hotdfic

[hotdfic]

SUGGEST TO MY INBOX NEOWWW

GRAH IM SO BORED PLS

[hotdfic]

thank you dear for writing my request, i loved it❤️❤️❤️

ehehe eheh

[hotdfic]

Are the prompts you write just the ones you put in that post or could there be others as well?

there cna be others ml!!!

[hotdfic]

Hii. I saw that your requests are open. Can you do "Injured and needing help out of their armor/clothes—slowly. " with Aemond x fem reader, please. Maybe some fluff with aemond being the one hurt. Thank you!

i love u..... oh em gee.........

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The sounds of clinking metal and labored breaths filled the quiet chambers. Aemond Targaryen, though known for his stoic nature and fierce battle skills, now found himself struggling, blood trickling down from a wound across his side. His usually composed demeanor wavered as he leaned heavily against the doorframe, the exertion from the day’s skirmish catching up to him.

His remaining eye was narrowed in pain, and his breath came in shallow gasps. He'd been in worse fights, certainly, but today had been a brutal reminder of his mortality. As the door to his chambers creaked open, you stepped inside, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him.

"Aemond..." you breathed, rushing forward to catch him before he crumpled entirely. "What happened?"

He gave a slight tilt of his head, offering a tired smirk despite the agony. "A minor setback. Nothing you need to worry about."

"Nothing I need to worry about? Aemond, you're bleeding!" you exclaimed, gently guiding him to the nearest chair. Your hands moved instinctively, trying to remove his armor, though he grimaced at the pressure.

"Slowly," he grunted, wincing as you began unbuckling the chestplate. "I can manage... just... need a moment."

You paused, taking a steadying breath. His pride often kept him from asking for help, but you knew better. Carefully, you slid the armor straps loose, each movement deliberate to avoid causing him further pain. Aemond’s expression softened at your tenderness, his features relaxing as you removed the heavy chestplate and then the leather tunic beneath it.

“Don’t think I’m helpless,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. “I can still manage on my own.”

You smiled at his words, gently pressing a cloth to the wound on his side, dabbing at the blood. "You can manage just fine, but not with this." You raised an eyebrow, brushing a lock of hair out of his face as you tended to him. "Besides, what kind of lover would I be if I didn’t care for you?”

His lips twitched into the smallest of smiles, and despite the pain, he allowed himself to lean into your touch. His hand found yours, his fingers warm despite the cold edge of the wound.

"You never fail to surprise me," Aemond murmured softly, the words laced with an unspoken gratitude. "I didn't think you’d... care so much."

You gazed at him, brushing the damp strands of hair from his face. "I care about everything that makes you, well, you."

Aemond’s eyes softened with a quiet affection as you gently worked to remove his boots, your actions slow and thoughtful as you treated him with the care he seldom allowed from others. The silence between you was comfortable, filled only with the faint sounds of his breath and your soothing whispers.

Finally, when you had tended to the wound, cleaning it and wrapping it carefully, you sat next to him, your hand gently resting on his knee. Aemond, though still wincing slightly from the pain, looked at you with an expression that spoke volumes. "Make sure to have the maester tend to that.."

Aemond didn’t respond at first. Instead, he leaned his head against your shoulder, his breath steadying. "I will be fine.." His words trailed off, as though he didn’t quite know how to put it into words.

[hotdfic]

[REDO] Writing Requests OPEN !

📩 How to Request:

Send me a prompt in my inbox!

Include the type of vibe you want (angst, fluff, spicy, etc.).

Specify the character and show you’d like me to write about!

What I Write For: Here’s a list of shows and characters I’m open to writing about:

House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones

Aemond Targaryen

Aegon II Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen

Criston Cole

Alicent Hightower

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

Nancy Wheeler

My Babysitter’s a Vampire

Ethan Morgan

Benny Weir

Sarah Fox

Locke & Key

Tyler Locke

Kinsey Locke

Dodge (Lucas Caravaggio)

Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts

Draco Malfoy

Hermione Granger

Newt Scamander

The Society

Will LeClair

Allie Pressman

Harry Bingham

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- Note: If the character is a minor, I will only write fluff and angst. No exceptions.

Need Ideas?

Here’s a list of angst, fluff, and spicy prompts to get you inspired:

Angst Prompts:

���You didn’t think this would hurt me?”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I’m not angry. I’m just… disappointed.”

“Don’t walk away from me. Not again.”

“You said you’d never leave. And yet here we are.”

Fluff Prompts:

“I made you breakfast. Burnt toast counts, right?”

“Stop squirming. I’m trying to braid your hair.”

“You fell asleep on me, and I didn’t have the heart to move.”

“Are you trying to flirt with me, or is this just your natural awkwardness?”

“They told me you were hurt. I dropped everything and ran.”

Spicy Prompts:

“If you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Is this what you wanted? Me losing my mind over you?”

“You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

“Careful. Keep teasing me, and you might regret it.”

“Say that again, and I’ll show you exactly what happens when you push me.”

[hotdfic]

hey! I saw your requests are open, so can I get prompts #4 "A heated argument that ends with someone being pinned to the wall." and #7 "Make me." — "Gladly." (if you can more than one) with Daemon x poc fem reader (or ambiguous appearance, if that's easier for you) please?

BUT OFC YOU CAN MY DEAR...

N/A : I am white, and dont realllyy... know how to write a poc reader so i did ambiguous!..

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The cold air of the stone corridors wrapped around you as you stormed through the Red Keep footsteps echoing in the silence. Daemon's mocking laughter followed close behind.

"Running away already? How disappointing."

You spun on your heel, eyes blazing. "I am not running. Unlike you, I know when to walk away from something not worth my time."

