#daera targaryen

[camilbarnessss]

¤The Dance of The Dragons¤

{ Aemond Targaryen }

《 Part 16 》

The One-Eyed Prince and The Rogue Princess married. Secretly, but they did, even after all the schemes and plots of their families so they couldn't. The lovers made their own discreet plot as well, and it is working just fine. Daera understands their position, the causes of their harsh decisions. However, anyone who was wronged like Aemond so many times was, is going to feel some sort of hatred, wether it's subconsciously or consciously, towards the people who did it. That is a hard true. But, what Aemond ends up doing above the skies of Storm's End, out of rage, and eternal resentment...ultimately starts the domino effect that would lead to The Dance of the Dragons, which will mean the lost of his sanity...and his love.

《 The Invitation's Second Season 》

Masterlist

Warnings: constant swearing, mentions of murder and death, angst and grief, parental abuse, TARGARYEN INCEST [cousinXcousin]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Enjoy your reading!!! Likes, comments and reblogs will be highly appreciated

•••

《 Aemond "The Kinslayer" 》

•••

In King’s Landing, The Hour of the Ghosts has been calm and silent, so far. Most of the servants sleep, the royals sleep. The only ones who should not be sleeping, at these late hours, are the guards and knights protecting The Red Keep.

Nevertheless, it seems as to this is not of Queen Helaena’s knowledge.

The new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms is restless, even though she has her nightdress on and is covered by the warm sheets of her bed. There’s a lonely and weak candle to the right, with a thin fire flame dancing around.

Whilst this fire is reflected on her purple eyes, they are looking at one side of the rooms. To the left of it, her children sleep in their respective cradles. They are quiet and easy, as they always sleep; she can hear their breathing from her place.

Blinkless, Helaena thinks of the fact that they are a year already. They are indeed growing fast, as Claudia told her not long ago. Their legs are longer each day, as well as their white hair and arms. Her children are a bless and a marvel, and beautiful, and hers.

Helaena is yet to wonder and question what the future has for them both, and for the one that now is growing in her belly. But, before she could start wondering about it, she heard two knockings on the door of her chambers.

The Queen parts her lips, immediately taking a seat in her bed. She looks at the door with blinkless eyes, slowly standing up. The girl looks down, the shadow the stands firmly from the other side.

She clenches her teeth, feeling her chest beating fastly while, with slowness, she approaches to the children’s cradles.

-Your Grace!-, she heard a feminine voice calling her. Helaena stops, opening her eyes when she recognized Claudia’s voice.

She let out a big sigh, placing her hands on her chest, and turning to look at her kids.

-You may come!-, her tender voice answered seconds then.

Her main maiden, Claudia, entered to the room, finding her standing in the middle of the room, in front of the cradles of the sleeping children. Ignoring her confusion as to not finding her in her bed, giving the hours, the servant woman spoke.

-Your Grace-, she bowed her head. Helaena looks at her with attentive eyes, blinkless-. Your brother, prince Aemond, has arrived from his errand-. She informed with a still voice.

The Queen feels her chest becoming heavy, as soon as Aemond came to her mind. She meets her fingers over her belly, clenching them with nerves. She remembers the feeling when she saw him off to Storm’s End, and now she’s feeling again. A great uneasiness.

-He has asked for your presence, and that of your family, in your mother’s bedchambers, my Queen-. Claudia informed with a soft whisper, looking at her.

Helaena raises her brows, and open her eyes big, moving them across the room with affliction and confusion.

-Why?-, she simply asked, almost looking as if she didn’t want to.

-I cannot say, Your Grace-. Claudia confessed, not understanding either the sudden reunion on the Queen Dowager’s apartments-. I can stay with the children, if you wish me to-. She proposed, raising her brows.

Helaena wrinkles her lips, looking at them while caressing her nightdress with her soft hands. She started to nod, agreeing with her lady in waiting.

-Please do-, the Queen whispers softly, starting to walk towards the doors. Claudia nods, completely entering to the room-. Beware the rats-. Helaena said while she walked, placing a hand on one of her elbows.

Claudia shivered when the Queen touched her, and furrowed her brows when hearing the weird order. When she turned her head around, she found the Queen already out of the chambers, having left her alone with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

•••

Prince Aemond’s requirements were soon communicated to all of his family. It was just matter of minutes until his whole family was gathered at the rooms of Dowager Queen Alicent.

Ser Criston stands firmly outside the chamber’s gates, guarding the family from his place.

Inside, Otto stands near the doors, looking at the fireplace with blinkless tired eyes. He looks thoughtful and awaken, as if it wasn’t later than the middle of the night. Alicent plays with her fingers in the middle of the room, constantly looking at the ceiling or at the floor. It looks like she’s praying, and never can leave her eyes in only one place while doing so.

Aegon is sitting in one comfortable chair, with his head resting in his hands; he’s half sleep and half awaken, snoring softly with one eye open and the other closed. Daeron stands the closest to his mother, two steps behind her; he’s constantly scratching his eyes and silently yawning, the young prince is tired and was having just a perfect sleep before Ser Criston came to awake him on his rooms.

Queen Helaena stands as far as possible from her husband, in the other side of the room. She’s hugging herself, never speaking and blinking just sometimes., She has just the worst feeling on her chest, making it heavy.

But nothing as heavy as Prince Aemond’s conscious.

The One-Eyed Prince walks Maegor’s Holdfast, taking slow steps while he is on his way to his mother’s bedchambers, where he knows he’s family is waiting for him, just as he asked for.

Though his steps are slow, our prince’s heart beats fastly and with no control; is the only thing he’s listening to right now, almost louder than his thoughts.

He knows what he’s going to say, he just wants to delay it as much as possible, hence his slow steps. “Storm’s End is ours”, he’ll say to them. “And so is the wrath that will come from our enemies, The Blacks”, he’ll then proceed. “I killed Lucerys”, he’ll answered when being asked why.

“Because I wanted to”.

Ser Criston turns his head when the slim tall figure of Prince Aemond turned a corner and appeared walking in the hall.

When Cole saw Queen Alicent’s son walking into the hallway, back from his trip at Storm’s End, safe and sound, he thanked the Seven Gods, but kept his joy to himself.

The knight, blinkless, grabs the door’s handles, and nods towards him.

-My prince-, he greeted, trying to find his only eye, but this was in the floor since he started to walk towards him.

-Ser Criston-. Prince Aemond saluted with a hoarse and low voice.

Cole blinks one time, briefly parting his lips, noticing something off from the prince. A second then, he pulled the doors, and opened them for him. The entire royal family immediately turned their heads towards there.

When Aemond entered the room, he finally looked up. Everything felt like slow motion to him, all of a sudden.

Ser Criston closed the doors behind them, now inside the room too. Otto looked away from the fireplace with expectance. Aegon woke up, breathing deeply and raising his brows, kind of uninterested. Daeron sided a small smile, wavering a hand towards his brother. Helaena wrinkled her lips and remains blinkless; looking like she already knows what he did.

Aemond looks at his sister with his throat afflicted, and gulped, looking forward. And, in slow motion too, he saw his mother, the lady Alicent, sighing with relieve, and staring at him with a growing smile and hands that wanted to hold his.

-Aemond-. Alicent sighs, approaching to him.

Everything moves normally again for the one-eyed. He surrounded his mom’s body with his arms, and gave her a hug that, for his liking, ended too quickly. She stepped back, with raised brows, sighing again.

-Mother-, he whispers, slowly.

-What news of Storm’s End, grandson?-. The Hand of the King didn’t wait for any more greetings, going directly to the point. That made Aemond to furrows his lips, and his family to look at him with interest.

Aegon chews his lips, hiding a yawn between them. Aemond looks at them, and slowly opens his mouth, heading his eye towards his brother, who briefly raised his brows towards him, waiting.

-…Storm’s End is yours-. Prince Aemond declared, with tones as calmed as summer winds.

In that moment, a cheering sigh left Alicent’s mouth. A sided smiled crossed The Hand’s mouth, who nodded with pride towards his grandson.

King Aegon opened his palms, and a smile.

-Well!-, he cheers, giving an applause. Helaena flinched in her place, pressing her lips. Daeron smiles, excited for their notable winning-. They were wise enough, then-. Aegon says with pride and taunt.

-Yes-. Aemond agreed with a low tone, nodding. Helaena stares at him with no end, from feet to toe-. I shall marry the Lady Ellyn Baratheon, Lord Borros’ youngest daughter-. He informed; no joy or hope on his voice.

-Very well-, Otto nodded with pride. Alicent breathes in, forming a smile.

-She must be delightful, son-. The Dowager Queen says with politeness, actually not knowing a single thing about the chosen lady, but she’ll do for her son, she’s sure.

-Lord Borros will send a handful of his men, and by the end of the moon they’ll be established here, in King’s Landing-. Aemond informs with a monotone voice, looking at the Hand, who goes nodding while he speaks-. Three hundred knights, and forty crossbow man-. He starts to count. The King yawns again, rolling his eyes blank-. He’ll agreed to even send smiths, and a dozen-

-These numbers could have perfectly waited for the morrow-. Aegon interrupted him with a lazy voice. Everybody looked at him; Alicent blinked tiredly-. Why couldn’t you wait? Does promise of sleep scare you?-, he makes fun of him, snorting and rolling his eyes.

Aemond presses his lips, softly, taking air with slowness. He blinks, one single time, and feels his heart gaining more weight when he realized that it is time.

-I gathered you here because I wanted you to hear it from me, first than from anyone else-. Aemond speaks with easiness, never blinking, and looking at all of them.

Confusion immediately appeared in their faces, not understanding.

-The knights to come?-. Alicent wondered, siding a smile for a second. He stares at his mother with an expanded pupil-. Well, who else was to tell us if not you, son?-. She questions, honestly puzzled.

Helaena feels her chest beating heavily while she stares at her brother, who tightly crossed his arms behind his back.

-One of the bastards showed up in Storm’s End as well-. He informed with a still voice. Aegon parted his lips, slowly sitting straight on the chair. Alicent opens her eyes big, surprised, and Otto narrowed his, taking slow steps forward-. The small one-. He says.

-Joffrey?-, Daeron furrowed his brows.

-Lucerys-. Otto named within a second.

-Him-. Aemond nodded, blinkless. Alicent’s eyes got a little bigger, staring at him whilst her lips parted-. He was sent to Storm’s End as well, to proclaim his fake queen mother’s words-. He speaks with serenity, blinking, and nailing his only eye on the floor.

Ser Criston, standing by the doors, stares at him with a really curious gaze. Daeron bopped his head to a side, thinking of his half sister’s middle son, the shy one Luke.

-And…-, one of Alicent’s hands starts to reach her own clavicle, grasping it with anxiousness whilst she remembers the clear hate her maimed son has for Rhaenyra’s children, specially the one who maimed him in the first place-…what happened?-, the Dowager Queen smiles crookedly, fearing the answer to her question.

Everybody looks at Aemond, who remained completely silent. He just blinks, only one time, looking at the floor, knowing that his coming words would change a lot of things. He doesn’t know, though, in would in fact change all things.

He thinks of his wife, of how her reaction may be when she hears of the news, which she inevitably will do. He thinks of his family’s reactions. He imagined both their reaction when being told that “he did it accidentally”, making him stand as an idiot, or being told that “he did it on purpose”, making him to stand as a heartless kinslayer.

Things have happened. There’s no way back. He has to choose which way he’ll confess his murder; it will not be the one that will leave him standing like the Targaryen who rides the largest dragon in the world but, alas, couldn’t stop from killing a flea and his teenage dragon.

-I treated the bastard as he deserved to be treated-. The One-Eyed Prince speaks with a calmed voice, yet so bone-chilling, that it sent vibration through Alicent and Helaena’s spines. Aegon started to loosen his brows, while Otto furrowed his-. He was a traitor-, he looks up.

-Was?-, Daeron immediately gasps. Alicent goes pale.

-An insulter-. Aemond mumbles, shaking his head and looking away, clenching his pointy jaw. Blinkless, Helaena starts to open her eyes hugely, staring at his face.

-Did- did you say “was”?-. Aegon questions, narrowing his purple eyes.

-He tried to take Storm’s End-. The prince speaks with quickness and firmness, nodding towards his family.

-Aemond!-. Otto named him, harshly, afflicting his throat. The one-eyed looks at him, cocky and frustrated. Angry-. Where is Lucerys?-, he asked, almost afraid. 

Prince Aemond look at the floor, bopping his head a little. A thousand images flashed before his eye in a second, all of them of Rhaenyra’s sons mocking and mistreating him. Then, the image of Vhagar crushing Luke and his dragon in her mouth; the sound of the dragon cracking between her teeth.

We’re disappointed to point that, when those memories appeared on the One-Eyed’s head, his lips curved into a cocky and proud smirk that shined with evilness. For an honest moment, Aemond Targaryen recognized himself that having killed Lucerys Strong, his tormentor and enemy, brings a great sentiment of power and pleasure to his shrinked chest.

When seeing that smirk on his face, his sister, Helaena, immediately came to the knowledge of something; all is lost.   

-Him and his dragon are gone-. Prince Aemond answered at last, breathing deeply, and finally looking up again-. Their remains, in Vhagar’s belly-. He said, tilting his head.

Helaena gasped enormously, quickly turning around and covering her whole eyes with both her hands. Gasping for air, she almost ran to the outsides of the room, towards the balcony. Aegon’s face nearly fell to the floor; he went speechless, opening both his eyes and mouth hugely. Sleep suddenly left him, leaving surprise and fright on his baggy eyes.

Ser Criston only blinked one time, looking at his pupil with bright eyes of shock and what appeared to be interest. The prince’s grandfather, Otto, became numb, feeling his legs failing him for a second. His chin fell to the floor, whilst his mouth reached for words. Fright is the most obvious in Daeron’s eyes, who breathed fastly and, confused, reached for his mother’s hand.

But Alicent is frozen, with eyes of fear and a breathing of pain. The red-head woman’s eyes began to tremble as if she was staring at a beast from hell, instead of her own son, who quickly became aware of that look in her.

-What have you done?-. Otto whispers, speechless and blinkless. Aemond furrows his lips, keeping his prideful chin up-…What have you done, boy?!-. He asked again, this time harder, making his brows to furrow as well.

-What had to be done-. Aemond is quick to defend himself. Daeron looks at him with terror, shaking his head. Alicent gags, and sniffed, feeling her legs and knees trembling.

-Idiot…-, she whispered with no breath.

Aemond quickly blinks multiple time, not knowing if he had mistaken what she said.

From the balcony, feeling the cold breeze of the night, Helaena breathes fastly, with her hands still covering her eyes, and her head shaking from side to side. Her heartbeat is wild, as well as the scream her mother let out from inside the rooms.

-YOU IDIOT!-. Queen Alicent scolded at her middle child, making her throat to hurt while feeling her chest burning. In that moment, Aemond jumped on his place-. You ruined us, that- that is what you have done! YOU SENSELESS!-, she roared.

-Mother-, he is quick to call. Aegon blinks anxiously.

Alicent gasps and turns around, covering her face while crying behind her hands. She walks away from him, and Aemond followed two steps of her, not liking the way she had looked at him.

Aemond Targaryen…who would henceforth be known as Aemond the Kinslayer to his foes…has returned to King’s Landing, having won the support of Storm’s End for his brother Aegon, and the undying enmity of Queen Rhaenyra. After killing Luke, he waited for both.

What the prince was not expecting, though, was for his mother, Queen Alicent, to look at him the same way she looks at Aegon: with disappointment, angriness, and as if he isn’t worth a single catch of breath. She’s looking at him worse than that.

-The Mother have mercy on us all-, Alicent weeps with true fear, endlessly scratching her own nails and fingers, hurting herself. Aemond blinks, steps behind her, looking at her back with desperation, wanting her to turn around.

Meanwhile, Aegon stood up from the chair, playing with his nails as he watches all with nerves and confusion.

-You only lost one eye-. Otto spoke with tiredness and shock; such a glum on his exhausted voice. His grandson side-eyes him, clenching his jaw-. How could you be so blind?-, he narrows his eyes, shocked.

Aemond opened his mouth, about to speak, but his attention turned when noticing Helaena fastly walking towards the doors of the room, running to her scape with fear and nerves, not looking at anyone.

-Helaena-. He quickly calls, expecting for his gaze to be answered-. The bastard deserved it-, he growled towards his grandfather, who gasped in shock. Aemond plans to follow his sister-. Helaena. Helae…!-

His words were left in the air when his mother turned around to look at him, finally, but only to make his head turn around with the great hurtful slap she slashed against him. Aemond’s whole face burned, while his cheek felt like dripped in boiling oil.

-YOU IMBECILE BEAST!-. The Dowager Queen, with all the pain of the world, yelled towards her favorite son. In that moment, Aegon walked to the balcony, Ser Criston looked away, and Helaena fled the room within a second, weeping on her way. Her brother Daeron was quick to follow-. What were you thinking?!-, she screams, made into a bundle of nerves, and grasping the neck of his jacket to shake him violently.

Aemond’s chest comes up and down. He is shocked, not cocky neither prideful anymore. He’s shocked, in pain by his mother’s curses, punches and looks towards him. Towards him. His only eye started to get teary, forever looking at her with parted lips.

-You just weakened your brother’s place in the throne, and by that your- OUR own safety and secureness, you insolent fool!-. Alicent speaks fastly and angrily; her voice makes echo in the whole room. Nobody is so much as breathing-. The gods will punish you, for this, Aemond! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!-. The Queen screamed with desperation and madness, shaking him with no mercy.

-Mother!-, he gasps, trying to hold her wrists, but not having the bravery too. He is crying salty tears, totally speechless by how he’s being treated. As a monster.

Alicent breathes fastly and trembly, looking at his only eye with a raging fear in her both. She’s looking and looking at him and still cannot believe it; the pain it causes her, that this is her son. She feels betrayed as she had never felt before, and by her own child, the one she trusts the most. She feels like she has done everything wrong. She feels guilty, responsible, for the death of Lucerys Velaryon.

-Ink and paper-. Alicent whispers, with eyes as weak as glass. Grasped by her, Aemond gulps, looking for the love she has always looked at him with; it’s gone-. Get me ink and paper, now!-. She ordered with a shaky voice.

-Your Grace-. Ser Criston immediately leaves for the errand, haven spoken too with a hurried tone.  

-Mother-, Aemond is capable to whisper, doing it weakly.

-I’ll send letters-. Alicent completely ignored him, trembling while speaking, and stepping away from him, heading towards her table-. She’ll read them-, she murmured, as trying to convince herself.

-The council must meet at once-. The Hand of The King mumbled, quickly stepping back, and leaving the room within a second.

Otto left the doors opened behind him.

Alicent arrives to her table, planning to sit and start to write, but her pulse fails. She lands both hands on the table, and looks down with extreme pain. Her lips tremble while her chest aches and her head shakes. She’s speechless; not knowing what the future holds for them now.

Aegon had slowly stepped out to the balcony, constantly sighing and breathing deeply. He looks rather in trance than in pain; still not truly believing or understand that this is actually happening, that his brother killed one of Rhaenyra’s bastards heartlessly and coldly.

Criston had gone to fetch ink and paper. Otto went to gather the council. Helaena had fled the room. Daeron escaped too. Alicent ran to her papers and pens. Aegon stepped away to the balcony.

Aemond the Kinslayer found himself completely alone in the middle of the room, standing as quietly as a rock in a desert would do. He’s moveless, speechless, blinkless and breathless, punched and hurted. He is frozen as the new version of him takes place inside of his body; he’s looked at differently.

He expected reactions, of course, but this is different. After confessing he killed Luke, whether if it was with remorse or not, he turned into another being.

He is a monster now.

And this monster is the one that we will follow, accompany and watch until his last breath. We’ll be his only true companion, from now on; it is sad to say.

Aemond’s doom follows.

•••

“We’ll leave at dawn”, Queen Rhaenyra had declared.

And so, they are.

When the sun started to rise, beginning a new day, three white-haired people walked up one of the highest mountains of Dragonstone, where the fob was so much you could not even see the sea from here, too far away.

Dark Sister swings in Daemon’s belt as he walks with fastness; his closed fists at the sides of his body. With cold eyes, he eyes Caraxes, who shrieked when looking back at him, impatiently waiting for his rider.

Baela walks with the same determination of her father. Standing by his sides, she constantly wipes away tears that reached her cheeks, breathing deeply and trying to keep her mind as clear as possible while she glanced her dragon, Moondancer, ready to have her on her saddle.

Queen Rhaenyra’s long white hair flies in the wind. Out of the three, she walks the fastest, going with trembling knees yet steady steps. Red-eyed and with a stiff breathing, she looks up towards Syrax, her yellow dragon, who lowly grumbled and stepped towards her as well, unquiet and desperate.

Rhaenyra sobs, blinking hugely while looking at her.

-Your Grace!-, a sudden call reached her ears.

The Queen halts her walk, turning around her head with a confused expression. Baela and Daemon barely looked back, and kept approaching to their dragons, hurried to mount them at once.

The Queen finds a White Cloak in the radar of her eyes. Safely away from the dragons, Ser Erryk looks at her with curved brows and a serious expression, having been the one who called her. Rhaenyra presses her lips, harshly, turning around, and walking towards him so he didn’t have to get close to the dragons.

Ser Erryk gulped strongly, looking at the pain of a mother when Rhaenyra approached enough. He looks at her wet cheeks, red eyes, dry skin and hair, bags under her eyes and desperation on the violet of her pupils.

She wants to find her boy, he knows, so he won’t steal much of her time.

-I come to ask for my leave, Your Grace-. He said with a firm voice. She immediately scrunched her nose and brows.

-Your- your leave?-. She repeated with a broken voice, truly confused.

-The princes Jacaerys and Daera, Your Grace-. The knight names, making their mother to quickly blink-. I am sworn to the princess; ‘tis my solemn duty to go and tell her of the news-. He spoke with a stiff lip, blinkless.

Rhaenyra gags as she felt her chest shrinking when thinking of them two, who are so far away, and alone, and away. She gulps harshly, wrinkling her down-curved lips.

-You can’t-. Rhaenyra shook her head, raising her brows. Ser Erryk immediately blinks hugely, not having expected her answer-. You shan’t-. She steadfastly said.

-I must alert them, my Queen-. Erryk whispered with slowness, briefly raising his brows.

-I find nobility in your intention, Ser Erryk, but your Queen forbids it-. Rhaenyra denied with a trembling voice, lifting her chin up while hearing Syrax’s growls from afar-. My son is alive; no one will gainsay that, nor alert anyone with lies spread by the Greens-. She murmured between teeth, holding her rage while doing so.

Ser Erryk understood there was nothing more to speak of the matter. The Black Queen has forbidden him to take his horse and leave to the other side of the world to tell princess Daera, his sworn princess, about the murder of his brother.

The White-Cloak pressed his lips, and nodded, obeying her, faithfully. When seeing so, Rhaenyra takes a trembling step back, clenching her jaw, and turning around with a cold slow blink; she faced her dragons.

And just a few seconds after, Queen Rhaenyra had taken seat on her seat, and with angriness she grasped her saddle’s ropes and pulled them harshly, making Syrax to rise immediately; her husband and stepdaughter quickly followed.

The Rogue Prince, along a raging growl, made Caraxes to jump off the cliff, fastly taking a high place in the clouds along The Black Queen. Their daughter rose in Moondancer’s back, having taken a big flap of wings to take off from ground.

Left alone in the cold foggy mountain, Ser Erryk looked up to the skies with worriness and seriousness. He heard the raging roars of those three dragons up in the clouds, and he shivered when imagining that, were Luke found dead, it would only be a thousand times that burning rage ruling the skies.

Princess Daera’s sworn protector, unable to go and tell her the most hideous news, presses his lips and clenches his jaw while looking at the sky. In silence, he prayed to the Seven so that Queen Rhaenyra would find Lucerys Velaryon hale and healthy, alive.

If she doesn’t…may the Gods have mercy.

•••

Helaena blinks quietly, lightly tilting her head towards a side. Her tender purple eyes are at ease, while her ears hear a distant yet sweet and mother-like humming, making echo in her head.

The dearest, calmed, blinks again.

Suddenly, she finds herself standing between the cradles of her children, and the humming became clearer, almost as if it was coming from behind her. She takes a deep breath, curios, staring at her kids. They are sleeping, for its too late in the night.

Jaehaera sleeps in the cradle at her right, whilst Jaehaerys does in her left, closest to the doors of the chambers which, for some reason, are plainly opened. For another odd reason, Helaena didn’t pay much attention to it.

The humming becomes as closer as sweeter, making her to slowly start to turn her head around. While doing so, she feels a warm hand placing itself on her lower back, sending nice shivers through all of her body. Helaena blinks softly, fully turning her head around, hopeful.

She found Daera standing right behind her, giving a sweet blink and lifting her cheeks into a tender smirk towards her. Helaena immediately gasped, raising her brows when seeing her.

-Daera-, she sighed, as happy as ever.

Her cousin smiles bigger, never stopping her humming. Helaena closed her eyes and felt at peace, suddenly feeling some hair under her hand. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself caressing Jaehaerys’s hair, standing closer to his cradle.

Helaena grins tenderly, looking to her right. Daera stands by Jaehaera’s cradle, caressing the girl’s white mane while smiling at her, as lovingly as always. The Queen sighs, having missed her dear cousin.

“They’re growing so fast”, Helaena thinks. Her children are every day taller, and smarter. Even though they cannot properly talk yet, they understand when asked something; they nod or shake their head, they laugh when they find something funny, the boy more than the girl. They are becoming bright kind children; that’s something to be grateful for.

Daera turned around her head, locking her purple eyes with Helaena’s. They both smirked at each other for what it felt like a heavenly eternity.

Weird it was, then, when from a moment to another, Daera’s humming stopped, as well as her smiles to Helaena, and her mimes to Jaehaera. The brown-skinned princess suddenly looked as if Helaena was having a memory, which confused her greatly, and made her to blink multiple times.

Daera walked her own way, reaching the chamber’s doors and, soon, completely leaving, leaving the children and their mother alone. The Queen furrows her brows, stepping away from Jaehaerys, and heading towards the doors with concern.

But a sound stopped her from following her cousin. A squeaking.

Helaena stopped on her tracks, turning around again. With this, she found rats climbing to the children’s cradle. Their mother frowns, parting her lips and shaking her head with confusion, not knowing where the rats come from, or why they are heading to her kids.

More and more rats started to climb the cradles up, out of nowhere, just in matter of quick seconds. Helaena opens her eyes bigly, placing her hands on her beating chest, and gasping when she hears Jaehaerys and Jaehaera starting to scream under the sea of rats, trying to fight against them.

A scared gasp left Helaena’s tight throat when she sprinted towards the cradles. She couldn’t even see her kids’ faces anymore, for they were under yards of fat hungry rats, who were biting their bones and drinking their blood already when the mother reached them.

Helaena cries with terror, curving her brows and getting her hands all bitten and damaged by the rats. She tries to take Jaehaerys legs and pull Jaehaera’s hand, but they were glued to their beds; they were not applying any force. Helaena screams, not hearing herself.

They were dead.

.

Helaena woke up within a second, raising from her bed and taking a deep and desperate breath of air with her mouth fully open. All disheveled and with bags under her eyes, she shivers time after time, blinking sour tears away.

The sun from her balcony let her know it was morning already, an easy and silent one. She cared not.

The Queen jumped from her bed, barefooted, and ran towards her children’s cradles. Breathless, she looks at the both of them.

And they were there, the two, tenderly and relaxingly sleeping, not aware at all of their mother’s heavy tears and breath. She stares at the both with big eyes, making sure they were real, safe and healthy. They are.

Letting out a big sigh, Helaena felt her knees shaking weakly. She gulped, and looked at the doors of the rooms. They are closed.

Slowly, and tense, she then stares at the secret passageways of the chamber, which is also closed. For now.

•••

The more the day advances, the hotter its sun gets. And yet…they haven’t come down.

Syrax, Caraxes and Moondancer have flown around the skies of Storm’s End maybe a thousand time since they arrived, which was when the sun was still coming up.

Their red, yellow and green scales reflect the daylight as they flap their wings and look from left to right and from right to left with their great sighting. Alas, they haven’t sighted what they are looking for.

Signs of Luke.

Hiding behind the tall gates of his castle, at the highest place of Durran’s Point, the Lord of Storm’s End yells to his guards to keep their spears up, yells to his girls to hide under their beds, and prays to the gods with fear so that those dragons wouldn’t slash their anger at them.

Lord Borros is scared, every knows, but the man is yet so proud and unbreakable that he sits his very throne and grasps it with great force, waiting at any for second to Prince Daemon to cross the gates of his Round Hall, and take his head with Dark Sister.

But, currently having his mind off the Lord that took part in Lucerys’ murder, Daemon employs his concentration in rather looking at the salty sea and the brown sand at the beaches below them. His jaw is forever tense, whilst the under of his eyes are slightly red.

Flapping her wings faster than the Blood Wyrm, Syrax growls as she shakes her neck, and feels a heaviness on her chest. Rhaenyra feels worse. With the wind blowing her sweaty long white mane, and tears constantly blurring her sight, the Black Queen is rarely blinking, endlessly sighting the seas and the lands.

It is a pity to say that she even dared to look higher than her, to the skies, hoping to see Luke and Arrax approaching to them with quick flaps, waving a hand in the air, smiling, and letting her know that he is completely fine, that what she was told were lies.

But she hasn’t found him, not in the seas, nor in land, and much less in the skies.

Flying the closest to Caraxes, Moondancer soars between the clouds while growling lowly, always looking down for what her rider is also looking for. But her rider feels strange.

Baela is highly weak. Last night, after hearing the news of Luke’s assumed death, she and her parents argued until sunrise and then fled to Storm’s End. They have been flying for hours and hours, under a hot sun, between heavy clouds. She hasn’t eaten or drink anything for nearly a day now.

Daemon’s middle daughter fights against her exhaustion, forcing herself to keep her eyes open, and to keep looking for her dear brother. But her blinks are slow, her throat dry, her tummy empty, and her skin burning. She shakes her head, trying not to think of it.

-Luke…-, a whisper left her lips.

And, after not bearing the possibility of him being truly dead, Baela gave up to her senses, and fell unconscious. Her body gets loosen on her saddle, making Moondancer to immediately shriek with loudness, quickly stabilizing her wings so that her rider wouldn’t fall.

As soon as hearing Moondancer’s cry, Daemon turned around his head, and pressed his teeth tight when seeing Baela’s dragon fighting to keep her on the saddle. Thankfully, she’s wearing her belt, for she even got mentally ready to fight Vhagar in the skies.

Daemon didn’t lose a second, quickly taking action. Caraxes whistled with hurry, giving a swift turn and flying towards Moondancer with big flaps. The red dragon’s nose skimmed the green’s head, and she shrieked, shaking her head and following the command.

The both of them started to descend, heading to land.

Flying the highest, Rhaenyra looked down after hearing the fuss. She narrowed her eyes, fixating her red gaze on Moondancer. When noticing Baela’s loose body, Nyra furrowed her brows and parted her lips with worriness.

Soon, Caraxes and Moondancer landed in the same place. Even before his dragon reached land, Daemon quickly stood up from his saddle and nearly jumped from it, breathing heavily. While Caraxes whistles and shakes his long neck, Daemon ran down his red wings, rapidly reaching the ground. He didn’t stop running, and headed to Moondancer, who didn’t seem to welcome his hurry and approaching.

Moondancer opened her mouth and growled towards him; Daemon stopped and clenched both his fists and teeth, desperate. But, only seconds them, Caraxes rose behind him and, with great power, opened his big mouth and roared towards the younger smaller dragon.

While his red dragon defends him, The Rogue Prince kept approaching with the same hurry as before. Moondancer folded before the dragon of her rider’s father, and allowed him to get close to her. The green dragon bends her head, intimidated, as if she was asking for forgiveness. Caraxes only whistled.

-Baela!-, Daemon’s acute voice yelled her name with hurry.

Meanwhile, some steps behind Caraxes, Syrax arrived and landed too, growling. Rhaenyra was quick to take off her belt and walk down from her saddle with quickness, never driving away her scared eyes from her husband and step-daughter.

