#house targaryen

[kudriaken]

Viserys Targaryen. Another one of Mad King`s children.

[lionneee]

The Enemy

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Taglist

English is not my first language, please be kind

Modern!MafiaBoss!Aemond x Ex!Fem!Reader

•Warnings: smut, taking of sexual themes, murder, non-con, knife play, mention of killing someone.•

“Yeah, baby —“ He breathed out as he moaned, looking down as you circled your hips against his cock. He slapped your ass and gripped your hips tightly, stopping your movements to start pointing into you from behind again, fast and hard, like he loves it.

“Baby — Yes, fuck me —“ You moaned as you arched your back, burying your face in the mattress.

“Fuck, baby —“ He growled as he squeezed your hips, his fingers digging in your skin as he thrusted faster, close to the end. You moaned louder as you started rubbing your clit, wanting to finish with him.

“Let me —“ He panted as he leaned down and slipped a hand between your legs, his fingers taking the place of yours, rubbing your clit furiously, making you aware of how close he really was.

“Fill me up —“ You moaned as you panted, trying to jerk your hips, moving them back to meet his thrusts.

“I’m going to, baby —“ He moaned as he moaned in your ear. “You’ll be fucking leaking -“ He moaned again, the image his words created in both your mind making you come on the spot.

You let yourself fall down on the mattress of his door room bed. 

Aemond sat back on his haunches, slipping carefully out of you, looking at his cum slowly leaking out of you.

You smile, satisfied as Aemond laid behind you, wrapping his arm around your middle, pulling you back against his chest as he smiled, kissing your shoulder sweetly.

“I love you so much.” He mumbled against your skin. You smiled even more as you caressed his arm with your hand.

“I love you too.” You hummed as you looked back at him, your lips joining immediately in a soft, slow kiss.

The room’s silence was broken by a harsh knock at the door, followed by Aemond’s sigh, a mix of amusement and annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll be quiet next time.” Aemond exclaimed, raising his head towards the door.

You chuckled as you heard a string of curses from outside.

Aemond’s room-neighbor had complained already about the volume you kept during sex, just like this time.

All of you knew this wasn't the last time he would be coming.

Your last years at college was almost to an an end, but you and Aemond planned to fuck in these dorms a few more times.

It was memories like that that kept Aemond going in the prison.

He missed his girl.

He had been completely inebriated by her since the first time she saw her. She was sweet, soft, caring and gentle, something he had barely known in his life.

She was also funny, a bit sassy and beautiful.

She was also the sister to his number one rival family.

After his father’s death, the business went all in his hand, his father knew he was the best for the inheritance.

But he didn’t care. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to have anything to do with the mafia world, she wanted to stay out of it, and her brother was more than happy to let her.

It was just the two of them, her, and her brother Cregan, whose parents died in an accident during work.

Their relationship had to be a secret.

She knew her brother would have never allowed her to date him, and he had to keep his reputation solid and fearful.

She didn’t ask about his job, he didn’t tell her about it, they went on dates, they had sex, Gods, a lot of sex, and they just… lived their life.

That, until Cregan found out.

“You stay out of this!” Cregan shouted at her, as she sobbed, her back pressed against the wall of her house.

Cregan had a broken lip, his cheek was red, and probably there would have been a nasty bruise the day after. 

Both him and Aemond were painting as they stood in front of each other, looking at each other like lions ready to fight.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Aemond quickly scolded Cregan, taking a step towards her. Cregan pulled out a gun and pointed it to him.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t take another step.” He growled.

“Cregan no!” She sobbed desperately, her face red, her cheeks completely wet, her eyes full of pain. “Please I love him!” She was begging him.

“No! I let you live your life, I gave you everything, I protected you, took care of you! And this is how you repay me?!” His voice was louder than thunder, and his face was scary.

She had never seen her brother like that, so furious.

“I didn’t choose to love him!” She sobbed back, her voice strained and weak.

“I don’t care! I don’t fucking care, you’re coming with me.” Cregan said as he grabbed her wrist, tugging her towards himself, his gun still pointing at Aemond, but he didn’t care.

Aemond took another step forward, but then Cregan raised his gun from his chest to his head, his eyes on him, his expression pure coldness.

She screamed and squirmed in the arms of her brother, trying desperately to reach for the gun, or Aemond.

“You won’t see her again. I swear to God if you try I’ll make your head blow with one of my bullets.” 

Aemond couldn’t fight more that day.

But he was going to get his revenge.

And his girl back.

“Dinner!” The guards shouted as they hit the metal doors of all the rooms with their sticks. Aemond grunted and pinched the bridge of his nose, the sound giving him an annoying headache, just like every morning.

He sighed and stood up, he washed his face in the sink and tied his hair back into a ponytail as his roommates got up too.

As the leader of the Targaryen family, he had a lot of friends here.

He was protected, not even the guards dare to touch him.

He guessed it was thanks to the nasty scar on his face.

And his name.

He took a deep breath as he leaned his head back, closing his eye.

“You’re so pretty.” Her naked body was laying beside him, her soft fingers were caressing his scarred cheek, her eyes fixed on the stone in his eye socket.

“You’re saying that out of pity.” He grunted as he turned his gaze from the ceiling to her.

“I’m not. I love your face. I could stare at you for hours.” She smiled as she bit her lip, her hand moving to caress his hair.

“Such a creep.” He huffed a laugh as he turned his body to the side to look at her better. He moved his hand to her breasts, looking at how her nipples perked at the mere touch of his fingers, how her breath would always hitch.

“Do you really think so?” He looked back up at her face. She smiled softly and nodded, caressing his face again.

“Gevie.” That words, his native language coming from her mouth was a massive turn on for him. He immediately crashed his lips against her and pulled her body close to him.

“Issa rūs.” He growled.

-My baby.-

Aemond shook his head to get himself back together, then he walked out of his cell to walk with all the other prisoners to the eating room.

He was always among his people every step he took, in his room, at his table, at his chores.

He rarely was alone.

The few times he was, he fucked his hand like a wild animal until it would be covered in cum.

All for her.

He always did everything for her.

“Cregan?” He could hear her voice through his phone, they spy hidden in her brother’s office offering a live audio of her voice.

Her sobs.

“Cregan?!” She shouted as she kept crying. 

He closed his eyes as he listened to her sobs. He could almost see her, kneeled beside the body of his brother.

At the moment, Cregan’s body counted three bullets.

He did it for her.

So they could get back together, live together.

God he had missed her so much.

He was tired of jerking off on her nudes, he needed the real thing.

“Cregan!” She shouted as she kept crying desperately. He heard some ruffling, something falling on the floor.

“My brother is dead!” She shouted. “M-my… Aemond Targaryen did it.”

He did it for her.

And she put him in handcuffs.

Days were long without her, and even more without anything about her body.

At least he managed to get one of her thongs in there.

But the scent almost faded.

“The plan is set, boss.” Jason, his left arm in the prison, said.

Aemond gave one nod as he looked down at his food.

Escape prison was easy.

He didn't do it earlier because he knew she needed time to recover from his brother’s death before she could focus back on him.

Placing a few pieces of evidence that would lead away from him and make up an alibi was like stealing candy from a baby.

His trial process was easy to finish, after all, they didn’t have true evidence that he killed Cregan, and his alibi was firm.

Turned out to be easier than ever.

With a smirk on his face he walked out of the front door of the prison, his jumpsuit replaced with a pair of black jeans and a black sweater.

He looked at his driver and got in the car.

“Let’s go get her.” He said as he made himself comfortable.

It was night when he broke into her house.

Actually, broke in was an euphemism, he owned the place.

She was living with his money, and she didn’t even know it.

He saw her on her bed. Her hair messy on the pillow, her mouth half open.

Her body was covered by the blanket.

She was beautiful.

He walked closer to her, caressing her face softly as he looked down at her sleeping form. 

She had always been a deep sleeper, it was hard to wake her up.

He was happy to learn it when he had a little something to take care of, one of the nights she slept at his house.

He slowly handcuffed one of her wrists, then he pulled her arm up, slowly, carefully, then he raised her other arm, and quickly handcuffed it to the headrest.

He walked slowly on the end of the bed, dragging her blanket with him, smiling as she saw her wearing both but a thin pajama.

He slowly moved her pants off, along with her panties.

He needed to taste her again.

His hands slowly moved her legs open, his head digging between her thighs.

He took a deep breath in, taking in her scent before licking her slightly, enough to have the taste on his tongue.

He had to bite back a moan as he pulled back slightly.

It had been so long since the last time he ate her out.

He’ll make sure he’ll have all the time in the world in the future.

What took him off guard, was her foot hitting his face at full force.

But still too weak.

He chuckled as he stumbled back. He stood up and looked down at her.

“I remember your brother teaching you to fight. He obviously failed, you wouldn’t scratch a man, baby.”

“Don’t call me like that, you bastard!” She shouted.

So feisty, just woken up.

“At least my brother taught me how to fight. And don’t you dare speak of him again!” She said as she tried to say up, but she quickly became aware of the handcuffs.

“You like those, baby?” He asked as he stood at the edge of the bed, nodding towards the handcuffs. “You know which one are those?” He smiled down at her. “The same one they used to handcuff me when you turned me in.” He sighed as he yanked the sheets completely off the bed.

“And for the record. I didn’t teach you how to fight, because you didn’t need to with me. I would have never let anything happen to you. I’m not letting anything happen to you.” He specified as he looked at her trying to get free of the handcuffs.

“I did this all for you. For us.” He said as he grabbed her ankles, her eyes snapping back at him. “We can be together now.”

“You killed my brother!” She screamed, trying to kick him again, but he simply chuckled, pinning her ankles down on the mattress.

“He spreaded us apart. He pointed a gun at my head.” He hissed.

“He never shooted!” She growled back. “He never would have!”

“And see what that brought you.” He moved her ankles apart. “You’re alone. Your business is shattered, I took it.” He said as he started tying one ankle to the foot of the bed.

“No, no!” She tried to get away, but it was useless.

“Why do you think you still have your money, baby?” He asked as he moved to tie the other ankle.

“Why do you think you’ve been spared by the destruction of your family business?”

“Fuck you. You psycho-“ She gritted her teeth as she found herself unable to move.

“Now now, no need for insults.” He crawled on top of her. “After all… I’m here to collect.” He grinned down at her. “You’re my war prize.”

“I’m not your anything.” She growled, but he didn’t even listen.

“We’re going to move away.” He said as he lifted her shirt, despite her trying to stop him by squirming harder.

He grabbed a handful of her soft boob, and leaned down to suck her nipple, his leg sliding between hers, his thigh pressing against her clit.

“Keep squirming.” He smiled against her, her movements making her grind against his thigh. She tugged at the handcuffs as she tried to lower her hands.

“You-“ She tugged again. “Killed-“ Again. “My brother!” She yelled as she started to cry. “You had no right! No right! He loved me!”

“Not as much as I do.” He said as he moved his hand between her legs, strolling her clit. “I might hate you for calling the police on me-“ He looked down at her cunt, then back up at her face, the tears running down the sides of her face. “But you are my woman. No one loves you more than I do.” He pulled his fingers back from her and pulled off a knife from the back of his pants and twisted easily in his hand.

He straddled her and pointed the knife to her throat.

“I would let this world burn for you. If you’d told me you don’t want to be on this earth anymore, I’d use all my power to find another planet to live on.” He leaned down, his face inches from hers. “And we’d repopulate it.”

“You’re crazy.” She said, her eyes filled with tears as she pressed her head against the pillow to get as far from the knife as possible. He licked the handle.

“About you, baby.” He turned the knife in his hand, the handle pressing against her skin, the blade against the skin of his hand. “You can ask me anything. Anything. I will give that to you.” He moved the handle down her body. “You just…” He moved the handle inside her, looking at her eyes widening at the intrusion. “… stay with me baby.” 

She looked away, turning her head to the side as Aemond started to move the knife slowly, caressing her inside walls with the rough material.

“Stop -“ She sobbed as she closed her eyes. She hated how her body was betraying her, feeling pleasure out of something so sick and wrong. “Stop, just stop.”

“You feel that too, uh?” He kept looking at her. “You feel this is right. That we belong together.”

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting back sobs and the confusing mix of pain and pleasure coursing through her. "No, no, Aemond!" She whispered hoarsely, her voice shaking. "This is torture.” She said, desperate, hoping to at least gain his pity.

Aemond chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down her spine. "Torture? Is that what you call this?" He rocked the knife handle inside her gently, the crude motion stimulating her sensitive flesh. "Or perhaps...enlightenment?"

Her eyes flew open, wide with horror and revulsion. "Shut up!" She spat, struggling futilely against the restraints. "You're insane, Aemond. Fucking insane!"

Aemond smirked, enjoying the sight of her distress.

"Maybe I am." He admitted, his tone casual. "But doesn't that make what I'm doing even more brilliant? I'm rewriting reality for us both."

He began to thrust the handle deeper, faster, each stroke hitting that spot within her that made her toes curl as the blade started to cut his hand, but he didn’t seem to care. "You can deny it all you want, but your body knows the truth. It craves mine as much as I crave yours."

Her breath hitched, her hips bucking involuntarily against the handle. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood from her bitten lip. "Please..." She whimpered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "Stop, don’t do this to me..."

Despite her protests, she couldn't ignore the traitorous sensations building within her. The knife handle's coarse texture rubbing against her inner walls, the pressure and friction igniting a fire that spread through her core. 

She hated it, she hated the feeling of nostalgia, of happiness of having back at least part of her past, even in a maddening and sickening way.

Her thighs clenched, a moan escaping her lips before she could bite it back.

"See?" Aemond purred, his voice a seductive whisper. "Your body tells the truth, even if your mouth lies. You want this, baby. You need me."

Her gaze snapped to him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and shame.

"You killed my brother!" She yelled again, hoping to get control of her body back with her

Aemond raised an eyebrow at her accusation, his expression unreadable. "Your brother was weak." He stated flatly. "He got in the way of my plans, and he paid the price."

The knife handle continued its relentless rhythm, each stroke pushing her closer to the edge. Aemond's free hand reached up to grip her chin, forcing her to meet his piercing gaze.

"You can hate me all you want, baby."

He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust, the blade scraping against her cervix.

Her vision blurred, her world narrowing to the searing pain and the overwhelming urge to surrender.

"Stop fighting it." Aemond commanded, his voice low and commanding. "Let go and accept that we are not separating again."

"I hate you." She groaned as her body arched from the bed. "I will never love you again."

Aemond smiled, a cold, calculated smile devoid of warmth or humanity. "You’re so pretty when you’re in denial, baby."

He increased the pace of the handle, driving it into her with brutal force. She screamed, her nails digging into the sheets as she struggled against the restraints. But Aemond held fast, his grip unyielding as he rode her through the agony and ecstasy.

"We are two sides of the same coin." He growled, his breath hot against her skin. "You cannot escape me, just as I cannot escape you. We are destined to be together."

With a final, vicious thrust, Aemond buried the handle to the hilt inside her.

Her scream cut off abruptly as the handle plunged deep, the sudden impact triggering a violent contraction within her. Waves of intense pleasure crashed over her, obliterating the pain and leaving her gasping for air.

For a moment, she hung suspended, lost in the overwhelming sensation. Then, with a strangled cry, she came undone, her body convulsing in a frenzy of release. The orgasm ripped through her like a tornado, making everything fade except pleasure.

As the aftershocks subsided, she lay limp and spent, her mind fogged by the intensity of what had just occurred. Through the haze, she felt Aemond withdraw the knife,  licked the knife handle and then discarded it carelessly on the floor with a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched her body twitch and spasm through the aftermath of her climax.

Rising from the bed, he towered over her prone form, his imposing figure casting a shadow over her. "That's the power I hold over you." He murmured, his voice low and menacing. "The ability to reduce you to this - a broken, quivering mess, completely at my mercy." He smirked. "But you know I have much more power over you than just that. Even if you did manage to leave me, baby, please tell me.” He looked down at her. “Do you think you'll be able to live a normal life? Find someone new to love, have a life with him, a future, fuck him?” He laughed as he shook his head. “No, baby. I love you. And I’m not letting you go. Ever."

Her chest heaved with ragged breaths as she stared up at Aemond, her eyes glazed and unfocused. The echoes of her intense orgasm still resonated through her body, leaving her feeling raw and exposed.

She wanted to lash out, to spit venom at him for his cruel words and actions. But the strength had been drained from her, leaving only a hollow shell. All she could manage was a pitiful whine as he loomed over her.

"I-I won't..." She whispered. "I won't ever be yours, Aemond. Never." She hissed evilly, but he simply chuckled as he started to pull down his pants.

Aemond chuckled darkly, amused by her futile defiance. He reached down and grasped a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back to expose the vulnerable column of her throat.

“We’ll see about that.” He whispered in her ear as he settled comfortably between her legs.

He lined up his throbbing cock with her entrance and thrusted to the hilt, stretching her tight core around his thick length.

“Take it, you feisty little bitch.” He smiled. “I still remember everything you like, you know that right?” He looked down at her, watching her discomfort as she struggled to adjust. “I know you. And I’ll make you feel so fucking good, baby.” He set a punishing pace, pounding into her relentlessly, moaning and closing his eye for a moment as he savoured the feeling of having her walls being stretched out from him again.

“Scream all you want. No one's coming to save you from my cock.” He reached around to fondle her clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in time with his brutal strokes.

She yelled, her tits kept bouncing against his chest with every thrust, but he reveled in her cries, the sound music to his ears as he rutted into her like an animal.

He picked up speed, his heavy balls slapping against her ass with each powerful thrust.

“You love this, don't you? Love being fucked raw by me.” He moaned as he felt her pussy clench. “You’ve always loved it, when I treated you like you could never break, unlike everyone else did.” He leaned down to bite and suck at her nipples, adding to her torment and pleasure. “And you still do. Just like you love me.”

She clenched her hands into fists, squeezing her eyes closed as the nostalgia of their past ate her alive.

"Fuck you – I don’t love you!" She gritted her teeth.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes as he drove into her again.

“Oh, keep telling yourself that, baby.” He grinned, a hint of pride in his voice. “Your tight little cunt is gripping me so fucking tight – it knows exactly what it's missing without a real man's cock.” He reached down to rub her clit harder, determined to make her come on his cock.

“Admit it, baby. You're loving every second of this.”

His hips snapped forward, hitting that sweet spot inside her that made her gasp and clench around him.

"I'll never come for you." She growled.

He chuckled, a dark and sinister sound that echoed through the room. “Oh, you will. You're so close, I can feel it.” He pinched her clit roughly, trying to force her to orgasm and pounded into her harder, faster, reveling in the feeling of her tight walls squeezing him.

“There’s no more escaping this. No more sending me away -” His voice was strained by pleasure, he wasn’t even trying to control his sounds, moaning shamelessly.

“I-I hate you –” She said as she felt herself treading on the edge of her orgasm. “I’ll never love you again, you’re trash  to me.”

He smirked at her defiant words, finding them only more arousing.

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But it’s not your body that betrays you.” He could feel her getting closer to the edge, her pussy fluttering around his shaft. “It’s your mind.” He thrusted especially hard, grinding against her cervix.

“Cum for me, baby. Now”. He demanded, his voice low and authoritative.

She shook her head defiantly, even as her body betrayed her, trembling on the brink of climax.

“Never... I won't…” Her words dissolved into a moan as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. “F-fuck!”

Despite her best efforts, she could feel herself hurtling towards orgasm, her pussy clenching rhythmically around his pistoning cock. The stimulation to her clit combined with his commanding presence proved too much to resist.

“No – ” She cried out as she came undone, her vision whiting out from the intensity of her release.

Her inner walls spasmed almost violently around him, milking his shaft for all it was worth.

“Aem -” His name slipped past her lips unbidden as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

He groaned in satisfaction as he felt her pussy clamp down on him like a vice, her juices flooding his cock and dripping down his balls. “That's it, cum for me – ” His voice suddenly soft as he continued to pound into her through her orgasm, prolonging her pleasure and using her spasming walls to bring himself closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you feel amazing.” With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and let out a guttural moan as he started to cum. He grunted, shooting thick ropes of hot seed deep into her womb as he filled her to the brim with his potent release.

They didn’t move for a while, catching their breaths after the intense encounter, but as soon as she bursted into tears Aemond immediately hugged her, freeing her wrists.

“Shhh, I’m here, baby -” He whispered in her ear as he caressed her hair, keeping her close, but she kept crying harder.

She couldn't help herself, even if he killed his brother, a part of her will always welcome Aemond, desperate for the old sense of stability that she had been seeking since it all went down.

Since her brother tore her away from Aemond.

Because that was the moment she felt like dying the most, and she felt the worst sister in the world for that.

So she cried, hoping those feelings would just flow out with her tears.

She hated Aemond, but not because he killed her brother, she hated him because he was still the love of her life, despite everything.

Because she tried to move on, desperately, she wanted to run away from her feelings for him, but every time she managed to find someone interesting she would feel guilty, she would feel like she was in the wrong place, like she was doing everything wrong, and she couldn’t fix it.

“I hate you.” She sobbed as she wrapped her arms around him tightly.

“I know.” He pressed his forehead against her temple. “I’ll fix it.”

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[cynicalclassicist]

We're just going to see Daeron the Daring next season, I suppose.

alicent hightower with baby daeron.

— credits to the account @/wubnyra.

[warp-speed]

Princess Rhaena held back by brother-husband Prince Aegon "the uncrowded" from confronting some goons of the faith militant.

I'm attempting a background here but I'm kinda not into this one.

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (the princess and the lion)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: introduction

- Next part: the rogue

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss

The air in your chambers is quiet, save for the soft scratch of needle against fabric. You sit by the open window, the summer breeze carrying with it the faint hum of festivities from the Great Hall below. Your hands move deftly, each stitch guided by memory and touch. The image of Silverwing, wings spread in flight, begins to take shape beneath your fingertips. You feel the curve of the threads, the texture of the fine silk as you pull the needle through, and you can almost hear the rustling of her wings in your mind.

"Your Grace," a voice interrupts gently. You turn your head, unseeing lilac eyes tilted toward the source of the sound. It is Marna, one of the older serving women, her voice always warm and kind. "The King has requested your presence in the Great Hall."

You pause, your fingers hovering over the embroidery. “The King?” you ask softly. It is not often your father summons you to public gatherings, preferring to shield you from the watchful eyes of the court.

“Yes, Princess,” Marna replies. “He wishes for you to join the festivities.”

You lower your hands, the needle resting against the fabric. "Very well," you say after a moment, though a pang of unease stirs in your chest. These celebrations are not your realm. You are content here, in the quiet of your chambers, with the world as you imagine it rather than as it is.

As if anticipating your thoughts, Marna steps closer. “His Grace will be pleased to see you. The court will be honored by your presence.”

Before you can respond, the door opens again, and two more servants enter, bustling with quiet purpose. You recognize them by the shuffle of their steps and the rustle of fabric they carry. “We’ve brought your gown, Princess,” one of them says—a younger girl named Alys.

The gown they bring is a masterpiece, as all your garments are. The fabric is a deep black, soft as shadow, embroidered with threads of silver that shimmer like moonlight. Tiny scales glint along the bodice, evoking the image of a dragon’s hide. The servants help you rise, their hands gentle as they guide you away from your seat and toward the center of the room.

Alys speaks as she works, her tone light. “It’s a fine thing, this gown. Fit for a dragon princess, if I may say so.”

You smile faintly, letting them guide you as they slip the gown over your shoulders. The fabric is cool against your skin, the weight of it settling around you like a second layer of armor. "Is it truly so grand?" you ask, your voice tinged with humor.

Marna chuckles softly. "It will leave the court speechless, Your Grace. They won’t see a thing but you.”

Alys hums in agreement as she adjusts the folds of the gown. "Even Princess Rhaenyra will find it hard to outshine you tonight."

The mention of your sister brings a small pang of guilt. “Rhaenyra is the Realm’s Delight,” you say quietly. “She belongs in the light. I am content in the shadows.”

Marna stops pinning the gown for a moment, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “You are both daughters of the dragon, Princess. The light would be lesser without its shadows.”

You nod, though the words do little to ease the flutter of nerves building in your chest.

Once the gown is secured, the servants turn their attention to your hair. Though already braided, they begin to pin the strands closer to your head, twisting them into an intricate crown that leaves no stray locks to chance. The weight of the pins presses lightly against your scalp, and you can feel their careful hands working as they speak.

“You’ll look like a queen, Your Grace,” Alys says softly.

“A queen I will never be,” you reply, not with bitterness but with quiet acceptance. “But I thank you for your care.”

When they finish, Marna steps back, her voice filled with approval. "You are ready, Princess. Shall I summon Ser Lorent?"

“Yes,” you say, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your gown. You can feel the texture of the embroidery beneath your palms, the shape of the dragons etched into the cloth. "And Marna," you add, your voice soft but firm, "thank you. All of you."

The servants murmur their thanks and curtsy as Marna exits to fetch Ser Lorent. The sound of her footsteps fades, leaving you alone in the quiet chamber once more. You sit for a moment, your hands resting in your lap, breathing deeply to calm your nerves.

It isn’t long before the sound of armor announces Ser Lorent’s arrival. The Kingsguard enters, his boots light on the stone floor. “Princess,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “I am here to escort you.”

You rise, placing a hand lightly on his offered arm. “Thank you, Ser Lorent,” you say, your voice calm despite the anxiety you feel.

As the two of you leave your chambers and begin the journey to the Great Hall, you can hear the distant hum of the festivities growing louder with each step. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine drifts through the air, mingling with the faint notes of music and laughter.

Though you cannot see the grandeur that awaits you, you hold your head high, each step measured and poised. You know the court will be watching, their eyes on you as much as on your sister or your father. For now, however, the hall is still beyond reach, its doors waiting to be opened.

Ser Lorent pauses outside the towering doors of the Great Hall, the noise within a muffled roar of celebration. “Are you ready, Princess?” Ser Lorent asks, his voice low.

You draw in a steady breath, your fingers tightening slightly on his arm. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, the faintest smile playing at your lips. Then, with the faintest nod, you step forward into the unknown.

