Jacaerys Velaryon x wife!reader - House of the Dragon
Summary: It starts as something almost laughable: a dragon who prefers his riderโs wife to his rider. But when a dragon decides something is his to guard, the world learns to step carefully around what he has chosen.
Warnings: 16+ morning after, brief nudity, possessive/protective Jace, pregnancy, control/protection, scary dragon and his rider who are both secretly softies, innuendo, non-graphic childbirth, huge time jumps
A/N: This got a lil out of hand, I admit. It was meant to be a short blurb, and yet here we are. Ik people wanted smut, so I added some morning after here, and I plan to write another smut-heavy fic next so dw.
MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (open) - WC: 4.7k
The storm had burned itself out sometime before dawn.
Now all that remained was the steady drip of rain from Dragonstone's black stone walls and the distant crash of waves below the cliffs. Pale morning light slipped through the narrow windows in soft ribbons, washing the chamber in silver.
You wake slowly.
Not necessarily because you're rested, but because you're warm. Far warmer than you ought to be beneath a blanket that had long since been kicked to the foot of the bed.
Jace is wrapped around you as though sometime during the night he'd decided that simply sleeping beside you wasn't close enough. One arm is draped securely across your waist, his face buried against the back of your shoulder, his breathing slow and even. His dark curls are a complete mess, and one bare leg has somehow become tangled with yours beneath the sheets.
You smile to yourself.
"You'll complain about your shoulder later," you murmur.
A sleepy sound, somewhere between a hum and a groan, vibrates against your skin.
"I'll survive." His voice is thick with sleep and his grip tightens just enough to pull you impossibly closer. There's something almost boyish about the way he says it, as though it's a victory in itself.
You turn carefully within the circle of his arms until you're facing him. The movement earns another sleepy complaint, though he makes no effort to let go.
Up close, you can still see the faint flush lingering across his cheeks from the warmth of the room. A thin scratch is visible beneath his collarbone, your own fault no doubt.
You remeber is so clearly, how the rain had battered against the windows, how the candles had guttered low, how his forehead was resting against yours while the storm rolled over Dragonstone. But inside your bed chamber, you'd barely noticed.
"You look terribly pleased with yourself," you say.
One eye opens. "Well, I married you, didn't I?"
"Your point being?"
"It happens to be something I am very pleased about." He studies you for a long moment. "I was thinking..." He continues, thumb brushing lazily over your bare waist. "That I should arrange for more storms."
"Oh?"
"They appear to encourage you to stay in bed."
Outside, somewhere beyond the window, comes the deep, familiar rumble of a dragon.
Jace sighs dramatically without lifting his head. "He's awake."
He presses a kiss to your forehead before finally, reluctantly, releasing you. "If Vermax has flown all the way here simply to interrupt my morning," he declares, "I shall have to remind him who hatched him."
You grin as you reach for the discarded shift lying somewhere beside the bed.
By the time you're both dressed the castle has begun to wake around you.
You trail a step behind Jace, fingers loosely hooked around his sleeve more out of habit than necessity. To be honest, it is a habit you've only recently allowed yourself.
When you first arrived as his wife, you had been painfully conscious of every eye that followed you through the castle.
The princess, the prince's bride. Too young, some had whispered when they thought you were out of earshot. Too sheltered or too soft for Dragonstone.
You had smiled through every greeting, learned every name you could remember, and prayed no one noticed how often you got lost in the twisting corridors of black stone.
Jace had noticed.
Three days after your wedding, he'd quietly taken your hand before supper and walked every hallway, pointing out hidden staircases, quicker routes, which doors stuck in damp weather and which windows gave the best view of Blackwater Bay.
"I cannot believe you've spent an entire afternoon making sure I know my way around the castle." You'd said that evening in your chambers.
"Why can't you believe it?"
"You drew me a map."
"It was an excellent map."
"It had little dragons."
"So you wouldn't get bored."
You laugh. "You named one after Lord Celtigar."
"That one looked particularly grumpy." He grins, a quick flash of satisfaction that softens his usually princely composure, and reaches for your hand.
In your mind, the heir to the Iron Throne ought to be careful, composed, forever aware of watching eyes. But Jace rarely seems to remember, or perhaps he simply doesn't care.
A pair of servants step into the corridor ahead.
The moment they see the two of you, they bow hurriedly. "My prince. Princess."
You smile in greeting, Jace nods once, polite but distracted.
Only after they've passed do you realize he never let go of your hand.
Not even for a moment.
"You know," you tease quietly, "there are people who might think you're terribly devoted."
"They'd be right." He looks at you then with a familiar softness, so unguarded it almost steals your breath.
His thumb brushes absentmindedly across your knuckles. "And I'm not inclined to stop simply because people are looking."
Before you can answer, a deep, resonant rumble rolls across the courtyard outside.
Jace exhales through his nose.
"There he is."
You cross toward one of the narrow windows overlooking the inner yard. Far below, Vermax has landed.
The young dragon stands with his wings half-folded, emerald scales still glistening from the night's rain. A pair of dragonkeepers are speaking to him from what they clearly believe is a safe distance.
Vermax is paying them absolutely no attention. Instead, his great head is tilted upward.
Toward this very window.
You laugh. "I think he's looking for you Jace."
Jace joins you at the window. "No."
He follows the dragon's gaze for a moment before the corners of his mouth twitch. "I think," he says with theatrical resignation, "he's looking for you."
As though to prove his point, Vermax lets out another low, expectant chirr, quieter than his earlier call.
You blink. "Surely not."
Down in the courtyard, Vermax chirrs again.
It becomes impossible to deny by the end of the week. Vermax has decided you belong to him.
"No," Jace says flatly one afternoon, watching the dragon nudge your shoulder with surprising delicacy. "Absolutely not."
You laugh, scratching beneath the smooth ridge of emerald scales where you've discovered he likes it best. "What has he done now?"
