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twola · 2 years ago

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Seven Deadly Sins - III

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Low to Medium Honor Arthur (and all that entails)

Greed: a selfish and excessive desire for more of something than is needed.

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The champagne burned on the way down. He would never get used to that. He would also never get used to this stupid outfit, trussed up like some prized hen, hair slicked back with pomade and clean-shaven. The lack of weight on his hips where his gun belt should have rested was perturbing.

Fireworks, of all things, burst above him as high-society men and women marveled at the display.

But Arthur is concentrating more on the white-clad servant talking to the Mayor. Dutch also listens over his shoulder.

“Did he just say something about Cornwall?”

Arthur nods at Dutch, whose magnanimous face hardens briefly.

“Find out what. And take her with you,” Dutch tilts his head over to where you stand, watching the fireworks with a few other women, “She’s good at distractions, should you need one.”

Arthur waves off, placing his now empty flute on a tray of a passing butler, ducking away from Dutch, keeping an eye on the white-jacketed servant who was slowly making his way back to the house.

He makes his way toward the group of ladies, where you look positively bored along the outside of the circle, having just downed the champagne in your flute, twirling the glass between your fingers.

Arthur makes eye contact with you as he walks by, and you immediately straighten your posture, placing down the flute on a table behind you and excusing yourself from the other women. You move between onlookers to catch up with Arthur’s quick gait, and as you catch up to him, he grabs your hand, leading you toward the side of the grand mansion.

“What we doin’?” You whisper, and suddenly Arthur stops, grabbing your waist and pulling you against him as he spies over his shoulder up the trellised walkway.

He motions toward the servant from before, who is stepping up the stairs towards a side door of the stately mansion.

“That feller there - he’s the mayor’s man - he was talkin’ bout some dealings with Cornwall and documents. Dutch wants us to look into it.”

The man steps inside the house, and Arthur takes your hand to hurry after him.

“Hol- hold on, not so fast.” You retort with a harsh breath, “I ain’t used to wearing heels like these.”

Indeed, much like how he is dressed to impress feckless men in a tuxedo, clean-shaven and hair slicked back, you were obviously brought along as a piece of eye candy. Your long hair was pulled into an elaborate updo by Mary Beth earlier in the night. Hosea had insisted on bringing you into Saint Denis for a dress, a crimson gown that left your shoulders bare and your décolletage adorned with a fancy necklace stolen from some old woman’s coach outside of town. You frown, gathering the voluminous skirts that flavored from your waist, the silky crimson sheath of your gown laying over white petticoats.

You’ve been trying to keep your white opera-length gloves clean all night, which was more than obnoxious enough for you.

You wince, rolling your ankle slightly, and Arthur offers you his arm, which you take as you curse these fancy heels that Mary Beth insisted you wear tonight to the bottom of Flat Iron Lake. That’s where you’re sure they will end up, chucked from the coach on the way back to Shady Belle.

Arthur leads you into the side door of the house, hiding behind a doorframe, you listen to the white-frocked servant yell at a scullery maid before he moves toward the stairs up to the second floor.

Arthur nods down at you, and taking your hand, you quietly follow up to the staircase and bound up the first few stairs. Turning the corner, Arthur quickly pulls you against him, and you gasp as he maneuvers you into the corner of the stairwell, glaring down at you in an obvious attempt to silence you.

He leans down toward your ear, “Stay here.”

You nod, letting go of his coat as he turns to quietly ascend the stairs to the top of the landing, his hand staying raised toward you, beckoning you to stay. You hear movement on the floor above you, fast steps moving further away. Arthur waves down for you to join him, and you tiptoe up the stairs and duck into the first room where Arthur stepped into, slowly and quietly closing and latching the door behind you.

It is a large and ornate study, filled with art and books, a writing desk and couch decorated finely and lit with electric sconces. You groan lightly, looking around, thinking to yourself that the amount of finery in this room alone was more than you’ve seen in your life. Probably more than you could steal in your life.

You move closer to the bookshelves, eye on a glint of gold on the shelf. Begging to be touched.

“You heard what Dutch said. Keep your hands to yourself, little thief.” Arthur drawls as he leafs through papers on the ornate writing desk. He has an amused tone as he glances up at you before resuming his search through the documents on the table.

You snort under your breath, rolling your eyes at him. He saw you reach for the gilded letter opener on the shelf, of all the ridiculous things to cover in gold.

“Here we go.” Arthur pulls a document from the desk drawer that he jimmied open. He tucks it into his vest and closes the drawer.

“C’mon, let’s get back downstairs.”

You don’t move. Arthur scowls impatiently as a wicked smile starts to cross your features, your dark lips stained with rouge and eyes darkened with powder. Looking all the bit of a courtesan in some Parisian salon. The low dip of your neckline highlights your cleavage, normally hidden underneath workshirts and jackets.

“Mmm, let Dutch simmer some more. Down there’s his type of game.” You whisper, stepping closer to Arthur, who continues to scowl.

“We don’t have ti-”

Arthur’s voice halts immediately as his eyes widen, and your impish smile grows.

“Yes, we do.”

He lets out a deep breath, stuttering, as his eyes shoot downward. Your white-gloved hand palms his rapidly hardening cock in his trousers.

It takes him a few moments to pull himself together, far too long, in his opinion, but your fingers wrapping around his cock, even through layers of fabric, completely wipes clean the slate of thoughts in his mind.

Arthur blinks, groaning softly as he looks up to the ceiling for a second before looking back down. You're huddled against him, the fabric of your dress rustling against his suit, staring up at him with a satisfied smile, one hand pressed against the hard muscle of his chest, the other fervently stroking his cock.

You lean your head against his shoulder as he shudders, closing his eyes tightly.

“Oh, you’re so good , Arthur.” You whine softly, and he cannot stop a groan from escaping his throat, as one of his hands curls around your hip to take purchase on your rear, squeezing tightly. The other leans back against the built-in bookshelf, holding on for dear life, as if his legs were going to give out beneath him.

“ Jesus -” Arthur spits out, and cannot help put to thrust his hips forward, pressing hard and catching your hand between your bodies, “ Fuck , woman.”

You giggle, pushing back at him and your other hand traces down his chest, down his stomach, to his hips, and pulls at the buttons of his trousers. He squeezes your rear again, as your hand leaves his cock and joins your other one in opening his trousers. Damn this fancy suit and high-society trappings.

Arthur pants, breath coming out in loud huffs as you finally open his black pants, hiking up his starched white shirt to his stomach with one hand as the other encircles his cock.

Christ , he thinks he's seeing stars as you begin to pump your hand, stroking him with increasing pressure with your little fingers wrapped around his length. His hand moves from the bookshelf behind him to cup one of your breasts, squeezing lightly and eliciting a moan from your colored lips.

Despite your talented hand around his cock, Arthur finally seems to get his bearings, rubbing against the fabric of your dress, pulled tight and fitted around your bosom, and circling his other hand on your rear as he regains his footing, leaning over and taking your lips with his.

“Ah-ah.” You tut, allowing him to kiss you for only a moment before you swat his hand from your bosom, “Stop being greedy. This is my show.”

“ Shit .”

He cannot help but to swear as you start to sink downward, to your knees in front of him. The fabric of your maroon dress rustles as you slowly slide to the floor, keeping your eyes on his the entire time.

You take the length of his steel-hard cock in one of your gloves hands, the other pressed against his hip, and the small amount of skin visible from where his open pants hang.

Arthur groans aloud, his mouth hanging open as you stare up at him, your lips pursing for a moment before you take the blunt head of his cock into your mouth. You suck, softly at first, and one of Arthur’s hands flies to your head, and you narrow your eyes in warning, not to destroy the elaborate coiffure your long hair was styled into. The outlaw immediately retracts his hand, chided.

Your other hand floats to his other hip as you push your head forward, taking him further into your mouth. Arthur lets out a deep breath through his nose, eyes trained on your lips as inch by inch of him disappears into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth.

Your eyes flutter closed, breathing in through your nose, and push your head closer to his hips. He sucks in an audible breath, exhaling with a needy whine that you had no idea the man was capable of making. Arthur’s hand moves to gently cup your jaw, the slightest pull forward. You push past the discomfort, taking his entire length, your nose pressing against his pubic bone, dusting the chestnut curls at the base of his cock.

“ God almighty”, he grits out, watching you start to bob back and forth, his cock glistening with your saliva.

He cannot help but to thrust his hips forward slightly, groaning aloud as the head of his cock comes into contact with the back of your throat.

You continue for several moments, wrenching more sweet stuttering sounds from him before squeezing his hips. You pull back and Arthur’s eyes nearly cross when he can make out the faintest ring of lip rouge around the base of his cock.

You retreat, and for a fleeting moment, Arthur watches a thin string of saliva stretch between your wet lips and the glistening head of his cock, groaning as it breaks. You’re climbing back up him, hands at his hips, his waist, his chest, anchoring yourself to him as you stand from your knees.

“C’mere-” you grab one of his hands and pull him away from the bookshelf, and he follows, one hand holding his opened pants up, as you lead him to the fancy couch in the middle of the room. You push him down, and both he and you know that you can only move him with his permission - your small frame against his own.

Arthur grunts as he sits on the couch, spreading his legs as you stand in front of him. His hand automatically moves to his erection, stroking it handily as you lean over, pressing your lips to his.

A soft laugh escapes you as you lean over him to nip at his bottom lip, and he notices your hand starting to hike up the voluminous skirts covering your legs. Higher, higher, above where your black stockings end below your knees, to the swathe of your pale thighs, and the lacy trim of your bloomers.

With a grin, you straighten up, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your bloomers and pulling them, sliding them down your thighs to your knees, where they fall in a puddle on the floor at your feet. Arthur’s left-hand reaches toward your newly bared skin, toward the soft thatch of hair at the jointure of your thighs.

You swat his hand away, and he scowls.

“I told you, Mister Morgan. Stop bein’ so greedy.”

“Woman, I swear,” Arthur grits his teeth as he strokes his cock there on the couch, “if you don’t get o’er here-”

You cut him off by climbing onto his lap, holding your skirts up with one hand while the other finds purchase on the wooden trim of the back of the couch, behind Arthur’s shoulder. Bracketing his legs between your thighs, you lower yourself down, skin pressing to his, as your skirts fall to cover both of your lower bodies. You roll your hips, letting his cock slip between your folds, finding wet warmth there as you slide it between your legs.

Arthur growls, jutting his hips upward, seeking more pressure, heat, and wetness on his cock. His jaw hangs open as he pants, his hands firmly on the globes of your rear as you grind down on him. A needy, breathy moan escapes him, and you smile and coo in response.

“You want somethin’ there, Arthur?”

He has no idea where your sheer audacity came from. Maybe you’ve always been a spitfire and the times you’ve coupled he just overpowered you. Maybe you’re getting comfortable with this arrangement. Either way, he’s into it.

