#rhaegar x reader

[countrymusiclover]

1 - The Lannister Kingsguard

Part 2

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tag list just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

16 years ago

“I’m going to catch you little rascal.” I called through the large hallways of the Red Keep attempting to catch my youngest brother Viserys who insisted we play chase this morning.

His silver white was getting tousled around while he ran around the corner with me trying to catch his heels. “You can't get me.”

“I think you doubt me far too much, little brother.” I smirked flying past the Targaryen banner near the wall rounding the corner he had gone around but he stopped running when I tackled him to the stone floor in my short dress. “Ha! I told you I'd get you.”

He whined underneath my hold. “That’s not fair.”

“Sister?” Yanking my head upward I saw my older brother Rhaegar standing a few steps away from us.

A few members of our fathers kingsguard were standing near the Iron Throne. I saw an older man with a bald head dressed in all red meaning it had to be the Hand of the King Tywin Lannister. “Um hi brother. What is going on here?”

“I was about to make this 16 year old a member of my Kingsguard until I was interrupted by you, daughter.” My father raised his tone towards me, sitting on the throne of swords.

I gulped knowing he didn’t have good control over his temper sometimes, especially around his children. “Forgive me, father. I didn't recall that it was today until this very moment.”

“It doesn't matter now. Get over there with your brothers and watch silently. Let's get this done. I don't wish to keep my wife waiting.” Father scoffed, tapping his fingers on the armrests of the chair until a different kingsguard delivered him a sword and walked forward standing on the first two steps where the young boy was bent down on one knee before his king.

Tywin finally spoke up to the king. “State your name, boy.”

“Jaime of House Lannister. Son of Tywin and Joanna Lannister.” The boy of fifteen with the long blonde hair responded on command.

Father raised his sword tapping his shoulders with the tip individually declaring the oath that must be bestowed onto a knight. “In the name of the warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the father I charge you to be just. In the name of the mother I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise Jaime Lannister, a knight of Seven Kingdoms and a member of the Kingsguard.”

“Woo hoo! Um - my apology.” I began clapping, breaking the silence in the throne room causing everyone to turn their heads in my direction.

Father placed his sword inside his holder and two knights along with the Hand of the King retreated from the room without another word. That left me and my brothers alone with Jaime Lannister. “I've been meaning to talk to you, sister. I have news for you.” Rhaegar turned on his feet facing me.

“What news is that?” I asked him curiously.

He answered me with a half smile, mentioning the Dorne family we had gotten along with since one girl was a former lady and waiting for our mother Rhaella. “I'm going to marry Ella Martel.”

“That’s great news, brother.” Flinging my arms around his neck I giggled and he hugged me back now smiling too.

The typical tradition of our family was for brothers and sisters to Wed one another but it took our parents seven years before they had me. By that time our father had already been talking about wedding my brother off to some high born girl of his many kingdoms. “I'm rather happy with it myself. I must go tell our mother. Come Viserys.” Rhaegar took our young brother by the hand leaving me alone in the throne room.

Shifting my gaze around I felt a pair of eyes on me when I turned my back to the throne seeing that the newly named kingsguard Lannister hadn't left me alone like I believed he had. “Can I help you with something, ser Knight?”

“I should be asking you that question, my princess. For I am sworn to aid and protect you.” Jaime bowed his head at me.

I clasped my hands together in front of my dress, my hair swaying with the fabric as I moved over to stand in front of the new knight. “From my memory I was not ever required to have a personal knight following me around my childhood home.”

“Well those were the commands I have been given and I intend to follow them, princess.”

Holding up a hand I interrupted him before this conversation went on any further. “Please stop calling me princess. I have far too many people addressing me by that title. I’d rather have someone call me by my name.”

“I can arrange those terms. Who do I have the honor of meeting now before me?”

I crusty to the night holding up the fabric of my dress showing him how my silver hair was styled into a crown when I did so. “Vaella Targaryen.”

“Then I’ll just be Jaime to you, Vaella.” The Lannister lion sent me a cheeky smile, bright green eyes focusing on my purple ones.

Lightly twirling side to side in my dress I smirked towards him deciding I should get to have some fun with my personal knight while my father wasn’t around us because right now he didn’t appear to be so serious as he was now that it was just the two of us alone together. “It’s nice to meet you, Jaime. I do have a question for you though?”

“What is your question Vaella?” He asked resting his right hand on the handle of his sword attached to his hip.

Sticking my tongue out at the knight I bolted barely waiting to hear what his reaction would be. “Do you think you can catch me, Ser knight?”

“I don’t understand. Wait - seven hells Vaella!” Jaime shook his head, awe struck and confused till he noticed the silver hair and white dress disappearing further away from him.

He began chasing after me concerned that he would get in trouble if something bad happened to me. But he wouldn’t admit it until years later how much he wished they had the opportunity to go back to that life compared to all the chaos that would be thrown their direction.

Kings Landing - current day

Jaime was currently standing outside of the King's office in the hallway on guard duty. The current king who had sat on the throne once he had killed the Mad King and now the Baratheon signal flew high in the Red Keep. The current king called Jaime’s nickname wanting to speak with him. “Kingslayer, get in here! It must wound your pride. Standing out there, like a golden sentry. Jaime Lannister, son of the mighty Tywin. Forced to mind the door while your king eats and drinks and shits and fucks. So, come on. We’re telling war stories. Who was your first kill, not counting the old men?”

“One of the outlaws in the Brotherhood.” He answered his king.

A fellow Kingsguard replied. “I was there that day. You were only a squire. Sixteen years old.”

“You killed Simon Toyne with a counter-riposte. Best move I ever saw.”

The other knight nodded. “Good fighter, Toyne. But he lacked stamina.

King Robert entered the conversation between the two Knights. “Your outlaw any last words?”

“I cut his head off. So, no.”

The king’s next question caused Jaime’s hand to drop down onto the handle of his sword. Recalling the night so vividly for more than one reason besides betraying the king he swore to protect. “What about Aerys Targaryen? What did the Mad King say when you stabbed him in the back? I never asked. Did he call you a traitor? Did he plead for a reprieve?”

“He said the same thing he had been saying for hours. Burn them all.”

Silence fell inside the chamber room with the king silently staring at him for a few minutes. “Then we should all be grateful that we took care of all the Targaryens. The Seven Kingdoms didn’t need anymore reign or vows to a house whose words are Fire and Blood wouldn’t you agree?”

“It would seem so, your grace. If that is all I’ll take my leave.” Jaime bowed his head walking back out into the hallway and he didn’t release the tension in his shoulders and show emotion until he was away from the king. For the king was wrong in his words because not all the Targaryens were dead. One remained in Kings Landing and Jaime was the reason for it

And if the king ever found out both their heads would be on spikes.

[novaursa]

The List Of My HOTD Reader Insert Works:

The list received a makeover. There is no longer a second one. All is here, in one place.

I don't give permission to others to use my original ideas for their works (that includes any form of art). I also don't give permission for my work to be copied or translated into another language and posted somewhere else. This also applies to anything regarding an AI. You have been warned.

Requests are CLOSED! Please stop sending them to me, and respect me enough to understand how I'm unable to be doing anything outside my schedule right now!

Aegon II Targaryen

Helaena Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Daeron Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Jacaerys Velaryon

Daemon Targaryen

Baela Targaryen

Otto Hightower

Gwayne Hightower

Alicent Hightower

Cregan Stark

Harwin Strong

Criston Cole

Jason Lannister

Tyland Lannister

Jason and Tyland Lannister - The Golden Court

Davos Blackwood

The List Of My ASOIAF Reader Inserts Works:

Oberyn Martell

Aerys II Targaryen

Rhaegar Targaryen

Daenerys Targaryen

Arthur Dayne

Robb Stark

Sansa Stark

Arya Stark

Jon Snow

Edmure Tully

Euron Greyjoy

Theon Greyjoy

Margaery Tyrell

Tywin Lannister

Cersei Lannister

Jaime Lannister

Tyrion Lannister

Robert Baratheon

Eddard Stark

Brandon Stark (The Wild Wolf)

Lyanna Stark

Roose Bolton

Ramsay Bolton

Jojen Reed

Petyr Baelish

Jaqen H'ghar

Sandor Clegane

Khal Drogo

Ser Bronn of the Blackwater

Beric Dondarrion

Styr the Thenn

Oswell Whent

Ser Duncan the Tall - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

The List Of My F&B Reader Insert Works:

Aegon I Targaryen

Visenya Targaryen

Rhaenys Targaryen

Maegor I Targaryen

Torrhen Stark

Orys Baratheon

Aegon (The Uncrowned) Targaryen

Viserra Targaryen

Aegon III Targaryen

Aegon IV Targaryen

Daemon I Blackfyre

Aerion Targaryen (Brightflame)

Brynden Rivers

Original Targaryen Characters

Dune Crossover

The Truth About The Chosen Ones (my original book, a small introduction)

SW KOTOR fic: The Last Daughter Of Onderon (Book 1), Sons Of Dxun (Book 2), Legacy Of War (Book 3)

Requests are CLOSED!

About Me

[vipsunia]

Song of Nyra

an asoiaf story

ʚɞ timeline: before Robert’s rebellion

ʚɞ synopsis: a tale between the last two dragons of House Targaryen, and the end of the world.

I of VII

276 A.C.

. . . . THE GODSWOOD LISTENED intently as Rhaegar strung the strings of his harp, humming the first notes of the song he was beginning to form in his mind. He liked the quiet. He composed better under the silence of these woods, with no one but the the nameless gods of the forest privy to his music. It made it more . . . sacred. He loved it here.

The tip of his tongue touched his upper teeth, a flow of soft melodies tumbling from his lips. His eyes were closed, cheeks kissed by the sunlight slanting through the canopy of the oakwoods. He was surrounded by Dragon's Breath, their crimson faces turned up to watch him in audience.

Rhaegar didn't hear it at first, the soft shuffling behind him. He had an ability to drown out the rest of the world when he held his harp, leaving only him and his songs, so his eyes parted open when his breath was suddenly knocked from his lungs, sending his instrument flying forth.

Soft lips, round as rosebuds, brushed his pale, moon-shaped ear.

"Found you, Rhae."

He looked up. A face floated above him beneath the sun, light crowning her silver curls from behind. She smiled at him, her lilac eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Nyra," he muttered.

Rhaenyra grinned wider and crouched over him, her locks brushing his cheekbones. She had beautiful hair. He remembered the many times he sat by the windows of their childhood bedchamber, watching their mother brush his sister's head. The curls that rolled from her scalp shone as bright as a polished breastplate, braided and ironed into tight ringlets that smelled of peonies and cherries.

His sister took great pride in her mane, believing that it was the true crown of a Targaryen. She argued that anything other than that is false claim.

"I was searching for you," she said. "I was growing bored playing cards with Lady Staunton and her women."

"You were never one to hold up shallow courtesies," he smiled.

He knew her as he would know his own mind. They were born together, shared the same womb, the same face. He had seen how she would begin squirming when the leash tied upon her neck began to tighten, and would bark at the slightest tug of it.

"I'm not you, Rhae," she answered. "But perhaps you do not need to offer your courtesies. They come to you. The world is in love with Rhaegar Targaryen and his poetry."

He chuckled. "You flatter me, sister."

"Oh you flatter yourself, brother. That was scorn," she snorted aloud, leaning against her elbows on the soft grass. Her gown was lighter in these days under the heat of summer; a low bodice sewn with small dancing dragons, silken skirts that rode up her pale legs as she crossed them over Rhaegar's own. "I'd prefer to face my death bare-breasted in the fighting pits of Meereen than sing for a court who seeks to take down my house."

He hummed, his fingers skimming her calf. He could see the faint blue veins trailing beneath the translucent skin. "Perhaps that is why the gods had you born into a girl, Nyra. They knew tongues could destroy dynasties that have stood for thousands of years . . . or make them."

The dragons of House Targaryen were slain because of words. He had read it well in the great volumes of Maester Munkun. It was the rants of the one-handed Shepherd that shook the caves of the Dragonpit down and crashed the stone ceilings upon Queen Rhaenyra's beasts.

Words have a power to them sharper than any Valyrian blade. It cuts.

But his sister begs to differ.

"They made me a girl because they don't want another Maegor and Aenys between us," she grinned at him, kicking his side playfully. Rhaegar groans, grabbing her ankle to drag her closer to him. She shrieks.

Rhaegar leaned over her, his own stream of pale silver locks curving down his jaw. His shadow was casted over her.

"Would you kill me, Nyra?" He whispered, looking down at her.

She stared at him. She smiled. "I would."

Rhaenyra nuzzled their identical noses together and squealed before pushing him away with a single hand. Rhaegar stumbled back, watching her sprint away on light feet. He grinned and stood to rush after her.

The path she left was filled with giggles and brittle oak leaves that seemed to sigh from her feet. She was as nimble as a bird more than a dragon. Rhaegar chased after her, dizzy from the way she spun around treetrunks then jumped over narrow streams.

Rhaenyra was a hurricane of silver curls and red, airy skirts. She gave him flashes of her grin, daring him to capture her.

"You call yourself the Last Dragon?" She mocked aloud. "Where are your wings, Rhae? Did they crumble from sitting in the libraries for far too long?"

