#dragon egg kin

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 13: Condemned From The Start] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), death, angsttttttt, more children than usual, Wolfman!

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.1k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy the finale.🦀💚

In the Eyrie, one of Rhaena Targaryen’s three dragon eggs has hatched at last; the creature is small and pink, and she has named it Morning. When Rhaena’s tears fall onto the scales of her diminutive wings, they glitter like flecks of rose quartz. Deep within the snow-laden labyrinth of the Mountains of the Moon, Nettles is in hiding with Sheepstealer; already the nearby clans are bringing her offerings of meat and treasure, axes and clubs and daggers, hairpins carved from the ribs of enemies and necklaces made of bear teeth. Silverwing is settling into a lair on an island in the Red Lake at the northwestern corner of the Reach. Word of this has travelled back to King’s Landing, and Borros Baratheon implores Aegon II to seize Silverwing for himself; but the king does not want a new dragon. He wants Sunfyre back. That grim truth aside, Aegon is unable to trek across the continent to tame the beast anyway. Some days he cannot even cross a room. At the bottom of the Gods Eye, bodies are dissolving into bones, threads of long white hair breaking loose to flow in the currents like weightless strands of spider webs torn free by cold drafts. And only a few miles from the border of the Crownlands—preparing to cross the icy waters of the Blackwater Rush—the army of Northmen camps under a full moon in a clear, indigo sky heavy with stars like glinting coins.

“There are passageways under King’s Landing,” Clement Celtigar says. He stands by the bonfire with his sword in his hand, his face flame-bright and eager, forever licking up drops of the Kingmaker’s approval, a stray cat lapping milk splashed in an alley. Increasingly, Cregan Stark finds him tiresome. Clement is brash and dramatic, forever swearing vengeance, reveling in his newfound position as the head of his house. The Warden of the North has never had to beg for attention, admiration, acclaim. These things come to him like snow falls to the earth in winter: effortlessly, inevitably. Yet Cregan tries to be patient. Clement is soon to be his brother-in-law, and it is dishonorable to fail to extend courtesy to one’s kin. Furthermore, it seems, Clement has his uses.

“Are there really?”

Clement nods. He wears the banner of his house on a strip of fabric looped around his upper arm: crabs red like blood, a backdrop of white like snow. “That monster’s disciples used them to kidnap my sister from the Red Keep. But she fought hard. When we searched her rooms, all the furniture was upturned and the sheets ripped from her bed.”

“She is brave,” Cregan murmurs in agreement, though he is distracted now. The air tastes like smoke and ice, the wind rubs raw spots into the soldiers’ faces. They are arriving just in time. The depths of winter is no time to wage war. Cregan Stark imagines how you will greet him when he liberates you: a desperate embrace, hands that refuse to let go, whispered gratitude and breathless kisses on his earth-stained knuckles, bones of steel softened by the innate weakness of womanhood. You will love him, of course you will, fervently and entirely. Then when the realm and succession are secured, the Kingmaker will take you North and wed you in the tradition of his people, under the heart tree where the Old Gods can witness it. And then there will be the wedding night. In Cregan’s understanding, women receive little pleasure from the act itself. It is a burden they bear for the men they love, for the children they are divinely tasked with bringing into existence. Cregan Stark intends to alleviate your suffering in this regard as much as possible…yet he has already begun to choose the names of the sons he will make with you. He especially likes the sound of Brandon, sturdy and grounded and thought to mean leader or prince. “This is the last night your sister will ever spend in the clutches of the Usurper.”

“Praise the Seven.” Then Clement adds diplomatically: “And the Old Gods too, of course.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Cregan Stark says, gazing up into the night sky where constellations tell the stories men deem worthy of remembering. “And the start of a brand new one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“How did you learn to braid hair?” little Jaehaera asks you in her lilting, reedy voice like a bird’s. You are sitting behind her on the floor in Alicent’s bedchamber. Nearby, Autumn is flipping through a child’s book with Rhaenyra’s ever-solemn son, murmuring as she points to colorful illustrations of ravens, dolphins, bears, dragons, crabs. They are learning to read together.

“My sisters taught me,” you tell the princess. Firelight turns her silver hair to gold, her pale skin to flames. Logs crack and pop as they melt to glowing embers. Alicent glances over at you and sighs despairingly. The dowager queen, so thin she might disappear, is hunched in a chair by the fireplace. She has an unshakeable, rattling sort of cough that reminds you of how Sunfyre sounded on Dragonstone when he was near the end. Her long auburn tresses are falling out in handfuls. She will not survive the winter, this is a certainty.

“You have sisters?” Jaehaera says, surprised. “How many?”

You smile faintly as you weave her hair into one thick braid like the kind Aemond once wore when he went to battle. “Three. Piper, Petra, and Penelope.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back on Claw Isle, where I came from. With our mother.” Mourning Father, mourning Everett, writing letters to Clement to keep his spirits high as he and the Warden of the North march towards King’s Landing to slay the Greens’ king and bind me to a different man’s will.

“What’s Claw Isle like?” Jaehaera asks with a child’s clear, boundless curiosity.

“Rocky, misty, grey. But the ocean is beautiful.” You think of Aegon’s eyes, the same as his daughter’s, a murky storm-blue that is deeper than it looks.

“What brought you here?”

You consider this before you answer. You see it, you feel it: cinders like dark snow in the air, Aemond’s iron grip on your forearm. “When your father was burned at the Battle of Rook’s Rest, he needed someone to help heal him. Your uncle Aemond found me.”

“And he asked you to stay with us?”

He would have slit my throat if I said no. “Yes, he asked very politely, as any gentleman would. And of course I agreed. I wanted to make the king strong again. I wanted to take his pain away.”

Jaehaera stares down at her tiny hands, palms crossed with lines that are long and shadowy in the shifting firelight. She does not speak of Aegon. She does not know him, and he frightens her: the burns on his skin, the suffering in his glazed eyes. She has no memories to impress his true character upon her. If she does not make them herself, she will believe whatever she is told. “I miss Aemond. I miss Daeron.”

“I know, sweetheart.” They were formally laid to rest yesterday on two funeral pyres. Daeron’s bloodied, charred, seafoam green cape was burned to ashes on one. All that was left of Aemond—his favorite books, his quills and ink, small leather eyepatches from when he was a boy—were torched on the other. “I miss them too.”

Jaehaera’s braid is finished. You reach into a pocket of your emerald green velvet gown to retrieve what you have brought for her: a thin golden chain necklace with Aegon’s ring as a pendant. He can’t wear it anymore. His fingers are too swollen. “What is this?” Jaehaera says as you place the chain around her neck. She lifts the ring and peers at it, gold wings and jade eyes.

“It’s supposed to resemble Sunfyre,” you explain. “Your father loves you very much, Jaehaera. He wanted you to have this ring and keep it with you always.” Aegon didn’t say that; he rarely mentions Jaehaera at all. Sometimes you think he forgets she exists. But she is a part of him, she is his legacy, and you cannot look at any piece of her without seeing the man you love.

“He gave it to me? Like a gift?”

“Yes. A gift.” A gift, an inheritance, a relic, a reminder.

Jaehaera turns around and looks up at you hopefully, vast wave-blue eyes like winter oceans. “Do you think I’ll have another dragon someday?”

Her own infant beast, Morghul, was killed in the Dragonpit before Rhaenyra fled the city. “Maybe,” you tell her. “There are eggs that could hatch someday. And there are a few unclaimed adults left, Silverwing and the Cannibal. Perhaps you’ll tame one.”

She wrinkles her nose in confusion. “What’s a cannibal?”

Someone who murders, devours, fuels their body to the detriment of their soul. “Someone who eats their own kind. Like a dragon who feeds on other dragons.”

“So just like in the war. Dragons killing dragons.”

“Exactly,” you say, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Now go show your new necklace to Grandmother.”

Jaehaera wobbles to her feet and dashes across the firelit bedchamber to where Alicent is slumped in her chair. “Look, look! It’s Sunfyre!” you hear Jaehaera chirping. Alicent examines the ring—skeletal hands trembling, large dark eyes slick with tears—and dutifully fawns over it, telling the little girl how beautiful she looks, how brave she has been. Then she bundles Jaehaera into her boney arms and holds her like she’ll never let go. Autumn catches your gaze from the other side of the room, and when you leave to return to Aegon she follows.

“What is your plan if the Greens lose the battle?” she says in the hallway under an arc of grey stones. Her tone is urgent, her hazel eyes sharp. Everyone knows the Northmen are within days of King’s Landing. Borros Baratheon—a large, loud, abrasive man, but with a bottomless appetite for combat—and his soldiers will march out of the city tomorrow to meet Cregan Stark’s army on the fields of the Crownlands, sparse and grey with winter. The Lord of Storm’s End has spent hours locked in the council chamber discussing strategy with Larys Strong, Corlys Velaryon, and the misfortunate yet courageous Tyland Lannister, maimed by his months of torture at the hands of the Blacks.

“We won’t.” We can’t.

Autumn slams her palm against the wall behind you; the sick thud of flesh against stone reminds you of the day Helaena died. “Wake up. We might. You’d better have your options figured out.”

And you recall Larys’ words on Dragonstone: I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable. “We’ll run,” you say weakly. “We’ll take Aegon and we’ll escape through the corridors under the Red Keep, just like he did before. Cregan Stark will kill Aegon if he finds him. I can’t let that happen. We’ll have to run.”

“Run where?” Autumn snaps pointedly, pushing you towards a conclusion you refuse to acknowledge.

“I don’t know.”

“Where? Where could we go that is beyond the grasp of your wolf if he seizes the capital?”

“Dorne, Essos. Somewhere, anywhere.”

“The king won’t survive a journey like that.”

You cover your face with your hands, feel the biting cold of snowflakes melting in your hair, see the stains of earth on your thighs as Cregan Stark forces them apart. How can I lie with a man who hailed the deaths of people I loved? How can I spend the rest of my life listening to him being called a hero for killing Aegon? How can I give him children? How could I love a baby that was half-made of him? “We ran before. We’ll have to do it again.”

Autumn scoffs. “You have no idea what it means to be a woman on your own in the world. What will you become without a great house, without protection? A prostitute? A peasant? Will you eat scraps covered with rot or mold? Will you live in a tree? Will you beg some family to take you in? And then when the father who is oh-so-gallant in daylight starts fumbling under your blankets once the candles are blown out, will you let him inside you? Or will you fight him off and risk a blade in your guts, your throat? You have no fucking idea what it’s like out there.”

“I don’t care what happens to me if Aegon’s gone.”

“You would abandon Jaehaera? You would abandon me?” Autumn demands. “You speak for us now. You are the only one who can. Our fates are twisted up with yours.”

That’s true. And I promised Helaena I would look out for her daughter. You can’t imagine a life without Aegon; there was a time when he was only a name—and an infamous one, a terrible one, soulless and monstrous—but now he has broken down the eaves of what you were once resigned to call your life and painted colors in the sky you’d never glimpsed before, never even dreamed of. You ask Autumn with genuine, painful bewilderment: “What is the point of learning that something exists only to have it taken away? Why would that happen? Where is the justice in it, where is the reason?”

Autumn smiles, sad and patient. “Ah, this is an affliction of the highborn. You still believe that there is a design, and that life has some amount of fairness in it. There is no divine judgment being passed, my lady. There is no god weighing the worth of your dragon or your wolf or yourself. Life is random, and it is ungovernable, and it is very often cruel. And that makes it all the more remarkable that you knew the king for the time you did. That you ever met him.”

It wasn’t enough. And I can never go back to who I was before. “I’m sorry. I should not complain to you. Your losses have been terrible.”

“It is no contest,” Autumn replies, weary now. “But I should go back to check on the children. They need me.”

“No. They love you.”

And now she beams, sparkling eyes and copper ringlets. She doesn’t need to say it, you can both feel it in the winter-cold air. She loves them in return. She loves them fiercely. As long as they live, she will have reasons to.

When you reach Aegon’s bedchamber, Grand Maester Orwyle is just leaving. He bows to you and grins, pleased that you have both survived the fall and retaking of King’s Landing. He is haggard from his months in the dungeons when Rhaenyra ruled the capital, but he endured. Who would have guessed at the start of this war that the old man had more years left than Aemond or Daeron or harmless little Maelor? You wait in the hallway for the maester to amble sluggishly by, but then when he is gone, you peer through the slit of the half-open door to see that Lord Larys Strong is speaking to Aegon, who is propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows and wearing only his cotton sleeping trousers. He is thin, frail, ghostly pale with the exception of the scars that are a mosaic of white and scarlet and bruise-like violet. Aegon and Larys have not noticed you. You linger just outside the doorway, watching, listening.

You can take care of Aegon as much as you wish now: feed him, clothe him, clean sweat from his brow, dose him with milk of the poppy, rub rose oil into his scars, stretch his legs, test the heat of his skin for fever. He’s too weak to stop you. He can’t walk, can’t stand, can’t stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time, can’t even pour his own wine or milk of the poppy; the glass bottles are too heavy when full. Yesterday, Aegon had to be carried outside in a litter to see the remnants of his brothers burned on the pyres. And he had exchanged a brief, somber glance with Autumn that you neither anticipated nor understood. He acknowledges her so rarely. And yet her small hazel eyes had been alarmed, knowing.

Larys is saying with a grave expression and his restless hands propped in the handle of his cane: “Lord Borros Baratheon is asking for your assurance that as soon as the war is won, you will take his eldest daughter Cassandra as your wife.”

Aegon stares at him, incredulously, impatiently. Aegon has not called you his wife in the company of others since his homecoming. You do not ask why. You already know. It is not because his intentions have changed; it is because if he is not the victor, your life is in less danger as his captive than as his queen. “Surely even a man as brainless as Borros can surmise that there would not be much benefit for the lady now. I am a worm. Useless, pathetic, deformed, no longer virile.”

“He is willing to take the chance, I gather. And he is placing his eggs in more than one basket. He would like another daughter, Floris, to be married to me.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon mutters. Then he turns determined. “I cannot marry another. I won’t do it. I am claimed already, body and soul.”

“I fear how enthusiastically Borros’ men will fight for you if you do not agree to the match. He is risking his life for your cause. He will expect generous repayment.”

Aegon is quiet for a long time. He stares fixedly at his bedside table: a full cup, a large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. His dagger is still there from when you cut and braided his hair for him this morning; he cannot do it himself anymore. At last Aegon says, almost too low for you to discern from the doorway: “He’s not cruel, is he?”

“Who? Borros Baratheon?”

Aegon glares at Larys. “No.”

After a moment, Larys realizes what his king means. “Cregan Stark isn’t cruel. I’ve heard many whispers from many mouths, but I’ve never heard that.”

“Look at me. Don’t lie to me.”

“He isn’t cruel,” Larys says again. “Perhaps the truth is worse. He is measured, competent, merciful, wise. He is honorable. The Manderlys want to torture everyone and the Boltons itch to sharpen their flaying knives but Stark forbids it. He respects the laws of war. He tries to avoid the slaughter of noncombatants. He forbids his men from burning farms or raping women. He is devoted to the woman you call your wife. He takes no mistresses, visits no brothels. Cregan Stark is not a monster. He’s not soulless. He’s just on the wrong side.”

Aegon nods slowly, then his face breaks into a humorless smirk. “Tell Borros Baratheon that I’ll marry whichever daughter he wants me to when the war is over. I’ll marry all four if that is his preference, and bed them all on the wedding night too, one right after the other. Agree to anything he asks for. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

It doesn’t matter because none of it will ever happen, even if the Baratheon army does win the Iron Throne for the Greens. It doesn’t matter because Aegon does not believe he’ll still be here in a month, or two weeks, or perhaps even days.

But he can’t mean that. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain, you tell yourself, before remembering that Aemond said it first.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Larys is subdued, sorrowful. He bows deeply to his king. Then he turns to depart.

“One more thing,” Aegon says, gesturing to something on the side of his bed you can’t see from where you’re standing. “I hate to impose upon you further, but I can’t manage it myself. Can you take that and empty it somewhere? I don’t care where. But you must keep it hidden from my wife. The red-haired girl Autumn knows, and so do the maesters now. They are all sworn to secrecy. Can I trust you to exercise the same circumspection?”