“I told you before, we don’t have time for you to be drawin’ this out…”

“Alright, alright…” you laugh, and with a mischievous glint in your eye, you shift your hips upward, reach under your skirts with your gloved hand, and line his length up before slowly sinking down onto it.

That needy, breathless sound he made before bubbles to the surface again and spills from somewhere deep in his chest as you take him in, inch by inch within your tight warmth, and he’s forced to wonder how he could ever be parted from this ecstasy for long. How he wasn’t inside you constantly. How this is only the third time in months that he’s been enveloped in your hips.

What the hell has he been thinking? Wasting time as he has been…

Arthur is brought back to the world within this gilded room as you bottom out, a high, gasping sigh reaches his ears and he cannot help but to grasp tighter at your rear and push his hips upward, trying to push himself deeper into your cunt, if at all possible. After a moment, you roll your hips, gripping the trim of the couch with both hands, and slide your cunt so he is almost out of your body, only to resheath himself as you push back down.

“ Fuck , Arthur.”

“Keep goin’, keep goin’ girl.” He pants as you repeat the motion. And repeat it again. And again.

You shove your mouth against his, and he opens his with a throaty moan, his tongue pushing inside your mouth as you continue gyrating in his lap.

He coaxes a wail from you as he meets your thrusts, hands moving up to your hips and helping slam you back down onto him.

Thank god you had the wherewithal to close the door, as the heavy panting and groaning from the two of you fills the air, along with the rustling of your dress over his suit.

You’re panting, whining , throwing your head back as you stutter over him. Arthur’s hands are true on your hips, keeping them in rhythm as he meets them with short upward thrusts.

“Tha’s it, c’mon-” he pants as you keen, your eyes screwed shut as you feverishly grind down on him.

He would be damned if he found his end before you did. Even with you sucking him off like a whore on your knees, it was everything to keep him from spilling down your throat before. But as you get closer, closer to that point of no return, he realizes he needs to send you over that edge. For his own pleasure.

Your hips roll and your head is thrown back and you sigh in ecstasy as you tighten around him, he leans forward, hands on your lower back, pushing you down on him as you ride out your orgasm.

Arthur’s hands move your hips slowly over his, a smug grin spreading across his face. Finally, for the first time since you ran your little fingers down his cock, does he feel like he’s gained back some semblance of control.

He leans forward and nips at the shell of your ear before his hot breath upon it makes you shiver, “C’mon, we ain’t done yet.”

You whine, oversensitive, burying your head into the crook of his neck. He juts his hips upward in a half-hearted thrust, and the noise escaping your mouth verges on desperate.

“Up, wanna fuck you on the rich man’s desk,” Arthur grunts haughtily, and you pull back with a laugh, a sly smile on your face as you regain your bearings. You pull off of him, both of you gasping softly at the loss of him in your core. Standing up from his lap, his hands remain on your hips as your legs shake from your release. A mirthful chuckle bubbles from his chest as he stands up as well, one hand back to his pants to keep them up. Arthur moves his hand from your hip and playfully swats at your rear, urging you back to the writing desk that he had been rifling through at the beginning of this escapade.

Your skirts rustle, and you bend over quickly to grab your bloomers from the floor and tuck them into your bosom, between your breasts. Your heels click against the lacquered floor as you walk toward the desk, and you begin to turn around to face your outlaw until his hands find you again. He pushes you until your hips bump against the table, and your hands fly to the desk’s surface to stop yourself from falling forward.

“Arthur-!” You gasp in surprise, but further complaint is cut off as the man presses himself against you, forcing you to bend over, his arms encircling your shoulders and his breath against your neck as both of you bend over the table. He rolls his hips shortly against you, and his hardness hasn’t abided at all.

You’re guided down to your elbows, and one of Arthur’s large hands starts gathering the bottom of your skirts, crumpling them in lustful fists, the maroon gown and hidden white petticoat drawing upward.

The back of your legs are slowly bared to him, black stockings ending above your knee, and the paleness of your thighs as he flips the fabric up. He grunts as he draws your skirt clean over your hips, allowing it to collect at your waist, fanning out over the desk you’re sprawled out on.

His hands are greedy, moving to squeeze at your pert rear, and you shiver as one of his rough hands works downward, a finger trailing down your goosebumped skin to the folds of your cunt, obscenely wet from when you rode him on the couch.

“A-Arthur, don’t-”

“Don’t what ?” He replies harshly in your ear, laying on top of you again and taking that finger to press shallowly inside your swollen opening.

“T-tease me.” You grit out, unable to do much more than push your hips backward slightly onto his hand, but cruelly, he pulls his hand back from your core, and you whine in frustration as he places it back on your hip.

“Whatchu want, darlin’? Y’want my cock again?” Arthur grunts, and you feel the blunt, hot head of his cock press against your skin. You buck against him weakly.

“ Please. ”

He acquiesces to your plea.

Arthur slides his hard cock in between your folds and snaps his hips forward to bury himself within your cunt. He cannot help the groan that spills from him and is egged on by the high gasp you give as you place your cheek down on the desk as he begins to rock his hips back and forth.

His hands, rough and calloused and warm, encircle your hips as he drives into you, the wet noises of your bodies coming together would be embarrassing if either of you had any semblance of dignity.

Of course, you didn’t. Arthur has you bent over a writing desk in the mayor’s office, fucking you as if his life depended on it, your skirts hiked over your rear, and his pants falling to his knees.

He yanks on the stupid white bow tie constricting his neck, letting it fall open as he grunts. He leans over you again, moving one of the hands on your hips down, down, pushing skirts aside and reaching for the nub just above where he pierces you. He quickly finds it, and you keen .

“There we go.”

“St-stop… A-Arthur, it’s too much.” You cry, your legs shaking against his as he slams his hips hard against yours. His hand underneath your skirts circles your clit and you feel like you could die from the pleasure.

“Nuh-uh. Need another one from ya.” He grunts in your ear as you whine. His other hand moves from your hip to your lower back as he continues to grind his hips into your rear, the desk shaking with the movement.

Arthur covers your mouth as you scream, your cunt clenching so hard around his cock that he slams himself forward once and wrenches himself from you, throwing his head back in ecstasy. He grasps his cockhead in his hand, coming in sticky globs over his fingers, trying to save both your dress and his suit from the mess.

As the two of you pant, he gently places his large hand on your hips as he stands up, rubbing softly. He gently extricates himself from you, pulling your skirts to cover you as you lay panting on the table, utterly wrecked. He pulls a handkerchief from his suit pocket, wiping his spend from his hand. He stuffs his softening cock back into his pants as he pulls them up and retucks his dress shirt in, trying to look more dinner party and less debauchery.

“Enough for you, Arthur?” You chuckle between heavy breaths. You push yourself to your elbows before looking back at him with the mischievous glint in your eyes from before.

He works at retying the bow tie at his neck.

You swipe the ornate letter opener from before and tuck it into your voluminous skirts. He doesn’t see you grab it.

“I dunno. You did say I’m a greedy man.”

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr2edit #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption #rdr2 smut #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #ao3 #seven deadly sins #twolafic

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unicoo · 21 days ago

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1.01

"110 AC marked the sixth year since the disappearance of Princess Valaena Targaryen. The realm would continue to move forward and House Targaryen would try to move on, though the past does have the tendency to linger about until put to rest. In the seventh year, the Princess returned. A fortnight before the celebrations for King Viserys and Queen Aemma's son, Valaena Targaryen made her way back to King's Landing."

[110 AC]

"He passed through the Red Keep's gates at first light." The normal drag of Ser Harrold Westerling's loud and confident voice is softer. The member of the King's Guard keeps his voice low as he walks beside the Princess he is charged with protecting. The corridor around them is nearly empty, with only a few stray servants making their way through as they do their jobs. Holding up the skirt of her dark gold dress, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen follows the knight down a set of stairs, before they turn the corner and begin to walk down yet another hallway.

"Does my father know he is here?" Rhaenyra asks, looking up at the tall and stocky knight. Her silky, straight, silver hair sways as she moves, the neat braids at the top of her head are fresh as they were everyday. The girl of ten and three wasted no time rushing from the small council meeting and to the throne room, he was here.

Which made the already excitable girl even happier, a delight indeed.

"No." Ser Westerling spoke with a shake of the head as he opens one of the large doors for the young girl to enter through. Still holding her skirts Rhaenyra crosses the threshold and begins to descend the few stairs into the throne room. The entire space is completely empty and eerily quiet, putting Ser Harrold on his toes.

"Good." She spoke with a wide smirk, making the guard look at her with an unsure expression. He could only hope that the Princess's mischievous behavior did not end up costing him his life. The thought is further reinforced as he catches sight of a figure on the Iron throne from his peripheral vision. There he sits, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, brother to the King, sitting comfortably perched upon the King's Throne.

"Gods be good." Ser Harrold gapes in shock as his hand goes for the hilt of his sword. Rhaenyra quickly throws her hand out in front of her guard, effectively stopping his movements. A smile tugs at the girls lips as she looks to her uncle in all his glory.

"It's all right, Ser." Rhaenyra speaks soft, but with authority as she dismisses the knight. The elder man stands in place for a moment, his eyes refusing to leave the Prince and his hand staying near the hilt of his sword. His grey eyes watch as the Princess begins to cross the room slowly, carrying herself with grace. It is only then that he decides to retreat, closing the door behind him when he does.

"Sparo drīvose gaomā?" The mother tongue of Old Valyria rolls off the Targaryen girl's tongue beautifully. Daemon, sat among swords of fallen men from the past, leans forward. A rogue smirk painting his lips as his arms move against the chair, he holds no evident worry about cutting himself on any stray blades. Confident as always, his silver hair tied back, but wind kissed from his flight. He wore his normal black and white fabrics and leathers. Rhaenyra could never quite understand why Daemon did not add some color to his wardrobe, at least a little red. She herself loved vibrant colors and beautiful fabrics. (What do you think you are doing uncle?)

"Ñuhoso dēman. Kesy ñuhys dēmavosmāzīlariot sinilus." The smirk on his face only grows as his mind begins to shift towards the future where what he speaks is true. Him sat upon this very throne, the crown of the Conqueror sat atop his brow, with the sword to match strapped to his side. The images of this future quickly turns grey as he remembers, she would not be by my side when it happens. And what is a King without his Queen? (Sitting. This could well be my chair one day.)

"Lo hen pāleknot statilūks, daor." The Princess teases as she raises a playful brow. Her hands intertwine behind her back as she shifts from the heel of her foot to the tips of her toes. A low hum leaves her lips after some seconds of silence. Her uncle has gone quiet as he leaned back, sinking into his depressing thoughts, not that she would know. His sudden silence are something she has become so used to, that she rarely notices it anymore. (Not if you're executed for treason.)

