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#'dragon eggs need love in order to hatch'

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 4 months

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Push the Sky Away - Part One

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical violence. Mention of loss of virginity. Smut. Word count: ~6.5k

Summary: We are getting to know Aemond in this chapter. Some scene setting and world building, not much to be found of our OC until she is introduced towards the end. Laying the groundwork for what's to come later. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @sapphirehearteyes. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Fire and Blood, the infamous words of House Targaryen. It is a phrase that both haunts and eludes Aemond Targaryen from an early age, with its promise of greatness and constant reminder of all he will never be.

The Targaryen name is the only thing of any value that Viserys has ever bestowed upon his sons. Aemond ponders whether his father’s disinterest in him is a result of the illness that weakens his body by the day, or if he simply has no room in his heart for the children borne of his second marriage. When he watches him interact with Rhaenyra, how he lights up in her presence in a way that he does not for him or his other siblings, he knows it is the latter.

The fireplace warms his skin, uncomfortably so, and despite the septa’s caution that he not sit so close, he refuses to budge. Sweat prickles the back of his neck, dampening and curling the ends of the hair that sticks to it. His discomfort is of little importance to him, he needs to remain within this proximity to the hearth in order to keep his egg warm, to ensure it hatches. It is a vigil he has kept for as long as he can remember, not moving until he is forced to bed with aching joints and soot covered hands. Unable to understand why it had never hatched in his cradle, he is certain that if he does his due diligence then soon he will have a dragon of his own.

His mother is alerted of his disobedience, and Alicent regards him with sadness in her large brown eyes, as she reaches for him.

“Come away, my dearest love, you will have a dragon of your own one day.”

He simply shakes his head. She could not understand. He does not want just any dragon, he wants his. There must be a reason why this particular egg was imparted upon him, otherwise it is all for nothing.

Despite this, day after day the hardened scales remain cool to the touch, little more than a rock between his tiny fingers. Perhaps placing it within the flames themselves will yield the result he hopes for?

He leans forward into the fireplace, heat blazing against his pale cheeks, and an acrid stench fills his nostrils. It is not until he is pulled forcefully back by the firm grasp of the septa that he realises the ends of his long, fair hair have singed, charred and blackened by the heat of the fire.

The egg is taken away after that, and Aemond weeps bitterly at the unfairness of it. It is his birthright, his only birthright, and now his sole purpose for being has been snatched from him; it seems there is little point to his existence now. He never sees the egg again, but he often wonders what would have happened if he had been left uninterrupted to place it upon the flames.

When Aemond is a little older, he begins to frequent the Dragonpit, for what is a Targaryen without their dragon? If he no longer has his own egg then he will find another, or perhaps claim a riderless mount of his own.

The warmth beneath the Grand Sept is different from that of the fireplace. It is dank and humid within the pit, the odour of droppings hangs heavy in the air, mixed with sulphur and ash. The smell sticks to his clothes when he returns to the Keep each evening, and momentarily he feels his chest swell with pride as his mother winkles her nose in disgust at the scent. It is the same look of distaste that she bestows upon both Helaena and Aegon when they return from flying, and for the briefest of moments he can pretend that he has too.

Yet still he goes to bed each evening dragonless, and begins each day anew with the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth as he watches his nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys, interact with their dragons, Vermax and Arrax. Targaryens are considered to be closer to gods than men, so it feels like a cruel twist of fate that his half sister’s bastard offspring should be blessed with eggs that hatched in their cradles when his did not. Rhaenyra’s children have the favour of the Seven, whereas they seem to have turned a blind eye to him.

Aemond’s heart soars with hope when the dragonkeepers reveal to his sister that Dreamfyre is gravid. If she produces a healthy clutch of eggs then he can claim one, one that will actually hatch. In spite of the warnings that the she-dragon be left in peace during this sensitive time, and Helaena’s frustrated and repeated requests to stop disturbing her, he cannot resist the pull towards where she roosts within her darkened cave. If she is to lay an egg, then he wants to be the first to see it, to ensure he can take one for himself.

The blistering heat of the flames that Dreamfyre expels with her mighty roar of anger as he approaches yet again causes him to stagger backwards, wide eyed and slack jawed. But Aemond feels no fear as gazes into her fiery maw, his only thoughts are that one day soon a beast of his own will do much the same.

When Aegon claps a heavy hand upon his shoulder, steering him forward, and claiming a dragon has been found for him, he does his best to remain calm. He is used to his brother and nephews’ cruel japes at his expense. But as he stands at the top of the slope to the Dragonpit, he cannot help the way his heart races with excitement at the possibility that it might be true.

His hopes are dashed when a pig is led out to him, trussed up in wings, having been jokingly named “the pink dread”. He bows his head at the raucous laughter of Aegon, Jace and Luke around him, humiliation flushing his cheeks for having dared to believe it could be true.

The echoes of Aegon’s mocking pig grunts ring in his ears all the way home, and he stands dejectedly as Alicent delivers yet another scolding for him having dared to disturb Dreamfyre. He is usually silently accepting of her scorn, confident he knows better, and prepared to defy her all over again the next day. However, this time he can no longer bear the injustice of it all.

“They gave me a pig!” He cries, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes. “They laughed, they all laughed.”

The warmth of his mother’s embrace does little to comfort the inferno that blazes inside of him. Today is proof of the fact that his own brother does not view him as equal - how could he? Aemond is a second born son and has no dragon. He is worth nothing.

If he is not destined to be a dragonrider, then Aemond decides he will give his all to becoming a fearsome warrior instead. He excels in the training yard with each daily practice, every strike of his wooden sword against the straw stuffed target more ferocious than the last. The proud glint in the eye of Ser Criston Cole as he watches diligently, offering guidance on both stance and technique, serves to spur him on. He will be the best at this, he has to be.

Much to his displeasure, the allotted time for sparring is shared with his nephews. Though they learn under the watchful eye of Ser Harwin Strong, there is still a competitive element, and an underlying sense of animosity between Criston and Harwin that he does not quite understand.

Aegon later tells him it is because Ser Harwin is the true father of Rhaenyra’s children. He feels a smug sense of satisfaction at being privy to this information, and it brings him and his older brother closer together. The two of them share rare moments of comradery each time they don their armour and pick up their practice blades. It’s the only time that Aemond ever genuinely laughs or smiles.

There is an obvious divide from that point onwards, Targaryens uniting against Strongs, and as the tension grows between the boys, it does between their mentors too, until one day it reaches a boiling point.

At first Aemond titters along with his brother as they watch Criston scuffle with Harwin, but his smile quickly fades upon seeing how valiantly their father fights for them, knowing his own would never do the same for him. As he looks up into the solemn features of Aegon, he knows the sentiment is shared. It is yet another privilege that Rhaenyra’s children possess that he does not have; the love of their father.

They journey to Driftmark when they receive the news that Laena Velaryon has passed away in childbirth. The icy, coastal winds that whip Aemond’s hair around his face as the stone coffin is committed to the sea are as bleak as the mood that envelopes them all. He seeks warmth near the brazier, attempting to catch the eye of Jace, who stands on the opposite side. Despite the tension between them, he hopes to offer condolences, knowing the loss of both Ser Harwin and his aunt play heavily upon his nephew’s mind.

He realises it is a futile gesture the moment that Jace turns away in disgust, and once more Aemond is reminded of how alone he truly is, that he has nothing. Luke will inherit Driftmark, and their mother has betrothed Helaena to Aegon. Luke snivels at what he is offered, claiming that when Driftmark passes to him it means everyone will have died. Aegon scoffs at the notion of being married to Helaena, claiming they have nothing in common.

It angers Aemond, to be overlooked in favour of those who are so ungrateful for all they have. If he were set to inherit anything, he would do everything in his power to prove he is worthy of it and bear the title with honour. If his mother had betrothed his sister to him, he would do his duty and ensure the match produces heirs that would make House Targaryen proud.

His attention is drawn to the clifftop when he sees the spread of enormous wings and hears the mighty rumble of the creature atop it. Vhagar. Laena Velaryon’s dragon is now riderless, and the pull he feels towards her is one he simply cannot ignore. At last, he has found his purpose and his desire to claim a dragon is reinvigorated with new strength.

Aemond waits until nightfall. Sea spray has made the rocks slippery beneath his feet, and he ascends carefully, though determined, towards the top of the cliff where Vhagar roosts. Windswept and breathless by the time he reaches the top, he stands awestruck at the sleeping dragon. Even partially submerged in sand, she is a magnificent sight to behold. She had appeared massive when looking at her from above, but it does nothing to prepare him for the sheer scale of her up close. She is gargantuan.

For a moment, icy fingers of fear grip Aemond’s heart, and he considers simply turning back, he has made a dangerous mistake. He shakes the thought from his mind the moment it presents itself.

I am no craven.

His approach is tentative, palms outstretched to communicate that he does not present a threat, as the elderly beast grumbles and shakes sand from her back. He stares transfixed as she opens her jaws, the white hot inferno that swirls within their depths makes that of Dreamfyre’s seem like a mere campfire. He feels as though he is looking into the very mouth of the Seven Hells themselves, but instead of fear Aemond feels kinship. Vhagar is without purpose, as is he, until now.

“Lykirī,” he calls out, the wind carrying half the sound away with it. Yet she hears, and she stills, eyeing the child before her with keen curiosity. Be calm.

Emboldened by her calmness at his command, Aemond steps closer, fingertips ghosting against the heat that radiates from her scales.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar,” he tells her, voice trembling. This is the same dragon ridden by the great warrior, Visenya, the conqueror’s wife. She is battle hardened, and with the smallest of movements could snuff out his short life. Serve.

The faintest sound of displeasure reverberates through Vhagar’s body, yet she remains still. Aemond’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he grips the ropes attached to her saddle and begins to pull himself up. If he had thought the climb to the top of the cliff difficult, it proves nothing compared to this. His arms ache with exertion, the expanse of the great beast he is attempting to summit is vaster than anything he has ever climbed before.

By the time he pulls himself into the saddle, Aemond’s palms are red raw with rope burn and his skin is damp with perspiration. There is barely time for him to catch his breath though, as the moment Vhagar feels him settle on her back, she rises to her feet, vast quantities of sand slipping from her back and wings in drifts.

The movement startles Aemond, and he fears he will fall. His sore hands cling tightly to her reins as he shouts his final command to her.

“Sōvēs.” Fly.

As she rises into the air with an effortless flap of her wings, he feels as though he has left his stomach on the ground below. The rush upwards is dizzying, frightening and exhilarating all at once. Aemond begins to laugh as he grows used to the weightless sensation of every ebb and flow through the air as it whistles past his ears, and chills his skin to the bone. He is finally complete, he has his dragon, and for the first time in his life he is genuinely happy.

That happiness is short-lived.

The moment he reaches solid ground, his cousins, Baela and Rhaena, are waiting for him, alongside Jace and Luke. He had anticipated this, and is well prepared.

