#zaldrītsos

[tolimorghon]

it was a strange feeling, being alive again after so long; yet the place that she had called home for so long had not changed. dragonstone remained the same as it had in her life, and later as she haunted the halls in death, and now alive again.

steps comes to a halt when she hears someone follow her. “who's there? show yourself at once!” she calls out.

@amarvelousmencgerie gets a thing from resurrected Elaena (for whichever muse you want to use for it)

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (11/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: loss of virginity, dubcon, sex content, unprotected sex, description of the battle, wounds, burns, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Looking at her peaceful face, listening to her quiet breath as she finally fell asleep in his arms, he felt fulfilled as a man, a brother and a lover. At last he had taken her for himself, whole, and she lay beside him, filled with his seed, through which she could bear his inheritance in the future.

He had desired this for a long time, had thought about it for a long time, had planned it for a long time, however, his concern for her had always prevailed – he understood what the loss of maidenhood meant for a woman and that if he took it from her without having serious intentions for her, he would humiliate her and expose her to defamation.

Now that he had made up his mind, however, his judgement was unable to stop his members, and he forced his way deep into her warm, tight body, with one aggressive thrust taking what was rightfully his.

His hand muffled her cries of despair and pain that he fully understood – he knew that this part of the act would not be pleasurable for either of them, that he had to be brutal to tear apart what made it impossible for him to sink fully into her.

If he had been gentle, she would have agonised and cried for long minutes, surely losing her desire for him to ever touch her again.

He knew that she understood that.

That he would never cause her pain for his own satisfaction.

That he did it for her.

"– shhh – shhh, little sister, the worst is behind us –" He breathed out, looking at her with tenderness and concern, stroking her hot cheek with his palm, all wet with tears.

He didn't know if it would have been comforting to her to know that he was in pain too – her walls were too tight and pulsed with panic against his erection.

He knew what she felt because he had experienced something similar himself when he first lay in bed with Madam – he guessed that for her, too, the experience of a stranger's body in such intimacy and proximity, invading her space in every possible way, made her feel terrified and cornered, unable to escape from him.

She looked at him with her big doe eyes as he took his hand from her mouth, breathing loudly, trying to be brave and take it, for him, just for him.

"– I'm scared –"

He froze, looking at her in pain, feeling a sting in his heart at her words, so innocent, childlike: she was completely vulnerable and terrified, at his mercy, revealing to him what she really felt.

He felt shame.

"– do you want me to stop? – I will if you want me to – forgive me –" He whispered, pressing his forehead against hers as he always did when he wanted to reassure and soothe her, his hand stroking her hair.

She shook her head, breathing loudly through her mouth, looking up at him with confidence and hope, as if she believed he meant her no harm, that this sudden act was dictated only by lust and hot desire.

He sighed and leaned in, placing a tender, soft kiss on her hot, sweaty cheek with an affection that filled his whole heart, his manhood pulsing deep inside her anew, wanting to continue what he had started.

"– don't be afraid, zaldrītsos – we'll do it slowly – I won't hurt you –" He whispered, stroking her head as if she were a small child.

He watched her face intently, breathing loudly as he slid out of her almost fully with a slow, gentle movement, only to sink into her heat again a moment later. All he heard was her gasp, her lips parted wide, her eyebrows arched in indecision, her fingers clenched tightly on his shoulders.

She was so warm.

He groaned, feeling a wave of pleasure surge through his body as, with each successive thrust, her throbbing, fleshy cunt began to offer him less and less resistance, as if she were adjusting to the shape of his swollen erection – the act began to be pleasurable for not only for him, but to his relief, also for her – she closed her eyes and moaned quietly, her insides increasingly wet and slick, as with lazy, precise stabs he hit again and again the spot inside her that he had always teased with his fingers or tongue.

If he was grateful for anything Madam, it was for showing him exactly how and where a woman should be touched to give her pleasure while being inside her – to his surprise, it wasn't a matter of simply moving within her, but of pushing against her upper wall, rubbing against her to tease the soft bud inside her from which she melted into bliss.

"– ah –" She mewled, opening her eyes, looking up at him in a way from which his cock throbbed aggressively inside her, a pleasant shiver ran along his spine as he felt her hands slide from his shoulders down his waist to his buttocks, clenching on them.

He sighed and moaned quietly, surprised by her boldness, having never been touched by a woman in this way – it was a new sensation, but it aroused him as it made her hips begin to meet his, rolling back and forth.

"– does it hurt? –" He muttered, stroking her cheek with his thumb, placing soft, warm kisses on the tip of her nose and lips, thrusting into her a little more confidently – he felt a drop of sweat run from his neck down his torso, the tightness in his testicles testifying that his whole body was screaming for him to quicken his pace.

He wanted it so badly.

"– n-no – not anymore – but – how should it look? – how have you done it with other women? –" She asked in a trembling voice, as if she were embarrassed, and he stopped moving, looking at her in disbelief, feeling his swollen cock twitch inside her.

"– do you want to see for yourself? –" He breathed out and saw that she nodded.

"– fuck me –"

Fuck me.

Something in those words, in how direct and ungodly they were, unworthy of a wife, a lady or a sister made him start pounding into her as if he'd lost his mind, their hips bumping against each other with the loud smacks of their naked bodies, their moans and grunts pathetically helpless, on the verge of crying, their silhouettes pressed against each other in a passionate, tight embrace, her legs crossed over his back.

"– fucking mine –" He hissed through clenched teeth, thinking that neither his brother, nor his mother, nor anyone else could have changed what he had just done, the fact that he was taking her for himself, that he was fucking her like a whore, and she was moaning beneath him in pleasure – his tongue thrust deep into her throat, sliding in and out to the rhythm of his fierce, sharp stabs, repeating the same movements in her mouth and deep inside her throbbing core.

They were both panting loudly, hot and sweaty from the exertion, rocking their hips so that their bodies hit each other again with a loud slaps – he pressed his forehead against hers again and looked down, unable to deny himself the sight of what he was doing to her, opening her small, warm cunt wide with sticky clicks of her moisture on his fat, swollen cock, all soaked in her juices.

"– vok syt nyke (perfect for me) – ao se aōha byka orvorta (you and your little cunt) –" He exhaled with satisfaction and heard her girlish, innocent cry of delight.

"– Aemond –" She mewled pleadingly as if she wanted him to save her – he sighed and closed his eyes as he felt her come on his erection, her wetness oozing out of her with each of his pushes, his thighs and her buttocks all slick with her release.

He looked at her face curved in an expression of utter bliss, at her glistening mouth open wide in a sweet moans, at her closed eyes from which tears of relief flowed, and felt a squeeze in his stones testifying that this was it.

"– oh gods – oh gods, yes, yes, yes, hāedar –" He breathed out and closed his eye, feeling that his peak was so overpowering that for a moment he could hear or see nothing, dull to any sound or sight, panting hard and moaning like a little boy, feeling with relief as his seed spilled deep inside her in waves.

He came inside her.

She was his.

And even though he knew she didn't believe him, he was going to make it stay that way.

No fucking Grejyoy had any right to the hand of her, the Targaryen, the dragon rider, his little sister.

Only he could be her husband.

He was awakened by her touch – as he opened his eyelids lazily the first rays of light blinded him – he murmured, feeling her body snuggled into his chest, her head laid on his shoulder. He stroked her hair with his hand and she looked up at him, in her eyes tears, sadness and terror.

He understood why she felt that way.

He had taken from her something that was most precious to a woman, even though he was not yet her husband.

"– you have a right to resent me – but I swear to you that we will marry – even if it means I have to burn my brother myself –" He said coldly, and she rose quickly on her elbow, startling him, her eyes and mouth wide open in horror.

"– no – no, I beg you, don't do it – I'll bear it, I'll bear it all, just don't burden your soul even more –" She whimpered pleadingly, grasping his hand in hers, kissing it as if he were some kind of saint.

He stared at her in disbelief, breathing heavily, feeling a squeeze in his throat, tears of emotion gathered under his eyelids at the thought that no one had ever cared about what was happening deep inside him.

And yet she had seen it.

"– hāedar –" He whispered as she wept loudly, hugging her cheek to his hand, tears of despair and pain again running down her beautiful, smooth face.

He leaned towards her, gripping her in his arms and placed a sweet, warm kiss on her plump lips, one he would have been ashamed of if he had been with someone else, one he would have hated himself for, considering himself weak and pathetic, but not with her, never with her.

With her, gentle, tender, warm, soft caresses were natural and desired.

"– ñuhon (mine) –" He whispered between one sticky kiss and another, sinking his full lips into hers again and again with loud clicks of their saliva, running the tips of his fingers over her cheek, jaw and neck.

"– aōhon (yours) –" She sighed softly right into his mouth, and he groaned quietly, feeling his morning erection swell unbearably, causing him pain.

She didn't stand up to him when he lay down on top of her, and her thighs, in some natural, innocent reflex, spread out in front of him, allowing him to look at her sweet, pink shell, from which a pearly trickle of his spend was leaking.

He settled himself on his knees in front of her and guided the thick head of his cock against her warm opening, sliding into her flesh with a slow, soft thrust of his hips.

She moaned with exertion, clamping her hands on the fabric of the bedclothes around her head, her beautiful, long hair scattered in disarray, surrounding her face the way the night sky surrounds the moon, looking up at him with the gaze of her doe eyes, her eyebrows arched in discomfort and pleasure.

"– shhh, sweet girl – we will do it slowly – very slowly –" He assured her, leaning over her, and she nodded with a soft little smile.

He nuzzled his face into the hollow of her neck and she sank her lips into to the skin of his shoulder, letting his whole body press her to the bed – she threw her legs over his back as with lazy, tentative thrusts he began to move in and out of her with their quiet grunts of pleasure, their fingers clenched tightly on their naked bodies.

This time her flesh didn't resist him – her cunt was hot and slick from their shared wetness, ready to welcome him inside her, her breath deep and steady, as if by having been through this before she already knew what to expect and it reassured her.

"– just like that – my sweet little sister – your brother is here – right here –" He whispered in her ear, stroking her soft breasts, her waist with his broad hands, clamping them finally on her plump buttocks – she threw her head back with a sweet moan, her walls squeezing his erection tightly at his words, showing him that she indeed loved it when he spoke to her.

She was so eager, so thirsty for his caresses, while remaining almost naively innocent.

They both groaned lowly as they felt her begin to leak, their hips pounding against each other with loud splats, sticky from her wetness, making his cock pulsate inside her greedily, delighted that he was sinking into her fleshy walls again.

She was so warm.

It felt so safe.

"– we'll do this often after I return – all day and night we'll breed our heir –" He gasped with a sigh, rolling his hips back and forth, sinking into her faster and more aggressively – she moaned with a sweet smile, driving her short nails into the soft structure of his firm buttocks.

"– and once I give you a son? –" She hummed warmly, stroking his neck, and he looked down at her – her gaze was full of peace, as if, despite her earlier words that she didn't want to be a wife or a mother, she was imagining herself now, holding a baby in her arms, his son with his white hair – she was panting hard along with him, her lovely breasts bouncing with each of his thrusts, making him involuntarily clamp his hand over one of them, playing with her hard nipple with his thumb.

"– then you'll bear me another –"

He and Aegon had left the Red Keep on horseback, informing their mother that they were going on patrol together, which was of course a lie – Criston Cole had sent him word that the place where he was to wait for his signal had not changed and that was where they were to head to finally really begin this war.

He wondered who Rhaenyra would send to face them.

As he soared into the sky on Vhagar he spotted Sunfyre and Aegon circling above Dragon's Pit in the distance – both of them headed in the same direction.

It took them a couple of hours to reach the location, but he was relieved to see that the battle had not yet begun and they had arrived in time – he and Vhagar had landed far from the battlefield to preserve the effect of surprise, and his brother had followed his lead.

Aegon slid off Sunfyre, knowing that they would surely have to wait a long time for a sign from Cole, deciding to stretch his legs. He did the same and sighed, not looking at him, feeling uncomfortable now that they were left alone, just the two of them.

He felt resentment towards him for trying to take her away from him, but he was also filled with satisfaction because his brother didn't know what he had been doing to her all night.

Aegon finally approached him, keeping his hands on his hips, as if he was struggling to finally say something to him.

"You are aware that I did not do this out of malice, are you? I'm the King now. We need the Greyjoys, we don't have the fleet to stand up to the Velaryons, and they can provide it for us. I don't expect you to abandon her, and I won't say a word if you decide to secretly continue to… see her." He said in a way as if he was trying to throw out something simultaneously wise and comforting, to him, however, it sounded like pathetic gibberish, his hopeless attempt to clear his conscience.

"Do you want me to humiliate her? Make a ridicule of her and myself?" He snorted, shaking his head, looking away from him, unable to bear the sight of him.

Aegon licked his lower lip and laughed nervously.

"Gods, what's wrong with that? Even our mother enjoys the pleasures of life and male companionship as she sees fit. Am I to punish her for this, knowing that she spent her youth looking after the rotting, decaying old man that was our father?" He asked, and he froze, looking at him in shock.

"Did you know about this?" He muttered.

Aegon burst out laughing.

"Servants are not blind, brother, and it so happens that I, unlike you, do not despise gossip. You don't want to listen to it, while I do just the opposite, because there is always a grain of truth in it. This is what has always made us different: you look away from what disgusts you, what you are ashamed of."

"I should be proud of it then? Of my mother, whose bed is warmed by her guard, that they can beget a bastard and humiliate us all?" He howled with rage, not understanding what he wanted from him, how he could expect him to accept such behaviour from her.

"Our cousin warms your bed too, but I don't recall you asking me to marry her before you began to do so. Where was your honour and your affection for her then? And as for our mother, she is no fool: she knows what to do to make sure that no unwanted…consequences of her little secret arise." He said, combing his white hair with his fingers.

He swallowed hard and lowered his gaze.

"I regret it."

"What?"

"I regret the fact that I didn't ask you for her hand sooner." He muttered.

His brother sighed loudly and approached him, surprising him by simply patting him on the arm as if to comfort him.

"You said yourself that you didn't take her maidenhood, so don't torment your conscience. What our tongues and hands do to women should remain our secret." He said lightly, as if he considered the matter settled.

"The situation is different now." He said with shame.

Aegon blinked and shook his head.

"Just yesterday, during our conversation – you maintained that she is a maiden."

"Because she was. But she is no longer." He whispered in trembling voice.

Aegon closed his eyes, hid his face in his hands and leaned back with a low groan of rage.

"FUCK! Gods, why do you always have to fuck everything up? Like with Luke it was also an accident and your cock slipped into her unintentionally?" He exclaimed exasperated and angry, pacing back and forth, unable to calm down.

He lowered his gaze, feeling like a small child, wanting just to cry.

"Tell me you showed at least enough forethought to make sure she wouldn't carry your bastard." He said finally, looking at him expectantly and crouched down, burying his head between his knees seeing his pale face.

"Wed her to me."

"I've already told you. We need –"

"Faithful hound. That's what you called me behind my back. You laughed that I barked when I fucked my whore. Do you really think gossip doesn't reach my ears?" He asked coldly, feeling that he was shaking with terror and rage.

Aegon looked at him uneasily, clearly feeling discomfort at the thought that he knew this.

"If you wish your hound to remain faithful to you, give him what he asks, or he may bite his master's hand. Hard. And that's not what any of us would want, is it?" He cooed with a broad smile, cocking his head.

His brother swallowed hard, his lips pressed together in a thin line out of rage.

"Are you fucking threatening me?" Aegon hissed, and he grinned even wider.

"I'm only warning you, brother."

Aegon stood up and opened his mouth, apparently wanting to explode with anger, but they heard the sound of a trumpet in the distance, getting louder and louder.

"Choose wisely." He growled to him and left his brother with terror in his eyes, climbing up the long ropes to Vhagar's back.

"Sōvēs!"

His dragoness rose lazily, making the ground around them shake, terrified fowl flew away from between bushes and tree branches. He heard his brother give the same order to Sunfyre and after a moment they both took to the skies, heading to meet their destiny.

He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering with a rapidly beating heart if it was worth the risk of his brother disagreeing.

Wouldn't it be better to be sure.

And then he saw her face swollen with tears, her cheek nestled in his palm.

Don't burden your soul even more.

He swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in his throat as he saw their army in the distance and a large red dragon he recognised immediately.

Meleys.

Of course.

Daemon was in Harrenhal, and Rhaenys was the most experienced of them all.

After what happened to Luke, his sister-whore did not dare send her children into battle.

Their appearance caused loud cheers from their army and cries of horror from their enemy – he glanced sideways, surprised to see that his brother was holding back, hoping that he would attack first.

He was afraid, he thought with a sneer, recognising that he would show him what true courage was.

Who was more deserving of being king.

Vhagar and Meleys collided in the air, grabbing each other's hind legs with their claws, causing both beasts to spin around, and he had to hold the ropes tightly in his hands to keep from falling.

"– DRAKARYS! –" He shouted, also hearing Rhaenys voice from afar, pillars of fire erupted from the throats of their dragons making the temperature around them unbearably hot.

He tried to steer Vhagar so that the flames would not touch him, and after a moment he heard a second voice coming from the side.

"– DRAKARYS! –" His brother roared, and Sunfyre breathed fire straight at Meleys and her rider, making the beast let go of Vhagar with a loud screech, throwing itself at him in pursuit.

"– DARKARYS, MELEYS! –" He heard, and before Vhagar could make a full turn back he heard his brother's loud scream – as he turned over his shoulder he saw his silhouette sunk in fire, trying to cover his face with his hand.

Meleys claws sliced into Sunfyre's flesh, her fangs bit into his neck and let go, allowing both him and his rider to fall inertly to the ground.

Even if he wanted to, there was nothing he could do.

He had warned him, and he had disobeyed.

If his hāedar had been with him, he would have made sure she stayed away until Meleys was weakened, so as not to endanger her.

But his brother?

He smiled.

"– angōs, Vhagar –" He called out, and his dragoness opened her maw wide and roared, as if remembering her great battles of Old Valyria centuries ago, pushing against the fleeing Meleys like a great mountain.

You won't escape me, you old whore.

He thought and blinked, seeing surprised that Meleys had turned back suddenly, spotting flames at the end of her throat.

Fuck.

He forced Vhagar to change course and shield them with her body, making the biggest wave of fire pass them by – he heard her squeal in pain as Meleys' claws slammed into her stomach again, tugging hard, creating wounds from which her hot blood flowed.

Vhagar needed no more of his commands – his dragoness was so enraged that she threw herself at Meleys, finally sinking her fangs into her throat, tearing her head from the rest of her body.

He watched with satisfaction, panting heavily, as the rest of her body, along with Rhaenys, fell downwards, finally hitting the ground, bursting into flames, their army, led by Criston Cole and his uncle, surged forward with a roar of joy for their victory.

His victory.

When it was all over, he flew to where he believed Sunfyre and his rider had fallen – indeed, he could see from above the soldiers around the body and the golden dragon writhing in pain, trying to reach its rider.

Had he survived or not?

He landed in the distance, walking unhurriedly towards the panicked physicians and servants surrounding Aegon, feeling powerful, invincible, proud, content.

He finally stood over them and hummed with satisfaction, seeing the state his brother's body was in – he was breathing, however, most of his skin was burnt, the only things coming from his mouth were moans and grunts.

"– it is a miracle, Your Highness – Sunfyre took the entire fall on himself, he saved our King's life –" One of the men said.

"– your brave King moved into battle with you and was severely wounded – you are to take proper care of him and relieve his pain –" He announced, and the soldiers around him nodded.

"Of course, Your Highness."

He sighed quietly, looked up at the sky and closed his eyes, trying to hold back a smirk of satisfaction.

The gods had heard his prayers.

His brother would be unable to hold his function, and he would finally take his rightful place.

He will rule the Kingdom in his name.

He will win this fucking war.

He will marry her.

[starogeorgina]

Twin flames

Warning: Age gap relationship, smut, swearing

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen × Targaryen OC

1.05

When you first arrived in Dragonstone, you were worried that your eldest sibling and her children wouldn’t take to you since your mother and grandsire treated them so cruelly and your brothers openly mocked them. Also, hearing Daemon speak so highly of Rhaenyra did make you question if he ever had romantic feelings for her; however, once you observed their interactions, it became very obvious that Daemon loved his niece as deeply as he did his own daughters.

Stepping into the bedchamber your uncle was staying in, you immediately notice how lost in thought he is. “Something wrong, Kepus?”

Daemon doesn’t reply; you’re unsure if he doesn’t hear you or simply doesn’t want to talk about whatever is bothering him. He starts removing his clothes in preparation for the scalding hot bath that was just prepared for him. He had been unusually quiet the last few days, and you wanted to know what was bothering him. But you knew Daemon well enough to know that he would tell you in his own time.

You study the battle scars on his body as he steps into the water. His whole body is covered in them, but the most noticeable ones are his shoulder, chest, and abdomen scars from the war in the Stepstones. In your eyes, the scars only added to his beauty.

You remove your own clothes and step into the bath, which would easily fit multiple people. You reach for the rim of the tub to lower yourself, but stop when Daemon finally speaks.

“Don’t sit down,” he orders. He takes your hand and helps you step forward towards him, making sure you don’t slip in the tub. His grip on your hands loosens as he brings your wrists to his head. “Ao've daor idea skoros gaomā naejot nyke, ñuha zaldrītsos.”

You swing your head back as Daemon suddenly moves his arms around you, gripping your ass to hold you in place as he begins to suck at your clit. The morning you left for Dragonstone, Daemon took your maidenhood. He was hesitant at first, worried you would regret it, but you assured Daemon you wanted your first time to be with him; you wanted to give that part of yourself to no one but him. Daemon had admitted he was afraid of hurting you, so every time you were intimate, he was slow and gentle. Ever since then, Daemon has mastered how to make you feel extreme pleasure. A moan falls from your mouth as you feel the familiar coil tightening in your abdomen.

Daemon pulls his mouth away, grinning as you stare down at him, unimpressed. “I was close!”

“I know,” he chuckles. Daemon pulls you down so you’re sitting on his lap, causing water to spill onto the floor. You bite on your lower lip when the tip of his cock rubs against your clit. “I want to feel you come apart around me,” he says, sliding his cock into you with ease. Daemon holds you close as he thrusts into you, his arms wrapped tightly around your body as you kiss the side of his neck. “Precious riña, you’ve no idea how badly I need you right now.”

Daemon captures your lips with his own while moving one hand down to your core, rubbing in circle motions on your clit. Quickly, you begin to clench down on his hard cock, squeezing him tightly as you come, causing Daemon to reach his own peak and release inside you.

—

“That was amazing!” Rhaena says this excitedly as she runs towards her father, who was waiting on the beach. Daemon had eventually caved to her pleading and let you take his daughter dragon riding.

Tyvaros liked Rhaena and could sense her kind nature, so he allowed her to fly upon him without harm, just as you promised Daemon.

Rhaena ran off to join her siblings and cousins, who were further along the beach, playing in the sand. One of the things that surprised you most during your visit was how incredibly sweet and polite your nephews were. Jacaerys and Lucerys were both a little hesitant to talk to you at first, given their history with your brother and husband, but they soon took to you. His younger brother, Joffrey, had taken to you right away and always sat by your side during meals. His fascination with you was adorable, and Rhaenyra often joked she’d need to make sure he didn’t sneak off with you when you returned to the keep.

Life on Dragonstone seemed so much better than life in the Keep. You’d only been there for ten days, and already you felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from you. You wrote to Helaena twice, assuring her you were okay since you left without saying goodbye, and you wrote to your father once, apologizing. Helaena informed you that your parents have not stopped arguing since you left.

“I spoke with Rhaenyra.”

You link your arm with Daemon's: “All good, I hope.”

He had informed you that Rhaenyra invited him to Dragonstone in the first place to discuss a serious matter, one that required privacy away from the children.

“She wants to betroth Rhaena and Prince Lucerys.” He lets out a deep sigh. “What do you think of the matter?”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea; Prince Lucerys would definitely treat her right.”

“That he would. Of course, I’ll need to ask Princess Rhaenys and the sea snake their opinions before I officially accept.”

You thought it was odd that Rhaenyra had only betrothed one son, but you were sure she had her reasons for it. You admired the way Daemon included his late wife’s parents in important decision-making. You chuckle seeing the way Daemons jaw clenches. “It’s hard for you, isn’t it, imagining your daughters growing up?”

“Every parent fears the day their daughter is no longer a little girl who no longer needs them.”

Thinking of your relationship with your mother, you scoff, “I doubt it.”

“Trust me, zaldrītsos; one day you’ll know the feeling.”

We have all the time in the world to fuck for love and pleasure. His words echo in your mind; you hadn’t thought further than this trip. You had always dreamed of having a family of your own, a baby to spoil with love, but you had no idea how that would ever be possible.

“Something I said?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Daemon stops walking and steps in front of you. “You don’t think you’ll have children one day?”

“I’m married to Aemond, who I’ve never laid with.”

“You can become pregnant without him,” he smirks.

You can’t help but smile as you begin to walk again, even though the conversation wasn’t a joke. “I’m serious. How could I ever bear a child when I’m married to a man I’ve never slept with?”

“If you wish to have a family, then a family I shall give you.” Daemon kisses the back of your knuckles and says, “I will give you the whole world and more; all you need to do is ask.”

His words make you feel emotional because you fully believe he means every word. “Thank you, Kepus.”

“What do you think of this place?” He asks, changing the question.

“Dragonstone?”

He nods.

You take a deep breath while taking in your surroundings. The towers on Dragonstone look like great stone dragons, and the entrances look like heads of dragons. The Targaryen history behind the great castle and fresh sea air added to the island's allure. “I love it; it feels... familiar. It might sound stupid, but I feel a sense of freedom here that I don’t have in my life.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid at all.”

—

“It will feel strange without your presence,” Rhaenyra says as you walk through the walls of the castle towards her bedchamber. “Dragonstone feels a little colder already, and you don’t leave until tomorrow.”

You laugh. “As I was saying before, you must come dragon riding with me and Helaena.”

Rhaenyra smiles brightly; she seems genuinely happy about the invitation. Rhaenyra was nothing like the person your mother and grandsire made her out to be. She was bright, bold, and beautiful. It was hard not to feel connected to her.

When you reach her bedchamber, you stand in the middle of it while your sister goes to a drawer and fumbles about with something while you take in the large dragon carved into the wall above her bed. You turn back to face her when she walks towards you. She takes one of your hands in yours, and she slides a simple gold ring with an Arryn falcon design onto your finger. “This belonged to my mother; I want you to have it.”

“I cannot; it’s so precious to you.”

“It is, but so are you.”

“Rhaenyra…”

She places one hand on her chest. “Please, my mother always wanted me to give it to my firstborn daughter, but the gods had other plans and gave me three sons. It would mean a great deal to me if you took it.”

You accept her grand jester, “Thank you, sister, for being so kind.”

Rhaenyra strokes your cheek while looking at you lovingly. “No thank you, Adela; all these years I longed for a relationship with my siblings, and now I finally have one.”

“Would you consider visiting the keep? Even for a short time.”

She sits on the edge of the bed and motions for you to sit beside her. It was hard to believe how nervous you were to meet her again after all these years, but it now felt as if you’d never been apart. “I would enjoy returning to see our father, but I don’t want to put my sons through the scrutiny. I can protect them here. But as for my half-brothers and sweet sister, Healena, I shall gladly take them into my heart, for they are of my own blood…but I can’t have my sons around some of people in the keep.”

