#The princess of dragonstone fanfiction

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Princess of dragonstone: The end.

Spoilers for the story, as well as for game of thrones

WARNINGS: MAJOR BOOK/SHOW SPOILERS ABOUT HOW AEMOND WILL MEET HIS END AND WITH WHAT! (Thats all I will say for non book readers, but it goes into detail about his demise.)

Aftermath, written from the Maester Baely’s pov.

The princess Daella did not survive her fall to see her son, likely a hallucination caused by Alys. It might have been a soft comfort that the princess was dead before she fell down, hitting her head against the stone towers. On the place where the princess' head was found, flowers sprouted and grew. They were named Strong Princesses, in her honor. They would grow until the destruction of King’s Landing, under Daenerys Targaryen.

Prince Aemond never fully recovered from his loss, and spent the remainder of his days hurting the people around him the way he was hurted. He was angry at the gods and forsake his faith, angering oldtown. Aemond terrorized the riverlands and many other places, though no matter how many men he would kill, he would only see one face before going to sleep. Daella’s hollow smile and her puffy red eyes before she threw herself down the tower.

Alys remained Aemond’s bedmate, manipulating him into doing her bidding and slowly became lady of Harrenhall. She eagerly egged Aemond on to kill his brothers, his sisters and to take the iron throne for himself. Aemond eventually died in a duel against his uncle, Daemon Targaryen. It is unclear what happened with Alys after Aemond’s death.

-Melisandre’s files on Alys, as well as the bastard born son)

It is known that only death may pay for life. The witch queen took the unborn son of the princess and performed the darkest of magic. She hoped to rule the world, but her greed became her downfall. She died, being the price she had to pay for her darkest magic.

Prince Lucerys II Targaryen (Aemond’s and Daella’s son) The child had black hair as a strong, with white stripes in its hair, befitting a Targaryen. He missed both eyes, yet two sapphires clear as ice replaced his eyes. He learned to see. He was kept in a cave, far beyond the wall. The magic of Alys was centuries old and enough to keep him alive, to control him for a while. The prince was not sane of mind. He grew as a normal child, into a man and stopped there. Men would not see him for centuries.

Until, one day, he showed himself, north of the wall. This time with an army of terrifying white walkers. By this time, Alys her magic had faded and the prince could control himself. He started marching to the wall, with his army.

He would be known as the night king.

[daenysthedreamer101]

Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Ch 4 - Blood of the Dragon

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

Warnings: none, it's actually a really cute chapter imo, there's like one swear word

Masterlist

"Nobody truly knows what happened when young Daena entered the cave of the Bronze Fury. We can only speculate as to what happened. What we do know is that in the early hours of the next day, the local smallfolk of Dragonstone heard a deafening roar and witnessed the great bronze beast flying alongside the shore. On his back was the little Princess. It is said she flew over the entire Gullet and some say Vermithor's song was heard as far south as Massey's Hook.

Her absence was only noticed when one of the maids tasked with waking her up realized the Princess was missing from her room. The entire castle was in an uproar. Daemon was furious and swore he would mount the head of every man who failed to find her. To his relief, she was found on one of the cliffs near the castle, and next to her was the dragon of the Old King. She was petting and kissing him like he was a giant cat and to everyone's surprise, the dragon seemed to enjoy it. She would forever be known as Daena the Audacious."

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

~

107 AC, Dragonstone

Daemon was woken up by someone obnoxiously banging on his door. "WHAT?" He yelled, annoyed. A young maid came in quickly, the one that was assigned to Daena. 

"M-my Prince..." She stuttered, terrified of further angering the Rogue Prince. 

"Spit it out, woman! What happened?" He yelled. 

"P-Princess Daena...she's g-gone. She's not in her b-bed chambers..." She managed to say.

"WHAT!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S GONE!?" Daemon jumped out of bed, dismissed the girl, and quickly got dressed. He walked out into the hallway and started barking out orders. 

"If you don't find her, I'll mount all of your fucking heads on a spike! Do you understand me!? " He yelled, furious. 

The entire castle was on its feet, trying to find the missing princess. Every guard, every maid, every single servant was looking for her. "Where could she have possibly gone?" Daemon murmured as he gripped the pommel of his Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister, his anger rising by the second.

He was currently in her bed chambers, looking to see if there were any signs of a fight or if she was forcibly taken. Nothing like that was found. Besides a messy bed, everything was fine...except the riding suit she came in and her boots. 

"She must have slipped out during the night, unnoticed." Maester Gerardys said. Daemon sighed and pinched his nose. Then, high above the castle, a thunderous roar could be heard.

"My Prince! It's the Princess! She...she's with Vermithor!" A guard informed Daemon, who was sprinting down the castle toward the main gate. This news stopped Daemon in his tracks. 

"What did you just say?" Daemon asked, not believing his ears. 

"She..she flew on Vermithor." The guard repeated. Daemon laughed, not caring for what anyone might say. 

"My brave little girl..." He said with the biggest smile on his face. He then ran outside of the castle. What he saw next would become one of his favorite memories ever. 

Daena's POV

Daena has never felt happier. She was flying on the back of the second-largest dragon in the world. After singing him the lullaby her father always sang to her, she experienced something she only ever dreamed of - she bonded with a dragon. And not just any dragon - Vermithor the Bronze Fury was now her mount and she his rider. They flew over the entire Gullet and if Daena was correct, even flew over the island of Driftmark. She didn't have time to fasten the belts on the saddle so she was holding on for dear life. At one point a flock of seagulls almost hit her in the face, had she not ducked down. 

She didn't know how to feel, or what to think. Her heart was full of joy and pride, for she had finally become a dragon rider, just like her father. Excitement was flowing through her veins, her dragon blood singing with happiness. It was cold and windy, but she felt nothing but the warmth that radiated off of Vermithor. She held tightly to the handles in front of her. All she could see was the sea beneath her and the stars above her. This is what freedom feels like, she thought as they flew even higher above the clouds. 

Once the sun began to rise, she thought it was about time to head back. Vermithor complied with her wishes and headed back for Dragonstone. In what felt like no time, she could see the outlines of the island. Vermithor circled the island one more time and with a mighty roar landed on one of the cliffs near the castle. From atop Vermithor, she could see many people running toward her: guards, dragon keepers, and...her father. She sighed and climbed down the ropes. Once her feet hit the ground she was met with the stern lilac eyes of her father. 

"Skoros lo ao morghūltan? Ao dovodedha riña...Ao drējī issi ñuha tala." (What if you died? You silly girl...you truly are my daughter) He said with the biggest smile Daena had ever seen.

"Are you upset with me?" Daena asked carefully. 

"What? No! I...I am so proud of you, my love. I have never been prouder!" He told her sincerely and hugged her tightly. Daena could feel that he was being honest. 

~

Daemon has never been prouder in his life. He has never been happier, besides the day Daena was born. His little girl claimed Vermithor, the Bronze Fury. He felt like the proudest father in the world! But he knew what Daena did wasn't right and it needed reprimanding. In the privacy of Daena's room, he sat her down on her bed. He looked at her and saw the biggest smile on her face. 

"My sweet girl, what you did was brave...and foolish." He started and saw the smile disappear from her face. 

"I want you to know that I'm proud of you and you have proved to everyone the strength of Targaryen blood, but you shouldn't have gone out alone. You could've been killed! What would I do then, hmmm?"  He continued and she looked down, embarrassed.

"What would I do without my favorite girl? You're my everything, you know that? I would pluck the stars from the sky if it meant you were happy. But you mustn't be so reckless, do you understand?" He asked as he lifted her chin with his finger. She nodded, refusing to look at him. 

"Jurnegon rȳ nyke." (Look at me.) He told her. She looked up at him with glossy eyes. Her lip trembled and tears spilled down her cheeks. 

"Iksan vaoreznuni Kepa. Nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon skoros māstan toliot nyke." (I am sorry Father. I don't know what came over me.) She said quietly. He wiped the tears from her face. 

"Don't cry, sweet girl. I do want you to be happy but I also want you to be safe. No more running around without my permission. Understood?" He asked again. She nodded and sniffled. 

"Now. You will go and take a bath and then we can have breakfast together. How does that sound?" He asked softly. 

"It sounds wonderful. Thank you, Father."  She replied with a smile. 

After taking a bath and dressing in a simple silk dress in a pretty shade of dark red, her hair was braided by one of the maids. She was escorted to her father's personal bed chambers. There he was, looking out of the window while holding Dark Sister in his hands. 

"Father." She calls, and he turns. He smiles at her and tells her to sit down. She does and they start eating. He asked her about how she got into the caves and how she bonded with Vermithor. She answered all his questions to the best of her abilities. Once they were done with the food, Daemon beckoned her over.

"I'll have to teach you how to control him, how to talk to him, how to fly." He says to her as he caresses her cheek. She smiles. 

"I would love that. Thank you, Father, for being so understanding", and with that, she left to further explore her ancestral home. 

Daena walked around the castle with no particular goal in mind. She walked through the meandering halls and came upon a great stone door. She carefully pushed the door and the sight in front of her took her breath away. 

"The throne room..." she whispered to herself as her eyes fell upon the magnificent throne that was cut into a giant slab of stone. She slowly walked across the room. The room was bathed in the faint light of the late morning. No one else was present and the only thing that could be heard were the slow footsteps of the princess. 

"Would it be treason to sit on the throne?" Daena thought as she eyed the throne. She approached the throne, standing on the staircase that led to it. "It looks more comfortable than the Iron Throne, that's for certain" she mused.  She was about to touch it, but at the last second, she pulled her hand away.

Instead, she turned her head left and saw an archway leading to another room. She followed it and came upon a room with a beautiful balcony and sea view. There were dragon carvings on the wall, a table, and some chairs in the middle of the room. She leaned her elbows against the balcony and looked at the waves below. "I could live here..." she thought as a light breeze kissed her skin. 

---

High Valyrian:

Skoros lo ao morghūltan? - What if you died?

Ao dovodedha riña...Ao drējī issi ñuha tala - You silly girl...you truly are my daughter

Jurnegon rȳ nyke. - Look at me. 

Iksan vaoreznuni Kepa. - I am sorry Father. 

Nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon skoros māstan toliot nyke. - I don't know what came over me. 

***

Little Daena is finally a dragon rider! Daemon is ofc, the proudest dad in the whole of Westeros. Next chapter we'll see how the other characters react to the news.

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

If you have any opinions feel free to comment!

[imhereforthetryus]

I legit cant go a second without crying over the velaryon boys, everytime i see an edit or photo of them i tear up. Those poor sweet brave boys none of them reached manhood and all of them were the perfect heirs, and perfect people.

Can you imagine how Joffrey must have felt not even 13 yet and now knowing he the heir to both the throne and driftmark. Did they pass by luke old room, did they have their own funeral burial burning luke toys because they didn’t have a body to burn. Jace dying trying to save Viserys and Aegon, believing he failed his little brother once again. It breaks my heart, I can’t stop thinking sad thoughts of them.

[countrymusiclover]

21 - The Lannister Trials

Part 22

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

Two soldiers came to escort me out of my prison cell and into the hallway. We rounded a corner and relief washed over me seeing my daughter and son standing by two other guards a few feet in front of me. “Oh my babies -“

“Mommy-“ The twins said together, beginning to run forward until a guard put his sword down in front of them making them halt.

Footsteps came from around the corner where I saw it was Tyrion. He held up a hand signaling to the guards. “Lower your weapons. Let the mother embrace her children.��

“My babies..” Opening my arms out and away from my sides they tackled me in a joint hug. Burying my face into their hair I didn’t want to let them go knowing what I would face on the other side of the door if I did.

Tyrion hesitated as well wishing he could simply get to spend time with his niece and nephew if the circumstances were different. “Vaella, it’s time I’m afraid.” I broke the hug, holding one hand of each of my kids not going to let them be separated from me ever again.

Slowly walking into the throne room I saw my sister sitting on a black rock stone chair inside the castle of Dragonstone. This is actually the first time I have ever been here in my entire life. The only thing I knew about this place was this was where our mother died giving birth to Dany before her and Viserys were sent into hiding when Robert became king. “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.” A woman with a thick accent stood behind my sister.

“Tell me, Vaella. Who are the two younglings attached to your hip before me?” Those Were the first words my sister uttered to me.

“This is Luciya…” I squeezed my daughters shoulder and gently touched my son’s hair introducing them to their aunt. “And this Rhaegar.”

Daenerys clasped her hands together in her lap. “So you not only slept with our enemy but now you’ve furthered his family and gave his son our late brother's name. Am I missing something that shouldn’t mark you as an immediate traitor and sentence you to die?”

“Die!” Luciya whimpered into the fabric of my gown.

Gently running my fingers through her hair I did the best I could to calm her down. “Sssh baby. Sister, I have not betrayed our house at all. For years I haven’t known you were even alive. But I swear to you I would never try to hurt the only sibling I have left who shares my blood.”

“Then why are you with the man who murdered our father? I doubt our father would have hurt any of his children.”

I sharply cut my sister off. “He ordered to have me killed right in front of Jaime!”

“What relevance does that have here?” She asked me, noticing some tears forming in my purple eyes.

“My Queen, I told you who your father was. His plans for Kings Landing-“ She cut the dwarf off who had quickly entered the intense conversation.

“That doesn’t matter in this trial.”

He snapped back at her standing by my side. “Actually your grace it does. Jaime told me off your father’s plan because he knew he would need help to get the princess he loved to safety. Your father had caches of Wildfire hidden under the Red Keep, the guild halls, the scepter baylor, all the major thoroughfares. He would have burned everyone of his citizens. The loyal ones and the traitors. Every man, woman, child, including your sister. That’s why Jaime killed him.”

“He killed our father and for that he will have a separate trial. This trial is for my sister who I thought would be on my side but has bedded the man who murdered our father and I demand to know why.”

“Because she loves me and I love her.” The doors bursted open causing everyone in the room to turn their attention to the doorway. Dany’s soldiers to my shock remained where they were standing rather than charging at him to capture him.

His name slipped from my lips like a prayer. “Jaime.”

“Vaella.” He strides across the room straight for me, holding his arms away from his sides. I picked up the ends of my dirty red dress using what energy I could muster to get to him. Flinging my arms around his neck he snaked his arms around my body briefly picking me up before sitting me back down on my feet. He rested his forehead down onto mine. “I wasn’t too sure you’d be here.”

“I’m just relieved you're alive.” I muttered into his chest feeling tears forming in my eyes.

My sister's voice broke our short reunion. “Are you the one they call the Kingslayer?”

“Yes I am. And I’ve come here to rescue my wife and children from you.” He responded with our two children huddling close behind Jaime and I who were still holding tightly onto the other.

“When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story...about the man who m*rder*d our father. Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor. He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man...once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp.” My sister spoke dryly, not removing her gaze from my husband who was still holding me against his chest.

Tyrion began speaking but she cut him short. “Your Grace, I know my brother…”

“Like you knew your sister?”

My friend paused trying to defend his brother again. “He came here alone, knowing full well how he'd be received. Why would he do that if he weren't telling the truth?”

“Perhaps he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat.” She leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingernails on the armrests.

Jaime finally spoke to my younger sister who owned three dragons with a stern tone. “Do you want me to apologize? I won't. We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I'd do it all again.”

“Jaime…” I squealed out a warning noise, gripping the fabric of his tunic in my fingers.

