused about all the people that have been insulting targaryen!readers and ocs as "boring" lately.

You expect me to believe that a reader/oc that has a fucked up family and can ride a dragon is somehow uninteresting...? This is a big fandom. There's room for everyone to write what they want. There's no reason for some people to be so judgemental. Fic writers are providing us with free content about our favorite characters. They are taking time out of their day to write us stories. You aren't expected to like every fic. This entitlement in fandom is ridiculous. Fanfiction writers owe you nothing. If you don't like what they write then that's your problem not theirs.

Most of these characters have hundreds of fics written for them, there is no point in dwelling on the fics you don't like. The Aemond/ofc tag on ao3 has over 2000 fics, the Aemond/reader tag has over 1000 fics, but yet I'll still see people whining in the fanfiction tags on tumblr about how a writer dared to write a reader/oc or plot they personally didn't like. Again, you are reading free content, we don't need to hear your criticisms. Not liking a fic is not some crisis we need to urgently address. You can keep your thoughts to yourself and move on to something else. My rant is over. Be kind to fic writers. Life would be miserable without them.

[paulyenvol6]

Acting Out Of Love

Based on this request

Your husband Daemon and you have an ugly fight after which you don't speak to each other. Your children are quick to notice it though and come up with a plan to make you reconcile.

I loved this request and I had so so much fun writing this so thank you very much <3 Also, please feel free to send me your requests and tell me what you would like me to write

Contains: angst, fighting, fluff

Wordcount: ~5.67k

Masterlist

You had your lips pressed together and head turned away.

Your hand gripped the edge of the table tightly, anger controlling your senses and you felt so heated that you just wished for a cold rain soaking your body.

"I said no, Daemon.", you hissed at him.

Your husband had his eyes closed as if he tried to calm himself but it clearly didn't worked because he pushed himself away from the wall against which he had rested and restlessly walked back and forth.

"And I'm asking you once again, why?! Why, y/n?"

You exhaled loudly and threw your hands in the air. "Because she is too young. I can't believe I even have to discuss this with you. Visenya is 8 years old. Not old enough to climb on a dragon on her own. She can fly with you but she is not going to take off with Sirmai alone."

He rolled his eyes. "Gods be good, y/n! Our daughter is made of fire. She belongs on that dragonback. It's where she is alive."

You laughed out madly and approached him with quick steps.

"Yes. I want her to be alive. And if she is on that dragon alone nothing can assure me that she'll get back on the ground alive."

Daemon shook his head and lowered his head. "Visenya claimed Sirmai, she is not going to get her in danger."

"But she is eight, Daemon! Saena was 10 when we first let her fly on Cloudchaser and Wyllam as well."

Your husband raised his chin and defiantly chewed on his buttom lip. "Visenya is tough. And she wants it too."

You threw your head back. "This is so stupid, Daemon. I said no. I'm her mother and I'm not going to risk my daughter's life because you act irresponsible and emotional and without reason."

"Oh so I'm the bad father now, is that what you're trying to say?"

You crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"No, but it in this case, yes. You're putting your honor as a Targaryen and as a dragonrider above Visenya's well-being."

Now it was Daemon who laughed and rubbed his tired eyes. "I can't believe you just said that…" He abruptly turned around and lifted his finger to point at you.

"I love our daughter as much as a father can love his child. But she is ready and maybe you can't see that but I can. I'm telling you, we should allow her to mount Sirmai."

You shook your head, trying to make your expression look as cold as possible. "No, Daemon. I will not allow it and so it's not going to happen."

He exhaled loudly and shook his head in disbelief.

"And I can't believe you are always coming up with that 'she's meant for it as a Targaryen'. Yes, the blood of the dragon runs in her veins but that doesn't mean that you can use that fact as a justification. She is still my daughter and as much as I respect Targaryen tradition, she is still half dornish and sometimes I have the feeling that you think of your side as superior and more distinctive."

He turned to walk away from you. "This is stupid…"

You glared at him and narrowed your eyes. "No it's not, Daemon."

"It is and I have no desire to listen to any more of your childish outbursts. I'm going to bed now."

You watched him with flashing eyes as he hasted through your chambers but before he passed you you held out your arm to stop him. Your head hit his chest and his eyes shot down to meet yours.

"You will not sleep in here tonight.", you whispered dangerously and Daemon frowned.

"You're not being serious, are you?" But you remained persistend and gestured to the door.

"I am. I don't want you in here."

He grinded his teeth and his eyes twinkled and yet he did as you had demanded and was quick to leave your chambers.

Once he was outside you inhaled deeply and sat down on a chair. You closed your eyes in a desperate attempt to make your boiling blood calm down but it took you some time until you opened them and you were able to think normally again.

~~~~~~~~~~

You saw your husband again the next day for breakfast. Your children were playing by the fire surrounded by maids and servants and septas and when you entered Daemon was just reading a piece of parchment but lowered it when he saw you.

You on the other hand completely ignored him and didn't look at him for a mere second. You had decided to give him the silent treatment and just act like he wasn't there. So instead of giving him a morning kiss like you usually would have done you walked to your children and caressed your daughter Saena's dark hair.

Your children were a mixture of your husband's and your features. While Visenya, Wyllam and Meradith came more after Daemon and his Targaryen looks, your eldest daughter Saena and Orlyn had your thick brown hair and darker eyes and skin as their siblings. Meralith on the other hand was the pure image of her father. Silver straight hair, light eyes and the only difference to Daemon was her darker tan. The girl would soon turn 6 and you lovingly watched your children while ignoring your husband's presence.

Orlyn, your youngest just brought you a little dragon that his uncle had gifted him for his name day and pulled it through the air.

"I called him Aero, mother. And when I have my dragon one day I'll call him Aero too."

You smiled softly and caressed your son's shoulder. "That's a name fit for a fierce dragon, my darling."

Your son smiled contendly and babbled something while shifting his attention to his toy again. You straightened up again now and walked towards the breakfast table, still not giving a glance at Daemon. He on the other hand watched your every move but when he realized what it was you were doing he lowered his head as well and folded his hands in front of him.

He was way too proud to give in and talk to you. He was pissed and hurt (even if he wouldn't admit it) but definitely wouldn't communicate with you about his feelings now that you seemed so indifferent. So his expression changed to cold as well and he leaned back in his chair grabbing the parchment once more and fixed his eyes on the letter beneath him. If you were to treat him like this he would play along.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next days you spent almost entirely ignoring each other. Of course you saw Daemon during the meals and when you spent time with your children but you didn't say more than necessary, never looked at him and especially never exchanged any sort of loving affection. You were stubborn and still furious and wanted him to feel that.

In your head Daemon had acted unreasonable and childish and you just hated it because you felt like he didn't actually listen to you. Why was it that you always had to keep a light head while he came up with dangerous ideas and plans and acted as if you were too controlling and scared. You weren't scared, you simply wanted your children to be safe, seven hells.

Daemon on the other hand was equally angry and couldn't understand your behaviour any better. To him, his suggestion was the perfect proof of his love to his children and he simply knew that Visenya would be perfectly fine on her dragon. He felt like you were controlling him and taking part in a piece of his family history that you just couldn't understand that well because you weren't a dragon rider yourself. Daemon was secretly hurt because in his understanding you were trying to claim that part of his identity and that translated in his anger.

And yet through all of his fury, he couldn't help but glance at you when you entered a room. Just like you also took care of him from afar, he had to make sure that you were alright, that you were eating enough and that you weren't overwhelmed with taking care of the children.

One time you didn't attend supper and Daemon had been worried when he found out that you had a headache. Everything inside of his screamed to approach you to take care of you but he couldn't get over his pride and he also wasn't sure whether you would even want him there.

So instead of visiting you, Daemon sent servants to your rooms every 10 minutes and ordered them to make sure you were fine and ask you whether you needed anything. In the meantime the prince walked up and down in his chambers and nervously nibbled at his nails. He hated this so much but what was he to do? He was a stubborn and proud person and remained angry with you. He certainly wouldn't be the first one to give and come apologizing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Four days after your fight, things shifted though because while Daemon tied his hair in the morrow there was a knock on the door.

A part of him hoped that it was you who finally wanted to discuss things but once he had ordered the person to come in the door slowly opened. He turned to see who it was and his face softened when he saw his daughters one by one peeking into the room. Daemon smiled gently and gestured them to come in. The three girls walked to their father who sat down on a chair and lifted his eyebrows at their careful and uncertain expressions.

"What is it, girls? You seem serious."

Saena, your eldest daughter nibbled at her thumb while glaring at her sisters.

"I-Is there something wrong?"

Daemon frowned. "What do you mean, darling?"

Now it was Meralith who stared at her father with big eyes and seemingly was sad. "You almost haven't spoken to mommy yesterday. And the day before. And the day before.", she mumbled and Daemon felt a little stitch in his heart.

He reached down to grab the girl under her arms and lifed her onto his lap. Then he caressed her silver hair out of her face and determindly looked into his daughters' eyes.

"Everything is fine, girls. Your mother and I have been very stressed the past days and sometimes there isn't a lot of time to talk to each other. But we cherish and love every second we get to see each other, alright?"

The only one who looked a little more relieved was Meralith on his lap but Saena and Visenya frowned and pouted.

"But it's never like that.", Visenya claimed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You never talk to mother or kiss her or even look at her."

Daemon shook his head. "I promise you that we have everything under control. In a few days there will be less things going on and your mother and I will have more time for each other again. You on the other hand – " He caressed his daughter's head. "Don't need to worry about anything."

Visenya sighed while Saena still looked suspicious but the three girls decided not to uphold the discussion any longer and told their father they would go in the gardens to play now. Daemon nodded feeling relieved and told them he would have to attend a small council meeting and reminded them of their lessons with their septa later.

What the rogue prince didn't know was that you just had had quite a similar conversation with your sons only a few feet away. Because Wyllam and Orlyn had knocked on your door even earlier. Orlyn with his four years was your youngest child and Wyllam had come to you with him because his brother had felt very anxious the past days because just like his sisters, he had sensed that his parents weren't on good terms with each other.

And so you had assured your sons that everything was perfectly fine, just as Daemon had your daughters. Of course you knew that you shouldn't lie to your children but this whole situation was already exhausting enough so you didn't additionally need your children to suffer from this. It was easier that way. Telling them that mommy and daddy were fine and they didn't have to worry about anything. And perhaps you would be. Maybe.

But Daemon and you didn't know that your children were way too smart to be tricked like that. They had left the both of you alone and pretended to believe you to some extent but once your three daughters had left Daemon's room and walked outside the castle to sit on a bench in the gardens Visenya looked at her older sister with a deep frown between her eyebrows.

"Do you believe father, Sae?", she asked and Saena thoughtfully bit her buttom lip.

"I don't know. I can't believe that we imagined this."

Tears were glistening in Meralith's eyes as she pulled at her sister's sleeve. "I-I want mommy and daddy to love each other.", she whimpered and Saena caringly wrapped her arms around the little girl.

"It's fine, Mera. They do love each other." But then she turned to Visenya again.

"But if father says so we are to believe him. He says we shouldn't worry and maybe – "

But her sister crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I don't care what he says. I know that something's wrong."

Meralith stared at her other sister now and pouted. "B-But no… Please Sae, do something."

Her eldest sister sighed and chewed on her lower lip. She wanted to say something when they were interrupted by their brother Wyllam who had sneaked up on his sisters from behind a tree.

"Arghhh.", he made and Saena shrieked. "Oh Wyllam, stop it."

Her brother laughed and held his stomach while Visenya angrily flashed her eyes at him.

"Not funny at all.", she hissed.

Orlyn stumbled towards his sister behind his brother and as with his sister Meralith tears swam in his eyes. Wyllam turned to him and then sighed.

"He is sad all the time and I wanted to play with him but he didn't want to so I thought you could take him."

Visenya reared up in front of him. "So you thought you could just bring him to us whenever he bores you?"

Her brother rolled his eyes and attempted to pat her head but the girl pushed away his hand. "Relax, sister. You are… girls. You are better with emotions."

That made Visenya jump at Wyllam and her fists came down to hit him in his stomach.

"I make you feel emotions now, you little – " Saena came forward and wrapped her arms around her sister to pull her back.

"Oh stop it, the both of you." Being older and stronger Saena was able to separate the fighting siblings and then once everyone was at calm again and Wyllam and Visenya only angrily glared at each other the eldest sibling kneeled down in front of Orlyn.

"What is it, little brother?" The boy sucked on his thumb and stared up to his sister without bringing out a word.

Wyllam shrugged. "It's because of mother and father. He believes they are fighting because they haven't spoken that much and now his whole world has been destroyed."

He rolled his eyes and indifferently plucked an apple from a nearby tree which he examined closely for holes or worms.

"Oh Orlyn.", Saena sighed and hugged her brother.

"I don't think there is reason to worry though.", said Saena then. "We've spoken to father and everything is fine between them."

Visenya cleared her throat while her youngest brother looked from one sibling to the other. "At least that's what he said. I believe that they have fought. It's always like this when they fight."

Saena shifted her attention from Orlyn to her sister. "What do you mean, always? They don't fight often."

Visenya rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know. But when it happens they always ignore each other. Like today and the day before."

Saena tiredly rubbed her eyes. "I mean… Maybe you are right after all. I sensed something as well but I thought now that father has claimed that we shouldn't worry…"

Wyllam had started to eat his apple but now that even his eldest sister doubted their parents' reassurances he also looked a little worried.

"I've taken Orlyn to mother in the morrow. He was so sad that I thought if we spoke to her, mother could calm him. But though she did, Orlyn remained panicky."

Visenya lifted her eyebrows. "You've spoken to mother? And she said that as well?"

Wyllam nodded. "Yes. She said that her and father were perfectly fine."

Saena put a hand to her lip and hummed to herself. "What should we do now?"

Everyone stared at each other as if they would find a solution in their sibling's faces but no one came forward with a suggestion. It was Meralith who opened her mouth first.

"I want mommy and daddy to love each other again.", she whispered again with her eyes dropped to the ground. Saena, who felt the most responsible and caring towards her siblings took a step towards her sister and pressed the girl's head to her chest.

"They still love each other even when they're fighting, Mera. They are just not talking at the moment but they are still in love, do you understand me?"

Saena kissed her hair and felt her sister nod slightly. So she pulled back, having made sure that Meralith was fine and questioningly looked around in the circle. Visenya cleared her throat and rested her hands on her hips.

"We should do something. Give them no choice but to talk to each other."

Wyllam agreed and nodded. "We could lock them in the same room.", he suggested but Saena shook her head.

"That goes too far, brother. And how would you even do it? No, we have to come up with something else. Though I'm not sure if we even should interfere…"

Visenya rolled her eyes and walked back and forth. "Of course we should interfere, sister. Otherwise they're never gonna speak again."

Her youngest siblings looked shocked at her words and fearfully stared at her with big eyes.

"Stop scaring them.", complained Saena. "She is not being serious.", she then spoke to Meralith and Orlyn. "Of course mother and father are going to speak again."

Then the eldest girl sighed and looked at Visenya. "Fine. Maybe we could try it. We should make them talk again."

Her sister nodded contendly and clapped her hands. "Perfect. I already have a plan."

Wyllam frowned. "You do?"

She nodded and pointed at Orlyn. "What is your favourite game?"

The boy widened his eyes and his gaze wandered over his sibling. "Hide and seek."

Visenya nodded. "Exactly. Mother and father will notice that Orlyn is feeling a little weary and sad. So he will go them, perhaps separately and tell them that he would love to play a round of hide and seek with the whole family." She smiled mischieviously. "And then we will manipulate the game so mother and father are in the same team. Then they will have no choice but to talk again and everything will be fine."

The girl smiled proudly and looked from Saena to Wyllam waiting for their admirations but her sister frowned.

"What if they don't have the time? Or they don't want to? Father said it himself, they're very stressed at the moment."

But Visenya shook her head and sighed. "You forget that this was only an excuse, sister. And Orlyn just has to be persistent with them."

"I can do that.", her brother claimed and raised his chin.

Wyllam also thoughtfully hummed. "But what if they won't talk? They can play the game with us and still just ignore each other…"

Visenya realized that he had a point and his sisters remained silent for a moment. Then it was Saena who shrugged.

"We could try it though, right? It's not a perfect plan but it's better than doing nothing."

Visenya nodded enthusiastically while Wyllam hesitatingly tilted his head but it was decided. Meralith and Orlyn were seemingly merely glad that something was happening to make their parents reconcile and so in the afternoon Orlyn shyly knocked at your door while your handmaidens were brushing your hair that always got so messy over the day.

When you saw who it was you smiled softly and sent away your servants. Your son still looked a little sad so you took him into your arms, lifted him and caressed his dark hair.

"My sweet boy.", you purred while holding him closely to you. Orlyn crouched against your neck which made you close your eyes simply enjoying the closeness to your youngest child.

"Mommy?", he then hummed against your neck after a while and you felt the vibrations in your whole body.

"Yes, love?"

"Can we play a game in the gardens? Please."

You sighed and drew your face in a painful smile. "Oh Orlyn, it's really… I have so much to do…"

Your son pouted at you and you felt a little stitch in your heart at his dissatisfied expression. "Please mommy."

You chuckled at his dark puppy eyes that looked so much like your little sister's and suddenly you remembered the way she had looked at you as a child when she used to ask you to play with her and so you knew you couldn't refuse your son.

"Alright, sweetling. What do you want to play?"

Your son shrieked excitedly which made you deepen your smile and his hands grabbed your shoulders.

"I want to play hide and seek. With Meralith and Wyllam and Visenya and Saena."

You nodded and put Orlyn back to his feet. "Fine. As you wish, love."

And so the two of you walked out of your chambers and to the gardens where your other children were already waiting. You hadn't lied when you said that you had a lot of things to do, but when Orlyn had come to you earlier to ask about Daemon and you, you had sensed that your son was feeling a little worried and anxious, even after you had assured him that everything was the way it was supposed to be. And so you had decided to make some time for your youngest son to give him your love and affection and make sure he didn't feel sad and concerned anymore.

Now you stood with your children but just when you were about to ask them what teams each of you were playing in Orlyn excused himself. You didn't see the wink that was exchanged between your son and Visenya because their plan was it to get your husband now and in that way give Daemon and you no choice but to talk about your differences.

You didn't know that though and just watched your son haste inside the castle with a surprised expression but were quickly distracted by Meralith who showed you a bunch of beautiful flowers she had collected. You admired and complimented each of it and were leaned down to closely examine the flowers when suddenly your daughter shrieked and twitched. A bee had stung her on her arm and tears filled her eyes at once.

"Owww.", she cried and you were shocked when you saw the sting starting to swell.

"Oh no no.", you made and grabbed your daughter's arm to look at the sting. The girl cried panicky while your other children gathered around their sister.

"What is it, mother?", Wyllam asked concerned and you kneeled in front of Meralith.

"Saena, get the grand maester. Quickly."

Your eldest daughter looked equally shocked as your other children and swiftly ran off inside the castle.

"It's alright, sweet girl.", you tried to sooth Meralith even though you felt really scared yourself. Her whole arm was swollen by now and your daughter looked pale in her face though you weren't sure if it might be caused by her shock.

"Everything will be fine, Mera. Just look at me and breathe."

You had to keep a clear head and clam your children who all nervously wandered around and Wyllam had started nibble at his thumb, a habit he had since he was a young boy.

"Mother what's happening? It looks so scary.", he asked.

You caressed Meralith's shoulders and tried to breathe steadily. "It's just a bee sting. Saena will be back soon with the grand maester and then everything will be fine."

Your daughter's cheeks were coated with her tears and you just prayed that your words would turn out to be truthful. And then finally your eldest daughter returned, old grand maester Simon hasting behind her. He was breathless and held his chest as he kneeled down in front of your daughter.

"Oh gods be good. What happened here?", the old man asked and Meralith's lower lip trembled.

You took a step back to let Simon take a look at the sting and wrapped your arm around Wyllam and Visenya. Anxiously you bit your lip and waited while watching the grand maester doing his work when there was suddenly someone else entering the gardens. You had totally forgotten about Orlyn and the fact that he had mysteriously left the scene to get back to the castle but now your son walked out with Daemon.

All of a sudden there was a tightness in your throat and you felt the need to cry and just hug your husband. He narrowed his eyes when he understood the scene and hurried to Meralith who was still crying.

"Darling! What happened?"

It wasn't you who answered though you wanted to. Simon explained it to Daemon while your youngest frightened son ran to you and pressed himself to your legs. You petted his hair while you watched Daemon talking to his daughter with his eyebrows drawn together. His hands held hers tightly and then you head Simon speak again.

"First she should go to bed now and rest. I'll bring the medicine that she might require."

And so your husband picked your daughter up from the ground and carried her inside with Simon following close behind. For a brief moment Daemon and your eyes met and all he could see was the worry and angst on your face. Then they were inside and as much as you wanted to hurry inside too to by at your daughter's side, you had to calm and be there for your other children now.

~~~~~~~~~~

And that you did. You stayed with Orlyn, Wyllam, Saena and Visenya by the fireplace, read them from their favourite books and assured them that their sister would be fine.

