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˚⟡˖ ࣪By The Sea You Will Find Me˚⟡˖ || jacaerys.velaryon
summary: when word gets out about the brown haired boy that washed up your shores to the iron throne- three dragon riders fly to your seaside village to introduce themselves to your family; one of them in particular catches your eye- lucky for you, you had caught his as well.
word count: 3.4oo+
pairings: jacaerys velaryon x fisherman/smallfolk!reader
a/n: have i finished hotd? no! will i make more chapters? most likely :) are the characters a lil ooc? idk, like i said i didnt finish it
warnings: slight angst | fluff | lucerys lives au! | amnesiac luke au | disabled luke au | flirt jacaerys | incest adjacent (?) | reader is smallfolk and not related to them by blood | but lucerys and reader call each other brother and sister | platonic!lucerys x reader
credit to: @enchanthings for the dividers!
The air in your small sea side cottage was tense.
There was no laughter for today's dinner. No younger siblings running and cheering as you sang songs of salt and sea. There was no chatter about the day either: whether the fish were kind enough to provide you a suitable haul for the market, or if the shells that washed up on the shore would fetch for a good enough price once polished- just lips pressed into thin lines, heads down to avoid offending their betters.
The flames from the fire pit grew low too, as if it knew to snuff out any warmth left behind it's four wall.
It was strange- this whole situation was strange- you were all privy to that fact.
"We only have the fried fish My Queen..."
It took you quite awhile to finally find the courage to speak. You bet you looked like a fool, throat dry and hands far too shaky as you take another sip of your drink; as if enough ale could calm down your nerves and forget this day ever happened, but for your brother Lucerys you endured. Even when everything in you urged you to shrink back and hide away with your sisters upstairs.
"I am sure it is... different from what you are use too. I apologize for sullying your tastebuds."
You could hear screeching over the sounds of crashing waves from outside your window, along with the cries of the goat and sheep your neighbors had kindly offered in the stead of your own, just while your shoulders tense up; all to cement your reality further.
Three bloods of the dragon were sitting in front of you with eyes of amethysts and hair like white gold, while their fire breathing beasts were bathing beneath moonlight at the front of your lawn.
They had arrived unannounced- scaring half the island to death while waking up the other- when they landed their mounts to shore.
Only one of them didn't have the striking Valyrian features their kin were known for, a man right about your age, seated to the left of the Queen- his mother- but he remained princely all the same.
You could see the resemblance between him and the boy you had taken in as one of your own. Though he was much more handsome, with a stronger jaw and poutier lips, leaving your face hot whenever your eyes would meet.
Right now, he was looking right at you- dissecting you fully. And you tried to avoid his gaze as effectively as you could.
The Gods, whether the old ones or the new, could strike you down right now and you would thank them for it. Just so this awkwardness would end.
"It is quite alright." Queen Rhaenyra waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss your words. "We are grateful that you have invited us in."
Despite the kindness of her tone, no food touched her lips. The consort and the Prince did not touch their plates either.
It didn't escape your notice but you weren't about to point it out.
You blamed it on the nerves. You preferred your head to be attached to your neck after all.
Your brother Lucerys had a different thought all together.
"You should eat what my sister made for you... She worked hard to prepare it."
Underneath the table you wanted to kick his shin. He had a tongue on him. Always had beneath his sweetness, him using it was rare, yes, but he had it in him to do so. But when he wrapped his fingers around yours in comfort, to remind you that he was there, you couldn't bring yourself to follow through.
Sweet boy. Always looking out for you despite you being older, even in the face of dragons. Even in the face of his blood.
"Do not disrespect our mother by speaking to her with that tone." Jacaerys did not raise his voice, but the firmness in it was clear.
"Do not disrespect my sister by refusing our food."
The crown prince's brows furrowed and he sneered.
"She is not even your blood." he spat the words like fire. Hoping the truth would burn into his younger brother's skull and make him remember. "We are your blood."
Rhaenyra's hand struck the table and the bickering between the two princes stopped.
Since she arrived she had never laid her eyes on her second son's face- fearing she'd wake up and realize it was a dream like most nights after his supposed death- but she wasn't asleep anymore.
This time, she looked at him. This time, he didn't melt away.
Only one tear had escaped her then.
"I apologize, sweet boy." Lucerys bristles at her words, the familiarity in her tone. It was odd hearing the endearment from her lips instead of his sisters. "It is only right we eat what is given. We did not mean to offend."
"I am not offended-" Rhaenyra doesn't wait for you to finish before taking a bite.
"This is ridiculous." Daemon grumbled, picking at it like he had never seen a fish before. Though you would imagine he had never been served a fish this small.
But Jacaerys, ever his mother's son, quickly followed her lead. The king consort was the last to do so.
You had handed them the three largest fish you and Luke had caught a day prior. Doused in every fresh herb you could find from your cupboards.
At least now, you and the rest of your kin would live until dawn.
"It taste like lemons." Jacaery's compliment was hollow, but you took it anyways.
"Thank you M'lord. It 'twas my mother's cooking." a light laugh escaped your lips.
Maybe you could imagine this as a simple dinner with extended family. Maybe then you wouldn't want the earth to open up and swallow you whole.
"You must teach us how then, so when we take my brother back, he will have something to remember you by."
He went straight for it, not giving anyone a moment of respite.
