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darkened-writer · 2 years

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01| Generous Heart

summary || ❝It’s not luck, My Queen. I was always meant to be here. ❞

pairing || Rhaenyra Targaryen x Female! Reader

word count || 4,461

warnings || Violence, Birth, Grief

notes || This series is very self-indulgent as I have a growing love for Rhaenyra Targaryen and her storyline on HOTD. It will follow the plot of the show but with some added scenes here and there for characterization. High Valyrian will also be in italics. So, I hope you enjoy!

As the first century of the Targaryen dynasty came to a close the health of the Old King, Jaehaerys, was failing. In those days, House Targaryen stood at the height of its strength with ten adult dragons under its yoke. No power in the world could stand against it. King Jaehaerys reigned over nearly 60 years of peace and prosperity, but tragedy had claimed both his sons leaving his succession in doubt. So, in the year 101 the Old King called a Great Council to choose an heir. Over a thousand lords made the journey to Harrenhal. Fourteen succession claims were heard but only two were truly considered. Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the King’s eldest descendant and her younger cousin, Prince Viserys Targaryen the King’s eldest male descendant.

“It is declared by all lords paramount and lords vassal of the Seven Kingdoms that Prince Viserys Targaryen be made Prince of Dragonstone!”

Rhaenys, a woman, would not inherit the Iron Throne. The lords instead chose Viserys, my father. Jaehaerys called the Great Council to prevent a war being fought over his succession. For he knew the cold truth. The only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon was itself.

IT IS NOW THE NINTH YEAR OF KING VISERYS I TARGARYEN’S REIGN.

172 YEARS BEFORE THE DEATH OF THE MAD KING, AERYS, AND THE BIRTH OF HIS DAUGHTER, PRINCESS DAENERYS TARGARYEN.

Soaring above the clouds, with the wind in her silver-born locks, Rhaenyra Targaryen was on cloud-nine; her stubborn thoughts leaving her as she flew gracefully through the sky with skill. She knew she’d have to land eventually, diving and dodging buildings with ease until she finally arrived to hand off her dragon to the Keepers. The dust kicked up with the gust of Syrax’s wings, her claws catching the ground, but her noises of displeasure caused the keepers to look unimpressed, clutching their sticks.

Soaring.

“Dohaeras, Syrax!”

“Umbas. Rybas!”

The realm's delight jumped from her saddle, boots hitting the ground but her attention came quickly to her beloved dragon, her gloved hand now rubbing across Syrax’s scales. A smile graced her face as she observed her friend, the dragon muttering to itself.

“Welcome back, Princess. I trust your ride was pleasant.”

She swiftly removed her glove and playfully smiled, “Try not to look too relieved, Ser.”

“I am relieved. Every time that golden beast brings you back unspoiled it saves my head from a spike.” Their banter was playful and full of care, but Rhaenyra was on her way to greet Alicent, her best friend in all of the nine realms, except for Syrax of course.

“Syrax is growing quickly. She’ll soon be as large as Caraxes.”

“That’s almost large enough to saddle two.”

“I believe I’m quite content as a spectator, thank you.”

Disappointment washed over Rhaenyra’s face, but she followed Alicent into the carriage none-the-less to head home and greet her very pregnant mother.

“Ah! Rhaenyra.”

You had a wet towelette pressed against the queens head, a comforting hand within hers as she laid upon her couch, looking horribly pregnant with a bulging stomach to show it all. The Princess walked in rather slowly, your eyes scanning over her before returning to the object of your duties. As the lead handmaiden of the queen, you were charged with taking care of her through thick and thin. This leads to a manner of respect between yourself and every Targaryen living within the castle.

“You know I don’t like you to go flying while I’m in this condition.”

“You don’t like me to go flying while you’re in any condition.”

Alicent was trailed behind Rhaenyra, picking at her nails as she usually did in a situation that she herself could not control. A nasty habit, but a relatable one at that.

The queen sat up, face stern and serious.

“Your Grace.”

“Good morrow, Alicent.”

“Did you sleep?”

“I slept.”

“How long?”

“I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra.”

The girl sat parallel to yourself, folding her hands to her lap with grace, her eyes locked with yours and you gave her a nod of acknowledgement.

“Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants all focused on the babe. The only one here focused on you is Y/N. Someone has to attend to you if Y/N is ever preoccupied.”

“You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.”

She shakes her head, “I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

You and the queen let out laughs, “We have royal wombs, you and I. The childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip. Now take a bath. You stink of dragon.”

Rhaenyra smiled a bit at the joking matter, and the queen smiled back. A beautiful moment between mother and daughter, fleeting but meaningful.

“Dearest Y/N, would you please escort Rhaenyra to the Great Council meeting? I’m sure one of the attendants could hold this measly rag on my head.”

“Of course, My Queen.” You arose from your seat, handing the rag to one of the attendants around before following Rhaenyra out of the room and into the halls, Alicent going her own way somewhere.

