#dayne!reader

[ludwig-holy-blade]

The Eyes of the Beholder

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Male Dayne Reader

Rhaenyra Targaryen, the realm’s delight, did not feel beautiful today. It was the early morning on the isle of Starfall and Rhaenyra was sat upon the beach as she was oft to do every morning. Her gown had been soaked around her ankles and bum for the better part of an hour now, though she had hardly noticed. 

Her thoughts were awash with doubts as she stared out towards the Torrentine. It was only eight days ago that she had given birth to her fourth son and it had become strangely apparent to her that she was not the beauty she once was. After ten years of marriage Rhaenyra and Y/N had produced no less than eight children together. The thought brought a smile to her face. She and her husband had been rather over eager in their passions. 

The truth was however that those births had added weight to her once slender form. While Rhaenyra and her husband enjoyed the new size her breasts and bottom she had quickly become quite frustrated with the weight around her middle. This frustration was often made worse whenever she saw Alicent, still slender and slim despite having birthed four children of her own. She often feared that in time her husband would grow disgusted with her and in time would seek out others. There were so many after all in Dorne alone not to mention across the Narrow Sea and in Westeros itself. 

These thoughts liked to creep into her mind in the early morning and late into the evening. They would often leave her quiet and staring into the mirror, reminiscing on her once beauty. 

The sound of splashing dragged her out of her thoughts.

The reason for Rhaenyra’s love of watching the waves in the early morning was twofold. On one hand the sound of the waves and the cool air were calming and brought her a sense of peace. On the other, was her husbands love of swimming. Lord Y/N Dayne loved to swim around the entire length and breadth of his Island Castle and Rhaenyra loved to watch him. 

Y/N had also gotten bigger over the last ten years except unlike Rhaenyra Y/N had turned said weight into muscle. This was made easy due to her husband’s love of swimming and many other forms of exercise, he often spends hours training with his houses ancestral blade Dawn and loved wrestling and grappling. Rhaenyra loved to watch him train, not only was it incredibly attractive to watch Y/N’s muscle flex and move but it also made Rhaenyra more comfortable, it was a comfort to know just how well her husband could and in fact would protect her if needs be.

The sight before her was one she had seen many a time but still never grew tired of witnessing. Her husband came out of the water in naught but his small clothes and while a grin broke out across her face at the sight of him and thoughts of more amorous activities flooded her mind she couldn’t stop herself from covering her stomach. 

Y/N approached sluggishly, as there was no way possible to exit the water attractively. A smile broke out across his face as soon as he saw her, his true smile, the one that reached his eyes. The slow walk turned to a quick stride as he got closer. The sight of his approach made Rhaenyra’s heart beat faster and heavier, made her smile almost painfully wide and made a blush spread across her face and ears. 

He came and sat before her folding his knees under him. He looked nearly boyish in that moment, smiling like a fool without saying a word. The two of them simply sat there gazing at each other simply smiling. 

“Hello gorgeous.” Were the first words spoken, quietly, as if he was speaking reverently of her. Rhaenyra merely took him by the face brought his lips to hers. joy flood into her as it often did when they kissed. 

They parted for a mere moment and Y/N stopped to look at her. “What’s wrong Rhaenyra.” She averted her eyes though she knew she couldn’t hide her upset. She never could, not from Y/N. “It’s too early in the morning to be so distressed.” Rhaenyra had turned her face into her shoulder, a vain attempt to hide herself but Y/N had followed her turning his face with her. No longer desiring to hide from her husband, it was to want to she knew, Rhaenyra steeled herself. Taking a deep breath she spoke. 

“Do you still find me beautiful Y/N?” The shock that over took his face would have been funny if Rhaenyra was in a joking mood but she remained stoic. Y/N appeared almost offended by the very question when he answered. “Why wouldn’t I Rhaenyra, your as beautiful now as you’ve ever been.” His response was earnest and yet still Rhaenyra’s face was still downcast. “Who would call you anything but lovely Rhaenyra, tell me they’re name, I'll strike them down with a god’s wrath.” A laugh bubbled up from Rhaenyra. “No one Y/N I swear no one had offended me so.” A laugh interrupted her and she brought her hand to his cheek once again. “Though thank you for caring so much as to kill someone for my pleasure.” The two of them laughed quietly. 

“I will be honest with you then my love but please try not to judge me,” Rhaenyra breathed deeply again. “Over the past I have begun to notice, after the children have been born, I have kept more weight on my stomach than I should have been.” Y/N once again began to speak but Rhaenyra’s raised hand stopped him. “I simply do not feel as beautiful as I once did, I know you love me but it does worry me that perhaps one day you will decide to seek out another younger woman.” She wove her hand through his long dark hair, Y/N closed his eyes and took her hand. 

“Rhaenyra I want you to listen to me and hear everything I say.” She nodded. “I have loved you since the moment I first saw you as a boy. You are as beautiful as you could possibly be.” Y/N came forward, making Rhaenyra lie on her back. He settled his hands in her splayed out hair, as he loved to play with her silver locks. Y/N locked eyes with his wife before he spoke again. “There may younger women, prettier women, women with larger tits, tighter asses and the like.” He brought his hand down to stroke her cheek. “There will never be a woman more beautiful than you in my eyes, no one. And there shall never be another woman as beautiful as you to come.” 

Y/N began to kiss Rhaenyra’s neck, long deep kisses which pulled moans deep from within her throat. He descended slowly kissing a trail down her body. He opened her night gown, revealing her breasts to the early morning air, he kissed both of them for some time before moving on. He made his way downwards to her belly and stopped. He kissed it once, twice, thrice then over and over and over again. It was obvious what he was doing but Rhaenyra had not married him for his wits but rather for his honesty and frankness. It was not to say his kisses were ineffective either. Rhaenyra became hot once again, warmth flooding through her chest as Y/N’s kisses continued. 

After much time and many more kisses Y/N finally stopped. Crawling back upwards he sat between her legs, Rhaenyra wrapped them around his waist almost instinctively, and he kissed her lips again. “You may grow as big a house if you so desire Rhaenyra Targaryen and should any man call you anything less than beautiful I’ll kill them and the next generation of their families. No man or woman will demean you in my presence, not even yourself.” 

He brought his lips to hers once again, passion colliding as they embraced. Rhaenyra knew in that moment that no more words need pass between them, Y/N intended to prove his loyalty the best he could. It was long into the morning that they loved each other and Rhaenyra in that moment, could not have felt more magnificent. 

[novaursa]

The List Of My HOTD Reader Insert Works:

The list received a makeover. There is no longer a second one. All is here, in one place.

Requests are closed! Please stop sending them to me, and respect me enough to understand how I'm unable to be doing anything outside my schedule right now!

Aegon II Targaryen

Helaena Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Daeron Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Jacaerys Velaryon

Daemon Targaryen

Baela Targaryen

Otto Hightower

Gwayne Hightower

Alicent Hightower

Cregan Stark

Harwin Strong

Criston Cole

Jason Lannister

Tyland Lannister

Davos Blackwood

The List Of My ASOIAF Reader Inserts Works:

Oberyn Martell

Aerys II Targaryen

Rhaegar Targaryen

Arthur Dayne

Robb Stark

Sansa Stark

Jon Snow

Euron Greyjoy

Tywin Lannister

Jaime Lannister

Tyrion Lannister

Robert Baratheon

Eddard Stark

Brandon Stark (The Wild Wolf)

Lyanna Stark

Roose Bolton

Ramsay Bolton

Jaqen H'ghar

Sandor Clegane

Khal Drogo

Styr the Thenn

Ser Duncan the Tall - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

The List Of My FAB Reader Insert Works:

Aegon I Targaryen

Visenya Targaryen

Rhaenys Targaryen

Maegor I Targaryen

Torrhen Stark

Orys Baratheon

Aegon (The Uncrowned) Targaryen

Daemon I Blackfyre

Aerion Targaryen (Brightflame)

Dune Crossover

Requests are closed!

About Me

[madamabelladonna]

𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Young Lady Dayne, awaiting Jacaerys' lesson's end, enjoys tea with Princess Rhaenyra, who grants her access to the Royal Library due to her rare gifts. As she reads beneath the heart tree, a prince in green watches her, sparking jealousy within the eldest son of Rhaenyra. With Jacaerys' eighth name day nearing, their growing relationship seems to be all the court can talk about. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Jealousy & Criston 'Rice Krispy' Cole 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Ser Ryak led you through the dim corridors of the Red Keep, his heavy boots scuffing against the cold, uneven stones. The predawn air hung thick with a damp chill, a sea mist that clung to your skin and settled like dew on your hair. It was a still, quiet hour, that mysterious time when the castle seemed to breathe in its sleep, the distant sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs the only indication that the world outside was still alive.

The mist wrapped around the castle like a shroud, casting a ghostly pallor over everything. The torches along the walls had burned down to embers, and their dim, flickering light barely held back the shadows. The wind from the bay swept through the open passages, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea mixed with the faint, sharp scent of the cold morning air.

You pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders, clutching the wooden bucket of carrots close to your chest. “My lady, are you quite certain you don’t require assistance?” Ser Ryak’s voice broke the silence, low and cautious, his eyes darting to the heavy pail in your grip. He was a tall man, with a lined face and sharp blue eyes that always seemed to watch you more closely than you would like.

“I can manage,” you replied, a touch of firmness in your tone, your fingers gripping the rough wood even tighter. You would not be seen as weak, not today. Merek had made it clear that Whisper was your responsibility now, and you would not allow yourself to fail. If it meant waking before dawn and trudging through the cold with a bucket of carrots, so be it. You had taken it upon yourself, and you would see it through.

The stables loomed ahead, their thatched roof barely visible against the gray sky. As you neared, the smell of hay and manure grew stronger, mingling with the scent of damp earth. The doors were ajar, a faint glow spilling out into the mist like a buoy. You could hear the muffled sounds of the horses shifting restlessly in their stalls, the soft clinking of metal against wood as they moved.

Inside, the stables were dark, save for a single lantern hanging from a beam. Its light flickered and danced across the walls, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to stretch and writhe like living things. The smell was stronger here, a pungent mix of straw, sweat, and the earthy scent of the horses.

The floor was covered in fresh hay, the sound of your footsteps muffled as you made your way towards Whisper’s stall. Whisper lay on her side in a bed of straw, her coat a dappled gray that seemed almost silver in the dim light. Her breathing was slow and steady, her sides rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.

Her head was tucked close to her chest, her eyes closed in sleep. You paused for a moment, watching her, a small smile tugging at your lips. There was something calming about the sight, something that eased the tension that had settled in your shoulders.

“Whisper,” you called softly, careful not to startle her.

Her ears twitched at the sound of your voice, and her eyes fluttered open, dark and deep, like pools of ink. She lifted her head, her nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of the carrots. Slowly, she rose, her muscles rippling beneath her skin as she stretched out her long neck towards you, her eyes bright with curiosity.

You stepped closer, holding the bucket just out of her reach, a playful smile on your lips. “Not so fast, girl,” you teased, your voice barely more than a whisper in the cool air. Whisper snorted softly, a sound of mild impatience, and nudged your chest with her muzzle, her breath warm against your skin.

Her large eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could almost swear she understood you, understood the game you played. You laughed, a soft, genuine sound that echoed in the quiet of the stable. “Alright, alright,” you relented, holding out your palm with a few carrots.

Whisper took them eagerly, crunching them between her teeth, her ears flicking back and forth in contentment. You watched her, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of satisfaction that had little to do with the task at hand.

You moved closer, reaching out to stroke her neck, your fingers tangling in her silvery mane. Whisper leaned into your touch, her body warm and solid against the chill of the morning air. She had begun to recognize you now, to see you not as a stranger but as something more—a friend, perhaps, or at least a familiar presence.

She nuzzled your shoulder, her breath hot against your ear, and you closed your eyes, just for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. The stable seemed to hold its breath, the world outside fading to a distant hum.

You could hear the soft sounds of the other horses, the rustle of straw, the creak of wood settling in the cold. It was a small, enclosed space, but for a moment, it felt like the center of the universe, a place where nothing else mattered.

“Whisper,” you murmured again, almost to yourself. She flicked her ears, as if listening, her dark eyes watching you with an almost unnerving intensity. You wondered, not for the first time, if she could truly understand you, if there was some deeper connection between you and this horse that went beyond mere words.

The silence was broken by the sound of Ser Ryak clearing his throat. “The sun will be rising soon, my lady,” he warned, his voice low and respectful. “We should return before anyone notices your absence.”

You sighed, a small, reluctant sound, and gave Whisper’s neck a final pat. “I will return soon,” you promised her, though you doubted she understood. She nickered softly, as if in response, and you turned away, your heart feeling strangely heavy.

Ser Ryak waited by the door, his expression unreadable. You followed him out, glancing back over your shoulder one last time. Whisper was watching you, her eyes dark and unreadable, her ears pricked forward. You smiled, a small, private smile, and then turned back, stepping out into the cold morning air.

The sky was beginning to lighten, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon, painting the mist in shades of pink and gold. The wind had picked up, tugging at your cloak, and you pulled it tighter around you, feeling the chill seep through the fabric. You moved quickly, your footsteps light and swift on the cobblestones, Ser Ryak close behind.

The castle was waking around you, the sounds of servants beginning their morning chores, the clatter of pots in the kitchens, the low murmur of voices in the halls. You kept your head down, moving with haste, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention. The last thing you needed was questions about why you were up so early, why you had been in the stables.

Your chambers were blessedly empty when you returned, the fire in the hearth burned down to embers, the room cold and still. You tossed your cloak beneath the bed and kicked off your boots, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

You fell onto your bed, the sheets cool against your skin, and closed your eyes, a tired but satisfied smile playing on your lips. You still had a few hours before Isla would come, and you intended to make the most of them.

But even as you drifted off, your thoughts lingered on Whisper, the feel of her warm breath against your skin, the sound of her soft nicker in your ear.

The air was warm that day, the kind of warmth that felt like a soft embrace, gentle yet firm, coaxing the skin into a subtle sheen of sweat. The sweet aroma of rooibos tea mingled with the delicate perfume of the garden blooms—roses, daisies, lavender—all blended together to form a picture of scents.

Birds sang in the Keep’s gardens, their cheerful notes rising like prayers to the gods, as the sun hung high in the sky, a blazing orb that ruled over Kingslanding with a relentless glare.

You sat with Princess Rhaenyra, the two of you alone at a small wooden table. The chairs creaked as you settled into them, savoring the quiet and each other’s company, finding solace in the rare stillness of the afternoon.

A tray of cakes and fruit lay between you, untouched save for a few crumbs—plum cakes drizzled with honey, slices of apple, and grapes, their skins bursting with juice. 

You waited for Jacaerys, who had gone off to the Dragonpit to see Vermax, his beloved dragon. You found solace in the calm, feeling the gentle breeze that whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the laughter of children playing somewhere nearby. 

In the moons since your arrival, you had grown close to Princess Rhaenyra and her family, finding a place here that surprised even you. You and Jacaerys had become inseparable, roaming the Red Keep like shadows of one another, your laughter echoing through the stone corridors. Even your brother, Merek, seemed to have eased his worries. 

The godswood incident had faded into distant memory, like a bad dream half-forgotten upon waking. Merek had taken to sparring with Ser Harwin Strong, the “Breakbones” they called him, a man of muscle and might who moved like a dancer despite his size.

The training yard had become his sanctuary, the clash of steel his new rhythm, finding purpose in the routine. Kingslanding, with its stench and squalor and intrigue, had become almost like home to the two Daynes, much to your surprise.

"I must say," Rhaenyra began, setting down her teacup with a gentle clink that seemed almost too loud in the stillness.

She leaned forward, resting her chin upon her hands, her violet eyes—so much like her mother’s—studying you with an intensity that made you shift in your seat. "Luke has grown under your guidance. You have become quite the teacher, despite your young years."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, ducking your head in a bid to hide the blush. "Thank you, Your Highness," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Prince Lucerys is a fast learner. I fear he will surpass me before he reaches my age." A soft laugh escaped your lips, an attempt to deflect the praise with humor. But Rhaenyra did not laugh.

Instead, she tilted her head, her expression one of quiet contemplation. "Oh, we can’t have that now, can we?" she mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. For a moment, a flicker of worry crossed your face.

Would she bring in a new tutor, someone older, wiser, more accomplished, to replace you? You had grown to cherish your time with Lucerys and Jacaerys and feared losing it more than you cared to admit.

As if sensing your anxiety, Rhaenyra chuckled—a rich, warm sound that felt like sunlight breaking through a cloud. "No need to fret, dear one. I have no intention of separating you from my boys." Her words were a balm, and you felt your shoulders relax, the tension ebbing away like the tide.

She gestured to her handmaiden, Elinda, who stepped forward, carrying a scroll bound with red silk, the seal of House Targaryen gleaming in the sunlight.

Rhaenyra took the scroll, her fingers deftly untying the ribbon. "I have spoken to the King of your goodwill," she began, her voice light with excitement, "and he wishes to reward you for your efforts with his grandson." She opened the scroll, her eyes scanning the words written there, a smile playing at her lips as if she were savoring some sweet secret.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, frantic beat. "P-pardon?" you stammered, unsure of what to expect, caught between hope and dread.

“The King has granted you access to the Royal Family’s Library,” Rhaenyra announced, holding the scroll out to you. “You may come and go as you please.”

For a moment, you could hardly breathe. At just seven summers, you had been given a privilege reserved for only the most trusted and learned in the realm. "Thank you, Your Highness. This is an honor," you managed to say, though your voice trembled like a leaf caught in the wind.

You took the scroll with hands that felt too heavy, as if it were made of gold and not parchment. "I… I don’t know what to say."

Rhaenyra's smile widened, her lips curling like the edges of a rose in bloom. "Say nothing at all, dear one. You have earned it." Her voice was as warm and soft as the breeze that stirred the petals of the garden flowers.

As you looked down at the slip of parchment in your hand, your own smile grew, blossoming like the flowers that surrounded you. The thrill that bubbled within you was almost too much to contain, the urge to race to Merek and show him the gift you had been granted nearly overwhelming. But you knew he was at the training yard, and you would have to wait. And you knew why.

One name lingered in your thoughts like a shadow.

Criston Cole.

The Queen Consort’s sworn sword, dark and brooding as a storm cloud on a summer's day. Of him, you knew little more than the stories whispered in the shadows of the Red Keep, tales of dishonor and betrayal, of his contemptuous treatment of Princess Rhaenyra and her children.

Merek had called him a "pompous prick" more than once, a slight grin twisting his lips whenever he spoke the words. And more often than not, Ser Criston would challenge your brother to sparring matches, a ceaseless endeavor to test if Merek was truly worthy of bearing Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne.

You’d often catch Ser Criston’s cold, appraising eyes upon you and Jacaerys whenever you passed him in the corridors of the Keep, his gaze as sharp and unforgiving as a blade. For a Dornishman, he was strangely rigid, his sense of honor sharper than any steel. Sometimes, you worried that life at court might turn you into something equally stern and unyielding, as if the castle’s cold stone walls were creeping into your very soul.

His arrogance was boundless, like the vastness of the Narrow Sea—frowning upon the heir to the Iron Throne was one thing, but questioning your brother’s worthiness to wield Dawn? Unforgivable.

No, you did not like that man. Not at all.

Then there was “Crispin Cole,” as Lucerys liked to call him, despite your many efforts to correct the boy. Jacaerys would often encourage his little brother’s jests, his laughter a bright, lively sound that seemed to fill every corner of a room with its light.

Your relationship with the young princes had flourished in your time here, a bond forged in the fires of shared glances, whispered secrets, and childhood mischief. With Jacaerys especially, you had grown close.

The two of you would often take walks along the beach, the sea air tangling your hair, or wander through the gardens where flowers of every hue and fragrance bloomed in wild abundance. It had become a comforting routine—waiting for him after his lessons, seeing his familiar form approaching with a grin, Lucerys trailing behind, his smile just as wide.

But speaking of Jacaerys, you were pulled from your thoughts by the soft sound of Rhaenyra's amused cough. She seemed to see through you, catching the spark of excitement dancing in your eyes, the rabbit hole of contemplation you had wandered into. "I do believe Jacaerys should be back from visiting Vermax soon," she remarked with a knowing smile, her violet eyes twinkling with unspoken mirth.

"Why not head over to the library and find something to read while you wait?" She leaned in a little closer, the conspiratorial light in her gaze almost playful, and gave you a wink.

You nodded eagerly, unable to suppress your delight. “Thank you, your highness,” you replied, offering a quick curtsey. “I will not disappoint.” Rhaenyra waved a hand, dismissing you, her lips curling in a smile that was both fond and faintly amused, as if she could see into the future from now. 

You shuffled into the Royal Library, excitement thrumming through your veins. The air was thick with the crisp, leathery scent of old books, and you breathed it in deeply, savoring the smell of history and knowledge that stretched far beyond your years.

This place was everything you imagined it would be—a sanctuary of knowledge and wisdom, a vault of secrets. Jacaerys would return soon, so you figured it best to start with something small. 

You wandered from shelf to shelf, fingers grazing the spines of the ancient tomes. The choices were overwhelming, each title seeming more intriguing than the last. Finally, you decided to let fate decide for you.

Closing your eyes, you continued to meander around the shelves, oblivious to the watchful gaze fixed on you from a distance. 