Daemon tilted his head, a dark smirk curling on his lips. "Is that what you think? That I'm not worth your time?"

Your jaw clenched. "Exactly."

He stalked forward, closing the space between you, the smirk never faltering. "Funny. You waste plenty of it thinking about me."

"You're delusional."

He laughed, low and dangerous. "Am I? Then tell me why you're so bothered. Why your breath hitches every time I get this close."

You refused to step back. "Try me, Daemon. I am not some simpering lady to fall at your feet."

His gaze darkened, lips parting slightly in challenge. "Make me believe that."

"Make me."

It happened in a blink. Your back slammed into the cold stone wall, his hand braced beside your head, caging you in. His body loomed, close but not touching—taunting.

"Gladly."

His breath fanned across your skin, eyes locked on yours. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of your racing heart.

"You're reckless," you whispered, though it lacked conviction.

Daemon leaned closer, his lips a hair's breadth from yours. "And you crave it. You crave me."

Your hands fisted at your sides, nails biting into your palms. The rich brown of your skin seemed to glow in the dim torchlight, contrasting against the cold gray walls. "You're wrong."

His smirk deepened. "Then why haven't you pushed me away?"

For a fleeting moment, neither of you moved. The tension was suffocating, a delicate thread stretched to its breaking point.

Finally, your hand shot up, fingers curling around the collar of his tunic, tugging him even closer.

"I should hate you."

His eyes glinted with something darker, something dangerous. "Then hate me properly."

And gods, you did. Your lips crashed into his with a fury that surprised even yourself. Daemon groaned against your mouth, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You were gonna hate yourself tomorrow.

[hotdfic]

I’m officially opening up writing requests for House of the Dragon!

I’m happy to write anything from angst to fluff to a little spice! However, I’m not comfortable writing full-on smut since I’m still getting the hang of it, and I don’t want to let anyone down. But if you’re craving some tension, teasing, or intimate moments, I’ve got you covered!

📩 How to Request:

Send me a prompt in my inbox!

Include the type of vibe you want (angst, fluff, spicy, etc.)

Let me know which character you'd like to see!

💭 Need Ideas? Here are some spicy prompt suggestions:

“If you keep staring at me like that, I won’t be able to control myself.”

Accidentally sharing a bed and realizing how close you're lying.

Helping them get dressed, but your hands linger a little too long.

A heated argument that ends with someone being pinned to the wall.

Jealousy getting the best of them after seeing you with someone else.

Injured and needing help out of their armor/clothes—slowly.

“Make me.” — “Gladly.”

Catching them staring at your lips during a conversation.

The "you should leave" but neither of you moves closer moment.

Dancing together in a crowded hall, hands slowly drifting lower.

🔥 Characters I write for: Feel free to request anyone! Some favorites include:

Aemond Targaryen

Aegon II Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen

Criston Cole

Alicent Hightower

(And more! Just ask!)

💌 Can’t wait to see what ideas you send my way! Let’s make some magic happen!

[hotdfic]

A small drabblee/..

It was known that Viserra was bold and friendly dragon. Daella, soft-spoken and ever-cautious, had long feared that her dragon’s friendly nature would lead them both to ruin. “One day, it will be the death of us,” she had whispered to her brother once, her fingers brushing the cool scales of Viserra as the dragon preened proudly in the sunlight.

That day came during the Battle of the Gullet, where the skies and seas burned alike. Daella soared high above the chaos astride Viserra, the dragon’s shimmering silver wings catching the light like a goddess descending from the heavens. The Triarchy’s ships bristled with spears and ballistae, their sailors disciplined in their hatred of dragonflame.

Viserra was the first to dive, her thunderous roar echoing across the strait as fire poured from her maw. Ship after ship erupted in flames beneath her, the cries of men drowned out by the crackling inferno. Yet, even a dragon is not invincible. A great spear soared upward from one of the galleys, slicing through the thin, delicate membrane of Viserra’s wing.

Daella’s grip tightened as the dragon faltered midair, her balance thrown. “Pālēs, Viserra!” she cried, but her words were drowned out by a second spear, this one finding its mark in Viserra’s throat. The great dragon let out a strangled, guttural cry, fire sputtering in her throat before extinguishing entirely. Blood spilled from the wound in torrents, staining her silver scales red.

The fall was inevitable. Dragon and rider plummeted together, their descent swift and terrible. Viserra's massive body struck the waves with a thunderous crash, sending up a towering spray of saltwater. Some swore they saw Daella still clinging to the saddle as the dragon sank into the cold, dark depths of the Gullet.

Neither the princess nor her dragon rose again. The sea claimed them both, leaving only the wreckage of burning ships and the haunting memory of silvery wings disappearing beneath the waves. Daella’s prophetic words would be etched into history, whispered in sorrow by those who mourned her: “One day, it will be the death of us.”

[hotdfic]

requests are open!!

I will do smut, fluff, angst, anything really

just submit what you want, what characters !!!