“Forgive me, I do not know where the Council room is…”

“It’s alright, just keep up with me.”

Her light-colored dress flowed with her, a ghost in the halls of this very busy castle. Though she was unlike anyone you could ever meet, respectful, kind, and just a tad bit sarcastic.

“How is my mother? Is she doing well?”

“Ah! She’s doing quite well. I’ve been monitoring her temperature and pain, she seems to be coming up on finally giving birth.”

She looked pleased at the news, her lips curling up in a kind fashion.

“Are you going to come to the tourney?”

You perked up, “There's going to be a tournament?”

“Mhm… You should make time to come, I’m sure my mother would allow you some free time, considering you are at her beck and call twenty-four seven.”

The roused a laugh from you, “I’ll try convincing her. I erm-...”

She stops her determined stride to stop with you, whom has pulled out a small ring. You held it out for her, herself slipping her index finger in the hole to wear the ring.

“What is this?”

“I made it, from leaves and string and a singular gold piece I found while wandering… I wanted to gift it to you.”

The sentiment laid plainly as a smile across her face, the freckles across her pale face never looking more bright.

“Thank you, Y/N, I’ll cherish it always.”

Truth is, you made the ring for her in a fit of adoration for the princess. She was always downtrodden due to her thoughts about being shunned to the side by a male heir. Being seen as insignificant because she was not sporting a cock in-between her legs. The small things were important, so perhaps a ring would give her a dash of happiness. And you suppose it worked.

The gigantic doors of the Council room loomed over the two of you, and she laid a small and subtle kiss to your cheek, making your eyes widen in surprise. She however just laughed and waved goodbye, the knights opening the door for her immediately. She was gone as soon as she was just here, and the tingling on your cheek was getting ever more real. The brief affection was daunting, and confusing.

You went to ask the Queen if you could attend the Tournament and she agreed with a very motherly smile, wishing you great fun for the very next day. You made sure however that the attendants would run the Queen her bath and make her favorite dish, which she was thankful for.

You held a sinking feeling however in your stomach that something would go horribly wrong during the tourney, and finally arriving, you climbed the stairs to the plush seating. Alicent was already seated but Rhaenyra was nowhere to be found.

“Has Rhaenyra not arrived yet?”

“No, I’m sure she’s just getting ready though. Come! Sit!” She ushered you into a seat next to her, and firmly patted your shoulder. The ladies in the same area as yourself were all dressed in fantastical clothes, which you were in your most basic dress with your usual apron. Your hair was a bit wild due to the subtle wind but otherwise, you looked most plain of anyone in the royal seating. The King, Viserys, finally arose from his seat to begin the tournament, stepping up to announce to the audience.

“Be welcome! I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games, but I promise, you will not be disappointed. When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share.”

Rhaenyra’s shifty figure ran across the area to take a firm seat next to you, breathing a bit heavily but looking absolutely radiant.

“Queen Aemma has begun her labors!”

Everyone in the crowd clapped and cheered with enthusiasm, Rhaenyra and Alicent doing the same and yourself following in tandem.

“May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!”

A rise of cheers before the tournament began, the horses being commanded to do as the rider likes. One thing led to another and one of the knights fell from their horse with a painful THUD! The knight who knocked his fellow knight off of the horse promptly bowed to the royals, causing Rhaenyra to lean over and begin to speak to you and Alicent.

“A mystery knight?”

“No, A Cole, of the Stormlands.”

“I’ve never heard of House Cole.”

“PRINCESS RHAENYS TARGARYEN! I would humbly ask for the favor of The Queen Who Never Was.”

There was a bitter look shared between Rhaenys and The King before she went to the knight’s jousting stick, tossing it onto it.

“Good fortune to you, Cousin.”

“I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it.”

The crowd was still bolstering, high and low pitches of cheers. The royal drums began, adding tension to the oncoming jousting.

“Lord Stokeworth’s daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire.”

“Lord Massey’s son?”

“Mhm! They’re to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.”

“Best get on with it.”

Rhaenyra’s hand was lingering on a necklace adorned on her pale skin, your eyes drifting to the shine that bounced off of it; it was beautiful. The same hand was adorned with the ring you had made her, and a warmness spread in your chest at the thought that she really treasured such a measly present.

“Where did you get that necklace, My Lady?”

“Oh? This? Prince Daemon gave it to me. Valyrian Steel, can you believe it?”

“It’s quite beautiful… a wonderful piece from your Uncle, M’lady.”

“Doesn’t quite amount to your lovely ring, though…”

You perked up, “You really like my ring more than Valyrian Steel?”

“Well, your ring is a gift that I consider from a trusted friend, so of course I value it.”

She turned her gaze back to the audience and the tourney below, a smile rising on her face and the skin around her mouth morphing with it.

“I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.”

Rhaenyra and you both looked at Alicent with eyes opened in amusement, and she smiled.

