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themotherofblood · 11 days

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Ruie, my dear, I was re-reading "The Dragon and The Dancer" and if you are still writing/accepting requests can I get a prequel(before the events of "laut ke ajana") where she dances for Daemon (with some nsfw) please?

ugh first of all, I hope your pillow is always cold, your charger cords never break and may you find money on the streets just for funsises.

second of all!!! Saaiyan Hatto Jao would be such a fitting song, of Dancer seducing Daemon so let’s go!

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Wife!Reader

tw: exhibitionism? kinda misogynistic but bare with me pls 🤭 clit play, fivesome(kinda), breeding kink, humiliation, oral m and f receiving. mf(fff), mentions of underage stuff ekkk

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In whatever capacity Daemon had within himself to restrain himself from his pretty wife was surely a bravery the Maesters ought to write in books. He had graced the courts of Lys multiple, multiple times. That's where he’d found Mysaria all those years ago. She was a whore, and dancer but a whore. He visited the city twice in his youth, in all his glory mounted open the ominous visage that was Caraxes yet not once was he esteemed enough to watch the infamous courtesans of Lys. Those women, wretched but entrancing women who invited the ones their hearts pleased, unlike any other establishment that would let in anyone with a coin to throw.

Imagine his surprise when an enticing swan from that very establishment had been under his nose this entire time, part of him cursed himself for not seeing it earlier. Something of such enchanting breeding couldn’t have simply come from the loins of Qoren Martell, and knowing your parentage was from Lys. If you weren’t already an insatiable spirit, Daemon pawed at your skirts even more now. He knew that the matter of you dancing was rather sensitive since your mother’s passing and he would never impose himself onto you otherwise.

Yet it couldn’t help taunt the perverse within him, such was the beauty of the Lysenees courtesans. To entice a man wild with just the melody of their voices and the ancient craft of their dance. Many a man with pockets deep enough to raise kingdoms lost their prospects at the doorsills of these bewitching girls.

You spoke of it at length with him once, sat in a warm bath overlooking the sunset, how esteemed of a pupil you were and come of age, your introductory performance had carriages lined for ten streets. Should the time have come, you might have even become the Madam of the establishment with age. The more you excelled in your art the more you feared of never leaving that place like your mother had wished for you. You not once loathed dancing, you hated the politics— you hated how wars began at the backs of courtesans partaking in spying against the very lords they once served to backstab and plot away at every chance they got for their survival. You rather missed the morning singing lessons and the sounds of your sister's anklets running up and down the halls.

“You keep such things from me,” Daemon muttered against your bare shoulder, peppering kisses up to your “You sing?”

You nodded, lifting your head to look at him with a sheepish smile.

It wouldn’t take a lunatic to envision your sweet voice singing away… singing just for him. He tried, he tried so very hard to not let his twitch cock at the thought of it, he was sure you felt it.

“What am I to do with you.” He groaned.

For a wish he had dreamt of since he was near seven and ten, no amount of gold named to the second Targaryen prince would get him inside that establishment, not after he had claimed Caraxes— a magnanimous beast that could burn all those witches in there all at once and not even after aiding the Free Cities with its odd brawls with one another.

And here the damned gods had blessed him with his wish, perched upon his lap. Eager to please him, vowed to obey and be with him till death do them part. Curious how the world worked.

You were no fool, like an animal in rut you had felt Daemon’s demeanour change since the day he discovered you were an untouched courtesan and caught you dancing in the Mirrored Palace alone. You were no stranger to the allure and aura that followed from being who you were, or who your performative personality is.

There is no harm done you thought, you had no joy in dancing for the men at court yet the sound of perhaps performing— truly performing for your lord husband seemed titillating.

It was the conditioning perhaps, to have a noble lord claim a courtesan all to himself, it showed one of two things. A lord with immensely fat pockets or a woman worth nearly a kingdom and its cavalry.

What were you worth? A fucking dragon-lord, a kingdom can’t be worth much if it’s ash. With your children most likely inheriting dragons too, you would by comparison must have outshone all your sisters back in Lys. Such fortune all for a pretty song and the swaying of one’s hips.

When Daemon had told you about is escapades in Essos, especially of how many times the poor prince had tried to gain an audience at your former court. You internally giggled at the picture of a young Daemon clamouring like the rest with gifts and praises to win the attention of your house Madam at the time. Even when he returned with a dragon he was barred, and it wasn’t unusual. Your Madam enjoyed playing with fire, toying with how far she could push men just to catch a glimpse of one of her girls.

Come to think of it, she might have been trying to grasp for an invitation to the Old King’s court, set up an establishment in King’s Landing. But one thing you’d learned from the stories Daemon told you about King’s Landing. Much of the courtesan's work would be polluted by the lack of affection for its craft.