-Baela…-. When Daemon reaches Moondancer’s side, he finds his daughter completely fainted, pale and sweaty. With her arms loose at the sides of her body, she breathes with slowness; her lips are dry.

The Rogue Prince curves his blond brows, gulping strongly. Internally scolding himself for not paying attention to her before, Daemon starts to take her off her saddle, carrying his daughter on his firm arms. Moondancer purrs lowly, now understanding he’s only trying to help her.

Daemon turns around and begins to walk, with Baela tucked to his chest. When seeing the scene, Rhaenyra halts her trembling steps and curves her brows, hasping for air.

-Baela-, she nervously named, worryingly touching her pants’ fabric. With cold eyes, her husband walks towards his dragon, jaw clenched-. Take her home!-, her trembling voice said.

-I am taking her home-. His cold voice answered while walking up Caraxes’ wings with firmness, and then his eyes stared at her-. We are-, he pointed.

-No-. She immediately shook her head, looking away. Daemon hisses, opening his mouth, but she spoke before he could-. I haven’t found him!-. She quickly declared.

-Neither will you, he’s dead!-. His cocky and high-pitched voice answered with anger. Rhaenyra afflicts her throat and looks at him teary eyes; she shakes her head, not believing it. He tights his teeth, carefully placing Baela on the saddle. Caraxes purrs lowly, accepting the girl with no problem-. He is dead, Rhaenyra-. He says, softer than before, slowly walking down his dragons’ wing.

-I am the one to declare that; not you, Daemon-. The Queen denied, talking as firmly as possible, with red cheeks and pale lips.

-Aemond Targaryen already declared it, when he chased Luke with that hoary old bitch Vhagar-. He says between teeth, full of anger.

Just by picturing the scene, and her poor little child, Rhaenyra shook her head, with her lips trembling, and turned around, heading back to her dragon. Anxious, Daemon clenches his fists and looks madly at her.

-You are losing time, you are wasting it while they shit on your throne!-. He loudly yelled, opening his eyes big.

-I NEED TO SEE HIM!-. Rhaenyra faced him again and screamed with a mother’s rage, wrinkling her own chest. Daemon breathes fast, blinkless-. What if he’s scared, a-alone?! In all of this?!-, she ponders, looking all around.

Daemon remains in silence, not believing the incoherence she’s saying. She truly believes she has been lied to, and that her son still lives. But he knows truth, he can feel that he is not around anymore. Luke was his son too.

-The children need you-. He mutters, nearly with no emotion, looking at her painful eyes. Rhaenyra sniffs her nose, thinking of all of her other kids, but she shakes her head, not letting that to change her mind.

-So does Luke-. She whispered, convinced. The Queen turns around, whilst her husband stuttered, seeing her go-, more than ever…-her voice trembles while she approaches her dragon.

-Rhaenyra-. He calls her, but she starts to take her mount-. Nyra!-, he insisted.

-Take Baela home, give her water, food, and…! And do not let her come back-. Rhaenyra ordered, trembling and serious, sitting on her saddle. Daemon opens his mouth-. Neither you do-, her voice declared.

And after this, Syrax flapped her wings, and left land, heading back to the skies again. Now alone. Caraxes whistles lowly, looking up at her with narrowed eyes.

Standing on Caraxes’ wing, Daemon has his fists, teeth and jaw clenched with pure tension. He mumbles under his breath, staring at Durran’s Castle with great thirsts of blood and fire.

The Rogue Prince forces himself to blink, turning around, and cursing for the hundredth time on the day the name and life of Aemond “One-Eyed” Targaryen.

•••

This new morning is a silent one, in King’s Landing, of all places, which is known by its loud savage people. Differently than in other suns, they are silent now, waling with caution and looking at every corner before turning it.

The deaths caused by the red dragon Meleys still keep the subjects with grief and mourn. Even more than that, fear.

While Flea Bottom solves their own problems, the prince Aemond walked out of his room for the first time in the day. Every guard turned to look at him, as well as every lord, lady, maid, servant and ratcatcher.

It it’s the obvious. Everyone knows.

The prince goes as always, with a nice black leather fit, his black leather patch, his hair perfectly combed falling on his back, and his resting face of a man who does not care nor listens to what the others say about him. Today, to be honest, this is quite challenging.

Aemond’s walk is firm while he goes through the hallways, but he can feel every pair of eyes scrutinizing him, equally from behind that from the front. Nobody is pretending; they are all looking at him with incredulity and fear.

-He killed her son…-, a whisper said.

-Queen Alicent’s greatest son my ass…-, another one said.

Aemond twists his lips, pretending not to hear anything at all. Why is he to care? The ones mumbling about him are little and littler than him. No ones. That thought bring some peace to him.

-Monster-, a maid muttered.

-Kinslayer-, a Gold Cloak did too.

Aemond starts to burn from within, unconsciously beginning to walk faster, suddenly wondering why these halls are so fucking large. The people around him noticed his hurry, and a common word came to their mind: pathetic.

The prince’s mind turns its attention to someone of the small council who he suddenly saw walking towards that room. The Master of Laws, Lord Wylde, heads in silence towards the Small Council, for they’re about to have a meeting.

Deciding that he should attend it, just to know his brother The King’s further plans of “action”, Aemond started to walk the same path as Lord Jasper, to his unknowing, being followed from afar.

Soon, the guards opened the doors for Ironrod, who walked into the Small Council with easiness. Seconds later, Prince Aemond planned to follow the same path, approaching to the doors with cocky steps.

He expected the guards to open the doors for him. But, when noticing they were as still as a rock, he furrowed his brows, confused. He tsked, and decided to just do it himself. But, before he could even touch the door, one of the guards spoke.

-Halt, my prince-. He spoke.

The one-eyed looked at him with coldness and confusion, not understanding the restriction.

-You cannot attend the Small Council’s reunion, my prince-. The other guard denied, and the prince looked at him the same way: bothered-. Queen Dowager Alicent’s orders-. He cleared, looking away from him.

It was like a bucket of cold water being abruptly thrown to him, only that by his own mother, which makes it ten times worse.

Aemond is left speechless and blinkless, staring at the door. It is impossible to describe how insulted he fell, left out and ignored. And by her. By Alicent? This…this is so wrong.

Slowly, Aemond turns around, not directing one single word to the guards. His expression is cold and still; he starts to walk again the same way he came from. Everybody still looks at him; they know, they know, they all know.

How fast is word spread in these places? The whole of the Red Keep knows, maybe half of King’s Landing does too now. It is only matter of time until the news reach Dragonstone, if indeed it still hasn’t.

Aemond feels his heart sinking deeply on his chest, deeper than when he last saw Daera, when she ran away from him in pain and sorrow. Oh, he feels worse than that time, way way worse.

And this hasn’t even begun yet.

•••

The North is always The North. Coldness is, of course, expected, as well as heavy gray clouds and bone-chilling winds. However, we must admit that the change of both view and ambience of going from The Neck to Winterfell, was not subtle.

Who would have said that snow clouds would be so beautiful from the inside? Crystals of frozen water shined before the eyes of our princes, which sincerely took out more than two or three smiles from their lips.

Kalistrox and Vermax, after hours of straight soaring and flying in the high skies, are finally reaching their stop. At last, they have brought their riders to Winterfell, who will treat with its formidable young lord, Cregan Stark.

Daera breathed in with her eyes closed, feeling the cold air almost freezing her nostrils. That made her to cough and wrinkle her nose. She turned her head with amusement, finding Jacaerys already laughing at her from the distance. The princess rolled her eyes, smiling, and then commanding her dragon to fly faster.

Husband and wife looked down when the town appears before them. It is big and formidable, just as the books and maesters describe. Jace’s brown eyes shined with marvel, ashamedly exciting for seeing Winterfell for the first time in his life. The circumstances are not reason to cheer, of course, but the studying prince couldn’t help it.

Daera looks from over her shoulder for a few seconds, easily noticing the illusion on her brother’s eyes. She giggled a little, lowly, knowing that he would have a reaction like this when seeing the ancient town. It’s also her first time in The North too, so she has to admit some excitement herself as well.

And, while the princes think about their curiosity up there, the common people of Winterfell yelled, cried and ran with terror and despair when they looked up to the skies and saw those two dragons soaring in their skies and vanishing away their clouds with their huge winds.

Not having a single idea of their visit, you see, the whole town got scared and intimidated, quickly running for protection under a roof. As if dragons couldn’t burn wood. Thankfully, the occasion is not for doing so.

Able of hearing the cries and screams, Daera curved her brows and laughed softly, lifting her chin up with pride. Jacaerys chuckled as well, getting a tight hold of Vermax’s ropes, and making him to fly a little more apart from the town. Closing her smirking lips, his wife followed.

Soon enough, Kalistrox and Vermax found themselves landing in a snowy not-to-tall mountain that was well than enough apart from the people and their fear. The hill trembled a little, but it did a good job in giving the dragons a good landing.

The Golden Ray, though, growled lowly with disgust, looking to the strange and uncomfortable feeling on his paws. Snow. He shows his teeth with irritation, until he hears his rider’s laugh, which made him to direct his attention to her.

-I know, my boy, I know-. The princess sighed while taking off her belt. She immediately noticed Kalistrox’s disliking of the cold beneath his paws and claws.

-Vermax doesn’t like it either…-, a soft mumble left Jacaerys’ lips. He caresses his dragon’s neck with a little pity, silently asking for forgiveness. Vermax only purrs lowly, closing his eyes and shaking his head a little.

Sighing, Jace turns his head around. Daera did the same, finding him staring at her. They smiled at the same time and, too, started to walk down from their mount.

Both princes look fresh and clean, to the contrary of last night. As we remember, Daera found herself in the middle of an attempted attack from the crannogmen; five of them. She was alone, and without her dragon. She murdered the five of them, coldly and cruelly, we might add.

When prince Jacaerys found her soaked in blood and hand-held with the upper body of one of the men she killed, he got no explanation of what had happened, not until a while after. With her lips stained by heavy blood, she just smirked at him, and walked away.

Daera headed back to the lake, informing that she was to take a bath. For reasons of privacy, he stayed, walking around with beating nerves and worriness. For his tranquility, Kalistrox remained with her the entire time, also soaking himself in the river while his rider’s naked body got calmly cleaned by herself.

It was then, when she returned to the camp with clean skin and a change of clothes, that Daera explained to him what happened. When hearing her telling, Jace went pale, and couldn’t believe that he was so neglectful when being up in the skies. A thousand and one times he asked for forgiveness; a thousand and one times she told him it wasn’t of need.

With all of those bloodied and dead bodies, the dragons had a proper meal both at night and in the morning. The only thing they didn’t eat were the pack of bollocks from the men; Daera and Jace found them disgusting and didn’t allow their dragons to put their teeth in them.

-It was a quick flight, was it not?-. The princess asks with narrowed eyes as they walk, looking up to the grey clouds that conquer the skies.

-I thought the same thing-. Jacaerys nodded, walking side by side to her, looking at her face instead than to the clouds-. I may thank my company for it; time flies when I am with her-. He confesses sweetly and funnily mumbling.

Daera presses her lips, shrinking them into a playful smile, turning her head to look at him. Purple and brown eyes stare at each other silently. Slowly, they stopped walking, a little far from their dragons now, but very close to each other.

The confessions of last night make echo in both their heads; Jacaerys’ pure love for Daera, and her convincement of him being the right choice. He smiles a little, and she does so too, finding warmness in his stare in the middle of the cold.

-Shall we?-, the prince questions within a mumble, cocking his head towards the rest of the mountain, pondering if they should walk their way into the town.

-They already know they have visitors-. Daera shook her head, prideful and funny-. Let them treat us as so-, she shrugges. Her husband chuckles lowly, agreeing.

-We wait then-, he nods, calmly looking at her eyes.

Daera blinks one time, slowly, staring at him. Soon, she puts her attention in the prince’s hair. It looks like the winds of winter did something to his mane while they were flying deeper into the North, for his hair is all curly, disheveled, and falling to the sides of his face, almost reaching his shoulders.

The princess laughs, raising a hand and ruffling his hair playfully. Jace sighs heavily and closes his eyes.

­-Is it a complete mess?-. He tsks, not even wanting to know how messy he looks.

-It looks better than you may think-. Daera smiles while passing her hand on his mane, looking at it. Jace sighs through his nose, feeling her touch.

-My hair is not familiar with these winds-. The prince spokes softly, his eyes a little narrowed due to the breeze around-. Only with Dragonstone’s, I fear-. He speaks.

-Hmm-, she agrees with a soft mumble, nodding and moving his curls with curiosity from side to side-. Change could be good-. The princess lifts his chin up, smiling. He starts to copy her, admiring her purple eyes-. You could keep your hair like this, like mine-. She smirked, prideful.

Jacaerys hums a low laugh, liking her words. He stares at her for some silent seconds and, then, in the same silence, he raises his hand and between his fingers he grabs a strand of white curly hair from hers.

Daera parts her lips, looking at him while he serenely caresses her hair and looks at it with a soft thoughtful expression. The princess breathes slowly, feeling his tender touch, and also remembering his words from last night.

Unbeknownst to her, she looks like she’s almost drooling, staring at him with both confusion and sweetness, lost in her mind. She can’t help but to think of how she has been feeling with him, these days of late.

The princess is finding great comfort in the company of her husband. Her fake husband. She and Jace have always been close of course, we know that, but as sister and brother. Lately, there has been more between them, way more; the list is crowned by last night confessions, and how he ate her in The Vale.

Daera gulps and, in that same very moment, both their dragons start to lowly growl, notifying them about possible menace. Still holding her strand of hair, Jacaerys lifted up his face and looked above her shoulder, eyes narrowed.

-Our host is here-. He informs with a serious tone, slowly letting go her hair.

With graceful moves, Daera turns both her head and body around, and looks in the same direction. Standing closely, side to side, the couple stares at a handful on horsed men riding towards them. Three of them are knights, the other two wear dark fine clothes of fur. They’re followed by two horses who are riderless, a brown one and a white mare.

-We shall meet them then-. The princess sighs, feeling Jace’s hand placing itself on her lower back. They started to walk. For a brief second Daera turns around her head, still hearing her dragons’ growls-. Kalistrox, Lykiri (Kalistrox, calm down)-. She raised her brows towards him.

The golden dragon seals his mouth, still grumbling a little. He kept quiet, but didn’t draw his eyes apart from his rider, as neither did Vermax, who watches Jace’s every step.

As their staying is supposed to be a brief one, the princes carry their luggage in bags that hang from their shoulders, nor to big or small; convenient for their flight and carrying just what they need.

As they walk down the hill and get away enough from the dragons’ reach, Daera and Jace see how the riders are getting closer. The man that leads them is thick and big, with long brown hair and a sword so big that you could see it from far, even though it’s sheathed behind his back.

The knights carry a very distinguishable flag with them. That of the howling wolf of House Winterfell. The princess’ purple eyes watch as the flag flutters in the cold wind around them. She interlocks an elbow with one of Jace’s, who accepted her grip with a stronger one, humming lowly.

At last, they all arrived. All being incapable of not doing the same: to look at the top of the hill, where a huge golden dragon and an ill-tempered green one stare down at them without a blink.

The three knights stay behind, whilst the other two men stopped their horses at a considerable distance, and then jumped off from them.

-Greetings!-. Jacaerys was the first to speak, standing firmly. By his side, Daera’s lips twisted in a little smirk, watching those two men approaching.

The man to the left is a slim tall one, of soft features and splendid posture, dark hair combed to the sides of his head, and sleepy yet awaken blue eyes. He seems welcoming enough, gifting a quick smile to the princess when he walked away from his horse.

As to the other man, this one is shorter than his companion, but bulkier, thicker, and clearly stronger, His big complexity is covered by infinite layers of fur. He may be brown-haired, but there are some lighter strands that make him look almost like a redhead, almost. He is young, older than the two of them but still young, and possesses eyes as gray as the clouds from the above.

On his chest, the sigil of a wolf clearly tells who is who here. The grey-eyed is no one else than the young Lord of the North, Lord Cregan Stark.

-My princes-, his voice welcomed them hoarsely but kindly, bowing his head just as his friend did at the same time.

Jacaerys keeps a straight expression, eyes soften. Daera is not known for keeping anything to herself, so she’s not trying to hide the cocky smirk on her lips while seeing the handsome lords bowing their heads to her. Oh, Baela would melt if she were here.

-I am Cregan Stark, at your services, my princes-. The strong one speaks with firmness, looking at the both of them.

-Lord Cregan-, Daera immediately nodded, naming him with respect.

-May I present Lord Robard Cerwyn as well-. He pointed at his friend, who bowed his head a new time.

­-My princes, it is a high honor to make your acquittance-. His honeyed voice greeted them with true welcoming, which made the princes to feel easier every second.

House Cerwyn, of course, the closest and more noble vassal house to the Starks. Castle Cerwyn, their seat, is only half a day from Winterfell, so its no surprise that Lord Cregan asked for his companion’s presence to welcome the princes of the realm.

-My lords, it is our honor-. Jace speaks well mannered, nodding towards them-. I am prince Jacaerys Velaryon, and this is my wife-. He turns his head to look at her, reassuring the grip on their locked shoulders.

-Daera Targaryen-, she presents herself with humbleness, nodding towards the both of them.

-Princess-, Robard Cerwyn, one more time, bowed his head.

-My princes-. Lord Cregan does the same, for both princes, who look at him with kind small smiles, feeling the cold wind blowing their manes, which are now both curly.

The oldest of them must be Lord Cerwyn, looking the more mature, but the four of them are clearly around the same age, young and in the springtime of life. Prince Jacaerys, no doubt, is the youngest.

The knights from behind are still constantly looking up, fighting so hard to not be mouth-opened when eyeing towards the legendary beasts that watch them from the top of the mountain. It is, of course, the first time for all these northers seeing a dragon. Two, at that.

-Last night we received a raven from Lord Manderly, noticing us in advance of your upcoming visit-. Lord Cregan informs. Daera and Jace share a quick silent look; they know the raven only did so, and said nothing more. No one knows, nor even imagines that they are here because King Viserys is dead, and the Greens usurped the throne.

No, as he said, Lord Cregan believes this is just a humble and warm visit from the princes of the realm.

-We shared a nice supper with him, a night ago-. Daera comments with a little smile. Cregan closes one, nodding at her.

-From Heart’s Home to Winterfell in such little time-. Lord Cerwyn points out with honest curiosity, crossing his arms on his chest. The princes look at him in silence-. No greater pleasure than to see the world, I agree-. He laughs to himself.

-We think the same, my lord-. Jace joins him in a few chuckles, nodding. Daera sighs through her nose, discreetly, eyeing Kalistrox for a second. Lord Cregan watches her in silence, looking at the white curls that fall over her shoulders and back.

The white-haired princess thinks how they cannot lose a precious second while being here. They’re being subtle, yes, because they know the North is a place to really be serious in, but they canna lose time.

-Shall we mount?-. The princess suddenly proposed, charming, and raising her brows towards the riderless horses.

-But of course-, Lord Cregan is quick to nod, stepping to a side and pointing the way to her with an open hand.

Lord Cerwyn breathes in deeply, quickly heading towards the white mare to hold her on her place. Lord Cregan was swift too, checking her saddle alright. And Prince Jacaerys walked behind his wife closely, guiding her with a hand placed on her lower back.

All of the gentlemen hurried to help her, which took out an honest smile from her lips. Her husband offered her a hand, which she took with firmness while Lord Cregan held her saddle tightly for her.

Easily, Daera took seat on top of the white mare, who let put a soft whinny.

-Thank you-. The princess nods towards them. After seeing she was well stablished, the men headed to their own horses. Jacaerys walked towards his, the brown one, while looking up at her. Daera chews a smile, looking at him from feet to toe-. Hello, gorgeous…-, she mumbles, caressing the mare’s ears with kindness.

-We shall head to the castle now-. Lord Cregan informs, mounting a thick black horse, as dark as the night. Their horses all start to go back the way the came from before.

-Very well-. Jacaerys nods, running a hand through his curly hair, combing it to the back of his head, but it was still a mess. A mess that his wife glanced at with a sided smile, truly digging the new look of him.

The three knights now head the way, mounting their horses.

Low beastlike growls reach their ears, making Cregan to turn his head towards the top of that mountain. Thinking nobody was looking at him, he did not hide his awe, looking at there with parted lips and glowing eyes, admiring the dragons from above.

Having seen him, Daera starts to form a smile and them chews it, hiding it a little. She will never get tired of people’s impression when they see a dragon for the first time. These days have been full of those reactions, from the kids in Heart’s Home to Lord Cregan’s own open mouth.

-We hope we did not…alarmed your town, my Lord-. Daera speaks after moments of silence, turning to look at him.

-If we did, we apologize-. Jace is quick to say, raising his brows towards him. Lord Cregan starts to shake his head with softness.

­-My wife ran and hid under our bed-. Lord Cerwyn amusedly confesses, riding his horse with a cocky smile. The story made the princes to laugh, Daera rising her brows with a funny pity.

-Then we do apologize-. The brown-haired prince smiles at him, humorous but still truly apologetic.

-No need, my prince-. Lord Robard denied with simpleness.

While they ride, Daera takes a moment of silence to stare around where they were passing through. It is not currently snowing, but everything is hidden under layers of soft white snow, which almost glows under the light of the sun that comes through the creaks of the clouds. The tall trees, the black rocks and small hills.

She is barely arriving, but admits to herself that Winterfell is genuinely beautiful. She is used to warm places, ones of sun, seas and grass. This place is quite different to King’s Landing, to Dragonstone, to Driftmark…to Pentos, even.

When Pentos comes to her mind, a person does too, inevitably. In her head, she sees Aemond. That sent immediate shivers down her spine; she gulps, feeling her mouth getting dry, and it is not because of the cold.

The reminisce of him forcing her to drink the Moon Tea, just a day after blessing Alyssa’s name, make her to shiver again. She thinks of his brother, Aegon, too. The fake King.

She thinks in everything that has happened in the spawn of just days. Alyssa, Viserys’ death, the stealth of their throne, Visenya, Luke having to fly alone to Storm’s End. Everything screams danger, and ill times.

Oh, and she doesn’t know yet…

When Daera achieved to come out of her thoughts, she became aware that they have left the mountains behind, and that now they are riding in the very same town they flew over before. She parts her lips, quickly paying attention to them.

There’s no one who is either hiding or dissimulating their interest and mistrust when looking at them. They look at them from feet to toe, their lifted-up chins and leather clothes. The woman of long curly white hair and noticeable purple eyes; a Targaryen beauty in all of its glory.

Jacaerys rides his horse with pride, looking at the people with easy attentive eyes. He thinks about how, one day, he’ll be King to all of these who are looking at him. The thought makes him both nervous and pride. But more than that: hopeful.

Daera is looking back at everyone, analyzing their different faces of cold eyes and strong features. Though most of them are not, she smiles, wavering her hand towards some kids, who saluted back at her within giggles and blushed cheeks. She chuckled, and most of the people know to appreciate her beauty, mesmerized by the white hair and purple orbs.

-I am the one to apologize now-. Lord Cregan speaks with certain uneasiness, riding between both princess, who looked at him with interest-. My people are not used of visitors from so far, you see-. He explains, looking down at his subjects with serious kind eyes.

Daera blinks with curiosity, easily noticing the great respect that they look at their young lord with. She smiles to herself, liking that.

-Nor that gorgeous, I’d wager-. Prince Jacaerys speaks coquettishly, eyeing his wife from the sides of his eyes.

To our surprise, Daera opened her mouth in shock, though she quickly tried to hide her expression, and just cleared her throat, looking away with a pressed smirk. Jace looks at her with a sided smile, playing with his horse’s saddle, and then looking forward too.

Lord Cregan and Robard, close friends, shared a discreet funny look, having noticed the princess’ flattered face.

Soon enough, they arrived to the seat of the Starks, the castle of Winterfell. They rode their horses into the patio, where they found a lot of people walking from here to there, adults running errands and kids playing around, dogs barking and cats hissing at them.

Jacaerys narrows his eyes a little, having expected a more organized welcome, but finding amusement in all the things happening at once. His wife, however, didn’t even think in the need of a royal welcome, laughing when she saw a kid throwing what it looked like cow shit to his brother.

-Dear gods-, the princess smiles, looking around.

Cregan’s horse stopped walking as soon as he jumped off his saddle, firmly landing on the ground while looking at his people with pressed lips and kind of reproaching eyes.

-Heavens-, Lord Cerwyn sighs, coming off his hoarse too. He sees princess Daera finding the people entertaining, while prince Jacaerys softly smiles at them.

Unbeknownst to the princes, the young Lord had left them as organized as possible. But, nevertheless, the heart of Winterfell never stays still, which was clear when, after the Lord left to fetch their visitors, a wind blew away one bed sheets a handmaiden was hanging. After that, all is history.

-Well, at least they do not seem offended-. Robard mumbles discreetly to Cregan’s side. Lord Stark grumbles, looking at the princes, who certainly seem more than fine with the multiple ongoings of the patio.

-Apologies, princes-. Lord Cregan heads to them, walking firmly. Still on her saddle, Daera looked down at him and smiled-. We are in the-

-No, no need-. The princess shakes her head with amusement, whilst her husband came off his hoarse, caressing his face-. A royal welcoming was not of need-. She assured.

Lord Cregan closes his lips and nods silently, thinking to himself that, as to now, the princess hasn’t proved to be some of the things she is described as. Gorgeous and charming, yes, but not mad as her father. Well, some people lie, and some not, especially about the royal family.

-This is better!-. Daera giggles, moving her legs to a side of the mare to came off it. Jace quickly starts to approach, but she didn’t see him, and easily jump off of her own with no problem. Jace stops and pretends to look around with interest, whistling.

Cregan raises a hand, signaling a call towards some people; two handmaidens start to approach to them.

-You must be tired, after such a sojourn-. Lord Stark speaks with manner, interestingly watched by prince Jacaerys.

Looking over her shoulder, Daera waves a hand towards a group of young adults who were looking at them. Shyly, they smiled and answered, making her to grin. There will not be a day where she does not enjoy to share with commonfolk.

- Perhaps you would like to step into your accommodations, my princes. A warm meal is on the making-. Cregan continues to speak, looking at the both of them, having noticed the princess’ nice “hello” to a few of his subjects-. Would you like that, my princes?-. He questions.

Jacaerys looks at her, and she automatically does too, cocking her head along a closed easy grin. They looked at each other for three seconds, and that was enough to decide that they wanted the same.

-We would-, the princess speaks their agreement.

Cregan nods with a little smile. The two servants he called before arrive to them, bowing their heads towards the princes and the lords.

-Fetch the princes’ luggage to their bedchamber-. Lord Cregan orders.

-Oh, thanks-. Jace quickly nods, giving them her bad, as well as Daera did, the both smiling briefly to them. The women bowed again, turning around and heading to the insides of the castle-. We thank you, for the hospitality-. He speaks to the lord.

-No need for so-, Cregan gently shakes his head.

-We will get stablished, then-. Daera informs with raised eyebrows, gripping herself to her husband’s elbow again. He breathed in, feeling her body’s warmth in the middle of the coldness.

-Then, we can talk politics-. The princes raised his brows as well, speaking lower than before. Cregan nods slowly, understanding that now there’s something to talk about.

-Very well, my princes-. He nods-. I’ll order your fetching to the dining room in around an hour, if you agree-. Lord Cregan informs.

-Perfect-, the white-haired princess agreed, and her husband did too in a silent nod.

-Then get comfortable, please-. Cregan mannerly speaks, pointing forwards-. If you would be so kind as to follow Telio; he’ll guide you to your rooms-. He gently asks.

They see a fat young boy waiting for them with a sort of a nervous expression. Jacaerys and Daera nod to the lords, and start to head towards the boy, who started to guide them with silent steps.

Watched by everyone, the princess followed Telio into the insides of the castle, soon finding dark walls and torches in every step they’d take. Fair enough, for the darkness that it can grow in the North, and not only at night.

While walking though a hall, keeping a distance with the guide, Jacaerys suddenly caressed one of Daera’s arm, and then interlocked her hand with his, caressing her fingers.

That made the princess to rise her brows, turning to look at him with a growing smile.

-You are feeling romantic?-. She questions tauntly, narrowing her purple eyes.

-You now know I am in love with you-. Jace narrows his eyes as well, playfully. Daera parts her lips, sighing with a dumbness she wasn’t aware of-. There’s nothing to hide anymore-. He mumbled, walking even closer to her; his arm skimmed one of her breasts.

-Huh-, Daera lets out a single laugh, faking surprise-. Do not be so explicit in front of Telio-. She whispered funnily, winking an eye.

The princes laughed freely; they rocked their hands while their chuckles echoed around the whole hall.

Until the news only we know about reaches Jacaerys and Daera’s ears, they are to be the only ones that we will get to see smiling and hear laughing, for a time.

We shall cherish it, while we still can.

•••

[murmel-malt]

Daera and Viserys presenting baby Rhaenyra to their father Baelon.

a doodle to accompany this Hedaera snippet

[bl00dlight]

Ghostly Flame

Aemond Targaryen x OC sister x Alys Rivers {NSFW}

Warnings ● more carpet munching, graphic language, general smut and filth, implied homophobia, age gap, dubious consent, violence against female character, heterosexuality, Aemond being depraved as fuck and lowkey the worst, oedipus complex, full blown targcest, mentions of Madame Sylvie (sorry yall), Alys Rivers being a trick ass bitch, not proof read

Word count ● 4.7k

Author's Note • Long awaited. It's finally here. Holy fuck it's actually... like insane how long this took for me to dwell on. I'm not gonna spoil anything but this one is a bit gross. In a good way. Sick sick sick.

Masterlist / Ghostly Flame ● Part I

Part II

The sight on the Prince Regent's bed was indeed, not a mere dream. He stammered as a flood of emotions suddenly whipped against his skull.

As he entered, Aemond's face darkened and the breath in his lungs all but vanished. Hs let fist slowly curl, though his eye was transfixed on the two women, watching as his paramour's mouth moved against his sister's skin. Despite it all, the disgust and rage that was brewing; for a brief moment he enjoyed the sounds and sight before him.

And yet, Aemond knew it was but a vile sin, a betrayal of both his bedmate and beloved sister. Still, the sight stirred heat within him.

Alys continued in her ministrations, her tongue moving with precision, seeking to please and to tease the princess. The witch was so engrossed in the task before her that she hadn't noticed the door or the figure which loomed in the shadows.

The sounds of his sister's mewling was enough to drive him over the edge. The prince clenched his jaw, he stalked towards the women and spoke, his voice ringing in the quiet of the room. "Alys."

Just like that the sounds of their pleasure had come to a deadened stop. Slowly Alys pulled away, and turned towards Aemond. Daera opened her eyes with a flash, her body jolting with fear and suddenly the humiliation rang true.

Aemond's own heart was hammering in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts he had never dared admit aloud.

"Tell me," Aemond whispered, his voice rough and low. "Do the both of you take me for a fool?"

Alys bowed her head and spoke gently, "My Prince, I..."

"Silence." Aemond sneered, stalking towards Alys. His fist soon met with her raven hair, gripping at it as he forced her head up at him. "I have had my fill of your vile tongue."

A silence brewed before he suddenly shoved the woman back to the ground. Alys winced as he body hit the floor with a startling thud. Daera shook, her hands in her head as she had pulled the sheets upon her bare flesh out of modesty. It was comical, still she seemed to care of propriety, even though her own brother had seen her in such a state.

Aemond grunted, raising a hand up as though he was to strike the woman before him. Alys stayed deadly still upon the ground, gritting her teeth, awaiting his hand to make contact with her flesh. Though he felt his rage stir he swiftly pulled his hand away. He could not strike her, no, instead he launched and gripped her arm, forcing her upon her feet.

"You dare humiliate me? You dare bring such shame upon me? Defiling my own blood, my sister! Upon the very bed I let your treacherous head lay, no less!" Aemond's lonesome eye was narrowed in a maelstrom of emotions, anger, betrayal, jealously, humiliation.

