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happilyhertale · 6 months

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A royal encounter - Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell

Summary: Daemon had a great idea to bring a breath of fresh air into your marriage. But his plans were thwarted.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; oral f receiving, fingering (f in v and f in a), p in v sex, p in a sex

Author’s note: To celebrate the one year anniversary of my very first posted story, I've decided to finally post the Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell story.... I hope you like it! And… Thanks for reading my stories for a year! 🖤 I am very happy that you still want to read my stories!

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3.3 k

Other stories of mine

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You cling to the railing with your hands. Daemon's hands dig into your hips almost unpleasantly, the marks of his fingernails will be visible for a long time. His thrusts slowly subside and his breath comes heavily. A warm breeze envelops you, here on the balcony of your old chambers. You have sought a little excitement, escaping the boring ball that has lured many lords and ladies to King's Landing. That's how Daemon came to practically push you into your old chambers for a bit of excitement.

You are both still breathing heavily as Daemon slowly pulls out of you. His soft laugh rings out as he gently kisses your nose.

But then this gentle moment is interrupted as someone applauds you and a clap is heard.

For a second Daemon's gaze meets yours before he looks over his shoulder and sees Prince Oberyn Martell standing in the middle of the chambers. He grins, "Perhaps I should have tried harder to seduce a Targaryen princess after all," Prince Oberyn says cheekily. In one movement Daemon pulls his trousers completely up and spins around, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, is the Prince of Dorne trying to make a pass at my wife?" hisses Daemon.

A gasp escapes you and you try to hide your naked body behind Daemon's. Your gaze wanders, searching for your dress, which Daemon had torn off you just moments before.

As Prince Oberyn chuckles, "No... But now that I've seen how much fun you've had, I wish I'd had it too," he says to him. Daemon's gaze falls slightly over his shoulder, seeing you trying to cover your body. He sees you reaching for your dress, which is lying on the floor.

He looks back at Oberyn and his mood suddenly seems more relaxed. He starts to button up his shirt, "I think we were just looking for a little excitement here," Daemon replies.

"But..," Daemon adds suddenly, "if you want to join us, I could certainly be persuaded."

You are pulling up your dress and frowning when you hear his words, "Daemon? Did you just invite Prince Oberyn to a threesome?" you ask him a little shocked.

Daemon hears your words, but before he can say anything back, Oberyn intervenes.

"A threesome?" asks Prince Oberyn with a grin, "I would have thought you were a jealous husband rather than an adventurous one...". Oberyn's words echo through the chambers and your eyes fall on Daemon again. You know he can be jealous, but this time something else is reflected in his eyes.

Daemon chuckles softly, "We could have a good time in these old chambers here," he says mischievously, "It might make everything a little more exciting." Daemon turns slightly, looking you straight in the eye, "What do you think? Is the Prince of Dorne a threat to our marriage?" he asks you gently. His thumb gently strokes your cheek.

You are not easily embarrassed, but this idea makes you blush. You bite your lip lightly, the pulsing between your legs reignited. Prince Oberyn was a handsome man. No less handsome than your husband, but in total contrast.

"No... he's not a threat. I only love you..." you say softly to Daemon.

Your gaze drifts to Prince Oberyn and his mischievous grin jumps out at you. He begins to unbutton his shirt and his lightly tanned chest is revealed. It is a stark contrast to your fair skin. Gently he brushes his shirt off his shoulders, revealing muscles that are rather small compared to Daemon's – he is defined but slender in stature. You step forward and stand next to Daemon.

But Daemon's gaze follows Oberyn's actions as he unbuttons his shirt, looking at his wife. He sees pure lust in Oberyn's eyes, the brown of his eyes barely discernible – his pupils dilated with lust.

Daemon notices how handsome Oberyn is and feels an excitement welling up inside him.

Oberyn's gaze falls on Daemon's face and notices Daemon trying to hide his excitement, but he sees his eyes fixed on the scene before him. A smile spreads across Oberyn's face. Oberyn walks towards you and slowly kneels on the ground in front of you.

You gasp briefly as his gaze goes up to you and he smiles at you. His hands reach for your dress and slowly begin to lift it.

The blush on your face continues to spread to your cleavage. Never has another man been about to touch you like this.

As Oberyn's voice brings you back to reality, "The blush is much more visible on your pale skin, Princess," he murmurs, "No need to be nervous, you'll enjoy it"

You bite your lip, even though you don't want to be nervous, you feel it flood through you.

You feel Daemon behind you, his hands on your shoulder. His thumbs glide gently over the crook of your neck. However unfamiliar this situation may be, Daemon's touch soothes you.

"Well?" asks Oberyn suddenly, "Do you want me to have her?"

Your eyes slide from Oberyn's to Daemon's purple eyes. Slightly peeking over your shoulder, your lips meet, "I want you both, Daemon..." you whisper against his lips.

Oberyn chuckles lightly as he lifts your dress further. You're not wearing any undergarments and as Oberyn pushes your dress up to your hips, your light pubic hair is revealed.

"Mmm, the silver hair of the Targaryens..." he murmurs, pressing his face into it. A smile crosses his face, the smile of an artist when he sees the masterpiece he has created.

You gasp as Oberyn presses his face into your pubic area. You exhale heavily, watching Oberyn enjoy the warmth of your private parts.

Daemon watches Oberyn and a slight, excited growl forms in his chest. Your previous words, "I want you both," also add to his arousal. Daemon's lips gently touch your neck as his hands begin to slide your dress down from your shoulders.

Prince Oberyn lets his tongue slide slowly through your womanhood. His fingers gently pull apart your folds so he can fully enjoy you.

You moan as you feel Oberyn's tongue find your bundle of nerves and gently circle it.

A "mmhmm" sounds from Oberyn as he pushes his face further into you. Your breath quickens as you feel Daemon lightly bite the soft skin of your neck and Oberyn circles his tongue faster. Your moans echo through the chambers.

When Oberyn suddenly lets go of your warm core and you whimper in disappointment. Your eyes fall on Oberyn, who looks up at you. His lips are glistening with your juice. Slowly he stands up and begins to open his trousers. Meanwhile Daemon lets your dress fall to the floor. His hands slide to your breasts, massaging them lightly. His thumbs and fingers grip your nipples, teasing them lightly. His lips continue to caress your neck as another moan leaves your lips.

You are now standing naked in front of them both. And your teeth don't want to release your lip. As Oberyn takes one of your hands and leads you away from Daemon. You take a step and slip out of your dress, which is lying at your feet. Slowly he leads you to the bed.

You climb onto the bed and Oberyn, who is naked himself, lies down beside you and begins to caress your body with his fingers. You see how Oberyn's hot length is already aroused and unlike Daemon's, a dark ring surrounds his size. You can't resist, you run your fingers through the hair. Oberyn grins at you and now he lightly bites his lip.

Your eyes fall on Daemon and you watch as his gaze is fixed on you. A shiver runs down your spine as you see his gaze follow Oberyn's fingers on your skin. Daemon begins to undress, his eyes never leaving you. First his shirt falls, revealing his muscular torso. The scars from all the battles won litter his pale skin. Your arousal rises immensely. As Daemon undresses from the waist down and his arousal immediately springs free, you moan. The way Daemon stands in front of you and Oberyn's fingers find their way between your thighs is too exciting.

Daemon's attention is on you, the love of his life, and the tanned man next to you, caressing you on the bed and sliding his fingers through your wetness. Daemon comes towards you with long strides, gently sliding himself onto the bed with you. His fingers find your hips, reach into your curves as he begins to play around your nipple with his tongue. You moan again as his teeth begin to nibble lightly.

Daemon's lips slowly glide up your neck. A game of kisses and light bites until he encloses your lips. You breath into his mouth as Oberyn slides his hand to your bottom and turns you to Daemon. You lie on your side, your hand glides over Daemon's chest to his neck while your tongues dance wildly around each other. Oberyn brushes your silver hair aside and begins to kiss your neck softly. His fingers slide down your thigh, until his hand reaches the curves of your bottom and grips firmly. You whimper into Daemon's mouth. Oberyn releases your butt cheek and lets his fingers slide between your thighs. You whimper again as he covers his finger with your wetness and slides it to your butt hole. He applies light pressure and your whimpering repeats itself.

His fingers are slick with your wetness, easing the way as they tease the sensitive spot. He wants to push you further, to see how far you're willing to go. Experimentally, he stroked his fingers against your hole.

Oberyn's breath hitches as your hips begin to move slightly. A soft sound comes from you and your bottom presses lightly against his finger, your slight gasp sending a wave of satisfaction through him. He pressed a little harder, his finger slowly sliding into your tight, forbidden entrance.

The feeling of you around his finger, it all fueled his desire, igniting a primal need within him. He let out a low grunt in response, his own pleasure intertwining with yours.

He could feel his own cock hardening almost painfully, aching for the intense pleasure that only you could provide at the moment. The sound of your whimpering, your vulnerability and need, only served to heighten his own desire to please you.

Daemon's fingers mirror Oberyn's movements as his fingers slide between your legs. His attention is on your clit at first until he slides them inside you. You hear him growl softly as he feels the walls of your cunt already clenching around his fingers.

Daemon looks at you with slightly parted lips, enjoying the sight of ecstasy on your face. "You always take my fingers so well inside of you," Daemon mumbles a little breathlessly, "just like my tongue... My cock"

You whimper again and your fingers grab his biceps.

Daemon growls again and his gaze falls on Oberyn, who grunts slightly as he slides his fingers into your butthole.

"The princess is so tight," Oberyn murmurs and Daemon feels a tingle inside him as he hears the words. You gasp and bite your lip lightly as Oberyn's fingers thrust deeper, his warm breath on your neck.

Daemon lets his lips meet yours again, both of you breathing heavily, his fingers thrusting faster into you, completely wet with your juices. He starts to insert another finger into you and you moan almost desperately. The sensation of your wetness coating his fingers only fueled his desire further, knowing that you are becoming more and more receptive to his touch. He elicits a long whine from you as he curls his digits against your sensitive walls.

You feel the fingers thrusting into you. But this time it's so much more than usual. Daemon's fingers keep rubbing over the rough part of your wet walls, making you whimper, while Oberyn's fingers keep stretching your tight hole, awakening the feeling inside you that you need to feel so much more.

You moan out loud and before you've fully realised it, you feel Daemon's fingers pull out of you and slide his hot length through your wet folds. You whimper slightly each time he grazes your sensitive pearl. You moan even louder as he presses lightly against your entrance and you whimper again at the thought of how perfectly he will fill you.

"I think the princess will be perfectly filled tonight," Oberyn whispers, followed by a slight chuckle, as if he can read your mind. His lips still pressed against your neck as his fingers continue to explore your depths.

Daemon thrusts hard into you and your walls give way to his size. Daemon grunts loudly as he's back in his warm, soft home. His large hand slides to the back of your thigh, but you are distracted by the penetrating thrusts. He grabs your thigh and guides your leg closer to his body, placing your knee on his hip so he can penetrate you deeper.

He thrusts forward again and again, conjuring up the sweetest whimpering noises from you.

When you suddenly feel Oberyn's fingers leave your tight hole, you almost feel an emptiness inside you that needs to be filled. But then you feel his cock sliding along between your thighs from behind. Again and again he rubs it through your wet folds, soaking it with your wetness, while Daemon continues to thrust into your cunt.

Oberyn's cock throbbed with desire while his lips are still pressed against your neck. His breathing becomes heavier and you feel the warmth on the soft skin of your neck as he positions himself at your tight entrance.

You're slightly distracted by Daemon's thrusts and grunts, but you feel Oberyn begin to press the tip of his cock against your butt hole. You cry out slightly, but it ends in a long moan.

With a deep, primal grunt, he presses the tip of his cock against the entrance, feeling the resistance and tightness that awaits him. The whimpers and moans escaping your lips only fuelled his desire, his own need becoming unbearable.

But your butthole quickly gives way. Still slightly stretched by Oberyn's fingers, it almost greedily envelops the tip of his cock. You hear Oberyn moaning in your ear, breathing heavily.

"Gods... Princess... I haven't even been all the way inside you yet and you already feel so divinely tight," Oberyn murmurs breathlessly – you can only whimper.

Oberyn follows Daemon's rhythm and every time Daemon pushes your pelvis backwards, Oberyn takes the opportunity. Your bottom is pushed towards Oberyn again and again and each time he thrusts a little harder to meet your movements.

You feel yourself getting restless and your hand suddenly reaches for Oberyn's bottom. Your hand grips his small, firm bottom and squeezes gently. Oberyn continues to thrust slowly but firmly and you are caught up in the feeling of wanting to feel him deeper, but the slight pain forces you to take it slowly. But your hand starts to push him closer to you as a mix of whimpers and moans leave you. Oberyn stretches you further and further and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

With one final, powerful thrust, Oberyn conquers your tight hole and moans loudly. You cry out briefly, but the pain quickly subsides and gives way to pure pleasure. You realise how completely filled you are. Daemon and Oberyn are now thrusting in unison and you are trapped in their grips – and you don't want it to end. You put your head back and Oberyn immediately turns his attention back to your neck. He bites in lightly as he thrusts into your tight hole.

"Gods... Gods... fuck..." leaves his lips again and again.

With a primal instinct, he grabs your hips and slides closer to you. His thrusts now go deeper. He savours your tightness and the pleasure he brings you. The sound of your soft cries and moans fill the air as Daemon and Oberyn thrust into you, driving them both even further into a state of primal lust.

Daemon's hand is still on your thigh, lifting it slightly as he thrusts into your cunt. Oberyn's fingers grip your hips tighter as his thrusts penetrate you from behind.

Daemon grunts to himself, feeling the unusual resistance on his cock every time Oberyn thrusts into you and it turns him on. He thrusts harder and feels your cunt literally pulsating. His hand slides from your thigh to your breast, gripping it tightly as his lips slam onto yours. A wild kiss, accompanied by whimpers and moans, unfolds between you.

Your foot slides to the back of his thigh, wanting to pull him closer, needing to feel him deeper.

Daemon breathes heavily and grunts as your kiss ends. His eyes are fixated on the sight of you taking Oberyn's cock up your ass as he continues to fuck your cunt. The combination of your actions, the raw lust emanating from you, elicits a primal moan from deep within him.

With each thrust, he feels the lust building inside him and the need for release becomes almost unbearable. But he wants to savour this moment, savour your pleasure, revel in the intoxicating connection you share. Daemon's hand lets go of your breast and slides to your leg again.

His grip is firm and so are his thrusts, which become more intense and violent. The sound of your moans and the beginning trembling of your thighs only fuel his desire and bring him even closer to the edge.

You feel that you are about to come. The sensation of being filled in both holes is almost too much and you feel the familiar pressure spreading through your abdomen.

"Yes... Come on my cock," Daemon grunts, " Show me how good it feels for you to be filled like this," he grunts as his cock starts to twitch dangerously as well. Oberyn starts grunting behind you. He can feel your whole abdomen literally start to clench. His hand slides from your hip to your warm core. You look down, breathing heavily, and see Daemon thrusting into you and Oberyn's fingers begin to rub your clit. You are a moaning mess. The pressure inside you becomes almost unbearable.

"Be an obedient wife... come while our cocks fill you," Oberyn grunts in your ear as his fingers rub faster.

You only whimper, followed by a loud moan.

"I'm going to fill you up, princess... My seed will fill this tight hole," Oberyn grunts further, thrusting deeper.

And then you come, your cunt clenches around Daemon's cock, milking him and driving him over the edge with you. He growls and grunts loudly, pumping his cum deep into your cunt with deep thrusts.

Oberyn follows shortly after you and dresses your dark walls in white. He bites the back of your neck and immerses himself in the sensation. The grips on your body are firm, the feeling wonderful.

You whimper softly as the grunting around you slowly dies down. There is a smell of sweat and sex in the air. Heavy breathing echoes off the walls. Your light whimpers come to a climax as the two of them slowly pull out of you. Exhausted, you let yourself sink against Daemon's chest while Oberyn lies on his back, breathing heavily. His hand rests on your bum, stroking it gently.

"Maybe I should visit King's Landing more often after all..." mumbles Oberyn as he looks up at the ceiling.

Your eyes are closed, but instead of a reply, you hear a slight chuckle from Daemon.

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sayafics · 8 months

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Dragon of Dorne - Chapter I

A tale in which, during his marriage to Alicent, Viserys falls for a Dornish Lady of the Court and takes her as a second wife behind closed doors.

His relations were kept secret to all but his Hand and his Queen, at the behest of his young lady-wife.

Alicent is grateful for the reprieve, as although Viserys remains a dutiful husband, he has started to visit her chambers fewer times as his love for his newest wife grew.

This, of course, irked Otto Hightower. The man grew worrisome that if Viserys' third wife were to bear a boy, he would hold greater favour to be named as heir than his own daughter's children.

So when Viserys' third wife gasped her last breath in the midst of agonising and violent labours, leaving only a daughter in this world before passing into the next - well no one truly batted an eye, for a woman's labour and the task of birth, though an expected duty was a cruel and gruesome fate some failed to survive.

But Viserys' heart grew softened towards his surviving daughter, who somehow managed to resemble his first wife and last.

And thus, was born Viserys' youngest daughter - Alaynha Targaryen.

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Alaynha Targaryen was a bright-hearted and loving girl, growing up in the Keep alongside her half-siblings - Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena - she had never been left alone long enough to feel unwanted or unloved.

Over the years, it had been Aegon who had taken her flying on Sunfyre towards the horizon, over calm oceans and tumultuous seas when she cried in his arms about her dragon that did not hatch.

It had been Helaena who whispered to her the dragon dreams of a beast, quiet and grey, that hid between the clouds and skimmed across the ocean's surface.

It had been Aemond who sought out the dragon, Alyanha holding him tight as they rode on dragon-back upon Vhagar, so she could finally claim it as her own.

It was her three siblings who cherished her wholeheartedly, even if she was not wholly their blood but simply half. It was her three siblings, whom she admired so graciously and so lovingly, that encouraged her to claim a dragon so wild and free that she was able to be where she was at this moment in time.

***

Alaynha rode on dragon-back upon her mount, a shy and young dragon that spent his years hunting across the sea and hiding amongst the clouds.

