#and the same thing is done to daemon who is far more fucked up and far more flawed in the show than the fandom allows

[ladyalicentshightower]

I think people overestimate how feminist team black is. If someone brings up how Baela should be the heir to Driftmark, it's always "she would've been Queen if not for the Greens!", ignoring that 1, she would be Queen consort, not a Queen in her own right, and 2 she has a legitimate claim in her own right to Driftmark. Team Black's goal is to crown Rhaenyra, but Rhaenyra becoming Queen isn't a win for feminism because it does nothing to dismantle the rest of the patriarchal system that exists in Westeros. From what we've gotten so far, it reads that Rhaenyra wants to be the exception and not the rule. Rhaenyra has made a lot of bad political decisions, which means she can't acknowledge Baela's claim because it would weaken her own claim (blatantly admitting her eldest sons are illegitimate would not end well for her to say the least). So she betrothes Jace and Luke to Baela and Rhaena to kind of atone for that, like as a consolation prize Baela will be Queen and Rhaena will be lady of Driftmark, neither of them would hold either title in their own right. It's good matches because the kids like each other and will treat each other well, but it's not a feminist win or a feministic liberation. It's usurpation, usurpation that takes place because Rhaenyra has to do damage control after having illegitimate children and after a serious of bad political decisions (both hers and her fathers, Viserys is the arbiter of this entire mess). To me, Rhaenyra is very reminiscent of Mary Queen of Scots, I can see a lot of elements drawn from Mary's history in Rhaenyra's story and character, down to their sons eventually taking the crown they failed to claim/keep.

[angelltheninth]

Put on Display

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, rough sex, degradation, orgy (setting), throne sex, public sex, cockwarming, slight humiliation

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: My Daemon thirst came back full force. This was supposed to be just a blurb but... I got carried away. I'm not sorry.

You let your head fall against Daemon's shoulder, your moan lost in the endless sea of others just like it. The cold throne juxtaposed with his warm hands on your back, and further with his cock, hitting inside you with every bounce of your hips.

Sounds of people laughing, moaning, whimpering, crying out in pleasure and of skin slapping against skin were just background noise when you listened to him speak softly in your ear.

"To think you were so shy about this. You're a natural I must say. Am I really to believe that you were a priestess before we met? Innocent and pure? A far cry from the woman bouncing on my cock right now don't you think?" He smiled a cocky smile against your marked neck. "Oh I'm sorry, you're missing all the fun." He pumped his hips once, twice more before he lifted you up, turned you around and not even a second later slammed you back down on his hard cock. "You should have the best seat in the castle."

His throne or his cock? Probably both you concluded. You had both, he was giving you both.

Your head was swimming with pleasure as you took in the sight in the throne room. It was like an endless sea of sex, in positions you never even thought of but wanted to try if your twitching clit and wet pussy were any indication. There was a woman laid out on the table, a man thrusting into her with sheer force while another woman straddled her face and sucked two men at once, switching between their cocks, their moans muffled.

In another part, a man moaning, no whimpering as he came inside the woman on to top of him. A little farther was a woman rapidly fingering herself while swallowing a man's cock to the balls. And to the pillar next to the throne a woman was being held between two men, taking them both at once, one in her pussy and one in her ass, demanding them to fuck her harder.

"You like what you see? There's so much beauty in sin isn't there?" His mouth was like a trail of fire down your back, his hands gentle on your hips, fingers edging close to your clit, "Your pussy is so tight, it's getting ready to receive my cum."

"Another? My lord I... I can't. Too sensitive." You whimpered and thrashed on top of him, but he didn't stop. If anything your squirming only made him pound your pussy harder.

One shove and you were laying on the floor, Daemon on you like an animal in heat, pulling your hair back and grabbing your hip. "Up. Get up. I'm not done with you, not even close to being done you hear me? You rest when I let you, no sooner, until then do your job and take my cock like a proper whore."

When you became so used to him being so rough you couldn't exactly point out. Or when your pussy began to ask for more then your fingers in the dark.

"It seems like your body agrees with me. When I met you you were a priestess. Now the only thing you worship is my cock. You were always a slut weren't you?" His question sounded like an accusation more then anything, sinful, shameful, but true all the same. "Only took a proper cock to make you realize it."

"Yes." You admitted, wanting somewhere to run and hide.

"What was that? I don't think our guests heard you." Daemon yanked you back by your hair again and made you look out into the crowd, "Speak up. What are you?"

You bit your lower lip as your vision started to get blurry, the mass of people fuzzy, at some level you still knew of them, that they were watching you get absolutely railed, but you also wanted to obey Daemon's orders. "A whore who likes being fucked hard!" In the distance you heard a few murmurs and chuckles.

Unbothered by them you angled your hips upwards, your arms crossed under your head for support and clenched your cunt tight around Daemon's throbbing cock. "Very good. You're so compliant now. If I ordered you to spread your legs and to have every man here line up and fuck you until you forget yourself, would you do it?"

"No." You answered honestly and wholeheartedly.

"No?" He thrusted deep and hard, every thrust echoing around you, "And why not?"

"Because I only want your cock my Lord." Daemon's cock twitched at your words, his hold turning possessive rather then controlling. There was no need of that, you'd never dream of having another. Still it only served to flame the fire building up in your lower belly, threatening to explode at any moment.

His body pressed against yours, almost shielding you from view, "Then you will have me. Every morning and night." Those words were whispered only for your ears to hear. "I've trained you well. Just a few months with me and you've been reduced into nothing but a set of holes for me to fuck and come into." His breath catches in his lungs, his thrusts slowing down for a second before he finds it in himself to fuck you into the floor, "In a year you'll be completely addicted to my cock. Forget everything and everyone else, it'll just be you and me."

"Just you and me." You repeated, all sense leaving your mind when his shallow breaths tickled your ear, when his hand found yours on the cold floor and his cock hit inside you just how he knew you liked it. Three more pumps and you felt your orgasm hit, your cunt clenching and trembling, desperate to keep Daemon's cock in, "Please my Lord."

"What? Be clear. Be honest." The humor in his voice drove you mad. He found this amusing, you being on display like this, your while body shaking and flushed with heat, your voice barely there anymore.

"Give me your cum! Fill me with your thick seed!" You heard more chuckles, and a few grunts and moans that followed that plea.

A torrent of warm cum rushed inside your pussy, making you cry out in pleasure while Daemon grunted and growled and cursed loud for everyone to hear. They needed to know, they all needed to know that he was calming you, breeding you, marking you with his cum.

As you collapsed onto the floor and Daemon on top of you he kisses his praise against your back, against your neck, his hands running from your hips to your stomach, caressing it fondly and with so much care. "Amazing. You were amazing love. As expected of my future bride." His, you were his. From the moment he saw you he knew it.

Gods? No god would dare to try to take you from him. Not that you would want to go, you made that clear to everyone in this room. No one could compete with Daemon.

He picked you up and with a tiny grunt sat you in his lap while he took the throne. "Tired?" He whispered against your neck, pampering it with kisses.

"A little." You weren't sure if you could go for another round. He already fucked your pussy raw. Even keeping his cock perfectly still inside of you made you on the verge of an orgasm.

With your pussy constantly spasming around him he wasn't going soft anytime soon. "I suppose you earned a little rest. Let's sit back and enjoy the show shall we?"

"Yes, my Lord." You sighed back against him, melting into his arms which circled around your midriff. A part of you still thought it sinful, watching all these people indulge in untold pleasures so openly. But the part of you that Daemon helped set free couldn't help but agree that yes, there is beauty in such sin.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 6: Kindred

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your uncle returns from his war in the Stepstones.

Hello! Another apology for the lateness of this one; in my defense, this is over 8,000 words, hahaha. Lots of stuffs/feelings to be had! A note - Daemon did not return and get exiled on the same day here. He's gonna take a couple weeks before fucking up, lol. Just - be aware of that as you read on. Thank you to @randomdragonfires for workshopping this crapbag for me, ahahaha! And thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs, who is sick as a dog but gave this her addled, slightly fever-induced thumbs up.

TRIGGERS: child injury, mild blood mention.

“Shoulders back,” Septa hisses from above you.

Although there are so many people around you, you are the only one that hears her. Everyone else is too busy whispering among themselves, wondering why Papa has called the lords and ladies staying in the Keep to attend him—and why they are being made to stand outside the Great Hall.

You can feel Septa looking at you, so you do as you are told and straighten your back, pushing your shoulders into place the way she wants. She hates it when you slouch. Usually, you’re better at keeping to her rules, at being a good lady, but you find yourself distracted today.

Is that ’Nyra? you wonder, trying to look past the rather wide nobleman’s form beside you to further back in the crowd, to where you are sure you’d seen a head of silver hair far too tall to be Aegon or Helaena.

It shouldn’t be her. ’Nyra has been on a tour for moons now, sailing around the kingdom in search of a husband. According to Papa, she has rejected every single one. That doesn’t surprise you—she has always said that she would never want to marry and have many babies like some ladies are made to do. Still, an order is an order, and Papa is King. That means that ’Nyra has to do as he says, and so she must find a man to marry and have babies with whether she likes it or not.

She cannot be back, then. She still has two more moons left.

Suddenly, the doors swing open. The Kingsguard at the front of the crowd march into the Great Hall, clearing the way for you and Septa to follow. She takes a firm hold of your arm as you walk to the steps leading to the Iron Throne, to where Papa stands holding onto Blackfyre. Because Lord Hightower has taken his station to the right of the Throne, you go to the left, where Ser Harrold has made a space for you. Septa releases you and makes herself invisible in the crowd, leaving you alone. You clasp your hands together tightly, trying your best not to bury your fingers into your skirts and twist like you do when you are always nervous. You do not like crowds very much, even though you are a Princess and all Princesses ought to enjoy the attention.

You watch the lords and ladies fill each side of the Hall, and you see it again. The silver-haired head. Her. It is ’Nyra, you realise.

A part of you wants to shout her name, to smile so wide your face hurts and run to her and give her a hug so strong it nearly cracks her bones into pieces—but you won’t. Septa Marlow would be terribly angry if you behaved so poorly. And, from the way she won’t look at Papa, and the way he is frowning at her, she is in plenty of trouble. You do not think he knew she was coming back, so she must have done so without him allowing her to.

A great clang comes from beyond the entry, getting yours and everyone else’s attention. All eyes turn to the doors as footsteps echo out, fast at first, and the room falls quiet. Then, a new set of steps can be heard, slower and quieter.

He appears. Uncle.

The first thing you notice is his hair. It used to be long, you think. It isn’t anymore. You are sure you very much liked to play with his long hair when you were smaller. Most of his hair—short now, shorter than even Ser Criston’s—is covered by a strange crown that looks like it’s been tied together rather than forged like gold ones are. His armour is plain, with only a dragon scale pattern showing that he is a Targaryen. The grandest and most familiar thing about him is his sword, Dark Sister, shining bright at his hip and in his hold around the grip. A heavy-looking hammer swings from his other hand.

When he sees you, he smiles. You wish you could do the same.

You were so little before, when he knew you and you knew him. You don’t remember it well. One thing you do remember is how your sadness at him leaving turned to anger. He never said goodbye. He never even wrote to you. He could have written. He could have, and he didn’t.

Ser Harrold draws his blade when Uncle comes near, pointing the tip into his breastplate. The other Kingsguard draw theirs, too. Uncle Daemon stops, staring down at where the steel meets his own body. He gazes up to Papa behind you.

Holding out the hammer, he says, “Add it to the chair.”

It makes a loud clattering sound when it falls heavy upon the stone floor. You want to hold your hands to your ears, but it’d do naught but earn you a scolding from Septa later. As he steps back, you notice that ’Nyra has moved further up in the crowd. She is fighting not to smile as she stares at him.

Ser Harrold sheathes his sword and picks up the hammer, moving back to where he was previously.

“You wear a crown.” Papa looks very grand in his robes, his own crown making Uncle Daemon’s look silly indeed. “Do you also call yourself ‘King’?”

“Once we smashed the Triarchy, they named me ‘King of the Narrow Sea’.” Uncle’s smile is what Septa would call arrogant as his words set off gasps in the crowd. You do not think she likes him very much. “But I know there is only one true king, Your Grace.”

He kneels. The other Kingsguards’ blades follow him down. “My crown and the Stepstones,” he says, taking off his crown, “are yours.”

Papa looks to the door. “Where is Lord Corlys?”

“He sailed home to Driftmark.”

“Who holds the Stepstones?”

“The tides… the crabs, and two thousand dead Triarchy corsairs, staked to the sand to warn those who might follow.”

You shiver. How awful. What a frightfully monstrous thing to do to another person, and he did it to two whole thousand of them. Septa says that noble knights treat their enemies with respect—you are not sure if Uncle Daemon would count as a noble knight, then.

Papa walks down the stairs to the Iron Throne, using Blackfyre as a sort of cane. It clacks against the ground as it hits each step.  He stills right before Uncle, accepting the crown and passing it to a nearby Kingsguard. “Rise,” he says.

For a moment, you are not sure what he means to do. He’d looked unhappy. Perhaps he is going to hit Uncle. Maybe he’ll have him thrown in the cells.

But, after Uncle stands, Papa’s hand comes to rest on his arm, and then up further to his shoulder. Uncle moves forward, his head falling onto Papa’s shoulder in a hug. The lords and ladies in the room applaud.

You follow along, though you are sure the sound of your own claps are very quiet compared to all the others. Truthfully, you don’t know if you are as happy as everyone else seems to be.

Septa Marlow does not let you stay back to speak to ’Nyra. Instead, you are made to go back to your chambers and find an appropriate dress for the feast Papa has announced is to happen in an hour’s time in the Godswood. All the while you are being dressed by your maids, you can hear her muttering about how unseemly it is that a party is to be held in such a godsless place. You tell her in your mind that the Godswood is not godsless, but rather is for gods that she doesn’t believe in. Saying such a thing aloud will only earn you a strike to the palm with her willow switch, though. You’ve only ever been struck once for asking Alicent why she named your youngest brother Aemond when it is almost the same as Daemon, and so she ought to have named him that instead. It is not a lesson you want to repeat.

By the time Septa allows you to go down to the Godswood—thankfully, you get to go without her, because she refuses to ‘step foot in that blasphemous space’—the nobles are wandering around, laughing and drinking as they celebrate the return of the King’s brother. You spy platters of lemon cakes, pastries, cheeses and breads undercover and to the right. Papa, Alicent and Uncle Daemon stand closer to the heart tree, appearing merry in their conversation.

Before you can decide where to go, you are set upon by ’Nyra. “Little sister,” she says, stepping in front of you with a smile on her face. She looks very well in her rose-coloured gown, her hair pulled back like always.

Your own mouth curves to match hers as you fling your arms around her, breathing in the smell of her, of seawater and flowers and something that you cannot describe, but is just part of who she is. Her hands press warm against your back and you don’t think you’ve ever missed anything, anyone this much before. She is home.

She laughs as she pulls back. “I missed you, too.”

If you speak all the words on the tip of your tongue—I am so glad you are back, I love you, please please don’t ever leave me alone here again—you think you might cry. If you cry, you will be sent back to your rooms, back to Septa Marlow. You do not wish for that to happen.