He ignored my warning, raising his voice to the other dragon princess in the room. “Vaella, don’t worry. If she was going to kill us then she would have to live with the fact that she destroyed the last member of her house and orphaned two children of both their parents and all for what revenge to avenge the father you never knew.”

“Careful with your words, Kingslayer if you all wish to remain alive.” Daenerys warned him.

My husband shifted his gaze between me and our young kids. “What I wish is for you to spare the life of my lady wife and our children. If you want your vengeance so badly then take my life and leave them out of it.”

“Done-“

Pushing myself in front of Jaime with my arms out blocking Dany or him from moving anywhere close to each other I shouted in old Valyrian. “Ao shall daor ossēnagon zirȳla! - You shall not murder him!”

“Vaella. You’re going to get us both killed.” Jaime fought me.

Snapping my teeth back at him I didn’t move away from my sister but instead walked forward to her. “Mandia, nyke teptan ao aōha brōzi. Lo īlva kepa hadn’t jittan ao se īlva muñnykeā qrīdrughagon īlon probably would’ve rhēdan gō sir. Except bona didn’t massigon. Nyke gīmigon ao vēdros zirȳla paktot sir yn mijegon zirȳla helping issa escape se mele lua konīr istan dōrī nykeā guarantee bona īlon would emagon rhēdan. Nyke likely would’ve issare ossēntan. - Sister, I gave you your name. If our father hadn’t sent you and our mother away we probably would’ve met before now. Except that didn’t happen. I know you hate him right now but without him helping me escape the Red Keep there was never a guarantee that we would have met. I likely would’ve been killed.”

“Skoros iksos aōha point, mandia? - what is your point, sister?” Dany questioned me more softly.

Sucking in a breath I switched back to English that way Tyrion would understand too since he was rusty at our language. “My point is I owe my life to Jaime and you can have the Iron Throne with his help. The Lannister army is now under our command and so they can join you and your army when we take King's Landing from Cersei Lannister. The arrangement is that you spare my entire family, Jaime, Amethyst, our kids and me otherwise you’ll never get the Iron Throne you’ve thought is your destiny.”

Daenerys rose from her chair leaving the room with the final word and a few of her soldiers followed after her. “Escort the Kingslayer family to some available chambers so they may be fed and bathed. We will discuss our terms tomorrow morning.” Jaime tugged me backwards against his chest and I held our kids closer to the two of us not releasing a breath until she had completely left the throne room.

[filmsmakkari]

the tale of a princess and her fair lady

rhaenyra targaryen x velaryon!reader

Summary: The daughter of House Velaryon makes a promise to her princess

CW: None!

A/N- I have not written and published a fanfiction since I was 14... bare with and pray for me.

The chamber was silent as a young girl with silver hair knelt before hundreds of candles beneath the stained-glass windows of the starry sept. Though she had never been a believer in gods and myths before, her love and worry filled her so deeply at present that she was brought to her knees in prayer.

Lady (Y/N) of House Velaryon had been in love with Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen for the better half of a year. They’d known each other since childhood and had always been quite close. Being the only two daughters of the great Valyrian houses in the Red Keep, they’d always felt that no one could understand them as well as each other. Their relationship, which had always toed the line between platonic and romantic, had turned into an unadulterated love affair the day Rhaenyra realized that her disdain for marriage to a man had never truly been about marriage, but more so the man.

Ever since, (Y/N) and Rhaenyra had been living in pure bliss, catching each other’s eye, walking with linked arms in public, and worshiping each other’s bodies during those private moments brought on by the cover of night. In recent days, however, the girls have been slightly at odds with each other, as (Y/N)’s parents have posed a potential marriage between Lady (Y/N) and King Viserys to strengthen the realm. Rhaenyra had hardly been able to look at her lover as she could soon become her stepmother, and she didn’t want it to be more painful by prolonging their relationship until the moment (Y/N) stood at the altar.

On this day, the 13th of the eighth moon, the princess had taken a most dangerous risk in flying to her family’s seat of power, Dragonstone, to subdue her wretched uncle Daemon, who had been squatting there for a year and who had just stolen a dragon egg for his unborn bastard child. (Y/N) had gotten wind of these plans and miraculously arrived at the dragonpit just before Rhaenyra took flight. (Y/N) had implored her princess to be safe, telling her that she would not know what to do if anything happened to her. Rhaenyra, overcome by the love and emotion she had been repressing, could not think of anything else to do but cup (Y/N)'s cheeks and pull her into a kiss. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in shock for a moment, but she quickly got over it, placing her hand on Rhaenyra’s cheek and wrapping her free arm around her waist.

How lovely that kiss was, (Y/N) sighed, remembering it. Rhaenyra had left after their lips broke, and (Y/N) had been in the sept worrying ever since. Eyes closed, she murmured promises to the seven that she would never sin again if Rhaenyra was protected.

Upon hearing a familiar voice softly calling her name, (Y/N)’s eyes fluttered open. She quickly turned her head to see none other than Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her princess. The purest love in her life. Her everything.

(Y/N) ran to her lover, immediately cupping her face and kissing her fiercely. Rhaenyra met (Y/N) with the same passion, grabbing her tightly by her waist and pulling her closer. 

Two dragons burning together under the midnight sky. 

The kiss communicated everything they had been too afraid to say. “I’m sorry.” “I miss you.” “I need you.” “I love you.”

The two girls finally broke apart for air, giggling shyly in the throes of their young love. 

Suddenly serious, Rhaenyra looked deeply into (Y/N)’s eyes. A pure shade of violet only found in those with the true blood of Old Valyria, with little flecks of blue- a trait passed down from her seafaring ancestors. She then scanned (Y/N)’s entire body, her shimmering silver hair, braided at the top, loosening into long coils past her backside—the curves of her breasts and hips, the softness of her hands, and the way her brown skin shone in the moonlight.

“A true Valyrian goddess, you are,” she said.

(Y/N) looked down shyly at the compliment. Rhaenyra lifted (Y/N)’s chin with her finger and stepped closer, leaning her forehead against hers. A moment of sweetness and intimacy. 

“Kivio naejot sagon rūsīr issa va moriot,” Rhaenyra said quietly. “Dōrī jorrāelagon mirre tolie hae ao jorrāelagon issa.”

Swear to be with me always. Never love any other as you love me.

(Y/N) exhaled. “Oh, issa dārilaros. Nyke kivio, jaehossi uēpossi arlȳssī."

Oh, my princess. I swear, by the old gods and the new.

[teenagecriminalmastermind]

blue blood (an aemond targaryen x team black daughter fanfiction)

In the night of King’s Landing, Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen join themselves for the first time. In the night of King’s Landing, Alicent Hightower bears the pain of royalty for another. Twenty-one years later, on a stormy night above Storm's End, the results of that night change the history of the Seven Kingdoms.

(aka Aemond Targaryen goes up Rhaenyra's eldest as he hunts her in the skies, and the Dance of the Dragons takes a very, very different turn.)

reply to the post if you want to be on a taglist!

Also on AO3

chapter 2: the bells.

chapter 1: prologue.

In the night of King’s Landing, Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen join themselves for the first time. In the night of King’s Landing, Alicent Hightower bears the pain of royalty for another. 

While the latter bears an intended consequence, the former bears another. 

Months after a bloody, fateful wedding to Laenor Velaryon, is born a child. A girl, a spitting image of her mother with pale skin, silver hair and violet eyes. Premature, the maesters say to preserve Princess Rhaenyra’s dignity and secret. They say that sometimes babes are born looking just like one parent or another, and well, what different is this child from any other Targaryen born to another? 

Daella, her mother names her. She wants to preserve the memory of her own mother Aemma, but that name brings up too much pain, so she honors her by naming the child after her own grandmother. A kind, sweet woman, taken far too early from the world in the battle of a birthing bed. Rhaenyra hopes her daughter will not suffer the same fate. 

Two months before, the Red Keep had echoed with the cries of another birth, a boy named by his father in memory of his own brother. A second son, named after a second son. Aemond Targaryen, a Prince of the Realm. Alicent hopes he will grow up in a world free of pain and pressure, free from the heavy responsibility that rests on the shoulders of his brother Aegon. 

Daella grows up knowing Ser Laenor as her father but Harwin Strong as her brothers’. She grows up with a dragon egg in her crib, a black beast she names Baelon, after her own great-grandfather. A name she does not know the dragon shares with a dead uncle. Aemond, on the other hand, suffers the affliction of never having known that companionship since he was little. While she spends her days behind her mother’s skirts wishing she had a sword in her hand instead of just a book, he spends his days becoming the object of his older brother’s ridicule. 

Laenor indulges the girl at Dragonstone, teaching her the basics of sparring, telling her she has no reason to fully conform to the trappings of society. Rhaenyra notices the change in the way the seven year old stands, the way her arms rest, and gives her husband the flicker of a smile. In a castle many label desolate, Daella Targaryen finds freedom. She spends her days in the skies and in libraries, nose buried in a book or scratched from training. 

In King’s Landing, Aemond Targaryen finds structure. He learns the history of his forebears, becomes the scholar that Viserys wished for, but finds the cold sting of rejection from his own father. He hurts and becomes resentful, but never truly angry. And then, Laena Velaryon passes. 

Aemond claims Vhagar. Aemond gets ambushed. Aemond loses an eye. 

It is pandemonium. His face hurts, his world swims, and he learns that he is alone in this world. He is robbed of his innocence, robbed of his eye, and robbed of his safety. He hears the pained cries of his mother, her beseeching turned to rage as she decides to take matters into her own hands. He watches as his proud brother is rendered helpless, Aegon a mere spectator to the injustice unfolding amongst them.

Daella is woken up from her bed as she arrives to a commotion, blood pooling in the green-clad boy’s hands. Daella watches her mother bleed. Daella learns that justice isn’t fair.

She sees Lucerys’ broken nose and bloodied face, the marks of a hand bruising Jacaerys’ neck. She looks for her father, nowhere to be seen. She sees her mother with Daemon, the man moving swiftly from spectator to protector as he shields their bodies with his, her small frame hidden fully by his towering form. She watches him crouch to her level, hands on her shoulders as he soothes her fears by telling her they will never come to harm anymore as long as he breathes. She asks him about the boy who just lost an eye, and how it isn’t fair. He tells her life isn’t fair, but what he gained is greater than what he lost. 

Aemond Targaryen loses an eye, and gains a dragon. Daella Targaryen loses a father, and gains another. 

Over time, the girls she had considered just her cousins become her sisters, and the man she had merely considered her uncle becomes her father. Her trueblood father, she learns on her thirteenth name day. Her mother and he sit her down, telling her of the need to keep her in the dark, a sacrifice made only for her safety. It bridges a gap between her and her brothers in her heart, the stain of bastardry another tie that only brings her closer to them. 

Daemon Targaryen trains her the way he has trained Baela and Rhaena, a proud smile growing on his face every time the girl bests one of her brothers. She is impulsive and reckless and headstrong, every bit the Rogue Prince’s daughter where she differed from Ser Laenor. She grows closer and closer with her younger sisters, the three thick as thieves as she finds the kinship she can only find in women with them. They speak of their place in a man’s world, their fears, ambitions and frustrations as much as they speak of myths and fantasies, rarely seen apart. 

She learns to braid their hair as they tell her stories of life beyond the Narrow Sea, and she tells them of her days in the Red Keep as they twist her waves into a crown upon her head, teasing her as heir when they do, playing out coronations. “Baela Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone and Rhaena Targaryen, Lady of Driftmark,” she proclaims grandly when they play upon the cliffs, mock-curtsying as they call her Your Grace the Queen Daella. 

Childhood gives way to responsibilities, when those daydreams inch closer and closer to reality. Baela is betrothed to Jace and Rhaena to Luke, her other brothers far too young for any worries beyond simply growing up. She, however, is left unattached. “We have to find you an equal, my sweet,” Daemon tells her affectionately one day as he tugs on his daughter’s braid. “Not someone who wants your power, but someone who cares without. Besides, you are heir after your mother. The man who marries you, marries the Throne.”

In King’s Landing, Aegon and Helaena Targaryen are wedded to each other in a lavish ceremony, the second son reminded over and over that he need not worry about marrying for power, but for love if he so wishes. “The woman who marries you does not marry the Throne, my sweet boy,” Alicent consoles him. “She will want you not truly for power, but without. As long as she befits our station, you must choose with your heart, not with duty.” 

Her mother gives Daella training she was never properly given, sitting her through council meetings on Dragonstone and making her practice her High Valyrian until it is muscle memory. Her father takes her on patrols to the Steptones and pushes her to train until her bones ache. She is taught by Rhaenyra to be calm, composed and driven, to maintain grace under pressure. She is taught by Daemon to keep her mind and her blade sharp, to never bow down or back up unless truly needed. She withdraws into herself when it comes to beyond her family, her mind too preoccupied by duty for desire. 

Aemond learns at the foot of his mother and by the absence of his father, becoming everything the former wants him to be and everything the latter is not. He learns to respect the Faith and the Seven as he does the Fourteen Flames, to study philosophy, history and war. He learns to fight better than anyone else he has met, under his scars hurt and his knuckles bleed. He doesn’t give a shit about tourneys, pageantry the last thing from his mind as he picks up his sword again and again, until the Valyrian steel slices through training decoys like scissors on silk, just as quick and just as deadly. 

Daella and Aemond Targaryen cross paths again a decade later, when her family alights upon King’s Landing to pay a visit to her grandfather the King. She catches his eye in the Throne Room after her father beheads Vaemond Velaryon for leveling insults at their family, her satisfied smile analogous to Aemond’s impressed one. They see each other again at dinner, her focus turned to her own self as the chatter around suffices to fill her own silence. Her mouth twitches in anger as he insults her family, fingers moving to curl upon the hilt of her own sword as he calls them ‘Strong’ over and over again.

And then all hell breaks loose as Aegon smashes her brother’s head into the table, her mother forcing her back into her seat as she prepares to lunge at the drunk prince. Her father diffuses the tension while they are all dismissed to their own rooms, and she seeks Aemond Targaryen out after the affair has ended, her steps hurried and her jaw ticking. 

“How dare you,” she hisses in the dark, her words making him turn around as he marches back to her spot, a curious look in his eyes. “Why, my lady,” he says coolly, “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my nephews and my family. Although it seems, they’re not quite as proud of theirs, are they?” 

She has to crane up to meet his eye, her shorter frame engulfed by his. “Don’t play coy,” she snaps, only getting a laugh in return. For the first time, Daella Targaryen is truly incensed by a man. “They may be a bastard to you in name, but you are the bastard in acts,” she retorts, the fire in her eyes taking him aback. For the first time, Aemond Targaryen is truly intrigued by a woman. 

They do not see each other again until the ringing of the bells, when a theft and a message to Storm's End change the course of history forever.

[whereisdoriangray]

visenya targaryen (ii.)

warning: mention of weapons, death, profanities. not proofread. the author is not responsible for the content you choose to consume.

note: the character of visenya targaryen is purely fictional. all rights to house of the dragon belong to hbo/fire and blood to grrm. my fanfiction is based primarily on tv series, but also takes some information from the books. in this version, cregan stark was aged up. if you find any valyrian phrases incorrect, let me know!!

