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themotherofblood · 1 year

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mene payi taabahiyan | d.t x reader

part one | masterlist

synopsis; inspired by the song O bedardeya. The aftermath of Baelon being engaged to reader, you and Daemon battle through the fall out and the agony of it all

smut warning: unprotected, hate fuck (kinda? more like sad fuck) exhibitionism, against a tree.

There was no air left in the Throne Room, your hand clammy against Baelon’s hand clasped over yours. You were sure that if your hand had not rested against the larger palm of his - you would fall, face flat - a deer learning to walk again, your legs had begun to lose its function. How were you to bow with honour and nor could you look at your brother. Baelon pulled you down with him, as the static noise of applause finally filled your ears, the madness that was to follow lingered in your mind. Lords and Ladies took turns approaching both Targaryen princes, Daemon shuffled his way out of the Throne Room, leaving his new bride to be flushed and irked. Baelon received appraisals on your behalf as people simply put your blanked nervousness as you being overcome with emotions.

Your own lack of breath might have left you looking maniacal, your brother Quentel followed you out, his larger legs easily catching up to your hasty steps, his palm yanking you back. While his own heart ached seeing your distraught face, your broken pleas finally graced your lips. “wh- why wasn’t I told?” your bottom lip quivering “I won’t fight this, but why?”

“It was always the deal, my children would have but my sons cannot, sweet sister,” he tucked a piece of your hair behind, “You will be Queen-” his eyes coated with concern “it would end the wars, once and for all,”

“I wanted Daemon, it was Daemon,” you nibbled at your lip to stop your tears, “I love, Daemon,” you pulled yourself away from him, finding no strength within yourself as you ran for the stables. Whisking past all attendants and guests, fleeing from the turmoil that wasn’t just the Red Keep but within you. The gown you wore pushed against your chest as you looked for Nysa, the stable boy looked startled as he knew no better than whether to help you or stop you. You raced past the gates, Nysa galloping with all her might as you tore through the streets of King’s Landing to its exit.

Even with all the air whistling through your hair, your body found it lacking there of, all you knew was you couldn’t pretend to be shy nor accept congratulations for something that should have never happened to either of you. Baelon wanted no woman(very verbally), you knew of this; why would he? If your devotions for Daemon were any testament, how would you find one to bring your skin ablaze like he did yours. For once, perhaps in the goodness of your heart you thought of Rhae Royce, Daemon would chew her apart if he acknowledged her presence in his bloodline at all. Your heart aching for all four of you, tied to a bargain that neither of you benefited from. All for the Realm, all for the King. All for peace.

The moon’s milky light lit the damp leaves lining the woods, the darkness was no challenge nor fear to you than the turmoil you already were in. This time you wanted to run, truly run and yet you couldn’t ride Nysa all the way to Dorne, you couldn’t hide behind the viper’s nest if you wanted to. For all you know, it might ruin Dornish relations with the Realm for good, as each Prince or Princess made of hot Rhoynish blood would find something to squabble over. You could stop this once and for all, no more dragons blasting fire on your homeland, no more dead brothers on pyres.

You stopped right at the edge of the Kingswood, shuffling off your saddle as you twisted Nysa’s reins on your palm. Leading a much confused animal to the dark forest, she an animal yet found herself aware of your sorrow. Smaller fireflies along with the moon gave you a sense of direction as you walked deeper in the darkness, your gown catching onto twigs that you paid no mind to, you wanted away from here, you wanted to go far away…with Daemon. Oh, Daemon

He might have beaten his hands bloody against a sparring dummy, which in truth he did. After weaning himself away from his new betrothed, he stomped down to the courtyard, screaming and shuffling off weapons to the ground as in rage he punched a dummy. The pain tearing through his knuckles. Much of his attention was occupied by brutalising a sack of leather and cloth, nothing mattered to him. You stood there, shoulder against his father and refusing to look at him as if you knew, perhaps you knew. If you didn’t, he knew you, your rage and your heart. You would have pulled away but you never did.

You walked along him, you were no longer his, his lover, his princess. You were the princess royal now, you would be the Queen now. Sat below a man who swore to never touch another after Daemon's mother died, his mother. All the rules he broke yet he couldn’t understand what he did to deserve this, like air pulled from his own lungs - he knew not how to breathe, how he was without you.

The sound of hastened anklets echoed past the halls, very distinct anklets, the only anklets in all of King’s Landing. You hurried fast, a blur of yellow silk hurtling past the dim walkway towards the stables, it took a while for Daemon to realise who it was but when he did. His eyebrows pulled to a tight frown as he found himself mindlessly following behind, you long gone until he mounted a brown mare of his own. Galloping towards the Dragonpit, hoping to catch a glimpse of you from the skies, no horse could ever outmatch the affliction for speed Nysa had.

Caraxes swayed in the air like the Wyrm he was named, flying lower to find his rider’s lover. The shuffle of trees below, lining right under the green of the Kingswood, Caraxes landed himself right at the edge. Daemon lit a torch, you should have never ventured into these forests alone. Even in the pain, he couldn’t not worry, you were his responsibility until you said the words with his father at the Sept. You would always be his responsibility. Daemon waked into the dark, much aware that his dragon looked behind to prevent any harm coming to him, he knew where you would be. Where you’d always sit with your legs tucked together, only this time he wasn’t sure you were of yourself.

You sat at the edge of the hill, tears coating your face. The silence in you had engulfed yourself and began to cause you more pain, so far lost in the relentless hammering of your heart against your chest you couldn’t pay mind to rustling in the woods. Perhaps it was a boar, waiting to have you pummelled to death so your physical body would be just as mangled as your mind was. Instead out poured the silver of your lover’s hair, eyes weary as he looked around to find you, and found he did. You waited for his eyes to soften like they always did when he saw you but they never did, the tight frown his eyebrows curled to never ease. Even in the darkness, the glow of his anger that glimmered within the purple of orbs was apparent, violent and unforgiving.

The cries you wanted to form words now were long gone and the angered lecture Daemon was to present you with, too was long gone. With many stressors felt, not a word shared between the two of you. Such silence wasn’t comfortable, nor was it seductive. It was painful, like a white hot iron rod met human flesh, it stung and it stained. Daemon resorted to pacing as you turned back to the blackened scenery, rustles of his footsteps against the leaves and the night call of grasshoppers within the bushes only added to the comical misery of it all.

“We refuse it, we refuse it and we wed each other at Dragonstone,” Daemon rambled, groaning the harder he thought “grandsire cannot wed us if we are already wed to one another, he won’t compromise his deal with the Seven.” He scoffed at the thought of it, it sounded bitter, resentful.

“And have you, exiled? Much less my head on a spike,” you said, speaking only the truth of the matter for King Jaehereys had done much worse to his own blood for evading his orders. It was a fine thought yet a foolish one, to be wed and then be exiled away to Essos to live your lives as you see fit. Though you understood Daemon, if not his grandsire he would come to resent you for the pain of losing his family would eat at his wounds sooner than later.

“What do you propose we do then, huh!” He yells, full throated, it echoed through the woods. His eyes wide and breath hot, his frustration bubbling to a tipping point. “Do you want to be Queen, forsake us for this…this farce?”

“Do not yell at me Daemon!” You scolded him back, finger pointed hot at his face as you stood up to approach him. The Gods themselves would have found this argument rather entertaining, for their evil devices have now put you in this predicament: “this… marriage was a political arrangement, my brother gave his word!”

“Oh fuck his word, you cannot mean it,” he groaned approaching you with much haste, his fingertips digging into your forearms “he is my father, father!” Even in the glow of the moon, gloss over the lilac of his eyes remained apparent.

“Don’t you - I,” you rambled, yanking yourself away from his turmoil because to thicken the air around you “don’t you think I know that, I know that!” you shook your head, there wasn’t a way out of this. Not without hurting your family and by extension putting your House in jeopardy. “It would soften over many political troubles, Daemon truly.”

“Just keep your mouth- you are mine, you are mine and I am yours,” his eyes furious and glaring, his already bleeding heart being gaped open of its wounds by your words “say it, damn it.” he reached forward once more to yank your head back, he couldn’t handle you not looking at him. Yet he regretted seeing the torn frown spreading on your face, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. There was a vicious sense of destruction covering the anger his sorrow was turning to. The words that fell after weren’t him, but perhaps the fires within him “we could let them talk, couldn’t we princess? Let them know the sweet Martell flower sullied with dragon seed? Hmm,”

“Who would want a soiled Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” his nostrils flared, his words rarely sounded sharp in his own head until a sharp slap rang down his ear, the sting radiating through his cheek. You pushed him away, on the verge of losing any last shred of composure holding your body on your feet.