“If I’m honest, I don’t believe Aemond has room for anyone in his heart, but our sister will accept you in a heartbeat.”

“What about Aegon?”

“If he’s sober enough, I’m sure he’ll like you,” you laugh. “Although he won’t admit it, he’s started to warm up to Daemon.”

“How do you know this?”

“He doesn’t drink so much when Daemon is around,” you gulp down. “I know I jest about his drinking, but Aegon’s not that bad. He's a fool with his words when under the influence, but he’s just lonely.”

“I remember how lonely the keep can be,” she says, toying with the rings on her finger. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did it come about that he is so?”

“Helena married a lord from House Hightower, but he died not long after the birth of her twins. I lived in OldTown with Daeron until I was brought back to the keep to marry Aemond. During all this, Aegon was ignored by our parents.”

“Poor boy,” she squeezes your hand. “I hope he finds someone who makes him happy, just as you have with Daemon.”

Seeing the mischievous look on her face, you both burst into laughter. You were going to miss moments like this; you wished you could have stayed longer, but you certainly didn’t want to overstay your welcome. Dragonstone belonged to your sister; it was her home, and you needed to respect that.

—

The first thing you notice when you walk into your bedroom is the figure standing by the fireplace. “Mother?” Because it was so late at night, you assumed something was wrong. The keep was quiet when you arrived back, but that did nothing to ease the fear that had started to blossom inside you. “Has something happened?”

Your mother looks extremely annoyed as you approach her, but she turns quickly to rage when her eyes land on the ring on your finger. “You stupid girl,” she says, giving you a look of disgust before slapping you hard across the face. “Adela… I…”

You had seen your mother strike Aegon many times but had never been the one on the receiving end of her sharp blows. Your mother brings her fingers to her face, horrified by her own actions. You step back when she reaches for you. “Aemond has multiple whores, and not once have you ever scorned him for it!” Warm tears spill down your cheeks. “I love him; I love Daemon, and if that makes me a stupid girl, then so be it.”

“For once, Daemon isn’t the issue.”

You roll your eyes and smack her hand away when she touches your hair as you cup your stinging cheek. Daemon had never been a real issue in her life. Your mother and grandsire were the ones looking for a fault in him so they could complain to your father about it. “Then what is it?”

“While I do not approve of the rumors circulating about the relationship between you and Daemon—“

His name sounded like poison falling from her lips. Oh, how you longed to be back by his side. You were mentally scalding yourself for insisting you return to your own quarters for the night when you should have stayed by his side. You wondered how the queen knew you were back. One of the Larys rats probably told her. Judging by her appearance—her natural hair and nightgown, you assume she must have just beat you to your room.

“The issue!” Your mother raises her voice to gain your attention again. “The issue is Rhaenyra; I don’t want you to have a relationship with her.”

Your face scrunches in disgust. “She was once your friend. How could you wish for her to be alone? Especially after the way you treated her.”

“What have Daemon and Rhaenyra told you?”

“Nothing; they have told me nothing!” You snap. “Did you really think your treatment of her didn’t reach OldTown? You called her sons bastards, openly mocked her, and made her walk to your quarters right after giving birth.”

Your mother hangs her head and says, “I do what needs to be done for the realm.”

She was delusional as well as a hypocrite. “Please tell me how soiling the reputation of the heir to the iron throne is for the good of the realm.”

“Because she will never sit on the throne!”

“What?”

“The lords will not accept a woman on the throne. Which is why it’s so important you distance yourself from her because when the time comes... “

“When the time comes? What exactly will happen?”

“Aegon will sit upon the throne.”

Ao've daor idea skoros gaomā naejot nyke, ñuha zaldrītsos - You've no idea what you do to me, my little dragon

Riña - Girl

Zaldrītsos - Little dragon

[dreamlandcreations]

ao nykē perzōñi iksi masterlist

you and I are made of fire

Daemon Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: A tourney at Winterfell will change your life forever...

Warnings: canon-typical stuff, messing with the original timeline

• Daemon masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

• chapter 1 • ñuha dāria • my queen • summary: a dragon meets his match

• chapter 2 • ñuha prūmia • my heart • summary: celebrations after the tourney

• chapter 3 • ñuha ābrazȳrys • my wife • summary: you are presented to the court

• chapter 4 • ñuha dārilaros • my prince/my princess • summary: another celebration, another wedding

• chapter 5 • ñuha zaldrītsos • my little dragon • summary: you prove that you have more than enough fire in you

• chapter 6 • ñuha dārys • my king summary: a new king is crowned

• Daemon masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

• Taglist •

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: *Hiding in a bunker somewhere underground* hey guys haha, so... heres the next chapter, I couldn't leave you all hanging like that.... so uh yeah, iloveyouokaybyeenjoy <3

Chapter 85: Alys Rivers

Aemond did not take his hands off of you, looking at you with a wide smile upon his lips. A smile which you had not seen for so many years. A smile where his teeth were bared and lines appeared beside his eyes. He had buried his hand in your braids at the back of your head and kissed you. 

He poured adoration into you. 

Excitement. 

Love.

And most importantly, chased away any fears you had in that moment.  

It almost felt normal. 

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, and you could not even help the smile that lifted to your own cheeks. 

“We must celebrate.” Aemond declared, hand moving forward to touch your lower stomach fondly. 

And celebrate you did. 

Aemond dove his head between your thighs and brought you to your peak before he fucked himself gently into your folds. You had cried beneath him, both giggling like fools as you let the euphoria of the moment sweep you both away to a place that wasn’t there. 

To a place you weren’t trapped inside of.

To a place where you were both happy, both unbridled by the world. Both terribly, deeply, and madly in love. 

A little lie. 

A little game of pretend. 

A reprieve. 

Aemond had gone to the door of the chambers, cool expression back on his face as he told the knight to send word to the King and his family that you should all dine together. That there was good news that needed to be shared. 

And so, the both of you had gone to the Small Dining Hall, hand in hand, and sat at the table first, waiting for the rest of the Hightower’s, and closest members of the council to arrive and join the two of you. 

The three of you.

You were strung with anxiety, a nervousness that you could not squash. 

What would they say?

What would they do?

Would Aegon be mad?

The Greens would no doubt be elated for the news, another bolster to support their treaty. And yet why did you still have fear?

Your leg bounced beneath the table as you waited, Aemond watching you cooly, his well schooled mask carefully placed back over his face. You chewed at your bottom lip, hands wringing in your lap as you continued to glance at the doors behind you. 

“Zaldrītsos.” Aemond whispered, trying to calm your nerves, thumb pulling your lip from between your teeth.

The doors opened behind you and your leg immediately ceased its bounding, posture straightening in your chair as you laid your hands delicately in your lap. You did not turn as Otto Hightower and Alicent Hightower were announced to the two of you as they came around the intimate table to sit where they usually sat. 

“Mother.” Aemond bowed his head.

“Aemond.” She greeted him back. 

Otto was silent, only nodding his head at his grandson before leaning back in his chair, adjusting the Hand pin on his lapel as he kept his eye to the doors. 

One by one, Lord Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, Jason Lannister, and then finally, the King himself entered the chambers, finding their respected seats, waiting for whatever news was to come. 

Aegon looked irritated, as though he had been pulled away from something of interest, or perhaps had an inkling of what was to be announced. After all, how could you not. The Prince and Princess, the treaty pact, have news to share with the council. 

Anyone but a fool could figure that out. 

But still, the announcement was needed, and Aemond was insistent upon it. 

You suspected he wanted to see Aegon’s reaction.

Another pissing contest between the two brothers.

The Lords spoke amongst themselves as they waited for the meal and announcement. Alicent said her prayer to the Seven, specifically focusing on the Mother and Maiden, before finishing with a flourish. 

She knew.

“Your Grace,” You turned to the Dowager Queen, her bright eyes watching you closely, “I remember you telling me that perhaps I could have an embroidery loom. I think I would much like to have it soon.” 

Alicent’s face softened, and she nodded, “I will have one of the maids bring it to your chambers.”

“Thank you.” You gave her a tight lipped smile.

Aegon cleared his throat loudly, flicking his fingers boredly, “So what’s this all about? Are we to wait for your big reveal all evening?”

Aemond reached forward, grasping his goblet, and you mirrored his action. Pushing up on his long legs he stood at the table, looking over all the Lords and his family as he held the goblet towards you.

“My wife and I bring good news to the Council, and to the King,” You noted Aemond did not say my King, or our King, “We have an heir.”

You looked across the table. 

Alicent beamed at her son, motherly pride on her face before she flicked her eyes to you, raising her cup in your direction. Otto Hightower raised his cup to the both of you, a quiet “Congratulations” on his tongue. The rest of the Lords followed suit, all raising their cups to you. 

However, Jason Lannister looked confused. 

Idiot. 

“Your heir in Harrenhal?” Aegon mocked, and you breathed deeply in through your nose. The table’s energy shifted.

Aemond was quiet, but you were quick to the whip. 

“No, our heir. I’m with child.” You smiled up at your husband fondly, hand coming to sit at your stomach in show. “Early days, but we wished to share the good news with you all.”

“Congratulations, Princess,” Alicent smiled at you softly, a true smile, one that she rarely ever gave, “Joyous news indeed.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Aegon hummed, “I wonder how the child will bare resemblance to its father. Time will tell.”

Your hand clenched against your robes tightly, “I hope that he has his fathers eyes.” You blinked up at Aemond.

“He?” Aegon remarked.

“Of course. A strong Prince. I will have to send word to my mother and father, perhaps the Queen will send an egg from the next clutch to put in his cradle.”

"Strong. Hm." Aegon hummed, smirk on his face.

You fought the urge to sneer at him.

Alicent beamed, “I am sure Queen Rhaenyra will be delighted by such news.”

You had a feeling that she would not. 

You nodded your head at the auburn haired woman, Aemond holding your hand gently. Jason Lannister offered congratulations, yet upon hearing your declaration of a son, his voice rose across the table as the rest of the Lords and King went back to their more relaxed chatter.

“A young Prince?.” He began, “And when should we expect a Princess?”

You gave a small huff of a laugh, still holding Aemond’s hand, “I can assure you that it would be soon after.” You gave a wide smile, and Jason returned it. 

“Excellent news then.” His gaze shifted to the One-Eyed Prince, “Congratulations, My Lord. You are a lucky man. A small piece of advice from a father to one soon to be, do not argue with a wife when pregnant, you will never win.”

Aemond hummed, “I rarely do.”

You smiled snidely at Aemond, “And for good reason. Best to remember that.”

“Hm.”

Aegon continued to stare at you for a time, before a smile wound its way on his face. He lifted his goblet towards you, then drank from it slowly, eyes still watching you over the rim of the cup.

It set you on edge.

The rest of the night, the Lords included you amongst discussion, a rare and almost confusing affair. Though now, you supposed they did not see you as a threat. You were pregnant. A brooding mare, and the breath that had long since been held at the beginning of the treaty had been released. This child would strengthen their position in the eyes of the realm. And most likely weaken yours. 

Good. 

Let them underestimate me. 

When you made your way back to your chambers, Aemond could scarcely keep his hands off of you. Stripping you bare as soon as you entered the chambers, laying you on the chaise as he praised you, kissing his way down your body in front of the fire, lingering hands cradling your stomach as he pressed kisses with care atop it. Your heart was in your throat, fluttering like a butterfly as you watched. 

It was tender. 

It was loving.

It was pure.

He brought you to your peak thrice that evening atop his tongue, whispering words of praise to you. 

“My perfect wife."

“My perfect thing."

“Going to be a perfect mother.”

“Can’t wait to see you swell.”

He even spent much attention to your breasts, lapping at your sensitive peaks, gently suckling them into his mouth as he groaned. It sent sparks shooting up and down your spine, your senses heightened by it all. 

By the time you made your way to bed, Aemond had spilt his seed inside of you, kissing at your neck and cheeks, before placing his lips atop your eyelids with chaste devotion.

The anxiety of the day had slipped away, and a blooming sense of joy had swelled inside your chest.

When you woke the next morning, it was to the unfamiliarity of cold sheets. Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you let your arm slide through the bed in search of your husband, confused as to why you had not woken in his arms as you usually did. When your hands reached nothing, you sat yourself up, head turning to see Aemond watching you, seated atop the chair beside the bed. 

You frowned at him, the chill of the chambers setting goosebumps rippling over your skin.

But something else was wrong.

Something was amiss.

Aemond did not smile at you, nor did he move to come back into bed. He did not even greet you a good morning. Instead, sitting still as he observed you. 

Your heart began to beat a little faster in your chest. You pulled the sheets close to your waist, completely bare in front of him. You let your hand rest against your stomach, hoping that the movement would calm whatever storm was passing through Aemond’s violet eye.

His gaze lowed to your stomach, and a small puff of air moved through his nose. Almost like a sigh.

“Come back to bed,” You pouted, “It’s cold.”

Why was he looking at me like that?

Something was wrong. 

Aemond didn’t move from his seat. Nor did he respond to your request, instead watching you with a hawklike stare. Shifting in the sheets you pulled them up to your shoulders, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Aemond, what’s wrong?” Your voice was quiet, and your throat seemed to begin to close in on itself. 

Was he angry?

What had you done?

What was the matter?

Aemond stood from his seat and moved to stand before the edge of the bed, towering over you as he looked down at your form amongst the plush, green sheets. Long fingers came forward to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, tingles running through your scalp at the contact. And yet he still did not answer you. 

“Aem?” You furrowed your brows at him, unsure, your hand reaching out to grasp his wrist. Aemond stilled his movement, eye flicking across your face as he took you in.

From your messed hair that tumbled down your back, to the fatigue that was still pressed into your face, to the small love bite that he had nipped just below your ear.

You watched as Aemond’s chest expanded.

“Aegon is sending me back to Harrenhal.” He spat through his teeth.

It was as though you had been doused in ice, cold water. Your grip tightened around his wrist as he looked at you from above. It wasn’t until that moment did you notice that Aemond wore his riding leathers. 

“What?” It came out as barely a whisper. 

Aemond breathed through his nose heavily as he repeated himself. 

“Aegon has commanded I fly to Harrenhal. With haste.”

You jerked your hand away from him, letting go of the grip you had on his wrist. Disgust and anger winding its way within. And the simmering rage that you had squashed coming alight again.

He was going back to Harrenhal. 

To see his whore, and his bastard.

After everything. 

After everything he still goes back to her. 

His Alys. 

You scoffed, ripping the sheets away from you as you stood from the bed, grabbing the robe beside it as you tugged it onto your body heavily, feeling your face heat with anger.

Aemond was to leave you alone in the Keep with Aegon. 

Alone with Aegon. 

Fear turned in your stomach. 

'Perhaps.'

“Fuck.” You gasped, feeling as though a hand had wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. 

“Y/n.” Aemond whispered, walking around to your side of the bed.

“Don’t.” You snapped back at him, pulling the tie around your waist tightly as you gripped it for dear life, your knuckles cracking from the force. You could feel your nails digging into your palms. 

And you welcomed it.

Your teeth ground down against each other as you tried to steel yourself from lashing out at him. As you tried to desperately school your temper, but the waves continued to rise inside of you until the water overflowed. 

You spun on your heel, brows drawn, and sneered at the Prince, “You told me you would never leave me alone in this Keep again. You gave me your word.”

Aemond’s hand came to reach out and touch you, his face falling, “If I ha-“

“-Don’t touch me!” You growled, slapping his hand away from you before it could touch your flesh.

Aemond stilled, swallowing thickly as his jaw ticked. 

“You’re going back to your whore.” You scowled, feeling stupid that you could have ever even believed him. 

You had given him a chance, you thought that after Aegon, this could have been different. That he could be different. That he could change, be a good man and keep his word. But you were wrong. 

And you felt more betrayed in that moment than you ever had. More angry than you ever had. You felt like a fool. A pitiful fool.

Hope is a fools ally. 

And you had been just that. 

Aemond’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides as you looked up at him, letting him see your anger, your contempt.

Let him see. 

Let him see that any bridge that had been built was now lost. 

That he had tossed flames atop it. 

He did this.

“Aegon has commanded it.” He grit out, “I have little choice. I need to go as a Prince to attend to my duties.”

You laughed. 

Sincerely laughed.

His duties. 

But as the waves of anger kept coming, a hole opened and sucked the water down into it, and soon you tumbled down after, into fear. 

“You love her, don’t you? Don’t you?” You asked shakily, searching your uncles face for any sign of deception. Any sign or inkling of truth. To see how he would react.

Aemond frowned at you, taking another step forward, “No,” He said in disbelief, “I love you.”

You scoffed as you looked at him, feeling your chest ache, “I don’t believe you.”

The Prince’s face softened as he moved to step forward towards you again, hand coming to graze your shoulder, “Then let me show you.”

You blinked, feeling the weight of his palm on you, the heat of his skin atop the robe, the way his pupil expanded as he looked down at you, how his chest rose and feel sharply.

Disgust sank in your stomach.

“No.” You slapped his hand away from you, storming past him, trying to get space. Trying to collect yourself.

Incensed that you were stupid enough to think that he was capable of change.

“Zaldrītsos.”

You ignored him, flitting about the chambers in anger. Pacing about the length of the room as you felt it begin to shrink, the walls closing in on you. 

He was going back to her. 

And he was leaving you here with him.

“I can’t believe I fell for it.” You breathed, one hand tight against your stomach where the tie of the robe dug harsh into your skin, the other bawled into a tight fist at your side, “I am such a fool.”

Aemond walked towards you, almost stalking you quietly as he watched you continue to pace. 

You laughed humourlessly, “I am a stupid, stupid fool. I knew that hope was a fools ally, and yet I still let myself have hope in you.” You spun to face him, teeth bared as you snapped, whilst Aemond watched you with a cool face, “And here you are, ready to put your cock in the cunt of your whore, whilst your bed has only just been warmed by your wife!”

“Y/n-”

Rage burnt through your veins, and you did not contain it.

"You go to Harrenhal, do you not? You are to go to her and your bastard."

"Aegon is trying to-"

"You go to her," You sucked in a breath, "And I will never forgive you. You go to her, and I will take what is owed, fire and blood, I swear it. I swear to you Aemond, you go to her..." You left the empty threat in the air like smoke.

The Prince's posture stiffened, "You think to threaten me?"

"It is not a threat, it is a promise. I do not break my word as often as you. Unlike you, I stay true to it."

"The King commands me and I must go, you know this. He has mentioned treason in passing if I do not."

"Then perhaps I shall go to him when you leave."

Aemond's eye twitched, and his voice lowered, "Y/n-"

“No, Fuck you! Go to your whore and bastard.”

Aemond’s eye twitched as he watched your chest heave with angry breaths, “You question my honour?”

You laughed loudly, bringing a hand to your mouth before you dropped it back to your side as you looked up at him. His hair was pulled back away from his face, and the light of the early sun cast shadows across his cheeks and eyes.

He looked dangerous.

But you didn’t care.

“Honour? You’ve already fucked her. You fucked a child inside of her.” You jeered, “Do you deny it?”

He does not deny it. 

He does not deny anything.

Aemond took a steadying breath, battling his own anger poorly as he grit out a quiet ‘no’.

You laughed again, shaking your head to turn away from him, walking towards the chamber doors angrily, “No, I don’t question your honour.” You finally turned back towards him, watching as he stayed rooted to the spot, his chest suddenly still.

You were seething.

“I deny its mere existence.” You watched as Aemond’s gaze darkened, and it served to spur you further. 

Taking another step back towards him your snarled, “You and your brother are cut from the same cloth.”

You turned on your heel and ripped the door open, storming out the chambers in only a robe, not caring for who sees you. 

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[sankta-wraith]

Daemyra and terms of endearment

I was rewatching 1x07 and realized that Rhaenyra calls Daemon “my love” in front of Alicent and it sent me down a rabbit hole. Long story short I know have a list of all the terms of endearment (in High Valyrian and Common) I think they use for each other. It goes in order of the ones I think are most frequently used starting at the top.

My love (ñuha jorrāelagon) and My heart (ñuha prūmia) I think they like these two the most because of the possessive particle. After spending so many year apart I think both of them really enjoy being able remind people of their claim on each other. When it comes to High Valyrian vs Common I think both are used pretty interchangeably, although High Valyrian is probably a bit more intimate. From a more political standpoint, using High Valyrian could also be a way of alienating anyone who doesn’t speak it (so most non-Targaryens) and a subtle reminder that they are blood of the dragon and whatnot. On the other hand, using Common could also be a somewhat political move, because it would ensure that everyone understands them. For Daemon it would probably be a way of saying “she’s mine don’t fucking touch her or I’ll feed you to Caraxes,” whereas for Rhaenyra it would be more like “yeah I just called the Rogue Prince my love, what of it,” because remember most people are still terrified of Daemon.

Husband/Wife (Valzȳrys/Ābrazȳrys) Their reasons for liking this one are probably similar to their reasons for liking my love/heart. I could totally picture them going through a phase at the beginning of their marriage where they almost exclusively refer to each other as husband and wife, because they're just so happy to finally be together and married. I think eventually they do start using my love/heart more because it's slightly more personal than just husband or wife, but they do still use it from time to time. As for the language, I think this is also pretty interchangeable.

My Queen (Ñuha Dāria) Before Viserys's death, he probably never called her this except in private since it would be ever so slightly treasonous, but I feel like he would definatly use it in the bedroom. After Rhaenyra actually becomes Queen he probably starts to use it in a more official capacity. Language wise I'd say High Valyrian in the bedroom and Common in public.

Princess In the first few episodes of season one, Daemon calls her princess quite often, but it seems to fall out of use after their ten year seperation. He might use it a little bit, but it's mostly been replaced. The High Valyrian word for prince/princess/heir is dārlilaros, but from what I can tell, Daemon never uses this. As for Rhaenyra, I can't really picture her calling Daemon by his title in a non formal setting. I can however picture her teasing him about his "Rogue Prince" moniker.

Zaldrītsos (little dragon) Personally I think Daemon only ever called her this when she was much younger (like 5 or 6) but I've seen lots of people talk about it so it's on this list. Even if he did keep using it as she got older, I think he definately stopped after they got married, because I can't imagine that he would call his wife "little dragon." They could use it for their children though.

Ok, well that's my list of Daemyra terms of endearment. Let me know what you guys imagine them using.

[lady-phasma]

18+ MDNI

Bathed in Blood and Silk

Daemon Targaryen x whore!reader

Caught

Daddy!Daemon x fem!reader

Sweetest Dreams

Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

In the fading light

Daemon Targaryen x Dornish!reader

A Willing Pawn

soft!Daemon Targaryen x Dornish!reader

check out my tag "women of color in fantasy" for ai images free for anyone to use

Hen embār masti (From the Sea We Came)

Chapter 1 Daemon Targaryen x Elaenya Targaryen (ofc)

One shots or requests:

Need - Daemon x fem!reader x Aemond

Do I look like I won’t punish you? - x fem!reader

Dom!Daemon fluff - x fem!reader

Take it... - x fem!reader

Devastation - x fem!reader

Keeping Daemon Warm - x fem!reader

Hair brushing fluff - x gn!reader

Headcanon:

Daemon's biggest fears * Daemon's motivation S1E4 brothel scene

Has Daemon ever received oral pleasure * Silly ask about his face

Silly ask about his down-there hair * Silly ask about his hair

Breeding k!nk

Zaldrītsos - Daemon x Rhaenyra

Chapter 1 ✶︎ Chapter 2 ✶︎ Chapter 3 ✶︎ Chapter 4 Chapter 5 ✶︎ Chapter 6 ✶︎ Chapter 7 ✶︎ Chapter 8

Devoted and Enchanted - Companion/backstory that has sensitive content - opens to AO3.

(I'm particularly proud of this one but given the nature of some Targaryen subject matter it will be on AO3 only for now. There is some crossover for Zaldrītsos but both can stand alone.)

Main masterlist

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Crown and Kin | Chapter Eleven

Ao3 Account | Masterlist

Chapter Eleven: Til Death Do Us Part

Word Count: 10,126

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: Daella's day is a whirlwind of shifting emotions and events, from tender moments of reassurance to the grandeur of unfolding ceremonies. Amid glimpses of affection, intrigue, and unexpected chaos, she starts to understand the layered complexities of her new reality. Each encounter leaves her more aware of the intricate dynamics and potential dangers that come with her place within the Targaryen family.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

Ao3 | Tumblr

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The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains of Daella’s chambers, casting a soft, golden glow over her bed, illuminating the intricate designs on her quilt and adding warmth to the otherwise chilly morning. The air held a hint of the crispness that accompanied early mornings in King’s Landing, and the birds outside chirped a gentle melody, filling the room with a comforting sense of peace.

Daemon stepped inside quietly, his heart softening at the sight of his daughter, a feeling of protectiveness washing over him as he watched her, his footsteps muffled by the thick rug on the stone floor. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his daughter—her silver hair tousled across her pillow, her features peaceful in sleep. In that fleeting moment, he allowed himself to be just a father, not a prince or a warrior, but simply a man in awe of his little girl. A small smile touched his lips as he leaned over, brushing a stray lock from her face.

“Zaldrītsos,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and affectionate. “Wake up, little dragon.”

Daella stirred, her eyelashes fluttering before she opened her eyes, a yawn escaping her lips as she rubbed her eyes with small fists. When she looked up at her father, a sleepy smile spread across her face. “Father?”

Daemon nodded, his expression softening further. “Yes, sweetling. It’s time to get up. We’re breaking our fast in the gardens today.” He felt a sense of fulfilment hearing her call him ‘Father.’ It was still new to him, this role, but it made something inside him ache in a strangely pleasant way.

Daella’s eyes brightened at his words, her sleepiness quickly melting away. Breakfast in the gardens was a rare treat, one that promised something special about the day. She scrambled to sit up, her excitement evident in the way her small hands reached for his, seeking help to leave the warmth of her bed. Daemon chuckled as he helped her out of bed, guiding her to the clothes laid out for her. He chose a deep black gown embroidered with intricate red and gold patterns, the colours bold against her pale skin.

He knelt to adjust the fabric at her shoulders, smoothing her hair back as he looked at her, pride mingling with tenderness in his eyes. “Perfect,” he said, his voice low, almost as if speaking to himself, marvelling at how much of her mother he could see in her—yet also how much of himself.

Taking her small hand in his, Daemon led her from the room. The halls of the Keep were bustling; servants hurried past carrying trays of food, bolts of fine fabric, and decorations in vibrant hues. The air thrummed with anticipation for the festivities to come, and Daella’s eyes widened, taking in the lively scene. The usually solemn grandeur of the castle was replaced by a frenetic energy that threatened to overwhelm her senses. She clung tightly to Daemon’s hand, her eyes darting about, her grip tightening whenever someone came too close.

Daemon glanced down at her, noting her discomfort. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Just stay close, zaldrītsos,” he said gently. “They can look, but none will dare touch you while you are with me.”

His words filled her with a sense of security, and she leaned closer to his side, nodding slightly. As they made their way toward the gardens, they passed lords and ladies who had arrived early for the feast. Daella could feel the weight of their gazes—some curious, others evaluating. She could see the glances shifting between her and Daemon, the whispers exchanged behind jewelled fans. But what stood out most to her was the way some of the ladies looked at Daemon, their eyes following him with an interest she didn’t quite understand. Their smiles were warm, their eyes lingering, and it made something uncomfortable twist inside her.