IV. DRIFTMARK

when a raven came announcing the death of harwin strong, visenya was with rhaenyra

"īles vala hen rigle," [he was a man of honour.] she admitted as a consolation to her grieving sister, "se iā sȳz kepa." [and a good father.]

that day, visenya ruminated in her chamber, late at night, at last calling upon one of her trusted servants;

"send this letter to you know who. tell him his princess will be especially generous if he does his job well."

that's how she found herself on driftmark with a small piece of parchment slipped into her hands just before the funeral of her friend laena

visenya excused herself briefly from conversation with a distant relative, finding a vacant spot where she wouldn't be disturbed

"bona orvorta..." [that cunt] she whispered as her eyes traced the two words the message contained;

"larys strong"

during the funeral, visenya stood by her sister's right side, quietly observing the people present

when she heard daemon's laughter, it took everything in her not to throw his way a disgusted look

once the procession was over and everyone gathered on the castle's terrace, visenya noticed her little cousins, baela and rhaena, sitting with their grief, away from everyone

"i am deeply sorry about your mother," she approached them, "she had a kind heart...and held much love for you." the two princesses thanked her with their eyes full of sadness

"when i was around your age, she gave me this," she opened up her palm, revealing a delicate set of penchant and comb, both symbolizing a dragon and a seahorse. "i believe it's time i pass them on to another who can honor them."

from afar, rhaenys noticed the princess gently putting a comb into rhaena's velaryon hair and then turning to baela with a penchant, clasping it around her granddaughter's neck

aside from the gaze of the queen who never was, visenya was stalked by another pair of watchful eyes

when she turned around, taking her leave, visenya met aemond's intense stare as he approached her

no one knows what the two of them spoke about on that day, but one thing they did remember - later that day, aemond claimed a dragon and lost an eye for it

"i shall have one of her son's eyes in return," alicent proclaimed, rising her chin

"over my dead fucking body," visenya spat as she unleashed a sword she had hidden underneath her skirts, tilting it downward and leaning onto it

alicent's reaction was one of horror, but before she could say anything, her husband, the king, intervened

later that night, servants whispered that when the queen demanded criston cole bring her the eye of lucerys velaryon, he looked upon visenya's sword and disobeyed the command.

V. OF HOUSE TARGARYEN

to say that visenya was displeased at her uncle's intention to marry her sister was an understatement

and yet, because of her love for rhaenyra, she gritted her teeth and gave them her blessing

to this day, some people believe that visenya allowed for such a union to happen because she realized that daemon, as the heir's husband, would be a powerful ally if anyone were to challenge her sister's claim, all the while satiating his thirst for power

and they might be right

and so visenya stood on the moors of dragonstone with her nephews and cousins, holding them close, as her sister and uncle exchanged vows

not long after the union, urgent news reached dragonstone

"luke's claim to driftmark is being challenged," visenya told her older nephew. "what are we to do now?" asked jace, anxiety creeping up his spine.

"jī naejot dāro vilinion." [we are going to king's landing.]

the city's foul smell hit her as soon as she landed. vermithor roared, obviously as much displeased as she. "lykīri," visenya commanded, petting him

as she entered the red keep, visenya couldn't help but notice the seven pointed star installed above the entrance

"what the fuck is that."

before she could ruminate on it any further, visenya heard silent cries somewhere in the distance

it was one of the maids from the red keep, she found out

"what is the meaning of this? why are you crying?" her eyebrows furrowed at the sight of a teary-eyed young girl

"i am... sorry, princess..." she managed to say through the sobs

visenya's quick eyes noticed clumsily hidden bitemarks, scratches and bruises all over her body

"who hurt you?" she whispered, taking the girl's hand in hers

"'tis...nothing...i swear, princess," the maid stuttereed, making visenya sigh in frustration

"what is your name, sweet girl?" she asked, this time more gently than before

"dyana, my princess."

"BY THE OLD GODS OF VALYRIA, i swear i will cut off aegon's cock," she barged into her sister's quarters. whilst rhaenyra looked at her sister with surprise, daemon only laughed at her rage. "and his balls too. that..." she struggled to find the word, "...that dimwit shouldn't procreate."

to cool off, she decided to accompany her nephews to the training yard

"everyone's staring at us," luke murmured with a pained look on his face

"as they should. jace is your mother's future heir, you are the future lord of the tides and i ride the second largest dragon in the world. it would be strange if they didn't," visenya smiled at him, but it didn't seem to soothe him as much as she would like

"no one would question me being heir to driftmark if..." he paused, looked around and then continued in a hushed voice, "if i looked more like ser laenor velaryon than ser harwin strong." her smile quickly dropped. "it doesn't matter what they think. their opinions are of no value," she replied sternly.

suddenly, a thud reverberated throughout the training yard and the two boys, excited, decided to find its source

it was aemond and cole, duelling

visenya wasn't half as enraptured as her nephews at the sight, but decided to let them savor the moment

when aemond won, people clapped and cheered, making visenya sneer at their sycophancy

"well done, my prince," praised cole, "you'll be winning tourneys at no time." visenya wanted to punch his face. hard. she had always disliked dornishmen, but there was something about criston cole that made him especially disagreeable in visenya's eyes

"i don't give a shit about tourneys," aemond spat with a stoic face, not putting his sword down, "nephews..." his gaze shifted to where she and the boys stood, "have you come to train?"

before any one of them could reply, the gates opened and through them passed vaemond velaryon with his men

"gods," she thought to herself, "this place is littered with dickheads."

once the gates had closed and vaemond was nowhere in sight, visenya spoke up

"it is i who came to train..." all the heads turned to her in disbelief as she unsheathed her sword, digging it into ground gently as she leaned on it, "aemond."

visenya couldn't have known that that single movement forced aemond to reminisce about the night he lost his eye - the night she defended luke and jace, threatening to kill anyone who dared touch them, even though they were in the wrong

it was the night when aemond got renounced by everyone, but in a way, her betrayal stung the most in his heart

since early youth, he heard stories of visenya, the paragon of targaryen bloodline - living in their ancestral home, mounting the second largest dragon at the age of barely nine, being fluent in both language and history of her ancestors - in aemond's eyes, she had it all

visenya was the bane of aemond's existence; not a day had passed without him thinking about how he could measure up to his half-sister

the only thing aemond despised more than visenya was his admiration of, and struggle to be more like, her

of course, visenya had no knowledge of any of this - perhaps if she knew, she would detest him a little less

"hm," aemond eyed her from head to toe without an ounce of emotion, and then took his leave, not looking back at the three of them

when the driftmark succession was to be settled the next day, mushroom recounted visenya standing behind rhaenyra as if her shadow, brows furrowed and gaze sharp the moment otto hightower sat upon the iron throne

what he also couldn't help but mention was that whilst the red keep whispered about daemon's execution of vaemond, no one saw rhaenyra's silent command to visenya to not draw her sword

that evening, the whole targaryen family gathered for a supper

visenya's seat was opposite her sister's, flanked by jace and, much to her dismay, aegon

the servants dared not speak about it, but when queen alicent, in her piety, included vaemond in her prayers, daemon and visenya exchanged looks, snickering under their breaths

after the toasts had been proposed and music started to play, visenya watched with a hint of smile on her face her nephew and half-sister dancing joyfully

her smile faltered, however, when she saw aemond's outstreched hand, "may i, princess?" he muttered in a low baritone

visenya looked at her sister, seeking her silent counsel; only after rhaenyra's eyes glinted with a subtle approval did she take aemond's hand

back then, no one knew that the next time the two of them would dance, it would be in the skies

when the king left and music ended, aemond reached towards his cup, proposing a toast

the quarrel that followed was quickly dispelled by daemon; once visenya made sure her nephews were unharmed, she left them to their devices as they sulked

instead, the princess approached her half-sister, haelena

that night, as mysaria's spy told her of the royal supper, she didn't fail to mention visenya holding her half-sister's hands lovingly, telling haelena that there would always be a place for her at dragonstone

visenya was ready to take her leave when one of the maids came to fetch her at the king's command

"my daughter..." viserys breathed out, as if every syllable caused him immense pain

"i am here, father," she said with her eyes blank

"aegon...the conqueror...." he closed his one good eye for a second, "he withstood...because of visenya."

"why are you telling me this?" she asked, confused

"your sister is the heir. once the time comes..." he hissed and took a long moment to continue, unnerving his daughter even more, "she will need… protection,” he pointed his finger at something in the distance

visenya would've dismissed it if it weren't for the slight red glow that captured her attention

in between ragged breaths and incomplete sentences, viserys gave his second daughter the sword that maegor stole from his father's funeral pyre; the sword that rhaena targaryen gave to her son jaehaerys who passed it on to viserys

now, blackfyre —the sword of kings past— belonged to visenya targaryen, whom people would soon come to know as aegon with teats.

[myfandomprompts]

To Risk It All - Prologue

Aemond Targaryen x Dragonrider!OC

Synopsis: Aemond meets Daera Velaryon in uncanny circumstances, the memory of green scales and thick blood. He tries to resist her, he tries to convince himself that she is not his. Not yet. But when the Dance begins and she is taken away from his grasp, he decides that he hates her, wants her, for you can only hate what you had loved.

Tags: possessive!Aemond, angst, mature, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, slow burn, obsession, blood, canon divergence, king Aemond, smut and fluff, dragons, war, F&B spoilers Masterlist

A/N: I'm quite happy to release this first chapter exactly one year after I published my first fanfiction about Aemond Targaryen.

The female main character is based on Daeron, son of Vaemond Velaryon who is Corly’s nephew as per the book, instead of his brother as in the series. I reduced the number of the Velaryon cousins from five to two (Corlys’ nephews).

English not first language.

“Say it.”

The whole room went silent as the Velaryon turned towards the heir.

“Her children are BASTARDS.”

All gasped and Aemond just smiled.

“And she is a whore.”

“I will have your tongue for that.”

Then Vaemond Velaryon fell, and Daemon Targaryen spoke to the assembly.

“He can keep his tongue.”

“Lady Velaryon, your mother is asking for you.”

Daera nodded to the attendant before dropping her quill and making her way to Lady Elinda’s apartments. Driftmark was a gloomy place since Lord Corlys Velaryon had disappeared at sea; no one would meet her eyes as she wandered the corridors.

Daera was once the pride of her House, and she was in the eyes of her father. She was the first-born of Vaemond Velaryon, daughter of a cunning man who took great pride in his heritage, and had always looked up to his uncle, Corlys Velaryon.

Admiration that faded when the battle of the Stepstones occurred.

But Daera was born much later; history would remember her birth being shared with Princess Helaena, and it was assumed the girls would become friends if they ever met at court. But it never came to pass, as Vaemond Velaryon’s respect for the King faltered considerably over the years, turning into resentment, until it became rage. For Daera’s father, King’s Landing was a place to be avoided.

Daera recalled the day she first saw the King and the royal family. She remembers the harsh voice of her father as Laena’s body was returned to the sea, the bereft look on his face as he spoke of how salt ran thick in their Velaryon’s veins and how Daemon Targaryen had scoffed at the Valyrian words. She remembers clutching her little brother’s hand tighter at that. She had not grown up with either of her great cousins, and barely with their children but as her father stared at Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joeffrey Velaryon, she could not help but see how little they resembled Laenor Velaryon, or the heir to the iron throne, for that matter.

But what she recalls most vividly was that boy, barely younger than her, escaping the wake to meet the only recently riderless dragon, and claiming it as his own, losing his eye in the process. She recalled being called to the throne room that night, after being stirred up from sleep by the ruckus her cousins had caused, and witnessed the Queen cut the arm of the heir so deep it stained the stone floor for years after the deed. That night she could not help but admire the bravery of Aemond Targaryen as she heard him say the words that still rang in her ears to this day;  “ I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

Because at that time, she also knew what it was to long for a dragon.

Fate was a funny thing. Over the next few days, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys lost their remaining child, Laenor Velaryon, and left behind a pale silver-grey dragon. History does not recover how it happened, but years later, when Daera accompanied her cousin Baela to visit her twin sister on Dragonstone, she had found Seasmoke in his lair and had claimed him.

This was the reason she became the pride of House Velaryon.

Stating that her achievement had not been a shock would have been an understatement, especially in King’s Landing as she was given the name of 'the Winged Seahorse'. The King had, of course, praised her upon learning the news, happy to see the blood of Old Valyria and its tradition endure, but for everybody else, it was highly suspicious. The Velaryon were not and have never been Dragonlords, only Targaryens, and the matter incited rumours about Daera’s maternal lineage. Elinda Celtigar, was from Valyria’s descent, and although it was impossible to prove the veracity of the rumours; Daera still blamed herself for the calumnies thrown at her mother while her father called that a ‘fair sacrifice’. 

She had gained a dragon, and now all waited for her brother Daemion to claim one as well.

When Daera entered her mother’s apartment after being summoned, she was met with the grim look of her two great-cousins, Gaemon and Malentine; her mother’s expression scared.

“Your father is dead. Slain by the Rogue Prince.”

Daera stilled on the threshold as Gaemon started vehemently explaining things to her. She didn’t register anything until her brother was mentioned, in King’s Landing, alone.

“Fly to him, this instant, protect him from the leeches at court, from the ones that are spitting on our family name and stand tall until our arrival,” Gaemon spoke. “And remember, this is a Queen that sits on the Iron Throne.” 

So she flew to King’s Landing, unbeknownst to her that her steps would lead her down a path of love and pain.

Chapter 1

I tasted love that that takes controls Endless love and I wanted more.

@knightprincess @baconturtle @witheredoffherwitch

Thank you @babyblue711 & @arcielee for beta. 💙

[americasass81]

Finding Her Calm In The Chaos

Warnings 18+ for the following:- Smut {f/f), Oral {female giving and receiving], Fingering, Implied Multiple Orgasms, Fluff.  Seriously do not read if any of this upsets you, the warnings are there for a reason.  Feedback is welcomed and any mistakes are my own.

By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut.

Author’s Note 1:- A totally self indulgent Fic, this came about after a mutual tempted me into watching House of The Dragon (thank you @targaryenvampireslayer ) and I discovered what a badass Rhaenys is.  This may take some liberties with regards to the show, but then this is fanfiction after all.

Author’s Note 2:- As always, all images have been found through google search.

Synopsis:- Throwing her lot in with Rhaenyra in the hopes of protecting the boys betrothed to her beloved granddaughters, as well as the peace her grandsire and cousin had presided over during their lifetimes, Rhaenys now finds herself planning for the future while hoping to survive a litany of mistakes from the past.  So where then do you fit into all of that?

Pairings:- Rhaenys Velaryon x Female Reader.

Word Count:- 4,003

Diving out of the sky and penetrating a cave mouth you never even knew was there given the dragon’s speed, Meleys seemed to take up every inch of space available as she lay down on the ground to allow you and her rider to dismount.  Standing out of the way then as your feet readjusted to the feeling of solid ground beneath them again and your insides realigned themselves after the flying experience, your attention was torn however between watching Rhaenys instruct this wondrous creature on what to do and trying to figure out what exactly you were doing here.  Never mind where here actually was.

Having served the princess faithfully now for almost four years, while silently admiring from afar her strength, courage and loyalty, not to mention her beauty, all that time, her invitation to join her for a ride through the skies on dragonback was not something you could refuse.  Hell, she was your princess after all and you had sworn to serve her faithfully in every way you could.  But this?  This whole situation simply baffled you.

