"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (rough/angry sex to yummy love making, soft dom!dae, oral m&f receiving, spitting, dacryphilia, praise & degradation, piv), emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: I just realized Otto was replaced by lyonel strong as hand at some point and... Yeah I don't remember why so I can't be bothered to write that in. Also I invented a Tyrell character ok? This is probably going to be my last smut piece for this, so it's LONG so long that I HAD TO CUT THIS PART UP 😭🤬😅 it's fine derailed plans slay 3 parts left ig 😭
@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching
Viserys sits at the head of his council table, staring at his gloved hands. Lord Lyonel Strong drones about something, something about crops and drought and famine and public unrest, something about how crimes have spiked.
"Just last night, the Gold Cloaks reported to have apprehended 3 men who've broken in and stolen a great amount of flour and meat from three different establishments."
"Three criminals," Otto corrects, nonchalant.
Lyonel turns to him, but the Hand does not even spare him a glance. He clenches his jaw, "men, Lord Hand," he corrects, "who'vee been forced to resort to theft to feed their families."
Otto, who was checking his nails in uninterest, finally looks up. His face is blank, "criminality is criminality and should be met with justice."
Viserys takes one last look at his hand, wondering if what was happening to the kingdom was his fault, thus why his finger was decaying. He sighs, shaking his head, "what measures have we taken to fix this?"
"Thus far, we have banned the export of goods and opened one of the royal storehouses," Lyonel turns to the king, "additionally, the Houses of the Riverlands, mine included, have pledged a portion of their yield to the crown."
"Good, good," nods Viserys, "will it be enough?"
A beat of silence passes.
In truth, it answered the question, but still, Lord Lyonel says, "no, your majesty."
Viserys pinches the bridge of his nose. He sighs, slumping on his chair. He turns to the vacant one parallel to him, the seat of his brother.
Otto presses hi palm on the table, "Highgarden has been relatively unaffected by the drought. I've reports of how they're thriving from the profits of their heavily marked-up exports."
"Where is Daemon?" Viserys looks around the council.
Otto purses his lips, looking around the table before turning back to the king.
"I heard that it was he who made the arrests last night," says one of the council members.
Viserys furrows his brows, "has he not returned since then?"
"Unlikely," Lord Hand blurts, "when he is not razing the city, he is joined to my daughter's hip. I can confirm that he was not here last night, as I was then able to speak to my daughter about the Tyrell's conditions."
"Conditions?"
"I've sent a raven to Highgarden on behalf of the Crown, asking for two months worth of food."
The king narrows his eyes, "but?"
"But Lord Olivier said he will only see food delivered to King's Landing if a true representative of the Crown comes to Highgarden with the request."
Viserys stills.
Tension thickens in the room the king laughs. He leans back into his chair, muttering, "qogralbar jaosītsos." Fucking puppy.
Otto watches Viserys lean into the table. It was clear, though he did not understand what he said High Valyrian, that he was displeased— offended, just as he knew he'd be.
"Am I a dog you beck and call with a mere whistle?" Viserys asks no one in particular.
The council does not respond as the king laughs dryly; the vein popping on the side of his neck gives away his anger.
A moment passes, and the grandmaester speaks up, "my king. Lord Olivier is wrong to insist upon a show of power during a time of crisis, but the cost of pride is the lives of many common folk."
"I am well-aware, grandmaester," Viserys snaps.
Otto takes the opportunity to speak, "gracing Highgarden with your presence is an honor not befitting such insolence. I would not even recommend sending your lady-wife, Queen Alicent, or even Princess Rhaenyra."
Viserys turn to Otto, brows furrowing in disbelief as he thinks of who's left, "so you mean that I should send Daemon?"
The Lord Hand nearly chokes on his saliva, "I would not send the Rogue Prince for any treaty, your grace."
"Then who?!"
"My other daughter," Otto says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. After all, he had already mentioned how he's talked to you.
His forehead curls, "your sick daughter?"
Otto does not appreciate that, no matter how true it may be, "the princess has been recovering greatly," he turns to his lap, raising his brows, "she has been well enough to care for your sons and daughter whenever the Queen is performing her duties to the kingdom."
"Daemon talks to me of her conditions," Viserys nods knowingly, "whether you care to admit it or not, your daughter thrives under his care."
He does not.
"That said, I do not think it wise to have her part from him, especially considering how he's keen on keeping her close until they have their own sons and daughters."
"Yes," the Hand snaps, then catches himself. He forces a smile, "I would be overjoyed to welcome another grandchild, especially as I've witnessed the agony of my girl when she was once expecting."
Viserys stiffens at the all-too-vivid recollection of the miscarriage he witnessed first-hand.
"That said," he links his fingers together, "whether I've cared to admit or not, my daughter thrives when she is allowed to roam. She has long wished to smell the flowers of Oldtown, and now that your son, Daeron, will be sent to ward with his uncle Gwayne, this is a perfect opportunity for all parties to be happy. She can make for Highgarden and send the boy to Oldtown. I don't doubt Olivier will see her home personally, as they were childhood friends, and believed once he would wed her."
The king's brow quirks.
"That was before she got sick, of course," Otto shook his head, "the innocent musings of a child. I digress. With the Tyrell's partiality to the princess, I do not doubt the reunion would inspire generosity towards the Crown."
"Well," Viserys raises a hand, "I admit I'm rather persuaded."
Otto purses his lips into a victorious smile.
"You mentioned you've spoken to your daughter of this already?"
"Indeed."
"And what does she say?"
"She is your loyal servant. Her gentle heart is easily moved and she wishes to help in any way sh-"
The doors slam open and close with a loud creak and thud. Hasty footsteps follow and a hushed mutter of the word, "brother."
Viserys watches as Daemon comes to his side, nodding to him in regard before taking the vacant seat parallel to him.
"I hope all the dull talk is over with," Daemon sits down, looking for a cup of wine, then a cupbearer. He raises a brow, "no Rhaenyra?"
Viserys raises a brow, "she is too old to be a cupbearer."
"Ah," Daemon grins at his brother, "I'd nearly forgotten when just two days ago, she complained to me about her dresses being the wrong color."
Viserys chuckles, albeit begrudgingly; his brother sniggers, wholly pleased with himself and his jest.
If he could, Otto would stick pins in his eyes.
"You've come at the perfect time, actually," Viserys exhales the remaining chuckle out of him, "we were just speaking of the plans to get more food for King's Landing. The Crown will send a royal emissary to Highgarden."
"Oh," Daemon raises his brows and leans into his chair, "me."
Viserys mimics his brother, leaning back and tilting his head, "not you, child."
The prince laughs, "course not," he looks across the table, "you're all so damn serious," he props his elbows on the table, "so, when is my niece leaving?"
Viserys shakes his head, "not Rhaenyra either, no."
Daemon raises a brow and thinks for a moment. He leans towards his brother, "surely, you cannot mean to send the boy, Aegon, to negotiate?" He raises a hand, "I agree he can do with diplomacy, but you will see your city sooner starve than the boy to learn from the trip."
Viserys is taken aback, as he did not think of Aegon once during this entire meeting, "no, Daemon. I am not sending Aegon off to learn at the expense of my people."
"Well," Daemon looks around the council, "hail Viserys the Wise," then back to him, "do tell me who else is left. I worry if you send Helaena, I would have to join her."
"I am not sending Helaena," Viserys raises a hand.
"Well, good. She would never fly again if you do."
Viserys sighs, "I'm not sending any of my children."
He watches his brother in expectation.
"I am sending your wife."
It does not register with Daemon for a moment. When it does, he laughs. He leans back and motions, "alright, so you are sending me?"
"No," Viserys speaks firmly, "I am sending your wife."
"What?" Daemon laughs, but less amused. The lightness that he had brought into the council meeting morphs into tension.
"Lord Olivier demands the Crown meet him in Highgarden or starve. I will not grace him with an audience of any of my—"
"But you would gladly offer up my wife!" Daemon snaps, "she is not yours to of-"
"She is. I am her king! And yours."
"And I have done much for my king lately," Daemon rises, "I keep his streets clean and discipline his sons—"
"This isn't about you, Daemon," Viserys decisively interrupts. He sighs at the look of his anger, his betrayal. He raises a hand and speaks softer, hoping to placate him, "this is for the good of the realm."
"Then send your heir!" Daemon snaps, "my wife has nothing to do with the realm."
"Daemon," Viserys slowly tries to stand. He finds he does not have the strength to, thus why he remains seated, "won't you listen to me first?"
"And won't you listen to me?!"
The brothers stare at each other for a prolonged moment. Viserys huffs and motions a hand that he may speak.
Daemon immediately blurts, "she is not fit to travel."
"Olivier Tyrell is a childhood friend of hers. If it is she he meets, he might inclined to give more generosly."
Daemon scoffs out a chuckle, "oh, and you conveniently remember her speaking to you of Olivier fucking Tyrell in passing, have you?"
Viserys points, "her father has spoken of it in-"
"SE PELDIO?!" THE SNAKE?! Daemon snaps, turning to Otto, nearly lunging across the table to choke him. He instead leans on the table, "you toil so tirelessly to steal her from m-"
"Why need I steal mine own daughter?" Otto cuts him off, raising his voice, though his tone is low.
Daemon draws Dark Sister.
"DAEMON!" Viserys screams.
The looming kingsguards draw their swords as well, slowly pressing towards the prince, watching his every move.
"YOUR KING COMMANDS YOU TO HEEL!"
Otto glares at his daughter's husband with all the contempt he'd set aside, "had you been less ill-tempered, perhaps the king would have confidence to send you to Highgarden instead."
"Otto!" Viserys chastises, "silence!"
Daemon laughs. He wants nothing more than to sever his head from his shoulders but he doesn't. He can't, not when you've explicitly begged him not to. Otto knows this, as no semblance of fear is behind his eyes. Daemon thinks he might push him down the stairs when no one is looking.
Viserys watches his brother, calling the guards off before they attempt to apprehend him. He speaks to him in High Valyrian, attempting to again explain the logic in his decision. Daemon does not listen. He sheathes his blade and storms off before he does something irreversible.
Daemon rushes down the halls, fearing as though if he did not find you, he never would. With his jaw hard and hands clenched, all the souls he passed knew not to stand in his way, lest they be trampled.
A gasp leaves you when your chamber doors break open. You stand from your desk, eyes wide as you watch Daemon bolt the locks and march over to you. Your mouth falls open and your pulse races as you half-expect him to pounce on you.
He doesn't. Daemon comes to an abrupt halt, his breath and fists trembling. You watch his Adam's apple bob and you cautiously step forward, hands coming to his cheeks. You press firmly into his skin, brushing your fingers back into his scalp, "speak to me."
Daemon's lips quiver and you gasp when he squeezes your hips. You swear you can feel his nails through your skirt.
You shudder, "Dae-"
"Have you spoken to your cunt father lately?" he quips under his breath, knowing if he didn't, it'd come out as a scream.
You knit your brows, thinking for a moment. "Ah..." your expression relaxes, "Highgarden?"
Daemon grits his teeth so hard, it's a wonder they don't break, "so you agreed?!"
Before you could reply, Daemon pulls away and paces around. He reaches the wall, leans on it for a moment, then marches back to you. You flinch in surprise when he takes your hands and places them back on his cheeks. You squeak when he yanks you by the hips and presses himself against your chest.
"You fucking agreed to go to Highgarden?!" he quips again, less of a whisper, more of a groan.
Your expression softens as he heaves. The struggle to keep his peace is evident. You firmly clutch his cheeks and raise your brows, "I told him it is in my intention to help the Crown as much as I can—"
You feel him shake beneath your palm.
"— and I would go only if my husband allow it."
"Well, he fucking does not!" Daemon snarls, pulling at your skirts in anger. He chuckles dryly, "he doesn't."
You squeak when he begins to rock you back and forth erratically.
"Let the fucking peasants starve," he speaks, almost like a threat, "no one else can have you."
You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, "Daemon."
"I mean it!" he snaps, holding you still in your place, "speak their complaints to my fucking dragon."
"Daemon," you take his chin.
Daemon stares at you, all of his anger now melted and reduced to what it really was. His breath shakes, "I love you."
You tuck his silver hair behind his ear, "I love y-"
"Would you stop loving me if I killed him?" Daemon's eyes water as his emotions strangle him, "do you not tire?"
Your chest begins to tighten. You can feel him tremble in anger. You rub his cheeks, "killing him won't solve anything."
"It will solve everything," he hisses, voice uneven.
You sigh and rub his shoulders, simultaneously finding the knots in his muscles and the continuous quivering of his form. You shake your head and lower your gaze, "I would rather count the lives you spared in my name than the ones you took."
Daemon shivers, anger still stoking flames in his blood.
You lift your gaze, your own eyes now watery as you look at him. His brows are furrowed, his forehead curled, and his lips pulled into a frown. You clutch his jaw, muttering his name softly.
He looks away.
You push his cheek, urging him to face you, "hold me like a grudge."
He groans and leans into you, head dropping to your shoulder as his arms constrict greedily around you. He forces you back into your desk and sits you down there, uncaring of the objects that fall out of place. He hikes your skirt up and slots himself between your legs, nuzzling his face between your breasts, inhaling the scent of you. He relaxes slightly, "you hold me to impossible standards."
You look down at him, brushing his hair before kissing it. You rub his back until his tension wholly melts away.
After a long moment, you shift, trying to get Daemon to look at you. "My love."
He reluctantly lifts his gaze.
You take his cheeks and he raises to his height. You pout at him and trace the bridge of his nose before leaning in to kiss him.
Daemon looks away, taking a step back from you.
You freeze, frowning as he takes a deep breath.
"I will not be gentle if I return your kiss."
Your belly drops. You stare at him for a moment as he slowly turns to you. When your eyes lock, he anticipates your reaction. He squeezes your hips.
You gulp and think about his words a moment longer, hands brushing across his chest.
He begins to shift restlessly in his spot as the silence becomes an unspoken rejection. He's about to say something but then he hears your deep inhale.
You tilt your head back and slowly pull him back in, "kiss me then."
Daemon would be damned not to, but he knows you are too kind to him. The last time he had his way with you, your heart nearly gave out. So long ago it may have been, it was still fresh in his memory. He whimpers and nips your neck, "I am serious, sweetness."
You whimper when you feel him begin to undo your dress.
"I want to see you smothered beneath me."
Your breath hitches, hands finding the band of his trousers. You slowly unfurl his ties, humming softly as you do, "you can smother me," you lick his earlobe and nip it.
Daemon, ignoring his better judgment in lieu of his lust, soon has your dress thrown on the floor, leaving you in your shift. He lets you remove his top and his dress shirt, feeling all the heat of anger in his body boil down to desire as you reverently trace his scars with your fingertips. He grabs your wrists before you can kiss his chest.
You look up at him, searching his face.
Finally, Daemon kisses you, mouth hungry, tongue searching yours. He releases your hands to clutch your jaw and continues to kiss you until both your lips are swollen. When he pulls away, he brings you to your feet, "on your knees."
Daemon hastily rips away from you to grab a pillow from the bed. He drops it on the floor in front of him and you lift your shift up your knees, immediately sinking down before him.
Your prince groans and undoes the make of your hair until it is spilling freely down your back. He gathers your raven locks, twisting it around his palm, "my pretty girl."
You gasp when he tugs your head back, forcing you to look up at him. He brushes his thumb across your lower lip, "open."
You oblige, sticking your tongue out while you're at it.
Daemon sighs heavily, pleased with how well he's trained you. He presses his thumb on your tongue, wetting it with your saliva, "your father doesn't know how easily you submit to my whims."
Your brows furrow at the mention of him. It pulls you out of the moment. You suck on his thumb, hoping to distract him of his thoughts.
It does. He tugs your hair back, making you cease your sucking. Daemon stares at you, "I said open."
You open your mouth again.
He presses on your tongue with more force as he builds spit up in his mouth. He spits on your tongue, and it splutters everywhere, causing you to flinch. You can feel heat sliding down into your throat.
Daemon pulls his thumb out of your mouth, "swallow."
And so you do.
He grabs your jaw, firm but not painful. He gives you a look, "you will obey, won't you?"
You lick your lips and nod, "yes, my love."
"Good girl," he gently brushes the spit off your cheeks with his thumb, "now, be a good slut and suck me off."
Your gaze lands on his trousers, or, to be exact, his visible erection. You tug his pants down and pull his cock free; the heat and scent of him radiates onto you. He hisses when you claw him forward. It takes great effort for him not to just fuck your face.
He enjoys the apprehension, or even fear, that clouds your expression when he has you like this. He enjoys the uncertainty that hides behind your determination to please him. He heaves through an open mouth, "such an exquisite bitch from a cunt so vile."
You look up at him as you take his cock and lick his tip.
Daemon huffs, fist tightening around your hair, "your father hurt you so bad, you'd take anything I give you, wouldn't you?"
You gag when he pushes his entire length into your hot mouth. Your hands grip his thighs, nails clawing into his skin. The sharp sensation only intensifies his pleasure.
He slowly begins to buck into you, "even if it makes you cry?"
You whimper, and on cue, your eyes water at the size of him. You gag again when he tugs your hair. The feeling of your constricting throat drives him wild. His thrusts grow faster and faster at a rate you wished was more gradual.
Your nose knocks into his pelvis, his coarse pubic hair uncomfortably tickling your nose, making you want to sneeze. You momentarily scratch your nose, then you recall a lesson he had taught you once before. You do your best to relax your throat and cup his stones, massaging them.
"Fuck," he pulls your head back, ghosting his other hand by the side of your head, "such a good whore."
You choke on your yelp as he speeds up to the tempo that pleases him most. Unfortunately for your throat, it was fast as a galloping horse, or at least it felt like it. More than his pleasure, your main focus becomes breathing. You're glad he no longer knocks into you all the way. You've thoroughly slobbered all over him at this point, feeling heavy droplets of spit dribble down your chin and his pubic hair.
Daemon's breathing grows ragged as he concentrates on his peak. His heart thunders as you squeeze your eyes shut, watching tears stream down your stuffed cheeks. He huffs, "such a perfect mouth."
He slows down but replaces speed with depth. You gag far too many times for your liking.
"Jurnegon rȳ nyke, ñuha prūmia," Daemon encourages, slowing even more. Your beady eyes lock with his predatory gaze and he instantly begins to speed up again, "ao sagon gaomagon sīr sȳz syt nyke." Look at me, my heart. You're doing so good for me.
You whimper, pushing back at his thighs as he continues to take your mouth. Your jaw begins to hurt.
"Shh, shh," he heaves as he watches you, "you can take it."
You moan in protest, eyes widening and watering further.
Daemon could care less about your weepy face... but he does, he does care. His toes curl as he slows despite himself. You try to push him off you, but he doesn't let up. He wipes your tears with his free hand, "you said you would obey."
You weep at the reminder, helplessly moaning against his cock.
The sensation nearly makes him finish in your mouth. Daemon hushes you and rubs your cheeks, "just a bit more. My wife doesn't want to disappoint, does she?"
You sob and slobber. You close your eyes and slightly shake your head.
"Good girl."
You take a deep breath and slowly suck on him, bobbing your head back and forth on his hard cock.
Daemon groans and lets you take the lead, though he does not deny himself the flick of his hips, "that's it," he groans, "taking me so well. Better than any painted whore."
You continue like this until Daemon can no longer help himself and takes the reins again. He thrusts into your mouth roughly, but thankfully, it doesn't last very long. He soon spurts in you, hot and salty, and you involuntarily swallow some of his seed.
"Issi ao jāre naejot mōzugon ziry mirre bē syt nyke, litse riña?" Are you going to drink it all up for me, pretty girl?
Tears rush down your cheeks as you shake your head. Daemon, still chasing the last bit of his climax, continues to thrust into you until his reason makes him soft, both in his heart and his cock. He huffs, wiping sweat off his forehead before slowly pulling out. With the same gentleness, he releases your hair. He squats down, bunching your shift out in front of you, "spit."
You spit, watching his thick spend plop on your clothes as you cough and slightly gag. You roll your jaw around as you catch your breath, nearly toppling in exhaustion.
"Shh, shh," Daemon reassures, "arms up for me."
You gulp, sinking to your bum as you raise arms.
"Good girl," he praises, pulling your shift off, leaving you in your small clothes. He wipes your mouth and quickly stands, chucking your clothes with the rest, "water or wine?"
You sigh, watching Daemon go to the nightstand, the muscles on his bum tight as he leans on a leg. He grabs a cup as you mumble, "wine."
He chuckles, pouring some for you, "too salty?"
You groan as he walks back then gratefully take your wine from him. You sigh as he sits in front of you, grabbing your hips before unfolding your legs over him. His filled with mirth; a smile now graces his lips. You watch him as you have your drink.
He kisses your neck, rubbing his hands to your waist before he licks a stripe up your breast.
You pull your cup away, placing a hand at the back of his head.
"You did so beautifully for me," Daemon leans in, violet eyes sparkling in adoration.
You sniffle and pout at him, "it hurt."
He sinks into your neck, "mmm... but not too much..." he frowns, "n-not too much, right?"
You torment him by finishing your wine before replying. His nerves get the best of him and he anxiously peppers kisses on your throat, as if it makes up for the abuse it just went through. You whimper and drop your cup when he begins to suck on your pulse.
"Daemon."
He pulls away, guiltily gazing at you, "just slightly much?"
You chuckle, kissing his lips.
Daemon tries to deepen the kiss, eager to taste himself on you, but you do not let him. You push him back with a sigh. His chest grows uneasy.
You notice and shake your head, "I'm accustomed to pain."
Oh, how he despises it when you say this. He grits his teeth, "but I-"
"It was not very bad though," you press a hand on his chest, "if you feel so bad about it, perhaps you'll bring the ewer of wine over here."
Daemon freezes then furrows his brows through a nod, "of course."
He stands and gets the ewer. You take your cup, raising it to him and he immediately fills your cup to the brim. He props the ewer down then resumes his spot in front of you. He stares at your smallclothes, gulping at the wet stain between your legs. He attempts to pull them off, "you should be naked too."
You squeak when he forces your remaining articles of clothing off, causing some of your wine to splash into your chest.
Daemon throws your clothes off, humming at the red liquid that drips down your navel, "I love wine."
He slides on his chest, but instead of licking the wine, he licks your dripping cunt, forcing you to lean back and release your cup of alcohol.
"Da-Daemon, I'm-" you pull at the roots of his hair, "- I'm still thirsty."
He hums, rubbing his nose against your clit, maddened by the wet squelch it produces. He greedily laps and sucks at your weeping entrance, squeezing your thighs around his head, wanting nothing more than to be smothered by your arousal.
"Daemon," you yank at his roots to gain his attention.
"Mmm," he does opposite, pressing his face deeper into you, "dmrinmk umpm, lomvem," as if you could understand his words in his current position.
You had meant to say something, but the feel of his hot mouth evaporated all your thoughts. You fall back on your elbows, knocking down the cup of wine on your side. Your legs twitch behind his ears and your heel digs into his back.
Daemon hums in approval, gripping your thighs tighter as he feasts more eagerly upon the nectar drawn out with his tongue. He pulls his mouth away, sucking roughly on your clit, before nipping your inner thigh, "such a messy girl."
You gasp as he lifts your lower body, pulling you closer into him until the curve of your arse was resting on his shoulders. He pushes your upper body down on the floor, hands clutching and kneading against your tender breasts as he kisses your cunt.
You writhe beneath him, unable to stay still from the pleasure coursing through your veins. Your back arches, pelvis rutting into him. You encourage him further into you, fingers tangling into his hair.
"Such a needy thing," Daemon pulls his mouth away, hands brushing down your hips, "so pretty when she's about to come."
You hold on him falterd when he begins to rapidly rub your clit. You feel your belly begin to tighten.
"Do you want to come on my fingers or on my tongue?"
You mewl, raking your fingers up the side of your scalp, "darling... I..." you tighten your thighs around him, "I want both."
"Fuck," he sighs, fixing the pillow beneath you, propping your bum atop it, "what a greedy whore you are."
You whimper when Daemon shifts and pushes your thighs up to your belly.
"Are you a greedy whore, Lady Hightower?" your husband raises a brow, parting your hot, weeping cunt to lick a stripe there.
Your spine twists and your belly trembles, "y-yes."
"Mmm," his tongue licks you up. His mouth and chin is soon shining under the lights of the room. He lifts his head, "what was that? I didn't hear."
You watch him hover over you until he aligned and eye level. Some of the slick on his mouth drips onto you. You heave through your mouth, "I'm a greedy whore, my prince."
Daemon squeezes your jaw open and spits on your tongue again. You swallow without a word. He can feel himself grow hard, "I had no idea you were raised to be such a desperate slut."
You hum, "not raised," you rub his chest, "trained."
He gulps, cock twitching in excitement, "seven fucking hells," he grinds on you, "gaomagon jaelā naejot ossēnagon nyke?" Do you want to kill me?
You pout and meet his hips with the same motion, "jaelagon naejot mazverdagon ao iā kepa." Want to make you a father.
Daemon curses before kissing you. You whine as you kiss him back, legs wrapping around his hips, hands clutching his sticky face. You whine again when he pulls away and sinks down on you, "nooo."
He kisses your breast, "just going to make you peak on my tongue and and fingers."
"No, please, I want you."
He gives a boyish grin, "and what do you want?"
"I want your cock," you try to pull him up, "want you to fill me with your seed."
"Qogralbar, litse riña," he swipes your lips, "gaomagon daor buragon, nyke'll tepagon bona naejot ao hae sȳrī." Fuck, pretty girl. Don't worry, I'll give that to you as well.
You were so worked up at this point, it didn't take very much for him to push you over the edge, not when your words fueled him so. Even if you weren't on the precipice, with the way he sank two fingers knuckle deep into you and flicked his tongue over your clit, you'd end up a mess either way.
The next thing you knew, you were breathlessly shaking and spilling over his face. You whine his name out and grind against him. He moans in approval and makes sure to pull every bit of pleasure out of you.
Once your high had thoroughly washed over, Daemon rises back up and kisses your face, "did so well for me."
You hum, your womanhood throbbing from its recent peak. Still, there was a want inside you as you heaved. You catch him by the mouth, pulling him into you. He is taken off-guard by your heated kiss.
He does his best not to crush you beneath him. Even with his revived hard on, he still had reason and knew to let your breathing even out, lest your heart give in.
You make it incredibly hard for him to listen to reason though. "Need you inside me."
Daemon chuckles incredulously, "my love, there is no rush."
"There is," you shake your head, "I need you now," you kiss him, "will you make me beg? Please."
He laughs again as you pepper him with kisses, muttering the same word over and over again. He gulps when you whisper it against his ear in High Valyrian.
"I don't think I will last long if I fuck you like this."
Before you can speak, Daemon flips you over and rubs your hips.
"Ride your dragon, princess."
And so you do.
He knew you had terrible stamina, so he could prolong the session enough to work you up again that you might reach your climax together. You a vision as you mount his cock and lean into his chest. The wet and heavy slap of your hips drive him maddddd.
As expected, it didn't take long for your thighs to ache and your bucking to slow. You whine out his name.
He hums and clutches your neck, "you can do it, my ferocious dragon." He lifts his head and kisses your arm, "don't you want to feel me spill in you? Don't you want to be heavy with my babe?"
You whimper coming to a halt, "yes, but—"
He cuts you off with a thrust. Your flesh spills between his fingers as he squeezes your thighs, "take it. Take what you need from me."
Your face contorts as he bucks into you, his cock poking the delicous tenderness in you that makes your lungs tighten and your toes curl.
Soon, your husband sits up and wraps his arms around you. He brushes the hair sticking on your skin and licks the sweat off your neck, marking you just behind your jaw.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and soon find yourself moving along with him.
"That's it," he hums in approval.
You yelp at the sudden slap of your arse.
"Take it like the slut you are."
You bite your lip and furrow your brows in concentration.
Daemon groans, feeling his peak draw near. He rubs furious circles on your clit, making you groan into his shoulder and bite him. He sighs, wrapping an arm around you, "don't stop, my queen. You're going to ride me until I come inside your tight cunny."
You whine and throw your head back, gasping as you grip his shoulders, maneuvering up and down on him harder.
Yet again, your legs begin to give in and he can feel you tremble in exertion. He kisses the frustrated tear that begins to roll down your cheek as you call out his name. "Shhh. Is it too much for you, sweetheart?"
You sniffle and nod.
"Alright," he holds you still by your hips, making you come to a halt.
You whine defeatedly, cunt throbbing in need as you lean into him, "my love, please."
"I'm here," he kisses your head, slowly pushing you back on the floor, pillow finding your bum again. He pushes your legs into your chest and hooks your feet behind his ear, "did such a good job for me."
You helplessly moan as he begins to thrust sharply into you, each movement creating an obscene wet noise that makes your belly tighten and the rest of you melt. Your back arches in anticipation.
"I'm going to take good care of you," he mutters kissing your ankle, "make your belly swell," he kneads your breasts, "your tits heavy with milk."
You gulp, "please."
"You're gonna take it, aren't you?"
You nod frantically.
"Take it, lover, take it like a dirty slut."
"I'm so close."
"Yeah," he grits his teeth, "can feel you squeezing me so tight."
Daemon leans into you, pressing your legs down with his weight. The moment his lips take yours for a kiss, you break into a mind fogging peak and an unholy sound rips out your throat.
To your husband, it was the holiest of holies. He pushes his hands into the back of your knees and goes wild, slapping roughly into you as he chases the high that had been building up his loins the moment your molten heat wrapped around him.
As your climax reach its highest intensity, your husband finally reaches his, and you feel him throb inside you as his frenzied thrusts grow fast and irregular.
You feel winded, but not at all in the usual suffocating way. Your body melts into him as he fucks out the last of his orgasm into you, milking his cock for all its worth, making sure every drop was pushed deep inside you.
You brush his sweaty hair back, mouth finding his textured shoulder, suckling on it as he slowly relaxes atop you. You bite him once then whisper against his ear, "I love you so much."
Daemon sighs on your head, "avy jorrāelan," he kisses your temple, "tolī than mirros eman mirre jorrāelatan." I love you more than anything I have ever loved.
"My other daughter," Otto says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. After all, he had already mentioned how he's talked to you.
Seriously? Your sick daughter? The one you try keeping safe and heal, bfr now. The options were presented infront of you but amongst it, you listen to you sick daughter's suggestion?
His forehead curls, "your sick daughter?"
Same reaction. Seriously the sick daughter? Out of your two daughters she was chosen?? I can't...
Otto does not appreciate that, no matter how true it may be, "the princess has been recovering greatly," he turns to his lap, raising his brows, "she has been well enough to care for your sons and daughter whenever the Queen is performing her duties to the kingdom."
Doesn't mean she can, her body can. She may be recovering but it's not enough for her to be able to travel. It's crazy how you compare taking care of y/n's niece and nephews is the same when travelling far away.
I worry for her health, I hope she can take the long travel😭🙌
"That said," he links his fingers together, "whether I've cared to admit or not, my daughter thrives when she is allowed to roam. She has long wished to smell the flowers of Oldtown, and now that your son, Daeron, will be sent to ward with his uncle Gwayne, this is a perfect opportunity for all parties to be happy. She can make for Highgarden and send the boy to Oldtown. I don't doubt Olivier will see her home personally, as they were childhood friends, and believed once he would wed her."
I can smell scheming and how this Oliver sounds bad news to me, especially y/n and their supposedly 'marriage', sounds somethingis about to happen. Idk, maybe I'm just paraniod or maybe I'm just a girl🤷♀️.
"No," Viserys speaks firmly, "I am sending your wife."
"She is. I am her king! And yours."
You were against it earlier, what happen bud? WHAT HAPPENED?!
Daemon draws Dark Sister.
YES! STAB THAT SKINLESS RAGGEDY LOOKING AHH RAT (Otto) RIGHT AT THIS MOMENT!!!!!
Daemon rushes down the halls, fearing as though if he did not find you, he never would. With his jaw hard and hands clenched, all the souls he passed knew not to stand in his way, lest they be trampled.
"I mean it!" he snaps, holding you still in your place, "speak their complaints to my fucking dragon."
This two🥹. I hope Daemon can join her in the travels, it won't be safe for her to travel without her man (Lowkey want to see some drama between Oliver and Daemon).
Them:
Daemon stares at you, all of his anger now melted and reduced to what it really was. His breath shakes, "I love you."
"Would you stop loving me if I killed him?" Daemon's eyes water as his emotions strangle him, "do you not tire?"
"It will solve everything," he hisses, voice uneven.
I mean— he isn't lying though... Letting that skinless raggedy ahh rat would let our peace of mind be stress free from his stupidity. If it wasn't for the plot and if I was there, I would be jumping and screaming "yes", to him. Yes, I'm insane. God forbid a woman only wants to be free from his father's schemes.
You push his cheek, urging him to face you, "hold me like a grudge."
No comment. Just this picture.
He groans and leans into you, head dropping to your shoulder as his arms constrict greedily around you. He forces you back into your desk and sits you down there, uncaring of the objects that fall out of place. He hikes your skirt up and slots himself between your legs, nuzzling his face between your breasts, inhaling the scent of you. He relaxes slightly, "you hold me to impossible standards."
No comment. Just them and this intimate moment they rarely have.
You look down at him, brushing his hair before kissing it. You rub his back until his tension wholly melts away."I will not be gentle if I return your kiss."
AAAAAHHHHHHH (INTERNALLY SCREAMING, I'M WELL FED WITH THIS CHAPTERS. GAAWD LORD!)
Daemon sighs on your head, "avy jorrāelan," he kisses your temple, "tolī than mirros eman mirre jorrāelatan." I love you more than anything I have ever loved.
Fearing for their future angst, with how we are very well feed with fluffs and intimate moments. I fear the unknown calamity that is about to happen for both of them and the kids. Gawd LArd! The paranoia, I can't😭
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: i just realized sunfyre didn't hatch for aegon and he had to claim him... anyway since I already wrote it like that, just roll with it ok?? ALSO PLEASE SPARE ME A COMMENT/REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS because it feels so aimless T_T anyway next part wont be... hopefully <3 | cross posted on ao3
@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01
You find yourself awakening to the feel of hands brushing through your hair. You slowly open your eyes and curl inward, sensitive to the sunshine beaming in through the window. You are pulled in with a contented sigh.
You realize two things then, one, your head was upon Daemon's chest, and two, he was singing something under his breath. You slowly lift your head, finding his face. His eyes were closed, though he was still combing through your hair with a tune upon his lips. He was beautiful.
Your heart tightens as you reach for him.
Daemon stills when he feels your hand on his cheek and promptly opens his eyes.
Your own water as he takes your hand to press a kiss upon in.
"Sȳz ñāqes." Good morning.
Your lips tremble, "issi ao drējion?" Are you real?
His brows furrow as a tear runs down your cheek. He quickly shifts, wipes it away, and pulls you tightly into him, "kessa." You instantly seal your arms around him. He presses a kiss upon your head, "iksan kesīr, ñuha jorrāelagon." Yes. I am here, my love.
You sigh into his shoulder as he secures you over him. You mumble against his skin, "I dream of waking to you often."
"As do I," he brushes his nose against you.
He rubs your back as he feels wetness build on his collar. He holds you tighter, hoping his embrace will dam your tears. He whispers your name in an attempt to soothe you.
You pull away and examine his face.
Daemon frowns at how pinkish and puffy your eyes were already.
You gently swipe his pout and smooth the line between his brows. He seems to relax slightly as you continue to trace the rest of his features. You sniffle, "are your dreams vivid?"
He watches you— you, who seemed to be so enamored by him. He clenches his jaw and squeezes your hip, "sometimes I feel you in my arms."
You lock gazes.
"But then I find a pillow in my embrace when I rouse."
You frown slightly, "my dreams feel like memories that never were. They quickly fade when I open my eyes."
Daemon shifts, sitting up so your head was no longer hovering. He pulls you against his chest, kissing your temple, "I am an awfully persistent presence. I will not fade, even if you insist upon it."
You chuckle softly.
He smiles, squeezing your arm, as if urging that you bless him with the sound once more.
"I would never insist that you fade," you rub his cheek, "especially not for me."
