#daemyra young love

[lanaisdoe]

Young love... all those years...

DAEMON and RHAENYRA ... meant to burn together...

[lanaisdoe]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 1.04 | ‘King of the Narrow Sea’

[wandalives]

I wish we could’ve gotten at least one hallucination of adult!Rhaenyra. Seeing Daemon comfort her after the loss of Visenya instead of leaving her alone to plot with the small council would have been so impactful.

[drakaripykiros130ac]

I still can’t get over this:

In the same episode, Rhaenyra went from this…

To this…

Crispin’s proposal was rejected with arguments regarding matters of duty.

With Daemon, Rhaenyra not only does she propose to him herself, but completely forgets/doesn’t give a damn that she is the Crown. 😂

Which goes to show you, this was never about her not wanting to leave behind her duties or her position as Heir to the Iron Throne and sail away somewhere with someone she loves.

This was about how she never wanted Crispin. She has always wanted Daemon. Rhaenyra was willing to ride off with Daemon and marry him without her father’s consent, knowing that there would be a good chance for him to disinherit her.

I LOVE them!

[alicent-targaryen]

MERMAID!RHAENYRA x SAILOR!DAEMON ▸ The Little Mermaid!AU aesthetic board

[lanaisdoe]

It's all there......... :") without any actual dialogue.

A single scene.

And WE KNEW. :D ...and so the ship has sailed...

Matt and Milly on the Rhaenyra and Daemon scenes:

“I think Rhaenyra is at an age where she can’t tell the difference between platonic love, romantic love, and lust, because she hasn’t lived long enough and gone through those experiences,” Alcock said. “So, I think that she understands that there’s a feeling here [with Daemon], but she’s not quite sure where it lands, and how to behave with it and navigate it, which is what makes that dynamic so interesting.”

Alcock also confirmed that she and Daemon actor Matt Smith were indeed injecting some flirty vibes into their performances through subtle means. “Me and Matt came to a mutual understanding: that [the relationship] is charged, but it’s under the surface,” said Alcock. “It’s almost like they’re having two conversations in every scene. It’s like what they’re actually saying, and what they’re saying in their body language, and in their eyes, and in their tone.”

[technicallyfriendly]

I've been thinking. Many people have posted about the parallels between daemyra and lucemond as well as the parallels between jacegon and rhaenicent and I very much agree with them. I just think that it is very interesting that the rhaenyra parallel in both ships is very different.

Aegon is very much young Rhaenyra who does not have a taste for duty, wishing to spend her days traveling on dragon back and eating only cake. The one known for their hedonistic behavior. Forced into a mutually unwanted marriage with their respective spouse. Damned to yearn for something long gone that could never be again. Something that only leaves book pages full of painful memories behind.

Whereas Lucerys represents Rhaenyra's darker side. The side that enjoys flirting with danger. A reckless side. Provoking their uncles into reckless actions and standing tall in the face of adversity. Lucerys got the teeth and I imagine, had he had the chance to grow into his bratty nature, the rumors about him would never stop. The good and the bad.

Maybe Alicent could have loved Aegon more if he didn't remind her so much of all her long dead dreams. Though this also begs the question what the OGs feel when they recognise themselves in lucemond and jacegon. But I think that might be something for a different post.

[themotherofblood]

Dark!Daemyra x daughter!eeader but it’s their actual biological daughter (meaning rhaenyras the mom).

Remember in episode 4 when everyone thought that rhaenyra had her virtue taken by daemon? What if they actually had a kid?

Gosh I kinda made this a little too angsty so bare with me. I’m just really bad at writing to the point, I wanted to add some context to the smut hehe. So I hereby present

Dark!Daemyra x Daughter!reader

tw: incest, infantilism, cheating…(kinda?) murder, talks of more incest babies and kinda non con-ish? jason lannister (🤢) smut! oral, missionary kinda courrpution vibes. Threesome

7.8k words

A mistake, a grave mistake.

Not you, the one that had brightened Rhaenyra’s world with your little laugh, the one that had her hair and her uncle’s charisma - but the deed done to conceive you had been the most terrible of errors.

By right, you were Rhaenyra’s first-born child and heir; however, given the time of conception and the beautiful (pale, too pale) features you had been born with, it was obvious that you were not the offspring of Laenor Velaryon, but of her brutish uncle Daemon Targaryen. What remained were the rumours of Rhaenyra and Daemon coupling at a notorious brothel on the Street of Silk. Bastardy or the Iron Throne, that remained the question of your birthright to many. Your conception was a greater source of whispers and slander than that of your brown-haired ‘Strong’ brothers.

You weren’t raised in the Red Keep; with the brunt of the court upon your muña’s shoulders, she’d hoped to keep you shielded away from the cruel gossip that surrounded you even at the mere age of five. You hadn’t even set eyes upon her for years, making do with the letters that detailed how much she missed you and a chest full of trinkets and dolls to share with the young daughters of the vassal lords sworn to Dragonstone.

Daemon Targaryen, on the other hand was truly banished after word of his murdering his first wife Rhea Royce reached his brother’s - your grandsire’s - ears. While there was no formal accusation nor trial, Viserys was simply at his wit's end with the reckless goings-on of his younger brother. He had left Westeros even before your mother had realised that the moon tea she had consumed had not worked.

Daemon found his family elsewhere. After slaying a sea lord who was promised the hand of Laena Velaryon, he married her and then fled to Pentos with her and her dragon. The word of a Targaryen bastard being born from the Crown Princess was most certainly to spread like a plague, far enough to reach your kepa’s ears. He wanted to come back the second he heard of you, but his brother denied his request. When you were shipped off to Dragonstone, he wished to fetch you - but this time, his wife refused him, not wishing to raise the love child he had with his niece.

He had begun to send letters of Valyrian poetry, old texts of Valyrian romance and many other trinkets. You had written to him the day you claimed your dragon, which happened in a hilarious accident as you had trailed through the Dragonmont to make friends with a silver dragon, a she-dragon named Silverwing. Though the letter you had written had gone without reply, you had waited for a year and then accepted the dark truth. He had other daughters and another family. By request of the King, you were raised by Septas and the handmaidens at Dragonstone.

At present, you waited by the Painted Table. While one might not have been eager at the sound of people returning from a funeral, you indeed were. Mother had spent four moons at Dragonstone, leaving the Red Keep behind for good until the time arrived for her ascension. These four months had been bliss; you were introduced to your brothers. When you had first departed, Lucerys was still a babe suckling at Rhaenyra’s breast. Now, she returned with another little babe. -Your good-father returned as well, the one knight that could have flung your body high to the skies and caught you right in time. He had engulfed you in an embrace the moment he saw you.

Then came the letter of Laena Velaryon’s passing, and the world shifted under your good-father’s feet. With respect to Laena’s memory and the illegitimacy of your station, the Queen Alicent had advised Rhaenyra to not have you come along with the family. You were accustomed to such treatment; it mattered not. Yet the news of your kepa’s return churned your belly. You had never laid eyes on the man, having seen a mere few portraits hung in the grand galleries at Dragonstone. He looked much like you when he was a babe, and yet the older he grew you imagined him to be the embodiment of the courteous knights you read of in your books.

You had worn your nicest dress, and your preparations had begun with digging through all the letters he had ever sent you, having the chefs prepare his favourite foods and procuring a fat sheep for Caraxes. The household staff all lined themselves up by the halls. It had been years since their Rogue Prince returned home. While many admired the man, others feared him. Regardless of his reputation, there had been respect for his name upon every rock on the island.

Rhaenyra had walked in first with your brothers, her face softening at seeing you looking eagerly at the grand doors. She hugged you, rubbing the side of your arms as she stood behind you. Your sisters… You weren’t sure if they would have taken it well if you called them such. They were introduced first as a knight called out their titles. They bowed first, reminding you that you were a Princess and they only ladies. Then, everything went silent - you heard the thudding of boots before your vision was clouded by the image of shoulder-length silver hair.