Sure Meleys was one of the older dragons in existence, but even soaring through the skies and bursting through the clouds with two people on her back she should easily have been able to fly you and the princess on this trip and then return both of you to Dragonstone or Driftmark without ever having to set down here in this remote location.  She was still after all one of the swiftest dragons in Westeros and it's not like the weather was a deciding factor.  Having already soared above the clouds, you had seen with your own eyes, once you had opened them that is, how calm and peaceful the day actually was.  Which meant there was no chance of any storm brewing here to force her to land and take refuge, except her rider's instruction.  So what then was really going on here?

Turning your focus back to your two companions now as The Red Queen settled down while simultaneously blocking out most, if not all, of the natural light entering the cave, you would have asked this question along with how Rhaenys could possibly see where she going or what she was doing, but thought better of voicing that particular question however.  After all, here was a Targaryen, a family whose very blood supposedly tied them to these magical creatures, who had spent more time in the depths of dragon pits than anyone else currently alive.  Of course she could navigate in diminished light where others might not.

Sure for all you knew she could even see in the dark.

Then again, as she took your hand and led you down a flight of previously unseen carved out steps, the scene before you temporarily distracted you from these questions and the informal actions that seemed to be occurring and told you that this was a place Rhaenys had been before and knew her way around intimately.  In more ways than one.

Walking with your princess now to a rundown wooden cabin built into this very rockscape with a forest to the front and her loyal stead sleeping above, the structure and clearing really didn't look like the type of place one would expect to find a high born Targaryen princess.  But then again it seems that was the very image she was trying to convey to those that stumbled across its location as the inside painted a totally different picture.  Bigger than it appeared from the outside having somehow extended back into the mountain, the fire, table, books and seats would have been more than enough to convince you that Rhaenys came here often, but it was the bed positioned against one wall that blew all the mystery away however and revealed to you what this place truly was ... her refuge.  Her secret hideaway far away from the loss and responsibility she carried with her without complaint on a daily basis.  And she had chosen to bring you here.

But that then raised the question of why she would do such a thing.  You were nobody special after all, and certainly not someone worthy of being singled out like this.

She however seemed to sense your confusion.  "I discovered this place when I first flew out with Meleys years ago and have fortified it well over the intervening time in concert with the natural elements all around it," she clarified as your hand now rested on the book sitting open atop the table while Rhaenys removed her gloves and seated herself upon the bed.  "Castles come and go you see, being that they are the easiest and most desirable of targets.  But here," she continued as you at last looked in her direction, "no one's going to expect a princess and her dragon to hang out in a cave or a forest.  For that's all anyone sees unless they look closer," she finished with a smile that knocked years of her visage and gave you a glimpse of the woman she must have been all those years ago.  "Join me?" she quickly added then while patting a spot on the bed next to her before you had a chance to look away.

And how were you supposed to respond to a request such as that?

After all, back on Driftmark she was to be obeyed.  Not because of fear or because she demanded it, but simply because of who and what she was ... a kind person when treated with respect, the lady of the castle and someone who, in her husband's absence, had proven herself a worthy leader.  A descendant of Old Valyria through and through.  But here it seemed all semblance of regency was cast aside and she was giving you a choice as if you were her equal.  Stating it more like a question, as she had that morning when she first asked you to ride out with her, her hand remaining where it lay still conveyed her invitation as her eyes beseech you to accept once more.  But to what end?

To sit on a chair beside someone of Rhaenys' standing was one thing and something that still made you feel a little uneasy.  But to ride on dragonback with her?  To sit on a bed beside her?  These two things had taken you so far out of your comfort zone you didn't see how you would ever find your way back there again.  And yet she seemed to sense this conflict within you too.

Remaining still on the bed, her hand now rose out towards you palm up as her voice broke the silence filling the space between both of you once more.  "It's all right, I promise to be gentle," she reassured as your feet began to respond all on their own and move your body towards her.  And gentle is exactly what she was.  Far gentler in fact than you thought a dragonrider ought to be, for the second your arm got within reach, her fingers closed around your wrist before your brain could even register her skin against yours and used your forward momentum to bring your body down on the bed where her hand had just left.  A hand that released your wrist now and joined the other as they slowly roamed freely over your heaving form, removing every layer of fabric while your brain tried frantically now to figure out how it should respond.

But it seemed Rhaenys here too had experience you had not accounted for.  "Is this your first time with a woman?" she asked as her fingers slipped down your body towards the final piece of clothing hiding you from her while your eyes looked anywhere except where they longed to focus.  Not that she allowed you to continue ignoring her for long however as she stopped what she was doing, spoke again and shocked you with a revelation you thought only existed between you and the night, "and is this not better than all those scenes your own fingers conjured up as you watched over me while I slept?" she questioned, and your teeth silenced your response here too as they always had in the past.  But your body betrayed you and told a different story.

Naked before your princess now, as you were the day you first exited your mother's womb, her fingers, teeth and tongue brought forth the truth it seemed you were too shy to confess however.  You longed for her to claim ownership over you in the only way she had not yet done.  And it seemed she wasn't one to shrink from the task.

Releasing her hold on you now as you panted frantically from her initial assault, years of service and the air in your lungs suddenly kicked back in however when she rose from the bed, raised her hands and stood in a manner you were all too familiar with.  Even if the circumstances now were far removed from anything you had ever experienced before.  For undressing her now would be totally different than anything the last four years of service had taught you.  And the consequences would change everything.

But still, you couldn't deny her.  Leaving the bed behind you now, as she had just done, and standing before her like you always had, sans clothes of course, your fingers trembled slightly now however as the weight of what was about to happen settled over you and altered the present from anything you had ever done in the past.  And it seemed Rhaenys felt that shift too.

Reaching out her hands again, her fingers now twined with yours before her voice, soft as a whisper, captured your attention once more and set your mind at ease.  "It's all right if you don't want this.  I'd simply be content to spend a night asleep beside you," she reassured, until her eyes and the words that followed told you she wasn't finished, "but my instincts are telling me you want more.  So why not simply reach out and take it?"

Silenced by the force of her conviction now as her eyes and words somehow held sway over you, the next few minutes passed in a blur as you stripped off every article of clothing she wore and placed it lovingly on a lone chair situated in the farthest corner before walking back to stand now before her naked form.  And you couldn't believe what you were seeing.  After all, it wasn't as if you hadn't helped her undress before, you wouldn't have lasted four years as one of her ladies if you had refused daily such an integral part of your job.  But before, you had simply worked through the motions.  Remove an item, move on to the next.  Copy and repeat, copy and repeat until the task was done.

Here, now, in this place however things were very different.  Here there was no Baela, Lord of The Tides or other ladies-in-waiting to get between you and your wandering eyes.  And what a sight they got to witness.

Whispering to you now that the dragon she rode was named after the old Valyrian goddess of love and fertility, their bonding now made total sense and her more muscular body seemed to confirm this.  For as gentle as she was, Rhaenys was also forged of something stronger.  Oh sure, her two now deceased children, her feminine attributes and the obvious assets which kept her off the Iron Throne screamed that she was no different from you, Rhaenyra or any one of the countless women throughout Westeros who suffered endlessly for the cruel greed of man.  Except for one difference ... her muscles were a bit more defined.

Of course, training with your brothers back home before ending up in your current position, you too had managed to hone your body and shape its composition, but dragon riding?  That took strong arms, legs and bodies that no woman would ever possess simply by sparing or attending court and smiling at any man who paid her a passing interest.  And the proof now was evident beneath your wandering fingertips.  Running them along her arms now as her own fingers reached out and pulled your bodies closer, you explored every inch your imagination had never before done justice to until her patience finally ran out however and the Lady of Driftmark tossed you back upon the bed and allowed years of sexual experience to take over as her gentleness slowly gave way to her passion.

Placing her body over yours now while still not crushing you beneath her, her mouth next began the task of claiming you as she had previously told you to do with her.  And it was better than you dared to dream of.  Kissing here and biting there, you knew now her plan was to leave signs of your coupling upon you that would last as long as possible, but as her teeth latched on to your left nipple while her strong fingers stretched your right, you realized you didn't care.  Screaming out her name now as the pain gave way to pleasure when her tongue took over and soothed the nerves she had skilfully awakened, your mind wondered now if your flower could withstand the same attention as she began to make her way towards it.  But it seemed your worry was misplaced.

Teasing you gently now with licks and kisses in a way your breasts had recently just been denied, her fingers working your entrance bit by bit was a method you yourself would later turn on her to the same effect she now had on you.  Moaning and writhing feebly beneath her now as her fingers skimmed your inner walls and her tongue made contact with the little bundle of nerves hidden away where only those educated in a woman's body would ever find it, your fists grasping for the sheets was all you could seem to do now as the orgasms she worked from you stole your voice and your strength.

Eating you out a few more times now until you cried out for her to stop, her kneeling on the bed above you and smiling triumphantly as she ran her tongue along her lips would be a sight you thought could never be equalled as you waited for sleep to claim you, but it seemed you weren't as worn out as you had actually thought.

Remembering your training now and all the times you had thought yourself defeated, you waited for the final aftershocks of your releases to recede and taking a firmer grasp of the sheets, you moved your body down the bed and surprised Rhaenys now when your head appeared between her knees while your hands grabbed hold of her powerful thighs.  Smiling now as it seemed she hadn't thought you capable of such a feat, her eyes locking on yours and a very noticeable nod of her head was all the confirmation you needed however to know she was ready, willing and waiting to see what you could do.

But ready it seemed was an understatement.

Lowering her body to meet your mouth now as your tongue snaked out as if it had taken on a life of its own, the first touch of your muscle against her entrance and you knew her desire was as strong as yours ... for her garden was absolutely dripping.  Recalling now in vivid detail all that she had just put you through, your tongue swirled, your lips sucked and soon after breaching her entrance more times than you could possibly count, your combined orgasms found both of you buried beneath the sheets now in each others arms while her back rested against your front and your leg thrown atop hers completed the connection.

But unfortunately duty still seemed determined to find her here and ruin even this special moment.  "Listen to me carefully now, for now is all we have," she suddenly started some time later, breaking through your bliss as her body now turned to face you and the mask of the Targaryen princess fell back into place once more while she tried to find the words to explain to you what lay ahead from here.  And the reality of that frightened you far more than all that had gone before and what you had just done.

For now here she was, The Queen That Never Was, lying in your arms after the most amazing love making session of your young life and she was telling you that she was going to die.  Not because she possessed the gift of foresight or some prophet had told her so.  No.  She knew because there was no other way given the forces at play and how things were shaping up.  She was just too gifted at reading the situation.  Even if Rhaenyra for example should fly into battle, as heir to the throne she couldn't just challenge her half-brothers in the hopes that she would end up victorious.  As her own son Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had rightly pointed out, her allies backed her claim so she, and by extension he, had to be protected, while Rhaenys as always would be expendable.  After all, was it not the one defining trait that marked her whole existence?

Forged of a stronger temperament than her cousin and better suited to rule, she had been cast aside at the great council in favor of Viserys simply because she had been born a woman.  Had been denied a possible place on his small council for the same reason even though, as ill health visited him in later life, his own wife Alicent Hightower would grace that very hall in his stead.  Hell, even her eyes and ears had provided ample proof that her own husband had strayed and abandoned her to carry on alone despite his claims that she was everything to him.  And with Daemon currently uncommunicative from his base in Harrenhal, well she really was the Blacks only other experienced option.

Her and her loyal dragon.

Oh sure, with the peaceful reigns of Jaehaerys and Viserys, Meleys, like most of the dragons in existence with the exceptions of Vhagar and Caraxes, had only known minor skirmishes if any real fighting at all.  But like her rider, she was still fearsome and cunning when roused and had proven herself more than capable of fending off attacks in The Gullet since the blockades had been set up by her husband's forces on Rhaenyra's behalf.  Still somehow she had always known when the two of them rose out of the dragon pit at Aegon's coronation, it would fall on her shoulders to lead the dragons to actual war.

After all, Lucerys had fled from Vhagar rather than engage the huge beast in battle, just as his mother had made him promise.  And Aemond, well he was nothing more than a child riding a weapon whose full power he still did not truly understand or appreciate.  Neither one of them could be held completely responsible for the tragic accident that had really pushed this conflict beyond the reach of human intervention.  And since then Rhaenyra had been doing everything to hold a fragile peace together.  No in truth, it was Daemon's reckless actions that had blown all hopes of maintaining that peace to smithereens and now it fell to Rhaenys and Meleys to defend their allies and claim whatever victory might present itself to them.

Which was a sobering realization really.  The possible deaths of countless people.  The introduction of dangerous and destructive dragonfire into a world that had never really seen the true power of these fearsome creatures.  If she was being honest with herself, it was why she had even counseled her husband time and time again over the years against all of his harebrained schemes to remove Viserys and install her in his place.  For she had accepted the terrible price a war within the house of the dragon would cost.  And so she did now what she always had, planned for what she could control while leaving the rest in the hands of the gods of Old Valyria.

Which brought her back to you and the message she needed understood should her worst fear come to pass.  You were to live here now in the safety of this cabin and the bounty that nature and the land provided.  Should you require anything extra, well she informed you while pointing to the chair that now held all of her clothing, hidden beneath it and the floorboards was an underground area that housed more than enough coin to see you through the rest of your life along with a tunnel to escape through..  All she asked in return was that you protect her treasures and never forget your time together.

Taking a moment now to look around the cabin while this request sunk in and once more take in the items she spoke of, the hidden truth you had missed earlier finally hit you ... these were her personal items.  Things passed down through her family that she wanted preserved and had somehow chosen you for that task.  And how could she not?  After all, as you had fully accepted, you were no one special.  Her descendants, such as they were now however, consisted of her husband Corlys Velaryon and her granddaughters Baela and Rheana.  All three you knew, as did Rhaenys, were well and truly entwined with Rhaenyra's cause which meant their futures were uncertain.  You however could disappear while still undertaking the task she requested.

And yet, her goodness still shone bright as her next words brought your focus back to her.  She didn't expect you to remain celibate.  Should fortune favor you with a love worthy of your trust and value, she fully expected you to seize it, despite your protests that your heart belonged only to her, as long as you promised to keep a watchful eye on her descendants and pass on her gifts should a time and opportunity present itself.  For it seemed despite what lay ahead she still had hope.  Hope that whatever catastrophe befell the House of Targaryen, and Westeros as a whole, that House Velaryon at least might be spared.

So what then could you say?  'Sorry, but no.  I won't do it.'  That was never really an option you silently admitted now and it had nothing to do with who she was.  It had to do with who you were and was quite possibly the reason she had trusted you in the first place.  After all, had you not just professed your love for her now through both word and deed?  No, it was so much more than that.  You wanted to offer assistance if it was in your ability to provide it.  You were a good, kind, decent and honest person who only wanted to spread love and kindness to all who happened to cross your path and no matter how life might treat you, you still only ever wished the best for even those that had wronged you.  But you were also stronger than these gentler attributes portrayed you to be.

You were fiercely loyal, trained in the use of weapons, though Rhaenys had never asked why and, despite your innate goodness, you also possessed an almost self-preservational instinct of liking everyone while trusting no one.  It was why now, as you accepted her request while Rhaenys drifted off back to sleep in your arms, that she knew she had made the right decision, just as she had the day she had asked you to join her house ... you would serve her without fault as you always had.  Knowing this she could now face whatever tomorrow brought, secure in the knowledge that her Valyrian heritage would be protected and what might be her last night beneath the stars had been spent with someone who loved her for her heart instead of a crown.