"He is stealing my wife."
As if personally offended by the accusation, Vermax lowers his head another inch until the broad curve of his snout is pressed insistently against your side.
Jace stares. "You see?"
"He wants attention."
"I gave him an entire sheep this morning."
You can't help the laugh that escapes you, and it echoes across the training yard, bright enough that even a pair of dragonkeepers glance over with amused smiles.
You and Jace turn to go back inside, but only make it perhaps ten paces before heavy footsteps thud softly behind you.
The dragon has stood and started following.
"Vermax."
He stops, tilting his head.
"You can't come into the castle."
It doesn't stop there.
If you choose to read beneath the old weirwood overlooking the sea, Vermax appears within the hour.
If you wander the beach collecting shells after supper, a shadow passes lazily overhead before circling back toward shore. When you look up, the dragon is gliding against the afternoon sky.
The dragon dips lower, just enough that the rush of displaced air sends your skirts fluttering.
You laugh and wave. High above, Vermax answers with a delighted trill.
One morning you step into the gardens alone, intending only to cut fresh lavender for your chambers. You have barely even filled half the basket when a familiar shadow rolls across the flowers.
Then comes the gentle, unmistakable whuff of warm dragon breath.
You don't even look up.
"Good morning, Vermax." The dragon answers with a contented rumble.
He settles himself just beyond the garden wall, folding his forelegs neatly beneath him.
And there he remains.
When Jace finds you nearly an hour later, basket overflowing with lavender, he stops dead.
"You've got to be joking."
"What?"
He points.
Vermax, his great head rests on crossed forelegs, one eye lazily cracked open just enough to keep you in sight.
You walk over, unable to resist stroking the smooth scales along Vermax's jaw.
Jace follows, and you shake your head, laughing, and slip your free hand into his. Immediately, Vermax opens both eyes.
He watches the joined hands for a long, silent moment. Then, with another deep, satisfied rumble, he closes them again.
A couple weeks later, Dragonstone is hosting a small gathering of sworn lords from the Crownlands. Nothing particularly grand, just an awful lot of petitions, trade disputes, and endless discussions that leave Jace rubbing his temples by supper.
You escape the hall as politely as you can.
"I shall only be a moment," you promise him.
His hand lingers around yours before he lets go. "I know."
"You'll survive without me, Jace, I promise."
The sea air is cooler outside. Rain still clings to the black stone, leaving everything smelling of salt and earth. You breathe deeply, grateful for the quiet after hours of smiling at strangers.
You don't notice the shadow until it passes overhead.
A heartbeat later, Vermax lands beyond the outer wall with enough force to make loose gravel dance across the ground.
"You again?" you laugh.
His answer is a soft chirr as he lowers his head, inviting the familiar scratch beneath his jaw.
You indulge him. "You know," you murmur, "your rider insists you're abandoning him."
You continue scratching him anyway.
The interruption comes quietly. "My princess."
You turn. One of the visiting lords, a pleasant enough man whose name escapes you, has stepped into the courtyard. He offers a courteous bow.
"I hoped I might thank you for your kindness at supper."
"You are very kind, my lord."
He smiles. "I confess Dragonstone is rather lessโฆ welcoming than I imagined."
You glance at the dragon. "I imagine it has nothing to do with the fire-breathing beats circling at all times."
The lord laughs and takes a step closer.
Vermax's head lifts. The movement is slow enough that, for a moment, no one notices. Until the rumbling begins. It vibrates through the stone beneath your feet and the lord stops mid-sentence.
His smile falters.
Vermax does not bare his teeth, he does not spread his wings, he simply fixes the man with one unblinking emerald eye.
The rumble deepens.
"My lady," the lord corrects takes an instinctive step backward.
The sound stops.
You blink.
"โฆThat was odd."
The lord laughs a little too loudly. "I believeโฆ I shall return inside."
You think little of it.
Until it happens again, and again, and again. Not only with strangers, but with servants and guards. Even dragonkeepers he has known since hatching.
If someone approaches you too quickly, Vermax appears.
If voices grow heated nearby, he materialises as though summoned by instinct alone. He has become a living wall of green scales between you and the rest of the world.
A fortnight passes.
The castle settles into its familiar rhythm, though Vermax never quite returns to his old habits.
If anything, he grows bolder.
By now, even the servants have stopped remarking upon it.
"Your shadow awaits you, Princess," one maid says one morning with a knowing smile.
You peer from the window. Sure enough, a pair of emerald eyes are already fixed expectantly on the tower.
You laugh. "I do believe I've been adopted."
That afternoon, the weather is fair.
Jace has escaped the council chambers looking thoroughly exhausted, finding you exactly where he expected, beneath the old windswept tree overlooking the cliffs, a book forgotten in your lap while Vermax dozes nearby.
Or appears to.
His eyes are closed.
One wing lies stretched lazily across the grass, shimmering green beneath the sun.
Jace watches while walking towards you, finally bending to kiss the top of your head. Then, without thinking, he reaches a hand toward you.
Vermax's eyes snap open.
The dragon rises in one smooth motion, slipping between you and Jace with astonishing precision. His great neck curves across the narrow space, not striking, not threatening, but blocking.
Jace freezes.
For one suspended heartbeat, neither moves.
The dragon's head turns slightly, one brilliant green eye fixed on his rider, Jace stares back.
"...Vermax."
The dragon lets out a low sound, as though asking something only he understands. Then, just as suddenly, he steps aside.
You blink. "What on earth was that?"
Jace doesn't answer, he is still looking at Vermax.
"I've never..." he murmurs.
"What?"
"He has never stood between us."
By evening, Jace has sought out the dragonkeepers; he wants an explanation.
The oldest among them is already waiting when Jace reaches the caverns.
He bows deeply.
"My prince."
"You've noticed." It is not a question.