Larys is gaping down at an object that is a mystery to you. He begins to stammer out a reply, stops to collect himself, and starts again. “Yes. Yes you can.”

“Good.”

Larys picks up the object; you are puzzled to discover that it is a chamber pot, white and porcelain. And as he navigates around Aegon’s bed and towards the door where you wait, you see that the vessel is full of blood.

You gasp before you can stop yourself, a razor-sharp inhale of breath that both men hear. They spot you, lurking in the doorway like someone lost, someone far from home. Shock bolts across Aegon’s face, and then frustration, and then defeat, and then profound misery.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew…I knew you’d be upset and I…I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“How long?”

“It doesn’t matter, Angel.”

“How long?” you ask again. “Just since this morning?”

“Four or five days now.”

“Four or five…?” Your mind whirls like storm winds. He’s dying. He’s really dying. His kidneys are failing and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t cut him open and stitch him back together. There’s no wound to scrub clean with vinegar and then bandage with honey and linen. There’s no brew that can restore the rhythm of his blood and bones and nerves. He’s just dying. That’s all there is. That’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Please don’t cry,” Aegon says, reading your face. “Don’t do that, please don’t, I’ve hurt you enough already.”

His hands stretch out to close the space between you, and as Larys slips from the room you go to Aegon, climb into bed beside him, collapse into him as his arms catch you and rest your head against his bare, scarred chest, his feverish skin mottled with the history of wounds you helped close all those months ago. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you go after Baela and Moondancer on Dragonstone. I should have stopped you. I should have dragged you inside the castle to wait until Aemond and Vhagar could help you. I shouldn’t have let Aemond go to Harrenhal. I shouldn’t have let Daeron fly south. I shouldn’t have let Autumn go back to King’s Landing, and I shouldn’t have let Everett stay there. I shouldn’t have let Helaena leap from the window. I should have stopped Maelor from being sent to the Reach. I should have stopped Rhaenys and the Red Queen from taking flight to burn you in your armor at Rook’s Rest. I should have stopped this! I should have done something! The only good thing I’ve ever had to offer the world was healing but I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop their suffering, I can’t do anything!”

“None of it was within your control, and none of it was your responsibility. I am the king. The fate of my kingdom and my followers rests with me. I wear their spilled blood, not you. I am so full of red I’m overflowing with it.” And he chuckles, sardonic, exhausted. He’s already battling unconsciousness again; you can hear his heartbeat slackening, the slow laborious expanding and contracting of his lungs.

“Aegon,” you say softly, as if afraid to speak it into existence. “What happens if the Baratheons don’t win tomorrow?”

“They will. They have to. There’s nothing I can do for you if they lose.” Then he winces and groans. It’s his back again, his failing kidneys, overrun with so much ruin—burns and breaks and pressure and heartache—that their cadence faltered and then ceased. You grab his cup of milk of the poppy and tilt it against his lips; and how many times have you done this since you met him, burned nearly to death and half-mad at Rook’s Rest? A hundred? Aegon drinks it down, his arms still tight around your waist. They do not loosen until he’s out like a snuffed candle.

You refill the cup on his bedside table with milk of the poppy in case he needs more when he wakes, pick up the dagger you use to cut his disheveled hair, take it to the dresser. And in the cascade of silver moonlight flooding in through the windows, you practice laying the gleaming blade against your wrists, pressing it to the throbbing arteries of your throat, angling the sharpened point of it between a gap in your ribs and towards your racing heart.

Autumn. Jaehaera. Aemond’s child that Alys carries. I still have promises to keep. I still have tasks that cannot be left unfinished.

Helaena’s words surface like a drowned man dredged from the waves: You must whisper into the right ears.

You set the dagger down on top of the dresser and roam to the castle library where Aemond once spent so many hours. You collect a stack of anatomy books and carry them back to Aegon’s bedchamber. There, before the roaring fireplace, you devour them for any scrap of hope, any last resort. You turn pages until one illustration stops you. It is an unclothed man, his major veins etched in blue and his arteries in red, his nerves a faded yellow, his bones white and unshattered, his body a roadmap of the bricks and mortar used by the architects of nature. You have seen this image before. It is the same page Aegon teased you for studying when you were travelling by carriage back to the capital from Rook’s Rest.