[lizzie-queenofmeigas]

Looking at the bts and I’m crying because we already know what happens to Team Black 😭

Gonna live in my AU where Rhaenyra succeeds the throne with 0 conflict:

Aemond and Daeron are sent to the Wall, can’t go to the Citadel because that’s controlled by House Hightower

Aegon the Elder is kept under house arrest, this is a peaceful succession of power but Nyra’s not dumb

Jaehaerys and Maelor are sent to become Septons/Maesters once they are of age, it will be years later so her and Jace are a lot more secure

Jace and Baela are Crown Prince and Princess of Dragonstone

Luke and Rhaena are secured as the future Lord and Lady of Driftmark

Joffrey is married to Jaehaera

Aegon the Younger joins the Kingsguard

Viserys becomes a Maester

Otto and Criston are executed for treason

Helaena is simply happy to be free from her rapist brother/husband

Alicent is protected under widow’s law but Rhaenyra probably sends her away so she can’t influence politics in Kingslanding

Man I love my au where nothing goes wrong 🥰

That's I nice au, but reality sucks.

Well, we'll always have fanfiction.

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Princess of Dragonstone: Chapter 19. Final chapter before the end.

Description: Daella became Aemonds prisoner and learned the importance of magic from her half sister, Alys. Things werent as they appeard and now everyone will pay the price for it.

warnings: Major character death, Targaryen insanity, magic, Alys rivers, Pregnancy failures, childloss and childmurder, hallucinations and stillborns, blood, choking servants, abusing servants, calling a stillborn child a monster unintended suicide

I'm soulless but this made me cry.

Aemond did not bother to join me for bed that night. I would not have let him into our rooms anyway. I am too busy hugging my stillborn child, my beautiful little boy.

Isn’t it poetic that Aemond will never be able to become a father, after he never had one himself? I like to think it is.

Eventually, one of the maids of Aemond disturbs me. No one did that day. They all ignored me. Alicent, the Queen, the King. They all were busy mourning their own losses when I was giving birth to my most beautiful creation. ‘’M-my lady…’’She gawks at my eyeless, winged boy. I shoot her a glare that will hopefully remind her who she is speaking off. ‘’I-I brought the prince a blanket, my lady. As you requested.’’ She wants to grab my son, my sweet son. I smack her hands away, causing her to cry out. I take the blanket from her as she drops it, wrapping it around my special son.

The insolent wench keeps eyeing us, worry and concern written in her eyes. The wench dares to question me. The wench dares to bother me. ‘’Good. Now leave us. I wish to be alone with my son.’’ I announce to her, cradling my sweet boy. He is the only thing giving me joy. He is all I live for. I finally found peace in a way that I never would imagine that motherhood would grant me.

The maid gulps before speaking, as if she knows that she is making a grave mistake. She tries to take the child from my arms. She tries to take away my son. ‘’He’s dead, my lady. He never lived. He came outside of you, silent as the grave. He does not have eyes, my Lady. He’s a mon-’’ I put my son down in his cradle. Before she can finish her sentence and call my son an awful name, I have wrapped my hands around her throat and started choking with all my might, as I try to snap her neck as if its a unworthy stick of wood.

The wench cried out and its hard to believe I once tried to save her life by whoring myself to Aemond. I just want her to shut up. I want everyone to just shut up. ‘’My lady! Grgk!’

I chuckle with a voice much unlike my own. ‘’You dare, call my son, the prince of Dragonstone, a monster?’’ I eye my son, but he is still safely in his crib. Good. If anyone touches him…

It will be the last thing they feel before they die. ‘’Please, my lady. He is. You must cremate him and move on. You are slowly becoming dangerous my lady.’’ Cremate him? Why would I? He is my son. He will never leave me. They took too much from me. No one will take anything from me again. Not my son.

I laugh, in her face. ‘’I never was not dangerous. I just lied to myself. I don’t want to lie anymore. My son, he is all I have. Do you understand? Aemond and his whore-bitch took it all from me. I will bathe in their blood.’’

"Stop!" Of course. I turn around, still choking the maid. Aemond is there. He is here. Good. He is next.

I lash out, forgetting he is supposed to mean nothing to me. ‘’She called him a monster. She called him a monster!” I softly mumble the rest of the words, as tears burst from my eyes and sobs rock my body. Aemond sighs before taking my hands from her throat. She runs off instantly.

‘Where is she.’’ I ask him, without looking in his direction. I notice his brows start to knit together with worry and concern as he takes in our son.

Aemond is surprised. ‘’You haven’t cremated him yet.’’ I would rather throw myself in the flames than offer my innocent babe to it.

I smile, chuckling. Aemond doesn’t know. Aemond’s stupid. He always has been blinded. Not by his eye, but by his bloodlust, his greed, his ambitions. ‘’You will not touch him. You have no right to touch the future king of the seven Kingdoms.’’

Aemond becomes uneasy. ‘’Are you hearing yourself speak?! You’ve gone insane.’’ Now it is his throat that I am holding. ‘’Who’s to blame for that? Is it our blood causing the insanity, or is it our lifes full of tragedy and never-ending heartbreak.’ Aemond easily kicks himself free, kicking me in my stomach. The wounds have not yet healed. He does help me up once I have let go of him.

‘’Where is she.’’ I grit out. ‘’I need to stop her. We all need-’’

‘’You are delirious.’’

‘’I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about anything anymore. Do you have any idea what it is like, pushing something out of you that is cold and dead?’’ I chuckle. Of course he doesn’t. His face softens. ‘’Daella…’’

‘’I did this for you! I wanted you back! You only cared about me for some pity revenge against my mother! It was never about me! It was always about you, you and you!’

He becomes insulted. Good. ‘’Daella!’

‘’Go back to Harrenhal. Go fucking fuck that whore sister of mine, and fuck yourself into a early grave. You will never lay with me again. He will be our only son. If you ever become as stupid as to bring your witchling children here, I swear they won’t survive to see the next day.’’

‘’You dare threaten my children?’’ He groans. I only chuckle.

‘’You dared to murder ours. I have nothing left, Aemond….’’ I notice that the crib is empty. Empty as I feel inside. I run to the crib, when desperate screams leave my body. ‘’No, no no no! My son! My beautiful baby boy!’

Aemond is shocked as well. ‘’That is impossible.’’

I am close to ripping my own hair out. ‘’It is not! Don’t you understand? She has taken him! She needs him!’’ Why is he so stupid. And why can’t I tell him what I want?

Aemond scoffs. ‘’She needs our dead son?’’

This man. ‘’Aemond, it was never about you.’’ Alys appears, finally. She rubs her pregnant belly mockingly and smiles when kissing Aemond’s cheek. ‘’You have tried very hard to put a son inside me. Unfortunately, I don’t have use for our child.’’ With a simple wave of her wrist a blade appears. She drives it through her own stomach, cutting out the child. Aemond bristles in anger and fear.

She turns to look at me. ‘’And you, little sister. Torn in my eye…’’ I have barely any energy left to fight. The voices speak loud. They scream. They tell me that Alys is pregnant. It is over for all of us. It will be over for all of us soon.

Aemond defends me but he is too late. ‘’You will not hurt her.’’ I need to find him. I need to protect him. He cannot be the monster she wants him to be. Alys will make him a weapon. She will destroy him and this world.

The witch chuckles as I bite my fingers, trying to find my son under pillows. ‘’I don’t have to Aemond.’’ ‘’You did it for me. Just look at her. She has gone fully mad, the poor thing.’’

Aemond realises that Alys kills me, but he handed her the knife. ‘’Stop. You are doing this. I know you are. Make her stop. I can’t bare to see her like this.’’

I repeat more and more phrases, faster and faster as my vision starts to blur. ‘’Pregnant. She’s pregnant. It’s all over. The blade, the dagger. The song of ice and fire. The seed is strong, the dragons danced, its over. Protect the blade.’’

I laugh. ‘’My son…I must…find…my…son.’’ I see him, outside of the windows. He smiles at me, my son. He is beautiful. He is flapping his wings, he is free and his eyes. They are beautiful. Almost seen through. Like two perfect diamonds. My beautiful boy. I must go to him. Now.

Aemond can’t move to stop me as I rush to the window and let myself fall down. Aemond can hear how my body splashes against the ground, before likely bursting into different pieces ‘’No!’’

[scratchtovoid]

📓 DAEMYRA FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS

• Someone You Knew In Another Life by @spreta-invidia - My current obsession. I made this post just for this story! Time travel fix it fics are popular for a reason with the Dance characters but in my opinion this fic does it best. Told from different points of view, this story centers on Aegon III going back in time to tell his parents about the coming war and their own deaths! What follows is deliciously written political scheming, deep discussions of what parenthood means for Rhaenyra and Daemon, and a tender family story that brought tears to my eyes more than once.

Complete || 65 Chapters || M || 176K || (link)

• The Sacrifice and the Sea Dragon by Fayte2008 - As someone who writes alternative fantasy asoiaf fics, I’m deeply partial to any writer that dares to reimagine these characters in new fantasy settings. So discovering this short but delightful tale of Daemon being sacrificed to a sea dragon made me incredibly happy. Written like a fairy tale, this story would not feel out of place in an anthology of Valyrian legends.

Complete || Oneshot || E || 1.7K || (link)

• your ivy grows (now I'm covered in you) by @charlie-leau - Personally I think anything by this writer is well worth your time! But what I love about this story of Rhaenyra facing an unexpected pregnancy is that it delves deep into both her complicated relationship with being a mother and the stigma of childbirth out of wedlock in a world like Westeros. Despite this series being only five chapters long, the Daemon/Rhaenyra love story feels earned at the end!

Complete || 5 Chapters || E || 87K || (link)

• put down that gravestone by darkgods - This fic will always be special to me because it was the fic that really got me into Daemyra fic in the first place! I don’t think I would even be writing fanfiction if I hadn’t read this series! And that’s because it so wonderfully balances the political intrigue we know so well from canon with a deeply satisfying love story that is all about family. In this canon divergent tale, Rhaenyra gets pregnant from a tryst with Daemon the night of the brothel (unbeknownst to them both). When Daemon is sent away and Rhaenyra is forced to marry Laenor, she raises her sons as true Velaryons. That is until Daemon returns to take his place at court, and Rhaenyra finds she can’t hide her sons’ true identities from the man who sired them.

Ongoing/Hiatus || 28/45 Ch || E || 249K || (link)

• Lavender Haze by madgirlslovesong (sympathy4thedevil) - In this AU, Viserys has a dragon dream of the coming war in which he sees Rhaenyra’s death. In order to change his daughter’s fate, he names Aegon heir and grants Rhaenyra the title of Princess of Dragonstone as a consolation prize. Resigned to a life denied, Rhaenyra finds renewed freedom when Daemon arrives offering her a world of new possibilities. If you want a fluffy, sexy, what could have been for Rhaenyra and Daemon, this is the one! This fic explores life outside of court and allows Rhaenyra to see more of the world than she got to see in canon. It gives the fic a completely unique feeling. There’s also some great fun with Viserys and his reaction to Daemyra’s relationship in a follow up oneshot!

Complete || 8 Chapters || E || 96K || (link)

• Deep Tissue by @luthien-under-bough - Rhaenyra gets a massage that has her feeling especially relaxed! Just trust me on this one, you should read it.

Complete || Oneshot || E || 4K || (link)

• Blood Sweeter Than Honey Wine by Me! - Yes, I’m including my own fic on this list. If you want a taste of my writing or if you’re interested in a completely different kind of fantasy AU, you might like my twisted tale of a Prince who washes up on an island long thought to be abandoned but is actually home to a mysterious Queen with a dangerous secret!

Complete || Oneshot || E || 11K || (link)

[themotherofhorses]

I have gotten several anons asking when will I update “his handmaid’s tales” or “last of her house no more”. It warmed my heart to hear that some still wish to read my silly fanfics, and I immediately began working on this dragonstone wedding scene between Aemond and his princess in LOHHNM (that would ofc then lead to smut, now that I have somewhat confidence in writing it :)) )

I was 2k words into this chapter when I received a message from someone in my inbox. Now, I do not know who this person might be, as they sent it anonymously.

But it was long, basically listing their growing frustrations with me; they had said that it was such a pity LOHHNM and His Handmaid’s Tales were my creations, and not someone else’s, because they could trust that other fanfic writer to update. In their words, “They could do what I clearly couldn’t.” I have also become one of their least favorite writers in the fandom, and they were severely disappointed in my lack of enthusiasm and presence. They finished by saying that they will be unfollowing and blocking me.

If this had happened a few weeks ago, I would’ve felt bad, and I would’ve apologized.

But I will not. Not this time.

I am human. I’m not a damn fanfiction-generating machine that can write and publish fanfic updates on a weekly schedule. I have a life outside of Tumblr, and sometimes (mostly during these most recent times) that keeps me incredibly busy.

My life — including my mental and physical health, family, friends, academics — comes first.

So I write when I can, and I write when I feel like it.

Telling me you wished that all my major fanfic series were the work of another writer because you have “more faith in them” will not actually inspire/motivate me to write more. All it does is make me sit at my laptop and think, “Well shit. What the hell am I doing then?”

So now I need two to five business days to settle all my shit lmao and go back to that word doc.

But I do want to end this on a rather positive note, so to all my beloved followers that continue to support me and my writing, I absolutely adore you. I cannot thank you enough, from the bottom of both my heart and soul, for sticking around and providing me with love and support and inspiration.

I love you all very much. mwuah. 💋

[countrymusiclover]

22 - More Than One Plan

Part 23

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

Some smut in this part

A couple of soldiers had returned us to our now shared chambers along with some poured warm water for the bath. Strolling around the room I eyed the tray of food that had been set out before they left us alone without a word. Now that we were alone I bent down on one knee reaching inside one boot of my boots I was wearing, taking out a folded piece of paper that the guards thankfully didn’t find when they took my dagger from me. “What do you know about Sothoryos?” Unrolling the paper the map sprawled out on the stone table near the window.

Jaime pushed himself up from sitting on the bed coming behind me peeking over my shoulder seeing what I was looking at. “From what I remember it has been teased that it lies southeast of Westeros and is across the Summer Sea.”

“So we’ll need men who know how to sail. I wonder if we could raid the Greyjoy’s fleet.” I muttered to myself in thought.

“Why are you looking at the maps for an area that no one knows anything about?”

Turning around to face him he takes a step backwards watching my messy gown sway with my movements. “My sister has her army so we should have our own.”

“We have the Lannister army.”

Shaking my head in disagreement. “That won’t be enough. One dragon isn’t even enough against her three.”

“Vaella, what are you talking about?” My husband asked.

Lowering my gaze I kept my eyes on my muddy boots not having the strength to look him in the eye when I uttered such treasonous words out into the room. “An escape plan.”

“Vaella-“ He trailed off seeing angry tears forming in my eyes and my hands clutching into fists at my sides, reminding him almost of Cersei so he did his best to push those past memories back deep down inside his mind.

“She has many opportunities to kill you or me. To kill our children and I refuse to let it come down to that.”

Jaime ran a hand down his face, sighing heavily once he realized what I was getting at. “Don’t get me wrong I don’t entirely trust her but this isn’t the time or place to be talking about it.”