It had gotten late and soon Wyllam expressed that he was tired and wanted to go to bed so that was what you did next. It took some time bringing each child to their rooms, covering them up with their blanket (the only exception was Visenya who insisted that she was old enough to do it herself), wishing them a good night and promising them that in the morrow they could see Meralith.

It was the hour of the owl when Saena drifted off to sleep and you sighed as you left her chambers. Your plan was to finally look after Meralith but just when you were about to enter her rooms grand maester Simon opened the door and put his finger to his lips.

"Shh. She has just fallen asleep."

He closed the door behind him so you didn't have a chance to peek inside the room.

"How is she? Please, I need to see her."

Simon looked pitiful as he shook his head. "She is fine, my lady. She will be fine. But you shouldn't disturb her now, it has taken hours until she was calm enough to drift away to sleep."

You exhaled bitterly. Everything was just so overwhelming and the worry about your daughter restricted the air coming to your lungs.

"Fuck.", you breathed because you had held back your emotions all evening and now all you wanted was to see that Meralith was fine and not even that you could do.

"I'm sorry. But she needs her rest, I recommend you come and see her first thing in the morrow."

You nodded though you felt disappointed and sad. Simon bowed his head and then turned to walk away from you. You were left feeling cold and lonely and in desperation. You inhaled a few times and then unwillingly returned to your chambers.

Once you were there you felt empty and numb but knew that you wouldn't be able to sleep now. You wished you could fall asleep next to your daughter because you were certain that her presence was all you needed right now to be calm. Knowing that you were denied that, you walked up and down in your chambers so close to tears but they just wouldn't spill for some reason.

Suddenly there was a knock on your door and absently you called "Come."

Only after the words had left your mouth did you realized what you had done. You couldn't bare the presence of anyone who was not Meralith right now and you wanted to slap yourself for not thinking before speaking.

But when the door opened your eyes rounded and it felt as though a weight dropped from your heart.

Daemon stood in the door watching you with tired eyes that in an instant made a warmth spread in your body. The lump in your throat seemed to somehow increase in size and now you felt that the tears started to form in the corner of your eyes.

You saw him gulp and then walk towards you and without speaking a word Daemon wrapped his arms around you. You held him equally tightly and for a moment you felt so relaxed and at calm that you forgot every worry or concern and the comfort of his body so close to yours made a few tears escape your eyes.

"She'll be fine, y/n.", Daemon hummed against your hair and you nodded against him.

"Yes. Yes, she will be."

Then you pulled away from him but still had your hands on his shoulders. "Did you see her? Is she in pain?"

Daemon smiled softly and caressed your back. "I did see her. She was scared but… no, she wasn't in great pain."

Then he pressed you against his chest again so you felt the warmth of his body and now you realized how much you had missed him these past days. Gods, how had you done it? How had you survived without laying next to him at nights, without smelling his familiar scent?

"I'm sorry, y/n.", he now whispered against your ear and your thumb soothed his collarbone.

"Me too.", you said and then once again pulled back to watch your husband.

"I know that all you did was act out of love for Visenya. I'm sorry for what I accused you of and I know that I perhaps was too hasty and I… I didn't think about what I was asking of you.", Daemon stuttered and you smiled softly.

"And I shouldn't have said that you were acting like a bad father. I know that you're not."

He grabbed your hand while watching you with these puppy eyes that immediately made you melt.

"I know that you're right. Our daughter should always be safe and I-I don't know what possessed me. There's nothing wrong with waiting another year until she will mount her dragon and I want her to be safe too. I just… I guess I just felt hurt hearing you speak about how dangerous it is to be on dragonback. It felt like you thought of dragonriders as ridiculous and imprudent. And then... I thought you were trying to take this part of me and my identity away. And then maybe I was scared that you would never allow Visenya to mount her dragon and that made me act irrational and emotional. Gods… I know that it was so childish of me to come forward with this idea and stubbornly insist on it."

He kissed the back of your hand and then you reached up to hold the side of his beautiful face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to feel you like that. And I know that you acted out of love as well. I know that you're proud of your family and your traditions and I respect that so much, love. I know that you want Visenya to carry this tradition as well and share it with her and just like you, I can't wait until she will. I don't think of dragonriders as imprudent. I think of them as fierce and brave and I know that Visenya will do an amazing job."

His eyes lovingly looked into yours and he squeezed your hand tightly.

"Thank you.", he merely spoke and then you leaned forward to kiss Daemon on his lips.

That night you didn't throw out Daemon. That night you didn't feel cold or lonely.

That night you held your husband tightly with his arms wrapped around your back while your hands were buried in his hair. You both knew that it would probably get way too warm in the night because a thick blanket was additionally covering the both of you but you didn't care. All you wanted was to feel Daemon again and so you drew patterns on his scalp while the both of you drifted away with your thoughts.

"I love you, y/n. So much."

You smiled with closed eyes. "I love you too, Daemon."

And then you fell asleep with your last thought being that you promised yourself you would never let such a stupid fight get between you.

[mmogurl]

Dragonseed Chapter 1 : First Night

18+ | 6.4k | Daemon Targaryen X Female Dragonseed Reader | dangerous, sex starved, raunchy Daemon | virgin reader, first time sex, first night / prima noctae, big breast reader, daemon is a boob man in this, non con, non consensual, P in V, much groping, lots of typical Daemon cussing, starts out rough but reader enjoys it in the end, I just woke up with this in my head and needed to get it out.

Daemon has not been satisfied with his wife Rhaenyra lately. Frustrated and sexually deprived, he goes searching in the village at the base of the Dragonmont for a woman that might catch his eye. That's when he comes upon you, a beautiful, young dragonseed, ripe for the taking, whether you like it or not. I came up with the idea for this after reading page 914 in Fire and Blood. In the show, they recruit Valyrian blooded bastards to ride the unclaimed dragons from King’s Landing, but in the book there is actually a fishing village at the base of the island where Dragonstone is located. The men of House Targaryen were known to seek pleasure among the commonfolk there quite often, claiming their ‘first night’ rights and sowing ‘dragonseeds.’

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 On AO3

Rhaenyra has been an insufferable cunt as of late. First she had wallowed in the death of her son, Lucerys, which he understood to an extent. They were at war though and Daemon could not excuse her absence at council. There simply was no time for mourning when the Iron Throne was at stake.

When Rhaenyra finally returned to the painted table, she was in shambles, a scared, frail shadow of the strong Targaryen woman he’d known and cared for. It had taken all he had to hold back the grimace that fought its way out at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. They were of royal blood, Valyrian blood, and she should be ashamed to show such weakness openly, especially as the future queen.

She spoke of retribution for her fallen boy, demanding the life of the Hightower bitch’s second mongrel son, Aemond. Daemon had offered to fly to King’s Landing right away to avenge his wife, but none would take any part in his plan. So he did as he often did, connived in the shadows, plotting murder so that a one-eyed Targaryen princeling might die to replace the son Rhaenyra had lost.

But, it seemed nothing was ever good enough for the so-called Realm’s Delight. No act of loyalty, nor obeisance, nor love, nor retribution would ever amount to anything in his wife’s eyes. She did not seem to trust a word he said lately, viewing him always with thinly veiled scrutiny and scorning him from her bed every night. Perhaps she had only been interested in using him to solidify her claim as queen after all. The irony was not lost on him considering how badly he’d wanted the throne in the past. It all left Daemon feeling restless, his blood running hot with the need to satisfy his carnal urges. Admittedly, there were not many women within the confines of the castle, save for the servants, who were not especially comely. So, he ventured forth to the village below the Dragonmont, where farmers and fishermen lived around the now thriving port. There he walked the streets, drank in the tavern among the commonfolk, hoping to chance upon a suitable woman. Any fair of face with a willing cunt would satisfy his needs, but he was hoping to find someone of note, a beauty worth his seed.

So far, he has found nothing but mediocrity and it does nothing to stiffen his cock.

As he exits the tavern already deep in his cups, given the position of the sun it’s sometime past mid-day, and there is a celebration underway. A flutist is playing a lively tune as men and women alike dance together in the square. His eyes dart around, taking the scene in slowly considering his relatively inebriated state, until he catches a flash of blue.

And that is when he sees you. You are ravishing in light blue silk, a crown of yellow wildflowers upon your silvery-gold head of hair. Daemon finds himself completely enamored as he takes in your fetching features; the big blue eyes, your proud nose, those luscious lips, and the full swell of your breast has him reeling.

Daemon finds you a sight for sore eyes, a vision of purity and class coupled most gladly with the bosom of a well coveted whore. From the look of it, you are the bride, clutching arms with some young pup who is likely to be your new husband.

It was well known to Daemon that the towns below the mount were seeded with Valyrian blood. Going back two hundred years when Aenar Targaryen first arrived with his dragons, when the house began to practice the tradition of ‘First Night.’ Whereas a lord or king has the privilege over the smallfolk, to bed any bride first on their wedding night. As a result, it was not uncommon to see pale hair mixed in among the common, many having been bred within the Targaryen line for generations.

Daemon has never claimed such a right before, but he is inclined to command it at the sight of you. A wicked smirk begins to work it’s way up his lips as he approaches. He can’t believe his good fortune, that such a shining flower of a maiden was waiting for him, so close by, and that he just happened to stumble upon you at just the right moment to claim you.

As the King-Consort to be closes the distance, many begin to notice his presence with a look of awe and excitement on their faces. For on Dragonstone, the Targaryens were considered closer to the gods than other folk, and were esteemed as such. Brides that were chosen were considered blessed and envied by all. Many of these women were taken care of well by their benefactors, being endowed with luxurious gifts of jewelry, fine silks, and even bequeathed titles for land.

The children born of dragonseed were celebrated on Dragonstone and it is clear to Daemon by the fine silk of your wedding gown that you have been attended well by your Valyrian patron, whoever it may be.

He walks purposefully towards your merry, dancing form and takes hold of your arm to still your movement. When you look up at him, he cannot help but feel disappointed when your face drops, a look of despair crossing your face as you intrinsically know what he desires of you. Daemon had hoped you’d be pleased to attract his attention, that you’d consider it a godsend as most would. It is merely a minor blow to his ego that won’t stop him from taking your maidenhead.

Silence hangs in the air and before words can even be exchanged, an older woman with dark gray hair advances forth to him. She claims to be your mother and apologizes for your insolence.

‘The blood runs too strong in her, m’lord,’ she grovels with deference, bowing her head with every word.

Good he thinks to himself I like them feisty. Daemon grins, glaring sideways at the young man next to you. He would be considered handsome by most standards, but he is green, just a silly boy without disposition to even protect his alluring little wife. He intends to ruin you for any other fellow tonight, so not even your juvenile husband will ever be able to satisfy you again.

He snickers with satisfaction as your mother offers to escort the pair of you to a suitable location where he might take up his rights. Daemon can’t help but soak up every curve of your face and body like a predator eying up his next meal as she speaks, but you look on the verge of tears, ready to break at the thought of being torn away from your silly little wedding festivities.

“Might I freshen up first, My Prince,” you say, your civility barely held in tact through grit teeth.

“King,” he reminds you, furling his brow. This girl will be nothing but trouble. It will be best to break her swiftly. He then shakes his head non-nonchalantly. “And there is no need. You are already quite pristine and lovely in your wedding gown. I will take my claim now.”

You fluster, your cheeks growing impossibly red with embarrassment at not just the mention of his intent, but your own indignity as well. “My King,” you acknowledge his correction. “Allow us to ready the chambers for a man of your caliber. My marital bed is far too simple…” you continue prattling on. He isn’t really listening anymore though, instead focusing on the plump of your lower lip and how it might feel wrapped around his cock.

He also can’t help but notice how you sound much more proper than your mother, than most commonfolk really, and wonders if your Valyrian contributor has paid for your tutelage as well. You strike him as someone who has been overindulged in your life, treated as a lady of distinction. It would certainly explain your bratty attitude.

“I am not against the amenities of the commonfolk,” he offers indifferently. “As long as there is a clean surface, it will do.” It’s not like he hadn’t fucked in some of the filthiest brothels on the Street of Silk back in King’s Landing. At least there weren’t many rats in Dragonstone.

‘Oi, aell take ye to me own dwelling, m’lord,’ your mother is spouting now. ‘It aes clean, Ae wash the linens m’self.’

“Nonsense.” A man with well-kept clothes is now stepping forward and Daemon believes he recognizes him as the innkeep. He offers his finest suite for the union of Daemon and his freshly wed dragonseed maiden.

Gods, it’s good to be king.

Daemon can’t help but chuckle smugly at the look of absolute dread on your face. You think you’re so special, too important to be fucked by a king apparently. He was going to enjoy showing you otherwise.

His grip has not left your upper arm and it now tightens as he nods to the innkeep, accepting the proposition for a room. The man leads the way and Daemon follows, dragging you along with him and reveling in the way you peer back with sad lamb eyes at your newly minted husband. There is something so deliciously satisfying in tearing you away from that whelp of a lad, in taking what belongs to another simply because he can. It spoke to the primal side of him, the dragon within that would snatch up whatever it pleased without concern for morality.

He desires you now and he would soon have you whether you liked it or not. Rhaenyra had cowed him for far too long and now he’s going to reclaim his manhood, his brutal nature, by taking your bloody virtue on the head of his cock. For the bedroom was just as fierce as any battlefield and Daemon was a seasoned veteran of both arts.

Daemon’s stride is long and resolved as he jerks you closer to his side. You’re reluctant to be close to him, but finally heed the warning and match his pace as you both enter the tavern which also serves as the inn. Upstairs, the balding innkeeper opens the door and ushers Daemon into his freely provided chambers, with his unwilling maiden shuffling in beside him.

The room is quite nice for what it is. Accommodations for peasant folk were typically a mix of ramshackle furniture and blankets with patched holes in them, if the mattress had linens at all. This chamber is simple, but the furniture looks as though it were hand-crafted in town. The bed is very obviously carved by a skilled carpenter and topped with a red blanket as though it were actually a fine establishment.

“This will do nicely,” he nods to the innkeep. Even though Daemon knows he is not expected to offer compensation as an esteemed guest, he let’s you go from his grasp momentarily to fish a coin from his purse, and places it in the man’s hand. “My thanks,” Daemon offers plainly with a dismissive nod, declaring his desire to be left alone with his prize.

“My pleasure, My King,” the innkeeper says with an overzealous bow as he closes the door behind him, finally leaving Daemon alone with you.

You stand there looking like a stunned baby bird who has just fallen from the nest. Your hands are clasped together in front of your stomach as though that might defend you from his designs.

He smirks at you with a pointed laugh as he draws close. Daemon apprises you thoroughly, circling you like a beast as he takes in every sign of weakness, every swallow, every carefully withheld whimper.

“You know what will happen, girl?” he finally breaks the silence as he comes to a stop right behind you.

“Y-yes,” you answer unenthusiastically. The tremulous tone of your voice both excites and amuses him.

Daemon’s hands reach out to your waist then, finding the laces that hold your bodice tightly in place and he begins to untie them. You turn rapidly on your heels to face him, trying in vain to halt his advances. He can’t help but growl at your defiance as he tugs you against him, his grip like a biting jaw on your pliant body.

Grinning wickedly, he glares into your eyes, leaning in so closely that his forehead is against yours and his hot breath is in your face.

“I’m going to take you, little one,” his voice is filled with violence, his tone rough and dangerous. “You will give yourself readily or we can take the difficult path. But, I promise you would not like how brutish I can be. Especially considering how sore you will be once I take your maidenhood.”

Your expression contorts with hatred and insubordination as resignation tries to take root, but ultimately you refuse to budge. He has not broken your spirit yet, but he knows he soon will. Daemon hopes to avoid being truly cruel to you, that is unless you remind him of his fucking wife by being so gods damned obstinate. Then he might just be forced to take his impotence out on you.

“Or maybe…” he continues with a sardonic twitch of his brow. “Maybe since you’re behaving like such an ungrateful bitch, I’ll just fuck you hard and deep until I spill seed in your unspoiled little cunt. I might even keep you here all day, perhaps all night. I have not wet my cock for at least a moon’s length and I am wont to gorge myself in you.”

Your breath hitches at his menacing coercion and tears begin to well in your eyes. It doesn’t bother him, in fact he thinks you might look even more attractive when you’re crying. Most importantly, you nod subtly as you finally understand the truth of your situation, that he has conquered your rebuffs and brought you low before him. You should be much more compliant now.

Daemon presses a kiss against your cheek, relishing the taste of your fear and the way your body tenses in his arms. “Good girl,” he states in a calmer voice.

He swiftly turns you around again, his fingers moving deftly to work the laces of your corset free. You are sobbing quietly and even though he relishes the idea of making you submit, of seeing your eyes red and swollen as you take him to the hilt, it’s becoming tiresome to hear as he undresses you.

“Would you cease with all that incessant blubbering?” he chides you with palpable irritation. He pulls at your laces, then the fabric of the bodice, going back and forth to loosen it enough so he remove it from your body.

“I’m scared,” you peep. “That you will hurt me.” You’re reminding him of a bird once more, perhaps a little chick with no wings to fly, sniffling and pathetic as you accept your fate.

Daemon lets out an exasperated sigh. He would almost rather you be angry and spiteful than sniveling like this. He should have known to use a different tact, but he’s been out of practice for quite some time. He now sees with clarity that you’d be far more susceptible to seduction rather than brute force, but his anger with Rhaenyra had him on edge.

He places his hands on each of your shoulders and cranes his neck forward until his lips meet the spot below your right ear. You jump as he presses a gentle kiss against your skin, his fingers reaching over and caressing along your collarbone. He can feel you relax considerably with his shift in behavior and takes the opportunity to slide the sleeves of your dress down your arms.

“You need not be scared, little bird,” he whispers into your flesh as he leaves another kiss wet against the base of your neck. “I have bedded many a maiden in my time, and I assure you that I am a far more experienced and skillful lover than that untried boy you call husband.”

You swallow with difficulty and then your whole chest heaves upward as you let out a shaky breath. He is not sure if you’re still apprehensive about the pain involved in the act itself or if you dislike hearing him speak ill of your new spouse. It matters not, for Daemon knows he is best suited to tend to your needs on this day, and he will deliver you swiftly from your pain if you serve him well. He could also make it much worse than it has to be if you don’t.

But for the moment, you’re obliging him, not even resisting as he slips the sleeves of your dress off of your hands and they fall to your side. He groans at the pale skin bared to him, feverish at the thought of groping those large tits of yours without the restraint of any bindings.

“I know how best to alleviate your discomfort, my dear,” he continues, his breath tickling your skin. “I know how to hasten you to pleasure.” Daemon sucks teasingly at the lobe of your ear and delights as you shiver and goosebumps break out across the exposed flesh peering out from your low neckline. He is getting so eager now, craving the way you’ll squirm beneath him as he touches you, as he claims you.

He rocks the slackened bodice down over your waist, wiggling it from side to side until it clears your hips and the entire gown finally falls to the floor in a heap. You still don a sleeveless cloth chemise underneath that goes down past your knees, but the fabric is so thin that he can see the outline of your figure right through it.

Daemon feels the hairs on the back of his neck bristle as his cock bulges painfully against his breeches. He’d been so caught up in taming you, so fervent at the thought of plundering your shores, that he hadn’t even realized how much he was aching for you.

With a surge of fist and cord, his trousers are on the ground and he practically tears his braies off so he can press his throbbing length against you sooner. Being liberated from his smallclothes leaves his member free to prod the valley of your arse, and he yanks you back tightly against his chest with a grunt that makes you chirp. You are his sweet, helpless baby bird, ready to be devoured by the fox.

As though pulled by an invisible force, his hands are already snaking around to your front catching your breasts, one in each hand as he kneads them forcefully. You let out a strangled cry of distress as he tweaks your nipples firmly and Daemon’s eyes roll up at the supple, yet dense give of your breasts.

“By the old gods,” he rasps out, looking over her shoulder at the beautiful sight below of cleavage and ample bosom turning in his grip. “These are surely sacred treasures befitting a king.”

He has to feel you without the interference of meddling fabric, needs to see your breasts in all their splendor, to touch-taste-suck them until you cry out. A growl erupts through his nasal cavity and he abruptly yanks your shift down your shoulders, ripping the straps in the process of revealing your remarkable tits.

Seeing your exposed bosom, Daemon grinds his cock into your arse with arousal, his restraint faltering with the promise of you. He spins you towards him, walking backwards to the bed and drawing you by the hands with him. He glances up to see the uneasy expression on your face, the blush in your cheeks as you allow him to lead you. His cheekbones rise and his brow furrows slightly, regarding you with discernment and maybe a sense of pride as you walk bravely forward.

Daemon decides after brief consideration, that he likes you this way: vulnerable, yet courageous. The thought is fleeting as he hits the edge of the bed and sits down without hesitation, tugging you close until you are standing in the space between his parted thighs. Your tits are right in his face now, just where he wants them.

With an aggressive pull, he wrenches the shift from your body, laying you completely bare to him. He doesn’t even know where to begin, so much pale and youthful skin to take in that it makes him absolutely ravenous. Daemon’s hand reaches behind your back, holding you in place as he practically inhales your breast into his mouth. You writhe in his embrace, trying to back away from the intensity of his hungry maw to no avail as his strong arms keep you effortlessly in place.