You rip out the page, crumple it violently, pitch it into the fire and watch it burn.

~~~~~~~~~~

At dawn, Lord Borros Baratheon leads his men out of the city. You hear them through the glass panes of the windows, closed against the winter chill and flecked with frost: boots marching, hooves of warhorses clomping against cobblestones. They carry with them swords and spears and bows and morning stars like the one Criston Cole was famed for using. Meanwhile, throughout the city, civilians are arming themselves with anything they can find to ward off an invasion of Northmen, creatures they believe to be bestial and mindless. Men carry kitchen knives and clubs fashioned out of bits of furniture or driftwood. Women hide their young children in cupboards and under creaking wooden floors.

“I should be going with them,” Aegon says. He’s just taken another dose of milk of the poppy and is struggling to keep his eyes open. His long, slow blinks close his vacant eyes for ever-increasing intervals. You’ve changed his clothes and cleaned the sweat from his skin as best you can, but he’s burning from the inside out.

“You’re not able to fight, Aegon. Nobody faults you for that. Everyone knows you were wounded in battle.”

“They must think I’m a coward.”

“No, you inspire them. They love you. I love you.”

Aegon doesn’t say it back. He never says it back. He only offers you the same drowsy, mournful phrase of High Valyrian he always does, not knowing that Aemond told you what it means: To your misfortune.

Autumn is with the children in Alicent’s rooms. The castle is tense and as quiet as a crypt—Alicent weeps soundlessly, Larys paces the halls with Corlys and Tyland Lannister, everyone peeks out of windows constantly to see if bannermen of the victor have appeared on the horizon—but she keeps them distracted with stories and games. You cycle between Alicent’s bedchamber and Aegon’s. He is in and out of consciousness; sometimes you perch beside him on the bed, sometimes you lie curled up against him counting the beats of his heart, sometimes you help Autumn read to Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger. It is just after noon when the city bells begin to toll and screams rise from the streets outside the Red Keep. You and Autumn hurry to a window. In the distance, beyond the city gates, there is a swarming mass of infantry, cavalry, archers. Their banners, when you strain your eyes to decipher them, are not the brazen, vivid yellow of House Baratheon. They are night black and an icy, steely grey. They are the colors of House Stark.

“No,” Autumn says, denial in a protracted, helpless exhale. Alicent shrieks, frightening the children. You grab Autumn’s hand and lead her out into the hallway to warn the others if they don’t know already.

Lord Corlys Velaryon comes bounding up a staircase. “There are soldiers down in the secret passageways!” he booms. “Northmen! Armed! I’ve helped our guards bar the doors, but that won’t hold them back forever.”

Autumn looks to you. “Get the children ready to travel,” you tell her. “Find Larys and inform him.”

“Yes, my lady,” she says, and is gone. You sprint in the opposite direction towards Aegon’s bedchamber. You blow the door open like a strong wind, and Aegon startles awake. You rip through his dresser for things he will need: warm clothes, boots, his dagger, bottles of milk of the poppy.

“Get up, Aegon. We have to go. We’ll run, we’ll flee, there are Northmen in the tunnels but we’ll find another way out, we have to try, we have to, if they catch you they’ll—”

“Come sit with me,” he says from the bed, calmly, like you have all the time in the world. He is reaching out for you with one hand.

“What? No, we have to hurry—”

“Angel,” Aegon says. “I need you to come sit with me now.”

Why isn’t he afraid? Why isn’t he frantic? You cross the room with slow, numb footsteps. When you reach the bed, Aegon takes both of your hands in his own. And suddenly you know exactly what he is going to say. You remember what he told his brother in High Valyrian the last time Aemond left Dragonstone. Your voice is trembling and hoarse. Your throat burns like embers. “Aemond was supposed to be here to help us win. But he’s gone. Daeron, Criston, Helaena, Otto, Everett, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Autumn’s baby, so many people are gone.”

Aegon whispers, smiling softly as tears spill down his cheeks, one scarred and the other pure: “I’m not going to get better this time.”

“No,” you moan. “No, Aegon, no. You can’t say that, you can’t tell me that—”

“I’m not going to get better.” Now his palms cradle your face, forcing you to listen. “I’m not. And it’s okay. I’m not angry, I’m not scared. You’ve done everything you could and you’ve bought me more time and I’m so grateful. But I don’t want it to hurt anymore. I’ve been in pain for so long. I’ve been in pain my whole goddamn life.” He kisses you, like tasting something rare and fleeting. His thumbprint skates along the curve of your jaw, memorizing the angles of your bones, the rhythm of your pulse. “Please, Angel. I don’t want to try to run and die on the side of the road somewhere. I don’t want to die with Cregan Stark’s blade at my throat.”

You shake your head, unable to believe, unable to understand.

Aegon glances to the empty cup on his bedside table, to the large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. Then his eyes return to you. “You know how to do it.”

No. Never. But beneath those cold, dark, stormy waters: It would be painless. “I can’t,” you say, overwhelmed with horror.

“Listen, listen to me—”

“No—”

“Angel.”

“I can’t do that to you. Not to you. I can’t, I can’t.”

“When I’m gone, go to Cregan Stark,” Aegon says. “He is an honorable man, he will ensure your survival. He is the only person who can now. He wants to put his mark on the world. He wants to play Kingmaker. Let him. He can decree that my daughter will marry Rhaenyra’s son and ascend to the Iron Throne. He can end the war. Cregan will keep you safe. Tell him that I kidnapped you, that I forced myself on you. Tell him that I wanted an heir with Valyrian blood. Tell him that I was a drunk, a degenerate. Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”

“You would become a monster?”

“To protect you? I would become anything.”

He’s holding you, he’s pulling you into him until you can feel the fever bleeding from his flesh into yours, until you can number the knots of his spine and the ladder-rungs of his ribcage, counting them with your fingers through the sweat-drenched fabric of his cotton shirt. You draw back to look at him, to really look at him, sunken bloodshot eyes and rasping breaths, scar tissue of the body and the soul. You remember the day you met him, how he’d begged to die and been refused, how you brought him back. You postponed a debt, but you never paid it. It’s not possible to ever pay enough. You stack up gold coins in a vault until they touch the ceiling and still the Stranger comes knocking, jangling his purse sewn with scorched skin and chanting: more, more, more.

Aegon glances to the cup again. “How much?” he asks you, hushed like a prayer.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand and go to the dresser. You open a small wooden door beneath the mirror. Your reflection is a woman you don’t know, someone who walks through fog and memory, someone made of ghosts. You take four clean cups from the cabinet and set them on Aegon’s bedside table. As he watches—eyes glassy with agony, lungs rattling—you fill them all with smooth, pearlescent, lethal liquid, as well as the empty cup that was already there. “Five,” you say, and it sounds nothing like you. “I think three at once would be enough. Five to make sure.”

He sobs with relief, and only now do you realize how badly he needed this. “Thank you. Oh gods, thank you.”

Your own words come back like an echo: I preserve life, I don’t take it. But that was a different lifetime, a different you. Aegon’s fingers are lacing through yours. He is drawing you back onto the bed, he is brushing your hair back from your face, he is kissing the path of tears down your cheeks so he doesn’t waste a drop of you. He’ll never get another taste, another chance; not in this life, not on this earth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the end with you,” he says. “I really tried.”

“I know, Aegon.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

He looks down at his left hand, then remembers where his ring has gone. He chuckles, darkly, bitterly, dismayed by all the failings he is built of. “I don’t even have anything to give you.” Then he remembers. “My dagger. Can you get my dagger?”

You are petrified. “Why?”

He grins, dull teeth beneath dazed eyes. “I’m not going to hack off a finger or my exemplary cock or something. I promise. Just get it.”

You fetch the dagger and bring it to the bed, and only then do you realize what he means for you to have. He points to it, then threads it through his pale, swollen fingers: his thin lock of hair that you’ve been weaving for him since the day you met. He wants you to take his braid.

“You’ll have to cut it yourself,” he says. “I don’t think I can.”

You hook the blade beneath the top of his braid, and with a few cautious slices of the dagger it is free. You tuck the braid into a pocket of your gown, thick black velvet to guard against the winter cold. Then you lay the dagger on the bedside table and pick up one of the cups filled to the brim with milk of the poppy. Your tears are scalding and torrential; it is almost impossible to see through them. You smooth back Aegon’s white-blond hair as you pour the blissful, deadly brew through his lips and down his throat, hating yourself, knowing it is the kindest thing you can do for him.

Suddenly, when the cup is half-drained, Aegon pushes it away. “You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to watch,” he says. “I can do the rest. Go, now. Right now. If the Boltons or some other house finds you before Cregan does, they might not recognize you. They might not care. You’re only safe with Cregan Stark. He has to find you first.” Aegon takes the cup with one shaking hand and presses a palm to your shoulder with the other. You haven’t moved. You can’t move. “Go. Leave me. Now. Please go. I love you, but you have to go now.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“You have to.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“Angel,” he says tenderly, smiling. “I’ll see you again. Just not too soon.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and you kiss him, traces of milk of the poppy on his lips that deaden the thunderstruck horror faintly, powerlessly, like small clouds drifting over the sun.

“If there’s anything interesting on the other side, I’ll find a way to let you know.”

The dreams, you think. “Okay,” you say again, barely audible.

“Now go. Right now. Go.”

You wipe tears from your face with your sleeve as you turn away from him. You can’t look back; if you do, you’ll never be able to walk out of this room. You take the dagger from the bedside table. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor. As you step through the doorway, on the periphery of your vision you can see Aegon swallowing down each cupful of poison as quickly as he can. It won’t take long to stop his heart. Minutes, perhaps. Seconds. You walk into the hallway. Autumn has just arrived with Jaehaera’s tiny hand clasped in her own. A few paces behind her, Alicent and Larys stand with Rhaenyra’s son. Two orphans without choices, two pawns in a much grander game.

Autumn is panicked. “Where should we go? What should we do?” Then she takes another look at your face. Her eyes go wide with terror. “What? What happened?”

“Follow me.” Your voice is low, flat, dark like deep water. Your eyes flick briefly to Lord Larys Strong. “Keep the boy here. He’s not safe with the smallfolk yet. But the Northmen won’t harm him.”

Larys knows. It’s over. He is devastated; and yet you think a part of him might be relieved as well. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’m not the queen anymore. I never really was.” You give him Aegon’s dagger. “I don’t think you’ll need this, Lord Larys, but now you have it in the event of any danger. Or in case I can’t convince Cregan Stark to spare you and you decide you’ve had enough of this world. You should get a say in how your life ends. You’ve earned it.”

Then you break away from them and glide through the Red Keep, Autumn and Jaehaera trotting swiftly behind you to keep up. You pass the rookery where Aemond wrote his letters. You sweep through the gardens where Helaena loved to collect her insects. You gaze down to the beach where Daeron landed on Tessarion under a dazzling sun before winter came like a plague to King’s Landing. From inside the castle, you can hear Alicent wailing as she discovers her last child’s lifeless body. What was all of this for? Why did this have to happen? Why didn’t anybody stop it?

Out on the streets of the city, the smallfolk have flocked with their makeshift weapons to defend their homes from the Northmen. But their eyes are darting everywhere and their faces are uncertain as they clutch their clubs made out of the legs of chairs and their rusty kitchen knives. They haven’t decided if it’s futile. They don’t want to be butchered for nothing.

“That’s Autumn!” they shout and sigh, especially the women. “The mother of the king’s bastard son, the one murdered by the half-year queen!” They reach out to skim their hands over Autumn’s gown, her long coppery hair, as if she is a saint or a spirit who can impart good luck upon them, who can change their fates. They fall to their knees to bow to Jaehaera, their king’s only living child, and she blinks at them with benign confusion.

But the smallfolk have a different reception for you. You hear their venomous chattering: “Is that the Celtigar woman?” “Her family put this city through hell.” “They served Rhaenyra.” “She’s a traitor, she’s a thief.” A few of them venture close enough to tug at your gown, to strike at you. A woman’s knuckles rap against your cheekbone, raising a bruise there like lavender in a dusk sky. You think dully: I wonder if they’ll gouge out my eyes with those knives like they did to Everett.

“Get back!” Autumn hisses, shoving the smallfolk away. And when she speaks, they listen. “She is going to the Wolf of Winterfell. She is my protector. She is your protector now too. She is the best chance you have left.” And the crowds open up and the three of you pass through King’s Landing unimpeded, though cloaked in thousands of fascinated gazes.

The King’s Gate has been abandoned; the guards must have feared the Boltons’ flaying knives or Lord Stark’s dark justice. Autumn instructs several hulking men of the smallfolk to open the gate if they wish to be spared from the wolf’s wrath. They are reluctant at first, but do as she asks. When the massive doors creak open, the people of the capital huddle behind the wall and peer out skittishly as you, Autumn, and Jaehaera advance to meet the Northmen, who are bloodied from battle and now within a hundred yards of the city. Above, the sky is thick and iron-grey and frigid. Snowflakes—the first of this winter to touch King’s Landing—begin to fall and land in your hair, and you are reminded of how embers rained from the smoldering pine trees at Rook’s Rest.

“Can you catch one on your tongue?” Autumn asks Jaehaera, and the little girl giggles as they both try.

The Warden of the North rides an immense, shaggy warhorse at the head of what remains of his army. He recognizes you immediately, dismounts, approaches with determined, unbreakable strides. Clement is close behind him.

“You’re alive!” your brother shouts joyously. “And apparently not pregnant with a Targaryen bastard! Praise the gods!”

Cregan Stark does not act as if he’s heard this. The Warden of the North is not as you remember him; he is larger, heavier and broader from the muscles won in battle, coarsened by weather and war. His hair is long and dark and pulled back from his face. He wears a sword at his belt that is taller than you are when it’s unsheathed. He is entombed in leather and furs. He does not hesitate before he lays his hands you. You are betrothed to him, you are his property, would a man ask before he grabs his horses or his dogs?

The Warden of the North does not seize your forearm roughly like Aemond once did. Instead, his massive palms and fingers clasp your face as he marvels at you. You can feel the stains of dirt and ashes he leaves there. You want to scream when he touches you, but you can’t. You want to burn with rage and heartache until you crumble like ruins. Your life is already over. Your life has just begun.

“You have suffered greatly,” Cregan Stark says, a marriage of shock and reverence.

“You have no idea.” Perpetual Resurrection, you think. It doesn’t mean you come back better. It just means you’re still here.

“You are safe now,” Cregan swears. “The Usurper will never harm you again.” And it ends the same way it began: with a man mistaking your allegiance and beckoning you into a destiny that he wholeheartedly believes is greater than any you could have envisioned for yourself.

“He’s dead.”

This stuns Cregan. “When? How?”

“Today. Of old wounds sustained in battle.”

He looks at Jaehaera, noticing her for the first time. “Is that his daughter?”

“Yes,” you say. “She must always be treated with kindness. She must be protected.”

“You have an affinity for her,” Cregan notes, intrigued.

You hear Aegon’s voice, so clearly it cuts like a blade: Tell him whatever he wants to hear. “We have been through great trials together. We survived the same monster.”

The Warden of the North nods. This is a story he craves to be told. “Very well. If it is your wish that she not be discreetly disposed of as a Silent Sister, I will betroth her to Rhaenyra’s surviving son. They will unite the noble houses of Westeros and end this war.”

“The worst of the Greens are dead already. Those who remain should be shown mercy. Alicent is old and ill and broken from loss. She poses no threat. She should be permitted to remain in the company of her granddaughter. Corlys was loyal to Rhaenyra until she falsely imprisoned him for treason, and he belongs on Driftmark with Rhaena. Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyle, if no pardon can be arranged for them, should go to the Wall instead of the scaffold. And Autumn, my companion there with Jaehaera…she was a true friend to me. I owe her my life several times over. She must be permitted to stay with Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger as a caretaker, and reside in comfort in the Red Keep for the remainder of her days.”

“Who do you think you are, sister?!” Clement exclaims. “You’re speaking to the Kingmaker, not some handmaiden! You do not command him!”

“I am not commanding,” you counter levelly. “I am pleading for mercy on behalf of imperfect souls who showed me kindness during my captivity. If granted, I will consider these my wedding gifts.”

“She is remarkable, is she not?” Cregan Stark says, grinning to Clement and several other men who have ventured closer. They wear the sigils of Northern houses: Bolton, Cerwyn, Manderly, Hornwood, Dustin. They chuckle in agreement, stroking their wild beards with huge filthy hands. “Dauntless but merciful. Clever but obedient.” And then the Warden of the North claims your lips with his, chaste but overpowering, the first of a thousand kisses you never desired, a thousand acts of affection for a woman who isn’t really you, feigned resignation and bitten-back rage, eternal war with the interminable knowledge that there is something more, more, more…you just aren’t permitted to have it. It was taken from you, it was ripped from your hands like stolen treasure.

All your life you will have to murmur in wounded agreement when people recount the terrible sins of the Usurper. All your life you will have to praise Cregan Stark for killing millions to rescue you. And the days will pass, weeks, months, years, summers and winters, the births of your children and their own marriages; and when Cregan’s boy Rickon, born of his first wife, produces only daughters, your son Brandon and his descendants will become the heirs to Winterfell. In the desolate North—so far from the ocean, so far from everything Aegon ever knew—your greatest solace will be letters from Autumn as she learns to read and write, books that your husband orders for you from the Citadel, setting bones and treating burns, a tiny lock of braided silver hair that you keep in a hidden drawer of your jewelry box, dreams that you never want to wake up from.

But one day, decades after you leave King’s Landing, you will receive a raven from Queen Jaehaera Targaryen, and she will ask you: You knew the Greens in your youth, Wardeness Stark. You knew Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, Alicent, Otto, Maelor, Aegon the Usurper. What can you tell me of them? What was my father like? Who was he really?

And you’ll pick up your quill and begin writing.

[sayafics]

Dragon of Dorne - Chapter IV

This is quite a long chapter (which hopefully makes up for the long wait <3) with lots of fluff and some inappropriate thoughts - I promise so much more Daemon&Alaynha moments in Chapter V, I just wanted to give them something to build a relationship from.

A small change in this is that Viserys doesn't die - at least not yet. Another change is that Rhaenyra also doesn't have a miscarriage yet.

I still plan to stick to the plot-line, but just add in a few extra weeks for some Daemon-Alaynha moments <3 (which I feel so guilty saying but like oops).