[hotdfic]

a sneak peak c:

The sun was sinking low behind the high towers of the Red Keep, casting long shadows across the stone floors of Alicent’s chambers. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, but the air between mother and step-daughter was cold with unspoken tension. Aelora stood by the window, gazing out at the fading light, her thoughts distant. She could hear the soft rustle of silk as Alicent approached, her footsteps measured, deliberate. “Aelora,” Alicent's voice broke the silence, sharp and clear. “I need to speak with you.” Aelora turned, a hint of unease in her chest. The tone in Alicent’s voice was never one of warmth. It was always calculated, commanding. “What is it, Mother?” Aelora asked, her voice gentle but cautious. She had always felt the weight of Alicent’s gaze upon her, like a hawk watching a dove. Alicent’s green eyes, cold and stern, locked onto Aelora’s. “It’s about the boy you met in the garden.” The mention made Aelora’s heart beat a little faster, but she held her composure. “What about him?” Alicent’s lips tightened into a thin line, her hands folded before her. “You will not see him again.” Aelora blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I… I do not understand. Why?” “Because,” Alicent said, her voice low but firm, “he is the son of your mother’s enemies. You are a Targaryen, Aelora. You have a duty to the realm and to your family. You cannot afford to allow yourself to be caught in a web of misplaced loyalties.” | Aelora felt confused, was he something more then a knight or lord? She didnt understand. Was he allied with Rhaenyra?

[hotdfic]

The Pain and Desperation.

A/N : sorry lol idk what part this is. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a rare, golden afternoon in the Red Keep, one of those fleeting days when sunlight poured through every crack in the stone and bathed the courtyard in a warmth that softened even the sharpest edges of the fortress. Rhaenyra watched from her perch on the steps, her gaze drawn to the sounds of laughter and shouts ringing out from the training yard.

There they were—Aemond and Lyanna, both no older than seven and five, a lively pair of pale-haired Targaryens running barefoot over the cobblestones, oblivious to the world outside their small orbit. She smiled, a little wistfully, as she watched them play. Lyanna, all bright-eyed with cheeks flushed pink, darted around her older brother, her giggles echoing against the high walls. Her little feet moved quickly, but unsteadily, her arms flailing as she tried to keep her balance while swinging a tiny wooden practice sword she could barely hold. It was one of Daeron’s, much too large for her hands, but she held it proudly, as though it were Dark Sister itself.

Aemond, even then, had a certain seriousness to him, though it faded in Lyanna’s presence. He held his own practice sword in one hand, moving carefully, his stance already reminiscent of a young knight in training, though there was still that playfulness only Lya seemed able to bring out in him. Aemond’s eyes gleamed with an uncharacteristic mischief as he watched her, allowing her to swing wildly at him with exaggerated effort.

“Is that all you’ve got, Lya?” he teased, holding up his own sword in a lazy defense. “If you’re going to defeat me, you’ll have to be faster than that!”

Lyanna grinned, her little mouth pulling up in a defiant smirk as she swiped at him again, putting all her weight into the strike. Aemond caught her blow effortlessly, his sword a shield, and she stumbled slightly, caught off guard. Aemond’s laughter rang out—free and genuine. It was a sound Rhaenyra rarely heard from him, and she found herself savoring it, as though hoarding something precious.

“You’re cheating!” Lyanna cried, her voice high and indignant, though the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her delight.

“Cheating?” Aemond replied, feigning innocence. “How could I be cheating? I’m only standing here.”

She giggled and lunged at him again, and this time, Aemond stepped back, letting her push forward. He moved with a careful grace, matching her pace and deliberately leaving himself open. In her mind, she was a warrior, and he was the enemy who dared to block her path. For her, the game was deadly serious, even as he parried each of her attacks with a patient smile.

Rhaenyra folded her hands on her lap, her heart softening as she watched them. Aemond was always so tightly wound, even as a child, so aware of his place in their complicated family. He rarely let his guard down, even around his siblings.

Then, with a triumphant squeal, Lyanna swung her sword in a wide arc, and Aemond stepped dramatically into her blow, letting it tap his shoulder as he staggered backward in mock defeat. He dropped his sword with a flourish and clutched his chest, stumbling back and collapsing onto the ground.

“Oh, no! You’ve bested me!” he cried, his voice full of exaggerated distress. “The mighty Lya has struck me down!”

Lyanna squealed in delight, dropping her sword as she leapt on top of him, her tiny fists pounding his chest as he laughed, holding her with one arm to stop her from rolling off him. She declared her victory, her face alight with unrestrained joy, and Aemond’s smile grew softer, a warmth that Rhaenyra rarely saw.

Watching them, Rhaenyra felt a pang in her chest—something equal parts joy and sorrow. She wished she could freeze this moment, capture it and preserve it against the years to come. She wanted to hold onto this laughter, this innocence, before the world inevitably changed them, pulled them in different directions, filled their hearts with the conflicts and rivalries that came with being a Targaryen.

The winds of politics and duty swirled always around them, threatening to pull them apart, yet here they were, still tethered to one another in these quiet, precious moments. One day, Rhaenyra knew, things would be different. One day, they would be asked to make choices, to pledge their loyalties in ways that would cut deep and leave scars. But for now, they were just children, bound by love, laughter, and the simplicity of shared play.

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The sky was dark as the storm raged over the waters, a monstrous gale that seemed to sweep away every last glimmer of light. Rhaenyra recalled it vividly—how the skies had roared, the clouds closing in like a tightening fist around her half-sister-. And she remembered Lyanna and Aemond, high above in their dragons’ desperate, twisting dance, shadows cast by lightning as they fought against fate.

Lyanna had come to Dragonstone with news, but she hadn’t yet found the refuge of the castle. Aemond had found her first. He had always been a storm unto himself, but that day he was more—a force of rage, of fire and fury, borne upon Vhagar’s ancient wings, his eye fixed with a bitter fury that would not be softened.

She could see Lyanna in her mind’s eye, mounted upon Sambar, his dark scales rippling against the wind, his cries drowned out by Vhagar’s thundering roars. Sambar was fast, but Vhagar’s wings were endless, like the night itself swallowing all in its path. Lyanna tried to evade him, banking left and then right, her silhouette small against the storm. Sambar wove through the clouds, diving low, but Vhagar followed—relentless, ancient, and fierce.