Rhaegar smiled breathlessly, his heart flaring in challenge. Her jest only served to fasten his legs, and she knew this. "Folded, Nyra, just like you will be when i get you."

She was his twin, the reflection and his opposite. When she leaped over a Dragon's Breath shrub, he took a turn. Rhaenyra gasped. She landed on into his chest, both of them falling onto the soil. She tried to flee but Rhaegar had his arms fastened around her mid-drift.

"You're evil," she hissed.

"You're heavy."

She gasped and slapped his shoulder in offense. "I'll have your head for this, Rhae."

Rhaegar smiled. "And I would have your lips, Nyra."

He tilted his head up, rolling his mouth onto her own.

"Lay down your hand, Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen."

"I place upon the table the ring of my grandmother, Queen Shaera Targaryen's ring, Lady Ashara of House Dayne."

Rhaenyra made her proclamation through a fit of stiffled giggles. Her lady mother was only a few feet away from where she and Ashara sat on the carpets, bent over a bowl of sugared nuts. She glanced over her shoulder furtively.

Queen Rhaella wasn't even looking at them, too occupied on cradling the little babe in her pale, frail arms, with a handmaid tending to her. She had just given birth weeks earlier. A boy. A Viserys. Rhaenyra had crinkled her nose at the name, saying she preferred something like Aemon or Aenar.

Viserys sounds cranky, mama, She had complained.

But her lady mother only chuckled, telling her that it was her lord father's choice to give that name to her brother. Rhaenyra could only chortle. It wasn't among his father's best decisions - and he hadn't made some for quite some time.

Rhaenyra returned to Ashara, readily twisting her grandmother's ring past a long, pointed finger. It was of gold mold, with a trail of gleaming red sapphires curling around it like dragon tail.

She didn't mind how high the cost. She wanted what Ashara had to offer - a silver necklace of pearls and deep purple amethysts. It was pretty. It's the reason why she challenged Ashara in the first place.

"Ready?" Ashara grinned.

"Ready."

Rhaenyra leaned back as she watched the girl pick out a particularly small nut from the bowl. It wasn't fair. Small nuts are smaller targets. But Rhaenyra refused to complain. She could take on anything.

Now, Rhaenyra had caught three nuts and had lost four golden dragons, and the same count for Ashara.

Ashara pursed her lips and narrowed those violet eyes in concentration, the sugared nut poised between two fingers. Rhaenyra waited, biting her lip. She threw it.

Like a baby bird waiting for her mother's worm, Rhaenyra followed the arch of the nut and lunged forward, only to feel it slip past the corner of her mouth. No!

She gasped. Ashara gasped.

"To the victor, the spoils," Ashara smirked, reaching for Queen Shaera's ring. Rhaenyra seized her wrist.

"Again," she demanded. I want that necklace.

Ashara stuck her tongue out. "You lost."

Rhaenyra fumed in outrage. "I -!"

"What are you girls doing there, snickering like mice?"

Rhaenyra turned to her mother as if she was a girl again, caught stealing lemoncakes from her brother's plate. Her mother was raising her silver brow at her, taking in her flushed cheeks.

"Nothing," Rhaenyra stood up, briefly sending Ashara a glare, then padded to the Queen's bedside. "I was playing with Ashara, mama. She was being mean."

Her mother was propped up against her velvet pillows, her silver hair bound loosely. She looked weary, paler than before. Rhaenyra could see she still hasn't recovered from Viserys' birth . . . or the stillbirths that came before him.

The handmaid had moved out of the chair for Rhaenyra to take, but she sat by her mother's hip, peering over the swaddles her mother held. Viserys was a small child with the wrinkled faces of newborns. A faint whisp of white hair fizzed atop his pink head. A tight frown curved his little mouth. He takes after their father, gods have mercy.

"Where's my mother's ring, child?"

Rhaenyra's eyes widened. "With Ashara."

Rhaella raised a brow, casting a glance ar the other girl in the bedchamber. Ashara had her back turned, already admiring the way the jewel adorned her hand.

"Don't worry, though," she smiled. "I'll get it back."

Along with that necklace, of course. Ashara best barre her doors starting tonight.

"I know," her mother sighs. "Tell me, have you finished preparing for the journey?"

Rhaenyra nodded. "It wasn't that hard, telling serving girls which gown to stuff into the chests. It was more enjoyable than I thought actually."

This displeased her mother. Rhaenyra could see it by the way the sides of her chapped lips curved down.

"But I took special care, I did," Rhaenyra was quick to promise. "You should see it for yourself, mama. I only bought the ones you wanted me to bring."

And others, too.

Queen Rhaella nodded. "Good. I put my faith in you to behave, my sweet girl. I will not be there to temper you."

"What good is a tourney in your honor when you're not there, anyway?" Rhaenyra complained. "Or the babe. It's madness. And meaningless."

"I could not even if I wished to," the Queen reached to brush a stray curl from her daughter's temple. "That is why you must stand in my place in Lannisport and wear the jewels of our house. Be Targaryen enough for you and your father," her voice dropped. "That way, they won't notice his . . . grievances too much."

Rhaenyra puffed her cheeks. "But Rhaegar will be there for that."

Her brother's brilliance was a redeeming quality for their house. It helps, so she won't grudge him for that.

"Down in the lists with his horse and his lance," her mother answered. "It falls upon you, daughter. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, mama."

The Queen nodded. Rhaenyra senses her trust. Her mother knew she could never stay away from the eye of the feast. This was one of the few tasks Rhaenyra could be relied with.

Against her mother's breast, her baby brother squirmed, his frowning little mouth wiggling in the starts of a cry. "I want to hold him. May I hold him?"

The Queen carefully lifted the babe into Rhaenyra's arm. The feeling of it was odd. She had held many infants before - those of ladies who vied the blessing of the Princess for their children. But this . . . It almost made Rhaenyra recoil. She remembered the one born only two years ago.

Jaehaerys was his name. She and Rhae had chosen it themselves. It was like this one, no different. Her father had been so happy - something even rarer than Dragoneggs. It died though. The cost was the head of a wetnurse, as father ordered.

It's like holding a corpse.

"You can have him back, mama," Rhaenyra slid the babe back unto her mother.

Her mother had been staring with something in her gaze. "Motherhood becomes you."

"As a dress becomes a toad," she remarked. The Queen was about to speak against that so Rhaenyra instantly kissed her hollowed cheek and spun towards Ashara. "I'm going, mama. I'll see you on the morrow before the party leaves."

Rhaenyra dragged Ashara out of the chambers, as swift as a raven across the halls of Maegor's holdfast.

Rhaenyra was leaning across the covered bridge overlooking the sparring yards, nibbling on a piece of lemoncakes she snuck from a passing serving girl. Ashara stood at her side, watching the duel below.

It was between the Sword of the Morning and the Prince of Dragonstone, between the brothers of Rhaenyra and Ashara.

Rhaenyra eyed Rhaegar closely. He was breathless but exultant, his long silver hair slashing across the air as he twirled and twisted from the steady counters of Ser Dayne, his pale, unblemished face a lake of calm.

He fought as he would dance. There was no more graceful creature in the kingdoms than he, though she would die rather than admit that. Sometimes she thinks he's more of a woman than she is.

"What do you think of my brother, Ashara?"

Ashara raised a brown brow. "The Prince? I think of him as the rest of Westeros would think of him. He'll save us all."

Rhaneyra rolled her eyes. "You're being conventional. What else?"

"What else is there to say, Princess?" She shrugged. "How long has it been since a man as he had been born since Aegon? The smallfolk look to him. The houses look to him. You're the only one who doesn't."

She frowned, resting her jaw on her knuckles. Below, Rhaegar raised his steel against Ser Dayne's own, landing a quick blow that had the kingsguard staggering from his steadfast stance.

"Perhaps," Rhaenyra reflected. She had grown with Rhaegar. She came into the world with him by her side, had taken her first steps with him by her hip. She had seen so much of him that she need not look. "But he's not Aegon. No, never."

Ashara tilted her head. "Then who is he?"

Ser Dayne had recovered from the shock. Of course he did. He's the Sword of the Morning. He lunged forward.

. . . But her brother is the Last Dragon.

Rhaegar swept to the side and bent low, his lilac eyes narrowed, to deliver a gale that would've sliced his opponent's rib if he hadn't stopped half a finger away. Ser Dayne throws his sword in surrender.

Rhaenyra saw her brother smile, straightening to stand. He claps Arthur's back proudly. Such a pretty smile he has.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, Rhaegar looked up from the yards to the covered bridge. Lilac met lilac. The same shade, the same shape.

"He's Rhaegar," Rhaenyra said quietly and pushed herself from the balustrade. "Come, I want more lemoncakes.”

Rhaenyra had woken before the dawn rose. She had always been like this before a long journey. Restless. The night before, she had eaten only thin gruel and a bit of cherries in fears of retching in the kingsroad to the West. She remembered pressing herself to her lady mother's side in the wheelhouse, biting her lip moments before she emptied her stomach onto Lady Joanna's gold-and-red skirts.

Ashara still slept fitfully on the sheets. Sometimes Rhaenyra would mistake her for her brother, who she had shared a bed with since they were but babes in a cradle. Her mother said it wasn't long until Rhaenyra would cry when Rhaegar was lifted from her side.

It was at their twelfth year that their chambers were separated, but it was only until their sixteenth year that she stopped leaving her chambers barefoot to crawl into his bed. They slept as they had in the womb: curled into the other.

Rhaenyra brushed her curls with an ivory comb, staring at the mirror. In one of those nights, their hands had began to roam and to grope. Her hands, exactly. Then Rhaegar's. And then their lips, until their fingers found hot, shadowed places that made them gasp.

She frowned at the memory. She didn't know why.

Careful not to disturb Ashara, she dressed herself in a satin gown of black and red, the sleeves gashed down to the floors. Rhaegar would say it wasn't practical for riding, but she'd be in the wheelhouse with her father. Unpleasantly so, but she liked that better than having sore legs from riding on days on end.

Rhaenyra left her chambers in Maegor's Holdfast, deciding she'll visit her lady mother later, to cross the drawbridge. The Red Keep was a honeycomb of restive bees preparing for the King's journey to Lannisport. Serving girls carrying sacks lowered their eyes at Rhaenyra, and squires fetching their knights' packs bowed.

She found herself mounting the steps to the tower of the great library, wondering why Grand Maester Pycelle's rigid bones hadn't already cracked from such an effort. She wished it would.

The door was heavy and bound with iron. She pushed it, the smell of dust and moth-eaten yellow pages greeting her straight nose. It was dark, with only a faint light radiating off the wax candle on the table.

Rhaneyra saw the glint of a fine jaw in the darkness, the flutter of silvery lashes, the set of a firm mouth that muttered as he read. "Rhae?"

Rhaegar looked up from the book he was buried in, a hand wedged deep into his silver locks. It made him appear disheveled, but nothing could really make him look thus, with that pretty, pretty face.

"Nyra," he called.

If she has a knack of waking early before a journey, he doesn't sleep at all. Most wouldn't believe but Rhaegar was more restless than she is. His mind is always wandering - yet somehow, he's always there when she is.

"What are you reading?" She sauntered to his side, braiding a thin lock of her hair. She peered over his shoulder, his scent of mint leaves and steel reaching her.

"You know the one."

She hummed, recognising the old, crisp pages of the Book of Lost Books. It was written by Marwyn the Mage, if he's even real (Rhaegar said he is, but Rhaenyra said otherwise. She believed old nasty men shouldn't exist).

It was something she always found in Rhaegar's hands, something she refused to get close to. She thought it was too eerie. Too strange. In the contents, Rhaegar said the maester had read three pages of the Signs and Portents. Visions of Daenys the Dreamer.

She frowned. And you really believe that?

What choice do I have? It's the only thing we have, he answered a long time ago.

Rhaenyra poked her tongue against her cheek. "The same page?"

"The same," he smiled wearily.

Rhaegar reached out to wrap his arms around his sister's hips, muttering for her to come here, to pull her into his lap. But she frowned and sat on the edge of the table, her legs between his own.

"How long do you think we'll have to stay in the west?" She asked him.

"As long as father wills," Rhaegar replied, running a hand through his scalp. "I thought you wanted to see the westerlands. You wanted to discover if gold grows on their dogs instead of fleas."

She scrunched her nose. "No," she grinned, leaning close to his face. "I want to see the bane of Tywin Lannister."

Rhaegar gave her a skeptical look. "I doubt our gracious host would appreciate that notion."

"Oh he won't," Rhaenyra chuckled. "But who cares? People say the child has fangs and three horns, with an ox tail on his ass."

"Don't be cruel."

"Am I?" She feigned, shrugging. "It's exciting . . . seeing a monster."

Rhaegar sighed, his slender hands rubbing the smooth bones of her hips. "What would you know of monsters, Nyra? Have you seen one yourself?"

"No but we tamed them," she argued. "And rode them across the skies to the end of the world."

"Dragons aren't monsters," he defended. "Why would you think that?"

"Because," Rhaenyra drawled, tracing the shape of his jaw. "It takes a monster to know a monster, and a god to a god."

He was incredulous at her words, shaking his head. "You're preposterous. A blasphemer. A -"

"Monster?" She teased, rubbing their noses together. "That I am, Rhae."

