#simp for daemon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

simp-ly-writes · 3 months ago

Text

Dreams of Dragons (pt.1)

─────── · · A House of the Dragon FanFic

PAIRING: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen!Reader

SUMMARY: It had been centuries since Kings and Dragons ruled over Westeros but in your dreams- they still do. Being a descendant of the Targaryens, your parents told you stories of the great battles your family had fought generations ago that inspire to to become an archeologist determined to dig up more on your families past. So on a opportunity trip to Dragonstone, you are met by an invisible force that appears to have its own plans for you.

TAGS: alternate universe, canon divergence, no use of y/n, second person perspective, female pronouns used, coarse language, depictions of blood and anxiety attacks, emotional hurt/comfort, protective!Daemon, angst, soulmates, time travel, not beta read. MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,070 | NEXT PART A/N: this is my first time writing something for this fandom, please be kind and I hope you all enjoy!

─────── · ·

EVER SINCE YOU WERE A CHILD, YOU WERE FASCINATED BY DRAGONS. Once night would fall your parents would sit at the foot of your bed, a flickering lamp by your bedside acted as the only illumination of the room and played with the shadows to cast the great tales of your ancestors, the once mighty House Targaryen upon your ceiling.

Eyes feeling heavy and body sore from running about all day, your mind was always active, imagination sparking to life as their stories washed over into your dreams that you often confused with reality. Your dreams always felt too real, as if that distant past was increasingly tangible every time you opened your mind to rest.

You could hear the sounds of battle, the clashing of metal and cries of men fighting amongst ash and blood that seemingly rained down from the skies. You were unflinching to the thunderous roars of dragons above, their wings the wind carrying the smoke over to everyone neighbouring in warning not to mess with the Targaryen's. But it was a dream you woke up from nevertheless as you found yourself back in the waking realm day after day.

Your parents thought nothing of your over-active imagination nor your constant desire to learn more of your ancestry, just taking it to you being a curious child with an ambitious mind for knowledge so they kept telling you stories of the bravest princesses and princes that defended the realm, the tricks and battles they faced, and of course, the dragons they rode above the clouds touching the sun before anyone else could.

But as you grew older and your peers 'matured past fantasies' as your teachers put it, you became distanced from the people of your years and wanted to stuff your face in a book or memorize another historical map than attend any social events or soccer practices.

The walls of your room could not expand like your mind and became increasingly flooded in your illustrations and detailed diagrams of each house crest and dragon you read in your books.

Once the upper years of your secondary school education came, so did your time to shine in your historical, political, and classical studies. With ease you could recite the lineage of the great houses and every battle waged from coast to coast of Westeros that allowed you an early pass into college where your passions could be fully envisioned.

But with every sleepless night that passed you by from being enveloped in your studies, your once vivid dreams of the battlefields faded to staring at the back of your eyelids and waking up to the sound of your alarm.

─────── · ·

You would be one of the earliest graduates from your doctorate program in archeology and history, the slips of paper hung proudly up on your office walls beside your original illustrations that you hoped to inspire the younger generations that stepped foot into your office with a thirst for knowledge just like you were and to some point, still are.

The university you graduated from and now worked at was sending you and a small research team to the remains of Dragonstone and you nearly kissed your department head in thanks as you ran out of the meeting room to pack your bags and equipment.

A heavy backpack, duffle bag, and camera bag were all thrown into the back of your car as you made your way towards the airport for your overnight flight to the coast where it would be a few days of boat travel before you would reach the island.

You fell asleep easily on the flight contradicting the restless excitement you felt and for the first time in years, you didn’t see the back of your eyelids but vines slithering between weathered stones. The bench you sat on was a cold hard stone, porous and rough underneath your palms as you observed the long black dress you wore.

Pinching the material between our fingers, its softness confused you for the garment materials you researched for the lower classes were definitely not so velvety. Hiking up your gown slightly you stared at your polished short heels that confirmed your suspicions. You were a noble woman of some kind in this new dream and by the looks of your hands, had yet to see battle if you ever were.