“Fuck you Daemon,” you scoffed, chest heaving as the two of stared each other down, the moments away filling both your souls with such harrowing empty, a punishment worse than the black cells of the Keep. You wouldn’t survive this, you couldn’t. This time you charged at him, fingers digging into his jaw as you stood on your feet. Pressing your agony onto him through your lips, his own weight directed you backwards to the bark of the tree behind you.

Your lips never once left one another, the tasted of salted tears mixed with the taste of spiced wines on both your lips. Palms wet, as you pulled one another closer, not close enough - it wasn’t enough. That if you were to end this love, let it destroy you both once more. Daemon’s hands shuffled lower, skilled and hasty he felt the silks of your small clothes. His fingers swiped over your clothed core, perhaps your conscience swatted your moral back into you as you protested. You couldn’t, not her and not with the apt protection of lemon heads.

“Please,” Daemon whimpered, whimpered. Something you had never heard, when you pulled away you realised it was not just your own tears you had tasted. His forehead rested against your own, his breath hot against your lips.

You rested your head back on the bark, stroking the back of Daemon’s head. “Take me, take me Daemon,” you said, what other consequences were left to suffer than the fate you now had to face. You pulled at your skirts, bunching them at your hips as Daemon returned to lay his salacious affections upon your neck, letting his fingers yank down your small clothes as your fingers did his trousers.

You upper back nearly rubbed raw as you indulged into the arms of your lover, his head buried in your shoulder with your legs wrapped around his hips. The sweet sensitive tingling between your legs only made you cry harder as you pressed your lips against his temple “I’ll never love again,” you weeped, choking on your words as another moan ripped through your body.

“I’ll never live for anyone but you again.” he groaned, rutting his hips harder against yours as he chased his completion. His fingers rubbing tight circles upon your pearl, hoping to perhaps feel your cunny clench him empty one last time. The small yelps of pleasure echoed through the woods, the rustling of the leaves in the wind shielding this moment, frozen and intimate. You were sure search parties would be sent out to find you in no time. Your teeth sunk into the velvet pad upon Daemon shoulder, muffling the pleasure moans mixed with your tears as he snapped his hips to completion.

For the days to come, you succumbed to the orders of courts. Picking flowers and fabrics, being told what you liked, in which Baelon visited once to agree upon the fabrics of his doublet for the wedding. His late wife’s signet ring still adorning his little finger, you weren’t sure how any of this might take place. Were you to kiss at the altar and never see each other again? Baelon spoke of having you sailed to Dragonstone, said you might find comfort there but not once did he speak to you.

You had been summoned to the Small Council chambers once, to discuss a sensitive matter, one that wouldn’t have come to pass had the Old King not been so incessant about the number of heirs he had, with merely four left on the roster, your duty had only just begun as the Council demanded of a bedding ceremony. Their words had been far more colourful, painting all the reason why a room full of men should witness the deflowering of a young princess. Your body was rigid, there was nothing to deflower, you were no maiden and they would know. Baelon protested, palms slamming into the Council table with his fingers pointed at his father. This ordeal, painful as it is, he defended you, spoke of your honour and yet refused to let his soon to be wife suffer such humiliation in the name of customs.

You supposed the temper Daemon inherited had been apparent in that moment, as the proper Prince Baelon, spewed tinted words of his abilities to couple and create a child. The discussion dwindled to this, they wouldn't watch but remain in the chambers to ensure the deed was done and inspect the sheets. There wasn’t going to be a fight about this. You monotone motions as you followed your routine of lacing your arm with his as if you were to entertain together. You stopped him and he still escorted you to your chambers, you couldn’t look at him. They would find nothing.

“Daemon and I,” you began with a stutter, pulling yourself closer to step away from any onlookers “we -“ you shook you head, willing the words onto your lips “they won’t find blood.”

“They will,” Baelon’s voice stern yet understanding, you opened your mouth and closed it yet again. His silence willing you to believe whatever he might have devised to save your shame. “I have yet to apologise to you,” he hung his head.

“And I you,” you said moving away from the doorway of your chambers, Baelon looked to you confused. “It is no easy thing, you are forsaking much for the Realm,”

“You are wise darling,” he patted your palm rested on your knee. “I’ve watched you grow in these halls, you will be my wife in name, yes. You needn’t be afraid of me,” he gave you a tight lipped smile, a broken giggle tore through you and perhaps in weeks someone finally saw the pain you were in. After your night in the woods, Daemon drank himself silly in the tavern’s of Flea Bottom, with a fortnight he earned the title of the Prince of Flea Bottom.

Daemon’s wedding was to resume first, while his bride to be still seemed aloof to the tensions around her, Jaehereys had the City Watch contained to keep his grandson from running away, though hidden somewhere deep in the city. Daemon returned the night before his wedding, only to tear apart his chambers in a drunken rage, refusing to marry Rhea Royce still, how you often wished you were a Prince or Lord, then even you could exclaim you distaste in such a manner. Baelon tried to contain his son, rumours swirled that one could hear the proud Prince weep to his father, the reason unknown and many speculated that Rhea was too old for Daemon's tastes. How you wished it were true, that age is what kept Daemon so curt to his betrothed.

The night before the wedding, you couldn’t sleep as you paced or lounged staring at a wall the entire night, you were willing him to come to you. He never did, having fled to the brothels once again, you picked apart the embroidery on your shift the entire night. The sun peaked through when you realised sleep hadn’t visited you once. Your handmaidens took much care in dressing you, the hems of gowns dropped, more conservative. You looked at yourself and you couldn’t find yourself, merely the shell of the lady you were meant to be, the Queen.

The procession had gathered in the Iron Throne, parts of the court divided between the Throne Room and the Grand Sept where Daemon should have been an hour ago, the people of King’s Landing flocked to the streets to witness yet another royal wedding. Perhaps catch a glimpse of the bride to be or their notorious Prince. The halls called to you as you ventured towards Daemon's apartments, your own betrothed away from the feasts and sure to be barking sense into his son. The thrashes and sound of darkened protests could be heard from three floors below.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Daemon bellowed, jangles of armour followed after as he screamed and fought. Jaehaerys too had been in his rooms, the King ordering his grandson be hauled to Grand Sept. You hid behind a seated section, watching as the King slowly descended the steps. How could a man cause such strife within his family and continue on?

For much love that you adorned each other with, instead of earning each other’s names, destruction came knocking down your door. You regretted it, the second the image of Daemon’s face reddened with anger graced you, the urge of running away creeped up with bile around your throat. Jaehaerys already departed for his wheelhouse, leaving just you, Daemon and Baelon in the corridors. The small interruption of your figure popping from behind the curtains allowed Daemon to truly yank himself off the Kingsguard men.

It felt merciless, far too merciless as you stood in front of him. Bound to duty instead of him, yet you wanted him still. Daemon had wanted to hate you, for nights since your last encounter in the woods. You were deceitful, you were merciless in your decision. Fucking away any memory of you on painted whores and yet he couldnt, noting was soft enough, nothing was you. His lover, his cruel lover, you were subjecting him to this misery while you quietly lingered on your own. Heart of stone behind the yellow of your dress but your eyes still wet, he didn't need your pity as he shook his head, praying that seeing him in his maroon doublet would fill you with sense, mayhaps flee why you still had the chance. Even at six and ten, for you? He would cut through his grandsire’s Kingsgayrd like meat. You approached him, cautious and stiff, your arms engulfing him once more, just once more.

“Please go Daemon, without anymore quarrel,” you whispered in his ear, squeezing him harder. Even in the warmth of your embrace, his heart shattered, scattering to a million tiny pieces. Taking the final honour, he never expected you to, he expected you to fight for him, fight for your love and here you twist the knife harder in his green wounds. He went rigid, he lifted his head from your shoulder. Purple eyes, lifeless purple eyes looking over your face with one sorrowful smile. He pressed his lips to your forehead pulling away, the Kingsgaurd stood ready once more to drag Daemon to the Sept but this time he walked, his princely stride thudding down the steps without a second look to you, his tyrannical lover with your black heart. A decision of much political gravitas, your loyalty to your house, earned you nothing but the carnage of black burning bodies of what was you and Daemon.