You couldn't deprive him so, not when he paid you handsomely, ravishing your body each night like a silent prayer. Even having seen you, felt you and taught you things that would go beyond the means of a courtesan’s work. You saw the passion in his eyes when he’d find you fixing your ghungroos or humming under your breath as you worked on your needlepoint. The tests of a true Madam now laid at your feet, not only to devise an elaborate function for your dear husband but to be discreet and the most essential part of it all, for you to be perfection.

You’d pick the night of the coming full moon, you knew your father would have grumbled himself to his chambers rather early, the change in tides somehow always made him ill. Your sisters would all be abed, Daemon’s daughter’s too. The commendable part were your lady’s maids, pussyfooting away orders of flowers from Pentos, the special vials of rose oil from Qarth, at least a hundred candles to light up the arched viewpoint at the Watergardens. Daemon’s favourite foods to be prepared along with fine strong wines from the Old Palace cellars.

The intricacies of this function had been handled with such care and secrecy, that it made you consider moving into the manse your father had gifted you after your wedding for some privacy. Surely, a married— happily married couple engaging in salacious acts with one another shouldn't be unexpected. Lastly your lehenga, unlike the ones you usually wear, was truly a magnificent piece made by the dressmaker. A black velvet blouse with a dangerously low neckline and shoulder embroidered with dragons of red and gold threads, a lighter skirt of silk with heavy gold embroidery and embellishments and a chiffon embellished shawl that did nothing to hide your figure.

Another ruse was set up to hide your true schemes, a quaint supper with just you and Daemon being entertained by folk singers sent by Yi Ti.

The evening had been rather splendid, Daemon had no interest in listening to some fucks sing about in a tongue he understood not, but when his sweet wife insisted upon spending the evening together: he couldn't deny you.

He suspected that you were up to something, with supper being prepared, dishes lined up one after the other which were all those he shamelessly indulged in, the rather aged wine that you had been consuming a little too much of. He did not mind, either way, fucking his wife tonight sober or a sweet slobber mess— all was well in the world. After what seemed like a while, Daemon finally felt at ease, calm with a purpose that he belonged, with his daughters and you.

“Excuse me, dearest.” you whispered against his ear, smiling before pecking his cheek “I’ll be back.”

Daemon smiled back, watching you rise from the floored cushions that the both of you nested on, his eyes very shamelessly admiring your backside and the curves of your hips as you walked back into your quarters. He marvelled at the thought of ripping that very lovely maroon gown of your body. The colour change had been a sudden shock to him when you fluttered your way into the sparring wards in a Dornish gown painted in the dark crimson of his house’s colour. Rest assured the sparring continued later in the evening and the gown alas did not survive.

You had slipped out easily, just as the doors closed behind you, the lot of you bolted the opposite direction to your privy and down the hallways, skirts hiked up as you used your other hand to free your hair of the loose Westerosi braids they were in. Your maids ran with you, two of them already waiting by the Watergardens along with the the whore dancers you had acquired all outfitted in white and the esteemed musicians that played at every one of your events.

Hiding behind the thick shrubbery, your maids hastily stripped you off your gown and small clothes and replaced them with the ensemble made for tonight. You prayed to the gods while calming your breath from all that running, let it be perfect. The four girls would greet Daemon upon his arrival, even though they would be a finer treat than most men have had in this lifetime, you were another anthology entirely.

Daemon had been given his first clue after the Yi Ti performers had finally ended their never-ending song.

“The princess awaits you in the Watergardens, my prince.” the attendant had informed before scurrying away.

Whatever this was, Daemon was truly intrigued seemingly obeying his wife and heading straight out of the gardens without any delay. The show that greeted him there however had him taken aback for a moment, the garden pillars decorated in blossoms and twinkling candles scattered across the stairs leading to the arches. He could hear the mellow music and the serene sound of flute dancing along with the crashing waves.

Just like a dream come true, he was greeted by the sound of ghungroos— a sound he had grown accustomed to. Four girls rushed towards him, lifting their hands to their faces and bowing.

“Good evening, my prince.” one of them spoke.

“We have longed for your arrival, your grace.” said the other. Reaching forward for Daemon’s hand.

At any other time he might have pulled away, but this was surely orchestrated by his wayward wife. He could feel her around but couldn't see, and these girls— preening up at him like willing, wanting whores, they were no courtesans. He played along, letting them drag him along to the shore view where an elaborate arrangement awaited him. An old fire in him arose when his reputation had been so palpable at the many brothels across the Known World. Two of them pushed him onto the plush sete, giggling as one of them plops right next to him.

“Would you like some refreshments, my prince.” One of them said with a bunch of grapes in her hand, the other poured him a glass of wine. The third took her time feeling Daemon up, he thoroughly enjoyed this but longed for his wife— his courtesan. One of them began to unbutton the tops of his doublet, soft fingers trailing across his chest.

His sexual frustrations and anticipation began to pivot to a perverse ire, to find you hiding somewhere and reprimand you with your arse red for teasing him so.