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Daemon had bargained plenty that night - the children did not have to stay. Rhaenyra did not have to stay.

But he would.

For Viserys. For his brother.

Of course, such a tale was not far from the truth. His brother was frail - dying, even. The quicker the hours pass, the closer the Reaper drew upon Viserys, awaiting for him to take his last breath.

Daemon had spent years at Rhaenyra's side, he had neglected his duties as a brother and cast Viserys aside. So his words were not all lies and some truth remained.

He would stay in King's Landing until Viserys had recovered or passed. The children could stay at Dragonstone and continue with their lives, and Rhaenyra with them to rear their youngest.

Of course, Rhaenyra was never one to listen and promised to join him after spending a fortnight at Dragonstone and remain by his side until the birth of their child, during which if all went well, their blended family would return to the Keep and claim it as their home once more.

Daemon gritted him teeth at that, frustration swelling within him at the possibility of navigating his countless schemes whilst being interceded by wailing babes and an angered wife.

There was a quiet ache of guilt present, too - knowing how long Rhaenyra had been pining for him because of his deviances as a terrible and power-hungry man all those years ago. For her to finally have all of which she desires, simply for it to be threatened by a kin she did not want - Daemon could sympathise.

But this was not affection he felt, nor lust. Surely it was much simpler. Much easier.

Daemon was curious.

Daemon is a shrewd man - calculating and manipulative, violent and mean. A rogue prince through and through, where all could see his qualities and hold it to the light with assuredness.

But this girl- this princess. So bright and kind and loving. A mask so thick and well-crafted even Daemon had struggled to see the beast that lurked beneath.

It was the darkness that welled up in those pretty eyes of hers, the spark that ached to turn into a raging fire.

It was curiosity, nothing more.

***

When Rhaenyra and the children had left the following morning, he urged them to return to Dragonstone by sea - it was safer with him absent. A worthy excuse for more time.

Rhaenyra had accepted with a quaint smile, a pretentious act at playing a blushing bride - to which he merely mustered a peck upon the cheek in return.

He could see the confusion in her eyes, could see her wonder why her Daemon was changing so quick.

But the truth was his previous marriages had broken him - kept him confined and chained. He allowed himself to become a tamed dragon, and freely handed his reigns over to Rhaenyra for her to wave proudly in show.

He loved her. Of course he did. He loved the girl who rode upon dragon-back to claim a stolen dragon egg, threats of fire and violence spewing from her lips - but even that girl he did not marry.

And yet, before him stood a swollen bride that was a mere echo of the girl he knew all those years ago. A realisation that had haunted him for far too long.

He thought the children would help - hoped they would ignite the dragon fire within him, would give him purpose and life.

Or perhaps they would ignite the fire that had become smothered within Rhaenyra and an ounce of the girl he knew then would return, and he would settle. He would revere and concede and accept.

Daemon felt weightless. Purposeless. Useless.

Pathetic.

***

Daemon suppressed the smirk itching at his lips as he sauntered his way back to his chambers.

His chambers.

The very ones he'd lounged in so many years ago with his wine and his whores, and not the one he had been made to sleep in the last few days.

The Keep was buzzing with life - Lords and Ladies of the Court watched him with sharp gazes, maids and guards were either hesitant to meet his gaze or watched over him with rousing suspicion.

Daemon could barely suppress his grin as he met their stares head-on with raised brows and dark eyes.

There was one thing he had to remember during his stay at the Keep - with Viserys bound to his bed and milk of the poppy poured down his throat in rivulets, he was without any allies in the Keep.

After Strong had burnt to ashes, Daemon was unsure of who led his Gold Cloaks now and was curious as to whether their loyalties had shifted alongside their leadership.

His mongrels were perhaps wastrels instead, eyes begging and hands postulated for any alms in the shape of golden coins.

Although there should be a few loyalists scattered around the Keep - he may not have been well liked, but he was brash and powerful, something that drew people in.

When Daemon returned to his chambers, he searched through his old belongings with renewed vigour. His muscles almost trembled as he pulled out clothing he hadn't seen in so long - too long has he spent in ornate robes and simple tunics. Too long has he gone without the needed release he found in the wiles of a well-earned fight.

Too long.

He stripped with ease, a sense of relief washing over him as the waning material of the tunics Rhaenyra loved so much fell from his scarred skin and he slipped on his leather armour with ease.

With his sword attached at his side, Daemon left his room feeling more like the depraved and nefarious prince he had been all those years ago.

This time he could not help his grin - big and broad and terrifying to all who glanced his way.

This was the rogue prince - no longer was he an ornament for the Heir to parade, no longer was he a dysfunctional and futile man.

No. He was a dragon.

And it was time he returned to the sky and wreaked havoc upon all those who would dare look down on him.

***

Daemon stood under an archway, arms folded across his chest as he watched the scene unfold with amusement.

Upon the training grounds, engaged in a vicious bout of training, was none other than his harrowing nephew and sultry niece.

Aegon watched his brother and sister in amusement, an array of cakes and fruits and wines laid upon a table near him as though he had beckoned them solely for the purpose of watching his siblings fight as a form of entertainment. He seated himself at the edge of the training grounds, unable to control his laughter or his brutal glee.

He would jeer when Aemond aimed too close to Alaynha's delicate face, cackle with glee when she would trip the boy and throw food at the pair when they would become so distracted in passing taunts they forgot to exchange blows instead.

Daemon was impressed by the skill of the girl - out-manouvering her brother with ease. She met blow for blow, with just as much force behind her own hits as him. She doged every cut and met every slash with a brutal one of her own.

Not once did an ounce of blood drip to the ground in failure - she was skilled.

But he could not ignore the possibility Aemond had taken it easy upon her - with the weight of his glares from the previous night, the chances of Aemond willingly hurting his younger sister was close to naught.

Still, Daemon could not help but draw comparisons.

His first wife had been handy with a sword, but he had only ever heard rumours. And those rumours did nothing to gain her his favour, as although she was a fine swordswoman, she was dragonless and, therefore, useless in all the ways a Targaryen would require.

His second wife and third were fierce dragon-riders. Unafraid of the fire of a dragon and the heights they could scale.

But even they could not tell apart the hilt of a sword from the scales of a beast.

But here, before him, stood a challenge and a promise. A swordswoman and a dragon-rider.

Daemon could feel himself stiffen within his breeches at the sight of her panting form, the sweat upon her brow as she dodged every deathly blow and sweeped her brother's feet from beneath him.

As Aemond fell to the ground, she kicked his arm with vicious glee and the sword he held flew from his grasp. She aimed her sword at his throat, her own rising and falling with hurried pants as a gasping laugh escaped her in glee.

Aegon leapt up from his chair, loud claps and a boisterous laugh at his brother's fall.

Daemon had expected Aemond to grow angered at the humiliation - to spit insulting words and perhaps even show her just how placative he had been.

Instead, he smiled - and for once he looked like a young boy again, a shadow of the child who had half his sight stolen from him.

Aemond stood up with a proud smirk when she had relinquished her sword, a conceding nod as he praised her, "a fine swordswoman indeed. I see Cole has taught you well, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)."

"Criston has taught me very well indeed, lēkia (brother). I believe if I continue under his wing, kepa will have no choice but to let me join the Gold Cloaks."

Daemon straightened at the mention of the army he had trained as his own, and his body flushed with a pleasant warmth at the idea of Alaynha - so mischievous and small - killing and maiming vile men under the uniform he designed.

It was almost a sign of ownership.

As though she was his - his violent, little dragon.

Almost.

He entertained the prospect of taking over his Gold Cloaks once more - Viserys would accept in a heartbeat.

And if he did, Daemon would pick Alaynha as his protégée in an instant - perhaps he would give her private lessons on the art of mastering the sword, teach her to command the army in High Valyrian simply because such a sight would flood his body in arousal and have her torture men in his name so he could watch her covered in blood, gazing at him with those pleading eyes, begging for his approval.

Fuck.

But he held himself back from his spiralling thoughts - curiosity. This was simply curiosity, he admonished his traiterous thoughts.

He stood straighter, hand reaching down to adjust his hardened cock.

He cleared his throat before stepping away from his hiding space - although it was quite out in the open, he almost grinned when he saw his nephews stiffen at the sight of his approach.

"Kepus," her voice was light and airy, just as surprised as her brothers to see the man still in the Keep when his wife and children had already sailed away.

"You're still here."

"Ah, I am. Although, dare I say Zaldrītsos (little dragon), you almost seem disappointed."

Alaynha rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "of course not. I simply thought you would have sailed to Dragonstone with your wife and children."

"They must miss you dearly," Aemond drew closer as he spoke, "perhaps it is not too late to join them. I am sure your dragon will carry you fast and far."

"Ah, but why would I leave such great company for that of whom I've endured for years already." Daemon raised his brow in challenge, daring Aemond to suggest he leave his homeland once more.

He watched as Alaynha gazed between the two of them, her eyes then turning towards Aegon as she sighed in exasperation.

"Come, sister." Aegon consoled from his place, lounging upon a chair with a cup of wine filled to the brim, "let us flee before they bore us with their barbs and insults instead."

Alaynha snorted quietly, an amused grin upon her face as she rolled her eyes at her brother's antics - "might I suggest a better alternative?"

The brothers and Daemon stared at her in curiosity, "well, it seems our dear uncle is prepared for a fight. What better way to bond with the kin he refused to acknowledge than by sparring with them? Do you not agree, kepus?"

Daemon recalled the girl's words from yesterday, the spite that tainted her words as she rightly accused him of despising her family for their Hightower blood.

They were half-blooded Targaryens, barely dragons in his eyes.

But such things could not be true if he saw such a raging beast exist within her, as she was just as half-blooded as the rest of them.

Just as half-blooded as Rhaenyra's children.

But her birth, alongside that of her brothers and sister, had not been tainted by lies and an unsanctimonious vow.

"Mayhaps you are too scared, nuncle," it was Aegon who spoke with a broad grin, "my brother was trained by Ser Cole himself. You must remember the man - he told us the tale of how he knocked you off your horse. And your feet."

"Aegon," Alaynha lightly scolded the boy but could not hold back her own amused smile at his words - even Aemond had cracked a smirk.

Alaynha's eyes widened at the sound of a deep and rich laugh. She feared they had angered their uncle with their taunts and tales, but it only took a glance into the violent hues of Daemon Targaryen to see them swallowed whole by challenge and delight.

So long it had been since he had experienced such provocation, such defiance. A call of like to like as his blood sang with the call of a dragon.

Perhaps there was a kinship here, long denied by tainted blood and half-whispered promises.

"If my nephew is up for the challenge, I will not be the one to shy away."

Daemon tilted his head towards Aemond in recognition, hand placed upon the hilt of his sword as he awaited his answer.

Aemond, never one to turn down a challenge, agreed swiftly by turning his back to his uncle and making his way to the centre of the training grounds once more.

Daemon smirked at the show of confidence that rolled off the boy in tumultuous waves, but even he could not help the ounce of admiration echoing in his mind - had this been Jace or even Luke, they would have quaked and trembled at his presence.

And yet, here was his brother's child - a second born son, a turbulent fire. Seething and wrathful.

The irony of such a thing did not beget him.

Daemon made his way towards Aemond, but a hand upon his wrist stopped him in his place. He glanced down to the delicate hand anchoring him, eyes travelling up the soft skin glowing with a sheen of sweat from a harrowing sword fight, to meet the gentle eyes of a girl much too complex and secretive for him to decipher her with ease.

"Do take it easy upon him."

Her words were spoken pleadingly, as though this was not her idea. It seemed she could hear the words ringing in his head, and she sighed quietly as she continued, "although he may not admit it, he admires you. Truly so. You told me you wanted to know me. Well, know I love my brothers, and I cannot see them hurt - even in jest."

Now, here was a thing Daemon could empathise with. Here was a thing Daemon saw in himself.

He loved his brother, wholly and true. He would conquer worlds in his brother's name, and cut himself upon his own sword if Viserys had asked.

He knew the love one had for their brother, and he could see it shining in her eyes.

Still, Daemon was never one to let an opportunity to tease and test pass without falter - "and what will you give me in return for such a favour?"

She raised her brow in surprise, as though she couldn't believe he was asking such a thing in exchange for a measly request. Still she rolled her eyes and conceeded, "anything."

And such words were the truth.

"Do not spill a drop of blood, and you shall have anything you ask of me, Daemon."

Daemon.

Daemon.

Fuck, she had called him Daemon.

A descending warmth filled Daemon's body at the sound of his name rolling off of her tongue - so familiar, so tempting, so erotic.

Call me Daemon. Say it again.

He was tempted to speak aloud and beg for it.

But he could see Aemond's impatient form and Aegon's restless agitation - "anything, you say? It seems we have ourselves a bargain, zaldrītsos."

***

If this was what he believed was taking it easy, Daemon would be sorely disappointed when it came to asking for Alaynha's favour.

Although, she did have to say - her brother held his own quite well against the battle-worn soldier they knew Daemon to be. She swore upon the Seven she even heard the boy allow a careless laugh to escape his lips as he lost himself in the flurry of lunges and blows they exchanged.

Alaynha couldn't help the soft smile that stretched upon her lips as she watched the pair. Still, she was on edge - whether it was from distrust, enjoyment, or fervent kinship, their fight grew more brutal.

Less and less were there moments of deflecting and blocking and feinting. Every stab and every slash was made to leave a mark.

And still, in place of tension and worry upon the training grounds, there was a growing fever of gratification bubbling in the air - as though this was the challenge they had been waiting for all this time, pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion to relieve themselves of anger and worry and misery.

This is what they had been missing.

And the realisation only made them fight harder.

"Do try and beat him, little brother," called out Aegon from the sidelines. He stood now, leaning against the back of the chair as he spoke out words of encouragement disguised as mocking jeers.

Alaynha sat upon the chair, reaching back to slap Aegon lightly upon the shoulder. He only huffed in her ear instead, "what? I am being encouraging."

"You are being a nuisance."

"Ah," he grinned blearily, "when am I ever not."

She snorted, "when you a too drunk to raise your head and bat your eyes rōva lēkia (big brother)."

"Oh, but a day in the shoes of a forgotten Prince would have you do the same byka rūklon (little flower)."

She smiled sadly, leaning back so her head rested against his arms - "at least you have your wine," she jested.

"And my whores."

His voice lowered an octave, whispering so dramatically in her ears that she couldn't help the laughter that escaped her in a bubbling concession.

Her laugh was bright and loud and echoed across the grounds. So captivating Daemon felt his heart almost stutter to a pause as he raised his sword, ready to meet a vicious blow from his newphew.

His head turned, as though his body had a mind of its own and his mind clouded with thoughts. Thoughts and ideas and wishes and curiosity.

Just a glimpse.

Just a second.

Instead, he felt his face burn as his sword missed Aemond's by inches, and his hardened slash met Daemon's cheek with vigour.

Daemon hissed, head twisting to the side as blood dribbled from the wound and pooled at the corner of his mouth as a surprised laugh escaped him.

"Aemond!" Alaynha spoke out in admonishment, even Aegon had held his breath for a second.

Daemon tutted, "my mistake, I believe. One should never let their gaze stray from their opponent."

Aemond stared at the man with a gaze so similar to the young boy who had his sight taken from him, almost hesitant to breathe in his presence now.

"Do not tell me you give up now?" Daemon grinned at the boy, eyes simmering with the fire of a dragon, heart beating as adrenaline pumped through him and excitement singed his veins, "come on, nephew. I thought you were better than this."

His words caused a spark to glimmer in Aemond's eyes before a roaring fire was set alight, he raised his sword for another hit, which Daemon met with a fierce one of his own.

Where Aemond parried Daemon's every strike with rigid eloquence, Daemon would meet his with vicious victory - steel clashing against each other as neither was willing to submit.

Alaynha sat straight upon her chair, spine stiffened as her fingers twisted in the material of her own leathers. Aegon's hand came to rest at her shoulder, squeezing in comfort as they watched the two battle out years of anguish and anger upon one another.

Daemon continued thrusting his sword forward, Aemond dancing around him and evading every lunge and throwing back fierce blows as his own sword sliced through the air.

It only took a single second- a breath.

Their swords clashed against one another, and all kindness and civility washed away in face of pure rage and animosity.

Daemon was still Rhaenyra's husband. He still hated the Hightowers. He would rather see Otto and Alicent dead than near the King.

Aemond was a Hightower bastard. A second son only by Otto's manipulations and ploys. He would rather see Rhaenyra dead and sit upon the throne himself.

Teeth gritted and growls escaped their lips as they waited for the other to yield - but neither dared.

A glint of light caught Daemon's attention, and he watched over Aemond's shoulder as Alaynha drew closer in distress.

It seemed Aemond could also hear her approaching footsteps, and the sound caused his eyes to flash and simmer with recognition before the anger, which rolled off of him in flames, settled to a kindling fire as he nodded in ascent.

Almost a show of acknowledgement, a performance of respect.

Daemon smirked, his own head nodding as he reluctantly relieved his sword of the force placed upon it.

They each stood back, shoulders rolling and necks twisting as they came to a stalemate.

Aemond had gotten a blow, had hurt Daemon, and made him bleed. But Daemon had promised to take it easy upon the boy, so truly by what means did the boy succeed.

"You idiots. The lot of you," Alaynha scolded as she reached their side, "what if you had hurt each other? More than you already have."

She glanced between them worried, her eyes falling upon the gash across Daemon's cheek that had crusted and dried but still twinged with pain when his lips stretched into a placating grin - "last I recall, this had been your suggestion."

"Mm, he is right, sister. You cannot fault us for adhering to your orders."

Alaynha's lips parted in disbelief at Aemond's words as she turned to his in faux betrayal, "are you taking his side over mine?"

Aemond smirked at the pout upon her lips, "try as I might, I fear no one holds my loyalties more than you, jorrāelagon mandia."

She hummed, eyeing him in exaggerated suspicion before a grin broke out on her face, "good."

