#HOTD OC

[asoiafpalestine]

Our 44th art piece is…

Jacaerys and an OC, Daenys, by @lonelymagpies here on tumblr! For fallingfloral on twitter.

We’re currently not taking further commissions. Check out our page for our current information and to see how you can still help Palestinians in need!

[daemontargaryenwhore]

Aegon II: My father named me as his heir

Otto:

[elcoffin]

alysmond love child 🦉🔮🗡️💎

[murmel-malt]

'all these people' are actually very vital (more or less). thank you very much! also, look at her face! how could you tell her 'no'??

Rhaenyra: That’s my boyfriend Harwin, he’s the father. That’s my girlfriend best friend Alicent, she’s my emotional support. That there is her emotional support, Criston, who doesn’t actually like me very much. Over on the other side is my fake-boyfriend Laenor - our fathers set us up and think that this kid is actually his - and that is his actual boyfriend, Aeron, who is Laenor’s emotional support.

a quick doodle of a scene that has been stuck in my head for days now and I just needed to get it out before I go insane. this is part of my very silly modern AU for my boy Aeron.

[huramuna]

virtue has a veil, vice a mask

an amazing commission of our two favorites by zacckiell on twitter who was lovely to work with and portrayed this couple with such ease and accuracy. i can't stop staring at it!!

[moobell55]

His Lady's Love

~Lord Benjicot Blackwood returns home from a border skirmish to his lovely lady~

Trigger Warnings~Description of blood and wounds, reference to battle, Bracken hate, mentions of sex and pregnancy, reader is simply referred to as Lady Blackwood, her features are as you wish but longer hair is mentioned, angst, comfort, and fluff, They're in love your Honor~

The air in Blackwood Castle smelled of rains and unforeseen troubles as the darkness of the evening slowly overcame the Riverlands. The sun had made its way across the sky as a strong storm had formed around the castle; one almost as strong as the Young Lord making his way to his chambers.

The young Lord's dark clothes were stained with blood, the same blood that covered his face in a mockery of freckles and sunspots. His tunic sleeve was ripped open exposing a detestable wound, the sticky blood clinging to his skin like a lover would. His boots stunk of mud and the Bracken's cow field.

But with his head held high with victory the Young Benjicot quickly made his way to his chambers; paying no attention to the filth or blood that dripped upon the ancient stone floors. The Raven Haired Lord only had one thing on his battle worn mind, only one person worth seeing in this forsaken realm.

And so the Young Benjicot hastily burst into his chambers, and his bloodied gaze quickly set upon the Lady of His Heart. She sat in front of the dying fire, the dancing flames shone upon her hair as it cascaded around her. His lady was clad in a smooth night dress, the dress going to great lengths to hide his wife's growing body.

At the sound of the grand door opening she quickly pivoted her head around to be met with the sight of her blood soaked husband. A smile quickly fell from her face as she harshly stood up to meet him but not before Benjicot quickly made his way towards his beloved.

"Benji," her voice was filled with concern as her injured husband quickly but carefully forced her to sit back down.

Her Lord Husband quickly cut her questions off, "The maesters have said that you need to rest my Lady," his eyes filled with nothing but affection for his lady.

Lady Blackwood's eyes narrowed at her husband's mothering tendencies, all the while his arm gaped open and he was stained with blood.

She scoffed, "I could rest if my Lord Husband was not constantly getting into tussles with the Brackens over cattle." Her words spoke of anger but Benjicot could see a hint of fear within his wife's face.

Being neither a Blackwood or Bracken by birth his wife often found the bickering between the two houses to be a great sense of mirth, but this was the first time her Lord Husband had ever been injured.

His lips quivered into a smile, "My lady mustn't worry about me, a Bracken foal stands no chance against the Lord of Raventree," he carefully removed a blood stained glove and stroked his beloved's cheek.

"You are injured, Benjicot," she said as she held his wounded arm. "How can I rest when I know my husband is roaming the Riverlands like a feral mongrel?"

Her gaze fell down to her covered stomach, the evidence of their love showing through the night dress. She tenderly grabbed his clean hand and placed it on her swollen stomach, her eyes once again meeting his.

"I cannot rest knowing that my husband might not one day come back," her eyes glazed over and tears began to form, "that he would leave me a Widow and our child fatherless, all for an endless feud that harms us all."

His lady's words stung more than any wound ever could. Benjicot Blackwood was an honorable and proud man, he sent fear across battlefields, but he never wanted to send fear into his own home let alone his beloved wife.

Benjicot had never been gifted in his skills with words let alone comfort, but the tears that dripped onto his Lady's soft cheeks seemed to jar something from his spirit.

His shaky hands intertwined with his wife over her stomach, his unbloodied hand gently caressing her smooth fingers.

"When I swore to you under our Weirwood Tree I promised I would remain by your side to my final breath, that you would be my Lady until I depart this world," silent tears fell onto her Lady's cheeks as he spoke of their blissful day.

"I should've proclaimed that I will not depart this world without you, that I will grow old with my Lady, that together our children will know peace in the realm," he smiled softly, "that their father will always come home to them, and that his beloved would never fear her husband was lying dead on the border."

A kind smile graced his wife's face and his heart fluttered at the sight, two years into their binding and she still sent tremors through the Young Lord's soul.

He wiped a tear with his unbloodied hand and spoke boldly, "I love you like I love no other, and I promise to honor you for the rest of my life; I cannot promise to end the feud but I will always come home to my Lady and our children." 

Lady Blackwood simply smiled and to Benjicots surprise quickly drew Benji into a loving embrace; his Lady not seeming to mind the filth he was covered in. As his sweet wife embraced the blood soaked man, it felt as if his soul had been cleaned of the lives he had taken. A man as battle hardened as Benjicot knew he did not deserve such a gift, but maybe he’d one day become worthy of such a gift. For his unborn babe that rested within his beloved's Womb, and for the beloved Lady that rested within Lord Benjicot Blackwood's arms. 

As Lady Blackwood was held in her husband's arms she placed a kiss over his clothed heart, it seemed to be the only place on his tunic that wasn’t stained with blood. Tenderly she pulled off his other bloodied glove and brought both hands into a kiss. Soft tears filled her Lord's mossy eyes at the sight, but Benjicot could not find words worth speaking at the gesture. 

“I love you my Benjicot, my sweet protector and my beloved husband; your battle worn hands do not scare me and they never will, and I know you shall always come home to us, but a wife will worry.” Understanding filled Lady Blackwood's eyes, and Benji felt as if he had seen her for the first time like he did under the Weirwood tree years ago.

A teasing smile flicked across her face, “You are filthy Benji, and you have ruined my gown,” her words were not harsh but seemed playful to the blushing Benjicot who now seemed red in the face with his own blood. Realizing him she placed a hand on her stomach and carefully guided Benji into their shared bath chambers, where a filled bronze tub steamed away in the corner. A smirk fell upon Benji's face showing off a hint of his crooked teeth and pulled at the dried blood on his face. 

“Did my beloved know I would return home filthy?” His voice was teasing, as a small blush appeared on his Lady's face.

An equally roguish smirk appeared on her face and it sent Benji's heart ablaze, “Maybe a wife just wishes to bathe with her beloved Husband.” 

Lord Benjicot could do nothing but laugh and pull his beloved lady closer to him and press a soft kiss against her forehead. 

And soon the Lord and Lady of Raventree washed the blood of their bodies together, as a silent promise thicker than the grime on Benjicot filled their hearts. A promise of love and peacefulness for their people and the Babe growing in his dearest wifes womb.

(I hope y'all enjoyed this, I haven't written in a very long time and this is my first House of the Dragon Fic, I've been obsessed with Benjicot Blackwood lately and I hope to write more works for fim :) I'm always taking writing suggestions and Fic requests so if you have any ideas please let me know! )

[grimmbunniee]

Not to sound like a bitch or anything but why is every HOTD oc the same person. Her name is always Aemma/Visenya Velaryon or some god awful made up Valaryian name. Her dad is never Laenor but instead ser harwin, Daemon, or sometimes Cristion coke. Her lover is always Aemond(Cregan stark is also in love with her too). Aemond ends up defecting to team black and your oc and him win the war. She also rides cannibal or has claimed more than one dragon(you’ll never be Daenerys Targaryen you can’t out do the doer).

(Don’t get me started on how some of y’all will write Rhaenrya as this god awful stereotypical boy mom. When Rhaenyra has always wanted a daughter would spoil the living daylights out of her little girl, no matter who the father was)

[temporarily-your-saint]

Dull Blades

benjicot blackwood & targaryen oc

UPDATED! First chunk of this just? Disappeared??? So, edited it to include the missing first part!

warnings: angst?? no warnings, really? fluff & drabble for now & soft ben ~

I got this idea for a drabble from S2 of GOT when Catelyn Stark finds her son in disarray after hearing of his father. After watching the last couple episodes of HOTD (and reading Fire and Blood recently), it’s hard not to think about all of the heartbreak between the two sides. This little drabble follows an OC I’m creating, Rhaenala, having a moment to really feel and let out her frustration and sadness. She wanders off to the woods on her own once settling into the Riverlands only to then be discovered by a certain Blackwood. Also, I know, I know, okay! I know our boy didn’t turn out to be our boy, BUT LET ME COPE, OKAY. : ‘ )

Also, part 1??? Thinking about making a second part to this…

—

Swing after swing the blade got duller and even more damaged. The log had had it. She couldn’t help it though. Everything was falling apart as she knew it. Her house, her family, everything. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

Her breath heaved as she swung her sword. In the distance, she could hear footsteps brushing along the grass and leather moving against each other as a voice called out.

She wiped her eyes, removing all evidence of frustrated tears.

“Hey!” She heard the voice as it got closer. It was a husky voice, perhaps a young lad.

“Hey! Princess!” Lilac eyes snapped up to meet the unknown voice. Her chest rose up and down quickly as she leaned over to rest. Who was this? This lanky, dark-haired man? Rhaelana was stunned by his boldness yet captivated.

Piercing familiar eyes met hers. “We need that sword, Princess. We need every sword necessary to end every life that defends the usurper. And…” he trailed off, his eyes scanning the blade in her hands. “You’re letting that one go to waste,” he finished his sentence softly as he slowly approached closer.

Blackwood. Benjicot Blackwood.

She remembered now. Head of House Blackwood. How could she be so dense?

The princess was sent by her mother to aid their allies with the battle against the Lannister army. Benjicot had sent ravens to the queen not long before asking for aid, so Rhaelana was drafted with Valax, her grown dragon with black onyx scales. The two were a formidable pair and more than capable of assisting their Riverland allies.

Her mouth parted with a bewildered cackle, laughing uncontrollably out loud. She couldn’t help it. This truly was a sightly scene for the young lord to find his princess, wasn’t it?

She sheathed the sword as she stood upright. “My apologies, my lord. I shall be more mindful,” her voice quivered on the last word, almost making her lose her composure. He could see that, of course. It wasn’t difficult to see that she was hurting, being torn apart in every direction. Most of all, she was grieving. Grieving for those that were already lost. Grieving for those that would welcome death soon enough. And what better way to let go than by hitting something? Oh, Benjicot knew that feeling all too well.

“Princess?” He continued to walk towards her, stepping slowly only inches apart now as they stood in front of each other.

“I should be going now. There’s people expecting me and—“ But as she began to step past him, an arm reached out, hand wrapping itself around her wrist.