The old man is silent for a long moment. "...Yes."
"Then tell me."
Another pause.
"There are tales." The dragonkeeper folds weathered hands before him. "And the tales are all I have."
Jace says nothing, but his jaw tightens.
The old man continues carefully. "Dragons know certain things before men do, sometimes."
"What things?"
"Danger." Jace nods once. "Weather." Another nod. "And..." The man hesitates. "Life."
Jace blinks. "...What do you mean?"
"There are old records. Rare ones. A dragon becoming unusually protective of a rider's wife. Of a queen. Of a princess."
"Protective?"
"They guard." The dragonkeeper's gaze drifts toward the mouth of the cavern, where Vermax sleeps beyond the fading light.
Jace remembers every strange moment of the past weeks and his heartbeat quickens.
"No."
"It is only a possibility."
"No."
"Has the princess been unwell?"
"...No."
"Has she been unusually tired?"
Jace opens his mouth. Closes it again.
"And..." the dragonkeeper says gently, "when did the dragon's behavior begin?"
Jace's mind races backwards until he finally remembers the storm. How Vermax had refused to leave the castle, had hovered outside their chambers, nudging him toward the tower when he'd intended to return to his studies.
He'd laughed. "Apparently, he has plans for us."
Three months, almost exactly.
The dragonkeeper watches the realisation settle over his prince's face. Quietly, he says, "I believe... it may be time to send for the maester."
Jace finds you in your solar not five minutes later. You look up from the embroidery in your lap, smiling the moment he steps through the door, but the smile falters almost immediately.
"Jace?"
His hair is windblown from crossing the castle at nearly a run, his expression unreadable in a way you've never quite seen before. He closes the door behind him without a word and simply looks at you, searching your face as though expecting to find something different.
"What is it?"
He crosses the room in three long strides and kneels before your chair, taking both your hands in his. "Have you felt unwell?"
You blink. "...No."
"Not at all?"
"A little tired, perhaps, but you've been working me through every feast and council dinner on Dragonstone." You smile faintly. "I assumed being a princess was simply quite exhausting."
His thumb traces absent circles across your knuckles. "And nothing else?"
"I've slept later than usual."
"You've always liked sleeping late."
You grin, leaning forward to whisper, "I do when my husband keeps me awake half the night."
The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself, though the smile never quite reaches his eyes. "When was your last moon's blood?"
You stare at him. "What?"
He doesn't repeat himself, and slowly, your own amusement fades. You set the embroidery aside. "I..." You pause, thinking. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I've never had reason to count the days so carefully, Jace."
Silence settles between you. You begin counting backwards in your head, tracing feasts, journeys, the passing weeks. Your brows knit together. "A couple of weeks, maybe," you murmur. "I'm not sure."
His expression answers before he speaks. "The dragonkeepers believe Vermax sensed it."
You let out a disbelieving laugh. "Jace."
"They've seen it before."
"Surely they haven't."
"They swear they have."
You shake your head, trying to make sense of it. "So... because Vermax has decided to follow me everywhere..."
"And because he stood between us."
"...he thinks I'm carrying a child?"
"Yes."
You both fall quiet.
"Oh."
It is the only word you can manage, and Jace squeezes your hands.
"I've sent for the maester."
"You've... already?"
"He'll be here shortly."
The maester, when he finally arrives, is kind and discreet, far too accustomed to royal nerves to comment on the tension hanging in the room. He asks a handful of careful questions, his expression growing steadily more thoughtful with each answer.
When he rises from his examination, he folds his hands inside his sleeves and smiles.
"My prince."
Jace has been standing by the window the entire time.
"So?"
The old man inclines his head. "My congratulations."
The room falls completely still. You look at Jace. He looks at you. Neither of you speaks.
The maester continues, almost gently. "If my calculations are correct, Her Grace is nearing the end of her third month."
He leaves you with instructions about rest, diet, and avoiding undue strain, but you hear almost none of it, too focused on the way the room seems to have shrunk around you.
The door clicks shut.
Then Jace crosses the room so quickly that you barely have time to stand before his arms are around you. He buries his face against your hair, holding you so tightly it almost hurts.
You laugh through the tears threatening your eyes.
"I think..." Your voice catches. "I think we're going to have a baby."
He nods once against your shoulder, voice barely a whisper. "I know."
Jace's spiral into overprotectiveness begins with the reasonable things.
"No more riding."
You open your mouth to argue, but are stopped before any sound escapes by a single raised eyebrow.
The maester, entirely unhelpfully, agrees with him.
Then come the stairs.
"If no one is with you."
"Jace."
"They're uneven."
"They have been uneven for a hundred years."
He insists on taking your arm every time you descend them after that.
By the time your gowns no longer sit quite as they used to, he has become impossible.
Servants carry anything heavier than a book. Meals appear in your chambers if the Great Hall is too crowded. Councils are moved rather than asking you to cross the castle, and if you so much as mention feeling tired, Jace is already leading you back toward your rooms before you've finished the sentence.
"You know women have been having children since the beginning of time?"
"I am aware, yes."
"They don't all require an escort to the library."
"I don't care, because you will have one.
Once, you disappear for nearly an hour.
Jace finds you asleep in the late afternoon sun, curled against the warm curve of Vermax's foreleg with a book lying open across your lap.
The dragon is awake. His head rests protectively around you, just close enough to shelter you from the wind without touching.
At Jace's approach, one emerald eye opens. For a long moment, dragon and rider simply look at one another. Then Vermax lowers his head again.
You stir at the sound of footsteps, blinking sleepily up at your husband.
"There you are."
"I've been looking everywhere."
"I was comfortable."
"I can see that."
By the eighth month, you start to begrudingly appreciate Jace's over-the-top efforts.
"I cannot reach my boots."
Jace looks up from the letter he'd been pretending to read. "You reached them yesterday."
"I was smaller yesterday."