The horses on either side began to charge, jousting rods out in front of them with their shields in position. And, after a stress filled second, a knight fell from his horse, rolling over in pain and with groans of anguish. The violence was utterly painful to look at, yet it was entertainment for Royals and Townsfolk alike. The King clapped in amusement, and you couldn’t help but contort yourself in pain at the Knight’s pain.

Ser Harrold came in between you and Rhaenyra, turning to her with great interest.

“What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?”

“I’m told Ser Criston is common-born, son of Lord Dondarrion’s steward. But other than that, and the fact that he’s just unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads, I really couldn’t say.”

The drums started up once again and I leaned over to talk to Rhaenyra once again, “Have you taken a liking to Ser Criston?”

She visibly tensed up, “No! I’m just intrigued about his origins. He seems to be a strong knight…”

“Mhm…”

A fairly lengthy line of men on horses came up, the Targaryen house banner being put up, it was Prince Daemon’s turn, and the crowd couldn’t be any more excited.

“PRINCE DAEMON OF HOUSE TARGARYEN! Prince of the City will now choose his first opponent!”

Daemon was adorned in his showy armor, the red feather sticking out like a sore thumb against his dark black horse. He was a sight to behold in all of his “Princely Glory''. He grasped his jousting rod and went down the line of knights, seemingly choosing very carefully. Eventually, he circled back and pointed the rod at the Knight representing House Hightower, Alicent’s house.

“For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King.”

You reached over and grabbed Alicent’s hand, the other noticeably close to her mouth partaking in her habit of biting them. Likely a sign that she is nervous about what was about to occur. The drums thrummed and the two respective horses of Daemon and Gwayne reered. With a look up at Otto Hightower, Daemon smirked to himself before charging full speed as previously done. Gwayne’s jousting stick made contact with Daemon, but he quickly recovered, grabbing a new rod and charging again. This time, Daemon shifted his rod to the ground in front of the horse, making it trip up and sending Gwayne tumbling to the cold, hard, ground. Alicent gasped and you quickly squeezed her hand, trying to give her a sense of comfort. The horse recovered and Gwayne was dragged away from the small arena, Daemon now coming over to the royal’s seating area, Rhaenyra getting up along with yourself and Alicent.

“Nicely done, Uncle.”

“Thank you, Princess. Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it.”

The girl smiled a bit, going to grab her favor, before dropping it onto his jousting rod.

“Good luck, my Prince.”

His gaze carried to you suddenly, nodding his head with a smile, “My Lady…”

“I am no Lady, my Prince.”

“And if you are no Lady, then I do not deserve my title.” His tone was slightly flirtatious, but you brushed him off, taking Rhaenyra’s hand to go sit back down. However, you noticed a maester leaning down to whisper into Otto Hightower’s ear, and the feeling that something was going to go wrong suddenly sunk in. Otto leaned over to Viserys’s ear, and he visibly paled, getting up and grabbing your shoulder, leaning down to relay the information he had just heard.

“Aemma is having birthing issues, we must go see her now.”

Rhaenyra gave you a look of worry, but you quickly got up to assume your duty as Aemma’s lead handmaiden.

AHHHHHHHHH!

You trailed behind Viserys, eyes scanning the attendants whispering to themselves. It didn’t sound good from the sounds that the queen was making, her screeches making you even fill a bit of anguish.

“What’s happening?”

“The infant is in breach, Your Grace. All attempts to turn the babe have failed.”

You quickly rushed to Aemma’s side, “Do something for her!”

“We’ve given her as much milk of the poppy as we can without risking the child. Your Queen is a strong woman. She’s fighting with all her might, but it may not be enough.”

“Aemma!”

The king joined you at Aemma’s side, grabbing her other hand while you held a wet cloth against her forehead, face downturned.

“Aemma, I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. It’s alright. It’s all right.”

“I don’t wanna do this.” She was babbling in all of the searing pain she was going through, whole body covered in a thick sheen of sweat and her cheeks coated with salty tears. Her white birthing gown was soaked, and her face was contorted in misery. Eventually, however, she settled down again, gripping Viserys’s hand tightly, eyes closed, as you still repeated your action of patting her head down with a wet towel.

“Mellos.”

“Your Grace. If you would.” He gestured to the side. Viserys kissed Aemma’s hand with a certain gentleness, before setting it down onto the plush bed leaving you to her side.

“My handmaiden…My dearest friend…”

Her eyes were open only slightly, but you knew she was talking to you, and you listened ever closely.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

She took a deep breath before continuing on, “If I… If I were to not make it..-”

“You will-”

“Listen. If I… were to not make it, I need you to… to watch over Rhaenyra. Take care of her, help her, do things for her. She is a smart girl but she will need someone to watch out for her. So please, do…do it for me? For old times sake, my friend.”

Her pale fingers slid a ring from her middle finger, the black and gold contrasting her skin tone. She grabbed your free hand, opening your fingers slowly before setting the ring in your palm and closing your fingers around it; bringing your conjoined hands to her blue and shaky lips for a small, subtle kiss.

