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novaursa · 26 days ago

Note

I love you and your writing!

Can you please write something for Daenerys targaryen! where the reader is Robert baratheons first born daughter and she basically grows up listening to her father talk shit about the Targaryens.

It ends with her and daenerys kinda like 'enemies' to soulmates.

I know it's not a lot of details but would love if you wrote something like this ❤️😊🙏

What Remains of War

Requests are closed

- Summary: You came to Essos to kill her and she just might give you the reason to stay.

- Pairing: baratheon!female!reader/Daenerys Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: The feelings of hate for Dany may or may not be self-inserted. 🙈

The desert wind chokes your breath with red dust, the taste of Essos clinging to your tongue like the blood that stains your fingers. Your blade is slick with it—though not from the throat it was meant to slit. The bodies of your men lie scattered like broken toys, hacked down by the impenetrable wall of spears and shields that came upon you with the eerie silence of the Unsullied. You fought—gods, you fought like your father trained you, like your mother scorned you for—but in the end, there were too many. They didn’t kill you, though. No, they knocked you down, stripped you of your weapons, and bound your hands behind your back as if you were nothing more than a rabid dog to be delivered in chains.

The leather bites into your wrists as you’re dragged through the dusty streets of Meereen, flanked by soldiers with unsmiling faces, their eyes empty of judgment. You spit onto the ground, eyes blazing as the foreign tongues of the people around you chatter with interest, wondering what you did to be brought before her. You don't say her name. Not aloud. Not even in your thoughts. To name her would be to acknowledge her—acknowledge the girl your father called a "Targaryen whore", the last snake that slithered away from the fire, the dragon-bitch with silver hair and delusions of crowns.

You were told it would be easy. In and out. Find her, slit her throat, and be back in Westeros before anyone could say the name "Daenerys." Your father trusted you, not a sellsword, not a knight, but you. His firstborn. His hammer-hearted girl who was always too wild for silks and too clever for court. You were his vengeance dressed in Baratheon black and gold.

But now, you kneel. Forced to. Your pride is bloodied, not broken, but you feel the sting of it behind your ribs, a tight ache that coils like a storm waiting to break.

“She’s the daughter of Robert Baratheon,” the man who brought you here says, his voice low, gruff, and strangely gentle. You glance up at him—Ser Jorah Mormont, your captor. His face is lined with war and sun, but his eyes are sad in a way that makes your stomach twist. “She came with steel. To kill you.”

You sneer. “So tell your queen to do it already. Or is she as much a coward as her brother was?”

There is a murmur among the Unsullied, a sharp inhale, a hand on a spear shaft. But Jorah says nothing, only turns and waits.

And then she steps forward.

You think the stories are all lies—how could someone be so untouched by the world? So radiant? But Daenerys Targaryen is not a girl. She is a vision carved from fire and moonlight, and she looks at you with a gaze that could strip skin from bone. Her hair is braided with silver, her skin glowing gold beneath the sun. She wears nothing regal—no crown, no silks, just leather and linen stained with sand—but she stands like a queen. She is flanked by three dragons, small still but watching you with hungry, ancient eyes.

“So,” she says, voice soft as silk and biting as ice, “my father’s killer sends his daughter. Did he think that poetic?”

Your chin lifts. “He thought it efficient.”

Daenerys’ mouth quirks, just a little. Not a smile—something darker, more curious. “And you? What did you think?”

You glare up at her, jaw clenched. “I thought dragons should stay dead.”

A silence falls. One of the dragons growls low in its throat. The Unsullied shift slightly. You wonder, for a moment, if she’ll let it eat you here and now.

But instead, Daenerys crouches. She brings herself to your eye level, and the sun catches in her hair like a crown of white fire.

“Tell me your name.”

“No.”

She tilts her head, considering you like something caged and cornered. “You’d rather die with your father’s name in your mouth?”

“I’d rather die than speak to a Targaryen like we’re equals.”

Her gaze hardens, lips pressing into a flat line. But she doesn’t rise. Doesn’t flinch. “We’re not equals,” she murmurs. “You came to kill me. I let you live. That makes me your queen, doesn’t it?”

The words burn, searing and raw. You want to spit in her face. You want to lunge forward and finish what you started. But your wrists are bound, your weapons gone, your men turned to corpses.

Instead, you look into her eyes—violet and endless and maddening—and something in you falters. Just for a heartbeat.

“I’m not yours,” you whisper, voice ragged.

“No,” Daenerys says, rising slowly to her full height. “But you’re mine now. Until I decide otherwise.”

She turns her back on you, and Jorah signals the Unsullied. They lift you roughly to your feet, and you stagger as they lead you away.

You don’t look back. But her voice follows you, gentle and terrible.

“Strip her. Wash her. Feed her. No chains.”

And as you’re dragged down the corridor of sandstone and shadow, you feel it—the shift. The danger. The knowing.

You went to Essos with death in your hands. But something colder and older found you instead.

And her name is Daenerys.

You dream of blood, of steel, of your father’s voice howling like a storm through your bones. The Targaryens are a sickness. You end them, or they end you. You wake with your hands clenching invisible blades, breath heavy, sweat clinging to your back like a second skin. For a moment, you forget where you are. Then the scent of myrrh and heat reminds you—Meereen. Her city. Her stronghold. Her prison. And you are still alive. Still bound by something more complicated than chains.

She has not come to see you since that first day. Not herself, at least. Her handmaidens attend you, silent and cautious. They bathe you, dress you in Essosi silks that cling to your body like shame, and feed you food you pretend not to enjoy. You are given a chamber in her pyramid, not a cell, but you feel the bars all the same. The guards do not speak to you, and the other courtiers give you wide berth, like a hound too dangerous to pet. But someone always watches. Always waits.

It is dusk when the door opens again—not one of her handmaids, not the knight, not a guard. Her. Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and whatever other grand titles they murmur at her feet. She wears no armor. Just a robe of soft blue, trimmed with silver thread, her hair swept into braids so intricate you wonder how many hands touched her to create them. And still, it’s the way she looks at you—focused and quiet, like a lioness at rest—that makes your pulse beat faster.