That is when the sound of a heavier set of ghungroos echoed around the arches, there you were. Your glowing face against the moonlit sky and candles, you walked towards, body covered in a thick black shawl. The girls around him lifted their skirts and ran towards you, positioning themselves. Then came the music, a smirk so prominent settled itself on Daemon’s lips as his lifelong dream had now stood in fruition before him.

You seductively, inch by inch let the black shawl drop until it fell to the ground, looking at the shawl and suggestively looking up at your husband. You twirled thrice forward, ending right by Daemon’s legs and lowered yourself. He knew not of what you sang but it was as though a witch chanted spells to bind him to you.

The song you sang was one of innocence, a sweet girl begging her lover to let her return home— for the higher the moon rose in the sky her reputation hung by a thread. Ever so seductively telling him to stay away because she knew his true desires were so very impure.

Stay away my love, I know what you desire

You reached for the rose tucked in your blouse, reaching lower to gesture at your ghungroos, giving Daemona a rather exposed view of your bosom. You acted as if his looking had offended you and flicked the rose at him, you stood to continue your routine still singing without a note or beat missed. You knew within that you were perfection, it is what you were trained for from birth. This one performance should have costed half of Pentos, but look upon Daemon’s eyes was payment enough for you.

Night fades to dawn my love, please let me go home

You pulled your shawl of your head and down you your shoulder, toying with it around your cleavage. Eyebrows suggestively scrunched at Daemon, making him kiss the rose you gave him and throw it back at you which you caught with ease, letting the petal graze upon your cheek and then your lips lowering it further down the sides of your torso and tucking it this time at the lining of your skirt. You turn your back towards him swaying you hips as you walked away, turning once to wink at him and continuing to walk until the hardest part of the number began.

The percussion beats could never be missed by your feet, in a performative haze you smiled at the three dancers who also did an extraordinary job at keeping up with you. You turned one last time.

My mother and sister by law shall poke, where had I been, my love. I will die of embarrassment

You walked towards him this time, an exaggerated sway in your hip as you pulled your shawl out from your skirt lining and let it fall to the floor, you turned once more, performatively reaching for the back strings of your blouse and pulling them to mimic a sensual morning stretch. You turned towards your husband who had settled himself further into the cushion.

You kept singing as he reached his hand out, you took it letting him pull you onto his lap. Your soft finger held his face as you kept singing, leading his face towards your neck and he wasted no time in peppering kisses down your collarbone. You pushed him back there after which startled him, you could feel the hardened mound under his breeches— your payment.

Stay away my love, I know of what you desire.

Daemon had enough, still letting you finish your song, your eyes and eyebrows still expressing away your performative feelings as he reached for your Nath and removed it, a significant indication of deflowering a young courtesan.

Your song ended as you sat straddled upon Daemon’s lap, you gaze never left his— like you were another person entirely. Daemon relished in how he intimidated you, how shy and small you were around him, how receptive but innocent you remained even when he taught you to pleasure him and yourself in bed. Yet this woman sat atop him, you were someone else.

“Was it everything you ever dreamed of, my prince.” Your whispered, your hands caressing his face.

Daemon for a moment couldn’t find his words, that’s when you snapped from your performance growing anxious from the silence. You were about to pull away when Daemon abruptly spun you down onto the cushion so he lay towering over you, caging you under his broad build.

“How am I to pay you, my lady,” he said, wanting to rip the clothing off your body but he looked behind to still see the four girls standing.

“They are yours tonight my prince,” you nervously, your aura slipping back to the former “As am I.”

At that Daemon held no restraint and laid siege upon your body, he figured the lasses could still dance as Daemon would take you apart under the moonlit sky.

You held nothing back, arching your back onto the onslaught of Daemon’s lips. Letting your fingers feel the remaining buttons of his doublet and pushing them off his shoulder. This time you pushed back, the heat on your cheeks so apparent for you’d never thought to be so forthcoming in bed before, Daemon always held the reins, placing you in positions he liked, teaching you ways to pleasure yourself.

Daemon grunted for a moment, fighting against the push of your hands before giving in, letting you lay him back down once more. You straddled him once more, this time slipping back into the seductive performance you’d laid out for him. Smiling down at him as you slipped your blouse off, slowly— inch by inch before dropping it next to you.

Daemon’s lips parted in a gasp, though his cockiness would credit his lessons for confidence in this matter. He was further crazed by how much you appeared to be enjoying doing this. He couldn't help himself, reaching up to tweak at your left nipple. You began to roll your hips against the hardening of his breeches, your bare cunt under your skirt pressed at the girth giving you just a small burst of pleasure.

You did Daemon of his tunic, your fingers tracing his battle scars as you reached lower, letting your lips press against his warm skin— letting yourself inch lower and lower as you shuffled off him.

You both yearned greatly for one another, nearly four moons into your marriage and the passions you shared for one another only seemed to reach further heights with each passing day. A fire that Daemon had lit within you burned so bright for him every day. One might think you were born to be with him, obey him.