Lyanna had shouted at Aemond to stop, begging him even, Rhaenyra had no doubt. Her half sister had never been made for battle nor war, but even she must have seen the wild, feral look in her brother’s eye, must have realized that he’d gone beyond reason.

Then, just as Luke had done, Lyanna had urged Sambar downwards, racing the wind toward the cliffs below, weaving between the sharp, jagged rocks in a final attempt to shake him. But Aemond, furious and reckless, had pursued, forcing Vhagar through the narrow pass, her wings scraping against the cliffs with a terrible screech.

And then—she closed her eyes, the memory too painful—the storm had taken control. Sambar’s wings, torn and bleeding from the vicious pursuit, had faltered. A gust of wind slammed into them, sending them tumbling through the air, and in that moment, Vhagar snapped. Rhaenyra could only imagine the terror in Lyanna’s face as the dragon’s massive jaws bore down upon them, unable to pull back from the frenzied wrath that had taken control.

She remembered hearing the messenger's words, his voice shaking as he described the blood that painted the sea, the remnants of Sambar scattered upon the rocks, and Lyanna… her daughter, lost to the depths.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Yea hi, Author here, yes lyanna dies, and yes this is the end of the story, short story short the rest if the story plays out like normal.

[hotdfic]

A Daughter For A Son

A/N : ahaha sooo dark content, blades, blood and more !

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The dim torchlight flickered in the narrow passage beneath the Red Keep, casting long shadows across stone walls that had seen secrets and whispers for centuries. Daemon Targaryen’s cloak whispered against the damp stone, his steps steady and determined. In the darkness of a forgotten corner, a small figure awaited him, half cloaked in shadow—the ratcatcher of King’s Landing, men as elusive as the rodents they hunted.

“You know why I’m here.” Daemon’s voice was low, just above a murmur.

The ratcatcher’s eyes gleamed with something between fear and intrigue. He inclined his head, the grease-stained cloth hood slipping back to reveal a face more familiar with grime than sunlight.

“She’s kin, isn’t she?” he ventured, a hint of disbelief coloring his words. “One of your blood, the second youngest targaryen of viserys and queen alicent.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, the violet depths becoming cold as ice. “She’s a threat to all that I seek to build. My kin, yes. My blood… perhaps. But loyalty? Hers has never been clear.”

The ratcatcher’s fingers twitched at the mention of betrayal. His knowledge of hidden passages and secret exits made him one of the most dangerous men in the Keep—not because of his strength but because of his reach. He looked up, waiting.

“If I choose this path,” the ratcatcher whispered, “it must be with precision. The girl is young… fragile, as I’ve seen.”

Daemon’s gaze held steady. “She’s weak. And weakness, when unchecked, can rot the entire tree. You are to approach her subtly. No blades, no noise… only shadows. Fear can be as potent as any poison.”

The ratcatcher nodded, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Consider it done, my prince.”

As Daemon turned to leave, the ratcatcher’s voice followed him down the corridor. “You may find her weak, my prince, but even the weakest rat can bite when it feels threatened.”

Daemon’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Then make sure she never has the chance.”

-

Back inside the Red Keep, Lyanna’s hands trembled as she walked through the corridors of the Red Keep. She could feel something watching her, something unseen and insidious, a shadow waiting just out of sight. For days, she’d been plagued by a growing unease, the weight of eyes she couldn’t place, footsteps that vanished the moment she turned her head. But tonight, the walls themselves seemed to close in, and every flickering torch cast her shadow longer and darker.

Her chest grew tight, a cold knot settling in her stomach as the breath escaped her lips in short, shallow gasps. She had thought herself strong—resilient, even—but tonight, the very air felt thick, suffocating her as if it held secrets it dared not reveal.

“I… I’m safe,” she whispered to herself, hugging her arms close. Her words barely broke the silence, her voice trembling. “There’s nothing here. It’s just the dark… it’s only shadows.”

But the comforting words she forced upon herself only seemed to echo mockingly in her ears. Her vision blurred, and a heavy wave of dizziness washed over her. She stumbled against the wall, clutching at the stone for support, as the world spun around her.

A dark figure lingered in her thoughts, the silhouette of someone with eyes sharp as daggers. She tried to shake it off, to ground herself, but the thought persisted, burrowing deeper until it clawed at her mind like a feverish dream.

“Daemon,” she murmured, the name slipping out before she could catch it.

A shudder wracked her body as she slid down the wall, knees pulled to her chest. Her breathing became more erratic, the sounds around her intensifying—the creak of floorboards, the hum of distant voices. She was trapped, drowning in the very corridors that had been her home. She didnt know what was happening but she could sense her uncle,

She clamped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the haunting whispers that seemed to linger in the shadows, whispers of secrets she feared to know, of dangers she couldn’t bear to face. The pressure in her chest mounted, tightening like a vice.

Tears began to slip down her cheeks, mingling with the chill sweat on her skin. She was lost, adrift in the suffocating darkness, unable to find a way out of the terror that gripped her heart.

-

Daemon returned to his chambers, a heavy silence settling around him as he shut the door. He poured a goblet of wine, letting the sharp taste linger on his tongue as he considered the delicate web he’d woven. The Red Keep was filled with those who could whisper secrets, but it took true skill to turn those whispers into fear—something to gnaw at a person’s very spirit.

Lyanna had always been a complication. Young, innocent, and unpredictable, she stirred sympathy among those who found her weakness endearing. But for Daemon, the price of compassion was too high. He had no room for softness in his plans. His gaze fell on the map spread across his table, a map of Westeros littered with marks indicating power plays, alliances, and—of course—threats.

