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sl-ut · 1 year

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a lady’s demand

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader

description: rhaenyra comes face-to-face with her former best friend years later, and all of the feelings that she thought had simmered down have begun to boil over.

warnings: got/hotd typical triggers, mentions of children dying :(

words: 3K

date posted: 31/01/23

(REPOSTED BC TUMBLR FLAGGED IT??)

previous part

Life had been increasingly bland for Rhaenyra since she had been promoted as the heir to the Iron Throne. As a young lady she’d imagined herself in two situations; one where she had taken a husband but still had her most faithful friend and paramour at her side, and another where she had actually been able to take a wife rather than a husband. She was not able to accomplish either of these things in the twenty-odd years that had passed since she had last seen her dearest Y/n.

The princess had been married at the urgence of her father’s failing health to young Ser Laenor Velaryon–her cousin. There were still many who had not yet come to terms with the fact that Rhaenyra was still first in line for her father’s throne, especially after the birth of three young princes on Alicent’s part, so it was not beyond Rhaenyra’s comprehension as to why she was being pawned off to the second most powerful and ancient houses, as well as the only remaining family with pure Valyrian blood in their veins. She had thought that this might have silenced many of the hurtful whispers at court, though she did very little to help herself when she birthed three dark-haired princes, all who appeared to be the spitting image of Ser Harwin Strong rather than her husband.

She found it much easier to accustom herself to the married lifestyle than she had ever expected it to be, though it would be improper if she were not to admit that she did not live the typical life of a royal wife. She and her husband had very little to do with each other physically, but had grown to be very good friends, and he remained a somewhat dutiful father to their three young boys, despite the fact that he was fully knowledgeable of who their true father was. Between the relationships she had found with her husband, children, and occasional lover, she had expected to have been too busy to even consider the fact that she might be lonely.

As much as she may have wanted to deny herself anything but the utmost feeling of confidence and security, Rhaenyra could tell that her political position was wavering, as well as her social standing. Few could genuinely stand to exchange too much conversation with the princess–she had often come off as harsh or cynical at feasts, and had also made it very clear to the court that any friends of the queen would be the enemies of herself. She had fallen so far from where she had once stood, no longer the one that lords fawned over or whose ladies tried their best to impress with pretty songs and needlepoint, and she could pinpoint the exact moment where the rapid descent had begun.

Over the first year of Y/n’s marriage, she wrote to the princess many times. The first letter contained a heartfelt apology, begging her to understand why she was forced to leave and only referring to her as her ‘dearest Rhaenyra.’ The second came a month later, a few weeks after Y/n’s wedding–Y/n proudly wrote to her old friend that she was with child. In the third, she told her of her early labours, though she claimed they were well worth it once she laid eyes on her sweet little boy, as well as congratulating Rhaenyra on her own marriage, wishing her and Laenor a lifetime of happiness. Rhaenyra sometimes wondered if things might have been different if she had done the same to Y/n–a fight could be forgiven, Rhaenyra understood by this point that there was simply nothing that Y/n could do in order to avoid her marriage, especially now that she had been forced into her own. However, she began to understand the brokenness of their relationship as letters began to arrive only every few months.

The final letter that she would receive was messier than any of the others. The seal was smudged, but the princess had very no doubt of who this letter was from. Her heart clenched at the sight of the tear-stained parchment, the penmanship not nearly as neat and tidy as Y/n had been trained to produce. Rhaenyra wept silently as she read the vague details of the sickness that had spread through the north, and how both of her young children had met the Stranger in the early hours of the morning. The final letter referred to her only as ‘Princess,’ rather than any affectionate nicknames, and Rhaenyra understood this to be the final chance being given by her friend, but it would not be taken. Rhaenyra quietly wiped her cheeks and slipped the letter inside the locked wooden box with the rest.

The princess was surrounded by family at court, and yet, she was almost entirely alone. Her father was growing increasingly ill, and most of Alicent’s time was spent caring for him and her children. Rhaenyra’s own boys were now at the age where she was unable to hover over them at all times, aside from Joffrey, who was still a babe. Laenor was a friend, someone she could confide in, though it was quite rare that he was sober while she did so, and was off with the prettiest of boys at court more often than he was with his family. Harwin, well he was physically comforting to her, but they both knew that the relationship between them was born out of mutual loneliness, not love. She could not deny that she missed having Y/n at her side, nor that she was not apologetic over the nature of their parting, but she was unable to overcome her fatal flaw of her undying pride. In fact, there were many times when she asked Harwin to come to her bed, only to close her eyes and imagine her dearest friend as she reached her climax. Even his death caused her to mourn the physical comfort that he brought her more than any sort of emotions that may have been involved.

It was not until she’d been widowed and remarried within the same few days that Rhaenyra had caught wind of the death of Lord Crane, leaving Y/n a widow in the north, where she had no family or allies. Her initial instinct had been to write to her, to invite her to stay at Dragonstone, perhaps they could even mend their relationship–she couldn’t imagine that Daemon would be entirely opposed to welcoming another woman into their marriage.

But she did not. Instead, she wrote no letters and continued to keep every ounce of love that she still held for Y/n secret from her husband. She understood that there would come a day where it did not hurt so much to think of her, though the princess did not doubt for a moment that Y/n of House Y/l/n was the love of her life.

Political tensions surrounding the line of succession seemed to have settled tremendously since the princess’s departure to Dragonstone, though that was likely more so because she simply was not present to hear any of the newly-brought up courtly gossip. It plagued her to return to King’s Landing in order to restore her son’s inheritance, but it made it clear to her that just removing her boys out of the public eye was not enough to prevent them from being shamed and scrutinised over their birthrights, especially now so that she had given Daemon two more sons, both of which inherited traditional Valyrian appearances.

Rhaenyra was immediately underwhelmed by the greeting that she received as she returned to the palace where she’d grown up. She pictured herself climbing out of the carriage and meeting her sweet Y/n at the gates after touring for betrothal candidates. Instead, she was met only by a handful of guards and servants and Lord Caswell, who had proven himself to have been the only member of her father’s court who hadn’t been eagerly awaiting her eventual misstep so that they might usurp her and have her replaced by her younger brother, Aegon.

The Red Keep, too, had changed. The large tapestries and sigils of her ancestral house had been removed, and large figures and artwork depicting the Seven had taken their place. This was no doubt a decision made by the queen, who had once tried her best to influence Rhaenyra with her own religious values. She also recognized very few of the courtiers; of course all of those who had been devoted to serving the queen, the hand, or both were still present, though there were many new faces.

