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Sorry you're not a bad writer actually but the oc with the two tone hair and being locked in a trunk had me lmfao. But again I think you've got talent cos its readable and interesting apart from the bizarre stuff
I was watching a movie when I was writing this and one of the characters was hiding in a trunk (it was a horror movie) so when I was thinking about how I wanted her to be hidden in the brothel I went "oh! trunk!". Also the two toned hair is because I have plans that involve the red hair but I wanted it obvious that she was Targaryen. I also wanted to add the two toned hair because in the books some key characters (Rhaenys is described as having black hair with silver streaks) have that trait and I thought it was cool.
Summary: Daemon Targaryen has never truly cared about anyone but himself. Yet somehow when he visits an old brothel he used to frequent and he sees a little girl who looks a little too familiar, he can’t leave her. Will taking her ruin him or will he finally know peace?
Note: I’ve never written anything to be published before 😅, I’m a little nervous and I just know this is BAD but fuck it we ball. Anyways, this is not proofread (unless you count grammarly) and I’m thinking about making this a series. I hope at least a few people can enjoy this! Thanks for reading! ❤️
Daemon Targaryen never truly believed he would know peace. No matter how many women he bedded, how much wine he drank, or how many battles he fought, there was always something that felt almost wrong.
The brothel was loud with laughter, moans, and the clinking of glasses. Music drifted from a far corner, but with all the loud noises, it was the soft creak of floorboards beneath his boots that caught his attention. It was absurd to him truly, that the one sound he chose to focus on was the one most difficult to hear.
He had come here often in the past and still did on occasion. A place where his name and title carried no weight and where no one cared if he had the blood of the dragon. All that mattered here was the coin he carried. Women still flocked to him, of course, Daemon knew he was not the most unsightly of men, he also knew that they were eager simply because they knew he had the coin to pay for their services. Though tonight their attention stirred nothing in him. There was a strange unease he felt, crawling beneath his skin, like something was out of place.
Then he saw her.
Alaena, he thought he remembered her name being. A whore he’d lain with once or twice. Flame-red hair tumbling down her back. She stood in a far corner, cradling a child.
wait? A child?
Daemon’s brows drew together. The girl couldn’t have been more than five. Who in the seven hells brings a child that young to a brothel?
He moved closer, slow, curious, and cautious. As he neared, he saw Alaena kneel and open a trunk, setting the little girl inside it roughly like she was stowing away old linens not like she was caring for a child. Her voice was hushed, but as Daemon approached, the end of her sentence became clear.
“Get out again,” she hissed, “and you won’t be eating for a week.”
Daemon stopped. What the hell was this? And why did he care how a whore spoke to her child?
Alaena snapped the trunk shut just as he reached her. She flipped her hair over one shoulder and perched atop the lid like it was nothing more than a stool. When she looked up at him, her face relaxed into a sultry smile.
“Daemon,” she said, smoothing her skirts, “how may I be of service tonight?”
Daemon didn’t answer immediately. His eyes lingered on her face, then dropped to the trunk beneath her. The young girl’s hair, what little he’d seen of it, was the same shade of red as the woman before him.
He opened his mouth to speak, then stilled when he heard it, a faint muffled whimper.
His eyes narrowed.
“What,” he said quietly, “is in the trunk you’re sitting on? I saw you stowing something away rather harshly.”
Alaena stiffened. It was barely noticeable but Daemon saw it. He saw it. The way her shoulders drew tight, the flicker of panic in her eyes before she masked it with something more seductive.
“It’s nothing,” she said, voice sickeningly sweet. “Just a place where I keep my things. Clothes, oils, silks, you know a lady like myself must be as soft and sweet as possible”
Another muffled sob came from beneath her, causing Aleana to kick the trunk rather roughly.
Daemon’s expression darkened. “Stand up.” He wasn't sure why he was so hell-bent on seeing the child but he'd come this far so he wasn't going to stop now.
She blinked, panicked, lips parting. “Pardon?”
“I said stand up.”
Alaena hesitated only a breath longer, she knew the repercussions of not listening to him. Daemon came here as Daemon, not the prince, but she knew that didn't erase his title or his power. So she slowly slid off the trunk. Her feet barely touched the floor before Daemon was already moving, crouching down and lifting the lid.