Having witnessed the worst of it, the words Rhea and Daemon shared, their hands wrapped together, the gold and red woven cloak of House Targaryen upon her shoulders, the kiss that sealed their union in front of the eyes of the Seven, “cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder” the High Septon had said, could your future be anymore cursed then it already was? What was the next worst thing, your death? Mayhaps his? The feasting said and done, Daemon not once made any efforts to dance with his bride as he revelled in his cups, Rhea, the poor lady made an offer and attempts to perhaps ease the scowl settled on her husband’s face to no avail. His daggered eyes steadily remained on your figure, conversing and laughing, laughing with other ladies of the court. Many of whom flocked around you to perhaps make your roster of ladies in waiting.

The worst of it was Daemon resuming to his bedchambers to find Rhea, dressed in her corsage, dressed to stir his loins. A good bride awaiting to be bed by her noble husband, he didn’t mean to be curt but all he could do was scoff at her, a beautiful maiden and all he could think of was you. He couldn’t bed his new wife with the same indelicate manner he did with the whores of Silk Street. As he turned to leave, Rhea, annoyed by right, held onto his forearm “please, it is improper not consummate- we have to,” she urged him, feeling the brunt of what she had shrugged off for weeks. Her husband did not want her.

“I don’t have to do anything,’ Daemon yanked his hand free before leaving Rhea alone to sleep through her wedding night.

The days after followed the same, ships loaded in for the royal wedding for every inch of Known World. Your gown finished and resting in your receiving chambers, you too rested under the loopy haze of Nightshade prescribed by the Maesters, the misery apparently resulted in you forgetting to eat, or even having much water or wine. Your head pounded for days as you were thrusted up like a doll in front of the mirror, your gown being altered, the veiled being fitted and the gowns for formal receptions after. As ladies in your bedchambers giggled and gossiped, feasting on candied lemon cakes, your mind so heavily focused on the lace across your waist. You fell, gasps and attendants rushing to your aid as you laid unconscious on the stone floor.

Baelon was the first to be informed about his bride to be’s condition, your brother Quentel there after, when Daemon finally returned from the brothels, stinking of ale and far more salacious than when he left. As Daemon heard of your fall, his feet were quick towards your chambers. The curtains pulled to shield away the light of day, you laid rested against a mount of pillows. Aemma sat next to you, a book comically rested against the hard swell of her belly as her other hand caressed your head. Daemon curled his lips inot his mouth as he approached your sleeping frame.

When Aemma spotted him, she gave him a sympathetic smile as she kept stroking your head. Even in your sleep a frown framed your angelic face, Daemon wanted nothing more than to soothe it away but his heart still held its resentments. He looked up to his good sister, opening his mouth to speak but she knowing all too well of his queries, filled him in.

“I hadn’t realised she was hurting so,” Daemon whispered, your palm clutched in his hands as he stared up at your face, the frown, the darkening under your eyes. He should have seen the agony but in his own selfish ideations he didn’t. “We don’t have much liberty in these matters Daemon, she cannot whore or break things as you do,” Aemma lectured Daemon, tutting at him as he shuffled a little too hard.

“I was so consumed by her decision, I didn’t see why she made it,” he said sadly, still rubbing circles onto your palm. Aemma lightly chuckled.

“Us women never have a choice, it was already made for her she had to adhere to it with a stiff lip,” Aemma said, looking down at you with melancholy.

Daemon returned to his own bedchambers that night, still lingering in the thoughts of the conversation he had with his good sister, a woman learned and wise that lectured some sense into the prince. “Us women never have a choice,” any other prince of reason would respect the predicament their lover had put themselves in but Daemon was going to make a choice for you. A choice maligned by all the laws of Westeros, his name forbade him to do so, but he wouldn’t be his mother”s son if he didn’t. He dressed himself in armour and armed himself with Dark Sister. A boy, making the choice of a man as he pushed open the passage door from his bedchamber and made hasty steps towards yours.

Your sleeping form, just as warm and dazed as he left your moments before. This time he bent down down to kiss away the frown on your face before wrapping the black blanket over your body and scoping you up. A darkened bundle of bones and flesh in his hand, his love, his heart he smuggled through the walls of the Red Keep. His heart hammering against his chest, as skirted past the watchful eyes of the night guard. He walked with you in his arms, a hood pulled over his head to shield away the glaring blonde of his hair.

“Ñuha dãrilaros?” the dragonkeeper questioned as he looked at Daemon with you covered in black blanket, he would question some more until Daemon glared at him

“If you do not wish to be fed to Caraxes, get the fuck out of my way,” he sternly whispered, though the strong effects of nightshade kept you under, he didn’t want to test his luck any further to night. With much care, Daemon bundled you closer to him as he fasten you to his saddle, and tightened the blanket around his waist “sovetes,”

Come morning, the private council called was a rage,a missing prince and princess. Daemon, though finding comical responsibility, left a note. Jaehearys in his old age coughed orders of bounties, as Baelon read over the written note by Daemon, one written with haste and yet with perfected penmanship. “Forgive me father,” Baelon began to chuckle, putting away the parchment as he couldn’t process the hilarity of the situation. All he could think of was Alyssa, Daemon was her son, through and through, defiant, fiery. A dragon. Jaehaereys began to bark at Baelon over the fit he had been in, “come now, father,” he coughed to halt his laughter “what did you think would have happened?”

Jaehaerys near the end of his life might have passed right there, having felt the rage he did with Saerra he never understood why his kin must always go beyond his orders, always. “My son has become more a man than I am, there throw a feast,”

“He has a wife, he must return!”

“Unless you wish to outlive Viserys and I, this is one crime you must let go unpunished!” this time Baelon raised his voice, “for once, think about my boy and not about the Realm,”

Daemon had not planned where he would head, but Westeros wasn’t his home for now. You were, just as you always would be.

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ammmyturtle · 4 months

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“And you have the most amazing eyes.- he said, and meant it.”

—————— The Rogue Prince and the Birth of the Realm's Delight by Sweetestpopcorn

#the blacks & the greens #asoiaf #my thoughts on the blacks & the greens 101 #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #valyrianscrolls #daemon x rhaenyra #Daemyra #the rogue prince #the realms delight #baelon targaryen

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linaartsblogsworld · 3 months

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▪️𝑴𝑨𝑴𝑨'𝑺 𝑩𝑶𝒀𝑺 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 :𝐀𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 ,𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐈 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 🔥

#artists on tumblr #artwork #house targaryen #my art #art #digital artist #house of the dragon #baelon x alyssa #alyssa targaryen #daena targaryen #daemon targaryen #Daemon the rogue prince #viserys targaryen #Viserys i #fire and blood

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒

ESTP

Slytherin

Chaotic Neutral/Evil

Knight of Swords

Aries Sun, Scorpio Moon, Gemini Rising

Son of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa Targaryen, as well as the younger brother to King Viserys I. Daemon was known as a hot-headed, ambitious and passionate man. A true Targaryen; he took pride in his House and what it represented.

In his youth he called himself ‘Prince of the City’ as he dwelled in Flea Bottom habitually, but the citizen’s titled him Lord Flea Bottom instead. He became associated with a prostitute called Mysaria, who had a lot of ambition as well.

However, he was known throughout the realm as ‘The Rogue Prince’ due to his inability to take orders and do as told.

Early on in Daemon’s life, he claimed the shunned dragon Caraxes, whose former rider was Aemon Targaryen, Daemon’s uncle. When he was knighted at sixteen, he was given the ancestoral sword Dark Sister, by his grandfather King Jaehaerys I.

His first marriage was to Rhea Royce, the Lady of Runestone, who had ruled House Royce. They had no children together, nor consummated their marriage and it was said that Daemon thought...ill of his first wife.

Daemon’s second marriage was to Lady Laena Velaryon, with whom he had two children; Baela and Rhaena Targaryen. They resided in Pentos for some time, until Laena went into labor and ultimately died. Choosing to go out as a true dragonrider, she commanded her dragon, the largest and oldest in all of Westeros to kill her by fire.

During Laena’s funeral, her dragon, Vhagar, was claimed by Aemond Targaryen. That same night, Daemon and Rhaenyra’s children fought with Aemond because of this, and he lost an eye.

Daemon’s third marriage was to his niece, Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. Together they had two sons; Aegon III, Viserys II and a stillborn daughter named Visenya.

He backed Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne against her half-brother Aegon II.

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blakeswritingimagines · 8 months

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Dating Yandere Baelon Targaryen would include:

Baelon would be the loving Yandere type, very possessive and obsessive over you if he sees you as a lover. He will not allow you to talk to other men or even leave your house. He will love to see you happy and smiling but will get angered and even hurt you if you look at another man or question him.

