#Daenerys x fem!reader

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

To Dream of Home | D. Targaryen

▹ Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x Stark!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff with mentioned Angst

▹ Words: ~2.5k

▹ Summary: A storm at Dragonstone brings you and Daenerys together and allows for confessions of love to slip.

▹ Note: I am very gay, that is all. My love for the Targaryen's has returned and y'all are gonna be sick of me.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

A storm raged on the island of Dragonstone. 

Charcoal skies were dappled with thick silver-black clouds that brought the heavy rains that shook the keep. Roaring thunder and electric blue lightning. Treacherous seas and a storm that could rival the vengeance of a god. The inhabitants of Dragonstone seemed acclimated to the severe weather.

You, however, were used to winter winds and thick snowfall. Not devastating rain and earth rattling thunder. Sleep eluded you which led you to where you were now. Locked away in a small room near your chambers, you made a makeshift altar upon your arrival to Dragonstone with your half-brother Jon.

“You spend an awful amount of time here.” 

The voice cut through the silence, an intrusion of your time of peace. Kneeled before the makeshift altar you’d created, a half dozen flickering candles illuminated the center of your face and carved shadows on the contours of it. Wordlessly, you finished the final verses of your prayer before lifting your lowered head and turning to face the intruder. 

At the doorway, not daring to cross into the room without permission, was Daenerys. Her hesitance to intrude was strange, seeing as Dragonstone was her keep you were a guest in.

Her hair was loose, waves cascading over her shoulder and down her back. The curls and creases left by her braids were the only reminders they’d been there. She wore dressing robes in hues of blue, embroidered flowers and designs following the curve of her body. She was beautiful in an ethereal kind of way. It was the type of beauty you half expected to be a facade, that one day you would wake to find Daenerys had only ever existed in your mind. 

“I find the prayer soothing,” you responded, slowly standing. Your legs were sore from kneeling on the hard stone too long. There was a crick in your neck that tinged painfully if you turned your head too far left or too far right. Yet you did your best to keep a grimace from your expression. The last thing you needed was Daenerys thinking it was her presence you found unpleasant and not the needling pain in your body. 

“Do you pray often?” She shifted her head, causing tendrils of silvery hair to move from over her shoulder to rest along her back. Violet eyes stared at you curiously, lips pursed in an almost grin. She hardly seemed to smile, the oppressive halls of Dragonstone mimicking the impending war for the Iron Throne. 

“I do, yet I do not believe the gods are listening,” you muttered the last part quietly, followed by a deep breath. 

You glanced towards the candles and the altar, recounting every moment you’d spent kneeling before ones just like it. The years had been unkind, the horrors only growing worse as the years passed. It had shaped you into the woman you were today, hardened by deaths you never should’ve witnessed. Yet there was a part of the ten-year-old girl that still lived within you, that believed the gods were listening and that if you prayed hard enough, they would grant your wishes. 

“I never did much praying as a child, my brother didn’t see the point.” Her eyes moved past you, staring at the makeshift altar. Lit by the dim light of the room, you could see a hint of melancholy that tinged her violet eyes blue. Your gaze lowered to the ground at the mention of her brother, her upbringing so different than yours had been.

Northerners were as harsh and cold as the winter winds they grew up in, but beneath all the cold, austere facades your family was as warm as the hearth in the great hall. You’d grown up with a family who loved and cared for you. Whispers of Viserys’ anger reached even the North, his grief twisted into madness. 

Both parties may have passed, but at least you had your family's love to hold onto during the darkest nights. Daenerys had no such thing. Nothing but the hope of reclaiming her family’s stolen valor as a light in the night. 

“If you want, we could pray together.” Her attention returned to you. “It may help you sleep through the storm.”

Daenerys pondered your offer for a moment before accepting with a single nod. She crossed the threshold into the room, her gown following her like a cloak. You returned to the kneeling position you were in before, Daenerys taking her place beside you. 

“Some people believe there are specific words you have to use, that then have to be said in a specific order or the gods won’t care. But I don’t believe that, I allow my feelings to guide my prayers. Perhaps that’s why the gods aren’t answering me, but I feel better that way.” 

Daenerys nodded, watching you with such attentive eyes you had to look away in fear of the flush that would appear on your face. “Do you say them out loud?”

“Sometimes, but mostly I just mentally recite them. It feels like it's my own secret that way.” There was a hint of coyness in your voice that made a smile appear on the corners of Daenerys’ lips. 

Silence fell over the room, only the roar of thunder and the patter of rain to be heard. The candles continued to burn, the wax melting and staining the stone flooring. There was a single window in the room, a flash of lightning filling it with pale blue light. Subconsciously, your eyes moved to Daenerys’ side profile. 

Her eyes were shut and her lips slightly parted. She looked so soft and innocent, and you wondered if this was who she could’ve stayed if not for the rebellion that harshened her worldview. What would she have become if she didn’t have to fight tooth and nail every moment of her life just to survive? The quiet of the room and the soft curves of her face allowed you to imagine just how different she may be in a different lifetime. 

Your eyes had lingered on her too long, you knew, but you couldn’t look away. Your heartbeat had sped up, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. She’d always made you feel giddy like a child, but now that there was no chaos to distract you. It was easier to hone in on the feelings she elicited from you. And perhaps you shouldn’t entertain them, but a small sliver of hope kept you holding on. 

The weight of your gaze must’ve been heavy because Daenerys lifted her closed eyes from the floor and met your gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but you could’ve sworn her eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your eyes. 

“What did you pray for?” The words fell from your tongue before you could consider how invasive they could be. But she didn’t seem offended, a small blossoming on her face as another streak of lightning filled the room. It made her skin glow, making her look even more otherworldly. 

“I prayed for home.”

Her answer sent a pang of sadness that was surely reflected in your eyes. She brought dragons back to the world and freed the slaves of Slaver’s Bay while uniting the Dothraki under one banner and making them cross the sea for the first time ever. So many fantastical acts were done because of her, it was easy to forget behind it all was just a scared girl. She could make herself of steel and ice, but underneath it all would always be flesh. 

“I pray for home as well,” you uttered. 

She raised a brow, non-verbally asking you to elaborate. Her expression was so attentive, like a sponge ready to soak up whatever information you may present to her.

How could you possibly ever deny her?

“I very much wish to return to the North. The short days and long nights, the air that was sharp with a bitter chill. Grey skies and white grounds. Snowflakes that fell into my mouth as Theon and Robb chased me to the edge of the woods. The sky was bleak and void of color, but the hearths in the Great Hall made light dance in the keep, mead keeping everyone warm and merry.”

The smile on your face was tinged with melancholia, the grief making your body lock up and freeze. Those days were long gone, and you could never return to them. That didn’t stop you from wishing for it, however.

To hope that one day you might wake up and find this had all been a terrible dream. Your mother and father were still alive, Robb was preparing to become Lord of Winterfell; Arya and Sansa would continue to bicker and Jon would join the Night’s Watch to make something of himself. Everything would be right and war wouldn’t cast a shadow far darker than that of the worst winter storms. 

But those were the wishes of a naive child, the life you were in is the life you’re stuck with. But perhaps in another lifetime, you got to live out every fantasy and forgotten dream.

“That sounds beautiful.”

Daenerys’ voice pulled you from your reminiscing, your eyes wandering back to hers.

“It was.” 

“And yet you left Winterfell to come here with your brother?” 

You swallowed thickly. Winterfell had become a bittersweet place. Walking the Great Hall felt as if you were in a haunted house. The ghosts of past memories lingered in every corner, the echoes of laughter you’d never hear again filling your head. The relief being home had brought you had been short-lived, the weight of the betrayal of Theon and the Bolton’s tainting it. 

Winterfell wasn’t home anymore. 

“I--” you stuttered, unsure of just how to put your feelings into words. How do you tell someone that your home doesn’t feel like home anymore? How do you explain everything you had fought for felt empty in the end? It didn’t lift your pain or mend the scars of the past years. Instead, it ripped over the scabs and left you bleeding in the snow. 

“I don’t know if Winterfell is my home anymore.”

Daenerys hummed, nodding her head. Her expression was solemn and in her eyes, you saw understanding. She knew all too well the conflicting sentiment of fighting for something you may not want in the end. 

“When I was a girl, Viserys and I lived in a house in Braavos with a red door and lemon tree outside my window. It was the closest thing to home I’d had.” 

Subtly, you scooted closer to Daenerys, eager to unravel more of her elusive past. She hardly spoke of her life with Viserys, most of the memories too painful to reminisce on. And maybe, just maybe, her vulnerability was a sign that your feelings weren’t so unrequited. 

“What was it like?” You prod for her to speak more on her time in Braavos, enraptured by the glimmer in her eyes. 

“It was a beautiful house and so large, at least it seemed large at the time. There was even a room with a wooden beam with animal faces carved in it. I had my own room and a window to peer outside. I’d sit there for hours, watching the sunrise and the sunset.”

Her hand rested on the floor, and tentatively, you reached over and placed your hand over hers. You half expected her to brush you off, but instead, she leaned closer to you. Shoulder to shoulder, you could smell the floral oils her hair had been washed with. 

“What happened to it?” 

She sighed, eyes wandering back to the altar. “Our patron passed and the servants sent us away. But even after all these years, I still long to return. To escape to the innocence of my youth.”

A beat of silence passed, Daenerys longing words hanging in the air. 

“We could always return.”

Daenerys turned, meeting your gaze. Inches separated your face from hers, and this close up, you could see the faint freckles that created constellations on her skin. 

“And if it’s no longer standing?” 

Your heart stuttered as you hesitated on your next words. It was now or never, the time to lay your cards on the table and learn if your hope was delusional. 

“We could build a new one with a lemon tree just outside the bedroom. I’m not much of a widdler, but I could try to carve new animal faces in the wooden beams in all the rooms.”

For a moment Daenerys doesn’t speak, doesn’t even seem to breathe. Her eyes are locked with yours, wide and unblinking. Nerves begin to create a thousand cuts in your mind, perhaps you’d been too forward in your confession. 

“And you would stay with me?”

She wanted to hear you say it, to verbalize you’d never leave her side, not willingly. 

“I’m not much for the heat, but I could learn to love it to never leave your side.”

She exhaled a small puff of air, a smile lighting up her face. The apples of her cheeks were rounded and rosy, violet eyes twinkling like the stars in the sky. The sudden impulse to run your fingers through her hair came over you. And you acted on it, gently carding your fingers through the silver-gold strands of hair. 

“Then perhaps we meet in the middle and build our house with the red door in a more temperate climate.” 

She leaned closer, the tips of your noses brushing. 

“We could make our home on the mountainside? It would leave plenty of room for the dragons,” you suggested. Daenerys smiled, the whisper of a laugh leaving her mouth. The sound was the sweetest melody you’d ever heard. You’d never wanted to stop hearing it. 

“And direwolves?” 

“Maybe one or two.” 

You cut off whatever Daenerys may have replied with, placing your lips against hers. The kiss was gentle as if to seal the promise you’d made. She smiled into it, her hands weaving themselves around your neck. You pulled her closer, practically pulling her into your lap; you’d wanted her as close as possible. To bask in the warmth radiating from her body and the softness of her skin under your fingertips. 

Perhaps things would’ve been different in another lifetime, where Daenerys got to be the princess she should’ve been and you the daughter of a very much alive Ned Stark. But perhaps in those lifetimes you and Daenerys would never be more than passing acquaintances. She'd be the princess of the kingdom and you the lady-daughter of the Warden of the North. 

This lifetime felt like trying to sail through a storm and Daenerys was the lighthouse guiding you to the shore. The death and loss had been painful, but it all led you to this moment with Daenerys. It nearly made the events of the past years worth it.

"Let's win this war so we can build our silly little house," you muttered against her lips, eliciting another laugh from Daenerys before she placed her lips on yours again.

You would give Daenerys her house with the red door and the lemon tree outside, no matter the cost.   

[k4marina]

— ii. Dragon Rider || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a new routine in a new world

warnings: idek lol. unedited and not properly read (i kept falling asleep lmao)

series masterlist

~ 2.5k word count.

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

Never in my life have I regretted anything more than I did now. 

“Me and my big fucking mouth,” I grunted, getting up from the ground and dusting my leather pants. Gray Worm looks at me with a slightly amused expression. Of course he would, he just dropped me onto my ass for the fifth time today. 

It had been almost two weeks after the Small Council meeting. There had been a few more since then, but no major topics were discussed, other than Varys begrudgingly backing what I had said about Cersie having scorpions when asked if his little birds had any news. The new armor and weapons for the Unsullied are also being made. After a few talks with Daenerys, Gray Worm, a few Unsullied commanders, and I, the new armor design was decided on. Surprisingly the Unsullied were very artistic people and had great ideas. 

And, within the past two weeks, I’ve been tortured everyday, my limbs aching all the time, threatening to fall off. Everyday, I’ve been woken up at four in the morning for my sword lessons with Gray Worm for five hours a day. When I said I wanted to learn, I didn’t mean I wanted to train to be the world's best swordsman of all time. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I say towards him, wiping away the sweat on my face. 

“I have no idea to what you are referring to, My Lady.” Gray Worm says, feigning innocence. 

“You can’t call me ‘My Lady’ and then drop me on my ass for the fifth time.” I pointed out. 

Gray Worm smiled and got into a fighting stance and I mirrored. “Your defense has gotten better; however, your strength and stamina is lacking.” 

He gave the signal and charged towards me, going to swing towards my left. I sidestepped and blocked the hit with my sword before knocking it back. This time, I went for the attack, but Gray Worm expertly blocked me and knocked the sword out of my hand. The sword clattered against the stone ground, landing a few feet away from me.

“Maybe it’s best we stop for today.” He says, picking up the sword and placing it back onto the rack. I let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the inches, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat away from my face and neck. 

“Be honest,” I said, turning towards him. “Am I a lost cause?” 

He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. “Apologies, My Lady.” Once he’d composed himself he answered, “No, I do not believe you are a ‘lost cause’. It may seem difficult now, but it will get easier later on.” 

“Wow, wise words,” I said sarcastically, taking a swig of water from the canteen. “They should call you ‘Gray Worm the Wise’.” 

“I’m pleased that you think I am someone with wisdom.” He says, giving a small bow, making me chuckle. 

After the lessons, I took a bath in my room, this time with the help of the servants. The first few days I would have them leave so I could bathe myself, but I guess over the days it just naturally happened. Once bathed and dressed in a white dress with gold embroidery and pearl beads before I made my way to the hall to have breakfast with Daenerys. 

Not only was it a good way for us to get to know one another (mainly her learning about me) as well as discussing future events and how we would maneuver through it. However, not all of it. I had made the decision to not tell her about Jon Snow or the White Walkers, I think that’s something she should organically go through. All she knows about Jon is that he’s the King in the North is Jon Snow, Ned Stark's “bastard” and the former Nights Watch Lord Commander who came back from the dead.  

The doors to the hall were swung open for me and I walked in, spotting Daenerys at the head of the table, looking through some documents. The sound of the doors closing, snapped her out of her thoughts. When she saw me she smiled, which I returned. 

“What did I say about bringing work to the dining table,” I lightly scolded. She gave me a sheepish look and protested, “it can’t be helped, it's important work. As Queen I’m expected to do this and more.” 

I walked over to her, carefully taking the documents and setting them off to the side. “Dany, you’ve been a Queen since you married Khal Drogo. You need to step back and take some time to just be Daenerys. Otherwise you’ll grow overworked.” 

“Alright, alright. If you’re so sure.” She nodded towards the servants to begin serving the food. Like always, an array of food was laid out for us to eat. We both began to eat, making small talk and updating each other with any new updates. 

“Gray Worm has been telling me that you’re quite exceptional with a sword,” She teased. 

I playfully rolled my eyes, groaning, “not you too.” She let out a laugh, teasing me some more. “What? He says you’re a fast learner. He says he’s never seen someone land on their arse five times in a row.” 

“Right, that’s it.” I huffed. “I’m running away.” 

Daenerys laughed some more and I tried to hide my smile. Truthfully, she reminded me of my younger cousin in Volantis, Mera. Both of them had a heart of gold and an innocent child-like soul deep down. 

“The servants told me that you refused to have your hair braided.” Daenerys points out. She’s not wrong. Instead of braiding my hair I opted to leave it in a ponytail or let it down. 

“Well, I haven’t won any battles.” I said. “Each one of your braids represents a battle won, I haven’t won anything.”

“So if you win you’ll braid your hair?” 

“Sure, why not. Why? Do you not want me to?”

“No, no. Actually, I would quite like that.” She smiled. 

I eyed her suspiciously, “don’t tell me you’re planning on putting me in the frontlines.” 

She shrugged. “Maybe. Your lessons with Gray Worm are going well. Who knows, by the time we’re ready for war you’ll be a master swordsman –or rather swordswoman.”

The rest of the breakfast went fine. Daenerys and I decided to take a stroll around the castle ground claiming she has something to show me. She dropped off the papers in her office before taking me through the back of the castle to the open fields in the back. The wind swept by us, carrying the saltiness of the ocean and the fresh scent of grass. 

“Where are we going?” I asked as she led me deeper into the field. 

“I just wanted to show you something. They’re right over there.” 

We stood atop a hill and at the foot of the hill on the other side resting were Daenerys’ dragons. I felt my heart stop. No way. What the actual fuck. My mouth ran dry as I looked over the three dragons. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, all in their full glory. I looked over to Daenerys who was already looking towards me. 

“You’re serious?” I ask. She smiles and nods. “What if they don’t like me and decide to eat me?” 

Daenerys laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “They will do none of that sort, I swear. I have a strong feeling that they will like you.” 

Carefully she led me closer to the three dragons. With every step they just grew more and more. They towered over the two of us and stood with immense power. And to think that these three are just a small fraction of the size of Balerion and the rest of the Targaryen fleet. 

We stood a few feet away but I could still feel the heat that they emitted from their bodies. Their majestic eyes that were probably the size of my head watched me carefully. Shiny scales adorned their bodies that looked to be about the size of my hand or bigger. Their one claw nail was the same size as my limbs. 

Holy fuck was this crazy. I’d read about these dragons and even saw a few drawings made by people who’d seen them in textbooks, but being this up close and personal with them was a whole other experience. 

Oddly enough, for such dangerous creatures, they seemed to emit a sense of calm. 

“You feel it too?” Daenerys eyes my reactions to the dragons. “Their calm.” 

I nodded. “I thought my heart would be doing somersaults in my chest, but it’s not.” After the initial shock, I felt my body relax. 

“They’re so beautiful.” I said to no one in particular. 

We hung around them for some time, allowing me to get used to their presence while Daenerys told me stories about her and her dragons. 

I looked over the dragons. Drogon, named after Daenerys’ husband Khal Drogo. Rhaegal, named after Rhaegar the Dragon Prince. Viserion, named after Viserys the Beggar King. 

Daenerys followed my gaze to the cream and gold scales dragon that laid on the grass alongside his brothers. Viserion and Rhaegal seemed to play fight while Drogon watched. 

“Despite their playful nature, those two are the oldest.” 

“What? 

The dragons carefully made their way over to where we stood. Drogon moved towards Daenerys, moving his tail around her as if giving her a hug. Rhaegal moved around behind us, opting to lounge. Viserion, however, moved closer to me. His green eyes bore into mine, as if it was trying to communicate with me. 

He brought his face closer to me, like a dog wanting to be pet. I glanced back at Daenerys who nodded. 

Viserion tilts his head when I carefully bring my hand up to stroke his gold and cream scales. A deep purr comes from him, nearly startling me. He nuzzles his head into my palm and purrs some more. It wasn’t like a cat's purr, more like a deep bass. 

“Would you like to fly him?” Daenerys asks. 

“Yes,” I replied without a thought, too entranced at the dragon in front of me. 

She moves around Drogo, standing to the side of him. 

“Stand like this,” she says. “This is what I find the easiest.” 

I mimic her stance, standing besides Viserion. Drogon crouched down and Daenerys carefully stepped up, using his scales and spikes to seat herself atop the dragon. 

I copied her, being careful to not hurt Viserion (not that I’d be able to) and sat myself on top of the gold dragon. It was uncomfortable, almost like riding a really large horse with spikes and scales. How Daenerys was able to ride her dragons without a saddle or harness was beyond me. 

My hands gripped onto the spikes on Viserions back, holding on tightly as the gold dragon began to shift around from a crouched position to fully stand. My hands gripped onto him tighter as I tried not to fall off. I peaked over its massive body to see that Viserion was getting ready to take off. 

“W-wait!” I looked towards Daenerys who was watching from atop Drogon. “Why is it taking off? What do I do?” Panic filled my voice. 

There was no way in seven hells that she thinks that I can fly, right? 

“Hold on!” She grins just as Drogon takes off into the sky. VIserion gets ready and I can already feel myself slipping off. He takes off just as I adjust my position, hunching down and tightening my grip onto his spikes. 

Wind rushes past my ears and my hair flows all over the place. Instinctively, I closed my eyes while Viserion flew in the air. I could hear Daenerys call for me from across the sky. 

“Open your eyes!” She says. “You’ll be safe, I promise.” 

Carefully, I opened them. It was brighter up in the sky than on the ground and had a lot less clouds. I could hear the, surprisingly, gentle flaps of Viserions wings. I cautiously looked down, seeing that we were miles off the ground, so far up that we could see Dragonstone Island and I could feel my stomach start to buzz. 

“Don’t look down,” I look up to see Daenerys. “When it was my first time I was terrified, as well, but you cannot let your fear control you or else it will transfer to your dragon.” 

I nodded, taking in her words and sitting up straight with confidence. Despite still feeling uneasy I managed to get my grip on things (literally). Daenerys’ words rung in my ears. 