“Promise me, Y/N.”

“I…” Her gaze was sad, and you knew then and there, she knew she was going to die, she must have always known that this child was going to be her last, forever. And, with an open heart and eyes welling up with tears, you gave her a big smile and nodded.

“I promise, My Queen.”

Her lips curved up, “How did I ever get so lucky to have a handmaiden like you?”

“It’s not luck, My Queen. I was always meant to be here.”

You smoothed out her white locks, and Viserys finally returned to take place by her side, and you got up, moving to the side of the room and sliding the ring onto your own middle finger. They spoke for a fleeting moment before he gave the attendants a look and they sprung into action, moving pillows aside. The Maester and an attendant kneeling onto the bed. What were they doing?

“I love you.” He muttered it to her like a goodbye, and you realized immediately what was about to happen.

“My king, what are you doing?!”

“Get her out of here.”

“My king, please!” You felt hands grab at your arms, pulling you toward the exit as the laid Aemma down to cut her open, fear evident on her face.

“Viserys, what…”

“Spare her! MY KING!”

“No, I’m scared… please… Oh no… No… No!”

SLAM!

“Let me back in! PLEASE! I’m her handmaiden, I HAVE A DUTY TO FULFILL! PLEASE!”

No response, but the screams of the woman you were meant to take care of, until they went quiet. But now, all that occupied the stagnant, silent, air, was the choked sobs from your heart and soul.

When Rhaenyra found you, you were sitting upon the stairs nearest to the room they had killed Aemma in. Your fingers clutched the ring she had given you, the crimson red of her blood still lingering on your dress, and the tears of hearing her screams still sliding down your cheeks. You looked horrible, but Rhaenyra didn’t look any better, tears cascading down her eyes also.

“Y..Y/N…”

You looked up and felt your heart drop to your stomach, opening your arms immediately to hug the girl in mourning. She took the notion and wrapped her arms around you also, sobbing ever so gently into your shoulder.

You were here for her, and you would have to do as Aemma asked. Watch over Rhaenyra, take care of her, help her, and do things for her. The ring in your very clutches was the sign of that promise, and you would not break it for anything.

The sun pelted down like an annoying sibling, pestering the eyes of everyone standing within the grassy field. The breeze was at least pleasant, making the grass shift side to side in a hypnotic pattern. Nature was truly beautiful even on a day of death and grief.

You stood next to Rhaenyra, adorned in a black dress that Alicent had let you borrow for the funeral. Viserys had insisted you be able to attend the funeral, as you were very close to your lady in waiting. And, seeing her on the burning pyre had struck a dark void in your stomach, giving you a feeling of being sick while not actually being ill. Not to mention the once small bundle of joy now wrapped and placed to the side of its mother.

As Daemon came up to speak to Rhaenyra, you let your hand find hers, letting your thumb caress the tender and soft skin of her hand, and she sent a small but sad smile your way.

“They’re waiting for you.”

Everyone was endlessly still, the only sound being the wind blowing and howling at the sky.

“I wonder if, during those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness.”

“Your father needs you, more now than he ever has.”

“I will never be a son.”

Their collective gazes went towards Viserys and Rhaenyra finally stepped up, Syrax looking at her with curiosity.

“Dr-”

She was visibly shaken, taking a gulp of her own spit, before looking upon her father. Her bottom lip quivered, her eyes teary but her expression suddenly hardening as she twisted her head to look upon Syrax, “Dracarys.”

The she- dragon snarled, making its way down the hill it was stationed upon, before sending out a hefty flame towards the corpse of a queen and her still-born son. The composure that you once had was now gone and you let out a sob, twisting your own head to the side to avoid looking at the burning of the woman you once knew and helped. The ring on your finger weighed tons upon tons, just about dragging you into the grassy knoll, to swallow you into the earth and spit you out. But instead of letting it consume you, you set a hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder and pulled her into a hug, not noticing Viserys and Daemon’s curious gaze.

“Handmaiden Y/N, The council has requested for you.”

It was no shock that you would eventually have to leave the castle due to the object of your very job being dead. You’d hope that Viserys wouldn't let you be thrown to the side like that, but the worries were gently shushed when the gaze of the council members were on you. They all looked fairly calm, open-minded, and not at all upset.

“Y/N, I wished for you to be here to directly receive your new orders as of late. You were the lead handmaiden to my wife, Aemma, and excelled at your job. You were at her very side until the end, so I wish to tell you this… You are to be my daughter's lead handmaiden.”

It was silent, enough to hear a pin drop, yet Viserys still smiled.

“You will assume the same duties you had with my wife, except with Rhaenyra. Is that clear?”

You let yourself nod frantically, twisting the ring on your finger with haste.

“Yes, Your Grace. I will go right away.”

You bowed at the group of extremely powerful men, before turning hastily to leave.

“And Y/N…?”

“Yes?”