Prince Baelon Targaryen would be driven by strong emotions and feelings of self-sacrifice, devotion, and possessiveness. As a yandere, Baelon would be fiercely loyal and obsessive towards his love interest and view you as a possession or as his reason for living. He would feel tremendous fear and anxiety at the thought of losing you and would do anything in his power to protect and keep you in his life. However, his protective nature could also manifest as controlling and abusive behavior, as Baelon would find it challenging to accept or respect your individual desires and independence.

If you break up with Baelon he will become vengeful and angry, he will not leave you alone and will do everything in his power to get you back to him. He may even go to hurting you or your loved ones. In short, he’s the type that will not let go of something that’s his, you’ll always be seen as the perfect person for him.

He will be very devoted and love-struck. He will be very gentle with you when you’re alone except when you show any sort of romantic interest in another male. He will get overprotective and make sure you’re always with him for your protection. He will not allow you to leave the house or go anywhere without his supervision and will get aggressive when you don’t agree to his terms or wants.

If you don’t give him the attention he demands, he will become manipulative and will often threaten to hurt himself. He will show extreme acts of love in one moment and extreme anger in the other. He will say anything to make sure you choose him over anyone else.

Baelon would also show another side of him if he sees you with another man. He would show his more violent side, he would be filled with rage and even kill the man that he was with, he would then go after you and bring you back to him, and he might harm you. Baelon would eventually feel guilty of harming you and would try to make up for it, this is his unstable violent side and his loving side would always win.

Baelon as a yandere would be prone to violent mood swings, his thoughts constantly focused on you. He would be willing to do anything to keep you safe and happy, even if it involves violence or harm. If you go against him, he will become violent and controlling, not wanting anyone else near you or being with you.

He will use manipulation tactics to keep you with him and may resort to lying and making false promises that will keep you attached to him. He would be possessive and obsessive towards your appearance and the way you dress. Will show a lot of physical contact like hugs, kisses, and cuddles as a way of affection.

With his yandere obsessive nature, he will want to possess you and keep you for himself, making you all his. To achieve this he will try to cut off your support system from your friends and family. He will be the only one who will be able to be with you or love you. He will be very possessive and will make sure all your time is spent with him and that you are always loving him the way he does you.

When he is with you alone, he will be very loving and passionate. He’ll shower you with affection and make sure you’re as happy as you can be. He will be very caring, and comforting, and protect you. He’ll constantly be telling you how he loves you and can’t live without you, and will be very romantic towards you. When you’re together, he will want to be as close as physically possible.

With his obsessive nature, he will want to marry you as soon as possible. He thinks that way he can make you his and only his forever. He will think that with the ties of marriage, you won’t leave him or be with anyone else. He will make sure that the marriage happens soon without considering your opinions.

He will want children from the moment you are married. He believes that having children solidifies the relationship and makes it permanent. He would want your children to resemble him in every way possible and have his good looks. He would want you to spend as much time with the children and as a family so that you don’t even think of spending time with other people.

Before getting together he will become completely devoted to you, willing to do anything to get your love or attention. Because of his possessive obsession over you he will not want anyone else to be close to you and will want you all to himself. If you were to ever try to leave him he would become angry and force you to come back to him. If you refuse his pleas, he could go as far as physically trying to stop you from leaving or hurting you emotionally. With his yandere obsessive nature, he will take extreme measures to make sure he has your love and attention.

Baelon would be mean to his loved one if he felt like it. He could become aggressive and possessive, even physically assaulting you. This would be an attempt to keep you close and to make sure no one else can have you. He might also try to manipulate you psychologically and attempt to break up any potential relationships you may have with other people.

Prince Baelon would be very fond of domination and submission. He enjoys the feeling of having control over another person and being able to be in charge. He likes a partner who will submit to his will and allow him to be dominant.

He would also be very into bondage and enjoy tying his partner up for his pleasure. He will enjoy the sight of you at his complete mercy, as he will be able to do what he wants to you.

He is also fond of light BDSM and likes to experiment and explore your body. He enjoys using handcuffs, rope, and blindfolds to add an element of surprise and excitement to the sexual encounters. He also likes experimenting with toys and gadgets to make things even more interesting in the bedroom.

He would also be fond of teasing and edging with you. He would be a very affectionate and passionate lover, enjoying the feeling of pleasing you.

He would be a very attentive and thoughtful lover, making sure your needs are satisfied first. He would enjoy playing the tease and taking his time to get you to the edge before making you release, making you feel even more satisfied.

Baelon would be fond of dirty talking and verbal play, he would want to be able to speak freely about how much he loves and desires you. He would also be fond of using restraints and toys such as handcuffs or vibrators as a way to excite you and make you more obedient and obedient towards him.

He might also enjoy watching you please yourself as a way to see how much you desire him and to turn him on, at least until he can't take it anymore.

Prince Baelon would be fond of marking his partner to show you that he owns you and wants to keep you with him. He will leave hickeys and bite marks on your body, especially near private areas, as he likes to leave his mark on you and leave no doubt as to who belongs to whom. He would also like to be marked by his you as well, as it would be a symbol of your love and commitment towards each other.

#baelon targaryen #the spring prince #baelon the brave #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #baelon targaryen x reader #dating would include

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darklinaforever · 4 months

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Fanarts by @naomimakesart

#daemon targaryen #pro daemon targaryen #the rogue prince #viserys targaryen #baelon targaryen #alyssa targaryen #baelon x alyssa #alyssa x baelon #baelon and alyssa #alyssa and baelon #fire and blood #f&b

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atopvisenyashill · 5 months

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An AU for you. Aemon, father of Rhaenys, doesn't die but disappears. Jaehaerys goes ahead and disinheirits Rhaenys. Aemon comes back and isn't a happy camper. Thoughts?

It's definitely interesting. In one of my discussions of Jaehaerys and Rhaenys, it was pointed out that it seems Jaehaerys takes everyone - likely including Baelon - completely by surprise, likely on purpose. It fits with the timeline established here; Aemon and Corlys are off in Tarth so Rhaenys is alone at home and pregnant with no one to support her claim besides herself, Jocelyn, and Alysanne and Jaehaerys doesn't have to listen to any of them. Then you have Baelon who may or may not have been suffering an intense amount of grief from the loss of Aemon (and honestly, probably Alyssa as well - it's been eight years but I can't imagine spending eight years grieving and raising your kids only for your brother to die in a freak accident and suddenly you're crown prince is easy to deal with, may even bring some old grief bubbling back up). It's even possible that Baelon wanted to say no but felt he had no choice because Jaehaerys did this whole ceremony in public right as Baelon was getting back from Tarth. And of course, we don't know how Aemon was talking about Rhaenys - she's named after a conqueror, Aemon and Jocelyn never have any other children (it's not even mentioned that they had miscarriages, they just straight up stop at Rhaenys while Alyssa is popping out sons left and right), Alysanne refers to Rhaenys as the future queen. It's possible Aemon argued with Jaehaerys over Rhaenys and didn't tell Rhaenys (wanting to protect her from the fact that her grandfather is an asshole, perhaps) or that it was well known that Aemon and Jaehaerys fought over succession but the gossip was purposefully suppressed and left out of F&B by gyldayn.

What's extra interesting about this is that there's no other example of what the hell you even do in this situation in ASOIAF. Aegon II is born after Rhaenyra is named but Viserys purposefully snubs Aegon because he doesn't like his younger kids. Meanwhile Viserys II is the younger sibling of Aegon II so that doesn't disrupt anything. The closest example we have is actually a future plot point in the books aka whatever the hell is going to happen with the succession in Winterfell, because Jon, Sansa, and maybe Arya and Rickon are getting there before Bran (and even then, you don't have that added issue of, idk, Jon maliciously usurps Bran because he believes a disabled person can't rule, and also usurped like four other disabled people earlier for the same reason so we know it's a pattern of his). So what do you do when the older, former crown prince shows up not just alive and well but incredibly pissed off that his daughter was passed over?

We don't have a lot of Aemon's personality in the books, just little hints here and there. He's known to be cautious but curious. He's incredibly close to Baelon and Alyssa, seems to have been rather in love with Jocelyn. He's known to have been obedient and worked as master of laws. He claimed Caraxes when he was 17, after he's married and named crown prince officially, and he and jocelyn have their first child when he's nineteen years old and jocelyn is a whopping 20 years old (very old considering Alysanne is like 15 when she first gets pregnant and more than one Targaryen girl is like 13). He is well loved by the smallfolk, as much as Baelon the Brave is. And what works in his favor is that Jaehaerys clearly loved and adored his two oldest sons and was devastated by their loss. So when Aemon shows up again, I think it's more likely Jaehaerys is forced to take him seriously. We have the Rogar/Alyssa situation as evidence for this - Jaehaerys clearly values the opinions, input, and intelligence of men over women, even the women of his own family, even the women that support him over those men.