Grey Ghost.

A most honourable partner, should a Targaryen seek such a quality in a dragon.

Having spent most of her years wandering the Keep, she revelled in the freedom of flying whenever she got the chance. Unfortunately, the chance of doing so was rarer than she would like - both her protective father and kind stepmother fearful they would lose the girl much like her father had lost her mother.

***

Alaynha was only a babe when her mother passed, barely a gasp of breath in this new world when her mother took her last.

There were no portraits in the Keep, but her father would say he had her mother's eyes - dark and warm, like a beautiful autumn evening where the ground, deep and muddy, is flourished in hues of every shade from falling leaves and sprouting flowers.

She also had her mother's complexion, a glowing bronze in the flamed torches at every corner of her home. But her hair, long and twisting curls, were what made her ancestry undeniable.

Lucious white tresses that fell in wild and messy waves lay freely down her back. Her father would say they resembled that of his first wife's, and sometimes when he would look at her it'd seem as though he was staring into the eyes of a ghost or the shadow of an echo.

Alaynha was never sure if he was seeing his first wife or last, but each time she saw his stare her heart burned with pity for the old and decaying man, who simply craved love and affection from the women who had died brutal and unkind deaths.

Her stepmother was a religious woman, so caring and compassionate, that although Alaynha was not her own blood she treated her as though she was.

Alicent raised her as her own, grew to love and cherish her, to see her as an extension of not only Viserys but her own children. They grew up together, loved each other, and held each other close.

Alaynha was a secret Alicent wanted to keep forever.

Rhaenyra had already taken her son's eye, had taken Alicent's dignity and any respect she may have once held in Court. Alicent would not let Rhaenyra take her youngest daughter too.

Not when they managed to keep her hidden for so long.

Viserys tried to convince Alicent he did not hide the girl from his eldest daughter out of shame, but she knew better. She knew questions would arise because of the colour of her eyes or her complexion - questions Viserys did not want to answer to.

So when she had been old enough, perhaps two namedays or three, Alaynha had been sent off to live with her late mother's family in a city in Dorne, being taught the duties of a Lady until she could return home and learn that of a Princess'.

When Rhaenyra had left for Dragonstone, Daemon at her side and her husband dead, Alicent let out a quiet sigh of relief. Her throat ached with gratitude at Rhaenyra's departure, as it meant her young child could return home from Dorne.

When Alaynha had returned to King's Landing, she cried for her brother who lost an eye, as he consoled her with the revelation he had gotten a dragon in return. Aemond made her promise to shed no more tears over a worthwhile sacrifice, assuring her that now he had the largest dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms, he would help her claim one of her own.

She still sniffled, latching onto her brother's side, inconsolable by the sheer violence he had endured, but accepted nonetheless.

It had only been a few years later when her siblings helped her find her life-long companion in her large and bashful dragon.

Alaynha had been taught the duties of a Princess from then on, kept close to Alicent's side if she was not at her brothers'.

Alicent couldn't explain her love for the girl, she had barely spoken to the girl's mother - her sister-wife - before the young lady had passed. But there was a fondness that grew so quickly, and soon it became as though she was simply staring at a child that was her own.

***

Alaynha reminisced over the small moments as she rode her dragon, her heart growing softer as she thought of all the affection she received from her family. She was only half Targaryen, but she was wholly their's.

Perhaps that was why time had slipped so quickly through her fingers, the sky darkening quickly before she realised that she had been cruising the sea for what must have been hours now upon her patient mount.

She sucked in a sharp breath, the darkening sky a reminder that she was to attend dinner with her family this evening - her Kepa would be there too. And, how dearly she had missed him. Father.

Her father had been kept dosed upon milk of the poppy, too far out of his mind to tell her apart from Aemma and her own mother, or Rhaenyra and herself.

***

There was a petition for Driftmark today between Vaemond and her nephew Lucerys. Her grandsire - simply in name - Otto Hightower had asked for her to stay away from the Keep until the matters had been dealt with, then she could return to the Keep when everyone had returned to their chambers and if all went their way, Rhaenyra would return with her family to Dragonstone the next morning and all would be set right.

Those plans had changed when Viserys denied his milk of the poppy, asking instead that a dinner party be held the same evening. He had summoned her at that moment, beckoning her closer before laying a gentle hand on the curve of her cheek - "my sweet child, I have done you wrong. Hiding you away from your blood. But no longer - today you shall meet your sister and nephews. Today you shall meet my brother - your uncle."

She had been nervous at his words, growing worrisome that her sister would dislike her because they did not share the same blood completely. Feared that her newphews would hurt her as they had done to Aemond.

There were restless whispers murmuring through her mind as she rested within her chambers, waiting for the petition for Driftmark to begin before she could sneak off to ride on her dragon. Aegon had come to see her before the petition began, and for all his faults - a drunken, petulant man who was never given the opportunity to be a child, simply a challenge to a throne he did not want - he was a great listener, offering comfort when he heard her speak of her fears aloud.

Aegon had to leave shortly after, though quite reluctantly. And Alaynha had taken that moment to sneak through the tunnels of the Keep to find her dragon whilst remaining undetected.

***

Alaynha was on her way back towards the Keep, her throat clogging up with a heavy weight as butterflies squirmed within the pit of her stomach. She didn't feel nauseous, but it was something close.

As the Keep grew closer, Alaynha began to wonder how this would all go. And even as she unmounted her majestic, pale beast, she did not let herself escape the confines of her mind - fearful she would turn away and return to the skies, too hesitant to take a step closer.

***

Alicent had not been happy with Viserys' decision to introduce Alaynha to Rhaenyra. The truth was no one was, and some part of Viserys was hesitant too. Fearful of the rejection his young girl may face, much like all his other children had.

Viserys was not blind to the favouritism he played, nor the feelings his children held towards each other. But remaining drunk upon the milk of poppy made it easier to ignore such notions, and act oblivious to the disharmony that existed in the blood of his dragons.

He had been growing worrisome, not having started the feast as he waited restlessly for his daughter to come, unbothered by the curious stares of Rhaenyra or Daemon. His mind began to wander as he imagined the sorts of horrors she could have experienced during her flight around the sea, blaming himself for allowing her to be out so late or at least not sending Aegon or Aemond as company.

"Is there a reason you wait, brother?"

Daemon's voice sounded placid, but there was a growing frustration as the table sat in a tense silence waiting for the King to make his move.

It seemed as though Viserys didn't hear him, and Dsemon rolled his eyes in annoyance. Instead, the man turned towards his wife, eyes glancing towards the empty chair that sat between Aegon and Aemond as he spoke - "where is my dearest daughter? I fear we cannot begin without her."

Alicent opened her mouth to reply, but a saddened voice spoke from behind Viserys, concern colouring her tone as Rhaenyra spoke - "I am right here, fath-

"I am sure she is on her way, my love."

Rhaenyra looked towards Alicent accusingly, and she truly wanted to laugh out of incredulity. For Rhaenyra to make such a bolstered claim, thinking her father spoke so sweetly of her instead of another was quite amusing, indeed. It made the possibility of Rhaenyra meeting her youngest sister slightly more tasteful.

"If it would ease you, Your Grace, I can go fetch the girl. She has likely forgotten about her promise to dine, distracted by her books and dragons."

Otto spoke precariously, knowing the girl was only out dragon-riding at his behest and though Viserys agreed at the time, reminding the man of such a thing when he was so wound with worry would do no one any good. And perhaps a reluctant part of Otto, the same part of him that cared and loved his sweet Helaena, had also grown fond of Alaynha.

Alicent spoke, fingers fiddling with each other as she pinched at the skin of her thumb. A blatant sign of her own anxiousness at her daughter's absence, "yes, that wou-"

The doors were opened, but no announcement was made. Instead, a frantic voice echoed across the hall as a young girl dressed haphazardly in a prim and proper light blue dress bound up the stairs - "Kepa! I am so sorry! I hadn't realised how late it had gotten."

Daemon Targaryen was a man of few words, preferring to show his anger out on the battlefield or his passion in the confines of his chambers. He had sat quietly so far, only a nodded greeting to his brother as he joined them was an indication that he was actually paying attention.

And now, eyes trained on the young girl who stood in front of him, cheeks heated from the cold wind brushing roughly against them, and eyes blazing and wild from the high of riding a dragon so freely. He felt a warmth begin to fill his blood, his face passive as his eyes burned at the sight of her.

Who was this girl? Was she his niece?

She had called Viserys father, but surely her mother could not be Alicent?

Was she a bastard, much like his own step-children?

Or an orphan they had pitied and taken in?

Daemon knew one thing for sure, the girl who stood in front of him - a timid smile and fumbling fingers - had captured his interest. Had ignited a flame he long believed to have been put out - tamed and tempered by Laena Valeryon. Extinguished by Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Rhaenyra he had fallen for all those years ago had not been the same one he had married that day in Dragonstone, but she had Rhaenyra's eyes, her hair and her face, her voice and her touch.

Daemon had convinced himself he would need time to readjust, time to accept her as she was.

They had two children together, another on their way.

Daemon had accepted, he had conceded. And still, he felt like half the man he used to be, an ounce of the warrior that used to ignite his soul.

Now, violet hues clashing with glowing brown, he felt the dragon within him ignite and rise from the ashes of a man scorched and burned.

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#daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen #daemon x rhaenyra #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom #hotd x reader #hotd x oc #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryenx targaryen!oc #dragon of dorne

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

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terms of endearment │ Daemon Targaryen x Niece!Reader

“The marriage between the second daughter of King Viserys I and his own brother, Prince Daemon, raised eyebrows upon its first announcement. Many assumed the match would echo the Rogue Prince’s unfortunate first union with the late Lady Rhea, despite his wish for a Valyrian bride being, finally, fulfilled. It surprised all who took witness to see the intensity of Daemon’s devotion to his second wife, a regard that would persist through a long and happy union between uncle and niece.”

- ‘Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

The story of Prince Daemon Targaryen and his brother’s second-born daughter, as told through the many terms of endearment he calls her by.

Part I: The Princess and the Rogue Masterlist Part II: The Mother and the Warrior Masterlist

'terms of endearment' Alternate Universe blurbs

original version of gevivys (beauty)

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x smut #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon x reader #daemon x oc #daemon x you #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x f!reader #targaryen!reader #f!reader #em-writes-stuff-sometimes masterlists

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vsenyatargaryen · 1 year

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Sȳndor (shadow)

Daemon Targaryen x Twin Sister!Reader

warnings; arranged marriage, incestuous relationship, flirting

“Take me with you,” you said in a hushed voice as you grabbed your brothers hand to gain his attention. Daemon couldn’t help but smile at the pleading look over your face as you caught up with him halfway down the spiral stairs of the Red Keep.

Much like your mother, Alyssa, had done with your father, Baelon, you followed Daemon everywhere you could. Even now, at 19, you were his shadow. Yet Daemon didn’t hate it, in fact, he never felt more loved than when he was around you. Never felt more alive.

He leaned back against the wall with a smirk, admiring how ethereal you looked with the moonlight pooling in through the arched window behind you, the Valyrian necklace he’d given you as a gift glistening around your neck.

“Take you where, jorrāelagon sȳndor?” [dear shadow]

Though he said the nickname with affection, you rolled your eyes at his answer. “You know where. You and Viserys sneak off to the streets of silk all the time.”

Of course you knew. Daemon didn’t just call you a shadow because you followed him, but because you had a habit of seeing and overhearing things you weren’t supposed to. You thought of it as a gift, but not many others at court did.

“I would bring you along… but Viserys won’t approve.”

“Since when did you care about what our brother thinks?”

“You are betrothed to him,” even as he says it, the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. You should be betrothed to me, he thinks. Should be mine. He knows it. You know it. Everyone does. Yet he was surrounded by leeches who only wished to make choices for their own political gain.

“He wouldn’t want me taking you to a pleasure house, dārilaros.” [princess]

You smiled at that, and there was a glint of mischief in your eyes that Daemon didn’t often see. It intrigued him. As if he didn’t have enough reasons to fall for you already.

“I heard whispers that he’ll be wed to Lady Aemma Arryn in my stead,” you told him. “In as soon as a fortnight. Soon, my maiden hood will be of little consequence to him.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What other whispers have you heard?”

You leaned in closer, your hands on his chest and you face merely inches away from his as you whispered, “gūrogon nyke se kesan ivestragon ao.” [take me and I will tell you.]

gif by me // divider cr, straywords

#daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #happynerdwrites

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bohemian-nights · 1 year

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Arlī(Anew)-Chapter 1

Word Count: ~1,644 words

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest

Description: She was not her uncle’s first choice Naery’s knew that, but she would do her duty.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact.

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

————————————🐉———————————

115 AC - Dragonstone

Naerys had been told by her septa that a woman’s place in this world is a precarious thing, but she had not known what it meant until now. She was the blood of old Valyria though she did not feel it. She lacked the true spirit of her dragon rider ancestors. It mattered not now. Today was her wedding day and she had been every inch the Valyrian bride. She knew her duty. Naerys was to be her uncle’s long-awaited prize.

Her uncle’s wife, the Lady Rhea Royce, had died. It had been an accident. Lady Rhea had fallen off her horse and broke her back hawking. A tragedy, but that did not stop the murmurs around court and the Vale. The whispers only grew when her uncle had gone to Runestone to claim his late lady wife’s seat.

The king dismissed them of course. Daemon had been away from the Vale in the Stepstones at the time. Short of him being in two places at once, Lady Rhea’s death was an unfortunate incident. And with it, Daemon was freed from his ill-fated union. Free if he chose to take a woman to wife.

Her uncle did not have to remarry. He was a second son who stood to inherit nothing. Daemon had not been his brother’s heir for years. In that time, king Viserys had more heirs. His eldest daughter had sons of her own now. House Targaryen’s future stood secure, but the prince had made it clear that he intended to marry again.

The small council suggested that a match between the Prince of Dorne’s daughter and the rogue prince would be ideal. She was said to be beautiful, she was an avid rider, her High Valyrian was near perfect, and most importantly she was her father’s heir. A second son could not want more in a bride. Daemon had rejected the match with a chuckle that bounced around the throne room.

A Martell bride would bring him his own seat. It would finally bring Dorne into the fold with the rest of the kingdoms Viserys ruled over, but he had not wanted it. He had already been made to take one wife he did not want. He would not take another. This time around Daemon Targaryen had wanted a wife of his own choosing.

Daemon had informed her uncle’s small council that he wanted a Valyrian wife and Dragonstone. He would take his niece Naerys, his half-brother’s only daughter, to wife. The prince had Caraxes, fought in wars, and he would now have her. His final trophy. A young Targaryen wife. A naive impressionable girl and a seat for them to rule over.

The council had all scoffed at his initial request. “Our niece is too young for you brother,” her uncle, the king, had told him.

“She is not Rhaenyra my prince,” Naerys uncle Lord Corlys Velaryon had chimed in as well. “You will find her wanting.” As she was his ward it was his job to worry over her safety and future marriage prospects.

Daemon’s involvement with the king's heir and oldest daughter, Princess Rhaenyra was an open secret. Though she was herself now married to Lord Corlys son Ser Laenor, with them both being at court it was only a matter of time before the two might rekindle their affections for one another.

Naerys was too sweet. A shy little thing who had seen little of the world outside of Driftmark. She would not be an adequate replacement for the worldly Prince’s true desires. It was not until Daemon threatened to go to Lys, find his mistress, and take her to wife, that the king then conceded much to the disappointment of some at court.

No one had dared to voice their objections once the king agreed to the match apart from the queen and unsurprisingly the princess. Her father had once been the king's hand. Ser Otto Hightower and Daemon had never seen eye to eye. It seemed that the father's grudge had passed onto the daughter. Queen Alicent had tried to remind her husband of his brother’s ways, but the king dismissed her concerns.

Rhaenyra had initially laughed upon hearing the news that Daemon had wanted to take her for a wife. “Let my uncle have his little Targaryen bride,” she had exclaimed with glee to anyone who asked her opinion on the matter. “My dear little cousin and his duties at court should keep Daemon occupied. He will do his duty to his king and his heir.” The meaning was not lost to those around the Red Keep.

“If he wants to plot it will not be easy with the whole court watching him,” the princess had added. Naerys would often find her cousin staring across a room in search of their uncle. The man would sometimes meet her hopeful lilac gaze though his eyes would often drift to a pair of deep violet ones.

Rhaenyra’s tune changed upon finding out that they would not reside in the Red Keep and would be given Dragonstone. She then joined in with Alicent. Naerys own opinion on the match had not been asked for her opinion on her future union with her uncle. In the end, Daemon had gotten what he wanted. A young unspoiled niece for a bride and their family’s seat Dragonstone.

The ceremony itself had been nerve-racking. Her uncle had insisted upon a Valyrian ceremony. Naerys did not know half the words. Her Valyrian had always been less than satisfactory. Daemon had not laughed when she stumbled over the words. He never had when it came to her. Even when her face grew hot at his vulgarity he simply grinned at her.

Naerys had not been able to cut herself nor when the priest had called for the binding. Daemon had to do it for her. Seemingly taking pleasure in her anxiousness as he brought the blade to both of their lips and then hands with a self-satisfied smirk. The feast afterward had been a blur.

“Come here sweetling,” Naerys' new husband had called her once her new lady’s maids had left, breaking her out of her daze. They were alone in her bed chambers. Her uncle had been kind enough to allow the dispensation of the bedding ceremony. There was no need to when they all knew that this marriage would be unlike the prince's first.

Naerys felt the urge to pretend she had not heard him. She had been made to change into a sheer gown that did little to hide her figure. Her aunt Princess Rhaenys had tried to warn her of what might occur on her wedding night, but it did little to calm her. When Daemon called for her again she knew that she could not avoid him.

Naerys reluctantly made her way out from behind her changing screen, her eyes briefly landing on her uncle who stood by her fireplace. The fire's glow bathed him in its warm light and cast shadows across the room. From the corner of her eyes, she could see that her husband's gaze followed her across the room. He did not waste time pulling her into his arms when she finally reached him.

Daemon did not say anything as he stroked her silver curls. For a time they stood in silence. His gaze fell back to the fire. The only thing that could be heard was the crackle of it and the faint sounds of the feast down below.