“It’s him!” Rhaena shouts as soon as she sees him.

“It’s me,” he responds calmly, confident there is nothing to be done now that Vhagar is his.

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!”

“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now.”

“She was mine to claim!”

“Then you should have claimed her. Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride? It would suit you.”

He is startled when Rhaena angrily charges towards him, though he is bigger than her and pushes her to the ground with ease. A punch from her sister, Baela, catches him off guard, the pain in his face enraging him and causing him to hit back so hard she falls over.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” He snarls angrily.

Jace and Luke rush at him, and in a moment of confidence Aemond thinks he has bested the both of them, until all four children knock him down and begin to rain their fists down upon him.

He is the rider of the world’s largest dragon, and his new found confidence coupled with the surge of adrenaline allows him to fight them all back. He grasps a rock, holding it above Luke’s head as he grasps him tightly by the collar.

“You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did. Bastards!” He hisses.

“My father is still alive!” Luke wails.

Aemond smirks, rock still held above his sobbing nephew, and he glances to Jace. “He does not know, does he, Lord Strong?”

Jace unsheathes a dagger, to the protestations of both Rhaena and Baela, and the distraction is enough for Aemond to knock it from his hand. His dedication in the training yard has paid off and he quickly gets the better of Jace, snatching up the rock once more, prepared to bring it down upon his skull should he try to attack him again.

In Aemond’s mind, the matter is settled, they should accept what has happened and retire to bed.

Unfortunately, his nephews do not share the sentiment. He winces, staggering backwards as Jace throws sand in his face, and before he has had time to fully recover, Luke is racing towards him, Jace’s dagger in hand.

The pain is excruciating as his nephew slashes upwards, and suddenly his vision shows blackness on one side, instead of his surroundings. He falls to his knees, a shriek of agony leaving him as blood seeps through the fingers of the hand he clasps to one side of his face.

His only focus is the searing, torturous pain he feels, waves of nausea rippling through his prone body, until a clamour of armour alerts him to the presence of the Kingsguard. As a knight kneels beside him, coaxing his hand away, his pale, horrified expression and exclamation of “Gods be good” are all Aemond needs to know that his face is ruined forever.

The fire in the hall of Driftmark is warm against his skin, and he does his best to focus on that sensation instead of that of the Maester extracting his eye from his skull. Though he has been dosed with milk of the poppy, he still feels every cut, every tug, and the pierce of the needle as it’s pulled through his skin repeatedly to stitch up the wound.

Aemond is unsure if it is the milk of the poppy that dulls his senses, or the satisfaction he feels at having claimed the world’s largest dragon, but he does not feel anger or sadness as he expects he would have when he is told his eye is lost forever.

When his mother snatches a knife and charges towards Rhaenyra, he is certain she has more blood of the dragon coursing through her veins than his coward of a father does. She is willing to risk everything to avenge his disfigurement, while Viserys makes excuses and appears more affronted at his eldest daughter’s children being called bastards. The loss of Aemond’s eye seems of little importance to him.

It is in that moment that Aemond feels the tiny semblance of respect he had for his father wither and die. As he takes in the harrowed expressions of Alicent, Aegon and Helaena, he knows they are all he has left.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” he says softly, rising to comfort her, though unsteady on his feet as he adjusts to his partial sightedness. “I may have lost an eye, but I have gained a dragon.”

A scar mars the flesh of Aemond’s face, but also ravages its way through the Targaryen family. Rhaenyra and her children leave King’s Landing, settling upon Dragonstone with Daemon and his daughters. Meanwhile, the health of Viserys continues to decline and the instances he is not bedridden grow fewer. Aemond does not miss his presence.

Worry hangs over his mother, a permanent shroud of anxiety, while Aegon becomes more debaucherous, sinking further into his cups with each passing day. Helaena retreats deeper into herself, rarely speaking unless spoken to, and bristles at any initiation of physical touch.

Slowly, Aemond heals, though it is not without struggle. He must learn to do everything anew. His favourite books become a chore to read, no longer able to pore over their pages for as long without suffering a terrible ache in his head.

Criston has to begin his training with the sword all over again. There is a newfound blind spot to account for when he fights. Not only does he have to learn how to balance, pivot and wield his weapon with accuracy, he also has to develop hyper vigilance and an acute awareness of where his opponent is at all times, to prevent them from drifting to the side from which he cannot see, and besting him.

Even flying on dragonback is difficult, though he only has one flight to compare it to. He learns fast, and is grateful that Vhagar’s advanced age makes her placid and more forgiving than a younger mount might be. When Aemond is airborne he can almost forget his disfigurement entirely, until he returns to the ground and the world is half blackness once more.

It is enough to make Aemond want to scream in frustration and give up at times. However, he is accustomed to a life of feeling out of place, of having to work harder than everyone else to prove his worth. There is nothing to be gained from a defeatist attitude, so he hardens himself to the challenges he faces, determined to be better with one eye than he was with two.

If his vision of the world is now limited, then he will simply expand his mind beyond that. He loses himself in tomes of history and philosophy, ignoring the dull pain that plagues his skull as he reads into the small hours.

In the training yard, he is quick to learn to keep Criston within his line of sight at all times, and wields his sword viciously, relentlessly, always striving to be faster, stronger, more precise. The proud look upon the Knight’s face means little to him now. The only person he means to prove anything to is himself.

He reasons that a warrior must appear as fearsome as they fight, and takes to wearing a sapphire in the empty socket of his eye, when it is not covered by a patch.

The single matter that Aemond is never able to quite grasp is that of the fairer sex. Aegon has always seemed to have an overly indulgent interest in women, moreso what lies between their legs, but he has never understood his brother’s obsession with fornication. He has read about the mechanics of it in books, and the idea makes his lip curl in disgust. However, he reasons that Aegon is older, and perhaps his own appetite will develop in much the same way as he ages.

Aegon reasons that women’s skin is soft, they smell nice, and when you find one that has the perfect pair of tits and legs then there is little else that matters. While it is agreeable to Aemond that women are indeed more pleasant to look upon than men, he questions why he should not take an interest in their education or how they like to pass the time. His brother argues that once you are sheathed inside a woman, it is not what is in their mind that matters in the slightest.

Upon Aemond’s thirteenth name day, Aegon slaps him on the back and informs him that it is “time to get it wet”. The very idea makes his guts churn with unease, yet he dons the clothes of common folk just the same, pulling a hood over his head, and allows his brother to guide him to the Street of Silk.

The walk through Flea Bottom reeks of urine, with men staggering half drunk through the narrow cobbled streets, while women in varying states of undress beckon them forward into darkened hovels. Aemond keeps his head bowed, dreading what is to come, and is thankful when the establishment that his older brother guides him to looks slightly more respectable than the half a dozen they have passed by already.

The pleasure house is dimly lit and the heady scent of cheap perfume burns his nostrils, though it barely covers the smell of another undesirable stench that he assumes is the byproduct of what goes on here. He half wonders if it will stick to his clothing, much like the smell of sulphur and ash does when he returns from dragonback. He sincerely hopes not.

His throat runs dry when Aegon staggers away with a busty woman, full of giggles, leaving him alone. The brothel’s madame has a kind smile, though it does not meet her eyes, and when she places her hand upon his shoulder it makes him shudder. He feels her touch there like a brand long after she has taken it away.

“Choose any of my girls that you like,” she tells him.

Timidly he eyes all of them. He wants none of them, but how can he say that?

When he hesitates, she chooses for him, pushing him towards a room with a girl that cannot be much older than he is. Her hair is the colour of straw, her skin reeks of the same perfume that lingers thick within the air, and there is wine upon her breath.

The fireplace burns low in the room as he lays upon the bed, and he keeps his eye fixed upon it until it is over. He has enjoyed none of it, the finish feeling little more to him than the satisfaction he experiences when scratching an itch. He cannot understand why Aegon makes such a fuss about it, if that is all there is to it then he never wants to partake in such an act of vulgarity ever again.

He leaves without saying a word, and walks as quickly as his legs will carry him back to the Red Keep. In the bathtub that evening, he scrubs until his skin is red raw, wanting nothing more than to erase every trace of what he has endured that day.

When he is served his favourite meal for his name day feast, roasted haunch of venison, he finds he has no appetite. Sickly perfume fills his nose and turns his stomach, and he leaves his plate untouched.

From that day forth, Aemond decides that he has no taste for depravity, and dedicates his time to reading, training with the sword and taking flight on Vhagar. Despite the nagging ache at the back of his mind that Aegon is set to succeed their father when he passes away, despite neither wanting nor deserving it, he feels a sense of fulfillment in knowing that he is making both their mother and House Targaryen proud.

There are few books in the Keep’s library he has not read at least twice, and he trains daily in the yard with Criston, now at a point where he is the victor in almost every sparring match.

The years pass, and Aemond is content with solitude, assuming that is his lot in life. Fire and blood course hotly in his veins, and in spite of his disfigurement he feels every inch a true Targaryen.

Viserys deteriorates to the point that Aemond’s grandsire and Hand of the King, Otto, now oversees most of the royal duties, and he has begun in earnest to plan with Alicent for Aegon’s eventual coronation. It comes as no shock to Aemond the day that he is beckoned to the Small Council Chamber, though he is surprised to find it is just his grandsire that sits at the table, there is not even a cup bearer present.

“I trust you are aware of the plans to crown Aegon once your father passes?” Otto asks, once Aemond is seated in the chair nearest to him.

Aemond sits up straight against the backrest, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, as he regards Otto impassively. “I am.”

“Good,” Otto nods, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. “Then I am sure you must know of your own duty to the realm.”

Aemond purses his lips, eyeing the older man carefully. “I will do what I must to ensure Aegon’s claim to the throne goes unchallenged.”

Otto sighs, leaning back and regarding Aemond with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Rhaenyra is sure to challenge your brother’s birthright, as your father foolishly named her heir, but there are means to remedy that.”

Aemond says nothing, waiting for Otto to say what he means. He watches as he fills both their wine cups, before setting the jug down. He takes a deep drink from his own, but Aemond leaves his untouched, wishing his grandsire would just get to the point.

Otto clicks his tongue before continuing. “To strengthen Aegon’s claim, we must curry favour with the other Great Houses of the realm.”

Aemond lowers his gaze, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the armrests of his chair. “You wish for me to marry.”

“Yes, Aemond, you are to be betrothed.”

The tone of voice in which Otto says this has such finality, it sounds as though a match has already been decided. His eye flickers upwards to meet the unyielding gaze of his grandsire.

“To who?”

“Your mother and I thought it best not to present you with suitors, we know you would not enjoy such a spectacle.”

You know all of them would take one look at me and be horrified by the very notion of being married to me.

Otto continues, “So we have chosen for you. The daughter of Lord Rickon Stark, Lorra. She is a pretty girl, and having the allegiance of a Great House of the North will weaken Rhaenyra’s claim.”