“I wept,” he began to speak, answering the puzzled look on the princess’s face. “The first time I lay eyes on all the bodies. It was my first time on a battlefield and afterward I felt nothing but sorrow.” His words hung heavy in the air. “War is war, princess. And with family? I dare not imagine. But you have us. You have me,” he spoke softly while searching her eyes.

The young lord realized he still held her wrist and released her, snapping the princess harshly back into reality as he let her go.

“Benjicot Blackwood,” she spoke his name sternly. The young man straightened up, gaze never faltering hers.

“Thank you. I hope to see you at the meeting,” a hopeful gleam shined in her eyes as she spoke. Her body then glided past him, her shoulder brushing his arm as she passed.

The current state of her family was doomed. But her mother’s rightful place on the throne didn’t have to be. No, she was going to fight. She was going to fight with any and every weapon possible, dull or not.

A smile danced at the corner of the young lord’s lips as she passed by. His head bowed for a moment as he responded, “Of course, princess.”

Her figure walked away from him, towards the direction of camp. If there was one thing for certain, Ben knew they’d succeed with the princess at their aid. He recognized the look in her eyes all too well. The princess was proving to be all the more captivating than he could have hoped.

[quiddling]

they r besties ur honour

[godswood-girl]

if someone asked me at the end i'd tell them put me back in it darling, i would do it again if i could hold you for a minute

yet another incredible commission by the amazing @murmel-malt, this time of my favourite hotd lesbians, alicent hightower and my oc daena royce, stars of my future fic and though i burn

[insomniakisses]

An eye for an eye | One

Characters: Aemond x sister reader (platonic), Rhaenyra x sister reader (platonic), Alicent x step daughter reader (Platonic) (hotd characters)

Reader type: Female

Warnings / Notes: tw viserys, tw otto, tw daemon, events of driftmark, absent and shitty father viserys, metions of torturous, dragons, graphic violent scenes. I think thats it. Possable targcest in the future.

Parts: Two.

You couldn’t help the giggles that escaped your lips as you ran around the gardens, aemond chasing after you soft giggles falling from him two. The younger boy declaring he was going to catch you but he was at a disadvantage you were 4 years older than him, though even at the age of 10 he was gaining height and strength.

You begin to slow as tiredness kicks in and he smirks, using the last of his energy to surge forward catching up with ease as he wraps his arms around you and pushes you both to the floor. Laughter escaping you both on impact. Though its short lived when rhaenyra comes bolting over pulling you off the ground a hard glare fixed on her face.

“That is most un-lady like sister,” she hisses before her gaze fixes on your brother, “Aemond do you not know how to properly behave around a lady?” She scolds and you roll your eyes seeing jace and luke laughing behind her.

“I- we were playing! Only playing! Shes not hurt i promise-“ the young prince stutters clearly afraid of the much older royals wraith knowing just how protective of you your sister can be.

“Really?” She draws out with a scoff bringing ur arm into view and he sees the smallest of scrapes along your forearm his eyes widening.

“Rhaenyra!” You call shaking off her grip and moving to stand by Aemond, “its barely an injury, it doesn’t even hurt. You needn’t worry yourself!” You exclaim hand clasping Aemond’s as you continue. “He will take me to the maesters to get it checked out now, won’t you Aem?”

The boy nods with a small smile when you squeeze his hand in reassurance making sure he knows your not in the slightest mad at him and that everything is okay.

Spending the rest of the day inside the two of you resigned to the library reading up on family histories and practicing your High Valyrian. Save the brief interruption from Alicent, the queen asking to check your injury having been informed by Rhaenyra that her “undisciplined” son had caused you harm.

Though as soon as she saw you two laughing and joking around she knew in her heart that there was no way he would have hurt you. Especially not intentionally.

You simply smile at the queen greeting her by her title and allowing her to gently lift your arm inspecting the wound before she left you be leaving a soft kiss to both of your heads as she bid her goodbyes. On her way to the king no doubt.

— one year later —

The whole family was being taken to Driftmark, apparently for the funeral of Laena Velarion. Though the two of you had only spoken once, having accidentally ran into her and Rhaenyra, she seemed nice enough and you were sad that she had died so early into her life. Your half-sibling however didn’t seem to care. Aegon was ceaselessly complaining as usual, Helaena of in her own world like always and Aemond, well he was respectful enough to understand why you were going but he clearly wasn’t saddened by the news.

The king and Alicent were set to arrive by boat accompanied by the four of you, but Aegon having recently mounted Sunfyre for a real flight insisted he go by dragon back the king uncaringly agreeing and shooing of Alicent’s protests. Her visible worry evident the whole way as she picked and chewed at her fingers you and Aemond sharing a concern look before going over to her. Grasping a hand each you held her tightly and she smiled. You couldn’t tell if it was forced or not, but she let out a small exhale as she held you giving away she was more relaxed even if it was only slightly.

Once the ship had docked Alicent all but ran to Aegon though he rolled his eyes and told her to leave him be as he wasn’t a child anymore. He failed to see how she flinched when Sunfyre moved or how she stood still till the dragon moved away. One of her biggest fears dragons were, something you had picked up recently.

You latch back onto her arm when she’s beside you again, having grown rather attached to her in the years of Rhaenyras absence. She had left without warning or a goodbye. You can still remember the nights you laid crying for her hugs or her soft touch when she braided your hair helping you ready yourself in the morning. All of that was Alicent’s job now, not that she minded, she loved you as her own and enjoyed how you curled against her needy for a mother’s touch. She just wishes you wouldn’t call her Alicent, it always hurt her not hearing the word “mother”.

———— That Night ————

The funeral had been somewhat uneventful, Aegon had gotten drunk and was sent to bed early by Otto and Daemon had made a scene laughing during the ceremony. But that was all really, soon you were all sent to bed and you had fallen asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. Exhausted from the day of traveling no doubt.

However, the sound of whooshing and a dragons deep roar had woken you, slipping on a cloak and your shows you had gone to investigate. By the time you came downstairs there was shouting and a trail of blood into the main hall. Following it you entered seeing Aemond holding his eye and the adults screaming at each other. Jace with bloody hands and Luke with a broken nose yet Rhaenyra, Daemon and Laenor were nowhere in sight. You rushed to Aemond side feeling Alicent pull u into her body your hand grasping her dress as you stares at the bloody sight.

Then in came Rhaenyra and you completely zoned out staying by Aemond’s side and holding his hand throughout the whole ordeal. Crying for your brother when the king seemed not to care and made no move to punish the boys for attacking him.

After all was said and done Aemond was given milk of the poppy and essence of night shade for the pain and to help him sleep. While the rest of you were ushered to your respective chambers though you slept very little worried about Aemond and so saddened at Rhaenyra’s intention of having someone torturing him. Afterall he had just lost an eye.

———— Back in Kings Landing ————

“ALICENT ENOUGH!” the king roared, having had enough of her nagging.

“THEY TOOK HIS EYE, YOUR GRACE, SOMEONE HAS TO PAY!” And he sighs sitting on his throne looking half dead.

“My dear wife,” he starts voice bored and tired. “Lucerys is just a boy. Children fight. Get over it.”

She scoffs at this, fighting the urge to yell again knowing his power out matches hers. “A debt is due your grace, an eye for an eye. He is your son!”

“What would you have me do?” He scoffs, “The boy is at dragon stone and he is my grandchild.”

“I dont care!” The queen protests, “You have to do something! Rhaenyra’s son has taken the eye of my own, a punishment is deserved. Someone must be punished!” If the queen had known her lack of precise words would lead to the events that would unfold that night she would never have been so careless.

“Fetch Y/n” is all he mutters and a guard sets of at once, Alicent so caught up in her thoughts not quiet hearing what he had ordered. Its only when a sleepy and confused you is escorted in that her breath quickens.

You stand there rubbing the sleep from your eyes, blinking away exhaustion as your blanket lays draped over your shoulders giving you a slight waddle when you walk.

“What is she-“ Alicent is cut of by the king. “Bring me her eye, a debt is to be payed and she is like a daughter to Rhaenyra. Lets settle this now”

Your heart fills with fear and dread as does Alicent’s as your grabbed by two guards another forcing his knife into your flesh. Alicent screaming protest as she herself is restrained tears falling down her face at your pained crys and shrieks. Your father simply holding his head in his hand as he feels another migraine coming.

“MOMMA PLEASE! IT HURTS MOM PLEASE MOMMY HELP!” you continue to scream and thrash around the knife in your flesh leaving messy cuts until your eye pulls out with a sickening wet pop and you scream loud.

You both released and alicent runs to you scooping you up and rocking you as you cry, hands balling up her dress as a mumbles mantra of “momma” escapes your lips she holds you as the maesters tend to your wounds and give you all the same teas and treatments Aemond had gotten in drifting mark. The king and guards now long gone.

“Im so sorry baby” is all she keeps saying kissing your head and carrying you to her chambers. You spend the night there, tucked into her embrace as she holds you swearing to protect you from this day swearing that one day the king will get what he deserves. And praying to the gods for all her children to be safe.

A/n. So this was part one hope u liked it 😁

[asoiafpalestine]

Our 50th (wow!) art piece is...

An OC, Roselyn Tully-Hightower, sitting with Helaena, by @lonelymagpies here on tumblr! For @iamyourdailydoseofbi.

We’re currently not taking further commissions. Check out our page for our current information and to see how you can still help Palestinians in need!

[daemontargaryenwhore]

Aegon finally taking high valyrian classes on duolingo.

[cheesy-cryptid]

Taking a moment to draw something out of my love for fantasy media by making some out of the blue House of the Dragon inspired oc art

[writingwenches]

Princess Aemma Velaryon

summary: The first child of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, born not long after her marriage to Lord Laenor Velaryon. An unknown dragon dreamer, the girl experiences all the horrors inflicted on the world by Old Valyria while she sleeps, while during waking hours prays for the forgiveness of the Seven. She dreams of becoming the perfect mother, something her mother most certainly is not. She worships the ground Queen Alicent walks on. She is filled with dragonfire and rage.

themes: tried to think up a version of a Rhaenyra's Team Green daughter OC and she slowly warped into Rhaenyra's worst nightmare and my new fav. Part of my HOTD fanfic universe.

warnings: religious nonsense, eternal damnation, sexism

Part One of Unknown // ~5k word count

On the day of her birth, King Viserys was the first to speak her name, as a gift to the woman he loved. He had informed his small council when the news of a healthy female babe came to them, that the babe was to be called Princess Aemma Targaryen. 

Queen Alicent, debilitated from her labors, spent the days following the birth with her mind controlled by milk of the poppy. Her seventeenth nameday came and went. She couldn’t be sure, as her mind frolicked with the dancers painted on her chamber walls, but Alicent did not recall the kitchens preparing her traditional cinnamon cake to mark the celebration. 

Queen Alicent first heard the babe’s name from her father, the Hand of the King. And right then, her recovery ended. 

Princess Helaena Targaryen was announced at court that every afternoon, with the king’s approval or presence.

It was not long after that Princess Rhaenyra was in need of a name for her own healthy baby girl, and Aemma seemed fitting. 

Princess Aemma Velaryon was born the Realm’s Delight. Aemma was perfection personified from the moment she was born, two moons early, but weighing more than any of the king’s children. Her skin was healthy, but would not be described as dark. Disregarding the Maester’s astrological based predictions of the birth, it was foretold that the babe would be of sturdy health, and as a babe her favorite thing to do was scream. 

It was not something she would grow out of.

Aemma Valyrian was born at the onset of winter, and the Maesters predicted her ill temper would cool once the springs come again. Just as they had vastly miscalculated the child’s birth, they predicted incorrectly.

