#rhaenyra stood by daemon in the end

[prideprejudce]

people will always blame alicent and rhaenyra or even daemon for sparking the start of the civil war but at the end of the day it will always come back to viserys and his cowardly decisions. as soon as he allowed himself to be bullied to remarry and to have more kids again, he officially sewed the seeds together for future conflict after his death no matter who he married. like if he had married laena instead of alicent and had sons with her, would the outcome have been so different? do you think rhaenys and corlys would have stood on the sidelines and watched their grandson get passed over? especially after rhaenyra had illegitimate sons that weren't even laenors? that they wouldn't have petitioned their own dance? the snake will always eat its own tail for power, and viserys doomed rhaenyra to her death with his own

[dreammfyre]

wedding celebration ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the only Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter. Jacaerys is your brother, but is engaged to Baela Targaryen and this is the celebration of their wedding announcement.

WARNINGS. +18. Targaryen incest, rude Jacaerys, AU (no Dance of the Dragons, Rhaenyra is the Queen of Seven Kingdoms.)

The engagement celebration was overwhelming and exhausting for you. The queen did not skimp on the grandeur of the event, a dinner full of variety and fresh delicacies, fruits, desserts, large platters of roasted meats that they tore to shreds leaving only the bones. All to celebrate in grand style the marriage of her first son with the daughter of Daemon Targaryen.

For you it was being a bore, sitting next to your brother Lucerys Velaryon who was talking with Rhaena Targaryen. Everyone was enjoying the dragon riders, while you just wanted to escape from the hall where the music, the shouting and the applause made it impossible to have a conversation. Sitting down you played with the food left on your plate, moving your fork side to side without purpose in that place, no one spoke to you, and when they did it was to talk about the couple of the moment. You were trying to get your mother's attention sitting next to Daemon, but she was too busy attending to everyone, always smiling and raising her glass to Jacaerys and Baela to look at you. On your other side, your little brother, Joffrey, was trying to convince you to dance a piece, but you refused for shame of falling down in the attempt.

You watched your brother Jacaerys laugh whispering in his betrothed's ear. But when he looked at you you looked away immediately. You felt your face hot with embarrassment at being discovered, but deep down you didn't mind being unwelcome.

A knight of House Lannister approached the table you shared with your family to ask if you wished to dance with him. Distressed to answer, you looked at your mother pleading for help, but Rhaenyra forced you to stand up for the first time since the event began and do some socializing, something you find very difficult to do.

It was awkward throughout, he just showed you off like a trophy and never looked you in the eye you felt like the song went on for hours. You went round and round, when he touched you a little rejection won you over and you ended up taking a step back. Your smell of alcohol gave you away as did your clumsy and uncoordinated movements. A few meters away, Prince Jacaerys noticed the situation, attentive if his sister needed help. He didn't like to see you with other men, they didn't know how to treat you and that was further proof, he noticed you uncomfortable looking at the exit constantly touching your waist too long. He took the opportunity to get close to your face, he didn't listen to what you were saying but from your facial expression he didn't need to know.

"Is something wrong?" asked Baela noticing that her fiancé was too distracted. Jacaerys immediately denied without arousing suspicion, but without ceasing to be attentive to the situation assuming that he was just behaving like an older brother protecting his sister.

While you continued to dance the extensive choreography you exchanged glances with your brother. None of them looked down, Jacaerys' tense jaw reflected his annoyance.

"You look especially beautiful tonight, my princess," said the blond-haired gentleman, gaining your attention. "The red brings out your look."

Without realizing it, you smiled. It was the first time anyone had complimented your dress that you designed, until the wine glass your escort was holding spilled on you when another gentleman accidentally pushed it. You let out a small scream as you felt the liquid on your skin, the fabric absorbed all the alcohol ruining the golden color of the embroidery.

"Gods." You whispered annoyed looking at the mess you brought on yourself. You looked at the queen who stood attentive to you, Jacaerys stopped suddenly leaving Baela dancing alone by her side who in the happiness of her engagement was not attentive to her guests. "My dress…"

"My princess, I am sorry. I didn't mean to." Said the knight wiping a cloth across your torso, drying a few drops of wine.

"Don't touch me!" You exclaimed when his fingers brushed your chest, an unpleasant and invasive sensation. People turned at your shout and at all that attention you ran, finally escaping the room amidst malicious whispers that were sure to become controversial by tomorrow.

Locked yourself in your room staring at the reflection of the stain I had left on you, cursing yourself for agreeing to leave your safe place in the chair next to your mother and now your favorite dress was ruined. Your fingertips had also turned crimson and you reeked of alcohol.

Not even a minute passed when there was a loud knock on your door, startling you by the unexpected. You approached taking a deep breath so as not to sound distressed or upset.

"I'm fine, mother. I'd rather stay and rest." You said, complimenting yourself for sounding so convincing.

"Let me through." You opened your eyes when Jacaerys' voice was heard on the other side. You immediately opened the door and your brother entered your quarters, which he knew by heart, and hurriedly closed the door before a guard discovered them. You didn't reach to say anything when he rushed to ask. "Did he do something to you?"

"What are you doing here, idiot? You're the fucking groom."

"Did he touch you?" he kept asking, looking at you intently, scaring you. "Damn it. Answer me, did he dare offend you?"

"Balea must be worried about you, must go back." You raised your voice, annoyed by your brother's recklessness. "Her Majesty must be asking about you and I don't think Daemon would be amused if you left his daughter alone in the middle of the celebration."

"Let them ask whatever they want, you know I care little for them and they'll have a hard time finding me."

"Don't tell me lies. You're the heir, all eyes are on you now, it's only natural that you care about your reputation." You said turning your back on him, you weren't angry, you were just being realistic. You didn't want him to look at you. "You need to go back, Jace, your fiancée is probably looking for you around the castle and she's not going to want to find you here."

"You think I want this for myself?" his question sent chills down your spine, Jacaerys' tone sounded hurt. "You must understand what it means to do the duty of our position."

Damn. You thought. That conversation again.

"Do you really want to talk about this right now?"

You heard his footsteps, the right thing to do was for him to leave you alone, but his hands came to rest on your shoulders. An intense sensation ran up your neck as his breath hit your cold skin. His pointed nose touched your back awkwardly moving unsure of his decisions, hands shifted to your waist clinging tightly without letting go. You couldn't control yourself, Jacaerys was yours, you hated to see him with another lady.

"Jace." You whispered with your eyes closed. You wanted to say with all your might that it wasn't right, but the warmth of his breath and his fingers touching yours was so much better.

"Just shut up, can you?" He ordered plaintiff. "And don't call me a liar, that makes me mad, you know it."

Listening to him angry you loved it, he was always so correct but when they were alone you couldn't control it.

You could fall into his arms easily, he had the demanding tone you need to hear. You turned around looking for his mouth desperate to kiss him, to reaffirm that he has been yours forever. His wet lips with yours knew each other perfectly, you were not new to this nor had you spoken of leaving him. Jacaerys took your neck with his hand squeezing gently, but enough to know he didn't want you to move. His tongue entered your mouth invading your space, desperate for your touch he cupped your cheek. You ran your hand through his long hair, tangling your fingers in his curls pulling them pulling his body closer to yours.

"Do you want to do it now?" he growled between your lips without letting go of your waist. You nodded without hesitation forgetting the fear of being discovered, you were so needy and only he could help you. "Gods, you're such a good sister."

Between wet kisses and ragged breaths they reached your bed which was perfectly tidy. His suit with the symbol of House Targaryen stood out on his chest, he sat on the edge waiting for you to sit on it, when you did he kissed your bare neck leaving marks that he cared little if they showed later, he wanted to mark you, that no one would look at you, but the idea that you were desired by the knights he always liked because he could have you while the others only desired you.

"That idiot won't bother you again." He muttered with difficulty, but convinced to keep his word for you. "Vermax will turn it to ashes."

You were so wet that any touch was going to make you scream in orgasm. Jacaerys was your first man and you didn't want anyone to be your second. The first time Jacaerys was gentle and soft with you, but the more they repeated it, hidden from the eyes and ears of others, you experienced more things that pleased both. Your favorite place was the bed, you could do many things there and get into various positions that made you feel more of him.

"We don't have much time, darling." Said the boy tucking a strand of your long hair behind your ear. "We can save that for another day."

In a hurry and a little clumsy, you pulled up the long skirt of your dress just enough to be exposed above it, none of you were naked, you could imagine that the celebration had not stopped in the absence of the prince nor yours. Jacaerys also settled down below you without taking his eyes off you at any time, thinking that he did not want any maiden, however pure and elegant. That wasn't the first time time time had worked against them, but the adrenaline rush was unique, like riding dragons. The sex felt much better though.

"Come here." He commanded with dilated pupils, tired and anxious from so much waiting to feel you. His hot member brushed against your wet entrance unleashing an intense sensation that made you moan but without opening your mouth. Jacaerys' hands slipped under your dress while you didn't let go of his shoulders so you wouldn't lose your balance, your knees bent on the mattress giving you comfort and the prince sitting under you, watching your every expression.

"You don't know how much I was looking forward to having you again." You said panting, your skin beginning to flush from the heat emanating from your bodies. "Promise you won't leave me." You said taking her face in your hands, desperate for the rubbing between your legs. "Get fucking married, but you'll keep coming back to me."

When he entered you let out a sweet moan that you tried to hide by covering your mouth. Jacaerys threw his head back taking a moment to accommodate you, you were so wet he slid in easily reaching your bottom in a matter of seconds. You squeezed his shoulder reflexively and he smiled when he heard you moan.

"Look at me." He commanded taking in your hot face, you found it hard to concentrate feeling him so deep inside you, but you looked into his eyes. "I will always come back to you." Replied.

And that was what you needed to hear.

You moved up and down slowly, Jacaerys moans giving you more pleasure from the movements and the feeling between your legs. The prince closed his eyes tensing his jaw holding his cum so fast, you kissed him biting his thick lips at the same time moaning louder.

You were clothed but it felt so good to feel his member rubbing against your walls that you just wanted to increase the speed. Jace enjoyed feeling you, with your hands he pulled down the front of your stained dress to let your breasts out. He took one between his big hands to squeeze it mercilessly, making you moan, you were very sensitive to any touch and your brother knows how to take you to the max.

"Jace." You gasped without stopping.

"Go on." He challenged you.

You listened to him, obviously. You were convinced that if at that moment Baela Targaryen entered you would not mind if she found you riding her future husband.

You felt him hard and hot, you watched him writhe with pleasure under your body, you kept moving until you couldn't hold back the urge to speak.

"Do you know what that man told me?" You asked pausing for a second, Jacaerys eyes opened still inside you, you caressed his open, swollen lips. "If I married him I was never going to be short of a good fuck."

The prince's expression changed completely, you knew what you had just done and you didn't regret it. He grabbed you by the waist and turned you over on the bed leaving you exposed to his desire and discomfort. He quickly pulled your dress up again entering you, this time without softness or gentleness that characterized him, you screamed forgetting that you should keep quiet to guard his secret, but he grabbed you so tightly and kept moving behind you.

"Do you like it like this?" he asked agitated, moving back and forth constantly, you were clinging to the sheets. You nodded unable to modulate a statement. "No one can touch you." He kept up the accelerated pace. You stuck your cheek to the mattress in pain but the sensation in your legs was growing, the friction was getting more and more delicious and rough, it was something new that you liked. Your brother's hands were marked on your skin, there was less and less time left to feel the orgasm. You wanted him to know what he was going to miss out on by marrying another woman.

"Jaca-Jacaerys." You tried to speak.

"A little more." He begged.

You couldn't stand the pressure growing under her belly any longer, your legs faltered and your chest couldn't expand any more. You stood there for a few seconds recomposing yourself, trying to get the air back into your hot agitated lungs. You turned to look at him, he looked exhausted, his skin red and curls in disarray. You had never felt his anger or jealousy over you.

You sat on the edge of your bed while he quietly adjusted his pants. Jacaerys looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting her hair, her suit, trying to conceal it. You didn't know whether to speak or remain silent.

"I'll go back to the celebration." He said without looking at you.

"It's okay." You whispered tidying the long skirt of the frayed dress. "I think so do I."

The prince turned with an expression of unpleasant surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Sure. I'm going to change this fucking dress first." You affirmed with an innocent smile. Your hair messy, your lips swollen and wet were still warm. "Congratulations for your wedding; brother." You scoffed.

Jacaerys grabbed your jaw hard stealing a long kiss that you didn't manage to escape. He looked at you disapprovingly. "You’re wicked."

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Jace and betrothed unable to wait until their wedding night to have sex??

Request: Jacaerys and his future wife fooling around because they are horny and scared they will die before getting married. I don’t want my boy to die without tasting the greatness of sex

How did this smut piece get to 2.2k words? 😳

Warnings: 18+, smut, masturbating, fingering, p + v, 

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’I’m scared, Jace,’’ you confessed as you stood by the banister of Dragonstone castle, watching as Vermax and Silverwing flew together over the bay. Hopefully Silverwing will lay eggs when you and Jacaerys have children. ‘’The war is getting closer to us. Soon, we’ll have to get on our dragons and battle against the enemy. We…we might die.’’

Death was inevitable during a war. Especially one with dragons, as Rhaenys once said. Team Black had already suffered a couple of losses — Lucerys, Rhaenys, Ser Erryk —, but more would come. 

‘’The thought of what’s coming is terrifying, but we can’t let ourself be paralyzed by the possibility of dying,’’ Jacaerys said, his hand securely on the handle of his sword. He had taken the habit from Daemon, whom he looked up to in certain aspects. 

You looked down at your bare hands on the top of the banister. ‘’I’m not scared of death, I’m scared of dying without ever calling you husband.’’ 

A few weeks before the petition of Driftmark, you and Jacaerys had announced your betrothal. Rhaenyra had a feast in celebration, proud and happy that her eldest son would marry without any politics involved. The wedding should have happened in the summer, but the King fell to his illness and from there unraveled a series of unfortunate events that postponed the wedding.  

‘’When the war ends and I sit on my throne, we’ll have a large celebration in the Red Keep,’’ the Queen had promised.

But you were tired of waiting. 

‘’Every night, as I lay in bed, I think of you and our life if there hadn’t been a war of succession. I would call you husband, my prince husband, and we would not be sleeping in separate beds across the castle. No one would be chaperoning us from afar and we would not get scolded for sharing ‘too long’ kisses.’’

Jacaerys put his hand over yours on the bannister, sharing the same feelings. He wanted to call you his wife and glare at whoever dared speaking wrong to you. He wanted to spend the evening alone in your shared chambers, eating cakes and talking about your day until one of you fell asleep first. He wanted…he wanted to take you to his bed and have a family with you. Not whilst the war was going. He could not deal with the stress of his pregnant wife going to battle on her dragon. 

A few days later, you were sitting in your settee, reading in your nightgown when you heard a light knock on the door. You raised your head from your book, and saw that a piece of parchment had been slipped beneath your door.  

Meet me when the moon is bright. Careful when you take the stairs, Ser Godric is keeping guard.

The message was not signed, but you recognized the handwriting. 

When you judged the moon was bright enough, you slipped a robe over your nightgown and quietly walked down the corridor to take the stairs to Jacaerys’ chambers. You listened carefully for any guards, not wishing to get caught sneaking to you betrothed’s chambers at the hour of the owl. It would make quite the scandal amongst the servants and the staff. 

You knocked delicately on the door and bit your lip as you waited, your stomach bubbling with excitement. Within a few seconds, the door opened and Jacaerys pulled you inside. 

The room was quite dark as the sun was asleep, only the fire of the hearth and a few candles on a table as sources of light. You noticed the small crumpled balls of parchment on the study, assumingly drafts of his message to you. It had to be not too suggestive, but also not too plain that you would not want to come.

‘’I didn't know if you were going to come,’’ Jacaerys said, his lips curved into a shy smile. 

He was wearing just a tunic and wool trousers. It felt strange to see him without his doublet and riding gear. His dark brown hair was messy and his cheeks flushed from what you could make from the light. He looked so different from the usual picture-perfect prince. 

‘’You asked to see me.’’ 

Jacaerys stepped closer. He raised his hand to stroke your cheek, then your hair, which he seemed taken by. ‘’I didn’t know your hair was so long. You always have them up in braids or pins,’’ he said, his tone soft with wonder.

A slight smile tugged at your lips. ‘’What is it that you wanted, Jace? I doubt you summoned me her to talk about my hair.’’ 

‘’I’ve been thinking. About us.’’ He paused for a moment, looking into your eyes. ‘’The Gods have been unfair to us. So let’s not wait for them to bless and unite us.’’

Your brows drew into a light frown. ‘’Jace, what do you—’’ you began, but he stepped closer, his forehead resting against yours. 

He stepped closer, the fire in the hearth reflecting in his eyes. ‘’Do you love me?’’ 

‘’With all my heart,’’ you replied without hesitation, your eyes filled with sincerity. 

‘’Let’s not wait, then. I…I don’t want to waste our time together waiting for this damn war to be over to take you to bed.’’ 

Jacaerys placed his hands on your hips and pulled you flush against him, his grip loose, giving you time to pull from his grasp if you wanted it. But you didn't. 

Instead, you looked up at him and kissed him, closing the remaining space between you. You kissed him like you've done many times before, only this time you didn't have to pull away every twenty seconds to check if a maester, guard or the Queen was around. You’ll never forget the embarrassment you felt that day…

Jacaerys whimpered as you pulled his bottom lip with your teeth, and pressed you against him, desire spreading through his veins, hot like dragonfire. With less layers between your bodies, you could feel the warmth of his chest through your nightgown, and his...little friend stiffening in his trousers.

‘’Someone is excited,’’ you murmured with a giggle as you broke the kiss to plant a trail of kisses down his neck instead. 

He let out a low moan, tightening his grip on your hips. ‘’I cannot control it when you’re around. Especially when you kiss me.’’ Jacaerys captured your lips into another kiss, and tingles caressed your spine and tickled your lower stomach. 

His hands grabbed and pulled at the material of your robe and nightgown, and you rolled your hips, igniting more of his dragonfire. Jacaerys moaned at the contact, louder than he intended. Your own cheeks turned red, realizing you were starting to reach an intimacy you had never breached before.

‘’I’m nervous,’’ you whispered, biting your lip as you thought of getting intimate. 

You placed your hands on Jacaerys’ chest, distracting yourself from your mind. His heart was beating fast, probably just as nervous. 

‘’We don't have to do anything if you don’t feel ready to.’’

You shushed him with a finger to his lips. ‘’I want to.’’ 

To prove yourself, you untied your robe and placed it on the back of the settee, right next to Jacaerys’ sword. The prince's breathing quickened, his dark eyes fixated on your fingers as you unlaced the ties of your nightgown, slowly unraveling the knot. You sucked in a breath as you pulled it down your shoulders, letting it slip down your body until it reached the floor.

Silence greeted your naked body, and you felt shy suddenly. You almost reached for your robe to cover yourself, but your betrothed sensed your uneasiness and stroked your cheek before taking off his tunic and trousers. He found it unfair for you to be naked while he was still clothed.

Once you were even, he guided you backwards towards his bed. The headboard had a large dragon engraved in the stone and seemed a little bigger than yours. The sheets were pale, and over top was a deep red blanket made of velvet to keep warm from the winds coming from the bay.

Jacaerys sat on the edge and, with an expression of fascination, he reached for your breasts. He made sure to be gentle, sliding his thumbs gently over your rapidly hardening nipples. ‘’By the Sevens, you’re beautiful,’’ he marveled, stars in his eyes. 

‘’I can say the same, my prince.’’ You pressed your palm over his chest, smooth and warm.

Jacaerys smiled, that one soft and genuine smile he reserved for you. ‘’I love you,’’ he said, his hands caressing your side in small, gentle circles. 

‘’I love you to— Aah,’’ you whimpered as his hand reached between your legs, stroking your slit clumsily. He didn't know what he was doing, and lacked finesse as he bumped against your clit at random moments, but it still felt amazing. 

He checked on you, wanting to please. ‘’Does that feel good?’’

‘’Yes.’’ 

His fingers were getting slippery from your arousal, making it easier to slide against your cunny. You’ve done it to yourself a few times, alone in your bed. 

‘’Can you put one inside?’’ 

Jacaerys’ fingers were a bit thicker than yours, and longer. 

He nodded. 

A breathy moan left your lips instantly, pleasure sparkling as your walls clenched around his middle finger. 

‘’Like that?’’ Jacaerys slid his finger out, then back in, repeating the motion as you grabbed his shoulder. 

‘’Yes. Again.’’ 

He listened to your needs, almost forgetting his own as his cock remained untouched against his stomach. It was engorged and painful. While one hand was busy pleasuring you, he wrapped his second around his cock and jerked himself. 

 You noticed and thought of helping him, but Jacaerys added a second finger and your knees almost gave out. The feeling was overwhelming, but you craved more. 

You pushed Jacaerys away, and clambered over his lap. His gaze met yours, equally filled with lust. With a nod from your lover, you reached down to grab his cock and lined it at your entrance, sinking down slowly, inch by inch. 

The intensity of the sensation had you gripping at each other, needing to anchor yourself to something. It was unpleasant at first, feeling a pressure and a stinging inside your intimate tunnel. You felt full in a way that was impossible to describe.

Feeling your fingers dig into his skin, Jacaerys kissed your shoulders and neck to sooth you, trying his hardest not to move by fear to blow too soon or hurt you. It was overwhelming for him too — the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him.

You rose up slightly, and then sank back on with tenderness. Jacaerys moaned deeply with you, his head dropping against your collarbone. He closed his eyes, his hands squeezing your hips as you moved up and down again, the pressure around his cock heavenly.  

Your bodies moved together in a rhythm, becoming one. 

When your legs fatigued, you let Jacaerys know and he moved you on the bed and laid you down on the rich velvet. He adjusted himself to the new position, his dark curls falling like curtains around his face as he thrusted into you with long deep strokes.

‘’Kiss me,’’ he demanded.

You complied, winding your arms around his neck and rocking your hips to meet his thrusts until you reached your high with a broken cry. 

Seconds later, Jacaerys pulled out and spilled onto your thighs, not wanting to deal with the consequences of having sex out of wedlock. 

The bed creaked as he collapsed beside you, breathing heavy. As if an invisible string was pulling you to him, you rolled on your side and clung to him, needing to be close after sex. You stayed that way for a long time, relaxing with your head on Jacaerys' bare chest. Your legs felt like jelly, still dizzy from the intense emotions and the overwhelming pleasure. 

You wished you could suspend time and stay there with him forever. But a soft yawn brought you back to reality.

‘’I must leave,’’ you said, feeling the tiredness catching you. It was difficult not to be lured to sleep when you were cuddling under the covers and Jacaerys’s hand was stroking your back gently.

His arms caged around you, protesting. ‘’Stay.’’ He nuzzled into your neck, his voice muffled. ‘’It’s a command from your prince.’’ 

His tone was unserious, but it still made you guilty and sad to leave him. 

‘’I do not wish to leave and sleep in my bed alone, but I must be found in my own chamber when the maids come in the morn.’’ 

Jacaerys sighed, rubbing his face into your hair. ‘’I know,’’ he said, his voice a mixture of resignation and frustration. 

Reluctantly, his arms slowly unwound from around you and you peeled yourself from him, releasing a small hiss when you sat up. The septa had warned you about the pain after breaking your maidenhead. It wasn’t unbearable, only sensitive when you moved. 

‘’I didn't hurt you, didn't I?’’ Jacaerys immediately asked, his eyes filled with concern as he checked on you.

You shook your head and smiled, washing his guilt away. ‘’No. You were perfect, Jace.’’ 

He knew it was untrue. No one was perfect the first time. 

You struggled dressing back into your nightgown and robe, having to fight with Jacaerys’ lips trying to kiss you and his arms pulling you against him. You gave him a last longing kiss before slipping out of his chambers, promising to see him to break fast. 

—

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[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 1

Part 2

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, eventual smut, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i nearly decided on nuking this because it feels so fucking bad and aimless guess in the end I'M really the tormented spirit huh anyway if I'm glad i didnt and decided to wait it out. if you enjoy this please think of leaving a comment and/or reblog because i need the reassurance. | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

"Father," Alicent pleads, "she needs to see you."

Otto's jaw clenches as he lifts his gaze from his desk. He looks upon his youngest child's features. You were one in the same, his first daughter and last. He thanks the gods that she did not inherit the curse you bear.

Alicent picks at her fingers while awaiting a response. Though she draws blood, no sound leaves her lips. She did not know it, but her father catches this anxious tick. He mentally corrects himself: at least she did not inherit it at equal intensity.

"A man has no place in the dressing room of a bride-to-be," the Lord Hand dismisses.

Alicent knew about as much would be said, yet she still tries, "please. She is having a-"

"And when has my presence ever soothed her?" Otto interrupts, raising his voice to make his point clear.

It was enough. Alicent understood.

He turns back to his papers. He reads them but none of the words register. He says, "I am sure your brother is already there, coddling her as he does."

Alicent does not respond.

Otto lifts his gaze, "go," he speaks as though his daughter missed the obvious, "if she needs someone so badly, coddle her with Gwayne."

Alicent returns to your chambers. Her heart pinched in every which way at the sight of you. Here you stood, clothed in one of the few precious dresses that belonged to your mother— a bride. Dark blue satin and gold jewelry embellished your form. Your brown hair was curled and plaited and pinned. Your face had a glow, only because it was stained with tears. It was terrible and magnificent all at once.

Rhaenyra goes to her best friend, and the two girls clutched hands before walking towards you. Gwayne spots them and gives your hands a tight squeeze. Because of this, you turn from your older brother to your younger sister. Your eyes are pink with melancholy.

"Lord Hand," Alicent mutters, "is deep in his work."

On his daughter's wedding day, thinks Gwayne.

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw, loathing your father more than normal in this moment.

More than your own, you cannot stomach your sister's duress. You stroke her cheek, "I am well now. Worry no more."

Alicent catches Gwayne's expression and knows that is a lie. Still, she smiles and nods, "I am glad," she looks you once over, "you are an exquisite bride, sister."

Rhaenyra offers a smile, "I agree, dear aunt."

Your face twists at the young princess's words, though you knew she meant well. You will away the dreadful sensation in your stomach and manage a smile, "thank you... sweet niece."

You relish their company for as long as you can in this moment. You gather strength from Rhaenyra's smile, from Alicent's touch, and Gwayne's words. Then, all at once, you were alone, walking towards Daemon Targaryen.

In truth, he was not curious of you. He despised you, for after all, you were the spawn of that Cunttower. But, gods, what could possibly be the reason you were taking so long to walk down the aisle? It was not like this room was that big. And so, he turns over his shoulder to inspect you. His hand remains on Dark Sister and his weight still rested mostly on one leg.

He squints at the sight of you, moving like a snail. He is about to roll his eyes, but then he catches a glimpse of your countenance.

Tis strange.

You were not nearly as repulsive as he remembered you, and not nearly as similar in likeness to your rotten twin. How could that be, when it was not only- what, a season since he had pummeled Ser Cuntface to the ground? He will never forget your screaming face in the audience, and how deliciously distressed your father had been from hauling you away.

Even now, as Daemon's lilac eyes appraised your distant silhouette, gliding towards him like a phantom intent on haunting, he second guessed if that weeping woman from the tourney was you. But then he turned to your brother and saw his jaw harden. It was unmistakable then you were the weeping woman, and now, you were his weeping bride.