He takes your wrist and kisses it.
"I do have one dream that I have not forgotten... one and only."
He hums in interest.
"I was praying in the temple, and you came to me."
Daemon's throat tightens.
"It was after the last dinner we had with the late queen Aemma, after all the ruckus from it."
He hums again, brows tightening at the memory.
"The next thing I know I was in bed and you were looking down at me," you brush your lips, "then I was kissing you, holding you, pulling you i—"
"Wait," he shakes his head, "this was the night before the tourney, was it not?"
You nod as you trace the burn scars across his chest. You frown and kiss him there.
He shifts and looks down at you, taking your face to steal back your attention, "that was not a dream."
You look up at him, "hmm?"
"I went to you in the temple," he shakes his head, silver hair falling to his face, "I knelt with you then carried you back to your chambers. You asked me to stay and I did."
Your brow furrows as you sit up, "y-you did?" You shake your head, "but I-" your eyes water, "I woke up alone, I-" your lips wobble.
Daemon feels dreadful. He almost mentions that he knows what you've prayed for all your life, but he does not want to speak it into existence if that was no longer the case. Instead, he says, "I had to rouse early for the games."
You whimper, "do you speak true?"
He clutches your cheeks and nods slowly, "I did not want to. I waited until the last moment to leave. I didn't have the heart to wake you."
You scratch your eyes, not wanting to cry, "I... that was why I could not bear to go to the games... I was so bitter that my dreams were so sweet and reality- .... reality—" you cannot withhold your sob.
Daemon pulls you against him, guilt rising up his neck as he recalls the cruelty he handed you once you do arrive. Jealousy soon replaces guilt when he thinks of Gwayne. He grits his teeth, "would you have still gone to your brother had you not believed our love making was a dream?"
You sniffle, "... what?"
He examines your once more dampened cheeks and hangs his head, "would you have been more partial to me had you known I actually stayed with you that night?"
Your heart throbs, "do you ask me if I would have cared less for my twin?"
"No," he looks away, "I ask if you would you have cared more for me."
"I do care for you," you reach for his cheek.
"More than your beloved Gwayne?" he turns back to you.
You frown, "now, yes."
He should be happy, but he bristles at the context. He chuckles dryly, "you loved him more then."
"It still hurt me to know you saw me as a pawn in your game," you simultaneously shrug and shake your head, "I do not mind it now, so long as you do not abandon me."
"You are no pawn," he wipes your cheeks, "you are my queen."
You purse your lips, "Aemma told me something similar... that pawns turn into queens."
"You are no pawn to me," he repeats firmly.
You lower your gaze, "be it as it may... a queen must provide her king an heir and..." you wipe your face, "I- I am not strong enough."
He speaks your name, gently shaking you.
You hide behind your palms.
He parts his mouth, but finds nothing to say.
For a moment, a moment far too long, you crumble into despair. Your affliction does not take control of you though as Daemon's touch keeps you grounded.
He desperate to soothe you, "I am second born."
You take deep breaths to steel your tears.
"Rhaenyra's been named successor..." his voice is soft, "I've no use for heirs."
Your pull your hands away, face falling, brows tightening at his words. You rapidly shake your head, "do not comfort me with lies."
"I don't need to," he mutters, "my words are true, I..." he shrugs, "... need no heirs."
"You would have me believe you do not want me to sire you sons or daughters?"
He places his hands on your belly, his large hand rubs warm circles, "... that is not what I said."
"Daemo-"
"There is nothing to inherit from me," he shrugs.
Your forehead curls. You shift beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, "you would not have them inherit your tenacity or your comeliness?"
His nostrils flare. He leans into you, "you find me comely, wife?"
"I find you beauteous."
A deep chuckle passes his lips. "Do not flatter me so," he rubs his nose against yours, "I will not let out of this bed."
You kiss his neck, "you will not hear a complaint from me."
Daemon groans and hurtles himself into you, crushing you beneath him. You giggle as he kisses you, mouth hungry for yours. He finds the back of your knee on instinct, and is soon strapping your legs around him. His lips, tongue, and teeth take a moment on your skin.
You are dazed when he pulls away. His heart races at the sight of your swollen lips and glazed expression.
You comb through his hair, "your hair is longer."
"Mmm," he brushes your hair off your shoulder, "do you prefer it short?"
You shrug, "I prefer you how ever."
Daemon chuckles, hand coming to your cheek. He traces your lips with his thumb, "very well," he squeezes your thigh and bucks into you, "I shall bed you before breaking fast."
Your belly swirls. You close your eyes when he kisses your neck.
He licks your pulse, "I shall fill your belly with my seed-"
Your eyes open.
"-that you might feel my warmth inside you," he massages your waist.
"Daem-"
"Then you shall have your fill of moon tea."
You tense. Daemon continues to kiss you until he can no longer ignore the rigidness of your form. His eyes lock with yours as he examines you. He sees your trepidation. He tucks hair behind your ear.
I-need-no-heirs plays in your mind. Your throat tightens, not knowing what to think. Is he sick of you, sick of your inadequacies? He wants children but... not by you? He no longer wants to try—
The sound of your name pulls you out of it. He kisses your jaw reassuringly, "None of me desires to gain children but lose my wife. I've already had a taste... it is too bitter to bear."
You grip his shoulder, tight enough that his flesh punctures beneath your nails. You want to speak, but you know not what.
"You will regain your strength and then," he stresses, "then shall children come."
Your lips wobble, "a-and if I don't—"
He silences you with a kiss, mumbling, "you will get better."
He takes no other word from you save his name moaned in pleasure.
Daemon is gentle.
He does not rush.
He draws your love making until his hair is dripping in sweat and your skin is sticky with him. You're consumed wholly by him and he is consumed wholly by you. Once you're both coming down from your high, you latch yourself around him, unwanting him to pull away from you.
He adores it, yet, the same moment, he finds he is, in fact, just a man and you were feminine divinity overwhelming him. "My love," Daemon grunts against your neck, "... let up."
"I want you inside my ribcage."
He both chuckles and whines against your jaw, "I am still inside you, lover."
"I want to eat you."
Daemon, overwhelmed still, but gravely besotted, nips at your ear, "later, I swear it."
You find yourself giggling at the sound of him.
"I admit..." Daemon whispers, "... I wish to rouse... I worry terribly for Caraxes."
You immediately loosen your grip on him.
Daemon whimpers, suddenly ungrateful at the release. He looks at you, brows furrowed in worry, "he must want to eat me as well... though unlike you."
You frown at his expression and shake your head, "he misses you. I've had my turn. You should go to him."
"I can be shared," he licks his lips, "come with me?"
You knit your brows and nod, "of course."
Daemon holds your hand tightly all the way to the pits. Part of you wants to tell him you're not going to vanish into thin air, but in truth, you enjoy the fervor of his hold.
When you arrive, the pit is bustling. The first thing you both notice is Caraxes is feasting, feasting as if his life depended on it, as if he hadn't eaten in months, which he hasn't, not properly.
Daemon squeezes your hand, and so do you, turning to him with a smile. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes were glassy. You reach for his arm and rub his bicep. He leans into you, scratching his eyes.
"You did it, he's better now," you mutter.
Daemon sniffles and sighs, looking back to Caraxes. He pulls you along with him as he walks towards one of the head keepers and has conversation with her.
As he does, you watch the blood wyrm scarf down food as if his life depended on it. He was crunching on beasts twice your size like apple. You vaguely hear something about him eating 10 cows before a loud, high pitched cry of your name rings across the space.
You turn and find Aegon, already running up to you with a kingsguard running after him. The child was too lithe and the guard's armor too heavy for the prince to be caught. You gasp and pull away from Daemon, immediately alerting him.
Daemon's throat tightens as you walk towards the boy, grunting as he jumps into your arms. Before his jealousy claws at him, Caraxes, with his new found strength, turns and hisses at the villain, the child in your embrace. Like master, like mount.
"Caraxes," Daemon raises a hand in correction. He walks over to him and strokes his face. The dragon pushes into him, showing his displeasure. He hushes him, "Nyke gīmigon, Caraxes. Istiti gūrēñagon ityragon." I know, Caraxes, we must learn to share.
Caraxes makes a sound, as if knowing how incredibly stupid the notion was.
You bend down, allowing Aegon to take your cheeks and kiss you, "muña, I'm going to ride Sunfyre." (Maternal) aunt.
Daemon watches. When his throat tightens, he thinks of the boy's brother, Aemond, and how he felt holding him last night. It calms him down enough that he can offer his mount affection.
You raise your brows apprehensively at the boy, "you are?"
"Yes! Yes! I'm a big boy!"
You hear clanking and find the kingsguard now behind prince. You stand and raise a brow at him, "the prince says he will be riding today."
Daemon turns back.
"Will you be able to take responsibility of him?" you ask the guard.
The knight huffs, looking down at the prince.
You purse your lips at that and lean back towards your nephew, "has the dragon keepers said that you can?"
Aegon hums and looks away.
You sigh, "Aegon—"
"But I want to!" Aegon stomps his foot, turning to back to you, "skoro syt gaomagon eman rȳbagon se urnerys?!" Why do I have to listen to the keepers?!
"Ae-"
"Ao ȳdra daor," a deep voice speaks from behind you. You don't.
Aegon looks up at Daemon, eyes watery in frustration.
His uncle crosses his arms, feeling no sympathy for weepy looks of the child, "yn lo gaomā daor, pār ao daor limagon lo ao jiōragon ōdrikagon." But if you do not, then you cannot cry if you get hurt.
You turn as well, straightening up, "Daemon."
"Emā naejot rȳbagon naejot aōha muña," he raises a finger, "va moriot." You have to listen to your (maternal) aunt. Always.
"Daor," Aegon grumbles. No.
Daemon's upper lip curls. He steps forward, "eminna ao toliot ñuha ybon." I will have you over my knee.
"Daemon," you press a hand on his chest.
Daemon grits his teeth.
You take his cheek and make him look at you. The tension on his shoulders quickly melt away. You offer him a smile but quickly turn back to Aegon when he begins to stomp around in defiance.
He shrieks, "I WANT TO FLY!"
"Aegon!" you try to take his arm, but he wrangles out of your grip.
Aegon squeals in protest and Caraxes begins to react, earning Daemon's attention again. The older prince turns and raises a hand, commanding the dragon to stay back.
Your grip is weak, thus why your nephew slips out of your grasp. When he spots Sunfyre being ushered out the pits, he immediately tries to run to him, but his guard snatches his arm before he can. The golden dragon reacts in like with his rider's tantrum.
In the end, because the pair's emotional meltdown, they were both escorted back to their rooms, and you were left feeling terrible to see Aegon be carried away while he cried out for you.
Daemon is satisfied that you stayed with him. He rubs Caraxes's snout, continuing to calm him. He calls out your name and reaches a hand to you.
You take his hand, sighing as your husband pulls you into his chest. He kisses your temple and places your palm upon his dragon's scales. You are glad to feel that Caraxes warm again.
He cannot help himself, as jealousy lingers in his mouth, "spoiled fucking brat."
You raise a brow at him, "Aegon a child."
"No child of mine," Daemon scoffs, "how terrible to think there now is three."
Your face twist, "you act as though you would not put up a fight if you were pried away from your dragon."
You notice his jaw clench. You place your hand on his shoulder, silently demanding that he look at you.
Daemon huffs, "... fine."
You watch him give you a look.
"Let us pray your sister does not birth another brat."
She doesn't, she births a darling babe named Daeron four years later. Of course, in Daemon's eyes, he was a fussy nuisance, and he despised that his wails were audible in your chambers some nights. He was, in fact, a brat. A demanding one at that.
The boy demanded so much attention that apparently Alicent was not enough. Daeron did not sleep if he was not being held, and your bleeding heart was ever so weak for your sister and her spawn.
This was why you presently held the youngest prince in your arms; he needed to sleep and the queen had much else to attend to.
The sun shines upon your form in the training square. Daemon watches as you rock the child in your arms, tucking dark hair behind your ear as a gust of wind blows it into your face. He grunts when his sparring partner hits his hip.
"Got you!"
Daemon eyes the boy, and deflects with his wooden sword when he tries to hit him again, "didn't I tell you to take a break?"
"I'm not tired, kepus!"
The tiny prince tries to go at him again but Daemon pushes him back with no effort, "nice try."
You look up from Daeron when you hear tiny skidding feet. You adjust the babe in your arm and cup the side of your mouth, "be nice, darling."
Daemon looks out to you, finding your raised brow, then turns back to the boy, "hear that. Your aunt told you to be nice and listen to your uncle."
None the wiser, the boy whips back at you then nods at Daemon, "okay, uncle."
He chuckles as his opponent gets back into fighting stance. He sighs, equally impressed and exasperated by the boy's spirit, "fine," he tilts his head, "let us make a deal. If you defeat me, I'll let you have my cakes at lunch time."
He gasps.
"But-" Daemon raises a finger, "-if I win, you have to give me all your cakes."
The boy freezes.
Daemon's lips curl in to a devious smirk.
He can only stare in silence after hearing the conditions.
"Well?" he raises his brow, "what say you, Aemond?"
Aemond turns to his feet. He lowers his practice sword, "... maybe ..."
"Maybe?" Daemon repeats.
Silver hair flutters across his eyes as Aemond lifts his gaze, "maybe we can take a break... ?"
Daemon laughs, reaching a hand out to the boy, "good choice."
Aemond gratefully takes his uncle's hand and the two walk towards you.
You smile at them and reach for your nephew's face when he's near, "done training, my love?"
"We're taking a brea-"
"We are," Daemon corrects as he sits. He rests his chin on your shoulder, "I'm tired."
You turn to him.
Aemond whines in protest, "you said we're taking a break."
"Yes, well," Daemon pushes your hair to the side and kisses your neck, "I'm starving."
"But kepus!" the boy whines, "it's not lunch time yet!"
He does not even look at Aemond, instead, he sneaks an arm behind you, pulling you closer to him, "if you don't let me have lunch now, I'm I'm going to eat your aunt."
Aemond gasps, immediately pulling your skirt away from him, "NO!!!!!"
You chuckle but click your tongue, "Aemond, I might drop your brother."
Daemon eyes the frantic Aemond, circling an arm around you as he bites your shoulder.
"NOOOO!" Aemond squeals, trying his best to save you from attempted cannibalism.
When you spot the boy's watery gaze, you shrug Daemon off and slowly come to a stand, "ȳdra daor limagon, ñuha jorrāelagon, aōha uncle tymagon lēda ao." Don't cry, my love, your uncle plays with you.
You secure Daeron in your arm before stroking a gentle finger across the boy's cheek.
"Daor," Daemon stands as well, eyeing Aemond, "I am a dragon. I gladly eat your aunt every nig—"
"Daemon!"
He breaks into a laugh while Aemond breaks into a sob.
You disapprovingly call out Daemon again, and he immediately picks the boy up, though he continuing to laugh. Aemond scratches his eyes as his uncle easily holds him in one arm, brushing his silver hair off his face
You glare at him, "it's not funny."
Daemon, enamored by the boy, kisses Aemond on the cheek, "little bit."
You continue to give him a withering glare.
When he finally catches it, his smile fades slightly. He sighs, "māzigon sir," he rubs Aemond's back, "mēre hae kostōba hae istia daor limagon." Come now. One as strong as you must not cry.
Aemond woefully looks at Daemon, lips trembling, "muña iksis va moriot ōdrikagon. nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao naejot ōdrikagon zirȳla." (Maternal) aunt is always hurt. I don't want you to hurt her.
Your face falls, "oh, my love."
This promptly wipes Daemon's grin away. He sighs and strokes the boy's arm, "Kessa, kessa... shijetra ñuha tēmire." Yes, yes... forgive my cruelty.
Aemond sniffles, embracing Daemon as he drops his head on his broad shoulder.
Daemon rubs the boy's back. Aemond's empathy begets guilt into to him. It only flares at the sight of your disappointed expression.
"All is well, my love," you pat Aemond's head, "we shall eat cakes now."
Aemond perks, quickly turning to you.
Daemon's eyes crinkle his simpleness.
"Shall we wait for your siblings in the solar?" you smile.
Aemond nods eagerly.
Daemon chuckles softly, bouncing him in his arm.
You send off Daeron to his wetnurse while you, your husband, and your sister's children eat in the solar. Aegon and Helaena had returned from dragonback, and the former was excitedly telling you about the experience, much to the annoyance of Daemon.
Now eight, Aegon was an energetic and audacious thing. He was more so Daemon's villain now than he was then. He and the boy were competing constantly for your attention, and he did not like it one bit.
"AND SUNFYRE MANAGED TO DO CIRCLES IN THE SKY!" Aegon motioned with a fork from where he sat at the head of the table.
You immediately raise a hand but it is Daemon that sharply snaps, "do not play with your fork."
The boy obeys, but does not acknowledge his uncle at all, eyes still fixed upon you, "Helaena and Dreamfyre could barely keep up with us."
You turn to your niece, who sat beside you, quietly eating her food. You brush her hair back, "if that is so, you must slow down for her."
"NOOOO!" Aegon groans, leaning back into her chair, "that's no funnnnn!"
Daemon, who was on your other side, turns to the second born, "is your brother horrid with you, girl?"
"AM NOT!" Aegon protests.
Helaena turns to her uncle, glimmering eyes telling that she left her head in the clouds after riding through them, "Aegon is only Aegon."
She was capable of speaking only like this, like a dreamer. It once fascinated Daemon to see the gift manifest in her, but he quickly realized he had no patience for it, not in listening, much less deciphering. You, however, had eternal patience and lent your ear to every nonsensical word she spoke, even the ones of bugs. Unlike the jealousy her older brother inspired from coveting his wife, he could not find fault in Helaena; she was a gentle thing.
Your brows slightly furrow at Helaena's words, knowing that Aegon has grown to be rather stubborn and expedient.
Daemon sees it as a clear opportunity to villainize him, "so you were being horrid."
"WAS NOT!" Aegon whines, pulling at his hair in frustration.
"Hush," you raise a hand, glaring at Daemon before offering Aegon a sympathetic look, "you weren't. But you, yourself, said you didn't wait for Helaena-"
"BECAUSE SHE'S FUCKING SLOW!"
"Aegon!" you quip, "watch your tongue!"
Daemon chuckles to himself, reveling in how the boy exemplified his horridness. Just as Daemon takes a bite of his food, Aemond, who sat beside him, tugs at his sleeve, pointing to the cake in the middle of the table.
Aemond's plate was not even half finished, and he and Daemon both knew it would greatly displease you if the boy had dessert already. Yet, your husband steals a glance at you amidst your attempt to calm your bratty nephew and casually reaches for a cakes, quickly handing it to Aemond.
The young prince gratefully curls into his chair and smiles at his uncle, "thank you, kepus."
Daemon hums and shifts, turning his body that you might not catch the child eating dessert already.
He would never admit it, but everyone knew, Aemond was his favorite. Holding him after his return from Essos, at a time he was so vulnerable, forged an profound partialness for the boy. He tried to convince himself he'd be just as wretched as his older brother, but he simply was not. Aemond was quiet, observant, obedient, and most importantly, he was not nearly as interested in you as his siblings. He was interested in Daemon, and Daemon adored it; he adored him.
Once Aegon was calm, he continued finishing his meal. Unlike from your vantage point, Aegon could clearly see Aemond snacking on cakes, and so he purses his lips and takes one for himself.
You immediately react, "finish your food first."
"BUT AEMOND IS EATING CAKE!" Aegon points.
Daemon's face darkens. Rat.
You inspect Aemond, and Daemon no longer shields him. The boy wanted cake, let him face the consequences.
"Aemond!"
Aemond turns to you, violet eyes innocent, mouth covered in frosting.
"You haven't finish your vegetables!" you reach for the cake in his hand.
Aemond whines, crushing most in an attempt to continue eating it.
You click your tongue at the mess and elbow Daemon while you're at it. You brush your nephew off while muttering sharply, "you know better than to feed the boy sweets."
Daemon raises his hands, "I did-"
You silence him with a glare.
He tenses, finding it pointless to feign innocence.
After lunch, you and Daemon bring the kids back to their rooms, the latter is eager to have you all to yourself now. As you were about to leave, Alicent arrives. She constantly look troubled as of late, now that Viserys health went on a visible decline.
"Sister," she sighs, coming to you in haste.
Daemon's expression sours when he hears the queen ask if you could spare her a moment. He grits his teeth when you, in all your kindness, readily agree, and immediately get pulled out the room.
He sighs. He watches Aegon and Aemond play with blocks and wooden dragons for a moment and quickly decides to terrorize them while waiting for your chat to end.
When you walk back in, Daemon had roped in Helaena as a fellow antagonist. Though his intentions were truly meanspirited, the children saw only amusement in their uncle as he fashioned himself as the Black Dread, kicking down the castles they were building while Helaena clung on his back, pretending to be The Conqueror.
The sight pinches your heart tightly.
Aegon squeals, trying to push his uncle away as Aemond scrams to rebuild a tower. The older boy yells, "HURRY!"
"I'M TRYING!" Aemond trembles in his haste.
Daemon sees you, sighing through a faint grin, "thank the gods."
The sound of Helaena's laughter as she's put down to your feet should have made you want to laugh with her, but it made you want to cry instead.
"No wait," Aegon cries out, "not yet! We're not finished!"
Daemon shakes his head, not budging as the boy pulls at his arm. He walks over to you, slipping out of Aegon's grasp, "I'm exhausted, boy."
Aegon whines, "but uncle!"
Soon, Aemond is begging Daemon to stay as well. Your heart continues to ache for the kids, but clearly your husband is unmoved. He eyes the boys expressionless, but then notices that even Helaena is hovering. His resolve slightly chips, "enough. I should like a nap, as should you lot."
The boys whine.
You frown.
It was a mistake to look at you then. He is powerless beneath your gaze. He curses softly in High Valyrian then waves a hand, "one last game."
The children cheer.
You watch them play. Daemon is far gentler now which makes the game far more fun. Your heart tightens over how much joy you feel that you have to step out of the room to calm yourself down.
The game is truly over then.
Daemon is quick to your side, egregiously worried at how you were clutching your chest.
You tell him you're alright, but you were so out of breath he does not understand it. He frantically mutters High Valyrian in an attempt to calm you as he rubs your back and keeps you upright.
Again, you say, "I'm alright," and he finally understands you, though he obviously cannot believe it is true.
"Shall we go for a swim?" Daemon mutters softly, so not give himself away to his panic.
You shake your head as you the tightness in your lungs slowly wanes. You lean into his chest, lulling yourself at the sound of his heart beat.
He never knows if he should wrap his arms around you during these times. He waits until you hold him for him to return the affection.
You were soft beneath his touch, no more the shell of what you were when he had first left you for the Stepstones. You were stronger now, more than even how you were when he first met you, brighter too; you had been so sad then. He revels in knowing it was because of him.
"I want to lay down," you mutter against his doublet.
Daemon nods. The lines in his forehead do not fade, for you look exhausted.
Yes, you were stronger, but it seemed even your affliction was. It didn't happen as much, and he was glad of it, but when it did, it was too much.
He rubs your arm as you slowly head back to your chambers. In an attempt to distract you, Daemon asks, "what did your sister say?"
When you look at him, it seems this was not the best choice of conversation.
He immediately shakes his head, "did I already tell you about how Caraxe-"
"It's Daeron."
He purses his lips, already knowing whatever it is will not be good.
"She cannot care for him and manage the king's health and all her duties at once. He'll be sent 45to ward in Oldtown."
Daemon's brows furrow.
"She asked me if I wanted to go with him—"
"What?" he stops you both in your tracks.
"— or if Gwayne should come here to-"
"Get the fucking cunt to crawl here. Why should you have to fucking travel to that hellhole?"
"..."
"..."
"... I-" Daemon sighs and shakes his head in frustration. He squeezes your hand, "I jus-"
"I was not going to go."
Daemon gulps.
"I am not foolish enough to believe my strength would last a day if we are apart."
Your words make him relax, and yet your soft smile makes his lips curl into a guilty frown.
"My sister too is well aware of this," you squeeze his hand back, "she asked with the intention that you'd come with me."
Daemon tenses. He does not like the sound of it.
Clearly to you and your gentle heart, you believed your sister urges such things to your betterment, and perhaps it was so, but he was not gentle. His gut screamed that the Hand had something to do with this, that it was he that planted this idea in the Queen's head. He does not speak it for your sake.
You lick your lips and take a breath, "the last time I was able to take my pregnancy to term was when I went back to Oldtown."
He tenses and knits his brows. He reaches for your cheek and shakes his head, "we've only started trying."
You look off aimlessly before turning back to him, "we started trying when Aemond was two. He is four now, and Daeron is due his first nameday."
"Do not measure yourself against your sister," Daemon's expression hardens, "she's not known a fraction of your suffering."
You do not respond. When you look away again, you do not look back.
He sighs in frustration. He does not mean to break your spirit. He slowly calls out your name.
"You're right," you shake your head, "I just-"
"Want to go to home," he whispers, scared to say it too loud.
Your gaze lands on him. Your eyes are slightly beady, which is why your chuckle confuses him. "Silly boy," you reach for his cheek, "you are my home."
His heart rattles in his chest. He takes your wrist and kisses it.
You smile, "I do however... want to go to Oldtown."
Wistfulness captures your expression, causing him to frown. He squeezes your hand gently.
"The air is different there," you shrug, "kinder, I think."
"Kinder?" he cannot control his laugh, "the land wherein your father was molded is kind?"
You do not respond.
He regrets it, as your eyes are downcast yet again. He gulps and decides to simple tell you, "it might be he that put such notions in Alicent's head."
"My father?"
"Who else?" Daemon raises a brow, "he wants me far from my brother, that he may poison him further." He adds, as if you didn't already know, "he requires a cane to walk now."
You nod, "I know."
"I know you know, I just-"
"It's fine," you raise a hand, "like I said, I was not going to go."
Daemon feels ill to see you like this, but he does not say a word as you go back to your chambers.
Girl, when I say I set aside my laptop and immediately run to tumblr after finishing my final projects for this last sem, just so I can find and read the lastest chapters of this... god forbid a woman is just balancing her priorities.
You sigh into his shoulder as he secures you over him. You mumble against his skin, "I dream of waking to you often."
"As do I," he brushes his nose against you.
AHHHHHHH YAS, GOOD GOD!!!! THE CRUMBS🙌🙌🙌
Daemon shifts, sitting up so your head was no longer hovering. He pulls you against his chest, kissing your temple, "I am an awfully persistent presence. I will not fade, even if you insist upon it."
"I would never insist that you fade," you rub his cheek, "especially not for me."
Yes, the relationship is improving. The way they communicate now compare to the past, we know it's improving especially after the... mwehwheheh... I hope it will be consistent. (PLSSSS)
He shifts and looks down at you, taking your face to steal back your attention, "that was not a dream."
Finally! It's been cleared and known to y/n, good for her.
"You are no pawn," he wipes your cheeks, "you are my queen."
AH, DUH! AS WE SHOULD BE TREATED!!!
A deep chuckle passes his lips. "Do not flatter me so," he rubs his nose against yours, "I will not let out of this bed."
You kiss his neck, "you will not hear a complaint from me."
Daemon groans and hurtles himself into you, crushing you beneath him. You giggle as he kisses you, mouth hungry for yours. He finds the back of your knee on instinct, and is soon strapping your legs around him. His lips, tongue, and teeth take a moment on your skin.
YEEEESSSSSS!!! (Insert Dr. Falicier saying/singing "Yes", at some point to prince Naveen in "The Princess and The Frog".)
The sound of your name pulls you out of it. He kisses your jaw reassuringly, "None of me desires to gain children but lose my wife. I've already had a taste... it is too bitter to bear."
I love me some man who will not force me to bare a child if he knows I can't (physically, mentally, and emotionally). Good for him!
And knowing the wound they bare after losing the twins is somehow still there so it's really reasonable to stop pushing the idea of pregnancy, let both of you heal first and make sure to make yourselves somewhat stable, then that's when you guys need to reconsider it all out. The Gods will give it to you soon.
"You will regain your strength and then," he stresses, "then shall children come."
Your lips wobble, "a-and if I don't—"
He silences you with a kiss, mumbling, "you will get better."
He takes no other word from you save his name moaned in pleasure.
Take your time, momma. Let your body and soul heal first🥹🫂
He draws your love making until his hair is dripping in sweat and your skin is sticky with him. You're consumed wholly by him and he is consumed wholly by you. Once you're both coming down from your high, you latch yourself around him, unwanting him to pull away from you.
No comment, just this picture.
"I want you inside my ribcage."
I love it when writers do this stuff. Like they use cannibalism or any kind of insane metaphors to describe love or love-making scene, it's just tickle my braincells and shows how creative their mind is.
When you arrive, the pit is bustling. The first thing you both notice is Caraxes is feasting, feasting as if his life depended on it, as if he hadn't eaten in months, which he hasn't, not properly.
Good for you bud, get stronger even more!!
Daemon's throat tightens as you walk towards the boy, grunting as he jumps into your arms. Before his jealousy claws at him, Caraxes, with his new found strength, turns and hisses at the villain, the child in your embrace. Like master, like mount.
Like father, like son. No DNA needed.
"Caraxes," Daemon raises a hand in correction. He walks over to him and strokes his face. The dragon pushes into him, showing his displeasure. He hushes him, "Nyke gīmigon, Caraxes. Istiti gūrēñagon ityragon." I know, Caraxes, we must learn to share.
SUS😏
Caraxes makes a sound, as if knowing how incredibly stupid the notion was.
He knows bs when he hears/smells one🙌, LMAO
Caraxes in his human form after the bs coming from his father:
Aegon squeals in protest and Caraxes begins to react, earning Daemon's attention again. The older prince turns and raises a hand, commanding the dragon to stay back.
In the end, because the pair's emotional meltdown, they were both escorted back to their rooms, and you were left feeling terrible to see Aegon be carried away while he cried out for you.
This chaotic duo, I can't with this one😭
Your face twist, "you act as though you would not put up a fight if you were pried away from your dragon."
SHE CLOCKED HIM OUT WITH THIS ONE!!
Silver hair flutters across his eyes as Aemond lifts his gaze, "maybe we can take a break... ?"
I mean, me too bud, I ain't risking my cake for a battle I know I can't win. Good for you.
He does not even look at Aemond, instead, he sneaks an arm behind you, pulling you closer to him, "if you don't let me have lunch now, I'm I'm going to eat your aunt."
The double meaning I can't😭😭😭
Aemond gasps, immediately pulling your skirt away from him, "NO!!!!!"
Starting from this scene I can't stop laughing, I be Deamon irl, being a menace to my niece and nephews, making them scream and cry because they look fun to trigger.
Daemon eyes the frantic Aemond, circling an arm around you as he bites your shoulder.
"NOOOO!" Aemond squeals, trying his best to save you from attempted cannibalism.
Aemond locked in protecting his auntie, LMAO😭
"Daor," Daemon stands as well, eyeing Aemond, "I am a dragon. I gladly eat your aunt every nig—"
Not the double meaning again, we know you also meant it (ifykyk), Daemon😏.
He breaks into a laugh while Aemond breaks into a sob.
I be Daemon irl🙌😭
Aemond woefully looks at Daemon, lips trembling, "muña iksis va moriot ōdrikagon. nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao naejot ōdrikagon zirȳla." (Maternal) aunt is always hurt. I don't want you to hurt her.
Awe, protect this kid at all cost!!!
"AND SUNFYRE MANAGED TO DO CIRCLES IN THE SKY!" Aegon motioned with a fork from where he sat at the head of the table.
Another one, see! It's shows how amazing this kids turned out to be when they're surrounded with a good environment, people, and childhood. They're being molded in a proper way. The canon kids would love to experience this one🥹🥹
He would never admit it, but everyone knew, Aemond was his favorite. Holding him after his return from Essos, at a time he was so vulnerable, forged an profound partialness for the boy. He tried to convince himself he'd be just as wretched as his older brother, but he simply was not. Aemond was quiet, observant, obedient, and most importantly, he was not nearly as interested in you as his siblings. He was interested in Daemon, and Daemon adored it; he adored him.
The AU of this, love it! The duo we must have!!!
Daemon's face darkens. Rat.
You inspect Aemond, and Daemon no longer shields him. The boy wanted cake, let him face the consequences. Aemond turns to you, violet eyes innocent, mouth covered in frosting.
Aemond whines, crushing most in an attempt to continue eating it.
LMAO, not the father instinct kicking in—in Daemon when it comes to Aemond😭
He was definitely staring at Aegon like this across the table:
It was a mistake to look at you then. He is powerless beneath your gaze. He curses softly in High Valyrian then waves a hand, "one last game."
The children cheer.
Look at this family. We can end it here you know. No more drama. Yes, the end, guys. Thank you, everyone🙌😅. And they lived happily ever after.... The end.
You watch them play. Daemon is far gentler now which makes the game far more fun. Your heart tightens over how much joy you feel that you have to step out of the room to calm yourself down.
The improvement of their individuality and as well as a partner is very good, I hope it will be well for all of them consistently, even with a slight hint of angst😭😭 (Fuck I feel like I'm jinxing it... Am I?)
Your gaze lands on him. Your eyes are slightly beady, which is why your chuckle confuses him. "Silly boy," you reach for his cheek, "you are my home."
His heart rattles in his chest. He takes your wrist and kisses it.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THEM.
I swear to God, this two screams yearning. Especially, Daemon. He is so Hozier coded😭😭😭. Everytime I read stories like this I tend to listen to one of Hozier music as I read them quietly🙌. This chapter is amazing as always! Love them, especially after a very long time of not using this app since of my busy schedule as a academic weapon. LMAO. I enjoy and love it as always!🩷
send this to all your favourite moots and grow a garden! KEEP THE GARDEN GROWING!🌼💚🌱💚🌻 🌳🪻🌼🍒🌹🏵
Awe, tysm🥹🩷. Being considered as one of your favourite moots here is one of the things I never expected seeing as I opened this app after 2 weeks of hell in school😭. Just so you know, you're also one of my favourite moots here! Top HOTD Authors too! I love to see your future works. Esp the OC one after your finished the "tormented spirit".🥹🩷
this is my first req ever but im obsessed with your honeymoon fic and i can't stop thinking about eloping with rafe??? just going away and getting married without telling anyone. just us two. vows are intimate af. soft emotional rafe. coming back to the obx as mrs. cameron. AHHHH pls <3
elope
-> Rafe x F!Reader
Summary: When a spur-of-the-moment decision leads to a chaotic, love-drunk elopement, you and Rafe Cameron find yourselves navigating married life with zero preparation, but with plenty of laughter, stolen kisses, and the smug satisfaction of returning to the Outer Banks as Mr. and Mrs. Cameron. 𓏌
-> ily anon for your sweet words and unique request, hope I made ur first request worth it <3
✈︎ The Getaway
It starts as a joke. A stupid, reckless, deliriously in-love kind of joke.
You’re both sprawled out on the couch, legs tangled, some movie playing in the background that neither of you are actually watching. Your fingers are absentmindedly tracing patterns on Rafe’s arm when you sigh dramatically.
"What if we just ran away and got married?"
You expect him to smirk, maybe throw back some witty remark about how you’re already his anyway. Instead, he lifts his head, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to excitement.
"Say the word, baby."
You scoff, assuming he's messing with you. "Yeah, okay, Rafe."
"No, really." He’s upright now, turning to you completely. "We could. Just go. Right now. You scared?" His lips twitch like he’s challenging you.
You roll your eyes. "Oh please. If anything, you’d be the one chickening out."
That’s all it takes.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re throwing clothes into a duffel bag while Rafe is… well, not. He’s just standing in your doorway, watching you with the dumbest grin.
"Rafe, pack something," you huff.
"I’ll just buy stuff there," he shrugs, ever the rich boy.
"Where’s your bag?" you demand.
He shrugs. "Figured I’d just wing it."
"RAFE."
"What?" He laughs. "Babe, I got my wallet, and I got you. What else do I need?"
You groan, but before you can argue, he’s tugging you out the door, fingers locked around your wrist as if he’s afraid you’ll change your mind.
You won’t.