She was small, a single piece on the grand board, but if she fell… it would send a message.

"Blood may bind us, but loyalty binds us stronger," he whispered to himself, fingers tracing the edge of the map.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. He strode across the room, nodding to the silent messenger who handed him a folded slip of paper. The seal was broken—no doubt by the ratcatcher himself.

“Her mind is weakening,” it read in scrawled, hasty ink. “Queen Rhaenyra will earn her throne.”

Daemon crumpled the note, his satisfaction marred by an unusual pang. He was a Targaryen, after all, and the family’s legacy was as precious to him as his own blood. Yet his pride and ambition told him otherwise: Lyanna was a risk to his wifes throne he could no longer afford.

-

The silence in Lyanna’s room was shattered by a faint creak. She opened her eyes, heart pounding as the familiar dread seeped into her veins. There, standing beside her bed, was a ratcatcher, a wicked glint in his eyes and a dagger gleaming in his hand. This time, he wasn’t lingering in the shadows or playing games; he was here to finish it.

“Stay quiet, princess,” he murmured, his voice like oil sliding across stone. He brought the dagger closer, the tip hovering just above her throat.

Panic surged through her as her hands gripped the bedsheets, knuckles white with terror. She tried to stay silent, tried to keep calm, but her instincts screamed otherwise. With a sudden, fierce defiance, she took a deep breath and let out a scream—loud, piercing, enough to cut through the stillness of the night.

“HELP!”

The ratcatcher’s face twisted with rage as he pressed the blade closer to her throat, his eyes flashing with a dangerous gleam. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he hissed. “Now you’ll be—”

The door burst open, and Ser Criston Cole stormed into the room, his sword already drawn. His gaze swept the scene, taking in Lyanna’s terrified expression and the ratcatcher’s weapon raised against her.

“Step away from her!” Criston’s voice was low, deadly. The ratcatcher hesitated, his grip tightening, but before he could respond, another figure appeared in the doorway.

Aemond.

His eye blazed with fury as he took in the sight of his sister, held at knifepoint by a man who dared to lay hands on her. In a blur, he unsheathed his sword, the steel gleaming with lethal intent as he moved forward.

“You’ve chosen your last target, you coward,” Aemond snarled, his tone as cold and sharp as winter’s edge. His eye never left the ratcatcher, his steps deliberate and deadly.

Trapped between two armed men, the ratcatcher’s confidence wavered. He tried to shift his grip on the knife, pressing it a fraction closer to Lyanna’s skin in a desperate bid to maintain control. But in that instant, Criston lunged, his sword slicing down to knock the dagger from the ratcatcher’s hand. The blade clattered to the floor, and before the man could react, Aemond was upon him.

Aemond’s fist collided with the ratcatcher’s jaw, sending him sprawling backward. The assassin scrambled to his feet, but Criston blocked the doorway, his sword leveled and ready. The ratcatcher glanced between the two, realizing too late that he was trapped.

“Did you think you'd get away after murdering my sisters children? And now my sweet sister?” Aemond’s voice was deadly calm as he advanced on the man, his sword pointed at the ratcatcher’s heart.

Lyanna’s breaths came in shuddering gasps as she scrambled away, watching with wide eyes as Aemond and Criston cornered her assailant.

The ratcatcher’s face twisted with defiance as he spat at Aemond, his voice laced with venom. “This was never about you, princeling. Your sister is the one who threatens the plans of those far greater than you.”

Aemond’s expression darkened, the fury simmering just beneath his calm exterior. With one swift motion, he drove the tip of his blade just close enough to graze the ratcatcher’s chest.

“Who sent you?” Aemond demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

The ratcatcher sneered, even as his face paled. “I serve loyalties that you would never understand,” he muttered, his gaze defiant.

Aemond’s eye narrowed, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might drive the sword through the man’s heart then and there. But instead, he nodded to Criston, who stepped forward, grabbing the ratcatcher by the collar and dragging him toward the door.

“We’ll get answers soon enough,” Criston said, casting a reassuring glance back at Lyanna. “You’ll be safe now, princess.”

As the door closed behind them, Lyanna’s fear slowly began to ebb, leaving behind a sense of shock and exhaustion. Her heart was still pounding, but she looked up to find Cristons’s gaze fixed on her, his face mimicking a worried father.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone gentle as he knelt beside her.

She shook her head, swallowing back the tears that threatened to fall. “No… no, I’m fine,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Sir Criston..”

Aemond walked out with blood dripping from his sword, approaching Lyanna he brought his sister into a hug and kissed her forehead.

[hotdfic]

A Son for a Son.

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Rhaenyra stood in her chamber, her heart racing as she paced back and forth. The air was heavy with tension, and outside her window, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that crept into her room. She could feel the weight of the decisions that lay ahead, decisions that could alter the course of her family's future.

Daemon entered without knocking, his presence a whirlwind of energy that filled the room. He looked troubled, a dark storm brewing behind his violet eyes. Rhaenyra stopped pacing and turned to face him, sensing that he had something important to discuss.

“Daemon,” she said, her voice steady. “What’s troubling you?”

He ran a hand through his silver hair, his expression grave. “I’ve been thinking about our situation. We need to take more decisive action against Aegon and his supporters.”

Rhaenyra’s heart sank. She had grown accustomed to Daemon’s fervent desire for power, but this was different. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

Daemon stepped closer, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves had ears. “I mean we should consider taking out one of Viserys’s children, instead of aemond.. It would send a clear message to Aegon and the rest of them.”

Shock washed over Rhaenyra. “You can’t be serious! You want to kill one of my own half siblings? They are innocent!”