Gwayne, could not help the way his hands tightened into a fist as he helplessly watched you inch towards his most ardent foe. Beside him, unmoving, stood the very man who allowed such madness to ensue: your father.

You pass the pew that seated your family. Your twin's expression softens. He nods, and you know he means take heart. Your sister does the same. But your father, who stood between his children, does not spare you a glance.

Daemon notices the coldness. He would feel bad, but then again, he has been proclaiming his ill-guided brother's Lord Hand was the biggest cunt in the realm for so long, so he doesn't. Oh, but then you look at him with those beady eyes, and he did not know why his thorax felt uneasy.

Twas strange indeed.

Soon you stood in front of your promised, and, finally, Otto lays his eyes upon you. He does not see you though. He does not see the woman dressed in the garments that once belonged to his wife. He does not see your trembling hand and glassy cheeks. He sees his timid, tremoring, little daughter that he had to leave a moon's length for work. He sees her frail body that shook on her tiny bed and found no comfort in the way he held her tiny hand when he returned.

As the septon begins this damning rite, all he could hear was the voice of the maester that promised the new medicine he procured would heal his girl. As tears rolled down your eyes, he remembers how he nearly killed the maester for feeding you herbs that caused you to retch the little food you had eaten.

Has my child not suffered enough?

Has my child not suffered enough?

ᴴⁱˢ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ⁱˢ ᵐᵃʳʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵐᵒⁿˢᵗᵉʳ

Daemon turns to the pew beside the Hightowers' and finds his brother's face. Viserys seemed pleased to witness this wretched affair, as did Aemma, who clutched her pregnant belly. Rhaenyra beside her seemed more interested in you however, or at least the dress that she and Alicent helped dressed you in.

The septon blabbers and tells you both to speak your vows. You do, one as reluctant as the other. Then, as instructed, Daemon cloaks you and presses a kiss on your salty lips.

Twas bittersweet. On one hand, as he takes your clammy one, the image of Otto's face when Daemon told the King that he wanted to marry you comes to mind.

Oh, how excited he was to see the old fool look as though he was a breath away from lunging at him across the table, and how utterly horrendous that he hadn't. He would have simply, and justifiably, killed him. Then all this bother would not have ensued. The look upon the said man's face this moment, now that he's sullied what he so dearly protected, made his stomach giddy.

As the same time, as he held that same clammy hand of yours and felt it tremble, he remembers that you and he were bound. Though not in the manner of his house, he knew he could escape only so much of his wretched duties. Otto's vexation would only last so long, and deep down the cunt must enjoy that his daughter was now a princess. He knew soon Viserys would also begin nagging him again.

But then out of nowhere, he laughs. It was so abrupt that a few guests looked at him in confusion.

How could he forget? There was the matter of your... affliction. Perhaps he can frighten you to death on your wedding bed.

He chuckles once more.

The idea is so delicious, he is in good spirits the whole wedding feast. He does nothing but embarrass and shame you by entertaining literally every other lady save yourself.

What makes matters worse, at least on your end, is that your father refuses to go to your side and forbids not only your brother but as well as your sister from leaving their spots to come to your aid. There was no need to make the matter bigger than it was. You are left alone at your seat at the table, looking nothing but pathetic and weepy.

You sustain such temperament until you're in your marriage chambers, but then you do a funny thing and down two glasses of wine. Daemon laughs at how it spills from your lips, down your neck.

He, who had already much more than a measly two cups, comes behind you and takes the one you loudly prop on the table. You squeak and bolt away when Daemon's arm sneaks up from underneath your own; it only further amuses him.

"V'you a change of heart?" he pours himself a glass, "ready for debauchery, yes?"

You turn unbelievably pale, and it merits the fondest of laughs from your sadistic groom. Daemon drinks and licks the wine off his lips.

You gulp, reaching out a trembling hand.

He raises a brow at it. Suddenly, he's annoyed— twice was much because he has absolutely no idea what the gesture means.

That is, until you speak, "may I have some more?"

One of his faint silver brows raises. Suddenly, he is greedy with the wine he thought tasted too sour on his tongue. However, a curiosity within him urged to hand over the cheap drink, for why did his shivering wife have the nerve for this to be her first words to him?

He watched you throw your head back as you down the wine just as quick as you did the previous ones. He chuckles and crosses his arms. When you turn to Daemon, he tilts his head, "thirsty?"

You inhale deeply, though it is strangled, "for my anxiousness."

It takes a moment for him to realize what you mean, and when he does, his nostrils flare. Had he breathed fire, surely smoke would have come out his nose at this moment. Daemon releases an airy, unamused chuckle and averts his gaze, "eager to bed me, harlot?"

Your throat tightens, for that was not what you meant at all.

You forcibly swallow a lump that forms when he comes to your side. Your throat only further constricts when he grabs and yanks you into his chest. You whimper as he presses his nose against your ear. Goosebumps form when his hot breath hits your ear, "on the bed then."

Your heart thunders as he shoves you towards the bed. You nearly miss it. Actually, only your head and arms touch the cushion, and the rest of your body collides with the floor and the hard bed frame. Your tailbone throbs at the impact, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as your chest that tightened, and tightened, and tightened and—

You barely manage to gasp. You are hard of breathing when Daemon crouches and grabs your thighs, pulling your skirts up. He feels your flesh tremble beneath his palm. His fingers touch your skin, and it brings him to hiss; you are ice against his burning hands.

He looks up at you. A line forms between his brows. You gasped for air that seemed unwilling to enter your lungs. Not only was your face stained with tears, but as well as your neck now

He mutters, "nyke pendagon jaelā naejot sagon ipradāri," I thought you wanted to get eaten, "I do so find fear delectable."

You continue to slump into the floor until you're a melted mess. You can do nothing but clutch your chest, not that it helps one bit.

Daemon is satisfied at this point. He stands and dusts his hands off. He looks at the pitiful Hightower, your dark locks spilled on the ground as if blood from a crime scene.

"Is that your affliction then, wife?" he tilts his head, "do you seize up when you're nervous?"

You look at him, but do not respond.

"S'rather inconvenient, no?" he sighs, as though he actually cared.

You shut your eyes and curl into a ball.

"Mmm, well, I suppose I will have to claim the womanhood owed of me some other time," he said, uninterested. With that, he exits the room with a skip in his step, pleased to know he had such a tremendous effect on you.

You remain in this turmoil for what felt like hours.

By the time you peel yourself up from the floor, your body is encased in sweat. You command yourself to calm; you cannot afford to slip into another bout of insanity. Your tears cannot be contained as you struggle to undo the ties of your dress; at least tremendous relief comes after you do. You struggle to your feet and remove the pins in your hair while making for the vanity table.

You sit before yourself; your horrid face reflects on the mirror that was far too clear for your liking. As you free your hair from its bounds, you think, perhaps it was fortunate that your husband did not lay with you. At least not tonight.

But then, comes to mind, the argument you with your father. Your chest threatens to tighten again as the severity of his voice replays in your head.

It was no secret, Otto despised Daemon. How then could he be so shocked at your horror of learning he had approved your marriage to him. His raging voice still rings in your head: "you ungrateful fool!"

You fall apart in your palms and nearly succumb to yourself again. Thankfully, you manage to take deep breaths and pick yourself up before you fall apart.

You always knew you were the spare in your father's eyes, but you thought that merited indifference. You did not think he hated you so deeply. How could anyone hand their child to their enemy? Perhaps this was his way of finally having use of you.

A spare. A pawn. Will it ever end?

You go to bed and wrap yourself tightly under the sheets. You stare at the ceiling, praying the same prayer you've prayed since you were eight: Seven, let this be my final slumber.

You nearly choke when you are awoken by such violent shaking. You jolt up, or at least as much as you can from the blankets you were so tightly bound in.

Daemon grins and brings the hands he had shaken you with behind his back, "I would say good morn, but it is apparently opposite to you, wife."

The name makes your skin crawl. You push yourself out of the sheets and sit up. You wipe your face and tell yourself; you must get used to this, "good morrow, husband."

Your brown curls spill down your shoulder as you sigh to yourself. Daemon thinks you look much more palatable this way, unlike yesterday, when your hair was jailed so tightly. He motions with his head, "ta. We make haste to the dragon pit."

Your eyes are suddenly devoid of any trace of sleepiness as you look at him.

His lips remain curled, "it would only be proper to do so, no?" He does not let you retort, as he is already making his way out, "tis Caraxes' right to know who his master has been shackled to," he opens the door, "at least momentarily."

If he was self-satisfied with how you shook under his grasp last night, one can only imagine his exhilaration over your severe disinterest in meeting his mount this morning. What's more, Caraxes could smell your anxiety, and it made him chuff and snap his jaws.

Of course, Daemon chastised his dragon, telling him to obey, even though he very much did not want him to. He eagerly fantasizes: oh, a shame my bride died the day I introduced him to my ride.

A true shame.

"Calm yourself," Daemon sniggers as he forcefully pushes you towards the blood wyrm, "the harder you make this for yourself, the harder it will be."

You found no encouragement in that, for no part of it meant to encourage. You continue to writhe against him, pushing yourself back, only to be pressed against the prince's chest and urged forward. It didn't help that he shackled his hands on both of your wrists, preventing you from elbowing him away.

Though your hair was braided to the side, you still manage to whip it to Daemon's face in your attempt to free yourself, only causing him to be more impatient. You could not help the harrowing shriek that left you when he ultimately brought you to the beast's maw, and the said creature pressed himself against your chest to sniff you.

Caraxes rips away and shakes his head at your piercing reaction. He shrieks in like, as if disapproving, or showing offence. He must exact appropriate retaliation. He draws a deep breath, readying to set you ablaze. Daemon would have let him, had he not been a direct target of his mount's wrath, "keligon, Caraxes!"

Caraxes hisses.

"Keligon!" Stop!

He does not enjoy the order, exemplified by the way he licked his teeth, but obeys, nonetheless. He roars one last time, spit sputtering onto your face as he does. It's enough to make you finally lose your resolve.

You cease your wrangling and find yourself going limp in his arms. Daemon is pleased. He can finally drag you on dragon-back and torment you even more mid-air. What he did not know, however, was that your stomach was tingling; it was not that of the usual dread so familiar to you, but twas familiar still.

Daemon takes you by the arm and tries to make you climb up to the saddle, but then he stills when he hears the sound you make. He pulls away just before the acid from your stomach rushes out of your mouth. You retch so much it comes out of your nose, and you feel yourself grow lightheaded.

"Fucking gods," Daemon recoils in disgust. He turns to one of the dragon keepers and orders you away.

The dragon keeper, who looked far older than your father, spoke to you in a language you could not make out. You understand the part where he says maester as he leads you out of the pit. You manage to convey you no longer needed his assistance once you were out and walked off by yourself. You flinch and shriek when Daemon takes off on Caraxes.

You do not go to the maester's, instead, you have your servants draw you a warm bath and stay in it until it is cold. Only then do you scrub your skin until it is tender.

Once you were clean, you looked for the only person in the world that did not use your name interchangeably with hysteria: your twin.

"That uliginous blinkard," Gwayne slashes the dummy before him. You watch him pace from the bench you were sat upon. "He is incapable of procuring a morsel of dignity out of his wretched existence."

You clench you jaw when he chucks his sword to the ground.

"I should smother him in his sleep."

The thought chills you.

"But then I would be no better than he, would I not?" he seethes as he walks to your side, grabbing the towel beside you.

He wipes his face. You look up at him, a line forming between your brows, "remember you are my confidant, not my vindicator."

"If not I," he chucks his towel back beside you, "then who?" His forehead wrinkles, "an affront to my twin is worse than one to myself."

"Then you would know better than anyone that I share your sentiment," you grab his arm, hoping to calm him down.

His face is hard. He pushes your hand away.

You sigh, "and you know well that I suffer more in circumstances where you've acted on my behalf."

He clenches his jaw. He draws a deep breath and denies the thought with the shake of his head, "father will not hold it against-"

"Father holds everything against me," your eyes instantly water, "he would not be our father if he did not."

Your twin has never spoken your name any other way but in gentleness, yet it is precisely why it chips you apart. Gwayne continues, "be it as it may, but I do not believe that he gave to the prince— certainly not willingly."

You laugh and lift your countenance to the sky. Tears fall from the corner of your eyes, down your ears and neck, "does it matter?"

"It does," he urges, "he fought for you."

"He does not fight for me," you turn back to him, "allow yourself to come to terms with it as I have. It will hurt you less."

Gwayne does not manage a response as someone else speaks in that moment. The way you both tense at the sound is that of instinct.

"You vomited in the dragon pit?"

You turn over your shoulder and shoot up from where you sat. You watch as your father walks towards you. He places a hand on your neck and looks you up and down, "did the prince jostle you so on his ride?"

His touch is like a searing rod against your skin, his eyes, even worse. The raised hairs on your neck remain even as he pulls away. You quietly retort, "I did not even touch his saddle."

"Oh," Otto raises his brows, "then perhaps your affliction is that of you carrying."

Carrying?

Both you and Gwayne are mortified by the idea. You stutter, "s-surely it is not that quick."

"The blood of the dragon runs hot," he sighs, "as he would so boldly proclaim."

Your face burns upon hearing this.

Your father looks past you, "take your sister to the maester at once."

"No, I-"

"Make sure that she is good condition and take note of what will be instructed of her."

"That is not-"

"I am sure she will be required to take further precautions because of her affli-"

"We did not!" you blurt, finally regaining the attention of your father.

Your heart races as Otto looks at you. Suddenly, you are like a deer shot by an arrow, pained and powerless. He is annoyed that you interrupted him, only to say nothing. He presses, "we did not what?"

You take a strangled breath before reply, "we... did not consummate ou-"

"You what?!" he steps forward.

Gwayne immediately takes your arm, eager to get between you two, "father-"

But Otto does the same and pulls you toward him, "you did not consummate, or you did not want to consummate your marriage?"

Gwayne's hold on you falters. Your saliva lumps in your throat, "I-"

"You do understand the consequences if you do not bear your husband heirs, correct?"

You turn to your feet, unable to hold his heated glare, "I-"

"Look at me when I speak to you," he shakes you.

You lift your eyes, and hot tears begin to rush down your face.

"You've proven your point, father," Gwayne blurts, "release her."

"Release her?" Otto redirects his ire. Though he does just that, release you, it feels as though an iron clamp around your neck replaces your father's hold. "Even if I were to release her, boy, your dearest twin sister will not be free of the truth," he turns back to you, "nor my point. Your failure to do what is necessary will lead you straight into the dragon's belly."

You clench your jaw tighter than anyone should.

"Do you understand, girl?"

You nod before you allow yourself to breathe. You blurt, "yes, my lord."

Otto looks you once over before turning and walking away. The moment he is out of sight, you fold like a deck of cards, and Gwayne must keep you upright.

He hushes you and sits you back down. He kneels in front of you, observing if you were about to collapse into another episode. You do not, for he was with you, but you do weep until tears could no longer fall. He leads you to your room after this and urges you to rest.

You repeat the prayer you prayed on your wedding night before you sleep.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧-𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: as handmaiden to rhaenyra targaryen, you have stood ever-faithfully by her side, through the brewing storm. loneliness seems to tether the two of you together.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.0K (not sorry)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), power imbalance (not in a bad way), age gap (legal), infidelity, mentions of rhaenicent and daemyra, rhaenyra is bisexual, internalized homophobia, lots of making out, groping, biting, dry humping, risk of getting caught, fingering (fem!rec), breast play, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), rhaenyra is a soft pleasure dom, aftercare + sweet ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first wlw fic & first time writing for rhaenyra, please be gentle! ngl I loved writing this so unbelievably much, I would love some requests for her! I hope you all enjoy, I’m really proud of this one and it’s def more meaningful to me as a queer woman! ❤️

TEMPESTUOUS TIDES RAGED WITHIN A CERULEAN OCEAN, WAVES KISSING THE CLIFF SIDES OF DRAGONSTONE, AN ANCIENT CITADEL HELD ALOFT BY ARCHAIC STONE. SALTWATER MIST HUNG HEAVY UPON THE BREEZE, A MIDDAY SUN GLISTENING OVERHEAD, BLANKETING THE SEASON IN GLITTERING RAYS OF VIBRANCY.

In the wake of usurpation, the realm was torn asunder, thrust into the wake of a war that had already consumed lives — lives that needn’t be lost. Upon the knife’s edge of chaos, Rhaenyra had felt more alone than ever before.

Loyalties were fickle; some bought, others severed. As days progressed, she had felt more frayed than ever, stretched too thin. Bloodthirst had already consumed the life of her beloved Lucerys and Prince Jaehaerys II, a needless slaughter.

The day had progressed at a sluggish pace, between council meetings and correspondence with Jacaerys. Poised within an ornate chair, she remained sequestered within her chambers, lingering beside the window, left ajar.

Betwixt her fingers, she cradled the crown of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, once the emblem of a peaceful Targaryen regime — formerly placed upon the brow of her late father.

Recent occurrences had forced her to face an ugly preponderance; did the crown fit upon her own brow as it had for so many others before her?

Had her father never been so brazen as to break hundreds of years of tradition, Lucerys might still live, and the realm at-peace. Rhaenyra lived with the knowledge that a greater war lingered beyond, hidden within the shadows — the Conqueror’s dream.

With Daemon gone to play King-Consort in the Riverlands and Jacaerys determined to gain the allegiance of the Freys, it was as if she were standing alone upon an island. Rhaenys could only console her so much before such wise words lost their luster.

Even Elinda herself was away; and that left you, bound to the Queen’s side.

Raised within a lesser house who had sworn their allegiance to Viserys’s true heir, your servitude to Queen Rhaenyra had been one of the greatest honors of your lifetime.

With her half-brother now sitting the Iron Throne, conflict chafed at the realm, cruel tendrils seeking to spread across the land; an embittered war of kin against kin. Such strife was felt by all within Dragonstone, including yourself.

Tension seemed to linger within the Queen, a terse countenance interlaced with an underlying melancholy. Grief still clung to her; the passing of Lucerys, the passing of her stillborn daughter. With Daemon away and their relationship fragmented, you often felt concerned for her wellbeing.

It was expected of her, to remain headstrong — to shoulder the weight of responsibility, the curse of a crown so heavy that it nearly obliterated her. However, you were privy to her strength, a resilient determination to seize her birthright, come what may.

Summoned to her chambers, your knuckles tapped against ancient wood, iron-wrought doors groaning in protest. The creaking reverberated throughout the hall of stone, slivers of sunlight dancing across the floors.

“My Queen,” A soft cough bubbled from your throat, effectively fracturing her ruminations. Lilac hues drifted from the tarnished crown to you, sharp features bathed in the midday glow. “You summoned me.”

Rhaenyra had become something of a friend to you, if that term were appropriate for a monarch. In her own perspective, you were a shrewd maiden; comely and polite, loyal without fault. Conversation had felt effortless with her, and oftentimes, she confided in you without question.

The strife she faced was immense, and to you, she seemed exceptionally lonely, a notion that you were empathetic to. Despite the differences in histories and the lives you led, you were not bereft of your morality.

Rising from her seat, the Queen regarded you with an indiscernible expression, some amalgamation of warmth intermingled with something forlornly. A cordial smile crossed her features, fading as soon as it had appeared.

“Yes,” Placing the crown upon the window’s ledge, she smoothed her palms over her gown, a rich hue of burgundy, trimmed in draconic patterns of silver. “I wish for you to accompany me to the archives. I’ve much reading to do.”

Targaryen histories were not unfamiliar to her, and yet, it proved a worthy distraction in the face of such uncertainty. Rhaenyra hoped that it would better serve her reign, to know of the Conqueror’s Dream, of the coming war in the North.

“Of course, your Grace.” Devotion was a mere understatement when it came to that of your Queen; you admired her all the same. She carried herself with a dignified strength that you yearned for, a poise becoming of a ruler.

Stepping aside, you made a berth for Rhaenyra, allowing her to pass before you flocked to her flank. The Queensguard prepared to accompany you, causing the Queen to halt in her tracks.

“We needn’t be accompanied.” Rhaenyra’s sharp announcement was enough to rattle both men, Ser Darklyn and Ser Marbrand taking careful steps back, posted outside of her chambers. With a soft hum, the Queen continued, her gait measured as it came to slow.

Oftentimes, you were behind her, commonplace for a lady of your station. Much to your bewilderment, she had let her pace come to a leisurely crawl, keeping in-stride with you. “Your Grace, do not trouble yourself with …”

“Nonsense,” A brief sigh unraveled from her lips, hands poised before her, occasionally gathering her skirts to descend a flight of stairs. “I cannot speak with you if I am far ahead.” It was a welcome change-of-pace for you, admittedly.

Neglecting to protest her request, you nodded, allowing yourself to dutifully walk by her side. For a moment, you remained silent, afraid to speak your mind. “As you wish, your Grace. If I may inquire, what is the reason for our visit to the library?”

“You have already inquired,” A teasing lilt clung to her tone, a cadence that oozed with grace. She was ethereal, whimsical to behold, in truth. You had never glimpsed upon a woman as beautiful as she, lilac hues possessing a faint shimmer. “It is a distraction, reading; I can only stomach so much of my chamber walls.”

A peculiar heat crawled along the nape of your neck, hands folding themselves together as you made for the library. “I am sure that the constant scenery can become mundane for you, my Queen. I should hope that this venture offers you solace.”

Solace — Rhaenyra had not felt such a sensation in many years, merely a facade. For much of her life, it had been hallmarked by tragedy and betrayal, and yet, she knew what privilege she had, even still.

Lucerys’s passing had left a void within her, chipped away by Viserys, by Visenya, who never drew her first breath. Grief followed her like a haunting spectre, nipping at her heels, allowing its gnarled tendrils to wrap around her heart.

Attempting to brave the tumultuous storm of melancholy tested her at every turn, and each day, the pain only seemed to ebb and flow. This war had already taken much from her — Rhaenyra wondered how much more it would cost her.

A sheen of sadness shimmered within her gaze, drawn toward the distance, as if she were remembering. You feared that you had spoken out-of-turn, lips parting as you cleared your throat. “Forgive me, your Grace — I did not mean to offend.”

Rhaenyra seemed dismissive of your apology, as the two of you entered through arching doors, marked by flickering braziers. Dragonstone’s library was rather impressive, scaling walls filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, pieces of the past all kept within one sanctuary.

“You did not offend, sweet girl.” The warmth of her affectionate moniker made your stomach tremble with butterflies, a sensation you seldom felt.

It was not your responsibility to bear the brunt of her pain, and Rhaenyra knew this. Your words were of good intent, tidings of peace, if that were even attainable. She recalled what it was like when she was your age — times were simpler, then.

Following her into the labyrinth of parchment, it seemed that she had already made a temporary residence here. A large, ornate desk had already been organized with historical volumes and various papers, one that she had made consistent use of.

As she lowered herself into one of the numerous chairs, you curiously ogled the many shelves, wishing that you had enough time to read it all. Possessing a passion for literature, you wondered what hidden gems rest beneath the mountainous weight of parchment.

The hall remained quiet, save for the distant song of the tides, the air carrying the distinct scent of dust-laden paper. Braziers crackled with smoldering embers, daylight pooling in through stained-glass window panes.

Rhaenyra’s gaze flickered to you, silently wandering the numerous shelves that scaled to the ceilings. “You are welcome to read whatever you wish,” Bewilderment etched itself into your features. “Most of these texts have seen better days.”

It felt like a sin, laying your hand upon anything in this library — it was all above you, a mausoleum of Targaryen histories and beyond. “That is a thoughtful offer, my Queen, but I do not believe that it is appropriate for someone of my station …”

A soft huff tore past her parted lips, a glint of amusement heavy within lilac hues. With a dismissive sound, she shook her head. “I believe that it is appropriate. They shall find no use, otherwise.” A lighthearted lilt permeated her tone, and you promptly curtsied.

Gratitude seeped from every pore, lips curling into a gentle smile. “You have my thanks, your Grace.” Curiosity got the better of you, gaze lingering over many texts, until one in particular seized your attention.

It was a lightweight volume, riddled with dust, careworn from the passage of time. Its tattered pages contained plenty of material regarding the history of dragons, something that perplexed you to no end.

Prying it from the shelf, you moved to sit, dusting your fingertips across the book’s dilapidated cover. The color had faded, showing signs of age, but you persisted. Much of the script was written in High Valyrian, a language that you knew pieces of, a puzzle indiscernible to you.

Rooted behind the sturdy expanse of an ornate table, Rhaenyra observed you, even still. Violet hues brazenly rake across your hands; delicate yet hardened, like that of some precious jewel.

Beauty clung to your youthful features like the first breath of spring, vibrant and warm. It was your heart that oozed with a brightness, the same was your countenance. She had grown fond of you, perhaps too fond, suppressing lingering feelings.

The mass of parchment beneath her palm suddenly loses all of its meaning. It is the stare of a dragon, one that unknowingly covets something that does not belong to her. Trapped within the cage of her own thoughts, the Queen does not register the inquiry that floated from your lips.

A tendril of shame festers within her, then and there. Rhaenyra exhaled, jaw terse as she regarded you with a kindly disposition, albeit a touch strained. It was the same shame she had felt when she first held Alicent’s hand, when she had bed Harwin Strong; something forbidden.

Whatever she began to feel, she knew that it was somewhat an extension of her loneliness; her sons away, Daemon drowning in the fire of his ambition, Rhaenys to Driftmark.

“Your Grace?”

“My apologies,” With a distant smile, lilac hues briefly avert themselves, as if attempting to remain innocuous. “I have felt strained, as of-late. It is something that I should not subject you to.”

Words sizzled upon your tongue, begging for freedom as you sat straighter, your gaze tearing itself away from the book. “I do not intend to speak out of-turn, my Queen, but I would consider you something of a friend — you have not subjected me to anything.”

True, pious friendships seemed difficult to obtain for her, most having passed, others now turncoats in the wake of the Greens’ reign. A flicker of appreciation settled within her eyes, fingertips brushing across a bound scroll.

Rhaenyra had confided plenty in you, professed doubts and insecurities, spilled her heart and let it bleed onto her sleeve; there was nothing truer than that. “You have my gratitude — truly.” Her voice was gentle yet regal, a lull that often enticed you.

“You needn’t thank me, your Grace. I know that you have been pressed beneath an oppressive weight, a burden that I do not fully understand. Your strength does not go unnoticed.” Sympathy clung to each syllable, a sentiment that she clung to, heart stirring within her breast.

A brief hum escaped her, one that bordered upon sardonic as she toyed with a piece of parchment. “I do not often feel as strong as I should,” Her confession was wrought with dismay. “I know that many would view my inaction as a weakness.”

Daemon had urged her to act — to kill, to burn, to obliterate — Rhaenyra had not found it within herself to conform to such intentions. She had little desire to rule over a kingdom of ash, let alone bloodletting when so much had been spilled already.

Some sliver of her desired that — bloodlust, revenge, the heads of usurpers upon spikes.

It would always be part of her, something she had learned to acknowledge. Meeting your gaze, her jaw tensed somewhat, considering her next words before you cut through the tenuous silence.

“Strength is not always found in our actions — sometimes it is the things we do not follow through on, our temperance,” A brief pause; your hands folded together atop your book. “A sound leader considers the counsel of those around her, and herself — and you have done just that.”