Yet in truth, he felt one thing; weakness.

Alys glared at him, speaking oddly calmly, "Of course not, your grace..."

"Then speak, bastard! Speak on the sight before me... of you upon my sister and why my eye was witness to it! Speak to why you... why you dare go against me, after all I have done! I spared you, or do you forget?" The prince gripped her flesh sternly and his gaze faltered as he felt sorrow bloom.

Daera looked away, she couldn't bare the scene before her. Couldn't bare what she had done, she hadn't even known what led her to do it. She had no excuse, no reason. It seemed to have happened before she had any idea it was occurring.

The princess wiped her tears, her heart aching. "Brother..." she muttered weakly, sorrowfully.

Aemond turned his head sharply, "I SHALL HEAR NOTHING FROM YOU!" He snapped at Daera, forcing her back into submission.

His gaze came to Alys once more, whom at this point was holding back a low snicker. Her hands came to his chest, and a low hum was earnt from the prince at her soothing ministrations.

"You are not so tempting as to distract me. I see you for what you are... a snake in my own den." He lowered his tone, as his hand came to her raven locks and gripped them.

Alys gave him an incredulous look once more, "You... you do not mean such things, I have been nothing but faithful, my prince."

"Yet your mouth was upon my sister? You think that faithful?" Aemond retorted swiftly, fastening his grip.

"I... I do not deny how such may seem an act of betrayal. But it was in service to you, your grace." Alys flinched as his hands laced themselves in her hair forcefully. Her voice still measured.

"Do not dare speak such folly-" His temper flared as Alys spoke over the Prince.

"It is not folly... I have brought her, swayed her senses so they may receive what is so deeply suppressed within her. She had not come for me, my prince. She came for you." Alys' voice like a siren song, she let her hands run to his cheeks. Gently stroking at his sharp features.

Silence beckoned for a moment, as Aemond found himself lured by the witch's words. Her eyes gazing with reverence upon him, yet there was a glimmer of something else. Something she had seen.

Slowly, Aemond's grip upon her hair eased flattening to cup her head, "What do you see?" He muttered, his eye scanning her carefully.

Daera's sobbing had eased now, and she watched with baited breath as her brother and the witch spoke before her. She noticed the tilt of Alys' head the low chuckle as she leaned in to Aemond's ear, muttering something unknown.

There was a noticeable shift, the sharp line of his jaw hardening as he eased into her touch. Daera caught a low hum from him, an inquisitive one as Alys nodded.

The prince turned to his sister, her trembling form. No doubt her mind already a place of torment for her. His gaze scanned over her pale flesh, silver hair - so much like his own. Though she looked more like their mother in her features. Melancholic round eyes, full lips; a soft cherubic face. She was a woman grown and yet, still appeared so much like the docile girl she once was in their youth.

Aemond leaned down, his silver hair catching in the moonlight as he gazed upon his sister sternly. His hand gripped her wrist.

"I ought to punish you." He said firmly.

Daera instantly weakened at his words, her head tilting, tears streaming as she simpered, "Brother..."

His hand suddenly clasped her cheek, silencing her whining, "Do as I say."

The Princess's eyes searched his lonesome one, her gaze coiling in uncertainty. She shook her head, disturbed by his sudden change of demanour. Her heart thundering as she knew whatever was to occur, was something she ought to be fearful of. She felt the need to beg, to plead for forgiveness. Though she remained still.

"I do not blame you, for failing to resist my Alys' charm. You are but a woman... you stand little chance against her, for even I find my resolve wavering in her wake." He slowly rose to his feet, and Alys came to him, slowly unstrapping his leathers from his chest.

"You are not... mad with me?" The Princess whimpered, squeezing her nails into her palms. Allowing the pain to distract her from her shame.

"What Alys has seen.. changes the matter." Aemond spoke with a new found clarity, though there was a bitterness that lingered upon his tongue.

Daera shook her head in response, she looked at Alys, whose hands were upon his breeches, unlacing them. Before she could continue he pulled her hands away from him. "No." Aemond muttered, slowly turning to his sister.

Daera found herself trembling once more, her eyes watery, desperately searching for answers as she whispered, "Seen what?"

It was the uncertainty in her eyes which made Aemond look away, his gaze narrowed upon the ground as he mumbled to Alys, "I cannot..."

The witch let her hands cup his face once more, soothing the fear he felt within him, "You can... and you will, desire has sown it's seed long bef-"

Aemond swiftly gripped her wrists, interrupting her, "Do not presume to know of my desires! She is my sister..."

The raven hair of Alys fell upon her pale shoulder as she turned to face the princess before her. Aemond's eye wandering for a moment upon her bare flesh... her breasts.

Daera looked into the green landscape of her eyes, flashes of them lingering between her thighs caused a spark of shame within the princess and she looked away. Alys chuckled softly, turning back to Aemond.

The witch leaned in, her hands coming back to his jaw, one slowly trailing down his neck. She hummed, smiling softly as Alys whispered to Aemond, "You are the blood of old Valyria, your grace... fire courses through your very flesh. A fire I have felt lick at my womb and that shall lick upon hers..."

Aemond's gaze met his paramour's in an intense exchange of understanding and trepidation. Though he was soothed by her gentle touch upon him, soothed by the wisdom her foresight granted him. She was right, it was not as though he held no desire for his sister. He had merely suppressed it. Why long for something that shall never be his to keep?

Their mother never sought to the betroth them, so Aemond simply focused on matters of duty; of becoming a formidable force in battle. Though he could not embrace Targaryen tradition entirely, he sought to expand upon it in other ways. He would seek to become a fierce dragonrider. A man of skill, for his legacy would be his own.

As he gazed upon his sister, he felt the sudden urge to comfort her. The tears that rolled upon her cheek meant for a greater challenge. He would not force himself upon her, but he could not deny the fire set ablaze in his blood when his eye wandered her flesh.

She was to be his destiny it seemed... and if Alys' vision proved true, the mother to his true born heir.

He stalked towards her, and once again found himself reaching over. As he extended his hand to cup her cheek she flinched, and Aemond merely persisted.

Daera however, was not so much aware of what Alys and Aemond spoke of. If anything she was still mortified by the fact her brother had seen her indulge in such sin.

Her gaze widened at the feeling of his palm upon her fleshy cheek, "Please... forgive me...I know I have tainted myself in the eyes of the Gods, but you must let me seek absolution from you. My resolve has grown weak, I see it now... I..." The princess mumbled, fanatically searching her brother's stoney gaze as he watched the trembling of her lips.

Silence beckoned, and Aemond remained still. His eye scanning over her, his thumb rubbing against the plushness of her cheeks. Her eyes that wore sorrow so beautifully, just as their mother's does. Large, comforting eyes... for a moment he felt a sense of boyish peace dawn upon him. Remembering how once, Alicent would gaze upon him with concerned filled eyes.

Though he had not spoken to his mother in many moons now, could not bare the sight of her. It was in Daera's simpering expression he found a small sense of comfort. She was but a piece of home. Though his youth was not always a happy one, there was peace. There was... a familiarity which made him wish to crawl within his sister's arms and pretend nothing bad had befallen them.

"Brother..." She whimpered, begging for him to say something; pulling the Prince from his thoughts.

Daera's eyes were caught by the familiar saunter of Alys' bare frame. She came to Aemond, leaning down as her thin, pale fingers tucked his silver hair behind his ear. Gently she cooed, "Go on, my prince... take what is yours."

With that Aemond glanced briefly and Alys, and then slowly looked back upon his sister. He moved now, shifting his weight to crawl upon the bed. His hand still gripping at her cheek, and the other now finding her waist, pulling her from the sheet and forcing her before him.

Aemond gazed softly, tentatively, at her. His hand moving to her silver curls; her hair so similar to her mother's. His fingers twirled a strand delicately, as though it were made of glass. He suddenly brought his face near her, his cheek grazing hers as he buried his nose within her locks for a moment. He breathed in, closing his eye. The familiar sweet smell of honeysuckled flesh filling his senses.

The princess was in complete shock, she had never known such affections from her brother before. Her eyes widened, her gaze meeting Alys', who came to the bed, sitting at the end as she removed Aemond's boots. Soon, her pale hand reaching over to stroke Aemond's hair gently. The princess furrowed her brow, positively unfurled by the scene before her. Her tears had all but come to a halt, not for the fact shame had left her, but for the fact she was overwrought by the absurdity of it all.

Aemond pulled back slightly, and both he and his sister let out a sharp breath. Her eyes wide, watching him carefully as he gently grazed his nose upon her cheek. His hand coming to her lips. Lips which were too, like Alicent's; swollen and quivering.

His eye, narrowed upon her and he caught her discomforted demanour. His fingers moving from her lips to cup her cheek as he muttered, "If it is absolution you seek, then let us not allow what transpired to be in vain. So, do as I say."

Daera though confused, did not protest. She nodded and heard her breath catch within her throat as he hummed slightly. Aemond brought his other hand to her cheek. A look of determination filled his eye though he seemed conflicted.

His gaze locked upon her lips, he wanted to kiss her, wanted to touch her. Though he knew not how to. Aemond grunted again, unsure of himself. An awkward tension rose as he stammered like a boy. The Prince huffed, looked down as humiliation coiled in his belly. He felt weak, he felt the fool.

He had, in truth never been with a woman as young as Daera. Though she was but a year younger than he. She was unlike Alys... unlike Madame Sylvie. Both of which had known the ways of initiating pleasure. He had never had to worry of such things, for both women brimmed with the confidence only within a mature woman, to take charge. Neither were coy, nor demure. Neither stuttered nor flinched when presented with his desire. Neither seemed so... shocked by his forwardness, nor hid behind maidenly virtue, nor looked upon him with judgement. They were women whom he felt safe with, secure with. He did not have to wear the mask he had crafted so precisely for himself. Did not have to act with the hard faced confidence of a man. Aemond could be unsure, with Alys and Madame Sylvie. He could let go of his masculine fortitude and be a boy once more.

But this was not the case with Daera. He could not help but find the judgement in her eyes, enraging. Already he thought of the million ways she may be laughing or repulsed by him. Already he thought of how she would reject him if he were not willing to do as had been taught men are to do. Take charge.

He could not falter with her, could not be seen as weak.

"Alys..." He muttered lowly, his head turning slightly as to call his paramour to guide him.

The witch continued stroking his hair, cooing softly as she gave him a knowing look, "As you would me..." Her voice soft, knowing he would understand her implication.

Aemond gave a small nod, his gaze then returning to his sister. A look of determination yet also... fear in his eye.

Daera had watched the interaction transpire as though she were but a mere spectator in her body. It hadn't felt real at all, it all seemed like an elaborate dream, and betwixt the moonlight and shadows of Harrenhal, he wasn't fully convinced it wasn't.

The princess found herself sharply returned back to reality as the feeling of her brother's breath upon her neck made her flinch. His fingers gently moving the strands of her silver curls away, before the soft and warm sensation of his lips met her neck.

Daera went to protest, but was met with the cold palm of Alys upon her other cheek, her fingers lacing in her hair as she pulled the princess' head to one side. Exposing more of her neck for Aemond to place his lips upon.

Alys smiled softly and gently stroked the coil of worry lines upon Daera's face.

"That's it." The witch lulled gently, slowly encouraging Daera to lean into her brother's touch. To which the princess slowly raised her hand to Aemond's silver strands, her fingers coiling into his scalp, earning a low groan.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of his lips moving up her neck, his hands now moving upon her bare body, falling between her plush breasts, down onto the soft planes of her belly.

It was not long before she felt Alys' lips press into her own, a small whimper leaving the princess.

It was that sound which egged Aemond further, he kissed up Daera's jaw, hoping to siphon more of those sweet sounds from his sister. He felt the familiar touch of Alys upon the band of his breeches, already unlaced. Her cool hand shuffling them down, before reaching in, palming his stiffened length. The sudden feeling of his paramour's hand upon him made him groan. Though he swiftly pulled away from the soft flesh of his sister, his head turning to Alys' sharp face.

"I shall do it myself." His words a quiet yet sharp command.

Alys conceded and resumed her position behind him, gently she stroked his silver tresses. Slightly annoyed by his barking at her tonight. Though she supposed he probably still seethes over her seducing Daera so easily.

The princess was terribly lost in the moment. She had eased to her brother's advances and slowly, his hand came to move her head towards his and pressed into hers gently. Daera whimpered and he pulled away, catching a breath. It was with that kiss that her blood had been set ablaze by him. Suddenly, her hands reached up, catching his cheeks in her palms and attempting to force her lips back into his.

Aemond, pulled away slightly, if not only to tease her for her eagerness, but also to remind him he must remember she had not ever been touched by a man. She was unwed, a mere maiden and similarly to him, probably starved for affection.

A dark desire bloomed as he noted her pleading gaze, a sense of control he did not get with his older lovers. It felt good to be the one whom was bestowing another with affection. Filling a lovelorn void with her that he himself shared. He found her stammering endearing, familiar in a way.

He pulled back again, if not to see how her pretty face coiled in desperation. Just as his would. His hand moved to the back of her hair, gripping her strands roughly, her head tilting back before he spoke lowly, "Tell me you desire it."

Daera's eyes beamed with a sudden awakening desire. Her cunt growing warm, as she whispered, "I desire it."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his voice soft, "Do you want me?" His eye wide, expectant.

Slowly, the Princess let her hands move into his hair as she furrowed her brow, as if he had to ask, she thought. Her voice equally soft, needy, "Yes, brother."

It was those very words which set his lips to hers again. He forced his breeches from him, Alys aiding. Aemond let his knee pry Daera's legs apart, his hand moving to finally touch what he knew would already be ready for him. His fingers grazing her wet core, just as their lips upon each other grew far more intensive in their ministrations. Daera was again, shocked by how wet everything felt, and his fingers sliding between her cunt made her mouth open slightly as a moan left her.

He pushed her down, and his head turned to guesture for Alys to get behind Daera. The witch did so, moving so that her legs were parted where Daera's head lay between. Aemond looked down upon his sister then up at his paramour. His eye narrowed as he let himself slip a finger into Daera's entrance.

A sudden moan left the princess and her hands gripped at his upper arms, she found her head tilting back as a simpering gasp left her. His other hand guiding her knee upwards as he pushed two fingers within her. Slowly stretching her. His eye caught Alys again, who herself had seemed to find the ordeal so pleasing, her own hand worked upon her. He watched as she circled her cunt, then slowly fucking herself with her fingers. Though Daera hadn't noticed, she was too busy writhing beneath Aemond as his fingers had grown terribly fast.

Suddenly he stopped, pulling his fingers from her, his gaze still harsh upon Alys as she pleased herself. His jaw clenched as he had remembered the sight he had walked in upon.

Daera found herself letting out a small whine as he had stopped, she looked up at him, when she was met with his hand clasping her cheeks. Aemond spoke with a swift determination in his tone, "You will tend to Alys as I ready you."

Daera had opened her mouth to speak before Aemond interrupted, "Turn around."

With that, Daera had found herself most shocked, though slowly, hesitantly she turned to her belly and moved towards Alys.

Aemonds voice rang in the thick silence of the chamber, "Tell her what she might do." He said lowly to Alys, his gaze too busy scanning the vast expanse of Daera's pale back, her plump rear and fleshy thighs.

Alys hummed, titling her head, her hands coming to Daera's cheeks to pull her forward, "I shall take the girl's mouth." The witch spoke smugly, her hand pulling at Daera's hair as she lowered the princess' lips to her cunt. "Slowly, my pet..." Alys cooed. "With your tongue."

Daera all but whimpered as her mouth met the soft, delicate folds of Alys. She was not sure how to go about it, but she started with slow, languid licks, hoping she might gauge where Alys was brought pleasure. The witch hummed and chuckled with pleasure, her hips slowly circling as she pressed Daera's mouth upon her cunt further. She instructed the princess lowly, and soon Daera was using her tongue to circle Alys clit, winning groans from the older woman.

Aemond had found himself oddly transfixed by the sight, his paramour instructing his sister. It was as though he was watching himself in a way. Though the sight of the two woman before him, was far more thrilling than he had anticipated. Alys' head tilted back, forcing Daera to move quicker, and Aemond slowly pryed apart her thighs. His fingers finding Daera's soaked core.

He grazed her clit, winning gentle moans from her as his other hand kneaded her rear. Alys, moaned again, her peak dawning as she cried, "The prince watches us... sweet girl. He watches with reverence."

Her words sparked a quick hum from Aemond as he found himself focused on Daera again. He leaned down, his chest pressed upon her back as lewd sounds of the two women filled the chamber. He moved his sister's hair to the side, exposing her neck and back. Aemond pressed gentle kisses into her, his hands trailing her soft flesh.

As he went to kiss her again, Alys had pulled Daera's hair harshly, forcing Aemond to lose his grip slightly. He looked up at his paramour, watching as she rolled her hips on his sister mouth, chasing her endless peak.

She was indeed a woman of great fortitude, but this was not about her pleasure. This was about legacy, this was about himself and his sister... and their duty to House Targaryen. Aemond's hands wrapped around Daera's waist, suddenly pulling her away from Alys' cunt.

The witch's eyes opened swiftly, and she gasped. "Your grace?!" She barked, almost like a mother would towards her child.

Though Aemond paid little attention to Alys as he laid Daera down upon her back again. "You've had your fill." He muttered.

The raven haired woman scoffed, "So I get nothing then? I brought you the girl-"

Aemond raised his hand, his tone aloof as he gazed down upon Daera. "Leave us." Aemond spoke lowly to Alys, he was too transfixed on the way Daera had brought her hands to his cheeks.

"My Prince..." The witch begged. Alys let her gaze grow wide and discontented.

"Hm.." Aemond looked up to the older woman, his gaze unwavering, stern, "You may go."

It only took one disgruntled look from Alys before she gave a nod, biting her tongue as she moved away from the bed. She dressed herself once more and left without any protest. After all, she was but under his mercy.

The silence in the room was startling, Daera's eyes widened, and her hand came to Aemond's eye patch, though he forced her hand away. He did not say another word as he settled between her legs. Aemond moved her hand to clasp his length, guiding her hand up and down to ready himself.

His lips met hers as he moved her legs to wrapped around his hips, and slowly, Aemond let his cock graze her folds. Both of them moaning at the sensation. He felt his resolve weaken, and with that, he pushed into her entrance ever so slowly. Giving her time to adjust to him.

Her core tight, so tight he felt himself wince as he tried to push further. Daera squeezed his arm making him force her hands to his cheeks. "Calm yourself." He said lowly.

Daera obliged, she closed her eyes, trusting the sensation that currently stung with pain would soon dissolve and it did. He eased himself into her, and Daera marvelled at the sound he made when he had finally pushed within her. All that could be heard from her was a deep gasp, her head tilting back. As he rocked his hips, fucking her slowly, her hands laced into his hair and his face buried into her neck. Daera suddenly began to moan softly, wantonly as the sensation became more and more pleasurable as her core loosened. She began to feel herself relax, and he slid in and out of her with ease. Aemond at this point was all but lost, he kept moving into her, his hands cupping her face as he moved between his face in the crook of her neck or kissing her harshly. His moans growing more intense, their names flying from the other's mouth. Panting and cursing filled his chamber, alongside low growls as he relished the feeling of her warm cunt upon him.

"Sweet sister..." He grumbled, nodding as his peak was soon to come. "Have me." He said, almost sweetly against her flesh. He wanted to bury himself in her, hold her tight. And that he did, their bodies flushed firmly against each other and Daera had instinctively began to rock her hips against his.

She moaned, grappling at his hair as she whispered, "Aemond... my brother..."

It was her soft coos which triggered him to come fiercely within her. His seed causing an odd warmth to spread within her. As the moment diffused, the heat between them had caused both of them to become flushed, panting gently as they lay entwined upon the bed. The shadows enclasping them both, yet in their arms both found a sense of peace. Daera coiled into him, her head resting upon the top of his.

Aemond laid upon her, letting her arms wrap around him, her soft flesh against his taut frame felt like bliss. He breathed out, speaking softly against her skin, "Alys... she.." Aemond stammered breathlessly against her neck, leaving small kisses.

Daera raised her brow, her hands coming to his hair, gently grazing his silver tresses. The moment felt beyond intimate, she felt a strange tie to him. One that had been all but lost to their distant youths.

He let his hands gently carress her face, his cheek nuzzling against her own as he whispered softly, cooingly into her ear,"She see's a silver haired boy upon the throne... a boy who comes from the flesh of two dragons. The mother... a great beauty, the father... a feared warrior. Of darkness and light, joined by a ghostly flame of longing. Separated by time, brought together by blood. It is us... sweet sister. Alys sees us."

[humanpurposes]

We're Born At Night

Chapter 1

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, politics, mentions of death and war

Words: 4.3k

A/n: a self-indulgent post-dance fic and I'm excited about it :)

She rocks with the carriage as it rolls over the cobbled streets of King’s Landing. Bricks and tiles in dull shades of red, yellow and browns move past the window, and the air is thick with dust and all sorts of unpleasant smells. 

Her heart sinks at the absence of greenery, like the forests and fields that surround Runestone, the sounds of rivers and streams, the bright bursts of colour in the wildflowers. The Red Keep overlooks Blackwater Bay, she remembers that. She loved rising early to watch the sunrise, to see the waves glow red and gold. She loved going down to the beach below the castle to feel the warm summer sun on her face and dip her toes into the cold water.

It is autumn now. Grey clouds dull the sunlight and there is a chill in the air.

Daena sits opposite her, tugging at her sleeves and the collar of her travelling cloak. They are in matching gowns of dark green velvet, newly made for their visit to court; a cheap play for the King’s favour, but she needs all the help she can get. 

Her younger sister’s constant fussing is irritating, but Rhaelle cannot blame her.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” says Morra, Rhaelle’s handmaiden who sits beside her, a sharp and observant young woman.

Daena’s harshly violet eyes glare up at her. She gives a small huff and drops her arms into her lap. “I look better in red,” she says.

“Careless talk like that will cost you your tongue the moment we’re through the castle gates,” Rhaelle warns.

Daena tuts and turns her head towards the window. “What an awful place,” she says.

Rhaelle pulls back the thin curtain with the tip of her finger. Miserable faces, crowds of bodies, market stalls, bands of mummers, and an endless array of buildings pass her by. She has prayed to the old gods and the new that their visit to the Red Keep will be short, but that is wishful thinking and she has never been much of an optimist.

Ten years ago she had been hunting with her late mother’s cousin, Ser Gerold, when a raven appeared over the hills, headed for Runestone. It had filled her with an inexplicable dread and she could not understand why until she returned to the castle to learn of the death of Laena Velaryon, her step-mother. Daemon had summoned his eldest three daughters to Driftmark to see her laid to rest and mourn alongside two sisters they had never met. In a matter of days, Ser Laenor was dead too, Daemon had married Princess Rhaenyra on Dragonstone, and had plans for three more marriages.

Their oldest sister, Alyssa, and Prince Jacaerys were married at the Red Keep little more than a month later, she being sixteen and he a boy of ten. Baela was betrothed to Prince Lucerys, and Rhaelle was betrothed to Prince Joffrey, only a babe at the time.

While Rhaelle and Daera had returned to Runestone, Alyssa had remained at Dragonstone with her husband and so her fate had been sealed.

They come to a gatehouse made of red stone, where the banners of House Targaryen loom proudly over the walls and flutter in the breeze. The sight sparks a memory Rhaelle had forgotten she had, and suddenly it feels like she never left this place at all. Her family’s sigil, the three-headed dragon, should be more familiar to her than it really is. She finds more comfort in the colours of white and bronze, black pebbles and the ancient runes of her mother’s house.

She looks down at her own sleeves, at the runes embroidered into the cuffs with golden thread. The right reads the words of House Royce: We remember. On the left though, is a saying far older, so old that no one can truly say where it came from, only that it has been passed down in proverbs amongst those who carry the blood of the first men. Now they are written in books and scripture, carved onto tombs, whispered in prayers said before a weirwood, spoken to her by her mother: Learn to die.

Did those words pass the lips of Rhea Royce when she fell from her horse and cracked her head open on a rock? Did they echo through her mind when she lay in her bed, either unconscious or incoherent for nine days?

Does Alyssa utter them to herself in the darkness of the Black Cells?

The carriage comes to a stop. Rhaelle takes a deep breath, checks that her hair is neatly pinned back, that her gown sits right and that her boots are spotless. There can be no room for weakness here, not where people will judge every move she makes, note every word she says and stare into her eyes as if to read her very thoughts.

The door is opened for her and she steps out into the courtyard clutching the hand of one of her household guards.

Lord Corlys is waiting to greet them by the steps to the castle, dressed in fine robes of sea green and silver. On his collar she spots a gleam of gold, the pin that marks him as the Hand of the King. 

When she had last seen Lord Corlys he was the Seasnake, a naval hero who carved out his own legacy and built his seat of Hightide to fill with the trophies of his victories. Now Hightide is nothing more than ruins buried in ash and Lord Corlys is an old man leaning on a cane, with long silver locks, a thick white beard and a tired look in his eyes, the look of a man who has seen his last war. 

He offers her a small bow of his head. “Lady Rhaelle, what an honour it is to welcome you to the Red Keep.”

Daena follows her and greets Lord Corlys with a perfect curtsey. He smiles and notes how much they have changed since he last saw them, but they were girls then, young and sweet, only grieving their first loss.

Morra takes their travelling cloaks before Lord Corlys leads them inside, followed by their household guard. The halls are quiet and solemn, the colours she remembers from childhood somehow duller and she wonders if it is because she is older.

Eyes fall to the sisters easily and whispers echo wherever they walk. She hears a faint whisper of “traitor” as they come to the great stairwell in the very heart of the castle. She looks around her and above, up into the cavernous space overhead where faces peer down from balconies and galleries, made hazy by smoke and heat from the braziers.

Traitor, the accusation clings in her stomach and throat, until Daena’s hand gently wraps around her wrist and urges her to walk on. But perhaps the whispers are right. She is the daughter of a traitor, the sister of a traitor, perhaps it is in her blood and she cannot escape it.

They are shown to their chambers in the west wing of the castle. A small reception room joins two privy chambers and two bedchambers beyond that. It is a pity, she would have liked a room where she could see Blackwater Bay or the Kingswood to the south.

Her bedroom is a little smaller than her own bedchamber at Runestone, decorated with tapestries, furnishings and details in green, gold, red and black. She looks from the window, over the towering walls of Maegor’s Holdfast of her lavishly decorated prison, a thought which she immediately reprimands herself for. She will not allow herself such pity, not while her sister is a prisoner.

Alyssa had stayed by her husband’s side through the war, donned a widow’s veil when he fell in battle and decided that she would stay on Dragonstone when Rhaenyra took King’s Landing.

The war went on. Alyssa's letters stopped abruptly. Word came that the commonfolk had revolted against Rhaenyra, and her own betrothed, the boy Joffrey, was slain in the fighting.

Then came the raven from King Aegon. Rhaenyra was dead and their remaining siblings had been taken captive: Little Aegon, Baela, Rhaena, and Alyssa. She can still the words scrawled onto the parchment: “She has been treated with no unnecessary cruelty.”

Aegon wouldn’t have dared lay a hand on Baela and Rhaena, not with Lord Corlys on his small council. Alyssa had no such protection, not with their father rotting alongside the corpse of the dragon at the bottom of the God’s Eye.

And now the man who slaughtered him wears the crown.

Lord Corlys has invited her to dine with him, in his chambers in the Tower of the Hand. Daylight fades swiftly into twilight as she crosses the courtyard that her bedchamber overlooks, past the lowered drawbridge of the Holdfast. With winter approaching, the days are growing shorter.

A servant of Lord Corlys’ leads her up a single flight of stairs, through a reception room and into a small dining hall. The table is set with fine silverware and glass cups, lit by flickering flames of candles and a blazing hearth. Lord Corlys sits at the head of the table and rises to meet her. She offers him her hand, and he presses his lips to her knuckles.

“Is your sister not joining us, my lady?” he asks.

She smiles politely. Daena fears for Alyssa’s life as much as she does, but she is not meant for the delicacy of a negotiation.

Her place is set to his right and as she sits he pours her out a glass of wine. “From the Summer Isles,” he says. “I could never understand why anyone would bother with the stuff that comes from the Arbour.”

“We are lovers of ale and cider in the Vale,” Rhaelle says, “but I trust your taste, my Lord.”

They raise their glasses to each other and take small sips as two servants bring in plates of beef, bread and butter, and roasted vegetables. They move like shadows between the candlelight, their footsteps light, their movements gentle and unobtrusive. They are gone as quickly as they came.

When the door is shut, Lord Corlys leans forward with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped together. He says quietly, “I intend to put your matter to the King in the morning.”

Rhaelle places her glass down on the table, her hand lingering on the base. Sadness suddenly strikes her heart. “You mean you have not spoken to him at all?”

“I have told him you seek to improve your position, and the position of your younger sister, of which he has been supportive.”

“But what about the matters we have discussed?” she asks.

His eyes are distant, settled on nothing in particular. He reaches to take a roll of bread from the table, but he does not eat it, he simply places it on his plate. “Lady Alyssa is an admirable woman, truly. She reminds me much of Baela–”

“Not admirable enough for you to appeal on her behalf,” Rhaelle says sharply. “I only wish to see her returned to her home, to Runestone.”

“In the eyes of the King, she is a traitor to the realm. She challenged the true line of succession.”

“As did you,” she says, “at the start of the war, you pledged your support for Rhaenyra.”

“Aye, I did, for the good of my family, and the cost was great.”

“Greater than siding with those who killed your wife?”

Corlys looks to her with a grave expression. “And Aemond killed your father, but you have come to his court, in the hopes of lobbying him, to plead for his mercy and his favour.”

But that’s different, isn’t it? Her father was a rare presence at Runestone, his name hanging over her head like an unspoken secret. He did not come to lay his first wife to rest, but he had tried to claim her inheritance and had no difficulty condemning their daughter to a marriage that would tie her to a war.

“I just want my sister to be safe,” she utters.

“I want that too,” Lord Corlys says and she can almost believe him.

“When can I speak to him? When will he release her?”

He takes a slow breath. “We must approach this matter with caution,” he says, “and it will be worth your while. Many say Aemond is a far more reasonable man than his brother was.”

“You served them both. What do you have to say on Aemond’s reason?”

A sad look falls over his face. He looks the way he did the day his daughter was buried. “Aemond is just, in his own way, but the Targaryens have always ruled with fire and blood, and he is no exception.”

When she returns to her bedchamber, she finds Daena curled up on a chaise by the dying hearth. 

“She wished to see you after your dinner with Lord Corlys,” Morra mutters as Rhaelle fetches a blanket from the bed and drapes it over her sister. “It has been a tedious few months, and I do not doubt she is tired after the journey from Runestone.”

As a child, Rhaelle often wondered if she and her sisters had been born cursed. They had inherited nothing of their father’s looks save for his violet eyes; three Targaryen girls with dark curls and the stern face of their mother. Daena has always had a softness that she and Alyssa never had, a fuller face, a smaller nose, slight but pouted lips and large eyes. She looks like a doll, even in sleep.

She smooths her hand over Daena’s head, lightly so she will not disturb her, like she used to do when she was a babe. Daena makes a small humming noise in her chest but does not rouse.

She wishes her sister could rise from her sleep well rested, to a world where she would never know fear or uncertainty. Such a possibility seems close; in her heart she chases it like a hare, a flash of movement through a forest. She need only draw an arrow and strike her target.

Rhaelle is awake before dawn. By the time Daena will have started to stir, Morra has her bathed, skin scrubbed with sugar and honey then scented with lavender oil, dressed, then adds the finishing touches to her hair. She takes the top half and braids it around Rhaelle’s head like a crown, the rest falling freely down her back. With no Queen, the ladies of the court are said to follow the fashions of Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Helaena. If she is to be a lady of Aemond’s court, a Targaryen, she must appear the part.

She breaks her fast in her privy chamber. Servants bring in jugs of cherry juice, bowls of sweet stewed oats, platters of blackberry tarts and slices of apple dusted with sugar and cinnamon. The sun rises over the courtyard and a pale shade of red shines through the window where the light reflects from the red stone of the Holdfast.