Aegon drew closer upon Aemond's seeing side, clapping his brother on the shoulder and shaking him for good measure, "I believe the Hightowers have won this battle. Do not fret, nuncle. I am sure you will win something, some day."

"Aegon!" She could drag her hands down in exasperation, wondering why her brothers were so desperate to test and mock their uncle until he had enough and unleashed his wrath.

Before she could correct Aegon any further, Daemon drew closer and it did not go unnoticed by anyone how Aegon seemed to shrink behind Aemond, as the younger brother inched in front of the older.

Despite being the younger, one thing was certain - Aemond did not see an heir in Rhaenyra but in his brother and in himself. He may never get the crown, but Aegon could - and Aemond would do all he could to protect the Heir. To protect his brother.

Daemon simply tutted at the action, reaching over Aemond's shoulder to ruffle the shorter boy's hair as he squawked with indignation.

"Do not fault the boy, Zaldrītsos. He only defends his brother's honour - it is what Viserys would have done for me."

Aegon's face heated up at the words, flushing warm as he almost preened under his nuncle's praise, like a child. Perhaps he had already drank too much wine - yes, that must be why.

He escaped his nuncle's petting at the sound of Alaynha's quiet laugh and Aemond's shaking shoulders. He blew a huff of breath so the strands of hair that fell over his face would leave his vision free.

"I am not. I'm just mocking you."

"Ah, of course." Daemon consoled with a teasing grin, words much too enunciated to be well and true, "do forgive me, my Prince."

Aegon rolled his eyes, easily catching on to Daemon's own mocking tone and mumbled under his breath as he stepped away.

Aemond stepped back to follow him, "come sister, we promised mother we would dine with her for supper."

Alaynha hesitated for a moment, a soft frown upon her lips as she gazed at her uncle with gentle eyes. She bit her lip in contemplation, and Daemon found he could not tear his gaze away.

"I shall see you there, I fear Daemon's wound may need some tending."

There it was again, his name - so tantalising, the sound, as it dripped from her tongue.

"Then let the maester deal with him," Aemond spoke in annoyance.

"The maester has much more urgent dealings. It is a simple wound, I shall treat him and join you."

Aemond opened his mouth, ready to protest that if it truly was such a simple wound, Daemon should be able to treat it well himself. But his sister looked at him pleadingly, and he simply pursed his lips and nodded in ascent.

As he turned away, Alaynha hesitated for a second longer before stepping forward and calling out to him - "please let muña know Daemon will be joining us."

She watched Aemond's shoulders stiffen at the order, but knew her brother would never argue with her over such a small and measly thing. He once again nodded his head, waiting for Aegon to swipe his jug of wine before they made their way to their mother's chambers.

Alaynha turned in the opposite direction, only passing a glance over her shoulder to meet Daemon's intense gaze - "come."

***

Daemon sat upon the Princess' bed, his body rigid and tense as he watched her move and gather items scattered across the room.

Whilst Daemon remained in his leathers, she had changed into something much more akin to that of a princess.

Daemon had almost prayed to the Seven to stop his aching thoughts and traiterous body, the temptation to walk behind the dressing screen and see her bare body tremble beneath his gaze.

He had held off long enough, growing hard and stiff beneath his breeches as the dressing screen was almost transparent and gave way to the very shape of the girl hidden behind mounds of fabric.

The gown she wore now was simple, but the material itself was still expensive - a soft satin, perhaps even silk.

As she drew towards him, Daemon couldn't help but part his legs open, ready for her to slot herself between them. She cleared her throat quietly as she stepped in the gap he had made, placing her gathered items next to him upon the bed.

He looked up at her, unable to stop himself from admiring the soft planes of her face, her sharp jaw, her full cheeks, the blush that stained her lips, the eyes that almost gleamed in the light of a setting sun.

When Alaynha peered down to meet his gaze, a damp cloth held in her hand, her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of it, eyes welling with infatuation.

Curiosity, he corrected.

She blinked vigorously, eyelashes fluttering furiously as her hand almost trembled when she took a hold of his face. Her skin felt soft against his flesh, dragging from his hollowed cheeks to rest upon his angled jaw and tilt his fierce gaze away from her own that was growing timid and shy.

The one holding the damp cloth dipped the fabric in a small bowl of warm water, reaching up to brush softly against his gash. Daemon held back a wince, but she could feel the way his jaw flexed in her grasp as he clenched his teeth in pain.

"Sorry," she whispered into the quiet between them.

"You should be." Daemon had meant to mumble the words quietly, but she had heard them all the same.

She frowned at the silent accusation, "excuse me? I do not need to help you. I could always call the maester if you prefer."

Daemon sighed, eyes closing as he realised he had spoken his words much too loud, "I only meant, I would not have gotten this injury was it not for you."

Her head twisted in confusion, stopping her ministrations of cleaning Daemon's gash so she could tap him lightly upon the cheek to gain his attention.

His eyes opened immediately, meeting her questioning gaze as he let out a breath in a huff of amusement, "if it wasn't for that pretty laugh of yours, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten distracted enough to allow my tempered nephew to land a blow."

Her face flushed deeply at his words, eyes rolling as a scoff spilt past her lips, "all I hear are some silly excuses, kepus."

"If it were up to me, I would lock you in my chambers and leave you there, needy and willing, so you never laugh alongside another man again."

He couldn't help the jealousy that tainted his words, couldn't help but tease and test her boundaries once more.

Her hands trembled in truth now as she picked up a small bowl of ointment, dotting it over the gash with a soft touch.

"You speak out of turn, uncle," but her voice still shook under his burning gaze.

"And you do not speak enough. Perhaps you worry of all the others who have been in my chambers, locked away just as I wish you were."

"Perhaps you grow too confident in your own charms and wiles," she sniped as she rubbed the ointment in with care.

"Perhaps."

There was a beat of silence, but his eyes never left hers. Even as she collected her balms and ointments, holding them close to her chest, he watched her.

And when she was ready to step away, he held her waist and pulled her close. Her breath caught in her throat and he simply waited.

Alaynha knew what he waited for, knew what he sought.

She also knew she could not give him such a thing, not when he was wed to her sister - not when he already had a child on the way.

"I am not one of your whores."

"I would never wish you to be."

His voice was earnest, stubborn.

Curiosity, he justified.

She sighed, her hand resting upon his injured cheek and gently rubbing circles upon his skin as his eyes closed as the sensation, her voice was almost a whisper, "my mother must be waiting for us."

And with that she stepped away, and Daemon's hands fell into his lap.

In that moment, Daemon truly did send a prayer to the Seven and begged them to bless him with morals and strength for even he knew his curiosity was giving way to darker desires he would soon be unable to ignore.

An infatuation grew within him. A simmering and burning and aching infatuation- obsession.

If you guys made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed the long read! Thank you to everyone who has engaged with this story by liking, reblogging, and commenting!! I promise to try and update this series more regularly <3

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta @kemillyfreitas @americanprometheuss @clarap23 @pet1t3 @your-favorite-god @hypocritic-trash-baby @esquivelbianca @serving-targaryen-realness @toji-girl @queenmendes @the-lil-spud

[spacebarbarianweird]

What about Astarion X Dragonborn!Tav headcanons?

This one was really tricky! I had to spend some time reading about the Dragonborn. Hope you will enjoy it

Apparently, Dragonborns in DnD are more mammals than reptiles. They are warm-blooded and have human-like biology (except for laying eggs). 

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Dragonborn!Tav

There is the thing about you two, a literal dragon and an elf.

Dragonborns are from a different world, Abeir, and arrived in Toril only during the Spellplague, only a century ago.

Rare in number, exotic, scary.

Astarion had to sleep with thousands of people. Humans, dwarves, elves, gnomes, name it yourself.

Any possible relationship is tainted at best.

But Astarion was never forced to sleep with Dragonborns.

They were never among the victims. Ever.

When he is with you, he can forget.

Being with you doesn't awake unpleasant memories.

Your skin is covered with beautiful scales, and your dragonlike face doesn't show humanoid emotions.

You are different. Alien. Gorgeous.

You are much bigger than him and stronger.

Sometimes, when you hug Astarion, you are afraid to break him as if he is made of crystals.

Your thick fingers and claws are nothing like his delicate palms.

When you caress his hands, you fear hurting him, ruining his perfect silk-like skin.

Often you carry Astarion around in your hands or on your shoulders - he is almost weightless to you.

You are warm-blooded, but the temperature of your body is much higher than that of other humanoids. It feels feverish, and the most of the non-dragonborns you meet refuse to touch you since your scales are just too hot.

But that's exactly what Astarion needs.

He is always cold, the freezing grip of death owns his undead heart.

You are basically a walking heater to him. When you sleep, he just cuddles you, stealing as much warmth as he needs.

And you also feel comfortable with something cold in your hands

Astarion loves your scales. He often washes you, seeing water streaming down your muscled body.

Your blood tastes different - it has fire in it, and it burns in a good way.

Like all the Dragonborns you are good with arts and especially crafting. You make jewelry for Astarion - mostly something Elven-coded.

You treat him like your own beautiful princess you saved from a monster.

And he answers with love and care you would never expect from non-Dragonborn.

Besides, your ancestors were slaves, bred, and exploited for the sake of Draconic Lords - you've never been a slave yourself, but the hatred toward evil masters is innate.

Eventually, you take Astarion home, to Tymanther, a displaced kingdom on the far east of Faerun.

You make him a part of your kin, so, once you are gone, he still has a place to belong.

--

--

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy @tugoslovenka

[ultralightpoe]

Kin of Mine - Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: This is a series following blood of my blood, following Aemond through parenthood 

Warnings: smut, kid on kid violence, maiming 

Word Count: 2603

Description: Aemond has his family, now he must keep them safe 

HOTD MASTER LIST 

BLOOD OF MY BLOOD - PART 2 - PART 3 

MY AEMOND TAGLIST IS OPEN, LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO JOIN! LOTS OF STORIES FOR HIM COMING UP

next part: Kin of Sorrow

              The challenge to Aemonds heir came as no surprise to him, it was bound to happen eventually. 

              Standing to the right of the throne room, once again looking up to his father in a patient wait for him to choose a side. This time, instead of coming here by himself, you stood behind him. Heavily pregnant and holding the hand of your son Caspian. 

            Aemond tried not to be irritated at you having to be here, even when the doctor demanded you rest due to an injury regarding you slipping off vhagar whilst 8 months pregnant. You should be in your chambers, laying in your bed and not stressing the child any more than needed. 

            He could not survive another chance of losing you or your next babe. 

             To his left, also facing the throne, was the challenger. Your deceased husband's pudgy little brother, who had taken the role of lord of his land, came to King's Landing to challenge the fact that Aemond named Caspian his heir. 

               He came to take Caspian as a ward. He came to take Caspian away from Aemond and you. A threat Aemond would not let pass kindly. 

             “When my dearest brother was murdered in cold blood here at the castle-” The stout man argues. “We awaited Lady Y/n return with my brother's son. As is expectation and tradition. She would have been given a room to stay in as Caspian became my ward. It is his legacy. Instead I am told she married the young prince and he named Caspian as his heir.”

               “May I remind you, Lord Fervor, that your brother attacked the prince in the training yard. Multiple witnesses saw it. It was an act of defense.” Alicent argues, voice calm as she looks to the man. 

               Aemond hadn’t spoken to his mother since he married you on Dragonstone. He had sworn his sword to Rhaenyra and he intended to keep you safe. His half sister stood beside you today with the rest of her family, including her bastard sons. 

              “It went to trial Lord Fervor.” Rhaenyra agrees, nodding her head softly and rubbing your arm as Aemond looks to her for a split second. He gives you a small smile which you turn your nose up to.

               Shit, he was still in trouble with you. That he would have to fix. If Aemond had to sleep on the couch one more time he would go nuts. 

             “It is still wrong. Caspian is a-”

              “Caspian is Lady Y/n's son. And we will not drag the boy away from his mother.” The hand of the king snipes, looking to his grandson with a dignified raise of brow. “In most cases the mother would go back but in this case Aemond married her to amend his mistake”

             Bile rises in his throat at that. He had married you because he loved you, and here they were talking about you like you were a piece of meat.

“It does not make sense for him to name Caspian as his heir.” The man's voice was raising now, taking a step towards the throne. “A Targaryen heir without a dragon is-”

             “He has a dragon.” Aemond snaps, fueled on by the soft whispers of his son behind him, just learning to talk. “Upon my marriage to Lady Y/n I gifted her son with a dragon egg. Targaryen tradition.”

             “A dragon gifted to someone without any Targaryen blood. You really expect me to believe that?!” 

              “To what are you implying?” Aemond stepped towards him, standing a little straighter.

                “Your involvement in that boys life is intriguing.” He seethes, hand flying to his sword laid at his waist. “One might say that-”

              “LORD FERVOR I RECOMMEND YOU BITE YOUR TONGUE!” His father calls across the room, guards all moving in from all sides. 

           “Say it.” Aemond urges, jaw clenched as he takes another step forward. “Say. It.”

             “SHE IS A WHORE AND THAT THING IS YOUR BASTARD-” Aemond didn’t aim for the neck, or the abdomen. No, this time he swung his sword right down the mans head. 

           Blood splattered over him as everyone gasped, Caspian screaming and crying in the background.  

             He doesn’t waste a second on the body, moving to turn to his wife and son. He finds them held together, your arms around him as you cradle his head. 

           Shame and dread fills his body as he moves towards you both, placing his hand on your upper back just as he always does when he wishes to lead you away. You follow his silent order, walking out of the throne room with Caspian in your arms sobbing. 

          You do your best as quieting the boy but Aemond softly grabs him from you before you stress yourself out. He quiets down as he reaches for his fathers eyepatch, once again desperate to see the gem underneath. 

             “I must go see Halaena after that.” You state, turning to stomp off. 

            “Nuh uh.” He’s quick to snatch your elbow and spin you back gently, giving you his best glare. “How much longer?”

             “I have no clue how long I will be.” He hated when you played foolish, hated it because you were cunning enough to avoid his actual question. 

              Reaching a hand up to rub at your jaw comfortingly and bring your forehead to his. “I meant how much longer will you be mad with me, little bird?”

           “Five more days.” You jest, leaning into his touch as Caspian touches his own forehead against your cheeks in an attempt to join the love. 

          “What may I do to reduce my punishment?” 

             “Maybe we shall figure it out tonight.” You tease, kissing his lips softly. When you pull away Aemond follows, desperately, but you place your finger on his lips to push him back softly. “Do not let that thing hurt our son.”

            “Do not let Haleana eat you.” He smiles, watching you waddle away before taking Caspian to the dragonpit.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

              He keeps one hand on Caspians stomach, keeping the boy to his chest as he stays crouched down to hold both their hands out to the blue dragon babe in front of them. 

              He has done this every afternoon with Caspian and his dragon, Vhagar sitting not far behind them watching tiredly. He moves Caspian closer, inch by inch. “Closer now, closer…..closer.”

              Caspian giggles as his small hand finally touches the dragon's snout, a low hum coming from the dragon at the movement. “There it is. Say hello to it now Cas-”

             They work like this for hours, teaching the young boy words he needs to learn while bonding the dragon and the boy. 

              Aemonds attention drags to Vhagar who began stirring around. “Easy now Vhagar.”

            He pulls Caspian up into his arms and goes to Vhagar, rubbing her snout. “What’s going in-”

            “Prince Aemond!” A maid calls, running into the pit. “Your wife…..the labor has begun.” 

             Aemond is tearing through the halls in a second. He hears your screams down the hall, handing Cas off to the awaiting arms of a handmaiden before fixing himself up and moving to enter the room. 

            “My prince, you shouldn’t.” A young maid stops him at the door. “My lady isn’t in a decent manner-”

              “Fuck off.” He sneers and pushes past her to enter. You were panting on the bed, his mothers hand gripped in your own as Rhaenyra rubs a warm washcloth on your forehead. 

           “Mother-” All their heads snap to his voice, his mother standing tall and letting go of your hand. 

              “Aemond, you should not be here. It is indecent.” She snaps but he once again shoves past the argument to grip your hand. 

             “How are you feeling, little bird?” He whispers, pushing the hair out of your face as your grip tightens, a painful moan coming out of your mouth in an answer. “Ah, I see. My princess is giving you a fight….”

              You crack a smile at the jest, tugging his hand closer to your chest to hold onto like a pillow. 

               3 hours later Aemond is sitting with you on the bed, a small bundle in your arms as he looks down upon both of you in quiet contempt. 

            “Rhaenyra.” You whisper and Aemond turns to see where his half sister had gone. “No. Look Aemond. Rhaenyra.”

               He understands when you rub the baby's nose very gently, tears filling his eyes as he kisses your temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aemond hated his daughter. 

             Hated her in the fact that she absolutely enjoyed scaring the life out of him every single chance she could get. 

              Rhaenyra is five now, her white hair braided out of her face as she glares at him in the dragon pit. “Rhaenrya. BACK. DOWN.”

              His voice echoes around the pit, watching as his daughter stomps her booted foot in the mud, shaking her head. “If I have to say it one more time then you are banned from the dragonpit for another week.”

            He would never, even the thought of keeping one of his children from their dragon has his gut churning. He would never want them to feel that pain. 

          “Mom says-”

              “Your mother is not here and she was discussing your history lessons when she said hands-on learning is important. I have told you time and time again not to rush the dragon.” He snaps, pulling her close to his side again. “Your brother's dragon is far too large for you to be pushing like that. Do that again and you will be in severe trouble. Do you understand  baby bird?”

           She doesn’t answer, instead swing her braid and storms off, leaving her father kneeling in the mud watching her disappear with a grunt of disapproval. 

           “Where is Rhany going?” Caspian calls, running forward to stand by his father. 

            “Home.” Aemond sighs, standing to bring his son back to where his dragon sat. “Now show me what you’ve been practicing.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