"Then it makes me that too," he claimed. "I, your twin. Your flesh. Your blood. Everything that is you is I, and everything that is I is you."

She felt a stirring within her. She leaned back from him, their eyes never straying from the other. The candle flickered, casting a shadow over the stone walls. A shadow that made them appear one. A single entity with strange features - wings, horns, a long tail.

"Not everything, Rhaegar," she stood up from the table, leaving him. She bent her head over the book. It was written in High Valyrian. "Azor Ahai is only a single man."

He seemed to quiet, the air around them filled with the whispering knowledge of the thousands of volumes that had been there before they were even concieved.

"He had Nissa Nissa," he said.

"Right. Nissa Nissa," she commented wryly and pressed her cheek to his. "No need to bring me in the saga, Rhae. You are Azor Ahai. You don't need anyone."

He sighed, leaning onto her.

You, Rhaenyra, Rhaegar thought. You.

next act

[j-k-writes]

Helloo! Can I request older targaryen male reader (maybe rhaegar's younger uncle) x ned stark? With prompts: stay with me. i can keep you safe. And they're all afraid of me. / if they know you're with me, they'll leave you alone.

Okie that's all! Hope it's not too much! Glad to see another asoiaf blog writing for m reader:D

Summary - After his injury on the trident, Robert leaves command of his forces to Ned. Struggling with the meaning of this war, Ned is met by an old friend, Prince Y/N Targaryen.

Warnings - general GOT warnings, BIG age gap (Ned is 19/20 while Y/N is 32/33), mentions of canon character death.

Ned longed for Winterfell. He had tired of the south, and he had tired of the war. 

Rhaegar was dead, slain by Robert on the Trident. His rubies littered the bank of the trident, a place that Ned had heard the men around him start to refer to as the ruby ford. Ned had felt no satisfaction in Rhaegar’s death, Lyanna was still missing, and his brother and father were still dead. 

And so Ned continued on. 

Robert had given him command of the forces after the trident, unable to continue on with his injuries. So here sat Ned, a day's ride out from Kingslanding ready to claim the throne for his closest friend, and avenge his father and brother’s murders. 

Ned looked up at the sound of the flap of his tent being disturbed, he expected to see one of the Lord’s of his army, but he saw a man he did not recognize instead. He reached for the sword at his side, taking a defensive stance against the hooded figure. 

“Who’s there?” Ned called out to the man, “You should not be here.” 

The man held his hands up in surrender, slowly taking his hood off as Ned’s grip on his sword tightened further. The man’s hood fell away and despite the poorly chopped and dyed hair, Ned recognized the mysterious figure for who he was. 

Y/N Targaryen, younger brother to King Aerys II. 

“What are you doing here?” Ned hissed, releasing his sword yet keeping his posture tense, as if bracing for attack. 

“I needed to see you.” Y/N walked deeper into the tent. 

Ned laughed in disbelief, “Everyone in this camp wants you and your family dead-” 

“Everyone?” 

Ned paused facing the man. Y/N’s violet eyes searched Ned’s face, and Ned faltered under their weight. He frowned, “That’s not fair. You chose your side, Y/N.” 

“I chose my family, Ned.” 

“So did I.” 

Y/N nodded, and Ned felt sick at the sight of the man. He looked defeated, dark bags under his violet eyes and his cheeks were sunken like he hadn’t eaten. His hair was chopped messily, as if with haste and a dagger, and dyed dark to hide his appearance. He looked so different from the confident prince Ned had grown to know, and love, during his time in the Eyrie. 

Y/N turned away from Ned, “You’re right, I-” 

Ned watched as the man took a deep breath, and Ned had to remind himself that they’d both lost their families in this war. Y/N’s nephew had been killed not but a week ago, and his siblings were not likely to survive the end of this war. 

“Do you not grow tired of fighting, Ned?” Y/N asked. “Taking Kingslanding won’t bring Rickard and Brandon back. As Rhaegar’s did not bring back Lyanna.” 

“What would you have me do?” 

Y/N sighed, “I- I do not know. I just wanted to see you before I left.” 

“Left?” 

The man nodded, “I’m tired of this war, Rhaegar is dead, and my brother is past saving. We are not going to win this war, and I do not intend to stay and discover the fate Robert has waiting for me. I just came to say goodbye.” 

Y/N turned to walk out of the tent, but Ned leaped forward grabbing the man’s arm. Y/N seemed surprised at Ned’s action, and Ned surprised him further by taking his hand. “I do not wish for you to leave.” 

Ned swallowed, looking down at the ground, before squaring his shoulder’s back and looking the prince in his eyes. “Stay with me. I can keep you safe.” 

Y/N smiled, yet Ned felt oddly mocked by the action. “You may be leading this war, but you are just a boy, Ned. You cannot protect me. They’re all afraid of me, as long as I live this war rages on and Robert’s reign is threatened.” 

“I am man enough for you to take to bed, but not to protect you?” Ned accused, releasing the man’s hand. 

“That has nothing to do with this, Ned.” Y/N said, face falling. “And I do not need to remind you who invited who into their bed.” 

“I did not take you for a deserter, Y/N.” Ned scoffed, turning away so the prince could not see the flush that covered his cheeks at his words. 

Y/N’s face hardened at Ned’s words. “I am not deserting.” 

Ned turned to him again, “Prove it then. Stay, if they know you’re with me they’ll leave you alone.” 

“You don’t get it do you, Ned?” Y/N shook his head, “I am a Targaryen, my very existence continues this war. It doesn’t matter if you vouch for me, if I stay here my head will end up on a pike!” 

Ned opened his mouth to speak, but no words were coming out. He knew in his heart that Y/N was right, Robert would not rest until every Targaryen was dead and buried. He sighed, closing in on himself in defeat. 

Y/N gently touched his cheek, and Ned raised his eyes to meet the prince’s. “I am sorry, Ned.” 

He placed a piece of paper into the Lord of Winterfell’s hands, closing Ned’s fist around it. “Your sister is alive, although I doubt you will be happy with what you find.” 

“What-” Ned opened the parchment, reading its contents. He raised his head to look at the prince in confusion but by the time he did Y/N was gone. 

And Ned would never see him again.

[starryharps]

wildflowers

pairing: rhaegar targaryen/ reader

summary: they fuck in a forest, what more do you want

word count: 1,509

tags: smut. fluff

read on ao3 | masterlist

The brook’s tattering breaks your mid-afternoon daze, with the sunlight chiding your vision as you sit quietly under the impossibly huge tree.

Rhaegar is picking flowers nearby, his harp resting against the bark of another tree. Beautiful thing, it is, to watch him strum those strings, how nimble his fingers look as they dance across the harp, how it plucks and pulls, and-

Gods. Your ears flush red.

What a sinful thought.

You bring your knees together, resting your head over the heavy robes.

For another day.

You hear Rhaegar’s boots become louder and louder, padding gently across the grass before he sits next to you.

Wildflowers. He bought wildflowers.

“Quite a collection,” you remarked.

He hummed, holding some of them in his hands. White, yellow, green, all beautiful and dainty small things.

“Do you know, you can make tea from them.”  he starts, “read it in a maester’s scrolls.”

“You can make tea from almost any flower or leaf if you dry and roast them enough.”

He gazes at you, unimpressed.

“Smartass.”

You chuckled, “logic.”

The prince watches you pick the pennyroyals up.

“Intriguing, you found these here.” You remark.

“Figured you’d appreciate the selection, for you keep collecting flowers.” Referring to your apothecary.

“Oh, so it is not for making flower crowns?”

“I do not know how to make them.”

“Why not?”

Confusion colors him, “What do you mean why not?”

“You’re bookish to a fault, thought you’d know how to make flower crowns to charm ladies.”

“I do not read such books.”

“Explain me tales of the wench and the sailor on your shelf then?”

He sputters, looking away.

“That was a gift.”

“Certain. Boys and their collection of literary erotica they swear to the seven they have never read, but forget to take out the glaring red bookmark.”

He calls out your name, indigant.

“This is unladylike.”

“I thought we dropped court formalities when we entered these forests.”

“This conversation has turned indecent.” Rhaegar quickly picks up the harp, playing it, you notice the heat on his cheeks and smirk.

He pretends to not notice you crawl slightly towards him, playing his harp.

“What crown prince would ever be caught reading naughty tales of a wench covered in flowers,”

Rhaegar’s hand shakes, and the harp’s tune wavers. You reach his shoulder and slightly move the long hair behind his ear as you whisper.

“as she gets deflowered by a dashing Essosi sailor-“

His breath hitches.

“How unbecoming of a noble to read such a debauched work.”

“Y-you.”

His indigo eyes are so beautiful as they lace in fear and arousal.

“Tell me, which one did you imagine yourself as? The sailor?” You hook your finger on the collar of his tunic.

Rhaegar shakes quietly, his harp sounding like a cacophony of nerves. You admire the small braids in his hair. He’s inlaid them with ruby pins.

“Or perhaps, the wench?” You whisper, putting his harp away.

He starts, your name, leaving his lips as he sighs.

You crawl on top of him, straddling his lap, smiling sweetly.

“Hmm?”

You don’t wait for him to reply, tilting your head to meet your lips against his plush ones.

Rhaegar is on fire. you are certain, His blood heats up at your touch as you sense him descend further and further into the kiss. He’s so open, desperate, and wanting. His red and black robes bristle and rustle against the grass as he moans out and squirms. You press down further as his hands find your waist.

He’s a sight, red flushed against his pale skin, indigo eyes staring at you, mesmerized, and glossy-lipped. The forest behind him. From this angle, he looks every bit of a wench from the novels you have seen him read in his chambers in privacy.

You rock your hips, and he groans. The fabric creates a barrier that somehow intensifies the pleasure rather than inhibiting it.

“You even moan like one.” You open button down his tunic and toss out his robes. The sunlight kissing his pale skin, you watch the flush travel to his lithe chest.

Hands travel down his naked body, your digits toying with his nipples. They look so supple, hard, and slightly puffed. A wicked idea takes over you.

“How does it feel?” gently squeezing his nipple.

Rhaegar throws his head back. “Tickles.”

“Ah,t.” He groans as you rub circles gently with both of your hands on each nipple.

He bucks his hips up.

“Ah…”

“Sensitive?’

He moans.

“Want me to continue?”

He stutters out a barely coherent, please.

You take him in your mouth. The foreign feel of his soft, round nipples gives you pleasure as you suckle them, quietly flicking.

Rhaegar has stilled, only gasps of his breath reverberate in the forest.

You stay attacking his chest, languid as your tongue latches on him, messy and mean in its sucking. Payback for what he does to you.

His hand reaches your back, digging into your hips as he mewls loudly, unable to stop as you rock your hips against his while playing with his chest.

“Please, please.” His repeats your name like a prayer. Bucking his hips up like an animal in heat.

“If you had a cunt and a womb, I promise you, you would’ve never walked a day without it being swollen.” Rhaegar nods, fervent.

“N-never, I would-“

“Do you wish it?” Your movements become quicker, the squelching noises sending pleasure down your spine.

“I do, gods, I would carry, I would-“

“How many?”

“As many- until I”

“Until your feet hurt and you stay debauched, swollen, and needy for me, every night?”

You see tears prick rhaegar’s eyes, he’s close.

“I’d never let you touch the moon tea. Ever.”

“N-never.”  He groans as you halt your movement.

“Off.” You command, referencing his breeches.

He complies quickly, sitting up to kiss you as his cock springs out.

You smirk at the length, the rosy color making it look almost endearing.

“Might wear robes of this color tomorrow.”

Despite his arousal, rhaegar manages to smile.

“I’d be most pleased to see it.”

Touching his chin, “filthy.” You remark.

“Let me touch you.”

“Not today.”

Rhaegar frowns.

“Why?”

“Today I wish to ride.”

He gasps as you toss him down to the grass. His naked body, covered his bruises, shivering slightly at the contact.

“Then so be it.” He whispers to no one.

You quickly rid yourself of your small clothes, making sure you remain nude as well, and straddle him, sinking down and groaning, both of you turning blank at the pleasure that overtakes.

“Fucking hell.”

“Move....” Rhaegar has his hand over his eyes, his other hand between his lips, he’s red like a cherry, and the sun makes the sweat on his body shimmer like gold as he shakes and quivers with every move you make on top of him.

You grab both of his hands and place it next to his head, lacing your fingers together as you tilt towards him, your breasts swollen and stopping just by his lips.

“Suck.” You instruct, and descend your breast into his mouth. Eyes rolling back at the heat that engulfs your nipple, your movements turning animalistic.

Heaven was so hot it felt like the flames of hell. As if the fourteen flames have bloomed within you. The heat of the sun, his mouth, his cock, your cunt. The sweet music of your moans intermixing, it was too much, too fucking much.

Your knees buckled after a few moments and Rhaegar sat up immediately, holding you and kissing you mercilessly as you rode him in his lap, almost growling and tearing into his hair, ruffling it up and scratching his back with your other hand at the feeling of his hands all over you, pressing down at your belly.

With a loud moan and a whimper, the two of you collided and met your high, stilling amidst your kiss as you felt each other release in each other, quietly mumbling each other’s names.

