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lovelipton · 1 year ago

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From Eden.

Chapter 8.

Smut Warning! Age Gap. P and V sex. Oral sex. Bath sex. Look, two people match each other's freak, and I can't give anymore warnings.

Also I'm tagging my moots @qyburnsghost because I took way too long with this.

He should’ve anticipated her dark eyes turning in his direction, yet they managed to shock him as easily as they found his. She was submerged in the water, suds and bubbles floating about with her hair tied back, all the warm light from he flames made her a reflection of gold and bronze. Never so surely had a glance won his worst interest back.

Her expression wasn’t one to be read, by the time she turned to get a wash cloth and continue without any acknowledgement towards his presence, he had no clue what she might feel towards him. For all he could call it, her silence wasn’t petty, it simply cared to be. He made his way to her side as he had all those times before glancing anywhere but her in the process. Half of it was his own arrogance , refusing to be ignored yet he felt he knew the next half was simply the desire to disrupt an impregnable silence.

Even if she ordered him to leave it would be a word towards him he thought absent-mindedly. Ever so unpredictable, she turned towards him, glistening from the water, knees to her chest.

“Welcome back. You weren’t gone for long at all.” Her tone held some malice in it, as it should be given the tone of his departure. Her face gave no covering to the disdain she felt towards him now. Her eyes were hooded with her mouth puckered together to prevent any warmth. She would make him work for her favor.

“Perhaps our next fight will deal a lesson in telling time.” To that he smiled, it was just a small insult yet his pride did not take it to heart. If she needed to yell and degrade, the least he could do was endure it.

“Did you eat?” He asked her out of concern, he could see from her reaction she was too caught up in this rehearsed conversation to think about herself. She scowled at him now, something he’d never seen her show before. His past thoughts felt like misjudgments to her character, a clear communication in how little he truly knew about her.

“Did I fucking eat!” There was a break in the air as she raised her voice taking an exasperated tone, another thing she had never done. It was the closest portrait to the idea he had of her from Jace’s letters. Her calves aided in her modesty as she turned herself to him, he tried his best not to look past them, never once leaving her angry eyes. Her brows furrowed towards him, almost like a parent to her disobedient child. She had no reason to know that look yet she did it well enough to the point he felt Alysanne’s eyes on his.

“Where were you?” She changed her tune again, taking what seemed to be remorseful approach towards their conversation. He wasn’t sure he could begin to understand her, in truth he needed her forgiveness more than she’d know. They were both too familiar to allow it to fester as it had. Her eyes welled with tears, unblinking, awaiting his response.

“A brothel.” There was an ease replaced by a returning anger now, a more violent one, as though if only for a moment she’d forget what little proprietary remained and curse and pummel him.

“You left me angry and spiteful because of a brothel. To fuck a whore.” There was a trembling in her voice that chilled him. Still he saw an ease in her expression that he fell into. As though it meant he was free from the torment of what he had left unsaid. Her body joined her voice as she started shaking, rocking into herself and laughing.

He stopped and watched her entire demeanor shift wondering if he had sent her mad. Her tears that followed added to his concern, if he had hurt her in that way, to threaten her sanity over his stupidity.

Her laughs grew until they were happy sounding, a belly laugh with tears of joy, as though she’d been to a bar the entire night. He was at a disbelief at how quickly her emotions changed, wondering if one person could feel that extent of emotions. He’d never seen anyone so bare before, unashamed about all she clearly felt, hurt, hatred, betrayal and whatever he couldn’t assume.

When she dulled her expression she returned to the rocking, a comfort in the silence as she decided what tone she could take the night in. Another version of madness as the scent of the room creeper around him to lose his thoughts in. A naked girl in front of him and yet the smell of her and oranges entranced him all the same. His body betrayed him as he focused his thoughts on anything but his growing hardness. She gazed at him still, her hands moved from wrapped around to tracing the edge of the tub, seemingly delighting in his lost train of thought.

“Say something.” She was hushed now, quietly gauging him as he had her all those moments ago, trying to see where his mind was. It was a clear madness that they created as he laughed before answering.

“I should’ve told you where I was going.” It was an easy confession, too easy for him to think it would she sufficient. Her body seemed to ease with his words, not as tightly wound as it had been, an attempt to believe him, open up perhaps.

“I truly would not have judged you. You are a man with needs. I’m a girl with them.”

The thought rushed into his mind, he knew the comparison she was drawing, some part of him knew it was based on her earlier stories of couples and her latest with a Tully, yet his mind gripped the possibility all the same that she could suggest a conclusion with them. He felt mad now.

“Daemon?” She looked at him with a quiet concern, trying to dictate if all could start to be well between them.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. You have my full honesty now.” He felt strange in a word. His head felt light with the scent around him, the light around them seemed to glow more than shine. A small cup of bar ale would not have him like this, yet he gave into it, a certain freedom he had not give into before around her seemed to be the only right conclusion.

His reaction was rushed, in truth he simply wished for them to reach a place of comfort. It was all he wished for from the start, a true insistence. She reached out for one of his hands, tracing over the tips and pads of his fingers with h her thumb, as though it was a regular occurrence. Neither of their hands held bandages from their night, he thought, it was an aimless vision to see.

“Full honesty?” She cocked her brow at him, immediately making his breath race as she leaned closer, as much as she could without compromising modesty.

“You smell horrible.” Her whisper was intoxicating yet he caught her message enough to pace his reaction. A small laugh met her wicked smile as she leaned back making the water splash against the walls of the bath.

“I should have the maids arrange one after you.” It was a heedless answer, one in which her response did not warrant.

“Join me.”

He felt his head jolt before his body decided that was the movement, if she was unaware of her statement, her nonchalance did little to communicate it. He could feel the shock through his body, in the tips of his fingers where her hand rested moments ago. The Gods were cruel masters yet he was still shocked by her insistence. Surely she didn’t mean it.

“Daemon?” Her voice was unwavering, almost monotone and drawing him back entirely, she had moved herself to one edge of the bath, only two feet away from where he sat now. The bath was large enough for them both yet, some part of them would touch, it was too small to prevent even the smallest touch between them, he was at a loss.

“We’ve done it before, My Lord.”

She said it as though she did not remember the craze it had caused, her confession, an unsustainable blood pact, a kiss between them, how she fueled his mind. Even the thought brought back the scent of sand, the feel of it on his skin.

“You need not as well. It is simply an option.” She was concerned now. A symptom of his chosen coping to her offer. He’d have to answer, even if it was to deter her, they were close enough now that she did not see any issue with it.

“Unlike then, we’d both be naked.” He was right, he was just in that declaration, his tone was strong. The Gods may not be done with him yet, the restraint of him now was the hardest test. Why did she make it so hard? He should say no outright, she wouldn’t make him by any means. The worst part of him knew that it was the best suggestion she could’ve made. Logic and lust would tear at him to his end.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before. Same with you.”

It was something about the end he did not care to facilitate. He could walk away and leave, her eyes seemed set on her victory now, to what end, he couldn’t begin to understand. She was warm surely. There was a heat in him she belonged to, a bath couldn’t just be a bath, if it was to her, he’d be misleading her. At what point was that warmth bigger than all the precedent he set to protect her. Did she care?

“I’ll close my eyes for half a minute, you can either join or leave without a word.”

She put her hands over her eyes, the sound of the water trickling was almost music to him. He removed his doublet first, hesitating only at the buttons as he contemplated himself. She gained nothing from this, he reminded himself. The girl simply grew into his company, she desired him only as a companion. His dress shirt and breeches coming off surely marked a minute, yet her hands refused to move it self. With his small clothes off, his cock met the night air, springing forward in her company. His head was light as he crossed over to the near edge, submerging himself in the warm water, shielding him from the night air.

The water pooled at his waist as it rose to just below her breast. He wondered how long it was she found herself in the tub to maintain the warmth. He was curious to if the maids would question him being clean. Her hands dropped with that thought, a sly smile covering her face.

“Do you wish for lavender or cinnamon?” She asked unabashedly, as though she had planned to bathe him herself. He reveled in the hope of the offer. Could he not give in?

“I wish not to smell like a country lord.” His tone was more direct than he could remember being with her, as though his old self had started to join them. It was strange, yet she continued smiling.

“Is dragon stink and street ale a preference, Your Grace?” She turned away to a small cot alongside the bath that held little bottles of oils, choosing for him as she grabbed her discarded cloth. She did mean to bathe him it seemed.

“Dragon stink is the smell of an empire.” He justified, he heard a soft chuckle escape her and he felt bruised for a moment. She would laugh at his half earnest confessions if he let her.

“Or the excuse of an old man.” She retorted . The air grew playful now, as though they were closer. He reminisced on the humor he shared with other girls like her. Mysaria was a dry wit and Rhaenyra would humor him. Only Laena had ever been any type of combative. He looked at her with that gaze, she was unlike them all in most ways. She was unlike anything before her to him. Entirely new.

He held his breath when she came closer with the oil soaked cloth, with her knees down he had full sight of her breast, she had allowed the air to leave the room with her sudden, wanted nakedness. It was wonton, yet he was a desperate beggar at the sight of them. Her breast stood firm and her nipples were pebbled out the water, she drew too near for him to care if she question his intentions while staring, he was in awe.

Her eyes met his, with a shy smile, a flattered one as she began to scrub his neck, focusing on whichever area she touched. He did not dare say a word to it. Her legs were crossed as she settled near him, her breast moved with the water at her tiniest movement as she moved down to his neck and back, scrubbing at scars older than her. His cock was quite visibly hard, if her hands moved to his chest she’d be aware, yet he kept a silent atmosphere. Without words and actions it could mean nothing.

“I’ve come to a conclusion.” She stooped at his chest, just before she could need to address the state he was in. He turned his attention to his eyes, peeling them away from her soaked body. She did not wait on his ask before stating it.

“I do not have dragon blood.” The pleasant silence turned into a thunderous one. The weight of it boomed across the room, more than a hundred bards could hope to. He wanted to know why, to what end.

“I know what you believe and think but I simply do not care. I know who and what I am.” He couldn’t make out the smell of the oil she chose, yet it was as intoxicating as the oranges. She could be part fish for all he cared now, she drew his desire out like blood. Her bold claim simply stayed in the air, simply unyielding to his own beliefs, she did not care.

“Then you are not. Simply put.” He believed it he realized. The understanding affirmed something deep in his unsettled spirit. It was impossible but if he had to believe something to that end, there was no louder voice to convince him. Her face seemed off put by his agreement, resting on an ease he himself could see, as though the answer took root in her. He was unsure he had that effect on her.

For the first time, he felt as though there was a clarity in how he saw her. She was young, bold and emotional. She would not, perhaps she could not, hide herself from him, it was unnerving as it clicked that he was the same for her. All his faults, she had heard in legend, she had yet to hold a rumor, the accusations of others against him. The place she held was one untied to politics and court life. Her words only brought her comfort, she meant nothing more.

His eyes shifted to her full lips. She noticed it and made no motion to deter him. He imagined the night before, how the moon looked, how he felt, how she flowed into him and he into her, a commitment towards deities past them, long neglected in the demise of Old Valyria. Only with the name Targaryen behind them. Was it so different? She could be many things, he need only ask.