He nips at the stiff peak, relishing the way you jump in response. Daemon’s hand slides downwards, cupping your round, tight ass with a squeeze. He leans back, taking in the view for a moment as he licks with the point of his tongue around your pale pink areola. He switches to the other beautifully pliant tit, tracing a line with his tongue across the valley of your breasts.

Daemon sucks hungrily at your nipple, palming the other with fanatical tenacity. He can feel your body wanting to withdraw, the way it pushes for more and pulls back at the same time, yet your feet remain firmly planted. He’d praise you for being so mannerly if his mouth weren’t full with your delicious tit at the moment.

He can feel his pulse pounding throughout his cock, standing erect between his legs and starving for any attention it can get from you. He relinquishes his grip on your breast, daring an attempt at getting you to relieve his torment as he clutches your hand and brings it down. Your hand retreats backwards, not wishing to participate, but Daemon is firm with you, guiding you to wrap your little bird wings around his engorged member.

Tepid, featherlight fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his too-fat-with-blood cockhead, and he lets loose a growl against the slope of your chest. “Fuck,” he hisses, sucking air through his teeth as you reluctantly touch him. At this point, his sexual deprivation paired with the immense lust he feels for you makes even your untrained pawing feel flawless in execution.

He’s quickly reaching the point of no return, his carnal urges so great that he knows he must have you soon. Daemon’s fingers lower to your tight little cunt, checking to see how ready you are for his impending intrusion. A knowing grin spreads across his cheeks as he feels the silken wet state of your folds.

“Mmm,” he pulls off of your nipple, peering up at you with violet eyes full of mischief. “Are you holding back how much you desire me, little bird? You naughty thing. What will your husband think?”

You flush red and while he was hoping to see indignation, he’s not displeased with the look of yearning present instead. Had he actually managed to ensnare you with the capable way he handled your body? Had he charmed you into his grasp when it seemed impossible you might actually enjoy yourself? Your silence is complicity as far as he is concerned.

Daemon smirks up at you deviously before switching back to your left breast, his tongue dancing across the tender nub as his fingers test and prod at your entrance. He doesn’t feel a solid membrane, but one that has already been teased on multiple occasions, likely coaxed from the efforts of the wanton little dragonseed herself. He could take her virtue with very little pain and she might even find pleasure in the act.

Dragging creamy nectar up from your heat, he holds your hood back, pressing his middle finger to your swollen pearl with a light, circular motion. You jolt into him, leaning forward as though your knees might buckle with even the slightest of coaxing from his touch.

He does not relent, continuing his attentions to both of your breathtaking breasts as he caresses the peak of your sex with practiced grace. You begin to whine, flinching your shoulders with every nip and suck of your tender nipples, your body becoming overly sensitive with his continued ministrations.

Daemon can feel the tension in your body rising and knows that you are ready for him. And not a moment too soon, he muses to himself, lest he lose his fucking mind with desperate need of you.

He stands up suddenly, gently walking you back a couple steps. He then picks you up into his arms with one fluid motion before depositing you with careful precision onto the bed. You look up at him with big eyes, dilated black with arousal as he climbs on top of you.

“You are a sight to behold, dear girl,” he says hoarsely, his voice heavy with desire. “I will not regret this joining and nor should you.” You look bewildered, a flurry of emotions all rolled into one, acutely aware and fuzzy at the same time.

For the first time, Daemon kisses you, and the feeling is like molten lava blazing through his heart and pooling in his gut. His cock is hard and threatening against your thighs, seeking entry with every jerk and twitch. His tongue sinks through your parted lips, dipping into the heat of your mouth, wanting to consume you whole.

He parts from your lips with an intake of breath, declaring gruffly, “You know that you belong to me now?”

With your quiet acceptance, Daemon positions his head at your core, pressing in just enough to fit snugly against your entrance. Leaning down once more, he cradles your back in his arms and presses another kiss to your lips. He needs to keep you distracted, his tongue dancing with yours, keeping you from dwelling too long on unavoidable pain. Gods knew, the feel of your passionate kiss was enough to divert his attention away from all meaningful thought besides the easing of your hurt.

Without warning, Daemon thrusts into you, breaking through your virtue as he holds you tightly. You cry out in startled agony as his length enters you, tears welling in the corners of your eyes at the sudden flash of pain. He holds position within you, soothing you with hushed whispers and gentle kisses through the worst of it.

As he thought, you are not upset for long, within moments already wiggling your hips around his swollen cock and hungry for more. He can’t help but grin with smug satisfaction at the way your body begs for more without speaking any words. Daemon will give you exactly what you crave. In fact, he loves how quickly you’ve become his little bird, his sweet harlot, forsaking your new husband for him in no more than a hand’s width of daylight.

He winces as he begins to move again; the way your cunt clings to his intruding cock for dear life is almost too much to bear. Daemon pulls back slightly to take you in and is not disappointed by the way your pretty lips are spread and panting out quick breaths of ecstasy. He had not lied to you, he’d certainly been with his fair share of maidens. None have come close to matching the beauty of your deliverance from chastity. You take to his girth with aplomb, to the act of love-making with a passionate, melodious abandon.

Daemon would watch your blissfully lurid expression, listen to your dulcet of sinful delectation, all day if he could. But, it’s not long before he can tell that your little cunny is going to give him trouble. If it hadn’t been so long since the last time he knew a pleasure better than his fucking hand, he might be able to deal with you. But, you are so fucking tight and he’s so wound up, that he opts to go out with a clash of smacking flesh. If he cannot make you peak this time, then he most certainly will on the next try, and he will most certainly take you again.

Your lilting moans drive him closer to the edge, pushing him faster than he’d like. Rearing up onto his knees, he clutches your hips tightly and spreads you across his lap. Daemon desperately tries to push you along to your climax, knowing it will be a race that he is likely to lose. He’s not expecting the intense response you give him or the way your hips buck as he coaxes your pearl to completion.

His eyes widen in disbelief, wincing as your pelvis seizes and you clamp down on him with a force so powerful it undoes him. “Fuccccking Hells!” he growls out sounding like a gruff animal as your walls milk his seed forth. Daemon’s member pulses violently, your muscles finally letting up only to begin rolling in waves across his length. “Gods fucking damn, girl!” he steadies himself against the bed, almost falling on top of you in the process.

His release lurches through his body, demanding and powerful as he erupts into you. He is faintly aware of the way your chanting with delight, muttering something incoherent while your small hands remain fastened to his back, holding onto him. The overwhelming rush finally passes and he is left feeling weak, breathless, but oh so fucking good.

Daemon wilts onto you, pressing a contented kiss against your lips. He’s not entirely surprised, but is still pleased when your hands find the back of his neck, deepening the kiss with vehemence. He feels the musculature of your inner lining contract upon his cock again and shakes his head as he parts from your lips.

“No. No more of that,” he gripes, still too sensitive to take that kind of abuse.

He recoils as he withdraws from you, unable to believe how big his cock looks, not fully hard, but still excessively fat considering. Daemon lies down beside you, wrapping his arm behind you and pulling you close.

You come willingly, cuddling into the crook of his arm as your hungry fingers roam about his jerkin.

And then it dawns on him, that in his impatience, he never even bothered to fully disrobe. He dutifully unfastens the clasps on his leather vest, displacing you for a moment as he tosses it aside and tears off his doublet.

“There,” he says with confidence. “Now you can have the full show.”

You laugh, a mirthful sound that makes his heart ache in a good way. Gods, he had really needed to get in a good plowing. He can feel all of his anger and tension melting away as he takes you back into his arms.

“So? Was it all bad?” he asks, fishing for compliments because he loves to hear them. He’d especially welcome them from a stubborn creature such as yourself.

Quietly, you shake your head, seeming at a loss for words. He could understand. A lot had happened in such a short amount of time. He’d essentially stolen you from the path you’d been traveling, plucked you up for himself without your say so. Daemon wouldn’t prod you to talk about it now that his appetites were sated, wouldn’t tease you about your husband now that he had claimed you fully.

He raises a brow as you speak unexpectedly, listening intently for your first real words since he’d imposed himself upon you.

“It was enjoyable,” you answer respectfully, your lusting eyes betraying your true feelings as your hands rove over his now bare chest, eager for more.

“Only enjoyable, little bird?” he decides to tease you a little bit, just for fun.

That mellifluous laugh returns, making him smile genuinely as he gazes upon you. Daemon strokes your back, relishing in the warm plushness of your skin as he settles into bed.

“Why do you keep calling me little bird?” she asks instead of padding his ego. “I am a dragon just as you… Am I not?”

His whole face lights up with a self-satisfied smirk. “Oh, are you a dragon now? I thought you were just a little bird.”

“I am a seed,” you contend with him, far more seriously than he expects you should. “I am of your line too.” You run your fingers into your disheveled hair, twirling cornsilk strands as evidence.

“Well, yes, but you are not quite a dragon. It’s true you have wings and the means to fly, but that does not make a dragon, my delicate little bird,” he cannot help but say it with a mocking tone, enjoying your reactions too much to let it go.

You dare a fearless smack at his chest, indignant and pouting. He would normally kill someone for laying hands on him in any manner of disrespect, but Daemon does not mind it from you in this moment.

“Perhaps, you do have some fire in you yet,” he taunts you with amusement. You look at him wide eyed as though he’s about to admit that you are a dragon just as he is. You make this too easy. He chuckles as he continues to rib you, “I’ll call you my firebird then. I think that suits you nicely.”

Daemon’s brow winks with humor as you take another swing at him. He holds your arms down to your sides as he pulls you on top of him. He let’s you go as your annoyance settles, regarding you fondly as he tucks loose tresses of silvery hair behind your ears.

“I hope you know that I’m going to come back for you again and again, my little firebird,” he utters in a lower tone, his voice taking on a more serious quality now.

You give him a twisted look of both gladness and remorse, your mind unable to decide whether this is a good or a bad thing.

“Do you care for your husband?” he asks earnestly, not pleased with the idea of another man laying hands on you. “I can conscript him to the queen’s army if you wish to free yourself from him. You need only ask.”

You look torn, but he can tell you’re considering his words carefully. “He is not a bad man as far as I know. The marriage was selected by my mother, my husband earns a living well enough to pay my way.”

It bothers Daemon to hear you call the man your husband, even if it’s true. He considers killing the man masquerading as your groom for you should undoubtedly belong entirely to him and no other.

“Paying your way will no longer be an issue. I will ensure that you are financially supported from this day forth, but I will not give you up,” he hears the words spilling from his mouth and feels like an old fool. He’d celebrated too many namedays to be spewing this lovesick shit? He couldn’t help it though. You stoked a fire inside of him that made him feel alive and vibrant, he needed to keep burning with you.

“I appreciate that,” you offer with a small, but hesitant smile. “I’m sure my mother will be thrilled. She has always tried to make sure I’m well looked after. It’s unfortunate you could not find me a day sooner. I’m not sure how to face him now,” she says with a trembling lip. “He will expect to bed me. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to. It would make me nothing but a whore.”

“Hush,” Daemon says disagreeably. “Don’t say such things.” He finds himself cradling your sweet head against his chest, hating how true your words are and that he is the one responsible for your situation. He must make it his own responsibility to free you from it then.

“I’ll pull you to castle staff then,” he offers, grasping at possible solutions. It would not be wise to tempt Rhaenyra’s wrath under her own roof, but it would be a means to separate you from your husband at least temporarily, until something more lasting could be devised. There were many positions that would keep you far from his wife’s vicinity as well, if she would even notice that he had taken a lover to begin with.

He might also simply murder the bastard and be done with it, but it might be nice to have you close by in Dragonstone too for opportunistic dalliances.

You begin to protest the idea of going to work at the castle, but he won’t hear any of it and interrupts you. “I will give you a choice then, in recompense for what I’ve taken from you. Will you stay with me, little firebird, or with your husband?” He peers at you with thoughtful bluish-red irises, waiting to hear your answer. He has already decided that he will abide by whatever ruling you make, at least for a time. If you wish to bed your husband as well as him, then that will be your prerogative.

“I do not wish to stay with my husband,” you say quicker than he anticipated.

“Well,” he practically gloats with a mischievous grin. “You’ll be coming home with me then.” Daemon presses a happy kiss against your lips, the sight of your bosom sinfully crushed against his chest sends a pang of desire to his cock, signaling it for action. “But, we might as well make good use of the room first. It was graciously afforded to us after all.”

Daemon reaches down to grip your hips, letting forth a hiss of air as he positions you on his already rigid length. You, his little firebird, would be keeping his flame kindled all this day and perhaps all night as well, with many more to follow. You were his now, born from a threat and remade into a promise that he intended to keep. Dragonseed has officially been continued! Read Chapter 2

[daemontargaryenwhore]

Me: "Fck House of the Dragon. I'm not waiting 2 years in between seasons".

Me after House of the Dragon Season 2 trailer dropped:

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Between Fire and Stone

Daemon Targaryen/Strong!female

summary: anxious about her approaching union to Aemond, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen seeks comfort | word count: 2.8k~ | warnings: incest, reader is described with strong features, fingering, p in v sex, arranged marriage, Daemon being a cheeky cunt

A/N: idek what I was on to write this cos I'm not usually a Daemon girlie but here we are besties. Tysm @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for beta-ing 😘 appreciate you

The cold mist nipped at the skin around her ankles, a shiver running up her spine as she struggled through the jagged rock towards the Dragonmont. Her fingers brushed against the stark stone for balance, the other holding the lit torch to light her way before her in the darkness.

It was one of her favourite things, taking a stroll through Dragonstone in the hour of the wolf. Peaceful. Quiet. Something she could have all for herself. Away from the prying of her maidservants and the overbearing boisterous nature of her brothers. Though Jace, now a man grown, still held onto those immaturities.

Yet another thing that set her apart from her siblings.

For she, only a mere year younger than Jace, was considered a woman, ripe for marriage and bearing children, whereas the same hastiness was not pressured upon him. She knew her mother had never intended to bestow such responsibilities on her, but she understood, it was inevitable. As that time loomed ever closer, she found herself roaming her home more often, as if to savour the feeling of once being a child.

Where her brothers could seek adventure with their dragons once they were big enough to saddle, her egg had not hatched in her cradle. She would not inherit the birthright of the blood of Old Valyria, yet another judgement cast upon her that only inflated her sense of belonging at her mother's side. With her moonlit hair and pale lilac eyes, each of her children could not have looked more different.

Before the incident, there existed only one other soul who could truly fathom the depths of her solitude. No dragon. Ceaseless taunts. The notion of isolation, even amongst one’s family. Any semblance of camaraderie had been extinguished the day Lucerys took his eye. That defining moment when Aemond—her uncle—seized his birthright had marked the fracture in their familial bonds. In the aftermath, her mother, alongside her new husband Daemon, orchestrated a grand scheme to mend the shattered relations, a plan that involved her betrothal to him at an opportune moment.

Try as she might, she couldn't conjure the image of herself as his wife. The thought of residing in King's Landing under his roof refused to coalesce into a coherent vision. It remained an elusive spectre, haunting her thoughts with its intangible uncertainty.

Whispers of tradition and duty echoed in the hallowed halls of her childhood, spun by the gentle tongues of Septas who spoke of the sacred rites of marriage. Tales of Lords and Ladies, of the solemn exchange of vows, and the anticipated consummation on the wedding night. Some stories painted a picture of pleasure and intimacy, of unions founded on mutual desire and affection. Others whispered of duty, of sacrifices made for the sake of one's spouse, regardless of personal inclination.

Caught in the web of uncertainty, she pondered which version of Aemond awaited her, a tender partner or a distant lord, bound by duty and tradition. The unknown loomed before her like a shadow, casting doubt upon her heart and stirring a quiet fear within her soul. She knew not what to expect, but the uncertainty itself was enough to unsettle her, to sow the seeds of apprehension in her mind. And as the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, she couldn't help but wonder, which path would her marriage tread, and would she have the strength to endure whatever lay ahead?

Amidst the towering peaks of Dragonmont, she sought solace in the embrace of ancient flames and the soothing hum of Vermithor's slumber. Here, amidst the rugged terrain and the ever-watchful gaze of the dragons, she found a fleeting sense of peace.

But it was not the Bronze Fury that sang to her. 

“Hen ñuhā elēnī:

Perzyssy vestretis,

Se gēlȳn irūdaks…

Ānogrose.”

She felt the rush of heat at the nape of her neck. Daemon stood straight, back facing her, his voice near-matching the hum of Vermithor’s deep exhales.

“It is late, Princess.” Unlike her, Daemon remained as he dressed during the day, shown when he turned to face her, with the self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “What troubles you?” he asked.

She tried to raise her chin, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil that stirred within. 

“My fate,” she said, her careful steps drawing ever nearer. "I am to be wed to Aemond, but I fear what awaits me in that union.”

Daemon hummed, as if curiously amused.

She had known no father figure since Laenor. And though she knew sooner than her brothers the truth that lay beneath the careful picture her mother had forged, since she had been wed to Daemon, he had taken practice with his own daughters and become almost a father to her alike.

She felt his eyes sink over her once before returning to her eyes.

"Marriage is a weighty matter," he said. "But is it the marriage itself that troubles you, or something more?”

She did not miss the lilt to his voice. The one, that like his eyes had done many times before, made something squeeze in her gut. A fire burning bright. A feeling that brought her shame.

He was her mother's husband.

“I cannot say exactly,” she confessed. “Perhaps it is leaving Dragonstone. Mother and my brothers. And being alone in the capital with no face I recognise with trust.”

Daemon nodded almost indistinctly, his fingers reaching out to brush a lock of hair back over her shoulder, admiring her hair loose of its usual braids. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, a sensation both familiar and disconcerting. She fought to push aside the conflicting emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, the warmth of his touch conflicting with the knowledge of their complicated relationship.

"Leaving behind the familiar can indeed be a daunting prospect," Daemon acknowledged, his voice a velvet caress, “But fret not. Within you resides the same fire that fuels your mother's resolve. Embrace it. You are as much Targaryen as any of them.”

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze, at the way he seemed to see straight through her defences. She knew she should be wary of his advances, of the way he danced on the edge of propriety with his words and his touch. But there was something undeniably alluring about the way he held her gaze, about the way he made her feel desired and understood.

"Thank you, Daemon," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your support means more to me than you know.”

Daemon's smile was a slow, seductive curve of his lips, his eyes alight with a fire that mirrored the flames of the Dragonmont. 

"Ah, but my dear Princess," he replied, his voice low and husky, "you have yet to discover the true depths of my support.”

She felt her throat close up, the feeling mirroring somewhat what happened between her thighs.

What could he possibly mean?

“Do you fear it?” he asked. “The act of consummation?”

Her cheeks flushed crimson at Daemon's bold question, his words sending a jolt of both arousal and apprehension coursing through her veins. 

“It… is perfectly normal, I would think,” she answered, words failing her.

"Princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing caress against her skin. "There is no shame in feeling uncertain. It is only natural to have doubts, especially when faced with such intimate matters.”

She felt he was circling her, as dragons did their targets. And felt her heart thumping in her chest.

“With Aegon, I dare say, I would join you in your uncertainty. But Aemond, on the other hand… is a different matter entirely.”

“How so?” she asked, breathing out when he disappeared out of her line of sight, his presence at her back, fingers draping past the material of her dress.

“I am afraid he may be less… forthcoming with expressing his desires,” he purred. “He may be cold, or at least that is how it may be interpreted.” Her eyes met his with bated breath as he appeared on her opposite side, closer. “He may not be so adept with the pleasures of a female body.”

She swallowed, a chill settling on her front, her body reacting thus. He remained silent, as if daring her to say what he knew was already on the tip of her tongue. So, she took the plunge. “And…you are?”

Daemon smirked smugly, and she knew she already had her answer., “What do you think?”

Her heart raced. Her mind struggled to contemplate whether she should be honest or not, for she had heard stories and rumours. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, playing with fire in the form of her mother's husband, but there was a part of her that couldn't resist the allure of his confidence, his charm, his undeniable magnetism.

"I... I suppose I never considered such matters," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the admission.

Daemon's eyes danced with amusement as he stepped closer. "Perhaps it is time you did," he murmured, fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her spine.

Her skin vibrated with anticipation as she fought to maintain her composure in the face of his overwhelming presence. She knew she should pull away, should put an end to this dangerous game they were playing, but the lure of Daemon's charm was too strong to resist.

“Mayhaps I could demonstrate and put your worries to rest,” he suggested, crossing the imaginary but daring line seemingly without fear. “Rest assured, my experience in such matters is... extensive."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to maintain her resolve, her body betraying her with every flutter of her lashes, every quickened breath. “But… you and Mother—”

Her lips clamped shut with the bruising of his grip in the softness of her waist, urging her back to the rocky, hard wall. Only now, when faced with the Rogue Prince, did she realise just how small she truly felt.

“Your mother is preoccupied with her own affairs," he replied, his voice dripping with a dangerous allure. "She won't concern herself with our little... indiscretion.”