He watches you glare down at the impossible curve of your stomach as though sheer determination might convince it to move. After another unsuccessful attempt, you huff dramatically and fold your arms.
"This child is already causing problems."
"Our child," Jace corrects.
"Our child," you sigh, "has stolen my feet."
A smile threatens at the corners of his mouth. With the patience of a man who has accepted this as his fate, he sets the letter aside and kneels in front of you.
"Oh, don't you dare."
"You said you couldn't reach."
"I did not ask you to-"
"You were about to."
He lifts one foot gently onto his knee and makes quick work of the laces.
"Jace, you don't have to do everything you know."
"I know."
"So why do you?"
He finishes tying the second boot before looking up at you. "Because I like taking care of my wife."
A number of weeks later the castle wakes before dawn to the sound of a dragon.
Not roaring; pacing.
The heavy scrape of claws against stone echoes through the courtyard, followed by a low, restless rumble that seems to vibrate through the walls of Dragonstone itself.
You stir beneath the blankets, still half asleep. "...He's at it again."
Beside you, Jace groans into his pillow. "If he has frightened another stableboy, I swear on all that is holy-"
Another rumble.
Closer this time. Longer, almost a whine in nature.
Jace sits up. "...That's odd."
For the past several months Vermax has scarcely left the courtyard beneath your chambers, but he has always been quiet. Content simply to stand and watch.
The windows rattle faintly as his tail sweeps across the stone.
Jace is already pulling on a tunic. "I'll see what's wrong."
You nod, pushing yourself upright with considerably more effort than dignity. He smiles over his shoulder as he ducks out of the room, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
The courtyard is in chaos.
Dragonkeepers stand well back from Vermax, speaking to him in soothing High Valyrian that goes utterly ignored. The dragon paces in tight circles, wings half-spread, head swinging constantly toward the tower above.
One keeper catches sight of Jace.
"My prince."
"What happened?"
"We don't know."
Vermax notices his rider. Instead of calming, the dragon lets out another deep, agitated rumble and immediately turns toward the tower again, toward your chambers. Then, he stamps a forefoot. Hard enough that dust shakes from the walls.
Up in the tower, you're sitting and waiting for Jace when pain tightens unexpectedly across your abdomen.
You stop halfway across the chamber, one hand finding the edge of the table. "...Hm."
The feeling passes as quickly as it came.
Outside, Vermax lets out the loudest cry you've ever heard him make. It rolls across the cliffs and back again.
You freeze before calling out. "...Jace?"
He is already taking the stairs two at a time. He bursts through the chamber doors moments later, slightly out of breath.
Before he can speak, another wave rolls through you. Your hand flies instinctively to your stomach.
Jace's face drains of colour. "What is it?"
"I..." You breathe carefully. "I think..."
Another pause. Then, despite yourself, you laugh. "I think Vermax has solved another mystery."
For one heartbeat Jace simply stares.
Then his eyes widen.
"No."
"I think so."
As if the universe itself objects to his denial, another wave steals your breath. You grip the bedpost but Jace is at your side before you can blink, one arm already around your waist.
"The maester."
His voice comes out far calmer than his expression.
"Someone fetch the maester!"
Outside, Vermax finally stops pacing.
He lowers himself heavily onto the black stone directly beneath your windows, refusing every attempt by the dragonkeepers to coax him away.
His head remains lifted toward the tower.
After hours of pain and effort the world slowly comes back into focus in pieces.
Sound first; soft voices, the distant rush of the sea, the occasional crackle of the hearth. Then warmth pressed against your side. You blink against the haze of exhaustion and find yourself surrounded by dim candlelight and movement that feels almost too gentle for how loud everything had just been.
Jace is here.
Heโs sitting half on the edge of the bed, hair dishevelled, sleeves rolled up wrong, a smear of something dark on his cuff that you vaguely decide not to think about too hard. His eyes are fixed on you with a kind of stunned intensity, as if heโs afraid that if he looks away for even a second, this will all vanish.
โYouโre shaking,โ you murmur, though your own voice barely holds together.
โIโm not.โ
โYou are.โ
A beat of silence passes between you before he exhales and finally lets himself lean forward, pressing a careful kiss against your forehead.
โAnd him?โ he asks, like heโs been holding the question in his teeth for hours.
You donโt even need to answer. The little bundle in your arms shifts slightly, a tiny sound breaking through the quiet and Jace goes utterly still. His gaze drops to the child as though heโs afraid it might disappear if he stares too hard.
โHe's beautiful,โ he says finally.
You adjust the blanket slightly, and the baby nestles closer, face scrunching briefly before settling again. Jace makes a sound that is halfway between a laugh and something dangerously close to breaking.
โI donโt-โ he starts, then stops, swallowing. โI didnโt think it would feel like this.โ
โYou thought it would feel like what?โ
He doesnโt answer immediately. His hand hovers near the bundle, stops short, then retreats again like heโs not sure heโs allowed.
โLouder,โ he admits.
You huff a weak laugh. โI'm not sure it'll stay this quiet, so we should probably try to enjoy it while it lasts.โ
He finally looks at you again, and thereโs something undone in his expression that youโve never seen before. โI need to see him,โ he says.
You tilt your head slightly. โYouโve been staring at him for an hour.โ
โAlright, I need to hold him.โ
You carefully shift the baby into his arms. Itโs awkward at first, Jace holding himself too rigid, like heโs afraid of doing it wrong, like one wrong breath might undo everything, but then the child settles against him and something in his shoulders breaks open.
He exhales, slow and unsteady. Thereโs a long silence where he doesnโt say anything at all.
Jace looks down again, thumb brushing so lightly over the babyโs cheek itโs almost not there. โHe looksโฆโ He pauses, helpless. โHe looks like he knows things already.โ
โThatโs probably just you projecting.โ
Outside the window, a deep sound rolls through the cliffs. Jaceโs head lifts instantly.