The girl inside blinked up at him, her cheeks tear-streaked, her tiny body curled tight in fear. Her red curls clung to her damp cheeks, she shrank away from the light, hiding her face, and that's all it took for Daemon to see them.
So faint. So fine. But there.
They were hidden beneath her red curls, streaks of white barely visible unless one was close enough. Those strands did not match the rest of her hair, They were cut. Short. As though someone had taken shears to them with the sole purpose of hiding them.
He looked back into the trunk and reached his hand out, slowly, it took the child a few minutes of consideration before she placed her small hand in his and allowed him to pull her from the trunk. She didn’t fight him when he gently checked her over, only whimpered softly, eyes wide with a tired look. He saw slight indications of fear but she seemed more accepting of his touch then he liked.
She was too thin.
Too quiet.
Yet eerily familiar.
He ran a hand gently over her hair hesitating only when she lightly flinched away, he continued, parting it enough to see more of the white hair. Not dyed, not painted, it had grown, and looking closer there was a lot more that was easily hidden under the unkempt mop of curls she had.
He took a second to look at the child, truly look at her. Brushing his thumb over the pale strands, He could see it now. Not just the shape of her eyes but the bright violet of them. The bridge of her nose. Not exactly like his but close. Familiar. The girl looked familiar. Then it hit him. The girl was almost identical to him.
He turned back to Alaena, his eyes alight with anger. “Whose child is this?”
The woman swallowed hard. Her bravado was gone now, stripped away by the weight of his gaze.
“She's mine.”
Daemon's jaw clenched as he stepped closer. He had almost forgotten he was still holding the little girl's hand until he felt her stumble into his legs to keep up with his movement. He froze and allowed the girl to steady herself using him before looking back up at Alaena.
“She’s not just yours. Not with hair like this.”
Alaena tried to recover her composure. “You need not know who her father is. It's not like you Targaryen men care about where your seed spills anyway. She is a brat, a bastard who needs to learn her lesso-”
Daemon warned, “Finish that sentence, and I will burn this building to the ground with you inside.”
Alaena paled, eyes going wide with fear.
Daemon stared at her, unwavering, and then the questions came.
What was he saying? Why?
She wasn’t wrong.
He had bastards, plenty in fact. A dozen, maybe more. Some he never knew, others he barely acknowledged. Some he’d walked away from without so much as a name.
So why this one?
Why did the very thought of this child locked in a trunk make his blood boil in a way nothing had in his entire life?
He looked down at her again, studying. She was watching him now, Her little hand clutched his, knuckles pale from how tightly she held on.
Daemon could feel it in his bones. This wasn’t like the others. This wasn’t wine and a moment of lust and forgetfulness.
Perhaps it was those strands of silver hair, perhaps it was the fact that Alaena had tried to hide her from him, perhaps it was that he was being told he couldn't have her that made him want to keep her.
Either way, he turned on his heel without another word. Throwing Alaena his bag of coin, he slowly walked the child outside, careful to keep pace so she did not stumble. Daemon ignored Alaena's yells for him to stop and let the girl go. The child said nothing as he stepped out into the street still holding her hand.
Her lack of self-care and her unquestioning acceptance concerned Daemon but they would work on that. He removed his cloak, crouched to her height and wrapped her in it.
“Do you have a name?” he asked softly.
The child nods her head before softly replying “Girl”
“Your mother called you Girl?” Daemon seethed
The girl nods again “Yes, sir”
Daemon sighs not wanting to frighten the girl with his anger. “That won't do. How about we find a real name for you? Hmm?”
The girl looks up at him wide-eyed and curious.
Daemon studied her expression. “Perhaps later”
He reached out slowly, giving her plenty of time to decline his touch. When she didn’t, he carefully scooped her up and held her close. It felt… nice? He couldn’t explain it, but for the first time ever he felt content. He felt like nothing was out of place. Maybe he’d eaten something weird that day, who knew, but all he could focus on was how natural it felt to have her in his arms, a comfortable weight he enjoyed.
“Lets go” he said as he began walking back to the keep. He wasn't sure how this would play out but he was eager to get her cleaned up, fed, and warm.
For the first time ever, Daemon wanted to care for someone. For the first time ever, Daemon Targaryen felt close to peace.
Disclaimer: I plan on making this a series where the oc/ reader grow. Eventually oc will have a love life and be an adult, etc. ALSO! my work is my own! I give no one permission to translate or post my work anywhere!