“You’re not sleeping,” she says simply, stepping inside and letting the door close behind her. There are no guards in the hallway tonight. That tells you something.

You lean back against the windowsill, arms crossed. “Hard to sleep when the woman I came to kill is three doors down.” You tilt your head. “Also hard to sleep when your bed is softer than anything I’ve ever touched. Doesn’t feel right.”

Her smile is a ghost, faint and unreadable. “I don’t imagine you’re used to comfort.”

“Or mercy.”

She steps closer, slow and measured. “Mercy is not weakness.”

You laugh bitterly. “Tell that to the men you crucified.”

“I didn’t crucify them,” she says, voice suddenly sharp, “until I saw what they had done to the children.”

You fall silent. That is not a story you heard in King’s Landing. That’s not a story your father told.

Daenerys walks to the edge of the room, where a small table of carved ebony sits beneath a flickering lantern. She pours herself wine, dark and rich, and then glances back at you.

“Will you drink with me? Or are you still imagining ways to slit my throat?”

You rise, slow, wary. “Both.”

She pours a second cup anyway and hands it to you. Your fingers brush hers when you take it. Her skin is warm—fever-warm, like a hearth after battle. You sip. It’s spiced, a Dornish vintage. Of course she’d have Dornish wine. Of course she’d like fire on her tongue.

“You’ve been watching me,” you say.

“Yes,” she admits without flinching. “You fascinate me.”

You blink, not expecting honesty. Not expecting that word.

She sits on the couch, leaving space beside her. Not a command, but an invitation. You hesitate only a second before sitting. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the weight of her presence.

“You’re different than the others,” she says. “Most people want something from me. A crown. A favor. A war. But you wanted me dead.”

You glance at her, lips curling. “That makes me special?”

“It makes you honest.” Her eyes search yours. “And dangerous. But not stupid.”

You hold her gaze. Her pupils are ringed with violet, too large in the dim light. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

Silence stretches, but not an uncomfortable one. She drinks. You drink. You both look at the horizon outside the window, where the red of sunset bleeds into twilight like a wound healing in reverse.

“What was he like?” she asks suddenly, voice barely above a whisper. “Your father.”

You flinch. That’s the first time anyone’s asked you that without scorn or venom. You’re not sure how to answer.

“He was… a storm,” you say slowly. “Loud. Violent. Always moving. He loved me. In his way. Thought I was the only part of him that made sense. Told me I was born to carry his rage forward.”

Daenerys’ jaw tightens. “And your mother?”

“Colder. Sharper. Always watching. She said I was too much like him. She hated that.” You shrug. “But she taught me how to lie. So I guess I got something useful from both.”

A small breath escapes Daenerys, almost a laugh but not quite. “And here you are, drinking with a Targaryen.”

You smirk. “Didn’t see that in the flames.”

She turns toward you fully then, her bare feet tucked beneath her, eyes searching yours like they’re trying to see past your skin. “I should hate you. You tried to kill me.”

“You should,” you whisper.

“But I don’t.” Her voice is steady, her hands resting loosely in her lap. “And that terrifies me.”

Your chest tightens, unexpected. Not with guilt—something else. Something older. A ripple beneath the surface you’ve spent your whole life smoothing. You set down your cup.

“I was taught to hate you,” you say. “Since I could speak. Every time I asked why so many were dead, why there were no Targaryens left, I got the same answer. Because you people weren’t meant to survive.”

Daenerys nods once. “And yet here we are.”

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s you. But suddenly, the space between you vanishes, and your knees are touching, and your hand is resting just beside hers. Not touching. Just almost. And she doesn’t pull away. Her eyes flicker to your lips, then to your collarbone, then back to your eyes.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” she breathes.

“Then don’t do anything,” you whisper. “Just… let this be.”

The silence is fragile now. Full of things unsaid, promises neither of you are ready to make. The world is still waiting to break you both. Your father’s rage lives in your marrow. Her fire lives in her blood.

But for now—for this moment—you sit beside your enemy, shoulder to shoulder, skin to skin, and let the lines blur like sand between tides.

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jedimaesteryoda · 7 days ago

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While the show mashed Gendry and Edric Storm together, they are the only two of Robert's sons who we've ever seen. They were born to different circumstances, raised differently and have different attitudes towards their father.

Edric benefited from the fact that his mother was a noblewoman, so that meant Robert had to acknowledge him. It also meant that Robert saw to it that he was cared for. Edric was raised at Storm's End, and given an education and trained at arms, and the staff at Storm's End seemed to love him. Robert would even see him from time to time. He got birthday gifts from King's Landing, but they were always sent by Varys. Gendry, on the other hand, being the child of tavern worker meant that he was unacknowledged and Robert never even knew he existed. He is largely uneducated and he lost his mother at a young age, and Varys saw to it that he was apprenticed to Tobho Mott to learn a trade.

Their backgrounds show completely opposite opinions of Robert. Edric mentioned that Robert would train with him when they visited, and even learned to fight using a war hammer, Robert's signature weapon. He worships Robert to the point he gets defensive it gets pointed out that Robert lost one battle. He likely had the same dream as Jon Snow to be legitimized by his father and accepted into his house. Of course, the sad thing is as much as he craved his father's affection he overlooks that as Stannis pointed out, Robert never really cared that much about him. Robert was a negligent father to all his children.

Gendry only saw Robert once, and that was when he nearly ran him down on his horse while drunk. It left him an unflattering view to say the least of Robert as a "big fat sot" and his only compliment was that Robert was "a better king than these sons of his." He does not romanticize Robert that way Edric does, having seen firsthand his flaws and the effects of his negligence.

They both take after Robert in their appearances with Brienne having almost mistaken Gendry for Renly. However, Edric resembles his father in spirit, having his charm and pride, but he still plays "Monsters and Maidens" with Shireen despite thinking it's a kid's game because she wants to and wanted to say goodbye to her before he left. He seems to be sensitive towards the feelings of others, and isn't shitty to the women in his life so far.