By the time you get to the airport, you’re both giddy, high off adrenaline, grinning like a couple of kids sneaking out past curfew.
"Are we actually doing this?" you ask, clutching onto his arm as he coolly slides his black Amex across the check-in counter.
Rafe just smirks, wrapping an arm around your waist.
"Babe, we were married the second you said ‘What if?’"
...
A Chaotic “I Do”
Turns out, when you spontaneously elope, you don’t exactly get a say in where you end up.
You and Rafe take the first flight out, purely because it’s the next one boarding. And now? You’re standing in the middle of an airport, squinting at a Welcome to the Bahamas sign.
"Okay, solid choice," Rafe says, sliding his sunglasses on like this was all part of the plan.
"We literally picked it at random."
"Yeah, but still. Ocean, sun, you in a bikini? Feels like fate."
You both go straight to the nearest beachfront shop, which is exactly what you’d expect: cheap sunglasses, “I ❤️ the Bahamas” T-shirts, and neon-colored swimsuits.
"Babe, look at these!" Rafe holds up a pair of matching floral-print button-down shirts.
You wrinkle your nose. "Absolutely not."
Rafe tosses one in the basket anyway.
By the time you check out, you have the most ridiculous wedding attire: a flowy white sundress for you (not quite a wedding gown, but it works), and some linen pants and a half-unbuttoned shirt for Rafe (because of course).
You both needed a place to get married. The only available option? A tiny beachside chapel run by an old woman named Martha, who takes one look at the two of you, disheveled, sun-kissed, grinning like fools, and nods approvingly.
"Y’all are one of those love-drunk couples, huh?" she says, already reaching for a pen.
"You have no idea," Rafe smirks.
The ceremony is absolute chaos.
There’s no music, just the sound of waves crashing outside. The ring situation is even worse. Rafe had to buy a cheap one from a souvenir shop (it’s literally got a tiny turtle on it, but he swears he’ll get you a real one later).
Martha starts speaking, but you barely hear it because Rafe keeps whispering things in your ear:
"I still think we should’ve gone for the floral shirts."
"Babe, stop laughing, you’re gonna ruin the moment."
"Damn, you look good in that dress. Gonna have a hard time focusing, baby."
You swat at his chest, but your cheeks hurt from smiling.
And then, somehow, you’re at the part where she asks if you take Rafe to be your husband.
You don’t even hesitate.
"I do."
Rafe’s eyes soften just a little. "Yeah," he says, voice warm and thick with affection, "I do, too."
And just like that, you’re married.
"Now kiss your bride," Martha says, and Rafe doesn’t waste a second, dipping you down in the most dramatic kiss, nearly toppling both of you into the sand outside.
"See, baby?" he murmurs against your lips. "Told you we were married the second you said ‘What if.’"
...
The Honeymoon Phase
🍊 Breakfast in Bed (Kind of…)
You wake up to the smell of something…burning.
"Oh, no."
Before you can even sit up, Rafe bursts through the door, balancing a tray with way too much confidence for someone who is actively sloshing orange juice everywhere.
"Morning, wifey," he grins, way too pleased with himself.
"Rafe—"
"Made you breakfast." He plops the tray onto the bed, which, by the way, now has a bright orange stain soaking into the sheets, and gestures proudly.
It’s… a mess. The toast is questionable, the eggs are slightly charred, and there’s a very concerning amount of butter on the pancakes.
"You set something on fire, didn’t you?" you ask.
"What? No. Maybe. Doesn’t matter." He shoves a buttery, sticky, orange juice-soaked pancake toward your mouth. "Eat up, Mrs. Cameron."
🏝️ Beach Walks (feat. Rafe’s Need to Be Dramatic)
The sand is blazing hot, and you try to walk normally, but one step in and you immediately yelp, hopping from foot to foot.
Rafe laughs, but before you can even complain, he scoops you up effortlessly, arms wrapped firmly around your waist.
"I gotcha, baby."
"Rafe—"
"Shhh, just let me be your hero."
You roll your eyes, but you don’t protest.
"Y’know," he smirks, adjusting you in his arms, "technically, carrying my wife across the sand is, like, tradition or something."
"That’s for crossing a threshold, not—"
"Baby. Let me have this."
⚭ Introducing You as ‘My Wife’ Every Chance He Gets
It starts off cute.
Like when he checks into the hotel: "Reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Cameron."
Or when he orders drinks: "And one for my wife. She just married the luckiest guy in the world."
But then? He just doesn’t stop.
☀️ At breakfast: "My wife will have the French toast. She deserves the best, obviously."
☀️ To the surf instructor: "My wife’s never surfed before, but she’s a natural at everything, so I’m sure she’ll be great."
☀️ To random people: "Oh, you like her dress? Thanks, my wife looks good in everything."
At some point, you just start staring at him every time he says it.
"What?" he grins.
"You really love saying that, huh?"
"Saying what?"
"‘My wife.’"
"Well…" He leans in, kissing your temple. "It’s my favorite thing to call you."
And just like that, you’re completely ruined for him.
...
💍 The Ring
You're standing in front of the mirror, adjusting your hair, mentally preparing to leave this dream-like trip behind. The past few days had been perfect: messy, chaotic, and perfect.
"You ready?" Rafe's voice is casual... too casual.
"Yeah," you sigh, turning to face him. "As ready as I’ll ever be."
And that's when you see it.
A small, velvet box in his hands.
"Rafe—"
"Hold on," he interrupts quickly, flipping the lid open before you can say anything else.
And there it is.
The ring.
It’s beautiful, an actual engagement ring, nothing like the cheap little band you impulsively grabbed at the tourist shop before the ceremony. The diamond catches the light, shimmering, sparkling. It’s classic, elegant, and somehow… so you.
"You—" Your voice catches in your throat. "Rafe, when did you—?"
He rubs the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish, which is insane considering it’s Rafe Cameron standing in front of you. "I might’ve, uh, left the hotel at, like, four in the morning to find a jewelry store."
Your mouth opens, then closes. "You did what?"
"Babe, you deserve a real ring." His voice is softer now, serious in a way that makes your heart do dangerous things. "Something that actually… I don’t know, means something. Something that lasts."
You blink. "Rafe."
"I know we did this all backward, but…" He grins, taking the ring out of the box and sliding it onto your finger. "Had to get you something that actually makes people jealous."
You laugh, but your eyes are already misty as you look down at your hand, his hand still wrapped around yours.
"It’s perfect," you whisper.
His smug little smirk softens. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Good. ‘Cause you’re never getting rid of me now, Mrs. Cameron."
...
🏡 Back to the Outer Banks As Mr. & Mrs. Cameron
The Pogues’ Reaction
JJ nearly chokes on his beer when he sees the gold band on your finger.
"Shut the fuck up," he says, eyes wide as saucers. "You married Rafe?"
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, hurt no comfort, ,mild smut, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: if you voted on the poll, HAHAHAH. also realized hobert hightower is lord of oldtown and has a son named ormund so canonically, gwayne is not heir to oldtown... anyway gwayne is ig just waiting for his uncle to die here LMAO. i found out about moonblooms on the asoif wiki, but it didnt say anything about it so shhh just roll with my lore bout it ok. | cross posted on ao3
@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01
"Good morn, my princess," says Break Bones as he enters Rhaenyra's chambers.
Rhaenyra, who had her servants attending to her, turns to him from her vanity, "Ser Harwin."
She dismisses her servants and comes to a stand. She smiles, linking her hands together. Harwin's gaze falls upon her belly.
Rhaenyra notices and steps closer, rubbing the bump that was not so apparent yet in her frock, "would you like to feel?"
Harwin nods. He places a gentle hand upon her, rubbing the area with utmost reverence. Joy makes his heart thump. His mouth curves upward, "the child is blessed to have a mother like you."
The princess feels a tingling within her. She kisses him, quick and chaste.
Harwin does not dare deny her and meets her lips with as much warmth as he could muster. He wants nothing more than to worship her with his love, but he steels himself and steps back the moment she pulls away.
Rhaenyra places her hands on her belly, "I'm terribly hungry."
He nods, offering his arm, "I've already had the servants prepare your meal. Ser Laenor awaits you in the solar."
As two saunter down the hall, Harwin takes the opportunity to give her the letter addressed to her.
Rhaenyra takes the folded parchment and raises a brow at dragon emblem, "when did this arrive?"
"Late last night."
She scoffs, breaking the seal, "I bet my uncle asks me for another favor," she shakes her head, "why he does not simply write to his wife, I do not know."
The princess begins to read the letter in penned in High Valyrian.
She stops in her tracks. Harwin pauses beside her, eyes attentive. Rhaenyra looks at him, "has he or has he not written to Lady Hightower?"
"Daemon?" Harwin thinks for a moment and shrugs, "as far as I know and what you've told me, he has left her waiting in silence."
Rhaenyra turns back to the paper and translates a line for him, "I will not ask you to compel her to respond to me-" she looks back at him, "- has he been writing letters and has she been ignoring them?"
"I..." he shakes his head in disagreement, "have not known the princess to be nearly as petty or meanspirited."
Rhaenyra's brows furrow in silent agreement.
"Erryk Cargyll has mentioned to me how her health has slowly met another decline since her husband's leave."
She motions vaguely, "I do not believe she could stand storing his letters away without reading them either."
"Perhaps his letters have gotten lost as they were delivered."
"Mmm," Rhaenyra hums in disbelief as she begins walking again, "I would believe it if I believed Daemon only wrote to her once. You may argue he's not a man of many words but he is undeniably a man of action."
Laenor comes to a stand when his wife enters the room. "Good morn, my dear," he smiles and reaches for her hand. He kisses her cheek and notices Harwin's entrance. "Mmm, a very good morning, it seems."
Rhaenyra does not react to her husband's teasing remark.
Laenor only then realizes she looked rather distressed, "everything alright?"
She says your name. It makes him stiffen. The princess leans into him, "you saw her yesterday, did you not?"
"Briefly," the prince sighs, "she was rather forlorn and reserved yesternight. Her explained she's become languorous in anticipation of her nameday."
"When is her nameday?"
He makes a face, "today."
"Today?!" her expression falls, "why— is there nothing planned for her? I hear no bustle of servants at all."
"She says she wants for nothing than to sleep. It has become difficult for her to."
Rhaenyra shakes her head and hands him the letter, "konir sagon daor sȳz." That's no good.
Laenor's brow quirks at the parchment. His eyes widen when he sees the broken seal, "Daemon?"
She nods.
He reads the letter, finding himself scoffing, "mazverdagon zirȳla naejot udligon? Hae lo ēza bardugon naejot zirȳla." Compel her to respond? As if he has written to her.
"But he clearly means to say he has," Rhaenyra gestures, "emagon ao mirre known zirȳla naejot nektogon zȳhon udra?" Have you ever known him to mince his words?
"Pār skoriot issi se rūniapos?" Laenor shrugs. Then where are the letters.
"Pār skoriot issi se rūniapos?" she repeats, emphasizing 'where'.
Across Westeros, an altogether separate letter has finally reached the heir of Oldtown. Gwayne has much to do today, as is planned in his honor. His uncle has set a hunt at noon and his friends have traveled to the city to share drinks after. The day bears festivities he is most excited to participate in, but the waxen sigil of House Targaryen, still unbroken upon his note, has evoked languishment.
He decides to break his fast before reading, as he knows he will not be able to stomach anything else after. Every soul he passes greets him and wishes him well. With every thank you he speaks in response, he feels as though the letter from his sister grows heavier in his breast pocket.
Gwayne consumes only half his meal. He cannot stand to keep himself in suspense any longer.
Gwayne sniffles as he lifts his gaze. He scratches his eyes and clears his throat. He offers the servant a soft smile, "good morrow."
"Good morrow," she beams and curtsies. She, just as everyone else, was deeply infatuated by him. She links her hands together, "the cooks wish to ask if you will be serving cake at the ball this eve?"
He folds his letter, "orange cake only."
Her brow furrows, "but do you not prefer blackberries, milord?"
"I do," he nods and drinks some tea.
The girl thinks for a moment. The next, her brows are up, "ah..." she rubs her hands, "is for a lady?"
Gwayne stares at her.
"I hear many are attending the ball in hopes of becoming the future Lady Hightower," she attempts to contain her giggle, "I see she does love oranges."
The thought this girl no longer knows of you pricks his heart like a needle, "tis not a future but a past Lady Hightower that loves oranges. My twin, who is now a princess of House Targaryen."
The girl stiffens.
"You would have loved her. She has wished to meet the future Lady Hightower longer than all else..." he stops, recalling how you would find joy in imagining Gwayne's wedding on days you were most sick, "myself included."
Gwayne comes to an abrupt stand after, his appetite far beyond him now.
He goes to the gardens where pinkish Moonblooms quiver under sunlight, their petals adamantly closed, wanting only spread to spread beneath the radiance of the moon. They were your most favorite.
Gwayne he reaches for a flower as a recalls a distant memory. He was rather coldhearted when you were much younger, not liking that he had to share most things with you. He recalls plucking the Moonbloom you were smelling only to trample it with his heel.
Though tears found your eyes so oft now, you did not cry when he had done this. In fact, you exacted equal violence upon him as he did the blossom. How easy it was for you to tackle him then and beat him brown and blue. Father came soon after, shouting with a raised ruler.
Each nameday he's thus celebrated alone, Gwayne reminisces over such memories. He's sent you Moonblooms many times over, on your nameday and not, so you could have a piece of home where you now live. They refuse to grow in your garden however. The plant barely manages the travel to King's Landing to begin with, and the climate there too warm. This is why the Lord Hand brought in pink roses for you.
He sighs as he gazes upon the flora, realizing they were so much like you— beautiful and unable to flourish in the city of dragons.
"Milord Gwayne."
Gwayne turns to the man who bows at him.
"Lord 'obert is 'ere."
He nods and points, "make sure to have moonblooms out in the ball later tonight."
The servant nods as Gwayne passes him.
For all of his honors, he honored you with this ball. Oldtown might forget its heir celebrates the day with his sister, but your twin will never forget all his days have been lived in tandem.
If treatment of others was the basis of genetics, one would never think Gwayne was son to Otto. Though the senior Hightower was not outright cruel, he was always rather stern and impatient. True, he was required much as the King's Hand and it surely helped his temper be what it was; still, it was a wonder any of his children were temperate at all.
Even now, as the old man looks up from the papers on his desk, his voice is hard, "enter."
A servant comes in and curtsies, "milord Hand."
Recognizing her, Otto straightens up and tilts his head, "come," he point to the side of his chair, "close."
The servant curtsies again, head lowered as she makes his way towards his desk. To her, the air felt thicker the closer she got She daren't look at him and clears her throat before whispering, "it is the princess, milord."
"Princess?"
"... your daughter."
"Is it grave?"
She shakes her head rapidly.
Otto looks back at his papers and begins flitting through them, "continue."
"She has left the Keep again... with her wards."
He sighs, leaning an elbow on his table, resting his head heavy on it.
"I did not see it myself, milord, but the others say they... swam together... undressed."
"Do you know where they swam?" Otto turns back to her, irritated by the empty speculation.
She shakes her head rapidly, "n-no, milo-"
"Then if that's all, go," he points to the door, turning back to his ledgers.
The girl curtsies with fidgeting hands, curtsying again before running out the door. She was so frightened she forgot there was something else that she had to say.
When she has the nerve to come back, the servant finds in the hallway, "m-milord."
Otto barely spares her a glance as she runs up to his side. "Yes?" he drags out with disinterest.
She sharply tries to catch her breath, "the gate-" huff, "- many letters and parcels have arrived for princess H-"
"What?" Otto stops.
She gasps as she comes to a halt.
"For my daughter?" he narrows his eyes.
She gulps and nods.
"Well, if it is for her, then you know it passes through my office first."
She clenches her jaw, "y— y-yes-"
"Then why are we having this conversation? Why are the letters at the gate?"
"The-" she shakes her head, "the guards were unsure of sending the parcels along with them, which is why they kept them all—"
"Where are the parcels from?" Otto raises a hand.
The servant stares at him, not knowing what to say, as they were sent from far and wide.
"Well?!"
She shakes her head, "e-eh many... are from her lady-friends in Oldtown."
He furrows his brows, "what?"
"Eh— ... Ser Gwayne has sent Moonblooms for her again."
His face falls and his hand comes to his forehead. It came together then. The parcels were presents and today was your nameday. He wipes his beard, "Seven be good."
He had forgotten. He nearly sprints to the gate.
When he arrives, his heart leaps into his throat when he sees you there already sorting through the deliverables with the Velaryons. One of your wards is also present, and he immediately makes his approach know by greeting him, "Lord Hand."
Otto grits his teeth, ignoring him, eyes fixed on you, "daughter."
Laenor grips your arm and Rhaenyra comes before the old man, lips pursed but expression otherwise blank.
You turn from the pile of letters in your hand to your father. You tense under his gaze but manage the faintest of smiles, "my lord."
"You are awake. I-"
"It's not that early," Rhaenyra interrupts.
Otto turns to her.
She offers him an innocent smile, rubbing her belly for effect.
You notice your father's jaw feather. He turns back to you and pulls a smile, "blessed nameday, my girl. When will you and your sister go to the temple to pray? I should like to join you."
Laenor watches him shift where he stands. He notices the way Otto's eyes flicker over to your letters ever so subtly.
"Ah," you shake your head, "she had morning sickness today. I doubt she would like to leave her chambers at all."
"What does she plan to do with you today then?"
You lower your gaze.
Otto notices and steps forward.
"I think she may have forgotten it is my nameday. She is so-" your words end with a gasp.
Otto tenses.
Rhaenyra whips her head to you, "what is it?"
You tremble as you pick a letter from the pile. Laenor sees the red waxen seal, instantly recognizing the emblem. He flinches when you drop the other letters, and tries to catch them. He picks up what he does not.
Otto gulps when you open the letter, its seal falling to the floor. Though his sight was not as it was before, he knew the wax was marked with a dragon, not because he could see it, but because your eyes instantly watered as you began to read.
He calls out your name when you start panting.
Laenor gasps yet again, his effort of picking your letters for naught, as they all fall you topple on your place.
Rhaenyra calls for you next, and it is then your ward is alerted. Erryk turns to you, now on high alert.
The princess pushes past your father, taking your hand, preventing him from coming any nearer, "what's wrong? Do you—"
"He thinks I hate him." you inhale sharply, feeling your chest was about to collapse into itself. The letter grows heavy in your shaky hold and your eyes blur with tears. Your voice is incredibly faint, "I- I did not ignore him- I—"
Yet Otto hears it. He stiffens, "has he accused you of ignoring h-"
"Cargyll!" Rhaenyra barks, cutting your father off.
Erryk circles over, "princess?"
"Bring her to her chambers at once," orders she.
Laenor panics when your legs begin to give in and he struggles to keep you upright. He is next to call your name.
Erryk does not speak but he pushes towards you and sweeps you into his arms.
Otto grits his teeth, "she needs a maester!"
"She does," Rhaenyra snaps as your ward walks away with you, "go send for one to my aunt's room immediately."
Otto nearly scoffs in disbelief, "she s-"
"No, no," she raises a finger, "it is a command." She then walks off with her husband.
Aegon is outside your door when Erryk comes speeding with you in his arms. At first, he was excited, and raised his toy in the air, then he was still when he was ignored by the knight.
The boy follows and stands at the foot of your bed, "auntie?"
Erryk turns, tensing at the sight of the young prince, "Aegon." He makes sure to set your limp body properly on your bed before marching towards the approaching boy. He prevents him from coming any closer, and urges him to the door, "go back to your room."
"But," he looks up at him, "it's aunt's nameday and I brought her a gift," he raises the toy.
Erryk nods, "she is tired, prince. Sh-"
"But you said that yesterday!"
Before Erryk can reply, Rhaenyra and Leanor walk in. The latter comes up to you, whereas the former freezes in front of her father's spawn. She takes a breath, "take him to his room."
The knight nods.
"But my gift!" Aegon raises the gift.
Rhaenyra watches them wrangle then walks over with a sighs, "I'll give it to her when she-"
"NO!" he cradles it tightly to his chest. He shakes his head, "I want to give it!"
She clenches her teeth, thoroughly vexed by his rotten reaction, "if that is so, you will have to wait until she is awake."
Aegon's nostrils begin to flare and his eyes begin to water.
Her stomach twists as the boy scratches his eyes. What manipulative ploy.
"Is she going to die?" his voice wobbles.
Erryk and Rhaenyra's faces fall. The latter quips, "what?"
"She's sick," the boy mutters.
Erryk kneels down, "hush, my prince. Your aunt is not going to die."
Rhaenyra watches Aegon begin to weep into the knight's chest. She hears him wail, "but Caraxes is going to die."
"Says who?" she blurts.
"The keepers..." he sniffles, "I heard them sister," he looks back.
She does not appreciate the term at all.
"Issa jāre naejot morghūljagon lo Daemon gaomas daor māzigon aderī." He is going to die if Daemon does not arrive soon.
Rhaenyra's brows raise. Her voice is less harsh now, "vestis bona?" They said that?
"Kepa geptot naejot dohaeragon caraxes, yn daorys geptot syt muña," Aegon scratches his eyes. (Paternal) uncle left to help Caraxes, but no one left for (maternal) aunt.
In this moment, Rhaenyra realizes, finally, the small thing was a mere innocent child. She frowns and offers her hand, "would you like to wait for her wake with me?"
Aegon immediately nods and takes her hand.
No matter how sweet the gesture, it was pointless, for you do not wake.
A fortnight passes. Exactly on that night, Daemon arrives. He is breathless when he gets to the pit. Caraxes doesn't even more when he touches his uncharacteristically cold snout. He immediately procures the pepper balm and begins to shove his dragon awake.
"Māzigon, valītsos. Iksan kesīr sir, ipradagon." Come, boy. I am here now, eat.
Daemon does not let the dragon's unresponsiveness concern him and only shakes him harder. Soon, he begins to break a sweat, literally and figuratively.
"Caraxes."
The dragon's head turns, only because Daemon has forced it to.
The prince begins to feel his heart pound and eyes water, "ñuha raqiros. Iksan kesīr sir. Gaomagon daor sagon hae bisa." My friend. I am here now. Do not be like this.
Daemon procures the herb he had toiled over, gripping it tightly in hand, "ipradagon bisa ysartia se sagon sȳrkta. Nyke jorepagon ao." Eat this pepper balm and be better. I beg you."
He tries to force the handful into the beast's jaw, but it's pointless as his teeth are clamped shut. He tries to push his fist against the fleshy corner of his mouth.
Caraxes finally makes a sound. A pained one at that.
Daemon takes a sharp breath of relief, "māzigon va, Caraxes. Ipradagon." He rubs his snout. Come on, Caraxes. Eat.
The blood wyrm reluctantly opens his mouth. Daemon quickly feeds the pepper balm to him and strokes the side of his face. "Good," he sighs, "bisa kessa mirre. Kessa." This will work. It will.
He only lets himself feel a sliver of relief when he sees the dragon swallow. Caraxes makes another pained sound. It brings him to tears. He embraces him, "I'm sorry," he rubs his cracking scales, "I'm here now."
Caraxes leans into him.
Daemon is equally reluctant to leave Caraxes but eager to so to find you. He leaves the pit when a keeper comes to see to his mount.
There is an eerie silence in the halls. He tells himself it only is because it is the hour of the wolf, but finds dread building tightly in his stomach the closer he gets to your chambers. He is mentally prepared to face your wards but he is grateful to see neither Cargyll porched out your door.
He calls out your name almost involuntarily as he walks inside the dark room. He slowly makes his way to your bed. He gazes upon your form and reaches out. His eyes widen when he realizes there was no one there. He lights a candle.
The room is empty. He takes a breath, telling himself not to jump to conclusions.
Daemon goes to the nursery. The door opens with a creak and he slowly walks in. There is a light on the bedside table, thus why he easily finds Aegon curled in an odd position. The boy looked bigger now, as did his sister Helaena, sleeping on the bed beside his. He leaves the room.
He looks for you in the gardens, in the library, in the godswood, and he finds only that his heart quickens more and more each place. He is loath to go to the temple, but even there he goes, and finds nothing but silent gods.
He is erratic when he gets back to the Keep. He is greeted by the nightguard stationed at the gate. He stops, ready to ask him about you, but fear hooks his tongue down. He realizes then he does not want to hear of you from a guard.
The next moment, Daemon is banging on Alicent's door. He pulls away from the door when he hears a baby wailing. It takes a long moment before the door opens.
"What is ha-" Alicent, exhausted looking, babe in arm, freezes when she sees him. "D... Daemon?"
He is already in tears, "I cannot find her."
If the baby wailing in her arms was not enough to wake her, the sight of the Rogue Prince falling apart in front of her was. The remnants of the sleep she had just found flees her wholly.
Daemon leans his face into his hands as a weary sob slips past his lips, "I cannot- I looked for her everywhere."
The babe baby cries a little louder. She turns to her newborn, "shh... Aemond—"
He says something incoherent.
Alicent looks back at him.
Daemon sniffles and wipes his face. He shakes his head, "is she dead?"
Aemond shrieks so loud it makes his mother flinch.
Daemon pulls his head back. The child is miserable and so was she. He feels bad. He mutters, "I did not know you gave birth again."
Alicent does not hear him, as Aemond is too loud. She goes back inside and tries to soothe him by rocking him in her arms.
Daemon stands outside her door, unsure of what to do with himself.
A few moments later, Alicent remembers Daemon. She looks at him, "come in! I mean-" she shakes her head, then turns back to Aemond.
Daemon reluctantly walks in.
Alicent turns her back and decides to breastfeed. Aemond immediately latches and calms.
Daemon looks around the room, wishing you'd somehow appear.
"She's not dead."
He freezes.
"She's probably in the temple if she's not in her chambers."
She gets no response. Alicent is so focused on nursing her child she does not realize it was so until she turns. Again, she is shocked as is now curled on the floor.
"Daemon!" she gasps.
He is face down, sobbing on his knees.
Alicent walks over, perturbed by the looks of him. She figures he is in deep desperation and racks her brain on whereabout you might be. She shakes her head, "I've known her to go out for a late night swim. Perhaps she-" she stops herself, realizing what she was about to say next.
He lifts his head, "with her wards?"
She clenches her teeth and begins to rock Aemond, for both her babe's and her own sake. She slowly walks to the cot.
"Do you know where she swims?"
Her heart races at the question. She does not know if she should say.
Sensing her trepidation, Daemon shakes his head, "please," he comes to a stand, "I have to see her."
Alicent manages to bring Aemond back into his cot.
"I need to see her."
Alicent fixes her robe before turning back to him. She cannot help the gasp that leaves her when her good-brother squeezes her arms. It was not meant in aggression, he could tell by the franticness of his gaze, yet all the same it brings a shiver down her spine. The queen nods, "I will bring her here."
His heart leaps into his mouth, "you-"
"Watch Aemond."
Daemon is caught off-guard when Alicent walks off. He is stunned by the request and slowly walks over to this Aemond.
The boy is tiny. He looks bald and eyebrowless, but he knew that his silver hair was merely translucent. He stirred ever so slightly, and it led Daemon to believe he won't be falling into a deep slumber any time soon.
He does not know how long he stands in front of the cot, but he does know it was long enough that he had to sit down. He realizes then, he was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, notably in your arms, against your bosom. He hadn't realized he began to doze off until Aemond begins to wail.
Daemon stands and stares at the child. He cannot breastfeed him to slumber! The small thing flails his arms around.
He reluctantly reaches for him and begins to rock him. He shushes him and rubs his cheek. He walks around the room, bouncing Aemond gently, but all it seems to do absolutely nothing.
In the end, he sits back down on the floor in front of the boy's cot, resigning to the fact he will not get him to calm down. Ironically, Aemond's wailing gradually dampens to a halt.
The prince's eyes are heavy as he gazes upon his nephew. He sniffles as the babe yawns, "is this what it's like to be a father?"
Before he knew it, Daemon's thumb was tracing his tiny nose and tears were finding his way back to his eyes, but not of sadness... of joy.
He thinks of you.
He thinks this must be what you felt when you met Aegon. He wipes his tears on his shoulder, "I understand now."
Daemon's gaze turns to the door when it opens.
"Daemon?"
His heart leaps into his throat. That was unmistakably your voice. He slowly comes to a stand, wanting to speak your name in response, but suddenly unable to make a sound.
Two figures walk in. He recognizes Alicent first, and stiffens at her concerned expression. She reaches for Aemond and he sheepishly mutters, "he began to fuss, I-"
Alicent walks away with her babe and Daemon freezes when he sees you.
Even in the dimness of the room, you could recognize how distraught he looked, and he could see your hair was wet. Your eyes water as you reach for him, "Daemon."
He shudders when your icy fingers brush his tear soaked cheek. Before you could say another word, he pulls you into a tight embrace.
You had gone swimming, and though the water in the lake was cold at this hour, it still rendered you calm. The truth was, you could not sleep and went for a swim on your own. You hadn't done so in a while, and you realize now it was the gods' will, to prepare you for your husband's return.
Daemon buries his head into your neck as he locks you against him. He was intent on warming your form and melting your ribs into each other. He feels a sob creep up on him.
You brush your hand against his back and muffle against him, "you're here."
He rubs his nose into your skin.
"Have you given Caraxes his medicine?"
He nods against you, kissing your skin, "I wish to sleep."
You try to pull away, but he does not release you. You grunt, "alright. Let's go back to our chambers."
"I will not release you," he leans into you, feeling exhaustion begin to weigh his body down.
"You do not need to," you slowly push him off, "but we must walk back to our room."
Daemon has no fight left in him. He loosens his hold just enough that you can stand beside him with his arm over your shoulder. You offer a smile to your sister as you bring your arm around Daemon's back. Alicent smiles in return at you as you leave.
The walk to your chambers is sluggardly yet hurried. Daemon can't seem to decide if he wants to break into a sprint or just crash into the floor with you. He insists on resting his forehead on you. You rub his chest, "just a bit more, my love. The walk is not that far."
"My love," he repeats in the lowest of voices, "am I your love?"
You do not hear him.
When finally make it to your bedroom, another wave of exhaustion weighs Daemon down. He crashes into the bed once he is near, tears pricking his violet eyes yet again with just how relieved he was to finally be here with you.
He wipes his face as the knot in his back unfurls at the feel of the downy blanket beneath him. He turns to you and sits up in a panic when he finds you weren't directly beside him.
You were merely getting the both of you clothes to change into, yet twas paramount for Daemon to be by your side. You say nothing as he comes behind you, gripping your skirt. You notice it once you turn to him and frown, "you need a change of clothes."
Daemon nods and immediately takes the clothes from you. You, yourself, change as well. He changes as if he was in a race, and kicks all his worn garments to the side. When he sees you slightly struggle, he helps you, The slivers of skin he manages to behold halfway through your changing washes half his sleepiness away.
Before you could thank him for his help, he has you locked in his arms again, head buried into your neck. You whimper as he pushes you into bed. Neither of you react as he pulls you atop him as he falls back into the sheets.
Daemon positions you like a blanket but embraces you like a pillow. He breathes you in as he feels your body. He is so overcome, he does not notice you had been doing the same thing until you take his cheek. He grits his teeth, anticipating you telling him to stop.
You gaze upon his face, trying to discern if something changed with him while he was gone.
He is self-conscious beneath your gaze. His lips part to speak some sort of defense, but he does not know how to defend himself from you.
You comb his hair back, "your hair is longer now."
His stomach drops at the sentiment, at the fact you noticed, at the fact you were keeping track. He brings his hand to your nape, gently tugging at the roots of your hair.
You stare at each other for what feels like a hour and a second all at once.
You notices the slowness of his blinking. Your brows furrow and your lips pull down into a pout, "go to sleep," you pat his shoulder, "you are exhausted."
"No," he squeezes your hip, "I am in love with you."
You are dumbfounded. You don't know if you should laugh or cry. You do neither and simply kiss him.
He does not hesitate. The moment your lips are on his, he comes alive. He pushes you into him from your hips as he attempts to show how deep his need for you is with his mouth.
The whimper that leaves you between kisses makes his loins burn. He reaches for your thighs, tugging at your clothes until he could feel your bare skin. He helplessly groans against you when his fingers find the softness of the back of your leg. You feel yourself get worked up at his ministrations.
You pull away, breath hitching at the sight of him chasing after you.
Daemon gulps as you look down on him.
You sigh and place your hands on the sides of his neck, "it's too late for this."
He pants, throwing his head back in thought, "...you mean... too soon," he looks back at you, "I can work for it," he tucks hair behind your ear, "please let me."
Your brows knit. You shake your head, "you have just returned from Essos. You can barely open your eyes. You are exhausted."
"In need of you is what I am," he strokes your jaw.
"You wrote to me that you were sleepless."
He freezes. He is in disbelief, "... you read my letters?"
"Letter," you suck in a breath, "I received only one... the one where you said I hated you. I replied to it as well, but it seems you did not get it."
Daemon's brows knit. He shakes his head, "what... what was your reply?"
"That it is not in my desire to torment you."
His throat tightens, "I know I-"
"That I do not hate you."
He perks.
You notice.
"Y-you don't?" he chokes up
You shake your head, "I would not have missed you so greatly if I loved you less."
He call out your name. You brush your thumb on his wobbly lips.
There is no more hesitation left in him. He kisses you with confidence, confidence he had lost and which was replaced by feverish yearning. The Rogue Prince is awakened, and he was dying to have his way.
Daemon flips you over, unabashedly moaning as he pushes himself between your thighs. He grips the fleshy area for dear life as he dares to nip your lip.
The sound you make in response to his grinding hips nearly makes him finish in his pants. He whines when you break from his kiss.
"Daemon," you grip his shoulder, "we ought to sleep."
"And we will," he nips your ear, "after I spill my love in you."
Your breath catches in your throat.
He kisses you hungrily, "please," he whines the same word in High Valyrian, "kostilus."
"Will you not overexert yourself?"
His belly rumbles, "I will happily die once I feel your cunt around my cock."
"Daemon!"
He groans, "please-"
"I'm being serious."
"And you believe I jest?"
"I do not want you to die after we make love!"
He stills. He clenches his jaw and kisses your cheek, "I... I will not..." he shakes his head and kisses you sweetly, "forgive me. I swear to you, I will be alright."
You probably should fight him off for the sake of his health, but you truly did not want to.
It was a quick affair, impatient and terribly needy. Neither of you spoke, and neither of you cared to get naked. You just needed to be together now.
The next thing you know, you're on the precipice of a stormy peak. You were tightly wrapped around him, arms, legs, cunny, and deathly unwilling to let him go. He was deep inside you, aching to make you feel good, loathing to ever pull out.
It was a wonder to him that he lasted as long as he did, and when he finally did come, the intensity nearly makes him pass out. The last of his energy is spent on the quaking thrusts of his hips. He wanted nothing more than to finally succumb to his fatigue, but the sight of your parted mouth urged him to keep his focus.
Daemon's thrusts quickly grow languid, so he finishes the job with his fingers. The feeling of you tightening around him nearly arrests his heart.
He relaxes atop you as your peak continues to tingle through your toes. You pepper him with affection that he is already numb to in his slumber.
Harwin does not dare deny her and meets her lips with as much warmth as he could muster. He wants nothing more than to worship her with his love, but he steels himself and steps back the moment she pulls away.
The love between this two while everyone in the background is a mess is just a meme worthy. (love them though)
MY SHAYLAAAAAAAA!!!! The brotherly love wins, love their dynamics I hope to see more of them.
"I did not see it myself, milord, but the others say they... swam together... undressed."
Opp— 🤸♀️🤸♀️🤸♀️🤸♀️
Laenor watches him shift where he stands. He notices the way Otto's eyes flicker over to your letters ever so subtly.
Old man's trying to act nonchalant but the nonchalant is not giving😭 I can't with this old dude, I'm laughing (while being mad at him) at his antics and efforts to avoid getting caught about him hiding the letters and trying to stop us on not opening those letters.
Otto gulps when you open the letter, its seal falling to the floor. Though his sight was not as it was before, he knew the wax was marked with a dragon, not because he could see it, but because your eyes instantly watered as you began to read.