“I suppose I will need to break you in.” He seemed to be thinking out loud, but that did not stop Naerys from pulling back from him. Daemon did not move to stop her as she turned away to face the side of the room. Her arms came up to cradle herself as her dark eyes landed upon what would soon be her marriage bed.

“Give him heirs Naerys.” Her uncle Ser Vaemond had whispered in her ear before her husband took her away to her new chambers. That is what she was there for. A mere plaything for her uncle. To appease him, birth his children, care for them, and console him when needed.

Naerys was wanted for her blood and what she could offer him with it. She was the blood of the dragon even if she did not feel it. She was a dragon rider. She might have even been queen had her father, but she felt even younger than her sixteen name days at that moment.

“Come niece, I will not harm you.” Naerys turned slightly to see that he held out a pale hand towards her. She hesitated to take it, but her fate was sealed whether she took it or not. She gave into her husband's demand, reaching for his outstretched arm with her small brown one. He laid another kiss on her head when she was close enough. She heard her husband sigh as he pulled her back into him.

“Ao issi gevie byka mēre.” Naerys only made out half of his words.

“Do not worry little wife,” Daemon hummed lightly. He drew circles upon her back with his right hand. It was almost soothing until he began to pull her gown up with his other hand. “I will not mind teaching you.” His hands drifted down to her newly exposed rear making the young bride tense up once more. As she closed her eyes she was confronted with the realization of why they were here, to begin with.

With any luck the sooner they consummate their union, the faster he would leave her and go back to his own quarters. Rhaenyra was with them on Dragonstone. The young bride was not naive. She was not her uncle’s first choice, Naerys knew that, but she would do her duty.

Translations:

Ao issi gevie byka mēre: You are beautiful little one

Ao3 link:

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #house of the dragon #houseofthedragon #hotd #hotd fanfiction #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #posting this before I chicken out #daemon targaryen x black!oc #daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen x black!reader #bnhotdfic

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

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“ᴍʏ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ.” | ᴅ. ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

GIF by @fireandbloodsource

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader (OC)

summary: Being the oldest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma was a blessing and a curse at once. But Visenya– as cunning, intelligent, and brave she was– prepared her very own path with the help of the one man who held her heart in his hands and kept her back at all time.

word count: 10.5k i don’t know what happened here.

warnings: canon typical incest (i’m sorry okay?), cursing, fluff, violence, mentions of blood, injuries, and a sword fight, threats, canon typical misogyny, more fluff, dragons, High Valyrian presented you by an online translator, conversations about death and stillborn babies, a bit of angst, slight HotD s1 spoiler

author’s note: I love Rhaenyra with all my heart, but I need to indulge in this one, sorry! This is my first time writing something GoT related and my first time writing for Daemon, so be gentle with me, thaaaaanks <3 This one got longer than intended. My Vhagar is inspired by the design for Rhaegal in GoT byyyyye

A decade ago.

With wide, curious eyes, the firstborn of Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma entered the smoke and fire-filled halls underneath Dragonstone, taking in the sight of the ancient mural paintings similar to those in the caves further down the beach. They depicted the history of old; showing how Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys conquered Westeros with their dragons and built what her family ruled over now.

Her fingertips softly stroked over the uneven wall of solid stone, reminding her of the strength laying within her family. They would rule as long as Dragonstone existed; she was sure of it.

“Visenya.”

Her father’s voice called her over, beckoning her back into reality and out of her dreaming mind. She turned, the edges of her charcoal cloak softly flaring, and the sound of her boots echoed through the grand halls filled with dragon eggs as she headed over to him and her waiting mother. The prince smiled down at her as she regained her place next to him, one of his large hands softly put on her shoulder.

“Your mother and I went her while she had bear you. It is a holy moment in our family to claim a dragon egg, and she knew which one to choose for you– because you chose Rhaegar,” Viserys explained to his daughter while her eyes settled upon her mother, who now stood in front of the bared eggs who would be ready to hatch in a handful of weeks. “How did I know which one to choose, father?” Her voice was filled with curiosity and wonder, not understanding how someone, who wasn’t even born, could make those life-altering decisions. Her father shrugged softly and smiled down at her. “No man knows.”

Visenya scoffed under her breath, not quite satisfied with her father’s answer but a movement behind one of the many pillars scattered through the grand halls distracted her. A flash of familiar silver hair and the last remnants of a smirk lingered in the air, and after Viserys had turned his attention back to Aemma, who now held an egg in her hands, Visenya slipped away to find the spectator of this moment.

With slow steps, she rounded the pillar at which she had seen him but was greeted by emptiness. Furrowing her brows, the princess walked around the next one, and frustration started to bubble up within her delicate body as she was greeted by an empty space again. Shaking her head slowly, the silver-haired girl opened her mouth in order to speak up and call him out, but as she turned, her breath hitched in her throat.

Daemon Targaryen stood awfully close to her, and Visenya had to take a step back not to have to look up to him at this horrendous angle. Sometimes she despised how tall the prince loomed over her and how her neck protested if she granted him one look too many.

“Daemon,” she greeted him, and the Targaryen prince smirked down at her. “Visenya,” he returned and bowed mockingly. She cocked a brow, not surprised at all at his display of… what? Mockery? Hatred? Envy? She wasn’t sure which one it was today, except for the hatred. She could ignore that thought because they never hated each other. They may quarrel and insult one another on a daily occasion. Still, she knew the meaning behind those lingering glances because she wasn’t stupid and felt how her heart started to race every time she felt those violet eyes lingering on her.

She may be young, but she wasn’t stupid. She had handmaidens and listened to their hushedly whispered confessions to one another when they thought the princess was still asleep in the early morning light. She knew about love and physical lust, about desire and heartache. With her six and ten name day on the horizon, she even was considered suitable for marriage by her uncle and his Small Council, but her father held objections against it.

And she was thankful for that; it saved her from a marriage with an old lord from who-knows-where ultimately– and she could spend more time with Daemon.

Who just had gotten a hold of her hand and gently– it surprised even him how tender he could be– the older Targaryen pulled her back into reality, to him. He always wished to have her undivided attention so that those eyes with the soft but sometimes mischievous glimmer lay on him and him alone. He hated the feeling always creeping up on him as soon as one of those lordlings tried to steal her away from him. Gladly, she never stayed long with them and always returned into Daemon’s line of sight, granting him the vision of the smile reserved explicitly for him.

He was a lucky man indeed.

“Come with me,” was all Daemon mumbled before pulling her further with him, placing her hand in the crook of his arm. The familiar feeling of it calmed them both, and Visenya followed him without objection, straight out of the sacred halls of their family and into the open of a partially clouded summer’s day. Compared to the capital, the summer at Dragonstone was bearable; the salty breeze was always present, and clouds hid the unforgiving sun. The volcano behind Dragonstone probably was the cause of it.

The breeze swept through her silver hair, and the few rays of sun kissed her skin. With closed eyes, Visenya enjoyed it while walking close to Daemon, who would never let her fall. She knew he observed her doing, as he always did, especially when they were alone, but she didn’t mind. It never had bothered her because she watched him as well but mostly without his knowledge.

It was a fun game.

But she knew that it would always stay precisely this: a game.

The heavy sensation of heartache settled within her chest, and the princess tried to shake it off, scolding herself silently for letting it happen again. Visenya knew that the Small Council– or her father– would never allow such a union, not until all Seven Hells were frozen. She had to keep her mind and heart realistically instead of pursuing a childish hope she would chase her entire life.

“Daemon, it is probably not wise to-…” But he hushed her while his long finger reverently caressed the hand still situated on his arm. “I know with shocking clarity that you were not able to ride Rhaegar all week long, so I thought I would accompany you. Steal you away from all the duties and lordlings to finally have you all to myself for only a handful of hours.” She couldn’t deny him if he continued to speak in that voice that always let her resolve crumble like mere stone walls in the face of the force of a dragon.

Visenya sighed deeply and glanced up at him, her brows still furrowed, and her heart still ached. “That is very thoughtful and kind of you, but I still don’t think it is a wise thing to do, uncle.” She had to make him understand from where she was coming, what her mind had to work through. But Daemon only chuckled and stopped to turn his body to her. He took her hand from his arm while also grasping for the other at her side and brought both to his face. He bent his head, silver threads tickling her skin, and kissed her knuckles as gentle as a butterfly’s touch. “I think it is the wisest thing we could do, niece,” he returned without a second or third thought, pressing another set of kisses on the skin of her hands.

Her heart ached so bitterly but beautifully at the sight of the Rogue Prince’s soft side, and a small smile began to tuck at her full lips. “Fine,” the princess spoke in a soft whisper, ignoring his victorious smirk, and drew back both hands out of his still lingering grasp. She turned again to continue their path, a full smile settling on her face at the sound of his following steps and the warm, heavy feeling of his hand at the small of her back.

She was lost; she knew it at this very moment as Rhaegar and Caraxes landed in front of their riders. The girl watched as Daemon softly greeted her dragon, who usually never let another soul near him except for his rider, but the prince was the one extraordinary exception. Caraxes eyed her intently as she stepped to Rhaegar and let her hand affectionately stroke over Daemon’s back; she was too weak, and everyone around her would soon realize it.

The hated prince looked down at the loved princess as she pressed her forehead against her dragon’s scales with closed eyes, her hand still resting on his back. He bent down to press a lingering kiss on the crown of her head; he was too weak, and everyone around him would soon realize it because he did not have the intention to let this jewel be married off to a different man than him.

She was his, and he was hers.

;

Seven years ago.

“Where is Prince Daemon?”

The princess’s voice echoed through the hallway, and in surprise, Ser Harrold turned around to bow before the eldest of House Targaryen. “My princess,” he greeted her and waited until she reached him. Her eyes observed his face intently before asking the same question again. “Where is Prince Daemon?”

He had promised her an hour of his time on this day, but he was nowhere to be found, not even in his most preferred places in the Red Keep she knew of. But she had a feeling that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard could know about the man's current location, and she couldn't shake off the certainty of her supposition. And she had been right because, at the sight of the barely visible twitch in Ser Harrold's brow, Visenya knew it had been the right call to find him and ask him first before heading to her father.

"Yes?"

She waited until the Kingsguard cleared his throat. "I was told not to interfere, my princess, and this would entail not telling you his current location." Ser Harrold knew her too well, but he must know too that she would never let go of it until she had heard a satisfying answer to her question. So all she did was cocking a brow and stand her ground, waiting for the older man to spill it out for her to chase after him. Visenya may have promised herself to stop chasing after Daemon Targaryen because it would only bring her heartache and a potential break of said organ, but she just couldn't keep her distance.

It was like a curse cast upon her.

"I won't leave until you are telling me what you know, Ser Harrold," she announced in case the knight lost his memories of all the moments of persistence from her side they had lived through over the years, and he sighed deeply at the realization of her perseverance. She would make a fine queen, was all he thought before sharing his knowledge with the princess he grew rather fond of ever since she had been born and lived under his protective watch. "He left after the first lights of day, riding into the Kingswood to conduct a duel between him and Ser Gwayne Hightower."

Closing her eyes, Visenya sent a quick, silent prayer to the gods because she knew what had led to this very duel which would cause more trouble than it would cause a truce. The memory of a drunken Ser Gwayne at the feast the night before sneaked back into her mind, remembering his warm, disgusting breath fanning over her cheek as he had leaned closer and closer, his hand resting too low to be still proper on her hip. He had pushed her into a dark corner of the hall, the sounds of the lavish feast still surrounding them but too far away at the same moment. He had trapped her there, and she had been frozen, which was so unlike her that it had scared her even more. Never before had a man dared to touch her this way, especially not without her consent of coming as close as he had done, invading her much preferred personal space, and the shock had settled into the princess's bones. She didn't dare to think about the possibilities of outcomes if Daemon hadn't found her in that dire situation.

She knew with shocking clarity that he did this for her– for her honor.

Staring up to her favorite Kingsguard, the princess decided her course of action.

She wasn't a scared little thing. She was the firstborn princess of House Targaryen. She was a dragon rider. She was not a mere silly girl who would fear the presence of a single man. And Ser Harrold seemingly caught up to her intentions because he was right behind her as Visenya spun around and left the Red Keep to ride to the Dragonpit.

—

Rhaegar raised his charcoal head as he sensed the presence of his rider, his gleaming eyes watching the silver-haired young woman coming closer with long strides, ignoring the words of the dragon guards.

"But, my princess, he doesn't carry his saddle!" One of them shouted over the rumbling of Rhaegar, who didn't like the sight of how close the guard stepped to her. "I do not need one," was all Visenya answered as her dragon had left the cave and stretched his wings before sinking down to the ground so she could climb on top of him. Ser Harrold watched the princess with worried eyes, not looking forward to her flying without the support of the saddle and reins, but he knew he couldn't stop her.

The charcoal beast, almost as giant as Caraxes himself, shook his massive head and bared his teeth while Visenya claimed her spot between his wings and held onto his scales. She didn't need to give him the command; instead, Rhaegar took off into the sky without a single uttered word from his rider because their souls were connected through the strongest bond a rider could acquire to his dragon.

—

The sounds of steel crashing against steel echoed through the Kingswood. Labored breathing was heard in the clearing between high rising trees and the grand river dividing the woods like a blue open wound. Nervously dancing horses with their equally nervous riders were scattered around the field of duel, their eyes watching the ongoing fight with worried expressions. Not because they feared the prince and their Commander could get hurt, but because of the repercussions following this act for either of the two sides.

Daemon gritted his teeth as Gwayne almost struck him with the tip of his laughable sword. He let the knight dance around him, Dark Sister securely in his hands, while his lilac eyes followed every move of his opponent before attacking him again. He roared as the memories of Visenya and him flashed before his eyes, and Dark Sister attacked the Hightower man with such force that he had to stumble backward, almost falling to the soft wooden ground.

“You deserve to be beheaded for what you did,” the Rogue Prince seethed, and the other man scrambled back up to counter the next attack. “Putting your hands on her is considered one of the worst crimes in the fucking Seven Kingdoms.” Maybe Daemon exaggerated because he felt sick to the core at the flashes of memory in his mind, but he didn’t care.

He touched her so he would get punished for it.

Gwayne scoffed before spitting out blood after the handle of Dark Sister had made contact with his jaw. “Don’t fool me, my prince, you only regret that it wasn’t you who had the idea before me.” His anger reached a newfound intensity. “Every bloody fool in King’s Landing knows about your preferences; that you’re lusting after pretty, silver-haired maidens,” the knight continued with an evil smile which soon disappeared as Daemon attacked him anew– a cry for blood leaving his mouth.

Dark Sister almost sang in his hands as the blade, made out of Valyrian Steel, tasted fresh blood, and he reveled in the sight of the crimson red liquid spilling out of a wound at his arm. He despised the events which ultimately led him to this point, but oh, how he loved to see the blood spill out of a man’s body.

“Utter a single word, and I will not leave it at a mere duel,” Daemon threatened the Hightower son, already imagining how he sent his head to Otto. It was a delightful thought. The blade of his sword was held high and pointing straight against the man’s throat, his intentions clear as day, but the sound of mighty wings and a looming shadow above them let Gwayne look up. Even Daemon seemed surprised, instantly thinking that Caraxes had somehow escaped the Dragonpit to find his rider, but instead, he watched how Rhaegar flew slow circles over the clearing before landing in the middle of it.

His fiery eyes settled upon the spectacle in front of him, growling loudly and scaring the horses– and Gwayne. The knight scrambled over the ground to get as far away as possible from the beast, but Rhaegar followed him, his head lowered to have better access to him if his rider spoke the words.

Daemon took one step back and looked up to Visenya, sitting on bare scales, hair despite the many braids out of perfect order, cheeks reddened from the flight, and eyes taking in the scene in front of her.

“Skoros istan ao otāpagon?” (What were you thinking?) She may speak High Valyrian with her entire family and even some people at court, but for him, it was entirely reserved for her. Visenya raised a brow at his words. “Nyke gaomagon daor gīmigon skoros ao nūmāzma,” (I do not know what you mean.) she returned, remaining on Rhaegar because she didn’t trust the Hightower knight anymore, not even with Daemon and some of his City Watch men at her protection. Rhaegar was her most trusted companion, after all, and nobody would dare to try anything with him at her side. “Nyke ivestretan zirȳ naejot lua ao konīr. Skoros gaomagon ao gaomagon kesīr, Visenya?” (I told them to keep you there. What do you do here, Visenya?)

The princess locked eyes with the prince before turning her gaze to Gwayne Hightower, distaste and hatred clearly visible in her gleaming eyes. “Nyke jeldan naejot ūndegon ziry nykēla.” (I wanted to see it myself.) But then she looked back at Daemon. “Nyke jeldan naejot mīsagon ao hen aōla,” (I wanted to protect you from yourself.) Visenya continued, and now it was for the silver-haired prince to watch back to the knight, but returning his gaze soon back to the woman he desired more than anything else. He smiled a small smile now. “Ao gaomagon daor emagon naejot gaomagon ziry. Nyke kostagon mīsagon issa hen nykēla,” (You do not have to do it. I can protect me from myself.) he spoke in the softest of tones before a shouting groan escaped Daemon at the feeling of steel piercing through the back of his thigh.

“Daemon!”

Gwayne Hightower couldn’t react fast enough as Rhaegar roared as if he was struck himself. He moved forward, eyes fixed on the knight, but Visenya didn’t care what would happen to this fool of a man because she slid off Rhaegar’s back and landed on both hands and knees. But she was quick to get up to her feet again, rushing over to where Daemon knelt now, the sword stuck in his leg. She fell back to her knees, not caring for her breeches, and her hands cupped his face, looking him over for other injuries, while his City Watch cornered the knight with a furious Rhaegar at their disposal.

“Skorkydoso kostagon nyke dohaeragon?” (How can I help?) Daemon laughed choppily between groans. “Nyke glaesagon rȳ tolī kempa ōdria,” (I lived through more severe wounds.) he promised, a smirk tucking at his lips. Visenya had to smile despite the situation. “Am I allowed to burn him now?” Now, Daemon laughed wholeheartedly but stopped as the sword moved in his leg. “If I were the one asking you this question, you would tell me I have to think with my mind and what it would bring over this bloody kingdom,” the prince reminded her, and Visenya sighed. Sometimes she hated that she most often was the more responsible one in their dynamic. “At least let me throw him into the Black Cells,” she tried again to distract him from the pain until two of his guards came and held him in order to remove the sword from his thigh.