“So you don’t agree with me. That we should have a backup plan in mind.” I hung my mouth open in shock.

He stepped closer to me, meeting my purple gaze. “I do agree with you that she's dangerous. But what you’re suggesting could cost us both our lives.”

“You told me once something your father used to say. What does a lion do?”

Jaime dropped his gaze to the ground. “The Lion does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep.”

“You are a Lion. I am a Dragon. We are two great houses combined together in love. And our family is the only thing that matters. You, Luciya, Rhaegar, Amethyst and our new babe are the only ones I’d commit such an act of treason for!” I raised my voice before Jaime suddenly clasped a hand over my mouth making me gasp at his action.

His green eyes trained on mine filled with love. “Why am I just finding out about this now?”

“Probably because I didn’t find out about it myself until a few weeks after you had left.” I apologized with a weak smile.

Jaime cupped my face in his hands kissing me for the first time since we had been reunited right in front of my younger sister. “I love you, Vaella.”

“I love you too - we shouldn’t let the water go cold.” Running my fingers up his tunic shirt undoing the buttons and tossing it onto the stone floor. Jaime spun me around pressing my back against his front burying his nose in my neck.

I couldn’t help but giggle in anticipation feeling his left hand untying the laces of my red gown. The first time he had attempted this I had to aid him doing such a task. Once I felt the fabric pile onto the floor I stepped over the fabric where I bent down removing his trousers and we got inside the warm water just enjoying the comfortable silence that had filled the room just holding onto one another.

He tugged my flesh against his chest making me drop the rag onto the tile floor. Resting my hands on his bare chest our eyes met when he rested his forehead against mine. "I know I must have looked like an idiot during the trial. But I wouldn’t let her kill my love..and anyone who tries shall have to go through me.” He smashed his lips onto mine pushing me against the tub wall.

“I thought I’d lost you when your body went into the water.” I rasped out, moving my hands over every part of him I physically could.

We stumbled out of the bathtub where he only broke the kiss once laying my back on the bed. "What do you want, dragon princess?"

"You, my golden knight.” I squealed because the second the word left my mouth he flipped our position pushing me down on my back. He had his hands on either side of me smirking, lightly kissing me deeply.

I began to move against him and leaned up pressing my lips down upon his. He embraced me back instantly when my fingers dug into his back, both of us slick with sweat as he moved against one another, our pants and moans filling the room.

He leaned up on his knees and began to thrust his little wife at a deeper pace hitting a certain spot inside of her. "J-Jaime! " I moaned out before he connected our lips again.

The bed was moving against our actions where he kept hitting the specific spot that we both moaned afterwards to. He broke the kiss where I held his face in my hands tracing his cheek with him thrusting into me slowly. "Vae!" He moaned when I pulled his head downward burying my face in his neck nuzzling my nose and kissing into his skin.

We didn’t bother untangling our limbs from one another just laying in the bed furs. Jaime’s fingers danced across my bare shoulder where I rolled over to face him, allowing me the ability to twirl his blonde curls in between my fingers. “What are you thinking now, princess?”

“I want to go back to simpler times. Where it was just us and the kids back at the Rock. Where we didn’t have to worry about having become traitors and running for our lives for another time. I - I thought I was done with hiding.”

Jaime rolled me onto my back hovering above me putting his weight on his real hand and the fake golden one. “You never have to feel like a prisoner ever again.”

“Except I still am a prisoner. This is not our home, the Rock is.” I admitted weakly.

He wrapped his arms around my waist rolling himself onto his back leaving me to be sitting above him. “The Rock is simply that a ridiculous rock. What did I tell you the last time you felt like this?”

“Home is with the people you love.” I grinned down at him, kissing him gently and for that moment we let our minds go back to what I suppose you can call our honeymoon faze.

[ackerfics]

FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter two: the red-bricked road (wc: 6.6k) | masterlist

Maester Orwyle is the kindest Maester she has ever known.

The Maesters in Dragonstone are all knobbly knees and wrinkly skin. Aesira once thought they posed as wizards until they outright told her that magic wasn’t part of their profession. She wanted to argue that they looked like one of the magic-wielders in the picture books she adored reading again and again but they shut her down and proceeded to explain the most basic parts of Westeros history to a child of four name days. Everything about them was boring — none of the whimsical touch she wanted to see. It nearly drove her mother insane how she would prefer to make the Maesters’ lives a lot worse by never listening to their teachings and by always hopping from one chair to another. Her father, though, laughed at every misguided action Aesira made, claiming that she was becoming his little dragon. Still, she wanted them to be more engaging; they were droning like insects during the summer and it wasn’t a nice sound to listen to every day.

But Maester Orwyle is patient enough to face Aesira’s never-ending questions.

How do you become a Maester? Can you do magic? But Mother said you can heal any wound, so why can’t you do magic? Where do you come from? Does the King pick you? When can I see my dragon? Do you know anything about dragons? 

She learns that to assume as a Maester, one must study and dedicate their life to being a scholar in a place called the Citadel. Maester Orwyle doesn’t go into full detail but he reveals that it is guarded by the Hightowers, which is the House the Queen belongs to. No, they can’t do magic, an answer she heard from across the seas and they can’t fully heal a wound, unfortunately. Maester Orwyle doesn’t entertain the questions about seeing her dragon but he offers a wide variety of history lessons about them when he has more time for tutoring. He tells her she is a breath of fresh air after witnessing her fiery enthusiasm about learning, adding that Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena both have their little things to worry about other than learning about how the realm came to be. Aegon, she can understand, but Helaena? The girl looks smart enough with how composed she appears. But Aesira doesn’t have the right to judge someone’s character — she was taught by her mother to be better than that.

After her hundredth question, Maester Orwyle places a bound journal on the table.

“What do I do with it, Maester Orwyle?” She asks, eyeing the brown book with slight intrigue.

The man chuckles, waving a hand to dismiss whatever suspicion she has of this blank book. “It’s blank, my Lady, not at all associated with our studies. We’ve already established that you have the most outstanding proficiency in reading the common language at a young age.” He gestures to the tomes carefully placed around the edges of the long table. “I suspect that you also know how to write the basic letters?”

Aesira nods, feeling her cheeks burn at the compliment. “Mother made me learn. Aether would rather follow Father around Dragonstone.”

“A very wise decision made by the late Lady Aellara.” The light on Aesira’s face dims. Maester Orwyle quickly lowers his head in shame. The wound from Lady Targaryen’s death is still fresh for him to verbally make a reminder of it, so he hastily adds, “My deepest apologies, young Lady. I seemed to have let my mouth wander before my mind.” Maester Orwyle receives a tiny nod from the little girl. To uplift her spirits again, he presents an idea that will surely entice the little lady. “This blank journal will be your most trusted friend during your stay here.” He then places a writing utensil with a lead tip right beside the journal. “If something of interest catches your eye, you can write it here, my Lady. If you bear questions for our next tutoring sessions, you can write them down so you will never forget them.”

“Can I write anything here?”

At her question, he lets out a light laugh. Her age seeps through her words. “Yes, anything you want, my Lady.”

Aesira takes the journal in her hands. “How do I start?”

Maester Orwyle looks her in the eye. “You know your numbers, yes?” She nods, an answer that satisfies the learned man. “How about taking down the number of windows around the Keep? Or perhaps your thoughts regarding the paintings and pieces of art on the walls and in the atelier? I’m sure that by the end of the week, you will have more things to write about than when you started.”

She heeds his advice. On her journey back to the nursery, she stops in the middle of the hallway, the guards stationed at every chamber all watching her with curious eyes. Aesira, with the journal and writing utensil in hand, whirls around in a flurry of skirts and makes little stomps away from the nursery, the chuckles of the guards following her ear. Her styled hair bounces with each step she takes. Today, her handmaid decided on simple braids running down from either side of her head, never forgetting the powder blue ribbons preventing the braids from unravelling to match her day gown, which is a blue that is an homage to her mother’s House. It is a statement that has any gossipping Lady look her way, eyes flashing and lips showing fox grins, eager for the fabricated news to reach the Queen’s ears. Aesira doesn’t care; she simply wants to follow kind Maester Orwyle’s suggestion to keep herself from getting bored.

Opening the journal to its second page (she wrote her name on the first one), Aesira begins counting the different kinds of windows she passes by.

There aren’t that many tall windows that span from the ceiling to the floor but there are many small ones so high for her to reach that she even loses count. (Aesira only learned up till twenty, so anything beyond that, she is purely making everything up. She hopes Maester Orwyle won’t be that disappointed at her counting.) 

The paintings on the hallways, however, are not pleasing to look at.

It comes to a point where Aesira has to stop at one and try to make out why there are so many people connected to each other in one setting.

“A pretty, little Lady is not supposed to look at revolting things such as these.”

The Realm’s Delight.

Aesira received remarks from her Uncle Viserys (the old man insisted she calls him by a title that’s suited for a familial gathering of sorts, coupled with hearty laughs when she attempted to do it with flaming cheeks) about how his Heir would love to make the time of the day to meet her.

From her title alone, Princess Rhaenyra is truly a delight to look at. Pin-straight silver hair, not a strand out of place; clear yet amused lavender eyes; lips quirked to one side; and hands nonchalantly positioned behind her back as if she has all the time on her shoulders to stroll around the Keep. Aesira has to crane her neck to look the Heir in the eye because she’s tall like any of the adults here, not noticing that she is slowly losing her balance from doing so. A momentary flash of confusion takes place on Aesira’s face when Rhaenyra loses that casual, attention-grabbing posture of hers and instead gains a frantic one, the older girl reaching out an arm to wrap around Aesira’s little body. The princess catches her in time before she hits the ground.

“Careful, Lady Aesira,” Rhaenyra murmurs, the words still clear. The Kingsguard who was ordered to follow Rhaenyra moves a step, which causes her to glance at him while Aesira keeps on staring at the princess’s face. “It’s alright, Ser Criston, I managed to catch the little Lady in time.” The Heir takes one look at Aesira, never helping the laugh that bubbles in her throat. “Hello,” her voice is gentle, carefully pulling the young Lady back on her two feet.

Aesira blinks, wide eyes taking in the image of the King’s beloved daughter. Rhaenyra looks a lot like her own mother. Suddenly, a bout of uncharacteristic shyness covers Aesira’s body. “Hi,” she answers a little too meekly.

Rhaenyra goes back to being the princess everyone adores, posture and standing and all. In an unconscious thought, she slightly lifts her chin in the air, the amused smile on her face returning. “What has brought you to examine the paintings, my Lady?”

 “I wanted to write something in my journal.”

“Your journal?”

She nods, pressing the bound book on her chest as she does with Daemian. “Maester Orwyle gave me a blank journal to write in.” On that thought, she hasn’t held baby Daemian for the day. She wants to inhale that sweet babe scent that clings to his skin, letting the warmth of her baby brother preserve the memory of her mother. However, the very image of Rhaenyra with the halo of the Sun behind her back proves to be the closer memory of her mother to her little mind, the only difference is the smile they carry. Daemian may be Aellara’s last piece before she breathes her last breath but Rhaenyra is likened to the image of the Siren of the Vale. Aesira never meets Rhaenyra’s eyes while saying, “He told me to write anything I find interesting.”

Rhaenyra hums. “Have you ever stepped inside the castle’s atelier?”

“What?”

The smile on the older princess’s face is patient. It reminds Aesira of Maester Orwyle’s when he answers her questions. “It’s a place where they keep the most valued paintings in the Keep. I’m sure the masterpieces there are … more refined than the ones displayed on the walls. Do you want me to accompany you there? I have nothing else to occupy myself with nowadays.”

Shame burns Aesira’s little body when a guttural sound erupts from her stomach.

Even the Heir’s laughs are a delight to hear. “Never mind the atelier then.”

“I’m sorry, Princess,” she sheepishly says.

“Ser Criston?” Rhaenyra calls without looking away from Aesira. “Can I request a plate of—what would you like, Lady Aesira?”

“C-Can I please have honey cake?”

“An outstanding choice, my Lady,” Rhaenyra praises with a large smile. “Just a plate of the Keep’s finest honey cakes, Ser Criston. Have it delivered in the gardens, too?”

Ser Criston is taller than the princess ever is. Aesira has a hard time even leaning back to measure his height with her eyes. His white cloak is the most striking piece of clothing he wears, not the blinding glint of his armour or the large sword carefully strapped on his belt. Every movement he makes is guaranteed to have a noise. The blinding armour he has makes the slightest bit of sound when he looks down at Aesira, unsure whether he should follow the princess’s command despite the role he should be portraying — a gallant knight and not an errand boy. Ser Criston looks like her father’s knights, the difference lies in the colour of their cloaks; whilst Ser Criston has a pristine white, her father’s knights carry golden ones. (And they don’t look unapproachable like Ser Criston.) His hardened gaze quickly softens at Aesira’s wide eyes and like any other who dares breathe the same space as the Rogue’s daughter, Ser Criston melts.

“Of course, Princess, I’ll have a servant fetch you one immediately,” Ser Criston speaks with a timbre deeper than Aesira’s father.

“Have you ever been to the gardens, Lady Aesira?”

“When I accompany Princess Helaena, yes.”

At the mention of the younger princess, Rhaenyra’s expression changes.

Aesira continues, “But we only spend the time looking for bugs there.”

Rhaenyra begins walking to the gardens and Aesira has no choice but to follow in her little footsteps. “An interesting hobby, I suppose.”

“With my journal, I can write about them.”

“Good for you, my Lady.”

Aesira knows when someone is bothered by a subject. She’s seen it on her father’s face. She doesn’t like it at all because he looks scary and is ready to explode at any minute; then, Mother would cry and tell him to forget about hearing it and that she was content with whatever life they created in Dragonstone. Mother never forgot about telling Aesira about the lushness and vibrancy of the Vale, telling the tales of her days growing up in a way that made a younger Aesira long for a visit to her mother’s family and childhood home. Whenever that subject was brought up, it always ended with Father being angry and Mother apologising for planting the idea in the children’s minds. Aether would hug her to sleep as they pretended another argument was not sprouting from the next room, a verbal fight of knives that had every servant avoiding their quarters for the next nights to come. Aesira would ask her mother if Father permitted them to visit the Vale and all she got was a clipped smile and the words, “We won’t be visiting my home anytime soon, sweetling. Dragonstone is enough for us for the time being.”

She can see Rhaenyra possessing the same ticks Father has when he doesn’t like to talk about certain things. They become closed-off and stony—dismissive.

Aesira has no choice but to keep quiet and wordlessly follow Rhaenyra until they reach the beautiful gardens of the Keep, a piece of land in the Keep that appears to stretch on for miles in a large body of green foliage. The both of them choose a stone bench to settle on, not too far from the entrance, with Rhaenyra having to aid Aesira in fully sitting on the high chair. The silence is quite heavy, with the chirping birds and buzzing summer insects filling in what should have been a conversation between the cousins. The discomfiture stretches, so much so that Aesira opens the journal and starts drawing whatever she finds pretty. For a child of five name days, the drawings she makes are not for the faint of heart. All of them are poorly-made shapes that don’t resemble the blue roses around the gardens or the red exotic flowers a few feet away.

“There was a time I was curious about my cousins in Dragonstone,” Rhaenyra breaks the silence with a casual tone, both of her hands perching on her lap and body directed to face Aesira. “And about my aunt while I was growing up.