Old man's punching the air right now, like the plot/fanfiction his been written of her first daughter's miserable life wouldn't continue for now. #angstyoldman_doesn'tlikefluffmoments.
Why did I imagine the letter containing this type of message:..... I can't😭😭
"He thinks I hate him." you inhale sharply, feeling your chest was about to collapse into itself. The letter grows heavy in your shaky hold and your eyes blur with tears. Your voice is incredibly faint, "I- I did not ignore him- I—"
Fuck— here we go.... I swear I will personally deliver a wheelchair and nebulizer for her, LMAO
She offers him an innocent smile, rubbing her belly for effect.
"No, no," she raises a finger, "it is a command." She then walks off with her husband.
WHO IS DIVAAAAA
Aegon is outside your door when Erryk comes speeding with you in his arms. At first, he was excited, and raised his toy in the air, then he was still when he was ignored by the knight.
"But," he looks up at him, "it's aunt's nameday and I brought her a gift," he raises the toy.
"NO!" he cradles it tightly to his chest. He shakes his head, "I want to give it!"
MY BABY!!! HE REMEMBERS, BRB, IMMA GO CRY FOR AN HOUR AND MORE. LET HIM IN!! HE WILL HEAL HIS AUNT, TRUST ME☝️
A fortnight passes. Exactly on that night, Daemon arrives. He is breathless when he gets to the pit. Caraxes doesn't even more when he touches his uncharacteristically cold snout. He immediately procures the pepper balm and begins to shove his dragon awake.
He only lets himself feel a sliver of relief when he sees the dragon swallow. Caraxes makes another pained sound. It brings him to tears. He embraces him, "I'm sorry," he rubs his cracking scales, "I'm here now."
Poor boy, I hope he will heal soon. Get well, Caraxes🥹
He is already in tears, "I cannot find her."
He is face down, sobbing on his knees.
I can't the angst! THE FUCKING ANGST (love it though)
Even in the dimness of the room, you could recognize how distraught he looked, and he could see your hair was wet. Your eyes water as you reach for him, "Daemon."
They finally met!! GAWD YESS! Hug him like there's no tomorrow, love.
He shudders when your icy fingers brush his tear soaked cheek. Before you could say another word, he pulls you into a tight embrace.
Yes!!!!!! ahwhekdocidhjwksksdkjsjjsjd
"My love," he repeats in the lowest of voices, "am I your love?"
YASSSSSSSSS, SIR!!!
Before you could thank him for his help, he has you locked in his arms again, head buried into your neck. You whimper as he pushes you into bed. Neither of you react as he pulls you atop him as he falls back into the sheets.
"No," he squeezes your hip, "I am in love with you."
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (cunnilingus), emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: shout out to mah girl @m-riaa who requested for sexy times. Yeah so if you like it say thx n if you don't LMAO | crossposted on ao3
@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01
"Darling, don't eat that," you grab the wooden dragon the small boy was nibbling on and offer him a spoonful of cooled porridge. The boy stares at the spoon before opening his mouth. His sister beside him opens her mouth upon seeing this. You smile at her and feed her some porridge after.
After a few bites, they both go back to playing, quickly uninterested in your porridge. The door opens and, quickly, they are uninterested in their toys when their father walks in. "KEPA!"
You smile at Daemon. He immediately kneels beside you where you and your children had been sprawled out on the floor. He scoops up his girl, kissing her cheek, "ñuha litse, Alyrie. Eman ozmijegon ao olvie." My pretty Alyrie. I've missed you very much.
"SKOROS NŪMĀZMA NYKE?" cries the boy. WHAT ABOUT ME?
You laugh at him, watching him stand and jump into Daemon's arms.
His father catches him and nuzzles his nose into the young prince's neck, "hen rhinka nyke ozmijegon ao, Alaeric." Of course I missed you, Alaeric.
"Se muña?" Alyrie grabs Daemon's face, making the man turn to her then to you. And mother?
Daemon kisses the princess's silver hair before turning to you, "I missed her the most."
Your eyes open just before he kisses you. You rub your lips, finding them cold from the night air. Tears rush down your skin.
You slowly sit. The dark of night still seeps through your window and the sun had yet to rise. It felt like an omen, that you dreamed about your twins the very night their father left you... again.
Perhaps it was.
You feel sick; your mouth waters, telling that you will soon vomit. You groan and push yourself out of bed, walking to your vanity to smell some balms to sooth yourself. When the tanginess of your lemon oil harbors your bubbling belly, you sigh and decide to get dressed for the day.
Once you are in your grabs, you pin your hair into a bun. You stare at your reflection for a moment, warring the impulse to retch. You stand and head outside, eager to inhale some fresh air.
You startled when you open the door, not expecting anyone outside.
"Princess," they say in unison.
You look between your knights, heart pinching at the sight of them, "...my twins."
Arryk takes in your pale face, frowning, "should you not still be in bed?"
You shake your head, "I had a dream... a terrible dream..."
They both step forward.
You wipe your face before the tears even begin to fall. You groan when they reach for you, knowing you will continue to crumble at their affection.
You pull away and shake your head, "no... I..."
They immediately retreat, knowing to give you space. Erryk can't help the hurt he feels though, and wonders if it was overwhelming to have both of them here. Had he been alone, would you have still rejected his touch?
"I dreamt about my twins..." you sigh, feeling your throat tighten.
The Cargylls remain silent.
You sniffle and shake your head, "shall we head to the gardens?"
They silently come to your side and follow you.
You feel a pinch in your belly and groan, rubbing the area.
This alerts them. "What's wrong?"
You shake your head, "I feel sick."
"Shall we go to the maester-"
"No," you reach for an arm. You find Arryk's and he immediately offers you support. You draw a deep breath, "I need fresh air."
Their worry does not wane when you reach the gardens. It had been a long time since they had seen you this way, both because you had slowly been getting better and that you had not spent as much time with them anymore. Once again, it was all your husband's leave that brought you crashing down.
The brothers share a look; so much is said in their silence. Perhaps only one of us should have come. Having us both present might be too much. Damn that Rogue Prince for doing this all over again.
You sit down by the fountains, taking deep breaths in and out. You rub your belly, groaning as you did. You bite your lip to hold back tears when you begin to realize how similar this scene was. You mumble, "I feel like I'm having a miscarriage."
Their stomachs drop at the thought. Erryk kneels beside you, taking your hand, and Arryk gestures, "you need to breathe, your grace."
You retch, "I'm going to vomit."
Erryk moves out of the way as you stand and run to the bushes, the sourness of your empty stomach gushes out of your mouth.
"Seven fucking hells," Erryk mutters as Arryk comes to your side.
You hear him call your name and you gulp, wiping your mouth on your sleeve. Exhaustion and pain move you to tears.
"Perhaps you ought to break your fast," Arryk offers, helping you stand upright.
You shake your head, "I will only get sicker."
"You might be sick because you have not eaten," Erryk gently explains.
"I do not wish to eat right now," you blurt, gesturing in refusal.
Arryk feels you shudder as you sigh. He frowns and places his hands on your shoulders, "when was your last meal?"
"Before Daemon left," you mutter.
Erryk clenches his jaw, "so the wedding last night."
"You must eat something," coaxed Arryk.
"Please," you raise a hand, "later, I just-" you sigh, "I just need to breathe right now."
The twins are powerless against your wishes, no matter how wary they are of it. You sit by the fountain, beckoning them over.
Erryk sits beside you and Arryk shoots him a look, shaking his head in disapproval. Erryk mutters, "it's an ungodly hour..."
"And it is precisely why—"
"Who's going to se-"
"What if someone sees—"
"Please," you lean your head into your hand, "I just... let me have this," you look up, giving Arryk the beady eyed look that makes him weak in the knees.
Erryk glares to get him to submit and Arryk nearly shoves him because of it. Still, the latter sits beside you and you sigh in relief. You shift and lean against Erryk's breast plate then rest your legs upon Arryk's lap.
Erryk rubs your shoulder. Arryk sigh and clutches your ankles.
"I feel empty..." you mutter through wobbly lips.
The man behind you sighs, "you have made much progress, princess. You are stronger than you were last time."
"I don't want to be strong," you close your eyes, feeling tears run down your face, "I tire... tis always this way."
Arryk clenches his teeth when you begin to weep. He grabs his cloak and wipes your tears.
The three of your remain here until the sun rises.
You eventually yield to their urges of breaking fast. They eat with you but finish far quicker as you found it a chore to feed yourself. You barely ate half of your meal and it was already cold when you hear someone walk the door open.
The Cargylls, who were presently stood by the door, bow at the princess, "good morn."
Rhaenyra freezes at the sight of them, not expecting two... or even one, honestly. She feels rather conscious and grumpy about the one currently shadowing her. She walks into the room, eyeing Harwin who tails behind her, "I did not know you were so strangled, dear aunt."
You turn from your meal to the newly wed. She looks like she slept horribly. You push yourself up to curtsy at her, but she stops you with a hand raise before you could. You slump back in your chair.
"I figured you would be in better spirits because you left the wedding early," says the princess as she takes the chair beside you, "but clearly it isn't so."
You only notice Harwin at this point because he greets you then shares a laugh with the Cargylls.
Rhaenyra softly fumes at it.
"I apologize for leaving ea-"
"Don't be," she leans into her chair, "a fight broke out and the hall had to be cleared before the ceremony commenced."
You stiffen, "oh," you shake your head, "are you alri-"
"How do you do it?"
You watch Rhaenyra clutch your arm.
"How do you stand a large oaf looming over you, telling you what you should and shouldn't do?" she mutters, "two at that."
You pull your head back and steal a glance at Harwin. Lord Strong was a not of schemes or malice, though he was called Break Bones. You've spoken to him on occasion and found him to be rather gentle, but then again, most people were in fear you would break. You turn back to her, "I do not stand them."
Rhaenyra's brow quirks.
"I enjoy their company."
Her face hardens, then she pulls back.
"I am fortunate."
"You are," she crosses her arms, "he is controlling."
You knit your brows at that, "I do not understand. Is Harwin your ward?"
"As of last night," she groans, "my father fears I might encounter another act of violence."
"Ah," you slowly nod, "well, the king does it in con-"
"He made me wake before my usual hour," Rhaenyra snaps, leaning back into you, "I told him sleep until I mean to, and he said it would be good to practice a schedule for when I am Queen."
You furrow your brows at the petulant look upon her face but cannot help but chuckle when she crosses her arms. You hum and shake your head, "that is frustrating."
She narrows her eyes, "you don't agree with his reasoning?"
You shrug, "rest is a ruby and discipline an emerald. Both are valuable and I would not throw one for the other."
She thinks about your words for a moment. "I am irritated," she blurts, "I do not need yet another man to tell me what to do."
You lower your head, taking a deep breath, "I understand you completely," you offer her a soft smile, "but instead of fighting him, perhaps you can work with him."
Rhaenyra raises a brow.
"It's much easier to swim with the current, is it not?" you mutter, "perhaps the next time he persists on his way, instead of persisting on yours, you offer a middle ground."
The heiress gives you a look, "why should I offer middle ground? I am his superior."
Your smile grows sympathetic, "we are women."
Her jaw sets. She lifts her nose, "Iksan Perzys Ānogār." I am Fire and Blood."
Your smile widens. You rub her arm, "pār kostilus ao should botagon bē aōla." Then perhaps you should persist upon yourself.
Rhaenyra's proud expression falters. She was not expecting such a response from you. Your face shines though it was clear you were not in the best of conditions. You were earnest... and suddenly, she could see so clearly why her uncle was so besotted.
"Daemon has gone again-"
You tense at her sudden words.
"-but he does not desire that you suffer in consequence like how you once did," she explains.
You feel sick all over again, like all of what little you had eaten wishes to be free.
Rhaenyra leans her head, "he instructed me to be the keeper of your peace whilst he is gone."
Your lips part.
"I shall do so," she shakes her head, "not because my uncle commands me, but because I should..." she stands, "one day I will be queen."
She waves you off when you try to stand to regard her. You watch her walk off with Harwin following closely after. You stand and walk towards your wards with pursed lips, "she's so much like my sister." You shake your head with a huff, "I mourn their friendship."
They follow you walk out of the room. One offers, "we know not what the future holds. They might yet rekindle their friendship."
You say nothing to this.
You head to your sister's chambers.
"Praise the Seven," mutters Alicent the moment she sees you. You stop in your tracks when your sister runs up to you. She grips your hands, eyes solemn as she whispers, "I'm with child."
You freeze.
"The maesters say it's possible I have been for a few moons now," her breath shakes, "I've just given birth. I fear I might not be strong enough to-"
"Cast the thought away," you clutch her cheek, "you are the strongest person I know."
She speaks your name and you immediately embrace her. Alicent melts into your shoulder, taking in your scent. Your wards watch display a few paces back.
"I am here for you," you rub her back, "you have done well with Aegon and Helaena."
Alicent clenches her teeth and screws her eyes shut, but slowly allows her to relax against you.
"Auntie!"
You find Aegon running up to you.
"DRAGON!" calls the boy, tugging your skirt, "I want to see my dragon."
Alicent moves back as you crouch down to the boy, "you want to go to the pit?"
He nods, "I want to fly with Sunfyre!"
You chuckle, brushing his hair back, "Sunfyre is still too small to ride, my love."
"But I want to!"
"I know, my love, but you must wait until he's big enough."
"Did uncle wait for Caraxes to get big?"
You smile falters as you think of Daemon, but you catch yourself and shake your head, "Caraxes was already big when he was a baby."
Aegon's jaw drops, "lucky..."
You chuckle.
"Will you go to the pit with me, my love?" Aegon reaches for your cheeks, effectively reaching for your heart.
"Aww, of course," you coo, pulling him into an embrace. You look up at your sister, "may we go to the pit, sister?"
Alicent rubs her belly and nods, "will you embroider with me after?"
You agree with a smile, taking Aegon's hand as you come to a stand.
When you reach the pits, Aegon gasps at the sight of Caraxes. Since his illness, he remained sprawled outside the chasm of the pit, as he was loath to move.
"CARAXES!" Aegon excitedly points.
You turn to him with a grin, "Caraxes!"
You gasp when Aegon suddenly rips out of your grasp, bolting towards the blood wyrm. Thankfully, your wards were on high alert and manage to snag the boy before he could.
Twas Erryk that caught his arm. He clicks his tongue, "do not be naughty, young prince. You know the rules.
Aegon squeals in protest. If you didn't know any better, you'd believe he was being hurt, but you knew better. He whines, "muña!!!! Mazverdagon zirȳla dīnagon nyke ilagon!" (Maternal) aunt! Make him put me down!
Erryk raises a brow at the boy when he thrashes against him, pulling the knight's arm with all his might to no avail, "quiet. She will not save you."
"AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"
Caraxes grumbles at the noise.
Arryk raises a hand, "I'll save you, my prince!"
Aegon halts, turning to his savior.
Erryk watches his brother approach and releases him once the boy is swooped up. Aegon screams in glee when he is hung in the air upside down and thrown over Arryk's shoulder.
You chuckle at the sight, watching your nephew's legs fail behind Arryk's back. Aegon giggles, lifting his head.
Arryk grunts, "right, out of the pit then."
"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Aegon protests through laughter.
Erryk winces, turning to Caraxes warily, "hush."
"No?" Arryk looks at the boy, "but I thought I was saving you?"
Aegon laughs and points, "FROM HIM!"
Erryk gasps, "me?"
Aegon nods, "he's villain!"
You snort, "Aegon."
"Ah," Arryk raises a brow, "I see. What shall we do? Should the princess punish him?"
Aegon grins, nodding his head.
You give Arryk a look.
"AUNT!" Aegon points, "PUNISH HIM."
You roll your eyes but comply, "Erryk."
Erryk turns to you, "yes, my princess."
"I punish you to live as a cat while we are here in the pits."
"Meow."
Aegon laughs brightly, suddenly wrangling out of Arryk's arms. Arryk puts him down and Aegon immediately runs to your skirts, "do him next."
Arryk gasps at the chubby finger pointed at him, "your grace! You betray me?!"
Erryk crosses his arms, "meow, meow."
Arryk growls with his hands curled into pretend claws, slowly stomping over, "I shall have vengeance."
Aegon screams and runs around you, hiding behind your skirt, "PUNISH HIM. QUICKLY!"
You huff and turn to Arryk, "ser Arryk."
"Hmm?" Arryk halts and clears his throat. He straightens his back, "yes, my lady?"
"I punish you to live as a dog while we are here in the pits."
"Wo-woof," Arryk sighs sadly.
"Meow, meow, ri-aw."
"Arf!"
Aegon emerges behind you, pointing a finger, "HEHEHE, you've been pu-"
"Aegon, I punish you to live as a bird while we're in the pits."
The boy bends his arms into wings, "tweet, tweet,"
Erryk points, "MEOW," then licks his lips while rubbing his belly, "YUM MEOW!"
Aegon, realizing his doom, runs behind you, "TWEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!!"
The two run around and Arryk joins them, barking along as they did. When Sunfyre was brought out, Aegon immediately breaks character, "Sunfy- I mean..." he turns to you, cupping the side of his mouth, "can my punishment be over? Can I be a boy again?"
You chuckle and nod, "all your punishments are over."
"YIPEE!" Aegon jumps and runs off to his dragon.
That is, until Arryk snatches his arm again, "my prince, no running in the pit."
Aegon merely nods this time, "okay!"
Both of your wards are focused on the boy once the small, golden beast is upon him. The keepers try to keep the dragon calm, but he is equally excited to Aegon as Aegon is to see him.
Aegon fearlessly strokes his companion, gasping in awe of his golden scales, and Sunfyre makes a sound akin to a purr as he nuzzles into his hand.
"Naejot kisikagon zirȳla, ñuha dārilaros?" one of the keepers ask. Would you like to feed him, my prince?
Aegon nods eagerly.
The Cargylls allow the boy to act under the guidance of the keepers, remaining on high alert. You, on the other hand, find yourself drawn towards the other dragon in the pit. You frown at Caraxes, who was already looking, "qubirī run." Poor thing.
Caraxes huffs as you slowly approach him with a raised hand. You pet him gently, unsure if he was allowing you to do so, or if he was too sick to do anything about it.
He makes a noise that sounds rather painful. You frown deeper, "mirre iksis sȳrī. Daemon ēza geptot naejot dohaeragon ao." All is well. Daemon has left to help you.
He perks at the mention of the name. He lifts his head slightly, looking around the room for the said man.
Your heart hurts and you are immediately brought to tears, "oh you poor thing," you clench your chest, hating that he can't understand what's going on, "Daemon iksis daor kesīr." Daemon is not here.
Caraxes makes a sound, earning the attention of the others in the room.
The twins see where you stand and immediately become agitated. They call your name slowly.
Caraxes sees them and grunts in displeasure.
"Shhh," you shake your head, "lykirī." Calmly.
The dragon does not listen and grits his teeth.
The keepers have to intervene and Aegon's time with Sunfyre is unfortunately cut short because of Caraxes's restlesness.
When you return Aegon to his mother and he insists upon lemon cakes. You all have some cakes and tea as you and the queen spend the rest of the day embroidering.
By the time you're back in your chambers that night, you dismiss your wards and get ready for bed. Your servant girls help you dress and after dismissing them, you raise your brow at the sight of the Cargylls, still ouside your door.
You towards them, hands on your hips, "I've not met anyone as eager for work as you two."
Erryk merely ignores you, standing back into attention. Arryk offers you a nod, "we merely do our duty, your grace."
"I'm going to bed," you raise an arm.
Arryk stands attention, closing the door as they both say in unison, "good night."
You huff, grabbing the knob. They ignore you. You roll your eyes, "come inside."
They ignore you still.
"I have dismissed you. You are not my wards in this hour," you walk to your vanity and prepare your quill and parchment. You turn to the open door, "shall I write to Daemon?"
This grabs their attention. Both of them turn to you and soon, the door is closed and both of them are by your side.
You turn to your paper, "I think I should write to Gwayne first, berate him for ignoring my letters."
"I doubt he ignores you. He's likely preoccupied, as I hear there has been an issue of locust in the Reach," Erryk offers as he paces around the room.
"He is preoccupied," you mutter, "Lord Tarly tried to talk his daughter up to me."
"Mmm," Arryk clutches his hands where he stands beside you, "Tarly. It would be a noble match."
You scoff, "I doubt my father would want him to marry within the Reach. Perhaps he'll offer him a Dornish bride so he could sink his fingers into the south."
Neither of them respond.
You begin to air out your grievances to your twin, your grievances with his late responses... your grievances with your husband who was now in Essos.
As you do, Arryk recalls your interaction with Rhaenyra, and by extension, Harwin's interaction with them. "It seems the princess has a ward."
Erryk turns to his brother at the mention. You merely hum.
"Ser Harwin asked how we get along, especially since there's three of us."
"And what did you say?" you mutter, focus still on your paper.
"I said we were blessed to ward over such a kind spirit."
"You mean such a sickly spirit."
"A calm one," Arryk corrects, sauntering to the back of your seat, "the princess is apparently fond of instigating quarrels."
You look up at him, taking his reflection, "she is fire and blood. She instigates quarrels no more than a baby demands to be fed. She does simply what is her nature."
"Ser Harwin for advice on how to handle the young princess," Erryk adds, walking over to you.
You watch him come beside your vanity, leaning on the surface. "Mmm, pray tell, what advice did you give?"
"Patience," Erryk blurts, "I told him patience is the only solution to his problem."
You chuckle softly, turning to Arryk behind you. You gather your hair over your shoulder, combing through the dark locks, "and you?"
Arryk looks down at you, belly rolling at the warmth your features under candlelight. He sighs slowly, clenching a fist to steel himself, "I told him to submit."
Your brow quirks.
"Submit to her will... her wants," one of his hands reach for you, "her desires."
Erryk watches as his twin caresses your cheek. He licks his lips when Arryk traces yours with his thumb. Unwilling to be merely an onlooker, Erryk comes to your side, taking your hand to kiss your knuckles.
This steals your attention. You turn to the other Cargyll, instantly finding your mouth trapped against his. Erryk kisses you gently, as if he feared placing any more pressure would break you.
Arryk breathes heavily and slowly drops to his knees. His hands brush over your lap, slowly bunching your skirt up. He grabs the base of the chair and drags you into him. Erryk's kisses shift as your chair does;his lips trail to your jaw and neck.
Your attention is stolen again when you feel hands on your bare legs. Arryk had hiked your dress up and was now parting your thighs to make room for himself between them.
"Wait," you mewl, reaching out to him, "I don't think I can take you both toni-"
"You do not have to," Erryk immediately mutters, "you needn't take either of us," his hands slowly brush across your chest. He squeezes one of your breasts, "let us take care of you,a make you feel good."
"Aye," Arryk blurts in agreement, "let us calm you."
"But what about y-"
Arryk makes your words falter by taking your shins and placing them on his shoulder. His steel is cool against your skin which burns hotter by the second. He kisses your knee while Erryk pushes your hair behind you, attacking your neck with his wet lips. "Do we not remind you enough to stop worrying about our pleasure?"
You bite your lip, holding back the whimper that threatens to spill as Arryk kisses up your inner thigh. You sigh, "I thought you said you submit to me?"
Arryk looks up as you, pressing your thighs against his cheeks. His eyes glimmer with longing, with adoration. Erryk shifts behind your shoulder to easier kiss you there as he pulls your sleeve down.
"Is this not submitting?" Arryk mutters.
You reach for his cheeks and stroke his beard, "I'm tried."
"Just one," he whispers, fingers eager to pull your bloomers down, "I will not tease you... not unless you wish it."
You whimper at the idea and shake your head.
Arryk heaves in an attempt to keep his breathing level. You still hadn't given your explicit permission, so he does nothing but watch as his brother smothers your shoulder with his lips. He mimics and kisses your thighs, "please... just on my tongue."
"Fuck," whispers Erryk upon hearing it.
You sigh and clench your jaw, finally nodding. You pull Arryk's head into your waiting core.
He wastes little time between removing your inner garments and pressing his mouth against your soft womanhood. Though eager he was to lap you up and eat you out, Arryk is gentle with his tongue. He is gentle with how he moves his lips and how he nuzzles his nose into you.
Erryk keeps you in place, body pressed against you, assuring your comfort, even if it meant the lack of his own. He massages your breasts intermittently and soon decides to pepper as much attention on the other side of your neck as he did the opposite. He breathes hotly against you, "smell so good."
Arryk hums, "taste even better."
You whimper when both brothers nip at you; they had a knack of doing things at the same time, even if unintentional. Your back arches and you slowly begin to swivel in your spot as the pleasure in your body intensifies.
The scratch of Arryk's beard on your tender flesh makes you groan. Soon, the wet lapping is loud enough to match the noises you were emitting.
Your peak is surprisingly strong and makes you lurch forward into Arryk's head. He steadies you though, as does his twin. Your legs nearly cramp as your body tenses with the hot and heavy sensation that bursts across your form. Both brothers give you one last kiss before carrying you into bed and tucking you in.
"That is your fortune."
He clenches his fist and teeth.
"Sadness bled from love. Misplaced yearning. Treachery strung from treachery. Nightmare become flesh."
His breath is low and shaky. He tells himself she's a quack but then again she knew nothing of him when he entered; now it seems she knew everything. "Fortune or reality?"
The soothsayer sat across him on the carpet shrugs, her heavily painted face twists in indifference, "two sides of the same coin."
"Can I change it?" Daemon snaps, liking no part of what he'd heard. This witch spoke only painful confirmations of things he'd tried so hard to deny.
She stares at him, scrutinizing his clothes. She was no fool, she knew he was noble, even with his tatty attire. She tilts her head, "for a price."
Daemon chuckles dryly, "of course," he shakes his head, reaching for his pocket, "how much more will you swindle out-"
"You must send word to your wife today or else she will never respond to you again."
The prince freezes.
The woman knowingly hums, "the same constellation that shone during her birth will soon shine. Her half will celebrate but she will not."
Her half? His jaw clenches. Gwayne? "Why won't she celebrate?"
"Death," she mutters simply, "everyone shall mourn during her day."
Daemon tenses, "death? Whose?"
She shrugs.
He grabs a pouch of coins and places it between them.
She looks at the coin but shrugs yet again, "I tell you only of what I see. A town of old shall rejoice for its heir will retrieve a bride. Babes will be promised. Her own lonely tears will drown the princess."
Daemon's face twitches.
The woman is unbothered by his deep bother. He lies on her side and waves him off, "go write to her and leave me now, prince. I tire."
"What should I write?"
She gives him a face, "it's nary my business what a married man and woman write about."
"B-"
"Waste more daylight by all means," she raises a hand, "may the gods grant you a bird that knows the flight back to King's Landing."
Daemon's huffs then exits the tent. Just as he remembers he left his pouch of coin, he turns and finds the tent is gone.
"What in the name of the god—"
"My lord!" a frantic voice calls. Daemon finds the captain of his ship, running towards him. He grabs his arms, "where have you been?! We've spent all day looking for you!"
The prince pushes him away, "do not exaggerate. I was merely gone for-" He turns back when he hears a bell tolling, brows furrowing at the sight of the setting sun behind the tower.
"I had to pay my guide to Norvos extra to wait and stay for us," says the captain.
Daemon looks out to the marketplace before him. Mere moments ago, it was bustling, lively, and stocked to the brim. Now, seemingly not a soul was present nor were there any goods at all for sale. He turns back to the man, mouth ajar, "I swear I had only left a few minutes. A woman had spoken to me about my wife... I had to listen."
The captain mutters something in his native speech. He shakes his head, "you be wary of witches," he spits to his side, "we might not reach Norvos at all if you listen to all the harks you hear." He shakes his head, "come now. We must aw-"
"No. I must write to King's Landing at once."
The man tenses and huffs, "and did the witch tell you do to so?"
"My heart does," Daemon says, walking off.
His eye twitches. Captain follows after him, "we waste sunlight... and coin! You can send her word the next stop ov-"
"It is my time and money you rely on," he shoots him a look, "I will spend it as I see fit."
And so it was.
Daemon sits upon a table just outside a tavern with a cup of wine, gazing back and forth between the captain and the guide, who were arguing in front of a horse stable. The scene is reminiscent of the argument you had when he left you in the pit to go to the Stepstones. The memory tries to choke him.
Beside the stable was a two-floored house and on the top window, he could see a mother watching her daughter play an instrument akin to a lute as she breastfed her babe. They had hair as dark as yours, which was why couldn't help imagine she was you for a moment... how happy he'd be to come home to something like this.
He turns to his paper and wonders if you ever drank wine when you wrote to him.
The bell tolls.
A septa lights some of the candles that went out with the wind.
You and Alicent had been knelt down in prayer in the temple. More accurately, she had been praying and you had been silently crying; your sister merely pretended not to notice.
The loud ring of the bells were what pulled you out of your melancholic trance. You sniffle and wipe your face, gathering yourself as much as you could. You push yourself up and turn to your sister, helping her up as she struggles slightly to get to her feet. She rubs her belly, the bump now visible.
"Perhaps we ought to stay standing next time, my dear," you say.
The queen disagrees, "I'm fine."
You freeze when she brushes your wet cheeks. You stare at her as he frowns.
"Are you?"
You slowly push her hand away, shaking your head, "I do not know. Does the news of the crown princess being with child not inspire you to weep?"
Alicent does not respond. In truth, she does not know how she feels about Rhaenyra carrying. She is rather numb, but she does not think she should admit it. This is why she changes the subject, "what of Daemon?"
You chuckle dryly, scratching your eyes, "what of him?"
"Has he still not written to you?"
You shake your head, lowering your gaze, "I would probably have taken this news better if he had," you chuckle bitterly, "I thought it would be different this time," you look back at her, "but here I am, wanting to return to Oldtown more than ever."
"Take heart," Alicent grabs your arm, "he said he would write you, didn't he?"
Your eyes water, "now that I think it, he never expressed the exact sentiment."
"Perhaps there are no birds to send correspondence."
"Alicent," you mumble, "you need not defend him. It only hurts us both." You gaze up at the ceiling, "I admit..." you laugh dryly, "I was not expecting any word from him."
That was a lie.
You were hopeful for letters, nay, you prayed for them... but then, you realized that change does not come easy and saved your breath.
But there was truth, and the truth of it all resided with Otto. It surprised him how sentimental Daemon could be, and how consistently so.
Even now, as sits upon his office chair, reading the most recent one, his throat tightens and his stomach sours at his sentiment.
After a few bites, they both go back to playing, quickly uninterested in your porridge. The door opens and, quickly, they are uninterested in their toys when their father walks in. "KEPA!"
Your eyes open just before he kisses you. You rub your lips, finding them cold from the night air. Tears rush down your skin.
Oh god, someone save them from their own misery. The first scenes making me want to smoke 10 packs of cigarette at the same time and question the importance of life. LOL.
You sit down by the fountains, taking deep breaths in and out. You rub your belly, groaning as you did. You bite your lip to hold back tears when you begin to realize how similar this scene was. You mumble, "I feel like I'm having a miscarriage."
AAAAAAAAAAAAA (most reasonable crashout).
"-but he does not desire that you suffer in consequence like how you once did," she explains.
No comment. Just this memes.
"Will you go to the pit with me, my love?" Aegon reaches for your cheeks, effectively reaching for your heart.
You gasp when Aegon suddenly rips out of your grasp, bolting towards the blood wyrm. Thankfully, your wards were on high alert and manage to snag the boy before he could.
The scenes with little Aegon is just wholesome. This is his alternative universe where he is loved and has 2 loving mother figures and uncle-dad moments with Daemon. It just shows how environment and people surrounding kids shaped them as a person as they grow up. If they grow up in canonically events in HOTD they will end up as Aegon and if theh grow up in Tormented Spirit they will end up as capybara like Aegon—and I would love to think that TS is the canon events of HOTD not the series nor the book🤸♀️
Caraxes sees them and grunts in displeasure.
Like father, like son. "He grunts, calmly."
You were hopeful for letters, nay, you prayed for them... but then, you realized that change does not come easy and saved your breath.
Hozier's music playing in my head as I cry for them. They yearn for each other but it has protective walls that seems to hold them back from facing each other. They try to break it but everytime they do there's always someone or something to fix the walls that they're badly trying to break. Oh, will love truly meet in the end? No one can tell...
Otto nearly gags. He crumples the paper and stands from his seat. He walks toward his fireplace and chucks it in, as he did with the previous ones.
Otto giving me so many reasons to buy a gun just for me to use it on his head (multiple times). THE VOICES, THE FUCKING VOICES!
someone save them from their own misery is such a GOOD and concise way of like describing this fic omg. AND FEEL KITA SA SIGARILYO PERO METAPHORICALLY LANG HA IBLOCK KAYA KITA PAG NANIGARILYO KA TALAGA
GAGO B YUNG PICTURE NUNG NANINIGARILYO IS CRAZYYYYYYY HAHHAHHAH all your memes are sublimeeeeeeee if i do say so myself as a meme curator 😋🤭
I love that you love Aegon and how he is being brought up thus far <3 i have such a soft spot for him. nature vs nurture is really coming into play rn. i have plans fr for him to have kind moments with YN and Daemon <3333 🥺 my boy needs it, as does the rest of the targtowers. i do want to say though because i love you so much, pleaseeee remember im writing an angst fic and I *do* have plans to put into play some canon events and you know what i'll just outright tell you its aemond losing his eye so... do with that information what you will.
also heavy on the quote for the aegon/targtowers
HAHHA he grunts calmly for caraxes is sooo funny HAHHAH
HAVING HOZIER PLAYING IN YOUR HEAD WHILE READING MY FIC IS SUCH A COMPLIMENT COS GIRLLL THIS MAKES YOU THINK OF THAT MANS SONGS 😩😩 LOVE THAT FOR ME. and the whollleeee moodboard beneath it
SAUR GOOD. altho neil gaiman jumpscare (he has a sexual abuse scandal so every time i see his name i cringe. day 10000000038284 of begging men to be normal)
HAHHAHA THE VOICESSSSS. my voices are saying i should walk into this fic and fuck him so he can finally calm down. same same but different.
i adore your reblogs. they make my heart go BOOM. i love you. milktea tayo (real)
Omg, hi!!! Of course metaphorically lang yung paninigarilyo rants ko sa mga reblogs, don't take it seriously (may asthma), lol. My dedication to my meme collection is just 🤌, I literally have an album that consist 800+ meme pictures only, girl I'm that obsessed and crazy.
No comment for this.....
Go girl! Do whatchu gonna do with your works, it's canon event afterall we can't change what's already done. I just love Aegon talaga, imprisoned me or what pero he just hit different sa series and especially sa book. His insane and I love him for that, god didn't put Aegon in the healthy environment when growing up because he knows he would be too powerful to handle (lols). I love your works talaga, especially hotd and some got. Top 5 hotd fave writers kita be with Ara🩷☝️.
Right!? Every time I see Daemon yearns with anyone here sa tumblr or ao3 he embodied Hozier's music like gawd! Daemon written by Hozier. Thank you for appreciating my reblogs as I appreciate your works! Keep it up, I love to see your future works soon too! Sayang lang yung ibang series mo na hindi tuloy all of them have potential😭🤌.
Idk about the neil thingy, my bad. Didn't know the dude's name exist in the pic until you pointed it out HAHSHAHHAHA.
HAHHAHA THE VOICESSSSS. my voices are saying i should walk into this fic and fuck him so he can finally calm down. same same but different.
YASS, QUEEN!! DO WHATCHU GONNA DO!
i adore your reblogs. they make my heart go BOOM. i love you. milktea tayo (real)
AHHH YES!! Love you too, SUNDUIN NA KITA SAINYO, TARA NA!
A/N: And it’s wrapped up! Huge thanks to @just-some-random-blogger and @aias-fxtns for sticking with me and cheering me on to finish this. For anyone new, you can read the first part here!
THERE WAS A prickling sensation on the back of your neck, as if someone was watching you. It had been a constant sensation since a couple of days ago, one that you couldn’t shake even when alone in your quarters.
You had looked into the flames to know who it was, but the Lord of Light kept the mystery concealed from you. The only comfort you had was that the person couldn’t have ill intent. When such things had happened to you in the past, you were always warned of the imminent danger. Hence, if there was no warning, there was no danger.