Daemon groaned deep in his chest, and Visenya softly caressed his cheek while one of the men wrapped a clean cloth around the wound so that the maesters could see to it back at the Red Keep. “You have an evil mind, dear,” the Rogue Prince whispered as she helped him stand up and supported him with an arm around his back. She smiled devilishly up at him. “I have to match a certain someone if I want to keep up with him.”

Walking over to Rhaegar, who held his gaze fixed upon the knight, already preparing to kill him, Daemon chuckled. “You do not have to. I would want you anyway.” Those words were entirely meant for her ears only, and she almost blushed but kept her composure.

The dragon continued to growl, his fiery breath almost scorching the man in his armor and letting the sweat run over his face. “You can consider yourself lucky for the time being, Ser Gwayne,” the princess spoke, eyeing him with vivid disgust. “But do not start to believe it will be a lasting state. The king will decide upon your punishment after you arrive back in King’s Landing. Good luck, Hightower.” Ignoring his starting pleads, Visenya looked up to her dragon. “Rhaegar,” she called his name gently and with deep affection evident in her voice. The Shadow of King’s Landing, as her father liked to call him, moved his head and lowered himself back to the ground, so Daemon could slowly climb up. “No reins?” The princess shrugged and grinned widely. “I do not need them.” She followed after him, but Daemon pulled her in front of him, wrapping an arm close around her slender body and letting her bring them home.

;

Six years ago.

The battle was brutal, and Daemon defended himself with the utmost grace of a skilled swordsman. Somewhere in his mind, a voice was screaming; a voice telling him that something horrible would happen no matter how hard he would fight.

It was something inevitable.

He didn’t know what it could be because, so far, his troops fought bravely and loyally, even though the enemy was strong and had more men. But he had dragons. Caraxes roamed the skies above his rider’s head, killed enemies with the force of his flames, and pushed their troops to retreat for the time being. But the bright red dragon was not the only creature aiding the Targaryen fighters. The deafening sound of Rhaegar’s roar echoed over the battlefield of flames, and the charcoal beast with specks of gold and red broke through the thick wall of smoke and ash, his rider securely on his strong back.

The sight of a furious Visenya was a vision to behold, and his chest swelled with pride. He knew she would get to hear something after their return to King’s Landing because Viserys had explicitly forbidden that she would follow Daemon into battle, but they would push through and overcome this little obstacle.

Rhaegar spat another wall of fire and roared as loud as the first dragons, circling over the battlefield with Caraxes. The prince paused for a split moment to watch the girl who had become a woman practically overnight, a skilled warrior in the light of gods. But an approaching knight interrupted him, and Daemon killed the man with a few swift motions with Dark Sister in his hand.

The prince couldn’t revel in this next small victory because the distressed shriek of Rhaegar let him move his eyes back into the sky to watch helplessly as he lost altitude. His wings weren’t widely stretched anymore. Instead, they flattered useless in the air, not carrying the heavy body safely to the ground.

“Visenya!”

His shouting voice was filled with fear and uncertainty, and suddenly, the awful feeling from before crept back into his bones, the voice again whispering in his mind. His legs started to carry him in her direction, killing every single man who dared to get into his path.

The Dark Shadow, as the commoners had started to call Rhaegar, crashed into the ground, and Caraxes emitted a roar while slowly gliding to his dying companion. His massive flaming head searched the ground for the female rider and protected these two with a storm of flames while observing the area for his own rider.

Visenya coughed as she slowly and unsteadily emerged in the cloud of sand and smoke, her hand raised to shield her face from the bright flames surrounding her. Crawling, the princess reached her dragon’s head, and tears formed rivers on her dirty cheeks. She had felt it at the moment the spear had hit her companion, and she tumbled from the sky. It was almost physical; as if the spear had pierced her very own body instead of Rhaegar’s.

“Rhaegar,” she whispered underneath the escaping sobs, her hands caressing his dark and shining scales. She could feel his shallow breaths while his golden eyes were trained on the woman kneeling in front of his head. Pure agony filled her at the sight of the lack of life creeping in on them, and she pressed her forehead against his still warm body as his last breath escaped him.

A scream pierced through the thick atmosphere of battle and let several fighters halt their movements before the first few brave men dared to sneak up on the princess.

Killing her would be the greatest achievement of their entire life.

But she heard them, and with a cry for battle, Visenya rose from the ground, drew her sword, and killed the three men within a blink of an eye. Daemon stopped in his tracks at the sight of his niece, took in her tear-stained face, and didn’t have to know more. She raised her eyes from the dead bodies in front of her, her bloody sword dangling between the tips of her fingers, and looked straight into his own eyes. He could see her lips moving, and he knew she had called him.

Daemon reached her trembling form at the moment her legs gave up and couldn’t carry her any longer. His arms wrapped the young woman in the most protective embrace ever witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms and held her close while the sounds of dying men surrounded them.

—

The Red Keep was in turmoil at the news of the vanished princess and even more so as the red dragon returned to the pit with both his rider and their princess on his back. Viserys searched the sky for Rhaegar, but at the sight of his daughter’s distress, he knew what had happened. Aemma was quicker than him in her path to their eldest child and wrapped her in her motherly love after Daemon softly had brought Visenya to the ground. His eyes settled on his brother, and the Rogue Prince shook his head to confirm his thoughts.

“He is dead,” the King heard his daughter sob, and Aemma glanced over to him, dreadful worry etched into her beautiful face. “He is dead, and it is my fault!” Now, the sobs shook her body again, let her tremble in her mother’s embrace, and Viserys was quick to cradle her in his arms to carry her into the safety of their home. Daemon watched him with envy in his eyes but followed the procession nonetheless after bringing Caraxes back into the now empty den.

Even the blood-red beast mourned his long companion in the upcoming night, and Daemon situated himself in the corridor in which the princess had her chambers to keep watch over her.

—

Days passed within a blink of an eye.

The maesters had suggested giving the princess milk of the poppy in order to soothe her grieving and self-destructing mind and to offer her at least some hours of peace and rest. Aemma had sat by her side through each and every night, not daring to leave her, not even as Viserys almost begged her to watch after herself. Young Rhaenyra had sneaked into her older sister's room on the second night of her return; she had pressed her body against her side, just as she usually did when the older Targaryen princess told her stories each and every night. The queen did not object to her daughter's behavior. Instead, she started to sing softly for hours on end, always the same old melody and lyrics of an old Valyrian song about the ancient gods and goddesses of the lost civilization, which had been the only words to soothe young Visenya in her cradle right after she had been born. During the third night, even the king had accepted how things were now and had himself situated in his eldest's chambers, holding a watchful eye on her sleeping form. Only Daemon stayed out of her rooms, preferred his lonely watch in the dark shadows of the hallway, ignoring the hushed whispers of the servants and handmaidens seeing him every day and night sitting unmoving in his chosen spot, eyes closely settled upon the door of her chambers.

The tenth night was the night in which Visenya finally opened her eyes.

Uncountable candles softly lighted her room; the sound of their small flames let the agony within her heart appear again. Silent tears left her eyes and rolled over her cheeks, vanishing in her unruly locks of matted hair. A barely audible snore pushed her to move her head to the source of the sound - the movement alone was almost too much for her to bear - and the picture of a sleeping Daemon Targaryen greeted her still tired eyes. He had his head tucked away between his arms which lay on top of the soft blankets covering her frame, his face relaxed and bare of every deception and malicious thought.

It was a rare sight, and even though her soul screamed in agonizing pain, Visenya enjoyed seeing him more relaxed than ever. He was here, right at her side, and that was almost enough to soothe some of the dread constantly spreading inside her.

Slowly, the woman turned onto her side and stretched an arm to brush through his soft silver hair, but at the mere touch of her fingertips, Daemon opened his eyes and raised his head. His lilac eyes found her face immediately, and utter relief filled his handsome features.

“Visenya,” was all he whispered as his hand cupped her cheek. The pad of his thumb caressed her distinct cheekbone, and his eyes moved over her face to reassure himself that she was indeed awake and alright as much as she could be after everything that had happened. Her cold fingers closed around his wrist, and with a deep, long sigh, she let her eyes fall shut again. “It is my fault, is it not?”

Her question pulled him out of his almost frozen state, and Daemon shook his head even though she couldn’t see it. “No, it was not,” he assured her with certainty, and she opened her watery eyes again. “But why does it feel like it is?” A sad smile etched onto the prince’s face, and he continued to caress her cheek. “Because you, my love, always believe to be the epitome of wrongdoings. It is a horrendous habit of yours.” Daemon felt pride rising in his chest at the sight of the twitch of her lips. The smile didn’t want to show, but that was more than alright. It would take time.

Visenya scooted closer to the edge of her bed to be closer to him and sighed again as their foreheads found one another, and she felt his skin against hers. Their eyes locked into the respective pair and a pleading expression sneaked into hers. Daemon would give her everything she desired; they both knew it.

“I want to go home,” the princess whispered, and the prince knew which place she meant.

Dragonstone.

He nodded softly, propped his chin atop the soft blanket, and dared to steal a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I will bring you home, issa jorrāelagon,” (my love) he promised.

And Visenya knew that he would hold his word.

;

Three years ago.

“Brother.”

Daemon forced himself to bow in front of the king and his Small Council, throwing Otto a glaring look but ignoring him after that. He had much more important matters to discuss.

Viserys raised both brows in wonder at his younger brother’s rare presence during one of the meetings. “How can I help you, Daemon?” He must want something from him– the Rogue Prince never bothered himself with unpleasantries if he couldn’t gain something. The older man knew that something certainly was coming.

And he was right.

Daemon’s piercing stare settled entirely on him, and the world most definitely had stopped at his following words the council would never have expected to leave his mouth willingly. “I intend to marry.” Grand Maestor Mellos almost choked on his own spit. Lyonel Strong’s eyes seemingly popped out of his skull. Corlys Velaryon cocked a brow and eyed him. “Which pitiful soul do you have in mind, your highness?” The master of ships asked curiously, with a hint of malice in his tone. Daemon couldn’t hide the slight smirk appearing on his face before looking over at his brother again. “I am asking you, dear brother, for Visenya’s hand in marriage. Technically, I do not need your blessing because I do not care if you approve of this or not and because Visenya already answered the apparent question. But in any case you decide to name her your official successor and heir to the Iron Throne instead of me or a possible male heir you still have to produce, I will not lessen her status by a union you do not know of. And-…” The prince stopped for a moment, remembering the way he had left the princess still tucked away in her blankets, before continuing. “-and she wishes for your blessing, brother.” And how was he to deny her such a request?

At least he would try to gain what she desired in this particular situation, and if Viserys was too stubborn or simple-minded, he couldn't change that. But no one could call him a coward after this meeting, and even these old bastards knew that with shocking certainty.

Yet...

"Are you out of your mind?"

Daemon slowly closed his eyes. He took one deep breath, followed by another one. He had to stay calm because Visenya almost begged the older Targaryen not to lose his temper. But his dear brother just made it too easy to forget about the given promise.

"Seven Hells, Daemon. I can't let you marry my eldest, let alone your niece!" The king’s voice roared through the Small Council's rooms. Everyone at the table flinched at the outburst, but the prince stood taller than ever. "It is custom in our family, brother, or do I maybe have to freshen up your knowledge about the marriage history of Targaryens?" Viserys scoffed, and his balled fist suddenly crashed against the massive table. His eyes almost spat fire in his direction. "You. Will. Not. Marry. My. Daughter. Don't try to fool me, Daemon. She would be the heir to the Iron Throne and maybe the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but you would move the pieces on this chessboard!"

The younger Targaryen now cocked an eyebrow. "You have a very low esteem of your daughter, my King. She has the strongest mind in all of Westeros, and if you think for even a second she will dance to another man's tunes, then you do not know her at all." It was quiet in the room; only the crashing sea was heard underneath the Red Keep.

But Daemon had one last card to play.

"She asked me," he announced and couldn't hide the pride-swelled chest of his. Visenya was an utter wonder in his eyes; a wonder he sometimes couldn't grasp with his mind. She was braver than anyone before her, and every other woman– the ones he had and the ones he only had considered– faded in his mind until nothing of their memories was left.

Viserys obviously forgot how to breathe in the short moments since Daemon's revelation. He wasn't sure if the king thought about his words or thought nothing at all due to the shock evident in his paling face, but whatever it was, Daemon didn't really care. The Small Council could go to all Seven Hells and let him marry the woman he loved more than his life and let her rule if the time comes. Yes, he would prefer it to be named heir to the Throne, but he could live with Visenya on that forsaken thing very easily. It would mean that he could continue his killing of enemies while always finding time to watch his queen in her doings.

It sounded like the perfect life.

Viserys furrowed his brows and observed him, acknowledged his presence finally with a seriousness he had never shown before. "She asked you? You did not pressure her to sa-..."

"No man nor god could pressure Visenya Targaryen to anything, brother."

Viserys slowly nodded, fingertips resting against one another, his eyes settled on his younger brother as to try to decipher him and his intentions. But he couldn’t utter another word because suddenly, hurried steps were heard outside the doors of the Small Council until they got opened for the eldest princess of House Targaryen. Visenya stopped at the three steps leading down to the council’s table, her eyes trained on her uncle and a brow slowly raising.

Daemon had turned to watch how this storm of a woman entered and almost helplessly shrugged at her disapproving look thrown in his direction. “I thought we agreed upon speaking to them together,” she spoke while stepping down the few steps and stopping next to him. He couldn’t stop his wandering hand from wrapping itself around her waist and pulling her closer. “You were still asleep, so I thought, why waste another meeting and day?” The princess rolled her eyes at him and shook her head before looking over to her father and the rest of the council.

“Is it true? Did you ask him for his hand in marriage, your highness?” Maester Mellos spoke up, and Visenya cocked her brow again. “You sound like it is so surprising for a woman to make her own decisions and not wait upon a man to finally find his courage, Maestor,” she countered, and the old man cleared his throat awkwardly. “It was not my intention to assume anything, my princess. My apologies.” She nodded shortly before turning her attention back to Viserys, who now focused his entire mind on his daughter.

His utmost joy.

The Realm’s Pride.

Upon these thoughts, the king decided to give her what she desired because he could never deny her anything – not since the day of her dramatic birth.

“Is it your truest desire to marry him?” After all, Viserys still couldn’t believe this, not with all the fitting suitors his daughter had trailing behind her ever since her ten and second name day. She nodded without hesitation. “It is, father. I would have never asked him if I were not sure of it,” she told him, voice full of sincerity and… he didn’t like to admit it, but certainty. Viserys sighed deeply and slowly shook his head. “With all those good men asking for your company and hand, displayed for your pleasure in front of you, and you chose him.”

Visenya knew that she had won, and softly shrugging, the princess started to smile. “They were after me for the possibility of a crown– not me as a person.” Otto scoffed loudly and didn’t hide his displeasure. “As if he would think differently,” the Hand of the king mocked before turning to the king, an urgent expression settling on his face. “You do not seriously consider letting them have their way, do you, your majesty?”

Daemon couldn’t react fast enough to beat Visenya next to him. She took the last steps to the table, the sound of her boots echoing through the room, and propped her flat hands on top of the massive wooden table, her violet eyes gleaming like a dragon’s breath.

“Do not dare and talk as if I am not in this very room, Lord Hightower. I am not a child anymore; I am your princess, so respect my rank and address me accordingly if you please to talk about something involving my very person,” she seethed, and the Hand had to swallow dryly at the sight of the furious princess. Everyone in this palace knew that she never recoiled from a battle– it was insignificant if that battle was fought by blades or words.

Corlys Velaryon grinned behind his cup of water– he never drank wine during the Small Council meetings– and watched the scene unfold while eying the Rogue Prince out of the corner of his eye. He may have misjudged the prince; he had to admit that at the sight of a sincere display of emotions on the Targaryen’s face as he observed the princess’s doings.

Otto Hightower bowed his head after a long exchange of unbudging stares. “Yes, my princess,” he mumbled but didn’t dare to speak another word. Humming approvingly, Visenya pushed herself back up, straightening her posture, and threw her father a questioning look. “So, this is settled, then?”

And Viserys nodded.

“For now, yes. We have to prepare everything accordingly, so it will give you more time to think about it.” Eye rolling, the silver-haired princess sighed. “If it makes you happy, father,” was her only verbal reply to it before spinning on the spot, charcoal coat flaring softly behind her, braided silver hair swaying over the proud scaled shoulder section, and leaving the room with Daemon right at her side.

Just where he belonged.

—

“If the situation occurs and the Queen and I will not produce a male heir, I want Visenya as my successor and heir to the Iron Throne.”

The Small Council almost roared in protest. Especially the Master of Laws, Lyonel Strong, held objections against it, directly followed by the Hand himself.

“Your majesty, first this outrageous proposal, and now this?” Otto dared to express his thoughts as first in the round, but Viserys raised a hand to silence them all. He didn’t know when this thought had occurred for the first time, but ever since that ominous day in the past, the king knew that the realm would be in good hands with her as their queen. “My mind is settled upon it,” he declared and rose from his chair at the head of the table.

“If the time comes and I will not have produced a male heir by then, I will name my firstborn daughter Visenya Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, as my official successor and heir to the Iron Throne. She is what the realm needs.”

;

One year ago.

The raven arriving at King’s Landing brought distress and turmoil into the Red Keep.

“What does it mean, she is gone?” Rhaenyra asked her mother after hearing her father reading the letter in question out loud. She knew the meaning of said words, but it didn’t make any sense. Her sister would never run away, especially not without her husband, who had just arrived after flying from Dragonstone back to the capital.

Her mother rubbed over her shoulders and sighed. “Maybe your uncle can tell us more,” the queen mumbled as Daemon entered the private chambers of the king, who now started to roar in frustration and anger. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” The Targaryen prince stopped and glared at his brother. “Do you think I witnessed her wandering off without holding her back?!” Viserys threw the paper scroll onto his table. “Well, it seems like it, does it not? What in the Seven Hells happened?!”

