#and is crowned in Sunspear

[yoursinfulurges]

Serpentine

Martell!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: "Perhaps I will be the first to to prompt such obedience from you... To make you bow. To bend you... To break you..."

The reader rides a giant snake bc why not.

Your ethnicity is not specified.

Also apologies in advance as I stray heavily from accurate information. I mainly used Dorne and the Martells as a place holder so this is my own narrative. For the sake of this story Dorne is it's own independent land. Viserys isn't dying in this fic because he needs to catch a break so all is right except for the classic disfunction Targaryen family. I might make this a series but right now it's a oneshot.

Word Count: 6k

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The air laid heavy today as the undying heat of the desert dunes takes it's toll on you. Tearing your eyes away from the sea horizon your gaze wanders to the Sunspear port, small and far away but still so clearly visible to your bedroom tower. With uneasiness, your focal point lands on a large black ship bearing the Targaryen house symbol. Bold and imposing painted proudly on the black sails. You wonder if they were already in the castle, not knowing how late of the hour the ship got here, just that when you awoken it was miraculously there. As a Warrior Princess you pride yourself in never letting your nerves get to you but as of this moment you were a mess of anxiety, succumbing to all the ill thoughts and worries that sparked restlessness within you.

It felt stupid to be so choked up about such a frivolous thing, you always knew this day was going to come and that it was expected of you. But to have it be under such unexpected terms was gut wrenching. All your life you knew that you would never marry for love and you were alright with that, but you had at least hoped it was to somebody you were familiar with. And by familiar you did not mean this. The Targaryens were your rival house, or so it had been.

In attempts to amend old wounds your father had promised your hand to the second born prince of King Viserys Targaryen. A union that neither you or Aemond had expected, as it seemed rather out of place. Dorne is the least populated of the Seven Kingdoms and your people differ both culturally and physically from all of Westeros. So a marriage proposal from the well esteemed house Targaryen to the Martells appeared to be a myth of the First Men.

Although you weren't one to engage in pessimistic thoughts, arguably it made more sense for you to be married off to an Allyrion or Blackmont. Established noble houses of your region. The Targaryens were barbaric outsiders with tendencies to take whatever they want by bloodshed, they pave their own way with fire without regards for others. Luckily it isn't in your nature to bend and be trampled on so easily. It was known to all that your bloodlines were never meant to cross fates. The tale of how the silver haired angel fell from her grace off her dying dragons back, was a victory Dorne relished greatly in. It was a momentous triumph for history that proved the power of your people and the Martells. Aegon conquered all of Westeros but Dorne.

Some would say that there is no greater threat to the Targaryens than your bloodline. And you agreed, they had their dragons and you had your sand snakes, one venomous bite is enough to kill seven full grown dragons. Admittedly, it was a smart political move, although unforseen. A union with such bravado would surely strengthen both houses, and serve as a great threat to those who dare challenged the crown. You did feel a sense of pride not only in your house but in yourself as well, as the good of the realm rested on you.

But truthfully you were hesitant and weary, praying to the gods all goes well. As great as this union was, it also served to be quite dangerous, and can potentially be one of the most foolish mistakes all of Westeros had ever seen. If you aren't able to get along well enough, or even tolerate Aemond then goodwill will be lost and all of the realm will be set on fire. You would never purposely encourage war, but you had your own ways of living. And you understood greatly that you were far more fortunate than many women in Kingslanding. That being said, you intend to fight for your honor and dignity by all means necessary. Regardless if whether or not your husband turned out to be quite a piece of work.

You understood the true reason for your marriage, despite it being poorly concealed behind optimistic words from King Viserys. You would make it a point to yourself to do your best to serve your duty. But above all that must come your freedom and rights. Those are values you cannot afford to sacrifice. Although you doubt that the King would be malicious enough to pour honey into your fathers ears, only to set you up to be treated badly. A part of you wondered if there was any veracity to his words.

In his letter he emphasized the silent disdain your families both had for eachother, and he that wanted to put an end to things. If that is his true intentions or not was unclear, but you are not so easily trusting. You had never witnessed this so called fued between your families for yourself, having never left Dorne before. But you've heard stories of how defiant your uncles have been in court. Purposely refusing to bend the knee to the crown in their own kingdom, which of course prompted a rightful murder in your opinion. It was disrespectful and improper so therefore justified, and you were never fond of your uncles. However, this of course gave your father grounds to loathe the Targaryens. But he was much more cordial than his brothers, as he was a forgiving man.

To say that you were anxious for your husband-to-be's arrival was an understatement. You knew that your cultures varied so vastly, so what if he deemed what you were wearing improper? It was quite scandalous by the Crownlands standards but they were in your kingdom now. And truthfully it would be highly improper and frowned upon for them to chastise you in anyway. Not that you cared if they did, you had your own way of dressing and by your standards this was your idea of dressing for the occasion. You had decided to wear white instead of your house colors, it was a sign that you welcome them and were ready to accept their customs. Funnily enough, white was the color of purity and you represent anything but. Your dress was a simple one in your eyes. Soft and long in material adorned with a cape. Floral embroidery decorated the bodice of the dress, and around your waist tied a svelte sylphlike rope, casting a certain refinery to your aura. The neckline plunged low and the gown displayed two meticulous slits down the front, showcasing your thighs.

While yes it did seem rather unseemly to the unfamiliar eyes, you were not going to sacrifice your comfort and culture for the sake of decency. There was a reason to be in so little layers, the sun and heat of sahara was unkind. Sighing in content your eyes wanders over to your bed, landing on a sheathed dagger. You had put it out earlier and was originally planning on bearing it but decided not to with the advice of your mother. Scoffing at her words that rang so vividly in your ears you picked up the weapon. It was light and delicate, well as delicate as blades can get. The knife shined a pure sterling silver, unlike any other color you've seen before, well complementing your dress. It was curved in shape, mimicking a claw of sorts and the hilt was marbled with the texture of pearls. Beautiful, it was a fitting weapon for a princess of your stature. Disregarding your mothers words, you fastened the dagger around your waist, thus completing your outfit. If they dared say anything about your obscenity you would cut their tongue out of their mouth.

"Princess? They are ready for you." A member of your fathers small council alerted. Breaking you from your trance, his voice muffled slightly by your bedroom door.

The walk to the throne room was agonizing, though you held a strong and cold demeanor to the passing eye, inside you were dying. With sweaty palms you fear your head was going to explode by the amount of worries that whirlwind within it. You know little of the man you are said to marry, only hushed whispers that had managed to travel past the narrow sea. Being aware that he was a warrior, much like you, though he has little to no experience in the battlefield. You also knew that he rides the largest dragon in all of Westeros and unfortunately because of it he only has one eye. You were rather impartial on that fact, whilst yes your father did stress on you that the match wasn't ideal because of it, truthfully you did not care. After all, what's a missing eye to someone who has disfigured and tormented so many. You've had your fair shares of experience, as much as your father would allow you, but at this point you have seen it all. Honestly you were just glad to receive a match that's the same age as you. And although your views on Aemond could differ based off your judge of his character, as of right now you have yet to meet him. So it would be unjust to already discriminate against him, time would only tell if he warrants such behavior and you had plenty of patience.

Aemond however does not. His family arrived at Sunspear late in the hours of the night and were met by the King and Queen only. They were then prompted to their own rooms to get some much needed rest. All throughout the morning he has yet to see a sight of you and it was well beyond noon at this point. Now Aemond doesn't consider himself an impatient person, but when it came to meeting his soon-to-be wife he was in a particularly rushing mood. Not that he let his excitement showed, truthfully he didn't know why he was eager to meet you. Perhaps because he had long been awaiting this day since before he lost an eye. The good old days, when his childhood youth was once filled with the anticipation of receiving his own dragon and his own wife. Of course as time came the matter began to feel so subsequential, but back then that was all he ever truly cared about. Maybe in his young mind, having both a dragon and a wife meant that he was as equally masculine and worthy of the Targaryen name as his brother and nephews.

Though it was never that simple, no matter how much he tried to prove himself to his brother, he was always the lesser than. Getting picked on and berated for letting a bastard sully him. Being tormented with the idea that his wife would see him as hideous, or worst fear him. Aemond was a strong man, but he was also human and it is human for him to be insecure. What if you didn't like him? Yes he viewed this marriage as not ideal but what if you harbored animosity? Snapping out of his thoughts by his dear sister elbowing him, he turned to Helaena to wonder what prompted her discordant. It wasn't like her to be so... aware of the real world, as nicely as Aemond would put it. She nervously diverted her eyes, nodding towards towards the door and it was that moment that Aemond realized.

By the gods you were beautiful...

Ascending from the stairs was a young women unlike any he had ever seen before. And as you near Aemond found himself nervously clenching his fists. Despite showing such anxious stature, he beared no expression, contrary to his true feelings. For a moment his breathe quickened as you bow before his mother and father, gaze trailing over your exposed thighs. Scolding himself silently, he tears his eye away from your body. It was perverted for him to blatantly stare, especially since this was your normal. You probably didn't know sexual you appeared to look right now. Not that he complained.... Stop... That was how your people dressed, it would be improper to think so vile about their princess. Inhaling sharply, he keeps a steady feature as he listened to his mother greet you. Taking your hand in hers, she began to drag you over to where he and his siblings stood.

"This is prince Aegon." His mother introduced. Watching the way his brother blatantly ogled at your body, an unfamiliar feeling began to brew in his chest. He didn't like that his brother was looking at her like that, especially since she was to be his wife.

"Princess Helaena." Alicent nodded to her daughter, observing the way you smiled gently at her in acknowledgment.

"Please to meet you princess." Helaena bowed, her words timid but you returned the greeting.

"And this is prince Aemond... your betrothed."

Aemond watched your reaction carefully, taking in the way that you smiled and bowed to him. You appeared nice enough, though he didn't know what he expected. Perhaps for you to scowl and throw a fit? With this close of a distance he was able to get a good view of your face and indeed you were beautiful. But it all meant nothing if you were going to reject him. Testing the waters, Aemond takes your hand in his, curtly leaning in close as he brings your digits to his lips. Keeping a locked gaze at your expression as he places a chaste kiss on the area above your knuckles. You felt soft...

"Pleased to meet you, my princess." He spoke lowly, registering the way that you smirked in satisfaction, no alternative emotions in sight.

"The pleasure is all mine, your grace." Aemond looked at you with such scrutiny as you spoke. Trying to find hints of disgust or animosity through your porcelain mask yet as he took in every detail of your face he found no trace of abhorrence.

But behind your doe eyes there was something there, something he could not quite place. It was unfamiliar in every sense and he didn't know how to decipher it. You were giving him a knowing look as if you two both shared a sacred secret with one another. And although Aemond did not know what prompted this emotion, he desperately wanted to know more.

Much of the evening was filled with merriment and mirth as the hatred that once squandered friendships faded away. Your father and the king talked of many things alike and began to realize that in truth it was time to mend things. The tension between your families was long in the past although unavoidable between you and Aemond. He couldn't understand why he was so drawn to you but everywhere you went he followed. Watching silently like a predator stalking it's prey as you conversed with his sister. He didn't mean to be so stand offish. Truthfully he wanted to have a little privacy away from his family to get to know you more. There was very little room for you both to talk without intrusion. Whilst yes, the thought of being unsupervised with you may be a little unbecoming, he liked it that way. Perhaps only then, when he corners you, will he get to uncover the reasoning for your unbidden stares.

There was something rather vulgar beneath those siren eyes as you looked at him with sharp conviction. The way your vision would haze and cloud with interest, lips curling in a sly smirk displaying ardor. You were teasing him...

Throughout the evening you both danced around one another till eventually it turned into a game of cat and mouse. You moved with such precision and allure that Aemond found himself awestruck and wanting more. It was exciting to him. He admired how you carried yourself with such elegance and high importance, seeming almost unearthly. They say Targaryens are closer to gods than man, but your very existence challenged that claim. You had vanity, that was plain to see. Your moves are convoluted and don't go unnoticed by him, carefully articulating around the labyrinth of walls he built up. You were the embodiment of serpentine and he didn't know what scared him most. The fact that he is so ready to welcome you with open arms, or the fact that you were aware of your power over him.

Aemond, in principle, is not used to the physical manifestation of feelings. And yet here he was now, standing in the middle of a fucking desert, longing for affection. Or perhaps he only enjoyed the thought because it involved you touching him. There was something so genuine about you, something so raw and potent with rapport. He saw it while you were speaking with his sister, you treated her like anyone else and that was rare to see. You had an affinity for empathy and a way with words like no other, you knew just what to say to his family. That was impressive in it's own right.

It became glaringly obvious now to Aemond that the you had a gifted touch, you were able to make anyone feel like the rarest gem in the world. Yet in truth no diamond is brighter than it's maker. To Aemond you were a paragon of the finest jewels. The sapphire of his eye. He knew it was unhealthy for him to get so attached to you so quickly but how could he not. All his youth he had been waiting for this. Having grown up alone, watching everyone get the things he wanted and now here you were. You were his, he's never had anything that was completely fully his...

"Forgive me I didn't know anyone would be in here..." Aemond spoke lowly, breaking you from your trance as you tore your eyes away from your book.

"This is my private study, my prince... You are free to join me if you wish." The hour was late and nearly all of the castle has gone to bed already. All but you and Aemond... Welcoming him to sit with you over the fireplace as you set your literature aside. This would be interesting...

You both didn't speak for a moment as you feel his presence quickly approaching. Straightening your nightwear as you feel him sit across from you on the untaken armchair. You lift your graze to finally meet his stare in an act of bravery, breath halting for a moment... He made you nervous in every sense imaginable as he held your gaze in confidence.

Aemond Targaryen was gorgeous in such a violent way. You only began to observe it now. There was something so fierce and daunting about his face. Porcelain yet warrior-like, rivaling the beauty of Old Valyria. The prince had a certain vainglory to him. Silent but raw, untamed, and unchallenged. He was unlike any man, the son of war worthy of the iron throne. Strong nose that contrasted his expression well. Dainty lips that utter soft spoken words like whisps.

In secret you wanted them to articulate sweet nothings in your ear...

You did not know where these overwhelming feelings channeled from. But as his hold bore into you, it evoked a touch of insecurity. You felt like he was looking at your very core, past skin and bones and at your morals. Never in your life had you ever gazed at such man. His features preforming one great symphony. A constellation of trauma and abuse in the form of a scar kissed his skin, creating a myriad of Venus. It became painfully evident now that he brought something out in you. Gods be good...

He stared at her with a soft gaze, admiring the way the lit fire illuminated her skin. Openly, he thought you beautiful, although majority of the men here can also say the same thing. Yet as he looked at you more Aemond found himself really seeing you. That enchanting aura faltering just a little bit. You looked vulnerable right here, right now in this exact moment. You looked human. And he thought it was beautiful. The more he sat there the more content he got with this union, you were a fine match. Perhaps it was alright to be vulnerable....

Aemond doesn't say anything for a few more moments, simply gazing at the you as he licks his lips. While you could see yourself in his eye, you wondered what he was truly seeing to look at you like that. Like you were carved from the finest of diamonds and bathed in gold, like if you were to touch him he'd crumble– a careful mix of admiration and fear. Time starts to still and the atmosphere around you began to form tension. Suddenly the fireplace mutes, fading into nothing but hushed crackle as the two find themselves at a standstill. It was just you and him in your sacred little world... No one else... All turns irrelevant as you become intoxicated with eachothers presence.

"Tell me about yourself princess." He spoke, breaking the silence that overtook the room. Pausing for a brief moment to let his gaze wander from your face. Well..... this was improper indeed... The clothes you wore were foreign to him but he gathered it was your nightwear. Temperatures here hot here, it made sense for you to wear very little at night, not that he complained. It was captivating... the garment didn't look like a dress, but rather a two piece that was interwoven together with three long panels covering your modesty. The color was rather fitting on you, a darker grey than the dress you wore earlier almost appearing silver. Sitting with your thighs exposed in a leaned back and slack manner, Aemonds focus leaves your skin and meets your face once more. Breath hitching as your smirk widens. You had caught him looking...

"Forgive me for being so crass, but I'm not one to soften words. My people are very blunt individuals and I dislike small talk so allow me to have some clarity." Your words were honey to his ears, he wasn't entirely fond of small talk either, but your inquiry made him nervous.

"Please, never bite back your tongue when you are with me, what do you wish to know?" Aemond spoke after some time, leaning back to cross his leg over the other.

"What are your views are on our marriage and if you intend to honor our union."

"I'm not following..." Confused he urged on.

"Do you.... intend to stray from our marriage..." His eye widens at that, shocked that you would ask him such question. But it was only fair...

"I know that is straight forward and unseemly but please allow me the peace of knowing now, as it less complicates things later on..." Ah'  he said within the confinements of his brain, finally understanding the meaning of your words. Aemond looked down in deep thought, trying to find the right words to say to you. He was a territorial man, possessive in every way so this question striked a certain nerve in him. He wondered why you would even ask that, unless you already had a lover.... He didn't like that thought. That could not be.

"I would never purposely hurt our dignity like that. Truthfully I find it foolish. I am a man that values duty above all, and tis my duty to be your husband and unite our kingdoms. I have seen what infidelity has done to my family, the strain it puts on my mother... I never want to be the cause of her pain by fathering bastard children. So perhaps it is best we stay true to one another." Satisfied with his response, you let out a faint 'hm' before turning away.

"So I've heard... Thank you for enlightening me." You spoke as you stared in great thought at the fire, though he can see a faint smile on your lips.

"Has word of my bastard nephews been so vastly spread that it reached the shores of Sunspear?" He pressed on, now an accompanying smile spreads on his lips, mirroring his companions expression. You laughed at that, a sound Aemond declared he liked.

"People talk, prince Aemond, naturally word would get around." You spoke teasingly, stopping for minute just to admire one another. Calmness falling over you both, as you sat still unbidden just gazing into eachothers rarity.

"Hmm... Tell me, do you intend to honor our union?" Aemond spoke, his voice sounded rougher than before, and you think he may have even rolled his eye. Smirking to yourself as you began to understand that he was a possessive man.

"Of course. I believe in fair playing fields, and getting even. So if you do not provoke me then I will not act out and provoke you. If you are loyal then I will be loyal." In a quick motion he was up his chair and standing directly in between your thighs. You peered up at him through your lashes, the smirk pulling at your lips growing by the second.

His heart sits heavily between the two of you, weeping for your touch, yearning with such want, such need. He swears when your eyes echoes his wants, tempting him to indulge you through curled lashes. The man condemns himself for feeling so reckless, so needy, he had never felt this way before... Felt so much desire towards another individual. He knew this was bad, a distraction but if you were a sin, he'd happily walk into the gates of hell. And at that he surged forward. Breathing a shaky sigh as his hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing tightly.

You whimper at the pressure, your small hands flying to hold his arm but it was no use. He laughed lightly, pushing your head back onto the armchair, almost taunting you. Your back arches lightly, trying to push yourself up against him, whining when you couldn't. He leans down over you, his face so close as he lifts his knee onto the chair. Placing it directly in between your thighs, almost touching your heat.

Oh how badly he wanted this...