Rhaenyra wince. She was hoping for a more subtle approach. "Jacaerys-"
"No." Lucerys digs his palm into the table to lift himself up, rattling the plates and cups. His mother and brother raised from their seats trying to catch him, eyes drawn with worry- but Lucerys pulls away, choosing you for stability instead.
You sighed at his coldness. Handing him the large staff he used in place of his missing leg.
"You can't take me away from the only family I have ever known as if I am a mere pet that you can pick up as you please!"
"Of course not, that was not what your brother meant at all."
You never thought royalty could be so desperate. You never thought the Queen of the realm would break under the eye of the boy who- not a week before- had slipped into some cow dung, and when he caught you laughing, threw it at your face.
The Queen rambled on and you pitied her for it.
"We would never intend for you to cut ties with them- we could give them land, titles even-" a scoff bellowed out in the corner. "You could even marry her if y-you so wish. I would approve of it, if it means you would stay happy. If you would return home."
The suggestion only seemed to anger him. "I call her sister, and your solution to my fears is to have us wed? This home is of the faith of the seven, do not bear your sins as if they are our own."
Daemon grits his teeth. His sheathed blade, dark sister, peeked through the slits of his cloak. "You are of fire and ash, boy. You might have fucking forgotten that but your blood does not."
Lucerys had not backed down in the slightest, unflinching despite the intimidation. He had never been so brave, at least never in his memories.
"I am of the sea and the salt. A fisherman, not a dragon."
"Mind your tongue," Jacaerys raises his hands in frustration, as if he couldn't believe the words out of his mouth. He to agreed at the ridiculousness of it all. "Or else I'll strap you to Vermax myself and fly into the night."
"I would like to see you try-"
"Enough." you pull Lucerys back and for once the stubborn boy had listen and you praise the Sevens that he did so.
You could feel the stare of his blood brother on your back, a steady presence on your skin, and you wonder to yourself if staring was his favorite past time.
"Clearly, there are a lot of pent up feelings as of now... Maybe we should rest and talk about it once morning comes."
"I say we go with my plan. He will accept his fate soon enough." Jace quietly mouths to his mother.
Rhaenyra squeezes his shoulders gently before shaking her head. "I agree, we should rest." her response was diplomatic and because she was Queen- and their mother, and their wife- they followed.
Daemon had grumbled. Jacaerys had pursed his lips. But they did so anyways.
You, like the proper host you were, had given your guests the biggest room. While the rest of your siblings were cooped up in the smaller one.
"Truly, we are grateful you have allowed us to stay." The Queen's hands were gentle on your free arm, thumb strumming against the roughspun before she retreated into the room for the night.
"D-do you plan on giving me to them?" Lucerys had asked in a shaky breath. Your sister's eyes were blood shot, their arms around him tight in fear that he would leave.
You turn to fully face them, gentle hands ushering them into the other room.
"Father said that blood does not make family." His voice grew louder once you were inside. "He said that he was my father and you my sisters despite it-"
Your hand had found his way to his cheek and it had silenced him mid sentence. "We will discuss this in the morning, do not make your sisters afraid."
At least for tonight, the reminder you still saw him as kin was enough to quiet his doubts and let himself rest.
It was not the most comfortable of sleeping arrangements.
Their snoring, the tight fit atop the bedding, the way their tiny feet and Lucery's stump would dig into your sides, had left you sweaty and restless. Forcing you to slip away from thin sheets and tiptoeing down creaky stairs just to get a fresh breath of air.
"Oh Sevens-" You quickly bit your lip and spun at your heels, trying to stay quiet as you shut the front door, heaving against it.
It was not fresh air that had greeted you, but a large body of scales.
The dinner had been such a mess you had almost forgotten that there were other, more dangerous, beings that neared you.
"Fuck..." You closed your eyes, hand against your chest to steady your breathing. You had never been so close to a dragon before.
"Is that where he gets it from?" A sudden voice asked followed by the sounds of heavy boots hitting wood.
You lifted your eyes to find Jacaerys. Sleep had missed him as well.
"My brother's sudden rudeness... did it come from you?"
You point at yourself, confused. "What are you talking about M'lord?"
He sighs, now at the bottom of the steps. "Forget it... I know better than to blame you."
Jacaerys was closer now, large hands running through his brown locks.
They curled like the waves. You noted the freckles on his skin. The way he was prettier up close.
"We're you about to go outside?" His voice no longer held roughness, with less bite than the one at dinner.
"No," You lied through your teeth. "Just wanted to see if the dragons were asleep which they- um- are. Goods, yes?"
With your hands at your back and your posture stiff, you tried to exude ease- as if dragons were not tales of legend but mere talking points in common conversation.
You wonder if he could hear the way your heart was beating rapidly against your chest. If he had, he was not subtle in his amusement.
"Asleep? Why? If you had caught them in their wake, would you have sung to them until they find their rest?"
"I could have..." You turned your head to look away. Damn him.
"Its alright if they have frightened you." A half-smile was on his lips, more than what you were use too from him. "It is only natural to be frightened."
"I am not afraid-" But when he had reached for the metal loop and your hand had sprung out to take his wrist, it was clear to him that you were.
The rustling from outside had startled you too.
"Hmm?" His smugness rolled out in waves. In this light he looked more boy than man.
"I thought you unafraid?"
You should strike him, wipe his face clean of that grin. He looked similar enough to Luke Lucerys that you think you could get away with it if you claim your sight had been hindered by the dark.