Aemond stays silent as his mind races.

House Stark. Their sigil is a dire wolf, their words are Winter is Coming.

Beyond that, he knows nothing of Northerners, what could he possibly learn about his betrothed from a book anyway?

He wets his lips, resigned to his fate. “When?”

“She will arrive in King’s Landing in two weeks, so that you can begin your courtship of her.”

“I will do my duty.”

“I trust that you will.”

Aemond retires to his chambers for the remainder of the day. He had anticipated that he would have to marry to form a political alliance at some point, however, the thought rattles him all the same.

He is a solitary creature by nature, what on earth will he do with a wife? He supposes life will stay much the same, if his mother and father and Aegon and Helaena are to be used as examples - both couples married, yet living entirely separate lives. It is a mere formality. He will not be expected to spend time with her.

They will be expected to produce heirs, however. Nervousness swirls in his gut at the thought. He does not want to endure what happened to him at the brothel each time he couples with his wife, yet he cannot leave her childless either.

Lorra is a highborn lady, however, not a common whore, so perhaps he will be able to find pleasure in the act. Doubt niggles in his mind as he ponders his inexperience. A Prince must know what he is doing if he is to produce children, and Aemond possesses neither experience nor interest in the act of procreation. He will need to prepare if he is to perform his marital duties as anticipated without embarrassing himself or his wife.

The thought of returning to Flea Bottom makes him shiver in revulsion. He has no desire to part with coin for an act that sickens him. He will need to find an alternative.

There are plenty of maidservants around the Keep who are pretty enough, and of a similar age to him. He does not wish to be like his brother, however, and will not take what is not freely given. He has observed the way that Aegon expresses interest in the women that attend to them during mealtimes and decides to deploy some of the same tactics, though in a much more subtle manner.

At supper the following evening, he spots a young woman who is pleasing to him. She has a slender neck and pretty face, her large eyes framed by thick lashes. He watches her carefully as she rounds the table, filling each cup with wine, and when finally she approaches him, he deliberately reaches forward, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her wrist as she pours from the jug she holds. She glances down at him and he looks up, holding her gaze, the faintest of smirks on his face. A slight blush creeps up her neck, dusting its way across her cheekbones and he knows she is interested.

He spends the rest of the meal catching her eye whenever he can, and when the evening draws to a close, he lingers in the doorway, beckoning her with the slightest tip of his head when she looks at him, before walking back to his bedchamber. Aemond does not have to wait long for the knock at his door.

“Your grace, will you be needing anything else this evening?” She asks with a polite smile.

He closes the door behind them, steeling himself before turning to face her. “You understand why you are here?”

She nods, reaching up to cup his face as she leans in. He turns away, pulling back slightly.

“I have no need for you to kiss me.”

She nods in understanding and moves towards the bed, slipping out of her clothes. Aemond stands in silence as he watches her disrobe. She is attractive to look at, much more desirable than the girl he had coupled with in Flea Bottom. Smooth skinned, with subtle curves and firm breasts. He wonders how many others have looked upon her in the same manner that he has.

“Lay down,” he instructs her, once she is fully bare before him.

She moves to position herself face down, but Aemond steps forward, halting her actions.

“Let me look at you.”

“As you wish, your grace,” she whispers, blushing again, and repositions onto her back.

Aemond stands over her, his eye raking over her form as he takes in the way her chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the narrowness of her waist expands outwards towards her hips.

Tentatively, he reaches forward, fingers trailing lightly over the plush flesh of her inner thigh, tugging gently.

Obediently, she spreads her legs and he sucks in a breath at what glistens between them, curiosity guiding his actions as he spreads his fingers through the slick folds. She sighs in pleasure, and he looks back up at her face. Her lips are parted, eyes hooded with desire. Admittedly, though this is a much better experience than what he’d endured when he was thirteen, he still feels little in the way of excitement. Aemond appreciates that she lays there quietly, however, allowing him to take things at his own pace, and he feels his body respond to her regardless of his lack of emotion.

When his cock strains almost painfully against the lacings of his breeches, he unfastens them, crawling over the maidservant to cage her body in with his. She feels better against him than the whore had, her skin is more supple and her scent not quite so overpowering. He grunts as he pushes himself inside of her, her tight, wet heat gripping every inch of him as he slides forward.

The inside of her is different from the grasp of his own hand. Aemond is no stranger to the act of self pleasure, using it as a means to clear his mind or lull himself to sleep on nights when rest evades him. It is not a carnal act for him though, he simply focuses on the sensation, guiding himself to release. Despite the pleasant warmth of her body, he does not feel driven to desperate passion as he had anticipated, as he has so often heard Aegon describe.

As he rocks his hips into hers, back and forth, the growing ache he experiences is nice enough, but it does not light a fire within him. He is simply rutting against another person. The dulcet sounds that fall from her lips as he pistons into her sound too performative, and he feels resentment as he looks upon her face, just wanting to put an end to it.

He speeds up, and her sounds grow louder. Annoyance prickles at his skin.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses.

She falls silent and the room fills with the sound of the slap of his skin against hers, until finally he spills inside of her with a quiet gasp. He is quick to withdraw from her, standing and tucking himself away.

“You can go now,” he tells her, turning away.

He doesn’t watch as she dresses and quietly leaves his chamber. Aemond feels disappointment that he is unable to derive pleasure from such a carnal act. He has read that it is supposed to evoke excitement within a person, and from the way Aegon behaves he knows it is certainly true. So why does such a feeling evade him?

It matters not, he supposes. He will treat his wife in the same way he has the maidservant this evening. He will not take her by force, and he will be gentle with her. The act will be for the sole purpose of producing heirs, besides that they will live their lives as they please. He did not choose her, and she did not choose him, so he is confident that this will be an arrangement she finds satisfactory.

The next two weeks pass by without incident. Aemond reads, he trains and he flies, and thoughts of his betrothal scarcely enter his mind.

Upon the day of Lorra’s arrival to the Red Keep, he gathers in the Great Hall, with Alicent, Otto, Aegon and Helaena to greet her upon her arrival. He stands straight, hands clasped firmly behind his back, eye scanning the room impatiently. He hates the formality of it all, and wonders what could possibly be taking such a long time.

He will, of course, be dutiful and stand here for as long as necessary, but irritability simmers within him as he exhales heavily through his nose, wishing to be anywhere else right now, the library, the training yard, on dragonback. Such a display seems wholly unnecessary for an arrangement that is a mere formality.

When finally the doors open to the steps that ascend into the Hall, he faces forward, eye fixed upon the Kingsguard that file in. Until he sees her.

Draped in a cerulean cloak, trimmed with grey fur, she seems as though she is floating, rather than walking as she approaches. Her ivory skin is tinged with the faintest of pink against her cheeks and the curls of her ebony hair are braided down her back.

Aemond’s throat runs dry, his heart pounding quickly against his ribcage, and he realises he is holding his breath. The last time he felt such a powerful combination of fear, awe and longing had been the night he had first laid eyes upon Vhagar. It unsettles him, and he is grateful that his hands remain behind his back, otherwise he is certain that she would be able to see how they tremble.

“Lady Lorra of House Stark,” comes the announcement to the Hall, but it sounds distant and far away to Aemond as he stands, transfixed by her.

His blood pumps like liquid fire through his veins. Her eyes, so blue they could almost be sapphires, meet his and he feels a shiver run through him. After a lifetime of resonating in the warmth of flames, he is chilled by the ice that is reflected back at him.

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tornedheart · 1 year

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Yandere Aegon Targaryen With His Dead Wife

GIF by @takenbythelightfantastic

Warnings: childbirth death, stillborn mentions, unhealthy relationships, implied necrophilia, dark themes.

The credit for this idea is from @tinfairies, if you like my writing, try her Tumblr, she is an AMAZING writer.

Otto had been against the marriage from the start, the betrothal offered more damage than benefits. But his grandson had been keen on it from the start, and the approval of the king — he was almost sure the blessing was only given because of how it prevented Aegon from gaining more power — basically made it unavoidable.

Aegon was charmed from the start, he had always been in a desperate craving for love and attention, and to have someone whose duty is almost completely just giving it to him

The betrothal is short, but he's happy to get married and bask in all the attention he can get from her. She's also the one to deal with his sour moods and tantrums every time her eyes wander even a bit.

There are no surprises when she falls pregnant at the start of their wedlock, not with all the time they spend together.

Then Otto is alerted that the woman is having difficulty in giving birth, the timing is almost too good and his reaction is immediate. To approach the maester and give the order, to save the baby instead of the wife.

Expecting him to do something else could only be called naivety, truly.

The bloodcurdling screams that come from the woman are a bit worrisome, and he has to send Alicent to calm the boy down. The despair and fear in her eyes and the way she trashes around is a bit sad, he won't deny it.

The baby to be born dead was not something he had planned, but it is not a great loss. He will marry Aegon again, and then he can have another child with his next wife. It's not great for a king to not have direct descendants, however it can be managed.

Aegon then finally is able to enter the room, he runs to his wife's body, cupping her face, bringing her closer to him, and tentatively trying to bring her butchered stomach together. It's a sad sight, and Otto doesn't even try to hold the sigh that leaves his mouth.

He knows that will be a mess of a day to deal with, but it is needed.

And then in the next morning he walks in a mess in the court, both of the bodies of the woman and the baby are nowhere to be found. He's left to deal with annoyed septas, only when he is alerted that a wet nurse was called to the king's chambers he understands how bad the situation is.

There is the maid he had called breastfeeding the stillborn — her face paralyzed in terror — while Aegon is pawing at a corpse.

Aegon doesn't think he can continue to deal with the constant bother that the court keeps delivering to his wife. The constant insistence to find a new wife, they don't seem to understand that she's just a bit sick after the birth. And then they talk about the insecurity in the succession of the throne, it doesn't matter how many times he tells about the child he already has or the ones he plans to have after his wife regains her health.

He makes sure to spend enough time with her and his child so they don't think he is giving any thought to their talk. Their nights together, when their baby is being cared for by the wet nurse, are few, he will not prejudice her weak health further just for his pleasure, the shocked stares from the maesters prove that he should be careful.

He will bring her to court more once her health allows it

And he stays with his child most of the days, his dragon egg may still not have hatched, but it's only a question of time, he vowed before the baby was even born that he would not be like his father.

He will not put his wife and child to the side for bastards and plays.

However it doesn't seem like his grandfather is willing to take his word on it, that's why he tells her maids to dress her up for a feast on her name, giving her a quick kiss before letting her get ready.

