#and perhaps it was in 1995 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherryheairt · 20 days

Text

Dragon Dreamer pt. X

cw: disordered eating (but not intentional ED), mention of not canon targcest? (not Daenys she doesn't fw that)

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

As Daenys expected, she was summoned to the Painted Table in the morning. Dressed in a fine dark purple dress, she stood in her place next to Jacaerys, Rhaena, and Baela. She was secretly pleased to see Daemon's bruised face seated next to Rhaenyra.

Maester Geradys, who had been the first to recieve the raven, spoke. "It is yet unclear how the Keep itself was breached. The boy's head was severed from his body. Thousands witnessed the procession."

Rhaenyra looked stunned at the news, agasp at the accusation and murder itself. "And they are accusing me of having a hand in this?"

"It appears so." He replied solemnly. "There have been messages sent of that affect...throughout the realm."

His words rung uncomfortably, a foreboding warning that the tides may shift in favor of the Greens when people were told Rhaenyra ordered a child to be killed.

She nodded firmly, "we must send our own messages, denying this vile accusation." She paced around the front of the table slightly, wringing her hands.

The Maester nodded. "I will do so at once. But, I'm not sure they will be recieved in good faith."

"And we must double our guard. Here and in Driftmark." The Queen insisted, finally sitting to stop herself from appearing anxious. "There will be swift retribution in one form or another–"

"I have seen to it, Your Grace." Lord Baltimos interrupted. Daenys glared at him, almost reprimanding him for his disrespect. It seemed to be a common thing around the Council. Many of the lords were old and believed themselves more experienced and knowing in war than Rhaenyra, though none had seen war themselves.

Especially Ser Alfred Broome, who sat himself at the edge furthest from The Queen. He was an advisor for Arms to Rhaenyra, yet he thought himself most important and all-knowing.

Jacaerys spoke up, "Let me fly out on Vermax. Rhaenys is needed in the Gullet and I can watch for movements from King's Landing." He offered.

"No." Rhaenyra denied immediately.

Jace shifted on his feet, clearly irritated at the rejection of offered use. He was eager to help, to make himself useful for his mother's cause. Daenys understood both sides, knowing Rhaenyra would be overly cautious when it came to her remaining children's lives.

"It must be said that the damage to our position is immeasurable. At a time when we most need loyalty to our cause." Baltimos spoke up again, his own irritation leaking into his tone as if he were scolding the Queen.

She scoffed a disbelieving laugh, "but it is a lie."

"Having lost my own son, that I would inflict such a thing on Helena of all people?" Her council stood silent, avoiding her gaze. Eyes shifted between her and Daemon. All knew her genteel nature, and all also knew of his reckless one.

Alfred Broome spoke up from his spot at the end of the table. "The death of Prince Lucerys was a shock and an insult. A mother so aggrieved might, naturally, seek relief in retribution." He boldly stated, causing Rhaenyra to push up from her seat offendedly.

"Are you suggesting, Ser Alfred, that my grief drove me to order the decapitation of a child?" Her mother looked much like a dragon, then, with bared teeth and a predatory look in her purple eyes.

"I merely thought, perhaps, an action taken in haste." He cleared, though he did not look apologetic. Jace clutched the pommel of his sword tightly, mirroring Daenys' dislike for the older man.

"Mind yourself." Princess Rhaenys spoke up from her seat beside Ser Alfred.

Rhaenyra settled into her own seat, after glaring Ser Alfred down into his own. Rhaenyra's own gaze landed on her husband, a realization settled on her features. Fury gleamed in her eyes.

The council was soon dismissed. Jacaerys and Baela went off together to do their own things. Rhaena left with her grandmother after bidding Daenys a farewell. Daenys found herself simply waiting for Rhaenyra to finish her talk with Daemon before they could finally have their own conversation.

🗡

Cregan leaned back in the uncomfortable steel chair, cursing his decision to use the Maester's chair instead of bringing the stationary supplies to his temporary chambers at Castle Black. He decided to stay there for a few days, should any ravens be sent to him from the Queen or Daenys.

He had already finished drafting his many letters to his sworn houses in the North. He summonded his 2,000 greybeards from the places he knew housed the most of them and carefully decided which of the younger men he should send out to war. He divided the numbers up immediately after Daenys left the castle, wanting to send them marching as soon as they received word. The walk from the North to the southern allied houses was great, and the more time they had, the better. Taking all those men over The Twins was already a headache. Cregan still needed to decide if he should lead this march or await Daenys in Winterfell.

He decided to send his men straight to the Riverlands to station themselves until word came from Rhaenyra on which battles to fight or which holds to defend. He assumed that Harrenhall would be easily taken by the Blacks, and the lands surrounding it would be a good vantage for his men to set up such large camps. Harrenhall, though, lied dangerously close to the crownlands, which would be swiftly conquered one by one by the Greens, if they hadn't already sworn allegence. North of Harrenhall might be better, closer to the Tullys or Freys. He needed to know their allegences quickly. He started to write another draft to the Queen, asking for a list of her sworn houses. He ignored the crick in his back that was forming due to the chair.

Up in the tower, the ravens were able to be sent at once after he finished writing and sealing them. He informed the queen to send all future ravens immediately to Winterfell. He would be leaving after all of his tasks were done at The Wall.