Daena bounces into the room like an excitable child and takes a blackberry tart before she has even taken a seat. She will need to work on her table manners before she dines before the King and his court, Rhaelle notes. Her hair has been brought into one thick braid that falls over her shoulder and her gown is black, like Rhaelle’s, but detailed with silver rather than gold. 

“What did Lord Corlys say to you last night?” she asks, following her pastry with a sip of cherry juice.

“He said that he means to put our cause to the King, and that we must employ patience.”

Daena scoffs, “patience?”

Rhaelle shares a pointed look with Morra, standing by the table. “We have no other choice,” she says, “and you will mind what you say, even in private, even when you think we are alone.”

“I thought the Master of Whispers had been put to death, or does Larys Strong still manage to spy on the Kingdom without a head?”

“And will you continue to slander the King if I find a smith to wrench out your tongue?”

Daena glares at her, then pouts her lips to stifle a giggle.

They finish their meal in relative peace and when they are done, Rhaelle is left with a pleasantly sharp sweetness on her tongue from the fruit. Morra adorns her with jewellery, all gold and set with rubies, a chain about her waist, earrings and a necklace. For the final touch she dabs tinted rosewater on her cheeks and lips.

“They say he’s terribly dull,” Daena says, patiently waiting her turn.

Rhaelle frowns at her through the mirror. “The King?”

“Tyland fucking Lannister– yes, the King.” 

Prince Joffrey had been far too young to be her escort to the wedding of Alyssa and Prince Jacaerys. Aegon was already betrothed to Helaena, and so on the day of the festivities Rhaelle had been presented with a sombre looking, silver-haired Prince. He frowned constantly, which she did not doubt had something to do with the cut through his left eye. The wound and his skin was red, held together with stitches. He often had his hands balled into fists, breathing deeply through his nose as though he was in pain. He tried to talk to her about his studies, and asked her about the histories of Runestone and House Royce. He led her through one dance after dinner before he retreated to his chambers. She had despaired with Alyssa the next day that she hadn’t been allowed to be escorted by any other young man of the court. That boy is a man now, and a kinslayer thrice over.

“Better a dull King than a drunk King, I suppose,” she says quietly.

“Who’s a slanderer now?” Daena says with a wicked smile. 

There are less clouds in the sky this morning. Sunlight bleeds through tall windows and floods the halls of the castle. It is more lively now, servants hurry about with baskets of food and fresh linens, men and women in all their finery walk through courtyards and galleries, though most are gathering at the throne room.

Rhaelle and Daena stay arm in arm, until they reach the entrance hall and the great oak doors that lead into the great hall.

“These carvings are new,” Rhaelle wonders aloud. The stone is cleaner here than it is in the rest of the castle, images of dragons carved into walls, pillars and archways. 

She hears the ominous hum of voices on the other side of the doors. She can picture them, the staring faces like a pack of wolves eager to sink their teeth and claws into the daughters of Daemon Targaryen.

And she can picture the Iron Throne, where her uncle once sat with the golden crown of the Consolidator atop his head.

Daena leans in close to Rhaelle’s ear, tightening her hold on her arm. “But he was a dragonrider, and a warrior, surely he cannot be so dull.”

She tries to imagine that boy from the wedding feast, his serious expression, his round little face, a single sad blue eye darting around the hall. Then she imagines a killer, a bloodthirsty monster with fangs for teeth and talons for hands. She cannot place them in the same body.

“They say he has a sapphire set in the empty socket, but that he wears an eyepatch so as not to frighten the ladies at court.”

She has heard of this story, like Ser Symeon star eyes. “How considerate of him,” Rhaelle adds, glancing over her shoulder but no one seems to have heard them. She clenches her jaw and takes slow, steady breaths in the hopes that it will calm her nerves, just enough to get through this ordeal.

“I wonder if he is handsome?” Daena adds.

He’ll be wearing the Conqueror’s Crown, Valyrian steel and set with square rubies, the same worn by his brother, by Maegor the Cruel. She has only seen it in history books.

“There were awful rumours about Aegon, but he has his own now, doesn’t he?”

He will surely have Blackfyre by his side too, unless he managed to claim Dark Sister from their father’s hands once he was slain. Would he take it as a trophy of war? The thought makes her stomach churn.

“The Harrenhal whore,” Daena hisses.

This tale she is also familiar with. Aemond had marched to Harrenhal and left King’s Landing undefended. When he arrived at that cursed castle and heard the news that he had lost the capital, he slaughtered all of House Strong for treachery, save for a bastard woman, some kind of servant who he took as a bedmate. “He made her Lady of Harrenhal,” she adds, much to the ire of the realm’s Lords.

"A generous patron then," Daena chuckles, and then she falters. She lowers her voice even further till it is scarcely a breath against Rhaelle’s ear. “Will he kill Alyssa too?”

A familiar feeling of fear strikes her in her chest, squeezing on her heart and lungs. She can make no promises, not before she hears the sound of wood creaking as the doors are swung open and the voice of Ser Willis Fell calls, “Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone, and her sister, Lady Daena Targaryen!”

She drops Daena’s hand on instinct and takes a step before her like a sworn shield. The hungry faces stare up at them but she looks ahead, to the Iron Throne, to the man who sits amongst the mass of swords.

He is too distant for her to make out the details of his face, but they become clearer as she walks through the hall. If there are any whispers of “traitor,” she does not hear them.

The crown sits proudly upon his head of silver hair, long enough to pass his shoulders and fall to his chest. He is dressed all in black with no other distinguishable colours other than the silver buckles on his jerkin, and wears an eyepatch over the left side of his face.

She stops at the base of the steps leading up to the throne, knowing Daena is lingering behind her. Now she sees more of him, the line of his scar, the sharp angles of his face, his jaw, his cheeks, his nose. Most of all her attention is drawn to his mouth, to the curve of his lips, the way they settle in an expression that could almost be amused, were it not for the look of fury and hunger in his remaining eye, which is violet, like her father’s, like hers.

Lord Corlys stands by his side, but she keeps her eyes on the King and curtseys as deeply as she can. She feels her legs trembling under her skirt, her hands shaking by her sides no matter how she wills them to stop. Aemond stares at her all the while, not sparing a glance for Daena who will be following her lead.

“My King,” she says, only to find her jaw is trembling too. She dare not take her eyes from Aemond, should he take it as a sign of weakness. 

She knows the words she must say, Lord Corlys had been very specific, but there’s a thick feeling in her throat, a reluctance that she never had before, now that Aemond’s one eye is boring into her very soul.

She allows herself a breath. “My King, my sister and I have come to renounce the pretender, Rhaenyra, and all those who supported her treason, including our late father–” her eyes fall to the ground before she can stop herself. 

“You have come to ask something of me, cousin?” Aemond says. His voice, hauntingly gentle, draws her eyes back up to him.

“We have come to beg your forgiveness, and pledge our undying love and fealty to you,” she bows her head once more, “the one true King.”

Relief lifts a weight from her body but fear creeps under her skin like a fever, burning and chilling all at once. Murmurs fill the air and she hears Daena let out an exhale of breath, further away than she had expected her to be.

She keeps her head down as she sees movement in front of her, as the murmurs die down and the sound of tauntingly slow footsteps approach her where she kneels.

“Rise, my Lady,” Aemond says. 

She does as she is instructed, straightens her body, her neck, and the last thing she lifts is her gaze.

There is something sinister in the intensity of his eye as it moves about her face, the care he takes in reaching for her hand and pressing an achingly light kiss to it that lingers on her skin, but then he does not let her go. He holds his hand firmly over hers as if to keep his kiss there. “You shall be an honoured guest in my court, Lady Rhaelle.”

She cannot tell if this is kindness or a butcher calming a lamb before the slaughter.

He goes to Daena and kisses her hand, but he does not hold her the way he did Rhaelle.

“Those of my blood who are loyal shall always have a place at my court,” he says to the hall and is met with a cautious applause. 

Rhaelle meets Daena’s eye as they turn to face the crowd. Her sister frowns innocently, wide eyes begging for an explanation. Why should they trust him? Why should they have to appeal to him when they played no part in the war, when they did not challenge his brother’s inheritance? Why should they beg for forgiveness from a kinslayer King?

Aemond looks over his subjects with his head held high and his hands behind his back. He carries no sword, just a knife tucked in on his right hip. He does not regard his people with the warmth of King Viserys, instead he watches them like he’s looking for fear, like he thrives in it.

And he is so utterly captivating.

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

Series taglist: @adragonprinceswhore @persephonerinyes @gemini-mama @aemondzyrys @snh96 @magnificentdelusionr

[extistentialfox]

Rhaena Targaryen and Daera Velaryon on the shores of Dragon Stone.

[myfandomprompts]

To Risk It All - Prologue

Aemond Targaryen x Dragonrider!OC

Synopsis: Aemond meets Daera Velaryon in uncanny circumstances, the memory of green scales and thick blood. He tries to resist her, he tries to convince himself that she is not his. Not yet. But when the Dance begins and she is taken away from his grasp, he decides that he hates her, wants her, for you can only hate what you had loved.

Tags: possessive!Aemond, angst, mature, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, slow burn, obsession, blood, canon divergence, king Aemond, smut and fluff, dragons, war, F&B spoilers Masterlist

A/N: I'm quite happy to release this first chapter exactly one year after I published my first fanfiction about Aemond Targaryen.

The female main character is based on Daeron, son of Vaemond Velaryon who is Corly’s nephew as per the book, instead of his brother as in the series. I reduced the number of the Velaryon cousins from five to two (Corlys’ nephews).

English not first language.

“Say it.”

The whole room went silent as the Velaryon turned towards the heir.

“Her children are BASTARDS.”

All gasped and Aemond just smiled.

“And she is a whore.”

“I will have your tongue for that.”

Then Vaemond Velaryon fell, and Daemon Targaryen spoke to the assembly.

“He can keep his tongue.”

“Lady Velaryon, your mother is asking for you.”

Daera nodded to the attendant before dropping her quill and making her way to Lady Elinda’s apartments. Driftmark was a gloomy place since Lord Corlys Velaryon had disappeared at sea; no one would meet her eyes as she wandered the corridors.

Daera was once the pride of her House, and she was in the eyes of her father. She was the first-born of Vaemond Velaryon, daughter of a cunning man who took great pride in his heritage, and had always looked up to his uncle, Corlys Velaryon.

Admiration that faded when the battle of the Stepstones occurred.

But Daera was born much later; history would remember her birth being shared with Princess Helaena, and it was assumed the girls would become friends if they ever met at court. But it never came to pass, as Vaemond Velaryon’s respect for the King faltered considerably over the years, turning into resentment, until it became rage. For Daera’s father, King’s Landing was a place to be avoided.

Daera recalled the day she first saw the King and the royal family. She remembers the harsh voice of her father as Laena’s body was returned to the sea, the bereft look on his face as he spoke of how salt ran thick in their Velaryon’s veins and how Daemon Targaryen had scoffed at the Valyrian words. She remembers clutching her little brother’s hand tighter at that. She had not grown up with either of her great cousins, and barely with their children but as her father stared at Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joeffrey Velaryon, she could not help but see how little they resembled Laenor Velaryon, or the heir to the iron throne, for that matter.

But what she recalls most vividly was that boy, barely younger than her, escaping the wake to meet the only recently riderless dragon, and claiming it as his own, losing his eye in the process. She recalled being called to the throne room that night, after being stirred up from sleep by the ruckus her cousins had caused, and witnessed the Queen cut the arm of the heir so deep it stained the stone floor for years after the deed. That night she could not help but admire the bravery of Aemond Targaryen as she heard him say the words that still rang in her ears to this day;  “ I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

Because at that time, she also knew what it was to long for a dragon.

Fate was a funny thing. Over the next few days, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys lost their remaining child, Laenor Velaryon, and left behind a pale silver-grey dragon. History does not recover how it happened, but years later, when Daera accompanied her cousin Baela to visit her twin sister on Dragonstone, she had found Seasmoke in his lair and had claimed him.

This was the reason she became the pride of House Velaryon.

Stating that her achievement had not been a shock would have been an understatement, especially in King’s Landing as she was given the name of 'the Winged Seahorse'. The King had, of course, praised her upon learning the news, happy to see the blood of Old Valyria and its tradition endure, but for everybody else, it was highly suspicious. The Velaryon were not and have never been Dragonlords, only Targaryens, and the matter incited rumours about Daera’s maternal lineage. Elinda Celtigar, was from Valyria’s descent, and although it was impossible to prove the veracity of the rumours; Daera still blamed herself for the calumnies thrown at her mother while her father called that a ‘fair sacrifice’. 

She had gained a dragon, and now all waited for her brother Daemion to claim one as well.

When Daera entered her mother’s apartment after being summoned, she was met with the grim look of her two great-cousins, Gaemon and Malentine; her mother’s expression scared.

“Your father is dead. Slain by the Rogue Prince.”

Daera stilled on the threshold as Gaemon started vehemently explaining things to her. She didn’t register anything until her brother was mentioned, in King’s Landing, alone.

“Fly to him, this instant, protect him from the leeches at court, from the ones that are spitting on our family name and stand tall until our arrival,” Gaemon spoke. “And remember, this is a Queen that sits on the Iron Throne.” 

So she flew to King’s Landing, unbeknownst to her that her steps would lead her down a path of love and pain.

Chapter 1

I tasted love that that takes controls Endless love and I wanted more.

@knightprincess @baconturtle @witheredoffherwitch

Thank you @babyblue711 & @arcielee for beta. 💙

[chaosordoffl]

Some Valyrian/Targaryen/Velaryon names. No expertise here, simply following patterns to see what sounds and looks nice + canon sources and Valyrian dictionary plucks. In chrono & thought order.

Canon — Rhaenys, Rhaena, Rhaella, Rhaenyra, Rhaegel, Rhae, Rhaelle, Rhaegar (All Targ)

Derived — Rhaenion, Rhaenelle, Rhaenella, Rhaegor, Rhaegon, Aenyra, Rhaelion, Rhaenyx, Rhaelyx, Rhaenar, Rhaenyar, Rhaenel, Rhaelys, Rhaevel, Rhaevis, Rhaevys, Viserrhae, Rhaenya, Rhaenior, Rhaenor, Rhael, Rhaen, Rhaejel, Rhaeqan, Rhaellor, Rhaemon, Rhaemond, Rhaenyron, Rhaema

Canon — Aenar, Aegon, Aerys, Aelyx, Aerion, Aethan (1 Velaryon), Vaegon, Aenys, Aerea, Naerys, Aegor, Aelor, Aelora (Rest Targ)

Derived — Aegar, Aelon, Aelys, Aelar, Aelara, Aella, Aelinor, Aeral, Aeron, Aelion, Aegys, Aegal, Aelia, Naera, Naeron, Naerion, Naerelle, Naerella, Naerea, Aethal, Aethelle, Aethys, Aethion, Aethar, Aethial, Aenor, Aethor, Aerelle, Gaelyx, Aenyx, Aeryx, Baelyx, Aelial, Aeliar, Aelior, Vaegal, Vaegor, Vaegar, Vaelior, Vaelor, Aerial, Aeriel, Aelan, Aevys, Aevelle, Aevella, Haelyx, Haelian, Aenir, Haethan, Haelan, Haelor, Aekor, Haeral

Canon — Gaemon (T), Daemion (T & V), Daemon (V & T), Aemon (T), Aemma (T [Andal?]), Vaemond (V), Aemond (T), Daeron (V later T)

Derived — Daemyra, Daemys, Daemyn, Daemelle, Daema, Gaemar, Daerelle, Daerion, Aemys, Aemar, Aemor, Aemir, Aemira, Aemara, Aemora, Daemor, Daemora, Vaemon, Gaema, Gaemond, Gaemyn, Gaemion, Aemion, Gaemor, Aemior, Aemyn, Aemin, Aerona, Aemona, Aemia, Aeman, Aemal, Aemelle, Gaemia, Aemol, Aemil, Aemila, Aemilon, Aemilor, Aeminor, Daemyron, Daeminor, Haemon, Naemon, Haemia, Naema, Haemal, Haemar, Naemior, Naemor, Daemian

Canon — Daenys, Daenerys, Daella, Daenaera (1 V), Daena, Daenora (Rest T)

Derived — Daenyra, Daenar, Daenor, Daenelle, Daenal, Daen, Nerys, Naera, Daenir, Daenyx, Daeryx, Daerys, Daera, Daerya, Daenya, Daenyron, Daenorion, Norion, Daenyrion, Daenarion, Daenaeron, Daellar, Daelar, Daelon, Daelor, Daelan, Daelana, Daelanys, Daelenys, Daelyn, Aenaera

Canon — Maegon, Maegor, Maegelle, Maelor, Maekar (All T)

Derived — Maegar, Maela, Maelys, Maegys, Maegera, Maegara, Maegerys, Maegal, Maegyn, Maegan, Maekor, Maekaera, Maegaera, Maegaela, Maekion, Maelyra, Maegyra, Maelara, Maelar

Canon — Elaena (T), Valaena, Laena, Laenor (3 V), Helaena (T)

Derived — Laenys, Laenyra, Laenar, Laenelle, Helaenys, Elaenor, Elaenys, Laenion, Laenir, Laenyx, Elaenar, Laenora, Haena, Vaena, Alaena, Haela, Norys, Alaenys, Vaenys, Galaena

Canon — Visenya, Viserys, Viserra (T)

Derived — Viserya, Visenys, Senys, Saenys, Saenya, Saenar, Saenelle, Saenyelle, Saenyella, Serya, Serra, Serys, Saenir, Saenyx, Saenor, Viselya, Senial, Serial, Saerial, Visellan, Visarys, Visenna, Virenna

Canon — Baelon, Baela, Baelor, Balerion (Blackfyre), Valerion (Rest T)

Derived — Baelys, Baelar, Bael, Baelir, Alerion, Aleria, Aelir, Valeria, Valerys

Canon — Jaehaerys (T), Jacaerys (V), Lucerys (V), Jaehaera (T)

Derived — Lucerra, Lucerion, Jaehaerion, Jaerion, Lucerya, Jacaera, Jaena, Jaenelle, Jaecelle, Jaesir, Jaekar, Jaeron, Jaela, Jaelon, Jaelor, Jaerys, Haerys, Haera, Kael, Kaecion, Kaeciel, Kaecelle, Kaerys, Kaerion, Kaeriel, Lucarys, Jaeca, Nicerys, Nicaerys, Hecaerys, Nicerion, Hicaerys, Niceria, Nicae, Lucarya, Lucaenys, Lucaena, Nocorys

Canon — Lianna, Larissa (V [Andal? First Men?]), Alarra (FM [Massey]), Alyssa (V & T [Andal? FM?]), Alysanne (T)

Derived — Alysor, Lianys, Lianor, Sianna, Amanna, Alanna, Noranna, Narra, Nyssa, Anyssa, Alarya, Asenna, Norissa, Irenna, Orissa, Lysarra, Lisarra, Aranna

Canon — Valarr, Vaella (T)

Derived — Vaelys, Valarys, Alarys, Alarya, Valarya, Valarra, Vaellan

Canon — Gael, Saera, Shaera (T)

Derived — Saerys, Gaelys, Gaelor, Gaelon, Gaelion, Saerion, Shaerys, Shaerial, Shaerelle, Shaelle, Shael, Shaelys, Saevys, Shaerion, Gaela, Shaela, Shaehaera

Canon — Corwyn (V [Andal?]), Corlys (V)

Derived — Corla, Corlia, Corlaenys, Cora, Corys, Corlenys, Corlea, Corlae, Corvan, Corvana, Corvys

Malentine

Rhogar(/Rogar?/Rogare? [FM? HV?])

Monford

Monterys (All V)

Derived — Terys, Teraea, Taeraea, Taerion, Monys, Monerys, Montys, Rhogel, Malentys, Malenta, Monterion, Monterra, Mona, Monae, Monarra, Malentina, Lentys, Lenta, Lenya, Taenys, Taena, Alentys, Malya, Malys, Malea, Malena, Malenna, Malaena, Amalla, Alenna, Marissa, Monassa, Monessa, Monerra, Mosarra, Malarra, Malenys, Amarys, Mantys, Malta, Maltys, Maltine, Maltina, Amalta, Amaltine, Alta, Altys, Altarra, Maltar, Maltarys, Marion, Maltior, Malerion, Mornys, Mortys, Morton, Omorr, Omon, Malenion, Malenior, Almys, Monissa, Montissa, Montessa, Omona, Omorra, Maltion, Malton, Almont, Almae, Maltorra, Torys, Garys, Garla, Galtys, Torrine, Tarine, Maltarine, Maltarra, Almerra, Almarra, Almorra, Alterra, Lamina, Monta, Monte, Montae, Taera, Taerine, Taerin, Taerys, Manta, Almina, Almine, Rhonal, Rhonior, Rhomys, Almar, Malar, Malarr, Malarys, Almarys, Maline, Rhomalt, Rhomion, Rhomior, Rhomia, Rhoma, Rhoton, Rhomine, Rhomal, Rhogal, Rhomina, Rhomon, Rhomar, Rhomorr, Almassa, Rhomys, Rhomyn, Torial, Malial, Rhovys, Rhowyn, Matarra, Atarra, Rhomond, Rhomorra, Tormon

Matarys (T)

Derived — Matarya, Matara, Matys, Tarys, Tarya, Atara, Atarys, Tarial, Tarhael, Matarr

Canon — Orys, Borys, Orryn (Baratheon)

Derived — Orial, Ora, Orya, Orra, Borya, Boria, Boryl, Orelle, Orianne, Orael, Orrael, Orhael, Borion, Orion, Bora, Orian, Oryal, Oryas, Orias, Orios, Oryos, Rys, Ryssa, Ryssal, Orlisse, Rysla, Ryn, Rynel, Rynella, Boryn, Borryn, Rynal, Dorys, Orella, Dorella, Oryl, Orgillac, Orgyll, Borella, Borylla, Bolia, Bolas, Orlas, Ollyn, Olys, Olya, Orianna, Lorys

Bonus: Argellys

Canon — Maelys, Haegon, Aeryn, Calla, Rhalla, Shaena (Blackfyre)

Canon non-Westerosi Valyrians:

Jaenara Belaerys, Aurion

Canon Dragons:

Urrax, Terrax, Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes, Vermithor, Caraxes, Meleys, Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes, Tessarion, Shrykos, Morghul, Viserion, Rhaegal

Unknown — Gaelithox?, Aegarax?

Original & HV Derived (some more suitable for dragons) — Aelsior, Qaelys, Qylys, Vhenys, Vhenya, Vhinyae, Vhanir, Vaenir, Vaenyx, Baelykos, Lykael, Lykaera, Raqael, Raqel, Raqys, Raqyssa, Raqissa, Raqar, Raqir, Raqor, Raqora, Raqior, Kionar, Malkion, Malkios, Vhaltir, Malkior, Vaedys, Vaedar, Elenys, Elenia, Elēnar, Elenarys, Elenarya, Elenara, Kostys, Kostir, Kostior, Pelarys, Pelonia, Pelonys, Eledrae, Eledrys, Eledryn, Peria, Perza, Perzys, Zysa, Amisor, Amisa, Aexior/Aeksior, Aexion/Aeksion, Raenion, Raenior, Qana, Qanys, Qantys, Ēbrior, Ēbrion, Ēbria, Jelmys, Jelmarys, Jelmazys, Jelissa, Tessarys, Tessara, Tessarae, Dessan, Dessenae, Hārys, Tōmarr, Tōmarys, Tōmasyn, Tessarax, Syrion, Syriel, Jēdarys, Jēdaria, Jorrael, Trēzos, Elilla, Vāedarys, Ōrbēdenos

Possible High Valyrian roots for names:

Rhaen — to; meet, find, encounter, discover

Bael — to help, to aid, to assist

Jael — to want, to wish/to store, to house

Jaelarys — hope (possible name)

[anadxanax]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓'𝖘 𝕮𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖑𝖊 — I

There is something very special about female bloodlines, they are rare and not common in Westeros, but they are definitely remarkable. Aella Targaryen's bloodline was one of the few to survive the events of the Dance of the Dragons, the Blackfyre Rebellions, and Robert's Rebellion.

Little is known about how the women of this family managed to survive for so long, taking their knowledge, mysteries and gifts forward. What you will see here are small records of what I know about the history of this family, a tribute to all the women who were forgotten by the maesters of the citadel.

This first part must be dedicated to Princess Aella Targaryen, the protector, and her daughters: Celaena Arryn, the dream tamer, and Daera Arryn, the golden dragon.

Index:

I Aella

II Celaena

III Daera

Hey!! Welcome to my little world, I'm so excited about this fic cause it has been in my head since before HOTD came out. I have a lot to explore and I'm really excited to write about it. There are no specific deadlines for when I will be publishing new chapts, but I'll try to go for at least one per week (mostly on Sundays).

Also, I know I said this in the last two chapters so this will be the last time I do this, but I need to remind you that ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE! There will be mistakes throughout my writing and you're more than welcome to warn me about it in the comments, but please be kind. Plus I write mostly at night so I'm sleepy most of the time and I make LOT'S of mistakes.

Important: I'm going to mix up the canon of the books and the series a lot and change some things so feel free to ask questions about this little universe we're creating together.

"You're team green or team black?" I'm team dragons and you'll understand what I'm saying through the fic.

"Who's the main couple?" everyone is a couple if I feel like it, lot's of oc's, lot's of tragic couple's. And just like everything that happens in the asoiaf/hotd universe, I say again: there are no protagonists, just victims of my cruel mind.

If you would like to be in a taglist for future chapters please let me know.

xoxo 🖤

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Request - Aegon I Targaryen Aesthetic: Rhaena Belaerys of Essos.

Rhaena Belaerys Aesthetic:

Aegon met Rhaena during a visit to Essos along with his sister-wife Visenya and fell under her charm immediately. Aegon married her in a matter of moons and the pair would often be found duelling in the yard with Blackfyre and her own sword Stormweaver.

The pair became parents to two beautiful daughters Daera and Maella. Daera had her father's Targaryen hair and her mother's darker skin but she was just as much a warrior as them. Maella had her mother's dark brown hair but her skin was much lighter than her sister's and her mother, she was more scholar and loved to read. It was no secret that Aegon favoured his daughters over his sons and insisted they all were educated together. The girls were only two years apart with Daera being the elder.

Daera and Maella's eggs hatched in the cradle, eggs from Vaghar and Balerion coupling. Daera's egg was of light black almost grey colour and the dragon was of the same colour with red eyes, she called him Stormcloud while Maella's egg was of white colour but the dragon came out of light creamy colour, closer to yellow with white eyes and blue flames rumoured to be hotter than golden flames, she named him Bluefyre.

[kckt88]

Love Me Harder - PREVIEW

Summary:

Daera Targaryen, wife of Aemond, is thrown into turmoil when she receives an anonymous letter detailing her husband's infidelity with a mysterious witch at Harrenhal named Alys Rivers. The letter, shrouded in secrecy, raises the doubts and suspicions in Daera's mind, and as she grapples with the shocking revelation, she then has to decide how she will address the potential betrayal that threatens to unravel her relationship with Aemond.

Warning(s): Angst, Hurt, Fear, Possible Cheating, Doubt, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), P in V Sex.

Word Count: TBC

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

AEMOND x SISTER WIFE

Inspired by the song: ARIANA GRANDE & THE WEEKEND - LOVE ME HARDER.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

With trepidation, Daera unrolled the parchment, her eyes quickly scanning the words that accused her beloved husband, Aemond, of having an affair with Alys Rivers, the alleged strong bastard witch of Harrenhal.

A mixture of emotions coursed through Daera in a single moment - betrayal, anger, and a deep-seated sorrow that threatened to consume her. The flames in the hearth flickered, casting endless shadows that seemed to dance in mockery of her shattered world.

Tears welled in her violet eyes as she clutched the parchment to her chest. The once-unbreakable bond between her and Aemond now seemed like fragile glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

The unborn babe within her gave a firm kick, almost as if he or she could sense her anguish.

In the cold silence of the chamber, Daera found herself at a crossroads, unsure of the path that lay ahead, torn between the love she once knew and the shadows that now threatened to engulf her world.

[gameofthronesaibloodlines]

Aelora's King Consort

Name: Laenyx Blackfyre

Lifetime: 300 AC-355 AC

As Consort: 324 AC-346 AC

Title(s):

Lord to the House of Blackfyre

King Consort

....

Father: Viserys III Targaryen

Mother: Alyssa Blackfyre

Siblings: Daera Blackfyre

Spouse(s): Queen Aelora Targaryen

- never remarried after she died. He loved her too much.

Children: Rhaenesella Targaryen, Baerion Blackfyre, Jaessa Blackfyre, Daemon III Blackfyre, Jacaerys Blackfyre, Rhaenys Blackfyre, Visenya I Blackfyre, and Aemond I Blackfyre

.....

Ties to the Targaryens:

- His father was Viserys III Targaryen (brother of Daenerys)

- His ancestor is Daemon I Blackfyre. Which makes him also the blood of Aegon IV Targaryen and Danaera Targaryen- both descendants of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen.

[camilbarnessss]

¤The Dance of The Dragons¤

《 Part 19 》

The One-Eyed Prince and The Rogue Princess married. Secretly, but they did, even after all the schemes and plots of their families so they couldn't. The lovers made their own discreet plot as well, and it is working just fine. Daera understands their position, the causes of their harsh decisions. However, anyone who was wronged like Aemond so many times was, is going to feel some sort of hatred, wether it's subconsciously or consciously, towards the people who did it. That is a hard true. But, what Aemond ends up doing above the skies of Storm's End, out of rage, and eternal resentment...ultimately starts the domino effect that would lead to The Dance of the Dragons, which will mean the lost of his sanity...and his love.

《 The Invitation's Second Season 》

Masterlist

Warnings: constant swearing, explicit sex (p on v), sadness and angst, mentions of death, TARGARYEN INCEST [cousinXcousin]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•••

《 The Godswood Of Winterfell 》

•••

A new morning has arrived to Westeros, bringing sun and clouds to most of its skies. It’s quite early, thus some birds still welcome the new day with their singing; the seagulls soar above the blue seas, flapping their wings and squawking.

At the ancestral seat of the Targaryens, the birds and seagulls are joined between the clouds by beings very much larger than them; dragons. At the height of the castle, Moondancer and Meleys soar the skies about, circling around the keep, together and close, constantly wheezing or growling.

When Moondancer’s song reached her rider’s ears, this one slowly began to awake from a deep silent sleep. Laying in her bed, covered by a heavy sheet of fur that keeps her warm, Baela starts to furrow her brows, and to slowly open her purple tired eyes, which have dark bags under them.

For some seconds, she looks around, disoriented. She realizes she’s at her bedchambers, which made her to grow confused, for she does not remember to have come here. Wait- when did she even came back to Dragonstone? And when did she come to…?

Within a snap, everything comes back to the princess’ mind, all memory of Luke’s death, the searching for them, the tears and screams from all the family. She fainted; she remembers now. What happened then?!

Baela gasps, scared and hurried, fastening the bedsheet above of her, and planning to quickly stand up. But some hand suddenly grabbed hers, stopping her right before she could even land on her feet. Flinching with surprise, the princess looks to her left, wide-eyed.

The warm hands that had reached her are princess Rhaenys’, who finds herself seated right besides her granddaughter, on the bed of hers. She wears a black dress, loosen hair, and there are also signs of bad sleep under her purple wrinkled eyes. When seeing her grandmother, Baela’s breath left her, and panic got hold of her even tighter.

-Gra- Grandma-. With no voice, the young girl stutters, curving her brows, and feeling tears gathering on her eyes.

Rhaenys tsked with a great sorrow, holding her head, and pushing her to her chest. In that moment, Baela could not hold herself any longer; a loud cry broke in earnest from the deepest place of her heart. She starts to cry with no end, hugging her grandmother while thinking of her brother, her dear…dead brother.