Rhaenyra considered you in silent observation, mauve hues flickering over you with a thinly-veiled admiration. “If only so many thought as you did,” Her smile was forlorn, heavy with doubt. “I often wonder if the throne truly is my birthright.”

“I did not know your father, your Grace, but from what I’ve been told, he never faltered from naming you heir — it is your birthright,” Nails began to dig into the book’s fragile spine. “Despite what opposition lingers, you are the Queen this realm deserves.”

It was a satisfying feeling, to be believed in, to be beloved — Rhaenyra seldom felt such sensations in recent weeks, often undermined at each turn. She seemed to subtly preen beneath the genuine weight of your words, warmth fluttering throughout her sternum.

“You have my thanks.” With a solemn lament, the Queen’s incendiary gaze remained transfixed upon you, features blanketed by a warm smile. She found you to be comely, a young maiden who desired purpose in the world.

“Of course, my Queen,” Words stilled upon your tongue, a bout of hesitancy gripping you before you continued. “To have a woman sit the Throne would mean more than you could ever imagine to so many, including myself.”

Men had always sat upon the Iron Throne, but Rhaenyra’s opportunity to strike down a longstanding tradition was at-hand. She had often detested the roles laid before her in her youth — betrothals, marriages, stripped of independence.

She could seldom imagine what women endured, especially those less fortunate than herself. Your circumstances were something similar — serving at her side had spared you from a potential betrothal, something that you had little desire for.

Rhaenyra considered your words — what importance they held, the implications. Should the war be won and her crown reclaimed, she wondered how much it would mean to the smallfolk, to denizens like yourself.

“I should hope that I am worthy enough for it,” It was the wisp of insecurities breathing life into her words, and she shook her head. “I apologize — I do not wish for this conversation to be so dour.” She uttered, stress residing within her visage.

Perplexed, your head cocked to one side, as if she had said something blasphemous. “There is no one worthier, my Queen,” Lips fleetingly curled into an amiable, reassuring smile. “You needn’t apologize for it, either. I know that these last few weeks have not been kind to you.”

A sharp pang of aching melancholy festered within her heart, a raw reminder of loss, of love’s rage. Rhaenyra seemed to grow distant for a moment, as if attempting to compose herself for the sake of your conversation.

Growing quiet, you wondered if you had sorely overstepped her boundaries with such words, able to feel the forlornly frustration wafting from her. In truth, you also felt more alone than ever — your father was away, family scattered to the winds.

The Queen was the only source of companionship you had, and despite being bound by duty, you thoroughly enjoyed her presence. Time had withered the tenuous air between you both, weathering away your initial intimidation until the both of you spoke freely.

Rising from her seat, Rhaenyra’s measured steps rounded the table, coming to lean against the edge as she peered at her hands. “I feel as if I haven’t had a moment’s peace to properly grieve, as if duty demands I must press on.”

She mourned who her daughter could’ve been — something fierce, someone kind, and she mourned who Lucerys was, gentle and just. Their weight within her heart felt heavy, a raw reminder of their passing.

“When my sister died, kind words seemed fleeting — everyone seemed too preoccupied with replacing her, with what came next, instead of acknowledging the void that she left,” As you spoke with such sympathy, Rhaenyra’s eyes softened. “I felt much the same, left without a moment to mourn what I lost.”

As you moved from your seat, your gaze seemed drawn to the midday sun pooling in from the windows, catching flecks of dust through the glittering rays. The book felt incredibly weighty within your hands, no longer holding the significance that it had moments prior.

“I am sorry for your sister,” She uttered, pale brows furrowing together. Dismissive of it, the Queen cleared her throat. “I am no stranger to loss,” Rhaenyra lamented, her smile a saddened one, lilac hues following you with an unusual intensity. “It does not make things any easier, I’m afraid.”

With a brief shake of your head, your head canted toward the ground, averting her stare. “It does not — I hope that peace finds you, my Queen. You’ve endured much, and yet, you remain resilient.”

Rhaenyra felt soothed by your words, a kindness that seemed lacking within her counsel as of-late. There was a semblance of ease, at your side. “I must thank you, for speaking to me — it does some good to converse in this way.”

A bubble of laughter slipped past your lips, a fleeting sound that seemed heavy with a sense of contentment. “You needn’t continue to thank me, your Grace. I value this just as much as you do — you are the only voice I’ve heard in these last few days.”

A rare smile graced the Queen’s features, hauntingly beautiful, ethereal like the rest of her. It waned as soon as it had appeared, but you clung to it nonetheless. “I’ve grown rather used to yours.” She remarked, tone bordering upon precociousness.

Tendrils of fire began to seep into your belly, skin crawling with an unnatural warmth. It was sinful to allow yourself to be smitten by the Queen, a woman married, a mother, but it became difficult to ignore the stirring within your chest.

“I should hope it hasn’t become grating for you, your Grace.” With a feeble attempt at deflecting her subtle compliment, your fingers twisted together, interwoven atop the book’s spine. Whatever sentiments surged within you, any attempt to suppress them were futile.

Rhaenyra hummed, head cocking slightly to one side. “Quite the opposite — it eases my heart.” A haze of tension permeated the space between you both, one that seemed to linger.

Swallowing the growing lump that formed within your throat, you appeared flattered, lashes fluttering and your countenance demure. “Thank you, your Grace,” A pause gripped you, and with carelessness, you continued. “I look forward to your company each day, in truth.”

Despite the innocuous nature of your statement, there was something deeper laced within — a yearning, a gnawing ache. Whatever you felt for your Queen, it was steadily transcending all bonds of propriety, a scourge upon her honor, and yours.

In the spirit of transparency, Rhaenyra felt something lurch within her, a desperation; vanquishing loneliness. Growing close to you was not a mere accident, and she felt lecherous in her own desires, not wanting to soil this nurtured companionship.

It was your candor and tenderness that beguiled her so, a gentler hand — kinder than Daemon, softer than Harwin, and lacking Alicent’s callous betrayal.

A brief hitch formed within her throat, subtle in the face of her usual poise, pale brow furrowing in contemplation. Whatever she felt for you, it began to simmer to the surface, like the violent swell of a tempestuous tide, dragging her beneath the squall.

With a steady exhale, Rhaenyra had stepped closer, well within arm’s reach of you. “As I long for yours,” She uttered. “You’ve been a spot of light in such times of darkness.” Exuding restraint, she looked to you, countenance swirling with an amalgamation of emotions, some indiscernible to you.

Longing seemed too powerful a word, something that evoked a twinge of bewilderment from you. The lull of her cadence subdued you, a rush of heat licking from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine.

The weight of repressed sin hung heavy within your heart, akin to that of an anvil. Such sentiments had plagued you for as long as you could recall, thoughts stretched thin with fantasies that the Faith of the Seven often outlawed.

Yet, when you caught a glimpse of Rhaenyra, none of it felt sinful — it was as if you were burning, basked within a pleasant heat. Her beauty was divine, a goddess swathed in dragon’s scales, violet hues seemingly boring into you, attempting to pick you apart at the seams.

“It is difficult not to feel such isolation,” The confession that spilled from your lips mirrored her own inner turmoil. “Aside from yourself, Elinda, and the Kingsguard, I’ve often felt like a stranger, a ghost shambling about within these halls.”

If you were brazen and emboldened, you might’ve continued, lavishing your Queen with sweet words. You nearly imparted upon her that she had made you feel such invigoration, no longer a spectre — and it all felt so untoward.

“You aren’t alone,” Rhaenyra exhaled, allowing a sliver of tension to unfurl from her shoulders. The silence that had passed between you was nearly exhilarating. “I’ve felt it too, after Daemon departed — more than ever before, in truth.”

Daemon was an enigma — an arrogant enigma, one that had brought both love and suffering into Rhaenyra’s life. His abandonment and ambition were sore subjects as of-late, and she thought of him as a concerned wife would; nothing more.

“You have my sympathies, your Grace,” It seemed to be some pull you had towards one another, strings of fate tethering you to her. Rhaenyra had sluggishly circled about, coming to halt by your side. “Trust that you shall always have my shoulder to lean upon, no matter the storm.”

Whatever action proceeded your words seemed wholly involuntary, as if you were acting upon the stirring within your heart. Brazenly, you had reached for her, unable to stop yourself as your hand slipped against her forearm.

Your comfort and reassurance had ensnared her long before your digits graced her arm, a fire rousing within her. Her heart stuttered, gooseflesh permeating the back of her neck at the briefest sensation, and she did not recoil.

A noticeable shift began to stir, tension simmering to life like that of an open flame, permeating the air around you. Rhaenyra gazed at you longingly, wordlessly reaching for your waist, slender digits curling into the fabric there.

Bewilderment entangled with exhilaration scrawled across your countenance, breath hitching within your throat as she stepped closer. The silence was deafening, wrought with the onslaught of something foreign, something thrilling.

Slowly, your hand began to crawl from her forearm to her shoulder, the neckline of her gown encrusted with jewels and draconic patterns. Rhaenyra did not stop you from continuing, shivering as the silky pads of your fingertips ghosted along the column of her throat.

“My Queen, I …” A sudden fear gripped you then, as if this had carried on to the point of no return. This was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and you were merely a handmaiden. All bonds of impropriety shattered, besmirching her honor; you would be executed.

Before your weak declaration of protest could be vocalized, she drew you closer still, any sliver of space fading between bodies. Words turned to ash, floating away into the dust-laden library as her lips pressed against yours.

The kiss was brief, dancing upon the thin line of restraint as Rhaenyra drew back, lilac hues half-lidded. She dared not press you further, caressing against the small of your back as you attempted to regain your composure.

It was you she waited for, gauging to see if you wished to continue. Instead of executing caution, you broke upon the blade of temptation, mouth returning to hers after a moment of hesitation. Your kiss lacked experience, sheepishly mimicking her movements.

A sharp exhale ripped through her lungs, pale brows creasing in concentration as she reciprocated your kiss, blinding you with a flurry of passion. She held you close, caging you in against her, able to smell the faint perfume that dabbled your collarbone.

A soft, trembling gasp escaped you as her palm moved to cup the nape of your neck, thumb stroking beneath your ear. Each kiss was akin to a blaze of wildfire, tearing through you with all of its heat and ardent intensity, enough to scorch your flesh.

Clamoring fingers moved to drape themselves over her shoulders, interlocking against the top of her spine, able to graze across her bare skin. Rhaenyra did not relent, grasping you fiercely, as if asserting her claim as she tilted her head, deepening your fervent entanglement.

Some dizzying haze washed over you then, bitten by desire, by devotion. Lips untethered themselves from hers as you pressed a string of kisses against the sharp line of her jaw, and then to her throat. A hum of approval left the Queen, the bridge of her nose buried into your crown.

Reverence seeped into each and every ministration, as if you were worshiping her — and she deserved nothing less. Strings of passionate kisses feathered themselves across her neck, evoking a myriad of pleasurable sounds from Rhaenyra.

Arousal began to mount between your thighs, warm and heady as friction crackled, your back digging into the ornate desk. Despite your glaring inexperience, it became easier to chase after baser instincts, belly sloshing with molten heat.

As you littered her flesh in constant kisses, you felt her palm cup the base of your skull, digits sinking into your tresses. It was her other hand that had tantalizingly danced along your spine before groping your hip, nails catching upon fabric.

Wordlessly, she guided your lips back to hers, thumb caressing your jaw as mouths collided once more. A simpering moan ripped through your diaphragm, lost within the divine labyrinth of her lips.

Deep-seated repression had festered to the surface, unorthodox desires that had brought you ruin and scorn, now laid bare before your charge. It felt wrong to indulge yourself in this way, but in-turn, you had felt so liberated.

Passion blossomed like an untamable thicket, consuming the both of you; hunger followed suit, a tempting shadow. You had not experienced a kiss like this — Rhaenyra was practiced yet unbound, showing little restraint in the face of your own hesitation.

It was then that you felt the feather-light pressure of her thigh split between your legs, briefly grazing your nethers. A sudden shiver gripped you, and you nearly stumbled in your actions, lips clamoring for hers, longing to be near her.

The thunderous groan of wooden doors intercepted the both of you, as you immediately tore away from your Queen as if you’d been scorched. Writhing from between her body and the table, you relocated towards the numerous shelves, heart beating like that of bird’s wings.

“Your Grace, there has been word from The Twins — your son has delivered a missive.” Ser Darklyn announced, standing at the top of the steps, gazing down upon Rhaenyra. Her composure hung by a mere thread as she nodded, hands clenched within her skirts.

“Thank you, Ser Steffon. I shall join you momentarily.” Rhaenyra echoed, features warmed by a shade of scarlet. Mauve hues searched for you, cowering beside a shelf before you swiftly curtsied before her.

Desiring to make a swift exit as to deal with the aftermath of your own dishonorable actions, you swallowed the lump within your throat. “Your Grace, I shall be taking my leave.” Scuttling about, Rhaenyra did not have an opportunity to get in a single word before you’d disappeared from the archives altogether.

Surely, you had misinterpreted things.

As a star-laden penumbra lingered over Dragonstone, you had excused yourself for the evening, allowing another handmaiden to assume your duties. Guilt and shame had ripped through you for the rest of midday, a torrent of sin that threatened to obliterate you.

Strewn across your bed within the underbelly of the servant’s quarters, you were faced with the raw realization of desire.

Throwing yourself at the feet of a woman whose birthright transcended you was unbecoming, untoward; a manifestation of years of seeking purpose, seeking yourself. It was wrong of you to drag the Queen into your own repressed fantasies, ones that you thought you’d buried.

Through the coolness of dusk, you hoped to find some peace in the blanket of slumber, but even that seemed to evade you. It was not yet the hour of the bat, and you felt your body cringe at the sound of the door opening.

“The Queen has asked for you.” Sera crooned, politely shutting the door behind her. Dread seeped into your stomach, and you feared that you had overstepped all boundaries, tarnished honor beyond all recognition.

With limbs like anchors, you slowly clamored from your cot, dressing yourself in your burgundy trappings. Between midday and now, you had freshened up, binding the gown around you as you prepared to make the arduous journey to your Queen’s chambers.

The trek was perilous, as if all time had stood still, and you were left to slog through the growing storm. It was trepidation that gripped you, a gnawing worry that this was all some grave misunderstanding — you prayed that you wouldn’t lose your head.

As you stood before iron-wrought doors, bedecked in the roaring heads of dragons, you noticed the lack of lingering Kingsguard. They were posted elsewhere, further down the corridor, much to your bewilderment.

With a shrewd knock, you heard the command of your Queen from within, beckoning you to enter. Slipping past the set of massive doors, you turned to close them, posture unnaturally rigid as you awkwardly shuffled further into her chambers.

Rhaenyra sat before the hearth, pale tresses unbound from their intricate braids, spilling over slender shoulders. An evening gown of silver clung to her, rich silks from Pentos, shrouded by a robe of a dark cerulean, embroidered with a draconian motif; you had never seen anyone more beautiful.

She ripped the air from your lungs as if she had stolen it herself, poised within a high-backed seat, violet hues drifting away from the flames. The Queen turned enough to catch a glimpse of you, doe-eyed and clearly feeling the weight of nervousness.

“Your Grace, I … I have come to beg for your forgiveness,” You felt as if you were going to wretch, fingers twisting together as you watched her stand, arms loosely folded across her chest. “What occurred today was unbecoming of my station and a stain upon your honor.”

Rhaenyra regarded you with a gentle intensity, eyes swirling with a thinly-veiled adoration. You hadn’t done anything wrong — nothing that she didn’t want, hadn’t dreamt of. Neither she nor you had done anything like this, outside of mere fantasy and years of repression.

She stepped closer, hoping to dissolve your bout of anxiousness. “It is I who should be begging for forgiveness, sweet girl,” She uttered, cadence whimsically smooth, a brilliant lull. “I should have inquired if you wanted to indulge before acting upon my own desires.”

Shock rippled through you, heart hammering like the tides breaking upon rock, and you swallowed once more. “Indulge? My Queen, I — I shouldn’t, I am your servant,” Gods help you — you desired her in a way that shook the foundations of the earth. “Your husband, he …”

“Daemon is not here,” Rhaenyra moved closer, pale brows furrowing as she reached for you, palm cupping your jaw. “You are an equal to me — I would wish for you to stay with me, though I would honor your wishes, whatever you choose.”

The swell of fondness that glistened within her eyes was purely genuine, not born out of desperation or loneliness. She wanted you; craved your beating heart, longing for you like sun-warmed earth.

“It feels sinful to want to stay,” With a wisp of a murmur, you shuddered as silken fingertips brushed over your flesh. It was gentle, loving — something that you felt wholly undeserving of. “And yet I do not wish to leave your side.”

Faith had kept you shackled to misery for so long, and now, Rhaenyra saw you as you were and accepted you for it, loved you for it. She could see the war that waged within you, written so clearly upon your countenance.

It was the same anguish she once saw in Laenor, and she did not wish to see it blossom within you, either. Rhaenyra once felt as you did, with Alicent — such sentiments for her old friend had waned, but the core desire had remained intact.

Disarmingly tender, the Valyrian Queen began to guide you deeper into the comforting recesses of her quarters, a room that you were intimately familiar with. Beside the hearth, you steadily began to relax — just a sliver.

“You are not a sin, sweet girl — none of this is sinful.” Rhaenyra murmured, thumb caressing the curve of your jaw, soothing your inner turmoil. That affectionate moniker of hers had tugged at your heartstrings, uprooted you and everything you thought you knew.

Relief washed over you then, and you turned, lips pressing against her palm. Silence hung heavy, taut with a burning tension as she drew you closer as she had in the archives, lips sealing themselves against yours.

Whatever restraint you had exuded prior had begun to dissipate, splintering at the seams as you clung to her like that of a drowning woman. Your hands clumsily found their purchase atop her shoulders, able to feel her digits sink against your hips, one palm splayed across your lower back.

A moonlit gloom pooled in from stained-glass windows, procuring a glittering array of light across stone floors. Firelight danced from within the hearth, its tendrils illuminating you, blanketing her in a peculiar glow, like that of a dragon.

Two hearts grasped at one another, clawing for a shred of reprieve, of affection — you were endlessly greedy, starved of adoration.

Rhaenyra savored your taste, saccharine and one of sheer piety, a rarity in the realm’s current state. A twinge of nervousness permeated your every move, as if you were afraid to allow desire to unfurl, something that she sympathized with.

Vigor seeped into her kiss, growing in intensity as she caged you in against her, head canting enough to deepen your entanglement. A breathy exhale emerged from betwixt your lips, pitched with a desirous thrill that swallowed you whole.

Withdrawing yourself, the flush of ecstasy clung to your flesh, the first whisper of an ardent heat. Violet hues regarded you with a fondness, oozing sensuality and protection. Her palm idly circled over your spine, allowing you to take your time with it all.

“You are more beautiful than the heavens themselves — the envy of a thousand stars,” As the soft-spoken compliment slipped from your lips, Rhaenyra hummed, mouth twitching into an amicable smile. “My Queen.”

“You discredit yourself, surely,” The Targaryen pressed her lips to your brow, and then to your jaw, reveling in the quiver of your sigh. “I find you captivating, sweetling.” Warmth tore at your bones, elation rippling through you as you preened beneath her alluring words.

Gods, to be cherished, to be wanted; it transcended duty, that of infatuation. Ardor scorched your flesh, a searing fire of your Queen’s adoration, a flame that you happily burned within.

Beneath your breast, the thrumming of your heart rattled against your sternum, causing you to shiver with a thinly-veiled euphoria. Practiced digits began to map your delicate features, still alight with the vibrancy of youth, thumb stroking across your lower lip.

An amalgamation of desire and zeal glistened within lilac hues, mirroring your own countenance, doe-eyed and brimming with devotion. Gathering what threadbare confidence you had, your lips found hers once more, a bruising kiss that overflowed with passion.

Rhaenyra was no stranger to pleasure, well-adept at knowing the body of another, including her own. She handled you with utmost care, allowing you to act on your own accord, without her influence. It made her burn for you all the more.

It was then that your courage spurred onward, palm drifting from the nape of her neck toward her bosom, sheepishly cupping her clothed breast. A low hum of satisfaction slipped from her lips, approval scrawled upon ethereal features.

Guiding you toward the velvet-cushioned seat, it was Rhaenyra who lowered herself to sit, noticing the sheepish expression you bore. “Do I frighten you, sweet girl?” The Queen’s tone held a playful lilt to it, head canting to one side.

Intimidated, not afraid, you thought, stomach churning with a volatile heat. “Not at all, your Grace. I — I suppose it seems cruel of me to not focus upon your own pleasure.” With your meek confession now spilled, Rhaenyra’s lips began to curl into an assuring smile.

“Rhaenyra,” She corrected; perhaps abandoning formalities would ease the tenuous barrier still lingering between you. “Pleasure is a shared sentiment, I assure you.” Beckoning you forward, she extended her hand to you, inviting you to sit within her lap.

A heavy exhale lingered within your ribs, and you stepped forward, sinking into her lap without question. You felt smitten beneath her smoldering stare, one that brazenly admired you, absorbing every facet of your beauty.

Foreheads grazed against the other, warmth drifting between bodies as you stole another kiss from her, one that nearly dazed her. Rhaenyra kneaded into your curves, feeling your silken fingertips gently push against the front of her robe.

With renewed confidence, you palmed at her breast, able to feel the swell of soft flesh through her nightgown. A stifled sigh escaped the Queen, whose desire had grown tenfold, raging like a tempest within her.

Prying your lips away, you kissed beneath her jaw, allowing yourself to follow after instinct, planting a string of heated kisses along her neck. With your other hand, your digits twisted into the fabric beside her knee, pulling it up along her legs.

Rhaenyra shivered with a pang of ecstasy, adjusting you enough upon her lap, allowing the silken material to bunch around her thighs. With incessant tugs of your own stiff garments, she wished to see you with less obstructions.

“Relieve yourself of this,” The sultry lilt of her tone made you gasp, insides filling with a searing liquid, beginning to ooze between your thighs. “I wish to see you.” Little more than a soft purr, you were swift to obey her command.

Untethering the thick, crimson robe, you allowed the garment to flutter to the stone, leaving you in a threadbare shift, one that left little to the imagination. You nearly buckled beneath her hawkish gaze, one that openly bled with ardor and a twinge of possessiveness.

Admiration glittered upon her visage, the very image of beauty, a goddess incarnate. A shiver gripped you as she traced your spine with her fingertips, palm coming to knead against your haunch. Reverence oozed from her embrace, making you feel at-ease.

As your palm cupped her breast, threatening to delve beneath the gossamer of her nightgown, the other remained poised atop her knee. With a fistful of fabric, you allowed your fingertips to dance against the bare flesh of her thigh.

Rhaenyra looked to you, silently beseeching you to continue, allowing you to explore as you pleased. Her lips sought the delicate plane of your throat, pressing a series of kisses beneath your jaw to start, fingers sinking into your derrière.

A sharp exhale punctured your lungs, wrought with exhilaration as your hand continued its path, caressing along her thigh, seeking the warmth between her legs. Sheepish still, your touch was disarmingly gentle, as kind as springtime, yet succeeded in making your Queen shiver.

This sweetness you possessed was something Rhaenyra reveled in, your tenderness a welcome respite. A low moan quaked from her lips as your digits nimbly danced over her nethers, features warming with a twinge of excitement.

As the defined bridge of her nose grazed over your jugular, you began to touch her with more urgency this time. Delicate fingers began to slip against her cunt, ministrations somewhat unsteady as you attempted to find your rhythm.

Kneading against your derrière, Rhaenyra huffed, the sound a pleasurable one as she continued to kiss your neck. Softness had grown into the flame of desire, ardor simmering in the space between your bodies, enough to make you shiver.

“Rhaenyra,” A sigh of ecstasy tore past your kiss-swollen lips, and she preened at the sound of her name. It was heavenly, uttered with such reverence, such adoration. “Gods, you are enchanting.” You murmured.

A soft moan left you as she kissed the dip between your throat and shoulder, lips pursing enough to leave behind a token of her affection. It was etched into your flesh like a brand — and you wanted more.

It was then that her hand tangled against the collar of your shift, peeling the fabric aside, unveiling your breasts to her. The sight was a feast, a kindly beauty that the Targaryen had become rather infatuated with. Her lips were soon to follow, kissing a hot trail across your collar.

Hips urged against your hand as you stroked eager circles against her core, thumb finding its way to the sensitive bundle of nerves. A sharp, dizzying gasp inhabited her throat, a punctuated sound that nearly made you pause, if it weren’t for her soft moan.

Admittedly, she was starved for contact, having wished for a kinder embrace for some time. It was often your heavenly hand she’d dreamt of, the vibrancy of your smile, the reverence that often oozed from your tongue.

Mapping each curve of her body, each tick of pleasure, you only desired her more than you thought possible. Want only seemed to grow in her wake, her embrace leaving behind a trail of fire, smiting you to little more than wanton ash.

Kissing towards your bosom, Rhaenyra gingerly cupped your breast, able to feel your body keen into her caress. A practiced thumb flicked across your nipple, mouth continuing to blaze over your flesh, kiss after kiss until she neared your chest.

“You drive me to madness.” Rhaenyra’s utterance emerged as a breathy sigh, whispered into your flesh like some prayer. Butterflies erupted within your stomach, accompanied by a churning of molten heat. A hitch formed within your throat, features warming.

Slotting yourself atop one of her thighs, it allowed you some advantage, digits continuing to glide along her cunt. A myriad of low, sonorous moans left her, smothered against your sternum as she turned, taking one of your breasts into her mouth.

A startled whine rippled through you, torn asunder by bliss on all sides, pleasure becoming a mutual experience. Adroit lips began to pepper your breast with soft kisses, pursing around the pliant mound as she drew forth a cry of delight from your mouth.

Despite the satisfying distraction, your ministrations refused to cease, digits gaining both fervor and confidence. You continued to let your fingers rock against her nethers, thumb toying with the pearl of her cunt, enough to make her writhe.

Wanton sighs and breathy moans inhabit the space between your bodies, charged with a zealous desire. As if possessed by invisible strings, your hips lurched forward, gently rocking yourself atop her thigh. Friction simmered in the wake of your movements, arousal seeping between your legs.

Yearning lips trailed from your breast to the valley between, kissing along your flesh until she found your throat once more. Rhaenyra exhaled desire, unable to withhold the blissful noises that tore past her mouth.

“Do not stop,” With a poignant command, spoken through a soft exhale, you heeded the words of your Queen. Allowing your digits to dip lower, two fingers gently prodded against her core, the pad of your thumb caressing her pearl. “There.”

Her voice had often beguiled you so, whimsical and ethereal, as if it were from a distant dream. Now, it was strung-out with desire, a touch husky, as smooth as that of a crystalline dusk. She pressed a kiss beneath your jaw, her own wrought with tension as her hips urged forward.

Foreheads brushed against one another as you rocked yourself atop her thigh, the friction sending shockwaves through your belly. It grazed against your nethers, forcing a soft sigh from your lips, fingers teasing her cunt.

It was then that you dipped forward, evoking a groan from Rhaenyra, whose mouth shifted to claim yours in a dizzying kiss. A fervent flame crackled between, like that of a wildfire, seeking to consume everything in its path.