“Innocent?” Daemon’s tone was sharp, his frustration evident. “You think they are all innocent? Look at what Aegon has done. He is a usurper, plain and simple. He sits on a throne that does not belong to him. He has taken what is rightfully ours!”

Rhaenyra crossed her arms, shaking her head. “But they’re just children. We cannot stoop to their level! Jhaerys, Jhaeryha, and the others have done nothing wrong.”

Daemon scoffed, his voice laced with contempt. “Aegon is a usurper, Aemond is a murderer, Helaena is a dreamer, Lyanna is unstable, and Jhaerys is the future heir. They are all a threat to us, Rhaenyra. We must act before they grow stronger.”

Rhaenyra felt a pang of anger mixed with fear. She had always admired Daemon's ambition, but this was a line she couldn’t cross. “You’re suggesting we kill innocent children to further our cause? What kind of world will we create if we do that? This isn’t just about power; it’s about our family. It’s about honor!”

Daemon stepped closer, his eyes intense. “Honor? What honor is there in waiting for them to come for us first? The Iron Throne is ours by right. If we don’t take action, we will lose everything. Aegon will never relinquish power willingly. If we don’t strike first, we may end up regretting it.”

Rhaenyra felt a mix of frustration and despair. She understood Daemon's fears but couldn’t bring herself to agree with his methods. “What you’re suggesting is madness. We have to find another way. We can rally our supporters, strengthen our position without resorting to murder!”

Daemon’s gaze softened for a moment as he studied her face. “Rhaenyra, I understand your hesitation. You care deeply for your siblings, but in this game of thrones, sentimentality will be our downfall. We cannot afford to be weak.”

She sighed heavily, feeling the weight of her responsibilities. “I don’t want to be weak, but I also don’t want to lose my humanity. Killing one of them won’t guarantee our victory. It will only create more chaos and bloodshed.”

“There is already chaos, Rhaenyra!” Daemon’s voice rose, filled with frustration. “We are at war! You must see that. Every moment we hesitate gives Aegon and his allies more time to consolidate their power. The longer we wait, the more innocent lives will be lost.”

Rhaenyra’s heart ached as she thought of her children, of the future she wanted for them. “What about Jhaerys? He’s just a boy! He has a future ahead of him, just like Aegon’s children do. We can’t take their lives to secure our own.”

Daemon stepped back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You think of Jhaerys, but what about Aegon’s claim to the throne? If he continues to rule, your children will never be safe. Our house will suffer, and the realm will crumble under his reign.”

Rhaenyra felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I refuse to believe that violence is the answer. There must be a way to unite our supporters, to bring peace without more bloodshed.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful yet troubled. “Peace? Rhaenyra, this is not a storybook. Peace comes at a price, and that price may very well be the lives of our enemies. You must decide what you are willing to sacrifice for your claim to the throne.”

Feeling the weight of his words, Rhaenyra turned away from him, pacing again. The room felt smaller, stifling. She knew Daemon was right about one thing: the stakes were higher than ever, and the danger was real. But could she truly accept his twisted logic?

As she paused to gather her thoughts, Daemon took a step closer. “You have to think of your children. Jhaerys is the future heir, and we cannot afford to lose this war. If Aegon holds onto the throne, it will be a life of misery for all of us, especially for your children.”

Rhaenyra felt a knot tighten in her stomach. “I know, Daemon. I know how serious this is. But if we go down this path, we become just like them. We will lose ourselves in the darkness, and I refuse to let that happen.”

For a moment, Daemon was silent, his gaze searching her face. “Then what do you propose we do? We cannot simply sit back and let them gain more power. They will come for us, Rhaenyra. You know that. If you wont take action i will.”

[hotdfic]

A son for a Son

part 6?

Summary : Lyanna grapples with intense fear and paranoia as her family faces the threat of war. Isolated in her chamber, she struggles with anxiety and self-doubt, feeling the weight of responsibility for her brother Aegon's safety. Despite knowing she isn't on the front lines, she becomes overwhelmed by thoughts of what could go wrong, leading her to shut herself away from the world.

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Lyanna sat alone in her chamber, the stone walls of the Red Keep closing in on her. Outside, she could hear the distant clang of armor, the thud of footsteps on the cold stone floors, and the quiet murmur of voices. It all sounded so far away, and yet every noise felt sharp, too close, as if each sound were digging into her, chipping away at her nerves. She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling slightly.

She kept thinking, Why am I feeling this way? My brothers are the ones who will fight. They’re the ones riding out to protect the throne, not me. But even as she tried to calm herself with that thought, the tension in her chest only grew tighter, like a knot she couldn’t untangle.

She wasn’t in battle, wasn’t on the front lines, wasn’t the one who would be called upon to make decisions that would alter the kingdom’s fate. And yet, she couldn’t escape the feeling that everything was resting on her shoulders. Every night, the fear gnawed at her, the worry that if she made even the slightest mistake, she would fail her family.

Just breathe, she told herself, pressing her hands against her knees. But her breath came too fast, too shallow, her heart racing as if she’d just finished a battle. Her room felt too small, too dark, and she wanted to escape, to run, but there was nowhere to go. She’d spent countless hours practicing, training with Stormfyre, preparing herself to stand with her family. Yet, when she was alone, the thoughts crept in, whispering all the ways things could go wrong.

In the quiet of her room, she could hear the echo of her own heartbeat, loud and fast. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, but every time she did, flashes of what-ifs filled her mind. What if Rhaenyra attacked in the night? What if a single mistake cost Aegon his throne, or worse, his life?.

Lyanna didn’t know when these feelings had started to grow so intense. At first, it was just a flicker of worry, a nagging thought at the back of her mind. But over time, that worry had grown like wildfire, spreading until it consumed her thoughts. She barely slept, and when she did, it was restless, filled with dreams of dark wings and fiery battles.