 -No, no!-. The princess laments with a broken voice, endlessly shaking her head. Rhaenys cups her head and back, taking all of her salty tears-. Grandma!-. Lucerys’ sister whines with a painful sorrow, strongly closing her eyes, and seeing him in her mind. He’s smiling at her and mouthing her name, but she didn’t hear his voice.

-Shh, shh-. The old princess coos with softness and a mother’s patience, caressing her hair. She herself has tears on her eyes too, but she cries them silently, focusing only in her granddaughter’s burning grief-. I know, child…-. She whispers, lightly rocking her.

The Lady of Driftmark, late last night, as we might remember returned from the patrol on the skies of around the Gullet, guarding it while her husband’s fleet, Lord Corlys Velaryon, is almost arriving to it, ready to block all commerce and trading. But let us not get in the matter of the coming blockade, yet, and focus on the now.

When the dragon Meleys brought her rider to land, this one was immediately searched by Ser Erryk Cargyll, princess Daera’s Sworn Protector, and the one that got her out of King’s Landing when the Greens' usurpation began. The knight welcomed her to Dragonstone with a courtesy, sad eyes, and tragical news; her lord’s husband heir, and her blue-eyed kind grandson, Luke, had been killed…by no other than his uncle, Aemond Targaryen.

The news shook Rhaenys’ entire body when she heard them. She could not believe that the child was dead but, on the other side, the name of the wrong’s doner did not surprised her. Instead, it brought flames to her blood and curses to her mind; it brought rage to her mother heart. She thought of two women, immediately; Rhaenyra, the boy’s mother, and Daera, his sister…and the assassin’s wife.

-A raven came in the night…-Baela’s trembling voice starts to narrate as she stares at a blank point with teary exhausted eyes-…It accounted that Luke had been slain, by Aemond’s hand and dragon-. She speaks with heaviness and angriness, clenching her teeth.

Rhaenys closes her eyes strongly, gripping her head harder. She gulps, feeling Baela’s raging heartbeats.

-I told Father and Rhaenyra that we had been misled; a foul play the Greens were impressing upon us, to cause distraction and fuss-. The girl’s upper lips trembles, and her gaze fills with hate and grief-…We were looking for him…-, she remembers in a whisper.

Baela’s eyes wander around the room, and her heart stops beating when thinking about her step-mother, Rhaenyra. She halts her sobs and looks up with alert, making Rhaenys to flinch.

-Where is Nyra?-. Baela asked within a second, growing desperate-. Is she alright?!-. Worried, her loud voice asks at the same time she began to stand up from the bed.

But, once again, her grandmother stopped her, pulling her hands and bringing her back to the bed with a tired tsk from her mouth.

-Let go of me!-. The princess roars, despair and worriness owning her body and mind.

-The Maester declared you must rest. Baela, and you will!-. The Queen Who Never Was dictated with a firm voice, ordering her to remain quiet. With her chest coming up and down, Baela shakes her head, bemused and scared.

Rhaenys gulps, staring at her granddaughter with pressed lips and serious eyes that were trying to hide their sadness. Seconds then, she softens the grip on her hands, and looks down for a second.

-The Queen is gone-. Princess Rhaenys informed, looking up again with a lifted chin and a clenched jaw, gaining a troubled look from her-…She has not returned-, she confessed within a whisper.

Baela’s trembling lips opened when she harshly breathed in, drawing herself back and looking around with tremendous fear and concern for her Queen’s state.

Her mother’s.

•••

In the skies of Storm’s End, everything rages.

From the ferocious waterdrops that rain with no end, from the wild wind that blows from left to right and from right to left, to the constant and uncountable thunders that stroke the air with loudness and lightnings that illuminate all the surroundings within a snap, only to have darkness afterwards.

However, even though we now find ourselves in the middle of a heated disaster of a storm, nothing in these skies is even close to match the rage and ferocity of the Black Queen and her broken heart.

-LUKE!-, screams and bawls come with no cease from Rhaenyra’s mouth. Her body wiggles abruptly due to her dragon’s violent flapping, which she must give to make face to the storm they fly in. But the Queen holds tight to her saddle, and even tighter to her purpose-. LUCERYS!-. she shouted louder than a thunder that dared to make her competence, but utterly lost.

With a red face, an irking neck, a sore throat and teary eyes, Queen Rhaenyra does not allow a second to go on without screaming that name, without calling and barking for her son to come to her, to appear in the middle of this deadly storm and shout back at her that he is fine. Lucerys would reproach her dangerous deed, and would insist to fly safely to land, so she doesn’t catch a cold.

Rhaenyra cries loudly, placing her forehead on her saddle and shaking her head, begging for the gods to just bring him to her already. She can’t keep on with this pain, this loss. This misery.

Syrax shrieks with rage, fighting against the storm with no dithering, and all the willing of the world. For she is, too, looking for her child.

Closing her eyes and sobbing endlessly, she pictures her sweet boy again. If she finds him, she would immediately take him back home, wrapped in warmth clothes and in her arms. His siblings could finally breath again; they would all hug him and would never allow for any of them to go out alone ever again. Rhaena would surely faint, out of relief, and when she’d wake, she’d faint again, out of love.

Rhaenyra’s lips tremble, and she shakes her head from side to side, growing restless. She must find him, for her sake, for everyone’s. That is the only outcome she would accept; anything else would mean doom, not only for her, but for the rest of her children too; her sons and daughters. She cannot let them down; they cannot live like this.

She, surely, cannot.

-LUKE! LUCERYS!-. The Queen hurts her throat when screaming again between the thunders and the clouds. She curves her trembling lips down, tightly grabbing her saddle while she looks all around with red eyes and burning tears-. IT’S ME, IT’S MAMA!-. Rhaenyra cries out with all the strength of her body, slave of despair.

A lightning was the only one to answer her, mocking her desperation by illuminating the skies, and letting her see that no dragon flies in between this storm; only hers.

•••

Some gasped with terror, and covered their mouths.

Some wept, with sadness and fear for the upcoming.

Some laughed, alleging “the bastard” deserved it, though they never knew him.

Some packed their bags, and left the city behind.

Some prayed so that the gods have mercy on them.

Some didn’t even want to believe it.

Those and many more were the reactions at King’s Landing, when world finally spread out, and by morning everybody knew that the second son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Lucerys Velaryon, Heir to Driftmark and its holdings, had been murdered by the Prince Aemond Targaryen, the lad’s uncle.

Both The Red Keep and Flea Bottom started the day with a new air, one that carry whispers of threats and coming disasters. The capital feels different, a new stage of this war has begun with the assassination of that bastard prince. It’s no longer only about who should ascend the throne best, but who would crush who to ascend the throne, and take vengeance of the other side’s doings.

Many a tale wander around Flea Bottom, from the brothels to the taverns and households. Every mouth tells different things.

A merchant man spreads the word that it’s all actually a lie mongered by Rhaenyra’s faction so that the people would feel pity for her. He attest that, in truth, the princeling is still very much alive, enjoying of feasts, balls, whores and his wealth back in Dragonstone.

A woman from the Street of Silk shrinks in fear while she commands everyone to recall how very dear her siblings are to princess Daera Targaryen, the Dragon’s Goodness, and that she will come to King’s Landing on the back of her golden huge mount, The Golden Ray, along Queen Rhaenyra and King Daemon, to lay waste to the city and the usurpers who had taken her brother and their throne.

All the stories gossiped by the people of Flea Bottom differ, that is true, but one same thing everyone fears coming: war. A bloody, and very tragic war.

Since we are already at the capital, within its people, let us turn to the humble and small house of those four blacksmith brothers we have before been acquittanced with, all of them of light brown hair, hazel eyes, and distinguishable tallness. Those who, as we may remember, helped princess Daera to find Dyana -back in the Street of Silk-, and to capture the three thieves -their names now forgotten- that had planned to burn Moringa’s children shelter.

In the very Street of Steel, where they also work in, their doors are closed as well as the windows. And behind them, the brothers are gathered in a little thin dining table of five chairs. Before we see into their doings, let us do a quick check about their names, for they are very similar, and it’s an easy thing to mistake one for the other.

-All right, well, fuck-. Jay sighs and places his hands on his hips. Junior of all his siblings, he is sort of the most easy-going and gracious one, out of the four; a very reliable source of amusement.

-First, the thing with princess Rhaenys in the Dragonpit, and now this!-. Jya stresses, raising his brows while walking around under the attentive and worried gazes of his brothers-. A prince has been killed-. He slowly takes the information in, and then shivers-. Something is going to happen between the Targaryens and the Hightowers-. He warned with a nervous frown.

-Fucktowers-, Jay mumbles under his breath.

-Shut up-, he sighs, not even looking at him. Second oldest, Jya could be relied upon being the cleverest, who thinks and analyzes thing with both reasoning and feelings.

-Wait, who is “Rhaenys” again? The one of freaky eyes?-. Jay narrows his eyes, actually thinking about Rhaena.

-Come on, Jay! How many times?!-. Jya fastly complains, and his brother just shrugged.

Being the only one seated at the table, Yja looks at them with curved brows and parted lips, briefly shaking his head. Third brother, and the mute one, his eyes are telling, and communicate every word that his mouth cannot. Looking at him, they understood the meaning of his gaze; he does not want them to be victim of this war. And they nearly were already, in the Dragonpit.

-We will step away from this, as soon as possible-. Ajy dictated with his arms crossed on his chest, looking at all of them-. Every coin counts, and we must find more sources than the blacksmithing, so we can leave the quicker. Anything!-. He determinates, with raised brows. Oldest brother; as adept with his forging skill as he is with his sense of leader, his brothers' protector since they were kids.

Since the attack at the Dragonpit occurred by Princess Rhaenys’ hand, the Smith Brothers came to the conclusion that leaving King’s Landing would be for the best. They’ve been saving and working extra errands, as many as they can find. But now, with the news of Prince Lucerys’ murder, and the inevitable war they know will follow, their idea is now a hurry, and they must make true haste.

The four brothers turned their heads at the same time when knockings come from their door. They glance between each other, whilst Ajy uncrossed his arms and headed to grab the handle.

-What if it’s “Rhaenys”?-. A burlesque murmur came from Jay, snickering. Jya rolled his eyes blank and Yja twisted his lips at him with confusion.

When the older brother opens the door, all felt relieved when encountering with a familiar face, one that looks back at them with wide eyes and firm posture.

-May I come in?-. The white-haired hulky man asks.

-Ye’-. Ajy steps to a side, letting him come inside, and quickly closing the door behind him.

-Hugh-. Jay sighed the man’s name, lifting his eyebrows and crossing his arms-. How’s business?-, he points at him with his chin.

-Not giving anything back-. Hugh answered within a shady mumble, nearly rolling his eyes. Yja smiled tinyly at him, kind of ashamed, and nodding with slowness while his brother sighed with the same complain as their visitor.

Hugh Hammer, a work companion of theirs as well as he is a friend too. A smith as well, they’ve known each other for years, which is not hard, giving that they live in the narrow city Flea Bottom is. Of strong complexion, big arms, blue eyes, a grey beard and a long white mane, Hammer is a well-respected and good man of the Street of Steel, known for his impeccable work, and his hidden love for songs and art.

-How is Ulrica?-. With his arms crossed again, Ajy approaches to him with a curious frown and down eyes.

The brothers look at him with similar expressions, interested and shamed. They talk about Hammer’s daughter of ten and two, Ulrica, who has been suffering of a disgraceful blood fever for the last three moons, with no cease, rest, or sign of improvement.

-Uh, uhm…-. The white-haired smith looks around and licks his lips, pretending to not feel a pain on his heart when his daughter comes to mind; though she never leaves-. Well…-, he lets out a graceless smile, looking at the ceiling. His smile was fake.

It was not hard to understand that she remains exactly the same; lying in bed, suffering and being tended by her loving mother, Kat. Not prolonging Hugh’s obvious lack of wanting to say it out loud, Jya speaks over him.

-What is that you bring with you?-. The second brother asks with interest, pointing at the small bag their friend has brought with him. Ajy, looking at it since he came in, tilts his head with the same curiosity.

-The dragons you lent me the other day, for…medicine-. Hugh responded with simplicity, raising the bag towards the older brother, whose brows quickly came to furrow-. I already gathered it, and I’m giving it back to you-. He explains, as if it needed explanation.

Quickly, Yja shakes his head with eyes of pity, immediately making his brothers know that Hugh’s daughter obviously still needs that coin, and more. Without having to glance at him, Ajy shook his head, and took a step back.

-No, Hugh-. The older brother denies, confusing the white-haired smith-. Keep it-. He allowed with a soft tone, looking away from the bag.

-What?-. Jay raises a brow, confused, and all of them look at him with alert-. But you said that we need all the coin we ca-

Jay is interrupted by a hiss and a slap on his head that came by Jya’s hand within a second.

-OW!-. Jay quickly complains, furrowing his brows at him-. What was that for?!-. He tsks, but then quickly came to his senses when seeing how they were all looking at him as if he was an idiot. Jay quickly closes his lips and nods with shame, understanding-. Sorry-, he whispered.

Yja sighs tiredly, scratching his forehead.

-We insist, Hugh, you keep it-. Ajy stressed with a kind tone, pushing back the bag to Hammer’s chest, who sighed through his nose and mouth, looking almost relieved-. You can give it back another day, oy?-. He narrows his eyes along a small smile, nodding.

-Thank you, friends-. Hugh sighed once again, embarrassed. The brothers’ faces let him know that there was nothing to be ashamed of-. The gods repay you, Rivers-, he says, looking at all of them when mentioning their last name, which we happen to be discovering just now.

-Yes, that would be welcomed right now-. Jay mumbles a jest. Standing besides him, Jya bites a smile and elbows him with amusement. They both snicker.

Glancing at them for a few seconds with a calm smile, Ajy then turns to look at his friend again, having to look a little down due to his prominent height. Hugh looks through the windows for a moment, slowly raising his brows.

-‘Tis crazy out here, is it not?-. The oldest brother questions within a sigh, also glancing at the streets outside, where the people walk by with shrinked shoulders and nervous faces.

-It smells like war-. Hugh Hammer agreed with a low voice, crossing his arms with heaviness, and thinking about all of the ongoings of the realm.

-Sorry, I ate stew-. Another joke comes from Jay, and this one made all to sincerely laugh for some seconds. He sucks his inferior lip and sighs, kind of nervous when thinking about everything too. But they shall be fine; he knows it.

-…We have a new King-. A stressed and doubtful huff escapes Hugh’s mouth as he looks at the four brothers with unquietness and seriousness, not knowing what to expect next.

-Fuck the King-. A ferocious spat of words comes from Jya. At his left, Jay scoffs prideful, and from the table, Yja smirked and agreed with a nod.

Hugh Hammer sides a smirk, staring at the Rivers brothers, and then looks to his right when the oldest of them spoke.

-Long Live Our Queen-. Ajy dictated, lifting up his chin.

•••

While they have cloudy skies in Dragonstone, a tempest in Storm’s End, and clear sunshine in King’s Landing, we, in Winterfell, welcome the rising sun of this new morning with a light snowfall, cold and soft, dying the city white, freezing the rivers, and travelling swiftly with the breezes.

However, the chambers of princes Daera Targaryen and Jacaerys Velaryon are well guarded from this common cold of Winterfell, for the whole castle it’s always ready for it. Inside, you barely can tell it’s snowing, if it weren’t for the windows.

With locked doors, heavy dark curtains of color grey, a fireplace that burned the entire night and dawn, and thick fur bedsheets, the chambers gave them comfort and warmth, granting them a good sleep. Though, we must admit, the accommodations Lord Cregan Stark gave them -though forever grateful for them- are not the only reason as to why they slept so fondly.

The snowflakes that fall in front of the room’s windows have the fortune to take a quick peek to the bed. In there, covered from all cold and snow, the princes lie in the same bed; in the same side, even, for their bodies are intertwined, their legs and feet tangled under the multiple bedsheets. Their different colored manes are kissed by the sun that also peeks at them, along the drops of snow.

They are the same as when they fell asleep; naked. Jacaerys’ head rests in Daera’s chest, and his arms tightly hug her without even knowing it. A hand of hers is on his hair, and the other on his right butt cheek, under the sheets. The couple sleeps, breathing at the same pace, their chests pressed on one another and, thus, their hearts feeling the other’s beat.

As the sun began to shine brighter, the Velaryon prince starts to find it discomforting, for it shines to bright on his face. Slowly, he begins to wake, lightly furrowing his brows, and lowly humming, his voice growly but soft. Slowly opening his eyes, he breathes in through his nose, looking around for some seconds.

He is quick to remember they are in The North, at Lord Cregan’s castle. But he already knew that, and the first thought that crossed his mind were memories, of last night, the fondest of them. His heart skips a beat and, only a second later, he draws his eyes away from the window and, instead, look closer to him.

When his gaze found her, his heart definitely skipped more than one beat. He parts his lips, mesmerized. The face of a goddess has been gifted to him, under the sunrays and tiny particles of morning dust in the air. Daera sleeps smiling, as a matter of fact, he’s just coming to realize. Her lips a lightly raised, and her eyes are calmly closed. Her white hair is a mess, her skin looks like glass, and her breathing is sound, resulting music to his ear.

He’s left breathless when he recalls everything they did last night. He is officially a man now, and it’s because of her. She was so kind and willing, patient and gentle, sensual and alluring.

This may be one of the best feelings he has ever felt; note you that he has ridden a dragon, but this…looking at her, staring at her tender sleep, makes him feel the luckiest person alive, the most enamored gentleman.

Jacaerys curves his brows, slowly, taking her face in with glossy eyes and a growing smile on his face. All sleep left him behind, though he still remembers his dream last night; a dream of crowns and kisses, holding his wife's waist, and his mother's hand.

That dream felt just like how he's feeling, as we speak; loving, and hopeful.

All silence is interrupted from a moment to another when some knockings come from the door. Jace immediately flinches, placing a hand on Daera's left cheek with hurry, scared that she might wake alerted. And, though slower than he thought she would, she does begin to abandon sleep, grunting and furrowing her brows.

-Oh, heavens-. The voice of a god made echoe on the princess' ears, making her to quickly start to open her eyes, utterly curious-. Did they wake you?-. A shamed tsk escapes his mouth, and a tender thumb caresses her right cheek.

If honey had a voice, Daera thinks, it would certainly sound like this.

The princess, at last, came to fully open her eyes. Her lips parted away at the second she encountered with the brown-eyed, lovely-looking and disheveled prince that stares at her with a light smile and a gaze of love. His heart started to beat rapidly when looking at those purple orbs and, within a blink, hers started to, as well.

Time froze, only of them, but the snowdrops did start to fall slower, as if they wanted to take longer glances of the loving princes in that warm bed. They envy them.

Slowly breathing, Daera eyes his entire face, taking the image in with all the patient of the world. She finds marvel and love, and the best part is that her heart beats with the same feelings, and even deeper ones, we dare to say. Speechless, the white-haired wonders if this is what a right decision feels like. There had been no feeling like this on her chest before, until now… until having Jacaerys Velaryon naked above of her, sweetly smiling and losing his breath for her.

A smile takes hold of Daera's whole face. Her eyes shine, and a hand of hers also cups a cheek of his, endlessly staring at those brown pool. When feeling her touch, he giggled with excitement; a happiness installed on his chest when realizing she seems to be feeling exactly like him.

They both giggle, together, caressing the other's cheeks, and slowly beginning to lean their faces nearer.

But, then again, time actually did not freeze, and there is still someone in the door.

-My princes!-. The knocks come again, along with a loud but respectful call for them, from a man.

Daera raises her brows, staring sideways to the door. Before she could do anything, Jacaerys began to come down of her body, carefully stepping out of the bed.

-What the fuck do they want?-. The princess tsk her tongue, accommodating on her elbows as she laments her husband's distance.

-I shall discover it-. Jacaerys mumbles with a smile, endlessly staring at her while he, quickly, jumps into his pantaloons-. Coming, Ser!-. He answers.

However, this distance allowed her to glance at him from head to toe. The sun of the day now allows her to see every inch of him, and gods, he is beautiful. From his broad shoulders to his clenched abdomen, all moving while he dresses himself. The princess bit her inferior lip, not hiding her emotion when looking at his strong morning wood.

-Fuck's sake-. Daera whispers under her breath, keeping a hand on the bedsheet above her, which still covers her.

Moments then, Jacaerys walked to the doors with swift steps. He took the handle, but immediately huffed when recalling and looking at the crossed sword. Raising a brow, he looks back, and his wife, from the bed, only shrugged with a proud smile. The prince chuckles, and within seconds he made the sword at a side.

Finally, at last, the guard on the other side is answered when prince Jacaerys opened one of the doors by the half, leaning his body forward.

-Good morrow, my Prince-. The knight is quick to salute, bowing his head.

-Good morrow, Ser-. Jace politely nods, eyeing him from up t down-. What may we help you with?-. He sides an easy smile, curious.

From the bed, lying on her elbows, Daera throws her head back along a sigh, closing her eyes. She remembers all the feelings of last night; from Jace's breath-taking cock to the happiness that burned her from within. Silently, she starts to smile, biting her lips, and also listening to the ongoing conversation.

-I come with apologies from Lord Cregan-. The guard informed, confusing both princes from their respective places-. His Lordship had to attend to matters of urgency he had not foreseen, and had to leave the castle for -he says- a brief span of hours, my prince-. He says with a polite tone, looking at him.

-I see-, Prince Jacaerys nods with understanding, wondering what those matters may be. From the bed, Daera twists her lips, glancing to the window, and asking herself the same too.

-Lord Cregan sends word of his embarrassment, for he will not be able to join you to break fast-. The guard notified with a sided nod.

-It is a shame, but he must not worry-. The prince shakes his head-. Shall Lady Bethany grants us her company, then?-. He questions, raising his brows when thinking of the lord's mother.

-I am sorry, my prince, Lady Stark had to turn her attention to the situation as well-. With an honest tone, he answered.

From the bed, Daera raised her brows with twisted lips that are almost smiling, thoughtful. From the entry, Jacaerys pressed a light smile, and started to nod.

-Your morning repast is in the making, my prince, so you and princess Daera shall enjoy it when you see fit-. The guard informed.

-Perfect, I'll let my dear wife know-. Prince Jacaerys sided a discreet smile, really wanting to look over his shoulder; sadly, he could not see the provocative way she bit her lips when listening to him calling her that-. We're most thankful for the notice, Ser-. He politely nods to the knight.

-My Prince-. He nodded as well and, with no further information, stepped back and walked away from the princes' bedchambers.

With his leaving, Jacaerys closed the doors once again. Then, he looks over his shoulder, starting to turn around. From the bed, his dear wife smirked sideways, looking at him from up to down with no dissimulation.

-Lord Cregan is away-. Jacaerys says, not waiting for anything to start to walk towards the bed, playing his right hand's fingers around his pant's threads, and lifting the right one.

-So I heard-. The princess nods cockily, raising her brows-. And, when he's back, we'll ask for his fealty, and��-Daera sighs, taking his hand, and pulling him towards the bed. The prince snickers, getting on his knees and crawling to her-…tomorrow, we will be back home-. She sided a dreamy and tired smile, only thinking of it.

-And, in a couple of days, everything will we solved-. Jace whispers, placing his hands at the sides of her body, and looking at her from above, just as he did last night. His hard cock twitches when having the memory of it-. No war-. He mumbles, growing enchanted by looking at her clavicle and neck.

-Talks of politics can wait, I think…-. Daera laughs tauntly, grabbing his neck from behind, and caressing his chest with the other hand. He gulps, parting his lips.

Prisoner of the desire she awakened with, the princess gainsaid her own words from last night, those of "No distractions". But she does not care enough for it, at least not now that she has him all over her, hard and drooling and charmed.

Oh, come on, Lord Cregan is away, anyways. The Valyrian gods have blessed them.

-We have the morning-. Under his shiny eyes, she mumbles with a cocky smile and narrowed eyes, holding the sides of his face. Jace gulps, again-. Anything in mind that we might do, while we wait?-. She ponders, raising a brow.

-I'd wager I'm thinking the same as you, wife-. The prince whispers with a silly tone, eyeing her entire face.

She chuckled, burlesque. Then, with a soft and single move, she pulled down a little of the bedsheet that was covering her. Her breast came out, not depriving him of the joy -once again- of seeing their beauty and hear their siren calling.

Jace's jaw fell to the floor; he curved his brows, tilted his head, and let out a low sigh that was more likely a moan when he saw them. Daera bit her lip when she saw him leaning towards them.

-Yes-, she grabs the back of his neck tighter.

Her left breast was cupped by his mouth, and she moaned loudly when heeling how hot this was, burning against her skin and nipples. Her right one also burns when she makes him grab it, and he gladly does, squeezing it tenderly.

Humming, excited, Jacaerys starts to suck and caress her breasts, closing his eyes to fully enjoy the feeling of the flesh between his teeth. His cock twitches, which makes him to unconsciously thrust a little into her, and now is Daera who moans when feeling that pressure against the bedsheet.

Fucking bedsheet.

With one arm, Daera hugs Jace closer to her, and he only cheers this, slowly licking and sucking her tits. With the other, she began to quickly pull the bedsheet away from her, uncovering the rest of her body, and also going for his trousers.

-Delight yourself, darling-. A purr from her, right on his ear, makes him to longly groan, opening his mouth wider to cup more of her in him.

When he felt the bed cloth slipping away like sand, the prince dares to place his hands at the sides of her body, instantly going for her waist, which he crazily loves to grip and squeeze between his big hands.

Daera, the mastermind of all this desire, also works with her hands. With only one, she fastened his pants threads and, while biting her lips, found his pulsing cock, wrapped her five fingers all around it, and began to stroke it with slowness.

In that moment, he grunted, like a beast, furrowing his brows and nearly biting her nipple due to the surprising pleasure, but he did not hurt her in any way. Instead, he starts to lick harder and quicker, losing his tongue on her breasts, and his brown curls on her other hand.

-So hard, Jace-. She chants on his ear, feeling him moving over her in the middle of groans and sighs she's also copying-. Jace, for the fuck's sake…-, the princess cracks a smile, pulling his hair.

The brown-eyed prince hums on her breasts, pampering the both of them with no end, hungry and lusty for them. She cheered him up with touches and strokes on his cock, which he keeps throbbing to her.

He wants to do it, and she knows it so much.

-'Tis so good to fuck in the morning-. The siren under him starts to whisper to his ear, as if it was a secret, playing with his curls and manhood at her will. He moans, listening closely-. Feeling happy or sad, either way; it's delightful-. She sighs with a smile, feeling how he was completely ready to take her-. Especially sad-, she added with a taunt mumble.

Then, she gave a turn to things. Using the strength of her legs, she wrapped him in them, and made their positions to literally switch.

Breathing fast, Jace looks up, now having the naked Rogue Princess seated on top of him, pinning both his hands against the mattress, smiling coquettishly, and with her chest coming up and down. There is only one correct thing one can say when facing this scenario:

-Thank you-. Lust spoke with Jace's voice, and his eyes looked up at her with endless desire and yearning.

Daera waited for nothing. Not even having to look, the princess once again took all of Jacaerys' manhood into her femininity, and began to ride him with a most perfect rhythm and pace, tangling their fingers on the mattress.

Oh. it felt. delightful.

The prince yells out a loud moan of pleasure, twitching under her and rolling his eyes to the back of his head, growing restless and wild while feeling how very good she moves on top of him, guiding every touch and moment.

-Oh, go-! Fuck!-. This time, Jacaerys was quick to curse, enslaved by the great desire in him and in his wife, who opened her eyes widely while looking down at him with a smile.

-That mouth of yours, prince-. Daera speaks burlesque, tilting her head to the left. Under her, he bites his lips, and looks up with half-closed eyes-. Perhaps you should not spend that much time with me, should you not want to learn such bad behaviors-. All stupid and cocky, she mumbled, scrunching her nose.

That advice, he did not like.

Within a grunt and a second, he calculated the move she had priorly done, he measured his own strength, and copied what Daera had done before. He placed a hand on her waist, the other on her back, and raised up his upper body.

The princess squealed with great surprise when her innocent prince husband turned things again, and now her back is the one lying on the mattress, and he the one on top. That made her eyes shine more than ever, and her mouth to fall all open.

-Fuck-. Shocked, she whispers.

Over her, Jacaerys breathes fast as he grabs her thighs and accommodates himself in the middle of her. The veins in his arms steal most of her attention as well as the pulsing cock wandering around her entry.

-Oh you do learn fast, that's right!-. Daera cheers with a growing smile, hugging his back when he leaned front. Dissimulating his nerves, the prince smiled at her.

-Am I doing alright? Was that alright?-. He sincerely wondered, looking at her at all moments. Bemused, she parts his lips.

-You do feel how fucking wet I am, right?-. The princess whispers tauntly, caressing his back with her nails, pampering his many moles.

-…I do-. Silly and mesmerized, he answered with a long sigh, feeling his cock's point skimming her womanhood with even the slightest move he makes; there's a flood in her.

Jace groans, letting his head to fall forward. Daera touches her forehead with his, and takes impulse towards him, making him lift the upper right corner of his lips, expecting and yearning, but her kiss did not arrive, which made him to groan again, desperate. She's toying him.

-Hum?-, Daera bites her lips.

-Kiss me-. Jace asks for, in a whisper. The princess twists her lips, growing restless by the feeling of his dick forever playing around her entry, but not coming in-. Kiss me, Daera-. He begged, passionately grabbing the right side of her head, squeezing her cheekbone and ear.

-Only if you fuck me-. His wife growled with insistence, placing her feet on his ass, and pushing him forward.

Jace moans, clenching his jaw and looking down at her with wide eyes. Defiant, she keeps her gaze stiff, and raises a brow at him.

Two seconds later, the brown-haired prince slipped into her with a clean thrust, filling her from one second to another. The feeling brought a loud moan from him, and a lusty smile from her, who quickly possessed his neck, and pulled him to trample his lips into a heated kiss.

Sighing, he immediately answered the kiss with fire and desire. Not waiting anything, he also began to thrust into her just as he did last night, possessing all of her body. They both moan with no restriction, their bodies clashing against each other in a vivid moment, drawing them insane with lust and love.

-Gods!-, the young man moans when the kiss ends, and he quickly goes for another one, one his wife granted him with all the pleasure of the world, bouncing at the pace of his mighty cock.

He cannot believe this pleasure truly exists, and much less that it's all his. Theirs.

-Jace, fuck!-. The princess moans as she's fucked deeply and properly, hit where she likes the most; everywhere-. Yes, Jace, yes, fuck-. She smiles with no breath, hugging his back while he takes her with no dithering. He moans loudly, so loudly, staring at her with his mouth all opened.

To moan Jace's name is a new feeling. Only now she's realizing how accustomed she was to moaning Aemond's, and only Aemond's.

-Seven hells!-. Jacaerys groans, placing a hand on the mattress to start thrusting harder into her, using his free will to fuck her as best as he could, just as she wanted, just as she deserves.

Daera closes her eyes and goes with him, smiling and grunting. She thinks how, in these years of late, she was accustomed only to a white straight mane bouncing over her, not a brown curly one; long thin fingers holding her waist, not thick hot ones; boney and delicate shoulders kissed by her, not broad wide ones; slim trained arms to scratch, not thick muscular ones.

Princess Daera had been only fucked and taken by price Aemond Targaryen, in the last two years of her life. That differs now, hugely, for now she has prince Jacaerys Velaryon on top of her, fucking her as if there was no tomorrow, and making her eyes to roll to the back of her head while she smiles.

These are, after all, different times... are they not?

•••

In King’s Landing, the air, breeze and people remain quiet, not in a good way, but in the way that makes your bone chills, and your eyes to look around every corner before turning it. Priorly, we already met with Flea Bottom and its habitants, as how do they feel, and how they are taking everything in their worried chests.

Now, let us turn higher, to the hill that rises the tallest in King’s Landing, and that makes home to the royal family; The Red Keep.

King Viserys has passed, as we well know; his graciousness and light-heart will we hard to see ever again, especially in the years to come, and even harder in a Targaryen; though it’s no proper for us to bitter our minds so soon in the morning. So, as we were telling before, King Viserys has passed, yes. Those that used to be his bedchambers belong now to who’s succeeded him, his rightful heir, his firstborn son, that who now calls himself King and wields The Conqueror’s sword…that who will be know by historian and books as Aegon The Usurper.