His thoughts were scrambled beyond thoughts as he noticed the stretch marks that began to spider her body. She was growing, gaining weight around her arms and thighs, fulling out to a more womanly shape yet her lips drew him back to her.

“You promised there would be an after the war.” Her breath was hot and clinging to him. She truly was that close, her warmth compensating for the deteriorating heat of the bath. He felt boundless, in this state, so much could happen if he leaned in, if his fingers left the bounds of him to graze her thigh.

“I did.” She let go of the cloth and cupped the side of his face, aligning their eyes to entrap his eyes, he needed her.

“Still?” Leaning in closer as she whispered, a careless secret between them, he’d hold it forever if she wanted.

“Always.” It was a promise deeper than blood. She was a state of being for him. He’d earned her, he’d won her favor. Anything for her was a guarantee

“And you live?” Her breath raised ever so slightly, she was a gentle nudge away from him. Perhaps seduction had been her intention. He hoped to not deter it now. He was as honest as he should’ve been.

“I’m not sure anymore.” There was a liberation in it, and a reckoning as her lips found his.

It was a hurried affair, her pulled her face as quick as his loss of composure would allow. She seemed equally as frantic as she slid her tongue into his mouth. It was a cruel dance, a quick one as she pulled away, creating tension to push back into as she got on her knees. There was no anticipation with her movements, they were as sure as her expressions. The water created a symphony as he gripped on her, no remorse or contemplation as he pulled her on in. Her legs landed on either side of him as her body accepted their every motion.

“ We can stop.” He broke away to say. So many thoughts, he wished to say, so many words came to mind to let her know, but as quickly as he said his peace, she was back on his tongue. The scent of the bath seemed to fuel it. This great lust between them was unlike any he had before. It was devouring him from the inside out, digesting whatever constraint he held between her thighs like this.

Yet she refused to answer him. At any other time he’d withhold himself, ease his mind into toying with her, demanding her answer and drawing out her resolve. Now he was a mad man who nearly came as she let her hips grind against his. Their arousal filled the room as she moved against him. She broke away to his jaw as she continued with reckless abandon. He could feel her wetness, he couldn’t resist his moan as she continued her relentless teasing.

“ I like when you moan.” It was a cruel comment now. He craved to be inside her, yet at her rate and his age it would be too much for the thought. His hand slid between her thighs to her peak as he began a torturous retort without words.

Her back arched , pushing her into his chest as he fitted his fingers between her folds, he pressed his thumb against it as his two fingers descended into her slit. It drew the most erotic moan he’d ever care cared to earn. Her hips rolled into him. Her hand took up his cock from behind and began a similar pursuit.

With their crazed movements the water splashed out of the tub and drowned the floors until not enough water was left. In the haze of the lust he could barely see anything that wasn’t her, yet she was so clearly defined. Her now loose curls bounced with her chest at his every thrust, she was both wet and sweaty in an insatiable mix that cause her skin to glisten. She could gladly be the end of him.

Her moans were becoming clear indicator of how near her peak was, half selfishly, he stopped his fingering and waited for her to settle.

She focused, eyes half open, head slowly turning back to him instead of solely entrenched in the pleasure of the moment. He knew he needed to say nothing for her but he couldn’t help himself.

He took to her neglected chest and started his long awaited coupling towards the middle. He was slow and languished in the taste of her in his mouth. It was the salt of her sweat and the oil from the oranges that took over, impairing his ability to do much else.

Before he turned to the other, he found the clarity in his mind to continue their endeavor.

“I want you to take me inside you when you come.” He enticed her enough to return to his chosen pursuit as she rather shamelessly, wordlessly descended on his cock.

His own cries were muffled into her chest while she howled at the introduction. She simply began rolling her hips towards him, at her own pace while they drew nearer to the precipice. His tongue licked and nipped at every inch of her while she rode him. Her warm heat was unyielding atop him. He felt his restraint bleed out slowly into her warmth.

Many quips came to as thought and died on his tongue as she changed direction, bouncing now as he held her in place. He brought himself to move to meet her with his own thrusts. He grew into his climax, every time they met, until it was nothing more than a needy clawing at release. She tightened with each bounce, her cries became frantic until she lurched forward in a hazy fall, shuddered into her apex, his continued thrusting, joined by the addition of his hand, brought her to her peak with one last cry. He followed suit lost in his lust, neglecting to try to save some deniability later on as he came inside her, releasing his warm seed into her without a hint of worry as she felt out her climax.

There was something to be said for the aftershock of pleasure he felt. It was the weight of her, the way she had molded herself during it, her lack of composure that she tried now to gain. There was nothing that was like her in this world. He caught his breath, feeling his mind suddenly care of what had occurred between them. He felt more like himself than he had in a long while. He looked at her to be reaffirmed, yet she seemed still caught in the moment.

He took to rubbing his hands down her back, assuring comforting words, not sure if he had hurt her. He had softened inside her before she made any movement to show how she felt. Her face was uncommunicative to how she felt.

“I should go…”

Her first words to him trailed off as she prepared her absence, it felt like a part of him was carved out as she raised up off him, he was entirely uncertain about how she had felt after as she got out of the now cooled tub, without another word to say if she was offended, she left, taking some half of him as she left.

He was wordless has he cleaned himself fully in her absence, his mind racing with any possibility that she wasn’t well. Perhaps this was the cost of desire, the cost of getting to close, going to far with her. He felt himself developed a headache in the contemplation. The room felt damp and unwelcoming now, his eyes burned with the repetition of all that had happened, unblinking as though she would reappear on him. He was tired by the time he had gotten out of the tub, careful to mind the spilled water as the burden of the affair had set into his skin.

It wasn’t simply an affair, he had a duty to many things, to her was without question. He’d have to protect her from court life, the whispers would remain whispers, unless she grew with child, he reckoned. That thought set in as he opened the door. She’d need moon tea, without question.

He was startled by her waiting presence in the room, looking directly as he entered, she seemed bashful. He could cope with shyness, he’d delight if that was her only feeling.

Her eyes widened as she began to say words that would falter in a few attempted syllables . Eventually, he decided on the mercy of speaking first, sparing her introduction.

“Are you well?” He recalled it, such a simple question, yet it held a moment for them, so different from who they were now. She shook her head yes before standing, not entirely sure who she was meant to convince.

Making her way to him, he realized she was as unchanged as she had left, perhaps she was simply overwhelmed by the instance. He could help but think back to it, how much more he’d want to show her, how many ways he’d want to see her, yet she had not voiced anything akin to that being a conclusion she hadn’t said anything at all.

“I will not be your whore. I cannot return to court with a bastard. I would not do that to your children, to Her Grace.”

Her conviction made him sigh, perhaps he should feel guilty for it, he would not have her be that to him, she was all too important to be reduced to a pleasure. She was so much of him, encompassing him in everything he wanted. He’d dedicate his life to that. Whatever she needed, he hold on to life for her.

“I would never ask that of you.” He cupped her chin, pulling her sight to him, it was an earnest principle. She was so much more than he could make her know. It was an overwhelming sensation. He felt old, looking at her, she was simply so full of life. He felt stagnant as she worked her mind to figure out what she wanted to say. He felt a drunk high yet entirely sober in her light and warmth.

His hand slid to her cheek as she leaned into his touch, ever so slightly, yet it simply felt striking. He could feel himself growing into her again, he felt aroused by what she was attempting. She could say what she wanted, get anything she asked of him, he needed to know that she was sure in that.

“I’d need moon tea now.” There was the flash of shyness he saw, she almost seemed embarrassed at the mention of it. She wasn’t wrong, he would not wound her with a bastard, cruel as it may be, as wanting as the idea seemed to grow as it festered in her thoughts. To see her change because of him, due to their passions, it was a liberating idea entirely. It doomed her much worse.

“Of course.” He wouldn’t let it take hold of him. That hopefulness with her was nice in time, after granted her protection, he’d keep her safe by any means.

An ease seemed to take over them. Her eyes where more playful, perhaps it was his hopefulness reflected in her. Perhaps he had earned her comfort.

“You were quick.” She jested at him now. He wanted to return the favor. He could imagine it now. He craved her like the best thing he’d ever tasted, she could be, he mused, smiling at the thought of their indiscretion. She wished to play with him. He needed nothing more. He moved forward, after ensuring it moved her back.

“This is always better with time. There are so many things I want to learn about you.”

He grabbed out to her hand as they went deeper into the room, only stopping when her calves hit the edge of the bed. He took her hand to his lips , grazing it slowly, an affection their pace had deterred a few moments ago. He saw her breath hitch at the touch of him. He lavished in it. In her every reaction. He was hard again, yet the need to know her overtook his own sensibilities, any hesitation he still kept, dissolved at the noise she made when his lips finally reached neck. It was low, and guttural, giving him everything he knew he needed from her in one moment.

He took a confidence in these revelations, moving his tongue in small circles, up her tightened jaw, until his mouth found hers. She was eager. She practically feasted on him, making him question his every want in that moment before he returned to setting the pace. He pulled away for a bit, drawing out his return until a whimper fell from his lips. He smiled at it.

“You need to pace yourself, you’ll love it if you let it build.” She groaned as gently as one could, as he reintroduced their lips, slowly, letting his tongue make up for any lack of passion becoming of the pace. They had enough time. She had taunted his return with the query of the night being young, shouldn’t they revel in it?

She grew into his timing, pulling at his robe, not undressing him as he made up for his reveling with how he wished to experience her. His mind slowly faltered to her answer as he could not make up his mind, his pace slowed as he tried to draw words from her.

“Tell me what you want.” He drew himself to her ear, nipping at the lobe as he asked.

She simply moaned, yet it wouldn’t do, he undid the tie of her robe, having her scantily clothed in his presence. Not enough to lessen his question, just enough to stir her need to answer. His hands met her tender nipples, stroking them between his thumb and index, having her arch to meet him, without them connecting at their hips this time. He refused to stoke her lack of answer any more than he did, returning his kiss to her neck, intent on leaving a mark.

“You on top of me.” She stuttered out, turning her face to meet him, making her intentions clear as her lips crashed on his. He removed the lose layer of modestly from her, pulling her into a lift, not quite ready to relinquish her wants as easily.

He dropped her onto the bed, rumpling the sheets as he kept her in place, he was determined to draw it out as long as he could. Her legs spread she fell, giving him the perfect opportunity to sink his face between her.

He gripped at her thighs, inhaling the scent of her before starting his devouring. The tip of his tongue toyed with the bud that brought her such release before, sensitive at his previous actions he looked up at her, a carnal lust hiding his need to see her entirely undone. He turned his head back down to start his ministrations fully, removing any form of delay by lapping at her folds, dining on her, trying his best not to overstate his intentions.

Her moans were restrained, trying her best to keep some decorum between them and their hosts. To her credit, it was a valiant attempt, her only true misgiving being his need to hear her, he slowed his course in response, taking his time with spoiling her, every new, untouched place, the taste of his seed mixed with her arousal, the heat of her on him, was enough to drive him mad, he could live there, worship at the apex of her. The Gods should be envious of him.