You felt him drip down your legs. Soaking in the pleasure, you open your eyes to see him and gasp at the beauty that is Rhaegar Targaryen. His eyes were blown wide open, pretty white lashes and red face, messy hair, and his pouty lips, begging to kiss you more and more.

The two of you just looked at each other, and then, a chuckle left you at the same time.

“We are animals.” He starts as he lies down, with you climbing on his chest.

“Indeed. Two pretty animals mating in the wild.” You begin putting flowers in his hair. daffodils, forget-me-nots, heliotropes, and tulips.

He hums.

“No one else I’d rather mate with.”

“Not even your harp?”

He laughs.

“The poor thing’s probably traumatized by now, the things we do, the filth we speak.” He glances at the harp resting quietly below the tree, long forgotten.

“Rhae?”

“Hmm?”

“Pick up some tansy when we leave, I need to brew the tea.”

He blushes furiously, nodding as the breeze picks up.

[lunarmoonanons]

Can you write yandere Rhaegar Targaryen ?

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Queen of Love and Beauty

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

YN was very close to her twin sister Lyanna. The two were cut from the same cloth and shared everything with each other. YN loved to ride with her sister, they shared the same dresses and play clothes, and they both disparaged at the thought of YN marrying Robert Baratheon. One eventful day, YN, her sister, and her brothers were sent down with their father to a tourney at Harrenhal. A tourney where the prince Rhaegar and others of the royal family would be. 

During the tourney, YN had the most wonderful time. She spent most of her time with her sister and brothers. Standing up for Howland Reed when he was attacked and insulted. Once he was in their tent, YN immediately went to his side to press a clot to his bleeding face. Her brothers went on about how they would not stand for this, and Lyanna stood off to the side pondering something that she was planning to do. 

At the feast, YN caught her first glimpse of prince Rhaegar, who had played them all a piece of music that brought her sister to tears. YN didn’t know at the moment but Rhaegar had caught a glimpse of her too. The man found the girl beautiful. And he was a man and she a girl, the prince being in his early twenties and YN being 14 at the time of the tourney. 

When it was time to watch the tourney, YN sat right next to her twin and enjoyed watching the men go at it. They both cheered for their brother Brandon, who was winning the tourney so far. Then Rhaegar went to compete and he performed outstandingly. He was absolutely wonderful and so pretty, at least he was to YN. Then he won the tourney. Unseating Brandon. The crowd applauded as he took the wreath of blue roses to give to his queen of love and beauty. But he did not place it in the lap of his wife. He took that laurel of roses and placed it in the lap of YN. YN who blushed and sweated under the gaze of everyone who was shocked at the prince. She felt her stomach go aflutter from nervousness. YN no longer found the prince beautiful. She hated that he made her the center of attention and scrutiny. But you did not turn down a gift from a prince. 

“Thank you Prince Rhaegar.” YN said steadily. One hand on the laurel the other tightly gripping her sister’s. 

“A beautiful wreath of flowers, for my queen of love and beauty.” He complimented, then he rode off leaving YN to try and steady her breathing. 

The fallout of this tourney was a catastrophic one. Robert raged and hated the prince, insulted that the man would show any interest in his betrothed. YN’s father and brothers ran to her rescue and adamantly defended her honor. Her virtue. No one thought the girl was the prince’s mistress. The two had never even met before. But the blame was laid against Rhaegar’s true wife, Elia. Believing she was not giving the prince what he wanted, that she was making him unhappy. Thankfully YN did not see Rhaegar again for a whole year. 

And for that whole year, Rhaegar thought about YN. The beautiful stark girl. He liked Elia, maybe even loved her, but he desired the girl he claimed as his queen. Rhaegar wanted to possess her, to adore her and worship the ground she walked on. But he needed to have three children with Elia. Once Elia had birthed a son for him, his hopes for a third child were dashed when the maester said she could not handle birthing another child. His mind turned to the stark girl. How he loved her. How she could give him a child. 

He would get his chance when he would see her again a year after the tourney. After the birth of his son. There she was in the Riverlands. He followed her into the woods where she danced amongst the trees. Believing she was putting on a show for him. In reality YN loved the woods. She needed these ounces of freedom away from her entourage of people. She wasn’t even thinking of Rhaegar. She knew he was there in the Riverlands, but didn’t even believe she would never see him again. 

“You're still as beautiful as that day at the tourney.” Rhaegar interrupted her. YN jumped and turned around to see the man staring intensely at her. 

“My lord! Prince Rhaegar! What are you doing here?” YN wrapped her arms around herself. 

“I never thought I’d see your face again.” Rhaegar ignored her question and stepped toward her. Yn stepped back. She was 15 and he was still a man in his early twenties. “Oh, are you scared? Do I scare you?”

“Prince Rhaegar. You should go back to your wife. I’m sure your entourage is missing you.” YN was scared. His purple eyes stared so deep into her, that she felt it pierce her soul. It felt like he towered over her. 

“You haven’t answered my question. Do I scare you?” He stepped closer and placed his hand against her cold cheek. 

YN swallowed back a whimper. “Yes. I am frightened of you. And I want you to leave. Please leave me alone.”

“But I can’t. I’ve thought of nothing but you since that tourney. How beautiful you looked. How I needed to have you.” Rhaegar whispered. 

“You have a wife. You have children with that wife.”

“I have two children. I need three. I need to fulfill something. Something I can’t explain now. All I must say is that I want you. I need you to give me a third child. I need you. There’s so many words that I have for you. I want you to come with me.” Rhaegar held her face in his hands. 

YN scowled and shoved him away. Breathing heavily. “No! I won’t go with you! I don’t want to have anything to do with you!” 

���I love you, YN. I need you.” Rhaegar reached for her. 

“You don’t love me! You don’t know me! Please go away! Go back to your wife and forget I exist!” YN bit. 

“I can see your unwillingness to mine. But I must have you.” Rhaegar was calm. Very calm. 

YN did not see Rhaegar’s companions when they came from between the trees. She did not see Ser Arthur Dayne behind her. The man grabbed her and placed his hand over her screaming mouth. Rhaegar and his band stole the stark girl away. The man gave into his dark desires and possessed the girl who fought and screamed against him. He promised her she would only need to give him one child. That he wouldn’t touch her after that. That he would just possess her body and spirit. He would have her. His queen of love and beauty.

I hate Rhaegar. Why are you a grown man in his twenties fixating on this 14-15 year old.

[anemoxlys]

Rhaegar Targaryen x reader

I'm writing this fic, it's purely self indulgent as there is just not enough about this man, and I'm posting this opening to know if any of you want the whole thing posted when it's finished?

It had only been a few weeks since the unfortunate and untimely death of one of your friends Elia Martel, having grown up in the Red Keep your whole life you and the young girl quickly became close in your early childhoods, her having been shipped over from Dorne to marry the prince and you patiently waiting for your similar fate. In her final days, you watched as your friend grew progressively more distant, not that you knew why, and by the end it had been two days since you had last spoken. The death of the princess, however, did not stop the tourney from commencing nor your parents dragging you to watch it alongside them, in hopes of one of the single fighters naming you the queen of love and beauty. 

You were sitting in one of the lower levels of the stands, your family being deemed important enough to get placed in some of the best seats, much to your dismay. Tourneys were always barbaric in our eyes, a chance for one man to beat another for the amusement of the rich who seemed not to care for the son’s, husbands, fathers, and even grandfathers who battled and were injured in such events. It was disgusting. 

There seemed to be a buzz in the air however that vaguely interested you, the prince was now looking for a new wife. It was comical how all the highborn ladies, married and unmarried alike, had dressed their best- in gowns far too expensive to be sitting in the mud and dust as they were- in hopes of catching his eye. It was ridiculous how your parents had forced you to do similarly, stripping you out of your mourning gown and into this utterly ridiculous red dress that in the sea of similar Targaryen colours did nothing but make you blend in.

Let me know if you want the whole fic

[msmorningstaarr]

let me fill you up | Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

ao3 | masterlist

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

Summary: You, a Targaryen princess were married into the Lannister fold to ensure the alliance between the two houses, ensuring your eldest brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. Now, Lord Jaime makes your days filled with happiness and makes you eager to present him babies.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: rhaegar wins AU, no targcest, smuff, fluff, breeding kink, praising kink, a lot of pet names (sweet girl, princess, love), reader has no physical description besides the silvery white targaryen hair, creampie, oral (f receiving), a very devoted husband commited to your pleasure, smut, sex;

a/n: Happy new year! I had posted I wanted to write something like that and it's been a while since I want to write something other than holy and heathen because I must admit I'm not very satisfied with what I've been writing lately. Some validation kudos, comments and reblogs would be very important to me, seriously :') I’ve been thinking in turning this into a small series but I’m not so sure. Could you give me your thoughts on this too? please, enjoy your reading!

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

You are sitting surrounded by your maids and children on a breezy night, covered with a fur coat and a crimson silk dress under it. Attentively, you go stitch by stitch and slowly form a lion, sigil of your husband’s house. Ever since Robert’s Rebellion ended and your brother, King Rhaegar Targaryen won, you became promised to the former knight of the Kingsguard, now Lord Jaime Lannister. Life in the lion’s den was not difficult, once Lord Tywin treated her with the most kindness and Jaime was still coming out of his shell. At first, he was your sworn sword in King’s Landing and spent plenty of time together in an unbalanced relationship. Now, you two are sharing a bed after a tumultuous year of war and destruction, as equals. In the beginning, you were sceptical about marrying into the Lannister household, but as the months went by, you found yourself drowned at him. Jaime is careful, gentle and kind. He brings you a small dandelion every morning once he knows it reminds you of home.

His only quirk was the strange attachment to his sister, Lady Cersei. But after being sent to Dorne to marry Prince Oberyn of House Martell and getting distant from each other, your relationship with your husband seemed to finally thrive.

“It appears to be beautiful, my lady.” Said one of her maids, taking care of your youngest son, a small silvery blonde figure of two years of age.

“A bright lion handkerchief for Jaime to carry with him.” You reply, admiring your piece of work. “Do you believe your father will like it, sweetling?” You then ask your eldest daughter, an adorable child of four. Your daughter eagerly nods her head and wraps her hands around one of your fingers to pull the fabric closer to her eyes.

“Dada will love it, mama!” The little one exclaimed, spinning around with the kerchief on her tiny hands.

“What will I love, if I’m allowed to ask?” A tall, blonde figure shows up in your private bedchambers, wearing a classic Westerland attire with a crimson fabric and intricate strings of gold shaped into the sleeves and collar. You smile sweetly to Jaime as he approaches you and grabs your middle child to hold in his arms.

“Papa!” The blonde little girl runs towards her father to embrace his legs and your maids stand up to bow to their lord.

“Have you missed me, dear?” Jaime asked and the fussy children eagerly nodded at him, embracing their father even more. Sometimes, seeing Jaime being so loving and kind towards your children simply melted your heart. You felt the urgency to kiss him and dig your fingers onto his bright hair, begging him for another child. Your cunt ached in pleasure to the thought of Jaime pumping his seed inside of you. You were still young and could bear many more children.

“Mm-rrhm…” You scoffed. “I have missed you too, husband.”

The three children giggled and the child on his arms hid his face on the crook of Jaime’s neck. The eldest covered her laugh with her tiny hands and the youngest beamed along their siblings. Jaime came closer to you and caressed your cheeks with his free hand. Then, a single and gentle kiss he places over your forehead, making your heart flutters with love and passion.

“I have missed you too, my love.” Jaime said, passing his fingertips on your chin and smiling at you.

Your maids quickly stood up and bowed at their overlord as a sign of respect. “Excuse me, my lord, my lady,” Said the servant girl. “Let us take the children so you can rest.”

“But I want to stay with papa!” Said the elder daughter, pouting and crossing her arms. The other two children whined and complained along, but you lowered into their level whilst Jaime talked to the youngest on his arm.

“Sweetlings,” She said, caressing their cheeks. “Your father is rather tired after riding for so long. Go with her, I promise you, your siblings, me and your father will have plenty of time together on the morrow. Is that understood, my loves?”

“I can take you to ride a horse tomorrow and even let you eat lemon cakes before super. What do you think?” Jaime asked, delivering the fussy child from his arms to the other maid. In unison, the three infants agreed and left disappointed. Once you and your husband were alone in your bedchambers, Jaime smiled at you gallantly. You embrace him intimately and are finally able to feel the warmth of his muscular body and feel the softness of his golden hair. His lips reach yours and in a whirlwind of sensations, your cunt is already dripping in anticipation just by a simple touch coming from him. Once he breaks the kiss, he keeps holding you by your waist and gazing at you with admiration.

“You have been gone for too long, love.” You say, passing your fingertips on his lips. He smiles and gives you a peck on the lips before speaking.

“I had duties with your brother, Our Grace King Rhaegar, sweet girl.” Jaime replies, pulling her out gently and grabbing the fabric she embroidered for him.

“I hope you like it, I made it just for you.” You point out, joining your hands to follow him. He keeps smiling as he observes attentively the intricate work you did.

“I shall cherish it and take it wherever I go, dragon princess.” He replied, folding and putting the kerchief in one of his pockets. You giggle as you hear him calling you ‘dragon princess’, a custom he chose to never abandon as a form to remember the late days of their relationship “I wish I had more time to be around and play with the children, I have been missing them and you.”