Aegon has a tiny smile on his lips, and his clear purple eyes travel around his apartments while he walks around it, holding a cup of wine close to his chest.

The King is dressed in his full suit, for he’s just returned from an audience he held with his people, his subjects, in the room of The Iron Throne. The heraldry sword swells in his belt, and The Conqueror’s Crown also sits on his head, at the moment. Those red blood rubies reflect the sun that enters to the room, making his surroundings to catch glints of red, from time to time.

Along in his rooms, he giggles to himself, with satisfaction and pride. He adored to held the audience; he heard everyone, everyone felt heard, and -even crazier- he did too! Each word that came out of his mouth was fully attended by every ear in the hall, every expression on his face looked by every eye in it too. He is now kind of a figure that everyone praises, blesses and loves. They love him.

The thought made the former prince to crack a smile while he walked out to the balcony, welcoming the breeze to blow his short white hair.

What troubles him a little is how fucking annoying -as he would say- his good Hand is; his grandfather he is, aye, but the old man is kind of…unsufferable, the gods bless him. Aegon looks at him, and Otto’s lips are moving indeed but he just gets “patience patience, silly old laws, bad breath, patience again, ‘Your Grace’, bad breath”; in that very same order, by the way.

All thought of cheerfulness; because of his audience, and complaints; because of his Hand, started to fade away from his mind when his ears reached the sound of some heavy slow flapping. Blinking, and slowly rising his head, he finds Vhagar in the skies about, soaring, growling, and protecting the city.

She is ugly, growing nastier every day, which made the King’s lips twist with disgust. Vhagar, powerful as she may be, has much to envy in Sunfyre, Aegon’s mount, whose beauty and grace are not found in any other dragon. Some have dared to compare his dragon’s magnificence to that of his cousin’s, princess Daera, under the pretext that they are the only golden dragons in the world, and from the same hatch at that. Aegon does not encourages nor shares these comparisons; though Kalistrox is bigger, he posses not even the half of Sunfyre’s gorgeousness; his golden life companion whom he finds so much love in.

Staring at Vhagar, the Kind soon catches a glance of a white-haired man riding her. That is Aemond, of course, and the sight of him made Aegon’s smile to fade a little quicker. When looking at his brother, the first thing he thinks of -inevitably- is the fact that he murdered their nephew, Lucerys, some days ago already.

In this clear sobber mind he posses at the moment, Aegon does not find hard to remember the closeness he once had with Rhaenyra’s sons. Feels like a lifetime ago, but he has yet not forgotten that they were once friends, before they turned into dumb and dumber, and then moved out to Dragonstone. He came to not like them at all (especially after that fucking weird night in Driftmark), but he still is uncapable to find comfort in Luke’s death. It does not bring him joy, as well as it does not bring him great sadness either. It just feels…weird.

But that lad is gone, and he is King, and now better than ever, the boy’s mother might see how true that is. There’s not much else to the tale now, is there?

Shrugging and sighing, Aegon looks away from the skies, and sips his goblet with an easy face. He scratches his butt, humming a song.

-Your Grace-. The doors opening, and the call of a woman made the purple-eyed to turn immediately, interested.

-Yes?-. He was about to smirk, flirty, but his attention quickly turns to other people, smaller one.

A brown-skinned maid has come into the rooms, the Claudia we know, looking down. And, with her, she brings The King’s children, who are holding her hands at each side of her body, curiously staring at the man who nearly shrieked out of emotion when he saw them.

-You asked for the princes to be brought to you, Your Grace-. Claudia speaks, neutrally, forever looking at the floor while, in her mind, she complains as to why The Queen’s wretched brothers must have these precious children close to them, and their chaotic personalities.

-Ah!-. Aegon smiles, delighted, leaving the balcony and his cup behind, and opening his arms while approaching to them-. Children!-. He claps his hands together and crouched in front of them with a huge smile.

Jaehaerys, our little prince, watches him with a closed interested smile, eyeballing his face. Jaehaera, our sweet princess, looks at him too with a calmer face. They both look so much like their mother under certain lights, if not all.

-Boy and girl, yes, haha-. Aegon mumbles with a smile, looking at the both of them. Not having his attention, Claudia furrows her brows, wondering if he just jested or he momentarily forgot their names-. Time to play-. He raises his eyebrows towards them, caressing Jaehaera’s arms.

Every time Helaena takes a moment for herself; either to bath, to embroider, or to ride Dreamfyre, she gets the notices that one of her brothers is either with her children or calling for them. These days of late, it makes her heart to weight, her jaw to clench, and her hair to nearly turn whiter with the stress it causes her. She does not want them away from her.

That’s why we find Queen Helaena presently walking through Maegor’s Holdfast with fast steps and wandering anxious eyes, constantly whispering lowly the names of her kids. From the distance, she hears Aegon’s laugh, and that only makes her to walk faster. Must she have them confined into their chambers?!

-Time to play-. She catches Aegon’s voice before she walked into the room within a second.

-What game are they to play?-. Queen Helaena appears with an afflicted throat, and eyes of mistrust. Claudia instantly feels lighter, thanking The Seven in her mind.

The crouched King, who had been smiling lovingly to the kids, lets his lips fall and huffs with an exaggerated tiredness when his wife walks in. With her fists tight at her sides, she scrunches her lips in the awaiting of an answer.

-Very well, you may join us, I think-. Aegon mumbles, fighting to not roll his eyes-. I only warn you, there are no bugs-. At the same time, he lifted Jaehaerys from the floor, taking him in his arms. Jaehaera looked up, and Helaena curved her brows, taking a step closer while her son laughs-. What do you think of that, Jaehaerys?-. He asks with a smile, turning to look at him; his precious.

The heir to the Iron Throne just babbles, hugging his father’s neck with an arm, and wobbling the other towards his mother, who quickly approached to the little princess, and took her in her arms as well, sighing.

-Mommy-, a tender call left Jaehaera’s lips, making her mom to smile while she softly rocked her. Shrinking her smile, the Queen turns to look at the King, who rocks their boy in a way she does not like at all.

-Keep him steady!-. Helaena scolds him with her soft insistent voice.

-Ugh, he’s a man, he’ll be fine-. Aegon rolls his eyes blank. The Queen and Claudia shared a silent concerned glance, barely for a second-. Now to the fun part!-. He suddenly cheers again, and begins to walk.

-What is- the fun part?-. With true great confusion and big eyes, Helaena wonders what may be fun in the midst of all the miserable happenings of these days.

-Well!-. Hugging Jaehaerys to his chest, King Aegon I smiles while they walk down the hallway-. I have a gift for them-, he pridefully smirked.

•••

In Winterfell, the royal guests have already broken their fast. After a very passionate session of “heaven” -as Jacaerys’ mind calls the act itself-, they dressed and headed to the same dining hall they shared supper in the previous night; with lesser people, in this occasion, eating in there.

Gladly, they joined the sweet Rickon; Lord Cregan’s little son, to breakfast, along two maids that were attending to him. Seated besides a good fire, and having meaty sausages and soft potatoes served in their plates, the five of them enjoyed of a warm and easy meal, constantly talking, smiling, and caressing their thighs under the table; matters to point out, that was only between the princes.

In the awaiting of Lord Stark, who still hasn’t returned from the city, as neither has his mother with him, Jacaerys and Daera found it very appropriate to go to their dragons. Together and alone, after kindly rejecting the company of knights, they walked to the snowy mountains, constantly shivering and trembling because of the cold.

At the second of seeing those brown and white manes walking up the hill, Kalistrox and Vermax immediately rejoiced, shrieking and crawling towards their riders with no ado. Jacaerys welcomed his dragon with laughs and gentle pets on his sides, while a smiley Daera kissed all of the Golden Ray’s horns, pampering his chin and calling him “Ñuha tresy”, which her husband understood it to mean “My boy”.

The dragons pushed them with their heads and pointed their golden eyes towards the skies. The riders did not doubt to oblige them, and so they kissed each other, took seat on their saddles, and raced to the skies with laughs and shrieks and clouds. The cold grew even greater, up there in the sky, but it was all worth it. Golden and green dragons played around for a good hour, racing and testing who could fly higher, any given time.

From the ground, many northerners looked up with wide eyes and parted mouths, mesmerized by the fast fiery beings. To their eyes, they looked like beasts, roaring and twisting, as if demons. To their rider’s eyes, however, they were the happiest, most gorgeous creatures, enjoying of the clouds, the breeze and their games. Joined to their happiness, Daera and Jacaerys could not stop smiling while they reigned the skies about Winterfell.

It was a most precious moment, for the four of them.

Eventually, they had to come back and down, leaving their dragons again in those mountains. The ill-tempered Vermax huffed smoke from his nose, annoyed by his rider’s leave. Kalistrox claws melted the snow below them when he heard that his white-haired love would have to leave again. Ashamed, but dearly, they kissed their dragons goodbye once again.

When returning, they came to the news that Lord Stark was still not there. With time to spare, then, the Targaryen princes made themselves busy and acquittance with some of the castle’s duties. Being royal guests, they could not help as much as they would have liked to, but the prince did get to carry some firewood from the patio to the kitchens, helping some fellas who found great amenity in him, and the princess granted around two or three songs to a handful of children who were delighted by her voice, and playing with her hair.

When Daera felt the need to attend to certain needs, she retired herself to the privy. And, when she came out again to the front yard of the castle, she found Sarah Snow asking for help to take great sacks of garden greens and essential supplies that remained on a wagon. Three boys went for her aid, and so did Prince Jacaerys, whom she personally asked help to, with a smile and a shine on her eyes. Forever a gentleman, he agreed, and took a sack.

The prince’s wife watched this from the distance of a hallway, having her hands crossed over her belly. She huffed a little smile and rolled her eyes, detesting Snow’s fancy for Jace, though she does find it a bit amusing, for he’s so very reluctant of her interest; she loves that. We may know that ignorance to jealousy is not one of Daera’s strength; she’s jealous of what belongs to her.  

That thought brought her mind back in time, to Pentos, during her Seventh Heaven with Aemond, where two women made their desires of bedding the one-eyed clear, and they burned after the Rogue Princess whispered “Dracarys” to her dragon’s ears while scratching his chin. There is more to that story, but today is not the day we’ll know of it.

Daera looked down, gulping, and expulsed Aemond out of her mind, or at least she forced herself to think she did. The princess turns around, and walks away from the sight of Sarah battling her lashes to the brown-haired Velaryon. Daera walks by herself, maintaining an easy expression on her face, though her mind is infested.

Alyssa, Visenya, Helaena, Jaehaera…she misses her dear girls; she longs them. The princess misses everyone, but those four, along her sweet sweet Jaehaerys, are straight out of her grasp, either gone to the gods, or trapped with The Usurper and his treacherous family in King’s Landing.  

She breathes in deeply, playing with her pinky finger while she turned on an aleatory corner. Wandering around another hallway, the princess squeezes her own fingers while she distractedly looks to her surroundings. And, suddenly, to her came a breeze, chillier than the other ones, which made her to shiver, and to furrow her brows.

As if the wind had been a calling¸ Daera comes face to face to the entry of the Godswood of Winterfell. It is all alone, covered in the whitest snow she has seen during this trip, with not one footstep on it. The castle’s walls keep it isolated and away from easy sight and, in the middle of all, a truly old tree stands firmly and hugely, almost taller than Winterfell itself.

Of red leaves, with an odd face carved into it, the weirtree stares back at Daera from the moment she turned her head after feeling that breeze.

The princess sides a surprised smirk, slowly turning around, and starting to head out to the Godswood. Her feet stepped on the snow, which made her to hiss lowly, shivering before the great cold. She hugs herself, laughing a little while she walks and looks around, taking in the beautiful surroundings she has found herself alone in; what a bless.

There is such a silence in here, so much that one may think Winterfell has been left alone and to the dead.

Daera sighs through her nose, walking every time slower, taking the time to appreciate how magical everything feels and looks. The Godswood in King’s Landing does not feel at all like this one, not even a bit. Perhaps it did, some time, when she hadn’t been born yet, nor any of her siblings; when Rhaenyra’s girlhood was still flourishing, and King Viserys was still married to his kind Queen, Aemma Arryn. Maybe in those times, Daera thinks, there were still real gods walking around the Red Keep. If it was so, then they surely got disgusted when seven menaces appeared; Alicent and Otto Hightower, Aegon Targaryen, Criston Cole, Larys “Clubfoot” Strong, and two other fuckers whose names she does not has the mind to think about right now. When she gets home, the princess wonders, will she be able to keep fighting against the urges of mounting Kalistrox, and bring fire to House Hightower for once and for all?

Sighing, Daera focuses on her beautiful surroundings. Slowly crossing her hands behind her back, she lightly rocks her body from side to side, fixating her purple gaze in the weirtree in front of her, who stares back at all moments, as if it has life of its own. Curious, she tilts her head, gulping.

Snowdrops that fall on her mane instantly get mixed with its whiteness. Some melt against her hot head, while other remain lingering in between those curls, spread around them as if they were sprinkles of ashes instead of snow.

It’s been days already since she and her husband left the South of Westeros. Both the Vale and the North are beautiful places, and have welcomed them with open arms, yes, but our princess grows restless every time she remembers war still lingers around her home while they are here, so far away from everyone, everything. They have not extended their visit here, but Aegon still sits the throne and fancies himself as King, Rhaenyra still mourns while simultaneously leading a council, Daemon readies himself for the march to Harrenhal, her siblings are without their older ones, and Aemond-

Daera looks up, clenching her jaw, and gulping. Lightly shaking her head, she thinks about what Aemond is. A traitor. It pains her as nothing else has pained her, but how is she supposed to call him? How is she supposed to call the husband that turned his back on her, and accomplished every dread she ever named to fear, in the span of a single fucking day? Viserys’ dying corpse was probably still mumbling his loved ones’ names and crying for help while the Greens took action and run to fetch Blackfyre and The Conqueror’s Crown for their mummer of a king.

Following that, the way that she was informed that he was all but pleased to let her grandmother -their marriage’s only ally, their wedding’s host!- locked and disattended as a prisoner of them. They would have probably taken her to the King’s Justice, Daera is sure, if it hadn’t been for Rhaenys’ rushed rescue orchestrated by Ser Erryk Cargyll. And after that, Visenya; the stillborn wrinkled body her own eyes saw slid from her step-mother’s sex, lifeless and stiff, a sad little thing.

Gods, all this, and we are not even mentioning his cruel acts, way before the usurpation. We have yet to talk about the joyous pregnancy he stole from her, the child that was supposed to belong to them both, as a fruit of their love. He dared name her Alyssa, as their grandmother, and then he himself plucked her from her. He cursed Alyssa’s name, proclaimed her a bastard to be, and obligated his Daera to drink Moon Tea, and to gulp the babe away.

She was supposed to have another sister. She was supposed to be a mother…she’s ready for it. And…he took it all away from her.

-Princess-. A voice interrupted the silence of the Godswood.

Daera had been looking down, with shiny sad eyes and a pout in her lips that looked more miserable than what she’d like. Flooded by sad thoughts, the young woman almost brought herself to tears and whines, until the arriving of someone saved her from spending that shame in front of the sacred weirtree.

The princess turns her head around, her white curls bouncing when she did so. Covered in thick dark clothes of fur, wielder of steel-blue eyes and the sword Ice, Lord Cregan Stark walked pass the Godswood’s entry, and now approaches with calm steps and a cold calmed gaze, looking at her.

-My Lord!-. Briefly raising her brows, Daera salutes. He greeted back with a sided tiny smile and a nod, resting his elbow on the sword’s handle while he walks to her. Within a second, the princess eyes her surroundings, and raises her brows once again-. Oh, I- my most sincere apologies, I don’t know if I’m allowed to be here-. She suddenly ponders, recalling the Godswood are a sacred place for the Stark family.

-I had been given to understand you are not renowned for apologizing, princess-. Cregan’s marked northern accent speaks to her with easiness and maybe a little bit of fun; just a little. He is as Baela once described the Starks are like; too pretty and too serious.

-I know to pay my respect, if needed be, my lord-. Daera answered with a light shrug, intertwining her fingers on her belly, and smiling at him. A chuckle came from his lordship’s throat at the same time he halted his steps, arriving in front of her. He looks at her for some silent seconds, starting to nod.

-You can be here-. He simply answered, side-eyeing the weirtree they stand before. The princess, with her lips closed, made her smile wider, thanking him with a silent head move.

The lord and the princess stand in the middle of the Godswood, face to face while the snow around falls with slowness and easiness. A soft breeze that blows makes their manes to bounce lightly, and their skins to shiver, though his lordship is very well accustomed to it, not even minding it. Princess Daera, on the other side, dissimulates when she hugs herself.

-My husband and I were told about your unplanned departure, and that of your mother’s, early in the morning-. Princess Daera recalls with a curious expression, narrowing her eyes. Lord Stark breathes in, staring at the skies-. We do hope everything it’s under order-. She lifts her brows, squeezing her own fingers.

-Everything is now-. Cregan nods with confidence, looking back at the purple of her eyes-. Lady Stark and I had to turn our attention to The Neck as soon as we were told some vandals made a butchery scene in one of the swamps; do forget my bluntness, princess-. The Lord speaks with seriousness, and then is quick to apologize, briefly curving his brows.

If Daera wasn’t a good liar, she wouldn’t be where she is right now, neither would anything be the same. So, employing her knowledge of the art, the princess is swift to properly react to the information, frowning, parting her lips and scrunching her nose a little, looking perturbed.

-Oh, Gods-. She mumbles with discomfort, looking as if she didn’t even want to picture the scene. Little does the Young Wolf of the North knows that her hands were the ones to butcher those men and women and then feed them to the dragons. As she had foreseen the night of the killing, it was wise to not let them burn the men, but to simply eat them, for dragonfire would have been way to harder to explain in the middle of a damp swamp. Rather, easier-. Sad news-, she pouts.

-With which I do not wish to trouble you with, Princess-. The gentleman Cregan quickly says, moving a hand in the air in sign of denial. Daera briefly bites her inferior lip, nodding to him with an ashamed doubt-. Turning to nicer matters, I’m told you shared the meal of the morning with my Rickon-. He politely smiles.

The princess’ eyes immediately shine when thinking of the child.

-Ah, yes, we did!-. She happily nods, which made the lord to begin to smile-. A lovely boy you have, my Lord, whose desire of smashing food with his hands has not gone unnoticed-. The princess speaks with fun and gladness. Cregan’s teeth show while he hears of his son-. And neither his love for cats!-. Daera openly laughed and, this time, the Lord joined her, the both of them chuckling.

-He has them by the thousand, indeed-. Lord Cregan nods, smiling as he learns his son is apparently a delight to the princess, as he should be.

Granting him a kind smile, Daera snickers, and silently glances at the weirtree that stand besides them. She looks at its carved face and red leaves, slowly calming down her expression when she remembers what she had been thinking of before the Lord arrived to the Godswood.

Silent as well, not uncomforted by this, Lord Cregan follows her purple eyes, and discovers them placed in the red-leaf tree. He smirks, so tiny, eyeing it too for a couple seconds, and then looking back at her interested face.

-Do you have one of these, in Dragonstone, princess?-. Lord Stark questions with curiosity, resting his hands on his sword’s handle. She looks back at him with tranquil lavender eyes.

-I am afraid we do not, my Lord, as they cannot grow in volcanic lands-. Daera kindly giggles, raising her brows. He nods with a light expression, understanding. She breathes in, and stares at it once again, suddenly beginning to smile-. But we have our beach, our caves…our dragonmont-. Her sweet voice speaks when she looks back at him, funnily shrugging as she names those places of her home.

-It only sounds so marvelous-. Lord Cregan comments with kindness, never been to Dragonstone himself.

-Oh, it so much is-. The princess sighs, closing her eyes, and making on purpose a funny face, scrunching her nose and twisting her lips. That won a laugh from him, and Daera thought how fun it is that the same face that made Rickon laugh, at breakfast, also made his father to-…Ah, more than enough-. She sighed, once again, shaking her head.

Mentally, he wonders if she is always this open and expressive; stories about her prove that she is. Observative, Cregan is aware of the yearning that started to shine on her eyes since they mentioned Dragonstone. There is longing, as if she was wishing to be there right now. As a matter of fact, she, indeed, is.

-You miss your family-. He didn’t ask it, but deduced it, leaving the formalities a little behind. When hearing the truth spoken loudly, Daera sighed through her nose and loosed her shoulders, marking her clavicle.

A part of her feels ridiculous, for she knows she’s not been away from them for long. Hells, she used to spend ten days each moon at the capital, away from them, with no problem! But here…now…it’s different. They’ve not come here on a whim, but to gain safeness to their family and, in order to do so, they had to come this far. And, honestly, she hates it, and everything that has caused it.

-I utterly do, my Lord-. Daera was not shy to confess to him, whispering with her eyes briefly closed. When she opened them, his hard face granted her a compressive expression, and highly kind eyes-…Very much-. She whispered, thinking of all of them; Joffrey, whom she longed to clutch to her chest; Rhaena, whom she ached to hug; Luke, whose hair she wished to kiss; Baela, beside whom she wished to lay; the twins, to whom she yearned to sing; Nyra, with whom she longed to jest; and Daemon, with whom she wanted to train.

Cregan looks at her with reading eyes, blinkless and listening, thinking himself of that kind of yearning.

-…Why didn’t they come?-. Lord Stark asked within a soft whisper. Even though he got an explanation at last night’s dinner, something does not convince him; this type of longing in the princess’ eyes goes beyond the mere missing of some days.

The Lord’s suspicions are true, for she misses more than them; she misses how things used to be.

The white-haired princess looks at him with stiff eyes and, soon, she begins to smile tinyly, humming under her breath. Afterwards, the two of them turned their heads when they noticed someone else arriving to the Godswood, someone of darker hair than the very Lord.

Prince Jacaerys joined them with the aura of everything good in this world.

-My Lord! So very good to see you-. The prince approaches with a smile and a swift pace, rubbing his hands together. Daera felt air leaving her lungs.

-My prince, my feelings are the same-. Lord Cregan kindly greeted him with politeness, slowly taking a discreet step back. Jacaerys smiled back at him, reaching the princess’ side, and placing a hand on her lower back.

-My dear wife-. He greeted her too, looking at her with telling eyes and a smirk. Daera turns her head fully to him, blinkless.

She must be going insane, or things are really changing (some for the better, though our princess still does not know), but when she saw Jace, she melted. Having been thinking of how much she misses her home and her family, to see him was a refreshment, a reminder that she is not alone in here. He represents all the goodness of what is going on; from the spirit of fight for what is their right, to the great comfort his hands, eyes and words now bring to her.

Princess Daera, ever the soldier and oldest child of her family, does not longer stand alone, for her brother, Prince Jacaerys, is a man now, and he stands right besides her. Her husband, Jacaerys, has turned into her joy and pride, and it gladdens us to attest that it will remain as so until the last of his days, and hers.

She looks at him with clouds for eyes, lovingly and sweetly smirking to him within a sigh from her nose, letting her shoulders loose while she, too, places a hand on his lower back, and pats it with dearness.

-Husband-. The princess greeted him too, with a string of voice. Jacaerys smiled at her for what it felt an eternity, though it were actually three seconds, admiring her beauty and thinking of her everything, and how beautifully she’s looking at him.

Since their arrival, Lord Cregan has asked twice to his maesters for how long the princes have been married, and the answers were the same the two times: a year. Bemused, twice he has commented to his closest friends how these two stare and smile at each other as if they were moments away from consummating their marriage for the first time. “The lovebirds of Dragonstone”, many in both court and in the town are styling them, for they too have been spectators of the clear fondness of each other.

-We were talking about home-. Princess Daera comments to her husband, sighing, and raising her brows.

-Home?-. He repeats and, as same as her, his eyes shined with yearn when thinking of their Dragonstone.

-Your kind wife was telling me about your beaches, and the marvels your island possess-. Lord Cregan informs with a polite tone, signaling at the whit-curled princess, who snickered under her breath while nodding and looking at him.

-Marvels you yourself should go to meet yourself, Lord Cregan-. Prince Jacaerys friendly proposed to him, lifting up his brows. His lordship grins with flatter, nodding surprised-. We are sure our siblings would adore a visit from the North-. He says with a smile, turning his face to look at Daera, who huffed through her nose and looked at him too, both smiling when thinking of Baela’s nerves towards northerners.  

-Would they?-. Lord Stark questions with a smile, crossing his hands over his abdomen, noticing how happily they look when speaking of his siblings.

-Our sister, Rhaena, is very fond of your histories and tales-. Jacaerys answered with amenity, laughing when thinking of all the books they’ve read together.

-Oh-, Cregan raises a brow.

-And Joffrey, our brother, of your accent!-. Daera pointed within funny chuckles, scrunching her eyes-. It’s always him asking “does this sound like a northern accent?”, and then starts to yell all around!-. She giggles, and the brown-haired men joined her, chuckling lightly to the air.

Taking no offense, Cregan cackled with the princes, allowing himself to feel this easy after the heavy morning he had. However, a heavy feeling does places itself in his chest some seconds later, when he sees and feels how much they seem to love their siblings, only by the way they speak of them.

Squeezing his fingers around Ice’s handle, Lord Stark sighs through his nose and looks at the weirtree, staring directly into the face of it. The princes, curious, did so as well, silently interlocking their elbows together.

-I had a brother-. Cregan informed in a distracted mumble, staring at the tree. The confession made the spouses to look back at him, troubled, for they did not know this.

-You did, my Lord?-. Jacaerys questions in a mumble, gripping Daera’s elbow with his.

-Uhum, aye-. He smiles thinly, taking his glance to the white snow below-. His name was…Aaron-, he recalls with softness. Daera eyes him with worry but silence, letting him speak-. He died young-. Cregan recalls, looking up at them again, with an expression of acceptance, but did not lack sadness.

-I’m very sorry, my Lord-. The brown-eyed prince spoke with heavy lament, while his wife looked at him with curved brows.

-‘Twas a long time ago, and he was young and small-. Lord Cregan cracks a quick smile for a second while he remembers his gone brother. When hearing those adjectives he described him with, Daera couldn’t help but to think of her own little brothers; Luke, especially.

-Was it a fever?-. The princess asks with a tender voice, and the lord nodded in silence, sighing through his nose while looking at them. She presses her lips and sides her head, curving her brows to him, ashamed-. I am very sorry-. An honest whisper left her lips.

-Thank you, my princes-. Lord Cregan smiled tinyly at the both of them, truly appreciating their humanity and kindness.

Gulping, Jace shivers by the only thought of losing a sibling. Another one, at that, for Visenya’s stolen life still aches in his heart. He might tear, right here and right now, if he keeps on thinking how would it be to lose another one, any of them. Viserys, Baela, Joffrey, Rhaena, Luke, Aegon, Daera. The threat of war at presence only makes him to fear more.

Taking air through his nose, he eyes his wife, who looks back at him with heavy eyes, thinking of the same.

-We would do anything for them, wouldn’t we?-. Princess Daera asks with softness, turning her eyes from one brown-haired to the other. Jacaerys pressed his lips, looking up to the white sky.

Meanwhile, Lord Cregan fixated his eyes on her, interested in her tone, which is almost grievous, if not entirely. He narrows his eyes, and she shamelessly looks at him with hers, blinkless. Her white curls fall at the sides of her face, which jaw is clenched and lips are closed. Her purple eyes, shiny, look at him as if she was expecting for him to do something.

So, he spoke.

-Why didn’t they come?-. And he stressed the question from before, stressing every word said.

Jacaerys turned his head to look at his wife, serious and decided. She cocked her head to look at him from her height, giving a single blink and briefly lifting her cheeks in a swift smirk of acceptation; it is time.

-Lord Stark, we apologize if the Godswood is not the most appropriate place to tell you this, but it is no secret to you that we came in the behalf of our duty-. Princess Daera speaks with a growing firmness, raising his brows towards him.

-Politics-. Cregan quickly remembers what they’ve said, nodding.

-We flew to the Vale and here, the North, faster than ravens so that you all would hear the news first from our mouths, and not from those of the Usurpers-. Prince Jacaerys declared, crossing his hands, and speaking firmly.

That is when the Lord of the North grows confused. He knitted his brows and parted his lips, looking at the both of them with trouble and interest, not following, but already fearing the worst. And so, the worst came.

-King Viserys is dead-. The former King’s oldest grandson informed, lifting up his chin, and not thinking of the pain the fact causes him. Lord Cregan was left shocked, opening his eyes a little wider than normal, and taking a breath in.

-The Greens have stolen the throne, and Aegon the Usurper sits it-. King Viserys’ oldest niece spoke with coldness and rigidity.

-We have come to ask for your support, and that of your bannermen-. Prince Jacaerys declared.

-So we can bring an end to this fucking treachery-. Princess Daera could not hold her anger any longer, and spoke it plainly.

Clenching his jaw, Lord Cregan Stark stares at the both of them, eyeing their decided factions, taking the new reality in, and then lifting up his chin and gaze.

-Let us talk politics-. The Young Wolf determined, a serious frown stealing across his face.

•••

As of consequence to Princess Rhaenys’ scape from the Greens’ grasp, and the violent manner her dragon broke The Dragonpit’s floors and main grounds employed, the Crown had fetched constructors, stonemasons and builders by the hundred so they’d clean all dust, fix all damage, and glue all tile that had been broken.

And so they are; under a kind sun belonging to past midday, these hard workers take wagons, cements and brooms from one side to another, attending to the sacred structure’s mending and restauration. Most of them turned their heads with curious frowns and sweated noses when noticing House Targaryen bannermen -who carry green flags with the three-headed golden dragon the Greens have taken as mantle- escorting a royal wheelhouse that, surprisingly, stopped right in front of The Dragonpit.

When all the horses and wheels stopped, Helaena peeked through the tiny holes of the carriage, and a great worry stole her frown when she saw where they’ve been brought to; a place where the dead are still being carried away. She briefly shakes her head, confused, and immediately looks at her children, not liking them to be here.

Before she could even speak, Aegon was already taking Jaehaerys in his arms, with a big smile on his face.

-Out we go, boy!-. The King speaks funnily, taking his son’s waist, and lifting him up from his seat. Helaena is quick to reaffirm her daughter in her arms, and to start standing up as well.

A guard from outside opened the doors for them, and so the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; Aegon and Helaena, and their children; princes Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, stepped out of the royal wheelhouse, instantly receiving a harsh breeze that brings the smell of death, rocks and sweat.

-Why have you brought us here?-. Queen Helaena questioned with a scrunched nose and a tired expression. She only hears laughs from her husband and son, who walk ahead of them.

-My heir!-. Smiling, Aegon funnily boops Jaehaerys’ nose, and the boy immediately shrieked and chuckled with fun, trying to hide his face from his father, who carries him with firmness. So rare, it is, to see him this happy, and this little drunk.

-Your Grace…-, kind and with a respectful tone, a guard signs the Queen to keep walking with them.

Her Grace gulped, clutched her girl harder to her chest, and began to walk between the guards and behind her family, looking around with every step she gives. She thinks how ironic, if not cruel, is the fact that the Dragonpit is placed on The Hill of Rhaenys -called as so in honor of one of Aegon the Conqueror’s queens-, which days ago suffered great losses and a disaster by the hand of, as if it was a jest from the gods, princess Rhaenys herself, -cousin to the late King Viserys I, and Lady of Driftmark; The Queen Who Never Was-.

Representing one of King’s Landing more resisting and tall strongholds, the Dragonpit may have had its troubles in these days of late, but let its greatness not be underestimated, for the arena that had been attacked its only one of the many the pit possess; that’s why the King and his family found easy entry to the temple by other gates; not the main ones, nevertheless.

Soon, the four white-haired found themselves walking under a high roof and over harsh sand. King Aegon goes with Jaehaerys in his arms, as Queen Helaena with Jaehaera. Curious and silent, their daughter eyes everything around. Their son, more attentive to his fun, plays with his father’s rings and crown.