"Is that a threat my princess?" Aemond says directly in your right ear, his thumb leaving your neck to roughly graze your lower lip. You don't meet his eyes, choosing to look at somewhere else. You fear if you looked at him you'd lose the remaining composure you had left. He didn't like that, roughly turning your head to meet his face.

"No. I'm merely stating that I refuse to be subjected. Tis' not in my nature to bend the knee. Especially not to Targaryens. I understand that it is our duty to get along but who knows how this marriage ends up playing out. The Martells have stood unbowed, unbent and unbroken for centuries. You may burn me, but you will never make me kneel." You say through a heavy chest, trying desperately to get the words out even though you sounded much needier than intended.

It’s was hot, almost unbearable, and you wondered if whether or not it was the scorching heat of the sun, or just your own body feeling all flushed. Deciding it was the latter since the introductory was highly unlikely. You waited for him to speak, looking sharply at his lips. His eyelids flutter. Never in a million years would he have expected to be driven to the brink of insanity by the mere thought of someone’s lips. Nevertheless, you came along to put all of his bravado to shame. He felt like a young boy again, experiencing all of his firsts once more but this time, it was not with a lowly prostitute under Aegon's urge. No, he was entirely in control and the feelings were infinitely better, you were a goddess. Temptation lulled together with passion and possessiveness. Emotions being cradled by divinity in it's arms, it was all so intense. He wanted more of it...

"Perhaps I will be the first to to prompt such obedience from you, princess..." Aemond whispered, placing his forehead over your own as his finger tips trailed over the exposed skin of your waist. You shiver lightly and he laughs, closing your eyes as his hands get lower and lower...

"To make you bow in submission." He draws smooth circles on your hips. You felt warm, it was all too much but you didn't want him to stop. You liked the way he was speaking so close to you, liked the way he touched all over your body.

"To bend you..." Your eyes open lightly as you began to feel him lift your right thigh up onto the armchair. Looking at him as he says the words so slowly, watching as he positioned your body.

"To break you." He does the same to your left thigh, and it was at this point on you began to realize that he had spread your legs wide open. Fuck... The situation now dawning on you. This wasn't right... not until you were both married...

"You forget yourself, Aemond." You remind him, eyes locked on the visible bulge on his pants.

"Perhaps I do, there is a fire in you and it amuses me." Channelling the words deep in his throat as he grabs ahold of your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and away from his desire.

"Would you like to keep being amused?" Smirking lightly, a playful veil over takes your features.

"It's too soon my sweet." Aemond nods. If it were any other day he would have taken you, right here, right now. But it was far too soon, you had just met today and his mother would have his head if he bruised you this early on. He was not a gentle man, the world would know if he fucked you.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Aemond scoffs at that, watching you turn away. He straightens up, but still keeps his leg in between your spread thighs.

"Oh do you not? Then please tell me, how do you plan on amusing me?" Lightly guiding your chin with his fingers to look at him once more.

"With my lips of course."

"We can't touch eachother but there's no saying we can't share a loving kiss, or perhaps a kiss more than loving..." You smile lightly and he mirrors your expression.

"Now that I can condone." And at that he leans forward to cup your face and takes your lips in his. Holding his wrists once more, you smile into the kiss. Maybe this union wouldn't be all that bad... You're getting quite content with being by Aemonds side.

Next part

Authors Note:

I want to make this a little mini series perhaps, like you and Aemond's wedding and consummation, your children being born, you meeting Vhagar and him meeting your giant snake etc. Let me know what you guys think. I also did not edit this beforehand lmao. I'm not overly proud of this story but it's a good way to revive my Tumblr and branch out from the MCU. I'm taking requests in my inbox!

- Armoni

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[live-tweeting-hotg]

You Don't Think, Do You [Daemon x Reader]

summary: the princess of Dorne struggles to see eye to eye with the Rogue Prince.

warnings & content: heavy smut 18+ (minors dni), porn with little plot, non/dubcon, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, mean!dom!daemon, rough sex, fingering (fem receiving), p in v, creampie, titty slapping, he puts a sword to her neck, power imbalance, size kink, light breeding kink, degradation, dumbification, mentions of arranged marriage, rhaenyra? who's that (this is so nasty I'm not sure why I wrote this)

words: 2.5k

You let the heavy door shut swing behind you, feeling your annoyance threatening to bubble over. The crown princess of Dorne, regal, powerful, tremendously able… shipped off to this miserable rock to sign a perfunctory piece of paper. You wanted to scream, thought better of it, and let out a tight breath of air somewhere between a hiss and a sigh. 

It was almost like you were being punished for something, yet the entirely civil pretence of it meant you didn’t quite dare ask.

You stand in the room rigidly, exhausted, yet restless with a twitchy sort of tension. To your side, on the large sprawling table, you spot a set of ornate wine cups, fighting off the urge to smash one onto the ground. You were a guest, you reminded yourself, and the renewal of the treaty was necessary nonetheless. A pointless feat, but the prince seemed satisfied enough with the content, despite his bored demeanour at the meeting. 

The thought of him almost set you off again. He had spent the entire evening listening to you present the treaty with a raised brow, insisting that you explain every line to him in detail even though there wasn’t a single difference between this and the one preceding it. He smirked when you talked, scoffed when you paused, and spent the remaining time staring at the low cut of your dress. 

If this was in Dorne, you think you may have had his eyes cut out. 

The knock at your door was a welcome distraction to your agitation. You blink, realising you had spent a good few minutes standing in the middle of the empty room like an idiot, turning to answer the door. 

“Princess, I’ve just been made aware of the most interesting thing,” Daemon declares at you when you open the door, before you can even greet him. His frame almost obscures the entire doorway, the scabbard of his sword colliding loudly with the doorframe, leaving you with a strange sense of claustrophobia. He was disorientating, you decided.

“What,” you say back dumbly, after a brief pause, not entirely certain what else you could reply given the strange situation.

His frame slides forward without warning, and you move back instinctively as he lets himself into your— his— room. “I hear of unfavourable things in Sunspear,” he says, fixing you under his gaze. “I hear of treason, plots against the King…”

“Spies,” he finishes softly, face impassive, watching you intensely to gauge a reaction.

You are entirely lost. 

“I am unaware—” You begin, before he cuts you off again.

“Are you a spy, princess?” The words are soft, almost chiding, and you think you spot the hint of a smirk at his lips. 

You were so dizzy you almost felt nauseous. The context of this was absurd. He was in your room, alone and late, interrogating you whether you were spying— for who?! you wanted to scream. Your rising unease made it more and more difficult to be civil.

“Who would I be spying for?” you say, slowly, tone incredulous. “This is… most strange, and unfounded—” you find your voice rising steadily as your confusion gives way to indignation, and more annoyance. 

He hums, crosses his arms casually, and you could swear you saw his eyes twinkling. 

“—and insane!” you finish, throwing the word at him like a pointed rock. He cocks his head lazily and dodges it. 

“You’re getting very worked up over something unfounded, princess,” he remarks, uncrossing his arms, voice suddenly quieter as he stalks towards you. You don’t move back, because you want to slap him when he comes close enough. 

“If this is a jest, I fail to see the amusement,” you tell him sharply, the regal certainty seeping back into your stance, even as he towers over you. 

Up close, you notice the fine lines of his sharp, angular face, the eyes set deep into them and the coldness behind his haughty demeanour. When he takes another step towards you, you step back, suddenly uncertain.

“I think I just need to check, princess,” he says softly, almost apologetic. “if you’re carrying… anything untoward. It’ll be a formality.”

your anger flares. “I will not be subject to your ridiculous whims.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes darken. “It’s a simple search, princess. Hardly ridiculous.” 

“I don’t think—” your voice rises hotly, then falls flat as you’re interrupted by the sharp grate of his sword as he bares his blade, cocking his head almost thoughtfully, raising it to rest at the side of your neck. It is almost wider than your shoulder. 

“No,” he coos, smirking down at you. “you don’t think, do you.” He tilts his blade so it digs into the soft skin under your jawline. “I need to search you, princess. And I won’t ask again.”

He is clearly fucking insane, you realise. 

“…Alright,” you breathe out slowly, agreeably, the heat draining from your voice, and he hums appreciatively before sheathing his sword. 

“Turn around, princess. Arms out.” 

You stand rigidly as he moves behind you, feeling his large hands rest on your shoulders, practically breathing down your neck. A pool of dread settles in your stomach. You knew of his reputation, as did everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms, but with you…?

He moves slowly, deliberately, down the length of your arms, his hand wide enough to almost circle it entirely. He returns to your waist, feeling the curve of your hips through your gown, tutting when you shift uncomfortably. “Behave,” he chides at you as he moves higher, practically palming your tits through your dress. He doesn’t miss the opportunity to deal out a harsh squeeze, huffing out a laugh as you flinch.

“I fear the princess is hiding too much,” he breathes into your ear, arm snaking around your waist as you stiffen uncomfortably, pressing you back against his firm chest. His free hand pushes down the neckline of your dress insistently. “I think she’ll need to bare some more loyalty to her prince.” 

Your face flushes as you swallow thickly. “This is improper,” you say weakly.

He shoves you hard from behind as you squeak in surprise, turning to face him with wide eyes. “Strip,” he said simply, face cold. His sword swings at his side.

You swallow again, staring at him, but he meets your gaze cooly with his strange violet eyes, watching you as you slowly unlace your dress, letting it fall to your feet with a soft thump. 

“The rest too,” he states softly, and you comply tensely, your face burning. You stare at the floor, completely bare before him as he crosses his arms again, drinking in your humiliation like a fine vintage. 

“A fine sight,” he hums appreciatively at last. You grit your teeth, sensing some vague end to his game, before he sighs again. “Forgive me for being thorough, princess.”

Your eyes widen as you hear his smirk. “Bend over the table.” 

“You can’t,” you blurt out without thinking, the colour draining from your cheeks. “Please, no—”

“You will bend over the table, or I will do it for you.” His voice is smooth and casual, as if he had been commenting on the weather. “And I promise it’ll hurt you a lot more.”

Your legs feel like lead. Your entire body feels like lead as you somehow walk yourself over, bending awkwardly over it. Like a slab of meat, you thought viciously. It is almost too high for you, and you’re left on your tiptoes, gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles as your face burned. He comes up behind you, tutting. “You know what to do, princess. Legs apart.”

You feel your spine tingle viscerally as you comply, spreading yourself completely before him. The first strike catches you completely off guard as his hand comes down firmly on your bare cunt, forcing a choked scream out of you as your hips buck unconsciously from the contact. It burned your pride more than the stinging shock on your sex. Daemon only laughs as his hand finds the small of your back, shoving your hips back onto the edge of the table as you gasp in pain. 

“Such a sensitive little thing,” he mocks. “I think you need to be reminded how to behave, hm?” You yelp as he slaps you again, then another time for good measure, as you writhe and whimper under him, tears brimming your eyes. “All talk, aren’t you? Just won’t shut up in that hall, think you’re so fucking smart…” A slap landed directly on your bud, the pain making you scream out. 

The way he treated you, the painful stimulation, and the fact that he had you naked bent over a desk whilst he was fully dressed…

He slid a finger along your folds, laughing quietly to himself. “My little princess liked that, hm? My, you’ve made quite the mess.” You feel it as he spreads your growing wetness down your thigh, hips twitching at the sensitivity. You are suddenly somewhat grateful that he has your face pressed into the desk. 

“What?” he mocks again. “Nothing to say?” 

You open your mouth, ready with a retort before he shoves two thick fingers into your wet heat, ripping a pained moan from you. You were certainly wet enough, but the stretch still stung, especially with his uncaring force. 

“That’s more like it,” he snorted as he scissored his fingers, stretching you out, feeling inside you casually. “Nothing here, princess,” he hummed innocently as he curled his fingers into a particularly sensitive spot inside you, smirking as you tightened around him involuntarily, sobbing. “It’s a shame… I could have had you put in the dungeons for treason, hm? Then I’d take you on your knees, yeah? Maybe I still can… Just needs my cock in your throat to shut you up, my little whore…” 

Your mind swims uncomfortably. His voice in your ear, the cold wood grating against your abused breasts, his fingers, filling you up in the way yours never could, the wet sounds of him fucking into you… His free hand comes down to rub furious circles around your pearl, and you sob out his name. 

“Yeah, princess?” he groans into the soft shell of your ear. “You’re close, I feel you getting tighter. Come on then, fuck, my royal whore, come on my fingers…”

You come apart with a silent cry, arching your back into him, tears streaming down your face as he tears your peak from you. He fucks you through it lazily, his fingers pumping into you, slowing only when you whimper from the overstimulation. He wipes his hand on your thigh, not giving you a second to recover before he drags you back up by your hair. 

“I apologise for not believing you, princess,” he breathes into your ear, as your eyelids flutter. Distantly, you register the sound of him undoing his breeches, lowering them just enough to take out his thick, weeping cock, giving it a few impatient jerks. “You’ve proven yourself to be… quite innocent, on this matter. But it’s improper for a host to let his guest leave him feeling so empty, isn’t it?” 

You barely register his words, whimpering helplessly as he pulls your legs either side of him, your face coming to rest awkwardly on his chin. “You’re not even fucking listening, are you,” he huffs, rubbing soothing circles on your back, dipping his head closer to speak to you. “I was just telling how I’m going to fuck your dripping hole so fucking hard,” he groans, sheathing himself entirely into you with one rough thrust, “that you’ll feel it in your fucking throat.” 

You scream out at the pain as he holds you, shushing you as you cling to him, clawing at his back. You feel him through the haze, deep and firm, too big inside you, splitting you open. When the initial sharpness of the pain fades, you’re left with a strange ache deep inside you, contracting desperately around him. Daemon tests shallow thrusts into you, grunting into your ear as he lowers you onto his cock, slapping your breasts to watch them bounce. “I knew you fucking liked it, slut,” he groans, squeezing experimentally at your throat. You whimper incoherently, feeling him thrust inside with more force.

“Too… big,” you complain hazily, through a hiccup of smaller moans that he forced out of your mouth. The angle was cruel. He had lifted you up, then thrusted up into you from below, trapping you between your weight downwards and his cock upwards. His arms trapped you in, holding you to his much larger chest as he nuzzled into the crook of shoulder, laughing.

“Yeah, too big for you?” he mocks. “Hurts, does it?” Daemon bites into your shoulder, groaning into you as you squeeze around him. “We’ll just have to fuck you open until you learn to take your husband’s cock, hm?” 

You register his words dimly, unable to really do much about it as you stare up at him through dazed eyes, mouth hanging slightly open. 

He reaches down, cupping your cheek as he continues breaking you apart. “Heard that, princess? Why do you think they sent you here instead of anyone else, hm?” He laughs again when he hears you sob. “You’re crying? Fuck, I love that.” 

“I won’t…” you grit out, voice almost breaking.

“You will,” he insists sadistically, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your cheek, licking at your tears. “see, they said you might not come willingly, but I suppose you won’t have a choice when I fuck a babe into you, yeah?” 

you whimper as he fucks into you with renewed vigour, your walls clenching involuntarily at his words. “So you can listen,” he groans into you, hand tightening in your hair to yank your head back. “keep doing that, yeah, good girl…” 

His free hand dips lower. With you impaled wide open on his cock, your bud is left vulnerably exposed, and he flicks at it mindlessly, drinking in your whines. “Gonna fuck my seed into you, princess,” he breathes. “Gonna fuck it so deep you’ll drip for days, my pretty little wife, such a good little wife for me…”

He slaps your tits once, twice, and then you’re spasming uncontrollably around his cock as your peak rips through you, feeling his warmth flood into you and drip down your thighs. You crumple into him, sobbing against his chest as he strokes your hair, shushing you. You feel his cock slip out of you as he picks you up gently, carrying you to the bed, stepping over your discarded clothes. 

You’re laid down onto the cushions softly, half-conscious, and Daemon wraps his arms around you from behind. “You might as well learn to like it, princess,” he hums into your ear as you’re flipped over into the bed, his hands on you again. “I don’t think I’ll be finished with you for a long time.” 

#hotg #house of the dragon #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader

[delfiore]

the principles of pleasure

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!martell!reader

synopsis: the princess learns to give in to her desires with an envoy from dorne.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: some spicy stuff but no actual smut

a/n: ik i said no incest but there wILL BE A SLIGHT MENTION of the deed that rhaenyra and daemon did in that brothel because it’s essential to the plot 🧍‍♀️

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You stood out like a sore thumb.

They say a star would sooner fall upon the earth before a Dornishman set foot into the capital. Yet, here you were.

Despite whispers and chatters of the surrounding lords and ladies—clearly aimed at you—you never bat an eye. Instead, your eyes found Rhaenyra’s across the courtyard, as she tried her best to mingle with her family.

As if you read her mind, with a calculated steadiness, you made your way over to where she was.

“Princess Y/N,” Daemon said, his eyes hard and defensive, “welcome to the capital.”

She didn’t miss the animosity. Her uncle had just returned from Stepstones after all, and from what she gathered listening in at the Small Council, the Martells sided with the Triarchy, against him.

“Your Graces,” you bowed, “It is exciting to see the city again. My brother Qoren sends his regards.”

“Now that the war is over, I trust that our two houses will find common ground. You are most welcome to stay for as long as you like, Princess.” Viserys said.

“Yes, you must,” Daemon inferred.

“I thank you for your hospitality, your Grace.”

“May I introduce the Queen, Lady Alicent of House Hightower, and my daughter, the Crown Princess, Rhaenyra,” The King gestured towards the girls.

“Your Grace, Princess,” you smiled, “all the tales of your beauty truly do you no justice.”

At this, Rhaenyra let out a small laugh, heat creeping up her neck at your blatant compliment. She didn’t notice the way Daemon flit his eyes between you and her menacingly, nor the way Alicent looked to the ground at her hands.

“May I show Y/N the new tapestries?” Rhaenyra inquired, swallowing thickly.

Her father laughed. “Darling, Princess Y/N must be no stranger to tapestries, don’t you think she might find them a bit dull?”

“It’s alright, your Grace. I’d love to see them,” you then turned to Rhaenyra, and gestured for her to lead the way. “After you, my Princess.”

The words rolled off your tongue like silk. Rhaenyra found herself in a pit. There was something charming about you, and soon she found herself entranced, though you’ve only just spoken to her.

You had walked in silence beside you in the thick of the West garden when she suddenly spoke. “Do you like poetry, Y/N?”

“Poetry, songs, I enjoy them all.” You glided your hand over a big leaf. “We were raised to love art, my brother and I. My mother, in particular, told us that without it, there is no pleasure in life.”

“Pleasure can be found in many things.” Rhaenyra countered.

“Yes, it can be,” you raised your hand to show her. “This ring was gifted to me by my mother. It was given to her by her mother, and to her by her mother before.”

A clunky, golden ring adorned your middle finger, but no less beautiful. Engraved on it was the sigil of your house, a sun pierced by a spear.

She only noticed that she was holding your hand to admire it, when you flexed your fingers and the friction of it startled her. She pulled away quickly, averting your amused eyes.

“Is your mother in Sunspear?”

“My mother has passed on,” you smiled sadly.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Which is why I was saddened to hear of the news of Queen Aemma’s passing, for she was a mother as much as she was a queen.”

“Thank you,” Rhaenyra said, brushing over her fingers where they had touched you. “The realm seems to have moved on rather quickly from her ever since my half-brother was born.”