After sealing the scroll, he attached it to the foot of a raven, who squaked at him as if annoyed before flying out of the open sil. Another raven landed in his place, a sealed green Targaryen symbol on it. He sighed, rubbing his forehead at the sight.

Cregan's heart dropped to his stomach at the contents. Jaehaerys was murdered in his bed, supposedly by 'Rhaenyra the Cruel', who ordered it. He knew it was a false accusation. Daenys had dreamt of it only the night before she left. A man was responsible, if Helena's words were anything to go off of, not the Queen. He silently prayed for the peace of the mother and hoped the boy did not suffer too much.

He threw out the letter, knowing his oaths would forever be tied to the Blacks, whether in matrimony or in pure honor.

Cregan had sent out all the letters he needed to, packing up his bag in his quarters. Dusk was a missing presence, having been sent ahead to Winterfell by Cregan. Perhaps, he thought, he could send his direwolf in his place at the march, being able to see through Dusk's eyes at any time he pleased while diplomatically leading from Winterfell. There, he could wait for Daenys to come back to him. He found himself missing her presence already, feeling a gap in his soul from her departure.

Lord Stark left Castle Black on Red, Mylo trailing behind him ever so faithfully. In the back of his mind, Cregan thought of the white steed making a good wedding gift for Daenys, who had taken quite well to him.

🗡

Daenys passed Daemon in the hall on her way towards her mother's chambers, Baela at her side. He looked feral, a pissed off look on his face as he passed his daughters. He ignored Baela's call for him, striding past them both without a glance.

One less dragon for Dragonstone was all Daenys had to think about it. She knew he was on his way to Harrenhall after the scolding Rhaenyra gave him, he'd been impatient to go ever since the damned war started.

Baela and Daenys entered the chambers, following Ser Erryk. They curtsied politely together, the Queen first addressing her stepdaughter. "When morning comes, take Moondancer, and keep a watch on King's Landing. I must know which course they take next." Stress was clear on her face, likely because of Daemon's antics.

"I will be vigilant." Baela replied firmly, glad to be given a task by Rhaenyra. She'd been as impaitient for one as her betrothed.

"I depend on you, Baela. Stay high, and keep your distance. We can afford no further mistakes."

A pang of jealousy ripped its way into Daenys heart against her better judgment. Of course, Baela was a skilled rider and a fiecely loyal Lady to Rhaenyra. Daenys knew that. She also knew of her mother's hesitation to get her children into further mishaps, but she couldn't help but feel untrusted and useless. She was not the weak little girl that everyone seemed to think she was. Perhaps—in personality—she had always been quiet and non-confronting. But she was still a dragonrider like her kin. Daenys was inherently useful with Morningstar at her command. If only Daemon and Rhaenyra would see that.

"My father?" Baela brought up hesitantly.

Rhaenyra sighed, "he must follow his own path." The vague words hardly help sooth Baela's fears, but all in the room knew of his headstrong behavior.

Baela bowed and left. Daenys nodded to Swe Erryk, dismissing him behind Baela to speak alone with The Queen.

She sat herself down in front of Rhaenyra, picking at her nails.

Rhaenyra waited, used to her long pauses for thinking over her words carefully.

"There was a fire." She started. "I cannot say anything more, except that it was Morningstar's."

"A fire?" Rhaenyra asked, only more confused by her elaboration.

"It burned me. Well, my clothes. It totally engulfed me, for however long it took for the clothes to turn to ash. For that whole time, I simply laid there, on the ground, thinking I was dead. I felt no pain, got no burns, and obviously am still alive." She gestured to herself. "I know for certain that I had not read about anyone on our bloodline being immune to dragonfire, or fire in general speaking.

Rhaenyra leaned back, hand rubbing over her mouth in a thoughtful gesture. "You did not feel it, at all?" Daenys was grateful that she believed her so quickly. She was not known for being a liar, after all.

"None."

"I have not read such things, either." She stood, bringing Daenys to the lit hearth. With a firepoker, the mother carefully brought out a smoking piece of wood. Catching on fast, Daenys gingerly moved to touch it, jumping back when it seared her fingertips. Cursing, Daenys placed her fingers in the water basin that Rhaenyra kept in her room.

Rhaenyra hummed. "What was the situation."

"Mother, I can not tell you that. You would not see me the same way." Daenys pleaded, clutching her throbbing fingers to her chest and shaking them slightly. The pain was short-lived, fortunate.

"Did you...order Morningstar to burn you?" Like Laena, was left out.

"Not in the way that you are thinking. I will always return home to you, mother. I did not wish to die, only knew in the situation that I had to make my choice." Daenys told her. She grabbed her mother by the wrist, suddenly invigorated. "Let's try it with Morningstar's fire." She said, guiding her mother to the dragonpits.

Rhaenyra haplessly followed, thoughts jumbled. Morningstar was in the shallow part of the cave, near the perch. Her breakfast was currently being served by the Keepers. "Dracarys!" One commanded, a brilliant blue light filling the cave.