“Mother would tell me how great of a delight her little sister was, that despite her grace, she carried the fire brought by their mother. While Mother was serene, her little sister was a challenge to anyone who met her.” Rhaenyra smiles at her finally sharing her thoughts with the family of her late mother, a member so cherished that when Queen Aemma was on her deathbed, she was screaming for her younger sister (or so Rhaenyra was told). “I can count on my hand the number of times I met her but Aunt Aellara was—is still—the most beautiful woman in my memory, sharing the same title as my mother.” The two blondes with dragonrider blood in their veins look at each other. “Everybody always dimmed when my eyes fell on her. She was truly a sight blessed by the gods, both Old and New.

“And when she talked to me last year under the lone weirwood,” Rhaenyra shakes her head, “I find myself wishing I knew her way before the moments I can only remember. Uncle is lucky to have her by his side.”

Aesira watches as Rhaenyra covers her tiny hand with her larger palm.

“I’m truly sorry for what happened, my Lady.” The princess struggles to express her thoughts. “These words come from deep in me and I am ashamed that I never said it during the funeral.” Rhaenyra notices her pout, prompting her to place both of her hands around her little cousin’s.

“Mother told me about Aunt Aemma, too, and,” Aesira gulps, “little Baelon.” She welcomes the reassuring grip Rhaenyra made around her unsure hand.

“In these trying times, we come to connect with the people who share the same pain loss gave us.” A forced smile comes to pull on the Heir’s lips. The older girl leans forward as if to whisper a secret only for Aesira to hear. “Did you know, Baelon’s legacy lives on in you twins?”

“In Aether and I, Princess?”

“My name or cousin, if you please.”

Aesira makes a timid nod. “Cousin.”

“That’s better,” Rhaenyra proudly states. “And yes.” The intrigue in her little cousin’s eyes is present enough for the day and she finds herself excited for once in so many moons. “Uncle, your father, wanted to honour his unborn heir by following the Targaryen tradition of putting dragon eggs in one’s cradle.” She chooses to omit the part that Daemon committed such an act as a way to capture the attention of Viserys, with the prince reasoning that he needed the egg for his lady wife’s pregnancy, something that didn’t happen until moons later. That excitement in her eyes shouldn’t be extinguished; it was too precious. “I gave my permission to give this dragon egg to his unborn child and when news went around that there were two of you, another egg was procured and given to him. Father even forgave him for a moment; pregnancy is something to be celebrated in our family after all.”

 “I never knew that,” Aesira says in awe.

Rhaenyra lightly laughs, leaning a little. “Now you do.” She pauses. “I picked the dragon egg that went to Uncle’s possession thinking of a sister named Visenya; a second coming of Vhagar, I envisioned.”

“The largest dragon in the world.”

The Princess nods, never losing that proud grin. “Indeed. When I saw Aether’s dragon, I instantly knew Baelon’s legacy will live through you two. A dragon fit for an heir. If you don’t mind me asking, can you tell me about your dragon, cousin?”

Aesira now fully sits on the stone bench. Her eyes carry the stars that she ate and were now resting inside her chest while her mother birthed her to the world. She doesn’t notice Rhaenyra momentarily halts her breathing at the sight of her lilac eyes showing a glimpse of the entire night sky. Aesira Starborn is most excited for once in two moons. “Starfell is her name.” The journal is long forgotten on her lap. “She never stopped clinging to me when she hatched and it made Father happy. She grew bigger in five years as Father also said. Oh, cousin, she has the prettiest colour!” She then places both of her hands on her mouth, as if she said something remotely warranting a severed tongue. “Not that Syrax doesn’t have a pretty colour — I quite like gold.”

Rhaenyra can’t help but laugh. “I am not offended at all, cousin. I am a witness to how pretty Starfell is. She was there, yes?” At the funeral.

 The little Lady hums her agreement.

“Truly a dragon worthy of songs, I must say. It was like looking at a streak of a burning comet in the night sky. Maybe you can introduce her to me next time. I’ll make sure to ask Father for his permission to bring you to the dragonpit.”

“I’d like that, cousin.”

And when the long-awaited honey cakes arrive, Aesira can’t help but think that maybe Syrax will grow to like her Starfell as well.

“You have a shadow, my Lady,” a handmaid notes while following Aesira’s footsteps in the castle’s hallways. The woman slightly laughs at the doe-eyed confusion plastered on the young Lady’s face as she stops in her tracks before nodding at something behind them. “It’s been happening for a while now, probably days.”

“Is it Prince Aegon?”

The eldest son of King Viserys is sometimes endearing and most of the time annoying. 

If not for Aether pulling him away, he would most likely stick himself to Aesira’s side. He’s long overcome his moments of shyness. Gone is that Aegon who always turned away when she’s inside the nursery at the same time as him, needing Queen Alicent to push him out of his shell to communicate with his female cousin. How she misses that Aegon. He lasted for about three days. The entire week, Aegon gained the confidence that had him pulling out every chair during afternoon tea time (the children never drank tea, instead they are given freshly-squeezed fruit juice), tugging on her hand to invite her outside to watch the pretty flowers, picking out the most extravagant blossoms without regards to how his mother would feel and tucking them behind her ear, and always following her around the Keep. She’s kissed Aegon on the cheek way too many times and the boy never stops asking more from her, claiming her to be the most beautiful in the realm, making sure to scream it loudly every time Princess Rhaenyra makes her appearance around their vicinity. His own Realm’s Delight, he says.

(Rhaenyra stares at him as if he has lost his mind to the Stranger.)

It’s deemed adorable by her Uncle Viserys, laughing at how adamant Aegon is at showing his affections; but to her, it’s more reason to stop joining his games with Aether.

“I think it’s a rather surprising change, my Lady. You might want to see it for yourself.”

Aesira tilts her head to see around her handmaid's skirts, her styled hair flowing with the movement and creating a curtain that nearly touches the floor. One of the tapestries on the wall is protruding instead of falling straight to the ground. The lump is suspiciously squirming and there’s no mistaking the tiny feet visible in the small space at the end of the tapestry. Aesira instantly knows who it is.

“Prince Aemond?”

The lump on the tapestry jolts and Aesira can’t help but giggle.

This is truly a fresh breeze compared to the tempests Aegon brings.

Earlier, moments after waking up, Aether is already pulling Aegon to play and run around the Keep, leaving behind Aemond to stare at the older boys with Vhagar in between his hands. Being two name days old, Aegon and Aether both think it’s no fun to bring around the Queen’s favourite toddler; the babe will only prevent them from being too rowdy with their games. A silent agreement passes between the older boys that they will never include Aemond as much as he wants to be to avoid the wrath of the Queen. This leaves the little prince looking for another fixation to follow and that comes in the form of the princess-looking girl in the nursery aside from his sister. As usual, the prince would sit beside Helaena while she’s in search of her new insect friend; but once Aesira presents an opportunity of being another important figure in his life, Aemond instantly takes it.

Aemond peeks from his hiding spot, his cherubic cheeks dusted with a sweet touch of embarrassed rouge. Aegon’s toy Vhagar is absent from his hands. Rather, they find comfort in the hem of his vest. His fidgeting mirrors his older brother during their first meeting, down to the way that he doesn’t make eye contact. If given the chance, Aemond probably would have vanished with the tapestry’s depiction of a war between men and dragons.

Aesira straightens herself, running her hands over the length of her skirts. She glances at her handmaid, a silent question of permission to stray from their destination. The young woman shrugs with a smile, putting the decision on the little lady. Gathering the material of her dress in her hands, Aesira makes her way to the tapestry, where Aemond hides again with a squeak akin to a tiny mouse.

“Hello, my Prince,” Aesira greets with a smile reaching her eyes.

The darkness behind the tapestry doesn’t dull the indigo hues belonging to the prince. They only widen at her reaching out a bigger hand than his, the glow on his cheeks also brightening until he sheepishly looks away from her.

“Would you like to be my companion for the day, my Prince?”

Aemond nods, taking slow steps to place his hand in Aesira’s. Her smile rivals that of the sun as she gently pulls Aemond from the tapestry and into the hallways bathed in natural light. The change in scenery makes Aemond squint his eyes, very much like how Daemian did when he wakes up in the morning. The similarity warms Aesira’s heart, poking her brain to do something about her urges. So, following the instincts she gained from attending to her baby brother, she pats the top of Aemond’s hair, ruffling his blond hair (it’s soft to the touch!) before putting her hand on her skirts. The warmth spread through her entire body at the sight of Aemond pouting and mimicking her actions himself, patting himself on the head. Aesira won’t complain about having more little siblings to take care of — Aemond looks adorable enough to be considered as such. She knows Daemian won’t mind having another big sibling either.

“You can tell me all your favourite places, my Prince,” she says. “We never talked that much, you see.”

“Aemond,” the prince voices out, patting his chest with a determined look on his chubby face. “Me Aemond!”

“You want me to call you by your name?”

Aemond nods.

Aesira grins. “Alright! Lead the way, Aemond.”

It’s no surprise that Aemond brings her back to the nursery, wordlessly telling her that this is his favourite place in King’s Landing, most likely the only place he’s ever been to that he remembers. Still, Aesira smiles and follows him inside.

They make sure that they are near Daemian’s crib, the babe cooing at them every so often. The both of them are in their world at the moment, their well-protected bubble that nobody can cut through, not even with the swords the Kingsguard carry; Aether and Aegon are traipsing and wreaking havoc in the Keep while Helaena is discovering the small ecosystem the garden offers. Aesira never leaves her eyes on Aemond, the younger boy explaining the sentiments held by every single one of his toys. His most favourite, he relays, is the wooden dragon Aegon claims Aemond stole from him. He tells Aesira it’s his most prized possession because it came from his big brother, a fact that nobody knows except Aesira and tiny Daemian. He babbles made-up words yet Aesira listens, even indulging him in providing more narrative to the stories he reenacts with his toys. Aemond is a sweet boy, untouched by the vipers of the Keep and the whispers of the walls. Aesira vows to herself that since nobody is watching this boy flip over pebbles and rocks, she’s going to claim that position herself.

As she adjusts her voice to play as a soldier in battle, Aesira remembers being two name days old.

Dragonstone is a sad thing to remember.

However, its walls and everything around it holds her most precious memories to date.

Her oldest memory involves being strapped against her father’s chest, with Aether safely tucked on his back; the shaking she felt indicated that he was chuckling at the worried expression made by her mother. They would be safe with me, he said but not before running the back of his fingers on her mother’s cheek.

Aesira and Aether were two name days old when Daemon Targaryen took them on a ride on Caraxes.

She remembers how it felt — the clouds right at her small hands, the delightful laughs released by her father, the confusion and wonder on her face that she was not on the ground but flying to the edge of the world. She remembers looking up at him while the light touches his short hair and she remembers him placing a tender kiss on the crown of her head. Of course, Aether was never forgotten because Daemon shifted his head so that the tip of his nose touched the boy’s ruffled hair. What she truly feels to this day was her mother’s embrace the moment Caraxes landed and she was off her father’s chest, every part of her face was touched by her mother’s lips.

“I told you they'll be back on the ground, darling wife,” her father said.

Her mother kept kissing her face, her laughs even making her mother’s handmaids smile. “You never fail to give me a fright, husband.”

“Sira?”

Aesira looks up to meet Aemond’s chubby face. “Yes, Aemond?”

“Don’t cry.”

“Huh?”

Aemond lifts an arm, an action that requires all of his physicality, being a tiny human being. He places the entirety of his palm on the apple of her cheek. He looks near in tears. “Sira sad?” comes his wobbly voice.

At the question, Aesira hiccups a little sob.

Aemond instantly forgets his toys, waddling over to his companion’s side and enveloping her in the tightest hug she received in her lifetime. They are standing at the same height — Aesira still sitting with her skirt surrounding her legs and Aemond maintaining his balance in front of her.

“I don’t want Sira sad,” Aemond says, squeezing his eyelids shut.

She wraps her arms around him. “I’m not sad, Aemond.”

“Sira crying.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m sad.”

Aemond makes a sound of disagreement, burying himself more into her.

“Then why?”

“I just remembered something.”

The door to the nursery opens with a flourish.

“Aemond, she’s my princess! Get away from her!”

“We’re back, Sira!”

Aesira then feels another hug coming from behind her. She detects the faint smell of the sun and grass on the person’s clothes. On her other shoulder is Aegon closing his eyes as tightly as Aemond, his hug never including Aemond and is solely around her torso and only her. She doesn’t even know why Aegon starts claiming her as his princess when his sister is one. (Maybe it was because she agreed to play as the maiden when he and Aether took the roles of knights on a journey to find the most beautiful princess hidden among the bushes of the garden.) Growing up as the second prince’s daughter, she’s subjected to the title of a lady, never a princess despite her father being a prince. Her mother explained that it was because of a thing called succession, a word she never understood. But even as the people around her affectionately added her name with the title of Lady, her father never did; he always called her his little princess.

“Prince Aegon, I’m not a princess.”

Aegon looks offended as a child his age can be. “You are.”

“Your sister is the princess.” She nods at a standing Helaena carrying something in her palms. The girl is awfully still, her eyes wide and her lips mouthing words nobody can hear. Aesira came to find out that Helaena is a speaker of riddles, which ached her brain trying to comprehend. The younger girl’s words left her scratching her head in an attempt to decipher what the different colours of the loom meant. She will have to write everything Helaena says in her new journal. “I’m a lady, my Prince.”

“Well, you’re prettier.”

She frowns. “That’s rude, Prince Aegon. Princess Helaena is pretty.”

“Whatever you say,” Aegon harrumphs. “Call me Aegon.”

“But that—”

“Aegon.”

“Alright.”

“Say it.”

“Aeg—”

Aether makes himself known. “You’re both going to hurt her,” he says, referring to the princes. Ever the dutiful big brother of two, he pulls Aemond with all his might, the toddler complaining with flailing arms as he’s dragged on the floor. Aether doesn’t pay attention to the squawks of a scandalised surprise coming from the wetnurses stationed inside the nursery. They are most likely looking over their shoulder, mindful of the passersby that can whisper to the ears of the Queen about how his sons are being roughly handled by the new wards. Even after successfully taking Aemond and promising him another round of dragons and knights (which calms him down a little and doesn’t erase the pout on his lips), Aether turns around and sighs. Aegon still doesn’t let Aesira go, the former swaying the latter in an imaginary tune only he hears, his smile showcasing how happy he is after days of her avoiding him and begging for her attention. “Aegon.”

“No.”

“I don’t want my sister hurt.”

“I’m not hurting her.”

Aether stomps one of his feet. “Yes, you are!”

Aegon doesn’t respond and instead, pulls Aesira more to him.

“You’re acting like a clingy creature from Essos! And you know what they look like?”

“What?”

“Ugly.”

“Aesira, your brother is being mean!”

Aether rolls his eyes. “Let. Her. Go.”

“Never. Aesira likes it when I hug her.”

The younger blond boy glances at her for confirmation. Aesira’s face says it all. So, Aether firmly plants his feet on the floor and places both of his fists on his hips.

The girl in Aegon’s embrace remembers her father doing it whenever he catches Aether rolling on the dirt as a way of shirking his sessions with the Maesters or when she stays up late pretending to read one of the tomes underneath her bed covers like one of those studious scholars (the glow of the lantern gave her away). She drops her gaze to the rugs protecting the children from injuries. The image of her father on her older brother sets a gnawing feeling that is more discomforting than Aegon’s endless hug. “It’s alright, Aether. Aegon is harmless.��� Her shoulders loosen when Aether stops looking like their disappointed father. To further placate her brother, Aesira covers Aegon’s arms with hers, hugging him in this position. “He’s warm.”