One day, she ventured out to the dragon pit, hoping the sight of Stormfyre would calm her. But even as she approached him, the knot in her chest only tightened. She could barely focus on her dragon, even as he nudged her with his nose, his warm breath washing over her. She forced a smile, hoping he wouldn’t sense her fear. But even Stormfyre’s familiar presence couldn’t ease her mind. Instead, she found herself trembling, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as her heart raced.

The next moment, she was back in her room, the door shut firmly behind her, her back pressed against the cold stone wall. She sank to the floor, her head in her hands, trying to breathe, to think clearly, to remind herself that she had no reason to feel like this.

My brothers are the ones in danger, she thought, her mind repeating the words like a mantra. I am safe here. I have no reason to feel this way.

But logic didn’t help. Her mind was caught in a loop of fear and doubt, and she couldn’t break free. Every time she tried to tell herself it was all in her head, her thoughts twisted back to that same gnawing worry. The more she fought it, the stronger it grew, until the fear filled every corner of her mind.

The days blurred together. She stopped going outside, stopped visiting Stormfyre, stopped venturing beyond her room. The once-busy castle felt empty to her, as if the walls themselves were waiting, listening. She could hear the footsteps of servants passing by, and the thought that they might sense her fear only made her close herself off more. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this, to see her weak and afraid.

Sometimes, she would pace the length of her room, back and forth, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn’t control. She would tell herself over and over that she was safe, that she had no reason to worry. But each time, the words rang hollow. It felt as if the weight of the entire kingdom was pressing down on her, and she didn’t know how to bear it.

One night, she awoke in a cold sweat, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. It took her a moment to realize she was in her room, safe in the Red Keep. She pressed a hand to her heart, trying to calm herself, but the panic lingered, refusing to leave. She felt helpless, alone, and the silence around her was suffocating.

I shouldn’t feel this way, she thought desperately. My brothers are the ones fighting. I’m just… I’m just here.

But the thoughts didn’t stop. They circled her mind, relentless, twisting and turning until she couldn’t breathe. The fear was a constant weight, dragging her down, making her doubt herself, her strength, her purpose. She had trained for so long, prepared herself to stand by her family, to be their shield. But now, alone in the darkness, she felt like nothing more than a frightened girl, overwhelmed and powerless.

Days turned into nights, and Lyanna found herself shutting herself away more and more, unable to face the world beyond her room. She barely ate, barely slept, her mind a whirlwind of fear and doubt. She longed for the strength she had once felt, the determination to fight for her family, but it felt so far away now, buried beneath the weight of her own fears.

One morning, she forced herself to stand, to walk to the window and look out at the city below. She took a deep breath, feeling the cold air against her skin, trying to ground herself in the present moment. The world outside continued, oblivious to her struggles, and she knew she had to find a way to face it.

They need me, she reminded herself, her voice barely a whisper. Aegon needs me.

But even as she tried to hold onto that thought, the fear remained, lurking in the back of her mind, a shadow she couldn’t escape. She didn’t know how to make it go away, how to silence the doubts that haunted her every step. All she could do was take it one day at a time, holding onto the faint hope that one day, the fear would pass, and she would find her strength again.

That night she found herself back in bed. Lyanna sat on the edge of her bed, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. It felt as if it was racing against time, each beat echoing in her ears like a war drum. She pressed her hands against her heart, trying to will it to slow down, but the frantic rhythm only intensified.

Breathe, she thought, but the command felt distant, almost unreachable. She could hear the muffled sounds of the castle beyond her door, voices blending into a chaotic murmur. The air around her felt thick, suffocating, as if the walls were closing in. She rubbed her palms against her thighs, her fingers trembling uncontrollably.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead against her knees. Her thoughts spiraled out of control—what if something happened to Aegon? What if Rhaenyra attacked? What if I’m not strong enough? The questions twisted in her mind like a knot she couldn’t untangle.

Suddenly, the room felt too small, the shadows creeping closer, and she fought against the rising panic. She gasped for air, her breaths coming in short, desperate bursts. I’m fine, she told herself, though the words felt hollow. I’m safe here.

But as she took another shaky breath, the feeling of being trapped closed in on her. Her vision blurred at the edges, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the world. A wave of heat flushed through her, and she felt as if she might float away, unmoored and lost.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Aemond stepped inside, his expression a mix of concern and determination. He closed the door behind him, blocking out the noise of the castle and the world outside.

“Lyanna,” he said softly, crossing the room to where she sat against the wall. She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. “I can’t do this, Aemond. I don’t know how to help. I’m not like you or Aegon. I’m scared.”

Aemond knelt down beside her, his eyes intense but gentle. “You have a duty, sister. We all have a role to play. You can’t let fear hold you back. You have to fight with us.”

His hand moved to her hair, running his fingers through the strands as if to calm her. The gesture felt comforting, but it also stirred something deeper within her—a sense of duty that battled against her fear. “They need you, Lyanna. You are stronger than you think. If you don’t stand with us, what happens when Rhaenyra comes for the throne? Do you want to watch from here while we fight and suffer? That is what you’re doing right now.”

“But I feel so weak,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how to fight this.”

Aemond held her gaze, unwavering. “You fight by believing in us. By standing beside me and Aegon. If you don’t stand with us, how can we win? If you think you're weak, that weakness could destroy everything we hold dear. You need to channel your fear into strength, and you can do that if you are with us. You have stormfyre, burn them all.”

“Together?.” she murmured, her heart steadying slightly.