“Cherish that ring.”

The smile that creeped onto your face was untimely but felt good, and you nodded, leaving immediately to leave the council to continue their affairs. Little did you know however, the very next day you would be helping Rhaenyra get dressed with Alicent, tying the strings on the back of her dress and tying her hair up into a royal up-do. She looked like her mother, and there was no doubt in your mind that she would be a fantastic ruler of the Seven Realms. Alicent put the headpiece onto her head, and all felt natural with the world, even for the fleeting moment.

“Corlys of House Velaryon. Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark.”

“I, Corlys Velaryon. Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

“I, Lord Hobert Hightower. Beacon of the South, Defender of the Citadel and Voice of Oldtown, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

“I, Boremund Baratheon. Promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

“I, Rickon Stark, Lord of Winterfell…promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

The maester adorned Rhaenyra with the royal jewels, adjusting it slightly so it was centered with her chest, before backing away. She turned towards the Iron Throne which her father, Viserys, laid seated, and bowed her head. He rose from his rather sharp throne, and began to speak, “I, Viserys Targaryen, first of his name. King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm do hereby name, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, and heir to the Iron Throne.”

She visibly smiled, yourself doing so also before everyone in the room bowed their heads. And she turned towards the room, breathing in and out and observing every single person, before her eyes landed on you, and her smile grew tenfold. Maybe there is hope in this kingdom of dragons and fire.

#xreader #fanfiction #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x fem! reader #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #wlw post #wlw fanfic

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pearlescent-soda · 1 year

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🎨//A Sample of My Headcanons on the Dragon Daddies (Artisans Edition):

Alban:

The ill-tempered scribe of the Artisan Realms. Infinitely skeptical and standoffish towards most, getting past his cold exterior will take a tremendous amount of willpower. He's straightforward, despising small talk, preferring to 'get on with it' rather than fumbling around a pointless conversation. He's got no tolerance for foolishness of any kind, especially from his inner circle in Dark Hollow.

His duties consist of keeping historical records and the creation of books. Centuries prior, he kept business, judicial, and court records. Nowadays, he focuses on making books and taking dragon population surveys across the realms. For a few extra gems, he can even be a book editor at his client's request, but they should expect to be put on a lengthy waiting list because Alban is highly sought-after dragon.

Him and Spyro have a strained relationship stemming from an incident from a few years back. When Spyro was younger, he'd stay after his writing lessons to read the historical records with Alban. He'd practice writing through a journal given by Alban, but the scribe was appalled by a passage written on the Sorceress. He reprimanded the boy for swearing to defeat her, but Spyro said he was overreacting. Hurtful words were exchanged, and their relationship was never the same.

He utterly dreads receiving written reports from the other realms, something always goes awry during delivery. Peace Keepers scrolls are full of sand or burned, Magic Crafters use a different alphabet per realm, Dream Weavers are too cryptic, and the Beast Makers' parchment has water damage. He may seem fine on the outside, but the veins on his hands due to his death grip on the scrolls say otherwise.

He'll spend days at a time in his study just writing. Oswin is the one who delivers food and water to him, often giving updates about the outside world to him, while Darius is the one to get physical and drag him to bed if he's in there for more than three days straight. Argus jokes that the dragon wrote more in a week than the scholar could in a millennium.

After the dragons were exiled to the Dragon Realms a thousand years ago, Alban, Darius, and Oswin were the only dragons of their generation to be fully literate at four years old. They assisted Thor and Astor with teaching the other young dragons how to read and write. Darius and Oswin love to teach, while Alban, well...His perfectionism makes him excruciatingly hard to please.

He'd never admit it, but he cares deeply for those closest to him. He will always stand up for them when they need it. This protective nature extends to the youngest Artisan and his glowing dragonfly's wellbeing. He simply doesn't get along with a lot of people because of his 'unfriendly' personality and he doesn't want it to be that way, but his pride makes apologizing hard and his less than stellar social skills are great at worsening the situation.

Darius:

The theatrics never end with him, he's so dramatic in a way that's just entertaining to watch. There's always anticipation for what his answers are going to be on... anything. He thrives off the attention of a large audience on the stage but not so much off the stage. Without a crowd to listen to him blabber out his lines, he gets time to breathe, and returns to library to try to find inspiration for his next major production.

Actor, director, producer, he can assume any role he needs to. He's strict, but fair with his performers. If their mistakes are not corrected, he'll give them two chances to get it together. So far, he's found six talented dragons to be a part of his Dark Hollow troupe, not including Oswin and Alban. Watching them perform is like an otherworldly experience, it's impossible to recognize them once they're in character.

Using Spyro in a production is not a very good idea, and Darius learned this the hard way. Sparx had to remind him of which lines to say and, after he altered his costume and lines without permission, Spyro tried to 'save the play' by making everything 'action packed'. The staff and actors adjust well enough to the 'new and improved' story from the little dragon, but just want it to be over quickly so that they can harshly scold him behind the curtains. The audience left the stands confused on how their historical reenactment became a high fantasy action-adventure feature.