The silver-haired princess sighed, clasping her hands together in front of her as she stared up at the crimson leaves hanging from the weirwood tree above her. This was the one place in the Red Keep that had seemingly not changed too much in the years since she’d removed herself from court, but there was still a strange energy that lingered over the area as she huddled closer to herself beneath her shawl.

“Are you alright, mother?” She turned her head, finding Jace standing several feet away, concerned marking his features as he took in his mother’s own expression.

The princess sniffled, “Of course, my boy. ‘Tis only strange to see my home so different from how I remember it.”

“Does it make you sad?”

“It does.”

He stepped closer, standing close to her side as he stared into the ruby eyes of the tree, “What happens to us if they side with Vaemond Velaryon–if they find Luke, Joffrey, and I to be illegitimate?”

“Do not ask such questions, Jace,” She snapped, “To even question your own birth as my heir, and to question my virtue as the future queen is treasonous. Besides, there is absolutely no evidence against us, it would be impossible to–”

The oxygen left her lungs as if someone had beaten her in the gut. As she turned to face her eldest son, an eerily familiar face appeared behind him. The woman appeared spooked at the sight of the princess, turning on her heel and rushing off in the direction that she had come from.

“Mother–”

“Go back to your rooms,” Rhaenyra ordered as she pushed past him.

“”But–”

“Go, Jace.”

Considering the fact that the princess was more than halfway through her sixth pregnancy, she was rather quick on her feet as she desperately raced through the corridors, finding herself wandering into the darkened, winding corridors that travelled beneath the Red Keep. Her eyes darted back and forth in the darkness, aided only by the receding shadow cast on the wall, disappearing more and more as the figure furthered their distance from the nearest light source.

“Stop!” Rhaenyra cried out, pausing as she found herself face to face with Balerion the Dread–or what was left of him. This portion of the underground was brightly illuminated by candlelight, disallowing anyone to go unnoticed, even the crouched figure hiding behind the large pedestal that supported the weight of the large skull.

The princess sighed, feigning exhaustion as she slipped behind one of the large columns, exaggerating her footsteps as she did so. For a few moments, there was nothing. Then, like a spirit appearing out of thin air, Rhaenyra rounded the column and came face-to-face with the Lady Y/n.

“My lady,” Rhaenyra pursed her lips, suddenly aware that she hadn’t considered what she would say to her in this situation.

Her violet eyes scanned the woman in front of her; her hair was shorter than it had been since she’d last seen her, and she had matured into a much more womanly figure–no doubt aided by the process of having children. Her face had aged considerably as well, and her eyes portrayed a soul that was much older than she truly was, someone who had faced many hardships. She was beautiful, that much, Rhaenyra could not deny, but she could not help but feel sorrow dwelling in the depth of her stomach at her sadness.

“Princess,” Y/n’s gaze remained directed to the ground, “I had heard that you had returned to the capitol.”

“I cannot say the same for you. Pray tell, what are you doing so far from the north?”

A flash of despair crossed Y/n’s features, “I should not be so surprised to find that you have not heard of my husband’s passing, and without his sons to be raised, there is nothing for me in Denmerhell.”

Rhaenyra blanched, feeling a pinch of agitation at her words, though she knew that she could not blame her for feeling as if Rhaenyra had abandoned her.

“Or perhaps you have not yet heard of the death of my boys,” Her voice cracked, “I wrote to you, though I’m not certain that you ever received any of my letters.”

“I did,” Rhaenyra whispered, “I received them. I read them. I still have them.”

Y/n appeared taken aback, “And yet you did not respond?”

Rhaenyra shrugged, “I was angry with you, just as I imagine you were with me.”

“Angry with me? For an argument we had as girls–over something that you know I had no control of?” Y/n scoffed, shaking her head, “I wrote to you, begged you to forgive me. I was not angry with you, Rhaenyra, but I am now.”

“You left,” Rhaenyra barked, taking a series of steps closer to the other woman, “You may not have had a choice in the matter, that much I understand, but you cannot blame me for being angry with you. You were all that I had, my father was too preoccupied, and Alicent wanted nothing to do with me.”

“You did not lose me, Rhaenyra,” She whispered to her, closing the gap between them and taking her hand, “I was with you, I tried to be with you. I would have visited, just as you could have visited me.”

A tear trickled down Rhaenyra’s cheek. She tipped her head forward, pressing her forehead against Y/n’s as her free hand cupped her jawline.

“I am sorry,” Rhaenyra whispered. Her pride was something that she had always been unwilling to submit to anyone else, and she had felt a pang in her gut for doing so, yet she knew that this was long overdue, “For your children, for your husband, for not writing to you. I would wish you a lifetime of only goodness if I were able to, but I cannot deny that I am thankful that the gods have brought us back together.”

Y/n raised her free hand, pressing it to Rhaenyra’s swollen womb beneath her shawl, smiling lightly through her own tears, “As am I. I only wish that it was under much different circumstances. I had once dreamed of our children growing up together, playing together.”

Rhaenyra smiled softly, “I had once dreamed of our children growing up as children, and you would be my wife.”

The peaceful expression slipped away from Y/n’s features, “You shouldn’t say such things, Rhaenyra, you’re married. You have children, you are pregnant with your husband’s child.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, perfectly placed strands of silver hair bouncing and reflecting the candlelight as she did so, “I love my husband, my children, and you. A thousand miles and anger could not smother the love I hold for you.”

Y/n did not respond, only blinking her eyes closed as leaning closer to her former lover. She absorbed every ounce of comfort that Rhaenyra was offering, free to indulge herself while they were away from prying eyes. Carefully, the lady nodded her head, eyes sliding open to meet a deep sea of amethyst before leaning closer and capturing her lips with her own.

If Rhaenyra was surprised by this, she did not show it as she immediately reciprocated. Both of her hands moved to grasp the sides of Y/n’s face, holding her close as she forced every ounce of love and despair that had been dwelling within her over the past twenty-odd years into the movements of her lips.

“Please,” the silver haired woman murmured into the embrace, palms sliding down to grasp at the thick material of the lady’s gown, “Allow me to have you.”

Y/n pulled back, “After all of these years, is it truly only my body that you lust after?”

Rhaenyra shook her head, purple eyes beaming in the candlelight as she tipped her forehead against Y/n’s, “I yearn for your body, mind, and soul. My only mistake was not telling you sooner. I beg of you, my love, let me have you.”