Eventually, you stopped and reached out, your hand landing on a random book. “The Tongue of the Horse Lords,” you murmured to yourself, turning it over in your hands. Cracking it open, you quickly realized it was a beginner's guide to learning the Dothraki language. A smile tugged at your lips. You’d always wanted to learn another language besides the common tongue.

High Valyrian would have been your first choice, of course—it was the mother tongue of the Targaryens, Velaryons, and even the Celtigars. But many high-born lords and ladies knew it, so it wasn’t exactly a rare skill. Dothraki, though… now that would be something different. A good read, you decided, tucking the book under your arm.

A glint of silver caught your eye, a flicker in the corner of your vision.

You turned quickly, but whatever it was had vanished. The sensation of being watched settled over you like a cold mist. You hesitated, glancing around the room, but there was no one—at least, no one you could see.

“Hmm… Strange…” you muttered, half-hoping for a reply. But the only answer was the faint whisper of a draft brushing through the room. You shook your head, deciding it was just a trick of the light. Clutching the book tighter to your chest, you headed for the door.

The open halls of the Keep greeted you with a breeze, tugging at your hair. “I promised Jace I’d meet him at the godswood,” you reminded yourself. The godswood had become your place, the spot where you’d meet after his lessons or your tutoring sessions with Lucerys. It was a peaceful corner of the Red Keep, a slice of greenery amidst the stone and mortar.

Your mauve dress swished around your ankles as you made your way to the godswood, your thoughts still lingering on the strange flicker of silver in the library. You glanced over your shoulder once, twice, but nothing was behind you except the quiet shadows of the early morning.

Brushing the odd feeling away like a speck of dust, you slipped through the arched entryway and into the godswood. The air was cool here, heavy with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. The soft rustling of branches overhead was the only sound, mingling with the distant murmur of the castle beyond the wall of trees.

Here, the world seemed hushed, the canopy casting dappled shadows across the ground. The heart tree, with its pale bark and carved face, loomed in the center of the grove, its red leaves rustling like whispers of an old song.

You made your way to the base of the weirwood, the ancient tree towering above you, its carved eyes seeming to watch you as you moved. Settling against its thick trunk, you shifted into a comfortable position, feeling the rough bark press against your back. The weirwood's roots twisted like old bones around you, giving you the sensation of being both sheltered and observed, held in the embrace of something far older than the Red Keep itself.

Opening the book, you began to read, tracing the unfamiliar letters with your fingertips. The first few pages were simple enough—basic phrases in Dothraki, the language of the horse lords across the Narrow Sea.

You sounded the words out softly, your breath clouding in the cool morning air. “M’athchomaroon,” you whispered, your tongue stumbling over the guttural sounds. "Respect to you." It was strange to shape your mouth around the words, but oddly satisfying. You repeated the phrase again, more slowly, letting the syllables sink into your memory.

You made a mental note to ask Merek to find a proper tutor for you—someone who could help you with pronunciation and grammar, someone who knew more than just the basics this book offered. This wasn't for any formal education, just a pursuit born of personal curiosity. To learn a language so different from your own, to understand the people who spoke it—there was something thrilling in that thought.

The godswood was silent except for the whisper of leaves and the occasional caw of a distant crow. You found comfort in that stillness, letting it envelop you as you continued to read, sounding out the phrases with careful deliberation. "Thira anni," you murmured.

"My sun and stars." It was a phrase that spoke of deep affection, a fondness as fierce as the riders who spoke it. You couldn't help but wonder if the Dothraki felt their words as deeply as they sounded.

Leaning back against the weirwood, you took a deep breath, feeling the cool, rough bark press against your spine. You allowed yourself to imagine, just for a moment, what it might be like to stand on the vast grasslands of Essos, to ride across the open plains with nothing but the wind in your hair and a language on your lips that no one else in the Red Keep could speak. It made you feel bold, different—a small spark of adventure kindling within your chest. 

As you repeated the words again, slower this time, you felt the weirwood’s presence—ancient and steady—watching over you like an old friend, the red leaves above stirring softly as if whispering their approval.

A rustle in the leaves caught your attention, and a smile touched your lips as you lifted your head toward the approaching footsteps. "Took you long enough," you began, ready to chide Jacaerys for his tardiness. "I was waiting for y—" The words died on your lips when you realized it wasn’t Jacaerys standing before you. 

The boy who appeared was older than you by a few years, though not by many. His hair was a shade of silver so bright it almost seemed to glow in the dappled light of the godswood, and his eyes—a deep, vivid violet—marked him unmistakably as a Targaryen.

He stood half-hidden by a bush, his expression wary, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He wore a tunic of deep green, the color of House Hightower. Too young to be Prince Aegon, you quickly realized this must be Prince Aemond, the second son of Queen Alicent.

Aemond’s gaze flitted nervously from you to the ground and back again. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with uncertainty, clearly unaccustomed to these sorts of encounters. He had been in the Royal Library, practicing his High Valyrian, when he noticed you.

His days usually consisted of lessons, reading, and dreaming of dragons, often alone. He would have been at the Dragonpit if he had a dragon to visit—if only his egg had hatched instead of turning cold and dead like stone in his cradle. His birthright felt like a broken promise, a void he was desperate to fill. 

He had heard the door to the library open and close and dismissed it as a maester's passing, only to look up and see you wandering among the shelves, a small figure lost in a sea of ancient tomes. He was surprised to see another child there, especially one so intent on the books. His nephews were far too busy bonding with their dragons to bury themselves in reading, and his brother Aegon had no love for such pursuits. 

"I—I saw you in the library," Aemond stammered, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he wasn't sure you’d want to hear him. He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Up close, he could see you more clearly: the way the light fell on your face, the way your eyes scanned the pages of your book.

You seemed at home here, calm and sure in a way he envied. "I… I thought you looked… interesting," he added, though his voice caught on the last word, as if he weren't quite sure it was the right thing to say. 

He shifted on his feet, unsure of what to do with his hands. "You were reading… Dothraki," he murmured, glancing at the book in your lap. "It’s… not a language many choose to learn." Aemond spoke quietly, as if he feared his voice might shatter the tranquility of the godswood.

You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way his fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. He had been drawn to you without quite understanding why, as if the godswood itself had pulled him here. 

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “It interested me,” you replied simply, lifting the book to show the cover. “And it seemed like no one else would bother.” You smiled gently, noticing how his shoulders relaxed, just a little. "What were you reading?" you asked, trying to draw him out of his shell.

“High Valyrian,” he answered, a flicker of pride in his voice. “It’s… It’s our tongue, our true tongue.” There was a brief, almost imperceptible glint of hope in his eyes, as if he were reaching out, yearning for something—a connection, perhaps, or just understanding. 

You nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could teach me a word or two,” you offered, and for the first time, you saw Aemond’s lips twitch into a small smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

A start.

“Wren!”

You turned at the familiar call of your nickname, a name Jacaerys had chosen for you on a whim, saying it suited you. You never asked why, but you didn't mind—it made you think of the little bird, quick and curious, flitting about the gardens. 

Jacaerys approached, his dark curls bouncing slightly as he moved with purpose. You didn’t notice the way Aemond’s fist tightened at the sight of his nephew, but you felt the sudden tension in the air. Jacaerys’s gaze landed on Aemond, his expression hardening slightly, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice. 

To Jacaerys, Aemond was always just… there. Always standing in some corner, always watching, always so quiet. It was unnerving, but Jacaerys hadn’t given him much thought—until now. Something about seeing Aemond standing there with you didn’t sit well with him. 

Jacaerys strode forward, his eyes locked on Aemond’s, his hand outstretched to help you up. He never broke his gaze, sizing Aemond up as if trying to decide whether he was a threat. Aemond stared back, unblinking, his face an unreadable mask. 

Aemond tolerated his half-sister's sons at best. His mother, Queen Alicent, had made it her mission to keep her children away from Rhaenyra’s, whispering in their ears all sorts of things about their half-sister and her sons, things that shaped Aemond’s view even if he never voiced them aloud.

He knew better than to openly question the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's sons, especially not in front of King Viserys. But that didn’t mean he didn’t think it. 

Jacaerys pulled you to your feet, his hand firm in yours, then shifted, stepping in front of you, as if to shield you from Aemond. He placed himself between you and his uncle, his stance protective, his chin lifted in silent defiance. Aemond’s eyes flicked to your face, and then back to Jacaerys, his jaw clenched tight, the tension crackling in the space between them.

Aemond’s mouth opened slightly as if he were about to speak, but then he hesitated. You watched him, noticing the flicker of uncertainty in his violet eyes. He looked young then, younger than you expected—a boy caught between pride and some silent longing. The same look he’d worn in the library, staring at the books he could read but didn’t seem to love.

“I only wanted to see what she was reading.” Aemond finally said, his voice almost a whisper, as if afraid it might break if he spoke too loudly. He turned his gaze to you again, something softer in his eyes.

Jacaerys didn’t relax. He kept his posture tense, his shoulders squared. “She doesn’t need you watching over her,” he replied coolly, still keeping himself between you and Aemond. You could feel the heat in his words, the simmering edge of protectiveness. This had been the first you have seen of it, “Jace…” You held his hand, “Be kind.” whispering a plea in his ear.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked as if he might say more, but then, instead, he turned his head slightly, his gaze moving past you and Jacaerys, to the Weirwood tree looming above, its red leaves rustling softly in the breeze.

He had always been fascinated by the godswood, though he’d never say so aloud. There was something ancient about it, something unspoken and holy, and he felt that whenever he stood beneath those blood-red leaves.

“Doesn’t matter,” Aemond muttered, his gaze returning to you, just for a moment. “I’ll leave you to your… study.” His voice was tight, controlled, as he turned to leave, his green tunic blending into the shadows of the trees. But before he took a step, he paused, hesitating again. “You… You shouldn’t be alone here. Not without someone who knows this place,” he added, almost like an afterthought.

Jacaerys scoffed. “I know this place well enough. And she has me,” he said firmly, his tone dismissive. “Go back to your lessons, Uncle.”

Aemond’s eyes flashed at the word, ‘Uncle,’ a reminder of his status, his place. “As you say,” he murmured. His face went cold, the expressionless mask sliding back into place. He turned away, his steps light and quick, almost too quick, as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

You watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of emotions—pity, perhaps, for the boy without a dragon, the one who seemed so lonely despite being surrounded by people. But you also felt a warmth blooming in your chest at Jacaerys’s side, his presence like a solid, reassuring wall against the world’s uncertainties.

Jacaerys let out a breath he’d been holding and turned to you, his face softening into a smile. “Come on, Wren,” he said, his voice gentler now, his hand still resting on your arm. He guided you away from the godswood, his steps light and quick as if eager to leave the encounter with Aemond behind.

You followed, but a frown creased your forehead. “You didn’t have to be so rude back there, Jace,” you said, your voice holding a hint of reproach. Aemond didn’t seem to mean any harm. He was just… awkward, for lack of better words.

Jacaerys shrugged, his shoulders rising slightly as if to brush off your concern. “It’s not that I don’t like him,” he said, his tone dismissive. “It’s just… he’s different. And he’s always got this way of standing in the corner, watching us. It’s unsettling.”

You bit your lip, glancing back toward the godswood where Aemond had disappeared into the shadows. “But you have to admit, it’s not entirely his fault,” you said softly. “He’s always been on the fringes, hasn’t he? With the way things are at court, I imagine he feels isolated.”

Jacaerys’s expression softened, though he remained guarded. “Maybe,” he conceded. You could understand Jacaery’s reproach to a certain degree. Given that House Targaryen has been divided into two factions, Black and Green, the bad blood between Jacaerys and Aemond, both their mother’s sons, comes as no surprise.

As you walked together, the cool post-meridiem air brushed against your cheeks, and the sky above was turning shades of deep blue and gold. The quiet of the Red Keep settled around you, the hum of the city distant but ever-present.

Jacaerys guided you to the dining hall, where the warm glow of lanterns cast a comforting light. “Come on,” he said, his tone brightening. “Let’s forget about the godswood and enjoy the evening. I promised you a story, remember?”

You smiled, letting the conversation drift to lighter topics as you entered the hall. The evening stretched ahead, full of promise, and you felt a sense of contentment as you settled into the comfort of Jacaerys’s company. The troubles of the day seemed to melt away, if only for a while, as the warmth and laughter of the dining hall embraced you both.“I brought you something.”

He stopped in the middle of the hall. “I brought you something.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth.  “For you,” he said, his eyes bright with anticipation.

You took the bundle, unwrapping it carefully, to find a small, carved wooden bird—a wren, its delicate wings outstretched as if in mid-flight. It was finely crafted, and the wood was smooth under your fingers.

Your heart swelled at the sight, and you couldn’t help but smile up at him. “You made this?” you asked, touched by the gesture. He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I thought… well, I thought it could keep you company,” he admitted, looking almost shy. “When you read.”

You laughed softly, feeling a wave of affection for him. “Thank you, Jace,” you said, holding the small bird close to your chest. “It’s perfect.” He grinned, his face lighting up, and for a moment, the tension that had hung in the air seemed to melt away.

The godswood was quiet again, the only sound the soft rustling of the leaves and the distant call of a raven somewhere high above. Jacaerys sat down beside you at the base of the Weirwood, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Now, what were you reading?” he asked, peering at the book in your lap.

“The Tongue of the Horse Lords?” He chuckled, “Dothraki? Why would you want to learn that?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile playing at your lips. “Perhaps I’m planning a trip across the Narrow Sea. Or maybe I want to surprise everyone when I curse them in a language they can’t understand.”

Jacaerys laughed, his arm slipping around your shoulders. “I’d like to see that,” he said, his voice warm. “And if you do decide to go to Essos, you know I’d go with you.”

You leaned into him slightly, “Do you think Vermax will grow large enough to carry two riders?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur. Your eyes remained fixed on the path ahead, but your thoughts were with the dragon.

Vermax was still young, his scales the color of deep green sea glass, his eyes like embers. But you wondered now if he would grow big enough, strong enough, to bear the weight of two, to carry you and Jacaerys both across the sky, far from this place with its whispered rivalries and bitter feuds.

Jacaerys’s lips curled into a small, amused smile. "Perhaps,” he replied, a hint of laughter in his tone. “Vermax is still growing, and who knows what size he’ll reach? Dragons are unpredictable creatures.” There was a glimmer in his eyes, one of mischief and wonder. “But I think he could bear us both if I asked him to. Dragons know when they are needed. They sense it… like we do.”

You slipped your arms around Jacaerys’s arm, pulling him a little closer as the two of you continued to walk through the godswood, your steps crunching softly on the fallen leaves underfoot. “I can’t wait!” you exclaimed, your voice bubbling with excitement.

The thought of you and Jacaerys, riding Vermax together, flying across the skies to far-off places, seeing lands you had only ever heard about in songs and stories— it was a dream that sparkled in your mind, bright and vivid. The idea of traveling together, especially at your young age, filled you with a sense of adventure that made your heart race.

Jacaerys chuckled, a warm sound that matched the smile on his lips. “Where should we go first, do you think?” he asked, looking down at you with an eager glint in his dark eyes. “Maybe the Free Cities? Or the Summer Isles?” He spoke as if the whole world was open to you both, as if no walls or rules could ever hold you back.

The mention of distant lands filled your head with images of bright markets, exotic spices, and strange, beautiful places where no one knew your name. But another thought soon surfaced, one that brought you back to the present.

“Your eighth name day is coming soon,” you reminded him with a grin, watching as his expression shifted to one of surprise and then a touch of delight. “A grand feast, a tourney… I imagine King Viserys will make quite a celebration for his first grandchild.”

Jacaerys rolled his eyes playfully. “Another tourney, more knights prancing about,” he said, though you could see the hint of pride that flickered in his gaze. He was growing into his princely role, even if he liked to pretend otherwise. He was a boy who was slowly learning the weight of the crown that might one day rest upon his head.

Resting your chin lightly on his shoulder, you leaned in closer, feeling the comforting solidity of him beside you. “Do you want anything special for your name day?” you asked, voice soft with genuine curiosity. “A sword? A new cloak, perhaps? A book on dragons?” You tilted your head slightly, the question hanging in the air like the last leaves of autumn, waiting to fall.

Jacaerys looked thoughtful, his brow furrowing slightly, his eyes narrowing as he pondered. “A gift?” He seemed to savor the word for a moment, as if tasting its possibilities. “I don’t need anything grand… but perhaps…” he said softly, a rare, almost wistful tone in his voice.

“A dance?”

Your face contorted into an exaggerated expression of contemplation, your eyes narrowing just slightly before you nodded, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “I think I can manage that,” you whispered.

Jacaerys’s eyes remained fixed on yours, his expression softening. He turned his head just enough that his dark curls brushed against your cheek, the brief contact sending a shiver through you. His gaze was earnest, the kind that spoke of trust placed in something precious.

“Good,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the leaves around you. “I look forward to it, Wren..” The nickname made your heart flutter, a warmth spreading through you like a small, secret joy.

You had always liked that he called you that, a name that felt light and free, like the bird itself, flitting from branch to branch, never staying in one place too long. It was a name that suited you, in this moment and in his company, where everything felt a little less heavy and the world seemed a little more open.

It had not gone unnoticed in the halls of the Red Keep that young Lady Dayne had earned a place of prominence within the Royal Family. Though new to the court, the Dornish girl had quickly caught the attention of many, not least of all the Crown Princess Rhaenyra and her sons, who seemed particularly fond of her.

The courtiers whispered about it with raised eyebrows and knowing looks, their voices hushed but insistent in the shadowed alcoves and echoing corridors. But what set tongues wagging most was the unmistakable closeness between Lady Dayne and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaenyra's eldest and the heir to Dragonstone.

They spoke of how the boy, usually so reserved in the presence of strangers, seemed to soften when Lady Dayne was near. He laughed more freely, his dark eyes alight with an unguarded joy that seemed rare in a young man who bore the weight of such high expectations.

He was often seen walking with her in the godswood or lingering overlong at her side during lessons in the library, his attention more on her than on any maester’s teachings. There was speculation, of course. Lady Dayne had become a favorite subject of idle talk, her every movement watched with keen interest by those who thrived on court intrigue.

The courtiers noted her bright laughter, her easy manner, and how she moved through the palace as if she had been born to its halls, despite her Dornish blood. Some wondered if there was a purpose behind the Princess's fondness for the girl; others questioned if the girl herself had ambitions beyond what seemed so innocent and childlike on the surface.

And yet, whatever schemes or machinations the courtiers imagined, none could deny that there was a genuine affection between Lady Dayne and Prince Jacaerys. It was there in the way his gaze sought hers across crowded rooms, how he seemed to lean into her words as if she spoke with a wisdom beyond her years.

It was there in the way she seemed to calm him with just a touch, a quieting presence amid the storm that often surrounded him. It was a bond that seemed to defy the usual coldness of court alliances, a friendship that bloomed against the backdrop of political tension and whispered accusations.

Even the Queen, Alicent Hightower, had taken note, her green eyes watching the pair with a mix of curiosity and something darker, something guarded. She did not miss the way Jacaerys’s gaze lingered on Lady Dayne or how his smile widened in her presence.

If Lady Dayne was aware of the scrutiny, she gave no sign. She moved through the court with an easy grace, her expression open, her laughter free. She seemed untouched by the whispers, unbothered by the endless eyes that followed her, as if she had grown used to such attention or cared little for the judgments of those who hid their secrets behind courtly masks.

Yet the murmurings persisted.

Some wondered if a betrothal might be in the making, a match that would strengthen Princess Rhaenyra's claims by tying her house to the ancient and noble blood of Starfall. Others thought it impossible—that the realm would never accept a union between a Targaryen prince and a girl of Dornish descent, no matter how favored she was by the Princess.

For now, the court could only watch, and wait, and wonder at what lay beneath the surface of this growing friendship—and whether it might change the course of the realm in ways that no one could yet foresee.

So it did not come as a surprise to the court when you were invited by Princess Rhaenyra to sit in the Royal Box for the tourney in celebration of Prince Jacaerys’ name day. The Royal Box, a place of high honor, was traditionally reserved for the royal family, the Velaryons, and members of the Small Council.

To be granted a seat there was to be acknowledged as more than just another highborn guest; it was to be included in the inner circle of power, to be seen by the realm itself as favored by the future Queen. You reclined on the plush loveseat, the delicate fabric cool against your skin, as Lucerys settled with a contented sigh, his head resting on your lap.

The tent around you was a sanctuary from the bustling energy of the tourney grounds, where the roars of the crowd and the rhythmic beat of drums created a distant but persistent backdrop. Outside, the noise of the tourney was a cacophony of excitement and tension, but within the tent, a comforting calm reigned.

Lucerys, eyes half-closed, let out a soft yawn, his breath warm and steady against your legs. His sleep-rumpled hair and the faint smile on his lips spoke of a sleepy contentment, even as he mumbled incoherent words, drifting between dreams and wakefulness.

The ungodly hour of the morning had come far too early for all of you, dragging you from the warmth of your beds and into the chill of dawn. The carriage ride through the crisp air outside Kingslanding had been a blur, and now, here in the tent, time seemed to stretch in its own lazy rhythm.

“Why is Jacaerys taking so long?” Lucerys grumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric of your gown. Impatience edged his tone, the frustration of being late mounting with every passing minute. The tourney had been set to start in the morning, and as the moments ticked away, the spectacle outside waited for no one.

You absently smoothed Lucerys’s hair, offering a soothing touch to help him stay calm. “I’m sure he’ll be out soon,” you said softly, trying to ease his growing impatience. Your own excitement was tempered by the worry of being late, and you couldn’t help but glance toward the screen where he was getting dressed, hoping for a glimpse of Jacaerys.