Gendry resembles more his uncle Stannis in personality in being serious, brooding and having a chip in his shoulder as well as an affinity for the Lord of Light. But he joins the Brotherhood without Banners to protect the smallfolk of the riverlands during the War of Five Kings that began during the end of Robert's reign. He also wields a hammer like Robert, but for constructive purposes in blacksmithing. He is a literal Smith to Robert's Warrior, a creator as opposed to destroyer. He lost his mother as Robert lost his parents, but he avoided his father's vices towards wine and women. Gendry's childhood experience witnessing his mother bringing home drunk patrons to hook up with hardly left a favorable impression on him. He is what Robert could have been.

Robert didn't really do much for them as a father, but the fact that he fathered them combined with his failures as a king meant they have targets on their backs. Gendry was forced to leave King's Landing to avoid Cersei's men taking his head. Edric was forced to leave Westeros to avoid being burned by Stannis at Melisandre's behest. Even posthumously, Robert's legacy put them in harm's way.

As for where their stories might go, that's speculation. Unfortunately for Edric, I think he will be brought into the game of thrones again. If Daenerys crosses, she might come across him in Lys. Tyrion might suggest legitimizing him as a puppet lord of Storm's End. Any concerns by Daenerys could be blown away by the question: How many dragons does he have? Edric's claim would be dependent on Dany's victory. Of course, bringing him back means he is back in the line of fire. I could see an Addam of Hull parallel for him. :(

As for Gendry, that fact that his heritage hasn't been publicly revealed yet likely means that it has a role to play in the story like Jon Snow's. Staying out of the game of thrones likely ensured his safety, and he might by a twist of fate by legitimized into the next Lord of Storm's End. I could even see him and Arya getting together, fulfilling the promise of a Stark-Baratheon marriage.

The two boys represent different parts of Robert's legacy. One is the memory of Robert as the larger-than-life warrior who won the Iron Throne with his war hammer, and the other is the reality of the consequences of Robert's personal and political failures as king. We will see how they deal with Robert's legacy as the story goes on.

#robert baratheon #house baratheon #edric storm #gendry waters #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

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lady-lemonycakes · 4 months ago

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(left to right) Queen Visenya Targaryen, Queen Daenaera Targaryen, Queen Rhaenys Targaryen

The Sister-Wives of Aegon the Conqueror, the Three Heads of the Dragon

Queen Daenaera Targaryen was the half-sister and wife of King Aegon I Targaryen, the first Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Her elder half-sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys, were married to Aegon as well. In fact this led to whispers that he married Visenya as it was his duty, Rhaenys out of desire, yet it was Daenaera whom he loved most. She was a dragonrider who rode the dragon Gaelithox.

Daenaera was born on the island of Dragonstone to Aerion Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone, and his wife, Lady Naerys Targaryen. Her parents were said to be lovers in their youth, separated by the actions of Aerion’s grandsire and Naerys’s uncle—Lord Aerys Targaryen—who wed her off to Lord Velaryon so her claim would be forgotten. She only birthed Lord Daemon Velaryon and mostly ruled Driftmark as her husband was far too aged to be concerned with the governance of his land. To seal the deal, he had his grandson marry Lady Valaena Velaryon, a cousin with Targaryen blood, so he would not seek out Lady Naerys. It is with Lady Valaena whom Aerion had the Conquerors with, and after her passing, Aerion was free to wed Naerys and in 17 BC Daenaera was born. By the time she was born, her father had four children—Visenya, Aegon, Rhaenys, and Orys Baratheon. Daenaera possessed all the ever so sought-after Valyrian traits—her long, white-gold hair, which her mother styled to be bound up in rings day in and day out, and purple eyes reminiscent of amethysts. By the age of fourteen, Daenaera had grown into a beautiful young girl, though standing next to Rhaenys and Visenya, it was often stated that pretty would perhaps be a better word for the youngest Targaryen. She was a shy, dreamy child, more comfortable at her lord father’s side than other children, even her elder siblings. There was no denying she was Lord Aerion’s favorite, especially with her dragon dreams, a coveted ability for those of Valyrian descent, especially since such dreams saved House Targaryen from the Doom. This was perhaps the one thing of note for Lady Daenaera in her youth as she was oft overshadowed by her half-siblings—there was Daemon who was Lord of Driftmark and went on countless voyages, Visenya who trained alongside the boys and became as skilled at arms as any man, Aegon the enigmatic heir whose mere existence made Dany feel lesser than, playful Rhaenys who was loved by any she met, even Orys Baratheon who has been making a name for himself on the island. According to the legends, both Daenaera and Aegon shared these so-called dragon dreams. While they were not recorded to have been particularly close in their youth, it is said in the tales of Aegon’s Conquest that it was Daenaera’s recurring dreams that planted the seeds in his head for such a feat. It was only after this that Aegon ordered the construction of the Painted Table, which displays an accurate geographical map of Westeros. It would be the pride of Argilac Durrandon, however, that many say pushed Aegon to act. Aegon called his banners and took counsel with them and his sisters, Daenaera excluded as she was not one of the Ladies of Dragonstone to her mother’s chagrin, and only then did he send out ravens to all the rulers in the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps seen as haughty at the time, though he gave a warning that he would be the one, true king of a united Westeros and that those who bent the knee would keep their lands and titles, while those who did not would be met with Fire and Blood. As bold as it may have been, Aegon and the other two conquerors, Visenya and Rhaenys, made true of their promise. All Seven Kingdoms were brought to heel except for Dorne. While all five of her siblings played active roles in the Conquest, Daenaera remained on Dragonstone. She ruled the island and ensured their ancestral seat would be guarded. Until she didn’t. Aegon dreamed of ice and fire, one of the few things he confided in her about. Though she could never quite say the same. Her dreams were never quite as clear as his, always more fragmented than she’d like, leaving her to piece the puzzle together. It was one night on Dragonstone when she had a dream so clear, it was like something calling for her. Urging her to go and seek out this dream for once in her life rather than leave it to her kin to fulfill. And so, she saddles up Gaelithox, and unlike her ancestors who looked West, she was being pulled to the North—the land of ice and little glory.