The towering doors to the Great Hall creaked open with slow grandeur, the sound of revelry spilling out into the corridor like a wave. Laughter and music mingled with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the faint tang of woodsmoke from the hearths. Your grip on Ser Lorent’s arm tightened slightly, but his steady presence was a comfort. The Kingsguard knight guided you with quiet confidence, each step forward measured and sure.

Before the herald could announce your presence, the rhythmic sound of hurried boots echoed against the stone floor—a stride too quick, too heavy, to belong to anyone at ease. Ser Lorent stopped abruptly, his body tensing, and you tilted your head slightly, listening to the approaching figure. The boots grew louder, their pace betraying haste or retreat, and then—just as you sensed the figure nearing—a clash was narrowly avoided.

"Hold," Ser Lorent’s voice was firm, his free hand raising to stop the oncoming lord. The boots skidded to a halt mere feet away, followed by the faint scrape of leather on stone as the figure steadied himself. A warm, rich scent of leather and sandalwood enveloped you, the fragrance unfamiliar yet striking.

“Forgive me,” came the hurried apology, the voice deep and resonant but rattled, as though its owner was caught off guard. “I did not see—” The man paused mid-sentence, and you could almost feel the shift in his demeanor, the sudden awareness of who stood before him. “Princess,” he finished, his tone now layered with formality and astonishment.

You inclined your head slightly, your soft voice breaking the tension. “There is nothing to forgive, my lord. No harm was done.”

The man, still somewhat flustered, cleared his throat. “Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock,” he introduced himself, his confidence beginning to return. “I pray you’ll forgive my haste. It seems I’ve had a day of missteps.”

“Lord Jason,” you acknowledged gently, your lips curving into a faint, polite smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

For a moment, Jason Lannister did not respond. Though you could not see his expression, you sensed the weight of his gaze upon you. His silence stretched, filled with something unspoken, until he finally spoke again, his tone lighter but no less sincere. “The pleasure is mine, Princess Y/N. Your presence graces this hall far more than I ever could.”

There was a charm to his words, one likely polished by years of courtly practice, yet something about his tone carried an edge of genuine awe.

“Are you enjoying the festivities?” he asked, clearly striving to maintain the conversation and regain his footing.

“They are as lively as I imagined they would be,” you replied, your voice calm and measured, each word deliberate. “Though I confess, I find the quiet of my chambers more familiar.”

Jason chuckled, a sound rich and warm, though you caught the slight unease beneath it. “A sentiment I share more than most might believe, though it seems neither of us has much choice in the matter tonight.”

The remark brought a faint smile to your lips. “Indeed. Duty often calls us to places we do not choose, but such is the way of the world.”

Jason hesitated, as if weighing his next words, but before he could speak again, you felt a subtle shift in Ser Lorent’s stance. Though his silence remained, the stiffness in his posture was unmistakable, a wordless warning meant solely for the lord before him.

Jason stopped abruptly, his earlier confidence faltering once more. You could almost hear the unspoken exchange between him and Ser Lorent—the quiet assertion of the knight’s duty, the unyielding reminder of your protection.

“I’ve taken enough of your time, Princess,” Jason said finally, his voice tinged with reluctance. “Your family awaits you, and I would not delay you further.”

You inclined your head graciously. “You have been kind, Lord Jason. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

“And to you, Princess,” he replied, his tone softer now, almost reverent.

As Ser Lorent guided you forward, you heard the sound of Jason’s boots retreating a few steps, then pausing. Though you did not turn, you felt his gaze linger, the weight of it following you as you were led toward the dais where your family sat. His earlier thoughts of leaving the hall, you suspected, were far from his mind now.

For you, the encounter was little more than an unexpected moment in a long evening. For Jason Lannister, it was the beginning of something far more profound—though even he could not yet say what.

Your grip on Ser Lorent’s arm was steady, your steps slow and deliberate, as the herald stepped forward to announce your presence.

"Her Grace, Princess Y/N Targaryen, Daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and the late Queen Aemma Arryn, of House Targaryen."

The herald’s voice boomed across the hall, and in an instant, the revelry died. Silence swept over the crowd, leaving only the faint crackle of torches and the low hum of the hearth. Though you could not see the eyes upon you, you felt their weight, hundreds of gazes fixed on your form as you entered the hall.

Whispers stirred at the edges of the silence, hushed murmurs of curiosity and admiration.

“She’s even more beautiful than they say,” someone breathed.

“Blind, yet she moves with such grace,” another remarked.

You kept your head high, your lilac eyes unseeing but calm, your expression serene as Ser Lorent guided you further into the hall. Your gown, a masterpiece of black and silver, shone under the torchlight, the embroidery of dragons glinting like scales. Your hair, intricately braided and pinned, crowned you in a way that whispered of royalty even without the weight of a diadem.

At the high table, you could hear your family stirring. The clink of goblets being set down, the faint rustle of Alicent’s silks as she adjusted herself, and the soft cooing of one-year-old Daeron in the arms of his nursemaid.

"Ah, my daughter," your father’s voice rang out, breaking the silence with jovial warmth. King Viserys’s tone was light but full of emotion. "Come, come, Y/N. Do not linger at the edge of the hall! Let them see you properly."

His laughter rolled across the hall, easing the silance. The murmurs grew louder, but the crowd relaxed, the King’s mood infectious. You were led closer to the dais, where the high table overlooked the grand hall.

“Here,” Viserys continued, gesturing eagerly, “sit beside Rhaenyra. You two have spent too much time apart of late.”

You could hear the scrape of a chair being moved and felt the shift of the air as Rhaenyra rose to guide you the last few steps. Her touch on your arm was firm and familiar, her tone bright and full of affection. “Come, sister. Father would not forgive me if I let you sit anywhere else.”

As you reached the table, you felt the gentle tug of her hand as she guided you to the chair beside hers. The high table was filled with those you knew so well: your stepmother, Queen Alicent, her hands folded neatly in her lap; Aegon, the prince whose nameday you celebrated, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic; Helaena, quiet as ever, her soft murmurings almost drowned by the noise; and young Aemond, his chair pulled slightly away as if he wished to disappear entirely.

Before you sat, you turned your head slightly toward your father’s voice, offering a small smile. “You honor me with your kindness, Father.”

Viserys laughed again, pleased by your words. “It is no kindness, my dear. You belong here, with your family.”

As you settled into your seat, Rhaenyra leaned in closer, her tone low enough for only you to hear. “They are all staring, you know.”

“They always stare,” you replied gently, your hands smoothing the fabric of your gown as you settled. “I do not mind.”

Rhaenyra huffed softly, but there was a note of protectiveness in her voice. “You should. Half the lords here don’t deserve to lay eyes on you.”

Across the table, Alicent cleared her throat delicately. “We are grateful for your presence, Y/N,” she said, her voice measured and composed. “It is rare that the hall is so quiet—it seems your arrival has had quite the effect.”

You inclined your head toward her voice, offering a polite smile. “I am pleased to bring some order to the chaos, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s lips curved faintly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in her tone as she replied, “Indeed.”

Aegon, ever restless, shifted in his seat. “Does this mean we can eat now?” he asked, his tone bordering on impatience. Helaena giggled softly, her voice like the tinkling of a bell.

“Hush, Aegon,” Alicent chided gently. “This is your day, but do not forget your manners.”

The nursemaid cooed to Daeron as he fussed, her voice soft and soothing. Aemond remained silent, his presence more a shadow than a boy of his age. The atmosphere at the high table was a strange mix of celebration and tension, as was often the case in these gatherings.

You turned your head slightly, as though surveying the room through senses other than sight. The hum of voices, the clatter of dishes, and the faint strains of music filled the air once more. Somewhere in the crowd, you felt a subtle ripple of attention still fixed on you—perhaps the lingering gaze of a certain Lord of Casterly Rock.

For now, you let the world move around you, content to sit beside your sister, your father’s warmth anchoring you amidst the sea of courtly intrigue. The celebration continued, though its true tone—one of alliances and ambitions—lay just beneath the surface.

Jason Lannister’s stride, once filled with determination to leave the hall and the sting of rejection behind, slowed as he found himself retracing his steps. The echo of her voice still lingered in his mind—soft-spoken, gentle, so unlike the cutting sharpness of Rhaenyra’s words or the King’s dismissive tone. It was unintentional, of course, but the blind princess had unraveled something within him, leaving him both unsettled and curious.

As he approached the table where his family was seated, he became acutely aware of the stares that followed him. His siblings and cousins had witnessed his earlier debacle, and judging by the smirks spreading across their faces, they were eager to make the most of it.

“Well,” Tyland began as Jason took his seat, his younger twin’s voice laced with barely contained amusement. “That was… eventful.”

Jason glared at him. “Don’t start, Tyland.”

“Start? I think I’ve already missed the best part,” Tyland quipped, leaning back in his chair. “Though I must admit, I’ve never seen you move with such haste. I thought you were fleeing the hall entirely.”

Jason ignored the laughter that rippled through his family and reached for his goblet. “I had no intention of fleeing,” he said stiffly, taking a long drink of wine.

“Oh, of course,” Tyland replied, his tone mockingly agreeable. “You were simply… what? Taking a scenic stroll? Stopping to admire the craftsmanship of the Red Keep? Or perhaps nearly colliding with a princess was all part of your grand plan.”

At this, the table erupted into chuckles. Jason set his goblet down with more force than necessary, the sound cutting through their mirth. “It was a momentary lapse,” he said, his jaw tight. “Ser Lorent intervened before anything happened.”

“Ah, yes,” Tyland said, a glint of mischief in his eye. “And what did happen, brother? You looked as though you’d seen a dragon rise from the floor when you realized who you nearly bowled over.”

Jason hesitated, his mind returning to the brief but memorable encounter. The scent of her—delicate and floral, like something ephemeral. The serene way she had spoken, her words measured and without any hint of malice. Her presence had been disarming in a way he could not explain.

“She was…” Jason faltered, searching for the right words. “Unexpected.”

“Unexpected,” Tyland echoed, feigning deep contemplation. “Yes, that certainly explains why you looked ready to fall to your knees in apology.”

“She is blind, Tyland,” Jason said sharply, his voice low. “Do you think I would risk injuring her? I merely acted with appropriate care.”

“Appropriate care?” Tyland leaned in, his smirk widening. “Brother, you practically stumbled over your own boots apologizing. She left you speechless.”

Their mother, Lady Leonella, who had been watching the exchange with mild interest, finally interjected. “Enough, Tyland. Let your brother be. The princess is a rare beauty, even if she cannot see the chaos she inspires. Jason, tell me, what did she say to you?”

Jason hesitated again, his mind returning to the moment her soft voice had reached him. “She was… kind,” he said finally. “She did not chide me for my haste or question my manners. She simply… accepted my apology.”

Lady Leonella smiled faintly. “A rarity in this hall, then. Perhaps you should learn something from her grace.”

Jason frowned but didn’t argue. Across the table, Tyland was watching him with an expression that was far too knowing for Jason’s comfort.

“And what now?” Tyland asked, his voice laced with mock seriousness. “Will you abandon your plans to leave the hall in favor of lingering, hoping for another encounter?”

Jason bristled but didn’t answer immediately. The truth was, the thought of leaving the hall no longer appealed to him. He had come to the festivities with grand ambitions, only to have them dashed by Rhaenyra’s biting rejection and the King’s dismissal. Yet somehow, in the space of a few words and a fleeting exchange, the younger princess had left him intrigued.

“I am staying,” he said finally, lifting his goblet once more. “If only to see how the rest of the evening unfolds.”

Tyland raised his own goblet in a mock toast. “To the unpredictable, then.”

Jason said nothing, his gaze shifting subtly toward the high table where the Targaryen family sat. Though his pride still smarted from the events of the evening, the thought of the blind princess—her gentle voice, her unassuming presence—lingered in his mind like a whisper.

For the first time that night, his thoughts of leaving the hall were far behind him. Instead, he found himself wondering if fate might grant him another chance to cross her path.

The hum of conversation and the clatter of goblets filled the Great Hall, but at the high table, the atmosphere was quieter. Seated beside your sister, you felt the warmth of her presence, a comforting contrast to the chaos of the court below. Your father’s voice carried occasionally over the din, booming with joviality as he toasted his guests, while Alicent, ever composed, managed the children with quiet grace.

Your fingers rested lightly on the silver chalice before you, tracing the delicate filigree as you turned your head toward Rhaenyra. “You seem unsettled, sister,” you said softly, your eyes focused on her presence more than her face.

Rhaenyra let out a short huff, her tone sharp but not unkind. “It’s Jason Lannister,” she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “He proposed.”

Your lips curved faintly, though you knew her well enough to sense her annoyance. “Proposed what, exactly? Marriage, I assume?”

“What else would it be?” Rhaenyra muttered, her tone edged with exasperation. She leaned closer, her voice quieter now. “He came to me earlier with a golden spear, of all things. As if I would be swayed by such a trinket.”

“A golden spear?” you echoed, the faintest trace of amusement in your voice. “Perhaps he thought it symbolic of strength and conquest.”

Rhaenyra scoffed. “If he believes a princess of the blood can be won with such a gesture, he is sorely mistaken.”

You tilted your head, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips. “You rejected him, then.”

“Of course I did,” Rhaenyra said, leaning back slightly in her chair. “And not just the spear. I made it abundantly clear that I have no interest in him, nor his lion-infested castle.”

Her tone was sharp, but you detected the faintest flicker of guilt in her words. “Was it so cruelly done?” you asked gently.

Rhaenyra hesitated before sighing. “Perhaps I was… blunt. But Father had already dismissed him before he came to me. He should have known better than to pursue me directly.”

You nodded slowly, your fingers still tracing the patterns on your chalice. “Perhaps he hoped to charm you. Not all men take rejection gracefully.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened as she looked at you. “And you, sister? If such a lord came bearing golden gifts and lofty words, how would you respond?”

You considered her question for a moment, your expression thoughtful. “I would thank him for his effort and let him leave with his pride intact. Kindness costs nothing, even when rejecting someone.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly, though it was tinged with a hint of bitterness. “You’ve always been better at diplomacy than I. Father says the same. But what kindness do men like Jason Lannister deserve? He sees only the crown and the power it brings.”

You reached out, your hand finding hers on the table. “He may see power, but perhaps he also sees you. We cannot always know the hearts of others, sister.”

Rhaenyra squeezed your hand lightly, a gesture of gratitude and affection. “And what of you, Y/N? You are far more deserving of attention than I. Have you not had suitors of your own?”

The question caught you off guard, though you smiled faintly. “I have had no suitors, Rhaenyra, nor do I expect them. Men are often drawn to what they can see, and I… I do not inspire the same admiration that you do.”

Rhaenyra’s grip tightened slightly. “That is nonsense. You are as much a Targaryen as I, with all the beauty and grace our blood bestows. Any man who cannot see that is unworthy of you.”

You tilted your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You are kind, sister, but we both know I am content in the quiet. Courtly games and suitors vying for my hand do not interest me.”

Rhaenyra leaned closer, her voice warm but teasing. “Perhaps you would not mind if the right man came along.”

“Perhaps,” you allowed, though the thought was far from your mind. “But it is a distant concern, if it is one at all.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the noise of the hall fading into the background as you shared a quiet moment of understanding. Whatever grievances Rhaenyra had with the lords of the realm, her affection for you was unwavering.

Finally, she let out a sigh, her tone lightening. “You always know how to calm me, Y/N. If only I could borrow some of your serenity when dealing with men like Jason Lannister.”

You smiled, your fingers returning to the patterns on your chalice. “Perhaps one day, sister, the men of this realm will learn to approach us with the respect we deserve. Until then, let us simply endure.”

Rhaenyra laughed again, the sound bright and genuine this time. “You truly are the better of us, Y/N. It’s no wonder Father treasures you so.”

As the evening wore on, the bond between the two of you remained unshaken, a quiet strength amidst the chaos of the hall. Though Rhaenyra’s frustrations lingered, your words had eased them, if only for a time.

The music swelled as the minstrels struck a lively tune, and the Great Hall came alive with the shuffle of boots and the rustle of silk as lords and ladies made their way to the center of the room. The floor was cleared in moments, and laughter rippled through the crowd as couples began to take their places for the dance. From his seat, Jason Lannister observed it all with a practiced ease, his sharp eyes scanning the movement on the floor below.

His gaze landed on Princess Rhaenyra as she stepped down from the high table. Her confidence was unmistakable, the Realm’s Delight commanding attention without effort. But it wasn’t Rhaenyra who held Jason’s focus—it was you, her blind sister, when Rhaenyra reached for your hand.

You hesitated at first, your lilac eyes turned slightly toward Rhaenyra as she murmured something to you. Her voice was too low for Jason to hear, but whatever she said brought a faint smile to your lips. You rose gracefully, your hand lightly resting in hers as she led you toward the center of the hall.

Jason straightened in his seat, intrigued. The sight of you entering the dance, your movements measured and deliberate, was unexpected. The soft glow of the torchlight caught the silver embroidery of your gown, the shimmering threads giving the illusion of movement even when you were still.

“You’re staring,” Tyland drawled from beside him, his tone laced with amusement.

Jason ignored him, watching as Rhaenyra guided you into the steps. To his astonishment, you moved with practiced ease, your body attuned to the music and the shifting rhythms of the dance. Partners changed with each turn, and you adapted seamlessly, your movements fluid and confident.

“It seems the blind princess dances better than half the court,” Tyland added, swirling the wine in his goblet. “And yet here you sit, sulking.”

Jason finally tore his gaze away to glare at his younger twin. “I’m not sulking.”

“Oh? Then what do you call this brooding silence?” Tyland smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Though I must admit, it’s entertaining to see you so captivated. Shall I fetch a goblet of courage for you?”

Jason ignored the barb, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet.

Tyland raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “And where are you going, brother?”

Jason adjusted his tunic, glancing toward the dance floor. “I’m going to dance with the younger princess.”

Tyland let out a soft laugh. “Bold. Do try not to trip over her.”

Jason said nothing, his stride purposeful as he descended toward the floor. The music shifted to a lighter melody, the dancers spinning gracefully in their pairs. Jason observed for a moment, waiting for the perfect moment to insert himself into the rotation.

As the partners shifted once more, he stepped forward, placing himself before you as the next turn brought you toward him. To his surprise, you paused slightly before he could even speak, your head tilting slightly in his direction.

“Lord Jason Lannister,” you said softly, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Your presence is hard to mistake.”

Jason blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. “You… recognized me?” he asked, his voice low but edged with surprise.

Your hand reached out slightly, and he took it instinctively, guiding you into the next steps of the dance. “You carry a certain stride,” you said, your tone calm and assured. “And a presence that is difficult to overlook.”

Jason chuckled, his initial surprise giving way to a touch of admiration. “You flatter me, Princess. I did not think I’d left such an impression.”

“You nearly ran me down earlier,” you said lightly, the faintest hint of humor in your voice. “It would be difficult to forget.”

The corners of Jason’s mouth twitched into a smile. “A mistake I am glad to rectify now.”

You moved with practiced grace, following the rhythm of the music with an ease that belied your blindness. Jason guided you through the steps, his grip firm but careful, as though he feared misstepping and disrupting the flow of the dance.

“You dance well,” he remarked after a moment.

“Thank you,” you replied. “I was taught by the best instructors, though my lack of sight did pose a challenge at first.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Jason said sincerely. “You move as if you can see the entire room.”

You smiled faintly, your tone thoughtful. “One does not need eyes to feel the music, my lord. Nor to trust a partner to guide them.”

Jason hesitated, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “Then I hope I am proving worthy of your trust.”

“You have yet to falter,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “Though I suspect you are unaccustomed to leading without trying to command.”

Jason laughed, the sound low and warm. “You’ve discerned much about me in so short a time.”

“Perhaps,” you said, your voice soft. “Or perhaps I simply have a way of seeing what others do not.”

For a moment, Jason said nothing, the weight of your words settling over him. He guided you through another turn, his focus entirely on you as the other dancers blurred into the background. The music swelled, and the steps quickened, but you kept pace with him effortlessly.

At last, as the melody slowed, Jason���s voice dropped to a near murmur. “You are unlike anyone I have ever met, Princess.”

Your head tilted slightly, your expression unreadable. “And you, Lord Jason, are proving to be more than I expected.”

Before he could respond, the music shifted again, signaling another turn of partners. Jason reluctantly released your hand, stepping aside as the next partner approached to take his place. He lingered for a moment, watching as you continued to dance, your presence captivating him in a way he could not quite explain.

Jason Lannister sat back at his family’s table, his goblet resting in his hand, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The dance had ended, and the music shifted to a softer tune as the couples dispersed back to their seats or lingered to converse in the hall. His golden-haired brother, Tyland, leaned toward him, his smirk as sharp as the edge of a blade once more.

“Well?” Tyland drawled, swirling the wine in his goblet. “Did the lion roar, or was he tamed?”

Jason ignored him, his eyes following Ser Lorent Marbrand, who was escorting you back to the high table. You moved with a serene grace that made it easy to forget you couldn’t see the room around you. The knight’s protective presence seemed unnecessary; you navigated the space as if it were second nature.

Jason took a sip of his wine, his gaze narrowing slightly as Rhaenyra remained on the dance floor, basking in the attention of the gathered lords. Her laughter echoed through the hall, drawing eyes to her like moths to a flame. It was a stark contrast to your quiet return to your seat beside the King.

“Hmm,” Jason’s mother, Lady Leonella, murmured, leaning slightly toward him. “The King seems in high spirits tonight.”

Jason glanced toward the high table. King Viserys’s booming laughter filled the air, his jovial mood evident as he watched you sit beside him. His hand rested on your arm as he said something, his expression warm and fatherly. You smiled in response, your eyes tilted slightly toward him as you spoke softly. Whatever you said earned another hearty laugh from the King.

“He always looks like that when she’s near,” Tyland remarked, leaning back in his chair. “The younger princess has a knack for easing tensions. A rare gift, I’d say.”

Lady Leonella arched an eyebrow. “She does seem to command a unique sort of attention, doesn’t she? Quiet, yet... compelling.”

Jason didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he watched the scene unfold. You were soft-spoken, poised, and effortlessly graceful—traits that seemed to draw others toward you without effort. It was a stark contrast to the brash energy of Rhaenyra, who now had several lords vying for her attention on the dance floor.

As Jason brooded, a movement at the high table caught his eye. One of the younger lords, bold and overeager, had stepped forward. Dressed in fine silk and adorned with a gaudy chain of gold, he approached the high table with the air of someone who believed himself invincible. Jason recognized him—Lord Harys of House Chester, an upjumped minor lord from the Crownlands whose father had earned the King’s favor decades prior.

“What’s this now?” Tyland asked, straightening in his seat as he followed Jason’s gaze.

Lord Harys stopped just shy of the high table and bowed deeply. His voice carried across the hall, drawing attention from nearby tables. “Your Grace, Princess Y/N,” he began, his tone overly smooth. “A dance with such grace as yours could inspire the bards for centuries. It is no wonder the King’s joy brightens the hall tonight.”

Jason scoffed audibly, the sound earning a glance from his mother. “What gall,” he muttered, setting his goblet down with a clink. “The fool thinks flattery will win him favor.”

“Or a place closer to the King’s purse,” Tyland added dryly, his smirk returning. “Though I can’t fault him for his boldness. He’s either courageous or too stupid to know better.”

Jason didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he watched Lord Harys continue his display. The young lord straightened and turned his attention solely to you, his smile practiced but lacking sincerity.

“Princess,” Harys continued, inclining his head toward you. “It would honor me greatly to have a moment of your time. Your beauty and grace are unparalleled, and I would count myself blessed to know such virtues more closely.”

Jason’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table. Tyland noticed and chuckled softly. “You’re practically seething, brother. Should I go fetch him a chair, or will you swoop in yourself?”

Lady Leonella shushed Tyland with a wave of her hand, her eyes sharp as she turned her attention to Jason. “If you wish to act, Jason, do so with care. The King will not tolerate disruptions at his high table, no matter how galling the intruder may be.”

Jason exhaled sharply, forcing himself to lean back in his chair. “I won’t make a scene,” he said, though his gaze remained fixed on Lord Harys.

You, meanwhile, had tilted your head slightly in Lord Harys’s direction, your serene demeanor unchanged. “You are very kind, Lord Harys,” you said, your voice gentle yet measured. “But I fear I must decline. My father would surely miss my presence were I to leave his side so soon.”

The rejection was polite but firm, and Jason noted the faint tightening of Lord Harys’s smile. The young lord bowed again, though his retreat was less graceful than his approach.

“Wise of her,” Tyland murmured, lifting his goblet in mock salute. “Subtle, yet cutting.”

Jason said nothing, his eyes following you as you turned your attention back to the King. Viserys’s laughter boomed again, clearly pleased by the exchange, while Alicent remained composed but silent beside him.

“Will you let that fool’s attempt stand unchallenged?” Tyland teased, nudging Jason lightly with his elbow.

Jason shot his brother a glare. “He’s already embarrassed himself. There’s no need for me to make it worse.”

“And yet,” Tyland mused, his smirk widening, “I suspect you’re plotting your next move already.”

Jason didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. As the hall returned to its revelry, he leaned forward slightly, his gaze never straying far from the high table. Whatever the night held, he wasn’t ready to concede just yet.

The warmth of the Great Hall seemed to dim slightly as the evening wore on, the air heavy with the mingling scents of roasted meats, spilled wine, and melting wax. You sat quietly at the high table, your hands resting lightly on your lap, listening to the hum of conversations and laughter swirling around you.

Beside you, your father, King Viserys, was beaming, his goblet in hand as he basked in the lively atmosphere of the celebration. His attention, however, soon turned back to you.

“My daughter,” he said warmly, his tone carrying the familiar blend of affection and authority. “You’ve been sitting here long enough. Go, mingle with the lords and ladies. Let them see what grace our family holds.”

You tilted your head slightly in his direction, the faintest smile on your lips. “I have mingled enough for one evening, Father. Surely, the court has seen all the grace they can endure.”

Viserys chuckled, but before he could press further, Queen Alicent turned from where she was tending to young Daeron and looked at you both with her characteristic calm. “Perhaps it would be best to let Y/N decide for herself, Your Grace,” she said, her voice measured but firm. “She knows her own limits better than anyone.”