“Your dragon,” 

I’d read of Dragons bonding with non-Targaryens or non-Valyrians, case and point being Hugh Hammer riding Vermithor during the Dance of Dragons. But it would make sense if I could bond with Viserion in light of recent findings. 

“Alright, let’s see what we can do.” I said to Viserion and I. 

—

Daenerys and I spent the rest of the day riding our dragons. It was challenging, especially the part where you literally have to hold onto for dear life, but rewarding in the end. 

In the end Viserion and I had truly bonded. He would know what I was thinking or how I was feeling without even saying a word to him. At first I thought it was just the two of us getting the hang of each other, but Daenerys explained that this was what she and Drogon felt. It was hard to believe that I was a Dragon Rider. But then again, this past week has shown that anything could be possible. 

Getting off the Dragons was harder than getting on, my dress snagging on its scales, but not ripping entirely. 

“I can help you with your riding,” Daenerys says as we walk back into the castle. 

“I’d like that.” I replied. “I’m sure we can find books in the libraries that can help us too.” 

“Have you uncovered anything else?” She asks, expectantly. 

I shook my head. “Nothing of significance. I’ll keep reading and let you in on my findings.” 

We split off so we could clean ourselves up and get ready for dinner. The bathtub was already ready for me when I entered the room. I pulled off my dress and sunk into the steaming hot water. The tension in my shoulders loosened and I dipped my head back to rest on the edge of the bathtub. 

The weight of my necklace lay heavy on my chest, a firm reminder of my… predicament. I tried not to think about it all, otherwise I’d just spiral into some rabbit hole. Some days I wonder if it’s all some sort of dream. A long, vivid dream that I can't wake up from. A knot pulls at my chest, and my throat closes. My eyes flicker up to the ceiling, tears threatening to fall. I took a deep breath, the only thing I can do is take everything in day by day.

And then I fully submerged myself into the water.

a/n: finally, it’s here :) mb if there’s any spelling mistakes, i tried to proofread it but i kept falling asleep and couldn’t be asked anymore 😭 i’ll fix it later, trust 🙏.

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Nothing That Will Stop Me

request: hello! i saw your recent post and was wondering if i could request a jaime lannister x reader fic, where the reader was captured (much like he was in season 2) and he kept looking for her but couldn’t find her, and she finally finds her way back to him after months. and it’s like their reunion and he’s so relieved yet concerned and he takes care of her and yeah :)

thank you and i hope ur having a good day! and ofc feel free to ignore this if you don’t feel comfortable writing it <3

summary: After enduring months of suffering under the hand of your captor, the dragon queen Daenerys Targaryen, your memory and studies of the guards allows you to narrowly escape and make your way back home to the one person who never stopped trying to find you, Jaime.

characters: jaime lannister x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: angst, fluff, happy ending, romance, reunion, captivity, wounds, cursing, imprisonment, almost death, murder, unsexual nudity, bathing scene, anti-daenerys targaryen

masterlist

In hindsight, maybe it had not been a good idea for you to accompany Jaime for the capture of Highgarden.

But you were a warrior just like he was, and neither your gender nor the expectations put upon you would stop you from participating in the fight that surely was to occur as you took Highgarden and all of its resources.

Your only regret was that Lady Olenna had to die.

While she may have seemed like a stone-cold bitch (and she was), she was also a woman that you had admired very much.

She would speak her mind with no regard or care for who was listening, got people to do what needed to be done, and even got shit done herself.

You had been suspicious over the true identity of Joffrey's murderer, as you simply knew that it could not be Tyrion who had done it.

So when Olenna had confirmed it for you and Jaime after drinking the poison, you were not surprised at all. No, you knew exactly why she had done it. For her lovely granddaughter.

The same granddaughter who was now ashes where the Sept of Baelor used to be.

Ironic, wasn't it?

Not long later found you, Jaime, and Bronn on the road back to King's Landing, watching as the carts and the men slowly made their way with the new resources.

Bronn had been paid handsomely, as was expected, and you just sat there and waited for what your lover wished to do next.

The main reason why you coming was a mistake, Jaime would later think, was that nobody thought about what the dragon queen would do in retaliation.

The Dothraki screamers were a sight to behold, and you had truly never been so scared of anything more in your entire life. Those men were ruthless, skilled fighters who knew exactly what they were doing.

And then Daenerys Targaryen herself flew in on her dragon and began burning everything in sight, and that's when you knew you were truly fucked.

You didn't foresee being captured at all. You simply thought that you would be slain in battle due to the chaos that surrounded you. Assumed that you would die while attempting to protect yourself.

Losing sight of Jaime was a clear mistake. You didn’t see him again during or after the fight. Perhaps that was a good thing, but you didn't know if that meant that he got away or if he was burnt to a pile of ashes.

When you later stand among the captured men being threatened by a dragon to kneel and submit to the new queen, you knew you could not do so. Simply for your loyalty to Jaime. No one else.

You would never betray him.

When you saw Tyrion Lannister you were not entirely shocked. Knowing that somehow you would be crossing paths with him again. And when Daenerys questioned a woman being a soldier you had simply stared at her, no words to say for the spiteful woman who had just burned so many men alive.

She was clearly ready to burn you alive as well, a look of pure rage and death in her eyes, but luckily for you, Tyrion's oh-so-smooth tongue and fanciful words about your connection to the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister seemed to sway her, and suddenly you were a prisoner.

You had lost track of time as the days went on. You did not know if it had been days, weeks, or months since you had been separated from Jaime.

You did not even know where you were at this point. Dragonstone? Where Daenerys had set up her base? Maybe you were somewhere in Essos, shipped off far away never to be found again before you die. You simply had no idea. All you knew was that you were carted off for days upon days on land before being brought onto a ship where you remained for a few more days. Before leaving the boat you were blindfolded and bound and dragged to the cell where you have stayed ever since.

You had thought about escaping of course, but you knew that your chances of surviving were slim, as all of the people in the queen's employ were ruthless and willing to do anything for her.

So here you remained. Unknowing if the love of your life was dead or not. Clueless as to whether you would be able to get out of this alive and try to find him.

But if he was alive, was he even looking for you? Was he even trying to find you?

You didn't know.

Maybe you never would. Maybe you would die in this dark, cold cell with no one even remembering who you are or what your name was.

But you didn't want that. You really didn't.

The only upside to being sequestered to the same cell day in and day out is that you've been able to just sit and watch when your guards changed, what time of day it was, how long each guard would stay for, and everything else that would help you plot your escape.

You knew exactly when the perfect time for you to attempt it was, the only problem that you were going to encounter was figuring out where exactly you were the second you got out.

Being brought here on a boat brought about the biggest problem that you would come across. If you were on Dragonstone, which would make the most sense, you would somehow need to find a smaller boat of some sort to cart you back onto the mainland.

So you hoped you weren't on Dragonstone.

-

You ended up being on Dragonstone.

Honestly no surprise there, you saw it coming from a mile away.

You could also see the dragons that circled in the sky.

If they hadn't almost killed you the day you had been captured, you would have thought them beautiful and majestic up there. But now, all you could think about was the death and fear they wrought.

Getting far away enough from the castle and using your knowledge of the maps you had studied had luckily gotten you to the single village that resided on the island. Finding some food and a boat to steal from there hadn't been any harder, and you had luckily been able to row yourself east until you hit land, rowing until you could barely feel your arms.

The plan from there was to start heading south until you would hopefully hit Kings Landing and be able to see if Jaime was there, hopefully still alive and breathing and not burnt to a crisp like many others.

When you did end up finding land, you decided that sticking to the coastline would be your best bet of not getting lost and went south for a whole day on foot until you reached Duskendale. When you asked the barmaid at the nearest tavern and inn how far Kings Landing was from there, she told you on foot it would take about a day and a half of travel.

Exactly what you needed to hear.

You spent the night at the inn using the coin that you stole while on Dragonstone.

It was honestly the best night's rest that you had had in ages. Whether it was due to the hay bed that you laid on or the fact that you knew that you were going to be reunited with Jaime soon, you were luckily able to rest through the night with no disturbances. You continued your journey in the morning.

You weren't used to walking long distances like this anymore. After your imprisonment, you were feeling weak and tired. The muscles that used to line your body were no longer strong due to disuse, and the lack of good food and water helped to ensure that you were not at your best. 

So the day-and-a-half trip that was predicted turned to two and a half days, as you rested often and refused to push your body to the limits.

No use in rushing back home if you would just die along the way.

And almost three days later when you kept walking and began to see the red keep in the distance you could have cried in relief. It would only be a few hour’s walk and then you would be home. With Jaime.

If you didn’t die in the slums of Kings Landing first.

Arriving in the city was no different than the thousands of times you had done it before. The only difference this time was that you would have to make your way to the red keep on your own, with no guards or carriages to cover you.

Luckily you were not recognizable at this point as a proper lady. Your hair was marred with dirt and tangled from your imprisonment. Your clothes were ratty and almost falling off of your back. You blended in completely with some of the poorer folks of the city, and as you continued making your way through street after street you started to become worried that you wouldn’t even be allowed in the red keep at this point.

Luckily you had spent many a moon in the castle. Which meant that you knew some of the secret passages like the back of your hand.

It was easy to find the nearest one that led to Jaime’s room again. You had never forgotten it even when you spent moons alone in your solitude. 

You had spent many nights sneaking in and out of his rooms, doing things that you shouldn’t have been doing, and going into the dangerous city when you knew it wouldn’t be recommended for a lady of your status.

But the lady of your status that you were supposed to be was non-existent, and the warrior you were captured as had much to say and much to do. Like sneaking into the city.

But that didn’t matter anymore.

All that mattered was being home.

You were walking up the last staircase now, taking your time as they took their toll on your weak frame.

Just a few more steps and the wall on the left would push straight into Jaime’s room. Opening up right behind a large tapestry that no one would have suspected. 

Luckily the sun was still high up in the sky, meaning that you wouldn’t be coming into the room while he was possibly sleeping.

If he was even here.

During your time getting back to King's Landing you had much time to think about where Jaime could be. If he had made it out of Daenerys’ attack. You hadn’t seen him when you had been lined up with the others, but that could mean anything. He could have been able to get away or he could have been burnt to ash. Unrecognizable to everyone. A pile of ash.

You had to hope that he was still alive though. That he had made it out and had been hoping, waiting, and searching for you while you plotted your escape from the dragon queen.

Now would be the time to find out if it was all for nothing.

If you were to enter this room just for him to be dead, you would have escaped for nothing.

You would have rather died in that damp musty cell than come all the way here just to have your heart broken.

At this point, you don’t even know what you'd do if you were to find out that he was gone. You didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not while you were so close.

The door was right there now. All you had to do was push and it would lead you straight into his room.

When you did so, it didn’t feel like anything special. It was just any other secret passageway door. It opened until it was slightly hindered by the tapestry that rested against it. But you kept pushing with all of your might until there was enough room for you to slip through and push it back closed.

When you turned to take in the room it was like nothing had changed. It still looked the same as the last time that you had seen it. Lush, red, and gold, with some of Jaime’s belongings strung about.

And there, in almost the center of the room, sat Jaime.

He was at the table that you both frequently ate at, drinking a glass of wine and staring at the table as though it had the secrets of the world inside of it. He had a blank look on his face, not portraying any clear emotion.

You felt the tears start to well up in your eyes at the sight of him. 

After all these months, all of this struggle you had finally made it back to him. And he was okay. 

He was alive. It’s the only thing you could have ever asked for. Prayed for.

You stood there for a moment, taking in the mere sight of him. Absorbing it all.

It was like he hadn’t changed at all. His golden brown stair still shined the same. His rugged beard that lay on his jaw was unshaven and messy, exactly how you liked it. The only difference was the bags under his eyes. He looked restless and like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he was so heartbroken and worried over your capture that he had not been able to sleep properly the whole time.

Of course, you were right.

You couldn’t stand there any longer, you needed to hold him. Feel him. 

“Jaime…” Your voice croaks out.

His eyes widen, and his head jerks a little but his eyes remain glued to the table. Like he can’t believe he heard your voice. Like you're unreal.

You murmur his name again, and this time he turns his head to look in your direction. His eyes are wide, full of shock and disbelief. “What…” He whispers it, the sound barely heard from where you stand across the room. He stands up slowly, eyes still on your frame as though you’ll disappear if he looks away. “Is it really you?” He questions, slowly stepping towards you as though you were a frightened doe.

A smile starts to spread across your face, your eyes widening in relief. “It’s me, Jaime.” And take your own steps towards him, meeting him halfway.

When you both come together again everything feels right. His arms wrap around you as tight as they possibly can, his right arm around your waist while his left wraps around your shoulders with his hand cradling your head. Your arms come to wrap around him just as tight.

You stand there for a moment, feeling the warmth that his body emits. His breath hot as it brushes the top of your head in quick pants. You can feel the scratchiness of the top he wears.

But then you feel the shuddering that begins in his chest and leaves his mouth as a sob. He pulls you in tighter, breathing picking up as he begins gasping for breath as more and more sobs leave his body and warm tears start to fall onto the top of your head as he cradles it into his chest.

Tears have started welling up in your own eyes at this point, soon turning into sobs of your own as you both hold each other with plans of never letting go.

At this point, Jaime had thought you dead. He thought that you had been either killed in the Reach or captured by the false queen and executed for being her enemy. But here you were. Warm, whole, and in his arms again. Although you did look worse for wear. Hair tangled in knots while your clothes lay in almost tatters on your body. You were dirty, mud and dirt smudged across your face and under your nails. But it was you, and at this moment you had never looked more beautiful to him. You were alive.

He loosens his grip around you and pulls back slightly so he can look at your face. His eyes meet yours and you smile in joy when you see that happiness that reflects back at you. “I thought you dead.” He whispers, his left hand moving from the back of your head to cradle your cheek.

You move your own hand to cover his, “I thought you dead as well. I did not know if you had escaped or not.” You turn away a little bit and close your eyes at the memory of the nights you cried until you passed out in the cell. Cried at the thought of him dead forever. “I had no way of knowing if you died. The fields were ash by the time she captured the rest of us.” You turn to look back at him now, the look on his face mimics your own.

“I had hoped for so many nights that you were not dead, but the thought of you captured did not sound any better.” A scowl starts to mar his face. “Knowing that that false queen had you this whole time-” He cuts himself off and abruptly pulls his arms off of you, not taking note of you jumping in shock at the action. He then starts to pace the floors of the room, running his hand through his hair. “I will have her head for what she has done.” He continues pacing, not looking at you as he shakes his head in anger at the audacity of that Targaryen whore before he abruptly turns his head in your direction and stops pacing. “Look at you.” 

He walks back over to you, picking at the rags that cover your body. “I’ll have the maids prepare a bath for you.”

And then he’s walking towards the door, calling out to the maids for a meal and a bath.

All of the maids come rushing into the room in a flurry, and you just stand there and wait as Jaime directs them on what food and clothes he wants them to bring for you.

You only stand there waiting for a few short minutes before the bath is ready, as it’s the one thing he impressed upon the maids as most important. 

When you walk into the bathing chambers the large marble bath that rests within it is full of steaming water filled with flowers and oils. You feel all of the stress simply fall off of you as you breathe in the warm air and let it soothe you. 

Jaime walks in immediately after you, folded clothes resting in his hand for you to change into when you are done bathing. He sets them done before walking over to you, eyes wide and open. “Allow me to help you, my love.” He says and you simply nod while he begins to undress you.

He pulls off the tattered tunic that you wear, throwing it to the side before he unwraps the band you have covering your breasts, allowing you to breathe freely with no restrictions. Next, he rids you of the breaches that you wear, basically tearing them off due to the rips and holes that they already possess. 

The entire time you watch him as he works, watching as he uses his one hand to help you undress, providing one of your hands in assistance whenever he has trouble. Something that you have both long since grown used to doing.

Once you stand bare before him he lightly grabs onto your shoulder to guide you over to the tub. “Rest in the tub for a moment, love.” He helps get your weak frame into the water. You only realize now how exhausted you are. You haven’t eaten a proper meal in months and using your muscles after going so long without has proven to be a strain on your energy. You simply nod as you feel the hot water soothe and calm your aching muscles.

You don’t know how long you sit there before Jaime is asking you to dip your head back into the water to wet your hair so that he can brush through it for you.

“I never wish to be separated from you again, Jaime.” You whisper into the warm air, turning your head so that your eyes can meet his.

He looks into your eyes, his green ones meeting your own, “Trust me, we will never be apart ever again.”

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[damn-stark]

Chapter 1 Heir to the iron throne

Chapter 1 of Sandstorm

A/N- First chapter I hope you guys like it!

Warning- Y/N has a son, swearing, death and blood, talks of sexual assault, fluff.

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

Episode- 7x02 & only the beginning of 7x03

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*21 YEARS AGO*

“Mother, when is father going to return?”

He has been gone for months now, you can’t seem to recall what he told you last, but you know you miss him.

“Soon,” your mother assures you and tucks you in bed. “I swear.”

It was always the same answer. Vague, “he’s fighting a war.”.

“Now, Little Sunspot,” your mother continues softly and sits at the other end of your bed. “It’s your turn to pick a story for tonight, so what will it be?”

Without a moment of hesitation you beam at her and give her your answer. “Tell me the story of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters.”

“Oh no!” Rhaenys whines from her side of the room. “Not that one again, Visenya, pick a different one!”

You pull your blanket over your mouth and snuggle under your blankets. “That’s mine and fathers favorite,” you mumble and then look at your mother to bat your lashes. “Please mother, tell it!”

Your mother offers you a sweet smile and nods in agreement. “I will, but I must warn you, I am not as good as Rhaegar is at telling it, but I will try my best.”

——

Home.

What a fickle thing. Home is as some say where your own family is. But for the 21 years you lived at Sunspear with your family; with your late uncle Oberyn and his daughters you thought of as sisters, and with your late uncle Doran and his son, both of them brothers to your mother, both beloved uncles, it seems you could never find such belonging amongst them.

It would be a lie to say you didn’t feel peace and happiness at Sunspear. Because you did. Yet it’s that sense of belonging that you’ve always craved and missed.

It’s a belonging you hope you’ll find here in Dragonstone, your family’s ancestral home, amongst the only living relative you still have from the House of the Dragon, from your fathers side of the family. Amongst your aunt Daenerys Targaryen.

Your great reunion has been a long time coming, years perhaps, but time only seemed fitting now. Especially since it’s not until recently that she herself has arrived back home, at Dragonstone.

A place you were born at and left a long time ago, a place you did not recall in any of your memories.

Coming upon it in the clouds seems so surreal, like a dream maybe, a faded one. It was a lot grayer than you imagined, colder; but that’s maybe due to the fact that you’re several hundred feet in the sky—The ocean's waters are darker as well; a lot more than the ones at Sunspear. It was strange, truly.

Dragonstone seems a lot smaller too—or seemed a lot smaller, but as you began to descend from the sky the castle became larger. Not only that but now that the clouds didn’t hide you anymore something else came to view, three dragons. They all looked dark and small, but the more you began to descend the larger they got, the more you can see their colored scales.

There was a green one like the green fields of grass, but it seems it’s also mixed with bronze. There was a cream and gold one, smaller than the other two. And the third one was larger, a beautiful black dragon with red mixed within it as well. And without fault all three of them screech, sing their song as they catch sight of Eraxis, your beautiful white She-dragon descend to the sand in front of the castle gates.

All three of them circle Eraxis as she lands. And Eraxis just watches them before she sings, a loud echoing and sharp song.

Once you climb down her and hit the sand, you can’t help but smile at her and caress her neck. “It is alright girl. It’s okay, they're family.”

Eraxis turns her head and tilts it before she looks back up to the sky as the dragons keep circling her.

You look up and smile at the three dragons before you drop your eyes to the sand beneath your shoes, and slowly crouch down to scoop up some of the cold sand in your hand and watch each grain drop out between the gaps between your fingers. You proceed to dust off the sand and rise up again until you hear a soft thump on the sand behind you.

“Welcome home,” you break your silence and begin to grin a soft smile. “Rhaenar.” You look back and meet the pair of dark brown eyes of your son.

Said boy lets out a small breath and looks up the castle gates to slowly examine it and watch the guards that stood in front of them. “It’s cold,” he mutters and buttons the top button of his shirt as if that would make any difference

You sigh softly and nod. “Quite is. Come on, let's get inside then.”

Rhaenar drags his hand along Eraxis as he follows you to the gate, but hesitates to depart from her as you reach the guards.

“I’ve come to see the Queen,” you tell them.

The guards eyes shift over your shoulder and land on the white dragon who watches them intently.

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “She won’t do any harm.”

The guard's eyes shift back to you before he shifts to push the doors open, finally letting you see the long and grand stairway that leads up to the castle.

“Come Rhaenar,” you tell the boy who you know has probably only moved an inch from the dragon.

“And if she does not like us?” He asks in a timid voice that let his Dornish accent come out even after he tries to hide it.

You sigh and turn to reach him. “You do not have to worry about that my Sunspot,” you assure him. “Okay? She is family, your grandfather's sister, it will take some time to get used to one another but I am sure she will love you.”

Rhaenar lowers his gaze and nods, letting you smile as you cup his cheek. “And do not hide your accent, what would your uncle say?”

“Targaryens do not talk like me, mother,” he mutters and fists his hands.

You scoff. “Who said that?”

Rhaenar goes quiet, so you grab his face with both hands and press him. “Rhaenar, tell me.”

“Myself, books I have read about our family,” he whispers.

You sigh. “Oh my sweet boy, we talk how we damn want to, no one can tell us otherwise. Not books of old dead ancestors. Be proud you are part Dornish. That only makes you more fierce than any other Targaryen.” You smirk and brush the strands of hair out of his face. “Come. Let’s go.”

You turn back to face the gate and offer him your hand, but he just scoffs and shakes his head.