The tent itself was a haven of rich textures and colors—a stark contrast to the grittiness of the tourney grounds outside. Silk banners in deep crimson and gold adorned the walls, their luxurious fabric shimmering softly in the filtered light.

The scent of cedar and fresh straw lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of roast meat and spiced wine that hinted at the feast to come. It was a far cry from the raw energy of the tournament field, where knights clashed and lances shattered in a display of strength and skill.

As you waited, you could hear the distant sounds of the tourney's beginning—an occasional cheer from the crowd, the sharp crack of a lance meeting its target. The excitement outside was almost tangible, seeping through the tent walls and stirring a restlessness in your own heart. You glanced again at the entrance, the flutter of fabric heralding the arrival of Jacaerys.

The screen finally parted, and Jacaerys stepped out, his cheeks flushed with the combined exertion of dressing and the thrill of the day. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt, buttoned up neatly, with a vibrant red vest emblazoned with intricately embroidered golden dragons. His eyes sparkled with a mix of embarrassment and excitement as he took in the sight of you and Lucerys.

���Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jacaerys said, his voice carrying a hint of apology and a touch of playful exasperation. He moved toward you with an easy grace, his attire swishing with each step. His presence seemed to light up the room, dispelling the lingering tension.

Lucerys’s face brightened at the sight of his elder brother. He scrambled off your lap and bounded toward Jacaerys, his earlier irritation melting away in the warmth of family affection. “Finally!” Lucerys exclaimed, his tone a mix of relief and impatience.

You rose from the loveseat, smoothing out the folds of your gown and offering Jacaerys a reassuring smile. “You look splendid, Jace,” you said, your tone light and encouraging. “Now let’s not keep the entire tourney waiting.”

Jacaerys took your hand in his, guiding you confidently through the tents that were also set up for other noble houses. You clutched Lucerys’ hand tightly with your other, careful to keep him close as the three of you made your way toward the arena. The ground was soft and uneven, and you lifted the hem of your gown to avoid the risk of mud splashing up.

“I’ve got your back,” Lucerys piped up from behind you, his small hands reaching out to lift the back of your skirt, ensuring it wouldn’t drag through the muck. His gesture was both earnest and endearing, a show of his determination to help despite his young age.

You turned to him with a grateful smile, your eyes reflecting your appreciation. “Thanks, Luke,” you said, the warmth of your gratitude evident in your tone. The three of you quickened your pace, Jacaerys leading the way.

As you hurried through the shifting crowds and past the scattered tents, the sounds of the tourney grew louder—cheers and the clash of armor creating a symphony of excitement. Each step quickening with elation as you approached the arena.

However, that excitement was abruptly dimmed by the sight of a certain knight striding past. Ser Criston Cole, clad in his polished armor, was preparing for his own participation in the event.

Jacaerys stopped abruptly, his expression darkening as he fixed his gaze on the knight. Criston Cole’s eyes swept over the three of you with a look of disdain, his posture radiating an arrogance that was as palpable as the clamor of the approaching tourney.

“Young Prince, should you not already be in the Royal Box?” he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. The tone was unmistakable—an attempt to belittle Jacaerys under the guise of polite inquiry.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the audacity of the knight. It was well-known that Criston Cole had ingratiated himself with Queen Alicent, and his inflated sense of self-importance had become a tiresome fixture at court. His haughty demeanor was as grating as it was predictable.

Not wanting to be anymore later than you already were, “And don’t you have a tourney to get ready for, Ser Crispin?” you retorted, your voice carrying a touch of sharpness. The nickname was a deliberate slight, a way to remind him that his favored status did not entitle him to look down on others. The words hung in the air between you, a challenge to his presumed superiority.

Jacaerys shot you a grateful glance, though his own gaze remained fixed on Ser Criston. The knight’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing further, his expression a mix of irritation and calculation. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and continued on his way, leaving the three of you to resume your hurried path toward the arena.

You three reached the Royal Box, a grand structure elevated above the arena, offering an unrivaled view of the proceedings below. The box was an opulent display of House Targaryen’s heraldry, its banners fluttering with a regal grace. The three-headed dragon, embroidered in red on a field of black, rippled in the breeze, a constant reminder of the Targaryen legacy that presided over the event.

As you entered the Royal Box, a hush fell over the assembled guests, their murmurs ebbing into a sea of quiet anticipation. The space was a grand display of Targaryen opulence, with banners of the three-headed dragon fluttering above, casting their shadow over the esteemed company within.

King Viserys occupied the central position, his regal presence augmented by the grandeur of the box. His face, lined with the weight of many years and decisions, was nonetheless softened by a subtle smile as he surveyed the festivities below. Beside him, Queen Alicent maintained an air of grace despite the snobbish wring on her face.

Her gown, a masterpiece of intricate embroidery, matched her poised demeanor. Her children were scattered nearby: Aegon, already showing the effects of too much Arbor Red, slouched with a vacant stare; Helaena, fiddling nervously with her fingers, lost in her own world; and Aemond, who sat apart from the rest, his expression a mask of quiet contemplation.

Princess Rhaenys, known as the Queen Who Never Was, was ensconced in a seat of prominence. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, took in the scene with a mixture of pride and critical appraisal. By her side was her husband, the formidable Corlys Velaryon, his presence as commanding as his reputation. His gaze swept over the assembly with an air of both authority and quiet anticipation.

The Small Council members were present as well, their faces a study in formality tinged with restrained eagerness. They whispered amongst themselves, casting occasional glances towards the arena below, their expressions reflecting the gravity of their positions.

Completing the distinguished lineup were Rhaenyra Targaryen and her husband, Laenor Velaryon. Rhaenyra’s posture was straight and proud, her eyes alight with the excitement and weight of the day’s significance. Laenor, ever the supportive consort, stood by her side, his demeanor a blend of reserved elegance.

You, Jacaerys, and Lucerys shuffled to your seats amidst the curious eyes of the assembled nobility. Lucerys settled on Jacaerys' left, his youthful face bright with the thrill of the day’s events, while you took the seat to Jacaerys' right, your presence creating a subtle stir.

The whispers of the court grew louder, a low hum of speculation and intrigue weaving through the Royal Box. As you settled into your seat, the murmurs of the crowd seemed to acknowledge the significance of your place among the royal family.

To many, it appeared as though you were already being groomed for a more prominent role, a sign of your growing importance within Princess Rhaenyra’s inner circle. The eyes of the court lingered on you, reflecting a mixture of curiosity and speculation about the young lady who had captured the Princess's favor.

As the heralds called for the first joust to begin, you felt the eyes of the court upon you—Lady Redwyne whispering behind her fan, Lord Beesbury nodding thoughtfully, and even Queen Alicent herself casting a quick, measuring glance your way.

To some, your presence in the Royal Box might be an audacity, an unexpected elevation of a girl from Dorne; to others, it was a sign of favor, a new piece in the game that was ever unfolding in the halls of the Red Keep.

From your seat, you could see the bright colors of the tourney ground, the lords and knights resplendent in their armor, their horses prancing and snorting with eagerness. The trumpets blared, and the crowd's roar rose like a wave as the first pair of riders charged toward each other, lances poised. 

Jacaerys leaned closer, his dark curls brushing your cheek as he whispered, "I don’t see your brother." His gaze swept over the line of knights preparing for the tourney, searching for a familiar face. You followed Jacaerys' gaze, sweeping over the bustling field and crowded stands until your eyes found the familiar lavender banner of House Dayne.

There, in a separate box, sat Merek, looking every bit the noble he was. He was dressed not in armor but in ceremonial attire—a deep indigo tunic adorned with the silver star of Starfall, chosen to mirror your own gown, which shimmered in a shade of tropical indigo. A goblet of wine rested casually in his hand, his posture relaxed, his expression serene as he observed the unfolding spectacle.

A flicker of guilt pricked at your conscience. Though Merek had insisted you sit with the royals, it felt somehow wrong to leave him alone, even if he did not seem to mind. You and Merek had always been close; his presence had been your shield and your strength.

But he had offered you his usual playful grin earlier, urging you to enjoy the festivities with your friends. Still, the pang of regret lingered, a quiet ache of longing to be at his side, sharing in the day’s excitement.

As the Sword of the Morning, Merek could have easily joined the ranks of the knights below, his skill with a blade and reputation for honor were more than enough to secure him a place among the competitors. Yet, such theatrics were beneath him.

House Dayne valued honor and loyalty above all else, just as the Starks did in the North. In many ways, the Daynes were seen as the Starks of Dorne—both houses with a proud heritage dating back to the First Men, their values shaped by the same ancient traditions of integrity and duty.

“Merek doesn’t participate in tourneys,” you whispered to Jacaerys, your voice low, intimate, meant for his ears alone. “He sees them as a waste of time and honor. He prefers the real battlefield over one made of painted lances and staged glory.”

Jacaerys glanced again toward Merek’s box, where your brother now raised his goblet in a quiet salute, catching your gaze from across the field. A small smile tugged at your lips, and you lifted your hand in response, a silent promise that you would find time to join him later.

The crowd's noise swelled, and the heralds’ trumpets cut through the air like a knife, announcing the commencement of the tourney. The knights on their steeds began to line up, their armor glinting under the pale autumn sun. You could feel the anticipation rising like a tide, filling the air with an almost palpable energy. Lucerys shifted restlessly in his seat, excitement sparking in his bright young eyes.

Jacaerys leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, a light, reassuring touch amidst the growing frenzy of the crowd. “Mother says I should cheer for Ser Harwin, but I think I’ll cheer for Ser Erryk instead,” he whispered, a playful grin spreading across his face. “I’ve heard he’s the better rider.”

You chuckled softly. “Why not cheer for both? Or better yet, place a bet and see which of them proves you wrong.”

His grin widened. “A bet? With you?” He feigned shock. “Let me guess, the loser will have to forfeit their lemon cakes for a moon.” You leaned in closer, your voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I promise not to take all of them… just a few.”

Jacaerys laughed, and for a moment, the weight of his name and all that it bore seemed to lift. He looked every bit the boy he still was, his youthful face bright with mirth. You felt a warmth spread through you, glad to see him at ease, even if only for a short while.

From across the box, you could feel the sharp gaze of Queen Alicent upon you, her eyes flicking between you and her sons. Aegon was already half-slumped in his chair, flushed with wine, while Aemond sat with a stoic expression, his singular focus on the field below. Helaena seemed lost in her own world, whispering to herself, her hands weaving through the air in some intricate pattern only she understood.

Aemond's sharp gaze found yours, his expression neutral at first, his lips thinning slightly as if deciding whether to acknowledge you. But when you offered a small wave, a subtle, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He returned the gesture with a discreet wave, his movements careful, quick, so as not to draw too much attention.

His smile faded as he turned back to the tourney, his posture straightening under the ever-watchful eye of his mother, Queen Alicent. You could sense the tension in him—the weight of expectations and the constant scrutiny from those around him. You’d seen that guarded look in his eyes before, a mixture of judgment and restraint, the way he seemed to always be preparing himself for the next challenge or judgment.

You turned your attention back to the field, the knights now charging at full speed, lances aimed and armor clashing in a vivid display of strength and skill. 

King Viserys rose from his seat, his hand resting heavily on the arm of his chair as he steadied himself. The crowd hushed, their voices falling silent in anticipation. He stood tall, his golden crown catching the sunlight, reflecting a brilliant gleam that danced over his worn features.

Despite the lines etched into his face and the signs of age weighing on his shoulders, his eyes still held the spark of authority, a sovereign who had seen much and ruled through even more. He lifted a hand, signaling for the crowd's full attention.

His voice, though not as strong as it once was, carried across the tourney grounds with a commanding presence. “Lords and ladies, knights and squires, good people of Kingslanding,” he began, his voice a deep rumble that reached every corner of the arena. “Today, we celebrate the eighth name day of my beloved grandson, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. In his honor, we gather to witness the valor and might of the realm's finest knights.”

A cheer erupted from the stands, a wave of excitement and anticipation rippling through the crowd. Viserys allowed a smile, nodding in approval at the response. He continued, “This tourney shall not only be a test of strength and skill but a testament to the bonds that hold our great houses together. Let us remember that even in competition, there is unity, and in our unity, there is strength.”

His gaze swept over the gathered nobles, lingering for a moment on Queen Alicent, whose expression remained unreadable, and then on Princess Rhaenyra, who met his eyes with a look of quiet pride.

“May the Seven watch over each of you, may the best among you prove your worth in honor and courage, and may the gods grant us a day of sport to remember.” He paused for a heartbeat, his face softening with a touch of affection as he glanced toward Jacaerys, who stood beside you with a small, eager smile on his lips.

“And to my grandson,” Viserys added, “May your name day bring you joy and may your future be as bright as the flames of your ancestors.”

A louder cheer rose from the stands, the crowd clapping and shouting their approval. The sound of drums began again, a steady beat that quickened the pulse of those in attendance. Viserys lifted his cup of wine, a gesture mirrored by the lords and ladies around him. “Let the tourney begin!” he declared with finality, his voice strong and resolute.

At his command, a flourish of horns erupted, signaling the start of the event. Knights on their steeds trotted to their positions, banners flying, lances in hand, ready to charge down the lists. The tension in the air was palpable, a mixture of anticipation and excitement that hung over the field like a storm about to break.

Taglist: (If you want to be added, please click here)

@yohanseyebrowmole @radiantdanvers @accidentpronedork @marvel-mistress-padawan @tabathastan @deltamoon666 @hotdhoe @cosmosnkaz @dragonamongwolves @r-3dlips @ghizlana @gardenfaeries @ilymoonie @omgsuperstarg @idohknow @beskardroids @buckystevelove @plainxlazy @gwaynehightower @beebeechaos @miksde @saintkittykat @cornbreadwithcheese @pinkb00bsocks @mellylla @boiolay

[misswynters]

Bond by Love and Fire - Chapter Four

Dragon Twins Series

Aegon Targaryen x Dayne!fem!reader x Aerion Targaryen

[synopsis: Aegon tries to find the culprit of your attack, however the small council’s focus is at another thing. Which is your duty as his wife, to give him an heir. Aerion is starting to get jealous.

[warnings: mature/explicit (mdni), 18+, eventual smut, exhibitionism, vouyerism, making out, touching, fingering, cursing, worship, balcony sex, breeding, degrading, rough sex (kinda), smut with plot, not proofread (kinda)

[work count: 4.5k

[a/n: took longer due to my brain wanting to write other things, however it’s here now! enjoy pls and if you would like to be tagged for the next chapter let me know!!! also the balcony part was inspired “Owned” by @peachysunrize <3

[note l it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Birds chirps and sun shining, it was the next morning and it couldn’t been a beautiful day. However, the Red Keep was abuzz with the news of the attack. Guards were doubled, and everyone was on high alert. Aegon and you met with the small council to discuss the incident.

In the council chamber, the atmosphere was tense. Aegon, you, and the council members were gathered around the large wooden table. The guard captain gave a report on the investigation so far, noting that the assassin wasn’t sent by Aerion.

Lord Hand cleared his throat. “We’ve interrogated the remaining guards, and it appears the assailant was acting under orders from an unknown source. We suspect a plot within the court.”

Aegon squeezed your hand tightly. “We need to find out who’s behind this. My spouse’s safety is paramount.”

You nodded in agreement. “I want to know why I was targeted. We need to uncover the truth.”

Master of Whispers leaned forward. “I will deploy my spies to gather more information. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

The tension in the room was palpable, each council member wearing a serious expression. The discussion continued, each voice contributing to the plan to secure the castle and find the perpetrator.

Later that day, Aerion sought you out. He looked genuinely concerned, having heard about the attack.

“Aerion,” you greeted him, a mixture of relief and tension in your voice.

“I heard about the attack,” Aerion said, his eyes searching yours. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, though the memory of the guard’s assault still haunted you. “I’m fine, just shaken.”

Aerion stepped closer, his expression softening. “I’m glad you’re safe. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”

Before you could respond, Aegon approached, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Aerion. “Is there a problem here?”

Aerion straightened, his concern for you momentarily overshadowed by his rivalry with Aegon. “No problem. Just making sure they’re okay.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened. “They’re my wife. It’s my duty to ensure their safety.”

You placed a hand on Aegon’s arm, trying to diffuse the tension. “I appreciate both of your concerns. But right now, we need to focus on finding out who’s behind this.”

Aerion nodded reluctantly. “Of course. Just know that I’m here if you need anything.”

With that you stood up from the bench and walked away without looking back. You didn’t want anything else to happen between the two of you since you were now officially married to aegon. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t being kind towards you. It was the opposite and you didn’t want to rude that. Not after you were complaining about not getting aegon attention. Matter fact you were getting more than you bargained for.

The crackling of the hearth was the only sound that punctuated the serene ambiance of the chamber. The fire cast a warm, flickering glow across the room, creating a dance of light and shadow that made the atmosphere intimate and inviting. You sat near the hearth, deeply engrossed in a book, its pages illuminated by the fire’s gentle warmth. It seemed like the day was dragging on as you spent them at the library reading and learning about the culture in kings landing. However the nightly hours came sooner than expected.

The tranquility of the moment was abruptly disturbed as the heavy door to the chamber swung open with a groan. Aegon’s tall, imposing figure filled the doorway, his presence commanding and filled with a palpable tension. His eyes, usually soft and affectionate, were now stormy and intense, reflecting a turmoil that immediately set your heart racing.

“Aegon,” you said, rising from your seat and closing the book with a soft thud. “What’s wrong?”

His voice was low, almost a growl, as he crossed the room with determined strides. “Why were you meeting with Aerion in secret? Do you have any idea the scandal this could provoke?”

A pang of guilt pierced through you. “Fuck-Aegon, it wasn’t intended to be a secret rendezvous. I only needed to speak with Aerion about something personal, something I couldn’t discuss openly.”

He stopped before you, his eyes blazing with hurt and frustration. “Personal? Is that what you call it? Do you understand how this affects us, how it fuels the rumors that can jeopardize everything we’ve built together?”

You reached out instinctively, placing a hand on his chest. “I wasn’t trying to betray you. I am deeply sorry for the distress I caused. Please, let me explain.”

Aegon’s expression softened, the fierce anger giving way to a more subdued pain. “I know you didn’t intend to hurt me,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “But seeing you with him again like that made me feel as though our bond was being questioned. It’s a wound I didn’t expect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked up at him, your heart aching with remorse. “I never wanted to make you feel that way. I love you, Aegon, and I’m truly sorry. I should have been more mindful.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in a protective embrace. His warmth enveloped you, offering solace as you buried your face in his chest. “I forgive you,” he murmured into your hair. “And I’m sorry for my outburst. It’s just… my love for you is so profound that the thought of losing it or having our marriage questioned is unbearable.”

You clung to him, feeling the depth of his words. “I love you too, Aegon. I promise, I will be more considerate. I never want to hurt you.”

Aegon pulled back, his gaze intense and earnest. “We’ve been married for a few months now,” he began, his voice filled with a trace of apprehension. “The small council has been relentless in their pressure. They demand that we secure an heir to ensure the future of our line.”

A realization dawned upon you, a mix of anticipation and tenderness. “You mean…?”

He nodded, his expression softening into a tender smile. “Yes. They expect us to conceive an heir. And I desire that as well.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with both affection and understanding. “Oh…Well I want that too then.”

He approached you with a gentle grace, lowering himself to kneel before you. His hands, warm and reverent, rested on your thighs as he gazed up at you with adoration. “Let me make amends for my earlier reaction,” he whispered, his voice a low, reverent murmur.

As you settled back into your chair, Aegon’s hands began to knead your thighs with a worshipful tenderness. His touch was a blend of soothing pressure and affectionate caresses, each movement a silent expression of his devotion. He leaned in, pressing delicate kisses along the inner curve of your thighs, his lips moving with a reverent touch that made your breath catch.

“I love you beyond words,” he murmured between kisses, his lips brushing against your skin with the lightness of butterfly wings. “I am devoted to you in every way, and I cherish every moment with you.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his affection. “I love you too, Aegon,” you whispered, your voice filled with a profound sense of connection. “You are everything to me.”

Aegon’s touch remained tender and adoring, his kisses a constant reminder of his unwavering love and commitment. In the glow of the hearth, surrounded by the warmth of his devotion, you felt a deep sense of peace and closeness, knowing that together, you could face anything.

The atmosphere was rich with an intimate, serene quality, punctuated only by the soft rustling of fabric and the occasional, contented sigh.

Aegon, having guided you to the edge of the sofa, looked at you with a tender, focused gaze. His touch remained gentle and adoring as he carefully spread your legs, allowing them to cascade over the armrest. The position was comfortable, giving him easy access to you while allowing you to remain relaxed and at ease.

As you adjusted to the new position, Aegon's fingers continued their tender exploration. His hands were warm and skilled, moving with an almost reverential touch. He guided you closer to the edge, making sure you were supported yet relaxed. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though each gesture was an act of worship.

You let out a surprised yelp and a soft giggle as he made you shift, the playful nature of his touch bringing a lightheartedness to the moment. Aegon's eyes sparkled with affection and amusement. "I want to make sure you're as comfortable as possible," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth.

Aegon's hands traveled up your thighs with a gentle, loving pressure. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Each kiss was soft and lingering, a testament to his deep affection. His lips moved in a slow, worshipful pattern, kissing and nuzzling with a delicate tenderness that made you shiver in pleasure.

"You are so beautiful," Aegon whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Every part of you captivates me."