Daemon Targaryen stood atop the steps, hands held together in front of him. He commanded the room with just his purple eyes. Your eyes. You were so entranced by his presence you almost forgot to ask about your good-father. He approached you, a princely smile upon his lips, and you failed to keep your lady-like composure.

The first thing that came from his mouth was your name. Your name had never sounded so wondrous as it did at that very moment. He greeted you, and your voice abandoned you as you opened your mouth to return his niceties. You must have looked like a fool, mouth parted as no words came forth. Your mother’s voice snapped you from whatever had possessed you.

“The honour is mine, my Prince,” you said, bowing your head. You wanted nothing more than to call him kepa - but there was so much unsaid. It didn’t seem appropriate to you at the moment.

Another two fortnights passed, and you were still grappling with the thought that both the people that created you now sat with you as you broke fast. Your brothers again ran wild in your chambers and now, you had two little sisters - twins.

One night, your mother came to your room, looking far happier than she usually was as she sat at the edge of your bed. You put your book away on your lap, awaiting whatever it is she wanted to tell you.

“Your kepa and I are to be wed!”

You had helped dress her for the very day. Your legitimacy was now sealed with fire and blood as your parents swore their vows to the Fourteen Flames. You had hand-lit every yellow and red candle along with your siblings, being perhaps the happiest you had been in all your life. Maester Gerardys had perhaps shared your joy, having raised you in these very halls and witnessing your disappointment whenever there had been no letter from Rhaenyra nor Daemon.

Their marriage was beautiful. Both looked far deeper in love than any poet could ever profess in words. There was longing, a sense of time lost between them. Perhaps, in a way - as they looked at you after sealing their union with a kiss - you were their love made flesh and bone, their blood running through your veins. Two ears, ten fingers and toes, and eyes that flared with the same longing Rhaenyra and Daemon had so long had for one another.

Both made concerted efforts between the sheets to reclaim the years lost, and they made efforts with you, offering you the attention you deserved from them. Daemon smiled ear-to-ear as he saw you loving up against his grandmother’s former mount, an elegant creature that matched your demeanour.

Daemon had once said “the gods give, as they take away.” Those words had come to royally interrupt the quaint life he lived with his family at Dragonstone. Word was to indefinitely spread about him marrying his niece, and soon did it grace the ears of his brother - and his cunt of a Hand. A white raven, the symbol of urgency, bore the demand that the entire household of the Blacks were to present themselves at Viserys’s court. There was no indication of whether the King approved or not, but naught was to be done other than abide by his brother’s demands. Thus, the older children mounted their dragons along with Daemon and Rhaenyra and set the course for their journey to the Red Keep.

Your memories had been rather faint of these halls. You remembered walking them and all your heart felt was its cold aura. It wasn’t home. Their welcome hadn’t been warm to be sure - a wheelhouse had received you at the Dragonpit alongside your parents, Baela, Rhaena and Jacaerys. Your Septa had squeezed you into a tight corset, one that you had never worn before, your hair braided far too tight for your liking. It was how the ladies dressed at court, they had told you.

The Targaryen guards had led your family straight to the Throne Room. Crowds of people assembled on both sides and the gallery crawled with young ladies, some your age, some younger. You had slotted yourself behind your kepa’s larger frame, finding an odd urge to hide as every eye in the room seemed to have been fixated on you and every whisper called your name. You hoped you were a lady enough to satiate whatever expectations these strangers had thrust upon your shaking hands.

Viserys was furious, as furious as he could be given his condition. He wasn’t the man you remember, his full cheeks and the head of hair that you had inherited and a hand gone. He pulled himself by using his sword Blackfyre as a cane, accusing his brother - your sweet kepa - of terrible obscenities. You wanted to defend him, you truly did. You wanted to scream, lecture the court on the man Daemon Targaryen really was. Of how much he loved his family, so much so that he had abandoned you the day his late wife begged him so.

There was much said and done, most of which made the corners of your eyes water with furious tears as you reached for your mother’s hands. Everything Viserys and Otto Hightower questioned about their union directly mirrored your existence.

It was a sham. You weren’t a sham.

It was a manipulation. You weren’t a lie.

It was a crime, that much was true; you were a bastard, after all. You were Rhaenyra’s first-born, yet stood to inherit nothing. You were the shield that politically protected your brothers. This marriage put everything into question. Who were you anymore?

What you were was a perfect example and a trap for Otto Hightower to lay in the King’s lap, offering you as an auspicious match with House Lannister. Of course, the words were never to be said, but this marriage was a blessing from the gods for the likes of you. You were ambushed by the Small Council on the second day of your return to the Red Keep.

The second the name of Jason Lannister spilt through your grand-sire’s lips, Rhaenyra was outraged. Never had you witnessed her this crazed over something, her eyes dark and voice low. She matched the intimidating aura of your father, perhaps giving you a glimpse of the similarities between them.

“She is to be my heir!” Rhaenyra argued, her voice booming through the chambers. “I will not have you sell her like you tried with me, father!”

The debate had grown heated. Jason was a proud man, from what you had heard, and your mother fought on your behalf for a different right altogether. For once (in your own stupidity) you saw purpose, a purpose you viewed as your grand-sire’s affection; a sense of duty you had never felt before. After so long spending your days wandering in the world of your own head, for once you felt a woman. A false sense of naive hope. When Rhaenyra urged that they in the least listen to what you had to say, your words echoing through the chambers were the last thing she expected.

“I will do my duty if that is what the King wishes,” you nervously mumbled. “The throne would not agree with me, mother.”

That had been five years ago. You were a proud lion now, or so said the letters that you sent home every other moon. You had been a dutiful wife to Jason Lannister, to be sure. Your bastardy had been allayed by the magnificent dragon you claimed, and your womb that would finally bring the glory of possessing dragon eggs to the Lannister name. He had been a good husband to you, showering you with gold and fineries beyond your needs, a perfectly dolled-up Targaryen wife dressed in the crimsons and gold of the Lannister heritage. You wanted to enjoy it, you truly did. You had craved such attention from a young age, but something in your mind nagged that it wasn’t genuine.

You spent much of your time hidden in the library, which Lord Jason had at first said would have made your little head spin.

You had claimed victory over it in a mere year, and so you had asked for more books; if he was to spoil you so, perhaps he could provide you with something of more use. And yet, your chests continued to be filled with more jewellery, the finest dresses and boots. You would scold yourself for not finding joy in this. There were children starving in the country and you complained of fine dresses being too much.

The love-making between you was respectable, quick. It was far easier than the complicated mess your Septa had chastely told you about. You would spread your legs for him and just lay there. However, once the first year of your union passed and you still hadn’t borne a child, things grew ugly.

Jason had been dismissive at first, petting your head and claiming your youth as the impediment of your lack of conception. Then, it was the Maesters hounding you with ways to be with child. from putting your legs high in the air after being pumped full of your lord husband’s seed to avoiding wines at feasts. They recommended positions to be placed in; then, they requested that you refrain from dragon riding. Your favourite foods were targeted soon after, the spices in them after that; and soon, your meals were left with just salt in them.

That bled to the third year of your marriage. The gossip that had been abandoned because of your wedding was now set ablaze yet again. You suffered it all with a stiff lip.

The latest requirement had been for you to remain abed for most of the day, a consequence for going against your husband’s wishes and riding Silverwing after eight moons without. There was just something in her eyes that begged you to ride her, perhaps to save you from your own misery. When you returned, you had been grateful that you rode her.