“They made drawings every day and left it on your desk at your office.” You reply, walking to the window and being followed by him.

“I will make sure to have them guarded in our chambers. Safe as our gold.” He says, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck lightly. You beam in ecstasy feeling his body smother you into a comforting embrace and full missing him.

“Sometimes I still cannot believe we are wedded to each other. You were my sworn shield in King’s Landing!” You exclaim as his hand caresses your empty belly and it tingles by his touch. He grins at your words and says.

“Most people are not so lucky to know your spouse before the wedding day. I consider myself the most lucky man in the world because I could be in your acquaintance from so long ago.” He replies, falling his head on the crook of your neck.

You turn around to be face to face with Jaime, feeling the cold breeze of the rock hitting your back and giving you small shocks as Jaime caresses your back, making you experience a thermal shock and shudder to his touch.

“I feel very lucky to be your wife, Jaime. Most women are not so fortunate to have such a kind, loving and handsome husband.” You mutter as he strokes your hair, in awe with your beauty.

“I guess we are fortunate to be together after so many troubles in war. We even brought new lives into this world to paint a new, brightful history.” He replies, caressing your womb. You stare at his fingers passing up and down your belly and glances at him with a sweet smile.

“And we could have more, love. I must admit I feel empty for so long and I want to give you more children… I know I can give you an entire army of your own. Half lion, half dragon. Unstoppable creatures.”

“You feel empty, love?” He asks, smirking and you eagerly agree with him. “Then allow me to fill you up…” Jaime finished, slowly undoing the intricate laces of your dress to reveal your bare skin under the crimson fabric. In response, you open his attire slowly and little by little his white tunic appears to her eyes.

By this point, your cunt is already sore in anticipation for the moment about to happen and clenches around nothing once he pushes the last section of string holding your garment, releasing you from the pressure tightening your upper body. Jaime pushes down your dress and your underwear is now on display for him, which makes him bite his lip and eagerly take down your white camisole to show him your bare body. You moan as he squeezes your breast and pinches your nipples whilst kissing you. You quickly take off his own undershirt to show off his chest.

“So eager is my dragon princess.” He playfully says, leading you to bed and carefully laying you down. With devotion, he starts to kiss your feet, legs and knees, his hands roaming through your thighs and hips. “Spread your legs for me, little dragon.”

You part your legs, obeying his soft command. “So wet… I can see you truly missed me, my love.” He says, kissing your inner thighs as your body squirms in pleasure before he reaches your intimacy.

“Oh… I have missed you so much, my lion.” You moan your words as he kisses your groyne and passes his fingers lightly over your clit, making your womb tremble and convulse to his touch.

“I can see that, just as I missed you, my dragon princess. Do I have permission to give you a lord’s kiss?” He asks and you only nod in response, making Jaime wet his lips with his own saliva before diving into your dripping core and you to scream involuntarily as his tongue and lips eat you up with full desire. Jaime circles his tongue around your clit and roam around your entire intimacy, making your hips bounce onto his direction. It was his costume to make you come every time before he would be inside of you, now could not be different.

You feel your body explode as if someone threw you into dragon fire as Jaime relentlessly pleases you, making magic with his tongue. Skillfully, he explores your intimate area inch by inch with eagerness, making you dig your fingers on his golden curls, pulling him closer to your cunt and you contorses your body urging for more. Tears of pleasure fall off as you feel goosebumps once you realise you are close to your climax.

As the intensity builds, Jaime's movements become more deliberate, pushing you closer to the edge of bliss. Your breath hitches, and your fingers entwine in his golden locks, urging him on. The world narrows down to the pleasure he provides, the connection between you deepening with every passing moment.

When the climax finally crashes over you, Jaime doesn't relent. He continues to caress your sensitive core with his tongue, prolonging the sweet release. Your body shudders with pleasure, and you feel the bond between you and Jaime reaching new heights.

“Husband…” You try to stop him and give yourself some time to take a breath, but Jaime does not back off and part your legs once more, holding it as he keeps licking, kissing and sucking your pussy.

“No no, wife… let me please you and bring you to climax once more…” He cuts your words and gently goes back, but now he plays with his fingers on your clit, with far less pressure and slowly draws circles around it, taking soft moans from you. Jaime rises to hover over you, a wicked glint in his eyes. His fingers trace patterns on your flushed skin as he leans in for a heated kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips. “Taste yourself, love.”

And not so long after, you scream his name as you feel waves of pleasure hitting your body as a lightning bolt hits the ground in a storm. Your body is trembling and your legs seem to be two wooden sticks, barely able to stand.

“Please… inside of me, Jaime… I need you…” You plead with him, pulling his body to be on top of yours.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” He replies, kissing you passionately once more and positioning between your legs. Jaime's eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. The anticipation was hanging heavy in the air, your bodies aligned perfectly, and as he slowly entered you, a shared moan escaped both of your lips.

The sensation is electrifying, the culmination of the pleasure he bestowed upon you and the intimate connection between your bodies. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deepening the bond that exists only between you two.

“My perfect princess takes me so well…” He grows as thrusts into you going back and forth nonstop. You lock him by involving your legs around his waist and feeling his hard cock entering your cunt in full force, reaching your cervix and making you beg for more in his ear.

The room echoes with the sounds of your shared ecstasy, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies, creating a tapestry of love and passion.

“Put another babe on my belly Ser, please…” You beg him as moans leave your mouth and the sound of crashing bodies fill the room quickly.

“With pleasure, love…” He says once more. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deeper inside of your pussy in farfetched positions. He missed you too much after months away from you and it shows by the way he kisses you as he moves desperately to have more of mounting his dragon. The room echoes with the sounds of your shared passion, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies. As Jaime's movements become faster, the pleasure intensifies, and you find yourself on the verge of another climax. The pleasure is overwhelming, and your bodies move in perfect harmony.

With a final, fervent thrust, Jaime succumbs to the ecstasy and releases his seed deep inside of your womb, growling and grunting with relief and utter bliss. You hit your own orgasm as you feel the warm jets of his seed invading your walls and your body squirm and you scream his name, crying out.

Your bodies tremble in the aftermath, and he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is filled with a comforting silence as you both catch your breath. Jaime's fingers gently trace patterns on your skin as you bask in the warmth of the afterglow. “Do you think we created one more life for our household, love?” You ask him, laying your head on his chest. The world outside your chambers seems distant, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, lost in the serenity of each other's embrace.

“Depending on your fertile womb, my love, I have no doubts you are.” He replies, caressing your silvery white hair. “But we must endure in our pursuit on a daily routine. Just to make sure our fourth babe is on the way.” He playfully replies, smirking at you, who mischievously smiles back at him and kisses his lips, wiping some strings of sweat from his face.

Jaime presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur, "I love you, my dragon princess."

And you, wrapped in the arms of the man you love, whisper back, "And I love you, my lion shield."

[aelenavelaryon]

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Reader

Summary: Daemon finally finds love

Aella Targaryen was nothing like the rest of her family. She couldn't be. Many would often said she was a sweet girl whose only mistake was to have Valyrian blood cursing through her veins. House Targaryen had been on the Iron Throne for over a hundred years, she could remember the throne, it was rather beautiful she would admit. But, House Targaryen was a cursed lineage. Aella thought it was because they were all related. Brothers married sisters, uncles married nieces, cousins married cousins.

When Aella was brought to court she was nothing but a babe. Only one perhaps two moons old. Daughter of Saera Targaryen and her brother Rhaegar Targaryen. Rhaegar and Saera had both been wild and untamable. The two ran away after Saera escaped Old Town and they were never seen again until now. Aella Targaryen was born in the year 105. Rhaegar brought his daughter to court, to present among the realm. Saera had died in her birthing chamber. Viserys, who had lost his wife a nearly two years prior welcomed them both. Aella grew up beside Alicent’s children and Rhaenyra's children.

Aella although growing up with her cousins she preferred to be alone, sitting in the gardens or her room and reading a history book. Her father wondered where she had gotten all of that, she was not like her mother or him. But, there were things he did like singing, poems and song writing much like his daughter. Aella had the basic training, in case she had to protect herself but the young girl no matter the circumstances could never and would never bring herself to hurt anyone. It wasn't in her blood no matter how much her father tried. But Rhaegar would protect his daughter no matter the cost. She rode Meraxes, queen Rhaenys dragon, the princess died that day but her dragon lived.

As the years passed, Aella Targaryen grew into a beautiful maiden. "The Realm's Angel" or "The Realm's Desire" surpassing her cousin Rhaenyra in beauty and everything else. Aella had reached her ten and five name day and was yet to be unmarried. Her father was the reason for that, although he was no king he saw that no one was fit to marry his only child. No one would ever be good enough. Alicent thought it would be a good idea to marry her to Aegon or Aemond if she wished. Rhaenyra thought she would be a great match for Jacaerys or Lucerys. Rhaegar Targaryen refused, once again. But, a few moons later he passed from a swollen belly, leaving his only child at the mercy of her family.

Aella didn't know who to choose as her family had given her the choice to marry who she wanted between the four boys. She was dutiful, whoever her uncle had chosen she would have married but she did not want to disappoint anyone by choosing wrong. The council knew that Aella marrying either of her nephews was a tragedy waiting to happen, so the young girl offered a marriage between another house but Rhaenyra, Alicent and the king denied her. Daemon who had recently lost his wife asked her to marry him, to unite themselves and protect each other. Aella was young, only fifteen summers old what did she know about love. She knew more about duty than love.

So, to stop any family issues or more drama she agreed and secretly married Daemon, consummating their marriage, now it could not be broken. The news reached King's Landing the morning after, creating chaos in the court. The king was fragile in health so he did nothing, besides they were married and they had consummated there was no breaking anything. Rhaenyra stayed in King's Landing, while Daemon, his wife and two daughters remained in Dragonstone. Nearly a year after their wedding Baelon Targaryen and Rhaegar Targaryen were born. Strong boys. On their second named day, their sisters Rhaella and Visenya had been born. When the boys were five, their sisters three Aemma and Viserys were born.

Baela and Rhaena quickly accepted Aella as she had this motherly warmth the girls loved and she had glady taken the role as their mother, not that she would try to replace the girls mother but she did her best to love and care for them as she did for her own children. Aella with Daemon's approval let the girls ride their dragons to Driftmark to visit their grandparents. Rhaenys and Corlys were grateful that the young girl allowed them to visit their mother's family as much and as often as they could. The six children had been kept a secret through out the years. Aella was near her one and twenty name day. As a result, the king had invited her and her family to celebrate as a family.

Her arrival had been expected, Aegon was now married to Helaena and had two children, twins. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Aemond was unmarried but as far as she knew he was bethroted to a Baratheon girl. Jacaerys was to marry soon but his mother and father were looking for a suitable match. When she arrived, Daemon and the girls were waiting as her and the children had sailed there due to the young kids. Rhaenys and Corlys who were there watched their granddaughters run to their new mother. They saw the love the two girls had for her. King Viserys recovered and went back to being the peaceful king he was. He waited with his family as he watched Daemon help his wife.

She had turned into a beautiful woman, everyone could agree. She seemed happy with Daemon. And she was, he treated her good and with respect. "My king, my queen" she  greeted with a nod. "Princess Rhaenyra, Laenor" she said with a smile. She greeted everyone. "Now, may we present our children?" she asked and everyone turned to her. They were surprised. The king nodded and Daemon signaled the maids to bring them. "Baelon and Rhaegar, our oldest. Visenya and Rhaella out second oldest. Viserys and Aemma our youngest" Daemon introduced as the four oldest made their bows to the king and queen. The youngest were only one.

"May I?" the king asked as he took Aemma, she had her eyes. Rhaenys took Viserys. "Baelon looks like our father, and Rhaegar looks like Aemon" Rhaenys nodded in agreement. Everyone cooed over the Aella'a children and all she did was smile. During the feast for her nameday, Daemon and his wife could see the tension between Alicent and Rhaenyra. "I would like to propose an alliance between our families" Aella began. She had spoken with Corlys and Rhaenys, and of course her husband. "A bethrotal between Jacaerys and Baela. And Rhaena with prince Lucerys" she said with a smile. Rhaenyra smiled. "I think that is a great idea" Daemon held her hand and nodded. "In addition, if Aegon and Helaena agree Jaehaera could marry Baelon and Vinseya Jaehaerys" the table was quiet but Alicent smiled. "I think that is magnificent idea" the king nodded in agreement. "Our house will be united" she smiled happy with the outcome.

Aella Targaryen was a woman many remembered, she had given her family peace but that peace nearly broke when Otto Hightower deemed her dangerous, sending for someone to kill the princess. The princess perished on top of her dragon as a scorpion hit the beast right in the neck, killing it instantly. She received the same fate as queen Rhaenys. The lady didn't survive the fall. Daemon Targaryen never remarried but once he found out who killed her, the Hightowers, more importantly Otto, he was killed soon after. Alicent was pardoned as she didn't know anything. Rhaenyra was crown queen and the princess match's were honored as Baela married Jacaerys, Rhaena Lucerys, and once older Baelon and Visenya married Aegon's children.