Viserys waved a dismissive hand, his jovial tone still intact. “Nonsense, Alicent. The court always brightens with her presence. Have you not seen how they look at her? They practically hang on her every word.”

You turned your unseeing eyes toward your father, your expression serene but unreadable. “Most of them are liars,” you said softly, your tone devoid of malice but carrying a quiet weight.

The King’s laughter faltered, his joviality dimming as he looked at you. His smile waned, and a shadow of regret flickered across his face. “Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter now, “I only want to see you happy. You’ve always been so content in your own world, and for that, I blame myself.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. “Father, you are not to blame,” you said gently.

Viserys shook his head, setting his goblet down with a faint clink. “No, I am. I see how you sit here, so comfortable in your solitude, while others your age laugh and dance without a care. I’ve allowed you to retreat too much into yourself, thinking it was for your own good.” He paused, his eyes softening. “But I worry, my child. I worry that you are lonely.”

His words settled over you like a heavy cloak, and for a moment, the noise of the hall seemed to fade into the background.

“I am not lonely, Father,” you said softly. “I have my family, and that is enough.”

Viserys leaned closer, his expression earnest. “But is it truly enough? You deserve more, Y/N. You deserve friends, companions… perhaps even someone who could care for you as deeply as I do.”

Alicent, still seated nearby, watched the exchange with an unreadable expression, though she did not interject.

You reached out, your hand finding your father’s and resting lightly over it. “You have given me a life of peace, Father. I do not feel deprived of anything. But I appreciate your concern more than I can say.”

Viserys’s hand tightened over yours, his eyes brimming with a mix of pride and sadness. “You have always been too gracious for this world,” he said quietly. “But remember, Y/N, the world is not meant to be faced alone.”

You nodded slightly, though his words lingered in your mind. “I will try, Father,” you said softly. “For you, I will try.”

Viserys smiled faintly, though the flicker of regret in his eyes remained. “That is all I can ask, my dear,” he said, his voice regaining some of its warmth. “Now, let us not dwell on such somber matters. Tonight is a celebration, after all.”

You offered him a faint smile, your heart heavy but warmed by his sincerity. As the noise of the hall returned to its full volume, you couldn’t help but wonder if your father’s concerns held more truth than you were willing to admit.

The warmth of your father’s hand still lingered as you withdrew yours gently. His earlier words weighed heavily on your mind, though his smile had returned as he turned his attention back to the celebration. After a moment of quiet reflection, you straightened in your seat and called softly, “Ser Lorent.”

Your sworn shield appeared at once, his boots light on the stone floor as he approached. “Princess,” he said, his tone low and respectful.

“Escort me down to the hall,” you said, rising gracefully to your feet. “I believe I should mingle, if only to ease my father’s worries. At least for tonight.”

Ser Lorent hesitated for the briefest moment, his gaze flicking to the King, who gave him a nod of approval. “As you wish, Your Grace,” the knight replied, offering his arm.

With his steady guidance, you descended the steps from the high table, the faint rustle of your gown and the sound of your boots against the stone carrying through the hall. The hum of conversation softened slightly as those nearest to the high table turned to watch your approach. You could feel their eyes on you, a mix of admiration and curiosity palpable in the air.

The first to greet you was Lady Redwyne, a matronly figure with a presence as commanding as her stature. She approached with a cluster of noble ladies trailing behind her, their whispers quieting as they drew near.

“Princess Y/N,” Lady Redwyne said warmly, inclining her head. “What a joy it is to see you gracing the hall this evening. Truly, your presence elevates the occasion.”

You inclined your head in return, a polite smile gracing your lips. “You are kind, Lady Redwyne. The honor is mine to be among such esteemed company.”

Lady Redwyne’s smile deepened, and she gestured to the ladies behind her. “May I introduce you to some of the finest flowers of the Reach?” She listed their names, and though they spoke with nervous politeness, their awe was evident.

The conversation turned to light matters—fashion, the music, the festivities—your voice calm and measured as you responded with grace. The ladies seemed eager to engage with you, their initial hesitance melting away as the conversation flowed.

Midway through the exchange, however, Lady Redwyne’s attention faltered. You could feel the subtle shift in her tone as she spoke, her words carrying an edge of distraction.

“Forgive me, Princess,” she said with a polite smile, “but it seems the attention of certain lords remains as undivided as ever.”

Though you could not see, you tilted your head slightly, sensing her meaning. “Is that so?” you asked, your tone light with curiosity.

Lady Redwyne laughed softly, though it did little to mask her disapproval. “Indeed. Some men find it difficult to understand the concept of boundaries.”

She said no more, and you did not press her, though you sensed there was more to her words.

Unbeknownst to you, Lady Redwyne had caught the lingering gaze of Jason Lannister, seated across the hall at his family’s table. The Lord of Casterly Rock, for all his earlier rejection, seemed unable to keep his attention from straying toward you. His golden-haired head tilted slightly as he watched your every movement, his expression contemplative but unmistakably admiring.

Lady Redwyne’s sharp eyes narrowed, and she turned to her husband, Lord Redwyne, who stood nearby nursing a goblet of wine. Leaning toward him, she murmured in a tone low enough to escape notice, “Look at that lion, eyeing the princess like she’s a prize to be won. He was spurned by her sister and the King only hours ago, and yet here he sits, shameless as ever.”

Lord Redwyne followed her gaze and frowned. “Ambition rarely yields to rejection,” he replied dryly. “Perhaps he thinks himself clever, pursuing the younger sister after failing with the elder.”

“Clever, indeed,” Lady Redwyne scoffed, her expression sour. “The court will eat him alive if he tries. Mark my words.”

Jason, oblivious to their whispered conversation, leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly on the stem of his goblet. His twin, Tyland, noticed his preoccupation and smirked.

“Still staring, brother?” Tyland asked, his tone laced with amusement. “It’s becoming quite obvious.”

Jason’s eyes flicked toward his brother, his expression unbothered. “She carries herself differently,” he said simply, his gaze drifting back to you.

“Differently than what? Rhaenyra?” Tyland pressed, his grin widening. “Or every other woman in this hall?”

Jason ignored him, his attention returning to you as you continued to converse with the noble ladies. Though you remained unaware of his gaze, your poise and quiet confidence held him spellbound.

Lady Redwyne, meanwhile, shifted her attention back to you, her disapproval of Jason carefully hidden behind a pleasant smile. “Princess, have you had much chance to enjoy the music this evening?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” you replied with a small smile. “Though I find the melodies no less beautiful from afar.”

The conversation moved on, and though the lords and ladies who approached you vied for your attention, Jason’s presence lingered at the edge of your awareness, an unseen but unshakable shadow. You continued to carry yourself with the same calm grace, unaware of the undercurrent of tension that rippled through the hall with each stolen glance from the lion of Casterly Rock.

Jason Lannister leaned forward in his chair, his goblet resting forgotten on the table. His gaze remained fixed on you as you moved through the hall with practiced elegance, your hand lightly resting on Ser Lorent’s arm. He watched as you exchanged pleasantries with the gathered lords and ladies, your soft voice carrying just enough to be heard by those closest to you. There was something in your demeanor—serene, composed—that set you apart from the flurry of vibrant personalities in the room.

“She’s not Rhaenyra, you know,” Tyland said from beside him, his voice teasing but not unkind. “Your new fascination doesn’t carry the same fire. She’s quieter, softer.”

Jason glanced at his younger twin, his expression sharp. “I know that.”

“And yet,” Tyland continued, taking a deliberate sip of his wine, “you’re still staring. Again. Are you planning to approach her, or shall I have the herald announce your intentions so everyone else is clear?”

Jason scowled, his hand tightening around the stem of his goblet. “She’s not like the others.”

“No,” Tyland agreed, tilting his head as he studied you. “She’s not. Which is precisely why the court will tear you apart if you try to get near her. Don’t think the Redwynes didn’t notice your little show of admiration.”

Jason shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes narrowing as Lady Redwyne cast him another sharp glance from across the hall. “Let them whisper,” he muttered. “Their opinions don’t concern me.”

Tyland smirked. “No, but her father’s might. Or have you forgotten how Viserys dismissed you outright this very evening?”

Jason’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The memory of Viserys’s polite but firm rejection still stung, as did Rhaenyra’s cutting words. Yet neither had left him so preoccupied as you did now. There was something about you that drew him in—a quiet magnetism that left him restless and unfocused.

“She’s untouchable, brother,” Tyland said, leaning closer. “The King dotes on her like a treasure, and the court treats her like a mystery. If you think you can simply saunter over and charm her, you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

Jason set his goblet down with a clink, his frustration bubbling just below the surface. “I don’t intend to ‘charm’ her, Tyland.”

“Oh?” Tyland raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Then what, pray tell, is your plan? Stand here brooding all night while she graces every lord and lady with her attention except you?”

Jason exhaled sharply, his hand running through his hair. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts. Tyland’s words stung because they carried truth; approaching you would draw unwanted scrutiny, not only from the court but from your family. And yet the thought of leaving the hall without speaking to you again felt unbearable.

“She noticed me,” Jason said finally, his voice quiet.

Tyland blinked, surprised by the admission. “She did?”

Jason nodded, his gaze drifting back to you. “During the dance. Before I could even speak, she recognized me. Said I had a certain presence and stride that was hard to mistake.”

For once, Tyland was silent, his smirk fading as he regarded his older brother with a rare seriousness. “She said that?”

Jason nodded again, his expression distant. “She sees more than anyone gives her credit for. And she listens.”

Tyland leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative. “Well, that’s something, I suppose. But even so, you’ll have to tread carefully, Jason. A misstep here could cost you more than your pride.”

Jason clenched his fists beneath the table, his frustration mounting. Across the hall, you were speaking with Lady Redwyne and a cluster of noble ladies, your gentle laughter carrying faintly over the din. The sight of you—so poised, so seemingly untouched by the scheming and ambitions of those around you—only deepened his resolve.

“I’ll wait,” Jason said finally, his voice low but firm. “The timing has to be right.”

Tyland tilted his head, his smirk returning. “Patient for once, are we? Miracles truly do happen.”

Jason ignored the barb, his focus entirely on you. His twin was right; you were untouchable, a treasure too closely guarded to be reached by a single bold move. But Jason Lannister was nothing if not persistent, and the thought of you—your voice, your presence—was enough to keep him in the hall long after the festivities had begun to wane.

For now, he remained seated, his gaze never straying far from you as he waited for an opportunity that would not invite the court’s scrutiny—or your father’s ire. Yet deep down, he knew that patience was not his strong suit, and the thought of standing on the sidelines for too long was nearly as unbearable as leaving the hall without speaking to you again.

...

The Great Hall had begun to empty, the energy of the evening ebbing like the tide. Conversations grew quieter, and the clinking of goblets and plates was sporadic now, replaced by the sounds of servants clearing the remnants of the feast. You sat at the high table, your posture still poised, though the weight of the evening had begun to settle into your shoulders. The scent of spilled wine and fading candles lingered in the air, mingling with the faint chill that crept in as the night deepened.

Reaching out, your fingers found the neck of a wine jug resting beside your goblet. Carefully, you tilted it, the soft glug of the liquid filling the cup satisfying in its simplicity. Your hand hovered for a moment, gauging the weight of the vessel, before setting it back down. You brought the cup to your lips, the tart sweetness of Arbor Red warming your senses.

“Your Grace,” Ser Lorent’s steady voice broke the stillness beside you. “Shall I escort you back to your chambers? The celebrations are winding down, and most of the guests have already retired.”

You lowered the cup, considering his words. “Most of them?” you asked softly, your unseeing eyes turning toward him. “And what of my sister? Where is Rhaenyra?”

Ser Lorent hesitated, and though he stood just behind your chair, you could sense the shift in his demeanor. “She is not here,” he said carefully. “The last I saw, she was in the company of Ser Harwin Strong.”

You tilted your head slightly, digesting his words. The name carried weight, a name you’d heard whispered in hallways and murmured over goblets of wine. “Ser Harwin Strong,” you repeated, your tone even. “Of course she is.”

Ser Lorent remained silent, his duty-bound discretion apparent. He would not comment on the implications of your sister’s choices, but you felt no need for him to. Your thoughts had already turned elsewhere.

“She is betrothed to the wrong man,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of quiet conviction.

Ser Lorent didn’t respond, though his stillness spoke volumes. His silence was not one of agreement, but one of loyalty—to you, to your sister, and to the crown.

You took another sip of your wine, the warmth of the drink doing little to ease the unease that settled in your chest. “Laenor Velaryon is a good man,” you continued after a moment, speaking more to yourself than to him. “But the wrong man for her.”

Ser Lorent shifted slightly behind you, his boots scuffing lightly against the stone floor. “It is not for me to say, Princess.”

“No,” you agreed, setting the cup down gently on the table. “It isn’t. But we all see it, don’t we? Everyone whispers of it.”

Ser Lorent remained silent, his expression unreadable.

You sighed, the weight of the evening finally pressing against you. The sounds of the hall faded further as the last of the guests trickled out, and even the servants moved with quiet efficiency, eager to finish their tasks.

“I would like to retire now,” you said softly, turning your head slightly toward him. “The night has been long enough.”

Ser Lorent stepped forward, his arm offered to guide you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

You rose from your seat with practiced grace, your hand resting lightly on his as he led you away from the high table. The cool air of the corridor was a welcome relief from the warmth of the hall, and the soft echo of your steps against the stone floor provided a comforting rhythm.

As the two of you walked, you allowed yourself a moment of quiet reflection. The evening had been full of whispers and glances, of strained smiles and unspoken truths. Your father’s words still lingered in your mind, his wish for you to find joy and companionship weighing heavily on your heart. Yet as the night ended, you couldn’t help but feel that you were still adrift in a sea of courtly games and ambitions that were not your own.

But for now, you pushed those thoughts aside. The sanctuary of your chambers awaited, and with it, the promise of solitude. And in the quiet of that space, perhaps you would find the peace that the court so often denied you.

...

Jason Lannister leaned back in his chair, his green eyes following your every movement as you rose from the high table. Guided by Ser Lorent, you moved with a grace that seemed almost ethereal, your hand lightly resting on the knight’s arm. The faint rustle of your gown and the deliberate click of your boots on the stone floor carried through the now-quiet hall. Jason’s goblet still sat untouched on the table before him, his focus entirely consumed by the sight of you retreating toward the doors.

Lady Leonella Lannister, seated to Jason’s right, noticed the sharpness of her son’s gaze and arched an elegant brow. “Jason,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of admonishment, “you’re staring again.”

Jason tore his eyes away, though he didn’t bother to mask his interest. “Am I?” he replied lightly, though his voice lacked its usual carefree tone.

His mother’s sharp eyes softened with something close to understanding. “You’ve been staring all night,” she said quietly, leaning closer to ensure her words were for him alone. “But staring won’t win you anything in this court.”

Jason didn’t reply immediately, his gaze drifting toward the now-closed doors through which you had disappeared. “I think I’ll stay at the Red Keep a while longer,” he said finally, his tone casual but firm.

Lady Leonella blinked, surprised. “Longer? Why? The festivities have ended.”

At the far end of the table, Tyland, who had been quietly nursing his wine, perked up at his brother’s words. He set his goblet down with a soft clink and leaned forward. “You’re staying?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity and no small amount of suspicion. “Why, may I ask? You’ve never been one to linger when there’s no game left to hunt.”

Jason shot his twin a pointed look. “The Red Keep has its charms,” he said, his tone measured. “And its opportunities.”

Tyland smirked, though his golden eyes narrowed with understanding. “Ah. So it’s not the keep itself that interests you. It’s its inhabitants.”

Lady Leonella sighed, setting her goblet down more forcefully than necessary. “Jason, if this is about the younger princess…”

“And if it is?” Jason interrupted, his voice steady but resolute.

Leonella frowned, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation. “Then you’re walking a dangerous path. You saw how the King dismissed you earlier tonight, not to mention Rhaenyra’s outright rejection. Do you think Viserys will tolerate your attention shifting to his youngest daughter?”

Jason’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I don’t intend to act recklessly, Mother.”

“Recklessly or not,” Tyland interjected with a laugh, “you’re wading into treacherous waters. The court is already buzzing about you—first rejected by one sister, now lingering for another. It won’t go unnoticed.”

Jason turned to his twin, his gaze sharp. “Let them talk. It changes nothing.”

“Does it?” Tyland countered, leaning forward. “The court is a beast that feeds on whispers, Jason. You can’t charm your way out of this one if you’re not careful.”

Lady Leonella sighed, her hand brushing against the stem of her goblet. “You’ve always been stubborn,” she said softly, her tone less cutting now. “But stubbornness will only get you so far when dealing with dragons.”

Jason’s expression softened, though his resolve didn’t waver. “I’ll tread carefully,” he promised. “But I’ve made my decision. I’m staying.”

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “Very well, brother. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when the King or the court decides to turn its attention on you.”

Jason ignored his twin’s teasing, his mind already turning over the possibilities. He knew the risks, and he knew the scrutiny that would come with his decision. But as he watched you leave the hall, your presence lingering in his mind like an unspoken promise, he felt something stir within him—a resolve that even his family’s warnings couldn’t shake.

For now, he would wait. The Red Keep was a place of patience as much as it was ambition, and Jason Lannister was a man who knew how to play the long game.

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Violent Delights

Summary - She finds solace in the blood of Daemon Targaryen, igniting a dangerous, seductive obsession. What begins as a repayment soon becomes a dark dance of hunger, power, and primal desire. Bound by blood and passion, their fates intertwine in a web neither can escape.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x Vampire reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), strong language

Word count - 2321

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

King's Landing was an unforgiving place, even for creatures like me. 

It was a city of secrets and shadows, and tonight I was little more than a wretch crumpled against its cold, unforgiving stone. 

The air was thick and cloying, suffused with the acrid scent of sweat, piss, and desperation. My chest heaved with each breath, each inhale a struggle and every exhale a reminder of my hunger—an insidious, gnawing ache that clawed at the edges of my sanity. 

I tried to push the weakness away, willing myself to think clearly, but every ounce of my being screamed for the sustenance I had been denied for too long. 

I needed sustenance. And I needed it soon.

"Well, well... what do we have here?" A voice, low and edged with dark amusement, pierced through the haze.

A figure crouched before me, his presence commanding and unmistakably dangerous. I lifted my eyes, taking in the cloaked silhouette. Even through my weakened state, I recognized him. 

The silver hair, though half-hidden beneath his hood, glimmered in the dim torchlight. 

And then there were his eyes—piercing violet, like shards of polished amethyst. They assessed me with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

Daemon Targaryen.

"Too much drink, is it?" he drawled, his lips curving into a mocking smile. His words, laced with mockery, cut through the night, but I could sense a glimmer of interest behind his arrogance.

I managed a weak shake of my head, every movement sending a wave of weakness through my limbs. 

"Not enough," I rasped, the words heavy, a desperate plea hidden beneath their weight. 

Each syllable felt like gravel scraping my throat, a reminder of how far I had fallen.

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, I saw something flicker across his face—an emotion too fleeting to name. I could smell his blood, intoxicatingly rich and metallic. 

It sang to me, calling out with a promise of strength and power.

"Help me," I rasped, the plea torn from my throat. His eyes narrowed, but he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to pull me upright. The veins in his arm flexed under his skin, teasing me with every heartbeat. 

So close, yet still so far.

"And what is it you require, stranger?" he asked, his voice a blend of amusement and suspicion, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I caught the faintest scent of his breath—smoky and spiced with wine, the scent of power and indulgence. It only fueled the frenzy building inside me.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to draw in a steadying breath. When I opened them again, they were no longer clouded with weakness. 

Without hesitation, I bared my fangs and sank them into his exposed arm. His blood flooded my senses, a rush of life and fire. 

He gasped, his body tensing as he tried to pull away, but I clung tighter, desperate for every drop of his divine blood. 

The taste was unlike anything I had ever known—powerful, pure, and exhilarating.

It flowed into me with a molten heat, filling every crack, every dark corner, and rekindling the strength I'd almost forgotten.

With newfound strength, I pushed him back, straddling him and tightening my hold. My hunger was raw and insatiable, and I drank deeply, feeling the energy surge through me. 

Each pulse of his blood was a symphony in my veins, a whisper of promises I had long forgotten.

Finally, I pulled away, gasping for breath. My body thrummed with power, the world no longer spinning but sharpened and bright. 

Daemon's eyes were wide with shock, his face pale. He cradled his wounded arm, staring at me as if I were a nightmare made flesh.

"W-what?" he stammered, struggling to form words as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.

I met his gaze with calm intensity, a faint smile playing on my lips. "What, indeed?" I said, letting the words hang in the air. "You didn't strike me as one who scares so easily."

His jaw clenched, and he shifted, never taking his eyes off me. "You misunderstand me," he shot back, his voice hardening. "I don't scare. I want answers."

I moved closer, the flickering torchlight casting shadows on both our faces. 

"Answers you might not be ready to hear." I reached for his arm again, this time not to bite but to touch the wounds left behind.

"That taste—my taste—lingers, Just as yours does for me," I said softly, letting my voice drop to a dangerous whisper.

I stepped back, pulling my cloak around me, concealing the evidence of what had transpired. My lips were still slick with his blood, and I licked them clean, savouring the lingering taste. 

"I will be back to repay the favour one day," I promised, my voice steady now, carrying the weight of a vow.

"H-how? Wait, what?" he demanded, his voice cracking as he tried to push himself upright. But before he could rise, I melted into the darkness, the shadows swallowing me whole. 

I left him there, alone and reeling as if I had never been there at all.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A week passed, each day blurring into the next, yet every second a slow torment of yearning. 

It was time to return the favour—or so I told myself. The truth was far more selfish: I craved the taste of his blood. 

Not just any blood, but the rich, forbidden taste of his royal blood—a sweetness that put all this city's wretched veins to shame.

I entered the Keep as if the shadows themselves parted for me, slipping through corridors that should have been guarded and forbidden. 

Stone walls whispered old secrets, but they kept mine well enough. 

I moved with silent purpose, each step drawing me closer to the chambers of the one who had unwittingly captured my desires.

There, in the dim glow of flickering candlelight, I found him. He looked up from the parchment scroll that occupied his hands, his stormy eyes widening, then narrowing with recognition. 

His grip faltered; the scroll tumbled to the floor, forgotten.

"You," he spat, his voice a dagger, as he surged to his feet.

"Me," I replied, a wicked grin stretching across my lips. I crossed the room with feline grace, settling onto the edge of his bed as though it were a throne. My gaze never wavered from his.

The distance between us seemed vast and yet insignificant, charged with all that had passed and all that might yet come.

"You drank my blood," he said, each word dripping with accusation. He thrust out his arm, baring faint bite marks that had not yet fully healed, their scars a fading testament to our last encounter. "Like some cursed witch."

I tutted softly, crossing one leg over the other, leaning back with an almost bored elegance. 

"Not a witch," I corrected, my voice as smooth as silk. "Vampire, to be precise."

The word hung in the air, heavy with implications and truths he could barely grasp.

He glared suspicion and fear warring with each other in his eyes. "It makes no difference. Why are you here?"

I rose slowly, each movement calculated, predatory. "To repay the favour, of course." 

I closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, my fingers finding his wrist. I traced the lines of his veins with a touch that promised both pain and pleasure. 

He shuddered beneath my fingertips, and I felt the quickening of his pulse.

"And," I leaned in, my breath brushing against his ear, "to savour another taste." I bit gently on his lobe, teasingly, before pulling back just enough to watch the conflict raging within him.

"What kind of repayment is this?" he challenged, though his voice trembled.

"The kind you'll never forget," I whispered, letting my lips linger near his jaw. "You didn't hate it last time."

Daemon's breath was quickening. I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes, but something else lingered there too—something darker, more primal. 

The pull between us was undeniable, even if he was too proud to admit it.

He didn't resist as I led him to the bed, nor did he speak as I guided him down. The disbelief in his eyes was almost endearing—his honour and desire battling for dominance. 

I stripped him slowly, deliberately, savouring the rise and fall of his chest, the tension in his muscles. 

When at last he lay bare before me, I discarded my own cloak, letting it fall to reveal everything he had once dared to want.

"So, you drink blood?" His voice was a thin thread of control, an attempt to anchor himself in reason.

I traced a fingertip along his lips, then down to his throat, feeling the rapid flutter of life just beneath the surface. 

"You make it sound like a sin," I murmured, my voice low and seductive. I pressed my body against his, grinding slow and sensuous, stealing the breath from his lips.

"It feels like a sin," he countered, but the words lacked conviction. 

I smiled, my hips moving with tantalizing precision. He inhaled sharply, surrender written across every line of his body.

"Will you let me repay the favour?" I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair, my nails scraping lightly against his scalp. 

His hands, strong and desperate, gripped my waist, urging me onward.

"Y—yes," he stammered, then found his voice, steadier this time. "Yes." His eyes closed, and I saw him give in, surrendering to this dance of shadows and desire.

I lifted my hips, allowing him to align us, sinking down with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left us both gasping. 

Each movement was a calculated dance of seduction, my body responding to his with an intimacy honed over centuries, each rise and fall a new form of temptation. 

The warmth of his hands on my skin was like fire, igniting every nerve with an electric pulse.

He groaned a sound that made my heart race, and I drank in the noise as deeply as I craved the taste of his blood. 

The raw, primal need in his voice sent a tremor through me, feeding something dark and insatiable within.

"That's it, darling," I coaxed, my voice velvet and dark, each syllable wrapping around him like a chain, pulling him deeper into the web we were creating. 

He met me thrust for thrust, our bodies entwined in a slow-burning fire that felt both ancient and new. 

His hands roamed, desperate to claim, desperate to remember the shape of me—every curve, every sigh, every whisper.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he moaned, his voice thick and ragged, breaking like waves on the shore. 

His hands gripped me desperately, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself to something solid while I moved above him with effortless grace, pushing him closer to the edge. 

I revelled in the rawness of his touch, the way he could never seem to get close enough.

When at last I bared my fangs, his eyes widened in recognition, the flash of vulnerability only adding to the allure. 