She tasted of fire, a sting of citrus and a hint of some honeyed swill, her tongue gently seeking entry into your maw. Without protest, you allowed her in, kiss after kiss being lost between you both, her palm shifting to seize the nape of your neck.

“Your Grace,” A pleading moan thrummed from your throat, tapering off into some hapless whine as she groped at your backside once more. The title had made her head spin, filled with some arduous haze as she careened into your touch. “Please.”

It was a ceaseless clash of lips, teeth, and tongues, a ballad of a blossoming adoration. Beneath your breast, your heart galloped with excitement, fingers easing in and out of her cunt, desperate to please her.

A subtle ‘fuck’ escaped Rhaenyra, muttered from beneath her cacophony of moans, and you barely caught it. Gooseflesh born of exhilaration raked down your spine like that of a tidal wave, and you shuddered within her firm grasp.

“Gods.” Rhaenyra groaned, feeling herself clench around your slender digits, grip hard enough to leave bruises against your haunch. Your thumb continued to toy with her pearl in languid circles, again and again.

For one seemingly so inept, you possessed a peculiar keenness, as if you were attuned to her physique already. She craved you as one craved for a gust of air, her ache marrow-deep, a heart’s call that echoed your name.

As she approached her climax, her teeth briefly grazed your lower lip, sealing yours in another blistering kiss. It ripped through you like talons, a bliss that nearly overwhelmed you. Ensuring that you reciprocated, you returned her kiss, lungs searing with a pleasant burning.

Bathed beneath the intermingled glow of both the moon and hearth, she appeared to you as some deity, a goddess of beauty. Never before had you seen someone as resplendent as she, the Queen, veins imbued with dragon’s fire.

A soft gasp took up residence within your lungs, emerging as a gentle tremble, one that seemed wrought with awe at the sight of her. Even through your state of wonder, your digits did not stop, obeying her command.

Violet hues were half-lidded in a state of bliss, momentarily shifting to seek your gaze, as warm as that of midsummer. Her lips parted then, body writhing beneath you as her pinnacle wracked her with such force.

As she came undone upon your hand, you nearly melted at the sight, features warming in the wake of her release. Honeyed arousal wept from her core, coating your digits in her nectar as you pleasured her even still, allowing yourself to slow down.

Tendrils of perspiration glistened upon her brow, likely due in-part to the close proximity of the waning firelight. Rhaenyra exhaled, face nudging against your own as she captured your lips in a bruising kiss, disarmingly tender.

Passion lingered still, momentarily subdued as she composed herself, feeling her thighs twitch, body caught within the afterglow. “You are rather mesmerizing,” Her regal cadence filled your belly with a familiar fire. “Sweet girl.”

“I didn’t cause you harm, did I?” For your own sanity, you hoped that she was well-satisfied and comfortable. The hint of a smile crossed her features, mauve hues raking over you, not quite finished with you yet.

“Quite the opposite,” Soothing your brow, the Queen placed a lingering kiss to your jaw, palm smoothing along your spine. “Though, I am not yet satisfied.” With a desirous lilt, her sultry purr made you clench your thighs together.

Fearing you weren’t good enough, you nearly blubbered some pitiful apology until she eased you off of her lap, gently guiding you toward her bed. A twinge of bewilderment rippled through you; you did not expect to share her bed with her this evening.

Neglecting to inquire further, Rhaenyra coaxed you to sit along the edge of her feathered bed, watching as you lowered yourself without question. She stood over you, soft palm cupping your chin as her thumb sweetly traced over your lower lip.

As if acting upon instinct, you kissed the pad of her thumb, careening into her tender embrace. She bent down, pressing her mouth to yours once more, allowing you to linger within your passionate entanglement.

“You are exquisite.” Your reverence was thinly-veiled, seeped in adoration as you sighed into her mouth. Rhaenyra cherished every word that escaped you, forehead momentarily pressing to yours before she withdrew.

“As are you,” It was then that the Queen knelt before you, an act that took you by complete surprise. Before you could attempt to refute this position, she began to inch your skirts along your thighs, fabric pooling around your hips. “May I?”

The Queen asking for this — it did not feel proper, but you were not one to interfere with her indulgences. “Y—Yes,” With a bumbling stammer, you swallowed the lump of excitement within your throat. “Rhaenyra …”

Wordlessly, her answer was emblazoned as a kiss, sealed against your inner thigh. Fire blossomed from mere contact, and you couldn’t help but gaze down at her with complete and utter ardor. This love you had for her transcended that of duty, one considered forbidden.

Rhaenyra had fantasized about this more often than she cared to admit, knowing fully well that you hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing it. There was a power she felt even when kneeling between your thighs, pressing a trail of kisses towards your aching nethers.

Her tongue raked embers over your cunt, sluggish and exploratory as she gathered her bearings. She had not done something like this before, other than what had been done to her. Rhaenyra watched you squirm, hands desperately fisting at the sheets on either side of you.

The sharp bridge of her nose buried itself against your mound, brushing along your slick petals. It was as if you were an unfurling flower, and she, the bee; your taste was ambrosial, something that filled her mouth with such sweetness.

Keeping yourself from crying out, you moaned, mouth agape as your hips involuntarily urged forward. Her tongue greeted you with a slow lap, tracing along your core as she delved further, visage slotted between your thighs.

Dexterous hands danced across your flesh, over your legs as she anchored her grip there, violet hues occasionally flickering towards your countenance. Your expression had contorted into a look of complete and utter bliss.

It felt horribly wrong of you, sitting here while your Queen knelt, but you dared not interrupt her now. Each stroke of her tongue brought you to heel, legs rattling like wind-stirred leaves as wave after wave of pleasure flooded throughout your body.

Rhaenyra shared in your bliss, reveling in the way you’d reacted so viscerally to her lips, which only served to make her confidence swell. A low hum resonated from her throat, ministrations imbued with an endless passion.

Throaty whines erupted in a cacophony from your mouth, followed by constant sighs of ecstasy. Her hands continued to smooth over your thighs, keeping your legs parted as her tongue tantalizingly raked over your entrance.

As your cunt clenched pathetically around nothing at all, you felt as if you were drowning within an ocean of bliss, eyes nearly closed. It was a sensation unlike any other, her lips peppering a string of greedy kisses to your slit.

She let your legs find rest atop her shoulders, nightgown having loosened upon her frame. Her pale flesh was akin to a canvas — unblemished, pearlescent, nothing short of perfection.

Lilac hues beseech you to steal a glance, gazes locking together for only a moment. The mere sight of her feasting upon the wellspring between your thighs made you whimper, teeth snagging across your bottom lip. The incendiary nature of her ogling fills you with a feverish heat.

Adept with her tongue, Rhaenyra hums again; a low, contented sound that causes your fingers to claw at the sheets. Lapping at your core once more, her nose briefly grazes over your pearl, causing you to shiver around her, wrought with desperation.

“Rh—Rhaenyra,” A noisy moan tears past your lips when you feel her tongue circle over the pearl of your cunt, hips lurching forward. You feel strange, begging for her mouth, but she seems to derive plenty of satisfaction from it. “Gods, do not stop!”

Melting within her grasp, you had not known pleasure like this before, never thought it possible to collapse beneath her touch. Sin had washed away, swept out into the tides, leaving only your sentiments for her — devotion, love.

Each stroke of her tongue is akin to the searing of a wildfire, volatile and burning, with enough force to send you to your knees. Hunger revealed itself like some long-hidden shadow, unfurling in the wake of your own desire and that of your Queen’s.

It felt exhilarating, to be wanted in this way, to be cherished, worshiped. Impulse drove you as one hand skittered from the silken sheets, reaching for her hand, slender digits interlocking atop the meat of your thigh.

Holding you close, Rhaenyra continued to greedily seek your cunt without pause, ceaselessly lapping over your core. It was then that her mouth sluggishly relocated, mauve hues momentarily fixating upon your countenance as her lips gingerly pursed around your pearl.

A gasp ripped through your diaphragm, body suddenly wracked with an overwhelming wave of ecstasy. As she toyed with your clit, suckling upon the sensitive clutch of nerves, you were left reeling, other arm keeping yourself afloat.

Whatever had pushed you over the brink, you were uncertain, feeling your hips jolt forward once more. Rhaenyra continued to shower your nethers in lap after greedy lap of her tongue, intermingling with brief circles over your pearl.

Buckling beneath the weight of your mounting arousal, your body succumbed, as if a barrier had been obliterated within you. A surge of heat flooded your insides, pooling between your thighs as you quivered in the aftermath.

A white-hot rush of ecstasy swarmed you, voice tapering off into incoherent praises and wanton moans, filling her chambers with your delight. As nectar oozed from your weeping slit, she teased you further, tongue slowing to a crawl.

Your chest burned with exasperated sighs as you fought to regain your composure, beginning to settle from the onslaught of your release. Perspiration lingered along the column of your spine, body bitten by the sting of desire.

Rhaenyra withdrew, pressing a string of feather-light kisses along the inside of your thigh, her grasp upon your hand beginning to loosen. Her tongue absentmindedly wet her bottom lip, rising from between your legs in order to capture your mouth with hers.

The kiss made you deliriously warm, dizzy as you clung to her as if you were drowning, able to taste yourself upon her tongue. “You are exemplary.” Her regal lull was akin to music, stroking every part of your mind as she slipped away.

High praise made you preen, happy that she seemed satisfied with you. It was a first — and it felt liberating to finally shed the shackles of your longstanding repression. You watched as she moved to drag a warm cloth over her face, ridding herself of sweat.

Exhaustion hit you then and there, and you stood enough to adjust your skirts, preparing to go and find your crimson robe.

“Stay awhile longer,” Rhaenyra’s cadence was disarmingly tender, inviting you to share her bed. The dusk was still young enough, the hour of the bat not yet upon you. “Unless you have business elsewhere.” She did not dare to interfere with your duties, no matter how much she wanted to.

Smitten, you sank back down onto her bed, growing flustered in the wake of such carnal acts. Admittedly, you half expected her to dismiss you once you were finished, but you were delighted to be proven wrong.

Warmth continued to coalesce between your thighs, a burning reminder that would likely linger for weeks to come. She noticed your sheepish behavior, crossing the threshold once more to join you on her bed, coaxing you into her embrace.

As she laid down, your cheek pressed flush to her collarbone, allowing an arm to drape around her, cradling her close. Rhaenyra welcomed your embrace, her hand finding yours, slender digits idly toying with your own.

“Your Grace, I … I hope that I satisfied you well enough,” Your nervous murmur ensnared her attention, lilac hues flickering over your worried visage. She cupped your cheek, pale brows furrowing together. “This is so very new.”

“I care little for satisfaction, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra corrected, turning just enough to prop her head up with one palm, sheets drawn around the both of you. The older woman looked upon you with a thinly-veiled affection, fondness only growing in the afterglow. “It is you I care for.”

A hitch formed within your throat, lashes fluttering as you held her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “As I care for you, your Gr — Rhaenyra,” Catching yourself, your lips twitched into a warm smile. “You’ve made me feel as if I am worthy of love.”

Untangling your hands, she reached to cup your face, thumb dragging over your cheekbone and beneath your eye. “You are beyond worthy of such sentiments,” With a soft exhale, Rhaenyra moved closer, until space had all but dissipated. “You shall have mine.”

“As you have mine own.” You whispered, garnering the courage to kiss her first, mouths seamlessly melding together, as if made to mold to one another. She savored your lips, caressing the nape of your neck as she brought you into the heat of her chest.

Rhaenyra had loved, and loved again throughout her lifetime — Alicent Hightower, Harwin Strong, Daemon, and now, you. She loved Daemon still, and yet she allowed her heart to simply grow, let it bend and expand until she had made enough room for you.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Viserys I x ftm male reader one-shot~! (,,>﹏<,,)

WC:. 2.0K

Tags: breeding, impregnating, consummating marriage, afab anatomy, after aemma died Viserys married you au, age gap, reader is nineteen, ftm reader, soft sex, praises, dub con, sex with little plot, oral (Reader receiving), cw slight blood<33

A/N: S’ been a minute an N’body asked but M’ back with ah hotd obbsessiion

Taglist: @miyaisastar @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦

The room was loud and the air was heavy, this wasn’t what you wanted at all, the last thing you wanted was to be married off and yet that’s exactly what just happened. It was evidently clear when you stared around at the other lords and ladies enjoying the feast- a moment to celebrate your new marriage to the king of the iron throne, Viserys. You couldn’t seem to muster up a happy thought about it- you just sat in your too tight robes holding a golden goblet of wine in your hand knowing what was to come for you at the end of the night.

Your eyes followed around the ballroom while you take a sip of the wine, you didn’t touch the food that everyone else seemed to be enjoying, you just sat silently feeling the weight of the Targaryen empire already weighed down onto your shoulders despite you only being a new addition to the dynasty.

All you could hear around you were the sounds of laughter and chatter from other Targaryen’s and high court members, your husbands daughter Rhaenyra sat talking away with your brother in law Daemon at the other side of your husband Viserys.

When your newly husband wasn’t looking you stood up walking out of the ball room and making your way to your bed chambers, your heels click to the floor of the old castle, every knight you passed simply nodded and gave a small bow, oh how you hated all of this especially the bejeweled crown that sat a-top your “h/t” hair the crown was heavy and felt like just another object to show the world you were just another man bound to the throne.

When you open the door to the now shared bedchambers it almost felt like a peak at the future life that you would have with Viserys, a picture of what was to come for you in the near years. A lavish canopy bed with cream colored silk for sheets having dim candle light around the room with a vanity sitting against the wall, old perfumes and a brush sat there.

“That must’ve been queen Aemma’s..”

“It was, I couldn’t bring myself to rid it just yet, sweetling”

A voice speaks up from behind you making you turn seeing your husband standing looking at the vanity with a weary look on his aged face, it was clear as day he was still mourning the loss of his wife and it almost made your heart ache for him.

“I’m sorry your highness—“

“Viserys, just call me that when we’re alone”

“Viserys it is then”

You never let your eyes stray from him, waiting to see the next move being unsure still, you start to undo your necklace taking the pearls off then your earrings laying them down on the vanity. Still in your deep green wedding robes, the color dark as the evergreen forests and smooth from the rich velvet fabric it was made from.

“I shouldn’t be so gloom and ruin our night, it’s not everyday a boy gets married is it?”

A pair of hands find their way to your hips clasping them feeling him pressed right up behind you making your mind go blank having a fuzzy feeling in the pit of your stomach having only one thought ‘it’s happening’ those words sunk into your head but you didn’t have the strength or will to push the king away, even if you stopped it tonight then it would inevitably happen..after all this was your duty, to provide him with a male heir.

“You feel so nice sweetling, I have no doubt you’ll give me great babes”

You could feel his beard pressed into the side of your neck, he starts lifting your robes up pulling them over your upper thighs, his palms pressed warm to your inner thigh working its way between your legs slipping into your panties pressuring flush against your cunt, he could feel the swelled labia down under only making him hum and guid you over to the bed. His crown falls off in the matress and his face slips from your neck going lower kissing over the clothed swells of your chest before kissing his way to your stomach only going lower.

His breath was hot on your core- you felt it even with your panties between his mouth and your lips, his hands slid your panties down your ankles taking your heels off and throwing them to the floor while his violet eyes look up at you pressing kisses to the area between your thighs and cunt. His kisses were wet and sticky on your skin making you look up at the top of the canopy just accepting your fate.

“I wish to make your night a beautiful one, you deserve all of the best pleasures my dear”

His voice was deep, you could feel the vibrations of his mouth when he reached your lips pressing kisses from the top of your cunt where your clit peaked from the folds making his way to the tender hole that clenched and puckered at the air fully empty and waiting. All Viserys could think of was getting his seed inside your womb- he just had to knock you up soon and your young fertile womb would be perfect.

The rings on his stubby fingers pinch against the s/c skin of your legs leaving them with small flushed marks, your slick starting building up with every flick of his tongue having your hips half lifted off the bed trying to grind into his face while you fist the sheets letting out small cry’s when his tongue glides over your tender nub.

“Please, be merciful please”

“I am being merciful sweetling, just tell me what you wish for and I’ll give it all to you”

His words were sincere and that was undeniable but your thoughts were cut short when his tongue found its way into your tight cavern spreading your gummy walls and letting them wrap tightly on his tongue. Your hand found its way back down to his hair. You grab a handful of the silver locks and bend your back upwards feeling a hot sensation in the bottom of your stomach.

“I don’t know Viserys-“

You croak your words out having a tremble in your thighs with your head up on the pillows of the bed, your walls fluttering all spread around his tongue feeling on edge while he works your body. hands gripping flesh leaving a tingle on your thighs when he keeps them from wrapping around his head. His facial hair rubs against your skin leaving little irritating marks behind only adding to the pleasure you feel.

“You taste so sweet, how’s it feel darling?”

“Feels nice, I feel close”

You squirm under his mouth feeling the need to get off but before you reach your climax his mouth pulls off of your pussy leaving it all glossed in his spit feeling cool against the air. His hands slip up and hold your robes pushed high, his other hand getting yours out of his hair. Viserys sits on his knees between your thighs holding a desperation to get inside you while he sits with an ache in his pants.

“I’m sure you haven’t been deflowered yet, so I’ll make sure to be gentle with you”

Purity was something deemed so sacred to have that if you didn’t you may as well work at a brothel, you just nod up at him watching his hands undoing his belt and pulling his breeches down, his cock springing forwards having a pudgy tip with silver hair around the base, you knew it was happening right when he mounted you with his face in your clothed chest. Viserys moves his arm up to the side of his face pressing his tip between your lips and rubbing the mixed fluids on his length as lube.

“Hm-“

“Shh, just be still for me sweetling”

His thumb slides over your bottom lip having your eyes wide wanting to cry when he pushes inside you stretching your inner walls open wide around him leaving you to feel every vein of his length while he lays on top of you. The ceiling blurs from your vision when your eyes swell up with tears and yet you still stay quiet. You knew the day would come when this would happen to you even if it wasn’t by Viserys then it would be some other noble lord.

Your folds spread like petals on either side of his cock swallowing it, blood mixes with your fluids from your now torn hymen showing your cherry popping. Your stomach rises and falls fast feeling his cock rubbing your deepest parts massaging yours insides leaving you to adapt to the shape of him. Your moans are silent and muffled against his hand, your womb ached and throbbed, you knew he’d knot you up when you felt his tip leaking a mess inside you.

“You’re doing so very good for me, my dearest boy”

“Ah- ha”

The only words that left your lips were just simple gasps for air, your ears ring taking in his praises feeling him loving up and down your body with his free hand holding your hip to pull you back on his cock letting you take it all while his pelvis rubs your clit with each gentle stroke. Viserys was true to his words at least, he was gentle and sweet with his words giving rolls of his hips that could nearly be said to be a little affectionate or loving.

“You’re close, I can feel it-“

His pace picks up removing his hand from your mouth and onto your covered breasts gripping at the mounds of flesh feeling your nipple pucker under the velvet. Your insides squelch from being fucked open having a slight string of blood on his cock seeping into his pale pubes while he grounds his hips upwards into you like he was trying to plant himself as deep as he could push his tip. A sharp pain brushes inside you when he hits your cervix making you grip the sheets tighter bitting your lip and scrunching your face up.

A hot rush soon spreads over your body leaving tingles on the skin. He was coming inside you, his seed spewed from his tip leaving you gasping feeling your throat tighten when he works your body leaving you a mess under him while he continues to grope your chest, making love to your pussy.

“A-h there you go, take it all for me darling”

He croons out with his beard all damp from your previous juices. Your pussy starts fluttering around his manhood making a ring of come around the base, he grinds his hips forwards making sure his seed is planted deep as he can get it— the goal was to have you with a babe by the end of the night and he was gonna do it. You look down from the top of the canopy with your glass like eyes staring at him, your orgasm rushing over you when his pelvis squishes against your clit leaving your vision starry, your walls tighten and pulse feeling a throb in your clit nearly jumping when you finish around him.

“O-h so full”

Your face was flushed when the older male slips his hand off your breast and up to your cheek to clasp it, Viserys holds your hip steady, not yet pulling out of you as he lays still between your thighs cradling your body gently.

“You’re so good to me sweetling”

“..thank you Viserys”

You’re still in a state of shock only whispering out the words you know should be said to him in return for the compliment, this was now your life wasn’t it? This was what your future will be, sex- heirs- repeat all over again for him..you could handle it couldn’t you? It was too late because you didn’t have a choice and Viserys wasn’t letting you out of his grasp anytime soon.

[nyrasvoid]

To Tame a Dragon

♡ Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

𖤓 Summary: As the firstborn daughter of Rhaenyra, you and your family are summoned to King’s Landing under mysterious circumstances. Upon your arrival, you quickly discover that you’re betrothed to Aemond Targaryen, your strange uncle who never seemed to have an ounce of affection for you.

⚝ Warnings: Arranged marriage, Aemond being a cruel and possessive husband, degradation (uses of “slut” and “whore”), smut (with another lord for now but very short), manipulation, angst, toxic relationships, dub-con elements, slow burn and kinda enemies to lovers dynamic.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊ A/N: for now they kinda hate eachother and reader has a lover but dw cause she will actually end up with Aemond lol. Also if you have any suggestions for the following parts my inbox is open

Also I imagine lord Garrick as Jake Gyllenhaal but imagine him however u like lol

⭑ Word count: ≈2.3k

You and your family had arrived at King’s Landing under strange circumstances. The journey from Dragonstone had been long and tiring, and yet, no one could tell you exactly why you were being summoned to the Red Keep. Your mother, Rhaenyra, had tried to get answers, but no one seemed willing to speak plainly to her.

The moment you set foot on the steps of the Red Keep, you noticed it: their cold indifference. The greens did not welcome you, did not offer the courtesy that you expected from family. It was as if you and your kin had been erased from the family tree entirely.

“You see that?” Your brother Jacaerys whispered, his voice laced with disgust as he looked toward the hall where Aegon and the others stood. “Not a single one of them steps forward to greet us.”

Daemon, walking beside him, clenched his jaw. “They think us beneath them.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice, his words carrying the sting of resentment. “They are reminding us of who they believe holds the true power.”

Your mother’s eyes flashed with a quiet fury, but she said nothing, instead leading the way.

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As you were escorted to your chambers by a guard, you exchanged a glance with your maid Ella, your trusted friend who had accompanied you on this journey. She followed you inside, her steps quick as she moved to help you settle.

“What do you think this is all about?” you asked her, your voice tight with frustration. “Why have we been summoned here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, my lady. They haven’t said anything to me. But there is a feast tonight. That’s all I was told.” Her hands worked to remove your traveling cloak. “Let me help you get ready.”

You sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on you. “A feast? At a time like this?”

She gave you a soft, reassuring smile. “It’s tradition, princess. You must attend.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was little you could do. You had to go. You had to pretend to care for the show, though your mind was filled with only one thing: why were you here?

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The banquet hall was filled with lords and ladies, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and wine. You sat at the long table, feeling a knot of tension in your stomach. You couldn’t help but feel small in the green’s presence, especially as Aegon’s gaze drifted over you.

But the worst of it was Aemond. You could feel his eyes on you from across the room, but you refused to meet his gaze.

As you conversed with your brothers, the topic of the greens came up once again.

“Look at them,” Jace muttered, his voice low. “They think they can get away with this. Not even a word of greeting when we arrive.”

“They can all rot,” you said bitterly. “I can’t stand any of them.”

Daemon smirked. “But that’s what they want, isn’t it? They want us angry. They want us to break.”

You nodded, a sense of frustration building in your chest. “I refuse to bend to them. But I can’t even figure out why we’re here. What do they want from us?”

Before anyone could answer, a voice interrupted.

“Princess,” a lord from one of the great houses stepped forward, bowing slightly. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

You blinked in surprise, but a smile quickly tugged at the corners of your lips. “I’d be delighted.”

The lord’s hand was warm as it held yours, and the two of you made your way to the dance floor. He was handsome, tall and with a charming smile that made your heart flutter. As the music played, you flirted with him lightly, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your waist and the way he made you forget about the tension at the table.

But across the room, you couldn’t ignore the sharp gaze of Aemond. It burned through you, dark and possessive.

Aegon, ever the troublemaker, leaned toward his brother, a smirk on his lips. “You know,” he said loud enough for Aemond to hear, “if you’re not going to make a move, I’ll happily do it. She’s got quite the figure, doesn’t she? Those breasts, I’m sure you’ve noticed. If you don’t want her, I’ll take her for myself, brother.”

“I think I’m capable enough of fulfilling my marital duties, brother” Aemond finally muttered, his eyes locked onto you with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine.

You returned to your seat after the dance, still smiling from the interaction, only for the King to call for silence. The room fell still, all eyes on him as he stood, ready to make his announcement.

“My lords and ladies,” the King’s voice echoed across the hall, “I have an important announcement to make. It is with great pride that I announce the betrothal of my granddaughter, to my son, prince Aemond Targaryen.”

You looked to your mother, but she was frozen, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Rhaenyra stood, her voice shaking with fury. “What is this? You did not consult me, didn’t even let me know this decision was being made. You rejected my proposal years ago of marryimg Helaena to Jace, and now—”

But the King cut her off. “The decision is final, they will marry. The advantages to the realm are clear.”

Rhaenyra’s hands curled into fists. “You think I’ll allow this?” she hissed. “You think I’ll stand by and let you make this decision without my consent?”

“Enough,” the King snapped, his voice cold. “This is for the good of the realm.”

The tension in the room was palpable as your brothers attempted to speak on your behalf, but the King remained unmoved.

You felt your heart break. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even bring yourself to say a word as you watched the man who had always been indifferent, cruel even, be forced into your future.

You stood quickly as you stormed out of the hall. You couldn’t stay there, couldn’t bear to hear any more.

You reached your chambers, the door slamming shut behind you as you threw yourself onto the bed, tears spilling from your eyes.

Not long after, you heard a knock at the door.

It was your mother, entering the room quietly. “Darling, I know this is difficult,” she said softly, her voice gentle. “But you must understand… this betrothal—it’s for the good of the realm. You will see that, in time.”

You wiped your tears angrily. “I don’t care about the realm, mother! I don’t want this. I don’t want him!”

Your mother sat beside you, taking your hand in hers. “I know. I know, my sweet girl. But this is the way it must be. For now, we endure.”

You shook your head, still crying quietly. “I don’t want to endure this. I don’t want him.”

She gave you a sad smile, kissing your forehead. “It’s not about what we want. It’s about what we must do.”

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The sun hung high in the sky as you met with your closest friends. Floris Baratheon, Lysa Tully, and Serene Martell were already sitting under the large oak tree. It was supposed to be a relaxing break from the madness of your betrothal.

“We heard, my lady. About the betrothal. How are you feeling?” Floris asked, her voice full of concern. She was always so direct, unlike Lysa, who was quieter but equally perceptive.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, taking a seat next to them. “It feels like my life is already over before it’s even begun. I’m being forced to marry Aemond. A man I barely know, a man who doesn’t care about me. I don’t even have a say in it.”

Serene, leaned in. “Well, your life might not be over just yet. You always have the option of finding yourself a lover.”

You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at that. “A lover?” you echoed. “Maybe I could find one.”

Lysa chuckled. “Well, I’ve heard things about Aemond. The rumors say he’s cruel, that he’s got a temper, that he punishes those who displease him.”