“Are you done already?” is what you decide to ask, squeezing her hand so as to tell her the things you cannot say. She squeezes back, so she understands, though at the same time she is tilting her head a bit like she does when she’s confused. You realise that your question probably does not make much sense to her. Septa says you must learn to be clearer when asking things. “With the tour?” you add, to help her see what you mean.

’Nyra shrugs. “I found little to be desired in the men of the Stormlands. Or the North. Or the Westerlands. The entire Realm seems to be made up of insipid little beasts masquerading as suitors.” She sniffs, scowling. Her hand tightens on yours, but it does not hurt. You think she can tell that you don’t really know what she means, because she smiles down at you and gives you another, different answer. “I am done with the tour. But I have not found a husband, no.”

Your sister pulls you along to the table away from the lords and ladies gathered, grabbing a lemon cake and handing it to you. You frown—there is no candied lemon slice on top, like there is usually. In fact, none of the lemon cakes have candied lemon slices on them. They are your favourite part. You hope the cooks are not trying something new. It does not stop you from eating it, though.

“Will Papa be very angry with you?” you ask her in between bites, taking care not to speak with your mouth full.

“Most likely,” ’Nyra says. She does not sound concerned by it. You must look bothered, because she laughs and adds, “Do not worry yourself about it—I’ll be fine, as I always am.”

You wish you were as brave as her. If Papa is ever as upset at you as he sometimes is at ’Nyra, you would cry.

As you watch her, you realise she is staring over your head at something. You glance behind you. It is very easy to see Uncle and Papa and Alicent from here. No wonder she is so focused on them.

’Nyra pats your head without looking at you. “Wait here a moment.”

She walks away, leaving you by yourself at the table to go and speak to Alicent and Papa and Uncle. From here, it looks like Uncle is the only one who appreciates her walking over. You wish she’d brought you along. Being by yourself makes you feel afraid sometimes.

A nobleman strolls over, his laughter booming and making your heart race quick. You slowly edge your way towards one of the pillars, hoping to use it to hide behind. When you were smaller, it worked. But you are too old now, you think, because the nobleman pauses in reaching for some of the food and stares at you even though the pillar shields most of you from his view. He smiles. You smile back because it is polite, but you don’t know him. Still, it makes him chuckle, take his food and leave, so there must be something useful about being polite all the time anyway.

Gazing out at all the people is making your head feel funny again, like panic, so you turn around and face the climbing plant that is scaling the wall. You wonder if the heat from the brazier will make it less green, if the fire can burn all those leaves even from here. Does fire have to be touching something to burn it? you wonder.

It is an interesting thought, and one you might try to find an answer from Septa for later. She can be stern and even mean, but she does like your curiosity. That means wanting to know things, she says.

“As far as hiding places go, this one is terrible.”

You jump, startled by the closeness of the voice. You have to look up to see who has disturbed you.

“Uncle Daemon,” you whisper.

He grins, a piece of his hair flopping over his face in a way that you think the ladies might like. You try not to think about that, though, because it only leads you to remembering what Papa had made Septa Marlow tell you only a moon’s turn ago about how men’s parts and women’s parts go together to make a baby. It is enough to make you want to avoid all men forever.

“That’s right,” Uncle says, getting your attention once more. He makes no move to come closer, just stands there and looks at you. It gives you a chance to watch him back.

His face is very stern, you think. You don’t know if it was always that way, or if his war made him more frightening. When you try to bring those memories back, there is nothing but feelings of happy-fun-love. You don’t think you and he look very much alike, even though you are both Targaryens, but there are parts of him that match you. The hair, silver like yours. The purple eyes. It makes him a little less strange to you.

“Did you miss me?” he asks. That hollow-feeling soreness in your chest seems suddenly wide open, throbbing and aching.

I did. Sometimes I used to think I dreamed you up in my head. Like you were the person I had to pretend was real so that there was someone in the world I could talk to. Someone who would listen to what I was saying, like I really meant something.

I don’t even know if I remember you, or if I’ve just spent so long waiting for you.

These are all the things you keep locked inside you, wishes like sand in an hourglass that swirl around in their glass prison. And, like the sand, they will never get to escape from where they are trapped.

“Your hair is different,” is what you say instead, quiet and sad-sounding. You try not to pout as the words come out. “I don’t like it.”

It is how you try to say what must stay hidden, words that secretly mean other words. You think he understands, though, what is stuck in your chest and in your heart, because his smile fades. He sighs, something soft making its way onto his face.

“It’ll grow back,” he murmurs. “Time heals all wounds.”

He twitches after saying that. For a moment, you swear you can see something red and angry peek out from under the collar of his coat, like a scar or a burn. It is there and gone in an instant. You wonder if you ever really saw it at all.

Then, he stands up a little straighter. “Come out from there,” he says, brow furrowing even as one side of his mouth turns up. “Let me look at you.”

This is what all the adults who Papa says used to know you ask of you when they meet you again. For some reason, they like to make a kind of list in their minds of all the ways you have changed, as though it is a good thing that you’re so different from when you were very small. To you, it just means that they never really cared to keep knowing you the whole time.

You inch your way out from behind the pillar so that you are facing him, so that you are close enough now for him to reach out and touch. He takes hold of your chin, pulling your face up so that he can inspect it. You are tilted side to side, all angles being carefully examined in a way that makes you nervous, almost like you want to run away.

“Ūbrilta iksā, riñītsos.” You’ve grown, little girl.

It sounds like praise. His palm is soft on your cheek as he strokes away one of the strands of your hair that won’t stay put, calling up a wisp of a memory of gentle hands and deep laughter and love love love, a spark just out of reach.

You tremble. The sand threatens to explode out of its glass trappings.

“I learned my letters,” you whisper, eyes stinging furiously. A group of ladies walks by. You do not want them to know what you are saying, what should be kept secret, just between you and Uncle. “Ynot bardutos daor.” You did not write to me.

Now, he frowns.

“Gimin,” he says, crouching down. I know. Balanced on one knee before you, his eyes and yours can meet so much easier—but he doesn’t let them. Instead, his stare slides past yours. You feel his fingers playing with the loose tendrils that escape your braids. “Ñuhe vīlībāzme vīlīptan… harrī aō bē olvī iotāptan. Nēdenka sagon yne beldā.” I thought of you often, while I was fighting my war. You helped me to be brave.

You cannot even imagine it—how someone silly and small like you could ever help someone so strong like him. Warmth floods through you, so quick that you wonder if your skin has flushed for him to see. “Really?”

He taps you on the nose. “Would I lie?” he asks.

You think about it. From all you can remember, he has never been anything but truthful, even with the hard questions. One of the things you can recall is when you asked where Mother had gone after Papa told you she was dead. Back then, you didn’t understand what dying was. Now, though, you know it as one of all the different ways that people can be taken away from other people, from those they love and who love them.

Uncle told you that Mother was never coming back, and he was right. He never lied to you then. He cannot be lying to you now.

“Ūndegon avy arlī, rōvēgrie biarves issa,” he tells you, cupping either side of your face with his hands. To see you again… it is a great happiness.

Your eyes are burning again, blurring your sight. You can still see how kind he looks, though, all the hard lines of his face made soft and glad by simply speaking with you, like you are the only thing that matters to him. Maybe your dreams and play-pretence were more real than you ever thought.

“Are—” You swallow hard. “Are you staying?”

It is suddenly all you wish. Please, please, please, please please please…

Uncle Daemon nods. “For as long as you want.”

You don’t know if he pulls you to him or if you push forward. All you know is that he smells the same as he did, even though you cannot possibly still remember that, like smoke and leather, and his arms feel solid and safe around you, like love. Like home.

Uncle makes good on his promise to you. He stays in the Red Keep, in his old rooms, and soon your days are filled up with more than just Septa and ’Nyra and the evening meal with Alicent and Papa.

You become very good at sneaking away from Septa. It is not difficult. Since Uncle has come back, Alicent has been asking for you in the nursery more often. You don’t think she likes that he has returned, but it is still nice to have her asking about your lessons, about your needlework or your prayers or your sums. Baby Aemond often gets upset when he hears voices talking—he likes silence most of all—so your visits never last long. Alicent always tells you to go back to your rooms when he starts, which gives you the chance to give Helaena a kiss on her cheek and slip off to find Uncle. Septa Marlow never need learn that you did not spend the entire time with your lady stepmother.

Uncle Daemon is usually with ’Nyra, sometimes out in the gardens or walking in the halls. It isn’t strange, exactly, but the way that your sister jumps away from him when you arrive makes you wonder what they are talking about at times. The only thing that stops you from thinking too much about it is that Uncle never seems very bothered. He just smiles like nothing at all has happened and asks how you are.

He watches ’Nyra with a heavy stare as she leaves for Council or to see Syrax or simply to give you time with Uncle, too. Sometimes, she looks back, and her stare is just as heavy on him. But then, he always says, “Yne aōlo bē tolī ivestrās”—tell me more about yourself—and you forget why it bothered you so much.

You realise there’s not a lot of ‘yourself’ that would be interesting. You talk about your lessons with Septa and how you are already very good at adding and subtracting numbers, so she is showing you how to multiply them and divide them. You talk about how you can embroider the Targaryen sigil on handkerchiefs, though sometimes the stitches aren’t as neat and even as they could be. You talk about how you’ve learned all the names and House words of the Lords Paramount, and what they supply Papa’s kingdom with—how the Reach has lots of grain and the Westerlands has lots of gold mines and the North has lots of lumber and timber for building things. You talk about how you can sing all the hymns and you pray in the Sept every sennight like a good lady, though this only makes him scoff and shake his head. You talk about how good you are at showing the courtesies of a lady like curtseying and only speaking when you are spoken to and keeping your back straight and chin up so everyone knows you are of good breeding.

When you hear these things aloud, you are sure it is very boring. It makes you think that the only thing that has him listening so closely is that you tell him all of this in High Valyrian.

“Gīmije suene ābrāzma. Drējī sȳz,” he says on one day, sitting side by side with you on a bench looking out into the Godswood. An accomplished young lady. Very good. With lips tipped up at one corner, he does not look exactly pleased by all you have been taught. But when he adds, “Muño ēngos aōhi sȳrktys ȳdrā,” you know that there is at least something he is happy with. Your mother tongue has improved.

Pride flushes you from head to toe, warm and exciting. “Rhaenyrosa gūrēñan.” I am learning from Rhaenyra.

You don’t find it as hard to say her full name anymore, but she always looks at you funny when you call her ‘Rhaenyra’. It is important that you use the proper words in front of Uncle, though. You hope he doesn’t notice when you stumble over some of the rolling ‘r’ sounds.

“Skorion Alysanno bē?” is his next question. What of Alysanne?

It takes you a moment to understand what he is talking about. At first, you wonder if he’s asking you about your great-grandmother, and you have no idea why he would. Then, an image of a doll with violet eyes and silver hair flashes through your mind, ‘perhaps—Marya and Hana, was it?—could do with another friend’, and you think to the three little ladies you used to carry around everywhere until you were made to leave them sitting on the chest at the foot of your bed, then inside the chest, stuck in the dark and left to be forgotten.

There is something about that which makes you terribly, terribly sad.

“I am not allowed to play with dolls.” It is like Septa is speaking through you, though you are soft where she would be stern and hard. “I am too old.”

This makes him freeze, but not like ice. Like something burning hot and angry, only it is shown in the fire of his eyes and the clenching of his fists and nothing else. When he nods, it is as though he is a puppet and someone else is pulling his strings jerkily. “Se zaldrīzesse? Kipagon vasīr gūrēntō daor?” And dragons? Have you learned to ride yet?

You shake your head. “I am too young.”

Too young, too old… No matter what, I am never exactly right as I am.

Normally, you can ignore the twisting of your tummy when you think about how ’Nyra had claimed Syrax already when she was your age. But now, with your thoughts turning over and over about all the things that Uncle wants to ask that you cannot give a good answer to, it only makes you feel worse.

At that, he stands and holds out his hand. You make no move to grab onto it—you just look up at him, confused.

“Well?” he asks, brow lifting. “Do you want to learn?”

“To ride?” You frown. “How?”

He rolls his eyes. “By riding a dragon, silly girl. As it happens, I’ve claimed one of my own. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”

“You’ll… you’ll let me ride Caraxes?” Your breath comes out funny, in rhythm with the skipping beat of your heart.

“Not alone. But you ought to know what it feels like to take flight before you claim your own mighty beast.” He mutters something under his breath, too low for you to hear. It sounds frustrated, and quite possibly rude. Then, he lifts his eyes back to you and shakes the arm he has held out. “Are you coming, then? Or will I be going to the Dragonpit alone?”

You take his hand.

“Are you sure he will like me?” you ask Uncle, biting your lip as he pulls you closer and closer to the entrance of the Dragonpit.

As always, it is a big, frightening hulk of stone, with columns that look like they’ve been standing tall since the beginning of time. A hundred of you wouldn’t be enough to match its height. When ’Nyra takes you to see Syrax, sometimes you try to count how many of you would be needed to reach the top, but you always lose track after ten. You know from far away that the dome of it arcs high, high above, though from where you are, you cannot see it. A dark black hole looms between the two main pillars, seeming larger the longer you stare into it. From within, you can hear the growls and shrieks of a dragon, maybe two, maybe three—Syrax and Caraxes, and perhaps others, for it seems too much noise to only be the pair inside.

“He does as I command,” he says. “You will not be harmed.”

Uncle Daemon tugs you forward, into the blackness. Dark turns to dim light.

There, not far from the entry, stands Caraxes. That he is out and not hiding away in one of the dens already makes this a much different visit than usual, for Syrax is not often found in the open like this. It has been a long time since you saw him properly, though you know from stories that Uncle used to take you to visit him when you were a baby, then when you were little. Papa never let him take you riding, though. You wonder how he got permission now.

The dragon has a long, long neck, almost the same amount of long as his body. It makes him look amusing, though you will never laugh at him, for he is also fearsome. Jagged spikes jut out along ridges that go all the way from his shoulders to his head, turning into large horns above each eye. His teeth are sharp, and there is more than one row of them, which you can see when he opens his mouth to make a hooting noise in your direction. He is deep red in colour, scales glittering black and orange in the torch flame that shines across his form, darker around his mouth. You don’t know if it is how he usually looks, or if it is blood. You hope he has already eaten.

“Come along.” Uncle seems annoyed by your slowness. He lets go of your hand and pushes his palm between your shoulder blades, forcing you forward. “We’ve not got all day.”

One of the robed men, the Dragonkeepers, moves in step with you, gaze switching nervously from you to your uncle. “Dārilaros ñuhys! Avy māzīlē gīmīloty daor—se aōha tala—” My Prince! We did not know to expect you—and your niece—

Uncle waves him off impatiently, glaring. “Īlon henujās! Avy baelagon ajorrāeloty daor.” Leave us! We do not require your assistance.

The Keeper bows, edging backward. You try to turn your head to see where he came from, where he has gone, but the strength of Uncle’s hand pushing you on and the way his body blocks your view prevents you from glimpsing anything properly.

Caraxes makes an odd sort of whistle-hoot noise when his head bends before you, his giant nostrils flaring as he scents his visitor. You try to keep your heart beating slow and steady. If he smells fear, he might attack.