#yandere hotd #yandere aegon targaryen x reader #yandere aegon ii targaryen #yandere aegon targaryen #yandere aegon ii targaryen x reader #yandere asoiaf #yandere house of the dragon #dark aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader

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i-cant-sing · 11 months

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Okay but like, isn’t giving someone a dragon egg sort of like a proposal for the barbarians? sneaky Bakugo getting engaged and not telling his fiancé

YEssss that is 100% something Katsuki would do. Tricking you into marriage is the only thing thats gonna work because you dont pick up on the clear and very obvious signs of flirtation and obsessiveness, but thats fine. Katsuki will manage to get you one way or the other. (Kats has even held your face and confessed his love, only for you to smile and hold his face and say "aww I love you too, KitKat! And I love you, mr bunny! And you too, moo moo" basically u didnt take him seriously, you probably thought he was just roleplaying the knight in shining in armour, just like when u were kids.)

Anyways, Katsuki is visiting you and unbeknownst to anyone in the palace, he has a dragon egg. By the time your dear uncle Shotou hears about it, he's just a second too late as he bursts into your room, only to see you already have accepted the smug barbarian's gift.

And now Uncle Shotou, who was supposed to look after you while Dabi and Keigo were away on business (they were fracking) is panicking because how is he supposed to explain this situation to your father, or even break off the whole engagement without the barbarians starting a war.

First things first, he threw Katsuki out of the castle, which was a whole feat in itself because you kept interfering, saying that he was your friend who brought you a very expensive gift. But Shotou asserted his authority and sent you to your room while the royal guards threw out the brash blonde.

Then Shotou tried to explain to you about the whole "accept dragon egg = accept marriage proposal" concept and that you need to absolutely return the dragon egg back in order to break off the engagement. And of course you protest, because who tf would wanna give up a DRAGON EGG but you conceded to his request after Shotou borderline begged you to return it ("your father will kill me and Katsuki, princesss.")

Anyways, you write a letter to Katsuki, summoning him because you want to tell him something important and Katsuki practically skips his way over to your castle because he thinks you're about to confess your love for him as well.

By the time he comes, Dabi and Keigo are back from their "business" as well and are in their room while you have Katsuki in yours, where you begin to gently explain that you cannot accept the egg because you don't wanna get married just yet, and Kats is just starting to become heartbroken when just then, the egg hatches and a small baby dragon comes out and its just so small and cute that it has captivated both your and Katsuki's attention, and you guys dont even notice when Dabi and Keigo walk in on you two and then Dabi is just like-

"What the hell is that?!"

You and Katsuki looked at each other before you walked towards Dabi with the baby dragon still in your hands, you smiled softly.

"Dad... meet your grandchild!"

And both Dabi and Keigo's mouth are agape at your statement.

"What?" Dabi asks.

"Well, Katsuki and I are engaged-" "WHAT?!" "-yeah, and we have a baby to take care of now." You said casually as you cooed at the baby dragon, while Katsuki puffed his chest and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

"Get your hands off her before I rip your arm off!" Dabi gritted and the threat worked.

Meanwhile, Keigo just addded more oil to the fire. "So- Y/n, you're telling me you birthed a dragon? That thing came out of you? Or did it come out of Katsuki-"And that seemed enough for Dabi to finally lose control and pounce on Katsuki.

"YOU DEFILED MY DAUGHTER?! IM GONNA KILL YOU!"

"No, dad! We are engaged and I sent him away-"

"YOU WERE GONNA LEAVE HER ALONE TO RAISE YOUR MONSTER?!"

And you are barely able to get in the way and let Katsuki flee (of course, u promise him to meet again soon)

#yandere royal gay au #yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere bakugo #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugo #yandere hawks #yandere hawks x reader #yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines

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escapismmaxing · 15 days

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mudwing headcanons

(PLEASE click on her she is so beautiful to me and tumblr kills her with hammers)

physical traits

another huge tribe; longer than ice wings, shorter, but very bulky and muscle-y (think alligator)

alligator is pretty much the keystone of my design for them, and also their design is probably the most canon compliant one i have (said moments before i go against this)

i do like the idea of giving them thicker tails, more adjacent to seawings than any other land dwelling tribe, and also just leaning into the swampy aspect of them more

depending on how aquatic of an environment they’re incubated in (and also depending on parent’s genetics) a mudwing can hatch with fins! it’s not entirely uncommon (fins smaller than seawing fins)

mudwings can have tail fins, fins running down their stomach, and their neck. this is distinct from seawings as mudwings never have fins running down their spine or fins on their limbs

mudwings have HUGE horns and ears to siphon heat away from their face

they also have a throat sac like icewings! they produce a variety of throat song, mostly akin to various frog sounds

also,,, tusks protruding from their lower jaw! (that i just realized i forgor to draw,,,,) this is used for foraging, and also agriculture (tilling soil, etc) which mudwings are particularly proficient in

mudwings also tend to have ecosystems growing from them,, algae and duckweed etc on their backs, necks, and tops of heads which helps camouflage them

speaking of camouflage,, colors,,,, well you know

mudwings only being brown is actually the most boring concept i've ever heard 😭so they’re not! brown is still the most common, green is also very common, muted reds, oranges, and yellows as accents float around as well

culture <3 (social structure)

okay i actually love the SCRAPS of culture content we have of the mudwings

so i guess i want to start out with family structure and community,,,

the whole “breeding night” is so fucking funny to me,,, and it’s staying. i will keep it. i think this can also coexist with courting and mating and committing to another dragon singularly, and maybe all mudwing communities just consist of really complicated polycules

although parents aren’t always directly and singularly involved in the raising of their clutches, the adults still communally raise/look after the hatchlings, even if it’s somewhat from a distance

also, i think clutches know their parents and vice versa, even if there’s no special connection, you have to avoid incest somehow,,,,

so sib groups grow up together and rely on one another, like how it is in canon

if a bigwings egg is a “dud” and doesn’t hatch or is,,, abducted from the nest for the purpose of a false prophecy,,,, it’s actually really detrimental to the other eggs and can put them at risk to not hatch

clay’s sibs successfully hatching and growing up is,, a miracle im saying. the bigwings is the CRUX of everything. first to hatch, fastest to develop, grows the biggest, etc etc

i also think bigwings can produce fire at a slightly wider range of temperatures in order to keep their sibs warm if they’re ever under duress

on the topic of clutches and bigwings and,, everything

one egg clutches are considered crazy bad luck, and they need a lot of maintenance from an older dragon in order to actually hatch

if it’s feasible (like a clutch of a bigger size was laid on the same day) the single egg will be transplanted into that bigger clutch asap

also a similar feeling about 2 egg clutches, but it's not as bad

single and 2 egg clutches happen VERY frequently with hybrids, so often a hybrid will be in another sib group and all of their sibs go “yes they are us. oh they’re purple? they’re literally us what do you mean”

on the topic of hybrids, seawing and mudwing hybrids are insanely common, to the point where the majority of mudwings on that border are at least a liiiiitle bit seawing

there’s a lot of communal learning and passing down traditions in agriculture, farming, and animal rearing, and oftentimes a family farm is passed down from one sib group to another

(i don’t only make humble farmer mudwings though, there’s also a lot of artisans, scholars, the equivalent of dragon environmentalists, etc)

so moving away from family groups and stuff,,,,, onto wider society, let’s start with the royal family

mudwings pass the crown down from eldest daughter to eldest daughter, through a “royal” line

basically, one group of sibs has the crown, then the oldest/first clutch will be promised the crown, but it can very easily be abdicated and passed to a different clutch if the oldest clutch doesn’t want it or seems not fit to rule

there’s not a lot of competition for the crown because sib groups rule together, and the queen position really doesn’t mean anything, at most acting as a tiebreaker

obviously, sibs never fight sibs for the crown. that’s like speed running a revolution from the mudwing commoner population. but also, cousins don’t tend to fight either because of this strong wider communal feeling

fashion, jewelry,,

i think mudwings don’t have a lot of fashion/accessories because of how swampy and wet their environment is. royals will have jewels embedded into their scales (like moorhen) but even this requires somewhat regular cleaning to actually look,, pretty and shiny? so it’s not common

other jewelry consists of tight bands of wood and clay around horns, clay earrings, rings and armbands

clay jewelry is especially common! including clay beads that represents their sibs

clay fired earrings, strings of clay beads draped across the body, etc is commonly found

jobs! (and also a rant on cuisine apparently)

briefly touched on earlier, idk how much expanding i’ll do here tbh

farming is pretty common, crops including rice, cranberries, watercress, taro, water spinach, water chestnuts,,,, you get the point. there’s a lot of crops to be grown and mudwings grow them!

not in monocultures though, there’s a lot of mixing of crops on the same farmland

also with farmers, animals are raised! but closer to the less swampy edges of the kingdom

they’re still partially wild honestly, but mudwings rear cows and boars very commonly

so much of mudwing economy revolves around food, so they have a very robust cuisine, and they grow/trade for a lot of spices and herbs (with the skywings) and they have a lot of practices surrounding food/sharing of food being sacred

oh god.,,,, the tangent is taking over,, im so sorry

marriage!! i think when mudwings want to get married there’s a long string of cooking for one another!! back and forth making beautiful dishes for one another until they make a beautiful dish TOGETHER. god i love them

aside from farmers, a lot of mudwings are artists! they carve wood and make clay sculptures and jewelry as well as weave baskets and jewelry and thatched roofs from fronds and other wide-leafed plants

pottery is also common

tanners make leather from cow and boar hide, and bookbinders make books (after contact with pantala) and trade with sandwings for dried parchment

also butchers, cheesemakers (cows milk)

as well, the typical circle of scholars and nobles that keep rigorous records on the queendom’s history

and of course, royal diplomats

religions/superstitions

less superstitious than icewings perhaps,, but i do think they have some shared beliefs

perhaps just in a “mother earth” “all mother” type of concept? a dragon that gave them swamps, and then all other life came from swamps, etc

of course, the egg superstitions from earlier

there’s a lot of superstitions/outright magic about sharing food and the etiquette around sharing food

oh, one of you dropped your utensil while eating? in the future you’re going to save each other from mortal danger

someone gifting dishware is considered a proposal,, but it can be platonic or romantic

the monarch spilled their drink? the rainy season will be rainier this year

just a lot of really niche things

yoppee, i love mudwings so much. i think there is so much untapped potential and what we have now is beautiful. love drawing them, love their color palettes, love their sib groups. yeah not much else to say here. as always, send a dm or an ask if you want to know about something further!

#wof #wof mudwing #wof art #wof worldbuilding #wof redesign #wof rewrite #wings of fire #wingsoffire #wings of fire fanart #wof fanart

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

Text

“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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sleeplessdreamer123 · 1 year

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Fanfic Idea! (Pre-Lucemond, Where Rhaenyra is not a princess)

What if Aemma never married Viserys? Sure, he was deeply in love with her, but Aemma refused his advances and married someone else instead, though the man was from a smaller house, and instead married into the Arryn House, giving birth to Rhaenyra, who looked like the perfect little Targaryen, despite only being a quarter. Viserys sent a dragon egg as a present, and everyone was in awe when it hatched, whispers saying Targaryen blood truly is strong enough to pass through generations, enough to burn through. Others say that it was because she was Viserys' bastard. Unfortunately for Aemma, her husband soon passed away, and Aemma died from heartbreak. Poor Rhaenyra was distraught, losing both parents at the same time. She was also afraid, for there were men vying for her attention, and she didn't wish to marry yet.