Daemon watched as you undid his pants, pulling them down his legs and not once leaving his eyes, you were an ethereal sight, bare-chested with his gifted jewels shining at your neck— so prepared to service him. You reached for his cock and that's when he stopped you.

His hands trailed to your head of wild hair, gently tugging at it. “You want my cock?” he said. Eyes wild and waiting for your response.

You meekly nodded, sticking your tongue out just as he taught you to. Wasting no time further he pushes your mouth onto his cock, letting your head bob and suction at his length. You worked your tongue around his cock, the taste of him so familiar in your mouth. You whimper as he pushes in further breaching the back of your mouth and making your eyes water.

“Who would have thought it hmm, the finest girl Lys could offer kneeled like a whore for me” his words falsely degrading you sending shockwaves straight to you your core.

You whimper, this time willingly taking him deeper feeling your throat want to constrict as you pull up for air— he however stops you briefly before giving you relief. A string of salvia lingering on your lips. He wiped at the tears polling around the corner of your eyes.

“Take the rest of it off girl,” he demanded, eyes ravenous and impatient.

You gathered your bearing before standing once more, pulling at the waist string of your skirts with no haste to tease him yet again. You let your skirt fall as you caught onto the rose still tucked at your waistline. You kissed it and threw it at him. Every look, every action towards you seemed to have been pooling your cunt wet.

Daemon grunted, yanking you back onto him. His lips smacked against yours once more as he took a harsh hold of your tit with one hand while the other held you here. His actions were voracious, seducing your soul rather than your body.

You took matters into your own hands, unable to keep up with this game any longer and reached for his cock— gently rubbing the tip at you folds before lowering yourself onto him.

Daemon groaned into your mouth as you gasped, having never felt him so deep, you held onto his shoulder fingernails digging in.

“You're so deep,” you whispered, your breath hitching as you adjusted to the intrusion.

His fingers dug into the flesh of your arse pulling you further down and full of him. You felt so close, so one with him. You began to grind your hip, your neck cranked as Daemon’s head dipped lower to kiss your shoulders and up your neck.

“Such a fine prize aren't you, tell me how do I pay you?” he said bucking his hips up into you making you sqwak.

“D-dragonseed… I want your babes.” you whispered, head hanging in a wanting shame.

Daemon smirked, he had forever hoped to make you swell of his children but he never knew your sweet mind craved to be bred.

“Go on then, take what you want.” he rested back on to his elbows, bucking his hips once more to coerce you to keep going.

You rested a hand on his torso using it as leverage to lift your hips to bounce into his cock. Your snug cunt milking him to fill you. Your smaller legs weren't enough to lift you that far off his cock, but you tried nonetheless. Daemon reached for your cunny, his thumb began to rub circles onto your clit sending you into a frenzy— riding him with far more determination.

It felt good, so very good.

“How does it feel darling? How does it feel riding a dragon.”

You let out a strained giggle at that, still unable to help your childish mind. You kept riding him, Daemon’s lips restraining a smile too at your ill-timed humour. Earning you a sharp smack on your left tit.

“It feels so good, so deep.”

Your hips found a steady rhythm against Daemon’s fingers at your bundle of nerves. Your each bounce ore eager than the one before. Your tits bobbing and calling for equal attention from Daemon.

“My prince!”

You moaned, feeling that pinnacle ever so close as you chased it.

“I’m all yours,” you said unprovoked “a courtesan trained just for you.”

Daemon nearly lost his bearings at that, pinching your nipple harder. Seven Hells— he knew you were made just for him.

“Say it again.”

“I was born to be your c- courtesan.” you cried, feeling so very close to completion.

Your thighs begin to shudder, he can feel them clenching— he lets go of your breast and grabs your hips in aid to feel you gush around him. A sudden pitched cry leaves your mouth as you tremble your bouncing coming to a halt as you fight to hold yourself up but Daemon’s fingers on your bundle of nerves don't stop.

He abruptly flips you over, readjusting you within a blink of an eye. Your bare body facing the dancers as Daemon’s solid wet-length rested on the curve of your ass.

“We could get your money’s worth,” he suggested nipping at your ear lobe, his demeanour shifted to the one of you loving husband. “We needn't—”

“I trust you.” you looked up at him, chest still heaving from your peak before and yet you always wanted more of him, more of his depravities.

So many fantasies, much to do.

He gestured them forward knowing they would take much time to shed their clothes, they were whores trained to dance.

All three of of them vulgarly bowed, giggling amongst themselves.

“My prince.” The chorus of their voice followed as they began their performance to reach for him.

He tutted— he’d die happy if he died tonight.

“Not me, her.” He ordered.

You looked back up at him, a curious flare in your eyes that was met with his top protruding at your sloppy opening once more.

The girls entirely shifted their attention onto you.

“Mhmm you have such lovely tits princess.”

“Such soft skin.”

“Such a fine figure, your grace.”