The babe would fight sleep, and be calmed by nothing. Additional nursemaids were hired, as the babe was taken away from those tasked with looking after the Queen’s newly born second son.

Princess Rhaenyra swore off ever birthing a babe again, after nights and nights of sleepless waiting. Leanor had honored her with his help, bearing the burden of misery at her side. Queen Alicent could barely speak with her childhood friend without biting words and curses cast in her direction. 

Eventually, Rhaenyra allowed the Queen to take the babe, to allow herself much needed sleep. Helaena helped calm the babe, Alicent found, the year older child fascinated with the new sounds. Aemma could find sleep, tucked aside her aunt Helaena. 

At least for a while.

Helaena did not mind standing in the shadow cast by Aemma all her life, honestly she preferred it. It kept her well shaded from the brightness of the court’s stares. 

Even though Helaena was older, Aemma was the leader, even of their nursemaids. It was not long before Helaena’s gate slowed as she allowed Aemma to to lead herself away. She had no use for Helaena, not really, Helaena was not good at sitting motionless in the Sept, or picking apart her every action to find her central flaw that needs solving. Helaena just wanted to be. Aemma wanted to be superior. 

The princess’s hair was her greatest treasure. Pale white, with flecks of silver under the sun, she had grown down to her hips, and she wore it unbraided. Each night, requiring two maids to brush it to her satisfaction. She did not appreciate inefficiency, only inspecting after twenty additional brush strokes. 

Gifts from her grandsire birthed her collection the man was a sailor that traveled the world, something that Aemma had interest of doing herself, but applauded the man for his great bravery. The elder captain enjoyed Aemma’s excitement with every exotic trinket he returned with, as his wife and daughter had grown tiered of his treasures and absence. 

Her favorite treasures were the princess’s vast collection of combs and brushes from around the known world. She had comb made of a single jewel from the mines of Casterly Rock, a comb of pure frozen fire from the markets of Asshai, the small folk call it dragon glass, and her most prized possession, a brush that is said to be made of hair and human bone from north of the Wall. 

Every night she would pick her two tools, one for each maid, as a sort of prayer for the next days blessings. Her mother hadn’t ever understood her obsessions. 

Her mother never understood anything. 

Aemma screamed. Rhaenyra screamed back. A chair is thrown from her balcony and Queen Alicent enters the young girl’s room without introduction. Aemma cried and threw herself at the Queen’s mercy. 

“I simply suggested,” Rhaenyra started, “that we visit the dragon pit so that we might––“ 

“You wish to sabotage any chance I have of ever finding a husband!” Aemma’s words bit like the heat of dragon fire grazing skin. “No man shall have me if I stink of dragon!” 

Aemma’s tear stained eyes fell on Helaena, hiding behind her mother’s skirts. Her eyes hardened at the sight of her niece, Helaena’s clothes were plain and made of leather. The King’s first born grandchild looked at the King’s second born daughter like she was some disgusting creature, covering herself in the dried skins of dead animals, like a true monster. 

“…just like you.” Aemma bit her words at Helaena, the unwanted woman that smells of sulfur that no man had any use for. 

Helaena did not mind Aemma’s words, for she knew the root of them. Helaena had been present when Aemma proposed marriage to Aegon, the first time. 

Aemma upon the siblings breaking their fast one morning, she had not yet reached ten. She informed Aegon that he would need to start attending her daily prayers in the Sept, to cleanse his mind in preparation for their eventual wedding. 

Aegon did not bother to finish swallowing his meal before he responded, “I would marry Helaena before I would ever marry you,” he laughed, juices falling from his open mouth. He would not marry Helaena either, but he had paid enough attention in the training yard to know the most efficient place to strike. 

Aemma saw to it that the rest of Aegon’s meal ended up in the dirt. She made sure to break the newly turned teen’s favorite cup.

Aemond would sometimes hear Aemma’s screams marking another spat with her mother from the training yard. Aemond had not expected to see his niece, there, in the flesh, she tended to avoid the entire side of the keep, complaining of the smell. 

Aemma’s hand wrapped itself around Aemond’s wooden sword, mid strike. Ser Criston’s feet left the pit in freight at the sight of the young girl. She was the disgusting bastard snake, the proof of all his failures. With every glance at her pale lavender eyes, he questions if he should not have ended himself that night instead of…

“Uncle, you shall be my husband, prepare yourself,” she released his weapon back to him. 

“Oh–“ was the only sound that left the child’s mouth, allowing the heavy sword to fall into the earth, his eyes passed to his teacher, Ser Criston, hoping he would speak up to inform her that she was mistaken. 

“That is, of course,” Aemma’s hand’s folded sweetly, as her silver hair cascaded to the floor, wrapping her in its aura. She bowed politely, lowering her head ever so gently. 

Aemond watched her efficiency of her actions, every motion pointed and proven to get the reaction she desired. How Aemond longed to play the strings of others with the ease that she managed to. He supposed their children would grow strong, and she did not have the look of a bastard that marked her brothers. Still, he did not like the idea of more unity with that family.

“That is only because I can not possible marry you, Ser Criston,” she mused. “For how I do wish to,” Aemma sighed into the fantasy of a picturesque life as the lady wife of a proper knight. Aemond could feel the sun from her words. 

Criston looked away. 

High Valyrian was out of the question for Aemma, why speak the language of a civilization not competent enough to remain living amongst some ‘falling volcanic ash’, She believed that the gods only act their vengeance on those who deserve his wrath. If one never sins, one will always be kept in the favor of the gods.  

Her mother spoke blasphemous contradictions, always downplaying the gods judgement. 

“We of Old Valyrian were only saved from Doom by the grace of the Seven,” Aemma’s hands rose in praise, “and we must honor them in the way that they demand.” Her daily trips to the Great Sept surpassed that of the most pious at court. 

At the mere suggestion, from Rhaenyra, for Aemma to spent time away from her constant, quiet, contemplation, the young princess would drop to her knees while loudly begging the gods forgiveness of her mother’s trespass. Her hands rose to the ceiling, her calls shouted to their exhalation, to cover the heretical words of her mother. 

Rhaenyra eventually gave up, and allowed the girl to do as she pleased. Aemma’s eyes were shut closed for her endless prayers before meals, her calls were loud enough to cover the rest of them picking at their plates. 

“May my every action be guided by your grace, and let me praise your name with all my actions.” 

Sometimes, Rhaenyra thought her daughter was doing these things simply to irritate her mother. Laenor, her father, thought she was simply fascinating. 

Aemma believed in eternal damnation, neither her parents knew where the thought had stemmed from. She was still a child, in her nursery room, when she told of dreams from the eternal burn of dragon fire that awaits those that displease the gods. Not even the Septas could talk the girl from her heading. She viewed her life as a test, and she would not allow herself to fail it. 

There was a world, that Aemma visited in her sleep. For as long as she could hold memory, she could feel herself falling and slipping and drowning into the darkness of slumber and awaking somewhere far, far away. It was a place where gods ruled the sky, and those who tamed them ruled the world. 

The towers of the city spiraled up past the clouds, towards the sun.

That was not where Aemma would find herself. She would land hard, by the skin of her knees, against the broken stone of the iron mines, deep below magma bellowing flames. It was hot, too hot, too hot to breath. The air was thick with metal dust and human wails. She would know she was alone, her family slain long ago in a place that no longer existed, turn to ash and salt by the gods as punishment for her trespasses. 

It was too hot. And the wailing. Aemma was forced to her feet and made to continue, her small hands wrapping around the broken rocks and shuffling them away with the other tiny hands that worked the floors of the mine. Iron, they called it, it was precious and wanted by the gods to make more tools, to dig deeper into the mines. Her hands burned at every new touch of rock, the gloves covering her hands were not enough, never enough. Her feet and knees were blistered and burned, she could not even remove her sandals, as the flames merged them into her skin. She breathed in toxic fumes and smelled of brimstone and bile. 

With every new crack of rock, with every clash of metal came the ending. The vile ending of choking on airless voids, of molten steam breaking free and burning and melting, of the rumble of a wyrm, picking her off for wondering too far down the darkness.  

Every night she dreamed, Aemma suffered and died in the mines of Old Valyria, suffering the wrath of her people’s empire, though she did not know it. She was a child, and the child only saw death and destruction and fire.

In her waking hours, the Septas read the young princesses tales of the Seven, and their constant fight for moral righteousness. It was what gave the Reach their fine knights and perfect ladies, just like the Queen. 

Aemma knew what it meant to be virtuous, it was able to be taught. And from her dreams, she knew what happened to those who were wicked. Eternal fire and blood and damnation. 

Aemma had always enjoyed the silence of the Sept, as soon as she was old enough to enjoy it. She could breath amongst the endless quiet flames, they all breathed together as they marked the ones lost to the past. It was a peaceful place, the Septas silent pondering and whispered prayers brought her calm. It was the only thing that did, the promise of a just reward and eternal peace for living and just and pious life. 

She was given a heading at a young age, that she could know true peace if she followed the path before her. She was determined to reach her destination.

Of course, Princess Aemma Targaryen was not going to become a dirty, old, Septa, she was born with a grander purpose. She knew she was to be a mother from her playing with dolls. She knew she was to be a great mother one day. 

Something that she knew her own mother was not. 

As the princess aged, her dreams changed, mirroring the souls that called to her from across the Narrow Sea. One such dream of odd sensations and things she could not understand, coincided with lessons putting the upmost importance on a future bride’s chastity. 

Her mother was displeased when she refused to remove her shift before climbing in the bath. 

“Aemma, sweetling, I do not think this is what the Septas meant–“ Rhaenyra tried to remain calm for her daughter’s sake. 

“I am responsible for protecting my chastity mother! What if–“ the young girl gestured around the room, filled with her brothers and their nursemaids. 

It was wrong, but Rhaenyra could not stifle a laugh. “They are infants, and I am your mother!” she argued, “These woman have been taking care of you since you were a babe, we all love you so–“

“Love will not protect me,” was Aemma’s final answer. The girl bathed in her thin cotton shift, to protect her modesty, even from herself.

Rhaenyra was fraught. Queen Alicent thought the behavior odd, but seemingly harmless. Once becoming Queen, Alicent’s own staff grew seven fold, she had not been used to bathing in a room filled with people without Rhaenyra in their youth. Alicent too longed for the days were she could bath in peace. 

“Perhaps, she simply wishes to be alone?” the Queen offered, her back straight as she sipped her mid-morning tea. “She is growing, she might find the boys…an annoyance?” 

Rhaenyra shook her head, slouched into a cushion, one of her feet propped up on the chair beside her. “But, what if we’re missing something?”

Alicent let out a sigh, she knew when her childhood friend wanted to talk freely, to work through an idea that plagued her in such a way she could not be swayed. “What do you mean?” Alicent asked, after picking a particularly beautiful (and large) cake from the tea offerings, it was covered with berries and cream. 

Rhaenyra leaned herself forward, with the look in her eye when recounting ancient war strategies, “Laenor, once, told the children a favorite war story of his and both Aemma and Jace were frightened for days, so never again. But, that was years ago, and Jace does not even remember it ever happened.” Rhaenyra said. “I have spoken with her Septas, about what they could possibly be teaching those girls. It’s all falderal and men exchanging dutiful wives and stories about how rain once covered the entire earth.” 

The Queen attempted to allow her words to flow past like a gentle steam, Rhaenyra had always had a contempt for the teachings of the Seven, and Alicent had agreed to the tea in good faith. Alicent was a woman in control of herself, and would not leave the table over a slight so simple, no matter how much she wished to.