“History has a tendency to discard women the moment they don’t benefit the succession line, doesn’t it?”

“When I am Queen, I will make a new order.” The princess stated, “and they will have no choice but to obey.”

“I have no doubt that you will,” your voice softened, like a prayer, before you tenderly brought her fingers to your lips to kiss them. “It’s about time this country sees some changes.

“You must excuse me, then. I have some business I must attend to. The tapestries were lovely,” you bowed, and then you were gone.

You didn’t look at the tapestries at all.

Daemon was apprehensive when she returned, but the princess was too dazed to care. An arrow had struck her heart, and no remedy could cure her of Meleys’ grasp.

The prospect of her marriage was looming over her like a dark cloud. Daemon told her all the things that people do when they’re not stuck in a loveless marriage, and she thought about you. She had never been to Dorne, but she’s heard stories. She wondered if the Dornish were any happier than people like her.

“Y/N Martell,” Daemon asked her in Valyrian, “what do you think of her?”

“I think she’s very charming.” It took weight of her to say. “I’m sure that she would find many suitors of her liking. Men would flock to see her.”

“Men and women alike,” her uncle corrected her. “The Martells have been known to act upon their carnal desires, whether it be with men or women.”

“You think Y/N—No, it can’t be.”

“Can it?” Daemon raised a knowing eyebrow.

That night he smuggled her out of the Red Keep, into the city of the smallfolk, where she saw for the first time how the people lived. She saw mothers breastfeeding their babes on the streets, vendors selling foods and goods that would barely keep them alive past dawn, fools and jesters and actors guising as royalty, mocking her to entertain others.

He took her to a pleasure house, where she saw people fuck for the pleasure of it, no marriage nor the intention of procreation attached. She saw pleasure and desire in Daemon’s eyes when he circled her like a hawk, and kissed her against a wall. Yet, Daemon refused to go further and left her there.

When she opened her eyes again, she thought she saw you, in the back behind a veil, naked between a man and a woman. She knew she wasn’t imagining it when you opened your own eyes, and held her gaze as the man descended between your legs.

Fucking is a pleasure, her uncle told her.

Rhaenyra saw what she saw at the brothel again in her dreams, yet instead of her and Daemon, she saw you, she felt you embracing her, staring into her eyes with that fiery gaze of yours.

The princess had never known bodily pleasure, but she thought she might have felt it with you. She remembered the tenderness of your touch, the weight of your body on hers, the taste of you. She awoke the next morning frustrated as her bed was empty and her mind clouded with impure thoughts of you.

She had been in the gardens the next morning when she saw you. Her heart dropped as she quickly hid behind a tall column. The visions of you still fresh in her mind, and yet you were only sitting on a bench reading. She could hardly believe that you were there at the brothel too, and now here you were.

“Princess? Is that you?”

“Seven Hells,” she muttered, and came out of hiding.

You gave her a warm smile, and beckoned her to sit next to you.

“What are you reading?”

“Poetry from Dorne, dating back to the Age of Nymeria.” You pointed to the page you were reading, “this one in particular is a love letter from a noble woman to her lover, who was also her handmaiden.”

Rhaenyra knew you were watching her for any type of hostility, but in truth, there wasn’t. Instead, she leaned closer to you to read the words.

“Someone, I tell you, will remember us, even in another time.”

“I can’t imagine how lonely they must have felt,” she said, “not being able to show their love.”

“Yes,” you smiled sadly. “I imagine Your Grace also feels certain impediments to do so yourself, as a princess with certain duties to your realm?”

“What about you, Princess Y/N? Do you feel these impediments? Or do you act upon your desires as you please?”

You smiled, but there was an edge to it, almost like a smirk, like you were daring her to ask about last night. Rhaenyra held your gaze, despite how much she wanted to look away because of how nervous you made her.

“I find it easier to separate duty from pleasure than most people in the realm,” you said, “some people don’t have that luxury. But like a keg of wine, the more you fill it up, the more it spills.”

You grasped her hand softly, just tight enough so that if she wanted to pull away, she could have. She let her thumb brush over the back of your hand, feeling the smoothness of the skin that had been rough with somebody else the night before. Rhaenyra wished it was her.

The clanking of armor pulled her out of it, and made her retract her hand.

“The Small Council meeting is about to begin, Princess,” Ser Criston announced.

Rhaenyra closed her eyes, duty awaited. But you never took your eyes of her. She excused herself anyway, and left without another word nor another glance, afraid she wouldn’t be able to leave if she did.

The hour of the owl came, yet Rhaenyra was still wide awake. A breeze crept through her chambers, caressing her skin and raised goosebumps. She sighed, wishing it was you. No matter how hard she tried, all she could see was you.

She sprung out of bed, hastily throwing on her nightrobe. Ser Criston had left an hour before, leaving her door empty, and she quietly made her way across the castle. Long gone were the days of hopeless longing, she was grown now. If she were to be Queen, she would take what she wanted.

You opened the door without hesitation, a soft smile on your face illuminated by candlelight.

“You’re still awake.”

“I was waiting for you,” you spoke softly.

Feeling bold, she pushed forwards, through the door, and you took a step back. She did it again, and you let her.

Her hand then crept along the hem of your gown, feeling the fabric before pulling it loose.

She was too nervous to meet your eyes. You, on the other hand, watched her tentatively, but made no sudden move lest you startled the princess.

Wordlessly, Rhaenyra leaned up to kiss you deeply, her eyes shut tight. She was no longer a princess, she was just a girl, infatuated with you.

“What do you want, Princess?” You asked softly, holding her waist endearingly.

“Show me what pleasure feels like.” Her breath warmed your neck as she spoke. “I want you.”

You undressed her, slowly; you wanted to savor it. But you had desired her the moment you laid eyes on her, and when her left breast peaked through her gown, you let out a low groan, and picked her up around your waist.

The Targaryen princess was all you tasted. Her mind was hazy, her chest warm, and her cheek pressed against your own bare chest.

The morning sun peaked through the window, daybreak. She had duties, she was a Princess.

Rhaenyra slipped away from your embrace, carefully so as notnto wake you, and took a piece of parchment paper on your desk and a quill to write with.

“I’ll see you again tonight,” she wrote.

The princess then slipped out the door and back to her room before Ser Criston could figure out that she was ever gone.

#rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen imagine #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x you #house of the dragon #hotd imagine

[spearsndragons]

I HATE IT WHEN RHAELYA FANS SAY THAT ELIA WANTED RHAEGAR TO TAKE LYANNA AS A SECOND WIFE.

UHM???? FUCK NO!

DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON THIS.

first of all, elia was the only daughter of the RULING PRINCESS OF DORNE. do people think her mother sent her off to king’s landing to be disrespected? to be humiliated? NO. she was sent there to be the next fucking queen. aside from political ambitions, the princess of dorne was canonically friends with both joanna AND rhaella. she entrusted her daughter to her friend’s son.

second, elia knew how different the rest of westeros treated their women. sure, dorne isn’t the land of equal rights and milk and honey and all that shit but she definitely enjoyed more rights and higher standing back in sunspear, especially as the daughter of house martell. she knew how precarious her status can be despite being the crown prince’s wife. what fucking good would it do to her if she allowed her husband to forcibly break a betrothal between two MAJOR houses? to basically declare to the entire world and in history forevermore that she wasn’t enough for her husband and he had to get another wife?

third, HER CHILDREN??? she gave rhaegar two healthy babies. maybe she could have given him more had she gotten proper care (no, i do not fucking trust pycelle. he’d probably been sabotaging rhaella’s and elia’s pregnancies to please tywin). rhaegar getting another wife and thus having legitimate children not hers would put aegon and rhaenys IN DANGER. sure maybe lyanna would be oh so kind enough to not contest their inheritance but do people forget the STAB alliance??? the dance???

fourth, er the mere fact that lyanna was betrothed to robert fucking baratheon? disregarding the entire shit about lya running off (or not) with a married man after shitting on robert for being a manwh0re, YOU DO NOT JUST BREAK AN ALLIANCE BETWEEN TWO MAJOR HOUSES. even if the crown had a good reason to do so (which they didn’t), it was an agreement between house stark AND house baratheon. they DO NOT get a say in it. lord, this is contract law 101. robert’s rebellion was built on a lie my ass. the rebels had every good reason to rebel bro.

I CAN GO ON FOREVER BUT ILL JUST BE MAD

#spearsndragons #elia of dorne #elia martell #dorne #elia deserves better #anti rhaegar x lyanna #house martell #robert’s rebellion was justified!

[thewitchqueenofharrenhal]

“The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children.” (A Game of Thrones, Daenerys I)

“In Dorne, the Martells still brood on the murder of Princess Elia and her babes.” (A Game of Thrones, Eddard XV).

“The only puzzle is what you might have offered for his allegiance. The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe.”( A Clash of Kings, Tyrion IV)

“Elia even made the noise that young girls make at the sight of infants, I'm sure you've heard it. The same noise they make over cute kittens and playful puppies. I believe she wanted to nurse you herself, ugly as you were.” (A Storm of Swords, Tyrion V)

My brother is not a bloodthirsty man, but neither has he been asleep for sixteen years. Jon Arryn came to Sunspear the year after Robert took the throne, and you can be sure that he was questioned closely. Him, and a hundred more. I did not come for some mummer's show of an inquiry. I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it.” (A Storm of Swords, Tyrion V)

"But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!" said Dany. "Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?" (A Storm of Swords, Daenerys IV)

“It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother's heart, Your Grace. The Princess Elia was a good and gracious lady, though her health was ever delicate.” (A Storm of Swords, Daenerys IV)

SOME PRINCESS ELIA OF HOUSE MARTELL MENTIONS IN ASOIAF SERIES WRITTEN BY GRRM.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #elia martell #house martell #valyrianscrolls

[xxpeppermintxx109]

queen shaera targaryen, the unlikely | GLBH AU, inspired by this edit. this one very much fits older shaera :)

there was not a soul who presumed the quiet firstborn of rhaenyra targaryen would ascend the iron throne, but the dance of dragons had burned away nearly all of house targaryen in a mere two years. with her brothers dead, and her only remaining family her stepsisters and a mere child, shaera velaryon took the name targaryen and was named queen of the seven kingdoms—a sight her half-year queen of a mother would have liked to see. and while she sat the throne in king’s landing, her husband—only in name, some would say—sat the throne in sunspear, officially welcoming dorne into the crown’s purview for the first time. at just twenty years of age, shaera targaryen, the first of her name, had done what her ancestors could not.

but throughout her reign, grief followed her. she had lost nigh her entire family in the war, save only for her stepsisters, baela and rhaena, and her brother, aegon the younger. gone was her dragon, slaughtered by her uncle’s, sunfyre, in a cannibalistic rage. gone was her lover, still chained to his saddle at the bottom of the god’s eye. gone were her brothers and mother and fathers.

similarly to aegon, she wore only black, forever in mourning. however, on the namedays of those she still had left, many claimed she wore velaryon blue and targaryen red, and sometimes a small smile could be seen slipping through her perpetual despair. when she welcomed a daughter back from sunspear a year after the war—one many thought to be a bastard for her pale hair and dark eyes that belonged to a kinslayer—it was only that girl, named visenya for a sister who never got the chance to live, who could truly rouse the queen from the storm hanging over her head. then there was a son, a boy with dark hair and even darker eyes donning the name aemon. though he was surely the son of the prince of dorne, there was little doubt he reminded the queen greatly of her lost love. and when her brother viserys was returned, many claimed to see the first true smile on shaera targaryen’s face—their embrace on the docks of blackwater bay enough to drive many to tears.

for thirty years, shaera targaryen was queen, wearing not the crown of her mother—for that had been sold in exchange for a betrayal rhaenyra would never recover from—but the crown of both a conqueror and usurper. though her reign was largely peaceful, some say the rubies of aegon’s crown were cursed, reddened by the blood spilled to form the seven kingdoms and break them apart as well.

first, her husband would pass quickly. his death would come in the form of a letter brought by ravens from the south, sent by his firstborn daughter, who inherited dorne and loved rhaena of pentos. shaera was said to have grieved quietly and in private, only thirty years old and already made a widow—some would say for the second time. she would not take another husband despite the urgings of the twins, who only wished to see her happy.

next went her son. aemon was only two-and-ten when he was found dead. some said the greens still had supporters so long after the war, some said there was a wish to push the queen to madness so her brother, aegon, could take over—now a man. some said the boy merely had a weak heart and succumbed to an illness that hid deep within him. but the death of aemon was enough to remind many of the queen before, who at the death of jacaerys velaryon seemed mad with grief and chose only to haunt the halls of dragonstone and the red keep. such was a similar state for shaera, who after her son was burned on a pyre, seemed incapable of ever smiling again.

neither her sisters nor her brothers could bring a semblance of peace to her. even the sight of morning, rhaena’s pink dragon, couldn’t stir a moment of nostalgia in her heart—she and aegon were similarly broken by the dragons of old. for namedays, the birth of baela’s and rhaena’s children, the visits from aliandra martell, shaera simply sat upon the iron throne, a crown of rubies upon her dark and greying hair. she only ever watched. she never partook. the last time she danced was with a man lost to a lake.

it was only when her daughter, visenya, wed aegon in an attempt to stall any potential civil wars before they could build, that some say shaera actually cracked a smile, small and weak as it was. though the realm saw them wed per the seven’s wishes, shaera had them wed per their house’s true religion on dragonstone—with fire and blood. neither were truly happy, for their lives had been nothing but loss, but for a moment, many say visenya and aegon found peace. and some say, while aegon always wore black for his mother, visenya always wore green for her true father.

from their marriage came three children: daemon, daenerys, and aenys. but grief was great and sorrow ever present for two children born in a civil war, and visenya was left widowed when aegon died of consumption at only six-and-thirty. some say she could not bear to live without him, and her heart broke one night, slaying her in her sleep, leaving her children to baela and alyn, who took the three in without issue.

shaera, hearing news of her daughter’s and brother’s death, called for her remaining family to return to the red keep. many wondered if she would abdicate to viserys for her grief was too great. she named viserys her heir, baela her hand, alyn the master of ships, rhaena the master of laws, and aliandra the master of whispers. when all was said and done, shaera bid her court a farewell, claiming she was far too tired to continue and that she would return to court on the morrow with news for the approaching winter. lord cregan stark, a dear friend of hers, was set to return after years protecting the north.

however, when he returned to see his queen, he was met only by a corpse. in her sleep, at the age of fifty—almost thirty years of ruling—queen shaera targaryen died. some claimed foul play. some said she deserved it for being a woman on the throne. some simply wrote songs about the grief she endured, and the peace she had brought, unlikely as she was. death had swept through house targaryen once more, but shaera ensured it stood strong, for she settled succession and protected her youngest brother’s claim before she passed. lord cregan stark was known to have lauded her for knowing when her time was near but remaining selfless enough to not return to her family, who all undoubtedly waited for her beyond the living veil, until all was settled.

unlikely, unwilling, shadowed always by grief in a black veil that never seemed to leave her hair, shaera targaryen was a good and just queen despite it all. and while her mother ruled only for half a year, she protected rhaenyra’s memory and claim for thirty long and prosperous years. years that many claim to be better than they should have been. years that went free of blood after so much was spilled before.

reunited once more with her family in death, some say baela and rhaena and viserys and aliandra all had similar last words—that they wished to return to their families. some even claimed that shaera’s last words were a breath of relief, at finally being free, and she called to her brothers and mother and fathers and daughter and son and husband.

and to aemond targaryen, who shaera velaryon loved before she was shaera targaryen. who the good queen refused to let him be known as a kinslayer in all of the histories written in thirty years of ruling. he was merely prince aemond to her.

and she was his shaera, reunited once more.

#greenliesblackheartswip #green lies black hearts #xxpeppermintxx109 #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #ao3 #fanfic #ao3fic #fanfiction #aemond x shaera #shaera velaryon #qoren martell #alternate universe #drabble #fanfic au #hotd fic

[radiowallet]

Meant to Be - Part 1

The Arrangement

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand, Eventual Oberyn Martell x Fem!OC (nameless, third person) Summary: Preparations for Oberyn's future are made. WC: 4.7K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, grief, death, political intrigue, arragned marriage, drinking, mentions of food, allusions to vaginal sex, Oberyn being a sexy little shit. Oberyn Martell comes with his own warning.

A/N: Hello besties! Welcome to my first foray into a multi-chapter GoT fic. Before we dive in, a few things to keep in mind: This is an alternate universe that takes place after the main events of the show. Bran is still king of Westeros. Sansa is still queen of the north. Oberyn lives. Doran never had any children. Our Fem!OC is from Winterfell, but she is not a Stark and is a blank canvas physically. I'm excited to play around with two tropes I don't write (arranged marriages and soulmates) and try something different! Thank you for joining me on this little journey!

Masterlist II Series Masterlist

>>> Part 2

Arrange yourself for my heart

Plan for it, in all its splendor

Prepare and shape and mold yourself

To me, For me, With me

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

Oberyn had always considered Dorne to be the center of Westeros. The thought was born out of bias, his love for his home and his people always tilting the scales in a way most would deem unfair. But it was more than just a loyalty birthed from love that tied his heart to the southernmost part of the map. Dorne was beautiful - hills of sand, a burning sun, and two seas with water so blue and waves so deep. The fruit was sweeter, the wine stronger, the days dipped in languid honey gold. 

With the war over and justice delivered in more ways than one, Oberyn had thought there would be no better feeling than his return to the sandy shores of Sunspear. Even with his heartbeat muted with grief for a beloved sister lost, he still felt a soft swell of peace when his feet touched those first sandy dunes, the sound of crashing waves filling his head, the sun-soaked air coating his lungs.

Oberyn did not think it possible for that peace to be so easily taken.

“Marriage?”

“Yes, brother. Marriage.”

Funny how one word can skew the direction of one’s life so quickly. How the prospect of something that most would easily agree to, perhaps even take joy in, could shake and shatter an easy landing.

Doran says the word so matter of factly, leaning back in his wheelchair, regarding Oberyn across the long width of the table, his studious gaze more piercing than it has any right to be. A full breakfast is spread out between them — berries and cheese and honey-glazed breads sweeter than sin — meant as a welcome home in honor of the second-born prince, a celebration for his triumph over The Mountain. Tonight there would be a feast, one to mark the end of the war and the Lannister’s reign; a newly crowned King of Westeros to toast to. 

Oberyn had been looking forward to the pomp and circumstance, if only to give him a chance to drown himself in Dornish wine, the promise of sleeping off the effects in Ellaria’s arms in his own bed a tempting reward for his troubles. He had expected a lecture of some sort from his brother in the between of it all; a request he take a seat on some council or maybe a post within the city watch. He would have even entertained an encouragement to begin the search anew for his soulmate.

But now he sees his brother’s ploy for what it truly is. 

A trick.

A game.

An arrangement.

Tension stretches out between the two men, years of twisted perception coloring their opinions of one another, all manner of things unsaid mixed amongst the decadent feast that now lies untouched.

“I have never entertained the idea of a wife. Not once. I hardly see why you think I would now, my Lord.” Oberyn lets the last word drip from his lips with utter disdain, refusing to acknowledge the propriety of station when his brother has tried to trick him so. One of the many benefits of being second born was the lack of obligation on his part, and he had exploited the fact in excess, happy to allow his brother all the privilege of a crown. 