A cough has your eyes snapping upwards, your skirt dropping as your neck warms and crawls up to your cheeks. “To be scandalized or enthralled by seeing the princesses hiked up skirts, hm,” a tall man with long white hair hums to himself whilst leans against a pillar, hand lazily resting upon the hilt of a sword, their smirk wavering on a grin as they await your response with humour evident not only in their tone but in they violet eyes.

You look away confused, you recognize the man from some place yet cannot place a name to the face as you take in the gardens that surround you in search of an answer. The rain of blood from past dreams is now a small fountain with a swan spraying water in a steady stream from its beak into a porcelain bowl. The flowers that surround you are thriving in various pigmented shades of reds, blues, and yellows; land untrampled and not a single corpse or dragon in sight.

Your distant attitude and lack of response seem to offend the man, his smile sliding off his face as he casts a glare to the foliage for taking your attention away from him. He takes long strides, sword and cape swinging by his sides to stand before you, casting you in his shadow as a gloved hand tucks a strand of your matching white hair behind your ear.

“What troubles your mind?” His voice is tender, all traces of humour left as you turn to look into his eyes. No one had ever spoken to you nevertheless touched you in a dream before… you pinch yourself in an effort to wake the real you up only to see a bruise starting to form against your skin. The silver-haired man before you hisses, separating your hand from your skin with a glare, “why are you punishing yourself? What have you done?”

You watch as the pastel violet fades to a deep purple and look away, mind racing to conjure an explanation but any thoughts are ripped away as a gloved hand grips your chin, forcing your eyes to cast upon his refined features set between a dozen healed scars. “Are you still ill? Do you need me to grab a Maester?”

He uses his teeth to pull the glove off his other hand, leaving it to fall amongst the grass and clovers before resting his knuckles against your forehead to check your temperature, “you don’t feel hot…” his voice a mere murmur in his observation before sharpening, “who has made you this way?”

His grip is unwavering on your chin, bordering on a physical comfort and hurtful as you mistake his growing concern for anger and rush to speak, “It is me! This is all of my doing, your highness.” You swallow deeply and pray that you stated the correct title so as to not lose your physical head. You shake yourself away from his touch before moving to stand.

Yet just as you step around his broad frame his hand reaches for your upper arm, keeping you in place, “Do you forget yourself?” his mouth pressed directly near your near, he feels you still beneath his touch.

“Please, excuse me,” you look straight forwards, peering down the open hallway for an escape.

“I demand you tell-” the man is cut off by a new feminine tone that steps out into the sunlight. She too wears a long dress yet hers is mostly red with gold accents. Her hair braided across the top of her head to form a crown, her stance upright, gaze as violet and piercing as the man who holds you and suddenly it dawns on you.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you whisper before slowly turning your head to meet the Rogue Prince’s gaze. Your mouth is agape, eyes wide before casting down as you try and bow yet Daemon’s hold on your arm keeps you.

“She is not right in the head,” Dameon calls over his shoulder to his niece who looks between the two people she adores most in concern. You shoot the prince a glare for his choice of words that he chooses to ignore.

“But the Maester promised that once she woke up again she would be herself again,” Rhaenyra frowns. Dameons hand slips down your arm, fingers interlacing with your own before raising your hands to press a lingering kiss to your knuckles. His thumb tracing the sparks leftover from his mouth to your skin.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water, breathing starting to become ragged as you feel overwhelmed, not understand why you have yet to wake up, why the royals you to some part idolized in the stories your parents told you were worried over you presently, “It's just not adding up,” and you don’t realize to be speaking your thoughts.

“What does not?” Rhaenyra takes another step forwards, hesitant to give you space, not wanting to overwhelm you further. Your lip quivers and you swear to hear a bee humming in your ears as your body begins to sweat. You start to grip at your bodice that feels too tight against your body, feet wavering on stability before you feel yourself falling back and into an awaiting chest.

“Get the Maesters!” Daemon roars before hearing a dozen rushed feet of servants departing down the hall. He walks you both towards the bench to sit in his lap, pushing your head gently back to rest against his padded shoulder.