The Sweet Summer Child died but her memory remained throughout the years. Aella Targaryen iii married her brother Rhaegar, giving him the heirs he needed. House Targaryen didn't end with Daenerys Targaryen, it went on. It prospered. From Aella Targaryen the first, came the prince that was promised and the realm lived in peace.

[ladyempty]

What do you think it would be like? Steffon Baratheon's second child and only daughter. She inherited all of her great-mother's Targaryen genes. How far will Yandere Rhaegar go to marry reader?

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. ° | pairing: Rhaegar Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader ° | English is not my first language

Foi uma surpresa para todos quando a segunda filha de Lorde Steffon nasceu. Uma menina saudável, ela nasceu gritando e chutando com força digna de um Baratheon, mas sua aparência era menos condizente com os outros membros da casa. Ao contrário de seu irmão mais velho, a menina nasceu com uma cabeleira loira platinada e grandes olhos roxos brilhantes.

An appearance so different that it made the midwives' eyebrows raise slightly and they looked at each other in obvious confusion. But everything was partially forgotten when Lord Steffon held his daughter in his arms and proclaimed loudly:

"A delight for the eyes like my Lady mother.”

Rhaegar's obsession would not take long to arrive, he was truly curious about the rumors spreading so quickly and was truly happy when his father demanded the presence of the Baratheon family to present the girl to the court.

For young five-year-old Rhaegar, the moment was as magical as the stories his mother told him and songs the bards sang. An overwhelming feeling that hit him like an arrow shot quickly and aimed at his heart.

Estamos falando de Rhaegar, limites são algo que ele não conhece. Ele tentará ser o mais sutil possível, mas falhará tão miseravelmente que pode ser engraçado. Quando ele quer algo, ele tem que ter.

As they grow up, the prince will try to win your heart at any cost, using his natural charm that made so many other ladies swoon, singing to you and playing beautiful and melancholic melodies on the harp. Countless gifts would be delivered to you in abundance, especially books that Rhaegar loved.

He has a lot of patience and will wait for his love, but if you are being too difficult... We know he will resort to kidnapping. Or if it is Aenys who refuses to cooperate... Then the king appears mysteriously dead a few days later.He simply had no limits when it came to the prophecy and you...

You would be his and he would be yours... a dragon had to have three heads, and only a dragon could love other dragons.

[queenofthrones2]

A wolf for a dragon

Robb Stark x Targaryen!Reader

(Reader as Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen’s surviving daughter.)

The Dornish sun never felt warm to me, only heavy. I grew up under it, surrounded by heat, sand, and silence. My name was not spoken in the open. To most, I was a shadow in Sunspear, a noble girl raised under a false name. But in whispers, behind thick stone walls, I was a dragon. The lost child of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen. The one who should have died when the Mountain climbed the stairs of Maegor’s Holdfast.

But I lived.

Oberyn Martell saw to that. He pulled me from the cradle before the sack of King’s Landing, hiding me deep in the Red Mountains with loyal . Taught me how to wield a blade, how to speak carefully, how to hate with patience.

Then came Robb Stark.

He rode into Dorne not with an army, but with a raven and a question. His crown was heavy with grief. His father’s head on a spike, his sisters missing, his war waged in fire and blood. And yet, he carried himself with a quiet sort of strength. The kind that didn’t need to roar. We met in the Water Gardens. I was cloaked, veiled, pretending again to be someone I was not. But those pale Northern eyes, looked at me as if he already knew. Knew I was not just a girl. Not just another Martell cousin. Knew I was the dragon that had slumbered too long.

“You are her daughter,” he said simply, without pretense.

I didn’t answer him. Not with words.

Instead, I turned my head towards him and said, “My mother screamed when they killed her. Did you know that?”

He was silent.

“My brother’s head was dashed against a wall. They say Rhaenys tried to hide under the bed. Do you know what it is to live with that? To be what they tried to erase?”

“I do,” he said, and I looked back at him. “My father died for honor. My sisters were taken. My home is broken. I know vengeance. But I also know it’s not enough.”

“What would you offer me then, King of the North?” I asked him, stepping closer, watching the sunlight catch on the red thread of his doublet. “What does a Stark want with a Targaryen?”

“A future,” he said. “You want your birthright. I want a realm worth ruling. We can build it together.”

“A marriage?” I scoffed. “Do you think you and me can break the wheel?, against a whole system?”

“I’d wed a dragon if it meant the realm had a chance to heal,” he said, eyes fixed on mine. “You want justice. I want peace. Perhaps we can give each other both.” I should have said no. I had lived so long in the shadows that the thought of stepping into light felt like betrayal. But I remembered the way Dorne trembled when Oberyn died. The way the realm looked away when my mother’s name was spoken. No songs were sung for Elia.

No justice was ever served.

Maybe that could change.

So I gave him my hand.

We rode North together, fire and ice. Not for love, not yet. That came slowly, like thawing snow. It came when I watched him cradle a wounded soldier. When he called me my lady not with courtesy, but reverence. When he looked at me like I was not the last dragon, but the first.

And in the quiet, when winter winds whispered through the stone halls of Winterfell, I would trace the old map of Westeros with his hand in mine, and dream of a world reborn with fire and blood.

I was born to rule the seven kingdoms and I will.

[countrymusiclover]

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Robert Baratheon believes he has wiped out the last Targaryen children, but what if that isn't the case. What if Jaime Lannister who everyone refers to as "Kingslayer" had a hand in it. Would the middle daughter of the Mad King and Rhaella Targaryen wish to claim the Iron Throne. Read the story of Vaella Targaryen.

1 - The Lannister Kingsguard

2 - One Day It'll Be Just You and Me

3 - The Reputation Of A Princess

4 - We Have A Thing For Knights Don’t We?

5 - Tavern to Red Keep

6 - Here's to Aerys Targaryen

7 - Smells like Fire

8 - We're Family Now and Always

9 - Secretly Vaella Lannister

10 - Still A Golden Lion

11 - He’s Finally Mine

12 - Guilty of being a Dwarf

13 - Facing Cersei Lannister

14 - Targaryen’s and Lannister’s

15 - This is Home

16 - The Loyalty of Dragons

17 - Myrcella Lannister

18 - The Rock Shall Never Fall

19 - Targaryen Sisters Finally Clash

20 - Back to being a Prisoner

21 - The Lannister Trials

22 - More than One Plan

23 - The Legacy of Rhaegar

24 - When Dragons Flew to War

25 - The Dragon Island

26 - Playing the Game Now

27 - War Between Kin

28 - Loyalists of Queen Vaella

29 - Two Dragon Queens

30 - The King in the North

31 - Who Really Deserves The Throne

32 - Message of a Dragon

33 - Dragon vs Dragon

34 - From the South to the North

35 - Acting Like Our Father

36 - Heirs of the Rock or Throne

37 - The Night King part 1

38 - The Night King part 2

39 - Winterfell Celebration

40 - Rhaegar and Lyanna’s Child

41 - No Longer A Bastard

42 - All the Dragons Roar

43 - The People of King's Landing

44 - Securing the City

45 - The Rightful Queen

46 - Creating the new Westeros

47 - The Rightful Heir

48 - History Sometimes Repeats Itself

49 - The Realm Will Be Better

50 - Uniting North and South

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

@melvia-ito

[novaursa]

https://youtu.be/qillYsPzEs0?si=zWRzrkWUSQ-jRaTA

Can you do this just with the Targaryens and Lannister? Sister!reader Targaryen vs Cersie Lannister 🫣🙏🏼

Fire and Gold

- Summary: Rhaegar chooses you over her. And Ceresi never forgives you for it.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Note: In this AU Robert's Rebellion never happened. Rhaegar marries the reader, Ceresi still marries Robert after Lyanna dies in childbirth along with their child.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: I hope this was what you had in mind, dear anon. The story is fresh from the oven.

You and Rhaegar have always known how to draw a crowd. The smallfolk line the roads, banners flapping in the breeze as cheers follow your every step. Rhaegar’s hand rests at the small of your back, his touch familiar and comforting. The two of you move through the throng with practiced grace, your smiles reflecting the adoration in the eyes of those gathered. The royal tour has been a triumphant journey so far, a celebration of unity and strength. Yet, beneath the surface, tensions simmer, particularly when it comes to the Lannisters.

It’s no surprise that Cersei Lannister would try to disrupt your journey. Tywin’s golden daughter has never hidden her disdain for you. You, the sister who Rhaegar chose over her, who embodies all that she desired but could never possess. Her presence is almost expected as you approach the encampment set up for the royal party. When you step inside the tent, the air is thick with unspoken tension. Rhaegar’s jaw tightens beside you, and you can feel the shift in the atmosphere like a gathering storm.

Inside, Robert Baratheon looms, his massive form imposing even in stillness. Cersei stands at his side, her face twisted in fury, her eyes burning with a hatred you’ve known since you were both young girls at court. The very air seems to crackle between you. But your attention is drawn to your children and theirs, lined up in a tense, volatile standoff. Your eldest son, Aelor, stands tall, his eyes a mirror of Rhaegar’s determination. Blood stains the edge of his blade, and a long, angry gash mars Joffrey’s cheek. The boy’s face is contorted with pain and rage, his hand pressed against the wound.

“What in the name of the gods happened here?” Rhaegar’s voice is a sharp, commanding presence in the room. The knights and guards around you tense, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Robert spits, his voice dripping with contempt. “Your damn spawn attacked my son. Maimed him, Targaryen. That’s what happened.”

Aelor’s voice rings out, clear and unwavering. “He insulted us first. He insulted me, my brothers and sisters. He insulted you, Father, and you, Mother. When he drew his blade, I defended us.”

Joffrey, clutching his wounded cheek, shrieks in a high, grating voice. “Lies! He called me a Lannister bastard, and then he—”

You narrow your eyes, your gaze locking onto Cersei. It is an open secret in the court that her children bear none of the Baratheon traits, their golden hair and green eyes a reflection of the Lannister line. You’ve never spoken of it openly, but now, the accusation lingers in the air, unspoken but heavy. Cersei’s lips press into a thin line, her fury palpable.

“How dare you,” she hisses, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Your vile little whelps—”

“Enough.” Rhaegar’s voice cuts through the tumult like a blade. “They are children, Cersei. This matter is settled.”

“Settled?” Cersei’s face flushes crimson. She turns to Robert, desperation sharpening her tone. “You will let this stand, my lord? He has harmed our son!”

Robert’s eyes flicker between Rhaegar, your children, and his wife. His face is flushed, whether from drink or anger, you cannot tell. For a moment, the entire tent holds its breath, waiting for the King’s decree.

But Rhaegar steps forward, his presence filling the space. “This is over. Children quarrel. It will not be escalated further.”

Cersei’s expression is a mask of fury, her body taut with indignation. Her eyes meet yours across the tent, and for a heartbeat, it’s as if the world narrows to just the two of you. There, in her gaze, you see the depth of her resentment, the wound to her pride that will never heal. You hold her stare, your silence as cutting as any word you could utter.

Cersei’s movements that soon follow are a blur, her hand snatching the dagger from Robert’s belt with a ferocity that sends a jolt of shock through the tent. She lunges at you, the blade aimed with a deadly precision that could only be born from hate. Instinct takes over, and you reach out, catching the weapon with your bare hand before it can pierce your heart.

The sharp steel bites deep into your palm, the pain immediate and excruciating. Blood wells up, spilling over your fingers and dripping onto the ground. Gasps echo through the tent, but no one dares to intervene. Robert’s roar reverberates around you, filled with anger and disbelief. “Cersei, what are you doing?!”

Your children’s cries pierce the air, frantic and terrified. Their small voices, shrill with fear, tear at your heart. The sight of their mother locked in a deadly struggle, blood pouring from your hand, is too much for them to bear. But you can’t look away from Cersei, can’t afford a single moment of distraction.

Her face is contorted with fury, a rage so intense it seems to consume her. “You ruined everything!” she screams, her voice raw. “You were supposed to be nothing more than a bargaining chip, another mad Targaryen girl! But instead, you took him—took the life that should have been mine! And now I’m shackled to this brute, trapped in a prison of my own making because of you!”

“You chose this,” you retort, your voice low, steady, despite the pain searing through your arm. “You and your father wanted too much. You thought you could seize the crown, twist the realm to your liking. But it was never yours to take.”

Her eyes flash, and with a snarl, she presses down, driving the blade further into your grip. The pain is blinding, but you refuse to let go, even as the dagger slices across your forearm in a brutal arc. You cry out, the sound sharp and involuntary, as the blade carves a deep, angry line from wrist to elbow. Warm blood streams down your arm, pooling at your feet.

The lords and ladies around you recoil, horrified, but none move to intervene. Fear holds them frozen in place, their eyes wide, their faces pale. The tent, filled with the sound of your children’s desperate sobs, seems to close in around you.

“Look at you,” Cersei hisses, her voice dripping with venom. “Bleeding for a throne you think you’re owed, just like your father. You’re no different from him. Mad, arrogant, and dangerous.”

“And you,” you bite back, your voice shaking with pain and fury, “are nothing but a bitter, power-hungry fool. You think you can cut me down? You think you can break me? I am not my father, and I will not be cowed by you.”