The realisation sank in that she was alone with Daemon in the secluded confines of the Dragonmont, far removed from the prying eyes of the world. And yet, she still felt her lips go dry when he hung the torch and trailed his touch upon her skin where he was taking her skirts with it.

She could not hide her nerves, or the beating rush of arousal, “Bu—but… with Aemond, I must—”

The air felt warm as her skirt was rucked around her hips. She squeaked when his calloused fingers swept through her folds, ashamed to find she was affected by what he was doing to her as her slick coated them easily.

Daemon chuckled, a pleased hum in his chest that she was wet and ready, while his other hand busied with the laces of his breeches, “Sweet girl. When my dear nephew has his cock buried inside you on your wedding night, he will not know the difference.”

His words, combined with the tight circles he applied to the forbidden bud tucked between her legs, had white hot pleasure burning in her veins. Her lips were parted, but no sound came out. All she could do was look upon his pleased face with a hedonistic expression, feeling very much like they were doing something deliciously wrong but could find no reasonable excuse to cease.

“Do not look so surprised. I have seen the way you watch me. Are you not ashamed for looking upon your own mother’s husband with lust?” 

The more he touched her, the more arousal he coaxed forth, the sound lewd and forbidden in the raw silence of the Draognmont. She could not answer his question without subjecting herself to further embarrassment. Even so, attempting to concentrate enough to form words as his two forefingers slid within her tight, hot walls, was near impossible. She gasped quietly, the feeling so foreign and yet not unpleasant. And like Daemon in any other scenario, while his motions were forceful, somewhat brutal, they were calculated, without effort. Like it came innately. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders, his digits buried deep inside curved towards him, stoking a fire at the hearth of her.

“Answer me.”

She nodded frantically. “Yes—I am ashamed—”

It was all she managed before the feeling began to crest, building and building as if she were climbing some great height and was about to tumble off. But she only exhaled shakily as Daemon withdrew his fingers from her fluttering, sensitive walls, using the moisture to lubricate himself with a careful caress of his manhood.

He chuckled at the wounded expression on her face. “No need for shame, Princess.”

She caught the glint of his ring as he wrung the fabric of her skirts in his fist. Her eyes widened as the head of his cock disappeared easily between her swollen folds, with no real full feeling until he pushed forward, both with hesitation and a sort of evil excitement.

Her back pressed against the jagged stone, her lips only parted to suck in air where it had left her lungs. It was a feeling she could describe very little, the sting of being stretched around him painful and yet once sheathed fully inside her, hips pushing against her own. Daemon wrapped his fingers around her fleshy thigh to tug her leg over his hip, a flash of white hot pleasure creeping up her spine. He only grunted, her slick ridges gripping him greedily without any effort on her part. 

For a few moments, he stayed like that as if waiting for any complaint, but when he found none, began a steady rhythm, fingers creating crescent-moon shaped welts in her skin. He did not share in her reaction. He simply raised one corner of his lips in a pleased manner, watching her face, treating it very much as a lesson in pleasure more than anything else.

She could scarcely think with the violent push of his hips, the notch of his belt stabbing into her each time.

“My nephew does not deserve this perfect. little cunt.” He grunted from the effort. “Tell me, Princess—when he is fucking you with his narrow little prick, will you be thinking of this instead?”

Her eyes slipped shut, her head tipped back and fingers coming to her own mouth to muffle the lewd sound that threatened to come out. Her perceived embarrassment at her own enjoyment of this only seemed to motivate Daemon further, and he widened her hips with a soft nudge of his knee against her leg and groaned at the way she tightened around him.

“You liked that, didn't you?” He breathed against her face, looking briefly down between them to watch how he rooted himself inside her over and over, as if unable to believe this was really happening. “I bet he won't make you this wet. I doubt the little cunt will even know how to make you come.”

Her skirt fell from his hand as it drew down between them, and she resisted the urge to squeal when he began to apply pressure in tight, sure circles around her bud.

“You shall have to teach him those pleasures.”

Her fingers gripped his forearms tight as she climaxed, her tight, hot walls spasming around him uncontrollably. It was so utterly different to the way she had pleasured herself before. This time, the forbidden combination of Daemon stretching her open around him and the pleasure he coaxed from her with his fingers meant that this peak seemed to drain her entire body of energy. Her body feeling boneless in his hold, that if he let go, she would surely lose her balance.

A flash of fear cracked like lightning across her subconscious. Surely he did not intend to spill inside her?

He did not overstimulate her for much longer as he neared his own end. Rather, he savoured the feeling of her warmth sucking him in for just a few moments more before pulling out, stroking himself vigorously to completion, warm ropes of his spend coating her lower stomach.

In the quiet dead of night with only her laboured breathing to echo within it, she felt her eyes could not keep up with her mind as she glanced back up at him. His rapidly cooling seed began to dribble towards her thighs, swiftly covered by her skirts once more as Daemon lowered her clothing back into place. The reality of the dangerous and yet delicious sin she had committed with him began to rise into clarity.

Upon his fingers shone the damning proof of his sordid claim on her, pearly in the glow of torchlight. “What a waste. I’d have liked to see it dripping from you.

But that pleasure… I shall save for my nephew, sweet girl."

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

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[bohemian-nights]

Arlī(Anew)-Chapter 6

Word Count: ~10,442

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; minor smut; blood

Description: “I fear I will go mad if I stay here.” Naerys needed to be away from Dragonstone for a little while. Away from all that she herself had lost.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

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120 AC- Driftmark

Death is a strange thing. It’s as natural as living even more so, but one never thinks of it that way. Lurking around every corner. It is the final act of one’s life. An inescapable fate. Sometimes a grand finale. Other times a quiet whimper. It often visits in pairs. Prolonging the suffering of the loved ones left behind. Such was the case in 120 AC.

Death first visited the unlucky halls of Harrenhall. A fire swept through the cursed castle taking Ser Harwin Strong and his father Lord Lyonel Strong to their graves. Naerys had never cared much more either. Ser Harwin, though an admirable father to her cousin's children, and his bastards alike, was a poor husband.

There could be no question that Ser Harwin was undeserving of her cousin. He had a lady of house Velaryon for a wife, a young graceful Valyrian bride, and yet that was not enough for him. He instead spent too much of his time in the company of another. Fathering children with said other when his priorities should have lied closer to home.

Naerys did not know the elder Strong well. Lord Strong was a blank sheet of parchment as far as the princess could tell. He did not have the presence and guile of the previous hand, now reinstalled hand, Ser Otto Hightower. The Strong’s were a noble house yet they lacked the distinction of other riverlands houses like the Blackwood’s or the Bracken’s. They had in truth only held their seat for a generation. The Strongs had thus far failed to make their mark upon Harrenhal and Westeros at large.

Then there was Laena. Sweet Laena. A beautiful, vivacious Velaryon woman. A trueborn daughter of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. The blood of the dragon ran thick through her veins as much as the blood of the seas. A noble lady who might have been queen one day had it not been for their great grandsires stubbornness.

While Naerys had not cared much for the Strongs she did mourn her cousin's death. Laena was the closest thing to a sister that the princess had. She had been the one that Naerys went to when she could not or did not dare to ask her aunt for womanly advice. She had taught her cousin how to claim Silverwing as she had claimed Vhagar. Now the brown silver-haired woman was gone along with a son who never drew breath, but the Stranger was far from finished with adding to his collection.

Death was to visit twice more, but it was Aenys birth and immediate departure that had been the final blow to Naerys. Aenys funeral was a quiet affair. Ser Vaemond had been made to leave Dragonstone that night. Daemon blamed the Valyrian knight for his son's death. Naerys was not due for another week. If she had not been made to go into early labor, if she had not heard the distressing news perhaps their son might have lived.

The princess had to be carried down to the beach by her husband where their son’s cloth-wrapped body had been placed. She was the one who gave the command to light the pyre. She insisted upon it. Her small cry of “dracarys” was carried by the wind into Silverwings ears. Naerys had gone mute for nearly a week after.

By the fourth day of her silence, she refused to eat. Pushing trays of food away whenever one of her maids arrived. They tried tempting her with her favorite treats, but Naerys simply pulled herself further under her covers. This went on for two more days before a weary Daemon who had seated himself on their bed and curled himself around her. “Daenys iksos asking syt zȳhon muñnykeā byka mēre.” Daenys is asking for her mother little one.

Their daughter had been barred from entering their chamber. Naerys could not face the girl. She had left her husband to deal with her alone. Why should she burden the girl when she had failed as a mother? Failed to deliver a healthy son into the world. Who knew what further damage she might cause?

But her daughter cared not. She wanted her mother. Naerys was Daenys mother before she had been Aenys and she would be there long after the babe had gone. She was a living breathing girl. Did she not matter? All she asked for was her mother's company.

It was not fair of Naerys to deprive her living child of her mother. Daenys was used to the loss of her mother's babes, but she would not grow used to her mother's absence. Naerys had to return to the land of the living. The girl was sent for, along with some broth and bread with honey to break her fast.

Daenys sat with her mother as she ate. Climbing into her parent's bed and fixing herself to Naerys side as she prattled on about a toy Helana had sent as well as the bow and arrow set her father had gifted her. The young princess had found the latter gift to be much more agreeable than her long-since discarded training sword.

It was advised by Maester Orlys that attending Laena’s funeral on Driftmark might put a strain on Naerys' fragile condition. Daemon had agreed with the kindly older man. The stress of the journey alone could disrupt her slow recovery. Naerys was a long way from being whole. Her hunger strike had not helped matters. She was just now regaining her strength. Only being able to stand for short periods of time before exhausting herself and having to sit back down.

It would in truth take months before the princess was back to her old self. Naerys needed proper rest. Rest that could be found within Dragonstone’s walls. There was no need to stress herself, but Naerys remained firm on wanting to leave for Driftmark much to her uncle's dismay.

“Ziry istan issa dubāzma kepus.” She was my cousin uncle. It was late in the evening as Naerys and Daenys had curled up in Daemon's lap, The family was seated by the chamber’s fire. The little girl was dozing off when her mother softly spoke the words to her father.

Laena would do the same for her. Nothing would have stopped her from seeing off Naerys. Why should she not pay her the same? Her son was gone. There was nothing left to do, but mourn his loss. That could be done on Driftmark as well as Dragonstone. She could stand idly by with all that had happened. Naerys owed her cousin her dues.

“Nyke zūgagon nyke jāhor jikagon vēdros lo nyke umbagon rȳbagon.” I fear I will go mad if I stay here. Naerys needed to be away from Dragonstone for a little while. Away from all that she herself had lost. Daemon folded to his wife’s request at her declaration. Maester Orlys was to journey with them and they were to leave if Naerys became overwhelmed, but they would go to Driftmark for Laena’s funeral.

Laena’s funeral was held a fortnight after her death. Enough time for family and friends to journey to Driftmark from Dragonstone and Kings Landing. Driftmark had always been a place of levity and sanctuary for Naerys. Her mother had fled to the stony shores of her childhood when she was just shy of her second name day. Her father had been dead not even a week before her mother fled for her brother’s keep.

“There are spies everywhere brother.” That is what her uncle had told Naerys when she had asked him why she had left with such urgency. Even Ser Vaemond did not entirely believe his little sister. He thought that the late Shaera Velaryon was overly paranoid. She had always been so, but it had worsened with age. Seeing danger when there had been none. “Naerys is not safe here.”

Her mother had gone to Jahaerys with her worries, but the old king dismissed her with a flick of his frail wrist. “She is no longer the heir. There is nothing to fear my lady. Naerys is in no danger from those at my court. There is little that they can accomplish by harming a babe girl.” He was old and cared little for the politics of the realm anymore aside from who would rule over the seven kingdoms after him. Now that line of succession was clear he did not see the threat to his great-granddaughter.

In her desperation, Shaera had gone to her late husband's half-brothers. Though they had never been close to their elder brother, Naerys was their blood. Surely they would care for their little niece's safety? Viserys merely echoed his grandsire's words, but it was Daemon to her surprise who did not make light of her fears. He too believed that his grandfather’s court was full of traitors and simpering sycophants.

The Velaryon lady had thought she had found a champion for her daughter until the Targaryen prince added, “It is a pity that my grandmother saw fit to marry me to my bronze bitch. If she had waited some years more I might have had your daughter to call my little bride. Naerys is such a sweet little thing. I would have enjoyed plucking her flower.”

Daemon claimed it was a joke when he recollected the story to his wife a year after their own daughter's birth, but he professed it while his cock was buried inside his niece's warmth. Hovering over her as he thrust in and out of her sopping heat with a dark look Naerys had grown to adore.

The rogue prince reached a hand down between their love-soaked bodies. Naerys grip tightened as her husband made slow circles around her clit to bring his niece to her peak. “I suppose I have my baby bride now.” She had decided that there had been some merit in her mother’s apprehension.

Naerys' first memories were at her uncle's castle, but the white stone walls of her youth were not the ones she remembered when they had arrived at High Tide. The light and splendor had all but vanished. The castle was as quiet as the grave itself though it was bursting at the seams from the number of guests that had invaded its hall. One of her cousins and his lady wife were the ones to greet them. Making apologies for their lord uncle and his princess wife’s absence.

Ser Laenor had locked himself within his chambers. Not even Rhaenyra nor their sons were allowed in. His parents were trying to coax the man out, but with little success. The heads of house Velaryon and their heir were not seen until the next day at their daughter's funeral.

Ser Vaemond was given the honor of delivering Laena’s eulogy. Naerys did not know why her aunt and uncle chose him for this task. Any one of her cousins or uncles would have done. Anyone who would not make the loss of their daughter about himself. Never one to disappoint, the Velaryon knight did not miss an opportunity to take center stage.

Naerys uncle wasted no time in praising the purity of Laena’s Velaryon blood. The dark man did not take his violet eyes off of Rhaenyra and her black-haired sons as he said so. The Targaryen woman shifted uncomfortably, pulling her boys closer to her. Laenor, her husband, stood apart from his wife and “sons.” Naerys would have pitied her had she not earlier looked at her empty belly with a smirk on the way down to the ragged shoreline.

Daemon let out a laugh at Ser Vaemond’s poorly disguised chastisements of the crown princess. The Rogue Prince paid no mind to the looks of displeasure that his inappropriate reaction received. Instead, he craned his neck down to whisper in his wife’s ear. “Perhaps with her strong knight gone she might give the realm proper heirs.”

Naerys could not join her husband in his satisfaction for it was what worried her the most. Rhaenyra’s lilac gaze locked onto their uncle the moment she had seen him. She had only taken her eyes off their uncle when the Velaryon knight began his derision of her sons. You promised. Her cousin's pleas from all those moons ago rattled around in her head. It had never left her. They were both in need of heirs now. Did Rhaenyra intend on collecting the debt she felt she was owed?

Thankfully Daemon’s smirk dropped when he noticed his niece-wife’s growing distress. Her husband's eyes softened as he placed a kiss on her head. “Hae ao emagon teptan issa ñuhon.” As you have given me mine. Daemon pointed his gaze down to the small girl between them who held her father’s hand. Daenys seemed to be more interested in her cousins who stood by their Hightower mother than her great uncle’s speech.

Ser Vaemond was the first to make his way over to where Naerys and her family stood once Laena’s coffin was lowered into the sea. He brought his son, Daeron, and his eldest grandson with him. Daemon’s son was a plump boy of nine who had inherited his mother’s grace, a doltish woman from a minor riverlands house.

The Velaryon knight took care to introduce Daenys to her Velaryon cousin. The boy let out a clumsy bow. Referring to their daughter as cousin Daenys with a bashful stutter. It was an amusing sight to see to all but his grandfather. Ser Vaemond wasted no time in correcting his grandson's lack of manners. “She is a princess and is to be Lady of Dragonstone as well.”

Naerys bristled at her uncle’s words. Perhaps Ser Vaemond had not thought anything of it. It was the truth of the matter, but he could not possibly think that his niece nor his good nephew were over the death of their child.

Naerys would excuse the blunder. It was a simple enough mistake, but her husband would not take so kindly to Vaemond’s prideful arrogance which led to his forgetfulness. They were all grieving and the first thing that he thought of was what he could gain from it.

“I do wonder if your grandson is as insipid as you Ser Vaemond?” It was spoken with a sneer as Daemon stared down the Velaryon knight. Vaemond’s self-assured smile had finally fallen. His son looked as if someone had struck him across the face before he began to make apologies for his father's gaffe. Daeron regained his composure enough to usher his son and fuming father away from the rogue prince's ire.

Once they were gone from their sight Daenys began to tug on her sleeve fathers. “Will I have to marry him?” A little frown of distaste graced her honey face. The last remnants of tension in the air dissipated as her parents laughed at her little worries. Their daughter was an observant girl. She knew of her duties, but she was still a girl. She had nothing to fear. Daemon would never marry her off to just any boy. Her father affectionately petted the top of her silver curls, reassuring her that she would not have to marry the halfwit.

Naerys bit her tongue. The boy was young, but he came from good stock. His father was dull true enough, but he was a good man. His grandsire Ser Vaemond, though proud, was a good husband and father to his lot. She would have to marry. Why not marry Daenys into her grandmother's house? They were of ancient and pure Valyrian blood after all their daughter could do worse.

“He’d bore her in a week. He’s even more useless than his grandfather.” Naerys' husband did not miss the look his wife had tried to conceal. They both knew that proposals had been made for Daenys hand. Dragonstone and the dragons that it posed were a prized offer. As was the little princess in her own right, for she was every inch a Targaryen beauty in the making. However, decisions on their daughter's future could wait for now.

From the corner of her eye, Naerys spotted the king looking their way. The man looked worse for wear, but he gave them a polite smile. Daemon had noticed too, but the man was avoiding his brother's eye line, but that would not do. “Your brother wants to talk to you.”

Daemon hesitated. He would not leave his niece's side. Not while she tired so easily, but Naerys simply smiled and reached up to place a kiss upon his pale cheek. “Go. I have your little shadow with me to guard me.” Daemon looked down at their daughter who gave her father a salute. Satisfied with her response and his wife’s insistence the man left telling Daenys to “Watch your mother, little dragon.”

It was not long before Daenys turned her violet eyes back toward where Alicent’s sons stood crowding around their sister. Her daughter was ever the dutiful princess, but she was still a child. She deserved a moment of respite. Kissing her daughter on the top of her head she sent her to her cousins. Naerys started to make her way over to comfort Rhaenys and her granddaughters, but she felt a hand reach out grasping her arm. Spinning her around she came to face Rhaenyra’s cool inspection.

“You are brave to come here Naerys.” If one did not know any better one would think that Rhaenyra was almost giddy. She did not look as though she were a woman in mourning. All traces of penitence from Ser Vaemond’s reproach were gone. “I confess, if I was in your position I would not be able to bear it.”

Rhaenyra turned her gaze toward where Daemon stood with her father. “Our poor uncle suffers so, as I am sure your daughter does as well.” Rhaenyra took her hand. “Do not worry aunt, all will be well soon enough.” Naerys never got the chance to reply as Rhaenyra left making her way over to Daemon. To give him comfort in his grief. Daemon looked relieved to see her.

It dawned on Naerys then. Rhaenyra could not be stopped. Not by her cousin at least. She had everything yet she wanted more. She had three healthy sons. A husband who though did not love her in the way that a man ought to love his wife cared for her and her children.

The crown princess had a lover who had been willing to risk everything for her consequences be damned. She would one day inherit the Iron Throne. It all meant nothing. Not when the one thing the one man Rhaenyra wanted remained out of reach. All that stopped her was their uncle's insistence that he had no need for another besides his wife.

What would happen if Daemon were to change his mind? He had always wanted Rhaenyra. It was who he had truly desired, but he settled for another Targaryen niece. He claimed otherwise, but Naerys knew. She knew.

Ser Laenor would hardly put up a fight. He had not minded when his wife had taken Ser Harwin for a lover. Their marriage was not a traditional one. No Rhaenyra and her bastards would be allowed to journey back to Dragonstone with them. Both needed heirs. Proper heirs. Daenys was a girl. She was not a proper heir by virtue of her sex. No amount of lessons her father could give her would change that. She had been born with the wrong parts.

What man would not want to see his son rule after him? What man would not want his own seed on the Iron Throne? Of course, Rhaenyra was still married, but that impediment could be resolved. An annulment perhaps?

It was not uncommon for a Targaryen to take on a second bride. Maegor The Cruel had six; his father before him had two. Who would stop them? The king was old and weak; he would not argue against the arrangement either as long as it did not happen in his presence and once the deed was done he would not go against the union. The faith would not dare go against the king's word. They would not risk another uprising.

Daemon would never cast Naerys aside true enough. Her uncle did care for her. He may not love her as he did Rhaenyra, but some part of him did love her. He would be a husband to her as he would be with Rhaenyra. He would visit both of their beds and Naerys would be made to watch with a smile on her face as the crown princess bared him son after son.

People would whisper and gossip of course. Around court, around Dragonstone, just as they had during the last set of her failures, but Naerys would have to get used to it. The princess would be made to endure Rhaenyra as Laena had. The offer of a son and true happiness would be too tempting to pass.