“Well, it is not all,” Alicent began, “as you say, falderal. Many of the stories are great examples of honor and responsibility…” Alicent could tell that Rhaenyra was losing interest in her speaking, “And perhaps, a daughter wanting to protect her own innocent is not the worst thing to be faced with.” 

Alicent sipped her tea while the two shared a silent look.

“Helaena is similar, I must admit,” Alicent changed the subject. “I find she prefers not to be touched. I thought it was by my own failing, but she seems to not wish it from anyone.” Alicent shrugged. “Perhaps, she too wants to take control of her own innocence and chastity? There is nothing wrong with that.” 

“But, what if there is something wrong?”

“You worry too much,” Alicent offered something small, a hand reaching across the table. 

“I never imagined having a daughter would be so tiring,” Rhaenyra laughed, not taking Alicent hand but offering a smile at the gesture. 

“Well!” a new voice entered the room. “Isn’t that a sentiment I have been waiting to hear all my life!” Viserys entered the room with his cane first, Rhaenyra noticed a new missing tooth amongst his smile. 

“You would make your mother proud,” the King offered, his daughter taking his hand.

Alicent swallowed, a deep breath, and then joined the smile herself. “Yes, step-daughter, Aemma is in good hands, with us all.”

Outside of the castle walls, Aemma Valyrian was the Realm’s Delight. Since a young age, the little girl would wave towards the crowds on her daily trip to the Great Sept. She carried flowers to gift other children during the springs, and bread to offering during the winters. Helaena joined along, but preferred the serenity of the wheelhouse over the roar of a crowd. 

Helaena’s eyes were always elsewhere, the skies, the dirts, her own mind. Aemma refused to enter the dragon pit, so Helaena was rarely afforded the opportunity. Aemma complained the smell made her sick, and would heave until they either left or she became sick and they were both taken back to the palace, where Aemma would spend endless hours pampering her hair.

Before Aemma was even old enough to understand, she could read it on the faces of those at court, there was something wrong. The Queen had never spoken ill of her mother in her presence, but Aemma suspected she had always just finished speaking before the young girl was close enough to hear. 

Aemma devoured every drop of information she could find from those around court. Queen Alicent had packed the halls with any second born noble that wished a chance at the presence of power. They all had something to say. Aemma had learned to hide around corners and disappear into shadows in order to hear. 

She learned and she knew. 

And in the aftermath of the birth of her brother Joffrey, Aemma was ready to strike. 

“Oh, so now you care about who I am to marry!” Aemma spoke as if she were a woman grown, as Rhaenyra had thought since she was first born. “You speak to the Queen about wedding me to Aegon after he had already refused me!” 

Rhaenyra was taken aback. “You have asked him? Aemma you are a child! You–“

“And I would never have such a leacher as my betrothed! Aemond has already agreed–“

“Aemond?” Rhaenyra’s head was spinning at the information coming. “Fine, fine,” she finally relented. “Either way, we are returning to Dragonstone, we have–“

“You shall to whatever you like, I shall be remaining with my betrothed, as we are to be married!” 

“Aemma, my sweet, you are still a child! You shall marry, but for now we are going home–“

“THIS IS MY HOME!” 

...the tableware shook at the ferocity of her words, along with goblet she threw. 

Rhaenyra did not like when her daughter stopped speaking, for she had no way of knowing what was going on in her mind. She watched as a smile stitched itself across Aemma’s mouth. Rhaenyra never wanted to speak ill of her precious child, but the girl’s teeth were too large for her mouth, it created a smile stretching across her cheeks like a jackal.

“If you make me go, I shall tell everyone,” Aemma spoke softly, pulling the air out of the room.

“Tell them what?” Rhaenyra tried to keep her breathing stilled. 

“I shall tell them about father,” her smile only grew. 

Rhaenyra’s breathing halted. 

“He’s….he’s…a buggerer of men! I have seen it with my own eyes, the King’s nameday last, as he was tending to those Bracken horses, and you’re protecting him!” Aemma enjoyed being right, it was simply the only way to be. “How could you ever lie with a man like that?” she asked, disgusted. “But, I supposed. You did not lie for him long.” 

Aemma’s eyes wondered to the dark haired babe asleep in his cradle. 

“I suppose, I should thank you, Mother. You managed to at least produce one heir,” Aemma’s spoke what she had never spoke before.

“Heir?” Rhaenyra’s forced a laugh, “You have always been content with your brother, Jacerys, taking on the mantle after me.” 

“You dare suggest someone like him sitting the iron throne?” 

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but laugh, for the girl knew not what she spoke. It would only take a few words to cut the girl down, drown out every candied dream that filled her stupid head. “You wish to rule?” the heir-to-the-throne asked.

Aemma’s words were spitting, hissing venom at her birther, “There is no Queen amongst the Seven! I wish to honor The Mother, and to fulfill the only purpose for which I was brought down from the stars! I pray to the Crone to guide me to the path of fruitfulness and to The Maiden to protect by virtue from peoples like YOU.”

Food and plates and chairs and jewels flew through the room, leaving a path of destruction matching a dragon in a herding pasture. 

“Fine! Remain here, be the ward of the Queen, for she is the mother you have always wanted!” Rhaenyra gave in, and left the girl to her own devices. 

Queen Alicent had not been prepared to see Aemma breaking her fast the next morning. “Aemma! What are you–” she exclaimed, the girl had been seated alone in the large room used for family meals, always the first to arrive. 

“Mother left me here,” Aemma sighed into the words, sipping her morning tea. 

The Queen made a sound showing that she had heard the young girl’s words. She had heard of the aftermath left behind in Rhaenyra’s chambers, and Alicent was sure she now found the cause. 

“You are to…?” Alicent sat near the child. In all of the Queen’s dreams of Rhaenyra taking her spawn and fleeing, she had never imagined one staying behind. Though, she now knew it had always been the only possibility.

“I am to remain here as your ward, my queen!” Aemma threw back her chair, and supplicated herself before the queen. “Allow me to learn from you! You, a true virtuous and pious woman. You are the portrait of The Mother, who I shall model my every action to glorify her name."

Alicent had seen this look before. The eyes glazing over, looking past and through. The same way those worshippers looked at the dragons of Old Valyria, the reverence in the presence of a god. Alicent was Aemma’s god. 

“I shall be faithful to you, as my lord paramount, you shall guide my every action and I shall become whatever it is that you want me to be so that I can avoid the endless firey pits of damnation that awaits all those sinners that I shall seen––“

“Enough! Enough, that’s enough, dear,” Alicent hushed her, shaking her out of whatever trace had taken over. “It is fine, you may stay. Just, please no more–” 

“Um! What is she doing here?” Aegon was never up this early, and all the thanks he received was being greeted by the Realm’s Annoyance. “Why can’t she go back to Dragonstone with the b–” 

“Aegon!” the queen hissed.

Neither Aemond or Helaena were excited to see her that morning, but it was clear she would need to be removed from the castle in chains, if at all. 

Aemond supposed having a betrothed was fine. He had known from birth that his marriage was to be arranged, and that he supposed he was prepared to do whatever duty the crown demanded but, this felt different. 

He had not spent much time imagining what his future bride would look like, but the time he had, his mind wondered to that of Cinda Lannister, his mother’s closest lady. When she peppered his face with kisses, it wasn’t wet and revealing like some of the older women of court. Her hugs were warm and long, and he was almost tall enough to be face height with her chest. 

Aemma always had ill words to say about Cinda’s wardrobe, always finding something despisable about how she showed her body, complaining about the slightly elder Lannister’s overly exposed skin. Aemond was not sure if they were always speaking of the same dresses, for Aemond could always imagine Cinda in more scandalous clothing. 

“You aren’t thinking about Cinda Lannister’s breasts, are you?” Aemma gasped, as she caught his mind drifting off in the wheelhouse ride to the Sept. 

Aemond could feel every drop of blood rushing to the tips of his ears, it was almost painful. “No!” he lied. 

“Good,” Aemma said, knowing she had picked the right choice of betrothed. 

She had close to him during meals, moving their chairs to almost be touching. There was a part of him that hungered for the attention, and he knew that his prayers had been answered. Although, hallow. 

She gifted him small things, she once sowed a silver trinket dragon into his sleeve. “Now you shall not need to go to the dragon pits any longer, for here if your own dragon.” 

Aemond enjoyed when she dumped wine on Aegon when his brother mocked him. But, he did not like their mandated walks through the gardens and her constant questions about the state of his mind. 

It was not Aemma’s words that haunted Aemond from the night be lost his eye, it was the imagined droves of ladies at court that would soon he saying the same thing.

Aemma shouted at her child brother, Lucerys, from her place at the Queen’s side, “I can not marry him now that he has one eye!”

Aemond was honestly glad to get rid of her, she had completely ignored his existence during his healing process, though she informed him that he was in her prayers. 

“Thanks,” he would respond flatly. 

“Perhaps someone with a large castle,” Queen Alicent mused, trying to think of that to do with the leftover princess. “She needs something to constantly busy herself.” 

“Harrenhal is the largest of castles,” Lord Larys offered, from across the sitting table filled with their scheduled warm meal.

"Say that again, and I shall make her marry you,” Alicent buffed back.

“Then I shall be sure to never speak of it again,” Larys assured. 

Ser Criston waited patiently outside the Queen’s chambers, and never interrupted her meals. Though, he knew the topic of discussion. The cunt princess’s actions were always so cutting towards the Lady Queen, and she needed to be cut down to size.

Ser Criston offered the plan late one night, he could tell that his Queen was drained from the girl’s constant will and talks of a world being engulfed in endless flames. 

“My Queen, if it please you,” he started. “The Princess Aemma has grown…fond of me,” he was not sure how to proceed. “If you ever would want me to…” 

They both stopped, neither green enough to need it said fully. 

Alicent’s hands wrapped themselves around the stone railing, digging the grit into her palm. “You, the man who once asked me to order your death, hear me now,” she said, “If I hear of such things again, I shall take your hear myself. You will treat the princess as her station demands, you will be cordial and nothing more. Or I shall see your white cloak run red with your own blood. Am I understood?” 

She was understood.

Somewhere deep, across the barren fields that wrapped around her mind, down a dark corridor, a tunnel of darkness, a moat of unpassable waters, there was a box under the floor boards that held a small wooden box. And inside that box was were Alicent kept what she knew to be true. That Princess Aemma was no ward, but a sacrifice Alicent was willing to make, and heir for an heir, if it were ever come such blows. And it was Alicent alone who could give that order.

a/n: THANKS FOR READING! as always~ I posted a bit of her earlier this week, hated it, took it down, and re-wrote some of it LOL Anyone want more? Any suggestions or requests? Lol she needs to have a ultra religious girl-gang lol

tags: @targaryenswhxre sorry for the mult tags Im a mess LOL

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. XI

part eleven y'all. The closer I get to the season ending, the more nervous I get, I hope I can make do with book summarizations, though canon will be changed around. it has been two weeks since Jaehaerys' death, for time to move forward.

tags: @alexandra-001 @beebeechaos @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @pedro-pascal-love @purple-1995 @reyndaisy @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @thelastemzy @saintkittykat @hueanhdang @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97

cw: mention of violence and death

🗡

Dusk had made it quite far, traveling a lot further in less time than Cregan could on horseback. Around him, Cregan saw through the direwolve's bright eyes. The men had rallied quickly, saying swift goodbyes to loved ones before they left. The greybeards had already started their march to The Twins, leaving the younger men to follow after them with their larger force. It would not be weeks before they reached the Riverlands, but their pace was steady, and the men were rearing to fight for their Queen at Lord Stark's command. Ahead, Dusk met with Lord Henry Hornwood, the man who would lead the greybeards in Cregan's stead. His son, Germen, was old and experienced enough to lead if Henry did not return. None of the greybeards did.