“Together,” Aemond echoed, giving her a small, reassuring smile. “But you must commit yourself. Don’t let the fear win. You have to stand with us, or we may all fall.”

In that moment, as he held her close, she knew her brother, she knew he didnt care. Still, He was her kin so.

[hotdfic]

A Daughter of Towers

Summary: A lot of things at once for poor Lyanna.

Warnings: cursing? !

PART 5 OMG!

I'LL POST PART 6 VERY SOON LOVEYYSSS

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As Lyanna Targaryen reached her 16th name day, the Red Keep had become a battlefield of whispers. Though her siblings had fought to keep her future in her own hands, the looming pressure from their mother, Queen Alicent, had begun to suffocate her. With every passing day, the discussion of marrying her to a powerful ally—especially to strengthen their family's claim—became more urgent.

The tides of politics were turning swiftly. With her father, King Viserys, growing weaker, every move made within the family was being scrutinized and every alliance calculated. Still, despite the tension, Lyanna found solace in her dragon, Stormfyre, with him it was peaceful.

---

It had been months since the last formal family gathering, but the announcement of a dinner—one hosted by Viserys in the hopes of healing the division within the family—was met with trepidation from all sides. Rhaenyra had returned from Dragonstone with her sons and her husband Daemon, a move that heightened the sense of unease among the Greens.

The halls of the Red Keep felt colder as the family gathered for the dinner. The long, candle-lit table gleamed with gold and silver plates, but it wasn’t the opulence that caught Lyanna’s attention—it was the silence. The air was thick with tension, each word and gesture laden with unspoken resentments.

Lyanna sat between Aemond and Helaena, her quiet gaze drifting between her brothers and their half-relatives across the table. King Viserys was carried in, his body weakened but his spirit still burning with the hope that his children could unite. It was heartbreaking to see him like this, barely able to walk, yet still clinging to the idea of peace.

As he removed his golden mask to reveal the damaged side of his face, Lyanna could see how much he had aged, how fragile the man who once ruled with strength and wisdom had become. His words, slurred yet passionate, pleaded for unity—his final wish was for his family to set aside their differences.

For a brief moment, it seemed as if his plea might have been heard. Alicent, her voice soft, offered a toast to Rhaenyra, a strained yet genuine gesture of respect. Rhaenyra, in turn, rose to honor Alicent, and for that fleeting moment, Lyanna dared to hope that things might finally change.

But hope, as fleeting as it was, vanished as quickly as it came.

As the dinner progressed, Viserys was carried away, too weak to stay longer. With him gone, the uneasy peace began to unravel. It started with Aegon, his jests crude and his words aimed at Jacaerys, poking at the boy’s honor. But the true breaking point came when Aemond stood, raising his cup with that sharp glint in his eye that Lyanna knew all too well.

“To my nephews,” Aemond began, his voice smooth but dripping with malice. “Jace. Luke. Joffrey. Each of them… handsome, wise, strong.”

The word hung in the air like a dagger, and Lyanna immediately felt the shift in the room. Jacaerys' face flushed with barely restrained anger, while Lucerys stared at Aemond, doe-eyed. The insult was clear: Aemond was calling into question their legitimacy, invoking the rumor that Rhaenyra’s sons were fathered by Harwin Strong, not Laenor Velaryon.

“Aemond,” Lyanna whispered, reaching for his arm, her voice a quiet warning.

Aemond’s gaze flicked to hers for a brief moment, and for a second, she thought he might stop. But her brother’s pride and his long-held grudge over the loss of his eye outweighed any sense of restraint. He raised his cup again, a smirk on his lips. “Let us toast to these three Strong boys.”

The tension snapped. Jacaerys rose from his seat, his fists clenched at his sides. “Say it again,” he growled, the threat in his voice barely veiled.

One moment everyone was in their respective places, the very next moment Aegon had Lucerys against the table meanwhile Jacaerys has punched Aemond, The hall erupted into shouting, each word sharp enough to cut. Lyanna felt the heat of anger radiating from Aemond, his challenge hanging in the air like a threat. Jacaerys’ face turned red with rage reaching over to hold her sisters hand.

Lyanna gripped Helaena’s hand tighter, feeling the tremor of her sister’s nerves. Helaena’s wide eyes reflected the turmoil around them, and for a moment, they shared a silent understanding: they were not warriors; all they could do was watch.

---

The dinner ended in an uneasy truce, with the Blacks leaving the hall first. Rhaenyra’s sons, still seething, were escorted out by their mother, while Daemon lingered for a moment longer, his gaze never leaving Aemond. The promise of violence was clear in his eyes—a silent vow that this conflict was far from over.

Once the hall had emptied, Lyanna remained behind with Aemond, Helaena, and Aegon. The latter had sobered slightly, watching with amusement as the tensions flared around him, but now he leaned back in his chair, muttering about how “family dinners never fail to entertain.”

Lyanna, however, couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in her chest. She knew her brothers well enough to understand that this was only the beginning of something far darker. The animosity between the Greens and the Blacks had been simmering for years, but tonight, it had reached a boiling point.

She found herself wandering the empty corridors of the Red Keep, her mind racing. Helaena’s earlier words echoed in her ears, cryptic as ever: “Fire calls to blood, and shadows grow long.”

Lyanna found herself in the dragon pit, where Stormfyre awaited her. The dragon’s icy blue eyes eyes glowed softly in the dim light, sensing her unease. As she stroked the scales of her dragon’s snout, she felt something of uneasiness.

As the wind howled through the pit, Lyanna looked out over the dragon pit knowing that the peace her father had fought so hard to preserve was slipping away. The Dance of Dragons had begun, and the time for choices was drawing near.