“Calm, calm,” Uncle is murmuring, though you don’t know if he’s saying it in the Common Tongue or in High Valyrian. “That’s it…”

The dragon nudges you softly, snout pressing against you in a way that you find familiar. Syrax does the same when you go to see her. It brings a smile to your face, and you are laying your hands on his scaled flesh to stroke him before you can remember why you were ever afraid in the first place. He allows you to pat him for a few moments. Then, he seems to grow bored, turning away at the sound of distant echoing roars. His claws skitter on the stone.

Uncle Daemon takes hold of your shoulders and steers you to the side, along Caraxes’s body. “Iōrās,” he calls out. Stand.

Caraxes shifts his weight with a grumble, unfolding the wing closest to you all the way out. You look on, fascinated. Uncle prods you with his foot.

“Well?” he asks. You glance up. He appears to be waiting for something. When you offer no response, he jerks his head toward the dragon and says, “I cannot mount him for you. Climb up.”

“By myself?”

His expression makes you think he finds you dim-witted. “I will follow. There are some things you must do yourself, little girl.”

There is something about it—‘little girl’—that makes you feel better, somehow, as though he is reminding you that he knows you are only small, that he knows he is not asking too much of you. It helps you to feel brave. When you step onto Caraxes’s wing, you know he is right behind you. For how thin wings look, they are surprisingly strong, because it is easier than you thought to make your way up and up to where the saddle is buckled. There is enough room for you to slip onto the very front, behind the horn, as you wait for Uncle to settle behind you. Because you don’t have a riding habit yet, you must gather your skirts to either side to make sure your knees are covered.

Uncle’s body is warm, his arms folding around you to hold onto the grips either side of the horn. There are no reins like ’Nyra used to have when she was younger for Syrax, but that makes sense. Not only is Uncle old, but Caraxes’s neck is so, so long that you don’t think reins would really work anyway.

His chin comes to rest beside your head. “Ready?”

I have been ready for my whole life, you want to say.

You grab onto his hands and close your eyes, feeling the way his legs bracket you in and his chest presses firm against your back, like a shield. “Yeah.”

“Sōvēs!” Fly!

Your brain rattles and your limbs shake as Caraxes lunges forward, faster, faster, through the entry of the Dragonpit and out into the open air, faster, toward the edge, and then—

He—

Drops—

And you are flying.

Your belly swoops low, but your heart is in your throat and there are tears in your eyes because this, this is all you ever wanted and never even knew you could have, not really. Wind rushes in your ears, drowning out all other noise, and your legs feel impossibly cold, stockings doing little to protect you from the speed and height, but the sky is bright and blue and the sun shines golden and it bathes you in light, white, freedom. Beneath your heels, you can feel the heat of the dragon, the flex of his muscles as he takes you on and on and on.

Laughter bubbles up, up, up and out of your throat, given to the air, heard by none but felt so deep in your bones, no, past your bones, to the very very centre of you where you are something truer and greater than just a Princess, just a girl. Like magic. Like fire. You fling your arms out wide, forearms resting on your uncle’s, and you cannot hear his own laughter, but you can feel it in the way his skin thrums against yours, and oh, no one has ever understood you as much as he does now, in this moment. He knows. He knows.

There is no direction, no goal, no end point. You fly across the city you have lived in all your life, and even the Keep looks like a dollhouse, like Papa’s miniature that he tends to in his rooms. The streets look like string winding together and apart and around houses the size of sand grains, fading in and out among the clouds. You fly across open fields where there is so, so much space, more than you ever thought could be real, and more green than has ever been in one place at one time. You fly across trees packed so tightly together that you cannot see the ground below their tops, forests of leaves so dark that even the sun cannot make them glow in the daylight. The air tastes like salt and then earth and then something sweeter, purer, more real than books or hymns or dances.

It may be minutes. It may be hours. It may be days afterward, but one of the things you have learned is that everything good must come to an end.

The Dragonpit draws closer, closer, closer. With each drag onward, bits of who you are, who you must be, return to you. The Princess. The girl. The lonely soul crying out for someone, anyone. They burrow their way inside your blood where they have been made to belong.

Caraxes slows, and the world seeps back in. You can hear Uncle’s voice again. “Ninkiot!” Land!

The shock of the thud as the dragon hits ground jolts you forward, but Uncle Daemon’s arms are firm around you. Sand and dust fling up all around you from the damage Caraxes has done to the stone ground below. ’Nyra says it is because they are very heavy creatures, and stone isn’t as hard to something so strong, but like paper. Your teeth clack together painfully and your eyes feel suddenly too tight for your skull for a moment, and then it is over.

Uncle ignores the Keepers yelling from below. “Paerī, paerī…” Slow, slow…

Caraxes growls as he follows the command, snapping his teeth at the Keepers who come forth to grab at the buckles wrapping under his wings to restrain him.

“Kelītīs.” Halt. The dragon lumbers to a stop, hooting and shaking his head like a hound might. Your whole body wobbles with the movement, making you giggle. Uncle chuckles, slapping the exposed side of his mount with a smile. “Sȳres taobus.” Good boy.

“Thank you, Uncle!” It comes out in a breathless rush. You twist yourself to the side as best you can so that you are able to show him just how grateful you are. You are sure your eyes shine bright and wild. He smiles as he takes in your expression. “Thank you, thank you!” you say.

“You had fun?” His palm strokes along your back in a comforting rhythm.

“Yeah!”

Words escape you. There is no way to describe what it means to you. All you can do is lean into him, wind your arms around his waist and hug him as tight as you can, which is not very much at all. Still, it makes him grip you back, his breath puffing hot through your hair all the way to your scalp, the firm imprint of lips falling there like ’Nyra’s do when she kisses you goodnight.

He releases you with a grunt, patting just above your rear. “Go on, then,” he tells you, nodding toward Caraxes’s flattened wing. “Get down there. I’ll be a moment longer.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Dismounting is not the same as climbing up; you try to plant your feet and walk your way down, but you feel yourself tipping forward when you try. Eventually—and not without Uncle laughing at you as you figure it out—you learn to sit on your bottom and almost slide your way down, using your legs to slow your speed. It is terribly fun. You nearly try walking back up so that you can do it all over again, but then you think about how you are putting all your weight on Caraxes’s arm, and what it would feel like if someone was stepping all over your arm like that. It wouldn’t be fair to the dragon to do something so unkind when he had taken you on such a lovely trip in the sky.

You stand up, jumping just before you reach the joint of his hand. In your excitement, you do not see how close Caraxes’s tail is, how easy it would be to tangle one’s skirts on the ridged tip.

What happens after comes in flashes. A sharp, scorching pain up your arm. A feeling of wet bursting across your skin. Deep, deep red, spilling across the stone. A throbbing that goes straight to your bone, beating in time with the sound of the sobs that burst from your chest, no, lower, somewhere where pain lives. Panicked whistling noises. A vision of wide-eyed, fearful Uncle Daemon, a bumpy wheelhouse ride and a soothing melody vibrating from the person holding you so, so tight.

The next thing you know, there is more pain, there is a needle, and a maester, and Papa and Alicent and Lord Otto, and you are bundled up on Uncle’s lap while the tug-tug of thread goes in and out of your skin.

“… she tripped, brother,” Uncle is saying, keeping his words low even though you can tell he is angry. “It’s not like she was maimed dragonriding, for fuck’s sake—”

Lord Otto sounds far away from his place near the door. “It was wildly irresponsible of you, Prince Daemon. She is but a child—”

“How dare you disobey me!” Papa stands above Uncle, growling, teeth gritting with fury. “I told you she was too young, and you took her anyway!”

Alicent places her hand on his arm, trying to pull him away. “Husband, perhaps—”

“Can you all shut up,” Uncle snaps, hand cupped over your head and turning your face into his neck so that you cannot see, you cannot see. “Do you really think now is the time to—”

“Kepus,” you cry, and you feel the pressure of a hand that is not Uncle’s on your back, a yes, my girl, but you did not ask for Papa, you asked for kepus, Uncle, you want the soft melody back and the quiet, so you shrug it away and press your nose closer to the man in front of you, the sting-pull hurt of something cold and wet splashing over your arm bringing even more tears.

“Sh, precious, you’re alright,” Uncle murmurs, and you can feel his voice as well as hear it, tingling through your skin. “The maester is nearly finished.”

“Hurts.” The tug-sting is over, but it is followed by a press-sting as the bandage is wrapped around and around.

“I know.” His hand keeps your face turned into him, solid against the back of your skull. “Drējī usōven, dōnītsos.” I am sorry, sweetling.

“Not your fault,” you tell him, or maybe you only think it, or maybe you say it over and over again on repeat as he carries you to your rooms, puts you to bed, hums you to sleep.

Septa is terribly angry when she learns that you have been sneaking off.

“No more of that, young madam.” Her stare feels like a leaden weight on your chest, disapproval washing over you like the waves of Blackwater Bay. “I shall be accompanying you to all your extracurriculars for the foreseeable future.” As she turns back to her knitting, she shakes her head, muttering, “Wilful, disobedient girl!” You think if Papa were not there, she would have struck you.

“Your uncle is a wretched influence,” he tells you. His eyes search yours like he is trying to find some sort of agreement from you, but you cannot obey him, not in this. It is the first time you have ever gone against something he has said, and it makes you feel terribly naughty. “He injured you—”

“No!” you protest. “I fell over, I promise! I was not watching where I was going, and I tripped—”

“That matters not.” His tone is forbidding. “He never should have taken you without permission—”

“I just wanted to fly.” You cannot explain it to him; the need that you feel now that you know what it is like to leave who you are behind and join the skies, to feel the strength and the heat of a dragon below you and know you are just as powerful as he. He wouldn’t understand. He’d ridden Balerion for less than a year, and never again did he seek out dragon-flight. “Uncle showed me,” you say. “I wanted to, Papa. Please.”

He sighs, goes silent for a time. When he lifts his head to watch you again, something sad and yet amused plays upon his expression. “You look so like your mother when you make that face.”

It is not the first time he has said so, and you know it won’t be the last. Still, you smile, because little girls who have lost their mothers are supposed to smile when people tell them how alike she is to the woman who has died. Sometimes, you feel like a ghost of her, like you aren’t really meant to exist as yourself.

“When you are bigger, you can claim a dragon. I swear it.” Papa takes your hand, the one that is not attached to your injured arm. “But you will need to give your old Papa some time, for his heart cannot take all this stress.”

He winks, and you giggle. Still, you cannot help asking. “Why?”

Why was ’Nyra allowed at my age and not me? Am I not good enough? Not Targaryen enough?

All that stops you from speaking these things aloud is that, deep down, you know it is not that you are not Targaryen enough. It might be that, for the first time, Papa has seen that you are too Targaryen.

“You are my little girl,” Papa says, and you think you can almost see a tremble to his lips. He must have been very worried, more than you realised. “My little Aemma. The thought of losing you… I cannot bear it.”

So, you hug him and tell him that you will not try it again, not yet, and you feel the anger and the worry and the fear flee him as he relaxes bit by bit. In your head, though, you are thinking about a time—somewhere far in the future, or perhaps nearer than you know—when you can be a dragonrider too.

Septa is true to her word. Most of the time, you are made to stay in your chambers, even though the wound on your arm isn’t all that large and the maesters say that it will not scar over too terribly. “The Prince conveyed you here swiftly, Princess,” they tell you as they clean and redress the ragged cut. In all, it is only the size of two gold coins put side-by-side. “You are very fortunate, indeed!”

You do not feel fortunate. Septa’s eyes remain fixed on you, so sharp that the hairs on the back of your neck stay upright. She watches you as you sound out your letters, as you embroider more dragon sigils, as you practice the hymns she has made you learn. She watches ’Nyra with a stern face as she sits in to visit with you in the afternoons—not even your sister is allowed to bend the rules of your punishment. Still, it is better than spending each day entirely with Septa and Septa alone.

Uncle comes in the evenings. That first night after you cut open your arm, he voiced the notes to an old song you think you can remember from when you were really little. Every night since, though, he comes to read you a story in High Valyrian and kiss you on the cheek and say goodnight. You think he might feel guilty about you hurting yourself, so you make sure to give him a very tight hug every time he arrives to your rooms. Sometimes, you see him in the day when he drops ’Nyra to your door, their conversation low and their heads bent close together. If he wasn’t Uncle and she wasn’t ’Nyra, it would look like they were courting, which is when a lord and lady spend time together to see if they are a good fit to be married. You know better.

But, one day, ’Nyra does not visit in the afternoon. Uncle does not come to read you a story or kiss you goodnight. It feels like you have faded from the world, like you only exist in these chambers and nowhere else. But you wait. You wait. You go to bed wide-eyed, trying to stay awake in case she wishes to see you off before you sleep, in case he is just running very late. You are not successful.

A muffled crackling noise and the feeling of something rough against your cheek is what wakes you in the morning, the sun casting weak rays through your balcony. You lift your head from the pillow; blink the crust from your eyes. Looking down, you take in what has disturbed you. A note.

It does not say who it is from, but you know. You know.

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[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

Look at this....☠️ https://www.tumblr.com/bohemian-nights/737003196544958464/fuck-rhaenyra-fuck-the-writers-with-this-sapphic?source=share

Fucking hell.

First off: I find it interesting the anon doesn't acknowledge that Laena x Daemon is also incest. Sure, she's not his niece, but she is still related to him. They love projecting their insecurities about their ship onto daemyra.

Second: yeah, HoTD choosing to make the Velaryons black then sidelining them massively is shitty and, sure, could be interpreted as racist. However, how is that Rhaenyra's fault? She didn't make Daemon marry Laena when he couldn't have her neither did she kill Laena. Condal and Hess chose to write out Laena's relevance (which already wasn't much outside of being Daemon's wife and Baela and Rhaena's mother) in order to give Alicent more screen time. But again, that's neith Rhaenyra's nor Emma D'Arcy's fault, stop blaming them (also Emma is good at playing Rhaenyra as she is written, the only issues are the writing, which aren't their fault). Op also chose to ignore the fact that Daemon actually is confirmed by GRRM himself to have loved Rhaenyra the most.

Moving on, once again the Rhaenyra antis are bringing up how Rhaenyra isn't "feminist". Literally no one in F&B is feminist by our modern definition. Visenya and Rhaenys are probably the closest, and even then, they aren't writing feminist manifestos (which apparently Rhaenyra is expected to for some reason). Alysanne, the most proactive queen regent, still enforced arranged marriages on her daughters and granddaughters. Rhaenys didn't advocate for Laena's right of succession in the book and in the show refused to support Rhaenyra long before Laenor's "death". Her antis hold Rhaenyra to unfair and unrealistic standards while making excuses for or ignoring other characters who don't meet them.

In that same vein, I still can't get over how Rhaenyra antis will say that TG aren't the conservative group. They say Rhaenyra isn't a feminist and that TG, the ones who are obsessed with male primogeniture and believe being gay, a sexually liberated woman, a child born out of wedlock, or not adhering to the equivalent of the Catholic Church make someone subhuman are the "progressive" group. It's delusion at its finest. Alicent and the greens are misogynistic and, because of them, women's rights in Westeros ended up more repressed than ever.