Rhaenyra falls to her knees before you both, gripping your hands with tears welling in her eyes, “please,” she squeezes your hands, “stay with me, I cannot do this alone again, I need my-” you fail to catch the rest of her words feeling as your eyes grow heavy with every passing moment. Your breaths begin to even out in contrast to Daemons short panicked ones as his hands rubs up in down your waist in a reassurance for you or himself you will never get to know as sleep overcomes you, the last thing you hear are his pleas, “wake up, I will not live to see you laying lifeless for another day!”

─────── · ·

You find yourself in the waking world and being blinded by artificial lighting as a stewardess politely asks you to place your seat upright and tray up. You hastily comply with an anxious smile as your co-worker in the aisle seat across from you greets you a polite, “good morning.”

But as you deboard the plane, grab your luggage and head for the boats down by the docks, it is as if a presence lingered behind you… watching… waiting, your paranoia growing with every step you took closer towards Dragonstone. You could hear your heartbeat like a drum ringing in your ears with every step you took, connecting to your soul as you were unflinching to the waves coming over the boat, soaking you to the core.

You debated turning back as you were last to leave the boat and step onto rocky terrain yet your body was acting on its own volition, physically keeping you from moving backwards and dragged you to the cliff face as the sun was setting, a pastel painting of hues reflecting across the deep blue sea that you stood before. A town of tents behind you and a fortress awaiting just up the hill.

The cool ocean breeze kissed your skin and blades of grass brushed up against your ankles like the island was comforting you for something you had yet to discover. A call of your name has you snapping from your thoughts, a flash of silver out of the corner of your eye has you ignoring your peers before you squeeze your eyes to shut off the nonsense you were experiencing and join everyone for a communal dinner that you are last to leave from, childish to say you were scared to fall asleep in fear of waking up on the other side again…

─────── · ·

NEXT PART

─ · · A/N: what did you think? and is there anything you want to happen next? 😊

296 notes · View notes

simp-ly-writes · 3 months ago

Text

Winterfell & Wolves

─────── · · Dreams of Dragons (pt.4)

PAIRING: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen!Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader

SUMMARY: Rescued from a snowstorm by the Starks, you find yourself warming up the house more ways than one. Meanwhile your lack of presence in the Red Keep definitely does not go unnoticed as Rhaenyra learns the truth behind her Uncle's apparent obsession with you.

TAGS: alternate universe, canon divergence, no use of y/n, second person perspective, female pronouns used, coarse language, protective!Daemon, angst, blood and gore, hurt/comfort, soulmates, time travel, targ-cest, engine-translated high valyrian, not beta read. MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,910 | PRIOR | NEXT A/N: wrote this on my commutes, kinda (well very) angsty but we get a new POV!

─────── · ·

YOU STIR FROM YOUR SLEEP AS THE HORSE COMES TO A HALT, THE SOUND OF LARGE SPRUCE DOORS CREAKING OPEN ON IORN HINGES MAKES YOUR EARS RING. Picking up your head and blinking away the blurriness of your vision you notice half a dozen people standing on the front steps to House Stark of Winterfell as you stop just in front of them.

"She is awake," Cregan Stark notes whilst dismounting, he offers his hand to help you down as you slide off the saddle and grit your teeth as your feet touch the snow.

A young woman rushes over, presenting you a pair of slippers with an anxious smile, "these were the best we had on hand, your highness, we will get you-" You place your hand on the girls shoulder and offer her a smile once feeling her tense underneath your hold.

"These are wonderful, thank you. I know you were not expecting me and nor was I expecting to be here," you turn to face the Stark, tipping your head down to show your gratitude, "I thank you for all your generosity."

You look up to see as Cregan nods, his hand extends out from his side, motioning you forwards and indoors yet you pause in your steps once noticing he does not join you right away. His back faces you now, you watch as he pats the horses neck, talking to a group of men and boys who also wear the crest of a wolf upon their chest.

They each carry a weighted blade upon their backs with the youngest holding a bow in between their hands. "The stag is wounded, North still tracks its scent into the eastern woods, if you go now you should be back before nightfall."

The group presses a fist to their chest, bowing their heads before moving towards the gates. The youngest boy waves shyly over to you which you return with a playful wink before seeing as he takes the reigns of the horse and scurries out of view.