But there was no hesitation, no fear. He made no move to stop me, only leaned into the inevitable, as if he had already surrendered himself to the hunger that pulsed between us.

"Let me taste," I purred, my voice thick with the promise of something ancient, something that went beyond desire. 

He tilted his head, his throat exposed to me like an offering, a gesture both submissive and regal. 

In that moment, I owned him, but in his eyes, there was a fire that begged me to take everything.

With a sigh, I sank my fangs into him, and the taste of his blood flooded me, hot and intoxicating—a surge of power and pleasure so potent it made me gasp. 

The sweetness of him, rich with the bitterness of rebellion and the depth of his lineage, took me deeper into a frenzy of need. 

His blood was a drug, and I was helplessly addicted, each swallow a deeper pull into something I knew could consume me entirely.

The strength of him surged through me, and with every thrust, every movement of our bodies, I became wilder, more desperate. 

His blood coursed through my veins, lighting every nerve, every cell on fire. 

I was drunk on him, and the only thing I could focus on was the taste, the heat, the way his pulse pounded under my tongue.

His moans turned ragged, hands clutching, grasping, desperate to pull me closer as if we could become one. 

Our movements grew more urgent, more frenzied, driven by the hunger that neither of us could deny. We were tethered in this moment, bound by flesh, blood, and desire.

"More," he whispered, voice raw and needful, the word a command and a plea. "Take more."

And I obeyed, plunging deeper, drinking deeply from the wellspring of him. The heat of his blood heightened every sensation, every thrust, every movement. 

We were on the precipice of something beyond pleasure, beyond pain—two souls tangled in the ebb and flow of hunger and release.

We reached the peak together, cries of ecstasy tearing from our lips, our bodies shaking with the force of it. 

Time seemed to stand still as the world shattered and reassembled around us, each breath mingling, becoming one. 

His blood, his body, his voice—all of it melded together in a wave of overwhelming pleasure.

Spent and sated, I withdrew, licking away the last traces of his blood, savouring the feeling of him inside me—both physically and in every sense deeper than that. 

I wiped my mouth, the taste of him lingering on my lips, and eased off his body, lying beside him with a quiet satisfaction.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. 

The silence that followed was thick with meaning, the weight of secrets shared and desires fulfilled—of something deeper stirring between us, an unspoken understanding that we were bound in a way neither of us could deny. 

And even though we lay there, satiated for the moment, I knew that this—what we had just shared—would inevitably bring us together once more.

A/n - I finished writing 'Blood of the Night' for Aegon and had to write this 🤭

[spicy30]

Modernness of 1400s 008

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

(Repost with extra things added at the end)

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+ (Smut towards the end)

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin @justablondeeee @feyresqueen @yduimobsessed @pinkluv29 @xmenteria @itwaszzmoon

WC: 13.7k

You smiled faintly as you sat on the bed sipping your lemon tea, watching Jacaerys read the paper in his hands. But the smile quickly faded as his expression darkened, his displeasure palpable.

“You would dare insinuate such a thing about me?” His voice was sharp, laced with anger.

Well, it made sense. No one liked being called a bastard or having uncomfortable truths thrust in their face.

“Your tongue could be cut off for this if anyone were to see it,” he said, crumpling the paper in his fist. His glare cut through you like a blade. “Daemon cut off the head of the last man who dared speak this of my siblings and I.”

You held out your hand, silently asking for the paper back, but he ignored your gesture. Instead, he turned and tossed it into the fire. You sighed, leaning back on the bed, watching the parchment curl and blacken as the flames consumed it.

“I am no bastard,” Jacaerys declared, his voice heavy with conviction. “I will be King of Seven Kingdoms one day.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

You sighed as the door slammed shut behind Jacaerys, his anger reverberating through the walls like an echo of a storm. You’d expected resistance, perhaps some pushback—but not this. He wasn’t just upset; he was wounded, his pride cut to the quick by what he’d read.

“Well, that went well,” you muttered under your breath, glancing at the fire where the crumpled paper now curled and blackened in the flames.

You hadn’t meant to offend him, but it was clear your words had struck too close to home. Perhaps you’d miscalculated, underestimated how deeply the whispers of bastardy weighed on him. You had hoped to appeal to his pragmatic side—to make him see the value in your endeavor, in the power of investing in the commons. Instead, you’d touched a nerve, and now your plans to roll into making headlines were as ashes as the paper he had burned.

Lying back on the bed, you stared at the ceiling, frustration bubbling under your skin. This was a crucial step to it all. Not only would this plan elevate your standing but his as well and after a while once you’ve made enough money from your Miswak business then you’d release the first newspaper. The idea of starting a newspaper had seemed brilliant—a way to not only disseminate knowledge but to secure your own position, perhaps even sway public opinion. But without the proper momentum, it was little more than a pipe dream.

You frowned, replaying the conversation in your mind. Jacaerys’ reaction wasn’t just anger—it was fear. Fear of losing legitimacy, of being reduced to the whispers that haunted his lineage. Perhaps there was another way to approach him, a way to channel that fear into something productive.

Or maybe you needed to reconsider your approach entirely.

With a groan, you sat up and reached for another scrap of parchment. If one plan had burned to ashes, you’d simply write another.

As you dipped the quill into the ink, your mind raced, crafting a new strategy to salvage your ambitions. You would make this happen, whether Jacaerys liked it or not. You had the power to not only dispel the whispers of his supposed bastardy but to elevate him in the eyes of the public. All he needed to do was play the part—charity work, good deeds, the sort of gestures that swayed hearts and silenced doubts. It wasn’t as if you had outright called him a bastard. You had merely hinted at the fact that many questioned his parentage.

The quill hovered over the blank parchment as hesitation crept in. Perhaps appealing to his pride had been the wrong approach. Jacaerys carried the weight of his mother’s legacy and the crown’s fragile legitimacy on his shoulders. Reminding him of those vulnerabilities had backfired spectacularly. 

You leaned back, sighing softly. Rhaenyra was far beyond your reach—her image, tarnished as it was in the eyes of many, would take years to repair. Years you weren’t sure you had. But Jacaerys? With him, there was time. 

Your connection with Jacaerys, tenuous yet genuine, was the strongest bond you had in this foreign and unforgiving world. By chance—or perhaps fate—he was the only one who truly knew where you had come from. That trust, fragile as it was, couldn’t be squandered. Not if he was destined to sit the Iron Throne.

You sighed again, setting the quill down without writing a single word. Instead, you rubbed your temples, trying to soothe the tension that had built there. Every idea, every alliance, felt like a gamble with stakes higher than you’d ever faced. But that was the game, wasn’t it? Survival, ambition, power—they demanded risks, demanded precision.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

“Enter,” you called, your voice steady despite the weariness that weighed on you.

The door creaked open, revealing a servant carrying a tray with a small meal and a goblet of wine.

“Prince Aemond sends his regards,” the servant announced, setting the tray down on the table. “He hopes you will be well enough to join him in Aegon’s Garden later this evening.”

You blinked, surprised by the invitation. You hadn’t seen Aemond since waking—what had it been? An hour ago? Maybe more. Time blurred when you were preoccupied with conserving energy and dealing with Jacaerys.

“Thank you,” you replied, glancing at the tray but feeling no appetite. “You may take the meal. I’m not hungry. Bring me a bowl instead, and the drink I requested earlier—with mint leaves, please.”

The servant hesitated for a moment, bowing before gathering the untouched tray.

As the door closed behind them, you stared at the flickering flames of the hearth. Aemond’s invitation hung in your mind. Why now? Was he scheming, as he so often did, or was this genuine concern? With Aemond, it was always hard to tell. But whatever his motive, you couldn’t afford to ignore the opportunity. Every move counted, and every player in this game could be a piece—or a threat.

You looked over to the deep purple dress draped neatly over a chair for when you felt well enough to wear it.

A gift from Dragon Stone or that's what Jacaerys said anyways when he gave it to you. 

You looked down, relishing the freshness you felt. You had been bathed in warm water, changed out of your nightgown into a fresh one, and now sat on the bed.

Yet, despite all this, it would not make up for the fact that your toothpaste and your toothbrush were still in King’s Landing. It was fine—you made do by swirling wine in your mouth as a makeshift rinse and chewing on mint leaves for freshness. For hydration, you had your electrolyte drink, but for now, the warm lemon tea in your hands was enough, its soothing tang chasing away the bitter taste lingering on your tongue.

You were feeling better. The weakness in your legs persisted, but other than that, you were fine—or close to it. Still, the bed felt uncomfortable beneath you. Your leg bounced restlessly, as though your body rebelled against stillness. There was a gnawing pressure on your chest, a nagging sense that you should be doing something. It felt akin to the dread of an overdue assignment or the guilt of idleness in the face of obligation. Simply lying there felt... wrong.

With a sigh, you picked up the quill again, determined to turn this restless energy into something productive. But before the tip could touch parchment, the door creaked open. Instinctively, you set the quill down as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. (Which, in all fairness, you had.)

It was the maid from before, carrying your requested items. You thanked her, dismissing her with a polite nod. Once the door clicked shut behind her, you set the quill and parchment aside, rising from the bed to stretch. Your legs protested slightly, sore but functional. Testing your balance, you took a few tentative steps before making your way to the table.

Grasping the wine goblet, you took a mouthful, swishing it around before spitting it into the bowl the maid had brought. The sharp tang of the wine lingered briefly before you repeated the process once more. Satisfied, you set the goblet down and reached for the one containing your electrolyte drink. The sweet, salty flavor slid down your throat, a welcome balm to your fatigue.

Once finished, you returned to the wine goblet, repeating your makeshift cleansing ritual until the vessel was empty. Finally, you sank back into the bed, cradling your warm lemon tea. Its soothing warmth eased the last remnants of discomfort as you chewed on the mint leaves, savoring their cool freshness.

You tested your voice, speaking softly to gauge its steadiness. It came out rough, but you felt refreshed enough. It would have to do. Your gaze shifted to the dress hanging on the chair, and you weighed your options—stay here in your room, feigning rest, or muster the strength to get moving again.

The decision wasn’t an easy one. Staying in bed meant avoiding any further strain on your still-recovering body, but it also meant stagnation—and you hated feeling idle. On the other hand, getting up and dressed meant facing the world, the people, and their expectations, all of which felt daunting in your current state.

You let out a small sigh, running your fingers through your hair. The pressure on your chest hadn’t lifted. If anything, it intensified with the thought of staying put. You didn’t have the luxury of time or inaction. You had plans to set in motion, alliances to strengthen, and a reputation to build.

Your hand lingered on the fabric of the purple dress as you finally stood, testing the weight of your legs beneath you. They trembled slightly, but held steady enough. “One step at a time,” you muttered to yourself, pulling the dress off the chair.

The rich fabric felt heavy in your hands, but it's regal hue gave you a small sense of determination. Dressing wasn’t quick—your movements were sluggish, and your limbs protested with every stretch and pull—but eventually, you managed to fasten the last clasp. You glanced at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale, but presentable. That would have to suffice.

You walked to the door, resting your hand on the handle. For a moment, you hesitated. Would they see through you, sense your exhaustion beneath the polished exterior? Shaking the thought away, you straightened your spine. Let them. You would have to endure worse than this.

Pulling the door open, you stepped into the corridor. The faint sound of activity echoed through the halls, servants bustling about their duties. You paused for a moment, deciding your destination. Aegon’s Garden, as per Aemond’s invitation? Or perhaps you could seek out Jacaerys again, try a softer approach this time?

Your steps carried you forward before you’d fully decided, the chill of the stone floor beneath your feet grounding you as you made your way.

As you moved through the corridors, you noticed the occasional servant pause to glance your way. Their eyes darted toward your dress, your hair, the faint pallor in your cheeks. You met their gazes with a calm, steady expression, your head held high despite the weight pressing on your chest. You couldn’t afford to look weak, even if every step felt heavier than the last.

By the time you reached the courtyard that led to Aegon’s Garden, the chill of the air nipped at your skin. You hesitated, clutching the edge of your dress as a gust of wind teased at the fabric. The garden lay ahead, its labyrinthine pathways lined with flowers and in the center of it all an obelisk. You lifted a brow looking at it before humming and walking the path. Aemond’s figure was unmistakable, standing near a stone bench with his hands clasped behind his back. He was waiting for you.

You took a deep breath, straightening your posture as you approached. The sound of your footsteps on the stone path drew his attention, and he turned, his single eye sharp and calculating as it swept over you. He said nothing at first, his gaze lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle.

“You look better,” Aemond finally said, his tone neutral, though there was a faint trace of amusement in his voice. “I wasn’t sure if you’d show.”

The wind nipped at your skin, making you shiver as you crossed your arms. "Yeah, me neither," you muttered, shaking your head. "You didn’t think to meet somewhere inside?”

“I like the wind,” Aemond replied, his tone laced with a small jest. His lips twitched as if holding back a smirk. You rolled your eyes and sat down on the cold stone bench, wincing slightly as the chill seeped through your dress.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment. You let your gaze wander across the garden, there were large columns all around and grand statues of Dragons. It looked so familiar yet so different. You couldn’t place it but you swear you had seen something like this before. 

“I saw my nephew leaving your room,” Aemond said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was calm, measured. “He looked… irate.”

You turned to him, your mind scrambling for a response. What could you say that wouldn’t give too much away? After a brief pause, you shrugged. “A petty argument.”

That was technically true. Of course, the matter had been far more than petty, but Aemond didn’t need to know the intricacies of your interactions with Jacaerys.

“About?” he pressed, his curiosity sharp, probing.

You tilted your head, giving him a side-eye. “Curious, are we? You know, curiosity killed the cat.”

Aemond’s brow arched slightly, and he gave a faint scoff. “Your sayings need refinement if you ever intend to pass yourself off as a scholar.”

“Oh, alright then,” you retorted with mock indignation, turning your body to face him fully, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “How about this one: ‘To be or not to be, that is the question.’” Nothing like a good bit of Shakespeare, even if he wasn’t considered a philosopher.

Aemond coughed, but you weren’t fooled. The cough was covering a laugh, and you couldn’t help but grin at his reaction.

“No? It doesn’t work?” you teased, leaning forward just slightly.

He met your gaze, one brow raised in that familiar, almost condescending way of his. “It’s not the worst,” he admitted, though his tone was begrudging.

You laughed softly, the sound light and unguarded. “Well, then. Best to write it down before it’s lost to time. I’ll even autograph it for you. That way, when I’m hailed as the greatest scholar this world has ever seen, you can boast to your future children that you have an original work of mine.”

Aemond’s lips twitched again, this time leaning closer to a smile. “Ambitious, aren’t we?”

“Always,” you quipped, lifting your chin slightly. “But then, isn’t ambition what makes life interesting?”

Aemond’s eye gleamed with something unreadable, a mixture of intrigue and quiet approval. “I thought you said danger made life interesting, which is it?”

You turned away from him tapping your lip. “Both.” He breathed out a small laugh. 

Once more, a quiet silence settled over you both, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. You glanced at Aemond, only to find him lost in thought, his eye fixed on the distance.

Suddenly, a daunting realization struck you, and your eyes widened in horror. “Oh my goodness!” you gasped, covering your mouth with your hand.

Aemond turned his attention to you, a faint crease forming between his brows. “What is it?” he asked, his tone cautious but curious.

You let your hand drop, shaking your head as a disbelieving smile tugged at your lips. “You know what I just remembered?”

He hummed lightly, a sign he was listening, though he gave no indication of guessing.

As if this day couldn’t get any worse. You let out a short, humorless laugh before looking at him. “Your mother is supposed to take me to the Sept today to meet a septon.”

Aemond tilted his head slightly, an amused glint in his eye. “Has my mother roped you into the Faith? I must admit, I did not take you for one to be swayed so easily.”

“This… this is just perfect.” You threw your hands up in mock celebration, the gesture stiff and exasperated. “Mistake after mistake. God, what is she going to think of me? She already turned her shoulder to me when those rumors went around.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound low and dry as he leaned back on the bench, resting one arm along the backrest. “They’re not rumors if it really happened,” he said, his tone laced with mild amusement.

Your jaw dropped, and you turned toward him, pointing an accusatory finger. “Excuse me? That is not the point here! And in any case you’re not helping. Goodness gracious, what is she going to think when I arrive back at King's Landing with the very son she thinks I slept with!?”

“We did.” Aemond offered no help. 

“Stop!” You stood abruptly, brushing past Aemond. Your cheeks burned, but you ignored the heat, pushing it down as best you could.

“To King’s Landing, then?” you asked, turning to face him with a composed expression. “If you would be so kind.” 

Aemond gave a small nod and rose to join you. The two of you walked through the halls of Dragonstone, the air heavy with the scent of stone and sea. The architecture here was starkly different from that of the Red Keep. It captivated you—the use of arches, intricate and advanced, drew your attention most. While the Red Keep was impressive, Dragonstone’s arches were a feat of engineering you hadn’t seen before.

Columns stood tall, carved into the forms of dragons and other mythical beings. Every corner seemed alive with artistic expression: mosaics depicting Valyrian legends, frescoes painted in rich hues, and relief carvings that told stories you could only guess at.

“Who made this place?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence as your gaze swept over the intricate designs.

“It was a Valyrian stronghold long before House Targaryen settled here,” Aemond replied evenly, his eyes following yours. “It has stood for centuries. The name of its creator has been lost to time.”

You hummed thoughtfully, running your fingers lightly over the edge of a carved column. “I see. That explains it.”

Aemond glanced at you, curiosity flickering in his expression. “Explain what?”

“I’ve never seen architecture like this in King’s Landing,” you said, your voice tinged with admiration. “The Red Keep has its carvings, sure, but nothing close to this scale or intricacy. It reminds me of…” You trailed off, your mind reaching for the right words.

Roman architecture came to mind—grandeur mixed with purpose. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

As you turned a corner, your gaze caught on a large sphinx adorning the entrance to what could only be the Great Hall. Its imposing presence made you stop in your tracks.

“The Gift of the Nile…” you murmured to yourself, a small smile tugging at your lips before you turned to Aemond. “Can we go to Old Valyria?”

He lifted a brow, clearly surprised by your request.

“I’d like to see more architecture like this,” you explained, gesturing to the intricate carvings. “And maybe—just maybe—they had advanced systems, like waterworks, that could help me…” You stopped yourself, not wanting to sound too eager.

Aemond’s response was immediate. “No.”

Your face fell. “Oh. Why not?”

“It’s forbidden,” he said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Why?”

“The death of Princess Aerea Targaryen,” he replied.

“Who’s that?” you asked, genuinely intrigued.

Aemond stopped walking, his expression darkening slightly as he considered his next words. “Aerea was a Targaryen princess who claimed Balerion the Black Dread and flew to Old Valyria. When she returned, she was…” He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “She brought something back with her. Something that killed her in the most gruesome way imaginable.”

You frowned, your mind racing with questions. “What did she bring back?”

“No one knows for certain,” Aemond said, his tone sharper now. “But whatever it was, it was enough to deem Old Valyria cursed. No one who ventures there returns and by law, anyone who attempts will be executed.”

You bit your lip, looking back at the sphinx and the grandeur around you. If Old Valyria held answers, it was clear those answers would remain just out of reach.

Afterwards you walked in silence with him. It was a shame they didn’t build a water system inside Dragon Stone, but then you’d suppose you wouldn't have to create one. You tried not to feel too dejected, but it was a shame. What a marvel it would be to see the place or origins for Dragons and the place with this kind of architecture.

As both you and Aemond walked a door opened and out came the younger brother…Lu—something. You were horrible with names, and then an even younger brother followed. This one is unfamiliar to you. 

“Nephews.” Aemond greeted curtly. It was clear he did not hold fond feelings for them, if the first night you saw them together wasn’t enough to confirm then this sure is. Aemond did not hold back the crude look in his eye, not even for the little one. 

“Uncle.” The oldest one responded, holding his little brother behind him. 

If it wasn’t for the situation you’d be smiling at the act. How cute. 

“My Lady.” The older brother nodded in your direction and you smiled back. 

“My Prince?” Was that the proper title to use?

“Lucerys.” He quickly added. 

“No I knew that, I was just wondering if that’s the proper title.” Had to make a quick save. It was rude to not remember people. You smiled and looked down at the little boy. “And who is this?” You bent down to his level looking at him. 

He—no Lucerys— gave a flat smile. “My younger brother Joffrey.”

You looked towards Joffrey. “How cute. Hello.” 

The young boy only gave you a look before looking up towards his big brother. You breathed out a smile before standing up straight once more.  

“I presume you leave back to King’s Landing?” Lucerys questioned you and your eyes looked back towards him. You’d call him preceptive but it doesn’t take a genius to know you and Aemond were leaving. 

You nodded. “Yes, thank you for the hospitality and the dress. It was very kind of you.” 

“T’was the courtesy of my older brother. DragonStone welcomes you.” Lucerys responded. It was very diplomatic in the way he spoke. It was strange seeing a boy of his age speak so formally. You felt as if your own vocabulary wasn’t enough. 

“Oh, yes, Prince Jacaerys. He is very kind. Where is he, may I ask? I’d like to bid him a farewell before I leave. It will be quite some time before I see him or you again.” If things went the way you predicted, you wouldn’t see them until Rhaenrya’s coronation, which you hoped was a ways away.

“He is in the middle of a lesson with our Maester.” A shame. You needed to apologize but if you pressed you were sure to lift some brows. In any case you needed to return to King’s Landing. A nervous feeling settled in your stomach imagining Alicent’s reaction.   

“I see. Well please give him my regards and many thanks for the dress.” You nodded and left with Aemond. The walk down the stairs was silent like most of your moments with Aemond. You looked out to the sea and relished the breeze even if it did chill you. Realistically this would be the last time you’d be on Dragonstone. God you wanted to live here, even if you did get sick here. The fresh air was worth it.

After another thirty minutes of you trying to get onto Vhagar both you and Aemond were flying back to King’s Landing. The ride was silent. You felt awkward just sitting there hanging onto him. 

“Tell me how you claimed Vhagar?” If there was one thing all men loved, it was to talk about themselves. Aemond seemed particularly prideful about his house and of course his dragon. Though what you really wanted to ask was what happened to his eye, but of course because you were raised with manners you didn’t ask.

You felt him inhale deeply before exhaling. “I was ten. I went to the funeral of my aunt Laena.” You pursed your lips. Now where had you heard that name? Goodness, you really needed to start trying to learn people’s names. 

“Aegon and my nephews made jests about how I did not have a dragon. They went as far as to find a pig and give it wings.” You exhaled slowly trying not to laugh. When pigs fly is a common saying. They basically told him he'll get a dragon when pigs fly. That was funny. Though you supposed it evened out. Aemond now rides the largest dragon. “When my aunt passed I took the opportunity and claimed her. I flew her that night and nearly fell off.” You looked towards the side imagining flying a dragon by yourself. 

No way. You would definitely fall off. 

“My cousins, Baela and Rhaena felt robbed. Rhaena to date still has no dragon and wanted to claim her mother’s dragon.” Oh. It was in the conversation you had with Jacaerys. Laena was their mother. You lifted a brow, not that he could see it, but essentially he stole an heirloom. 

If that happened to you, you’d fight with him. Not even a full year of your mother passing and you stole my dragon!? Yeah, you’re just asking for a beating.

“I fought off my cousins and nephews. I lost my eye that night.” Woah! Two for one. The tale of how he claimed Vhagar and how he lost his eye. Nice. “Lucerys cut me across my face and now I lack an eye.” 

Well now it made sense. His curtness towards Lucerys and the little one…Joffrey? Well in all honesty you would’ve done the same. Maybe not cut out the man’s eye, but definitely would’ve given him a good beating.

“All because you claimed Vhagar?” Somewhat justified in your eyes, but right now in the air, you need to cater to this man as much as possible. You had no idea what he was thinking half the time. 

Aemond nodded and you hummed. 

“Would you have done it?” He questioned and thought about it.

“Truthfully?” Aemond nodded and you looked off to the white fluffy clouds. “Yeah. I probably wouldn’t have taken your eye, that was excessive, but you would’ve had your arse handed to you, because what do you mean you stole my mother’s dragon? I would've been mad as hell.” You shrugged, hugging him tighter as Vhagar shifted. 

“A dragon chooses their rider. Vhagar chose me.” You felt Aemond tense under you. Clearly this was something that still affected him today.

“Well yeah, but I mean, the week of the funeral. Way harsh, no?” You looked over his shoulder to look at him, occasionally closing your eyes as his hair blew into them.  

“I saw an opportunity and I took it.” Aemond looked over before looking forward again.  

“Well you can’t argue with that I guess.” He did have a point. You suppose if you were desperate enough to prove yourself, you’d take any opportunity you’d have.

As King's Landing came into full view, you leaned forward with a hopeful glance at Aemond.

“Can you drop me off directly at the Keep? I’d really rather not go through the streets.”

“No.”

“Wha-!?” You gawked at him, incredulous. “What if I catch some horrible disease and die? That’d be my blood on your hands!”

“How tragic,” he replied dryly, not even sparing you a glance.

You huffed, and leaned to look at him over his shoulder. “Fine. Then can you at least take the blame for this? The queen might actually call for my head.”

“No.”

You gave a sigh of frustration. “You’re insufferable.” Your grip around his waist loosened. “What if just kill myself right now? Drop me off Vhagar.” 

Aemond’s head snapped toward you, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “Because I refused to fly you straight to the Red Keep and shield you from my mother’s wrath when it was you who got sick, begged me to take you to Dragonstone, and then decided to swim in the sea, catching a fever and prolonging our stay?”

“Yes,” you replied simply, fighting back a grin as you teasingly loosened your hold, feigning a dramatic gesture of letting go.

Aemond sighed, his eyes narrowing in a mix of annoyance and begrudging amusement. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, unable to hide the victorious smile that spread across your face.

Vhagar landed gracefully atop Aegon’s Hill, her massive claws gripping the stone with practiced ease. You slid off her saddle and onto the top wall of the Red Keep, your boots meeting the solid surface with a soft thud. The wind tugged at your hair and clothes, and you took a moment to steady yourself, glancing down at the sprawling city below.

“Grateful yet?” Aemond asked as he dismounted, his tone tinged with dry humor.