The fact that the op says that Visenya and Queen Rhaena are acceptable shows they have no understanding for TG or F&B. First off, TG would never support either woman. Visenya was hated by the Faith and most of the Lord's of Westeros, she was a warrior accused of witchcraft and dared to interfere with the misogynistic customs alongside Rhaenys. Rhaena was gay, something she wasn't allowed to live fully because the Targaryens chose to conform to Westerosi ideals. She was also robbed of her inheritance, even Jaehaerys acknowledged that Rhaena was the rightful heir, just as Aegon acknowledged Rhaenyra was.

As for the racist allegations, those come exclusively from Mushroom, someone who is far from a reliable source. Mushroom invented an entire woman to try to add "spice" to Jacaerys' story: Sara Snow. A woman of whom there is no record of, even though she was raised in Winterfell and supposedly married Jace. If Mushroom is willing to make up a whole ass woman to make the story more dramatic, why should we trust anything he says?

Yes, Rhaenyra ordered Nettles' execution, but that was because of her rumored relationship with Daemon and Rhaenyra's paranoia which had grown massively since Hugh Hammer and Ulf White's betrayal. Was it just? No. Was it racially motivated? According to Mushroom, maybe, but looking at Rhaenyra's character, it doesn't make sense.

Moving on, what exactly does op mean by "she's done too many things to claim she's been wrongly framed by the narrative"? By the time Nettles comes along, Rhaenyra hasn't done much that could be considered reprehensible. Op seems to have an issue with Vaemond's death, which Rhaenyra did order in the book. They seem to think that Vaemond "rightfully called her out" and was wrongfully killed.

She ordered Vaemond's execution after he declared her sons bastards in order to challenge Corlys' decision regarding succession. Keep in mind, Vaemond in the book is Corlys' nephew, not his brother, which moves him even farther down the line of succession. Vaemond not only was putting Rhaenyra and her sons in danger but was also trying to usurp all of Corlys' line, including Baela and Rhaena, who op seems to like a lot.

Yeah Rhaenyra is much harsher in F&B, but that hardly makes her evil and irredeemable. Queens Visenya and Rhaena were both harsh and even cruel sometimes, yet op doesn't think they're irredeemable monsters.

I do agree with op's anger over the sidelining of the Velaryons, as I said earlier, but taking it out on Rhaenyra is completely uncalled for. Rhaenyra wasn't a monster, anyone who believes that has frighteningly little reading comprehension. Rhaenyra's reign would have greatly helped women's standings in Westeros and pushed along gender equality. Ignoring that fact and blatantly saying the greens aren't supporting the repressive patriarchy is delusional and idiotic. The greens' actions were damaging in every way. Vaemond was far from an innocent victim, he was power hungry and misogynistic in both the show and the book. Keep your angry focused on the right people, don't take it out on a woman who had her whole life destroyed by the patriarchy.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

do you think Daemon would use Mysaria to take sickly!brother!reader’s virginity after he sees Alicent’s desire? i could see Daemon pretending he just wants to end the bad blood between them as he offers a ridiculously large sum of money to entice her. and when she enters the reader’s chambers, the reader’s reduced to a blushing mess because he knows who she is and knows his brother probably sent her. and she’s kind of expecting him to be a dick like Daemon but is quickly proven wrong because the poor boy keeps apologizing and struggles to make eye contact. the two spend the night together and once morning comes they’re woken up by a horrified Alicent and a smug Daemon lurking in the background but Mysaria is cool and collected and simply introduces herself to the queen as the reader’s paramour. confusing both brothers. but the look of horror on Otto’s face after he hears makes Daemon suddenly more accepting of the relationship.

I could see Daemon doing that. He really isn’t too into mending things over with Mysaria so much as he just knows that bringing her into the Reader’s life, even if it’s for one night, will definitely be seen and taken as a threat by Alicent. It doesn’t matter whether if it is Mysaria or some other whore from whatever brothel, Daemon would end up going through with his plan either way but Mysaria would be his first choice since he’s familiar with her and knows that she’ll be worthwhile to his younger brother.

Meanwhile, Mysaria just thinks this is any other job for her type of business. As far as she’s concerned all she has to do is treat the Reader to a good time and take real good care of him while she’s in his company and then she’s done. Given Daemon’s personality, Mysaria is already preparing herself for having to put up with the same thing from the Reader or something similar to it, but instead she’s met with someone who is completely nothing like Daemon. I could even see Daemon being a shit and telling her about his younger brother for her to get an idea of how she needs to be with him and how to handle him but everything he tells her is bullshit making her pretty unprepared and having to re-adapt herself to the actual person she ends up meeting.

Mysaria has no intentions of her involvement with the Reader going past that one time unless he or Dameon requested her services again. But when she’s actually with the Reader she finds herself enjoying his company more than she ever imagined she would. I imagine there being quite a bit of pillow talk on the Reader’s part, probably due to his own awkwardness at the situation and feeling the need to fill the silence afterward. At first, Mysaria is only fulfilling her role and listening to the Reader cause she’s being paid to be with him but then she actually catches herself listening intently to his stories and asking questions, giving her input or even sharing stories of her own.

I think something that would really garner Mysaria’s interest in the Reader would be him caring about her own pleasure during their night together. Like, he doesn’t want it to be all about him, he doesn’t want to be the only one feeling good and will try his damndest with the best of his abilities to make her enjoy herself too. He’s at least putting his best efforts into not having her do all the work. I could see given how well the Reader is treating her and also justifying it as his first time, Mysaria would break the first rule of being a whore and would let the Reader kiss her. She may even be the one to kiss him first. What was at first meant to be only a night of fucking would turn into something more passionate. I could see Mysaria being overcome with how the Reader doesn’t treat her like some common whore and more like a respectable lady that she just lets herself go during her time with him and doesn’t even acknowledge that she’s being paid to be there. As far as she’s concerned now she’s making love with the Reader and indulging herself in the moment.

I could see Daemon the next morning standing outside the Reader’s door waiting for Alicent to come and check in on the Reader as she usually does, wanting to witness her reaction for himself. When Alicent gets there she’s met with a sly smirk as he gestures for her to open the door. She’s automatically filled with suspicion but then again who isn’t when Daemon Targaryen is around? She tries not to read too much into it until it’s too late and she’s opening the Reader’s bedchamber door and making her way to where his bed is to wake him up only to find him cuddled up with some naked woman. It takes her a moment to process just what exactly she’s looking at before realization hits her and she’s filled with so many overwhelming emotions. Anger, shock, betrayal. But she doesn’t blame her darling, she knows this was all Daemon’s doing. Speaking of the pretty devil, he’s standing off to the side acting as if he was shocked himself if only his shit eating grin didn’t give him away.

What would wake up both the Reader and Mysaria would be Alicnet going off on Daemon. The Reader is embarrassed to be found in such a scandalous state, meanwhile Mysaria is enjoying watching Daemon be ripped into by Alicent, even if Daemon couldn’t care less. She also may be soothing the Reader, especially if he’s apologizing to her for her having to be there and be found out like this, not that she really cares but it does make her feel nice that he’s concerned about her feelings in the situation and not his own self. I could even see the Reader trying to protect and cover Mysaria up with the blankets, trying to keep it so that no one can see her in such a vulnerable state what with being naked and everything. Which she finds kind of sweet and amusing just watching this man panicking to keep other’s eyes from catching any sight of her while she’s naked.

The moment Mysaria refers to herself as the Reader’s paramour in front of Alicent, she has to restrain herself from attacking her right then and there. How dare this whore call herself her darling’s paramour?!?! Who the fuck does she think she is?? Alicent would immediately want to take action, probably demand for Sir Criston Cole to apprehend Mysaria and throw her into the dungeon or something of the sort while the Reader tries to stop her. Meanwhile, Daemon puts himself in between Sir Criston Cole or whatever Kingsguard there is to keep them from getting to the Reader and Mysaria. Sure, he’s just as taken aback as everyone else and he will be having a talk with Mysaria later on about what the fuck that was but as of right now he’ll keep anything from happening if only for his brother’s sake.

Alicent would be extremely irate over the situation, going to Viserys (if he’s still alive for this) to have him do something about it . She would demand that he either send the whore away (probably with some form of missing limb or something of the sort) or have her killed. But if the Reader is vehemently against it and Daemon is there to vouch for Mysaria then Viserys won’t really do anything about it except maybe have Mysaria be monitored to ensure she’s not using the Reader or anything like that.

Meanwhile, Mysaria would take very well to her paramour status with the Reader. She isn’t even sure why she said that she was in fact his paramour, it just came out before she could stop herself. But now she’s invested in the idea of it. Not only does it benefit her more but she also gets to be around the Reader more. She never fathomed she could take such an attachment to a customer as much as she has with the Reader (and in such a short amount of time too) but here she is giving more of herself than she ever has and for no cost at all.

Even if Mysaria decided to take up being the Reader’s paramour as a way to use and take advantage of the Reader given how easy it would be to do so, it would become much more than that for her the longer she spent time with and was involved with the Reader. Her attachment for the Reader would eventually gradually grow into something more intense resulting in her own obsession. As the Reader’s paramour, Mysaria will try to have more of a role in the Reader’s day to day, when she wasn’t having to deal with her own business. She would eventually take over the Reader’s care, whether of her own accord or Daemon gets her to do it. Either way she works her way into taking away Alicent’s time and authority over her darling which would only earn Alicent’s utter rage and resentment all the more. As well as her children’s.

Rhaenyra is hesitant to accept or have any real positive reaction to Mysaria being in the picture, especially when it concerns her sickly!uncle. But if Daemon is alright with it and assures her that Mysaria will take care of the Reader then she supposed she can give him the benefit of the doubt. But she will be keeping an extremely close eye on Mysaria from now on.

Mysaria in her obsession would do everything in her power to ensure that her and her darling are taken care of. She will make alliances with whoever she deems worthwhile for her and her darling to benefit from. She will make any and all decisions that will be the most worthwhile for her and her darling in the long run. She will ensure the Reader is take care of and protected. Mysaria would even go as far as bare the Reader’s children, whether they’re considered bastards or not. If it was something the Reader really longed for than she would make it happen. She would also be glued to the Reader’s side only leaving him if she really had to, otherwise she was right by his side at all times.

There’s a very good chance that Daemon and Mysaria form an alliance, the Reader bringing them together to do so. They both have their own ulterior motives of course but they both also share a similar care for the Reader so they’ll work together. That is until Mysaria finds a better option that will ensure her and her darling’s livelihood. Or if she sees that Daemon is going off the walls and is only bringing danger and threats to her and especially to her darling then she will have no problem betraying him to keep her and her darling safe.

[importantchaosgiver]

The Griffin And The Dragon:

He Returns

Summary: Two years have passed and (Y/N) is rather happy. That is, until some topics are brought up and a man from the past returns...

Warnings: Swearing, Daemon (he is a warning in himself)

******

A yawn escaped (Y/N)'s mouth yet again despite her best efforts to stifle it. "Are you well, my dear?" Viserys asked from across her with a soft tone. She looked up, half asleep before being jolted back to reality. She was at breakfast with her husband, Rhaenyra and, nearby, her son, Aegon. Yes, she had brought forth a male and fulfilled the prophecy. The entirety of Concordia rejoiced upon hearing the heir to the throne was a long awaited king. And she was currently pregnant with her second child. Halfway through the pregnancy. Aegon had only just turned two years of age. He had the same silver blonde hair and violet eyes of his father. But already began showing a mischievous nature.

But, as you have guessed, (Y/N) wasn't doing alright. She gave a weak smile. "A trivial thing, my love," she said quietly. However, Viserys knew what was bothering her. It began happening after Aegon's second name day. She had began having terrible dreams. She would often wake up screaming in horror. Viserys often times woke up to it, concerned for his wife. Although, she never disclosed what these dreams contained. Whatever it was, wasn't good. However, the time for talking could be later. With the war in the Stepstones done, Daemon had returned. When (Y/N) learnt of that, she couldn't tell if her heart skipped a beat or if her heart plumated. Their last encounter going through her mind. She went to the gardens with Alicent and Aegon. Alicent loved the little prince, finding him adorable when holding his little wooden dragon. (Y/N) smiled at her son has been babbled, waving around the toy.

"What is this?" an all too familiar voice said. (Y/N) recognised that drawl anywhere. She turned around to see Daemon. His hair was far more shorter than the last time she saw him. He was masking his shock and slightly anger upon seeing her with a child in her arms and a pregnant belly. "Leave us," Katherine said to Alicent, handing Aegon over to her. Alicent knew what that meant. She curtsied, taking the child and walking away. Daemon's eyes pierced into (Y/N), but she no longer felt timid.

"You look well," she said calmly. Daemon scoffed at her civil tone. "Do not give me that bullshit. You're pregnant and carry a child with Valyrian features. Unless you married a Velyaron, you better have some explaining to do," Daemon said menacingly, taking a step forward, but she didn't back down. "In the two years you were gone, I became Queen of Concordia. And... Viserys' wife," she explained. Daemon looked ready to punch something. "And I do not believe it is any of your concern. After all, you are wed yourself. Have a good day," she said, going to walk past. But Daemon's hand shot out quickly, grabbing her bicep in an iron grip. She gasped as she was forcibly turned around. "I don't give a fuck about who you are now. Did you think I kissed you for nothing?" he hissed out. "You were married to Lady Royce. You shouldn't have kissed me in the first place," she shot back, trying to tug her arm from his grip. But he was too strong.

Before anything more could be said, footsteps were heard. Ser Criston Cole had arrived, probably having been told by Alicent. "My queen, is all well?" Criston asked, his eyes darting to Daemon, his hand on the pomel of his sword. "Quite fine, Ser Criston," she said, now succeeding in pulling her arm from his grip, ignoring the slight stinging. "Have a good day, Daemon," (Y/N) replied with a more firm tone before leaving briskly.

******

(Y/N) woke up with a short scream, her skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her body trembling. Viserys jolted awake at the same time. Almost anticipating it. She rubbed her eyes as he sat up. "This isn't good for you, my love. What is it you see that causes such fear?" Viserys asked, putting a hand on her back. She took shuddering breaths, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat. Once she regained some control over her breathing patterns, she looked at her husband. She couldn't keep it secret forever.

"It's Concordia. I dream of it every night. And every night I dream the same thing. That it will fall, it will be destroyed by a cataclysm, that it will die and so will all of my people. I see such horrific things. I can't stop thinking of it. What if it is the fate of my land?" she asked, tears streaming from her eyes. Viserys gently pulled her into his arms, gently shushing her, trying to calm his wife. "I am sure it is just a dream. Nothing but the stress getting to you," he said gently, rubbing her back and pregnant stomach, hoping to soothe her. She took some deep breaths, her heart finally starting to beat normally. But (Y/N) still wasn't entirely convinced. "Come, my dear. You must rest. It isn't good for the babe," Viserys said. With a soft sigh, she laid back down and in her husband's embrace, praying to the gods that it was all just a cruel nightmare...

******

We're slowly coming to the end of the series, but there is still plenty to write. I want to thank everyone who is liking this series so far. Enjoy!