Floris nodded, her brows furrowed. “I’ve heard those rumors too. And honestly? I don’t blame you for being upset. Who wants to marry someone like that?”

You sighed heavily. “It’s like my whole future has been decided for me. I can’t escape it.”

Serene raised an eyebrow playfully. “At least you’ve got options, my lady. You’re not trapped in the same way as us. Who knows? Maybe that lord you danced with at the feast would be the one to give you the freedom you’re looking for.”

Your heart skipped at the mention of Lord Garrick Redwyne, who had captivated you at the last feast. He was bold, charming, and you could tell he also took an interest in you.

“You know, you might be right,” you said, trying to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “I did meet a very handsome lord at the dance. Lord Garrick Redwyne. We danced and… well, maybe he could be the one to offer me some much needed distraction.”

Floris snorted. “Aemond can’t even stand a chance against someone like him. I mean, honestly, have you seen Aemond? I’m sure he’s not good for much other than looking brooding and scary with that missing eye of his.”

Lysa and Serene laughed in agreement. “You should go for it,” Serene added, her voice low but encouraging. “Let him give you what Aemond never will.”

You paused, your mind racing. “I think I just might. It would be nice to have a taste of freedom before I’m locked in a marriage with a man who looks at me like I’m nothing more than a political pawn.”

The conversation turned lighter as you all continued to joke about the idea of lovers, but little did you know, one of the queen’s maids had been standing nearby, overhearing every word. The whispers would soon reach Aemond.

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Later that afternoon, you were summoned to meet with Alicent and some of the workers to begin organizing the wedding.

Alicent wasted no time in pushing her own ideas. “I trust you’re prepared to make the necessary sacrifices for the good of the realm,” she said sharply, eyes narrowing as she gestured to the workers. “This wedding must reflect the union of two great houses.”

You bit your lip, trying to maintain your composure. “I understand, Your Grace. But I’d like to choose the color of my dress. I’d prefer red and gold.”

Alicent’s eyes flicked to you, her lips curling in a thin smile. “Red and gold? You do realize that’s a bold choice, don’t you? Quite revealing for a wedding dress.”

“Why, does it offend you?” you told her, unable to keep the bitterness out of your tone.

“You are marrying my son, dear. A dress of green would be more appropriate.” Alicent’s tone was firm.

You crossed your arms, standing your ground. “I will not wear green. I refuse. If I must marry him, I at least want some control over my dress.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow, but your defiance seemed to catch her off guard. She stared at you for a moment, then finally sighed. “Very well, but make sure it isn’t too revealing.”

You smiled, knowing you’d won this battle, even if it was a small one. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

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That evening, as the grand hall filled with the sounds of laughter, you were heading to your brother Jacaerys to ask him something about the upcoming wedding preparations. But just as you were about to step inside, you spotted Lord Garrick Redwyne once more.

He smiled at you, his eyes lighting up in recognition. “Ah, princess, how wonderful to see you again.”

You couldn’t help but feel your heart race at the sight of him. His charm was undeniable.

“Lord Garrick,” you replied, smiling back. “I was just about to speak with my brother, but I’m glad to see you.”

His smile grew wider as he took a step closer. “Would you care to accompany me for a moment? Away from the crowds?”, he said as he extended his arm for you to hold onto.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”, as you wrapped your arm around his and followed his lead.

He led you through the castle, past the grand halls and into a quieter corridor.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Lord Garrick said, his voice low as he wrapped his hands around your waist. “I can’t help but wonder what it would be like… to have you, without all the politics, without the pressure of your betrothal.”

You took a deep breath, the tension between you palpable. “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” you murmured, your eyes locked on his.

Without another word, he kissed you—softly at first and then more passionately as the moments stretched. His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as his lips moved to your neck. You let out a soft gasp, feeling a shiver run through you.

He moved lower, trailing kisses down your neck, and you gasped softly as he nipped at your skin. His hands were firm, his lips traveled lower still.

His mouth found its way to your most intimate place, and the pleasure was overwhelming, like nothing you had ever felt before. You moaned quietly, afraid of who might hear. You’d waited too long to feel this kind of release, this freedom.

When it was over, you both sat on the cool floor, catching your breath. “That was… incredible,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

Lord Garrick smiled, kissing your forehead softly. “I will be here whenever you need me, my lady.”

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to forget about Aemond, about the marriage that awaited you. With Garrick, there was no cruelty, no coldness. There was only heat, passion, and the feeling of being wanted for who you were.

As he gave you pleasure, you couldn’t help but think: Maybe I can have a life outside of Aemond, even if it’s only in stolen moments like this.

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The air in the gardens was thick with tension as you walked beside Aemond, the silence between you two almost suffocating. You weren’t looking forward to this forced interaction, but here you were, ordered by the queen to “get to know” the man you were supposed to marry. You had no interest in being his bride, and certainly no desire to get to know him any better.

Aemond’s gaze flicked to you now and then, but you refused to look at him. Finally, after a long silence, Aemond broke it.

“Tell me, why do you always wear that look?” Aemond’s voice broke the silence, his words laced with bitterness. “You’ve been sent here to wed me, yet I don’t see a single ounce of enthusiasm in your expression.”

You didn’t even glance at him as you walked, keeping your pace slow. “Maybe because I have been forced into this marriage” you shot back, the bitterness in your own voice matching his.

“I don’t owe you any pleasantries.”

His lips twisted into a small smirk, though it lacked any real humor. “Of course, you don’t. I suppose that’s why you’ve taken to speaking about me behind my back—saying things I’m sure you think I don’t know.”

You froze. Aemond wasn’t looking at you directly, his gaze focused ahead. You clenched your fists, not willing to let him know he’d struck a nerve.

“What are you talking about?” you spat, though you had a pretty good idea. The rumors, the jokes from your friends… Had they reached him already?

He shot you a glance then, eyes narrowing. “I heard you’ve found yourself someone to entertain you. I suppose it must be rather entertaining to joke about your… lovers.”

Your breath hitched. “What are you insinuating, Aemond?” you asked.

Aemond’s voice dropped to a low tone. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know exactly what I heard. You think I don’t know you’re running around with some other man behind my back? I heard of your little conversation with your friends in the garden. You’re quite the whore, aren’t you? Laughing about my missing eye and discussing your lover like it’s nothing.”

Your jaw clenched at his words. Whore. He had no right to talk to you like that. You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. “You have no right of speaking to me in such way.”

You glared at him. “You want to talk about my lover? Fine. I’ll tell you everything. He makes me feel things you could never,” you hissed, taking a step even closer to him. “In fact, I’ve already lost my maidenhood to him.” Lies.

“You think that’s something to be proud of?” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re nothing more than a filthy, loose woman, and you’ll regret every second of it once you’re tied to me.”

“You think I’ll regret it?” you snapped back, “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Aemond. I don’t regret anything. Not my lover, not anything I’ve done before now. You’re just angry because I’ve found someone who actually knows how to please a woman.” That said, you turned around to retire to your chambers.

Aemond’s expression twisted into anger. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed your arm, spinning you towards him, forcing you into the nearest wall. You gasped in shock as Aemond pinned you against it. His grip was tight as he pressed you there, his face inches from yours.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Aemond growled. He gripped your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him. into a bush, his body trapping you against it. “Let me tell you something, princess,” Aemond whispered into your ear, he leaned in closer. “I’ll put a baby in you, and once you’re carrying my child, I won’t touch you again. You’ll be nothing but a vessel for my heir. And when you’re knocked up and useless to me, I’ll get myself a whore. A woman who knows her place. And I’ll bring her to the Red Keep, rub her in your face, and you won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”

You were petrified as he pinned you against the wall, but he wasn’t finished. “If I find out who your lover is, if I find out you’ve been seeing him behind my back, I’ll make sure you never see him again. I’ll have him dragged out and humiliated, and you’ll never be able to hide from it. You’ll regret every little thing you’ve done.”

Aemond took a step forward, forcing you to tilt your head up to keep your glare locked onto his.

“You think you can humiliate me?” His voice was quiet. “That you can make a mockery of this betrothal? Of me?”

You scoffed, “You’re doing that all on your own, Aemond. If you’re so offended, then call off the wedding.”, you continued “You are a man, a prince I’m sure they will call it of if you object”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You think I would let you go that easily?” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “You are mine now. No matter how much you fight it, no matter how much you despise me, you will stand beside me as my wife.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the way he said mine, but you refused to let him see the effect he had on you.

“You can have my hand in marriage, Aemond,” you bit out, “but you will never have me.”

Aemond let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that, wife.”

He turned on his heel, walking away without another word, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding in your chest.

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[illyrianbrat]

Queen's Envoy

Pairing: (fancast) Benjicot Blackwood & Velaryon female!reader

Plot: The Princess is sent as an envoy to get more allies. She is tasked with treating lords in the Riverlands. As she finds herself far from home, she discovers a certain Blackwood boy, who isn't as scary as she thought.

Warnings: typical westeros stuff, badly written panic attack, losing consciousness, being carried (no weight mention tho)

N/A: thanks to my friend and grammarly cause i had such a huge mess

“Prince Jacaerys will fly north. First to the Eyrie to see my mother's cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm's End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. And Princess Name will fly west to Raventree Hall and treat with Lord Blackwood. We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore.”

Rhaenyra saw how her children talked in the distance, as they were getting ready to depart. Name held Luke's hand and chuckled softly at something he said. The Queen’s heart ached as they embraced, expressing good wishes and mentioning how they would eat by the beach when they all returned.

-

Flying to the Riverlands was not an issue. As they flew over forests, [Name] rehearsed what she would say out loud. She would speak of uniting the realm, strength, and the promise of a good queen. During his reign, Viserys Targaryen named Rhaenyra as his heir, but the Hightowers were now threatening her claim. The support of the Riverlords was crucial for the cause and [Name] knew this.

Goldwing descended on a small clearing of flowers, allowing [Name] to slide down his wing. She caressed the dragon's face, glad that they arrived safely.

She glanced around, seeing how a group of men were pointing at them in the distance. [Name] heart began to race as she clutched the dagger Daemon insisted she had to take. Goldwing stood tall, protecting his rider.

“We mean no harm,” one of the men said, now at a talking distance. They were all staring at Goldwing in awe, they had never seen a dragon.

“What do you want, girl?” The other asked with curiosity.

“I am here to see Lord Blackwood.”

Their expressions turned from amazement to worry as a guy walked towards her with a crazed, yet amused look. “And who is looking for him?” He eyed her shamelessly, not missing the intricate details in the riding leathers she wore.

“Princess [Name] Velaryon,” she revealed proudly, not allowing herself to feel intimidated.

The boys fell silent, shock evident on their faces. They never expected to see a princess in the Riverlands. The boy cleared his throat and lightly scratched his brow, uncomfortable with his crude behavior. "My name is Benjicot Blackwood," he said. "But I can guide you to Raventree Hall if you'd like to speak with my father."

“Thank you,” [Name] smiled kindly.

They walked quietly, [Name] was enjoying the smell of nature and the breeze. The air was crisp, as the sun had just risen not long ago. [Name] glanced at Ben from the corner of her eye, expecting him to speak about something, since he seemed like the type that would talk for hours. Ben, on the other hand, was very aware of [Name’s] presence beside him. She moved with grace and her eyes filled with wonder at her surroundings. He had never seen anyone like her, and her sudden appearance had sparked different emotions in him.

They eventually reached Raventree Hall. Everyone inside the walls stopped and stared, even murmured, about the unexpected visitor. As they approached the main hall, Ben finally broke the silence. "My father is a good man," he promised. "He will listen to you. No matter what you need, he can help you."

[Name] nodded, grateful for his reassurance. "Thank you, Ben," she replied softly. "I hope he listens. It's... it's important."

Ben gave a small, encouraging smile and pushed the door open, gesturing for [Name] to enter first. Perhaps this meeting would get a strong army to support her mother’s claim to the Iron Throne.

-

Raventree Hall was filled with laughter, clinking goblets, and loud chatter. Samwell Blackwood had reaffirmed his claim to support Rhaenyra Targaryen, the rightful heir.

Samwell sat on the high table, alongside his sister Alyssane and his son Benjicot. The boy, however, could not take his eyes off her. His admiration grew into a silent yearning.

As the evening grew late, Ben found himself drawn into conversations with the Princess. At first, he stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing. But [Name], sensing his nerves, engaged him in discussions about anything that crossed her mind.

Encouraged by her words, Ben found himself talking more freely. He recounted tales of his training, his support for her mother’s claim and of course, about fights he had with Bracken boys. Throughout the night, they shared stories and laughter. Others at the feast noted their conversation and exchanged glances, some smiling at the young boy’s naiveness.

As [Name] stood up to leave for the night, Ben grabbed her hand and spoke without thinking, “Princess, would you like a tour through the Riverlands?”

[Name’s] heart was pounding in her chest. “Of course, I would love that.”

-

Ben woke with the sun, excitement coursing through him.

After getting dressed, he hurried through the castle to the guest chambers. As he knocked on the door, he cleared his throat, suddenly feeling shy.

There was no response from inside. Did she leave without me? He wondered as he knocked again, but still no answer. Glancing down the hallway, he slowly opened the door.

[Name] was there, lying on the bed. "Princess?" Ben called out softly. She turned toward his voice, struggling to open her eyes. "Oh... I apologize for waking you," Ben said, now feeling like he had ruined everything. "We can speak later."

"No," [Name] protested, her voice groggy. Ben's heart fluttered, he thought that was adorable. "Let me get dressed. I will meet you by the gates."

-

Ben was talking a stroll through the gardens, waiting on [Name]. He was debating if he should give her a bouquet of wildflowers when the maester hurried towards him, a letter clutched in his hand. The urgency in his eyes made Ben’s heart drop. Accepting the letter, he noticed the seal of Dragonstone and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He read the brief message: Prince Lucerys was dead.

He found her not far away, possibly on her way to meet him, lost in thought. Ben approached her slowly, the letter gripped tightly in his hand.

“[Name],” he called softly, trying to keep his voice calm.

She looked up, her face brightening before she saw his expression. “Ben, is something wrong?"

He stood in front of her, taking a deep breath. “I received a letter from Dragonstone,” he began, his voice heavy with pity. “It’s about your brother, Lucerys.”

[Name’s] eyes widened, a mix of fear and dread washing over her face. “What happened to Luke?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Ben handed her the letter, not trusting himself to tell her.

Her hands shook as she read it. She stared at him, her face draining of color. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, it can’t be true.” Her breathing grew rapid and shallow, her eyes wide with panic. “Luke...no...” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath. She stumbled, her movements frantic. “I need to get to him,” she cried, looking around desperately. “I need to go home.”

Ben reached out to steady her. “[Name], please,” he pleaded, but she was not hearing him. She broke free from his grasp, running towards Goldwing.

“No!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “I have to go to him!”

Goldwing lifted its head, sensing her distress. [Name] reached for the reins, her hands shaking uncontrollably. “We have to go,” she repeated, her voice frantic.

Before Ben could intervene, her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground. “[Name]!” he shouted, rushing to her side. Goldwing roared, eyes glowing with worry.

Ben cradled her in his arms, his heart pounding. Servants and guards came running after hearing the dragon, their faces filled with concern as Ben lifted her body and ran inside to the guest chambers.

Ben stayed by her bed after she was examined by the maester, holding her hand and watching over her. As he sat there, his heart ached, knowing that the pain of losing her brother was something no words could heal.

Hours later, a soft groan had alerted Ben that she had woken up. [Name] stared at the room, confused by her surroundings, before trying to stand up. “Easy,” he begged, pushing her back onto her pillow. “Please don’t stand up.

After some minutes of silence, [Name] rubbed her hands on her face. “I remember... my brother..."

“I know. I'm so sorry,” Ben grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently..

“I… what now?” She asked herself, starting to tear up.

“The maester said you can return to Dragonstone when you feel better,” Ben informed her.

[Name] nodded. “I do not think I can travel back alone,” she whispered to him, causing Ben to give her a reassuring smile.

“Then I can go with you,” Ben softly wiped the tears from her cheeks.

[aeralux]

"I Know The End" - Jacaerys Velaryon

Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

Summary: The end is near, you know the end. The war looms heavy over the both of you. Duty pulling you and your childhood sweetheart, Jacaerys slowly apart. "I'll be back," he promises you...

Warnings: angst; death of characters; hurt and no comfort; but a calm ending; brief Cregan x Reader

Words: 3.3k

Notes: This made me cry three times while writing it. But I did kiss the brick before chucking it at you. There is no use of (y/n) and no description of the reader.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Since moving back to King's Landing with your father, Daemon, and your siblings, Rhaena and Baela, you and Jacaerys had formed an unbreakable bond. Your laughter rang through the castle halls like music, a sweet sound that chased away the shadows of the past. You spent countless hours whispering secrets in the sun-dappled gardens, your voices mingling with the rustling leaves or curled up in cosy corners with books, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your shared adventures as the world outside drifted into slumber.

"When I'm King, I'll take you as my Queen," Jace would often promise, his youthful face adorned with an infectious grin that made your heart flutter. In those moments, you could see the earnestness in his big brown eyes, sparkling with the warmth of sincerity. And deep down, you knew he meant it.

Daemon and Rhaenyra were well aware that any attempts to betroth you to someone else would be futile. Anyone with eyes could see how Jace looked at you, his gaze filled with adoration, as though you were the sun in his sky—radiant and irreplaceable.

As the years passed, that affection only deepened. Your stolen kisses behind the towering bookcases of the Red Keep became cherished memories. You could still picture the look on his face the first time your lips met, a mixture of surprise and delight. His eyes widened, and his lips were slightly slick with the remnants of your shared moment as if he had tasted the sweetness of something sacred.

"I love you," he whispered in that hushed, reverent tone, the world around you fading away. It felt like a vow—a promise of forever. In that heartbeat, you knew he meant it with every fibre of his being.

This was well before war threatened your family and duty felt heavy on your shoulders. The stolen moments of sweetness became rare and the distance between you grew. Not because either of you wanted it. No.

It deeply pained Jacaerys to watch you become weary from the weight of duty and sacrifice. The girl he had fallen in love with was slowly turning into just another soldier in a war that wasn’t truly yours to fight.

You recalled the promise you made to meet him by the sea, and a soft smile crept onto your lips. After all, he was a Velaryon, with a calling to the sea that was hard to resist. So, you stood there by the water's edge, the gentle sound of the waves crashing around you, waiting for the prince with the tousled brown curls and warm brown eyes that seemed to hold a world of emotion.

"When the war is over, we'll come back here...": a whispered vow.

You turned to look at him: "You promise?"

He simply took your hand and placed it on his heart. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. “You feel that?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“That's yours. Always has been.”

You memorized the rhythm of it. Just in case.

As the threat of war grew darker, those golden days became rarer but never less precious. Before he departed for the Vale—securing allies, earning loyalty—you stood with him in the courtyard where dragonfire once scorched the stone. Vermax waited in the distance, wings rustling in anticipation.

Before he left, Jace pulled you close, your foreheads touching, breath mingling in the cold morning air.

“I’ll return to you,” he promised. His voice was quiet but sure, like something carved in stone. “No matter how long it takes, no matter where I have to fly. I’ll find my way back to you.”

You clutched a ring he had given you, simple Valyrian steel etched with the smallest of sapphires — a quiet token, hidden beneath your sleeve.

“When I wear this, I’ll be yours.”

“You already are,” he said and kissed you a goodbye he couldn’t bear to say.

Upon his return from Winterfell, he brought news of Lucerys' death. That was when you both realized there was no true winner in this war. In the end, you would both be broken remnants of the children you once were, desperately holding onto each other and what little you had left.

"You would like Cregan Stark... he's quiet, calm," Jacaerys said, his voice barely above a whisper one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon of Blackwater Bay. The golden light spilt through the tall windows of the Tower of the Hand, bathing the room in warmth, an ironic contrast to the chill that hung in the air.

"I think I would do well in Winterfell then," you replied, the image of the distant Stark stronghold forming in your mind.

He almost chuckled, the corners of his lips twitching upward. You—a girl forged from fire and blood—going to the land of ice and snow? It seemed comical to him.

"When this is all over," he promised, his gaze intense, "I'll take you there. I’ll take you anywhere you want." The weight of those words lingered between you, a fragile hope amidst the despair.

And you knew he meant it.

Jacaerys fell into a restless sleep. He knew a battle was waiting for him. There was a chance he wouldn't return to his brothers and his beloved. He didn't want to think about it.

He sees you waiting for him in the distance.

He knows it's a dream. He can feel it in the quiet.

You wear no armour, no crown. Just you, barefoot in the dark, like you stepped out of some long-lost summer. Your hair is loose, tangled by the wind. Your eyes find his like they always did—without needing to search.

You don't speak. You don't need to. You just walk to him, holding his hand like it's still yours to hold.

“I missed you,” he says, though it doesn’t feel like enough.

You smile, but it’s tinged with sorrow. “I know.”

You sit, side by side, like children again. He leans his head against your shoulder. There’s nothing urgent here. No war. No ravens. Just the stars above them and the sound of the waves below, rising and falling like a lullaby.

He closes his eyes.

For a moment, he imagines a life that never was—children with your eyes and his wild curls, a quiet holdfast somewhere far from thrones and fire.

He sees you beside the Dornish sea, hair shimmering in the sunlight, smiling as their son chases a wooden dragon across the sand.

And for a breath—a single, perfect breath—he lets himself believe it could’ve been real.

But the wind changes. The dream starts to fade. Your warmth begins to slip from him, like light from a dying flame.

“Jace,” you whisper, and there’s weight in it.

He knows what comes next.

“I’ll look for you,” you say, as the dream starts to unravel.

He tries to hold onto your hand, but you're already slipping—not falling, not vanishing, just slipping.

“I’ll find you in the next life,” he says.

And then he wakes.

The cold is sharp. The hour is early. His armour waits beside the bed, his sword already strapped for flight. Vermax stirs outside, ready.

Jace sits for a moment longer, eyes still wet with the dream.

Then, like always, he gets up—and walks into the dawn.

You watched from the shadows of the battlements as Jace mounted Vermax, his silhouette sharp against the pale sky.

He didn’t know you were there. Or maybe he did. Maybe that’s why he looked back, just once, toward the tower where you'd last kissed. His eyes scanned the horizon as if searching for something—or someone.

You didn’t call out to him.

You couldn’t.

You knew if you did, he’d never leave.

And he had to.

So you simply pressed your fingers to your wrist, right where his pulse had once beat beneath your palm, and whispered the words he had given you once:

That’s yours. Always has been.

Then he was gone—just a blur of wings and fire and fading warmth.

It happened all so fast for him.

The sting, the pull—one, then another.

Pain, sharp and sudden, blooms through him like a crack in dragon glass.

He doesn’t cry out.

He doesn’t have time to.

His breath catches—a rattle, a release.

The end is here.

The sky around him blurs. The wind is no longer at his back, it’s everywhere, screaming in his ears. Vermax roars—he feels the dragon’s pain as if it were his own, a thread of fire between them snapping, fraying.

But what he thinks of—isn’t war.

Isn’t duty.

Isn’t the crown or the throne or the histories that will call this courage.

He thinks of you.

Not as you were when you last parted, him armoured and drawn. No—his mind conjures something softer: your hair damp from the sea, laughter on your lips, the sun casting light through your eyelashes as you turned to smile at him on the cliffs of Dragonstone.

I’m sorry, he thinks, though his lips never move.

Not for dying—but for not keeping the promise.

The one where he said he’d come back.

The one where he swore they’d have time.

He wonders if you'll know the moment it happens.

If the wind will shift.

If a fire goes out in your heart, and you won’t know why.

And as the sky tilts, as Vermax’s wings falter and the sea surges up to meet them—Jace’s last breath is not fear, not rage, not even pain.

It’s your name.

Whispered like a prayer.

Like a goodbye.

Like a vow, he’ll carry into the dark.

You waited and waited. After all, he had made a promise to you—he would be back.

News of his death came days later on a cold morning. A raven sent. The ink smudged from the water from its wings.

Your hands shook when you opened it.

You didn’t need to read past the first line.

You’d thought you’d know. That there’d be thunder. Light splitting the sky.

But it wasn’t like that. It was quiet. A raven at the sill, and then—The end is here.

Your heart had dropped into the sea with him. The ring on your finger, cool and worn from the nervous way you twisted it when thinking of him, suddenly felt heavier. Like it knew.

You didn't cry, you didn't scream. Physically, you couldn't. As if someone is squeezing you, choking you.

You just stood there, still, as though you were carved from the same stone that now buried your future.

That night, you ride your dragon to the same clifftop where you made your childhood vow. The sea below is vicious. You wait for hours, watching the horizon like you're expecting to see Vermax in the clouds.

But he doesn't come. And you know he never will. He was swallowed by the sea... like a true Velaryon.

They buried him in silence. No body to burn. No sword to place in his hands. Only the sea to cradle him and your love to remember him by.

"Wait for me, I'll look for you," you whispered. And in your silence, you could almost hear him: I'll find my way back to you.

You finally let the tears fall, each one a testament to the pain you had hidden away for too long. His absence weighed heavily on your heart, a hollow ache that refused to fade. Memories swirled around you—his laughter, the warmth of his smile—reminders of the boy you fell in love with and the man who stole your heart completely. 

Now, those moments felt tainted, haunted by the knowledge that he was truly gone. You pressed a hand to your chest, the echo of your grief resonating with every heartbeat. He will always be here, in your heart and mind, a bittersweet reminder of the love you shared. You yearned for just one more moment, one more chance to tell him how deeply he mattered to you. Instead, you were left with memories that were both beautiful and painfully out of reach.

Years passed.

The war did not end, not truly. Kings and dragons fell, and the realm bled. But somewhere between the final fire and the fading of ambition, the dust began to settle. You emerged from it not as a princess or a warrior, but as a woman remade by loss.

Winterfell came not as an idea by your beloved sister as a place to retreat—a promise kept. Jace had spoken of it once, his voice quiet over the crackle of a hearth:

"You would do well in the North... too much fire in your veins, perhaps. But you’d like it there."

Baela had suggested it, gently, when she came to you.

“You’re drowning here,” she had said, eyes rimmed red from her own mourning. “Go somewhere with air. With quiet. Somewhere, where he isn’t in every stone.”

"You’ll be safe there. You’ll be... seen.”

You knew that Rhaenyra would have given her blessing if she were still here. She had always regarded Lord Cregan as an honourable man.

The suffocating walls of the Red Keep felt like a tomb now, each stone a reminder of her absence. Her suffering had finally ended, yet yours lingered like a shadow, an unrelenting ache that suffused your days with despair.

So, you went.

Cregan Stark was not like the lords of the South. He did not court you with poetry or flattery. Instead, he offered silence when you needed it, and presence when the silence became too heavy. He was a steady kind of man—rooted, like the old trees in his godswood, unmoved by storm or flame.

He didn’t speak of Jace at first, but you saw the flicker in his eyes when your gaze drifted too long to the sky. He understood. He knew what it meant to love someone you couldn’t keep.

What surprised you most was how easy the quiet became. How your grief wasn’t something you had to hide. In Winterfell, the pain was allowed to live beside you, like a ghost at the table, like snow that never fully melted.

One evening, in the weirwood grove, Cregan stood beside you, his breath misting the air.

“I won’t ask you to forget him,” he said. “But if there’s space... I’d like to be someone who makes the remembering easier.”