A privilege, it seemed in his brother’s mind, had run its due course.

“Because, Prince Oberyn,” Doran starts, his words spoken with a careful pace, “you are to be named my heir.”

The ground falls out from beneath his chair, every single sound within the great hall expanding and focusing in on him; every color too bright, every noise too loud. The crash of the waves against the palace walls is suddenly overwhelming, a sound that once reminded him of his home now a painful cacophony in his ears.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Oberyn is standing, one word heavy on the tip of his tongue, and yet it will not come. 

Doran, ever patient, continues on. “You will be Lord of Sunspear, Oberyn, as is your right by birth and by decree.”

“And if I refuse?” He murmurs, eyes trained on the grainy wood of the table below. “The marriage? Your throne?”

His eyes flit to the other man just in time to see his reaction. Doran, for his part, looks surprised, the sentiment pulling a chuckle from deep within Oberyn’s chest. Could his brother really be so obtuse? So set in his own ways? Was he truly incapable of accepting that some may not long for power? 

At the sound of his laughter, the older man scowls, dark eyes set upon him with barely cloaked anger. For a moment, Oberyn thinks he sees his brother move to stand, a pained look stealing across his features briefly before settles back further into his seat and speaks again. 

“Have you no sense of honor left, my brother? Did your battle with The Mountain steal the last of your love for your family away? Or perhaps justice was the only thing keeping you tethered to us?”

“I avenged our sister–”

“Who is gone! She is gone, Oberyn,” Doran urges, one finger pushing down onto the table, emphasizing his point with practiced precision. “And it is us who remain! To carry on, just the same as those who came before. It is our right! Our duty! We need an heir. A legitimate hei–”

“My daughters are legitimate!” The interruption is roared, the scream of his voice echoing up into the wide open ceilings, coated in an anger he had thought he left to die beneath the suffocating rubble of the Red Keep. The fury leaves him as fast as it came, and in its wake there seems to be only one option left.

He turns away abruptly, icy cold spite bleeding out between the brothers with every step he takes away.

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

The charcoal in her hand smells of smoke, earthy and bitter, a scent that will cling to her fingers long after the day is done. It’s a perfect bedfellow to the fire crackling in the far corner of the room, the bright blend of reds and yellows giving just the barest illusion of warmth. 

Winterfell was named well. Even with winter fading into the pages of the history books, the north still carried a bitter cold, one she feared she would never be fond of. 

Her entire lifetime had been spent between the cold stone, searching for moments of warmth beneath her mother’s skirts or father’s arms. They were stolen, like bits of bread or cheese when the cooks had their backs turned, a tiny treat to melt on her tongue when nothing else in the frigid halls of Winterfell could. 

Her parents were gone now, casualties of time and its ever pressing need to march forward. She counts the smallest of blessings that they were gone before the Walkers came, thankful at least that they were spared the heartache of war.

They passed quietly, together in their bed, hands intertwined, palms pressed tightly; soulmates destined to walk those last steps together. A strange twinge dips down low in her belly; something like jealousy, she thinks, that her parents found each other so easily. They moved together with such certainty. A confidence given by fate or the Gods or whatever it was that made the world exist as it did. 

And in contrast, she had decided long ago, that she would gladly trade the suredness of a match to her soul if it meant she got a say in the outcome of her life.

Still – did her life look any different now than it did back then? Perhaps in the grandest of schemes. But…

Her father had been in charge of the stables, her mother a close companion to Lady Stark. And now she held a similar seat, sitting near the side of Sansa Stark, once her childhood playmate, grown into the Queen of the North. School lessons and daydreaming exchanged for talks of trade agreements and wall management. If she closed her eyes it would be easy to imagine two young girls in thick dresses and fur lined coats giggling over future soulmates and happily ever afters.

For the smallest moment in time, Sansa had hoped her soul’s match to be Joffrey, waxing poetic about true love and blonde haired babies. Though there had been endless heartache surrounding the truth, it had been a day she celebrated when the raven arrived from King’s Landing, Sansa’s elegant handwriting informing her that she and Joffrey were not to be wed. 

So many things never came to pass, for either of them. Soulmates and love stories set aside in the name of survival, and through it all, she watched as the younger girl grew to hold the weight of a crown she was born to wear. And she was content to live the rest of her days honoring the Starks the same as her parents did, ever aware of all she has to thank them for.

A roof over her head and a job to do – a noblewoman by the queen’s decree – she helped uphold House Stark at Sansa’s behest and in return, was given the freedom to do as she pleases within the confines of Winterfell’s stone walls. Council meetings littered with talks of policy and procedures sitting neatly between walks through the woods and time spent fireside, her fingers stained black, her dresses soaked with snow, her head swimming with negotiations. Lineage and duty tied her to this cold place, history and love filled it with warmth. 

She considers the scrap of parchment in her lap, the blacks blended into varied shades of grey, a picture of an empty chair staring back at her. She traces the shape of it, a regal rendering, more throne than chair, but it looked lonely in the bleak streaks of black and white. Something missing that she couldn’t put a name to. 

The image had come to her in a dream, the compulsion to sketch it following quickly after. When the queen had dismissed her for the day, she retreated quickly and quietly to the main sitting room, fingers itching for the warmth of charcoal, for the smooth feel of parchment, the empty chair sitting heavy at the back of her dream.

Perhaps if she could see it, hold it, in more than just her mind’s eye, then its purpose would present itself. 

The only answer she’s given is the snap of the fire at the far end of the room. 

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

Oberyn has no desire to make mention of Doran’s plans to Ellaria. Upon his arrival to his quarters he sends for her, the servant given the task in a venomous tongue that he’ll remind himself to apologize for later. For now he kicks off his boots and strips down to his trousers, pacing the room from end to end, the monotony doing nothing to contain his frustrations. 

He considers the how and the why and the who of his current situation, anxious for someone to blame, desperate for a way out. He snaps his jaw and bites his teeth, sinking deeper into memories as he stalks about his quarters; marriage, to whatever end, never seemed as advantageous as most made it out to be. He had learned a whole lifetime’s history on the subject within the walls of the citadel, his own familial experiences confirming what books had taught him. 

A sister wed to a dragon in the name of peace —dead. A brother betrothed to his soul’s true match — alone. 

And now he…

No. 

Oberyn refuses to even consider the ridiculous notion coming to fruition.  

He leaves the very idea of weddings and brides and political good-will behind him, moving to the open terrace just off of his sitting room, intent to sulk in silence beneath the late morning sun. He throws himself down onto the nearest chaise, pouring himself a full glass of wine, and then a second, urging the sweet liquid to wash away the bitter taste of breakfast. His eyes close, the crash of the waves lulling him into a restless sleep, the heat of Dorne burning the backs of his eyelids as he ignores the reality of his brother’s sensible voice.

A different voice of reason is what drags him back from the flames. 

“Something troubles you.”

Ellaria Sand has always been too clever for Oberyn’s own good. She watches him with a calculating eye, a patience that matches his impetuous nature in more ways than he could bother to count, and in many ways she is his perfect match. There was no one better to lead his fledglings, his sandsnakes, his family. Even now, after years of sharing in each other, bending and curving to match their hearts together over time. They know what makes the other moan, cry, beg, and he is more than confident in his affections for her. 

But oh, how she vexes him so. 

“The only thing that troubles me is that it has been too long since I felt the curve of your body beneath my own.” 

She smiles, her lips yielding sweetly to him, but something curls at the back of her dark eyes, some sort of secret that he’s certain he should already know but cannot remember. He will not ask and she does not speak it. Neither would dare in the state that he’s in. Instead she steps between his spread legs, thin fingers loosening the sash that barely holds her dress to her skin, revealing herself to the Dornish sun above. 

Oberyn sits up, large palms smoothing around the dip of Ellaria’s hips to cup her backside and pull her forward until the weight of her settles in his lap. She fits to him, molds herself around his body, hard edges and soft curves matched in a way he knows and loves and craves more than words allow, the hard length of his cock fitting deep inside her warmth.

His lips find her skin, mapping a steady path up the column of her neck until finally they meet in a long overdue kiss. Their lips slant together, a soft press at first, just enough to remind him that she is here before he dips his tongue, eager to remind himself of her taste. She’s spiced honey and burning smoke, biting at the corners of his mouth, and Oberyn would gladly suffocate on her if given the chance. 

When he breaks away, it’s with a broken sob masked behind a curse, his forehead falling to her own. A wish neither of them would ever dare to say out loud hangs like a cloud above them, blocking out the heat of the sun. But it does not stop Oberyn from pressing himself to every inch of Ellaria’s skin, hoping against his own foolish heart that this is the day their match is revealed. 

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

Sansa Stark strikes an imposing figure. Her red hair and piercing blue eyes burn bright against the soft greys of Winterfell and yet she does not seem out of place. She moved through the halls with purpose, each step taken with intent, each decision made with a warm heart. She cared for her birthright with both her hands, holding it in a way so much like her father but in other ways not. 

She was born for it. Then bred for it.

 

And still, it exhausted her.

 

Sansa sits before her now, boots kicked off, wiggling her stocking-covered toes just out of reach of the fire, her head tipped back and her eyes closed, content in what must be her first moment’s peace since she walked into the great hall this morning.

 

“I’ve had a taxing day, and I’m not sure where to start.”

“Can I suggest the beginning?”

A sharp glare peeks out between long lashes before a crooked smile and the poke of a tongue are pointed her way. She can’t help but tease the queen. Their companionship has always bordered on familiarity, a shared affection between them born from a childhood raised together, a lifelong friendship cemented in the hours of war. Most nights were spent in a manner such as this, idle chit chat fractured between the complaints of leadership while the scratch of charcoal and the crack of the fire kept cadence with both women’s words. Tonight was no different, save for the topic at hand.

“Prince Doran has made a request of me.”

“A request?”

It was not unheard of but still strange to hear from so far south, especially in a time of peace.

 

“A lady for a betrothal to his younger brother.”

 

“The Red Viper?”

Sansa sits up, then nods, eyes trained on the fire, the flames seemingly giving her the strength to carry on. She makes no mention of her time at King’s Landing or her brief passing with the second-born son of Sunspear, her bottom lip caught between the uncomfortable snare of her teeth. If there is a statement to be made on him, on his character or his choices, the queen does not share it, instead watching as the shades of reds and yellows dance before her.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t found his soulmate yet. If the rumors are even considered to be half true, the numbers should be in his favor.”

Girlish snickers ring up high into rafters, the pair of them moving down to the floor, knees folded beneath them, goblets of wine tipping but not spilling in the process. They scoot forward, just enough to feel the warmth of the fire staining their cheeks, sneaky smiles shared between sips of wine.

“Were they asking after Arya?”

Sansa snorts with a roll of her eyes. “I think the entirety of Westeros knows what a fool’s errand that would be.”

 

“You, then?”

Her old friend tracks her gaze from the side of her eyes and they both smile and laugh. A fool's errand, indeed.

 

“Truthfully, Doran did not ask for anyone specific. I think he would be fine if I sent one of our mules as long as Oberyn is wed before summer arrives. No…the decision has fallen to me and my council.”

 

There is something Sansa is not saying, an annoyance left unspoken, digging a trench between the two women. Finally, with a huff and a laugh, she says what the queen is unable to.

 

“The council suggested I make the journey south and accept the Prince’s hand.”

The truth is what finally steals Sansa’s attention from the fireplace, and suddenly she is turning, grasping her hands and speaking with conviction. “I cannot make you. I would never. I…I know the agony of a forced nuptial.”

And then, softly, “But yes. Your name was the first.”

“I am not surprised,” she smiles despite herself. “I do vex the council so.”

 

“A woman of your nature, unmarried and unmatched, allowed to sit at your station is difficult for them to understand. But they forget that it is not their role to object to your presence.”

For a moment’s time neither woman speaks, choosing instead to sit together in silence, fingers tangled, the smell of charcoal and cherry wine permeating the air between them. A life of quiet snow and solid stone is considered, matched to the steady steps of duty and honor mixed with memories of love. She remembers her parents, the love they had for each other, and the love they held for Winterfell and the Starks. She matches it to her own heart, her own dedication, a life promised in honor of the north and to the woman sitting right beside her. 

The only answer possible presents itself clearly.

“I will go.”

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

The knock on the door is insistent, dragging Oberyn from sleep in a way he vows revenge for. He had been ignoring it the best he could, burying his face in the curve of Ellaria’s breast, lips finding the pulse of her heart, taking comfort in the beat of it. He’d be content to lay here, his cock hard between his legs, his lips shifting lower to capture the swell of her tit, but the knocking has yet to stop and it isn’t long before she’s pushing on his shoulder, telling him to take care of his business and hurry back to her.

He drags himself from the bed with a curse and a grunt, a cursory glance spared towards the open windows. The violet bursts coloring the sky tell him that dusk is fast approaching, and he can only assume it is a servant on the other side of the door to alert him that the celebrations will be starting soon. He makes the calculated decision to leave his robe on the floor, hoping to either scare whoever it is back to the kitchens or perhaps to tempt them inside to his bed.

 

Oberyn strokes himself slowly, his cock heavy in his hand, still slick with Ellaria’s arousal. He flings the door wide with an exaggerated flourish, a cheeky greeting dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“You can tell my brother I will be dining here tonight, but you’re welcome to jo-”

He stops short at the sight of Doran, dressed head to toe in regal shades of gold, seeming so tall when it’s Oberyn who stands and the Lord of Sunspear sits, his wheelchair pushed to the threshold of his little brother’s sanctuary.

 

“I’m quite alright, thank you. My tastes do match that of Dornish tradition but I’ll stop short of laying with my brother. We’ll leave that sort of thing to lions and dragons, yes?”

There is suddenly the weight of a robe around Oberyn’s shoulders and warm breath in his ear, Ellaria greeting Doran with a nod and a smile.

“It is good to see you, Prince Doran.”

“And you as well, my dear. How fare the girls?”

“Growing like weeds and twice a thorn in my side. They take after their father that way.”

“The best of us do. Speaking of, do you mind if I borrow your dearest paramour? I promise to only take a moment of his time from you.”

Oberyn watches the exchange through a frowned pout, arms crossed in a petulance he’s been wearing since this morning. The pair of them speak as if he isn’t even present, and before he has a chance to object to any of it, Ellaria is pushing him out into the hallway as he hastily ties his robe closed.

 

“I can only assume you are here to promise me that all plans of weddings and succession are done with. Perhaps even an apology to go along with this vow?”

“I think you know that I am decidedly not.”

“Well then you will be disappointed, dearest brother, to find that my stance on the matter has not changed.”

Doran sighs, his forehead falling to his hand, the years more apparent to Oberyn now than ever before. He thinks of maybe lightening the blow, an apology or an offer to sit at his right hand, to alleviate the sting of his refusal, but the words die on his tongue, his brother finding his voice first.

 

“You were given much leeway, Oberyn. Freedom. Mother and Father framed it beneath the guise of looking for your soulmate. A part of me had foolishly hoped, dearest brother, that you were doing just that.”

 

Oberyn wants to laugh, tries to, knocking his knuckles against the wall with a forced chuckle. But the sound breaks too soon and he looks away, considering the high arches and wide open space of his childhood home. How strange that all of sudden it feels entirely too small for his liking. When he finally turns back to Doran, he smiles.

 

“Who’s to say I wasn’t, brother? Skin to skin contact to find the true match to your heart. Is that not what the ancient tomes say?”

 

“You treat it like some game,” his older brother hisses, what sounds like a sneer chasing after his words. “But you do not know what it feels like. To find the other half of your heart, your soulmate. The whole world falls away. It’s a feeling unlike any other and you dismiss it, as if it is this fleeting thing you are too good for.”

Doran’s voice trails off, his eyes misting over in a way that Oberyn has only seen once before. He knows his older brother is thinking of his own love, his own loss; lucky enough to find his soulmate early on, unfortunate enough to lose her not long after. The pain had stolen the light from his brother’s life, any and all joy relegated to the back of his heart. Even the idea of taking a second wife in the name of duty had been too much for Doran to bear.

 

Oberyn was sick for the thought of it.

It hadn’t been hard for him to decide there and then that his love would never hold such rigid definitions

“But you do not know,” Doran keeps going, his voice crushed in frustration. “You run around with that Sand girl—“

“I love her.”

The admission rings out loud in the empty hallway, and Oberyn reveals in it, satisfied in his honesty, no matter the cost. 

“I have no doubt,” Doran agrees quietly. “But if you had found your soulmate, whether they be in the brothels or the beaches, what then? Could you bring yourself to choose?”

He refuses to look away, mournful eyes tracing Oberyn from top to bottom, and for a hair of a second he feels himself so small. Merely a lad desperate to ask his older brother what choice he should make. But the moment passes, impetuous frustration filling up the space between them yet again, his words boiling over the curve of his lips. 

“Why?” Oberyn hisses, bending down until he and Doran are nose to nose, as level a playing field as he can give himself. “Why now? When peace has finally found its way to us?”

“I am dying.”

He forgets how to breathe.

His vision blurs as his face goes numb. His fingers clench around empty air, fingernails digging deep enough to scar the skin of his palm. His skin pulls too tight. His blood burns too hot.

 

He stumbles back, can’t help but, another punch to his overwrought gut, his bare feet tripping as he tries and fails to find his footing.

“No…n-no. It is…you are…” He is muttering, mumbling in disbelief, unable to comprehend this one final truth laid down at his feet. His brother, the one he loves so dearly but resents more than he knows how to say…dying? Taken away? No.

“No.”

“The maesters have done all that they can, and still I grow weaker every day. There is no measure of time they can predict for me, but something in my bones tells me that any day marked as past is a gift that brings me closer to Mellario.”

“And you…have no heir,” Oberyn breathes out, the actuality of his brother’s request finally bearing witness before his eyes.

“I do, little brother.”

Oberyn clenches his jaw and turns away, ignoring the sting of tears in favor of facing the solution head on. There was no way about it now – he would become Lord of Sunspear – or risk allowing the decisions of Dorne’s leadership to fall to the new, and still so very young, king. And though he has no desire to play the game of thrones, it is not lost on him the rules that follow. 

Marriage.

Children.

This will fall to him now.

“Tell me about the girl.”

Doran gives a name; the same given by Sansa Stark, sent by raven only a few nights prior. 

“From the North?” He can’t help the incredulous sound of his voice, and he cringes inwardly at his own knee-jerk assumptions.

“Did your conquest of The Mountain and the end of the Lannister reign not appease you, little brother? Are you still carrying that thirst for vengeance inside you?

Oberyn scoffs. “Certainly not. The Starks were a victim of circumstance, same as most of us. I am just surprised. I thought they named the eldest girl their queen.”

“They did,” Doran confirms, his stance as steady as his answer.

“I did not think she was a fan of forced marriage, what with her messy history with them.”

“She was a little girl then. She is a queen now. Though if it helps alleviate your own feelings towards this particular arrangement, the lady took it upon herself to volunteer. Perhaps a desperation to hold on to her own agency. Not unlike someone else I know.”

“Volunteer? She has agreed to this? Then surely you will call her what she is, Doran – a crown-chasing child.”

“I can assure you she is neither. She is a woman grown and it is her allegiance to the north and her queen that has her agreeing to this arrangement. Nothing more.”