“Ecstatic,” you replied sarcastically, brushing nonexistent dust off your sleeves as you turned toward him. “Though I’m fairly certain your mother will find a reason to scold me for arriving this way.”

Aemond smirked, unbothered. “If my mother knew half the things you’d done recently, she’d have more than just scolding in mind.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your cloak. “Well, we’d better not keep her waiting. Lead the way, oh noble escort.”

Aemond arched a brow but said nothing, motioning for you to follow as he began descending the narrow stone staircase leading into the Keep.

The hallways inside the Red Keep were a stark contrast to the airy heights you’d just left. Shadows danced along the walls, illuminated by the flickering glow of torches. Servants scurried past, casting curious glances in your direction but keeping their heads low.

“You’d think by now they’d be used to seeing me, it's been like two months, near three,” you murmured, catching a maid’s startled gaze before she quickly looked away.

“They’re not accustomed to guests who arrive atop dragons and make a habit of disrupting court life,” Aemond quipped, his steps steady and purposeful.

You shot him a sidelong glance but chose not to respond, instead focusing on the task ahead. The weight of your pending audience with the Queen sat heavily in your chest, and you couldn’t shake the nagging worry about what awaited you.

As you approached the familiar double doors of the Queen’s private chambers, you paused, looking at Aemond. “Should I start with an apology or wait until she accuses me of something first?”

“Start with silence,” Aemond replied with a smirk, stepping forward to knock on the door. “That is what Aegon does.” 

“I’m not Aegon. That's her son, and I don’t go around screwing anyone I see or from what I’ve heard.” You looked up towards Aemond who had a knowing look and a raised brow. “Okay it was one time and, by technicality, there was no ‘screwing’” You put air quotation marks around screwing. Did he know what those meant?

“My mother will not see it as such and neither will the Seven.” There was a mocking undertone and your top lip lifted in slight annoyance and disgust. 

“Thanks for the reminder, Your Grace,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll be sure to add it to the list of things I’ll repent for in my nonexistent confession to the Seven.”

Aemond’s lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or exasperation, you couldn’t tell. “You could try feigning humility. It might soften her glare.”

You folded your arms, leaning against the cool stone wall. “Humility doesn’t suit me. It does not befit the greatest scholar that ever was and ever will be.”

Before Aemond could respond, the door creaked open, revealing Ser Criston Cole standing guard just inside. His sharp gaze swept over you and then to Aemond before he gave a slight nod. “The Queen had looked for you for some time My Lady” 

Ser Criston always looked at you as if he had some problem with you. Well if you had to take an oath of celibacy, you’d think you’d be a little grumpy too. Sex depravity is a horrid thing, especially once you’ve had it. You looked over Ser Criston with a small smile. A good looking man. No way he was a virgin. He had to miss the action. Probably the reason he was such a stick in the mud.

“Her grace is in her chambers. I’m sure she will be pleased to see you.” He spoke but it was clear his attention was on your companion. 

“Lovely,” you muttered under your breath, straightening up and smoothing down your cloak as Aemond motioned for you to enter first.

Inside, Queen Alicent sat near a roaring fire, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her expression was calm but guarded, the same look she always wore when addressing someone she didn’t entirely trust—or perhaps someone who constantly tested her patience.

“Your Grace,” you greeted with a small curtsy, inwardly cringing at how stiff it felt.

Alicent’s eyes flicked to Aemond briefly before settling on you. “You’ve been absent for some time,” she began, her tone measured. “I trust you have an explanation.”

You opened your mouth, but Aemond cut in smoothly, stepping to your side. “It was my doing, Mother. I took her to Dragonstone.”

Oh thank god.

Alicent’s brow arched ever so slightly as she looked between the two of you. “To Dragonstone? For what purpose?”

“Rest and recovery,” Aemond replied. “She fell ill during her stay and required quieter surroundings.”

You glanced at him, thanking him ten times over in your head. Alicent’s expression softened just enough to make you think she might buy it—or at least not press further.

“And are you well now?” Alicent asked, turning her focus back to you.

“Yes, Your Grace,” you replied swiftly, forcing a polite smile as you suppressed the nerves bubbling under your skin.

A tense silence hung in the room as Alicent gestured to the chairs by the fire. “Sit. We have much to discuss.” Her eyes shifted momentarily toward Aemond, her meaning clear. “Aemond, you may go now.”

You glanced at him, searching his face for any sign of resistance. Instead, Aemond offered a subtle sigh, his lips pressing into a thin line before he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. The heavy thud of the door closing behind him seemed to echo in your chest.

As you took a seat by the fire, Alicent’s unwavering gaze pinned you in place. Her expression was stern, her composure sharp as a blade. Whatever this was about, it was clear you were in for more than a casual conversation.

“Your Grace,” you began, hoping your voice didn’t betray the apprehension building inside you.

“The results,” Alicent interrupted, her tone curt. “I want them. I have extended your time nearly double what was promised.”

The weight of her demand pressed on you like a stone, and despite yourself, you flinched slightly under her intense gaze. Your heart pounded as the tension in the room thickened.

“Of course,” you managed, your voice steady enough to sound convincing. “I finished them before I fell ill. Shall I fetch them?”

Alicent’s lips thinned, her expression a mixture of patience and scrutiny. “Yes. And make it swift. I will not wait any longer.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” you murmured, standing from your seat with a small bow. You moved toward the door with measured steps, conscious of Alicent’s sharp eyes following your every movement.

As soon as you stepped out and the door clicked shut behind you, you allowed yourself a small, shaky breath while you placed your hand over your chest feeling your heartbeat. The tension in the room had been stifling, and you felt as though you’d been holding your breath the entire time.

“I’m gonna have a heart attack.” You murmured to yourself. From the corner of your eye you saw Ser Criston Cole. He was looking at you from the corner of his eye. You stood up straight and for a brief and awkward moment you were both left there looking at each other, before you cleared your throat and excused yourself.

Your mind raced as you walked down the hall, your footsteps echoing faintly against the stone floors. The results. They were complete, yes, but presenting them to Alicent meant more than just handing over neatly written lines on parchment. The stakes were higher than ever. If anyone found out you lied on those reports, it was your head.

Of course there was also the possibility that she wouldn’t like what you had to say and it would be your head either way. 

Oh god. You were going to die. Not even King Viserys would save you, even if you were keeping him alive, if he found out you were testing the validity of his grandchildren, he would probably have you burned alive or something. 

Worse! What if he sentenced you to one of those horrible medieval torture decvices you’ve heard so much about. Death by boiling would be crazy.

Not to mention Alicent already wasn’t happy. She had extended your time, yes, but it was not an act of kindness—it was a test of patience. A queen’s patience was not something to trifle with, and you knew you were on thin ice.

You felt like crying, you were so scared. You had so much to live for! You can’t die! 

You reached your chambers, your heart still thudding with a mix of anxiety and determination. As you entered, your eyes immediately found the bundle of parchment resting on your desk. The hours you’d poured into writing and revising the report played through your mind like a film reel. Every decision you’d made—every word choice, every phrasing—suddenly felt like it could make or break you.

Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up the papers, your thoughts spiraling. What if she found you were lying? What if she dismissed your work entirely, calling it unfit or, worse, a waste of her time?

No. You shook your head, taking a steadying breath. This wasn’t the time for self-doubt. You had poured everything into this, and you knew the work was good. It had to be.

You straightened the papers, smoothing them with the flat of your hand before pressing them to your chest. As you turned back toward the door, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your reflection looked pale, tired, but resolute.

With a final deep breath, you stepped back into the hall and began the walk to the queen’s chamber. This time, your steps were steadier, your grip on the papers firm. You were scared, so damn scared because this could actually be your last day here, or anywhere! However, you knew this was necessary. You cannot be the best there ever was if you take no risks. If this was a test, you would meet it head-on. You had no other choice.

As you reached the door and suddenly you froze. You clasped your hands and looked up. “Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please. Please let me come out of this alive.” You shut your eyes trying to pray harder. “If I’m still alive by the time this is over, I swear anything I ever accomplish will be in the name of humanity…” You paused thinking. “And not just for myself.” 

You opened your eyes exhaling before you looked over to see Ser Criston Cole giving you a very judgmental look. You gave a half-hearted smile like she didn’t just witness you begging for your life to be spared. Finally summoning all your courage you knocked on the door and put on a soft smile. A sense of resolve settled over you. Whatever awaited you inside, you would face it with as much poise as you could muster. When Alicent’s voice called for you to enter, you pushed the door open, papers in hand, and met her gaze with a calm, composed expression.

Suddenly you felt dread come over you as Otto turned to face you. You bowed begging in your head. “Lord hand.” 

Otto’s sharp eyes scrutinized you like a hawk appraising its prey. You stood there, trying not to wilt under the weight of his presence, your fingers tightening slightly around the parchments as if they were a lifeline.

“Lady—” he paused, clearly searching for your name, or perhaps choosing not to use it, “I trust the results you carry are worth the extended time granted by Her Grace.”

“Of course, Lord Hand,” you replied, keeping your voice steady despite the rising dread clawing at your chest. “I assure you, the work has been thorough.”

Alicent, seated gracefully by the fire, gestured toward the chairs. “Sit,” she commanded.

You hesitated only a moment before obeying, lowering yourself carefully into the seat. Otto remained standing, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the room, while Alicent’s measured gaze never left your face.

“I hope you understand,” Alicent began, her tone cool but laced with an edge, “that this task was not a mere courtesy. The truth, no matter how unpleasant, is paramount.”

You nodded quickly. “Yes, Your Grace. I understand completely.”

Otto stepped closer, his boots echoing ominously against the stone floor. “Then let us waste no more time. Present your findings.”

Your hands trembled ever so slightly as you extended the parchments, and you cursed yourself for showing even a flicker of weakness. Alicent took them without a word, her expression inscrutable as she began to read.

The silence that followed was excruciating. You fought to keep your breathing even, your mind racing through every possible scenario. Would Alicent be relieved? Angry? Would Otto see through the careful lies woven into your report and call you out on them?

Your thoughts spiraled further into paranoia. What if they both knew? What if this entire meeting was a trap, and guards were waiting just outside the door for Otto’s command to drag you to the dungeons?

Had you not been fearing for your life, you might have noticed the confusion flickering across Alicent and Otto’s faces. Had you been calmer, you might have realized they had little choice but to accept your results. Had you been thinking clearly, you would have understood that the greatest danger was simply that they might not like your findings—something you already suspected.

“Explain your findings thoroughly,” Otto demanded, his voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

Your mind stuttered to a halt. “I’m sorry?”

“Explain,” he repeated, his tone cool and precise, “how exactly you arrived at this conclusion. Elaborate on your methodology and the mechanics of the equation you used to ensure the accuracy of your results.”

“Oh, right. Well…” Your mind scrambled for composure, and you began to speak quickly, the words spilling out as if sheer volume could mask your nerves. “A Punnett square operates as a combinatorial matrix designed to elucidate the probabilistic genotypic and phenotypic outcomes of sexual reproduction by modeling the allelic interplay of parental gametes. This construct, named after the eminent geneticist Reginald Punnett, serves as a heuristic device for demystifying the stochastic distribution of hereditary units, otherwise known as alleles.”

You barely paused for breath before diving deeper. “This, of course, extends from Gregor Mendel’s foundational principles of inheritance. Mendelian genetics provides the framework by which—”

“Enough.” Otto’s interruption was calm but firm, and you instantly snapped your mouth shut, cheeks burning as you realized you had started rambling.

Alicent’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could feel the weight of her scrutiny. “You are confident in these results?” she asked quietly, but there was an edge to her tone that made your stomach twist.

“Yes, Your Grace,” you replied, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “The methodology is sound, and I am certain of the outcome.”

You hoped they wouldn’t notice how tightly you clutched the edges of the parchment or how your knuckles had turned white. You had no choice but to double down and hope for the best.

Both Alicent and Otto looked towards each other, a thousand words exchanged between the both of them in a single look. “The Citadel hosts the best scholars in Westeros. I’d like to have your work transferred. This of course could be a grand opportunity for you. No other woman has been granted such a thing. A word from the Hand and Queen and of course from the head of House Hightower, the Citadel would make an exception.” 

They wanted to check your work. You were in a dilemma. There was a chance that you were being offered could boost you forward. Make a name for yourself now…but risk throwing away everything else, or stand your ground and trust your play in the long run would pay off.

“I can’t. It’s not possible.” You chose to stick to your guns. Hopefully it would yield its proper reward. “Forgive me but…your technology is not advanced enough. For any more accurate findings, testing blood for example…the technology does not exist yet.”

“Yet you can definitively say that these results are accurate.”

“With all due respect, Lord Hand. I have extensive schooling in this matter.” Debatable, but you certainly had way more than they did. “You do not possess the mathematical formulas, or as I said, blood testing. The phenotypic possibilities alone took me days to narrow. I have checked my work and…” You inhaled standing up straight and puffing your chest out a bit. You wanted to echo confidence, even if you didn’t feel it.

Fake it till you make it.

“Regardless of what you want to hear, the children of Crown Princess Rhaenrya fathered by her lawful husband; Laenor Valyeron, are legitimate. I wish I could give you the results you want, and rest assured the deed my Queen, Alicent has done for me, I swear it to you, will never be forgotten. I am at your service, but you asked for the truth, and now I will deliver it.” Alicent looked towards you with a cold gaze echoing her father. 

Gods, you were so dead.

Alicent let out a sigh, her expression unreadable, and waved you off with a dismissive gesture. You didn’t wait for her to change her mind, quickly making yourself scarce. As you stepped out, the weight of the ordeal seemed to hit you all at once. Your legs felt like they might give out beneath you, and you leaned against the closed door for support. Tilting your head back, you mouthed a silent “thank you” to whatever divine force had decided to spare you—for now.

You began the walk to your chambers, craving nothing more than some well-earned rest. Every step felt heavier, exhaustion threatening to drag you down. But just as your sanctuary came into view, a voice called your name.

So close… yet so far.

“King Viserys requests your presence,” the messenger announced, their tone formal but clipped.

You froze, your temper dangerously close to slipping. A wave of heat surged through you, your hand twitching involuntarily as frustration bubbled to the surface. “Now?”

“I would presume, my lady.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “Fine. Send for Dyana. Tell her to see to my morning needs and prepare my chambers immediately, and a bath. I smell like a dragon.”

The messenger gave a respectful nod. “Of course.”

With another sigh, you turned on your heel, setting off toward the King’s chambers. Rest would have to wait.

The King's chambers were quieter than usual, the crackling fire in the hearth providing the only sound as you entered. King Viserys, looking markedly stronger than when you'd last seen him, was sitting upright in his chair, his once-diminished face now flushed with color. His eyes still held the weariness of his age, but there was a gleam of vitality in them that hadn’t been there before.

You bowed deeply, careful not to show any surprise at his improved state. “Your Grace.”

“Come closer, child,” he said warmly, his voice much steadier than you expected. He gestured to the chair beside him, and you moved to sit, noting how much more alert he seemed than he had in weeks.

Well he was well enough to walk around now, so it made it sense. 

“Was your trip with my daughter successful?” he spoke, his gaze thoughtful. You gave a smile and nodded. “It was. I am simply waiting for the leaves to dry. It should be another three days till it is ready for recreational use.” 

He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the armrests of his chair. “Wonderfull, what benefits will it give?” 

“Uhh well in moderation: pain management, stress relief, improved sleep, appetite stimulation, muscle relaxation and spasm relief among other things. How is the drink working for you? And the lavender of course.” You did your best to use fancy words for all the side-effects one may have while being high. 

“The drink is wonderful, I feel rejuvenated and the lavender not only helps me sleep but helps me smell better as well. What is it that you use to scent yourself? You have such a distinct smell about you.” King Viserys’s eyes glinted with interest.

You smiled. “I use soaps from my native homeland and perfumes occasionally, but naturally because I have lived in such a…” You thought for a second trying to phrase it as gently as you could. “Different environment, I naturally smell very different from people here in King’s Landing or Westeros as a whole.”

“Very interesting…may I see them?” Viserys smiled slightly, a more genuine warmth in his gaze.

If only he knew that you had discovered the bastardy of his grandchildren and had you thought less, you would’ve exposed it. 

“To smell, yes, to use…no. Your skin is very sensitive. I wouldn’t want to make it worse, but I can make something similar, gentler even. Until then I would suggest if your skin bothers you, take baths in warm water mixed with breast milk. It works wonders for the skin. No soap needed. Simply lay in it for five to ten minutes. Helps repair the skin.” You smiled. Goats milk soap is always easy to make, besides you would run out of soaps from your modern world (unfortunately) and need to find a replacement.

The King’s eyebrows arched in mild surprise, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Breast milk? What babes drink?” A small, incredulous smile played across his lips.

“Yes.” you replied, standing straighter. “The human body, particularly a woman’s body, is incredible. Did you know that when breast milk mixes with a baby’s saliva it can trigger changes in the milk composition based on the baby's current immune needs, essentially signaling to the mother's body to produce more specific antibodies to fight potential infections the baby might be facing. Also baths in breast milk does wonders for the skin. It is why maesters or doctors, where I come from, recommend you bathe your baby in breast milk at least one or two days a week.” You caught the flicker of confusion in his eyes and added,“It prevents babies from getting sick is what I’m saying. A woman’s body will change the way the milk is made to better fit the needs of the baby so it survives.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his brows furrowing thoughtfully. “Really? Where did you learn this?” 

“My home.” you said softly, your gaze drifting briefly to the window. “Our practice of medicine is far more advanced than anything here.” 

“Would you ever be able to bring those practices here?”  he asked, his tone laced with a genuine curiosity.

You hesitated, glancing down at your hands. “As advanced as they are from where I come from? No. I’m not educated enough to fully treat serious illnesses or perform surgery and things of the sort, but I am pretty good at basic things.”

His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable. “Could you go back and bring this knowledge?”

Your smile faltered, and you exhaled slowly. “Well if I went home, I would mostly never return, like ever.”

“Why?”

“Truth be told, I don’t know.” You shrugged with a flat smile on your face. “I was in an accident and when I awoke, I was here. I gave up trying to go home about a month ago.” You smiled sadly looking at the ground. “I do miss my family. My old life. I wish I had gotten to study more, earn a degree.”

Viserys watched you intently, his features softening. “Sit, please,” he said gently. “Tell me more. Quite a peculiar place you come from.”

You leaned back into the chair, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “What would you like to know?”

“Women, where you’re from—are they allowed education as you are?”

“Yes.” you replied, nodding. “It is a norm to be educated. It is an unsaid social norm and if you are not, people will look down on you. In fact in recent years, women are more educated than men, they earn higher wages and because of that they no longer need to depend on a man. It is thought that because for years money is all men brought to the table they did not develop enough and now women are demanding more from them and truth is, most men can’t because emotionally, they’re nothing more than children. Women do not want to be mothers to their husbands.” 

“Really?” His voice carried a mix of fascination and skepticism. “How did this come to be?”

“Well…women gained rights,” you said simply. “Eventually after centuries of being oppressed and men believing they were the superior gender. It all came to a head and women demanded rights and equality. Women have all the same potential, maybe even more to do what men can do if given a fair chance. You’ve seen it with me, I have done the impossible, and I will continue to do so.” You straightened in your seat, determination gleaming in your eyes. “There have been hundreds of generations of women who have been put down and minimized that led to me. I must and I will amount to more. Their struggle and sacrifice for me, will not be in vain.”

The King’s expression softened further, and a faint smile curved his lips. “You have a very headstrong character. I only wish you had come sooner. My daughter, Rhaenrya, would’ve gotten along splendidly with you. She had a similar drive. Tell me…” His eyes dimmed, a shadow of grief passing over his face.  “How are births handled where you are from? If the babe is stuck as an example.” 

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Well it depends, it can be maneuvered within the stomach so that the head faces the opening or if it requires more, then a c-section is promptly ordered.” 

“A c-section?” he echoed, leaning forward slightly.

“A cesarean delivery,” you clarified. “It’s a surgical procedure where the baby is delivered through an incision in the mother’s abdomen and uterus. It’s done when a natural birth would endanger the mother or child.”

“Does it kill the mother?”

“Not usually,” you replied. “While there are risks, they’re minimal with proper care. Most mothers recover well and can even conceive again.”

“Do the women not bleed out?”

“Excessive bleeding can happen, but it’s rare for it to be fatal,” you reassured him.

Viserys sighed deeply, his gaze distant. “I truly wish you had come sooner.”

“Yeah…” You looked down, your voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry.”

He straightened in his chair, the melancholy lifting slightly. “Well, in any case, I’m sure you have things to attend to. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you.” You rose but paused near the door. “May I ask something of Your Grace?”

“Of course,” he said, motioning for you to continue.

“I’d like to propose a few ideas to the council—in, say, a fortnight?”

He smiled faintly. “I see no issue with it. I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you, my King.” You curtsied before leaving, already anticipating the comfort of your bed and the luxury of brushing your teeth properly once again.

You walked down the halls. Why the King had hopped for your early arrival, you couldn’t say. You felt bad for the old man, nearly stabbed him in the back and he didn’t even know it. Old people were so cute. 

You stepped into your room seeing your set up. Sweet scents and a fan still working great. 

Suddenly you turned and you nearly crashed into something. “Oh! Jump scare.” You murmured, turning away from him. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Your chambers?” He corrected.

“Right, grammar police here.” You rolled your eyes walking towards your setup Dyana had brought. Along with your bath. Hopefully Aemond was smart enough to sneak back in without anyone seeing. “What are you doing in my chamber, your grace?” You mocked his accent while tying your hair back.  

“What did my mother want with you?” Aemond walked behind you before sitting on your bed. 

Your face contorted before you pulled him off it. “Egh! Get off my bed! Go sit on a chair like a normal person. What’s wrong with you? You smell like Vhagar.”

“As do you.” Aemond countered looking down at you and you in turn raised a brow. 

“Okay you don’t see me sitting on my bed now do you? Outside clothes never touch my bed, and they shouldn’t touch yours either. It’s unsanitary. Have some standards. A bed is a sacred space.” Aemond only gave a scoff.

“You are a dramatic woman.” Aemond spoke and you gave no answer. “What did my mother ask for?” Aemond sat on a chair watching you. 

“Some plans she asked me to make a couple weeks ago.” You said dismissively turning and getting a small soap from your suitcase, Aemond’s watchful eye never leaving you. 

“What plans?” He pressed looking at you as you washed your hands.

“Nothing too important that you need to worry about.” This man was too nosey for your liking. Always with the questions this one.

“Really? You seemed as if you were about to cry while praying to whatever gods it is you have before entering the room.” Aemond mocked it with that concerning smirk that never went away. 

“Ugh, who told you that?” You turned and smiled, wetting your toothbrush while Aemond lifted a brow. “Ooh was it that delicious looking knight? Y’know if he just kept his mouth shut he would’ve been perfect.”

“Ser Criston has taken an oath of celibacy for life.” Aemond again watching you curious as to what you were doing.

“Men can never truly uphold something like that. I bet you I can get him to break it, if he hasn;t already. But it looks like he has a big mouth, so….” You humbled picking up your toothpaste, slapping a small glob on your toothbrush before wetting the brush again. “Where’s he from anyways, he’s totally my type. Maybe I can snag myself another one.” You began brushing and foam formed in your mouth while Aemond furrowed his brows in confusion ever so slightly. 

“What is that?” He asked and you rolled your eyes. 

You spit out some of the foam. “Can’t you read? It says Crest 3d white. Fluoride anticavity toothpaste. 100% whitening. It’s what keeps my teeth so white and my mouth clean. Duh.” You continue to brush your teeth and your tongue. 

“Whitening?” He questioned standing up, picking up the toothpaste and smelling it. He pulled back a bit. Strong scent, too strong.

You spit out white foam again. “Y’know every time I go to the dentist they say I have perfect teeth, I have to keep up my streak.” Even if you are nevering going to see another dentist in your life.

Aemond simply looked at you before putting it down and picking up your mouth wash. You watched him read as you continued to brush before finally finishing. “You want to try it? It helps kill the bacteria that makes people's breath smell bad.” You smiled, some foam still in your mouth. 

You uncapped it and rinsed your mouth with it before spitting it out. You turned to him and gave a toothy grin. “See? All clean now. Okay when you do it, don’t swallow it, you might get sick or something and it might burn a bit so…just beware.” 

You gave him some and immediately you saw his face twist. You grinned and held in a laugh. “Relax! Wash it around your mouth, especially in the back.” You watched him try to keep it in before he spit it out. 

He started coughing and you giggled. “A filthy mouth you have.” You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Alright well, get out now, I’m going to change and then I’m going to bed.” you turned around letting down your hair tossing your hair tie on your desk.  

Aemond said nothing and you raised a brow. Maybe he didn’t hear you. You turned around and suddenly he grabbed your face forcing your lips against his. His tongue swiftly entered your mouth before you pushed him off of you as you stood with wide eyes. 

“It is fresher.” It was all he said before once more kissing you. You had no time to react. He pulled away. “You are sleeping for the rest of the day, no?” 

“Well yeah, but I’ve had enough of royals for…like ever. I’m pretty sure your mother is actually trying to kill me and your grandfather.” You asked as your hands lay flat against his chest.

“Grandsire.” He corrected and you rolled your eyes. 

“Right, sorry, you’re still the grammar police.” You spoke and he only hummed, pressing a small kiss to the side of your mouth. You still didn’t know what was happening or why he was acting like this but there was that pressing fear that Alicent will indeed kill you. You already squandered a chance for her to take you to the sept, so now it was on to a new plan to avoid Alicent wrath and that plan that did NOT involve you being intimate with Aemond. 

“Stop.” You pushed him off you. “What are you doing? I’m not joking, your mother, the queen is actually out for my head and the hand will help her. I can’t do this. You are not worth my life. Listen, it was good the first time, but not ‘I will give up my life’ good.”

“Fret not, I will not allow it to happen.” He resumed kissing you and despite your earlier claims you did lean into them. What can you say? A freshly cleaned mouth and the man was a good kisser? It was game over. 

“My knight in shining armor.” You scoffed at pulling away. 

“A dragon knight. I ride the queen of dragons. I will handle my mother and grandsire.”