Read more on Daenaera Targaryen in House of Memories.

#aegon the conqueror #queen visenya #queen rhaenys #house targaryen #Aegon Targaryen x OC #aegon's conquest #visenya x rhaenys #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen #Daenaera Targaryen #Aegon the Conqueror x reader #Visenya Targaryen x oc #Visenya Targaryen x reader

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witchthewriter · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬

a/n: crossover that I really wanted to do. I've used dragons from every timeline.

gif cred: @gameofthronesdaily.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

I wanted to make this as simple as possible, so I'm not going into backgrounds or Houses or the wheres, whos and whys. But if you'd like me to make backstories for them, let me know in my inbox!

(but p.s. I can already see Kyle being a Velaryon Prince and Simon a Targaryen because of their natural features.)

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 | 𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒚𝒔

There's something very regal about John - he holds himself with dignity and grace. He walks with pride and knows his rank/his place. Because he's earnt it.

Meleys, who was once known as the quickest dragon in Westeros, also holds herself the exact same way John does.

She is the Red Queen, vicious, fierce and unyielding. She is royalty - looks it too.

I'm not quite sure she'd like a male rider - there would have to be a lot of winning her over. All her other riders have been female, and very bold. Yet, when Meleys saw the bravery of John, she allowed him to mount her.

But the two of them together would be an absolute force to be reckoned with. Intelligence mixed with tactics, and planning - they would soon become one of the most feared rider and mount in history.

𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 | 𝑺𝒊𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈

Known by a lot of positive traits, the first one being: understanding her responsibilities. Silverwing is the perfect dragon.

Great with people, friendly, and elegant. She knows when eyes are on her.

In the same way that Kyle can make a friend wherever he is. People find him very charming.

Both are great at socialising. This reflects how a dragonrider usually has similar traits to their mount.

Know their duties, but also know when enough is enough. They don't let others walk all over them.

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 | 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓

Ooh boy, okay so these two bonded over being grumpy and moody.

While Vermithor used to be the mount of one of Westerosi's greatest Kings, I think he would like Simon a whole lot more.

Simon, who would never make him do anything Simon wouldn't do himself.

Both of them hate too much company.

And the only way to truly get away from people is in the air.

Vermithor might be considered an old man, but he's still got that passion within him, and damn anyone who says what he can and cannot do

The pair could be gone for weeks. Only relying on one another for company, aiding each other in getting food and Vermithor being wonderful at finding bodies of water.

Although they do usually go to the same places now.

Sometimes Simon forgets how formidable Vermithor is - and that in the past anyone who approached him would burn to death by his flame.

But really Simon only sees a big lizard with wings who snores when he sleeps and grunts when he's angry. Oh, and watch out for his tail because he will try to knock you over when he's irritated.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐓𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡 | 𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒙𝒆𝒔

Let's gather what we know about Soap: intelligent (obviously, no one in the army reaches that level by being a complete tosser), he's active and ready to be in the field i.e, now the air.

Meraxes is known for being an avid flyer. Her first and only rider, Rhaenys the First, flew her mount so much - some say it was the collective amount of both her brother and sister riding their own beasts.

Johnny is the dragonrider who is constantly scowering for dragon eggs. If he finds them, he cares for them like they're his own children.

Johnny would literally be the Father of Dragons. Would 100% do a Dany and walk into fire to see if the eggs will hatch (don't worry the other boys look out for him and Meraxes would never let him be so stupid as to willingly hurt himself.)

If you have a different opinion I'm more than happy to hear it!

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dumbkiri · 7 months ago

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ALT DREAMER OF YOU

This is an alternate 'Dreamer of You' series that is set after the first chapter. I had this vision of [Name] being so prideful of Daenerys and I had to make it all about her lmaoo also Helaena spoke up!

First part: 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚

8 𝔭𝔤𝔰

North. Go North.

[Name]’s eyes never left the enchanting fire that spoke to him. The translucent voice kept telling him the same thing for hours and he sat there listening to it. The crackle of the fire warmed his body and he moved his attention to his girls still sleeping on the bed.

Daenerys, in her sleep, wrapped herself around her mother and the two dragons bonded to his daughter found sleep on her pillow. Usually [Name] would be against dragons sleeping in their personal chambers, but Helaena reassured him that their children were guarded by their light.

Go. North.

The voice commanded again, never ceasing. Then [Name] sighed and picked up Hellfire from the table making his schedule inside his head. He walked over to his clothes to get dressed for the day and he gladly ditched the sickening green color the Hightower-Targaryens wore. Instead he wore the more traditional colors of his house; black and red.

As he got ready, [Name] accidentally woke up his daughter and she sat up in the bed with groggy eyes. It was only when he had Hellfire strapped to his waist did he notice Daenerys awake. His boots clicked against the floorboards as he made his way towards her with a gentle look,

“Are you an early bird now, Dany?”

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes with one hand, “Where are you going, father? Can I come with you?”

[Name] scooped her into his arms and he led her across the room where he already had hers and her mother’s clothes out on one of the couches. Since she woke up, he might as well dress her and take her with him to prepare for the trip to Dragonstone.

“Of course, you can come with me. Shall we get you dressed?”

“Yes please,” Daenerys giggled and awed at the pretty dark red gown tailored just for her with black accents in her father’s hands. She’s never worn these colors before, but after seeing her father wear them, it’s all she wanted to do. She couldn’t though because her grandmother insisted that green had always been her color. Little Daenerys disagrees wholeheartedly now, black and red were the colors she was born to wear.

[Name] dressed Daenerys rather quickly as his daughter stood there diligently in her spot. But the smile on his face knew that she loved these new colors she gets to wear. Alicent used to complain about getting Daenerys dressed because she never stood still. The reason had been because she wanted to wear the colors he wore, this brough a goofy smile on his face knowing his daughter really does follow in his footsteps.

He wished that his father witnessed his favorite grandchild wear these proud colors of House Targaryen. [Name] knew that Viserys would have this giant smile on his face and the hug he would give Daenerys would crush her little body with love.

“This dress is very pretty, father.”