Now without any more delay and falters, both Rhaenar and you walk up the long stairway, catching Eraxis now flying overhead, keeping her distance from the other dragons flying in the sky. You can see the grand castle getting closer and closer.

Yet, before you can reach the castle gates, an army of unsullied, and tall, dark and muscular men in fur garments walk out and meet you halfway.

“Halt there,” a slender and tall man orders, causing you to do as he said.

“I have come to see the Queen,” you inform him. “I am…family.”

“Doubtful,” you hear a familiar voice interject between the crowd of men. “Who are you…” the moment the men part to the side to let him meet you halfway, the tiny man trails off and looks at you in shock and yet a puzzled look.

You scoff in amusement and smile mischievously as you instantly come to recognize the short man. “I am sorry, Lord Tyrion, it seems the last time we met, my hair was a different color.”

The small man hums and loses the confusion and now looks more serious. “Y/N Sand. Prince Oberyn’s daughter. I thought Dorne was not meant to get here yet.”

You shake your head. “No, but they are on the way, I,” you glance up at Eraxis and smile, “flew here.” You glance down at him. “And my name is not Sand. I am Princess Y/N Targaryen Martell,” you reveal yourself. “If you want to get technical, my true name my father gave me is Visenya, but well…I’ve grown accustomed to my new name.” You sigh. “I am the niece of your Queen. I have come to meet her, to join her.”

Lord Tyrion studies you for a brief moment with doubt lingering in his stare, making you smirk.

“Do you wish for me to prove myself to you, my Lord? Wash my hair? Bleed my veins, or tell my dragon a command?” You retort.

Lord Tyrion sighs and shakes his head. “No. Please none of that. I was just trying to progress the fact that a supposed dead princess is standing right in front of me.” He counters.

You swallow thickly. “I was never presumed dead, was I?” You ask rhetorically. “Nevertheless, I have no reason to lie, nor am I, Eraxis can prove that.”

Tyrion looks up at the white dragon and watches her as she keeps circling the area.

“Well,” Lord Tyrion says and meets your gaze. “Greetings Princess. It is very nice to finally meet you.” He offers you a faint smile. “Now please if you don’t mind please hand your weapons over.”

Usually parting from your weapon is a condition you don’t like to follow, but in this case it’s only fair, besides these large handsome men didn’t seem like they were going to let you pass if you didn’t follow orders.

“Rhaenar,” you say and hold a tall man’s dark gaze as he watches you unsheath your weapons. “Hand over your weapons.”

Without arguing, your son does as he’s told and hands his sword and daggers to the men, leaving you to bend down to unsheath the daggers you have hidden under your dress.

“Dothraki, I assume,” you comment as you keep holding the man’s gaze with a sly smirk.

“Yes,” Lord Tyrion confirms. “The Queens warriors.”

You stand up to your given height and catch the tall, dark man smirking at you as he takes your weapons. You then smirk back at him.

“Follow me,” Lord Tyrion breaks the tension and pulls your gaze back to him. “The Queen is already waiting.”

When you walk inside, the soldiers that had come out to greet you continue to follow you inside. They surround Rhaenar and you, and don't let you take in your surroundings very well.

“I do pardon for such a cold greeting,” Lord Tyrion interjects. “We just don’t know the true intentions of you or your…dragon.”

You scoff. “Do not worry, Lord Tyrion, I understand.”

“Tyrion,” he corrects you. “I am not the Lord of anything now.”

“My apologies.”

“It’s alright,” he assures you and brings his army of men and you to a halt in front of big black doors that lead to only one obvious room, the Throne Room.

Now it’s closer than ever. The moment you have dreamed of since you found out about her being alive. Beside your son Rhaenar, she was the last piece of family you have remaining from your Targaryen bloodline.

Her….

Let’s just say that happiness isn’t the most powerful feeling you feel now. Rhaenar senses that it seems, your nerves, and reaches for your hand to give it a gentle squeeze.

You look down at him and offer him a soft smile before you secure your hold around his hand.

Before the doors can be opened, Tyrion asks for your name and titles. It’s only after you give it to him that the guards begin to push the doors open, letting the gray dimly lit throne come to view.

As you proceed to walk inside, you see her. She’s sitting so poise on that stone throne at the end of the room. You see the color of her silver-white hair that matches yours. You see her fancy black garments and her red cloak elegantly hanging off her chair. You see her pale face, her blue eyes. You see her, your aunt, the Queen. She’s there, she’s real.

“Princess Y/N Targaryen, Princess of Dorne, and Daughter of late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen,” Tyrion announces as you keep slowly walking inside.

Now you notice a bald man, a man you know as Lord Varys. You catch his gaze narrow, and see him take a slow step forward as if fascinated by your presence. You then don’t fail to notice the Queen's face twist to something you can read as disbelief and…anger.

“Prince Rhaenar Targaryen, son of the princess.”

You come to a stop before you can reach the unsullied guards standing in front of the steps that lead to the throne, and let go of Rhaenar’s hand to curtsey; while he bows to the Queen.

“My Queen,” you say and return your gaze back on her as you stand up straight. “It is an honor finally getting to meet you.”

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen. Rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains.” A woman with brown skin, and dark curly hair announces the mouthful of titles that must be a pain in the ass to see each time.

Nevertheless, Queen Daenerys holds your gaze and retorts. “I am sorry I am not rejoiced by your presence. Until now I had no idea you were alive.” She slightly raises her eyebrows as she seems to pierce her glare in you.

You scoff in amusement. “That’s good, it means my uncles did a good job in hiding me from the world that wanted me dead,” you rebuttal confidently and pass a discreet glance at Tyrion. “But I do swear to you on my fathers memory that I am who I say I am. I mean…if I wasn’t would I have come flying on a dragon?” You smirk. Yet no one else finds it so amusing.

“You have no reason to believe me,” you continue. “But I do know people who know of me.” You glance over at Lord Varys standing a bit a ways from the Queen, and make her gaze drift to the man.

“Lord Varys, can you attest to her word? Can you prove that who stands before me really is a niece I have thought long dead?” She asks and looks at you.

The Lord slowly steps forward and stops at the top step to study you from closer.

“Yes, I can,” Tyrion speaks up and walks to the top step. “I can attest to her word. I have met her before. However, back then she went by another name.”

You scoff and nod. “Yes. Back then I went by Sand. I was just another bastard daughter to my uncle Oberyn Martell, but it was for my own safety. After all, it is his family who wanted me dead.”

Tyrion nods and accepts your accusation. “Yes. It was my family.”

You clench your jaw and let out a deep sigh.

“Her uncle died for me,” Tyrion continues. “He was a good man. That is why I trust her word.”

The Queen slowly stands up from the chair and begins to head your way, yet she stops at Tyrion’s side. “If it is you. If you do have a dragon, where have you been this entire time?” She asks you.

You clasp your hands in front of you and part your lips to speak, but then Lord Varys speaks up before you could. “She was hiding, by her uncle's demand. Sworn to keep her identity a secret until the right time came. As was I.”

The Queen shifts her head to the side to look at her Lord.

“She is who she says she is. She is Princess Visenya Targaryen, daughter of your brother Rhaegar Targaryen. She is blood of your blood, My Queen.”

You shake your head and correct them. “No. It’s Y/N. Not Visenya. Not anymore.”

The Queen begins to glare at the man for a second before she finally returns her gaze to you and begins to step down the steps to meet you halfway.

She then continues to study you, to check out the gold dragon scale corset over your red dress, the golden rings on your fingers, the golden snake around your bicep. She looks at your silver-white hair probably trying to see if your hair color was actually real and not fake, or if you were actually real or not. Her eyes then shift to Rhaenar for a brief second before returning to look at you again.

You don’t do anything, you let her take her time, and take this time to study her too; to realize how beautiful she is, how tiny she is as well now that she’s not sat on the throne.

“Who might you be?” The Queen breaks her silence and looks back at Rhaenar.

Said boy bows and then tries his best to once again hide his Dornish accent. “I am Prince—”

You clear your throat to correct him, making the Queen glance at you in confusion before returning to look at your boy.

“I am Prince Rhaenar Sand, your Grace,” he shares in his normal voice, and this time you glance at him slightly concerned since he refers to himself as Sand.

The Queen scoffs softly and her lips are just faintly showing a smile. “Sand?” She questions.

Rhaenar nods. “I am a bastard,” he tells her, making you sigh.

“And like I have told him before,” you interject. “That does not matter. That does not change who you are descended from.”

Daenerys nods. “Your mother is correct,” she agrees in your defense. “You are still the blood of the dragon aren't you? You are a Targaryen first and foremost.”

Rhaenar shrugs. “I suppose.”

The Queen offers a soft laugh before she looks at you. “Let’s take a walk.”

You nod, and without a fault when you walk out, the curly headed woman, the Unsullied, and the Dothraki warriors follow you out and walk behind you like lurking shadows. It’s something you have never grown unaccustomed to after your years of being somewhat free in Dorne.

“What’s your dragon's name?” The Queen asks once you’re out of the castle and walking up a stairwell that leads to some place you can’t see yet.

“Her name is Eraxis,” you share with a faint smile.

Queen Daenerys eyes snap to you, and you catch her surprise at your comment.

“Your dragon is a female?” She questions.

You nod. “Yes. She is. Or at least that’s what I like to say, I don’t think we can really place a gender on a dragon.” You smile.

The Queen nods. “Yes, I suppose we can’t.”

A screech sounds from the sky before Eraxis flies down past you. Both the Queen and you look up to watch her, to admire how her white scales glimmer like diamonds against the sun's rays; to watch as she let her large wings soared, and how her horned tail swung to the side as she flew up.

“She’s…quite big,” the Queen points out with an admiring smile. “How old is she?”

Once Eraxis passes, the Queen's black dragon flies past you to follow Eraxis up in the sky.

“She is fifteen,” You answer softly, and catch her swallow thickly before she brings you to a stop so you can watch the both of your dragons as they begin to twirl up to the sky together, like if they’re dancing. Like if they were familiar with one another already.

“It seems Drogon is quite taken by Eraxis already,” the Queen says. “That should be good.”

You rest your hands on the stone before you and nod. “It is. It means Eraxis won’t be alone anymore.” You look down to look at the Queen. “What are the names of your other dragons?”

The Queen drops her gaze and answers, “the green one is Rhaegal, I named him after your father.”

Your smile falters, and your eyes go soft.

“And the gold and cream one is Viserion, named after my brother, Viserys.”

Ah. Him. The youngest brother. The uncle you only have one memory of, and it’s not a pleasant one.

“If I may ask,” the Queen continues. “How was Eraxis born to you?”

The story is something you hardly know how to explain to make it sound sane. Yet it is one people ask for a lot.

“To be honest,” you laugh softly. “It’s going to sound funny, but…” you avert your gaze and begin messing with your rings. “…a dream…”

You hear the Queen's feet shift against the stone ground at the sound of your comment.

“…it was a dream I scarcely remember anymore. But it was of my dragon being born from fire and blood.” You let out a deep breath and slowly look up to once again meet her gaze. Now you notice her look slightly disbelieved.

“It was fate then,” the Queen interjects softly.

You shrug and smile faintly at your rings. “Perhaps.”

You could tell her what you did to have the egg hatch, every detail. You can tell her that even if you don’t recall every detail of the dream, you still have a fragment of it painted so it could keep your mind from clouding at that time.

Yet you don’t.

At least it doesn’t seem so fit yet. Instead you let the conversation drift, you let her continue to lead you up the steps. And it’s now that you can see you’re being walked to some green cliffs where you spot her two other dragons resting.

“I have heard a lot of great things about you, not only because I have made it my job to keep myself informed, but word travels. I am more than in awe, I am fascinated,” you share sweetly, and make her smile a lot more timidly.

Yet when you reach the cliff her smile begins to falter, a serious and almost threatening look paints on her face as she comes to a stop and faces the ocean.

“If you have been alive this whole time why have you not tried to take what’s yours,” she says seriously. “You have the right claim, you, my brother's last living heir.”

You look away from her and face the ocean as well to watch the horizon as you think of what to say. Something that would sound like you’re not lying. “There’s many reasons, one, I am a woman. My claim is not as strong.”

“But you have a son,” she cuts in.

You nod and peer back at Rhaenar, catching him watching the dragons with awe. “A bastard. In Dorne they might not be shamed, but here they are. They would never accept my son, even if he is my fathers grandson.” You sigh and face her. “There is also time,” you reveal carefully. “My uncle had a plan, we couldn’t just risk ourselves by flying down to Kings Landing and burning everything. We needed a lot of time, ally’s, and resources. I actually was meant to marry your brother, but,” you scoff with a playful smile on your face, and catch her stare. “Before the proposal was officially announced, well, we heard the news he passed.”

The Queen scoffs and smirks. “Maybe it was a good thing,” she interjects, making you slightly furrow your brows in confusion. “I loved my brother, but I don’t think he would’ve made a good husband. Especially not to someone who already had a dragon before him.”

You laugh softly. “Is that so?” You query. “Well I for one was quite excited. More so for the promise of seeing the family I thought I had lost.”

The Queen lowers her gaze before she goes serious again, letting you continue.

“Anyway, before much else could be done my uncle…died, and the dream died with him.” You swallow thickly and let out a deep sigh. “Albeit, I can’t say I ever shared his dream, that's another reason I haven’t tried to claim what’s “mine”. I never had a desire to rule. Not after what happened. That’s why I have not taken the throne, that’s why I am here. Why, I sent Dorne to ally with you.” You meet her gaze and raise your head proudly.

“I don’t want the throne for myself. I want to help you take it,” you share confidently. “I want to take back what is ours with fire and blood, I want Cersei to pay for what her family did to mine. I know,” you sigh. “You have no reason to trust me, but know that I am done hiding and tired of doing nothing. I want my son to be proud of me, I don’t want him to hide anymore either. I just want to help you, at your side, united like family. Just like how Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters did, together.”

Daenerys continues to look at you with a threatening and piercing glare, she lets out a deep breath and looks past her shoulder. And without saying anything both her dragons walk over, causing Rhaenar to step back. When her dragons stand behind her you see the same burning, piercing glare that their mother carries.

“If it’s true, bend the knee,” she orders in a menacing tone. “Swear to me that you nor your son will go against me, that you will fight alongside me and help me win this war to take back what belongs to our family. Swear to me, Y/N Targaryen, and you and your son will have a place in my court. You will keep your title as Princess, your son as Prince. If not….” She pauses and her dragons begin growl. Yet you don’t react out of fear, you hold her gaze and stay calm.

“…I would hate to consider my last living relatives as traitors.” She finishes.

You look back at Rhaenar, and he meets your gaze, and together without hesitation you get down on one knee and look up to meet her gaze. “I swear to you,” you assure her. “I swear I will have no ill intentions. I will not fight against you. I will fight at your side.”

Daenerys begins to smirk and continues to walk over to you to offer you her hand. You’re confused at first, but when you take it she helps you up to your feet and keeps you in front of her for a moment, before she pulls you in for an embrace.

You’re caught off guard for a brief second, but once you feel her grip tighten you return the embrace and clutch onto her with relief, and joy.

Finally after years, here she is. You’re finally together.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

Nights were already hard to sleep. Returning to Dragonstone sounded like it could be a solution to your restless nights, to the nightmares that plague your mind, but the bitter night air made it harder. There was some reassurance in the morning when you woke up and saw that meeting Daenerys wasn’t some fever dream. She was real.

As slow as things are between her and you currently considering you only just met, she was a comfort, that instant familiarity. Plus, you shared the restless night and got to speaking about everything you were missing about her current progress of the war, you spoke of other mindless things until the sun broke the sky. After the sun started to rise from the earth, you shared a mutual craving and spent no time finding your dragons.

“What’s on Eraxis back?” Daenerys points to the saddle on your dragon's back as she lowers her neck down to the ground.

“A saddle,” you say slowly and find it surprising she had to ask. “I can’t ride her bareback, not anymore at least, I have the scars on my thighs to prove that,” you laugh softly and approach Eraxis to grab one of her many horns that align her neck. “It helps me steer her too. And since Rhaenar rides her with me, I had it made so he wouldn’t fall off.”

Daenerys approaches Eraxis and then glances at you. “May I?” She asks and points to your dragon's body.

You nod, and watch Daenerys turn and begin to smile at your dragon as she carefully begins to stroke a part of her neck.

“I find it quite easy to ride Drogon with no saddle,” she shows off, making you scoff in amusement. “Then again it’s not like I have had much of an education besides what feels natural, and the few books I did have.”

You hum and smile at her. “Well don’t worry, I am here now. I can teach you all I’ve learned about our family.”

Daenerys eyes drift to you and her gaze softens as a softer smile appears on her lips.

“Now,” you say playfully and begin to climb onto Eraxis. “Let’s fly, yes?” You smirk down at her, and Daenerys begins to grin before she rushes over to Drogon to climb on him.

Since this won’t be a long flight, you don’t bother restraining yourself on her, you just climb on your saddle and grab your handles before you speak to Eraxis in High Valyrian. “<Fly, girl.>”

Without hesitation Eraxis begins to run off the hill, and Drogon follows, creating thunderous stomps on the green hill until both dragons flap their wings and take flight.

At first Daenerys and you are riding side to side, glancing once at one another with playful looks as both dragons gain more momentum and fly higher. However, it’s once Eraxis reaches the clouds that you turn her to her side, exposing her belly to Drogon, before you then drift to the left to hide within the clouds.

Drogon calls out for Eraxis, most likely to know her whereabouts, but Eraxis stays quiet and flaps her wings, blowing air and clouds behind her before she twirls upward rapidly and shoots out above Drogon. Once again the black dragon calls out, and this time Eraxis responds. You then lift your body off the saddle to peek down, catching Daenerys urge Drogon forward so she could lead, instead of being right under you.

You grin at the action and push the handle forward, causing Eraxis to flap her wings harder and get ahead of Drogon with ease. Daenerys looks up and sees, and then as if they have been mentally communicating, Drogon flies up.

Before they both could lose them, you motion Eraxis to fly up as well. Now both dragons have their bellies exposed to one another as you all fly up.

The dragons screech, and you snicker before you lean forward and exclaim happily, “<Dracarys!>”

Eraxis blows out a cloud of fire, and as Drogon was going to approach it, you make Eraxis drift to the side so you both could then begin diving down.

Daenerys doesn’t notice you flying in front of her anymore until she’s past the fire cloud. And when she sees you and Eraxis diving down, she beams and makes Drogon do the same.

Since gravity is what is pulling you down, Daenerys and Drogon don’t take long to catch up, but Eraxis and you do end up beating her to the surface of the ocean water. Albeit before Eraxis could splash in, she instead flies up and only lets her body barely skim above the water, creating ripples on the surface as she flies past.

Drogon and Daenerys on the other hand drift to the side and he skims the tip of his wing in the water as he flies at his side. When he fixes himself he then flies at your side, letting Daenerys and you turn your heads to smile at one another.

Now as little as you have known one another, there was a sense of a connection no one else can understand. For the first time you both could share the joys of flying with another soul, for the first time it wasn’t just the two of you alone in the skies with your dragons. It was now you and her. Her and you. Together.

However, as you flew, as you got closer to the castle, you could now spot Dorne, Greyjoy, and Tyrell ships sailing to Dragonstone. Daenerys sees them too, but instead of flying above them like you, she flies ahead without you. Yet you don’t stay just above them for long, you instead fly to the first Dorne ship leading the way and stay flying by it.

And since only the people you were truly closest to, and a few trusted guards knew of Eraxis, those who didn’t gawked as they saw you on a dragon, and as they literally saw a dragon. Those who did know about Eraxis however, like Tyene, looked excited and happy to see her again. Your other sisters climbed out to deck to watch Eraxis too, but unlike Tyene, they watched with more calm and collected demeanors.

Once you landed on the sand to wait for them to get to shore, Tyene shares that same excitement for your dragon when she arrives. She didn’t even bother to greet you.

“Eraxis!” She exclaims and rushes past you to reach Eraxis. And since Tyene, Nymaria, Tyrstane, and Obara helped you raise her, Eraxis was comfortable around their presence and didn't fail to let herself get caressed.

“This is where you wanted to come to so badly?” Nymeria asks in a teasing manner as she and Obara approach you after they climb off the boat.

You look back at the castle gates and nod. “This is where I was born…albeit I do prefer Dornes heat, and the Water Gardens.”

“It’s very bland,” Obara doesn't hold back from saying.

You hum as you can’t help but agree since you are used to more color because of where you were raised.

“How is it going?” You hear your late uncle's paramour, Ellaria, ask as she approaches all of you.

You glance at her and swallow thickly before you speak. “Good. I’ve made peace with my aunt, we were just bonding.” You meet her gaze briefly, but can’t stand looking at her for too long because all you see when you look at her is her with a knife in your uncle's stomach; all you can see is his death, you remember him dying in your arms after you were too late to save him.

You remember pain and grief, and feel it all over again. Ellaria is only alive now because of the love your uncle Oberyn had for her, you only tolerate her because she's Tyene’s mother. Otherwise she would no longer be here.

“Rhaenar is inside,” you say and look back at your sisters. “He’s excited to see you all again. It’s as if he hasn’t seen you in months.”

Obara smirks at the mention, and before you could spend more time out in the chilly air they follow you inside.

——

*LATER*

“If you want the Iron Throne, take it,” Yara Greyjoy tells Daenerys, making her turn to face the table you're all gathered around. “We have an army, a fleet, and four dragons now. We should hit Kings Landing now. Hard. With everything we have. The city will fall within a day.”

You scoff to yourself and drop your gaze to the table.

“If we turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorm,” Tyrion protests.

“It’s called war,” Ellaria interjects. “You don’t have the stomach for it, scurry back into hiding.”

You roll your eyes and proceed to lift your leg over the other.