There was a pregnant pause, only the deep, bated breaths of both women lingering in the little space left between them. Y/n tugged her lip in between her teeth, gnawing at the swollen flesh anxiously. Rhaenyra could not blame her if she refused, quite honestly. The princess was married, and heavily pregnant with her sixth child, while Y/n had recently lost a husband who she had been rather fond of, and was still in deep mourning of her own two children who were taken from her so cruelly. It was her only wish to bring her even a sliver of the joy that she had once possessed back into her life, and perhaps if he were agreeable, Daemon might even be willing to give her more children to allow her to feel the glory that came with motherhood once more–and of course Rhaenyra’s own children would take to her as a second mother. There was nothing that Rhaenyra would not seek to give her, even if she refused her, but she so desperately wanted to display her own love to her, which had been festering like an untreated burn for far too long.

Finally, after an eternity of silence, Y/n whispered out a meek question, “Is that an order, Princess Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra almost laughed at the irony, the very same question that had torn them apart so many years ago now holding the power to string the broken pieces of their relationship back together.

“No,” She shook her head, “You needn’t take orders from me ever again, my sweet. Instead, I will make it my mission to bend to my lady’s every demand.”

#rhaenyra rp #hotd rhaenyra #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #lesbian #bisexual #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd #house of the dragon spoilers #house targaryen #rhaenyra is a gay icon #gay #sapphic #gxg imagine #wlw

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all-is-fair-in-love-and-war · 1 year

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Like, Comment or Reblog for a starter from

Young Rhaenyra Targaryen

please specify muse!

#starter call #starter call rhaenyra #rhaeynra targaryen #queen rhaenyra #princess rhaenyra #nyra #house of dragon rp #house of the dragon rhaenyra #rhaenyra rp #milly alcock #daemon targaryen

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wetvitamin · 1 year

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𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐬

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Year - 120AC. The year that will be remembered as The Year of the Red Spring. Filled with horrific events, death and accidents. The year that will mark the true division between the blacks and greens. Queen Alicent shows her true colours and Princess Rhaenyra realises that sooner or later there will be a war. After the crippling of the young prince Aemond Targaryen, peace doesn’t seem like an option anymore.

The Westeros disputes had caught the attention of the rest of the world. Our server is orientated towards the dynasty war known as Dance of the Dragons. Here you can impersonate a cannon character or create your own. We accept custom houses too. Many opportunities are open.

Hand turns loom; spool of green, spool of black; dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread. Which one would you choose to support or perhaps work to end them all and erase the Targaryen dynasty and their awful beasts?

Semi-Literate, Literate and Novella

!!!Cannon characters open!!!

Friendly and cool place with based people. No lore chimps you will be able to explore your own characters and arcs. Custom dragon and houses. Everyone is welcomed!

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whcreofdragonstone · 2 years

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" a targaryen must be seated on the iron throne. a king or queen. strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. "

independent, selective Rhaenyra Targaryen roleplay

#{ our worth is not given ; promo }#{ the power of the dragon is the power of the ; ooc }#got rp #house of the dragon rp #rhaenyra targaryen rp #rhaenyra rp #asoiaf rp #game of thrones rp

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in-blood-we-remain-archived · 1 year

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Reverse Meme call!

Like, comment or reblog this post and I’ll send some memes to your inbox 😄

Fair warning, I will probably send a lot

Specify in the comments if you want those memes for or from a certain character. If not I’ll just pick and choose a few

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shuichiakainx · 8 days

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House of the dragon interview 🐉🖤🔥

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ironthroneconquerors · 5 hours

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#daemon targaryen #a song of ice and fire #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #daddy daemon #hotd #house of the dragon #rhaenicent #rhaenyra targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #halaena targaryen #otto hightower #hotd funny #house targaryen #prince daemon targaryen #daemon x rhaenyra #discord rp #game of thrones

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themotherofblood · 1 year

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My dear author, I know your requests are closed, but I couldn't miss the opportunity so I'm going to try my luck… If you can make an exception, I can get an inspired imagine/oneshot Daemon x Dornish reader in "tabaah ho gaye" by Shreya Ghoshal, with a lot of anguish (breaks my heart) but with a happy ending, please? (feel free to ignore and if you can't accept it I completely understand)

yes!! i’m loving all the bollywood inspired chapters. I was hoping I could use this as a part of the dragon and the dancer since y/n is a dancer and she could be ripping a solo in the mirrored palace like madhuri. Also just for the sake of the story we are gonna pretend that these girls magically know the same choreo as Y/N because we are doing things old school bollywood

masterlist

Part 2 of The Dragon and The Dancer

Daemon Targaryen x Martell! Reader

There was much bustling around the Old Palace in the past fortnight, Qoren’s nameday was upon Dorne and the celebrations as usual were to be magnificent, the Mirrored Palace was brighter yet again, every candle burning anew as sweet jasmine filled the palace; coating its walls in the sweet aroma of the flowers. It had been ten years since this palace was used, there was no joy in using it other than when you spent your nights there.

Another reason to rejoice was thrust into your hands by the gods and you simply didn’t want to linger in the misery of your loss, you provided the Sand sisters with keys; under guise that they would be performing for Qoren, along with your younger cousins of nines and tens. You step daughter Rhaena amongst the little girls, you had gotten her ghungroos of her own, made of blue cloth and light gold bells of her ankles to adjust to. She had been running a muck in her chambers, the little bells jangling as she tested her newest trinket.

You had already been dressed for hours, dressing your little cousins as they could barely standstill for more than a few moments, Rhaena’s curls were put in a puff over her head with a stringlet of dahlias, in a beautiful gold ensemble that matched yours, Baela had gone out with her father to mingle with guests arriving from all over Westeros and Essos.

You had led her out, hand in hand as her eyes wandered over to the sea of guests, many ladies approached you; to greet the newly minted wife of the rogue dragon. Many wondered what you had that they didn’t, many frowned at your colour; scoffing at your exoticness. Your husband was rather easier to spot, his striking silver hair inviting you over from a crowded room of people. You shuffled your way to him, offering more polite greeting to whomever spoke to you.

Daemon had been scowling at an envoy, sent to sway your father about the fighting in Stepstones and side with Craghas Drahar; your father had another reason to remain neutral, he wouldn’t harm your husband’s prospects for your sake but refused to side with them for old time nemesis sake. You reached near him as you followed his path of vision to lay upon a much familiar man, a man you wished you would never see again when you left his court at six and ten.

“You are going to make my men and I very happy.” His grimy fingers held your cheeks as he presented you with your own ghungroos.

You immediately intertwined your hands with Daemon’s, almost slotting yourself behind him as the old master recognized your face and gave your a filthy once over before approaching you. Daemon hadn’t quite realized what the man was looking at until the old master stopped to greet them.

“Ah, sweet Y/N. Look at how you have grown,” He gestured at your body as you partially hid behind Daemon. Given where the man had come from, it didn’t take long until Daemon out the pieces together.