[Name] snapped back into reality and he watched Daenerys twirl in her spot, admiring the black ruffles that fluffed out with the spin. He chuckled, then stood up to his full height with his hand outstretching for her small one, “Come now, we have a lot to do today, are you ready?”

Daenerys took her father’s hand and could feel his warmth penetrating through his gloves. Ever since her grandfather passed down Hellfire to her father, the warmth surrounding his body never cooled. She pictured him like a fire that always burned, no matter what it faced.

“I am.”

……

“Where is your brother now?” Alicent watched her daughter admiring the creatures she kept in cages with silence. Her eyes stayed on the stiff Helaena, afraid that if she actually looked around she would find [Name] standing in a corner of the room menacingly.

But his presence was not felt, this assured Alicent that she could have a conversation with her kind daughter. Helaena would forgive her for what happened last night.

“He went out to check on Balerion and Dreamfyre with Daenerys, he’ll be back shortly if you would like to apologize to him,” Helaena spoke and picked up a cage that housed a very fuzzy tarantula.

Alicent finally noticed the way her daughter was dressed. Helaena wore a black dress with material that represented black scales and black leggings underneath. Her braided hair showed off the red corset and the very bright red Targaryen sigil above her right breast. Clothes that had this embroidered sigil were clothing only [Name] had someone tailor for his family.

Helaena always looked good in green, yet here she stood with black and red tainting her beauty. [Name] did this on purpose, Alicent knows this for certain. Her son taunted her with notions of these colors that reminded her so much of Rhaenyra and Daemon…of Viserys.

“Are you?” Helaena moved her observant eyes to Alicent and her mother shook off the chills running down her arms.

“Am I, what?”

“You came here to talk to me about what you and…the Lord Commander were doing last night. I know an act like that, mother. [Name] and I engage in the activity almost every night.” Helaena said this with no hesitancy and it displeased the mother very much.

Alicent grimaced and said, “Helaena, I don’t need to know that. What you saw last night, you or the little ones should not have seen. I wanted to-”

“I forgive you, mother,” Helaena mumbled, holding her tears back, “but my husband is a different person. Usually he’s not so easily angered. He’s kind and loving, never raises his voice at me or his children. He is a family man, dedicated to protecting us and learning how to be a soldier and a father at the same time. [Name] doesn’t want to be like father, a man who sues for peace every time an enemy slights him or like his brothers, boys who demand for war every time something doesn’t go their way.”

“You’re right, he’s nothing like them,” Alicent muttered, her eyes downcasted, “[Name] came into this world with a defiant cry, louder than when Aegon came. He grew up following the shadow of Rhaenyra, even going so far as to protect her children during that incident. Your brother admired Rhaenyra whilst living up to her standards pretending that she was his mother, not me.”

Helaena set the cage with the arachnid in it gently back on the table. Her mother did not hear a single good thing she described [Name] to be. Her mother only heard how different he was from his brothers. [Name] took to Rhaenyra because he admired their older sister. Then he got along well with Lucerys and Jacaerys, this trio bringing joy to Viserys when he was still alive.

She imagined the way [Name] would speak to their mother right now. All of [Name]’s worries and defeats came to her mind, remembering the way he felt useless in this place. She felt bad for her husband and this was her moment to speak up for him because he wasn’t here to defend himself.

[Name] defended her many times in front of Lords and their wives, their brothers and subjects. When they made fun of her, he reminded them to watch their tongue or else they’d lose it. When they watched her for too long, he tells them that Balerion likes watching men on fire running around before he eats them. Some warnings came out with a subtle threat and some left just as is.

“You’re wrong,” Helaena pushed herself to protect her husband’s dignity as a Targaryen, “It wasn’t a shadow he chased after nor did he see a mother in Rhaenyra. What my husband admired about Rhaenyra was something Aegon, Aemond or himself couldn’t attain. [Name] follows her because he sees and knows her as the true heir to the Iron Throne. Our sister was meant to rule the Realm and you gave it to a drunk.”

“Helaena!” Alicent glared at her soft spoken daughter who for once, spoke her mind. Or was it [Name]’s words speaking through her? “You cannot speak about your brother like that, most of all your king. Has [Name] tainted your thoughts with false-”

“You’re not listening, mother,” Helaena huffed, “We know who was supposed to be the ruler of the Iron Throne, but you and grandfather took that away from her. Your son took her son’s life because he lost an eye to him years ago. We lost a son because of this infringement on her claim to the throne. What more do you want from him? From her? I will not stand here and listen to you put blame on him when it was you, all along. And…I forgive you.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?” Alicent asked with a finger pointed at herself.

“Are you denying that it’s not, Alicent?”

Helaena and Alicent snapped their heads to the entrance of the room and standing there in all his glory was [Name] with a worn out Daenerys in his arms. Yes, he looked intimidating in his all black dragon rider clothing. Although holding Daenerys close to his chest made him look more like a doting father than the rider of the largest dragon.

“[Name], back so soon?” Alicent questioned, settling the glare onto Daenerys’ dress. It seems her son is making a statement with his whole family. Again, this color is associated with Rhaenyra’s side of the family and it made her question the motives of her son.

He mentioned in the council room that he would fly out to Dragonstone to see if Rhaenyra really put that order out; a son for a son. Maybe wearing black and red would ease Rhaenyra and the rest of the Blacks by wearing their house colors. Her son would fight on behalf of his own, but not accuse the wrong party. Most of his anger is towards her and Criston Cole, she made them a target for him.

“I’ve been out since dawn with Daenerys preparing the dragons for a long flight,” He closed the door behind him and walked in the room with an imposing presence. Her sons were all different from each other; Aegon walked with uncertainty, Aemond walked with a calculated stride and [Name] marched in with confidence. “I believe it’s a perfect time to come back and have something to eat with my family. Now then are you denying Helaena’s claim and if you are, I’m willing to listen.”

[Name] stopped in front of Helaena and pressed a kiss on her lips, greeting her with love then he led her to one of the couches. They were going to have a talk with their mother if she wanted to. Helaena felt another kiss, this time on her cheek, when she sat down and to her surprise, Daenerys greeted her so kindly. With this action, Helaena scooped her daughter out of her husband’s arms and cuddled with her giggling child.