The flattery that your lord husband had doted upon you with before bedding you had long faded with frustration. Couplings had always been a chore, but now it was painful as you laid there wishing for it to end. He would enter your chambers, undoing his doublet and you just knew. You would push down your small-clothes and spread your legs for him before returning to slumber alone. You had counted every petal embroidered onto your canopy as Jason grunted in your ear. You would run your fingers down his back, his hair, hoping to make him peak sooner.

One night, you simply couldn’t bring yourself to lay with him from how exhausted you had been, barely being able to eat the boiled food and enduring yet another feast that ran from dusk to dawn. You refused him politely, hoping that he would lounge with you or leave you to your endeavours alone. Instead, he lectured you on your duty, his breath stinking of strong wine as he forcefully yanked you towards your bed. You had protested, fought against his hold, but it had no effect on him. He had easily torn through your shift as he had turned you to your belly. All you remembered were the stern words of your inability to provide him with heirs when the whores down at brothels of Lannisport had already birthed bastards for him, your head shoved into the pillow to muffle your protests, and then the dread as you felt his seed from within you spill onto your sheets.

He took you in such a manner twice more, growing further irate with the judgments of his family. He was your husband - he had the right. That was, until your sheets were stained in red once more. The handmaidens and the maesters all huffed in defeat yet again, and you were sure your husband had been at a brothel for his business down at Lannisport.

So you ran.

Silverwing roared as she perched herself upon Casterly Rock, scaring the knights in their golden helms away. She flew you swiftly through the skies, heading towards the one place you felt the safest, the one place you should have returned to years before.

“Dārilaros, Silverwing ēza sepār māzigon naejot se Dragonmont,” a Dragonkeeper hastily informed Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra’s eyes shot to Daemon who was seated next to her by the Painted Table as they went over season books for the fourth moon. They wasted no time in hurrying past Aegon’s Garden to see you, their daughter, dismounting Silverwing in a red gown. They rejoiced, finally setting eyes upon their blood after five years. The second you laid eyes upon your mother, you rushed to engulf her. Daemon wrapped his arms around both his wife and you, placing a kiss atop your head.

You had returned to your bedchamber in the Sea Dragon Tower, claiming that you were overdue a visit and your duties had freed you for long enough to fly home. Neither Daemon nor Rhaenyra were daft; you had arrived devoid of any riding clothes, dressed in a heavy gown and jewellery. With no clothes nor belongings, it was obvious that something had happened, but they allowed you your space.

You were overjoyed at being able to let your hair down and wear your old gowns. You had slept that night, sprawled across your bed like a happy child, fed and tucked in.

As the days passed, you were introduced to your new siblings - not half-siblings, but ones who shared the same parentage, the same blood as you. You learned of the toddler named Aegon and a babe of one and eight moons named Viserys, and the healthy girl your mother had named Visenya. You found much joy in meeting them. They reminded you of your childhood, though you were perhaps a little envious that they would grow up in much better circumstances than you did.

Rhaenyra had found you one afternoon, humming a Valyrian lullaby to Visenya, the words of which you had forgotten years before but you had hummed to yourself at nights to remind yourself of the memory of home. You were the blood of the dragon; you were the daughter of dragons. That glint of sorrow in your eyes had told Rhaenyra all that she needed to know.

“It is a matter of heirs,” she had told Daemon as he helped her onto their marital bed. “I fear what they might have imposed on her, Daemon.”

Rhaenyra knew first-hand of Jason Lannister’s pride.

“She doesn’t look herself anymore,” Daemon agreed. While Rhaenyra dreamt of a beneficial way of helping you, Daemon had already dreamt of a far more violent one, for years beforehand.

A prideful man with a runaway bride has never been a great song. Jason had set sail himself to retrieve his wayward wife from Dragonstone, winged beast to lead back into your golden cage. His ship was filled with more trinkets and fineries to sway you and your parents to hand you back to him, a place he believed you belonged.

He presented himself at Rhaenyra’s court as she sat the throne at Dragonstone. Without an inkling of enthusiasm or warmth, she accepted her son-in-law’s presence with Daemon standing next to her, also unimpressed by the blonde fool.

“I have come to convey my sweet wife home. Casterly Rock is much too cold without her fire,” he cajoled, his voice echoing through the Chamber of the Painted Table.

Rhaenyra had sent for you the second she had greeted your husband in the chambers. You arrived but moments later, your cheeks filled with colour from devouring your lunch of roast goose. Your feet abruptly halted the moment you saw the hair yellowish-blonde hair, knowing it could mean only one thing. Rhaenyra’s eyes caught yours first, and then your husband turned to find you in what he would deem a distasteful gown.

You hiked your skirts and bolted down the other corridor, paying no mind to the rain pouring heavily outside and running through Aegon’s Garden. Silverwing had already perched herself atop the Dragonmont as she had felt your distress. Her roar echoed with the thundering in the clouds above. Daemon chased after you, his quick feet catching up to yours with ease.The household guard blocked your path from exiting through the gates of Dragonstone.

“No, no! Please!” you wailed as Daemon caught onto your hands. “I cannot go back! Please, don’t send me back!”

Daemon’s eyes flared in concern over your distraught face. He opened his mouth to reassure you, but you only screamed louder over the heavy pattering of rain.

“I will throw myself off the Windwrym Tower if you send me with him! Please, please, do not make me go back,” you cried. Your kepa pulled you closer, shushing your pained sobs as you begged harder.

Daemon had managed to reassure you that no one would force you back to Casterly Rock unless you wished it so. He had been horrified at how miserable you must be to threaten your own life in order to remain at Dragonstone, and his blood boiled to learn the truth of the matter. Rhaenyra had the servants prepare a room for your lord husband in an entirely different tower. You felt secure in knowing that Jason wouldn’t be allowed in the Sea Dragon Tower since it housed your chambers as well as your parents' chambers a floor above.

This is where you were brought after your handmaidens had helped you out of your soaking wet gown, huddled by the hearth crackling with a freshly stoked fire, a blanket of soft furs and a cup of warm tea in your hands. While you chose to sit on the floor, Daemon sat on his armchair, hoping to make you speak. Your wet hair clung to the sides of your face, a face that was once filled with so much light. Now, it hid something from him, and he couldn’t bear it.

“If you won’t tell me what happened, I cannot protect you,” he urged, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “What has happened, zaldrītsosi?”

You shook your head once more, making Daemon groan in frustration. You played with the rim of the tea cup, circling your finger around it, over and over again. You felt your father’s frustrations, gods know you had endured it yourself for years. In truth you were embarrassed of your inability to be a good wife, perhaps the harshness your lord husband had showed you- you deserved it.

The chamber door opened once more with Rhaenyra finally making her way to you, while Daemon felt clueless about what caused your outburst. Rhaenyra had her suspicions, she shuffled her skirts to lower herself next to you, she didn’t ask a thing but just wrapped her arms around your shoulders. Letting you know that you were taken care of, that you were home. Whatever tactic was this, it worked as the first words of your confession echoed through the chambers.

“I cannot go back,” you said, “He deserves to find another wife.”

You had tried to be the loveable wife your mother had been to both her husbands. She bore three sons for the first and three more children for your kepa, within the matter of five years when you couldn’t even conceive one.

“He is lucky to have a wife like you,” Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to your temple.

You shook your head again “I’m not so…perfect like you.”

Rhaenyra frowned, never once had she wanted you to feel this inferior but your insecurities had been radiating through your skin. Daemon remained silent, letting his wife coax your reasoning out of you, perhaps you would do it quicker so he could fetch Dark Sister and resolve the matter.

“Lord Jason is my husband, he has a right to be sure,” you whispered, nuzzling further into Muña's embrace. “The way he held me down, for refusing to lay with him…” your voice trailed “I n-never want to feel that, ever again.”