“Then she’s more fool than I feared,” Oberyn murmurs, touching his thumb to his bottom lip. 

“Well then, you’ll be two fools in matrimony. Rest well, my lord. Your bride arrives within the month.”

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

Dedications:

Biggest hugest thanks to @jazzelsaur and @astroboots and one poorly timed apple watch notification that inspired this fever dream insanity of a story. If not for the truly unhinged and chaotic nature of our DM's, this fic would never have been borne. Also shout-out to these two hoes for listening to me prattle on about GoT lore, soulmates, and all manner of "giving characters agency" discussion. I love you both a not normal amount.

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#oberyn martell #oberyn martell fic #oberyn x ellaria #oberyn martell x fem!oc #pedro pascal characters #radiowallet writes

[starkskeep]

From amongst the clouds came the flames (r. stark)

From amongst the clouds came the flames r. stark imagine

Pairings - Robb Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Word Count - 2,307 words

Warnings - Brief mention of assault (non-descriptive), arranged marriage

A/N - A lot of the thoughts of the reader in this imagine, I do not agree with. I wanted to experiment with an unreliable narrator, and thus, mc's experiences will alter how they see the world around them.

Request - don’t know if you still accept requests but could you please write an imagine with Robb and a Targaryen reader who have agreed to an alliance in order to conquer against the lannisters but they always butt heads and she always goes against his words until one night he kind of admits his feelings for her mid argument and they kind of… you know.

You had never expected to be where you were now. As the only living child of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen, you knew that it was your blood right to sit upon the Iron Throne. The gods had spared you when Tywin Lannister’s Mad Dog stormed the Red Keep and brutally murdered your mother and siblings. A childhood illness had kept you in the arms of your nursemaid that night the woman was quick thinking enough to sneak out through the servant’s quarters amidst the chaos. Pretending you were her child until you were well enough to sail, the faithful servant brought you to Dorne where you were raised by your mother’s family. Treasured by the Martells as the last living connection to Elia, you grew up wanting for nothing. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. There was never anything that stood in the way of you getting what you wanted.

That is why it was so surprising, as you stood in Oberyn’s chambers at Sunspear, that you heard of how Oberyn was planning to take you far north. He planned to align with the self-proclaimed King of the North and the Trident. “Doran should have never agreed to take Myrcella Baratheon as a ward, much less give her a place in our family. Accepting a Lannister’s deal? It is an insult to Elia’s memory.” Your favorite uncle spits out. He stops pacing and whips around to face you, looking like his moniker amongst the flickering candles. “Dearest niece. I have arranged an alliance in order to combat my brother’s moronic decisions. Tomorrow morning, you will board a ship that will take you to the Riverlands.”

You stare at your uncle in shock. “The Riverlands? But that is where…You are giving me to the Starks? Selling me off to the boy king? I thought I meant more to you than that. I thought the memory of my mother meant more to you than that.” All your life, you had been told of how your father abandoned your mother for Lyanna Stark. He left your family—his wife and children—to die in the Red Keep in the most horrific of ways because he wanted to pursue the Northern woman. You do not fully blame Lyanna. She was a young girl and Rhaegar was the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms; it would have been hard for her to deny your father. Yet, you do not hold much kindness in your heart for the Starks. From their blood came the final thread to unravel the tapestry of House Targaryen.

The blood rushing past your ears limits how much you actually hear from your uncle, but you know the words that made it pass ring true. “This is a marriage that you are talking about. You know that they will not agree to an alliance unless it is bound by an oath. The Starks believe Lyanna to have been stolen away by my father. They sided against the Targaryens in Robert’s Rebellion. An alliance with them will have to be ironclad for them to even begin to think about helping me. They are not like us. They despise the Dornish tendencies. I will be trapped in a marriage with a man that I do not even know, much less love, unable to find comfort outside of it.” There is pain lingering in the shadows of your words. Dorne is the only home you have known and now you are being forced out of it by your very family. Being sent into the cave of the wolves nestled in an environment very different from the one you grew up in.  

Oberyn looks at you with pity. He wishes that there was another course of action that he could have taken in order to give you the Iron Throne on a golden platter. “Yes. It will be a marriage. I will not deny that. It is what Catelyn Stark and I have arranged. She has assured me that her son will not harm you. That is the only thing I can promise you from it. You will have your power. You will have your revenge. In that, you will find your happiness.” Your uncle walks over to you and draws your shaking form into his arms, trying to bring you comfort after his words took it from you. “You will sail to Riverrun in the morning. I have ensured that you will be allowed to bring your dragon. Nym, Obara, and Tyene will join you. They will serve as your companions and as your protectors.” A kiss is placed on the crown of your head. “You will not be alone. I swear to you.”

The journey from Dorne to Riverrrun was long. Made longer by a route carefully constructed in order to avoid detection. Extended even more by the events that will occur once you reach your destination. You are not someone who appreciates being married off. As you exit the ship, swallowing the rising bile in your throat, you spit the bonfires burning in the wolf king’s war camp. Though you do not want to admit it, the army that fights for him seems quite large and will likely fit your needs quite well. 

Your small retinue is met by one in turn. A woman you infer to be Lady Catelyn Stark greets you with pity in her eyes. She sees her daughters in you. A young woman suffering from the actions of her parents and their cruel world. The others that join her are most definitely not pitying you. Their eyes are hardened. The Northmen do not trust Targaryens or the Dornish and your hair and features certainly mark you as the blood of both. You are led into the castle of Riverrun and then escorted into the makeshift war council room. Your cousins are forced to wait outside, not allowed inside, and not trusted enough to be privy to the inner workings of the Northern Army. Silencing what you know are protests brewing with one glare, you step inside. Robb Stark and his closest advisors are huddled around a table. Tension fills every crevice of the room. It suffocates you.

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. The words of your mother’s house ring in your head as you curtsy. You may show deference to your future husband at the moment but you will never be something to be controlled. “Greetings, Your Grace. It is an honor to be welcomed here in Riverrun.” The words are like poison on your tongue. They taste vile. It is a miracle that you are able to keep your voice and your expression from betraying your true feelings.

Robb looks you up and down. He observes the way you stand, your facial ticks, and the controlled lilt of your voice. You are pretty. The proof of the stories told about House Targaryen’s beauty stands in front of him. With the looks of a queen and pure ambition burning in your violet eyes, there is no doubt that you will make a powerful ally. A true leader fit to rule beside him as long as his people can overcome their historic distrust of your ancestors. You are the blood of the dragon. To Robb, you are an enigma that can never be tamed. “Aye. We have prepared what we had for your arrival.” The Northern king eyes those that surround him, judging their reaction to you before continuing to address you. “I did not want to be a king that had his wife chosen for him. I was raised as a lord with the promise to marry for love. It seems like we are both being forced into this marriage. I do not want to meet you in the Godswood full of false hope. This will be a transactional marriage only. The buildup to this will not be extended. You and I will marry tonight once you have bathed and rested. Do you have any objections to this?”

There are no objections from you nor from anyone else in the room. They all know why this marriage is occurring. You will being Dorne into an alliance with them. Though Robb has expressed no desire for the Iron Throne, those on his council that do believe that you will provide legitimacy for him in the eyes of the people. A Targaryen returned to power by a Stark that rules beside her. The ceremony is rushed. You are wedded and bedded before the sun rises the next morning. A new era begins as the first rays shine over the lands of Westeros. 

A marriage of equals proves to be much more butting heads rather than intriguing conversations. There are very few conversations between you and Robb that end in anything other than an argument. How you should act, how you should speak, how Robb should address you etc. The previous argument was about how the food being served at Riverrun was too bland for your taste. You and your cousins were used to the flavorful spices of your home’s dishes. You won that argument and watched on in barely concealed glee as the faces of Robb’s men reddened as their palates were introduced to new tastes. The argument before that was about how the dragon has taken to antagonizing Robb’s men. You explained that your dragon was bored. You were not being allowed to take it on flights as you were in Dorne for fear of your safety. Robb won that argument and your dragon was moved to a field a good distance away from the war camp.

“My queen, you cannot expect a man to be comfortable with sending his wife onto the battlefield.” Robb looks you dead in the eyes as he speaks. He is in total disbelief that his wife wants to join him in the march south. He was raised by his mother and Lady Catelyn is a proper lady. The only girls Robb knows who would willingly ride into battle is the Mormonts of Bear Island and his little sister. 

“Me aiding your army with my dragon is one of the reasons we were married. You need me and my beast just as much as you need the Dornish men.”

“I do not care if it is for a second or for a week. A battlefield is not a place for a noblewoman, especially if that woman is my wife and the queen of my people. You will not be put in harm’s way. I have already made up my mind. I will not have my queen join me in battle. This decision is final.”

“I have brought you my dragon and my uncles’ armies yet you still deny me a place beside you. I cannot believe this!”

Authority seeps into Robb’s voice as he responds once more, frustrated with your lack of understanding. “My queen you do not—cannot—understand where I am coming from because you never lived in war. Your entire existence has been one of privilege and freedom. You have never been denied a meal. You have never had to lose a friend to war. You have never had to deliver news of a son’s death to a weeping mother.” Robb shakes his head. “I will not risk the safety of my wife, not while I still draw my breath.”

“I lost my entire family to war and the Lannisters when I was just a babe. It was pure luck that I was able to escape. My mother was brutally assaulted and killed by the Mountain when Tywin Lannister seized the capital. Because of them, I had to grow up without my parents and my siblings. Do not lecture me like I am one of your men.” You spit out. Indignant fury coats every word.

“I am sympathetic but it will not change my decision. Bringing you into battle with me would put everything and everyone at risk. The Lannisters will want your head even more than they want mine. You are the greatest threat to their reign.”

You know you will not be able to win this argument nor will you be able to convince Robb to let you join him in the march. Instead, you turn to leave with a plan already forming deviously in your mind. When you reach the doorway, you turn to have the last word. “I shall sleep in my own chambers tonight. Do not expect me in your bed tonight, Your Grace.” The title is sneered mockingly upon your departure. 

A/N - I'm sorry this took so long to post. My life was consumed by schoolwork. I wanted to get this out for the anon who requested it. There will be a second part that reveals MC's plan and it will include the requested smut. It wasn't meant to be two parts but the imagine was already quite long by the time I reached this end. It would be far too much if I were to include the plan and the smut in one part.

#request #robb stark x you #robb stark fanfic #robb stark imagine #robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark oneshot

[jacevelaryonswife]

Unbent

A shared smile is better than a lonely smile, so when you mirror each other's fullness on your faces, nothing else needs to be said, just felt.

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell!Reader

a note: This work is a continuation of "Unbowed" but you don't need read it before to understand this part. Reader is female. english is not my first language.

It is not a mystery that Dorne resisted the dragons’s conquest over Westeros. The relationship between the Targaryens and the Martekk was never good, but your father, Qoren Nymeros Martell, Prince of Dorne and King Viserys I Targaryen seemed to have reached a peace agreement. Although disgruntled murmurs roamed the corridors of Sunspear about your father's attitude, in King's Landing things were joyous and the members of the court of Viserys, the Pacific, were more superb than ever about the king's conquest.

Of course, an achievement like this was great, but not free. A wedding would definitely seal the union between Dorne and the Crown, and of course, both men made sure it happened. At first you thought your youngest sister was the designee, but whispers denounced that you, the middle daughter of five siblings, would be responsible for choosing a Targaryen/Velaryon prince as a bridegroom. In all, there were three options, since Prince Lucerys was only fourteen and you wouldn't marry a child. Soon, upon arriving in King’s Landing, the first thing to be done was to analyze yor suitors.

Prince Aemond Targaryen was intelligent, handsome and mysterious. He was also reserved and clearly difficult to let anyone into his intimacy. You loved challenges, but maybe you didn't have as much time to make the choice. Prince Aegon Targaryen's reputation was the first thing that reached your ears, he was the first son of King Viserys I and unlike his brother, he was fully capable of debauchery. You didn't judge him, after all there was nothing wrong with deathing in a partner, however, the reports were not kind to the prince and he was immediately discarded from your options as you would not accept being betrayed with a maid or whore.

Finally, he was left. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

A curious creature indeed. You could see his nervousness during your parent's brief presentation about the two of you. The same nervousness was also present when he invited you for a walk in the garden, intimidated as your sharp eyes and sharp posture watched him. Your words were calculated and he felt the weight of your judgment, there was no way he could relax entirely, but he tried his best to be pleasant and kind. Jace didn't just ask about your personality, but also about Dorne's quirks. You liked the interest shown by him, keeping a sideways and discreet smile with each discursive answer.

He picked some yellow flowers for you along the way, attentive to every sentence you said. He took your hand gently to hand you the simple bouquet, earning a satisfied smile in return.

“They suit you.” He said.

“It's sweet of you. But as for you, my prince, what suits you?” You asked in a velvety voice, stroking his soft hair. “What would I like to know about you?”

His cheeks were stained a soft pink, but Jace managed to start a short summary on his personality. He told about preparing to succeed his mother and be a good king, he also told about High Valyrian classes in addition to other hobbies such as fighting, reading and riding vermax — whose offer you to know was made next.

He was charismatic, humorous, kind and handsome. Very handsome. At the end of the walk, arriving at a beautiful tree with tabular roots and orange flowers, you looked at him. You wanted to kiss him, but the morality of King's Landing and possibly the prince himself would not allow the act. But you were you after all. Approaching slowly, you walked until your noses were gently touching, chuckling soundlessly as his body stiffened in surprise. Blowing a light kiss on the prince's cheek, you thanked him for the walk and kindness, still too close.

“I'm glad you enjoyed it, my lady.” He almost stuttered, taking a deep breath but not pulling away.

From that moment there was no escape for him. He would be your husband.

Tours became longer lasting. He took you into other gardens, into the library, into the dragon pit (not impressive, it was quite ugly actually) to introduce Vermax. At dinners you sat side by side, laughing and talking about anything, in public places your hand was always on his forearm, sometimes, when no one was around, your hand snaked into his in a soft, firm grip. Most of the people at court looked your way because of your fancy, open Dornish gowns, but you learned to recognize evil glances in your lovely Jace's direction. Not just looks, but words too.

Never directly to him, never explicitly, but always understandable enough to know what it was about.

Once, Lord Redwyne cornered you in a hallway in broad daylight. He was courteous at first, a big bootlicker of the old ways and big families and blablablabla. But in a low tone he pointed out, indirectly and by implication, the illegitimate nature of his newly betrothed. It took nothing more than an irritated frown, clenched jaw, and clenched fists. You didn't have to speak a word to drive the grumpy old man out of your shadow, yet a part of you wanted to have dared him to speak word for word explicitly, crisply, and audibly enough for king Viserys to cut out his tongue.

You didn't care if he was a Velaryon or a Strong, you just wanted a loving, handsome, and affable husband, requirements your sweet prince fulfilled with praise. Every time something was hinted at about your bridegroom, you made yourself understood how you felt about it and such people never looked your way again.

The engagement period was delightful. Jace was charming. He courted you all hours of the day, loving sharing and listening to the rest with you. He learned a lot about Dorne and the Rhoynar, just as you also learned about the secrets of Old Valyria and the Targaryens before the conquest.

You were charming too, he thought, more specifically seductive. You were also determined and bold, difficult to intimidate and demanding to be pleased. Jace thought you were a remarkable figure. Beautiful, intelligent and with attitude. It was no secret that your arrival made him nervous, but living with you has accustomed him to your ways. It wasn't hard, maybe you just wanted what all the ladies wanted: to be treated with dignity and respect. And he was more than happy to provide that.

Unfortunately for you (depending on the angle), he respected you way too much.

The touches started slowly, soft at first, seemingly out of character. You wanted to soothe his face with your fingers, circle his hand with your thumb, trace his sharp jaw. You wanted him close. Two days before the wedding the last ride is taken between you until you’re just one blood and flesh. This time the path was led by you, purposefully going under the canopy of the beautiful tree where your choice was made.

“Remember the first time you brought me here? When we were introduced. That very day I knew I would marry you.”

He didn't bother to spare you a wide grin, grabbing your waist and laying your head against his. "Did you know? How smart my lady is.” he joked.

“I am really smart.” With a typical sideways smile, you confessed, “There's one more thing. At that moment, you didn't know how much I wanted to kiss you."

"You wanted?" Jace inquired in surprise.

“Yes, but I thought you would reject it. Too bold for a first contact, you know?”

“Very bold, indeed. I wouldn't reject you, I'd just push you away."

Approaching calmly, putting your nose against his, you spoke close to the prince's lips:

“And if I tried now, would I be turned away?”

There were several reasons Jacaerys feared closer contact with you before marriage. He didn't want to dishonor you before the court and your family, didn't want the same curse on you and your children. But at that moment there was nothing to fear anymore, you would be his beautiful lady wife and he would be your lovely lord husband. There were no more barriers separating your lips from his.

"No.”

And just like that, time froze as the softness of Jace's pink lips touched yours gently and firmly. There was nothing left in the world but the two of you. There was nothing but his hands on your waist and the full encounter of his mouth on yours. It was so sweet, so beautiful, so good. Reluctantly pulling away, the gleam in his eyes gave him away before the wide grin.

“Maybe I should say this tomorrow, but I love you, my lady. I love everything about you."

“I love you too, Jace. I love you." Your confession had him leaning his forehead against yours before wrapping his body in a hug. “I couldn't have chosen better.”

“Indeed.”

A shared smile is better than a lonely smile, so when you mirror each other's fullness on your faces, nothing else needs to be said, just felt.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jace velaryon #house martell #martell reader

[tyrionsource]

TYRION'S SEASONS OF LOVE || Obyrion

Prompt: SUNLIGHT Oberyn offers himself as Tyrion’s champion. He wins his revenge for Elia and saves Tyrion’s life when he slays The Mountain. He invites Tyrion to return with him to Sunspear. They crown Myrcella Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and of course, fall in love.

#tyrionseasons #tyrion lannister #oberyn martell #tyrionlannisteredit #oberynmartelledit #gottyrionlannister #gotoberynmartell #obyrion #tyrion x oberyn #asoiaf #asoiafedit #gotedit #op

[yoursinfulurges]

House of Metals

Martell!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: Some say the greatest battle a woman could ever face is motherhood, you on the other hand think that's bullshit... You're not so ready to trade your sword for an infant.

Your ethnicity is not specified and your features are never fully described, finally in this part we talk about your fucking giant snake.

Can be read as a oneshot but if you wish to read the previous parts my masterlist is pinned on my profile!

Word count: 4k

༺━━━━━━━━━༻༒༺━━━━━━━━━༻

Heaving a great sigh as you sat your place on the bed, you looked around the room in melancholy. The arid atmosphere was palpable, suffocating your skin and drying you out under the harsh environment. Furniture serving as more decor than anything else sat idly around your chambers, prompting a frown to befall on your face. You didn't know what caused such bitter feelings to blossom in the bellows of your stomach, but it all didn't feel right. 

Though honestly nothing truly did these days. Not your dress, not your hair, not the place you were supposed to call home. It all felt empty somehow, cold and lacking of comfort in every sense. The familiarity of the desert dunes no more as you come to recognize the Red Keep as your new definition of normal. It had been over a year now since you left the comforts of Sunspear, and despite having a hard time adjusting you were making it by. But with the constant pressure that oppressed you daily, living had been less than bearable. Preferring to spend your days in your chambers had become a constant routine now because of it.