He gets intense when writing his characters, three or more trips to the library, a pile of crumpled drafts, and several empty inkwells. Any disturbance in his office will be removed immediately, or else a death glare to end all death glares will be thrown at any intruders. He's taken Gnorc armor before because he felt that it suited one of his characters far better than a 'bumbling oaf masquerading as a soldier'.

The Dark Hollow dragons are the only living souls allowed to go over his rough drafts. He trusts them to edit and rearrange, with his supervision, scripts for upcoming productions. This leaves Darius with enough time to set up props and finish costumes.

He reaches out for a majority of the props used in his plays, but the costumes are made by him and him only. His craftmanship is undeniably excellent, requests come from realms out of the Artisan Realms. Every Artisan owns one or more pieces of clothing crafted by his hands, the ones who purchase his pieces are the Magic Crafters.

The skull he holds is a prop carved from a stone he discovered in his rose bushes. He paid Nils to carve identical stones to use as decorations for his rose garden. The Artisans find them to be highly disturbing, some outright saying it to his face, still, Darius argues that it gives the scenery 'personality'.

Oswin:

The excitable dragon whose face is perpetually hidden behind a book. Getting his attention is like trying to put shoes on field mice, doable, but not for the weak-willed. To get him to pay attention, as rude as it is, take the book from his hands and make eye contact with him. Be quick with the topic, because then he'll start trying to find different subjects to educate on, which, as predicted, usually has little relevancy to the original topic in any way. Give him time, he's a sweet, sweet dragon with his head in the clouds, or, realistically, a puddle of water.

This librarian is a night owl through and through, he's awake from eleven in the morning to eleven at night. He'll spend entire days rearranging books, updating and making catalogues for what books are on what shelves, and reading over books before making them available to the public. The residents of Dark Hollow are unsure of how he pulls such a feat without the use of caffeine, but his energy output continues to be chipper, no matter the situation thrown at him.

He personally keeps records of book fines and adds 5 gems per day after the return date. The highest fine ever paid for an overdue book was 150 gems by an infamous young dragon. He gave him a serious lecture for keeping a book a month after it was supposed to be returned. Spyro, worried that Oswin would go berserk if he didn't do something, offered to help him organize the bottom shelves to calm him down. Now on Wednesdays, the boy organizes returned books with Oswin which the older dragon is very, very happy with.

He'll know when a book is missing or overdue, and he'll be fidgety until it's returned. This is especially the truth if the book is approaching its due date. He once showed up to Alvar's quarters in Town Square at midnight to get a cookbook returned on its exact due date. The chef said that he felt a chill travel from head to tail at the look he was given.

He's written a handful of books, fiction, meant for all audiences. 'The Dragon's Rainbow' is moderately popular and letters asking about the future installments are frequent. Gnorcs are his largest demographic, but Oswin doesn't see it as concerning. Anyone is welcome to read his fantasy novels, as long as they return them on time, which the Gnorcs never fail to do.

The genre he's spotted reading the most are fairytales and fables, because he believes the lessons taught are invaluable. Oswin is not picky about reading materials in the slightest, he'll read instruction manuals, tabloids, poetry, and biographies. If it's got words on pages, he wants it. 'Oh, can I have that when you're done with it? I don't think I've read that one before'.

The hazardous placement of candles inside of the library has been a topic of intense debate between him, Darius, and Alban. Oswin insists the candles stay as they are, Darius wants the ones on the shelves removed, and Alban is ready to install electric lamps around Dark Hollow. The librarian won't budge, promising the books will always be safe under his supervision. The pools of water on the other hand, he's still thinking about that one. He's found himself dropping books in the pools of water in the library several times since the library became his, and it's never not embarrassing. Fishing the soggy book out of the water and making a trip to Alban's study, swiftly being lambasted by the scribe as soon as he sees the pages ink smeared across the pages. Sometimes, when a story is especially enthralling, and he can't bring himself to watch where he's going, the books take him with them and, SPLASH, now they're both drenched.

#elder dragons #spyro #spyro the dragon #spyro reignited trilogy #headcanon #this is canon #artisan #peace keepers #magic crafters #beast makers #dream weaver #sparx the dragonfly #alban #oswin #darius #my thoughts #spyro headcanon

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dragons-brandsif · 3 months

Text

Dragon's Brands

Dragon Riders linger on the cusp of war. For centuries, they have played the role of peace keeper. Ensuring the safety of the inhabitants of their world.

However, whispers are arising. Filtering through the back alleys and black markets, places of ill repute and debauchery. That something is stirring. Something ancient. And you, a new Dragon Rider, are somehow caught in the midst of it all.

Dragon’s Brands is an interactive fictional game that allows you to play as a Dragon Rider. Choose your dragon’s color, build, talents and personality. Romance one of the five gender selectable people available to you. Discover more of Lusedover, the magical world you have been dragged into. Build relationships with your squadron, or become the enemy within their ranks.