The red leaves, along with the sunset, painted the surroundings.

It was like he had given his blessing.

And for the first time in a long while, your heart didn’t twist in sorrow.

It simply beat.

You smiled at him, only this time it wasn't forced or sad. It was a genuine smile. It felt weird at first. Your cheeks hurt from how long it had been.

The wedding was small. No dragons. No fanfare. Just snow falling softly as vows were whispered in the heart of the old gods. You wore a ring of northern silver, simple and elegant—nothing like the one still tucked in the hollow of a carved box, beneath layers of velvet and memory.

You kept Jace’s ring. Always.

And Cregan never asked you to part with it.

In time, you bore children. Boys with Cregan’s eyes and your stubborn fire, daughters who laughed like summer still lived in their bones.

The snow has fallen steadily all night. The world outside is white and hushed, the kind of silence that swallows everything—even memory, even grief. But inside the nursery, warmth pools around the hearth, and your youngest is curled up against you, half-asleep, clutching a carved wooden dragon you'd meant to burn months ago.

You brush the boy’s dark curls from his forehead and pause.

There. Just for a breath—the angle of his cheek, the stubborn curl of his lip, the way he furrows his brow even in sleep—he looks exactly like Jace.

Your chest aches. Not the way it used to, not sharp and unbearable. It’s a dull, familiar heaviness now. Like an old wound that flares with the cold.

You don't cry. You haven't in years. But you do let yourself sit there longer than you need to, fingertips ghosting across your child’s hair, caught between now and then.

Cregan finds you like that when he returns from the yard, snow in his hair, a quiet question in his eyes.

You smile at him—small, soft, tired... at peace, content.

“Just thinking,” you say.

And he doesn’t ask. He just crosses the room, stoops to kiss your forehead, and settles beside you.

“A handsome little lad, ain't he?” Cregan chuckles, his fingers gently tickling the boy's soft belly. He knows what you'rethinking. He can see it in your eyes.

He pulls you closer, the boy nestled comfortably in your lap, his laughter mingling with the faint echoes of joy that fill the room. Cregan’s presence is a comforting weight beside you; it’s a silent promise that you’re not alone. You feel his cold nose brush against your cheek, and it sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the intimacy you share.

You can’t help but smile, a genuine smile that lights up your face, causing your eyes to crinkle with affection. You turn toward him, the world around you fading away, and press a soft kiss to his lips. It’s a tender declaration of love, a quiet thank you for all the unspoken support he offers.

You never say his name aloud anymore. But he lives here, in the curve of your son’s smile. In the warmth you feel, even in the coldest part of the realm.

So, at times, when your eldest smiled just so or tilted his head in thought—you saw him. Jace.

Not a replacement.

Just... a thread that had never truly broken.

The fire burned low. Outside, snow falls in soft, unbroken sheets, blanketing the world in a hush. You lie in your bed, older now— hair dulled with time, hands lined with stories and wrinkles. The room is quiet. Your children are grown, your husband long gone, the halls slower now, more still.

In the box with Jace’s ring rests that little wooden dragon—weathered now, edges softened by time and play. You never did burn it. You never could.

You feel the weight of sleep tugging at you, soft and steady.

And then—you dream.

Not of Winterfell, not of war, not of duty.

You're back on Dragonstone. The air is warm with salt and sun, and the cliff is bathed in gold. The sea below is calm for once. A breeze catches your hair—you're young again. Light again. Not weighed down by crowns or grief.

You turn.

And he’s there.

Jace.

Exactly as he was—proud, eyes alight with something wild and kind. He looks like he always did in your dreams, but this time feels different. Not fleeting. Not fading. Present.

He smiles, and it isn’t sad this time. It’s real. “You took your time,” he teases.

You laugh—a real laugh, one you haven't made in decades. “You always were impatient.”

You stand there, not touching at first, just looking. All the years fall away in that gaze—the war, the children, the choices, the silence. All of it dissolves into this one impossible moment.

“I saw you,” you say softly. “In all of them. Every time our son laughed like you. Every time the sky turned red at dusk.”

“I know,” he says. “I was there.”

He reaches out, and you don’t hesitate. Your hand slides into his. Still warm.

You lean into him like you did once, long ago, under the stars. He wraps his arms around you, and this time, they don’t let go.

The dream doesn’t fade.

The wind doesn’t change.

This time, you stay.

You close your eyes.

The sea smells like home.

His arms are warm.

The end is here.

You don't wake. The snow falls quietly outside your window. Your children will find you in the morning—peaceful, smiling, one hand curled gently over your heart.

And somewhere, far beyond the wall of the realm, a boy and a girl fly together again, two dragons in love, at last unbound by time or fate.

——

tags: @bey0nd-1he-stars I forgot that people make tag lists, so if you wish to be tagged, please let me know

[klaus-littlestwolf]

an you please write some yandere Daemon hc's

Yan!Daemon T. HC’s

(I also received a request for Daemon and Rhaenyra’s sister HC’s so I’m going to combine them for this one-sorry it’s so short but I just wanted to write a short Daemon one tonight)

Honestly I’m kind of sorry I’m never in more Daemon moods rather than Aemond. Aemond is my Babygirl and my fav Targaryen of all time and ofc my fav little war criminal but I love Daemon and I’ve been asked if I would be willing to write for him more so if you have any specific Daemon requests that you think I would pull off well go ahead and send them🤷🏼‍♀️

~Daemon adored you the moment he laid eyes on you

•He was the first person besides the Maester to hold you. Your mother was sleeping soundly after the difficult birth and as the Maester was bringing Y/n to the King, Daemon cut him off and insisted he would do it himself

•He took his time getting to the small council where the King waited to see his second child, he was content just playing with you as you kept snatching his thumb and trying to suck on it, squeezing tightly which he was impressed by-already a tough Targaryen, he couldn’t wait to see the strong Dragon Rider you would become

•It wasn’t often that Daemon held babies but you were the cutest little thing he had ever laid eyes on and it was difficult to release you.

‘It is a girl brother.’ He announced as he walked in, all men now staring at the vicious Targaryen man that was wild enough to mount Caraxes, as he cradled a small babe who held his fingers tightly without making a single sound.

‘She is beautiful.’ Viserys stated as his younger brother handed him his daughter, grinning like an idiot at the sweet little girl.

‘Another girl. I am sensing a pattern my King.’ The Lannister teased and before the King could comment, Dark Sister was at the idiots throat and he dared not even swallow to avoid being nicked by the Valyrian Steel blade.

‘That is enough brother. You have taught him his lesson. Come now, let us go and find Rhaenyra, she will want to meet her little sister.’ Viserys stood but Daemon cut him off.

‘Actually I believe I should go to the pits, she will need an egg in her cradle tonight. I will choose the most beautiful one possible, brother.’ He nodded and Daemon was off to get his niece her first gift though if he had it his way he would teach his niece to fly right beside him on Caraxes, cradled like their mother had done for them.

~Y/n looked up to her uncle and loved him very dearly all her life

•He was the first one to comfort her when her second egg did not hatch when she was given it at 6, she was heart broken but her Uncle made her feel better

‘Of course you will have a dragon, it will just take time. You will mount your own dragon like a true rider, you’ve nothing to worry about my darling.’ Daemon kissed the girls head before leaving her to her studies as soon as her tears had dried up.

~Daemons affection for her grew as she got older and once she was 17 years old he knew he needed to make her his

•The men fighting for your hand were boys, children who could never care for his precious niece like she deserved and so Daemon took her for himself

•He stole you away in the night and married you, finding the fact that your Uncle loved you as you did him to be something you could not live with married to another man

•Your father lost his mind, he tried to annul the marriage but it had been consummated already and you refused to leave Daemon, getting angry at your father for hitting your husband (though you hadn’t seen the smirk Daemon wore at the idea of having you all to himself)

•You fought with your father viciously once you both returned to the Red Keep and though it went on for almost an hour, eventually your father dropped the subject-not wanting to risk losing his second child over a marriage that he didn’t approve of

~Daemon and his Niece!wife ended up on Dragonstone with Rhaenyra and her sons

•His first two daughters lived on Driftmark with their grandmother and visited often, both loving their cousin/step mother dearly and begging for more common visits however it didn’t happen much once Daemon first filled you up with a baby

•Daemon had never been happier than the day that you went into labor-unlike most men he insisted on being in the room and holding onto your hand tightly (allowing you to squeeze his hand as firmly as you needed)-refusing to let what happened to Laena Ever happen again and telling the Maester months before the delivery that if he so much as even considered cutting his wife open as an option in any way that he would cut him open from balls to brains and find them a new Maester that knew what he was doing

•You gave Daemon his first son the first time you gave him a child and he was over the moon! Once the Maester handed him his son he didn’t want to ever let him go, pacing with the baby boy-Daemion- until he began crying and Daemon realized he was keeping his son from his very first meal as his wife looked over at him truly exasperated

•Once you finally fell asleep as your son had been cleaned and fed Daemon took him down the hall-the King had come when you wrote and asked for his presence since you were so close to giving birth

‘Brother…would you like to meet your first nephew?’ Daemon asked, peeking into the library where his brother waited upon hearing your screams of pain, everyone else having joined him.

‘A boy! Yes! Wonderful brother!’ He grinned, holding out his arms and taking his brothers first son into his hold.

‘What has she named him?’ Rhaenyra inquired, moving to see the silver haired angel along with Jace and Luke, as well as Helaena and Aemond who moved to peek at the boy as well.

‘Daemion. He is in perfect health, and my wife is doing splendidly, even after breaking 2 of my fingers.’ He joked, though he knew it was true as he looked down and still couldn’t move his last 2 fingers on his left hand.

‘May I have the pleasure, Uncle?’ Rhaenyra asked, unable to look away from the perfect little Angel that she called a nephew.

‘Of course Rhaenyra.’

•Rhaenyra loved Daemion more than she thought possible, Aemond, Aegon and Helaena also loving their elder sisters son and her next 3 sons and daughter as well-Y/n having been very good to them in their childhoods in ways that their mother was not, all looking to her for comfort in their youth-it was her in the end that kept the family from killing each other more often than not

~Once the King died, Rhaenyra was promptly settled as Queen thanks to her younger sister-though it was completely unintentional

•Aemond set out to find Aegon as their mother told him to, however both brothers rode for Dragonstone not an hour later with Vhagar and Sunfyre

•Rhaenyra hadn’t realized how much her younger brothers loved her sister until they landed outside of the courtyard, everyone coming outside in question of the impromptu appearance, and she knew in that moment that if it wasn’t for her sisters kind heart in raising those boys when Alicent didn’t that the idea of her being Queen may have just been a fantasy

‘My sweet boys!’ Y/n smiled, raising her arms and hugging the both of them to her firmly, Aemond and Aegon hugging the girl back as they always did (Y/n ignored Daemons jealous growl at the interaction-he hated the fact that he knew his nephews had “Mommy Issues” and they were much too in love with his wife in his opinion-Both boys just avoided the subject since they knew he was right, keeping it very well hidden from her all their lives)

‘Hello Sister!’ Aegon smiled, kissing her cheek.

‘What brings you both here like this…what has happened?’ She worried, looking to Aemond to explain as she picked up her daughter, holding her tightly as she was now worried at the looks on her brothers faces.

‘We wished to avoid a war all together. Father is dead…and our Mother is determined to see Aegon ascend the throne. Grandfather insisted that you should all bow to the new King or he would send Vhagar to burn Dragonstone to the ground…I could never in my life have come to hurt you or your children sister, nor could Aegon.’ They all knew that there was no love lost between Rhaenyra, her sons, and her brothers but everyone knew that both brothers and Helaena loved Y/n passionately.

‘Helaena could not get the twins and fly with us quickly enough however she is waiting for you all with excitement.’ Aegon told her, pulling something from his bag and stepping closer to their eldest sister, unwrapping the object and presenting Rhaenyra the crown of “Jaehaerys the Conciliator”. ‘My Queen.’ He spoke softly, clearly not enjoying it but kneeling in front of her, Y/n taking the crown and setting it onto her sisters head as everyone around them knelt before their new Queen, Y/n joining them quickly.

~Daemon and Y/n moved back to Kings Landing with Rhaenyra and her family

•Daemon ended up on Rhaenyra’s council along with his wife who forced him to work with Aemond in controlling the Queens army

•Rhaenys made a wonderful Hand of the Queen as the last hand ended up in the Black Cells for the rest of his life

•Daemon was content with his wife in the Red Keep as his days were not full of commanding the Army and impregnating his wife who ended up giving him 5 sons and 3 daughters all together-Caraxes providing almost all of Daemons children with dragons with both Silverwing who Y/n ended up mounting and Syrax-also providing Aemond and Alys’ sons with dragons of their own a few years later as well (Daemon having introduced the two in order to keep Aemond away from his wife who he seemed to become more and more obsessed with the more babies she gave Daemon)

~Daemons obsession and marriage to his young niece seemed to have given almost everyone everything they wanted-at least it gave Damon everything he wanted and that’s all that mattered to him in the end

Daemon T. Masterlist

[novaursa]

hi ! can you do a writing for sister reader and rhaenyra and daemon. viserys like names them both heir (which otto is tryna like stop him or change his mind) but viserys is hell bent on having his two daughters on the iron throne , with them getting married and like adding daemon to the equation because while both reader and rhaenyra loves each other they also love daemon. and like during the dinner at the red keep alicent voices her opinion which has viserys FINALLY realizing what the hightowers are trying to do and he stands behind his daughters ten toes down and he makes sure they are on the throne before he dies. happy ending for everyone please (even the little hightower children aka aegon and aemond and helaena especially helaena that’s my baby) 😚

Three Heads

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Your father names you and Rhaenyra his heirs, and you both take Daemon as your husband.

- Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: The ending is left unsaid for narration purposes. You can assume how the Dance never happened.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: nights

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

The air was filled with anticipation as the three of you stood at the precipice of something ancient, something forbidden to those bound by the narrow constraints of Westerosi law. But you were not only Westerosi. You were Targaryens. Blood of Old Valyria, blood of the dragon. The moon cast a silvery light over Dragonstone, reflecting off the stone-carved faces of the ancestral dragonlords, their eyes seeming to watch as if blessing the union about to take place.

"The dragon has three heads," your father, King Viserys, had declared before the lords of his court, his voice unwavering against the protests of Otto Hightower and the murmurs of the others. He had been insistent, unyielding in his decision to name not only Rhaenyra but you, his beloved twin daughters, as heirs to the Iron Throne. And if you wished to marry Daemon, then so be it. Otto’s warnings had fallen on deaf ears, his opposition met with your father’s conviction.

You glance at Rhaenyra, standing to your right, her silver-gold hair catching the wind like a banner of fire. Her violet eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it’s only the two of you—the twin flames that have burned side by side your entire lives. There is something unspoken in her gaze, a shared understanding, a bond far deeper than blood. Tonight, that bond will be sealed in ways that no lord of Westeros could comprehend.

Daemon stands between you both, his presence commanding as ever. He is your uncle, yes, but he is also your lover, your equal in the dance of dragons. His eyes, sharp and bright, shift between you and Rhaenyra, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He thrives in defiance, in the breaking of traditions. But tonight is not about breaking. Tonight is about honoring something older, something lost.

The ritual begins as the dragonfire is lit around you, the flames crackling with the same intensity that fills the air. The old tongues of Valyria, forgotten by most, are spoken by the priests who have come to witness this union. Their words echo through the chamber like the roar of dragons. Your heart pounds in your chest, the ancient magic of your ancestors awakening in your blood.

Daemon steps forward first, his hand outstretched toward you, and then toward Rhaenyra. His touch is warm, familiar, as he brings both of you closer to him. “You are mine,” he says softly, his voice filled with a possessive reverence that sends a shiver down your spine. “Both of you.”

“And you are ours,” Rhaenyra responds, her voice strong and clear, echoing your own thoughts.

The Valyrian steel rings, forged specially for this moment, are brought forth. Daemon takes one in his hand, sliding it onto Rhaenyra’s finger first, then yours. As the cool metal touches your skin, you feel the weight of it, not just the physical weight but the weight of history, of legacy. The three of you are bound now—not only by blood, not only by love, but by destiny.

You take the second ring, your fingers trembling slightly as you slide it onto Daemon’s hand, followed by Rhaenyra’s. She smiles at you, a smile full of mischief and affection. She has always been the fiery one, the rebellious princess who defies convention, but so have you. You are her mirror in many ways, the reflection of her ambition, her desire, her strength.

The final words of the ritual are spoken in the language of dragons, the ancient Valyrian wrapping around the three of you like a cloak. Fire, blood, and power. The three pillars of your house, and now the pillars of this union. You are no longer two sisters and their uncle. You are one. One flame, one force, one future.

The kiss that follows is not timid. Daemon pulls you both close, his lips claiming yours first, then Rhaenyra’s. It is not the kiss of a husband and wife under the eyes of the Seven, but the kiss of dragons. Fierce, passionate, untamed. Rhaenyra leans into you, her fingers brushing your cheek before she too claims your lips. The world around you fades, leaving only the three of you, bound in fire and blood.

As the flames around you burn higher, you can feel the weight of what this means. You are no longer just heirs to the Iron Throne. You are the future of House Targaryen, the embodiment of its ancient power. The dragon has three heads, and now, you will soar together, unbreakable.

Otto’s warnings echo in your mind, but they are drowned out by the roar of dragons in your heart. Let the realm whisper. Let them plot and scheme. You are Targaryens, bound by the old ways. And together, you will reshape the world as you see fit.

The atmosphere in the Red Keep’s great hall was stifling, despite the lavish feast laid out before you. The long table gleamed under the glow of countless candles, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filling the air. Yet, there was no warmth in the room. Not tonight. The gathering was small but potent—Viserys, seated at the head of the table, you and Rhaenyra on either side of Daemon, with Alicent and her children opposite you. Otto Hightower sat quietly near the Queen, his calculating gaze shifting between you and your twin.

You could feel the weight of the words unsaid, the barely concealed discomfort radiating from Alicent, her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap. It was only a matter of time before something was spoken aloud, and you sensed the moment approaching.

Aegon lounged lazily beside his mother, a smirk playing on his lips, while Aemond's single eye, as sharp as a blade, flickered between Daemon and Rhaenyra with barely veiled contempt. Helaena, ever quiet and strange, sat silently, fiddling with a small trinket in her hands, muttering something under her breath.

The tension finally snapped when Alicent placed her cup down with a little more force than necessary, drawing all eyes to her. She smiled tightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

"Your Grace," she began, her voice honeyed but brittle. "I wonder… have you truly considered the implications of such a union? Between Daemon and your daughters?"

You stiffen beside Daemon, feeling Rhaenyra tense on his other side. Alicent's words hang in the air, dripping with disapproval, though she masks it with concern. She turns her gaze to Viserys, her eyes wide, playing the role of the dutiful wife. "Surely, there are other considerations that must be taken into account. For the sake of the realm, and for the future stability of the crown."

Viserys’s eyes narrow, his fork pausing mid-air as he studies her. “What are you trying to say, Alicent?”

Alicent’s gaze flickers briefly toward Otto before she continues, emboldened. “There are traditions, Your Grace. Laws that must be upheld. Marrying Daemon to both of your daughters… it is… unorthodox.” She hesitates, her words cautious. “It could create discord within the realm. People might question the legitimacy of such a union, especially with the potential claims from…” Her voice lowers, though not enough to be polite, “…Daemon’s past.”

At that, Daemon leans back in his chair, a lazy, dangerous smile spreading across his face. He says nothing, simply watching as Alicent's discomfort grows under his scrutiny.

You exchange a glance with Rhaenyra, and she meets your eyes with a flash of defiance. You knew this moment would come. The Hightowers have been quiet for too long, waiting for a chance to undermine your father’s wishes, to place their own blood closer to the Iron Throne. And here it was, unfolding before you like a play.

Viserys’s face darkens, his eyes shifting from Alicent to Otto. “Is that what you’re concerned about, Alicent? Tradition? Or are you worried about what this union means for your children?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Alicent, but it is Otto who speaks next, his voice measured and calm. “Your Grace, no one questions your love for your daughters, nor the bond they share with Prince Daemon. But the realm is fragile. Marriages such as these, unconventional as they may be, can sow uncertainty. It may lead to factions… rebellion.”

Viserys sets his goblet down with a resounding thud, his eyes flashing with something you haven't seen in years—a simmering anger, a reawakening of the dragon within him.

“Rebellion? Uncertainty?” he repeats, his voice low but dangerous. “My daughters are Targaryens. They carry the blood of Old Valyria. The laws of Westeros are not the only ones that govern our family. I named both of them my heirs because I have faith in their ability to rule, just as I have faith in Daemon, my brother. This union strengthens our house, not weakens it.”

Alicent pales, her grip tightening on her goblet. “Your Grace, I only meant to say—”

“Enough!” Viserys cuts her off, rising from his seat with surprising vigor. “I have been patient, too patient, with the whispers and scheming around me. You question this marriage because it does not suit the plans of your house. But I will not allow the Hightowers to dictate the future of my daughters, or the future of this realm.”

There’s a stunned silence as his words settle over the room, the full weight of his wrath directed at Alicent and Otto. Aegon’s smirk fades, and Aemond’s eye narrows in suspicion. Helaena remains quiet, her focus still on her trinket, as if the conflict around her is distant, unimportant.

You glance at Daemon, who watches with a gleam of amusement in his eyes, his lips curved in a small, satisfied smile. This is the moment he has been waiting for, the moment when Viserys finally sees the Hightowers for what they are—a threat to his daughters’ legacy.

“I will make myself clear,” Viserys continues, his voice steady and unwavering. “Rhaenyra and Y/N are my chosen heirs. They will rule when I am gone, and Daemon will stand beside them as their husband, as their equal. This is my will, and it will be law. There will be no more discussion, no more questioning their claim.”

Otto shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his face impassive but his eyes sharp, calculating. Alicent looks stricken, her gaze dropping to her lap, no longer able to meet Viserys’s eyes.

The tension breaks when Viserys sits back down, his breath labored but his resolve unshaken. “I expect you all to remember that.”

The rest of the dinner passes in a tense silence, but the message is clear. The Hightowers’ influence is waning, and Viserys will ensure that the Targaryen line remains strong and unchallenged. You share a quiet look with Rhaenyra, feeling the weight of your father’s words settle in your chest. You are no longer simply his daughters. You are his heirs, and the Iron Throne will be yours.

Daemon raises his goblet, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he leans in, his voice low but filled with triumph. “The dragon has three heads, indeed.”

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (1/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: the angst, kidnapping and imprisonment, abuse of power, violence, panic attack ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

It took him a long time to bring her to the Red Keep. Too long, to his frustration – while Aegon on his throne preferred to loudly announce to his subjects things he could not provide for them, he acted in silence, trying to ensure that he was always one step ahead of their sister-whore.

When Larys Strong's spies reported to them that Rhaenyra was seeking dragon seed among the bastards in King's Landing his brother laughed, but he, their mother and all the lords were horrified.

This meant that the slight advantage Vhagar had given them was going to be in vain, as she stood no chance in a confrontation with so many dragons.

Helaena was riding Dreamfyre, but at his words to move into battle with him she covered her ears and turned her head away, saying she would never burn anyone. Daeron's dragon was still too small, so that left him and Aegon, who was the King and could not die, on the battlefield.

That was not enough.

And then it dawned on him.

Rhea Royce must have been devastated after learning that her hated husband's seed had taken root in her womb. The whole kingdom knew that she and his uncle loathed each other sincerely, and while he stayed in King's Landing, she remained in Runestone.

He thought she certainly felt satisfaction when she gave him a daughter, although the Rough Prince wanted a son.

According to rumour, she was born accompanied by her mother's loud groans a few months apart after his own birth, and was supposed to be the reason Daemon waited with murdering her mother: he did not want the burden of caring for a newborn child to fall on him.

Though he would never admit it out loud, of the many lords or bastards born of dragon seed, his choice was guided not only by her close kinship to their family, but also by the fact that having her by his side could be a humiliation to his uncle, a show of his strength, prudence and sheer malice.

Of how dangerous he was not only because of Vhagar.

He had prepared an ambush for her with reverence, through Strong's spy network weaving servants close to her into his plan.

He had no idea what kind of woman she was, whether or not she resisted, whether or not she could wield a sword like her mother, but he received a letter weeks later that they had succeeded, and Daemon's daughter was heading for King's Landing against her will.

He felt a pleasant tingling in his fingertips at the thought of what he would be able to do with her: if he found her pretty and humble enough, if indeed she succeeded in taming a dragon, he could try to invalidate his betrothal to the Baratheon whore and allow her to receive the honour of bearing his heirs instead.

His own dragon inheritance.

When she finally arrived, she was, much to his mother's displeasure, placed in a dungeon – he wanted her to understand that her situation was serious and that any answer from her that did not satisfy him would end in one way.

Her death.

He went down to the underground with the guards and dismissed them when he stopped under her cell with the torch in his hand, its light exposed her face to him.

She was sitting on the ground with her knees tucked under her chin, her head raised towards him, the look of her eyes frustrated and grim, her dark brows arched in displeasure.

She was not afraid.

For now.

He looked at her figure from top to bottom, finding that he had imagined her differently: he had hoped to see any Targaryen features in her. However, her long hair was dark, her eyelashes long and black, like a fan surrounding her brown eyes, which were as big as those of a doe.

Clearly it was her mother's blood that prevailed, he thought with disappointment, however his face remained stony.

"Do you know who I am, woman?" He asked coldly, the corner of her mouth twitching, her gaze softening as if his words amused her, making him feel uneasy.

"It's hard not to guess." She replied without any pleasantries.

He licked his lower lip in a gesture of frustration, recognising that he would not allow himself to be verbally dominated by her.

He had to knock her off her guard.

"Do you understand why you're here?"

She sighed heavily, looking down at her fingers, suddenly tired and small, like a child who wanted to go to sleep already.

"Because of my father, I guess. You are wasting your time. I don't represent any value to him. He will not pact with you for my sake." She said, and he snorted, grinning broadly – she looked at him in surprise, as if she hadn't expected such a reaction from him.

"You are mistaken. We need your blood."

She shook her head, shocked by his words, raising her shoulders in a gesture as if trying to defend herself against what she just heard.

He liked the look of terror on her face, no doubt at the thought that they were about to cut her wrists open and drain her of blood like an animal.

"We will find one of the wild dragons hidden in the mountain caves and you will try to claim it. You will die, or you will succeed and join the war on our side." He said coldly, and she burst out laughing, as if she hadn't heard a greater foolishness in a long time, causing his jaw to clench in fury.

Stupid cunt.

"I know nothing about dragons or their riders and have no desire to learn about them. This, I think, is something that is destined for those endowed by the gods with white hair. I have no intention of sacrificing myself for your family. Behead me or burn me, but spare me this farce." She sneered, looking away, as if she thought she could get away with such impudent words.

She picked herself up and took a few steps back as he unlocked her cell and a moment later he was beside her, dropping the torch to the stone floor, grabbing her by the neck, her body and head hitting the wall hard.

He stared at her for a moment, listening to her heavy breath as if she was choking, panic in her big, brown eyes.

Fear suited her.

"Do you think I'm asking you for your opinion? You will serve me, and you will serve me well, or I will burn not you, but all of the fucking Vale. Only dust and ashes will be left of the people you knew. Is that what you want, my Lady?" He scoffed, and she shook her head quickly, her lower lip quivering all over, her small, soft hands clenched on his wrist.