"Hen sŷndrāzmā qurdalbri imastōdaor." The niece speaks up again, knowing that if she doesn't carry the conversation on it would die off before it even lived. At first the uncle gives a simple nod in agreement, soon a smile pulls at his lips before settling. A deep hum bounces around the walls of the room. (You have not come to court in an age.)

"Kessa sȳrī, qurdalbar gierī tegenkor issa." Though his words are serious, his tone is playful. The man does indeed hate court, the only thing that gave him any joy in being there was getting under people's skin. Over the years that joy had began to diminish, after all the fun of picking with lords and ladies does little for the loneliness that court only intensifies. (Yes well, court is so dreadfully boring.)

"Sepār vēzo gō skoro syt āmastā?" She once again teases, though she is truly curious and eager to hear his answer. A rather large part of her wishes to believe that he always comes back for her. The familiar smirk of his, that had fallen, rises yet again as he leans all the way forward. The sunlight that pools just before the Iron Throne hits Daemon, framing him like one of the gods their ancestors worshipped. (Then why come back at all?)

"Kepa aōha yno syt kōttion pradilas, ryptan." Silver brows raises and falls in amusement as he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. Rhaenyra shakes her head with a small amused smile. Her eyes move away from her uncle, finding the steps between them before she replies. (I heard your father was hosting a tournament in a my honor.)

"Kōttion dāranno syt issa." Looking back to her uncle, she resists the urge to roll her eyes, indifference painting her features. Her tone betrays her façade, not that it was a very good one. Daemon had seen through it like a fish sees through water. A low hum vibrates in his throat as he leans back once again. (The tournament is for his heir.)

"Heksīr ŷdratan." The Targaryen man says, beginning to grow bored of the conversation before him. He could not quite understand why he was so out of it today. Since he had awoken he found himself gripped by the tight fist of melancholy. The flight to King's Landing had done little to help this relentless feeling, only leaving him worse off as his saddle felt two sizes too big, and now the small glimmer of joy his niece and her familiar looking face normally brought him was not working either. A great part of him knew what it was, especially as year six came, yet a he refused to recognize it. He was fearful that once he did the walls he had built would come crumbling down and he was not sure he would be able to pick himself out of the rubble this time. (Just as I said.)

"Dāranno zŷho arlio syt." Rhaenyra says, this time unable to help the roll of her eyes. In the mist of her own self pity and misery, she misses her uncle's pain. It is not a first time occurrence, nor will it be the last. (His new heir.)

"Iā aōha muña trēsi sikos, iā jevoyrgoti zbērion." He mumbles as his finger run along the flat part of a wayward blade. He secretly hope that he may nick himself upon one of the never dulling weapons. Maybe then he would have an excuse to flee for good, a justifiable reason to betray his blood and all they had built. Perhaps then the gods would not have reason to continue to punish him, after all if the chair deemed him unworthy, they would have to as well. (Until your mother brings forth a son, you are all cursed with me.)

"Sepār valonqri jaelinna." The jest is followed by a giggle, that giggle is followed by silence. Rhaenyra realizes he has done it again, sunk into himself and away from all else. She was used to this behavior, yes, but never this much and never when they were alone. She had always been able to pull him away from whatever it was that took him far away and replace it with herself. (Then I shall hope for a brother.)

"It is good to see you uncle." Rhaenyra says after a few more seconds of silence. What was a better way to gain Daemon's attention than himself? Her words earn a small smile, which warms her inside and eases any insecurity, leaving her to forget her uncle's turmoil. He says nothing for a short period of time, his eyes simply focus on his niece before briefly closing and then reopening.

"As it is to see you." His voice is quiet as his mind drifts to a place similar to this one. As similar as it was, it was not the same, no matter how much he tried to trick his mind into thinking it was. There was no amount of time or molding that would heal the gapping hole he had spent six years trying to heal. It did not matter the amount of bloodshed, whores, wine, or chaos he indulged in, there would always be something missing.

Daemon feels the shiver slide down his spine before his ears pick up the sound. The volume of it so loud the ground trembles as the roar vibrates through the whole of the city. He has never heard it before, but there is a pull at his soul upon hearing the roar, it brings him a sense of familiarity. Quickly he pushes himself up and off of the throne. His feet move before his brain catches up. Rhaenyra's eyes squint in confusion, both at the sound and as the look on her uncles face.

"What is-.." The question is blocked out by another, different roar. This one is ear piercing and it breaks through the air of King's Landing. It it so loud, that not even the thick stone of the Red Keep can muffle the shrill sound. Rhaenyra is unable to remain stoic, her body flinches back at the sound, Daemon's sudden movements only startles her further. The Prince moves so suddenly, his strides long and powerful as he makes his way to the door. He skips over two steps at a time, before quickly throwing one of the doors open so hard it slams against the wall. Beyond the threshold, Ser Harrold stands bewildered as he watches Daemon sprint down the corridor.

A look of utter confusion crosses the young girl's face. Still processing the shock of the events that happened only seconds ago. Rhaenyra stands still, her eyes focused on a group of swords near the bottom of the throne. She cannot help but wonder, what dragons were those? It is the sound of hurried footsteps, and lots of them, that pulls her from her mind.

Her feet carry her towards the door and then up the stairs. See Harrold stands against one of the doors, propping it open with his body. The Princess walks straight past the knight without a word. The sight of lords, ladies, and servants rushing about the corridor greets Rhaenyra upon entering. A shocked gasp leaves her lips as a Dragonkeeper rushes passed Rhaenyra, his robes fluttering behind him as he runs down the hallway going in the opposite direction.

"Which way did my uncle go?" She asks her sworn shield, Ser Westerling raises his hand and points towards the corridor that lead to the main entrance of the castle. Rhaenyra begins to weigh her options as she looks side to side, she could follow the keeper, or she can follow Daemon. Making her decision the Realm's Delight sets off down the hallway and toward another set of doors.

"Rhaenyra!" The voice is familiar enough to cause the girl to look up. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in powder blue and white, is her best friend. The Lady Alicent Hightower, daughter of the Hand of the King Ser Otto Hightower. By the look on the older girl's face it is easy to tell she is scared. Her green eyes are wide as she carefully makes her way down the stairs and into her friends awaiting arms.

"What is happening?" The Lady looks between the Princess and the Knight. The former of the two seems more intrigued than anything, but the latter wears an uneasy expression. It seems everyone else around was feeling that same exact way, scared. And if the screams outside are anything to go by, the people outside of the keep are more terrified than they are.

"I do not know." The Princess answers as her eyes look to one of the windows along the staircase. A large shadow overtakes the keep, and most of the city, though those inside do not yet know that. The loud roar that accompanies the shadow is unlike anything anyone has ever heard. It sounds hoarse and scratchy, but it is loud and powerful, it becomes much more menacing when the roar picks up base and pitch.

"Come on." The Princess tells her friends as she begins to maneuver them passed the staircase. Alicent tries to ground herself where she stands, her eyes flickering over to the King's Guard before going back to the younger girl. Thankfully, Alicent is able to pull Rhaenyra to a stop right in the middle of the hall.

"What? Where?" The Lady questions her Princess, her head shakes side to side as a look of confusion takes over her face. The younger of the two sighs loudly, her eyes move to the door at the end of the hallway. All she had to do was get through that door and then she would be free to walk out of the keep and find her uncle.

"To see what the uproar is about." The Targaryen Princess spoke her words in the most obvious of tones. Where else would I be going? She thought to herself as she tried to continue forward, but Alicent would not allow it. The Lady of Oldtown stood firm, unwilling to follow just yet.

"I think it is best if we just, stay here and wait." Alicent tries, she knows Rhaenyra is not likely to let go of her own idea, the Princess is stubborn like that. Rhaenyra shakes her head, her eyes go wide in disbelief. The halls around them were no where near empty, though neither were they as crowded and hectic as before.

"Oh come on, you not a bit curious?" With a pout and a stomp of her foot, Princess Rhaenyra releases Lady Alicent's arm. When she finishes her words she makes sure to huff a loud sigh as she folds her arms over her chest. Her light brown brow lifts in question and her hip juts out, further showcasing her attitude.

"Curiosity killed the cat." Lady Alicent says with a raise of her own brow, a challenge of sorts. Rolling her eyes Rhaenyra groans in annoyance. She looks at her friend with a glare that slowly softens, but before it can do so fully the Princess looks to her knight.

"We shall be safe with Ser Westerling. Right Ser?" She says, motioning to the man with the hand that is not on her hip. The knight stiffens under the Princess's gaze. His eyes sweep between the two young ladies, one looks expectant and the other uneasy.

"Yes your grace." He has no choice, but to respond. He knew going outside the walls of the Keep with an unknown possible threat was overly risky, but he also knew the Princess Rhaenyra. He could say no now, walk the girls to the Princess's apartments, but Rhaenyra Targaryen would find a way. He could not risk losing another charge, he would not risk it, If one must go, then we all go.

Recognizing the small battle has been won, a large smile worms onto the Princess's face as she turns to her friend. The sound of Ser Harold's armor gets quieter as he walks away from them. Alicent's eyes move away from the spot the knight once stood and to her friends face. Big, pouty, lavender eyes meet green irises. It is then, when she sees the look on the younger girl's face, that she gives in.

Letting out a sigh Lady Alicent walks up to the Princess, she intertwines their hands and nods to her friend. A huge triumph smile sits on Rhaenyra's face as they begin to walk through the corridor. The door has been propped opened by Ser Westerling, who stands outside in the front courtyard. When the ladies get further outside they can see the wheelhouse next to him, the door opened and awaiting them.

She kept in mind what she was told by a soldier guarding the gate, her uncle took a horse and set off towards the dragonpit in a hurry. It made perfect sense in retrospect, if they were being attacked their dragons were their greatest strength. Of course she would go there too. People begin to come out of hiding as the sky became clear of wings and roars. The sight of a royal wheelhouse brings them a sense of ease. Their eager eyes try to catch a glimpse of who is inside.

"Dragon!" The first shout causes no worry among the people in the streets. After all, many a dragon had flown over this very city. Everyone was still on edge, that much was clear, but that royal wheelhouse headed for the dragonpit eased them. Their necks tilt back and eyes go to the sky as a bright red shadow passes over them. The sight of a single dragon means little to them, that is until said dragon begins to descend towards the city below at quick speeds.

"Dragons!" This time the shriek is time stopping, everything seems to stand still as everyone comes to terms with the sight above them. Before the blue dragon can make contact with the city, it pulls up sharply, allowing another dragon to fly underneath it. This dragon is felt before it is seen, the heat from its body emits into the city as it drags its feet over rooftops. The long tail sweeps over chimneys, knocking dirt and debris onto the ground below, causing people to jump out of the way and cry in panic.

"Dragons!" A more panicked scream echoes across the streets, a group harmonization of fear. The carriage comes to a sudden stop, the two ladies inside of slightly jostled about. A large shadow hides the sun from the sky, bathing the road and the carriages upon it in darkness, hiding the dragons. Alicent's eyes go wide as she stares up at the underbelly of the largest beast she had ever seen. The door of the carriage opens hurriedly.