[two-white-butterflies]

WAITING FOR A BUS

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Daemon Targaryen x Reader (MODERN)

Description: A new promotion at work prompts you to move into a small modest town with your boyfriend, Aemond Targaryen. There you meet a few friendly faces. It seems like life is going where it's supposed to. That is until you meet your new boss, Daemon Targaryen, who is your boyfriend's estranged uncle.

It doesn't help with the fact that you've been having dreams about him since birth.

masterlist | chapter thirteen

PUMPKINPIE (Gaming Phone)😁 6:47AM Woke up and you weren't there ☹️🥺

Queen of Hearts 💚 6:47AM hmmmmm ... i remember telling you that i was leaving 😆

PUMPKINPIE (Gaming Phone)😁 6:47AM I miss you. 💚

Queen of Hearts 💚 6:47AM miss you too

The sides of your eyes couldn't help but lighten at the sweet message your boyfriend left. Aemond was unorthodox, everyone who crossed his path had a horror story about him — but when he was with you, he was kind and wonderful. He made you feel like a rebel, a girl who had a choice about her body.

You lean on the sides of Daemon's car, waiting patiently for him to get his things. A part of your heart ached to be perfect. You needed a man who could treat you like a woman.

That same scent of orchids enters your nostril, Daemon was standing beside you — watching as you placed your phone inside of your purse. "Did I keep you waiting?" he asked, you shake your head, eyes trailing back down to the hems of his shirt. He was adorable.

"Why is shirt always untucked?" you chuckle while securing the purse in your left-shoulder. You were quick to leap in his direction, adjusting his shirt until they were carefully tucked inside of his pants. "I was rushing." he scratches his nape before holding the briefcase in his right hand, with your coffee in his left.

His bag was heavy, but still he was able to ask: "Do you need help with your purse?" he offers in a true gentleman fashion, but you swiftly declined his offer. "I'm alright, thank you." you smile, reaching for the door-handle — but he interrupts you, opening it first.

You were able to take a quick view of his covered hands. His suit was made of cashmere, which left you in awe of his neatness. He was cool — so fucking cool that you wanted to be like him when you grow up. "Thank you," you mumble again while slithering through the thin glass doors. "Always welcome," he replies in that velvety voice that left your body trembling for more.

He stares at his watch again, and you notice that it was one of his little quirks. "It's a little early for class, do you want to go to the office? I could give you the year calendar." he offered and you decided to agree to him. There wasn't anything to lose — and you were quite curious as to what his office looked like. If his outside looks reflected his inner personality, then his office would be clean and it would smell like coffee.

"Yeah sure," you smile while he begins to walk in the East Wing. You follow shortly after, acting like his little shadow. Your eyes browse the interior of the East Wing — you've never been here before, the building was dedicated to the kindergarteners and elementary students. You were shocked to see his office at this far corner of the building. There were flower murals everywhere, smiley faces and drawings of little kids plastered outside of their classrooms.

"Apologies for all the drawings on of my door." he chuckles while opening the hard-wooden door. You were right — his room did smell like coffee, black coffee to be exact. He was holding the drink that you made him in his left hand, taking occasional proud sips. "No, they're kinda cute." you mused as he closed the door from behind you. It was a picture of a dragon, and the stains at its sides told you that the picture was old.

"That was actually done by one of Rhaenyra's boys." he pointed at. the dragon, and you couldn't help but feel a memory coming up. "You love them very much, don't you?" you ask, eyes lingering a little longer on the painting. He didn't tell you what the dragon's name was, but you knew that it was Caraxes. "Of course, but don't tell them that." he laughs while opening his drawer, searching through thick files hidden out of sight.

You take a small breath, maybe it was the time to talk about the dreams. "The dragons, are they important?" you managed to question and he hums softly. "To us?" he asks rhetorically. "Well, they are — our family used to be dragon-riders, we came from Old Valyria. We knew each other very well, but you were different from us — more powerful, I think." he mumbles as he continued browsing through the rows of papers on his desk.

Your eyes didn't take a second off the painting. His voice echoed through your mind 'our family'. What did he mean by that?

"What do you mean by that?" you inquire while turning in his direction. He was fair in the face, cheeks filled with youth but his eyes were another story — they had thousands of years behind them. "You should find it out yourself." he replies bluntly, not knowing if he could spend another moment around you without flinging himself around your arms. You nod your head, realizing that it could've been a harsh topic for him.

"What was I like?" you ask while welcoming yourself to one of his leather sofas. A faint smile ghosts his face. "You were like water, happiness was brimming — overfilling you." he explains, eyes twinkling at the thought of you.

You weren't an expert in non-verbal communication, but you knew that it was love in his eyes. He was in love — and your heart wanted you to feel the same, but it was wrong. "And what were you like?" you question with a raised eyebrow, almost waiting for his subtle reaction. "A boat." he replied with a small chuckle.

Fuck. Your mind couldn't help but flash back to that kiss on top of the boat. He was real smug for bringing that up. "I was always floating over your happiness. Whatever you felt, I felt it. I flowed with your waves, like a real friend." he ponders, taking out a colored piece of paper. "A real friend," you repeated, and he handed you the small piece of paper.

"Here's the calendar. If you ever want to add an event, just tell me." he pauses briefly and that same smile returns to his face.

"I'll always be here for you."

———

Time was nothing compared to what you were feeling today. A sick feeling was creeping up your stomach, it was akin to butterflies but you knew that feeling this way about your boyfriend's uncle wasn't right. It was wrong. Very wrong. It was lunchtime, and you were eating your food inside of the classroom.

It was something that Aemond packed for you the night before. Three pieces of large onigiris, and some random vegetables. The brothers Aegon and Viserys were classmates despite their age-gap being a 2-years and a half. Much to your dismay, they were both arguing and making a lot of noise.

"Don't worry about duties, Eggy — you're not going to be student body president this year." Viserys retorted smugly while taking a bite out of his sandwich. It didn't take a stranger to realize that they were both siblings, they had the same icy-blonde hair and purple eyes, there was also an aura of cockiness that you believed they learned from their older uncle.

"You say this every year, but you always lose." he teases while taking a bite of his own sandwich. Their lunches were identical. Everything about them was identical, even their ambition to become student leaders. "It's different this year, because we're in the same grade now." Viserys retorted and they continued bickering in front of you.

You sigh, browsing through the text book and continuing to eat your lunch. It was nothing but sibling rivalry, and it was break-time which meant that they had enough time to tease each other. "We're in the same grade because you cheated on your test." Aegon accused earning an eye-roll from his younger brother.

"At least I passed the fucking test." the boy chomped down on his sandwich, Aegon's eyes were quick to pulse in your direction — asking you if you heard his brother curse. "Miss, did you hear that?" he stood up, walking to your desk. You stare at them.

Yes, you heard it.

"Viserys, language." you scold, and Aegon returns to his seat with a smug grin. Aegon II and Aegon III had a lot of similarities, one of it being their ability to get on their siblings nerves without effort. Your heart pumped furiously, an empty hole was residing inside of it — you knew deep inside that there was something missing from you. A sibling? A lover? Who knows?

next chapter>>

taglist: @namelesslosers @immyowndefender @ammo2022 @perihelioneclipse @gracielikegrapes @joliettes @thetrueblackheart @marytargaryen @ammo23 @sanzu-s

[applepyesworld]

Fall Apart (daemon x reader)

You know from the start his heart is not for you. people say love is blind, but you are not that blind to see that the person you love, your husband, his heart is for your sister.

The smile that he give to your sister was never there when you were with him, his eyes that only focused and shone when he saw your sister, the little touches, you saw it all. But what can you do when the person who gets your husband's attention is not just a common whore but your own sister, a sister born from the same womb as you.

It's been 7 months since your marriage to daemon, and it hasn't been a day since he looked at you like he saw your sister

You hear footsteps getting closer to your room. You know it must be daemon, your husband.

"Where are you from?" you asked without turning to him.

"Viserys called me to talk about war" he answered nonchalantly as he started to undress.

"Is the war going on in rhaenyra's room? the sound of the war is very pleasent to hear" you said holding back your tears.

You hear his steps approaching, he is standing in front of you watching you.

"You know?" he asked.

"I'm not blind and deaf, my husband, even blind and deaf people know you have feelings for her" you replied still looking down, not daring to look at the person in front of you. You are afraid when you see his face all the defenses you made will fall.

"Are you going to kill me? like you did to lady royce?" you ask. Immediately daemon's hand grip your chin tightly.

"Am I that contemptible in your eyes? How could I hurt you, you who have the same blood as mine" he asked angrily.

"Then you have a heart to hurt my heart? You sleep with my sister and you don't care to hide it, but you never sleep with me, I married you, I'm your wife daemon not Rhaenrya" you shouted angrily, your defenses fall, tears flowed while looking at the person in front of you .

"So that's your problem? You're acting like this because you don't get fucked like a whore?" he said.

"Whore? whore you say? it's not about that daemon, it's about trust. if you love rhaenya so much why didn't you marry her from the start? why hurt me like this?" you ask, you can't take it anymore.

"Why? maybe if your father wasn't stubborn and married me to rhaenyra from the start I wouldn't have bothered marrying you" his answer made you cry even more.

"Never mind. Stop talking about unimportant things like this" he said starting to leave you.

"It's not too late you know?" you said quietly without looking at daemon.

"It's not too late for what? I told you I wouldn't-"

"It's not too late to annul this marriage" you cut in

"What did you say?" he asked

"I know war doesn't take away your hearing. Let's just annul it. I'm tired and you must be tired of pretending. I'm not pregnant either, so you don't have the responsibility to stay. Don't worry when this marriage ends, I'll ask dad to leave. Far from in front of you and rhaenyra" you answered, firmly with your decision

"You? Don't you care about gossip about you? Are you ready to be humiliated? What about your reputation" he asked angrily

"Why should I be ashamed? I'm ashamed enough of gossip about my husband who is in his in-laws' room every night, or my husband is the father of his in-law's children. I can hold back gossip like that, why can't I be for other gossip" you answered while starting to look into your husband's eyes. You always thought those eyes were the most beautiful and calming eyes, but now all you can see are the eyes is emptyness.

"If you think you can afford it. It's up to you. I don't care, just do what you want. There's nothing to lose for me" he answered lightly and left you alone in your room.

...

"Are you sure my child?" asked your father, King Viserys. you can see he is worried.

"It's okay dad, after all, I know that person's heart is with someone else. This marriage shouldn't have been done from the start" you answered slowly.

"If that's what you want, but promise to send letters often" your father said.

...

"You're really going?" ask someone behind you, rhaenyra.

"Yeah, finally I can be free from the boring married life" you answered, not daring to look at her. You are afraid that if you look at her, you will hate her more.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"No need to apologize, I was the wrong one. You were meant to be with him from the start, I was the only one who thought he would look at me the way he look at you"

"Please don't go" she begged.

"Then being pathetic here? Do you despise me so much that you want to see me suffer. You haven't had enough sleep with my husband behind me, and now you're asking me to keep watching?" you asked angrily.

"I-"

"Never mind, I let him go for you, you should be happy sister" you replied before leaving her.

...

On the day you left to Winterfall, you were accompanied by your father.

"I hope you find happiness there my child" said your father while hugging you.

"Thank you dad, I always pray for the best for you" you said then boarded to the ship.

...

"I guess it's just you and me now. I'm sorry that you'll never see your dad, I'm sorry because I know your dad doesn't seem to want you" you said softly while holding your belly.

[raybyanothername]

The Dornish War AU

So... @arraxapologist gave me an excuse to ramble and @idontevenknowhowtolife said I can have a chapter update if I write this up.

I may not get around to actually writing this AU, but I have a lot planned. The Polycule of Power would probably feature to some degree or another if I did it properly, but my notes are all on the canon ships (at least for the older gen, Aegon ends that trend real quick).

It would start, as so many good AUs do, with someone trying to kill Viserys. ^^'

At Rhaenyra and Laenor's wedding tourney, the festivities get interrupted by an attempted assassination of the king. So yay! Joffrey lives! ...for now. Bing, bang, boom, rushed nuptials done, we move to the war bit.

They track the attempt back to Dorne, which is a bit salty about the Stepstones even though they were not * directly* involved in the conflict. Various threats are levied. Political drama. Etc!

War declared!

Now, Lyonel Strong is Hand at this point and Otto is off in Oldtown advising his nephew who just became Lord Hightower. That may relate directly to the breakdown in diplomatic relations... 😏

Essentially, Otto is in charge of the Hightower forces at this point. He and his older sons are literally the ones on the front lines in that region. He and Boremund Baratheon, who is still alive at this point, are coordinating all the ground forces. Borros gets to live his best life smashing heads a la his descendent Robert.

Meanwhile, Corlys is using his foothold in the Stepstones to establish a blockade of Dorne. A rather major escalation that pisses the Martells off Whether they were involved in the assassination is very much up in the air, but they're gonna act like they're innocent regardless cause they're not idiots.

Rhaenyra is playing her best Visenya and arguing that they either need to conquer Dorne once and for all, or let the matter go. Alicent is lowkey telling Viserys the same thing, but with more emotion cause she just found out she's pregnant again (Yay Aemond!). She and Rhaenyra are in a very rocky truce situation here. Very stand-offish, but accidentally united.

The accidentally is very important because while Alicent is fretting about her children being in danger, Rhaenyra is leveraging the fact that her father has other heirs now to convince him to send her and Laenor to the front.

"I'm to be their queen. Their protector. If I cannot protect my own family, I don't deserve the crown."

Somewhere, Daemon's spidey sense is going off the moment Laenor hands Rhaenyra a sword. Viserys sees her training with her husband and agrees, giving her final say over all troop movements on the front lines. Rhaenys goes to Storm's End. Daemon to Oldtown. Laenor to Hightower. The idea is that Rhaenyra would go back and forth between the three, checking in with ground forces and coordinating with the Lords of each.

Are any of them actually in those castles? Eh. Sometimes. The dragonriders are supporting the armies, scouting far and wide, burning the border, etc. Rhaenyra probably spends as much time coordinating with Ormund Hightower as she does keeping Otto and Daemon from killing each other.

This is the era in which Otto realizes Rhaenyra could actually be a fantastic queen. With some help... of course. He's still Otto after all. XD

During one of the battles (probably the future location of Summerhall, because I can), Joffrey is killed. Rhaenyra spends the night comforting Laenor. Things happen... and now she's flying back and forth across the frontlines while pregnant.

Alicent goes into labor when she hears about that... cause Aemond is born early in every universe.

The war continues. Rhaenyra burns the fuck out of Yronwood before she ends up giving birth in one of the camps. Syrax's roars are terrifying both sides. Especially because they are joined by another dragon...

😎 Laena and Vhagar were not about to sit out a chance to conquer Dorne okay? She was flying with the Velaryon fleet mostly, very effective deterent Vhagar. With Rhaenyra giving birth, she flies across the Sea of Dorne to lend her support.

Yronwood is having an exceptionally bad few days there. Something, something, Laena and Daemon hit it off while waring and whoring. She drops some hints about her betrothal... Daemon dones his murder hoodie. Sealord's son is out of the picture. Rhaenys and Laenor have a shovel talk with Daemon while Rhaenyra presents Lord Corlys with his first grandson.

Lord Boremund totally cackles about the boy looking more like Jocelyn and Rhaenys than Laenor or Corlys. Otto says something about Jacaerys looking more like his mother.