He leaned over her, digging his fingers deeper into her delicate skin as if he wanted to break her neck.

"So we have an agreement, as I understand it?" He whispered, as if asking her a secret, something only he should hear.

Her eyebrows arched in pain, her plump lips parted in a deep, shuddering breath as she nodded, her warm gaze filled with pain and regret at the same time.

Was she now begging in her mind for her father to save her?

For him to come to her rescue?

The thought made him want to laugh.

"Mmm." He hummed, looking at her red eyes and full lips, feeling a strange kind of intimacy now that he could feel her veins, her blood, dragon's blood, pulsing under her bare skin.

Their shared heritage.

His seed was stronger than Daemon's, he thought with a confidence bordering on vanity.

Their children would have his white hair.

He felt arousal at that thought, his length pulsed softly in his breeches.

He let go of her, and she took a deep breath, sliding to the ground, clutching at her neck where he'd driven his fingers.

"You will be moved to one of the chambers. You will not lack anything. Serve me well and no more harm will befall you." He said in an offhand manner and simply left, satisfied with how childishly simple it was.

The women and their soft hearts, their despair at the thought that someone else might lose their life because of them, their eternal pondering and tenderness that made them so weak.

"I have heard of your success, brother. I was told we had a visitor in the Keep." Said Aegon, glancing at him, seated at the other end of the table, while his hand played with the marble green orb lying before him.

"Yes. She will obey us. I will personally prepare her." He said, resting his elbows on the table top.

The King laughed.

"You, brother? What does your beloved betrothed in Storm's End would say about it?" He sneered, glancing at the lords around them as if asking if his joke was in fact funny.

He grinned, trying to contain his anger and that familiar, unpleasant feeling of humiliation rippling through his chest.

"Who else would do this? You, with your superior knowledge of the language of Old Valyria will teach her commands and behaviour towards a wild dragon?" He asked, looking him straight in the eye.

His brother grew pale and swallowed hard, tense, feeling that he had lost this battle.

"Bring her in." He ordered.

Soon the door to the room opened, and she walked in, accompanied by the guards: she was wearing one of his mother's old brown gowns, its red sleeves reaching to the ground. Her hair was loose but not in disarray, falling gently down her back, as if she had not let any servant touch it and combed it herself.

"Come closer, cousin." Said Aegon with a smile, raising his hand and nodding, clearly wanting to encourage her.

She reluctantly took a few steps closer, looking around the assembled people anxiously, finally meeting his gaze – she stopped for a moment at his face, as if she was thinking hard about something, and then turned her head away, suddenly tired and resigned.

Good, he thought.

There was no need for her to stand up to him.

"We are overjoyed by your presence, even though you were brought here under not very pleasant circumstances. I hope you will quickly forget about these… discomforts and support us in our cause. My brother is extremely eager to prepare you for this." Aegon said, her lips twitching in a grimace that he didn't like when he mentioned him, but no words left her mouth.

"Are you not glad to face your father? Did he not forget you and abandon you for so many years?" Continued Aegon, their mother looked at him and shook her head, wanting him to stop.

She lifted her gaze to his brother-king and looked at him for a moment, her expression gentle and calm.

"I have nothing to say to you, cousin. Do with me what you wish."

A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell around them – he feared what Aegon would do with this insult – the fact that she had humiliated him by simply calling him her cousin, speaking to him without proper etiquette or manners.

Aegon pressed his lips together and leaned forward, as if thinking hard about something.

"Our family has forgotten you. Left you the fuck knows where, motherless and fatherless. And I am deeply sorry for it."

He looked at him shocked, not believing that he had said such a thing, apologised to her even though it was she who had offended him, and then looked at her face – her eyes turned red, her lips parted slightly, as if he had stuck a needle straight into her heart.

What was he doing?

Aegon spread himself comfortably in his chair with a loud creak of wood, smiling with satisfaction.

"You may leave."

He did not know why he had been furious all evening, why, bent over the maps of Westeros, planning his fucking war, he had been unable to focus or calm himself.

He knew why his brother had done it: he wanted to bond with her, to show him that he was the one she would obey, that he was in control of the situation, that he was the King.

"Bring our prisoner." He ordered loudly so that the servant who was just taking the tray from his table heard it.

"As you wish, Your Highness."

When she walked into his chamber she stopped immediately behind the door, which closed behind her with a loud clatter. He glanced up at her dispassionately and looked again at the books he had taken from his shelves, which he had often browsed through as a child.

This was his legacy, not hers.

But he had to do it.

"Come here. Sit down." He said dryly and after a moment he heard the rustling of her gown.

As she sat in the chair beside him he smelled her, some kind of oil that scented of field flowers, chamomile or daisies, and he thought that she had taken a bath.

Something in that thought, in the idea of her bare, soft body sunk in the warm water, made his manhood throb pleasantly, tingling heat spreading through his lower abdomen.

He moved one of the books towards her, open to the page on which was written what he wanted to discuss with her.

"Can you read?" He asked coldly, and she threw him a look from which he felt like grabbing her cheeks and shaking that little head of hers.

She didn't answer, which frustrated him even more, clutching the volume in her hands and leaning over it, following the text with her eyes.

So she could read, he thought mockingly.

"The dragons understand the language of Old Valyria, and this is how the dragon riders communicate with them. You have to learn to speak the commands properly." He sighed, running his hand over his face, feeling tired and discouraged.

"Dohaerās means serve. Rȳbās means listen. These are the most important words, right next to Lykirī, which commands a dragon to remain calm." He said, tilting his head back, closing his eyes. "Repeat."

Silence.

He pressed his lips together, opening his eyes, thinking he was about to kill her with his own hands.

He looked at her, wanting to hiss to her that he was going to slam her head against the table until she dutifully recited each of the words he was ordering her to repeat but his voice stuck in his throat when he saw the look on her face.

He had the impression that although she froze in stillness, her whole body was quivering, as if she was cold.

Her eyes were open wide in fear, and even though her lips were pressed into a thin line she was breathing heavily, as if she were suffocating, her fingers clenched on the back of the book.

Was it possible that she had heard these words before, had read a book similar to this?

Did Daemon try to teach her the language of Old Valyria when she was a child?

He didn't know what he should do, feeling that if he touched her she would just fall apart, so he merely looked at her, wondering how such a person was supposed to tame a dragon.

He rose from his seat as if burned, snapped out of his reverie when her eyes rolled back and she simply fainted, her body, numb and heavy slid to the floor beneath their feet.

He circled the table and knelt beside her, slapping his palm against her cheek in an attempt to revive her, but she did not wake up.

"Bring the Maester, quickly!" He called out and cursed loudly, restraining himself from screaming with rage.

"What have you done to her?" His mother hissed quietly, so that only he could hear it while the Maester examined her.

He turned his face away and shook his head, wondering if everyone in this damned fortress was against him.

After all, he was doing this for them.

For their family.

"Nothing. She was only supposed to read a few words. I didn't even touch her." He growled, his hands intertwined behind his back clenched into a fist.

Why didn't she trust him?

Why was she looking at him like this, as if she didn't recognise him?

Hadn't he always been faithful to her?

"What words? What did you say to her?"

"Words in Old Valyrian, nothing more. She must learn it if she is not to burn in the dragon fire, and our efforts are not to be in vain." He scoffed impatiently.

"We do not know what Daemon did to her. Whether she saw her mother die."

"I don't care what he did to her or what she saw." He said, throwing her a look from which she froze. "We have an agreement and she knows what will happen if she doesn't fulfill it."

"What will happen? You'll burn the Vale?" Alicent asked with a sneer, and he pressed his lips together, feeling a terrible, piercing shame.

"She will stay in my care tonight. Don't go near her until she recovers." She told him and stepped around him.

He felt as if she had slapped him in the face so he left, not wanting anyone to see the burning tears of disappointment that had gathered under his eyelids.

He didn't let them flow.

He was not weak.

He was not like her.

He was not like Aegon.

He was not like his father.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

i saw your prompt list and was hoping for number 6 with Aegon <3

‘’Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’’

Request: Aegon married Rhaenyra's daughter. When the king dies, Alicent lock her in the dungeons so she won't go to her mother and ruin the coronation. Aegon ask where his wife is and get you out himself. Tells the guard that his wife is not to be made prisoner

—

You always knew Alicent had madness running through her blood, but you never thought she would have you taken to the dungeons and imprisoned. 

After dressing in your day dress, you were walking down the corridors, looking for Halaena when you heard voices coming from the small council chamber talking about sending men to Dragonstone to kill your mother and Daemon. Before you could get to your bed chamber and write her a message to send by crow, one of the guards saw you and brought you to the dungeons. 

You tried to scream for help, but the sounds were killed by the stone walls. So you sank to the floor and curled on yourself, praying to the gods that someone would come get you out. Someone must have noticed your absence. 

At his return from the dragonpit, Aegon walked into your chambers and called to you. He assumed you were with his sister, so he went to Halaena’s chambers, but she told him she had not seen you. On his way back from his sister’s chambers, Aegon heard the servants whispering about ‘the blacks’ daughter’ and stopped them. 

With fury in his eyes, the prince stormed down to the dungeons. He didn’t have his sword on him — only Aemond wore it on the daily —, but he had his dagger. Whoever would try to oppose freeing you will end their day bleeding out. Aegon was not afraid of a fight. 

His footsteps echoed off the stone walls and the torches flickered as he passed. As he reached the entrance to the dungeons, Aegon clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw tight with determination. Without surprise, two guards were stationed at the entrance. They moved to block the way when the prince approached. 

‘’We cannot let you go past, my prince. Orders of the Queen,’’ one of them said.

‘’The King’s dead, which no longer makes her Queen. And as the rightful heir to the throne, it is my command you obey.’’ Aegon tried to go past them, but the other guard pulled out his sword. ‘’I could have you removed from the kingsguard for pointing your sword at your future King.’’ His jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the hilt of his dagger as he stared the defiant guards.

The threat hung heavy in the air, a silent warning of the consequences should they continue to defy him. After a tense moment, the guard who had brandished his sword reluctantly stepped aside.

‘’My wife is not to be made a prisoner,’’ Aegon declared, his voice ringing with authority, holding his dagger at the guard’s throat. 

The guard gulped. ‘’Yes, my Prince.’’ 

Aegon walked past them, wondering how his own mother could do this. A part of him was not surprised, though. Her determination often goes too far. 

Finally, he reached the row of cells. All were empty, except one. His heart was pounding in his chest as he saw you sitting with your knees pulled to your chest on the cold stone floor. He said your name and you looked up, tears welling up in your eyes as you stood and reached out to him. You knew he would come for you. 

‘’Aegon!’’ Your voice held relief. 

He grabbed your hand through the bars, cold from being down here, holding it. ‘’Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’’ Aegon reached out to caress your tear-streaked face, his touch a tender reassurance in the midst of chaos. 

Using the keys he stole from the guards, Aegon unlocked the door, a harsh creaking sound echoing in the silence of the dungeon when it opened. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if afraid to let you go. 

‘’Are you alright?’’ he asked, stepping back to look at you. 

You nodded. You were cold, and very thirsty, but not hurt. ‘’I heard your mother and her father speaking to the Lord Commander. They sent men to murder my mother,’’ you said, a tear slipping down your face. ‘’I was sent here so I wouldn’t write to her and risk ruining your coronation. I need to get to the dragonpit. I have to go to Dragonstone and save my mother.’’ 

—

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[targaryenrealnessdarling]

The Blood is Rare

Summary: Aemond has always loathed his niece, and the feeling is very much mutual | Words: 3.3k | Warnings below the cut!

Warnings: a lot of talk of illegitimacy, hatefucking, dubcon, choking, slight knife play, biting, bitta blood, incest (character is described with strong features), p in v sex, baby trapping?

There was no plate at his spot at the table. No knife to tempt him. He would not break bread with those he could not trust.

Like an animal atop high ground, he sits rigid at the head of the table, on the outside unnervingly calm. But he watches with a keen eye the prey that sits at the other end.

She shares many features with her mother. His whore-sister. Her stubbornness, her determined gaze and the nervous twisting of the rings on each of her fingers into the bargain. 

Had she not the dark brown, near-black shade of waved hair atop her head and bright, clear blue eyes of the former Commander of the City Watch, his niece and his sister would look nearly identical.

Unfortunately, they both shared his hatred for them as well.

He loathed the idea of them all. The birth of one mere brown-haired bastard was enough, and yet there were three of them, sat together in unification, as if to put up defences against the opposite side of the table, dotted with the moonlight-silver of Alicent Hightower’s children.

He smirked at the thought that she came mere hours after Jace. That she was unplanned. Unwanted. And yet here she existed, sitting with her eyes fixed on a flickering candle, trying to drown out the laughs, smiles and the oddity that was all of them all gathered together, enjoying one another’s company.

He knew as well as she did. It was the only thing they had in common. That they could see through this charade.

Aemond wondered if she had always seen it. Understood it. The strife that would happen between them. Perhaps she was a dreamer and could envisage the future before it had even happened.

She was a melancholic, hateful little thing. Born with fire and fury.

He supposed if anything, she was still the daughter of a Targaryen.

Aemond swore she was a witch of sorts. For she must have felt his gaze on her, and her clear eyes were illuminated by the dancing flame as they met him. Her expression unchanged.

His smirk grew that they felt the same about each other.

He was the cunt son of Alicent Hightower.

And she was the Strong bastard of his whore-sister.

Not breaking eye contact, she raised her chin, looking down at him over her nose, huffing as she turned away to sip from the cup on her small, delicate fingers.

Stuck up cunt.

The atmosphere shifted considerably as Viserys groaned, a frail hand raised to the injured portion of his face, to which Aemond felt a sick sense of delight. The guards swiftly carried him away by each corner of his chair.

And the gap between Rhaenyra and Alicent seemed to push each side away further. Irreparably so.

His niece did not appreciate his tribute to her and her brothers.

Throughout the evening, she had said few words apart from mumbled whispers to Daemon on her right and Luke on her left. But when Aemond stood to speak, he revelled in her undivided attention. In those angry eyes, he saw not only a loathing for him, but a loathing at the truth of what she was.

A loathing that he was right, and she knew it.

She seemed almost as disappointed as her mother when Jace struck him weakly.

And before Daemon could place himself between the warring factions of their family, he watched the Strong Princess march angrily away, her skirts in her hands, flashing a stern glare before she left.

Her eyes were all he could think about, with her face anchored in the firm grip of his fingers.

He thought she was so small and fragile, that he could just squeeze and break her little jaw, her bones clattering between his fingers like pebbles. And yet she still looked at him with such fire, that only one of Targaryen blood would be able to throw.

She looked at him like he was the most loathsome creature she had ever seen.

The passageway Aemond had her cornered into was stifling and suffocating, forcing them to breathe the same humid air in anger. He saw her face redden where he had her in his grasp, her glossy lips slightly parted to breathe.

“I will extend you the courtesy of assuming there is a very good reason why you have your hands on me like this, Uncle.”

He almost wants to laugh right in her face, despite what she said not meaning to be funny. She is so frail, and yet roars so loudly.

“There is.”

Her jaw muscles tighten in frustration, shuffling backwards though there is nowhere to go.

“Then, I dare say your reason will not be good enough.”

Aemond allows his gaze to roam over her face. Up close, she really and truly is the picture of her mother, with her father's unfortunate features to her disadvantage in her colouring.

“I merely wished to see the colour of your eyes, mandianna.”

“To make some cruel jape no less, I am sure.”

He grins at the way she takes a sharp breath when he tugs her face towards him slightly. And he swears he sees the pupils within the clear blue of her eyes widen as he does, and wonders if he is having the same effect swelling at the forbidden place between her thighs.

“You wound me, sweet niece. A man cannot simply appreciate the beauty of a woman? Does there always have to be some cruel intent?”

“With you, there must be.”

He somewhat loosens his grip on her face, fingers trailing down her neck, the glint of her earrings catching his eye. She visibly shivers at his touch there. 

The most venomous expression sits on her face, and she does not miss a beat. Too clever and witty for her own good.

“Do not insult my intelligence, Uncle. I know what depraved thoughts bat around inside your head, and they are not original. A family trait perhaps.”

He hums, more amused than curious, but perhaps with a smattering of both, “And what of you?”

Her perfect little lips part to speak before his thumb trails down the column of her throat, long fingers wrapped around her neck to her nape. The threat of what he could do making her go quiet.

“What depraved thoughts bat around in your head, sweet niece?”

Silence wraps around them like a rope, tightening with the fibres cracking against their skin. Hot and suffocating all at once. And all Aemond can hear is the steady rhythm of her breathing, his eye wandering down to the necklace perched on her chest as her lungs erratically suck in air.

“It is treason to question my virtue.”

She swallows as his thumb presses on the centre of her throat, as if testing if she is indeed real.

“It may be treason to question your virtue, but it is not treason to question your honesty,” he replies coolly. Aemond can feel her pulse fluttering beneath her skin, the barely-contained rage on her face hidden only by a blanket of courtesy, “a maiden does not allow herself to be alone like this with another man.”

Aemond found himself, a man who had sparred with Ser Criston Cole for a large portion of his life, a man who as a child had claimed the largest dragon in the world and a man who had dealt with the burning pain of losing his eye, and the shame that he carried alongside it, was shocked into brief silence when his niece’s small, delicate palm echoed off his cheek.

It was not the force of it that stunned him so, but rather the shock that she had chosen to do it, with his hand around her neck and his frame blocking her escape.

The little dragon had felt threatened and given him a warning clip.

Aemond felt the warmth bloom on his cheek and smirked. She had slapped him on his bad side, where she knew it would sting the most. For a split second, white, hot pain nipped at the temples of his head as he turned back to face her, and saw that look on her face.

That she knew she’d made a mistake, but was too angry or proud to admit it. 

Or perhaps she was both.

Excitement wriggled and rolled in his stomach at the whimper that escaped her lips, using the force of his grip around her tiny throat to force her back, muscles and bones rolling against the stone walls where she was trapped, and those clear, curious eyes darting back at him with distaste. And he was pleased to see, a sprinkling of horror and panic.

“That was a mistake,” he mused, pressing himself closer to her, his hand firm around her throat despite her own attempting to pry them off him. His other hand reached down, shifting her up the cold wall, and gathered her heavy skirts in his palm, and rucked them frustratingly up towards her hip.

He revelled in the terror that crossed her face, a smirk winding its way to his sharp features.

“How exhilarating,” he pondered, “to take something that you are not willing to give.”

“I will scream”.

“Then scream. I will say it was you who seduced me,” he bit back, watching her face and expressions that crossed them, “And who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter of a whore?”

He could feel her breath against his face, soothing the spot where she had struck him not a moment before. Aemond blinked slowly at the woman in his grip, apparently attempting to decide for herself whether it was worth the fight.

Or perhaps something else.

Aemond grinned, “like mother like daughter.”

And he enjoyed the fire it stoked in her eyes.

“You will let me go-”

He shook her neck in his grip, as if to make her be quiet. And it seemed to shock and scare her, for she closed her eyes to steel herself, “And then what will you do? Run? Scream? Or will you do something stupid enough to give me an excuse to make everything you’ve ever said about me, truth?”

Her jaw tightened looking at him, feeling cornered, but a strange ache between her thighs.

“You threaten me, Uncle?”

His dagger sliced the very air between them, pressing the tip to the column of her throat where his thumb had branded her not moments before, tracing the shape of her skin. His niece froze, her breath trembling and her head pressed to the wall, as if to try and pull herself feebly away from threat. 

This very dagger was an extension of Aemond himself. As if his hand were still touching her but with a pointed edge. And he wondered if he sliced her skin, even just a little, would she bleed like him?

There was something there in her eyes as he looked between them. Her breath came in shallow gasps. And Aemond was willing to bet that deep down, beneath the demure veil she hides herself behind, peeking through, that she is wet and ready for him between her silky thighs.

“You are clever, dear niece,” he all but whispers, trailing the blade down to the neckline of her dress, the rich fabric yielding to it, “but not as clever as you think you are.”

She swallowed thickly as his blade teased the tied bindings to her dress, playing with the double-tied knots as if they were strings of a lute, and he was playing her easily. He plucked one, and then two, watching her face the entire time.

“You believe yourself a proper little Princess, do you not?” he asks, his voice low, almost feline in nature, his face so close to hers she can make out the stitchings of his eyepatch, “hair decorated with gold. Fingers adorned with rubies. Wrapped in lavish dresses.”

She flinched as he flicked his wrist, severing the second to last tie holding two sides of her gown together.

“But pull one little thread, and you unravel -” his tone deepens, forcing her to listen to every little syllable, his gaze boring into hers, “-and all you are…is a wanton, bastard, whore.”

She attempted to push his body away, but his dagger clattered to the floor, holding her easily by her wrists, near-painfully pressing them to the stone wall behind her. It happened so quickly. Lips, teeth and tongue fought as if in battle, and Aemond held her there for him, pressing his rapidly hardening length against her clothed womanhood, rolling his hips against hers to search for that delicious, forbidden friction.

It did not seem to him that she was fighting him, but rather fighting how he made her feel.

Her lips were velvety, moist and soft as his anchored hers apart to taste her, once having a split second’s worth it was never enough. Every little breath and whimper and he wanted to make them louder, make her submit, a part of him intoxicated by her when  her teeth grazed his bottom lip, and bit on him, only for her tongue to soothe the area afterwards.

Aemond thought of what would happen, if he devoured her wholly, pressed so hard against her that it was difficult to fathom where either of them began and ended.

His lips moved along her jaw. She smelled of whatever oils were combed through her hair. Camomile and something sweet perhaps. Quickly his hand left her wrist to ruck her heavy skirts up to her waist, feeling her shiver at the touch he left behind with the brief touch of his fingertips where no man had touched before. 

“Fight back,” Aemond dared, a mere whisper against her neck where he left his bruise-like mark.

He met her gaze, looking into her bright eyes and allowed his grip on her to slowly relax, waiting to see if she would push away. Scream and run, as she had previously promised. And while her jaw was still tense and eyes aflame with hostility, he swore he saw her pupils dilate.

“Just get on with it.”

The surging heat in his stomach distracted him briefly from acting cocky, his fingers fumbling to untie his breeches while keeping her elevated. And it felt as if his body was thinking before his mind when he looked between them to see her hefty skirts bunched at her hip, and one smooth leg on display, pulling his achingly hard cock free and tucking himself between the soft haven between her thighs. 

She could pretend she desired him not all she liked, but when their gazes met in fire and fury, finding that in all of their fighting and struggling she was soaking wet, Aemond pushed against her entrance until she welcomed him, sliding within her tight, choking walls with a low groan batted against her neck.

She whined at both the intrusion and his tight grip on her thigh, one hand elevating it so that he could begin pushing up brutally into her. Shame rose to her cheeks as she closed her eyes tightly, finding the wet smack of their skin rousing that tightness in her belly.

It was both embarrassing and hateful that she found herself enjoying this, and that she let him first of all. 

And all she could see above her when she opened her eyes was him, his lips parted to breath as if he was holding some beastly form of himself back, his hair spilling like rays of moonlight over his shoulders with every thrust into her weeping cunt and the way his lone eye never strayed from her expression, not for a second.

That is until Aemond felt as if not only he wanted to own her shame and her body, but wanted to show it too, and leaned forward to graze his teeth on the skin that was now exposed by the ever loosening shoulders of her dress, and sink his teeth in to mark her.

The sound that came from her was between a grunt and a moan, as his position changed the angle of his hips and the blunt head of his cock sparking pleasure deep inside her.

“Fucking…hate you…” is all she managed, feeling the top of his canine break the skin just slightly. Her voice clung to that flat, stoic hatred, and she hated that it sounded as if she were about to fall apart.

If it were possible, he increased the intensity of his movements, pushing up into her mercilessly and drawing feminine, soft whines from her mouth. Sounds he wasn't even sure before his niece was capable of making.

“I adore your fire, sweet niece,” he muses lowly, tracing her jaw with his lips, “I adore how much you think you hate me.”

She does hate him, she tries to think. But every thought that appears is swiftly batted away by the incessant rhythm of his cock pistoning in and out of her, the depraved sounds betraying how she truly feels. An internal war Aemond can clearly see.

“Do you like this? Do you like how much I hate you? How much I want to hurt you?”

Yes.

A thought rung in her mind that she wanted him to hurt her more, so that she could just feel something from him aside from the way he stretched her walls around him so deliciously.

The soreness of his girth is something she had not expected to be a problem, a lapse of thought that she will no doubt be paying for the next morning.

But this, this was a core lapse of morals, surely. Allowing him to do this to her.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh, as if pulling her to meet his cock halfway, feeling the way his body shuddered at the closeness of completion evident on his face.

Aemond grinned wolfishly, “You like this. We both know it.”

He thrusted into her so forcefully that she had no choice but to hold onto him, clinging to his leather-clad shoulder tightly when he met her fleshy end, her insides involuntarily squeezing around him in both pain and pleasure.

His hand came to her neck, clamping down experimentally on her windpipe, and groaning deeply at the way her cunt sucked him in as he did. Forcing her chin up so those traitorous blue eyes met his, he grinned.

Hateful little cunt.

Her peak crept up her spine first, feeling as if the sensation was melting her muscles where they sat inside her body. And then her lips parted in a soundless scream, pitifully moving her hips towards his to encourage the feeling to crest until it rushed out of her with a feeble whine, “uncle…”

Not only was the feeling of her quivering, velvety walls enough to convince him, but the way she called him that while he was so deep inside her, threatening for relief, was so erotic it did not feel depraved in the slightest.

But nothing was better than that wide-eyed, colourful expression of panic, distaste, hate and anxiety when he deliberately planted his seed inside of her. Aemond was sure there was no better feeling, bad intentions or no, her blood felt good on him, his teeth and cock alike.

All he could imagine was what dynasty could be created from such a house of revulsion. To watch this hateful little creature swell with his child, a true Targaryen. Only to put on the same stoic, flat expression which he knew was untrue when he'd fuck her again, and again, and again.

What flame flickered under that expression of hers, he wondered. What stone was hidden in the centre of her peachy, soft exterior. A heart, perhaps.

She didn't have to like it, this dance between them. But when he put her down and watched his spend trickle down her thighs, he would have her come to love it.

She existed for this. Whatever it was. He was sure of that.

“Well, little dragon,” he whispered, “the bastard daughter of a whore, with another growing within her?”

She swallowed around his hand as he tugged her face closer to his.

“Or burn with me.”

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[paulyenvol6]

Never Again

Based on this request. I'm sorry it's not that long but I didn't really have an idea where to take the story so I just wrote a fluffy comfort scene for the end. Enjoy :)

Contains: fluff, angst, mentions of jealousy and feeling left out, comfort, kissing, fighting, Rhaenyra and Alicent being shitty friends

Wordcount: 2,874

Masterlist

"Don't fucking leave now."

Daemon's voice was thick with restrained anger and his clenched fists only added to the picture.

"Why," you hissed with an equally unfriendly tone.

"Because we have to discuss this!"

He slammed his hand on the table, the sudden movement making you twitch and you stood up.

"I don't need to discuss anything with you if I don't want to. I told you, I will make this journey and you have no saying in this."