As he continued his loving exploration, his fingers began to caress with a more intentional touch. They moved slowly, tracing along the contours of your thighs with a practiced, reverent caress.

The combination of his kisses and gentle touches made your heart race, a feeling of deep connection enveloping you.

Aegon's fingers explored with a careful, adoring touch, his movements considerate of your responses. He pressed tender, fluttering kisses along your inner thighs, his lips a soft, affectionate pressure against your skin.

Each kiss was accompanied by a whispered word of praise, a reflection of his adoration.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice hushed and filled with emotion. "I cherish every moment with you, and I want to show you just how deeply I love you."

The combination of Aegon's kisses and touches created a cocoon of intimacy and warmth. His hands continued to move with a loving, deliberate pace, his touch both soothing and exhilarating.

The firelight played across his face, highlighting the tenderness in his expression as he continued to adore you.

With each kiss and caress, the bond between you grew stronger, a testament to the depth of your connection. Aegon's devotion was palpable, expressed through every gentle touch and affectionate word. The intimacy you shared was both profound and comforting, creating a moment of deep, heartfelt closeness.

Aegon's touch was skillful and deliberate, his fingers pushing into you with a rhythm that left you breathless and wanting. His blue eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and determination as he watched you writhe and moan beneath his touch. The heat of the room seemed to intensify with every passing moment, sweat beginning to bead on your skin.

"You're so beautiful like this," Aegon murmured, his voice husky with desire. “with your legs wide open for me."

You moaned in response, your body instinctively arching toward his touch, seeking more of the exquisite pleasure he was giving you. The feeling of his fingers inside you, moving with such expertise, was driving you to the edge of your sanity.

"A-Aegon," you stuttered, body unraveling with sheer pleasure as two of Aegon’s fingers happened to fuck you relentlessly throughout these past few seconds. The pleasure took overdrive, and you were in so much pleasure that you needed a few minutes to calm down. Shaking hands gripped on weakly to aegon’s wrist, showing the lack of you actually wanting him to stop. Aegon slightly smirked, and curling his fingers up inside of your folds which caused you to arch your back against the couch, loosening your grip entirely.

"I want to make you cum just like this." Aegon whispered, his gaze looking up towards you with desire. How stunning you looked intoxicated, half naked and brilliantly decorated with patterns of hickeys and love bites. "With my beautiful hands, as you say." he precisely added on, pressing his fingertips down onto your sensitive thighs which earned him a choked moan.

Aegon ran his tongue up your neck, suckling on the your jawline as he continued his pace gently with his fingers. "I told you to move your hands, dear wife." He whispered huskily into your ear, afterwards, he drove his teeth into the soft skin of your ear which caused the other's breath to hitch.

"You like that, my love?"

"Uh-huh, yes, so fucking much." you whimpered, your folds throbbing with intense pleasure. Aegon started to rut against the coach and he started to also get evidently hard. But he had to wait for you first, making sure you were well prepared. However he couldn’t wait much longer. He was desperately in need to be inside of you.

Aegon paused, his fingers stilling inside you as he looked up with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It's too hot in here," he declared, a smirk playing on his lips. "Let's take this outside."

Before you could protest, Aegon stood, his strong arms lifting you effortlessly from the chair. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you could feel the hard, insistent press of his arousal against you through his clothes. The sensation sent a thrill through your body, heightening your anticipation.

Aegon carried you out to the balcony, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the heat you had just left behind. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery light over the stone railing and the sprawling landscape beyond.

He pressed your back against the cold, rough stone, his body shielding you from the night's chill. The sensation of the cool air against your heated skin was exhilarating, adding a new layer of intensity to the moment.

With a deft movement, Aegon lifted your thighs, draping them over his arms so that you were completely open to him. The position made you feel vulnerable yet intensely aroused, your body eager for what was to come next.

Aegon's eyes were dark with desire as he aligned himself with you. He pushed into you slowly, the sensation of him filling you making you gasp. His pace was deliberate, every inch of him driving you wild with need.

“You feel so good, hugging around me like that," he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. "So tight and wet. You're perfect."

You moaned, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to pull him closer, needing to feel every part of him. Aegon's movements became more urgent, his hips thrusting with a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart.

"Look at you, taking me so well," he growled, his tone dripping with a mix of lust and disdain. "Such a needy little cunt. You like being filled, don't you?"

The cold stone against your back, the night air on your skin, and the heat of Aegon inside you created a heady mixture of sensations that left you breathless. Every thrust, every whispered word of praise and degradation from Aegon, pushed you closer to the edge.

Aegon gripped your hips firmly, his eyes locking onto yours with a fiery intensity.

"Look down," he commanded, his voice a rough whisper. Your gaze followed his, looking down between your bodies. The sight of him disappearing into your folds, the slickness of your arousal coating him, made your breath catch in your throat. The view was almost too much to bear.

"You see that?" Aegon rasped, his voice thick with desire. "You're taking me so deep, so perfectly. Fuck, you're amazing."

The sound of your bodies moving together, the wet noises, and your mingled moans filled the night air, creating a symphony of shared pleasure. You watched in fascination as Aegon's length disappeared into you again and again, the sight driving you to new heights of ecstasy.

"Aegon," you gasped, your voice trembling with need. "I can feel you so deep... don't stop. Please, I need you."

He responded with a deep, guttural groan, his pace quickening as he drove into you with a relentless rhythm. The sensation of him stretching and filling you completely was almost overwhelming, each thrust sending shivers of pleasure through your entire body.

"You're going to give me an heir," he rasped, his voice rough and

commanding. "I'm going to fill you up until you're carrying my child. The small council will finally shut up when they see you swollen with my seed."

His thrusts became even more aggressive, each movement driving you closer to the brink of ecstasy. The wet, slick sounds of him plunging into you echoed through the night, mingling with your desperate moans and his harsh breaths.

"You're nothing but a breeding cunt for me," he continued, his words sending shivers down your spine. "'ll fuck you every night until I'm sure you're filled with my heir."

As the waves of your climax began to build, Aegon's grip on you tightened, his thrusts becoming more urgent and desperate. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered,

"Come for me. I want to feel you come around me." His words, combined with the intense rhythm of his thrusts, sent you over the edge. Your body convulsed with a powerful, shuddering orgasm, your cries of pleasure echoing into the night.

Just as he was reaching his peak, Aegon's grip tightened on the stone railing behind you, holding you in place as his body pressed flush against yours. He followed you moments later, his own release crashing through him as he filled you completely. The slickness between your bodies made every movement smoother, more intimate. Your thighs and hips were coated with the evidence of your shared pleasure, as was his lower abdomen.

For a few moments, the world seemed to stand still. The only sounds were your heavy breaths and the distant crackle of the hearth inside. Aegon remained pressed against you, his body still intimately connected with yours, as you both savored the afterglow of your intense connection.

As you clung to him, lost in the sensation of his body against yours, you didn't notice the door to the balcony creaking open. It wasn't until you heard a gasp that your head snapped around. Standing there, eyes wide with shock, was Aegon's twin brother, Aerion.

"What the-" Aerion stammered, his face a mix of surprise and amusement.

Aegon's reaction was immediate. He moved to shield your body from his brother's view, his face contorted with anger. "Get out!" he barked, his voice harsh and commanding. "Now!"

Aerion raised his hands in mock surrender, backing away with a smirk.

"Alright, alright. I didn't see anything," he said, disappearing back inside. Aegon turned back to you, his expression softening. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle despite the lingering tension.

You nodded, still catching your breath. "Yes, I'm fine," you assured him.

Slowly, he eased out of you, his hands gentle as he helped you back to a standing position. His eyes were soft, filled with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness as he looked at you.

Aegon looked at you with a soft, lingering gaze, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your back.

"You should relax," he murmured, his voice a tender whisper. "Let me take you to the bath."

You nodded, feeling a warm flush of gratitude. Aegon wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you back inside the room. The warmth of the hearth welcomed you once more, the flames casting a golden glow over the opulent surroundings. He led you to a spacious bathing chamber, the air filled with the soothing scent of lavender and rose.

The bath was already prepared, steam rising from the clear water, inviting and serene. Aegon helped you undress, his touch gentle and reverent, before guiding you into the tub. The warm water enveloped you, easing the tension from your muscles and wrapping you in a comforting embrace.

Aegon knelt beside the tub, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if to savor the moment. "Relax, my love," he whispered. "I need to take care of something, but I'll be back soon."

You watched as he left the room, his figure disappearing down the hallway with purposeful strides. You always wondered by he would always leave after spending time with you, in the guise that the council is summoning him. Left alone, you allowed yourself to sink deeper into the water, the warmth seeping into your bones. The events of the night played over in your mind, Aegon's sweet and harsh words echoing in your thoughts.

"You're nothing but a breeding cunt for me," he had said, yet there had been an underlying tenderness in his eyes, a depth of emotion that spoke of more than just desire.

As you reflected, the door to the bathing chamber opened once more. Handmaidens entered, carrying fresh clothes for both you and Aegon. They moved with quiet efficiency, laying out the garments on a nearby table. One of them approached the tub, her expression respectful and serene.

"Milady, we've brought fresh clothes for you," she said softly. "Is there anything else you require?"

You shook your head, offering her a grateful smile. "No, thank you. This is perfect."

The handmaidens bowed slightly before exiting the room, leaving you once again in peaceful solitude. The soothing scents and the gentle warmth of the water lulled you into a state of deep relaxation. Your eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion of the night catching up with you.

As you reclined in the tub, your thoughts drifted, mingling with the soft murmur of the water. You remembered the way Aegon's eyes had darkened with desire, the way his hands had claimed you with both gentleness and ferocity. A small smile played on your lips as you recalled the mix of sweet words and degrading commands that had left you breathless.

The memories sent a shiver through you, a lingering thrill that kept the embers of your desire burning. But the warmth of the bath and the comforting scent of lavender began to weave a drowsy spell over you. Your head lolled back, your muscles loosening as you gave in to the gentle pull of sleep.

You barely noticed when your eyes closed completely, the soft embrace of slumber enveloping you. The last conscious thought you had was of Aegon's tender kiss on your forehead, a promise of his return. The crackle of the hearth and the soothing warmth of the bath became a lullaby, guiding you into a deep, restful sleep.

Time seemed to stand still as you drifted in a dreamlike state, your mind filled with the remnants of the night's passion and the promise of Aegon's return. The water cradled you, its warmth a gentle cocoon that kept the world at bay. Lost in your dreams, you didn’t hear the door to the bathing chamber creak open.

A light tap on your shoulder jolted you awake. Your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself face-to-face with Aerion. His presence startled you, and a mix of fear and anger surged through you.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?” you spat, your voice trembling with indignation. “Get out, now, before I summon the guards!”

Aerion raised his hands in a placating gesture, his expression earnest. “Wait, just listen to me for a moment,” he implored.

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” you snapped, sitting up in the tub and clutching the edges for support. “Leave now, or I swear I’ll have the guards drag you out of here.”

Aerion’s face contorted with frustration, but he didn’t move. He stepped closer, his face mere inches from yours, staring into your eyes with disbelief. “My dear,” he began, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and pity, “you are so oblivious to everything. Finding the good in everything and being so optimistic when it’s the direct opposite. The world isn’t how you dream it would be.”

You could feel his breath on your face, his intensity making your anger flare even hotter. You bit your tongue, holding back the torrent of words you wanted to unleash.

“You were fortunate enough to have a perfect life,” he continued, his tone almost accusatory. “You don’t see the reality, the scheming, the manipulation. Aegon is using you, and you’re too blinded by your feelings to see it. Once he has his heir, he’ll cast you aside, just like he did in the beginning.”

Your anger flared even hotter at his words. “How dare you! You don’t know anything about our relationship. Aegon cares for me, and I care for him. You’re just trying to cause a rift between us, something you’ve always tried to do.”

Aerion’s expression softened, his eyes pleading. “I’m trying to protect you. Aegon is using you, and you’re too blinded by your feelings to see it. Once he has his heir, he’ll go back to ignoring you, to treating you like you’re nothing. Don’t you remember how he was before?”

The memories of Aegon’s distant behavior in the early days of your relationship flashed through your mind, but you pushed them aside. “People change, Aerion. He has changed.”

Aerion shook his head, stepping closer to the tub. “You’re deluding yourself. I’ve seen how he looks at you—like you’re a means to an end. He’s sweet now because he needs you. But once he gets what he wants, he’ll go back to his old ways.”

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. “Enough. You need to leave, now. I won’t let you poison my mind with your lies.”

Aerion sighed, his expression a mixture of sadness and resignation. “I’m telling you this because I care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

You glared at him, your voice icy. “If you really cared about me, you’d respect my wishes and leave. Now, get out.”

Aerion’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded slowly. “Heed my warning, my dear ___. Don’t let him break your heart.”

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your swirling emotions. The bathwater had lost its warmth, but you stayed where you were, your mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Aerion’s words echoed in your head, sowing seeds of doubt that you desperately tried to ignore.

You knew you had to trust Aegon, to believe in the changes you had seen in him. But Aerion’s warnings gnawed at the edges of your confidence, leaving you feeling unsettled and vulnerable.

As you finally climbed out of the tub and dried off, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your relationship with Aegon was standing on precarious ground. You dressed in the fresh clothes the handmaidens had left, your mind still a storm of uncertainty.

When Aegon returned, you’d have to confront these doubts, to seek reassurance and clarity. Until then, all you could do was hold onto the hope that the love you and Aegon shared was real and enduring, strong enough to withstand any challenges that came your way.

taglist: @sab-falco @spn-obession @tomgcsmrs @sturnioloarchive @arquiiva @malfoycassimalfoy @klutzylaena @champomiel @p45510n4f4shi0n @moonnicole @delicatebearpandaopera @giovanna-hyt @h0p3l3ssl0s3r @issllleee @lycaonpictusphotography @kamvsxs

banner: @cafekitsune

[feyhunter78]

I’m actually DYING for part 14 of the Dreadful Need of the Devotee, like my pain is clinical and your writing is the only thing that will cure me 🙏

No rush of course, I’m just in love with this story!! (But please, I need it badly)

I got you babe!!!! Enjoy <3

Chapter Fourteen - Ser Arthur Dayne has returned to court. Ch 15

Jon sits in Tyrion’s solar, the small table that sits between you all laden down with breakfast foods and teas. He is seated across from Tyrion, while you are seated next to Jon across from Ser Arthur, your soon-to-be good-father.

Introductions had gone well, you complimented his father, he complimented you, your betrothal was announced, and Jon had to keep himself from kissing you. The joy that radiated from you was so intense, he could not help but smile like a lovesick fool. But now, now the doubts begin to creep in.

If he had been told at the age of two and ten, he would be sitting with his soon-to-be wife a Lannister, the Imp Lannister and Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning who was also his true father, Jon would not have believed whoever spoke such things to him. Truly he would have thought them playing a cruel joke, but now he sat in that very position wondering if it would all be revealed a horrid prank. A test to see how much the bastard boy could be convinced to believe.

You place your hand atop Jon’s where it rests on his knee, your brows furrowing in concern, and he waves you off, focusing on the meal set in front of him. You and him often broke fast together, and it was not too uncommon for your father to join the both of you, but this time it was different.

“Lady y/n, your father tells me you are a talented seamstress.” His father says, cutting into his sausage, his eyes, those dark purple eyes, so like Jon’s in the right light, observe you with an oddly formal air.

“I am, in fact the tunic Jon is wearing this morn is one I made myself.” You say, gracing Jon with a smile so bright it rivals the sun, and he turns further towards you following it as crops do, ever reaching, ever seeking your warmth and light.

His father hums in acknowledgement, examining every stitch of his tunic. “It is well-made; and the embroidery is quite detailed. It is not what one would think a sworn sword would be given by his charge.”

“He is my champion, seen as an extension of myself, I would never leave my chambers in rags, or dull, dreary clothing, so why should my sworn sword?” You say, taking a sip of your tea, sizing the man up.

“An interesting perspective.” His father comments, his eyes flickering to Jon.

“I suppose so.” You respond, dabbing your mouth with your cloth napkin.

“She is also a wonderful dancer.” Jon adds, unsure of his place in the conversation. He has never before been privy to these situations, and it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

“I am only wonderful because I have such an excellent partner that allows me to keep my skills sharp.” You smile prettily at him, and he watches the mask slip into place, you are attempting to charm the father by charming the son.

“They are a most excellent pairing, even Robert before he oh so tragically passed said they would make a good couple.” Tyrion says, spreading strawberry jam onto a thick slice of bread.

If I were not a bastard. He said we would be a good match if I was not a bastard. Jon thought bitterly.

“It pains me to know my son had love within his grasp for so long and could not claim it, I would soon see that rectified.” His father says, pulling a folded letter from his pocket. “I have kept this for you, it is a signed statement from the septon that presided over your mother, and I’s wedding. It was quick, not the lavish affair I would have wished to give her, but it was true in the eyes of The Seven.”

Jon feels you lean into him, reading the letter along with him.

“I fear it will not be enough. Aunt Cersei tore up Uncle Robert’s will, what if someone does the same to this?” You ask.

“Your Uncle Robert was dead he could not defend his will, but Ser Arthur is here, in the flesh.” Tyrion says.

Jon folds the letter and returns it to his father. “When would this take place? I would like to inform my siblings; they should not hear it from strangers or gossip.”

“They know, Lord Stark told them and Lady Stark once I had confirmed Ser Arthur was alive and wished to see you.” Tyrion assures him.

Jon pokes at his eggs, the yolk running, yellow-orange liquid tainting the white outer edges. He is glad the truth is known, but will this change how they see him? Will little Arya no longer trust him, will she keep him at a distance as Sansa had now that he is revealed as an impostor, a stranger? And Robb, his brother, will he still call him by that name, will he still hold the same love for him? At least Lady Catelyn will no longer have reason to hate him, he is not proof of her husband’s indiscretions, but his love for his sister.

“Where does Jon fall in the line of succession for Starfell?” Y/N directs the question towards his father, bringing him out of his gloom-stricken thoughts. “I know Lord Edric Dayne is your eldest brother’s son, but he is still a child close to Arya’s age, and your sister does not yet have children, does this not make him third after you?”

His father smirks and leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Do you wish him to be second?”

You mimic his posture, voice deadly calm, face unreadable. “I do not condone the murder of children, even if it would catapult Jon to heir of Starfell. I was merely asking a question.”

His father laughs, the sound warm, boisterous, filling the room as he leans back in his chair. “Your father has taught you well, lioness. But yes, Jon is third, if Edric, Seven forbid, were to die then I would take the seat, and Jon would follow after me.”

“We need not worry about that though, he will be by my side at Casterly Rock, is that not right, Father?” You hold your position, eyes still on Jon’s father.

“I have not yet heard word back on our family’s succession, your grandsire still holds out hope that Jaime will leave the Kingsguard and return home.” Tyrion drawls, before taking a sip of his tea.

“But he will not, and even if he did, would it not be shameful?” You venture, stirring your own tea with the tiny spoon provided.

“We shall see what options lay before him when our new king takes the throne, he could take Jaime’s head.” Tyrion says, his eyes on his bread, he has still not taken a bite, Jon feels confident that Tyrion will not be eating this morn.

“I am sure Robb will be merciful to Uncle Jaime, perhaps he could send him to the Wall? As loathe I am to think of him being sent far away, I imagine his skills would be of good use there?” You turn to Jon for confirmation.

Jon’s stomach churns, he wishes to tell you the truth, that it matters not what Robb thinks. “Yes, they are always in need of skilled and hearty men.”

“Oh, and then we could visit him, could we not?” Again, your question is directed at him, and he fights back the bile rising in his throat. He did not like this new weight, this new secret he must keep from you.

“The Wall is a long journey, even from Winterfell.”

“No journey is too long when it comes to family.” You say, dismissing his spoken worries with a smile and a wave of your hand.

“Little lion, perhaps we save our travel plans for after the new king arrives?” Tyrion suggests, seeming unfazed by the half-truths that roll off his tongue.

“Of course, Father.” You say, giving him a smile and tucking back into your breakfast.

Jon cannot eat, he can barely swallow. He wants to tell you the truth, wants to throw you over his shoulder and run, run all the way to Winterfell and hide you there until all this chaos has subsided.

“I think a wedding in Dorne is completely out of the question Ser Arthur, do you really believe people would attend a Lannister wedding that is not held at Casterly Rock or the Red Keep?” Tyrion says, pulling him back into the conversation that had proceeded without him.

“But it is not a Lannister wedding, it is a Dayne wedding.” His father smiles, sending Jon a wink.

“My daughter is a Lannister, in the eyes of Westeros it is a Lannister wedding, and truly it must be held at Casterly Rock, gods know the Red Keep has seen enough weddings.”

“House Martell will not attend if it is at Casterly Rock, which means Myrcella will not attend.” His father reminds Tyrion.

“Father could it not be held somewhere more neutral? I so want Myrcella to be able to attend.” You ask, looking at him pleadingly.

“I am sure once the new king comes into power, the Martells will not hold the same anger towards our family as they once did.” Tyrion reassures you, reaching across the small circular table to pat your hand.

Yes, because all who they hold anger towards will be dead. Jon thinks solemnly, guilt eating him alive.

“I will trust you then.” You say, before turning to Jon’s father. “Ser Arthur, are there any marital traditions that you would like us to observed for the wedding?”

He thinks for a moment, resting his hand on his chin, the dark stubble so like Jon’s but flecked with gray. “There are none that come to my mind at the moment, but I will think on it and if any return to me, I will inform you.”