King Viserys, her uncle (?) suggested that Rhaenyra should go to the Red Keep, as a Lady in Waiting for Queen Alicent, who was about her age, to at least escape the proposals.

Viserys sees Rhaenyra as a joy to behold, even seeing her as his own child, despite them not being true father and daughter. When she wasn't with Queen Alicent, she was with the King and at first, Alicent fears she might be replaced by the newer girl, who, if rumors were to be believed, looked like Viserys' beloved Aemma. She does, however, loved Rhaenyra's presence. Strong and forward, not afraid to speak her mind, and kind, to her at least. She was her first friend her age, though her father, Otto, scares her, saying she needed to get rid of the Arryn girl, or she might get rid of her as Queen.

Her father's dislike rose when he noticed how the girl managed to capture not just the heart of the King, but also the interest of the Rouge Prince, who she calls uncle. She was even called the "Realm's Delight", her popularity rising higher than the dragon's soars. Though Alicent tries to defend her, Otto was utterly convinced she would do what it took to take the crown. To ensure that she doesn't, he whispers to Viserys, saying that Rhaenyra was of age, that she needed to be married of, or else she might find herself alone, with all the good men gone.

His whispers got worse when Alicent gave birth to a boy, and yet Viserys still calls for his favorite niece. She also began to seduce (in Otto's sick, twisted mind) little Aegon, who called her "Sister Nyra", copying his mother's title for her. Otto would be damned if he doesn't get rid of any and all possible future problems.

King Viserys wishes her the best of everything, so he personally searched for a fitting husband for her (that immediately cancels Daemon out). He first wished to marry her to Laenor, seeing as Rhaenys took a liking to her, and she had managed to befriend Laena, but Alicent knows the rumors, and, in order to help her friend, managed to persuade Viserys to find someone more...inclined to her.

They eventually decided on Harwin Strong, and though Rhaenyra did feel betrayed (she entered the Red Keep to stay away from marriage), she did find Harwin to her liking. They wed, and three Strong boys were produced. Viserys sent a dragon to them with every birth, to the anger of Otto, and each and every one of them hatched.

Alicent calls for Rhaenyra whenever she could, and they would enjoy their time together, their children playing together. They even said they would marry their children together, so they would truly be family.

(Alicent does feel a bit afraid of how much her sons enjoy being with Rhaenyra's, particularly Aemond with Lucerys, but she shakes it off. Rhaenyra was only a quarter Targaryen, surely she wouldn't agree to their queer customs.)

When Daemon brought his daughters, they too got along, so much so that Laena spoke of marrying one of her sons to her daughters. It was perfect, everything was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

Harwin's death broke Rhaenyra, her only luck was the fact that Alicent called for another visit with the boys, and she left a day earlier to surprise them. Then, Laena died, the children fought, the eye lost, and the perfect life they have envisioned unravelled.

Alicent's fear of being usurped returned when Rhaenyra remarried Daemon, and she quickly dissolved the marriage pact between Jacaerys and Helaena, which offended and hurt Rhaenyra.

The once closest friends became bitter enemies.

What was worse was that Viserys never named an heir, and Daemon intends to fight for the throne, while Alicent and Otto pushed for Aegon's rule.

------------

Thoughts? Violent reactions?

#aemond targaryen #aemond x lucerys #lucemond #lucerys velaryon #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #what if rhaenyra never was a princess #how would that affect aemond and luke's relationship

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serialadoptersbracket · 1 month

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Round 2, Match 50: Splinter vs. Lilia Vanrouge

Submitted kids:

Splinter: Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelango and, depending on the version: April O'Neil, Casey Jones and others

Lilia Vanrouge: Malleus Draconia, Silver (he acts fatherly to a majority of the other characters too tho)

Propaganda under the cut!

Splinter:

“Splinter, seeing four baby turtles in some ooze: is anyone gonna adopt them or?

Splinter also starts off either as a human or a rat before turning into a rat mutant depending on the adaption, so in some versions this random street rat has paternal instincts so strong he adopts these four random turtles and raises them to teenagehood and in the process teaches himself how to talk, the skills needed to raise human-adjacent kids and also teach them ninjutsu. Also has a tendency to adopt any and all friends his sons collect along the way, which often includes former enemies. Dad Of All Time.”

Lilia Vanrouge:

“Lilia is such a good dad. He was friends with Malleus's parents who died when Malleus was still an egg, and Lilia took care of Malleus after that. It was because of Lilia that Malleus hatched at all- dragon eggs require love to hatch. Lilia wasn't sure if he was capable of loving, being a general in the Fae Army, but he was capable. And he loves Malleus so much. He raised Malleus as best he could, preparing him to be king of their country. Then, he came across Silver. A baby that had been magically put to sleep in order to be safe from the war. A baby of the enemy, the son of the man who killed Malleus's parents. And love was the only thing that could wake Silver up, and... he woke up. Almost immediately after Lilia found him. Lilia isn't the best father, but he does his best and loves his kids so much and just wants the best for them. And his kids love him just as much.”

#tmnt 2003 #rottmnt #tmnt #mutant mayhem #teenage mutant ninja turtles #diasomnia #diasomnia spoilers #disney twst #twst wonderland #lilia vanrouge #serial adopters bracket #round 2 #tumblr tournament #tumblr polls

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alannybunnue · 1 year

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Daemon and Baratheon Reader was chef kiss

How does she react when Daemon tries to be a good husband aftes more than a decade of neglet?

for once she has a form of power, Daemon needs her reacting to be a good husband,how do children react to this person they call father trying to be a good parent?

Would they probably have to go to court? Would Daemon walk up to the Reader and say for God's sake pretend I'm a good husband, or do they stay at Dragonstone,does he genuinely try to be better or does he try to outsmart his brother?

I don't think Viserys has to remarry, Daemon has seven children,so what happens to Alicent?

HOHOHO

You requested and i shall give. So before i begin, i must explain some details

Considering that yes, Daemon has 7 kids (3 boys and 4 girls) most likely that Viserys won't need to marry, he could instead (if Daemon were taken away from the line of heritage) make Baelon heir or marry him to Rhaenyra.

Daemon is trying to outsmart his brother, he doesn't care for wife and kids...at first

Also, here is the list of the kids before we actually begin:

Baelon (9-10 years old): Eldest and responsible son, wants to protect his family from his excuse of a father, rider of the Cannibal(Now named Viserion)

Aegon (8 years old): Second son and devoted sibling, follows up to his older brother since he has no father for that and he's also his brother's helper. Rider of the sheepstealer (he kept the name)

Aerea (7-8 years old): First daughter and most wise, is a bookworm who loves history and arts, also helps her mother and brother in taking care of her younger siblings. Soon to be rider of Grey Ghost

Elaena (5 years old): The second daughter and the scared little girl of the family, is shy and doesn't know how to respond to people scolding her. She follows up to her older siblings a lot. She has a young dragon called Starfyre, they are really close.

Aerion (3-4 years old): Third and last son, is the trouble child who throws tantrums whenever something doesn't go his way. He has a young dragon called Brightflame

Daena (2 years old): Third daughter, the giggly girl, curious and causes scandals thanks to it, like once when she ended up in the top of the castle and made Baelon pick her up with Viserion, no one know how she got there. Her dragon egg hatched but no name was decided

Rhaenys (2 weeks old): Fourth daughter, a quiet thing...sometimes. Her egg has not hatched yet.

"BAELON!"

"Oh so you do remember my name!"

The boy ran really fast after taunting the man he should call his "father", he knew it wasn't the brightest idea, but he also knew that he wouldn't get another chance to do this.

So to escape the man, he ran to his mother.

"See? It's not hurt dearest- Baelon?" - The Lady looked at her eldest confused while carrying for her second born, Aegon.

The boy immediately hid behind his mother and dragged his brother closer, Lady Baratheon although confused, found that a bit amusing.

But her smile didn't last long, in the moment her husband stepped inside the room.

"...What are you doing here?" - She questioned the Prince in her most serious tone.

"The King sended him away" - Baelon answered - "He threatened him and now the Prince wants to play 'Happy Family'"

"Boys, go find your siblings, it's almost late and you haven't ate" - Their mother ordered them, both the boys leave the room immediately.

The couple didn't look at each other, Lady Baratheon turn away to care for her little one.

"There's no need for you to stay here" - She told him - "I can write to Viserys as if you were doing your role as husband and father."

"Viserys is a fool, but not to this point, he will figure out sooner than later" - Daemon protested - "So you plan to torment me for a while until your brother is convinced?"

"You are going to trick our children to believe that they have a father after years?" - She questioned, obviously irritated with all of this - "And for what? What did he threatened you with that would make you come back- Ah..."

Lady Baratheon is no fool to Daemon's intentions and desires, she knows the only thing he keeps fighting for other than himself, was the bloody Iron Throne.

"All because of the throne...of course" - She put her daughter to sleep in her crib, and looks at her husband one more time - "I guess you lost then, because no one here is gonna help you."

"Our children don't know you, they call you "father" because they follow up to Baelon, a 9 year old boy who had done a way better job than you." - She reminded him - "And i have no feelings for you and i won't pretend that i have, so you might as well leave with your whore, for i have no intentions on helping you."

Daemon was impulsive, he immediately tried to grab his wife by the throat, but she was quicker and dogde the attack.

"Just leave at once or don't bother my family, make your choice then." - She says before leaving the room.

Daemon now looked around the room, and looked at the crib with the small child sleeping quietly.

No, he didn't wanted this life, but he couldn't escape from it, especially now.

Baelon, on other hand, was now sitting on the dining table with his 6 siblings now eating...or so he wished.

"I don't want this!!" - Exclaimed by Aerion, his younger brother who always throws a tantrum for anything he doesn't like. This time he keeps punching the table.

"Aerion, stop it! I trying to feed Daena! Baelon, do something!!" - Aerea demanded, as she was taking care of her little sister Daena.

Seeing the chaos entering the room, Baelon had one thing he could do to stop it.

"I WANT DESSERT! I WANT DESSERT" - Aerion yelling while making Elaena cover her years in frustration. Baelon got up from his seat and got next to his little brother.

"...Or you eat your food right now...or i will give Brightflame as food for Viserion" - He said with a low and serious tone - "Do you doubt me?"

"No..." - Aerion said with his arms crossed, knowing he was defeated, since Baelon knows how he loves his dragon.

Baelon sat back in his seat while dinner went smoothly.

"You weren't really going to give Brightflame to Viserion, right?..." - Elaena asked quietly to her brother - "Nah, but Aerion doesn't need to know that." - the little shit answered with a smirk on his face.