-Hello!-. The King’s voice echoes through the arena. At the distance, standing firmly, two dragonkeepers bowed their heads to them, in complete silence. Aegon smiles unquietly, and opens his eyes big, nodding-. You may go on!-. He tilts his head with certain mock, pointing his eyes towards another place.

The dragonkeepers, an older and a younger, bowed their heads once again, and departed some stairs down, as if they went to look for something by order of the King. His Grace laughs, excited, turning all of his attention to his son, once again, after smiling with a scrunched nose to Jaehaera, who hugs her mother clingily.

The children’s mom grew a little calmer since she stepped in the pit, for now she hears and feels Dreamfyre’s heartbeats on her own. Her dragoness nests right under their feet, right now, and knows her rider is here. From the underneath, she grumbled, and Queen Helaena grinned when feeling her feet trembling because of it. None can deny the love the dragon Dreamfyre, previous mount of Rhaena Targaryen, eldest and firstborn child to King Aenys I, holds for the sweet girl Helaena, since this one claimed her in a stormy morning of the seventh moon of a long-gone year, in her childhood.

It took only a few minutes for the dragonkeepers to come back to the arena. This time, there are two more with them, and between the four of them carry two metal incubators; black, delicate and large…and steaming. Helaena parts her lips, with a great great feeling of a fear she could not explain. Is that what she thinks it is?

-Now, I do know I accidentally forgot their first name day-. Aegon pouts and shrugges with little importance, waving a hand in the air while, behind him, the dragonkeepers approach with caution-, but…! It’s their first, they’ll forget it too-. The King shamelessly excused himself, briefly cackling, and giving a touch to Jaehaera’s head; the girl blinks.

Helaena slowly curves her brows, never looking away from the incubator, which the keepers placed in front of them. That thing of metal stands firmly and imponent in front of them.

-However, a gift is ever welcomed…-. Mumbling, His Grace signed the dragonkeepers to the incubators, and they were swift to take both metal lids away. They carefully lift them up, uncovering what’s inside. To look closer, the children and their father did the same mimic; leaning front with open mouth and eyes.

A heavy cloud of steam flourishes all around them, making the arena hotter and drier. The four pair of purple eyes are blessed by the sight of two steaming dragon eggs. The one in the left is of grey dark scales, shining as much as silver, whilst the one of the right is more inclined towards a bronze color; brown and of glittering scales.

-Dreamfyre’s-. A prideful mumble left the King’s lips, forever staring at the dragon eggs. Honestly surprised, Helaena blinked in silence, eyeing the eggs she now knows are her dragon’s-. They shall be placed on their cradles from this night on-. He lifts up his chin with cockiness, and then looks at his children-. You like that, do you not?-. He smiled bigger when he saw Jaehaera staring at him, and raised a hand to caress her cheeks.

Almost unconsciously, the Queen took a step back, forbidding the King’s touch to reach the child. That made the air heavy. Aegon stopped right on his tracks, lifting up his eyes towards his sister-wife, who looks at him with pressed lips and unquietness, never blinking. Like that as well, he sucks his inferior lip, and takes his hand away, placing it under the boy in his arms, who now is silent.

Staring at her, Aegon wonders why she does not seem happy with these handsome gifts for their children. Staring at the eggs instead, Helaena pities them, not knowing what exactly it was, but feeling a catastrophe may befall the dragonlings inside them. They are too innocent.

Helaena takes a hand to her belly, lightly caressing it. When noticing so, Aegon stands stiffer, recalling the fact that she now carries their third child. He gulps, and makes a scrunched brief face, looking around.

-Yeah…-. Uncomfortable, he scratches the back of his neck. She looks at him in silence-. Sorry for that-, he mumbles, vaguely pointing at her belly. Helaena stares at him with cold eyes, nearly wanting to roll them away from him.

The Queen ultimately got to look away from the King, who also bopped his head when they hear some heavy steps approaching. When the siblings turn, they find their younger coming to them.  

-Aemond-. Jaehaerys babbled with a smile, and Aegon’s jaw fell to the floor in disbelief.

As the toddler named, the one coming is prince Aemond Targaryen. With frizzy hair and his eyepatch a little misplaced, he approaches with an interested face and hurriless steps, analyzing the scene while he arrives to it. Four dragonkeepers stand at the distance with metal lids, and a metal incubator holds two steaming dragon eggs the children were staring with awe at before. His siblings, Aegon and Helaena, see him coming.

As soon as he heard his sweet sister had taken leave from the Red Keep with their brother, The King, Aemond made haste to get to them, for he accustoms to never leave Helaena alone with her husband; he never has. It felt only…weird to be doing it without Daera, for she used to join him in these errands concerning Helaena’s safety too. Matters to note, there have obviously been times when Aemond went to his sister’s rescue while his wife was on Dragonstone but, now, in these lonely days…he only thinks of the days he was with her.

-Helaena-, the one-eyed prince calls with hurry and mistrust, side-eyeing his older brother when he got to them.

In those days, Helaena would sigh with relief and step behind her brother, letting him to be her shield and savior. In today and now, she clenched her jaw with nerves, and took a step back, furthering from both brothers this time, and Jaehaera with her. Noticing this, Aemond’s heart ached; he gulped, halting his steps and looking at her almost with scolding, not believing that she insists on keeping this attitude with him since he came back from the Stormlands.

-Do my children- say your name?-. Flabbergasted, Aegon questions with wide eyes and an afflicted throat, looking at the younger with disbelief. Gaining a stiff posture, he side-eyes him.

-Of course they do-. Aemond bragged with seriousness, humble and obvious.

-Since, uh, when?-. Aegon moves a hand in the air, looking for explanations. Helaena, in silence, looks at Jaehaerys, wanting for him to be in her arms as well, where she knows he likes it more.

-Must I truly explain it, brother?-. The prince narrows his eye, almost cocky, clearly implying what His Grace clearly knows; his children spend way more time with their uncle than with he himself, thus, they know his name, and call it with dearness.

-Huh…-. Licking his inferior lip, the King looks away with a sarcastic smile, nodding.

While Aegon does a vague sign to the dragonkeepers, Aemond looks at the dragon eggs in the incubator. His eye shine, he parts his lips, and lifts up his gaze to both Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, bemused.

-They are…?-. The prince whispers, pointing at the eggs. His niece and nephew look back at him, lightly smiling due to listening at his soothing voice, that which reads them to sleep and sometimes hums the song their aunt Daera sings for them.

Curious, Helaena reads his reaction; he’s overwhelmed.

-My kids’ dragons, yes-. Aegon answers with a huff, paying more attention to the dragonkeepers, who are placing the lids back in their place, covering the dragon eggs again.

The Queen, with softer eyes, sees how her brother gulps, and loses his eye in the sand. His mind was lost too, now in the thoughts of the last night he shared with his love, Daera. Back to their island, back to their hut…back to their fire and love.

-So...-Aemond's thin and beautifully shaped lips smirk as his purple eye looks at her-. Are you jealous because the children already say my name, and not yours yet?-. He tauntly asks. 

Daera gasps, beginning to laugh amusedly, as did he too.

-Ahh, you keep taunting me, dear husband. Soon enough, I'll have them singing my name-. She speaks burlesque, placing a playful finger under his chin. He hums lowly, tilting his head with a smile as he stares at her with his eye narrowed-. They'll name their dragons after me-, Daera whispered funnily.

-Ahh, I bet they will-. Aemond sing-songs his words, smiling. She chuckles, scrunching her nose. He did the same as an automatic response, even though it’s not a custom of him, but he just loves it when she makes that face-. Gods, can you imagine? When they have their dragons-, he whispers.

Wanting to cry, the One-Eyed Prince gulps and scratches his own hands, looking away from the eggs when they were covered again. In total silence, his sister eyes him as she would have doubtlessly done before he did what he has. Teary and sad, for a second, she wished to hug him, to borrow him the ears to hear those tales of love and pain he’s clearly reminiscing about.

But Helaena forced herself to look away from him, hardening her expressions again when she despises what he has done…and fears what he will do.

The King, his siblings and his children look as the dragonkeepers escort away the incubator, taking it to their royal wheelhouse, which awaits outside of the Dragonpit.

-Well!-. Aegon rubs his hands, making Jaehaerys bounce on his arms, which made him giggle. Softening his expression, Aemond looks at him and bites a smile back, and then two more, finding the sound of his pure laugh beautiful-. Good meeting-. He raises his brows, suddenly handing the boy to his mother.

Helaena gasped, not hiding her relief nor her smile when her son finally comes back to her. With no problem, she carries the both of them, and the both of them cheered the nearness too, dearly clinging to their mom’s arms and shoulders, which made her to giggle, and to rock them.

King Aegon nods and starts to walk, but his brother’s voice quickly halted his steps.

-Any news from Dragonstone?-. Interested and serious, the One-Eyed asked. His Grace turns around with an easy and almost disinterested face, looking around for some moments while thinking. Aemond wishes to know anything, something that may give him insight of how his wife is doing and, besides that, how their enemy is comporting.

The King shrugs.

-The woman has stayed silent, as she should-. Aegon answered with cockiness, thinking of their half-sister, Rhaenyra. Helaena, only listening to her kids’ babbles and laughs, stays out of the conversation. Aemond, meanwhile, hummed lowly-. As you should be patrolling the skies, brother-. He points, suddenly remembering that he had been dispatched to patrol with Vhagar this morning.

-I come from so, Your Grace-. The prince calmly excused himself, crossing his tense arms behind his back.

Prince Aemond, as though he may stand firmly and look as groomed as always, has a veil of tiredness covering him. There are light bags under his eyes, and his lips are dry. He looks like he needs sleep, though dreams and rest seldom find him these nights, despite how long he may stay in bed.  

-Not enough-. Aegon simply shrugges and shakes his head with looseness. His brother tights his fists, opening his eye wider towards him-. I need your eyes in the skies, Aemond, I don’t want my people to fear-. He speaks with high taunt and sarcasm, employing a fake tone of scolding. The jealousies that lay on his chest, regarding his children’s relationship with their uncle, do not weight light-. Dare I say…your eye?-. He holds a laugh.

Helaena looks up at him, furrowing her brows, while Aemond’s blood starts to boil as much as Vhagar’s breath.

-A jest!-. The King’s laugh makes echo around all the arena-. A jest, brother!-. He funnily sighs, palming Aemond’s stiff back. His inferior lip trembles, full of rage.

The sound of the gates suddenly being pushed opened made the siblings to turn their heads around with wide eyes, while Helaena flinched. Who they find entering, however, is not a menace at all, but their youngest brother, who came in with swiftness and hurry.

-Hide, hide!-. The prince Daeron Targaryen runs, moving his hands in the air, speaking lowly and looking at them warning-like.

The three of them got confused and, before they could understand, seconds after Daeron someone else enters to the Dragonpit, and this is Queen Dowager Alicent, who arrived with read ears, mad wide eyes, and a hasty pace.

-WHAT in the Seven Heavens are you doing in here?!-. Their mother roars with clear angriness, not believing all of her children are gathered in the place where their very lives were forfeited.

-Hells…-, Aegon mumbles and nervously looks around, wanting to escape.

-With them, are you serious?!-. She rages, pointing at her dear grandchildren; all they do is smile and blink. Her Sworn Protector, Ser Criston, runs behind her with the same scowl on his face.

-I tried to warn you-. Defeated, Daeron arrives to them, sighing and shrugging. Helaena welcomed him with a pat on his shoulders, which Aemond stared at with certain envy, clenching his jaw.

-Mother!-. King Aegon open his arms at the sides of his body, forcing a smile. Alicent approaches, steam nearly coming out from her ears-. Criston-, he tilts his head. Cole walks with a tense expression, neither liking for them to be here.

-Do you find it appropriate?! For me to find out on my own that you are here, and having to run down all of Visenya’s Hill?!-. Dowager Queen Alicent reproaches them with no restriction, angry by both the interruption of her prayers, and their recklessness.

-The occasion was special, mother-. Her eldest son answers with a cocky smile, shrugging. Her earrings clink when she moves her head with bemusement, waiting for a proper explanation, though she doubts there is one-. Unfortunately, you arrived too late to see them but…-, he points at his youngest brother, the Dowager Queen and her Sworn Protector.

-Aegon has gifted dragon eggs to the children-. Aemond’s raspy neutral voice answered, with him looking at his mother with a hidden desire for her to look at him; and so, she does. Alicent eyes him for a second, with her lips parted. She closed them, gulped, and looked away. His chest ached.

-Oh, really?!-. Daeron’s face shined with surprise and excitement, opening his eyes wide. Helaena begins to purely smile while looking at him, refreshed by his enthusiasm-. What happy news this noon!-. He cheerfully opens his hands.

-Indeed, brother!-. The King smiles hugely at him.

-Eggs-. Alicent repeats, letting her arms loose at the sides of her body. While Aegon nods with pride, Ser Criston looks at Helaena, who looks back at him. Rocking her children, she tinyly smirked at him, which the knight took as a sign that she’s proud of her kids’ newest acquisition. Growing softer, Cole smiled back at her, lightly nodding his head with approbation. His Queen, on the other side, huffed with disapproval-. For my grandchildren-, she stresses.

-They are to be placed on their cradles-. Queen Helaena repeated her husband’s words with a soft voice, more concentrated in cleaning a string of drool that comes out of Jaehaera’s mouth.

-I don’t like it-. Simple, Alicent is not ashamed of voicing her opinion, which made the King to erase his smile, and the one-eyed to blink with confusion-. As if we need more children toying around with powers they do not understand!-. She heavily spoke, her tone growing harsher when she nailed her wide hazel eyes on her middle son, Aemond.

Everyone stayed silent, uncomfortable, but no one as hurted as the One-Eyed Prince, whose throat got afflicted and whose gaze looked down to his mother with a pain he could scarcely hide. Incredulous, he briefly shakes his head from side to side, not willing to take one more insult from his dear loving mother.

Almost trembling, Aemond turned around from a second to another, and began to walk away from them with stiff and quick steps. Daeron tried to call him, but he only mouths the star of his name, and his breath was then left in the air, hurted for his brother. Helaena curved her brows, following with her gaze his tense walk. Alicent gulps, looking too.

-Aemond-. She harshly names, scratching her neck, and wanting him to come back, but her son pretended to be deaf besides one-eyed, and ordered the guards to open the gates-. Aemond!-. The Dowager Queen insisted, but he did not obey. Instead, he left with no more word, disappearing from their sights.

While his other siblings and Ser Criston seem to pity Aemond, Aegon pouts with his lips, totally disinterested of the present ongoings. Alicent looked at him since the gates were closed again, and only then she allowed herself to show some repentance. After gulping, she looks down, maintaining her strong appearance.

She actually thinks of how when she calls, her son always comes. Is he growing out his customs?

-Alright, enough-. Queen Alicent speaks again, looking at the rest of the children-. Back to The Keep we ought-. She orders, serious, pointing at the doors with her head. Criston eyes her in silence, realizing two buttons of her dress are undone. He gulps, wondering if anyone else has noticed.

-I will go to fly with Dreamfyre now-. Queen Helaena suddenly informed, and even more sudden she handed her kids to her mother, who stutters in shock-. See them safe home, please-. She kindly speaks, while Alicent now carries Jaehaerys and Jaehaera both.

-He-Helaena!-. Wide-eyed, the redheaded reproaches her leaving. Her daughter, however, now heads to the caves of the Dragonpit-. Aemond is to patrol the sky, not you!-. She quickly shakes her head, alerted-. You are with child!-

-Aemond is tired-. Helaena simply answered, not looking at any of them while she walks away. How much it would have lifted up the One-Eyed Prince’s spirits, to know that his sister is, in some way, stepping up for him.

-A “thank you” would be nice!-. From his place, King Aegon snorts, recognizing the children’s mother did not say a single word about the precious gift he has given them. Anxious, Alicent rocks both, seeing how Helaena’s steps slowed down-. I had two dragonkeepers burned to get them from Dreamfyre!-. He brags about his deed, opening his arms at his sides.

Helaena stops, turning her head to look at him with cold easy eyes, and a nervous grip on her own fingers.

-The mother rages, when having her children plucked from her-. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms’ soft speech declared, with gloom and heaviness, almost shame. She, then, stares at her children with loving eyes, reading their beautiful faces for some eternal seconds. Afterwards, she leaves.

A lump grows in Alicent’s throat when her daughter’s words brought Rhaenyra to her mind. She cannot even imagine the kind of agonizing pain her once friend must be going through right now due to the loss of her son. She must be gone to grief and dolor, she knows, and all because of Aemond… her Aemond.

-So…-. Aegon’s voice takes her out of her painful throughs. He smiles awkwardly, standing there. She sighs, turning around to hand Jaehaerys to Ser Criston, who quickly took him in his arms, helping the Queen-. Praying, huh?-. He points at her, trying to look for conversation.

Alicent just tsks her tongue, rolling her eyes and heading the way with wary steps. Her son, Daeron, quickly followed, walking besides her while hugely smiling and waving his hand to Jaehaera. Her Sworn Protector, Ser Criston, joined them too towards the gates, carrying Jaehaerys with a light smile, having the kid playing with his cape.

Her son, Aegon, is left alone, his purple gaze falling to the floor. He touches his crown, which is his only companion right now; we’ll learn to fear that.

•••

The day went on as fastly as a Blackwood brings a matter of dispute with a Bracken.

When it came the sun’s time to sleep, the moon rose in the skies instead, and now she shines above Dragonstone, her rays travelling across the clouds and fog of the island. Its breezes are cold, and its ambient has not changed…that of grief, a somber one.

In one of the towers of the Targaryen castle, the princess Rhaenys has changed to her night clothes. Not minding the cold of outside, the princess stands in the balconies of her room, with both her hands placed on the railing, and her brows somewhat frowned. Her purple eyes stare forward, never blinking.

Between the tides and the clouds, there is not much she can see but, from there, her ears catch a song that she knows too well, for there was a time she was accustomed to it, to hear it every day along Vhagar’s snores; Seasmoke’s song.

The dragon that once belonged to her son, Laenor, has been flying around the island for hours now, restless and unquiet, growling and snarling and roaring. Highly confused, the Lady of Driftmark’s heart beats with pain, wondering as to why her son’s former dragon seems to be driven by madness, suddenly.

Seasmoke has been riderless for years, so…it makes no sense to her.

When she blinked, tears came down from her purple eyes. When she breathed in, her chest and lips trembled. When she breathed out, her shoulders and posture fell. Soon enough, Rhaenys’ forehead ended on the balcony’s railing, resting it on it when she allowed herself to let out the whines and sobs she had been retaining the entire bloody day.

Rhaenys cries from the bottom of her heart, from the rottenest places of her chest and mind, broken. She wants to see her son again, and oh, her brave daughter; how much she misses them both. Every time she blinks, she just sees their faces, and the faces of their children, the only ones who are still by her side.

When she closes her eyes, she feels Laenor kissing her forehead and cheeks before departing to his trainings with Ser Joffrey; the Knight of Kisses, happily singing sailor shanties out loud. When she closes her eyes, she watches Laena combing her hair while walking around Driftmark’s hallways, gossiping with friends and bragging about her flights with Vhagar. When she closes her eyes…she sees Lucerys’ pink cheeks, and his ruffled hair being blown by the breeze while he compliments how much he loves the biscuits she makes.

Rhaenys sobs heavily, hiding her face behind her hands.

Seasmoke sings, but Laenor is gone, and now his son too -at least who he loved his son as-. After all these years, since the boy’s birth, for the first time ever, Laenor and Luke have something in total common…they have both been taken by The Stranger in the cruelest way possible.

And, in another room of Dragonstone, the princess Rhaena suffers too the loss of that boy of dark hair and pink cheeks.

The Chamber of The Painted Table would be completely alone, as it should be at these late hours of night, if it weren’t for Rhaena. The girl is seated on the mere floor, not minding its coldness nor its harshness; her feelings are worse than them, to be sure.

The young princess sits right in front of the lighted fireplace. Exhausted purple eyes stare at it with misery and no grace; her lips are chapped and parted, barely taking brief breaths in while she endlessly looks at the fire. Her back is slouched, and between her hands she holds a thick old book; hers and Luke’s favorite.

It is impossible to know for certain how many times they’ve read those Valyrian histories, right by this fire, or by his room’s. They shared endless nights reading to Joffrey, as much as when he was a babe as to just some nights ago. They read it to Aegon and Viserys too. They would read it alone, and then they would speak about it. They would stare into each other’s eyes…so purely.

Rhaena’s lips tremble while she looks down at the book in the middle of her salty tears. She caresses the hard cover with her cold fingers, sobbing, thinking of him and only him. She felt it from the start; Lucerys should have not flown from Dragonstone that day, away from her, nor any day of his life. She should have fought harder for him to stay, but she didn’t.

And now Luke is gone.

After a broken sob of her made echo, she opened her eyes when feeling someone taking seat at her sides. By her left, she finds Joffrey, and by her right, she finds Baela. The two of them carry tears in their eyes too, and stare at the fire with the same grief and heaviness as her, tired.

Rhaena weakly whines, placing a hand on Joff’s hair and pulling her to him. Her brother leaned his head on her arm, hugging himself to it, and wetting her sleeve with his tears. With the other hand, Rhaena took Baela’s, and she gripped her fingers in the middle of a sob, nodding to her. The sisters stare at each other whilst they cry.

-Aegon and…and Viserys would not stop crying-. The older sister speaks with a thin voice, briefly raising her brows. Rhaena gulps heavily, thinking of her dear baby brothers.

-…How could any of us?-. She whispers with pain, furrowing her brows.

Baela turns to the fire, gulping tightly. Sad and down, Joffrey looks at her, and sees how her jaw got clenched, and her tears shinier.

-It was mother’s dragon-. Baela pointed out in a sour whisper-. We let him take her, and look what happened-. The princess hisses with poison, thinking about The One-Eyed Prince, and the imminent hate he has from her, and all of her family.

While Baela curses Aemond’s name, Rhaena instead curses herself, and blames her too, for she can only think about how different things would be if she had at least a half of the bravery her father and sisters have; she would have claimed Vhagar, years ago, and none of this misery would be taking place at all.

-Where is mommy?-. A thin worried murmur left Joffrey’s lips. He looks at both his sister, and they look at him with parted lips and opened eyes, not even thinking about telling him the truth; that Rhaenyra sullies her wellbeing by being all alone and cold in the Stormlands, looking for their brother with screams, thunders and pain.

-She is…dealing with this in her own way, Joff-. Rhaena answered, as softly as possible, caressing the boy’s brown mane. Her sister nods quickly, backing her answer.

With a sad pout in his lips, Joffrey looked down, and his eyes fell on the fire in front of them. He misses her mother, and everyone else that, for some reason or another, neither are here with them.

-And Jace and Daera too?-. All innocent, he questions in the middle of a sob, looking up at his sisters again, whose eyes shined with sadness and surprise-. I miss them!-. The boy shrieks, hiding his face on Rhaena’s arm, hugging it tightly.

Rhaena closes her eyes with pain, and leans to hug the boy, consoling him the best she can. Baela, meanwhile, grows restless.

-Daera and Jace-, she names in a whisper, shaking her head. The princess gulps, afflicting her throat with despair while looking at them-. They need to know!-. She cries, curving her brows.

Their older siblings, being this far away, are detached from everything going on in the Crownlands; are they lucky for still not knowing? Or are they to be stricken the worst by this sudden news, with no proper notice? Of one thing Baela is sure and correct; they do need to know.

The echo of her words traveled around all of The Chamber of the Painted Table and, unbeknownst to all of them, Prince Daemon hides in one of the staircases of the room. With clenched jaw and fists, he has tears on his raged eyes and red on his cheeks. In one ear, he listens to Baela, Rhaena and Joffrey’s crying, in the other he listens to Aegon and Viserys’. In his mind, he listens to Rhaenyra’s.

The Rogue Prince clenches his teeth, and within a second, he leaves the room completely, his raged steps heading him to the office of Maester Gerardys. Daemon sobs and then growls, slashing away the tears that boiled on his face due to his hot blood.

They need to know.

•••

[murmel-malt]

a few concepts for Hedaera's wardrobe, including a maternity and travel/outdoors-y fit

[bl00dlight]

Ghostly Flame

Aemond Targaryen x OC sister x Alys Rivers {NSFW}

Warnings ● Carpet munching, graphic language, general smut, FxF, age gap, targcest, dubious consent, drugging?, not proof read

Word count ● 3k+

Author's Note • This was meant to be a one shot. Now it's a two parter. This actually has a plot. I dont write smut without a plot and the x reader is so overdone atm. So ive written up an OC. This part is some serious lesbo action. Happy pride to all my homo milf lovers. This one is for you.

Masterlist

Part I

The halls of Harrenhal were no place for a Targaryen. Somber and damp... shadows cast by no flame engulfed the walls. It was an odd place, a cursed place. 

As the great Targaryen civil war raged on, Prince Aemond Targaryen had seized Harrenhal for himself after his uncle, Daemon Targaryen fled it. There, Prince Aemond enacted his plan of destruction upon the Riverlands. Burning all, innocent or otherwise, loyal or traitorous. Indeed, Prince Aemond did not discriminate for who would meet the fires of Vhagar. 

However, none met his wrath quite like the House Strong. For Aemond slaughtered all Strong Bastards and Strong nobles he might come across. Leading to the House facing extinction. No man, woman or child seemed to escape the Targaryen Prince's wrath... but one... a bastard woman by the name of Alys Rivers. 

A witch, whom he took as his war prize. A bedmate to distract him during the cold and clawing nights in Harrenhal. The Prince swore he heard the screams and cries of those he had slain. Though he dare not admit it, it unnerved him. Alys' talents in apothecary came most useful to him, for she oft brewed him tonics to ease such tension he claimed was from war. 

Though he had found other measures in which to use the woman for, when it came to matters of easing tension. Alys was a woman of many talents indeed.  The Prince could seldom admit to himself the bastard had grown on him, something he kept hidden within his heart.

Just as his younger sister was, tucked away in Harrenhal's stoney depths. The Princess Daera was a delicate thing, much like her sister Helaena; unaware of the evils that dwelled around her. Unaware of the depths of depravity and violence her own brother held buried within him. Or so Aemond thought. 

After Rhaneyra had taken back King's Landing, the Princess Daera had managed to escape her half-sister’s capture. Being aided by a Kingsguard to flee the capital and join her brother Aemond as he campaigned through the Riverlands. 

They had settled in Harrenhal for several weeks now, and Daera had spent most of her time dwelling it's cursed halls. At times sitting in the Godswood with the raven haired bastard Alys Rivers. 

Daera found it strange how the woman had taken to her. Sometimes insisting on helping her bathe and dress. The bastard claimed it was her nature as a wetnurse, and was in servitude to Prince Aemond and the Princess. That it pleased her to tend to Daera. 

Though it was apparent how Alys unnerved Daera at times, finding her staring intently. Her green eyes locked upon the Princess's soft form. 

Similarly to Aemond, Princess Daera oft took the tonics Alys left for her, since her arrival at Harrenhal also came with paralyzing nightmares. Tormenting the princess with strange and devastating visions. Visions of her family's death... of Aemond's death. 

Some of which leaked into her waking moments. Daera had oft found herself coming to Aemond in the dead of night, frozen with terror as she had heard disembodied voices calling for her... yearning for her. 

●

Princess Daera sat in her chamber, it was a far cry from her former one in the Red Keep. The walls stoney, grey and the bedding always cold and lumpy. Only the fire provided the much needed light which seemed to get lost amidst the shadowy landscape of Harrenhal. 

She rose, making her way to her bed. The hour was rather early considering, but there was little else to do once it darkened outside. And it was a great comfort for Daera to hear the bustling of people still awake. Far better that the void of silence the castle was known for. 

The soft howling of the wind echoed through the halls outside, and Daera tried her best to ignore the frightful noise. This place... chilled her bones like no other. 

Daera turned her head, looking out the thin windows etched into the stone. Gazing upon the moonlit landscape of the Riverlands; all burnt to a cinder now. No doubt her brother’s doing. 

As she came to her bed, she sat and saw the tonic Alys had left, neatly placed upon the side table. Daera brought it to her lips, drinking it squarely and she prepared herself for the familiar wince that would follow as the bitter herbs hit her tongue. But it did not come. 

It tasted different... sweet? 

A warmth filled her bones, an ease. Mayhap Alys had found a new recipe, one which was more effective? As the princess laid down, her hair pooled like a river behind her. She shut her eyes, drawing the covers over her frame. The feeling spread from her chest to her toes. Easing her, mellowing her temper. She stretched, indulging in the bliss of it, like a cat in the sun she could feel herself go mindless to its heady comfort. The world around her felt softer, kinder. Even the lumpy bedding. With that, Daera drifted off and the Princess's dreams were as strange as they always were. Though less terrifying admittedly. 

She dreamt of her chambers and its strange silence. Of herself, sleeping. In the dream the Princess opened her eyes, awakening to the dark, stoney chambers. The fire dimmed and the world around her cast in a strange fog. 

Outside, the wind wailed softly and she came to the window, gazing upon the scorched earth lit by the pale light of the moon. It was an odd sight. Such beauty, forever scarred by flame. What irony that the Riverlands were now dry. 

Suddenly, she felt a familiar chill run through her bones. The same chill she oft has in his nightmares. Her eyes widened, and Daera remained still until her attention was drawn by a voice which beckoned from the halls. 

Daera turned, tilting her head as she walked slowly towards the doors. Her pale nightgown and robe trailing. Her heart thumped slowly, though the voices grew, she did not fear them for some reason... 

As her hand came to the cool doorknob, Daera turned them slowly, carefully pulling the heavy wood. What she faced was nil but an empty hall. Shadowy, lit only by the strands of moonlight which casted a fractured glow upon the stone. Daera stood back, a trickle of fear running through her as the halls themselves felt like a looming force not to be disturbed. 

But the voices grew again, beckoning her. The Princess couldn't quite make out what they were saying, some in fact seemed to not be speaking in the common tongue at all. But they were soft, luring. 

Daera followed them, slowly moving through the halls in a daze. Her body coursing now with that familiar warmth from earlier. If she wasn't sure she was already dreaming, she could've sworn she might fall asleep.

She made her way through the dark, half unknowingly. It seemed the world around her melted into the shadows. The only confirmation Daera had she was moving forward were the peaks of light from the thin windows. The dark had engulfed her completely. It seemed the halls were but a maze she had no sense of navigation for, but as she came across two large doors, a strange feeling bloomed within her. That this was where the voices were leading her too. 

Daera opened the door, her eyes heavy as they set upon the familiar sight. Though it was dark, only lit by a few small candles and a dying fire. The chamber was streaked by the moonlight illuminating a sight she had seen many times. Aemond's bed. Somehow, it seemed she ended up in his quarters here in Harrenhal. 

Despite having walked what she thought was the opposed way. 

She entered, closing the door behind her and when she turned again, she was met with pale skin, raven hair splayed out upon Aemond's bed. Alys. 

Daera stopped, her eyes opening as she came to see how the woman lay bare. Her sharp face peering up at the princess, and giving her a warm smile. 

Alys moved, sitting up slowly and Daera turned her head; a coil of embarrassment within her that she would walk in upon Alys in such a state. 

But the bastard only gazed, her green eyes leering over Daera's curves. The two women said nothing, before Daera felt the sudden urge to turn to face Alys. 

At first she wished to cringe, but as her eyes scanned the bare and pale flesh of the woman before her, that warmth grew. 

Daera found herself taking in Alys' breasts, her hips and thighs. The silvery ripples of stretched skin upon her belly, contrasted with her raven hair - thick like a belt of the night sky. 

The Princess moved closer and closer until she stood before the witch. Alys sat neatly upon the edge of the bed gazing upwards. Daera's eyes grew wide, both with desire and shame. 

It was a forbidden temptation to indulge in, an act which would tarnish Daera forever; even if it was just a dream, even if it was the conjurings of her mind... to know such desires lay within her was enough. 

Daera stepped back, uncertain - just as she did the pale and harsh grip of Alys snatched her wrist. The witch tugged her closer until her legs were pinned between the sitting Alys.

"Where are you going... surely you wish to stay." Her voice had curled, a thick sultry husk as she glanced up at the Princess. 