“I know how you wage war,” Tyrion snaps. “We don’t poison little girls here. Myrcella was innocent.”

“She was a Lannister. There are no innocent Lannister’s,” Ellaria says, and to some degree you can agree with her. But not about what she did, not about Myrcella; like Tyrion said she was innocent, she was also never cruel, not to you, not to Rhaenar. You can understand Tyrion’s anger. Yet you can’t accept their bickering, not if you’re meant to be ally’s now.

“My great regret is that Oberyn died fighting for you,” Ellaria continues to spat, finally causing you to cut in.

“Ellaria, that's enough. Please. Tyrion is the hand of the Queen, you will treat him with respect.” Without bothering to look back you glance over at Tyrion and sigh. “More so because we both know my uncle died fairly. Tyrion is no one to blame for my uncle's carelessness. Besides…” you peer back to side eye her. “You would find it wise to try and forgive him just as I have forgiven you for what you have done.”

There is a bit of silence for a lingering second before Ellaria talks back. “Yes, Princess.”

You hum and let the meeting continue.

“I am not here to be Queen of the ashes,” Daenerys finally inputs.

“That’s very nice to hear,” Lady Olenna of House Tyrell interjects. “Of course, I can’t remember a Queen who was better loved than my granddaughter. The common people loved her. The nobles loved her. And what is left of her now? Ashes. Commoners, nobles, they’re all just children, really. They won’t obey you unless they fear you.”

You glance down, clasp your hands over your knee and let out a small sigh. “May I add something?” You interject and gain everyone’s attention.

“Go on,” Daenerys encourages you.

You sit back and share what comes to mind. “A century back, when our ancestors were fighting amongst each other in the Dance of Dragons…it’s those same commoners that raided the Dragonpit and killed our dragons.” You glance at Daenerys, and then at Lady Olenna. “And I know for damn sure that dragons were feared back then as they are now. Burning Kingslanding down will turn everyone against us. We have to be smarter. We have to make them fear us without killing the people.”

Daenerys nods in comprehension and pulls her gaze away from you to look at Lady Olenna. “I’m grateful to you, Lady Olenna, for your counsel,” Daenerys says. “I’m grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me, I will not attack King's Landing. We,” she makes her word clear. “Will not attack King's Landing.”

You nod in agreement, but Lady Olenna on the other hand doesn’t seem so convinced.

“Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne?” She questions. “By asking nicely?”

“We will lay siege to the capital surrounding the city on all sides,” Daenerys shares. “Cersei will have the Iron Throne, but no food for her army or the people.”

“But we won’t use Dothraki and Unsullied,” Tyrion adds after your aunt. “Cersei will try to rally the Lord of Westeros by appealing to their loyalty.” He begins to walk around the table as he continues to speak. “Their love for their country. If we besiege the city with foreigners, we prove her point. Our army should be Westerosi.”

“And I suppose we’re providing the Westerosi?” Ellaria questions,

Tyrion nods. “You are,” he agrees. “Lady Greyjoy will escort you home to Sunspear.”

You slowly begin to put your leg back and lean in as your interest is piqued.

“And her Iron Fleet will ferry the Dornish army,” Tyrion continues, “back up to King's Landing. The Dornish will lay siege to the capital alongside the Tyrell army. Two great kingdoms United against Cersei.”

“So,” Lady Olenna quips. “Your master plan is to use our armies. Forgive me for asking, but why did you bother to bring your own?”

Tyrion places down a dragon figurine that represents Daenerys and her people as he begins to explain and walk again. “The Unsullied will have another objective. For decades House Lannister has been the true power in Westeros. And the seat of that power is Casterly Rock. Greyworm—” you have learned that he is one the Queen's most trusted war advisors, and the commander of the Unsullied army, an old friend now to describe it better.

“…will dial for the Rock and take it,” Tyrion continues and knocks down a lion figure to place down the dragon, leaving a silence to linger thereafter as everyone takes in what was explained.

Yet, it’s you who breaks that silence rather quickly to comment on something else. “In regards to the upcoming siege on Kings Landing, I will meet up with them on Eraxis.”

Both Lady Greyjoy, and Ellaria turn their heads to look at you, and agree with their look alone.

Yet...“no, that would not be wise,” Tyrion interjects. “People still believe you’re dead, Princess. We can use that to our advantage.”

You scoff and argue, “what better way to reveal myself than to stand with my people? Cersei’s fleet will be there as well, I will fight with my people.”

Tyrion looks back at Daenerys to share a quick look before they look to Lord Varys, and all come to a speechless agreement.

“Go then,” Daenerys says. “When the day comes you can meet with the army and stand to fight alongside them.”

You offer her a kind smile and nod. “Thank you, my Queen.”

Daenerys offers you a nod herself, and then rather than letting the meeting proceed you share one more question.

“What about the North? Have we heard anything from the King?”

Lord Varys steps forward and responds this time. “No. Not yet.”

You hum and sit back to continue on the matter. “Well, as we well know, the North is made up of proud people. The Starks as well have just taken back their house, what will we do if they want to keep being an independent Kingdom?”

“You have dragons,” Lady Greyjoy interjects.

You scoff. “So did Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters when they wanted Dorne to pledge their allegiance to them. What did we do? We resisted for years.” You remind them.

Daenerys slightly narrows her gaze and questions your comment. “What is it you’re trying to say then?”

You begin to smirk and meet her gaze. “Well if they come on their own accord. Listen to them. I doubt they’ll come just to bend the knee, no, they probably want something. If they resist.” You pause briefly. “Then offer them a marriage proposal. What better way to unite the grand Kingdoms than through marriage of the Queen and King?”

Daenerys quirks her brow in disbelief to your suggestion, and Tyrion speaks for her. “That could work. Winter is among us. They will need food for their people, what better way to sway them than to bargain. It will be hard to decline.

Daenerys swallows thickly and interjects. “I hear you, Princess. I agree, but we will decide what to do when the time comes.”

You hesitate before you nod agreement, causing the silence to return for a moment before Daenerys continues to interject. “Do I have your support?”

Lady Greyjoy steps up first. “You have mine,” she adds.

Without hesitation you follow, “Dorne is with you, Your Grace.”

Lastly Olenna nods agreement, and with that this meeting is settled.

“Thank you all,” Daenerys ends the meeting. “Lady Olenna, may I speak with you alone?”

You get out of your seat and walk out of the room alongside Ellaria since you’re both going to the same place.

And it’s a quiet walk at first, you both wait for everyone else to pass by and get out of earshot first. Even then when you were approaching the hall your family was in, neither of you could right away say what you both had to say.

First actually, when you were reaching your chambers, you spoke to the guard bringing in your things. “How are my paintings? Did they make it alright?”

The Dornish guard nods. “Yes, my Lady.”

“Princess,” Ellaria corrects him. “Y/N is a Princess, you shall address her as such.

The guard looks nervously between her and you and immediately bows his head. “My apologies, my Princess.”

You shake your head. “It is quite alright. Go on please.”

The guard nods. “Neither your, nor the…Prince’s items got damaged.”

You offer him a faint smile. “Thank you,” you say and then continue to the hall.

This time Ellaria finds the courage to speak. “How can you not be angry? How can you even look at him after what he’s done to your family?”

You sigh and begin to mess with the rings on one hand. “You know why, Ellaria. He is not mine to make leave, nor is he at fault for my uncle's death. You have accepted the facts of his death. We were there that day, we saw.” You glance over at her, and she meets your gaze. “In regards to…my mother and siblings, it is other Lannisters I set my anger on. I suggest you do the same if you want to keep having a chair at that council, I can't let your anger get in the way.”

Ellaria lets her gaze linger on you as she scowls for a brief moment before she nods. “I will try,” she says.

You nod and offer her a faint smile. “That's all I ask,” you tell her before you open the hall doors and make yourselves known to your sisters and your son.

“Mother!” Rhaenar greets and breaks away from his fighting stance to run over and greet you.

You grin down at him. “Hello, my Sunspot, what have you been doing?”

He points back to Obara. “Aunt Obara and I were just training.”

You smirk and ruffle his dark curly hair. “Did she kick your ass?” You tease him as you make your way to the wine tray.

Obara begins to snicker. “He held his own for a few minutes. It is a much better improvement.”

You grab a cup and serve yourself some Dornish wine before walking over to sit with your back facing the fire so it’s easier to face your family. Whilst Rhaenar returns to Obara to pick up the stuff they had around them.

“Dorne will be part of the siege on King’s Landing,” you share with your sisters.

Tyene stands from her chair and begins to smirk. “Are we?” She questions. “Does that mean we can finally kill Cersei?”

You snicker. “I wish it were that easy. Albeit if all goes well, we will be one step closer.”

“Will you accompany us?” Nymeria asks.

You nod and take a sip of wine before speaking. “I will. Once you reach King’s Landing I will go on Eraxis and help fight the enemy fleet.”

“We will be done in no time then,” Tyene says cockily.

You smirk and nod in agreement. You then proceed to take a longer sip of wine, and when you set your cup down you share a thought you've had since you knew you were coming here.

“I have a proposal for you, sisters.” You sit up and look between the three of them. “After this siege, I want the three of you to join me in the fights to come. I want you to be by my side.”

“Like what? Your ladies in waiting?” Obara asks teasingly.

You scoff and shake your head. “Not quite. More so my protectors. I may have Eraxis, but one can never be so sure now that I am going to reveal myself to Westeros again. Of course only if you want, I won’t force you.”

All three girls look at one another, and Tyene looks at her mother before the three of them look back at you.

“I will join you,” Tyene says first. “Father would have wanted us to stick together. Besides,” she begins to smirk mischievously. “It seems there’s a lot of Dothraki men here I would like to get to know.”

You smile, and then look at Nymeria as she interjects. “I will also join your side.”

Lastly, Obara walks over to be in your pherial view and says her response. “I will also join you too, sister.”

“Yes!” Rhaenar exclaims as he runs over to be a part of the conversation. “Does it mean we won’t have to be apart?”

You glance at him and assure him. “Yes. Exactly.”

Rhaenar grins with excitement, causing Tyene to ruffle his hair whilst he turns to face Ellaria. “What about you aunt Ellaria?” He asks. “Will you stay with us?”

Ellaria draws in a deep breath and shakes her head. “No, little warrior,” she sighs. “I will have to stay with our armies. But I will come see you frequently.”

Rhaenar gets comforted by her response and then takes a seat amongst you all.

In the meanwhile you lift your cup of wine and offer a toast. “Thank you, sisters. And to our bond, may it only get stronger.”

All three of them lift their cups and Tyene is the one that interjects with excitement. “To us! And to our battles to come!”

——

*A YEAR BACK*

The doors locked. The windows are sealed.

Why—

Footsteps are approaching the door.

“Rhaenar?” You call out in hopes it’s your son. “Rhaenar, is that you?”

The footsteps stop and a thud sounds at your door. You run back to your door and try to open them again, but to no avail.

“Rhaenar?” You call again and try to peek through the doors creak. But there’s nothing there. You get on your hands and knees to peek at the creek below and see only boots.

“Hey! Let me out! Guards! Let me out!” You yell and jump back up to your feet. “What’s the meaning of this?!” You pound your fists on the door before you begin to kick it. “Let me out! Let me out! Let me out or I will feed you to my dragon!”

There's a shift at the sound of that threat. Yet the damned door remains closed.

“Do you hear me out there? I will feed you to my dragon,” you curse and step back to look around your room for anything that could knock this door down. “Let me talk to my uncle!” You yell as you search your room until you think of your daggers, and sneak over to snatch them from the chest.

“I will give you one more chance,” you sneer and tiptoe back to the door to pick the lock. “Open…” you pause as you hear the lock click. “The door,” you mutter before you throw the doors open, startling the guards that were for some reason placed outside.

“What's going on?” You demand to know from the guards as you point your daggers at them. “Where is my uncle?”

The guard to the right clenches his jaw and gives you an answer. “Go back to your room, Princess.”

You scoff and then lunge at him to throw him back to the wall and point your blade at his throat. “Tell me now,” you sneer and side-eye the other guard who keeps his hands out to show that he won’t hurt you. “What is going on? It’s only a matter of minutes I assume before my dragon comes to me. Should I throw you to her first? Or you,” you point at the watching guard.

“The prince's chambers, he’s there,” the watching guard spits out.

“See,” you scoff and drop your dagger before letting the guard go and stepping back. “Easy. Next time you disobey, I will make Eraxis eat you.” You offer them a sweet smile before you turn and storm over to your uncle's chambers.

And as you pass halls and step outside, guards begin to look at you weirdly, they pass odd looks between one another and give you second looks as they watch you storm past them. The closer you get to your uncle's chambers, the more suspicious they get. They even try to stop you, but you just ignore them and quicken your pace.

Once you begin to see the pool outside his quarters, the guards try to grab you, but you just swiftly slip past them without hassle.

“Princess wait!” One of them yells before you can turn the corner of the patio to reach your uncle's quarters. “Princess!”

He runs after you, and as guards around his pool see you approaching, they unstiffen from their stance and try to rush over to you. Yet you just run past them until you get to the steps of the deck. That’s when you notice the dead Maester and a pool of blood dripping down the steps. As you slowly look up you see Areo Hotah dead next to where Tyene is standing. Next to her is Ellaria pulling a dagger out of your uncle.

“No!” You immediately cry out and gain the attention of your cousin Tyene. “No!” You try to run over to him as he falls to the ground, but Tyene runs over to hold you back. “No!” You sob.

Your uncle Doran flips over and reaches his hand out to you. You try to pull away from Tyene, but guards then help her keep you away.

“When was the last time you left this palace?” Ellaria snaps at your uncle. “You don’t know your own people. Their disgust for you.”

Your uncle begins to cough out blood, but he keeps trying to drag himself away, making you try to squirm with more force to try and reach him.

“Elia Martell, raped and murdered, and you did nothing,” Ellaria spats out, causing you to hit the guards harder. “Oberyn Martell butchered, and you did nothing. You cloud your niece's head with that same ignorance.”

Your uncle flips over again and begins to pant.

“…You’re not a Dornishman. You’re not our prince.” Ellaria finishes spitting out.

“My son Trystane,” your uncle mutters.

Ellaria turns around and scoffs. “Your son is weak just like you. And weak men will never rule Dorne again,” she says spitefully. And finally the guards let you free so you quickly rush over to your uncle and fall down on your knees next to him.

“Uncle,” you cry and cradle him in your arms. “I’m here. I’m here. I will help.”

Your uncle groans, and slowly pulls his bloody hand away from his wound to cup your cheek. “My sweet y/n, you have the power to change the world, do not let vengeance cloud your judgment.”

You sob and shake your head. “I won’t, I swear to you,” you whisper, knowing deep in your heart that there was no saving him anymore.

He lets out labored breath and offers you a wobbly smile. “You have your mothers smile, you know that?” He whispers. “Smile for me, one last time, will you?”

A sob escapes your lips, but you muster a wobbly smile before he takes his last breath and drops his hand from your cheek.

“No,” you mutter as tears stream down your face, and your heart feels as if someone had just stabbed it. “No, no, no!”

“It was for your own good,” you hear Ellaria say from behind you. “Now you can come out of your uncle's shadow. You can finally fulfill your destiny and take back what is yours!”

You swipe your hands over your uncle's eyes to close them, and then slowly put him down.

“Now you can stop living in fear,” she continues.

You let out a shaky breath and drop your head, choosing to ignore her, choosing not to act out on your desire to stab her through the heart.

“Y/N,” she mutters and grabs your shoulder. “Now…” she trails off as the sound of flapping wings sounds from the sky only seconds before Eraxis reveals herself and lands down on the ground, only barely managing to fit her body in the courtyard.

You keep staring at the ground regardless and only hear her growl at Ellaria as she stands stiffly behind you.

“Sister!” Tyene cries out, but doesn’t move.

Eraxis breath slowly unfurls out of her nose, blowing back Ellaria’s dress.

“I watched my own mother die,” you whisper in a quivering voice. “Every night in my dreams. Of course I didn’t know what it meant then, I was only four,” you feign a laugh. “And well it was only fragments of her death, pieces I couldn’t place together. Not until years later. And now it lives over and over in my mind.” You stand up from the ground and let out a shaky breath.

“Do you want to know how that feels, losing a mother?” You ask Tyene, and turn, seeing Eraxis keep her eyes pierced on Ellaria.

“Please,” Tyene pleads to you.

“Do not hate your sisters,” Ellaria interjects, making your eyes snap to her. “They had no fault in it. It was all my doing.”

You swallow thickly and slowly begin to walk around her. “Yes,” you say. “I figured as much. Only you are capable enough to fill their heads with poison.” As you reach Eraxis side you pierce your glare on Ellaria as well, mirroring your dragon's same burning glare.

Ellaria scoffs and lifts her head with confidence. “Tell me what you would have done if I hadn’t killed your uncle?” She spats. “He was a plague. You would have kept hiding, kept dying your hair pretending you’re someone you're not, you would have kept hiding your dragon. You would have kept living in ignorance here. It’s time to wake up y/n!”

Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps you have lived your entire life in fear. But she still killed him. And you still couldn’t avoid it.

“I am only sparing your life because of Tyene,” you change the subject, and Eraxis begins to lose her scowl and begins to whimper and lean her head against you. “Betray me again and I will burn you alive.”

Eraxis pulls her snout out the deck and then lifts her head as you walk over to begin mounting her.

Once you’re on your saddle you grab your handles, and Eraxis flies off.

——

*NOW*

“Lower,” you tell Rhaenar and walk over to push his arms down a bit lower. “Pull your arms down.”

The boy sighs. “Uncle Oberyn said this way,” he tries to argue.

You nod and move back. “Yes, I understand, but there are many fighting styles, you have come close to mastering his way, now you must use different tactics,” you advise him and slide your foot back to once again stand in your fighting stance. “If you want to become a great warrior you must know much more.”

Rhaenar sighs and mirrors your stance. He then looks at your blade and lunges, but you quickly change your stance and swipe off his feet.

“That’s no—” Rhaenar cuts himself off and instead pushes himself to his feet.

You drop your head and laugh softly to yourself.

“You did better,” Daenerys tries to assure him as she watches him train—out of simple curiosity she said. “Less complaining this time.”

You chuckle before you turn around and watch the boy scratch the back of his head whilst he walks to grab a spear off the rack.

“Perhaps the young prince could spar with me soon,” Greyworm offers from the Queens side, as he too was curious to watch your morning training session.

You glance at the soldier and then at your son. “How does that sound, Rhaenar, hm? Maybe Greyworm will be a much kinder teacher than I am.”

Rhaenar turns with his spear in hand and offers the soldier a grin that goes from ear to ear. “Yes I would love it!” He exclaims happily.

Greyworm smiles faintly and nods. Daenerys smiles at the boy, and you part your lips to tell him something, but the door then opens and Tyrion and Qhono, the Dothraki Lieutenant, walks in behind him.

“My Queen, Princess,” Tyrion says, and gains the attention of everyone in the room. “Your guest ship has been spotted docking at shore.”

Daenerys nods in comprehension, letting The Hand turn to leave. Qhono albeit lingers and meets your gaze, making you smirk at him before you turn to face Rhaenar. Daenerys catches your interaction but doesn’t say anything about it.

“Go change out of your training clothes,” you tell the boy. “When you’re done go to the Throne room.”

Without argument Rhaenar puts away his sparring weapons and does as he’s told.

Before long you also go and change out of your training outfit, deciding to put on a long red dress that perhaps is too revealing for the chilly weather of Dragonstone. The long matching red cloak that attaches under the golden dragon scales on your shoulders provides some warmth, but then again you never much mind being too cold or too hot in something if it means looking good.

And sure, The King of the North wasn’t yours to impress, if it came to it it’s not you he’d marry, but you still do choose to show off your golden chained gloves that connects to your golden rings, and matches with the golden breast plates that was elegantly carved to go over the dress. You still didn’t choose to cover your exposed chest, or a part of your sides, or your arms. Because the truth is, if it were a choice to choose between armor and dresses, you’d choose the expensive and most beautiful dresses, even for dragon riding.

And well there is maybe Qhono that you are trying to impress.

“Come,” you call Rhaenar over once you walk in the Throne room.

Rhaenar sighs and lets you walk to where he was standing already.

“Your pin is all crooked,” you let him know and unpin the dragon pin to correct it. “There. Better. Handsome.” You pat his shoulder.

Rhaenar rolls his eyes out of embarrassment, making you laugh softly before you fix his hair.

“Mother,” he whispers sharply and pulls back to then glance back at the Queen.

Daenerys catches his embarrassed glance and shoots him a teasing smile.

“Fine,” you scoff lightheartedly. “I’ll go.” You then go and stand in your spot to wait patiently.

Once those doors open, the first one to walk in is Qhono, Tyrion, and Daenerys most trusted advisor Missendei of Naath follow, but you watch Qhono, as he watches you while he walks past you. You don’t notice the King of The North right away, not even when Missendei says all of Daenerys titles, you instead then look at your rings when Qhono is out of sight until you hear your name.

“…and the Princess Y/N Targaryen Martell, Princess of Dorne, daughter of late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.”

You finally blink and look up, finally taking in the sight of the King of the North, and noticing that his eyes are already on you. They were on you for most the time he’s been in here but you didn’t notice, not until now.

Until now you see that he isn’t as tall as you imagined Northern men to be, he isn’t as musclary built, or as hairy. He’s quite small, more lean. His hair is dark, as dark as perhaps a moonless night. His eyes aren’t rough, they’re soft and a very pretty dark brown you can get lost in. He has soft features, scars on his face that he wears more than well.

The King of the North is handsome and breath-catching. Much to your surprise.

“And Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, son of the princess.” Missendei finishes introducing everyone that she needed to, leaving a very long silence as the King of the North looks at his advisor.