You've always had a certain distaste for motherhood. The idea of spending nine long months carrying a child was something you never saw yourself enduring. Whilst you could never harboured animosity towards a defenseless child, you detest being so helpless, so debilitated. They say there is no greater battle than motherhood and childbirth, you begged to differ... 

Seeing yourself as a weapon shaped for combat, not a helpless maiden meant to spend her days locked up. The very idea of being bred never sat right with you. Opinions aside, you could bear the long months in wait of a child. At some point such fate was bound to happen but the gods have not blessed you yet. You knew it was your duty to provide the realm and Aemond with an heir, further carrying out the bloodlines of your great houses. And secretly, it would be rather nice to have a tiny version of the man you adored so much running around.

What a gift that would be. 

It was the societal pressure urging you to conceive children only for the good of the crown that you loathed so much. You would not bring innocent lives into the world just to have them be political vessels. Having experienced a life full of prejudice and misogynistic behaviors yourself because you were not born a male. That was a fate you did not want for your children. Growing up it had been hard to understand why you were treated so, but over the years the veil wore thin and people became more vocal for their distaste.

It was no secret that your mother had a difficult time conceiving, so with her healthy in mind your father thought it'd be best to stop trying for another. Leaving you as an only child, much to everyone's disappointment. You'd grown up with this treatment and have found your own ways of coping with it but as expected the Crownlands had their own ways of living. You knew this and have prepared yourself for it when you agreed to leave Dorne with Aemond. Though you had never expected them to have such backwards views on women. Had you have known you would have never left... 

Not that you'd reveal such thoughts to Aemond now, seeing that he was rather content and happy with being back home. So over the months you kept your mouth shut. You did not tell him how Queen Alicent already made preparations for a nursery, and never would you open your mouth about the rumours that circulated you both. How "battle had made you infertile" as the ladies in court claimed. Silly toothless assumptions with no backbone, you'd brush it off. But the callous words the men of the city watch whispered about you were seared onto the walls. Something along the lines of "the gods have finally punished the sand snake for her indulgence." You didn't know that meant but it bothered you... Regardless how the words annoyed you so, you'd endure it all just to see your love at ease... 

He was much happier here. Familiar and so well versed in the secrets of the palace and you cannot take that away from him. Despite the fact that this place was more of a hell hole than what meets the eye.

As it would seem, here in Kingslanding the only path for a woman is to be a highborn. A highborn meant to breed out heirs for their lord husband. And not everyone was rather pleased with your reputation. You've seen how they've mistreated women, powerful women like the princess and queen. And you've seen how they just stood there and took it. Whilst yes, you had no place to speak on how they ruled here you often found yourself shaking your head. If this was Sunspear you would never allow for such disrespect... however you were not in Sunspear... you were in Kingslanding and your duty, as said by many, was to produce Aemonds children. 

A duty you're not overly content with... Not ready to sacrifice your freedom just yet but it would seem that everyone expects it from you. Although it was not in your nature to go down without a fight. Deep down, you aren't opposed to having children, it was the idea of being just a mother that you hated so much. You wanted to be known for your glory and days in battle as the Queen of Dorne. Not Princess Y/n Martell, wife of Aemond Targaryen.... They used to call you the jewel of the desert and now you're known as nothing but the prince' barbaric wench. Your victories meant nothing here and without a child you meant nothing here... 

The thought made you uncomfortable in every sense, picking at the stray threads of your dress as you succumbed to the negative thoughts. You knew it wasn't wise to dwell on such ideas but it had been eating away at you for months on end now. All of it was so suffocating, you needed room to think, to breathe. Hence why you've chosen to lock yourself up in your chambers instead of facing the music. The overbearing sounds of gossip and chatter proving to be daggers in your ears. You know not how much longer you can endure the anxiety, having it consume your being till you're constantly on edge. 

You don't doubt that with the coming months, Queen Alicent's insistence on you producing a child would become rather imposing. And although you knew she meant well with the good of both houses in her heart, you felt like you were dying of asphyxiation. All of it was so smothering. The useless small talk with noble women, the constant need to uphold an illusion. You often found yourself biting back your tongue and making sure you acted appropriately for the sake of image. Perhaps in truth, the only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon was itself. Image was of great value here, so you've observed. The Targaryens were not perfect people, you never expected them to be but it was evident there was an underlining problem they tried to avoid desperately. Though you do not know what they were so afraid of, you stood in your place and did not get involved. 

It was rather puzzling to see a not-so-happy family try and act the part in front of the public. Back in Dorne the Martells never had to keep up such false illusions, you were peaceful people that truly loved one another. And despite your love for your dear husband, it was clear that the Targaryens were selfish people, all focused on themselves. You felt like a fish out of water and truthfully it was frightening. Your family had always been transparent with one another but here it would seem that everyone was divided in their own factions. All consumed in what they have to gain, moving in secret behind each other's backs. Was this the way of the dragon? Vulture and ophidian. Your father had always taught you that respect needed to be earned. Yet here in Kingslanding everyone demanded respect. And you weren't gifted with the patience to handle arrogance. 

Especially when it came from the mouths of the undeserving. How dare they speak such words about you. Your face twists into an ugly frown, suddenly turning angry and vengeful. Why were you the one hiding in your chambers like a meek prey? So caught up about frivolous gossip. Were you not the crowned heir. Suddenly you felt ridiculous, a myriad of emotions tackling you to the ground, constricting at your air ways like a boa. Malice, retribution, anger, spite. You felt it all, everything igniting the flames of your fury. They have no right to speak to you in such a way when they have not walked in your shoes. Perhaps all the suppressed emotions had finally over spilled but you suddenly couldn't find it yourself to give a fuck anymore. It was Aemond that truly worries you, what would he think of your newfound revelation. In his eye everything had been going so well, you were getting along with his mother and sister and in truth you were. But it came with the cost of losing yourself. 

"So deep in thought, my lovely wife... Helaena informed me that you weren't at breakfast today, may I ask why?" A voice calls out from behind you, causing you to turn and smile at the sight of your love. Making sure to do your best in erasing the remaining scowl on your face. 

"I didn't feel like eating this morning." Uttering the words plainly, you began walking towards him. It was true, your appetite had decreased tremendously these past coming weeks, only eating once or twice a day. 

"Again? That's the third time this week. Perhaps we should alert the Maesters..." Aemond says in concern, grabbing a hold of your hand to pull you out of the room. Immediately retracting your hand from him, you slap his grasp away when he tries to reach for you again, laughing at his silly behavior. 

"Nonsense! It's nothing truly." Shaking your head in a dismissive manner, you urge Aemond to sit by the fireplace. He lets you guide him, looking at you with a squinted eye as he tries to read your expression. You don't meet his gaze, finding it hard to for whatever reason. 

"I care about your well-being." He nods his head, finally yielding and taking his place on the armchair. Humming absent-mindedly to him, you brush a few stray hairs away from his face, taking the opportunity to observe his shape. He looks tired, more so emotionally than physically. It worried you to a certain degree as you knew he had a planchette for putting others needs first. Aemond pulls you down onto his lap by your waist, causing you to sit sideways on his thighs as you continue to fuss about his dishevelled shape. No doubt he just returned from dragonback. Your emotions from earlier dissipating.

"I am well." You say shortly, fixing the collar of his riding coat. 

"Hm...... I missed your old ways of dressing." Aemond hums in suspicion but says no more about it causing you to narrow your eyes at him. Looking down briefly to observe your gown, was there something wrong with it? You will admit it was unlike you, the dress thick in material compared to your fond silk and linens. The heat in Kingslanding was much more forgiving so you had decided on a dress with a high collar and long sleeves. 

"I thought it would be more proper if I adapted." Speaking the words simply. Not everyone cared for the way you dressed, deeming it as provocative. It was best to sacrifice your familiarity in exchange for sewed mouths. Although now you don't really give a fuck about others opinions, but Aemond grew up with these people and you can not have them thinking such crass things. It would tarnish his reputation and your honour. Gods forbid Aemond Targaryen beds with a snake. 

"Since when did you care about being proper?" His tone is much harsher now, the hostility directed at you foreign on his tongue. 

"Aemond...." You gave him a warning. You would not argue about this. 

"I do not want you to lose yourself, my jewel. Tell me, what troubles you?" You retreat within the confines of your mind at the mention of the name, my jewel. It’s hard to look him in the eye as the truth spills out, allowing yourself to be vulnerable to him. 

"It's just... I miss home.... I miss being treated like the heir, like the future Queen ---instead of a vessel meant to just produce. I know that makes me sound like a babe but I cannot stand being viewed as a property." 

All the worries, the fire, the hate, the insecurities it all comes spilling out from your mouth. You cannot do this anymore, you cannot keep pretending you are just his wife when you knew deep down you were meant for much more. Perhaps you had failed him in providing a child, but you cannot keep deceiving yourself that you were happy with the role you were given. Never would you question your love for Aemond but as the days drag on you begin to slip into depression. The darkness captivating you, swallowing your soul till you were nothing but a shell of the woman you were supposed to be. Your identity was not your own, feeling like a marionette dancing in the shoes of a doll. Being controlled by society and expectations. 

"Who prompted these emotions, my wife? Is it my mother? Is she bothering you?" Aemond panics for a moment, grabbing ahold of your hand to steady your shaking figure. You were visibly not well, for a while he's had speculations of your unhappiness and had tried his best to stand by you, but to hear the words from your mouth urges him into action. Aemond was aware of his mother's overbearing presumptions about you being of child, but he never thought it was to the point where you had begin to question your value. 

"No, no! Aemond it's not her, it's no one." Clarifying to him quickly, your heart melts at how protective he got immediately. 

"It's just... I am not ready to trade my sword for an infant... I would love to have your children! But I don't just want to be their mother. I want to be Queen of Dorne, I want to be remembered for me." Opening up to Aemond was no easy feat but you allow your walls to break down, revealing your inner most desires. 

"And you will be my sweet, regardless of whether or not we have children I never want to take away your weapons from you." The way he said weapons alluded to something much more, perhaps he was implying to power, you weren't certain. 

Aemond was aware how important it was for you to be in control of the dagger, and he would never make you give that up. You wield such great spirit and to see you so uncertain wounded him. He knows not who filled your head with such poison, extinguishing your fire but he would have their head for it. Aemond had never seen you like this, your once head strong persona gone and replaced with so much doubt. It hurts him, his heart aching as his mind searches for a way to make you feel better. 

"I truly do want to have your children...." The words came out as a whine without your intention but they were riddled with the absolute truth. 

"There is no rush, I do not blame you for drinking the tea." He looks at you with a soft gaze, now mirroring your gestures and tucking a few stray hairs away from your face. 

"Perhaps it is time to stop..." You have been drinking the moon tea for quite some time now. Not knowing when or why it started but it became a mutual understanding between you and Aemond. Or at least, if he had a problem with it not once did he speak on them and protested. 

"Perhaps it is time to go back to Sunspear. I've been thinking about it for quite some time and it would be better for us..." Eyes widening immediately at that, was he truly willing to sacrifice so much and make that decision for you? 

"Aemond I cannot ask that of you..." Shaking your head in protest, your eyes plead for him to think more carefully. 

"You aren't, I've decided on my own. You've sacrificed so much only for the people of the court to induce such poison in you, they do not deserve to have you. We'd be far better off at Sunspear." With a simple nod, he seemed so definitive about his decision. 

"What of your duties?" Raising a brow at him you question who would fill his role. 

"My duty is to be your husband, and if being here is hurting you then we can go at once. Aside from my mother I have no emotional ties with my family, unlike you. You left everything behind without question when you married me, you even left behind Nymeria... I can't even imagine if I had to leave Vhagar like that...." 

Your heart pounds at the mention of your beloved snake. Nymeria was previously deemed untamable, until she bowed to you... She was an old soul, having been around since the reign of her predecessor, Princess Nymeria herself. Over the years she moved unchallenged, growing large enough to circle kingdoms with her body. Nymeria was about the same size as Vhagar but three times longer, her skin black in colour serving as a warning to those that dared try her. 

They called her a monster, a great beast but she was neither of that. To you she was a dear friend, you were her first rider and it hurt to abandon her like that. But the journey to Kingslanding had its complications so it was best to leave her be. A bond with a snake was similar to a bond with a dragon, your souls interwoven with one another. Although Nymeria was intelligent she was an animal and she could not comprehend why you left her so. To feel her confusion and loneliness everyday had been agonising. 

The pain was almost enough to make you agree to Aemond's words, but you wanted him to understand the consequences of his absence. Yes, it filled you with great joy that he was so willing to leave at your command, his oblation not only comforting but also displaying his devotion to you. But he must be aware of what his hecatomb may bring. 

"Aemond." You warned once more. 

"There you go again, putting me first. I truly think this would be better for us, and who cares about princely duties when I will be king alongside you. We can fly back to Dorne at sunset and be there by morning on Vhagar, just say the word." His hands caress your waist, as if trying to persuade you and the more you think about it the more he made a point. Perhaps Kingslanding didn't need you both at all, Aegon and Helaena were here and although they were a little inadequate, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon were just across the sea. You and Aemond would be better at Sunspear, and you were certain he would be treated right... 

"Maybe you're right... But tonight is too soon, we need to get our orders in affairs first and alert the king of our decision." Giving in to his proposal, you rose from his lap, beginning to pace the room as you continued your sentence. No doubt the king would want to give you guys a proper send off but you and Aemond would need to make it known that you'd prefer to leave silently. 

"That is best... And who knows, maybe once you're more comfortable we might actually start trying for a baby." Affirming your words, you turn to face  Aemond. The knowing look on his face implied that he wasn't just jesting, contrary to his tone. 

"Are you content with raising our children in the desert?" He smiles at your words, recognizing the woman he fell in love with. It had been a long while since you both had spoken to one another like this, the playful banter reminding him of your first meeting. 

"The desert made you lethal, they could use the life experience." Your husband held his head up high proud, certain that your children would be skilled in the ways of snakes with the roar of a dragon. 

"They'd be absolutely brutal, Aemond." 

"Perfect. The finest soldiers all of Westeros will ever see." He was rather sure of that fact, all this talk of raising children with you had made him yearn for a large family. Kids with your best aspects. And though he's never thought much of it since your wedding night, if you were willing to, he'd be more than happy to start a family with you. 

"Can you imagine it.... our children riding dragons and sand snakes." You whispered fondly, imagining a world you could build with Aemond. Giggling to yourself silently at the thought of little children having both a dragon and a giant snake by their side. By the gods, your offsprings will be terrorists... Though determining how that will be handled would have to come at a later date, for now you're content with just imagining. 

"I hope they have your hair..." Aemond spoke softly after a few moments, it was barely audible, the soft smile on his face prompted one to form on yours. 

"My hair?" It sounded so outrageous, why would he want your children to have your hair? You'd think he'd hold great pride in his silver mane. 

"Mhmm, it would be a change for once." You open your mouth to say something but the words get lost on you. Instead deciding to just look at him, oh how he was your entire world. You'd give your all just to make him happy. 

"Please do not say you hope they have my eyes." Aemond speaks, breaking you from your train of thought. 

"I wasn't!" You yell at him, laughing at his outrageous words. 

"The look on your face says otherwise, my dear." He's laughing with you now.

"hm... have you thought of names?" You prompt him as you start walking towards the bed. 

"Viserra and Vaelor." You think on it for a while, liking the way it rolled off your tongue. 

"Hmm.... Viserra and Vaelor, I love it..." Turning to face him, you catch your husband breaking into a grin. 

Finally settling in on an emotion you haven't felt for many moons, peace, as you watched the man you love so much get lost on the thought of kids. There was something rather touching about how open you both were to one another right now, and it makes you think. How did we get to here? Yes your marriage was entirely political but over time you had come to be grateful for what you and Aemond had.

To uncertain partners raised on different sides of the coin, to acquaintances greedy for one another's body. Eventually betrotheds figuring out the idea of love, and now this... Lovers planning a family. Maybe this was love, the imprint someone makes inside of your soul, the happiness they evoke from within you, how your whole world revolves around one another. Your story with Aemond was great and you couldn't have asked for a better tale. The promise of the future lingered in the air as you welcomed mirth with open arms. 

So he was not prince charming, but you did not care. Aemond Targaryen was a paradox made up of all the good and bad in his family. And it had been an honour to walk alongside him. Suddenly the fears of what hardships your children would have to face becomes irrelevant. It would not matter because you knew that you and Aemond will always be there to care for them and protect them. You were certain he would kill a hundred men that dared disrespect you or your daughter. Even take up the title kingslayer if your dignity was challenged.

To you Aemond was much more than a man with grey morals. He was your other half, he was your heart. And you were his jewel, you were the sapphire of his eye. A dragon and his snake. Although the future was uncertain it was clear that you were meant to burn together. A man inflamed with the abuse he experienced and a woman scorched from the fire she inflicted. Destiny had its plans for you both, a vortex of fate cradling your love as if it was the universe itself. You would create a safe haven for your children to come and burn any that tries to hurt them. Though they would not need the protection for long seeing as though they will be yours and Aemond's kids.

How your children would be absolute nightmares to the crown. You pray for the entire realm...

Part 1 Part 2 | More to come in the future....

Authors note:

Sorry for the late update, my best friend and her boyfriend broke up and I had to emotionally support the both of them until he showed up at her house and got kicked out for trespassing 🥺 Jokes aside, that's a true story, anyways if this flops I'm throwing eggs at old people. I'm not overly proud of this part but this opens up a gateway for me to write about yours and Aemond's kids.

- Armoni

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond scenario #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen scenarios #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond oneshot #aemond fluff #aemond fic #aemond targaryen angst #aemond angst #aemond the kinslayer #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon aemond #house targaryen #hotd fanfic #team green #house martell

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Wrap Around Pt.4

Warnings: siblingxsibling implied, longing

Words: 2367

Summary: You and Oberyn enjoy Elia's wedding.

PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANY OF THE WARNINGS/TAGS

Part 1 Part 2   Part 3   

There couldn’t have been a more beautiful day than the one of Elia’s wedding to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Your elder sister was covered with the most precious fabrics imported from Essos. Clinging to her torso and flowing outward in an elegant skirt with embroidered beads and tinkling bells. Her lashes were long, lacquered by a special blend of kohl and honey. Without a doubt a vision before your eyes, you had never seen your sister quite as radiant as she was on that day.

The groom, equally dazzling for the eyes to behold. In the great Sept of Baelor, they stood side by side as the Westerosi sept drolled on and on about the light of the Mother and perseverance of the Warrior that would keep them both safe in their matrimony. Rhaegar’s typical Targaryen traits were enhanced by the harsh black of his suit, plates styled as if they were dragon scales. Blinding silver hair was pulled back into a lengthy braid down his back. They were charming side by side, tying Dorne and Westeros together.