"Morningstar, do not eat!" She commanded

Reluctantly, the beast obeyed. Daenys climbed down the steps, Rhaenyra close on her tail. Slowly, she approached the burning sheep, waving her hand over it. When she did not feel the searing heat, she placed her hand on the sheep's flaming cost. She looked back to Rhaenyra, who's eyes were wide in awe. Even Morningstar tilted her head curiously, but was more concerned about finally getting to eat without hunting her own food.

After Rhaenyra and Daenys left, back to the chambers, they sat in silence for a moment to take the information in. "I cannot tell you why this has happened. Perhaps it is your bond–Morningstar is a unique dragon already with her blue flames–or perhaps it has something to do with your connection to Old Valyria and its magic."

"Magic?" Daenys asked.

"Your dreams. Of course, there is no studies behind them so there is no explanation. The closest one I can give you is the Blood Magic of Old Valyria, which was rumored to be used by dragonriding families. Perhaps that is what gave your ancestor Daenys her gift, too."

"I'd hardly call it a gift. I am wrong, sometimes. I can not trust my mind to tell me the truth. Not after father." She sighed, slumling into her seat.

Rhaenyra sat up straight in her own, an odd look in her eyes. "Have you been wrong again?" She asked tentatively.

"Not in the important matters. I saw...Luke. That night, being chased by an unidentified dragon. Then, days later I saw you, wanding the beaches of the stormlands to find remains of him." She shook her head. "I thought they were tricks. That Lord Borros would never let such a thing happen under his roof. I was wrong."

"I also saw Jaehaerys. I tried to stop Daemon, but he gave the order before I could stop him." She confessed, feeling guilty for not being able to stop what that time she truly believed.

Rhaenyra was quite for a few minutes after, the guilty look now apparent on her features.

"Mother?" Daenys asked quietly.

"My sweet girl, your dreams have never lied to you." She said, confusing Daenys.

"How do you know?–"

"Laenor's death is the only one that you could not forsee."

Daenys furrowed her brows, bemused at her mother's words. When she only kept her gaze on the wall behind Daenys instead of looking her daughter in the eye, Daenys felt her heart drop. "Father...did not die in the fire?" She whispered.

Rhaenyra's silence was deafening.

"You have lied to me for nine years? Almost a decade?" Daenys asked, voice calm and steady. She felt rage rising in her chest, this time not caring.

Rhaenyra placed her hand over her stomach soothingly, watching Daenys stand up, chair falling to its back behind her.

"Does this have anything to do with your and Daemon's timely wedding? Did you two force Laenor to leave us all so you could finally have your uncle all to yourself?!" She shouted, pacing in front of the table.

"Laenor left on his own accord. We did not force him. He lives his life peacefully in his own corner of the world, unknown to even myself and Daemon."

Daenys stilled, disbelieving her mother's confession. "He left us? He left me?"

Rhaenyra nodded, twisting the ring on her hand. "He loved you more than anything, sweet girl."

"Would you leave us?"

"Of course not!" Rhaenyra insisted, offended at the very thought.

"Then why would our father? Because we are not truly his? Did he ever see us as his own?" She panted out, tears falling from her cheeks onto the stone floor. "It is not our fault we are bastards!" She shouted, tugging wroughtly at her loose hair.

"Daenys," Rhaenyra stood, moving to comfort her daughter. She was pushed away swiftly, Daenys running out of her chambers, past Ser Erryk waiting outside of them.

She spent the rest of the day in her chambers, buried under Cregan's pelt cloak. She wished to escape, even temporarily. She wished she could be back with him. Cregan wouldn't lie to her. He wouldn't convince her that she was insane for half of her life. She couldn't trust anyone, apparently. Not even her mother, who was supposed to look out for her.

Or her father, who left her to be with his forbidden lover.

Daenys didn't know if she hated him or herself for his leaving. Or her mother. It was not Daenys' fault that Laenor wasn't her father, though she desperately wished him to be.

A maid knocked at her door around supper time, entering without word from Daenys. "The Queen has sent me. She recieved word from the kitchens that your plates have gone untouched since you arrived."

She wasn't aware that there had been plates in her room, nor was she aware of how many days had passed since she arrived. "Put it on the table." She mumbled from beneath the fur.

Franny, her usual maid that had been helping Daenys every day since she first moved to dragonstone, shook her head. "The Queen has instructed me to watch you eat, and to finish the plate."

"I instruct you to leave it at the table." Daenys firmly said, lifting her head from the cover.

Franny shook her head again, planting herself firmly by the door. "Queen's orders, Princess. We are all worried about you."

"You can worry about me from outside." Daenys said, throwing her head back onto the pillow. She willed herself to ignore Franny's stares. The door opened, Franny whispering to someone outside of it, then Daenys yelped as the pelt was ripped off of her. "Hey!" she shouted, sitting up and meeting whoever had disrespected their Princess to brazenly.

It was Jacaerys and Beala, both matching in their pitiful stares. Jacaerys guided her up from her bed, plopping his sister down on her seat and sitting in front of her. Baela stood by the door, detering her from leaving. She felt sick. What was the point of this? She would eat when she felt hungry, but she had not felt hungry since her last night with Cregan.

"Jace." She hissed out, "get out. I'm tired and I wish to sleep. I will break my fast with all of you on the morrow."

"We're not leaving until that plate is clean." He said, relaxing into his chair.