"Is mother coming soon? We almost done" - Aerea questioned - "Yeah! I want momma! Baelon is mean!" - Aerion exclaimed

"Mother is busy" - Baelon explained - "With father..." - Aegon said sadly

"FATHER?!" - All of the others yelled, while Daena giggled.

"Keep quiet! He can hear us!" - Baelon scolded them - "Thanks Aegon, no one needed to know that."

"Father is gonna stay here anyway..." - Aegon said - "No he won't, there's no reason for him to be here, he most likely will leave tomorrow or the morning after." - Baelon protested - "So we all must just ignore his presence."

"I'm gonna stab him" - Aerion threatened

"No Aerion!" - Everyone demanded

Later, Baelon was preparing himself to take a small ride on Viserion, so he walked down the halls with his siblings (Who wanted to see) and Sir Edrik.

All of them just failed to do one thing, spot their father not too far from them.

#ask #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #house targaryen #daemon targaryen #house baratheon #baratheon!reader #imagine #concept

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patema-introverted · 16 days

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There are so many good things in Wings of Fire but nothing is gonna top Clay's arc in the first book. To me. Its so important to me.

If you've never read Wings of Fire, the first book starts with a group of unrelated dragons of different breeds all raised together in order to fulfill a prophecy. Don't worry about that, we're talking about Clay. Cause Clay grew up thinking he was a bloodthirsty monster. Of course he thought that; the moment he was born he tried to slaughter his siblings while they were still in their eggs. That's what their caretakers said. And they held that over his head, made him afraid that at any moment if he did something wrong he would lose everyone he loved and it would only be his fault. It didn't matter that his adopted siblings didn't see him as a monster because that monster must be in there somewhere. He was born a monster. If he doesn't keep his head down, his instincts will take over and he'll be a monster again.

And then he finds out about quirks of his specific breed of dragon. He finds out that Mudwings aren't parental, and so the clutch of eggs will pack bond with each other. The bond between siblings is the only family they have. The bond is instinctual, to the point where the moment the eldest hatches he knows he needs to help his weaker siblings. The moment he hatches he starts to break open his siblings' eggs to help them hatch.

Clay's caretakers either purposefully misled him or they had no idea what to do with him. I don't remember which but the result is the same; everything he grew up hating about himself was actually beautiful. He was never a monster, he was always a brother. He's not inherently evil, he was inherently loving.

#wings of fire #clay will forever be my favorite fr fr

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lullaebies · 9 months

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Can I request a helaegon where they introduce the rest of their family (dragons included) to Maelor's dragon. I love your prompt of where his egg hatches this is kind of like a continuation.

I had to divide it into two sections, and sadly I couldn't put Vhagar in (you'll meet her another time, Eggy!), but for sure! This is a direct continuation of this request here! -

The Keep wakes up to a ruckus of joy.

Their rooms become a place of gathering, while the maidservants clean the bed of the egg’s remains. Helaena asks them to keep the cracked shell; it is broken and rather unpleasant of smell, but with her being all smiles this morning, Aegon assumed she wants to keep it for the memory.

Mother arrives first and with Ser Criston and grandsire. Maelor needs not a moment to think to rush to her to show off his dragon. “Grandma! Look!” he says, bouncing around her in circles. Mother half-hides behind Criston as the little dragon hisses. Unlike her, who still needs a safe distance from the dragons, Otto picks up both the boy and the dragon in his arms and kisses the side of Maelor’s head. Almost to a fault, his grandsire never feared dragons.

“Congratulations, our little Prince,” he says proudly. Aegon feels an itch to take Maelor back, but the boy blabs so radiantly of how ‘papa and mama did magic,’ that he can’t help but just stare. Mother soon braves her fear and congratulates her grandson as well; even touches the dragon with trembling hands, to all’s amusement.

When Jaehaera and Jaehaerys come to the room, accompanied by Aemond and Ser Willis Fell, Maelor proudly showcases the dragon with hands stretched above his head. Otto puts Maelor back down, allowing him to rush over to the twins.

“It’s Eggy!” he yells to their face. Aegon licks his lips; they’ll have to talk to him about a proper name for the dragon. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera both try and poke at it, eyes wondering; at this point, the dragon has had enough of the attention; he hisses louder. Aemond catches both of the twins as the dragon coils around Maelor’s neck to hide.

Crouching down, Aemond brings a hand forward to pat his head, an uncharacteristic smile on his face. “’Tis be your leal friend, for the rest of your life,” he says softly. “I know you’ll cherish him as such.”

Maelor brightens at that, and looks back to him and Helaena. “Wanna show grandpa!” he asserts, all excited as ever. Aegon sees Helaena holding her hands nervously. Their Father isn’t quite well, often more dazed of milk of poppy than not. But Aegon, for once; wants to see him too. Wants him to see it too, this one good that has been managed to be attained throughout the night.

“We shall show the whole castle,” Aegon says, lifting Maelor up again. “Until no ear would be able to escape our magic.”

A ridiculous notion, it is; it is all Maelor, all the days he refused to sleep without the egg beside him; the scales of light, seafoam green gleam silver as the dragon rubs against the boy. It’s a victory that none can rob of his son, one of love that the boy still remained wanting to give.

He’ll let him give and gloat in it. Maelor chuckles away, as they all depart from the room on his orders and pointing finger, leading the way through the halls and introducing Eggy to all. Perhaps as a nickname, that name would still fit.

—

As the afternoon comes, they are all in the dragonpit, introducing the Dragonkeepers to the new hatchling they must add to their roster. Maelor has received compliments from all on the beautiful hatchling, even from Father, who has sighed in wonder as he saw him, declaring it a blessing; but now it is time to keep the little dragon in other, more capable hands.

Maelor hasn’t quite taken to it well, wanting to return to the carriage as well as ‘his and Eggy’s bed’, but Helaena has managed to convince him otherwise, telling them they must introduce Eggy to his dragon family, as well.

There is nothing quite like irritating the dragonkeepers, and making them bring out all of the dragons, but this is a special event. Aegon stands by Helaena on that matter. No know-it-all dragonkeeper will tell them what to do with their mounts.

Sunfyre, Dreamfyre, Shrykos and Morghul come out slowly. They all smell a new scent, and each is alerted when Maelor’s little dragon shrieks. The dragonkeeper tells Maelor to put little Eggy on the floor. Maelor glares at him, hesitant to do so, but Helaena comes closer to him. “He’s curious, Maely,” she says, nudging at the dragon. “Let him get to know them.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera also come around him, watching him in anticipation, and Maelor lets the dragon on the ground.

Little Eggy claws his way forward to the larger dragons. Shrykos and Morghul both first run around him, the green and black dragons trying to nip at the hatchling to examine, not unlike their bonded humans. Worried, Maelor tries to come forward, but Helaena stops him as Dreamfyre roars at the younger dragons. They all grow still at it, and the twins’ dragons become gentler, sniffing Maelor’s dragon and feeling him with their snout instead.

Aegon looks at Sunfyre. He looks curiously at the little dragon. Hatched on Dragonstone, he’s both familiar with playing and fighting. Dragons are unpredictable, and none would know what they choose, but then again, Sunfyre is also a dragon of his, not just of nature. He knows what Aegon wants, and perhaps he knows what Eggy needs.

Sunfyre brings his tail close to the younger dragons, egging them to catch at it with a few pats on the grounds. When the hatchlings instinctively try to pounce, he whisks it away quickly; only to repeat the process, again.

“See? They’re playing,” Helaena tells Maelor, who cheers when Eggy manages to climb slightly up Sunfyre’s tail. The twins cheer as well when Shrykos and Morghul try to catch up, coming by Sunfyre’s wings. And it’s only natural, to Sunfyre. He lets them without much complaint. “All is well.”

All is well, for once, and the magic woven into the air; none can steal it away, none can ruin it. It’s theirs to bask in.

#i was a bit tired so sorry for any mistakes!#helaegon #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #maelor targaryen #team green #i won't tag the rest as they are barely here #hotd #my fics #answered #requests

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disgr-aced · 7 months

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so I've seen the latest qsmp newsletter with the eggs all with green cracks. and I genuinly think the eggs do hatch into code. Or at least, if they hatch early they become code.

I know this isn't a new theory, but I'm now FULLY on board. Because it makes sense and ties up a few things in my head.

what are the eggs? I'm still on board with the idea that they are experiments made by the federation, to create a hybrid or some other creation which perhaps needs to be raised differently to their other experiments in order the reach their full potential and hatch correctly - like a birds egg needs heat, maybe these eggs need to be incubated in a loving home, which the federation is clearly unable to provide, and so gave each egg a home with parents and food and a bed.

why were the federation so keen to keep them safe, only to take them and crack them? because they know that if they hatch before they're ready, they become something dangerous. Or, well, dangerous to the federation. We know they code is anti-federation. We've seen that they're incredibly strong. And personally, when the eggs were taken when the Brazilians joined, I think the federation cracked them a bit to see if they were ready yet, saw that they weren't ready, and returned them to their parents to keep safe (and unhatched for now).

why did the code monsters originally appear hyper-violent and focus just on the eggs? Because they were trying to get their siblings to hatch, become stronger, become a real threat to the federation that kept them contained.

why is the code trying to impersonate dead eggs? well. what if they weren't.

what if they just wanted to look like, be like, the eggs they once were? what if when they 'died', what really happened was their shells broke, releasing the glitching code of an unfinished being (dragon? hybrid?), and using their new strength they managed to escape the federation (who we KNOW were the last people to have the dead eggs, cause all the dead eggs came back for a few minutes after their deaths, and all were seen with cucurucho).

what if these scared children, with painful glitching bodies, unable to communicate properly, ran back to where they felt safest, only to be attacked and treated with fear? what if they, knowing the federation only wants to trap them and do god knows what to them if they come to 'full term' and hatch into whatever the federation designed them to be, tried to save their siblings by forcing them to hatch through 'death'? what if every fight we've seen, has been parents unknowingly attacking a child?

and over time. what if those kids learned how to control their glitching forms to some extent, to appear more like themselves as they were before, so they could be loved again, and claw back some part of themselves from death? maybe that really was Bobby standing quietly when the islanders went to rescue the newcomers 10,000 blocks away. maybe that really is Juanaflippa, who made a cave shack next to her dad's house, the only person she ever felt safe with?

and where are the eggs now? Perhaps their hatched siblings took them far away, saved them (in their eyes) from the federation. Perhaps not. But I don't think we've seen the last of the dead eggs. Not by a long shot.