“This is Jon Snow,” the advisor reveals, letting said man glance at the Queen. “He’s King in the North.”

You smile at the introduction and once again catch the softened gaze of Jon Snow, the King of the North. His gaze lingers on yours, as your eyes linger on him. Neither of you dare to look away, it seems in a way you’re both too mesmerized. For that brief moment until Daenerys spoke up all that existed was just the two of you.

It was such a…weird and new feeling. One you never want to lose.

.

.

.

.

[thedragonbloody]

~ Fire & Love ~

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CHAPTER 5

Rhaella

The steep cliffs rose majestically, defying the horizon, and Rhaella, with her bow and arrows in hand, enjoyed the view.

The salty breeze caressed the princess's hair as she stood on the highest cliff, her piercing gaze fixed on the target ahead. The ebony bow sparkled with the promise of exceptional skill, a precious gift.

Focusing, the string was extended until the bow reached its perfect span. In the same gesture, her arms lowered it, maintaining its position. The arrow was almost at eye level. She was getting used to the sting of her fingers and the force she had to apply to the string. She wasn't thinking, and could barely notice time passing. She perceived her surroundings through her mind, with the almost perfect focus in which she united her will and her strength, and turned the aim into reality. Her fingers moved and the rope was released. The energy accumulated in that stance was released all at once, propelling the arrow that cut through the air in a graceful arc before hitting the centre of the target with precision. A subtle smile curved her lips as she prepared for another attempt — she seemed to have got the hang of it.

However, the momentary joy was broken by the distant sound of bells announcing morning, bringing the princess to the sudden realisation that she had exceeded the time.

The distant sound of the bells echoed across the Narrow Sea, marking the transition from dawn to morning. Each chime reverberated like an uncompromising reminder of the time that, like the bells, waited for no-one. A metallic symphony, a ritualistic echo that carried through the halls of the fortress, calling subjects and nobles to their daily duties. However, for Rhaella, on that hillside, the bells were a warning that her moment of tranquillity had to come to an end — she was late.

The princess slung her bow over her shoulder and prepared to descend the cliffside. She had to get back quickly before the seventh toll.

The hem of her gown trailed across the rocks, and her nimble feet, with calculated steps, found support on the steep ledges embracing the Red Keep. She moved with a peculiar grace, her long silver-white hair flowing in the wind like a royal standard.

The mesmerizing sight of the Narrow Sea stretching below captivated her momentarily, allowing the princess to forget the duties awaiting atop the castle.  However, during this little act of distraction, the once firm stones beneath her feet began to show their treacherous nature and an unexpected slip altered the course of her descent.

The princess's breath caught, her heart leapt - but her countenance remained determined. With swift and precise movements, instinct guided her to find a foothold, enabling her to resume her descent and cling to a ledge before the fall could be consummated.

Her knees and palms grated against the rough stones, but each injury was accepted as a kind of tribute for her fleeting freedom.

As the princess neared the slope's base, a stone above her slid, striking her forehead directly. The impact with the ground was abrupt, a cut opening on her forehead, staining her face with blood. Rhaella rose disheveled, shaking off the dust from her dress in an attempt to mitigate the grime.

She ran her fingers over the corner of her forehead, noticing blood trickling and a sharp pain emerging immediately.

— If mommy sees this, I'll be in deep trouble...— groaned the princess in concern.

Swiftly, she opened a small pouch, extracting a cloth usually reserved for herbs hidden for her sister. Then she remembered that she still needed to get the catnip herbs that Vhaelys had asked for earlier. The princess sprinted towards the sea as fast as she could, dampening the cloth with saltwater and wringing it out. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, pressing the cloth against the wound as forcefully as she could.

The burning, although painful, was not the cause of her despair. She needed to return promptly because breakfast with the family awaited, and only the Seven knew that Queen Alicent wouldn't allow her to see the light of day if she appeared in such a state in front of the court guests.

She rinsed the cloth in the water and wiped her stained face, then ran back to the secret passage while pressing the cloth over the cut.

In a hidden corner above the rocks at the entrance to the passage, she spotted the plant her sister had wanted. The herb grew solitary on the cliffside, and small grasses could be seen growing slowly around it.

She removed the blood-covered cloth and wrapped the herb to prevent it from crumbling inside the bag.

And hoped the bleeding wouldn't start again.

Jacaerys

Meanwhile, Jacaerys, the first-born, stood before the looking glass, fine-tuning his elaborately embroidered garments. His expression reflected a mixture of expectation and responsibility. The impending arrival of his birthday carried an anticipation that harmonized with the vastness of the sky beyond the castle walls.

The week of celebration loomed, and, of greater import, the first flight that the prince would undertake astride his dragon in the public eye. Although not yet fully grown, Vermax had already grown enough to take the young prince to the skies.

Jacaerys was robust and somewhat tall for his years, took longer than his sisters to fly his dragon. Vermax, despite having hatched first among the brothers' dragons, was still not big enough to carry the prince to great heights.

Princesses Vhaelys and Rhaella, who took to the skies with their dragons when one was seven and the other six, flew together and some say that at that moment the bond between the two sisters became unbreakable.

Jacaerys was adjusting the embroidered garment for the fifth time, even though the maid had already done so. His brown eyes reflected his obvious anxiety in front of the mirror.

Today he had to receive the guests for the celebration with his mother and Queen Alicent, he had to behave. 

His thoughts were swept away to some corner of his mind when the doors to his chambers opened and his mother entered accompanied by his dear sister Vhaelys.

Princess Rhaenyra approached with an affectionate smile.

— Good morning, dear — she stroked the boy's hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. — Are you ready?

Prince Jacaerys smiled nervously.

— Sort of... — he looked at his mother. — It's going to be okay, right?

Princess Rhaenyra stroked the boy's face, she was very proud of her son, and always appreciated his commitment to his duties — even when he was anxious, like today. A fond smile appeared on her lips.

— Of course you will, Jace. I'll be right by your side, there's nothing to be afraid of. You'll do fine, I'm sure. 

— Just say hello to some nobles who are arriving, brother — Vhaelys smiled. — Why are you so nervous? We've already done this several times.

Jaecarys rolled her eyes and grimaced at her sister, her snub nose wrinkling.

— It's different this time, Lys.

— You're the crown prince, Jace — now it was Vhaelys' turn to roll her eyes. — The lords should be anxious, not you. Right, mama?

Princess Rhaenyra watched her children exchange grimaces and laughed.

— All right, that's enough for both of you — she stroked her belly. — The day of your brother's first flight is coming up, don't upset him so much, darling. Come on, Jace. I'll fix your hair, I still need to see Luke.

— Where's Rhae? — asked the prince as his mother reached for the brush on the dressing table. — Don't tell me she's run off with some horse this time... — he whispered to his sister.

Princess Vhaelys sighed.

— No, she went to the cliffs. She must have practised with her bow again — Vhaelys sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her brother. — Don't even think about making that face, even you wouldn't stop her. Unless you want to get another finger bitten off.

Jacaerys laughed and raised his hands in surrender.

— What are you both laughing at? — Princess Rhaenyra approached and began brushing her son's hair.

Vhaelys looked at her mother and brother and laughed again.

— Remember when Jace told you that Rhae had sneaked out to play in the kennels?

— How could I forget... — Rhaenyra laughed. — She was five, I still don't know how she managed to get out.

— When Mum brought her back to her room, the first thing she did was try to pull my hair - Jacaerys smiled. - She couldn't even reach.

— That's true, — the mother smiled nostalgically. — Didn't she end up biting your fingers instead?

— Yes! - the children replied in unison.

Rhaenyra laughed without holding back and so did her children.

— I remember trying to get her mouth off your fingers — she wiped the tears of laughter from the corner of her eyes. — Jace, you thought she'd ripped your finger off.

— She bit me like a dog! — Jace defended himself.

— You haven't stopped crying, Jace! — accused Vhaelys and laughed again. — Remember, mama? You needed Ser Harwin to hold you down so you could look at Jace's fingers.

— And you, Lys? — accused the prince — You just watched!

— Well, you split on her — she shrugged, smiling.

Rhaenyra stroked her son's head as she watched the two of them argue.

The crown princess saw the loyalty between her children as a sacred bond, a pillar that transcended the intricate webs of politics, which more often than not separated rather than united. For her, her children were not just heirs to a legacy, but fundamental pillars for each other.

The relationship between her children was a source of pride and comfort for her. Every gesture of loyalty between them was like a tribute to the lineage of the three dragons — a testament to the blood that flowed through their veins.

However, there was a peculiar aspect to her sons' loyalty that Princess Rhaenyra noted with amusement. Their ability to hide Rhaella's escapes, even when the matriarch already knew the truth, was a sign of the complicity that permeated the family.

She saw this act of secrecy as an expression of love and protection.

— She cried and apologised for about three days - Jacaerys sighed. —  Now I understand, because Dad can't fight with her...

—  Your father can't argue with any of you... — claimed the princess. —  Speaking of him, has he turned up here yet?

Ser Laenor Velaryon, despite his commanding presence when wielding a sword, was known for his compassionate and affable nature, a trait that often made it difficult for him to take a firm hand with his children.

His reluctance to adopt a more authoritarian stance could result in moments of indecision, especially when faced with situations that called for more assertive leadership.

Even so, Ser Laenor's compassion left an indelible mark on his childrens' hearts.

Prince Jacaerys nodded.

— I haven't seen him this morning, maybe he went to see Luke first.

Suddenly, the door swung open and Ser Harwin Strong, Princess Rhaenyra's loyal knight, entered with the silent grace characteristic of guardians. His polished armour shone in the dawn light and his golden cloak stood out on his shoulder.

His build was a mixture of strength and robustness. With a stature that defied common standards, Ser Harwin was said to stand like a tower, indestructible, his broad, muscular shoulders conveying a sense of undeniable power. His massive, muscular body was a representation of his unrivalled strength, and his imposing aura could eclipse even the giants of the North.

His face was adorned with a sparse beard that signalled the virility of his actions, a map of lived experience. Deep lines skirted his eyes, silent witnesses to battles fought. A pair of brown eyes that have witnessed the best and worst of the court. The fierce glint of these irises, sculpted by life, seemed to reflect a wisdom moulded by the intrigues and loyalties that permeate the corridors of power.

His steps were firm, echoing a determination that resonated in the halls and battlefields, a presence that undoubtedly left a mark wherever he went. This was Ser Harwin Strong, known as Breakbones.

The knight bowed his head in deference and spoke.

— Good morning, Prince Jacaerys and Princess Vhaelys — he resumed his resolute posture. — Princess Rhaenyra, the preparations for breakfast are almost ready. I think you only have a few minutes before you meet the king and queen.

The prince and princess said good morning in unison - this happened quite often. The commander's presence, although marked by imposing physical strength, was also wrapped in a human warmth that won the hearts of Princess Rhaenyra's children.

There are those who say that the relationship between Ser Harwin and the princess's children was shaped by a genuine affection. Septon Eustace, in some of his writings, says that Breakbones was not only the knight who protected them, but a confidant, a mentor and, above all, a friend.

The children's admiration for Ser Harwin went beyond his skill with the sword and his impeccable armour. It was the honesty of his advices, his patience with their endless questions and his warm smile that won their hearts.

Princess Rhaenyra smiled and nodded to the knight.

— Thank you, Commander - she turned to her children and said. — I need to see your brother before we go to breakfast. Why don't you go and meet your uncles? I'll see you soon. — And she kissed each of them on the forehead.

They both agreed.

The princess headed for the door and left her son's chambers just as the door behind her closed. She sighed wearily.

Ser Harwin

There was a subtle exchange of glances, laden with promises and shared memories.

— The princess should rest — suggested Ser Harwin with his polished tone and deep timbre. — The end of the pregnancy is near.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, living up to the Valyrian lineage, embodied the majesty and beauty of her house in every feature. Her hair was a cascade of liquid silver-gold, gracefully falling over her shoulders with a sheen that captured every gaze.

Her violet eyes were like incandescent stars, piercing and full of boldness, a boldness that persisted even after giving birth to Prince Jacaerys. Her expression, often marked by determination, could instantly soften when she looked at her children.

For them, her gaze took on an unparalleled tenderness. The princess's rigid posture dissolved in front of her children, revealing a woman who not only led with firmness but also harbored a maternal devotion. Her womb, a silent witness to the future of the House of the Dragon, was wrapped in luxurious robes that emphasised both her majesty and the promise of new life.

While maintaining the demeanor of a future queen, Rhaenyra carried with her a touch of softness that only motherhood could bestow. But just like everything in life, there was a price to be paid for the joy her children brought her.

The fatigue of motherhood was not only physical but also emotional, a journey that demanded not just physical strength but a resilience that transcended the limits of the body. The constant presence of the princess in the roles of mother and future queen added an extra weight to her shoulders.

Despite the weariness of potentially giving birth to her son at any moment, she remained unyielding.

—There are many things to do, Commander - her hands rested lovingly on her belly as she walked — And rest is not one of them. It seems to me that Rhaella has gone beyond the walls again... — whispered the princess.

Ser Harwin smiled.

— She went to practice with the bow — he informed. — Woke up early and passed through the kitchen, as usual. I still haven't figured out where she exits…

The princess chuckled.

— If even you haven't figured it out, then she's cleverer than I imagined… — she paused for a moment and looked through the window in the hallway. — There are guests to be received, and in the coming days, there will be more. Find her before her absence is noticed by others…

Her eyes, deep and intense, carried a veiled meaning that only they shared. There was a silent complicity, a mutual understanding that extended beyond the formalities of the court.

— As you wish, princess — his voice resonated with devotion, and with a bow, he left.

His bond with Princess Rhaenyra went beyond the duties of a simple protector; there was a deeper connection there, a bond that only the most attentive of hearts could understand.

The flame of this feeling, fuelled by intrigue and impossibility, burned brightly, illuminating the darkest corners of his being. His eyes, often hidden under impenetrable armour, reflected the duality of his position as protector and lover.

Every touch, every glance exchanged between the two was an act of rebellion against established norms, weaving a complex web of emotions that intertwined with their intertwined destinies.

However, this love, although deep, was interwoven with the fragile threads of discretion. Aware of the shadows that hung over them, Ser Harwin and Princess Rhaenyra kept their relationship away from the judgemental eyes of the court. It was a dangerous game, but for Harwin, every moment shared with Rhaenyra and her children was worth the risk.

Harwin's heart swelled even more when it came to the children. For him, each child was a reflection of the love they shared, and he welcomed them with tenderness and dedication. Each child's laughter was a symphony that echoed in his chest, each innocent gesture a reminder of the life they had built together.

Rhaella

Cavernous silence enveloped the stone walls of the secret passage as Princess Rhaella Velaryon emerged into the dimness of the basement below the kitchen. The vaulted stone ceiling cast dancing shadows over her as she made her way through hidden corridors that connected to the darkest and most secret corners of the castle.

The dim glow of the little light that managed to enter the depths of the place revealed stones worn by time, and the distant whisper of the sea echoed loudly. The path, an intricate labyrinth hidden beneath the foundations of the Red Keep, was known to few.

As the princess continued, a veiled tension weighed on her shoulders, reflected in the haste of her steps and the agitation in her eyes. The soft sound of her breathing echoed in the underground chambers as she neared her final destination: a discreet corridor in Maegor's Holdfast, close to the bedrooms.

Maegor's Holdfast was a castle that stood like an imposing sentinel in the heart of the Red Keep. With a square structure and thick walls, it was known for being impenetrable — which wasn't quite true. King Maegor had ordered the construction of some secret passages — few, but very well hidden. However, two of them had already been discovered by Rhaella and her alone.

Nevertheless, on the winding path between the shadows, fate had an unexpected encountee. As Rhaella pushed the small stone wall behind an ornamental cabinet in the castle corridor, stealthily emerging from behind the furniture to turn the corner with her quick steps — the impact was inevitable.

Ser Laenor Velaryon, her father, emerged in front of her. The encounter was like the clash of two powerful chains, a collision that reverberated through the empty corridors. The princess, for a moment, unbalanced, the force of the encounter dispelling her haste, and her eyes showed a spark of surprise.

At the same time, Ser Laenor was also taken aback. The momentary expression of shock on his face soon gave way to a mixture of concern and paternal recognition.

— Rhaella! — he grasped his daughter's shoulders. — What happened?

— Papa! — the princess spoke in surprise. — What are you doing here?

Ser Laenor quickly looked around to make sure no one was nearby, then he put his fingers to his lips to indicate silence.

— We need to keep it down — he whispered. — Are you okay?

A mischievous smile appeared on the girl's lips.

— You're hiding too! — she accused. — Left the castle without mommy knowing again and you're late.

Ser Laenor laughed.

— Guilty — he crossed his arms. — Let me guess, you sneaked out again to the cliff, and lost track of time.

She raised her hands in surrender.

— Guilty.

The man bent down to her height, lifting her bangs. With the rough hands of a swordsman, he examined the wound on Rhaella's forehead, concerned not only about the visible injury but also about what could have led to such a state.

— If your mother sees this, she'll kill both of us — he remarked. — How did this happen?

The princess, with a hint of weakness, tried to smile to reassure him, but the urgency was evident in her gaze. She shook her head, indicating that it wasn't the time for explanations.

— Papa, forget about it. Come on, quickly — she pulled him by the hand. — I need your help; Ser Harwin must be after me. And if he finds me, we'll both get a scolding from mommy.

Understanding the situation, Ser Laenor acted swiftly — he picked up the girl in his arms and headed toward the princess's chamber.

The pair continued through the silent corridors, father and daughter, sharing a secret.

Vhaelys

— These birds are watching us — Vhaelys said as she walked in the company of her brother in the lower courtyard.

— Really? — Jacaerys restrained a laugh. — Are you... how do they say it? — with her arm wrapped around his, he made them both stop walking and whispered. — Ah yes, paranoid. Or maybe our little sister filled your head with old legends last night.

Vhaelys smiled and squeezed her brother's arm as a warning sign — he shouldn't laugh at her.

— Maybe both things — the princess's dress hem rustled as she grabbed it and pulled her brother along to keep walking. — But I'm sure that raven on the top of the wall scrutinized all our movements.

Jacaerys laughed and exchanged a playful glance with his sister.

— They must be curious about the approaching celebration — a voice came from behind them. — Even the birds wish to see Jace's first flight.

— Daeron! — Jacaerys smiled upon seeing the boy.

Daeron Targaryen's golden hair cascaded in soft waves, capturing the sunlight like threads of liquid gold. His beauty was remarkable, but it was the warm and friendly expression on his face that truly highlighted his presence. The amethyst-cut eyes reflected subtle intelligence and the kindness that defined his reputation, emanating a serene light that calms and attracts.

Even at such a young age, the refined and graceful posture he held revealed a confidence that was not imposed but innate.

The prince wore a finely crafted fabric tunic, adorned with delicate details that indicated not only his royal position but also his refined taste. The chosen colors seemed to complement the softness of his smile, while the embroidered symbols revealed to which house he belonged.

— Good morning, Jace... — he greeted the prince with a smile and then bowed to his niece. — Good morning, Lys.

— Good morning, Daeron — the princess replied, trying to hide the smile that threatened to appear on her lips. — Has Helaena left for the hall?

— I can't tell you — the young prince looked back at the tower behind him. — I haven't seen any of my siblings this morning. But I believe she should arrive with my mother.

— I see... — she sighed dejectedly. — I hoped to meet her on the way.

— Daeron, are you going to practice in the Dragonpit today? — Jacaearys asked.

The prince turned his gaze away from his niece.

— I intend to — he smiled. — After we receive the guests with my mother, I can ask Ser Criston to take us there.

— That would be great! — Jacaerys replied excitedly. — Aegon said he'd give me some tips, but he didn't show up yesterday...

— Aegon... Well, how to put it... — Daeron sighed. — He's Aegon.

Jacaerys laughed.

— Did he get into trouble again?

— The question would be when is he not in trouble? — Daeron murmured. — Aegon and mother are not on good terms, so don't be surprised if his mood is unpleasant. You know...

— But is he okay?

— I don't know, you know how he is...

— I think we should head to the hall before they miss us — the princess warned. — I'd hate to receive a reprimand.

The princes agreed in silence and headed towards their destination.

Ser Laenor

The tranquil atmosphere of the room was disrupted by the entrance of Ser Laenor, who accompanied Rhaella to the edge of the bed. Carefully, he positioned his daughter in a seated position, focusing his attention on the cut on her forehead.

— Let's take care of this, my dear — he said. Stepping away, he began searching for something around the room.  — We don't want a scar.

— A scar? — the girl exclaimed, startled. — It wasn't that deep, papa. Look, it's already stopped bleeding.

Laenor chuckled from the other side of the room.

— Papa, maybe you should check the false bottom in the dressing table drawer. Lys keeps a wooden box with ointments for these situations.

Laenor, curious and grateful for the discovery, retrieved the box and found a treasure trove of medicinal solutions prepared by his eldest daughter.

— You and your sister always surprise me, — he said, taking the box out of the drawer. — How many times have you been injured?

— Just a few scratches here and there — the girl said, swinging her feet absentmindedly.  — Lys is very good at taking care of them.

— Has your sister been sneaking things out of the meisters' room? Where did she get all this?

Opening the box, the man found an enchanting array of small vials carefully organised. The scent of herbs enveloped the room.

He identified jars containing wine and vinegar, each playing a unique role in the preparation of treatments. The wine, known for its antiseptic and anti-inflammatory properties, demonstrated Vhaelys' attention to detail. Vinegar, meanwhile, could be used to clean and disinfect wounds.

Small dried leaves from various medicinal plants were carefully arranged in separate compartments. Vhaelys, with her expertise, had selected each herb with specific properties, creating a versatile collection for different needs.