"As a boy I was told it was rude to stare," the Stark comments before turning to face you, he stands at the bottom of the steps, you both eye level with one another. You feel as your hair is taken by the wind, you do your best to pull it away from your face as you speak, "Who is North?"

He tilts his head, eyes cast to the side in contemplation before looking back at you, tone even and carrying sincerity, "They are the Wolf that found you." You raise a brow, "Just a wolf?" you press forwards, you hadn't studied much about creatures other than dragons and water serpents, though the latter you still questioned if they truly existed.

"Direwolf, you have dragons, we have wolves," Cregan explains before continuing up the steps and holds the door open for you. You step through the threshold and are met with warmth as hundreds of candles burn in the alcoves between arched doorways. At the end of the hall is a large tapestry of two wolves playing in falling snow underneath the moon.

"Your home is warm," you smile, you hear as Cregan lets a small breath of air out of his noise in a quiet laugh. "And yours is not?" he says in a lightened tone, walking forwards- expecting you to follow him down a series of twisting halls as stone floors turn to wood ones. The ceilings lower slightly by the support of pillars and trusses that frame the stained glass windows.

"The Red Keep is colder than anyone expects, even the breath of a dragon does little to warm its halls," you answer whilst stepping into a another room. A large wooden desk covered in papers and books sits across from a two-story fireplace made of boulders and stones. A fire burns brightly from within as extra logs are stacked beside to keep the flame.

A small sitting area sits just off to the side divided by the pelt of a bear, its open mouth and eyes watch as you enter the space and take a seat on the stones in front of the fire. You slip the fur cloak off from your shoulders and fold it on your lap, presenting it to the man that kneels before you.

He silently takes it, placing it on the floor by his side as he checks over your wounds. Placing your hands in your lap you look anywhere but him as he gently takes your leg, placing it on his thigh as he picks away the fallen leaves on your bruised knee with foreign gentleness. You flush as his hand slides down the back of your leg to your ankle, your squeeze your hands together, if either of my fathers stepped foot into this room now, are the thoughts you distract yourself with yet the Stark thinks you to be in pain.

"I apologize for your pain, princess, but I had to check, your bruises have deepened a few shades," Cregan says as you swallow deeply. He lowers your ankle slowly to the floor before checking over your other ankle and you clear your throat before responding, "I think the snow has frozen any pain I have felt... I have just never been treated my anyone other than my Maesters."

Cregan nods, "Then I am sorry to be your first," his tone quiet and overtly sincere and throw your head back laughing and try to speak between gasps of air, "It was not my intention to insult you, Lord Stark."

"I know, but I am sorry nonetheless," he sets down your other leg before brushing his thighs and standing. He walks towards his desk, leaning over to grab a pitcher and two cups before retuning to you.

"A Maester is on their way from the barracks, they should arrive in the hour. Would you like for me to word to the King?" You pause in taking the cup from his hand as he sits beside you as you look towards the fire in between you two. The Stark watches your hesitation with a piqued interest.

His hand rests closer to yours on the stone bench as he leans forwards, "Do you... not wish to return home? Has something happened that we have yet to hear word of?" Your eyes widen before shaking your head, you take a large sip from your cup before responding, "Everything is as it should be back home, for better... or for worse. I..." you pause before meeting his eyes, your hand creeps forwards, your fingertips brushing against one another, "...I am just tired after the stresses of lately but I would hate more to intrude upon-"

"It is an honour to host the princess," Cregan cuts you off before holding your hand in a silent apology for overstepping with his words. You savour the moment, feeling the various small scars and indents across his warm skin before seeing his brown hair flash silver and you quickly pull away- looking towards your lap.

"I was told the north is cold in more ways than one yet everyone I have met so far has been kind, even to the weather," you comment, looking over the space, leaning back against the stone as you pick at the dried blood on your arms.

"It is our duty to serve the weather, to serve the North. My ancestors ancestors understood that, as did yours, that there are greater evils up here than in the South. And so we must measure kindness and ruthlessness as equals to survive." You listen to the pride in his tone, watch the way he sits that much straighter as you know he must have been trained to do so since a young age.

"Your sense of duty is truly admirable," you offer the man a smile in which he returns with albeit a smaller one only noticeable in the soft crinkles by the corners of his eyes. "What is more admirable is to compare my devotion as higher than your own, Dragon-guide."