Daemon pushed into you once more, groaning and resting his head onto your shoulder. His palm curled around you neck pulling your back against his shoulder. He knew of the explosive pleasure you were about to discover, even more joy was that he would be the one giving it to you, a fine reward for my girl, the fruits of the lovely exhibition you'd put on for him.

He began fucking into you, small grunts and exhales lingered by your ear and what followed from there on had your mind scattered.

One whore settled on suckling your nipples, twisting and toying with the other. One muffled your moans with her lips upon yours. Your cunny was already sensitive but then you felt a sensation you never had before. The third girl kneeled by the nest and began to lick your bud.

“D— Daemon!”

The sensation so overwhelming you began to pull away, Daemon curled other arm firm around your torso to keep you in place as he continued rut into you.

“Feels good doesn’t it, my love?”

You could barely speak but you nodded, eyes shut feeling yourself so lost in every touch. One of the whores disappeared behind you, settling herself under Daemon to service his heavy stones.

He watched as the whores played with your tits, he too reach further up to tweak a pebble harshly between his fingers. You gasped at the burn of pain. The whore sucking at your teat came to your defence.

“Gentle my prince, breaking a thing so pretty isn’t fair”

“Not this one, her cunt is squelching around me.” he groans.

“Its true!” the girl by your cunt giggles.

Your cheeks burned in shame, they spoke of you like you weren't around. The whore licking your bud pushed at your folds to leave it exposed as she suckled and licked and rubbed away. Daemon’s cock fucked you raw from within and you felt it once more, hurtling towards.

“Go on, wet my cock my love.” he grunted fucking you harder.

His peak chased after as you broke first, gushing around his cock as you screamed his name. Legs and arms shuddering as Daemon grunted to completion himself, ropes of his spent coated your walls. You could feel the warmth within, nearly forfeited by your sensations. He held your body so close, recovering himself as he shooed the whores away.

Letting you collapse in the nest first and then himself. Laying soft kisses at your shoulder, still firmly holding your hand to ground you.

“Well done, my love.”

You lazily smiled at him, dazed in euphoria as you rubbed your feet against his calves.

“What have I done for fortune.” He whispered against your temple.

You shrugged at him, leaning forward to kiss him once more. “I hope you are pleased with my performance?”

Daemon shook his head, begging mesmerized by you. He let his hand rest at your belly.

“If giving you all this love,” he kissed your cheek. “My dragonseed,” he pressed onto you belly. “Isn’t indication of how very pleased I am sweet girl.”

Then you heard a high pitched squeal from the skies, clicks and then the rustle of trees around you. “Then perhaps I should show you what being a dragon feels like.”

Caraxes burst through the horizon behind your circling the skies as he lowered himself onto the white beach. You looked at Daemon puzzled, as he pulled you up to dress you.

“What are you doing?” You huffed putting your blouse back on.

“You want to have my children, it might be time that you grew accustomed to Caraxes.”

You kept dressing yourself to mask the fear that was coursing through your veins. I dance for him and he plans to kill me. You could barely muster the courage to be even ten feet around Moondancer and that beast was a babe. Caraxes is a behemoth, he protects your husband— he told you how the two of them were two halves of whole. It never made sense to you.

“Don’t be scared, halves of a whole remember?” he said as he bent down to lift you up by you back and legs once you finished dressing.

You’d rid yourself of your ghungroos just to not startle the beast.

“I love you, care for you. Therefore he does too.”

You weren’t sure about how sure he was about said theory. Yet you let him carry you to the beaches below where Caraxes sat waiting, when you saw him it almost appeared as though he was playing with sand. Shaking his snout it the sand to bury it and then exhaling to have sand fly everywhere, followed by loud clicks.

“Is he— is he playing?” You asked your husband.

“Told you, he’s harmless.”

That beast also burned dozens of Dornish men but alright.

Just as Caraxes felt Daemon’s presence he chirped up even more, his long neck swaying in the wind. However it only took a moment for his demeanour to flip when he realized there was another. You froze in Daemon’s arms at the low grumble Caraxes let out.

“Dohaeras Caraxes!” Daemon lowly warned the beast.

Caraxes still look unsure but Daemon kept walking.

He put you down a few feet from the beast, don’t run— don’t run. You watched as Daemon walked towards Caraxes without a care in the world that his wife might get fried tonight.

“Konir sagon ñuha ābrazȳrys, ao gīmigon zirȳla syt izula hūra, keligon issare quba.” That is my wife, you have know about her for four moons. I told you.

Daemon sounded like he was scolding the dragon.

He turned to you “Come my love.”

You obeyed, talking small steps towards him. Towards his outstretched hand. Everything would be fine, you trusted him. Entirely— wholeheartedly, with your life.

Just until Caraxes turned his long neck and his snout just with a feet from you. You froze entirely once more, Daemon still petting Caraxes.

“Dohaeras,” he whispered, almost as if he spoke to a child.