"Lord Stark," Henry bowed slightly toward the wolf, sensing the look the wolf gave him to be all-too-knowing. "We have made fine progress, and have picked up more fighting men along the way. Each House swears themselves to your cause–to the Queen's cause."

Cregan, or Dusk, nodded firmly. The only thing that hindered him when he warged was the ability to talk being taken away from him. Everything else was a bonus; faster speed and strength, hearing, stealth.

"Dragon!" One of the bannermen shouted, causing many of the Northerners in the camp to duck down for cover.

Cregan looked up, Dusk's sharp eyes spotting the nearly invisible white dragon passing the army of men. Against the clouds, only the movement of wings could be seen. Morningstar. Daenys was coming to Winterfell.

Cregan sent his mind back to his own body, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden shift. He could leave Henry to deal with the rest for now, knowing Dusk would be following them until Cregan could start his march with them. Back in his solar, he sat up in his chair. Good or bad news, he needed to prepare for the Princess' arrival.

🗡

As Morningstar landed, she seemed to call out for something, or perhaps someone. Daenys pet her neck with a short 'thank you' before hopping off from her wing and marching toward the gates of Winterfell. They were already wide open, Cregan standing the open space surrounded by the two guards who always manned it.

"That was fast," Daenys commented, amused. "I didn't think you would know of my arrival so quickly."

"I have my ways," he said vaguely, grinning as he kissed her hand. When Cregan leaned back up, he kept the hand gently placed in his. "I have chambers and a meal prepared for you—"

"We cannot stay." She said curtly, shaking her head. "I wish we could, but this is more urgent."

"We?" He asked, bemused.

"Ser Alfred Broome has been murdered. An assassination attempt has been ordered for the Queen by the usurper. Luckily, she was saved by her Queensguard. We are still left without A Master of War."

"And what does that have to do with your visit to Winterfell, my Lady?" He asked hesitantly, already able to guess why she had come to him.

"I offered your name as a potential Master for the Queen's Council. Rhaenyra has accepted." Daenys told him.

"A seat at the council?" His brow furrowed, looking down at Daenys with a conflicted look. "I am commanding my men as we speak, sending ravens nearly every hour to rally the houses to fight."

"Can ravens not be sent from anywhere?" Daenys challenged. "You are smart, Cregan. Smarter than those power-hungry fools on my mother's council. They wish to push her out, lead in her stead and lead the realm into a war that it would never recover from. They need a strong voice of reason, another man that they might actually respect in Daemon's absence." She pleaded, placing her other hand over the one that held hers.

"Daemon has gone?" He asked.

"To Harrenhall, where I hope to meet him and bring him back to Dragonstone. He is not sending any news of his success in the Riverlands, so I can only assume he is acting in his own best interest."

"Please, Cregan. Come with me." Daenys squeezed his hand lightly, a pleading tone to her voice. "The Queen would be grateful for your council."

Cregan avoided her stare this time, knowing he was weak to the Princess' whims. With a sigh, "I will come to Dragonstone with you, my Lady." He conceded. The guards behind him stood up straighter, shocked at the news. They shared a glance amongst themselves.

Their Lord was ready to go into the snake pit for this war.

A Stark had never sat on a Monarch's council, only ever used for his men and fealty.

"Alaric, send for a servant to pack my things. Leon, tell my council that I will be gone for a while and to send all my important ravens directly to Dragonstone. The Maester will lead in my stead." He barked behind him, earning obedient nods as the men scurried off.

"Allow me to feed you, at least, before we depart. You must have been flying for a while."

"Please, Cregan—do not make me eat." She stepped back from him stiffly.

When he stepped forward to comfort her, she shook her head. Cregan stilled. "But I won't deny a pig or cow for Morningstar." She asked hopefully. The flight back would tire the dragon out, she knew.

"Very well." Cregan nodded, biting his tongue. "I will send food for her. Give me only a few moments, Princess." He tucked back into the Great Keep to fetch a guard to send for food.

When Cregan returned minutes later, a servant carrying his things followed behind. A butcher, Daenys presumed, exited another part of the keep with a pig being lead outside of Winterfell's walls. Daenys nodded towards the man gratefully when he shuffled past her back inside, Morningstar having eaten her fill.

Cregan, clad in his lordly Stark sigil and pelts, met Daenys near the dragon.

Daenys hummed curiously, glancing around. "Where is Dusk? I figured the pup would have seen you off."

He adjusted Ice on his shoulder restlessly. "He has gone off with my men to act as a scout." A half-truth, but Cregan truly did not know how to bring up his ancestral talent, for it was such a hard thing to explain to southerners. He knew she would understand, but the information was unneeded currently.

"A shame. I would've found a way to take him with us." She smiled up at him cheekily.

Daenys clipped his cases onto a storage part behind the dragonsaddle, reaching out a hand for Cregan to take. Nearly blushing like a maiden at the offer for help, Cregan took it anyway and sat behind his Lady.

"You will burn up in those clothes, Stark." Daenys said, nodding towards his heavy clothes.

"The price I pay for you, sweet girl." He huffed, though held no animosity towards her.

"Ready?" She asked. Cregan could only nod, clenching his jaw and firmly wrapping his arms around her torso.

She'd never sat a man grown on her saddle before, only her younger brothers. It was strange to have someone sat behind her and not in front. Humming, Daenys ordered her dragon up, "Sōves!" Morningstar trilled as she took flight again, already knowing the way home without Daenys having to steer.

Cregan held tight to her for the entire liftoff, mearly buried into her neck while holding his breath. When the dragon steadied herself above the treeline, Daenys laughed at his still-tense hold. She grabbed one of his hands from her belly, intertwining it with her own. "Scared, my Lord?"

"I would be a fool not to be. I must be the only man of no Valyrion blood to ride a dragon. I don't know if I should praise or curse myself." He laughed nervously.

Daenys shook her head softly, laughing more boisterously than he. "I praise you, good Lord. Not every man would be so brave to even get close to a dragon."

He squeezed her hand back, twice. "I guess I must get used to it. After all, my Lady wife having a dragon at her disposal means that I must grow accustomed so such flights."

Briefly, he ran his fingertips over the emerging scar on her forearm, still in the healing process from her bite. The small scar on her neck was already healed up, leaving a white line cast halfway across her neck. None but Cregan knew of them, due to her long-sleeved dresses and shorter height. She shivered at the delicate ghostly touch, earning a breathy chuckle right into her ear.

"Do you want for one of your own?" She teased, glancing back at his pale face.

"I think I will be content with Dusk, safe on the ground." He jested, overlooking the sights that they passed. At the dismantled campsites were abandoned firepits or forgotten items men must have left behind in their haste to get ready. As they flew further, Cregan and Daenys were able to spot the marching greybeards easily. The mass of over 2,000 men spanded far across the winter desert. As they walked, they formed a sea of greys and browns that Daenys had grown accustomed to seeing northerners wearing.

Morningstar passed them quickly on her way towards the Riverlands.

Daenys thought for a moment, "I should like to stop at Harrenhall before we return to Dragonstone."

She knew it was her only chance to help Rhaenyra outside of the council. Not that she spoke during the meetings, anyway. Her, Jace, and Baela were practically disregarded by the old men once they started to speak, thinking that their experience overruled their titles. Rhaenyra would refuse Daenys' ask to fetch Daemon personally. Both the husband and wife were incredibly stubborn, refusing to give in to the other. The Queen didn't wish to put her children in harms way again, but they needed Caraxes and Daemon back quickly.

Cregan stiffened behind her. "Harrenhall? Where Prince Daemon is staying? What exactly is your plan of action for talking your uncle into coming back to Dragonstone?"

Daenys rolled her eyes, grateful that Cregan could not see her face in front of him. "I will simply aid him in treating with the Riverland Lords. Gods know he will only make them riled up with his disrespectful attitude. We need allies, not enemies. Daemon has never been good at making friends."

Cregan stayed silent at her words, conceding to her once again. He hoped the stay would be brief, only a few days or less. He did not wish for Daenys and himself to be exposed at Harrenhall, so close to the Crownlands and not protected by water like Dragonstone was.

Daenys felt faint halfway through the flight, glad it was almost over and done with. Perhaps the lack of food was getting to her. She felt the panging of her stomach starting to hit her only now. Perhaps the only time she wished to eat was when she camping with Cregan, sharing their kills that had roasted over the fire from their own hard work. Being so used to working for her every meal for weeks, then being served plates three times daily made her feel spoilt. Even more so for throwing them away like a bratty child.

Daenys would eat at Harrenhall if there was time. It would make the headaches go away, according to her basic knowledge of the body. Either from hunger or stress, there were little other reasons for such sudden pain. Only one was an easy fix.

She breathed deeply, trying to wish the nausea away, waiting for the castle to come into sight.

When it had, already in the very late evening, Daenys grimaced at the sight. It was hardly a great castle anymore, with no guards keeping watch outside of it or at the doors. It would be easy for Daemon to claim, as well as any of their enemies.

Caraxes howled out at the sight of Morningstar's bright scales. In the night sky, sun barely below the horizon, her magnifice stood out against the dark skies. Any higher, and she could perhaps be mistaken for a true star. Morningstar roared back, greeting the elder as she was guided to land.

Daenys dismounted outside of a large and ungated entrance, a field holding a weirwood tree. "I didn't know there were many weirwoods so far south. I thought the Old Gods were abandoned by Southerners." Cregan commented, slowly following her footholds and climbing down.

"There are only a few. Namely in the Riverlands, and one in King's Landing. Some descending from the First Men have stayed loyal to their ancestors' gods, others moved on." Daenys shrugged, not having much opinion for either religion. The trees were beautiful, though. A haunting and deep aura surrounded them. Almost intimidating, if it weren't a tree.

"Go find Caraxes. Stay with him, and call out at any sign of more dragons." Daenys commanded the dragon, watching her fly off to the rocks that Caraxes made his temporary home.

Daenys takes Cregan's outstretched arm as they walk into the gloomy hall. As they wandered through the dark, damp halls, it took an embarrassingly long time to find the dining hall, where Daemon sat. A young boy sat in front of him, looking flushed and nervous under the intense eye of the prince. An older man sat in, too, who Daenys guessed was Simon Strong–Harwin and Larys' granduncle.

The man had watched over Harrenhall alone ever since Lyonel passed away with Harwin. Since the estate passed to Larys, the knight had been left at his own nephew's mercy ever since. But now, seeing as the old man was not dead, he had allied himself with the Blacks.

Ser Strong and the young boy stood when Daenys entered, shock apparent on their faces.

"Ser Simon Strong, my Lady. Castellon of Harrenhall. We were not expecting the company of a Princess, as well as the Prince—"

"King." Daemon sharply interrupted, eyeing Daenys suspiciously.

"Yes, the King Consort has been staying with us for a few days now while we await the Riverland houses to pledge to your mother." He bowed politely, sitting himself back down at her acknowledgment. Vaguely, she was happy to meet another one of Harwin's family.

"M-My Princess." The boy bowed deeply, hand tightly clutching the pommel of his sword. He wiped the other hand on his breeches, obviously nervous. "I am Ser Oscar Tully. I have come in place of my grandsire, paramount of Riverun." He stammered his way through his sentence, glancing back between Cregan and Daenys.