โOh.โ
Jace carefully adjusts his grip on the baby, like heโs handling something far more fragile than steel and fire could ever be.
โI should-โ he starts.
You raise an eyebrow. โYou should what?โ
Heโs already standing. โI should show him.โ
You blink at him. โJace.โ
But heโs not really listening anymore. Not in the way he used to, at least. This is something else, instinctive and almost urgent.
โJace, itโs freezing outside.โ
โIโll be quick.โ
So you watch him wrap a cloak around himself and the baby like itโs the most natural thing in the world, then walk out of the room.
By the time he reaches the courtyard, Vermax is already there.
The dragon is enormous against the grey morning sky, wings folded, tail curled tightly around the stone like heโs been rooted there for hours. When he sees Jace, he doesnโt move at first.
Then Jace steps into the open.
Vermaxโs head lowers immediately.
Jace stops a few paces away, breathing uneven, then lifts the bundle higher against his chest.
โThis is my son.โ
Vermax steps forward, so carefully. The ground still trembles slightly beneath the weight of him, but he is impossibly gentle as he lowers his head until heโs level with Jaceโs arms. One massive eye focuses on the tiny face within the blanket.
For a long moment, he does nothing.
Then he exhales. Warm air, slow and careful, brushes over the child like a blessing.
The baby stirs, and Vermax freezes instantly.
Jace laughs under his breath, disbelieving and wrecked all at once. โItโs alright,โ he murmurs. โHeโs yours too, apparently.โ
The dragon makes a soft, almost questioning sound, then lowers himself further until his forehead rests against the stone directly in front of them, as if offering something wordless and absolute.
Jace finally looks up at him properly, smiling.
โSay hello,โ he whispers.
Vermax answers with a quiet, reverent rumble that rolls out across Dragonstone.
this was too cute, idk where the idea came from but i needed some vermax jace fluff
Desc: Daeron has to make the tough decision of killing an innocent man in front of his betrothed, knowing it's wrong. But he can't disappoint his uncle.
Warnings: Angst, yelling, physical violence (just hair grabbing and being shoved around), death, crying, false hope, grooming (the manipulating way), and manipulation.
Disclaimer!: I do not own HOTD, I do not own any of the characters or the storyline, just the freehanded parts I wrote!
You and Daeron were in the Tumbleton Sept, standing side-by-side in front of his beautiful dragon, Tessarion. It hadnโt taken long for Tessarion to get warmed up to you. You and Daeron were always attached, well, as much as you could be before his Uncle Ormund sent you both your separate ways. Calling you โdistractingโ and such. But when you both were together, he made sure you met Tessarion, only hoping she would have warmed up to you quickly. You were both his safe places, and he couldnโt bear having you both cross with each other.ย
But it seemed the gods were on his side; after your third meet, Tessarion didnโt shake her head at you or grumble when you got close to Daeron. Instead, she shuffled closer to you and rubbed the side of her neck across your chest, making you giggle at the scales scratching across your gown. It made a few stitches go loose, but you never minded; it was just fabric. Ever since that day, Tessarion has been protective over both you and Daeron, growling and hissing when she sees someone get close to either of you when sheโs near.
Back in the Sept, you and Daeron were enjoying the โaloneโ time together, but Daeron needed to check in on his dragon.
โPatience, my girl.โ
Daeron rested his head against Tessarionโs head, rubbing her snout lovingly, while you rubbed her neck with a small smile. You could feel the rumble of her growls throughout her body as you looked at her in awe, tracing your fingers down her neck to the tip of her wings, not going any farther. Her mesmerizing blue color was all you could think about, only imagining how it would shimmer in the sunlight.
โIt wonโt be long before we can fly again...โ
Daeronโs voice was low, and he closed his eyes, feeling Tessarionโs warmth and your presence beside him. The warmth was short-lived; Tessarionโs head shot up quickly, and she screeched in alert. You and Daeronโs heads whipped to the entrance of the Sept, seeing his Uncle Ormund walk in fiercely.
โI have warned you against indulging in affection for that beast- both of you.โ
His voice held no malice, just a seeming hint of disappointment, and you nodded your head quickly, bowing your head in respect as Ormund glanced at you. Tessarion screeches again and charges at Ormund, the chain around her neck halting her movements as you and Daeron rush to her side, calming her.
โLykiri.โย
Daeron says quickly, rubbing the side of her face he once laid on, and you stand behind him, putting a shaky hand on her neck. Once Tessarion calmed, you and Daeron looked at Ormund once again, standing beside each other once more. Daeron put his hands behind his back in a princely manner, and you clasped your hands together in front of your stomach, twisting the ring on your index finger.
โI know.โ
Daeron mumbles quietly whilst walking towards his uncle; you stay planted next to Tessarion, your breath going shaky as you fear another violent outburst. Ormund has a face of sympathy; his eyes were glassy as he looked at Daeron, a โsmileโ? makes its way onto Ormundโs face as he steps closer to Daeron.
โYou are a good boy. You have chosen your betrothed wisely, you speak kindly, and you say your prayers. I have raised you in the light of the Seven, and the Father smiles upon you.โ
Ormund truly smiles at those words, taking a glance at you; his eyes flicker with something unrecognizable. Tessarion shrieks again, taking a protective step towards you, nudging your shoulder with her snout.
โLyka, Tessarion.โ
You whisper, holding your hand out steadily, and Tessarion huffs in anger as she steps back. Ormund clenches his jaw at your words before looking back at Daeron.ย
โThere is a taint in your blood. The Targaryens are a savage race, poor in intellect, but rich in cunning. With dark spells, they created abominations to subdue what was rightly ours.โ
His voice grows cold as he glances at Tessarion; you stiffen at his words.
โWe are the superior men. But against thatโฆโ
He signals to Tessarion.