Daemon sighed deeply and let himself fall into an unoccupied chair, not giving a single thought to how he looked now. He didn’t care if he looked defeated.

“I do not know, brother. We ate dinner last night, as we usually do, and everything seemed fine…” Daemon recalled the past night, remembering her smile and her soft touches at the table before they ignored the food entirely, so he could carry her into their chambers and their bed. He felt as if he could feel her searing kisses still on his lips. “In the morning, she was gone without any trace.”

Aemma looked from one man to another. “Do you think she left you?” The prince’s head jerked up to watch the queen with an icy expression. “And why would she do that?” The entire realm knew that the newlywed couple was probably happier than any other in the Seven Kingdoms– a love match indeed. They had witnessed it first hand at the grand royal wedding in the Sept of Baelor, even though they had a secret ceremony in the Gods Woods weeks before the spectacle of the year. The queen sighed again and shook her head. “Where could she have gone? Did you receive any ravens? Viserys?” The question was asked for both men to acknowledge, but both shook their heads in unison.

Suddenly, Rhaenyra looked up after being deep in thought in the past moments. “She told me something about her dreams,” she spoke up, and everyone stared at the young princess. “Dreams?” Viserys asked and took place on the seat opposite his second daughter. The girl nodded. “Visenya told me about a reoccurring dream she had in the past two years. It never changes, only the intervals change. She said it would be more frequent the closer the days gets to the day Rhaegar died.”

Now, Daemon furrowed his brows, remembering how he sometimes woke up to an empty bed and found his now wife leaning next to the widely opened windows overlooking the city or the bay of Dragonstone, mind always sunken deep in thought. She always had told him that she just couldn’t find sleep and didn’t want to wake him with her tossing and turning because he sometimes tended to be a light sleeper. He never objected to it, never thought it seemed off, and now he wished he had.

“Did she ever tell you what those dreams contain?” Daemon asked the young princess, and Rhaenyra slowly nodded. “She once told me that she sees a dragon. Not Rhaegar, a different one. But she never gets close enough to see him or her clearly. It’s always only a looming shadow in the blue sky,” the girl ended and looked from one adult to another. “Maybe she is looking for it. Maybe it is her dragon that is calling for her.”

The queen wasn’t sure if it could be. “Rhaegar had been her dragon, Rhaenyra, just as Syrax is yours. But maybe you are right, and she is following her path.” She eyed Daemon and how he now clung to this new hope and Viserys, who had folded his hands. “We will see what the days will bring. Ser Harrold.” The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stepped from his place at the entrance and bowed. “My king.” Viserys raised from his chair. “Let the guards patrol the walls at Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea. If there is any sign of Visenya, let the bells ring.” The Lord Commander bowed again before retreating out of the chambers and preparing the order.

“We will know when she returns home,” the king promised with a wary look outside the opened windows.

–

It took exactly two days full of worry and a gloomy cloud hanging over the Red Keep until something happened.

Daemon and Viserys had just left a Small Council meeting addressing the princess's disappearance– the meeting had ended in a quarrel between the Hand and the Rogue Prince– and walked over the palace’s wall facing the Narrow Sea. It wasn’t an often sight to see the two brothers side by side in almost something resembling harmony. But desperate times required desperate measures, and not knowing where his wife was, was most definitely a desperate moment in his life.

“She will come back,” Viserys spoke up, and Daemon almost flinched at the feeling of his older brother’s hand on his shoulder. “She fought bravely for your union, and that is why I am most certain that she will come back to you. Visenya could never abandon you, as strangely as I still find it.” Now, the prince had to chuckle under his breath because this sounded more like his brother. But then, he turned serious again. “I hope so, brother.”

His words only had left his lips as commotion caught the guards on the lower wall, and the change in winds signaled something coming. As a dragon rider, Daemon knew that feeling of anticipation lingering in the air, and his eyes traveled over the horizon to find the source of said feeling. Viserys felt it as well and rested both hands on the warmed stone of the Keep’s walls, face turned to the Narrow Sea.

There, at the horizon, loomed a dark shadow between white clouds and the blue sky. A shadow that grew larger and larger with every passing moment. The bells started to ring, just as ordered by the king, and Viserys shortly looked up to see Ser Harrold nod in his direction, holding a binoculars in his hand.

The mighty roar, shaking King’s Landing in its very foundations, echoed over the Narrow Sea and traveled even further into the Seven Kingdoms. The dragon grew even bigger, and Daemon shielded his eyes with a hand against the unyielding sun, staring up into the sky with a baffled expression.

The shadow soon morphed into the sight of the largest dragon this world probably has ever seen: sea green scales, peppered by red and blue, wings as far-reaching as seemingly half of King’s Landing, and Daemon knew that the creature’s eyes would be of the clearest green a man could ever witness.

The dragon soon reached the shore and roamed over the sky of the capital, another roar escaping it. The prince instinctively felt that Visenya was atop its back, securely tucked away between the mighty wings, holding onto the scales. And he was right.

Viserys stood in awe at the sight of the flying dragon– the last of the old ones. “Vhagar,” he spoke in wonder, eyes wide and not believing what they were seeing just now.

Vhagar closed her circle over the city and continued her flight to the massive building of the Dragonpit, to which Viserys and Daemon followed straight away.

—

The horses danced around nervously as they approached the landed dragon, but Vhagar didn’t move a single powerful muscle as the king and the prince landed on their feet and stared up at the beast’s head. The oldest of all living dragons– too big for the pit, so it had landed on the outskirts of it– looked down at them, unimpressed, but moved her head as a voice on her back talked gently to her.

“Ziry iksos ry paktot, Vhagar,” (It is all right, Vhagar) the princess calmed her, could she feel her tensing muscles underneath her body after all. Raising her head, it poked up behind the she-dragon’s shoulder, and Daemon hadn’t seen his wife this radiant in a very long time. She sure was radiant every day, but she held a different light to her after flying with her dragon. And ever since Rhaegar died, Visenya had stayed on the ground.

“Dōrī gaomagon bona arlī. Gaomagon ao rȳbagon issa?,” (Never do that again. Do you hear me?) Daemon shook his wife at her shoulders after she had climbed off the dragon and stood in front of him. Visenya softly cradled his face in the palms of her hands and pulled his forehead down against hers. “I am sorry, issa jorrāelagon.” (my love) The woman whispered against his lips and let Daemon capture her in his strong arms to lift her off the ground. She circled her arms around his neck and closed her eyes as the Rogue Prince buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent with the old but new smell of smoke and fire. “This was what was absent,” Daemon mumbled against her skin, and Visenya pushed silver strands out of his face and behind his ears after he had put her back on the ground. “Am I whole again, then?” Her words betrayed her smile, but Daemon nudged the tip of her nose with his and soothed her rising doubts.

“Do you feel whole again?”

Visenya looked into his eyes, shortly turning her head to watch Vhagar, who growled at everyone coming too close to her new rider, before turning back to Daemon.

“I believe I do.”

;

Present Day.

She missed the days when she was able to wear her perfectly fitting coats and breeches, laced boots up to her knees, and gloves covering her fingers as soon as she left the Red Keep. Well, those times may only be over for the next couple of days, but it was enough to put her already stressed mind into an even more anxious state.

Watching her reflection in the full-length mirror occupying the spot right next to the opening to the balcony in their shared chambers, Visenya let her hands brush over the soft fabric of the dark red dress one of her handmaidens had put her in and smoothed the flaring fabric over her lower body half, revealing the small curve which had made its appearance a few weeks ago. It had been hard ever since because even though she had been thrilled to be able to give her husband their first child finally, it scared her. She knew what had happened to her mother; Visenya had heard her screams echoing through the hallways of the Keep after the maesters and her father had pushed her out of her room without so much as a teary-eyed whispered Goodbye.

And now, she could be in the same position as her beloved mother, who was now dead– and her beautiful boy had followed right after. Daemon could have to choose between her and the babe, and Visenya never wanted to put him through this torture. She currently saw what it had done to her father.

Swallowing dryly, her eyes were settled unmoving on the curve of her stomach where a life had started to grow and she didn’t realizes the arrival of the prince. He entered their rooms slowly and silently, his eyes instantly resting on his wife. His fingers opened the sword belt to put Dark Sister on the top of their bed covers, and his feet carried him over to her still form. Daemon circled his arms around Visenya’s waist, propping his chin atop her right shoulder, and his ring-clad hand softly stroked the growing belly of the love of his life.

“Good morning, wife,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her jawline, and pulled her back against his strong chest. Visenya looked at him through the mirror, a loving expression on her face, the fear gone for the moment. “How are the dragons?” She smiled at his chuckle; the smell of fire and smoke wafted through the air around them. “I think Vhagar misses you, but I am not entirely sure because she still is not my friend.” The princess now grinned and leaned her temple against the side of his head. “She will someday come around,” she mumbled and closed the lilac eyes as Daemon continued to stroke her stomach over the fabric. “And how is my prince or princess?”

Visenya swallowed again but softly shrugged. “Apart from the pestering sickness in the morning?” Daemon nodded, his eyes transfixed on her body, still wondering how he had achieved this miracle of turning his life into something resembling this bliss. “The maester said everything is how it is supposed to be,” she whispered, not daring to look into his eyes as the prince raised his gaze. “I did not ask what this old sucker with his wandering hands told you, issa jorrāelagon.” (my love) Visenya sighed and felt the fear rising again within her body. “I am scared.” The confession left her lips in a hushed mumble, almost too ashamed to confess. As if she didn’t appreciate and love the baby they had created together– the perfect combination of Daemon and her. But she just couldn’t shake off the feeling lingering since the day of her mother’s death and the discovery of her very own pregnancy mere weeks later.

Daemon now softly turned her around in his embrace and guided her to one of the two grand chairs facing each other in front of the balcony, the soft fur of a glorious stag on the stone floor in front of them. The prince coaxed the princess to sit down, even though she started to protest. “It is nothing, really. Only a silly thought. We must go anyway; we cannot let them wait on this particular day.” His stone-hard stare silenced her as he kneeled in front of her, and Visenya looked down at her tangled fingers, watched how the morning light let the stone of the ring Daemon gifted her on their wedding night shine. “I do not care a single fuck of what those bloody bastards think,” he murmured and let her play with the ring for a second. He knew that soothed her.

But then his strong pointer finger underneath her chin moved her gaze back up to him. “It is because of your mother, is it?” Visenya nodded, barely palpable, and Daemon sighed. He had suspected something, especially because the court still didn’t know about the happy news, but the prince didn’t dare to ask her when they would announce it. He knew she had to process everything– the grief over her mother, the fright over the traumatic birth he knew she had witnessed in parts, the knowledge that something so life-affirming could turn into something so dreadful.

But he could take one of her fears right here, right now.

“Issa jorrāelagon,” (my love) Daemon called her gently, his voice bringing her back into reality, back to him. Visenya lost the distant expression in her eyes and focused her entire being on the man on his knee in front of her. “Gaomagon daor zūgagon ziry,” (Do not fear it) he continued, and something very peaceful settled within her chest as he talked in Valyrian to her. It had always been their way of communicating. “Nyke jāhor daor iderēbagon se rūs toliot ao.” (I will not choose the baby over you) The princess swallowed thickly and leaned her cheek more into his palm as Daemon cupped it as soft as a breeze on her skin in summer. “Ao issi se sȳrje mirre isse issa glaeson. Daorun jāhor arlinnon bona. Daorys jāhor arlinnon bona.” (You are the most important/the best thing in my life. Nothing will change that. No one will change that.) She could see the heartache in his eyes; the fear of losing her to something he could never control because it was one of the few things the gods reserved entirely for themselves.

Visenya cupped Daemon’s cheek, her thumb caressing the skin over his cheekbone. “Yn ao jaelagon ziry. Ao jaelagon nykeā prince,” (But you want it. You want an heir.) she whispered, and Daemon smiled the smile entirely reserved for her eyes to witness; a smile so small but containing so much love, it always amazed her. “Nyke jaelagon ao tolī. Nyke jorrāelagon ao tolī,” (I want you more. I need you more.) he returned with a certainty she could live with. “Se īlon kostagon va moriot sylugon arlī. Nyke gaomagon daor mind se mirre.” (And we can always try again. I do not mind the work) His suggestively raised eyebrows made the princess laugh, and Daemon smirked.

“But I mean it,” he now changed back into the common tongue. He pulled Visenya closer to him at her waist, closer to the edge of the chair, so she had to spread her legs in order to make room for him. The princess settled her hands around his neck, carded her fingers through his silver strands, and played with the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. “I will not make the same choice– and mistake– my brother, did all those weeks ago. I will not sacrifice you in order to get a potential heir because we can try uncountable times– but I only have one Visenya.” Blinking, Visenya tried to hide the tears and prevent them from falling, but Daemon knew her all too well. “I may cannot take the fear over the birth and the upcoming weeks, but I will promise you that I will be by your side, protect you whatever might come– especially protect you from those wandering hands. It is as if I still can see them on you.” With that, Daemon gripped her hips tighter and pulled her face to him to finally kiss her.

But a knock at their chamber’s door let Visenya hold back. “Yes?” Daemon grumbled, and one of the servants opened the door. “Your highnesses.” He bowed shortly. “The court is gathered in the Great Hall and awaits your arrival, princess.” She sighed and nodded. “You can tell them their future queen will be there when she is ready.” Daemon stood tall in the room and strode over to the door to close it with much more force than was really necessary. The poor servant had to stumble back into the corridor with a baffled expression.

“Daemon,” Visenya scolded him and pushed herself off the chair. She softly rolled her eyes as the prince gathered her back in his arms and leaned his head down. “As I said: They can wait for their queen.” His voice rumbled low in his chest, and the princess closed her eyes as his lips made contact with her forehead, slowly wandering down over her temple to her lips. “My Queen,” he rasped before kissing her like a starved man.

;

I really don’t know where all these words came from, and I’m sorry for this shitty work, but I had to write it down to get it out of my head :x The next Daemon work will be much better hopefully!

But thanks for reading! As usual: comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated <3

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon daemon targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #oc!targaryen #hotd s1 #hotd spoilers

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dedicatednotobsessed · 1 year

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Young and Beautiful [Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader]

Other stories of mine

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The sun had long since disappeared into the sea, bathing the room in a soft, muted darkness as you sit on your bed. Only the soft candlelight enveloped your chambers in a gentle glow.

The day had been exhausting, marked by the tumultuous quarrel that your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, had once again caused. The ensuing heated arguments had pushed you to your limits, and you had finally retreated.

In the silence of your chambers you have sought refuge and taken a bath, hoping to relax and calm your thoughts. Now you sit on your bed, still waiting for the relaxation to finally set in. But you can't shake an oppressive feeling. Hoping to shake off the feeling, you gently spread some lavender oil on your arms and legs, wanting to be enveloped by the soothing scent. With only a towel wrapped around your upper body, you try to calm down.

But in the midst of the quiet solitude, you feel the intrusion of an unwelcome presence. You flinch as your door is suddenly pushed open. You lift your gaze, and there, in the center of the room, stood Daemon Targaryen, his countenance filled with seething rage. The room seemed to echo with his heavy, labored breaths, and his piercing, purple eyes bore into your soul.

You look at him with your big purple Targaryen eyes, "Uncle?" you whisper a little uncertainly, trying to cover your body.

His gaze is fixed on you, his expression one of apparent stoicism, except for the wrinkles on his forehead that betray the storm of anger seething within him. You feel his eyes slowly move down your body in a blatant display of lust. But you remain silent, not really daring to breathe. After a while the silence is almost unbearable. You try to squeeze your legs further together, your hands clinging to the towel as an attempt to protect your upper body from his gaze.

"Uncle?" you finally ask again, when you can't stand the stifling silence any longer.

But then, without warning, he rushes toward you with big steps. In the process, he knocks over a chair that gets in his way. The flight reflex takes hold of you and you try to crawl away, but he is faster. He gets a hold of your leg and pulls you back. He presses you firmly against the mattress.

"Uncle!" you scream out as he pushes your legs apart brutally with his knees. He must take out his rage on you.

He grabs you with all his might and holds your mouth shut while he hisses in your ear, "Not. Another. Word."

You just whimper and tears come to your eyes. He tears the towel away from you and you lie exposed under him.

Without warning, he thrusts his fingers into you and you hear a dark growl in his chest.

You continue to whimper and try to escape his grip, to close your legs. But his grip is firm and unyielding. Again and again he thrusts his fingers into you, making you squirm. His other hand presses firmly on your mouth, you can't speak, only whimpering sounds escape you. You begin to beat against his chest. Again and again your hands hit against him, but they seem to hit against his muscular chest almost without any noticeable damage.

You whimper as the realization comes to you that you can't fight back. But then you reach into his long, silver hair. You pull at it brutally. You hear him growl and his hand leaves your mouth. You want to scream, but he grabs your wrist and only a pained gasp leaves your lips. He grabs so tightly that you fear he might shatter your wrist.

"Let go," he hisses. Involuntarily, your hand lets go of his hair, but the pain is unbearable. You drop your hand next to your body and his hand covers your mouth again. You squeeze your eyes shut as tears spring to your eyes.

Suddenly you feel him stop thrusting his fingers inside you. He pulls them out and you breathe a little sigh of relief. You watch him as he looks at you with his dark eyes. There is nothing left of the purple in his eyes.

Slowly he takes his fingers into his mouth and slowly licks your juice off them. Your eyes widen, your breathing heavy. You are paralyzed and he slowly takes his hand from your mouth again.

"Such sweet innocence is so rare in this world..." you hear him murmur, "I'm going to take that innocence from you," he continues to growl.

Hearing his last words, you try to escape again. You squirm and try to crawl away. But Daemon pushes you onto the bed, like a rock he lies between your legs. He grabs your head and pulls you closer, his lips hovering just above your ear, "Tell anyone what happened here tonight and you won't live to see the next moon."

Pure panic is written in your eyes, your wild breathing seems uncontainable, but you just nod slightly, a light sob escaping you.

Again he thrusts his fingers into you and you whimper. He's not gentle, he's rough. You feel the rage emanating from him. His grunt echoes through your chambers.