What I think is likely here is that

Baelon backs whatever it is Aemon wants -> I certainly have my suspicions over the type of person Baelon is, but a younger brother cannot usurp his older brother simply because he doesn't like his vibes. Maegor never manages to usurp Aenys after all; it took Aenys' death and Aegon the Uncrowned being under siege at Crakehall for Maegor to get the opportunity to acclaim himself King (and I think it's crucial here that Maegor is Visenya's first born if not Aegon's). Especially given that Aemon isn't all that old; it just seems likely Baelon will agree out of guilt and grief to what Aemon wants out of the succession.

Aemon decides to build an actual case for Rhaenys to inherit and publicly goes against his father -> We know he's cautious, curious, loves his family, and worked as master of laws rather than Hand which makes me think he had a more bookish bent than Baelon. I think this means that Aemon shows up, finds out what's happened, and goes for the formal, logistical route of building a legal case as to why Rhaenys wil remain his successor and eventually become Queen of Westeros. I think it's even likely he'll see this legal route as more respectful of his father too.

Aemon has to shore up alliances for Rhaenys/Laena/Laenor -> In canon, we know Rhaenys gets the Velaryons, the Celtigars, the Manderlys, the Dustins, the Baratheons, and the Starks on her side. If he can get to Matthos Tyrell and Grover Tully, not only can he cancel out the Peakes being shitty in the Reach, he can completely claim the Riverlands, and all he needs to do is stall a few more years so Jeyne Arryn becomes Lady of the Vale and then he's got her on lock too. I think he's got way more of a chance of gaining support than Corlys and Rhaenys do on their own.

The Second Quarrel Gets Ten Times More Quarrelsome -> Listen, all Alysanne ever does is just fuck off to Dragonstone, she never actually attempts to fight Jaehaerys over anything. But if Aemon comes back and goes "mom was right what the fuck is your problem", well well well suddenly Alysanne has a son with actual political power (unlike Aly, whose ruling power was completely stolen from her by Jaehaerys prior to this). Maybe Aemon decides to publicly break from his father for real and sets up shop at Dragonstone or maybe he calls Alysanne back to KL so she can be a menace in front of Jaehaerys' face, but either way, Jaehaerys can't just send Maegelle to gaslight Alysanne into coming home this time because Alysanne has someone who matters (a man) on her side.

Daemon Starts Acting Like Daemon -> I think he starts going off the shits earlier because now it's his own father attempting to push him further down in the succession by handing over the crown to Aemon and Rhaenys. We know Viserys and Daemon idolized their parents but I think his entire character shows us that just because he loves someone doesn't mean he's above throwing a violent temper tantrum.

Viserys might not marry Aemma -> PERSONALLY, if I'm Aemon and I come back home and Jaehaerys has named Baelon crown prince, which makes Viserys second in line, and then Viserys is trying to marry a Targaryen-Great House daughter, I would stop that shit so fast it would give Caraxes motion sickness. And I'm not talking like some Viserra esque "last ditch effort" I'm talking I'm picking fights with every tom dick and stanley that refers to Aemma as Viserys' betrothed, I'm calling in every favor I have to stop this wedding, I'm threatening Rodrik Arryn's sons that if they hand Aemma over I'll use Caraxes to burn the Vale fleet to the fucking ground. If he doesn't straight up start a minor war over this match, he's an even bigger idiot than his mother AND ALL THREE VISERYS KINGS COMBINED.

I will admit given my general "fuck this dude i wish maegor had barbecued him" stance on jaehaerys, i would not call myself The Jaehaerys Understander so I'm kind of...unsure of how he would react? The thing about Jaehaerys is that the only people who push back on his flaws are women (Rhaena, Alyssa V., Saera, Alysanne) and not only does he not have to listen to them because he's king, he can also punish them by completely stealing away any power they have so that he never has to even hear them bitch at him again (and that's exactly what he does by refusing to give Rhaena a home of her own and usurping her, by refusing to apologize to his mother and then forcing her to reconcile with a man who is going to murder her with his dick, making a circus out of traumatizing and sexually humiliating Saera, and then continuously abusing and gaslighting Alysanne throughout the entirety of their marriage btwww!!!!). Jaehaerys can't just disinherit a living Aemon the way he can Saera or banish Aemon to be the castellan of some old haunted castle the way he does Rhaena; he simply has to engage with this issue.

And the thing is - if he figures it's more of a headache to fight publicly with Aemon than just reinstate Aemon as Crown Prince (or, idk make Aemon Baelon's heir so that the line of succession reverts back to Aemon?? idk how this shit works i don't care about the uber rich and their fake rules), what is this man supposed to do when he dies and Aemon goes "anyway Rhaenys is crown princess of dragonstone, i'm king now, suck my dick viserys you shitty ass nephew" whomst is gonna stop him, really, short of starting the dance a few decades earlier?

#baelon the brave #rhaenys velaryon #anti jaehaerys i targaryen #aemon targaryen #aemon the pale prince #asks #anons

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ladyvictoriaa11 · 1 year

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My facast for Lady Jocelyn Baratheon is Maria Doyle Kennedy:

• She and her baby 🥹:

• Giving her favor to Aemon or Boremund:

• Smiling to Aemon while watching over Rhaenys (that girl is going to be the death of hers):

• Finding out Aemon is dead:

• Toast to the new heir and Prince of Dragonstone, Baelon Targaryen:

•Getting ready for the Great Council:

I don't know I just think she fits perfectly. Also, I think Jocelyn is a character that needs to be more talk about, she went from being the future Queen to watch her daughter being robbed and they didn't even give her the title of Dowager Princess of Dragonstone (or just Dowager Princess) as if her marriage with Aemon didn't happen, as if they weren't going to be King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

As you see I have plenty of thoughts about her 😅 so if you want to know them just ask me.

#jocelyn baratheon #rhaenys targaryen #house of the dragon #house targaryen #prince baelon the brave #baelon targaryen #boremund baratheon #king jaehaerys #great council of 101 #my gifs

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yellowsocialbunny · 10 months

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targaryen sims portraits pt. III

Prince Aemon Targaryen had eyes "as pale as lilac". His hair was a rare color, rare even in Old Valyria: it was pale, and shone like white gold. Aemon was tall and handsome, even as a boy of seven. He was taller than his younger brother Baelon, and stronger. By the time Aemon was fifteen years old, he was six feet and two inches tall. As a young child, Aemon was very serious, cautious, careful, and obedient. Aemon was fast friends with his brother Baelon, and would train with him in the yard. They were evenly matched against each other, and their contests were very spirited, always drawing crowds of onlookers.

Prince Baelon Targaryen at birth was smaller than his older brother, Aemon. He was louder and lustier, however. The first time Baelon visited the Dragonpit, he hit Balerion on the snout, causing Ser Samgood of the Kingsguard to remark that he was either brave or mad. Ever since, Baelon was also known as Baelon the Brave.

Princess Alyssa Targaryen was long-faced and skinny. She had dirty blond tangled hair, without a trace of silver. She had mismatched eyes, one violet, the other green. She had big ears and a lopsided smile. At the age of six she broke her nose, which healed crooked. As a child, she did not act like a girl. She would dress in boy's clothes whenever possible, and preferred to ride, climb, and duel with wooden swords over more lady-like activities, and shunned the company of girls. Alyssa was strong, quick, and spirited. She loved to boast that she was "as bawdy a wench as any barmaid in King's Landing".

Septa Maegelle Targaryen as a girl was gentle, quiet, studious, and exceedingly bright, and was said to read from the Seven-Pointed Star every night before sleep, and was eager to take the vows. She was known for her compassion, and her gift for healing.

Archmaester Vaegon Targaryen had the silver-gold hair and purple eyes of the Targaryens. However, he could not be described as "comely": he had a long face and round shoulders, even at a young age. He always had a pinched sour cast to his mouth. He was not a coward, but neither took joy from the play of squires and pages. He was a miserable fighter, and not well-trained at arms. He was a bookish boy and much preferred the library, where he could often be found. Books were his only passion. When he had to speak he was often blunt, though never intentionally cruel: he always dutifully performed perfunctory courtesies, but no more.