Daemon saw red, even more so for the reason that you had not a clue of what had happened to you. A crime he had dismembered many during his days as the commander of the gold cloaks, his wife’s eyes shot to him. Silently begging him to not act on his anger just yet, he agreed - you needed them more. Your cries were silent, calmer than the onslaught before, Daemon let your head as you whimpered in your mother’s arms.

Somewhere along the evening you had succumbed to your exhaustion, Daemon had carried you into their bed and tucked you in. The silence left Rhaenyra and Daemon with a grave decision, they would have to petition Viserys to have your marriage annulled, however to lay the history of what you had suffered bare in court. The plea had to come from you, Rhaenyra had shuffled under the furs that night, her warm fingers trying to soothe the frown you sported even in you sleep. Daemon hummed that familiar lullaby as you stirred, feeling their bodies mould to yours - only this time you remembered the words.

Come morning, Rhaenyra had sent for Jason Lannister early in the morning; she had left her lady in waiting - Elinda Massey - to watch after you as you slept sprawled across their bed. In very distasteful words, Rhaenyra shunned your husband, Daemon stood beside her with his hand eagerly gripped around the pompel of Dark Sister. He paced back and forth, internally begging his wife to let him have the Lannister cunt’s head.

When you awoke, Elinda had helped you prepare yourself for the day. Your shoulders felt lighter, like a burden lifted from your shoulders. A content smile had finally adorned your face as you lounged in your parents chambers (far too elated). Rhaenyra returned from court with Daemon at her heel, trying to walk away the burning rage within her before she greeted you. She had sat you down, telling you of how Jason had returned to Casterly Rock and that the Blacks were to petition the royal court once more to have your marriage annulled. You threw your arms around Rhaenyra, profusely thanking her as she petted your hair.

Rhaenyra’s eyes lingered over your face for a little longer, the fullness of your cheeks, the purple of your eyes; gave her glimpses of herself and Daemon. There was something that overcame her, a subject Daemon and Rhaenyra had spoken at length about - first after their wedding night and second was last night. Her thumbs stroked your cheeks before her rosy lips found yours, it wasn’t a chaste kiss and yet the feeling that churned in you belly. You had yearned to feel it through the five torturous years of your marriage, when she pulled away you were stunned. Eyes glossed and mind in shambles.

“You are the glorious thing that came from us, sweet girl,” she whispered “you are to remain with us now, forever.”

She had pulled you up to stand in between your kepa and her, he was silently observing your reactions. You felt entrapped, not in the malicious way you had been caged in your marital bed, but the tenderness they had for you anchored you down, engulfing you in warmth. Daemon turned to hold your face in his hands, his roughed digits stroking at your heated blush stained cheeks.

“Let us take you the way you were meant to, let us show you riñītsos,” he requested. What were you to do? Pull away from the affection you were being dotted with after beggin for it for years. You nodded, mumbling a meek yes.

Rhaenyra turned you towards her again, both kepa and her working with haste to strip your body off your gown, leaving trails of sweet kisses upon your pale skin. The back of your neck to the pulsing at your wrists, they showed you reasons to live; showed reasons of why you were the most precious thing in the Known world. The smell from Rhaenyra’s flowered soaps mixed with Daemon’s woody ones, encasing you between their larger frames. You perked breasts spilt free first, your mother’s warm mouth immediately trapped the pebble between her lips. Suckling to harden them, and leave bruises of passion apon your milky skin. Daemon joined her efforts, his lips claiming your neck as he held you hand.

You couldn’t breathe, one would find lust, passion or even contentment within the feel of their lips but a deeper pit bubbles in your stomach. When you blinked your eyes open, they welled in tears and your breath hitched. Fighting to take in a bigger gasp of air, the years went on and you truly felt as beastly as they saw Silverwing. One incapable being found desirable, that your husband would resort to pumping bastards into tavern whores. You face scrunched, scolding yourself to enjoy this and yet you didn’t want them to see you bare; perhaps they would hate you too.

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened the moment she saw your discomfort and kissed your cheek. Hoping you would confess your feelings without coaxing.

“I won’t be to your liking,” you hung your head low, more tears streamed down your face.

“Nonsen - you are the most beautiful girl in the Known world,” Rhaenyra reassured, lifting your face to look at her. Perhaps it was something in her eyes that made you want to believe her flattery.

“How can you know?” You sniffed, wiping the tears with your wrists.

“We made you, who else would know better?” Daemon said, his voice softer than usual as looked down at you.

Mother had been incapable of bedding Daemon since birthing Visenya two moons ago, she was still healing. They believed that it was your husband’s incapacity to impregnate you; all your life at Dragonstone your moonblood’s course had been near perfect. It was to their benefit, your womb deserved to carry pure Valyrian babes anyhow. A witted mind may even see this as an advantage, with you as Rhaenyra’s heir. The silver of your hair, the smile that matched Daemon’s and little Valyrian babes of your own. Your mother’s claim would remain untouchable.

Daemon had led you to their bed, perhaps now your own. Rhaenyra had stripped herself to just her corset and chemise, while she intended on assisting her husband she would be a fool to not find pleasure in Daemon bedding you. Your father had been displeased as you crawled into bed and spread your legs open for him. While he admired the gesture of you presenting yourself to him, he tutted at how bereft of pleasures you were.

“Fucking is a pleasure you see, for the man and woman,” he had sultry eyes set upon you as he devices of ways to have you screaming for him.

Your legs already remained parted for him as you held your inner thighs, you were expecting his cock to penetrate you and yet he was fully clothed. It was horror that filled you next as Daemon kneeled by the edge of the bed, his fingers gently stroked the sides for your mound before he flattened his tongue on your slit.

“K-kepa what are you d-,” a whine tore through your lips as you felt his lips suckling at your sensitive flesh. Daemon feasted on your cunny, like a delicacy with exotic flavours plated just for him. You muña had skittles herself next you, bracketing a leg to hold your thigh open as she paid much needed attention to your nipples. Her fingers toyed with one as her mouth nibbled on the other.

The throes of coupling were all you’d known awhile you dutifully suffered in the sheets, this - this - was tenacious; never ending as it hurtled you further into its depravity. The sounds of your squelching cunt and Daemon humming against your folds as Rhaenyra whispered the sweetest of endearments in your ears, their little girl…made just for them to ruin.

Daemon locked his palm against your, tangling your fingers between in him a silent call of, he was here for you, he would take care of you. Rhaenyra caressed your flushed face, the tickle of delicate fingertips distracted you from your insecurities. Your cunny felt the stretch of your Kepa's fingers, his thick digit knuckle deep within you. You hadn’t realised your body could even feel this way, so weightless that all you felt was the throbbing around your puffy bud. The textures on his tongue fondling with the tender flesh, how soft his actions were along with your mother’s ministrations of keeping the rest of your bare body ablaze.

You found your voice, as your breathy mewls turned to a shameless moans because of Daemon’s finger gracing a foreign spot within you; pumping in and out repeatedly. Your hips hiked off the bed, grinding into your kepa’s mouth. He gently held your hip down, you arched you back, unable to decipher the waves of tingles that ran up your thighs.

“Please, please!” you begged, unsure of it as you pleaded for, all you body seemed to yell at you was to find the ending.

A sudden, furious bliss burst through your core; you hadn’t felt anything like it before. You screamed their name, praying to the Gods to save you. You felt his tongue still laying soft licks on your bed as your thighs clenched around his head. You fell flat back against the beds, heavy breathing as you tried to gather your bearings.

“Wh- what…?” You couldn’t finish the question clouding your mind, your words lost on your lips.

“That sweet girl…was your peak,” Rhaenyra gingerly placed a kiss upon your temple. Her fingers mindlessly trailed up and down the valley of her breasts.

My peak…my peak you had incoherently whispered under your breath. “Will you bed me now?” You looked at your father expectantly.