In almost a direct return her cries grew strained, low and deep, louder than they had been. He refused to add any part of him into her just yet, wanting the accomplishment to be on his mouth alone. When she began to pant almost, grind against his face, he knew he had her where he wanted, and so he pulled away.

Her reaction to his denial was splendid. She tried to get him to stay, her moans almost clawing him back to her need yet he held his resolve to know better, to make her feel better. Lusty boys and ladies alike from what little he knew would not have taught her. He wanted a first from her as much as he wanted her.

Daemon stood up, dropping his robe near her and revealed his nakedness to them both before climbing along side her, kissing her hair as she descended as much as he wanted before he joined her.

“That was cruel.” She said against him, head to his chest, her hips still bucked as though he was there, he was happy to oblige as he turned her on her back, his length hitting her brown thigh. He kissed her and pulled away, repeating as he saw fit too, letting her indulge in her own taste, before aligning himself with her center. He unhurriedly entered her, taking the time to get her accustomed to him.

It was a new feeling, they way she tightened around him, her body and need all surrounding him, he felt light headed at the thought of it, thinking about the actions he had undertook, the liberties he had given in to. As soon has his hilt had reached her pulled out, pushing himself into her hurriedly, gaining and unfiltered and rather loud moan from his companion

He continued his rhythm, until she settled into it, them changed his pattern by lifting one of her legs, folding it as he continued to fill her anytime she grew too accustomed. His hands and body found its own worship of her, bathing in her moans, bracing for her peak as he felt his own build. It was so much of her, all of her at his welcome. He lost any pace by the end, slamming into her as though he were a green boy, welcoming her wetness and convulsions at his intuitions.

He felt it build and build until he joined her cries of passion. She was not as relishing, putting her hand on his throat, stopping his reach and making him erupt with his seed spilling into her. He dropped his weight rather unwillingly on her in the end. She followed suit as she relented, giving into waves of pleasure, riding it out until she felt herself content at her state, as loud as she had been.

It was bliss as his mind connected with his body in the aftermath, her legs wrapped around him, refusing his departure from her. He traced circles on her, in the silent epilogue of it, she fell asleep after, unmoving from her place, she simply descended into that oblivion. His hand circled her naked thigh, not entirely comprehending what had occurred, simply knowing it was her. He knew he should carry her to her own bed, put a robe on her newly, sweat drench embody but he couldn’t help himself at the need to fall asleep alongside her, as they were.

#hotd fanfic #nettles #nettles asoiaf #daemon targaryen #fanfic #from eden ff #daemon targeryan x nettles #daemon x nettles #fire and blood #dettles #nettles x daemon #smut #fire and blood smut

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lovelipton · 1 year ago

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{Fever for the Fire}

She had done her duty, she believed. Yet the guilt of it, losing herself, allowing him to break his oath as he devoted himself to her pleasure, every bite and grab brought her to the edge of something she could seldom understand. The only sliver of understanding could be found in his words during it. He’d play to her vanity, her need to be wanted and listened, quench her need to be wordlessly understood when he flicked his tongue against her neck. When his head descended to connect his mouth to her, he’d taken more firsts than she thought she could have in the early years, even now, he promised to.

She wanted it to be beyond herself. She yearned for that worship, his comfort. If he saw how her breath raised he made no motion towards it, instead grabbing her hand from and her side, pressing her wrist against his mouth in one gesture of what could be if she permitted it.

His lips were hot and burning, unlike before. She needed to burn. She could burn with him. He kissed along her wrist, toying with her desire. She still had some idea of decorum. They could stop and be as they had been with little words of his actions so far. In a way, she found their nights together to be a quiet expression of her devotion , her own form of praise to him. At some point, they should have known better and have care for what they should be. Tonight could be the reigniting, if she let it.

#alicent hightower #criston cole #alicent x criston #criston x alicent #ser criston cole #inappropriate use of the faith of the 7 #alicole #the writers were cooking with this lore #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon

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lovelipton · 1 year ago

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Chapter 7.

Smut Warning. (Hand stuff)

He woke up in sweats with the lingering hopes of his dreams drowning him in the thought of her. He felt damp and hot and drained in the memory of it. The light from the sun streamed in through the curtains in his darkened room. Something the maids must’ve done during the night.

The exhaust was the next feeling he felt fully, followed by the strange sickness that often came with drunkenness.

He raised up against the bed, feeling a sharp tug at his hand when he stretched, sighting the bandage over the newly reopened wound. The night faded into disconnected pieces of events he hoped Nettles would be kind enough to fill in.

Nothing showed she had been at his side for the day yet. As he stood up and began to organize himself best for the prolonged day ahead, certain things felt real, while others didn’t.

Her lips pressed against his seemed half imagined by his inebriated mind, his hair was shorter, surely. Her hands on him seemed half contrived.

His stay in the bath was the longest, scrubbing away at the layer of sweat, before he heard the first knock at the door, followed by the gentlest way he’d heard his voice said in years. The door pushed open, revealing the curious face and kind eyes she’d grown into conducting their conversations with.

He could feel the idle lust he eased into her company peer into his mind. Even in her riding leathers, she simply looked ideal. He could feel the guilt and embarrassment follow that thought. The nerve of him succumbed to it awake and asleep. Tonight needed to be the night he went away.

She smiled shyly before she made her way to him, sitting at the bottom of the stairs.

“I was just about to wake you.” She looked up at him before turning to the hem of her tunic, never meeting his eyes. He knew he had to be rational about this, whatever that would mean for him. Her hand was still bandaged from the night before, and he wondered if it hurt her.

“Did anything untoward happen last night?” She looked even further down, halting any movement after his statement.

Now, he was terrified. She sought him out, he confided himself, she didn’t seem to put off by his presence, shy but not forced.

“You kissed me.” The confession was barely a murmur but enough for him to react poorly. She looked at him, he felt her curious gaze but he couldn’t face her. It had gone too far before he could prevent it. He couldn’t think of an apology to encompass his regret. He’d dragged her into his desire, a stupid mistake he couldn’t begin to fathom.

“It was fine, I’m not offended by it.”

She tried to appease his obvious disgust towards the situation, being kind enough not to blame herself for the reaction or him for the instance himself.

“You’re not even the first to kiss me this week.” Her voice was barely a breath as she reached the end of her statement. Her tone going from comfort to strained confession. A secret away from him being unearthed.

“What?”

He tried not to sound angry, or more accurately jealous about the confession. She’d never presented herself as someone who wouldn’t engage in promiscuous activities. Half the time he wasn’t sure if she was unaware or enticing him. It still felt like a hard slap at the confession, the admission of it.

She stared near him but she never met his eyes after. It was a destructive path to go down. She kept it from him, for the first time in her life she had a standard to answer to, that of a Maiden whether she was or wasn’t. He didn’t care for it but it was obvious she thought he did and that hurt differently.

“If someone forced themselves on you..”

“It wasn’t like that.”

She cut him off immediately at the implication that it was unwanted or unwarranted. To that the ease was taken over by an unfounded jealousy. Someone who shared her vulnerable side, who let her carry the secret, who kept one with her. A faceless man had earned his envy.

“When?” He growled his question out. If she had any hesitation towards him , she didn’t show it, remaining as she had.

“It was at Riverrun, the Tully boy, Oscar.”

He tried his best not to seem reprimanding. Maidenpool had allowed for their freedoms away from the ire and judgement of the courts. He wouldn’t set himself in its place.

“Do you need Moon tea?”

He reached out for her hand, gaining her eyes with it. Half worry and half shock stared back at him with her confession. He had to be careful, firm and absent in how he felt. If she returned to King’s Landing with a Tully bastard in arm, too many question would need to be answered, after war no less.

“No.”

She was sure in her tone, pulling her hand towards herself, scrounging the conversation in a silence.

“I do not care about what you do in that regard as long as you are smart about it. Rumors, true or not can be grievous. ”

He’d taken to lying in exchange for her comfort. It seemed a kindness to the misery of a conversation. A Tully had done whatever they did together while he’d only dreamt it. She had been free to act on her impulse when he’d restrained himself to the point of bursting in way of small acts. Every reading of her reactions to him had been trivialized by the conversation. She didn’t say anything before she walked away, not angry or contemplative, just done with the conversation they had.

He got out quickly after, meeting her already a top dragon back whilst he saddled, never once engaging in a conversation.

Another fruitless flight met them at dusk, her confession silenced him and the displeasure of her apathetic company was frustrating throughout the entire day. By sunset at Maidenpool, he knew he could not put off the idea of a brothel anymore. He craved the warmth of more than just his own hand or the touch of a clueless desire.

As they made their way through the winding path he brought it up to disrupt the unbearable silence.

“Tonight you’ll eat without me. I have somewhere to be.”

It was polite, informative and brief. Everything it should be between the new understanding of them.

“I can wait for you to return.” The girl had already started undressing in the halls, halfway through her leathers with a strange look on her face. He didn’t know what plagued her but he knew that if he stayed he wouldn’t leave her.

“Don’t. I won’t be back until long after you’re asleep.”

To that she stopped and looked at him, trying to decipher what he could be doing so late in the night.

“You aren’t going to Riverrun, are you?”

For a moment he lost his composure over her expression, she looked as though she thought him insane at her own suggestion. In the quiet of his mind he could admit she understood him better than he thought she had. There were moments he wished to see how long fishes held in water would last after her lack of a confession. He simply held it back for tonight.

“No.”

He tried his best not to smile at her questioning face. She was down to her undershirt and breeches before she continued.

“You’re not going to find Aemond?”

That sounded more speculative than secure in her mind, he knew they’d talk about it sooner or later, his constant absence in their discussed future but tonight couldn’t be that night.

“No.”

He attempted to be curt with her, her calculating expression showed she wouldn’t put it to rest, as part of the new trust they shared. He just couldn’t bring himself to tell her about this.

“Where are you going?”

She seemed slightly annoyed by his refusal to simply say it out loud, while he was annoyed by her perseverance towards the topic. They had stopped in the halls, looking at each other in the wake of the conversation.

“I do not think you need to know. I wish to settle this at once.”

His tone was commanding and stern, two things he’d never truly been with her, a realization reflected in her eyes and the straightening of her posture. A threshold had been crossed between them, one he yearned to dissolve before it set.

“Forgive me Your Grace, I’ll see you a top dragon back.”

If it wasn’t for her formality he would’ve left. He convinced himself of it.

By the time she got to the door he was darting towards it, to stop it from slamming as she began to remove her sweat soaked undershirt.

“You do not get do this.”

He stated plainly, almost upset by her own frustration. She did not turn to him until her shirt was off and she stood in her underclothes and riding leather.

“What have I done?” She almost seemed insulted by the prompt, turning flustered and confused towards him. She started taking the braids wrapped around her head down, barely maintaining eye contact. He saw she bound her chest with bandages, seeing more reason to stay and burn away at her side.

“I do not tell you where I go and I become ‘Your Grace’. You did not speak of the Tully boy for a fortnight and I did not judge you or condemn you for it.”