"Princess we should return back to the keep." Ser Westerling is clearly worried, his face may be stoic, but his voice betrays his true emotions. He is obviously afraid, is it that bad? Alicent cannot quite tell, but she knows this cannot be good. Ser Westerling had actually seen the beast, unlike the two young ladies within the carriage, and he knew there was only one creature left in this world that big and that color.

"No, we will carry forth to the dragon-pits, I will be safest there. Only a dragon can fight a dragon." The Princess ordered, her voice oozes with authority as she turns her head, refusing to meet the gaze of the knight. Her eyes look to the window and she watches the shadow pass. With a resigned sigh, Ser Harrold nods his head.

"Very well." He says as he shuts the door and goes back to his horse. Continuing the path to the dragonpit, the party of four trekked through the cobble roads. The knight beside the carriage and the man driving it could not help the glances they would shoot to the sky every so often, waiting for the dragons to appear again.

"Rhaenyra, maybe we would do well to heed Ser Westerlings advice." Alicent says after a few moments of silence. The thought had been eating at her since she saw the large scarred beast above her very head, so close, too close. She could not help, but to wonder about the creature, it was quite large, very large, probably old. And those scars, what dragon is big enough to do that, to that?

"No man alive has the power to protect I, or you, from a dragon. We are safer with Syrax." The Princess says shortly, her annoyance is clear in her voice. The blood of the dragon runs hot, that is unarguable. Alicent's gaze stays on Rhaenyra, who has not moved her eyes away from the window since her conversation with her guard.

"Okay." The Lady mumbles softly, giving in after realizing there would be no reason to argue any further. When Rhaenyra is disagreeable she will hear nothing, but her own thoughts and feelings. Alicent had long learned it was better to appease the young Princess, than further provoke the dragon.

"What are they doing?" The gentle and poised voice asks, eyes trained at the sky as she watches the two dragons circle the city. The sight leaves an uneasy feeling in her gut, she cannot help the panic that inches its way through her body. Seeing the men around her being on edge just like she is brings her no comfort, if anything it adds to her anxiety.

"Circling your grace, as they have been since they arrived." One of the Dragonkeepers informs her grace, Queen Aemma Arryn. He and four other keepers stand outside with her, her grace's husband King Viserys Targaryen, and his Hand Ser Otto Hightower. It had been easy to clear the dragonpit and the surrounding area of people, the dragons flying over the city saw to the help.

"Why would they be doing that?" The Queen speaks up again, her first question only leading to more questions. The famous Arryn blue's look away from the sky and towards her husband, his own lavender eyes still survey the sky. The King looks down with a shrug, his head lightly moves side to side.

"I don't know." He tells his wife as he takes ahold of her hands, giving them a tight squeeze before he guides their joined hands to her swollen belly. Leaning back slightly the King looks back at his Hand and Friend, the man seems uncomfortable, rightly so, but he hides it well. Viserys is prepared to say something when a new dragonkeeper steps forward.

"Pōnta umbagon." He says, stopping his King completely. The man looks at the sky, unlike everyone else he seems genuinely calm, a feat Viserys is sure many men have accomplished before. The Targaryen King looked over the man, committing him to memory. His dark black hair is pulled back and tied near his neck, a beard of black and grey compliments his face, as well various scars. He wears the same red and tan robes as the other keepers, but he does not carry a stick, instead there is a whip hanging at his side. (They wait)

"Syt skoros?" Viserys questions the man, his High Valyrian a little rusty from not being used in so long. No reply can be spoken, for the arrival of a wheelhouse interrupts the exchange. The King watches as his daughter's sworn guard brings his horse to a stop before climbing off. The driver of the wheelhouse has also come down, his attention on putting the steps out. The Queen's grip tightens around her husband's hand as they watch the knight open the wheelhouse door. (For what?)

"Rhaenyra, you should not be here." Aemma says as she quickly steps forward. Her features completely drop in worry as she watches her daughter's feet touch the ground. The Princess stands in place, surprised to see her parents are also here. Why would they be here? Why would they not be here? She silently curses herself for forgetting the King and Queen, she forgot about her own parents.

Rookie move.

"Ser Westerling escort the Princess back to the Red Keep." The King is quick to order Ser Harrold and the Lord Commander Ser Ryam Redwyne. He had already found his way to his wife's side again, he had not wanted her to come, when Otto alerted him of the dragons they had been on a walk through the gardens. Viserys had tried to get Aemma to return to Maegor's Holdfast, but she would hear nothing about leaving his side. Rhaenyra is not pleased with her father's quick decision, her feet guide her towards her parents. In doing so she clears a path for her tag along to exit the carriage.

"We are safer here, the Keepers should bring Syrax forward." Rhaenyra argues, her eyes flicker between her parents as she hopes at least one of them will agree with her, she should've known better. Aemma feared the creatures extremely, having been born in the Vale, dragons were scary nightmare inducing beasts. As for Viserys, well he had been without a dragon for so long, he had forgotten the strength and power that comes with a dragon under you being. My parents fires are dim, but it is not their faults, She tells herself

It is while Viserys begins to argue with his daughter that Ser Otto spots his own. The man in green stiffens as his eyes narrow and his face pinches into a glare. The sight of her father is one Lady Alicent will only look at once. Her green eyes swiftly move away from her father and to her friend, who she slowly approaches, making sure to be respectful as the Princess spoke with the King and Queen.

"Maghagon syrax." Rhaenyra orders, ignoring her parents who sigh in disapproval at their stubborn headstrong daughter. The keepers do not move, their sights set on the King awaiting his further instruction. With a sigh Viserys begins to weighs his options. (Bring Syrax)

"Two dragons are better than one father." And that is what does it, the King gives in, as he always does. With a slight nod to the dragonkeepers his Queen sighs before releasing him and stepping towards Alicent. Aemma extends a hand to the girl, Alicent had been a constant figure in their lives since she was a young child. She accompanied her father and mother to King's Landing, she started off helping look after the Old King and then she became Rhaenyra's lady in waiting. In 102 when her mother, Lady Alerie Florent died, Alicent pulled closer to their family. Aemma gladly welcomed it, for she would never turn a child away.

The sound of familiar clicking draws everyone's attention. With a loud shrill shriek, Caraxes alerts the dragons in the sky of his presence. All eyes fall onto the red dragon, the Blood Wyrm, as he exits the cave. His rider walking by his side with his hand on the hilt of the ancient Valyrian Steal sword Dark Sister.

"Daemon." Viserys says with a sigh, his eyes flicker to Otto, whose eyes are already on Daemon. The Rogue Prince's eyes are directed at the sky as his dragon releases another shrill sound into the air. Slowly Daemon turns to face his brother, a small smirk settles at his lips.

"Brother, Aemma." The way he greets them is obviously different, with Aemma it is warm, loving and familial. With Viserys it is cold and indifferent, he does not even have the curtesy or respect to hide it. And that bothers Otto to no ends, Daemon can tell, so he relishes it.

"Daemon, do you know anything about, this?" Viserys questions his brother with a raised brow, the light brown hair curls in a way that makes Daemon think that it would completely disappear. The younger brother hums, his attention turning back to the sky. All eyes go to Daemon as he moves to lean against Caraxes, the dragon's right eyes moves to look at his rider. The two of them against the world, prepared for anything.

"I have a hunch." He says as he nods to his mount, causing the dragon to turn his attention back to the sky. The Queen and Lady flinch back when Caraxes lets out another screech, this one is louder, longer. The King and Hand look to the Prince, wondering if he will continue his words, instead it is a dragons that speak. From the sky, a roar very similar to Caraxes' shrieks back to the Blood Wyrm. The Princess cannot help the laugh that leaves her chest as she watches Caraxes' head jerk up. The red creature looks to his rider, confusion resting on his dragonly features.

"Do you think it is her?" Aemma asks her cousin as she releases Alicent. Her sore feet carry her to Daemon, the older of the two tilts his head to one side and then slowly the other. Nothing is said as another roar vibrates through the sky, it is loud and rough in their ears. The nearby birds fly up into the sky in large groups as the noise startles them into defense.

"It seems we shall be seeing very soon." Daemon mumbles as the three dragons come together. They fly above the dragonpit in a uniform circle, one right behind the other. It reminds Rhaenyra of the circle version of their sigil, which they use mostly for pendants and other jewelry.

Another roar rips through the sky, the third dragon has finally spoken, the roar that comes from the smallest shadow is powerful. It is that same dragon that begins to descend first, fast and swift the dragon moves between the other two. The pink accents of its wings glistening with help from the sun, the underside of the creature is a beautiful midnight blue. None of them recognize the creature that is nearly Caraxes' size and as fast as Meleys.

The roar that sounded so much like Caraxes moves through the air once more. They watch as a shadow of purple takes over the sky above them. The dragon with Caraxes' roar opens its wings wide, showing off their large wingspan. It doesn't take long for the second dragon to come up on the first, there was no doubt that this dragon was as faster than the Red Queen. Daemon had never seen dragons move this way before, so fast and agile as they weave in between each other.

The ground shakes under the weigh of the two dragons, who look bigger now that they are grounded. The pink on the blue dragon is more prominent up close, speckling its tail, crest, horns, and belly. The claws of the beast were as black as its back, the blue faded into the color of nothing, and it's eyes were bright red, nearly pink. That dragon lands closest to the left side of the dragonpit, it is more relaxed than it's companion, who chose the right side of the dragon pit, closest to Caraxes.

The dark purple dragon looks at them with predatory purple eyes. Despite the dragon looking purely purple in the air, it was actually mostly red, from underbelly to chest and crest. This dragon keeps low to the ground, it is very clearly in the defensive. The red membranes along the dragons back stand up, pushing the red quills into the air. The black horns that frame its face and neck are large, they surround the face like a helmet that protects its eyes and neck. The long red and purple tail sweeps through the air as it stares Caraxes, down.

Neither dragon moves, they simply keep their eyes on the group before them, even when the beast of beasts lands between them. Those large and powerful legs send tremors through the ground as it lands before them. No one moves as those piercing green eyes of story does what they do best, induce fear in all close enough to see them. As dark as night, the Cannibal moves more like a snake than a dragon. The dragons large body worms and waves as it walks to settle.

Daemon can feel Caraxes' unease, he tries to comfort his mount, but it is too late. Caraxes moves forward with a power roar directed right at the Cannibal. Aemma can swear she spots a smirk on the black monsters face. Gasps of pain and fear ring out on both sides of Daemon as everyone flinches back. The roar the beast releases back to Caraxes is grating against the ears. It is raspy and causes the dragons neck to shake and its chest to rattle.