Instead- you remembered yourself. Dropping the offending hand to smoothened out your skirt in a nervous tick. You could feel his breath against the curve of your ear and you shivered, and his dimples deepened.
"If it is fresh air you seek, I should escort you outside." the distance between you grew as he took a step back, palm extending outwards to you. "Take it as an apology for my actions from earlier. The dragons will not harm you in my presence."
A sigh escapes you and you begrudgingly agree, his palm warm against your own.
For a moment, beneath the stars, you forget you are fisher folk and that the man beside you was a dragon prince. Imagining yourself as a girl simply breathing in the ocean breeze rather than what you actually are- a girl trying to find solace from her plights.
The shawl you had brought- which your mother had made long before you were even born and the one your father took inspiration from so Lucerys would have a matched with his girls the week after he had arrived- was tight around your shoulders as you watched the sea from a distance.
"Thank you..." Jacaerys whispers, finally speaking. "For taking care of him..."
Like he had promised the dragons paid no attention to you, even when a few of them had stirred themselves awake, keeping themselves busy by flicking their tails and leaving claw marks into the dirt.
"It was nothing really." you shifted your feet awkwardly at his thanks.
A lull. Then he speaks again.
"You could have turned him away... I'm sure most people would have, especially in his current condition."
"Well, he was sleeping on my father's boat when we had found him so he wasn't easy to ignore. Besides, my father loved to take in strays and I am certain the boy would have found a way to hobble after us if we had left without him."
You smiled at the memory, at the young boy with a damp mop of curls, shivering and sniveling inside your lowly fishing both. He had no memory of who he was. How his leg had gone missing- the only truth he knew of was that his name was Luke and that he was alone.
Pirates, you suggested once. Dragons, your father suggested back.
Many small folk had been made victim to the dance and by then, word had gotten out that its reach had spread to your shores. Your father thought that Luke must have been one of them- whether his boat had got caught by a hungry beast, the wind carrying the scent of the fish nets up into the air and to its senses- or hit by a stray breath of flame.
Unlikely but not wholly impossible.
Back then you had laugh. Dragons were of the air, what dangers did they pose in the sea?
Now, you are certain that he was the one bellied over in laughter.
"What are you smiling for?" Jacaerys asked. You whipped your face at his voice.
"Nothing." You insist. "It's just... if my father were here, I am certain he would find this situation most amusing."
"He was a happy man, your father?"
You nod. "The happiest."
At the corner of your eye, you could see that Jacaerys looked pleased at that fact.
"I am glad... that in the five years he has been gone- he had found his way into a happy home. Trust us, when we say that we will reward you for your efforts."
"We did not take him in for a reward." His eyes were wide, caught off guard by your quickness. You raised your hands up defensively.
"Truthfully, I never thought he was a Lord. Much less a Prince." you continued on, crinkling your nose in a playful jest.
You had given that boy to many clouts in the ear- chores you doubt he was ever expected to do in his time in King's Landing- and had laughed with him and acted without propriety to his true born station.
"Of course not-" his words stumble for a bit before it regained its footing. "I did not mean to imply that you did so, nor did I mean to imply that you held ulterior motives in your heart."
He was trying to be polite. You couldn't help but laugh at that too.
Stretching your arms out, you could feel your body lax before unceremoniously making a bed out of the grass- tired from staying on your feet for far to long.
Supposed you could go back inside and lay in a proper bed with the rest of your siblings- but this day had been stressful and you believed you deserved a moment of calm.
"He got sea sick the first time we took him out fishing." Another laugh escaped your lips, scratchy in its timber and leaving a bitter sweet taste on your tongue. You could feel a tear dip down to your temple before disappearing into your hair. You caught the next one before it could drop.
So many thoughts had filled your head: about your family, about the Targaryens... the little paradise you had made by the shore- but there was nothing you could make sense of.
The Prince tilts his chin down to meet your eyes, gaze focused even as he takes up the empty space of grass beside you. You bet you looked like a fool.
"He hurled all over the nets and we had to cancel the trip short- said he couldn't handle the waves rocking him. To think... that boy may leave us to be the Lord of Driftmark."
Jace had never forgotten the way his brother was at sea. The irony was not lost on both on you.
He rest his head on the grass, hair weaving into its blades in soft motions. He turned his head so he could still look at you as he spoke. "He was the same when he was a boy."
"I can imagine the same green face in fancier robes." you sniffled.
"Oh I'm sure you can." he raised a hand to the sky waving it around as he told tales of youth, of stories between him and a Luke you hadn't meant yet, making a show of it.
"I have always been better at the sword than my brother." he commented after telling you a story of them sparring by the shore. He moved to a more comfortable position, grace measured as his muscles flexed beneath the velvet- catching your eye.
He smirks, satisfied, before continuing. "I hope we could continue to spar once he warms up to me."
"He will M'lord. He is a friendly boy."
It was colder now, the wind had picked up and the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks had grown louder.
"Are you not cold, My Prince?" The shawl slips off your shoulders so you could offer it.
He rubbed his hands together for some warmth, cupping it around his lips so he could blow in some hot air. "What kind of a prince I would be if I took a young Lady's shawl?"
"A warm one." you retort, throwing half of it over his frame, while the other half remained on yours. A few seconds later the tremble in his lip stop. The wool was not much but it did its job blocking the wind well enough.
"Is it your habit to save Velaryons?" he says breathlessly.
"I hardly call sharing a shawl saving, My Prince."