#posts that are utterly incomprehensible #OK ALSO at the election dinner Phil and Etoiles killed two codes #while most of the islanders watched through the glass #including parents of some of the dead eggs #if this theory is true then WHO WATCHED THEIR CHILD DIE AGAIN UNKNOWINGLY??#haha look pa I've made angst #qsmp #qsmp eggs #qsmp rambles #qsmp theory #qsmp thoughts

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decadentrot · 1 year

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BNHA Dragon Pageant Au

Just wanted to draw dragons, also im trying to spread the dragons are puppies agenda. Also i imagined this au to be rather fluffy :D

So in this world people and dragons coexsist peacefully. That being said people tend to favor dragons that are more colorful and bright that can fly long distances while more muted/duller color dragons with disabilities are seen as very unattractive. Katsuki being raised by Mitsuki has a good eye for dragons and collects the most colorful beautiful ones and often puts them in dragon beauty pageants lmao Katsuki's childhood friend, izuku, generally just loves dragons and hopes to become a dragon veterinarian! So imagine his surprise one day when his best friend kacchan comes barreling in carrying 4 eggs he found when he fell into the river lmao and says he needs "useless deku to not be useless and help him hatch these dragons" cause he claims they will "be the most beautiful fucking dragons youve ever fucking seen and my old hag will finally start taking me seriously after she sees me win the pageant with these suckers" And so they hatch the dragons together and while Izuku learns more about the pageant scene due to Katsuki, he realizes how sad the dragon bias and discrimination is. So when he finds brown, dull color dragon Uraraka with her cute lil face, Izuku makes it his goal to also win the pageant with his "unattractive" dragons to prove a point. But of course Katsuki thinks Deku's new goal is a direct challenge to him and his precious dragons and that deku looks down on Katsuki's dragons as if he thinks his dull dragon can win which causes a tear in their friendship and their rivalry begins. Throughout the story, Izuku saves Tenya when he is being poached by dragon slayer Stain and also befriends the beautiful, but dangerous Shoto after he finds him running away from his abuser who bred him through illegal breeding markets.

I like to think the AU ends with Katsuki and Izuku showing off thier dragons at the pageant but then Izuku realizes that pageants are dumb and he doesnt want anyone to judge his poor dragons for things they cant control, not to mention he hates that his friendship with Kacchan was ruined over something so stupid, and so he forfeits the pageant. Izuku honestly just really wants his best friend back. Which means Katsuki ends up winning.... but of course KACCHAN IS STILL UNHAPPY with his victory. Much like in the beginning, Katsuki barrels into izuku's room, this time the eggs are now lil adorable dragons, and he yells at Deku for "giving him that pity victory and not giving the middle finger to all of those discriminatory dragon assholes" Izuku explains everything and they talk it out before eventually becoming friends again (in the bg their dragons are shaking their heads at how stupid their owners are and how they had to sit front seats to the shitshow that is their friendship lmao)

In the end, they say fuck the pageant and izuku runs his vet dragon clinic and katsuki runs an dragon adoption center/dragon egg daycare. He makes sure to beat up anyone who doesnt meet his standards for adoption and gives any injured abused dragon he finds to izuku to take care of. The End (*^▽^*)

SIDE STORY (why izuku is shoto's favorite):

Endeavor: OI OI OI IS THAT MY RUNAWAY!! SHOOOTO!!!!

Izuku: ...no? (literally has Shoto sitting on his hair hissing at Endeavor)

Endeavor: You've stolen my DRAGON??!

Izuku: Dragon? :)

Endeavor: YES! THATS MY DRAGON!!?! >:0

Izuku: DRAGON DEEZ NUTS ACROSS YOUR FACE >:D

Endeavor is so utterly humiliated and in order to save himself from this migraine inducing boy, he simply lets him go. Shoto is pleased by this victory.

#bnha #bnha fanart #boku no hero academia #izuku midoriya #Katsuki Bakugo #kirishima ejirou #mina ashido #denki kaminari #sero hanta #shoto todoroki #uraraka ochacho #tenya lida #dragon au

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griseldabanks · 6 months

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I've been seriously considering participating in SlowMoWriNo, a variation on NaNoWriMo where, instead of writing 50k of a story in a single month, the goal is to write for approximately 15 minutes a day for a year, starting this November, and hopefully have a novel done in a year's time. It's a challenge for those who are busy and/or burnt out, which perfectly describes me right now. I'm getting pretty close to finishing the first draft of my current WIP, and while I should probably just take a break from any sort of organized writing for the rest of the year to avoid a complete burnout, I also really like the idea of SlowMoWriNo.

So I think I'm going to do it. I can push myself for fifteen minutes a day, right? In order to still be giving myself a break from the hefty fanfic project I've been focusing on for the past four years or so, I'd like to use SlowMoWriNo to work on one of my woefully neglected original stories. Even if all I have to show for my work after a year is an outline or notes rather than 50k of readable story, it will be more than I've got right now!

I've got quite a few story ideas that have been gathering dust in my mind for years now, so which one should I dust off and take a poke at? I'll describe each one below the poll. Basically, you're voting for which story you'd like to hear updates on and potentially get excerpts from, because I'll be doing that for accountability purposes in the year ahead.

The Ambassadors - Sean is scrubbing the floor of his village's chapel when the village is attacked by a rampaging dragon. Before he knows what's happening, the dragon smashes through the chapel and dies. With her last breath, she places a dragon egg at his feet. The egg hatches in his hands, revealing a baby dragon with black scales. Though he has heard all his life about how evil and dangerous dragons are, Sean just can't bring himself to let any harm come to the baby dragon. So, changing his name to Shard, he runs away to find a place where he and his new dragon friend can live in peace. Medieval fantasy, dragon rider story, lots of angst and lots of fluff, no romance but lots of friendship with an emphasis on brotherly love between the main character and his dragon, strong Christian themes (complete with my own barely-disguised fantasy Christian religion :P). The first draft is written, but I need to completely rewrite it because I've reworked and refined a lot of the plot and worldbuilding.

The Arcblade - Aiden Averrod, captain of the airship Robin, is just about broke and looking for work for his crew when a mysterious noblewoman hires him to give her transport on her quest for the fabled Arcblade, a mystical weapon said to bring peace to their war-torn land when it is unsheathed. Reluctantly, because he has no other choice and because the young lady has a fat purse with promise of another one forthcoming when the quest is achieved, Aiden agrees and sets off on a quest that will completely upend his life. Eighteenth century-ish fantasy, steampunk (crystalpunk? is that a thing?), serious laced with humor, swashbuckling, includes a romance between major characters. So far, I've written a grand total of two scenes and then realized I needed to revisit the worldbuilding -_-

bartender story (unnamed) - Bob is the friendly, rotund third-generation owner of the town's tavern. All is going well in his life until a band of heroes comes through and...well, one thing leads to another, and in the end, Bob's tavern is just a pile of ashes. Demanding repayment for damages, Bob tags along with the band of misfits as they continue their quest to save the world from the Dark Lord. Medieval fantasy, satire with a heart, tongue-in-cheek poking fun at fantasy cliches, probably no romance but we'll see. Nothing written for this so far.

broken heart story (unnamed) - Annie has had a crush on [unnamed heartthrob] for years, but would never dare tell him. After all, she's ugly. She's fat. She has terrible acne. She's cripplingly shy, and she's been picked on and bullied her whole life. There's nothing he would ever find attractive about her. But one day she happens to witness [unnamed girl] cast a spell on him that turns his heart into an origami heart made of many separate pieces of paper folded in on each other, which she pulls apart and scatters to the winds. Without his heart, [unnamed heartthrob] has no emotions, no personality, and his so-called friends start avoiding him because he's acting so weird. Taking pity on him, Annie decides to get his heart back. Even if it might break her own heart in the process. Modern-day urban fantasy, probably some kind of magical school setting (maybe university-level?), angsty drama, romance, basically a reverse Beauty and the Beast about true love looking past the surface. Nothing written for this so far.

clone sister story (unnamed) - [Older sister] is struggling to accept the clone of her deceased younger sister, who has just been completed and come home from the lab. The decision to clone [younger sister] was a snap decision her mother made in the throes of her grief after the accident, but since then the whole family has come to grips with the knowledge that [younger sister] is gone forever. But the cloning process was already started, and her mother was unwilling to pull the plug, because she believed that clone was a real person, a real little girl who needed a mommy. Now that little girl is coming home, and they all have to remember that, just because she looks exactly like [younger sister], she is a different person. [Older sister] isn't sure what to think. Near-future sci-fi, family drama, angst and grief, family relationships with a focus on the sisters, strong Christian and pro-life themes. Nothing written for this so far.

The Family - The Shiwaga family is a wealthy, well-respected clan that has been a pillar of the town of Avalanche for generations. What no one realizes is that they're also secretly a mafia-like organization working to sabotage the government, believing it was usurped from the rightful ruler - someone Shiwaga hopes to be able to influence once they have been returned to power. (This story is actually kind of hard to summarize, both because it's currently a mess and because there's at least a dozen main characters who are all supposed to be equally important.) Meiji Japan-inspired epic fantasy, huge cast of characters with opposing motivations, family drama as well as world-threatening crises, romances as well as friendship/familial relationships are front-and-center, currently the ending is more bitter than sweet but I want to reevaluate that. This was the story I worked on the two times I've done NaNoWriMo before, so two of three parts are written, but in a very slapdash fashion that's basically just a fleshed-out outline that will probably have to be completely rewritten anyway. The original thought was to make this a trilogy.

The Four - Timor was found as a small child, abandoned in the forest and somehow managing to eke out an animal-like survival. Since then, he has been raised in the home of Avadris, a one-time counselor to the High King, who has been dead for years. As Timor grows older, Avadris slowly puts two and two together and begins to suspect Timor is actually the High King's son that everyone thought was killed the same night the king and queen were. In the hopes of restoring the order and prosperity they enjoyed under the High King's reign, Avadris announces Timor as the heir to the throne when he turns twelve. Though he asked for none of this, Timor suddenly finds himself running for his life from those who want nothing to do with a new High King, accompanied by strangers who may become friends - or may end up killing him. Medieval epic fantasy, adventure/quest, non-traditional fantasy races/peoples, no romance but various platonic relationships among the impromptu band of companions. This is what I consider to be my first "real" story idea, but even though I came up with it when I was twelve and still believe in its potential, I've never finished a draft and don't really know how it ends anymore ^^' Probably needs to be started over from scratch for the...fourth or fifth time.

four siblings story (unnamed) - Jack, Sophie, Rebecca, and Grace are recently orphaned siblings who know they have to stick together to survive. The good news is, they all have superpowers that have manifested as they struggle with their grief over their parents. As they try to gain control over their powers and figure out how to balance them with the serious side effects those powers bring, they are taken in by the wealthy Dr. Clementine, a jovial old philanthropist who promises to be like a grandfather to them while also giving them opportunities and resources to hone their supernatural skills to the fullest. But it's not long before the four siblings begin to suspect his motives are more sinister than they seemed at first. Modern-day urban fantasy, children's/YA fiction, adventure, no romance but a heck-ton of positive sibling relationships and eventually found family, standalone with possible sequel potential. Meant to evoke some combination of Escape to Witch Mountain, The Girl Who Could Fly, and E. Nesbit (Five Children and It)/Edward Eager (Half Magic) books.