Alongside the leaves, Laenor found homemade ointments made from a mixture of natural ingredients. These ointments, duly labelled by the princess, promised relief for her sister's injuries.

— Well... — she laughed. — We both made them, but I brought some of the leaves. But it's a secret, papa. Don't tell anyone, okay? Lys will be angry if she finds out I let you take this.

The man laughed, but his heart swelled with love.

— I promise I won't tell - he held out his finger to the girl. — A knight's word.

The girl wrapped her finger around his and smiled.

— A knight's word.

He approached his daughter's face and brushed away the small strands of hair that had fallen out. He gently took the clean cloth he had found and moistened it in vinegar, and began to gently wipe the cut on Rhaella's forehead. The sensation of the cool liquid contrasted with the temperature of her skin, but the man tried to carry out the procedure gently, ensuring that the cleaning was effective without causing any further discomfort to his daughter.

— It looks more superficial than I thought. You'll be fine.

As he worked, the soft light in the room emphasised Laenor's calm expression, contrasting with Rhaella's anxiety. The vinegar, with its antiseptic properties, played its part in purifying the wound.

— Your sister really cares about you. — Dad smiled. — But you should be more careful, little one. Try not to get yourself and your sister into trouble, okay?

Princess Rhaella agreed sadly.

― I know. I'm sorry, papa.

― It's okay — he applied ointment to the wound. ― Looks like we're done. Are there any more injuries that need attention?

The girl smiled mischievously and lifted the skirt of her dress to show scratched knees, then turned her palms to her father.

― Maybe a few more...

Ser Laenor sighed.

― Will you tell me how you got all of this? — he said, focused on cleaning the scratches.

― I slipped on the cliff... — when she noticed her father stopped what he was doing and looked at her worried, she quickly added, ― Nothing too dangerous. Just like you said, I didn't go that high this time.

― I would hardly classify slipping on the cliff as nothing too dangerous, Rhae — he raised his eyebrows.

The girl smiled.

― Oh, papa, I promise it wasn't really dangerous.

The father returned his attention to the other knee.

― Rhaella, I didn't give you a bow as a gift to put yourself in danger like this — once he finished cleaning the wound, he focused on applying the ointment. ―If your mother found you the way I found you, you would have given her a damn heart attack. Or worse, what if the queen found you like this?

The girl's expression changed.

― I know. I'm sorry... — she sighed disappointedly. ― I meant to come back earlier, really. But I got distracted, and by the time I noticed, the bell was already ringing... And I ended up slipping when I tried to come faster. I'll be more careful.

― Okay, as long as you know that, it's enough — he took one of the girl's hands and applied vinegar. ―We don't want to bring trouble to your mother.

When Sor Laenor finished tending to all the scratches on his daughter, they both realized they needed to hurry to breakfast as soon as possible.

― I'll call Eileen; you need to get ready — he turned to the door, but was stopped by the girl's hands.

― No, we can't call Eileen — the girl ran to another corner of the room where the dresses were. ― We don't have time; the seventh bell rang a while ago. You'll have to help me, papa.

― Rhaella, you need to wash up ― he looked at the girl's face and hair still matted with dried blood. ―There's no way you can get to the hall in this state.

The room shared by Princess Rhaella and her sister was a sanctuary of elegance and comfort. The sturdy, finely adorned stone walls gave the space an aura of royalty. The duality of personalities was reflected in the meticulously chosen decoration.

The high ceiling extended over a majestic canopy bed, intricately carved, with silk curtains flowing gracefully. Fine linens and meticulously embroidered pillows provided a touch of refinement.

Luxurious rugs, woven with intricate patterns, covered the cold floor, providing a welcoming atmosphere. A fireplace carved with dragon details offered warmth and soft lighting. In addition, two leather armchairs, one on each side of the room, provided comfortable places for reflection.

Small details revealed the distinct personalities of the sisters. Shelves housed favorite books and personal items, reflecting each one's unique interests. The gentle scent of scented candles permeated the room, creating a cozy atmosphere.

In the corner, separated by a long wooden screen, there was a bronze bathtub adorned with flower paintings. And around it, soft fabrics and robes hung, ready to envelop the sisters in comfort after a rejuvenating bath.

Laenor's eyes wandered around the room and settled on a bucket next to the bathtub. He approached, picked up the small container nearby, and dipped it into the bucket.

It was water.

― Rhaella, was this water from yesterday's bath?

― Oh, yes! Lys didn't use all the water they brought ― she said without taking her eyes off the dresses, and for a moment she seemed to have an awakening. ―Papa! That's it! You're a genius; we can use this water to clean me up!

Sor Laenor laughed.

― Well, that's what I was thinking ― he rolled up his sleeves. ― We need to be quick, come on!

― I still haven't found the dress! ― frustrated, she huffed.

― Come and clean up, and I'll look for it, okay? ― Laenor approached his daughter. ―Which one is the dress?

― It's the black and blue one, you know? The one grandpa Corlys gave me.

― All right, ― he smiled. ― I'll look for it; now, go clean up quickly.

She agreed.

The dark wooden cupboards were full of exquisite costumes, but Ser Laenor, aware of his daughter's tastes, searched meticulously through the garments. With a masterful touch, his skilful hands found the desired fabric, and he removed the dress with a triumphant gesture.

― Here you are, darling. This is the one you were looking for, isn't it? ― Ser Laenor asked, presenting the black and blue dress, adorned with delicate details.

― Yes, Papa, this is it. Thank you.

Ser Laenor arched an eyebrow and asked.

― Haven't you started cleaning up yet?

The girl pouted and whispered.

― The water's too cold...

Ser Laenor rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

― Anyone who's late has no right to complain about the water, Rhaella ― he laughed, putting his dress on the screen. ― Come on, I'll help you. We need to be quick.

The bucket, sturdy and polished, rested in skilful hands as Ser Laenor lifted it to pour the water into the tub. Clear, sparkling drops fell from the container with a soft sound, echoing in the calm atmosphere of the room.

The water, now released, created delicate ripples on the surface of the bronze tub. It was as if tiny liquid diamonds were dancing in the light, capturing and reflecting the golden hues that permeated the room.

Rhaella, waiting with anticipation, finally stepped into the tub after it had been filled. The clear liquid enveloped the princess in its cold embrace, causing a wave of goose bumps.

Ser Laenor, attentive to his daughter's expression, skilfully completed the task, allowing the water to reach the desired level. He placed the bucket on the floor and leaned close to the table to pick up the soap, handing it to his daughter.

Rhaella took the vegetable oil soap, with its enveloping fragrance of calendula and rosemary, and began to apply it to her skin. The soft texture of the soap glided delicately over her body, leaving behind a trail of perfumed foam. The enveloping fragrance of calendula and rosemary wafted through the air, creating an atmosphere of freshness and relaxation.

Rhaella's movements were cadenced and gentle, as she dedicated herself to cleansing every centimetre of her skin. She spread the soap on her hands while trying to remove the dirt from her nails.

Ser Laenor, realising the need for more specific care, picked up the washcloth from the table and began to gently scrub Rhaella's back. The vegetable fibres, impregnated with foam from the oil soap, glided delicately over the princess's skin, gently removing any trace of dirt or impurity.

With skilful and attentive gestures, Ser Laenor concentrated on the areas most prone to the accumulation of impurities, such as the nails and the hardest-to-reach parts of the back. The loofah, in his hands, became an instrument of care, an extension of paternal affection as he ensured that his daughter was completely clean.

The soft sound of the loofah gliding across her skin blended with the murmur of the water in the bath. Dedicated to his task, Ser Laenor picked up the small container, dipped it into the water to collect a little and carefully poured it over Rhaella's head. The water, now charged with the essence of soap, ran down the princess's hair, carrying with it any trace of her adventures.

At the feel of the cold water, the princess let out a pained moan and another wave of goosebumps ran down her back.

— Papa! — she exclaimed, as she tried to remove the strands of hair now stuck to her face.

— We're almost done, don't be such a whiner.

He gently massaged his daughter's scalp, his skilful fingers working to wipe away the trace of blood that persisted. The foam turned into a fragrant cascade, enveloping the strands of Rhaella's hair.

And in that serene silence, Ser Laenor not only washed his daughter's hair, but also wove an intangible tapestry of affectionate memories. Each touch resonated in a connection that transcended time and the ages.

Daeron

The Small Hall, a majestic enclosure within the Red Keep, unfolded in grandeur under a high, vaulted ceiling. The room, designed to hold up to two hundred people, boasted a refined grandstand that ran the length of the room, offering a splendid view to all who had the privilege of taking their seats

Carefully arranged tables adorned the space, offering an elegant and functional setting for important meetings and events. The imposing, richly carved wooden doors guarded the entrance, inviting those present to walk through the ornate entrance.

The choice of location had been prompted by the preparation of the Great Hall for the Princes' Name Day. However, unlike the vastness of the Great Hall, the Small Hall had a more intimate atmosphere, with its tapestry-covered walls and polished floor.

— It looks like we're just in time — said Jacaerys. — We're the first.

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden reflections on the meticulously prepared tables. Arranged in symmetrical rows, they boasted embroidered linen tablecloths and a collection of fine plates and silver cutlery. Arrangements of fresh flowers, picked from the gardens of the Red Fortress, adorned the centre of each table, spreading a soft fragrance throughout the room.

— Mummy must be on her way... — the princess murmured. — Let's sit down and wait.

The enticing aroma of freshly prepared food enveloped the small room, creating a combination of smells that aroused the senses. Small portions of freshly baked biscuits, with a golden crust that seemed to crumble at the slightest pressure, were displayed on an engraved silver tray.

The servants moved gracefully, serving the delicacies with attention. Their silent but hurried footsteps added to the atmosphere of the hall, while silver plates and utensils tinkled softly under their skilful hands.

A large brown bowl, permeated by the comforting warmth of cooked oats, was adorned with slices of fresh apple and sprinkled with a generous pinch of cinnamon. The cosy scent enveloped the Small Hall, awakening the promise of morning comfort.

Orderly rows of loaves of bread of different shapes and textures took pride of place and exuded an irresistible fragrance of fresh fermentation.

Porcelain chalices contained almond milk, with its creamy texture and smooth flavour. Silver kettles released steam while mint and nettle teas infused the room with a combination of aromas. The freshness of the mint and the herbal notes of the nettle danced in the air, creating a relaxing atmosphere.

The Knights posted at the entrances to the small hall kept a discreet watch over the place. Their watchful eyes swept the room, ensuring the safety of the Royal family.

There were moments — not many, but a few — when Prince Daeron seemed content with his family's absence. It was nothing new that when everyone was together the tension increased, and everyone's thoughts could be heard if someone looked closely.

Daeron liked little company, and each of them was well selected. He wore a thoughtful smile, but in his heart there was a loneliness that no child should hide.

Ever since the conversation with his mother about possibly being sent to Oldtown - his mind had been filled with anxiety and anguish. But as soon as he crossed the courtyard and met his nephews, calm set in.

It was true that he preferred Tessarion's company more than anyone else's, but he cherished the moments with Helaena and Vhaelys. They were attentive, and their conversations were curious and thought-provoking. Even if it was about embroidery — he would still enjoy it.

He didn't notice that he was staring intensely at the princess in front of him, his amethyst eyes gazing at her with curiosity, even though he didn't understand what she was talking about. Until he was asked.

— Daeron?

He blinked confusedly, as if he had just woken up from a deep dream.

She laughed.

— You didn't hear anything, did you? — her eyes were shrewd and teasing. — I asked if you and Jace had read The Reckoning of Time. Jace said no.

— Ah, yes... — he tried to regain his posture. — No, I mean I haven't read it. What would it be about?

— Don't push her, Daeron.  She'll start rambling about time again.

Daeron smiled and arched an eyebrow.

— Well! You see… — she seemed ready to give a speech. — It is considered a grand work. It is, indeed. Archmaester Walgram delved deeply into the issue of ancient studies, where various cultures count days, seasons, and years differently. You see, I've already spoken about this.  The way we perceive time is so senseless. Other people might perceive it differently! The concept of time is so… I don't even have words. Oh, it really makes me… how do you say it? Truly…

— Bothered? —  Daeron suggested.

— Exactly! Bothered, that's the word.

Jacaerys began to laugh.

— Two things you shouldn't mention around Lys. The time and cats. She won't keep quiet about that...

Vhaelys rolled her eyes.

— It's just that you boys can only think about swords and fights. It's hard for you to keep up with my reasoning, Jace.

Jacaerys stared at her in confusion.

— Did you mean to say I'm less intelligent?

— Oh, I didn't say anything. You should spend less time with Aegon your head is becoming as empty as his — she turned to Daeron. — No offense.

Daeron laughed.

— I'm not offended.

— Hey! Wait a minute, I study as much as you do, Lys — accused the brother.

— Yes, of course you do. But it wasn't me who confused Evenfall Hall with Harrenhal... — she teased.

— It was one time, Lys! Just once!

— Well, there was that other time you said—

— All right! — Jace interrupted. — Very clever of you...

While laughter echoed in the room, Daeron couldn't help but wonder if he would ever have the confidence to share lighthearted moments and jokes with his own siblings.

Aegon's judgmental gaze and Aemond's more reserved demeanor seemed to form a barrier, making him a distant observer of the more intimate family dynamics. Restlessness grew within him as the dilemma of possibly having to say goodbye and leave for Oldtown cast a shadow over his heart.

Among laughter and shared memories, Daeron would realize that his journey was his alone and that, perhaps, finding his own voice within the complex family fabric would require time and patience.

— For your information, we've already learned about the Ghiscari wars, haven't we? — Jacaerys directed his question to Daeron.

— Oh, yes, Maester Gavin taught us...

— Five times did Old Ghis fight Valyria when the world was young, and five times did they lose — Jacaerys rambled. — Imagine the number of dragons in those days...

— It's said that the ancient Ghiscari Empire was the first great civilization in the known world. According to Maester Gerardys, the empire was already forming before the Long Night... — a shiver ran through the princess. — Eight thousand years ago.

— The Long Night... — Jacaerys sighed. — Rhaella loves hearing about those legends, doesn't she?

— Well, let's change the subject. I don't find it the least bit enjoyable to talk about it on a morning like this. Or any morning, actually...

— Do you believe in the legends, Lys? — Daeron asked curiously.

— It's not that I believe; I just don't think it's good to talk about...

— Has Rhae been reading about demons and giant ice spiders to you and Helaena again? — Jacaerys smiled. — Septa Noelle must love that.

Vhaelys nudged her brother as a reprimand.

— For your information, Septa Noelle hasn't complained about anything. We've all been studying very well, thank you.

— Speaking of Rhaella... — Daeron spoke up. — Where is she?

Aemond

Aemond was immersed in the pages of his book, each word an escape to a distant place. His serious and concentrated countenance revealed his curiosity for the written words, whose stories flowed through the lines like winding rivers.

In the silence of that moment, the door slowly opened, revealing the majestic figure of Queen Alicent and the graceful presence of his sister Helaena. Their gazes fell on Aemond, who didn't lift his eyes from the book.

Alicent Hightower, the queen consort, radiated elegance with every graceful movement. Her noble features were emphasised by a serene expression, indicating the presence of a queen. Her hair was tied up in an elaborate hairstyle, which gave a clear view of her expressions.

The dress, meticulously designed, hugged the queen's figure impeccably. The green colour chosen was so deep that it could be compared to the dense shade of a lush forest. Luxurious and ornate fabrics made up the outfit, giving it a quality that only a queen could boast.

Intricate details adorned the sleeves and collar of the dress, adding an intricacy that echoed belonging to House Hightower. Fine jewellery, matching the lush green, sparkled on her fingers and neck, subtly reflecting the light.

— Aemond, it's time for breakfast. Come, my son.

While the promise of a meal brought with it the anticipation of sharing the table with his family, there was a heaviness in his heart that grew by the minute. The echo of talk of dragons and flying would fill his ears, and he would have to hide his frustrations.

King Viserys, his father, would talk animatedly with Jacaerys and Daeron about the Name Day and expectations about the flight. For the Targaryens, these majestic creatures represented not only symbols of power, but also a magical connection to Valyria's heritage. However, this connection had escaped Aemond, leaving him in a state of despondency and insecurity.

He couldn't have been more despondent about breakfast.

— Aemond? — Queen Alicent called out again.

— Can't I stay away from breakfast today? — he asked, even though he already knew the answer. — Just today...

She watched Aemond with a stern expression as he reluctantly took part in breakfast. Her usually serene eyes became as sharp as razor blades at her son's attitude. The sternness on her face reflected not only maternal authority, but also the expectation that her son fulfil his duties.

— Aemond, I understand that we don't always want to follow through on our responsibilities, but the commitments of your position are undeniable - with a firm voice and obvious patience, she continued - We're close to your brother's name day celebration. There are guests, and we need to show perfection. What do you think they would say if they knew you were absent from breakfast? There are whispers in this castle, Aemond. I need you to do this, okay? Everything has to go according to plan.

Aemond opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it.

— I know you don't want to hear about dragons — she sighed. — Even I'm tired of always hearing about these beasts. But one day, I told you, you'll have your own dragon. When the time is right. For now, I just need you to fulfil your duties, understand?

He agreed.

— Yes, mother. I'll do what you want.

Alicent smiled.

— I'm proud — she paused, then looked at the book her son was reading. — What are you reading?

 — The Edge of the World by Maester Balder. It's a collection of tales and legends.

— And the seven-pointed star? You're reading it, right?

— Yes, I read it last night before going to sleep as you instructed.

— Ah Aemond, I'm happy. I really am - she caressed her son's face. — You'll be a great man, faith will keep you on the right path. The seven will guide you, you'll see.

The little prince's chest swelled, he could make his mother proud. His father never paid him enough attention, and without a dragon Aemond was apparently nothing in his eyes. However, in his mother's eyes he could be great and ruthless if he wanted to.

It was great to have her recognition.

— If Aegon were just a little more like you... — she rubbed her face. — May the seven help me.

— There's blood on swords... — murmured Helaena in the corner of the room. — Cracked heads... blood, blood.

Helaena was a unique girl, wrapped in a cloak of strangeness and sensitivity that sometimes seemed incoherent with the reality around her. The boy was used to her sometimes disjointed speech, which manifested an inner dialogue that remained enigmatic to those around him. Her words were like fragments of dreams escaping, creating a web of mystery around him. Aemond couldn't help but wonder about the thoughts that inhabited his sister's mind, a peculiar and confusing world that he couldn't fully understand.

The queen looked at her daughter with affection and reached up to stroke her hair. But as always, the princess shied away from the touch.

— Helaena, darling... — the queen sighed. — That's all right. I think we should go to the small hall now. Today will be intense.

— Is Aegon awake yet?

— Of course he is, I sent him to the small parlour first, so there wouldn't be any unforeseen circumstances... - she tightened the skirts of her dress. - From today onwards, the next few days must be perfect. You all need to look good.

— Do I need to welcome the guests with you?

— It won't be necessary, Daeron will do it. It's his name day, so it's only fair. Don't you have a lesson with Gavin this afternoon?

— Yes, mother. We're going over the arrival of the Andals and the Age of Valyria. It's been very productive.

— That's great. And Septon Eustace? Is he teaching you well about the faith?

— Oh yes, Septon Eustace has made us repeat often that men bow to their lords, and lords to their kings, so kings and queens must bow to the Seven Who Are One. That's the order.

— Septon Eustace is a wise man, he's right about that - she smiled cheerfully. — Remember, Aemond, that the laws of kings are one thing and the laws of the gods are another.

Alicent adjusted her posture and set off resolutely towards the door.

— We're wasting time. Come on, my children — as soon as the door opened, Ser Criston Cole approached and whispered something in her ear. The queen's expression changed, her eyebrows arched and a disapproving look crossed her eyes. — I wonder if that child will ever learn to behave like a real princess. But I think it's unlikely, the apple does not fall far from the tree...

Aemond didn't have to think too hard to realise who his mother was referring to.

Alicent Hightower's stern expression unleashed a storm of thoughts in Aemond's mind. His eyes, turned away from his mother's reproachful gaze, sought refuge in the memory of the moments shared with his niece.

He was used to his mother's judgements about Princess Rhaella's behaviour, especially when compared to the strict standards of the court. But for Aemond, the girl represented a breath of fresh air in the midst of expectations.

A bright spark amidst the shadows of rigidity, she epitomised freedom and authenticity for Aemond. Like an artist of the imagination, she transported him to lands of fantasy and dreams, where conventions were forgotten and the magic of the mind could flourish.

The young prince knew that, in his mother's eyes, the connection with his niece was viewed with disdain, a deviation from the paths she had set for him. However, Aemond couldn't give up the joy that the girl's presence brought, and every laugh shared became a rare treasure that he secretly treasured.

[duckyhowls]

Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Baratheon(Lannister) OC - 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 (P2)

DuckPanda Original - PART 1 Daenerys Targaryen x Lannister!OC (Mercia Baratheon)

SUMMARY: The young queen, Mercia Baratheon, is the last living heir to King Robert after all three of her siblings die horrible deaths. As the Seven Kingdoms are on the brink of collapse, Mercia does all she can to hold it all together - though struggles arrive when the Long Night draws near, and The Dragon Queen comes for her throne. But perhaps there is a compromise they can arrange?

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Mercia stroked the soft neck of her loyal lioness, Potami, who sat committedly at her legs as the Queen rested upon the Iron Throne. 

Once again, the young queen was holding court with at least a hundred guards rowed on either side of the room, something that Mercia did just to ease her mother's paranoia. For all of Mercia's siblings had been killed, two out of three were assassinated – so she didn't blame her mother for becoming desperate to have a ridiculous number of guards positioned to protect her last remaining child.

Near Mercia's lioness stood The Mountain, only two paces left of the throne with Maester Qyburn. On Mercia's right was her uncle and her mother, staring down stoically at all of the lords that Mercia had summoned to Kings Landing to speak with.