A young woman, dressed in a gown that shimmered like the sea, stepped closer, her gaze first sweeping over Daella, her lips curving in a polite smile, before settling on Daemon with a warmth that made Daella’s frown deepen.

“Prince Daemon,” the young said, her voice honeyed, as she dipped into a graceful curtsy. “It’s such an honour to be here for the festivities.”

Daemon inclined his head in acknowledgement, his expression indifferent. “I hope you enjoy the celebrations, Lady Alyssa,” he said coolly, his arm settling protectively on Daella’s shoulder. He gently steered Daella away, making it clear the conversation was over.

Daella peeked over her shoulder as they walked on, seeing Lady Alyssa’s eyes still fixed on Daemon, her gaze lingering. A strange feeling bubbled up inside her—a mix of confusion and something else she couldn’t quite name. It made her grip Daemon’s hand a little tighter.

“Father,” she began quietly, her voice barely audible over the hustle around them, “why do they look at you like that?”

Daemon glanced down at her, amusement glinting in his eyes, though his lips remained neutral. “Ladies are often drawn to things they admire, zaldrītsos,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of dry humour. “They think they see something worth their time.”

Daella wrinkled her nose slightly, her gaze shifting back to where Lady Alyssa had stood. She didn’t like how they looked at him. She wasn’t sure why, but it made her feel uneasy. She stayed close to her father as they continued through the crowded halls, seeking the comfort of his presence amidst the unfamiliar stares.

“Everyone’s here for Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding, aren’t they?” she asked, tilting her head up to look at him, her curiosity replacing her earlier discomfort.

Daemon nodded, a knowing smile touching his lips as they stepped through a set of large wooden doors, the garden unfolding before them. “Yes. They’ve come for the spectacle—the wedding, the feasts, the tournaments. They all want to be part of the show.”

The gardens were a stark contrast to the crowded, noisy halls. The air was fresh, carrying the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the trees, casting dappled shadows across the soft grass. Daella let out a soft sigh of relief at the change, her eyes taking in the vibrant flowers and the small table set beneath a blooming tree.

Daemon led her to the table, pulling out her chair with a flourish that made her giggle. He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes as he took his seat beside her. The table was set with fresh bread, fruit, and a small pot of golden honey. Daemon poured her a cup of juice, handing her a slice of bread drizzled with honey.

“Eat well, zaldrītsos,” he said, his tone affectionate but with a hint of command. “We have much to do today.”

Daella took a bite, savouring the sweetness of the honey. She watched Daemon for a moment, curiosity getting the better of her as she swallowed. “Will I be there today? For the feast?” she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

Daemon leaned back slightly, his gaze studying her for a moment before he spoke. “You will be there for the procession,” he said carefully, his tone measured. “You’ll sit with me for the guest announcements and well wishes.”

Daella’s face fell, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Only the procession?” she repeated, her disappointment evident. “But I wanted to stay for the feast too.”

Daemon sighed softly, his eyes softening. He reached across the table, taking her small hand in his. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, his voice gentle. “The feast will be crowded, zaldrītsos. Filled with strangers from all over the Seven Kingdoms—some of whom I do not trust. It’s not the place for you, not yet. The procession will be enough for today. They’ll see you, and that will matter.”

Daella frowned, her gaze dropping to the bread in her hands. She picked at the crust, her frustration clear. “But I want to be with you,” she said, her voice quiet, the words laced with longing. “I want to see everything.”

Daemon squeezed her hand, his gaze softening as he leaned closer. “I know.” He said, his voice carrying a note of regret. “But my duty is to protect you, even if it means making decisions you don’t like. Your time will come—for all of it. The feasts, the tournaments, the celebrations. But for now, you need to trust me.”

She nodded slowly, though her disappointment lingered. “I understand,” she whispered, her voice small.

Daemon cupped her cheek, lifting her chin until her eyes met his. “I know it’s not what you want,” he said, his voice softer, an edge of vulnerability showing. “But being by my side today is significant. It’s the first step.”

She looked into his eyes, the warmth and sincerity there easing the sting of her disappointment. She nodded again, her resolve returning. “I’ll do my best.”

Daemon smiled, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You always do,” he said, pride evident in his tone.

For a while, they ate in comfortable silence, the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds filling the air. It was a serene moment, almost untouched by the anticipation of the day ahead. Daella glanced up at her father, her eyes filled with thought.

“Father,” she began hesitantly, her voice quiet, “are you happy for Princess Rhaenyra?”

Daemon paused, his gaze shifting to a distant point in the garden, his expression unreadable. When he looked back at her, his lips curved into a faint smile, though there was something complex in his eyes. “Rhaenyra is making the choice she believes is best for her,” he said slowly, his tone careful. “I hope she finds what she’s looking for.”

Daella studied his face, noticing the guardedness in his eyes and the way his smile didn’t quite reach them. He hadn’t said he was happy. She nodded, lowering her gaze to her plate. “I hope she finds it too,” she said softly, though a small seed of uncertainty remained.

Daemon’s lips twitched into a smile, and he reached over to ruffle her hair affectionately. “You have a kind heart, zaldrītsos,” he said warmly. “Rhaenyra is fortunate to have you wishing her well.”

He leaned back, gesturing to her plate. “Now, finish your meal. We have much to prepare for. I’ve even arranged for someone special to help you get ready.”

Daella’s curiosity piqued at his words, and she took another bite, though her thoughts lingered on Rhaenyra and the day ahead. Though she was still disappointed about not being allowed to stay for the feast, she trusted her father’s judgment. Being part of the welcome procession—standing beside Daemon—was still something important. It was a chance to show that she belonged, that she was his daughter.

After they had finished their breakfast, Daemon led Daella back to her chambers. As they approached the door, Daella could hear laughter from within, muffled but unmistakable. She looked up at Daemon, her eyes wide with curiosity. He smirked knowingly, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“It seems someone has arrived early,” Daemon remarked, his tone light as he pushed the door open.

Daella stepped inside, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight before her. Harwin stood by the window, his broad shoulders shaking with laughter, while Rosalie, seated on a small stool, was giggling just as heartily. They both paused when they saw Daella, their smiles growing even wider.

“Daella!” Rosalie greeted warmly, her eyes softening as she rose to her feet. “Look who the prince dragged in.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Daemon, and her expression cooled considerably, the warmth replaced by something more guarded.

Rosalie’s gaze lingered on Daemon for a moment longer, a subtle wariness in her eyes, as if she was constantly assessing the danger his world posed to Daella. She forced herself to look back at the girl, her smile never wavering.

Harwin chuckled, moving over to ruffle Daella’s hair gently. “Little flame,” he greeted, his tone teasing. “You’ve been busy this morning.”

Daella blushed, glancing up at Daemon before looking back at them. “We had breakfast in the gardens,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “Father said I’d be part of the welcome feast today!”

Harwin’s smile softened, his gaze flicking briefly to Daemon, who nodded in confirmation. “That’s wonderful, Daella,” Harwin said, his voice filled with pride. “You’ll be the finest little dragon there is.”

“Of course she will,” Rosalie added, stepping closer to Daella. She wore a warm smile, though her eyes flicked toward Daemon with a cold edge. “And I’m here to help make sure of it. The prince asked me to help you get ready.” Her voice carried a hint of formality, her words measured.

Daemon gave Rosalie a tight smile, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Indeed. I thought it best for someone who knows Daella well to be with her today,” he replied, his tone equally frosty.

Rosalie tilted her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s considerate, my prince,” she said, though her tone implied otherwise. “Considering the circumstances.”

A brief silence followed, the air thick with tension. Daella, oblivious to the undercurrents between the adults, looked up at Rosalie, her eyes bright with excitement.

“Thank you for coming, Rosalie!” Daella said eagerly, rushing over to hug her tightly.

Rosalie hugged her back, though her eyes met Daemon’s over Daella’s head, her expression guarded. She let out a soft sigh as she pulled away, her attention returning to the little girl in front of her. “All right, all right,” she said, her voice filled with affection for Daella. “We’ve got work to do, little one. Let’s make sure you’re ready to stand beside your father.”

Harwin cleared his throat, breaking the lingering silence. “Perhaps we should leave them to it, my prince,” he said, his eyes shifting between the two adults. There was an underlying tension in his voice, a quiet suggestion to step back before anything escalated. His gaze lingered on Daemon with a subtle mix of respect and caution.

Daemon hesitated for a moment, his gaze fixed on Rosalie. For a fleeting second, his eyes flashed with something unreadable—frustration, perhaps, or reluctance to let go of the control he felt over the situation. But then he looked back to Daella, and his expression softened, the edges smoothing into something almost tender. Pride shone in his eyes, and with a sigh, he nodded, leaning down to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’ll return soon, zaldrītsos,” he said gently, brushing his fingers through her hair. His voice had a gentleness that didn’t often make itself known. “Listen to Rosalie.”

Daella nodded eagerly, her eyes following him as he moved to the door with Harwin. Harwin gave Daella a warm smile before following Daemon, casting one last glance at Rosalie, his brows furrowing slightly in a silent warning. Then they were gone, the door closing behind them with a soft thud.

Rosalie let out a breath she seemed to have been holding, her eyes lingering on the door for a moment before she turned to Daella. The tension visibly melted from her shoulders as she knelt down to Daella’s height, motioning toward the vanity with a soft smile. “Come, let’s get started. We’ve got to make sure you look perfect for today.”

Rosalie guided Daella to the vanity, her eyes drifting over Daella’s hair as she sat her down. She reached out, touching a lock of the dark silver strands, her fingers brushing over it thoughtfully. “Your hair,” she murmured, her voice tinged with something unreadable—nostalgia, perhaps, or longing. “It’s just like hers.”

Daella looked up at Rosalie through the mirror, her eyes wide and curious. “Like my mother’s?” she asked softly, curiosity bright in her gaze. It was rare for anyone to speak of her mother, and each scrap of information she could gather felt like a treasure.

Rosalie nodded, her gaze growing distant as she spoke. “Yes. Elyse had beautiful hair. Dark silver, like iron, and always so thick and wild. Just like yours.” She paused, her lips pressing together as if to hold back something unsaid. “She always wore it loose, she never liked it tied up. Said it made her feel free.”

Rosalie’s eyes misted over slightly, her mind drifting to memories that brought a sting of pain. For a moment, it felt as if Elyse were in the room with them—her laughter, her spirit. She swallowed, blinking back the emotions, her eyes refocusing on the little girl before her.

Daella’s eyes glistened, her heart swelling with a strange mixture of warmth and longing. She had heard so little about her mother—just whispers and fragments of memories from others. “Do I look like her?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid that her resemblance might be fleeting, or that the answer could somehow change.

Rosalie smiled softly, her eyes meeting Daella’s in the mirror. “You do. She had your eyes too,” she said, her voice filled with a gentleness that had been absent earlier. “She would have been so proud of you, Daella. To see you here, looking like you belong.”

Daella held onto those words, a small smile forming on her lips, and she blinked rapidly as if to fight back tears. She wanted to believe it—that her mother would be proud of her, that she belonged here among the dragons. “Do you think my mother would have liked it here? In the Red Keep?” she asked, her voice cautious as if afraid of the answer.

Rosalie hesitated, her hands pausing momentarily in Daella’s hair. “Your mother… she was not one for courts and castles,” she said finally, her voice thoughtful, choosing her words carefully. “She valued her freedom above all. But she loved fiercely, and she would have loved seeing you among family. She would have done anything for you to have a better life than the one she had.”

Daella bit her lip, her gaze lowering. “Sometimes, I wonder if I belong here,” she admitted, her voice small. “Everything feels so big and… important. And I’m just… me.”

Rosalie’s fingers resumed braiding Daella’s hair, her movements gentle. “You belong wherever you decide to belong, Daella,” she said, her tone firm yet kind. “And right now, you’re making your place here. It’s not always easy, but you’re a dragon, just like your father. You’ll learn to make your presence known, to roar if you must.”

Daella looked up at Rosalie through the mirror, her eyes filled with determination. She had always admired the dragons in the stories—their strength, their fire, their unyielding nature. She wanted to be like that, wanted to be someone her father could be proud of. “I want to make my father proud,” she whispered.

Rosalie’s expression softened, her gaze tender. “He’s already proud of you, Daella. Anyone with eyes can see that.” There was something in Rosalie’s voice—an understanding of Daemon that not many seemed to grasp, a recognition of his vulnerabilities despite his fearsome exterior.

Rosalie had just begun braiding the second section of Daella’s hair, her fingers moving deftly through the thick strands, when the door to the chambers burst open with a loud thud. Rosalie let out a startled gasp, her hands freezing mid-braid as two young boys tumbled into the room.

“Who—?” Rosalie began, her eyes wide, her tone shocked at the intrusion. “Who dares to barge in unannounced?”

The two boys paid her no mind. Aegon and Aemond, their faces flushed with excitement, stumbled into the room, Aegon half-laughing as he tried to push Aemond out of his way, while Aemond’s face was set in a determined scowl.

“Ella!” Aegon called, his voice loud, barely noticing Rosalie as he waved at Daella. “The Velaryons have arrived! You have to come see!”

Aemond, slightly more composed but no less eager, nodded. “Their fleet is at the docks. You can see them from the big windows,” he added, a note of excitement in his voice. “And they’ve brought their dragons too!”

Rosalie’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open slightly as realisation struck her. “The princes,” she muttered under her breath. She immediately stood, her hands falling from Daella’s hair as she bowed quickly, her head dipping low. “My lords, forgive me. I did not realise…”

But Daella wasn’t paying attention to the formalities. Her eyes widened in excitement at Aegon’s words, and she shot up from her seat, the half-finished braid slipping from Rosalie’s fingers. “The Velaryons?” she repeated, her voice filled with wonder.

“Yes, yes! Come on!” Aegon urged, already at the door, waving for her to follow. Without a second thought, Daella hurried after them, her face lighting up with excitement.

Aegon grinned mischievously as Rosalie’s voice carried from behind them, tinged with exasperation. “Daella! Wait!” she called. “Your hair is only half done!”

Aegon rolled his eyes at the comment, shrugging as he pushed the door open wider. “It looks fine to me!” he called back cheekily, barely containing his laughter as Daella ran out the door.

Aemond, slightly more composed, glanced back at Rosalie, offering a quick, almost formal nod. “Apologies, but we won’t keep her long.” He looked eager but respectful, as if trying to navigate the formalities of the Keep, even amidst his excitement.

Rosalie let out an exasperated sigh, muttering to herself. “Dragons and their impatience,” she huffed, shaking her head. She gathered up the rest of the ribbons she had intended to use and marched after them, though at a much more measured pace.

Aegon, Aemond, and Daella sprinted down the corridor, their laughter echoing against the stone walls. Servants bustled around them, giving the children wary glances as they raced past, oblivious to the disapproving murmurs. Aegon led the way, his excitement contagious, with Aemond right on his heels, his eyes bright with curiosity.

The Keep, usually imposing and filled with a sense of solemn grandeur, felt different as the children ran through its halls—alive with energy, as if their laughter breathed life into its cold stones. The weight of the courtly games and hidden politics seemed to dissipate, replaced by the innocent joy of discovery.

When they finally reached the large windows that faced the sea, they all stopped, panting slightly, their eyes widening at the sight below. The Velaryon fleet had arrived in all its grandeur, the sails adorned with their silver seahorse sigil, the ships lined up like great sea beasts upon the glittering water. The docks were filled with activity—colourful banners fluttered in the wind, workers hurriedly offloading cargo, and the faint sounds of orders being shouted drifted up to the Keep, blending with the rhythmic crashing of waves.

“There they are!” Aegon said, his voice filled with awe as he pointed. “Look at all those ships! Father said their fleet is the finest in the realm.”

Daella leaned against the stone sill, her eyes shining with wonder. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the majestic ships. There was something magical about seeing the fleet, an entire armada that looked like it belonged in one of the tales her father told her—powerful, elegant, and full of secrets.

Aemond, quieter, leaned slightly closer to the window, his eyes sweeping across the docks. “Look there,” he said, pointing. “Do you see the dragons? They’re at the far end of the docks.”

Daella squinted, her eyes widening as she saw the unmistakable figures of the dragons—larger, darker shapes against the sky. Even from this distance, they were awe-inspiring, their wings half-folded, tails swaying as they moved. The sunlight glinted off their scales, and she imagined the air vibrating with their presence, a thrill racing down her spine.

“The dragons are here,” she repeated, almost to herself, her voice filled with wonder. The sight of them stirred something within her—a sense of belonging, of destiny. She couldn’t help but think of her father’s words in the Dragonpit: one day, she would have her own dragon.

Aegon grinned, his own gaze admiring the scene. “It’s going to be amazing tonight,” he said, his excitement spilling over. “Just wait until the feast. The Velaryons, the dragons—it’s going to be the grandest feast the Red Keep has ever seen!”

Daella smiled, her heart pounding with anticipation. It was moments like this—sharing the wonder with her cousins, watching the grand spectacle—that made her feel part of something bigger. The dragons, the ships, the excitement of the upcoming feast—it all felt like a scene from the stories she loved. But beneath the excitement was a flicker of doubt, wondering if she could truly belong to such grandeur and legacy.

Rosalie finally caught up, her breath slightly labored, her eyes narrowing as she spotted Daella leaning against the window, her half-finished braid unravelling and strands of hair coming loose. “Daella!” she scolded, her voice carrying a mixture of frustration and reluctant amusement. “Look at you, running off with your hair undone. Come back here this instant!”

Daella turned, her face flushing slightly in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Rosalie,” she said, though her smile still lingered as she glanced back out at the ships and dragons.

Rosalie shook her head, though a smile tugged at her lips despite her best efforts. “You three are nothing but trouble,” she muttered, her eyes briefly flicking to Aegon and Aemond. She straightened, adopting a more formal tone. “My lords, I must insist that Daella returns now to finish preparing.”

With that, Aegon gave her one last grin before running off, his voice already calling out to a servant for something or other. Aemond lingered a moment longer, his eyes meeting Daella’s, a quiet understanding passing between them. She knew he understood—he wanted to stay and watch the dragons too. Then he turned, following after his brother down the corridor.

Rosalie sighed, placing her hands on her hips. “Now, let’s get you back, Daella,” she said, her tone softening as she looked at the little girl before her. “We still have much to do, and I intend to make sure you look every bit the Targaryen princess you are.”

Daella nodded, her excitement still bubbling beneath the surface as she allowed Rosalie to take her hand, guiding her back to her chambers. As they walked, Rosalie gave her a sideways glance, her lips curving into a small smile. She shook her head as if remembering the scene from moments ago.

“Your mother would have been exasperated at your running off like that, you know,” Rosalie said, her voice filled with warmth. “But she also would have been proud. You have her spirit—unruly but pure. She’d be happy to see you taking part in something so grand.”

Daella smiled, the image of her mother watching over her filling her mind. She wondered if her mother could see her now, if her mother could feel how much she wished to make her proud too. “Do you think… one day, I’ll get to ride a dragon like the Velaryons?” Daella asked quietly, her voice filled with hope.

Rosalie gave her a thoughtful look. “That I cannot say, dear one. But if anyone can, it would be you,” she replied gently. She brushed a stray lock of Daella’s hair behind her ear, her voice taking on a tender note. “You have a fire in you, Daella.”

They reached the chambers, and Rosalie led Daella back to the vanity, urging her to sit. She took up her comb, her fingers gently untangling the hair that had come loose during the children’s race down the corridors.

“You know, when I first saw you with Prince Daemon,” Rosalie began, her eyes focusing on Daella’s hair as she worked, “I wasn’t sure this was the right place for you. The Red Keep… it’s full of dangers, politics, and people who would take advantage of a girl like you. I worried you wouldn’t be happy here.”

Daella glanced at her through the mirror, her eyes curious. “And now?” she asked softly.

Rosalie paused, her gaze meeting Daella’s in the reflection. “Now, I see a little girl growing stronger every day. You’re learning, adapting, and holding your head high. And I see Prince Daemon cares for you, though he may not show it like other fathers might.” She sighed, her expression softening. “He’s doing his best. And I… I’m grateful for that.”

There was a moment of silence between them before Rosalie resumed her work, her hands deftly braiding Daella’s hair. She tied the end with a golden ribbon, making sure it was secure this time. “There,” she said, her voice tinged with satisfaction. “Now you look ready to take on whatever the world throws at you.”

The door opened just then, and Daemon stood in the doorway, his eyes briefly surveying the scene. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to Rosalie and then settling on Daella. A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Is my zaldrītsos ready?” he asked, his voice warm, yet carrying an underlying command.

Rosalie gave a small bow, her expression neutral. “She’s ready, my prince,” she said, stepping aside to allow Daemon a clearer view of Daella.

Daemon approached, his eyes taking in the sight of his daughter. Her hair was intricately braided, the red and gold of her gown vivid against her pale skin. His eyes met Rosalie’s briefly, a silent acknowledgement passing between them—gratitude, though guarded.

“Thank you, Rosalie,” he said, his tone more respectful than she was used to. He held out his hand to Daella, who took it eagerly.

Rosalie watched as Daella looked up at her father, the pride in her eyes unmistakable. Daemon gave her a nod before turning to leave, Daella at his side. Just before stepping out, Daella turned back, giving Rosalie a small, excited wave.

Rosalie smiled, her heart swelling. “Remember, Daella,” she called softly, “you are as much a dragon as any of them. Go show them.”

With her father’s hand in hers, Daella stepped forward, her heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. Today, she would stand by his side, ready to show the world exactly who she was. Half-finished braid or not.

Rosalie watched them leave, her expression softening as she whispered to herself. “Just like a true dragon.”

The throne room was alive with laughter, music, and the vibrant colours of the nobles’ gowns. The high ceilings echoed with the mingling voices of the nobility of Westeros, their jewelled clothes shimmering in the torchlight. Daella sat on Daemon’s lap, feeling the comfort of his presence behind her, his arm resting securely around her waist. She watched the celebration with wide eyes, her small hands resting on her father’s arm as she took in the splendour of the feast. She liked the height that sitting on Daemon’s lap gave her—it made everything more visible, yet she also felt completely safe.

“House Lannister with their lord, Jason Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West, and Master of Casterly Rock!” Ser Harrold Westerling’s voice echoed through the hall, drawing Daella’s attention.

Daella turned her head, watching as the golden-haired Lord Jason entered with his retinue, the crimson and gold of House Lannister practically shimmering under the torchlight. She glanced up at her father, noticing the slight tightening of his jaw and the way his fingers tapped against the armrest. It was a small gesture, but Daella had come to recognise it as a sign that something—or someone—was bothering him.

Jason approached the dais confidently, a broad smile on his face as he bowed to King Viserys and Rhaenyra. “Congratulations, Your Grace,” he said, his voice carrying over the room. “You have made a fine match for the princess.”

King Viserys gave a polite nod, though his expression remained distant. Rhaenyra spoke with a calm smile, though Daella could sense the restraint in her voice. “Thank you, Lord Jason. I could think of no better man than Ser Laenor.”

Daemon shifted slightly, his arm pulling Daella closer. She leaned back against him, her eyes on Lord Jason, wondering why her father seemed so bothered by the man. She could feel the tension in him, and her young mind struggled to piece together the reason. All she knew was that her father’s protectiveness flared when he didn’t like someone, and right now, she could sense it in the way he held her—possessive, shielding.

Jason, either oblivious to or ignoring the underlying tension, continued. “Well, if this is just the welcome feast, I can only imagine the grandeur awaiting us at the wedding itself,” he said, his tone almost teasing.

Daemon’s lips curled into a smile, though it was sharp around the edges. “Let us hope you’re not disappointed, Lord Lannister. I’d hate for your journey from the West to have been wasted.”

Jason hesitated, a flicker of something in his expression before he turned his gaze downward, noticing Daella sitting comfortably on her father’s lap. His eyes softened as he regarded her, though something in his gaze lingered—something evaluating, assessing, as though he were trying to see beyond her innocence.

“And who might this young lady be?” Jason asked, kneeling slightly to meet her eyes, his smile broadening in a way that seemed meant to be warm. “I hadn’t realised Prince Daemon had brought such a charming young companion.”

Daemon’s fingers paused their tapping, his gaze sharpening, and Daella felt his arm tighten slightly around her middle. She blinked up at Lord Jason, her face curious but not particularly impressed. “I’m Daella,” she replied simply, her tone soft but confident. She gave him a brief glance before her eyes moved back to the room, already more interested in the colourful dancers twirling on the floor than in the man speaking to her.

Jason raised his eyebrows, his smile turning slightly rigid at her lack of interest. He let out a soft chuckle. “Daella, what a lovely name,” he said, his gaze shifting briefly back to Daemon, whose eyes hadn’t left him. “It must be wonderful to be here, among so many noble lords and ladies, at such a young age.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained impassive. His free arm now resting on the sides of his chair, fingers pressed into his temple as if to excude a sense of boredom. Daemon adjusted Daella on his lap, ensuring she was comfortable as she simply shrugged, her gaze still wandering the room. “My father says I belong here, so here is where I am,” she said, her voice nonchalant, as if that settled everything.

Jason seemed to force a chuckle, nodding. “Quite right, quite right,” he said. His gaze lingered on her again, the look of someone evaluating future prospects—someone thinking several steps ahead. It was a look that made Daemon’s arm tighten further around Daella instinctively.

Daemon’s smile grew colder, more dangerous, his voice dropping slightly. “Is there something you wanted, Lord Jason?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual.

Jason blinked, seeming taken aback by the directness. “No, of course not, My Prince,” he said, though there was a slight hesitation before he continued, his smile growing a bit more controlled. “It’s just that—with such strong Valyrian blood, I imagine Lady Daella will have many suitors when the time comes. I was curious if you had begun considering her betrothal. It is never too early to think of alliances, after all.”

Daemon’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a fire in his eyes now, something unmistakable. He leaned back in his chair, making a show of settling in comfortably, his fingers brushing a strand of Daella’s dark silver hair back from her face. “Ah, yes, Lord Jason,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with condescension. “You must still be nursing a wound from missing out on my niece.” His gaze darkened, and his smile turned cold. “But you see, Daella is a child, my child. I am in no rush to make her a pawn for ambitious men who think too highly of themselves.”

Jason’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing briefly before he masked it with another bow. “Of course, Prince Daemon. I meant no offence—merely curiosity.” There was a tightness in his voice now, his confidence visibly cracked.

Daemon’s eyes were cold as ice, his voice dropping to a low, threatening murmur. “Curiosity can be dangerous, Lord Lannister. Especially when it involves my daughter.” He let the words settle, his stare unyielding.

A loud cough echoed from a few seats away, drawing Daella’s attention to Lord Lyonel Strong, the Hand of the King, and the King himself, both now watching the unfolding scene with sharp interest. The King’s lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line, his gaze unwavering.

Jason hesitated, then gave a short, stiff bow. “As you say, My Prince.” He turned quickly, his charm visibly shaken as he walked away, his retinue following him out of sight.

Daemon watched until Jason had disappeared into the crowd, his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he looked over at his brother and shrugged with a smirk on his face. As he looked down at Daella, his expression softened, and he leaned closer to her, his voice gentle. “Are you all right, zaldrītsos?”

Daella nodded, wrinkling her nose a little. “He talked a lot,” she said, her tone more annoyed than worried. She glanced up at her father, her small hands gripping his sleeve. “And he asked strange questions.”