Create alliances with other species, or cast away the hands of friendship. Lusedover is beautiful, but it is a harsh world. Do you have what it takes to belong to it?

RO's:

Blake:

A fellow human, in another life, they might have been a confidant. But the human world repels Blake. When they made The Crossing, bonded with their dragon, they cast away their second name and their humanity.

Female Blake: She is devastatingly beautiful, so much so that even her attempts to mask it fall short. She wears her bright blond hair in a choppy cut at her shoulders, dark liner around her striking aquamarine eyes, and a scowl never fails to twist her full lips.

Male Blake: To his chagrin, the Rider is often described as feminine. Slender, he keeps his hair cut at the nape of his neck in a messy style. The black liner around his eyes is something he dares others to comment upon.

Elijah/Eliana:

An enemy of the Dragon Riders. Child of--------. Their skin is as pale as milk, stark against the ebony curls that fall to their waist. They are incredibly slim, almost to the point of emaciation. They are cautious and reserved, tall, with a hungry look in their eyes bordering on the verge of feral.

Eliana: There is little difference between Elijah and Eliana. They are focused on their task to the point of obsession, and despite their bland countenance, no slight goes unnoticed or forgiven. However, Eliana is far quicker to snap at provocation.

Samantha/Samuel:

Samantha: “Sammy”. Of average height and build, the typical “girl next door”. A spray of freckles across a snub nose, brown hair falling over light green eyes and a cheeky smile.

Samuel: “Sammy”. Only a little taller than his female counterpart, Samuel is just as laid back.

Any relationship with “Sammy” will be tender and romantic, if it were not for the slightest snag. Their girlfriend, Amelia Thorpe.

Theodore/Tatiana Graves:

Graves is sin incarnate. Full lips, thick black curls that fall to their shoulders and a killer smile. They are the tallest of the love interests, and the most muscular. They are smart, a more than capable fighter, and possess not one ounce of ambition.

Shipped off to the Rider's Academy, a place where escape is impossible, they spend their days training and their nights drowning in alcohol and weed. Daddy’s money and Daddy issues combine to create the mess that is Theodore/Tatiana Graves.

Content warnings: Dragon’s Brands is a game that will contain many triggering topics, including, but not limited to, drug use, alcohol abuse, sexual themes, foul language, etc.

#dark fantasy #dark romance #Interactive Fiction #Dragons #MC #18+

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starogeorgina · 5 months

Text

Broken bonds

Paring: Ser Harwin Strong x Targ OC

Warnings: Mentions of blood

3.01

“This is my favorite part,” Harwin says, between kissing your neck. “I love it when you start to swell, and everyone can see you are carrying my child.”

You turn your head to capture Harwin’s lips with your own. You’d recently found out you were pregnant with your fourth child, and although you were delighted, you hadn’t thrown a feast to celebrate like your previous pregnancies, as it didn’t seem right. Days before the maester confirmed you were with a child, Ser Richard, Rhaenyra’s lover, suddenly died, leaving her utterly devastated. You had flown back and forth between Dragonstone and the red keep to try and comfort her, especially since she was pregnant with her third child, but no amount of sweet gestures or kind words would bring him back.

“I’ve got a gift for you,” Harwin takes your hand and leads you towards your bedchamber. He chuckles, seeing the mischievous look on your face. “That’s not what I was planning on giving you, but I could most certainly—”

You swat at his chest playfully. “I’ll hold you to that.”

When you enter the bedroom, you notice two beautiful sky blue dresses laying across the bed. The material was soft and had loose layers so that it would accommodate your growing bump. Harwin hugs you from behind; he kisses your cheek. “I know you want to feel close to your mother, and I thought wearing her house colors might help.”

Your eyes become glossy. “Thank you.”

The peacefulness of the moment is abruptly interrupted when one of your ladies-in-wait knocks on the door and then enters; her face is flushed red. “Forgive the intrusive princess, Ser, but there has been an incident during the children’s lessons today, and the maester said I was to inform you at once.”

Harwin is still behind you. “Was anybody hurt?”

She nods hesitantly, “The princess and prince's are fine, but a dragon keeper has been injured.”

Harwin starts to ask more questions, but you immediately know which son is behind whatever transpired. “Where is Vaegon?”

“In his chambers, princess.”

“Thank you,” you shake your head and go to leave, but a knight appears at the doorway before you have the chance to leave, “Ser Cartel.”

“Princess,” he greets. “Word has just arrived from the Red Keep that Princess Rhaenyra has gone into labor.”

—

“Unless you are accompanied by myself, your father, or you are attending a lesson, you are no longer permitted in the dragonpit.”

“You flew on Varos much younger than I am.”

You shake your head and say, “This isn’t about your age, Vaegon. You are my son; it’s my job to keep you safe, and until you can assure us you won’t do anything reckless like that again, you will lose some privileges.”