“No bedding ceremony.” Jon says, he will fight for this, not only to spare you the brutality, but as an apology for the secrets he must keep.

“I will not argue with that.” You laugh, picking up two strawberries and handing one to him as you bite into the other one.

Jon takes it from you, his teeth breaking the delicate flesh, the sweet juice tasting like ash on his tongue.

The look upon Cersei Lannister’s face when his father steps into Highgarden’s Great Hall, is enough to make Jon forget why he is even standing before the royal family. His father wears a cloak of lilac, the white sword and falling star crossed in the center proudly displayed, Dawn strapped to his side. His curls are cleaned and styled, his beard trimmed, his armor and boots shining. When he takes a knee bowing his head to Tommen, Jon does the same, feeling a flicker of excitement when their knees hit the floor at the same time. Perfect synchronicity.

“Ser Arthur?” The startled exhale of his father’s name escapes Ser Jamie’s lips before he can stop it, his conflicted expression betraying far more than simply shock. There is grief, rage, longing, and confusion all whirling within Ser Jamie’s widened emerald eyes.

“My King, I have come to ask that you legitimize my son. I have brought the parchment signed by the septon that married myself and Lady Lyanna Stark. Jon is not a snow, he is a Dayne, my trueborn and only child.”

Tommen does not move, does not speak, he looks at Margaery who has her hand in her grandmother’s.

“Let us see this parchment.” Lady Tyrell says, holding a wizened hand out.

His father rises, and Jon does as well, watching as he delivers the paper to Lady Tyrell, who shares it with Margaery.

“You were thought dead Ser Dayne, why did you not return to King's Landing to take up in the service of your new king when my husband ascended to the throne?” Cersei asks, her jade eyes alight with rage, sparking like wildfire.

“I was badly injured at the Tower of Joy and was unable to make the journey for many years.”

“Unable to make the journey and to retrieve your son, it seems.” Cersei drawls, skimming the parchment, then handing it to Ser Jaime.

Jon can see how his hands shake, the color draining from his face.

“I was told Lord Stark treated him kindly, as if he were his own son, it was better for him to remain there than at the bedside of a nearly crippled man.” The shame that colors his tone clearly tugs on Tommen’s heartstrings.

He has not dared to think what his life would have been like if he had lived with his father. All he knows is he would not have met you, and he does not consider that much a life at all.

Tommen clears his throat, looking at Margaery once more, she nods.

“Ser Dayne, you swore an oath, Kingsguard cannot marry or have children.” Cersei cuts in, stepping forward, her head held high.

Jon bites his tongue hard. The irony in her statement…

His father fares better, nodding his head towards her, his tone steady. “I am no longer a whitecloak, I lost the right to that title when I aided Prince Rhaegar in stealing away my dear Lyanna. I am only a knight of the realm now, Queen Mother.”

Tommen goes to speak, surely in agreement with his mother, but Margaery puts her hand on his arm and leans down to whisper in his ear.

Jon tries not to fidget, tries not to look at you, you who sits beside your father, dressed in a well-tailored gown the shade of pomegranates, your hair swept away from your face, a golden pendant around your neck. He will ruin it all if he looks at you.

His father puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“In honor of my queen’s nameday I will grant her request. Ser Jon Snow, you shall no longer be a Snow, but a Dayne, Lord or Ser Jon, whichever you would like, of House Dayne, son of Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning.” Tommen says, smiling brightly when Margaery plants a chaste kiss of thanks to his cheek.

His father gives his thanks, bowing low. Jon follows his example, keeping his expression grateful but neutral as they return to the sidelines, ducking behind the crowds of nobles as Tommen and Margaery begin to leave the hall. It is only when they have disappeared from view that his father embraces him, crushing him to his chest.

Jon returns the embrace, joy running wild through him.

His father pulls back, a wide smile on his tanned face. “My son, oh, it is good to say that aloud, to say it where anyone can hear. We must celebrate, do you have a preference for wine? ”

“No, Father.” Jon tests the word out, rolling it on his tongue, it feels strange but pleasant. “I do not.”

His father smiles. “We shall soon fix that, but first, you must return to your duties, no?” He jerks his head towards you.

Jon nods. “I must.”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain

[aelenavelaryon]

Robert Baratheon x Reader (pt.2)

Summary: in which the Queen gets her revenge on her husband

The return of dragons came to a surprise for the realm. It was unexpected yet a blessing, especially for Rhaenyra. Finally, dragons returned to the world. Robert was not on board with having them in King's Landing at first but after watching Rhaenyra be happy after the loss of their child he agreed. Robert, despite marrying her without love came to enjoy her company as the two enjoyed making children.

Rhaenyra choose to let her dragons roamed free in a place where they were all away from people, to avoid harming innocent people. Prince Daemon was born in the year 283, near the end of the year. His brother Orys came days after his first name day in 284. In the year 286 came the twins, Aemon and Aemond. Just a year later in 287 she lost a child, it was then that Dragons were reborn.

By 290, Rhaenyra's dragons had grown a lot. The year prior they disappeared and when they returned they were the size of an adult dragon. So, for the first time in centuries a Targaryen finally took to the skies on dragonback. Balerion, the dragon she rode flew her to a part of the Keep that was abandoned and where he kept dragons eggs.

Rhaenyra brought Dragon Keepers to the Keep to help with the dragons and their eggs. The eggs, which were enough to give to each one of her children and brother, were kept warm and ready in the children's room. Finally, after five years of trying for a daughter, a girl finally came. Well, more like two. Rhaena and Helaena came during the summers of 290. By then, her children all had dragons eggs. Prince Daemon had claimed Caraxes, while his brother's hatched their eggs. Orys named his Eros. Aemon named his Moonfyre and Aemond named his Meraxes. Princess Rhaena and Helaena's dragon eggs hatched the same day of their birth.

King Robert threw a feast in honor of their first name day. By then, queen Rhaenyra had given him four sons and two daughters. Princess Rhaena was said to be as wild and defiant as her mother in her youth. Rhaena had the Targaryen hair and eyes, while her twin, princess Helaena had black hair and blue eyes like his father but she was as quiet and calm as her late grandmothers, queen Rhaella and Lady Cassana Baratheon. Robert was a decent king who took the input of his queen. They had a quiet a decent marriage.

Since the day they married Robert kept to his wife's and his own chambers. He slept with no other woman that was not his wife. Some had said he changed for the better and Eddard Stark could attest to that. Rhaenyra's life was good. She had no worries. Everything was just perfect.

The news reached her a few weeks later. Robert Baratheon had slept with Cersei Lannister or so she claimed. Cersei was a girl of three and twenty. She was yet to be married as her father hadn't found her a good match yet. Rhaenyra when she heard said nothing. Robert even thought she hadn't heard but she had. She knew, thanks to her little birds that Jaime was Cersei's lover. So, her plan was to take Jaime from Cersei. It was her goal to make him loyal to her.

Her plan began the very next day. She had asked Robert for a new guard. Stating that with six children it was better for them and her to have extra security. The king agreed. She smiled and acted as if nothing was happening. When Cersei was forced to move the keep by her father's order, Rhaenyra was forced to confront her husband.

Robert entered their shared chambers. "Nyra" she looked away. Rhaenyra was two and twenty. She had given her husband six children. She never complained nor did she cause him any problems. She simply did her duty, ever the dutiful her mother used to say. "I have never asked anything of you, nor have I ever caused you trouble or any problems. I have stood by you for the last seven years. I married you despite everything. I am no saint, nor have I ever been. I brought a son into a marriage that was not yours. You loved him and took care of him as if he was your own. And in return I gave your four sons with your blood and two daughters with your blood" there was a brief silence. "Where our children not enough?" she asked. "Was I not enough?" she asked.

Rhaenyra had never been insecure. How could she? She was a Targaryen, their beauty seemed to be god like and now, with her dragon being a god seemed far more possible than before. "I love you, Robert. But I will not be the person you treat like a common whore. If Cersei gives you a bastard child I will give you one too. And if she gives you another so will I" she said. Robert was too stunned to speak. She gave him on chance to speak before she left their shared chambers, Arthur and Jaime following behind.

Rhaenyra knew Cersei's greatest love was Jaime, and she rarely even allowed him to wonder far from her. Jaime didn't mind, watching over her gave him some sort of relief as he felt guilty for killing her father years back. He also wanted to keep her safe as he could not keep Elia and her children. Jaime was also avoiding his sister, as much as she would try to find him but he would walk the other way or ignore her pleas to talk. Over the months the good relationship between the queen and king perished in the blink of an eye. King Robert returned to his drunken and whoring ways.

Cersei Lannister gave birth to a son who she named Joffrey Baratheon, a boy with black hair and green eyes, he seemed to be all his father but the eyes. A year later, in the year 292, queen Rhaenyra gave birth to a son, a boy she named Rhaegar Targaryen and a daughter who she named Rhaella. The boy had blonde white hair. His eyes were the same eyes of princess Alyssa Targaryen, wife of Baelon Targaryen. One green eye and purple. Her daughter, princess Rhaella had a her grandmother's looks. Ser Jaime Lannister was the first one to hold his two children. A little princeling he used to call him and his little baby girl. Jaime and Rhaenyra were the ones who picked the names.

Robert knew but he said nothing as the guilt of returning to his old habits returned. Prince Jacaerys came four years after his sisters, then, a year after him came Lucerys. Princess Rhaenyra had always loved those names and had always wanted to name one of her sons like them. Prince Jacaerys had dark brown hair and purple eyes, his brother Lucerys was just like his brother. Queen Rhaenyra bore thirteen children at the short age of thirty. Her last two children were girls. Daughters. Visenya and Daenerys, daughters of Ser Arthur Dayne.

Eddard Stark never married, instead he served his queen Rhaenyra his entire life. And of course he took care of their two sons. Ned had became her closest companion alongside Arthur and Jaime Lannister. She had no other allies at court but them. At least, she didn't trust anyone else but them. Cersei gave Robert three more children. Tommen, Myrcella and Joanna but they were known as bastards since they were not married.

On the queen's name day, a thirtieth name day celebration was made in her honor. Every house in the realm attended, including Dorne, Driftmark and the North. By then, Prince Jaehaerys was nearly six and ten, Daemon was five and ten, Orys three and ten, Aemon and Aemond were one and ten, Helaena and Rhaena were eight, Rhaegar and Rhaella were nearly six, Jacaerys was four, prince Lucerys three and his sisters had just turned one.

Queen Rhaenyra, despite birthing thirteen children looked far better than most, she was grateful, she also took care great of her figure, she wanted to preserve herself as much as she could. Robert knew that seven of those children where not his. Jaehaerys had been claimed as a Targaryen despite Tywin's insistence to keep him as a bastard. Rhaenyra did not wish for her son to bear the name Baratheon or Stark. Brandon had written to her often wanting to know about his son but he not once had asked for the boy to visit him nor to be claimed as a Stark. She knew Catelyn did not like the idea of Brandon's bastard sons being in their home and possible taking Robb's birthright.

During the Queen's name day celebration things are said and revenge is plotted. They say when you play the game of thrones you win or you die, there is no middle ground. Queen Rhaenyra is going to win, no matter what. The question is, will she succeed or will she fail?

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Tender Tragedy

Pairing: Arthur Dayne x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: death

Words:2601

Day winding down to night, Dany took her intimate party on to her personal balcony where an iron pit sat at the center. Surrounding her great pyramid were small specks of orange light. Each one belonged to a family getting ready for slumber. Not Daenerys and her court. Their work tend to bleed into the late hours of the night. There was much work to be done in Meereen.

“Your grace.” Ser Barristan Selmy, a newly added member, holds out a jewel studded goblet to his queen.

Dany eyes the extravagance of the cup as she takes it graciously from the old knight’s hand. Growing up, such decadence was scarce for the once crown prince and princess. Viserys often complained that had Robert not started his rebellion, they would still have the Targaryen wealth that was owed to them.

Alas, Viserys’ own vanity was to be his doom. Now only Dany basked in such exquisite items. 

Taking a sip of the sweet wine she had been given, Daenerys can’t resist thinking on her other siblings; those long dead. She’d had Rhaegar, her older brother, and an older sister, (y/n). 

Rhaegar, the whole of the rebellion being his fault, of course had to die in order to restore order in the seven kingdoms along with the death of Aerys. That was a certainty that Dany had slowly come to acknowledge. She didn’t want to think that any fault lay on her family, but there were so many facts she couldn’t ignore. Targaryens were to blame for everything.

One thing she still couldn’t wrap her head around was why her eldest sister had to die as well. No one explained to Dany the ultimate fate of (y/n). Those like Jorah and Selmy who knew kept her in the dark. 

Turning back to Selmy, she watches as he seats himself in front of the fire that gently warmed his aging joints. Jorah was next to him, speaking quietly with Grey Worm who preferred to stand at attention in case his blade was needed. 

For a moment, Dany imagines how the guiding hand of a gentle, older sister might have changed her life instead of growing up with Viserys’ cruel tendencies. She grieves for what could have been. 

“What happened to (y/n)?”

Her inquiry has Grey Worm and Jorah ceasing their conversation all together. Even the introspective gaze that Missandei had while listening to them had evaporated.

Selmy sadly stares at his hands. He always became melancholic when the subject of (y/n) was brought up. “I don’t think right now’s the time for that. . .”

“Then when will be? No one talks about her. Why am I not to know about her, my only sister?” Her tone of authority has them averting their gaze from her drilling eyes. Must she be stuck with the knowledge that her elder brother Rhaegar died because of the accusation of rape and knowing Viserys was a monster in his own right much like their father? Were there truly no good members of House Targaryen that were worthy of life?

Pondering for a second, Selmy heaves out a weary sigh. “It is not a happy story. Many do not want to recall what happened to your sister because she was much loved and her death devastated every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. As if enough blood hadn’t been shed already.”

“It was utterly pointless.” Jorah murmurs, his own eyes glossing over. Dany had pestered him before about (y/n), any bit of information, but Jorah stood his ground and never uttered a peep about the elder Targaryen daughter. 

Quietly, Daenerys trails over to them and sits on the other side of Selmy. “What was she like? I just want to get an idea of who she is.”

That was an easier question to answer.

Light came back into Selmy’s eyes and the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a smile. “She was goodness incarnate, Your Grace. Much like yourself. And beautiful. (y/n) did much to help those suffering in the slums of King’s Landing. Was always trying to make things better and was an excellent problem solver. She was a burst of life in the Red Keep. Everyone thrived in her presence.”

So why was she too a casualty of the rebellion. Dany would tread lightly to that question. “Did she ever marry? She was very close to Rhaegar in age, right?” She’d be at the perfect age where young ladies were often pawned off to other influential families. Even Daenerys had been married to Khal Drogo when she was just ten and three.

Jorah chuckles at that. “Oh many tried. She was considered the perfect match. Constantly being hounded by old and young lords alike. Marrying her off though had never been Aerys’ top priority when his mind started to rot.”

“He never thought of marrying (y/n) to Rhaegar?” It was Valyrian tradition to wed one sibling to the other. Many generations of the Targaryens had kept the practice alive despite the negative views the Sept had toward it. 

“It had been discussed.” Selmy admits. “Maybe if he had done that to begin with, we could have avoided war. But. . . (y/n) had already pledged her love to someone else.”

**

Ser Arthur carefully scans his surroundings in the hallway to make sure no one saw or followed him to the destined rendezvous point. When he seemed to be completely by himself, he closed the door and turned to face you. Patiently awaiting him on the foot of the bed with a wide grin.

He’d mentioned many times how he’d never, in a million years, get used to the sight of your smile  and the way it illuminated your lavender eyes. Beacons that entangle Arthur in a trap he had no plan to escape from.

You stand and dissolve the small distance between you in a blink of an eye. Your hands, soft and smelling of the sweetness of spring, grab his cheeks to pull him down to your starving lips.

Arthur was all too ready to comply.

**

“She was in love with the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne.” He remembers Ser Arthur with the utmost fondness, but their relationship had been doomed from the very start. Selmy had been there when Arthur was sworn into the Kingsguard. Even by then the boy was completely enraptured by Princess (y/n). 

Dany, listening intently, originally this of this as a perfect story from some old fairytale . A princess and her lover knight, a classic. But (y/n)’s story did not end happily ever after.

Missandei holds Dany’s hand. She too had a sense of where this kind of story was going. 

“So great was their affections for one another, it was quite obvious to everyone around them. During tourneys, Arthur would ask for her favor. The dances before the war, they would dance with each other. When war finally broke out, we found (y/n)’s chambers empty. Arthur, before joining Rhaegar’s forces, spirited the princess out of the Keep.”

*

You jolt to a stop as Arthur held out an arm to stop you from advancing. You’d been crawling along the shadows in the corridors of the Keep as Arthur led you hall after hall to evade any guards. Like hell he’d leave you behind. What he was doing was punishable by death but he didn’t care. 

Thinking the coast had been clear, you’d almost gone around the corner but Arthur’s better trained ears heard someone coming. 

He holds you close to his side so that your cheek was pressed against his armor and you were partially hidden under his cloak. You didn’t breathe for fear of discovery.

Whoever it was walked right past you, none the wiser. Both of you release your breath simultaneously. Even if someone had caught you, Arthur wouldn’t hesitate to kill them; even if it was his own brothers from the guard. They no longer mattered anymore.

A single touch from Arthur had you jumping and he chuckling. He’d only reached out for your hand. He brings it up to his lips and gives your knuckles the most gentle of kisses.

Finally you smile as he coaxes you along.

**

At this point, Selmy pauses to quench his parched mouth and ignite the courage required to continue with the story. He wished it ended there, (y/n) and Arthur escaping and happily living out the rest of their days somewhere in Essos.

Dany as well as the others drink from their cups.

“Of course this caused such a rage in Aerys. (Y/n) tended to have stubborn strike, but for the most part she had been obedient to Aerys. It was the quite the blow to him that his treasured daughter had escaped with one of his personal guards.”

Aerys had sent whatever manpower he could spare to look for (y/n) and Arthur.

“They remained elusive for several months. But one day while Arthur was gone to fight in a battle, Rhaegar’s defenseless camp had been attacked. They dragged (y/n) out by force.”

**

You’re pretty sure your scream pierced a few of your assailants’ ear drums.

Someone grabbed a fistful of your silver hair and nearly rips your skull from your neck. Even though it caused you unspeakable pain, you fight and claw at any inch off vulnerable skin you could dig your nails into.

They curse at you, crown Targaryen princess, and treat you with outstanding abuse you had never experienced before.

You could taste the rusty burst of blood trickling out from your split lip. Feel the boning of your corset imprint itself into your torso as they beat you into unconscious submission. These could not possibly be natives to the Crownlands. Possibly someone Aerys had paid off. No person, knowing who you are, would ever treat you in such a manner. Whether you were the Mad King’s daughter or not.

Fight had fled from you as they hoist you onto the back of an awaiting horse. They keep their eyes open to scan the area once more before leaving. There was no sign of the Sword of the Morning.

Silent tears spring into your vision as you watch Rhaegar’s plundered camp consumed by flames.

Your captors waste no time and heed their mounts to move faster.

“(Y/N)!!!”

Your eyelids try to flutter open at the sound of Arthur’s voice stretching over miles. It was impossible.

Hooves cease to beat and quietly stop at the approaching figure. Men in armor dismount and brandish their swords. Arthur was greatly outnumbered.

His battle had been far away from the camp yet there was Arthur sizing up his chances as he hops off of his own war horse.

“Yield, Ser Dayne.” One called out to him. “The king wants you alive.”

Eyes that could have passed off for Targaryen flick over to you and a knife that had suddenly appeared tauntingly against your throat. You stay absolutely still unless the blades gives you its sharp kiss. The only way you could keep your fear at bay was to keep your gaze focused on Arthur’s eyes. Wisteria filled pools calm your racing heart although you knew there was still much for you to fear.

Arthur dropped the great sword of his house, Dawn, in front of his feet in surrender.

Countless knights descend upon him and bind his limbs in chains. It would not do to have a knight of Arthur’s caliber have any access to his limbs.

He’d be compliant as long as they kept the two of you together.

**

“Couldn’t Ser Arthur have taken them on? I’ve constantly heard of his mastery with the sword and how he was like no other.” To Dany, the infamous Sword of the Morning gave up quite easily.

Every line on Selmy’s face seems to deepen. “Alas, Arthur was still but a human. He knew when to pick his battles. This was not one he could’ve ever won by himself.”

He knew he must tie off the story of (y/n) Targaryen and Ser Arthur Dayne. Anyone could imagine the torture Aerys put his daughter and Arthur through before their actual death. They accepted their fate with their hand’s holding the other’s.

(Y/n) didn’t she a tear when she glared at her father as he read out their punishment. She kept her head held high as did Arthur. That’s how Selmy wanted to remember them. Not their grotesque corpses that had been left.

From the older man’s reaction, Daenerys knew she’d learned enough as her own tears spill over her bottom lashes.

Next to her, Missandei hastily wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Her hand was trembling in Dany’s as they support one another.

From a hidden pocket, Selmy sighs and pulls out a leather drawstring pouch. “After. . . After they had died, Aerys wanted their remains to be tossed like common trash. Instead we properly buried them. However. . . Before all remnants of her life was scrubbed from the world, I saved this one piece of her.”

Once placed in her hands, Dany tentatively pulls open the pouch and pulls out a silver locket. Engraved into its metal were beautiful flowers. Each petal captured with intricate details. In the center was tucked a large pink pearl.