“Know that your apology might just save Cole’s life. If you fail to please my family, your lover will be lit by Balerion’s fire and he’ll be eaten by Dreamfyre.”

[Name] turned his affectionate gaze towards his mother and it hardened into a steely stare. He watched her sit down across from his family and upright with a nod.

Her voice came out annoyed and accusingly, “Of course, you would come up with a punishment like that. Your Red God must be so proud of you.”

“Mocking my faith now?” [Name] grimly chuckled then leaned back into the sofa, his arm draping over Helaena’s shoulders, “He doesn’t need to hear your false praises towards your gods, he’s already found you guilty for many things. But you are my mother and I will try to find something good in you. It might surprise you that I didn’t come up with Cole’s punishment.”

Alicent casted a shocked stare at Helaena and the soft spoken woman shook her head.

“Neither did my wife, no. The one to come up with Cole’s punishment was Dany. She got the bright idea when we fed some sheep and fish to Balerion and Dreamfyre. Tell grandmother what you told me about the Lord Commander, Dany.”

All the attention landed on Daenerys and the little girl sat up in her mother’s lap. Daenerys smoothed her dress down then addressed Alicent, “Grandmother, we find the Lord Commander, Ser Criston Cole, guilty for abandoning his post. Relieving the rest of the Watch allowed ratcatchers to infiltrate our floors and murder my brother and cousin. Rhaegar declared that when our father catches them, he will burn them in the blackest hells…simply put Balerion will light them up.”

Daenerys gestured with her hand to make it a point that the little girl didn’t know if her grandmother understood what Rhaegar meant by a black hell. The black fire had been notable by all of the people in Westeros as only one dragon did that. Dany has not seen her grandmother approach a dragon at all, not the young ones either.

Even Moonlight, Nightmare and Frostfang made her uneasy and they were across the room perched by Viserys’ crib. So she really did not know if her grandmother knew that Balerion breathed black fire.

“Since Uncle Aegon already caught one of the men and we’re still looking for the ratcatcher, Ser Criston Cole has to answer for his abandonment.”

“Daenerys, Ser Criston Cole follows my orders and-” Alicent scooted upward on the sofa to address her granddaughter as softly as possible.

But Danerys wasn’t interested in this gentle talk. Her brother is dead and she wanted revenge just like her father. Truth be told, she can’t wait to see the ratcatcher and the Lord Commander burn.

“Dragons are very unique, grandmother. The way they interact with one another makes me very curious, so I started watching a particular pairing. As you know, I’ve been around Balerion and Dreamfyre many times more than my own dragons.”

Alicent caught how Daenerys said ‘dragons’ and not dragon. But she allowed this mistake completely oblivious to the way her son kept his prideful look on his daughter.

“Did you know that Dreamfyre likes to eat sheep and fish that Balerion burns up?” Daenerys gushed and tightened her hands on her dress, “I think it’s really cute! She refuses to eat anything that her mate hasn’t burned. Then this idea came to mind as a punishment to those who caused my brother’s death. What if we have Balerion burn the men and Dreamfyre can feast upon them? Father told me it was a grand idea.”

“I’m sure he did,” Alicent said with a disturbed expression on her face. “Yet I cannot allow you to punish Ser Criston Cole. He did not murder your brother or your cousin. He doesn’t deserve a punishment like that.”

“Grandmother, I don’t understand why you’re defending him,” Daenerys’ smile instantly turned into a frown. Her lilac eyes flashing a dangerous red and Alicent swore she saw a reflection of a flame inside the purple color. “Your grandsons are dead. Your love for the Lord Commander is blinding you to the justice we demand. Do you think that they would have died if there were guards outside our room? Would you still protect him if you saw what we witnessed?”

Alicent looked away from the unshed tears her granddaughter had in her eyes.

“We watched Rhaegar fight to protect his cousin. We heard them cutting off Jaehaerys head. I clung onto mother’s dress as she picked up Viserys from his crib then ran away with her and Aunt Jeyne. When I looked back into that room…I saw the light leave Rhaegar’s eyes. I want his declaration to be law, do you understand?”

Alicent had enough of her granddaughter speaking to her like this. Her smart remark left her lips in a flash, “Well it’s a good thing you are not a queen and that your father isn’t a king. We will follow Aegon’s orders and only one man will burn for the prince and your brother’s death; the ratcatcher.”

Dany, for the first time in her life, glared at her grandmother then hopped off the sofa. The little girl’s height matched Alicent’s sitting form and she said, “No, it’s a good thing father is close to Uncle Aegon. They’re brothers, first and foremost. Fortunately for us, you forget that. Ser Criston Cole will be known as Crispy Cole very soon and you will witness Rhaegar’s vision of the blackest hell.”

Daenerys left the three adults flabbergasted by her leave making her way to the baby dragons and her young brother.

Helaena moved her eyes upwards to look at [Name] and the man covered his smirk with his hand, holding back his laughter. He couldn’t believe Daenerys just talked to Alicent like that. If his father were here, Viserys would crumble and crack at the show Dany put on.

“Your daughter needs to learn how to respect her elders.” Alicent’s angered voice cut through the awkwardness. The parents of the young girl could tell their mother had been slighted and did not take well to the subtle threat that was said.

[Name] shook his head and removed his hand, “No, she said everything that needs no sugarcoating. You underestimate her intelligence and her ruthlessness, Alicent. I suggest you warn your sworn protector of his future because there is not a corner of the world that he could hide in. A black hell Rhaegar declared is a promise we intend to keep for his honor.”

“Father, come look!” Daenerys’ voice carried over to the adults and [Name] stood immediately. Daenerys deserved all his attention after telling his mother off. Plus he wanted to know where she got the ‘Crispy Cole’ nickname from. It was very clever on her part.

When [Name] disappeared from Helaena’s side, Alicent addressed her daughter wanting to know what Daenerys meant by ‘dragons’. “Your daughter mentioned that she’s been around Balerion and Dreamfyre more than her dragons. She only has one, what does she mean otherwise?”