“Prince Daemon!,” The old man sneered “Are you here to entertain us with your dragon?” He japed, you could see a nerve bursting in Daemon’s head as he held your hand tighter.

“Here to celebrate with my wife actually, you know. The princess of Dorne.” He gestured at you.

“I wish- wish you good luck in convincing my father, old Ser.” You gave him a practised petty smile before letting Daemon drag you along to the main hall in the Old Palace. The old master’s eyes widened as he watched you embrace Qoren and he placed a fatherly kiss upon your forehead as you wished him a happy name day.

You had found yourself in the chambers were your sisters and cousins all lounged before the performance, you informed them of your withdrawal without any reasoning before stomping to your own personal chambers. Daemon had caught up to you as he found you angrily undoing the knots of ghungroos to free yourself of them. Daemon kneeled infront you, offering to replace his stable hand with your shaky one’s as he undid the knots as you ranted your reasoning.

“I re- refuse to dance for such perverse, his entire court has seen me much bare than I am.” You sighed angrily, “I really wanted to dance for Qoren.” You pouted. Daemon found your reasoning justified as he pulled you onto his lap.

“You have the world’s time to dance for him again, you should do it when you feel ready, not when the known world thinks you are.” He pressed a kiss to your temple.

That was weeks before Daemon Targaryen had decided to descend dragon fire into the Stepstones.

“Your niece’s husband has a dragon!” You reasoned in stress as Daemon prepared his dragon.

“This is the matter of my house, wife. I must fight.” He urged frustrated, hoping for you to see reason in his excursions but all you could picture was you being widowed.

“And what of me? Your daughters? Don’t you owe us your life too?” You bellowed, yanking his gloves from him. He now looked at you perturbed and the scene you were causing. He motioned you to return his gloves and you insolently refused.

“Perhaps if your father would have provided men, this wouldn’t have happened!” This time Daemon let his frustrations get the best of him as he yelled at you, yanking his gloves free from you hands.

“You know I tried!” You shook your head, hoping to fight the tears that threatened to spill.

“You should have tried harder! Or mayhaps your claim to his heart isn’t as meaningful as he poses it to be.” He snapped before existing the chambers. He too didn't want to fight this war and yet he wouldn't allow shame to loom over his brother’s name.

You followed the girls out to the beach mount, Caraxes remained idle as he waited for his rider to mount him. Baela began petting the red dragon, talking to it as if he understood every word. However Caraxes held an odd attention towards you as his giant nostrils flared as he kept sniffing at you. You couldn't quite place what he meant to do and yet pet his snout, hoping he would return your husband to unspoiled; regardless of how angry you were at him at the very moment.

Daemon embraced both his weeping girls, kneeling at their level as they pressed kisses on either side of his cheek before he kissed their foreheads. He looked at you with guilt, hoping to gorge his words from before down his stomach and hitting his head with a rock over how tactless he had been, he came to embrace you; leave you with a parting kiss and yet you pulled away. Pointing at his red dragon, demanding him to leave, he approached once more but you shook your head. Again aggressively point at his dragon.

Daemon’s guilt-ridden eyes gave the women of his life one more look as they embraced one another before Caraxes let out a shrieking whistle and whisked him to the orange clouds of dusk. Just like that he was gone.

Your anger simmered in the coming fortnight as letters began to arrive from the Stepstones, they were written in haste as stains of dirt adored the corners of the papers. He wrote for his daughters and you, making the war sound like an entertaining ballad for his daughters and yet you knew the truth of how ineffectual the dragons had been in this war. He was fighting by hand, starved and pained.

Perhaps the distance and stress for your husband began to claw at your health, you grew nauseous everytime you laid awake to brink of morning as you wondered what he would be doing, was he hurt; was he alright?

Then the universe japed at you as you sat with Maesters, your stomach could barely keep down anything you were eating and as of last fortnight, your handmaidens began behaving oddly up until when they dragged you to the Maester’s chambers.

“Mayhaps two moons princess,” He exclaimed as he washed his hands “Shall I call for your father?”

You shook your head as you rubbed your belly, shaking your head as you realized the night conception. Qoren’s nameday.

More letters were shared between Daemon and you, yet you hid your condition from him; you knew if you told him he would evade his sense of strategy and begin recklessly tearing through people to end the war, with no adhere consequence of his own mortality. The fighting turned dirty as more Velaryon men lost their lives.

You had confessed your pregnancy to your father as you lounged with him at the beach, he had been elated; far too ready to throw yet another extravagant feast and you refused. Urging for him to hold off until your husband returns and not to mention this to anyone else. Perhaps they would figure it out as your belly grew but for now you needed to tell Qoren just to alleviate the gnawing sense of doom in your heart.

Then the letters grew less frequent, muddier and rushed as he professed his love over and over again. Every time you would wish upon them and burn the letters, praying he be returned to you whole. Until a moon turned and his letters stopped entirely, within the three moons he had left, you had never felt the kind of dread you had felt in the moment when the Maester informed you of no letters.

You fought your hasty beating heart, quarrelling for it to stop, to let you breathe normally for just a moment. You rummaged through your chests, hoping to find your ghungroos. For just a while you needed to escape this fear, it was the only thing that would protect your child from yourself. You hurried towards the Mirrored Palace.

The doors had been wide open as echoes of girls giggling and talking were heard from within the main hall, you didn't care to usher them out. You just needed to dance. You had opened the palace for the girls to dance in, it was a shame to keep such a place locked away when it was built with much love for your mother.

Your sisters saw you approach looking troubled, they understood why and sympathized. Some of them caught onto your growing belly during the last turn of the moon. Others figured it out from how you refused to eat certain foods that were once your favourites. Many figured with the four months remaining of your pregnancy, any wife would grow paranoid about their husband’s absence.

“Care to join us, dear sister,” Aliandra spoke up, shushing all your Sand sisters in the process. You didn't say a word, just nodded as your handmaiden helped you tie the ribbons in your ghungroos. Your sisters, with Baela and Rhaena had spent a better part of an hour; arguing over which song to dance over. They knew a few pieces that your mother had taught them and yet everyone had their favourites.

You simply walked to the middle, shrugging your shawl off to not have it in your way, you needed to dance, free-hearted and unabashed. They all awaited, letting you pick the song out of courtesy in your distressed state. You let out a wavering sigh before tucking your right leg behind the left.

Your sweet voice let out the first line of the song, and the master of musical arts and his entourage immediately recognized the song. The strings played their part as a melancholic tune echoed the marble in the palace.

A war widow’s prayer, a macabre choice in tunes and yet far too fitting to portray what it is you were battling within. It called for the safe return of her husband, how she offered her life to the gods for the safe keeping of her husband. Your sisters looked at one another before joining you at the center, all of your ghungroos created a melodic jangle as you danced as one. Rhaena remained seated, still unaware of this piece.