You continued with your days as normal. As a worshiper of the Red God, you had never slept much, forced to keep vigil over the precious light you were afforded when the night fell. The stalking didn’t mean any changes in your routine, beyond mild annoyance at your lack of privacy.
Despite being powerful enough to feel the presence chasing you around, and strong enough to vanish it too with a few well-placed flames or complaints to the King, you found yourself hesitating. What if the person was tailing you because they were curious about your god? With your abysmal failure at converting anyone yet, you felt like you couldn’t turn them away.
Much to your dismay, the moon in King Viserys’ court had taught you one thing about yourself: You were terrible at preaching and convincing people. While your display of magic interested the King and his heir, their curiosity seemed purely centered in how it related to their Valyrian practices. Any muttered enchantment in High Valyrian was to them an example their gods were lending you power, and not R'hllor. No matter how many times you told them you used it because you were essoii, they refused to believe it.
Pondering over your troubles as you partook in some recreational cursing, involving a live leech that you had fed Hightower blood, you were so focused, you didn't hear the door to your workroom open. Nor did you felt anything abnormal, recognizing the presence that followed you everywhere. You simply continued building your small pyre, feeling like these things required a more personal touch than just magicking it into existence.
Besides, King Viserys had been explicit. You were not allowed bonfires inside, no matter how small you made them.
“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?” The presence asked, sounding slightly amused. You turned, eager to meet your stalker. He was a fairly muscled man, though not overly so, with the built of a warrior. His hair was the silver color you had come to associate with Targaryens, a trait much rarer here than in your natal kingdom. There was a sword on his belt.
His face, twisted into a mischievous smile, seemed oddly familiar. You had seen him before, but you did not know where.
“Praying.” You answered, simply. The leech caught in your grasp squirmed, and you studied it with a detached expression. Should you skewer it and cause the man terrible stomach pains? Or boil it to give him a fever? You weren’t intending to kill, only to severely maim, so throwing it into the pyre was out of the question.
“By holding a leech?” The man pressed closer, invading your personal space. You gave him a slow, bloodthirsty smile. Less he became too familiar.
“He represents one of my enemies.”
The man’s expression turned colder. He grabbed a lock of your hair, idly twirling it between his fingers in what was a clear attempt at intimidating you.
“And what enemies does a pretty thing like you have? Shouldn’t you be whispering into the King’s ears? Warming his bed?”
Ah, you thought, finally realizing who might this be and why he had been stalking you. Daemon Targaryen. Viserys’ fiercest protector. The Rogue Prince himself, of whom you had heard so much about.
“I do not bed your brother, no.” You carefully placed a metal stake in the pyre, settling for skewering the leech. “And to answer your question, there are some ardent believers in the false idols in high positions here. I am simply ridding the realm of them.”
“I do not bed your brother, my prince.” He corrected, his smile getting more vicious. You knew he understood exactly whom you were referring to. Despite your shared dislike for Otto Hightower, you did not like his tone.
“Fire burns us all.” You impaled the leech, watching it squirm in the flames. “Even princes.”
“Dragons do not burn.” Daemon said, with a stubborn tilt of his mouth.
“Oh, but you do.” You smirked. “Or can you do this?” You reached into the flames, recovering the metal rod you had used to kill the leech. Your hand didn’t blister. Fire was not dangerous to you, your control over it too great. You offered it to him, still flaming hot.
He didn’t take it. He knew that regardless of what House Targaryen claimed, none of them were truly fireproof. Not like you were. Not like she would be.
Instead, Daemon reached for your hand, his expression one of complete wonder. He ran his fingers over your knuckles, as if checking for himself that you were not tricking him. Your skin remained smooth and pleasantly warm under his exploring hand.
He stepped closer. His pupils were blown, mouth parted in half surprise, half desire. His thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist, and towards the inner side of your arm. His nails, short and well taken care of, scratched pleasantly against your forearm.
Suddenly, he tugged you towards him. Curious about his intentions, you allowed it. It had been a long time since you had been touched with such yearning. It felt as if he wanted to know you by touch and taste alone, unravel all your secrets. And you wanted to let him.
“Enchantress.” He muttered, under his breath. “Sorceress.”
“Priestess.” You corrected, looking at him from below your eyelashes.
Slowly, meeting your eyes, purple against your warm brown, he leant in and kissed you. His mouth caught yours, an instant of absolute violence and sweetness. There was no softness in it. Daemon kissed to conquer, to own. And it was why you had to break it, with the certainty that if you allowed it to go any further, desire would consume you both.
Red Priestesses weren’t sworn to celibacy. But you couldn’t be with this man, used to possessing, to owning. You had a destiny already, and it wasn’t paramour or wife. And he had his, too. You finally remembered where you had seen him. In your dreams, his blood mixed with the one in your silver Queen.
“Did you need something?” You asked, tone very casual. He frowned, looking perplexed. You would be, too, if you were him. After such a delicious kiss, rejection would confuse you too.
“Walk with me.” He pressed, grabbing your elbow. “I can show you the most pleasant areas in the Red Keep.”
“Of that, I am sure. But I have no time for pleasure.” And you grabbed another leech, turning your back to him. This time, you threw it into the fire without intention, just because you could.
“I WOULD LIKE to go for a walk with you, priestess.” Daemon says, for what feels like the twelfth time this week alone. As always, you barely lift your eyes from the red tome you are reading. Preparing to entertain Rhaenyra, no doubt. His niece has begun to monopolize far too much of your time for Daemon’s liking.
Not that Daemon blames her. You are exquisite, and Rhaneyra has always had excellent taste.
“Hm.” You reply, making some notes on a spare parchment. Your penmanship is common, letters more similar to those merchants’ use than the beautiful handwriting most ladies have. Yet, even though it highlights your less than noble origins, Daemon finds it much better than what westerosi women manage to produce. For your writings have a redeemable trait: You write exclusively in High Valyrian.
“Perhaps, if not a walk, you would like to sup with me?” Daemon tempts you. You have been sitting here for what feels like hours. Perhaps the prospect of food might be more amiable to you.
“I can't.” You chew on your quill, expression torn. Daemon wonders if you still think he suspects you of being a cunning little witch. Which you are, but he has left behind his worry because you are wholly unprepared to seduce Viserys or Rhaenyra into your way of thinking.
Whatever they taught you in those Red Temples didn’t prepare you for House Targaryen. Not even close. Viserys listened to your advice before discarding it because, well, he just wasn’t interested in ruling beyond keeping the peace. Your suggestions were too bold to follow them without angering the Faith.
And Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra had always been capricious. You didn’t realize it, but she was using you to get back at the Hightower whore for attempting to seduce her father. She wasn’t truly interested in your theories about magic and gods.
“I am not attempting to trick you.” He gently places his hand on your arm, trying to get your attention away from that blasted book. Your skin is soft and smooth to the touch, and Daemon cannot help but wonder how good it will feel against his.
There has never been a woman who said no to him. That you do so, even when you had trembled with desire when he kissed you, intrigues him. And that you deny him each time you are faced with temptation only makes him want to have you further.
“I know.” You smile, in that eerie way that tells Daemon that you know because you have seen it, and not just because you trust him. “I still cannot betray my vows.”
“Red Priestesses make no vow of celibacy.” Daemon says, puzzled.
“That isn’t the vow I speak of.” And when Daemon asks for clarifications, you simply laugh and claim to be too busy to enlighten him. No matter how much Daemon tries to understand, he doesn’t.
Hence, the need to come to ask you. This time, he is smarter about it. He comes bearing a gift. A costly one, in which Daemon had splurged. The damn thing is uncannily smart, studying him with huge purple eyes. A fitting gift for an eerie woman.
“Daemon?” As always, your inquiring tone is more of a courtesy than a real doubt. You probably saw his visit on the torches or something. Was it even worth it preparing a surprise, or would you already know? His question is soon answered when you set down the grinding stone you are using to prepare some sort of red concoction, and mutter. “I am not even from that part of Essos.”
“At least it is cute?” Daemon presents the cage with the little valyrian. The creature gives him a side eyed look, as if judging him.
“She is adorable.” You agree, opening up the cage without a care in the world.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Daemon had nearly lost a finger to the vicious maws of the damn thing. Turns out, he has little reason to worry. The damn creature climbs on your shoulder and settles there as if she belongs, chittering to herself. “How did you..?”
“She, too, doesn’t belong in a cage. She cannot be owned.” You explain, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Somehow, Daemon feels like you are not simply talking about the little valyrian.
“I don’t understand.” He says, swallowing his pride. You turn to look at him, and smile.
“Men never do.”
“I ONLY WEAR red.” You say, setting down the parcel in front of Daemon. He is sharpening his sword in the courtyard, the metal shining brightly on the sunlight, making you think of him once again. Azor Ahai and his flaming sword.
The silks are the most expensive garbs you have ever owned. They had felt so smooth against your skin, cold and soft. But they didn’t belong in the wardrobe of a red priestess. They belonged in some stuffy lady’s trousseau. Perhaps, in a princess’.
You had seen a similar thing in your flames, after all. A thousand beautiful trinkets laid at the feet of your silver princess.
“I do not understand you.” Daemon sets down his sword, but doesn’t take the parcel back. He ignores your extended hands. “Your body yearns for mine, like fire yearns for logs, like men yearn for sustenance.”
You snort.
“A bit presumptuous, aren’t we?”
Daemon springs up to his feet, stepping into your personal space. The parcel, containing the beautiful silks, falls forgotten to the ground.
“I only speak as I see it.” He cups your face in his hands, softly. The tenderness in his grip makes you close your eyes. “The kiss we shared… You felt it too. There is an inferno between the two of us. And Seven Hells…” He leans in, until his lips are merely a breath away from you. “I want to burn.”
Burn. Burn, like the flames you use to watch the future. The reminder of everything that is at stake makes you jump in your haste to get away from him.
Daemon doesn’t get angry. Instead, he gives you a long look.
“I know you desire me. I can tell. Your face is warm, your pupils are blown… Your body betrays you when your mouth refuses to speak. So what is the problem?”
“You are not for me.” You are too scared to say it plainly. Admitting out loud the two of you can never be together is akin to burying your relationship. Hence, the puzzles and mysteries.
“Not for you?” Daemon frowns slightly, before he realizes your meaning and his expression turns into a full-blown frown. “You mean, you saw some shit in those flames of yours?”
“Excuse me?” The rage you feel at him daring to question your visions makes you forget your previous thoughts about keeping your distance, getting in his face. “How dare you…?”
Daemon grasps a hand you hadn’t even realized you were using to gesture aggressively in his direction, shushing you.
“Let us say I believe in your Red God.” He tugs you towards him, letting you collide against his chest. The feeling of him, so firm, so solid against you, is heavenly. You close your eyes, unable to help it. He smells of fire and sweat and something so utterly him it makes you begin to daydream about what it would be like if you could be his. It’s the sweetest of all agonies. “You saw me with someone else?”
The words hit you like a bucket of cold water. Someone else. Someone he belongs to, someone whose line will bring the Prince that was promised, to save you from the long night.
You should focus. This is your reality. You are nothing but a voice for R'hllor, you are not meant to want anything else but to spread his word and message. You are not some princess from a fairytale, who will get the handsome knight in the end.
Yet, it aches. It stings, it hurts. It’s a death from a thousand cuts. All your life, you have dedicated yourself to the cause, and when there is a single thing you want for yourself, you are not allowed to have it.
“I did. You belong to another woman.” You say, even when it hurts you to do so. R'hllor gives his strongest warriors the worst battles, you try to remember yourself.
“I do not want that other woman.” Daemon grasps your face between his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes. He presses his forehead against yours. “I want you.”
“From her line and your line shall come Azor Ahai.” You whisper, trying to get him to understand even when your own heart is breaking. “The prince that was promised. To fight the darkness, the cold, the terrors. I cannot…”
Instead of scoffing at your beliefs, like he had done before, Daemon sighs. He closes his eyes, before opening them again.
“These futures you see… They can’t be changed?”
“I cannot risk it. The fates of our entire world, for a moment of fleeting pleasure?” You untangle yourself from him. “I am sorry, Daemon. I cannot risk it.”
DAEMON HAD SPENT the whole week thinking about it. Seeing you walk around court, a whisper of red skirts and red curls tumbling down your back, made his heart ache.
He had never wanted to belong anywhere. He was a Prince of House Targaryen, closer to gods than men. There was no point in attempting to conform or to tie himself down somewhere.
If someone had asked him before if he thought there was a place where he belonged, he would have said Valyria. If someone asked him now… Daemon only wanted to be yours. And he hated the fact that he could not be.
He had spent his evenings pouring over all the Red Keep’s library had to offer on prophecies, and then some. It had been a fruitless endeavor. There was little to be learned about prophecies and a lot to be learned about them. His knowledge of dragon dreams alone told him that. They were capricious things, more likely to come true in unexpected ways than to actually make any sense.
It was why he had always distrusted dreams. It was why he was willing to risk it and be with you. If one tried to avoid the prophecy, it might come true regardless. Or it could seem straightforward, but one could be interpreting it wrong, and just when you thought it meant one thing, it meant another one.
He wasn’t about to claim to be an expert on how Red Witches worked, but he didn’t care. Even if it doomed the whole world, Daemon wanted to be with you. It was why he had come to seek you out once more.
You were looking lovelier than ever, seated upon a windowsill watching dawn come. The sunlight played against your features, making it seem as if you were a being of pure light, coming together slowly as the dawn broke.
You didn’t turn to look at him, but you moved slightly aside, making space for him to sit next to you. Daemon didn’t know how you did it, but you had an eerie sense to know when someone approached you. He hoped that someday you would explain to him how the trick worked.
He sat next to you, in silence. He grasped your hand in his before he even attempted to speak. You were warm and soft, as you always were.
“I know not of prophecies.” Daemon began, voice pitched low. For your ears only, less someone else overheard and took him for a sentimental fool. He was one, but only for you. There was no point in ruining his reputation before the entire court. “But I know my heart. I want to belong to you, Priestess. As long as you will have me.”
“I cannot have…” You begin, and Daemon isn’t about to let you ruin it.
“Renounce your vows. Or don’t. I’ll convert. Believe in your vision, or don’t. I fear you might have changed it already, with how much I wish to be yours and only yours.” The words just keep coming, and you look horrified at the blasphemy he is spouting. Daemon knows he cannot convince you of anything if you get too incensed and burn him to a crisp. He raises his palms placatingly. “If your god deals in absolutes, it might have come to pass, and we might have only a short while together. If he doesn’t, perhaps a child of ours will marry a child of hers."
“Are you trying to lecture me on how I should interpret my own visions?” You arch an eyebrow, the very picture of disbelief. Has he gone too far?
“I would never. I only mean to say…”
“What if the world implodes? What if the Long Night comes and no one is there to save us from the darkness?”
“Then I will make the damn child if the future is fixed so. Have a little faith in your god. If this Azor Ahai has to be here, he will be here. Through whatever means it takes him.”
“That’s not how this works!” You say, outraged. Your cute little face scrunches up in fury, and Daemon thinks he has never met anyone as irresistible as you are.
“Then teach this poor sinner how to be properly devoted.” Daemon pulls you to him, and hugs you tightly. He has never in his life begged for anything, but for you, he is willing to try. “Let me be yours. Keep the vows, or don’t. Do as you please. I’ll be your husband, your lover, your whore. Anything. As long as I am yours.”
And thankfully, you save him from further embarrassment. Just as the sun rises fully into the sky, you turn to him and quiet him with a kiss.
AHH! Finally I got a chance to read this! I've been busy this past few weeks and thank the gods I have free time today😭. This is so good, I need more but I know open ending is quite the deal to avoid angsty ending🙌🩷.
THERE WAS A prickling sensation on the back of your neck, as if someone was watching you. It had been a constant sensation since a couple of days ago, one that you couldn’t shake even when alone in your quarters.
I FEEL LIKE SOMEBODY'S WATCHING ME!!~
“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?” The presence asked, sounding slightly amused. You turned, eager to meet your stalker. He was a fairly muscled man, though not overly so, with the built of a warrior. His hair was the silver color you had come to associate with Targaryens, a trait much rarer here than in your natal kingdom. There was a sword on his belt.
They finally met, I bet the obsession become worse after this interaction. I would love to deep dive into their minds as the obsession progress. I just want to see how insane this two could be, like how can they be a menace to society, LMAO.
“He represents one of my enemies.”
ATE🙌
The man’s expression turned colder. He grabbed a lock of your hair, idly twirling it between his fingers in what was a clear attempt at intimidating you.
Obsessed much?
“Oh, but you do.” You smirked. “Or can you do this?” You reached into the flames, recovering the metal rod you had used to kill the leech. Your hand didn’t blister. Fire was not dangerous to you, your control over it too great. You offered it to him, still flaming hot.
Ladies and gentlemen, HER.
Suddenly, he tugged you towards him. Curious about his intentions, you allowed it. It had been a long time since you had been touched with such yearning. It felt as if he wanted to know you by touch and taste alone, unravel all your secrets. And you wanted to let him.
Just say this man,
Instead, Daemon reached for your hand, his expression one of complete wonder. He ran his fingers over your knuckles, as if checking for himself that you were not tricking him. Your skin remained smooth and pleasantly warm under his exploring hand.
AMEN!!!!
Slowly, meeting your eyes, purple against your warm brown, he leant in and kissed you. His mouth caught yours, an instant of absolute violence and sweetness. There was no softness in it. Daemon kissed to conquer, to own. And it was why you had to break it, with the certainty that if you allowed it to go any further, desire would consume you both.
AHHHHHHHH!!! I FORGOT HOW TO BREATHE FOR A MINUTE THERE....
“Men never do.”
WHO IS THIS DIVA??
“I cannot risk it. The fates of our entire world, for a moment of fleeting pleasure?” You untangle yourself from him. “I am sorry, Daemon. I cannot risk it.”
NO! MISS MÆM, NO! STOP, NO!!!! SOMEONE HOLD HER! ANYONE!?
If someone had asked him before if he thought there was a place where he belonged, he would have said Valyria. If someone asked him now… Daemon only wanted to be yours. And he hated the fact that he could not be.
AMEN TO THAT SISTAH!!!
“Renounce your vows. Or don’t. I’ll convert. Believe in your vision, or don’t. I fear you might have changed it already, with how much I wish to be yours and only yours.” The words just keep coming, and you look horrified at the blasphemy he is spouting. Daemon knows he cannot convince you of anything if you get too incensed and burn him to a crisp. He raises his palms placatingly. “If your god deals in absolutes, it might have come to pass, and we might have only a short while together. If he doesn’t, perhaps a child of ours will marry a child of hers."
If someone said this to me I'll be carrying them to the church/court just to get married d-day. Seriously though, where do I find this kind of men??? I would like to purchase one.
“Then teach this poor sinner how to be properly devoted.” Daemon pulls you to him, and hugs you tightly. He has never in his life begged for anything, but for you, he is willing to try. “Let me be yours. Keep the vows, or don’t. Do as you please. I’ll be your husband, your lover, your whore. Anything. As long as I am yours.”
AHHHHH, I WANT HIM! SOMEONE GIVE ME A THE LINK OF WHERE I COULD BUY THIS MAN. I WANT MY MAN OBSESSED☝️ I WANT TO BE HIS RELIGION.
Good bye to you our diva (red priestess! reader) you'll be missed:(
Summary: Daemon cannot understand Viserys. Trusting Otto Hightower was one thing, but a Red Priestess? His brother must be out of his mind. But if he is, why does Daemon want you so much?
Warnings: Mature language. Lord of Light. Stalking (Daemon's version)
A/N: For the anon that said "I wanna be yours" x Daemon, you have my whole heart. Tagging: @just-some-random-blogger and @aias-fxtns because I need the support (First fic after breakup) and both of you are lovely artists!
EXILE HAD ALWAYS suited him. Or at least, that was what Daemon liked to pretend. It made Viserys’ constant dismissals easier to bear. Easier to accept.
And he had to accept it. Because he could not imagine a world in which he wouldn’t love Viserys, wouldn’t attempt to protect him. If he resented his brother, that task turned harder and harder.
It wasn’t as if exile was so bad. Daemon loved getting to know the world around him. He had a taste for the foreign and exotic, at least per westerosi standards.
It was only natural that when the rumor about the Red Priestess Viserys’s court reached his ears, he had to return. Planning a war in Driftmark could wait. Viserys' sudden bout of madness could not.
A red witch of all things! What was Viserys’ thinking? Daemon knew all about them. About how they were fanatical in their worship, how they performed blood magics similar to those that had brought the doom of Valyria, how they burned alive those they perceived as unfaithful. But most of all, how great they were at bending men to their wills.
So focused Daemon had been on the infestation of local snakes they had at court, he had never thought there would be room for essosi ones. Now, he had to rid Viserys of his latest plague.
“Prince Daemon Targaryen!” The guard announces, and truly, the security here is so lax, Daemon is surprised no one has murdered Viserys yet. Is Otto trying to purposefully get him killed, has he forgotten Daemon is technically exiled or is it just that he is done too with the witch?
Whichever the cunt’s reasons are for allowing him into the Red Keep, Daemon will not question them if they benefit him. He strode inside Viserys’ rooms, finding his brother carving some figurines, accompanied by the mousey Hightower girl.
She has The Seven Pointed Star in her lap, in a pitiful attempt at piety. She is also dressed in a gown that shows far too much of her chest to be considered demure. Daemon isn’t impressed. He has seen prettier whores in Flea Bottom.
“Brother! You have finally joined us.” Viserys sets down the knife and the figurine, looking surprisingly whole for a man who has just lost his wife and heir. But then again, he seems to have gotten himself a far too young distraction to make up for it.
Daemon tampers down his fury at the greeting. It had been Viserys himself who had ensured his distance, denying him even the barest acknowledgment in the form of a dragon egg for his future children.
He takes a deep breath, and channels all his fury into giving a cold glance at the Hightower girl. It sends her scurrying off, which makes him smile. Seriously, what did Viserys see in her? The girl is as common as any of the serving girls. Aemma had been a true Valyrian beauty, even entertaining the thought of replacing her for this mouse was an insult to her memory.
“I heard disquieting rumors.” Daemon says, voice loud enough the girl can hear him from the doorstep, where she lingers. Probably to inform her cunt of a father. “Of strange visits.”
Daemon watches with amusement as the girl splutters, turning a bright red, before she falls out of the room in her haste to get away. He can hear the guards ask her if she is alright, but Viserys makes no move to help her, his attention firmly on him. He cannot help but preen a bit.
The House of the Dragon would always feel drawn to one another. They were flames, meant to burn together. And no Hightower cunt would get in the way of that. Daemon
is not so naive as to think the girl was in his brother’s rooms in the middle of the afternoon only to read to him about the Seven, though. He would ensure someone spiked her usual tea with some moontea. No need to give dear Otto what he craved so much, after all.
“Do you mean the Red Priestess?” Viserys asks him, not even considering he could be referring to his whore.
“Indeed. Are we in Essos now?” On the bright side, if Daemon is bedding the Hightower girl, Daemon doubts he is bedding the priestess. Which makes her far more dangerous than Daemon expected. A woman so adept at manipulation she can get a King to bend to her will without using her feminine wiles? She had to be a sorceress of the worst kind.
Daemon had to remove her before it was too late.
“Oh, not at all! She just made some interesting insights, that’s all.” Viserys gets up from his chair and takes out a book. It’s bound in red leather, and it has nothing on the cover. “Her views are most refreshing.”
He hands the book to Daemon. He pages through it, eyebrows raising. At least the damn thing is written in High Valyrian, though he doesn't appreciate all the talk of R'hllor and this Great Other.
“By the… Viserys, are you losing your faith?” The more Daemon reads, the more he realizes these stories, from past and futures not yet come to pass, are incompatible with any other gods. It is no wonder the Red Priests and Priestesses are known for burning others if this is their sacred book. “Calling the Fourteen false idols…”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Daemon.” Viserys frowns. He doesn’t seem to understand what Daemon is alluding to.
“First, you have Lady… Alicent reading you The Seven Pointed Star. Then, a Red Priestess. Should I expect an ironborn here too? What happened to the Fourteen Flames?”
Viserys meets Daemon’s eyes. For a second, there is silence. Then, much to his indignation, Viserys starts to laugh.
“Oh, brother, is that what worries you? My faith in our ancestral religion is firm. The Red Priestess interested me because she made mentions of an ancient prophecy, one her order should not know about. It was originally made by Aegon the Conqueror.”
A prophecy made by Aegon the Conqueror? Daemon had never heard such a thing. He was quite knowledgeable about the dreamers of his line, yet he had never read mention of Aegon being one.
“Aegon the Conqueror? A dreamer?” Daemon doubted it was true. The priestess must have made it up to get an in with Viserys. He had to admit it was rather clever of her. Somehow, she had looked at him and saw his weak spot. His fascination with dragon dreams.
“He was one. Our grandfather had told me so. The Priestess had no way to know, yet…” All of this was news to Daemon. His eyebrows raised. As if sensing his disbelief, Viserys went on. “His dream is passed from King to heir. It has only made me more confident in naming Rhaenyra as mine. There is no one else better suited to hold the realm.”
“I see.” Daemon, did not, in fact, see. What was the connection between the dream and Rhaenyra ruling? And if this prophecy was passed from king to heir, why was he just learning of it now?
“The Red Priestess isn’t so bad. In fact, I think the two of you would get along quite well. Otto has insisted on banishing her, but I cannot do so in good conscience. Not when she sees so clearly, and when she is able to wield the magic of the pyromancers of Old Valyria.”
“Does she?” Daemon echoes, faintly. His mind is still reeling with the fact that Viserys had never truly considered him his heir. Viserys continues talking, and Daemon continues making all the right noises, but the thought haunts him for the rest of the day.
R’HLLOR HAD BLESSED you with a large family. Your heart swelled when you thought of it, the joy you felt so profound, it brought tears to your eyes.
You had sisters and brothers strewn all over Essos, and soon you would have more of them in Westeros. At least, if things went as planned. Which you were now doubting, knowing you would mess this up.
You had never met your birth family. When you had been very young, they had sold you to the Red Temple in exchange for six gold coins. You remembered nothing about them, and for it, you were glad. It was best, your mentors have said, to not remember the night and its terrors and to only know light.
Many of the children who were sold to the temple never managed to amount to anything. If they were lucky, they became servants, cleaning and cooking after the priests and priestesses. If they were not, they grew up to be the temple’s prostitutes.
When you had arrived at the temple, young and half starved, one of the priests had seen something in you. No otherworldly beauty, no talent at servitude, but an unyielding spark and a keen intelligence that one could not acquire, no matter how much one meditated and prayed.
Some people were just born with it. Touched by the God of Light, a shining crown placed atop their heads that only trained eyes could see. Destined for great things.
You had never seen it yourself, but whatever the priest had seen had been proven right. They had soon learned you had an uncanny ability when it came to learning new languages. It had made you star rise among your peers. You were the perfect envoy to spread the word of salvation.
Anyone could scry through flames, if given enough practice, and any could manipulate fire if they knew the secrets of the ancient arts. With the careful nurturing of your mentors, you had been ready to go out in the world as soon as you had reached your majority, but this was actually your first trip. Any woman on her own was in danger, and so, not only learning the mysteries of your god was needed, but confidence and abilities at self-defense.
By the time you had been ready to venture out in the world, you were a respectable age, though absolutely inexperienced. Not that you would tell King Viserys that, of course.
You had chosen the Seven Kingdoms as your first destination on recommendation from your mentors. It was likely you would be rejected by the King, though you would not face any danger. The followers of the Faith of the Seven had mellowed out after that nasty business two Kings ago, and so, no one would call for your immediate execution.
It was supposed to be a good experience, to learn how foreign courts worked and to practice your opening speech. There was nothing really at stake, not their faith nor your life, so the rejection wouldn’t matter much in the great scheme of things.
Yet, you were still nervous. Crippling, terrible doubt had taken hold of your heart. What if the people hated you so much, their hearts and minds closed to the word of your Lord? If you made such a bad impression they refused to be saved?
The only thing that reassured you was that everything was going as expected. The commoners feared you, the Hand protested your presence and the King, too peaceful to refuse, had agreed to see you.
Today was the day you had been waiting for, and you were feeling nervous. Speaking in public, thanks to your training, wasn’t longer nerve racking as it once had been. Speaking in front of a court caused you a bit more anxiety, but you took comfort in all the formalities. What worried you wasn't making a bad impression, you worried you were about to be so terrible they would refuse to let you speak at all.
The throne room was filled to the brim. Nobles and commoners alike had come to see the foreign witch, said to be able to kill men with a glance and make night into day. Between all of them, one face stood from the crowd. The Hand, Otto Hightower, had a pinched expression, and he clutched at the pin denoting his station as if it would protect him from you.
He, just as the crowd did, imagined you as some enchantress, a sorcerer capable of bending reality to her will. You didn’t want them to be disappointed, so you had put on your best red gown, one that cling to the curves you had, and gave the illusion of those you didn’t. The curly red hair, that you dyed every month with crushed leaves, only served to give you a more otherworldly air.
The Iron Throne was a terrible thing, made from half melted swords that looked more likely to stab anyone sitting on it than serving its purpose. King Viserys was sitting on it, fresh blood dripping from a cut on his forearm. A bad omen, if what you had heard was to be believed.
You dropped into a graceful curtsy, making sure to keep a coy smile on your face. The King didn’t seem interested, which was good. You weren’t interested in him either.
“Your Grace, I come bearing news about salvation.” You started, as you got up. “I was hoping you would allow me to share them in your court.”
“Of course, Lady…” King Viserys was beginning to agree, but as your eyes scanned the crowd, you saw her. The silver woman.
She was standing a bit to the side, hands clasped behind her back, looking just as lovely as she would in a few years, when she would birth the Prince who was fated to be a part of the line that would bring Azor Ahai.
Dazed with the revelation, you stumbled towards her. To think your order had sought all over Planetos, only to find her here. In the single corner of the world your light had not managed to reach.
And, oh, the honor it was, to be the one to meet her, to guide her, to serve her… You could hardly believe it. Your heart beat so hard inside your chest, you feared you may faint. Your hands sweated. This was your destiny, your purpose. You could finally understand it all.
As you moved towards her, a spear was placed in your path. You stared at it, and at the man who held it. Young, tanned, and wearing a white cloak. With a gesture, you set it alight. It took you considerable effort to do so in such a small amount of time, flames weaker than you would like, but it was enough to burn the fingers of the knight and not make you look too threatening.
“Ah!” He jerked back, letting go of the burning metal. Before he could draw his sword, you lunged for the silver woman.
“I have seen you in the flames.” You said, curtsying as low as you could. Yet, another white knight stepped in, sword drawn. “In hearths, candles, in pyres. Wearing a golden crown.”
The Hand scoffed. But the King, suddenly, was attentive.
“Let her pass.” He ordered.
“Father, surely…” The woman, your silver princess, looked afraid, but the knight obeyed and you were already moving. You threw yourself at her feet and kissed her hands. Her skin, pale as alabaster against your darker one, felt supple in your grip.
She was lovely and terrible, and silver. A beacon of light, in this very room. Unbidden, the prophecies dropped from your lips as water poured from a goblet. Even with the little time you had been in her presence, you could feel your powers sharpening, your vision extending. She was a being of pure magic.
“Azor Ahai shall be born from your line. The Prince promised to unite us all.” You looked into her eyes, hoping to convey the importance of your message. There had been times when you had doubted your faith, but when her amethyst eyes met your brown ones, you felt alight with righteous purpose, flesh turning into goosebumps.
The silver woman gasped, breaking the eye contact to look at something above your head. You turned to look, too, annoyed at the disruption. The only thing you found was the King looking at you in what you thought was the same way you looked at her.
“Rise, Priestess. I would like very much to have you in my court. I look forward to hearing your insights.” King Viserys said, voice shaking.
And that was it. The matter was settled, you were staying in the Red Keep. You even had a suite of rooms for yourself, that included a working space, a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathing room. You! The girl who had been sold to a temple for six gold pieces.
Your whole life had been leading up to this. R’hollor had light up your path, guided you through the darkest nights, pulled you down the worst terrors, only to get you here. Next to your silver princess.
As you willed a small bonfire to life, you prayed to your god for guidance, during the vigil that awaited you. King Viserys had only allowed you small fires, contained to the braziers placed in your workspace. It didn’t matter. You knew he was listening regardless.
“Lord of Light, guide me. Defend me, protect me in this darkness. Lord of Light, that your face shines upon us. Guide me to the right path, allow my mouth only to form words of praise to you, allow me to speak the right sentences to convince them of our righteous cause.”
This was the greatest challenge you would face, you thought to yourself, as the flames raised higher and higher. As the sun fell, and you stood, alone during the long night.
“Strengthen me, show me the way. If you have chosen me for this task, you must guide me to complete it. Celestial father, God above. You who sees it all.”
He had to help you. He had to. Because no matter how good at sorcery you were, you had never preached his word to anyone beyond the faithful of your temple. Now, you stood between Westeros and the long night, and it was imperative that they converted so you could save them all.
Around you, the flames roared.
A SHAME YOU were the worst kind of snake there was, for you were the most exquisite creature Daemon had ever laid eyes upon.
He had been standing in the secret passage for a good half an hour, watching you putter around in your working space. The suite of rooms Viserys had given you was adjacent to the rooms that he was placed in, which made observing you much easier.
The rooms looked like a nightmare come to life, a roaring inferno inside them that made Daemon worry you would catch fire. Between braziers and candles, you stood, dressed in long red robes. You were chanting under your breath, in rapid fire High Valyrian that even he struggled to understand.
“Keep us away from darkness, my lord. You are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the warmth in our bellies. Yours is the sun that warms our days, the stars that guard us in the darkest nights. For the night is dark and full of terrors.” You spun around the room, in figures that only made sense to you, dancing in wild abandon. A lesser man might find it terrifying, but Daemon only saw beauty.
Dangerous beauty. Beauty that could be destroyed at any instant, if you moved the wrong way and your robes caught fire. Yet, somehow, you steered your steps just right, dancing between the flames.
“Thank you for the sun that warms us, the stars that light our paths. Thank you for the fires in our hearths, and the torches that will keep darkness at bay.” In the confusing low light of the chambers, bathed by red light from the fire, you didn’t look human. You looked like something beyond humanity, a terrifying witch taken straight out of the cursed Valyria. Yet, it was impossible to look away. Your beauty was inhumane, dark skin shining like polished obsidian in the low light, red curls tumbling like a cascade of fire over your shoulders.
“Lord of Light, protect your servant. Guide me, do not allow me to stray.” You danced in an odd circle, stopping right in front of the wall where Daemon was hiding in. “Show me your mysteries.”
And somehow, it felt as if you were talking to him. Daemon froze in place, not even daring to breathe. How could you know of the secret passage? You had only resided in the Red Keep for a couple of days.
You didn’t move. You stared at the wall, or rather, through it. Even with the stone and the metal screen separating the two of you, Daemon felt as if you were staring him down.
Perhaps, your sorcery wasn’t just clever parlor tricks. Perhaps, you were even more dangerous than he imagined.
After reading the first chapter I feel amazed how this story is paced nicely. How it got softer dark to a darkish scene till the end, which was amazing. Peak cinema🙌. The eerie sense was felt in the last part.
“Does she?” Daemon echoes, faintly. His mind is still reeling with the fact that Viserys had never truly considered him his heir. Viserys continues talking, and Daemon continues making all the right noises, but the thought haunts him for the rest of the day.
A red witch of all things! What was Viserys’ thinking? Daemon knew all about them. About how they were fanatical in their worship, how they performed blood magics similar to those that had brought the doom of Valyria, how they burned alive those they perceived as unfaithful. But most of all, how great they were at bending men to their wills.
Love that their main speciality is to bend men tp their wills. Who is this divas?? I understand where will the obsession starts. I hope to moree
Many of the children who were sold to the temple never managed to amount to anything. If they were lucky, they became servants, cleaning and cooking after the priests and priestesses. If they were not, they grew up to be the temple’s prostitutes.