“Would you like me too… would you like kepa to pump you full of his seed?” He whispered against your folded thighs as he pressed wet kisses across your pale flesh.

Your head eagerly nodded, wanting to feel more of what the art of pleasures had to offer. You wanted this ecstasy that Daemon spoke off. You wanted to drown yourself in it, having someone touch you so brutally broke a part of your aura - tragically - but your kepa and muña sewed your pieces back together. A cascading light that hurtled towards misery now floated high above the clouds, happy as you should have been.

“Say it riñītsos,” Rhaenyra whispered against your lips.

“Please bed me, kepa,” you asked, eyes flaring purple as did theirs. You shuffled against his hold on your thighs, the skin w clawing at your insides.

Daemon looked at Rhaenyra and chuckled, shaking his head at your niceties. “Such a polite thing, our daughter.” Rhaenyra indulged in stripping her husband for you, peeling his doubly away from him before freeing him from his breeches. Your kepa’s member was far more monstrous than your lord husband’s, it spurred a fear under your chest; the memories of bedding and the last night you had shared Jason’s bed were fresh within your mind. Daemon caught onto the apprehension that flared in the purple of your eyes. He pressed a kiss to your knee. “M’ going to be gentle…unless you ask me not to be,”

You hadn’t understood what he meant but your heart eased, preparing yourself to feel the bitter stretch of his bulbous tip at your entrance. Braced in position you waited for the burn to flare through your nethers but it never came. Merely the pressure of the hard line pushing you open, a little uncomfortable at best but the pain you had expected was nowhere to be found. You blinked your eyes upon, pulling yourself to grace upon where yours and Daemon’s body connected. You hissed at the fullness but appeared shocked, you looked to him; his eyes softened at the state of your discovery. Coupling was never meant to be a chore.

Rhaenyra circled her fingers upon your yearning pearl, you greedily raised your head pleading for her to kiss you and so she did. Her rounded mouth moulded against yours, a kiss that once rose bile to your throat - the tongues being far too much - your kittenish hum invited her in willingly. You could taste your shared breath, commanding you with the grape scent of her lips. Daemon had begun rocking himself, determined strokes rutting into your - his sweet cunny - his baby’s warm walls as he could barely contain himself from watching your mother dote upon you with honeyed vulgarity.

Daemon grunted, wanting to feel the touch of your lips as he tucked his hands behind the small of your back. You held your kepa’s face in your hands, lifting yourself just enough to taste the spiced wine that linger on his lips; his tongue raspily greeted yours. You mewled into his mouth, legs wrapping around his rear as your Rhaenyra and Daemon took turns whispering sweet obscenities in your ear. They made this cunny for them to use… kepa would breed you swollen of his Valyrian babes, pure babes. There perfect little dragon

Naught was of importance as you begged kepa to piston within you harder, you body smothered between the ones of your blood (warm, far too warm). Trickles of tears that fell from the corners of your eyes disappear in your hairline, Daemon wiped them - grunting louder - with his adoration directed straight st you. Rhaenyra had pulled him closer for a kiss, tasting you upon his lip as his hammering never once faltered. You wanted to peak again, you wanted to fly again.

“K-kepa, I- so good,” your words muddled at the tip of your tongue, but the way your cunt fluttered around his cock. There was just one reason to be sure. He looked to Rhaenyra, a short nod of his followed with your muña fingers working in tighter - quicker - circles around your throbbing nub.

“Oh - that’s it, pretty girl, come for kepa…wet his cock,” Rhaenyra cooed at you, your back arched off the bed. A longing whine tore through your lip, pleading Daemon to go harder. He obliged, haunching his body over as his shoulders laid flush against your chest. His heavy stones slapping against your rear. You wanted it, your insides clawed at you to peak.

“Our sweet little dragon, come - come now.”

Daemon’s order hadn’t gone unheard, in true fashion of a father’s daughter you peaked for him, your pleasures gushing through you core as your scream lodged itself at the back of your throat. Leaving only whimpers and squeaks behind as your finger nails dug into Daemon’s shoulder.

Days had passed since, once you had tasted the world of pleasures, the next four day you had spent either bouncing on your kepa’s cock; begging him to fill your cunt or muña fingers pulling peak after peak from your body.

The moment of truth arrived sooner that you had expected, you had flown to court once more. Viserys had been gravely ill, as a mourning grandchild your heart ached for what had become of the once proud king. As a wronged wife, you feared if Otto Hightower would have your best intentions in sight. Whil by marriage it would have been appropriate for you to wear an alarmingly bright red gown and jewellery of gold. You had come dressed in the darker crimsons of your house as you stood in between your kepa and muña.

Jason Lannister presented an elaborate case, claiming you as his - how your place was at Casterly Rock and not behind your mother’s skirts. He even made attempts to approach you, but the deathly glare Daemon had set upon your husband made Jason’s cowardice known. The Blacks and Greens had separated them on each end, and by the passing day it had become rather evident that if you returned with Jason, your support of your mother would be squandered under their golden foot.

Otto Hightower then called the Blacks forwards as he sat upon the Targaryen throne as if it were his own. Rhaenyra stepped forward to petition on your behalf but was dismissed by her old bitter companion Alicent Hightower - the Queen.

“Your daughter is far above her age to petition for herself, Princess Rhaenyra, unless she is daft…?” Alicent retorted.

Your eyes darted between your mother and father as they looked to your covering frame, they wanted to protest but what other choice had they given you. With cautious mannerisms you stepped forward, cultivating your sentences of beggary in your head to not stumble upon them. Your fingers fiddled with one another as you stood at the front of the throne room; with the entire court gathered to see your humiliation. Much of everything had sounded muffled to you, they would send you back, he would take you back. You should have flung yourself the first chance you had.

The night before, Rhaenyra had visited her father’s chambers. Maternal tears coating her face as she begged her father for you life. Daemon had told her of your threat to end your existence. What she thought were pleadings fallen to deaf ears, she had hoped to use her inheritance to save you from this curse or have Daemon flee with you to Essos. To remain there until Rhaenyra would take the throne.

Perhaps a call from the heavens answered your pleas (Rhaenyra’s efforts in truth) the grand door to the Throne Room opened, your grand-sire limping his way through a startled court. An old dragon lashing out to protect his blood once more, you moved away. Mouth agape just as the rest, Viserys had come to sit on his throne after four years of sabbatical.

To shield your honour, as your father - Daemon approached his brother to present your case in private. Telling him of the cruelties you had suffered and Jason’s inability to provide you heirs. To which Viserys coughed out his disdain on the Lannister’s lack of providing his granddaughter with heirs.

“Her heir? Tis my family that would be shamed because she is barren. Yet I choose to take my sweet wife back to my noble seat.” Jason scoffed, looking at Rhaenyra like she was delusional.

Rhaenyra passed a knowing look to Daemon before letting go of your hand. She looked right at the vast lords gathered at the court “My first born, my daughter is to be my heir. Your future Queen and a second wife to my prince consort.”

Horrid gasps echoed through the Throne Room, Alicent looked disgusted along with her father. You looked at your mother in shock, unable to grapple the titles she had just placed in your lap.

“Your grace! This is an abomination!” Otto Hightower protested, hoping for the King to see reason.

“She cannot be Queen…” Jason muttered, just as shocked as you.

“And w- why is that?” Viserys coughed.

“Well she is…” his blond brows furrowed tightly, his glare fixated upon you for embarrassing him. Your father raised a challenging brow to him, say it…say it Daemon prayed as he once again clutched the pommel of Dark Sister, he looked to his wife and begged like a toddler to let him end this. Rhaenyra looked at Daemon through his periphery and agreed, subtly nodding at him.

“She is a bastard,” he shrugged, looking appalled, finding this entire situation ridiculous.