You are silent, eyes widening as he looks over your form. "You know who I am?"

"It is the Song of Fire and Ice," Cregan notes, downing the rest of his drink before standing at the sound of footsteps nearing the entry way. He turns back to look at you before opening the door, "I shall be in the next room if you need me." You simply nod, head still spinning with the new information as an older man steps forward, bowing deeply to you before walking forwards.

Cregan lingers watching as various bottles and tools are taken out from the Maester's satchel and lined up on the mantel before moving to step out of the room, pausing at the sound of your voice as you see over the Maesters shoulder, "Your cloak, Lord Stark." You move to stand, picking up the fur yet he raises a palm to halt your actions.

"Keep it for the duration of your stay, Princess Targaryen." And the door closes softly behind him.

─────── · ·

The Maester looks up, a knowing look in his eye as he begins to clean your wounds, humming to himself.

"What is Lord Stark like as a leader?" you question to the Maester as he pauses in his actions before counting his work, "he is a just leader with a strong mind. He took down his father to take his current Lordship and has never made anyone question his ability. He is a good man, your highness, as he is also an unmarried one at that."

You look off to the side and out through a window as snow softly falls and melts against the glass. "Dragons and wolves-hm?" you question to yourself quietly. The Maester hums a brighter tune in response before asking you to turn. You hiss as ointment hits the gash on your face.

"There is pain before there is healing," the Maester comments seeing as you grip the stones beneath you. "I see that now," you speak through gritted teeth. "I will work as quickly as I can, your highness." And you nod in thanks, tears beginning to well in your eyes as you breathe through the deep stinging feeling before releasing a long breath once it is finally over.

"Should I call for the staff to take you to your room, your highness?" the Maester asks, placing his emptied bottles and tools back into his bag. You open your mouth to respond but before you can Cregan steps back into the room in more relaxed garbs, his hands are placed behind his back as he dismisses the Maester.

"I shall show her to her rooms and introduce her as host, take care Maester Evos," the Lord Stark commands watching as the other man exists the room before offering his hand to help you stand.

Before you do, you reach down to grab the forgotten clock, setting it under your arm before taking his as he leads you back down the hall and towards a separate wing. Three girls stand at the end of the hall, each one bowing in a row to you both. "These are to be your staff, Alexi, Eda, and Lyah," Cregan explains to you, his hand lingers on your arm as you feel the stares of the girls focus in on your connection.

You smile, "I thank you for your service in advance."

"A bath is readied for you, your highness... should we prepare you for dinner afterwards?" They look towards there Lord as do you finding him already peering down at you in a silent ask, is this what you wish?

You raise your head, "It would be an honour to dine with the Lord Stark." Your chuckle in seeing him hastily look away and hear as he clears his throat, Dragons and their fire, he murmurs before dismissing himself.

You watch as he leaves before following the staff into your guest chambers. The rooms are fit with blue wallpaper, various hand drawn designs encompass the space. A fur rug is settled underneath a canopy bed, a warn arm chair nestled beside the fireplace and to the next room over you find the bath already filled.

You allow your tattered dress to fall and be disposed off before stepping into the hot waters and allow yourself to sink into the bubbles. You lean back against the walls of the tub and listen to their idle gossip. Hands begin to massage soap and oils into your scalp and watch as another readies your gown and shoes on a table in the corner of the room.

"I heard local clans have been spotted tampering with the wall-" Alexi begins to speak before being cut off by a scoff.

"Well they really must have a death wish- one that accounts for all of mankind," Eda says, flattening out your gown and picking off specks of dirt.

"They hope that the chaos will bring them an opportunity to uprise," Lyah counters whilst rinsing your hair.

"But our lord serves us well... why would they play against his hand?" Alexi mumbles to herself, turning around to grab a stack of linen towels.

"Well how am I supposed to know?" Eda says and you can almost hear her eyes roll and thats when you decide to speak up, startling the ladies that surround who thought you to be asleep in the tub.

"There are different levels to need that others struggle to see depending on where they chart. Why take from the hand when you can be the hand? Or better yet... be the one who decides who gets hands in the first place," you watch as the women look between one another before continuing their work.