Daemon let out a low chuckle, brushing his thumb gently against her cheek. “Yes, he does talk a lot,” he agreed, his voice filled with amusement and a touch of pride. “Men like him think their words can get them what they want.”

Daella thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t like him,” she stated, her gaze drifting back to the continuing procession, the lively colours and sounds much more interesting to her.

“Good,” Daemon responded, his eyes returning to the ongoing revelry. “I don’t either.” He spoke the words simply, without hesitation, as if it was an undeniable truth.

As the next group of nobles approached, Daella noticed a figure pushing through the crowd with a sense of purpose. His eyes were locked on Daemon, his face set in grim determination. Daella’s heart began to pound again as the man stepped forward, bowing stiffly to King Viserys and Rhaenyra.

“Your Grace. Princess Rhaenyra. Congratulations are in order,” he said, though his voice lacked warmth. As he straightened, his gaze moved to Daemon, and it stayed there, intense and filled with something Daella recognized—anger, perhaps even hatred.

King Viserys greeted Ser Gerold politely, though there was a hint of confusion on his face. “We are very honoured to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold,” he said, wiping his hand with a kerchief resting on his plate. “I must say, I was most distressed to hear of Lady Rhea’s tragic passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Lady Rhea was a unique character,” Ser Gerold replied, his voice tight. “Her kind… is not soon to be seen again.” His gaze was fixed on Daemon, the accusation clear.

Rhaenyra, ever diplomatic, offered a kind smile. “If there is anything the crown might do to aid House Royce…” Her voice was soft, and placating, but Daella could sense the shift in the atmosphere. The warmth that had filled the room moments ago seemed to cool, the air turning heavy.

The drums began to beat, their rhythmic pulse heralding the arrival of someone important. Daella turned her head, her eyes widening as a tall, broad-shouldered man entered first. His silver hair caught the light, shimmering like molten steel. Beside him walked a striking woman, her dark hair threaded with silver strands that sparkled with each movement. There was an austere, regal beauty about her that made Daella wonder if she might grow up to look even a fraction as beautiful.

All eyes seemed to be drawn to her, commanding attention with an effortless grace. Following closely behind was a young woman with cascading silver curls, breathtaking in her own right, and a tall young man, not much older than Rhaenyra. He possessed an unusual prettiness for a knight, carrying himself with a bearing that Daella found enchanting—something almost otherworldly.

Ser Harrold’s voice echoed, commanding attention. “Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark! And his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen; their daughter the Lady Laena Velaryon and their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future king consort!”

The applause was thunderous as the Velaryons approached. Rhaenyra stood to meet Laenor, her face lighting up with warmth. Daella watched, but her attention shifted to her father, who eyed the interaction with narrowed eyes, a flicker of something—irritation, jealousy—crossing his face. She reached up, brushing her small hand against his sleeve in an attempt to comfort him, sensing his discomfort without fully understanding its source.

He glanced down, and his expression softened at her touch. He placed a hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “They’re just playing their parts,” he murmured to her, though whether he spoke more to her or to himself, Daella wasn’t sure.

King Viserys continued his address to the gathered nobility, his voice carrying across the hall. “Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning…”

His words trailed off as his gaze fixed at the far end of the hall, and Daella followed the line of his sight. Standing alone in the entryway was Queen Alicent, her emerald gown, unlike anything Daella had ever seen her wear before. It was daring, with an off-the-shoulder neckline, and the colour seemed to blaze in the candlelight. Alicent moved forward, and as she did, the guests rose, parting in her wake.

She stopped before Rhaenyra, her voice icy. “Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you.”

Rhaenyra blinked, caught off guard, but before she could reply, Alicent was already moving on, kissing the king’s cheek and slipping into her seat as though nothing unusual had occurred.

Daemon let out a low chuckle, leaning down so that his lips brushed Daella’s ear. “And so the game begins,” he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement.

Daella didn’t understand everything, but she knew enough to realize that something significant had shifted tonight. The tension between Alicent and Rhaenyra, the subtle anger behind polite smiles—it made her uneasy. She leaned closer to Daemon, finding comfort in the solid warmth of his arm around her.

The speeches continued, but the excitement of the night was fading for Daella, replaced by the heaviness of fatigue. She felt the weight of the grand hall—the watchful eyes, the shifting alliances, the careful smiles—and it made her feel small. Daemon noticed, glancing down at her with a soft expression before he gently lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “Time for bed, zaldrītsos,” he whispered, his tone affectionate.

“May I say goodnight to Ser Harwin first?” she asked, her voice muffled as she rested her head on his shoulder.

Daemon’s smile returned, faint but genuine. “Of course,” he replied, shifting her weight slightly as he turned to leave.

They had only taken a few steps when a voice called out, harsh and demanding. “Prince Daemon.”

Daemon turned slowly, and Daella tensed in his arms, her eyes widening as she saw Ser Gerold Royce approaching. His face was set in determination, his eyes blazing with anger. She could feel the tension returning, thick and heavy, as Ser Gerold stopped before them.

“In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes. Even Targaryens,” Ser Gerold said, his voice steady but filled with fury.

Daemon arched an eyebrow, his gaze cool and dismissive. “Who are you?” he asked, as if the man before him were of no consequence.

“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone,” the man replied, his chin lifting, his tone defiant.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his lips curving into an uninterested smile. “And?”

“I am cousin to your late lady wife,” Ser Gerold said, his voice tight with a barely controlled rage.

“Ah, yes,” Daemon drawled, his expression shifting to mock sympathy. “Terrible thing. I’m positively bereft. Such a tragic accident.”

Daella felt her stomach twist uncomfortably. There was something cold, almost cruel, in her father’s voice, and she pressed her face against his shoulder, not wanting to see the rage in Ser Gerold’s eyes.

“You know better than anyone, it was no accident,” Ser Gerold said, his voice growing sharper, the accusation hanging between them.

Daemon’s smirk widened. “Are you confessing some guilt, Ser Gerold?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery.

The air between them felt charged, like a storm about to break. Daella’s heart pounded, and she clung to her father’s cloak, feeling the tension in every word exchanged.

“I am making an accusation,” Ser Gerold snapped, his face flushed with anger.

Daemon shifted Daella slightly in his arms, his gaze hardening. “In King’s Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you,” he said, his voice cold and cutting.

Daella flinched at the harsh words, her breath catching in her throat. She didn’t understand everything that was happening, but she could sense the danger, the way Ser Gerold’s eyes bore into her father’s, filled with hatred.

Daemon’s expression remained unchanged, his smile almost cruel. “The truth is, I’m glad you’ve come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance.”

Ser Gerold’s eyes narrowed further, suspicion mingling with his anger. “What inheritance?”

Daemon’s tone turned casual, almost cheerful. “Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband, whatever she was due now passes to me. She stood to inherit all of Runestone, did she not?”

Daella felt a shiver run down her spine. There was something about the way her father spoke—detached, calculating—that made her uneasy. She knew he would always protect her, but his kindness came with sharp edges. She buried her face into his cloak, hoping the confrontation would end soon.

Ser Gerold’s face twisted, his anger almost palpable, but Daemon didn’t linger. He looked down at Daella, his expression softening. “After my niece’s wedding, I plan to fly to the Eyrie and petition Lady Jeyne myself. Perhaps I’ll see you there, Ser Gerold.”

Without waiting for a reply, Daemon turned, his arm holding Daella securely. She rested her head on his shoulder, trying to steady her breathing, her fingers clutching his cloak tightly.

“Come, zaldrītsos,” Daemon murmured, his lips brushing against her hair as he walked away. “Let’s find Ser Harwin.”

Daella nodded, her heart still pounding from what she had witnessed. She didn’t fully understand the weight of what had happened between Daemon and Ser Gerold, but she knew enough to feel the danger. She wondered what her father could have done to make this man so hostile. Even so, in Daemon’s arms, she knew she was safe. And as long as he was with her, no matter the storm brewing around them, she could take comfort in that.

As they moved further away from the dais, Daella felt the atmosphere shift. Up at the head table, there was a suffocating sense of formality—a stiffness that seemed to come from the weight of their royal titles. The smiles were tight, their laughter scarce, and their words carefully measured but empty. It was as if being royal somehow drained the simple joys from their lives.

In contrast, among the tables below, there was an unmistakable sense of ease. Laughter rang out freely, people smiled without restraint, cups clinked in carefree toasts, and conversation flowed naturally. It was a stark difference—one Daella couldn’t help but notice. Since arriving at court, she had rarely seen her uncle Viserys laugh, not in the way that these people did. He was the king, yet he seemed to carry the burden of the world on his shoulders, his joy held hostage by duty and expectation.

“Brother,” Viserys called, his voice carrying across the hall as he rose from his seat and beckoned Daemon over. Daella glanced up at her uncle, noting the tired distance in his eyes. His daughter sat further down the table, animated in conversation with her betrothed and his family, appearing to have all but forgotten his presence. His wife, too, was absent, having made some excuse to leave. Amidst all the grandeur and the heraldry, Daella saw the profound loneliness that clung to her uncle, a king whose crown seemed to cost him more than it gave.

Daemon sighed beside her, the sound heavy with reluctance as he let go of her hand. He looked down at her, his gaze softening, and leaned in to brush his lips against her forehead. “Go on, zaldrītsos. Find Ser Harwin. I shan’t be long,” he murmured, his tone laced with reassurance though tinged with the impatience of having to deal with courtly matters.

She nodded, slipping from his side. She knew he likely assumed he was about to be chastised for his treatment of Ser Gerold and Lord Jason, yet Daella sensed something else behind her uncle’s summons. Something simpler, more human—perhaps, she thought, he just wanted the company of his brother.

Daella turned away from her father and uncle, her attention shifting back to her task. She moved gracefully through the crowd, weaving between tables, her fingers deftly snatching a small cake from the edge of a platter as she passed. The sweetness lingered on her tongue as she made her way in search of Ser Harwin.

When she finally found him, he didn’t seem to notice her approach. His gaze was fixed on the dance floor, his eyes locked onto Princess Rhaenyra as she spun in the arms of her betrothed, Laenor Velaryon. They were a striking pair—radiant, effortless, as if they were the embodiment of a tale meant to inspire songs.

Rhaenyra was draped in a gown of luxurious cream and soft gold, the fabric shimmering faintly in the flickering torchlight, while the delicate embroidery along the bodice and sleeves spoke of meticulous craftsmanship. The fitted bodice embraced her form with an elegance that was both regal and effortless, the laces at the front cinched with precision. The sleeves were long and flowing, moving like liquid silk as she glided across the floor, adding an almost otherworldly quality to her presence. The wide cuffs, adorned with intricate golden filigree, nearly skimmed the ground, creating a fluid, entrancing sway with every step she took. The scoop neckline framed her collarbones, accentuating her grace while leaving her looking fragile yet undeniably noble. The dress was both light in its movement and lavish in its adornment, a perfect reflection of her.

Daella found herself unable to look away, entirely entranced by the sight before her. She couldn’t fault Ser Harwin for staring—she was doing the same. Rhaenyra seemed like a vision from the stories her father had told her, like a Valyrian princess of old, and Daella could only wish that one day she might carry herself with even a fraction of such beauty and poise.

But where Daella’s gaze was filled with wide-eyed admiration, there was something different, something restrained and almost painful in Ser Harwin’s eyes. It was the same look she had seen her father give Rhaenyra, a look that carried the weight of things unsaid—admiration tempered by something else she couldn’t put into words, a quiet struggle hidden beneath a mask of calm.

Daella reached up with her sticky fingers, tugging insistently on Ser Harwin’s doublet, her small hands grasping at the rich fabric until he looked down, his stern expression melting into something warmer and softer at the sight of her. The noise and commotion of the feast buzzed around them—laughter, clinking goblets, and the hum of a hundred conversations—but Ser Harwin’s attention turned solely to her.

“Hello, little flame. Enjoying the feast?” he asked warmly, his deep voice resonating like a calming lull amidst the chaos. He scooped her up easily, settling her onto his lap. Even seated, his broad shoulders and towering presence made her feel sheltered, cocooned away from the grandness of the hall. His body, solid as a shield, was a comfort against the unpredictability that swirled in the room.

“It’s fun,” Daella said, her eyes darting around the hall, taking in the dancers, the tables laden with food, and the people dressed in rich colours of red, gold, and black. Everything seemed grand and overwhelming, and her voice, small but confident, carried a hint of awe. “But there are a lot of people. Father was arguing with that man over there,” she added, gesturing subtly toward Ser Gerold, who stood across the hall, his face still flushed with lingering anger. Her nose wrinkled in an attempt to understand what had happened. “He seems to blame Father for some kind of accident.”

Ser Harwin’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something darker flashing across his eyes—something that Daella, despite her innocence, caught and pondered. He drew a breath, ready to offer an explanation, but before he could speak, another voice—a smooth, almost oily tone—interrupted. It was a voice that seemed to carry both gentleness and malice, a subtle danger woven into each word.

“There are many in the Seven Kingdoms who bear ill will toward your father,” the voice said.

Daella twisted around, her gaze settling on the man who had spoken. He was seated next to Ser Harwin, and though she hadn’t noticed him before, he looked utterly unremarkable. His features were plain, his clothes drab compared to the finery around them, and his hair hung in limp, greasy strands. But his eyes were something else—dark and unfathomable, like two bottomless pits that seemed to know too much. They unsettled her, those eyes, and she instinctively shifted closer to Ser Harwin, her small hands clutching at his sleeve.

Daella had heard what people said about her father—the Rogue Prince, the feared warrior, the dragon rider with a temper as fierce as fire. People spoke of his ruthlessness, his volatile nature, and they feared him. But to her, he was her protector, the one who read her stories, taught her to defend herself, and made sure she was educated—gifts most girls could only dream of. He called her special, and he showed it with his unwavering kindness and care. How could anyone see him as a monster when all she saw was love?

“Why would anyone want to hurt my father?” Daella asked, her voice small but firm, her brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to piece together the fragments of what she knew.

The man opened his mouth, his dark eyes glinting with something she couldn’t read—something she wasn’t sure she wanted to understand. But before he could answer, Ser Harwin’s voice cut in sharply, his deep timbre taking on an edge that Daella had never heard directed at her before. “Your father is a dangerous man, little flame. He’s powerful, and not everyone likes how he chooses to wield that power.” Harwin paused, his gaze shifting to the man, a glare as sharp as Valyrian steel. “But he’s fair, and he cares for you more than anything.” He smiled, softer now, the warmth returning as his eyes settled back on Daella. “Pay no mind to Larys. He enjoys scaring people who don’t know any better.”

Daella eyed Larys warily, deciding she did not like him at all. There was something slippery about him, something in the way he seemed to slither into conversations uninvited, a hint of amusement in his tone as if he revelled in others’ discomfort. She added him to her mental list of people to avoid, right beside Lord Jason Lannister.

“Father said I have to go to bed soon,” she announced, her tone betraying a hint of annoyance. She shifted in Ser Harwin’s lap, as if considering whether to linger longer. “But I wanted to say goodnight first. You know, before I get sent off.”

She paused, looking at Harwin, her eyes wide and earnest. “Father says rest is important, but I think he just doesn’t want me listening to the grown-up talk.” She leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “I always hear interesting things, though. Like the time you called Ser Criston a—”

“Enough of that now,” Harwin quickly cut in, though his smile gave him away. He shook his head with a mix of exasperation and affection.

With a small sigh, she slid off Harwin’s lap, her feet touching the ground with a gentle thud. Before leaving, she glanced at Larys, her eyes narrowing slightly, as though she were trying to figure him out. There was a flicker of disdain, almost as if she already knew more about him than she should at her age, but it was softened by her inherent innocence.

She turned back to Harwin, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Goodnight, Ser Breakbones,” she said, offering a tiny, deliberate nod that carried all the flourish of her father’s dramatic gestures. “Make sure your brother doesn’t trick you into anything. I think he likes playing games.”

Harwin stifled a laugh, ruffling her hair gently. “I’ll be careful, little flame,” he replied, his voice filled with warmth.

Satisfied, she turned on her heel, licking her sticky fingers as she began her search for her father, her eyes darting down the hallway. Her small frame moved with purpose, her steps light but confident, leaving behind an air of innocence mixed with the echoes of her father’s bravado.

It didn’t take long to find her father. He stood on the dance floor, spinning a beautiful woman in his arms. Her long hair flowed like molten silver, catching the torchlight with every turn, and Daella recognized her as Lady Laena Velaryon, one of the women who had arrived with Lord Corlys and Ser Laenor. The smile on Daemon’s face was different from any she’d seen before—broad, almost wicked, his eyes alight with a playful glint that was unmistakably Daemon. He looked roguishly happy, his gaze lingering on Laena with a mix of admiration and something deeper, something that made Daella’s young mind tingle with curiosity. His grin widened whenever Laena laughed, her hand resting confidently on his shoulder, their bodies moving together in a way that spoke of mutual interest.

It was rare to see him like this—so openly joyous, yet with that edge of mischief that was always present, a reminder that her father was the Rogue Prince, no matter where he was. But even as he exuded that air of confidence and intrigue, Daella could see something else in his expression—something genuine that softened the hard lines of his face. Whoever Lady Laena was, she made her father feel light, even if just for this fleeting moment, and that made Daella feel a pang of warmth in her chest. A part of her was happy to see him so unburdened, but another part felt a little left out. This was a side of her father she rarely got to see—carefree and truly alive.

She watched them for a few moments, mesmerized by how easily they moved together, their laughter blending with the music in a way that made everything else fade. Daemon looked younger, more like the man from the stories she had heard—the one who was bold and wild, full of life. It was strange to see this version of him, but it made Daella smile, even if it also brought a hint of longing. She wished she could join them, to be part of that joy and ease.

As the dance came to an end, Daemon leaned in to murmur something to Laena, his lips brushing close to her ear, his eyes still fixed on her with that playful intensity. His hand lingered at her waist for a moment longer before he finally pulled away. He turned, his eyes sweeping over the crowd until they found Daella standing there, watching. His smile shifted, softening ever so slightly, and with a flick of his eyes toward the door, he gave her a silent command to leave. It was time for her to return to her chambers as she was supposed to. Daella’s shoulders slumped slightly, her lips forming a pout, but she knew better than to argue. She nodded reluctantly and turned, making her way toward the side door of the great hall.

On her way, she caught sight of two familiar silver heads peeking out from behind one of the long tables at the far end of the hall. Aegon and Aemond, crouched low, were reaching up with small hands to grab bits of meat, cakes, and fruit from the serving platters, hurriedly piling them onto a shared plate on the floor between them. Daella could tell by their furtive glances and quick movements that they weren’t supposed to be there—just like she wasn’t supposed to be there anymore. But how could anyone resist the enchantment of the feast—the music, the laughter, the clinking goblets, and the vibrant energy that filled the hall? It was like a scene from the tales her father used to tell her, and leaving it behind felt almost impossible.

Her gaze drifted back to the dance floor, and she saw Rhaenyra now, her laughter ringing out as Ser Harwin lifted her effortlessly, spinning her with a strength that seemed almost effortless. Rhaenyra’s cheeks were flushed, her silvery hair catching the light as she moved, her joy infectious. Daella bit her lip, a pang of longing tugging at her chest. She wanted to be out there, to feel the swirl of her dress, the rush of being spun around, the laughter bubbling in her throat. Her father had promised her that one day she would have that chance, that she would have a place out there on the dance floor. But for now, her feet stayed rooted on the sidelines, her heart aching to be part of it all.

Without making a sound, Daella crept towards her cousins. They were so focused on their game, so sure of their hidden spot, that they didn’t notice her until she slammed her small hands down on their shoulders. Both boys froze, their eyes widening in shock, their mouths dropping open. For a moment, they were utterly speechless, and Daella struggled to contain her laughter, her chest bubbling with glee at their startled faces.

“What are you two doing?” she asked, once she managed to catch her breath, squeezing in between them and helping herself to one of the stolen cakes.

Aegon’s grin returned quickly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’re betting on which lord will fall face-first into his plate first,” he whispered conspiratorially, pointing across the hall. “Aemond thinks it’ll be Lord Jason, but I’m betting on Lord Boremund.” He nodded toward a man with a flushed face and a swaying stance, his robes of yellow and black barely fitting across his broad frame.

Daella giggled, shaking her head. “You two are impossible,” she whispered, though there was no real reprimand in her voice. She couldn’t help but feel the thrill of their little rebellion, the joy of being part of something a little bit forbidden.

But her gaze shifted from her cousins back to the dance floor, and her smile faded. The dancers had changed partners, and now her father was with Rhaenyra. They were too close, their bodies taut, and Daella could see the hard line of her father’s jaw, the way his fingers dug into Rhaenyra’s neck, possessive and unyielding. His earlier joy was gone, replaced by something darker—anger, jealousy, perhaps even longing. Whatever it was, it wasn’t happiness. It was something that made Daella’s stomach twist uneasily.

She remembered the morning in the gardens, how she had asked if he was happy for Rhaenyra and her upcoming marriage. His answer had been vague, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Now, seeing the way he looked at Rhaenyra, the tension in his grip, Daella understood. He wasn’t happy. Far from it.

“Come on,” Daella whispered, her voice urgent as she grabbed both Aegon’s and Aemond’s hands. She pulled them along, weaving through the crowded hall, her eyes fixed on her father and Rhaenyra. There was something between them—something heavy, like a storm ready to break—and Daella felt a burning need to understand, to hear what was being said.

“What about the cake?” Aegon whined, his voice filled with reluctant protest. He stumbled along, casting one last longing glance at their stolen treats. But before he could continue his complaint, a high-pitched scream tore through the hall, sharp and shrill, cutting through the music and laughter like a blade.

The joyful atmosphere shattered in an instant. The music stopped abruptly, and chaos erupted. Nobles shouted, the crowd turning into a sea of confusion as people shoved and pushed, desperate to move away from the centre of the commotion. Daella’s heart pounded in her chest, her small hands gripping Aegon’s and Aemond’s tightly as the crowd surged around them. The force of the panicked bodies was too much, and she felt her cousins’ hands slip from hers, their voices drowned out by the rising noise.

“Aegon! Aemond!” she cried, her voice barely audible over the chaos. Panic gripped her, her breath quickening as she tried to push her way through the crowd. She felt herself being shoved, her feet stumbling until she lost her balance, the stone floor rushing up to meet her. Pain exploded in her head as she hit the ground, her vision blurring with tears.

Before she could even comprehend what had happened, she felt someone pulling her backwards, dragging her under one of the tables. She blinked, her head throbbing, her vision hazy as she looked up to see Aegon and Aemond staring down at her, their eyes wide with fear.

“Ella, are you alright?” Aegon asked, his voice cracking as he knelt beside her, his brow furrowed in worry.

Daella tried to sit up, but the world tilted dangerously, her stomach churning. Aemond quickly wrapped his arm around her, steadying her, his small face set with determination. “My head hurts a little,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, “but I think I’m okay.”

"Put me down!" Rhaenyra's voice, sharp and furious, sliced through the chaos like a blade. Beneath the red tablecloth, Daella peeked out, her small fingers clutching the thick fabric as though it were her only anchor. The scene beyond was a whirl of movement—bodies shifting, shouts ringing out, the echo of clattering armour.

Ser Laenor was on his knees, crawling towards a still figure, the face mangled beyond recognition, one eye gone, the other bearing no signs of life. Above him, Ser Criston stood stiffly, his gauntleted hands dripping with blood, his expression was as cold as the steel still resting in its scabbard. The blood had pooled beneath the body, dark and glistening, spreading in slow, deliberate tendrils that crept across the stone floor.

Aegon and Aemond scrambled back, their eyes wide, filled with a look of revulsion. Daella could not move. She watched, rooted in place, as the creeping pool of crimson reached her, soaking into the knees of her dress, staining the golden embroidery a horrible red. The warm stickiness seemed to cling to her, a mark of the violence that had erupted before her innocent eyes.

Ser Laenor's cries of grief broke through the din, raw and heart-wrenching, echoing through the great hall. The agony in his voice seemed to reverberate off the stone walls, filling every corner of the room with an unbearable weight. Daella's heart pounded painfully, her breath shallow, as the horror of what she was witnessing began to settle in—an understanding of the brutal, bloody world she now belonged to.

“Where is my daughter?!” Her father’s voice echoed through the hall, calm at first, then growing louder, edged with panic. “Where is she, Harwin?!” There was no answer, and the desperation in his voice grew sharper. “Where is my fucking daughter?!”

“Daella?!” Daemon’s voice, raw with fear, called out again. At that moment, Aegon, distracted and flustered, hit his head on the underside of the table, letting out a sharp “Ow!” that gave away their hiding spot.

The tablecloth was suddenly yanked aside, and Aegon and Aemond instinctively grabbed the nearest objects—a bent knife and a broken chalice—brandishing them in defence. Daella blinked, her eyes moving from her cousins to her father. His face, usually a mask of control and calculation, was a mixture of relief, fear, and something softer—something vulnerable.

Without hesitation, Daella crawled towards him, and Daemon knelt, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. “You too, boys. Out you come—go to your father,” Daemon said, his voice gentler now, the anger gone, replaced by exhaustion and something akin to gratitude. He wasn’t angry. He was relieved—they were all safe.

Daemon lifted Daella effortlessly, cradling her as Aegon and Aemond scrambled out, following behind. Together, they moved through the hall. Aemond rushed ahead, disappearing into Queen Alicent’s arms as she knelt to check him over, her face pale with worry. Aegon lingered a moment, his eyes flicking to Daella before joining his mother and brother.

King Viserys approached them, his eyes settling on Daella, his voice heavy with concern. “Are you alright, my dear child?” he asked, his gaze soft, the worry etched clearly on his face. It was a look meant for her—not his own children. The fact was not lost on Queen Alicent, whose expression darkened, nor on Aegon and Aemond, who watched with wide eyes.

Daemon’s expression shifted, a smirk playing on his lips as his gaze flicked toward Alicent. There was something mocking in his eyes, a satisfaction that Daella didn’t fully understand. He spoke to Viserys, his words chosen carefully. “She’s fine, brother. I’ll take her to the maester while you see to your sons.” His eyes moved pointedly to Alicent, her arms wrapped protectively around her children, his gaze filled with a silent, gloating message that he, Rhaenyra and now Daella came first. The subtle curl of his lips, the coldness in his stare—it was all there, a reminder that he took pleasure in seeing her discomfort.

Alicent’s eyes narrowed, her expression tightening, but she said nothing. Daemon gave the Queen a curt nod before turning his attention back to Daella, holding her a little closer as they moved away. Whatever games the adults played, Daella knew one thing for certain—her father would always chose her.

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[daenysthedreamer101]

Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Prologue

HOTD x Targaryen!OC, evenutal Targaryen!OC x Harwin Strong

Word count: 400

"In the year 97, Queen Alysanne betrothed her grandson, Prince Daemon, to Lady Rhea Royce who was the heiress to Runestone. Begrudgingly, the young prince who was then 16, agreed. Rhea herself was only 15. There was no love between the two. Daemon found the Vale boring, his lady wife included. Still, they did their marital duty. Half a year later, in the early months of 98 AC, lady Rhea discovered she was with child. To everyone's surprise, the Prince was delighted. Most delighted of all was the Good Queen Alysanne. Just a year prior, her granddaughter Aemma Arryn delivered a baby girl, Rhaenyra. Another great-grandchild was on the way and it warmed the heart of the Good Queen." 

("Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros" by Archmaester Gyldayn)

~

In the high mountains of the Vale, in the early hours of the sixth day of the tenth month of 98 AC, Lady Rhea began her labors. After several discussions, it was decided that she would give birth at Runestone. Lady Rhea wasn't fond of how busy and packed the Red Keep seemed to be. She wanted to give birth in the comfort of her own home. And so she did. 

After many hours, the child was born. It was a girl. A healthy babe, with strong lungs and an even stronger appetite, the girl was named Daena. Some at court speculated that Daemon named the girl after himself, but Rhea claimed that her daughter was named in honor of the late Princess Daella, who was the wife of Lord Rodrick Arryn and the Lady of the Vale. Either way, after the news of Daena's birth reached the Old King and his Good Queen, the bells of the Great Sept in King's Landing rang for an entire day. 

The young lady Rhea adored her daughter. She fed the child at her own breast and refused a wet nurse. As would be expected, the little girl took after her father and had the traditional Valyrian features of House Targaryen - pale lilac eyes and silver-gold hair. The father, Prince Daemon, was also smitten by his daughter. 

"Ñuha zaldrītsos", the Prince whispered in High Valyrian as he rocked the newborn in his arms.

----

High Valyrian:

Ñuha zaldrītsos - My little dragon

***

Here it is! My first HOTD fanfic! This is obviously just the prologue and it is quite short, but I enjoy it. I also plan on writing other HOTD/GOT fanfics as well, but I will do one series at a time.

Hope you liked it, and thanks for reading! ❤❤❤

If you have any opinions feel free to comment!

P. S.

It has come to my attention that there was another hotd fanfic with the same name as mine with the premise of a Daemon/Rhea child (Bronze Fury). Out of respect for the author, the fact that it come out way before mine and cause I genuinely don't want any problems I changed the name of my fic.

Again I'd like to thank the person who notified me, @vampbuzz11 you're a real one. ❤

[oosleepyfaeoo]

His Little Dragon

A. Targaryen x Child!Reader

Summary: You gave him happiness but a what cost?

Warnings: a lot of angst, death, prepare to cry

Words: 1k

A/n: English is not my first language.

Masterlist

I got inspiration writing this because of this song sooo I'm gonna leave it here for you guys listening while reading.

The harsh wind ran past Aemond's slim figure. His pale skin was numb from the cold gust mixed with small drops of rain constantly flowing down his body. His tears blended with the rain. 

Vhagar stood a few meters away from her rider, groaning in sorrow as she senses his emotions. Behind him was his sister and mother. Both of them cried silently while hugging each other.  

Your joyful laugh still echoes through his head, and your mischievous smile still burned in his eye. Your soft floral scent still lingers in his nose.  

Walking forward, Aemond puts your favorite toy beside your fragile little body. Wrapped in soft white cloth. 

“Kepa jorrāelagon ao sīr olvie, ñuha zaldrītsos.” He whispers as he kisses your head. (Father loves you so much, My little Dragon.) 

/// 

You were his pride and joy. His little flame. 

The first time he saw you, you were fighting with a boy much bigger than you. Kicking his legs to make him kneel and get some bread from his hands. Desperately shoving a piece into your small mouth.  

Smiling softly, he walks toward you. Throwing some coins to the boy to make him leave, Aemond crouches down and offers his waterskin to you.  

Frowning, you eyed him carefully. Suspicious of his intentions. But you were so thirsty that you couldn’t care less if he would slap you, kidnap you or kill you.  

Drinking greedily, Aemond examines you closely. Seeing the miserable state of your dress, all dirty and full of holes. Your little legs were full of scratches and bruises as well your arms. But what caught his attention while he was visiting the Flea Bottom streets, was your long silver hair.  

You had the blood of the dragon in you, that Aemond was sure. But who was your father? The first person coming to his head was his pig of a brother. Aegon.  

You must be his.  

“What’s your name, child?” He asks gently.  

You give his waterskin back, empty now. “I-I don’t h-have o-o-one.” you stuttered. 

Aemond hums. “Do you know how old you are?”  

A proud smile appears on your round face. “I-I’m fi-five!” you said while thrusting your tiny hand to him, showing all your five fingers. 

Offering his large hand to you, Aemond smiles gently at you. “Would you like to see the Castle?”  

Nodding eagerly, you let him take you away from that miserable place.  

Since that day, you were his little dragon. His sweet daughter. He named you Y/n, relishing your sweet smile as you repeat your new name over and over again. 

His mother wasn’t happy with his action, afraid of what people would think of this mysterious silver-haired child. But her worries quickly disappeared as she observes you and Aemond interact, acting like you two knew each other all your lives. Never had she seen her son so happy before. 

Helaena was thrilled to have you in her family, playing with you and her children in the gardens while teaching you everything about bugs.  

Aegon didn’t even notice you, choosing to drown all his problems in wine and whores. Which was for the best since Aemond didn’t want him near you. 

You and Aemond would spend hours and hours in the library. He would teach you to read and write, ignoring Septon's pleas. Saying that he didn’t trust anyone else than himself to be your teacher. 

To Aemond's surprise, you were a quick learner. But you had an issue, you have a speech problem. Which made it difficult for you to make friends. Children would laugh and make cruel jokes about your speech every time you tried to communicate with them.

That would lead you to spend all your time with your adoptive father. You were his little shadow. Whenever he was, you weren’t far. 

Aemond took you to meet Vhagar one morning, laughing softly as he sees the look of awe on your chubby face.  

Your bravery also surprised him. You carefully ran to Vhagar, the big dragon lowering her head to your level, so you could pet her snout gently. Giggles left your mouth as you feel her warm breath tickle your face.  

You two would ride through the clear skies on Vhagar’s back all day. Aemond promise you that he would take you to travel through the seven kingdoms, showing you all the world's wonders.  

That night, while he was reading you a bedtime story. You grab his hand and make him look down at you.  

“W-Will I ever ha-ha-have a dragon, K-kepa?” You timidly asked. 

Aemond closes the book and put it away. He smiles down at you, putting a silver lock behind your small ear.  

“Of course you will, my sweet daughter.” He kisses your head and pulls the blankets up, keeping you protected from the cold night. “When you grow up, you will claim your dragon. Like I did... And then, we will fly together side by side.” 

Little did he know that he could not keep his promise. 

Winter has come and the Stranger walked through Westeros. Collecting lives from Lords, Ladies, Septons, servants, and especially... yours. 

One cloudy morning, Aemond runs through your chamber’s doors. The room is full of maids, working quickly around the room while Maester stood beside your bed. Where you laid there, pale as a ghost.  

The Maester tried everything to bring your fever down. Gave you every potion he could think of it, put you in a cold bath, and gave you a special tea from Free Cities which was said to be the cure for all illness. But nothing worked.  

You only got worse every day.   

“K-Kepa...” You whimper, a grim smile on your face. "It h-hurts..."

Aemond sits beside your limp form, cupping your face gently. Your skin was hot to the touch, but you shivered like you were in the middle of a snowstorm.  

“It’s okay, little dragon...” He says with a teary smile. “Kepa is here... You will be alright...”  

But that was a lie. 

Two days later you died. The city bells rang for days as the King’s Landing folk mourn their Princess’s death.  

On that day, Aemond also died. His soul becomes empty and joyless, the only feeling he felt the most being hatred.  

Hatred for the illness that killed. Hatred for the Maester for not being able to cure you. Hatred for the Stranger that took you from him. Hatred for himself for not being able to protect you like he promised he would... 

/// 

“My Prince... It is time.” Septon's voice brought him back, his lilac gaze focus on your frail form laying on the wooden pit. 

“See you soon, my little dragon.” He whispers, tears running down freely on his face. 

Take a step back, his eye never leaving your wrapped figure. You were with the Gods now and soon he will join you.  

Biting back a cry, he took a deep breath and finally let you rest in piece. 

“...Dracarys...” 

Are you crying yet? >.>

Tag list: @cryptid-l0ver @saelwen @saelwen-shy-elf @papichulo120627

[aphrodisiac-siren]

Dynasty of Flames

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen-Royce Reader

Summary: Being born into the most respected and equally feared houses in the realm made people look up to you as if you were a god and the devil himself, in equal measure. People say that when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin; and when news of the birth of Daemon's firstborn- a girl, spread, people could only wait in anticipation to see which side of the coin faced up during her birth.

Warnings: Incest (duh) mentions of blood/gore, swearing.

AN: Not proofread so I will simply die of mortification after I've had a chance to read this whole thing in peace later this evening.

Masterlist

Part 19

GIF by unravelingthepain

“Māzigon va ñuha zaldrītsos" He chuckled adoringly at his daughter as he circled around her with sword in hand, watching her huff adorably with annoyance as she rose to her feet "sylugon qopsa"

"Come on my little dragon, try harder"

Y/N gripped the hilt of the sword tighter, knuckles turning white as her cheeks flushed red- a result of her temper flaring up. This was her fourth- no, fifth time losing to her kepa in a dual and the defeat was doing her no good in keeping her cool. Meanwhile, her father seemed to be quite amused by her short temper.

Daemon had taken the task of training his daughter with the sword himself, trusting no knight to be skilled enough to teach her nor anyone with enough patience to handle her temper tantrums. She was his daughter after all.

He found it absurd that women weren’t really given any sort of training when it came to weaponry and it was absolutely ridiculous. How was a lady to defend herself? Especially when a good amount of crimes were committed against women?

“This isn’t fair kepa” she pouted as she dusted the muck off her tush, hastily advancing toward him with the sharp weapon they called a sword “you aren’t going easy on me”

“I know” Daemon shrugged as he dodged a rather weak attack attempted by his daughter. He winced slightly when she lost her balance and fell down, grunting as her knees scraped against the rough ground littered with mud and tiny stones “you’ll thank me later”

“Thank you kepa for letting me fall”

“When you are caught in a fight, you will fall a million times and you will get up a million times” he let her stand up on her own, not picking her up himself like how he used to do when she was even younger “but I am training you with such intensity to ensure that it is solely you who should rise to your feet amidst the dead fools who crossed you”

Y/N brushed the hair out of her eyes, eyeing her father ferociously as she yet again lifted her sword.

“Do not rush into an attack” he instructed her, mimicking her actions of circling each other like animals about to pounce in an attack “take a moment to study your opponent. Which side are they leaning toward? Does their footing seem strong?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes not leaving her father’s as she watched him like a hawk. She felt as though she probably even looked like some crazed animal with her clothes stained with mud and her hair all wild.

“Don’t second guess yourself” Daemon spoke softly, a tender smile adorning his lips “a dragon never doubts its ability”

Y/N wished she had visited her mother’s castle much earlier. The serenity of the place was far too therapeutic in comparison to where she lived and she was certain that with the oncoming war, this peaceful place too would fall into chaos.

Wanting to cling to this remaining bit of solitude, she continued to stay here whilst leaving the others in the dark of her whereabouts. They did not care for her or hold any remorse for what they’d done to her by taking away her crown, her reign, her mother. No, all they cared about was power, power, power.

Power for themselves, power to run the world as they see fit,

Power they stole from her.

And the only reason they’d been able to do so, was because she was a woman. How was being born with a cock an important factor for being in line to the throne? And furthermore, how important was it for someone to rule that one would forget their morals, cast aside their humanity and kill their own wife for the sake of being king?

The girl grunted with anger as she picked up her chalice and forcefully flung it across the wall and against the wall. The metallic cup fell to the ground with a loud clatter after it collided against the sturdy wall and she was sure the harsh impact left a dent in the cup.

And yet she was certain that the cup couldn’t have caused such a loud clattering sound for she heard an even louder sound of metal heavily crashing against the stone floor- the noise coming from the other side of her doors.

She stood up, hastily, as she bent down to lift her skirts and retrieve the dagger she kept strapped around her thigh at all times. And gods be good she was so glad she did, for when she finally let her skirts drop down once again, the door swung open to reveal a tall yet lean man standing in the doorway, covered from the waist down with blood. The guards that usually stayed by her door lay in a crumpled heap of tangled limbs and judging by the painful way their necks were twisted in and the pool of blood beginning to form, it was a safe bet to assume they hadn’t been merely knocked out but slaughtered.

“Tell me who sent you and I’ll let you keep your life” Y/N calmly asked, trying her very best to keep the fear and confusion from showing in her voice and body language “take another step and my offer dies and you will as well along with it”

“The one who is to die is going to be you, princess” the man sneered, marching into the room with his sword pointed at her “I’ll use your pretty mouth to fuck my cock before I slice your head off to be given to the one who paid for it”

The girl raised a brow, trying to steady her breathing as she racked her brains to formulate some sort of plan to escape this disaster. He was armed with a sword and she was at a disadvantage with only having a dagger to defend herself. She was well aware she could lead him to his death with the smaller weapon but for that she would need him to either be disarmed or really stupid enough to give her enough space to get closer and drive the dagger into his side.

His body, despite being lean, hung forward awkwardly as he stepped closer and closer, his back hunched over as if he had been carrying something rather heavy on his shoulders.

“Do not rush into an attack”

She let him get closer, until she could practically hear his boots against the floor and she hoped he couldn’t hear her heart threatening to pound its way right out of her ribcage.

His bad posture would work to her advantage; bad posture meant he was probably tired and hence, wouldn’t be fighting her to the fullest of his ability.

He mistook her still, rigid stance to be that of fear and surrender and swung his sword, aiming at her left side.

Foolish mistake.

The moment he raised his arm, Y/N dashed forward in a flash with her dagger held tightly in her grasp and she pushed it into his side, attempting to stab him fatalistically but to her dismay he was quick to push her away from him.

She’d managed to gift him with a deep gash in his side before he had shoved her with such force it sent her stumbling back into her table, her lower back colliding against the wooden edge that sent a sharp pain right up her spine and she winced loudly, muttering profanities under her breath that most people at court would gasp in response to.

The man, now even more wired up, lunged at her again; as if he hadn’t learned his lesson the first time.

This time she let him get even closer; close enough for the sharp blade of his sword to slice her left arm before he let out an agonising scream when Y/N took her chance and buried her dagger into his side that she’d previously only managed to injure.

“Fucking bitch” he growled and clasped his hands around her neck when he lost his grip on his sword that fell to the floor with a clatter as the metal came in contact with the stone.

The princess only grunted in response, twisting the dagger that elicited an even antagonising scream and she used all of her might to kick his shin, an action that had the man stumbling back a few steps before he fell to his knees.

“Who sent you?” Y/N struggled to keep her voice confident as her sleeve began to stain scarlet with the blood that oozed out of the deep wound in her hand.

"The lady Alys Rivers" he managed to respond through his gritted teeth, breaths coming out in pants.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart beating even faster with anger.

"Alys" she repeated "where is she now?"

"As far as I know, she was headed for Harrenhal" he winced as the pain intensified "you said you would spare me my life if I told you"

"I did" Y/N coldly replied as she crouched before him, a new wave of rage washing over her at the mention of Alys "but I also said the offer dies the moment you step in, as will you"

And with that, she aggressively pulled out the dagger from his side and stabbed it into his neck, repeatedly. She was like a woman possessed, fixated on burying the dagger into his neck over and over as his screams died out until his boy lay limp on the cold floor. Blood spewed out and stained the carpet near him, her dress and her face. And even though the man lay lifeless at her feet, she adamantly kept stabbing him, his organs spilling out of his now ripped-open abdomen, until the voice of her aunt snapped her out of her frenzy.

"Princess" she called out as she stood by the door with a bunch of guards at her disposal, visibly afraid after seeing her neice murder a man with such a crazed look "a raven arrived from the Dragonstone"

The girl stood up, eager to hear what her aunt had to say.

"Prince Lucerys has asked for house Royce's support" she spoke with a shaky voice, eyes darting from her niece to the dead mercenary "he wishes to lay his claim to the throne"

Y/N let out a chuckle that seemed to have frightened her aunt and she couldn’t blame her since she was obviously not laughing out of amusement but pure rage.

"Has Jace suddenly grown weary of the war that has barely begun?" she cockily asked "already forfeit his claim and let his brother take on the burden?"

"No, princess" the older woman proceeded with caution and nervousness "prince Jacaerys is dead. As is Aegon, Daemon and Aemond, my lady. A battle broke out in the skies above God's eye and neither of the men nor their dragons survived and from what is mentioned in the letter, they believe you to be dead as well, given your disappearance"

Y/N felt as though the life had been sucked right out of her. Her father was dead?

She was upset at him, enraged even but there were things that needed to be discussed, amends to be made. The last conversation she had with him was an argument and it pained her that things were left unsolved.

Her Aemond? The man she loved with all of her being and with every fibre in her body was no more?

Aegon and Jace, the two people she had come to hate and yet also loved were taken away from her?

All for what? For a throne that deep down, neither one wanted badly enough to cast aside their friendship.

Had she caused the fight? They all seemed to believe she was dead. Gods, please no- it couldn't be because of her; she couldn’t bear the thought of having their blood on her hands.

She did not want the crown after it had cost her her family.

Hot tears pricked her eyes and she hurried out of the room, pushing past the guards to make her way out to the lawns where her sweet dragon Achlys rested.

She mounted him quickly, not bothering to say her farewells to her aunt. She was far too upset and angered to manage a conversation as simple as that.

"Soves Achlys" she instructed, voice cracking.

She made her journey to Harrenhal, in hopes of finding Alys there as the man had told her earlier. He could’ve been bluffing, or perhaps not but for her own satisfaction she wanted to check for herself.

By the time she reached the cursed castle, the sun had begun to set and the skies were painted in shades of red.

How befitting, she thought, I shall paint the earth scarlet as well with her blood.

Much to her connivence, she found Alys standing outside amidst the greenery that surrounded the castle and she ordered for her dragon to make his descent.

The princess took great pleasure in gazing at Alys' reaction for it was obvious by how pale and shocked she became that she was not expecting the princess to be alive still.

"Surprised my lady?" Y/N sarcastically chuckled as she climbed down Achlys "I'm sure you were only expecting my head and not all of me"

"Why won’t you just fucking die?" Alys grunted and Y/N had to commend her for her boldness "you ruined everything. First my chance at being a princess and now a queen"

"Aegon is already wed you dumb cunt" Y/N spat, advancing toward her "were you stupid enough to try and lure him with your love potion as well-"

"No, not him you bitch" Alys spat "Aegon was to die, but the fool just had to drag others into it"

Y/N seemed confused by her vague explanation so Alys continued.

"They were informed of your death and each council was told it was done by the other" she went on "The plan was to only have Aegon and Daemon fly into battle resulting in the king's death. Once Aemond would ascend the throne I would-"

"You orchestrated this?" Y/N asked, eyes getting darker as she glared murderously at Alys "you took away my family and you have the nerve to complain about why I am not dead yet?"

"I would kill you a hundred times over if it meant I would be queen" Alys sneered, her frustration clear in her voice.

"We have rather skilled craftsmen at our disposal but I'm afraid even they won’t be able to fashion you a crown for that big fucking head of yours" Y/N chuckled mockingly before she reached out and grasped the older girl harshly by her hair, tugging at them with such brutality that it caused Alys to shriek with pain.

"Let go you cunt" she tried to slap the princess' hand away but Y/N wasn’t letting go. She could’ve been stabbed and she still wouldn’t flinch for the pain she felt in her heart was far greater than any physical pain someone might attempt to inflict on her.

"Achlys" she called out and immediately her dragon raised his head, jaw slacking to reveal his sharp teeth and she could see the glow of the fire at the back of his throat as he awaited for her to say dracarys but the command never came. She would not give her that quick death. No, she needed her to suffer and beg for her life to be ended "nābēmagon"

Attack.

Y/N harshly shoved Alys forward just as Achlys lurched forward, sinking his razor-sharp teeth into her but not quite closing his mouth.

Y/N watching without so much as flinching as her dragon mauled Alys painfully as she screamed and thrashed, the pain getting worse and worse with each moment but Achlys wasn’t done torturing her just yet.

The princess turned around, walking away from Alys and her screams as she made her way toward the lake above which the battle had taken place.

The battle in which her father and her betrothed had died.

She remembered how she and Aemond had sat by these very waters on the day she had run away with him on her own wedding. She had never imagined being here again, alone, weeping by the lake upon the death of the man she loved.

She slipped out of her shoes, walking into the coolness of the waters that served as a reminder of how cold the world around her had become all of a sudden. The sun was about to set completely beyond the horizon and the skies matched the darkness that had overtaken her heart as well.

She watched the waters ripple with the breeze, and being here again only seemed to bring her more pain.

With the aid of whatever remaining light the setting sun provided, her eyes caught a glint of something shimmering in the waters right next to her feet and she immediately bent down to pick it up.

Her eyes brimmed with tears again and this time, she granted herself the liberty to mourn her loss and she sunk to her knees as she sobbed bitterly- clutching the sapphire gem, that once belonged to Aemond, close to her chest where her heart ached for him.

Amidst her sobs, she heard the sound of a dragon screeching but she knew the sound did not come from Achlys. She turned, wiping away her tear-stained cheeks to see Luke arrive with Arrax.

"Y/N?" he called out, as if he wasn’t sure if that was her. He hopped off the saddle, taking cautious steps toward her "is that you?"

"Hello Luke" she managed a weak smile, another tear rolling down her blood-stained face.

Luke did not care that she was covered in blood and sweat and ran toward her, wrapping his arms around the older girl and hugging her frame tightly.

"We thought you were dead!" his voice faltered and soon enough, he was crying as well "I thought I lost you, I lost everyone I.. I.."

"Shh" she cooed, stroking his soft brown curls lovingly. She no longer recalled any sort of animosity she might’ve held for him. She was all she had now. Him, Baela and Rhaena.

"I've been visiting this place ever since Jace's death" the younger boy told her and the princess responded only with a hum.

"There are talks of who is to take the throne" he pulled away to look at her, sniffling "I don’t want it Y/N, I do not want the crown"

"We do not have to talk about that now" the older girl tried her best to sound comforting even though she could feel her own heart shattering.

"We do" Luke urged "the greens do not want me on that throne and they plan to crown Daeron. If you go to the capital, make it known you are alive, you can sway the council to favour you"

"They will not kneel before me" Y/N let out a defeated sigh that Luke found rather uncharacteristic "I fought adamantly for that throne and for what? For people I held dearly in my heart to die?"

"Which is why you must go and stake your claim" Luke held her hand "it must be you. Do not let their deaths go in vain. The greens will use Daeron as a puppet. It will not be a Targaryen but instead the Hightowers ruling the seven kingdoms through him".

The older girl heaved a sigh. He was right of course, they were in a rush to seat Daeron on the throne only because they would have their influence on him and until he could come of age, Otto would rule as his regent. If Otto came into power, she was well aware he would order the slaughter of her half-sisters and Luke on accounts of treason.

"Alright" she hummed, still clutching the sapphire stone, the only thing she had of her Aemond.

Alicent nodded in agreement with her father.

Otto Hightower had assembled the council members in the throne room to discuss the succession. He put forth the proposition to have Daeron crowned since he was the last Targaryen son of Viserys.

"He is not yet of age" one of the members spoke up.

"Neither is prince Lucerys" Otto reminded, incase the man was to vouch for him instead "nor is he a true-born son of the late princess Rhaenyra. Until Daeron comes of age, I shall serve the realm as king regent"

Before any of the other noblemen of the council could agree or disagree with his verdict, the large glass windows behind the iron throne came shattering down, a few stones from the walls went flying about as well and everyone turned their backs away to shield their front from the flying remnants of glass and stone.

As the dust and smoke began to clear, little by little, the silhouette of a dragon came into view and perched on its back seemed to be a woman who slid off the saddle and walked out of the rubble and smoke and into their view.

"Mother have mercy" Alicent gasped, as if she was looking at a ghost.

"There was talk of who is sit the throne, so I heard" she spoke, hands clasped behind her back which reminded Alicent of Aemond "allow me to free you from your troubles of deciding who is to rule. I will sit the throne, just as I was supposed to anyway-"

"With all due respect princess" Otto interrupted and Y/N was well aware he was going to tell her something that would be far from respectable "it is Viserys' sons who are in line to sit the throne, and not-"

"why does the council find it difficult to support a woman?" Y/N snapped immediately "you all pray to the mother, do you not? Will you only choose to bow before a woman when it involves your personal gain?"

Otto knew the princess was short-tempered and armed with her Dragon. The last thing he wanted was to enrage Daemon's blood and suffer her wrath.

“Perhaps if you were to wed Daeron” he put forth a proposal "you would rule as queen consort"

“Wed him? I do not need to wed anyone to ensure I have your support” she scoffed, as if the idea of marriage repulsed her "the throne is mine by right, regardless if I marry the younger prince or not. Aegon usurped the throne, this I will not have you deny. Rhaenyra was publicly announced as heir by Viserys while Aegon was never claimed as his successor before the masses. And as Rhaenyra's heir I see it only fit that I should be the one crowned"

The others glanced at each other nervously. She did make a fair point of Aegon never being publicly announced as heir.

Alicent knew Y/N would be perceived as a threat by her father and she feared that he might have her executed to secure Daeron's rule. She loved the princess too much to allow that to happen.

"The council will back your claim if you wed someone of the house" she tried to persuade Y/N into agreeing to marry Daeron, for her own safety "you will be queen, just like you want. Marry Daeron and-"

The large doors opened, the old hinges creaking as the wooden doors scraped against the floor and a familiar voice boomed across the spacious throne room.

"She will do no such thing"

Y/N's eyes widened and she momentarily forgot how to breathe. Even Alicent clutched the star-shaped pendant of the seven that hung around her neck, muttering a prayer under her breath.

"Gods be good" Y/N whispered softly as she froze in place, watching the person standing at the entrance now making their way closer toward them.

Taglist: @ladybug0095 @sahvlren @bunny24sstufff @dellalyra @ellabellabus07 @champomiel @fan-goddess @lilostif16

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (14/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kind of fingering, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"Tell him the truth. Lying to my grandfather serves no purpose anyway. He's a skilled player. You have to win his trust." Said her betrothed, walking around her chamber with his hands folded behind his back as if it was simple, while she sat on her bed, looking at him in horror.

Lord Hightower had many reasons to doubt her loyalty, starting with her treacherous bloodline to the fact that, in all probability, Gwayne had convinced him that she had forced her way into his grandson's heart through his bed like a simple whore.

She lowered her gaze, fiddling with her fingers in nervous reflex – her lēkia approached her and knelt before her on one knee, taking her hands in his, slightly rough from holding the hilt of his sword.

"My grandfather is loyal to our family. I trust him. Do it, zaldrītsos."

Otto waited for her in the royal gardens in complete solitude, under one of the beautiful ancient arbours overlooking the sea. The day was sunny and hot, so she was dressed in one of the gowns of fine, thin fabric that she had ordered with her Prince's permission – she could have worn a garment belonging to his daughter, Queen Alicent, but she feared he would perceive it as an attempt of manipulation.

She was to be honest with him, as her betrothed demanded.

She sighed quietly, seeing his seated silhouette in the distance, silver trays full of lemon and apple cakes, caramelised dates, grapes and strawberries on a small white table in front of him. She blinked, coming closer with a rattle of stones under her feet, standing in front of him, feeling her heart stop in her throat.

Otto gave her a gentle, reassuring smile and held out his hand in front of him, pointing to the empty chair across from him, seeing how tense she was.

"My Lady. Thank you for agreeing to speak to the grumbling old man and listen to his concerns." He said lightly and she swallowed hard, sitting down, placing her hands on her thighs.