Helaena gestured with a tilt of her head to get her mother witnessing a grand sight. Because her daughter truly was a different Targaryen in a good way. Daenerys will grow up demanding respect and leading powerful allies for her cause.

Following the action with her eyes, Alicent saw Daenerys talking in high valyrian to two hatchlings. One hatchling covered in all white scales with black undertones and black wings, climbed onto Daenerys’ shoulder. Then another hatchling colored in a dark red - almost black- scales and bright green eyes walked up onto Daenerys’ outstretched hand.

“Daenerys is a very powerful girl, her will has drawn in another dragon to her,” Helaena smiled at the scene playing out between her husband and daughter, “She holds a bond between Moonlight and Nightmare. For centuries, she will be known as Daenerys the Assertive; the daughter of [Name] Targaryen, the Black Rider.”

Alicent had no idea why Helaena gave her husband that nickname when he was already ‘the Dreaded’ after his dragon, The Black Dread. But little did the Dowager Queen know, [Name] was soon going to join the Blacks cause.

#x reader #x male reader #helaena targaryen x male reader #helaena x reader #helaena targaryen #hotd x male reader #hotd x reader #hotd spoilers #hotd season 2 #hotd

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rainhadaenerys · 9 months ago

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People in this fandom will constantly complain that Dany "never shuts up about her long list of names and titles". So I decided to actually count the times Dany does this. I searched for "Stormborn" in a Search of Ice and Fire, so it's possible that there's one or two instances missing if that word isn't included, but probably not a lot. In this post, I'm not including instances of a herald saying Dany's titles before a former introduction like an audience or a party (because that isn't an instance of Dany "not shutting up about her titles", that's Dany following the etiquette rules of her world). I'm also not including when other people say Dany's titles spontaneously, without Dany's command. So here are the instances of Dany herself talking about her titles to other people:

The Dothraki exchanged uncertain glances. "Khaleesi," the handmaid Irri explained, as if to a child, "Jhaqo is a khal now, with twenty thousand riders at his back." She lifted her head. "And I am Daenerys Stormborn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon's daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming. Now bring me to Khal Drogo." - Daenerys IX AGOT

ons . . . dragons . . . other voices echoed in the gloom. Some were male and some female. One spoke with the timbre of a child. The floating heart pulsed from dimness to darkness. It was hard to summon the will to speak, to recall the words she had practiced so assiduously. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros." Do they hear me? Why don't they move? She sat, folding her hands in her lap. "Grant me your counsel, and speak to me with the wisdom of those who have conquered death." - Daenerys IV ACOK

"You require passage for a hundred Dothraki, all their horses, yourself and this knight, and three dragons?" said the captain of the great cog Ardent Friend before he walked away laughing. When she told a Lyseni on the Trumpeteer that she was Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he gave her a deadface look and said, "Aye, and I'm Lord Tywin Lannister and shit gold every night." - Daenerys V ACOK

"The corsair wanted only a hundred, your worship," Dany heard the slave girl say. He poked her with the end of the whip. "Consairs are all liars. He'll buy them all. Tell her that, girl." Dany knew she would take more than a hundred, if she took any at all. "Remind your Good Master of who I am. Remind him that I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, trueborn queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. My blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and of old Valyria before him." - Daenerys II ASOS

"Woman, you bray like an ass, and make no more sense." "Woman?" She chuckled. "Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man." Dany met his stare. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, khaleesi to Drogo's riders, and queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros." - Daenerys IV ASOS

And that's it. In the four books Dany appears, she says her titles to other people five times. In two of these times (Dany IX AGOT and Dany IV ASOS), Dany uses her titles to sound more intimidating against her opponents (Khal Jhaqo and the slaver envoy). Twice, she uses her titles as a way to try and convince people to let her buy something (the Unsullied in Astapor and the passage to Westeros), which makes sense, given that she is trying to convince others that she has power/money/influence, so it makes sense to try using her titles. And then there's the one time in the House of the Undying in which she uses her titles as a proper introduction that she was instructed to practice and say when she met the Undying. None of these moments are about Dany being overly prideful or arrogant. For a fandom that keeps complaining about Dany "never shutting up" about her titles, she doesn't say them all that much.

#asoiaf meta #daenerys targaryen #my meta

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styxthecaracal · 9 months ago

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Subtle Pride Dragons

Decided to post these to get some recognition for em'. Hope you enjoy.

All of these designs are available for purchase on my redbubble store :3

If you don't see your flag, check the tag "Dani's pride dragons" and feel free to request a flag!

#floppamakesthings #dani's pride dragons #pride #progress pride #transgender #bisexual #non binary #pansexual #lesbian #gay #gay mlm #intersex #ally #art #queer artist #small artist #artists on tumblr

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syndrossi · 6 months ago

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In the Reversal AU, does Jon/Jeyne/Aemma look enough like Arya that he gets hit in the feels the first time he sees his reflection? Also I think he needs to name at least one sword/dagger Needle in honor of her. Lastly, how bad, and or surprisingly good, are Jon and Rhaegar at sewing/embroidery?

Oh, interesting question! I think a pure Jon-is-suddenly-a-girl-at-AGOT-Arya's-age would definitely look like her sister. With a little extra Daemon and Royce mixed in, it does "help" a little, so that he has to look a little harder to find the features he shares with Arya, but I like to think he still can. (It's not as dramatic as "Raymar looks like Dany", considering the two of them were sibling born of siblings, but if you're seeing yourself for the first time in a mirror, it's an obvious connection to seek/find.)

f!Jon 100% cheekily refers to her sword lessons with Daemon as "practicing her needlepoint"! 😂 I feel that both twins wouldn't have any great love for sewing and embroidery, feeling that there are far more valuable pursuits, given their upbringing the first time around. f!Rhaegar would much prefer to be doing something with dragons or reading a book. If she has to do a lady-like interest, it's going to be singing/the harp, which she already loves. One advantage of being a princess is that it's far more likely that someone else is making your gowns, so it's somewhat less "necessary" to learn it, vs the extra language lessons f!Rhaegar volunteers them for. (f!Jon is grumpy enough about having to learn Valyrian and now her sister wants to learn two more??? And additionally cheat because she'd learned them almost to the point of fluency before? And DANCING, Rhaella, really?)