How fucked up this could be. A temple who is deemed to be religious but uses its people for their own lust, how scary.
Yet, you were still nervous. Crippling, terrible doubt had taken hold of your heart. What if the people hated you so much, their hearts and minds closed to the word of your Lord? If you made such a bad impression they refused to be saved?
She sounds insanely religious well because of her upbringing but as I read this I feel like she's more insane than meets the eye. Can't wait to get to know her more. Saved? From what love? Save from who? 🧐🧐🧐
The only thing that reassured you was that everything was going as expected. The commoners feared you, the Hand protested your presence and the King, too peaceful to refuse, had agreed to see you.
She knows business and I fear she's starting to eat them.
And, oh, the honor it was, to be the one to meet her, to guide her, to serve her… You could hardly believe it. Your heart beat so hard inside your chest, you feared you may faint. Your hands sweated. This was your destiny, your purpose. You could finally understand it all.
Ohhhh I love her! She's insanely religiously horny (LMAO). I can imagine her being aroused by the situation that she's in here😭
“Father, surely…” The woman, your silver princess, looked afraid, but the knight obeyed and you were already moving. You threw yourself at her feet and kissed her hands. Her skin, pale as alabaster against your darker one, felt supple in your grip.
Miss ma'am I can see the Lesbian allegations all the way through my screen. This would be mistaken as a Rhaenyra x Reader if the tags and the title wasn't mentioned. The au of this pair would be insanely dark and instense.
The rooms looked like a nightmare come to life, a roaring inferno inside them that made Daemon worry you would catch fire. Between braziers and candles, you stood, dressed in long red robes. You were chanting under your breath, in rapid fire High Valyrian that even he struggled to understand.
Siri, play "Who is she" by: I Monster.
Dangerous beauty. Beauty that could be destroyed at any instant, if you moved the wrong way and your robes caught fire. Yet, somehow, you steered your steps just right, dancing between the flames.
And boy he wants to dance between her flames as she dances on her own. He doesn't know it yet but he will soon.
You didn’t move. You stared at the wall, or rather, through it. Even with the stone and the metal screen separating the two of you, Daemon felt as if you were staring him down.
This is peak cinema, the eerie sense is sensing. I had goosebumps visualising this scene. The reader is looking at the wall blankly, tilting their heads slightly on the side, sensing if their intuition of someone behind the walls are real or no🙌.
You were pure fire. And dragons loved to burn.
No words, just this.
This story scream songs like:
Who is she by I Monster
Some of Hozier song's, like Take me to church, Angel of small death and the codeine scene, and Arsonist's Lullabye
Hozier cover song of "Time" and "Beath" by Pink Floyd
Way down we go by KALEO
Angel by Massiveattack
Reader was made by Lana Del Rey song's like Salvatore, West Coast, Pretty when you cry, money power glory, national anthem, young and beautiful, and cola
Daemon was made by Arctic Monkey's "I wanna be yours", cover song of Hozier to Arctic Monkey's song to "Do I wanna know", both versions of "Let the world burn." by Chris Grey, and "All I need" by Radiohead
I love your reblogs so so much, you have no idea. Also, your entire aesthetic, and your whole blog, really, I am obsessed.
I have been stalking, don't judge me!
Thank you for taking the time to read my fic and leaving me a detailed, aesthetic reblog of it! I normally love comments on my fics, because its like drugs for a writer, but to have one as beautiful as yours is the equivalent of getting a lovely victorian era letter, writing in fountain pen in classy paper.
I had not thought of the Rhaenyra x reader, but huge YES! I am into it, the potential is endless. The Red Priestess to me always seems a bit insane, so I am glad it's giving religious fanaticism. Somehow, you got my vibe perfectly.
I had a lot of fun writing this, and I love it was as spooky and dark but as fascinating for Daemon as I hoped. He is so Hozier's cover coded, I love it! Thank you so so much for reading, reblogging and gifting me this amazing concept.
Welcomee. Your works are just amazing as you are🙌🩷. You're one of my top hotd writers, your works never missed. I wish to read more of your future works soon! Keep it up🩷🩷
I'm happy you like my theme. It's not yet fixed since I can't decide my theme but I'm getting there (cleaing up my blog). I don't mind stalk me all you want, lmao. And yes, Daemon is so Hozier coded. He embodied yearning in his own ways, can't wait to see more of his growing obsession.
Summary: Daemon cannot understand Viserys. Trusting Otto Hightower was one thing, but a Red Priestess? His brother must be out of his mind. But if he is, why does Daemon want you so much?
Warnings: Mature language. Lord of Light. Stalking (Daemon's version)
A/N: For the anon that said "I wanna be yours" x Daemon, you have my whole heart. Tagging: @just-some-random-blogger and @aias-fxtns because I need the support (First fic after breakup) and both of you are lovely artists!
EXILE HAD ALWAYS suited him. Or at least, that was what Daemon liked to pretend. It made Viserys’ constant dismissals easier to bear. Easier to accept.
And he had to accept it. Because he could not imagine a world in which he wouldn’t love Viserys, wouldn’t attempt to protect him. If he resented his brother, that task turned harder and harder.
It wasn’t as if exile was so bad. Daemon loved getting to know the world around him. He had a taste for the foreign and exotic, at least per westerosi standards.
It was only natural that when the rumor about the Red Priestess Viserys’s court reached his ears, he had to return. Planning a war in Driftmark could wait. Viserys' sudden bout of madness could not.
A red witch of all things! What was Viserys’ thinking? Daemon knew all about them. About how they were fanatical in their worship, how they performed blood magics similar to those that had brought the doom of Valyria, how they burned alive those they perceived as unfaithful. But most of all, how great they were at bending men to their wills.
So focused Daemon had been on the infestation of local snakes they had at court, he had never thought there would be room for essosi ones. Now, he had to rid Viserys of his latest plague.
“Prince Daemon Targaryen!” The guard announces, and truly, the security here is so lax, Daemon is surprised no one has murdered Viserys yet. Is Otto trying to purposefully get him killed, has he forgotten Daemon is technically exiled or is it just that he is done too with the witch?
Whichever the cunt’s reasons are for allowing him into the Red Keep, Daemon will not question them if they benefit him. He strode inside Viserys’ rooms, finding his brother carving some figurines, accompanied by the mousey Hightower girl.
She has The Seven Pointed Star in her lap, in a pitiful attempt at piety. She is also dressed in a gown that shows far too much of her chest to be considered demure. Daemon isn’t impressed. He has seen prettier whores in Flea Bottom.
“Brother! You have finally joined us.” Viserys sets down the knife and the figurine, looking surprisingly whole for a man who has just lost his wife and heir. But then again, he seems to have gotten himself a far too young distraction to make up for it.
Daemon tampers down his fury at the greeting. It had been Viserys himself who had ensured his distance, denying him even the barest acknowledgment in the form of a dragon egg for his future children.
He takes a deep breath, and channels all his fury into giving a cold glance at the Hightower girl. It sends her scurrying off, which makes him smile. Seriously, what did Viserys see in her? The girl is as common as any of the serving girls. Aemma had been a true Valyrian beauty, even entertaining the thought of replacing her for this mouse was an insult to her memory.
“I heard disquieting rumors.” Daemon says, voice loud enough the girl can hear him from the doorstep, where she lingers. Probably to inform her cunt of a father. “Of strange visits.”
Daemon watches with amusement as the girl splutters, turning a bright red, before she falls out of the room in her haste to get away. He can hear the guards ask her if she is alright, but Viserys makes no move to help her, his attention firmly on him. He cannot help but preen a bit.
The House of the Dragon would always feel drawn to one another. They were flames, meant to burn together. And no Hightower cunt would get in the way of that. Daemon
is not so naive as to think the girl was in his brother’s rooms in the middle of the afternoon only to read to him about the Seven, though. He would ensure someone spiked her usual tea with some moontea. No need to give dear Otto what he craved so much, after all.
“Do you mean the Red Priestess?” Viserys asks him, not even considering he could be referring to his whore.
“Indeed. Are we in Essos now?” On the bright side, if Daemon is bedding the Hightower girl, Daemon doubts he is bedding the priestess. Which makes her far more dangerous than Daemon expected. A woman so adept at manipulation she can get a King to bend to her will without using her feminine wiles? She had to be a sorceress of the worst kind.
Daemon had to remove her before it was too late.
“Oh, not at all! She just made some interesting insights, that’s all.” Viserys gets up from his chair and takes out a book. It’s bound in red leather, and it has nothing on the cover. “Her views are most refreshing.”
He hands the book to Daemon. He pages through it, eyebrows raising. At least the damn thing is written in High Valyrian, though he doesn't appreciate all the talk of R'hllor and this Great Other.
“By the… Viserys, are you losing your faith?” The more Daemon reads, the more he realizes these stories, from past and futures not yet come to pass, are incompatible with any other gods. It is no wonder the Red Priests and Priestesses are known for burning others if this is their sacred book. “Calling the Fourteen false idols…”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Daemon.” Viserys frowns. He doesn’t seem to understand what Daemon is alluding to.
“First, you have Lady… Alicent reading you The Seven Pointed Star. Then, a Red Priestess. Should I expect an ironborn here too? What happened to the Fourteen Flames?”
Viserys meets Daemon’s eyes. For a second, there is silence. Then, much to his indignation, Viserys starts to laugh.
“Oh, brother, is that what worries you? My faith in our ancestral religion is firm. The Red Priestess interested me because she made mentions of an ancient prophecy, one her order should not know about. It was originally made by Aegon the Conqueror.”
A prophecy made by Aegon the Conqueror? Daemon had never heard such a thing. He was quite knowledgeable about the dreamers of his line, yet he had never read mention of Aegon being one.
“Aegon the Conqueror? A dreamer?” Daemon doubted it was true. The priestess must have made it up to get an in with Viserys. He had to admit it was rather clever of her. Somehow, she had looked at him and saw his weak spot. His fascination with dragon dreams.
“He was one. Our grandfather had told me so. The Priestess had no way to know, yet…” All of this was news to Daemon. His eyebrows raised. As if sensing his disbelief, Viserys went on. “His dream is passed from King to heir. It has only made me more confident in naming Rhaenyra as mine. There is no one else better suited to hold the realm.”
“I see.” Daemon, did not, in fact, see. What was the connection between the dream and Rhaenyra ruling? And if this prophecy was passed from king to heir, why was he just learning of it now?
“The Red Priestess isn’t so bad. In fact, I think the two of you would get along quite well. Otto has insisted on banishing her, but I cannot do so in good conscience. Not when she sees so clearly, and when she is able to wield the magic of the pyromancers of Old Valyria.”
“Does she?” Daemon echoes, faintly. His mind is still reeling with the fact that Viserys had never truly considered him his heir. Viserys continues talking, and Daemon continues making all the right noises, but the thought haunts him for the rest of the day.
R’HLLOR HAD BLESSED you with a large family. Your heart swelled when you thought of it, the joy you felt so profound, it brought tears to your eyes.
You had sisters and brothers strewn all over Essos, and soon you would have more of them in Westeros. At least, if things went as planned. Which you were now doubting, knowing you would mess this up.
You had never met your birth family. When you had been very young, they had sold you to the Red Temple in exchange for six gold coins. You remembered nothing about them, and for it, you were glad. It was best, your mentors have said, to not remember the night and its terrors and to only know light.
Many of the children who were sold to the temple never managed to amount to anything. If they were lucky, they became servants, cleaning and cooking after the priests and priestesses. If they were not, they grew up to be the temple’s prostitutes.
When you had arrived at the temple, young and half starved, one of the priests had seen something in you. No otherworldly beauty, no talent at servitude, but an unyielding spark and a keen intelligence that one could not acquire, no matter how much one meditated and prayed.
Some people were just born with it. Touched by the God of Light, a shining crown placed atop their heads that only trained eyes could see. Destined for great things.
You had never seen it yourself, but whatever the priest had seen had been proven right. They had soon learned you had an uncanny ability when it came to learning new languages. It had made you star rise among your peers. You were the perfect envoy to spread the word of salvation.
Anyone could scry through flames, if given enough practice, and any could manipulate fire if they knew the secrets of the ancient arts. With the careful nurturing of your mentors, you had been ready to go out in the world as soon as you had reached your majority, but this was actually your first trip. Any woman on her own was in danger, and so, not only learning the mysteries of your god was needed, but confidence and abilities at self-defense.
By the time you had been ready to venture out in the world, you were a respectable age, though absolutely inexperienced. Not that you would tell King Viserys that, of course.
You had chosen the Seven Kingdoms as your first destination on recommendation from your mentors. It was likely you would be rejected by the King, though you would not face any danger. The followers of the Faith of the Seven had mellowed out after that nasty business two Kings ago, and so, no one would call for your immediate execution.
It was supposed to be a good experience, to learn how foreign courts worked and to practice your opening speech. There was nothing really at stake, not their faith nor your life, so the rejection wouldn’t matter much in the great scheme of things.
Yet, you were still nervous. Crippling, terrible doubt had taken hold of your heart. What if the people hated you so much, their hearts and minds closed to the word of your Lord? If you made such a bad impression they refused to be saved?
The only thing that reassured you was that everything was going as expected. The commoners feared you, the Hand protested your presence and the King, too peaceful to refuse, had agreed to see you.
Today was the day you had been waiting for, and you were feeling nervous. Speaking in public, thanks to your training, wasn’t longer nerve racking as it once had been. Speaking in front of a court caused you a bit more anxiety, but you took comfort in all the formalities. What worried you wasn't making a bad impression, you worried you were about to be so terrible they would refuse to let you speak at all.
The throne room was filled to the brim. Nobles and commoners alike had come to see the foreign witch, said to be able to kill men with a glance and make night into day. Between all of them, one face stood from the crowd. The Hand, Otto Hightower, had a pinched expression, and he clutched at the pin denoting his station as if it would protect him from you.
He, just as the crowd did, imagined you as some enchantress, a sorcerer capable of bending reality to her will. You didn’t want them to be disappointed, so you had put on your best red gown, one that cling to the curves you had, and gave the illusion of those you didn’t. The curly red hair, that you dyed every month with crushed leaves, only served to give you a more otherworldly air.
The Iron Throne was a terrible thing, made from half melted swords that looked more likely to stab anyone sitting on it than serving its purpose. King Viserys was sitting on it, fresh blood dripping from a cut on his forearm. A bad omen, if what you had heard was to be believed.
You dropped into a graceful curtsy, making sure to keep a coy smile on your face. The King didn’t seem interested, which was good. You weren’t interested in him either.
“Your Grace, I come bearing news about salvation.” You started, as you got up. “I was hoping you would allow me to share them in your court.”
“Of course, Lady…” King Viserys was beginning to agree, but as your eyes scanned the crowd, you saw her. The silver woman.
She was standing a bit to the side, hands clasped behind her back, looking just as lovely as she would in a few years, when she would birth the Prince who was fated to be a part of the line that would bring Azor Ahai.
Dazed with the revelation, you stumbled towards her. To think your order had sought all over Planetos, only to find her here. In the single corner of the world your light had not managed to reach.
And, oh, the honor it was, to be the one to meet her, to guide her, to serve her… You could hardly believe it. Your heart beat so hard inside your chest, you feared you may faint. Your hands sweated. This was your destiny, your purpose. You could finally understand it all.
As you moved towards her, a spear was placed in your path. You stared at it, and at the man who held it. Young, tanned, and wearing a white cloak. With a gesture, you set it alight. It took you considerable effort to do so in such a small amount of time, flames weaker than you would like, but it was enough to burn the fingers of the knight and not make you look too threatening.
“Ah!” He jerked back, letting go of the burning metal. Before he could draw his sword, you lunged for the silver woman.
“I have seen you in the flames.” You said, curtsying as low as you could. Yet, another white knight stepped in, sword drawn. “In hearths, candles, in pyres. Wearing a golden crown.”
The Hand scoffed. But the King, suddenly, was attentive.
“Let her pass.” He ordered.
“Father, surely…” The woman, your silver princess, looked afraid, but the knight obeyed and you were already moving. You threw yourself at her feet and kissed her hands. Her skin, pale as alabaster against your darker one, felt supple in your grip.
She was lovely and terrible, and silver. A beacon of light, in this very room. Unbidden, the prophecies dropped from your lips as water poured from a goblet. Even with the little time you had been in her presence, you could feel your powers sharpening, your vision extending. She was a being of pure magic.
“Azor Ahai shall be born from your line. The Prince promised to unite us all.” You looked into her eyes, hoping to convey the importance of your message. There had been times when you had doubted your faith, but when her amethyst eyes met your brown ones, you felt alight with righteous purpose, flesh turning into goosebumps.
The silver woman gasped, breaking the eye contact to look at something above your head. You turned to look, too, annoyed at the disruption. The only thing you found was the King looking at you in what you thought was the same way you looked at her.
“Rise, Priestess. I would like very much to have you in my court. I look forward to hearing your insights.” King Viserys said, voice shaking.
And that was it. The matter was settled, you were staying in the Red Keep. You even had a suite of rooms for yourself, that included a working space, a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathing room. You! The girl who had been sold to a temple for six gold pieces.
Your whole life had been leading up to this. R’hollor had light up your path, guided you through the darkest nights, pulled you down the worst terrors, only to get you here. Next to your silver princess.
As you willed a small bonfire to life, you prayed to your god for guidance, during the vigil that awaited you. King Viserys had only allowed you small fires, contained to the braziers placed in your workspace. It didn’t matter. You knew he was listening regardless.
“Lord of Light, guide me. Defend me, protect me in this darkness. Lord of Light, that your face shines upon us. Guide me to the right path, allow my mouth only to form words of praise to you, allow me to speak the right sentences to convince them of our righteous cause.”
This was the greatest challenge you would face, you thought to yourself, as the flames raised higher and higher. As the sun fell, and you stood, alone during the long night.
“Strengthen me, show me the way. If you have chosen me for this task, you must guide me to complete it. Celestial father, God above. You who sees it all.”
He had to help you. He had to. Because no matter how good at sorcery you were, you had never preached his word to anyone beyond the faithful of your temple. Now, you stood between Westeros and the long night, and it was imperative that they converted so you could save them all.
Around you, the flames roared.
A SHAME YOU were the worst kind of snake there was, for you were the most exquisite creature Daemon had ever laid eyes upon.
He had been standing in the secret passage for a good half an hour, watching you putter around in your working space. The suite of rooms Viserys had given you was adjacent to the rooms that he was placed in, which made observing you much easier.
The rooms looked like a nightmare come to life, a roaring inferno inside them that made Daemon worry you would catch fire. Between braziers and candles, you stood, dressed in long red robes. You were chanting under your breath, in rapid fire High Valyrian that even he struggled to understand.
“Keep us away from darkness, my lord. You are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the warmth in our bellies. Yours is the sun that warms our days, the stars that guard us in the darkest nights. For the night is dark and full of terrors.” You spun around the room, in figures that only made sense to you, dancing in wild abandon. A lesser man might find it terrifying, but Daemon only saw beauty.
Dangerous beauty. Beauty that could be destroyed at any instant, if you moved the wrong way and your robes caught fire. Yet, somehow, you steered your steps just right, dancing between the flames.
“Thank you for the sun that warms us, the stars that light our paths. Thank you for the fires in our hearths, and the torches that will keep darkness at bay.” In the confusing low light of the chambers, bathed by red light from the fire, you didn’t look human. You looked like something beyond humanity, a terrifying witch taken straight out of the cursed Valyria. Yet, it was impossible to look away. Your beauty was inhumane, dark skin shining like polished obsidian in the low light, red curls tumbling like a cascade of fire over your shoulders.
“Lord of Light, protect your servant. Guide me, do not allow me to stray.” You danced in an odd circle, stopping right in front of the wall where Daemon was hiding in. “Show me your mysteries.”
And somehow, it felt as if you were talking to him. Daemon froze in place, not even daring to breathe. How could you know of the secret passage? You had only resided in the Red Keep for a couple of days.
You didn’t move. You stared at the wall, or rather, through it. Even with the stone and the metal screen separating the two of you, Daemon felt as if you were staring him down.
Perhaps, your sorcery wasn’t just clever parlor tricks. Perhaps, you were even more dangerous than he imagined.
After reading the first chapter I feel amazed how this story is paced nicely. How it got softer dark to a darkish scene till the end, which was amazing. Peak cinema🙌. The eerie sense was felt in the last part.
“Does she?” Daemon echoes, faintly. His mind is still reeling with the fact that Viserys had never truly considered him his heir. Viserys continues talking, and Daemon continues making all the right noises, but the thought haunts him for the rest of the day.
A red witch of all things! What was Viserys’ thinking? Daemon knew all about them. About how they were fanatical in their worship, how they performed blood magics similar to those that had brought the doom of Valyria, how they burned alive those they perceived as unfaithful. But most of all, how great they were at bending men to their wills.
Love that their main speciality is to bend men tp their wills. Who is this divas?? I understand where will the obsession starts. I hope to moree
Many of the children who were sold to the temple never managed to amount to anything. If they were lucky, they became servants, cleaning and cooking after the priests and priestesses. If they were not, they grew up to be the temple’s prostitutes.
How fucked up this could be. A temple who is deemed to be religious but uses its people for their own lust, how scary.
Yet, you were still nervous. Crippling, terrible doubt had taken hold of your heart. What if the people hated you so much, their hearts and minds closed to the word of your Lord? If you made such a bad impression they refused to be saved?
She sounds insanely religious well because of her upbringing but as I read this I feel like she's more insane than meets the eye. Can't wait to get to know her more. Saved? From what love? Save from who? 🧐🧐🧐
The only thing that reassured you was that everything was going as expected. The commoners feared you, the Hand protested your presence and the King, too peaceful to refuse, had agreed to see you.
She knows business and I fear she's starting to eat them.
And, oh, the honor it was, to be the one to meet her, to guide her, to serve her… You could hardly believe it. Your heart beat so hard inside your chest, you feared you may faint. Your hands sweated. This was your destiny, your purpose. You could finally understand it all.
Ohhhh I love her! She's insanely religiously horny (LMAO). I can imagine her being aroused by the situation that she's in here😭
“Father, surely…” The woman, your silver princess, looked afraid, but the knight obeyed and you were already moving. You threw yourself at her feet and kissed her hands. Her skin, pale as alabaster against your darker one, felt supple in your grip.
Miss ma'am I can see the Lesbian allegations all the way through my screen. This would be mistaken as a Rhaenyra x Reader if the tags and the title wasn't mentioned. The au of this pair would be insanely dark and instense.
The rooms looked like a nightmare come to life, a roaring inferno inside them that made Daemon worry you would catch fire. Between braziers and candles, you stood, dressed in long red robes. You were chanting under your breath, in rapid fire High Valyrian that even he struggled to understand.
Siri, play "Who is she" by: I Monster.
Dangerous beauty. Beauty that could be destroyed at any instant, if you moved the wrong way and your robes caught fire. Yet, somehow, you steered your steps just right, dancing between the flames.
And boy he wants to dance between her flames as she dances on her own. He doesn't know it yet but he will soon.
You didn’t move. You stared at the wall, or rather, through it. Even with the stone and the metal screen separating the two of you, Daemon felt as if you were staring him down.
This is peak cinema, the eerie sense is sensing. I had goosebumps visualising this scene. The reader is looking at the wall blankly, tilting their heads slightly on the side, sensing if their intuition of someone behind the walls are real or no🙌.
You were pure fire. And dragons loved to burn.
No words, just this.
This story scream songs like:
Who is she by I Monster
Some of Hozier song's, like Take me to church, Angel of small death and the codeine scene, and Arsonist's Lullabye
Hozier cover song of "Time" and "Beath" by Pink Floyd
Way down we go by KALEO
Angel by Massiveattack
Reader was made by Lana Del Rey song's like Salvatore, West Coast, Pretty when you cry, money power glory, national anthem, young and beautiful, and cola
Daemon was made by Arctic Monkey's "I wanna be yours", cover song of Hozier to Arctic Monkey's song to "Do I wanna know", both versions of "Let the world burn." by Chris Grey, and "All I need" by Radiohead
Summary: As Tommy's hold on the torment in his mind begins to slip further from his control, Sean relays the unsettling events he witnessed the previous night. But when his sly move to put a wedge between you and Tommy catches your soldiers eye, you are left to deal with not only his growing paranoia but a harrowing night that'll leave you scared for your life in the arms of the man who fought to keep you safe.
Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining, PTSD, hallucinations, depictions of war, depictions of death, suicidal thoughts.
Word Count: 4K
Authors Note: The last scene of this chapter will include a dream sequence that's highlighted in bold and italics so you can differentiate between what's part of the nightmare and what's not. Happy reading!
[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]
" Don't say it, mum" Tommy's eyes sheepishly past those of his mother in the framed picture hanging on the landing wall with a heavy sigh of embarrassment as he beat the morning's rising sun, and made his way down the wooden stairs before the house woke to a new day.
Hands brushing through the length of his hair, he sat at the dining table with eyes absently staring at the chipped wood. Waiting with grinding teeth for the first sound of noise as the previous night's hazy events, cleared for its accompanying shame to hurl a barrage of questions at his tired mind. Was he as lost as Danny? As far gone as him?
"Tea?" Polly's voice and creaky steps saved him from the face-slapping reality of how quickly, how easily, he had fallen for his fellow soldiers chanting orders.
" I see" her brow arched at the empty glass of whiskey sat between his hands and the unenthusiastic grunt of a response sent her way as she sauntered to the copper tea pot before she too, reached for something stronger to see her through the day.
With all forms of conversation seemingly off the table, Polly settled herself into the small armchair by the fire. The days' news grasped between her fingers with an observant eye over her nephew and the battle of wills with himself he was losing against.
For just as the first morning rays of sun had begun to appear through the netted curtains of Watery Lane, so had Tommy's heightened senses, still as sharp as his last day of battle. A blood-pumping alertness that had his clenched fists straining against his rattling fingers as his eyes snapped to each flicker of noise.
" We took over a hundred pounds in winnings last month" Polly curiously watched over the printed paper in her hand for a response as Tommy's face flinched away from the shrill of a bicycle's ringing bell, pedaling past their front door. A snapping glance away from each crisp turn of the pages between her fingers. His eyes honing in on the steaming kettle, bubbling its way to its whistling finale.
" No, two hundred..." her voice petered out as she lowered the journal to her lap, watching the information that would in any other circumstance, garner her nephews immediate attention within seconds as a plan to double their intake for the next month simultaneously formulated in his mind.
Eyes glaring at the harmless threat in front of him, Tommy watched the small kettle rumble against the hob of the iron cooker as his tunneling vision blurred out every object, every buzzing noise around him with readiness for the whistling command that would send him over into enemy lines.
Forward lads! Forward!, Tommy closed his eyes, face contorting as he battled against the echoing orders that had followed him home to English soil. Battled with the shrieking hiss of the teapot muffling the sound of his aunt's voice, when another suddenly snapped him out of the sweaty panic rising on the nape of his neck.
" Ready?" you appeared with a smile at the bottom of the stairs, adjusting the pin in your hat as Tommy abruptly launched from his seat with heavy strides towards the blowing kettle, throwing it into the sink beside him.
" Tommy...?" your eyes widened as you watched his shoulders hunch over, fists clench against the tin basin with hissing teeth at the burn blistering his palm.
Frightened eyes snapping to Polly, you slowly took an apprehensive step forward when she came to stand between you and your injured soldier with a shake of her head.
Hand clutching yours, her hazel eyes deepened with dread at the premonitions she had foreseen as they settled upon her lost nephew, stood with his back to you, looking down at his trembling hand and the searing pain radiating under his reddening skin.
Clearing the knotted embarrassment from his throat, Tommy pulled his weighted coat around his shoulders. Blistering palm catching the edges of its padded lapels before darting out to his side for you to take.
"Y/N?" his voice broke through the silence as he stepped from foot to foot. Coated back to you with an unwillingness to come face to face with you and his aunt after his slipping mind had you witnessing the harrowing aftermath the war had on him.
" Please..." his voice croaked with desperation to hide the shame he felt, the urgency he had to forget the uncontrollable whispers he shared with his brothers in arms.
As his splayed fingers ushered you forward, you steadied your trembling lip, brushed back the frightened tears pooling in your eyes as you mindfully reached for his hand and the oozing burn surfacing on his palm.
Without another word, Tommy intertwined his fingers with yours in a tight grasp as he stayed unresponsive to the scorching pain searing his skin. Stubbornly keeping up the facade of a man sound of mind as he pulled you with him to the front door with an unmoving face.
With the sound of the brassy lock clicking shut, Polly lowered herself to perch on the arm of the upholstered chair as the forbading words she had once spoken taunted her with a reality far worse.
For unlike the men that had returned screaming of the horrors of war, Tommy had returned silent. A silence she feared not even you could release him from to let the screams that so desperately needed to be heard, free.
Shit.
Out onto the bustling streets of Small Heath, and away from the terraced house that weighed heavy with gloom since the three brothers return, you walked with hurried steps alongside Tommy down the streets of his childhood town. An outing suggested by him, made in the hopes of not only escaping the pressure of what needed to be addressed, but to decompress back into civilian life with the only thing he needed next to him. His peace, his reassuring comfort. You.
Hand grasped tightly within his, an internal wince for the injury he was adamant on neglecting had your stomach turn with worry as your eyes drifted up to his unwavering stare at the cobbled street ahead.
How long would he keep this up?, your gaze darted to each freckle, to the crystal specks in his eyes catching the morning sun as your heart ached for him to talk to you. Ached to see a glimpse of the man who kissed you goodbye four years ago.
" Welcome home, Mister" a young boy stood to attention with a salute. Stick rifle perched on his shoulder as his dimpled-cheeked, and muddy-kneed gang of friends looked on in awe.
" They want to be like you" you turned into his side, hand resting on his chest with pride as you ushered his attention with a nod of your head to the beaming eyes of children watching a hero in their mist.
"Why would they wana be me, eh? I don't even wana be me" Tommy's grumbling response quickly shrouded the moment as he snapped his scanning eyes away from the smiles and nods of respect sent his way.
"Tommy, don't say such things" your brow furrowed with disappointment at the qualities you saw in him, he had begun to loathe.
" They know nothing of war" he swevered through the streets of people with you in tow. His agitation for the growing bustle that came with the morning rush, felt through his tightening grip on your hand.
" They're Finn's age, Tommy. Kids. They're just kids" you winced, feeling the heat of his injury radiating against your hand as he marched you along the street at a quickened pace.
" Old men make war, so young men can die. And I've seen many kids die. They have no place playing soldier, love" his sentiments for his superiors, for the echoing words he shared with Sean had you digging your heels into the ground as you pulled your hand from his.
" Why would you say that?" your eyes bubbled with anger as Tommy hissed with a darting glance down at the burn to his hand hitting the cool January air.
" What's wrong, Tommy? This morning..." you grabbed his wrist, turning it for him to see the flakey skin scorched by his sudden outburst.
"...last night" your voice quietened as you gently cupped your palm over his, eyes drifting up to see his darting blues searching for something to say that would ward you off from digging any further.
"I'm just...I'm fucking tired, Y/N. Tired of everyone on my back, staring at me like I'm some bloody circus act, alright?" his snapping words came with instant regret, when you released his hand from yours and a lone tear fell to your cheek.
" Are they not allowed to be proud of you, Tommy? Am I not allow..." you held back your feelings of rejection, giving in to the notion that you were the cause of his sour mood for a second day running after being met with nothing but silence from him.
"Just, forget it" your eyes cast down in disappointment as you turned with a heavy sigh to leave him in the peace you believed you were hindering.
" Shit" he huffed under his breath as he brushed his fingers down his furrowed brow before spinning on his heel to the maze of alleyways that would see him back onto the main street and directly in your path.
" Hey!" he appeared from the bricked gulley of potholes with darting feet and steadying hands in front of you. " I didn't..."
" I'm going home, Tommy. So I'm no longer on your...back" you quickly interrupted, hurt feelings made clear as you wiggled yourself free of his hold.
"Fuck sake" he mumbled, tightening jaw and regretful eyes watching you walk down the cobbled street before he jogged back into the row of alleyways to catch up with you.
" Come on, love. Don't do this to me, eh?" he reappeared directly in front of your stuttering heels with persistence to make up for his blundering statement once again.
"Y/N, look at me " he blocked each of your dodging steps as his hands came up to your cheeks, lifting your face to meet the heavy guilt in his.
"I didn't mean you, darling. Never you" his voice softened as he brushed the whispers of hair from your reddened face, wetted with tears.
" Leave me alone, Tommy" you felt the past twenty-four hours of rejection come to a head as you turned your face from his pruning fingers, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.
" Hey, come on" he kept you in place, battling against your swatting fingers with a heavy sigh.
" I wanted to spend the day with you. Just you and me, eh?" His hands fell to his side in surrender, dipping his head down to catch your eyes as you remained unconvinced with folded arms.
"We'll do anything you want. Shops, a walk down by the cut. Anything just to feel..." he stopped himself from saying how he really felt, from what he desperately needed from you. Normality.
"Please?" his hand brushed down your arm as you looked up through your lashes with doe eyes at the man that could talk you into anything if given the chance.
"Pretty please?" a boyish grin appeared on the corners of his lips, causing you to quickly surrender to its charm with a nod of your head as you left your worries behind for a sense of the same normalcy he craved.
"Fine" you looked up through hooded eyes with a shy smile at the playfulness you had missed, the familiarity that had your heart flutter against your chest as he settled his heavy hand on the curve of your back.
" There she is. My girl" Tommy quietly mouthed, pulling you into his chest as his heart swelled at the smile that he, not Ada, nor Polly or anyone else, had coaxed from you. A smile made just for him.
After a stroll into town, and a pop into the local shops for a basket full of life's essentials, you and Tommy headed home in high spirits. Unaware of the following footsteps of a stray lurking nearby.
" That best not be for me, love" Tommy mumbled through the cigarette perched between his lips as his eyes shot down to the silver-canned staple every soldier had begrudgingly lived off for the past four years in the small basket perched on your arm.
" I thought you might be missing it" you brow furrowed suspiciously at the tinned Spam nestled within the many packets of biscuits that Tommy's sweet tooth made sure they saw their way into your woven basket without your knowledge.
"Open me up, and there'll be cans of the fucking stuff" he chuckled, sliding his hand over your waist with a stroking tickle as his eyes creased with a smile at the delightful giggles he'd wooed from you.
" Well, we can't be doing that. I need you in one piece" you rested your hand on his chest with a gentle tap, eyes beaming up at him as his fingers swept over the curves of your hips.
" Do you now?" his gaze darkened with mischievousness as his hand dipped with a smirk to cup your bum.
" Tommy..." you swatted him away as your eyes darted in a panic for any onlookers that may have witnessed his roaming hands trying to cop a feel.
" Tom!" Charlie, friend to the family and adopted uncle to all the Shelby children, appeared around the corner across the bustling road with a wave of his hand.
"Keep those naughty thoughts for when we get back home, eh? I won't be a minute" he whispered into your ear with a quick pinch to your backside before darting through the oncoming traffic for the street across the road.
" Your naughty thoughts" you corrected him with a wave of your finger as he shot you a cheeky wink over his shoulder.
Head turning to the shop window beside you, your fingers came up to your smiling lips as Tommy's returned playfulness left you both with sparks of excitement to pick up from your disastrous attempt to reconnect the previous night, when a whistle snapped you out of your daydreams.
" Lover boys back then. What's left of him that is" Sean appeared, stood with his back against a truck of goods with muddy boots unlaced around his ankles. His chosen spot of approach, hidden from the street of people on the opposite side of the bustling road. Or more importantly, hidden from said lover boy.
"What do you want, Sean?" you mumbled under your breath as you turned to see Tommy shooting you a smile from over the traffic before returning to the list of demands he'd bestowed upon his grunting uncle.
"Won't be long until he snaps too, sweetheart. These brave soldiers are dropping like flies. One, by, one. Don't be telling me you ain't seen it" he sniffed as he settled his hands into his trouser pockets, kicking a pebble across the cobbled street to the bricked building in front of him.
"Not my, Tommy!" you spat back, stepping a foot forward with arms folded in defense as your reddening cheeks betrayed you with the worry you had for the state of your returning soldiers mind.