You and Oberyn had traveled far as the wedding ceremony would take place in King’s Landing. Under the domed ceiling, you and your brother watched Elia become tied to the Targaryen prince. Holding his hand as a gentle type of sorrow overwhelmed you in that moment. No longer would you be able to run down the hall and jostle her awake by jumping on her bed. Elia was no longer just your sister, she belonged to Westeros now and would one day be expected to become a dutiful queen. Sunspear would feel vacant without her warmth. If only she had married a Dornishman. That way she would at least be closer to you if you wanted to see her. King Aerys had believed her to be the only one worthy of marrying his heir; after all, she was one of the only princesses in the Seven Kingdoms. It was meant to be an honor, that’s what Doran told you.

Having noticed the tears brimming in our eyes, Oberyn squeezed your hand to let you know that he was still there and that everything would be okay. You knew for certain that you would not lose Oberyn to marriage anytime soon, probably not ever. He would always be by your side and if he could help it that would never change. He was a constant that you refused to relinquish.

You hold onto his hand and will your tears to dry, this was not a cause for sorrow, you should be smiling and celebrating along with the others present. This was monumentous for your sister. One day she would become Queen of Westeros. This was the dream match of a lifetime for Elia and you wanted to be happy for her. Even her groom was dazzling beautiful. The greatest opportunity that would ever come by Elia. The match had made Doran pause briefly before accepting the marriage proposal. While Westeros and Dorne were on fairly good terms, many still looked down upon a 'foreign' princess being wed to their crown prince. Elia would be surrounded by Westerosi, leaving her to be the only Dornish presence in the capital. You worried that eventually when Rhaegar would be forced to leave her side that Elia would experience unfound loneliness. She had always had friends and family around her. Now she would be isolated from those that loved her dearly. What did these people know about your beloved sister? Would they know how to stop her tears before the spilled out of her eyes? Certainly not. They wouldn't know the first thing to do when she wasn't feeling well and how to best deal with her weak constitution.

Westeros better treat her right. If not, well, you would have to think about moving to the capital to be with her. You didn't like the idea of leaving Dorne permanently for Westeros. You loved your homeland more than any other place you had visited. The people were lively and unjudgemental and had an open mind. Why would you live anywhere else? You would do so for Elia. But if you were to leave Dorne, you were sure Oberyn would follow right behind you.

Your face was already flushed from the bottomless glasses of wine you had consumed as you waltzed up to the bridal table where lords and ladies were giving the happy couple gifts and their blessings. The Great Hall that housed the iron throne was already becoming stuffy from the many bodies that were dancing and drinking and merely having the time of their life. Candles and lanterns illuminated the venue and also cast a warm glow over everyone. Music danced around the hall from the performers that had been gifted for this special occasion. When it was your turn, Elia broke out into a shining grin and introduced you to Rhaegar.

"A pleasure to meet you, Princess." Rhaegaer takes your hand and kisses your knuckles as was custom for highborn ladies. "Your sister has told me so much about you."

"All good things I hope." You tease and smile at your older sister.

"Well, I had to warn him that you can be a little imp." Her laughter filled you up with content. All you wanted was for Elia to be happy after years of having taken care of you and Oberyn which certainly had not been easy.

Leaning forward, you kiss both sides of her cheeks. "Everything is so lovely, Elia and you look quite the vision."

"Your wedding will be just as lovely, I'm sure." Elia smiles at you in that endearing way that had you thinking that you would die for your older sister if the need ever arose. You loved her so much that you just couldn't bare to tell her that you most likely would never marry. There would be no point in it, at least in your eyes. Not if you couldn't be with the person your heart was craving for.

You cast a secret glance ove rthe festivities and immediatgely find Oberyn canoodling with a group of lords and ladies, probably entertaining them with one of his adventures.

As if feeling your gaze on him, Oberyn looks your way and smiles as he continues talking. That smile meant just for you. Easy to hide your blush from obtrusive eyes, you realize Elia hadn't been fooled. Of course not. She had practically raised you and Oberyn. When it came to her younger siblings, nothing flew over her head.

Her smile became strained and you immediately regretted your cockiness. You hung your head slightly as Elia turns to her groom, her pleasant smile having returrned. "Wouldn you mind terribly if I left for a few moments?'

Rhaegar grinned, taking her hand in his and giving it a chaste kiss. "Whatever my bride desires."

Maybe you would reconsider marriage if you found a potential suitor as handsome as Rhaegar Targaryen, for he rivaled Oberyn in terms of looks and charm.

A blush made your sister's cheeks glow, seeing the gleam in her eyes. She was truly in love with Rhaegar, that much was already clear. Good. At least you owuldn't have to worry about Elia being stuck in a marriage she detested.

Elegantly, Elia excuses herself and moves around the table to take your arm and lead you away. She lead you further and further away from the party until the sounds of laughter and music became a distant buzz. The halls of the Red Keep were eerily quiet as Elia finally releases your arm.

"Oh no. You have that look on your face you always get before scolding me." You nervously say but she is not in the laughing mood. It put a damper on her beautiful face and otherwise jubilent atmosphere.

"I need you to be serious, (y/n)" Elia whispers, her eyes glancing down making her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. "From now on, King's Landing is my home. I won't be at Sunspear to keep an eye on you and Oberyn. Don't try to deny it. I know. I've always known."

Your stomach performed acrobatic tricks inside of you. Never had Elia mentioned the odd dance you and Oberyn tiptoed around. Oh, you were aware that she may have an inclining; she would be blind not to notice the longing looks you and your brother shot one another. Lingering caresses that a brother shouldn't dispaly toward his sister.

You wanted to curl into yourself. "Elia, lets not ruin your wedding."

She shakes her head, face filled with determination and. . . fear? "My love, I need you to listen to me and heed my words. I love you both dearly, but I'm worried about you and Obberyn. I will no longer be able to keep an eye on you. You must not cross the point of no return with him. Please, for my sake. I know you love each other intensely, but its a love that can never come to fruition. You know that as does Obery. It's. . . immoral and if Doran were to ever discover you two, I know he'll force you to marry a far away lord. If anyone outside our family were to discover your secret. . . it can be a cause for imprisonment. For my sake, please. . ."

Tears blinded you before you could hastily wipe them away. It utterly broke you to agree to such a thing but you would do anything for Elia. Besides. . . you already knew that there could be no actual romantic relationship with Oberyn. It would forever be an impossible love that would haunt you. "Okay. . ."

Relief made her shoulders sag but there was still a melancholy in her eyes. "I'm sorry, (y/n). I know one cna't control who they fall in love with."

Your chest was hurting as you were supressing the overwheliming devastation that was swallowing you up. Shaking your head, you try to put on a brave face for your sister. "No, I know. . . It's alright. You should get back to your husband."

"(y/n)-"

I'm alright, Elia. I just need a moment to compose myself."

She hesitates to leave you, her natural instinct forbidding her to leave when she knew you were sad. Despite her wavering feelings, Elia sulks away; back to her party and prince.

Only when you knew she was out of earshot did you crumble against a stone column and succumb to your grief.

A truth you had known all along: You and Oberyn would never truly be together. It was sinful to even entertain such an idea. A brother and sister could never cross that boundary of blood. All along, you were aware of this while you thought you were harmlessly flirthing with Oberyn and he back.

"(y/n)?"

You choke on your own sobs at Oberyn's voice. Through your wet eyes, you look up at him. Handsome Oberyn who you had the misfortune of being his sister.

When he saw your tears, Oberyn immediately crouches down to touch your stained cheek. "Who did this to you?"

A bubble of laughter pushed past your tears. "I did."

"Now why would you do such a mean thing to my sweet sister?" Oberyn smiled a little to ease your distress. His thumb goes to wipe away your t4ears but you turn your face the other way. His gentle touch only made your heart ache even more. Oberyn pauses before leaning away. "I saw you and Elia leave the Great Hall. She came back alone. That's why I went searching for you. What happened?"

You fiddled with yoru fingers, refusing to meet his prying eyes.

"What did Elia say to you?"

"Nothing bad. . . She just wanted me to promise that I'll behave myself around you from now on. Since she won't be living at Sunspear anymore. She's worried about us." Making sure to put an emphasis on that last word, yyou dare to finally lift your eyes.

Oberyn closed his eyes, leaning on his hands. "Oh. . ."

With a sniffle, you wipe your nose with your sleeve, not caring if it was unladylike. "I promised not to do anything that might warrant unwanted attention to us."

"Meaning?"

"You know what I mean." You held onto his attention, the furrowing of his brows and the dark shadows that flickered in his eyes. Oberyn wasn't stupid.

A shaky sigh deflats his chest. "We can't help it."

You nod. "I know. But everything Elia said to me is true. What we've flet between us for so long isn'nt right. If Doran sees what Elia does-"

"I'm not afraid of Doran."

"That's not the point, Oberyn. The point is that its not right for us to feel the way we do for eachother. I have to keep you at arm's length. It's for the best. Aroudn you, I feel like it would be so easy for me to slip and succumb to our feelings. We've already toed the line of whats appropriate for siblings. Each time its harder and harder to pull away."

His jaw ticks and you know tis painful for him to hear all of this. Neither ofyou had ever spoken about your incestuous feelings, it wasn't necessary to address it until now. It couldn't be avoided any longer.

You grasp his hand. "We can never cross that line of morality. That doesn't mean I'll love you any less."

Tenderess softened his features, smoothing ove rhis scowl as he lifts your hand and presses it agains this lips; the same hand that Rhaegar had briefly kissed. "You will always be the light of my life. That will never change."

"Can you really accept it? Your a creature who craves a physical relationship."

"I'll do anything to keep you in my life, (y/n)."

You wanted to cry all over again. For the love you would never have and the void in your heart that would always be vacant. No other man would ever live up to Oberyn. While you oculd have your flings and meaningless sex, no mand could fill up the palce that had always been meant for your brother.

Taglist:

@hoziersfairy​

@rosaliedepp​

@iiconicxpersona

@hiroikegawa

@msmorningstaarr

#reader insert #reader fanfic #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fandom #got reader insert #got fandom #got fanfiction #got fanfic #oberyn martell reader #oberyn martell fanfic #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell fanfiction

[hiatuswhore]

♕ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑀𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑜𝓃

♕ A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks now. Feedback please!

♕ SUMMARY: Rich like a Lannister, cold like a Stark, and fearsome like a Targaryen. From the ashes, words of the Great House Marison. While many play the Game of Thrones, history plays the game of lies. In this game all play the fool, except one.

♕ WORD COUNT: 2.7K

♕ WARNING: Triggering content briefly, proceed with caution.

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The Viper circles the Lioness, standing in the markets, each donning well-hidden agendas. Offering curt smiles to blanket the evident tension.

“The Princess is a lovely girl. Her enthusiasm for her studies most refreshing. Her favorite is the story of the great Dornish farm girl, (Y/n) Marisol.”

“You mean Princess (Y/n) Targaryen. Formerly Lady (Y/n) of House Marison,” Cersei covers her frown with a dry chuckle. Oberyn chuckles, wetting his lips with a shake of his head.

Your love for your home began on your very first day in the world. Leaving your mother not a blubbering bundle of tears and red skin but wide-eyed and curious. You can recall the sun's hug and the sand's tickle. The many spices and elaborate dances in your visits to Sunspear. Most of all, the quaint solace of your home by the water's edge.

Summers often entailed your brother of six and ten chasing you by the tide. The edge of your skirts made your dress heavy as water soaked the ends, your feet sank lower into the damp sand, your strides clumsy and with haste. Deziel’s laughter booms as your own pierce the air. The shrill sound garnered a smile from your mother, often missed. The coverage of trees shielded the beach from your home, but your mother could make out her children from any distance. Your brother wrestled you down, the sand irritated your neck and dampened your dress, but it mattered little.

“Bend the knee, Dornish scum! Swear subservience to the Targaryen crown or perish!” Deziel’s northern accent as poor as his understanding of the frail peace between your people and the Targaryens. His fingers fiddling at your sides fervently, unrelenting. Your shielded youths evident in your choice of playful jests.

“I swear! I yield!” You cry out between heavy breaths. Tears left you in a fit of laughter that bordered joy and pain.

“What!” Deziel scoffs, his hands leaving you with crazed disbelief. A dopey grin paints your face, squinting up at your brother. His fingers return to your sides, a loud squeal leaving you as he drops his weak accent, “Have you gone mad! Make an oath breaker of yourself at once! We are dornish, wild girl!”

No matter your answer, Deziel would bring the brunt of the Targaryens or the Dornish upon you. A game made only for you to lose. At the orange glow of the sky, you both march home smelling of saltwater. You caked in mud, Deziel always wiping dirt upon his skin, so you both get the whole of your parents' scoldings. Not that Deziel ever had to. With one look at your round cheeks and brown eyes, the voices of your mother and father would soften.

“Not at all. Many stories circulate about Lady (Y/n). Yet many fail to remember that she grew in a time when the people of Dorne were rather petulant to the other six kingdoms. A time Targaryens often terrorized our shores.” Cersei raises an eyebrow at his words. Every lesson taught on history being challenged before her, discounted.

“A false rumor. Histories often altered over time by wrong interpretations. By your admission, you accuse the Great House of Marison to be built upon a lie.” Oberyn’s smile widens, nodding his head to her words without care.

“A great dornish lie.”

You can recall your mother often reminding you both of a debt owed to her by the Prince. If trouble were ever to strike, it was your assurance of safety.

For many years, you lived in a false glimmer that only held joy with no place for despair. With time your brother's responsibilities grew as your mother forced lessons of etiquette and customs down your throat. You never understood what would politeness and formality do for a farm. Still ever the sheltered girl of the Marisol family.

Despite their efforts, an inevitable truth loomed. Not a single place in the world can be sheltered from the horror inflicted by men.

You are no stranger to these horrors.

You can remember the day from the sweet smell of honey bread your mother made. To the seconds before your father and brother's departure. According to your father, a hunts no place for a young lady. Reading between the lines, a long sigh left you, no place for a lady.

Inside, you sat at the family table, huffing at the boring pages your mother put before you. Her instructions were clear. You were free to leave the table once you read the story and could explain it to her. You cannot recall the story, only the dreadfully boring time you spent attempting to read it.

Your head whipped right as your body stiffened. The slam of the door and your mother rushed across the room. Her sudden movements sent your heart into a speedy gallop. She ignored as you called out to her, pulling back the carpet and removing a false panel.

“Mother?” You called out, her hand wrapped around your wrist, ripping you from your seat. She laid you down in the ample space, a kiss on your forehead.

“You do not make a sound, do you understand? Do not come out unless I, your father, or Deziel retrieves you,” Not once had you ever seen your mother cry, but the mist in her eyes was not well hidden. She finally kissed your forehead, muttering her love before she closed you in. The cracks in the floor left you with a slit-like view of above. You squeezed your eyes shut, dust falling over you as heavy steps shook the panels above.

And there it was. Your first true encounter with the Westerosi people. The man held a gruff tone. You bit back a whimper at your mother's cries, fists bawling so tightly that not even the broken skin gave you pause. The groans of strange men and the smacking of flesh forced you to swallow down growing nausea. You were no fool to what occurred above, already a young maiden grown and flowered.

You squeezed your eyes shut, and your nails dug further into your skin. Escaping to your mind with a steady tempo, one, two, three, four…silence halted your count at one thousand two hundred and thirty-seven seconds.

Opening your eyes, you clamped them back shut, red clouded your vision. The warm drips did not cease, so constant drip you believed it would drown you. Even as that plagued you, your mothers' directions were clear.

Deziel pulled you from beneath the boards, shielding your face as he swallowed thickly. Your father's cries filled your home, leaving you without an inkling of its beginning. When it end arrived, the three of you journeyed to Sunspear, typically a two-day trip with stops and games—became a silent day trip. Your father’s movements mechanical, with a refusal to look at either of you. Poor Deziel. He made sure his father ate, and you were clean and cared for.

At Dornish court, if the news of your mothers' murder hurt the ruling Prince, you saw no evidence of it. Much of the conversation between your father and the Prince had been lost on you. You could only recall pieces that made no sense at the time but later clicked without issue. The three of you boarded a ship with men, coin, and servants. You kept your eye on the shore, even when it was long from view.

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen—Velaryon and her husband, Lord Corlys, welcomed the three of you. You can recall the panic the Princess immediately eased as your brother and father parted from you to join Lord Corlys.

“(Y/n) is it? Worry not. You are safe here,” Her accent made you shudder, akin to the one the man in your home had. It would take you weeks to not flinch or tear up at the sound of it. “A dear friend of mine asked to aid you in acquiring a safer life. What comes next will not be easy. You will need to convince the people of the realm that you are a noblewoman. But not just any noblewoman, the very best of them. The prettiest, smartest, and most pristine. You will work far harder than any other in these coming years. Can you do that?”

You did not answer the Princess’s question. Nor were you fully processing all before you. Deziel’s betrothal to Laena Velaryon cleared much of your confusion. The final nail in the coffin to your simple farmer lifestyle. With his bride comes lordship and property, not in Driftmark but in Duskendale, the closest castle to Driftmark. Your father, now a Lord with the respect of an Old Valyrian house and a beautiful daughter without a reputation. No longer bearing the name Marisol, with clear foreign descent but House Marison. A new, smaller house with riches and the favor of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys.

The rapid changes made it all finally click in your mind, your mothers' teachings. Her insistence on your education and understanding of etiquette and the functions of royal courts. She hoped for the best and expected the worst, and the very worst arrived.

“Princess Aliandra kept a book where she often documented her days. She detailed meeting her father's beloved family friend and their time together. The Princess described her friend as having a brown complexion. Light during her travels from the north and dark during her time in the south. Beautiful brown coils of hair. Princess Alisandra believed many of her friend's attributes came from her father, born in the isle of butterflies. Today known as Naath.”

Not a dime was spared in the erasure of your history. Your golden complexions and coily hair, a feat that cannot be removed. But your accents ripped from you with blood and tears. The crack against your back leaves you gnawing your bottom lip. Hot tears flood you, your septa calling for you to continue to read the story.

“The year continued without further crisis or test as Jaehaerys and Alyssane—“ You fail to stop the cry that leaves your lips as your septa draws blood. Gripping the edges of the book tightly, your toes curl as a shaky breath leaves you.

“You cry now, but this will be nothing if the crown ever learns how you aim to deceive them. You must forget this savage dialect and move forward, Lady Marison. Do you understand?” Septa Oleyna offers you a knowing look. She wears a natural grimace, nudging her head toward the book. Nodding, you turn back to the book, another cry leaving your lips at the crack against your back. “Understand?”

“Yes, Septa Oleyna.”

Your days continue like this until your accent fades into a distant memory. The dialect sour on your tongue, the Targaryens chipping away at another piece of your beloved culture. Every aspect of Westeros bores you. The clothing dull, the food bland, and the women docile. You cannot help but wonder if your father or Deziel share your sentiment. If they do, it never shows.

While you grow to accept your new reality, your quest for the truth of the past does not cease. At first, your father's not forthcoming when you inquire about the dealings behind the attack on your previous home. Still, you did not relent even at your brothers' pleas for you to drop it.

The news is unveiled at a private dinner between the three of you. Your fathers' mood already sour, and before you knew it, he was spewing the reality in a fit of rage. By order of the crown, soldiers were sent to Dorne to remind the Dornish that attempts at an uprising would prove foolish. A premature act of aggression. Your father storms from the room, slamming the hall door behind him. Deziel’s eyes soften, and he places his hand atop your own. A comfort far too small to dim the growing flames.