"Treat yourself. My daughter loves caramelised dates." He said and reached for one himself, taking a bite of it.

He chewed it and swallowed, nodding appreciatively, as if indeed their flavour appealed to him too.

"Do you know what my grandson's – and your betrothed's – favourite dish is?" He asked, looking at her curiously, as if he was challenging her.

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders, involuntarily grinning with amusement.

"I don't think such considerations occupy his head. He rarely delights in food, and if he does, it is more in the privacy of his own mind." She said calmly.

Otto hummed under his breath, as if her answer satisfied him, and nodded.

"Our Prince is a man of principle and loves simplicity. Deliberations on trivial things bore him and arouse his frustration, just like the romantic courting of women." He said, spreading out comfortably in his chair, placing his hands on the armrests, asking her the obvious question between his words.

How had she managed to seduce him?

She huffed under her breath and turned her gaze away, looking out at the sea stretching around them, the pleasant fresh breeze and shade cooling her sun-warmed skin.

"Like any man, he is not fond of empty words. He chooses his own deliberately and expects others to do the same. Unless he becomes enraged – then his fury erupts like a volcano." She said lightly, for some reason feeling no fear at the thought.

She had ceased to fear him long ago.

She knew that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to truly hurt her.

"The letter you found in your chamber was sent to you on my command." He said calmly.

She froze, staring blankly ahead, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad.

It was a trial, she suddenly realised.

He wanted to see if she was trustworthy.

For some reason, a wave of sadness and disappointment rippled through her heart.

She naively believed for a moment that her person could occupy her father's mind.

Otto continued, hearing her silence full of disbelief.

"I need to know what you want, child. I need you to put your desires into words so that I can understand what kind of person is sitting right in front of me to become my grandson's wife." He said slowly, as if carefully choosing every thought that left his lips – his voice was gentle and soothing, as if he was trying to reassure her that what she was going to say would remain their secret.

She lowered her gaze, feeling her heart pound like mad in terror – not because she was afraid of him, but because his question startled her.

She didn't know what to answer.

She had never thought about it.

Until now, she had only been the fulfilment of his desires, she thought with shame, playing with her fingers, feeling certain Otto would take her silence as a bad sign, proof that her intentions were not pure.

"I am what he wants me to be." She finally muttered, feeling tears of embarrassment under her eyelids burning as much as if they were living fire.

Lord Hightower looked at her in silence and twisted in his seat with a creak of wood, as if surprised by her answer.

"Do you wish to marry him?" He asked, and she nodded without thinking.

"I want to be by his side. His presence fills my soul and heart with a strange peace. When he is beside me, I am no longer afraid. Of my father, of war, or of what will happen to me. I am not afraid of death or dragon fire. Sometimes I think it would be better for me to die in battle than to live to see the moment when I realise I have lost his affection." She choked out in a trembling voice, feeling the heavy tears one by one run down her cheeks – she was wiping them off the warm skin of her face with her hands, but they flowed anyway.

Why had she said that?

Why was she letting him know her weakness?

Maybe because deep down she hoped that he would kill her one day, she thought.

That he would not let her live to see the day when her husband would love another woman.

"Our Prince holds you in a respect and esteem that he has never bestowed on any woman before. He allows himself to be vulnerable and weak in your presence. Men, dear child, experiencing physical fulfilment without a soul bond, feel an emptiness after the act. Their desire is like a cry of desperation for purely childlike attention and tenderness – then, in his chamber, seeing him in your embrace, I saw a boy who feels protected and comforted. I'm afraid that my grandson fell in love with you."

She swallowed with difficulty, choking on her own tears, looking at him in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest like mad.

I'm afraid that my grandson fell in love with you.

She shook her head, feeling that she could not accept those words.

He desired her, he enjoyed her, he was fond of her, but he did not love her.

"I dearly loved my late wife. She was my closest confidante, my beloved friend, the most beautiful of women. She was strong, and my grandson is weak. Filled with complexes, he lives to prove his worth, power and strength, not seeing that he is crushing the efforts of many years, made by me and his father. He needs guides, trusted advisors who love him and who want him to prevail. I know that it was because of you that my grandson told his brother about his plans regarding Rook Rest's. I know that you advised him against plotting behind Aegon's back and sought to rally them. You advise our Prince wisely and I wish you to be his wife. As the daughter of the Lady of Runestone, you are the blood of the Kingdom of the Mountain and the Vale, which will be crucial to us when the siege of Harrenhal begins. Your task to the Kingdom will be to rally the Lords against Lady Arryn's will and to stop my grandson from acting recklessly and violently. Do you understand what I have in mind?" He asked calmly, and she nodded quickly, wiping her hot, swollen cheeks with her hands.

"Yes."

As she was fitting her wedding gown, letting the servants and seamstresses check the length of the sleeves, she thought about Otto Hightower's words and how much they surprised her.

He was a shrewd and enlightened man, of that she was convinced – he also let her know that he did not see her as an enemy or a threat, but as an opportunity for them and the Kingdom as a whole.

For some reason, something in his words and the way he said them comforted her – she felt that, at last, the burden of the war and the Crown would partly fall off the Prince's back, allowing someone more experienced to advise him on difficult and complicated matters that would have overwhelmed the wisest of men.

She shuddered as the door to her chamber opened and her betrothed stepped inside, searching for her with his eye.

"No!" She squealed, fleeing behind the light-coloured three-door screen standing nearby. "It brings misfortune. Leave."

He shouldn't see her in her wedding gown before their nuptials.

She heard his sigh of impatience and his lazy footsteps on the other side – when he stopped the servants bowed to him and left the chamber, leaving them alone.

"What did he say?" He asked calmly.

She sighed quietly, stepping closer to the wall of thin material behind which she could see the shadow of his tall figure.

"That he wishes me to win the support of the Lords of the Vale for you. That I would help him control your impulsive nature." She said, and he snorted, frustrated, turning his head to the side.

"Is that how he sees me? As an uncontrollable animal to be tamed?" He asked with a regret that made her swallow hard, her fingers touching the fabric as if she wanted to touch his chest.

His heart.

"No. But he and I know what your anger means and how dangerous it can be. That it is only when its first wave passes that your coolness and common sense returns to you. There is a fire running through your veins – that is your nature. We do not want you to burn in the heat of your own fury, regretting later the deeds done in a sudden burst of rage." She muttered and heard him draw in a breath, as if her words pained him.

"He is disappointed in me, then." He said coldly and she closed her eyes, feeling helpless against his low self-esteem.

"No, brother. He wants your victory, exactly as I do. If you craved sweet lies, you would allow Larys Strong to pour poison into your ears, surrounding yourself with lords who would praise you and your greatness. You, in your wisdom, sent for your grandfather, who is sincere, who cares for you and your family."

"Ours." He corrected her, and she smiled involuntarily with gratitude.

"Ours."

She heard him take a step towards the screen, his forehead pressed against the material – she did the same, on the other side, hearing his quiet breath.

"– I desire you –" He whispered, and she sighed, feeling his words in her nipples, her lips, the tips of her fingers and her throbbing, swollen cunt.

"– let's last until our wedding – let's make this the night we've waited and longed for –" She said in a breaking voice, feeling that she was losing the battle with herself, his scent, his presence, his closeness making her grow hot.

"– what are you suggesting? – that you won't spend upcoming nights in my bed? –" He exhaled, placing his hands on the screen wall, and she felt a wonderful shiver of pleasure run down her cheeks, along her breasts and down her spine.

"– lēkia –" She gasped and they both sighed as the door to her chamber opened and Lysa stepped inside, holding in her hand the jewellery casket she had ordered for the occasion.

"– leave us, brother –" She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling her womanhood pulsing greedily around nothing, a drop of her wetness running down the inside of her thigh.

"– visit me tonight –"

"– I can't – for at least a few days let me pretend I have dignity –" She mumbled and heard him swallow hard, as if her words caused him pain.

She knew he hesitated, that he wanted to say something more, but resigned – she saw him turn and move towards the door, Lysa bowed to him as he left the room without a word.

She exhaled loudly, stepping out from behind the screen, and Lysa gave her one warm, comforting smile.

She was her only friend.

"They have arrived, my Lady – hair adornments, a dagger and a necklace, matching your instructions in every detail." She said, tilting the lid open.

She smiled broadly as she came closer, seeing the objects lying on the cushion – a thin, delicate golden chain with sapphires framed so that they looked like three water drops – two small and one large that was lying between them – her hair pins in the shape of forget-me-nots, also made of sapphire stones, and a long, beautiful dagger, her gift for her future husband.

She had chosen her jewellery deliberately – her wedding gown was sewn from fabrics in light blue tones and browns – she wanted to show her future husband her devotion to him and her own allegiance to Runestone at the same time.

According to what she had heard, King Aegon began to slowly awaken, but he was dazed and was merely babbling, fed with the milk of the poppy by the Maester – they wanted to spare him the pain, which must have been immense anyway, looking at how much of his skin had been burned in the fire.

However, the fact that he was regaining consciousness worried her Prince, who pushed for the nuptials to take place as soon as possible – he was afraid that his brother, as soon as he found out about it, would forbid the Septon to marry them out of sheer spite.

They renounced grand ceremonies and processions – their subjects were starving, and they did not want them to think that during their great suffering they were drinking wine and dancing, mocking them.

"Thanks to my spies, we were able to prevent great misfortune – a dozen inconspicuous boats arrived under cover of darkness from Dragonstone to King's Landing, filled to the brim with food. They were to be passed on as gifts from Queen Rhaenyra to her subjects. Instead, the food will be distributed on the streets of the city just before your nuptials, so that the whole Kingdom can rejoice with you." Said Otto during the Small Council meeting – her future husband had dismissed his mother in revenge for her affair with Criston Cole, thus freeing up a seat at the table.

As she was a dragon rider and would be participating in the war, she needed to know what was happening, so she was specifically assigned a seat in the Small Council, right next to the Prince Regent's grandfather.

She threw her cousin a quick glance and saw that he was looking at her as well, his grin indicating that he was more than pleased.

"Excellent." He said.

Her betrothed, in keeping with her wishes, had allowed them to spend the nights before their nuptials apart, she knew, however, that he was frustrated and made that known whenever he could.

"No. You stay, hāedar." He said when he closed the meeting and she stood up as did everyone else gathered.

She swallowed hard when she heard the door close – she saw out of the corner of her eye that he stood from his seat and approached her with a lazy, unhurried step.

She gasped as she felt his large hand on her waist, wandering up and down, his other hand without any warning slipped under the fabric of her gown from above and squeezed softly her silky, plump breast.

She pressed her lips together, suppressing a quiet moan of pleasure when she felt his parted, moist lips run over her neck, leaving a wet, sticky trail on her skin, his hot breath making her cunt, swollen with desire and longing, clench greedily around nothing.

"– stop –" She muttered, grabbing his wrist as his hand from her waist and hip slid down between her thighs, closing on her womanhood.

"– are you touching yourself? – hm? –" He asked coldly and she shook her head, panting heavily as she felt his hard manhood pushing against her buttocks, a drop of cold sweat dripped down her back.

"– no – I suffer just as you do, lēkia – please –" She mumbled and cried out, tilting her head back as his fingertips began to gently tease what was under the material of her dress, a wonderful wave of heat surging through her loins.

"– mmm –" He hummed and let her go, leaving her alone, thirsty and quivering with desire, walking out of the room without even giving her a single glance.

Contrary to what her cousin thought, it wasn't just for him that the wait for their night together was agony – her betrothed demanded that since he couldn't touch her, she couldn't either.

She knew that he also did not satisfy his urges in any way, which made him more mischievous – he would lurk for an opportunity for them to be alone and put his hand between her thighs to caress and tease her, whispering in her ear.

"– beg, and maybe I'll fuck you –" He hissed, her hand clenched on his arm.

"– n-no – please, please, stop –"

He let her go then, his jaw clenched in annoyance and some kind of awe, as if he didn't think she could really stand it – her whole body screamed before his eyes that she wanted it, and yet she still refused him.

It was a sign of strong will for him, proof that her words were not empty and her decisions were final.

On the day the nuptials were to take place, the entire Red Keep was put on its feet – Otto feared an attack from all sides, including poisoning, so guards personally chosen by him went to the Sept, as well as to the kitchens, to keep an eye on the cooks and make sure they didn't add anything to the food.

She was surprised by this, but she felt relieved that her future husband's grandfather was watching over everything.

From the morning, Lysa and the other servants had been helping her put on her gown – it fitted her body perfectly, revealing her cleavage and shoulders – the sleeves of the bottom dress clung to her arms, while the sleeves of her top dress, the blue one, was slit at the elbows, falling all the way to the ground.

Some of her hair was pinned up in a bun at the back of her head, decorated with small sapphire flowers, while some fell in waves down her back.

A necklace completed the look – it adorned her long neck and accentuated the colour of the fabric of her gown, however, she actually hoped that this and her sapphire hair adornments would be the only things left on her body during their wedding night.

She shuddered as the door to her chamber opened and she saw Queen Alicent before her – she stepped down from the small dais and bowed to her as did her servants, whether she wanted to or not having to show her respect.

The Dowager Queen stopped before her and sighed, folding her hands in front of her.

"Do you know what kind of man you will marry? Who my son is?" She asked, and she swallowed hard, wondering how a mother could know so little about her own child.

She thought she was simply afraid of the answers to the questions she was asking herself and didn't want to know them, separating herself from who her son was in her mind.

"Yes, Your Grace." She said calmly, looking her straight in the eye. "Our Prince holds you in deep esteem and hopes to earn your praise."

She saw Alicent's lips twitch, her eyebrows arching in an expression of regret, as if her words had caused her pain, her large brown eyes filled with nothing but sadness.

She nodded, as if accepting her words in her heart, and gestured to her servant, who held a small chest in her hand.

"I wish to offer a blessing to you and my son. I ask that you accept this small gift from me, along with my desire for you to be protected by the gods themselves." Said the Queen and opened the lid – she saw a fine gold chain with a small pendant in the shape of a seven-pointed star.

She nodded, looking at it, wondering if, when she went to see her son, she would find at least a few warm words for him.

The journey in the carriage through King's Landing seemed to last for ages to her – the streets were full of happy people – Lord Hightower, according to his plan, began handing out food to the people, leading to a sudden outburst of joy.

The smallfolk, in keeping with his desire, saw this event as a sign, recognising that the gods had supported the marriage between the Prince and his relative by sending them revelry, putting an end to their hunger.

However, for how long will the supplies stolen from Princess Rhaenyra last?

When will their suffering begin anew?

She swallowed hard at the thought that the war had to end as soon as possible, but both her future husband and Dragonstone knew that neither of them had enough advantage to bring the other to its knees.

When she arrived before the Great Sept and the carriage doors opened in front of her, she froze, feeling panic – the people around her were shouting her name, throwing flowers, reaching out to her as if she were some kind of semi-divine being, a symbol of the life they would never know.

She felt overwhelmed and stunned, alone among the crowd, small without her dragon and bow, dressed in a long gown like a doll.

For some reason she wanted to cry.

"My Lady." She heard a voice in front of her, then saw Otto Hightower walking towards her between the guards. "My Lady, give me your hand."

She swallowed hard and did as he asked, placing her palm on his, rough and large. With his help, she walked down a few steps to a small wooden platform, and from it to the ground, feeling that her legs were trembling with fear.

"I am not your father, but I will be more than happy if you do me this honour. It is a difficult journey and no young woman should have to walk it alone." He said calmly, and she looked at him with big eyes, noticing something in his gaze that could have been sympathy or simple concern.

She had always dreamed of someone looking at her like that.

The way a father would look at his daughter.

She nodded, thinking in the back of her mind that if she let go of his hand she would just fall, her legs soft as cotton wool.

As she walked with Lord Hightower into the Great Sept, she heard the sound of trumpets, young girls, daughters of lords and knights throwing flowers at her feet.

It all seemed unreal to her – the temple around her was so gigantic that it took her breath away, the great, tall statues of the Seven Gods towering over those gathered to form a circle, enclosing the entire structure.

At the very centre, on a raised platform stood the altar at which stood the Grand Septon and her betrothed, a sweet emotion squeezed her throat as she looked at his face.

Though he stood erect, with his hands folded behind his back like a statue, she could see that his gaze was hot, vulnerable, his eye large, his lips parted in a heavy breath as if he longed to cry at the sight of her – the fact that she had chosen not the colour of his or her lineage, but his colour, the blue of his sapphire, something only he could understand, the expression of her devotion, her understanding, her affection.

When they stopped at the steps Otto let her go, but she, seeing her cousin's face felt more confident – she grabbed the front of her gown and lifted it, not wanting to step on it, climbing slowly upwards, her steps echoing loudly around her.

She sighed quietly as she stood in front of them, not daring to look at his face, feeling that if she did she would cry for some reason.

It was really happening.

She was to become a wife.

She looked at him and it was a mistake – she felt a squeeze in her throat when she saw him draw in the air loudly when his gaze met hers, as if he felt something deep inside himself that frightened him, his lips slightly parted in a shuddering breath.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Her cousin swallowed loudly, looked at the Septon and then behind him, nodding – Gwayne Hightower approached him with a long black cloak embroidered with green threads from which the figure of a three-headed dragon was formed at the very centre.

The crest of their family and the colours of the Hightowers.

She bowed humbly as he threw the cloak over her shoulders with a sweeping gesture, making sure the material did not slip, and she closed her eyes.

He took her under his protection.

"We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." Said the Septon – her betrothed extended his hand to her, standing proud and upright, so she placed her palm on his – the priest entwined their joined hands with a wide, bright ribbon.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words." He said, and they looked at each other, her heart pounding in her chest once before they both opened their mouths and their lungs left the words spoken surprisingly confidently and calmly.

"Father,

Smith,

Warrior,

Mother,

Maiden,

Crone,

Stranger

I am hers | I am his

and she is mine | and he is mine

from this day, until the end of my days."

They fell silent, and though she thought he would not do it, that it would be beneath his dignity, he took her hot cheek in his hand and leaned down, looking at her as if he held the entire heritage of Old Valyria in his fingers.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." He whispered, only a quiet sigh escaping her throat as his full, fleshy lips pressed against hers in a deep, warm, moist kiss, so tender and soft that she felt a single, lonely tear run down her cheek.

My love.

When he broke the kiss he didn't move away for a moment, just looking at her, and she smiled in a way that must have made him happy, because he smiled too, shyly and sweetly, like a little boy.

They were husband and wife.

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Nineteen

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I felt this story severely lacks dragon content. I want to make up for that. I hope you enjoy the little spice I've sprinkled in there toward the end. ;) Thank you so much for your support!!

Chapter Warnings: Implied cannibalism, dubcon.

Translation Guide: Zaldrītsos ipradagon: little dragon eater. Pālēs: turn. Kelītīs: halt. Lykirī: calm. Dohaerās: serve. (I tried my best to use proper grammar. Please don't call the High Valryian police.)

"Father, don't blame us for trying to live, for trying to love, for wanting more? Why did you dress our pleasure up as greed? While you're limiting our love, taking sunlight from the seed? Why did you give us hearts we don't understand, like an apple in our hand that you'll never let us have?" - AURORA, The Devil is Human.

It was midday before you decided to venture from your cotton sheets, letting you and the servants rest as much as possible before ringing the bell that signaled them to your room. Your ladies did not commence the morning ritual you had come to despise. They, too, must have also participated in a celebration last night and were nursing the same headache as you.

You stretched and yawned as you basked in the yellow afternoon sun that peeked through the emerald curtains, relaxing your achy muscles. The balcony appeared relatively comfortable in the daylight, and you decided to venture out, sitting on a cushioned bench. A cold breeze passed through King's Landing, picking up the withered plants across the ground and billowing your night dress around your bare ankles.

Winter was only weeks away. The once viridian foliage was now barren, revealing the wooden bones of each plant. The grass was a burnt orange from the lack of nutrients the soil provided, and no more earthy-smelling flowers were sprouting within the cracks of the flagstones. Death and decay surrounded you, bringing comfort despite how desolate everything appeared.

You hoped that snow would fall in the coming months. It would be the closest thing to home again.

You could reminisce fondly about your first wintertide at Dragonstone, the thick flurry of snowflakes blanketing the sandy beaches and rocks that covered the island, but never upon the castle itself. You remembered staring out of one of the many black stone towers and observing the steam rising from a carved basilisk as the slush melted. It was as if the haunting creature had the heat of a living being. It disturbed you immensely, plaguing you with endless nightmares alone in your apartments.

For the small folk, winter in King's Landing was always strife. Sickness and starvation were rampant throughout Flea Bottom that time of year, inflicting everyone no matter how plentiful the harvest was. It agonized you to no end each season you spent at Dragonstone, your stomach in knots if Madam or the other residents had enough to eat and if they managed to survive whatever illness spread.

The wintertime of your sixth year was the most gruesome. The growing season was met with drought, and when it came time to harvest, the merchant carts were bare. Ma tried to conceal the difficulty that year brought by distracting you with oral lessons in history and math, but no matter how much a parent attempted to protect their child, it was never enough.

You remembered the taste of the stale loaf of bread the whores shared throughout the week, the texture of jerky meat, and the ache it gave your jaw when chewing.

The atrocities you witnessed your fellow neighbors commit left you feeling hollow, memories of people burying the emaciated bodies of their kin only to dig them up. You were uncertain why they would do such a thing at the time. It was a sin against the Seven to desecrate the bodies of the deceased, and you had questioned Ma why they would do it. She hadn't given you an answer then, but you didn't need one. You already knew. Even in your youth, you could comprehend the atrocities of man.

Though you were a Targaryen, the hot blood of the dragon coursing through your veins, you preferred the colder weather.

Perhaps the reason was because of the Northern blood within you. It was rumored that your mother came from the area, but exactly where you were unconfident. The only other person who could attest to your mother's lineage besides herself was dead, swept from this mortal realm by the Hand and the Stranger, their head on a spike left to rot until forgotten. But you would remember. You would never forget nor forgive.

You thought back to the feast and how scores of meals were brought out and left over by the end. The scraps alone were enough to feed the entirety of the slums and still have more than enough to satiate all the guests. You hadn't felt remorseful at the time as you indulged yourself in a slice of ham, but in the light of day, the unawareness of your actions caused a profound contempt to grow. Gazing over the hundreds of cottages in various architectural states made you realize how disconnected you became from your roots.

Living a life of luxury made you into what you despised as a child—an out-of-touch, uppity, supercilious highborn.

You and the court members had more in common than you admitted, which was disgusting in and of itself. A sickening feeling of self-hatred permeated in your gut, causing you to retreat into the comfort of your space.

You needed to change. You needed to use your position of power to help the people of King's Landing.

You hadn't realized you were pacing until your ladies entered your room, a silver tray of tea and fruits in Dyana's hands. Fiora gave a charming grin in greeting as Jeyne went straight to your wardrobe, a storm of crimson skirts.

"Good morn Princess," the littlest maid said, placing your food on a table.

You smiled in admission, but it did not reach your eyes, putting your thumb between your teeth and pulling a piece of dead skin. Fiora and Dyana changed your sheets, replacing the breathable cotton with thicker wool as you broke your fast. The red cherries stained the tips of your fingers, mixing with the blood from your torn cuticles, the juice burning the open skin. You didn't wince at the pain, continuing to eat as your mind conjured up different ideas for the future.

From this moment on, you promised yourself never to stop. Never douse the flames of your drive to do what needs to be done. You would burn any lord, lady, prince, king, or queen who stood in your way.

***

The day continued without a hitch. Most of the guests from last night were still asleep or had already left for their homes while you were resting.

It was pleasant to walk the halls without having to create a polite conversation with people who would turn in the same breath and spread vicious rumors of your brother's parentage and spit vile insults that always referenced your birth. As twisted as it was, you hoped that one day you would hear something more interesting than the word "bastard." But it might be too much to ask the people at court to use their minds for something besides counting how many coins they reaped from their land.

Truthfully, you didn't have much to do. There were no Council meetings after events like these; everyone was still recovering from the night of debauchery, even the men who helped run the kingdom. It left you with nothing to do except plot and scheme and live within the torture of your mind.

You made your servants dress you in your favorite winter riding clothes to mark the season's coming. A magnificent statement piece that Rhaenyra commissioned for you as a Winter Solstice present.

The short, long-sleeved dress bathed your frame in flowing blood-red velvet trimmed with black braiding and lace with a high collar secured at the neckline to protect you from freezing temperatures. A dramatic steel pin of a three-headed dragon kept the heavy material together on your shoulders. A collection of practical and fashionable buttons were sewn onto the fabric to cover your torso, stopping at your hips to give you a range of motion and the allusion of a full gown to hide the trousers underneath.

You decided to take advantage of the rare break to see your dragon. You felt terrible for neglecting Cannibal the past week, leaving him to explore the skies of King's Landing in his solitude. He was accustomed to a life of isolation. Most of his fellow species were terrified of him and left the black dragon alone for a good reason.

In the beginning, Cannibal did not take well to being kept in the part of Dragonmont where the other creatures were, thrashing in the Keepers' hold like an unbroken stallion and breaking the chains that bound him multiple times.

Daemon had commanded you to beat submission into Cannibal more than once, giving you a long whip to have him obey your commands. You were hesitant and felt your heart shatter as the leather cracked his scales, but after much arguing, your father convinced you that it was the only way. Beasts like the Cannibal did not listen to any other language.

You had snuck out of the castle the evening it happened, leading the ferocious animal out of the caves and letting him fly to his home on the eastern side. There was a silent understanding between rider and dragon that night as you stared into his menacing green eyes.

Cannibal felt your sorrow for hurting him, realizing that you were just as afraid in your ways, lashing out whenever threatened and angry at the world for things you could not control. That night he lowered himself willingly to let you ride, taking you over the islands of Driftmark, Sharp Point, and Claw Isle. He did not speed through the midnight skies but soared high and low, letting his pointed wings slice the salty waters below and glide over the clouds until all you saw were stars and the waxing moon.

Since then, you and the Cannibal had a true bond of rider and dragon. Not one owning the other, but equals on land and the sky.

Unsurprisingly, you could not find your dragon within the Pit as you explored and asked the Keepers if he had appeared. While Cannibal had stopped briefly, attempting to enter for a snack but wisely deciding against it, no one had seen him.

You continued journeying undeterred, following your instincts as you traveled along the outer ring of walls in the Red Keep, enjoying the brisk air on your cheeks. You found a small exit that went out to private beach access. To those outside these red rock walls, it was only accessible by boat. You were optimistic he would be there, curled under one of the many rocky cliffs that reminded you both of home.

Sure enough, you saw the droppings that could only belong to a beast of his size. There were tracks on the shore, indents, and drag marks throughout the pale sand. Piles of bones leading up to where you spotted him, eyes shut and scales so dark that it looked like there was a hole in this realm. You noticed his nostrils twitch as you drew closer, indicating that he caught the scent of what you carried and was awake.

"Zaldrītsos ipradagon," you called in a sing-song voice, feigning to creep behind him as you scratched his tail with your fingers.

Cannibal pretended to nap, acting as if you couldn't see how his eyelids moved.

"Zaldrītsos ipradagon," you repeated, walking closer to his horned head. "I know you are sore that I have neglected you these past days, but I've brought something that I think you'll like..." you trailed off, exaggerating the last word.