She was reminded of her time at the Red Keep, where feasts where held in the grand hall, and Daenys sat with her siblings at the high table with all the other royal blood. All she could feel was the stares of hundreds of people, whispering about her and her family. The way they walked, talked, ate.

She learned that if you don't give them anything to judge you for, then they grow bored of you. She took to eating in her chambers, avoiding walking in crowded areas, did not speak with strangers, and made sure that she did not scream in her sleep.

All perfectly cultivated. Daenys had only eaten with Cregan because she had grown so comfortable with him. He never stared while she ate, never had that judgmental stare. Jacaerys and Baela did. Franny did. She felt like curling up and disappearing again. She felt like she was in King's Landing again. "Don't force me to, Jace." She pleaded. He faltered a second, sympathy replacing the hard look in his eye, before he shook his head.

They sat there for almost an hour, simply in silence. Daenys crossed her arms, refusing to even look at the other's. "Sister, if this continues I will have to force—" Jacaerys was cut off by a maid screaming in the halls.

They all jumped to see the threat, Jace drawing his sword. On the steps of the dining hall, Ser Alfred Broome lie dead, skull bashed into the stone stairs. "There's an intruder in the castle!" Jacaerys declaring rushing towards their mother's chambers immediately. It was most likely to be her as the target to any assassin's attempts. When they got there, they were already too late.

Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk were dead on the floors of Rhaenyra's chambers.

🗡

The funeral was small, only attended by a few people, including Jace, Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, and Daenys. The Queensguard and the gravedigger, too, but they did not add to the conversation.

"He is the basest of Villains." Jace insisted that they bury Erryk and Arryk separately, so the traitor did not taint his brother's grave, who had loyally protected the Queen with his life. He was denied by Rhaenyra herself. "He sullies his brother's grave."

"I cannot fault him for keeping his oath." The morning sun was blocked by a sheet of grey clouds, ever setting Dragonstone's mood to somber.

Jace, leaning in so others could not hear, "and what of those who sent him?" He was frustrated, furious even, that Rhaenyra refused to retaliate on an assassination attempt on her own life, obviously made by the usurper. Daenys, though silent all night and morning, was torn between both sides. Jace was right to want to send out their full force, surround King's Landing with their dragons and armies before they could amass any more men themselves. Rhaenyra wished to keep the peace, find any way to take her throne back with the least amount of bloodshed.

Rhaenyra was silent, and Jacaerys began walking away to go back inside the castle. Daenys, with some reluctance, followed. She did not have the energy to speak with Rhaenyra alone after their conversation last night.

"She is being foolish, merciful on the very men who murdered Luke—almost murdered her!" He said, slowling for Daenys to catch up.

"Mother is being cautious. They do have a large support, now that people believe her to be a babe killer. They also have Vhagar." Daenys reminded him, though her own blood ran hot at the idea of Aemond and Aegon, laughing in the throne room at their hardships.

"Even Vhagar cannot face all of our dragons." He sniffed.

"If we sent all of our dragons to beat one, it would be a bloodbath of them all. The dragons follow commands, not sides. Who knows if they accidentally attack an ally who got in their way?" She mused, placing her hands behind her back as they walked along the beach.

Jacaerys conceded, heaving a dramatic sigh and throwing his head back, knowing his elder sister was right. "I only wish to bring them to justice. For all of this to be done with."

"Me too, Jace." She smiled softly, patting his bicep comfortingly.

"So," he turned to her, disregarding the serious topic of discussion for a lighter one. "What truly happened in the North? You leave for nearly three weeks, then come back betrothed. You didn't look too pleased with it." He frowned.

Daenys defended Cregan quickly. "Cregan is kind and understanding. We spent much time together on our travels to The Wall. I understand why he would want my hand in exchange for more men, I am content with my decision." She left out most of the details, figuring he need not worry about her two near-death experiences or the fact that Cregan confessed his love for her.

"Hm. If he wants a Targaryen, I can make a different offer. You don't need to sacrifice yourself to a Northman so easily." Jacaerys fretted, apparently having selective hearing when Daenys told him about Cregan's qualities.

"As I said, Jace. I am content. Believe me when I say that. You are happy to be betrothed to Baela, yes?"

Jacaerys nodded, pursing his lips into a fine line.

"I believe you. Can you believe me?" She asked teasingly, laughing slightly when he gave her those pathetic puppy-dog brown eyes.

"I do not wish to see my only sister sent off so far. I thought you had no wish to be married?" Daenys knew his words came from a place of concern, but she couldn't help but feel like he simply didn't expect anyone to make an offer.

"Feelings change. You once thought Helena to be your future wife once, didn't you?" She snorted.

He blushed, embarrassed at his past crush. "That was many years ago. Of course, I do not feel the same way now. I'm talking about you, Dae. Do not change the subject. You mean to tell me, that in a mere few weeks, your feelings have completely changed?"

She smiled, nodding firmly. "Yes, I do."

He sighed, resting his hand upon his sword pommel, as he has grown into the habit of doing (much like Daemon, though Daenys did not mention that similar aloud). "Very well. I suppose I do not have to fight any Northern Lords this sennight. But, if he does anything untoward, I will."