               Vhagar flew straight up into the sky, dragging a scream from your lips as Aemond laughs, feeling free. 

                These were some of his favorite moments with you. His thighs pressed against yours, your back firmly pressed against his chest and your ass rubbing against him perfectly.

            “Are you going to take back your mean words?” He asks into your ear, arms wrapped around you to keep hold of Vhagars reigns.

              “Aemond Targaryen if you do not ease your dragon this instant-” He grabs your neck then, pulling your face back to look at him. 

            “Say the magic words then little bird.” 

                “FINE! YOU’RE THE BEST FUCK IN WESTOROS!” You scream as Vhagar keepings going, Aemond laughing as he calls for her to smooth out. “You utter child.”

               “Easy now, wife.” He says lowly, slipping a hand from the reins to start dragging your dress further up your thigh and touch your center. “I’m just having some fun...”

              A soft moan falls from you as your head falls back into his shoulder. “Aemond…..Aemond this is dangerous.”

             “Just give in….. Give me what I want little bird.” He whispers, fingers sinking into you in a quick pace. “You can do that, you can give me what I want, can’t you?”

            “No.” You moan, trying to stop his wrist. “You can barely tame the first Two. I am not giving you another.”

             “Just one more. Another Targaryen, please.” He nips at your ear while his fingers thrust up.  “Just give in. You know you’ll let me-”

                “I will never fuck you again if it means we don’t risk another child. Do you hear me Aem-”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

               “-OND FUCK!” You scream, head hitting the wall of the dragon pit as your arms wrap tighter around him, his thrusts harsh and heavy. Your nails are digging into his tunic, clawing to get to his skin as the sound of skin slapping fills the air. 

               “This is all I fucking want-” He grunts out, the hand placed in your hair fisting and tugging back until your moaning from the pain. “All you have to do….fuck…. Is let me fuck you full until you’re carrying again.”

            “People could walk in!” You gasp out, head hitting the wall of the small dragon stable currently empty, dragging him closer. 

            “Then I suggest you cum birdy.” He mutters slowly, speeding up with a vengeful look.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

           Caspian Targaryen, first of the name, was a fearful creature. 

            He had a dragon, an intensely protective father, a younger sister with a crazed madman look, and a cunning mother. But he also had the bastard title. 

              It was never proven, and it would never be fully proven. But everyone knew, the eyes were the ones that gave it away. He had his sisters eyes, his fathers eyes……Targaryen eyes. 

              The boy often had vivid dreams of his fathers eyes, having been so interested in them growing up it was only fair he admire the way his father carried himself, knowing that he was insecure about it. 

               The only times Caspian saw his father without his patch were near his mother, you refused to kiss the man with that thing on, claiming it ruins the rugged effect. How dare he even try to snag a kiss before removing that ugly piece of leather.

                  His father would shake his head and pretend to be mad, but the way he stood a little taller and smiled a little larger told Caspian that this little family his father had made were the few people who didn’t target the eye or treat him as a monster.

                 So Caspian took after his father’s example and refused to back down as the bastard rumors spread. But that was easier said then done.

              His cousin, Jaeherys, was a cruel individual. He seemed to have it out for the boy as long as Caspian could remember. 

              They were all forced to train together, just as his father had trained with his cousins growing up, a way to keep the family close. But Jaeherys was using the time to attack his cousins. 

                 It had been a rough day in the training yard, and Caspian had not only thrown Jaeherys to the ground but had accidentally kneed him quite hard. Once Sir Criston dismissed everyone Caspian knew his cousin was going in for the kill. 

                “What’s the rush dear cousin?” Jaeherys calls, picking up a dagger from one of the tables. “Are you rushing off to your mommy and sweet little sister?”

             Caspian doesn’t give him an answer, instead he speeds up, not liking the dark. But two of his cousin's goonies snatch both his arms and force him to his knees in a struggle. 

              “You know…. Our grandmother had a brilliant idea the other day.” His cousin starts, coming to stand in front of the boy. “Once they put my father on the throne they are going to marry me off to your baby sister. A way to keep the alliance with your fucking traitor of a father-”

                “BACK OFF-” Caspian struggles, panicking in the hold of the two boys. 

               “You think your baby sister would like me fucking her?” His cousin laughs before showing the knife. “It’s disgusting that I have to train alongside you, nothing but an unwanted bastard you are.”

           “Fuck. You.” There was bile rising in his throat, he was going to be sick. But what would that matter, in a moment he would be dead.

            “I have an idea, lets make you look more like your father….. That way no one confuses you again.” He laughs and brings the knife high up into the air, bringing it back down as a large cry of pain fills the yard. 

—------------------------------

TAG LIST:

@Schniiipsel

@sluttyaemond

[frankcastleonlyfans]

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄:

pairing: dad!daemon targaryen x mom!reader

author's note: HBO ROBBED US FROM HAVING SOFT DADDY!DAEMON SO HERE AM I DOING GOD'S WORK!!!! SOFT DADDY!DAEMON IS CANON AND NOTHING WILL CHANGE MY MIND!!!! also please comment if you'd like to see more daemon headcanons <3

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. i hope you like it!

warnings: fluff, mentions of children getting harmed, implications of children getting harmed, soft daddy!daemon, girl daddy!daemon.

read the rest of my dad!daemon x mom!reader au series

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ୨♡୧ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

You and Daemon had three children together.

Your eldest son, Rhaegon, looked like a copy of his father.

Rhaegon had Daemon's looks, talents, and his father's extremely dubious sense of humor.

Your only girl, Alyssa, was named after Daemon's mother.

She was sweet and happy, but also shared her father's hyperactivity and thirst for adventure.

Your youngest son, Maegon, wasn't like his siblings.

Although he just celebrated his seventh name day, Maegon was introverted and liked to read instead of playing like a normal child would do.

Daemon thought it was quite adorable, and never pushed his child to be more active against his will.

Maegon was also a mama's boy, not like your other children who had an obvious preference for your husband.

Rhaegon and Alyssa were 13 and 10, respectively.

Daemon would teach them to befriended with the Velaryon boys, and pick on Alicent's kin.

Daemon would teach Rhaegon to take care of his sister, but would also teach her how to defend herself when he's not around.

"Daddy! Daddy, let me play with Darksister!"

"When you're old enough I will give you your own sword, I promise, my little dragon."

Daemon would take the kids on dragonrides.

They all had dragons, except for Maegon, whose egg never hatched and turned into stone.

Rhaegon's dragon was named Araxes, because he wanted his dragon to be as legendary as his father's.

You found it funny, since you rode Vermithor, The Bronze Fury, a dragon almost as big as Vhagar that once belonged to King Jaehaerys, but you guessed that your dragon wasn't as cool as your husband's.

Alyssa's dragon was called Starblaze, but she was too small to carry the little princess' weight.

Daemon would take her in Caraxes back with him, and you would take Maegon.

Araxes was medium-sized and had a thin body, so he was faster than Caraxes and Vermithor.

Daemon would scold Rhaegon, asking him to slow down and stop doing tricks that could get himself hurt.

Rhaegon was wild like his father, so he wouldn't like to be controlled.

"Aemond can do this without an eye and riding Vhagar!"

"Aemond is not my son. I couldn't care less if that prick gets hurt."

Daemon would read bedtime stories to your children.

Daemon would teach them high valyrian, and tell them about their roots and culture.

Daemon would be an overprotective father, scared of what Alicent were capable of doing against his children, since Alyssa was the one who hurt Aemond.

Daemon would teach Rhaegon how to fight, because he knew Ser Criston would favor Alicent's boys.

At the end of the day, Daemon loved being a parent.

He loved to look at his children and see how much they were like him, but also how they looked like you.

He loved how Rhaegon was curious and passionate like you.

He loved how Alyssa was beautiful and kind like you.

He loved how Maegon was quiet and observant like you.

He enjoyed every moment of raising the kids by your side, and wanted to do it all again.

"I've been thinking," he murmured against your shoulder, "I want another child."

"You what!?"

[sleepyorchidmonster]

What if king Henrik managed to steal Malleus's egg after defeating Meleanor?

The main point is that the egg WOULDN'T hatch because it needs love (and even in canon it took a couple of centuries to hatch, despite the presence of Lillia and Maleficia).

So after a few tries, he discards his plans and keeps the egg as a trophy. Years pass and a five year-old Silver finds the trophy room while playing. He stumbles into the pedestal holding the egg, but manages to save it before it falls.

The child then senses a tiny heartbeat, and realizes there is a baby inside the egg!

The egg hatches immediately. Baby Silver loved it at once (the way he did once upon a dream).

And that's how we get a Dragon Prince journey (sorta).

After the dragon hatched, Silver went to talk with his animal friends to see if they could help (he loves his parents, but he couldn't just tell them he went to the trophy room to play, some instinct of his was also telling him they couldn't be trusted).

He left the little dragon under the care of a mother bear and went to the library to see if he could find anything. He came across a few old books from before the Silver Owls that described the Draconias (the little prince was so excited! His dragon friend could become a friend friend! He didn't have any friends besides the animals! And the dragon was even a fellow prince!)

But first things first! His dragon friend needed to meet his actual family, they were probably worried sick! So he grabbed a few maps, marked out the closest fae castle, told his parents he would go play with the animals in the woods and left.

The trek was very long and dangerous, but the entire forest was on his side. Baby Silver kept talking to Malleus, explaining life as a prince, introducing his animal friends, and trying to find out if he liked to eat berries.

They avoided war-stricken areas and managed to reach fae territory. And that's when things took a turn for the worse.

Henrik and the Silver Owls found them. Apparently, the egg was missing and a search party was assembled to follow its magical traces. Baby Silver didn't know that, and went to greet his uncle, saying that he was helping out a friend find his family!!

Henrik looked at his nephew, then at the dragon, and went for the kill, literally. The kid couldn't even defend himself, as his uncle cut him down with a simple strike (dawn knight was at home).

And that's when baby Malleus's magic blew up.

A snowstorm of cataclysmic proportions struck, complete with fire tornados and lightning. At the center of it all stood two children, the tiny Silver that was bleeding out, and Malleus, who had taken a human form and was trying to close the wound (he changed forms because he was scared and emulated the only thing he could think of as strong and protection, and that thing was five year-old Silver). Meanwhile, all of the animals formed a protective circle around them.

Luckily, reinforcements soon arrived. Both Lillia and Maleficia came (that storm could only be a Draconia's doing, they would NOT lose the egg again). They made quick work of the rest of the Silver Owls before rushing to Malleus's aid.

The animals let the faes though, as if they knew the dragon had finally found his kin. But Malleus wouldn't let go of Silver, even when the kid started telling him "Look, we found your family!! You're safe!", smiling despite the pain and looming death.

With the use of "Far Cry Cradle", Lillia quickly explained the situation, and the faes made the decision to save the human. They had a much too big debt with this child, who was so innocent it hurt.

They were also keeping the human. If that despicable man was his UNCLE, then no way in hell were the rulers of Briar Valley going to give the child back to his family. It would be a disgrace to the Draconia family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, there a a few ways this AU could go.

1. The faes weren't able to save Silver. They create a monument in his honor and he becomes the only human they respect. Relations with the Silver Owls may improve now that Henrik is dead, if they can convince Dawn Knight his son died to save Malleus.

2. The faes save Silver, who lives in Briar Valley until the end of his mortal lifespan, acting as Malleus's big brother and knight. The Silver Owls are angry, but eventually come to an agreement once they realize there was no mind control involved.

3. The faes manage to save Silver, but the wounds were so grave that he had to stay in magic stasis for a few hundred years. Receiving the BOTW Shrine of Ressurection treatment. Due to the nature of the magic, he lost his memories, got silver hair and became sleepy. He later wakes up and becomes the Silver we all know and love. Malleus still sees him as the older brother, but thinks that now it's his turn to protect the human!

[twistedwonderlandsimps]

I've already actually had ideas similar to this but I've never really gotten around to writing it but!

Yuu AU where Yuu comes from a high-fantasy world. All kinds of creatures, whether mythological or not, exist in Yuu's world and aren't limited to humans. Additionally, humans aren't powerless because some of them actually have superhuman abilities and even magic. Kind of like the world building in 'I'm Not This Kind Of Hero' (check it out, it's a classic and makes me feel old) or Medusa and Futakuchi-san by Makise Shaun. Also, now that I think about it, it’s similar to Monster High but the atmosphere’s different. Monster High’s more on the creepy-cool theme while this one’s a more wider and diverse side. Same concept, different font.

Human, elves, dragons, dwarves, nymphs, slimes, fairies, humanoid, non-humanoid, whatever species it is, exists back in Yuu's world. Imagine Yuu belonging to one of these species.

Yuu as a giant merperson like Shirahoshi from One Piece. Of course they aren't in their  true form when they arrive because they won't be able to fit in the Mirror Chambers otherwise. Yuu definitely has the advantage when the Octavinelle arc comes up because they just steamroll past through the twins with a flick of their tail, lmao.

Yuu as a harpy. If they're the type that can lay eggs, imagine having to explain to Deuce that no, the egg they laid wasn't fertilized so it wasn't going to turn into a baby, calm down. Oooo, now that I think about it, variations of harpies! Owls, crows, eagles, everything! Regardless, Harpy!Yuu probably puffs up threateningly every time Crowley's somewhere in the vicinity.

Yuu as a dragonkin. Are they the Western type with the more lizard features? Are they the Eastern type with the more noodle-like features? Are they able to completely turn human or are they the type who constantly has their draconic features out? Probably either sees Malleus as a threat because of territorial and hoarding instincts or tries to hoard Malleus themselves because kin instincts. Well, depending on the type of dragon Yuu's gonna be, that is. Some dragons are solo creatures while others are more social.

Yuu as a slime. Whether they're more humanoid or just a round ball of goo, this Yuu's just vibing. Virtually zero damage can be done to them since they always just reform unless they're met with their weakness. Of course, this also depends on what kind of slime Yuu's gonna be since there's like a ton of slime variants out there. Some are infused elementally, some are infused with something else like metal, poison, acid, whatever. Oooo, just imagine a tiny ball of blob that can fit on the palm of your hand. This Yuu would probably be used as a stress ball a lot, that is if Yuu allowed it. Imagine a Yuu slime variant that doesn’t speak but instead wiggles to communicate. 

Yuu as a shadow creature. Which when faced off against the overblots just utterly decimates them immediately because not only are they a creature of the shadows, they are the shadows themselves. Kind of like Pride from Fullmetal Alchemist minus the eyes. Just imagine seeing your housewarden overblot and having this ink creature menacingly looming behind them and then see an even bigger creature appear and loom behind them. 

Yuu as an android, kinda like Ortho. I feel like this Yuu is the type to give Ortho a gun and be like, “Go, commit crimes, child.” This Yuu is probably a walking, talking military-grade bioweapon. Was definitely a big headache for Idia in STYX because Yuu hacked and overrode the systems.

Yuu as an arachne (spider-human hybrid). They just arrived and someone in the Mirror Chambar already fainted, frothing at the mouth (It was totally Jamil). They get Ramshackle and was like, ‘Score!’ and now it’s full of spiderwebs everywhere. It looks even more haunted than before, they’ve made themselves completely home. I don’t know why but I imagine this Yuu being the cheerful and energetic type.

Of course, let’s not forget the possibilities for the human variants of Yuu. Mad scientist Yuu who likes creating androids and robots. Probably has these tiny drone things hovering around them that shoot out lasers and practically doesn’t step outside Ramshackle because they’re too busy trying to build stuff until Crowley forces them out. Magic user Yuu who, well, uses magic. Probably doesn’t need any wand to cast spells and their magic is probably more versatile than the magic in Twisted Wonderland because they virtually have no limits in casting whatever aside from their limited mana.

Anyway, High Fantasy!Yuu.

[dollfaced-erin]

𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟'𝕤 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕖 (Blade x F!Reader x Jing Yuan)

PART 9

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8

A/n ! :

sorry i'm late ! i was waiting for the 1.3 update to see if there was anything wrong with the content i already had in the story. But it seems like everything i wrote is still ambiguous and according to the main story, so i dont have to change much !! yipee !! anyways, did you guys pull for dan heng ? tell me how it went !

Taglist ! :-

@rebeccawinters , @nayukiyukihira , @pix-stuff , @fluffy-koalala , @swivy123 , @starxao , @kaoyamamegami , @kimura-uzuri , @rsvye , @seikouryuu , @just-here-reading , @matsulovesyou, @sincerely-aaronette , @prettyliliy , @chibiduck , @hermosacolibri , @la-diablas-thingz , @farelady-fate

Once…there was a legend. Of the clan that inherited the will of an Aeon, Long the Permanence. This clan was bestowed with the gift of immortality, being able to spend hundreds of years roaming this world.

This legend…revolves around two beings that directly inherited this will. The will of the heart of the dragon. Those who have successfully inherited this will through trials and challenges will be bestowed with power that overleaps its bounds of regular limits.

Born from different eggs, yet inherit the same heart, was two siblings. Similar to each other, yet so different from the other. A fierce and stoic brother, and a kind and gentle sister. One inherited the might of the seas, and the other inherited the wisdom of the remedies.

Once this shy but sociable sister desired to find company. So her confident but reserved brother brought her and introduced her to a group outside the walls of her confines.

With the arrogant heart that she managed to pure, she followed through with eyes of a child, and a heart yearning for more. A heart that showed nothing but kindness, until the blacksmith taught the princess the meaning of love.

But siblings don't go too far from each other. Sooner rather than later, even the brother began to favor his heart towards the short-lived species. The heart that was in his sister began to resonate as greed and jealousy plagued his soul.

He would fight, even if it meant going behind his dear sister's back.

With greed…all three of them fell into ruin. Even the homeland they so desperately tried to protect…

The dragon went missing, the princess lay in rest, the blacksmith was cursed and the prince's kin was exiled.

"This is a legendary tale told amongst the Vidyadhara children," said the nurse to her charge. The young doctor sighed and pouted, a cute frown on her lips, a rosy blush on her cheeks.