Slowly, almost tenderly to the thrusts of his fingers, he begins, with his other hand, to spread your legs wider. He looks down and sees his fingers disappearing inside you over and over again. The sound of his grunting seems unbearable to you.

"No one would believe you, sweet niece. No one would dare call me a liar..." he hisses at you. But you are unable to reply. You squeeze your eyes shut again as you feel his fingers penetrate you.

Until one of his hands wraps around your neck, his fingers squeezing tight. Your eyes pop open and you see his sinister grin.

You just whimper, but you feel your wetness increase between your thighs. The smacking sound caused by the work of his fingers echoes through your chambers. You hear him chuckle darkly, "Pathetic…", he murmurs.

But then he takes his hand from your neck for a short time. The smacking sound is now accompanied by the sound of his belt buckle opening.

Almost softly with a sweet undertone he whispers directly in your ear, "What an unexpected turn of events, sweet niece. Very unexpected..."

He pulls you closer to him so that your mouths are almost touching. But he just presses his hand over your mouth again.

"This is going to hurt," he murmurs.

"Please Uncle... no...", you whimper incomprehensibly, while his hand is on your mouth.

But Daemon seems unhindered in his intentions.

You look down slightly and see his hard length twitching almost furiously, with its red tip revealed each time his hand slides down his member.

He pumps his hard manhood a few times and tears run down your cheeks as you watch him.

You feel him slide his tip through your folds to wet it before he penetrates you without another word.

You feel that you are almost split. A searing pain runs through you. You want to cry out, but the hand on your mouth prevents it. You try to fight back, to push him away, but he's stronger.

"Take it... In your tight cunt..." Daemon grunts. You just whimper as he looks down at you. His rough thrusts don't let up, stretching you inch by inch.

He presses his lips on your neck and leans close to you. You feel his hot breath glide over your skin, his whisper is almost inaudible.

"No one will ever believe you... I will do as I please. And when I'm done with you, I'll do it again and again and again... No one will believe that the rogue prince did anything to the king's daughter," he hisses.

His hand slides down from your mouth and cups your neck, squeezing tight. Your vision weakens as his thrusts become almost unbearably hard.

His length is too much for you and you feel pain that brings tears to your eyes again. Tears roll down your face as you realize that all you can do is submit. Your outcry echoes through your chambers. But Daemon thrusts even harder, almost as if driven by your tears and whimpers. The bed creaks violently with each thrust.

He is silent as he penetrates you deeper and deeper with each thrust. His hand is still on your neck, fingers gripping tightly as he brings you closer to unconsciousness.

"Poor sweet daughter of the king," he whispers in your ear. "A princess's life is never what it should be."

He pulls you closer to him, your lips almost touching, a sob escapes you.

"No one will know, sweet niece…," he whispers almost gently. But his whisper is followed by a deep thrust, "But I love this," Daemon suddenly hisses.

His hand grips tighter, while the other claws firmly into the sheets, just below your back, as if seeking support.

"I love hearing you whimper. I love hearing your cries of pain..." he grunts.

He thrusts harder, grunts louder and suddenly you feel a warmth inside you that you don't want to feel. Your thighs begin to tremble. A moan wants to push through your lips, but you bite down hard on them. But Daemon senses that your climax is near, as your cunt begins to clench around his cock.

"Filthy whore..." Daemon grunts. But again a grin appears on his face.

He thrusts harder and you squirm, trying to escape him, trying not to feel this pleasure.

"You poor sweet innocent niece. Why do you have to pretend you don't like it?" you hear him say, the smirk never leaving his face.

You feel him deep inside you with every thrust. His breathing only a panting, but he does not let up.

You feel that you can't stop it, you're about to come.

"Noooo...", you cry out, "I hate it," you whimper.

But Daemon only grunts loudly as he thrusts violently and repeatedly. His hand squeezes your throat tightly, his knees press against your thighs to open them even wider, to thrust even deeper. With each thrust he pushes against your womb and you can't help but cry out.

He leans even closer to you and whispers in your ear.

"You love this, sweet niece. You love the way I take you. You love the way it hurts," he whispers almost gently. But his thrusts make it clear that he is anything but gentle.

"No..." you cry out again.

But then your eyes roll into the back of your head. You feel the heat spreading through your abdomen and you come, moaning involuntarily. Your cunt clenches hard around his cock and literally pulls him in even deeper.

Daemon can't hold it in anymore, groaning loudly and squirting his hot seed deep inside you. He breathes heavily and his hips try to keep thrusting, but they start to get sloppy.

You feel the warm white liquid fill you and with his slow thrusts he prevents the seed from leaking out again. Breathing heavily, you look at your uncle, not daring to speak. Your bodies covered in sweat, your womb filled with his seed.

He looks at you viciously and leans forward, "And when you wake up tomorrow, you'll think it was all a dream... or maybe even a nightmare," his soft whisper rings out.

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sayafics · 7 months

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Dragon of Dorne - Chapter III

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A tense silence had shrouded the hall shortly after, a thick presence that coiled around them all. Daemon watched his niece with a leering gaze. Try as he might, he could not withhold the infatuation that budded within him.

Despite Rhaenyra's persistent petting, the exasperated glances Jacaerys shared with his betrothed, and Lucerys' hidden smirks of horrified amusement, Daemon found his gaze could not be pulled away from the girl.

Daemon could not look away if he tried, even when she turned towards Aegon to share fretful smiles and indulge him with conversation so he may leave their nephews be.

Daemon leaned closer towards the table when Alaynha turned to Aemond, sharing hushed whispers and fruitive glances towards a quiet Lucerys.

Daemon's eyes softened when she laughed alongside Helaena, the two sisters conversed sweetly over insects and paintings, and he could not help but notice how the girl would preen at Alicent's every word, would smile shyly at Otto's nods of approval and would grin unabashedly at her father's acknowledgement.

Here was a girl who was surrounded by love from a family which was not wholly hers. Here was a girl bathing in affection - Daemon should have been jealous, his blood should have curdled with envy at the sight of someone receiving such outpouring, unconditional love.

Instead, his heart grew heavier with such great need he almost lost his breath. Daemon was not sure what he needed, just that there was an ache and an emptiness that lingered fresh beneath the scars and nightmares of his battles hard-won.

There was a part of Daemon that had awakened at the sight, to see such goodness able to exist within the walls of King's Landing.

There was a part of Daemon, dark and cruel, that wished to corrupt it and nurture it to feed the hole in his heart so he could feel anew.

Daemon didn't know what he wanted, but he would do anything to try and make the sinking feeling tearing at his soul stop.

It did not take long for the tense silence to simmer into an agonising echo of rage - with Alaynha far too distracted talking to Aemond, Aegon had grown bored quite easily.

His taunting words grated at Jacaerys' patient countenance. And when Aegon had stood between him and his betrothed and laid an offer, quiet and bare, with pride tinging him words, anger roiled within Jace's heart as he leapt from his seat.

The loud thud of his fists against the wooden table caused the room to hush, eyes fixed upon the seething brunette boy as he hunched over the table. Aegon did not even look ashamed when he returned to his seat, sharing an amused glance with his brother, who had taken Jacaerys' impulsive actions as a threat against Aegon and stood to his defence.

Alaynha watched on with cautious eyes, the hand holding her cutlery knife twisted it in her grasp as she tensed within her seat, eyes hardening as she prepared to move to defend her kin if she must - her gaze flickered between her nephew and brother, the grip on her knife tightening as she pursed her lips in an attempt to stay composed.

But with her twitching fingers, her trembling body and her raging eyes, Daemon knew. The girl looked like she was out for blood, the calming waves of naivety and shyness she had previously radiated were drowned out by the shrieking fire that begged to make itself known.

Daemon found himself enamoured at the sight of her restrained anger, wondering what potential hid beneath the walls she caged herself in. Wondered what her anger was like, what her violence held, what her touch felt like when the dragon in her blood burned all that came across its path.

He could understand the girl's vigilance. The last time one of her brothers had held their own against Daemon's children, and Rhaenyra's, Aemond had lost an eye. She would not allow her brothers to lose to them again.

Jacaerys spoke, his words strained as he toasted to his uncles, and then to his newfound aunt - pretending Aegon's words had only been in jest, all to keep his mother happy and his grandsire at peace. Jacaerys' eyes glimmered as he regarded her, only looking away when Aegon turned to him with a fierce glare.

No one spoke for a few moments, all silently staring into the depths of their empty plates and drowning cups before another voice spoke - a toast to Alicent, she said.

Rhaenyra's voice was thick with emotions, and a glance towards Alicent would show her eyes were full of unshed tears as she regarded the words of her oldest friend with the highest esteem.

The Targaryens - half-blooded and whole - sat in an amicable air of content despite the tense toasts shared in honour of Aegon and Aemond, and in rejoice for the cordial toast from Rhaenyra to Alicent.

There were tentative smiles shared between the women as food was passed around the table, but Alaynha did not fail to notice how her eldest half-sister avoided her with every laugh and every whisper.

She could not help the despair that settled in her heart, she had hoped she would gain another kin tonight but she was sure Rhaenyra would prefer to see her as an enemy. Perhaps as nothing, if she could help it.

Alaynha pushed around the food on her plate, much too anxious to try and sate her cramping stomach from hours of starvation as she traversed the skies upon dragonback.

There was a bark of laughter from across the table, Alaynha did not have to lift her head to know that it was her father's. A gentle smile pulled across her face as she peered up to watch him - at least he had found some peace in such a reunion. And truly, that was all which mattered.

Instead of her father's wilting gaze, her eyes caught the blazing fire that burned beneath the violet hues of Daemon Targaryen.

It was only then, seeing how concentrated he was, how his eyes singed her skin and his smirk sped up her heart, that she realised his eyes were not the only ones upon her.

A glance to her left showed the guarded eyes of Aemond, the stare growing more manic as he also realised the prey laying under Daemon's predatory gaze was none other than his sister.

Still, he kept mum - he did not want to ruin this for his mother, not when she was glowing in a way he had thought was diminished and extinguished, never to spark to life again. But it has - in this moment now, Alicent was set alight, talking with the woman who had everything she had ever wanted - choice.

Alaynha's gaze flitted back to her plate, cheeks flushed under Daemon's heated gaze, and she was not sure whether she wanted him to stop.

A flicker of guilt welled up in her throat, disgust curdling inside her gut - this was her half-sister's husband. This was her uncle. Although Rhaenyra may not acknowledge her, Alaynha was not half as cruel. She would not take what is not hers.

Daemon liked to think he could have taken his eyes off of his niece should he wish, but there was something tempting about her. There was a streak of Targaryen hidden behind her half-blooded soul that called to his whole one - where like searched for like.

She was quiet and meek, pretty and dainty. A doe in the wild, a lamb ready for slaughter. But when she spoke of her dragon, the High Valyrian slipping off her tongue with ease, there was a likeness which shone through.

There was something wild about her - something grim and feral that hid beneath layers of manners, polite greetings and shy smiles.

She was a gentle flame, a flickering candle yearning to be guided and fed to cause a roaring blaze.

Daemon's gaze eased off the girl as he followed Jacaerys' rounding figure towards Helaena - she sat next to her grandsire, lost in her world of dreams and insects. That is until a hand presents itself to her, and an offer for a dance is made.

Helaena reaches for Jacaerys' hand with glee, and although her brother's watch with irritated stares and suspicious eyes, Alaynha watched with an indulging smile that Helaena returns tenfold as she grips Jacaerys' hand tighter, allowing him to lead her.

Alaynha watched the pair in quiet admiration. She knew that Rhaenyra had previously proposed Jacaerys wed Helaena - her mother thought it mad. But seeing her sister's grinning face and hearing her joyous laughs, Alaynha feels she would have been much happier with Rhaenyra's child than stuck in a loveless marriage with her brother, both bound by a duty they do not want.

She remained stuck in her thoughts, smiling unconsciously at the sight of Jacaerys spinning Helaena around in buoyant moves. It was the touch of something rough and calloused against her back of her hand which snapped her out her reverie.

Her hand was resting against the back of her chair as she had twisted in her seat to admire Helaena's dancing with Jacaerys, and it twitched at the unfamiliar sensation. There was a sharp intake of breath, had that been her?

Her eyes darted towards what had caused the sensation, she thought it to be Aegon since Aemond sat on her other side - but her eldest brother's hands were soft and pliant, the hands that brushed against her own were worn, like that of a warrior.

Her eyes found fingers calloused by the use of heavy weaponry, scarred by light scratches and gashes, brushing against the back of her hand.

A soft caress that called to her.

She followed the hand up, up, up.

Oh.

Her gaze wavered for a moment, her vision wobbling as she looked up towards the man who thought himself brave enough, worthy enough to call to her. To ask for her. It was then she realised the room had plummeted into true silence, the guards much too hesitant to shift from their positions in fear the sound of their scraping armour would send the room into utter chaos.

Those around her watched as she regarded the man in front of her with a curious gaze.

Daemon Targaryen.

There was a part of her that felt she should not be surprised by his audaciousness, but she was sure her mouth had parted in surprise as she gazed into his eyes with a wide and curious stare.

Daemon did not dare to glance around the table, so sure he would be met with the sight of Rhaenyra stiff with wrath, his brother frothing at the mouth with indignation, and the suspicious gazes of her brothers and Alicent.

Instead he smirked softly, the feeling foreign upon his face, as he lifted his hand, palm facing up. Another offering - a chance to dance.

Alaynha reached up easily, as though she was reaching out based on simple instinct. But the stifling sense of hostility, which drowned the room, seemed to make her hesitate. Her eyes flickering between her brothers, as though she was almost asking their permission.

Daemon and his niece had not spoken again after their introductions, and even now he regarded her in silence. He knew he wanted to hear her voice again, to hear the High Valyrian slip off her tongue in rolling waves. There was a fascination that had seeded within him, one which slowly began to blossom and bloom.

He simply wanted to see where this sweltering feeling of temptation would go.

Daemon had a feeling he already knew, but a distant glance towards Rhaenyra's seething form had him feign ignorance to his own scheming desires.

Daemon did not wait for Aegon and Aemon to grant her permission, nor did he wait for her to accept his hand. He reached for her hand, holding it firmly in his grasp, "would you do me the honour, dear niece? I believe it is only right to offer a dance to the niece I have not known of in so many years."

His words were light, and he did mean every one. But he also held back on what his mind begged him to spill and confess. It seemed Daemon's words were enough to convince an aching Viserys, his voice strained as he prompted his daughter - "yes. Yes, dance with your uncle, dear. It would make me most happy to see my kin get along."

Perhaps Viserys should have known better than to encourage, but Alaynha had already been rejected by a sour Rhaenyra - perhaps Daemon's persistent acknowledgement of the girl would force Rhaenyra to accept her one day.

Alaynha relaxed at her father's words, assured she would not upset anyone as she stood and nodded in agreement.

Daemon led her close to where Jacaerys and Helaena still spun in graceful circles.

The sound of music faded into a melody that was new and bold. The violins were a layered chant of whispers and echoes that rung through the hall and enchanted the ears of its audience.

Daemon loosened his grasp on Alaynha's hand, letting it fall to her side as she simply watched him. A smile twitched upon his face, a brow raising in question - "well?"

Alaynha coughed, his words pulling her from her musings as she took a step back.

She glanced beside them, where Jacaerys and Helaena danced with child-like glee - holding each others arms like they were infants playing a simple game and not a man and a woman living in the ghost of their past.

Alaynha looked back at Daemon, her breath catching as she took in his fierce stare - she felt as though she was drowning in the vision of him.

The gentle tune reverberated across the hall, and Alaynha lifted a hand between her and Daemon. The tips of her fingers were so close to brushing against his jaw that they almost trembled - her palm faced him. Waiting.

His eyes glimmered with intrigue, his shoulders rising as he straightened his posture. He lifted a hand of his own, his left meeting her right.

In dances such as these, etiquette was key. That was what Alicent and her Septa had taught her, it was of modicum to stray from touching.

So when Daemon's hand brushed against her own, she had to suppress a flinch and fight off the shiver that crawled down her spine. His palm felt warm against the cold-bitten flesh of her own. Her hand dwarfed against his, and she could feel every mark he had suffered to earn his titles throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

The Rogue Prince.

Commander of the City Watch.

King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea.

He had rejected all titles but one, and the Rogue Prince stood in front of her today - a tall and lumbering figure who bore the expression of a man starved.

She nodded at him, and they began to dance.

The tip-toed around each other with graceful steps, when they would let go of each other's hands during one step they would immediately find it again in the next.

"Why would you ask me to dance, Uncle?"

Her question sounded innocent, and though he had given Viserys a reason he deemed acceptable, it did not mean Alaynha found it believable.

She may be the youngest child of Viserys, but she had grown up with the boy who did not want to be a king, a soldier burdened by the sacrifices of his past and a dragon dreamer who did not know how to escape the fates she had forseen. She was young, yes. But not naive.

"Is it truly so hard to believe I simply wanted a dance to learn more of my niece?"

"When you have tried so hard to not associate yourself with my brothers and sister, you should understand why I do - find it so hard, that is."

He pursed his lips, and when they spun around each other before switching hands, he took a step closer. Daemon took a deep breath, the scent of citrus and berries coating his tongue as the warmth of Alaynha being stood so close burned him through his clothes.

"They are not the same as you."

"Because they carry the blood of Hightowers? Well, it would do you well to understand I am no different to them, Uncle. For it was a Hightower who raised me with love and affection, when all the 'true' Targaryens - as I'm sure you refer to yourselves - fled the Seven Kingdoms and left my father to rot on his deathbed."

Her words were tainted with venom, anger that was hidden deep and caged away had been sparked to life. Daemon found the sight amusing, but if he let that be known he was sure the girl would walk away from him now.

"My apologies," he whispered softly, "I believe I have some reparations to make then, if I am to get your approval."

"And why is it that you crave such a thing, Uncle?"

"There are many things I crave that I cannot explain away," he glanced towards her lips, relishing in how she flushed darkly at the action, "but I would be more than happy to show you instead."