Caraxes’s big nostrils flared, sniffing you a couple of time before chirping. Daemon chuckled, you relaxed for a moment until Caraxes gently used his snout to trip you backwards before once more burying his snout in the sand and deeply exhaling, burying you in a thick sheet of sand. Daemon couldn’t help but break into a fit of laughter

“Daemon!”

You were going to great friends he knew it.

eeee I had so much fun writing this. I totally imagine Caraxes kinda being like jealous Lilly from modern family lol

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon fanfic #daemon smut #daemon fic #daemon au #houseofthedragon #house martell #house targaryen #desi hotd #desi!reader #desi writers #desiblr #desi tumblr #desi reader x daemon

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biblioklept-writes · 2 years

Text

The Foreign Queen (Aemond Targaryen x Desi!Fem!Reader)

Summary: There is a new ship in the land, carrying riches Westeros has never seen before. The people are interesting, sharing some common and other completely different ideas. Aemond decides to deal with one claiming to be their Princess, the beautiful Y/N, and something clicks in place.

Content Warning: canon divergence (duh), i have only watched the show, might contain some spoilers, reader has black hair and brown eyes (typical of most desis) and wear kajal (kohl), reader will be good at maths and physics (i had too i need the representation), reader is hindu and will talk of hinduism, there will be “strong” jokes, I invented a whole new continent in the hotd universe, okay? Explicit language to be expected, other than that we are good i guess? No other physical description of the reader is involved

Ps: will use hindi, sanskrit and odia (translations in parentheses). Currently this is just an idea, i will write further if the motivation and plot strikes.

Series Masterlist

It had been a rather dull autumn afternoon, the only highlight yet being the morning flight Aemond had gotten with Vhagar. Business in the council was proceeding as usual, with Aegon missing and their grandsire, Otto Hightower acting as the King Reagent in his stead while their mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Targaryen sat at the head. The lords had been discussing an upcoming tourney when a messenger came in with a flushed face, looking as though he ran from port to the Red Keep. He barely caught his breath before he started speaking.

“There is a large ship being docked in the port, Your Grace, My Lord Hand,” He breathlessly said. “Their messengers speak mostly in a foreign tongue, but they claim to be here for trade. They say their princess is with them, those strange people. They are asking for permission to enter King’s Landing.”

“Where are these people from?” Otto Hightower asked. “Did they say?”

“They said… Bharat.” The messenger added, still struggling to catch his breath. “Your Grace, My Lord Hand, you must send your word with me back, the matter requires your urgent attention. They wish to speak with His Majesty in his court.”

“I don’t think a message would be apt for this situation,” Alicent calmly said. “It is better if we send a representative of ours with you, Ser.” Her big brown eyes scanned the room once, and said, “Ser Cole, I would like you to go to the docks as Aegon’s representative, make sure that these people are not of ill intentions.”

“It would be better to send a royal to accompany Ser Cole, Your Grace.” Ser Willis Fell said, earning agreeing nods from the other lords in the council. “For if this Princess' claim is true, it wouldn't be… appropriate for a Knight to meet a lady of such stature. If My Lord Hand could go-”

“I will accompany Ser Cole,” Aemond said. He agreed, if it were indeed a princess of a foreign land, sending a non-royal to speak with her would reflect poorly on them. A foreign land meant more resources and soldiers, and they needed both of them in abundance as the war threatened to bloom in Westeros and Essos. A strong alliance for them meant a weakness for their opponent.

“Aemond-” Alicent started, but he interrupted her.

“I’ll be fine, Mother.” He said. “I really wish to see these strange people claiming to be traders.” Aemond’s gaze fixed on the messenger, who seemed to cower under his calculating stare. Of course, the eyepatch must have been a contributing factor with the reputation that he had built for himself.

Vhagar was simply too big to fly to the dock, so Aemond had to take a horse along with Ser Cole, unfortunately. It took them a bit over an hour but they managed to make it to the dock before sunset, and there he saw it: a ship in the horizon, larger than anything he had ever seen before, gleaming like liquid gold in the late afternoon sun. A red and white striped flag with a yellow swastik flew high in the oceanic winds.

Two men adorning mustard colored tunics and some white pants with black hair, white turbans and twining moustaches signalled at the ship upon his arrival, and a small boat moved toward the coastline. They were still too far away to make out clearly, but once the boat got closer, he noticed the woman sitting in the front, majestic on the waves. The man and the woman behind her rowed her quickly to the shore.

He thought her claim must be true then, for she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on with her hair blacker than midnight and her brown eyes stern yet deep. Her presence commanded attention, and she carried herself with the poise of a queen.

She was dressed in a lavender and white garment he had never seen before, her dark mane complimenting her brown, kohl-lined eyes. Her body held a certain feline grace - her steps quiet and calculated, her gaze confident and conniving.

Aemond got off his horse as she stepped off the dock and towards the port, the messenger escorting her to him and Ser Criston, who stood behind him with his hand ready to raise his sword. “This is Princess Y/N of the Bharat,” the messenger said, unable to take his eyes off you. Everyone present on the dock stared eagerly, trying to soak up the gossip.