"Why are there only tales of woe wove from the history of dust ?" the next high elder asked, looking up from her many books, setting down her brush that was dipped in black ink.

"Because in the end, we can only remember the memories that impacted us the most, Lady Bailu."

Bailu huffed, and crossed over her arms before looking up at the ceiling that housed her in her little 'cage'. The tail behind her whipped in annoyance, the shackle binding it making it heavy.

"I wonder what happened to them after the story ended..."

It happened all in a blink of an eye. In one moment, she had knocked down one of the Mara-struck soldiers. She was about to hand her gourd to one of the healers to apply to the fallen star when the other plagued ones had rose to their feet, about to attack her.

The trailblazers (Y/n) had recognized from Jing Yuan's hologram meeting were there too, watching from the sidelines as they stiffened, grabbing their weapons as they were about to step in to assist. The grey haired star traveler with her bat, the pink haired girl with her bow, and the man with the power of the imaginary.

But before they managed to step in, a cool icy breeze pushed past them, small thin petals of ice drifting in the wind from behind them. The wind began to pick up, all of a sudden from out of nowhere. All visions blurred for a slight moment as the icy winds shut their eyes.

A determined thump of a heal resounded in the little dragon's ears, as her eyes were blinded with the sudden hurricane.

"Freeze within the confines of beauty and purity," a cold yet warm voice whispered through the mist.

As eyes opened again, the mara struck soldiers were stuck in lotus like cages, cold air being stuck in their confines, freezing them to the core. The abominations thrashed in there, but their movements were growing slower by the second.

But that wasn't all.

In front of Bailu, stood a tall woman, her (h/c) swaying around her as the winds died down, probably due to the extreme power this woman exerted just from her form.

"Are you alright ?!" a woman asked, standing proudly and protectively in front of the healers that were startled from the sudden confrontation.

This woman...the lady with silky (h/c) hair like the finest silk, woven from the freshest flowers. Eyes of (e/c) carved from the most brilliant precious stones in the universe. Skin so clear and soft, like a child that had just hatched from their egg. Blue horns that perched on her head, confirming her identity and status.

Bailu would be crazy not to recognize the woman before her.

"L-lady Dan--" Bailu cut herself short, knowing the information she had received earlier.

"Lady (Y/n), what are you doing here ?!" the young dragon girl asked.

(Y/n) looked behind her to immediately notice the horns perched atop of the girl's head, the tail swishing so eagerly behind her. She frowned, her eyebrows creasing for a moment. Her beautiful purple tail...was shackled. For what reason...?

"Are you alright ?" (Y/n) asked, crouching down in front of the young heiress, hands on her arms as she looked into those troubled blue eyes. Once she had received a nod from the young girl, she turned to the Astral Expressers, her hands clutching her fan tightly.

"I...I'm alright ! M-my name is Bailu !" the little girl quickly introduced. (Y/n) raised an eyebrow at the hastiness. Was this little girl...scared of her...?

"Give them a moment. You can knock them out cold once the ice lotus has froze them." (Y/n) said with a nod to the oldest of them, finding her instincts telling her that he was leading the two young women.

Soon after she was sure that the forsaken ones had froze from her powers, the ice petals of the lotus that caged them moved in a wilting way, releasing the abominations of their confines and disintegrating into fine mist. And the Nameless got to work.

"Thank you for your assistance, Lady..." the brunette-haired man asked, looking at the refined young dragon woman before him. He wasn't quite sure how to address the woman before him, but he was sure she was of high standing, based on her clothes, horns, air of elegance, show of power. And most of all...the way the young dragon lady addressed her as Lady.

"(Y/n). My name is (Y/n)." (Y/n) said with a nod, standing up to acknowledge the help. Bailu had went off with the other healers to assess the wounds and conditions of the Mara-struck soldiers, being knocked out cold for a while as Bailu gave them her elixir.

"Lady (Y/n). My name is Welt Yang," the brunette man introduced before gesturing to the other two women. "And this is March, and Stelle."

March beamed out a happy and bubbly 'Hello !" at the woman, and Stelle nodded in acknowledgment, commenting shortly about 'You have pretty horns. Are they real ?'. (Y/n) nodded softly, finding Stelle's question rather...humorous.

"Thanks for helping to stabilize the patients..." Bailu sighed as she turned around from the fallen mara-struck soldiers to meet the Trailblazers that had helped them.

"Your...'assertive sedations' techniques are quite effective." Bailu acknowledged with a small nod.

"Assertive sedation techniques...? Does she mean beating people up ?" March asked with a finger to her lips.

"However..." Bailu said, looking behind her, and then looking down to the ground. "These Cloud Knights were already sick, and now they're injured too. I've gotta bandage up their wounds, realign their bones...ugh, as if I didn't have enough already on my plate !"

Then (Y/n) turned to Bailu. "I could help you if you need. If I could just remember things right, I should be able to do it." she said with a nod, and Bailu gleamed in joy.

But before Bailu could express her gratitude, March cut in with a question, after inspecting the two horned beings before her, trying to connect the dots. "Where did you come from, little one ? Is your dad around ?"

Then March turned to (Y/n). "Do you know where her parents are ?"

Before (Y/n) could answer, Bailu chirped up, "I don't have a dad."

"Uh...what about your mom ?" "I don't have a mom either."

(Y/n) was so perplexed at the exchange, she couldn't even find it in her to laugh at how clueless and vague Bailu made the Vidyadhara situation to be.

Bailu sighed, looking at March then shaking her head in disappointment. "I get it, you think because I'm small I'm must be a runaway child."

"Welcome to the Xianzhou, my short-lived outsider friends, appearances can be deceiving here !" Bailu announced, her little hands on her hips. "The Vidyadhara race is self-reincarnating. No mum or dad required !"

"What she means is, as you can see here, we're not humans. We're a more draconic race known as the Vidyadhara. Our most significant features are our pointed ears, but for special cases like for myself and Miss Bailu here, we have horns and a tail." (Y/n) explained, crouching down and placing a hand on the small back of the little lady next to her.

"We don't have parents. Whenever we are gravely injured or our bodies no longer are able to sustain us, we return back to an egg for reincarnation process." (Y/n) patiently explained, using what knowledge she had from her 'past' life. Although it wasn't too hard to dig out since it was general knowledge instead of self-history.

"Yeah ! I've been studying the art of healing ever since I cast off my old shell ! You're looking at a recognized, practicing, dedicated doctor !" Bailu proudly said in front of the Trailblazers, and in front of (Y/n).

(Y/n) let out a soft chuckle, realizing why this child was a little hesitant with her in the beginning. This child wanted to show (Y/n) she was a capable person. For what reason ? Perhaps this abundance of energy would let it slip later.

"Belobog kids are making snowmen while children here are writing prescriptions..." March said, as she looked at Stelle. A frown pulled at her pretty lips, while her companion shook her head in response.

Bailu looked up at March, worry in her pretty sea eyes. "Things haven't been very peaceful on the Luofu recently. Make sure you don't--" "Go running around, right ?" March continued, a soft smile on her lips.

"Well your general gave us an errand, so I'm afraid we have to." March said, shaking her head.

As they continued to talk, (Y/n) couldn't help but notice the constant pair of eyes that burned through her back. It seemed that there were some that are quite...dissatisfied with her presence here. She was sure that when Jing Yuan allowed her to roam the streets, he must've held an audience with the Six Charioteers, the Ten-Lords Commission and the Vidyadhara Preceptors.

So why is that maid in the back there looking all fidgety...?

(Y/n) turned around to leave the group (after learning how to exchange beacons with Bailu and the rest), and walked towards the maid that stood quite a ways behind them. She wasn't much of a person up for confrontation, but if matters called, she didn't mind putting people in their place, now so that she had regained some memories of her past identity.

"You." (Y/n) asked as she stood in front of that maid. This was the maid that looked quite dissatisfied with (Y/n) from the moment (Y/n) stepped close to Bailu.

This woman had pointed ears. Huh. So it must be Bailu's retainers, then. Such a heavy watch for a child that could barely even reach her waist. Had something happened once she had succumbed to her slumber ?

"I was hoping you'd never step close to Miss Bailu." the woman said, and it made (Y/n) raise her brow at this.

"And why is that ? Is she not the next High Elder ? Does she not have a say in what she should and should not do ?" (Y/n) asked, her hands holding onto the fan.

"Once you had woken up from your slumber, the Preceptors are threatening to remove Miss Bailu of her position. After your brother, Dan Feng threatened to ruin the High Elder Succession of the Luofu..."

"Hold on. Miss Bailu's draconic features is more than enough proof for her to be the High Elder, is it not ?" (Y/n) said, putting a thoughtful hand to her lips. Then she shook her head. "And if you're worried about the succession of the new High Elder, you mustn't worry. For as long as my brother does not return, I cannot be the High Elder, no matter how much power I behold."

"I would merely be...incomplete without him."

And suddenly, she felt as if her heart was beating loudly in her chest. Her eyes widened as she suddenly felt the loud thumping in her chest, pulling her somewhere. Somewhere...familiar.

Following her heart, she excused herself from the maid and went off. It felt as if something was pulling her heart, like a string pulling her along where she walked.

Past the citizens...through streets...and into the dark alleyway none would've dared walked into.

She was alone in the dark. She wondered not why did she follow her heart without thinking rationally. She clutched her fan tightly in one hand, though she was sure anyone in their right mind wouldn't want to venture into these silent and cold dark spaces. Not when there was the internal strife she was told about.

(Y/n) shook her head, pondering about why did her heart really bring her here. That was, until she felt strong arms wrap around her smaller form, her back colliding with a rock-hard surface, and a weight softly dropping itself onto her shoulder, breathing softly as the individual took in her scent of flowers and ice.

"Even though I didn't want to let you see me again..." a deep and cold voice resonated in her ear. Then soft lips pecked themselves on her shoulder.

"I just had to see you one last time..."

[sleeplessdreamer123]

Fanfic Idea! (If Lucerys was the one without a dragon)

Lucerys had always heard the word. Bastard. There were many whispers of his and his brothers' bastardy, their hair, their eyes, their skin, nothing of thier features showed any sign of Targaryen or Velaryon. In fact, they shows more signs of being the sons of a certain "strong" guard.

It was worse for Lucerys, however. He looked at his cold dragon egg, his hope of it ever hatching long vanished. He was jealous of his brothers. Jace's dragon Vermax and Joffrey's dragon Tyraxes hatched in their cribs, but his didn't. While they have their dragons, a proof that though they didn't have the traits, they are still, undoubtedly Targaryen, of Old Valyria. Lucerys however, has nothing. And it was what made so many look down on him. Even his uncle Aemond, who he deeply loved and shared a close bond with due to the fact they both had no dragon to call their own, called him a worthless bastard after stealing the dragon meant for his cousin. Maybe that was why it felt so easy to cut his eye out. A part of him hated what his uncle have done, and a part of him hated that his uncle took a dragon and turned on him as well.

He felt nothing when he saw the wound he inflicted the next day, felt no guilt when he and his family left for Dragonstone. He was betrayed by the one he thought would see him as family despite his lack of dragon, and now he sees that Aemond never saw him as family at all. Mayhaps he laughed in secret, when he told him his deepest fear of never having a dragon, of never being accepted as a Targaryen, or a Velaryon. Mayhaps he secretly jeered when they would comfort each other, holding their cold eggs as they watch their brothers with living dragons. He hated that he might be right. He lived in Dragonstone for a few more years, trying his best to learn how to be the perfect Velaryon heir, because that was all he could cling to. And he needed to do great. Without a dragon, this was all he could do.

It was Daemon, his now father, who told him he could claim the dragons that lived in Dragonstone. Grey ghost, Sheepstealer, maybe even Seasmoke, since Laenor had long been gone. Lucerys didn't feel like he could bond with those dragons. They didn't feel...right. But he wanted to claim a dragon, the right dragon, to prove to his uncle that he too was of Valyrian descent. So he asked for more details, are there any other dragons without riders in Dragonstone? And Daemon listed the names and places they were last spotted. None interested him, until he hears the last one, where Daemon, fearless man that he was, hesitated. Cannibal. A dragon who feasts on his own kin. And suddenly, it felt perfect.

It was hard, looking for Cannibal's hiding place, but once you find the skeletons, it's hard to ignore the trail. When Cannibal saw him, he roared, but Lucerys stared at him with determination. Slowly, he presented the egg, his egg. One that never hatched.

And after a few moments, where they stared each other down, Cannibal roared again. Lucerys' heart raced, believing he made a mistake, that Cannibal would burn him to dust, or would eat him and the egg alive, not even leaving a bone for his family find.

He was ready to run, not caring how futile it would be. He was ready to escape. Except he didn't need to.

Cannibal took the egg from his hands, and crushed it with his mighty maw, swallowing it without any problem whatsoever. When Lucerys reached out for Cannibal, in stupidity or blind hope, he really doesn't know which, Cannibal allowed him to touch his coal black scales, though his green eyes looked at him with the wildness that would never be tamed. In some part of his mind, he thought that Cannibal was quite the handsome dragon. He really must have lost his mind. That was what his parents and siblings gold him when he returned. Rhaenyra immediately hugging him once he got off, and Daemon looking both shocked and impressed. Cannibal was made to live outside of the dragon pit, to protect the rest of the dragons from his hunger.

Soon, the whole of Westeros found out that Lucerys Velaryon, the bastard, dragonless son of Rhaenyra, tamed Cannibal, the most dangerous wild dragon in the seven seas, surpassing even Vhagar. It was a sick rush, a dark satisfication, to have the better dragon than his betrayer uncle. Soon he will show him, show them all that he was worthy of being the descendant of Old Valyria.

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

stimboard for : egg a1 (qsmp) with a focus on clear things, clinical vibes, cleancore, and plushies

x | x | x x | - | x x | x | x

[madwomansapologist]

Maybe gith Tav and Lae'zel raising the egg together hcs?<3

raising xan with lae'zel

Navigation | More Githyanki Warrior | AO3

synopsis: The Absolute was defeated, but you and Lae'zel still have much to do. Much to raise.

warnings: yesterday i finished the crèche and now the egg is on lae'zel's inventory. she and my monk will be moms! that's fluff and love and domesticity.

● As the Absolute fell into the Chiontar the party didn't found an end to their stories: only a different goal, this time in a better word.

● Some ached for plans, structure, action. Baldur's Gate needed to be rebuild, devils and cambions must face the product of their wrongdoings, life must become an normal occurence in the once cursed lands.

● Some seeked peace. To become a teacher when you used to be an archmage, to embrace family and animals when once you would let them be consumed by darkness. Or to fight for your people, either because you owe this to them or because you owe this to yourself.

● For the two of you, it meant an old war finally became yours. It meant red dragons, the comet's memories, a fighting that will only end with Vlakith's golden head hanging from her neck. It means honoring Orpheus' sacrifice.

● And in the middle of this war, maybe the most important one you both have ever fought, there is this new living being. An egg that was supposed to be discarded, but ended up accompaning you both during your whole journey. An egg that despise it all, was worth the wait.

● Lae'zel leaded the fight, meanwhile you strategized and searched for allies. And even during this moment, you both found time to discover how to raise a kid. A kid that will be trained, that will be tested, but that will also know what inconditional love looks like.

● It changed how you both saw life. Lae'zel turned more protective, cautious, worrying not only about her kin's future but her child. And you turned more agressive, impatient. No one will hurt this precious thing that never harmed anyone. You will make sure of it.

● Lae'zel at first thought it was stupid to talk to the cub, but within time she started to whisper about her day when she tried to make him sleep. It was a lovely sight, althought you always fight her when she starts talking too much about gore.

● It wasn't traditional, but fuck it. He deserves love, care and protection. Just as you both did. The difference is that you two will make sure he receives it all. Too much is always better than too little.

● Your people may not be free yet, but Xan will witness it.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

BALDUR’S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[hanafubukki]

The Love of a Family

Summary: A young Malleus Draconia travels back in time to meet Lilia and his older brother, Silver.

Characters: Young Malleus Draconia, Silver, and Lilia Vanrouge

Notes: I saw Lian’s post yesterday about Big Brother Silver AU and brain literally went haywired ( @rayroseu​ ) Please check out her post, its so precious and beautiful and still has my heart aching and I loved it so much. Big Brother Silver AU has a soft place in my heart now and I just had to have them meet. I just had too 😭😭💚💚 I hope you enjoy. I’m not used to writing non-reader insert stories, but I did my best 🙌💚 (This is 1k+ you can tell my brain went brrr 🥰🥰💕💕💕)

Mother…

Father…

Even Silver…

I’m so sorry I was born too late and never got to meet you all…

Malleus felt his tears drip down his face, splattering on the album in front of him.

He loved to look at this album; Lilia always said how it was filled with people who loved him.

His mother and father hugging his egg.

Lilia drawing little bats on the egg.

Big brother Silver, as a baby, shared a cradle with him.

Big brother Silver looked so happy.

As Malleus flips through the pages, he saw how time changes and so does Lilia and big brother Silver.

Always cradling the egg and giving love.

Malleus wiped his face, looking at the ring the brother he never met wore in the picture.

The same ring that was hanging around his neck.

Malleus recalled what Lilia had told him:

o   “Silver had wanted you to inherit his ring. He wanted his younger brother to know he was loved and cherished. How proud he is that you finally hatched.”

o   The smile Lilia wore was tinged with fondness, love, and sadness.

o   Malleus wanted to reach out and wipe that sadness away.

I wish…I wish I got to meet you big brother Silver….

Malleus fell asleep on top of the album, unknown to him, a haze of magic swirled around him.

Silver patted the egg in front of him before wrapping it with a blanket.

Nice and cozy.

He leaned his head slightly on it.

Father is working hard to find a way to make you hatch…I don’t understand how I can use love in making you grow…even so, I still would love to help.

Malleus-sama, I hope you know how loved you are. I hope you will hatch soon so everyone can meet you.

Silver turned, startled, at feeling a burst of magic coming from his father’s study.

Father isn’t home.

Silver grabbed his nearby sword, glancing at a white dove near the windowsill, who chirped before flying to relay his message to his father.

Silver used his magic to shield off the room, only with his death can anyone enter.

As if he would allow anyone to hurt his little brother.  

Silver silently treaded across the hallway, using the shadows to keep out of sight of any potential dangers.

He was the personification of the Phantom General.

Silver opened the door, weapon ready…

…only to be surprised by the dragonling in front of him.