Viserys groaned, huffing as he unsheathed his dagger; angered and ready to place his judgement. “I will have your tongue for that!”

Thwack!

You hadn’t realised when your kepa had moved from behind you to trail behind your husband - headless husband - your mother yanked back to look away from the decapitated corpse as knights all around charged at Daemon. He merely wiped his sword away at his cape, before returning to stand next to you.

“You’re a widow now,” he smugly whispered in your ear.

[lanaisdoe]

Do you know what it is? It’s Valyrian steel.

[jacaeryssworld]

hello hello! may i request an aemond targaryen x daemyra daughter! reader? something very fluffy please! maybe perhaps where they’re betrothed at a young age and people think it’d end up in a disaster, only for the years to go by and everyone could see how happy and in love they are? like i fully believe they’d be the reason why the dance doesn’t happen, their union allowing their mothers to reconcile and find common ground? id like to think reader is a reason for aemond to not let the budding ‘greens’ tendencies to win over him when otto tries to manipulate them into thinking that this was just a scheme in rhaenyra’s ascent for the throne and actually tells reader so otto can get dragged the hell out kingslanding xd tysm in advance!

omg so cute!! i honestly LOVE team black!aemond. it just feels right for some reason (probably going to make him more team black leaning just for reader 🤭).

a fic where the dance doesn’t happen & everyone’s happy & alive?? sold.

i’ll link the fic to this post once i get around to finishing it <3

thank you for requesting lovie 🤍

[lanaisdoe]

and in fact (in books) it was 10 years of happy DAEMYRA marriage and their Dragonstone life :")

...and to think they'd wanted, loved and chosen each other over and over since their early years, and stayed together till the very end, leaving the world on the SAME DAY just several months apart... That's... just... heartbreakingly beautiful and sad... Soul bound in life and death.

6 years of happy marriage

No one can take that from them 😓 I am just sad that we haven't seen it...

[sweetestpopcorn]

Hello!! I know that aside from Daemon/Rhaenyra, you are a fan of Baelon/Alyssa. I just wanted to ask, what is your opinion on Viserra, or on the whole Viserra seducing Baelon after Alyssa’s death? Do you think Baelon might have been able to save Viserra from her fate if he had agreed to marry her (even if he didn’t love her)? What is your opinion on this pair?

Hi there :)

Yes, after Daemyra Baelon and Alyssa are definitely my favourite Targaryen couple.

About the rest of your ask, I don't think Viserra fans will like my answer, but I don't quite care for Viserra. I have talked about it in the past that I see Saera and Viserra as very shallow characters with almost nothing to them. They were written as mean girls and that's about it, besides being Targaryens and physically very attractive, I don't actually see any redeeming qualities in them.

Saera at least you could argue was sort of funny, in a heartless, sociopathic Cersei kind of way, and I did admire how she later on in life wanted nothing to do with Westeros or the Iron Throne saying she had her own kingdom was a cool moment. But regardless she was cruel, unnecessarily so (e.g., Tom the Turnip anyone?), and worse with someone much weaker than her which also makes her a sort of coward. Like I said she had many sociopathic traits, and her behaviour itself is very congruent with a sociopathic personality type.

Viserra is a bit better in that regard in the sense that she was not needlessly cruel to anyone weaker than her for fun, even if she poked fun at young men who lusted after her, sometimes in quite dangerous ways (e.g., when she dares them to put their heads inside a dragon's mouth, I think the prize was her V card if memory serves right). But like Saera is mean and cold for the sake of being mean and cold, Viserra is ambitious and cold for the sake of being ambitious and cold.

We are both shown and told she wanted power and to be queen and F feelings and all that, but we are never really given a proper reason as to why. I would guess that being child #10 in a very large family would make you starved for attention, likely importance as well, since her only selling point in that family was being the most beautiful of the sisters. It was (VERY) unlikely she would ever be queen, so maybe because of that it became an ambition of hers? There was also something arrogant about her because of her looks, thinking that that would be enough to just give her what she wanted without having to rely on anything else. In that sense she has no depth, what you see is pretty much what you get and neither is very good or particularly compelling.

So, no, I wouldn't want her to marry Baelon, nor for Baelon to be interested in her. In fact, I loved that he wasn't and that after she spoke in such a nasty way about the sister she thought herself so physically superior too that Baelon gave Viserra a cold hard dose of reality of he's Baelon Targaryen, not a failed Baelon like Tywin Lannister.

Sure that some people find love again in life, and I am all for it. But some people aren't like that, and I found a lot of beauty in that aspect of Baelon's character, of how devoted he remained to the memory of his lady with the mismatched eyes. I would have hated for that to be ruined, especially in the name of such an ambitious and empty character like Viserra. If he was to marry her, whatever the reason, he would not be Baelon because that was a central aspect to his character.

All this aside I did feel bad about how Viserra was treated by Alysanne, almost like she was the final boss Alysanne had to defeat. I think this is a great example at times of George's incongruence with how he writers characters in F&B. Pretty much their end is decided so he just does whatever he has to to get there, at times with little regard with what he previously established. Are we supposed to believe that the same Alysanne who still loved and wanted to forgive Saera, even defended her, would be so cold and mean to Viserra? Sorry, I don't find it the least bit believable. Like show us on the doll where Viserra touched you Alysanne. Regardless of her not deserving this or her cruel fate, I still don't really care about Viserra nor think she had any redeeming qualities.

And that is my take.

Thank you for coming to my Tumblr Ted Talk!

Much love to you <3

[yzzart]

hi love,

idk if ur taking requests (if ur not, pls ignore this then) but i absolutely love ur fics. could i maybe request more daemyra’s daughter and aemond, with overprotective daemon in the mix? nothing too specific, just daemon trying to keep his daughter away from her lovesick uncle, because he knows firsthand how that is.

im sorry for the delay, my love! school and work are killing me :((

— Father's Instinct

© do not repost or translate !

characters: Aemond Targaryen x (F)Targaryen!reader.

summary: Daemon just wanted his eldest daughter to stay away from a certain dragon but he was once that certain dragon with your mother.

warnings: incest, explicit language, explicit words, mention of violence but no deaths or injuries, and references to Daemon and Rhaenyra.

word count: 2.224!

english's not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!

If Daemon had the right opportunity, he'd gouge out his nephew's only good eye right then and there.

It didn't matter if the sun was shining, with the birds singing, a prime and sacred time for some families. — By the scene he was watching carefully, Daemon would start to hate that whole morning.

He wouldn't be ashamed or trying to redeem himself for having a desire as bloody and deadly as that. — The last thing Daemon was going to do with his last breath was apologize for wanting to commit that act. — But he had a serious reason for it.

And it wasn't for any reason.

Daemon's lovable nephew, who was on the other side of the table, didn't hide his eyes on his daughter. — His first child. — The one-eyed prince's only good purple eye was gazing at the young Targaryen woman in the rebel prince's presence.

It wasn't difficult to identify that Aemond and you were exchanging looks, it looked like the two of you were playing with each other. — A simple little game that you unabashedly loved and was more exciting in the presence of everyone at the table.

It looked like the gods were playing with Daemon, a prank of sorts that was being frowned upon by the prince. — He knew he couldn't anger the gods but at that moment no one could quench a dragon's fury.

It was so ironic to see an uncle openly flirting with his niece without fear of her father's reaction or scolding, and years ago Daemon was in the same situation but being the uncle.

It was intriguing and interesting the fact that Aemond was focusing only on you at that well-manicured wooden table, as if there were only you at that moment. — But in the mind of the one-eyed that, in fact, was true.

The king's brother despised his nephew's action. Daemon didn't even know what feeling was taking over his body at the sight of his daughter being devoured by the one-eyed young man's only existing eye; it could be anger, hate, contempt or all at once. — The father's instinct screamed, mentally to Daemon.