It was a petty argument, though he felt his arguments dissolve as her posture straightened almost angry at the insinuation. She let out a heated laugh before closing her fists at her side. He’d never seen her anger fester and felt the regression of his argument with her stare.

“I did not make a pact for honesty the day before, Daemon.”

He had not comparison for the annoyance in her tone.

“Nor did I kiss you with no explanation. As soon as I knew you’d remember I told you, I wanted to since it happened but up until then it has been this constant misunderstanding. Now I do not know where you will be, I’m not to wait for you, what to tell anyone who asks. Simply smile and agree and let you leave.”

Unshed tears brimmed in her eyes making it glisten in the low light. He felt like he could not breathe in her gaze. He had confused and wounded her in ways he wished to escape from the start. Even then he could not do the last thing he wished.

“I do not know if you have your best interest at heart, you say you would, just like you said you’d be honest with me. Only you push me away into confusion when I think I’m free from it with you. Where are you going that you think I’d judge you? But then I’d think how could you possibly think I’d hold judgement against you?”

He felt the air leave and draw back into his lungs with every passing moment between them in complete silence. It was something he’d longed for, from his father, Viserys and Rhaenyra. It was the absolute trust he’d craved and he stared at it half broken by its final presence.

Before he could respond, begin to defend himself she let her expression drop. He simply watched as she let go of any hope of an explanation from him and turned away. A hundred pleas and justifications came to mind as she retreated to her room, closing and locking the door that kept them connected.

He released a breath he’d restrained himself from letting go. His heart felt as though if had filled to suddenly, as though it would burst with one consideration of how she viewed him. Cruel, controlling, spoiled and now oath breaking.

If it was for her benefit, for her future, he’d live with it until he died, for her he could.

He organized for his departure as best as he could. Called for a horse to be readied, took his pouch of gold and whispered a soft goodbye at their door before wandering off into the dead of night. His horse was as brown as the cloak he wore, he found it had become a preferred color for him.

Jumping up onto the saddle he moved away from the walls of Maidenpool in secret, even, it felt away from himself. As though fate would have it, a cruel drizzle greeted him halfway on his journey turning into a constant pour by the time he reached the lamp lit door of the pleasure Inn he sought his refuge in.

Someone waited for his horse at the door, his mind wondered to the possibility of it being known that the Prince Consort had decided to fulfil his urges , the hesitant step back of the horseman made it a bit too obvious that the Inn keepers had been warned. Not for the first time he missed Flea Bottom and the careless spirit he could afford. What was one silver head in the den of bastards from those before him. He gave the boy two pieces of silver to stay on alert for when he needed to depart.

As he entered any suspicion that they had anticipated his arrival had been confirmed from the flowery essence that clung to the atmosphere and the line of girls that greeted him as he took of his coat and hat. As he turned an older woman, brushed with gold across her fair skin welcomed him with a kiss before she began her musings.

“Forgive the welcome my Prince, we have waited for your arrival since the start of your protection of Maidenpool.” Her breath held the scent of flowers as well, her grip on his arm was almost comforting as she lead him to a room. At this point he wished to get it over with, not minding her forward intrusion. He caught the glances of pretty men and women half in awe, half in fear, as though he was a God. He found himself missing the confused stare of his companion now, he found himself missing her entirely noting everything the place lacked in comparison to her. Fully naked bodies sprawled and decorated the setting, still tamer than anything King’s Landing had to offer, less tame than he’d seen in months.

“I assumed Valyrian beauties of Lys would be preferred.” She said, guiding him into the room before then, behind a towering oak door. As he entered the line of young blonde women awaited him, practically frozen by his presence. It wasn’t what he wanted. The warm light of the room conveyed two things, their fairness and their anticipation at his choice. It was almost a tragic seen as he pulled the old lady aside, disappointing the prettiest picks she could find he was sure.

“Perhaps tonight I’d take to someone darker. Are there any Naathi or Summer Islander girls in the most anticipating brothel in the River lands?” The inflections in his voice halted his thoughts for a moment too long. The command of the ‘Rogue Prince’ old and unfamiliar to him now.

Her face contorted into one of disgust before her pleasant mask took over, he couldn’t wait to hear the stories of the night the Prince ask for a brown girl in his bed. The irony sank into the pit of his stomach anchoring him back to the lady ushering the girls out if the room. “I will find her, just the one for such a specific taste.”

Her curtsey made him chuckle as she went to find his companion for the hour. A girl like her, to get her out of his system, he reconciled. Turning to the brown ale barrel, admiring the cheap tapestries of plain sex on the wall, he downed one cup before setting it aside laying on the hard mattress, watching the candle light flicker across the ceiling, plotting his reconciliation with his girl.

His ideas of dresses and adorned riding leathers were cut short at the motioned creak of the door, rising to see the old lady and a much younger, though not as young as the girls that had been there before, brown girl next to him.

She was pretty. Brown hair, not black, much lesser curls that fell at her waist with kajol lined eyes. She was in a simple underdress, seemingly curious as to why she was here. “Is she the darkest girl you have?” He couldn’t undersell his disappointment, his taste clearly to accustomed to the variety Flea Bottom captured.

“Yes, Your Grace, she’s one of the older girls but our most exotic taste.” The lady seemed upset by his demands more so with her self he presumed, not catering to his taste like she had prided herself on.

The woman next to her had yet to say a word, curiosity plagued her face however.

“That will be all then.”

A small phrase all the same marked her departure, starting the worker next to him on his own chase. He felt like a green boy under her cat like gaze, for the first time in years hesitant on where to begin. Deciding on the next best step, he began to unlace his doublet and shoes hoping she’d follow without his guidance.

“How will you have me, Your Grace?” Her tone was low and arousing. Perhaps it was how the years of service had benefited her. He felt himself warm to her finally, going some semblance of control.

“On your back, naked.” He commanded in one breath, standing up to remove his doublet and breeches, hurrying the process. The quicker the better.

She made due with what he had said, stripping to nothing quickly and making her way to the bed, a sight for him as he disrobed. She was lean but still full where needed, her nipples where pointed and hard in the cool breeze, her hips idly guiding her to a deeper place on the bed.

It was a memory, deep within him to take himself in hand. He had no such convictions tonight. Every arousing part of her was met with the desperate conclusion that she was not what he wanted, that she was lacking in some small way.

As he stalked his way to the bed, their eyes met in the dimming light, he wasn’t entirely there.

“Would you like my mouth, Your Grace?” Despite the transactional nature he adored in his youth, he knew he yearned for more. He slid silently next to her, silent and naked.

“Speak plainly.” He glanced at her shocked expression then back to the door, recalling a time ears were pressed against brothels. The lusty son of the Spring prince was now a man grown, twice over his mother, older that his father had managed.

“On what?” Her tone lowered almost amused as she snaked her light brown hand on his thigh, rupturing his cock.

“What’s your name?” His breath caught as she continued his long resolving solution to his problems at late, slowly and kinder than he had been. Her warm hand travelled up and down in a blissful dance throughout the centuries.

“Dara, My lord.” She spit in her hand and continued, allowing him to adjust as his release built.

“Pretty name.” He groaned to her as he leaned against the headboard, half there, half with who he wanted. He could see her silhouette, her kind eyes and inky coils as he closed his eyes. Her almost soft hands doing the work of his present company, his mind ran from him quicker than he could admit, finally feeling the pace of the climax building.

‘Why am I in your company tonight?” She mused as she moved quicker, caressing his lesser head with her thumb. He was glad it would be over

“You look more like the company I care for.” Surely there were rumors of the girl all over Maidenpool

How she looked, talked and acted were the center of the discussion, however much gossip among whores where valued, he cared not to scandalize her name, with his.

“Brown then, pretty, yet you close your eyes.” He could half hear her as she drew closer whispering her last sentiment ,her warm breath on his ear taking him over the edge. He came with a resentment for doing so, imagining a crooked smile on dark lips, glad to be over, regretting the journey.

Dara worked his until he was over, stopping her himself to stand and redress. The hour was late and he had no intentions of continuing.

She stood up and did the same, wiping her hands on the sheets as proof of the exchange, his brother in their youth would joke to say, to frame. The woman was in her underdress before they spoke again.

“Might I still speak freely your grace?” she asked, a confident glow had taken over her. He felt meager in her presence.

“Of course.” He put his doublet on after his trousers, trying to get on his boots. The night couldn’t be young, yet a hopefulness had bloomed. If he had to imagine her to get off, so it must be until he could stop.

“Where is the girl you imagine?” He smiled to himself as she didn’t ask for a name. They were friends, he mocked his thoughts.

“Somewhere very upset with me, and the fact that she doesn’t know where I am.” It was a bitter reality that set in as he looked for his coin purse, feeling she had earned it an more. How would he explain? Why would he at all?

“Perhaps a gift to reconcile? I liked hair pins.” She goaded him for any response now. Her idea wasn’t bad , perhaps she was simply underwhelmed by him. The Rogue Prince himself, came in her hand all under an hour without a thank you at least.

“Perhaps.” He smiled at her, looking truly for the first time. She was simply tired and anxious. Her posture was nervous, her lip tucked into her mouth like a child and her eyes wandering. She did not care, one dragon’s ass about him. She existed entirely outside of this exchange.

“How much does the mother keep?” She looked up attentively, making his way to her. Money would be their conversation, one they both understood well.

“735 grouts of every dragon.” Her tone shifted again, this time she was entirely assured.

“You get 5 Dragons then.” He counted 10 in front of her, careful with the noise. He placed half in her had and half between the lining of her corset.

She looked happier than he had ever seen her within the night, practically beaming.

“I’ll pay for the rest of your night as well.” She looked at him, curiously before walking after him towards the door. She opened it slightly and tilted her head, whispering in hushed tones to whoever he could imagine.

Turning back to him, her teeth shone at him. So familiar and so distant, he longed for her.

“If I didn’t tell Mother, she would’ve hung me. Lie and praise me, too.” She winked as she turned back as the old woman entered, angry at something outside his understanding.

“Is all well my Prince? Must you depart so soon?” her eyes pleaded a small hope that he would stay, the least disappointed look of the night towards him.

“Maidenpool must be protected. I must be at my companion’s side.” He smiled at her again, walking toward her slowly. A stalking charm all to welcoming to his return. He leaned down as he reached her with a kiss and a vote of thanks to the best girl of the house, placing three dragons in her hand.

“The rest of the night is hers. She’s more than earned it.”

The old woman was a blushing girl, yet with a face of resentment towards Dara. She granted his plea with tears and a reddening face she bid him well as his bedmate walked him to the door.

“Girls like mirrors as well, Your Grace.” She said in an almost motherly tone, her truest one of the night based on convictions. It startled him. He bid her away with a kiss too, as his horse was brought before him, earning the boy a silver stag.

The moon had yet to descent into the morning, painting the sky in a hopeful light as apologies to his Netty swarmed his mind.

It was a cruel punishment that his protection would lead to her anguish, a cruel fate he brought upon himself. As the bright torches of Maidenpool lit the cold nut no longer raining air, his return had him considering Dara’s words. He didn’t think a mirror or hairpins would win her this time.