“And I assume you must be Prince Aemond,” She said, her voice firm but sweet. Her pronunciation held an accent, but it was fairly accurate. He was more surprised to find that she actually knew him by name and recognised him this quickly. “I hear you have a reputation for brutality,”

“Only to the people that pester my family and my brother’s kingdom.” He replied in his usual monotone voice. “I hope you aren’t here to threaten my brother’s kingdom, for I’d hate to put a blade through you.”

“Bharat reaches to you in good hopes, Prince,” She said. “We are merely here to offer trade: we have skilled workers manufacturing weapons, chariots, even defences of all sorts. We have great food and spices. You ought to give us a chance to present our goods before disregarding us.”

“Would these weapons fight against dragons, Princess?” Aemond asked.

“There’s only one way to find that out,” she said. “I hope to be able to get an audience with the King, we will do as he sees fit - we shall leave in peace if he demands that, my Prince.”

“Mhm,” Aemond glanced over at her and her people once more. They all had a curved knife strapped to their hips, and the princess carried a two-foot long blade in a bejewelled holster, the hilt seemingly made of gold with a leather grip. He noted the big gold hoops that gleamed in her ears and the three large rings that occupied her right hands’ fingers. “Only you and one more person will be granted permission to meet the King,” He carefully said. “And… you must leave your weapons behind.”

“Going into a foriegn land with no people and no weapons seems like a fools’ errand, my Prince,” She countered. “Are your swordsmen and fighters so incapable that you are afraid of being attacked in your own palace by two foreigners?”

Aemond slowly blinked, a devious grin forming at her words. “Very well then,” he said, voice decisive. “You and your companion must be accompanied by a knight or me at all times, for we have no intent of trusting someone… unfamiliar with our home. Times like these demand such action,”

“I hope we wouldn’t bore you with our dull company,” She said, brown eyes glinting with amusement, and something dark, something he pictured in his own gaze.

“I can tell that your company will be anything but dull, Princess.” He said. “Ser Criston, please get two mighty steeds for our companions from Bharat.”

Presently, they stand in the King’s Court, the drunkard King sober for a change. Aemond supposed the foreign Princess’ commanding presence was a contributing factor to his brother’s sobriety, but he knew it was her enticing allure, her charming voice and her regal poise that appealed to him. The princess reminded him of wildflowers - magnificent, all consuming in their scent and most of the time, deadly.

His keen eye had not missed the way the knights of the Kingsguard and the lords at the court had eyed the bejewelled sheath of her blade up and down, as if trying to see through the sheath and capture the blade.

“You talk of trade, yet you carry weapons deadly enough to cut a man,” Aegon noted, gaze eagerly fixed on the woman in front of him. The whole court was silent save for his words, all eyes and ears focused on the stunning princess. “What sort of trade requires that, pray tell me,”

“Your Majesty, the blades are to defend the supplies,” She said, voice neutral. “And to hunt animals for meat. The blades only cut through those who threaten our peace, honour and survival.”

Aegon scratched his chin, leaning forward. “What did you say your trade in?”

“Spices, fabrics, weapons, gold, skilled labourers,” She said, seemingly holding everyone’s gaze at once. “Silver, bronze, blacksmiths who can build chariots, soldiers who would kill for your cause.”

The silence that followed was ringing, one could hear everyone’s breath.

“Why do you need this trade?” Otto Hightower asked.

“My Lord Hand,” Princess Y/N started with a respectful bow. “Why do merchants sell? Why does a servant work? All of the work that we do comes down to one thing - money and power. We have skilled labourers, we have gold, we have silver, we have copper. But even gold becomes worthless when it is in excess, and the flow of trade would make both of us more powerful.”

“What would we get in exchange for our money?” Dowager Queen Alicent asked. Aemond knew from the gleam in her big brown eyes that she was curious, at least, about the goods the princess promised.

“Allow me to present to you a small gift, Your Grace,” The Princess bowed again. From the bags, her moustached companion fetched the finest of the silk Aemond had ever seen - his fingers involuntarily twitched at the sight of the sage-green fabric. A servant brought the fabric from the foreign man to his mother, who was visibly impressed by the silk. “It is the finest silk in the known land, Your Grace,”

Another sample was a thick gold chain with a tiny hourglass pendant, given to his Grandsire Otto Hightower. “My Lord Hand, this hour glass turns over itself in a period of five and forty minutes,” She said. “It is made of the most intricate designs and is sturdy enough to be worn daily.”

“For His Majesty,” The Princess said as her companion fetched a foot long box wrapped in a silver-grey cloth. “We present the blade forged by our best swordsmiths, we present a gauntlet sword - Dandpatta - made in silver reinforced with the best steel we make.”

Aegon eagerly opened his present, the silver blade almost blinding in its shine. He stood up and tested the blade, and commented, “It has great balance, Princess.”