Daenys giggled, shaking her head in amusement. "I could not watch such a fight."

"Why not? Wouldn't you like to see the man who disrespected you be cut down?" He puffed out his chest dramatically.

"It would not be much of a fight, dear Brother. I'm afraid I might die of embarrassment when you are disarmed in a second."

He visibly deflated, shocked at her lack of faith.

They reached the doors to Dragonstone's castle, having taken the leisure way around while they chatted. Both separated for the day until the meeting would call upon them.

Daenys went to her chambers, making sure to lock the door behind her this time. She glanced at the cold plate on her table, throwing its contents into the bin nearby. She sighed, dropping the plate with it too, covering it with soft paper. Daenys hated to waste food at such a time, but it would only make her ill. She chose to sleep, feeling the exhausting weighing on her shoulders.

In the afternoon, she was awakened by a soft knock on the door, and Franny's voice told her of her summoning. Daenys quickly fixed her ruffled dress and hair, walking downstairs to the council hall.

The Painted Table was being lit for the council meeting, Rhaenyra standing at its head solemly. The Maester informed her of Daemon's silence, but made an educated guess that he was occupied greatly by Harrenhall.

The table was missing Ser Alfred Broome, though Daenys guessed none truly mourned him. What friends could an arse like him keep? Still, his station needed to be filled.

Rhaenyra started, "Today, we all mourn the loss of Ser Alfred Broome and Ser Erryk Cargyll. Their absences will ring deeply in our hearts, but we must not dwell on it. We need another, to sit on the council, an advisor of Arms." Rhaenyra left it open, for anyone to suggest a knight or lord.

When it remained silent, Daenys was the one who spoke up. With all eyes turned to her, it was hard to stay focused. She took a deep breath in, "perhaps Lord Stark could be summoned to be your Master of Arms? He does hold your current largest force, Your Grace. He knows his men well, and I believe could advise you even better."

Lord Gormon Massey laughed, shaking his head. "Lord Stark is but a boy, he has no experience in war."

Daenys sharply turned to glare at the old man, "tell me, what experience do you have, Lord Massey? What battles has your sword seen?"

He coughed, sitting back in his chair awkwardly. "Does the young Lord send you back to Dragonstone as his betrothed to gain a spot on the Queen's council? What is next, will he demand to be made her Hand?" Gormon tried to recover.

Rhaenyra, on the other hand, had a thoughtful look on her face. "Thank you, daughter. I believe it is worth a try, many other lords allied to us would see themselves...occupied at their own holds nearby. He is far enough to not need to defend Winterfell from any rogue attempts for the Greens to take it." She nodded, dismissing what futile arguments her council might have.

"It will take him two months to travel here, though. I need a filler immediately." She continued.

Daenys nodded. "I can get him, bring him back on dragonback in a full day if I fly with no rest." She said her mother confidently.

"Very well. Go and bring Lord Stark back here, but do not linger at Winterfell. We need Morningstar stationed here, she and Meleys are our biggest dragons." Rhaenyra agreed to the terms, ending that conversation.

The council moved on, Daenys breathing a small sigh of relief. The men of the council bidded Rhaenyra to send out all her dragons at once, ending the war there and then, to which she refused smartly. Every Targaryen and Velayron knew that once you fought with dragons, it did not end so easily. Their house would invite its own destruction once all its dragons and riders were dead.

Another lord made a suggestion for Rhaenyra to hide herself away while they conducted the war without her. She shot that down, too. Irritated, the Queen dismissed her council for the day. There was nothing new to do, besides her own private business that only she could conduct in King's Landing.

Daenys rubbed at her temples, feeling her growing headache pound away sharper at her head. She walked back to her chambers, settling in to attempt to wait it out before she took flight. On her way back to her room, she asked Franny to order for Morningstar to be well-fed for her flight.

She sat on her bed for hours, well into the night, while she waited. What little sleep she got was contantly interrupted by the buzzing of her mind. Come the morning, Daenys still had not left. But, she was glad for it.

Rhaenyra was sending her youngest siblings away, as well as her step-sister Rhaena. Though she understood the reason, she still mourned them as though she might never see them again. As the guards escorted the crage of dragoneggs towards the docks, Daenys held little Viserys in her arms.

She watched absentmindedly as Rhaenyra bid her goodbyes to Rhaena, comforting her, although anyone could tell the young Lady was deeply bothered by being sent away simply because she was the only Velayron to not ride a dragon.

Daenys briefly hugged Rhaena, wishing her a safe journey before stepping aside for Baela to have a more meaningful parting with her sister. The twins shared a great bond, one that Daenys was grateful for. At least they would know they always had each other, no matter how far apart they landed.

Rhaenyra kissed her two baby son's goodbye, hugging Joffrey who was the only one able to stand and speak.

Daenys held Viserys tight one last time, kissing his whispy white hairs before handing him off to a maid. She did the same with little Aegon.

At Joffrey, she knelt. Daenys took his chubby little hands in her own. "Don't worry, sweet boy. I will see you soon, and take you for a ride on Morningstar."

He nodded, tears filling his little brown eyes. They hugged for a while, only forced to part when Jace wanted his turn.