His eyes now bore into hers, pupils dilated as his heart beat wildly in his chest. They had merely danced in simple circles, and yet he found himself losing his breath the longer he breathed in her scent. The longer he held her hand - the flesh was supple and soft, felt soothing against the calloused gashes of his own.

She parted her lips, tongue rolling as she got ready to answer. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder briefly as they spun around each other once more, and when she came to face him again, her expression was blank, and her lips held tight.

Daemon did not need to turn to know who had caused such a thing.

Still, he could not blame the girl for her reaction and instead gave her a nod of reassurance as his hands twitched in an attempt to intertwine his fingers with her own.

They continued like that, spinning around each other in slow circles as the melody began to fade and stretch with dramatic pulls and frantic strums played in a frenzy.

There was then a silence, an opportunity to breathe as they stood still for a moment. They were much closer than when they had started, and their dance had caught the attention of all those in the hall who watched with raptured attention.

Even Jacaerys began to stumble in his steps as he tried to watch one aunt at the same time he danced with the other.

Daemon drew closer in anticipation. His hand that was pressed firmly against the palm of hers began to drag down her wrist, and the sensation of his fingers brushing against her hand, and then her wirst and arm caused goose-flesh to rise. He bit his lip in quiet amusement. His hand in question had reached for her opposite shoulder, where he brushed back strands of pale hair before winding his arm around her waist.

He tugged her closer, a reassuring warmth funnelled through him. Her eyes darted between his earnest gaze and the raging form of her half-sister, but a soft jerk pulled her back to him, and a kind smile eased her racing heart.

A moment to breathe.

It was then the music came crashing back, what must have been seconds felt like hours but Daemon had been prepared.

He pulled Alaynha flush against his front, his skin growing heated as he felt her form press against his own. He kept his sneaking desires to himself, taking to spin around the hall with calculated steps as Alaynha wrapped her arms around him with wide-eyed surprise.

Daemon glided them across the floor, spinning and turning. They never missed a step, and Alaynha found herself lost in the vertigo of their endless dance. Their feet moved in synchrony as their breaths melded into one, and Alaynha had simply lost herself to this moment now.

A breathless laugh escaped her. The sound was an addictive melody that Daemon found he would drown himself him if he had the choice. He smiled, a grin so broad and free that it felt foreign upon his face.

A glance over his shoulder would show a simmering Rhaenyra, and it was the only thing that stopped him from joining Alaynha in her joy.

She clutched him tightly as she tried to move in step with him, her hands winding around his neck and brushing across the scarred flesh hidden beneath his collar. Daemon's breaths stuttered at that, but for once, in perhaps a decade, he felt no need to turn from a gentle touch and instead leaned into it.

A haggard cough broke through the music, the musicians trailing their notes off-key as Daemon and Alaynha came to a stop. She pulled her hands away from their place around his neck, and they came to rest at his chest as she pushed against him softly.

Her head turned towards her father, expression tight with concern as she saw the man unable to catch his breath. She would have tried walking to him, but Daemon's touch was unrelenting.

She spared her uncle a look and saw his eyes filled with the same unease that settled in her heart.

Alicent ordered the King to be sent to his bed, Otto chiming in to have him receive milk of the poppy to ease his pains. Alaynha watched with sad eyes as her father's ragged form was carried away by his personal guard, the man much too weak to raise his head and deign a goodbye.

Her eyes followed him as he exited the hall, fixed to the door even after it had been closed. There was a comforting brush across her waist, where Daemon rubbed light circles atop her dress.

But it was Alicent's voice which brought her back - "why not continue your dance, my sweet? I was enjoying it quite so much."

There was a pleasant smile on her face, but Alaynha could not dismiss the suspicion held in her eyes as her mother regarded Daemon. Her grandsire simply looked amused as he nodded his ascent.

"As you wish, muña."

She agreed with ease, already turning back to peer into Daemon's waiting eyes. Her hands were still pressed against his chest, and a shudder ran through the man as she dragged them up to wind around his neck.

They dance for a few moments more, their steps in line with the gentle strums of the violin. But their moves are much more stilted, the joyous atmosphere tainted by the truth of her father's health - the man could take his last breath any day now. Such a truth threatened to drag her down with misery and dread.

It must have been only minutes before they were pulled to an abrupt stop - a powerful thud echoes through the hall as the lean figure of Aemond Targaryen stood above those in the hall.

Rage poured off of him in tempestuous waves, but he composed himself - head held high as he regarded the swine placed in front of him with disgust, and the boy sat across from him with murderous craze.

"A final tribute - to the health of my nephews."

Alaynha tensed, so sure of where his words would lead him that even as she paused with Daemon instead of her arms dropping from his neck, they tightened. In gross anticipation, she held her breath, fingers pressing into the rough and scarred flesh of Daemon that he almost gasped at the heady sensation that tumbled through him.

"Jace. Luke. And Joffrey," he continued, his hardened eye moving to each nephew, "each of them handsome, wise..."

There was a long pause, and Alaynha could see Aegon's lips twitch in amusement as well as Helaena's earnest gaze. A glance back to her uncle, who watched Aemond with narrowed eyes, was enough to restrain a familiar twitch of amusement spreading across her face.

"Hmm. Strong."

Alaynha finally slipped her handa from Daemon's neck, taking in Jace's figure that trembled with anger at Aemond's words.

"Aemond-" Alicent's voice was tinged with exasperation, but Aemond did not allow it to stop him.

"Come, let us drain our cups - to these three Strong boys."

Alaynha watched as Aegon, ever the supportive brother after Aemond had lost his eye, raised his cup almost immediately. Helaena replied to his speech with a light round of applause and a tender smile.

Alaynha could only stand next to her uncle, unsure of what he would do to her should she so openly support her brother in front of him.

"I dare you to say that again."

Jace held his head high, a challenge.

Aemond turned to him with ease, "why - twas only a compliment."

He began to stalk towards Jace as the boy stumbled towards him with a wrathful temper - "do you not think yourselves strong?"

His words were met with a resounding punch to that of his unseeing eye - Rhaenyra called to her eldest son but he paid no mind.

Aemond had barely shifted, turning back to Jace with a bearing grin.

Where Alaynha had previously been hesitant, she now began to seethe as years of resentment over what these Strong boys had done to her brother came crashing over her in waves.

She watched as Lucerys marched for his brother, but Aegon got to him first - slamming the boy face-down against the table.

Jace moved to Aemond again, and at that, Alaynha moved forward, simmering in rage - a dagger falling easily from the clasp in her sleeve into her awaiting hand.

Aemond pushed Jace to the ground with ease, and a large hand wrapped around Alaynha's wrist to stop her from what would have been a glorious rampage.

Daemon tugs the girl harshly, throwing her behind his back as he watches the scene unfold with speculative eyes. When she tried to round his solid figure, he reached back - his hand scrapes across the pristine blade held in the princess' hand, and it closed over the blade and her wrist in a tight grip.

He paid no mind to the sting as his flesh tore open, and blood began to spatter upon the floor beneath them. But there was a moment of hesitation that overcame him when he heard her sharp intake of breath, and he knew he must have cut her flesh open the same.

The two began to bleed freely in the hall of the Red Keep, a small pool of blood leaked between them as their blood mixed into one.

Daemon felt light-headed, his skin burning where his bleeding gash met hers. But he steeled himself, watching the scene unfold with unforgiving eyes.

It was when Rhaenyra stood with her eyes blazing as she watched him hold her half-sister, a hand on her swollen belly as she called to him silently, that he found himself reluctantly letting go.

He clenched his fingers around his gaping wound. Alaynha hid hers behind her back, hopeful that her brothers nor mother would see the blood that stained her gown.

They stepped away from the pool of blood with ease, stepping in opposite directions.

Alaynha walked to Aemond's side with graceful steps, and Daemon stood as a barrier between her family and Rhaenyra's.

They shared a weighted gaze, unsure of what it is they were searching for.

Daemon looked away first, staring passively into the bright eyes of Aemond instead.

The man hummed, a smirk painting his face before he rounded his uncle and walked away. He paused by the door, peering over his shoulder - Aemond watched Daemon as he spoke, a glimmer of a challenge in his eyes, "come sister, tis late. I shall see you to your chambers."

"Of course, Aemond."

She walked to her brother, holding Daemon's gaze with every step. As she walked past him, his injured hand seemed to reach for her own, but with Aegon taking Aemond's words as a silent order for himself, he stepped between the two and led his sister away.

Daemon didn't turn, lest they take his glances for weakness. But he stayed silent, listening to how the sound of her soft footfalls melded into the silence, which haunted the Keep during the late hours of night.

He stayed still for a moment longer, wondering if she would turn back.

Rhaenyra sent her children away, his own following them with practised ease. His eyes met Rhaenyra's, which wobbled with a darkness - an endless wrath that threatened to boil over should he make one more wrong move.

She turned to Alicent, her shoulders sagging with relief when her dearest friend took her hands - Alicent took a glance at Daemon, apprehension colouring her features as she thought her next words out carefully.

Rhaenyra plans to leave tonight.

Alicent did not want it to happen.

Daemon could not let that happen.

"You only just got here, Rhaenyra."

Alicent's voice was heavy with reminiscence, poisoned with the longing desire to relive the days of her childhood before she had been sold to Viserys like a brooding mare.

"You cannot leave. Don't."

Perhaps if Rhaenyra stayed, she would grow used to the presence of Alaynha. Of her other siblings, too.

Perhaps she would enjoy Alicent's company once more.

Perhaps she would be happy at the Keep, and she would love Alicent's children enough that she would not order them killed when it came time to claim the throne of the Seven Kingdoms.

Would it be Daemon who took a sword to their throats? Would she have them killed in their sleep? Or tortured for all the kingdoms to see, in fear of retaliation? Would she have them poisoned or stabbed or beheaded? Would she wish them away? Would she kill them with her bare hands if she could?

Perhaps.

Daemon wanted to stay. Curiosity poked at him with growing force - a gnawing and aching sensation that flooded his body when his mind flitted back to the girl he had only just met.

It had to have been her beauty - her moonlit hair, her glowing skin, her bashful laughs, her gleaning smiles.

It had to have been her dragon - Grey Ghost was a wild dragon, and for her to have tamed him with such ease and become his rider only sang to the idea she had dragons blood burning through her veins.

It had to have been her words - coy and hesitant, shy and calculated.

It had to have been her darkness - hidden within the depths of her soul, easily prodded if one knows how.

Daemon knew how. He remembers the look on her face when she mentioned his dismissal of her brothers and sister. She cares for her family, deeply and true. She had given away her biggest weakness, and Daemon could not let such an advantage slip through his fingers unsullied.

There was an ache growing within Daemon, in the very place his curiosity had seeded and grown.

Rhaenyra wantes to leave, but Daemon would do what he had to, to ensure they stay.

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yaninabriela · 1 year

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Matt Smith emocionado con volver al set de House of the Dragon | Comic-con abu dhabi 2023

#matt smith #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon prince #houseofthedragon #comicon

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bohemian-nights · 1 year

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Arlī(Anew)-Chapter 4

Word Count: ~5,431 words

Rating: 18+

Warning ⚠️: Uncle/niece incest (mild smut)

Description: “She has yet to give you a child.” Naerys hand flew to her stomach. Peering through the crack in the door that Daemon had left to take a look to see the scene that was playing out in their chamber.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

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116 AC-Kings Landing

“That was then Rhaenyra,” Daemon's quiet voice could be heard from their solar, awakening Naerys from her restless nap. She had tried to sleep but had not been able to find an agreeable position in which she could take her mid-day slumber. Instead, she lies in the realm between reality and dreams. Constantly drifting in and out of consciousness.

In the fortnight they had spent at the capital it seemed as if Naerys could not get enough rest. She woke up tired and went to bed in the same state. Her days had become a monotonous string of court proceedings that she struggled to find her footing.

The sun set and the sun rose and a new day of court would begin. An endless parade of pageantry and tittering empty-headed smiles. The young princess longed for the quiet solitude of Dragonstone. Some nights she would lie awake going through every interaction she had that day.

Laena, her husband, and the rest of house Velaryon were stuck on Driftmark. A coming storm had made their journey to Kings Landing impossible. Alicent and Rhaenyra had taken it upon themselves to entertain her in her cousin's absence. If it was not Alicent with her constant teas, sewing circles, and worrying looks it was Rhaenyra and her jibs. Searching her face to see which one would hit its target.

Naerys' husband's general absence had not helped matters. She knew that her uncle had not meant to neglect her. Perhaps neglect wasn’t even the right word for it. The simple fact of the matter was that duty had called. One could hardly say no to the king. Least of all when he is your elder brother.

Daemon was back in the Viserys good graces. All was forgiven since the debacle of their wedding had put further strain on the brother's relationship. Daemon had been invited to attend small council meetings. Lord Strong surprisingly did not object to her husband’s presence on the small council. The lord undoubtedly wanted to keep the peace and was willing to make sacrifices to do so. The rest of the council had followed the hand’s lead.

The rogue prince's seat at the meetings was in an unofficial capacity of course, but some position on the council would no doubt be offered to him once more. He would take it. Daemon was never one for the shadows. Dragonstone was less than stimulating to the mind. At court he was in his element once more.

Naerys herself had been offered to attend a council meeting, but Rhaenyra had put her off from taking up the offer. “Naerys will be bored out of her mind uncle. Wouldn’t you aunt?” It was said with the same condescending tone that she always spoke with. The remark stung, but not as much as her other taunts.

“Children are a joy.” Rhaenyra had found her bullseyes. As Rhaenyra cooed over her black-haired sons, Naerys had to hold back from snapping at the woman. The realm's delight had gotten with child without having to bat so much as an eye. She had given birth to two healthy sons. Two healthy heirs. Not all women were so lucky.

Naerys apparent lack of children had been a source of gossip throughout the Red Keep. Rhaenyra had seen to it. Among the ladies at court, the detail of her empty womb was a favorite topic of conversation. She’s barren. She can not give him children. Poor thing. Perhaps the prince will take a lover again. The young princess would have faltered under the growing weight of the chatter had she not suspected that their efforts to have an heir might yet be fulfilled.

“It wasn’t very long ago.” Rhaenyra’s high-pitched whisperings interrupted the younger girl from her memories. Bringing her back to her present reality, Naerys reached for the robe hanging off her changing room's screen to cover her nakedness. The capital was much warmer than Dragonstone. Even when Daemon did not join her in sleep, she remained comfortable throughout the nights.

“She has yet to give you a child.” Naerys hand flew to her stomach. Peering through the crack in the door that Daemon had left to take a look to see the scene that was playing out in their chamber. Her husband stood by a freshly lit fire with a drink in his hand. Rhaenyra’s back was turned towards her as she faced their uncle.

“So has Laenor.” Naerys could see Rhaenyra visibly wincing from where she stood. Her body jumped slightly at their uncle's words. Daemon looked unbothered, almost bored with the flow of conversation as he swirled the amber liquid in his goblet before taking another slow sip. He had not taken his eyes off the firelight in their chambers.

“She may never give you heirs.” A sneer was evident in her voice. Her spine stilling, holding her head high once more. “What good is my cousin, a Valyrian bride, good for if she has not done her duty to you?” It was a bluff. Naerys could not be put aside so easily. The king would not allow it. Both Ser Vaemond and Lord Corlys would raise hell if an accident were to occur. She was the blood of old Valyria, not a common Andal lady.

“She’s my wife Rhaenyra.” He had lowered his voice. Daemon had finally turned around to glare down at the realm's delight. The dying light of the day coupled with the glow from the fire cast his eyes in a tenebrous haze. “You will do well to remember that.”

“Lady Rhea Royce was your wife as well.” Rhaenyra let out a bitter laugh as she continued on. Unconcerned with the shadows that crossed their uncle's face. “What did you call her? Your bronze bitch. Have you forgotten her already?”

It was easy enough to forget that Daemon had ever been married to another. Her husband never brought up his ill-fated union with the vale woman. Naerys had never even met the woman. She only existed in the outer reaches of her mind as a faceless memory.

“You promised me and yet you married her.” Her cousin's anger and desperation had grown into something else. Rhaenyra grabbed Daemon. Pulling the tall man into her space. “You promised me.” Her husband did not move from her cousin's grasp. Daemon began to stroke her forearm. The touch was intimate. As if they had done it a million times before. Rhaenyra’s words echoed in Naerys' mind.

Naerys did not know what the two got up to during her visits or what happened between the two before their respective marriages. She would not ask now. The past lay in the past. It was best kept that way. Daemon was ever the attentive husband these days. She would not bring up old misdeeds, but it seemed that these wounds appeared whether she wanted them to or not.

“Rhaenyra.” It was said with a sigh. The venom was gone from his gaze. Her husband closed his eyes briefly as if to gather his bearings. His fingers continued their descent across Rhaenyra’s arm. Naerys could feel her blood begin to boil. She was grateful that no objects lay within her reach or else she would have hurled them at her uncle's head.

“Kosti sagon biare kesīr.” Daemon did not reply. His fingers had finally ceased their movement. He cast his violet eyes towards the door where his wife hid behind. Naerys froze hoping he had not seen her.

“Would you abandon Ser Harwin so easily?” Naerys could see her husband leaning down as if to whisper a poorly kept secret in her cousin's ear. Rhaenyra had taken a lover herself. She was not left without companionship. She found her own distractions.

“I had no choice.” Rhaenyra sputtered at her uncle's question. Her desperation returned as she reached out to bring him near her.” I was alone. We both were.” Excuses fell from her lips, but came upon deaf ears. Daemon spurred his niece’s advances this time. Moving further away from her grasp back towards the fire.

“I am not alone Rhaenyra.” Daemon turned his back fully towards the fire to face Rhaenyra, but he did not look at his niece as he had said the words. Naerys felt her husband's gaze lock onto her. A grin spread across his face which seemed to grow when he saw the fury within his wife.

Rhaenyra had yet to see her, but the woman was burning up with her own barely contained-rage. She almost fluttered past her as she made her way to exit their chambers, but her lilac eyes finally landed on her cousin. The princess yanked open the iron-framed oak door, bringing in a draft, to face her cousin. Naerys pulled her robe tighter around her body to ward off the chill.