"I could die from a simple cold." his tone was matter-of-fact. "You very well could be saving me."
A snort rumbled from your throat. Jacaerys didn't seem to be put off by the sound. "We should head back shortly. Morning will arrive sooner in our sleep."
He nestles deeper into the shawl but nods.
"Yes, we probably should."
a/n: yayyy i hope you like it! im thinking of making the next chapter about them exploring the little town luke had grown up in for the past five years rather than cutting it straight to kings landing. what do you guys think about that plan? anyways hearts and reposts will be greatly appreciated!
Yay!! So I have a request for Rhaenyra x daughter reader, its platonic
So they’re very close, since she’s her only daughter. After what happened to Luke, Visenya and Jaehaerys, and Daemon leaving for Harrenhal, Rhae gets a more obsessed amd possessive with her, not letting her out of her sight at all, not even Jace could make her stop. After a few days, she sneaks out to get Daemon when Rhaenyra is busy with the council, making her go berserk when she finds out. Meanwhile, the haunted castle is pulling tricks on reader as well and she’s found outside of chambers (maybe unconscious or mumbling some prophetic stuff). Rhaenyra shows up during the night with Syrax, ready to take her daughter home when Daemon tells her whats going on. Rhaenyra is now both angry and terrified that her daughter is in that state
(i love this request, i haven’t worked on anything platonic in a while so you’re getting me out my element honestly 😉)
You know this because you don't either. How could you, when her arms are wrapped around you like iron bands, when her breath ghosts across your hair in the darkness of her chambers, when every time you shift she pulls you closer with a desperate strength that leaves bruises on your ribs?
"Mother," you whisper into the suffocating dark. "I cannot breathe."
Her grip only tightens.
It has been six days since Luke. Four days since the ravens came from King's Landing about Jaehaerys. Three days since Daemon left for Harrenhal and took the last piece of your mother's sanity with him. And little Visenya, your sister who never drew breath, she haunts the spaces between your mother's fingers where they clutch at your nightgown.
Rhaenyra Targaryen has lost two children. She will not lose a third.
You are her only daughter. Her last girl. And she will sooner stop breathing than let you out of her sight.
"Sleep," she commands against your temple, her voice raw. "Sleep, my love. I have you. I have you."
But you cannot sleep when you are being held like a treasure someone is trying to steal. You cannot sleep when your mother's tears soak into your hair, when her whole body trembles with the effort of not screaming. You cannot sleep when you are not a daughter anymore but a talisman against death, a ward against further loss, a living breathing proof that she has not lost everything.
The dawn comes grey and cold. Rhaenyra does not release you.
"Your Grace," Jace's voice filters through the door. Your brother, your wonderful brother, trying so hard to hold together a family that is splintering like a ship against rocks. "The council convenes within the hour. They need you."
"No."
"Mother, please." His voice cracks. He is so young. You are all so young, and yet you are playing at war, at grief, at survival. "Just for an hour. I'll stay with her. I swear it."
You feel your mother's whole body go rigid. Her arms become a cage.
"No one takes her from me." Each word is bitten off, sharp enough to draw blood. "No one. Not you, not the council, not the gods themselves."
Jace does not try again.
The day stretches long and terrible. Rhaenyra holds court from her chambers with you in her lap like a child, though you are far too old for this. Lords and ladies avert their eyes from the Queen's wild grief, from the way her fingers are tangled in your hair, from how you have stopped struggling. What is the point? Every time you pull away she makes a sound like a wounded animal.
"I love you," she whispers compulsively, over and over, a prayer and a curse. "My only daughter. My precious girl. I love you. I will keep you safe. I will. I will."
You love her too. Gods help you, you love her so much it feels like dying.
That is why, when the council convenes that evening for an emergency session about the Riverlands, about Daemon's silence, about Harrenhal's strategic importance, you make your choice.
Rhaenyra kisses your forehead seventeen times before she leaves. She makes you swear on your life you will not move from her bed. She stations three guards outside the door. She looks back four times as she walks away, her face a mask of barely controlled panic.
The door closes.
You count to one hundred.
Then you move.
—————————————————————————
The dragon keepers try to stop you. You are your mother's daughter, though, born of fire and blood and stubborn will. Seasmoke recognizes you, knows your scent, and though he is uncertain without his rider, he allows you to climb onto his back because you smell like Velaryon blood, like salt and sea and sorrow.
The flight to Harrenhal takes hours. You have time to regret everything. You have time to imagine your mother's face when she finds you gone, the animal sound she will make, the way her grief will turn to rage will turn to something worse than either.
But Daemon is at Harrenhal. Daemon, who is the only person who can calm her, who can make her see reason, who can save you both from this drowning obsession. If you can bring him home, maybe she will release her grip. Maybe she will let you breathe again.
Maybe you will stop feeling like a butterfly pinned to velvet, beautiful and dead and displayed.
The castle rises from the lakeshore like a broken tooth, black and jagged against the darkening sky. Something about it makes your stomach turn. The air tastes wrong here. Old. Hungry.
Seasmoke lands in the courtyard and immediately tries to leave. You have to scramble off before he takes flight again, leaving you alone in the gathering dusk with a castle that seems to be watching you.
"Daemon?" Your voice echoes strangely, coming back to you distorted. "Daemon, I need to speak with you."
The castle swallows your words.