Princess Daella Targaryen was small of stature: on her toes she stood five feet and two inches. Everyone who met her judged her younger than she was in truth, as there was a childish aspect to her. As she grew to maidenhood she was described as pretty, enough to attract the attention of young lords, but wasn't singled out as exceptionally beautiful. Daella was considered sweet, kind, and gentle, with a tender heart. However, she was also a delicate and shy, tongue-tied girl, who was easily frightened and quick to cry. She liked flowers but was afraid of gardens, bees, and cats

descriptions by A Wiki of Ice and Fire

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yourlocalnetizen · 3 months

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Don't pit THE MEN of House Targaryen against each other!!!

Aenar is SMART FOR LISTENING TO HIS DAUGHTER

Aegon I is...

Aenys TRIED

Maegor is...

Aegon the Uncrowned MARRIED A LESBIAN ICON & IS AEREA'S FATHER

Jaehaerys I is...

Aemon the Pale Prince is THE MOST BEAUTIFUL TARG MAN

Baelon is HUBBY MATIRIAL

Vaegon is A NERDY ACE ICON

V*serys I is...

D@emon is...

Aegon II is...

Aemond is...

Daeron the Daring is A WAR CRIMINAL WHO GET'S A PASS FOR BEING A MINOR

Aegon III DESERVED BETTER!!!

Viserys II is...

Daeron I is...

Baelor I is...

@*g0n !V is...

Aemon the Dragonknight is THE FATHER DAERON II DESERVED

Daeron II is THE BEST KING OF WESTEROS

Baelor Breakspear is THE BEST TARGARYEN MAN EVER

Aerys I is AN AROACE BOOKISH KING

Rhaegel is A DANCER WHO HATES CLOTHES

Maekar is AEGON V'S FATHER

Daeron the Drunken is...

Aerion is...

Maester Aemon is FLAWLESS

Aegon V is THE MOST ICONIC MALE TARG

Duncan LOVES HIS WIFE

Jaehaerys II is...

Daeron the Gay MARRIED HIS BF FOR LOVE

Aerys II is...

Rhaegar is...

Viserys III is...

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themotherofblood · 1 year

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I saw you opened your requests again, so to finish off my series of requests inspired by Bollywood songs, can I please get Daemon x poc fem reader inspired by "Laal ishq" with lots of angst and nsfw please? (feel free to ignore)

you asked and I shall deliver!! I love the song, even though it’s melancholic. So to go with the theme of estranged lovers. Reader and Daemon have been friends for years, that eventually blossomed to love. Daemon is being forced to marry Rhea. There is no age gap since both have grown up together (also a really disgusting twist, fuck Jaeheryes!) THERE IS A PART TWO WITH SMUT I PROMISE!

Daemon Targaryen x Reader | WC: 5003

Masterlist

tw: mentions of incest, pregnant people and crass language

Daemon’s blood boiled anew since he was knighted the year before and was handed his ancestral sword. Dark Sister. He flew Caraxes faster, he trained harder. While one-half of his time was spent being a more valiant warrior than he already was, the other half was spent with you. Head in your lap, as he fawned on your beauty over and over again. It wasn’t right, you were a noble lady - a princess at that; you were to be chaste and untouched. Yet the walls of the Red Keep often turned a blind eye to your and Daemon’s ongoings. Everyone expected it so, seeming how Daemon always got what he wanted. The court expected that you would be wed to the young prince before Baelon would sit on the throne.

The door to the Godswood slammed open with a thud, and gruff sounds of huffing followed by clanks of armour filled your ears as you smiled to yourself. Almost enjoying every time your lover, pouting and broody demanded your affection after a long day of being consumed with his knighthood. You looked up to find Daemon placing his helm on the wooden table of refreshments before yanking out a leather flask of Flea Bottom’s finest moonshine, growling from the back of his mouth as the burn coated his sore throat. He huffed before plopping down next to you. The stench of mud and sweat filled your nostrils, much used to the muck as you kept working on your embroidery. Lip tucked between your lips as you passed a red string through the fresh patch of linen.

Daemon’s demeanour shifted, without having said a word as his attention was drawn to your nibbled fingers working over the delicate patches of thread. The designs of a story rather than the simple florals most ladies wore at court.

“Who bested you this time?” your voice caught his attention, your eyes still fixated on your work and yet the frustrations bubbling within him were apparent. Daemon narrowed his eyes at you before taking three large swigs from his flask.

“No one, every one of them has tasted dirt by my hands today,” he quickly replied, his mind toiling with a different malady altogether, like a plague. Clinging to the crevices of his head. How does one ask a lady such a thing?

“Then what’s got you pouting today?” you mused at him, this time placing the cloak down and turning to look at his defensive expression. His faded brows pulled to a tight-knit and his mouth parted with no words dancing over his lip. You raised your brow at him, knowing him far better than he realised.

Back in the yards, young lords with Daemon sparred away their mornings. Determined and raging as they charged at one another or dummies. Sparking conversations of bloody war fantasies and of comely girls at court. Out of the few closest to Daemon, five were already married - even his brother. Not that the notion of marriage had him praying like the fanatics at the Sept but even as stories of Old Valyria painted his dreams. He pictured his sweet lover, you in the grab of his house. Muttering words of Valyrian as his love for you would be legitimised by the eyes of dragons and the Fourteen Flames. Perhaps as his own sister-by-law, Aemma swelled full of her first child. He pictured little white-haired children of his own, perhaps enough to put his grandsire’s abilities to shame.

Daemon was sure if he would bring the matter up with his father. That perhaps his Jahereys would offer his hand to your father. There was much to be gained politically, and he would soil the sheets with his blood to cover for the lack of your maidenhead. The plans in his mind were crystal, already insistent of you becoming his lady wife. Though it was a matter of if you’d wish it so, or if your family would approve it.

“I- I asked father to have your hand in marriage,” he replied in one quick breath, his ears ringing from the silence that followed. A blank expression that spread through your features didn’t help his turmoil either as he waited for you to say something or refused him outright. “Fuck’s sake, say something?” he frowned, taking hold of your shoulders and shaking you.

The words wouldn’t reach your lips as you blankly stared him down, blinking profusely back to reality as his worry turned into disappointment. You straightened yourself, folding away the cloak on your lap before gently laying in on the grass, your chest pushing against your corset from how hard you were breathing. Abruptly, you launched yourself at him, knees catching at your gown uncomfortably that you didn’t care for as you straddled his lap to kiss him. There was a fire in how your lips connected, Daemon was truly taken aback for a moment before chuckling and giving into the onslaught, hands caressing each other’s cheeks. You rested your forehead against Daemon’s, “You want this? Marriage?” you had to ask to be sure, that perhaps this wasn’t another one of his spurts of passion.

He nodded “Would you? Be my lady wife?” his eyes, wider than the Septa’s when she heard crass remarks. Bursts of anticipation flooded Daemon’s heart. You would be his, to have and to hold. The colours of his house staining the mustard silks adorning your skin, there would be no reason to conceal such ardour for one another, a flame concealed by forbidding it air. Young souls afraid of its fire would see all but the world, perhaps diminished before it could swallow you whole. The embers would finally take flight, burn anyone who would question Daemon’s affections for you. It was way past time that the two of you should have been wed, every lord was afraid of approaching you from the fear of being eaten by Caraxes, and the ladies stood ten breaths away from the fear of being poisoned by you.

You, a Princess of House Martell, Darmon a Prince of House Targaryen and yet your names for one another held not houses or titles but otherworldly, cosmic - cathartic titles ones of adoration and the rest, not High Valyrian, Ryonish or the Common Tongue could describe. Oftentimes than not it felt unreal, fabricated that perhaps it was the joy of having another, the thrill of breaking statues or perhaps it was finally a sense of home. You saw him for who he was and he, you, not within the wild inclinations but perhaps the calm hidden behind the mirror.

The elation of your supposed oncoming betrothal spread cheek to cheek, the corners of your eyes crinkling (even be fair to say teary-eyed) yet you purse your lips. Still lingering on the question on Daemon’s lips, it was yes - such agreement you could scream your throat sore from Rhaenys Hill - mischief however clouded your mind as you pulled back from him, scrunching your brows in deep thought. A look of offence adorned Daemon’s sharp features; a minx through and through. “Fly a piece of the moon back to me and I shall think about it,” a mere jest, followed by a giggle to seal the line. Daemon’s eyes flickered with another opportunity but for now his work was done.

The tunnels in the Red Keep had stood witness to the damning celebrations that followed after, sneaking baskets of blankets, spiced wines, lemons, and plum cakes being carried from the kitchens to your solar. Even if you were caught, there wasn’t a fret or consequence. You were to be married. Far too intoxicated to do anything by the end of the night, as the vulgarities whispered by Daemon against your ear as his fingers rested against your blushed lips, feeding you pieces of purple grapes to muffle the deep bellied giggles pouring out of your mouth.