But Naerys was not Laena. She could not endure. She lacked her sweet patience and grace in the face of adversity. She would not be made a pariah at court, in her own home on Dragonstone. To be mocked and pitied as though she were some poor creature. She would not allow it. She would never be queen, but she was a dragon just the same as the rest. Dragons do not share. She had given her husband an heir. There was no need for the future queen in her uncle’s bed.

Naerys was still reeling from being bombarded by Rhaenyra when Ser Otto approached her. The hand of the king started out by making his apologies for Aenys loss. His pale blue eyes shone with solace. If Naerys did not know any better she would have thought it had been made in earnest. She did not want to think the worst of the man. His sympathy could be sincere. The man had not lost children, but he had lost a wife. By all accounts, he loved her as much as a man like himself could.

“Daenys is very fond of her cousin. As her cousins are fond of her.” The hand had turned his gaze toward where her daughter and his grandchildren were. Daenys held a spider in her little hands as she talked with her cousins. A fact that seemed to please the second eldest prince as he sported a small grin on his face. The little princess had gotten over her fear of Helaena’s “friends.” Or at least the girl was willing to bare them to be in the company of her cousins.

“She has her mother’s beauty. She would have made Aegon a good wife.” Naerys shuddered at the thought. The boy was not unkind to Daenys, but her mother had seen the way the prince treated those who he thought less of. He barely spared his own sister and soon-to-be bride common decency.

Naerys could not help but feel deep sadness for Helaena. The girl was a gentle soul. She did not deserve to be married to such a careless boy who had inherited the Targaryen’s gluttonous and none of their glory. If he ever managed to be crowned king it would be in name only. “She would do well at court.” Naerys snapped her head back to look at the presumptuous man.

She had been too hasty in her judgment of Ser Otto. A leopard did not change its spots so easily. The princess would not make that mistake again. She would take a page out of her husband’s book. She was far too tired to deal with niceties. “If you want something Ser, do speak plainly.” He was wasting both of their time otherwise.

“If you are ever in need of assistance, princess.” The man bent down so that they were more on eye level. “My door is always open as is the queen’s.” With a half smile, he picked up her brown hand to kiss the back of it. It was intended as a version of a fatherly kiss. The same kind Ser Vaemond and Lord Corlys bestowed upon her when she was a little girl when they asked her to dance during feasts. “Both you and the little princess are always welcomed at court.”

Ser Otto turned his focus toward the far end of the balcony. Waiting for Naerys to follow his eye line. Daemon and Rhaenyra had vanished from sight. Not one trace of them could be found and the sun was setting.

Of course, Daemon could have gone back to their chambers, and Rhaenyra could have gone off somewhere on her own, but he looked so happy. He had not looked so in weeks. The better part of a year even. Her husband had not looked so cheerful since before she had told him of her Aenys pregnancy and Rhaenyra glowed under their uncle's adornment.

“How exactly would you help me Ser?” Naerys pulled her hand out from the cold man’s grip. She did not wait for the Hightower knight to respond. She would not hear of treasonous talk. She would not be poisoned by it. Dark commands led to dark deeds and those deeds would come with a price. A price that would soak through and last a lifetime.

Even if her life was to take a turn she would not damn herself to the seven hells to avoid it. “If you will excuse me, it is past Daenys’ nap time.” She had enough of today’s procession of woe. Grabbing her daughter, who was reluctant to leave her cousins, but did not protest when she saw the worry on her mother's face. The two hand in hand made way for the solitude of High Tide’s halls.

Naerys was wide awake when Daemon arrived back to their chambers. He had not come alone. Daenys had been put to be long since as she sat by their chambers lit fire in her nightgown. She had been staring into the flames for hours now losing track of time. She would have gone to be herself but her mind was running in circles playing everything back to her that had occurred in the past weeks.

“We had an agreement uncle.” Rhaenyra’s shrill voice could be heard coming through from the hall. Naerys could just make out their shadows under the door in the low light. Corlys and Rhaenys had been kind enough to offer them chambers that were far enough from the rest of the castle's guests otherwise her cousin would have woken nearby inhabitants

“I never promised you anything Rhaenyra.” Daemon hissed at his niece. He probably expected both his daughter and wife to be asleep, but caution never hurt. He would not be so lucky tonight. Naerys would not let slink in and act as if his absence had not been noted.

“What agreement?” Naerys ripped the door open to face her husband and her cousin’s shocked faces. The princess held her head up high. Her eyes were bloodshot and there were tear tracks on her cheeks, but she would not cower. She would not bother hiding herself away like a frightened child. She was a woman grown now. A mother and a wife. Daemon’s wife. She wanted answers. She deserved them.

“Sweetling you should be in bed.” Daemon came to her abandoning Rhaenyra in the hall leaving the door to their chambers open. He made a move to reach out for her, but Naerys backed away from his touch. A look of hurt flashed in his violet eyes, but his wife was not swayed. He had been gone too long to greet her in such a way. To send her to bed as if she were their daughter who had stayed up past her bedtime.

“What agreement husband?” Naerys held firm as she looked up at her husband. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Rhaenyra rushing into their solar closet, closing the oak doors leading into the hall. Her cousin was a neat woman, but the only word that could best describe the princess at the moment was frazzled.

“Sweet cousin, Naerys, Daemon needs heirs.” Rhaenyra twisted her thin mouth in a false smile. She basked in her pride despite her disheveled appearance. Treating as if she were a skittish doe that might run off at any moment. As if she had any concern for her at all. If she did she would not be here.

“There is no point lying uncle. Not anymore.” Rhaenyra turned to their uncle, placing a hand on his arm. Naerys wanted to claw the smug look off her cousin's face, but she wrapped her arms around herself and planted her feet on the stone floor. “My baby cousin will understand.”

“I have an heir Rhaenyra.” It was said with gritted teeth as he shook off his niece’s hand. Daemon tried once more to come to his wife, but the girl backed away holding a hand up to stay him. He listened to her choosing to run a hand through his shoulder-length white hair in frustration instead. “I have no need for more. Unlike your father, I do not let my dreams cloud my judgment. My flesh and blood will inherit Dragonstone after me and her children after her.”

“What agreement?” He still had not answered her. Breathing was becoming harder with each minute that passed. Naerys felt her heart speed up. Yet everything was in slow motion. She could barely hear anything, but the blood rushed in her ears. Trying to push her dread down. She steadied herself with a breath. She wanted the words said out loud. She wanted a real answer. Not more half-truths.

“A son or two. That is all that I ask for dear sister.” How Rhaenyra maintained her conceit was a mystery to her cousin. She was a woman that had never been told no. That had never been made to bend to others' will. “It is what our kepus has promised. There need not be a marriage.” Rhaenyra’s hand flew to her belly. A victorious smile. As if to challenge her. “It is you who holds him back.” Rhaenyra could give him new blood.

“Did you sleep with her?” Naerys could not look at her husband as she asked about her greatest fear. When they first married she had always suspected that he took Rhaenyra to his bed, but that was then. That was in the past. The present is a different story. They have a life together now. It might be broken and torn into small pieces, but it was a life. “All those times she came to our home—tonight—”

“I haven't been in anyone's bed except yours you hellcat.” It was meant to be a tease. To bring much-needed levity into the room, but he had picked the wrong moment for his japes. His eyes softened when he realized his mistake when he saw his wife’s misty eyes. “Not since I first had you little one.”

Taking her face in his hands he tried to kiss her, but Naerys refused. Turning her cheek so that the kiss landed there rather than its intended target. Rhaenyra was still in the room leering at them and Daemon had not asked her to leave. A wall stood between them and he still would not break it down.

“Did you promise her something?” It was none of her business. Promises were broken every day, but she had to know. She wanted to know. Needed to know. Rhaenyra had been haunting the back of her mind for years. Her uncle's first plaything. Naerys was her replacement. A poor substitute who could not even give him sons. Only a lone little girl to show for. She wanted to be his everything to give him everything, but she had failed and her cousin was all too willing to take up her rightful place beside their uncle.

“You are being childish Naerys.” Her husband scoffed at her. A dark look came over him. Daemon was all too used to getting his way with his niece-wife. Naerys always gave in to him and when she did not he was the one who acted as if she had injured him.

Naerys slapped him then. It had not been hard enough to do any damage. Her husband had barely moved. He stood there and laughed. Lightness returned to his eyes. He actually laughed at her torment. The princess felt her face heating up. She had not expected the reaction. She wanted his fire not to be treated as a joke.

“You married a child!” Naerys felt her fury growing. She would not be humiliated. She had been more humiliated today than many wives were in a lifetime. Everyone knew of her shame. Daemon knew what everyone thought of his relationship with his oldest niece and yet did little to actually reassure his wife. She would not let him talk over her.

“You married me because I was young and naive and you did not think that I knew better. You married me because I would soothe your broken ego. You married me because I was the niece that you were allowed to have.” She had never been wanted and she resented him for toying with her.

“Do you want to know what he did? He begged me to live.” Naerys spun around to face her cousin. Letting her anger guide her as she crowded Rhaenyra. She was enjoying her agitation far too much, but the younger princess did not care if she played the part of the desperate wife. Daemon had his choice, but he had chosen her. She wanted her cousin to know that even if their uncle never told her so. She wanted to haunt Rhaenyra as she had haunted her.

“The maesters told him he had to choose and he begged me to live. He paid for my life with our son‘s.” She hated her husband in part for it, but what was done was done. The past was dead to them. She would not give up her future without a fight. “He can not live without me. I am his wife. I am the mother of his child. Whatever agreement you had is gone, niece.” Rhaenyra’s vanity had faded and been replaced by ire.

“Daemon-” The Rogue Prince held up a hand to Rhaenyra. Silencing the red-faced woman. He did not turn back to face her. Instead, he kept his violet eyes trained on his wife. Bringing her into him pressing his forehead to his wife’s. He brought his hands up to face drawing circles into her temple with the rough pads of his thumb.

“Rhaenyra tell my wife what you said when you prostrated yourself at my door all those moons ago.” He pulled away slightly to hover over her. Naerys wanted to turn her head away, but she could not. Her uncle looked as if he was some avenging old God of Valyria as he gave out a breathless chortle. He had hypnotized her.

“Ao sagon obsessed rūsīr aōha riñnykeā ābrazȳrys kepus. Nyke pendagon skorkydoso bōsa ao kostagon nykeōragon naejot fuck zȳhon gō ao mazverdagon ēdrugī hen zȳhon. Gaomagon ao remember bona Rhaenyra?” You're obsessed with your child bride uncle. I wonder how long you can stand to fuck her before you grow tired of her. Do you remember that Rhaenyra? Daemon did not receive an answer. He had not been truly looking for one. He continued on without a need for one.

“Gaomagon ao remember skoros nyke ivestretan ao? Ziry iksos nykeā pretty byka mirre. Nyke don’t pendagon nyke shall mirre tire hen zȳhon. Nyke’ve found se fountain hen youth rȳ lenton rȳ zȳhon thighs.” Do you remember what I told you? She is a pretty little thing. I don’t think I shall ever tire of her. I’ve found the fountain of youth at home between her thighs. Naerys clamped up briefly when she felt his hand travel between said thighs, but the trance never ceased. Her blood was stoked by its blaze.

Daemon never looked away from his niece-wife as he dipped a finger into her cunt. Gathering enough wetness to bring to her clit. Toying with the little button. His other hand reached up to tug down her gown with one swift motion. Revealing her dark full breasts to the chamber's dim light.

“Sweet little thing. So wet and pliant for me. My baby whore. To do with as I please. I’d share her with you. I offered you that, but you wouldn’t appreciate it wouldn’t you? And I’ve never been fond of sharing my toys.” Naerys was too trapped by her warring emotions clouded by lust to care. She gave into the hazy blanket of salacity her husband offered her.

The man did not pull away. “Issa pretty byka ābrazȳrys. Ziry iksos headstrong isse zȳhon own ñuhoso se jealous gīda though ziry emagon daor drīve naejot sagon. Ivestragī jikagon syt issa dōna riña.” My pretty little wife. She is headstrong in her own way and jealous even though she has no reason to be. Let go for me sweet girl. Daemon sped up his movements. His wife meant to put a stop to his ministrations then.

It was bad enough that he had touched her while in the presence of another. She would not have another see their most intimate moments, but her opposition died on her tongue. Naerys had to clutch onto the man in front of her as she felt herself topple into her peak. “Issa gūrotrir.” My prize.

“Out now.” Rhaenyra looked as if she was in a half-daze. Her pale face was riddled with unabashed disgust. She did not move to exit. “I mean it Rhaenyra.” Daemon’s stern voice tried to break her from her daze, but an urgent knocking sounded at their door. Naerys' husband removed his fingers from her overspent hole placing a light kiss on her temple. Helping to pull the straps up to her nightgown so that she was in a decent enough state of dress.

Rhaenyra had been closest to their chamber's entry, but she remained in a state of crisis. Daemon was the one to open the heavy oak doors. Barking down at the poor soul who was unlucky to be given the task of rousing the Rogue Prince and his wife.

A frightened boy of no more than twelve name days peered up at her husband. Her uncle’s servant stumbled over half his words. “Beg your pardon, your highnesses.” He turned to acknowledge Rhaenyra with a bow.

The boy did not blink at her presence in their chamber. Naerys did not want to think about what went on in her uncle’s halls for him not to do so, “The little princess and princes have been hurt.” Naerys felt her heart stop beating. All the blood left from her body to some indescribable place of dread.

She sensed her arm being grabbed by her husband. He ushered her down toward her uncle's Great Hall. His heavy strides did the work for them both. The princess made note that Daemon had somehow managed to grab his sword as well. Naerys was too in her head to care what he might do with it.

High Tide had descended into chaos. Servants scrambled past them rushing to the source of the mayhem. The shouting grew in volume with each step. Rhaenyra was the last one out of their chambers but she flew past them in search of her sons.

Relief flooded through the princess at the sight of her daughter. Daenys leaned on Helaena who was trying to calm down the wailing child. Upon seeing her parents the young princess ran to her father. The man wasted no time scooping up the girl. Naerys inspected her daughter as she sobbed into her husband’s chest. She sported a bump on her forehead and a small cut on her honey cheek, but she remained otherwise uninjured. She was unlikely to bare any scars from what had unfolded.

Daemon bounced the girl in his arms as he ordered Maester Orlys to be brought down from his chambers. The older man could sleep through a storm. He had more than likely not even heard the commotion going through the castle. The prince placed a kiss atop his daughter’s silver curls as he drew circles into her back. Daenys seemed to calm down once she was in her father's arms. Allowing her parents to comfort her. Daemon’s fury had abated with their daughter's change in mood until he noticed a certain bandaged boy bound to his mother's side who would not meet his uncle’s eyes.

Aemond stood at the heart of bedlam. From the impassioned appeals to the king exchanged between the queen and the crown princess, Naerys gathered that the boy had managed to claim her cousin's dragon. Daenys had snuck out with her cousin when he had taken Vhagar while her mother had been consumed with her dark thoughts.

Baela and Rhaena had seen Aemond riding upon their mother's dragon and altered their bastard half-brothers of it. The Strong girl's mother was not yet cold in her grave and the boy had dared to claim her mount. They had already lost their father and now they had to suffer the loss of their mother and all that she had held dear.

It was a “slight” that they did not let go unpunished judging by the state of their bruised and bloody small faces as well as Aemond’s left eye. Naerys understood their anger, but the fighting had gotten out of hand.

Daemon deposited their daughter into his niece-wife’s arms. Kissing both their heads before turning to face his nephew. His wife was reminded of the Valyrian sword in his possession when the prince unsheathed Dark Sister. Naerys knew it would be impossible to stop him though she did protest. Aemond was a boy. He was hardly vicious enough to attack his little cousin.

“Is this your handiwork boy?” The king made no move to stop his brother. His pallid complexion took over by exasperation at being made to preside over this spat. His younger brother had enough fire for the both of them. He need not make a show of things.

Aemond looked terrified as his uncle closed in on him pointing his sword at him. Alicent pushed her son behind her as her sworn shield unsheathed his own blade in the prince's defense. Naerys wondered if Daemon would take his other eye. She wondered what the king might do as he ordered both Ser Criston and his brother to drop their swords.

“I fell.” Daenys' little voice cried. Her wailing had started once more. She buried herself into her mother's neck at her confession. Naerys did her best to try to console the young princess but she rambled on between sobs. “Cousin Aemond told me to go and I fell. He did not push me.”

“Daemon.” Her husband had not heard their daughter's muffled pleads. It was doubtful the rest of the hall had heard her. Her uncle snapped his pale neck towards them. Her uncle saw red, but his fire could be extinguished when he learned of the truth. He was a man capable of reason despite his hot-blood nature. “She fell. Your nephew did not do this.”

Naerys' husband stormed away from Alicent and her son. He would not believe their daughter's declarations until he saw for him. Looking into a matching set of violet eyes he took their daughter back from his wife’s hand. Shushing her as she babbled out apologies. “I fell kepa. I am sorry.” It was an accident. Daemon saw that. A childish accident.

Maester Orlys had finally arrived. Mindful of his wife's health Daemon directed one of the servants to fetch a chair commanding her to sit. Naerys did not argue. She had been standing for much longer than she should have. The day had exhausted her and drained a great deal of her recovering strength.

Daenys crawled into her lap as the Maester cleaned her wounds. Curling a hand around her mother’s coils the same way she did as a babe. Her poor child. If Naerys had not been so caught up in her own pain, Daenys could have been avoided.

The shouting around them recommenced. Each mother blamed the other and the king remained lackluster in his defense of both. Preferring to take on his version of impartiality. Who was he to choose between his son and his grandsons?

There could be no impartiality when his own son had lost an eye. If someone ever laid a finger on Daenys she would tear them apart limb for limb if Daemon had not gotten to them first. It was the king's blatant refusal to do anything for his son that disturbed Naerys the most.

It did not make it right, but Naerys knew why Aemond had claimed Vhagar. The boy's egg had never hatched. Out of all of Alicents children, he was the one who desperately clung to his Valyrian heritage. Her husband and her young cousin were alike in that regard. He had always scoffed at him for his Andal blood, but Naerys could see the restlessness of a second son in Aemond. He had wanted to prove himself and Vhagar was the way to do it. The largest Dragon in the world, the last living relic from the days of the conquest and she now belonged to a boy of ten name days.

“Daenys was party to this. Perhaps she should be questioned as well.” Rhaenyra turned her sharp gaze to the small girl in her cousin's lap. Daemon's violet eyes narrowed at his niece, but it was Naerys who spoke for their daughter.

She advanced towards Rhaenyra. The woman clutched her sons closer. Her uncle Lord Corlys stood by her side in absence of his son as his wife clung to their granddaughters, the last remnants of her daughter. Naerys would not be intimidated by her cousin's attempts at victimhood. She had gone too far by trying to accuse her daughter, a little girl of four name days, of aiding in alleged treason

“She fell and hit her head, sweet niece.” Naerys turned to face the king. Daenys would not be questioned by her cousin. She would not be brought into a fight that was not theirs. “My daughter can scarcely recall what happened to herself, much less the reason for the disagreement between your son and your grandson’s your grace or why Prince Aemond called them such names.” Naerys did not care if she was impertinent. Her cheek would no doubt be blamed on her recent losses. Better to let them think that she was weak.

The sickly man simply waved her off, going to question his sons. Their mother desperately defended them, but it was a vain endeavor. Viserys would not have the legitimacy of his beloved daughter's heirs questioned even at the expense of his sons or the truth of the matter.

The king demanded for the two factions of his family to kiss one another and apologize for whatever hurt they inflicted upon each other. The fighting must stop as they were a family. Devastation took over the queens. Tears clouded her dark eyes as she stared in disbelief at her husband's verdict. His choice to shield his daughter in favor of his son.

Alicent's inaction did not last longer than a minute. She grabbed her husband's dagger before anyone could stop her. Naerys tried to push herself out of the way from the queen's warpath as she came rushing towards Rhaenyra. The princess found herself caught between the queen and the would-be queen as Alicent demanded justice for her son and her own sacrifices. Her duty. Her stepdaughter laughed at every lawful devotion she held dear. Rhaenyra lorded above them all.

Naerys noticed Daemon scrambling to make his way to her, but he was held back by Ser Criston and two other members of his brother's kings guard. Calls for Alicent to release the dagger and the princess reverberated around the hall, among them was her own father, but the queen would not listen. She wanted blood.

Corlys tried to pull Rhaenyra back to him, but the three women stood locked in each other’s grips as Alicent tried to gain the upper hand, pointing her blade near her rival's eye. The crown princess taunted the queen. “Exhausting, isn’t it? Hiding under the cloak of your own righteousness, but now they see you as you are.” The Hightower woman swung her dagger at the princess forgetting that Naerys stood between them.

She felt the pain before she lowered her eyes to see blood running down her arm bleeding into her cream nightgown. The white bone peaked out from the exposed flesh. Naerys brought her uninjured hand to touch it, letting out a hiss at the sting. She grew dizzy at the sight.

Daemon came rushing to her, finally breaking through from the crowd that had parted in horror. Her husband wasted no time, putting pressure on her wound as he ripped off the left sleeve of her robe in a makeshift bandage. Lifting her before her legs gave out.