“That's not how the fairy tales go.” You smiled, raising a brow as he undid the laces of your dress.

“How do the fairy tales go then?” Aemond murmured into your skin as he kissed your neck. 

You giggled and pushed yourself away but his grip kept you close. “Normally the dragon takes the Princess and the knight slays the dragon, saving the Princess and they live happily ever after.”

“What if the knight is the dragon?” He nipped your skin and you sucked in a breath.

“Are you calling yourself a dragon?” A laugh lifting his head towards you while you smile.

“I am a dragon. I carry the dragon’s blood.” He murmured as he kissed you once more, tearing off your dress leaving you in small clothes. 

“So then what does that make me?” You questioned as his hands went to your hair and you began undressing him.

“The princess?” He spoke as he threw off his coat and shirt.

“I’m no Princess, I haven’t married a Prince and my father is no King. I am a scholar.” Aemond pushed you back onto the bed.

“A scholar should not need saving? Do you not need me?” He stood over you with a smug smirk.

“No. I don’t need you.” You propped yourself up on your elbows. “But having you is nice.” You dragged him down kissing him once more.  

A smirk tugged on his lips, fighting with yours for dominance. Clearly, you were not one to submit. Though he supposes it should not come to a surprise, you always fought against everything else. This would be no different. However, Aemond was not but determined. 

“Well, is my Scholar willing to enlighten me in more wisdom–,”  You shivered at the cold metal around his fingers when they contacted your supple skin, hands caressing your sides, “-per the demonstration done last occasion?”

Your eyebrows narrowed, heat spreading on your nape at the unlocked memory, the one you've been registering over again in your head when you tried to sleep at night. A mistake. Well another was about to ensue. A bigger one. 

Ready to spit something back but your lips were swept away, Aemond hungrily biting the flesh.

You pulled back, witnessing the hands that now tangled in the fabric that was your main piece of coverage.

A loud tear echoed, your eyes widening in horror, “Are you mad?! I just got this!”  

Aemond rolled his eyes at the dramatic reaction. “Yes from my nephew, I’ll buy you a better one.” tongue wetting his lips at the sight of your chest. 

It wasn't bare, no, your small clothes were lace. A pretty pink lace and in the middle was a small little rose sown on. Was this what the women from your land wore? Such skimpy tops? All Aemond knew was that it caught him like a fish to a hook, excited to peel it off your body like a fruit shell, the delicious part hidden beneath.

“Wait.” You pushed against him. “This is exactly what Imaan Hammam wore in the comeback show of Victoria Secret. Be very careful, this is like one of three sets I have.” You smiled looking down at your lacy small clothes. “I have the one Adriana Lima wore and the Candice Swanepoel one. Very expensive, so be careful!” 

Who?

He ran his fingers across the material, it was soft. “You make me insane.” The grin that tugged on your face had the Targaryen cup your cheek, dragging the stare into your sight longer. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“...In a bad way, it makes me feel good.” Poetic. It appears you’re not the only Shakespeare here.

“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment or?” He shook his head, resuming with what he started, not a patch of skin was left untouched by his curiosity. Wet kisses and marks being planted on your neck.

 “You talk too much.” He murmured against you.

“Isn't that what teachers do?” You laughed as he pulled the rest of your dress down to expose the other half of your set. How pretty, even matching with the little rose. 

Aemond sat back, working his way with the strings of his trousers, loosening them to relieve the tent that formed by your charm, “You aren't teaching me anything?”

“I'll teach you the art of insertion,” you chuckled at your own joke but only one party was laughing.

“I know where to put it.” Aemond wasn’t stupid and you were not his first conquest, though judging by your demeanor, it wasn’t yours either. Though for the moment Aemond would rather not think of that. 

“Right, do you want to learn or not?” You smiled looking up at him.

Aemond sat back on his hunches, observing with that cold eye of his, expression unreadable. “Do proceed.”

“No wait, I was just kidding." Raising an eyebrow, a thought struck you, wouldn't it be amusing? 

“A jest,” a look of disbelief painted his expression. 

“Harder? Faster? Deeper?” You giggled looking towards him. 

He glared at your grimy ‘jest’, one hand wrapping around the bone of your ankle, satisfied by the small squeal that left your mouth as he pulled you halfway down the sheets, locating his hips between your thighs.

That seemed to shut you up, allowing Aemond to have his way with you. It was absurd, the way his body craved you so much. He wanted all of you, to see all of you, have everything to himself.

His jaw clenched, his hand glided over your stomach until it was right above the place you needed him most.

Your blood kept pumping, your heart skipped beats it shouldn't. Why were you reacting this way? His thumb hovered over the bundle of nerves that stood out, pressing with the large digit on it.

“Aemond, don't tease.” the drag of his name came so perfectly out of your pretty lips, lips that he devoured. 

Silently, he noted the buck of your hips when he moved his fingers in slow circles around your clit that were covered by the soft lace of your small clothes covering you

His brain drilled in all the information, your heavy breathing, the line forming between your eyebrows and that pleading swirl in your eyes when you peered at him.

“Did you enjoy that?” You curtly bobbed your head, still not partaking in the fact that this indeed was happening with Aemond Targaryen. “More, please.” The light gesture was maddening your senses, it was there, simulating, but not enough. 

“Wait, take it off. I can’t ruin this.” You breathed out, your cheeks flushed looking at him.

“I’m sure I can get you another.” Aemond was sure in this moment he would travel to the ends of the earth in this moment to get you what you needed. Anything just to your fucked out expression.

“You can’t. Just take it off” You whined and he obliged. Such a pretty thing it was. Though what it hid was prettier yet. In the light he could see you glistening. The prettiest underlings he had ever seen.  

“Aemond, more.” You begged to reach him. 

 And more was given, Aemond pushed your hip down when it buckled at the reaction and it did send a shock through your veins, but was quickly discarded by the overtaking pleasure.

“God.” You breathed out. Your awareness heightened, fingers tugging at the sheets of your bed at the bliss that was raising every second. 

Oh how you loved it, his thumb was replaced by his pointer and middle finger, flicking and toying with the pearl. Your thighs squeezed around Aemonds wrist but he caught one of your knees, pushing his wide open for more access.

They ran down your fold to collect the running slick, using it to fasten the pace. You couldn't control yourself anymore, there was a coil in your stomach and the constant spasms of your muscles that had you pushing your long nails into his bare chest, leaving red marks. Any deeper and his blood would spill. 

Your toes curled but then Aemond removed his fingers, holding them up to watch your honey gleam at the cricketing fire that reflected on it. You watched carefully, it shouldn't have been so attractive but it was.

As you were lost in thought, Aemond took the chance to cautiously find a way for his fingers inside your heat, making sure you won't act impulsively by slamming your legs shut.

It didn't take long for your hole to swallow them then try to fight off the intruding, worse was when he curled them, almost knuckle deep inside of you.

And it didn't take too long for him to have an orgasm forced out of you, all Aemond did was continue to investigate your body, your sultry moans that probably had heads turning in the direction of your chambers. 

Gossip. Murmurs. Scandals.

Aemond didn't care. Let them hear, let them whisper. He wants them to hear how good he makes you feel, best would be if his brother heard, then they'd know who you belonged to. A shame his nephew wasn’t here to listen to you.

Or even Ser Criston Cole.

Leaning down to peck your forehead, his spine curled and you felt all the bones and muscles in his upper back on the touch of your palm, broad shoulders, bones that flexibly shifted when he changed position.

Aemond was not able to restrain himself anymore, he was throbbing painfully, the orgasm he gave you didn't make it better. He wanted to be engulfed by your gummy insides.

“Don't be shy now, I'm wide open.” his eye widened, how shameless were you? Your hand seductively ran the curve from your chest to your navel, looking Aemond straight into the eye, no hesitation lingering behind yours.

You were over the previous view of this encounter. The desperate need to fulfill your sexual frustrations came into play, puppeteering you into doing things you probably would regret later.

His nostrils flared, exhaling lowly through his nose as his arousal lit up, exploding at your remarks, your body, your reactions, you. Just…you.

Why were you so special? It confused him. Everything was different about you and he wanted that difference in his life.

Your ankles crossed behind his back, playing the role of getting him closer this time, wearing a devious smile. “I expect more from the one-eyed Targaryen Prince.” 

Your arms now around his nape, your noses touching as your breath lingered like a breeze on him, people in the twenty-twenties would've gone crazy at the non-existent distance.

“Will you take it?”

“I will.”

“I'll ruin you.” That…did something to you. You felt that cold wetness ooze out of your hole and it made you bite your tongue. “Can you?” You lifted a brow offering the challenge. 

“I was always planning on doing so.” His hands ran up your back toying with the back of the small clothes you had.

“Then stop talking and move.” You helped him unclasp the back of your bra and it was thrown off to the side. He looked down towards you relishing the sight of you bare. His second time seeing you, yet it did not take away the illusion it had the first time.

“So demanding, have I made you desperate? Do you want me to fill you up?” Aemond egged you on, his lips finding their right on yours while he took off his garments.

Glancing down, you saw his hardened cock and it made you naturally beam into the kiss, the corners of your mouth curling up. “So big…”

Your hands were caged by one of Aemonds, pushing them above your head for a few minutes. He didn't need to pump his cock more than how hard it was already, only guiding the tip to the right place.

A sharp gasp escaped your throats, not just you but your partner for the night. His expression was like an open book, desperation, need, even guilt was written over it.

Slowly, inch by inch he was fully armored by the welcoming walls that swallowed him in with no further blockades. Groans fell from him like a melody, giving you the time to adjust to the gap your hole had to stretch into.

Your breathing was out of order, the sudden intrusion was too deep, or you felt it too deep. The stinging pain subsided into flowing ecstasy, the burn, the ache for further implications on you.

Your clit caught with the small, white hairs on the base when you bottomed out, his cock reaching greater lengths.

“Move!”

Clawings marked crescent shapes into his shoulders, throwing your head back when your command was heard. Aemond didn't waste time, he knew the spot you wanted him to strike.

Soon you arched off the bed and into his muscular arms, the male sculpting you to the best position. His teeth gnawed at one of your nipples as his pace started in motion, pulling back to steady himself with your round hips.

Aemonds thrusts were rough but somehow light at the same time, he knew how to keep that steady, slow pace. And for a fact, he knew that it angered you. 

But he wanted to treasure this moment, to enjoy it to its fullest, commit every detail to memory. In that moment, you wondered if you could piss him off, make him angry, make Aemond Targaryen fuck you like he's angry at you.

Oh god.

“Yes, wow,  you're going too fast, I won't come anytime soon.” The monotone sarcasm was played out perfectly, except for the shaggy breathes and moans that tagged along.  

“Patience is a virtue of a scholar.” Your scoff never made it out, instead, you were caught off guard by Aemond slamming you down on his dick after leaving only his red angry tip inside, your insides stretched and squeezed, making a molding for him to shelter in.

Your clit pulsed, making you compress around him in the progress and it had Aemond licking his lip at the shock that electrified him, goosebumps sprawling on his pale skin.

The sloppy noises filled the corners of the dimmed chamber, your mixed moans, out of breath sighs and the skin slapping against each other.

Aemond’s herculean hips were rolling to make you gulp down more, more. More of his thrusts that are becoming hectic, more of his honey coated shaft and more of him.

He was hypnotized. If you didn't use witchcraft on him, then what have you done?

Your heat was melting on him, squelches reaching his ears as he didn't stop working your cunt on his cock, sliding out and back in. He took notice of how fast his end was about to twist and snap.

But he didn't stop, not faltering any second even when his vision was fading to black spots, his ears ringing loudly. As were yours, your expression was priceless, jaw slacked and your eyes lost. 

The coil inside him tightened. The aggressive snap of his hips kept you on the high end, your pupils enlarging. Exhaustion hit like a weave at the beach but the bliss kept you up, like coffee on a sleepy morning.

Everytime you wanted to flutter your eyelashes shut, Aemond would thrust and have them wide open again, having your mouth form an o shape. “O-oh god!" Ae-Aemond!” 

Even his name laced with the hum of your voice was a blessing, a godsend gift. You kept clutching onto him as if you'd lose it all if you let go, your knees were bent, your breathing…

It was hard to take in air, Aemonds body was too heavy for you, crushing you beneath his weight. He didn't care, not while he was rearranging you from the inside out and having you milk him to the last drop.

Your thigh jolted, flinched as your calf raised even higher in the air, strands sticking to your forehead from the sweat, Aemonds silver locks mixing with your own hair.

“Not yet. Hēnkirī” it wasn't a request or a demand, but rather a pleading. Even if you didn’t understand Valyrian, it was all he could say. 

Tears brimmed at your lash line, how were you supposed to contain the fire that pooled in your lower stomach? It was getting larger and swallowing everything in its way.

Your smaller hands were trapped by the large, veiny hands that belonged to Aemond, his fingers locking within yours. “Avy jorrāelan”

You were too lost in the bubble of glory to even process his foreign words, too focused on the ecstasy that's about to burst. 

And it did. Right when it was unexpected. “Pull out, Aemond!”

Your orgasm came crashing down on you, your vision going white and your hearing sense being completely useless for the few seconds that your jaw lacked the strength to keep shut in. 

The Targaryen prince left your glazed hole with pre– now stroking himself to find his own release, all over your stomach when as done.

His finger scraped off some of the fluids, eyes heavy and half-lidded while waiting for you to calm down from the stimulation.

Finally catching your breath you looked down at yourself. “You had the entire bed, yet aimed for me?”

“You look better with it.” Aemond stood up rolling his shoulders while you lay still watching him.

“Well…better on me than in me I suppose.” You hummed, grabbing a rag and wiping yourself. 

“You don’t want to bear a royal child? Have your womb be royal? Any woman would kill for my seed.” Aemond watched you wiping yourself before taking the rag away and tossing it away. 

“No epidural, no children.” You murmured. “My bath is probably cold by now.” You looked over to the once steaming bath now releasing less steam. “You smell like Vhagar, you want to bathe with me?” You smiled sitting up trying to find the power to stand. 

Aemond said nothing before wrapping his arms around you nipping at your skin. “You’re going to leave marks, stop.” You tried to push him away but couldn’t, instead his grip around you tightened.

As he continued to suck at your skin you simply looked out the window as you began contemplating your next steps. So much for keeping your distance from the one-eyed prince. You needed to go collect your dues from the Miswak business and check on your reduced children, but even so, you needed time to prepare your proposal that was due in a month. So much to do and so little time. 

Note: Just a little extra added at the end (Special thanks) Also should anyone want to be a beta reader for me, pls!

Previous I Next I Masterlist

To be added to Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

[soncee]

Another book one Dany

[deftoniesarts]

"Do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don't you see? Don't you SEE?"

daenerys stormborn. ❉

[moonlight-joy]

The Queen’s Flame

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: Your marriage to Daemon Targaryen reshaped Westeros, bringing balance and stability to his fiery nature and securing his place as King. While Daemon commanded respect with dragonfire and ambition, you proved that strength lay in unyielding resolve, diplomacy, and loyalty. Together, you forged a reign that united the Targaryens and established a legacy of power, love, and stability, remembered as one of the most celebrated in the realm’s history.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

Your marriage to Daemon Targaryen was a union that altered the course of Westeros forever. Daemon, the fiery and unpredictable Rogue Prince, had found in you not a dragonrider but a partner of unshakable resolve and intelligence. Where others bent to his will or recoiled from his tempestuous nature, you stood firm, becoming his equal and complement. Though you had no dragon of your own, your influence was undeniable, and together, you proved that strength could take many forms.

King Viserys, observing the balance you brought to Daemon’s life and rule, made a decision that shocked the realm. Against the expectations of the court, he reaffirmed Daemon as his heir, declaring that the line of succession would pass through Daemon and you. The announcement sent ripples through Westeros, and while some welcomed it, others bristled at the idea of the once-reckless prince taking the throne. Yet, your partnership with Daemon began to silence even the harshest critics, cementing your place as the future queen.

The day of the proclamation was one of grandeur and tension. The Great Hall of the Red Keep was filled with lords and ladies, their whispers echoing as they speculated on the King’s intentions. You stood beside Daemon, his hand resting at the small of your back, a subtle but powerful gesture of support. His violet eyes scanned the room, and a faint smirk played on his lips as though he found their unease amusing.

When Viserys rose from the Iron Throne, silence swept through the hall. His voice, steady and commanding, carried to every corner of the chamber. “The realm has faced its share of challenges,” he began, “and it is my duty as your king to ensure its stability for generations to come.” His gaze swept the gathered nobles before settling on you and Daemon. “My brother, Daemon Targaryen, has long been my chosen heir. Though some have doubted his worthiness, I have seen his loyalty, his strength, and his commitment to this realm. With his marriage to Lady Y/N, their union has brought wisdom, balance, and stability to House Targaryen.”

Daemon’s hand on your back tightened slightly, a silent acknowledgment of his pride in this moment. “Today,” Viserys continued, “I reaffirm my decision. Daemon Targaryen shall remain my heir, and his line will inherit the Iron Throne.”

The hall erupted into murmurs. Some lords exchanged wary glances, while others bowed their heads in reluctant acceptance. You stood tall, your composure unshaken. As the lords began pledging their fealty, Daemon leaned close to you, his voice a low murmur meant only for you. “Let them whisper,” he said, his tone edged with amusement. “Soon, they will kneel.”

Though you lacked a dragon of your own, your presence at Daemon’s side was a power unto itself. In a realm where fire and blood commanded respect, you proved that strength could be found in diplomacy, intelligence, and unyielding resolve. Daemon often teased you about it. “How is it,” he asked one evening as you walked together along the battlements of the Red Keep, “that you, without a dragon, command more fear and respect than half the lords in Westeros?”

You smiled, brushing your fingers against his. “Perhaps it’s because I don’t need a dragon to remind them of my strength.”

He laughed, pulling you close. “And perhaps that’s why you’re the only one who can tame me.”

Your bond with Daemon became the foundation of a renewed Targaryen dynasty. While he ruled the skies with Caraxes, you ruled the court, weaving alliances and extinguishing rivalries with quiet precision. Together, you presented an image of unity and strength that silenced dissent and inspired loyalty. The smallfolk began to speak of your influence in reverent tones, calling you the “Queen of the Hearth,” a symbol of fire’s enduring warmth rather than its destructive force.

Even Rhaenyra, once her uncle’s closest confidante, struggled with the changes your presence brought. Though she respected you, the bond she had shared with Daemon had been replaced by your unshakable connection. During one rare moment of shared company, she raised her goblet with a faint smile. “It seems you’ve managed what none of us could,” she said, her tone half admiring, half begrudging. “You’ve turned my uncle into a man of reason.”

You returned her smile, sensing the truth behind her words. “He has always had the capacity for reason,” you replied lightly. “He just needed the right cause.”

Daemon smirked, raising his goblet. “Or the right woman.”

As the years passed, your partnership with Daemon became the cornerstone of House Targaryen’s stability. When King Viserys’ health began to decline, the court braced for Daemon’s ascension. By then, even the most reluctant lords had come to accept the inevitability of his rule—and with you by his side, the realm began to anticipate a golden age.

On the day of Viserys’ passing, the court gathered to witness Daemon’s coronation. Standing before the Iron Throne, his hand in yours, Daemon addressed the realm. “We are the blood of the dragon,” he declared, his voice resonating through the Great Hall. “And together, we will forge a future worthy of our ancestors.”

As the lords and ladies knelt before their new king and queen, Daemon turned to you, his violet eyes burning with the intensity that had drawn you to him from the start. “You are my crown, my love,” he murmured. “And with you, we will rule the world.”

Though you lacked dragonfire, you proved that strength was not born of fire alone but forged in love, loyalty, and resolve. Together, you and Daemon reshaped the fate of Westeros, your reign remembered as a time when the blood of the dragon burned bright and unbroken. Your legacy, built on unity and ambition, became one of the most celebrated in the realm’s history—a testament to the power of fire tempered by unyielding strength.

[genz420]

During S2 I first thought that since Hugh was not the son of one of Jaehaerys but rather one of his daughters then it would have been Gael and not Saera because how would Hugh have even gotten to Westeros or why would he have gone and not stayed in Lys where he was most likely born and where he mother was. But if Hugh was the son of Gael, since we know that she did have a child, but instead of that child dying and then Gael killing herself it was taken away by Jaehaerys who either told Gael that the child was dead or that he gave it away.

idk but I feel like that would have made more sense in the show instead of Hugh being Saera's son.

Gael Targaryen and her baby boy

[averillaratargaryen]

‘The Bitter Bond.’

Chapter V

18+ Content ⚠️

“Your father tells me about your professions, Daerlyssa” Viserys smiled, “you are quite a fluent speaker, with the tongue of Valyria.”

“Yes” Daerlyssa responds, as she places her cutlery down, “my brothers have taught me well, growing up. It just rolls on the tongue, now.”

“Your uncle, Aegon, he finds it a struggle to speak the language. Perhaps you could put your talent to use, in helping him out?” Viserys offered.

“What-? What are you doing?” Aegon looked toward his father in question.

“It is no harm in taking some help” Viserys responds back, “after all, it seems you are quite content in each other’s company.”

Whilst Daerlyssa found herself believing her grandfather meant pure intentions, Aegon could see through his father, what he truly wanted.

“Father, I don’t-?”

“It is alright” Daerlyssa responds, “I do not mind helping out. After all, I haven’t much to do.”

“It is not that I don’t wish for the help” Aegon looked at her, shocked that she could not see the alliance Viserys wished to perform.

“Then what is it?” Daerlyssa asks.

Aegon’s eyes shunned wide open, as he looked at her, waiting for her to realise the obvious, yet she still found herself clueless.

“Oh Heleana, you are here” Alicent called out to her daughter, who had finally made her way for breakfast.

It was not soon after, that Daerlyssa’s family had arrived down, noticing Daerlyssa’s presence.

“We have been looking for you everywhere” Daemon called out to her.

“Oh, father” Daerlyssa smiled, “I had gotten up early, and was quite hungry, so I came down with Aegon.”

“Oh” Daemon tilted his head, with an impressed pout.

“That is great” Rhaenyra nods, “im glad you two are getting on well.”

“That’s not-!”

“Sit down, have something to eat” Daerlyssa cut off Aegon, as she welcomed her family to sit beside her.

“Daerlyssa” Aegon whispered to her.

Smiling, with no sense as to what was going on, she looked toward him, “why do you look so tense?”

“Do you not understand what is going on here?” Aegon whispered back.

“We’re all here to eat breakfast?” She questioned.

“You really weren’t lying, on being kept in the dark” Aegon scoffed.

“Aegon, if something is wrong, tell me” Daerlyssa looked at him with concern.

“We will speak later” Aegon sighed, “right now, I need a drink.”

Before he stood up, Daerlyssa held him down, as he took a hold to his hand.

“Aegon, do not” she warned him, “your father has taken it lightly, considering I have asked him to. But you can not expect him to continue to support your decisions, should you make bad ones.”

“Daerlyssa, I appreciate what you do, but right now is not the time. I will speak to you when it is appropriate, with no one around” Aegon put her hand down to her lap, before he stood up once again.

The young girl found herself stunned, by Aegon’s behaviour. He was not himself, so to say.

But she couldn’t figure out why that was.

She tilted her head, turning to face him, before her confusion turned into sudden shock, as she turned back around.

Daerlyssa had come to meet Aemond’s eye, as he walked past his brother, making his way in.

It had been just over four days, since their last encounter.

Despite living in one place, with the difficulty reaching the highest level, on avoiding his presence.

She managed to do so, given that she simply did not look in his direction, no matter how much her curiosity killed her.

To know what he was saying, or thinking, she wished to discover. But she did not let her curiosity get the best of her.

Not wishing for herself to be humiliated.

“Nephews” Aemond sighed, as he made his way to his seat.

Looking toward Daerlyssa, he noticed her avoiding his gaze.

As he noticed over the past four days.

To begin with, he liked it that way.

He found her presence to be tiring and unwanted. After all, he despised his sister and her family, due to his mother’s awful words against them.

Aemond was far too young, at least four years of age, when he had his fatal accident, causing the loss of his eye. It was hard to remember what had truly happened, or why it had happened.

Yet he only remembered the words of his mother, as she spew her lies, due to her hatred against Rhaenyra’s bastards sons, considering them to be monstrous, by name.

Despite his hatred toward them, Aemond could not help, but find himself restless by the fourth day, that she had avoided him, for reasons he himself, could not understand.

“Good morning, Princess” he called out.

“Your Grace” her voice cracked, before the two of them cleared their throats.

Both parents, Daemon and Rhaenyra, looked toward their daughter, wondering why she sat with her head down, avoiding her uncle’s attention.

It would have been reasonable, had Aemond treated them horribly, compared to the last time, Rhaenyra and her son’s had come to stay.

But this time was much different, as Aemond spew no hatred, but rather, let the feud between the two, simply be, giving no attention to it.

“This breakfast was great, but I will dismiss myself” Daerlyssa stood up.

“Where to?” Viserys asks.

Daerlyssa looked around at the table, all eyes on her, and perhaps Aemond’s too. But she could not say for certain, when she continued to ignore his presence.

“I had forgotten to speak to Uncle Aegon, of something important” She lied.

“And what would that be, exactly?” Daemon asks.

“Well-?” Daerlyssa looked around helplessly, as she wondered what lie she could have come up with at that moment, before it clicked to her, “he promised that he would… take me to see the tapestries.”

“The tapestries? Aegon?” Daemon let out a pfft.

“Y-yes! Yes, he is trying to become a better person by engaging with peaceful activities, to avoid himself in becoming drunk.”

She successfully had given her lie, having Viserys smile at her, pleased by the sudden relationship between the two.

With quick steps, Daerlyssa had skipped off, leaving Aemond to sigh in his seat, as he watches her leave.

-

“Aegon, wait!” Daerlyssa shouted out, as she held her dress, running toward him.

Aegon, who held a bottle of alcohol in his hands, only just about beginning to drink it, turned around after hearing her call out to him.

“May the gods help me” he whispered under his breath.

Walking toward her, the two meet within the middle, before Aegon pulls her away from being noticed, and into his chamber.

Pulling her inside, he had closed the door behind him, before turning around to face her, placing the bottle down.