"Sers." Daenys nodded her head. "This is Lord Cregan Stark. I am escorting him back to Dragonstone upon the Queen's request. I hope you do not mind our intrusion. We hope to sit in on The Consort's meetings with the Riverland lords."

"My Lords." Cregan followed her polite action, though more tense than she. In front of other lord's presence, his voice changed from the soft-spoken and low one he used with Daenys. It was more serious and lordly. He seemed to fill a room with his presence and demand respect.

At the title, Daemon bristled once more. "I have this handled well enough, I believe your mother is expecting you to stay by her side as you always are."

"That is a husband's job, not a daughter's." Daenys said. Before Daemon could start a fight in front of respectable allies, Daenys sat herself down right next to Oscar, who got more flushed if that was even humanly possibly.

"And does your grandsire pledge for The Queen, Ser Oscar?" Daenys asks softly, knowing exactly how it felt to be in his shoes. A young man, too green to be taken seriously surrounded by older and more experienced men.

"As I was telling His Grace," Oscar glanced between Daenys and Daemon, unsure of who to address formally. He had only arrived minutes ago, not yet saying his piece in place of his grandsire. "My grandsire is incapacitated. He lies in a kind of waking sleep, unable to do much more than take meager drink."

Daenys nodded, sympathizing with the riverland boy. Her own grandsire was in similar condition for years before his passing, forcing him to practically be a corpse in his bed, haunting the Red Keep.

"So, he's alive?" Daemon asked, displeased with the information.

"Yes, gods be good." Oscar brightened considerably.

"Well, my time is short, and I am in need of an army. Perhaps you might place a feather pillow over his head and speed along your inheritance?" Daemon leaned closer to Oscar, speaking of the boy casually murdering his own kin like it was nothing.

Oscar leaned back, closer to Daenys. The Princess placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, appalled. She looked to Cregan, who had the same look that she did.

"Daemon!" She hissed. Clearly, she was right in needing to be here to mediate.

Daemon stared at Oscar, waiting for his reply.

"I love my grandsire, like a father." He told the Prince adamantly. "My own Lord father died suddenly, himself a young man. Lord Grover raised me in his stead."

Daemon sat back, sighing deeply as he rubbed his temples. "Very touching, indeed. Are you here to speak with your grandfather's voice?"

"While he still lives?" Oscar asked. It was an uncommon thing to do, though not unlawful in dire times like these. "That is not our way."

"Then you're of no use to me."

"I can see why the Blackwoods and the Brackens did not fear to start a war." He spoke again, this time to Ser Simon. "House Tully is a fish without a head. Remind me which one of your countrymen pledged for Aegon? Was it Bracken or Blackwood?"

The barrage of insult rendered the Tully speechless, merely staring at Ser Simon for help.

"It was House Bracken, Your Grace." Simon wisely covered for the boy.

"Who could remember?" Daemon scoffed, standing from his seat and grabbing Dark Sister along the way. "Summon House Blackwood here. I require men of action to lead my host of Rivermen." He barked, passing Daenys without another word.

Ser Simon pursed his lips, comfortingly patting Oscar's shoulder before speaking. "Princess, my Lord, I will have proper chambers and meals set up for you both for the duration of your stay. Excuse me."

Simon left to order for their accommodations as well as send the necessary ravens.

Daenys sighed, glad for the conversation to at least be over.

"Allow me to apologize for my father, Ser Oscar." He turned to her, stormy blue eyes finally meeting her own now that Daemon's absence no longer frightened him. He truly was a fish out of water, sent to meet with a King at his young age with no advisors at his side. How irresponsible of his grandsire to not make preparations while he is in such a state. "No one is expecting you to do such treasonous actions just to be able to succeed your grandsire. The Crown sympathizes with your troubles, as we have experienced such things ourselves."

He smiled gratefully, looking downtrodden. "I truly do wish to help you–help Her Grace get her throne back. But, my grandsire believes Aegon to be the rightful king, and I can not declare otherwise while he is still Lord Tully. I'm sorry, Princess."

Daenys smiled, standing from her seat with all the poise that her septas forced upon her. This time, unlike with Cregan's first meeting, she knew how to perform confidently. Oscar stood to meet her, standing only a few inches taller than the Princess.

"Please, Ser Oscar, I implore you to stay for at least the night. I'd hate to see you start your walk back home when it is dark out. I'm sure Ser Simon will not mind. Many of these rooms are thus unoccupied."

Shifting on his feet unsurely, he nodded. "If you wish it, Princess. I will leave after breakfast on the morrow. Goodnight, Princess, my Lord." He bowed his head, very briefly passing a kiss on Daenys' knuckles before he strided out of the dining room.

Cregan, behind Daenys, turned to her, finally able to speak alone. "Your father is quite the character. I'd heard of the Rogue Prince, but to tell a boy to do such a thing..." He trailed off, raising a brow at his betrothed.

Daenys took his arm, guiding him to sit back down next to her while they awaited supper. "No one can be prepared for him. I hope the Blackwood's are not easily offended, lest we lose another great house to the Greens." She stressed, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve.

He sat back in his seat, sipping at the wine a servant had left when the meeting was being held. "They are known for their boldness, Blackwoods are. They will take any excuse to fight, especially for what they believe is just. Even Daemon couldn't scare their Lord off." Cregan told her reassuringly.

They supped together peacefully, making small conversation about what had occured in their lives during their small separation. Eventually, they both finished their plain stews and were shown to their rooms. Adjacent to each other, Cregan turned to Daenys before they entered. "If you need anything, tonight, come to me." He whispered to avoid an echo in the hallway.

"I will." She said, leaning up to kiss his cheek 'goodnight'.

The room was decently spacious, with windows overlooking the sea. The sound of dripping in the castle had started to become a white noise for her, growing used to the sound and even finding its rhythms soothing.

Daenys lay in bed, dressed in a shift given to her by a maid, apparently having no Lady's clothes in the castle being used for a while. While those collected dust, the maid simply allowed the Princess to borrow one of her own. She slept only a few hours, dreamless and pleasent. She was only awakened by heavy footsteps striding past her doors. She tiptoed to her doors, cracking open one to see Daemon's ghostly robed figure walking back to his room, cup in hand. Daenys, ever curious, made her way to where he had come from.

She found a lit kitchen, with a pretty black-haired lady dressed in an apron working over the counters. "Oh, forgive me—" Daenys began to apologize, not wishing to interrupt the woman's work.

The woman did not glance up, busy with her herb grinding, though she did speak. "Wandering the halls so late in the night seems to run in the family." Her voice was accented, though not too differently from Daenys' own. She seemed to be from the Riverlands, too, but did not sound like Simon or Harwin.

"Yes, he woke me up with his parading through the halls. I don't know how you get much sleep in these halls, with all the echos."

The woman looked up at her, smiling knowingly. "You grow used to them. Well, some do. Most run off when they get spooked. Shame, really. Harrenhall has been quite peaceful for me."

Daenys hummed, slowly approaching her table. "What is all this?" It didn't look like kitchen ingredients, but more so poultice, salves, and teas.

"Poisons." The woman says plainly.

Daenys meets her eye, which holds no amusement. Was she serious?

Before Daenys could question her, the woman snorted. "You are quite like the Rogue Prince, aren't you? So serious."

Daenys huffed, taking a seat in front of the counter on a raised stool, watching the woman's work with interest.

"A Princess must be cautious of strangers." She said. "Are you...a witch?" She used the word lightly, knowing of its negative connotation but not having a better word for it.

The woman's almost glowing green eyes appraised the girl in front of her. "Do you think I am?"

Daenys blushed, not knowing if the woman would be offended or amused. "I think witches are interesting. They can do things someone like myself could not imagine, though they've gotten shunned by men who do not understand their ways." She tactfully avoided the direct question.

She nodded thoughtfully in turn. Pausing to lick whatever residue had gotten on her thumb, "I am Alys. As of right now, I am simply making a tea." Quite the complicated recipe for tea, but Daenys did not question it.

"You're a maester, then? For Harrenhall?" She wouldn't be surprised, with so few staff for the castle, a woman having to be its maester was a likely thing.

Alys' eyes sparked with amusement. "That's what they ask of me. The last one fled in the night, and I am the only one with the stomach for it, it seems."

"Fled? Is Harrenhall so bad?" Daenys asked.

"Just never settled in. How are you settling in, Princess? I hear you often experience poor sleep. Tonight shouldn't be much different."

Daenys shook her head, noting the knowing tone of Alys. She seemed to not judge, so Daenys didn't mind being questioned about it. Who would she tell, anyway, in this abandoned fortress?

"I was sleeping just fine here, until the Consort woke me. What are you doing working in the dead of night?"

Alys smiled, "I work better in the quiet and dark. Like a nocturnal animal, I am. The moon gives me inspiration."

Daenys laughed, feeling the tenseness start to melt off. Perhaps Alys doesn't enjoy the company of Harrenhall, though she fit its aesthetic perfectly. The witchy woman looked as haunting and dark as the place she lived in.

"Hm, since you're 'a maester', you can make poisons, yes?

"I can make much more than poisons. I find them boring, too simple. The mind is what truly controls and kills the body." Alys told her. It reminded Daenys of how the Green council controlled Viserys by keeping his mind muddled by milk of the poppy for years straight. He never attended court, never helped the realm, and could not do anything but sit in bed and rot. Poison would kill a man immediately, but the smarter route was to control them.

"Would you like a tea, to help find sleep?" Alys offered, reaching a chalice out to Daenys. She eyes it a moment, considered.

"I have to be up soon, anyways. I'd hate to meet Lord Blackwood in a groggy state. But, thank you, Alys. Maybe another night."

Alys nodded, placing the cup onto her table, watching the Princess leave for her chambers.

On the way back, she passed Cregan's. She hesitated at the door before deciding against entering. She need not wake him for nothing. Daenys spent the rest of her night watching the rain drizzling down to the sea from her window.

Come morning, Daenys dressed with the help of the same maid that offered her night slip. Overnight, the maid has washed the dust from formal dresses that were stored away. Daenys wore a simple dress that might have once belonged to Ser Harwin's mother, who she regretably did not know the name of. It was a light blue with red accenting, two colors she was already used to wearing for her houses.

She met Cregan in the hall, nodding to him. "I could ask for some clothes to be given to you to borrow. You must be miserable in those." While he forwent his pelts, he still wore his thick tunic and leathers, along with sigil on his chest. She tugged at a strap crossing his chest, raising a concerned brow to him.

Cregan smiled at her concern. "It is only a bit of discomfortable weather, not a problem you need to worry about, my Lady."

They entered the dining room together, Ser Simon Strong already there at the head of the round table to greet them. Oscar sat in the middle of it, to not be in anyone's way. His face lit up from his bored expression when he saw her walk in. "Princess!" He stood, stumbling slightly when the chair got caught on a crack.

Daenys stifled a laugh at the action, not wanting him to feel embarrassed. "Good morrow, Oscar. Simon, I hope you did not mind him staying last night. I asked it of him for my own peace of mind."

Simon smiled kindly, waving her off. "All guests are welcome. We so rarely get any." He reminded her a lot of Lord Lyonel, which was obvious considering they were uncle and nephew. Though, Larys' genes clearly did not come from either of these kind men.

Cregan sat next to her when she took a seat next to Oscar, hoping to send the young man off with a pleasant mood. "Did you sleep well, Oscar?" She asked, splitting her roll of bread to butter it.