Ultimately, I think they learn it to the point of bare minimum competence, since they both have their pride and like to excel, but that's one area where neither is a prodigy!

#resonant asks #resonant 'verse reversal au

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eruherdiriel · 3 months ago

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Dreams and lies

Jon POV, post-canon, book!jonsa ficlet. AO3 link.

~*~

“Who will you say the child’s father is?” Jon asks.

She looks away, closing her eyes and letting the wind hit her face as if it holds the answer. When Sansa opens her eyes, she does not look back at him, but toward the wolfswood, green and dark with the thick spring growth of trees, mosses, and grass.

“Someone I loved. Someone who died.”

He would laugh if there was any air left in his lungs. I am hollow but for my regret.

“May the old gods give you a son for your grief,” he says. Not only the grief of losing what was between them, but for all the questions to come her way when her condition is discovered.

Their marriage beneath the heart tree in the Winterfell godswood can never be known beyond their witnesses—Ghost, Brienne of Tarth, and Jeyne Poole. Not even Bran or Arya know, though Jon suspects one or both will be able to work it out for themselves. Either way, the secret will leave Sansa’s babe a bastard to the outside world, unless she claims to have married the nameless dead man she will say is the father.

And what if the child is born with the Targaryen look? Jon fears that most of all.

“I pray only for a healthy child,” Sansa says.

“I shall hope for the same.”

And for her health and safety as well. She is older than his mother was, but he still fears what the birthing bed can do to a woman.

He is leaving Lyanna Stark behind, too, in a way. All his life, his mother was closer and further away than he ever knew, her bones and statue in the Winterfell crypts. Ned Stark’s lie kept Jon alive but his mother a secret, and now Jon will lie to keep his own child safe from their parentage.

Someday it must end, this cycle. But not today.

He shifts on his feet, unable to walk away from Sansa despite knowing he must. How does anyone say goodbye to the person they love? He wants to run a sword through all that has torn them apart—the ghost of his father and the entire Targaryen legacy, and Dany’s destruction that reminded all of Westeros how deadly dragon rule can be.

In the end, the truth of Jon’s birth both gave and stole from him the greatest thing he has ever known.

“Your Grace,” he says with a nod to Sansa, intending to allow her to dismiss him.

“No,” she says, louder and firmer than she has spoken thus far. Then, softly, “Please. I am not your queen in this moment. This is our last—”

Their last moment to be something more, perhaps. But behind her is her queensguard, garbed in grey cloaks with blue undersides, the edges rimmed in white fur with red weirwood leaves for clasps. Jon and Sansa’s last moment was days ago, when he kissed her tears in the godswood, late at night, Ghost a guard at the entry. There will be no long embraces, no lingering kisses in this farewell.

“Sansa,” he says, for her guards are far enough away and cannot hear him. After her name has passed through his lips, he finds once is not enough. A hundred times would not be enough, but this is all they have left to share. “Sansa. My love.”

“I would have made you my equal, Jon,” she says. “My partner. My king. If it were possible, I would have done it.”

Her words make pride bloom in his chest, but he tamps it down. A title is nothing compared to the most precious dreams he is losing. They are slipping away, like water draining through cupped hands.

“You will be a fine lord,” Sansa says. “As you would have been a king.”

It is a cruel reality to achieve half of your desires, only to find it is the half you could have lived without.

“The North has you,” he replies. “There could be no one better.”

She lifts a hand and tugs off her light leather glove, then touches his face. It is a motion that could pass as sibling affection from a distance. Up close, he feels the tenderness and love that goes far beyond kinship, to the kind of touch they were only able to share too few times. The love and passion between a man and woman, a husband and wife.

A queen, and a king.

Clenching his fist, Jon closes his eyes and banishes the thought. That life is impossible for him. He opens his eyes and takes her hand off his cheek, holding it in his burned sword hand, then presses a kiss to the back of it.

Beside them, Ghost is still, not even scenting the rabbit smell that the wind has pushed their way. Spring has come, and prey is plentiful as the animals breed and recover their numbers after the long, hard winter and too many years of war. The direwolf will eat well tonight, and on every night of their journey to Queenscrown.

It will be wasted on Jon. He has found little enjoyment in the taste of food in nearly a moon, when his fate was sealed. Aegon was not Dany, yet the mob hunted and strung him up all the same. The smallfolk’s revenge.

It’s past time for him to leave. Sansa has duties she must attend to, and he has many leagues to travel. But the next time Jon sees her could be years. She promised to visit or to summon him to court at Winterfell, but he cannot bear the thought of pretending she is only a queen and half-sister to him. He cannot bear the thought of seeing a child of his blood grow and change in a million ways between visits, to know that child will forever be as fatherless as Jon himself was motherless.

This is the end for him and Sansa, for the life they should have shared and the family they should have made. Their babe is hers alone now. Jon dips his head, then drops her hand, turns, mounts his garron, and nudges the horse into a walk.

Don’t look back, he tells himself. If you look back, you will never leave.

But he has always been weak when it comes to her, and after several paces, Jon twists in his saddle. Sansa is standing there, eyes closed again as if to deny what is happening. Tears are streaking down her cheeks. He faces forward again and kicks his horse into a trot, listening to the animal’s hooves thump against the wet grass and squelch in the mud.

The hills dip and rise as Jon rides up the kingsroad, Ghost plodding silently next to him. Flowers bloom alongside the road’s ruts, the new season bringing long-promised life to the North. Despite the growth and beauty, the spring air tastes like a bitter lie instead of the sweet hope he expected.

On the fourth rise, he turns once more. She is still on the hummock where he left her, though Brienne is standing beside her now instead of behind. When Sansa sees he has turned, she raises a hand and waves.

Jon lifts his own hand in farewell, then drops it and regrips the reins, leaving all promise of the life he dreamed of behind him.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fanfic #book jonsa #*rms #eruhwrites

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