"If the last Targaryen takes the Iron Throne, she'll destroy the realm as we know it," Mercia spoke, not taking her eyes away from her lioness whose piercing, blue gaze scanned the lords below. "Some of you are bannermen of House Tyrell, but House Tyrell is in open rebellion against the crown. With their help, the Dragon Queen has ferried an army of Dothraki to our shores. Unsullied soldiers who will destroy your castles and your holdfasts for their queen without a second thought. Her armies will burn your villages to the ground, rape and enslave your women and butcher your children."

Mercia lifted her green gaze to the many lords standing before her, all of them listening intently, hanging on to every single word that came out of her lips. "This is how Olenna Tyrell rewards centuries of service and loyalty?"

Her mother then spoke up, stone-faced. "You all remember the Mad King," she called out. "Do you remember the horrors he inflicted upon his people? His daughter is nothing less."

Mercia glanced at her mother for a moment. She hated it whenever her mother sounded so sure. Mercia, despite being the Dragon Queen's enemy, knew from the accounts of spies that Daenerys was nothing like the Mad King. From all that Mercia has witnessed through reports, Daenerys Targaryen was an anti-slavery monarch whose only goals are to free the people of the world and take back her ancestral throne. That, in itself, was different, but not mad in the slightest. Nonetheless, they had to convince the lords to join their forces with the crown. For the sake of Mercia and her family’s lives at least.

"In Essos, her brutality is already legendary." The words tasted bitter in Mercia's mouth, as she forced herself to twist these stories to make the Targaryen Queen sound like a mad tyrant. "She has crucified hundreds of noblemen in Slaver's Bay. When she grew bored of that, she fed everyone that opposed her to her dragons. It is my sworn duty before the faith to protect the people, and I will, but I need your help, my Lords."

"We must stand together," Cersei interjected once again, sounding confident and determined to convince these men to side with them. "All of us. If we hope to stop her."

The lords whispered amongst themselves for a moment before Lord Tarly stepped forward, stoic and tall as he addressed the young queen. "Your Grace, forgive me but she has three full-grown dragons. The same as Aegon when he conquered the Seven Kingdoms. How do you propose to stop them? With your lions?" Some men in the room laughed.

Mercia's hand that was stroking Potami's fur went still, and her eyes met the old Lord's. Then, she turned her head to Maester Qyburn and nodded to him.

The thin, frail man looked over at the lord, blank-faced as usual. "We are currently at work on a solution, my Lord."

Mercia stood then, clasping her hands together and giving the lords a small smile. "Please, discuss this together. Take your time, we have all day. For now, I must insist that I get off this damned, uncomfortable chair. I will call for the court again in a few hours."

Turning to her lion, she lightly tapped her hand on her thigh once. "Come, Potami."

The lords all watched the young Queen leave the throne room with the huge tawny lioness loyally trotting at her heels.

◤━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◥

"I am Eddard Stark," said the man that had been forced to kneel before the enraged common people of Kings Landing. "Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King." 

The man glanced towards his right, where, nearby, his eldest daughter, the Lady Sansa Stark, nodded to him in encouragement. On her left was the newly titled queen regent, Cersei Lannister, her golden hair long and ever so beautiful. She was smiling proudly at her eldest son, the newly crowned King of Westeros, Joffrey Baratheon, who stood near Eddard Stark, smirking satisfyingly at the discord before him.

Mercia watched with a frown from Sansa Stark's right as the man, her late father’s closest friend, who had been in the dungeons for days, was now being publicly humiliated. Mercia had never felt this ashamed of her brother as she did now, watching Joffrey seem so pleased at this poor man's suffering. Despite being a traitor to the crown, Mercia only had heard such kind things about Eddard Stark, that he was the most honourable and one of the most prominent lords in the country. And with every spoken word they have exchanged, even if there wasn’t much to be said, he always treated her with kindness and the upmost respect. This lord did not deserve this shame.

Looking away, down to the ground now, Eddard Stark continued. "I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of the Gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold, I plotted to murder his son... and seize the throne for myself."

What? Mercia whipped her head to look at her mother, Cersei, who turned to look at her with a small smile, though the young girl could see the harsh warning behind the older one's green gaze. ‘Do not say a word’.  

Meanwhile, the crowd had erupted in an outroar, one peasant in the sea of people even throwing a small stone at Lord Stark's head, causing the man to gasp in pain as blood seeped through the wound and drip from his brow. Beside Mercia, Sansa gasped and grasped the princess’ hand. Mercia turned her head away from the sight, squeezing Sansa’s hand back.

"L-let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, by the grace of all the Gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Through every word, Eddard Stark's face contorted, as if he were in pain of speaking falsehoods. Mercia knew of the letter and will her father had left behind, asking his friend to rule until Joffrey came of age.

The crowd murmured amongst themselves angrily, but Maester Pycelle stepped forward. "As in sin, this man has confessed to his crimes in sight of Gods and men. The Gods are just, but beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful." Maester Pycelle then turned to Joffrey and bowed his head. "What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?" he asked, spitting the words as if the man accused was some worthless demon.

The crowd jeered and called out angrily, but Joffrey raised his hand with a pleased smile, as if all this chaos excited him. Mercia knew that it did. 

The crowd went silent, and Joffrey spoke, "My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile," he continued, looking to his betrothed, the Lady Sansa. "And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

The Lady Sansa smiled softly at the King and Mercia frowned. She knew her brother better than to be someone of mercy. 

She was right when he announced his next words, and Eddard Stark's head was put to the sword and placed on a spike on the city walls for months.

Mercia never forgot the Lady Sansa's screams that dreadful day.

◤━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◥

Part 3 Coming Soon!

[brightlilith]

MASTERLIST

Request open

Navegation

MCU

Peter Parker

Natasha Romanoff

Wanda Maximoff

Bucky Barnes

Masterlist

WEDNESDAY

Wednesday Addams

Enid Sinclair

Ajax Petropulus

Masterlist

COBRA KAI

Robby Keene

Miguel Diaz

Samantha Larusso

Tory Nichols

Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz

Masterlist

TVD-Universe

Klaus Mikaelson

Damon Salvatore

Stefan Salvatore

Elijah Mikaelson

Caroline Forbes

Elena Gilbert

Bonnie Bennett

Hope Mikaelson

Rebekah Mikaelson

Hayley Marshall

TVD

TO

SUPERNATURAL

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Masterlist

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

Daemon Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Jacaerys Targaryen

Alicent Hightower

Aegon II Targaryen

Masterlist

GAME OF THRONES

Daenerys Targaryen

Masterlist

CRIMINAL MINDS

Spencer Reid

Jennifer Jereau

Emily Prentiss

Masterlist

THE MARVELOUS MRS MAISEL

Lenny Bruce

Miriam Maisel

Masterlist

ACTOR/ACTRESS & SINGER'S

Jensen Ackles

Jenna Ortega

Tokio Hotel

More will be added as requests are placed!

I will do NOT write

Threesome

Male!reader

Tv show couples ex: Damon Salvatore x Elena Gilbert

Yandere

Romanticization of mental health, eating disorders, depression, any type of self harm, physical abuse, any forced sexual activities, any hate towards LGBTQ People/Rights, any hate towards Transgendered people/Rights, or any hate towards race.

Pedophilia, or activities, child abuse and more.

These NSFW themes - A/B/O, humiliation/degrading kink and more Pregnancies Incest (with the exception of got and hotd)

Characters with some physical disability (nothing against it, I just wouldn’t want to write it wrong)

Black!reader or plus size!reader (nothing against it, I wouldn't want to offend something I don't know.)

If you want to be added to the tag list, send me a message!🩷

Is there anything you'd like to see in the future from my blog?

Note: Depending on what it is, I might be able to make it happen. All I ask is that you ask kindly.

© morganaah/brightlilith ─ all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other platforms.

[livingdreams97]

One Shots Masterlist

Hello, I'm new to tumblr and I don't really understand how it works. So Welcome to my account and i hope you enjoy reading what i post😁.

I will be writing one shots of different celebrities and characters of both movies and series. And a Wattpad writer will also be helping me and will let me upload their one shots to my profile.

Below I will update the famous ones and the one shots that I will upload:

Emily Dickinson -> "The past comes back" Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 .

Daenerys Targaryen -> "The rightful heir." Part 1, Part 2, Prart 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Hailee Steinfeld -> "The Late Late Show"

Rhaenyra Targaryen -> "The Personal Guard." Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6.

Eloise Bridgerton -> "The Prince". Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

Emily Junk -> "The New Bella." Part 1, Part 2, ...

Wednesday Addams -> "The wolf in my bed". Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4…..

Tara Carpenter -> "The lies I keep". Part 1, Part 2,...

Kendall Jenner -> "Yes". Part1, Part 2.

[vampzyke]

don'ts

male reader, noncon/dubcon, weird kinks etc JUST NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY. if ur not sure, send it in anywayy

anyways, here r the characters/fandoms i am open to writing for!

jerome valeska

fiona gallagher

jon snow

daenerys targaryen

carmen berzatto

walter de ville

damon salvatore

tony stark

valkyrie

carol danvers

peter parker (webbverse)

inej ghafa

nina zenik

alina starkov

and etc!!!

If you don't see a character on the list but think i might know/write them, just ask!! Im in a ton of fandoms soo yah

<333

[targaryenimagines]

My Khaleesi

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,586

Summary:

Warnings: Smut and G!P Daenerys.

Notes: Wasn’t sure if you wanted Dark!Dany (in a sense) or not, but decided to just do it that way for this one shot! If you’d like another one with a non dark Dany, I’ll be more than happy to do that. Also, this is definitely the most graphic smut I’ve written… I apologize if it’s bad.

Ash still falls from the sky like distorted flecks of snow— rubble shifts under foot as you make your way through the courtyard of the Red Keep. You didn’t have to turn your head far to see the destruction that had been wrought across King’s Landing, a destruction that had come at the hands of the woman you love the most in this world.

Fire and blood had come to Westeros, you think, side-stepping a charred corpse. And penance seemed to have been paid in full.

The sights, along with the smells, that assault you the farther you trek into the once great city aren’t something that sits well with you, nor does the knowledge that Westeros had pushed Daenerys, your Dany, to this point. That all of her grief: Viserion, Jorah, Rhaegal, and Missandei, along with all of her men that she lost in the North, had forced her spirit into shattering so completely.

I don’t want to be Queen of the Ashes…

A saying that had constantly been thrown towards Daenerys, that had been used as a means to control her, keep her line, and what better way to do that then remind her of her father’s legacy, a tale that’s haunted her ever since she discovered it, and had been continually repeated until Daenerys spouted it out as if she was simply talking about the weather. Her drive, the passion that had carried her through Essos, slowly being driven out of her the longer she spent in the toxic landscape that is Westeros; forever surrounded by the tales of her ancestors, by the fear and hatred that the people she saved showed her, at the clear refusal to ever accept her as anything more than a Targaryen Whore.

Rounding the corner of yet another hallway, you pause just outside of throne room, or what you believe to be anyway, and think over everything that had transpired. Think of the darkness that had seemed to have only grown in intensity since the Night King had been dealt with. Would Daenerys, after all of this, still wish to see you? Would you still have a place by her side?

Only one way to find out…

With a deep intake of breath, you step fully into the debilitated area that had once been a source of great pride— at the head of it all being the almost legendary throne itself, a mass of melted together swords, and standing before it?

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

At the sound of your approaching footsteps, Daenerys turns from her perusal of the throne, and a warm smile quirks her lips at your nearing form.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” she murmurs, adoration clear within violet eyes. Slim arms wrapping around your middle the moment your close enough for her to grab. A single gloved finger gently tracing down the expanse of your cheek, rubbing away the hints of ash that still remained. “I’m glad to see you unharmed. I don’t know what I would have done if that hadn’t been the case.”

You lean into the hand still resting on your cheek, a happy smile of your own making an appearance. “Burn down the rest of Westeros?” A dark look flashes through violet eyes, your joke suddenly taking on an all too serious light that you desperately wanted to veer away from. Bumping into her slightly, you disentangle from slim arms, warmed by the smallest bit of hesitance she had at letting you go, you step closer to the throne. “This is it? The Iron Throne?”

Daenerys settles next to you. “It is.” She touches the arm of it with an almost reverent air. “After all these years, all the trials and tribulations that I went through, I’m finally here. A Targaryen is finally the holder of the Iron Throne once more. I’ve brought honor back to my family.”

“You’ve honored them for years already, Dany. You simply being alive is honor by itself.” You angle your head, not surprised at all to see that she had already been looking at you. “This just exemplifies you into the ranks of Aegon.”

Violet eyes gleam with an almost childlike wonder, the hand closest to you touching your cheek with the same reverence she had shown the throne. “Aegon had his wives, he had his queens.” She steps away from you, taking her rightful seat on the throne. “Something that I’ll be in need of moving forward.”

Your head dips. “Anything I can help you with?”

Daenerys chuckles lightly, the sound rumbling from deep within her chest like one of Drogon’s roars. “There is, Y/N.” Gesturing for you to come closer, a command that you listen to without question, she gently maneuvers you into a kneeling position before her, slender fingers tangling themselves within the strands of your hair. “Say yes.”

“Your Grace?”

“Say yes to marrying me, to becoming my wife and queen.” Her holds tightens, forcing your head to tilt back. “Say yes to becoming mine and I’ll make sure everything you could ever want becomes yours.”

A small smile twists your lips upward. “Everything that I could ever want already is.”

At the words a small growl escapes Daenerys, her head dipping downward to press a heated kiss to your lips, maintaining that you’re kept in place by the iron-clad hold she still has on your hair. And, like with everything else, Daenerys didn’t hesitate in conquering what is hers, tongue barely brushing over your bottom lip before she plunders into your mouth, taking you for everything you have. The taste of you, the submission in which you’re showing her, along with the location no doubt, makes Daenerys almost frantic in her need for you.

Barely pulling away, giving you both a moment to breathe, before she’s claiming your lips once more— it’s wet, filthy in a way that makes your mind fog over in lust, and you can’t quite get enough air into your lungs through your nose, something that constantly ensures her scent is all that you’re surrounded by, but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Wouldn’t want to be in any other position than where you are now; kneeling in front of your Khaleesi, her pleasure becoming yours.

Finally, with a ragged breath, Daenerys fully pulls away from you, a thin trail of saliva still connecting you both, before she shifts too far back and it snaps in half. Violet eyes, blown nearly black in lust, pin you in place as Daenerys slowly undoes the buckle of her pants, and jerks it down, the actions clear on what she expected from you. And, without preamble, or any sort of prompting, you help Daenerys with removing them, gently taking off her boots, before pulling her tight-fitting pants off her slim legs. The sight that greets you once you look up almost causing your mouth to dry up completely.

Daenerys Targaryen sat in all of her glory, bare from the waist down, her thick member jutting out from the apex of her thighs. The look in her eyes, in the darkness that lurks just out of reach, tells you all that you need to know, how your Khaleesi wished for you to service her next. Something you didn’t have a problem with doing, damn the consequences of potentially being caught in the wide open throne room.

Taking her into your hands, feeling her warmth, and the way that she twitches ever-so-slightly at your touch, is a heady sort of power that you’re never going to get used to.

Taking her into your mouth, jaw stretched wide to accommodate her girth, feeling the way she arches into the wetness it provides, hands tightening even further into your hair, the wonderful concoction of pain and pleasure, fuels you more than anything ever could.

Bobbing up and down, taking her deeper and deeper into your throat, listening to the breathy sighs she lets loose whenever she completely bottoms out, is a drug you never want to get off of. Her flavor— musky with just the barest hint of sweetness and something spicy— spreads across your tastebuds, your tongue lovingly swirling around the tip of her cock, taking in as much of her as you possibly could.

“Iksā doing sīr sȳz syt nyke.” The Valyrian praise escapes her in a low snarl, hands now guiding you in the exact way she wanted, your own simply being braced on her thighs as you let her use you. “Issare iā sȳz riña syt nyke. Ñuha sȳz riña.”

All you can do is moan in response, mouth completely stuffed full of her, but the vibrations makes her tense even further, another snarl rumbling from deep within her. You know that she’s close, can tell by the way her thighs were beginning to tremble underneath your touch, and the quickening of her thrusts, and your head moves even faster because of it— wanting nothing more than to feel her release down your throat, for your tongue to be coated by her cum.

“Issi ao jāre naejot gūrogon ziry mirre? Gūrogon everything bona nyke tepagon ao?” Daenerys groans out the question, clearly fighting with herself to not succumb just yet to the pleasure of her release. Peering up, you’re instantly met with darkened violet eyes, a rosy hue predominant across fair cheeks. Clearly waiting for a response, all you can do is gurgle around the cock currently in your throat, hoping that your eyes gave her all the answers she needed, which, by the tightening of her hands, absolutely did. “Sȳz riña.”

Within the next moment, jets of Daenerys cum shoots out, going straight into your stomach as you desperately swallow to make sure you don’t lose any of it. The feeling of warmth as her seed settles deep within you is one you’ve long since grown familiar with, but the possessive heat in her eyes as she watches you swallow it all down is definitely new. A reaction that causes your own arousal to come to the forefront of your mind finally, wetness clearly coating your thighs, waiting for your Khaleesi’s touch.

Daenerys pulls her cock from your mouth a moment later— the still hard length shimmering with the combination of leftover cum and saliva— allowing for you to take a deep lungful of air at last. Remnants of her still on your tongue.

Her thumb brushes across your bottom lip, briefly pushing into your mouth for you to suck on, before she retracts her hand and tugs you up onto her lap. Slim arms bracing your lower half perfectly against herself, settling her own body more fully on the Iron Throne.

“You did so good for me,” she murmurs, trailing slender fingers down your thighs. Nowhere near where you needed her the most though. “Do you want to continue?”

You nod. “More than anything, Khaleesi.“

Daenerys hums at the old title, hands gripping your hips in a hold that you know would leave bruises, lips ghosting across your jawline and down your neck.

“You’re mine, right?” Teeth nips into the sensitive flesh beneath your pulse point. “No one else can have you this way, fuck you the way that I can, or hear the beautiful noises you make when you fall apart.”

“Only you, Dany,” you whisper, nuzzling your nose against hers. “It’ll only ever be you. I’m yours completely.”

There isn’t need for more words after that, Daenerys simply hikes your dress higher up your waist, tearing your small-clothes away completely, before rubbing her hardened member against the wetness that has collected between your legs, a deep groan escaping her at the feeling of your clear want for her.

Within the next heartbeat, she’s buried to the hilt within you, a sharp keen being ripped from your chest at the feeling of complete fullness, the delicious stretch as your body tries to acclimate to the feeling of her, and begins to rut roughly into you. Hands slide from their place on your waist to settle on your hips, guiding you up and down as you begin to bounce in response to her thrusts.

A breathy moan falls from your lips, arms wrapped tightly around Daenerys neck, tugging her closer to you, continuing to ride her in complete abandon, wet slapping noise, intercepted by occasional grunts and moans, filled the air, echoing out across the empty throne room. A part of you thinks that you might even be able to be heard down below, the ripped open wall next to the throne offering an excellent siphon to the noises, but then Daenerys twists her hips in just the right way and everything, that doesn’t have to do with the mind numbing pleasure she gives you, vanishes from you mind in an instant.

Nails make crescent moons in the soft flesh of your hips, bruises no doubt already forming on your lower abdomen from how hard Daenerys was thrusting up into you, but the knowledge that your Khaleesi is marking you in such a way, that she’s lost parts of her control because of you, makes you not care in the slightest— you were hers, completely and irreversibly. Her pleasure was your own.

With another strangled gasp, your head falls to her chest, still glad in her formal garb, the metal cool against the heated expanse of your forehead, no longer being able to keep yourself upright. You could feel your climax approaching— coming faster and faster as Daenerys brushed against the spot within you every time she pulled out. Your core clenching around her desperately, trying to keep her within you, milk her for all that she’s worth, and the tight constriction causes a strangled sound of her own to resonate from your Khaleesi.

Feet planted firmly into the floor, she begins to piston fully into you, your body arching into her, allowing her to move you as she saw fit, clearly chasing her second release and your own.

“I’m going to mark you in a way that no one ever has.” Feverish violet eyes meet your own, strands of silvery-gold hair sticking to her heated cheeks, torn from their intricate braids, as her grip on you tightens more. “You’re going to bear my children, you’re going to continue on the Targaryen name. Would you like that?”

You moan. “Yes.”

The thought of carrying her children, of continuing on the Targaryen Legacy, filled you with a sense of purpose, a sense of warmth.

Pushing your head further into her chest, you plead. “Do it, Khaleesi. Claim me.”

With a ragged snarl, Daenerys’s hips stutter and before you know it jets of warmth fill you up, going straight to your womb. The feeling triggers your own release, a broken moan leaving you as you milk Daenerys for everything she has, everything that she’d be willing to offer. Harshly panting, Daenerys settles back onto the throne, hands gently running down your spine, holding you as closely as she possibly still could, still buried inside of you.

“Thank you,” she whispers, nuzzling you before she presses a kiss to your damp temple.

You sigh, content in her arms. “Always.”

Pressing another kiss to your head, Daenerys angles your face in order for you to look at her, the open look of adoration on her face one that’d only ever be reserved for you and her son.

“My beautiful love, my lovely wife.” She drops a chaste kiss to your lips, her hips beginning to move once more. “My eternal queen.”

“My Khaleesi.”

[thedragonbloody]

~ Fire & Love ~

previous chapter / next chapter

masterlist

CHAPTER 4

Vhaelys had lain back down when she saw her sister slip out the window.

She woke up when she heard someone knock on the door, probably being Eileen, the maid.

- Princesses? - asked the girl's voice. - May I come in?