Finally, he opened his eyes, the vivid yellow-green of his irises indicating that this massive void was an animal. You revealed the dragon egg that you stole from Dreamfyre's clutch.

"You know, I barely made it out alive," you taunted, raising the textured brown oval as Cannibal unhinged his jaws.

Before he could take a bite, you leaped away, hiding his present behind your back as he let out a warning growl. You rolled your eyes, the cruelness of your actions not lost on you.

"Oh, please. If you eat me, who else would risk their lives to steal another dragon's child for you?" you interrogated as if he could talk. "Exactly. No one. You would be all alone again, hoping someone like me would come along so you don't have to work for food again. I think you have become rather lazy over the years. Mayhaps I should stop bringing you food and make you fend for yourself, hmm?"

You felt the earth tremble beneath your feet as Cannibal stood, shaking the stray sand that landed on his body as he bared his elongated teeth.

Numerous people said that dragons couldn't comprehend the common tongue and that it was pointless to communicate with them, but it wasn't about what language you spoke, but how you felt as you said it. All animals could sense the emotions of other beings; you didn't have to bark to have a dog listen to you. You didn't have to squeal so that pigs knew when their slop was coming; they could sense it-- sense you.

You had grown a habit of testing the limits of Cannibal's basic instincts, wondering in the back of your mind if today might be the day he loses himself to his past and becomes the monster the small folk of Dragonstone believed him to be.

But the conviction you held within your bond would snuff that out quicker than he could fry a hatchling. It didn't make it any less frightening, though, as a roar blew loose the hair from your pined style, saliva splattering on your forehead.

"Fine! Here!" you relented, throwing the egg directly into his opening mouth as he chewed with a stomach-turning crunch.

He still wore the custom leather saddle between two large spikes on his lower neck. It was always a hassle for the Keepers to take off, and you needed more time to remove it when you first arrived at King's Landing. Cannibal became accustomed to it and hardly noticed the thirty-stone piece of equipment as he continued his hermit lifestyle.

"Let us fly today," you spoke softly, with no hint of your jesting tone from earlier. I shall see if I can wrangle you something live when we finish. Some pork would settle nicely in your gut, don't you think?"

You stood with a giddy smile as Cannibal lowered himself so you could clutch hold of the rope ladder along his side, adjusting until you were satisfied in your seat. You loved the aching stretch the saddle gave between your legs, your dragon pushing from the sand into the skies. That was also a relaxing feeling for him as he flapped his enormous midnight wings.

Cannibal took you over the entire townlet, soaring above the small folk as they halted and stared. Seeing as three claimed dragons were already housed within Rhaenys's hill, one being the largest in history, it shouldn't have been such a marvel to them. Though you took the admiration in stride, commanding your dragon with a "dracarys" as a burst of orange flames spewed from his massive jaws into the blue sky. You could hear the awe within their murmurs, smiling down at them as you shared your gift.

Your little dragon eater was more than happy to put on a show, nose-diving into a crowd of onlookers as they watched with horror and shrieks, sure that the beast was going to kill them before he abruptly swooped up, leaving them unharmed and knocking them over from the sheer force.

It was freeing to be on Dragonback. Especially when your dragon was more feared than even the war-hardened Vhagar, flown by the notoriously haughty One-Eyed Prince. To feel the wind whipping your hair, biting your cheeks, the sun warming you with its intense glow. You could feel the moisture from the clouds collecting on your thick black braids, creating tiny water droplets that glimmered like diamonds.

You flew over Blackwater Bay, the sea mist collecting on your eyelashes, the salty taste bursting on your tongue as you licked your lips. There were merchant ships larger than Balerion's skeleton residing at the many docks, the crew members looking like tiny grains of rice as they loaded shipments and hoisted sails.

As a child stuck to the sandstone streets of Flea Bottom, you never imagined yourself as someone who would one day be claiming the skies. The girl who once looked above at the stars as she sat on Lyra's lap was now one with them; what you wouldn't give for her to see you now.

Leaning your body and shouting the command, "pālēs!" Cannibal took you over the Blackwater Rush. Signs of life grew scarce and left only a few small villages along the river, their brick and mortar chimneys emitting the smell of woodsmoke as you soared over them. You were sure that those who saw the speeding dragon were met with fright. The almost demonic-looking blackness absorbed all light briefly before they were again met with the comforting rays.

The Red Keep came into view through the horizon as you circled back, the tallest structure in King's Landing sitting atop Aegon's Hill. Cannibal descended over the high pale redstone buildings, his wings barely a meter away from the tiled roof of the Tower of the Hand. With a smirk, you hoped that Otto was in there, crouching behind the stacks of parchment on his desk.

Suddenly, a roar sounded in the air. Your head swiveled around your body, searching for the noise, but you couldn't find it. You assumed the sun blinded your vision, causing your brown orbs to burn with water. You dug your palms into your sockets, rubbing the sting away as you felt Cannibal ascend.

The screech boomed again, followed by the sound of the wings of a dragon. You turned, prepared for the bright golden glow of the beast's scales. Aegon sat snuggly on his saddle, whipping the reigns so Sunfyre would go faster. You groaned in annoyance at the drunkard prince, shaking your head and commanding Cannibal to lose them before you decided to land.

"Put that wastrel of a man in his place, Cannibal," you snarked. "I promise to allow you as many Dragonkeepers that can fit into your mouth if you do." You swore he nodded in response, beating his ebony wings harder against the wind.

The frigid air pricked your eyes like needles, ripping out more strands of hair as they scratched against the sides of your face. You were glad you chose a warmer riding outfit, for the sun's heat was overpowered by the biting cold that dried your skin.

Cannibal showcased his skills, creating a distance between you and Aegon faster than his dragon could blink. You led them back to the original path you took. The fabric awnings that covered merchant stands ripped from where they were nailed as you flew by, carts carrying fruits and vegetables toppling over as your two dragons raced above. Turning sharply above the slums of houses you once frequented, you went to the port of Blackwater Bay, even more, populated than the inner mouth.

Ships of all sizes resided there, not just merchants, each coming and going, creating a mess of coordinated chaos only shipmasters could understand. The sails were various colors, Houses, and some without indicating what they were. You weaved through them, Cannibal closing his wings as his momentum carried you between the small gaps.

While you expertly dodged each boat, proudly smiling at the men below, you heard a deafening thud and crack, turning to see the pink and golden body of Sunfyre ramming into the mast of an unsuspecting crew.

"Kelītīs," you ordered Cannibal, positioning him as you saw Aegon and his dragon plummet into the brackish waters.

Panic seized your heart, telling your beast to land on the stern of the nearest ship, nearly capsizing it. Without a second thought, you dove into the icy Bay, the briny and freshwater searing your lungs. You swam to the ship Aegon crashed into, moving the floating pieces of stalwart oak out of your way as you said a silent prayer. Sunfyre's head rose above the water, flailing like a drowning cat until he pulled himself onto the sea wall.

"Aegon!" you called out, hoping he would answer you.

You paddled further into the wreckage, yelling out his name again. He still didn't answer, and you feared the worst. The repercussions of the eldest Prince's death were not in your mind; you only wanted to save a drowning man whose death would be your fault.

You inhaled quickly, forcing your eyes to stay open as you dove under the murky water. You could only see a few meters before you, the thick wool of your outfit slowing your movements and making your muscles work twice as hard. Struggling to resurface, you were met with the hull of a ship, swiftly dunking yourself again to avoid being crushed. You sucked in another breath, coughing the contaminated liquid out of your lungs as you looked at Cannibal. You screamed at him to block more ships from passing, and he pushed off, breathing a line of fire to prevent them.

The hair that had come out obscured your vision as you went under again. Your prayers were answered as you spotted an opaque figure, your fingers yanking the floating fabric of the Prince's clothes. You kicked and kicked your legs, straining against everything, pulling you under as you carried Aegon's lifeless body to the surface.

Locking your arms underneath his, you positioned him on your torso, leaning back as you swam to the port wall. The mussels and barnacles dug into your thighs, bending against the stone for support as you heaved Aegon above your head.

He spread on his rear, splayed like the Seven-Pointed Star, his ankles still hanging over the ledge. You realized he must have ingested water; using the last bit of strength, you flipped him over, smacking his back to get rid of it. Aegon sputtered a cough, water, and mucus spewing out of his mouth. You rested your arms on the top of the stone wall, catching your breath as your head turned low. The ground shuddering interrupted your rest, the water around you rippling with vibrations.

Two dragons stood face to face. One of aureate and one of coal, shimmering in the iridescent glare like a prized jewel, the other an ember of carbon and darkness. A low growl rumbled inside the anthracite one's throat; legs bent to pounce and smoke rising from its nose. The golden one put up its defenses, mimicking the stance of the other.

"Lykirī," you said breathlessly, trying to pull yourself over the levy, arms shaking. Cannibal's eyes flickered over you, unwilling to leave himself and you defenseless. "Dohaerās," you demanded firmly as your dragon obeyed, flying into the air before Sunfyre could attack.

"Princess!" a voice yelled. The clink of armor rang in your ears before two hands hoisted you onto dry land, your shins scraping against the ground.

They rolled you onto your rear, looking down with great concern. "Aegon," you panted, pointing toward the groaning man. "The Prince..." Unable to articulate, you only gestured, your tired stems quivering as you attempted to explain what happened without words.

The Cargyll twins directed their attention to the crowned Prince, helping him upright as they assured he was well. You didn't discover you were shivering until the resounding vibrations of your teeth chattering echoed in your skull. Your mind focused solely on rescuing Aegon as the sopping outfit stuck to your skin, the frigid autumn climate chilling you to the bone. A dark shadow of a man blocked what little warmth you acquired from the sunlight, squinting to decipher who he was and why he was only staring.

Ser Criston Cole stood beyond your quivering form, blankly peering down from his nose. The reflection of his silver armor seared your eyes as you turned away. 

You couldn't speak. You couldn't think, concentrating on not being shocked by the freezing temperature. Abruptly a cloak was thrown, and you secured it around your form greedily, curling into a ball to conserve your heat as Ser Cole went over to the small group forming around Aegon.

You needed to get warm.

Why couldn't you get warm?

You hugged the wool blanket closer to your body, helpless to get what every nerve fiber was screaming at you to receive. Exhaustion washed over you, your eyelids gradually drooping.

Aegon is safe; you convinced yourself. There is nothing to worry about now.

You ultimately let the tiredness take control, shutting your eyes as you let out a shuddering breath, your finger loosening around the blanket.

"Princess," the faint title echoed beyond earshot. It sounded too far away, and you couldn't be bothered to reply.

"Princess," you heard softly again.

You couldn't understand why someone was calling for you. Everything was all right now. You could rest comfortably.

Your name was unexpectedly screamed, and you barely managed to pry your lids apart to see the terrified countenance of Ser Arryk Cargyll. You felt yourself lifted onto your shanks as they buckled, causing a surge of adrenaline to wake you partially as you griped the constituents that held you.

"She is soaking wet," you heard Arryk communicate before looking down at your blanched sallow fingers, holding them together with his palms. "Princess, please forgive me for what I plan to do. I must remove your clothes or risk you getting frostbite."

You still couldn't answer, a soft groan jostling in your nose as you felt your legs give out again, shutting your eyes. Intrusive digits began to unbutton your attire, your arms weakly pushing them away in protest. You didn't understand what was happening. One moment you were soaring high atop your dragon, and the next being forcefully undressed. Did Aegon have you again?

"No. Stop. Please," you begged, sluggishly swatting Ser Arryk.

"My Lady, I beseech you," he pleaded. "You will die otherwise."

You persisted, wiggling feebly in Arryk's hold as he stripped you down to your braes and breast binder. Tears of shame and powerlessness flowed down your cheeks, the salty trails warming the area briefly before chilling on the wind burnt skin.

The blanket wrapped around you again, the knight aiding you to his white horse. It didn't feel like you were there, seeing your figure in the surroundings from an outside perspective. Arryk tried putting you onto the saddle by himself, struggling as he couldn't lift the entirety of your limp body.

There were conversations that you could not hear as you leaned against his steely armor, your breathing becoming more difficult each second you stood. Another set of limbs came to assist, resting you on the front of the leather saddle, the pommel digging into your backside as you rested against the rider's chest.

The rhythmic swaying indicated that you had begun moving, hopefully to someplace where you could rest. Preferably scorching with a hearth the size of a solar and a fire blazing like the flames, Cannibal exhaled as you felt yourself fall into a deep slumber.

***

In your subconscious, you felt a tickle on your cheek, swatting it away as you drifted back to unconsciousness.

It happened again, this time a pull to your hair. You opened your heavy eyes, your vision blurry with sleep as you rubbed the afflicted area, turning over with an annoyed grunt. Then again, but now a pinch of your nose as you shot up, lunging into the person that so desperately wanted to disturb your rest.

"You," you spat, moving to get off the intruder.

"Me." Aegon smirked.

"Why are you here?" you interrogated, sliding off the bed to the roaring fire.

"I wanted to see how you were fairing. You gave us quite a fright," he admitted, gleaming smirk still on his pink lips.

Staring at him, you searched your mind, the memories returning in flashes. You, gliding over the streets of King's Landing. You pursued by a serpent of shimmering pink, orange, and gold. Aegon, falling into the dangerous murky waters of Blackwater Bay. He watched the recognition on your face, walking to your place by the hearth.

"And to extend my endless gratitude for saving my life." You scoffed, turning away from Aegon as he clasped his hands behind his back. "What is that now? Twice? I owe you," he admitted, sitting in a green armchair.

You released a huff, trying to distance yourself from Aegon as you went to the pot of tea in the center of the table. Pouring yourself a cup, you were pleased it was still tepid, with the taste of cinnamon and cloves warming your tongue. A bowl of stew rested next to it, the hazy memory of being huddled at the fireplace with thick fabric weighing on your icy bones as you sipped on the broth.

"You would have a debt if you thought twice about your actions," you cursed without thinking. "Do you ever think about how they affect other people? How they affect your wife, your mother... how they affect me?" Aegon's head lowered, his choppy blonde hair draping over his face as he fiddled with his fingers. "Look at me when I am speaking!" you yelled, storming over to where he sat.

"I am not going to lecture you as the Queen does, for you are well enough to know better. I want you to listen to me, hear my words." You kneeled before him, forcing Aegon's glassy eyes to meet your raging ones. "Your drinking and whoring wounds me deeply. You say that I am to put my trust within you, but then you lead two slaves into your bed, a place that we have shared. A place where I-" You choked on your words, a thick lump suddenly forming as you looked away.

You hadn't meant for this to become emotional. Your original intent was to have him whimpering at your feet and begging you to forgive him. The appeal of your sex was the key reason, but you were shaken. Watching in horror as Aegon fell into the Bay had scared you, truly and sincerely. It would've been partially on your hands, and his death, you realized, was not something you could stomach.

"We are allowed to have fun and forget our duty at times. I understand that our life is not what we would have chosen if given the choice, but we must take into account others. We do not have the freedom to forget people as others do with us. If we do then we become the ones who have hurt us, loosing our true selves."

Before you could continue, Aegon released a loud sob, slumping in the chair with his head in his palms. The sound was like an arrow to the heart, pricking your eyes with the intensity of it.

"I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. I have tried to be everything they wanted of me. To be the son my father dreamed of, to be a boy my mother could love," he cried, his shoulders shaking. "Why don't they love me? Why does no one love me? Am I truly such a monster?"

You inhaled a ragged breath, pursing your lips as you held back your tears. You could not bring yourself to give Aegon the assurance he needed. He was not a good man by any means. He participated in child fighting pits, gambled to the point of gluttony, and bedded women who were willing and those who were coerced. By certain standards, he was a monster, but not to you. You could see behind the heinous actions he committed was a boy who never learned what was right and wrong. A boy who was neglected and abused since he was born for reasons he could never control, tormented by the realization that he would never receive happiness.

Aegon was a drunkard, a slut, a craven, a wastrel, and a deadbeat, but he was no monster. You knew that to be true even when blinded by loathing, rage, and grief.

Your chin began to quiver, and your pulse began to race as you extended a hand, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. Aegon snapped his head up, his glimmery amethyst eyes glistening in an ocean of tears as you rested his palm against your cheek.

"You are broken, as am I, but we are no monsters." You placed a chaste kiss against his wrinkled skin, showing him your sincerity.

Aegon's lips trembled in his pout, so deeply moved by your words that he collapsed into you. You returned comfort, snaking your arms around him and smoothing his frizzy hair as he cried into the crook of your neck, wetting the fabric of your nightgown with his tears.

You stayed together like that until his sobs turned into hiccups, squeezing you tightly against him as he steadied his breathing. Even then, you did not let go, ridding him of his shoes and outer tunic as you led him to your bed. You were both drained, on a constant emotional overdrive that sucked the energy straight from your souls.

Settling onto the top sheet of your feather tick mattress, you held your arm to Aegon, signaling he could lay beside you. He crawled in like a child to a parent with a nightmare, seeking the comfort of their protective embrace. You let him lean his head on your chest, your back propped up against the collection of pillows at the headboard.

His index traced the curve of your knee, sending tingles up your leg and into your chest. It was intimate, an action one would make to their lover, but it didn't startle you. And the fact that it didn't give you that nauseating feeling in your stomach did not frighten you either. You allowed his digits to slide further up your leg, to your navel, sternum, and back down again. It caused gooseflesh to cover your arms, your nipples hardening with the rush.

Aegon's back settled on your plush thighs, your heart racing out of your chest as he stared with his cracked, shimmering amethyst eyes. He looked like a boy, younger than your brothers, and you knew exactly what broken boys like him needed.

Wordlessly you undid the front strings of your nightgown, letting gravity slide it down your prickled arms and revealing your breasts for him. A sudden heat rushed through your stomach and between your shanks as you saw his pupils dilate, nearly swallowing his irises. You inhaled deeply to settle yourself, endeavoring not to show your uncertainty about being in such a vulnerable situation.

"May I," Aegon paused, choking on his words and wetting his lips. "Can I touch them? Please?"

Your pulse stalled at the inadvertent confession of his nervousness, an almost maternal feeling coming over you as you brushed his curly locks behind his ear. "Yes, you may, dear prince," you mumbled.

The sensation of his fingers gently kneading one breast caused your toes to curl, sparks of satisfaction igniting in your core. You were not proud of letting him do this to you, surrendering one of your most sacred regions to a man known to defile them, but it felt so good. It simultaneously made you feel weak yet powerful, confusing your head and heart on right and wrong.

Aegon was silky in his touches, adding another hand to your neglected globe and leaning his countenance ever so close to them. You tried to hide your enjoyment in his efforts, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as the once saddened boy transformed into the mischievous Prince and brushed his finger over your nipple. You needn't look down to know there was a grin on his face, but you did. The water pooled in his sights was now gone, contentment in its place as he did the same thing to the other. You tipped your head back to hide from his observant gaze, knowing that if you continued watching, a moan would fall from your tongue and only feed his never ceasing ego.

His hold became harsher now, attempting to get a reaction out of you as you held firm. Aegon's index and thumb pinched your nipples, upping his antics. Still, you did not make a sound, but the bend of your knees and scrunching of your nose were winning enough for him, letting out a breathy chuckle as he continued to grope.

Aegon loved your tits. They fit perfectly into his hands as if the Gods made them with him in mind. He hated how you bound them. He believed that they should hang freely (preferably in his palms) without anything to step in the way of their full glory. He understood you did it to repress the sexuality of your body to the people of the court, wishing that by making yourself less palatable to the men and less of a competitor in looks to the women, you would be respected.

Aegon learned you would never admit such a thing to him, but he wasn't stupid. You made choices with careful calculation and a purpose; he just wished it didn't come in the form of repressing your body.

You were exquisite. The way your dark lashes batted against your cheeks, your midnight hair so long and thick that Aegon wished to blanket himself with it. People would constantly say that Targaryens are closer to Gods than men with white hair and purple eyes, but he didn't see it that way. His family rode dragons. That made them Gods, not the incestuous looks passed down from generation to generation in hopes of keeping their Valyrian blood pure.

You were just as gorgeous as the songs claimed Aegon the Conqueror's younger sister, Rhaenys was, but not in the supremacist ways his family judged. You appeared human, but a Goddess in your own right, not one that came with a name.

"I love your tits," Aegon complimented, lost in his mind as he rested his forehead on your sternum.

It felt natural to surrender to your desires, ignoring the racing thoughts that screamed at you to stop this. Your fingers rested on his meaty thigh, digging into the flesh as the Prince latched his mouth onto your nipple like a babe, swirling his tongue against the bud.

"Aegon!" you shouted in what was meant to protest but sounded more like a moan.

Your digits gripped his blonde hair, not pushing or pulling but giving you the faux action of control. You felt the vibrations of his breathy grunts through your ribcage, causing you to rub your legs together in desperation as he sucked brutally.

"Oh. Aegon, please," you whimpered, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or keep going as you arched your back.

Wave after of pleasure rippled through your breasts and straight to your core, feeling uncomfortably wet as he moved his mouth to the other. A dull pain sensation rippled through your free tit as Aegon slapped it, soothing the skin with his touch before doing it again. You could feel his hips moving into the air, seeking the same ecstasy he was giving you.

Without thought, you found yourself unlacing his breeches, your trembling hands searching for what hid there. You pulled his throbbing cock free, seeing it for the first time and noticing the pearlescent liquid leaking from the rudy tip. He barely fit inside your hand, only your middle finger and thumb touching as you swiped the essence from his silt, dragging it down over a tiny ridge and veins.

Aegon's hips bucked at your touch, biting harshly against your abused nipple. You squeezed his shaft in response, throwing your head back momentarily as you began to move. You raised your hand in almost a spinning way, gently tightening around his cockhead before sliding down again, repeating it over and over.

"Gods. You're so fucking perfect. Your tits are so fucking perfect. They would feed babes well," Aegon mumbled against the plump skin of your breast, moving to the other one. You couldn't conceal the brief shock at his vulgar, coarse, and heady words, making you lose your breath as you sped up your ministrations.

The eldest Prince continued thrusting into your fist, aiding you as hot air from his nose dampened your chest. "So good. So fucking good, little one," he rambled into your flesh. "You're so good to me, my pretty girl-my good girl. You know what I need."

His words temporarily stole you from your trance, trying to conceal it with the tightening of your fist. Suddenly, the real reason you initiated this came to mind. It was just another step in securing the throne for your mother. Everything was falling into place. Perhaps it was just nonsense spouted during the heat of the moment, but it was still said. It was what Aegon felt, even if it was because your hand was pumping his manhood. A smirk rose to your lips in victory, leaning over to slide a glob of spittle onto him to help aid in his pleasure.

"I do, Aegon. I know what my sweet prince needs," you confessed into his hair, using your free arm to push him further into your chest. "My sweet Prince needs to come for his pretty girl. I want to feel your seed dripping on my flesh." You placed a chaste kiss on the crown of his head, yanking the ends of his damp hair so he could look into your eyes, deepening the act of your siphoning hand.

"Be a good boy, and let go for your little girl. I know you want to."

Aegon nodded aggressively, his lips parting as he panted. His thrusts became twitches until you felt him go entirely still, mouth agape, as he released the loudest, most lecherous groan you had ever heard, his thighs trembling. You felt the warm ropes of his spend on your still-moving fist, his cock spasming as it aided your pumps.

You soothed him through the aftershocks of his little death, kissing the salty tears that ran down his cheeks from the intensity of it. You sang praises in Aegon's ear as he clutched onto your body for dear life, attempting to ground himself. You were unsure of what else to say as a sense of triumph washed over you, the doubts you had from days prior only a distant memory.

This would be easier than you thought. You didn't have to let him do things to your body. If you kept his prick busy, you could leave Aegon completely satisfied and smitten without concern.

Instead of speaking and letting your thoughts escape you, you gave the buzzed Prince a peck on the nose, sliding out from under him to find a rag as you cleaned him and your hand. You opened the covers for Aegon after you were finished, seemingly a simple offer for him to stay, but you knew the truth. A smile curled on your lips as you watched him crawl under the sheets, his breathing still faster than normal from his climax. You felt like the cat who finally captured the canary.

You scooted closer to him, wedging your arm under Aegon's neck as you directed him to lie on your chest. You kept the strings of your gown untyed, allowing him free access whenever he wanted. Almost instinctively, he took it, cupping the curve of your breast in his hand as he settled. You felt him swipe self-soothing movements over your nipple for it to become hard again, blowing cool air to keep it that way.

"Will you sing to me?" Aegon suddenly asked, catching you unaware.

"I apologize, but I do not think my singing would be the last thing you want to hear before sleep," you lightly teased. "I am no siren."

You felt him smile against you, moving even closer into your body. "'Tis alright. Your mere presence is enough to lull me."

You lay there in silence, a war raging between your heart and your head. There wouldn't be any harm in singing. If it were what Aegon wanted, then you would do it. After all, it was just another stepping stone toward your goal.

"When you call to me asleep up the ragged cliffs, I scramble. A single thread hangs limply down, and I breathe, 'Not now, not now.' And I find you all unwoven, trying desperately to sew. I know the kindest thing is to leave you alone," you started, feeling Aegon's eyes widen against you.

"When your seams have come unknitted, and you cry out to the sky, I've run out of my words; my song just let me die, me die. The rockrose and the thistle will whistle as you moan. I could try to calm you down, but I know you won't." 

The Prince's rubbing of your body gradually ceased, drifting off into a much-needed rest as you continued to sing the only melody that came to mind. 

"All the pins inside your fretted head and your muttered whens and hows, all your mother's weaves and your father's threads. Let me rob them of you now. Because I'll darn you back together when you think that you're bereft, and you'll wail, you'll scream, but I'll never stop because it's all that I have left." 

You felt your breathing hitch, swallowing a lump that had suddenly formed.

"I wake and hear you calling, and up those cliffs, I climb, and I find you with a thimble weeping, 'May I?' I ask, 'May I?' And you gently gift it to me because you've no clue how to sew, and I know the kindest thing. I pray to god it's the kindest thing... I know the kindest thing is to never leave you alone."

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How about that exciting chapter? What do y'all think about that?! The song I included at the end is by The Amazing Devil titled The Rockrose and the Thistle and is sung mainly by Joey Batey, who you might know as the bard, aka Jaskier, in The Witcher Netflix series. Please take a listen to it if you have the time to support them!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter because I enjoyed writing it!

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[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash - Aemond POV

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Aemond!POV, thoughts of violence, thoughts of murder, pregnancy, infidelity, talks of assault and descriptions of injuries.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond!POV Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello, hello.... I can hear the hisses again, and the cried of all of your therapists. Here is the second installment of Alys Rivers and our resident man baby Aemond. This is a POV for the recent chapters... Enjoy <3

Harrenhal to Blood Spilt

Aemond Targaryen was a man of duty. 

Dutiful to his family, dutiful to the crown, dutiful to tradition. Whatever was asked of Aemond, he would do. Whatever was needed to be done, he would carry out without a word of protest. 

Aemond Targaryen was a man of duty.

He would go to the Sept with his mother as a child to pray, and would continue to go as he grew a man. He prays before each and every dinner, and asks for guidance and the Sevens blessings.

Aemond had not been to visit Alys Rivers for some time, sure he had been to Harrenhal, but his time had been spent elsewhere than between the legs of his lover. The Prince found he did not have the desire for it, and so when the King, his brother, had commanded him to return to Harrenhal, even after his most recent visit, he had been most irritated and almost perturbed. 