Naerys had lost too much blood with her last birth. She was not to exert herself. Not in this way. Her body was healing and who knew how far back this might set her. Alicent attempted to make her apologies. It was an accident. She had not meant to hurt Naerys.

Daemon brushed the woman off, casting a glare that would have killed her on the spot if it possessed the capability to do so. The queen had only escaped the physicality of her good brother's wrath. Her husband had made the wise decision of ordering his Kingsguard to apprehend Dark Sister when Alicent first grabbed

Rhaenyra went to follow them, but Daemon openly glared at his oldest niece. Demanding that she get a hold of herself. “Do you not think you have embarrassed yourself enough for one night?” Rhaenyra sulked back to her boys, avoiding the eyes of judgment that fell upon her. As they made to exit the great hall a teary Daenys began to trail after her parents, reaching up for her mother’s hand. Naerys limply squeezed her daughter’s hand giving her a reassuring smile. She tried not to give into the drowsiness that threatened to overtake her. She would not let it win out.

High Tide’s halls had grown quiet in the early morning. The rest of her uncle's guests had settled back into their chambers. The excitement of the evening had worn them out, but they would be up soon enough. More than likely journeying away from the havoc that had enfolded.

Daenys refused to be put to bed by her nursemaid until she knew that her mother would be out of danger. Curling into her mother's side as Maester Orlys sutured her arm. Naerys was not to strain herself further or lift anything heavier than a cup of tea for a fortnight. There would be a scar. That was unavoidable for the knife had torn through skin fat and tissue to reach the bone underneath, but the wound would heal nicely with proper care.

“Did you promise to give her a son?” The princess was the first to break the silence. Daemon had seated her in his lap on their bed as he stroked her un-injured arm, trying to lull her to sleep. Their maester had ordered her to get some rest. They were to travel home in mere hours. She needed her strength, but the events that occurred over the course of her cousin's funeral were too fresh to forget.

“Yes.” Daemon let out a sigh as he kissed her head, continuing his caresses. They were both too tired to lie or argue with one another. “I did not think that our marriage would be a happy one.” Naerys let out a soft snort, but her husband shushed her. Placing another kiss into her coils. “She had asked me to after she gave birth to Jace. Then again with Luke.”

“Why didn’t you?” He had plenty of opportunities too. In the early days of their marriage, Rhaenyra had been a constant in Dragonstone’s halls. Naerys could barely turn without seeing her cousin in the company of their uncle. Leaving Ser Laenor to entertain her. It would be easy enough to have her slip into his chambers during the night. To give his favorite niece a Valyrian son. His niece-wife would be none the wiser. She could not picture him ever denying the crown princess who he had wanted for so long, but he had.

“You seemed so lonely.” Naerys frowned slightly at her husband’s admission, but the man laughed, pulling her up so that she sat on his lap facing him. He moved his warm hands up to encircle her face. Amethyst eyes met violet.

Loneliness was an expectation of her life. She had grown used to the state with the passage of her own mother. Naerys had her mother’s brothers and her aunt after that, but some days it was hard not to feel like an interloper. They had not put up much resistance when her fathers half brother deigned to take her away to another empty palace. It was her duty. Her cross to bear became not so very unbearable.

“I did not mind it little one.” He beamed at her and it was a sight to see. “You were the first thing I had to myself that never belonged to someone else. I did not lie to my brother when I said that you were made for me.”

“Do you wish for a son?” The one thing that she could not give him. It is you who holds him back. If he ever was to have a son it would not be she who gave birth to him. It was a sacrifice she was willing to make if needs be. If it would make him happy.

“I wish for everything with you.” Daemon continued to stroke down her cheeks. Rubbing soothing circles luring her into a state of contentment. The princess leaned into his touch. “I wish for Daenys to have brothers and sisters, but only with you. Just with you Naerys. I’d rather have you than see Dragonstone’s halls bursting with babes.”

“I love you Naerys. I love you, my sweet girl. No one else. Do you understand sweetling? I don’t want anyone else. I have no need for anyone else. I love you.” Naerys had not realized that she had begun to cry softly until her uncle kissed away the tears that fell upon her cheeks, gently shushing her. “I am sorry that I ever made you feel otherwise, but I am yours as you are mine. You are enough for me. You have always been enough.”

Daemon bent down slightly to capture his wife's lips in a kiss. Their tongues danced. She tasted the salt from her tears and the earth and heat that belonged to her husband. There was no fight for dominance. Naerys let herself be swept away by her husband’s attentions. Enjoying the warmth that spread throughout her worn body.

A knock sounded at their door. Naerys had to push her husband away to stop letting out a breathy giggle at her husband’s annoyance. The man groaned before placing one final kiss, or two, upon her lips.

Grudgingly making his way to the door to find the queen waiting for them. Ser Criston along with a fellow Kingsguard came with her. Though the latter stood watch in the hall, the first joined Alicent in their chambers. The Rogue Prince had not been given back Dark Sister, but any blade in his hand would be lethal. One could not be cautious enough.

Daemon tried to command the queen and her guards to leave. Goading her for her folly. “Have you come to finish the job?” It was Naerys who had to be the voice of reason when scolded her husband's silliness. Asking him to let them in. The man merely grumbled, but he listened to his wife’s bid. It would not do to be angry with Alicent when they knew she had not meant her any harm.

“Words can not express my deep regret princess.” The queen had knelt down on the floor in front of their bed. Taking Naerys brown hand in her pale one as the two men exchanged glares. “Nor my shame.” The Hightower woman’s glassy dark eyes flitted down to the stitches that graced the princess’s forearm.

“There is nothing to forgive sister.” Naerys returned her good sister's grasp. She knew that the blade had not been for her. Alicent had always been kind to her. Her quarrel lay with Rhaenyra and she had been unfortunate enough to be in the way when her anger got the best of her. “How is the prince?”

“The Maester was able to save his eyelid.” Alicent as she started to tear up. Wiping stray tears as they fell upon. She turned her gaze towards the chamber's dying fire. “He will make a full recovery. The king is pleased.” Her voice strained at her last words. Fury flashed in the queen's eyes before fading just as quickly as it came. Clearing her throat she turned back to face her good sister. “Your daughter, how is she?” Worry was evident across the Hightower woman’s face.

“She is fine, no thanks to your son.” Daemon sneered down at the woman. Coming to stand near his wife like a sentry. Ser Criston thankfully made no move to get closer to the queen. Though he did continue to stare down his old rival.” If you want something, spit it out. My wife needs her rest.” Alicent winced, but her focus stayed on Naerys.

“You are welcome at court anytime.” Daemon was about to retort when Alicent peered up at him.“Your brother would like to see more of you as well Prince Daemon.” The prince began to shift upon the balls of his feet. It amazed Naerys how her hot-blooded husband turned into a little boy at the mention of his brother.

“We will try to come to visit more often.” Daemon looked less than pleased with her reply, but Naerys would deal with her husband later. The king would not be around forever. Daemon had always loved Viserys. He would regret it if he was not closer to the king in his final years.

“Your daughter seems fond of my son. As is the prince.” It was said with an innocent enough smile. The woman was partial to Daenys. Inviting her to take tea or join her sewing circles with her and Helaena whenever they visited the Red Keep. The little princess was an easy enough child to get along with and a delight to be around, but Alicent was her father's daughter. Naerys could not forget that.

“That would be the one with the missing eye, correct?” Naerys swatted a hand at her husband in admonishment, but the man only reached for said hand bringing and bestowing a kiss upon the back of it. His violet eyes softened briefly before turning back to Alicent. “Our daughter is four. Your son is far too old for her.” Naerys was thankful for the fact that her uncle left it there. “You should check on him. I’m sure he’s missing his wet nurse.”

Fearing having overstayed her welcome Alicent offered her a small smile, squeezing her hand one last time before departing. Ser Criston trailed after his queen, making his exit with a bow and a ”princess” to Naerys while completely ignoring her stone-faced husband.

The Stranger still clung to Hide Tide. Making one final visit before he too would retreat for a spell. His work was never done. This time it had chosen another Velaryon to call to the Gods. Naerys' cousin Ser Laenor.

Neither Lord Corlys nor Rhaenys had come down to break their fast. A common occurrence during the duration of their short stay. Ser Vaemond saw the king and his party off as they left before noon. Aemond rode off on the back of Vhagar while the rest of the party boarded ships that would take them back to King's Landing. The other visiting funeral guests departed shortly after. High Tide was returning back to some version of normality. Though the absence of Lady Laena’s spirited presence was felt greatly.

It was Rhaenyra who broke the news of her husband’s passing to her uncle and cousin-aunt. The Targaryen couple were standing by the bay ready to return to Dragonstone, by the skies and sea, when the crown princess came rushing down towards them.

“My husband is dead.” With tears streaming down her pale face Rhaenyra launched herself at her uncle. “They murdered him. His friend, Ser Quarl, murdered him.” It had not come as a great surprise. The company that Ser Laenor had kept was less than suitable for a man of his rank. His lovers had never been discreet and had been ill-tempered for the role of the eventual prince consorts paramour.

“Take me with you back to Dragonstone.” Gripping her uncle tight enough for her knuckles to turn white one might think that she was grief-stricken. A part of Rhaenyra might mourn the loss of a husband and a great friend, but Naerys knew her games.

“I can not stay here. Not here with his parents. I can not be alone uncle.” The crown princess switched to their mother tongue for the next of her impassioned pleas. Hoping to hark on some less-than-familial sentiment that the prince once held for his niece. “Konīr iksos daorun bona stands isse īlva ñuhoso sir kepus. Issa kepa would daor deny īlva bisa.” There is nothing that stands in our way now uncle. My father would not deny us this.

Daemon placed an affectionate pat upon the Targaryen woman’s arm.“Comfort your children niece. They will need you.” Giving her a kiss on her cheek he turned to climb upon Caraxes' back. Taking to the skies once Daenys was placed securely in front of him. Maester Orlys ushered Naerys onto their vessel while the crown princess stood a white-faced statue paralyzed by the shock. Watching on until her beloved uncle and his family became distant dots in the sky and sea.

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[klaus-littlestwolf]

Now You’re Mine-Modern Mafia!Aemond

(This is a Mafia!Aemond/Mafia!Targaryen family fic that I’ve been working on for a little while. However I saw a post the other day of someone mentioning wanting to read Mafia!Aemond and it got me back into this to finish it. I hope everyone likes it because I definitely want to write more like this for our one eyed bby)

Aemond had been your best friend for years now. Helaena and you had met the first day of college and the two of you had become inseparable, leading to her actually offering you a job at her brothers company. That’s how you and Aemond first met, though sadly at that point you already had a job at your boyfriends publishing company (it was actually his fathers but it would be his someday and he knew how to act like it).

Every day that you weren’t with Jason Lannister you would be with Aemond. He somehow always seemed to have off days when you did, always available for you whenever you wanted or needed him.

Aemond was always there for you, often spending last minute evenings with you when your boyfriend had to work late again. You always found it sweet how much it bothered Aemond that he wouldn’t take a day off for you or spend any time with you other than work or your date nights but you didn’t mind.

“That’s exactly why you deserve it Love, you don’t expect people to take time off for you, but you deserve to be someone’s most important, if you were mine you’d be my priority…”

You often found yourself wondering what could have happened if you had never met Jason but even then Aemond was like a Greek God. Even with the eye patch (which in your opinion only made him hotter) he was 1000% out of your league.

However you could always count on him, that’s why he was your first call when Jason fired you upon you catching him fucking his assistant in his office.

‘You can’t fire me just because I caught you cheating, that’s against the law! I would sue the fuck out of you!’ You glared as he pulled his pants back on without a worry in the world which made you even more angry. He clearly didn’t care that you had caught him in the least...

‘You’re kidding, right? Y/n, you’re a girl I gave a job to because you had a tight pussy and a good work ethic. You’re also broke as fuck.’ He cackled.

Well…he wasn’t wrong about that…

‘I have my fathers lawyers, they would tie you up in court until you’re destitute and homeless, then you’ll be wishing you had shut your sweet little cock sucker and just accepted being fired…are you rethinking your response to me now sweetheart?’ He asked condescendingly and you glared.

‘Don’t ever call me that again!’ He rolled his eyes, catching his assistant, Madison’s arm as she tried to leave the awkward conversation.

‘You always did have an attitude. Alright, let’s do it like this. Clean break. You leave now, I keep what’s mine and you keep what’s yours, and the company pays you in full for 3 months so you can find another job. You’ll never find a better one but at least it won’t be on my conscience when you are selling yourself on the street.’ He snorted, pulling some papers out of his desk and signing a few things.

How had you not seen how big of a dick this guy is?

You had of course, but you had assumed you were the exception…how stupid could you be? Every night he was “working late” or on a “business trip”…he was cheating on you…so fucking stupid!

‘Fine. Give me the papers and I’ll be gone.’ You responded but he pulled them out of your reach.

‘Clean break. You give back everything I gave you.’ He looked at your neck and you rolled your eyes, removing the necklace he had given you.

‘You think I care about your cheap jewelry? Keep it!’ You snapped, removing the bracelet and the earrings as well.

‘Cheap? Okay…well then you don’t need my cheap clothes either. I bought you that outfit.’ Your eyes widened as the smirk grew on his face, however you would not let this asshole win. And honestly you would never see any of these people again…fuck it!

It was Jason’s turn to look shocked as you began unbuttoning your shirt and pulling it off, tossing it to his table before removing your skirt as well and holding your hand out for the paperwork. He just stared in shock and you snatched the papers, seeing them already signed by him. ‘I’ll collect my things and be on my way.’ You held in the tears as you walked from his office, everyone clearly knowing what had happened as it wasn’t quiet at all, and the tears finally fell as you got to your door and shut it, moving to grab your cellphone quickly and hesitating as you considered who to call. All of your friends are his friends…you could call Helaena but she’s on vacation with her boyfriend Cregan for their anniversary this week, Aemond is working…but he said to call anytime you needed him and this felt like an emergency as you stood there in your bra and panties…you bit the bullet and hit his contact which was the first number in your phone.

‘Hello Love, what’s up? You never call at work. Been missin’ me?’ He teased but all you could do was sniffle and continue crying. ‘Hey…what’s wrong hun? You can’t call me crying and not talk to me, what’s happened?!’

‘Can-Can you come g-get me? Please? I can’t call an Uber like this…please?’ You knew you didn’t need to beg but it just came out, Aemond always made you feel safe.

‘I’m on my way right now! Give me 5 minutes Love, I’m coming! Do you need anything?’

‘I’m g-gonna need a change of c-clothes…I’m sorry!’ He shushed you instantly, telling his driver something before speaking again.

‘Don’t you ever apologize to me, you know how much I adore you, that will never change and as soon as that idiot fucks up I’ll be right there. But until then I will be personally offended if you don’t call me when you need help…do you want to tell me what happened?’

‘I’ll tell you in the car. I have to get my stuff and clean my face-I can’t go out there like this…can you just text me when you’re here?’ I asked and he huffed a sigh.

‘Okay. I’ll be there in 3 minutes.’ With that he hung up, leaving you to wonder how many traffic laws were being broken today. You moved to pack everything into your purse, making sure you had everything that was yours and everything you couldn’t bear to leave behind. You also grabbed your client list just in case because you knew most of them wouldn’t want to work with anyone else and you would happily give their business to Aemond’s uncle Daemon’s publishing company instead (the man adored you from the moment Helaena first brought you to a family BBQ and he often turned his nose up at mentions of your boyfriend, Daemon Hates All Lannisters!). You looked through all of your drawers just hoping to find a jacket or something but there was nothing leaving you in your bra and panties. At least it was a cute set, you had gotten it on a day trip with Aemond and Helaena who had enjoyed shopping for clothes with you, dragging you into an overtly expensive lingerie shop. It had just been you dreaming of the expensive clothes at first but Aemond insisted and bought you 4 sets. He tried for 10 more but you drew the line…at least he has taste in choosing the lacy embroidered black bra and pantie set, and Thank God it’s not a thong that you’re wearing today!

It was exactly 3 minutes when Aemond texted you that he was walking in and you quickly told him to wait in the lobby. You grabbed your bag and left the keys hung on the door as you walked out, everyone staring at you yet again as you got onto the elevator. One of Jason’s asshole buddies did a double take as he stepped out and tried to step back in.

‘No! Out!’ You hissed and he listened, clearly smarter than his friend is. As the elevator dinged you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the laughter at your sad, pathetic situation. Aemond had repeatedly told you to break up with the asshole you were dating and now he was going to get to say “I told you so”.

As you walked around the front desk he turned to see you and his jaw dropped in shock, it was a face you had never seen Aemond make honestly as his wide eyes took you in. As if his brain finally finished computing what he was seeing he moved towards you quickly, ripping his jacket off and wrapping it around you, taking your bag and holding the jacket shut.

‘Fucking Christ! What Happened Y/n?!’ He demanded but his yelling only brought another round of tears which ended with him pulling you close and holding you to his chest. ‘It’s okay, you’re safe now Pretty Girl, I’ve got you.’ He lifted you up awkwardly across his chest so that he could make sure the jacket didn’t move and expose you all over again before he carried you out of the building. You could tell from the way he was walking that he was livid and you just nuzzled your face closer into his neck, knowing that Aemond loved it when you snuggled into him. He climbed into the car and held you on his lap as he snapped at Arryk to drive you both home.

‘No-you have to work! I don’t want-‘

‘Don’t even dare Y/n! You are way more important than a couple of meetings. Arryk will text Aegon and let him know that we need to reschedule, besides he has done this to me so many times because of his never ending hangovers, it’s nice to get him back.’ He joked, clearly just trying to make you smile but you didn’t. ‘Please tell me now Love? What happened?’ His voice was soft and caring which somehow just made it worse as you roughly wiped at your tears all over again which he stopped, taking your hands and holding them in one of his much larger ones, pulling out his pocket square and wiping your face softly. ‘Breathe Y/n, you’re okay now. No one will ever hurt you again…just trust me.’

His eye was so soft as he looked down at you and you knew you could trust Aemond with anything.

‘Jason cheated on me…he was fucking her in his office when I came in…I was pissed but I was even more pissed when he fired me-‘

‘He can’t fire you for that! That’s-‘

‘I know. But he made it clear that I would be broke and homeless by the time it even got to court. He signed papers to pay me for 3 months so I can find a job, I just had to return everything he gave me…thank you for buying me the underwear or I might be naked right now.’ You teased but he did not seem to find humor in the situation.

‘Did you sign anything?’ You shook your head, pointing to the paperwork sticking out of your bag and he took them, looking over it and never once letting you free from the grip that he had on you. ‘Don’t worry Princess, I’m going to take care of this. He will pay for this, I promise you.’

Aemond pressed his lips to your head, keeping the jacket wrapped around you firmly.

‘I need to sign them to get the money, I’m not going to be able to pay my-‘

‘You don’t need to pay for anything. I’m taking care of you now-‘ you lifted your head quickly and he looked down at you, the look in his eye daring you to argue with him right now.

‘I can’t let you pay my bills Aem, that’s not right. It’s my fault that I-‘ not a second later Aemond’s large hand closed over your mouth and your eyes widened.

‘Nothing is your fault! Do you understand me?’ He asked firmly. ‘He is an asshole and he’s taking advantage of someone that he thinks can’t fight back but he is going to learn not to fuck with what belongs to me.’

‘I-‘

‘And Yes, you belong to me Y/n. I made it very clear what would happen when he fucked up. I told you that you would be mine. That day has come, Princess. Now, let’s get you some clothes.’ You just barely noticed that the car had stopped before the door was opened and Aemond slid out, his grip somehow tightening as he carried you into the high rise apartment building and up to his place before moving straight to his bedroom.

‘Aem, I thought we were joking, you don’t have to-‘

‘Let’s get one thing straight, Love.’ He told you as he set you onto his bed which was wildly comfortable. God you need a nap. ‘I don’t do anything that I don’t want to do. I never have and I never will. You’ve been mine since the day we met, I just allowed you time to end things with that moron on your own. However, now he has hurt you and that is unacceptable. Take the jacket off.’ He instructed before moving to a drawer and pulling out a Henley, helping you pull it over your head and cover yourself to your mid thigh at least. ‘You know how much I love you, you have to by now. Every single member of my family has been waiting for us to get together, even my stupid nephews ship us…you are my everything…and I should have told you a long time ago. For that I am sorry but I’m not letting you go and I am certainly Not letting him get away with this unpunished. I will have him ripped apart in court before I have him ripped apart for real, my family has warned him already. He will never feel anything but pain again for what he’s done to my Princess.’ Aemond didn’t hesitate even a second before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t count the amount of times you had dreamt of kissing him and it was better than you could have imagined as your stomach did flips, his soft lips pressed to yours prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck and tangle your fingers in his short silver locks. ‘Who in their right mind would ever even dream of fucking another girl while they have you? I will never understand that idiot…You’re Fucking Perfect.’ He mumbled against your mouth as his hands took your waist, squeezing your ass on the way down to your thighs where he lifted you up to straddle his lap.

‘Does it sound bad to say that I would have left him if you had just told me before.’ He shook his head, pulling back from the kiss and holding you to him firmly.