Your husband laughed but not the deep soft chuckle that left his mouth when you lay against his chest, but an evil and horrifying sound.

"I'm your husband. We're married and you can't just make these choices without asking me."

"I can and I will. You just watch me."

Daemon rose from his chair as well walking around in circles his hand folded behind his back.

"You're behaving like a little child right now," he said through gritted teeth eyes looking so dark that you almost couldn't make out his pupils.

"And you're behaving like you get to command me what to do."

In truth, you didn't care if you were being childish or stubborn. You adored Daemon and were proud to say that you were happily married but sometimes he went too far crossing a line that was holy to you. You loved how protective and caring he was about you but what you couldn't stand was when he tried to tell you what to do. In most cases you were consulting your husband, asking for his opinion but on days like these when he didn't even really hear you out, the blood in your veins began to boil and you mind was possessed by a foreign bitterness and viciousness.

You awaited his answer with crossed arms but it didn't come so you once again approached the door and this time his sharp voice didn't hold you back. At first you were relieved, sighing out as you left the room but after three steps a sour feeling crept up in your throat and you came to the realization that you absolutely weren't in the mood to leave things like this. Perhaps he had been right after all and you should have tried to make peace with him. But now that you were walking down the corridor there was no way you would come back to him and so you strut with your head up high not taking a single peak over your shoulder.

You spent the rest of the day with your children feeling as though their company was the only comfort this wicked day could bring you. You read them from history books, personally fed them before bed and then chose to sleep in separate bedchambers tonight.

Mayhaps you were being ridiculous but right now all that was on your mind was hurting Daemon and really hit him deep with your actions. And still you convinced yourself into believing that you were a lot happier than you truthfully were. That night you turned from one side to the other, head buzzing and aching with the aftermath of your fight and the next morrow started equally bad.

The sun shone brightly and on any other day you would have gotten up full of liveliness and energy but today the light rather disturbed you. You blinked a couple of times in an attempt to get rid of the drowsiness caused by your short night's sleep but then actually climbed off the bed as you heard your stomach grumble with hunger.

It was unfamiliar to wake up in the rooms right next to the ones you shared with Daemon because you were sure that the two of you hadn't spent a single night separated from each other ever since you got married. Thinking about it did nothing for your mood and even worse, you teared up at the thought but then quickly collected yourself refusing to give your husband the power to make you feel that way.

You got dressed without the help of your handmaidens who probably were desperately searching for you right now and then told a guard outside to inform the next passing servant that you wished to have breakfast soon.

Time passed slowly, like a sticky, thick liquid creeping down the slope of a roof and you caught yourself thinking about Daemon more times than you were able to count. What was he doing and what was he thinking about your absence?

What got you out of your chambers eventually were your friends and the fact that you had wanted to meet up with Rhaenyra and Alicent since the beginning of the week and so you were quick to put on your gloves and step outside.

Now that the three of you were wed and had your own families to care for there just wasn't as much time to catch up and go on long walks like you used to when you were younger which was why you savoured every second in their presence. Maybe your fight with Daemon wasn't quiet as inconvenient as you had thought because if your husband and you had been on good terms he might have kept you occupied this morning, lazily dozing off to sleep until noon.

You found Alicent and Rhaenyra in the gardens and a wide smile appeared on your lips seeing their heads bowed over a book.

"Rhaenyra! Alicent!" you shouted not very ladylike and the two women immediately turned their heads searchingly.

You had expected them to return the smile but to your surprise their expressions were careful, disapproving almost. As swiftly as your shoes allowed you approached your friends and tried your luck again giving them the faintest hint of a grin as you took their hands to squeeze them.

"My dearest friends. How are you feeling?"

Rhaenyra and Alicent briefly glanced at each other but you had noticed it and now wrinkled your nose suspecting that something was wrong.

"Good," Rhaenyra spoke before you could ask them but the word sounded so distanced and indifferent out of her mouth that you nevertheless chose to find out what they were hiding from you.

"Are you quite alright? You seem upset or… distanced."

They exchanged a look again and you slowly started to feel anger burning in your heart.

"We're fine. But we're not so sure that you are," Alicent said, her eyes examining her nails as if it took a great deal of effort for her to talk to you at all.

"What are you speaking of?" you asked, unknowing of what they were referring to. There was no way the two women could know about your fight with Daemon just by reading it off your face. It was Rhaenyra who eventually cleared the air and finally looked you in the eyes.

"My uncle told me about your argument."

"Or rather your disrespectful requests…," Alicent added still seemingly too proud to raise her gaze at you.

"What?" you breathed too confused to even feel anywhere close to being emotional.

"He said that you planned your trip to Volantis without even telling him let alone ask him for his permission."

You narrowed your eyes your throat thick with a strange mixture of sadness and aggressive anger.

"B-But I… I didn't – "

The word got stuck in your throat as Alicent's piercing green eyes darted at you her lips tightly pressed together and her jaw clenched.

"Rhaenyra and I were just surprised, you know? We didn't think your behaviour was fit for a lady of your rangs. A good wife is supposed to discuss such matters with her husband."

Her voice had never sounded so cold to you before and you wondered why your friends were so involved in this particular argument.

"Alicent," you said with a trembling voice feeling more miserable with each hitched breath of yours.

"I… I just… I knew that he wouldn't want me to go and this is important to me."

Now it was Rhaenyra who rolled her eyes and crossed her legs.

"Oh it's that important? Then this is another reason not to just plan a trip like this on your own. You should have asked him to come with you then."

You were growing furious now your voice thick with anger.

"I did! I asked him but he said he can't leave right now."

"Then you shouldn't either," Alicent said, her fake friendly voice getting on your nerves and making you clench your fists so hard that your nails left scratches in your palm.

"Why are you even involved in this? This is none of your business. And apart from that, you are my friends. I thought you were supposed to support me?"

You hated how weak your voice sounded but Rhaenyra and Alicent really had hurt you and there was no way of denying it. Now Alicent rose to her feet towering over you and lifting a finger.

"First and foremost, we are supposed to inform you of your wrong-doings. Advice you. And we are supposed to tell you when you act like a little scold."

You gasped, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes all of a sudden and you quickly turned your head so your friends wouldn't see it. But of course you weren't able to hide it and so you made a choice, leaving the two women behind and running back inside the castle.

Your heart pounded loudly in your chest, blood throbbing in your veins and cold sweat covering your back and neck. The air was roaring in your ears as you blindly made your way up to your chambers because tears relentlessly collected in your eyes.

You couldn't even think straight, your thoughts swirling around in your head, building up an ugly mess that you just couldn't seen to get under control. When you stumbled in your chambers you immediately locked the door behind you and then sank down on the floor burying your face in your hands.

You felt pathetic and left alone. Daemon had talked to your best friends behind your back and you could only imagine them laughing about you and insulting you. And now Rhaenyra and Alicent were treating you like you were a true abomination to this family. This was a nightmare. You had always had a tendency to feel a little jealous and left out; perhaps the reason for it was rooted in your childhood and under these circumstances it was especially bad.

You bawled your eyes out until it hurt and when you lifted your head for the first time since you had sat down against the door you had no idea how late it was. The sun told you that you must have been here for quite some time but you still didn't want to get up. Where were you supposed to go? Step under Rhaenyra and Alicent's eyes to let them humiliate you once more? Meet Daemon and risk getting involved in another fight?

You dropped your head again this time resting on your knees and jumped when there was a noise right behind you.

"Y/n."

You would have been able to recognize this voice among thousands and although you usually associated it with warmth and love, tonight your heart seemed to break at the sound.

"Y/n, I know that you're in there."

Daemon knocked on the door again but you didn't even flinch.

"Darling. Please let me in. We have to talk."

You shook your head which he obviously couldn't see and then sniffed loudly.

"Go away," you managed to bring out but cursed yourself for sounding so upset while he seemed controlled and steady.

"I'm not gonna go away. I need to see you."

"But I don't want to."

Daemon sighed and then didn't say anything for a couple of minutes while you tried to fight the tears refusing to stop rolling down your flushed cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Daemon eventually said and you heard a hand brushing over the wooden door. "I'm sorry, darling. I know what happened and I didn't meant to – I didn't want any of this to happen."

You remained silent eyes staring ahead of you as you perceived his soft voice.

"I know it's my fault. Please just… Please let me see you."

Then he was quiet again both of your heavy breathing being the only sound in your ear and Daemon already thought about giving up and leaving when the key in the lock turned and he sighed with relief.

He carefully opened the door, his eyes softening at the sight of your swollen eyes and tear stained face and he couldn't help himself and pulled you in for a tight hug. You were resistant at first refusing to wrap your arms around his back but the familiar scent of his hair, his firm grasp on your waist and his mouth whispering sweet words of comfort in your ear melted down your icy facade and soon you cried tears of despair clinging to your husband.

"It's okay, love… I got you… Everything is going to be fine."

He used his hand to shut the door and then cradled your head gently stroking your hair.

"D-Daemon," you sobbed burying your face in his nape but soon pulled away from him to meet his gaze despite the mess on your cheeks.

"Y-You told Rhaenyra a-and Alicent," you said accusingly and formed your lips into a pout.

"I did. And I'm sorry for that. I only realized how stupid it was when they told me about their encounter with you."

You body was shaking as you heard him mentioning the fight again and Daemon instantly secured his grip around your body.

"I know… They were treating you very badly and I promise you I told them so myself. I said to them that it isn't their place to talk to you about our fight let alone be so injust and evil."

His thumb reached to your cheek to wipe away some tears but he wasn't able to make new ones stop from falling upon your face which made him chuckle quietly.

"I love you and I'm asking you for your forgiveness. I promise, I can see what I have done wrong and I will try my best to never disappoint you like that again."

Your eyes were big as you took in his beautiful face that was drawn with so much love and affection that you didn't have a choice but to believe him.

"And about our fight…?" you asked with a thin voice, the corner of your mouth curling when he trailed a finger up your jaw.

"Perhaps I said these words too many times already, but… I'm sorry. I know that this trip is important to you and so I want you to make the journey."

Daemon cupped your cheek his big hand almost covering the half of your face and grazed your cheekbone with his thumb.

"I think I was feeling hurt because you didn't tell me at first. I thought you didn't trust me or… didn't want me to take part and that's why I snapped."

Your smile deepened hands finding his face as well and you touched him carefully as if you were exploring every curve and edge.

"I want you to take part. I guess I didn't want you to ask me not to leave and so I didn't tell you. And… perhaps I didn't want to think about leaving you for a couple of weeks and so I just ignored it and… and shut the thought up and I thought the easiest way of dealing with it was to just… I don't know, forget about it."

"I understand," he smiled and tenderly kissed the tip of your nose.

"You do?" you breathed your heart still pounding in your chest from your confession.

"Yes," Daemon replied, the pat of his thumb massaging your pulse point in slow circles. "But you know, I think I might have demanded to come with you on your trip. I would have if I hadn't been so pissed in the first place."

You pursed your lips unable to hide the grin spreading on your face.

"Really?" you whispered and felt the adrenaline shoot through your veins.

"Yes."

You squealed and wrapped your arms around his neck, swinging the two of you back and forth while you pressed what felt like a million kisses to his neck.

"Will you come with me then?" you asked just to make sure.

"Yes. If you want me to."

Daemon held on to your shoulder to keep you still and then leaned down to press a deep kiss to your lips that left the both of you breathless.

"Of course I want you to. It's what I wanted from the start," you answered, gently leaning with your forehead against his.

"Then I will be happy to be your travel companion."

Silence was laid upon the chambers but you were happy to just experience the closeness of his body after this horrible day. You inhaled each other's air feeling connected beyond the physical touch and then opened your eyes into his after a few minutes.

"Y/n?" he hummed. "Yes?"

"Don't you ever spend the night separated from me, okay?"

You chuckled lowly stealing a kiss from his lips, then running your hands over his broad shoulders just to feel him.

"Never."

[missglaskin]

Yan!HOTD Characters as Greek Gods

I want to thank @aphroditelovesu for giving me the inspiration, also side note do not take the gods canonical relationships literally

Viserys as Hades + God of the Underworld and the Dead

Viserys was a god who stood out from the gloomy darkness of his realm. The seat once shared by his beloved wife is now long dead with all the other souls. No temples were erected in his honor on the earthly soil, for the underworld served as his shrine. Still, Viserys lent many of his powers and crafts to help the other gods defeat their enemies, either it be a monster or a titan. When he needed to see his family, he would emerge to the earth itself. There a moral caught his eye. 

Viserys spent a great deal of time observing your everyday life. He enjoyed catching on to all your little habits and tendencies. The god was prepared to wait until your life's string came to an end. In the mean time, all good things came your way. While he wouldn't be able to stop your death from happening, he can certainly make it as peaceful and painless as possible. Viserys will welcome you with the greatest warmth when you arrive in his realm, and you will be surrounded by servants who will carry out your every wish.

Just as he has done all those other times Viserys will give you the time and space you need to adjust to this new, strange world. Desiring your happiness, Viserys might let you visit Earth but only for a short time. The god can't go too long without you by his side. He detests the idea of using coercion to get what he wants, but Viserys must make sure you never leave him. It is a blessing that you are a mortal, completely unaware of the pomegranate seeds that are given to you.

Daemon as Ares + God of War and Courage 

It was Daemon, out of all the gods, who was most frowned upon, the one with the endless list of foes. Many came to fear him and they had every reason to. For Daemon was a powerful god-quick to anger and raring for a fight regardless of the consequences. A jest spread among the gods was that Daemon's one and only true love was war itself. But what a shock it was to see the mortal in the god's arms. With his remarks and the severe violence he inflicted upon the mortals, Daemon, again and again demonstrated nothing but contempt and superiority over them.

Why you attracted the god of war's attention will forever remain a mystery. Could it be you had a fire inside of you that never went out or you had such a gentle soul that the god saw it as his duty to ruin you, or perhaps he saw you as a fair trade for one of his victories. Truthfully, Daemon himself is not fully sure what drew him to you. Still, the god comes to you, luring you in with lavish gifts and words sweet as honey. And if you aren’t compliant, the god sees no issue picking you up while you struggle to free yourself-screaming and clawing. 

Daemon has no care for what other Olympian deities thought when he kept you near him. They were already not fond of him and he was amused to no end to see their frustration, even having you displayed seated on his lap. Your life with Daemon is strangely not as dull and miserable as one might anticipate. He will always be rough and harsh, but you are shown a rare side of gentleness. You may never know if the god truly loves you, but you can be sure that if someone takes what he views as his, he will go to war a hundred times over it.

Rhaenyra as Athena + Goddess of Wisdom and War

Rhaenyra is a goddess with pride. A great warrior. Rhaenyra does not, however, hold humankind in such low regard as the many gods who came before her. She saw herself as their protector and rewarded those who came to worship in her temple. But it's not as if she isn't dangerous. The goddess is unmerciful in her use of curses. Any offense or insult will result in a terrible fate. And what fate bestows upon you when the goddess herself watches you. Desiring you from the very moment she caught sight of you. 

She is a master of disguise. Every word she spoke enticed you further and further into her grasp. There were the fleeting touches the goddess made to your skin to pique your desire. Her lips were painted with a smile that lowered your guard. You find yourself becoming a puppet as Rhaenyra hovers over you, pulling the strings to speak the words she wants you to hear, to touch her how she wants to be touched, and look at her how she wants to be gazed upon. 

Rhaenyra never wants you to leave her realm. The goddess is ready to gift you whatever your heart desires, but the earth is no longer a place you can call home. Rhaenyra will never lay a hand on you; gentle and soft with you. The only times you no longer see your lover but the goddess of war is if you are foolish enough to believe you can get away from her. She won’t understand. Has she not dedicated herself to you. Has she not given you every ounce of her heart. Whatever the reason is, your place remains by her side and she will make sure you know of this.

Rhaenys as Hecate + Goddess of Magic and the Moon

Rhaenys, the goddess of sorcery and the moon, who her domain also extends to creatures of the night; particularly hounds and ghosts. She’s often seen accompanied by her black hounds, donning a long robe, holding burning torches. Neither was she evil, nor was she wholly benevolent, but she did reveal her nature through actions, rewarding loyalty among her followers. Captivated by your presence in her temple, the goddess of sorcery was drawn to your compassion and innocence. She found herself spending more time just observing you, enchanted by how your features glowed in the gentle embrace of moonlight. 

Rhaenys has always been confident and assertive, when she’s certain that she desires you, she’ll do whatever it takes to have you by her side. However, she’ll stray away from using force. If she’ll seek your companionship, Rhaenys resolutes in waiting it be your choice, to love her the same rather than do it with instilling fear in you. Her introduction was gradual, allowing you to adapt in time to her presence. Much of this is involved in simple conversations, where she enjoys getting to know the little details of your life (even if she already knew most of it). 

Instead of overwhelming you with extravagant gifts, she opted for small trinkets. And adding to the ease of your connection, Rhaenys’s mystical hounds display a fondness for you, allowing you to pet them. Even when you remain in her domain, Rhaenys remains steadfast in not forcing you to love her. She has all the patience as the goddess begins to slowly express her affection more openly with gentle caresses to your face as she presents you with more lavish gifts. Her patience was rewarded seeing how eager you are to spend every moment with her.

Corlys as Poseidon + God of the Sea and Waters

Not only was Corlys the god of the seas but also associated with earthquakes and horses. He stood out as a highly ambitious deity and known for his unwavering loyalty to Mount Olympus. Unlike some deities, Corlys is willing to engage with mortals, after all, they have a dependence on the seas for trade and travel. However, it’s also known that when dealing with the god of the sea, do not try to trick or cross him, for he has demonstrated a vengeful nature when felt insulted. 

It was during your many ventures near the beach, having a profound love and fascination for the sea that you encountered the god of the sea. In your frequent visits, the shores yielded treasures ranging from the most beautiful seashells to even a literal pearl, a gift from the god. Upon making his presence known, Corlys takes matters into his own hands. Taking you to the temple beneath the sea as he cannot rely on chance encounters by the shore and it’ll save him all the trouble of finding you if you choose to never visit again. 

Your place from now on remains with Corly’s temple. He has made promises to make you visit the shore from time to time once he’s confident you won’t attempt an escape. Eager to please, Corlys has an allure of lost treasures within his home, offering you any if you desire. He also takes great care to ensure your comfort, harboring no intention of causing harm or raising his voice. His desire is clear- to have you willingly at his side. 

Laena as Aphrodite + Goddess of Love and Beauty

Laena was more than just being thegoddess of beauty and love; she was one of fertility, pleasure, and eternal youth. Occasionally she presided over marriage. Legends went so far as to attribute her beauty to being the cause of the Trojan War. Despite her being desired and adored by everyone, even capturing the affections of the infamous god of war himself, Laena's heart chose you; a mortal who didn’t seem all that extraordinary. But none of that mattered to the goddess of love, who found herself drawn to you, desiring nothing more than for you to share her boundless love and adoration. 

When Laena first approached you, she displayed no hesitation in expressing her clear intentions of wanting to court you. Doves and sparrows seemed to fly around you. In the vicinity of your home, myrtles and roses bloomed abundantly and Laena took it upon herself to personally hand you the blossoms, alongside the most marvelous seashells. Whenever you expressed gratitude or attempted to deny her gifts out of politeness, Laena would firmly assure you that you deserved nothing but the best. As she would engage in conversations, Laena would hold your gaze, running her fingers on your cheek or shoulder with such tenderness. 

Even after you became hers, Laena never stops showering you with praise and luscious gifts. The dresses she adorned you with were among the most lavish you had ever seen, and men would certainly go to war for the jewelry that adorned your skin. And for her home, which she claims is now your home too, she’s willing more than anything to accommodate any of your demands to make it all the more welcoming. Whether it’s placing all your favorite books or presenting you all your favorite foods. After all, you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with her.  

Otto as Zeus + God of the Sky and Thunder 

Otto stood as the god among gods, the force behind the establishment of order and justice in Olympus. It was his duty as king, to reign and ensure harmony throughout the divine realm. He had a number of children; it counted those that were outside of his marriage. Mortals and gods alike collectively averted their gaze, as the god of thunder desired to maintain an image of a prudent and a pious. And while like any god, he considered himself above mortal beings, he would observe them with keen interest. 

Unfortunate for you, if you happened to catch his eye, resisting him was a futile endeavor. It began with him orchestrating ways to make your life more comfortable — discovering the lushest trees near your home, bearing the most delectable fruits you'd ever savor. An eagle, acting as his messenger, would shower you with all sorts of gifts, from fragrant olive oils to delicate silver coins and ivory trinkets. The weather seemed to dance to his whims, birds serenading under the radiant sun.

It was also his way to signal his presence, a silent acknowledgment a being beyond the mortal realms was watching. And when his presence becomes known, he vows to treasure you for eternity (hinting at what’ll become of your mortal life). It’s difficult to deny him with all the myriad blessings he bestowed upon you. Once you’re brought to his home, he will present you with a luxurious silk robe and servants who dutifully follow your every command. Even if you resist, his determination remains unswayed. As a god, time was his ally and he believed in due course, you would succumb to his temptations.

Alicent as Hera + Goddess of Marriage and Childhood

Alicent stood as the embodiment of matrimony and domestic life, a revered figure to whom women turned in prayer for the blessings of harmonious marriages, the safe return of their husbands, and in hopes of birthing a healthy child. Despite her attempts to project a demure demeanor, the goddess had a silent reputation for her jealousy and occasional vengefulness. Alicent had divine authority, navigating the intricate game of politics and perhaps that was why no one dared to question her decision to bring a mortal being along.  

It was all under the reason of needing a servant though you were not yet married, still, no one dared to voice it. As her supposed servant, you were strangely exempt from menial tasks such as washing clothes or scrubbing the floor; such duties were deemed beneath you. Instead, the majority of your days were spent in the company of the goddess. You found yourself dressing and brushing Alicent’s hair as she shared her grievances about the perceived foolishness surrounding her court. 

Your time was further consumed by tending to Hera’s children and grandchildren, and her strictures extended to where you were not permitted to eat meals with other servants. In truth, the goddess had little need for another servant. But you a mortal, had sought her prayer, coming to her temple wishing for a happy life for the arrangement your parents orchestrated for you. But Alicent had been watching you long before and you have become the object of her desire. She promised to find you a suitor but the intensity of her gaze and the uncanny resemblance between the necklace of hers and the one she gifted you hints at something beyond that. 

Aegon II as Dionysus + God of Wine and Pleasure 

Aegon is known for seemingly lazy nature and rarely being seen sober, he’s notorious for the wild parties and dramatic theaters he orchestrates. The many lovers he has are ones that no one bothers to learn their names, as they typically don’t linger beyond a day. The few bastards he fathered are not accounted for. When the god of wines comes upon you, there was an unmistakable eagerness to have you in his bed. While you and others are at no fault to assume that it was driven solely by lust, you soon find it unraveled beyond that. 

As a mortal, the prospect of rejecting a god was not a reasonable one. His presence was suffocating with a possessive jealousy over your interactions with others and an incessant need for you to be near him. At times, he would pull you into his lap, craving for your affection and praise. Besides his constant need to have you share his bed at every turn, his lingering hands, and wanting your every attention, it’s not as terrible as one initially assumes. 

The god of wine provided you with the sweetest food, accompanied of course by his signature wine. He adorned you in exquisite clothing, though in the privacy of his chambers, they were far more revealing and sheer. While it was somewhat accepted to have fleeting lovers for a day, appearing with you by his side on every occasion garnered disapproval from the other gods. However, Aegon was indifferent; no stranger to being considered a disappointment. You were the one thing he was sure of, even harboring a secret desire to make you immortal, hoping you don’t notice how different your wine tastes.

Helaena as Persephone + Goddess of Seasons and Vegetation

Helaena possessed a kind of gentleness that was unusual among the gods. She carried herself with such grace and consideration. Helaena grew up to be a lovely woman who caught the interest of gods and humans alike. With mortals, the goddess did not look down on them. If anything, Helaena seemed to see the goodness and beauty in them despite all of their flaws. It therefore comes as no great surprise when the goddess seems so enchanted by you-a simple mortal. 

Helaena spent many days watching you. She possessed unending patience. What a fascinating sight you are. Deemed by the goddess to be the most beautiful being to ever walk this earth. Helaena cared nothing more than your happiness hence why you come home to a plethora of gifts and trinkets. It could be the most delicious fruit you've ever eaten or a dress the goddess sewed herself. And wherever you are, you found plants growing all around that never seem to wither-fruits and vegetables you never imagined would ever grow there.

Helaena was content as long as she could see you every day. Even if she couldn't speak or stand before you. All that mattered to her was to see your lovely smile as you open her gifts or to hear your joyful laughter. But shall you wish to meet her. Shall you seem unsatisfied with your life. Helaena will make her presence known. The goddess is nothing but a tender lover. Giving you all the time you need to adjust to her realm. Happy to watch from a distance and just speak with you.

Aemond as Apollo - God of Sun and Art

Aemond was also a god of music, truth, and healing, he was considered wise even at such a relatively young age. He enjoyed writing poems and believed in law and order. Unlike his brother, Aemond was recognized for his numerous contributions, particularly in the realms of medicine and prophecy. Aemond shows intense loyalty to his family and a great love for his mother but also is known for his jealousy and a wrathful nature; particularly when he perceives insults directed at his family or either himself. 

Many of your actions could’ve caught his eye, your visits to his temple, your singing voice echoing through the fields, how you immersed yourself far away from everyone else with the books you read. He doesn’t wish to frighten you,  guided by a gentle approach to engage you in conversations. You can feel his gaze follow you, a silent presence that seems to accompany your every move. In due time, Aemond would express his desire for you to be his lover, to not only give him your body, but your mind and soul. Even if you do not share his feelings, denying him is not advisable, Aemond is not one for rejections. 

Even if you were to deny him, Aemond would still bring you to Mount Olympus, introducing you to the other gods, making sure you understood that your place belonged with him. And while he attempts to give you some space, the god of the sun cannot bring himself to stay away. Aemond sought to spend every moment of the day with you, from sharing the same bed, to waking together to sharing meals. He yearns to hear your every thought from the flowers you liked to your opinion on the poetry he’s dedicated to you.

Criston as Heracles + Demi- God of Strength and Heroes

Criston was born a mortal. Yet even as a child, Criston showed such strength and courage unmatched by any other. He has proven to be a fierce warrior over the years. While he was hailed as a hero, many of his rage-fueled actions beg to differ. It took Criston to die to be reborn as the Demi-god. Taken from the flames to Mount Olympus where he was granted eternal youth and the right to live among the gods. He was offered a goddess, but Criston had his eyes set somewhere else.

Criston believes he must protect you. That you need him far more than he needs you. You are just a mere mortal. One fall can be fatal. Doesn't matter that his involvement could be the very reason your life is at forfeit. Makes no difference the many times you struggle and try to escape him. Criston holds you in his arms, repeating the same mantra over and over. That you have a need for him. That he must shield you from all those who will harm you. He rarely leaves your side, and no amount of begging or insults will convince him to do so.

As your lover, you have a man capable of crushing a village to ruins, capable of winning against an army. You bring out the worst in him, the madness. A madness seen in the mere thought of you being in another’s arms. Criston won't accept the possibility of your death. He was blessed with the gift of immortality and will stop at nothing to grant you the same blessing. A wonderful thought to him, but a nightmare to you. Given the chaos that will be left behind, the gods may grant him his wish.