Now Daemon knew, exactly, how Viserys felt.

You knew how risky it was to maintain eye contact with Aemond but it was impossible to stop your eyes from gazing at the prince. It felt like you were hypnotized by it, a kind of witchcraft but deep down you knew it wasn't. — You were in love with your uncle, just like your mother at your age was in love with hers; your father.

Even after your departure, you kept your feelings for Aemond. In your pure and naive age, you didn't believe that those feelings would expand and strengthen in a way that you couldn't believe but the good gods deceived your thoughts. All your passion and admiration for Aemond was as strong and steady as a dragon. — A dragon can recognize and strengthen its feelings.

From Aemond's perspective, every day and night since his departure for Dragonstone, he has thought of you. There was nothing that could take you out of the thoughts of the king's youngest son, absolutely nothing. — Of course, his mother noticed the sad features, both because of what happened with his eye and for the possible reason for his absence in the castle and in the little boy's life, at that time.

But that naive boy, unable to hold a wooden sword, had grown along with his love for you, and with the countless prayers to the gods asking you to return soon to his arms. — Aemond can't remember how many times his feet carried him to your old quarters.

"I hope you're off duty during this majestic morning, niece." — The admirable voice, loud enough for you to hear, was exclaimed directly into your ears. At no time did your eyes meet during the older man's speech, the two of you were trapped in each other's love and didn't want to miss any feature marks.

Aemond's greatest desire at that moment was to spend a moment with you, it would be pure greed if the gods said that the prince didn't just want to spend a moment with you, but the entire day. — And he waited for his plans with you to work out, the way he had planned.

Your father's jaw, after hearing the voice of the cursed one-eyed man, immediately locked itself. He recognized the way Aemond had said those words to you, he had interest and satisfaction. — Daemon could clearly state that his nephew was eagerly awaiting your answer.

It was pathetic how Daemon had looked like Viserys years ago.

"I predict that i will have the morning without appointments today, my uncle." — Your answer came softly from your lips. The way those words left your sweet, delicate lips caught Aemond's attention, he wanted so much to taste the glorious taste of your mouth. — "Would i be being impolite to ask the reason for the question?"

"It would be impolite if you did not accept my invitation to take a walk through the region, with our dragons, if you prefer." — Aemond brought the goblet, which held his favorite warm wine, to his lips and in no time did he dare take his eye away from you.

Daemon couldn't believe that damned one-eyed man, by the curse the good gods had sent the rebel prince deciding that young Targaryen would be his nephew, was trying to malign his dear daughter. — He knew very well how to recognize a tone of audacity and daring coming from another man.

You were Daemon's first child, the first of your name. The daughter he never thought in his life that he would adore, love and protect from anything that could hurt or threaten you. — As a great dragon would do with its helpless eggs.

Daemon could admit to the good gods that he never thought he would see himself as a good father, a father figure. He didn't believe that a child could make him happy or satisfied with the life he'd been given but from the looks of it, his lonely, pitiful thought was burned with his own dragon flames.

As his father's duty, Daemon would protect you from all the claws and teeth of all the men who tried to capture your naivety. — Including your uncle.

With a knife and fork in his hands, your father pounced on the rich deer meat, which had been forgotten for a little while, that was on his plate. The silverware hit the bottom of the plate with Daemon's brutality, making an unbearable sound. — Startled, you end up ending the exchange of looks between you and Aemond to focus on where the hellish noise had come from.

Your eyes landed on the image of your father, literally attacking the red flesh and making countless ear-splitting sounds. It didn't look like he just wanted to cut the meat, in fact it looked like he was imagining a person in the various cuts in the meat.

You couldn't say that scene scared you but it left you only surprised, the reason for that act was already very clear in your mind. — Even so, you didn't dare or feel like questioning your father's action. — The only thing you, mentally, begged him to use was that silverware on someone specific at that table.

Rhaenyra directed a hand on Daemon's arm, trying to calm him down and end that little aggressive act against the poor roasted, dead deer part. — Taking a deep breath, your father dropped the silverware on top of the plate and put his hand under his forehead.

Your eyes continued to stare at your father, without him noticing, hoping that there would be no more acts like that or even worse and soon, you chose to close the looks and remembered the lack of response to your uncle's suggestion. — Your beloved uncle.

"It would indeed be pleasant, uncle." — Your eyes returned to the feared and charming prince, who kept a thin smile and a mischievous tone on his lips. — "I just hope you're not out of shape for a nice dragon race." — Several low laughs echo around the table and you can identify which ones they belong to. — In addition to your brothers, Aegon participates in the group of laughter. — An amused and a little shy smile appeared on your sweet red lips.

Dragons couldn't die with fire, so they chose to play with it. It was such a determined and challenging thing to see. — And you loved doing it.

Across the damned seven realms, your teasing Aemond was an intriguing demonstration of how to play with fire and still right in front of everyone, including your father.

It would be risky to respond in kind, equally and return the provocative answer, but it was not exciting and fun without risks for the one-eyed prince, the rider of the largest dragon in the world. — Aemond was audacious. It can be said that his name can have many meanings and definitions, and the word audacity was included.

"Well, you need to see it and witness it to draw your conclusions, my niece." — He stated sharply and defiantly, those words were so penetrating and exciting at the same time. The expression of satisfaction and pure desire to know what that answer could have caused you was visible to all who decided to observe the prince's features.

From what it seemed, the simple game of looks had become a real game of temptation and fascination. — Your cheeks replaced your normal skin tone with a reddish tinge along with a slightly warm temperature. — Years and years may pass but Aemond would always have a power over you.

"By the seven hells." — Daemon grunted angrily, wanting to put the fork, left by his fingers and forgotten, into the single eye of that young Targaryen. In fact, he would have done so a long time ago, from his first mortal thought that morning, if it hadn't been for Viserys' presence.

Despite this, one side, known only to Daemon, recognized the nephew's actions, it seemed that he was seeing himself there and you resembled, perfectly, your mother and even in the bold and brave way of speaking. — The gods were indeed playing with Daemon.

"Our children have grown up, my brother." — Viserys's weak and almost weakened voice was heard and echoed for the first time at the table, during that heavy morning. The king, even in such a delicate situation, had watched your conversation along with his youngest son and of course, he compared you two to his eldest daughter and his brother.

Viserys was the first to notice how similar you and Aemond were to young Rhaenyra and Daemon. — His fragile, delicate heart warmed a little, more than usual, when he finally realized and admitted his thought.

In response, the king's brother just rolled his eyes not satisfied with the elder's words. He wouldn't dare to answer his brother in such a derogatory way and even more so in front of you. — So what was left was just the action with the eyes and a long sigh, wanting to get away from that table.

"i kostagon daor umbagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." (I can't wait, my dear.) — A startling whisper of the valerian language passed through your ears in a sweet, thoughtful way. Your attention returned to your lover, who had moved a little closer to your chair just to send the appreciative words, which aroused an excited feeling in you.

Your eyes, not as naive as his father might think but could be considered angelic, observed the prince's image once more. — Aemond wasn't just watching you but admiring. He didn't want to show how eager and, a little nervous, he was to have time with you after so many years.

He could define all those years as the very hell he managed to witness.

You remained silent but not for lack of words or embarrassment, you just didn't need to say anything, no words. Your look at Aemond said absolutely everything. It was all the young Targaryen needed.

Promptly, Daemon watched you two. — By your pleas, he couldn't hear Aemond's last words, it was risky and kind of indiscreet but he didn't listen. — And to his damned misfortune, Daemon ended up agreeing to the thought he so despised and tried to ignore all morning, from the moment Aemond laid eyes on you.