The flute chimed in, calling for the joyous days between Daemon and you, you closed your eyes envisioning the afternoons you had lounged on a sailboat as his daughters swam in the sea. The second verse forces you to remember the sheer aura that drove you toward him, the adoration you held toward him that scared you to the core, praying that your own envy of his essence wouldn't reflect as ill will.

You turned, and so did your sisters; making your skirts flare out in unison. You had to stop for a moment, your singing choked in a sob, as the words whimpered out of your mouth. The colours of your sisters' dresses blurred within the tears pooling past your eyes, they kept dancing knowing better than to not let you feel the anguish you were in.

You recalled your arguement, you hadn't let him kiss you when he left. It couldn't be the last time you kissed him, it simply couldn't. You refused to let that fight be the last of your conversation; even if you had to travel to the Stepstones yourself. There was one thing evident in the last three moons is how incapable of pure joy you were without him. A piece of your heart, packaged in the belongings that he took with him.

Your feet began to ache, from the change in your body due to babe but also how hard you landed on the footwork. The last verse past the bridge echoed across the walls, the notes of your siren-like voice called for far more spectators as you laid your emotions out on the floor, he needed to be okay- he had to be okay. As the last beats of percussion led to the crescendo of footwork, a foot soldier stopped at the gates of the Mirrored Palace, whispering something in your hand maiden’s ear, Her eyes widened as she ran inside, looking toward your dancing figure.

You paused in the middle, everyone still finishing the piece around you, she whispered something to your daughters who ran out of the palace. The shock in her eyes filled your stomach with dread as you walked past your dancing sisters, the thud of ghungroos as you took hastily walked towards the main gates, rubbing at your swollen stomach; far too afraid that if you lost your husband your body would force you to lose this last part of him too.

“Please don't be dead.”

You stopped right by the doors, far too afraid to witness what was behind them. You patted your tummy, taking deep breaths as the knights stationed by the door opened them at your approach. There kneeled Daemon, head buried between his daughters’ shoulders as he engulfed them in his giant arms, you stood atop the stairs as tears of relief replaced the ones of anguish from moments before.

You hurried down the stairs, stopping merely a few feet away from him, praying that he was real. He looked up, face still spotted with specks of soot and dirt; his hair chopped much shorter as he wore a crown made of bone. His lips widened in a smile, a soft smile as he took sympathy to your tears. You threw yourself at him, sobbing the moment his arms wrapped around your shaking body.

“I thought- I thought.” You stammered still sobbing as he held your face in his hands “Your letters stopped and there was no news Daemon.” He nodded, letting your emotions pour out of you “I thought you were dead.” You wailed. He lifted you hand to his thudding heart inside his chest

“See, not dead,” He wiped your tears “I’m here, I’m here.” He cooed as his daughters also wrapped themselves around you and him. You caressed Baela’s hair as you felt her rubbing your arm.

You finally calmed down enough to pull apart, most of your emotions were to be blamed on something Daemon was unaware of, until he pulled back to give you an adoring once-over. His eyes stopped at your middle, letting his hand trail to the soft yet firm swell of your belly. It was unapparent from the fullness of your skirt at first glance but his eyes shot to you, a thousand questions looming behind those purple eyes.

“Five moons now,” You informed him, still sniffling as you smiled wider at his shock.

“Healthy?” He asked, still unable to grasp that there was a child within you.

“Healthy.” You nodded, Daemon’s eyes remained fixated on your middle before he engulfed you once more, picking you off your feet and twirled you around. You shrieked.

Daemon had not only returned victorious despite his brother's shunning and misjudgements but also returned to become a father to three children. There was much preparation to be done since he planned to take his wife to the king's landing, and use the celebrations of his great victory as a momentous event to introduce his wife, and now oncoming child to the court. Just as he had his twin daughters.

That night a steaming bath was prepared for the prince to wash himself of the muck and grime from all the fighting. It has only been mere hours since he learned of your pregnancy and had already begun the chicken mothering, he insisted that you lay in bed until he was done, before that he scolded you for bending to untie your ghungroos and anklets, kneeling down himself to undo them. You, however, as little defiant as ever followed after him to the bath.

He dropped his robe, giving you a full view of his back and the newest burns coating his left side. You gasped making him turn and scowl at you. “What did I say about going to bed?”

You shrugged the subject entirely, frowning at the gashes and stabs of arrows on his body. Your feelings bubbled up to a precipice yet again as your bottom lip wobbled. This time you scowled at him, pushing him towards the bath before dropping your own sleep shift to the ground.

Whatever Daemon was mildly irked over just moments before absolutely abandoned his mind, his eyes took in your bare body, the swell of your breasts and your prominent belly. He had no choice but to cave as you joined him in the bath, shuffling to straddle his legs as you gently washed at his wounds. He hissed out loud making you flinch your hand away.

The frown on your face was all too adorable as he chuckled at your reaction, he had lost feeling to the burned side of his shoulder long before and yet the concern on your face for a devious man like him made him melt behind his demeanour. One thing he knew for sure, was that after this bath, with no mind to the injuries that still caused him discomfort, he was going to ravage your swelling body like a beast gone feral on a full moon.

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jeffreyscoke · 3 months

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Rhaenyra Slaygaryen

#rhaenyra targeryan #queen rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd rhaenyra #hotd #hotd rp #house of the dragon #asoif/got #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #blacks #the blacks #syrax #daemon targeryan #rhaen #emma d’arcy

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behindfairytales · 1 year

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Emma D'Arcy in House of the Dragon (1.10) as Rhaenyra Targaryen

#emma d'arcy avatars #hotdedit #period fc #emmadarcyedit #rhaenyra targaryen #emma d'arcy #asoiafedit #hotd #house of the dragon #rp avatars #avatars 400*640 #rpg resource #*avatars #*mine #n:200

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sl-ut · 1 year

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a princess's order

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader

description: rhaenyra tries to come to terms with the fact that y/n is betrothed and will soon be leaving king’s landing, but it is much more difficult than she had anticipated.

warnings: descriptions of sex, slight hints homophobia, arranged marriage

words: 4.4K

date posted: 20/12/2022

next part

“Have you ever kissed a man?”

The question was a bold one to be asked by one young princess to her lady as they took a stroll through the gardens, and a few older ladies seemed to perk up as she asked it while they passed by. Gossip was a very expensive luxury in King’s Landing, and so late in the afternoon on the evening of a royal feast, very few were eager to pass up points of conversation to bring up with those who they are seated with. However, anyone who genuinely knew the princess and her lady would know that this was not entirely out of context. The two young girls liked to spy on others at court, spinning their own tales about which lady was after which lord, and what aspects of their personal life would jeopardise such a match, making sly comments about the men who served the princess’s father so dutifully (and the queen, on several occasions), but never had they truly ventured into their own sexual appetites, for they were both young and unmarried, so they were expected to have not taken part in anything below their station.