The morrow bloomed in with you sprawled atop furs by the dying embers of the hearth, skin sticky from no doubt the sweets consumed last night as your chambermaids poured in to tidy your chamber and you make princess-like once more for the respectable court. Though comely and courteous charm oozed out of your every pour, you let out dishevelled groans and grumbles as you pulled yourself awake. Finding an indent in the furs where your lover had nestled with you the night before and now he fluttered away like every morning. Pristinely dressed in your riding clothes, your schedule today consisted of visiting Lady Aemma, avoiding the snarky air headed ladies and court and paying your precious steed and visiting the Kingswood.

Aemma Arryn, already swelling from her first babe, wore her discomfort with much grace. Hoping to birth a boy for Viserys but in her heart she knew the babe to be a bumbling girl. “I’ve heard something about you… and Daemon,” her lips curled in a sly smile. Yet you being devoid of romantical theatrics, heat still evaded your composure and flared across your cheeks. You shuffled onto the chaise next to her, giggling as you hesitantly held your arm out. She meekly nodded at your gesture, grabbing your palm to place over the bump, the skin firm yet softer under your touch. Living with dragons mere breaths away from you and yet an entire person being inside your friend fascinated you, perhaps such would be your fate without the lemon heads in your environs while engaging in the salacious acts with Daemon.

Your eyes crinkled at the corners, much aware of what Aemma had heard - from Viserys no doubt - the older Targaryen brother hid not one thing from his sweet wife. Both brothers were highly hen pecked by the women they took as lovers. “What could you have possibly heard, I swear I poisoned no one,” your lips curled to a wry grin making her tap your thigh mischievously with her foot. You pulled them onto your lap, kneading your fingers into the mass of her foot, alleviating pressure from her overbearing weight.

“Viserys overheard Prince Baelon talking with the King… Can you imagine us, sisters!” her smile widened cheek to cheek, already pictured dressing you in ivory herself like you did her.

“Whatever you have done to my brother, I applaud you,” Viserys’s voice chimed from behind you, leaning against the door frame, admiring his glowing wife with a graceful smirk on his face “The Street of Silk shall mourn his absence,” he teased making Aemma glare at his antics

“Do not listen to him,” she scoffed, “Have you told anyone yet?” You shook your head, wanting to keep this joy just between the people you trusted the most before the vultures found a way to make profit of such an event yet again.

“Do you know where he is?” you turned to Viserys who pointed out the window to the skies.

The air crashing against your skin as your hair followed free of its braided constraints, purple leather hugged your skin, shielding you from the chill of this day’s climate. The trees mere green shadows in your periphery blend all as one, just your own breathing echoing in your ears and the quicked hoof beats of your night black mare Nysa. While she couldn’t fly, her legs were no less than being afloat in the clouds, brushing past the dirt road at speeds incomparable to the naked eye. She neighed at a halt, right at the end of the meadow. The greenery reached as far as your eyes could see, you lingered in the quiet for a moment, the bird, the grasshoppers and even the leaves melodically sang a song for your ears.

The winds tore past the stink of the bustling livelihood of King’s Landing, amidst the rain that was sure to follow within the end of the week, the forest smelled of leaves, of warmth and damp. You shuffled off your horse, your own personal guard no doubt still catching up to the rampage that tore you through the thick tree lines. Deep breaths of fresh air flooded your lungs, you often dreamed of riding all the way home, to bask in the crisp sunshine at the Old Palace.

You walked holding onto Nysa’s reigns, finding a spot to sit with your legs over the rocks looking down into the ditch, while your marriage would bring forth much joy in your life. Perhaps a blissful life at Dragonstone, a cat, Caraxes and him. Mostly you’d enjoy being a royal lady-wife, perhaps it would make the ladies at court fear you more than a poisoning, Dornishmen - salacious varmints.

Higher above from where you were sitting, Daemon flew past the clouds, higher every moment. A feat encouraged by your jest but in reality a grace question, why hadn’t the Targaryens ever touched the moon? The dim witted Septons nor the droll Maesters had an answer for it. He took matters in his own hands, clipped to Caraxes as he rode the Red Wyrm to newer heights. The air around him was much colder and yet he kept climbing. Taking in large gasps of breaths, however lungs simply couldn’t get enough. A piece of the moon - he could do that much for his sweetest wife to be, a wedding gift better than any silk gown or golden necklace. What completely overshadowed the struggling mount underneath him was you. Caraxes fought to climb, the sky growing a deeper shade of blue, as Daemon’s mind fantasised his way through the journey; the lack of air in his lungs slipped right past.

Knocking him unconscious first, Caraxes yet climbed heights above than before until he realised Daemon slumped backwards on his saddle; severing any control the prince had on his dragon moments before. Such exhaustion consumed the Red Wyrm too, while still within his prime his wings tucked tight as he fell from the skies like the stories of angels the High Septon preaches.

The striking red of the dragon’s body clashed against the bright and clear skies that graced King’s Landing today. Just as you lounged at the edge of the meadow, a falling red figure wasn’t hard to miss. You stood to your feet immediately, fascinated at what it might have been. The Blood Comet in the scrolls wasn’t due for another decade or two. Only instead of gliding across the horizon of the sky, it grew bigger by the moment; until you saw the flutter (no book said anything about fluttering rocks falling from skies above). The dark membranes outline the red made you gasp “Oh gods,” this had been either a sick thrill Daemon had decided to partake in or he was truly falling from the heavens.

You mounted Nysa, rushing towards the falling figure from the skies. While to others the moment seemed fleeting but it felt ages as you neared the falling dragon. Caraxes spread his wings, in desperate attempts to halt the descent as he gained consciousness. Daemon, still attached to his saddle but nowhere near coherency. A loud crash accompanied a mushroom cloud of dirt blasting through the woods, Nysa nearly throwing you off her back as she neighed, startled to shit. You jumped off her, your personal guard merely catching you in time as Ser Alysen gripped your arms. Warning you of the dragon that laid huffing and curled, he would eat you, he would eat you.

You screamed from the back of your throat, pushing Alysen off your back and rushing towards Caraxes. “Do not fucking eat me,” your mind toiled, yet you had to know if your lover was alive or if you were widowed before you even had the chance to step on the alter. The red dragon’s nostril flared, low bellied chirps echoing through the settling dust, please - let me see him. You weren’t sure how you would fight a creature four times your size but perhaps his bigger mind sensed your harmlessness, putting up no protest as you pulled yourself onto Daemon’s saddle, him still slouched, breathing.

“Daemon, Daemon wake up,” you cupped his cheeks. Shaking him profusely, the behemoth he was growing into. You couldn’t carry him off the dragon even if you wanted to. “Come on now, wake up!”

Most of King’s Landing already witnessed a mythical creature falling from the heavens. Half of them ran for the Grand Sept, howling of the end times and the people in the Keep knew it to be Daemon. Within minutes more riders arrived with aid, the others contemplating the possibility of an attack. They found you on top of the Red Wyrm. Distraught and holding the young prince’s body hugged onto you, getting him off the mount proved a far harder challenge than anything the Stranger would ever test them to. A crying princess and an unwilling dragon.

You had raced behind the wheelhouse carrying Daemon back to the Red Keep. Maesters were already alerted and awaiting the prince in his bed chambers. While you had no business being in his quarters, even you had found him. You paced like a mad woman outside his bed chambers, if he died you swore to torment him in the afterlife as you counted every brick placed in the wall you were staring at.

Prince Baelon soon after burst through his quarters, hearing about his son as his conversation with father seemed to have turned quarrelsome. Both him and Viserys had raced down the corridors, the sight was none for relief but you sat on the floor. Knees bobbing in anxiety as you chewed through your nails. Having realised what Daemon might have been doing as dread and anger was replaced with guilt. You made him do this.

The questioning look on the princess’ faces was replied with one meek sentence “I asked him for the moon,” your eyes welling once more. Yet for the sake of your dignity and name you turned away.

After much waiting, yet not having left Daemon’s quarters. You waited patiently for him to awaken, for reasons other than to either press grateful kisses all over his face, or grovel at his feet for his blessed romanticism. Flattered (truly - completely) for broken bones set straight, and bruising along the side of his shoulders and two fat sheep, the cost of the moon on land. When Daemon grumbled awake, his family were the first to receive him until Baelon - being the true supporter of your union - ushered you in after demanding that the Maesters and attendants all leave. The father in him refrained from yelling at his son’s recklessness but you dutifully performed that right for him.