You walk through the main doors. The servants who greet you seem pale, their eyes sliding away from yours. They point you toward the chambers where Prince Daemon is staying, but their directions feel wrong, twisted, like they are telling you how to get somewhere that does not exist.
The corridors stretch longer than they should. You walk and walk and the torches cast shadows that move independently of their flames. Whispers echo from empty rooms, words in languages you almost understand, and the stone beneath your feet feels soft, organic, like you are walking through the throat of some massive beast.
"Daemon?" You call again, but your voice sounds small and far away.
Turn left. You turned left. Didn't you? But this hallway is not the one you were just in. The tapestries show different scenes, battles you don't recognize, dragons with too many heads, a woman with your face standing in a river of blood.
Your heart begins to pound.
"This isn't real," you whisper. "This is just a castle. Just stone and wood and..."
The whispers crescendo. They are saying your name. No, not your name. A name that will be yours. A name you will carry when you are dead. A name written in prophecy and smoke.
Queen of ashes. Daughter of grief. The last dragon's final scream.
"Stop it." You press your hands over your ears but the voices are inside your skull now, burrowing deep. "Stop it, stop it, stop..."
The corridor tilts. Or maybe you tilt. The floor rushes up to meet you and you catch yourself on hands and knees, gasping. When you look up, you are somewhere else entirely. A courtyard? No. The godswood. But Harrenhal's godswood is on the other side of the castle. You didn't walk here. You couldn't have.
The weirwood tree looms before you, its face screaming silently.
And then the visions come.
—————————————————————————
Daemon finds you an hour later, though you will not remember most of it.
He finds you collapsed outside the chambers he has claimed, your eyes open but unseeing, your lips moving in constant whispered prayer or prophecy or madness. Your fingers are bleeding from where you have clawed at the stone floor, trying to write something, symbols that hurt to look at.
"Gods," he breathes, dropping to his knees beside you. "Girl. Girl, can you hear me?"
Your eyes focus on him but you are looking through him, past him, at something he cannot see.
"The dragons will dance," you whisper, your voice not quite your own. It echoes, layered with other voices, older voices. "And the daughter will drown in her mother's love. Three heads has the dragon but four graves will it dig. The queen who never was. The queen who should not be. The queen of ashes and the queen of..."
You stop. Blink. Your eyes clear slightly and you see him, really see him.
"Daemon?" Your voice is your own again, small and confused and terrified. "What... where am I? I was looking for you. I was in the corridor and then..."
"Harrenhal has you," he says grimly, helping you sit up. Your whole body is shaking. "The castle. It gets inside your head. Shows you things. I should have warned... why are you here? Does Rhaenyra know?"
The look on your face is answer enough.
Daemon closes his eyes. "Oh, you foolish girl. She will burn this castle to the ground."
"I had to," you whisper. Tears are streaming down your face though you don't remember starting to cry. "She won't let me go. She holds me every moment. I cannot breathe, Daemon. I cannot think. I thought if I brought you home, she might..."
"She might release you?" Daemon's laugh is bitter. "You don't understand. Rhaenyra has lost everything. You are all she has left to hold onto. And now you have put yourself in danger, come to this cursed place, and when she finds out..."
He does not finish.
He does not need to.
The roar of a dragon splits the night sky.
—————————————————————————
Syrax's scream is the sound of a mother's rage given form.
Rhaenyra Targaryen descends on Harrenhal like a avenging angel, like a demon, like a queen who has finally broken beneath the weight of her crown. The dragon's flames light up the night, turning the castle's black stones to flickering gold and shadow.
She does not wait for the dragon to fully land before she is sliding from the saddle, stumbling in her haste, her hair wild and her eyes wilder.
"WHERE IS SHE?" The words are a shriek that echoes off the walls. "WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?"
Daemon meets her in the courtyard. He has carried you down, wrapped in his cloak because you cannot stop shaking, because the castle's poison is still in your veins and you keep seeing things that are not there. You see your mother and you want to run to her and you want to run away and you cannot do either because your legs will not hold you.
"Rhaenyra," Daemon starts.
She is on him in a second, her hands fisted in his shirt, her face a twisted mask of fury and fear.
"You let her come here? To this place? You let my daughter, my only daughter, come to this cursed ruin and you did not send word? I will kill you. I will feed you to Syrax piece by piece, I will..."
"She came on her own," Daemon says quietly. "To bring me home. For you."
Rhaenyra's eyes find you over his shoulder. The sound she makes is inhuman.
She shoves past Daemon and falls to her knees in front of you, her hands cupping your face with a gentleness that contradicts the violence in her eyes.
"Baby," she breathes. "My baby. What have you done? What were you thinking? I told you to stay. I told you. I told you."
"I'm sorry," you whisper. The words feel like glass in your throat. "Mother, I'm sorry. I just wanted to help. I wanted..."
"Help?" Her voice breaks. "You wanted to help? You have destroyed me. When I found you gone, when I searched your chambers and you were not there, I... I..."
She cannot finish. She pulls you against her chest and you feel her whole body shaking with sobs.
"I cannot lose you," she gasps into your hair. "I cannot. You are all I have left. My only girl. My precious girl. If something happened to you, I would set the world on fire. I would tear down the heavens. I would..."
"Your Grace." Daemon's voice cuts through her spiral. "There is something you need to know."
Rhaenyra looks up at him, her arms still locked around you.
"The castle," Daemon says carefully. "It has touched her. I found her speaking in tongues, writing symbols on the floor. Harrenhal's curse has gotten into her head."