"Gīda Caraxes, Gīda." The Prince tries, his hand stroking the old boy's side. Caraxes does not listen to Daemon's words, instead he stands his ground against the eater of dragons. Ever the fearless old boy, loyally fierce and unwaveringly strong. The ear scratching sound continues, as well as the Blood Wyrm's shrieks and screeches. (Calm Caraxes Calm)

"Ziry iksos jāhor daor mirre issa dārilaros, Ziry iksos syt se zaldrīzoti sir." The same dragonkeeper that had briefly spoken to the King says, his eyes wide with awe as he watched a the sight before him. The Cannibal raises its head higher into the air, the sound get higher until the dragon is letting out a screeching shriek of its own. Slowly Caraxes' head begins to lower, the deeper the Cannibal's shriek goes, the lower Caraxes moves. The smaller dragon shakes his head and neck, his jaws snip and snap at the air as he tries to stay strong. The larger dragon bares his teeth as he lifts his head, a clicking sound rings from the back of his throat until both dragons stop their sounds. (It will not work my Prince, is for the dragons now.)

Everything stands still, no one moves, not even the dragons as their eyes lock in a powerful battle of wills. If Daemon did not know any better he would think they were fighting for dominance. Are they? They are. The Cannibal's neck works downward as its back arches upwards. The sight of white hair is what greets them as the dragon leans down and continues towards them, getting closer and closer to Caraxes. The Blood Wyrm moves his eyes away from the Cannibals, unable to keep the contact going, his first mistake. The second would be looking up at the person upon the dragons back. It is then, as his golden eyes meet her familiar ones that he bends his neck to the rider and dragon.

This time the Queen is not the only one to notice the dragonly smirk, if the Cannibal had not been terrifying before, he was now. Sharp and jagged teeth poke from its large mouth, a mouth that could no doubt swallow a wheelhouse whole. Those green orbs move across the row of people, from left to right, then again from right to left. The Cannibal's eyes stay focused towards the left, green meets purple and then a different green. As it focuses on the King and Hand, that same low sound comes from deep within the cannibal's chest. His dark and scarred chest visibly shakes as that low grumbled growl moves through the air and against the ground.

"What is it doing?" Rhaenyra was by no mean a dragon expert, but she was no idiot either. Each dragon was different in many ways, looks, colors, sounds, personalities, but she had never heard or seen any dragon do that. Nor could she remember reading about anything like this. Her lavender eyes move right passed her uncle and to the dragonkeeper, she could feel the vibration in her feet and through her whole body.

"He warns." The one keeper who stayed says, Daemon's eyes flicker to him as he makes a mental note to speak with this man later. No one gets the chance to ask any further questions or say anything else, the sound of Syrax's chirps notifies them of the she-dragons presence. It is the sight of her yellow shining scales that sends the purple dragon into a fit of shrill screeches and high pitched roars. The spoiled she-dragon hesitates in her steps as she looks to her rider, who had already began to approach her mount.

"Shh." Rhaenyra coos to her beloved babe, Syrax moves as close to Rhaenyra as possible. Another chirp leaves Syrax before she belts out a roar, that only serves to rouse the other dragon. Its deeper roar pierces through the air as it shakes its neck and head side to side. A sharp whistles rings into the air causing the blue beast to snap its jaws open and shut. The other dragon raises its head high into the air, releasing a sound that sounds like it is trying whistling back, before it begins to back away.

Slowly the largest creature in the area begins to lower itself onto the ground. The large beast settles, crouching down as low as possible. A few seconds pass by before the sound of feet hitting the dirt hits everyone's ears. Boots crunch against the gravel causing Daemon to take a step forward, his eyes wide and searching as he waits for the figure to come into view.

Disappointment crosses over the Prince's features when, instead of seeing his beloved, it is some random man. He is dressed in black pants, a brown leather shirt, and a black overcoat. The whitecloak that is thrown over his shoulders does nothing to hide the large long sword strapped to his back. The shinning silver steel glistening against the sun as the unknown man moves closer to the Cannibal's head. His eyes move over the group of people before he abruptly turns. The ax that is strapped to his side sways as he walks back to where he came from, disappearing behind the dragons.

Another whistle is heard from somewhere behind the mass of that jet black creature. They watch as one of the dragon's shoulders raises before lowering down carefully as it gets so close to the ground, that it's chest thuds against the surface beneath them. The tremor it sends through the earth leaves the noble party on the other side of the dragonpit unstable in their standing for a moment longer than what would please them. As they find stability, their eyes take in the sight of the figure holding onto one of the spikes that curve off of the dragon's neck.

The Prince continues to watch, even as a few soldiers begin to creep from out of the dragonpit, Daemon watches as the man holds his hand out for the woman to take. He watches as the figure he cannot be sure is her, but so desperately hopes is, accepts the man's hand as she steps off of the dragon and onto the ground. The sound of feet scuffling against gravel causes all three dragons to perk up in defense.

"Tell them to go back." Daemon says as he watches the purple dragon begin to slither and slink about, it too moving more like a snake than a dragon. The dragon begins to shake its head and neck side to side as a high pitched clicking sounds from the back of its throat. The blue dragon has stood up on its back legs, the large claws of the front legs scarp against dirt and pebbles as the dragon pushes itself off of the ground in the front. It too begins to release the clicking sound from deep within its gut.

"What?" Viserys quietly asks his brother as he turns his attention off of the dragons and to Daemon. The Rogue Prince rolls his eyes and scoffs as he watches the blue dragon slams its claws back onto the dirt. The Cannibal's eyes flicker from guard to guard as it continues to let out the warning bells from deep within its being.

"Now! Or we all burn." Daemon orders as the last dragon joins in on making the clicking sound. Anyone who has spent any amount of time around dragons knows that sound is anything, but a good omen. He cannot see the people anymore, their bodies now long hidden by the dragons, which only added to the signs that pointed towards bad things.

"Go, now!" The King orders causing the men to look at each other and then the King's Guard members. They slowly began to back out of the area, their eyes falling away from their King and towards the dragons. The blue one keeps by the beast of nightmares, it's bright pink eyes watch the soldiers with more amusement than the dragon next to it, who stares in disinterest.

A loud gasp is punched from a soldier when the purple dragon's tail drags across the ground, tripping the man immediately. Everyone is helpless as they watch the purple dragon begin to creep towards the fallen soldier. A look of hunger passes over the beasts face as its tongue comes out to lick around its mouth. The man tries to crawl backwards and get away, but the dragon snips at his leg, pulling him back to where he fell. The man cries out in fear more than pain, for the dragon does not sink its teeth into him, nor does it even use its teeth again at all. The purple and red creature nudges the soldier with its nose, pushing him flat onto the ground.

"Baenys, back!" A deep and husky voice speaks out. The dragon, Baenys, moves away from the man, but not before using its nose to push him once more. A puff of smoke is huffed from its nose and it turns before making its way to the blue dragon. The soldiers scurry away once the dragons turn their attention away. Caraxes and Syrax watch as Baenys nips at the other dragon, making it move so Baenys could sit down.

A streak of golden-silver and purple flashes between the dragons, both of which are nearly as big as Caraxes, whom does not take his attention off of them. Syrax is right there with him, though she is more unsure and curious than Caraxes, who will keep his guard up until he deems it unnecessary. Neither of the colorful dragons pay attention to the other ones across the pit, instead their interest is directed elsewhere.

The largest and oldest dragon finally seats itself upon the ground, which shakes under the weight and movement. The view that the large black body once blocked is now clear. The party of six, and the three dragonkeeper that stayed behind, watch as Baenys preens under the attention it is receiving from both the man and silver haired woman. The latter rubs both hands against the side of the purple dragon's neck, right between the horns. The former stands closer to the dragon's chest, which he places heavy and affectionate pats upon.

The only lady keeper present chuckles when the blue dragon nudges the man causing him to bump into Baenys. The slightly larger dragon snaps at the other, clearly displeased with the action. Baenys uses its tail to wack the other dragon on the face, which causes it to step back and shake its head. The purple and red dragon lets out a short shrill sound as it snaps its maw in its companion's direction. The woman, who still had yet to properly show her face, moves away from Baenys and walks over to the other dragon. Everyone watches intently as the lady walks towards the blue beast's belly.

"It is, purring." Lady Alicent says as they all watch the smaller dragon tilt its head up as it lets out purrs of joy. Its blue and pink spiked tail wags about in joy as the woman continues to give the great beast of Old Valyria belly rubs. As Queen Aemma and the others watch the unnamed dragon plop down onto the ground, she cannot help but marvel at the beast, the involuntary bounce of her body bothers her none as she thinks about how that dragon resembles a loyal dog. The dragon plopping down onto his side jostles the woman, sending her stumbling back with a laugh.

That laugh, that laugh is all too familiar. It is her, Prince Daemon cannot fight the smile that has found home upon his lips. The gapping hole in his heart, that grew in size with every year that passed, slowly begins to close. He acts before he thinks, not an uncommon occurrence, his strides are too long and harsh and the sound attracts the attention of the green eyes monster. That same low vibrating hum starts up and like moths to a flame the other two dragons give him their attention as well.

"Daemon." Viserys calls out to his brother in warning as he watches Baenys crouch on the ground. It is Ser Otto who notices how Baenys' gaze quickly moves from Daemon and to Caraxes. The smaller dragon sizes up the larger one, all the while the Blood Wyrm is focused on the Cannibal. The other dragon rolls onto its belly, its fiery eyes landing on Rhaenyra and Syrax, who stand side by side, close to the Queen and Lady.

Rhaenyra watches the mystery woman walk to her mount. The dragon dwarfs her in both height and size. She lays a small hand right against the beast's cheek, she faces the dragon bravely, head on. Her own eyes gaze straight into his, her hand rubbing across the rough scarred skin, there is no fear of the jagged teeth that stick up and out from every which way.

Aemma's eyes go her cousin and good brother, impatience is written clear across his face. His brows frown showing his displeasure, the white hair so light it blends in completely with his pale brow bone. His displeasure continues to grow as he watches that man walk towards her. Otto looks at Daemon with a smirk that only grows as Daemon's scowl deepens. The man places his hand on the arch of her back, his mouth leans in close to her ear, and she leans in even closer. None of them knows what has been said, but they watch as the man backs away with a nod.

"Oh fuck this." Daemon grumbles as he begins to walk forward again, this time he makes sure his steps are light and unhurried. His eyes move over to the blue dragon first, it is closer to her and the cannibal, it's bright eyes follow Daemon curiously as it slightly tilts its head to the side. He watches the blue beast slump down further before his eyes move to Baenys, whose purple eyes stare right into Daemon's almost immediately. Caraxes slinks after his rider, taking advantage of the Cannibal's attention being elsewhere, but he is not as slick at he thinks.

Purple meets gold as Baenys lunges at Caraxes, its maw snaps open and shut before it begins to screech at Caraxes. The older dragon swings his head side to side as he shrieks at the other dragon. Daemon stops walking as he turns to watch Caraxes whip his tail at Baenys, who swipes as him with her wing as she lets out a quick series of short shrieks back. With a tilt of his head and a raise of his brow, the Prince watches his mount move back in shock before settling on the ground and looking at the dragon.