Daemon grinned, loopy from the milk of poppy no doubt. “Princess!” he dragged, very likely expecting an embrace or a pat on his shoulders for his efforts as he sat perched by pillows against the stone headboard. He instead was met with a swift and ringing slap across his cheeks, your eyes and nostrils flared.

“Have you lost your fucking mind!” the rage of a true Dornish woman radiating through your words, unbothered that the Heir to the Iron Throne stood witness to the crisp smack you had landed on his son’s face. You tilted your head, demanding an answer - palm stinging and yet itching to land another sharp smack on his other cheek as he grinned once more. While his cock nearly twitched seeing his sweet princess so ferocious about his life, your eye would soon begin to twitch as he kept up his antics.

“You asked for the moon,” he trailed away, clearly aware of the blunder he had created.

“A joke Daemon! A joke!” you dug your fingers into his cream tunic as you climbed on his bed “If I asked you to jump off Maegor's Holdfast, would you?” you scolded, Daemon’s mischievous glint now turned soft as your anger gave way to your concern. He nodded in agreement, nodding away like a spring headed doll. You smacked him on the shoulder once more, your bottom lip trembling as you remembered the terror you had felt as he laid unconscious in your arms “I thought - you moron,” your voice broke. “I thought you were dead,” you whimpered, making Daemon shuffle up higher.

He pushed stray hairs away from your face, his eyes soft as he glanced over your scrunched face. His thumbs caressing your cheeks before pulling you into him. You sobbed, near incoherent as relief washed over your fright. Daemon shushed you, apologising for scaring you, he looked up to where his father stood in his receiving chambers with a sheepish yet apologetic smile on his face. Baelon’s eyes glinted with knowing sadness, smithing Daemon wrote as disappointment for the stunt he had pulled. Baelon nodded knowingly at Daemon, reassuring him that you and him not to be disturbed before exiting and closing the door behind him.

Daemon milked his injuries for all they were worth, the warrior in him laid to rest as he demanded care from you at all times. From having you snuck through the tunnels to lay with him curled under the furs to insisting that you change his bandaging for him, read for him and braid his hair. The reality that Daemon was the younger sibling had never been more apparent than these past two moons as his bones realigned themselves, even Caraxes shared Daemon’s temperament during this time. Refusing to hunt and gobbling through the horde of sheep the dragon keepers would bring for him.

Whatever announcements of nuptials were to be made were postponed until he healed whole. So here you lay in the Godswood with Daemon oddly chirped than before as Prince Baelon’s feast begins tonight, having him affirmed as heir yet again as Jahereys health began to decline. Barely being able to speak more than a cough or two. The Old King’s time neared to an end, something that had deeply bothered all the Targaryens in the family. Bringing nearly the end of the century of dragons, even Aemma near the end of term. Much was to grace House Targaryen in the coming moons, so sitting here under the red leaves in the glaring warmth of the afternoon - there was silence, there was tranquillity.

You mindlessly sectioned Daemon's hair, braiding it far better than the handmaiden did for him. “You are going to be the prettiest Prince tonight, have women drooling and what not,” you giggled, knowing very well he found your teasing amusing but it often came at the price of having your rear smacked out of the blue.

“I shall escort you tonight,” Daemon whispered, lost in the sensations of your finger tips fiddling against his scalp, consequences and rules meant little to him now, let the world know and have the bother be done with, you were his. What else was there to say about it

“No, you may not,” you shook your head, tongue poked out as you dismissed him. He moved his head to look up at you, you shook your head once more “We cannot, not just yet,”

This one dismissal would result in a knight of pawing and pouting, you were sure of it. A prince of six and ten and yet he couldn’t behave like one. Your gown for tonight already laid awaits in your bed chambers, a gorgeous mustard and gold gown to compliment the symbols of your house. While Daemon often insisted you wear black or perhaps even red, in his head the two of you were already wed; it was only a matter of formality. What courting a woman that has been with him since his toddlerhood.

The Throne room once more had been decorated to charm the guests travelling from all over the Known World, to pay respects to the Old King and to find allegiances with their soon to be King, Prince Baelon. Many noble ladies of courts far and wide, dressed in their finest gowns, hoping to catch the eye of a Targaryen prince, perhaps the heir or perhaps his son. Prince Baelon appeared mellow, almost irked as he made his rounds. You greeted him upon arrival but his usually courteous smile to you seemingly turned to a grunt of an acknowledgment. You found solace within your known friends as they gushed over each other’s gowns while feasting over candied apples and cake. Daemon arrived later, a quirk of his as he walked in head held high and nonchalant, lips curled in a smirk as ladies began to hound him with questions of his well being.

The Kingsgaurd made their presence known as the crowd simmered to whispered conversations, everyone resumed their seats on either side of the Throne room. You sat with a few Dornish delegates and your brother Quentel Martell, he was rather chirpy about being housed by Targaryens, and odd joy or perhaps understanding bubbling in his chest as he socialised with the other heads of houses. The grand titles of the king were read out as his silhouette crowded your vision, the Old King stood in his regalia. A dying dragon yet stood commanding an entire room, people erupted in cheers as he walked to his Throne, his heir and son stood by the spiking swords by the ground.

The grandeur of the feast continued through the elaborate evening, tables coated in food and spilt wine drying sticky. Daemon and you made your rounds, inquiring of the latest salacious gossip and giggling over the older maidens that swooned over his father,when in was unsaid yet apparent that no woman in all of this court would ever be what Alyssa Targaryen was, her fire: her passion were truly unmatched. Another round of announcements were to be made, a grand toast to proclaim Baelon Targaryen as heir once more.

“It is with great pride, I once again affirm,” Jaeherys looked to his son admiringly, Baelon shuffled uncomfortably where he stood and yet you held a sorrowful smile, he truly deserved to have Alyssa beside him, she would have been a far valiant Queen than Westeros had ever seen. “My son, Baelon Targaryen is Heir to the Iron Throne and to be the future King of The Seven King,” the crowd applauded in unison as you joined them, Daemon nudged Viserys as he would be King after his father. As the applause died down, Jaehereys continued “I also with great pleasure, announce the betrothal of my grandson Daemon Targaryen,”

Heat creeped onto your cheeks as you caught Daemon’s lilac eyes across the room, crinkled at the corner as he smirked at you; both of you already aware of the verdict. Daemon contained all his animalistic happiness within him as he mouthed “my wife” to you. For moments, the hundreds of nobles and servants around you disappeared, all the remained were your eyes and his, separated by the wall from the watching gallery where you stood, here where you would be married, anointed by the King himself or the High Septon.

“With the noble lady Rhea of House Royce!” King Jaehereys’s voice boomed through the hall following thunderous applause. The crowds either turned to direct their applause at Daemon or turned to find the bronze dressed house and clapped.

Daemon's betrayed frown turned to his grandsire and his father, this couldn’t be - he was told otherwise, he wished otherwise. Lady Rhea, the great brown haired beauty she was - had already approached the makeshift altar, shuffling her way past the chairs to the Iron Throne; she stopped by Daemon, waiting from him to approach her. Daemon stood his ground, a deceived scowl began to tear through his princely composure and yet he had no choice over the demanding glare Jaehereys had fixed upon his grandson. Daemon felt the urge to empty his contents right onto the stone floor as Lady Rhea and him bowed in honour. Rhea, unaware of Daemon’s inner discomfort began to soak in the outpour of love for the new Targaryen wife to be.

While Daemon began to contemplate ways to weasel his way out of this, he found you standing at the gallery. The wine cup in your hand king dropped as you stool colourless and frozen. Not a blink nor a twitch as you stared at the window behind the throne, bile covered tongue as the sweet wine in your mouth turned bitter. The night was far from ended.

“With such auspicious news, my son, Baelon Targaryen presents you with your future Queen. To secure another reign of dragons, the Prince is betrothed to the Princess of Dorne!”

Another round of shivers jolted you from your trance, this time your reddening eyes shifted to look at the King - he who searched for your mustard clothed figure in the sea of people. Baelon had sooner caught your eye than him as he approached the stairs leading up to the gallery. People all around you are cheering and you hear muffled chatter. His hands tucked behind his back as he waited for you to come to him, how do you marry a man who held nothing but fatherly admiration for you wit, how do you marry the father of your lover. You eyes hadn’t dared meet Daemon’s just yet, refusing to look at the woman that stood next to him as you pulled away from the steel railing of the gallery. Your feet mindlessly carrying you to the unchosen prince, your palms shaking as you took his hand. Any lady in your position would quake with blushed prospects, “she’s just shy” you were terrified, betrayed and above all bleeding.

There will be a part 2 :)

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