He wanted to know when it would. Ser Florian saw him enter without a word between them, just a curious stare of wanting conversation.

He departed his horse to a farm hand that had awaited him , no doubt at the want of the Lord. Hoping for her sleeping to reconcile with is thoughts, an attempt at some concluding factor that kept her safe and him well within her company.

He walked the lit halls with no idea if she could find him, if they would talk or simply, she’d share a harsh good night and walk away. Perhaps she was asleep truly, the restless creature she was, granting him some form of relief from everything she conjured.

Their rooms were untouched and empty, the castle seems dark and hollow itself, not even the patter of maids walking to some end of the castle, yet almost as though it was the reason he breathed he knew where she would be.

Nothing would stop him from falling asleep, he reasoned. Nothing like an earned sleep after restless weeks. He made his way to his bed removing his cloak and doublet, then shoes like memory of him as a boy. Nothing held him to the responsibility of checking on her, he surmised as he put all his belongings to heir place. As his hand reached the door, nothing could stop him, perhaps he wasn’t in his head, but to be drawn to the smell or oranges at the end of the hall and the unlocked door.

#nettles #nettles asoiaf #daemon targaryen #fanfic #from eden ff #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #dettles #daemon targeryan x nettles #nettles x daemon #daemon x nettles

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lovelipton · 1 year ago

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Wait for them.

“His Grace is starting to get concerned.” She added. Daemon Targaryen had found himself at her side enough times for Jacaerys to notice, far less for him too. Apparently, he was a topic of conversation to the Prince Consort of the Realm.

He could ask a thousand questions, imply even more things with statements towards his concern with the relationship between Nettles and the prince. Not the first time she had caught the attention of one, but certainly a more concerning attention than before. No Prince would be his first thought to get moon tea from, yet it was her only suggestion to the constant problem they found themselves in.

“I’ll try to be better for you and your conversations.” He responded carelessly, kissing her quickly once, then twice, following a clear line then from her cheek, to her jaw, then neck. She smiled as he leaned into her, laughing as he fell into her and kissed more reflective of the want he had for her. To be hers in her company, not just in his mind and memories.

“You’ll be a good husband too?.” She looked down at him while he adjusted the laces of her blouse to be more welcoming to him, peppering kisses where it had already fallen. He stooped, feeling her sweet brown eyes on him and looked up, lips still resting on her chest but looking to answer her.

“For you, I would be.” He pulled her onto his lap in one quick motion. Not wanting to dwell on what he wanted and what would happen. He never wanted much before her. He was content with honour, then the promise of power, perhaps love. Now a dragon had won him all three almost, if she’d give into him, if she’d consider a world with them as the outcome.

#nettles #nettles asoiaf #ulf the white #nettles x ulf #final girls au #asoiaf rarepair

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lovelipton · 1 year ago

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Finishing a fanfic no one asked for while inching towards one I was suppose to finish last year. Bear with me.

#hotd fanfics #lovelipton fanfic #ulf x nettles

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lovelipton · 2 years ago

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Chapter 6

Smut Warning: There's smut. You're warned.

He sat in the candlelit room until the water grew warm and his temperature leveled. All the time, wondering if she was cold or tired or uncomfortable. He thought of apologies that all fell short, that he could never convince himself in earnest that he meant it.

Lost in self serving thought he didn’t here her knock, only turning as the door was opened, and she was there, unchanged from when he last saw her other than a robe hanging open on her.

“Are you well?”

She asked quietly, closing the door behind her. As she made her way to him, he felt exposed, with nowhere else to go, but where they were, he thought of her in this position and how she reacted to him. He reached behind him for a washcloth to preserve whatever decency he left between them.

She sat on the same tiled step that he used with her, glowing in the light, with her hair undone. Her hand threaded the edge of the tub, gracefully.

“Where were you?”

She looked at him before sinking her hand in the water, close enough for him to feel the motion of the water before she pulled away.

“The bath is too cold.”

She stood up and walked away, finding a bucket of hot water to add to the bath, avoiding the prompt and prolonging any answer he’d receive.

She streamed it in, bending in front of him to do it, to the benefit of his desire and nothing else. Decency couldn’t prevail as his eyes lingered on her blossom until she pulled away. He didn’t grow accustomed to the heat until she spoke again, maintaining the quiet with a whisper beside him.

“I went on a walk. Are you better?”

She sat down beside him again, awaiting his earned response to her.

He motioned instead, maintaining the unease in the air. He couldn’t look at her truly. Nothing in the moment compelled him to change that. Every justification felt unearned in their current state.

“Would you like help?”

She posed the question in dead silence. He almost felt himself succumb to the urge of agreeing absent-mindedly.

“ I’ll be fine.”

He finally caught her eyes, looking just below his neck to his chest before they found his.

He couldn’t think back to a time where she’d ever seen him without some covering over the scars he kept from war. There was no discomfort or fear in her eyes. They barely changed at the sight.

“We need to cut your hair and it’s no longer wet.”

He forgot of their past conversations, presuming she had to in the daze of their last interaction.

“You’ve also been in here for an hour.” She looked away from him for a moment.

He was not strong enough to reject her after her insistence on it, nodding again, signaling her behind him to aid him.

She made her way behind it, dropping the robe before sitting at the edge of the bath. The same heat was a novel vice now. He could feel it between them. The water didn’t help his quest to deter himself entirely from the feeling.

He sank deeper into the water before she poured the water on his head, in absolute and agreed on quiet. The water trickled from his head to his back, coating him in warmth, relaxing him in her scent and presence. Another dangerous place he’d confined himself to.

Eventually she stopped, leaving him with an idle want for the past.

“When did the arrow shoot you?”

He opened his eyes and turned to her, almost impressed by the decisiveness in her words. Her hand hovered just above his scar from what seemed a lifetime ago. There was a recklessness in her motion towards him, a contemplation to simply place her hand on him. Nothing about where they seemed right. Every interaction seemed unfair and restrained from just a few moments ago.

“How do you know it’s an arrow?”

He gazed at her for a moment , trying to assure her without words that she could touch him. When she dropped her hand on it, he felt the immediate heat from her, trying his best to leave it alone.

“Many men on Driftmark have the same one.”

Every allusion she made towards her past angered him in some small way. She had no one to protect her. She wouldn’t have been a baby by the end of that war, and yet she knew its marks, well enough to correctly recognize it.

“In the Stepstones ?”

She asked as he thought of the new information he had to piece together her past, idly shaking his head in agreement.

She had faded scars and scrapes on her body from things he’d never guessed with luck on his side. Her nose scar spoke louder than the rest. She wore it well enough that it seemed a part of her, something he couldn’t imagine her without. She let her hands wander on him, something he wouldn’t dare stop. She was tracing old wounds that seemed to reopen to heal under her touch. He never thought he’d become so dependent on it. Her hands made their way from his chest to his neck, jaw, and cheek, leaving a trail of fire to consume him.

“Daemon?” She called out to him passively, turning his face to hers.

“Netty?” He looked at her, staring idly at her enraptured sight, the shoulder of her dress sliding saying off her.

“This isn’t normal is it?”

He raised himself out of the water to be face to face with her. She knew it, he knew it and that’s where they were now. It was truly that simple. He wouldn’t be here with his children or Addam Velayron. It was her and the reaction she cause with him. He never wanted to deter a realization more.

“Do you think it is?”

A stupid question to pose for her to answer, something unfair to postpone it, to remain as they were without the burden of understanding.

She leaned down to him, keeping her steady hand on his face. If she kissed him, he knew he wouldn’t stop her, he thought of it enough times himself.

She pressed her forehead against his, never breaking their gaze, continuing with her whisper.

“I don’t think either of us have the care or understanding for it.”

They should, he wished to say, before she pulled away.

He thought of what he would give to return to the possibility that she’d give in to what seemed to be her worse impulse. Just to give his desire an entrance point, stopping its distracting festering in her presence.

“How short do we cut your hair?”

She turned to conversation away from the point. He selfishly wished she wouldn’t, that she’d see him, desperately confiding in him.

“To your liking.”

“And the pact?”

He looked at her. It was midnight. Nothing could save them from the early morning tire they’d face now. Her hands stayed at the edge of the tub, forgetting their earned place on him entirely now.

“After my hair.”

She looked apprehensive towards the idea. The time for one, their early flight was surely the other reason. She looked towards him. Her eyes shrouded in mystery now.

“We’ll talk about it during. Gaining trust and so on.”

Nothing she did made him know what she was thinking, maybe he was better off for it. She wore for a moment before continuing, the dress only half dry on her. He wondered if he offered her a place in his bath if she would take it.

“Alright.”

The state of the material wouldn’t leave his mind.

“Are you not cold?”

She simply smiled and pulled her robe to hide the dress. Such a small word brought him relief , from grueling tension. She wasn’t cold he realized, dropping the thought from his mind all together. She stayed for a moment, silently drawing them back to the bath, taking a discarded cloth and washing his back, continuing her small ministrations around his scars before dismissing her self to change and get the things to cut his hair.

He didn’t know if she could do it, he knew he didn’t care.

His cock had grown strained in her company, from her touch and conversation. He simply couldn’t bring himself to handle it, feeling as though it had been a misguided conclusion to what had occurred. She brought him as much guilt as she did arousal and the pleasure of her company denied any cure.

He stayed until the water was warm around him, his heat leveling before he went his room , anxious for the outcome before he met her, staring idly at his vanity, waiting for him.

The room was wrapped in candlelight and a cool breeze covered the air. Her hair was open and drying, she wore another nightgown that fell of her shoulders like a Stormlands dress, never looking more Velayron than she had before, his mind drew to Lady Jocelyn before pulling away entirely. She truly looked like no one he’d ever met.

“Did you call for someone? Or do I learn you can do it without aid?”

He sounded sure, something he was knowingly not. She made no attempt to look his was as he dressed, keeping the drying cloth wrapped around him to prevent any immodesty between them. He put his trousers and undershirt on back facing her waiting for any reaction. When he got none he turned and continued, making his way to her.

“I wonder how short you’d like it?”

He stood in front of her, her eyes conflicted between a decision, her expression dim.

“What’s wrong?”

He was more concerned about her changing emotion than he was about her company, scared of what it could mean. How it could change their newly won interactions.

“Are you sure you want to cut your hair? I know you Targaryens take pride in it.”

Her voice was mellow and concerned, bringing a smile to his face. The strange girl was more concerned about his hair than anything between them. She established and kept her hold over him well.

He pulled on her hand, raising her off the stool before taking her place, causing her to uselessly stifle a laugh.

“I assure you it will return. Just do not leave me bald and all will be well.” She rolled her eyes before turning him to face the silvered looking glass. Ornate limestone murals of wheat and fish decorated the frame as he looked on.

He saw the shears, a older looking hairbrush and comb, curious about her intentions.

“Who taught you to do it?”

She reached over, brushing against him to get the hairbrush to untangle his hair. Light as a feather, she made her way through, careful not to pull, a gentle affection he eased into.

“A man who didn’t like young girls in brothels or as barmaids.”

He thought to ask for a name, or age of said young girls. Her voice was kind if not overly polite to overcompensate her discomfort at opening up to him.