With a furious cry, she shoves the blade again, but you twist, forcing the weapon away. The dagger slips from her grasp, falling to the ground with a dull thud. You stumble back, clutching your bleeding arm, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Pain throbs through every nerve, but you stand your ground, refusing to show weakness.

Rhaegar is at your side in an instant, his face ashen with worry. “Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice tight with concern, his hands gentle as he examines your injured arm. “Gods, what has she done to you?”

Robert steps forward, his face a mask of barely restrained fury. “Have you lost your senses, woman?” he growls, rounding on Cersei. “You draw a blade on the Princess of the Realm, on your king’s daughter? Are you so eager to invite Aerys’ wrath upon us all?”

Cersei glares back at him, her chest heaving, her hands shaking. “I don’t care!” she cries, her voice breaking. “All my life, I’ve been promised things that were taken away. I was promised Rhaegar, promised a crown, and now I’m nothing! Stuck here, with you, and this—this farce of a marriage. I’m trapped, and it’s all her fault!”

“Enough.” Robert’s voice is like a hammer striking stone, his eyes blazing with anger. “You’ve gone too far. This is beyond foolish, beyond dangerous. You think Aerys will turn a blind eye when he hears of this? His daughter bleeding at your hands?”

The name of your father seems to cut through her fury, a flicker of fear passing over her face. The threat is real—everyone knows the Mad King’s unpredictable wrath, his unquenchable thirst for vengeance. And you, his beloved daughter, lying wounded at her feet? The consequences could be catastrophic.

Rhaegar’s arms wrap around you, his touch gentle as he guides you away from the scene. “We need to get you to the maester,” he says softly, his voice tight with worry.

You nod, the pain throbbing with each heartbeat, but you keep your gaze on Cersei, refusing to look away. “Remember this, Cersei,” you say, your voice steady despite the agony. “You brought this on yourself. You chose your path, just as I chose mine. And you’ll find that you’ve made an enemy you can’t afford to have.”

With that, Rhaegar leads you out of the tent, your children trailing behind, their faces pale and tear-streaked. The lords and ladies part before you, their whispers already spreading like wildfire through the camp.

This skirmish is over, but the repercussions are only beginning.

[vipsunia]

Song of Nyra

an asoiaf story

ʚɞ timeline: before Robert’s rebellion

ʚɞ synopsis: a tale between the last two dragons of House Targaryen, and the end of the world.

II of VII

. . . RHAEGAR HAD WORN A black tunic and black breeches, his boots leather, a cape of red draping across one shoulder. He was mounted atop his black stallion, side by side with Ser Arthur Dayne. It wouldn't be reasonable to be grand. They were hundreds of leagues from Lannisport. Mud will dirty them and break their carts first before they could even grasp the throat of the west.

They have been marching for a week. Now, the party was camped at the edges of the River Road, spread across its feilds and rivers. They were near the Golden Tooth, but his father refused to be taken in the halls of the Leffords, muttering something about Lannister rats squeeking about as I sleep.

Rhaegar ran a hand across his hair, bound up in a leather cord at the back of his head. His calves were aching from days of colliding against the muscular flank of his stallion. He ought to be grateful for this slight reprieve. But how could he?

Their course depended on the fickle moods of Aerys Targaryen. There were days he commanded that the party must ride until the moment he decides to halt, and days where he'd stay in his tent without being seen for two sunrises. It was . . . tiring. He could only clench his jaw.

Rhaegar let out a breathy exhale. It was night. Across the encampment, smoke from cookfires twirled heavenwards to the skies, surrounded by men merrily sloshing Sour Reds in wineskins, telling stories and jests, while wenches hung on their arms.

The court had battled eachother for a place in the inn nearby. Those who lost were forced to set up tents beneath the clouds. It was the better choice, really. The inn's featherbeds were hard as bedrock. Just this morning, a lady had woken up screaming, red from bedfleas. His father didn't care. The old king had a colony of his own in that beard of his.

Rhaegar silently made his way into the inn. The feast was finished, and attendants were clearing away the meats and goblets scattered like birdshit on the tresle tables. He climbed the creaking wooden steps to the rooms above.

Two ladies were lingering by the stone window, pausing from their gossip at his arrival. They smiled at him, batting their eyes demurely. Prince Rhaegar, good evening.

He smiled at them, nodding his head. My ladies. He was quick to make his escape until they seize him in conversation. The thought frightened him, to be stalled by the halls and indulge in idle chatter. There was something about it that he couldn't bear.

The room he entered quietly was plain and common, with only chair and a table, and a featherbed tucked beneath a wood-panelled window. He sighed, relieved.

"I hate this, Nyra. I feel like I'm useless."

"Against what?" Rhaenyra asked as a handmaid untied the laces of her red gown. "Against papa?"

"Against everything," he muttered, taking a seat on the bed. He could feel it now as he had not before - the slow setting of his fatigue weighing down upon his shoulders, the growing ache of calves ringing upwards to his thighs. Seven Hells.

Rhaenyra raised a brow, not bothering to answer him.

His sister could care less of what's happening beyond her wheelhouse. He knew she had her own war to fight in that chamber she's forced to share with their father. He would see her stumble out the doors covered in bile, hers or their father's? It was hard to tell. Sometimes, she was even half-drunk.

Rhaegar watched her step out of the gown pooled around her ankles in nothing but a shift, her flesh bleeding in the scarce candlelight. She plucked her ivory comb, bidding the handmaid leave.

Her silver hair dripped down her spine, gleaming at each sift of the sawtooth. He was tempted to ask her if she started to itch from - who knows? - fleas, but he was too weary, though it was soon replaced by a sudden anger.

It bothered him so much, the way she moved so slowly, so unhurriedly, as if she wore the numbers of time as pretty rings on her perfumed knuckles. Can't she see it? All this?

"Stop that," he muttered.

She raised a brow. "What?"

"Stop it, Rhaenyra. I can't take it when you do that."

She was confused and irked. "Do what, Rhaegar?"

His eyes followed the leisure drag of the comb through her curls. It seemed to rake against his own skin, breaking the delicate veins beneath. Gods, damn it all. He stood up abruptly, roughly swiping his palm's heel across his forehead. He doesn't like this.

"I need to leave," he grit his teeth. "We need to leave."

She laughed at that. "Try your fortune with father. His mood seems to be quite jolly today."

"Is it?" Rhaegar mumbled, not the least bit hopeful. He knew his lord father well enough to know that one thing is often the other.

"Oh yes, I heard him tell the fireplace."

A long, deep breath left Rhaegar's nose. Closing his eyes, he laid stiffly on the hard featherbed in defeat, finding no comfort in it at all. He was still dressed in his riding tunic. Lonmouth had changed it two days ago. He was covered in dust and sweat, smelling of horses.

He cursed, throwing an arm across his tired eyes. They have been hampered in this inn for three nights too long. The men didn't seem to mind, the court didn't. Rhaenyra especially. But Rhaegar? He shook his head.

"You're tired," Rhaenyra said almost spitefully.

"So what if I am?" He purposely asked spitefully.

She rolled her eyes and settled down at his side, her body warm and soft. "There's no cause in fretting over the inevitable. Let papa do as he likes, he can't keep us here away forever."

"Who knows with father?" He hissed. "He's fine rotting in his rooms all day, who's to say he doesn't wish the same for us?"

"You're being ridiculous. Even he has his limits."

"Really? Did you hear him confide that to the fireplace too?"

When no response came, he lifted his arm slightly to see Rhaenyra glaring at him through her lashes, her rosebud mouth set in a scowl. If he was in better spirits, he would've remedied it with a jest. He wasn't though. She could frown all she likes.

Silence came like a swarm of locusts after that. They laid together in the flickering candlelight, the faint bustle and rowdy jeers of the encampment beyond the inn filling his ears. He had half a mind of inviting Richard or Arthur for a spar in the deep woods but the dull soreness in his joints stopped him, and he found his sister's warmth to be quite remedying.

Rhaenyra shifted slightly. Her hand was on his belly, feeling its steady rise and fall, before she started to caress it. He closed his eyes. Her fingers drifted lower and lower, slipping past his trousers. He felt her brush the course white hairs there, drawing the heat of his loins.

She grasped his soft member, stroking languidly against the plush flesh of her palm. He could not think of anything softer. His breathing became shallow. None of them spoke. Rhaegar untied his trousers deftly with one hand, the other rubbing her round-shaped rear. She sat up, gathering her curls on one shoulder.

The silence of the chamber was brushed with the soft clicking of her lips delving up and down on his hard cock, saliva dripping on his thigh. The muscles of his jaw flickered, his teeth gritting. Her mouth was a sweet, wet thing that roused him more than the act itself. It eased his tension.

Rhaenyra, he breathed, holding the back of her graceful neck.

Her pink little tongue jutted forward to give him licks, like a small kitten drinking milk. He groaned. Rhaenyra.

Rhaegar stiffened, his lips pulling back in a sneer as his seed rushed out of him, spilling into her teeth. She pulled back, wiping it off of her cheek. They stared at each other without speaking.

"I'll speak to papa," she said.

He nodded. "Thank you."

"Rest, Rhae."

The rest of Rhaegar's restlessness had been taken away by her lips and by her voice, by the way her eyes fluttered and the way she was there, holding him. In this light, with their skins touching, they were almost one.

Rhaenyra settled herself on the pillows, pulling his head into the curve of her shoulder and neck. It was soft as cream. She hummed to him, brushing his hair with her delicate fingers. The world seemed to fade away. The night seemed to deepen. He closed his eyes and slept.

Rhaenyra waited until her brother was deep in his sleep before she carefully slipped her arms from him to stand, fastening a red velvet robe around her waist. Though it was summer, chill nibbled at the tips of her ears. Her flesh was in want for his warmth. His fire.

In the faint candlelight, she glanced at him one last time - his face, just countless moments ago so taught with agitation, was loose and gentle. He was beautiful like this, her twin brother.

She turns towards the door, closing it shut. The hall of the inn was short, quiet.

"Ser," she greeted.

Ser Barristan Selmy stood guard outside her father's rooms in his white cloak and white armor, his snowy white beard almost making him appear Targaryen. He was tall, regal. Wizened. A thought crossed her head.

Was this what her father ought look like? A king not only in name, but in face?

The kingsgaurd bowed his head in regard. "Princess."

"Is the king awake?" She asked quietly. There was something so criminal in breaking the silence of these simple halls.

"I could not say, my princess," Ser Barristan admitted gravely. "His Grace's squire had not left his rooms, but to fetch the food taster and a cup of poppy milk."

Rhaenyra nodded, thanking him. She would see her father. She would speak to him as she promised Rhaegar; but if he's asleep, she would still see him. A day hasn't gone by where she hasn't gone to him since they left the Gate of the Gods. It felt right.

The kingsguard parted the wooden door for her. The stench of piss and woodsmoke burned her nose. She found her lord father sitting in a wicker chair by the stone hearth, the cackling flames glowing on his pale, guant face. His squire stood not close by, attending to the beddings of the King's own bed rolled in from the wheelhouse.

Her father's thin lips moved in muttering beneath his soiled beard, his claws digging back and forth against the chair's armrest. He was naked underneath a heavy robe sewn with the sigil of their house. Rhaenyra could see the scabs that riddles his chest, the welts he had scratched.

She padded towards him, the untouched goblet of poppy milk on a lone table not lost to her. She was vigilant. One must learn a pattern of walk if they wished him not to flinch. She had mastered such arts at nine.

Rhaenyra folded down beside his spindly legs, leaning at his thigh.

The flames within the hearth was bright, fed all throughout the eve by fresh logs. Even in his chambers in the Red Keep, braziers and hearths must be kept on night and day. A line of servants had been specifically tasked for it. Her father claimed that a Targaryen should always be near fire, and fire should always be near to a Targaryen.

There was a quality of wisdom to it that made her nod. Her father had been wise once, and sometimes he offered her glimpses of it. Sometimes. Times rarer as the years fly by. She could only watch.

Is there anything more tragic than the fading of a promised greatness? Rhaenyra knew her father prime had been a long time ago. Everyone said so. As a boy, he charmed and was charmed. He loved music. He sought to build a city of marble by the banks of the Blackwater Rush. He dreamt of bringing back fertility to the sand mountains of Dorne.

The mind. Could it be taken away just as swiftly as it was given? If so, who are the theives to blame? She'd say the gods if she only believed in them. Rhaegar did. Perhaps she could ask him. Her brother is the closest thing there is to divinity.

She was suddenly frightened. Rhaegar. She thought about his greatness, his wonderful dreamer of a mind. Will it be stolen from him too?

It will be the worst of crimes. If it were the gods to do that, Rhaenyra will believe in them so she could take up swords and slay them all. Rhaegar is Azor Ahai. No god could change that.

Rhaenyra looked up at her father. He hasn't noticed she was there yet. Mostly likely he wouldn't. His eyes were feverish, clouded by something she couldn't name. She took his pox-scarred hand and pressed it to her cheek. Her papa. King Aerys Targaryen is her father first before anything, and anything lesser than that didn't matter.

Rhaenyra rose to her feet. "On the bed, papa."

For the first time for what she would say hours, he looked away from the hearth and glanced up at her. He scowled, a deep gash that stretched further the lines of his rough face, but he said nothing when she took his arm.