"Really?" he smirked with enjoyment at your blushing cheeks and the lie he had unearthed as Tommys eyes looked over the steady stream of cars to see you in conversation with someone hidden from his sight.
" Saw him last night, Y/N. Falling about in the middle of the street, shouting like a fucking mad man. He's got a screw loose, darling" he tapped the side of his head, creasing eyes watching the information he'd relayed sink in.
As your eyes rimmed red with the severity of Tommy's slipping hold on his inner thoughts, he caught sight of your retreating feet from the small truck through the bustle of the road separating you.
" Y/N!" his concerns for your wellbeing and sudden change in cheery demeanour had him seeing Charlie off with a nod of his head before he swerved through the traffic to get back to you.
" You know where I am" Sean quickly turned on his heel, confident that if things fell apart you'd return to him as a last resort and uphold your end of the unspoken deal made near a decade ago.
" You alright? Who was that, eh?" Tommy jogged up to you, cupping your elbow as his squinting eyes darted down the street through the lines of people.
" Can we go?" your eyes cautiously drifted up to his, searching for the madness Sean had seen the previous night, for the flickers of unpredictability you had put down to fatigue as Tommy nodded his head with a furrowed brow.
" Here, give it to me" he took the basket from your arm, head snapping over his shoulder to see none other than Sean turning into an alleyway with a smirk glaring back at him. A teasing grin that had Tommy's paranoia plummeting to the bottom of his stomach with a gut-wrenching fear that kept every fighting soldier up at night with worry across the channel in France. Betrayal.
Back in the warmth of your shared home, you unloaded the shopping onto the large mahogany table as Tommy began to circle around you with a nagging need for answers as he shrugged off his coat.
" Hungry?" you giggled with two packets of his biscuit of choice in each hand as an orange spark of a match caught your eye.
With only a shake of his head for an answer, you turned to the cupboard draws to tidy away the pile of groceries as Tommy watched you from across the table, jaw tethering with suspicion as he thumbed over the cigarette perched between his fingers.
" Couldn't sit there and do nothing?" his paranoia finally got the better of him after the many stories of betrayal told to him about his fellow soldiers sweethearts back home in England, began to pick at his memory.
" Hm?" you hummed, tiptoeing to reach the small cabinet of silverware for a place to stash the months' worth of biscuits brought by him. Unaware of the distrust that had already embedded itself into his tired mind.
" That's what you said in France. That you couldn't just sit back in England and do nothing. No?" the turn in his voice had you slowly settle your feet down onto the wooden floorboards as you caught his piercing stare in the silver platter in front of you.
" That's what I said" you lifted your chin in agreement, turning to face him with fidgety hands brushing down the front of your dress as your eyes flickered to and from his unwavering glare.
" Had nobody here to keep you company?" he worked his way around his unspoken accusations as it became clear to you that he'd caught sight of Sean. The mere glimpse of him, enough to provoke his slipping paranoia.
" Well, I had your Aunt and Ad..."
"Always fucking running. What were you running from this time, eh?" he interrupted, unconvinced by the answer that had grated at his mind ever since the day you left the trenches of France. Unconvinced of the story you had told him that spring day in 1914 down by the canal when he quizzed you about your reasons for returning to Birmingham.
"You running from something, Y/N? Someone?" he began to stalk forward, coming to stand in front of you as your hands clutched the kitchen worktop behind you at his frightening approach.
" What are you trying to say, Tommy?" you looked up at his searching eyes, blinking through the fatigue that had him questioning your loyalty towards him.
" Nothing" his lips pursed together, weighted breath lifting from his lungs as he snapped his head away to make space for the reasoning slowly pushing through his foggy thoughts.
So tired, so fucking tired, he pinched his brow as a thumping headache rattled against his skull.
" You...you must rest, Tommy. Sleep" you watched his broad shoulders hunch over the table as his back rose with a heavy sigh.
" Tommy?" you stepped forward, gently resting your hand on his broad frame, only for your gentle approach to quickly slip from him as he turned for the stairs.
"Where you going?" your rimmed eyes followed his heavy steps up the creaky stairs, head craning around the wall waiting on a response. "Tommy?"
" Following fucking orders" he mumbled under his breath from the top of the landing before the door to his bedroom slammed shut.
"Fuck..." you slumped back against the rattling walls, head thudding against the papered concrete in frustration.
Was he right to think you had betrayed him?, you blamed yourself for your decision to withhold the pushing factor that had you fleeing into the eye of the storm. Blamed yourself for the secrets you kept from him to safeguard his heart.
But a betrayal nonetheless, you ignored your reasoning behind your actions as you slid down to the wooden floorboards in tears, guilting yourself into believing that when trying to save your own back, you went behind his.
Yes. A betrayal, indeed. But not one of the heart that Tommy's paranoia would have him believe. But one from a place of care, in hopes of saving him from another crushing weight of worry that would weigh heavy on his mind. A mind that had returned needing to be nursed back together. One that was silently screaming for help. One you would see the depths of darkness it had been plunged into that very night when all those residing on Watery Lane drifted into a peaceful slumber. All but one, that was.
"Steady lads, steady" Tommy held his rifle tightly against his chest, eyes piercing through the heavy film of smog in front of him as his lieutenant walked along the muddy path with calls for the rows of men, stood behind the lines of ladders perched up against the banks of the trench, to keep calm.
"Let it be known that any man that attempts to flee will be shot for their cowardness" the high-ranking captain's command to stand fast echoed through the bitter winter's air as Tommy's icey breath drew from his lungs into a cloud of fog.
" Anything out there, Tom?" his fellow soldier whispered below as Tommy's creaking boots slowly stepped up the wooden railing to see a shadowy form slowly appear.
Fingers clutching tightly around the handle of his rifle, Tommy maneuvered his weapon over the muddy bank when his eyes suddenly widened in horror.
" Tommy..." your voice drifted to him, turning head searching for him as you walked barefoot through the frosty mud. Ends of your nightie embedded with ash and dirt trailing behind you.
" Y/N..." Tommy began to stir in his sleep as you lay beside him under the warmth of the padded duvet with your hands tucked close to your chest.
"Tommy, come home. Come back to me, Tommy" your voice sang across the empty field for him to reunite with you as he desperately blinked the vision of you from his straining eyes.
"Y/N, get down!" he shouted for you to take cover, startled by the gliding wings of a screeching hawk flying through the still air when the lieutenant in command pulled his reaching body from lunging over before the whistle sounded.
" 'ave you lost your fucking mind, son?! Not until my orders, understood?! he warned him by the scruff of his collar as Tommy's head darted over the bank to see an empty field, with only your voice calling his name.
"Tommy, come home" your whispers traveled across the barren land like a shiver down his back.
"Please, darling. Leave...please, leave" he slammed his eyes shut, chanting silently in prayer for your searching voice to stop, for his mind to stop the torment.
" Please..." you woke to the sound of Tommy incoherently mumbling beside you, eyes flicking behind his lids as he lay deep in sleep.
"Tommy, wake up" you turned, propping yourself onto bent elbows as you watched his face contort below you.
Eyes darting through the fog, Tommy heard the shouting orders from the enemies line preparing to push forward, break through the parting clouds as the sight of you stood vulnerable in the middle of the empty field hopelessly searching for him reappeared.
"Y/N..."
" I said stand down, soldier!" the lieutenant ordered, pulling his gun from its holster as he watched Tommy's booted heel scramble up the last step before running over into no man's land.
Helmet thrown from his head as he raced towards you, Tommy's eyes blurred with tears, face reddened with exertion when the whistle for the British army to follow echoed through the skies.
"Y/N!" he screamed your name as a peppering of bullets hit the ground, the sound of four hundred mens charging feet shook the earth below him.
" Y/N..." Tommy tossed his head from side to side as you pulled the sheets from him to see his straining body drenched in sweat.
" I'm here Tommy, wake up" you brushed his tousled hair from his eyes as a desperation arose in you to release him from his nightmares.
"I'm here, Tommy" locks of hair cascaded around your turning face as you reached your hand out for him to take when the tips of your fingers fell from each other's as a spray of bullets shot through your back. Staining your slip crimson with blood as his name left your lips, and you fell into his chest. "Tommy..."
"No, no, NO!" He fell to the floor, cradling your limp body in his arms as a silent scream, void of life, of a heart shattering into a thousand pieces stole the air from his lungs, until his eyes fell back to the heavens and a primal roar erupted from his chest into the still air.
" Tommy please, wake up!" you began to sob in a panic as you watched the colour drain from his face, his chest rise with heavy labored breaths. " Polly, help!"
Brushing his fallen tears from your pailing cheeks, Tommy rocked your lifeless body in his arms as he calmly reached for his gun, pointing the barrel under the soft flesh of his chin with eyes squeezed shut when the enemy charged through the parting fog.
Manic face contorting with fury, Tommy scrambled to his feet as the unstoppable fight within him resurfaced, driving him forward to the approaching enemy and the lone soldier he had sought out.
Rifle pointed at Tommy's chest, the young soldier's shaky fingers slipped from the trigger as Tommy threw him to the ground in a hand-to-hand fight that saw them battling in the mud as they both strained to reach for the weapon, slowly sinking underneath the trampled earth.
" Tommy, wake up!" you screamed, shaking his arms against the spring mattress when you suddenly felt yourself being thrown on to your back, the cold barrel of Tommy's revolver pushed to your temple with darkened eyes lifelessly looking through you.
" Tommy...Tomm..." your lungs battled for air against his heavy hand pushed into the bony flesh of your bruising chest as your strained attempts to throw him off, fought against his finger inching over the trigger.
" Thomas!" the mothering boom of Polly's voice rattled the walls as she threw open the door to see him looming over you with a gun pointed to your head.
"Pol...?" Tommy suddenly snapped himself out of the clutches of terror behind his eyes as he turned to see his aunt standing by the door.
" Put the gun down, Tommy" Polly commanded as she slowly approached, pointing to the revolver in his hand as Tommy eyes drifted underneath him to see your trembling body shaking with tears streaming you cheeks.
"Y/N..." his breath caught in his throat, eyes widening in horror at the gun pointed to your head as his hand went limp, letting the revolver slip from his fingers onto the cushion beside you.
Pulling yourself off the padded duvet with scrambling legs, you threw yourself into Polly's arms with terrified sobs.
" Darling please..." Tommy begged with reddened eyes as he reached for your trembling body, quickly recoiling to the end of the bed when you flinched away from his attempts to comfort you.
Blinking eyes drifting to the loaded gun nestled within the sheets of your bed, Tommy swallowed back the bile of fear rising in his throat as he scrambled to reassure you that things wouldn't have taken a deadly turn.
" Y/N I...I would have woken up. Darling, I would have never..." he stood to his feet, hand motioning to and from the metal weapon on your cushion, when his guarantees of control surrendered to the harrowing truth in his aunt's eyes staring back him.
Lips falling silent, Tommy turned his back to your trembling body as his heart sank to the back of his chest, hardening with a one worded order that threatened to change the course of your relationship, shutting you out and throwing you into the arms of another.
"Leave"
*I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below 💚*
[Next part] (coming soon!)
Tag list: @mischievouslittlecreature @peakyswritings @jbrownta @youngbananamilkshake
Forward lads! Forward!, Tommy closed his eyes, face contorting as he battled against the echoing orders that had followed him home to English soil. Battled with the shrieking hiss of the teapot muffling the sound of his aunt's voice, when another suddenly snapped him out of the sweaty panic rising on the nape of his neck.
How long would he keep this up?, your gaze darted to each freckle, to the crystal specks in his eyes catching the morning sun as your heart ached for him to talk to you. Ached to see a glimpse of the man who kissed you goodbye four years ago.
It getting worse than last time. Here we, might as well book for a therapy session after this one. LMAO.
Both are suffering from the pain caused by the war but both experienced different kinds of war. The one was literal and other wasn't. I hope they will find their peace and each other again wherein both are healed. They deserve it, they deserve to be free from the constant horror on their minds.
For unlike the men that had returned screaming of the horrors of war, Tommy had returned silent. A silence she feared not even you could release him from to let the screams that so desperately needed to be heard, free.
Awe, wow. This is peak cinema.
"Why would they wana be me, eh? I don't even wana be me" Tommy's grumbling response quickly shrouded the moment as he snapped his scanning eyes away from the smiles and nods of respect sent his way.
"Old men make war, so young men can die. And I've seen many kids die. They have no place playing soldier, love" his sentiments for his superiors, for the echoing words he shared with Sean had you digging your heels into the ground as you pulled your hand from his.
"They know nothing of war" he swevered through the streets of people with you in tow. His agitation for the growing bustle that came with the morning rush, felt through his tightening grip on your hand.
"Pretty please?" a boyish grin appeared on the corners of his lips, causing you to quickly surrender to its charm with a nod of your head as you left your worries behind for a sense of the same normalcy he craved.
Ahhh, genuine smiling and grinning Tommy top tier moments.
And they live happily ever after, the end. Yeah, let's end it here now, aye....
"Well, we can't be doing that. I need you in one piece" you rested your hand on his chest with a gentle tap, eyes beaming up at him as his fingers swept over the curves of your hips.
I scream everytime I caught them having fluff moments it like treasure hunting at this point😭. It's very rare.
"Fuck..." you slumped back against the rattling walls, head thudding against the papered concrete in frustration.
Why the heck did just my head played one of Adele's song in my head as I continue reading this chapter, especially on this part.... it's concerning😭😭😭
"Tommy please, wake up!" you began to sob in a panic as you watched the colour drain from his face, his chest rise with heavy labored breaths. " Polly, help!"
"Thomas!" the mothering boom of Polly's voice rattled the walls as she threw open the door to see him looming over you with a gun pointed to your head.
No words, just this gif.
Lips falling silent, Tommy turned his back to your trembling body as his heart sank to the back of his chest, hardening with a one worded order that threatened to change the course of your relationship, shutting you out and throwing you into the arms of another.
"Leave."
Here we go! Ahhhh, I can't. Not me trying to gaslight myself that the next chapter isn't angstier than this😭. Let's just ignore this part, yeah....
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (cunnilingus), emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: shout out to mah girl @m-riaa who requested for sexy times. Yeah so if you like it say thx n if you don't LMAO | crossposted on ao3
@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01
"Darling, don't eat that," you grab the wooden dragon the small boy was nibbling on and offer him a spoonful of cooled porridge. The boy stares at the spoon before opening his mouth. His sister beside him opens her mouth upon seeing this. You smile at her and feed her some porridge after.
After a few bites, they both go back to playing, quickly uninterested in your porridge. The door opens and, quickly, they are uninterested in their toys when their father walks in. "KEPA!"
You smile at Daemon. He immediately kneels beside you where you and your children had been sprawled out on the floor. He scoops up his girl, kissing her cheek, "ñuha litse, Alyrie. Eman ozmijegon ao olvie." My pretty Alyrie. I've missed you very much.
"SKOROS NŪMĀZMA NYKE?" cries the boy. WHAT ABOUT ME?
You laugh at him, watching him stand and jump into Daemon's arms.
His father catches him and nuzzles his nose into the young prince's neck, "hen rhinka nyke ozmijegon ao, Alaeric." Of course I missed you, Alaeric.
"Se muña?" Alyrie grabs Daemon's face, making the man turn to her then to you. And mother?
Daemon kisses the princess's silver hair before turning to you, "I missed her the most."
Your eyes open just before he kisses you. You rub your lips, finding them cold from the night air. Tears rush down your skin.
You slowly sit. The dark of night still seeps through your window and the sun had yet to rise. It felt like an omen, that you dreamed about your twins the very night their father left you... again.
Perhaps it was.
You feel sick; your mouth waters, telling that you will soon vomit. You groan and push yourself out of bed, walking to your vanity to smell some balms to sooth yourself. When the tanginess of your lemon oil harbors your bubbling belly, you sigh and decide to get dressed for the day.
Once you are in your grabs, you pin your hair into a bun. You stare at your reflection for a moment, warring the impulse to retch. You stand and head outside, eager to inhale some fresh air.
You startled when you open the door, not expecting anyone outside.
"Princess," they say in unison.
You look between your knights, heart pinching at the sight of them, "...my twins."
Arryk takes in your pale face, frowning, "should you not still be in bed?"
You shake your head, "I had a dream... a terrible dream..."
They both step forward.
You wipe your face before the tears even begin to fall. You groan when they reach for you, knowing you will continue to crumble at their affection.
You pull away and shake your head, "no... I..."
They immediately retreat, knowing to give you space. Erryk can't help the hurt he feels though, and wonders if it was overwhelming to have both of them here. Had he been alone, would you have still rejected his touch?
"I dreamt about my twins..." you sigh, feeling your throat tighten.
The Cargylls remain silent.
You sniffle and shake your head, "shall we head to the gardens?"
They silently come to your side and follow you.
You feel a pinch in your belly and groan, rubbing the area.
This alerts them. "What's wrong?"
You shake your head, "I feel sick."
"Shall we go to the maester-"
"No," you reach for an arm. You find Arryk's and he immediately offers you support. You draw a deep breath, "I need fresh air."
Their worry does not wane when you reach the gardens. It had been a long time since they had seen you this way, both because you had slowly been getting better and that you had not spent as much time with them anymore. Once again, it was all your husband's leave that brought you crashing down.
The brothers share a look; so much is said in their silence. Perhaps only one of us should have come. Having us both present might be too much. Damn that Rogue Prince for doing this all over again.
You sit down by the fountains, taking deep breaths in and out. You rub your belly, groaning as you did. You bite your lip to hold back tears when you begin to realize how similar this scene was. You mumble, "I feel like I'm having a miscarriage."
Their stomachs drop at the thought. Erryk kneels beside you, taking your hand, and Arryk gestures, "you need to breathe, your grace."
You retch, "I'm going to vomit."
Erryk moves out of the way as you stand and run to the bushes, the sourness of your empty stomach gushes out of your mouth.
"Seven fucking hells," Erryk mutters as Arryk comes to your side.
You hear him call your name and you gulp, wiping your mouth on your sleeve. Exhaustion and pain move you to tears.
"Perhaps you ought to break your fast," Arryk offers, helping you stand upright.
You shake your head, "I will only get sicker."
"You might be sick because you have not eaten," Erryk gently explains.
"I do not wish to eat right now," you blurt, gesturing in refusal.
Arryk feels you shudder as you sigh. He frowns and places his hands on your shoulders, "when was your last meal?"
"Before Daemon left," you mutter.
Erryk clenches his jaw, "so the wedding last night."
"You must eat something," coaxed Arryk.
"Please," you raise a hand, "later, I just-" you sigh, "I just need to breathe right now."
The twins are powerless against your wishes, no matter how wary they are of it. You sit by the fountain, beckoning them over.
Erryk sits beside you and Arryk shoots him a look, shaking his head in disapproval. Erryk mutters, "it's an ungodly hour..."
"And it is precisely why—"
"Who's going to se-"
"What if someone sees—"
"Please," you lean your head into your hand, "I just... let me have this," you look up, giving Arryk the beady eyed look that makes him weak in the knees.
Erryk glares to get him to submit and Arryk nearly shoves him because of it. Still, the latter sits beside you and you sigh in relief. You shift and lean against Erryk's breast plate then rest your legs upon Arryk's lap.
Erryk rubs your shoulder. Arryk sigh and clutches your ankles.
"I feel empty..." you mutter through wobbly lips.
The man behind you sighs, "you have made much progress, princess. You are stronger than you were last time."
"I don't want to be strong," you close your eyes, feeling tears run down your face, "I tire... tis always this way."
Arryk clenches his teeth when you begin to weep. He grabs his cloak and wipes your tears.
The three of your remain here until the sun rises.
You eventually yield to their urges of breaking fast. They eat with you but finish far quicker as you found it a chore to feed yourself. You barely ate half of your meal and it was already cold when you hear someone walk the door open.
The Cargylls, who were presently stood by the door, bow at the princess, "good morn."
Rhaenyra freezes at the sight of them, not expecting two... or even one, honestly. She feels rather conscious and grumpy about the one currently shadowing her. She walks into the room, eyeing Harwin who tails behind her, "I did not know you were so strangled, dear aunt."
You turn from your meal to the newly wed. She looks like she slept horribly. You push yourself up to curtsy at her, but she stops you with a hand raise before you could. You slump back in your chair.
"I figured you would be in better spirits because you left the wedding early," says the princess as she takes the chair beside you, "but clearly it isn't so."
You only notice Harwin at this point because he greets you then shares a laugh with the Cargylls.
Rhaenyra softly fumes at it.
"I apologize for leaving ea-"
"Don't be," she leans into her chair, "a fight broke out and the hall had to be cleared before the ceremony commenced."
You stiffen, "oh," you shake your head, "are you alri-"
"How do you do it?"
You watch Rhaenyra clutch your arm.
"How do you stand a large oaf looming over you, telling you what you should and shouldn't do?" she mutters, "two at that."
You pull your head back and steal a glance at Harwin. Lord Strong was a not of schemes or malice, though he was called Break Bones. You've spoken to him on occasion and found him to be rather gentle, but then again, most people were in fear you would break. You turn back to her, "I do not stand them."
Rhaenyra's brow quirks.
"I enjoy their company."
Her face hardens, then she pulls back.
"I am fortunate."
"You are," she crosses her arms, "he is controlling."
You knit your brows at that, "I do not understand. Is Harwin your ward?"
"As of last night," she groans, "my father fears I might encounter another act of violence."
"Ah," you slowly nod, "well, the king does it in con-"
"He made me wake before my usual hour," Rhaenyra snaps, leaning back into you, "I told him sleep until I mean to, and he said it would be good to practice a schedule for when I am Queen."
You furrow your brows at the petulant look upon her face but cannot help but chuckle when she crosses her arms. You hum and shake your head, "that is frustrating."
She narrows her eyes, "you don't agree with his reasoning?"
You shrug, "rest is a ruby and discipline an emerald. Both are valuable and I would not throw one for the other."
She thinks about your words for a moment. "I am irritated," she blurts, "I do not need yet another man to tell me what to do."
You lower your head, taking a deep breath, "I understand you completely," you offer her a soft smile, "but instead of fighting him, perhaps you can work with him."
Rhaenyra raises a brow.
"It's much easier to swim with the current, is it not?" you mutter, "perhaps the next time he persists on his way, instead of persisting on yours, you offer a middle ground."
The heiress gives you a look, "why should I offer middle ground? I am his superior."
Your smile grows sympathetic, "we are women."
Her jaw sets. She lifts her nose, "Iksan Perzys Ānogār." I am Fire and Blood."
Your smile widens. You rub her arm, "pār kostilus ao should botagon bē aōla." Then perhaps you should persist upon yourself.
Rhaenyra's proud expression falters. She was not expecting such a response from you. Your face shines though it was clear you were not in the best of conditions. You were earnest... and suddenly, she could see so clearly why her uncle was so besotted.
"Daemon has gone again-"
You tense at her sudden words.
"-but he does not desire that you suffer in consequence like how you once did," she explains.
You feel sick all over again, like all of what little you had eaten wishes to be free.
Rhaenyra leans her head, "he instructed me to be the keeper of your peace whilst he is gone."
Your lips part.
"I shall do so," she shakes her head, "not because my uncle commands me, but because I should..." she stands, "one day I will be queen."
She waves you off when you try to stand to regard her. You watch her walk off with Harwin following closely after. You stand and walk towards your wards with pursed lips, "she's so much like my sister." You shake your head with a huff, "I mourn their friendship."
They follow you walk out of the room. One offers, "we know not what the future holds. They might yet rekindle their friendship."
You say nothing to this.
You head to your sister's chambers.
"Praise the Seven," mutters Alicent the moment she sees you. You stop in your tracks when your sister runs up to you. She grips your hands, eyes solemn as she whispers, "I'm with child."
You freeze.
"The maesters say it's possible I have been for a few moons now," her breath shakes, "I've just given birth. I fear I might not be strong enough to-"
"Cast the thought away," you clutch her cheek, "you are the strongest person I know."
She speaks your name and you immediately embrace her. Alicent melts into your shoulder, taking in your scent. Your wards watch display a few paces back.
"I am here for you," you rub her back, "you have done well with Aegon and Helaena."
Alicent clenches her teeth and screws her eyes shut, but slowly allows her to relax against you.
"Auntie!"
You find Aegon running up to you.
"DRAGON!" calls the boy, tugging your skirt, "I want to see my dragon."
Alicent moves back as you crouch down to the boy, "you want to go to the pit?"
He nods, "I want to fly with Sunfyre!"
You chuckle, brushing his hair back, "Sunfyre is still too small to ride, my love."
"But I want to!"
"I know, my love, but you must wait until he's big enough."
"Did uncle wait for Caraxes to get big?"
You smile falters as you think of Daemon, but you catch yourself and shake your head, "Caraxes was already big when he was a baby."
Aegon's jaw drops, "lucky..."
You chuckle.
"Will you go to the pit with me, my love?" Aegon reaches for your cheeks, effectively reaching for your heart.
"Aww, of course," you coo, pulling him into an embrace. You look up at your sister, "may we go to the pit, sister?"
Alicent rubs her belly and nods, "will you embroider with me after?"
You agree with a smile, taking Aegon's hand as you come to a stand.
When you reach the pits, Aegon gasps at the sight of Caraxes. Since his illness, he remained sprawled outside the chasm of the pit, as he was loath to move.
"CARAXES!" Aegon excitedly points.
You turn to him with a grin, "Caraxes!"
You gasp when Aegon suddenly rips out of your grasp, bolting towards the blood wyrm. Thankfully, your wards were on high alert and manage to snag the boy before he could.
Twas Erryk that caught his arm. He clicks his tongue, "do not be naughty, young prince. You know the rules.
Aegon squeals in protest. If you didn't know any better, you'd believe he was being hurt, but you knew better. He whines, "muña!!!! Mazverdagon zirȳla dīnagon nyke ilagon!" (Maternal) aunt! Make him put me down!
Erryk raises a brow at the boy when he thrashes against him, pulling the knight's arm with all his might to no avail, "quiet. She will not save you."
"AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"
Caraxes grumbles at the noise.
Arryk raises a hand, "I'll save you, my prince!"
Aegon halts, turning to his savior.
Erryk watches his brother approach and releases him once the boy is swooped up. Aegon screams in glee when he is hung in the air upside down and thrown over Arryk's shoulder.
You chuckle at the sight, watching your nephew's legs fail behind Arryk's back. Aegon giggles, lifting his head.
Arryk grunts, "right, out of the pit then."
"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Aegon protests through laughter.
Erryk winces, turning to Caraxes warily, "hush."
"No?" Arryk looks at the boy, "but I thought I was saving you?"
Aegon laughs and points, "FROM HIM!"
Erryk gasps, "me?"
Aegon nods, "he's villain!"
You snort, "Aegon."
"Ah," Arryk raises a brow, "I see. What shall we do? Should the princess punish him?"
Aegon grins, nodding his head.
You give Arryk a look.
"AUNT!" Aegon points, "PUNISH HIM."
You roll your eyes but comply, "Erryk."
Erryk turns to you, "yes, my princess."
"I punish you to live as a cat while we are here in the pits."
"Meow."
Aegon laughs brightly, suddenly wrangling out of Arryk's arms. Arryk puts him down and Aegon immediately runs to your skirts, "do him next."
Arryk gasps at the chubby finger pointed at him, "your grace! You betray me?!"
Erryk crosses his arms, "meow, meow."
Arryk growls with his hands curled into pretend claws, slowly stomping over, "I shall have vengeance."
Aegon screams and runs around you, hiding behind your skirt, "PUNISH HIM. QUICKLY!"
You huff and turn to Arryk, "ser Arryk."
"Hmm?" Arryk halts and clears his throat. He straightens his back, "yes, my lady?"
"I punish you to live as a dog while we are here in the pits."
"Wo-woof," Arryk sighs sadly.
"Meow, meow, ri-aw."
"Arf!"
Aegon emerges behind you, pointing a finger, "HEHEHE, you've been pu-"
"Aegon, I punish you to live as a bird while we're in the pits."
The boy bends his arms into wings, "tweet, tweet,"
Erryk points, "MEOW," then licks his lips while rubbing his belly, "YUM MEOW!"
Aegon, realizing his doom, runs behind you, "TWEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!!"
The two run around and Arryk joins them, barking along as they did. When Sunfyre was brought out, Aegon immediately breaks character, "Sunfy- I mean..." he turns to you, cupping the side of his mouth, "can my punishment be over? Can I be a boy again?"
You chuckle and nod, "all your punishments are over."
"YIPEE!" Aegon jumps and runs off to his dragon.
That is, until Arryk snatches his arm again, "my prince, no running in the pit."
Aegon merely nods this time, "okay!"
Both of your wards are focused on the boy once the small, golden beast is upon him. The keepers try to keep the dragon calm, but he is equally excited to Aegon as Aegon is to see him.
Aegon fearlessly strokes his companion, gasping in awe of his golden scales, and Sunfyre makes a sound akin to a purr as he nuzzles into his hand.
"Naejot kisikagon zirȳla, ñuha dārilaros?" one of the keepers ask. Would you like to feed him, my prince?
Aegon nods eagerly.
The Cargylls allow the boy to act under the guidance of the keepers, remaining on high alert. You, on the other hand, find yourself drawn towards the other dragon in the pit. You frown at Caraxes, who was already looking, "qubirī run." Poor thing.
Caraxes huffs as you slowly approach him with a raised hand. You pet him gently, unsure if he was allowing you to do so, or if he was too sick to do anything about it.
He makes a noise that sounds rather painful. You frown deeper, "mirre iksis sȳrī. Daemon ēza geptot naejot dohaeragon ao." All is well. Daemon has left to help you.
He perks at the mention of the name. He lifts his head slightly, looking around the room for the said man.
Your heart hurts and you are immediately brought to tears, "oh you poor thing," you clench your chest, hating that he can't understand what's going on, "Daemon iksis daor kesīr." Daemon is not here.
Caraxes makes a sound, earning the attention of the others in the room.
The twins see where you stand and immediately become agitated. They call your name slowly.
Caraxes sees them and grunts in displeasure.
"Shhh," you shake your head, "lykirī." Calmly.
The dragon does not listen and grits his teeth.
The keepers have to intervene and Aegon's time with Sunfyre is unfortunately cut short because of Caraxes's restlesness.
When you return Aegon to his mother and he insists upon lemon cakes. You all have some cakes and tea as you and the queen spend the rest of the day embroidering.
By the time you're back in your chambers that night, you dismiss your wards and get ready for bed. Your servant girls help you dress and after dismissing them, you raise your brow at the sight of the Cargylls, still ouside your door.
You towards them, hands on your hips, "I've not met anyone as eager for work as you two."
Erryk merely ignores you, standing back into attention. Arryk offers you a nod, "we merely do our duty, your grace."
"I'm going to bed," you raise an arm.
Arryk stands attention, closing the door as they both say in unison, "good night."
You huff, grabbing the knob. They ignore you. You roll your eyes, "come inside."
They ignore you still.
"I have dismissed you. You are not my wards in this hour," you walk to your vanity and prepare your quill and parchment. You turn to the open door, "shall I write to Daemon?"
This grabs their attention. Both of them turn to you and soon, the door is closed and both of them are by your side.
You turn to your paper, "I think I should write to Gwayne first, berate him for ignoring my letters."
"I doubt he ignores you. He's likely preoccupied, as I hear there has been an issue of locust in the Reach," Erryk offers as he paces around the room.
"He is preoccupied," you mutter, "Lord Tarly tried to talk his daughter up to me."
"Mmm," Arryk clutches his hands where he stands beside you, "Tarly. It would be a noble match."
You scoff, "I doubt my father would want him to marry within the Reach. Perhaps he'll offer him a Dornish bride so he could sink his fingers into the south."
Neither of them respond.
You begin to air out your grievances to your twin, your grievances with his late responses... your grievances with your husband who was now in Essos.
As you do, Arryk recalls your interaction with Rhaenyra, and by extension, Harwin's interaction with them. "It seems the princess has a ward."
Erryk turns to his brother at the mention. You merely hum.
"Ser Harwin asked how we get along, especially since there's three of us."
"And what did you say?" you mutter, focus still on your paper.
"I said we were blessed to ward over such a kind spirit."
"You mean such a sickly spirit."
"A calm one," Arryk corrects, sauntering to the back of your seat, "the princess is apparently fond of instigating quarrels."
You look up at him, taking his reflection, "she is fire and blood. She instigates quarrels no more than a baby demands to be fed. She does simply what is her nature."
"Ser Harwin for advice on how to handle the young princess," Erryk adds, walking over to you.
You watch him come beside your vanity, leaning on the surface. "Mmm, pray tell, what advice did you give?"
"Patience," Erryk blurts, "I told him patience is the only solution to his problem."
You chuckle softly, turning to Arryk behind you. You gather your hair over your shoulder, combing through the dark locks, "and you?"
Arryk looks down at you, belly rolling at the warmth your features under candlelight. He sighs slowly, clenching a fist to steel himself, "I told him to submit."
Your brow quirks.
"Submit to her will... her wants," one of his hands reach for you, "her desires."
Erryk watches as his twin caresses your cheek. He licks his lips when Arryk traces yours with his thumb. Unwilling to be merely an onlooker, Erryk comes to your side, taking your hand to kiss your knuckles.
This steals your attention. You turn to the other Cargyll, instantly finding your mouth trapped against his. Erryk kisses you gently, as if he feared placing any more pressure would break you.
Arryk breathes heavily and slowly drops to his knees. His hands brush over your lap, slowly bunching your skirt up. He grabs the base of the chair and drags you into him. Erryk's kisses shift as your chair does;his lips trail to your jaw and neck.
Your attention is stolen again when you feel hands on your bare legs. Arryk had hiked your dress up and was now parting your thighs to make room for himself between them.
"Wait," you mewl, reaching out to him, "I don't think I can take you both toni-"
"You do not have to," Erryk immediately mutters, "you needn't take either of us," his hands slowly brush across your chest. He squeezes one of your breasts, "let us take care of you,a make you feel good."
"Aye," Arryk blurts in agreement, "let us calm you."
"But what about y-"
Arryk makes your words falter by taking your shins and placing them on his shoulder. His steel is cool against your skin which burns hotter by the second. He kisses your knee while Erryk pushes your hair behind you, attacking your neck with his wet lips. "Do we not remind you enough to stop worrying about our pleasure?"
You bite your lip, holding back the whimper that threatens to spill as Arryk kisses up your inner thigh. You sigh, "I thought you said you submit to me?"
Arryk looks up as you, pressing your thighs against his cheeks. His eyes glimmer with longing, with adoration. Erryk shifts behind your shoulder to easier kiss you there as he pulls your sleeve down.
"Is this not submitting?" Arryk mutters.
You reach for his cheeks and stroke his beard, "I'm tried."
"Just one," he whispers, fingers eager to pull your bloomers down, "I will not tease you... not unless you wish it."
You whimper at the idea and shake your head.
Arryk heaves in an attempt to keep his breathing level. You still hadn't given your explicit permission, so he does nothing but watch as his brother smothers your shoulder with his lips. He mimics and kisses your thighs, "please... just on my tongue."
"Fuck," whispers Erryk upon hearing it.
You sigh and clench your jaw, finally nodding. You pull Arryk's head into your waiting core.
He wastes little time between removing your inner garments and pressing his mouth against your soft womanhood. Though eager he was to lap you up and eat you out, Arryk is gentle with his tongue. He is gentle with how he moves his lips and how he nuzzles his nose into you.
Erryk keeps you in place, body pressed against you, assuring your comfort, even if it meant the lack of his own. He massages your breasts intermittently and soon decides to pepper as much attention on the other side of your neck as he did the opposite. He breathes hotly against you, "smell so good."
Arryk hums, "taste even better."
You whimper when both brothers nip at you; they had a knack of doing things at the same time, even if unintentional. Your back arches and you slowly begin to swivel in your spot as the pleasure in your body intensifies.
The scratch of Arryk's beard on your tender flesh makes you groan. Soon, the wet lapping is loud enough to match the noises you were emitting.