Y/n’s face beamed with heat, embarrassment creeping up her spine at the princess’s question. She lowered her gaze to the fabrics of her skirts, picking at them anxiously with her free hand before she shook her head.

“Of course not,” She glanced over her shoulder to spy the princess’s sworn protector, Ser Criston acting as if he was not at all listening in on their conversation from several paces back, “It would be unbefitting of me.”

“Hm,” Rhaenyra hummed, “Interesting.”

"Rhaenyra," The lady hissed, "Please tell me you haven't-"

“Lady Y/n, do you dare question my virtue? As Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron Throne, I could have you hanged, drawn, and quartered for such a thing.”

Y/n scoffed, bumping the silver haired princess with her shoulder as they continued to walk. Rhaenyra chuckled at her, pursing her lips as she thought up her next inquiry.

“Have you ever been with a man?”

“Rhaenyra!” Y/n sneered under her breath, “I’ve already told you that I haven’t so much as kissed a man, and now you ask if I’ve-” She glanced back at Ser Criston once more before lowering her voice even more, “-lost my maidenhead?”

“Oh please, it does not require kissing.”

Y/n furrowed her brows. She did her best not to imagine how her parents had been while performing their marital duties, but she did know that they were very in love and did not hold back on their affection when in the company of their own families. As the lord of a powerful house from the Riverlands, Y/n’s father was betrothed to the most suitable bride, and it was considerable luck that they grew fond of each other. Y/n dreamed of a marriage of her own that resembled that of her parents, and she certainly could not imagine allowing someone to be inside of her without even so much as a kiss.

“Would you wish it without?” Y/n asked.

Rhaenyra debated her answer, “Depends. If he is old and ugly, I think I could do without, but I think I would quite prefer it if he were to be quite handsome.”

Y/n remained quiet at this. The days were growing sparse in the time that they had left together like this; Soon enough they would be married off and unable to spend so much time together in favour of caring for their husbands and children. Rhaenyra at least had the luxury of having a choice in the matter, and the fact that she would remain in King’s Landing regardless of who she married, while Y/n was under the complete control of her father and could be shipped off to the other end of Westeros to marry any old lord at a moment’s notice. In fact, she knew for a fact that her father had already been corresponding with several lords around the nation for a match for her, whether it be for himself or for his son, and from her father’s perspective, many seem eager to take such a fine young lady to wife.

“I think we should return, Princess,” Y/n murmured, “The sun is setting, and you still need to be bathed and dressed before the feast.”

If Rhaenyra took note of her friend’s change in attitude, she did not make it clear to her as she quietly agreed, holding her arm tighter within her own as they began the trek back into the Red Keep and up to the tower where her chambers were.

The hours of the evening passed quickly with so much to do. Rhaenyra took her time in the bath, preferring to make life more difficult for her ladies and handmaidens than it truly needed to be, while Y/n carefully laid out her gown for the evening before taking care of her own appearance. The young lady donned a gown of scarlet silk, a colour that Rhaenyra insisted that she wears more often–not only did it compliment her features tremendously, but it also meant that she wore the colours of the royal house. The dress had short, capped sleeves, and an intricately embroidered bodice of gold, white, and amethyst, allowing her space to breathe and giving her a more womanly figure, which her father insisted that she must begin to present.

Rhaenyra smiled at her when she took in her appearance, kissing her cheek and telling her that she was lovely. The young lady blushed at her words, surely Rhaenyra must be blind to compliment her when she always appeared so radiant herself. Rhaenyra’s gown was extravagant for such a common event, though she seemed to prefer more mature designs as of late. It was grey in colour, but took on multiple shades of thread that decorated the entire length of the gown; It was a beauty that Y/n imagined that her father would need to sell all of his titles and lands to even hope to afford, though it was likely gifted to the princess, as many of her finer articles were. The princess struggled to disguise her sneer when her handmaidens suggested that tonight she would attract many suitors in such a dress, and even joked that she would change if they thought such a thing.

“You look beautiful, princess,” Y/n wrapped her arms around her shoulders from behind as they stared into the mirror at one another, “Like a queen in her own right.”

Rhaenyra smiled at her, the apples of her cheeks growing red at her praise, grasping her hands within her own to thank her.

The princess did not expect to find someone so dear to her after Alicent became queen, and she hadn’t expected to feel so close to someone else in such a way that made her heart soar upon her kind words and her stomach clenched at the mere sight of her. Rhaenyra admired her friend’s beauty, sometimes finding herself unable to look away even when she was caught. She, too, understood that their friendship would never stay the same after they were both married, only she was under the impression that she would be able to call upon her dearest friend whenever she needed her, and that Y/n would never agree to a match that required her to pick up and leave her behind.

The feast was grand, a celebration of the young princess Helaena’s second name day. It was not an occasion in comparison to the ones held in honour for Rhaenyra’s own name days, nor was it as grand as those held for the prince Aegon, but it was still a large scale event that befits a member of the royal family. Rhaenyra, of course, is seated at the right hand of her father, glowing in the candle light as she overlooks the masses that have gathered, eyes constantly falling over to where her beloved friend was sitting with her own father, who scarcely took a break from socialising with the other nobles around him to notice that Jason Lannister had taken up the seat next to his daughter and was speaking very closely to her ear.

Rhaenyra sneered at this. Jason Lannister had once made an attempt to seduce her, and once she had made it clear to him that she would fly to Casterly Rock and burn it to the ground before she became its Lady, he made haste to turn his attentions elsewhere, and unfortunately for her, he had seemed to set his gaze upon Lady Y/n. She appeared to be equally as unimpressed with his honey-coated words as she did thankful for some sort of entertainment, but Rhaenyra was sure that Y/n wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall for whatever he was telling her, especially since she had been the one to tell her many things about Jason Lannister several years before when he had tried to seduce the princess at Aegon’s name day hunt.

Still, the princess found herself downing the remainder of her honey wine–funnily enough having been provided for the feast by Jason Lannister’s brother, Tyland–before she descended the small staircase and slowly made her way through the crowd in the direction of her lady.

“Lord Jason,” Rhaenyra interrupted whatever he was saying, “If you wouldn’t mind, I am in need of Lady Y/n’s assistance.”