Her father was heavy despite the fragility of his frame. All skin and rigid bones. He barely ate. "Help me," she commanded the squire. Together, they lumbered the old king to the bed. "Fetch the poppy and leave us."

Like hard reed being bent, the king dumped himself heavily on the sheets, grunting. Rhaenyra propped pillows behind him, rubbing his back.

"Have you eaten, papa?" She placed her hand on his face, the jutting cheekbones cutting her.

He grounds his yellow teeth. "I have no trust in what they feed us here . . . that food taster, mayhaps he had been trained in the dark arts in immunity. What is safe for him would be the death of me, their king."

"Should we put that to the test?" She offered, taking the poppy milk from the squire. "Rip the food taster's belly open and see if he has the marks of the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai?"

A gruff chortle left her father's throat. "That would be most pleasing to see," he grinned. "But we have no need of delays. Wildfire is our answer. It will burn all the treacheries from his blood."

The silver hairs on her flesh rippled. Wildfire. Had her family, the dragonlords of Old Valyria, become so powerless so as to look to lesser flames for control? She pursed her lips.

"I have a more efficient method, papa," she said, taking a small sip of the poppy. Moments pass. She didn't convulse violently on the floor. If anything, she felt her eyes droop heavy. "It's untouched. Drink."

The king was furious. He glared at his daughter, displeased with her carelessness. "Men would rejoice at the death of dragoneggs as they would dragons."

"But I'm not dead, see?" Rhaenyra pressed the cup to her father's mouth. "Drink."

King Aerys reluctantly drank, the slight, permanent shake on his hands and head rattling the goblet. When he had enough, he whisked it away. "Pah!"

"Lie down," Rhaenyra said, tucking the blankets around him. He was grumbling to himself.

"Tywin Lannister cannot be trusted," he muttered. "I know him. I do. I can smell his ploys, daughter. What does he hope to achieve in this tourney? To celebrate your brother's birth? No, more likely his death. Or something else entirely, something worse."

"Unlikely, papa."

His blistered hand shot to grasp her wrist. "We should turn back and return to King's Landing," he whispered, spit at the corners of his mouth. "We would be surrounded by lickspittles and rats, but they're ours. Ours. Who knows what blades await for us in Casterly Rock? They fear dragons no more, they shall -"

"- Do nothing," Rhaenyra tugged his grasp away then pressed him to the bed, kissing his sweating forehead. "Sleep, papa. Tomorrow, we move west."

"Rhae, why did you stop?"

He blinked, returning his gaze to his sister. He hadn't realized his fingers had stilled on his harp.

On the middle of a clearing among rotting leaves and bits of toadstools, Rhaenyra had her hands on her hips, giving an accusing glare. She was practicing a dance she would perform in the feast in Lannisport. She told no one but Rhaegar along with a few of her women who'd dance with her.

Now, she wore a simple red dress without sleeves to fend away the summer heat, her arms like pale vines, while her curls were bound in a velvet net. The bottom lining of her skirts were smudged in mud.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Should we go again, sister? I was distracted."

She huffed. "By what?"

He shrugged. "The gods, maybe. They're here."

He doesn't hide his thoughts from her, not when she could see it plainly in his face. He had tried several times but she'd pry and pry until he would relent. There was little she didn't know about him, and it was the same for her. He knew everything in her head. Every abomination, every impulse, every whim.

Rhaenyra raised her brow. "How do you know that?"

"Look around us, Nyra. Don't you feel them? Hiding behind barks, watching us this very moment?"

She looked around. "The children of the forest."

He smiled, leaning against the boulder at his back. He was surrounded by mugworts brushing at his sides, dotted by small red-back lady bugs. "I don't really believe they've dissapeared when the Andals came. They were born in these lands, and would die in it."

"You don't know that," she padded to sit by his legs, placing her chin over his knee. "You speak as if you know those creatures personally, that you can vouch for their character."

"I don't," he admitted. "But if men could be resolute, how harder is the will of the divine? They're everything we're not, Nyra."

"And we're everything they're not," she countered. "You've always been cynical about what man could do. You're hopeless for your own race. That's treachery."

He chuckled. "Well, would you blame me? What capabilites we have, we waste on doing the worse."

"That is . . . ?"

"War," he began. "Pillaging. Thievery. Bloodshed. Rape. We've never evolved from the iron age of barbarity. Brothers kill brothers, friends turn on friends, fathers become madmen."

She stared at him for a long while, allowing the silence to fester between them. "They don't know it, but your poetry had always been political."

"I write and sing of what I see," he smiled sadly.

A league from where he and his sister sat in the woods, the party had dismounted for a small feast. Tywin Lannister himself had met Rhaegar as they approached Deep Den, to welcome the king to the west.

The Lord of Casterly Rock had laid out tresle tables filled with smoked ham and mutton, platters of barley bread, iced pitchers of wine. It was bountiful enough to feed the entire royal host. His lord father only grumbled though, wary of his Hand's benevolence. He refused to leave the wheelhouse.

Rhaegar, after indulging Lord Tywin in pleasantries for a moment, had whisked Rhaenyra away on horseback. They haven't seen much of another since the inn.

"There you are again," she said softly, reaching to swipe a finger across his lips. "The cynic. I like my brother better than him. Give Rhae back to me."

"At what cost?" He humoured her.

"A kiss."

"A kiss?"

She nodded. A kiss. From his sister, his Rhaenyra. He could think of little things that could compare to that. Dragonback? Dragons had long been dead. But he had kissed Rhaenyra a thousand times, and each time his soul ascended.

"A kiss it is," he smiled. "And you shall have your Rhae back."

Rhaenyra bent forward. He closes his eyes, but parted them again in shock at her palm pushing his face away. Her laughter echoed in the solemn air.

"You can keep him," she grinned, rising to her feet. Rhaegar glared at her. "However, would you join me for a bath, cynic? The river had been calling to me for quite a while."

"Don't bare your neck in front of cynics or they'll show you how cynical they could get," he grumbled, rubbing his jaw. She rolled her eyes at that.

Rhaenyra ran to the sloping banks of the icy black river, unbinding the restraints of her hair. Curls flew behind her like silver wings. She glanced back at him, grinning.

Rhaegar settled his harp on the boulder, standing to follow at her trails. He began to slide his leather jerkin off as she unribboned the laces of her dress, the ground littered by bits of their cloths.

The canopy of the trees were so dense and so thick, sunlight failed to pass through. It was cooler here, darker. They were both hidden from the sun of summer. Their nakedness were seen by no one but themselves.

Rhaenyra snatched Rhaegar's wrist. She dipped her toes into the rushing, coal-like water, hissing at its coldness. She retreated. "Actually, I don't want to -"

Rhaegar seized her in his arms and carried her down, ignoring her shrieking. The river was cold. He'd grown so used to heat that it caught him unaware, sharp as daggers. But it's alright. Her back, pressed to his chest, was all the warmth he needed.

"You like that?" He whispered at the cusp of her ear, waist-deep in the river. The pebbles beneath his feet were cool and smooth.

Rhaenyra pushed him off. "This is freezing. Dragons don't like the cold."

"I thought the river had been calling to you?" He chuckled, watching her shiver slightly.

"A call I shouldn't have answered," she wrinkled her nose. She held herself tightly, half of her curls damp on her back.

Rhaegar sat quietly over the dark soil of the banks, looking at her. It was as if she was a nymph of these woods, made of moonlight and stardust. She glowed brightly above the waters.

He smiled to himself, understanding why Durran Godsgrief refused to give back Elenei to her godly parents. He had built Storm's End to keep her by his side.

Rhaenyra grew used to the water's temperature, wading across to gaze upon strange-shaped rocks and colorful mushroom growing on fallen, rotting trees. What would I build to be with her? He asked himself. Valyria.

"Rhae, have you ever been to the North?"

Blinking from his daze, he raises his brow. "Not yet, but I want to someday. A king must see all of his kingdoms."

"By then, Brandon Stark is the Lord of Winterfell," she said, brushing her silver hair. "I heard the North is beautiful . . . the wildest and the freest of all the seven realms. I want to see it too, Rhae."

"What else?" He asked, leaning forward. Her cheeks were red from the water's chill.

She grinned. "Their weirwood tree, maybe. They say it has a ghastly, terrifying face. That it is the face of the old kings of winter, who wails that it was their blood who first bent their knee to Aegon."

He laughed. "Is that all?"

"I want to see Lyanna Stark," she added, wading towards him, her hips round and gleaming beneath the currents. "We'll be friends, her and I. Fire and Ice together."

He nods. His sister had a smile that made the world fall back.

"Will you take me, Rhae?"

Rhaegar reached forward and pulled her into his arms, her breasts pushed upon him. "Where I am, you will be," he said. "From the godless lands of Vaes Dothrak to the thousand miles beyond the Wall."

"Rhaegar and Rhaenyra," she nuzzled their noses together. "To Valyria."

He kissed her lips. "To Valyria."

next act (loading . . . )

[blakeswritingimagines]

Kissing over their scars

Aegon: The touch of your lips on his scars is one that gives him chills each time. It not only feels physically good to have your attention on those marks on his body but also emotionally. It makes him feel loved and desired, even with such imperfections.

Aemond: He appreciates that you are not repulsed by his scars. He is thankful for your acceptance and appreciates your desire to caress the area surrounding them. While he feels uncomfortable discussing the details of the injury itself, he is not opposed to the showing of affection to that specific part of his body.

Jacaerys: As Jacaerys felt the touch of his partner's lips upon his scars, the sensations stirred beneath his skin. The memories and pain that were once associated with those scars turned to comfort and warmth. He knew that you understood his past and accepted him for who he was. As you continued to kiss, he let go of the pain and embraced your love.

Lucerys: He would blush madly, feeling a rush of both happiness and embarrassment. His scars represent a dark, painful chapter of his life, and he wouldn't want anyone to know the full truth. But the feeling of someone close to him kissing them would be so sweet and intimate that he would find it hard to look away. He might even move around slightly to give you better access to his scars.

Rhaenyra: If you were to kiss her scars, she would likely react by being both surprised and touched. She may pull away at first out of surprise, but if she felt a deep connection with you, she would likely lean into your affection and allow you to continue. This would be a deeply intimate and meaningful moment for her, as it would show her that you are accepting and supportive of all parts of her and your relationship. She may also feel a sense of vulnerability in allowing someone else to see her scars, which could further strengthen your bond.

Daemon: As the warm caress of your lips lingered on each scar, he couldn't help but close his eyes and revel in the sensations. The comfort and connection of your touch were more potent than any pain or fear he had before. Time seemed to stand still as you slowly embraced him with an intimate kiss. He leaned into you, feeling a deep sense of vulnerability but also trust. Your mouth, warm and supple, teased a deep and primal desire within. His entire frame was awash with pleasure until you pulled back, and he opened his eyes slowly looking at you with a smile on his face.

Alicent: Her face reddens at the boldness of the action, the surprise and pleasure from the kiss combined. She moves slightly closer to you, wanting more contact and intimacy. She can feel her face heat up, and she closes her eyes for a moment when the kisses end, to savor the sensation for a little longer. She wants you to keep kissing them, wanting to keep feeling your soft lips on her scars. The sensation is so powerful that it makes her forget her previous shyness and pulls you closer.

Helena: As you kiss her scars, she'll close her eyes and allow herself to be vulnerable and feel the moment. The light caress of your lips awakens something deep within her soul. She longs for the intimacy of your connection. Her body reacts to the touch of your lips, and she knows you feel it, too. She opened her eyes slowly and met your gaze, your faces so close to each other that you could kiss. It is only a matter of time, she thinks to herself. She leans in and...

Harwin: The first time he was kissed on his scars, he felt a mixture of emotions. On one hand, he was happy to be loved and accepted for his flaws. But on the other hand, he felt very vulnerable and exposed. The kiss reminded him that even though he had overcome difficult times in his life, the scars were still visible, and it was still a part of his past. He was also reminded that someone else knew the pain he had endured and that someone else's lips could heal what once had cut deep and wounded him.

Cregan: Kisses on his scars bring a warm and intimate feeling, as if you doing it is showing your affection and appreciation for him and his past. Each scar marks a unique experience, and it brings him joy to know that you appreciate and value these experiences as much as he does. He is always reminded of your care and attention towards him whenever you kiss or touch his scars, and it brings him deep satisfaction to know that he is being loved and accepted despite the physical flaws and imperfections.

Criston: He is taken aback by the sudden contact, but slowly begins to relax once he realizes the care and love underlying the act. He may blush at the unexpected attention, and his heartbeat quickens out of anticipation. The sensation of your soft lips on his damaged flesh sends tingles throughout his body, and he'll find himself longing for more.

[kentstoji]

yandere rhaegar targaryen who grew up shrouded in a blanket of melancholy, akin to the trauma from the great fire of summerhall, a tragedy that marked his birth. his mind remained consistently immersed in fantasy clouds. an attempt to distance himself from the demons haunting house targaryen.

he developed an appreciation for songs and literature. and so, the prophecies were presented to him.

his imaginative mind created scenarios based on the words that led aegon iv to perdition. and when he met you — the only daughter of jon arryn that come of age without succumbing to illness — his obsession with completing the song of ice and fire intensified.

you, on the other hand, only harbored the ambition to take care of your father and ensure the stability of house arryn.