Dany opens it, her eyes instantly round and glisten. “I-Is this. . .” Her gaze falls back onto the contents of the locket. Inside was a perfectly curled lock of silver hair. Targaryen hair.

“Before she died, Aerys had her head shaved for further humiliation.” Selmy whispers.

Softly Dany pets the soft piece of hair. The only part of her sister she’ll ever know.

Shutting the locket with a gentle hand, Daenerys holds it close to her heart.

**

The strong beating of Arthur’s heart had nearly lulled you to sleep. His arm slung around you, daring anyone to put you in separate cells.

They granted you this one last request.

Aerys wouldn’t let you and Arthur live. Both of you accepted that when you were captured. The Mad King didn’t take prisoners of war.

At least you had one last night with him. To be held in his arms and gifted kisses upon the crown of your head. This was all you had ever asked for.

The Few months you’d spent with him evading Aerys had been the happiest. If this was the price you had to pay for it then so be it. You’d finally experienced true happiness

“(Y/n)?”

“Hmm?”

You shift in his hold to look up at his gorgeous face. The man was a work of art and possessed the looks of old gods of the sun. Despite the sultry pout of his full lips, Arthur had always been dedicated to you; no other woman had ever held such sway over him in his entire life. Sweet as it was he’d even tried his hand at poetry to try and explain how much he truly loved you. It was awful but to you it was your dearest possession.

All over again, you fall in love with him from the way he gazed down at you with naked love.

“Being with you has completed my life. No matter how short a time we had. I’d do it all over again knowing this would be the price.”

You blink back tears but it’s useless. His image is blurry. “M-Me too. Knowing that you love me and you’re here…”

Arthur caressed the side of your face and pressed his forehead to your’s.

Whatever what happened when the sun rose, you’d have no regrets.

[felixaussiegf]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 - 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 - “𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄’’

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: The war to Robert’s Rebellion is finally over, Robert Baratheon has finally destroy the Targaryen Dynasty. He has killed Prince Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident, while Princess Elia Martell and her three children Rhaenys, Aegon, and Viserra, were killed by Lord Tywin Lannister's orders during the Sack of King's Landing. But is that really true? No, one child still lives, Viserra Targaryen, the last true living child and youngest child of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell. In 283 AC, Ashara Dayne, the sister to the late Ser Arthur Dayne and one of Elia Martell’s ladies-and-waiting, but also one of her best friends during Robert's Rebellion and Ser Jon Connington one of Rhaegar Targaryen's best loyal knights and best friend decides to send a raven to the Prince Oberyn Martell in, Dorne stating for him to come to Starfall, alone where she and the exile knight have something important to tell Oberyn Martell, whether or not it might put all their lives in danger or in jeopardy.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: cursing, robert’s rebellion war mention, characters deaths mention, suicide thoughts, war, betrayal, violence, angst, secrets. (Please, remind me if there are any missing warnings, I have missed or forgotten)

𝐀/𝐍: Ahhhh, hello my loves! SUPRISE!!! I have decided to do the GOT fanfic, instead of doing it on Wattpad, I will be doing it on Tumblr. This story will be following the TV series and a bit of the books spoiler’s; but mostly the TV series GOT, so please remember that. There is not much warnings for this chapter as, it is the Prologue to this story. Also, for the story I decided to put Ashara Dayne in my story she will not die like in the books, she still lives in GOT universe because to be honest, I really do love her character, and well she is a badass woman. Also for Ser Jon Connington, I have decided to add him as well, in which both GOT characters will have a bigger part in this story.

𝟐𝟖𝟑 𝐀𝐂, 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄, 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀’𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐄: 𝟔 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃.

Looking outside, through one the window’s of the castle of the beautiful sea of Star-Fall, were it is located in the western Red Mountains, stood a beautiful woman who is a tall and a fair maiden all together. Her long dark hair tumbled around her shoulders but what really got other’s attention were her very own eyes in particular her beautiful purple eyes who some would say she would be consider a Targaryen or resemble one at that. The ones that did know her very well, she went by the name of Ashara Dayne. But the ones who did not know her well like to gossip and talk at court, behind her back and would call her -

“𝐓𝐡��� 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬.’’

The sister of the late Ser Arthur Dayne, "The Sword Of The Morning." With her, she carried a beautiful babe, not even a year old yet. The babe who truly resembled a true 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧, just like her late father Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, as her elder siblings Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen truly looked like their own mother with their very own Dornish features, on the other hand Viserra, truly did look like her late father, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen with her little scruff of white hair poking out of her head, while her little brownish eyes with a bit of blueish hue in them and her appearance, told a different tale her eyes truly resembled a 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥, just like her late mother Princess Elia Martell.

Ashara felt sorry, for the little babe, for Viserra will never get to meet her mother and father, but her siblings Rhaenys and Aegon, as well. Ashara knew this world was a men’s world and women were just simply living in it, to just be broodmares and give men the heirs they truly needed, but little Viserra will never be that type of Queen or get to meet or, see her family ever again, as they were taken from her, before she could even say goodbye to any of them.

Her grandmother Queen Rhaella was dead, her grandfather the Mad King Aerys was dead as well, as her father and mother Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia were dead, her sister and brother the late Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon were dead as well.

The whereabouts of her Uncle Viserys and Aunt Daenerys were unknown as they went into hiding and where shipped across the Narrow Sea as soon as Stannis Baratheon and his men arrived on Dragonstone, but did not find them instead they found Queen Rhaella there as she was found dead on Dragonstone.

This little babes entire family was all gone and not just any family house the Targaryen dynasty was finally gone. Just because Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped and raped the Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell and did nothing but get his whole family slaughtered and killed for his actions and consequences.

She looked down at the little babe of who she carried, while the babe grabbed onto her fingers with, her tiny hands and smiled up at her. Some would say the babe was Ashara Dayne’s, but she knew the cold hard truth, of where this babe truly came from, the babe was not hers, but her late best friend Princess Elia Martell; for she was the youngest daughter and last living child of Princess Elia Martell and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

Ashara Dayne also had lost, so much within the years of Robert’s Rebellions wars, the war had changed everything for her and her family, hell it even change her, even if the war was finally over, still she had lost so many people she had loved and cared about; she had lost her still-born daughter, her lover, her best friend Princess Elia Martell, and her brother Ser Arthur Dayne. No matter, what she felt about ending her life right then and there, she felt that her life didn’t have any worth anymore. To her what was the point of living and breathing, she knew that she had lost, everyone she truly loved and cared about.

Ashara still had her younger sister Allyria Dayne alive but she was sent away to Blackhaven, for protection and away from the war as she knew Robert Baratheon would kill every Targaryen loyalist and blood Targaryen, he could get his bare hands on, but he could make an exception for the houses that would bend the knee to him as their rightful new King, but even Ashara Dayne knew she nor the Dayne's or Martell's were going to bend the knee to the newly crowned drunken cunt of a Usurper Robert Baratheon, who ended the Targaryen dynasty, just because they did not have any dragons as they were long gone or extinct from the world.

She later had gotten another raven from Blackhaven stating, that her sister, Allyria Dayne is set to be betrothed to, Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven. Where now it was just her, as the last true Dayne of Star-Fall. She would be the next "Lady Regent Ashara Dayne of Star-Fall." But, she even knew that, she could not rule Star-Fall anymore as she had already faked her death in order to protect the princess Viserra Targaryen and what was left of her family's bloodline. Her eldest brother would soon become the Lord of Star-Fall.

The people that knew her as the beautiful Lady Ashara Dayne, was now long dead as she had faked her death by suicide from a broken heart by jumping off one of the towers of Star-Fall. For now, she went as her new given name Wylla Sand, one of her former wet-nurses who died due to a fever she had her name changed in order to protect Viserra Targaryen from Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister, and those who wish to harm, the sweet little princess of King's Landing.

Just a few days ago right before she was about to end her life by committing suicide by jumping from the top of the Palestone Sword, one of the towers of Star-Fall, and fall into the sea and disappear forever. But things change for her; instinct just a few days ago a raven had arrived in Star-Fall, for Ashara Dayne from Lord Varys also known as, “The Spider’’ in King’s Landing stating,

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝙰𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝙳𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎 Wylla Sand 𝙾𝚏 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛-𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. You are not that hard to tract down my Lady, but my little birds of whispers inform me you have faked your death in your very own home at Star-Fall in order for you to protect your family from the now newly crowned King Robert Baratheon's wrath and rage. First, m𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 lost of your 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕-𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚛 𝙳𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎, "T𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 O𝚏 T𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐.'' 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚆𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚜'𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 in 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐’𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 fight for what was truly right for the Seven Kingdoms and the entire realm.

I have heard from my little birds in Dorne that, your former lover, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, was seen in Star-Fall recently to return to you, your family's ancestral sword the Sword Of The Morning, "Dawn". I do wish, Lord Eddard Stark could see you alive on better circumstances, but I'm afraid with the newly crowned King Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne now is a big no for you, I do not think it is a good time for you or your family to leave Star-Fall as of yet. I am hoping this raven fine's you well my Lady, because there are some pressing matters that we have to attend to and it has everything to do with, the princess Viserra Targaryen's very own name and birthright written all over in King's Landings and the entire realm of the Seven Kingdoms.

Now, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝚁𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚢𝚜, 𝙰eg𝚘𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊 Targaryen, 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 order to be 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 "T𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗" 𝚂𝚎𝚛 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛 𝙲𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚎, 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 strict 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚃𝚢𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛. Now this must be kept between us only. For, I fear for the little dragon princess safety and for her to return to Kings Landing where she rightfully belongs,and when the time comes for her she will be ready to ascend the Iron Throne as the true heir she was meant to be just like her late grandfather the late Mad King Aerys Targaryen wanted her to be. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 to, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 on time,and 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚍 𝙺𝚎𝚎𝚙 and 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐’𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 and send her to Dorne 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍. She is to be sent to Star-Fall, where the now exile Ser Jon Connington, will meet you at the gates of the Dayne castle, where little princess Viserra Targaryen, will be given to you under my orders in private and away from traitors and others eyes, who wish to harm the true heir to the Iron Throne.

𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝚎𝚛 Jon Connington, 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚔 and mission 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚔𝚎 one day 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚖,and the Seven Kingdoms. Ser Jon Connington was able to sail away with the princess Viserra Targaryen before Robert Baratheon and his men could kill him as to being Targaryen loyalist and a dear friend to Rhaegar Targaryen. T𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 her uncle 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙾𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 of Dorne. 𝙰𝚗𝚍, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕, 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜. 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 and well, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 and Ser Jon Connington made an oath to protect the little princess Viserra with his life until his last breath 𝚊𝚗𝚍 she shall 𝚋𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 and Ser Connington's guidance 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚄𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙾𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 whereabouts 𝚊𝚗𝚍 when he 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 he will care for her as she has his very own blood in her after all. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝙳𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗-𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛-𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 and Ser Jon Connington 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒m 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚢 Ashara Wylla, 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 with her life and children's life, now she trusts you with her last living child's life until her very last breath, you are 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 trusted friend and loyal lady 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜-𝚊𝚗𝚍-𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐’𝚜 you were with her during Roberts Rebellion and then fled with your brother before the Sack of King's Landing. Know, this 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 raven 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. 𝙰𝚗𝚍, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 t𝚛𝚞𝚎 born ruler, a 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊 t𝚛𝚞𝚎 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. 𝙰𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎. And when the times comes s𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 “𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍’’ 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 and for they 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚋𝚢 dragon 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 and burning to ash 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐s and her entire family. 𝚄𝚗𝚝𝚒, 𝚠𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝙰𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊, Lady Wylla. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛,

Lord Varys, "Master of Whisperers"

The raven that Lord Varys, had sent Lady Ashara, a chill down her spine as she did not want Elia Martell's last living child and only living daughter the little Viserra to grow up to be like her grandfather the late “Mad King’’ Aerys Targaryen. She had first met the little babe Viserra, when Ser Jon Connington had came to Star-Fall in order to give little Viserra Targaryen to her loyal servant Flora, who help deliver her still-born daughter along with the wet-nurse Wylla and help her grieve for her stillborn daughter.

Lady Ashara and Ser Jon Connington had an argument over his welcome to Star-Fall and that he made no argument of over staying his welcome and would not be exile again especially to the only surviving child and true heir of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell.

He then later told Lady Ashara Dayne that she may not like him and will hate him forever for what Rhaegar Targaryen did, to his wife and children. But he had sworn an oath to his best friends Rhaegar Targaryen and her brother Ser Arthur Dayne as a kingsguard and, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms and protector, that he would serve Viserra Targaryen as his true loyalties are only to the Targaryens and the heir to the Iron Throne.

When Ser Jon Connington had handed the babe to her. Her heart stopped for a moment, just by looking at her she could immediately see Elia Martell, in her very own daughter. What she saw was this pure, innocent, child who had to watch her entire family be slaughtered and killed by Robert Baratheon and his men of traitors. She remembers a time when she was in King's Landing, right before Viserra Targaryen was born, Princess Elia Martell and Queen Rhaella Targaryen were fearful for little Viserra because unlike Rhaneys and Aegon that smelled like Dornish to him.

The "Mad King" Aerys II Targaryen had actually taken a liking to his youngest granddaughter telling her that she was a true Targaryen and a true Queen even he would say that in his so called dragon dreams and his madness, he would dream of her that one day she too will sit the Iron Throne, but what was fearful of the words he said were -

"Viserra Targaryen my greatest weapon, my youngest granddaughter and my true heir, you shall be the most fearful and dangerous ruler of the Targaryen Dynasty, and the entire realm of Westero's has ever seen, one day they will truly see what you really are and when the time comes you will be ready to "burn them all" for what they have done to you and your madness just like what they did to me. You have the blood of the dragon, the blood of Old Valyria, you have my blood in you, it runs thick through you and only you can use it to your advantage and show those damn bastards traitors who you really are, for you are; The Dragon's Queen."

But, no one had to blame anyone for Robert's Rebellion war for happening but Rhaegar Targaryen “The Last Dragon’’ for kidnapping and raping Lyanna Stark “The She-Wolf’’. When Ashara found out about what was about to happen, she knew they were all going to war for what Rhaegar and Lyanna did. And, she knew her brother Ser Arthur Dayne, would take part in the war because of his loyalties to his best friend Rhaegar Targaryen.

No matter, how much she plead for her brother Ser Arthur Dayne, not to go he had promised to her that he would come back to her, Ashara prayed to the Seven and to any the gods, that would hear her prayer, to bring her brother back safely to her when the war was finally over. But even she knew it was all just a lie, just for her to lose the last bit, of faith within the gods, as the gods were cruel to everyone.

Zoning out, and startled by one of the servants coming through the doors, while Ser Jon Connington made his way into the chambers of Lady Ashara Dayne for a guard had opened the door for the servant and knight named Flora. Ashara Dayne looked up from where she stood, and not before putting the little babe Viserra in her cot, before looking at the servant and raising her eyebrows to Ser Jon Connington as well, before he too gave her a smirk. She soon then, spoke in a stern tone.

“Yes, Flora, what is it this time?" before continuing to speak and looking at Ser Jon Connington with annoyed expression, "And, to what do I own the pleasure of, of your entitled presence here, Ser Jon Connington?"

“Forgive me, my Lady, I am sorry to be unannounced, but Prince Oberyn Martell has arrived from Dorne, and wishes to speak to you alone." Flora spoke as she had her eyes glancing down at her feet, not before glancing at the handsome Knight who still did not talk but just kept on staring at Lady Ashara with a serious look. Without, Lady Ashara or the Knight known as Ser Jon Connington knowing Flora secretly sought a glance at the little babe Viserra, in which she was in her cot babbling away not knowing what was happening.

"Oh, yes, please do tell Prince Oberyn Martell, to come in." spoke, the Lady Ashara, as she looked directly at Flora the servant before walking to the table ignoring the entitled knight's presence and grabbing two cups of Dornish wine for her and Prince Oberyn Martell.

"Right away, my Lady." Flora replied, before bowing to both the lady and the knight going away quickly to the door once the guards had open the door but to inform Prince Oberyn Martell he may come in to speak to the Lady of Star-Fall as well. Finally, Ser Jon Connington spoke but in an aggravated tone-

"You had the fucking damn, Red Viper of a snake Prince Oberyn Marterll of Dorne come here?" "Seven hells, Ashara what were you thinking, what tis' next, you have that damn bastard of usurper Robert Baratheon and his men of fucking traitors, come here to slaughter and kill us all and the little princess and, the true heir to the Iron Throne?"

"How dare you speak to me like that, do not forget, yourself "Ser" Jon Connington, you know damn well why he is here, I can't not change that Prince Oberyn Martell is here and came all this way from Dorne besides he is Viserra's only kin who is left alive besides Prince Doran Martell, I will not be told what I cannot do in my own damn castle by a damn exiled knight!" snapped, Ashara as she looked at Ser Jon Connington with a glare.

"Do you trust him?" spoke, Ser Jon Connington before continuing to speak to her but in a softer tone, "The Prince Oberyn Martell, can he truly be trusted, as you say you know him very well can he be trusted, especially with this dangerous secret about the little princess, I do not trust anyone but you Ashara, I don't give a damn what Lord Varys says, I'm telling you and only you?"

"I do Jon, I would trust Oberyn Martell with my life, trust me he is a complicated man and his ego may be somewhat annoying but he has a good heart I know that because, he truly loved his sister Elia and her children more than anything in this world, no matter what, I know he will help us protect Viserra from anyone who wishes to lay harm to her."

"I trust you Ashara, but do not expect me to play friendly, with the Red Viper of Dorne, if it comes down to saving the princess, I will not hesitate to kill anyone who wishes to harm her, even if it is her own blood or kin."

"I know, you will but please, Jon just let me handle this please, Prince Oberyn Martell will understand what is at stake here once he arrives in Star-Fall. You don't know him like I do, I know him, he would never wish to harm the princess, especially his own niece Viserra, Elia's only living child and his blood."

"Well, that was a lovely conversation, now please try not to kill him or his damn guards, with your damn glare." spoke, Ashara in a statistical tone with the roll of her eyes.

"Ah, yes, yes, yes... And, you try not to kill anyone, with your looks and your damn controlling ways, Wylla."

"As well as you, Ser Griff."

"Well, Viserra, my darling it looks like, to us your Uncle Oberyn is here from, Dorne just to meet you." spoke Ashara, as she gave the little princess Viserra a silly smile, not before sipping her wine. Little Viserra, looked up at, Lady Ashara and gave her a smile back before babbling once more.

Just then the doors to the chambers open again, in which Ashara Dayne and Ser Jon Connington while having his hand the hilt of his sword standing in between Ashara and Viserra, both looked up from where she was sitting along with little Viserra in her cot by her side slowly rocking the cot.

Looking around her cot little Viserra stop, what she was doing as she heard the noise. It was non-other than Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne, coming in a hurry to see if it was really Ashara Dayne if she truly was alive. The servant named Flora again, came into the chambers in a hurry telling Prince Oberyn, to please not rush into the chambers for the guards would think he was here to harm Lady Ashara and the little princess Viserra.

"Ashara, h-how are you alive?" spoke, Oberyn Martell, as he looked at her in shock and surprise not before noticing Ser Jon Connington. Ashara look at her best friend's brother, not before looking out the window and gulping down the last bit of wine she had before setting the cup on the table.

"They told me, you were dead, that you had killed yourself and jumped off Star-Falls tower and into the sea, right after your brother was killed at the Tower of Joy." spoke, Oberyn, as he slowly came near her, and the little babe of who he did not notice yet. Slowly, Ser Jon Connington looked at Prince Oberyn as he gave him a hardened all the playfulness gone from his face as he stayed back but not to over step where he was at as well.

When Oberyn Martell looked at Ser Jon, he finally knew who he was looking at besides the Lady Ashara Dayne, of where he stood he was one of the late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's loyal friends and knight's also known as the exile knight, Ser Jon Connington also known by his hidden name "Griff". Prince Oberyn Martell's eyes hardened at that as he was blinded by rage and hate by the so-called knight who took no part in the war of Roberts Rebellion and did not save his sister Elia and her children.

Ignoring, the Lady Ashara's protest not to fight in her very own bedchambers or castle where the guards were stationed outside the door. Due to the little princess being here she did not want for them to get violent or spill any bloodshed Prince Oberyn walked briskly to Ser Jon Connington as he took out his sword and pointed it at Ser Jon Connington neck while Ser Jon Connington grabbed his sword as well.

"You bastard traitor of a knight, what are you doing here, have you come here to kill us as well." spoke, Oberyn with anger and rage in his tone as he looked at Ser Jon Connington.

"No, I haven't yet." replied," Ser Jon Connington as he continued, as he stared at Oberyn Martell with a challenge me look.

"How many people had to die and suffer because your friend the beautiful noble Rhaegar Targaryen couldn't meet the expectations of his consequences when he kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark while, my sister Elia Martell and her children had to suffer the consequences of his damn mistakes."

"ENOUGH, the both of you," spoke, Ashara as she continued, "You may not like him, here Oberyn but he is my guest, I can't change that but you are here for a reason."

Finally, Lady Ashara Dayne decided, to turn around and look at the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, with anguish and rage in her eyes as not before speaking in an emotionless tone ignoring Ser Jon Connnington's glare again.

"I am alive, because I fake my death Oberyn, I had to." replied, Ashara as she look at Oberyn, before continuing to speak, "You got Lord Varys raven, didn't you?"

"I did, Ashara if I may speak? What is this really about?" spoke, Oberyn with furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as to why he is really here while also, ignoring Ser Jon Connington glare yet again.