Your peak is surprisingly strong and makes you lurch forward into Arryk's head. He steadies you though, as does his twin. Your legs nearly cramp as your body tenses with the hot and heavy sensation that bursts across your form. Both brothers give you one last kiss before carrying you into bed and tucking you in.
"That is your fortune."
He clenches his fist and teeth.
"Sadness bled from love. Misplaced yearning. Treachery strung from treachery. Nightmare become flesh."
His breath is low and shaky. He tells himself she's a quack but then again she knew nothing of him when he entered; now it seems she knew everything. "Fortune or reality?"
The soothsayer sat across him on the carpet shrugs, her heavily painted face twists in indifference, "two sides of the same coin."
"Can I change it?" Daemon snaps, liking no part of what he'd heard. This witch spoke only painful confirmations of things he'd tried so hard to deny.
She stares at him, scrutinizing his clothes. She was no fool, she knew he was noble, even with his tatty attire. She tilts her head, "for a price."
Daemon chuckles dryly, "of course," he shakes his head, reaching for his pocket, "how much more will you swindle out-"
"You must send word to your wife today or else she will never respond to you again."
The prince freezes.
The woman knowingly hums, "the same constellation that shone during her birth will soon shine. Her half will celebrate but she will not."
Her half? His jaw clenches. Gwayne? "Why won't she celebrate?"
"Death," she mutters simply, "everyone shall mourn during her day."
Daemon tenses, "death? Whose?"
She shrugs.
He grabs a pouch of coins and places it between them.
She looks at the coin but shrugs yet again, "I tell you only of what I see. A town of old shall rejoice for its heir will retrieve a bride. Babes will be promised. Her own lonely tears will drown the princess."
Daemon's face twitches.
The woman is unbothered by his deep bother. He lies on her side and waves him off, "go write to her and leave me now, prince. I tire."
"What should I write?"
She gives him a face, "it's nary my business what a married man and woman write about."
"B-"
"Waste more daylight by all means," she raises a hand, "may the gods grant you a bird that knows the flight back to King's Landing."
Daemon's huffs then exits the tent. Just as he remembers he left his pouch of coin, he turns and finds the tent is gone.
"What in the name of the god—"
"My lord!" a frantic voice calls. Daemon finds the captain of his ship, running towards him. He grabs his arms, "where have you been?! We've spent all day looking for you!"
The prince pushes him away, "do not exaggerate. I was merely gone for-" He turns back when he hears a bell tolling, brows furrowing at the sight of the setting sun behind the tower.
"I had to pay my guide to Norvos extra to wait and stay for us," says the captain.
Daemon looks out to the marketplace before him. Mere moments ago, it was bustling, lively, and stocked to the brim. Now, seemingly not a soul was present nor were there any goods at all for sale. He turns back to the man, mouth ajar, "I swear I had only left a few minutes. A woman had spoken to me about my wife... I had to listen."
The captain mutters something in his native speech. He shakes his head, "you be wary of witches," he spits to his side, "we might not reach Norvos at all if you listen to all the harks you hear." He shakes his head, "come now. We must aw-"
"No. I must write to King's Landing at once."
The man tenses and huffs, "and did the witch tell you do to so?"
"My heart does," Daemon says, walking off.
His eye twitches. Captain follows after him, "we waste sunlight... and coin! You can send her word the next stop ov-"
"It is my time and money you rely on," he shoots him a look, "I will spend it as I see fit."
And so it was.
Daemon sits upon a table just outside a tavern with a cup of wine, gazing back and forth between the captain and the guide, who were arguing in front of a horse stable. The scene is reminiscent of the argument you had when he left you in the pit to go to the Stepstones. The memory tries to choke him.
Beside the stable was a two-floored house and on the top window, he could see a mother watching her daughter play an instrument akin to a lute as she breastfed her babe. They had hair as dark as yours, which was why couldn't help imagine she was you for a moment... how happy he'd be to come home to something like this.
He turns to his paper and wonders if you ever drank wine when you wrote to him.
The bell tolls.
A septa lights some of the candles that went out with the wind.
You and Alicent had been knelt down in prayer in the temple. More accurately, she had been praying and you had been silently crying; your sister merely pretended not to notice.
The loud ring of the bells were what pulled you out of your melancholic trance. You sniffle and wipe your face, gathering yourself as much as you could. You push yourself up and turn to your sister, helping her up as she struggles slightly to get to her feet. She rubs her belly, the bump now visible.
"Perhaps we ought to stay standing next time, my dear," you say.
The queen disagrees, "I'm fine."
You freeze when she brushes your wet cheeks. You stare at her as he frowns.
"Are you?"
You slowly push her hand away, shaking your head, "I do not know. Does the news of the crown princess being with child not inspire you to weep?"
Alicent does not respond. In truth, she does not know how she feels about Rhaenyra carrying. She is rather numb, but she does not think she should admit it. This is why she changes the subject, "what of Daemon?"
You chuckle dryly, scratching your eyes, "what of him?"
"Has he still not written to you?"
You shake your head, lowering your gaze, "I would probably have taken this news better if he had," you chuckle bitterly, "I thought it would be different this time," you look back at her, "but here I am, wanting to return to Oldtown more than ever."
"Take heart," Alicent grabs your arm, "he said he would write you, didn't he?"
Your eyes water, "now that I think it, he never expressed the exact sentiment."
"Perhaps there are no birds to send correspondence."
"Alicent," you mumble, "you need not defend him. It only hurts us both." You gaze up at the ceiling, "I admit..." you laugh dryly, "I was not expecting any word from him."
That was a lie.
You were hopeful for letters, nay, you prayed for them... but then, you realized that change does not come easy and saved your breath.
But there was truth, and the truth of it all resided with Otto. It surprised him how sentimental Daemon could be, and how consistently so.
Even now, as sits upon his office chair, reading the most recent one, his throat tightens and his stomach sours at his sentiment.
After a few bites, they both go back to playing, quickly uninterested in your porridge. The door opens and, quickly, they are uninterested in their toys when their father walks in. "KEPA!"
Your eyes open just before he kisses you. You rub your lips, finding them cold from the night air. Tears rush down your skin.
Oh god, someone save them from their own misery. The first scenes making me want to smoke 10 packs of cigarette at the same time and question the importance of life. LOL.
You sit down by the fountains, taking deep breaths in and out. You rub your belly, groaning as you did. You bite your lip to hold back tears when you begin to realize how similar this scene was. You mumble, "I feel like I'm having a miscarriage."
AAAAAAAAAAAAA (most reasonable crashout).
"-but he does not desire that you suffer in consequence like how you once did," she explains.
No comment. Just this memes.
"Will you go to the pit with me, my love?" Aegon reaches for your cheeks, effectively reaching for your heart.
You gasp when Aegon suddenly rips out of your grasp, bolting towards the blood wyrm. Thankfully, your wards were on high alert and manage to snag the boy before he could.
The scenes with little Aegon is just wholesome. This is his alternative universe where he is loved and has 2 loving mother figures and uncle-dad moments with Daemon. It just shows how environment and people surrounding kids shaped them as a person as they grow up. If they grow up in canonically events in HOTD they will end up as Aegon and if theh grow up in Tormented Spirit they will end up as capybara like Aegon—and I would love to think that TS is the canon events of HOTD not the series nor the book🤸♀️
Caraxes sees them and grunts in displeasure.
Like father, like son. "He grunts, calmly."
You were hopeful for letters, nay, you prayed for them... but then, you realized that change does not come easy and saved your breath.
Hozier's music playing in my head as I cry for them. They yearn for each other but it has protective walls that seems to hold them back from facing each other. They try to break it but everytime they do there's always someone or something to fix the walls that they're badly trying to break. Oh, will love truly meet in the end? No one can tell...
Otto nearly gags. He crumples the paper and stands from his seat. He walks toward his fireplace and chucks it in, as he did with the previous ones.
Otto giving me so many reasons to buy a gun just for me to use it on his head (multiple times). THE VOICES, THE FUCKING VOICES!
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: it's been a while, so i'd like to acknowledge this ask, the lovely comments i got from it, and this ask, because they were really sweet and really motivated me to finish this. the chapter feels a bit aimless because its a filler chapter, so i would love to know how you all feel about it. if i find people are not very interested, i might just do the big time skip and end this story, so please consider leaving a comment/reblog | cross posted on ao3
@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01
"Kepus."
Daemon looks over his shoulder, finding Rhaenyra strutting over. Her violet eyes were not on him though, but on the blood wyrm sprawled on his belly yet again. Caraxes recognizes her and huffs smoke through his nostrils when she is upon him.
Rhaenyra knits her brows and prince steps aside, allowing her to pet his mount. "I did not think it was possible for a dragon to appear as such, much less a dragon as high and mighty as Caraxes."
Daemon does not speak. His face remains stoic but Rhaenyra knows better than to believe he is unfeeling. Still, she decides to linger in his silence. She ceases stroking Caraxes when he does.
He turns to her; she looks concerned and sad and it makes his chest tighten. He knows his instant recognition of it is borne from familiarity— familiarity for you emanated such emotions. He mumbles, "do not be so worried."
A line forms between Rhaenyra's brows. Part of her wants to snap at him— of course she would be worried! She wants to thrash her grievances out and tell him he ought to be glad she was worried about Caraxes, about him; it was never something he afforded her, not in the way she would have wanted. Her pride reigns her back from doing anything however.
Daemon witnesses the inner turmoil seeping on her features. Try as she may, she was not a difficult read. It was clear his sentiment was not appreciated. "I don't mean that I don't want you to care."
Rhaenyra opens her mouth, but no words come out, as she was not expecting such a response. Mockery? Something akin to it? Yes. But not that.
Daemon stares at his niece, brows raising at her shocked expression, "I do not want your youth and beauty to be wasted."
She purses her lips. Earnest. Her uncle was earnest. Her lips curve into a soft frown. His wife has made him soft. Her belly bubbles with feeble jealousy.
He shifts in his spot, their arms brushing against each other's as they turn to pitiful Caraxes. He links his hands together, "would you do me a favor, my girl?"
Rhaenyra's nostrils flare faintly. Am I your girl?
"I am to leave soon."
Her brows furrow, "what?"
He shifts again, "I cannot remain merely watching as Caraxes worsens day in and out."
"But I am to be married in three days!" Her lips stiffen, "will you not stay three days for me?"
He raises a brow "what use am I on your wedding day?"
Though he says it plainly, she hears it laced with vitriol, "to support me? To be there for me?!"
Daemon chuckles, genuinely endeared by the sentiment, "you need not your uncle's support on your wedding day."
She does not recognize his endearment. She scoffs, "you've made me come here to ask me for a favor, yet you m-"
"Lykirī," Daemon chortles, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, "I did not say I was leaving before your wedding." Calmly.
She stiffens.
He smirks, pulling his hand away, "I was merely explaining, my absence would not be so substantial if I we-"
"What do you want?"
Daemon watches her tap her foot.
"What's the favor?" she motions with an impatient gesture.
He stands still for a moment, building the nerve to say it as plainly as possible. His voice betrays him with a random voice break, "m-y wife." He clenches his jaw. Gods. He can hear his own desperation.
Rhaenyra is offended by his aching, or rather, she wants to be. She was unsurprised that whatever he needed had to do with you, yet, it still went down her belly horribly. "What of her?"
"Last time I left... much of her was lost..."
She frowns in remembrance.
"... much of us."
Her reaction is involuntary. She scoffs and raises her brows, "do you forget, she wrote to you and you never once responded?"
Daemon's jaw sets. He slowly shakes his head, "I do not forget." He turns back to Caraxes, rubbing his side, "I shudder to think my penance is at the peril of my mount."
She stiffens, unexpecting another... earnest response. She nibbles her lip as guilt tightens her chest. Rhaenyra never believed Daemon was heartless, yet to see him so haunted... so vulnerable— "was it not you who said we carve our own destinies?"
He does not look at her. He hums, "and did I not carve out this demise myself?"
She watches him slowly turn.
He purses his lips, waiting for a response.
Rhaenyra shakes her head, "no. It's not like you made both your wife and your dragon sick."
Daemon chuckles and shakes his head, "you are kind to me."
She huffs through her nostrils. She thinks about his words for a moment then suddenly tenses, "wait. Are you telling me she is with child again?"
Daemon stiffens. For a moment, he wants to make her believe it, that his wife has not rejected any and all of his advances, but as he sees her horrified expression, he realizes she must think him villain, that he's had his way with you because he could, because it was easy. He clenches his jaw, "no." He wipes his face, "I simply want someone to look after her upon my leave."
Rhaenyra slowly tilts her head.
"My madness forthcomes if she withers because of my absence," he mutters lowly, turning back to his dragon.
"She is daughter to the Hand," she crosses her arms, "she is well looked after."
He chuckles dryly, "yes, oh I do so trust my wife's well-being with that old cunt." He shoots Rhaenyra a withering glare.
"She is sister to the queen," she raises a brow and crosses her arms, "you'd be wiser to have gone to her. I am outranked."
"And Alicent is far weaker to him than she," he narrows his eyes, "besides, I come to you because it is you I rest my confidence in," he gives her a solemn expression, "and you alone."
For a moment, Rhaenyra is satisfied. She basks in the thought, but it is soon not enough. She takes the opportunity to spur him on, "what of her twin?"
Daemon tenses, "what of her damned twin?"
"I'm sure if you wrote to Ser Gwayne, he—"
"Yes, and I'm sure you know how little my patience is."
"Well," she looks off and shrugs, "if you wish to surely see that you-"
"What do you wish me to say?!"
Rhaenyra pauses.
"Is it my tears you thirst for? Or you want me to beg?"
Her jaw slowly clenches. Perhaps.
"Or do want me to admit you that you were not my first choice, girl?" Daemon tilts his head as he looks upon her.
Her lips part.
"I asked Laenor first for he is her friend," he explains, sparing none of his vexation, "they're the same age, so he to her is like that fucking brother she so fucking deeply misses, Rhaenyra," he seethes, "is that what you wish me to say?"
Her expression hardens.
"You would be glad to know your promised is a loyal thing, Naturally, he agreed, and naturally added that if his princess told him otherwise, he would do otherwise."
Rhaenyra looks away, feeling in the least bit gladdened.
Daemon watches her aimlessly scan the room.
Caraxes rolls over, finally on his feet. He immediately is met by Daemon, who coddles him and sighs when he nuzzles into his chest. He spares Rhaenyra a glance, "doesn't feel good, does it?"
The princess would have flared at the words had her iciness not been shattered by the dragon's frailty. She huffs and rapidly shakes her head, "what do you want me to do?"
Daemon places his palm on the dragon's snout, turning to her as Caraxes leans into him.
"Shall I write letters to you everyday regarding her conditions?"
A line forms between his brows. He places the hand he had on his mount on her shoulder, "let her keep her peace... do not let anyone rob it simply because I cannot safeguard it."
Rhaenyra gazes upon her uncle. Her brows now match his, tightened with a weight of emotions they could not so simply name. She swallows the lump in her throat and lowers her gaze, "ao jorrāelagon zirȳla." You love her.
It was not a question, yet Daemon hums, "bona ñuha ībyr ōdrikagon." That my bones hurt.
She looks up at him, eyes beginning to water, "skoro syt..." Why...
Her uncle captures her chin and brushes it gently.
"Skoro syt gaomas tolvys vestragon naejot henujagon nyke?" Why does everyone seem to leave me?
"Eman daor geptot ao," Daemon shakes his head, "ñuha egros iksis aōhon." I have not left you. My sword is yours.
"Ossēnagon nyke lēda ziry pār," she snaps, pulling away from him. Slay me with it then.
"Rhaenyra-"
"Enough," she raises a hand, "I've heard enough."
He does nothing but clench his jaw.
She scratches her eyes, "rest assured that any who dare deturb your lady-wife's peace, mine own and my husband's dragon shall bedash their corpse."
As quickly as he takes a breath of relief, just as quickly does Rhaenyra walk off. Daemon only watches, though part of him did not want her to leave him so angry.
Daemon remains in the pit, fussing over Caraxes to the keepers, until supper nears. He leaves to join you, luckily spotting you just outside your niece's nursery.
Helaena is in your arms, asleep it seems. You spot him as he approaches, offering him a soft smile, "I'm just going to set her down."
Daemon notices there were flowers in your plaited hair. You were surely in the gardens with Aegon... and by extension your wards, but he trains his focus on your face. He opens the door for you.
"Thank you," you mutter, walking in.
He follows you towards Helaena's cot, watching as you set her down and tuck her in. The locks by your ears spill over your face. As you straighten and push your dark hair back, he wishes that he could have been the one to do so.
You smile at him again, "she nearly stood up today."
Daemon smiles back, eyes trickling down your form. Color has found its way back to you, to your clothes and your face. Today, you wore green, but nothing slimy and greedy like the color of your house. Twas taffeta in a freshly-grown-leaf green, embellished with silver lace that embraced your form. You looked like a woodland nymph, especially with the braided flowers running down your spine. Your eyes were not so sad and your skin was not so grey, though your cheeks remained rather hollow.
"I am eager for the day she speaks," you say as head out, your husband closely tailing you. You link your hands together as you walk side by side down the hall, "she looks always as though she has much to say."
Daemon hums, eyes pinned on your features.
You turn to him.
He smiles softly.
You recognize the exhaustion on his face, even through his current expression, "how fares Caraxes?"
His smile fades. He shakes his head, "there must be something done for him."
You frown when he clenches his jaw. You rub your arm, "is he still unwilling to fly?"
"He's unwilling to do anything save wallow," his nostrils flare.
"Poor thing..." you clench your jaw and rub your arm, "what do you plan to do?"
"I read that there is a gut illness that makes beasts lethargic. Apparently, there is an antidote in an herb that grows by the banks of the river Noyne."
You nod and furrow your brows.
"I will set to Norvos to procure them in three days, immediately after Rhaenyra and Laenor are wed."
You stop in your tracks.
Daemon does the same, only to take a step towards you.
"Oh... I..."
"Travel to Essos would take two moons, if luck finds me," he speaks carefully, "I will not take a second longer than I must."
Your lips part.
"I would take you with me," he reaches for your hand, "but I am to travel by sea and I fear too greatly your health will worsen on the way."
His hand is burning hot against yours. Goosebumps prick over your arms as he rubs your skin.
Daemon's heart drops when you lower your head. He gulps and bends down, desperate to see your face. It gashes him when you turn away.
"Kostilus," he mutters, "gaoman daor jaelagon naejot ojughagon ñuha zaldrīzes." Please, I do not wish to lose my dragon.
Your eyes are glassy as you look back at him. You shake your head, "you need not explain... nor do you need my permission," you sigh, "I will not beg you to stay."
He clenches his teeth hard enough that it hurts him.
You take a deep breath and rest your free hand atop his, "pepper balm, is it not?"
Daemon straightens up.
"The herb in river Noyne?"
"I-" he nods, "yes. Ysartia. Pepper balm."
You nod, "it is a ghastly bitter herb. I do not know if Caraxes will down it. I barely could, even with milk and honey."
He knits his brows, "you've had pepper balm?"
"I've had possibly every herb you can think of, Daemon," you mutter.
This only makes his brows further tighten.
For a moment, you lower your gaze in thought, then you decide to continue walking, "Delacius."
Daemon follows you, eager to keep holding you.
"He was the man my father hired whenever he needed something from Essos. He had a silver beard and a cut on his right eyebrow. He was massive, terrifyingly so, and had runes on his arms," you shake your head, "I met him only a few times, but he was someone you could not forget."
He is immediately enthralled. Your stories were normally told to all else but him. He is raring to hear this.
"He either smelled of sweat and sun... or barley, and gave me pressed flowers from his travels," you knit your brows, "... he was uncharacteristically gentle, considering my father told me he was a sellsword with a bounty on his head."
"Why did your father hire a sellsword to procure pepper balm?"
You chuckle and shake your head, "to cure me, Daemon," you roll your eyes, "hopefully."
The prince looks forward, "I did not know of this herb's existence until a week ago. None of the maesters nor dragon keepers seem to know it either."
He looks back at you when you squeeze his hand.
You offer him a gentle smile, "the oldest memory in my mind is that of my father leaving Oldtown to go to Highgarden. It did not know it, nor did I understand why. He had not been out longer than a day since we were born, neither had he ever gone without bidding me and my brother farewell. He had bid Gwayne, but I had slept in longer, and just missed him.
"I remember seeing his horse. I remember him seeing me run out to the yard. My nursemaid caught me and pulled me back, and father spared me but a glance upon his horse before trotting off," you shudder as the memory plays in your head, "I do not know why I thought he was leaving because me, but it was believed. It was the first time my heart tightened and my body trembled in anguish. I was bedridden when he returned, and he did not leave the chair beside me until I was strong enough to rouse.
"Since then, I have only gotten worse. The maesters first said my illness was simply borne from the fear of separation, of losing my father, my loved ones. It proved to be true, because whenever he left, I would get sick. Then my mother died, and heart began to give in if I ran too hard, or worried too much. My father allowed me to do less and less and procured more and more medicine," you purse your lips, "including pepper balm."
Daemon does not like the chuckle that leaves you.
"Clearly, none of them worked."
"Well, pepper balm is for the gut, not the heart," Daemon mumbles.
You shrug, turning away, "what cures the heart, I wonder."
He frowns at your expression and squeezes your hand.
You turn back to him.
"Love has brought color back to your face."
You chuckle and rub your tightening chest, "love is what drained it to begin with."
He looks away and hangs his head. He tenses when you pull away, but does not try to stop you.
Dinner is more frigid than usual for you were all of you cursed by the presence of the Lord Hand. Normally, attendance was reserved for four: you, Daemon, Alicent, and Aegon. Yes, there was the occasional ward, sometimes two, but even that he could stomach. There was something so putrid about the atmosphere because of this sour cunt, and Daemon knew it was not only him who thought so.
The only sounds in the room were of the cutlery and Aegon's babbling. Sometimes you or Alicent would respond to the boy, but it was silent otherwise. There was no reason for conversation to flow for you had not spoken to your father since Daemon's altercation with him in the hallway. And your sister was never particularly chatty in this time of day.
That all changes when—
"I have reassigned your wards," Otto mentions casually.
Everyone, save Aegon, turns to the old man. He, in turn, turns to Daemon, face blank, yet appearing as though he was looking for a challenge. The prince merely chuckles under his breath.
Your face, however, falls, "what?"
The Lord Hand takes a scoop of peas and chews it rather slowly
Daemon clenches his fist and slowly turns to you. You had been smiling at your nephew just a moment ago and now you were tense. He clears his throat and adjusts Dark Sister, which was leaned on the side of his chair.
Otto notices it. His lips curve as he swallows. He pats his mouth with a table napkin, then turns to you, "you have no use of them now that your husband is an ever ready presence."
Daemon chuckles, louder this time.
Your father's eyes flicker to him. He tilts his head, "do you disagree?"
You and Alicent tense as you look between the two glaring at each other.
"Mummy," Aegon points a chubby finger, "gravy please."
Alicent turns to the boy and pours some gravy on his potatoes.
Otto continues, "I don't recall you were ever fond of them anyw-"
"AH! MoOooOre!"
"No, Aegon," Alicent pushes his hands back when he tries to snag the gravy, "it's not a soup, you shouldn't put-"
"PLEASE!" he whines.
"-I don't recall you were ever fond of the Cargyll brothers," Otto finishes, eyes turning from his grandson to Daemon.
Daemon shrugs.
You frown, "where did you reassign them?"
"Back to their usual rotation," Otto turns to his plate and cuts some meat, "don't worry. You will not be seeing much of them, as they have much to attend to, considering the upcoming wedding."
"Āzma hen iā orvorta, glaesagon hae iā orvorta," Daemon says, making you turn to him. Born from a cunt, lives as a cunt.
"Orvorta." Aegon repeats. Cunt.
You gasp, "Aegon."
Daemon laughs, "kessa, ñuha valītsos. Aōha kepāzma iksis iā orvorta." Yes, my boy. Your (maternal) grandfather is a cunt.
"Gaomagon daor bodmagho se valītsos kōz ēngos," you grab Daemon's arm, making him laugh louder as he turns to you. Do not teach the boy evil tongue.
"Orvorta iksis daor kōz," Daemon chuckes, "mērī zirȳla... aōhon iksis gevie." Cunt is not evil. Only him… yours is beautiful.
You make a face and slap his arm.
Daemon snorts through his nostrils.
Otto attempts to get a word in again, but Aegon nearly jumps off his chair after deciding he was finished with his meal, stealing everyone's attention with him as he nearly crashes to the ground.
Alicent is forced to end her meal, and you do the same, not having much of an appetite anyway. You stand with your sister, and Daemon stands with you. He unabashedly eyes your father, silently warning him not to follow. Soon Otto is left in the room alone.
"Do not worry," Daemon tells you once you've parted with Alicent and Aegon in the hall.
You turn to his face and then to his hand when he takes your arm.
"You will keep your wards."
You take a sharp breath.
"I will not let him torment you with this," he shakes his head, "I cannot stand them, but I will not leave you lonelier because of mine own feelings."
Your lips wobble at his words.
Daemon frowns at it, heart aching at the slightest look of worry upon you, "I will speak to my brother about this, and if need be, I will speak to them myself."
Your forehead curls.
Daemon reaches for your hand, "do not worry. I will not cause commoti-"
You kiss his cheek, stealing his words and his breath at once.
He is gobsmacked when you pull away, unable to believe what had just happened.
"Thank you," you whisper.
Daemon feels his cheek tingle. He cannot help himself and touches the area which you laid your affection.
For a moment, it amuses you, but then his intense shock begins to make you wonder if you had overstepped... after all, you were never so physically affectionate. You only kissed when you laid together, and even then, it was hardly ever tender.
You shake your head and decide not to address it, "I... we should go to bed."
Daemon rubs his cheek, "... yes... t-to sleep..."
You feel your face flush and shake your head faster. You mutter, "yes, of course, what else for?"
Perhaps Daemon should be grateful that Otto was a scheming cunt. Things changed between you because of that dinner, because of that kiss. A barrier had been broken, a wall torn. You were no longer so distant. In times where he itched to reach for you, he would be shocked to have you touch him first.
You had invited him to do mundane tasks you normally accomplished on your own, like choosing the dress you were to wear for the day. You were no longer on such high guard.
And now, as music played in the great hall, as lords and ladies danced in celebration of the union of Rhaenyra and Laenor, you danced amidst it all and he could see you glistening. He saw you in a light he had not seen, or rather, he had been blind to.
You laughed, you frolicked, you danced, you lived— you were living. You were a shining, beauteous lady. You were you. This is who you were without the debilitating melancholy, without the cumbersome illness, without the suffocating father... without the sordid husband.
He watched upon the his seat on the banquet table how you grinned when it was your turn to spin around with Laenor. The sound of your laughter was set apart, as was the rest of you. You glimmered in your dress as you acted out the steps. Your face was not weighed so heavily by inhibitions. This was how you really looked. Daemon had never known it till now. He could not hide his awe.
Laenor notices and mutters as he twirls with you, "you should ask him to dance."
You look at him, smile morphing from glee to confusion, "who?"
"Who do you think?" he laughs, tilting his head to the side, bringing your attention there.
You look and see your husband, gaze locked upon you with the gentle smile. You stop dancing because of it, taken off-guard by the expression you had never seen before. You didn't think it was possible for him to look this way, to look at you this way. He looked fond, not lustful or hungry... dare it be love?
Laenor takes your arm, pulling you back into reality. When you finish the dance and applaud, you turn your back to Daemon, who was still staring at you.
Your breath catches in your throat when he stands and walks over. You are frozen in your spot.
Daemon tilts his head back and drinks in your form. He reaches a hand, "ñuha dārilaros." My princess.
You take his hand.
"Bisa siñagon ao," he rubs your knuckles with his thumb, "iksan biare naejot ūndegon ziry." This becomes you. I am glad to see it.
He pulls you into him and you hear your pulse thumping in your ears. His hand comes to the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. The other comes to the small of you back, where he presses you flush against his.
Your breathing begins to shorten.
His lips barely move as he mutters, "lilagon lēda nyke?" Dance with me?
Your lips part but you can only nod.
Daemon pulls away but takes your hand. He leads you out of the room.
Rhaenyra watches you both leave the celebration early.
"I... did I misunderstand? Did you not ask me to dance?" you mutter as both pace down the western hall.
Daemon turns to you, squeezing your hand, "I did."
You stare at him for a moment, hoping that he'd explain.
He merely smiles at you.
You only realize he had taken you to the gardens when you arrive. It is a dark, moonless night, but you could still see his soft expression.
He brings you towards the fountain then takes both your hands.
You look up at him as he steps forward. He places your hands on his shoulders before brushing his own down your waist. You hold your breath when he brushes his nose against your temple, leaning into you. He begins to sway and you slowly follow suit. You sway with him, and only then do you bring yourself to relax. When you do, you take in his scent and relish his warmth.
"I will miss you greatly in my travel."
You tense and turn to him.
Daemon's eyes lock with yours. He tucks your brown hair behind your ear.
"The thought does not comfort me."
His brows furrow, "I... only meant to tell you."
Your eyes rove over his features. You notice the corner of his lips begin to droop, "why?"
"... why?" he repeats, almost questioning you. His brows furrow further, "I... I wish to be known..." he takes one of your hands from upon his shoulder, "like you know Laenor."
You watch him move your hand to his chest.
"Or Gwayne," he whisper softly, "or..."
You turn to him, brow quirking at his lowered gaze, "Alicent?"
"Mmm," he turns back to you, voice growing quieter, "yes... though I was going to say... ... your wards."
You laugh at his whisper.
Daemon thrives at the sound.
"My father is right," you shake your head, "I have not spent much time with them for you have kept my company..." you take a breath, "I admit, it has been a while since I've spoken to them."
"Well... that will change as I must leave your company again," he mutters.
"You can still keep me company even if you are not here," you bring a hand to his cheek.
He stiffens, throat tightening at your touch, at your words.
You feel your pulse begin to quicken as you open your mouth, "you... you could write to me."
Daemon involuntarily shakes his head, "I..." he grips the sides of your waist, "I would go mad not to receive word back from you."
You knit your brows and tilt your head, "do you assume I would ignore you?"
He pulls his head back. His lips part, "I-" he gulps, "it would be fair."
You take your turn to shake your head, "why would it be fair?"
"I... I hurt you."
"And hurting you in return will be a balm to me?" you brush his jaw.
"I-" his breath hitches, "it would be fair... to you."
"Fair..." you sigh, clutching his cheeks, "nary equates to right."
He is unable to keep your gaze. He chuckles under his breath as he looks off, "no one alive deserves your kindness."
"Deserve it then."
Daemons eyes flicker back to yours.
"Do not make me into you," you whisper, "be a little more like me."
You both stop swaying.
"Know me... like Viserys or Rhaenyra."
Daemon squeezes your side, "my love-"
Your belly rolls at the term.
"- we would not survive King's Landing if I let kindness cloud my judgment."
You sigh and shrug, "perhaps spare a bit of kindness for me?"
He deflates and rests his head upon yours. He embraces you tightly, "I swear to you, I try," he rubs your back. His body tingles when you return his embrace and rest your head on his shoulder. "You must understand I find it would be kind to behead your father."
You cannot help the chuckle that leaves you.
"I will not, for I know you find no kindness in it-"
"I do not."
"-but... it is truly kindness in my eyes."
You sigh, "then perhaps you must understand that I find it would be kind of me never to admit how your leave inspires my jealousy."
He stiffens and pulls away.
You chuckle bitterly as you see the looks of him, "I am sick... yet you would not stay for me."
Daemon opens his mouth, "I... I found no one who would go to Norvos."
You nod as your vision blurs with tears, "I kno-"
"I swear to you, if I could, I would bring you wi-"
"I know," you press your hand to his lips. You find yourself chuckling again but this time, tears stream down your face, "I will not stop you." You shake your head, "I should not have said it. It is not in my interest that you lose Caraxes."
Daemon grows teary eyed, "neither is it mine."
You nod and smoothen out his top.
"... shall... shall you see me off?"
You lower your head and disagree, "I would much rather not."
He squeezes your hand, "I understand."
The docks are surprisingly busy when he gets there. His things had been loaded beforehand, all that's left for him is to board.
"Why did you do it?"
Daemon stops and turns around.
Otto stands there in a dark, hooded cloak, "why did you reinstate her wards?"
He is immediately riled up, "what?"
"I was doing you a favor."
He chuckles dryly, "well, do me another and drown." The prince turns and makes towards the ship waiting for him.
"My daughter is a feeble woman," says the Hand, watching him walk away, "but she is a woman no less."
This makes him stop in his tracks. Daemon slowly looks over his shoulder, "what's that supposed to mean?"
"What do you think it means?"
Daemon is freezes. The sound of a ship rocking with its anchor sounds with the wind. The next second, the prince turns on his heels and storms towards Otto.
The Hand is completely still as the prince yanks him by the collar. Daemon seethes, "you would poison me with ideas to the detriment of your daugh-"
"I tell you because I wish to save her," Otto quips, "this is your consequence; it was you who has poisoned her, made her strong-willed and disobedient. She was never meant for you. She would be happily living in Oldtown had you not been less of a weaselin-"
"Careful!" Daemon barks as he shakes him, "I have my hands on your neck."
"Kill me at your peril," Otto scoffs, "your satisfaction will be shorter than mine own once I meet the grave."
Daemon shoves him back and Otto skids on the dirt, nearly toppling over.
"Remember it was you who brought Arryk and Erryk back into her company," the old man dusts off his cloak as his nostrils flare.
"And remember it was I who took who your daughter's maidenhead and nearly slayed your son during a tourney."
With this, the prince storms towards his ship and the lord feels bile rise up his throat.
She purses her lips. Earnest. Her uncle was earnest. Her lips curve into a soft frown. His wife has made him soft. Her belly bubbles with feeble jealousy.
Rhaenyra's nostrils flare faintly. Am I your girl?
He does not look at her. He hums, "and did I not carve out this demise myself?"
Atleast he knows. We love self-aware king👏👏👏
Daemon laughs, "kessa, ñuha valītsos. Aōha kepāzma iksis iā orvorta." Yes, my boy. Your (maternal) grandfather is a cunt.
Proud dad-uncle moment. Me too, call him CUNT boy!
"Orvorta iksis daor kōz," Daemon chuckes, "mērī zirȳla... aōhon iksis gevie." Cunt is not evil. Only him… yours is beautiful.
Boy, infront of our dinner, seriously?? (love it!)
Your eyes are glassy as you look back at him. You shake your head, "you need not explain... nor do you need my permission," you sigh, "I will not beg you to stay."
I need therapist after this.
"I will not let him torment you with this," he shakes his head, "I cannot stand them, but I will not leave you lonelier because of mine own feelings."
You kiss his cheek, stealing his words and his breath at once.
You shake your head and decide not to address it, "I... we should go to bed."
Daemon rubs his cheek, "... yes... t-to sleep..."
You feel your face flush and shake your head faster. You mutter, "yes, of course, what else for?"
NOOO, MOREE!!!
You had invited him to do mundane tasks you normally accomplished on your own, like choosing the dress you were to wear for the day. You were no longer on such high guard.
Sometimes I just wanted it to end here and call it happily ever after...
His lips barely move as he mutters, "lilagon lēda nyke?" Dance with me?
You look up at him as he steps forward. He places your hands on his shoulders before brushing his own down your waist. You hold your breath when he brushes his nose against your temple, leaning into you. He begins to sway and you slowly follow suit. You sway with him, and only then do you bring yourself to relax. When you do, you take in his scent and relish his warmth.
MASTER PIECE... Then we are hit with the realization thag he will leave soon after shit. AHHHHHH🫨🫨🫨.
"... why?" he repeats, almost questioning you. His brows furrow further, "I... I wish to be known..." he takes one of your hands from upon his shoulder, "like you know Laenor."
He wants to known, to be love, to be consume, to be held, to be her peace, to be called home, he wants to one with her... he just can't find the right word for it.
"I know," you press your hand to his lips. You find yourself chuckling again but this time, tears stream down your face, "I will not stop you." You shake your head, "I should not have said it. It is not in my interest that you lose Caraxes."
romaincrisis
ellievsbear
gamechangershow
gracieabrams