Silver watched as the little dragon fae ate the mushroom risooto he made him.

When the dragon fae had awoken, he had surpsied Silver with a hug.

Big Brother Silver! You’re here!

Silver had returned his hug just as tightly.

Said dragon tightly held his hand, as if he never wanted to let go.

When his father had returned home, Silver had already put Malleus-sama down for a nap. He had promised him he wouldn't leave his side.

His father looked relieved at the sight of Malleus-sama, tears shining in his eyes. Silver knew exactly how he felt as he felt the same.

Lilia raised a trembling hand and placed it on the dragonling’s head. Malleus mumbled and continued to sleep.

Lilia and Silver couldn’t help but smile.

Malleus-sama loved as strongly as any dragon kin, fiercely.

He would pull Silver with him everywhere.

He would root for him against their father when they sparred.

o   Lilia pouted, “Hey! Why don’t I get any support!”

o   “Big Brother is cooler than you!”

o   Lilia gasped in fake affront before chasing the little one.

o   Silver laughed.

o   He smiled as he looked on in fondness.

o   His little brother was adorable.

Malleus-sama would always ask Silver to cook, not that he could blame him as his father wasn’t…the best.

Malleus-sama’s and Silver’s favorite part of the night would be when the three would share a bed. Silver and Lilia would take turns reading to Malleus, both using magic to make some of the scenes come alive. Malleus would giggle before they would all eventually fall asleep together, cuddling under the blanket.

o   “Goodnight Father and Big Brother.”

o   Father and son smiled as the fae unknowingly melted their hearts and brought more joy to them than he would ever know.

As time went by another issue arose…what to do with this young fae who belonged in another time?

They had both decided to convince Malleus to return home.

Though admittedly it was difficult to deny the young heir anything, especially when he loved so wholeheartedly.

It was decided that Silver would be the one to talk to Malleus.

After all, Silver was the reason that Malleus had come and it was for Silver that Malleus wished to stay.

Time would be kind to Lilia, but not as kind for Silver. Both Lilia and Silver knew that all too well.

For that very reason, Silver had chosen to talk to Malleus-sama.

Lilia watched from afar as Silver brought up the topic and watched as Malleus cried.

Maybe in another world or another time they could have shared a life, but in this life, this was the hand granted to them.

Which was all the more reason they cherished this time together they had with the prince.

Silver had to stop himself from retracting his statement.

Silver wouldn’t deny the fact that a part of him wanted to be selfish, wanted this little one to stay with him.

But he knew, he knew he could not do that.

The unhatched egg and his father in the future came to mind.

“Do you not love me Big Brother Silver?”

“Malleus-sama, I love you more than you know.”

“But then…why?”

Silver wiped the fae’s tears, “There are so many people who love you in the future and are waiting for you. Father misses you.”

“But you’re not there.”

“I know.”

“But I love you, Silver.”

Silver pulled his dragonling on his lap and rubbed his forehead with Malleus’, “I know, I love you too.”

Silver cupped the little one’s cheeks, “Malleus-sama, knowing you grow up to be such a good kid, knowing you grow up healthy and happy, has brought father and I more joy than you will ever know.”

Silver pulled at the necklace around Malleus’ neck and kissed the ring, “No matter what time you are in, I will always be by your side. My precious little brother.”

Malleus hugged Silver as tears ran down his face before he felt Lilia also joining in.

Lilia moved a stray hair away from Malleus’ eyes, “Time to go now, young one.”

Malleus nodded and hugged them both once more before he gradually disappeared before their eyes.

Silver and Lilia smiled as hope and love for the future grew.

Father and son watched the stars that night, with Silver’s head on Lilia’s shoulder.

Silver carried the egg preciously, remembering the precious child that will be born.

He kissed the egg, thinking of the tiny scales that were on Malleus-sama’s forehead.

Silver felt a surge of affection when, surely it wasn’t his imagination, the heartbeat from the egg grew just a tad bit stronger.

When Lilia took it from him, he allowed himself to peck it as well, thinking about the cheeky one that will eventually be born.

Lilia swore he felt the egg warm up a few degrees more and turned to Silver in excitement.

After all, it was True Love that would allow the egg to hatch.

Malleus Draconia awoke, feeling more joy and love than he could ever remember.

“Malleus!”

“I’m coming, Father!”

Malleus ran.

He knew without a doubt that he was loved.

He didn’t notice the green aura mixed with pastel pink around him, nor did he see how the ring around his neck shined.

I love you Big Brother and Father.

He ran towards his loved one, ready to tell him about his adventures.

I hope you liked it 💚🥰🌺 This was fun to write 🙌💚 and something very different than what I usually do which I am very proud of.

Now, did Malleus travel back in time? Was it his UM? Was it Silver’s? A combination? A dream? Well, that’s for you to decide ☺️🥰💚

[alicenttully]

"The tradition amongst the Targaryens had always been to marry kin to kin. Wedding brother to sister was thought to be ideal. Failing that, a girl might wed an uncle, a cousin, or a nephew; a boy, a cousin, aunt, or niece."

This passage and others like it rips apart the Daemyra devotees who think little Aegon and Viserys are better than their older half-brothers because they were the sons of a "pure" Targaryen match.

Marriages like Daemon and Rhaenyra (between a niece/nephew and their aunt/uncle) is basically considered a second choice for Targaryens.

It's also really stupid when you look at this "pure" Targaryen match versus the "unpure" marriages. Because Rhaenyra's kids being fathered by a non- Valyrian didn't really stop their eggs from hatching. None of Alicent's lacked for dragons even though she had no Valyrian ancestry. In fact despite her tainted Hightower blood Aemond claimed Vaghar at 10 and Helaena gained Dreamfyre, a dragon that went unridden for over 40 years after its first rider's death. There's also Corlys and Rhaenys. Both of their kids were dragonriders.

Aegon and Viserys on the other hand - well Viserys' cradle egg never hatched.

[the-common-cowgirl]

Chapter 1 - Intro

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x OFC (Anikyra Targaryen)

Summary: The Peaceful King Viserys hears word of a Targaryen Princess that resides in the broken stronghold of Valyria; which has since become an immature kingdom after of the doom befell their land. Feeling the tension between his house and believing the long night may soon come, Viserys proposes a betrothal between the Valyrian Princess and his second son, Aemond Targaryen, believing his daughter’s prophetic dream that the child born of this union will become the prince that was promised.

Warnings (Ch. specific): Mentions of murder and usurpation.

Word Count: 1600

A/N: AHA! First chapter of this rework done! Probably going to work on finishing The Lost Children after this unless this gets a lot of attention lol.

Masterlist

Dawn awakened over the vast land that once was the great stronghold of Valyria; now an emerging kingdom over the broken land. The red, hot sun greeted her on the east side of her balcony and the beautiful, bright rays danced along the pale, blue water of the sea that faced her to the south. The large, shiny, black castle, mounted on the side of a great mount of stone and soot, stood tall above the city. She could see the hustle of morning coming and goings of the smallfolk below her who now resembled crawling ants. She often sat high above them on warm dawns with her tea, wondering if, although their lives were harsh and rough, were they simpler? Were those people below her free in the choices they made or were they too, confined to a blind duty born of their station? Did they have autonomy over their beating hearts or were they too a prisoner in their own personal hell? 

She doubted it.

 She heard a door open in the distance behind her and knew her handmaiden was coming to ready her; she also knew the handmaiden would be bearing news in which she dreaded. News of the scheming of the King of Valyria and another King of a distant land. News that would be comparable to news of her own execution; at least, in her mind. She did not want to hear it but she knew it would come regardless of her wishes. So, she decided to muster up her courage, to take her cup with now cool tea and walk into her bedchambers to hear if this was the news her handmaiden would be bearing.

“Princess, a messenger has sent word that the Targaryens of Westeros have embarked on their journey here.”

The ‘False Targaryens’ you mean. 

She all but slammed her cup on a table, nearly breaking the fragile porcelain, angered by the audacity of these Westerosi to come here and believe they have any sort of claim to what was once their homeland. A homeland they were exiled from when Aenar defiled the name “Targaryen '' by gambling his riches awash then trying to make good on his debts by stealing his elder brother’s, Aelys Targaryen, dragon eggs. Aelys should have not only exiled him, but executed him. No, her ancestor, Aelys, allowed his brother to be exiled comfortably with his family, a dragon and a handful of eggs. After the doom befell Valyria,  all the dragons fell from the sky, burning from the outside in, and Aelys’ only daughter requested help from the Westerosi. She asked for Aenar to bring his dragons and help what remained of the dragonlords escape the wrecked ruins of what was their home. Aenar responded with a simple “Nyke ivestragon Aelys hen bisa vejes” [I tell Aelys of this doom].  So, desperate for help and to save the remains of her people, she took it upon herself as the last highborn blood of the dragonlords alive, she turned to head to Asshai…and the Taragryens rose from the ashes…without the help of the last of their kin.

“Princess?” Her handmaiden approached lightly and slowly; holding out her hand as if she were approaching a deadly beast that needed to sniff her first to know she’s not a threat.

“Yes, Tiah. I understand the words you spoke. I know they are coming. I’d be more content today if you chose to not speak of it. Is that understood?” She snapped with an edge to her voice she wasn’t intending upon. Realizing she was staring harshly toward her handmaiden, she softened her stance slightly and turned away to hide the outburst; lip twitching with residual anger.

 Tiah, she thought, only a year older than I but such a meek and foolish girl still. 

Her handmaiden took two steps back briskly. She held her head down and hands clasped behind her back. “Yes, your Grace. I will not speak further about them.” Like an obedient dog. 

The Princess, overcome with emotion of anger she did not want to process nor dim, yet also, feeling the need to apologize to her poor handmaiden who was only doing her duty in informing Princess of the updates that the walls of the castle echoed, decided to walk out to the balcony again instead of apologizing for her misdirected anger. 

Tiah is not the enemy here. Keep your head clear. Breathe. 

 After some time, the Princess decided to walk back into her bedchambers yet again, call upon her handmaiden, and ask for help dressing in a gown. She did not care which gown her handmaiden decided to pick, as long as it was light in this warming daylight and allowed her to breathe unrestrictedly. The day was hot and will grow hotter as the sun crawls higher into the sky. Tiah picked a thin silken gown that would allow her to stroll the castle on this day of summer without becoming faint. Emerald green silk with gold filigree embroidered on the sleeves and either side of her torso. It showed off a hint of her collarbone and she decided that it was an acceptable amount of skin to show to court. The Princess’ left hand slid along her exposed collarbone. Slender fingers caressing her soft skin. 

I will not become some broodmare for a false dragon. She reminded herself in the mirror. I am the true daughter of Valyria. The last true dragon of Valyria and I will not let the false Targaryens of Westeros feast upon my body with their eyes. I will not bend, nor will I break. 

 She thought of her mother and how she did not bend, nor break to her father’s whims. The beautiful “Light of Valyria” remained gentle but firm in her hold of power. How her mother loved her father deeply but it was her who sat the throne. How her father helped raise Valyria from the ruins and strengthened their fledgling kingdom, his duty born purely out of the love he held for her mother. Despite all of their love, duty, and power, they only produced a single child. One daughter. 

Naturally, being the “First Child of Valyria,” she would be the heir uncontended; free to marry whomever she wanted, regardless of status or power. If only the natural order of things were so easy to abide by. 

The day they revolted against her father, the King Consort, she had viewed her mother’s face for the first time for who she truly was: a monster. Only a monster would sentence their true love to death. Only a monster would marry the man who usurped her father’s place and allow him to stand beside her throne as her new King Consort. Only a monster would lie with the man who murdered her only child’s father and only a monster would give birth to the most precious being in this world. 

Her younger sister. Only four years younger but still so very wise and kind. The only person in this world whom Anikyra has ever had to love and cherish. The only one who had ever claimed to love her and didn’t abandon her for the sweet taste of death. The young Princess Scilia was the very image of their mother. Pale hair, purple eyes, touched by the dawn and the light above. She always wore light colors as well; an homage to her mother. The elder sister sometimes even thought that Scilia was the Sun itself; especially when times were dark and cruel. Many referred to the young Princess as “The Light Princess.” 

Those very people had a similar name for the elder Princess. A name she did not care to refute as she knew the truth in it. When she was born, in the month of the Sapphire, her father was so happy his child would carry a reminder of him, regardless how small. The midwives called it “touch of dark.” Her mother called it “soul of the dragon.” But the people of the great castle called her “The Dark Princess,” for the small patch of black hair on the right side of her head, intertwined in her long, thick silver locks.

Those names, those whispers as she walked the slick, black floors of the castle, they gave life to the fire burning within her. Gave life to the rage she felt. Gave life and all that is unholy to the plan she had laid before herself once she heard the news, fourteen years ago, that her mother had been taken out of the castle a month after the birth of the Usurper King’s first child, the child that sealed his place on the throne, and executed in secret by the that very man. By the Usurper, her Father-by-law. She may be the heir to her parent’s murder’s kingdom, but this kingdom will bend the knee to her and her alone. She will take her realm back by blood. 

She found herself in front of the massive iron double doors to the throne room. As they opened, the large crowd of the court turned all eyes toward her and dared not look away for even a moment, as they always had done. The masses watched the predator in the eyes of the Dark Princess at all times for sign of a threat, waiting anxiously for the day she finally snaps and ends the man who murdered the very couple who gave her life.

She began ascending into the throne room, straight toward the Valyrian Throne where the now-King sat and a voice called out before her. 

”Princess Anikyra of the great House Targaryen. First child of Valyria, Heir to the Valyrian throne.”

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[quitealotofsodapop]

Ao Lie

referencing posts like; baby Ao Lie meeting the bimawen, and Ao Lie wants to be a godfather.

I thought it would be pretty adorable if part of the reason Ao Lie is able to act a horse so well was because they were like his favorite animal as a little hatchling and while it was considered kinda weird among dragons ("Not even a seahorse? Just a... land horse???") it was fully embraced by a certain celestial stablemaster - Bimawen Sun Wukong.

Ao Lie would run off and "to be a ""play horsey" whenever he wandered away from his dad or brothers when they went to the Jade Palace for summits or banquets. He was too small to actually transform himself into a horse, but he'd turn into his noodley-snake dragon form and slink away into the stables.

Wukong likely came across the white baby dragon as he was riling up the curious horses (they all saw Ao Lie as a snake), and was like;

Wukong: "Damn, how did a baby dragon get in here? Ok little guy best get you back-" Ao Lie, hissing: "No!!! I'm horsey! I stay in stable!" Wukong, trying not to laugh: "Ok? I guess I was wrong. You're clearly a skinny white foal. My apologies." Ao Lie: :3

Even if Ao Lie doesn't remember the encounters that well, it did leave him with a positive opinion of horses, stablehands, and monkeys for some reason.

When the dragon is a teenager by the time of the Journey, all he knows about Sun Wukong is that 1: His dad and uncles don't like him, 2: He steals stuff, and 3: He's in jail. His brain doesn't make the mental connection until much later when Zhu Bajie calls Wukong a "useless bimawen!" during the Gold and Silver demons arc.

When Ao Lie first met Wukong in the stone egg au, he basically had the mental journey of; "Huh. The monkey king is kinda chubby- OMG its an egg!! Why is he walking?! Get off my back Tang monk! Don't you know mothers need plenty of rest?!"

After meeting the steed for the first time Tripitaka wonders why the "Bai Longma" is super insistent on letting Wukong ride him specifically. Remembering that the Monkey is "carrying a stone egg" (Tripitaka only knows that part and thinks its a metaphor), the monk in turn tells Wukong that he should ride instead.

Wukong, tired but still wanting to stretch his legs after 500 years under the mountain is like; "Huh? No way! I'm fine! You ride him."

After a while of Tripitaka insisting that the Monkey rides instead of him, Ao Lie gets annoyed and just sits down, causing the monk on his back to slide off into the mud. Holy cassock now muddy. Wukong gets the message but insists he'll only ride until the next village/when they get a second divine-given horse.

Zhu Bajie tries to ride Bai Longma *once* and he gets bucked off so hard he gets tossed into a lake. He swears the horse has it out for him.

I hc that this was around the time Ao Lie's older sister was having a baby, and he was really bummed out that he wouldn't be able to attend to his uncle-duties cus of his "community service" [ie. the Journey]. So he redirected some of that excitement onto Wukong, who was carrying the Stone Egg. Eggs are a huge cause for celebration among dragonkind either way since they only produce a few in their long livespan.

Wukong was a little surprised/confused by Ao Lie's doting behavior at first, but started to understand why the dragon-horse was acting that way when he spoke to Ao Moang later on during the Tuolong incident.

Prince Moang: "I must pass on congratulations. It's not common among either of our kind to behold future kin." Wukong: "Oh really? When's the last time you've seen a dragon egg?" Prince Moang: "Last year actually! Our sister Zhūlong's egg hatched around the time of your release." Wukong: "Oh. that explains why Ao Lie spoils me." Prince Moang, excitedly: "My little brother is here!? I have to tell him everything! I have woodblock paintings of the baby!" Ao Lie, running over still in horse-mode: "Show me! Show me!" Zhu Bajie, watching: "Weirdos. Its just babies. Everyone's having 'em."

And Ao Lie continues to be super doting and attentive to Wukong as the Journey continues, though he does ask after a few years when the Egg is supposed to be laid. Wukong doesn't have a clear answer for him.

After a while, Wukong says almost in jest; "With how well you've been tending to me and the Egg, I might as well make you their godfather!"

Ao Lie just *shrieks* with joy!! Yes yes yes! He would be so honoured!

Wukong doesn't even have time to explain it was a joke when the dragon hugs him, heavy tears falling on his fur.

Ao Lie: "I'm sorry. It's just that... no one at home has really trusted me with anything so important before. I know that you might... get really hurt when your Egg finally arrives and I am so glad that you trust me to care for them if you have to leave us."

Wukong realises in that moment... Ao Lie knows about Stone Eggs. He eavesdropped on a conversation held between Wukong and the Bodhisattva Guanyin early on, and silently held onto that knowledge until Wukong was comfortable sharing it with the others.

The Monkey King decides in that moment that he doesn't want to trust anyone other than the dragon prince to care for his future child. He's already proven his kind nature - and if the future Stone Monkey were to truly be born an orphan, Ao Lie would gladly help to raise them in secret away from the prying eyes of Heaven.

Unfortunately the Samadhi Fire made it so that Ao Lie would be unable to fufill this duty either...