Not looking at Prince Oberyn or Ser Jon, the Lady Ashara spoke, in a tone that should not represent any lady especially a higherborn at that. "Do you know what, they did to my brother Oberyn?" "E-Elia and her children, were innocent they did not have to die the way they did."

Ser Jon Connington looks away as he could not meet the eyes of Ashara or Oberyn talk about her brother Ser Arthur Dayne one of his best friends and Elia Martell and her other children, also know as Rhaegar Targaryen's children.

Oberyn looked away from her, as soon as Ashara spoke but while also glaring at Ser Jon, about the mention of his own sister Elia and her children, his nieces and nephew. Talking about his sister and her children were a sore and hurtful subject on the Martell's but, especially for Prince Oberyn Martell as he and Elia were so close during their childhood before, she was even betrothed and to be married off to the Silver Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

His sweet sister and her children were innocent and, the Mad King Aerys took advantage of that, he did not have to keep them there as hostages or prisoners within the Red Keep, just because he was paranoid that the Martell's especially his uncle Prince Lewyn Martell who died during Roberts Rebellion as well he would turn against him and take away his favorite grandchild Viserra Targaryen his only one true heir when Rhaegar Targaryen had been killed at the Banks of the Trident by Robert Baratheon.

His eldest darling niece Rhaenys, was stabbed over hundred times while under the bed of her father's Rhaegar's bedchambers waiting for him to save her, while his brave nephew Aegon was ripped away from his own sister Elia as his head was smashed against a wall and was believed to be unrecognizable, and lastly sweet little Viserra, was rumored to have her throat slit open while her blood poured from her neck while laying in her cot left to die while she choked on her own blood, as Elia Martell watched defenseless and caged while being rapped and murdered, as her children were killed right in front of her.

"YOU DON'T THINK I KNOW THAT ASHARA? MY SISTER AND HER CHILDREN WERE MURDER AND LEFT TO BE KILLED AS ANIMALS WITHIN THAT DAMN KINGDOM." yelled, Oberyn to Ashara as he had thrown his cup of wine to the floor, as tears and rage within him came out of his very own eyes and heart.

Startled by the yelling and the loud bang of noise, little Viserra started whaling loud, in her cot as she could feel her uncles rage and hate being torn in two pieces at the same time. Quickly, Ashara walked to the cot and picked up Viserra slowly rocking her back and forth to keep her from crying too much. Oberyn took a glance at the babe in Ashara's arms slowly to walk towards her side to get a better view of the babe, he had thought Ashara had a still-born daughter but clearly the babe was very much alive, what other secrets were the great Lady Ashara were hiding from him.

Startled, with the princess cries, Ser Jon Connington moved forward, ready to advance at any given moment as he had his hand on the hilt of his sword, before he could do anything Ashara said, "Don't, it's okay Jon, let Oberyn come forward."

With, a nod to Lady Ashara Dayne, Ser Jon Connington, moved back but still kept his eyes on the Red Viper of Dorne. He knew he had, to let Oberyn Martell see his niece even if he is sworn to protect her from harm at all cost.

"Oberyn, I would like for you to meet someone that is very special to me that was sent from the Gods above."

"I thought you had, a still-born daughter Ashara?" question, Oberyn with a confused look. "That's just a baby."

Lady Ashara and Ser Jon, looked at Prince Oberyn Martell not before meeting each other's eyes and giving each other an understanding look. Ashara came forward with the little babe Viserra Targaryen as she carefully handed the babe to her Uncle Oberyn Martell as he looked at her with a curious look and emotion in his eyes while the Viserra made grabbing hands towards her Uncle and cooed at him.

"Oberyn, she is not just a baby or any baby really?" continued, Ashara as she looked at Ser Jon Connington, with a nod, "She is your niece, Viserra Targaryen. The daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and your sister Elia Martell."

"H-How is she alive, she can't-"

"She is very much alive, Oberyn, you may hate me all you want but know this, I did my best to protect Elia Martell and her other children, but I could not get to them in time Lord Varys was the one to save her right before he handed the princess Viserra Targaryen to me, I was able sail away from King's Landing and bring her here to Lady Ashara Dayne." cut in but replied, Ser Jon, as he looked away from Oberyn Martell and Ashara Dayne not before looking at the Princess Viserra Targaryen who looked so much like his best friend Rhaegar Targaryen and a mix of Elia Martell as well.

"She is your niece, Oberyn, as much as you can't believe or you want denied it she is Viserra Targaryen and she will always be, but for now, in order to protect her we had to give her a new name which will be Ella Dayne. The true born daughter of the late Lady Ashara Dayne of Star-Fall and the late Brandon Stark of Winterfell."

"But when the time comes she will know her true identity." spoke, Ashara as she looked at both Oberyn Martell and Ser Jon Connington with an understanding of both men there. "Until then, we will protect her from any harm and with "fire and blood" she will take her throne back when the time comes she will ascend the Iron Throne as the true heir."

"For she is, Viserra Targaryen, second of her name, the true heir to the Iron Throne. The last living child of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell."

❝THE SUN QUEEN❞

[getyouanearthygirl]

Some matches that Aegon would love and would give Alicent a conniption <3

Lysandra Rogare of Lys

Jezabelle Otherys of Braavos

Dorinda Dayne of Starfall

Cerise Lannister of Casterly Rock

Rosaline Tyrell of Highgarden

Aliandra Martell of Sunspear*

Cassandra Baratheon of Storm’s End*

All oc’s except the last 2. If you want to use one in your writing go for it!

Lysandra - Emilia Clark obvi and not original. I didn’t want to use models for this and she’s wearing the fashion of the free cities!

Jezabelle - Sharon Alexie

Dorinda - Alba Galocha

Cerise - Holliday Grainger

Rosaline - Genevieve Bujold

Aliandra - Bella Dayne

Cassandra - Adelaide Kane Baratheon oc queen

[a-libra-writes]

AAAA REQUESTS ARE OPENED ILYSM!!11!1!1If it's not too much id like to request for my bbgs Jamie, Brienne and maybe Arya when they haven't seen s/o all day so they're getting pretty angsty but when they're finished with training or whatever for the day they find beloved asleep in one of the spots they usually meet at while waiting for them. (Sorry if I made it too specific) sending much loveლ⁠(⁠´⁠ ⁠❥⁠ ⁠`⁠ლ⁠)

Im gonna do Jaime and Brienne (and some others bc i cannot control myself) but sans Arya! lets goooo

Jaime - First of all, he's in a foul mood when he finally gets back, muttering and grumbling to himself. When he spots you in the usual spot you wait in - oh. Shit, that's actually ... very endearing. He wants to be smug about it, but there's just a lot of sentiment that sits with him as he tries to remember someone wanting to see him that badly, that they'd fall asleep waiting. He watches you for a little while, considering this, before finally waking you up. Now he's all smug and teasing you about being so clingy. Naturally he'll escort you back to your chambers, not really caring about the hour or that he's a Kingsguard and shouldn't be seen doing such things. He'll figure out a lie an explanation later.

Jon - He's ready to kick in the door of the Lord Commander's chambers, if only his sore and freezing body would cooperate. Jon's exhausted and figured a while ago you would've gone to bed. You both have to be careful, after all - but then he spots you dozed off in an old wooden chair by a dying hearth. Were you waiting up this whole time? He feels guilty at once, and tries to be quiet as he gets the fire going again. Once it's up, Jon gently wakes you up by brushing some of your hair aside and kissing your brow. He really can't help himself, though his hands are like ice! You two cuddle and warm up before heading to your separate chambers.

Brienne - It was a brutal day of riding and routing bandits, and while she can normally take it, this went on longer than usual. Brienne's strong, but she has her physical limit. She's staggering back, being the last to retire to bed. When she finds that you waited for her, she feels so bad! Brienne hadn't realized you'd do such a thing - it fills up her heart with affection, so she gently wakes you and asks if she can carry you back to your room. You actually accept, and she feels the fatigue wash away as she gladly carries you back. She loves being a knight for you, and it turns out you're very snuggly when you're tired.

Arthur Dayne - He leaves his post late in the evening, much later than the usual meeting time. You probably aren't there, but - it's worth a look, isn't it? And there you are, asleep in the garden you and Arthur like to steal away to. He wakes you up very gently, cautioning you between kisses about falling asleep in such a vulnerable state. He doesn't have the heart to really scold you about it, at least not until the morning. He escorts you halfway to your chambers before has to retreat to the White Sword Tower.

Victarion - He already thinks about you when he doesn't want to, or when it's not a good time. It happens more often when he's tired, which is troublesome. The late hour doesn't occur to him when he's back; you're always waiting, no matter what, and - oh. You're asleep. ... You really shouldn't be asleep where anyone could find you and do something, even in Castle Pyke. Victarion scoops you right up, not realizing how badly that would startle you. He just grumbles that you ought to be more careful, and any touches or kisses distract him immediately.

Asha - First, why are you so damn cute? How'd you end up in a place like the Iron Islands, anyway? For once in her life, someone is waiting for her at home like a puppy... even when she gets back late, like now. Asha wills her tired body over and wakes you up with a big kiss and her soft laugh. Aww, what, you really like her that much? She messes with your hair and pulls you up, urging you to her chambers as you stumble and grumble behind her.

Jorah - Well he's always thinking of you, but especially so if he had to depart before the sun is up and he's finally returning hours after its set. By then, Jorah's exhausted and just wants to get home to you. Once he finds you asleep on the settee you like best - oh no, he might die from the sweetness. You waited up for him? Jorah sits right next to you, giving you a big, sleepy hug and apologizing about being back so late. You both end up falling asleep cuddled up on the couch because he's too tired to move and now you're comfortable and warm, so you aren't going anywhere.

Brynden - Coming back from a long day of training and keeping up with his men, Brynden doesn't notice the time until he spots you sleeping on a large windowsill. He feels bad for making you wait so long, and finds it endearing you even wanted to wait up for an old knight. He picks you up very carefully, so it's his voice that wakes you. "Making these old bones carry you back to bed, hm?" He's not bothered that anyone would spot you two - he knows which halls are empty at this hour.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Sorry! Same anon who just requested the Arthur dayne one- could I change it to summer wine please? Just realized lavender fields has already been done:) thank you!!

Hello! I know you asked for NSFW, but I’m not sure how NSFW you wanted it, so I’ve erred on the side of caution and stuck to kissing.

“A knight’s kiss”

Pairing: Arthur Dayne x Fem. Reader (Second Person POV) | Location: Lannisport, 276 AC (The Tourney to honor Prince Viserys’ birth) | Prompt: Summer Wine

Themes: Soft | NSFW | Secret romance

Warnings : Kissing | Some sensuality | Mention of alcohol use

Word Count: 800+ words

Summary: Arthurs shares a private moment with you before he has to return for the final tilt.

A/n: Since there is no proper physical description for Arthur, I’ve decided to go with him having purple eyes, similar to his sister.

Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume.

Arthur retreated to his tent, deep in thought.  

He removed his helm and gauntlets, wincing when pain cut through his limbs like a knife. The jousts had already exacted a heavy price. His entire body was bruised and sore. His right arm throbbed and ached with dull fire. Arthur could do nothing but collapse into the nearest chair, thinking to make the most of this brief respite before he had to return to the lists at dusk for one last ride.

One final tilt remained, and he was sure to emerge the victor of this tourney. That should have pleased Arthur had it not been for his next foe: a young man of ten and eight who happened to be the crown prince and son of a king fighting a losing battle against the madness that had blighted so many of his forebearers. He groaned and muttered an oath, then allowed himself a few whimpers while stretching out in his chair.

"Are you well, ser? Your squire said you wanted to be alone for a while."

Arthur looked over his shoulder and found you standing by the entrance, your hair limned in the dying light of the setting sun. 

"I am, and I did ask to be alone," he admitted before rewarding you with a weak smile. "But your presence is always welcome. Is it time?"

"Almost." The thick carpet muffled the sound of your footsteps while you made your way into the dim, cool interior of the tent. "Your squire promised to come and fetch you when the Master of Revels calls you and the prince to the lists. Is there anything you need, ser?"

"Just stay a little while," implored Arthur. "At least until they call me to the lists."

You look back to the entrance of the tent. The campgrounds had been empty; everyone had crammed themselves into whatever seat they could find in the viewing stands, their cheers rising like a great wave. Still, it was too great a risk. No one besides Ser Owell and Ser Gerold knew about you and your white knight, and should word reach wagging tongues, reputations would be dragged through the mud and ruined. 

"If someone came upon us," you cautioned, "if someone walks in here and finds me with you—"

"No one will come upon us," Arthur swore, and he took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Please. Y/n. Stay with me."

Lavender eyes worn down by many cares filled with silent pleading. You look back at the entrance again. Not a soul could be seen or heard. You took a deep, steadying breath and inched closer. Arthur surprised you by tugging on your hand and pulling you onto his lap.

Sparks spread just beneath your skin even as you giggled and said, "You forget yourself, ser."

Vivid lavender eyes darkened for a moment. "Only when I am with you," Arthur answered. "Now tell me, sweet lady. Will you reward me in every way possible if I emerge victorious?"

"Arthur!" A flash of heat crept up your throat and bloomed in your cheeks. "You should not speak of such things! What if someone hears?"

Arthur chuckled as he reached for you. A large, calloused hand caressed your cheek and then played with your hair. The warmth from his touch made you sigh wistfully and press your cheek against his palm.

"No one will hear," Arthur reminded you, "because everyone is waiting for the final tilt to start."

You look up at him and find rare amusement glinting in his oft-sad eyes. And he was right. No one was around, and precious moments like this were already few and far between.

"Well," you began, "since you put it that way, ser, I will first reward you with a dance."

"Several," Arthur insists, grinning wickedly. "And I insist you join me for sweet summer wine. After that–"

He dipped his head and pressed his lips over yours. Arthur held you in a loose embrace while he kissed you hungrily, and kissed you until you quivered against cold armor. The dark stubble on his cheeks was coarse when it brushed against your skin, but his lips and tongue tasted sweet.

It was a long, lingering kiss, one that turned your bones to water. Arthur crushed you hard against him when you moaned in pleasure and returned his kiss with equal fire. He grew drunk on the sweet sounds that you made, how you yielded and unraveled completely. And he had to end it, lest either of you forget yourselves completely. Arthur withdrew, albeit reluctantly, before resting his forehead against yours.  

"Dances," he repeated, his voice thick and hoarse. "And new summer wine. And more. So much more. Is this agreeable to you?"

You considered his request: to dance and sample new summer wine before escaping to a quiet corner no one knew of so the two of you could do more than embrace and kiss. 

"Yes," you decide. Distant cheers and applause reached a thunderous crescendo. The final tilt was about to start. "To all of it. I agree to all of it." 

[blumenflowergelb]

Love and hate is the same

• Time travel was a very bitter thing, Yn decided. To see the people long dead should have made him happy but it hurt a lot. Yn lived so many years full with his past mistakes and regrets that his brain just couldn’t catch up with not seeing the consequences of the past. Waking up and realizing that yes that very strange lady in Asshai didn’t lie and he was in the past was easy. Realizing that he didn’t have his friends-companions- was harder. But he accepted it since he theoretically knew what would happen if he travels back in time. Seeing his own face, so young and unmarked by the last decade, didn’t faze him. Seeing his old room,the old servants, the old stable that was burned down by the Lannisters, his old and mostly dead acquaintances didn’t faze him. But seeing him did.

• Yn felt like somebody pulled a rug from under him. It didn’t only hurt, it burned through his whole being. His head and heart was full with longing, love and anger. He loved his silver prince and yearned for him but he couldn’t forget what he had done. Rhaegar left him, his own wife and children and doomed them and the kingdom. This mixture of feelings left his knees weak and had it not been for the stone railing Yn was sure that he would have kneeled over. He still didn’t notice him, too deep in a conversation with Arthur, his sister and Elia. Yn was thankful for this. He watched Rhaegar and his companions, thinking about what he had to do, until Ashara noticed him and looked deep in Yn‘s eyes. They stared at each other, and when Yn looked away he accidentally caught Rhaegar‘s eyes. Yn felt a butterflies in his stomach, the intensity almost made him throw up, but shame followed. And with shame came anger. The kind that burns through the soul and leaves the body hot and trembling. The kind that makes the heart heavy. The kind that you can only get after having your hearth broken in thousand tiny pieces.

• It all began when they were neither children nor adults. It was that awkward phase when they limbs suddenly grown but they couldn’t control them right. After Rhaegar has stolen a book about bed activities and a wine flask they got so drunk that Yn wasn’t able to stand up straight. They red the book loud to each other while sipping wine and Rhaegar leaned over to Yn and kissed him. While it surprised Yn, he kissed back and from one point to the other they were naked in front of the fire place. After decades Yn still couldn’t forgot the hard rug and the slight burn from them. They touched each other in a way before that neither experienced. It was magical. It felt good. And right. Of course, they continued the activities and sought enjoyment in each other companies but it was years later that they confessed. Yn wasn’t sure until that day what Rhaegar felt but the words he whispered to him made Yn warm up to this day. The intensity of Rhaegar‘s love made everyday worth living for Yn. Sadly it didn’t last. They knew that Rhaegar had to marry and after failed attempts at finding Rhaegar the bride his father wished, Elia came. At first Yn wasn’t bothered but after repeatedly seeing and hearing how well they got along Yn became jealous. Looking back it wasn’t his brightest moment but who could fault a lover for being jealous of his love slowly falling in love with somebody else?

• They argued a lot. Rhaegar denied his accusations but Yn know the truth. Maybe Rhaegar wasn’t fully in love with Elia but he liked her enough to do his duty. At the end of the day he was man who was blessed with a beautiful albeit sickly wife who gave him two children. It was enough. And this broke Yn heart. Yn felt slighted, although he didn’t know why, angry, and desperate. He wished for Rhaegar, his first friend and lover, the friend whom he trained with, watched the stars, read old books and laughed. The lover that made him feel like he was loved, was worth something beautiful, and a lover who accepted his love. But when it crashed down for the first time Yn couldn’t say what he felt because he was painfully young. So when Rhaegar begann to talk less and less with Yn, barely kissed him and they almost never truly talked, Yn became frustrated. The confrontation went as good as expected. The fought intensely, but not loudly. It was quick but hearth breaking. At the end, after telling each other the slights they felt like they suffered, Rhaegar just shook his head and told Yn that they needed some time apart. Yn took it stone faced and left. Only when he was alone in his chambers did he cry.

• Yn guessed that he traveled back in time after they argued. Nobody moved, the garden was silent and only a shout of Yn name snapped him out of it. He quickly turned around and walked towards a boy who was calling him. At first Yn didn’t even understand what was going on and why he was asked to meet with a friend in a tavern somewhere in Flea Bottom. But he felt excited when he realized who was waiting for him. After Yn left Westeros, he went to the Golden Company and met Carl the Small. Smallcarl, as he was called, wasn’t actually small but Bigcarl was at least two feet higher than an average man. Years later Yn contract ended and Carl and he decided to leave the Company with others to see the world. They adventure took them from the Shadowland to beyond Westeros and it brought both Carl and Yn closer. They were friends but sometimes when they needed a body than they went beyond brotherhood. But that didn’t change their friendship. Currently Yn only trusted him and some of his friends from the adventures the most. Before Yn payed the shadowwitch, they decided to meet in Kings Landing and try to change destiny. A hard decisions but the trust between them went deep.

• The meeting at a run down tavern lifted Yn spirits. Seeing Carl, Jonny and Majki always brought a sense of security in Yn hearth so he left with his heart lightened to do his task. Before he left, Carl hugged him and kissed his head and they agreed to meet in a few days. The second meeting went even better. They agreed on what to do, where to beginn and when. Yn left few hours later. He walked back in silence and only the darkness was around him, however he couldn’t shake of the feeling that something was wrong.

• Yn arrived to his room and after opening the door, he stopped in his track. The hearth which he left cold was now omitting warmness, there was wine and two fancy glasses on a table that he has never seen before and Rhaegar was sitting on his bed. Looking at the rumpled sheets he must have slept, Yn thought. But before he could utter a word Rhaegar stood up and motioned him towards the table. The only thing that he said was to close the door. And Yn did while trying to escape his memories.

• A week after the confrontation Yn couldn’t hold himself anymore and went back to Rhaegar. But the relationship couldn’t be safed. After Rhaegar stole Lyanna and they ended up in the Tower of Joy, they talked. Rhaegar ordered Yn in his room, waited for him with some dornish wine and when Yn declined he seemed disappointed. However when they sat down any kind of love went out of Rhaegar and he was like a block of ice. It was sad. Truly the sight of somebody you loved not loving you anymore was very heart breaking. Still Yn sat through Rhaegar‘s speech of the prophecy, of the Song of Ice and Fire and why he had to do it. It! He could tell Yn that he love him, which was clearly a lie, than in the same sentence he said that he was going to fuck the girl. And the stupid, young Yn said that he was going to stay with Rhaegar and help him! This one was his biggest shame. Supporting a man who betrayed his love, wife, children and kingdom.