"You are wiser than your years and we all apologize, your highness, we thought you were resting-" Eda flushes, grasping her hands in front of herself with a weary smile.

"Nonsense!" you pick your bubble-covered hand up with a soft chuckle, "it has been quite some time since I've been able to hear the talk of the people," you explain and watch as each slowly relaxes the muscles in their body.

"Are you allowed out of the castle much?" Alexi begins to ask before being swatted by Lyah, a pointed look is shared yet you answer honestly, "no, I'm afraid not with my condition or without another member of my family as my uncle tells me."

"I am sorry to hear that, princess," Alexi's head tips down. You push yourself out of the bath, grabbing one of the towels to wrap around your hair, the other you begin to dry yourself off with before the girls move you to a stool where your hair and face are prepared before you step into the gown. Its fabric is a deep grey with silver accents, not too different than what you wore in the Red Keep.

Yet besides the dragons that usually crawled up your form, wolves danced around the bottom of your skirt so that if you spun they would become an animated run. "It is gorgeous," your hands drift across the material.

"It was our Lord's late mother's collection from her younger years," Eda explains and you freeze at her words before beginning to protest, "Surely I cannot-"

"The Lord brought it as forwards as an option, there are others if you do not like it but this one was closest to your size," Lyah reassures you before presenting you a pair of gloves to wear, "if you decide to go out later," she quickly explains and you grab them, tucking the pair into your belt.

"Thank you all for preparing me," you smile graciously.

"When else could we dress a princess?" Alexi smiles, bowing her head as you laugh before telling her to raise, "well then I wish for another princess to grace your halls in the future." Yet your words do not comfort the girl, her smile fading, "You are not to stay?"

Eda and Lyah share a look behind your back that you catch in the mirrors reflection. "I must return to my duties soon, I do not wish to think of the chaos that awaits my return."

Alexi does not respond, simply opening the door to the hall as you follow behind her towards the dining room where the Lord of Winterfell can be seen overlooking the mountain peaks.

"The Princess Targaryen, my lord," a guard announces by the door. You watch as Cregan pivots on his heel, his head tips towards you in greeting yet he takes his time looking on the way back up.

"It fits," he states as everyone clears out of the room behind you. Placing your hands behind your back you walk up to stand beside the lord, peering out the window to take in the view, you do not ask for clarification for his words, mistaking yourself for thinking too deeply on the matter and change conversation.

"By the morning I should be well rested enough to send correspondence, the Maester said all my injuries were minor once cleaned properly," you announce, keeping your view to the snow-peaked mountains- feeling Cregan's stare.

"Is your leave to take place in the early morning hours? Or could I show you the true north?" You look down at the wolves on your dress, smiling as you shift the weight between your feet.

"Sending a letter by evening works as well, perhaps better they are to receive it in the morning," you question aloud and face the Stark who extends their hand, "hungry?"

You take his hand, "famished," you answer as he leads you both towards the table already set. Cregan pulls out your chair before sitting at his own. He pours out two glasses of wine before leaning back, eyes reflecting the flames of the fire on the other side of the room.

"Is the direwolf, North, yours?" you ask, cutting into a steamed carrot on your plate.

"Yes, we bond similarly to how you do with dragons," you know his words are not meant to hurt you yet you can do little to hide the pain in your eyes knowing that you, a Targaryen, do not have one to call your own.

"I have seen to misspoke," Cregan clears his throat upon seeing your sadness before changing topics. Conversation flows easily afterwards as you bring up childhood stories, talk about your differing cultural traditions and events.

─────── · ·

Next thing you knew night had transitioned into the early morning hours as you stood in front of your bedroom door. Cregan bowed his head, wishing you a goodnight, his eyes lingering- waiting for you to disappear from his sight.

You turn away, blushing underneath his gaze, your hand wraps around the cold metal door handle, squeaking slightly as you begin to turn it before pausing and looking back at the Lord over your shoulder.

"Would it be... overstepping as a guest to say that your kindness gains more than my thanks." The air stills, your breaths tightly and uneven as you wait for his response. You feel his warmth approaching your back, feel as his hand brushes a strand of hair away from your shoulder, his warm fingertips lingering against your skin.