“He never stays in one bed for long.” Rhaenyra’s eyes cast down at Naerys stomach with a mirthless sneer. The older girl bent down slightly to spit her next words in her cousin's ear. “If he ever puts a babe in you he’ll just move on to the next one.” The older girl cast one last look at their uncle, before storming from the room.

A wave of dizziness came over Naerys. Daemon was by her side with surprising speed. His smirk had fallen as he helped her into his chair, seating her on his lap before handing her a goblet of water fussing over her as if he were a mother hen. “I’ve sent for Maester Orlys.” He urged her to drink the cooling liquid. Her anger at her husband faded with each sip. “We are not going.”

Naerys had nearly forgotten Jacaerys name-day feast. Rhaenyra had pushed it back as far as she could, but now that Ser Harwin and the Velaryon party had finally arrived the feast was to take place that night.

“We must.” They hadn’t much of a choice. Their absence at the festivities would be noted. Daemon may not care what the “sheep” gossiped about, but Naerys would not add fuel to the growing pyre. They still had to do their duty.

Naerys made ready to climb off her husband’s lap though her Daemon would not release her. He merely shushed her as he brought the back of his hand up to stroke his niece's sable cheek. He gave her a dark look before he leaned in, catching her open mouth by surprise. Their pink tongues danced tangling with one another briefly before her uncle pulled away.

“Ao issi issa vys issa byka mēre.” Daemon buried his silver head in her neck. He was breathing her in as he softly petted the silver coils at her nape. Naerys let herself be fawned over. Her husband's words and gentle ministrations soothed the last remnants of the dull ache she had felt moments ago. “You mean more to me than you could possibly know.”

It occurred to her that for all of his bolstering and saccharine remarks Daemon had never spoken those three little words. They had been married for a year now and yet in some ways Naerys still felt like she did not know her husband at all of his true opinion of her.

Was a man like her husband even capable of such feelings? Was he even capable of feeling that way toward her? Love was not a requirement of marriage, but Naerys was certain that she carried half of him inside of her. Surely that meant something. Was she to share a child with a man who ran hot one minute and cold?

“Get dressed sweetling.” Daemon snapped Naerys from her thoughts with a start. Releasing her from his lap with a final kiss on her temple before turning quickly to head to his own antechamber to do the same.

The rogue prince did not stop to check back on her, but his wife did not miss the glance he gave her before he had left to change. Nor did she miss when he hesitated to leave her in the first place. Naerys knew that she was burning under his fire, but perhaps he burned in hers as well. Or perhaps she was too hopeful. Believing in fairytales, words made of wind, and gallant knights where there were none to be found.

If it was something Naerys mother's family were known for it was how to make an entrance. In Velaryon fashion, they arrived late. They were the last ones to arrive at the Red Keep for the little prince's festivities and what an entrance they had made. Particularly Laena’s girls.

The little darlings had stolen the show. Baela and Rhaena were not yet half a year old and yet their presence dazzled the court. They were small little things that had inherited their mother's silver waves and the lilac eyes of house Velaryon. Sans their coloring, which was all Ser Harwin, they looked like the spitting image of their mother.

Naerys held onto the belief that babies could change until she saw Luke and Jace near their sire. Laenor’s “sons” had not a stitch of their “father” in them, nor their mother for that matter. One had only to look at Ser Harwin to see who fathered them.

Naerys had not meant to ambush her cousin, but Laena had arrived too late for a private chat over tea as she had wanted. She and Daemon were officially due to depart for Dragonstone in the coming days. Regardless of whether they made that journey together or not, the feast was likely Naerys' only chance to learn the truth of the situation.

Her cousins had not denied the affair. “My daughter will be queen,” Laena smiled at the passing ladies of the court as they took a turn about the room. “My youngest will likely be the lady of Driftmark.” She was a daughter of house Velaryon and a dragonrider. She held her head high as they passed by her husband. Ser Harwin smiled at his wife, bouncing one of their daughters in his hold. “I am happy with what I have dear cousin.”

Naerys could not understand how her cousin could be so calm in the face of everything. Laena had the patience of a septa. The young princess did not believe she could endure being around her husband’s mistress day in and out, much less embrace the situation with open arms. She would have grown mad by now, but her oldest cousin possessed a quiet acceptance that was lacking in even those twice her age.

Princess Rhaenys bristled whenever Rhaenyra or her sons came near. She seemed to avoid her good son altogether. Leaving for the opposite side of the room when the captain of the city watch ventured too close to her. Her behavior was a stark contrast to how her husband approached the subject of their grandsons and their sire

Lord Corlys for all intents and purposes appeared unconcerned. Baela, Laena’s oldest, was already betrothed to the future king of the seven kingdoms. From Laena’s own mouth Rhaena would be betrothed to the heir of her father's seat. As long as her uncle's blood sat upon the Driftwood throne he would not deny the strong boys the privilege of the Velaryon name.

Naerys' other uncle was a different matter. If there was any question of Ser Vaemond’s views on the future king and the Lord of Driftmark one need only to see the sneers the dark man gave his good niece and her sons to decipher his true opinion.

Laena was called away to deal with a teething Rhaena. Naerys was left alone. Daemon stood on the opposite side of the hall with Lord Boremund and her aunt Rhaenys. Her husband met her eyes, giving her a smirk. She might have gone over to join them, but though he was good-natured she always found the storm lord too brutish for her tastes.

“You glow my princess.” A foreign voice emerged from the shadows. Naerys turned to its source to come face to face with a ghost. Lords and Ladies gilded around the great hall with practiced ease. Not paying any attention to them. Naerys wondered if the woman was a figment of her imagination, but she knew that her eyes did not deceive her when Rhaenyra stared at her from where she sat at the high table with a mocking leer.

Lady Mysaria stood as an unnaturally pale thin creature cloaked in a hooded robe. Naerys had only seen her husband's former mistress from a distance. She had been a child then, but The woman had not changed much from her memory.

“Thank you.” Naerys did not know how else to respond. It was best to take her words at face value than see them as something more. The woman reached out a milky hand to brush her stomach. Her hands were cold. Cold enough to feel through the layers of dark gown she wore. Naerys tried not to flinch at her touch. Something told her not to falter under the pale woman’s stare.

“You have not told him have you?” The white worm continued to caress her stomach. Naerys dared not to breathe. She feared that if she did her body would give into the cold. “Children are fickle creatures. A blessing from the Gods that can be so easily taken away before they are even born.” She smiled and the chill spread. “Fear not princess, your husband shall have his heir.” Mysaria turned her violet gaze on the other side of the room towards where the princess had last seen her husband.

Naerys did not want to follow it, but she could not resist. Lord Boremund and Rhaenys had left from Daemon's side. Their presence had been replaced by a visiting Lysenni lady. Her white hair gleamed and reflected off of the hall’s ember glow. The lady had her hand resting on Daemon’s arm.

The rogue prince leaned into her hold bending his silver head so that she may whisper in his ear. Whatever she had said made the two descend into laughter. Naerys felt her face heat up. She tried to contain her fire, but she felt herself spiraling at the next words the white worm's breathed into her ear. “His heir and more to spare.” Mysaria was not known for her gift of prophecy, but she had known Daemon.

He will get bored of you. Rhaenyra’s unspoken words rang around in her head. She could no longer hear the noise of the festivities around her. Daemon had his fill. Naerys was just a plaything to him. A useful necessity that he was bound to, but the bonds of marriage meant little to her husband. He was back to where he wanted to be. He can not survive in one bed alone. It did not matter what pretty words he muttered to her in the dark of their chambers. Daemon was not built for it.

“Are you well princess?” Ser Gwayne had removed himself from his post and was by her side before she could blink. Holding her forearm up with practiced ease. Concern was written plainly across his face. Lady Mysaria had slinked back to whatever hole she had crawled out from, but the princess could still feel the chill she had left behind. Naerys felt eyes watching her every move. She could barely breathe under their stares.

“Would you escort me to my seat Ser?” Naerys did not have to explain she would not make it there herself. The Hightower knight was not the only one who had noticed her distress. Daemon was thundering across the Red Keeps great hall. The fury of the dragon blazing in his eyes.

Naerys met Ser Gwayne’s dark eyes before nodding her head in the direction of the oncoming storm. I do not want him whisking me off somewhere to simper out more empty words. The knight gave her a small smile in understanding. Taking her arm to escort her into the crowd, but Daemon had made their way towards them before they could.

“Thank you Ser Gwanye, but your assistance is no longer required.” Daemon sneered at the younger man. His empty sword hand twitches at his side. Viserys had not allowed her husband to bring Dark Sister to the feast. Only the guards had a need for weapons. Naerys thanked the Gods for her uncle’s foresight.

“I will go when the princess dismisses me.” The Hightower knight stood his ground this time. His dark eyes stared her husband down. The two were at a crossroad. Naerys wondered if the two would cause a scene.

“She is my wife Ser. You will release her this instant or you will not see to the end of this feast your dear sister has so dutifully planned.” Daemon's grip tightened on her. Only relaxing it when she let out a wince. Naerys would not meet his eyes. Her husband had no right to his foul temper. He had embarrassed her enough for one night. She would no longer placate him.

“Aunt,” a small voice called from the edge of the crowd. Aemond stood beckoning Naerys over to where he and his siblings sat on the far end of the high table. Naerys had never been more grateful for the distraction. Ser Gwayne let her go upon hearing his nephew, but Daemon would not fold.

“Our nephew calls for me my lord.” Naerys felt herself burning up as she finally lifted her head to gaze up at her husband. “May I go to him or are you mistrustful of little boys as well as the knights of your brother’s City Watch?” She expected her husband, but instead, he began to drag her to the king's youngest children.

They passed by the Lysenni lady Daemon had been enchanted with moments before. “Princess.” It was said with a curtesy and a polite smile. One which Naerys did not return. How could she expect her to when she had so blatantly made a pass at her husband with her in the very same room?

“She’d sooner take you into her bed than see me in it, you spoiled thing.” Daemon went to caress her arm, but the princess jerked from his touch. Her husband’s boldness would never cease to astound her. Naerys dug her heels into the floor. A move that she would regret as he threw her over his shoulder. Some of her uncle’s visiting guests looked their way, but the lords and ladies of the court were far used to the rogue prince's antics.

“Are you ill aunt?” Aemond asked with a frown as Naerys' uncle deposited her in an empty seat to Helaena’s left. Daemon moved to sit in the chair to her right, next to his brother's second son.

“Your aunt is fine.” Daemon placed a kiss on the back of her hand before setting their joint hands on the oak table. “She’s just tired.” Naerys sunk her nails into the back of her uncle's hand. It was not enough to draw blood, but it did cause the prince to grunt in discomfort.

She challenged her husband with a raised eyebrow. The man relented with a smirk breathing a threat into his niece’s ear. “Behave or you will not be able to walk tomorrow.” Naerys released her claws with a glare.

The children seemed to pay no mind to the older prince and princesses' heated exchanges. Aemond began to prattle on about some Valyrian text he had come across to his “nuncle.” Aemond and Damon's relationship had improved greatly. It was in no small part to Naerys.

With Naerys' increasing dizzy spells Daemon had forbidden her from flying alone. The royal couple would take turns riding Caraxes and Silverwing together. Carving out some time in the day to visit their dragons. By the second week of their stay in the capital, Aemond would often wait for them at the Dragon Pit entrance. Trying to catch a glimpse of their dragons with wonder in his eyes.

The young prince had no dragon of his own. His egg had long since turned to stone. Aegon had already begun to tease his brother about his dragonless state. His siblings' dragons were too small to ride, but they would soon even little Daeron would become Dragonriders while their brother remained without so much as a dragon to call his own.

The queen was not overly fond of her children’s dragons, but she understood the importance of the bond between a Targaryen and their dragon. She knew how her second son longed for an end to his dragonless state. It took little to convince Alicent to allow him the privilege of a dragon ride. Daemon had not been able to say no either after she had ambushed him while he was still coming down from his high one night.

“I would be grateful kepus if you— if you were to take Aemond with you and Caraxes on your next ride.” The two lay panting in each other’s embrace. Naerys combed her fingers through silver locks as he lay on top of her. The princess winced as her husband replaced his spent cock with his fingers. “Kostilus kepus.”

Daemon's eyes remained glazed over as he watched his digits move in and out of her spasming cunt. Fucking his cum back into his niece while his thumb drew small circles on her clit. “Ao issi sīr gevie byka mēre.” The rogue prince suddenly removed his fingers from within her as the princess was on the crest of another release. Naerys whined at her ruined climax, but her husband only shushed her. “Ao drējī issi vēttan syt issa”

Some of his seed leaked out wetting the silk sheets below, but the lovers paid it no mind as Daemon brought his fingers to his niece's waiting mouth. Naerys eagerly lapped at their combined spends while her husband gave into her demands.

The boy had been ecstatic when Daemon had helped him climb upon Caraxes back. Naerys watched them from the dragon pit entrance with a less than enthused Ser Criston who acted more like the boy's father than his mother's guard as they made their descent into the horizon. Aemond took to the sky’s with a fever she had not seen apart from Daemon and Laena.

Naerys reached for the goblet of water that was placed in front of her. Most of the nausea she had felt in the past had dissipated, but the dizziness remained. Helaena looked up at her with a smile. She was a sweet quiet girl, if not a bit spacey. Alicent’s daughter placed a small hand on her belly with a wistful smile.

“Do not fret aunt. My sister shall be healthy and beautiful.” Dragon dreams. Naerys did not know what to say. Daemon narrowed his eyes at their niece's words, but he made no comment. Only Aegon would grace the table with his thoughts on his sister's riddles.

“Mother isn’t pregnant you nitwit.” Aemond looked as if he wanted to throttle his own brother. Even Helaena had turned her nose up at the unruly boy. Aegon’s ill-mannered behavior remained unchecked by both the king and his mother. His sire seemed to barely acknowledge his existence while Alicent remained at a loss for how to best deal with it.

The king made his way to retire for the evening. He had stayed far longer than he usually did at the feasts of late. Those seated at the high table rose with him as was customary before Viserys would depart. Naerys tried to rise with the rest of the table, but Daemon rested his hand on her shoulder to stop her. As she looked at the pale hand Naerys felt what little was left of her restraint vanish.

She no longer cared if she made a scene. Let the court see how the rogue prince viewed her. The princess managed to shake free of her husband's hold. In her haste, she rose too quickly. Tripping over the leg of her chair she had pushed too far back, Naerys felt herself lose her balance. Her husband caught her before she could hit the Great Hall’s stone floors.

Daemon's voice was the first Naerys heard when she returned to consciousness. She felt sluggish and drowsy. The princess spied from the corner of her eyes one of Maester Orlys’ tinctures on her vanity. Whatever the kindly man had given her had a foul aftertaste.

“How long have you known sweetling?” Daemon did not look angry as he sat in a chair that had been placed by their bed dragging the back of his hand softly across her cheek. He in fact reminded her of a kicked puppy. His gaze was as tender as his touch. The rogue prince looked more like a boy of ten than a man grown. Naerys supposed that was really what he was underneath his bravado.

“When Alicent first invited me to tea.” She felt a weight lift off her shoulder at the revelation. Naerys had her suspicions before, but she had not been sure until Alicent had made it plain to her.

“Ser Gwayne was only trying to help.” Daemon winced. He should have been there for her, not the Hightower knight, but he would apologize for jumping to conclusions. It was not in his nature to express regret for his actions. Naerys understood why. Their fires burned too hot to allow them to. “How far along did Maester Orlys say I was?”

“Three moons.” The baby would arrive in time before the new year. Enough time to get her affairs in order. Enough time to travel to Dragonstone and then Driftmark if she so wished. Naerys wondered if she could fly there now. Daemon answered that question for her.

“We can journey back home.” He gave her a small smile. Petting her silver twists as if she were a child. Her handmaids must have come in at some point to braid up her hair. Something that she would be thankful for in the morning.

“You may stay.” Daemon began to tense up at her words. She reached out in search of the scars on her husband's neck. Stroking the rough skin with a soft hand. It was funny enough, but Naerys felt much calmer now. Looking back on the day the princess had realized that she had let others draw conclusions for her now. Conclusions that only one man could provide.

“I will go to Driftmark.” She tried to sound absent-minded as she said it. Continuing to trace over her husband's scars, threading her fingers into his hair. A storm cloud came over her husband. Naerys could not contain her smile at seeing her uncle's reaction.

Daemon noticed it, but he made no comment as he fell to his knees to kiss the top of her crown before burrowing his silver head into her neck. “I am yours you stubborn girl. I am no one, but yours as you are mine.” The man was exhausted. A day of pointless fighting had worn them both out. “We will go to Dragonstone. I’ve had enough of this city and it’s gossip.”

“I could lose it.” Daemon tensed up once more underneath her fingers. He removed himself from her neck. Violet eyes met a pair of amethyst orbs. It was bad luck to speak of such things. Especially in the early days, but the thought gnawed at her. So many things could go wrong. Naerys never considered herself a very lucky person.

“Ao issi daor nykeā jaes kepus.” Daemon was a man. He behaved as if he were a dragon, but he was still a man and Naerys was a mere woman. They were flesh, blood, and bone. They could not bend fate to suit them. Mortals had their limitations. The king talked of prophecies, but Daemon was little better with his blood obsession.

“Your mother doubts you byka zaldrīzes.” Her husband bent down to place a kiss on her still flat belly. “She worries too much.” Lifting up to face her once more Daemon grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. Lending her the strength that had left from her body. “Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys. Iksā emare ñuha riña. Īlva riña. Iksi jāre lenton.”

Naerys was too tired to argue with her husband. There was still plenty to sort out, but the day had been long. The princess let herself be petted as she drifted off into a dreamless wonder. She would worry about their future in the morning when her head was clear.

Translations:

Kosti sagon biare kesīr: We can be happy here

kepus: uncle

Ao issi issa vys issa byka mēre: You are my world my little one

Kostilus kepus: Please uncle

Ao issi sīr gevie byka mēre: You are so beautiful little one

Ao drējī issi vēttan syt issa: You truly are made for me

Ao issi daor nykeā jaes kepus: You are not a god uncle

byka zaldrīzes: little dragon

Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys. Iksā emare ñuha riña. Īlva riña. Iksi jāre lenton: You are my wife. You are having my child. Our child. We are going home.

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