Daenys walked back to the castle, leaving to the dragonpits without saying a word to Rhaenyra. Her mother knew where she would be, there was no reason to say goodbye.

Daenys greeted Morningstar with a girlish laugh, the white dragon nudging her rider as if to ask where she had been the past days since she visited during meal time.

She rubbed at the scaled snout gently. "We're heading back North, my girl."

Morningstar trilled happily, crouching to allow Daenys to mount. With a loud roar, the dragoness took flight back towards where they had come from. To the North they went.

🗡

Daemon had never been in worse company in his entire life. Or seen a castle in such conditions. And he had seen a lot of shit. Harrenhall was a disaster. What once was a great and honorable keep in the Riverlands, had been reduced to leaky roofs and crumbled towers.

It was easy enough to claim, he supposed. But was the repair even going to he worth it? Simon Strong had told him of Larys' hold on Harrenhall's coin, leaving none for the castle to be cared for or repaired. The only people who lived there seemed to be cravens or creeps.

But he'd rather sit here in the ghostly castle than admit defeat and come crawling back to Rhaenyra before he had anything to show for it. Currently, Willem Blackwood and Lord Grover Tully were being summonded to Harrenhall to declare for Rhaenyra and report to Daemon of their houses' available men.

While he waited, he refused to eat or drink anything that the old Strong gave him. He would not succumb to such follys so easily. At night, he found more trouble sleeping than he had before. Daemon found himself unknowing if he was in a dream or wide awake.

In what he suspected was a dream, Daemon looked up at a loomed weirwood tree that was as unkempt as the yard it was planted in. The crumbled stone walls outside, weeds growing everywhere, and dead grass were a testiment to its abandonment. Daemon turned from the tree, looking to go back inside and away from this grey place. He was met with a woman standing at the bottom of the slope. Long, straight, inky black hair flowed all the way to her waist. Her pale skin and green eyes were a stark contrast to the black surrounding her. Her clothes were that befitting of a servent or a bastard.

"You will die in this place."

The woman did not wait for a reply, merely lifting her skirts and walking back beyond the stone walls, leaving Daemon to stare after her.

He woke from the hazy dream only to the sound of droplets hitting the buckets he had placed around his room. Sighing, he wondered if that vagueness was something Daenys had always felt or if hers were more clear. He shook his head, clearing the dream from his mind. He did not have prophetic dreams. It was Harrenhall simply playing tricks on his mind.

Outside of his room, a shadow approached from the crack beneath the door. Daemon stilled, awaiting the action of the unknown person. It stayed silent. The door began to push in and out, an outside attempt to jam open the door–only being stopped by his sword hanging from the handles. Daemon carefully approached it, waiting for the jerking to stop before he removed the steel.

Holding Dark Sister tightly in his hand, he slammed the doors open, only to find no one there anymore. He peered out, waiting for the person to make themselves known. He walked down the hall, more relaxed now in stance as he wandered to the nearest open door.

A hearth was lit in the room, making it appear quite pleasant compared to the rest of the castle. Daemon slowly opened the door more from its cracked position, revealing whomever was inside. A familiar tone played in his mind.

It was the Valyrion song he had learned from his mother and father, from Viserys. He had hummed it to his own children, as all Targaryen parents did when soothing their babes to sleep. How did a lowly creature plaguing this damp castle know High Valyrion?

He stepped inside, meeting a room that was entirely unlike Harrenhall. It was warm, free of all damage. Homely. A white-haired girl sat on a chair, babe clutched in her arms, fast asleep. Daemon stepped closer, right behind the girl. A Targaryen bastard of Harrenhall?

The girl turned to him, ceasing her pretty humming. It was Rhaenyra, no older than nine and ten years of age. The spitting image of her younger self, naive and demanding as she had been back then.

"Always coming and going, aren't you?" She asked bitterly.

Daemon stared in horror, leaning over to see the white-haired babe in her arms. He lowered his sword.

"And I have to clean up afterwards."

He sucked in a harsh breath, a rush of guilt and regret sinking in his heart. "I tried, Rhaenyra. I asked Viserys for your hand—" He sounded desperate for her forgiveness, an image of his younger and more insecure self coming out to show its ugly face.

She ignored his words, humming again and stroking the babe's soft face. It's eyes opened, revealing soft lilacs that matched her mother's–and her father's.

🗡

Eek what do yall think about Rhae's confession? Finally, Daenys finds out that shes never needed to doubt her mind. But, at what cost? Her trust, her loyalty? find out next time on total, drama, island.

hel and jace would've made a fine pair, he is much kinder than Aegon and it might have stopped the war if alicent knew her kids were not threats to Rhae.

important below

🌟- I killed off Broome because he is arguably the most useless and disrespectful of the Black Council. He wasn't a lord, so no plot is lost if he dies. I wanted to note that none of her council has titles, like Viserys' council had. There's master of ships, master of coin, grand maester, master of arms, master of laws, and the Hand.

Rhaenyra only has the hand, maester, and a bunch of advisors, to a reason I do not know. So, I am trying to fill it in as I go. The other will not be given official titles, but I can assume Rhaenys and Corlys kind of unofficially share the Hand spot, since Corlys is often gone. Rhae can't name a woman her hand when her reign is already so fragile unfortunately, so Corlys is her next best.

did y'all know Elinda is a highborn lady? I must have missed that, because I thought she was only a loyal maid to Rhaenyra for years. She is her lady-in-waiting, and her father sits on Rhaenyra's council, Gormon Massey. I dunno how I went two seasons and rewatches without figuring that out without Wiki.