You feel your mother go absolutely still.
"What?" The word is barely a breath.
"She was in a trance. Speaking prophecies. The castle... it does things to people. Gets inside them. Shows them visions. I don't know what she saw but..."
Rhaenyra pulls back to look at you. Really look at you. She sees the blood on your fingers, the unfocused quality still lingering in your eyes, the way you are shaking like you are freezing though the night is warm.
The rage in her face transforms into something worse. Terror. Pure, primal terror.
"No," she whispers. "No, no, no. Not you. Not my baby. Not..."
Her hands are shaking as she touches your face, your hair, your shoulders, as if checking that you are real, that you are whole, that you are still hers.
"What did it show you?" she demands. "What did you see? Tell me. Tell me now."
You try to remember but it is like grasping at smoke. Images flash through your mind. Dragons falling from the sky. A throne made of swords melting in dragonfire. Your mother's face, older, harder, alone. A crown sinking into dark water. Blood on snow. A child that looks like you but is not you, will never be you, because you will not live long enough to...
"I don't remember," you lie.
Rhaenyra knows you are lying. She always knows.
"We are leaving," she says, her voice shaking. "Now. Tonight. I am taking you home and you will never, never leave my sight again. Do you understand? Never. I will chain you to me if I must. I will lock you in the highest tower. I will..."
"Rhaenyra." Daemon's hand on her shoulder. "She needs rest. And we need to understand what the castle showed her. If it was prophecy..."
"I don't care." Rhaenyra stands, pulling you up with her, her arm around your waist like she thinks you might disappear if she lets go. "I don't care about prophecy or visions or any of it. She is my daughter. Mine. And I am taking her away from this cursed place."
She looks at Daemon and her eyes are wild, feral, the eyes of a mother animal protecting her young.
"You can stay here and rot with your ghosts if you wish. But she comes with me. Now."
You sway on your feet. The world tilts again and you see double, triple. Your mother's face multiplies into a dozen versions, each one more desperate than the last. The whispers are back, crawling through your skull.
The mother's love will be the daughter's cage. The cage will be the daughter's tomb. The tomb will be...
"Mother," you whisper. "I don't feel well."
Rhaenyra's face goes white. She catches you as your legs give out, lowering you carefully to the ground.
"No," she is saying, over and over. "No, stay with me. Stay with me. You don't get to leave me. You don't get to..."
Daemon is shouting for maesters, for help, but his voice sounds so far away.
The last thing you see before the darkness takes you is your mother's face above yours, twisted in anguish and rage and a love so fierce it could burn the world to ash.
The last thing you hear is her voice, breaking on your name.
And the castle laughs in the spaces between her words, satisfied with its newest victim, with the seeds it has planted, with the prophecy it has written in your blood and bones.
Harrenhal always takes its due.
And you, precious daughter of the dragon queen, you have given it everything.
WAIT You write for all the girls in HOTD??? I thought you only wrote for Daenerys
I’ve been watching some Emma thirst traps on tiktok and came up with an angst to fluff request for Rhaenyra:
She has a wife and they’ve been married a while. Now that Rhaenyra is queen, it’s been stressful and chaotic in Dragonstone, especially after learning what the Greens have been doing. To help her out, her wife has been doing meetings and organizing everything but is neglecting herself, not really eating or sleeping, and starts avoiding Rhaenyra to do more strategizing. However, one day, after a tense discussion with someone during council, she collapses. The maester tells Rhaenyra what’s been going on and then leaves them alone for privacy, and Rhaenyra gets all vulnerable and mushy at the sight of her wife like that
(woke up first thing in the morning to work on this 🤣🤣 hope i fulfill your request)
The war maps spread across the table like wounds, each marker a reminder of what had been lost and what still hung in the balance. Rhaenyra stood over them, her fingers pressed against the edge of the wood hard enough to make her knuckles white. The Greens had taken more than a crown. They had taken her father's peace, her children's safety, the very future she had been promised since girlhood.
"Your Grace, the reports from the Riverlands..."
She barely heard the words. Everything was noise now, constant and grinding. Dragonstone had become a fortress of sleepless nights and impossible decisions, and she wore the weight of it in the tension of her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes.
But there was one constant, one steady presence that kept the chaos from consuming her entirely.
Her wife moved through the council chamber like water, smooth and essential. She was there at every meeting, taking notes, organizing correspondence, ensuring that every raven was answered and every supply line accounted for. When Rhaenyra's temper flared at incompetent lords or devastating news, her wife's hand would find hers beneath the table, a brief squeeze that said *I'm here, you're not alone.*
"I'll handle the grain shipments," her wife said quietly, gathering scrolls from the table as the council dispersed. "And the correspondence with House Tully. You focus on the military strategy."
Rhaenyra looked up, catching her wife's eyes for just a moment. There was something there, a flicker of exhaustion quickly hidden behind a soft smile. "You don't have to take all of this on yourself."
"Neither do you." Her wife leaned in, pressing a kiss to Rhaenyra's temple. "Let me help you carry it."
And Rhaenyra let her, because the alternative was drowning.
The days blurred together after that. Rhaenyra would wake to find her wife already gone, candles burned low in the study where she'd been working through the night. Meals became perfunctory, eaten standing or not at all. The war demanded everything, and they gave it willingly.
But somewhere in the giving, something began to slip.