“I am glad to impress Your Majesty,” She said. Her companion fetched another box wrapped in silver-grey cloth, this time the servant handing the box to Aemond. He opened the box, normally, as the Princess’ sweet voice said, “For those who prefer sleath over pomp, for the one known to be quiet, I present to you, Ratri, the blade of the night. It is made of the highest quality of wootz steel, and can cut silently even through the toughest of barks and scales.”

It was a wicked blade, curved slightly like a scythe, but much smaller and easily concealable. When did the princess get to study each of them? Has someone been ratting them out to people they didn’t even know existed? For such precision in giving gifts was impossible without proper prior knowledge of the receiver.

The Princess turned to Haelena and curtseyed for the first time. “For Her Majesty, I present a jewellery set fit for a Queen of her stature, it is all in steel reinforced gold - can be used as a weapon lest someone corner the beautiful Queen.”

“Quite thoughtful of you, presenting these gifts,” Aegon said, clearly impressed by the sword he received. “I will let you trade with us, Princess.”

Perhaps you had impressed his brother with the presents you had so thoughtfully brought, but you had imprinted yourself in his head with all the inside information you must have known to think of such gifts. Either that or you and your companions were quick judges of character, but that seemed a bit of a stretch. Your face was one he could never forget, with the intense kohl and the gleaming brown eyes and hair darker than the night, you were a sight meant to be remembered.

The only logical explanation seemed that you had spies in the Red Keep, getting updates about everyone from that source. He had to find that source, pull it off the roots, for you knew the royal family a little too well.

The court was dismissed and you were sent back to let your ship dock at the port and your people had been granted an empty warehouse to store the goods along with a clear plot of land to build the temporary housing facilities your people would need.

Alicent had generously offered you to stay in the castle walls, but you had politely declined, saying that your heart and duty lies with your people and travelling companions. Aemond respected that, his respect for you growing tenfold on learning that you spoke in four tongues and were learning a fifth. But he had so much to learn from you, and from your manners in court today, he knew it would be a big challenge for him - you had earned his respect, but he had to know how you spied on his family without them being aware of you and your peoples’ existence.

How was it that the mighty Targaryens with their dragons had never explored the unknown? How was it that a fleet of ships managed to survive the unresting sea from lands so far away that the dragonriders didn’t spot it? It was this primal hunger for answers that urged him to get closer to you, to dig out the answers he needed to sate his curiosity. Why were you promising them your soldiers? Were you one of his half-sister’s ploys to usurp the throne that was rightfully Aegon’s? Were you sent on a mission, falsely pretending to be a princess sent by Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen to wipe his family clean and leave the Iron Throne vulnerable and up for them to do as they please?

There were so many questions, but no answers in sight. Aemond doubted you were from Driftmark - you and your people were too different, with skin that glowed like gold under the sunlight and new languages he hadn’t even heard of before. Self-appointing himself as your contact person to the King’s council, he frequented your camp, not seeing any ill intent - at least for now.

But he didn’t know what to make of the Bharatiyas either. The people were welcoming and nice enough, even treated him to delicacies he never could have imagined. There were some names he was struggling to speak, but Aemond was nothing if not determined. With the eyes of a hawk and the hearing of a wolf, the dragon carefully observed the foreigners and slowly picked on your languages.

One of them - Hindi - was simpler than the other tongues that people used. It seemed there were as many dialects as there were people, and Aemond found himself terribly lost as he tried to keep up with them. But he had vowed to himself that he would learn to understand your languages, at least. Yet, he was drawn in by the complexities and fun of their culture, how they worshipped their Gods and Goddesses; how each member of the camp contributed to the working; how the few kids there were allowed to be exposed to the Westeros languages and culture (lack thereof, he thought later).

Aemond had never expected to enjoy someone else’s customs this much. He had appointed himself on a mission, and he wouldn’t let himself be distracted. He swore that he will abstain from gazing at your intense eyes and glowing skin, from the confidence you exude and the power you command.

But each second he spent in your presence, he found himself more enraptured by you - your kohl lined eyes, your pretty mouth, your heavy gold jewellery and the delight with which you spoke. He would be damned to the seven hells and beyond with all the teasing he would get if Aegon or Daeron ever read his mind, full of thought with admiration for you.

Here it is! for all the desi!readers out there like me, I hope you enjoy this. This part mainly describes their entrance and welcome, and I will try to include more political intrigue as I write further. Do drop by some scene ideas that i can include so all the desis feel represented. It is currently 2 am for me but today is Halloween and my birthday so I am posting this as a treat for myself (yes this is another treat for me hehe) Lets hope that i can get around to finish this one. Also, if you are a team black stan who would rather stay off some anti-sort remarks, i am sorry loves but this one is not for you. Better if you scroll past than start an argument.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #desi!reader #hotdxdesi!reader #team green fic #hotd x reader #aemond x desi!reader #alicent hightower #sri writes #aegon targaryen #happy birthday to me ig

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