"The Arryns will surely be overjoyed to see their blood so prominent in the young prince's features."

The Dornish are wiley though. (I love this about them) They're not making this war easy, even with the dragons. After all, the OG Conquerors had dragons too, and they couldn't make the Dornish submit. The commanders fight more without Rhaenyra there to keep them united (*cough* Daemon and Otto *cough*) so she has to leave Jacaerys with Alicent (who is now pregnant again... Rhaenyra is definitely side eyeing her father on that one).

If the Dornish thought Rhaenyra was bad before... she's got a very adorable baby she wants to get back to now. It's full court press. The dragons are relentless. Vhagar is having the time of her life.

Eventually, an offer comes from the Prince of Dorne to have his eldest daughter marry Jacaerys as a means to end the war. Given the girl is the man's heir and Jacaerys is hers... Rhaenyra is not so keen to have the girl lose out on her inheritance. She negotiates for Aegon instead, with the girl being fostered in King's Landing until their wedding.

The night the peace treaty is signed, Lucerys is conceived. He'll end up betrothed to a granddaughter of the Lord of Yronwood before his first birthday, to cement the treaty. (Aegon and Luke are the Daenaerys and Daeron II in this AU... for reasons).

Rhaenyra returns to King's Landing and conspires with Alicent for Jace and Helaena to be betrothed eventually. Daeron still fosters as Oldtown, but he ends up betrothed to a Manderly girl. When Joffrey comes along (the result of a night Laenor blames on Qarl and Rhaenyra blames Harwin for) he goes to the Vale, because Lady Arryn needs an heir... and he is Aemma's grandson...

Something, something Baela and Aemond are utter terrors together. No one is shocked when they run off to Essos together. Except Daemon... Daemon is surprised. Daemon is not happy. Corlys and Otto are laughing at him together over a bottle of Velaryon whiskey in High Tide.

That leads to Rhaena marrying Lyonel.

The Starks have 100% noticed that the Targaryens are marrying into the most influential families and are keeping their heads down cause Cregan is a young lord. His uncle would like to remain his regent. Jace and Cregan will join their houses later though so its fine.

On the other hand... the Lannisters are frothing at the mouth about being left out. Well... Rhaenyra is still salty about *someone* implying Aegon should be heir. So when she finally has a daughter, right before her coronation at that, she ain't looking at Casterly Rock.

Her Visenya obviously deserves to be forever doted upon and surrounded by beauty, so she ends up the next Lady of Highgarden.

I've gotten distracted from the plot here a bit... but whatever. The Dance is avoided. Rhaenyra ends up queen and Aegon is living his best life getting drunk off Dornish wine with his Dornish wife. Sunfyre blends in perfectly with the desert sand when he naps in the summer.

All is well.

Jaehaera is Jacaerys' heir, because I said so.

Good night! XD

[darklinaforever]

DAEMON AS FATHER (Again yes)

Hello, we meet again for an article concerning the paternity of Daemon Targaryen. And yes, this subject will never cease to be debated. A subject that would not even have taken place if the writers had kept the scenes of affection between Daemon and his daughters. But what do you want, things go by the wayside in the editing room and nothing can be done about it. The only things we can hope for is to find some of these deleted scenes in the dvd, and that they won't do the same bullshit for season 2.

To be clear, this article is not intended to prove that Daemon is the best father in the world, or even more specifically a good father. I remember that no father so far in HOTD is an example. Aside from Daemon, we have Otto, horrible but who clearly loves his daughter in his twisted way, and Viserys who has, let's just say, fucked up for a while, but has tried his best to make up for it, albeit not always with a great achievement, and loving his daughter unconditionally. Maybe even a little too much, going so far as to call her his "only child".

This article is mostly there to dismantle the criticisms that Daemon doesn't care about his children, ignores them, and doesn't love them in a BROAD sense. I'll address Rhaena's case at the end more specifically, but she'll still be present in my examples dismantling the initial criticism. Know that there will probably be repetitions in my words between this part and Rhaena's part as well.

With that, let's go! Well, let's be clear and realistic, if Daemon doesn't care about his children, ignores them and doesn't love them in the broad sense of those terms, here's what he will NOT do:

Learn High Valyrian in Baela.

Lean forward to receive Baela's goodnight kiss.

Pay attention to Laena and Rhaenyra's Baby Bump. (caress, kiss)

Would not have himself announced the death of Laena to his daughters. Because yes, it's very clear that he did in that rooftop scene, showing that he cares about them, Rhaena included. If Daemon didn't care, he could have let anyone else among the servants break the news to them, or if he only cared about Baela, take her aside, which he didn't do. Also, more broadly, he wouldn't look sad for his daughters over Laena's death, wishing he could console them but not knowing what to do, as evidenced by his nervous hand movement. Daemon doesn't look indifferent in this scene. He mostly looks sad and annoying not knowing what to do with this situation. (although we know that normally the scene should have ended with a hug…)

To worry about his daughters about the idea of ​​leaving Pentos, the place where they have always lived.

He wouldn't be so happy that Syrax laid 3 eggs for his children with Rhaenyra. (Seriously, this must be the moment when Daemon is the happiest in the series, so much so that this moment shocked a lot of people, including me)

He will not stroke Viserys II's hair, nor try to comfort him when he starts crying.

He won't defend his stepsons.

He wouldn't particularly welcome his children getting married. Seriously, he raises his glass with a grin, which again, isn't necessary, and doesn't make sense to Daemon unless he really means it. Indeed, Daemon was never shown as a hypocritical character.

He wouldn't stop the fight between his stepsons and Aemond, and then more particularly put himself between the latter and ALL his family! Because yes, it's not just Jace and Luke behind Daemon at that moment finally. There is also Rhaenyra, Baela and Rhaena. It is a very symbolic scene as for the future relationship of Daemon and Aemond, future rivals / enemies and the greatest respective asset in their family that they will represent and defend respectively until death. Daemon is therefore represented in this scene as being the defender of his family, this family therefore including Baela and Rhaena.

He wouldn't be devastated when baby Visenya died.

Wouldn't look in the direction of his daughters at baby Visenya's funeral, shortly after the knight swears to them that he will never have children. I don't know if you realize the symbolic power of this scene. Daemon has just lost a child, more specifically a girl, and when the knight swears he will NEVER have children, soon after Daemon looks up and the next shot shows us that specific part of the crowd where prominently finds Rhaena and Baela. It may seem trivial at first, but when you know that after this event Daemon will indeed never have children again, it is particularly impactful. Not only is this a harbinger of the future, but it shows us that Daemon cares for his daughters in his own way.

He wouldn't be sad if Lucerys died.

Good ! Now that all these points have been stated, let's talk more specifically about Rhaena.

In episode 6, we meet Rhaena, Daemon's second daughter, who unlike her sister has still not seen her dragon egg hatch. The little one therefore seems full of uncertainty, even going so far as to place herself below the other members of her family, judging herself less important because she has no dragon. In that same scene, she also states that Daemon is ignoring her. However, before taking Rhaena's words at face value, it's important to remember that it's very common for a child this age to feel ignored by a parent, or to think they're less loved than their siblings, especially if the child in question has a particular insecurity. Which, here, is the case for Rhaena.

Another important detail, Laena defends Daemon to her daughter, saying that he does his best.

Right after, we witness a conversation between Laena and Daemon, finally letting us understand as a spectator the extent of the state of our rogue prince, who is actually in a very bad state. Here Daemon is self-exiled, brooding, burying himself in books, booze, barely sleeping, trying to be content with his current life and family, but missing Viserys and especially Rhaenyra, which throws him in a deep depression.

I don't think he dislikes Rhaena because she doesn't have a dragon. It's stupid to say that. Mainly for two reasons. First, Daemon himself had not yet claimed a dragon at the age of Rhaena, and then Viserys himself, I remind you, does not have a dragon, and yet we all know that Daemon undeniably and unconditionally loves his great brother.

Also, Viserys, in addition to being his older brother, was also his father figure for much of his life. It is therefore normal that Daemon particularly likes him. Even if it can also explain Daemon's difficulties in being a father, in addition to his depression, in view of his model. Let's not forget after all that Viserys made mistakes, and wasn't the best father or brother in the world.

As for Daemon, let's be clear, he's always been a chaotic being, having trouble expressing his emotions properly. But with its current state, it must be even worse. We also know that Daemon clearly has trouble managing (or even not at all) what he can't control, and or what gives him an emotional overflow. So, I think Daemon probably doesn't really know how to comfort Rhaena about her lack of a dragon, or even how to properly broach this topic with her. That's why when Laena finds the right words to comfort Rhaena, she automatically tells her that's what Daemon would tell her as well.

The fact that Baela's egg has hatched presumably allows Daemon to facilitate a connection with his daughter. From what we've seen in the series so far, I think Baela's impulsiveness is the one who looks the most like Daemon, which must have helped a lot in their relationship as well.

But to say that he loves Rhaena less than Baela, ignores her or mistreats her worse (according to some) because we haven't seen direct scenes between them is ridiculous.

In episode 8 we see Daemon being affectionate with his son Viserys II, but not really with Aegon III when he introduces them to his brother along with Rhaenyra. Does that mean Daemon likes Aegon III less than Viserys II? Don't care about him, ignore him, or mistreat him? I do not think so.

Also, I remind you, Daemon himself announced the death of Laena to his daughters. Even if he clearly did not handle this announcement in the best way, it nevertheless shows that he cares as much for Rhaena as for Baela. If that hadn't been the case, he could easily have, because nothing was stopping him, put Rhaena away and only cared about Baela, which he didn't.

Again, in episode 7, when Viserys offers Daemon to return to King's Landing, the latter replies that Pentos is his house and that of his children, thus including once again Rhaena, emphasizing that he worries about his daughters' possible feelings about being uprooted from the place where they have always lived. Again, if Daemon was only driven by a selfish desire to go back to hiding in Pentos (and I mean only, because there's probably a bit of that involved), he wouldn't have included his daughters in his refusal to return to King's Landing. It wasn't necessary. Not to mention that Daemon has never been characterized as a hypocritical character, on the contrary. He is a character who says what he thinks bluntly, and above all who never seeks excuses for his actions.

As for episode 8, it's true that we don't see much of Rhaena in the episode, but from the little we saw of her, she seemed quite happy and content with her life, with no apparent grudge against her father. She even sits next to Daemon at dinner. An interesting detail in my opinion, since she was not in episode 6, where she felt she was precisely ignored by the latter.

During dinner, Daemon also shows his approval and joy for the weddings between his daughters and stepsons, Jace and Luke. (Rhaena is therefore always included)

Then (for the umpteenth time) we have Daemon coming between Aemond and ALL of his family. Because yes, even if he basically intervened to prevent yet another fight between Lucerys, Jacaerys and Aemond, in the end he is still between Aemond and ALL his family. Not just boys. It's not just Lucerys and Jacaerys behind Daemon, but also Rhaenyra, Rhaena, and Baela. This is important to note, knowing that Aemond becomes the strongest enemy of the opposing camp later and it is Daemon who will face him. So here we have Daemon, placed (as always) as protector of his family, Rhaena included. I like this scene all the more that Rhaenyra, while Daemon serves as a shield against Aemond, sends all the children back to their rooms. In short, it is a strong parental moment for Daemyra.

Besides, it's also interesting to see how the children of Daemon and Rhaenyra are different from those of Alicent. We see that all their children seem quite happy and fulfilled, unlike those of Alicent who are all in a rather deplorable mental state. This element alone proves that they were good parents, their family seeming to be united in the best possible way.

As for episode 10, I saw some say that Rhaena was forced into being a cupbearer, therefore in a position of servitude, by Daemon. And that's stupid. There is no evidence that Daemon forced his daughter to be a cupbearer, especially since Rhaena doesn't seem to have a problem being one. She isn't ignored either as Rhaenyra invites her with her to the council table, as does Baela, and Daemon doesn't seem to have any disapproval about it. And given his behavior throughout the episode, if Daemon had had anything to say about including his daughters at the council table, he would have done so, or at least made his disapproval felt, which is another times, was not the case. It's also worth noting the double standard here, as Viserys also named Rhaenyra cupbearer and I doubt it was for lack of love, it just had nothing to do with it. And Viserys, unlike Daemon, has already made his daughter, whom he named as his heir, feel that her active word/presence, other than serving as a cupbearer to the council, was not really desired. And at least Daemon broke the news of Laena's death to his daughters himself. Unlike Viserys with Rhaenyra who learned it from the staff and got ignored days after that.

Also, I want to recall this wonderful scene or Daemon, at baby Visenya's funeral, shortly after the knight swears he will never have a child, looks up in one direction, and the camera pans out automatically on a specific part of the crowd where his daughters are, Rhaena included again. When you know the book, the symbolic power of this scene is quite crazy. As Daemon has just lost a baby, more specifically a girl, and as the knight swears never to have children, Daemon's gaze finally falls on Rhanea and Baela. It may seem trivial at first, but when you know that after this event Daemon will indeed never have children again, well, yes, it is powerful. Not only does this subtly foreshadow the future, but it shows us that Daemon really cares about his daughters in his own way. He has just lost his last child, his only daughter with Rhaenyra, but look at the first ones he had, those that made him a father.

Then, to those who say Daemon is a bad father for not discussing Drifmark with Baela is nonsense. Drifmark never belonged to Baela, Corlys never named her heiress, nothing was stolen from her. Daemon was going to do what? To oppose the legitimate succession when it was not his right? Refuse his son-in-law to obtain his inheritance granted since long before his birth? Also, I'm sure if Daemon had done it, others would have used it to support this stupid opinion that Daemon is a blood supremacist. Then small detail are very important, Baela does not care about Drifmark, it is even she who wrote to Daemon to warn him of Vaemond's plans. Especially since she loses nothing in the affair since she becomes the future queen of the seven crowns.

So for the thousandth time, yes I am sure that Daemon loves and cares about his children, his daughters included, otherwise he wouldn't say and do everything I listed earlier. Sincerely hoping that the relationship between Daemon and his daughters will be more developed in the future, without being cut in the editing this time, as well as simply the characters of Baela and Rhaena, whose scenes outside of Daemon have also been cut during editing, which particularly horrifies me.

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 11

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @sweethoneyblossom1 @aemondx

Gif by @imagine-all-the-things

The court is afire with Vaemond’s case.

He outright accuses her of very true things and seeks to usurp the legal heirs of Corlys Velaryon to make himself Lord of the Tides.

Not content with being Jacaerys’ regent should Corlys die prematurely, nor placing Baela’s claim forward, he looks to use his son’s goodfamily to get what he wants.

Everyone waits with bated breath for the hearing, especially when her arrival is that of a dirty secret being smuggled into court.

Nymeria of the Rhoyne had been smuggled into the Sandship in a Rhonynish rug, Rhaenyra half expected to be told to be told to go through the servant’s halls.

But the smallfolk had still come to see them go down the road to the red keep causing problems for the guard who assumed no one would show.

Aemma hugs her tightly when they arrive. Her usual joy and sunny disposition shrouded behind clouds.

Her poor little girl forced to suffer here without ladies she could trust.

But not anymore, Rhaenyra will be here to protect her as she should have done much sooner.