“What’s the shortest your hair has been?”

He smiled at the memory she invoked, after the Stepstones. Where he took Rhaenyra to Flea Bottom when Laena had first introduced herself to him. It seemed a lifetime now.

“As short as it makes me pleasing to your eyes.”

She flushed at the insinuation, collecting her thoughts before grabbing the shears and comb. His hair had grown to his waist in such a short time, he barely managed it as it was.

She sectioned his hair, taking from just below the bottom of his hair go down and began to braid the top.

“How old are you?”

Sure questions, to know her better, he justified before bracing himself for her silence.

“ Seven and ten in a fortnight.”

She began to section that part, from the lowest part going up, braiding it as well.

"You never said anything?" He quirked an eyebrow towards her growing smile.

"You never asked."

She meekly justified.

“We should celebrate then.”

She was a young girl. He fought with boys her age before, but she carried herself with a forced maturity, a warned understanding of a world that held no place for her. He lusted after a young lady whose childhood had been revoked.

She simply muttered a small acknowledgement before opening the shears. Letting his hair go and combing the lowest part to the nape of his neck, she discarded most of his hair, shaping it as she went, continuing until she had cut the entire section in that style.

He felt a weight leave him with each snip. Lingering and weakening as though he’d finally felt a rest after months.

“Are you interested in marriage?”

It was a promise made when she claimed a dragon, surely the best way to go for her. Alyn, though young would be suitable but the idea caused bile to raise.

“I care about my dragon and keeping him at my side. Bearing heirs for some fat lord to add a dragon bride to his collection is a small price. I’ll find my joy on dragon back and do my duty.”

It sounded cruel coming from her, he felt insulted by the statement. Freedom was the price she felt she payed to claim her dragon, one lord to him seemed better than random men who’d harm her whichever way they thought their coin earned.

“There are harsher cost.”

His defense was met by silence. She took the top of his hair and began cutting , lock after lock dropping into silence in the dead of night, every snip echoing a strained sentiment.

“Did I upset you?”

“As someone who’s paid the price in full your grace I wasn’t complaining. Simply saying I’d prefer not to be sold atop a dragon as well.”

She didn’t hesitate in her response, nor did she stop toying with his hair. She pulled to frame his face as his words sunk in, deterring his reaction to what she had said. He sat in the quiet as she pulled and combed what remained of his hair. He knew the front at least fell just past his chin as she’d pulled all his hair in front of his eyes.

His attempt to know her had shriveled into hope that she’d still promise to trust him, especially when he couldn’t earn it readily.

“I’m not upset.”

She turned him to her and began to run her cold hands through his hair to style it the way it was cut. Her expression was a mixture of concern and anticipation. It made him nervous to be a recipient of the expression.

“I like it.”

She looked at him, a smug look covering her face, she’d never looked at him like this before, it made his heart race with the expectation.

It felt weightless now, he missed the warmth and feeling yet her demeanor kept some mystery.

He broke her gaze to stare at himself. He was a vain man, no matter how calm he seemed to her or tried to convince himself, if it didn’t suit him he’d change it. The longest locs swooped just below his ear, with all the length from the back grazing the nape of his neck. He looked well kept, in a sense refined as a prince should be.

“Do you like it?”

Her voice seemed eager to know, to discover what he thought of it.

“I look better.”

She smiled at the insinuation, causing her brown eyes to crease, letting it touch her eyes. Her cheeks were full and bright, and she looked at him as though he was the sun itself. He wished to remain in that light she painted him with.

“I should cut my hair as well, it’s gotten so long and I can’t go through the summer heat with it.”

He liked her hair to much to agree with her, he’d do it himself if it took too much work for her to maintain.

“You will not do anything close to that. I prefer your hair long.”

She seems shocked by his admission, holding her smile with wide eyes before walking away. He stood up, dusting what remained of silver strands off himself.

She returned with a dustpan and broom, handing it to him passively, walking to his bed and sitting before he could contest. She was still the person with a very unclean room, he reminded himself as he gathered the hair, at least she thought of him.

In that time she pulled herself up on his bed, lying horizontally on her stomach she watched and waited for his company idly. She kicked her feet in the air, causing her dress to fall back on her thighs, something that stained his mind like ink on paper.

His mind engaged with the idea that she did it on purpose. She looked half dressed, with loose hair at the center of his bed like a dessert at the middle of the table of a feast. He tried to distract himself from the portrait it painted, staring at the floor until he was done and making his way to her.

When he sat at the edge, he put his back to the window and faced the door. She then turned to face him on her side, causing the dress to go just pass her knees.

“Do you know me well enough now?”

Her voice was like cinnamon when she whispered, warm and inviting. When she did, he realized she couldn’t hide the dockside inflection that held every other word with her. He felt himself restrain every natural urge he had, keeping his eyes forward and hands on his lap.

The fervor her hand could conjure was proven again as she placed her hand on his, luring his eyes to her under its command.

“Do I simply stab you or is there more to it?”

The pact.

He had to make a pact with her, he had promised.

He ran his hand through his fresh, cut hair standing to ready himself for the night ahead.

The room was cool with the fireplace lit. He added more wood to watch it catch ablaze.

She got off his bed, making no moves to remake it walking neat the table he stayed near. Ever the contrarian, she sat on the table as he made his way to her.

The fireplace illuminated her with its light. Highlighting the browns and blacks of her silhouette, making her eyes glow.

She seemed confused at what he was doing, curious to know if she should stare at him the same way, he thought, he fantasized.

“I’ll talk you through it. You’ve no need to worry. Fill a goblet with wine.”

He tried to be gentle and considerate to her. Willing to make a pledge to try and trust him, allowing herself to believe he had her best interest at heart only for him to misconstrue it to protect her. He hoped to give her the understanding.

He walked away from her light, paving the wooden floors to reach his saddle bag for a dagger. He heard the wine pour into the dead of night as he retrieved the dragon glass dagger from the sack. She held the cup in her hand, awaiting any instruction from him.

He made his way to her smiling in a sense to reassure her and her nervousness. He took the crystal from her, resting it back in the table trying to understand what she’d anticipate.

“It need not be in Valyrian, though it’s preferred.” He hadn’t spoken it in a long while, he’d never asked if she could. Her eyes didn’t meet his, dropping to look at her hands.

“Is there anything else you wish to know?”

He simply wished to ease the budding nervousness that possessed her, he took her chin in between his fingers and raised it to his eyes. It meant something different to them both, she was young enough to bind herself fully to her word.

“Sometimes I..”

Her voice dropped below what he could hair, her head dipping below his gaze with it. He looked to the moon, and back to her, it was just past midnight by any indication.

“This is no time for secrets.”

He felt himself chill to whatever response she’d give. Perhaps she’d confess to murder he thought in his occupied state, half worry, half earnest.

She looked at him, her brown eyes glazed with anxiousness.

“I sometimes think I’m not Valyrian at all.”

He did not know what to say to that statement. His eyes met her brown ones with anticipation, some way to dissuade the thought altogether. He didn’t know whether to discredit the idea or ease the fear in her confession.

She and her dragon were as Valyrian as he and his. By any name she’d be Valyrian. He didn’t understand the question at all.

“What do you mean?”

She slouched down, spreading her legs between them, looking into the fireplace. He raised her face to look at his with his finger, not wanting to miss what she could truly be expressing to him.

“Sometimes it just seems untrue. I’ve read all the books on all the riders and I’ve never come close to anyone like me. We’re bonded differently.”

He talked though what had to happened while trying to understand what exactly she had meant.

“What ever promise you make is sealed in blood, it lasts as long as your blood flows, a promised the gods won’t ignore whatever we both say, we are both held to.”

Her miserable dragon had gotten used to the sheep agreement she formed all those moons ago, which didn’t make her non Valyrian. Her face wasn’t Valyrian, he thought. Even with his knowledge, the closest he’d come to anything like her was the first dragon riders, who were shepherds. It still wasn’t enough to discredit centuries of precedent. He’d given her fear too much thought to begin with.

He looked at her again, gaining a look of half expectation from her. He took the silver handled dagger in one hand, with her left hand in the other, pulling himself between her legs. He slit along her palm , taking the goblet, letting her blood fall into the crimson drink, to nothing but her silent hesitation.

“You’re as Valyrian as I am, I’d put that on my blood. Anyone who says differently wishes to take your accomplishments away. I know what you are.”

Her eyes had welled with unshed tears, he half hoped from the pain of the cut.

“Take it and do the same.” He urged the dagger out of his hand into hers, leaving little room from questions. She held on to his fingers as she pressed the blade into his palm, deeper that he had, causing him to flinch.

“I’m sorry.”

A small apology left her lips, not for the first time wanting him to put a stop to it. He turned her hand from the cup and rested it palm up on the table, letting his hand drain into the cup.

She took it from him as he did so, setting the dagger near her.

Her palm bled on to the floor creating a new mess for them to clean after. He grabbed on to it with his bleeding hand, holding it over the cup. He held the goblet with her hand over it, raising the cup to her lips, letting it rest.

The crystal threatened to spill with every passing moment, he could only hope she wouldn’t faint.

“I promised to protect you, to stay at your side and be your company. To fight and return you to King’s Landing. I trust you completely.”

He took it and drank, feeling the orange and blood rush past his tongue, down his throat, quenching something unknown. She looked at him, questioning his every word before pressing it to his lips, delicately, tightening her grip on his pulsing hand.

“I promise to stay at your side, be your constant companion and return with you at my side. To fight and die of it means peace for the realm. I trust you.”

He wanted to stop her before she drank from the goblet. His hand almost stopped her before she pressed it to her mouth and drank half of what remained before she couldn’t stomach the taste. Drinking enough to seal every word she’d hope to seal. He should’ve said what she did. They both knew it , her eyes said as much as she stared at him with the smallest idea of contempt for not saying it.

Instead of resting the cup down she threw it into the fire, causing it to crackle and burn louder and brighter than it had.

Their hands were still there bleeding into each other when she pulled away to get something to contain the mess of it. He just stood there with the sinking feeling he had betrayed her before she would make herself trust him, or perhaps the gods would for his stupidity. The scent filled the air, intoxicating him with the welcomed smell from all those nights ago. He sat down, trying his best to stop the blood with a closed fist, trying to get out of his thoughts.

He poured and drank the same strong wine thrice before she returned, a bucket of water, bandages, and cloth to aid him and the state of his room. Each cup pushing further into a delirium of his own design.

She made her way to him, taking a seat on the table before pulling his hand, hers already bandaged in her time away. He felt a warm almost burning liquid go on first then a powder that made his hand lose feeling before she wrapped in all in a white cloth like hers.

“You cut too deep.”

He looked at her for the first time since she’d returned, still holding her hand, he’d already grown too attached to the comfort of it, not letting her tug away.

“Fuck you.”

That made him laugh, the thought that she’d curse and not pull away when he stopped fighting her.

They stayed that way awhile, just as they had been. She traced circles on his palm, in silence just to be there. His hands rested on her thigh, laying his chin on her knee. Her hair formed a crown lit by the fire behind her. In his desire for her and his weakened state, she appeared more God the man. A true Targaryen if he ever thought to picture one.