"I like think they will get along." A voice calls out, it is soft like velvet and airier than the winds near the highest cloud. She too watches as Baenys settles on the ground, her gaze stays on Caraxes as she does. He doesn't seem to be bother by it, if anything he's enjoying the attention. A smile sits on her face as her eyes meet his, Caraxes shrills in delight as he moves passed Daemon and Baenys.

Her laughs rings through the air again as Caraxes eagerly moves towards her. She walks forward, meeting him in the middle with her hand out and ready. The fiery red scales are just as rough and warm to the touch as she remembered. A relationship formed years ago is shown before all as the Blood Wyrm begins putting against her touch. He had been the second dragon she ever met, her uncle had taken her out upon his companion many times.

When Prince Aemon died the two were pulled apart for some time, until 94 AC to be exact. Her brother Daemon claimed the dragon that year, the same year the Velaryon twins were born. It was inevitable that they would meet again, especially since she and Daemon were attached by the hip. It had been easy for Caraxes to accept her upon his back again, sometimes his rider would joke that Caraxes only let him claim him to get closer to her. Six years ago when Daemon had been sent away without Caraxes, she was the one to take care of the dragon, but then she too left.

Daemon did not return until nearly seven moons later, he quickly realized his sister was gone and set out on Caraxes to find her. The two searched for moons, never truly giving up even as the years continued to pass. The two of them mourned her disappearance together, the grief they both felt separately was intensified through their bond. It is that same bond that Caraxes begins to feel Daemon's impatience through. The red dragon rubs against her hand one last time before backing away and when he does he leaves the two feet apart from each other, so close they could reach out and feel the other.

"Lēkia, ziry emagon issare-.." She begins as her hands fall to her sides, her thumbs roughly rub and scratch at her index fingers. She cannot even finish her sentence, for Daemon runs forward, closing the gap, and pulling her into his arms. Silence takes over the air as everyone, including the dragons, watch as Daemon pulls her as close as he can. (Brother, it has been..)

There are a few awkward moments, where she is not sure what to do. She stands stiffly, her arms still by her side as her eyes stare into space. She had expected him to be angry, to curse her in High Valyrian before climbing atop of Caraxes and flying away. When it fully registers that he had not done either of those things, that he is glad to see her, she relaxes into his arms. Her own loosen enough for her to raise them and wrap them tightly around his broad back.

A deep sigh leaves his chest, it is full of relief and contentment, it is followed by a series of quick and erratic breaths that soon turn into laughter. Loud giggles erupt into the air when Daemon picks her up off of the ground and begins to spin them around, one of his arms secures around her waist and the other holds her upper back. One of her hands moves to wrap around his shoulders and the other moves to the back of his head. From the corners of his eyes, Ser Otto looks to the King with a look of uncertainty on his features as he watches the man wrap his arm around his wife's waist.

"Who is it?" Lady Alicent asks Rhaenyra, who's head is leaning against Syrax'. The girl in blue looks to the girl in gold, who shrugs her shoulders as her eyes squint in attempt to see who it is her uncle is facing. The woman must be Targaryen, that is all Rhaenyra knows for certain. Alicent's green eyes widen as she watches Daemon wrap the unknown woman in his arms and spin her around. She immediately looks to her lady beside her, Rhaenyra's face drops and her posture turns ridged. Her chest begins to rage like an inferno as she listens to the woman's beautiful giggles fill the air and watches the way Daemon holds her.

"I am not sure." The Princess says as she lifts her head away from Syrax, the dragoness letting out shrills at the broken connection. The other dragon that had yet to be named lets out a small roar in return. Syrax starts to take a step forward, but the sight of her rider stepping ahead of her with folded arms stops her. Aemma looks to her daughter, worry crossing her features as she realizes that her daughter is about to experience a pain unlike any other.

Daemon put her on the ground again, though the two of them do not pull apart just yet. They continue to hug, Daemon's hand gives her waist soothing squeezes as she softly rubs the back of his neck. Otto watches the interaction with growing apprehension, there were so many things that could go wrong because of the currently unfolding events. The Queen tries to step forward, but the King stops her. He still does not fully trust the situation, but he definitely doesn't trust those dragons.

The Princess begins to walk over to her parents, her friend and lady walks behind her, keeping close as she keeps a cautious eye on all of the dragons around. Alicent does not get far before Otto's hand wraps around her wrist. He tugs his daughter to a stop by his left side, but he does not look at her right away. Instead he keeps his eyes on Daemon and who he can only guess to be her. The Hightower man allows his daughter to fidget in her anxiousness for a few seconds before he finally turns to look down at her. His expressions is far from a pleased one, disappointment oozes out of him and into the air around them.

"We will speak later." He says releasing her as he watches the two Targaryen's in front of them finally pull away. Neither of them say anything as they take each other in. She notes that his hair has gotten longer as he notes that her own has been cut a few inches shorter. She had grown taller for the last time he had seen her, she stopped just at his chest and

now she fit under his chin perfectly, like two puzzle pieces meant to be together.

Her face has thinned out and matured into more womanly features. Her jaw is sharper now compared to her once soft and youthful face. Her alabaster skin looks soft and smooth, its not as pale as it once was, now slightly tanned and glowing. She too notices that Daemon's face has matured, gone was his youthful boyish looks, now replaced by a matured man who has lived a live full of experience despite his young age.

"You have changed Valaena." Daemon says a with a proud smirk as he takes her hands in his. A smirk, that matches his almost perfectly, rises onto her lips as she takes two steps back. It is then Daemon remembers the man who accompanied his sister. He stands in front of the dragons, just behind Valaena, but a little off to the side. One of his hands rests near his hip and the other rests over his chest.

"Six year does that to a person I suppose." She jests with a small smile before she follows her brother's gaze. Amusement bubbles in her chest as she looks back to Daemon to see his brows frowned and his lips curled up in the left corner. She rolls her eyes before allowing the bright orbs to pass over the people who stand behind him.

"Three dragons." It is no question, Daemon's statement is clear and coated with awe and curiosity. He looks between the three dragon, only one is paying them any attention, Vaerax. That is was what she had named him, after her two favorite dragons she had explained after revealing the name years ago. The other two dragons do not seem to care about what is going on around them anymore. Baenys is laid upon the ground near Caraxes, the purple dragon's eyes are closed and the red watches it closely. The other dragon, that still had yet to be named, is using its claws to roll around the helm that had fallen from the careless soldier earlier.

"My sweet girl Baenys and my special boy Daegon." She says as she looks over her shoulder to each of her beloveds. Daemon too looks to them, Baenys being a she-dragon made complete sense now. The other, Daegon, has stopped playing with the helm at the sound of his name. He scoots closer to Valaena who smile brightly at him.

"They are impressive, nearly as big as Caraxes, they must have hatched some time ago." Her brother says as he studies the dragons. Baenys was bigger than Daegon and clearly the one in charge, if her attitude was anything to go by. How she managed to go from none to one to three dragon, Daemon did not know, but he was amazed.

"Almost six years ago actually." Valaena replies as she looks between her dragons and her brother's. She always knew they were on the bigger side, but seeing Baenys laid next to Caraxes made their size even more apparent. Daemon doesn't get to reply, the sound of a whistle stops him and makes his sister look away. She looks back to the unknown man, who spins his finger in a circle once before titling his head slightly. All three dragons perk up at the sound, Valaena looks to Vaerax first and all it takes it a single nod between the two. The Cannibal releases one last quick roar before taking to the air with a strong push of his legs and a wide flap of his wings.

Baenys looks at Valaena and then the man before letting out a sound that was an attempt to mimic a whistle. Daemon watches his sister nod to the dragon with a soft smile, the dragon then turns to the man, who nods as well. It is then Baenys pushes off the ground and follows after Vaerax. Daegon is the last to leave and he doesn't do so until he's gotten a proper goodbye.

The blue dragon nudges Valaena and in doing so nudges Daemon, who is still standing next to her. His arm instinctively reach out to grab his sister's waist and steady her. With another giggle Valaena starts to reach out, but stops and goes to grab one of Daemon's hand. She guides their hands towards Daegon, the two of them rub the dragons cheek. With a sweet purr, Daegon looks at the two with happiness in his eyes before pushing off the ground and following after the other dragons.

The two of them watch as the three dragons fly high into the sky. They do not go far, instead opting to circle the dragonpit and Rhaenys' High Hill. Again the Princess looks to the mouth of the dragonpit. There they stand, with him. It makes Valaena's stomach twist, to know she is cared for so little by them that they would keep him around. She supposes it doesn't matter, not truly, not when compared to every other issue before them. Priorities, she reminded herself.

Daemon looks over his shoulder and follows Valaena's gaze. He does not blame her for looking at the group with distaste, for he is sure she is having many of the same thoughts he has. His hand reaches for hers again, when he takes ahold of it he uses his grip to pull her closer to him. Behind them Rhaenyra watches with an increasing feeling of jealousy that is slowly turning into annoyance and she no longer wants to be here.

It is sound of horse hooves filling the courtyard that moves everyone's attention elsewhere, something Rhaenyra is very grateful for. Valaena backs away from her brother, who watches in confusion. She brought more people with? Daemon begins to wonder how many more surprises she had up her sleeves. Those present watch as a silver wheelhouse with red trim, black wheels, and dragon designs that match Valaena's three, pulls into the courtyard of the dragonpit.

The man that accompanied the Princess, pulls a string causing four steps to slide out from under the wheelhouse. One by one, five ladies step from the wheelhouse, each different than the previous. The Princess practically jogs towards said wheelhouse with a sense of joy she didn't have until then. She approaches them and there is a moment where she quietly speaks to them before looking over to the wheelhouse. The steps have been pushed back up and the man who guided it to the dragonpit it now standing with the other man.

Valaena says something else, the far distance that makes her voice inaudible begins to irritate the King. He does not know what she had been saying this whole time and knowing her the possibilities are endless. The dragons were gone and as is his unease. The Hightower Hand notices this switch in emotion, perhaps he would have less to worry about than he thought.

The Princess looks over her shoulder, to Daemon first and then the group of five further ahead. When she turns back one of the lady smiles at her as she reaches forward and takes ahold of her hand. With a deep breath Valaena nods before linking their arms together and turning around. The two of them lead the group forward, with a man on either side of them as they approach Daemon. He watches as his sister nods to him as she uses her available hand to gesture for him to lead the way.

Daemon smirked as he nodded back to his sister. This will be interesting, he thought as he turned around. A laugh bubbles out of his chest as his eyes move from Viserys to Otto, oh this will be amazing. The Prince receives a strange look from everyone as he comes closer, his laughter clearly heard by both parties. He comes to a stop in front of Aemma, Daemon would rather stand closer to her than the man she calls her husband, especially for what is about to happen.