"I think..." another long pause, "...that we both should rest and become clearer headed before pursuing anything, your highness." You swallow, nodding your head gently before shielding yourself behind the safety of your door.

Your heart sting more than just a light rejection- it burns and pains you physically leaving you feeling hollow with.... guilt? But I need a huband... father demands it. You quickly discard your layers, a growing anxiety has you feeling light headed as lay upon the covers in your chemise whilst picking at your skin.

The lingering memory of Cregan's touch sends a shutter down your spine as your head finds the pillows and you bring your knees up towards your chest. Years worth of memories of your parents- dragon masters you correct yourself, condemning you for wanting friendship and attention from men in your younger days slip past your eyes.

Always so persistent it confused you to no end while you watched your friends kissing in the school yard, getting partners, hooking up, or even getting married and you had never even come close to brushing hands nevertheless kissing a boy... and today it seemed your curiosity peaked, you feel disturbed by your mixed feelings on the matter, tossing and turning throughout the early morning hours before the girls come with a tray of breakfast and a new gown for you to wear.

─────── · ·

By the time you are prepared and the Stark's fur cloak sits heavy upon your shoulders, you step out into the front courtyard to see a number of black horses standing in wait, supplies draped over their body and men at arms awaiting their Lords orders. Cregan stand in the middle, his baritone echos against the stone walls as he delegates tasks and orders alike.

You catch eyes with a familiar golden-eyed and white-fur wolf who tilts their head in your direction. North remains seated in between the Lords legs as you step closer to the crowd that slowly dies down upon seeing your presence.

"Good Morrow, princess," Cregan greets you, bowing his head as does everyone else around you. You straighten your shoulders as you tip your head in reply, "Lord Stark, are we to travel to the wall?"

"Yes-" North stirs at Cregan's knee, their snout pressing into your thick gown curiously. Clearing his throat the wolf meets his eyes, an almost silent conversation is held before Cregan kneels, hand resting at the back of the animals neck.

"North wishes to greet you, your highness." Your eyes light up with excitement that you do nothing to conceal as you hastily bend down and extend your hand, feeling as the cold wet nose presses against your palm as you pat the wolfs head. Cooing as their eyes close.

"Are you not the sweetest creature?" You rhetorically question, hand moving to scratch behind their ear. A chorus of laughs can be heard around you, "I believe that sweetest creature has ripped the throats out of a dozen foes just this week," a voice comes from the crowd that you cast a small smile towards before turning you attention back to North.

"The sweetest man-killer, I stand corrected," you clarify underneath your breath, and catch a small chuckle coming from the lord who stands seeing as the animal would not attack you anytime soon.

"Have you ridden before, princess?" you cast your gaze upwards, eyes gleaming with a number of thoughts and prior dreams that would be unbecoming of someone of your status as you answer simple, "yes," standing as a horse is brought forth.

You hesitate for a moment seeing the height of the stallion before a pair of gloved hands are on your waist, helping you up onto the saddle. You and Cregan share a look before you watch as he easily saddles up and casts his hand to the side in a silent as for you to join him.

You trot over, a sudden gust of cold air eats at your face as the gates open, "Are you ready to see the truth North, your highness?" You watch as North dashes out ahead of you, emitting a howl before disappearing into the barred white landscape.

"I am," you respond confidently.

─────── · ·

THE RED KEEP HAD NEVER FITTED ITS NAME BETTER AS BLOOD COULD BE SEEN SPLATTERED UPON THE FORTRESSES WALLS AND POOLING ON ITS FLOORS. Screams could be heard echoing down the hall that Rhaenyra peered down from around a stone corner. Her eyes cast to the Rogue Prince holding the last of your personal guard pressed against the wall, their feet kicking at the stones and dirt, their nails digging into the hands at their throat.

The Princes words were quiet and deathly so in comparison to the loud start to his massacre once his brother finally brought forth the news that you were no where to be found. Your night shawl the only evidence of your disappearance the night prior hanging from your balcony.