“See, Aether! She likes me!” Elated at the thought, Aegon presses a large kiss on Aesira’s cherubic cheek. “I like you, too, Sira.”

Aether pouts. “That’s not what she said, Aegon.” He stops glaring at Aegon when Helaena moves from her spot (she’s still standing while everything falls into chaos) to sit beside Aesira, her skirt forming a pitched tent before deflating around her. “Princess?”

The younger girl ignores the boys and instead directly looks at Aesira alone. “I found this, Sira. I think you’ll like it.”

Helaena finally presents what she has been hiding in her hands.

Aether laughs as Aegon flings himself away from the two girls with a squeal.

“You did it, Princess!”

Cradled in Helaena’s hand are three tiny red bugs with black dots. They can be pinched with the tiniest of forces but with the way Helaena lets them roam on her skin, Aesira can tell they are safe to explore on this new terrain. Aesira has never seen such creatures even in Dragonstone, having chosen to spend most of her days inside the nursery and trying to make sense of the Maester’s words.

Aesira gasps, leaning close to the princess. “What are they?”

“I don’t know. I’m asking the Maesters.”

She tilts her head. “They’re adorable.”

Helaena nods, her attention never leaving the bugs crawling on her palm. “One for each of you, Aether, and Daemian.” The two girls watch the three insects interact with one another. Conversations pass between their small heads, their bodies huddling close together in a semblance of comfort. Seconds pass in the nursery’s timepiece and one of the red insects spreads its shell-like body — its fluttering wings leading it away from Helaena’s palms and into the air. The two children don’t have the time to express their sadness over the departing bug since a second followed the first. And then there was one. Helaena slowly raises her hands to closer inspect the lone bug with teary eyes. “No, she’s all alone now.”

The princess never fails to make Aesira wonder. Helaena is the prettiest girl Aesira has never seen. There are countless pretty girls in Dragonstone, her mother’s handmaidens all belong to that category. (Her mother is beautiful according to the songs; pretty is not the perfect word for the Siren of the Vale — the woman who brought men to her knees and who softened the Rogue Prince until she was killed by his love.) But the Queen’s only daughter holds a certain light to her. It’s subdued, not blinding like Aegon’s or everlasting like her mother’s, which calls for Aesira’s attention. If she’s not attending to Daemian or studying with the Maesters, Aesira is found with Helaena. It’s perfect because she wants a little sister to coddle and dote on. Helaena is a precious thing, so Aesira doesn’t understand why Aegon complains about her being creepy. There’s nothing creepy with the princess’s riddles or her blooming love for nature — the girl is even crying over how the red bug is going to be lonely now.

Letting Aether’s teasing and Aegon’s teary rebuttals fly over her head, Aesira raises a hand and carefully pats Helaena’s head.

The younger girl jumps at the contact but she doesn’t flinch away. Aesira smiles, “There, there. The red bug will join her friends later. Don’t be sad, Princess.”

Helaena leans her head to capture more of her hand’s warmth. The action reminds Aesira of the puppies running around one of the villages in Dragonstone. She begged her father to carry one back but she was declined by him with the words that the beasts were not worthy of a god carrying dragonrider blood in her veins, that if she wanted to treat something as a companion, it would be her newly-hatched dragon. The puppy she found had an almost-white shade in its gold fur. With Helaena’s hair, it’s not hard to imagine an adorable puppy on her trying to ask for more pats on the head. Aesira giggles and gives the princess much-needed pats.

“She won’t join them,” Helaena replies, now looking down at the roaming red insect.

“Oh?”

“Isolation welcomes another soul; a union bathed in gold just as the stars foretold.”

Another one of Helaena’s riddles.

Aesira’s mouth opens to address it but her voice never comes out as Aegon regains his bearings after a disgusted and terrified spiral of seeing the bugs. “You’re doing it again, Hel!” Now, as the eldest brother of three, he stomps in between Aesira and Helaena, but he isn’t as dutiful as Aether. Rather than give his sister space to breathe, he closes in like a hawk watching its prey, beak ready to hurl insults that will make his little sister cower. “You have to stop it. It’s weird and it’s creeping people out!”

A quick glance is exchanged between the twins.

“Aegon, I quite like it when the princess says her riddles,” Aesira supplies, resting a hand around his wrist.

Aegon looks back at her, conflict clear on his face. He flickers his contemptuous gaze on an unfazed Helaena and his resolve cracks. If his sister doesn’t appear to listen to a word he says, it won’t be worth it. He scoffs at Aether who flashes a contented gesture of a thumb in the air, a sign of a job well-done. The hand enclosing his wrist tugs on his hand, fingers entwined and magnetic as he follows Aesira pulling him to sit on the floor, shoulders shy of touching one another.

Cornflowers and lilacs are beautiful once woven together.

Staring deeply at the pair of joined hands, Helaena echoes, “Isolation welcomes another soul; a union bathed in gold just as the stars foretold.”

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blue blood, chapter 2 (an aemond targaryen x team black daughter fanfiction)

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chapter 1: prologue

chapter 2: the bells.

Daella Targaryen is in King’s Landing when the bells begin to ring. 

She was to depart for Dragonstone the morning after her siblings, the dinner party having caused an acrimonious end to their visit. Yet the following morning, as she makes her way to the Dragonpit, she hears the ringing of the bells, something she never has before but something whose significance she was made aware of. A royal death. More specifically, the passing of a regent. 

Viserys I is dead. 

The Keep seems to be abuzz with orders, nearly falling into chaos, and she hears rushed orders for a coronation. Coronation? Her mother is on Dragonstone. And then the pieces click, and a cold like the waters of the North washes over her, her face blanching. They intend to usurp her. Aegon Targaryen will be crowned King at the Red Keep, and they will usurp her mother. She has to do something. She must do something. She looks around for the Princess Rhaenys, asking staff and servants where the woman could possibly be. 

“In her chambers,” someone tells her, scurrying away before she can get any more information out of them. “They have put her under guard,” a woman tells her warily, looking around before she drops her voice to hushed tones, urgency in her words. “Princess, you must leave. They are keeping the Princess Rhaenys captive in her quarters. They do not want any interference with the coronation. Flee at once, before they find you and do the same.”

She nods, holding the woman’s hands fervently in her own as she thanks her for the warning. Daella pulls up the hood of her cloak, head down as she skulks down the corridors. She has to do something, anything to stop the Greens from stealing her mother’s birthright. Going to the Council chambers will be futile and put her in more danger. She cannot go find her aunt for the same reason. And then she has an idea, so reckless it would make her father proud and make her mother have a conniption.

She quietly makes her way past doors, looking for the one she suspects the King’s body may be in. With the body she surmises will be the crown. And they cannot have a coronation without the crown. At least, not the Crown worn by the last reigning monarch. Several doors are ajar, and no one seems to be in them. She lies in wait for what seems like hours, waiting for the guard to leave what she guesses has to be the antechamber with the body. Sneaking in with the palace distracted helps, and she hastily pulls the crown into the pouch that lies beside the wrapped body, a pang of regret in her heart as she looks at what was the former King. 

It was never supposed to be this way. He was supposed to see her mother be crowned, his daughter the rightful Heir and Queen to the Seven Kingdoms. Instead, chaos and war has fomented in his wake, and she must make haste. 

She has to leave. Leave, before anyone realizes what has happened. 

She makes her way out of the room with slow, quiet measured steps, keeping the pace as she makes her way into a corridor used only by the staff of the castle, taking off running as Daella clutches her hood in one hand and the pouch in another, racing to the Dragonpit. She shoves the crown between her riding leathers and her riding armor as she quickly gets to Baelon, soothingly patting his snout as she gets the dragon to slowly walk out before they take flight. The enormity of her actions are dawning as she hits the sky. 

Daella has just stolen the Crown of Jaehaerys, in the middle of a coup. 

She cannot directly go to Dragonstone, because they will immediately come looking there. No, she has to go and deliver warnings to some of the loyal vassals first. She sends a raven home the moment she arrives at Duskendale, letting them know of her safety and the ongoing usurpation in King’s Landing. She is aware that Duskendale are loyal to the crown, and to the sworn heirs, and well she will be gone before the Greens get word of her presence in the first place.

Once her parents are informed, she quickly goes to the castle’ Great Hall, greeted by Lord and Lady Darklyn. “Princess Daella,” Lady Darklyn greets her. “What brings you here?” She looks around for a royal guard, the absence of whom seems to perturb the older woman. 

“My Lord, My Lady,” she bows in respect to them before quickly turning and looking around. “May I have a word? In private? It is rather urgent.” Lord Darklyn’s brows furrow as he nods, ushering her to a room by the side, guards posted outside the door. 

“What is it, Princess?” Meredith Darklyn says in a tone that seems to be trying to convey calm but she is understandably unsettled, eyes trained on Daella. 

“My Lady, my mother, the Princess Rhaenyra, has been usurped.” She continues, taking a deep breath. “The Greens have ordered that the Late King’s second child Aegon Targaryen be crowned in place of my mother, who is the rightful heir to the Throne. I come here to warn you to be on guard and to have you reaffirm your loyalty to the sworn and rightful Heir.” For a long moment her heart sits in her throat, wondering if she should be worried for her safety, her hand itching towards the hilt of her sword. And then Gunthor Darklyn looks directly at her, hard eyes set, mouth a thin line. 

“Worry not, Princess. We are no oathbreakers,” he tells her. “We shall come to the aid of your mother Princess Rhaenyra. Long live the rightful Queen.”

She nods fervently, thanking them for their loyalty and their continued allegiance to the crown as she quickly departs. She does not have much time. She must get to the Stormlands, to House Baratheon and House Fell if she is to secure the support of the most powerful members of the area. They shall need the Stormlands as an outpost, for it is too close to Dragonstone to be lost as an ally. Baelon flies at a near breakneck pace, his black wings taking her to Storm’s End as fast as he can. She lands the dragon near a craggy outcropping, letting the beast hunt while she makes her way to Castle Felwood.

Lady Fell is understanding, grateful for Daella’s warning and ready to be on guard if the Greens make their way to that part of the Stormlands. 

She waits overnight at Castle Felwood, ensuring Baelon and her are both well-rested before they head to Storm’s End. Borros Baratheon should not be a difficult ally to win. His father Boremund was an ally to the Crown and cousin to Princess Rhaenys, but the rumors of Borros’ fickleness are not ones she can ignore or dispel from her mind. And when she gets to Storm’s End, all the confidence gained from the prior day dissipates with the storm that is brewing overhead as Vhagar’s silhouette looms in the distance. 

Aemond Targaryen is here.

Aemond is incensed at Lucerys’ audacity.

First, the boy had the gall to walk away from his crimes unpunished, and now has the pluck to show up here, message in hand, asking Borros Baratheon to ‘remember his oath’ as if the man is a mere hound to be whistled up for Rhaenyra’s whims. 

Aemond had been trotted out as the prize pony, “to show the lovely Baratheon girls what they shall win for their loyalty”, his drunk brother had proclaimed to his small council. He would do it, if it meant holding the realm together. “If I do as your mother bids... which one of my daughters will you wed... boy?”

Lucerys, to his credit, does not lie or swindle his way through this exchange, openly stating that he is already betrothed to another. Perhaps the boy has some integrity. More than his siblings and his mother, that is certain.

“So you come with empty hands. Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.” Aemond is pleased with these words, but there is still one matter that needs attendance. “Wait,” Aemond calls out, “my lord Strong.” The boy turns back, confused. “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?”

Lucerys seems to be on guard, but still seemingly unaware of where this is exactly headed. Well, he shall find out soon enough. “I want you to put out your eye. As payment for mine,” he announces. “One will serve. I will not blind you.” He just wants justice. He is not some sadist, no. Just a man looking for his pound of flesh. 

Lucerys, to none of Aemond’s surprise and all of his anger, denies his rather reasonable request. 

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor,” he says coolly. He grabs the dagger, lunging at him with a snarl upon his lips. “Give me your eye or I will take it, bastard!” he roars, being barely restrained by the Baratheon guards. Borros gets to his feet, yelling for this skirmish to be stopped in its tracks, too keen a follower of guest rules. 

“Take Prince Lucerys to his dragon,” he orders, the boy escorted to safety. 

A man rushes over to the Stag, whispering something in his ear as he hands him a piece of parchment, and Aemond is on his way out, his mind set on getting his justice tonight when Baratheon calls out for him, stopping him in his tracks. “This message is for you, Prince Aemond.” His brows furrow, turning around as he slowly walks back. 

“Speak,” he orders the man, staring directly into his eyes. He hands him the paper, which Aemond unfurls as he reads the singular line penned in his mother’s handwriting, his anger slowly breaking through the glacier it has been contained under. The fire of his rage threatens to consume him as he reads it over and over again, hands shaking as he crushes the sheet in his fist. 

Daella stole Jaehaerys’ crown.  

That impertinent girl. That impertinent, audacious bastard thief of a girl. How any of the castle guards even let her out of her room, let alone let that little witch skulk around the castle and get her hands on the crown is beyond his understanding. As if her little innocent facade was something no one else but he was able to see past.

How long would it take for people to learn that Daemon Targaryen’s daughter was just as conniving and underhanded as her blasted father? 

His feet take him to Vhagar at a hurried pace, his body moving of its own accord as the anger threatens to consume him whole. Lucerys and his dragon are gone, but he sees the girl and her black dragon aloft in the sky, making their way away from the island, and his restraint snaps. 

“Vhagar, sōvēs!” He roars as he mounts the dragon, the beast slowly and decidedly taking flight as the dragon swoops ahead, the latter’s shadow looming over Storm’s End like an omen. It does not take long for the beast to catch up to the smaller dragon, wings flapping ominously as it lurches further, her jaws snapping. 

No matter how hard she may try, he will catch up to Daella Targaryen, and he will retrieve what she has stolen. “Come down, my lady,” he tries to keep his voice level as he calls out, “and hand over what you took, else I shall force you down myself.” And he will do it. That girl, in her endless audacity, replies over the storm, her voice carrying through the thunder and the rain. 

“I suppose I shall simply keep going.” 

He shakes his head, knuckles tightening around his saddle as he looks ahead, the weather echoing his increasingly volatile bad mood. “Then you shall suffer the consequences of your choices,” he gives her one final reminder. She only decides to speed up further, and he keeps following, the game of cat and mouse now giving him a different form of exhilaration. “Baelon is a fine beast, my lady, but he is no match for Vhagar.” 

“Vhagar is old,” she responds. 

“And she will still devour Baelon for breakfast,” he responds. “Come down, or be forced down.” The thunder rolls and flashes ominously, neither party getting the upper hand in this weather at the present moment. “You will come down, ” Aemond orders, “or you will face mine and Vhagar’s wrath. Give back what was never yours, and I shall take it back to its rightful home.” 

“The crown was never yours to begin with,” she yells back. Oh, this girl. 

“It was stolen,” he says, his voice losing any patience and kindness it had before. “You are a thief, and you stole from me and the Realm, and now you will suffer your actions!” he roars. 

And then, that impertinent girl turns around and laughs.