#slowmowrino #i reserve the right to not write the story that wins the poll :P #just wanted to gauge the interest levels

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ackermental · 3 months

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what did you mean you're not really a fan of rhaegar x lyanna?

Well, that's a complicated one. I'm more neutral towards them, let's say.

From the fanon point of view I do enjoy this version: a dashing, handsome prince kidnapping a young lady that he fell in love with. True love from the first sight, supposedly unhappy matches for both of them, running away together to have happy sex, resulting in the birth of THE CHOSEN ONE, who will save the world from the ice zombies, etc. Tragic ending for both of them, but the child survives to make their parents proud! Fire and Ice elements, referance to the title!

It checks out all of the boxes, when it's presented this way, how can you not like it? And I do myself enjoy reading some fanfics about those two, I'm not going to pretend that I don't. Also, I think it's absolutely fine if you believe that this version is canon, if you enjoy this part of the asoiaf fandom, if you love those characters, you name it.

But while reading the story, I must addmit that it was never how I saw their reletionship. Like, I know that for some reason this is a particularly touchy subject for most of this fandom, but let's stop pretending that GRRM writes some tragic Snow White stories. He's a sci-fi story writer, and a horror sci-fi at that. And it just so happens that I've read a lot of his books, before I've ever looked at GOT. So you may or may not believe me when I say this, nonny (since it's not really my purpose to change your mind, I'm just trying to show my point of view), that this whole fairy tale presented above is the most removed thing from Martin's writing style.

Ok, I'll just get it out of my chest: book!Rhaegar gives me fucking creeps! Any time when I actually start thinking about Tower of Joy and what transpired there, I find it hard to fall asleep. Again, I'm not exaggerating, I have nightmares about this shit.

Now, before any of you 'Rhaegar was a pedo, Rhaegar cheated on his wife, Rheagar forsake his duty so that he could rape a child' enthusiasts jump on this wagon, let me halt you where you stand.

No. I don't believe that Rhaegar found abandoning his realm, mother, brother, friends, wife and children to fuck a girl he only met once a year ago very pleasing. Actually, nothing less than madness could be responsible for such a thing to even accur, and yeah, that's what I believe: that Rhaegar went mad. Mad as in mad mad or mad as in obsessed, that I'm still not certain about.

The question is, if it was because of the fact that his parents were siblings or was it because someone was messing with his mind? Well, again, based on a long list of Martin's works, it was obviously the later. Either Children or Bran made Rhaegar absolutely obsessed with eugenics. Obviously, not in the way that we understand eugenics now. I'm pretty certain that, like always, he was presented with some bullshit prophecy, just like 90% of the characters in those books were, or he was convinced that this was the way for the House Targaryen to reclaim dragons. After all, Rhaegar was connected to this quest since his birth (Summerhall).

And like, a lot of things connected to Rhaegar and Lyanna story brings to my mind things like: breeding people for the specific set of genes, the repeating themes of roses, crown, young lady and Harrenhal (Sansa storyline), hatching of dragons, fire and blood (more specifically: a blood sacrifice).

We know that there needs to be a specific set of genes in order for a person to hatch a dragon. But maybe there is something else as well that is needed after almost two centuries.

So yeah, with the canon we have access to now, I'm, unfortunately, of the mind that somebody was sending green dreams to Rhaegar about the return of the dragons, same dreams many Targaryens had before (Egg to name one). He was convinced that Lyanna had the right set of genes, maybe thanks to her skinchangin abilities. This was probably done after something went wrong with Elia (who I believe was also picked for this purpose, but maybe hadn't had the right bloodline after all) or (and it is my baised opinion as a huge Martel fan, so take it with the same huge grain of salt) Rhaegar felt more comfortable with sacrificing a girl he didn't know, rather than his wife of many years. Which makes this whole thing even more ironic, because we know what happened to her. (Although was it his fault, or was the rebellion inevitable and Rhaegar just decided he didn't have to or even couldn't wait anymore?)

To whom even is the Prince who was promised actually promised? The world? The gods? Is it an exchange? That is, if we look at this whole thing from Rhaegar perpective, because none of the prophecies or the gods in GRRMs works are actually real. They are always false, always sent to manipulate human kind, to bring catastrophy and a hive-minded civilisation about. Did the Children of the forest, a hive-minded race, convince Rhaegar through false dreams that he needed to produce an heir with a very specific bloodline? Did they sold him some bullshit about three heads etc. after he failed with Elia? Did they convince him that he needed to kill the mother in order for dragons to hatch: a life for a life? Or was it about killing/sacrificing the child? Or both. Or maybe neither should have died according to some old texts about Dragons, but then at least one did anyway?

As for the whole legitimization and wedding and all of that... I don't think that Rhaegar was really concerned with those things 🤣. Sorry for laughing, I swear I'm not trying to be waspish. I just honestly find the idea of Lyanna and Rhaegar wedding hilarious, and the presence of the Kingsguard as a justification for this idea even more so.

Were the Kingsguard there to protect the child, or to make sure that nobody gets out? Dayne was a great friend of Rhaegar and he probably had no love for Lyanna as a Dornishman. Whents were lords of Harrenhal (which is strongly connected to blood magic), where this whole thing had began. And since we are at Harrenhal, I always did wonder if crowning Lyanna was planned beforehand? (which would mean that Rhaegar did his research or he had a sudden, one might say, gods sent urge to crown Lyanna, both versions equally disturbing). And Hightower element might be why the whole thing went to seven hells. They did couse an entire war in order to get rid off the dragons. Why would it change? Hightowers do like getting their hands dirty with dark magic, so who knows, maybe Rhaegar did ask them about some rituals. Espacially if they have a copy of Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History from the time of the Dance. Maybe even the same one that Alicent was reading, who knows. And maybe they've changed the recipy a little bit, tricking Rhaegar in the process.

So yeah, the Tower of Joy in my opinion was some really creepy, twisted mix between Summerhall (hatching dragons), Duskendale (kidnapping and raping - because yeah, Serala did rape Aerys, only this time it was a Targaryen doing the kidnapping and probably raping too) and Danelle Lothston shenanigans. Not very romantic, even in a tragic way, if you ask me.

Anyway, like I've said, I have nothing against the version most fans believe in, it's just that my perspective makes it sometimes very hard to talk about them as a star-crossed lovers when discussing things in canon.

But you do you, nonny.

#asoiaf #rhaegar x lyanna #anti rhaegar x lyanna #not really an anti of this ship but im adding this tag just in case #tower of joy

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gojuo · 1 year

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what are ur fave sunfyre headcanon mine is that he laughs like a fox

ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEEEEEE I LOVE THIS SO SO SOOO MUCH OMG SO REAL SO TRUE .... 😭😭😭

Sunfyre and Tessarion are brother and sister and Dreamfyre is their mother #real

Sunfyre's egg hatched the exact same day Aegon was born #soreal #sotrue

Helaena claimed Dreamfyre first from all the Targtower kids and Aegon was jealous so he claimed baby Sunfyre immediately after and also named him Sunfyre in order to match with Dreamfyre bc kids just be like that (he thought he could upstage Dreamfyre's name lol loser)

Sunfyre is The Most Beautiful Dragon In The Known World™️ and he knows it. He's annoying as all hell in the Dragonpit, swinging his tail at the other dragons, breathing a lil fire in their direction in order to vex them, snap at the bigger dragons' wings bc he just feels like annoying some dragons that day.

Tried to get Tessarion in on his shenanigans but then he had to leave for Oldtown :(

Had Sunfyre lived and not been injured, he would have been in the Dreamfyre/Caraxes/Meleys size bracket. He was a young dragon but he grew exceptionally fast and he would have grown as big as Meleys within a few more years.

He likes to climb mountains. Like, not fly over them, but put his claws into the rocks and just walk vertically along a mountain. It feels good on his claws.

It was the bond between him and Aegon which kept him alive for so long. He should have died after Rook's Rest but after Jaehaerys' murder, for the first time in both Sunfyre and Aegon's lives, they felt a feeling of anguish in a way that was inexplicable to the two of them. Sunfyre couldn't die before he got his rider what he wanted: Rhaenyra's death. And so Sunfyre stayed alive for so long against all odds because of their bond, because Sunfyre couldn't pass on before he could make Aegon finally find his peace... A part of Aegon was lost when Sunfyre died, because their bond was beyond anything any other Dragonrider had in all of history #REAL !!!!!!

Sunfyre truly was the only golden dragon that had ever lived in all of Planetos history. Not a single dragon in all of Valyria was golden-colored.

On the left side of his jaw, at the place where his fleshy neck and bony mandible meet, there is this one place which always itches and Aegon is the only one who knows where to scratch it. When he does, Sunfyre purrs and stretches his entire neck out and also wags his tail.

Sometimes Sunfyre just likes to stand on his hind legs, stretch his torso and arms out, and stay on the ground as he flaps his wings. He doesn't go flying, he just likes to flap his wings and feel the wind rise and also to annoy the people that come close to him.

Sunfyre loves to be close to the sun so he always searches for the highest peak to rest on. However, because the further you are away from the ground, the colder the air gets so Aegon can't always come along with him because it's just too cold for a human to be that high up.

His breath never smells #canon

Likes to fly around meemaw Vhagar's head and nip at her ears. Vhagar never does anything to him except growl and roar when it gets too much.

Sunfyre likes to fold his paws under his chin and sleep with his head resting on his hands.

He likes to go against everything the Dragonkeepers say. They think it's cause he can't understand them, but actually he understand them perfectly he just doesn't care about what they want and loves to irritate them. They need to call Aegon in those moments bc he's the only one Sunfyre will listen to even if he pretends not to follow his orders at first.

Aegon always tells him that he is his one and only friend and Sunfyre understands this sentiment. Whenever Aegon is upset with his family (which is like, all the time) Sunfyre will be the first thing he seeks out. Aegon doesn't have to say anything to Sunfyre for him to know that his rider just wants to get away from it all, so when Aegon is all saddled in, crying because he thinks no one in the world loves him, Sunfyre just takes the reins and flies to wherever Aegon can be alone.

Sometimes he licks Aegon's face lol although his tongue is way too big.

He doesn't like to be stuck in the Dragonpit, he wants to fly free under the sun. Aegon is almost always seen flying him out of King's Landing in the morning, disappears for the entire day, and then comes back late at night when darkness has already fallen.

Sunfyre likes to bump heads with Aegon, especially when he feels Aegon's sadness though their bond.

He has a mean stare and his eyes are a pale red color.

He gets his horns from his momma (Dreamfyre).

#OKEY ENOUGH i could write a whole 10k words dissertation about my hcs on sunfyre fr fr #THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LOVE YOUUUUUU <33333333 I LOVE THINKING ABOUT SUNFYRE !!#sunfyre #aegon ii #hotd spoilers #anonymous #answered

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