โWe could not stand.โ
Daeron glances back at you before looking at his poor, stressed dragon, who only grumbles. Until Ormund raises his hand to touch Daeron's cheek and Tessarion snaps. Ormund looks unamused, putting his hand back by his side, and he dismisses the dragon once more.
โThe gods have put you to divine purpose, my boy.โ
Ormund walks away from Daeron, pacing in the entrance of the Sept. You take his absence as your chance to stand next to Daeron, and you quickly shuffle next to Daeron, holding his bicep protectively.
โWhat purpose, sire?โ
Daeronโs voice shakes a little as his hand comes from behind his back and to his sides awkwardly.
โThe brutes raise a woman to the Iron Throne. A desecration! Where is reason? Where is propriety?โ
His voice holds amusement and some tease, but you know his tone is false.
โIt was a blessing that you came to ward in Oldtown.โ
He steps from the entrance towards you and Daeron, his voice going low again.
โYour brothers are lost, but youโฆ remain a Hightower.โ
Ormund's hands come from his sides and hold Daeronโs shoulders, only after waving you off like some servant.ย
โRaised in the shadow of the Citadel, in the light of the starry Sept.โ
His voice remains like a preacher as you glance at the sight of your betrothed; his body language screamed with discomfort as Ormund put his hands on Daeronโs face. Your face grows a frown as you both have to endure the degrading of his uncle.
โNowโฆ you must be king.โ
Ormund's voice sounds hopeful; whilst Daeronโs body stiffens, his eyes go glossy, and his lips quiver. It takes everything in you not to rush over to him, but you keep your composure. Taking a small step towards the two of them. Tessarion huffs behind you, hearing a grumble.
โYou would not wish, surely, for me to turn cloak against my brothers?โ
Daeron shakes his head as he speaks; Ormund points a finger in Daeronโs face with excitement.
โYou will restore our ancient order. Victory will be ours. It is the will of the gods!โ
Ormund says with pride, walking up the Sept's stairs like a royal, with his hands out like heโs opening them up for a hug. He waves his hand, signalling his guards to come forth, and the man you saw was not only the poor soul who stood up for his assaulted sister. They shove the poor man to his knees in front of Daeron.
โI thought you let him go...โ
You say accusatorily while walking towards Daeron; your eyes are wide as you grip the skirt of your dress in fear. Daeron puts his arm in front of you with a worried look, and he shakes his head.ย
โGo to your chambers, please.โ
He whispers. You grip his forearm, squeezing it in fear, causing you to stutter for a second before attempting to walk out of the Sept, only making it a few steps up the stairs before Ormund raises an eyebrow and chuckles. You freeze at his laugh, a cold chill going down your spine.
โNo. Let her stay. A righteous king must demonstrate he upholds many virtues.โ
Two knights block your way, forcing you to turn towards Daeron and the man. You close your eyes, hearing the shaky breaths of the bloodied man on his knees, and you cover your ears. Ormund proceeds to list off the many virtues in a cocky tone.
โHonor, Wisdom, and Justice-โ
โHe only acted when our men attacked a woman!โ
Daeron says with shock, holding out his arm towards the man.
โHe laid hands on a Hightower. That soldier is an extension of you, of the crown. Justice must be done.โ
โIs Mercy not a kingly virtue?โ
Ormund snaps his head to Daeron and glares.
โThat sounds like something your father would say!โ
His voice is mixed with disgust and anger; Tessarion squeals behind Daeron, and you uncover your ears to see your betrothed and his uncle in a staring contest. Which Daeron breaks with shaky breaths and tears in his eyes.
โIโm sorryโฆโ
Daeron only mumbled and stepped backwards, so he was properly facing the man on his knees, putting his hands behind his back. Ormund unsheathed his sword, walking in front of the man. You couldnโt bear the death of an innocent man. You tried to run to and shield the man, but before you could make it off the stairs, the two knights who were blocking your exit grabbed you harshly.ย
โWhy must innocents die? He did no wrong!โ
You yell with tears in your eyes; one of the knights grabs your hair harshly and shoves you to the ground, your dress collecting the dirt that was on the ground as you grip the knightโs hand. Tessarion goes berserk from behind Daeron, rushing forward again, but the chain only grips her neck tighter; her shrieks have gotten louder. Daeron didnโt attempt to soothe his dragon; he was more worried for you, feeling guilty of not being able to help or protect you.
โPlease- do not hurt her!โ
Daeron pleads, taking a step towards his uncle, but Ormund ignores him, only turning around to hand Daeron the sword. That stops him in his tracks; he glances at the sword in disbelief, and he holds his breath.ย
โI have risked much and more to raise you up.โ
Ormund holds the sword with two hands, pushing it closer to Daeron, and you shake your head, orโฆtry to.
โSurely, you do not wish to disappoint me?โ
Daeronโs eyes widen and get more glossy; he hesitantly takes the sword from his uncle, his hands shaking. The man before him lets out a whimper in fear. As he shakes his head, Daeron holds the sword properly, analyzing it.
โMy Lord. My Lord, please. Please. No, please. I beg of you. My Lord.โ
The poor man begs, and you start to sob, gripping the knight's hands, hoping for some release on your hair.ย
โDaeron- please! Donโt do this! Please..โ
You cry out, reaching for him, but the other knight smacks your hand, causing you to grip your dress. Daeron doesnโt look at you- he canโt. The look on your face would break him, and he doesnโt want to disappoint his uncle. Ormund glances at Daeron before nodding his head, and Daeron takes slow, deliberate steps towards the begging man.
โPlease, my Lord. I have a family, my Lord. I have a family, please! Please.. Ple-โ
Before the man could finish, Daeron stabs him in the heart, and you gasp, covering your mouth as more tears fall. The man's body falls to the floor, lifeless. Ormund looks amused as you sob on the floor, covering your eyes from the sight. Daeron is in shock at his actions, holding the sword like a wet rag.