‘Of course not-we were meant to be Y/n. You’re mine now baby…say it. Tell me who you belong to.’ He was desperate to hear it from your mouth and you didn’t think there was anything you wouldn’t give him if he asked right now.

‘All yours Aemond, I’m yours. I love you, I’ve always loved you!’ And you truly had, since the night Helaena introduced you, your crush on the one eyed Targaryen grew quickly out of control. It was half of the reason you stayed with Jason as long as you did, so that you were never tempted to admit it and ruin your friendship since you never believed Aemond would see you as anything but his best friend.

‘I love you too, and I’m going to take care of you now. First I’ll get you some pants, I texted and scheduled a meeting with Daemon in the car and he can call his lawyers. You are suing his company and you will have the best lawyers in the country behind you.’

‘But I can’t-‘

‘Then we’re going to go and pack you a bag of your essentials because you’re coming to stay right here with me. No worrying about bills or anything like that, I’m taking care of my girl now. We can worry about “moving you in” later.’ You felt the dark blush on your cheeks at the idea of him taking care of you, it sounds too perfect to be real.

‘I don’t want you to waste all of that money on me-‘ he quickly cut you off again.

‘Nothing is wasted on you, let me spoil you. I want you to see him cry before I kill him, and honestly Daemon is going to be thrilled to get rid of him finally.’

‘What do you-‘

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. We appreciate your ignorance but you’re mine now, that officially makes you a member of this family and you’ve known about us for almost as long as you’ve known me. You had to have also deduced that the Lannisters are members of the Mafia as well, though our relationship is…complicated. They were warned and he hurt you anyway, his whole family knows what this means and he brought it on himself. Now-let’s get you dressed.’

Aemond leant me some of Helaena’s pants, having plenty of her clothes in his guest room, before we got back into his car and were driven to Daemons company…well-one of them at least. He owns like 10.

‘Well, this is a surprise. Not only are you late nephew, but you’ve brought a guest. Aren’t you supposed to be with that little shit of a boyfriend at this time of day?’ Daemon questioned as we sat down never looking up from his papers, though as I moved to sit in the chair beside Aemond he promptly pulled me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me.

‘Y/n doesn’t work for him anymore.’ Daemon looked up from his paperwork and his eyes widened at our position before smirking.

‘Do tell nephew.’

‘She was fired for finding him cheating on her. He gave her these, I’m going to need the lawyers to look at these today.’ Daemon read over the papers quickly before laughing out loud.

‘I can’t believe the idiot signed these. He’s dumber than I ever even thought…do you want us to sue him though? It will be in your name, you have to go through with this…can you do that, sweet girl?’ He asked, eyebrows raised as if expecting me to have issues with all of this.

‘Sue him all you want, I was promised a dead body at the end of this.’ I stated and his eyes widened before he grinned, teeth showing in a way that makes most people feel like prey. Maybe the Targaryens really do come from dragons…

‘I knew I liked you. You’re doing us some good, finally giving us a reason to get rid of them once and for all. Good girl.’

‘Watch it…’ Aemond growled.

‘He told me I could never do anything about it, that he only hired me for my tight pussy and work ethic before taking back the clothes he bought me and forcing me to walk out in my underwear…I want him to lose everything before he dies and I want it to fucking hurt!’ Daemon looked stunned for a moment, his eyes darkening.

‘He did what?’ Aemond nodded and Daemon hummed. ‘I’ll get on this immediately. He’ll have the lawsuit on his desk before the end of the day.’

It was 8 o’clock in the evening and I was snuggled up against Aemond’s side in bed, enjoying my boyfriend feeding me my dessert when my phone rang a familiar ringtone and I showed him Jason’s picture. ‘Ooh, I expected this but Daemon really does work fast.’ Aemond chuckled, turning on his phone to record the call and I answered mine, putting it on speaker.

‘Hel-‘

‘What The Fuck Do You Think You’re Doing Bitch?!’ He snapped and I could only roll my eyes.

‘Exactly what I said. You knew I could sue you and you fired me anyway, practically signed your name to the crime with that paperwork. You would never pay me three months out if I had actually done something worth getting fired for. You’re an idiot.’ The pride in Aemond’s eyes was something that put my mind at ease, I knew I would be fine with him here and Daemon as well with how pissed off he has been made. Their whole family is pissed off now if the texts I had gotten from most of them all day told me anything. Even Aegon, who was usually too drunk or high to even lift his head in my presence was angry on my behalf.

‘This will never hold up, you can’t afford to take this to court-‘

‘You’re forgetting the fact that I have friends who are happy to help me. Ones that already don’t like you that you’ve just pissed off more now.’ He hesitated to answer for a moment.

‘No, I don’t believe you. Your little friendship with Helaena isn’t enough to make that family do shit! Not against mine for no reason, we-‘

‘I’m also…friends…with Aemond, remember? And they introduced me to their whole family who I seem to have grown on quite a lot. Especially their Uncle who I’ve found is quite happy to help me after you forced me to return the jewelry and clothes that you gave me just so I could get paid after you unjustly fired me. It seems finding out that you made me walk around in my underwear was quite a kick in the ass for Daemon to sue you quickly-well, me to sue you, him to help me. You really should have just broken up with me right, I probably would have tried to find another job and left but you had to do this. Pretty dumb.’ As I finished speaking Aemond brought the fork to my mouth, feeding me another piece of cake as if rewarding me and I loved it.

‘You dirty cunt. Are you fucking him?! You got all high and mighty on me and you’re fucking your friends Married Uncle?! What the-‘

‘Not quite, Jason.’ Aemond spoke making me giggle. ‘My Uncle just has a soft spot for her you see, she’s such a sweet girl. How anyone can not love her I don’t know, even your family did, didn’t they?’ I nodded, enjoying the rest of my dessert while he spoke. ‘We will be handling the lawyers so you can try to stall this if you’d like but it won’t work. And I’ll let you be the one to tell your father that you’ve made an enemy of a family that he depended on quite heavily.’ He had stopped recording by now as his voice grew darker, clearly hating the idiot on the other line. ‘You have until morning to let your family know what you did, oh and don’t bother deleting the footage from the cameras yesterday, Daemon has already gotten it. If you were smart enough in the first place that is.’

‘Bye Jason!’ I giggled as Aemond moved to hang up.

‘You Fucking-‘ with that he was gone and Aemond blocked his number from my phone.

‘We’re probably going to have to get you a new number.’ He teased.

I’m considering a part 2 with Aemond getting even with Jason…and a little smut🥰

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

[frankcastleonlyfans]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

pairing: dad!daemon targaryen x mom!reader au

summary: your son maegon visits his sick old uncle, viserys, and end up learning the story of how you met your husband.

author's note: look who's back... this story was based off two asks, this one, and another one asking how daemon and mom!reader met. and now mom!reader is officially dornish!!!! i will not be making descriptions of her features in the future, but just know that mom!reader is poc. i hope you guys enjoy this story. it feels good to write again.

warnings: none ig

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. support your content creators 💓 please leave a comment if you like my work, and enjoy your reading.

dad!daemon x mom!reader au masterlist

gif by @gameofthronesdaily

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ༓ ༓ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

It is sad when a family member gets sick and you know there's nothing you can do about it. So when your brother-in-law fell ill, it came the time you had to explain to your children that King Viserys wouldn't be the same he once was. The hard part was trying not to scare them with the thought of losing their uncle.

The news brought sadness to Alyssa's and Rhaegon's hearts, but Maegon was the most affected one. He felt the necessity of doing something for his beloved uncle so that even though the King now lay indisposed, he could still feel loved. Your son was old enough to realize that besides Helaena, Viserys' kids did not care for him. That made him sad. Rhaenyra lived in Dragonstone, and for so she couldn't give the attention her father deserved.

The boy had the idea of asking Queen Alicent to let him pay some company for King, during the evenings where he would like someone to talk to. As she needed a break from the sick man herself, she would let Maegon take over her place wherever she felt like it. Which was, almost every evening.

During one of those evenings, Prince Daemon thought it would be nice to see what his brother and son talked about. Mostly, he just wanted to see his brother interacting with anyone, to have the certainty that Viserys would still be alive for a while. The King had little to no hair on his scalp. His body couldn't stand up without the supported of a cane. Daemon didn't know how much time his older brother had left.

When Daemon made entrance to the monarch's solar, he found his son and his brother giggling softly. It felt good to hear the laughing. It meant Viserys was in fact, still alive.

"May I know what is so funny?" The Rogue Prince asked, making his presence known.

Maegon was startled by his father's voice. He has been visiting his uncle for weeks now, but not once his father wanted to come with him.

"Oh, hello Daemon" Viserys grinned at the sight of his sibling, "what a coincidence to see you right now. I was just telling Maegon about that time when we were kids... Do you remember when we tried to find The Cannibal?"

Daemon chuckled, "I do. We searched around all Dragonstone until Father found us before we got inside a Volcano's cave."

"And we never found him!" Viserys laughed.

"Well, thank Gods! You two would probably be eaten or burned alive and I wouldn't be here today to hear the story if you did find him." Maegon reasoned, watching his father pacing around the King's solar.

Daemon's fingers danced around the huge model of Valyria that his brother had exposed in the middle of his room.

"I miss the good old days when I was brave. Once I was sword fighting, I was riding Balerion, I took my little brother to look for a cannibal wild dragon..." Viserys sighed softly.

"You are brave still, uncle" Maegon assures, "It takes bravery to rule. And it takes bravery to be kind. You are a good King."

Viserys nodded to his nephew's words, taking his hands across the table. Daemon felt warmth in his heart. He couldn't quite understand that sensation, but he sees that part of him feels glad that his son expressed words and emotions he could never say or show, because he didn't know how to.

"Did you know that I was the one who introduced your mother to Daemon?" Viserys asked, with fun in his tone, "Have I ever told you the story?"

"Oh, you haven't!" Maegon engaged, grinning excitedly, "Do tell me, uncle, please."

We were all at Driftmark to prestige Corlys and Rhaenys' wedding. Nobles from all across the Seven Kingdoms were there, and your mother was one of them. I remember she was wearing her house colors in her dress. She was a bit older than your sister is now, I think.

My late wife, Aemma, introduced me to her, I didn't know they were friends. I discovered that the lady whom I had just met, was not only a Princess but also played part as a knight at her father's guard. She wore that dress with such grace, that I thought my ears deceived me when I imagined her wearing armor and ringmail.

My thoughts were disturbed by Caraxes' whistling noises, when Daemon, who was very late for the ceremony, came flying upon our heads, rounding Corlys' castle. Everyone was watching the little show your father was giving, mouth-opened, shocked, scared. Y/N wasn't any of those things. She wasn't impressed at all. I remember asking her;

"Have you ever seen a dragon?"

and smirking, she replied, "Where I come from, we have scarier animals."

"Scarier?" Aemma questioned.

"More dangerous." Y/N reasoned.

"I suppose you're right, Princess Y/N," I said, "There are beings more lethal than a dragon, like the very man who rides it can be far more dangerous for his ideals, than the dragon under his command."

It felt like I summoned my brother once I said those words.

"Prince Daemon" Y/N made a short reverence to greet his presence.

"Brother, let me introduce you to Princess Y/N of Sunspear, she is a good friend of Aemma's."

Daemon kept his smugly signature grin on his lips, and took Y/N's hand in his, kissing the soft skin of her knuckles.

"I am deeply sorry for being late for the ceremony. I hope dear cousin Rhaenys can forgive my missing presence." Daemon changed the subject without paying any interest to the lady who made us company.

His rudeness made me uncomfortable, but it was so like my brother to behave like that.

"Y/N, you should come visit us. Viserys and I would love to welcome your family to Dragonstone." Aemma smiled and looked at me for reassurance.

I nodded, "Feel free to visit whenever you want. It is a very lonely place, and unfortunately, the only family we have there is my brother, as Aemma and I are still trying for a child."

Before Y/N could give us an answer, Daemon retorted, "My apologies if living with your younger brother is not what you expected of marriage."

"It certainly is not what I was expecting." Aemma playfully hit Daemon with her elbow.

Y/N giggled softly and the noise took Daemon's attention. He was quite curious why she was still there, in his presence. Most people who didn't know him are likely to feel uncomfortable with his intimidating presence, but not that girl.

"Are you here with your family?" He questioned. That was the first time he spoke directly to her.

Y/N shook her head, "My father sent me here in his name to prestige Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys, and give them our wedding gift."

"Oh. I see Dorne's economy must be great if its ruler has enough gold to spend on such superficial events." Like always, Daemon felt the need to say something directly rude.

Y/N frowned, "I thank the Gods our economy is doing well. It certainly is not because of your King." she replied. Her head remained raised, and her eyes stared at Daemon's on the same height.

Daemon felt strange. That woman wasn't offended by what he said, and even tried to get under his skin. One had to have such courage to talk to him like that.

"Uhm... Viserys, why don't you take Daemon to get that wine Corlys was talking to you about?" Aemma spoke trying to break the tension.

"When I took him away, he couldn't shut his mouth about Y/N. He was amazed a woman had the guts to talk to him like that, and even so about the King." Viserys finished the story, as Maegon quietly listened to every word he said.

"She never really had much filter, your mother." Daemon said, "Still doesn't."

Maegon frowned, "But... that's it? That's how you met mother? But, when did you start courting her, father?"

"She came to Viserys' coronation ceremony. Aemma was pregnant and couldn't make her company, so I offered myself for my sister-in-law to be the one hosting her friend in King's Landing." Daemon shrugged, "The rest... well, maybe you should ask your mother how it happened. I don't remember very well, but I know she quickly fell in love with me."

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Clad in sea (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: It is not Harrenhal, what drives Daemon to the Gods Eye. It’s the memories of you and your daughter.

Warnings: ANGST. Suicide. Canon levels of violence. The afterlife. Guilt, suicidal thoughts. Harenhal’s induced nightmares ™

A/N: It’s angst but with a happy ending (Sort of) Come with me into a deep dive into Daemon’s mental torture. You only need to know the reader really loves the sea, and watch closely. Pay attention, everything has a reason.

As a young girl, you had always dreamed of the sea. There had been nothing you loved more than walking to the docks, and looking at the waves crushing under you, extending into the horizon.

It made you feel small, in the good sense. As if you were insignificant in the great scheme of things. The sea had been there when you had been born, and it would be there when you died. It would go on.

At night, you could still feel the waves under you, rocking your body. Sundrunk and deliriously happy, you always fell asleep in peace after spending your days in the beach.

The memory soothes you as you place your baby in front of you, watching her small body be rocked by the waves. She had felt so cold in your arms, and you had not dared embrace her in her last seconds, only hold her hand. Her stomach had been pierced by a sword, and moving her too much felt cruel.

You had never wanted your daughter to know pain. You had known it was an inevitable fact of life, but you had hoped she had more time.

Daemon had left. He had done something horrible, the men had said. Killed a boy. So now, they would kill the two of you and present your heads to him.

It sickened you, to imagine your beautiful daughter wandering the earth without a head. Of these animals desecrating her body, perhaps doing unspeakable things to you because of a war you had no interest in.

So you had picked her up and ran to the only place you had ever felt safe. And as the ocean welcomed you into her arms, turning you as cold as your daughter was, you could finally embrace her again.

You did not regret it. Not even as saltwater crushed your airways, and your lungs filled with water. Not even when you emerged, voice raspy with salt, and your daughter held against your chest, full of righteous fury.

There had been a girl once, with hair as dark as ink, and eyes full of constellations. Her lips had always been chapped, for her land had suffered a drought so long, they didn’t have a word for water. Instead, they called it Life.

The girl had a gift. Somehow, she always managed to find Life, wherever she went. It was no causality, her mother told her. Their God was taken with her, and gazed at her every time he could. Through the small ponds, the droplets of dew, the very waves crashing on the shore. She had to be careful because no matter how useful her gift, if she looked too much into her reflection, he might pull her in.

“Are you afraid?” Daemon had whispered, as the two of you laid in bed one night. The sheets were sticky with his spent and sweat, but both of you were too lazy to change them. Instead, you were carefully laid on your side, body curled against his, careful not to touch the pool of seed.

“Of what?” You had looked up at him, and Daemon had been distracted by your beauty. In the soft light of the eternal sunsets of Essos, you looked otherworldly. With your face shining with a light layer of sweat, and your neck and chest covered by his marks, you had to be a goddess.

You took pain like the best of his men. You looked much more beautiful than any of them had ever done.

“What?” You insisted, poking his ribs.

“Of dying?” He felt sick for even mentioning it. You were so alive, so vibrant in his arms, so full of life. As if aware of his thoughts, your hands went to cradle your stomach. Your pregnancy was still fairly new. It didn’t show yet, but his child was growing inside of you.

Daemon pressed his own hands over yours. You let him help cradle your child, and leaned back against him. The thought of you facing the birthing bed made him anxious, and he had to squeeze you to make sure you were still there.

His last memory of Westeros had been Aemma’s death. And while Essos had more advanced healing arts, and you were no Targaryen, he feared his seed might make the pregnancy harsher on you.

“I am of the sea, Daemon.” You had smiled at him, so happy it hurt to even recall it. “I was born from her, foam and blood. And to her, I shall return when I die. I do not fear death. There is no end in a circle.”

No end in a circle, you had said. But an Ouroboros died regardless. Daemon clutched the letter until it tore.

You had made truth of your promise. Somehow, while grievously wounded, you had managed to carry your daughter to the sea. In the soft sand, your footprints had never faltered. The two of you had made a path towards the foam, and disappeared into the water. Perhaps, sensing that if you left your bodies behind, they might have been desecrated. Or perhaps because you were a woman of your word.

The Gods knew what anguish you had suffered, watching your girl die. It was a pain no mother should have to withstand, and yet, you had had to because Daemon had inflicted it in Helaena to avenge the one inflicted on Rhaenyra.

A circle has no ending. He cursed the day he had thought stepping foot outside Essos was a good idea. Daemon should have never left you. The world was not a safe place, not with the reach of the Hightowers. You had not stood a chance.

They had come into the night, and made you watch as they murdered his daughter. Then, they tried to injure you. But somehow, you had managed to escape.

Broken. Bleeding. With a dead toddler in your arms, and perhaps a babe in your belly. Daemon could not recall the last time you were in your moonblood, before he left. Perhaps you had gotten it after. He would never get to know.

No one had been able to stop you. Not even the men who had hurt you so. They had been unable to find your bodies, lost in the waves. The sea had raged that night, mourning the loss of her daughters. No one could have survived that.

Still, hope blossomed inside his chest every time he thought of it. The feeling was paralyzing. It didn’t allow him to grief normally. He kept thinking the two of you may be alive somewhere, lost in the sea. That a fishing boat might have picked you up, and helped you hide.

Because if you were truly dead, Daemon would have felt it. He was certain of it. Caraxes, who had always been finely attuned to his sister, this other sea goddess, would have felt it too. He would have cried in the manner Syrax did, when Rhaenyra took to the birthing bed.

His dragon had a connection to you. He knew your touch, your voice from all others. Both of you had been born out of the sea. You had ridden him as many times as Daemon himself. At least he would have known.

But not a peep had been heard from Caraxes. Ever since they had arrived at Harrenhal, he seemed subdued, as if preparing to hibernate. Sedated. He no longer wanted to fly, no longer wanted Daemon near.

Daemon thought he would have known, but perhaps, he had been unworthy of it. And Caraxes sensed it. He knew it was all his fault.

Were you laying down, lulled to sleep by the songs of the seashells or alive somewhere mourning your daughter, it was all his fault. Daemon had not been aware that the price to pay for a son would be this steep. His two girls.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? They really thought women were worth less in Westeros.

The lack of Life had never been so intense. The drought had gotten worse, the crops withered, the few animals died. Desperation filled the girl. Her mother was getting old, and she was no longer able to partake in the long walks in search for a droplet of dew.

So one day, she walked to the shore and sat by, watching the waves. She breathed in, found her courage, and said: “I wish to speak to you.”

Daemon tosses and turns, fixing his pillows. The room is gloomy, no matter how many candles he has lit, and there is a strange draft that not even the brightest fire can fight.

He closes his eyes, feeling a sudden warmth behind them. If you were here, you would embrace him from behind, playfully pinning him into the bed. You would press your lips to his temple, and sing of lands long forgotten, a city underneath the sea. A city so great, the Gods had punished it by sinking it.

Your soft voice would soothe him into sleep, your arms holding him tight. Daemon can almost feel the weight of them against his waist, the warmth of your body against his. A sob gathers on his chest, but dies in his throat.

He has not cried since getting the news. Instead, he has been cursed with the easiest sleep of his life. Harrenhal is damp and gloomy, and Daemon doesn’t like at all the looks the witch gives him, but every time he closes his eyes, he is out like a light.

Your absence is not so acute, in a bed not his own. He can pretend you are home, safe. Or that you have gone out, siren that you are, for a midnight walk along the shore. In those nights, when the sea had been at its most violent, you had roused your daughter and took her to watch the sea.

“The sea gives and takes.” You had often said, standing in the docks with her, from enough distance that the harsh tides wouldn’t hurt you. “We must respect her. Remember that.”