“Princess,” The lord appeared peeved at her for stealing the young lady away, but offered no interference, “Why of course.” He paused to kiss Y/n’s knuckles, “I hope you might save me a dance, Lady Y/n.”

Rhaenyra snickered as she led her friend away from the lords, “I’ll accept your thanks later. You truly mustn’t keep such dull company, dear friend.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “That is why I accompany myself with you, Princess. Never a dull moment. Though, I’m afraid my father won’t be happy with you dragging me away from yet another potential betrothal.”

Rhaenyra glared, “You and Jason Lannister? He is hardly worthy.”

Y/n sighed, “I’m starting to think that you believe that no one is worthy.”

“Because no one is worthy of you,” Rhaenyra grasped her hand within her own. “Nor will they ever be, and I promise I will feed any man who claims otherwise to Syrax.”

Rhaenyra was serious with her threat, and though she knew better than to think that she could just feed anyone to her dragon for simply glancing in her lady’s direction, it did not stop her from releasing the wrath of her own inner dragon on them.

Over the next four weeks, Rhaenyra made sure to have lords embarrassed or sent away from court as they began to interrupt her time with Y/n, few of them brave enough to make propositions to both of them. Rhaenyra was growing suspicious of Y/n’s father, who never seemed to be too far from his daughter these days and always seemed to be peeved with the amount of time that the two young girls often spent together.

During the fifth week, Rhaenyra set her sights on Lord Robert Crane, the heir to a northern house. It had happened during one of their many strolls through the gardens, Rhaenyra had stepped away from the beaten path for a moment as she spied a small red flower with dark black blooming around the edge of each petal, plucking it for her dearest lady only to find that the young lord had taken her place, offering her an even larger flower of gold and amethyst–the colours of his own house.

“Lord Robin, how lovely to see you,” She greeted him with a sickly smile.

“Princess,” He bowed his head to her, then shrugged as he corrected her, “Apologies, but it’s Robert.”

“Oh, how foolish of me,” Rhaenyra smirked, “I have a hard time remembering names of those who are scarcely mentioned at court.”

Y/n widened her eyes at her as a silent sign to stop speaking, though the young lord did not seem to even understand the insult, or if he had, he did not allow her to see the fact that he had been so affected by her words.

“No offence taken, Princess,” He shrugged once more, “My family does not come to court often, as we are so far away.” Robert glanced over to hold Y/n’s uncertain gaze, “My father and I have come to find me a suitable match, I’m to inherit the seat of Denmerhell someday. My home is the source of more than half of the realm’s rubies, and I would hope to someday shower my bride in jewels just as precious as she.”

Rhaenyra sneered at him, then at her lady who seemed to be soaking up every ounce of attention that he was offering her.

“Yes, well we usually prefer even more precious materials here in the capitol, isn’t that right, Lady Y/n?” She turned to her friend, reaching to lift her hand to show him the dainty ring that sat on her finger, “Valyrian steel. I had a second made so that my lady and I could match.”

“Valyrian steel?” He puckered his lips in thought, “Now that is hard to come by, though I suppose it is quite a waste to melt it into jewellery rather than weapons. Beautiful as it may be, this ring could be a dagger–I could make you one, my lady, and encrust the hilt with as many rubies as you please.”

Rhaenyra could not help the slight drop of her jaw. He could not have just offered to take the ring that she had made for Y/n to make it into a dagger–How bold could he be? She was the princess, for gods’ sake, and someday would be queen. Though, at least she now knew who her first war would be waged against.

“Thank you, my lord, that is a very kind offer.” Y/n smiled politely.

“We must go, I’m afraid,” Rhaenyra took Y/n’s arm, “Womanly duties, I’m sure Lord Reginald understands.”

“Of course,” He pressed a kiss to Y/n’s knuckles, “My lady.”

He sauntered off without even acknowledging the princess once more, leaving both of the young ladies to watch his back as he disappeared around one of the many long walls of hedges. Rhaenyra was baffled to find somewhat of a dreamy glaze coating her friend’s eyes as she stared after the young lord, and grasped her arm tighter within her own in order to return her attention to her. As the sole child of the king, Rhaenyra was more than accustomed to being spoiled with goods and attention, and while many suitors have cut in on their time together in search of her own hand in marriage, she did not appreciate having Y/n’s attention stolen away–sharing was not something she was ever required to do.

The weeks that followed had plagued Rhaenyra. Y/n’s father had been hard at work to find his daughter a match, and as hard as she tried, Lord Robert Crane did not scare as easily as the others. To be quite plain, the man was boring, sure he had titles and wealth, and perhaps he may be an accomplished knight, but he was selfish and spoke solely of his own accomplishments rather than inquiring about Y/n. It was clear that he was quite taken with her, and he would be incredibly glad to take her as his wife, and for some unknown reason, Y/n was just as taken with him. As far as Rhaenyra was concerned, Y/n was the only confidant that she had remaining, and Robert Crane was a clear threat.

The princess began taking extreme measures, requiring her lady’s attention to be entirely on her for most hours of the day, while also requesting that she break her fast and eat her dinner with her each day, and some nights she even asked her to lie next to her, claiming that she was having trouble sleeping. These nights would be spent in quiet whispers, gentle touches of fingers beneath the sheets, and soft giggles as they struggled to remain quiet enough to avoid being heard by Ser Criston from his post outside the door, though nothing could prevent the gleeful snickers from escaping the room. It was a way of keeping her close, keeping her loyal to her and only her.

The silver-haired princess was less than pleased one evening, upon crawling beneath the sheets of her goosefeather bed only for her lady to turn over and curl into herself. Curious, Rhaenyra took in the sight of her figure beneath the covers, and scooched closer so that she may reach around her and grasp her cool fingers within her own. Curling into her, Rhaenyra rested her chin on Y/n’s shoulder to be able to see her face.

“Are you angry with me?”

A small sniffle left Y/n before she spoke, voice wavering, “Angry? I could never be, princess.”

“What is the matter?” She asked, “Are you harmed?”

“No, princess,” Y/n turned to lay facing the princess, allowing her to peer at her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, “My father has betrothed me.”

Rhaenyra gulped, her gaze hardening as she spit out, “To whom?”

The young lady paused before she whispered her answer, “Lord Robert Crane.”

The princess laughed humourlessly, “Your father is a fool to believe that he is worthy of you.”

“Worthy? Rhaenyra, House Crane is much wealthier than my own, and they are a powerful force in the north, second only to House Stark. I am marrying well above my station.”

“And yet, here you are. As my lady, you are in the highest position any lady could dream of, save for queen. You are among the most precious beings in this realm, much too precious to be wearing his rubies.”

Y/n giggled sadly, shaking her head, “I wish we could stay like this; Neither of us would need to marry or have children. We could simply be together.”