I know Daenys' most anticipated father was Harwin-sue me. I adore Harwin and his bond with Daenys. He took care of her like she was his own/like her brothers. But I feel like Daenys being an outlier from his siblings is a reflection of having a totally different parent from them (not counting the two youngest boys). Her Valyrion features, being a dreamer, her bond with Morningstar, being born a woman, and I'm sure other things I'm missing off the top of my head. All make her different from her brothers. I thought it was fitting of her to have a different father, too. The only one still alive, and the only one who 'stayed' unlike Laenor. Their relationship has always been complicated whereas Laenor and Harwin held a pure and unconditional love to Daenys. Harwin is the dad who stepped up 🙏

Daemon holds a guilt at always knowing he had a daughter in King's Landing but was never able to raise her or acknowledge her existence. He did not form an immediate connection with her like the others did, it took a while and a lot of trust to be built. Even now, Daenys does not love him like she loved the other dads.

Fathers are complicated 😪

#cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #dragondreamer #cregan stark x oc #hotd fanfic #cregan stark

180 notes · View notes

depravitycentral · 4 months

Text

I don’t know if this appeals to anyone but me, but I’ve been watching a lot of period pieces about Regency Era England (specifically the 1995 Pride and Prejudice and Bridgerton) and I can’t stop thinking about the way women were actually treated like property, their only purpose to wed and produce children. Imagine the yandere possibilities, and the absolute lack of control you’d have over your fate.

Specifically, I can’t stop thinking about the lack of care and the disregard for social customs and norms yanderes could exhibit in that era. The rules are so very strict, and so very numerous – really, can he be blamed for not adhering to each and every one? Sure, he doesn’t treat any other woman this way, but is it such a crazy notion that he breaks a rule here or there? Surely not – not when it’s so very obvious that the proposal is coming, that he’s absolutely hell bent on keeping you pristine and pretty and pregnant in his own abode, not the pathetic pile of wood and roofing you call your home.

Maybe he’s always been one for attending the local and regional balls – for appearances, yes, but also because there’s nothing more that he loves than being in a room with all sorts of beautiful women and alcohol. Maybe he likes to play the politics game, stringing along every girl he can find so that he gets his pick of wives, so that he can bed any woman he so pleases without as much as a goodbye. Except that once his feelings for you form, his composure crumbles a bit.

He’s standing much, much too close to you throughout the entirety of your dance with him. His hips are tightly pressed against your ass as he follows the 1, 2, 3 of the waltz, the shuddering breath you hear at your ear making your skin crawl.

Maybe he’s insisted on keeping his hand much too low as he guides you through the dance, almost able to feel the hem of your underclothes under the layers of your dress, his fingers eager as he presses them tighter and tighter against you.

He’ll speak to you during the dance, his voice low and whispered and his mouth much too close to your ear, the audible wet sound of him licking his lips seeming louder than the quartet in the corner of the dancefloor.

He’s even asking you to remove your gloves, won’t you? I wouldn’t want to ruin the delicate silk – what would your dear mother think of me? And once they’re off (because really, his tone left very little room for rebuttal), his bare skin is pressing against yours, his palms clammy and sweating and absolutely engulfing yours with the way he keeps grabbing at more more more, wanting to feel every inch of you possible.

And then of course there’s those who aren’t as bold with physicality – no, the mere thought of being any closer to you than society permits is enough to get them hot under the collar, so nervous and flustered that they’re sure they’ll trip over themselves, that they’ll make an absolute fool in front of you. Instead, they resort to more classy measures – that is, it’s a bit jarring when they quickly approach you the moment you’ve entered the ballroom, swallowing harshly and asking in a voice that’s just a hair too high-pitched if they could perhaps have the honor of claiming your first dance this evening?

You can’t exactly say no – and even as you watch him eagerly scribble his name down on the first dance slot, then the second, then the third and fifth and tenth, what can you really say? He’s wealthier than your family, and your mother watches from the corner with a glint in her eye because oh, isn’t this just such an advantageous match?

Even the grouches who only attended the ball in which they met you upon a friend’s request act out in unexpected ways. They seem distracted, clutching onto their lemonade glass with a grip tight enough to turn their knuckles white, their shoulders visibly tense as their eyes scan the room over and over. They’re looking for you, of course. Mentally guessing at what colors you’d be donning this evening, how your hair is styled, what sorts of jewels and precious jewelry sits so prettily in the hollow of your throat or dangles against the sensitive skin of the juncture of your neck and jaw.

And once they've found you, they may not have the courage to speak with you or dance with you. But suddenly you've gained a permanent shadow for the evening. Where you go, he goes. He’s following you a good five feet behind, snaking around fellow attendees and keeping his eyes locked on your figure, biting his lip as he mentally notes who’s eye you’re catching, who’s speaking with you, who’s approaching you with a request to dance.