You had taken her on other nights too. The two of you would roll around in the sand, play in the waves, until you exhausted yourself and both crawled into bed with him, hair still wet and smelling of salt.

Daemon swears he smells it — now. His daughter’s soap, and the sea, clinging to her hair and skin, her little toes cold, and pressing to his calves.

But when he opens his eyes, nothing is there. Just the lingering smell of saltwater.

These phantom touches both comfort and torture him. He can pretend both of you are there, or safe at home, but every time he opens his eyes, you are not.

Daemon dreams of the both of you every night. They are not nightmares. He is aware he is dreaming when he is in them, and getting to see your faces is bittersweet. He knows he will never see you anywhere else. The sea you had so loved has taken you, and he has nothing to mourn. Not a body, not a painting, not even your bones.

The dream is the same every night. It resembles a story you had once told him, and makes him wonder why his subconscious has chosen it, out of all the sea tales you had shared with him.

In the dream, you stand on the shore of Dragonstone. You are naked, with your hair loose over your shoulders. You hold your daughter, but she is not the age she had been when Daemon had left. Instead, she seems to be a baby again. Daemon cannot be sure because what you hold is a bundle of linens that you rock back and forth, and her face is never seen.

Your eyes are fixed on the horizon. You do not seem to notice him at first. The rocks that make up the beach dig on your bare feet, and the sea rages, hitting against your ankles with such strength you should fall over. You do not.

It makes Daemon nervous.

“What are you doing?” He always tries to convince you, not a night goes by where he doesn’t. “Come here, love. The sea is too dangerous tonight.”

There is a steel band around his chest, and it tightens when he sees you take a step further into the sea. He has this feeling something terrible is about to happen, that the next wave will hit you and drag you under, that it will drown you and his girl. That it will be the last.

But every night, you refuse to listen. You continue rocking the baby, eyes stubbornly set in the horizon. Your face gets the same pinched look it had gotten in life, when the two of you argued, and you refused to back down.

He had learnt to grovel by your side. He tries that, next.

“What are you doing? Please, love.” Daemon gets more desperate then because he tries to get closer to you and never quite manages. He had never been as fearless of the sea as you had been, and in the dream, the mere sight of the water caused him intense terror. “Please. What is it? We can talk about it, I can help. I can protect you.”

Daemon knows it is a lie. He has failed at that once, already. And you seem to know it too because it is to the promise of protection that you turn.

“I can’t.” And your voice sounds old, full of wind and salt. It shatters his soul. You are slipping through his fingers once more. The thought is unbearable. “Our daughter needs to eat.”

Your arms open, and a miracle occurs. The island, so dry and so infertile, the jagged rocks that make up the ground, the sulfuric smell, they all disappear. Suddenly, the world is brighter, there are trees and flourishing bushes, the crops are thriving. The air smells of fruit, and sun, sweet as the first days of summer.

It only serves to terrify him further.

“I’m afraid.” Daemon admits, voice pitched low. It’s not something he would ever say while awake, but he fears so much for your safety, it slips out. When it does, he finds the bravery to rush to your side. “I don’t want anything to happen to the two of you.”

“Don’t be scared, silly.” You laugh, and turn to face him. Daemon reaches forward, attempting to take the babe from you. The blanket opens in the process, but instead of a baby, a rush of seawater falls out.

When he lifts his gaze to meet yours, horrified, you disappear under his hands in the exact same manner.

And Daemon screams, but no sound comes out. Tries to hold on, but water slips through his fingers every time.

Her mother sees it all. Her girl leans in, as if to kiss her reflection, and tips over. The water swallows her whole.

She runs, then. But when she reaches the pond, her fingers only grasp water.

No one in the village believes her. They forget the girl easily, busy with their newfound prosperity. The place blooms with new life.

There has to be something in this place. Perhaps it’s the witch. Perhaps it’s the curse. Daemon had never believed in ghost stories, and he had once mocked Rhaenyra’s concerns over Harrenhal, but now he has the same doubts.

His grip on reality feels flimsy at best. He had spent an entire afternoon chasing his daughter through the halls, convinced he could hear her laughter and footsteps in the corridors.

Simon Strong had jerked him out of that one, asking him to hear the inane disputes of the rest of the Riverlands. His perplexed face at Daemon’s insistence he could hear a child running around had vexed him to no end.

Another day, Daemon had been in a meeting with the lords when he had heard you singing. It was that damn story again, about the girl, and the ponds… He had been lost into his own thoughts, and ended up insulting them because he couldn’t focus.

The witch has taken to looking at him with pity. Does she walk through dreams, too? Can she see you, haunting every body of water near?

It’s late at night, and Daemon cannot sleep. He keeps hearing footsteps, and laughter. Water runs near, an intolerable murmur. He gets up, without bothering to put on his robes, and decides to investigate.

Harrenhal’s corridors are dark and empty. His footsteps echo, explaining the noise. Someone must be walking somewhere. But the water? There is nothing beyond a leak in the roof.

Daemon has a terrible headache. The infernal noise water makes is constantly in his ears, even when he plugs them. It chases him, flowing and ebbing, but never disappears.

Perhaps some fresh air might do him good. He doesn’t dare ask Alys for any further concoction, less she is the one poisoning him. He walks to the courtyard, instead.

As he crosses the dilapidated training grounds, Daemon sees you. His heart lurches. You are as beautiful as the day he married you. You wear your Valyrian robes, and hold your daughter’s hand. She is clad in a miniature set of the same robes.

Daemon rubs his eyes. It cannot be. You are not supposed to be here. Why would you be here, dressed like that? There are runes traced in blood in your forehead, and in your lips. You are fresh out of a wedding.

A flash of jealousy makes him clench his fists. Have you betrayed him? Faked your death to marry another lover? You have come to taunt him, surely. You had survived the attack, and so had your daughter, and this was a way to punish him for leaving you unprotected.

Burning with rage, he walks after the two of you. You seem calm, talking to your daughter in a low voice, and making her giggle. The two of you walk, carefree, through the Godswood.

You look so normal. Like you always did. Solid. There is nothing in you of the vengeful sea goddess that haunts his dreams and disappears under his hands. He doesn’t dare call out either of your names, for fear of alerting you he is on your tail. Daemon wants to see the bastard that you are meeting.

He has suffered all these nights, thinking you dead, and here you are, alive! You dare flaunt yourself, after taking his daughter and causing him immense pain.

“You bitch.” Daemon mumbles under his breath. He follows you outside the castle’s walls, noticing you seem familiar with the terrain. You do not pause even once, while he has to stumble over branches and dried leaves that cover deadly holes made by horse’s hooves.

Once you reach the hill overlooking the Gods Eye, you pick up your daughter, and do not hesitate to make your way down to the lake. Daemon curses under his breath. He doesn't’t dare do the same. His footsteps are nowhere near as secure as yours are while carrying a toddler down a hill.

Instead, he hides behind some trees and watches. Will your lover meet you here?

But no man steps out of the shadows. You set your daughter down and undress her, tenderly. You fold her robes, and remove yours. Then both of you walk into the Gods Eye, until the water swallows you whole.

Daemon rushes to the shore then, nearly twisting his ankle in the process. There are no robes and no footsteps in the mud. There is only the pale moon, winking at him from the surface of the water.

The girl is now a woman. She walks out of the sea one day, carrying her daughter in her arms, and hugs her own mother tight.

“I have come to visit. I wish to meet my friends too, but she is too little to take with me. Would you mind staying with her?”

Her mother, enchanted by the return of her daughter, cannot help but agree. She imagines the afternoon, spent coddling the new granddaughter.

“You have to promise me something.” The woman begs of her. “No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, you must never unwrap her.”

Daemon waits for thirteen days in Harrenhal before his nephew comes face him. He marks the passing of each day through carving a mark into the heart tree at sunset.

You loved sunsets, when alive. You loved to feel the warmth on your skin, and the light reflecting on your face. Your mood had always improved when spring began, and Daemon had fond memories of days spent rolling in the sand, kissing each other until it was difficult to tell if you were flushed because of the sun or the kisses.

Aemond shows up on the fourteen day, after a moon spent terrorizing the Riverlands. His nephew had turned into a petty King, using fire and blood against anyone who stood on his path.

How plebeian. To think he had in his grasp the last beast that had seen the conquest, and he used her to burn fields and peasants. It showed the boy was still green, drunk in his newfound power.

His behavior was unbecoming of a Targaryen Prince. He treated Vhagar as if she were a mere weapon, and not the source of their power. Dragons deserved more respect than that.

Aemond doesn’t come alone. Behind him rides Alys, the witch of Harrenhal herself. The witch’s belly is swollen with child. Daemon wonders if she is fulfilling her own prophecy. Why else the fierce woman he had met during his first stay at the castle remain by his nephew’s side?

Perhaps, she knows she has to be his so the Prince who was promised is born after the extinction of the dragons. It shall not come from his line, but maybe from the one that starts with the babe in her belly.

Daemon has come to understand that he has his own destiny to fulfill too. He was never meant to have you, he realizes. You were a daughter of the sea, made from blood and foam. Daemon, instead, had been born out of fire and blood. Water and fire never mixed, and in another lifetime, they might have never had.

He had been meant for Rhaenyra, Alys had told him once. Made of flames, to burn together. But his love for you had been so strong it had allowed to defy his fate.

Aemond circled twice around Harrenhal, and then brought Vhagar down in the outer ward. Caraxes, as if sensing his rider’s unease, hissed a few flames. Daemon patted his flank, trying to soothe him. It wasn’t time yet. It couldn’t happen here.

Alys got down from Vhagar’s back, aided by her lover. When she was safely away, Aemond turned to face him.

“Nuncle, I hear you have been seeking us.”

“Only you.” Daemon had never been seeking Alys. He liked the witch enough to spare her, despite the rotten seed that had taken residence in her womb. A bastard babe was no threat to him. “Who told you where to find me?”

“My lady,” Aemond said, proudly. “She saw you in a storm cloud, in a mountain pool at dusk, in the fire we lit to cook our suppers. She sees much and more, my Alys. You were a fool to come alone.”

The witch had probably come to see if he fulfilled his destiny. It was important to her, to keep balance between the threads of fate. Daemon doubted that Aemond knew the witch was weaving with his thread too. In bringing him here, Alys had doomed him. She knew as Daemon did that both of them would die today.

“Were I not alone, you would have not come.” If Aemond was anything, it was a Hightower rat. A coward. He would face his death scared, unlike Daemon. He had made his peace with it a long time ago. You were dead. His daughter was dead. He had no further reason to live.

“Yet you are, and here I am. You have lived too long, nuncle.” Aemond tells him. Does he see, too? This twisted mirror of himself, thirty years his younger, and yet, he knows it. Men that defy fate never live too long afterward.

“On that much we agree.” Daemon smiles, wryly. He had led a good life. Nine and forty years, and he had known it all. Even love. Especially love.

Grief never took it away. It only made the tendrils wrapped around his heart into spears, that dug in deep, and never let go.

Daemon purposefully didn’t chain himself to his saddle, so it would be easy to jump. He took the higher ground, pushing Caraxes upwards. His beloved beast. He hoped that this gave Caraxes a fighting chance.

Vhagar was much slower, due to her size. She flew wide, taking her rider over the waters of the Gods Eye.

It was a perfect summer day. The sun was setting, in the manner you had so loved in life. It tinged the water a soft gold. The usual violent currents were calm. Everything around Daemon looked warm, and inviting. The golden hour, as you called it, was upon them.

Vhagar didn’t see them, but she was rapidly approaching. Daemon ordered Caraxes to dive by Aemond’s blind side, slamming against Vhagar with such force he feared he might fall. His dragon let out a piercing shriek, and the old whore answered him with her own.

The two dragons battled against each other, throwing flames and bites. The heat was unbearable, and Daemon had to duck nearly parallel to Caraxes so he was not burnt by Vhagar’s flames.

It was as he leaned in that he saw it. The water. It showed both of the dragons grappling against each other, falling while locked on a deadly embrace. It showed the fire, and the abundant blood falling from them. But it also showed you.

You, radiant in your wedding robes, swimming lazy circles. You, with your arms extended, as if hoping to catch something. Catch him, Daemon realized.

He looked up. Alys was a small figure in the highest tower of Harrenhal. It should have been impossible to see anything from this distance, yet Daemon could swear he saw her smile.

At that moment, he understood. All of it. A circle.

Daemon jumped from his saddle.

As soon as the mother opened the wrapped bundle, a rush of seawater came out. If there was once a baby, she was now gone.

Yet, miraculously, a young woman appears from the sea, fully grown. She is naked, covered only by her hair, and of a beauty so exquisite not a single mortal would dare gaze upon her.

“Fear not, grandmother.” She says, kindly. Her hands against the woman’s cheeks feel wet. Salt from the sea, and the old woman’s tears. “I am not a child any longer, that’s all. But you will never lack for drink as long I live.”

And the young woman faces the setting sun. And slowly, she begins to dance.

Lady Shella walked the halls of Harrenhal, in silence. It had been a long time since there was anyone here she could talk to. Her husband was dead, and her daughter long married. She hardly ever visited anymore, busy with running her own household.

The servants never made for good company. They rotated far too often for her to grow attached to any of them. They always complained of footstep and laughter in the hallways, and mysterious pools of water that no one knew where they came from.

Shella knew. She wasn’t about to tell them, of course. What was the point of owning a haunted castle if you couldn’t use it to scare others?

She made her way to the highest tower in Harrenhal. Her liege lords, the Tullys, had declared for the King in the North. They were kin to him. Shella remembered little Catelyn Tully, with her copperish hair. In her youth, she had been stunning, but Shella knew she must have lost all her luster by now.

If not from having five children, from widowhood. It had sucked all the beauty from Shella, after all. She deeply missed her Walter. They hadn’t been a match of love, but of convenience. She had grown to love him regardless. Years do that, she supposed.

Shella didn’t want to lose Harrenhal. It was the last tie she had to her husband. Inside this castle, they had made their home. They had raised children. They had been deliriously happy.

But Shella had little choice. Her scouts had seen Lannister banners less than half a day away. If she didn’t surrender the castle, they would take it by force. She didn’t have enough men, or time to ask her liege for help. Resisting would only mean death.

She wanted to see it one last time, though. One last sunset. One last trip with her ghosts.

Shella made her way to the window, and waited for the sun to start lowering. As the Gods Eye turned gold, laughter began to be heard in the hallways. Rushed footsteps turning corners, little bells ringing.

“… Daemon! Don’t!” The woman laughed.

“Higher, Daddy, higher!” A girl shrieked, voice pitched high with happiness. It made Shella’s heart ache. She reminded her of her girl.

“Come on, the two of you. We are late.” The voice was deeper, more commanding. And they were. A bit late, perhaps because spring was just starting, and the days were turning longer.

Nothing could be seen, beyond slight depressions on the grass. The marks of boots running alongside bare feet.

But for a second, as the sun turned the Gods Eye an angry orange, Shella saw them. A family of three, their little girl held between the parents, jumping into the lake. All shrieking in laughter.

Prince Daemon Targaryen, his lady wife and his daughter, reunited in death like they weren’t able to be in life. Yes, Shella thought, she could not wait to see what Tywin Lannister made of these ghosts.

.

.

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A/N: Hello! If you are chilean like me (I really should shift to spanish for this, and I will) Si son chilenos como yo, la historia que usé para dividir el fic es una que reconocen. O al menos ligeramente. Es la historia de la Huenchula y el Millalobo, papás de la Pincoya, con un poco de adaptación para que sea fácil de entender y calce con lo que estaba escribiendo.

[missswritesalot]

Small Victories

Daemon finally convinces his brother to let him wed Lord Lyonel Strong’s half Targ daughter, Lady Y/N Strong. All it took was the proof of their coupling.

Curious eyes followed the rogue prince as he walked across the halls of the Red Keep.

Daemon didn't care though, he disrupted the lords of the council and pestered Viserys until they were left alone.

“You’re aware that I want Y/N, your ward.” Daemon said.

He was sick and tired of being told he couldn't have you for his bride. There was nothing that inspired his ire more than the letters to the crown asking for your hand, the hand he felt belonged to him. And this godforsaken council was planning on the most suitable match for their own ambition.

Only Lord Lyonel Strong, your father, had a speck of good intention in his heart. He didn't, however have any authority over your wedding, as the late Queen Aemma had taken a liking to you when you were a child. Your mother had been a prominent bastard Targaryen daughter and the Queen felt an especially close responsibility towards you. You became Rhaenyra's closest companion and upon the queen's death, the ward of the King.

Daemon was thrilled when this happened, could he finally have you for himself? All these years, right under his nose, you had blossomed into the finest young woman fit to be a princess. Aemma would’ve never allowed him to wed you, but Viserys might.

So last night after you left Rhaenyra's chambers and returned to your own, Daemon found you.

It didn't take more than him bolting the door behind him and telling you to take your dress off. His little bird was more than eager, considering that she'd been waiting for this all her life. Her very own Targaryen prince, a part of her identity that decided her life yet lay just out of hand’s reach.

"She's been thoroughly bedded by me, brother." Daemon smirked. He unfurled the ball of fabric in his hand to reveal sheets suggestively streaked with blood. Presumably your maidenblood.

Viserys laughed nervously. Daemon wouldn't dare! Or would he? Anger bubbled within him. This wasn't one of the maidens that the madame of a whorehouse reserved for his brother! Her father was one of the men on the King's Small Council. His own Queen wife had once looked upon this girl as a daughter.

"You dishonor my ward like this?" The King spat out. "This is all a jest to you, Daemon, but you are lucky there is no audience, because if there were one, I'd have your tongue for what you're suggesting." He threatened.

"I am making no suggestion, brother. It is but the truth. I have claimed her. Her maidenblood is spilled, now she is mine and you will give her to me to take to wife." Daemon said calmly. He didn't want to be too demanding.

"And was she receptive to your advances?" Viserys asked sarcastically. He didn't believe a word out of Daemon's mouth, but a growing fear in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise.

"I made her willing," Daemon said quietly. He couldn't risk marring the reputation of his future wife, and by extension his children, by proclaiming her a wanton whore. But he couldn't very well claim he had forced her into it, not with her whole family at court who would forever detest the Prince. Not to mention the rapers he had gilded with the city watch.

"If she hears of your cruel jest- I don't doubt she will swoon." Viserys shook his head, still unbelieving. Daemon crumpled up his trophy into a ball again and tucked it under his arm.

"For safekeeping. Quite a souvenir." Daemon said and chuckled.

"Have Lady Y/N brought before me," Viserys ordered one of the guards that lingered by the door. That man was pink faced and nervously looking at his feet, and jumped upon being addressed. In his good mood, Daemon laughed out loud.

"I'd rather you didn't, brother. Leave her be, and consent that she be my bride." Daemon said.

"And why should she not be here to listen to your slander? Smearing pigs blood to claim she is maiden no longer? I'd like to give Y/N a chance to speak on her behalf." Viserys said, he held up his finger.

"She's still abed," Daemon lied easily. In truth he had found his woman curled into his side this morning. He woke to her gentle touch, and shy questions as she asked if it wouldn't be too indulgent to receive such a pleasure in the light of the day. He'd done a good job and left her so thoroughly ravaged she could scarcely remember her name. She was probably in Rhaenyra's chambers now, hunched over tapestries, and recounting stories of her passionate night while the girls around them burst into giggles. The picture of it brought a smile to Daemon's face.

"You mean this, Daemon?" Viserys asked, finally believing the Prince. He needed to contain this incident before it grew and took legs. "Will this make you happy, brother?"

"More than anything."

"Have Ser Lyonel Strong brought in," he ordered the guard. "And ser Harwin, if he is within the walls."

The men appeared quickly, and looked apprehensively at Daemon. Ser Harwin of the city watch was more at ease than his father.

"'My brother is a Targaryen Prince, won the crown at the Stepstones and is a bachelor after the demise of this Lady wife, the seven rest her soul." Viserys announced to them. "He is every maiden's dream, or so they tell me."

"I am not unaware that it is my perjury that decides the hand of your daughter, Lady Y/N Strong. Therefore I have found a suitable match, my own brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen. Only the finest for her, to honor her late mother’s Targaryen heritage." Viserys gestured to his brother standing to the side, unbothered with bedhair in his undershirt in the midafternoon. Ser Lyonel’s face paled.

"I cannot go forth with this wedding without doing you the courtesy of letting you be the first to know, that your second daughter Lady Y/N Strong, will wed my brother, the Prince. Is there any reason you might object?" Viserys asked, hoping they might offer a valid reason. But silence prevailed.

"She is, of course, most willing." Daemon taunted. He couldn't resist the temptation any more than he could resist your allure.

"We are honored, your Grace." Lyonel spoke uneasily after a while. Ser Harwin didn't look too convinced either, but there was no way to voice their fears without insulting the King's own brother. They refused to look at disheveled Daemon smirking at them.

Daemon whistled a happy tune as he waltzed around the hallways and to his chambers.

He sighed in relief at the ease at which he received the Crown's approval. Now all there was left to do was convincing you that a life with him held more promise than one as Rhaenyra's ladies in waiting.