The Princess comes to a stop in front of Viserys, with her lady still on her arm and the man who arrived with her right behind her. The rest of her party comes to a stop next to the man behind her, with the other man standing on the opposite end. Now face to face, neither Viserys or Valaena speak for a moment, a long moment. Just as their brother had, Viserys takes their little sister in, not sure what to do or how she will react. She has grown more comely with time, her beauty never lacked, even as a child. As annoying as she was, Viserys could not deny that she was pleasant to look at.

The silence continues, to the point that it becomes awkward. The lavender eyes of the King track side to side as he looks to see the reactions around him, he wonders if they feel as awkward as he does, they must. Viserys looks back to his sister and begins to wonder if she expects him to go first, should he? He is not sure and there is no way to ask anyone for advice. It is then Viserys remembers he is King, he need not say anything first, the proper and respectful thing is for her to greet him. Especially after the hell she put him and countless others through.

The Queen releases a shaky sigh as she looks between the brother and sister, her eyes then move to Daemon, who is poorly hiding a small smirk. Her gaze then falls to her daughter, who is busy studying the beautiful woman before her. Seeing the woman closer doesn't help the Realm's Delight identity her and that further fuels her annoyance. Alicent and Otto are the next people that Aemma looks to. The latter stands next to Viserys, his head held high and confidence all over his face. The daughter stands behind her father and the King, as close to the Queen and Princess as she can manage without adding to her upcoming scolding.

"One might greet the King they stand before, tis only proper manners." Slowly, a smile tugs at Valaena's lips, her eyes twinkle with excitement as she unlinks her arm for the woman's beside her. Those bright amethyst orbs looks to said King, before looking over to the King's ass wiper. She interlaces her hands before folding them in front of her as she tilts her head back, effectively raising her chin higher. Her back straightens as her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth a few times.

"I thought that after six years everything would have changed, that I would recognize nothing when I returned, but it seems I was wrong." She begins, her eyes moving from right to left. First landing on Rhaenyra, who immediately turns her sights away from the woman as to avoid eye contact. Valaena chuckles softly under her breath at that as she moves on to Aemma. She raises a brow at the Queen, who gives a stiff nod and a stiffer smile. Next is the King, who turns his head just a bit, as if telling her that she has captured his attention and to go on.

"Because that stick is definitely still, very much stuck far up your arse." Taking a step forward, Valaena finishes her thought with no hesitation and a smirk on her lips. Gasps leave the Queen and Lady, the King and Hand are taken aback with big eyes and gapped mouths. A loud laugh sounds right from Daemon's chest as he throws his head back, his hand going to his chest. From beside her mother, the Princess hides her giggles behind her hand. Her eyes are wide, but not in horror like her mother or friend, instead they are wide in admiration.

"I have been told there is a spot in, there, that can help you achieve relief-..." She proves she is far from done very quickly as she continues. Using her fingers she draws a circle in the air and then uses that same finger to somewhat demonstrate what she is saying. The man behind Valaena chortles as he shakes his head lightly. The woman next to the Princess swats her hand, making it fall from the air, as she lowers her head and softly shakes it. The man being spoken about has gone red in the face, his lips curled in irritation as he glares at the woman.

"Valaena!" The sound of her brother's authoritative voice, or at least his attempt at one, amuses and annoys her. Her eyes roll and she laughs, there is no regret for her words and no care of the trouble she is causing. She looks to Viserys again, truly taking him in this time. He has gotten plump, his belly now the biggest part of him, beating out his incompetence by leagues it would seem. He had also visibly aged, the responsibilities and burdens of the crown he never deserved were obviously weighing down on him. Good, she thinks, live with the consequences of your injustices.

"Brother." Finally she has spoken to him, only for it to be condescending. Those old enough to remember Valaena, remember the relationship she had with her brother, or the lack thereof. For Daemon these little fights had been something he missed, seeing Viserys get so flustered as their younger sister owned him time and time again never got old. The Rogue Prince grinned as he subconsciously moves closer to his sister. Otto always despised Valaena's blatant disrespect for her brother, especially after she became his ward. He continues to glare at the woman, praying the gods may strike her in that very moment.

"It is good to see you again." Aemma says as she steps forward, hoping to stop any possible fights before they start. She always hated it when her cousins went at it, long before she married Viserys, and even more after. A part of her could not believe they had just been reunited and were already about to argue, but another part of her is not surprised, for this is how they are. Not today, she thinks, she will not allow them to hold her back from seeing the joy in this moment. After six years they were all finally reunited, right where they all belonged.

The Queen in quick to walk forward and pull her good-sister into the best hug she can, her swollen belly brushes against her cousin as she does. Rhaenyra watches as the Princess, she now knows to be her long lost aunt, reluctantly hugs her mother back. The man behind Valaena watches her carefully, quickly noticing the stuttering in her breathing. Something her brother Prince Daemon may have caught if he wasn't looking at the man behind his sister. Princess Rhaenyra's eyes move to look at Daemon, who now stands in front of her and for the first time she could ever remember, he paid her no mind.

"Your grace." Valaena says as the two women pull away, one quicker than the other, a thing that does not go unnoticed by said other. She looks to her brother again and lower into a curtsy. The sight causes Otto Hightower to smile smugly, a smile that quickly leaves when Valaena rises abruptly.

"Kinghood has changed you, your grace." She playful states as her eyes flicker down to her brother's gut. If she didn't know any better she would think he too was with child. Viserys lightly chuckles with a nod as he pats the side of his belly. The sight causes Daemon's face to drop and his lips to thin as he sighs.

"Allow me to make introductions." She quickly says, not even giving Viserys the chance to verbally respond, she simply just did not care. Turning on her feet, she approaches the woman she left behind not too long ago. She and the woman move to stand on the side of the other women, causing the man that was there to slowly backup, just a bit.

"These are my ladies, Ellya of Volantis," The First woman she introduces is the one she seems closest with, the one who held her arms and slapped her hand. Her skin is olive, which makes sense for a woman of Volantis. Her black hair is braided around her head and when she turns a certain way, the white streaks in the back are visible. Her eyes are a deep purple color, she is of Valyria descent, that much is clear. Her dress is also purple and made from quality material, that is obvious from just once glance. Wrapped around her shoulders is a grey fur. The woman curtsy's lightly and lightly speaking a greeting, knowing it is proper to show respect to the royals before her, but she does not wish to give them more respect than she thinks they deserve.

"Myria Rayven," The next woman she introduces has light brown skin and curly ginger hair. She wears a thick red shawl that is so long, it is wrapped around her twice and still hangs passed her knees, it also hide her outfit underneath. She lowers into a bow, her head lowering just a pinch as she speaks her greetings. When she raises a genuine smile resides upon her face. Her brown eyes glow beautifully as the sunlight hits her just right.

"Ysilla Sand." The last name of the next woman leaves them with no questions on if she is Dornish or not. If not for the last name, her light brown skin, dark brown hair, and honey eyes may have given her away. She wears her brown hair messily at the base of her neck, with a golden clamp keeping it in place. An orange dress with long flowing fabric coming from the shoulders decorates her body. She holds those sleeves in her hands, which are resting on her arms that are folded against her chest.

They all watch the Dornish woman, those who just arrived watch her knowingly, those who didn't watch on edge. It is no secret that the Dornish do not particularly favor the Targaryens, and that favor was returned tenfold. The Dornish Wars were still fresh in the minds, what they had done to House Targaryen, what House Targaryen had done to them. Otto, ever the smug bastard, cannot wait to see how this Dornish bastard will ruin this for Valaena.

"Your grace, it is an honor." Ysilla says with a deep curtsy, the smile on her face is fake and mocking, but only those who know her know it. Her words surprise the other side, Viserys and Aemma look at her with wide eyes and pleased smiles, Otto looks absolutely gobsmacked. Rhaenyra and Alicent are simply amazed at the beauty of the Dornish woman, neither of them had seen many Dornish people, but they did not seem anything like what people describe. Daemon watched the woman and then looks to Valaena with a raised brow, his sister shrugs with a smile. Ysilla raises, her arms go back to her chest as she takes three tiny steps back. Her actions seem of good intent, backing away to open the other girls to view, but she is really doing it because the stench of entitlement is too strong.

"Elena of Essos," A dazzling smile meets them as they look to the next girl. She is very attractive, her features are soft and youthful, yet beautifully hypnotic and pleasing. Her dark hair falls in loose deep waves down her shoulders and over her chest. Her eyes are so dark they almost look black, only adding to her hypnotic aura. The bright sky blue dress she wears blows in the wind, forcing the sheer fabric to bring her figure out even more. Over her shoulder is an animal pelt, a fox, or perhaps a coyote.

"Your majesties." Elena says with a deep curtsy that leaves her cleavage exposed more than before. Ever the dutiful wife, Aemma says nothing as she watches her husband watch the seductress. Even Otto doesn't find himself immune to her siren eyes, pouty lips, and perky body. Valaena's lip curls in disgust as she watches the King and his Hand fawn like little boys. For some reason, her amethyst eyes move over to Daemon, wanting to see his reaction.

The outcome she receives is not what she expected, for Daemon is already looking at her. His brows scrunched inward as his eyes dart to the two men and then back to his sister. She smiles at her brother, happy to know they are still as connected as they had been years ago. The secret conversations the Prince and Princess would have with only their eyes and expressions was something many would never quite understand.

"And this sweet little thing is Ariel Hozier, my ward." Valaena says, her voice getting airy and soft again as she wraps her arms around the girls shoulders. Her brown hair is braided back into one large braid. She wears a brown and blue dress, with a fur lined cloak tied around her shoulders. Her bright grey eyes look at the two new dragons, new to her at least, she had not stopped looking at them since they arrived. They were so different from Vaerax, Baenys, and Daegon.

Princess Valaena's elder familial members look at her in shock, their eyes wide or mouths parted slight. Otto is not surprised that Valaena has taken in a stray, by the looks of it many strays. The little girl's hands take ahold of Valaena's arms, she pulls them closer to her body and face, trying to hide her from the many watchful eyes. Aemma gives a small wave, her fingers wiggle, and she smiles brightly. Ariel does smile back, small and shy, before turning to hide her face in Valaena's stomach.

"Over there is Ser Ryllo Oshi." The elder Princess continues her introductions by pointing to the man who drove the wheelhouse. He stands behind the group of women, off to the right side of them. The man only had a stripe of hair a few inches wide, the rest of his head is shaved completely bald. The black stripe is tied back and tucked away under the hood. The black trousers he wears are baggy and had several pockets and holsters around them. Unlike the rest of his group, who currently wears boots, this man wears flat shoes that cover his whole foot and tie at the ankle.

He looks rough to the pampered nobles. Scars and imperfections litter his face and the sides of his head. His hands have dents and missing skin where deep gashes healed, but the flesh never grew back. His fingers are dirty and bent from breaking and never healing right. No weapons can be seen on the man, but that does not mean he has none. He lowers his hood and bows his head respectfully before raising his hood again. He steps back, his eyes moving all over, looking and observing.