“You’re beautiful.”

She snorted at the insinuation or maybe the time. He was tired and drained, watching her fluttering eyes he knew she was as well.

“The man who marries you will be lucky beyond fairness.”

He should stop. He felt the regret and jealousy behind every word. Envious at a nameless, faceless nobleman he’d never meet.

“You should go to bed.”

She seemed annoyed by the phrase.

“We should.”

He stood up, feeling the full effect of the wine on his feet falling in her to steady himself.

“You’re drunk?”

She could feel the concern in her gaze. Her care meant more at his current state. He wouldn’t fall down and be left there. He smiled and shook his head insulted by her accusation after only three glasses of wine.

He brought himself to her eye level again, realizing he was in the same place he was just a few moments ago.

She’d make a pretty bride. She’d be someone’s wide and have his children, and he’d be gone without ever knowing the hate he’d feel. Her pretty, plump lips would seal it.

He gazed at them, brown and big, they deserved to be kissed, he had convinced himself completely before he leaned in.

They were soft and warm, almost welcoming to his intrusion. He caught her top lip and then her cheek, pressing into the kiss, so he’d know what the faceless suitor gained in his absence.

Her hand caught his shoulder and the other his jaw before pulling away. They stayed there as she conjured a nameless expression, one he’d never seen before, one that would stay with him .

She closed her eyes to him before reacting again, pushing herself off the table and guiding him to his bed, taking off his boots before laying him down, never once losing contact with him, never letting her warmth leave him.

When she said goodnight, he pulled her back to him. Eventually, she sat, and his head settled on her lap in the cooling night.

Even in his last torments of awareness, he could feel her fire slip away and with it his consciousness.

The air was cold and damp with the stink of salt in the cold air. His breeches and undershirt clung to his body, and he could feel the sand between his toes. The moon hanging to illuminate the night sky bigger than he had ever seen it.

He could hear a song, the closest he had come to it on his path. It was High Tide's coastal line he wandered on, with the same sandy hills and mountains carved out by water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there or the last time he’d seen Driftmark at night.

When he walked past the third cave, the singing stopped completely, and he was trapped with the sounds of the waves crashing, disrupting the peace of the night. He plopped down near the cave and waited for something to happen.

Why here?

He sat with scattered thoughts until his eyes grew red, his throat dry and belly empty, the sun had yet to break, and yet it felt like the sun was near.

“I’ve had a thought.”

He smelled her before he heard her. He felt her before she made herself known.

He turned to meet her, wrapped in sheer white cloth and decorated in pearls, Nettles stood there in the cave.

He walked towards her, not sure why they were here.

“If you take me here, no one will know, your grace.”

That took the breath from him. She leaned forward, closing in what little room remained between them, pressing herself against him.

“I have to go.”

He blurted out, refusing to move an inch away from her. Her clothes were wet but warm, caressing every curve he’d observed. To his rejection, she pulled him in, grazing his tightened jaw with her bottom lip before starting.

“If you stay, you can have me. No one will know.”

She repeated the phrase with a fervor in her tone that made him want to give in.

She started a ceremonious stream of affection down his jaw to the base of his neck, her hands undoing his breeches.

Against himself, he protested, feeling the culmination of her efforts draw him.

“I can not stay. I have to keep you safe.”

He barely knew what he was saying. The same expression she seemed to carry every day seemed like lust as it met him again in this light. She carried a heat he would not refuse for long.

“I’m safe with you here, Daemon. Stay with me.”

She pulled herself away from him and dropped the cloth that decorated her, revealing herself fully to him. Her firm breast peaked at him before he drunk her in, a women stood in front of him, demanding he make due with her presence, with each curve of her body.

She pulled him into her again, this time looking at him as she took his face in her hand, kissing him slowly.

Her warm tongue parted his lips in one motion, pushing her way through him. She dropped his trousers to the ground, leaving him bare against her.

He was hard and ready to give in for whatever she’d be willing to do with him. She took his hand and pressed it flat against her breast, her body tender at his wanting touch, nipple hard against his palm. He took to it and watched her head fall back, demanding the pleasure with a loud moan that echoed. She placed the other on her back to wander freely.

“Netty.” Her body was demanding all of him. She need only say it, and he’d fulfill every plea made.

“I want you to have me, ruin me.”

Nothing could stop him from pulling her atop him in that moment, every grasp more desperate than the last. She made contact with his hardening cock with her wanting heat. Every motion dragging him closer to the precipice he knew he’d enjoy better in her.

Her hands clawed along his back, eager for any form of friction between them.

He couldn’t bear her weight alongside his emotions, breaking their kiss he laid her on her back upon a covering on the sand. She laid sprawled and needy, the first beam of the sun searching her uncovered skin, shadowing her silhouette.

“I don’t want you hurt you.”

He pressed a finger against her slick opening, already wet from what little they had done. He slipped his middle finger into a resounding groan, her hips immediately matching his eager rhythm with a relentless tightness he wished to put to better use.

When she grabbed on to his cock with an idle hand he knew neither of them stood much of a chance for much longer.

He crawled on her, a desperate, pleading journey.

He aligned himself with her pushing in every inch slowly before pulling out, teasing her till he yearned, adjusting her to his size.

When he was fully engulfed by her, her hips, and waist threaded on an assiduous journey to set a quick pace and bring her to her peak completely, he wished for nothing more than to join her. Each thrust matched her speed, bringing a quick end to hope of ease.

Each stroke earned him a back arching moan only matched with her grip that made him join her chorus. He needed to see her lose herself, he lusted after the complete dissolving of any composure she could still maintain.

On his knees, he brought her up and started a restless pounding of her, his hand dancing along the arousing bead that pulled pleas like scripture from her mouth. He was barely in control. He barely knew where her pleasure stopped and his started.

The sun had fully returned when she mounted him. Her wordless ministrations consumed him. He’d taken her left breast in his mouth a simple grounding that built the fever they caused.

He could feel her tensing, keeping the same motion, ensuring the same movement to grow her climax. When she tightened around him, announcing his vindication, the tide of his own pleasure pulled him into her, gripping her hips as she shuddered atop him, trembling in the peak he followed. He could feel the salt of her coat his tongue, smell the citrus of her skin, held his breath before it became dark again, and he felt cold.

#fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #daemon targeryan x nettles #nettles x daemon #daemon x nettles #daemon targaryen #nettles asoiaf #nettles #netty #from eden ff #nsfw #smut content #fun fact #dream sex is symbolic

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lovelipton · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 4

Smut warning: Masterbat!on.

It seemed a betrayal to imagine her. It was an unfair thing to lust for.

He grabbed the oil jug from atop his fire place, taking it to his night stand, coating his fingers as he sat down, trying to conjure up any other image.

The blood orange smell had lingered on him, adding to the difficulty of the situation. The tallow oil smelled like her hair. Perhaps he should ask a maid, at least one would be willing. The thought back to their lingering touches and wanting stares during his bath, pretty girls, older than his companion, their pale hands gliding over him with a wet cloth, how his hand slid down the girls back, how the smell could take him back if he gave in.

He stopped himself, mindlessly grabbing his neglected cock with the oiled hand, trying his best ignore his thoughts. He slid his hand, in the same memorized way from his youth and tried his best to be quick.

He thought about his wife, the salt air the first time he had her, a time where it was need and not want, the feeling of her thigh against his hand, her mouth on his. When she was younger, all those years ago in the brothel.

His hand picked up speed, he felt himself building to the needed climax. His head arched back, lost in older memory. He stroked his tip, grunting with his dependence on the budding release.

The stench of stale ale in the air, the mindless interlocked bodies her eyes pulled to. Nettles eyes would pull like that to any new thing shown to her, the ale was polluted with the stale wine.

If he stopped now he wouldn’t finish, he was a man lost to his urges. His mind flashed to her, half dressed, undressed, licking her lips, laughing and looking up at him, mouth ajar for what ever reason. It felt wrong to imagine, he tried to think to anything else but a memory of her would cloud his mind and judgement for what was right. All he knew was what he needed to do. He was almost there.

He grunted with each stroke, on the brink of his anticipation paying off. He heard the knock at the door and couldn’t answer. He leaned into himself, tugging away mindlessly. The oranges danced with his building sweat. A coating covered him as he drew near than he had been in months, her round breast, revealed itself from her raven coils, he could taste his peak.

He could hear her calling his name, through their door, he didn’t know if he was half conjuring it.

“Daemon?”

His peak came with the swing of their door, a curious call of his name and a strained grunt at her intrusion.

“Sorry, Your Grace.”

Ever quick, she recognized his state, wide eyed to be sure with a quick apology and pulling the door back shut, he was past the point where he could stop himself. He dropped his cock as it spurted over the floor, the immediate guilt and relief flooding him together.

He placed his hands at either side of him, nearly delirious with the relief of his expectation, he steadied himself and recognized where he was, what he had done to get there, almost angered by the new clarity.

He could apologize to her to her enough to justify it, he had to apologize to her now for what happened. The door wasn’t locked on his insistence to his side, he should’ve spoken to send her away. He felt no control over it all, a deep desire settled in his soul over it.

He stood up hazily and got dressed, wiping the sweat off his skin and rinsing away all the musk that had developed in its arrival. He knocked the door of and searched her room to find it empty and unmade. He closed the door and made his way to breakfast through his room, he had no desire to see the state he left his in.

He felt hollow as he made his way to the dinning area, unwilling to face the myriad of emotions he could anticipate from her, he doubted he would look less that guilty at her, her face changing into something more desired now.

He walked in on her, in deep conversation with Maester Norren and Lord Mooton, she’s the first to recognize him in the room.

She stands as he would expect, a glimpse of shyness lingered in her expression, avoiding his eyes entirely, preserving her serious expression as the others join her greeting. He made his way at her side. They all sat together, going into a less intense version of the previous conversation , she refused to meet his eyes.

“You should ask him now that he’s here. Perhaps you’ll listen to him.”

She was never impolite, if she was angry her tone would say but she simply sounded flustered, with the same restrained anger she met him with more often than not.

“What is your request my Lord?” He stared at the fat country Lord, seemingly caught up in the throws of the previous conversation. He looked towards the girl, who focused intently on the porridge in front of her, idling herself by playing with it, breathing deeply to calm herself.

He wondered if she had cared about what she saw, if his worry would even matter after he heard what the Lord said, it didn’t seem to impact her day as much as he had.

“I’m simply curious about the possibility of you both splitting up, to find Vhagar and cover the Riverlands with your protection.”

He could feel his anger rise with the closing of the statement, seeing why there was need for the argument in the first place.

Did he think they sat on dragon back each day to waste time?

That they simply enjoyed the others reactions to the piles of bodies they’d stack every other week?

He felt Nettles heat leave her as he restated what seemed to be the same conversation to him. She was as anxious as she was angry.

The girl couldn’t sleep for so long, at least having someone near her, making sure she would was a comfort. He doubted whether she would eat alone or take care of her self without his insistence. She drank herself to peace just the last night.