He knew that at some point the overprotective side of him towards the man you would choose to marry would kick in but it came so quickly for him. Daemon wouldn't take it easy and understanding but he knows that's a part of a father's life. — But the story of his life together with his lovely wife was repeating itself with his daughter and nephew.

He would be a little offending himself by remembering his own nephew, whom he detests, but is glad that you look identically to your mother.

You and Aemond were a glimpse of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen.

[greenqueenhightower]

Wondering if the “only pro Alicent if she denounces everything, cleaves and admits to only ever loving Rhaenyra” Rhaenicents, team black and Daemyras who made Alicole all about Rhaenyra will make Rhaenyra x Mysaria all about Alicent?

Is Mysaria just a vessel for Rhaenyra to act out her Alicent Girlkissing fantasies on? Is Rhaenyra just a stand in for Daemon?

Are people going to flood the Mysaria/ Rhaenyra tags on Ao3 with fics of Rhaenyra making Mysaria wear a red wig and green dress? Is Rhaenyra going to give herself a half up half down hair style and call a training sword "DarkSister"?

Did Rhaenyra call out Alicent's name when climaxing?

Or will we not see these same sentiments at all because people don't devalue Rhaenyra like they do Alicent?

Hi anon 💚

For sure Alicent is hated and villainized in this fandom just as Rhaenyra is freely excused and glorified. It hurts to see the devaluation of Alicent's character. However, I cannot respond for the rest of the fandom, and for me at least, Mysaria x Rhaenyra is about Alicent.

Mysaria's comment about Rhaenyra's worthiness to rule, and her feeling secure around her and proud of her are sentiments that Rhaenyra herself sought to find in Alicent, who had the same pride and admiration of her abilities when they were young girls. Rhaenyra had missed the genuine praise and support that Alicent gave her and saw a glimpse of that in Mysaria.

As they embraced, I felt that Rhaenyra was transported back to her reckless and free childhood years when she was so celebrated by her childhood friend and crush. When she saw Alicent again in the sept, Alicent had affirmed her devotion to the same belief: that Rhaenyra would make a fine Queen, and that Alicent used to be proud of her.

Now that Alicent is out of reach, Mysaria embodies the same figure that Rhaenyra was seeking all along. She is standing next to her and tells her that she is a rightful ruler and that she is meant to be Queen. Rhaenyra hugs her without hesitation as she would her childhood crush.

I don't know if I'm right or wrong or if I'm reading too much into this, but that is my take. And I would write a longer analysis post on it if I was less weary of being shunned because of the reality you expressed above.

[lanaisdoe]

The Beginning

The moment I fell in love with Daemon Targaryen, Daemyra and Matt Smith 😍

[towriteloveontheirarms]

heyyy, if you take requests pleaseeee write a Aemond×reader fic, but reader is the daughter of Daemon and Rhaenyra, she is a young woman with Rhaenyras beauty and Daemons behaviour, she was an ally to Aemond when they were children unlike her half-brothers, but after the night he lost his eye they got seprate thanks to going and living with her family in the dragon stone ( i dunno if i am writing this right english ain't my first language) and after some years, they meet each again and the point is she haven't been sending any letters to him and stuff. i know it's long but i would appreciate you writing anything like this😭❤ and pleaseee if you do accept, make it dark Aemond.

I´m so sorry it took me so long to finish this bestie, but I hope you are still interested in it and will like what I wrote<3 Especially with it being spooky season I love writing/reading all the dark fics I can get my hands on!

I will not let you go again

pairing: Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Daemyra´s daugther!Reader

synopsis: “I love you, my sweet wife.” He murmurs into your ear afterwards.

There once was a time where these words would have made you happy beyond believe, but that was a long time ago. And he wasn´t the only person that had changed for the worse.

warnings: dark themes, mentions of non-consensual sexual acts, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, afab reader

word count: 0.9k

His one seeing eye burns through you during the entire dinner. The truth is you have felt his eyes on you from the second you had arrived at the Red Keep with your family. And while at first it was trying to find out who you were and where he knew you from, now at dinner, it glowed hot with either anger or something more carnal, you aren´t entirely sure. As if the tensions between your families hadn´t been high enough already. Every time of the little times your mother and father take you and your half-siblings back to the capital you are reminded once more as to why your mother had took you away to Dragonstone all those years ago. The sparks of dislike that flew between your half brothers and your uncle flew were enough to set all of King´s Landing on fire, but the hate between your mother and her former best friend had the potential to destroy all of Westeros. It comes as no wonder when the meal escalates in a borderline brawl. Jacaerys has always been bad at controlling his temper and your once beloved uncle Aemond gladly took advantage of that. You would like to say you were not surprised by who the once sensitive, bullied boy turned into, but it didn´t come as much of a shock. Before you had been taken away from your former home you had considered your uncle a friend. That was off the table now.  Yet even as you saw this change in him, saw the strength and cold in his singular seeing eye, you would have never trusted him to go this far.

You walk to your chambers after your mother had told you so, in a slow pace. Careful eyes and ears paying attention to the hallways around you. However Aemond still manages to surprise you. His large, rough hand clamps over your mouth to silence you, the other holding you against his body so you don´t even have a chance to struggle against him. Once he has you in his chambers and you are able to whip your head around you truly see him for the first time. Not only has he grown from the sensitive, bullied boy, not only did he have a cold, strong aura surround him, he seemed downright obsessive. In that moment you can see it in his eye… your doom. He walks towards you without saying a word. His movements similar to that of a lion. Then Aemond finally speaks.

“I believed us to be friends. I considered you the only person able to understand me…” He whispers.

“We were, uncle. I was, I do. We could be again.” You take a step back for every step he takes towards you.

“Yes? And how do you propose we are going to do that?” he growls. “You could not even send me a single letter.”

“I tried to. You have to believe me, dear uncle, but my mother wouldn´t let me…” A gasp escapes your lungs when you feel your back hits the cold brick wall.

“I do not believe you. There have been many chances, but it is all alright now. I will not let you go again, now that I have you. You will be mine. Forever.” Aemond´s breath is hot on your ear. As if it wants to burn you.

“I do not understand…” You shake your head at what he is saying.

“Do not worry, sweet niece. You will soon enough.” He cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you passionately.

The rough kiss is just the beginning of a night that would haunt you in your sleep for the unforeseeable future. Aemond carries you to the bed and makes sure to breed you thoroughly. Making sure that his seed would take, while making sure you don´t get away from him. And he needs to, because you refuse to give up the fight. He knows that if you end up with child your mother would most likely try to make you wed the child´s father and as much as his mother hates yours, how high are the chances she refuses when he shows himself to be willing to. He knows that you know.

And what feels even worse is, that the seven or fate or whatever the one responsible is called, seem to be on his side.

Without any access to moon tea and a guarantee that no one would learn of what had occurred that cursed night, your pregnancy starts to show a few moons later. Your parents are beside themselves and immediately ship you back to the capital. Signaling the start of a long and rather tedious discussion between your families. At the end of which waits a sept and a marriage bond that is about as wanted as the whole pregnancy. Yet you are in no place to speak up. You don´t get the chance to. You should have made better choices if you did not want this, are your mothers only words on the matter towards you. All the while there is the smuggest of smiles securely on Aemond´s as well as Aegon´s faces. You wished you could wipe it off their faces with your fists.

But you don´t do that. You swallow every bad feeling, aside of a few tears during your vows, until you feel entirely empty and cold.

Once you are pronounced man and wife Aemond kisses you so gently, it´s almost impossible to feel his lips on yours and yet it still makes you feel sick.

“I love you, my sweet wife.” He murmurs into your ear afterwards.

There once was a time where these words would have made you happy beyond believe, but that was a long time ago. And he wasn´t the only person that had changed for the worse.

“I love you as well, my dragon.” You reply. The words devoid of any emotion.