"And what does, Ryllo do?" The King asks with an uneasy smile. His eyes look to the man that had somehow found his way into Valaena's company. Viserys would never admit it aloud, but knowing his sister had gotten mixed in with the likes of someone like Ryllo worried him. It was as if his sister could immediately pick up on his judgement. She releases Ariel and guides her over to Ellya before she begins walking towards her brother.

"Whatever is needed of him, after all he is a man of many talents." The Princess says, her hands folded in front of her stomach and a smirk on her face. She raises her brow suggestively as she tilts her head before looking over her shoulder at Ryllo. She winks at him and he smile, only a bit, as he winks back. Otto watches the exchange questioningly, his head turns a few degrees and his eyes move to the side as he looks them up and down.

Something tells Valaena to look towards Daemon and she is glad she does. Her amethyst eyes sparkle with amusement as she watches Daemon stare at Arthur, looking him up and down. She smirks as she looks to Arthur, who is staring right back at Daemon. As she watches them she realizes they both stand very similar, hands on or near their weapons. Their bodies lean back on the weight of one leg, their stances are so nonchalant, that it is easy to never even register the fact that they are prepared for anything.

She begins to makes her way towards Daemon and his new friend. The smirk on her face only widening as she sees her knight looking at her from the sides of his bright multicolored eyes. She comes to a stop in between the two men who completely tower over her. They quite literally look over her head and at each other. Daemon takes in how bright the man's eyes are, as blue as the ocean on a sunny day. As well as his hair that is a mix of blonde and brown, the two colors are peppered together causing them to blend making it look golden and bronzed. Though, the hair of his thick goatee is pure icy blonde and in some area's the hair is so light that it blends in with his porcelain skin.

"And this, is my sworn sword, Ser Arthur Snow." The Princess introduces the man in leather, seemingly saving the best for last. Her attention turns to the newly named man just like everyone else does. One of her hands moves to rest against his arm as she looks up at him. A small smile sits on her lips as she watches Arthur bow his head dramatically.

"A bastard." Otto say with a hearty laugh. His head shakes side to side in pure amusement as he realizes Valaena's little group is way too laughable. All eyes watch as Ser Arthur turns to look at Ser Otto. The northern man tilts his head and squints his eyes as he takes a step forward. His chest brushes against Valaena's arm causing her to drop her hand from his arm. Daemon watches their fingers brush against each other and Rhaenyra watches his chest puff out.

"A pretty damn decent one old man." Lady Alicent watches as her father's face goes red and his chest shakes with the angry breath he releases. The Hand's anger only grows when the bastard smiles smug and proud. Once again Valaena tilts her head up, her eyes blink slowly as she folds her arms and leans against the knight, with her gaze on the Hightower man. Aemma looks to her daughter again, seeing that the young girl's lavender eyes are yet again trained on her uncle.

Rhaenyra soon follows her uncle's gaze and looks at the man he glares at. He is pretty, but not as pretty as Daemon. He is also shorter than her uncle, only by a little. His smile is nice though, his confidence is strong, and he is obviously brave, likely an accomplished warrior. Rhaenyra begins to wonder if this man is her aunt's lover. Their close proximity and Daemon's heated glare leads Rhaenyra to believe that there might be something between the Princess and her Knight.

Her mother and friend are sharing her same thoughts. Though the Queen begins to believe it, because she knows, a woman has her needs. And Valaena is not married, so if she wished to seek a lover there was no betrayals or crimes being committed. The Hightower girl believes the shared thought, because she has heard all about the kind of lady Valaena is and the things she gets in too. Daemon too believed this same thought and even though he is anger at the thought of this man being with his Valaena, the Prince is impressed with her taste.

The King does not think much of the man, he simply wonders where and how these two met, how any of them met. Otto Hightower feels many emotions all at once. Annoyance simply with Valaena, disgust at the man's attitude, anxious about where else this can go and how much worse it may get, curious as to why she came back and what her purpose is. The ladies who came with Valaena cannot help the giggles they let out as they look to Arthur, who has his brows raised and his amused gaze on the King's Hand.

"Rhaenyra, come and meet your aunt." The Queen's voice cut through the air as she wraps her arm around her daughter's shoulder. Ever the peace keeper, the Princess thinks as she looks to her good sister. As Arthur looks to the Queen and Princess, he sees a face that bares a striking resemblance to another young Princess he's met. Valaena lifts herself off of her knight as Aemma guides Rhaenyra over to her aunt.

"Se mōrī nyke ūndan hen ao istan nykeā hāedar clinging naejot zȳhon muña kris." Their mother tongue sounds like the most beautiful melody as it passes her aunt's lips. Rhaenyra is stunned for a moment, being this close to her made it impossible to hate her. She was beautiful, like one of those divine spirits that decorate the holy tapestries from Essos. Her eyes were the color of an amethyst crystal, but they shined brighter than any gem ever could or would. (The last I saw of you was a girl clinging to her mother leg.)

"Nyke līs admit nyke gaomagon daor emagon olvie hen ao naejot pendagon arlī naejot." Rhaenyra has to actively keep her voice steady as she replies back in the language of their ancestors. Rhaenyra had been trying to find any memories she could of her aunt since she realized that's who she was, but so far she cannot think of anything. Well she does remember the time her and her aunt stole sweets from the kitchens before hiding away in the gardens. Valaena had read passages from Septon Barth's forbidden book Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History. They had stayed out well into the night, at some point the book laid forgotten, and instead Valaena told Rhaenyra all the stories Daemon had once told her. The next day would be the last Valaena spent in the Red Keep for years. (I must admit I do not have much of you to think back to.)

"īlon līs arlinnon bona." It was a vow more than anything, something they can both agree on wanting. The two of them were never truly given the opportunity to explore a relationship. When Rhaenyra was born Valaena was still fairly young, at only eight summers old, her attention was mostly on chasing after sixteen year old Daemon. As Valaena aged, she found Rhaenyra to be too young to do anything fun or interesting with. By the time Rhaenyra was old enough to hangout around her aunt, Valaena had been sent to Driftmark as the Velaryon ward and then she'd run away. (We must change that.)

"Let us head inside, we may catch up there." Viserys says with a tight smile. He is not sure how he feels about this budding relationship. His sister would be an absolute horrible influence upon his little girl. His wife seemed to have no worries about such things, possibly because she knew Rhaenyra was headstrong and would pick up what she wanted from who she wanted. If anything Rhaenyra would be lucky to have another lady companion close to her age.

"Our cousins were not far behind me." Valaena says after a few seconds of quiet. Her eyes slowly move off of her niece and to her eldest brother. The smile on her face drops as she looks him up and down before looking over her shoulder. Her eyes land on Ryllo, who nods in confirmation that the Velaryon's were close by. From the corners of her eyes she looks to see Daemon, who is looking at her with intensity.

"Rhaenys and the Velaryons, we came in with them, you will have to greet them." Valaena's light brown eyebrows raise as she clarifies what she means for Viserys, who seems annoyingly confused. Such a waste of perfect genetics, she thinks as she sighs and rolls her eyes. She does not attempt to hide the fact that she does not favor this man, the King. Which once again irritates Otto beyond belief.

"Well then fantastic, a wondrous reunion!" Viserys says with a wide smile and a loud clap. That was perfect, he thought, let Laena keep Valaena company. The trouble she would teach that girl could be Rhaenys' problem. After all she loved Valaena so much, let her be their responsibility once more. Viserys' excitement annoys Valaena enough to make her scoff loudly as her arms fold behind her back.

"It will not be much of a reunion." Valaena says as she straightens her back, her eyes move from Viserys' face to Daemon's. She knows which of her brothers will figure it out first, it is a no brainer. The moment understanding registers, there is an immediate switch in Daemon's mood.

"How long? How long were you in Driftmark?" The Rogue Prince pushes passed both Rhaenyra and Ser Snow as he makes his way towards his sister. The Princess of Dragons looks at Arthur, who has one hand on the blade of his ax, bone crusher. He raises a brow and angles his head to the side slightly, asking Valaena a silent question. She shakes her head lightly, the gesture barely seen as she turns to look at the brother she likes.

"Not long." She says shortly as she watches her brother scoff and shake his head in frustration. She knew this side of him was bound to show. Daemon was of short patience and an ill temper, he was quick to blow up in fits of emotions that often resulted in tantrums. If her having ran away wasn't enough to set him off, knowing she had been back within reach with no word, was. Viserys looks between his brother and sister confused before looking at Aemma who gave him a soft and sympathetic look.

"And they did not send word?" The elder of the three asks, his tone is full of disbelief and the confusion on his face has gone nowhere. His younger two siblings do not look away from each other for some time. Behind her back Valaena's hands rest, her thumbs are back to rubbing, and now scratching, at her index fingers. Her gazes stays put on Daemon, it is unwavering and unlike her fingers that stress against each other, her eyes convey a fierce and unyielding strength. She does not take her eyes off of Daemon, only hardening them as she tilts her head back.

"I told them not to, I wished to come on my own terms." She says, slowly dragging her irises off of Daemon, who stands with flared nostrils and eyes that burn with irritation. He takes a step forward as he releases a loud scoff. His sister is quick to throw her hand out, she pushes against his chest with a fraction of her truth strength as she turns to face Viserys. She moves her hand away from Daemon and places it on the back of her hip. Viserys shakes his head slightly as he wonders why they would do that. Why would they not tell anyone, simply because she asked them too? He has no time to question anything the way he wish too, for his sister cuts him off to save them the waste of time.

"If your grace does not mind I would love to settle my things and my household. I'd like to bathe. I have gifts as well, but I must find them." Princess Valaena looks over her shoulder and points towards the way her ship came in. Her brother perks up at the sound of gifts, his mind immediately forgetting everything else. His daughter, who is more like him than it seems, also perks up at the sound of gifts. Daemon continues to look at Valaena unimpressed and irately. Aemma smiles, happy to know that Valaena plans to stay, with them and right where she belongs. The sound of her request leaves an extreme feeling of dread inside Otto's entire being.

A/N: I mess with the timeline a lot in this story so be prepared. I kept a lot of birth years true to canon, but I did change a few. As well as deaths, I definitely played with those dates lol. Like in canon Alyssa dies in 84 AC, for this story she lives 5 more years, meaning Rhaenys doesn't claim Meleys until 90 AC. Laena & Laenor were born in 94 AC, making them 16 at the start of this. Alicent was born in 92 AC instead of 88, making her 18 when this story starts, she is also Rhaenyra's lady in waiting. Gwayne will be the one born in 88 AC, making him a year older than Valaena. Now the kids they all have....yeah that's an explanation for another day lol.

I also want to say I'm a visual thinker so I have a lot of visuals, be prepared lol.