His grand plan never made her a causality, he recalled. She’d always go back to Rhaenyra’s side as he went after Vhagar. Even as a suggestion the girl was in danger by herself against Vhagar. No one dragon could stand alone against her.

He gripped the knife in his hand tightly, trying his best to rationalize his anger before he spoke. Did he think the girl was here in jest for company alone?

He felt a warm thing grab his thigh, shifting his demeanor to confusion , he looked down then up at her, a weary expression trying to reassure him, in some small attempt to quell a dragon’s tendency. He could feel himself calm, wondering if she used the same method on Sheepstealer before.

He turned back to the scared Lord, resting the knife down before he responded.

“It would be a useless feat, no dragon alone would stand against Vhagar, even I need someone at my side to make sure I return. Her grace is very adamant on that front.”

She moved her hand back to herself and he felt the warmth leave him, almost hostile in its departure. Her food busied her as the conversation continued, over breakfast, entailing small notes about the following steps towards a quicker end to his nephew.

He checked on her throughout the conversation, sometimes justifying it by making sure she took note of certain places, other times to ensure her presence, just to gage her reaction. By the time they were done he was sure he had paid her more attention, against his better judgment.

“We will leave you both to discuss further, Your Grace.” The Maester stated before departing behind his Lord, it couldn’t have been after nine when he and Netty were finally left alone.

She was wearing a Targaryen red dress, truly made for court, she found a way to make it look like an appropriate dress for the occasion, it dipped low like a King’s Landing style he noted before turning away with he thought, entirely.

“Did you finish?” The question sounded common place out of her mouth , for a moment he felt the air get knocked out of his lungs.

His expression caused her to muffle a laugh, and he found, hearing the air leave her as well. For a moment, they waited for their composure to wash over them before the conversation flowed.

“I seem to have taken to making a fool of myself with you. I owe you my apology.” In a better light, he’d see it as a just remark to make, but even the knowledge that she had helped him to finish seemed wrong. The only comfort was that she didn’t know.

“ I think it is a new talent. You did avoid the notice entirely.” She said, stifling a laugh. He recalled the morning before, and he looked for the cut to explain the blood from a young lady. He seemed to lose his sense around her. He remembered how her voice sounded half fantastical at that time, the expanding of her in his thoughts.

“I was caught off guard, to be clear. Then the last conversation made me see red, I could imagine how you felt.”

The fire her hand stoked had yet to disappear, being around her seemed secretive and new. Her scent seemed alluring, her easy smile entranced him, so surely, he thought, he could breathe her like life itself.

“It’s done now, you have the day to recover.”

It was cruel, he thought, to desire her when he’d barely earned her trust. He only just started to see glimmers of the light Jace had written about. Had it not been for the prolonged and hollow description of her appearance, he would’ve thought the boy had half fallen for her. Now, he understood why the words felt the way they did, appearance or otherwise.

“You and Jace were close?”

He regretted it the moment he asked. He saw the way she transformed at the mention of his name, seeing her reaction to it, like someone had stabbed her through the heart. She dropped the spoon for her food and rationalized the question. He wished he could move from it all together.

“He looked out for me, more than he did for the others.” Her voice lacked any emotion, like she was keeping a secret about them from him. Had he known either of them else, he would’ve thought he stumbled onto an affair.

“That was nice of him. He wrote fondly about you.” He held the goblet of watered wine to his lips as she gazed off to the side. He wanted to go back to the people they were before.

“He liked to care. One of the better traits he had. He’d get angry like you. That was a worse one.” He heard the hint of a smile, but her words hit him hard now. Jace was argumentative, never really taking to him like a father, more so a ward, more so an uncle, he supposed.

They had a shared grief over him over Viserys, and even as she seemed to close herself off from the emotion it caused, she cared enough to allow for the understanding. He knew he had taken to all the children in her own strange way, but even now, it seemed the first time he shared his grief rather than felt it alone. It had torn at Rhaenyra, he recalled, a mention of what they had lost would take her away from court, a sentiment he couldn’t share with her.

“I should go check on the dragons, I’m sure they’ll be glad for the break.” She stood up, distant and monotone, excusing herself without his response, walking away with the warmth. She left him cold and almost desperate.

He’d heard from the shepherds that she’d whistle to call Caraxes. In another light, it seemed as though they were singing through the whistling. She wouldn’t miss a day without feeding her dragon, flying or not, dragons bend easier when fed.

Perhaps they understood each other better than he could imagine, they’d understand being hungry, he supposed, from her eating habits, it was a way to show love, to bond with such a new relationship. The first rider of an eighty year old dragon was a big feat for such a small girl.

The rest of their day was spent apart until dinner. She had gone to Jonquil’s pool, a famously dangerous place for Targaryens, stopping by to announce it and then disappearing altogether for the evening period.

He lost himself in the letters, distracting himself from what now seemed like his worst impulse, responding to Lords who wished for protections, Lords who needed aid and the Lords at court who seemed to worry about the Queen, succession and all the things he was less glad to be away from now.

He was mapping out the route for them to take in the following days, when he heard the mouse of her presence. He called out twice to no response before their door eased open, an unkempt head of hair meeting him before her eyes did, a glimmer of light meeting him after the daunting day.

“How are you?”

He asked, looking at the blue evening dress coming into view, hugging her frame as she made her way to him. He preferred her in red.

“It was fine, no murder attempt.” The ease from before still had yet to take back her voice, a trend he hoped wouldn’t continue in his presence. One he hoped he’d gain

“I should’ve gone next week, with the full moon.” In passing, she’d mention something akin to a superstition she held. He didn’t think she prayed to the seven, judging from the Septa’s reaction to her she didn’t intend to but some small beliefs held in her.

“You pray to moon gods?” He asked passively, drawing out a trivial conversation , just to stay with her for a while, before they went back to the day to day.

“A little faith is always good. I suppose Targaryens would believe in themselves.” He looked up at her, comprehending the jab before returning to the map across his table.

“Then you should try it, unlike other Gods, your dragon will never disappoint you.” Unlike her Dragonstone bred peers, she never clung to the idea that she was a Targaryen. Unlike Addam and Alyn, she never claimed to be Laenor’s spawn or a Velayron.

She was simply a dragon rider, almost insulting the legacy of Targaryens with the refusal. It seemed more interesting than ill meaning, to him at least. What girl did not want to be a Targaryen?

“I wouldn’t prefer it, you’ve grown around men for too long, it makes the faith less believable.”

He smiled down at his map, trying his best to avoid her quick remark towards his suggestion. He decided to deflect from it all together.

“You should sleep better tonight, or you can have the maester make you a sleeping drought.”

He could feel his heart rise at the mention. She still hadn’t told him about her lack of sleep. Her history at Maidenpool with Milk of The Poppy or the sleeping drought wasn’t more than a secret understanding he could never uncover. Thankfully, she seemed unconcerned with the suggestion.

“I slept a while last night, I’m sure it’ll be better tonight.”

He recalled the dark bags under her eyes, the redden gaze that met his, the dirt from the day caked on her until this morning. He wondered if she would lie to him so carelessly, he glanced at her to see a look of understanding on her face. Perhaps she had forgotten, like with the Poppy milk.

“You didn’t look well rested?” He quirked an eyebrow to her, wanting to absolve her of the misunderstanding.

“I had a bad dream. I got up and couldn’t go back to sleep, hence the wine and tired look.” She fumbled with her hands, avoiding his look with the newly revealed information.

“The wine isn’t acceptable, I’d prefer the drought.” He sounded like his father the first time he visited Dragonstone after his wedding to his first Lady wife.

“ It wasn’t to sleep, I just..” She stopped herself, drawing his full attention to her now, this was a new conversation they had gone too.

“I just wanted to get rid of the thought of the dream, to lose some control over hearing the same thing repeatedly.”

She sounded like him when he justified his drinking to his grandmother after the wedding. He should wait, he knew he shouldn’t push to far with her, he’d get less understanding if she closed off entirely. The thought that she could be opening up was too tempting to ignore through, the hope she’d put the trust in him was pulling him like a tide to follow the conversation.

“What was the dream?”

He sat down looking up at her, she seemed delicate with the candlelight around her. She was water in his hands, he was scared to let go of her, for the first time they were as close has they had been because of her.

“ Nothing truly, I’m just a stupid girl who can’t quiet the stupid questions in her mind.”

Corlys had guessed that she was no older than ten and six, according to his ship mistress, she was a child on Driftmark with the others. He still had never heard her call herself a girl, now, she never seemed to capture the word well. He guessed she’d been an adult for longer that she was a child on the streets Addam claimed she resided on.

“What could be so bad?” It was half a plea to her, half a question for himself, what had plagued her thoughts so bad she’d need to escape her mind.

“I’ve been like the people we aid longer than I’ve been a dragon rider.” His shock from her answering the question couldn’t be concealed but she barely looked at him as she confessed her plight, he could only listen.

“They drop like flies, while I’m hunting the largest dragon alive, it doesn’t seem likely that I survive it.”

Her confession felt like someone had slapped him, she was almost mouse like now, quite in the space she held, dimming her own light, allowing the darkness to shine.

“I promised you..” He began forming some response, some sense of understanding in what she said, a comfort he’d given himself at the thought of her in danger, in that situation.

“ Yesterday, men clung to me begging for their lives to end, fathers and sons alike. Bigger and stronger than I’ve ever been. Terrified and dying because of the only thing that makes them not like me.”

Her voice was distorted with the anger and sadness that possessed her, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so open with him.

He’d give her whatever he could. He was never more sure that she’d never fight Vhagar.

“It was too much , all at once but I’m fine now.” He hadn’t hidden his demeanor, the divisive anger that guided his action. He had just wed at her age, she had a lifetime ahead of her, like Jace and Luke, like Viserys. She had children, chaos and adventures , written in her spirit.

It seemed a cruelty for her to doubt it.

“I meant my promise to you, Netty.”

He stared at her, catching her fallen gaze before it met his, staring past her, if she could trust him, even for a moment now, all would be well worth it.

“You’ll have a lifetime for yourself, I swear on Caraxes.”

She chuckled at the implication, seeing it as no more than a false comfort to pull her out of her doubt. She probably had a lifetime of promises from men just like him. He had never meant anything more though, he could feel the promise seal into his very bones.

“It is all well now, Daemon. No need to drag Caraxes into nightmares.” She was joking, he felt as though he’d gotten too serious now. She’d retract the new position she held him in if he pushed anymore, he’d settle for her contentment now. His plan seemed to settle more together than ever now.

“Very well.” He stated as she sat down next to him. He informed her about their mission to Pink Maiden, then to track where he might go from there to try to ambush him. She was quiet for the rest of the conversation.

They ate in his room that night, a simple meal of Acorn soup , with small conversation about packing between them. He felt almost mad looking for a difference in her demeanor with him, waiting to see if the confession had changed anything between them, with a resounding no by the end. She was content with it between them and moving along as though it hadn’t existed at all. He felt trapped in a desert with no water around him as they finished.

She wished him a good night and closed the door behind her shortly after the meal. He was a deranged man he thought. The thoughts left him half mad, devouring him until he had to put it away.

Tomorrow would be a new day for him hopefully.

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