Rhaenyra noticed it in fragments. The way her wife's gowns hung a little looser. The shadows beneath her eyes that grew darker each morning. The way she would sway slightly when she stood too quickly, catching herself on the edge of a table or the back of a chair.
"Come to bed," Rhaenyra murmured one night, finding her wife still awake in their chambers, surrounded by reports and supply manifests. "It's past midnight."
"Soon." Her wife didn't look up, her quill scratching across parchment. "I just need to finish reviewing these numbers. The maesters say we'll run short on medical supplies within a fortnight if we don't..."
"It can wait until morning."
"Morning is for the small council meeting. And then the petitions from the smallfolk. And then..." Her wife finally looked up, and there was something almost frantic in her eyes. "There's so much to do, Rhaenyra. So much that needs attention. If I can just get through this tonight, tomorrow will be easier."
But tomorrow was never easier. Tomorrow brought fresh horrors, new reports of Green movements, more desperate pleas for aid from their allies. And through it all, her wife worked, tireless and determined, taking on more and more until Rhaenyra barely saw her except in council meetings and brief passings in the corridors.
"Have you eaten today?" Rhaenyra asked one afternoon, catching her wife's hand as she hurried past.
"I had something earlier." The answer came too quickly, too practiced. "I'm sorry, I have to meet with the harbor master about the blockade. We'll talk tonight?"
But night came and her wife was still working, and Rhaenyra fell asleep alone, reaching across cold sheets for warmth that never came.
She should have pushed harder. Should have demanded answers, insisted on care. But the war was a beast that devoured everything in its path, and Rhaenyra was so tired, so overwhelmed by the weight of the crown and the lives that depended on her decisions. She told herself that her wife was strong, capable, that she would say something if it became too much.
She told herself lies because the truth was too terrible to face.
The council meeting started like any other, tense and fraught with impossible choices. Lord Celtigar was arguing for a naval assault. Ser Steffon wanted to wait for reinforcements. The arguments went in circles, voices rising, tempers fraying.
Her wife stood at the far end of the table, presenting a logistics report with her usual quiet competence. But her voice was thinner than usual, strained. Rhaenyra watched her, really looked at her for the first time in weeks, and felt something cold settle in her chest.
When had her wife become so pale? So drawn?
"The numbers don't support a prolonged siege," her wife was saying, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. "We simply don't have the resources to..."
"Then we make do with what we have," Lord Celtigar snapped. "Or do you suggest we simply surrender?"
"I suggest we be realistic about our limitations." Her wife's voice sharpened, unusual for her. "Throwing men and supplies at an impossible situation won't..."
"My lady, with respect, perhaps matters of warfare should be left to those with military experience."
The dismissal was clear, condescending. Rhaenyra saw her wife's spine straighten, saw the flash of anger in her eyes.
"With respect, my lord, I have been managing the logistics of this war while you've been..." Her wife swayed suddenly, catching herself. "While you've been..."
"Are you quite well?" Ser Steffon asked, concern creeping into his voice.
"I'm fine." But she wasn't. Rhaenyra could see it now, the way her wife's hands trembled against the table, the way her breathing had gone shallow. "As I was saying, the supply lines..."
Her wife's eyes rolled back.
She collapsed so suddenly that no one had time to catch her, crumpling to the stone floor like a puppet with cut strings. The sound of her body hitting the ground echoed through the chamber, followed by a moment of horrible silence.
Then chaos.
Rhaenyra was moving before she could think, shoving past lords and knights to reach her wife's side. She gathered her into her arms, and gods, when had she become so light? So fragile?
"Get the maester," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice cutting through the panic. "Now."
Her wife's eyes fluttered, unfocused. Her lips moved but no sound came out. Rhaenyra held her closer, feeling the rapid flutter of her heartbeat, the way her skin burned with fever.
"I have you," Rhaenyra whispered. "I have you, my love. Stay with me."
The maester's chambers smelled of herbs and smoke. Rhaenyra sat beside the bed where her wife lay, unconscious now, her breathing shallow but steady. The maester worked in silence, checking pulses and examining eyes, his expression growing grimmer with each passing moment.
Finally, he straightened, gesturing for Rhaenyra to follow him to the far corner of the room.
"Your Grace," he began, his voice low. "When did your lady wife last eat a full meal?"
The question struck like a blow. "I... I don't know. We've both been busy with the war effort."
"Busy." The maester's tone was carefully neutral. "Your Grace, your wife is suffering from severe malnutrition and complete exhaustion. Her body has been running on nothing for weeks. Perhaps longer."
The words didn't make sense. Rhaenyra shook her head. "That's not possible. She's been working, attending meetings. She couldn't do all that if she were..."
"She has been doing all that *despite* her condition, not because she's well." The maester's eyes were kind but firm. "From what I can determine, she has been sleeping perhaps two or three hours a night, if that. Skipping meals entirely or eating barely enough to keep standing. Her body has been consuming itself to keep functioning."
Rhaenyra felt the floor tilt beneath her feet. "Why wouldn't she say something? Why wouldn't she tell me?"
"Perhaps," the maester said gently, "she thought she was helping you. Taking on your burdens so you wouldn't have to carry them alone." He paused. "I've given her something to help her rest. She needs sleep, proper food, and time to recover. But more than that, Your Grace, she needs someone to remind her that she matters. That her life has value beyond what she can do for others."
He left them alone after that, the door closing with a soft click that sounded like a judgment.