Rhaenyra kept her footsteps light to try and keep herself hidden for as long as possible- hiding between pillars to try and hear more of the conversation. "Your ignorance took her from me and you will pay for you sin. You fight so hard for your minuscule life now while you should have fought just as hard for hers," Daemon all but growls lowly into the knights ear, his eyes drinking in their fear, his shoulders tense and shaking as he thinks to how you must have felt that night.

Rhaenyra gasps as dark violet eyes latch onto her presence. Her heart aches in her chest at the rising hopeful glint that swiftly dies once realizing she was the wrong princess. The man coughs as he is dropped to the floor. The Princess holds her spot and watches as the knight crawls towards her, his right hand missing half of its fingers reaches up towards her before a boot rests heavily between their shoulders, stopping any further movement.

Dark Sister gleams in the daylight as she raises to meet the suns rays. Rhaenyra swallows down the bile growing in her throat watching as her uncle stares at her with dead eyes before the knights head rolls, stopping down by her feet.

Daemon cleans off the blade on the beheaded mans cloth before kicking the head aside, "If you are here to denounce my actions on behalf of my brother, know that this is me refraining."

"I am not here to lecture you, Kepus (uncle), I am here to say that I feel the same-" Rhaenyra begins to speak, extending her hand to grab the Princes arm who flinches away.

"You had no idea what I feel," Daemon spits back, chest heaving, blood dripping down his chin and running down his neck. He raises his head, closing his eyes to try and not strike down your sister for irritating him with her words, "I have lost her too many times due to my brothers actions, his apparent lack of care and attention-"

"I have lost my sister just as you have your niece! So don't you dare speak of your pain above my own!" The Princess raises her tone, stepping forwards, hands balled into fists down at her sides.

Daemons chuckles are cold and empty as with every long stride he takes, Rhaenyra hastily takes one back down the hall followed by another with every word the Prince speaks, "If I cared for her just as my niece, just as you, than why do I constantly crave her presence? Why do I only know calm with the weight of her in my arms? Why do I ache for her?" The pair soon run out of hall as the Princess finds herself cornered, any initial anger she felt now overcome by her growing fear, "Why do I dream every night to feel the softness of her lips agains mine if she is just my-"

"You love her," Rhaenyra cuts her uncle off with a statement rather than a question. Daemons eyes cast away, his lips pressed, eyes distant. "You truly love her," she repeats again more softly to herself. That is why you never treated me the same... Her heart breaks in seeing the slow single nod she receives, "Then why does father not approve? It would fall in line with family tradition after all...."

Teeth is all she sees as Daemon steps away, spitting on a nearby corpse as he cracks his neck, back turned. "He wants you as queen, Rhaenyra, not your sister, you know that?"

"I do," she raises her head, eyes tracing over his broad shoulders.

"So you must understand, just like your father, that our union would make it easy to challenge you to that title."

Rhaenyra furrows her brow, head tilted in confusion that borders on frustration, "My sister does not want to become Queen though? I do not understand-"

"But he knows I do and so comes the second part..." Daemon turns to face Rhaenyra, "Viserys knows that I will obey whatever he demands of me with your sister as my prize-"

Rhaenyra, "My sister is not a prize to be won," she instinctively spits out, "but if she were to agree to take your hand then why does my father not demand that you don't become king in return?" She questions, starting to play with the end of her braid, eyes squinted as if trying to see the answer she seeks.

"And so now you understand my frustrations, Rhaenyra," Daemon swings his hands outwards before allowing them to drop at his sides, "He can ensure that you will not be dethroned and yet actively chooses not to..." Both royals stare at one another as the smell of copper stings both of their noses.

"There has to be something more to this," Rhaenyra steps around her uncle, walking back up the hall to try and clear her senses of the decomposing corpses that surround them. Daemon watches as she bites her lip, shaking her head slightly before looking around the room.

"If there were..." Daemon takes a few long strides to meet back up with the princess, "...I would have found the answers long ago...."

─────── · ·

PRIOR | NEXT

A/N: i don't know when i can get the next chapter out but i hope you all enjoyed this one 😊

─ · · DREAMS OF DRAGONS TAGLIST: @blkmystery @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @themoonlitquill @hnslchw @myownevils

191 notes · View notes