Rhaenyra flushed at her words, “I would like that, too. I long to keep you at my side, and I can imagine you at the side of no one except myself. I would take you as my own wife to keep you near.”

Y/n furrowed her brows, “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“I am serious,” Rhaenyra sat up, “I do not understand why I must marry a man. If it is for the sake of children, I would take a husband simply to provide heirs, but you would be my consort. Aegon the Conqueror took two wives, so why can I not?”

“You are not meant to take any wives, Rhaenyra,” Y/n noted, “In truth, I understand it as little as you, and I cannot say why it is wrong, only that the world would not allow it.”

“The world is mine to claim,” Rhaenyra smirked at her, “When I am queen, I can change the law and do as I please.”

“Careful, Nyra,” The young lady told her, “You begin to sound like a tyrant.”

“I would be,” The princess moved to straddle the girl, “for you.”

“Rhaenyra–”

“Do not speak,” The princess crouched to hover over her, nudging her playfully with her nose.

Carefully, Rhaenyra lowered her face and gently laid a quick kiss to her friend’s own li[ps. She pulled back enough for the young lady to make any sort of refusal to the union, though after receiving none, she pressed even closer.

She moved to press her kisses along the expanse of Y/n’s collar bones, fingers carefully tugging the neckline of her nightgown so that she could access even more of her supple flesh. Y/n whimpered under her touch, one hand reaching to tangle her fingers in the long silver locks of the princess, while her other palm pressed into her waist.

Pulling away, Rhaenyra sat up once more and quickly tugged her own silk nightdress over her head, leaving her bare to the world and to her young lady, who had seen her in such a state many a time before, though it was always during her bathing or when Y/n was helping her dress, and never in the sense that she was exposing herself to her lady in the sexual manner that she had been now. Y/n’s eyes widened, taking her time in actually admiring the princess’s form as she hovered over her. She whimpered her name as Rhaenyra began to trace her breasts through the sheer gown, pinching her nipple gently until it hardened into an erect peak.

“Shh…” the princess whispered, “Allow me to perform my wifely duties, my sweet.”

The nights over the next few weeks followed suit. Some nights they simply lay side by side and talked until exhaustion would take over, sharing sweet kisses and gentle touches. Other nights, Rhaenyra would waste little time ridding herself of her nightgown and they would bring each other to the edge as many times as it took for each of them to be satisfied. Y/n understood this to be lust, something that her mother had always warned her against, though she had strictly mentioned that she needed to be careful of the lust brought on by the influence of men–that falling pregnant prior to marriage would ruin her reputation, and by association, her life. This, however, was not a threat with Rhaenyra, it was harmless fun that may or may not have provided her with some comfort in the feelings that were beginning to flourish in her chest each time that she crawled into bed next to her. For Rhaenyra, it was different. She hadn’t been joking as much as her friend had believed her to be, and fully intended on keeping her at her side for the rest of her life. She understood that most wouldn’t accept Y/n as her consort, but she would certainly be the love of her life while whatever man would be held responsible for helping her bear heirs would be just that and free to do as he pleased as well.

And then she heard the news. It was announced at a small feast one evening–scarcely thirty people in attendance–that Y/n and her betrothed would be leaving the capitol in a fortnight and were to be wedded once they arrived in Denmerhell, which was thousands of miles from King’s Landing.

Y/n knew from the glare that she received from the silver-haired princess that she would not soon hear the end of her anger. The atmosphere in the princess’s chambers was not as calming as usual when she arrived that night. She called her name twice before she found her curled into herself beneath her silk sheets.

“Rhaenyra,” she sighed, rounding the bed to sit on her knees behind her, “Please speak to me.”

The princess rolled onto her back, icily staring up at her friend, “What do I have to speak about? I could tell you that he is not worthy of you, that I would take you as my consort, that I would let them all burn for you. I’ve told you all of this before and yet your father hopes to send you away. Tell me, what did his face look like when you refused?”

Y/n’s bottom lip quivered, “I would not know.”

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“Rhaenyra, you know that I cannot–”

“You can. You can refuse him, stay with me until I take the throne and become a queen. You can, and you will, just as I have said no to countless men so that I can have you.”

“You know it isn’t the same, Rhaenyra.”

“Do I?”

“You are the heir to the Iron Throne, men are throwing themselves at your feet in hopes of being chosen. I am the youngest child of a lord who just so happens to be in favour with the king, I have three older sisters who have already wed powerful lords, and I am simply lucky enough that my father cares for the station of the man I marry. In the last year, I have had three potential suitors, all of which you have chased away, and one man who managed to propose before you could. I do not have the same luxuries as you, Rhaenyra, and this is one of them.”

“Do not speak to me of responsibility, remember which of us is in line to inherit the Iron Throne.”

“Don’t think I have ever forgotten. You have been praised for the mundane and promised things I could never even dream of, you wear the finest of clothing and are gifted the most beautiful of jewellery in the realm, you get to do things that would ruin anyone else without consequences, and you don’t even take into consideration of what others give for you.”

Rhaenyra sneered, fingers grasping at Y/n’s wrist before she could clamber away from her, “So it is jealousy, then? You cannot spare to see me with fine things or hold my birthright?”

Y/n wiped her cheek, pulling away from her iron grasp as she began to pull her robe over her shoulders, “You have been granted great things, Rhaenyra, but you cannot begin to know what it means to not be the royal heir. The lords scarcely accept you as heir, do you truly think they would accept me as your wife?”

“Where are you going?”

“My own chambers.”

Rhaenyra stood from the bed, “No. You will sleep at my side as you always have. You will tend to me, as you always have, and if you still wish to be a northerner’s whore, then I am powerless to stop you.”

Y/n’s spine visibly stiffened, “Is that an order, Princess Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra sniffled, “Yes.”

Rhaenyra did not find sleep that night, nor many of those to come. A fortnight passed seamlessly, leaving her to watch from afar as a wheelhouse was prepared for the long trek north. She had yet to speak to her friend about that night, scarcely speaking to her at all beyond orders.

“Princess,” One of her handmaidens appeared behind her, “Do you wish to bid farewell to Lady Y/n?”

Rhaenyra turned her gaze back down to the sight below her, catching the gaze of her friend from hundreds of feet below. Tears welled at her waterline, begging to be freed as the young lady raised a hand to her.

Wiping at her cheeks, the princess turned to march back into her chambers, “I would not.”

She disappeared within the palace walls in a flash of silver, leaving Y/n’s final glimpse of her to be one of utter betrayal.

#rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra rp #house of the dragon #hotd #gay #lesbian #hotd rhaenyra #rhaenyra is a gay icon

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