“My sweet girl, it will all be better now.” Mother says as she kisses the top of her head. “Mother is here now.”

Daemon gives her a sympathetic look, sure he and Aemma butted heads, but he’d kill for her, just as any kinsman would.

“Anything you need us to do, we will do it.” Rhaenyra whispers hoping it is murder.

“I need you to ask the king to dissolve my marriage.” Aemma whispers in High Valyrian,

When Aemma leaves them as they wait for Alicent, after their visit with father, they speak about it.

“Father already thinks Aemond is the one wed to Aemma. Infertility is a reason to end a marriage, especially a political one like this one.” Rhaenyra comments and Daemon nods, processing what they managed to learn so far.

Aemma had not been able to speak about it much, except to say that she loved Aemond and that he felt the same.

If he had not taken up Aegon on his offer, who knows who he would have chosen, Aemma had said not wishing to think about it more.

The one to suggest Aemma cuckold Aegon just as Laenor suggested Rhaenyra cuckold him, was Alicent.

Alicent who had hoped for leverage and a reason to make Aemma loyal to her cause.

Aegon had chosen his brother, the same brother who has been in love with Aemma for some time.

Something she had not expected.

To expose Aemma was to kill Aemond, as much as she loathed them, she loved her children more.

“I suppose if the High Septon refused to do as he’s told, I know who we should remove from the portrait.” Daemon comments as if kinslaying were not a greater sin than infidelity.

“I would rather we have the marriage annulled with father’s backing. The High Septon can deny a princess, but not the king, especially now that he knows Aegon cannot sire heirs. For my sake, I ask you to stay your sword, valzȳrys.” She said squeezing his shoulder.

It takes far too long to be rid of company and have a moment alone with her.

The arrival of her family had set him on edge, and he needed her if he were to make it through this day without killing her brothers.

Despite knowing the strong lads are no real threat, the sight of them has his blood running hot.

He’d do anything to be able to have little Luke feel everything he did, to take his eye as it would have been done had his mother not been Rhaenyra.

But sweet Aemee would hate him if she’d find him taking what was owed to him.

When his blood thirst threatens to reach its peak, he seeks out his woman.

His Aemma, the only one he has wanted to the point of madness.

Aemma who opens like a flower just for him.

You are my only happiness in this fucking place, she had said as she asked him to leave with her.

Aemma who he dreams of fucking on the Iron Throne with her belly swollen with their child.

Not one Aegon will claim as his, one Aemond can proudly call his son.

A prince, a son named Aemon after Rhaenys’ father and because it is a variation of his own name.

“I need you, jorrāeliarzo.” He kissed her insistently as he maneuvered her onto the small table where they broke their fast just this morning.

Aemond has his beloved tearing his clothes off as he spreads her legs and rucks up her skirts and shift.

“I need you more, valzȳrys.” She says using the word she only uses with great sarcasm with Aegon.

They are lit by the same fire. Cannot feel close enough nor satisfied if it isn’t with each other.

“I have asked mother to have the king end my marriage.” Aemma says nipping at his earlobe.

She loves biting him, marking his skin with bites and scratches because that is the only way she can claim him.

And he loves teasing her, working her up until she cries out for him to fuck her.

“Truly?” he asks, pausing to her annoyance.

Aemma has asked her mother to help her get her marriage annulled.

And whatever Rhaenyra wants, she gets.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow the king orders the High Septon to have Aemma and Aegon’s marriage dissolved on account of Aegon’s inability to provide heirs.

They can marry in a moon if it happens.

As Aegon’s heir, he is in a better position to keep the peace given there will be no heirs between him and the throne.

“Yes, the High Septon is coming here anyways, why not ask him at dragon-point whether we have the grounds to seek an annulment?” She is happy in ways she has not been since she discovered the truth.

She has not truly forgiven him for lying to her, but the hope of stepping out of the shadows and into the sun has him knowing it won’t be long now.

“We will be husband and wife by the next moon, my sweet Aemee.” And what better to celebrate than making their first born?

Who knew knowing her marriage finally comes to an end would make her want to be a mother?

A mother to a trueborn child sired by the man she will marry once her previous marriage is undone.

Won’t matter if little Aemon or little Aenya comes eight moons after, everyone knows the babe would be Aemond’s who will have been her husband in the eyes of the gods and men.

“Ābrazȳrys,” the word rolls of his tongue like the sweetest honey.

Wife, gods, she could get used to this.

“Valzȳrys.” Aemma laughs quietly as they fixed their clothes as best as they could.

“I love you.” She says as they kiss one last time before returning to the world outside her bedroom.

Aemma has no idea why she said it, it just felt so natural, like everything does with him.

She never gets to hear it back, when her stepsisters and cousins burst into the room unannounced.

[alicentes]

People really be accusing Alicent of elder abuse because in the few scenes we saw of them she got frustrated with him, yelled at him and stormed off a couple of times. Now I can see how out of context watching a frail, dying man get lashed out at can perhaps seem abusive but the thing is, we do have context here and we know that Alicent was 14 (four and ten!!) when her father had her befriend the king, 15 when the king publicly declared her as his soon to be wife (something she had no say in and seemingly wasn’t even asked before hand), This was after the king asked her not to tell Rhaenyra about their friendship because “she wouldn’t understand” translation: he knew secretly meeting Alicent was wrong but he liked the attention off the pretty young girl (he later said he knew Otto sent Alicent there as a distraction, proving he knew Alicent had no romantic interest in him. After they marry, Alicent endures years of marital rape had three pregnancies back to back from the ages of 15 to 18/19, was mocked by viserys whilst he was drunk for trying to be a good host to daemon and do her duty as queen, felt like a prisoner her role as wife and queen - a role she never wanted, we saw her be woken up in the middle of the night, not long after having a baby, and told that the king had summoned her for sex, then we see an uncomfortable marital rape scene where young Alicent is clearly uncomfortable and dissociating, and yet she still plays the good and dutiful wife role which only seems to start to change when her father is fired and she is scared for her children. What we mostly see is that she is cold towards him as her anger and unhappiness has spiralled over the years.

Now let’s talk about viserys, he’s grown on fans over the past six episodes and I understand why, he brings some good, needed humour to the show and he does love and support Rhaenyra and her illegitimate children unconditionally but people seem to have amnesia and have gone as far to call him feminist for continuing to support Rhaenyras claim. But let’s take a look back at the bad things viserys has done shall we: the first episode we meet an exhausted pregnant aemma who has had multiple miscarriages and stillbirths but is pregnant again because viserys insists they keep trying for a boy because he’s desperate for a male heir. Then when Aemma is going to die in childbirth he is given the choice to do a c section which will kill Aemma who is still conscious and lucid, but may save the babe, now Aemma repeatedly objections and begs them to stop but the brutal scene of Aemmas painful death continues and this is the wife he loved. He clearly didn’t consider the impact of teenage Alicent having to suffer the same complications, and complications are more likely in a girl not fully developed, Alicent still had three babies back to back, early in the marriage, because he enjoyed fucking his young wife I guess. The birth/death scene also had a lot of complaints from women because of how graphic it was and as a woman, I understand why but we were being shown how terrible it was and were supposed to realise how traumatic it was for Aemma and how Viserys was willing to put her through it for the small possibility of gaining a son. He eventually makes Rhaenyra (who didn’t feel like her father was ever happy with just her as his child) his heir but only after daemon publicly insults his dead son. Rhaenyra was chosen because he never planned to remarry and he would choose the daughter born out of love than the son he had to keep the lords of his back. Let’s not forget feminist dad over here is only king at the expense of a more qualified woman, and it’s not his fault he was chosen but he never expressed that Rhaenys deserved the throne being that she was a more qualified woman.

In conclusion, I don’t think Alicent is abusing viserys, I think she feels strong enough to fight back and show her feelings around because of his weakened state and I’m not saying it isn’t possible for the victim to become the abuser especially when their abuser becomes vulnerable and unable to fight back. But based on what we have seen I don’t think that is what is happening here. She’s angry and she’s been venting a lot, saying horrible things about Rhaenyra and her children, arguing with her husband but she has not been abusing the man she was sold to at 14. The closest abusive tendencies she’s shown was towards aegon when she grabbed his face and spoke to him in the intimidating way her father spoke to her at that age. It seems generational trauma runs deep, but that is a topic for another day.

[osovereign]

♚ ╼ ⟨ @iniquitousideals ⟩

“So, you’ve finally decided to come crawling back to me,”  Mithos advances toward Kratos slowly and -- given some time -- begins to circle him as a predator would its prey. Well, that wasn’t far off from the truth, was it? He despised humans, and the more Kratos was to hurt him, the closer he was to being thrown in with the lot of them. To never being trusted. To being despised. Once that was done, there was no going back.  It’s odd, as much as it had been claimed that he hated Kratos all this time, it still wasn’t the truth. He still held on to the tiniest shred of hope. One day, Kratos would believe in him. One day, he would stay. He would be his teacher again. He would be his father. He would believe in him.  “what happened this time? Did you not find what you were looking for? I’m beginning to think you enjoy toying with me, Kratos.”

         ❛     mithos i  ,   ❜ he needs to micromanage his words, kratos knew the consequences of having a tongue with to much bark and bite. the mannerisms of his first greatest delight, of his first greatest pride  and failure! circled him as a hunter did prey, as the strong did the weak. if tasked kratos could never stop writing aselia’s greatest epic about how its greatest savior became its villain, of how the supposed most holy city was filled with wild wicked creatures who resembled more daemon than human  he most of all. those whom lied as if it was a second skin upon their lips, a natural occurrence as telling the truth was to others.

even this age old man was akin to selling falsehoods as absolutes. talk about yourself, mask it as another. grasp death inside the grave you dug on-top your living corpse and watch as you fall deeper into your own darkness.  mentally, physically, emotionally, and perhaps some other fourth thing the half-elf kratos met, befriended, and cherished from four thousand years ago still lived buried underneath an aeons worth of distaste and hatred. lying had gotten him nowhere though. he needed to try a new approach, he wanted to do things differently this time. maybe... just maybe the wrongs of yesterday could be corrected and his makeshift found family could coexist with his blood. he needed it, desired it. craved it.  

     his strides ever confident, ever intimidating, ever fluid. he drops to his knees not far off from the blond man and absentmindedly fiddles with the sheath of his sword. physically, kratos made himself smaller but his spirit was that of a warrior, of a hero of yore. was it crawling back if he just wanted a piece of his heart back? it was not enough to follow another’s idealism and belief’s without question. he had learned this lesson the hard way ( full forced / full fledged genocide ): was it better to deceive or be deceived? he knew the answer, it didn’t even need to leave his lips.

        ❛     what i seek has long been found. i am simply trying to pick up the pieces as best a mere man can..   ❜ truth. honestly. even if it killed him, even if it led to the same conclusion. kratos would not know unless he tried and fuck, did this self loathing angel want to fucking try. ❛ stars could explode, aselia could cease to exist, and i may never correct all of my mistakes--  ❜ he pauses. licking his lips, palms digging crescent indents into his fists. ❛ but you, mithos: will never be a mistake to me. my most precious student, my friend. my first son. ❜

     the last words spoken on his tongue as a silent broken prayer. they’d had this talk a thousand times before. some ending in battle, all ending in seemingly betrayal. sometimes with yuan, but usually alone. if a higher being did exist and not one crafted of his own two hands then kratos had but one desire of it, one wish, one prayer: give him their happiness back.

[princesssszzzz]

I don't think they'd sacrifice Rhaenys or Jace's deaths just to give Daemon a villain moment though. Those characters die in very dramatic ways; in Rhaenys' case her death is practically half the characterisation we are given about her in the book and the only thing she gets to do in the war. If they want Daemon to do something terrible then he could be responsible for blood and cheese.

Before the show came out I would agree. After S1, they maybe would be willing to do that but who knows. I think Condal really wants to smack people over the head to show he’s a bad guy because he’s always getting defended. He was so annoyed by the reaction to the finale he might just add something crazy just to spite black stans. I don't have strong opinions about Daemon so I don’t care who he kills generally, I could just see why they would want him to kill Jace and have Jace's death be like the red wedding and he’s taken out by his own team member. They messed up by keeping Laenor alive bc at this point Daemon hasn’t done anything to show he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants. It’s all talk with him so far. He’s also been written as a solider for team black’s cause instead of his own. I don’t think Rhaenyra and Daemon want the same thing but as of right now they can benefit working together. He’s gonna kill greens and his emotions about his brother’s death will die down but the rest of the dance there’s no way his entire story is just wanting to kill Aemond. I think GRRM names him Rouge Prince because he’s supposed to go rouge instead of being a loyal soldier, especially for someone else’s kid to be king. If Ryan and Sara just want people to hate Daemon and not root for him, killing Jace would mean more than greens. He’s killing characters like Vaemond, random servant dude, Aegon’s kid no one really cares about them or will remember them by the time the show ends (the general audience it’s only the fandom that goes hard for fictional deaths) I really just see Alicent’s line dying off as a side quest for Daemon he hates them so much 😂😂 but the real mission here and importance is House Targaryen, the bloodline, and dragons and Jace gets in the way of that.

Aegon’s son dying is less about Daemon and more about Aegon’s motivations. That’s even the same for House Velaryon because they’re starting off with saying yeah we don’t care about Harwin’s sons being here but of course we’ll end off with a real Velaryon taking over Driftmark. I hope Rhaenys is done justice they already fucked her over 🙏 Anon if your team black brace yourself because the showrunners don’t like Daemon

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

So, I've been waiting for the perfect moment to re-read the new chapter because when I first did I was totally disassociated and just couldn't pay enough attention for more than five sentences BUT anyway I forced myself to read because the intrigue was KILLING ME. So far I haven't had the chance to read it in peace but fck it, I have to share my thoughts!

All those things aside, and for what my stupid overstimulated brain could remember/absorb... WOW I MEAN, for some reason I didn't though that the order to serve the tea came from Alicent!?!? I just thought it was Larys and his attempts to win the queen's favour. You know, like the fire at Harrenhall? Idk if I'm even making sense lol 🙃

It completely went over my head but it just makes so much sense when you think about her overall disapproval of the marriage. Put that together with her delusions of self righteousness and being this 'pious woman devoted to the faith and everything that's good and holy' and such and YES! This is her thinking she's "saving" babey somehow of the horrible burden it must be being married to Daemon. THE SAME train of thought of Ser Criston!?

I'm thinking Alicent inner monologue was like: -So if there's no consumation of the marriage it will make it easy to nullify... Okay, well, they did fuck,,, soo,,, umm, if they don't have any heirs then that'll make sinful-selfish-ugly Daemon dislike her and leave her and then she can finally be saved and redeemed by marrying a good man... Of course Viserys would allow it, even more if my father convinces him.-

And, Senna... She just completely disappointed me. I kinda get where she's coming from but girrrrlll that wasn't your choice to make! I'm a little conflicted because I don't want babey to lose another of her friends but that is just something that can't be ignored.

Oh and babey's confrontation with Alicent! And that slap! I loved it!

-I would rather be his whore than your saint.-

That line will forever be ingrained in my mind. It lives there rent free now. Whew.