Coals sit in your throat, twisting and burning akin to hell fire. You do not wail or collapse into your emotions as expected. A grimace consumes you with an ire that sets your skin ablaze. The brutalization of your mother and destruction of your family not an act of politics but a personal slight.

“So you truly believe the Targaryens and the Northerners allowed a dornish family to settle and form a house built on false names and histories?” This time Cersei chuckles, shaking her head. Oberyn’s confidence did not falter.

“How can one allow or disallow a deception they are unaware of? You see, in Dorne, we sing songs and tell the tales of the great (Y/n) Marisol because she did what many of you believe is not possible today?”

“And what’s that?”

“She took your customs and expectations, outdoing every noble lady in the realm. A little dornish girl with Dragons in her palm. They terrorized our lands, and she made them pay for it.”

As the others prepare for your brother's pending nuptials, you immerse yourself into Septa Oleyna’s process. Your lessons come with fewer tears, resentment a great motivator in your education. Not only in doing away with your accent but the history of Westeros and every bit of information available on the living royal family. Even taking the time to study High Valyrian before bed.

The weeks pass you rapidly, (Y/n) Marisol long gone with Lady Marison’s machinations growing. Deeming you ready, your father brings you along during his travels across the realm. He introduces you to Lords when the opportunities present themselves. You master the art of knowing when to speak and when to remain silent. What topics to broach and what others wish to hear. With each passing moon, your ability to read others growing sharper than a blade's edge.

Every feast. Every great house. And every appearance makes every tear and drop of blood worth it. Doing what girls train years for and often never achieve in mere months. Perfection. The word spreads like wildfire.

Lady Marison. Ward of Princess Rhaenys. Beautiful. Smart. Reputable. A perfect bride in all categories. You masquerade with poise, a Dornish girl exceeding in all they deem above you, above your people.

Dragonstones, unlike your other destinations. On the ships, your father reiterates the danger a mishap can hold. No longer will you be in the presence of Lords but Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne.

“Put your trust in me, father. I work only to secure our safety,” You say. No fool to Lord Corlys and Rhaenys protection being minuscule against the truth sweeping the realm.

The Princess of greets Lord Corlys, your father, and yourself, with presumably her entire family. Three dark-haired boys and two silver hair babes. At her side stands a tall looming man, doing little to hide his boredom. Corlys greets his “grandsons” with large smiles before beginning introductions.

“It is an honor, your grace,” Curtsying, like all the others you push a broad smile to your face. Your eyes squint while beaming at whomever you address.

“I have heard much about you, Lady Marison. Your reputation proceeds you,” As does yours. During your time at Driftmark, Laena made sure you knew every inch of it. The history, good and bad, every little detail of her family to prepare you for the pending wedding—and portraits of her brother. Of the three Velaryon boys, not a single one took Laenors likeness.

“The gossip speaks far too highly of me,” Feigning humility, you smile and nod as your mind resides elsewhere. No longer rumors, the truth standing before you. A female heir with bastard sons and younger brothers. Your gaze cuts to the Rogue Prince, his eyes not leaving you. Offering a curt nod, his eyes merely cut to your father's. The same scrutiny in his eyes.

“Your accusations against the history of House Marison deem almost every great house illegitimate. A Marison can be found in the lineage of all the houses. Even—“ The Queen pauses, her hands clutching her necklace. Oberyn clasps his hands in front of him, a knowing smile on his lips.

“(Y/n) Stark née (Y/n) Marison the second, grandmother of Eddard Stark. Nadia Tyrell née Nadia Marison. The Arryns, Tully’s—“ Still, the Queen stares off aimlessly, a blank resolve leaving much to the imagination.

“Are you reaching a point, my prince?”

“A Marison can be found in all histories. In mine, your sons, even yours. Joanna Lannister née Joanna Marison.”

#house of dragons #house of the dragon #house of dragons imagine #house of the dragon imagine #house of dragons au #house of the dragons au #oberyn martell #oberyn martell imagine #aemond targaryen #Aemond targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen imagine #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon imagine #lucerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon imagine #rhaenyra targaryen #Rhaenyra targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen imagine #alicent hightower #Alicent Hightower imagine #helaena targaryen #helaena targaryen imagine #cregan stark #cregan stark imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones au #cersei lannister #Cersei Lannister imagine

[dornedaily]

What if Elia and Doran were age swapped?

Elia is the heiress to Sunspear and Dorne.

She is educated to rule. Who she marries will be Prince consort of Dorne. In any marriage negotiations, she is the best party. As future ruler of Dorne, she cannot marry another kingdom's heir because that would mean political fusion of two kingdoms. She can marry a second or third-born son of a Great house at most, though that is very unlikely (Ned and Cat only happened because of the Southron ambitions).

It becomes highly unlikely Elia marries Rhaegar, as he is crown prince. It would mean a stronger grip by the Targaryens on Dorne, and that the line of succession of Dorne passes on to the Targaryens, possibly handing actual administration and ruling of Dorne to the Targaryens/the Iron Throne, with no ruling from Sunpear (maybe a regional governor which executes the Iron Throne's wishes). If she somehow marries Rhaegar (say the Targaryens were desperate because they couldn't find a spouse with "dragonblood"), then the unnamed Princess of Dorne has the upper hand and can impose her conditions. To prevent Dorne's assimilation into the Iron Throne, she would likely repeat the conditions agreed upon for Myriah Martell's betrothal to the future Daeron II: although Myriah is older than Maron and was meant to inherit Dorne, Maron did and it is his line that succeeded. The Targaryen line from Myriah and Daeron II has no right when it comes to the Dornish line of succession.

In this scenario, Elia is also over a decade older than Rhaegar which means that she would be considered being closer towards the end of her childbearing years and potentially having more difficulty to conceive. However, 1) bringing child(ren) into the world is one of the main "duties" of a woman when she marries into the ruling house 2) even more so when the Targaryen line is in decline (the initial reason the Targaryens seeked a wife for Rhaegar far and wide). Her being older further means she can already be married by the time Rhaegar is of age. And even if she isn't, there is no reason for the unnamed Princess of Dorne to want to marry her firstborn to Rhaegar and change everything so Elia can marry him/lose her right to Sunspear and hand it to Doran who is younger and therefore less experienced by that time.

Doran is living a secondborn child life. He can marry who he pleases if no arrangement has been made by his mother before. He can be a counsellor to Elia, ruling Princess. He can live without grieving Elia or hatching a plan against the Lannisters.

By the time ASOIAF starts, Dorne is not eaten by a "vengeance, justice, fire and blood" mantra. The whole Dornish plot as we know it does not exist.

It is not clear if Lewyn joined the Kingsguard as part of the agreement for Elia's betrothal to Rhaegar or if he was a Kingsguard before. If he was already a Kingsguard, then he ends up fighting for the Targaryens during Robert's Rebellion because it is his duty. If not and only joined the Kingsguard in relation to Elia's betrothal, then in the scenario of Elia and Doran's ages were swapped, he is not a Kingsguard and he can be living his life in Dorne as knight.

#elia martell #doran martell #unnamed princess of dorne #loreza martell #lewyn martell #meta #alternate universe

[winter-soldier-101]

You are not her! Part 5

Word count:2114

Daemon hides in plain sight till he hears the stomping of his lady wife’s horse and he slowly walks up to lady Rhea’s horse and frightens the horse and it lands on top of lady Rhea Daemon begins to walk away but lady Rhea calls him back saying she knew he couldn’t finish so Daemon turns back to her and picks up a large stone and smashes the stone into her face till she is no more.

Driftmark

(Y/N) stays with Laena as they talk about their siblings getting betrothed to each other but it’s soon over as the guard calls upon her telling her the ship is ready to leave.

“I’ve missed you Laena and I can’t wait to see you soon” (Y/N) says hugging her.

“I’ve missed you as well (Y/N) and we will see each other soon” Laena says hugging (Y/N) tight and letting her go as they walk away from each other.

The ship ride home

(Y/N) stands near Rhaenyra as Ser Cole walks over to you both wanting to talk to Rhaenyra Ser Cloe asks to talk alone with her but Rhaenyra tells him that you know everything and it’s okay to talk.

“Did sleep flee you as well this morning” Rhaenyra asks Ser Cole.

“I needed to see you princess” Ser Cole says looking at Rhaenyra as (Y/N) walks to the other side of the boat still being able to hear their conversation.

“I confess I had a similar desire” Rhaenyra says, smiling up at him.

“You have confided in me now and then over the years of our acquaintance. I feel forgive, me that I know you….a bit” Ser Cole says looking at Rhaenyra.

“You know more than a bit” Rhaenyra says, smiling up at him.

“I’ve heard you say so many times how you loathe the lot of your position that you are to be married off at your father’s whim with no thought given to the yearning of your own heart and now the day comes Ser Laenor is a good and decent man but you did not choose him he was chosen for you” Ser Cole tells Rhaenyra.

“That’s true,” Rhaenyra says looking at Cole.

“If there were another path, one that led to freedom, would you tread it? Rhaenyra before I came here I was a knight in the Stormlands I have deep knowledge of the port at Sunspear where I’ve seen the ships of Essos setting sail with their hulls full of oranges and cinnamon and I’ve always wished to see where they went” Ser Cole tells Rhaenyra.

“Are you asking me to leave?” Rhaenyra asks him in disbelief.

“I’m asking you to come with me…. Away from all this from the burdens and indignities of your inheritance let us leave it all behind and see the world together where we’ll be nameless and free free to go where we like to love as we like in Essos you could marry me a marriage for love not for the crown” Ser Cloe tells her looking at her hoping she will agree and marry him.

“I am the crown Ser Criston or I will be I may chafe at my duties but do you think I would choose infamy in exchange for a bushel of oranges or a ship to Asshai? It is my duty to marry a nobleman from a great house and Ser Laenor will make a fine husband but my marriage does not have to be the end Ser Criston Laenor and I have an understanding I’ve granted him leave to pursue his own interests and in turn he’s granted me the same” Rhaenyra tells him and hopes he will agree to this instead.

“So you want me to be your whore?” Ser Cole asks, looking at Rhaenyra in disbelief.

“I want us to continue as we began with you as my sworn protector my white knight,” Rhaenyra says, looking up at him.

“I took an oath as a knight of your king's guard, an oath of chastity. I've broken it…” Ser Cole says looking at Rhaenyra angrily.

“I won’t tell anyone—“ Rhaenyra starts to say.

“I’ve soiled my white cloak and it’s the only thing I have to my fucking name I thought if we were married I might be able to restore it” Criston tells Rhaenyra with tears in his eyes.

“The iron throne looms larger than me larger than anyone in my family Aegon the Conqueror united the Seven Kingdoms and put them on a path— Ser Criston” Rhaenyra calls out for him but he just leaves her standing there alone.

“I’m sorry sister I know you care for him” (Y/N) says holding Rhaenyra’s hand.

“Thank you sister, I know I can always count on you” Rhaenyra says, giving you a small smile.

The Wedding Feast

“It is at great pleasure that His Grace King Viserys announces the start of the royal wedding celebration— House Lannister with their lord Jason Lannister, lord paramount of the west and master of casterly rock. House Hightower with their lord Hobert Hightower beacon of the south defender of the citadel, the voice of old town…” Ser Harrold announces in the lords and their families.

Jason Lannister starts walking up to the high table where the royal family is sitting.

“Congratulations your grace you have made a fine match for the princess now you have to find a good match for princess (Y/N)” Jason tells Viserys.

“Thank you lord Jason I could think of no other man than Ser Laenor” Rhaenyra says smiling at Jason Lannister.

“Well if this is only the welcoming feast I admit I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding” Jason tells Viserys.

“My daughter is the future Queen. I want this to be one of two weddings for the histories (Y/N)’s will be just as grand,” Viserys says smiling at both his daughters.

“Where is the Queen? I hoped to pay my respects” Jason says, asking Viserys.

“I understand the Queen is still readying herself for the celebrations” Viserys tells Jason.

“This is why men wage war because women would never be ready for the battle in time” Jason says chuckling.

“Your presence is always such a pleasure, lord Jason,” Rhaenyra says.

“Princesses your grace” Jason says leaving the table and as the next family comes up a man stops them and wants to talk to the king.

“Your Grace princess Rhaenyra princess (Y/N) congratulations are in order” Ser Gerold says.

“We are very honored to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold. I must say I was most distressed to hear of Lady Rhea’s tragic passing. I'm very sorry for your loss” Viserys says to Ser Gerold.

“Lady Rhea was a unique character; her kind is not soon to be seen again” Ser Gerold says.

“If there is anything the crown might do to aid House Royce—“ Rhaenyra starts to say but the doors open and music starts as House Velaryon enters.

“Lord Corlys of House Velaryon Lord of the roses Master of Driftmark and his Lady wife Princess Rhaenys Targaryen their son and heir Ser Laenor Velaryon the future king consort” Ser Harrold announces them in and everyone stands and claps as they make way to the hard table everyone sits down as Daemon walks in and makes way to the table and father did not look happy to see him here.

“Be welcome as we join together in celebration tonight is only its beginning we honor the crown’s oldest and fiercest ally House Velaryon reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the age of dragons with House Targaryen and—“ Viserys says but stops as everyone looks over and see Alicent walks in and heads down to the table as everyone stands and bows as she walks by.

“Congratulations stepdaughter what a blessing this is for you” Alicent tells Rhaenyra and gives Viserys a kiss and sits down.

“Please be seated” Viserys says continuing his speech.

“With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united I hope to herald in a second age of dragons in Westeros…. After tonight’s small affair seven days of tournaments and feasting at the end of it all a royal wedding between my daughter and heir your future Queen and Ser Laenor Velaryon the heir of Driftmark” Viserys announces to the mass as everyone claps and cheers.

(Y/N) watches as Rhaenyra and Laenor do a traditional dance as everyone watches and claps then gets up and starts dancing along.

“In the Vale men are made to answer for their crimes even Targaryens” Ser Gerold says walking up to Daemon.

“Who are you?” Daemon asks, looking at Ser Gerold.

“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone” Ser Gerold tells Daemon.

“And?” Daemon asks.

“I am cousin to your late lady wife” Ser Gerold tells Daemon.

“Yes terrible thing I’m positively bereft of such a tragic accident” Daemon says looking around.

“You know better than anyone it was no accident” Ser Gerold says angrily to Daemon.

“Are you confessing some guilt, Ser Gerold?” Daemon asks.

“I am making an accusation” Ser Gerold tells Daemon.

“In King's Landing men are made to answer for their slanders, even old bronze cunts like you. The truth is I’m glad you’ve come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance” Daemons says looking at Ser Gerold smugly.

“What inheritance?” Ser Gerold asks, looking at Daemon.

“Lady Rhea and I had no heirs as her husband whatever she was due now passed to me she stood to inherit all of Runestone did she not? After my nieces wedding I plan to fly to the Eyrie and petition Lady Jeyne myself, perhaps I’ll see you there Ser Gerold” Daemon tells Ser Gerold as he walks away.

(Y/N) soon joins Rhaenyra and Laenor in dancing and cheering and laughing everyone switches partners and (Y/N) is now dancing with Ser Harwin and they both laugh then she is suddenly pushed into his body.

��I’m sorry Ser Harwin” (Y/N) says apologizing as he pulls her away from the pushing and fighting that suddenly takes place (Y/N) runs over to Viserys scared as Ser Harwin gets Rhaenyra after all the fighting (Y/N) hears bones being broken and a scream as (Y/N) looks over and sees Ser Laenor cry over his lovers body.

The Vows

“The love of the Seven is holy and eternal, the source of life and love. We stand here tonight in thanks and praise to join two souls as one father… mother… warrior… smith… maiden… crown… stranger, hear now their vows” The High Septon says.

“I am yours and you are mine whatever may come” Rhaenyra and Laenor say to each other.

“Here in the presence of gods and men I proclaim Laenor of House Velaryon Rhaenyra of House Targaryen to be man and wife one flesh one heart one soul now and forever” The High Septon announces and Viserys falls forward (Y/N) yells out for the maester and guards help him up and take him to his room.

(Y/N) is taken to her room and sees a letter on her vanity and sees it’s from her father and opens it and reads.

My dearest (Y/N),

I am writing to you to tell you that you will be marrying your uncle Daemon. He will protect and love you; you shall marry soon after your sister's wedding.

Your King Viserys Targaryen.

(Y/N) reads the letter over and over letting the tears fall.

“Why are you crying?” A voice asks from behind.

“How did you….. Uncle, what are you doing here?” (Y/N) asks, looking at Daemon.

(Y/N) shows him the letter as he walks over to her and sits down next to you.

“(Y/N) I will care and love you” Daemon says holding your face in his hands as he leans over and kisses your lips softly and pulls you onto his lap and holds you there and he begins pulling at your dress but you pull away.

“We should stop” (Y/N) says slowly pulling away from Daemon.

Daemon stands and pulls you to his body.

“Let us leave to marry freely” Daemon tells (Y/N) and she nods her head and packs some cloths as (Y/N) packs some clothes Daemon pulls out a letter that he wrote as you and puts it down on your bed and he takes your hand and leaves with you as you both go through the passageway and down to the dragon pit and (Y/N) runs to cannibal and they fly away to Pentos.

Taglist: @secretdreamlandmentality @malynn @stargaryenx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @splaterparty0-0 @siriusdumblittlepuppy @devils-blackrose @thefandomimagines @impartinghades @immyowndefender @melissarose234 @lazyotakujen @whitejuliana1204 @elizadj @thanyatargaryen @afro-hispwriter @aegon-andaemondtargaryenslut18 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @hc-geralt-23 @snh96 @animelover18 @danielle-leah1997 @angeliod @lightdragonrayne @talkdiffently6 @yeah-just-a-fan @1950schick @billiesbeans @daemyratwst @impartinghades @nats-whore @dc-marvel-girl96 @noname2246 @targaryenmoony @scarlettqueen190 @slutmeoutsworld @ivanna6026

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x you #daemon x y/n #daemon x reader #daemon smut #daemon x rhaenyra #hotd imagine #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones imagine #winter101youarenother

[cindermetalheadgw2]

My Inevitable

by Snargle Goldclaw

Chapter 1.

AN: Speacial fangz (get it, coz Im charr) 2 my gf (ew not in that way) bonnie, 4 helpin me wif da story and spelling. U rok! Faren ur da luv of my deprzzing life u rok 2! MTL LGN ROX!

Hi my name is Palawa Ignacious Inevitable Scourge Of Vabbi Joko and I have long immortal lich life (that's how I got my name) with magic staff and shriveled dead eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like The Pact Commander (AN: if u don't know who they are get da hell out of here!) I'm not related to Mad King Thorn but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a lich but my bones are straight and white. I have wrinkly dead skin. I'm also a scourge, and I go to a magic palace in the Desolation called the Bone Palace where I'm the emperor (I'm 574). I'm undead (in case you couldn't tell) and I mostly wear gold. I love Black Lion and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a white crown with matching jewels around it and a white fabric elonian leggings, skull shoulder pads and sandals. I was wearing tar lipstick, tar eyeshadow, tar foundation, and a gold lip piercing. I was walking outside the Bone Palace. It was dry with sandstorms and hot sun, which i was very happy about. A lot of sunspears stared at me. I put my middle finger up at them.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #snargle goldclaw #palawa joko #shitpost