• So Yn stayed and endured. He endured the courting, the kisses and loving glances. His heart broke every single time but he endured. Until the night that he had to stay before Rhaegar’s room. Lyanna went inside without looking who was protecting them. Arthur and Yn. Looking back Yn guessed that Rhaegar didn’t know who were his guards for the night but maybe it was only Yn‘s wish. He stood next to the door, listening to them having sex, until he felt like a mist before his eyes has dissolved. The bitterness spread through Yn and he didn’t even try to stop it. His love went away, replaced with a mixture of hate and hurt. The realization which he always know but never accepted made him weak. Rhaegar may have truly loved him once but it was gone. Somebody who is in love wouldn’t do this. He was angry and disappointed and tired. He just wanted to leave and never look back. His skin itched for being alone in his room to think through what he was doing to do so he just left. Arthur didn’t even try to stop him. Yn never looked back. He went in his room but it didn’t help. He craved for something he didn’t even know. Yn packed the necessities and left for somewhere.

• To see the person he hated and loved for years left Yn shaken. Rhaegar was pouring wine for both of them and sat down on the floor leaning against Yn‘s bed. While Yn did the same, however he sat down as far from Rhaegar as he could, he sipped his wine looking in the fireplace. After a few seconds that felt like hours of silence, Rhaegar turned to Yn and asked a question that left Yn surprised.

• „ Who ist Carl?“

• Yn tried to come up with an answer and Rhaegar waited. Lamely Yn only said that he was a friend. He regretted his answer after seeing Rhaegar’s face. The hurt was palpable on face. Only silence followed until Rhaegar drank his glass of wine and asked for more. When Yn handed the flask over Rhaegar softly shook his head and asked him to pour. Yn was unsure but still did it. As he poured he could feel Rhaegar’s eyes on him, and shamefully Yn admitted that he felt excited. Even after years of hurt he loved Rhaegar.

• As he was pouring Rhaegar hit him. The slap hurt like a bitch, Yn decided. It was unexpected and Yn fell over. Before he could do anything Rhaegar was on him. The kiss that followed was even more unexpected. When Yn didn’t do anything Rhaegar deepened the kiss. However both of them needed to breath and they came apart. Rhaegar looked deep in Yn eyes and caressed his face. Yn was so shocked that he couldn’t muster up enough energy do anything until he noticed Rhaegar leaning over again for a kiss. Before anything could happen Yn hit Rhaegar‘ side, got up and quickly went for the door. But he never reached it. Rhaegar almost sprung on him and they fell over. Usually Yn won over Rhaegar but this time Rhaegar was like a bull. They rolled around on the floor, hit each other, and when Rhaegar prayed Yn‘s jaw apart Yn wasn’t strong enough to stop him. Frightened Yn noticed that he had swallowed something and didn’t move. He could see himself and his fearful face in Rhaegar’s eyes.

• The kisses that followed their little fight were intense. Yn felt sluggish but hot at the same time and when Rhaegar asked him between kisses about the men he was meeting, he could barely respond. He denied Rhaegar accusations about being taken by the men and only responded that they were just friends. Rhaegar obviously didn’t believe him, and Yn realized at the back of his mind that he was jealous and angry. The kisses and touches left Yn feeling even more hotter than he already was and before he do anything both of them were naked and flushed together. Rhaegar was already on him, caressing him, and through the night they took each other several time before falling asleep.

• Waking up Yn felt awful. His stomach was upset but when he tried to lean over the side of the bed something pulled his hands back. The something was made of iron. Shocked he looked at the shackles around his wrists and then he noticed Rhaegar watching beside him. Before Yn could open his mouth Rhaegar leaned over and kissed him while laughing. This was the moment that Yn knew that he was truly fucked.

[novaursa]

https://www.tumblr.com/novaursa/763433066909810688/hello-dear-how-are-you-i-hope-im-not-bothering?source=share

Thank you for your answer. I would like to send a request for Maegor. I hope he has no problem. Dark Maegor Targaryen and second wife reader. (Reader can be Tyrell or Dayne. Or nobel lady from another house.) When Maegor starts looking for a woman to have an heir (37 Ac/earlier than the year he started in the original story) he meets the reader. When he gets , he is determined to make the reader his wife. He gets rid of Ceryse (maybe by poison or by accident) and marries the reader. The reader immediately becomes pregnant and gives birth to three babies. This causes Maegor's obsession to increase. Because the reader gave him three babies like the three-headed dragon in the symbol of his house. The reader is fertile enough to get pregnant every year.

Crimson Fate

- Summary: Maegor takes you as his bride after Ceryse fails to give him an heir.

- Paring: dayne!reader/dark!Maegor I Targaryen

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

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Maegor’s eyes settle on you the moment he arrives at Starfall, and from that moment, there is no mistaking his intentions. You hear the whispers from the courtiers, the rumors of Maegor’s insatiable ambition to secure an heir, to further his line and strength. His first wife, Ceryse, has yet to bear him a child, and many speculate he has come south seeking a new wife—one capable of giving him what the Hightower woman could not.

The first time Maegor speaks to you, his presence is overwhelming. His tall, imposing figure clad in black and crimson, his eyes burning with something far more dangerous than mere desire. It is as if he has already decided your fate without consulting you, as though the idea of refusal is inconceivable.

“You are Dayne,” he says, his voice low and commanding, the words wrapping around you like chains. “From the blood of the stars.”

Your throat tightens, a shiver of unease sliding down your spine. You manage a nod, keeping your gaze lowered, though you feel the weight of his stare, lingering on you like a predator studying its prey.

“Tell me,” Maegor continues, stepping closer, “how many sons does your house expect from you?”

There is no answer you can give that will change your fate. In that moment, Maegor has already chosen you to bear his heirs, to fulfill the destiny of House Targaryen. You are no longer a daughter of the stars, but a piece in his game.

Weeks later, news comes from Oldtown—Ceryse has died. There are whispers, dark ones, that she and Maegor had quarreled, that the fight escalated, and her death, though unexplained, was no accident. The dread among the court is palpable, as many know Maegor is quick to wrath, but none dare speak it aloud in his presence. The timing is too convenient to be coincidental. Ceryse's death clears the way for what Maegor desires.

You know what is coming, yet you are powerless to stop it. When Maegor asks for your hand in marriage, there is no question of refusal. He does not ask out of love, nor does he seek your opinion. It is a demand cloaked in formality. And so, you are wed to the King’s half-brother, the man who would soon rule with fire and blood.

Your wedding is a display of power, of domination. Maegor does not look at you as a man looks at his bride, but as a conqueror looks at new territory. That night, you feel the true weight of what it means to be his wife. His touch is possessive, harsh, as if he is claiming you in both body and spirit. You are not just a woman to him—you are a vessel, the key to his legacy, the bearer of his children.

And soon, that is exactly what you become.

Your belly swells with the evidence of Maegor’s claim, and the court watches in awe as the rumors begin to swirl. You are carrying not one, but three babes. It is as if the gods themselves have blessed your union, gifting Maegor with a legacy befitting his house—the three-headed dragon of Targaryen. His obsession grows with each passing day as your pregnancy progresses. He watches you constantly, his hands never far from your stomach, his gaze intense, possessive, and burning with an unspoken madness.

When you finally give birth, it is as if the entire realm holds its breath. Three babes—two boys and a girl, each as perfect as the dragons their blood rides—are born to you. The court hails it as a miracle, and Maegor’s obsession deepens, solidifying into something far darker. He sees you not just as his wife but as the mother of his dynasty, the woman who gave him three heirs, who brought the Targaryen sigil to life in flesh and blood.

“You have given me what no other could,” he says to you, his hand resting possessively over your belly, even as you cradle your newborns in your arms. His voice is thick with pride, but there is something else there—something darker. “Three-headed, like the dragon. You are my wife, my queen. You will give me more.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air like a threat, and though your body is still weak from the birthing, you know Maegor will not wait long. He is not a patient man, and now that you have proven yourself capable of giving him heirs, he will want more. His hunger is insatiable, and his obsession with you—his vessel, his wife—has grown into something that feels like madness.

It is not long before you are with child again, your belly growing heavy with Maegor’s next heir. The court watches with a mixture of awe and fear, for they know that you are the key to Maegor’s power, the woman who can provide him the legacy he so desperately craves. He watches over you like a dragon guards its hoard, his eyes always on you, his hand always tracing the swell of your belly as if ensuring that his claim remains intact.

But there is no love in Maegor’s gaze—only possession. You are his, body and soul, and you know that you will never escape him. He is the dragon, and you are his queen, bound to him by fire and blood.

[madamabelladonna]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝: House Dayne of Starfall, bearing the sigil of a white falling star and a sword on a field of lavender. Though sparse in men and coin, House Dayne is renowned as one of the oldest in Westeros. Sworn to House Martell, under the decree of their liege lord, Lord Julius Dayne dispatched the Sword of the Morning, his second son, Ser Merek Dayne, along with his only daughter, to King’s Landing as emissaries of Dorne. Little did they know, the twinkle of a star could ignite the passions of men, dragons, and wolves alike. 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Romance, Angst, Love Triangle, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Drama, Coming-of-Age, Explicit Content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Violence, Gore, War, Reader eating cheerios with Luke and Helaena while Jace, Cregan, and Aemond duke it out 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞 Young Lady Dayne never truly grasped what it meant to be a high-born lady; her mother and father had sheltered her from the vipers lurking in the shadows. Yet, as fate would have it, their protection could only shield her for so long before she was cast into a den brimming with treachery. Green or Black? The choice is hers, but she finds herself drawn to the hue of violet…

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 Young Lady Dayne, finds herself adjusting to her new life at the capital. A gift from Starfall, a steed with a mane like freshly fallen snow. As she immerses herself in the pages of her books, a small figure unexpectedly scampers into her chamber—a boy lost in the game of hide and seek. She finds herself teaching the boy how to read. Only to be seated in the company of Princess Rhaenyra and her small family, sharing a quiet tea.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐫 Young Lady Dayne, awaiting Jacaerys' lesson's end, enjoys tea with Princess Rhaenyra, who grants her access to the Royal Library due to her rare gifts. As she reads beneath the heart tree, a prince in green watches her, sparking jealousy within the eldest son of Rhaenyra. With Jacaerys' eighth name day nearing, their growing relationship seems to be all the court can talk about.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕: 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐡𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 Young Lady Dayne captivated the feast held by King Viserys in honor of his grandson, her presence and dance stirring much interest among the court. The murmurs of a possible union between the Seven Kingdoms and The Principality of Dorne swirled in the air, though beneath the revelry, rumors threatened to unravel such hopes.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕: 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧 𝐈𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 Young Lady Dayne knew survival in the Red Keep required more than caution—it demanded influence. After keeping her distance from Jacaerys, she finally accepted his apology, truly forgiving him. But as he left, she realized it might be long before she saw him again. In his place, a prince in green awaited.

[More in pending...]

This is my first post so I hope you like it, personally, House Dayne is my favorite and I hope it gets more recognition in the next book.

Taglist: (If you want to be added, please click here)

@yohanseyebrowmole @radiantdanvers @accidentpronedork @marvel-mistress-padawan @tabathastan @deltamoon666 @hotdhoe @cosmosnkaz @dragonamongwolves @r-3dlips @ghizlana @boiolay @gardenfaeries @ilymoonie @mellylla @omgsuperstarg @idohknow @beskardroids @buckystevelove @plainxlazy @gwaynehightower @beebeechaos @milksde @saintkittykat @cornbreadwithcheese @pinkb00bsocks @agoldenwoe @moonliightbabes @day2dream @geminizmoonz

[misswynters]

Dragon Twins Series (Teaser)

pair: aegon targaryen x dayne! fem!reader x aerion targaryen

synopsis: You finally arrived at the capital, the land of in which aegon the conqueror came through. You are from the illustrious House Dayne from Dorne. You catch the eyes of the targaryen twin princes, aegon and aerion. aegon is the heir to the iron throne. whereas aerion is more of the adventurous and rebellious type.

warnings: none

a/n: it’s easier for me to write it as a fem reader whoever i can always change it.

series masterlist

The sun was setting as you made your way to King’s Landing. The banners of House Dayne which beared the white sword and falling star, fluttered against the warm breeze. You sat there, with your head held high as your eyes peaked through the small windows of the carriage. The only think you saw was the streets of the capital buzzing with people at the market and kids playing. The Red Keep Loomed ahead, its imposing silhouette casting long shadows over the ancient city. As they approached, you could feel the weight of your family’s expectations that are now resting on your shoulders. House Dayne, renowned for its ancient history and the legendary sword of Dawn, had always maintained an influential presence in the realm. Therefore your arrival in kings landing was not just a matter of formality; it was a declaration of the dayne influence and a future entailment of your role at the kings court. As the procession entered the castle gates, You were greeted by the sight of the Targaryen standard flying high above the ramparts. The dragon sigil seemed to shimmer in the fading light, a reminder of the power and legacy of the house she would soon be entangled with. She dismounted gracefully, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, and adjusted her violet cloak, a gift from her family marking her status as a noble of Dorne.

Inside the red keep, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Nobles and the servants whispered amongst themselves as their eyes followed your presence. You were escorted to the grand hall where there was a feast being prepared in your honor. The hall was a marvel of architecture, with high ceilings adorned with intricate tapestries depicting the history of House Targaryen. The long tables were laden with an array of dishes, from roasted meats to exotic fruits, and the air was thick with the mingling scents of rich spices and sweet wines.

At the head of the hall, seated upon the dais, were the twin princes of the realm: Aegon and Aerion Targaryen. Aegon, the elder by mere minutes and the heir apparent, had an air of composed authority. His silver-gold hair was neatly trimmed, and his piercing violet eyes exuded a sense of calm determination. By contrast, Aerion's dark auburn hair fell in wild waves around his shoulders, and his eyes sparkled with mischief and restless energy. They were a striking pair, embodying the duality of fire and ice that defined their lineage.

You approached the dais with measured steps, your heart beating a little faster with each step. You bowed gracefully, acknowledging the princes with the respect due their station. "Your Highnesses," you greeted them, your voice steady and clear.

"Lady ___ Dayne," Aegon replied, his voice smooth and commanding. "Welcome to King’s Landing. Your presence here honors us."

Aerion leaned forward, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Indeed, it is not often we are graced with such beauty and distinction from the South. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Your eyes met Aerion's gaze, twinkling with amusement. "It was long but not without its charms, your grace. The roads of Westeros are always full of surprises."

Aegon’s expression softened slightly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "We are pleased you have arrived safely. There is much to discuss in the days to come, matters of great importance to both our houses."

As the evening progressed, you found yourself seated between the two princes at the high table. Conversations flowed around them, a mix of courtly pleasantries and subtle intrigues. Aegon spoke of politics and the future of the realm, his tone serious and contemplative. Aerion, on the other hand, entertained her with tales of his escapades and dreams of adventure, his laughter ringing through the hall like a melody.

taglist: @sab-falco @spn-obession @tomgcsmrs @sturnioloarchive @arquiiva

[feyhunter78]

Final Chapter - You have wed and the guests have gone, but the Dragon Queen has stayed. Perhaps it is time to visit Dorne.

NSFW content below the cut

The Dragon Queen remains a guest of The Rock, moons after the other attendees have returned home. It is not unpleasant, but you find yourself on edge around her. She has been nothing but polite, kind even but Jon’s words ring in your head. How many times will he be asked to break his oath? How many times can House Lannister change sides until they are no longer trusted? King Stannis was stern yes, and dour, but he was not cruel, not like Joffrey or the stories you heard of the Mad King.

And Jon, gods above Jon distrusts her all the more. For it was her brother that stole his mother away, her father who burned his uncle and grandsire alive. He is polite as well, but avoids her. It is subtle, mostly, though there are times Jon will simply leave a room when Daenerys enters, Ghost trotting behind him. This leaves you torn between staying to make excuses on his behalf, or fleeing as well to soothe Jon’s storm of emotions.

You have yet to see the dragons, yet to hear them, and you are quite sure you would rather it stays that way, the tales you have been regaled with are terrifying enough. Though your father, who had loved dragons since he was a child, swore to you, they were in the vicinity, camped out on an island nearby. They could stay there, their mother could join them, you wanted no part in this, not when you had finally gotten all you desired.

You find Jon hunched over his writing desk, quill in hand, inkwell closed, the parchment blank before him. He has done this many times, and you are never quite sure what or who he is intending to write.

“You know, usually one must first wet the quill before attempting to write.” You say, as you lean against the desk, and remove the inkwell’s stopper.

He sets down his quill and sighs, pushing his chair away from the desk, his head falling back, his neck extended and exposed. “I was not truly going to write anything, I simply…” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair.

“I know this has been difficult for you, perhaps we should visit your father in Starfell, put some distance between us and whatever fresh torture is brewing amongst the lords?” You suggest, replacing the stopper and putting away his quill.

Jon grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, his grown-out stubble tickles your skin. “Could we even do that? Would it be right?”

You slide between him and the desk to seat yourself in his lap, looping your arms around his neck. “What is right can be subjective at times.”

He gives you a confused look, his handsome face tanned from his time in the sun, his curls luxurious and scented with oils from Dorne. His broad chest well-fitted in fabrics you purposely did not tell him the price of, because you knew he would refuse to wear them on principle. He has thrived at The Rock, and satisfaction purrs within you at the sight.

“In the eyes of the realm it would not be right, you and I, together before your parentage was revealed, but it was right to us—or at least to me, I know you struggled with the idea.”

Jon’s hands settle on your waist as he listens intently, always so intently.

“If we had done what the realm thought was right, you and I would not be, and I cannot fathom a world where you and I apart is correct. So maybe it is wrong to leave, maybe it is not, all I care about is if I am with you, wrong or right.”

He kisses you gently, a brief fleeting thing, but no less filled with affection than his searing, lingering ones. “We could go, for a while, not too long, just a visit.”

You return the kiss, hands cradling his face, lifting it up towards you. “Not too long, not too short, we shall stay as long as you desire, Husband.”

He hums contentedly, pulling you closer, his lips against yours a slow languid movement, sweet and unhurried, caresses of unspoken affection and whispered promises.

Your head spins when you pull away for air, and Jon’s lips chase after yours, aching to recapture them as his hands begin to ghost over your sides, fingertips counting each inhale and exhale.

“Promise me we will do this in Starfell.” He says, his chest rising and falling as he catches his own breath.

“We shall do this and more if it pleases you.” You promise him, heart skipping a beat when his eyes darken.

A wolfish smile appears on his kiss swollen lips. “Aye, it would.”

Your back is cushioned by a mountain of pillows, all swathed in fabrics of red and orange, a golden stringed tassel caught in your grip as you dig your nails into a nearby pillow, desperately taking in air. “Jon, oh gods—”

He does not respond, his dark curls, his shoulders and strong arms are the only parts of him you can see. His arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you open and still, unable to squirm away as he devours you. His wondrous mouth on you, his tongue making you see stars, his fingers digging into your skin so tight you know there will be bruises, but you care not.

He nips at your inner thigh before wrapping his lips around your bud, his tongue moving in some nonsensical way that sends a bolt of lightning through you. Sparks of lust flying from your skin, a desperate yearning building within you again.

The sun is still high in the sky, streaming in through the large window, the scent of Orange Blossoms drifting on the breeze, accented voices and hurried footsteps come from below, but you pay no mind, and neither does Jon. His movements are unhurried, indulgent, groans of pleasure vibrating against your folds.

He is bare from the waist up, shoulders and back are marred with nail marks, your nail marks, reddened lines and half-moons. You tangle your free hand in his hair, yanking him impossibly closer, urging him to move faster, to release one of your thighs and coax your second release forward with his skilled fingers.

“So impatient.” He chuckles, lifting his head, his lips shiny with your arousal, as he does just what you desired, two long fingers slipping in with ease, stroking and curling until pleasure seizes you, driving all thought from your mind.

You whine in response, tugging harder on his curls. A flicker of pride going through you at the way Jon’s hips roll against the bed, a groan escaping him.

Jon returns to your core, tip of his tongue tracing shapes and symbols on your bud as his fingers coax you higher and higher. He slips in a third, and your walls clench around him, your breath catching in your throat.

Gods you want him to ravish you, to tear your flimsy Dornish gown from your body and pound into you until there is an imprint of your body in the pillows.

Then you shatter, coming undone into his strong grip, breathless and shaking, as you push up on your elbows to see Jon still desperate. His eyes meeting yours as he ruts against the bed, his head dropping forward, his forehead resting against your thigh, panting heavily as he finishes.

You lay there spent as he joins you on the bed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “We have dinner with my father soon.”

“I am sure he does not mind waiting.” You smile, pulling him back in with a leg hooked around his hips.

A cry from the chamber next to yours sends you both sitting up in bed, the night dark, the moon a mere sliver amongst the clouds.

You arise first, wrapping a robe around yourself and trudging sleepily into the nursery. Lyon, your son, with his thick dark curls and vibrant green eyes, is wide awake, kicking up a fuss in his bassinet. Leaning down, you scoop him up, and hold him close to your chest, shushing him gently.

Jon joins you soon, wrapping his arms around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. “He is surely a lion with a cry like that.”

“I think he is more a wolf with all his howling.” You jest softly, stroking Lyon’s cheek.

He is beautiful, a perfect mixture of you and Jon, born in Starfell, while a third revolt took place in the rest of the kingdoms. Daenerys sat on the throne, your father, her hand. She had sent gifts, your father had come himself with them and dozens of his own gifts, with the contingency that you would receive the rest upon your return home. You would go soon, take your place within The Rock. To ensure your son would be as fine a Lannister as any could be, to begin to seek out an advantageous bride for him, and give him a sibling or three to play with. But for now, the realm could wait.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain, @rebeccawinters, @taylorsfemalerage, @rax-raxus, @certainwonderlandperfection, @nymeriiiia, @burkgolden, @drewsivy