He nodded energetically, looking much more himself than the day before. Daemon tended to drain people of their energy. "I did, my Lady, thank you. And you?"

"Pleasently, yes. The rain was quite soothing." She said. After so long with all light snow and no rain like she had grown used to on Dragonstone, she had missed the calmness of it.

He nodded, digging into his own heavier breakfast for his walk today.

"How are the Blackwoods, Oscar?" Daenys asked. "I've heard they carry bold temperaments, but you must know them personally."

He nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "At times, too stubborn for their own good. Samwell was their Lord for some time, though the battle at Burning Mill unfortunately led to his brother Willem taking over until his son grows to be of age."

She nodded, intently listening. "And Willem, do you think he'll be a smart choice to lead the Riverlands in Lord Glover's stead?" Daenys asked tentatively, not liking the fact that Daemon was trying to replace the Tullys as rightful paramounts of the Riverruns, even temporarily. Lord Glover was paramount for many years for good reason, and Oscar was his rightful heir. Calm-tempered and sweet, not so bloodthirsty like Daemon clearly was.

"He leads the Blackwoods well in place of his brother. His son and sister are quite like him, hard-headed but loyal. They will serve you, or I suppose the Prince, well." Oscar complimented. Daenys nodded between bites, praying to whatever Gods Harrenhall followed that Daemon wouldn't offend such stubborn people, ones that had recently lost their kin.

"Thank you, Oscar. I hope all goes well today." She said, softly sighing and leaning back into her sest after finishing half her breakfast.

His stormy eyes meet hers again, kind smile reassuring. "If they do not like the King Consort, then I am certain they will like you. Anyone who doesn't would be a fool."

Daenys blushed, feeling a girlish laugh escspe her. "You are very kind, Ser."

When the young Tully decided that it was about time he set out, to check on his house and grandsire, Daenys bid him farewell at the entrance.

"Safe travels, Oscar. Please write to us at Harrenhall with updates. I wish for your grandsire's good health."

He thanked her, promising to write with a gentlemanly kiss on her hand. On his horse, he headed back to House Tully.

Daenys walked back to the dining room, where Cregan and Simon were lightly chatting. It was barely another hour before a guard escorted three people inside the room.

"Lord Willlem Blackwood, his sister Alysanne Blackwood, and his son Davos Blackwood." Before returning to his post outside of the doorway.

The three who were previously sitting down stood to greet them, bowing their heads in greeting. Simon spoke first, "welcome to Harrenhall, my Lords and Lady. May I introduce Lord Cregan Stark and Princess Daenys Velayron." He coughed slightly, sitting himself down once more. Daenys clasped her hands together in front of her, assesing the three in front of them.

Willem has a handsome man only slightly younger than Daenys' mother, with brown hair and facial hair to show his maturity. His sister Alysanne was a tall, slim woman with strong features and pure-black hair. She had a sharp and assesing look in her own brown eyes. Davos, the youngest of all, was Daenys' age with forest green eyes and shaggy dark brown hair. Comely, like his Lord father.

"My Lord, it is pleasing to see you have arrived here with no trouble. We are only waiting for Daemon before we start." She said politely, nodding towards the table for them to sit.

Willem, Alysanne, and Davos sat in a line across from them. Davos was straight across from Daenys, while Alysanne sat parallel to Cregan. Willem sat near the opposite head of Simon, waiting for Daemon to join.

"I wasn't aware that two Valyrions would be meeting us at Harrenhall. I must admit, I was surprised when Prince Daemon summonded me from Raventree. Usually, when people summon armies they send ravens. Or come personally." He nodded toward Cregan. "Word has spread far and wide that three dragons were sent to be messengers for the Queen."

"Yes, my brothers and I treated with houses across the realm. The Queen thought it to be more personal, but the King Consort reigns differently." She told him, sipping her wine. She felt the internse stare of Davos on her, which she met curiously. His hair was quite different from most men she had seen, the style shorter in length. He had a small white scar spanning from his top lip to his nose, though it did nothing to make him seem less handsome. Daenys found it hard to keep his gaze, and he knew it, smirking into his own cup when she looked back to Willem and Alysanne.

"No worries, Princess. It was a short journey to Harrenhall." Willem said dismissively. He seemed like he didn't care if he stayed at home or came to the castle, a more easy-going individual. Daenys was relieved at that, at least.

Alysanne, on the other hand, was bolder than her brother. "I think the Queen's command to be more convenient for the houses. If the King Consort is asking for men, why is he not coming to us directly? You are the ones with dragons, after all."

"Daemon must hold Harrenhall. Caraxes is a deterrent for the Green's dragons, he must stay here at all times. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, my Lady." Daenys said.

"And you? Must your dragon also stay?" She challenged.

"My stay in Harrenhall will be brief. Daemon is the one who called for the Riverland houses, not I. It is only appropriate that he meets with the Lords."

As if on cue, Daemon comes stumbling in as if he were sleepwalking. He sat down next to Willem Blackwood, staring ahead at the cup clutched in his hand. A tea? Daemon rarely drank enough to be drunk, and would certainly not be irresponsible enough to do so before a meeting.

Simon, again, made introductions, and gestured for Willem to say his piece.

"Your Grace, the Blackwood House and all of its men pledge to the rightful Queen Rhaenyra. I now rule as regent until my nephew Benjicot comes of age, but he swears himself to her cause, too. The Brackens are venal cravens, and they must pay for their treachery against the laws of gods and men. And against the Crown."

Daemon seemed to breath in deeply, as if he had to think about his own bodily functions in order to perform them. He placed his cup down, looking between Willem and Simon. "Who are you?"

The room was dead silent. The Blackwoods shared glances that Daenys couldn't quite read. She had half a mind to kick him out and conduct buisness herself.

Cregan, too, sighed beside her quietly.

"Ser Willem Blackwood of House Blackwood, your Grace. As I said." Simon said, pointedly.

"Well met." He murmured back, still bleary-eyed. "What might I do for you?"

Daenys clutched her hands together tightly over the table, pursing her lips to prevent herself from saying something she'd regret. Across the table, Davos held an amused look, smirk still plastered on his face.

"...it was you who summonded me, Your Grace." Willem looked regretful now, unknowing if a cruel prank was being played on him. Surely, this was not the King Consort. "I was given to understand that you wanted an army."

"Well, who doesn't these days?" Daemon said plainly. "You Blackwoods certainly never miss a chance to bloody your swords, do you?"

"Some twenty years ago, my Lord bent the knee to King Viserys and acknowledged the Princess Rhaenyra as his rightful heir."

"So, you fight for this old oath? Not, of course, for your thousand-year-old feud with the Brackens?"

Willem shifted in his seat. "I once vied for Queen Rhaenyra's hand, before she wed Ser Laenor. I always liked her spirit. She had the true blood of the Dragon."

Daenys' brows nearly raised all the way to her hairline. Couldn't he have simply said, 'I am loyal to the Queen' instead of telling the King himself that he once tried to ask for his wife's hand.

"And you're prepared to march without the leave of your lord..." he trailed off, attention caught by a servant girl coming into the room. He stared at her for an uncomfortably long time, as if seeing a ghost. The rest of the room sat in the silence, wondering what in the seven hells was going on. When she finally filled his cup and left, Willem started again.

"Once you and your dragon bring the Queen's justice to the Brackens, our armies will be yours." He swore.

Daemon nodded, but Daenys was unsure if he was aware of what Willem had said. He left immediately after, looking haunted by something no one else could see. Daenys was quick to attempt a recovery.

"Daemon will deliver justice to the Brackens for your house, for Her Grace. He may be crass and dismissive at times, but I assure you, he does not break his oaths." She stood from her seat, leading the others to follow.

Willem nodded, a tired look on his face. "I hope so, Princess. I will leave, back to Raventree Hall. My son and sister will remain—"

"I will not." Alysanne told him, looking around the crumbling castle's hall. "I do not wish to sit around in his hellhole for any longer. I will lead my own betallion, one with men I trust from our House." The Lady said, insistant.

Daenys bowed her head to her, "I am grateful for your eagerness to fight, my Lady."

Alysanne left first, presumably to her horse outside.

Davos, too, started to protest. "If Alysanne gets to lead her own men, why must I stay here?" He started, quickly being shut down by Willem.

"I trust you to discuss matters in my stead, Davos. It will not be forever, just until Daemon keeps his part of the deal." Davos clutched at his dagger's pommel, irritation at being 'useless' evident all over his face and stance.

Willem soon left after, calling for Davos' horse to be escorted to his own stall in the stables. Daenys looked to Cregan briefly, unsure of how to comfort someone left behind as a means to an end. He could offer nothing but a sympathetic shrug. "Ser Davos," she started, watching him turn to her with a clenched jaw.

"We are glad to have you here. I promise, it will only be for a short while while Daemon figures out how he wants to go about the business between the Brackens. You will get your chance to fight." She said, stepping forward a few steps closer to him.

His gaze softened ever so slightly, not wishing to release his anger on the wrong person. "Hm." He nodded. "Is Lord Stark going to be leading his men, or has he been called upon by the King to also stay in these damp halls?"

Cregan stiffened next to Daenys, "I am here at the Princess' bidding. To join the Queen's council."

"Ah, so you won't be fighting."

"Who says that?" Cregan asked.

"Never met a councilman who actually led men to battle. Most prefer to stay in their castles, safe and comfortable." The Blackwood snickered.

"My betrothed asked me to come to the Queen's council as an advisor. Once my men follow on foot, I will take my leave to lead them." Cregan said, firm and absolute. Daenys felt a shiver crawl up her spine at him calling her 'his betrothed'. Imagining him calling her 'his wife' was something she couldn't even fathom.

"Bethrothed?" Davos asked, looking to Daenys with a rasied brow. "Hm. I thought the Princess' hand had been free for many years, now."

She felt her face grow hot, "it has. The betrothal is recent."

"So, not solidified, then?" He asked, nodding to himself.

Daenys moved to answer, to say that she had no intention of breaking her oath, but he didn't notice and continued.

"May I see your dragon, my Lady? I saw the two from afar on the way inside, but I know better than to approach one alone." Davos asked, a light look replacing his smug one.

Daenys, bemused, looked out to the nice morning weather. "You wish to approach Morningstar? For what reason?"

"Morningstar. That is a fitting name. 'Lightbringer' they call her, right? I simply wish to know what it means to be in the presence of one, take it as you fulfilling a silly boyish dream I've always had." He said, bashfully. Beside her, Cregan rolled his eyes.

"It is a fitting name for her." She smiled, "I will show you to her, of course."

Cregan eyed Daenys, but did not question a princess in front of another so brazenly. He ignored the triumphant look Davos shot him, thinking himself above childish games.

The weather was the most pleasant thing about Harrenhall, when it was not storming furious upon the castle. Daenys, Cregan, and Davos made a line while walking on top of the rocky sealine towards the two perched dragons. She did not understand how they lounged so comfortably on such jagged rocks.

Caraxed whined out as he spotted Daenys, a familiar face he had not seen in weeks. It seemed that Daemon had neglected the poor red beast, leaving him without good company until Morningstar arrived. Morningstar huffed at the sight of Daenys, making her discontent plainly seen. "Spoiled girl, we can not always sleep in snow blankets or dragonpits." She cooed, rubbing her chin.

She turned to Davos, who stood many feet behind herself and Cregan. He hesitated now in the presence of an actual dragon, breathless as he stared at her majesty. Cregan smirked at him, pointedly rubbing the dragoness' snout himself.