“Daerlyssa, what is wrong with you?” Aegon pleaded out, “why are you following me and screaming my name, for other people to hear.”

“I don’t-?” She looked at him, confused and slightly hurt, as she spoke in a low tone, “I don’t understand, I just had a question to ask.”

Noticing her eyes soften, he sighed, before sitting her down, “look, I’m sorry. I just- I need you to understand, in front of other’s, you can not be friendly with me.”

“Why not?” She asks, “I thought I was helping, in having our families get along with one another. Grandfather complains about it so much.”

“You are, but that is the problem” Aegon sat beside her, “do you not see it? Why they wish for us to be so close to one another?”

“I always thought it to be so that my mother could permanently move back in, with us, without any issues between our mothers” Daerlyssa responds.

“They wish for us to be bethroed” Aegon confesses.

“What?” Daerlyssa chuckled, “no, if that was the case, my father would have told me.”

“Daemon has no say, when it comes to his brother. He’s married to the Queen’s daughter, and im sure he’s learnt what happens, when he disobeys the King’s orders” Aegon responds.

“Even then, he would have sat me down, and told me” Daerlyssa looked unsure.

“I had a feeling, when I first heard of my sister, and you all coming to stay. My father continued to make points, on how I am a grown man who is yet to be married. But this morning, he had confirmed my theory” Aegon explains.

“What did he say? Did I miss it out?” Daerlyssa asks, “from what I heard, he only wished for me to help you out, on speaking the Valyrian language.”

“We are quite content in each other’s company” Aegon quotes Viserys’ words.

Daerlyssa looked at him silently, before Aegon sighed out of frustration.

“Our talks, and simple conversations, have him believe we wish for something like this. To be content with one another is more than just a friendship, or a simple teaching relationship, Daerlyssa. He thinks of us to like one another, a lot more than friends” Aegon explains.

To which had Daerlyssa slowly nodding as she looked away.

“I do enjoy our conversations, and I am thankful for the efforts you have given to have a friendship with me. Not many people do” Aegon explains, “we can not be seen as two people who want to be bethroed to one another. We simply can not!”

“I agree, we can not be bethroed to one another” Daerlyssa whispered back, before putting her hands up toward him in defence, “not that it would be a bad thing, or that you are a bad person, no!”

“I would not think that” Aegon chuckled at her panic.

“It is just..” she sighed, “you must promise me to keep this secret between us.”

“Of course” Aegon nodded, leaning in to hear her.

“I have always thought for myself to be bethroed to Lord Cregan Stark” Daerlyssa looked away, shyly.

“Lord Cregan Stark?” Aegon questions, “since when have you spoken.”

“During his crowning, once his father had passed. Me and my mother had flew to the North, in order to pay our respects and recognise him to be the King of the North, which he now is” Daerlyssa responds.

“I see” Aegon nods, as looks impressed.

Tilting his head, he squints his eyes in question, as he looks toward her, “so does that mean you have some sort of.. feelings, toward him?”

“I’m not sure” Daerlyssa responds, “he is the only man in my life who has been a great companion to me. We send ravens to one another. I have spoken to him much about you.”

“You have?” Aegon’s voice pitched at a high squeak.

“He said it is a good thing, that I have formed a friendship with you. Which is why I was so surprised, when you pushed me away before” Daerlyssa pouted in guilt, “I do apologise, I hadn’t realised your father’s reasonings. Nor mine.”

Aegon shook his head, as he smiled, “it is not your fault. I did not think you would have.”

“Is there a reason why you do not wish to be bethroed to me?” Daerlyssa asks, “perhaps you have someone else?”

“It is not that. I am just.. not attracted to someone like you” Aegon blushed as he scratched the back of his head.

“Oh. I see” Daerlyssa found his comment to be, that he did not see her as an attractive woman.

“Not to say you aren’t a good looking woman, I mean, ever since you have been here, even the guards have continued to lay their eyes on you” Aegon confirmed with a chuckle.

“Well, what do you mean then?” Daerlyssa asks.

“I am just… not attracted to women” He whispered.

“Oh” Daerlyssa nods, her eyes slightly widening, when she realised, “so you are attracted to men?”

His silence had given her an answer, as he avoided her eyes.

“You may think less of me, surely” he whispered.

“No, not at all” Daerlyssa responds.

Her positive attitude had Aegon look back up to her, confused.

“Just because you are a man, does not mean you must be attracted to a woman. We live for desire, with our own preferences, to who we wish to be beside. If you wish to be beside another man, then that is your right” Daerlyssa smiled with support.

“That is.. quite a nice thing to say” Aegon smiled.

“It does not make you less of a person, Uncle” Daerlyssa held his hand, “at least, I do not think so. You should be able to love whomever you wish to. As long as it is someone who truly cares for you. Does the King know of this? Or perhaps, your mother?”

“They have come to an understanding. Which is why, they are so keen on having us bethroed. They say it will cleanse me” Aegon rolled his eyes.

Those words causing Daerlyssa to feel disgust, in her Grandfather, and his wife.

“Well, do not worry. I will not let this happen. In fact, we can pretend to dislike one another, during the times we are nearby our parents, but share conversations like this, in secret” Daerlyssa chuckled.

“I have always wanted a friend I could share secrets with. Secrets like this, I have kept within me for quite some time” Aegon responds.

“Are there any more secrets?” Daerlyssa teases, “perhaps a man you have already set your eyes on?”

“I don’t know if I should say” Aegon stood up.

Daerlyssa squealed, as she pulled him back down beside her, “you must tell me! I told you about Lord Stark!”

“Oh what choice do I have” Aegon sighed in defeat as he rolled his eyes.”

-

A dim light shone through the halls, as Aemond found himself walking through, the floor creaking beneath him as he took each step.

Despite his bedroom door being in sight, before him, Aemond could not help but sense that something was different. It did not feel real.

As he reached the door, with only a step away from making it inside, he turned back around, to a dark distance. “Hmm” he whispered, under his breath, before turning back to his bedroom door, looking down at his hand that gripped the knob.

Turning it slowly, his door grated open, as he slowly looked up in his room, shocked at the sight before him.

“Your grace” Daerlyssa smiled, as she was laid on his bed, his blanket covering just some of her.

“Princess?” Aemond closed the door behind him, without turning around, his eye fixated on his niece, who slowly stood up out his bed.

He watched as his blanket fell to her feet, before she was stood, completely nude, before him.

It was the first time he found himself too stunned to speak. “W-what are you doing?” Aemond stuttered.

“I’m sorry I have been avoiding you, Uncle” she whispered seductively, as she walked towards him, slowly.

“Daerlyssa, if anyone finds you here-?”

“Everyone is asleep” she whispered again, before she had come just an inch apart to him.

Aemond couldn’t help himself, as his head dropped down to get a good look at her, with her breast in his sight.

But her hands were quick to motion, when she held his chin, and had him face up again. “I have been waiting for this moment with you” she couldn’t help herself to bite her bottom lip.

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” His hand found its way to her cheek, as he craddled it.

Daerlyssa tiptoed toward him, her lips brushing against her earlobe, before she spoke, “you make me so nervous. Every night, after learning such things about a woman’s desire, I can’t help but feel pleasure, every time I remember you.”

Her words cause him to let out a shiver, finding himself proud, for causing her to feel such a way.

As she begins to lay her feet to the ground slowly, she moves away from his ear, her nose brushing past his, as she looked up at him, with her lustful eyes.

Her lips had become agape, when she felt his breath lingering against it, before rubbing her nose against his.

Aemond fought against the idea to give in to her, wondering of the consequences, should anyone find out.

That was until she held his wrist, the two watching the movement, as she pulled it down toward her breast, letting his grasp onto it softly.

The two then slowly look away from his hand, back toward one another, before she leaned her body into him, a soft moan escaping her due to the feeling of his hands pressing against her nipple.

It was all he needed to hear from her, before he had lost all his restraint.

With both hands, he held both her breasts firmly, before bringing his lips onto hers, as the two shared a passionate kiss.

His fingers motioned in the same direction as their tongues, toward her nipples, having her moan once again, this time, with their lips still intact.

Aemond did not care for his hatred at that moment, before he decided to let go of her breasts, grasping for her waist as he held her up.

She wrapped her legs around him, as he carried her to his bed, laying her down. With a smirk on his face, he hovered himself over her, finding himself drunk on the taste of her tongue.

He did not know what was happening to him, but this moment began to flash before him, from his hands around her body, to hers around his.

The feeling of her neck, as he grasped onto it, looking up at her as she sat above him.

From every movement, to every breath, it felt as though everything was becoming louder, yet less clear.

“Hmm” he cried out, in frustration, before letting out a soft grunt, with his hand fisted in motion.

His head lifted slightly from his pillow, as he let out a soft groan, his legs stretched in motion.

Slowly fluttering his eyes opened, Aemond found himself in bed.

Looking toward his window, it was telling to him, that it was the morning, and that he had just been dreaming.

Once again, it was the fourth time he had dreamt of her, yet each time it became more and more vulgar.

With a sigh, he sat up, before noticing something strange between his legs.

Lifting up his blanket, with the substance he found, and his pants slightly bulged, he sighed before laying back down on his back.

“What am I going to do” He whispered to himself.

-

After breakfast, Aemond found himself distraught and confused, given his dreams have been all about Daerlyssa, and he couldn’t grasp as to why that was.

It frustrated him, due to how she avoided him, including that morning, when she hardly looked toward him, before running off to find his brother.

Yet, what frustrated him more, was himself, acknowledging his own fault as he remembered what he spoke, when he had last come eye to eye with her.

As he continued to walk with his head down, in his own thoughts, the sound of a faint laughter was heard before him.

Looking up, he found Aegon walking out his chamber, as Daerlyssa followed out behind him.

The two chuckled amongst one another, Aegon turning around to face her.

“I am glad we have had this talk” Daerlyssa smiled.

“As am I” Aegon smiled back.

“Now go!” She pushed him, “do what you must do! We will speak again tonight.”

Aegon chuckled as he shook his head, walking away, with his head down.

He noticed Aemond’s shoes, before looking back up at him, “oh, brother. Didn’t realise you were here.”

Aemond smiled in response, before asking, “where are you off to?”

“The brothel of course. Where else?” Aegon responds.

“So early?” Aemond found his motives questionable.

“Why not?” Aegon shrugged, looking a lot more happier than usual.

He walked past Aemond, leaving him to it.

Aemond’s eyes followed his brother, to the back of his head, before turning back to Daerlyssa, who continued on ahead, having no clue of Aemond’s presence.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

chapter 6

[simstoricalish]

Princess Helaena Targaryen

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (the rogue)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the princess and the lion

- Next part: simple things

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

- A/N: Some small mistakes have been fixed in the pervious chapter.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the thick curtains of your chambers, painting the stone walls with soft light. The scent of fresh morning air mingled with the faint aroma of lavender from the basin near your vanity. You sat by the window, your hands moving deftly as you braided your hair, each motion deliberate and practiced. Your pale fingers worked through the silvery strands, weaving them into an intricate pattern that was as much habit as art.

The soft knock at your chamber door drew your attention, and you turned your head slightly. “Enter,” you called gently, your voice carrying through the quiet room.

Alys stepped inside, her footsteps light and unhurried. “Good morning, Princess,” she said warmly, closing the door behind her. In her arms, she carried your riding attire, neatly folded. “I’ve brought your garments. Shall I assist you?”

You smiled faintly, your hands pausing their work. “Thank you, Alys. I was just finishing my hair.”

Alys set the garments down on a nearby chair and approached, her sharp eyes catching the intricate braid you were crafting. “You always do it so beautifully,” she remarked, her voice tinged with admiration. “I don’t know how you manage it so perfectly every time.”

“Practice,” you replied softly, continuing the braid. “I’ve had years to learn by touch. My hands remember what my eyes do not.”

Alys hummed in acknowledgment, watching for a moment before moving to gather the rest of your attire. “Will you be riding this morning, Your Grace?”

“I will,” you said, securing the braid with a ribbon. “The quiet of the morning is too precious to waste.”

As you stood, Alys approached with your riding tunic, the soft fabric cool against your fingertips. She helped you into the garment with practiced ease, her movements quick but gentle.

“Last night was quite the celebration,” Alys ventured, her tone conversational as she adjusted the sleeves. “The lords and ladies were all talking about you.”

You tilted your head slightly, her words catching you by surprise. “Were they?”

Alys smiled, though you could not see it. “Of course, Princess. You made quite the impression. Even Lady Redwyne was full of praise.”

You let out a soft hum, your expression thoughtful. “I only spoke with a few. Surely their attention will turn elsewhere soon enough.”

Alys shook her head, fastening the belt around your waist. “I don’t think so, Your Grace. You had admirers last night—more than a few, I’d wager.”

Her words gave you pause, your hands brushing over the hem of your tunic as you considered them. “Admirers,” you repeated softly, the word unfamiliar on your tongue. “I’m not sure what to do with such attention. It is… new to me.”

Alys’s smile widened as she reached for your riding boots. “You’ve always been admired, Princess. Perhaps you simply haven’t noticed it before.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Perhaps it’s because I’ve never sought it. I’ve always been content to stay in the background.”

Alys knelt to help you into the boots, her hands deftly fastening the straps. “The court sees you now, though. They’re beginning to realize what they’ve overlooked.”

You felt a faint flush rise to your cheeks, though your expression remained composed. “And what should I do with such attention, Alys? I am unaccustomed to it.”

The servant’s tone softened, her voice almost motherly. “You don’t need to do anything, Your Grace. Just be yourself. That’s all anyone could ask for.”

You smiled faintly, her words a comfort despite the unease that lingered in your chest. “Thank you, Alys.”

Once dressed, you reached for the riding gloves she handed you, their soft leather familiar beneath your fingertips. With one last adjustment, Alys stepped back, her expression bright with satisfaction. “You’re ready, Princess.”

You nodded, turning toward the door with quiet resolve. “Then let us make the most of the morning.”

As Alys opened the door for you, the cool morning air greeted you like an old friend. The day stretched ahead, full of possibility, and for now, you allowed yourself to focus on the simple joy of a ride beneath the open sky. Whatever attention the court had bestowed upon you last night could wait—for this moment, at least, you belonged to the quiet of the morning and the rhythm of the horse beneath you.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was alive with the subdued hum of morning activity. Sunlight poured through the windows, illuminating long tables where the remaining guests of the previous night’s celebrations broke their fast. Platters of bread, roasted meats, and fresh fruit lined the tables, while servants moved swiftly, refilling goblets and tending to the needs of the gathered lords and ladies.

Jason Lannister sat among the remnants of his household, most of whom were preparing to depart for Casterly Rock later that morning. His mother, Lady Leonella, had already left, her sharp eyes and sharper words having bid him farewell with a mix of exasperation and well-meaning concern. What remained of his retainers—several cousins and a handful of knights—stayed seated with him, their loyalty unwavering, though Jason wasn’t sure if it was out of genuine support or a fascination with his determination to linger.

Beside him, his younger twin, Tyland, ate with the practiced ease of a man entirely at home in the Red Keep. As a member of the King’s Small Council, Tyland had adapted quickly to courtly life and seemed to enjoy the endless scheming it entailed. He shot Jason a sidelong glance as he tore a piece of bread. “I must admit, I didn’t think you’d have the stomach to linger after last night,” he said, his tone carrying its usual undercurrent of humor.

Jason didn’t look up from his plate, slicing a piece of cheese with deliberate precision. “I’ve endured worse than a rejection, Tyland.”

“True,” Tyland replied, his smirk widening. “But few could endure the sheer volume of whispers your prolonged stay is generating.”

Jason’s eyes flicked to his brother, sharp but not unkind. “Let them whisper. It’s a pastime for most of them.”

At the high table, King Viserys sat with his family, the picture of relaxed authority. Beside him, Queen Alicent sipped from her goblet, her attention shifting periodically between her children. Rhaenyra, radiant even in the morning light, leaned back in her chair, exchanging words with her stepmother. Prince Aegon, already restless, drummed his fingers on the table, while little Aemond sat quietly, his face a mask of disinterest. Princess Helaena toyed with a plate of fruit, her gaze faraway as if lost in a dream. Yet despite the gathered royalty, one absence was glaringly obvious to Jason: the youngest princess was nowhere to be seen.

Jason’s musings were interrupted by the voice of Lord Jasper Wylde, who sat nearby, his tone tinged with amusement. “It is a rare thing,” he said loudly enough to be heard by those close to him, “to see the Lord of Casterly Rock prolong his visit to the Red Keep, especially after such a… public rebuff.”

Several nearby lords chuckled, and Jason’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. Tyland, ever quick with a quip, leaned forward, his tone light but cutting. “Perhaps it’s rarer still for one to linger in the presence of such company as yours, Lord Wylde.”

The jab earned a ripple of laughter, and Wylde, though momentarily taken aback, smiled thinly. “A fair point, Lord Tyland. Though I doubt even the sharpest tongue can dull the sting of such… ambition unmet.”

Jason ignored the exchange, his focus drifting back to the absence of the younger princess. As if the gods had chosen that moment to provide clarity, a pair of servants passed near his table, their voices hushed but not enough to escape Jason’s ears.

“Out riding again,” one of them whispered. “Through the city, no less. Does she have no concern for her safety?”

The other servant snorted. “You’re worried about her safety? I’d worry about the fools who’ll do anything just to catch a glimpse of her. Do you remember that lord? The one who drowned himself in summerberry wine after running out of the Sept like a madman?”

Jason’s lips curved into a faint smirk despite himself. The story was well-known, though hearing it invoked in such a context sent a flicker of amusement through him.

“That poor man,” the first servant replied, shaking his head. “Let’s just hope no one else gets any foolish ideas today.”

Jason didn’t wait to hear more. He rose discreetly from his seat, adjusting the cuffs of his tunic with a nonchalance that belied his urgency. Tyland, ever observant, raised an eyebrow as his brother moved to leave.

“And where are you off to?” Tyland asked, his tone carrying a note of amusement. “Surely not to chase rumors, Jason?”

Jason shot his twin a look, his tone deliberately even. “I’m going to enjoy the morning air. The hall has grown… stifling.”

Tyland chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Enjoy the air, then. But be careful not to trip over any summerberry barrels.”

Jason didn’t dignify the remark with a response, striding out of the hall with purpose. As he made his way toward the stables, his thoughts raced. The idea of you riding through the city, unaccompanied save for Ser Lorent, stirred something in him—concern, curiosity, perhaps even admiration. Whatever it was, Jason was determined to find you, even if it meant venturing into the bustling streets of King’s Landing himself.

The royal stables were filled with the earthy smells of hay, leather, and the musk of horses. Horses shuffled in their enclosures, their soft whickers and the occasional clink of bridles echoing in the quiet space.

Jason Lannister strode in, his boots crunching against the scattered hay. His gaze swept the stables until it landed on a stable boy near the far end. The boy, no older than thirteen, was brushing down a sleek chestnut mare, his movements efficient but unhurried.

“You there,” Jason called, his deep voice carrying through the space. The boy startled slightly but quickly straightened, brushing straw from his tunic as Jason approached.

“Y-yes, my lord?” the boy stammered, his wide eyes taking in Jason’s fine tunic and the Lannister lion embroidered on his chest.

Jason pulled a gleaming Golden Dragon from his pocket and held it up between his fingers. The coin glinted in the sunlight, its promise impossible to ignore. “I’m in need of a horse,” Jason said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Something swift and sure-footed.”

The boy’s eyes darted to the coin, his gaze lingering for a moment before he nodded eagerly. “Of course, my lord. We have plenty of fine mounts. I’ll saddle one for you right away.”

Jason pocketed the coin but didn’t let the boy scurry off just yet. “Wait,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more conspiratorial tone. “You saddled a horse not long ago, didn’t you? A black mare.”

The boy hesitated, glancing toward the stalls as if gauging whether he should answer. “I did, my lord,” he admitted finally, his tone cautious.

Jason’s lips curved into a faint smile, his lion-like confidence unmistakable. “For the Princess?”

The boy nodded quickly, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. “Yes, my lord. The Princess likes to ride in the mornings.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully, pulling out five Silver Stags from his pocket and holding them in his palm. “Tell me,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “What else do you know about the Princess? Where does she usually ride? What does she speak of?”

The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of the coins, but he hesitated, glancing around the stables as if afraid someone might overhear. “She… she doesn’t speak much, my lord,” he said cautiously. “But she’s kind. Always thanks us when we saddle her mare.”

Jason arched an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

“She usually rides through the city,” the boy added, his voice gaining confidence as he saw Jason’s interest. “Out toward the Street of Silk and sometimes to the river. She doesn’t take guards—just her knight, Ser Lorent.”

Jason frowned slightly at this, the thought of you navigating the chaos of King’s Landing with so little protection sparking both admiration and concern. “And does she ever meet with anyone?” he pressed, his tone calm but insistent.

The boy hesitated, clearly weighing the value of the silver coins against his loyalty. “Not that I’ve seen, my lord,” he said finally. “She just… rides. Sometimes she stops to speak with the common folk. They like her, I think.”

Jason’s lips twitched into a small smile, his respect for you growing with each word. “She speaks with the common folk, does she?”

The boy nodded, glancing again at the coins in Jason’s hand. “Aye. She doesn’t talk down to them like some lords and ladies do. She listens.”

Jason studied the boy for a moment, his mind turning over this new information. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the Silver Stags into the boy’s eager hands. “Thank you,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of dismissal. “Now, fetch me that horse.”

The boy pocketed the coins quickly, bowing his head. “Right away, my lord,” he said, hurrying off to prepare a mount.

As Jason waited, he leaned against one of the stall doors, his thoughts lingering on the image of you riding through the bustling streets of King’s Landing. The notion of you—so poised, so seemingly untouchable—choosing to venture into the chaos of the city alone was both puzzling and captivating. Whatever your reasons, Jason was determined to find out for himself.

When the boy returned leading a tall, dark gelding, Jason swung into the saddle with practiced ease. “Which way did she ride?” he asked, his voice steady.

The boy pointed toward the stable doors, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and curiosity. “Toward the city gates, my lord.”

Jason nodded, guiding the horse out of the stables with a purposeful stride. The streets of King’s Landing awaited, and with them, the answers to the questions you had unknowingly sparked within him.

The streets of King’s Landing were alive with their usual chaos. The hum of the bustling market, the shouts of merchants hawking their wares, and the distant clanging of blacksmiths created a symphony of life that could only belong to the capital. Amidst it all, you rode calmly atop your black mare, her gait smooth and steady as she navigated the uneven cobblestones with practiced ease. Though the city’s sounds and smells were overwhelming to some, you had grown accustomed to them, even finding comfort in their familiarity.

Ser Lorent rode beside you, his armor gleaming in the morning sunlight. His vigilance was unwavering, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd as he kept a protective distance from the passersby who stopped to gawk at your presence. It was a familiar reaction—your morning rides never failed to attract attention, whether from the common folk whispering among themselves or the occasional noble who paused mid-conversation to watch.

“The city seems particularly lively today,” you remarked softly, your voice carrying just enough to reach Ser Lorent.

“It is always lively when the princess graces it,” he replied, his tone steady but carrying a hint of amusement.

You smiled faintly, your hand lightly brushing your mare’s mane as she guided you without falter. “I was thinking,” you began, your voice thoughtful, “perhaps later I might request to be escorted to the Dragonpit. It has been too long since I’ve spent time with Silverwing.”

Ser Lorent nodded, though you could not see him. “As you wish, Your Grace. The Dragonkeepers will be pleased to see you there.”

The thought of visiting Silverwing brought a sense of calm, but your musings were interrupted as Ser Lorent’s tone shifted, becoming slightly more alert. “Someone approaches,” he warned, his voice lowering.

Before you could ask who, the scent of rich leather and sandalwood reached you, distinct even among the pungent smells of the city. You tilted your head slightly, the sound of hoofbeats drawing nearer until they stopped just beside you.

“Princess,” came a familiar, deep voice. Jason Lannister’s tone was smooth, almost casual, though there was an unmistakable note of intent beneath it. “What a pleasant surprise to find you out here this morning.”

You turned your head slightly in his direction, your expression calm. “Lord Jason,” you acknowledged, your voice soft but even. “I did not expect to encounter you here.”

Jason chuckled lightly, the sound warm and unbothered. “Nor did I expect to find you, though fate does seem to enjoy such coincidences, doesn’t it?”

Ser Lorent shifted slightly beside you, his posture stiff but silent as he observed the interaction. You tilted your head slightly, considering Jason’s words. “It seems fate is fond of you, my lord.”

Jason smiled, though you could not see it. “I should count myself fortunate, then.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, his tone light. “Might I join you on your ride, Princess? Unless, of course, I am intruding.”

You paused, sensing the subtle shift in Ser Lorent’s stance beside you. “I see no harm in it,” you replied after a moment, your voice measured. “If you wish to join us, my lord, you are welcome.”

Jason’s smile widened, and he inclined his head, though you couldn’t see the gesture. “You honor me, Princess. Thank you.”

As the three of you continued through the streets, Jason kept his horse at a respectful distance, though his presence was unmistakable. The smell of sandalwood lingered in the air, mingling with the more distinctive scents of the city. He seemed content to let the silence stretch for a moment, as if testing the waters before speaking again.

“Do you often ride through the city, Princess?” he asked finally, his tone conversational.

“When the opportunity arises,” you replied, your hands steady on the reins. “The mornings are quiet enough for me to enjoy the air.”

Jason tilted his head, watching you with an expression of genuine curiosity. “I imagine the city must look quite different through your perspective.”

You smiled faintly, your voice gentle but firm. “It is not so much what I see, my lord, but what I hear and feel. The city speaks, even in its chaos, if one listens carefully.”

Jason considered this, his respect for you deepening. “And what does the city say to you today?”

You turned your face slightly toward the distant sounds of a street musician’s lute, the soft rhythm of the mare’s hooves steady beneath you. “It speaks of life,” you said simply. “Of movement and purpose, even amidst its flaws.”

Jason chuckled softly, shaking his head in quiet admiration. “You have a way with words, Princess. It’s no wonder the court holds you in such high regard.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile, though your tone remained humble. “The court is kind in its flattery, though I do not seek its regard.”