Daera felt herself shake slightly, her mind reeling at the thought of it all. But she nodded, sparking a smile from Alys. 

"Good..." Alys murmured. "Sit yourself here...." She gently patted the edge of the bed, a gesture which seemed less of a request and more a demand.

Daera sat quietly, the warmth spreading through her as she took a peak at the pale and soft bare flesh of Alys beside her. The Princess squeezed her thighs together to stifle whatever feeling dwelled between them. 

The witch snickered, moved closer before she let her hand slide upon Daera's clothed thigh. Alys leaned in, her lips grazing her ear, "I can smell such shame... and such desire..." Her voice but a whisper. 

Daera froze, her eyes watching as Alys hand slid between her clothed thighs. 

"All this cloth you wear, it is such a hindrance. Surely it does no good for you to adorn something so... restrictive." The witch whispered once more, feeling the layers or fabric which hid Daera's skin. 

"Modesty is a virtue for women..." Daera spoke softly, shakily. Though the conviction in her voice weak. 

Alys tutted and scoffed, "Mm... is that what the Dowager Queen taught you? That you are but a vessel to be adorned by the virtues men bestowed upon us? You are a dragon... my girl." The witch let her pale hands come to Daera's robe, peeling it off her. 

Alys discarded the robe to the floor and Daera let her. The Princess caught in a daze of uncertainty and desire. The warmth spread through her core at the mere suggestion of what the bastard woman claimed. 

The princess felt cool lips at her neck, kissing and siphoning at her skin, as hands worked to rid her of her nightgown. Daera let out a shuddered breath. 

"Indeed, I've much to show you Princess. Just as I have the Prince..." Alys spoke lowly, raising her brow as she revealed Daera's form before her. Her small clothes still sitting over her pelvis. 

The princess turned her head, catching the green eyes of Alys. A chill ran down her spine at the mention of her brother. They were in his bed... doing such sinful things. Exactly where the witch had surely gotten her brother to do the same. 

Daera tilted her head, her eyes pleading as Alys had grabbed her chin, pulling it so their faces met. The witch's fingers then grazed over Daera's plush lips as she whispered.

"Such pretty lips... gone unkissed.." Alys inched forward, cupping Daera's jaw. Suddenly their lips met in a slow, languid kiss. Daera found herself slightly shocked by the sensation. It was... wetter than she had expected. 

The princess leaned in, as that warmth spread through her. She kissed Alys back, winning a small moan from the woman. Alys grinned, feeling a sense of victory dawn over her as she reached between the Princess's legs, grazing the warmth of her clothed core. 

Instantly the sensation sent Daera reeling, she found herself turning, kneeling upon the bed as Alys did the same. The Princess let her hands come to Alys' hair, trailing down until she reached the soft peaks of her breasts. 

It was swiftly that Alys' herself moved her lips to Daera's neck, trailing down until she reached the Princess' plush breast. Her lips wrapped around the pink bud which adorned one, sucking softly. 

Daera tilted her head back, her eyes wide and she found her hips moving equally upon Alys' hand as it rubbed against her clothed core. It was so wrong, so utterly unthinkable that she dare let her brother's bedmate touch her. 

Yet Alys muttered against Daera's breast, her hands now finding the band of the small clothes which covered the Princess' core. "Such a desirous girl..." 

Suddenly, Alys forced Daera to lay flat upon the bed. The witch hovered above her, pulling the small clothes from the Princess' form. 

Daera looked upon Alys in a complete daze, the warmth which flooded through her blood had rendered her useless to any protest. And she watched as Alys slid down, pulling Daera forward until her legs dangled over the edge of the bed. 

The bastard pulled herself to kneel directly in front of Daera. Her head was now level with the princess' thighs, and as she looked up at her knowingly, a maligned smirk played on her face. As the small clothes fell to the floor Alys' hands began to crawl up the princess' thighs, trailing upwards, like spiders upon white silk. 

The witch sat up, her own thighs pressing into the bedding as she gazed up at Daera. Her fingers found purchase on the princess' upper thighs gripping and then parting them. Daera gasped, squirming as she watched the witch claw towards her, her head settled between Daera's open thighs. 

"There we are..." Alys purred, as she pressed her face against the Princess's flesh, kissing her lightly, taking in her scent. The witch muttered once more, "Sweet... like moonbloom." 

Alys took her time, kissing and nipping at the soft skin of her legs.  The witch's hands gripping and stroking Daera's flesh. 

"Have you ever had someone before, princess?" she asked, her breath warm like a summer evening.

Daera looked down, her brows furrowed in surrender. Her core aching and wet, she had never felt she desire before, never felt such need demand it be tended to. The Princess whispered, "No..." 

"Mm, as I thought, a flower left to wilt." The witch let her lips move upwards, trailing towards Daera's core, she spoke once more, "How lucky I am to be... to taste not just a dragon, but a maiden too. Lovely..." 

Alys placed a kiss upon the princess' core, though feather light, was but enough to make Daera's body shudder. 

The witch chuckled, her breath hot against Daera's slick folds, "Sensitive..." she murmured, a smirk upon her lips.

And just like that, Alys used  her hands to spread the princess' legs further, swiftly clasping her mouth upon Daera's cunt. 

The witch's tongue began to move, swirling as a serpent against the sensitive skin. She lapped up Daera's wetness and the princess was all but awe struck by the feeling. She parted her legs further, her hands coming to Alys' black locks, tugging at them. 

Her head falling backwards in bliss, mouth hung as a soft whimper left her. The feeling of Alys' tongue upon her felt like fire shredding through her skin, Daera moved her hips slightly chasing the intensity. 

As the princess' head dropped back Alys let her gaze wander upwards, enjoying the sight of the girl unleashed. Such a demure temperament Daera seemed to embody, seemed all but lost as the Princess groaned. Alys felt satisfaction coil in her, to have the silver haired girl brought to a whorish state only fueled the witch's ministrations.

She pulled back for a moment and muttered, placing teasing kisses upon the wet cunt before her, "Does it feel good, sweet dragon? To feel my mouth where no man has laid claim to you before?" Alys' voice like a siren song. 

The teasing kisses and soft tone of the witch made Daera whimper once more, she nodded. Her voice trembling, "Yes... my Lady.." 

Alys chuckled, enjoying hearing the princess call her 'lady'. The sight was one which was most wanton, the two women in such a vulnerable embrace, indulging in desires that would surely see them hung. Though a strange flicker of affection coiled within Alys. Unlike her brother, Daera was easier, sweeter. She was not used to such control, for usually she was the one to lay below a dragon. Aemond was rarely tender in his touch, at times it had seemed he merely wished to relinquish himself of something than indulge as Daera seemed to. 

Indeed, Daera seemed desperate for it, longing to be touched so tenderly. It was only a few times Alys had managed to encounter such need from Aemond. To have him laying in her arms, wrapped in an embrace. Though he oft acted above such affections after they took place. 

Alys tilted her head and spoke cooingly, "Such a pretty thing you are...such pretty sounds you make." With that, her tongue curled, finding the sweet, pulsing core of the princess once more.

Her hands gripped and pulled Daera closer, until she was all but pressed flush against the witch's face. Alys moaned at the sensation of her own cunt flooding with desire. 

Quickly, Daera felt the intensity building. She moaned, her head tilting further back as her back arched into the feeling. What a dream this was, what heavenly visions her mind had created. The pleasure so intense Daera hadn't noticed the sly sound of an open door. The slow, heavy footsteps of boots upon the creeking floor. 

A lonesome eye narrowing upon the scene. Raven hair buried between pale thighs. Silver hair catching in the thread of moonlight upon his bed. His paramour's lips upon his sister's cunt. 

It was no dream at all. 

○Part II○

[sixbillicnsouls]

Hearing the words 'I died' made his stomach turn. He knew it was true; he was staring at her ghost before him. He remembered the news of each loss. The worst was when his mother received the sapphire ring; she was now alone in the world. He remembered her wails echoed throughout Runestone for what felt like a century. "I am glad that you find some semblance of safety in here." He said gently.

"Daera and Helenus." He grinned. "And then Aemerys is the youngest. He's named for you and Aemond. He's a lot like him. A copy of father in his looks though." His big family made him happy. He had lost so much but gained a lot as well. They had someone who loved them and protected them unconditionally. His mother finally knew peace again thanks to his father. More than peace, it seemed he had completely brought back her smile and taught her true happiness. He'd be forever grateful for that. "She talks about you a lot.. My mother. My siblings did not have the privilege I had to be adored by you, so she tells them stories."

His brow furrowed slightly but he knew better than to push a Targaryen woman. He stood with her and moved over to the drawers. "You would be alright with that?" He asked. He had very little of his family; history declared them the wrong side of the war and seemed hellbent on erasing them. He still had his cloak from when he was a boy she had made him, he hoped to one day give it to his own son should he have any. "It would be a shame." He sighed. He was much too young when his cousin Lucerys had died and he hadn't known him, he didn't understand and even now his own personal judgement could be clouded. The death of a child was tragic but Aerys put his family on a pedestal, his Uncle Aemond included.

"They say I haunt it. Truthfully I just live here it is where I feel most comfortable. I died in my room so I do not like to dwell there but this feels safe." Rhaenerys explains with a smile. She feels Aemond here even if she could not see him. She wishes she could see him she wonders where he is and how he's doing. She wants nothing more than to be with him to hold onto him. She misses him dearly and hates being along here without him. She just wants her love back.

She tries to not focus on that and instead listens to her nephew but it only makes her heart ache more. "Twins? That is no surprise the family has a history of multiples. What are their names?" She asks with a smile. She's trying to stay focused on the task at hand but her mind is starting to get distracted again as she thinks of her own baby. It would have been a girl she thinks and they would have named her Visenya it was only fair since Aemond rode Vhagar.

She realizes her hand is abasently over her flat stomach before she realizes what she's doing. No she's not explaining that to him that's not happening. Instead she moves her hands to her thighs to help lift herself to stand again. "Before you do- most of your Uncles things remain clean and untouched. His favorite cloak- the one I made for him for our nameday is in one of the drawers. Perhaps you could have it you look about his height." She gets up and heads over to the drawers trying to remember which it is in. "Frankly you should take anything you wish- they will throw it all away in a few years time. I sewed most everything he wore myself it would be a shame to waste such hard work just because he killed a Strong bastard."

[myfandomprompts]

To Risk It All | Chapter 4

Summary: Daera meet Princess Helaena, and is properly introduced to her betrothed.

Warnings: None. | Previous part - Masterlist

In the midst of her family and the Queen's machinations, Daera has at least been allowed to fly home to attend her father's funeral in the following days. Her mother had argued with fear in her eyes when she understood that she would be forced back on Driftmark with her children until the marriage pact would be forwarded, and in the end, had insisted upon Daera and Daemion flying there in a few days instead of sailing with her. Daera did not understand her fear, but she was set on discovering what had her mother make her and her sibling stay away from Driftmark.

Lady Elinda had boarded in the morning, and Daera was left unable to escape the Queen's proposition as she had come to her later in the afternoon. "It is long past due that you meet my daughter. You are the same age, and you both ride dragons.”

So there she was, in Princess Helaena’s chambers for tea time, one of her ladies-in-waiting knitting next to the balcony while the midwives played with the royal twins, cute silver-haired heads surrounded by dragon-shaped toys. Seated on the comfortable couch, Helaena was barely looking at her, as if afraid to meet her eyes as she bounced her third child, Maelor, on her knee. Only when Daera had found the courage to mention the beauty of her canvas on which a caterpillar shone black and red had the Princess lifted her head and broke the babbling silence.

After a few courtesies exchanged, however, the conversation turned unexpectedly heavier. "Why don’t they let you grieve?"

The words made Daera stop the hand that reached for cake in mid-air as she glanced back at Helaena’s curious expression, surprised. On this day, Daera wore the darkest gown her mother had brought back for her, of marine fabric so deep it could have easily been taken for black with only some silver threads that showed at the hem of the neckline.

"That is… A very pertinent question, Princess. One I have no answer to, in truth. I lost my father a few days ago and now I am to marry away from my home. It seemed like time had shortened considerably."

Helaena lowered her head as Daera darkly laughed and nodded once, her lips drawn in a thin line. "Time is sometimes blurry as well as it is short. It melts together in one big ball of wool, intertwined," the Princess stated softly, taking Maelor's tiny hand as she gave you a shrug. "But you should be able to be left alone in your sorrow, in the least. Time has not granted you that yet.”

"No, it hasn't…" Daera replied, displaying a genuine smile on her face at the Princess’ sympathy. For the first time since she had arrived in King’s Landing, she suddenly felt understood. "And I fear that it will not repair my family's misfortune."

Helaena said nothing back as they settled again in a not so uncomfortable silence, only the sounds of children and playing coming to add to their eating. When Daera was about to pour herself another cup of tea, she saw the Princess’ eyes suddenly brighten up as she looked at something behind her shoulders.

Daera turned to meet the icy gaze of Aemond Targaryen, standing at the threshold, like frozen in place. She saw the moment he noticed her as she stared back at him, his lips closing in reaction before glancing around the room as if he hadn’t expected to find the place this crowded. "I'll… come back later, sister."

"No!" Helanea exclaimed, and it was the first time Daera heard her voice louder than a whisper, almost joyful. "You have barely been around since father's dinner. Come, please." 

Aemond did not move at once, rather standing awkwardly at the entrance and staring back at her sister like she was asking for the impossible. Daera was almost convinced that he would refuse and depart, but Maelor had crept on the floor without their notice and was making his way to his uncle, babbling. When he reached Aemond's feet, extending his tiny hands to him, the Prince was forced to look down as he grabbed his boots, raising his bright eyes to him. She pondered whether or not Aemond would recoil or just turn back and leave, but what he did surprised her.

He lowered himself to Maelor before scooping him into his arms with ease, eliciting a giggle from the latter as he did so and came to sit on the chair closer to the door, far from his sister, far from her.

Maelor seemed happy, sitting comfortably on his uncle’s lap as Aemond held on his waist, a smile not quite reaching his eye as he observed his nephew that started playing with the length of his hair.

It was odd, soft, even, seeing the Prince in this position. It seemed so natural, so familiar for him that Daera felt something in her tense and softener at the same time. He looked so comfortable, casually leaning in the chair watching his nephew with a peaceful eye, a version of him she had not yet seen. It made her wonder how often he came here to spend time with them, how close he was with children, and if Aegon gave them the same attention as his brother did. 

She remembered that she was staring when Helaena's voice came again.

"How is Cyrenna?" she inquired lightly at her brother.

"Fine," he plainly answered, demeanour still coldly composed while Daera noted the name in a corner of her mind.

"Did you tell her yet?" Helaena asked next, grabbing the canvas at her side to play with it.

The man in question turned her head to her, careful to not cross Daera's eyes that stood in his vision to his sibling. "Tell her what, sister?" 

"That the knife was hers?"

Both him and Daera looked at her, confusion much more prominent on Daera's face, and the Princess only stared back at them like she had said the most obvious thing in the world.

"The knife?" repeated Aemond softly.

"Yes. If it was hers, it would surely make her accountable, would it not?"

Daera chose to appear unconcerned by the very odd conversation happening and proceeded to feign interest in the toy Maelor was currently hitting the Prince’s chest with. The latter did not seem as confused as she was, but the slight movement of his brow over his eye told her that he was as clueless.

"Yes. Yes you are right," he finally indulged, careful. “ I will tell her next time I see her."

Daera looked back at the cup on her lap when she felt Aemond’s gaze on her, trying to hide her embarrassment. She wondered when she had ever been in such an odd situation before.

Helaena simply nodded in contentment, resuming to examine her canvas dreamily  while Aemond returned his gaze on Maelor who had started to reach for the leather strap that covered his forehead. Daera dared to observe them as Aemond spoke a soft ‘No’ when the infant came close to completely lift up the patch that covered his eyes and Daera found herself craving to see what was under it. 

How had it healed since she had seen it wide open in the Hall of the Nine? The scar on his cheek and forehead had healed beautifully she had to admit, giving a fierceness to his features that certainly suited him but it was nothing next to the appearance of the eye patch he wore. Would there be a gap there? Would it still be tightly sewn together, the skin fixed and repaired? Or something else entirely she could not picture in her feeble mind? 

From where she sat she could only see his profile, the shape of his nose and jaw, sharp against the light that came from the windows, his hair glowing softly as he leaned in order to reach for the toy Maelor had just dropped. Once in the child’s hand, Helaena glanced at it and her eyes seemed to lighten.

“I always wondered how come you had claimed your dragon, Lady Velaryon,” she asked with knitted brows, curious. “It is always such wonderful stories to tell!”

She looked so much happier in her brother's presence.

Daera pursed her lips before answering. “Oh, I don’t truly remember… I just recall entering Dragonmount and… Seasmoke was there. We’ve never been apart since then,” she ended with a small smile.

Helaena looked disappointed. “Oh, this is such a shame. We all remember our claimings, I think,” she said pensively before looking at her brother. “You do remember Aemond, do you not?”

He gave his sister the briefest of glances before looking back at Maelor, his body tensing up inexplicably. But his voice was still enticingly composed. “Of course I remember.”

Helaena made a satisfying gesture before keeping on. “It was instinct, wasn’t it? What led you to Vhagar? This is what you told me if I recall correctly. Or was it destiny? It’s been so long.”

Aemond hummed, as if set on expressing how uninterested he was for the current conversation but answered nonetheless. “Something like that, yes.”

It drew Daera’s full attention, and as something in her memory stirred she heard the words out of her mouth before she could even think twice. “Instinct, was it? How peculiar.”

He snapped his head at her, his no longer peaceful eye locking with hers again, penetrating. Daera felt her spine go rigid as she held his gaze, unwilling to let go as she chose to assume her words, although not entirely sure what she would gain from them. She felt as if he was going to scold her for having contradicted him, his warning from the library still fresh in her mind and stuck beneath her skin.

But he kept his eye fixated on her as he spoke with the same soft tone he had used for his sister. “Yes, peculiar indeed.”

The silence between them seemed to stretch and even Maelor came to a stop in order to observe his uncle and Daera’s silent interaction, disappointed that the former was not paying attention to him anymore. Helaena did notice as well and made quick work of defusing the tension, making Daera draw a sharp breath when she heard her voice. 

“I remember Aegon dragging me in the Dragonpit to show me Sunfyre and seeing Dreamfyre come to me on her own. It was a nice feeling, it was as if she was speaking to me, greeting me into her lair.”

Daera had escaped Aemond’s eye and was now smiling at Helaena. “It is a sweet story, Princess. I have heard of Dreamfyre’s beauty but I didn’t have a chance to take a look at her when I came with Seasmoke.”

She could still feel the single violet eye on the back of her neck.

“Oh, she is wonderful,” she blissfully answered, eyes beaming. “You should see her when- where are you going?”

Aemond had put Maelor back on the ground with care and was now standing up, straightening his tunic with his body turned towards the door. He took care in ignoring Daera completely as he kissed the top of Maelor’s head.

“I have matters to attend to. I will see you later, sister, I promise.”

He was out of the room as fast as the wind, leaving poor Maelor to look at the door where his uncle had disappeared and Daera had no time to stand up to bow. She was left to her thoughts, memories of Driftmark she had tried to forget becoming clearer in her mind, coming back like a vivid dream, spurred by the man that had just left the room.

When Helaena proposed a game of dice, Daera considered refusing politely, already craving the loneliness of her chambers, but she had no time to when the Queen entered the room with determination.

“Lady Velaryon!” she exclaimed as a knight that followed her like her shadow stood by the door behind her. “I am afraid that I came to steal you from my daughter’s company. I don’t believe you’ve properly met with your betrothed yet?”

“I believe they did, mother. They’ve talked as much as the mantis has legs.” 

Alicent quirked an eyebrow at her daughter before looking back at Daera, standing in front of her, mouth open. “Four times? Is this true?”

Daera had no time to think of the mantis’s numbers of legs as she tried to muster a response. “I actually met him once, your Grace.”

She tried not to be too condescending as you corrected the Princess’ strange calculation and waited for the Queen to react.

“Well, this is not enough, is it? I have talked with your Lady mother before she left and gained her blessing to organise a proper meeting. I know this is quite sudden for you,” she said, taking several steps towards her. “I only want you to feel at home already.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” she replied, silently cursing her mother in her mind. 

“Then, come. I think it is great time for you to spend time with Tyland Lannister.”

Daera gave a sharp nod before saying goodbye to Helaena and followed the Queen and the Knight outside.

It was a good day, and Daera knew that the weather would not matter anymore. She would spend the rest of the day in silent agony.

"What an odd match, don't you think?" said Aegon as he trotted towards his brother standing over the rampart.

Aemond had spent the end of the day in thoughts, dreams of a windy night and of his first flight, violet eyes staring back at him until one of his own had been taken.

She just always seemed to be in his way.

"What is?" came his annoyed response, still staring at the sea in front of him, arms behind his back.

"The Velaryon girl and Lord Tyland! I have a hard time picturing it, I must admit," Aegon stated as he leaned over the wall, gazing at a ship that sailed away below him. 

Aemond was now looking at him with a slight interest. "What are you on about, speak clearly."

"The betrothal! Between Lady Velaryon and Tyland Lannister," he exclaimed with his arms in the air, "I'm surprised you do not know of it, you are usually the first to learn of these things, brother." 

Aemond felt his teeth inexplicably grind together, and he reported his gaze on the sea. “Maybe it is because I do not care, brother. "

"Very well, very well," Aegon conceded, searching around for a servant to bring him a cup of wine. "Although I do not picture it, I can see why they would make a good match. The two wealthiest Houses in the realm bonding in marriage… The master of ships with the House that possesses the biggest fleet of the Seven Kingdom… Add this to the Lannister’s and you get a powerful army."

"Except that she does not own the Velaryon fleet," spoke Aemond, trying to chase the picture of a married Tyland Lannister off his mind, something quite amiss. “Nor does she have a claim to it.”

"But her brother does," Aegon continued, like pointing out something obvious. "When Corlys will have died of his wounds and the boy will be of age of course… But still, from where I am standing, it seems like a good bargain. A very good one.”

Aemond let slide the unstable logic of his brother while thinking about Daera and the conversation he had overheard with her mother a few days prior. He unconsciously reached for the ring in his pocket.

"The silent two might procreate until then, setting Daemion aside on the succession line.”

Aegon did not answer at once, instead looking at a passing bird in musing. "Hm… procreate. I wonder what tiny Tylands would look like. It is said that they shit gold."

"Have you nothing better to do than come here and be a nuisance, brother?"

"No but really. Do you think their offspring will be dragon riders?" he kept on, ignoring him. Then he let a moment pass in which Aemond heavily sighed and Aegon visibly shivered. “Brrr, lions on dragons, a Lannister. That would be an awful sight to see."

Aegon mimicked vomiting and Aemond clicked his tongue, not liking his brother's outer monologue at all. He kept his unwavering gaze on the horizon, waiting. "Dragons should stay in the Targaryen family. There is no point in having the whole realm claim one." 

"Uh-huh. Although the Velaryon girl is not a 'true' Targaryen is she? Wonder how that happened…” he thought out loud, turning to lean his back against the railing, reporting his gaze on the Dungeon behind Aemond. “The Celtigars seem to be an interesting family, from what I have heard. In any case, Tyland has luck on his side. Gaining a fleet and a dragon…"

"He did not win a dragon nor a fleet. All he gained was a girl that got caught in the fucking Blacks' plots and is now paying the price for their arrogance."

His brother slowly turned his head towards him, assessing him for the first time as he saw the way he had tensed all of a sudden. "Way to not care brother. Don't you believe that marrying a Lannister is her own desire to escape her family of degenerates? This way she won’t be affiliated with a bastard or… with untamed mothers."

"You cannot be as naive as to see this marriage as what it is. There is our grandfather's written all over it, set in his ambition to make himself more powerful in gaining as many Lords to our side.”

"Dragons you mean. Well, if the Hand begins to distribute maidens to members of the council, they will be very, very happy indeed," joked Aegon, content to have his brother answer to him with the honesty he came looking for. "Besides, this is not so bad, as a price. I mean, you lost an eye to be an asset to this family, while she is only losing her virginity. I can only see that as a wi-"

"Have you nothing better to do?" Aemond repeated in a loud roar, hands falling to his side in clenched fists that made Aegon raise an eyebrow. 

"What has got into you? Does Vhagar take too much time in coming? Or is it the Lady Penrose that does not satisfy you enough?” he asked with a grin, observing his brother’s expression turn from briefly furious to false tranquilness. “Talking about Lady Penrose, I crossed paths with her recently and she confided in me that you have not been very attentive to her of late. She also confessed that she has a surprise for you. Exciting, isn't it?"

But Aemond wasn't listening, rather reminded of the conversation he had with the Lady in question in the garden below them. "You were with her that night. Outside the walls." 

Aegon gave him a confused look. "Eh?" 

"With Daera Velaryon. People saw you leave with her. That is why you were so smug looking in front of mother's solar. What did you do, Aegon?”

Aegon smiled like he detained a secret only he was aware of. “Wouldn't you like to know." 

"You cannot let your depravity infect everyone. Tell me what happened." 

Aegon pouted, feeling a little insulted. "She only wished to go to the Dragonpit, so I showed her the way."

"You showed her the way?" Aemond repeated, losing his cold glare over a sneer. "No wonder she got lost.”

Aegon once again turned his head towards his brother, curious. "Lost? And how would you know that?"

Aemond pursed his lips instantly in annoyance, coming back to stare at the sky where he felt Vhagar drew ever closer.

"Oooh, it's true. You were outside as well, were you not? To fetch that thing. You saw her too, didn't y-" 

”I didn’t see her, I was just assuming your poor skills at giving directions,” Aemond spat coldly as he narrowed his eyes at the horizon. “Next time take the passageways instead of galavanting like a commoner.”

“Oh, like you do? Boring, brother. Boring indeed.”

They could both see it now, the huge wings of the great dragon making its way towards the keep, and Aemond’s heart jumped in joy at the idea of a flight. He almost sighed in relief when he made his way toward the stoney stairs, content to leave his brother’s presence at last.

"Regarding Lady Penrose’s gift,” Aegon called to him as he went down the stairs. “I hope it's not one of those awful feathers she wears. I will tell you, brother, it would not suit you."

When Aemond was finally down in the gravelled beach where Vhagar landed with a loud thump, scaring the seagulls perched over the nearby tower, he pulled out the golden and blue ring out of his pocket and took a moment to examine it once more.

He didn't know why he had kept it, but there was something about this ring that comforted him. A token that from a House he had grown almost intimate with. Who had taken from him and given to him. 

He would find a way to put it in a place she would find it and she would never learn of him holding on to it for so long.

One day. 

Tyland Lannister was a proud man and Daera’s time with him had shown her that she would have to make great efforts to grow accustomed to him.

Their conversation had been short. He had taken her around the castle, showing her places he assumed she had never seen accompanied by boisterous comments, talking to her like she needed to learn everything, from the names of the Kings to the appellation of the weapons used for tourneys, and she had quickly found that silent acquiescence was her most viable option.

This is what she did on the morrow, when Tyland took her to the gardens to parade her at his arm, and she had been unable to refuse the invitation. But as one of his servants trailed behind them at a slow pace, she found the conversation to be much more agreeable than the day before. “I never had the chance to taste Lannisport's famous spiced wine, my Lord.”

“I have a private cellar in the Little Gallery. I shall serve you some at our feast, and plenty more at our wedding. It was my father’s favourite.”

“I heard he was a very handsome man.”

“He was. A trait my brother and I had undeniably inherited,” he boasted with a wide smile as he pulled her towards a windier path.

She scowled, an irrepressible shiver running down her spine at his self-importance. “Indeed, my Lord. Lord Jason Lannister’s wife must be very lucky indeed.”

“Not as much as I will be, surely. He didn’t marry a dragon rider.”

The wink he gave her made her smile with latency, ripped off on her features, but it seemed to suffice as he then proceeded to ask her how many children she thought she could have.

“I beg your pardon?” she blinked, slowing her steps on the pebbly path.

“My brother has more than six,” he continued gullably. “And as the second son, I am expected to-”

Too aghast by his words, Daera did not see what had made Lord Lannister stop his monologue right away, but when she finally followed his gaze, she felt her spine go rigid.

Aemond Targaryen was advancing on them at the other end of the path, his eye drained on her as a beautiful black haired-woman with feathers in her hair strode by his side, her hand laced around his arm.

Tyland Lannister was already leading her forward, whispering in her ear that he would introduce her.

In truth, the master of ships could not pass up a chance to greet the Hand’s favourite with his smarmy words, especially with his new fiancée at his side.

“My Lord, I do not feel very well, I-”

“It will only be for a few moments,” he smiled down at her, ignoring her weak protests. “One cannot ignore the Prince, especially in such charming company.”

Stopping directly in front of them, Daera lifted her eyes, searching the Prince's face, noticing the clench of his jaw and how rigid he stood, how his single eye was peering darkly at her.

He didn’t seem pleased to be facing her again in such a short pan of time.

“Lord Lannister,” came the musical voice of the woman, a polite smile plastered on her face. “What a pleasure meeting you here!”

“My Prince, my Lady,” returned Tyland with a slight bow of the head and an even wider smile. “I see we had the same idea, a promenade in the gardens to enjoy this fine morning! The first of many for Lady Velaryon and myself, I’m certain. Or should I say, soon to be Lady Lannister, perhaps?”

The woman’s eyes were glinting as they fell on Daera, who had bashfully lowered her eyes at her future husband’s announcement. “Of course! Allow me to congratulate you my Lord and Lady for your betrothal, I was delighted when I heard the news.”

She spoke, but Daera recognised the well-trained gracious smile and cordial joy that every woman of the court possessed. Daera wished she could demonstrate the same well-mannered patience with the man at her arm.

The latter was beaming as he thanked her, Daera nodding quietly to do the same before the Lion turned his exulting face to Aemond, waiting for the same praises.

But Aemond’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, immobile, cold, the complete opposite of the black-haired lady that stood next to him as she looked at him expectantly. Daera watched as she witnessed his jaw slowly unclench, his eye shift from tangible annoyance to composed judgement, his nose flaring as he finally spoke in a forced breath. 

“Yes, congratulations.”

Tyland looked utterly satisfied, thanking the second son thoroughly as his green eyes returned back on Daera to assess her reaction at the honour that had been bestowed upon them, but she was paying no mind to him.

Instead, when the Prince’s eye had drifted back to her, she had found herself trapped in it. “Thank you, my Prince.”

She was unable to comprehend the heat that radiated from a man as cold as him, but when their eyes locked, she knew he had felt the insincerity behind her words, as much as she had felt the indifference behind his.

Lady Penrose’s thin fingers pressed more strongly into his bicep upon witnessing the intensity with which their gaze seemed to mingle. “Lady Velaryon, would you like to join me and the other ladies of the court for tea soon? I would be honoured.”

“And she would be delighted!” came the boisterous voice of Tyland Lannister, oblivious to what was happening around him and making Daera breathe in surprise and taking her eyes of impermeable one.

She accepted politely, clearing her throat to get rid of the heavy feeling that had settled there as she felt the now insistent gaze of Lady Penrose fixed on her. She could feel that something had shifted in the air, now thick between them but she could not care less. There was frustration in her heart at her betrothed’s lack of tact towards her and something far more complex as she now saw a purple iris looking down at her through long eye-lashes, no more intense, but soft, mocking, like he could read her mind.

When Lord Lannister finally dragged her away, their eyes locked one last time as they took a turn on their respectful paths, and she swore she saw a mere smile at the corner of the Prince’s mouth.

The touch of his hands were as cold as his eyes

So don’t tell me you weren’t hypnotised. 

Chapter 5

Thank you @babyblue711 & @arcielee once again.

Taglist:@knightprincess@baconturtle@witheredoffherwitch@lexwolfhale@toodlesxcuddles@watercolorskyy

AN: I'm updating this in March 2024: I have not given up on this story, I have it all cleared in my head, I am just not in a place where I should write right now. I will start taking care of this blog again in June. Thank you so much for reading and for your patience.