He’s standing directly behind you as you dance with some low-level baron, some insignificant man who can’t hold a candle to the riches, comfort and adoration that he can give you. And he's just staring, too – eyes like daggers as he watches the interaction, letting the anger simmer and fester until he finally, finally approaches you, his voice gruff and choppy as he compliments your dress (something like this dress is much more handsome than the last one you wore) and practically demands your next dance. Yes, it’s awkward, and yes, he leads far, far too much.

But really, the truly terrible thing to think about is what happens after the ball – when they call upon you in the sanctity of your own home, all sorts of love declarations falling from their lips that are much too hyper specific and draw upon knowledge you know you’ve never shared with him. But you must be kind; he’s of higher rank, after all, in a position where a few bad words could ruin your family forever.

It’s just that when he drops to one knee and proposes, it’s difficult to remember your delicate position because he’s managed to find the ring of your dreams, and he’s going on about how he’s had your bedchamber already decorated to fit all your tastes, how he has a wardrobe full of new dresses he’s had custom-fit to you, how he’s already decided that you’re to have a son first, but then all daughters and you’ll name them James, Eleanor, Kathryn, Marta…

And as he embraces you, the hug either much too tight or much too stiff, it’ll feel like a cage locking into place around you. Because really, what can you do? If you try to fight him, he has the wealth and connections to force your family into consenting. And even if your parents refuse to hand you off to a man you clearly despise and fear, it’s not so difficult to spread the rumors about your purity, to claim that he’d witnessed a servant passionately embracing you, that he’d seen you naked in the arms of some butcher’s boy…

It’s your word against his, and oh, isn’t he so kind for still having you after your reputation’s been destroyed? Isn’t he so dreamy and chivalrous for saving you from a life of destitution and outcast? Even if he’s the one to blame for that life in the first place?

And he’ll be so good to you, he promises. He’ll explain each and every aspect of the wedding night, of the consummation of a marriage, showing you exactly how deeply he’s been desiring you, how long he’s been craving you, how many times he’s fucked his fist and been thinking of you you you in those tempting dresses you wear, of those hips that you sway and move like a fucking minx at every dance you attend…

He’ll leave you wanting for nothing – aside from perhaps your freedom, and perhaps your sanity. But he’s sure you’ll learn to love him.

You must, after all.

Specifically the image of a few characters in the traditional regency dress is making me feral - imagine Aizawa, who's known as the reclusive Duke of the area, his public appearances next to none and his temperament difficult to handle. But alas, what's this? A few snarky comments from you - also standing against the ballroom's wall - about the ridiculousness of women's fashion and the discomfort of dancing in heels has him chuckling a bit, your obvious lack of knowledge of his position making him feel oddly seen. And when you find yourself falling into his company at the next ball he's forced to attend, Aizawa decides there's something particularly agreeable about your smile - finding himself wanting to know if your lips taste as good as they look. And when he loses his composure and blurts these words out, don't expect him to cut off contact with you - instead, he'll immediately speak with your father, requesting your hand in marriage and hoping that in time you might learn to forgive his dismissal of your opinion. Perhaps a child would help distract you, yes?

Imagine Rengoku, who's introduced to you by the ball's hostess, Shinobu. Imagine Rengoku, who immediately dances with you and keeps returning to fill up your dance card, that smile blinding as he spends the evening on the dancefloor by your side. Imagine Rengoku, who calls upon you everyday after first meeting you, his visits growing in frequency - sometimes multiple a day - and duration as the weeks drag on. Imagine the way he'll end each visit by grasping your hand in his and giving it a much-too-long kiss, assuring you that it's only taking this long for him to propose to and wed you because he's having an entirely new manor built - one he thinks you'll like a bit more. Nevermind that you don't wish him to continue his visits or leave you alone - do you like floral or patterned wallpapers more?

Imagine Akaashi, who's every woman's dream for both his looks and status. Imagine the way he holds you so delicately as he twirls you, those steel eyes of his practically cutting into you, his mid-dance questions starting off simple and innocent and slowly morphing into something that feels like an interrogation, something that feels too intimate and demanding and strange. Imagine the way he grasps onto your wrist - still gently but firm enough to eliminate your escape - as he guides you towards the refreshments table, insisting that you absolutely must drink something because he's noticed you haven't drunk anything since you arrived nearly an hour ago. But don't mention the fact that you didn't meet until roughly twenty minutes ago - long after you'd walked through the front doors.

Imagine Chrollo, who manages to charm his way into getting you alone with him on the balcony, those dark eyes smoldering as he compliments you. There's something stiff and rehearsed about it, and as you snort and ask him how many women he seduces in a night's work, something clicks in his brain. Imagine the way he doesn't leave your side for an instant after that, glued to your hip and seamlessly managing to evade each and every potential suitor from approaching you. Imagine the way he begins inviting you for long stays at his rather luxurious home, conveniently placing your bedchambers beside his own, spending night after night with his ear pressed against your shared wall and biting his lip as he fists his cock to the sound of you humming to yourself and washing your face with the pale of lukewarm water he'd used first then had the servants bring to you.

#_lee rambles #yandere hxh #yandere haikyuu #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere kny #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere demon slayer #_hxh #_kny #_haikyuu #_bnha #_lee's regency au

357 notes · View notes