You were changing into something more suitable for dragon riding while your son continued to do anything but explain everything that happened. “I didn’t say it,” he says. “Nightmare thought she was protecting me. I told her to stop, but it was too late. I didn’t mean for anyone to be hurt!”

“We know,” Harwin says calmly. “But that still doesn’t explain why you disrespect the maester by sneaking out of your lesson.”

Vaegon excused himself to go to the bathroom during his history lesson and made his way to the dragonpit. One of the dragon keepers had spotted Vaegon climbing upon his dragon, and when he attempted to bring him down, Nightmare burned him. Luckily, the dragonkeeper managed to jump out of the way, and only the back of his hand was badly burned. You, Harwin, and your son all apologized to the keeper. The maester assured you the man’s hand would heal, but it did nothing to help with the feeling of guilt.

Once you’ve finished buttoning your jacket, which was threatening to pop, you go to where your son is sitting and smooth his hair out of his face. “Remember what your grandsire told you? The idea that we control our dragons is just an illusion, and we must always remember that. Not only for our own safety, but others as well.”

Vaegon says nothing. Since the day he could walk, he had been getting himself into mischief, but something has changed recently. He was frustrated a lot of the time, and even now you can see the rage on his face. Vaegon was an exceptional dragon rider for only being ten years old, but he often failed to see the danger he was putting himself in.

“Muña?”

You turn to the doorway to see Aerion and Ada, and as soon as your daughter spots her father, she lets go of her brother's hand and skips over to him, and Harwin lifts her up, causing her to giggle. You smile at Aerion. “Yes, SweetPea?”

“Can I travel with you to the keep?”

“Of course, we will be leaving soon.”

“Thank you,” Aerion says, running off to his room to get changed.

Before the question leaves Vaegon's mouth Harwin answers it, “No, you will be traveling with me and Ada by boat. And you are going to attend the rest of your history lesson and apologize to the maester before we leave.”

—

You ignore Ser Criston’s presence as you barge into the queen's quarters, holding onto Aerion’s hand. The first person you see is your brother-in-law, Ser Laenor, who was holding a newborn boy in his arms. Laenor had deeply disappointed you by allowing your sister to be treated so atrociously. Then your eyes land on the queen herself.

“How lovely to see you, princess,” Alicent says sarcastically. “And you too, Prince Aaron.”

Your son looks up at you confused, almost as if he’s trying to process why Alicent called him the wrong name.

“Sweetling, go say hello to Ser Laenor and the baby.” When Aerion goes over to them, you glare at Alicent. “What is the meaning of this? My sister should be resting after her labor.”

“I did insist the princess should be resting.”

“Before or after you demanded her newborn be brought to you? What kind of queen abuses their power by taking a babe from their mother?” You don’t even attempt to hide the venom in your voice.

As soon as you arrived at the keep, you were informed that your sister had only given birth less than an hour before, and the queen summoned the baby to be brought straight to her. And not wanting to be away from her child, Rhaenyra walked through the castle carrying her newborn. You kneel beside your sister, who looked exhausted, and kiss the back of her hand. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m glad you are here,” she says weakly.

“There she is, Vaella, my girl,” your father says happily when he enters the room. He greets you by kissing both cheeks. “I’m glad to have both my daughters under the same roof again.”

You notice your father's left arm is amputated up to his elbow, something Rhaenyra had failed to mention in any of her ravens you’d received recently. You smile at him and say, “I’ve missed you, father.”

“Rhaenyra has done us proud; he will be fine knight, I believe.” Seeing the way he smiles at your sister warms your heart. He rubs at the back of Aerion’s head and asks, "Are the rest of my grandchildren coming over?”

“Yes, Harwin will be bringing them over by boat.”

Laenor stands beside you and hands you the tiny baby. “This is Joffrey.”

You lock eyes with Rhaenyra, and you can tell she’s dissatisfied with the name choice. “He is precious.”

“That he is,” Laenor says, staring at the baby with so much love in his eyes. “I believe the princess has exhausted herself heroically.”

He helps your sister stand up, and you follow them with Aerion closely by your side. When you step into the hallway, Rhaenyra informs you that Jace and Luke needed to be informed that they had a new sibling. “I’ll go,” you offer. “Do you want to come to the dragonpit, SweetPea?”

“I’d like to stay with Auntie Rhaenyra and the baby, if that’s okay.”

Rhaenyra ruffles his hair. “Of course, sweet boy. Now, tell me all about your dragon; your mother told me you flew him for the first time last week.”

You watch, concerned, as they walk away. Your sister was putting on a brave face, but the trail of blood coming from her told a different story.

#house of the dragon #ser harwin strong x you #harwin strong x you #harwin strong fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #broken bonds #house of the dragon fanfic #ser harwin strong fanfic #harwin strong/you #harwin strong #ser harwin strong #ser harwin strong fanfiction #ser harwin strong x oc #harwin strong x oc

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