Ormund takes his sword back with a stone-cold face; he replaces the sword with his hand, holding it gently while bowing. The other knights in the room follow suit, even the knights holding you down. With a look of disgust, Ormund uses the manโs dead body as a wipe to clean it of its blood and sheaths it again. Before giving Tessarion a look. He walks over to you, grabbing your hand off of your eyes, putting it to your side, and forcing you to face the dead man.
Tessarion only blinks before climbing over the stone table covered in candles, grumbling. Her mouth opens widely, fire brewing in her throat, causing her scales and the thorns on the side of her head to shake as she scorches the dead manโs body. The heat of the blast makes your face burn up, and you squint. Ormund stands proud; he nods his head with a purse of his lips.
โAnd now we begin.โ
Is all Ormund says, before walking off. The knights who were holding you threw you onto the floor with a scoff and walked out behind Ormund. You watched them leave with shaky breaths and a few coughs, glancing at the charred man that lay burning on the Sept floor, before pushing yourself to your feet and rushing to Daeron. As you reached him, you put your hands on his face as he let the tears fall; you wiped them off with your thumbs, some dirt mixing in with the salty drops.
"My love, are you ok?"
Your words fell on deaf ears as Daeron grabbed your wrist tightly, the only thing grounding him as his breaths got shorter and lighter. He moved closer to you until he pulled you into a hug, crying into your shoulder; you felt him shake. The guilt was eating him alive.
You hug him back, crying as well, but this moment was about him. Tessarion screeches behind you both, walking closer to both of you, rubbing her head against Daeron's back before nudging your leg with her snout.
"You were so brave, Daeron. Truly. You stood against your uncle and fought for what you could."
You mumble, sniffling, as you run your fingers through his hair and scratch his back soothingly.
"Do not let this eat at you; you could not have prevented it."
Tessarion wrapped her body around both of you, the best she could, her warm scales keeping you safe as you and Daeron decompressed from the recent events. Her low grumble could be heard from afar.
Just wanted to put something out there for starters, hope you enjoyed it!
i know its summer, but we need R doing jaces halloween makeup (maybe they have matching costumes) snd its like hard for them to do it or idk and he pulls them onto his lap๐๐
YOUR WRITING IS SOOO GOOD BTW
I just know these two would bicker like crazy over this ๐ญ๐ญ
Enjoy~~~
The living room looked like a costume store had exploded in it. Fabric swatches were scattered across the coffee table in about six different colors, half of them things Jace had probably grabbed just because they looked "cool" under the lamp light. A makeup palette sat open next to a stack of napkins, already smudged with test swipes of eyeshadow. Somewhere under all of it, three different Pinterest boards were still open on your laptop, and Jace's phone had at least seven TikToks queued up, all "definitely the one," according to him, ten minutes ago.
And then there was the candy. An embarrassing amount of it, honestly, considering Halloween was still two weeks away and you'd both told yourselves you were just buying "a little" for testing purposes. (You wanted to win the costume contest).
Jace was sprawled across the couch like he owned the whole apartment, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, his thumb scrolling through his phone. You sat cross legged on the floor, sorting through makeup brushes, half listening for whatever ridiculous idea he was about to throw at you next.
"There." He turned the phone toward you, grinning like he'd just solved world hunger. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith. We can be Mr. and Mrs. Velaryon.โ
You didn't even look up all the way. "Mm."
His grin faltered instantly. "Mm?"
"It's..." You searched for something kinder than what you actually wanted to say. "A little basic."
"Basic?" He said it like you'd insulted his mother.
"You and every hot couple in this city are going to be Mr. and Mrs. Smith this year."
"It's timeless."
"It's Pinterest."
"It is not Pinterest."
"It has twelve million saves on Pinterest, Jace. Look at it"
He frowned at his screen like it had personally betrayed him, then swiped again. "Fine. Batman and Catwoman."
"No."
"James Bond."
"No."
"Joker and Harley."
You actually flinched. "Absolutely not."
"What?" He laughed, clearly not expecting that reaction.
"There's going to be five Jokers and seven Harleys at every party this year. I guarantee it."
"That's not true."
"It is."
"It isn't."
"It is, and you know it."
He pinched the bridge of his nose like you were personally exhausting him. "You reject everything I suggest."
"I reject things with zero originality."
"They're iconic costumes."
"They're predictable costumes."
"They're iconic because everyone loves them."
"They're iconic because everyone wears them," you shot back. "There's a difference."
He looked at you like you'd just insulted an entire genre of cinema. "...Okay."
He swiped again, and this time his eyes actually lit up. "I've got it."
You eyed him warily. Past experience told you that look usually meant trouble.
"Anakin and Padmรฉ."
You paused. Actually paused. "That's... better."
His smile turned instantly smug, like he already knew he'd won. "I knew you'd-"
"But."
His face fell so fast it was almost funny. "There it is."
"But," you repeated, just to be annoying.
"I hate that word."
"Padmรฉ's outfits are gorgeous."
"Exactly!"
"But every girl at every party is going to do the lake dress."
"So?"
"So I would rather actually die."
He groaned loud enough that it probably echoed through the walls. "You are impossible."
"I have standards."
"You have impossible standards." He groans, frustrated.
"I have taste."
"You have a superiority complex about Halloween costumes."
"I absolutely do, And I like to win." you said, without an ounce of shame.
He let his head fall back against the couch cushions dramatically, like the conversation had personally drained him of all his energy. "I am trying to look cool here."
"You always look cool."
"Then let me keep looking cool."
"No."
He lifted his head just enough to stare at you. "...No?"
"I have a better idea."
His whole face brightened again, way too fast for someone who'd just been shot down five times in a row. "Finally."
You smiled, the kind of smile that should have warned him. "Shrek."
He nodded slowly, actually considering it. "I could do Shrek."
"You misunderstood."