So yeah, that was a ramble... I apologize for any mistakes, this must be unreadable. Heh

Thank you so much once again for this magnificent story! Lots of love to you and good luck with work!

-V

HHHHEEEEEYYYY, V!

Firstly, I am so sorry for how long it took me to get back to you on this one. Jeez. I suck. Secondly, I'm so glad you enjoyed this chapter, aaaah! It was one of the two (maybe three?) 'big reveals' of this story, and so I had to pump out a lot of dialogue for it. The next one is also a little dialogue-heavy, le sigh.

I totally get expecting someone else, not Alicent! It's been interesting to read what people were thinking before I posted the chapter, and while quite a few guessed Alicent, the reasoning at least caught people by surprise. I think she's one of those types of people who do heinous things for the sake of what she believes is right; in a way, this makes her so much more dangerous than those who know they're in the wrong. Senna was a letdown, but she was the only way I could sort of rationalise as to how Babey was getting dosed while all the way on Dragonstone. I could totally see Alicent manipulating this poor minor noblewoman into thinking the ONLY possible thing to do to 'save' her mistress is to prevent her having the children of a man famed for his various cruelties. We see Babey in a low point next chapter, cuz she's just a little bit done. Rhaenyra, Miriam, Senna, Alicent... all the people she thought were her friends are dying or betraying her, poor girl. BUT she's getting new ladies, AAAAAND the big sis reunion is COMING UP SOOOOOOOON! I'm so glad you enjoyed the slap, I wasn't expecting it to happen but it came bursting from my brain and fingers and I left it in there, lol. She deserved it, haha. I'm pretty sure that line - "I would rather be his whore than your saint" - was what I came up with before even writing that scene, so I built everything around it. It came to me randomly, but I'm certain I've been inadvertently inspired by Titanic (1997) in the writing of it.

Thank you so so much for reading, and for sharing your thoughts! Thrilled you liked it!

[thatgirlonstage]

I'd be very interested in a ficlet about the Witcher daemon AU you messaged me about a while back, if that's something you ever meant to actually write out. 👀👀👀 If not that, then, hmmm, some soft geraskier, maybe with this sentence from a prompt list that went around: "Is that my shirt?"

I got too into writing Sad Jaskier Hours + puppy therapy and the length got away from me but here is that inciting scene I talked about, in full prose

(And now that I’ve done this one scene I feel freer to do more stuff in this AU, so more later possibly)

Witcher & HDM fans please forgive me my lore sins, I have only seen the Netflix Witcher and I haven’t read HDM in like over decade, so please hand wave any wrongness as crossover changes

———

The words still stung.

They felt physical, still crawling over Jaskier’s skin like ants four days since he had come down the mountain. Whenever I find myself in a pile of shit, it’s you, shoveling it. He half expected to wake up to them tattooed across his arms like the mark of a pariah. “Stay away from this one. No one who knows him wants him around.”

Geralt was prickly and stubborn and rude and what friendship Jaskier got from him came quietly. It came in his perfect recollection of all the stories Jaskier told him, no matter how inconsequential or how much he professed to be annoyed by Jaskier’s prattling. It came in those rare, sardonic smiles Jaskier had gotten better at drawing out over the years. It came in his acquiescence to let Jaskier wash his hair whenever they could afford hot baths, in the yellow-eyed glare he sent anyone who tried to cheat Jaskier at cards, in the way his shoulders would relax and he would start humming along under his breath when Jaskier practiced music by their shared campfire. It came in the softest press of lips against his forehead, when Geralt finally came back from Yennefer’s the night after the djinn and thought Jaskier was asleep. Until the mountain, Jaskier had thought it came in the lack of any serious objection to his presence, in the way Geralt seemed to take it for granted that they would travel together for a while each time they ran across each other. Now, he was starting to wonder if he had misunderstood. He was starting to wonder if he had misunderstood a lot of things, and only imagined others.

He poked listlessly at his fire. His lute sat with his pack, untouched for a week. Kazia, his daemon, perched on a fallen log opposite him, preening her feathers for lack of anything else to do. Even she had been almost entirely silent the last four days, making none of her usual songbird chirps as she and Jaskier made their lonely way back—Jaskier wasn’t even sure where he was going. Away. That was all. Away.

Some rustling in the woods made his back stiffen. He tossed another log on the fire, hoping to deter whatever was out there. It had been a while since he’d camped this far out in the woods without Geralt to scare off anything that stalked the nights. He’d been so unable to face running into Yen or Geralt or even the gossip about them back in town that he’d just struck off into the wilderness. Hopefully that piece of stupidity wouldn’t be enough to actually kill him.

He held out a finger for Kazia, and she hopped onto it. He deposited her on his shoulder. “Fuck him, right?” he asked. Despite his best effort he found no flippancy to put into his voice, only bitterness.

“He didn’t mean it,” she said. “You know he didn’t.”

“No,” Jaskier said. He poked the fire, flipping over a log, sending a burst of sparks skyward. “I wish he didn’t mean it.” He leaned back, careful not to jostle Kazia on his shoulder, bracing his palms on the ground. Tilting his head up, he could see the light of a few stars, just managing to poke through the canopy. “I tried,” he said, and hated the crack in his voice. “I’ve been trying for so long but— what else could I have said? What else could I have done?”

She nuzzled her head against his cheek. “I don’t know, Jask. Maybe nothing. I’m sorry.”

He kept staring up at the stars. Silence fell again, Geralt’s final terrible words scraping him raw.

Witchers didn’t have daemons. When people said they felt nothing, had nothing human left in them, they pointed to that fact. You couldn’t possibly be human without a daemon. Even the likes of elves and dwarves had daemons. Witchers were monsters in the shell of something that had once been human.

Jaskier thought that was a load of horseshit. He hadn’t wavered on that point. Geralt had his own fears and feelings and wants like anyone else. Jaskier was just beginning to believe he might have misinterpreted what some of those feelings were.

He nudged Kazia to get off his shoulder and pulled his blankets up. Blankets, plural, because his own had proven woefully inadequate for the mountain and Geralt had, with a grumble, come over in the middle of the night to the miserably shivering Jaskier and dumped a thick, scratchy wool blanket over him, and when Jaskier had protested, Geralt had said it wasn’t cold enough for him to need it, and then Jaskier had forgotten he had it before he fled. Gave him a blanket, and then a day later screamed for fate to get Jaskier out of his life. Jaskier hadn’t quite managed to parse that yet. It hurt too much to look at.

“Do you expect me to keep watch?” Kazia quipped. “I can hear something moving around out there. I don’t like it.”

Jaskier curled his hands around the blanket, tugging it around himself. “Hopefully the fire is enough to scare it off,” he said. “I need to sleep or we won’t be able to make any progress tomorrow.” He turned, a little petulantly, on his side, facing away from Kazia. “It’s not like I can do anything if something decides to come eat us, even if I am awake.”

He heard the flutter of her wings as she took off into the low branches of the nearest tree. “Sleep lightly all the same,” she told him.

Jaskier didn’t respond, tugging his knees up to his chest, closing his eyes, and willing the world to disappear for a while.

**

Kazia’s frantic chirping woke him with a start.

“Jaskier! JASKIER! Jaskier WAKE UP!”

He blinked his eyes open, squinting in the dim light of the dying embers of the fire, and found himself staring directly at a giant white wolf.

He shot up and back in instinctive terror, hands scraping against rocks and roots. “Geralt—!” he squeaked, on reflex, and felt his heart twist somewhere beneath the terror as he remembered no Witcher slept beside him. Kazia was fluttering frantically around his head. He stared at the wolf. The wolf stared back.

It was a gigantic thing, its shoulder probably higher than Jaskier’s hip if he were to stand next to it. It was white from head to toe, shining like a ghost in the firelight. Its eyes gleamed yellow, a misplaced pang to Jaskier’s heart. Something about it felt off, not-quite-a-wolf, almost as if it were a daemon, but that didn’t seem right either. He wondered for a moment if it were a mage’s daemon — out here apparently alone as it was — but that wasn’t right either. He’d met Yen’s daemon, a sleek black feline thing with four eyes and two tails. He’d known it for daemon instantly, despite its strangeness. This wolf just seemed not quite right, somehow. He tried and failed to place it in Geralt’s endless bestiary, and came up blank. If there was a monster that looked almost exactly like a wolf but wasn’t one, Jaskier hadn’t heard of it. At least it wasn’t eating him. Yet.

He stayed frozen for a long few minutes, he and the wolf just staring at each other. Kazia landed on his shoulder, puffing herself up as much as she could, her claws digging in just shy of breaking skin. He tried to calm his thundering heart. Maybe the wolf would just go away. Maybe it had smelled what meager rations Jaskier had left. Should he make a go for his saddlebags and toss his last piece of salted beef at it? Would it attack him if he moved?

The wolf did not leave, nor did it attack him. Instead, after a long enough pause that Jaskier was afraid they’d be stuck at this impasse all night, it ducked its head and whined. It shifted forward, almost cautiously, as if it wanted to avoid spooking him. It snuffled around his feet, at his blanket, and whined again. It took another step closer. Then, to Jaskier’s terror, it butted its head into his chest.

Jaskier inhaled sharply, quickly, trying not to hyperventilate. The wolf whined again, one ear flicking. It moved its head back and butted against him again — not with any force, just pressing its head into Jaskier. It reminded him of...

“Do... do you... want... pets?”

His voice sounded hysterically high in his own ears, but the strained tone didn’t seem to scare the wolf. It butted into him again and whined emphatically, almost a quiet howl. Very, very tentatively, Jaskier lifted one hand and, telegraphing his movement so the wolf could pull away, gave the wolf a quick little scratch behind the ear.

The wolf gave a little huff and — of all fucking things — wagged its tail. It whined and turned its head into Jaskier’s hand, so Jaskier gave it a longer scratch this time. He could still feel Kazia’s heart thumping a million miles an hour, but her panic had abated somewhat. She hopped off his shoulder and onto his head, letting him lift his other arm to pet the wolf’s side. Up close, now that Jaskier could focus on something besides just size and eyes and teeth, the wolf seemed nearly pitiful. It was far too skinny beneath its fur, with mangy patches here and there. He caught sight of a line of scratches across its haunches. One eye looked crusty and swollen, as if it were infected.

“Poor thing,” Jaskier murmured. “Did you get left all alone too?”

The wolf howled, a low and piteous sound. It butted its head against his chest again and pressed into him. Jaskier wrapped his arms around the wolf, taking comfort he hadn’t wanted to admit he was craving in its solidity and warmth.

“Jask...” Kazia took off from his head again. “I don’t know if I like this. I thought she was a daemon at first but she’s not. I’ve never been mistaken about that before. I’ve never even heard of anyone being mistaken about that before.”

“She?” Jaskier leaned sideways, peeking between the wolf’s legs.

“That’s not the point!”

“I know, I know.” Jaskier leaned back from the wolf, getting another look into her face. “You’re... not a daemon, are you? You can’t be, you wouldn’t have come up and asked for pets if you were a daemon.” The wolf looked back at him, her gaze almost too steady for mere animal intelligence, but she didn’t speak, and no one jumped out from behind a tree to strangle Jaskier for molesting their daemon. “Where’d you come from, huh?” he murmured. The wolf only whined and pawed at the blanket where it had pooled on Jaskier’s lap. “You want to sleep with the blanket and the fire, I bet. I don’t blame you, it’s cold out there tonight.”

“Jaskier!” Kazia wailed. He looked over and shrugged helplessly at her.

“Do you want to tell the giant wolf to go off and mind her own business?” he hissed. “If she were going to eat me, I think she’d have done it by now.” He looked back at the wolf, one finger still idly scratching behind her ear. “You promise you’re not going to eat me?” The wolf huffed, blowing in his face. Jaskier, for the first time since he’d arrived at that godforsaken mountain, laughed. “I think she’s telling me I’d taste bad,” he said to Kazia. “You’re probably right,” he confided in the wolf. “I haven’t had a proper hot bath in two weeks.” The wolf huffed in his face again.

Kazia fluttered down to a nearby branch, and then again to the log she’d been on before, and then up near the wolf. The wolf looked at her, her gaze steady. Kazia landed on the wolf’s head.

“Kazia!” Jaskier yelped, but the wolf went still, and then let out another very quiet howl. Jaskier felt Kazia soften, saw her feather down smooth.

“Oh,” she said. “She’s so sad.” She looked up at Jaskier. “I still don’t know what she is but— I’ve never heard a sound that sad.” Jaskier’s fingers curled into the wolf’s fur. He leaned forward, resting against her shoulder.

“That makes all three of us,” he said. “A fine group of sad, lonely outcasts, hmm?” He shifted, trying to spread the blanket so the wolf could lie on some it without leaving Jaskier cold and exposed. Kazia took off again, landing back on her perch on the branch. “Here,” he said to the wolf, patting the blanket. “You can stay the night with us, if you want.” The wolf’s tail wagged again — just a brief lash back and forth — and then it turned itself in a circle, settling down against Jaskier’s side.

He was not going to cry for how all the times he had wished Geralt would lie down beside him, to keep him warm in the night. But he curled a hand in the wolf’s fur and let himself be lulled by her quiet breaths. “You know,” he mumbled, just on the cusp of sleep, “if Geralt did have a daemon, I bet she’d look exactly like you.”

**

After breaking camp the next morning, Jaskier got barely a hundred paces before he found the carnage.

The graveir’s throat was torn out — arduously, ripped along the edges, its thick skin snagged again and again until its head was all but severed from its body. It smelled of rot, its fingers were bloody, and it had white wolf hair sticking out of its wounds. The wolf gave a quiet whine when Jaskier froze at the sight of the thing. He glanced down at her, back at the graveir, and back at the wolf.

“Did—” He swallowed thickly. “Did you do that?” he asked. The wolf looked up at him and barked once. She stalked over to the graveir, growling at its body. Jaskier felt suddenly very faint. He steadied himself against a tree. Kazia flitted around his head, concern radiating off her.

“That thing got so close to our campsite,” she said. “Way too close.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier said, not quite hearing himself. “Yeah.” He shook his head. “Hey,” he called the wolf back over, and gave her a scratch behind the ears. “Good girl,” he told her. “Very good girl.” He looked up at Kazia. “I think she ought to come along as long as she wants to.” Kazia flitted down to land on his shoulder, puffing herself up territorially.

“As long as she understands that I’m your daemon.” Jaskier almost smiled, and tickled a finger over her head.

“Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite, Zizi,” he teased. He glanced down at the wolf again. She was smiling, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. She was clearly enjoyed the scratches. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. She howled in response, that low, piteous noise from last night, as if she dared not be any louder. Jaskier stood back up, hefting his pack, shifting the lute case against his back. “Right. I am not spending another night almost getting eaten alive, so let’s try and find the road again today.”

He traipsed off through the woods, leaving the mangled graveir behind him, Kazia flitting about his head and the mysterious wolf loping along at his side.

—————

(if it’s not super clear, that 100% is Geralt’s daemon. the conceit is that in this world part of becoming a witcher is being severed from your daemon, but Geralt’s escaped after that happened and she’s been wandering the wilderness. she’s lost a lot of herself, which is why she can’t speak and it’s iffy how much she understands, but she still remembers the smell of her lost human :’) and hopes that Jaskier can lead her back to him)