Jason’s gaze lingered on you, his thoughts swirling with a mixture of admiration and fascination. There was something about your soft-spoken nature that seemed to draw him in, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“And yet,” he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s impossible not to admire someone who carries themselves with such grace.”

You inclined your head slightly, your expression unreadable. “You are kind, my lord. Too kind, perhaps.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat as Ser Lorent shifted subtly in his saddle, a silent reminder of his presence. Jason glanced toward the knight, his confidence flickering briefly before returning in full force.

“I speak only the truth, Princess,” he said finally, his tone steady. “Though I am grateful you think it kind.”

You said nothing, allowing the rhythm of the ride to fill the space between you. Jason, for his part, was content to remain in your orbit, drawn further into the quiet strength of your presence with each passing moment. For now, he thought, riding alongside you was enough.

The ride through King’s Landing began to draw more attention as you and Jason continued through the bustling streets. Whispers rippled among the common folk, their eyes shifting between the blind princess riding with calm grace and the unmistakable figure of Lord Jason Lannister at her side. His golden hair caught the sunlight like a lion’s mane, but it was not his usual charm or stature that held their focus—it was the unlikely pairing of the two of you, a contrast as striking as it was intriguing.

Jason found himself speaking with ease, something he rarely experienced outside the company of close friends or family. With you, he didn’t feel the need to impress, to dazzle with grand gestures or carefully chosen words. What use would such things be to you, after all? His looks held no sway here, and even his wealth and status seemed muted against the simplicity of your presence.

“You make it easy to talk,” Jason admitted after a moment of thoughtful conversation, his voice softer than usual. “Most people… expect more.”

You tilted your head slightly, the soft sound of your mare’s hooves grounding the moment. “More?” you echoed, your voice curious but calm.

Jason smiled faintly, shaking his head. “They expect me to be larger than life. To play the lion for them. But here, now… I don’t feel the need.”

You considered his words for a moment before replying, “Perhaps because you know such things hold little weight with me. Grand gestures and handsome faces mean little to someone who cannot see them.”

Jason chuckled, though the sound was tinged with genuine amusement rather than offense. “And your knight,” he added, glancing toward Ser Lorent. “I suspect he wouldn’t tolerate it, even if I tried.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against the mane of your mare. “Ser Lorent is protective, but only because he has my best interests at heart.”

Ser Lorent, riding on your other side, remained silent but cast Jason a pointed glance that confirmed your words. Jason couldn’t help but smirk, finding the knight’s loyalty both admirable and mildly intimidating.

Just as the conversation seemed to settle into a comfortable rhythm, the city was shaken by a sound that cut through the noise like a blade: a piercing shriek, unmistakably that of a dragon. The cry echoed through the streets, drawing startled gasps and frightened murmurs from the gathered crowds. Horses whinnied nervously, and even Jason’s gelding shifted uneasily beneath him.

But you—calm as ever—smiled, turning your head slightly toward the direction of the sound. “Uncle Daemon,” you said simply, the warmth in your voice unmistakable. “His visits are always… eventful.”

Jason blinked, his brows furrowing. “Prince Daemon?” he asked, glancing skyward as if expecting to see Caraxes descending at any moment. “He wasn’t expected in the capital, was he?”

“No,” you replied, your smile lingering. “His visits are rarely expected. But they are always welcome—at least by me.”

Ser Lorent’s posture remained tense, though his tone was measured as he addressed you. “Shall we proceed to the Dragonpit, Your Grace? If Prince Daemon has arrived, I imagine he’ll be heading there first.”

“Yes,” you said, your tone decisive yet gentle. “I wish to go to Silverwing. And to greet my uncle.”

Turning slightly toward Jason, you inclined your head. “My apologies, Lord Jason. It seems I must cut our ride short. But perhaps we can continue our conversation later, at the Red Keep?”

Jason hesitated for a moment, though his smile returned quickly. “Of course, Princess. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your dragon—or your uncle.”

There was a flicker of something in his voice, a mix of amusement and curiosity at the way you spoke of Daemon. Jason wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he nodded politely, his tone genuine. “Until then.”

You nodded in return, a faint smile gracing your lips before you turned your attention forward. Ser Lorent guided your mare with quiet efficiency, and together, the two of you began making your way toward the Dragonpit.

Jason remained where he was, watching as you disappeared into the crowd. The scent of sandalwood still lingered faintly in the air, but the moment had passed. His thoughts lingered on your words, on the calm way you spoke of Daemon’s arrival, and on the quiet strength that seemed to radiate from you even in the chaos of the city.

With a faint smile tugging at his lips, Jason turned his horse back toward the Red Keep, his mind already plotting how best to approach your next meeting.

The steep incline to the Dragonpit was alive with the sound of distant roars and the rustling of wings. The acrid tang of dragonfire hung faintly in the air, mingling with the scent of hay and sweat from Dragonkeepers who worked tirelessly within the massive structure. As your mare ascended the path with calm ease, Ser Lorent rode beside you, his vigilant gaze sweeping the area.

Before you even reached the entrance, the unmistakable presence of Daemon Targaryen was felt. The air itself seemed to shift, heavy with the aura of his arrival. His dragon, Caraxes, loomed nearby, his serpentine body coiled and his crimson scales glinting in the midday sun. The Blood Wyrm let out a low growl, causing some of Dragonkeepers to step back nervously.

Daemon was already dismounted, his silver hair catching the light as he stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene. He turned at the sound of approaching hooves, his sharp violet eyes narrowing before softening with recognition.

“Little star,” he called out, his voice warm and familiar. The nickname was one he’d given you as a child, a testament to the quiet yet steady light you brought to those around you.

You smiled faintly, tilting your head toward the sound of his voice. “Uncle,” you greeted, your tone carrying both affection and amusement. “I did not expect to find you here today.”

Daemon strode toward you, his confidence as effortless as ever. “You should always expect me, little star. I never stay away for long.” He reached up to take your hand as Ser Lorent helped you dismount, his grip firm but gentle. “And what brings you to the Dragonpit this morning? Was it my arrival, or do you come for your Silverwing?”

“For Silverwing,” you replied, stepping gracefully to the ground with his assistance. “Though your arrival is a welcome surprise.”

Daemon smirked, his expression one of faint amusement. “As it should be. It seems I’ve caught you during your morning ride. Have you been avoiding the court already?”

You chuckled softly, brushing your hands over your attire to smooth the fabric. “I prefer the quiet of the city to the noise of the hall, Uncle. Surely you understand.”

“Better than most,” Daemon replied with a grin. “The Red Keep suffocates me more with every visit.”

As you and Daemon walked toward the entrance of the Dragonpit, Ser Lorent following a respectful distance behind, you turned your face toward your uncle. “Will you stay long this time? Or is this another brief visit?”

“Brief,” Daemon admitted, though his tone carried no regret. “King’s Landing is no place for me these days. But while I’m here, I’ll make the most of it.”

“Will you come to the Keep?” you asked, your voice soft but hopeful. “To talk of your travels again? I miss hearing your stories.”

Daemon’s expression softened, and he placed a hand lightly on your shoulder. “How could I refuse, little star? You’re the only one in that cursed castle who listens without judgment—or boredom.”

You smiled at his words, the warmth of his affection a rare comfort amidst the cold formality of the court. “Then I’ll hold you to that, Uncle. You owe me tales of adventure and far-off places.”

Daemon chuckled, his hand falling back to his side. “You’ll have them. I’ve seen things that would make even the hardiest of lords tremble.”

As you approached the enclosure where Silverwing resided, the great dragon stirred, her silver scales catching the light as she stretched her wings lazily. Her eyes focused on you immediately, a low rumble emanating from her chest in recognition.

Daemon stepped back slightly, his gaze shifting to the dragon with a glint of admiration. “Silverwing grows more impressive with each year,” he remarked. “She suits you.”

“She has always been gentle with me,” you replied, reaching out a hand toward her. “Perhaps she senses I have no fire of my own.”

Daemon frowned slightly at your words but said nothing, instead watching as Silverwing lowered her massive head to nuzzle against your outstretched palm. The bond between you and the dragon was undeniable, a connection forged in trust and understanding.

As you stroked Silverwing’s warm scales, you turned your head slightly toward Daemon. “Thank you, Uncle. For coming to the city. It’s good to hear your voice again.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, though it carried a softer edge. “And it’s good to see you, little star. Even in this wretched place, your light shines.”

You smiled, letting his words settle in your heart as you continued to commune with your dragon. Though the world of courtly intrigue and ambition often felt heavy, moments like these—filled with the warmth of family and the steadfast presence of Silverwing—reminded you of the strength you carried within.

The Red Keep was as bustling as ever, its halls loud with the sound of servants going about their duties, courtiers murmuring in clusters, and the ever-present echo of boots on stone. Daemon Targaryen strode through the familiar corridors with his usual confident ease, his black cloak sweeping behind him and his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister. He relished the way the castle seemed to shift subtly around his presence—servants darting out of his path, lords and ladies pausing to cast wary glances his way.

He had no real purpose in the Keep today, save for curiosity. After greeting his favorite niece earlier at the Dragonpit, Daemon had found himself drawn to the palace’s undercurrents, the unspoken intrigues that always swirled within its walls. It wasn’t long before he spotted her: Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight, pacing near the painted table in one of the smaller audience chambers, her arms crossed and her expression dark.

“Now, what could sour the mood of my dear niece so early in the day?” Daemon drawled, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room as he stepped inside.

Rhaenyra turned sharply at the sound of his voice, surprise flickering in her violet eyes before her brows furrowed. “Uncle,” she said, her tone clipped. “What are you doing here?”

Daemon smirked, his steps unhurried as he approached her. “What kind of greeting is that for family? I arrive unannounced, and you sound almost displeased to see me.” His eyes glinted with amusement as he added, “I expected at least a smile.”

Rhaenyra huffed, turning away briefly to compose herself. “It’s not you,” she admitted, though her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely free of irritation toward him. “It’s… other matters.”

“Other matters?” Daemon echoed, his intrigue piqued. He stepped closer, his tone light but probing. “Do tell, niece. Perhaps I can offer my sage wisdom.”

Rhaenyra turned back to him, her expression a mixture of exasperation and frustration. “It’s Jason Lannister,” she said, the name practically spat out.

Daemon’s smirk widened. “Ah, the golden lion himself. What trouble has he caused you?”

Rhaenyra let out a sharp breath, her irritation flaring. “After my rejection—and Father’s rejection—of his proposal, you’d think the man would have the decency to retreat to Casterly Rock with what pride he has left. But no. He’s decided to linger, prolonging his stay in the capital.”

Daemon arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “And why does this bother you so? A spurned suitor sulking in the Red Keep is hardly worth your ire.”

“It’s not just his presence,” Rhaenyra snapped. “It’s his persistence. Word has reached me that he’s now turned his attention to Y/N.”

Daemon’s expression shifted subtly, his amusement tempered by a flicker of genuine interest. “Y/N?” he repeated, his tone quieter but no less curious.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra said, her tone sharp. “He was seen riding through the city with her this morning. Riding beside her, as if they were… companions.”

Daemon tilted his head, considering this. “And this troubles you why? Y/N can handle herself, surely. She’s not a child.”

“That’s not the point,” Rhaenyra snapped, her frustration bubbling over. “Jason Lannister doesn’t take no for an answer. He’s already proven that with me. Now he thinks he can charm her, of all people.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with something more thoughtful. “Perhaps she charmed him,” he suggested lightly, earning a glare from Rhaenyra.

“She is too kind,” Rhaenyra said, her voice softening slightly. “Too patient. She wouldn’t push him away the way I did. And he’ll take advantage of that.”

Daemon regarded his niece for a moment, his eyes studying her closely. “Do you think she’s so easily swayed?” he asked, his tone challenging.

Rhaenyra hesitated, her frustration faltering as she considered his words. “No,” she admitted finally. “But Jason is clever. He knows how to appeal to people, how to make them see what he wants them to see.”

Daemon hummed thoughtfully, crossing his arms. “And what would you have me do about it, dear niece? Shall I chase the lion back to his Rock for you?”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched into a reluctant smirk, though her irritation lingered. “I don’t need you to intervene, Uncle. I simply… I don’t trust his intentions.”

Daemon nodded slowly, though his amusement hadn’t entirely faded. “Well, if it eases your mind, I’ll keep an eye on the golden lion. Though I suspect Y/N is far less naive than you give her credit for.”

Rhaenyra sighed, her arms dropping to her sides. “I know she isn’t. But she’s my sister. I won’t see her used as a pawn in someone else’s ambitions.”

Daemon stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Then trust her, Rhaenyra. She’s not as fragile as you think.”

Rhaenyra glanced up at him, her expression softening further. “And if Jason oversteps?”

Daemon’s smile sharpened, his violet eyes glinting with mischief. “Then I’ll handle it.”

Rhaenyra nodded, some of the tension easing from her posture. Though her irritation with Jason remained, she felt a measure of comfort knowing Daemon would be watching. As unpredictable as he was, there were few people she trusted more to protect her family—whether with words or with fire and blood.

In hallways of the Red Keep, lords and courtiers gathered in clusters, their voices rising and falling in a symphony of scheming, laughter, and polite conversation. Jason Lannister stood among them, a impressive figure of confidence and charm, his polished demeanor drawing attention effortlessly.

Despite his outward poise, his thoughts remained tethered to the morning’s events. The ride with Princess Y/N lingered in his mind, a moment of unexpected connection that felt both rare and precious. He could still recall the softness of her voice, the way her words carried weight without ever striving for attention. And then there was Silverwing—a gleaming presence above King’s Landing, her great wings casting shadows over the city as she soared with you upon her back.

Jason had paused on his way back to the Keep, craning his neck to watch the dragon’s flight. It was a sight he wouldn’t forget—power and grace intertwined, a perfect reflection of her rider. Even now, hours later, the memory tugged at him, distracting him from the conversations around him.

“…and the King’s favor has certainly shifted, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Jason?” one of the gathered lords said, drawing his attention back to the present.

Jason blinked, offering a practiced smile as he turned to the speaker—a stout man from the Riverlands whose name escaped him. “Shifts in favor are as inevitable as the tides, my lord,” Jason replied smoothly. “The wise know how to navigate them.”

The other lords chuckled, nodding in agreement, though Jason’s focus wavered once more. His eyes caught a figure at the edge of the room, standing just outside the main cluster of courtiers. Prince Daemon Targaryen.

The Rogue Prince leaned casually against a pillar. He wasn’t engaged in conversation, nor did he appear interested in joining the flow of courtly chatter. Yet his presence was anything but idle. His violet eyes scanned the room, lingering on Jason just a beat too long to be coincidental.

Jason straightened slightly, his gaze meeting Daemon’s with a flicker of curiosity and wariness. It wasn’t unusual for the prince to study people; his reputation for unpredictability and cunning made him a figure both admired and feared. But there was something pointed in the way Daemon regarded him now, his expression inscrutable yet deliberate.

“My lord?” another voice prompted, and Jason turned back to the conversation, masking his distraction with another easy smile.

“Apologies,” he said, his tone light. “The Prince has a way of commanding attention, does he not?”

The others laughed politely, some casting furtive glances toward Daemon before quickly looking away. Jason, however, couldn’t resist another glance. By now, Daemon had pushed off the pillar and begun to move, his stride unhurried yet purposeful as he crossed the room.

It wasn’t Jason he was approaching, though. Daemon’s path was clear, cutting directly toward the King, who stood at the far end of the hall, surrounded by his own circle of advisors. Jason followed the prince’s movements with veiled interest, noting the way the courtiers seemed to part before him, their chatter quieting in his wake.

“He’s a fascinating man, isn’t he?” one of the lords murmured beside Jason, clearly emboldened by a goblet or two of wine. “Prince Daemon, I mean. Always a bit… unpredictable.”

Jason smirked faintly, his green eyes narrowing slightly as Daemon reached his brother’s side. “Unpredictable, yes,” he said, his tone careful. “And watchful.”

The lord frowned, clearly puzzled by the remark, but Jason didn’t elaborate. His attention was fixed on the way Daemon leaned in to speak to Viserys, the two brothers exchanging words that no one else could hear.

Jason’s thoughts churned, his mind returning to the moment when Daemon’s gaze had lingered on him. Was it curiosity? Amusement? Or perhaps something closer to a warning? The possibilities unsettled him more than he cared to admit, though he kept his expression composed.

“You seem distracted, my lord,” another voice said, and Jason turned to see one of his retainers—a younger cousin—regarding him with a knowing smirk. “Is the court not holding your interest tonight?”

Jason chuckled, though the sound was more practiced than genuine. “The court is always interesting, cousin. One simply has to know where to look.”

With that, he excused himself from the circle of lords, his steps carrying him closer to the periphery of the room. From there, he could still observe Daemon and the King, their conversation a silent mystery that seemed to ripple through the room without a single word being overheard.

Whatever Daemon’s intentions, Jason knew one thing with certainty: the Rogue Prince was not a man to be ignored. If Daemon had turned his gaze toward him, it was for a reason. And Jason, ever the lion, would need to tread carefully in the days to come.

Daemon’s purposeful strides brought him to the center of the hall, where Viserys stood in conversation with a group of advisors. The King’s face lit up at the sight of his younger brother, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of caution. It was always the same with Daemon—his presence was as welcome as it was potentially disruptive. The gathered advisors quickly stepped aside, bowing their heads as Daemon approached.

“Brother!” Viserys called, his voice warm yet wary. “It has been far too long.”

Daemon smirked, inclining his head with exaggerated deference. “Forgive me, Viserys, for missing the grand celebrations for Otto’s grandson,” he drawled, his tone laced with mockery. “I’m sure it was a spectacle to rival any tourney.”

The warmth in Viserys’s face cooled, and he sighed, waving a hand to dismiss the nearby courtiers. “Must you always arrive with a barb on your tongue, Daemon?”

“Only when it’s deserved,” Daemon replied smoothly, his smirk never faltering. “But I didn’t come here to trade jests about the Hightowers.”

“Then why are you here?” Viserys asked, his tone shifting to one of cautious curiosity.

Daemon’s smile widened slightly, his expression unreadable. “For your second daughter, actually. My little star.”

Viserys straightened, his jovial demeanor vanishing in an instant. “Daemon, what have you done?” he demanded, his tone strained.

“Relax, brother,” Daemon said, holding up a hand in mock surrender. “I’ve done nothing scandalous—this time. I brought her a gift from Lys. A simple bolt of fabric for a dress. Nothing more.”

Viserys’s brow furrowed, his skepticism clear. “Fabric,” he repeated, his tone flat.

“Yes, fabric,” Daemon confirmed, rolling his eyes. “A fine Lysene silk, perfect for someone with her grace. Would you like me to hand it to her myself, or shall I endure your mistrust for one more moment?”

Viserys exhaled heavily, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Sometimes I wonder if you bring trouble simply to see how I’ll react.”

Daemon grinned. “You’re not wrong.”

Before Viserys could respond, Daemon leaned in slightly, his tone shifting to one of casual inquiry. “Tell me, brother, are you aware that there are certain lords sniffing around Y/N’s skirts? She’s drawing quite the attention these days.”

Viserys frowned, his expression hardening. “And why shouldn’t she? She deserves as much admiration as Rhaenyra. She is my daughter, my blood. No less worthy for being the second-born—or for bearing the plight she does.”

Daemon tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied his brother. “You sound more defensive than proud,” he observed. “Tell me, Viserys, are you trying to rid yourself of her burdens by shoving her into the arms of one of these suitors?”

The accusation landed heavily, and Viserys’s face flushed with a mix of anger and guilt. “How dare you,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “I want nothing but happiness for her. She is not a burden.”

Daemon crossed his arms, his tone challenging. “You keep her from court, shield her from politics, and yet now you suddenly want her to bask in the attention of ambitious lords? Forgive me if I find your intentions suspect.”

Viserys’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near growl. “She is my daughter, Daemon. I make these decisions for her because I know what this court can do to those who are unprepared. If she chooses to marry, it will be because it’s her wish, not mine.”

Daemon regarded his brother for a long moment, his expression softening slightly. “Then make sure that’s true,” he said finally, his tone quieter but no less firm. “Because if any of these lords think they can use her as a pawn, they’ll find themselves dealing with me.”

Viserys sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as the tension between them eased. “You’ve always been protective of her,” he admitted. “I suppose I should be grateful for that.”

Daemon smirked, his confidence returning. “You should. I’m the only one willing to tell you the truths you don’t want to hear.”

Viserys chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “And I’m the only one who tolerates your endless provocations.”

“Then we’re perfectly matched,” Daemon quipped, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a gift to deliver. I’ll leave you to your lords and their endless petitions.”

As Daemon turned to leave, Viserys called after him, his tone lighter but still firm. “Just don’t cause too much chaos, Daemon. I’ve had enough of it for one day.”

Daemon waved a hand dismissively as he strode away, his grin widening. “No promises, brother.”

...

You sat by the window, your hands brushing lightly over the embroidery you’d worked on earlier, your fingers tracing the intricate pattern of dragon scales. The rhythmic hum of the Red Keep outside your window was a comforting presence, a reminder of the life bustling beyond your quiet sanctuary.

The sound of boots approaching the door brought your attention. Ser Lorent’s voice came softly from the other side. “Prince Daemon requests an audience, Your Grace.”

You didn’t need him to announce it. Even before the door opened, you could feel the shift in the air, the unmistakable presence of your uncle. “Let him in,” you said, a small smile playing on your lips.

The door creaked open, and you turned your head slightly, listening to the confident stride of Daemon’s boots as he entered. He didn’t speak, but you didn’t need him to. “Uncle,” you greeted warmly, your tone carrying both affection and familiarity.

Daemon’s steps slowed, and you could feel his sharp gaze on you. “You always know it’s me,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “What gives me away, little star?”

You smiled faintly, turning toward the sound of his voice. “Your stride, for one. And the air changes when you enter a room. It’s as though it carries your restlessness.”

Daemon chuckled, his demeanor softening as he approached you. He set something down on the table beside you and took a seat, his movements unusually unhurried. “Restlessness? I thought it was my charm.”

“That too,” you replied lightly, the smile on your lips widening.

He reached for your hand, placing something soft and cool into your palm. “Here,” he said, his voice quieter now. “The gift I promised you.”

Your fingers brushed over the fabric, its smooth silk a texture you recognized immediately. You let out a soft breath of wonder, your touch lingering over the material as you traced its edges. “Lysene silk,” you murmured, your voice filled with quiet appreciation.

Daemon leaned back, watching you with a rare softness in his eyes. “The finest they had,” he said, a touch of pride in his tone. “Only the best for my little star.”

You turned your face toward him, your expression warm. “Thank you, Uncle. It’s beautiful.”

Daemon smirked, pleased by your reaction. “Beautiful, yes. But not as beautiful as the dress it will become. I expect you to outshine everyone when you wear it.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and melodic. “You always have such high expectations for me.”

“You’ve never failed to meet them,” Daemon replied simply, his tone carrying an edge of sincerity that made your smile deepen.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Daemon shifted, his voice taking on a more animated tone. “Now, as promised, let me tell you of Lys.”

You leaned forward slightly, your attention fully on him as he began to speak. His words painted vivid pictures, describing the vibrant colors of the markets, the scent of exotic spices in the air, and the hum of voices in a language both foreign and melodic. He spoke of grand ships in the harbor, their sails bright and intricate, and of the infamous pleasure houses, their opulence a stark contrast to the simplicity of life in King’s Landing.

As he spoke, you let yourself drift, imagining the world as he saw it. “The canals,” he said, his voice softer now, “are like veins of silver, weaving through the city. At night, lanterns hang from the boats, casting rippling light on the water. It’s almost… magical.”

You smiled, your hands resting in your lap as you listened. “It sounds like a dream,” you murmured. “I wish I could see it.”

Daemon’s gaze softened further, a rare gentleness flickering across his sharp features. “You see more than most, little star,” he said. “You see the heart of things, not just their surface.”

His words warmed you, and you turned your head slightly toward him. “And what else did you see, Uncle? Tell me more.”

Daemon leaned closer, his voice lowering as he recounted tales of his travels beyond Lys—the strange customs of Volantis, the towering Long Bridge that guarded its harbor, and the fierce loyalty of its people to their fiery gods. He spoke of the dangers he’d faced, the skirmishes he’d narrowly avoided, and the secrets he’d uncovered in whispers and shadows.

You hung on every word, your mind piecing together the vivid images he painted. Though you couldn’t see the world as he did, his stories allowed you to imagine it through his eyes—a world vast and full of wonders, waiting just beyond the horizon.

As the candles burned lower, casting a softer glow over the room, Daemon’s voice grew quieter, his words carrying a hint of weariness. He finally leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on you. “You make me remember why I travel,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s worth it, just to bring pieces of the world back to you.”

You reached out, your hand finding his and resting lightly over it. “And you make me feel as though I’ve seen it all, Uncle,” you said softly. “Thank you.”

Daemon smiled, a rare and genuine expression. “Always, little star,” he replied. “Always.”

[sarcasticsweetlara]

We know they never disappeared from the picture, and I love the idea of her descendants eventually coming back to Westeros to be part of the Velaryon family who would not let go of the opportunity to keep their Valyrian blood pure.

I also believe Saera's grandsons would marry Valyrian women and that they helped overthrow Sharako Lohar, the Bazannes (and therefore saving their descending second cousin-once-removed Viserys) and that they and their children were kept under surveillance later on by Viserys II Targaryen.

° It would be interesting if Aenar's sons are named go by the matronym Saerasson:

- Aerion

- Aemon (after Saera's older brother)

° Gaemon's sons:

- Valerion (after Saera's baby brother who was named after the dragon Balerion)

- Daegor (attempting to honor Saera's older sister Daella)

- Aegon (after the Conqueror)

- Aethan (after Saera's great-grandfather through her grandmother Alyssa Velaryon)

° Maegor's sons:

- Daellor (after Daella again)

- Aelyx (after the Lord of Dragonstone)

Also, it would be great if in another life, the descendants of Saera got reintegrated into the succession line. Like Aerion and Daellor's children as their cousins through Gaemon would be already heirs to Archons of Lys.

Ladies of House Targaryen:

Saera