Rhaenyra returned to the bedside on unsteady legs. Her wife looked so small against the pillows, her face pale and drawn, dark circles like bruises beneath her eyes. Rhaenyra sank into the chair beside her, reaching out with trembling fingers to brush a strand of hair from her wife's forehead.
"What have you done?" The words came out broken, barely a whisper. "What have you done to yourself?"
Her wife didn't answer, lost in whatever dreams the maester's draught had given her. Rhaenyra traced the sharp line of her cheekbone, the hollow of her throat, seeing clearly now what she had been too blind to notice before. The weight loss. The exhaustion. The way her wife had been slowly disappearing while Rhaenyra had been too consumed with war and duty to see.
"I'm sorry." Rhaenyra's voice cracked. "Gods, I'm so sorry."
The tears came then, hot and unstoppable. Rhaenyra pressed her forehead to her wife's hand, feeling the delicate bones beneath skin that had grown too thin. She had been so focused on being queen, on winning the war, on proving herself worthy of the crown, that she had failed at the one thing that mattered most.
She had failed to protect the person she loved.
"You can't do this," Rhaenyra whispered against her wife's palm. "You can't leave me. Not like this. Not because you were trying to save me." She lifted her head, looking at her wife's peaceful face through blurred vision. "I don't want the crown if it costs me you. Do you understand? None of it matters without you."
The admission felt like shedding armor, leaving herself vulnerable and exposed. She was supposed to be strong, unbreakable, a queen worthy of her father's faith. But here, in the quiet of the maester's chambers with her wife barely clinging to consciousness, Rhaenyra let herself be what she truly was.
Terrified. Guilty. Desperately, achingly in love.
"I see you now," she promised, bringing her wife's hand to her lips. "I see you, and I'm not looking away again. No more war councils without breaks. No more working through the night. No more carrying my burdens until they crush you." Her voice dropped to something fierce and tender. "You are not a tool to be used. You are my heart. My home. The only thing in this gods-forsaken war that makes any of it worthwhile."
Her wife's fingers twitched in her grasp, and Rhaenyra held her breath. Slowly, painfully, her wife's eyes fluttered open. They were unfocused at first, confused, but then they found Rhaenyra's face and something like recognition sparked there.
"Rhaenyra?" Her voice was barely audible, rough with sleep and weakness.
"I'm here." Rhaenyra moved closer, cupping her wife's face with infinite gentleness. "I'm right here, my love."
"The council meeting... I need to..." Her wife tried to sit up, and Rhaenyra gently but firmly pressed her back down.
"The council can wait. The war can wait. Right now, the only thing that matters is you." Rhaenyra smoothed her thumb across her wife's cheek, feeling the dampness of her own tears. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me see how much you were hurting?"
Her wife's eyes filled with tears. "You had so much already. I just wanted to help. I thought if I could just handle everything else, you could focus on winning. On surviving."
"And what about your survival?" Rhaenyra's voice broke. "What about you?"
"I didn't think..." Her wife's breath hitched. "I didn't think it mattered as much."
"It matters." Rhaenyra leaned down, pressing her forehead to her wife's. "You matter more than anything. More than the crown, more than the throne, more than all of it. I would burn every kingdom to ash before I let anything happen to you."
They stayed like that, breathing together, finding each other again in the wreckage of their own making. Rhaenyra kissed her wife's forehead, her temples, the bridge of her nose, gentle affirmations of presence and love.
"I'm going to take care of you now," Rhaenyra murmured. "The way you've been taking care of me. And you're going to let me, because I can't lose you. I won't."
Her wife's hand came up, weak but determined, to cup Rhaenyra's face. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"I'm sorry I didn't see." Rhaenyra turned her head to kiss her wife's palm. "But I see you now. And I'm not letting go."
Outside, the war continued. Ravens flew, armies marched, the Greens plotted and schemed. But in the quiet sanctuary of the maester's chambers, two women held each other and remembered what they were fighting for.
It’s been a few months of adapting and learning new things and I’m grateful for all the new experiences. Everything is better now. I’ve been super busy with this new job I got and I doubt I’ll have time to write much. But I opened just 2 spots for simple commissions.
Peter Parker
Jealous Peter would include (headcanon)
PDA with Peter would include (headcanon)
Sleepover with Peter would include (headcanon)
Stay Away (headcanon)
Is It Over Between Us? (COMPLETE) ☁
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Shadowhunters
Jonathan Morgenstern
Dating (headcanon)
Betrayal ☁(headcanon)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Harry Potter
Tom Riddle
Curiosity
The Maze Runner
Newt
Making Out (headcanon)
Being his girlfriend (headcanon)
Jurassic World
Owen Grady
Betrayed
Volcano
Game of Thrones
Theon Greyjoy
Savior ☁
Shadow and Bone
The Darkling
Kinks ✖(headcanon)
Jealous ✖☁(headcanon)
Criston Cole
A Secret
The Princess and the Knight (headcanon)
Sinners
One-Sided Love ☁
One-Sided Love (part 2) ☁
One-Sided Love (Part 3) ☁
One-Sided Love (Finale) ☁
Harwin Strong
In The Shadows (headcanon)
Strong Protector (headcanon)
Strong Protector (part 2) ☁
A Beast ☁
Husband (headcanon)
Daddy Harwin (headcanon)
From the Vale
Alone
Traitor ☁
Triplets (headcanon)
White Knight ☁