- You may come in Eileen - Vhaelys said.

Eileen entered and bowed in a reverence.

- Good morning, my princesses... - she raised her head and looked around. - Where is princess Rhaella? - she asked startled.

Vhaelys stood up and laughed.

- Probably on one of her adventures - she pulled herself out of bed. - When I woke up she was gone. Don't worry.

Eileen shivered.

- Again? - whined the maid. - Princess Rhaenyra will not be happy...

- I think Mama's expecting this- she reached over to the basin of water and washed her face. - What do I have for today?

Eileen prepared to get the princess ready for breakfast with her family.

The maid opened the curtains and let the air in through the windows, she walked towards the wardrobe and removed a few garments - spreading them across the bed.

- After breakfast the princess must prepare to join Princess Helaena for her embroidery class - Eileen said as they walked towards Vhaelys. - And I believe that in the afternoon you must meet with Queen Alicent for the tea....

Vhaelys rolled her eyes and sighed.

- All right... - she straightened her posture - I should get ready, then.

The maid smiled.

- Does the princess already know what she wants to wear today? - she asked. - We have the red with gold, black flowered and this beautiful silver blue. - She lifted the dresses so the princess could look at them.

Vhaelys frowned.

- Remind me to tell Mama that I would like different colours - the girl said. - But this silver blue one is indeed very beautiful, it is the chosen one.

Eileen swung the dress around and smiled gently before saying.

- Excellent choice, princess. Well, now let me get you dressed so we can do your hair, shall we?

Vhaelys agreed.

The castle was already bustling by this time, the royal family was awake and ready for breakfast. The servants moved quickly through the corridors for another day of work and exhaustion.

The guards were completing their rounds and changing their positions.

The Red Keep was full of life, and King Viserys loved it. The king had a generous and kind nature, even as his illness progressed further every day, Viserys I Targaryen never lost the smile on his face - especially when he saw his daughter Princess Rhaenyra and his grandchildren reunited. Nothing could give him more pleasure than to look beyond the steps of the Iron Throne and see the court enjoying themselves, dancing and drinking together. The king loved celebrations, everything was a reason to celebrate and keep his family and allies together.

Things were getting more hectic in those days as the name day of Daeron and Jacaerys, the youngest son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent, and the eldest son of Princess Rhaenyra and Sir Laenor Velaryon, was approaching. Many nobles would be arriving in the next few days for the day of the celebration, so everything had to be perfect according to the queen's wishes.

Eileen had just finished tying the tie of the little princess' dress, when the door opened revealing none other than Princess Rhaenyra.

The young woman turned away from the child and gave a bowed greeting.

- Good morning, Princess Rhaenyra! - she straightened her posture when she heard the princess reply.

- Good morning, Eileen. Thank you for your services, but today I would like to do my daughter's hair - she approached the dark wooden combing table as she caressed the belly that was carrying her next child.

Vhaelys smiled broadly.

- Good morning, mama! - and turned to hug the woman.

Eileen bowed to them both and left the room.

Princess Rhaenyra crouched down as far as she could to hug her daughter, and deposited a gentle, tender kiss on the girl's forehead.

- Good morning, my darling - Rhaenyra looked around as if searching for something and sighed. - Should I ask where your sister is?

Vhaelys laughed.

- She ran away again, she should show up for breakfast - she informed. - You know how she is...

Rhaenyra held the tip of her nose as if something was giving her a headache.

- I know well how Rhaella can be, that's why I am worried...

Vhaelys held her mother's hand in her small hands and spoke again.

- Don't worry, mama. Rhae can take care of herself - she said calmly.

Princess Rhaenyra smiled fondly.

- You are right my girl, thank you. - She stroked her daughter's cheek. - Now shall we do your hair? Then we should see if your brothers are ready.

Vhaelys agreed and sat down in the chair facing the comb chair.

Rhaella climbed to the top of the cliffs and when she reached where she intended she took a deep breath and received the sea breeze on her face. She removed the bow from her back, took one of the arrows from her quiver and aimed at a point on the other side of the cliff. A wooden board with an engraved target was hanging by a rope from one of the branches that had grown solitary in that place.

The force of the wind moved the board from side to side, like a pendulum. The princess fitted the arrow between the string and the body of the bow, pulled the string along with the arrow and aimed at her target.

The arrow travelled through the air cutting through the wind ahead, yet it missed the target.

Frustration stamped on the young girl's face, the arrowhead hit the cliff and fell yards below.

She pulled another arrow and shot.

Missed again.

Another and another.

Arrows followed by others, and still missed.

Rhaella grunted in disgust.

"You need to relax when you're shooting an arrow, sweetheart. You can't be tense. Even in anger it won't do any good. Come on, try again."

She remembered her first archery lesson with her father. She loved practicing with him, but that came to an end, sooner than expected. Queen Alicent seemed not to approve of any of the activities Rhaella loved, so she suspended the practices she deemed inappropriate and useless.

The Queen increased the number of classes with the maesters and septas, Rhaella didn't mind the classes, she even enjoyed them, but missing this small moment with her father was painful.

The princess took a deep breath and grabbed another arrow from her small quiver. She put the arrow back in the bow and breathed deeply, so deeply that her chest inflated and then slowly let the air out. She listened to her heartbeat, and when she thought she was ready - she released the arrow.

The arrow cut through the air like the rapid crack of a whip, piercing the air with force and speed. The wood moved with the wind, but that didn't stop the arrowhead from striking the centre of the target.

- And how are the classes going? - asked Rhaenyra. - Princess Helaena is enjoying them?

- The classes are fine, but Septa Noelle is very strict - sighed Vhaelys. - Rhaella suffers a bit with her, but she always participates in class. Princess Helaena seems to like it now that we have embroidery and sewing class together.

  Princess Rheneyra smiled as she braided the girl's hair.

- My sister seems happier in your company, that's great. She's a sweet girl, you and Rhae should treat her right, okay?

Vhaelys nodded.     

The sun was already in all its splendour, small puffy clouds were forming in the sky. The castle was bustling, goods were arriving to replenish the pantry for future festivities. They gathered pumpkins, cabbages, beets, peas, turnips, beans and put everything into stock.

The next few hours were taken up with preparing breakfast and preparing food for the princes' name day, canning, salting and resting food. The kitchen always seemed like a battlefield, allowing no distractions.

- Okay, I think we're done - Rhaenyra said, looking at her daughter through the mirror on the dressing table. - What do you think?

Vhaelys turned her neck a little so she could get a better look at her mother's work, and clapped her hands together excitedly.

- It's beautiful, mama! - she smiled broadly. - Thank you!

Her hair was parted in half, separated by two braids that fell back and almost joined just below the nape of her neck. Vhaelys had hair similar to her mother's, silver and gold, but they were straight and thin like the threads they used for sewing.

Rhaenyra smiled.

- You look beautiful, darling. A fine choice of dress - she put her hands on her daughter's shoulders and stroked her. - Now we must see if your brothers are ready...

- It's okay. Jace is terrible at fixing that hair of his. - The girl laughed. - Are you going to help him?

Rhaenyra laughed as she took her daughter's little hand.

- Certainly, sweetie. Now we must go. - And they both headed for the castle halls.

[daemonsdivorcerock]

THE HEIR WHO NEVER WAS || d.Targaryen

IN WHICH: a decade after the two rogues of house targaryen run away, they live a content life in pentos until they are invited to laena velaryon’s funeral on driftmark and are forced to reunite with their dysfunctional family.

REQUESTED: yes/no

PAIRING: daemon targaryen x fem!reader

AUTHOR’S NOTES: sequel to “taming of the shrew”. i advise that you read that first. also reader is described as having silver hair. meraxes, the dragon of the first rhaenys targaryen, is alive for selfish reasons/j. sorry if this is shit.

WARNINGS: incest (bucket loads), westerosi shenanigans, mentions of death, childbirth, children, daemon being daemon, otto hightower, maiming/bodily injury, angst, fighting, dysfunctional family, targaryen shit etc

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

“THAT’S IT, PRINCESS, ONE MORE PUSH!” the young Pentosi midwife joyfully encourage, crouching at the end of a double bed, the white sheets tarnished with the crimson blood of the Heir Who Never Was.

(Name) panted, chest heaving. Sweat clung to her brow, eyebrows knitted, eyes closed and nose scrunched as her features contorted with pain. Her hands were occupied. One gripping Daemon’s alarmingly pale one in a vice-grip and the other holding her swollen baby bump.

“I AM PUSHING YOU CHILD-LOOKING CUNT!” (Name) shrieked hysterically. Daemon covered his mouth in a failed attempt to conceal his snicker, “DAEMON, SHUT THE FUCK UP! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU ARE NOT BEDDING ME EVER AGAIN, YOU STROPPY SMALL-COCKED GIT!”

The room was soon filled with the loud set of shrieks that the whole castle could here. (Name) began to son happily as Daemon kissed her sweaty brow. “A boy, my Princess,” the midwife happily said, holding the naked, squirming, blood-stained babe in her arms.

“It is all over now, my shrew,” Daemon softy whispered, kissing her temple lovingly, “The babe is safe. He is healthy. He is kicking like a goat. Our son,”.

Minutes later, the Rogue Prince and the Shrew of King’s Landing sat on the bed, doting on their new son. The sound of subtle whispers, odd for their daughters, came from the corridor. The door softly opened, revealing their brood of silver-haired daughters in tow with a servant, Elaine.

“Come here, girls,” (Name) beckoned, smiling happily at her daughters, “Come and meet your younger brother,”.

Their eldest, Daenerys, was mature for an almost eleven-year-old and led her younger sisters. After an encounter in a brothel in the weeks leading up to Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor Velaryon, (Name) refused the Moon Tea from the Grand Maester and she hadn’t regretted it.

Daenerys was the eldest of now six children. Aemma, Rhaenys, Alyssa and Rhaella followed their eldest sister. “Girls, this is your brother,” Daemon said, holding three-year-old Rhaella on his lap, whilst five-year-old Alyssa climbed onto the bed with the help of nine-year-old Rhaenys.

Seven-year-old Aemma sat closest to (Name), doting on her brother. “This is Baelon,” (Name) told the girls, gesturing to the slumbering babe in her arms, fondling smiling at the sleeping baby boy.

The girls gushed over their new brother, each getting a turn to gently hold the babe. For none of them knew what the future held for them in the days coming.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Laena Velaryon was dead. Set herself aflame after failing to give birth. The funeral was in to be held on Driftmark, as she had wanted. She’d left behind her husband, Ser Harwin Strong, and their twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena.

The funeral was teemed with tension and was a sombre occasion as Laena’s stone coffin was lowered into the sea. Laena’s mother Rhaenys looked devastated. Ten years it’d been since (Name) had seen her family. And much had occurred in ten years.

Alicent had bore her father two more sons, Aemond and Daeron. Rhaenyra had bore three sons, Jacaerys, Lucerys and the infant Joffrey, who were in no method possible Laenor’s biological children and had an, as Daemon put it, “entirely coincidental and unmarked resemblance to the Commander of the City Watch”.

After the initial funeral procedures, (Name) had noticed how the girls had made Baela and Rhaena smile a little and how her daughter Rhaenys had taken a shining to Aemond. Daenerys and Aemma were in deep conversation with Helaena. The interactions made her smile.

The girls had yet to meet their cousins, Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Or their aunt, Rhaenyra. Rhaella clung onto (Name)’s skirts, hiding behind the thick, black velvet of the dress’ material.

Baelon was a heavy sleeper, currently residing in his mother’s arms, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took and gave. She’d reunited with her cousins, Rhaenys and Corlys Velaryon, offering her sympathies for what happened to Laena.

As children and teenagers, (Name) had shared a sweet friendship with Laena, comforting her after the events at the Heir’s Tournament all those years before. They’d danced at the celebrations for Laenor and Rhaenyra’s wedding ceremony.

Her father looked terrible. His hair had thinned and he looked frankly horrible. Yet, he somehow gave his eldest daughter a smile. “(Name),” Viserys spoke. His voice sounded heavy as if it pained him to utter the word, “It is…good to you, my daughter,”.

(Name) gave him a half-curtsey, careful not to wake Baelon. “As it is equally good to see you, father,” she spoke, half-smiling, “Ten years. It certainly has been a long time,”.

Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aemma, Alyssa and Rhaella trailed behind their rogue of a father. “Brother,” Daemon greeted, “Time hasn’t been too kind on you,”.

(Name) thought he’d be upset but Viserys laughed slightly at Daemon’s comment. “These are your granddaughters,” (Name) said, “Daenerys, she is ten. Rhaenys is nine. Aemma is seven. Alyssa is five. Rhaella is three,”.

Viserys fondly smiled at each of his granddaughters. “They have their mother’s beauty,” the King mentioned. (Name) noticed how he’d visibly tensed at hearing Aemma and Alyssa’s names but smiled, “Is this my grandson, who cried a little during the precessions?”.

Daemon smirked. “His name is Baelon,” he casually mentioned, causing the king to visibly tense again, “After Father. He was born but three weeks ago,”.

“That was around the same time as when Joffrey was born,” a voice chimed in. Rhaenyra, with her sons,“Sister. Uncle. It is good to see you both again. And meet my nieces and nephew,”.

(Name) was elder than Rhaenyra by a year. Their relationship soured when Rhaenyra was named the heir to the Iron Throne, despite (Name) being Viserys’ eldest child. “Sister,” she smiled, “Those must be my nephews. Jace, Luke and…Joffrey, he’s inside, is he not? They will be good knights, so…Strong,”.

Viserys’ face blanched. Rhaenyra glared whilst the boys looked confused. “Do not take is as an insult, boys,” (Name) spoke in a manner that bordered on mocking, “It is good to be Strong, is it not, sister?”.

Daemon began to snicker. (Name) handed Baelon to Viserys, who held him in his remaining arm. (Name) sharply elbowed Daemon in the ribs, causing him to spill his cup of wine slightly.

Rhaenyra huffed, walking away to speak to Laenor. Luke followed Rhaenyra suit. Jace lingered. “Aunt,” he asked, catching (Name)’s attention, “May I ask you something?”.

“Of course, dear boy,” (Name) spoke, smiling at the brunette boy, “You may ask me whatever you wish,”

“Mother will not be honest with me about this matter…” Jace spoke, nervously fiddling with his fingers, “Am I a…bastard? Is Ser Harwin my father?”.

(Name)’s eyes widened in horror. Was Rhaenyra truly planning to put a bastard on the Iron Throne? She always knew her father was metaphorically blind, but not this blind. She was blatantly aware of her father’s favouritism to Rhaenyra. But she never knew it was this bad.

“Yes,” she spoke quietly, “I cannot believe your mother is not being honest about this to you. Harwin Strong is your father. Laenor is not your father. Nor is he Luke or Joffrey’s father. I am so sorry, dear boy,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Earlier in the day, whilst Daemon was holding Baelon, (Name) found herself skulking around in black velvet after Laena’s casket had been lowered into the ocean.

“Hand turns loom…” the dreamlike voice of her younger sister, Helaena Targaryen, uttered, letting a spider crawl across the skin of her hand, “Spool of Red…Spool of Black…dragons of flesh…weaving dragons of thread,”.

(Name) crouched next to Helaena. “Sister,” Helaena greeted, smiling at her older sister, “May I tell you something?”.

The older woman smiled at her younger sister. “Of course, Hel,” (Name) spoke, “Anything,”.

As an infant, Helaena was restless and cried with her whole being unless she was held by (Name). “I have…strange dreams,” Helaena confessed, “And those dreams…become real as time goes on…do you think that is normal?”.

(Name) placed a hand on Helaena’s shoulder. “My dear Helaena,” she spoke, catching Helaena’s attention from the spider, “It is. You see…many years ago, before the fall of Old Valyria, our ancestor, Daenys, had a dream. She dreamed of the fall of Old Valyria two and ten years before it actually happened,”.

Helaena’s eyes widened, beckoning her sister to continue. “As Targaryens, we are known for our ability to ride dragons. Some Targaryens had the ability to dream of the future. Dragon Dreamers. I am a Dreamer, just like you. My sister, don’t ever let Aegon make you feel inferior without your consent. You are a marvel,”

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

The sun was barely setting when she discovered a horrific sight. Otto Hightower, who’d been reinstated as Hand of the King, was roughing up Aegon, who was half-drunk and slumped against the wall.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Lord Hand?” (Name) spoke, glaring at hole into Otto Hightower’s soul. Her voice had a frightening steeliness to it.

Otto bowed. She truly resented Otto, as a man and as Hand of the King. “Princess,” he greeted, “There is nothing to see here. I suggest you rejoin Prince Daemon inside,”.

She scoffed. “I would rather feed myself to Meraxes than listen to a word you have to say,” (Name) spat, folding her arms, “I know a few dragons who would gladly set you alight, akin to a torch. Caraxes, Meraxes, Vermithor and Silverwing, for instance,”.

Otto visibly tensed. He bowed and walked past her. “Sister,” Aegon drunkenly slurred, as (Name) heaved teenager up from the ground, “-Nice to see you again! I missed you!”.

“I missed you too, Egg,” (Name) smiled to the boy, placing his arm across her shoulders for support and guiding him up the stairs. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, sweet Prince,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

It was the late evening when (Name) had been approached. The events following Laena’s funeral had been drastic. Young Aemond had claimed Vhagar as his mount, causing a fight between him, Jace, Luke, Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aemma, Baela and Rhaena.

It was an honest accident when Daenerys maimed Aemond and caused him to lose and eye. Alicent understood that. What she did not understand was that it was in defence of Jace and Luke’s legitimacy.

It’d blown up into a full-blown fight between Rhaenyra and Alicent, one of which had come at the other with a Valyrian Steel Dagger belonging to Aegon the Conqueror. (Name) had stepped in and gotten cut across the bridge of her nose.

There was a sharp knock at the door, catching both the attentions of the Rogue Prince and the Shrew of King’s Landing. “Enter,” (Name) spoke. The doors opened, revealing the visage of Otto Hightower.

Daemon blanched. “Lord Hand,” he bitterly spoke, “Have you come to darken our door for the ordeal earlier?”.

Otto sent a steely glare Daemon’s way, causing the Rogue Prince to mockingly smirk at him. “I have not, Daemon,” Otto spoke. Alicent stood behind him, guiltily staring at (Name), “I have come to speak to Princess (Name),”.

This caught (Name)’s attention, who was rocking Baelon softly in her arms, their daughters had since retired to the guest chambers with Baela and Rhaena hours prior. “Speak plainly, Lord Hand,” (Name) commanded coolly, briefly making eye contact with Ser Criston Cole, “What brings to you my chambers at this time of night?”.

“I believe we are…aligned,” Otto mused, adjusting the pin on his emerald-coloured lapel, making Daemon scoff, “In our beliefs in regards to the legitimacy of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons and the line of succession,”.

He was putting salt into the all the right wounds. (Name) was still evidently bitter about her younger sister being named heir over her and her plans to put her bastard son on the throne.

“My father is a fool,” (Name) confessed, softly stroking Baelon’s silver-coloured tufts of hair, “Nothing would change that. He is blind to the truth. Rhaenyra is his favourite child and nobody can deny that. He cannot accept the truth that Jace, Luke and Joffrey are bastards,”.

Otto smirked. “What if it did not have to be that way?” Alicent asked. This made (Name) glance at her stepmother, “What if another were to inherit the throne after the King’s passing?”.

“How would you like to be Queen, (Name)?” The Hand of the King quickly asked, making (Name) glance at Daemon, holding Baelon closer to her chest.

[duckyhowls]

Game of Thrones Masterlist

A collection of one-shots dedicated to George R.R. Martin’s world of ‘A Game of Thrones’. The tales of legend have entertained the world for years. This collection contains the romance retold from the Eddas, the secret tales of ‘A Game of Thrones’ and its ancient world. Following the deeds of powerful men and women such as Aegon the Conqueror, The Kingslayer, and even the Green Queen, and filled with a host of fantastic creatures - dragons, basilisks, etc. - and objects containing myth - Dark Sister, Widows Wail, etc. - that will conjure up a world of heroism and romance that will enthrall you. 

𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

Obsession - maegor the cruel x stark!OC (COMING SOON)

Just His Servant - maegor the cruel x servant!OC (COMING SOON)

The Rogue - aegon the conqueror x dragon rider!OC (COMING SOON)

Traveller - aegon the conqueror x nomad!OC (COMING SOON)

Warlord - visenya t. x dragon rider! queen!OC (COMING SOON)

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

Boneless - daemon t. x crippled!niece!OC (COMING SOON)

Childhood - daemon t. x servant!OC (COMING SOON)

I’m A Poet - aegon ii t. x niece!strong!OC (COMING SOON)

The Flower - aegon ii t. x OC ModernAU (COMING SOON)

Pretty Questions - aemond t. x lannister!OC (COMING SOON)

Like A Cat - aemond t. x stark!OC (COMING SOON)

Secret - aemond t. x neice!OC x aegon ii t. (COMING SOON)

Bones - alicent h. x ghost!fem!celtigar!OC (COMING SOON)

Prince - alicent h. x prince!targaryen!OC (COMING SOON)

Diamonds - rhaenyra t. x lannister!fem!OC (COMING SOON)

𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

Queen - daenerys t. x baratheon (lannister)!OC

The young queen, Mercia Baratheon, is the last living heir to King Robert after all three of her siblings die horrible deaths. As the Seven Kingdoms are on the brink of collapse, Mercia does all she can to hold it all together - though struggles arrive when the Long Night draws near, and The Dragon Queen comes for her throne. But perhaps there is a compromise they can arrange?

A Caged Bird - viserys t. x slave!OC (COMING SOON)

Unsteady - jaime l. x targaryen!OC (COMING SOON)

Sorcery - cersei l. x witch!OC (COMING SOON)