For Aemond did not want to leave the company of his wife.

His zaldrītsos. 

For you were beginning warm to him. Reciprocating. Trying.

She will always come back to you.

Aemond had spent so many years as a child going to the Sept, praying that you would return to him. Praying that you would fly to Kings Landing to see him. To apologise for leaving him. For abandoning him. For betraying him. And for the first few years of praying, he had promised himself that he would forgive you, and welcome you with open arms, for your bastard brothers had surely tainted your mind and heart against him of no fault of your own. 

But then, you hadn’t. 

You had not come back to him, you had not flown over the waters to Kings Landing upon Dragonback to return to him, you had not landed at the gates all fire and fury like he had grown to love, demanding to see him. And so all promises of forgiveness were forgotten, and the promises of justice were soon replaced with something more sinister. 

Aemond had waited for you, as a young boy, and had waited for you as a man grown. And now he finally had you, and did not want to let go. For in the short lived moments of happiness, if he could call them that, you shared together now, he saw glimpses of the young girl he loved. 

The young girl he knew. 

The girl who promised him rides upon Syndor’s back. The girl who promised to fly with him once he claimed his own dragon. And what a shame it was that the first time you flew together was him tearing you from the sky. Almost poetic.

You had always told him he would ride a most feared dragon.

How right you were.

It was not at all what he had planned. Imagined. Fantasised about. But the Gods were cruel, and worked in mysterious ways, and Alys had assured him that it was the only way for him to get you back. 

For you to come back to him.

And you had. 

And so he swore to the Seven that he would never let you out of his sight again. 

But then he did, his hand had been forced, and Aemond Targaryen went begrudgingly back to Harrenhal to seek out the menial tasks forced upon him by his King brother. And when he had arrived, he was surprised to find that there were in fact whispers of rebellion and support for his half-sister there. 

For three nights, and four days, Aemond had successfully avoided Alys Rivers, and dove into the work of following the trail whispers through Harrenhal and Riverrun, which was charred beyond recognition by his own Lady Wife. 

He had followed the hushed divulgence into taverns, homesteads and inns, and tore the heads from the bodies whose lips moved in favour of his whore half-sister Queen. His sword made quick work of up to seven men, though Aemond had not been counting, and simply sought to rid the heads from bodies before they had been confirmed as sympathisers to the Black cause. 

Aemond made quick work of it.

Anything, to get him back to you sooner. 

And then she had come to him. 

Aemond sat in the chambers left to him at Harrenhal, fireplace raging to keep the chambers warm in a Keep that seemed to be endlessly cold. A Keep that had endless halls, and chambers, and doors, all of which set an uneasy feeling in the Prince’s stomach. 

There was something wrong about Harrenhal. 

She had entered without knocking, as she always had, and Aemond had known it was her without even turning. 

He could smell her familiar scent as soon as she entered the chambers, footsteps carrying her across the room to stand beside him at the fire, as he sat in his chair. She smelt of roses and dusk, and the undertones of the sickly sweet smell of breast milk that lingered on her skin. 

Aemond turned his face to look up at his lover. 

Alys looked down at him knowingly, hair just as long and just as black as he remembered it to be. 

But she had gone through changes too. 

Her breasts were pushed up against the confines of her gown, swollen and pert. She was no longer dressed in maids robes, but instead, donned green dresses of fine silk he had made in Kings Landing to be sent to her. Her milky skin had a soft blush to it as she looked down at him, and the tops of her breasts had light blue veins running across them and down into her gown. 

One singular, slender hand rested upon the bump that had begun to grow within her. 

She was with child. 

His. 

“My dragon is conflicted.” Alys Rivers spoke, voice low and sultry, hand stilling on her stomach, “I have seen-“

“You have seen it. Yes, I know.” Aemond grumbled, “You see much and more. You see everything.”

“It does not take having The Sight to see that you miss her. That you love her deeply.”

Aemond hummed in irritation.

You had been so frightened when he had left. So small. So weak.

He needed to go back to you. 

Aemond shifted in his chair and moved his body forward, leaning his head against the swollen belly of Alys. She carded her fingers through his hair as she always did, nails scratching atop the skin of his scalp. 

“He grows with everyday.” She murmured, other hand cupping the underside of her stomach lovingly. 

Aemond pulled back and pressed a kiss to her pregnant stomach, huffing a small breath into the gown before sitting back up. His gaze trailed up her body, pausing at her breasts before stopping on her face.

Her eyes were dark and the chambers grew warm.

“I’m not going to fuck you.”

“I know.” She smiled, sitting down on the matching armchair opposite you, one hand on the arm to help lower herself into it slowly.

Aemond grunted. 

He hated that she saw things.

Hated that she was always one step ahead of him, guiding him to his future. At first it made him feel powerful, but now it made him feel more out of control than anything else. She always knew what was to come or happen. 

“She will need you when you return. Now more than ever. You must go to her.” Alys looked away from Aemond and into the fireplace, watching the flames dance. 

He watched the shadows of the fire pass over her face. 

“Why?” He had asked, uncertainty in his tone. 

Alys did not answer. 

Aemond could not sleep after Alys’ unfinished confession, telling him that she had not seen why, only that she sensed it. He had left Harrenhal, without finishing his duties there, the Black supporters be damned. There were too few of them to be any real threat, he reasoned.

The ride back to King’s Landing had not gone fast enough, though Vhagar was mighty and large, she still flew heavily through the sky. At a pace the Prince wished would hurry. But soon night turned to day, and the sun began to rise in the sky.

Aemond watched as the oceans horizon came to view, and the beaches down by the Red Keep sprawled for miles on end. The sun glittered beautifully upon the soft waves that moved up the shore. 

When Aemond swooped over the coast and across the water, making his way to the Red Keep from the back, he saw flames. 

Large plumes of fire jetting up in the air at random, with no direction of where it landed, or was aimed. The closer he got, the larger the flames became, from once being the size of a glowing candlelight, to now being taller than the highest tower in Maegor’s Holdfast. 

There, down on the sandy shore of Kings Landings beaches, stood the Bronze Fury, all bronze, and all fury, shrieking into the air as flames rose higher and higher. The sand around him had been melted to black blobs of dragon glass which shimmered in the sun.

Something was wrong. 

You must go to her.

Fear pulled through Aemond as he swooped Vhagar down towards the entrance to the Dragon Pit, her body too large to go inside. He had slid down off of her back, boots hitting the dirt floor with a thud as he landed on bent knees. 

And then he was off.

Racing up through the Dragon Pit, long legs carrying him up the stairs two at a time. When the Prince emerged from the Pit and began to make his way to his shared chambers, to you, his mother had rounded a corner he was coming to. 

Her arms were thrust forward as she moved to grab him, catching his elbows as she always did, eyes dancing with fear as she looked up at her tall son. Ser Cole stood beside her, out of breath, as though he had run to collect her. 

Something was wrong. 

“Aemond, wh-“

“What’s happened?” He interrupted the Dowager Queen, voice coming out with heaving breaths as sweat slid down his back. 

“You mus-“

Something was wrong. 

Aemond pushed past his mother, breaking himself from her grip and narrowly dodged Ser Cole's as he ran faster than he ever had, through the Keep and up to his Wing of the castle. 

Something was wrong. 

Zaldrītsos.

His heart thumped in his chest, blood rushing in his ears as he slid into the corridor that was his and up towards the door, where the Knight had opened his mouth, as though to stop him. 

But Aemond’s hand had snatched the handle of the door and burst through without a second thought. 

His only thought, was you. 

Aemond did not know what he was expecting to find when he entered the chambers, but he had certainly not been expecting to see what he did.

There you sat, deep in the tub by the fire, hair knotted and greasy, body frail and pale, head flicking over your shoulder to look at him, eyes wide and darkened beneath. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at you, and felt nausea roll through him.

You had sobbed. ‘Kepus’ falling from your lips as your eyes welled with tears, sliding down hollow cheeks, down to your neck. 

Your neck.  

Covered in the bruises from rough hands. 

Aemond sped to your side, dropping to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his legs as his bones connected with the stones. His eye searched your face as it slid down to your neck, his large hands coming to hold your cheeks.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

You had flinched at his hands as they came to touch you, and another sob broke free from the lips he loved to kiss, loved to touch, loved to fuck. Lips that laughed, and yelled, and cursed, and smiled and sneered at him. 

Yet when he held you, you let him.

You let him touch your cheeks as he looked you over, eye pausing on the dark bruises around your neck. 

Something was wrong.

Aemond’s gaze darkened and the grip on your cheeks tightened.

Him. 

It was him.

His brother. 

Aegon. 

Aegon had done this.

He had touched you.

Aemond remembered times where Helaena would flee to his chambers like this. Body bruised, eyes wet with tears, and frame shaking, and Aemond could do nothing.

Aemond could say nothing. 

Aemond felt despair.

“You left me with him.” You had cried.

Left me with him. 

She thinks this is my doing. 

She thinks I am like him. 

She thinks I-

He touched her. 

He touched my wife. 

My zaldrītsos. 

Mine. 

“You knew what he would do. You know what he does.” 

And Aemond did know.

He knew everything.

Everything that his brother does. And what he had done. Aemond knew all too well. Helaena, the servants, the fighting pits. But Aemond had thought that perhaps his brother would not cross the invisible line that lay between the two. 

A line which the King had no apparent care for. 

Aemond tried to steady his breathing, the first thought in his mind at that moment was to storm to the Kings chambers and remove his brothers head with the sword that had removed so many other mens before him. 

Aemond wished to hurt him. 

Aemond wished to kill him.

For what he had done to you. 

“You let him. He was inside me.” You hissed at him, anger bubbling up through you.

His little dragon.

“Where were you? Where were you? Where were you?” Your voice crackled and broke, pain overtaking your senses. 

Where was he?

Out doing my brothers duties. 

Sent away so that he could have you. 

Sent away so that he could take from me again. 

Sent away so that he could do as he pleases, as he always has, and I will have to pick up the pieces again, as I always have had to do.

As Aemond's thumbs brushed against your cheeks, he struggled to keep himself composed, keep himself calm, for you. But all his instincts did, was scream to end the life of his oldest brother, the King. Be done with it. Kinslaying be damned. He was already a Kinslayer, he was already cursed.

What was another murder? 

What was another name to add to his list of sins?

But watching the way you crumpled in his hold, the way you had grown thin, the way your eyes were darkened and red with tears, the way you were bruised along your neck and arms, the way your throat rasped with every breath or word. 

Aemond knew he had to stay by your side. 

Aemond knew that you needed him.

She will need you. Now more than ever.

You needed him. 

And Aemond needed you in that moment too.

To ground him.

To stop him from doing something stupid. 

To stop him from murder. 

And so he stayed, and held onto you and let you cry, as he stewed in the flames of hot rage that licked at his bones and flesh. Not once had Aemond fought his rage before, but for you?

He would do anything.

Aemond Targaryen was a man of duty.

Dutiful to his wife, tradition, and his family.

But the blood of his wife ran thicker than the water of the womb he shared with Aegon.

Aemond Targaryen was a dutiful man, dedicated to his wife, the crown, and his duty as a Prince.

But a tide was shifting in Aemond where he could not resist the pull.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[kissedbyaphrodite]

"Se zaldrītsos sōvegon toliot se sambar" He hummed.

"Wonderful baby!" Lucerys clapped as he smiled down at his son "Now, this is the last one, then we're over for today." He cleared his throat "The flower blooms under the sun" Lucerys read.

"Se rūklon" Aenon spoke slowly, frowning in a way similar to that of his father, with his lips pouting, his eyebrows scrunching as he focused on his words "sīmonagon gō se vēzos"

Lucerys smiled kindly, closing the book and laying it back on his lap.

"You got four out of five phrases correctly" Lucerys spoke with joy "Sīmonagon means to grow in size, so it would be used when the flower grows taller, like when a rose bush grows in size. To say bloom it would be ūbriljagon. But you did so well! At this pace you will be speaking our mother tongue fluently by the end of the year, perhaps even earlier"

Despite the praise, it was clear it wasn't good enough, for Aenon sighed in defeat as he fidgeted with his fingers, reminding Lucerys not only of himself, but of his mother as well. Leaning down, Lucerys took a hold of the young six year old boy in front of him, sitting him on his lap as Aenon buried his face into Lucerys's neck, his curls melding with those in Lucerys' head, if it wasn't for his son's silver locks, one wouldn't be able to tell where Lucerys' curls started and where Aenon's ended. Aemon was different from his older sisters in many ways, where his sisters were loud and adventurous, Aenon was quieter, spending more time in the garden of Driftmark than flying over the sea or exploring the waters. His older sisters were tall and proud, but Aenon always hid behind shadows, making hinself smaller than they ever were. Even their dragons were different, his sisters' dragons never stood still, flying and hunting all the time, exploring the clouds, diving into the waves and hunting fishes, Aurora was always lurking near Aenon, his long body draped like a shawl around Aenon's shoulders, or coiling around Aenon's waist like a belt. Where Lucerys' eldest daughters had dragons with dark and striking colors, Aurora was pale and light, a pearlescent light pink dragon with lavender wings and chest, reminiscent of the morning sky. His body was completely elongated, just like Caraxes' body, a complete contrast to his fellow dragon siblings, who were bulkier and bigger. Even when

"It's alright my rūklītsos" Lucerys hummed, softly caressing Aenon's hair "Our mother tongue is not easy to learn" He felt Aurora make his way into the hug, squeezing through a small gap between the two and snuggling into Aenon's chest.

"Narra can already speak it perfectly" Aenon argued.

"Narra is two years older than you" Lucerys pointed out "Aenon, your sisters all struggled just like you when they were your age, Maerea struggled with words that had similar meanings, much like you. Asterea struggled to write in our tongue, Sereia struggled to pronounce certain words and Narra would not use connectors. Even your kepa struggled with the language, it doesn't come easy to everyone"

"It did for you" Aenon grumbled

"I spent most of my time with people who wouldn't speak another tongue or couldn't speak it" Lucerys explained "My grandsire took me to many voyages, and I would be introduced to people who could only speak our mother tongue, I had to learn by myself, and I learned through trial and error." He made Aenon sit up straight, his lilac eyes meeting Lucerys' brown ones "I cannot tell you the amount of mistakes I made, I tried to tell a lady I thought her garden was pretty and ended up saying I would pee in her garden" Aenon smiled softly at that. "My grandsire had to fix a lot of mistakes I made, rūklītsos." He tucked a curl behind Aenon's ear "But from mistakes you learn, every word mispronounced, every translation mixed up, is one more step towards learning and succeeding."

Aenon nodded, Aurora snuggling into the crook of his neck, eliciting a fit of giggles from the young boy. The sound of two dragons roaring pulled away the focus of mother and son as they turned to the window. A dark green dragon flew over Driftmark, his wings and crest a near red orange color, similar to the color of the flames in a chimney. Behind him, a smaller dragon, his body a bronze gold color as black markings covered his entire body, in a way similar to that of a tiger. Aenon perked up at the sight of the dragons, wiggling his way out of Lucerys' lap as Aurora chirped happily, flying above his future rider as Aenon ran towards the door, politely bowing to the guards as they opened the door for him, for the boy was too small to push the giant doors himself. Aurora flew ahead of his rider, chirping and hissing in order to warn the maids and servants of the incoming child, allowing them to make space for him to run without tripping him or bumping into him. Lucerys smiled softly, standing up as he used his hands to tidy up his garments, walking softly as guards and maids bowed to the Lord of the Tides and future Queen consort. He saw through the windows as his brother-husband and their daughter jumped off their dragons, Arrax was the first to join them, snuggling Vermax and Terrax as three smaller dragons joined them. Soon, Jacaerys and Maerea were hugging Asterea, Sereia, Narra and Aenon.

"Grandsire Daemon gifted me a dagger!"

"I learned how to shoot two arrows at the same time!"

"Uncle Daeron taught me how to locate myself at sea!"

"I taught Aurora a new trick!"

The four younglings exclaimed, having been separated from their sire and sister way too long. Lucerys chuckled as he approached the two of them, Maerea was dressed in the riding gear that his mother had made for her. Her curly brown hair had been short for many years now, as Maerea made a habit of cutting it with her sword and daggers, copying her aunt Baela. Jacaerys himself had been marked by the years and battles, with a large burn scar covering his neck and the vast majority of his torso and a large gash on his face, and multiple smaller scars left by arrows in one of the battles prior to their mother's ascension to the throne. Lucerys slowly made his way to his husband, knowing they would be able to catch up on lost time later in their bedchamber. Kissing his daughter on her forehead, and his husband on the lips. Maerea was quickly dragged away by her sisters and brother, promising to later catch up with Lucerys as she followed after her siblings.

"How was your journey?" Lucerys asked, turning to face Jacaerys.

"A bit tiring" His husband answered "We were lucky enough to avoid a storm but we couldn't leave earlier due to some complications" He looked around to ensure non of their children were around "Rhaena experienced a bit of a scare and thought she was with child, again" He whispered "Luckily it was a false alarm, but we were obviously scared"

"Well it is to be expected" Lucerys sighed "I cannot believe she didn't even raven me"

"Well darling there was a storm" Jacaerys hummed "The raven would've died"

Lucerys rolled his eyes with a smile.

"How was Aenon?" Jace asked.

Lucerys sighed, looking at where Aenon and his sisters had disappeared to.

"He's just like you" He hummed "Today he got everything right, he got confused with one word and immediately got sad. Sometimes I worry we gave him our worst traits" He looked into his husband's eyes "My desire to either be great or nothing, your inability to allow yourself to fail."

His worries were stopped by Jacaerys' lips on his own.

"We gave them all our best and worst traits" Jacaerys hummed "Just like our parents gave us their worst and best traits. We cannot change them. But we can teach them to live without letting these traits dictate the way they are"

The sky became engulfed in pink and purple flames as Aurora did the trick Aenon taught him. The sound of a window breaking followed the flames.

"Aenon! You made me miss my target!" Sereia shouted.

"So many kids, so many windows" Lucerys smiled "Go make sure nobody was shot, I'll go make sure our children don't kill each other"

"Of course my love" Jacaerys smiled, kissing his brother before rushing into the castle.

[amberthefantasy]

and the dragons danced?

chapter three: RHAENYRA II

Aegon looked better after a bath and a change of clothes. He had stopped shaking to, whatever her boys had said during the time they were alone together seemed to have calmed her brother down considerably.

Now he was standing behind one of the chairs in their dining hall, waiting for Rhaenyra and Daemon to join them so they could eat their meal. Jace and Luke either side of him, with their betrotheds beside them. Little Joffrey was saying something to his uncle, probably some childish question about some rumour or another. When the Rhaenyra and Daemon entered the light of the room and came into her brothers view, Aegon tensed, his shoulders pulling up and back stiffening. Gods, he couldn't even be in the same room as her without fear, how had it come to this?

Her and Daemon had spent the last hour looking back on the days they'd spent in King's Landing, picking apart the interactions they'd had with the greens, picking apart every word, every look, every flinch (yes, Aegon had flinched when Rhaenyra grabbed his arm during the dinner, that had been horrible to remember), every moment that they had spent in each other's presence. Noticing the way that Aegon never spoke to her, that Helaena never even looked in their direction. Aemond's undisguised anger (that was expected) but there was something else, something more when Daemon stepped between him and her sons, had it been fear? Some primal reaction to the words his mother had been whispering in his ear for years. 

"Mother," Luke called, turning his gaze from his younger brother to her, a smile spliting his face. Oh her sweet boy, always to happy to see her, to be near her. Joffrey jumped and turned towards the door at his brothers cry, instantly running to her side. Jace smiled, but only looked at her for a moment, his eyes instantly turning back to his uncle, eyes worried. 

"Hello father," Rhaena called, she smiled slightly, though she too was watching Aegon out of the corner of her eye, such a kind girl, always worrying for others. "Rytsas, zaldrītsos, how did you sleep?" Daemon asked.

"Well kepa," Baela cut in. "how did you rest?"

"Very well, tala," Daemon smiled at his eldest, "lekiatresy, what about you? Do you feel better after your bath?"

Aegon jolted as Daemon addressed him, "uhhh, I feel.... clea-ner than I... ha-ve in centuries, kepus," he stumbled over his valyrian.

"Jēdri," Jace corrected, "not centures, jēdri."

Aegon blushed at that, "oh, thank you Jacaerys." Rhaenyra shook her head slightly, of course, from what she remembered, Aegon had never payed much attention to his studies, learning just enough valyrian to control Sunfyre then losing interest. 

Daemon hummed, "your valyrian could use some work, but we can fix that." Aegon shrunk into himself some more, if that was even possible.

"Yes well," Rhaenyra cut in, "we can discuss Aegon's valyrian later, right now we should eat." Daemon nodded and both of them took their seats.

The children sat at once and Joffrey instantly reached for some food, turning back to his uncle, "well? is it true uncle?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, I don't, I don't remember what you asked," Aegon admitted, blushing again. 

"Is it true that you've been to every brothel in fleabottom?" Joffrey asked again. Rhaenyra spit her drink back into her goblet and Daemon let out a chocked sound. "JOFFREY! That is not appropriate for the table." Rhaenyra said sharply.

"Where did you even hear that?" Rhaena asked, looking at the youngest in question.

"One of the guards in the Keep said it when we were there," Joffrey shrugged, "and I never got a chance to ask."

"Joff-" Luke began, his tone chiding.

"It's okay Lucerys," Aegon said, "really," he added, turning to look at Rhaenyra, "I don't mind, he's just curious, as to answer your question Joffrey, I have no idea."

"Then you should try and keep track," Joffrey nodded, as if it was the most normal sentence in the world. 

"Alright," Daemon cut in before Aegon could respond, "I believe that's quite enough of that, eat your food, all of you." Joffrey pouted at his step-father, but began to eat all the same. His siblings and uncle copying him. Rhaenyra locked eyes with her husband and they shared an exasperated look, at least they weren't fighting.

--

Their meal was quiet after that, everyone eating their food silently, though Rhaenyra spotted the children sharing several glances. 

After they finished eating, Rhaenyra took a moment to let everyone settle, "Now, I believe that Daemon and I have some things to talk over with Aegon, and the rest of you have lessons to attend."

"But mother," Joffrey complained, but he didn't get to finish his sentence before Rhaena stood, walked over to him and began to guide him from the room. Luke let out a laugh when Joffrey made an offended noise, and began to follow them. Baela rolled her eyes and followed as well. Jace had stood to follow but then paused and glanced back at his uncle. "I am fine Jace, go you have studies to attend to," Aegon assured him. 

Jace scoffed, "like you care about studies," but he did as told and left the room, with one more glance back.

There was a moment of silence, "was... was there something you needed?" Aegon broke the silence.

Rhaenyra took a breath, she'd been thinking over what to say since Aegon had left her and Daemon earlier that morning, "yes there are quite a few questions we have for you Aegon, if you're comfortable with answering them?"

"I'm a guest in your home, ask anything you want," Aegon shrugged.

Daemon spoke first, "why do you think the king is dead?" Well, that was a question to ask first.

"I... I heard people, last night. I was, around the city-" Aegon paused, "-when I heard some people looking for me, they said that since father had died I was a valuable asset to have. When I understood what they were saying I snuck back into the keep, took Blackfyre and snuck back out. Then I mounted Sunfyre, told the keepers not to tell anyone I had left and flew for Dragonstone."

Daemon and Rhaenyra shared a look, if people were looking for Aegon... it lended some credance to the fact that her father might have passed. "I have people in King's Landing, we'll know for sure soon enough," Daemon said. Aegon sighed but didn't speak.

"Why did you come here?" Rhaenyra asked after another moment of silence. Aegon flinched. "Not that I am angry you did," Rhaenyra hastily added, "I was just wondering why, we have never been close," which was something she sorely regretted.

"I... as I said when I arrived, I am not fit to rule, I have no taste for it. When I heard that father might be dead, I know that my grandfather, the Hand, has been plotting for years to usurp you and place me on the throne instead." Aegon stopped and looked towards her, but Rhaenyra was not shocked at this news, Otto Hightower had been plotting to usurp her since Alicent married her father.

"I did not wish for that," Aegon continued after she didn't react, "so I did the only thing I could think of, I came to you."

Rhaenyra could swear her heart clenched at that, his first though was her? Oh...

"But why?" Daemon asked, "when you arrived you seemed quite sure that Rhaenyra would kill you the moment Viserys died, so why come here?"

Aegon didn't respond for a long moment, and he looked to be considering the question very deeply, "I think I... I just hoped it wasn't true," he admited, "That everything they had been saying about you was wrong, that I would be safe with my sister."

"You are safe Aegon," Rhaenyra confirmed, leaning towards him, "they were wrong." Aegon smiled at her shyly. "You said that 'they' had been saying then these things, who are they Aegon?" Though she already knew the answer, Rhaenyra still had to ask, and hope against all hope that she was wrong.

Aegon's mouth stuttered open, "oh, umm-"

"We will not be angry at you Aegon," Daemon said, in a softer voice than he had ever used around Alicen't children, "you are not at fault."

Aegon blinked, "my grandfather... and my mother," he finally spoke, wincing when the words left his mouth. The words hit Rhaenyra like a mace, of course, she had already worked out the truth before Aegon had spoken the words, but it still hurt to hear them said aloud. Alicent, her old friend, thought her vile enough to kill her own kin simply for the throne. Did she not know her better? Though Rhaenyra had thought she had known Alicent, until her wedding to Ser Laenor. Perhaps Alicent felt the same? 

Whatever the truth of it, there was no use dwelling on it now, Aegon was watching her with worried eyes, and Rhaenyra realised she must look upset. So she cleared her expression and smiled at her little brother. "Thank you for telling us."

"Wait a moment," Daemon suddenly said, "You said you snuck into and out of the Red Keep, does no one know you have left?"

"No? At the least, they didn't when I left, they might have noticed by now," Aegon responded.

Daemon nodded, "yes, they very well might have, well my contacts will know."

"Is that all?" Aegon asked after another moment of silence.

"There is one other thing," Rhaenyra said, as a question that had been on her mind since Aegon was still a boy came to mind, "your mother, does she... hit you?"

Aegon blanched, "w-what? no, she-"

"Aegon," Rhaenyra cut him off, "it's alright, there is no shame in this."

Aegon closed his eyes, then nodded, "mother, grandfather, sometimes Ser Criston, when I... when I don't meet their expectations," his eyes opened, "sometimes they do it to Helaena and Aemond too, though less than me."

Rhaenyra looked towards Daemon, his eyes had lit with fury at the confession, "Ser Criston? He has dared to lay his hands upon a Targaryen prince," the fury in his voice was palpable.

Aegon flinched and Rhaenyra layed a hand on Daemon's arm to calm him. "It's only happened maybe twice, he- he used to just get more violent in training." Aegon shrugged.

"That-" Daemon began, but stopped at Rhaenyra's head shake. "Thank you again, Aegon, for being to open with us," Rhaenyra said, giving her brother another soft smile, "and I promise you that you are safe here, no one will harm you."

He nodded but there was still a tenseness in his shoulders that Rhaenyra didn't like. "Can... can I go now?" Aegon asked, his silver hair falling into his face as he nodded towards the door.

"Yes, perhaps Sunfyre would like to see you?" Rhaenyra said.

"Yes, perhaps," Aegon responded as he stood, bowed once, and left the room quickly.

Both Rhaenyra and Daemon watched him go in silence, there were no words to say.

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