He blinked. "...What?"
"I'm the Dragon."
"...Okay."
"You will be the Donkey."
Silence.
You watched it land on his face in slow motion. His mouth opened slightly. "You..." he points to you.
"Mhm."
"...want me..." he then points to himself.
"Yes."
"...to be Donkey?" He looked absolutely offended.
"I already found fuzzy ears online."
His jaw actually dropped this time. "I am not dressing up as a donkey."
"You'd be an adorable and handsome donkey."
"I don't want to be adorable, I want to be cool."
"You quote movies and pop culture references constantly."
"So?"
"You love waffles."
"I do not-"
"You made waffles yesterday. From scratchโฆ. at eleven at night."
"That is completely irrelevant."
"You never stop talking."
"I do not-" He caught himself mid sentence and pointed at you. "Actually, DONโT answer that."
"I wasn't going to."
"You were absolutely going to."
"I planned that," you admitted, not even a little sorry.
He leaned back against the couch, staring at you like you'd betrayed him on a personal level. "I've spent an entire hour giving you objectively good, cool ideas."
"Mhm."
"And your solution to all of it..." He gestured weakly. "...is donkey."
"You'd make a fantastic Donkey."
He looked up at the ceiling like he needed strength from somewhere higher. "I need a new partner."
You gasped, hand pressed dramatically to your chest. "You don't mean that."
"I don't," he admitted with a sigh, "but I'd like one with slightly worse ideas."
"I'd like one with slightly better taste."
"I have excellent taste."
"You wanted Joker."
"You wanted livestock."
"Donkey is NOT livestock."
"You know what I meant."
You laughed, reaching for the black eyeliner pencil sitting among the mess on the table. "Come here."
He eyed the pencil like it was a weapon. "What now?"
"If we're doing Donkey, I need to practice the makeup."
"We are not doing Donkey."
"We absolutely are."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
You were already on your feet, standing between his knees before he could argue further, tilting his chin up gently with two fingers. "Close your eyes."
"This is emotional manipulation."
"You'll live Jace."
He sighed like the world was ending, but he closed his eyes anyway, tipping his head back slightly to give you better access. For a second, the apartment actually went quiet. No more arguing, no more phone screens glowing between you, just the soft rustle of fabric and the faint smell of his cologne mixed with the cheap vanilla candle burning somewhere behind you.
You steadied one hand against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm.
"Don't move," you murmured.
"Wasn't planning on it."
The tip of the liner barely grazed his eyelid when he spoke again.
"You know," he said quietly, "Anakin would've never done this to me."
You rolled your eyes so hard you were surprised they didn't get stuck. "Oh my god."
"He would've supported Padmรฉ's vision."
"He also lost three limbs and turned evil."
"Low blow."
"I'm making a point."
"So am I."
You carefully traced the line, focusing hard so you wouldn't mess it up because of him talking. "I still think Mr. and Mrs. Smith would've been so much easier."
He smiled without even opening his eyes, clearly enjoying himself way too much. "...What?"
"You're ruining my liner."
"I haven't moved an inch."
"You've been talking this whole time."
"I talk with my face, it's a whole thing."
"I noticed," you said dryly, leaning in a little closer to fix the small mistake his talking had caused. "Stay still."
"I am still."
"You keep twitching!"
"I blinked. That's biology!โ
"You weren't supposed to blink Jace."
"I have needs, okay, biological ones."
"You are the worst client I have ever had."
"I'm your only client."
You let out an offended gasp, "I do my friendโs makeup ALL the time!"
You huffed, trying to smooth out the tiny smudge near the corner of his eye, and that was when you noticed the corner of his mouth curling upward, slow and a little too pleased with himself.
"You know," he said again, voice softer this time, almost teasing. "I think I'd actually make a pretty good Batman."
You let out a long, exaggerated sigh, shoulders dropping. "I am going to throw this eyeliner at you."
"You wouldn't."
"I absolutely would."
"You love me too much to do that."
"I love you just enough to do it anyway."
Before you could even finish the last little wing of the eyeliner, two warm hands settled around your waist without warning. Your eyes went wide.
"Jace-"
With one easy pull, he tugged you forward, and you barely had time to squeak before your balance completely disappeared. Your hands shot out, grabbing onto his shoulders on instinct, and somehow, in the span of about two seconds, you ended up sitting right in his lap.
The eyeliner wobbled dangerously in your grip.
"Jace!"
He didn't even look sorry. One arm wrapped snug around your waist, keeping you steady, while the other rested easily against your thigh, like this had been the plan the entire time, like you belonged exactly here and nowhere else.
"There," he said, way too satisfied with himself. "Now you don't have to lean over so much.โ
You just stared at him. "...You trapped me."
"I repositioned you."
"You absolutely trapped me."
"I improved your workstation," he said, completely serious, completely pleased with his own logic.
He looked entirely too proud of himself. Your face was inches from his now, his chin still tilted up like he was waiting for you to keep going, like nothing had changed at all.
"Continue," he said simply.
You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because-" You gestured helplessly with the eyeliner still in your hand. "Jace, you're ruining my lines! And you know what youโre doing!" You cry out.
"I'm being perfectly still."
"You're literally smiling right now."
"I can't help that."
"It moves your whole face."
"Then kiss me until I stop smiling," he said, like it was the most obvious solution in the world.
You snorted. "That is not how that works."
"No?"
"No."
"Hm." His grip tightened just slightly, just enough to keep you from sliding off his lap if you tried as you let out a gasp. "Then I guess you'll have to stay right here until you're finished."
You narrowed your eyes at him. "You planned this whole thing."
"I did."
"...All because you didn't want to dress up as Donkey?"
He grinned, slow and warm, his nose brushing gently against yours as he eyed your lips.
"No," he said quietly. "I just wanted you closer."
And just like that, the eyeliner didn't seem important anymore.
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