Daenys waved him closer, nodding her assurance. "She will not harm you, though she may think herself a grand jester when she knocks you over. It makes some of the dragonkeepers nearly shit themselves with fright."

Davos, not at all comforted by her words, stepped foward slowly, one foot at a time. The dragon silently allowed him to stroke her snout, eyes shut with content at bring given so much attention at once. Spoiled girl, Daenys smiled.

The Blackwood boy grinned boyishly at the achievement. "No one will ever believe me when I tell them I pet a dragon."

"Our secret, then." Daenys mused.

Soon, they went back inside of the castle, leaving behind the two dragons (though not after Daenys gave a bit of her attention to Caraxes, who did not let the boys near him like Morningstar did). Davos went off to his guest chambers after leaving a prolonged and dramatic kiss on Daenys' hand.

Cregan huffed beside her, now left alone with only each other in a broken down hallway.

Daenys, waiting for his next words, looked up to him. He didn't speak his thoughts on Davos, knowing that they were perhaps too childish and jealous to speak in front of his lady.

Comfortingly, she patted the arm that laced with her own. "Come, Cregan. Show me how Northerners pray. I would quite like to learn, now that I have an opportunity."

He seemed shocked at her ask but agreed eagerly nonetheless. They made their way through the twisted halls to the outside of the castle, where they had first entered from. The weirwood stood tall and strong on top of the enclosed hill.

Though ancient, the tree was still vibrant with life. It's red leaves were like blood against the stark white trunk and roots. Cregan kneeled in front of it, urging Daenys to do the same with a keen look. "There is no certain way to pray. It comes naturally to everyone. I like to speak my thoughts when I am alone, I find it relieving to speak what I cannot usually say. The Old Gods do not judge, but simply listen. In your head or aloud, they will hear."

She might have been able to speak her thoughts to the Old Gods if she were alone, but it would be embarrassing in front of another. Cregan must have thought the same, bowing his head and closing his eyes as he looked at peace.

Daenys followed his actions, thinking of whatever first came to her mind. Was she supposed to merely speak to the Gods, or ask for something? Perhaps that was overthinking it. It should not be a conditional ritual.

She thought of her brother first. Young Luke, a bright light lost to the storms. She missed him every minute she was awake, wishing things could change.

She thought of her mother, who wore a crown too heavy for her head. Visenya, Luke, and now Daemon and her own council causing her so much grief and distress in such trying times. She wished that Rhaenyra would keep her strength and stand tall always.

She thought of Helena, so close to her now while she stayed at Harrenhall. If she could only fly to her, plead for her to save herself from the war. She wished for her safety.

She thought of Cregan. The man right next to her, a permanent warmth at her side. She wished he might always be there, where he had begun to fill a void in her soul.

Daenys opened her eyes, finding Cregan already watching her. His expression was thoughtful, affectionate. A similar look he wore when they were on top of The Wall.

"What?" She breathed out, confused by his distraction. "Aren't you going to pray?"

"I already did." He answered.

"That was quite short."

"I only asked for one thing."

"And what is that, my Lord?"

"You to stay by my side." He laced their hands together, squeezing once as the feeling and his words made her heart flutter.

She brought his hand to her lip, closing her eyes lightly as she pressed them to his knuckles. "You need not ask the Gods for that. I would do so anyway."

🗡

Daenys disobeyed her mother when she ushered her and her brothers to their temporary chambers at driftmark. She did not wish to sleep again, not after Laena's funeral—and the vision that preceeded it. She was tired of death. At least she qas allowed to hide her mourning for Ser Harwin amidst the guise of Laena's funeral.

Daenys was saddened by Laena's death, truly, but she had never met the woman except in her one dream weeks ago. Her death was not preventable, not my maester or Daenys. Ser Harwins, though, was. A fire, a trapped door, the hazy smell of smoke that filled her lungs and suffocated her the same way it did Lord Lyonel. The man refused to leave his father's side, even through the unmoving door. She was forced to stand there, behind Ser Harwin, unable to command him to leave the cursed place and save himself, she watched as he succumbed to the flames.

Merely days later, it was a similar scene with Lady Laena. The woman approached her dragon, face wet his tears but eyes hardened with decision. Daenys watched as Vhagar, ever loyal, hesitated to follow her rider's command. She, too, succumbed to fire.

Daenys began to resent fire. Even the flames of her own dragoness, she avoided. When it came time for Morningstar to sup, Daenys swiftly made her leave, though she always used to dine with her. How many would fire take from her? Perhaps she would succumb to her own fiery fate, one day.

She sat outside of Driftmark, with Morningstar as she usually did. To avoid everyone and her own mind, the cold sand and salty breeze welcomed her. Driftmark was a far cry from King's Landing's stench and filth. Mayhaps she was biased, though, seeing as the ocean was so much more serene in such a place. Unoccupied by loud fishermen and port traders.

Daenys' head lifted from her lazed resting spot in the sand. A small shadow was moving across the grassy hills nearby, black against the moon's light.

She sat up, curiously moving to follow it. It did not take long, with the figure moving cautious and slow.

Ahead by a few feet, she made out Aemond's white head of waves. "Uncle?" She called out, sliding herself down a grassy knoll while trying not to slip on her skirts.

He turned to her as if he was caught committing a crime, looking behind her for any more unwelcome guests.

"Daenys." Was all Aemond muttered, waiting for her to meet him

"What are you doing, sneaking about? Shouldn't you be with Aegon, drowning in his cups?" She had meant to sound teasing, but with such little energy she only sounded tired and plain.

Aemond sneered, scoffing at her suggestion. "We do not share interests. I have always kept to my studies, as a prince should. That fool wouldn't know his histories or High Valyrion if it smacked him on his fat head."

Daenys snorted, covering it with a hand. Her septas would surely have scolded her for such things. "On that, we can agree. But you avoid the question at hand, uncle."

Aemond lost his amused smirk, looking to the grass and kicking at it with his shoe tip. "Going for a walk. I mourn Lady Laena greatly."

"You've never met the woman."

He rolled his eyes, looking up at her from her slightly lifted spot on the hill.

"I am owed a dragon. And I will not let the opportunity pass me by, it may be my only one." He answered, puffing up his chest like a knight.

She nodded, pursing her lips. "It may be your only opportunity because she'll either kill you or accept you. There is no middle ground."

"I will take the chance," he said confidently. "I am tired of being the only one of my family to not own a dragon. I am the only one who cares to learn of our heritage, the only one with proper blood–" Aemond cut himself off from his rant, flushing red at the slip of tongue.

Daenys merely stared on, unphashed. It was not news to her, nor anyone else, of what others thought of her family.

"We do not own dragons. We are dragons." She stated.

He stared at her this time, bemused. "You will not stop me? Vhagar is your late aunt's dragon."

She shrugged, "dragons have no inherited bond. If she is Rhaena's, then she will eat you. I do not care who the old beast chooses, so long as she gets some rest from her long days."

Aemond smiled slightly, a much more pleasant expression that the serious one he usually forces. "We should fly together, once I claim her."

Daenys laughed shortly, nodding her agreement. "I won't deny a peaceful night of flying, but you should take your first ride alone. You won't want the memory sullied by another."

He thought for a long moment, almost speaking again, before he built his last bits of courage and marched towards a sleeping Vhagar.

Daenys watched from afar as he bonded with the oldest dragon in the world. Briefly, she felt a sense of pride in knowing his confidence was not misguided. Her sympathies went to her cousin, but she had high hopes for Rhaena to find another dragon. There were many wild ones, after all, who've gone unclaimed for years.

After what must have been an eternity for young Daenys to wait, Aemond landed with Vhagar, leaving her saddle to meet Daenys at a side entrance to the keep.

"Did you see us!" He exclaimed, breathless from his exhilarating flight.

Daenys nodded, sharing his excitement. "She is a beautiful dragon. 'The Queen' for a reason. How was your first flight?" She asked, curious. It has been so many years since her first, but the memory never left her mind.

"Indescribable, I thought I would fall off a million times, but!—" His wild gesturing was cut short by a yell. Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela and Rhaena had met them in the entrance hall to Driftmark.

The rest was history. Daenys stayed to the side during the scuffle, being the eldest she thought the boys would settle it amongst themselves and grow tired fast. That is what always happened when Luke and Jace fought. She was wrong. Never in her life would she imagine that sweet Luke would bring a dagger to a childish tiff, much less use it.

Aemond wasn't innocent, though he was outnumbered greatly. The look in his eyes as he stood over Jacaerys with the rock caused both Luke and Daenys to charge forward to protect their brother. Luke, being closer, unfortunately got there first. He slashed Aemond's eye, making him drop the rock in agony. Daenys clutched at Luke's tunic, dragging him back into her embrace as Aemond clutched his eye.

She knew what Luke did was an act of defense, a justified blow. But if she stopped him that night, gotten to Aemond a mere second sooner and grabbed the stone from his grip, Luke would still be alive years later.

The children of Viserys and Rhaenyra stood beside their mothers. Alicent and Rhaenyra both protectively stood beside their children. Aemond was being taken care of by a maester, while Alicent vied for Lucerys to have his eye taken in retribution. Both Viserys and Rhaenyra vehemently denied the Queen's request.

The night became a blur. Daenys was loyally plastered in front of Lucerys all night, if Ser Criston decided he wished to disobey the King on a sudden whim. Her mother ended up with a slash on her arm but barely flinched as it happened. Daenys wondered if it was her fiery Targaryen blood or her motherly fury that allowed her to be so strong. She couldn't imagine herself being like Rhaenyra, not in a hundred years.

She did remember sharing a glance with Aemond, her eyes filled with unshed tears for her Uncle. His only eye was muddled with a plethora of conflicting emotions, before he left her gaze.

"Do not mourn me, mother. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

She would grow to regret her encouragement.

She wished it was her that had taken Aemond's eye.

She wanted his other.

🗡

sorry for kinda putting cregan on the sidelines during the meetings. There's not really much for him to say during them and he's not the type to interrupt in a conversation that isn't his. Trying to add sweet little moments between them and the big drama parts 🙂‍↕️

cregan when Oscar tries to flirt with Daenys, knowing he's just a harmless boy: 😐

Cregan when Davos looks her way: 🤨

yall i like davos way too much i might just write an au one-shot of the three of them getting together i cannot do this #creanyvos

also alysanne is NOT meant to sound like a bitchy character, I imagine her as defiant towards authority and challenging their every word, respecting only those who earned it. I got rid of the suggested temporary like she had for cregan (sorry!!!) bc i think she'd be wanting to dive deep into battle with her men, not left behind politicking.

Kind of want to establish relationships between Aegon, Aemond and Daenys. Gives the feud and war more meaning, I think. A more mutual understanding and hint of friendship between Aemond and Daenys, for being targets of Aegon. A more one-sided hate for Aegon from Daenys. He has mostly no care for her at all, only thinking her another annoying bastard of his sister. Also! Aemond deserved to feel a little happiness right after claiming Vhagar, its sad he ran into the Velayrons right after, although Rhaena had the right to be upset.

Currently regretting naming the dragon Lightbringer so early on in the story. It would've been so much more fitting if Daenys and Morningstar had earned the title in a battle, instead. Maybe if I rewrite the series in two years when s3 comes out lol

cough light blue is a stark color cough red is a targ color cough cough

this already is getting posted too late so i can't include the big event that i had planned for the chapter, it'll be way too long and convoluted and must be its own chapter. next one might be thursday, we'll see though.