marsi-is-depressed

19... Bi, don't know what I'm doing here :)) Just started to write Repo! The genetic opera fanfic, and is what I will mainly be posting. I do accept requests.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Dangerous Pastime

Cw/Tw: very sexual, Explicit

11th Doctor x Time Lord Wife Reader

The TARDIS hummed around them, a familiar, soothing pulse. The Doctor, all floppy hair and curious eyes, leaned against the console, his gaze fixed on you.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the vast space.

“Dangerous pastime,” you quipped, but your breath hitched. You knew that look. It was the one he got right before proposing a trip to a supernova or a particularly volatile nebula.

“No, no, a good thought. An excellent thought.” He pushed off the console, his long coat brushing the floor as he closed the distance. “About us. About… sensations. The humanoid body, your body, has so many unexplored capacities. Especially now..” His eyes flicked down to your chest, then back to your face, a spark of pure, unadulterated scientific and sensual curiosity in them. “The lactation. It’s a fascinating biological process, isn’t it? But we’ve been so… functional about it.”

His hands came up, not to touch you, but to gesture, paint a picture in the air. “What if… we explored the… aesthetic applications? The… erotic feedback loop?”

“Doctor…” you whispered, your skin already prickling.

“The hormones involved, oxytocin, prolactin… they create a profound sense of bonding, of calm. But combined with deliberate arousal…” He finally touched you, his fingertips tracing the line of your jaw. “It could be spectacular. A full-system overload. A symphony of nerve endings.”

You swallowed. “What are you suggesting?”

His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’m suggesting we conduct an experiment. Right here. Right now. On the floor of the TARDIS.”

He didn’t wait for a verbal answer. He saw the flush on your skin, the dilation of your pupils, the quickening of your pulse. His mouth found yours, and the experiment began.

It started tender, a soft melding of lips, a gentle inquiry. But with a low groan from deep in his chest, it deepened. His tongue traced the seam of your lips and you opened for him, meeting his rhythm. It was a kiss that spoke of centuries of knowing, of galaxies crossed together. You felt his hands at the buttons of your blouse, deft and impatient, until the fabric fell open.

He broke the kiss, his breath hot against your cheek, to look at you. His gaze was reverent, hungry. He pushed the blouse from your shoulders, his thumbs hooking under the cups of your bra. He freed your breasts, swollen and heavy, the nipples already taut.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, the word a prayer. “My beautiful, impossible wife.”

He didn’t just take a nipple into his mouth. He worshipped it. His warm, wet tongue circled the areola, a slow, maddening orbit, before his lips sealed around you. The first pull was gentle, then firm, a steady, rhythmic suction that sent a shockwave straight to your core. It wasn’t just the tug at your breast; it was the deep, primal release, the feeling of warm milk flowing into his mouth.

A sharp, sweet jolt of pleasure-pain made you gasp. Your fingers tangled in his impossibly soft hair, holding him to you. “Oh, god… Doctor…”

He hummed against your skin, the vibration traveling through your breast, down your spine, pooling as liquid heat between your legs. He suckled, drawing long pulls from you, one hand cradling the weight of your other breast, his thumb stroking the wet nipple. You could feel your own body responding, your womb tightening, a slick, aching emptiness growing where you needed him most.

He switched sides, giving the same devoted attention to your other breast. Milk beaded on his lower lip, a drop tracing a path down his chin. You leaned forward and caught it with your tongue, the taste oddly intimate, making you whimper. He smiled against your skin, a feral, possessive thing.

“Now the floor,” he growled, his voice thick. “As requested.”

He guided you down, not gently, but with a controlled urgency, until your back met the cool, metallic grating of the TARDIS floor. The ship’s hum seemed to intensify, to resonate in the metal beneath you. He loomed over you, shedding his tweed jacket and bowtie in one fluid motion. He undid his trousers, and you watched, your mouth going dry, as he freed himself.

Oh.

Even after all this time, the sight stole your breath. He was thick, impossibly so, the girth of him needing both of your hands to even begin to encircle. The head was flushed a deep, ruddy red, already leaking a pearl of precum. He was fully, magnificently erect, a proud, heavy weight in his own hands as he stroked himself slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Still impresses you, doesn’t it?” he murmured, a flash of that old, cocky grin on his face.

“It’s a scientific marvel,” you breathed, reaching for him.

He knelt between your legs, pushing your skirt up around your waist. He didn’t bother with your underwear, simply tore the fragile lace aside. The cool air hit your soaked folds, and you flinched. He looked down at you, exposed and quivering on the TARDIS floor, and his expression softened for a heartbeat before being consumed by raw need.

“First,” he said, lowering his head. “A taste of my own experiment.”

His mouth was on you, his tongue delving into the slick heat he’d created. He lapped at you, drinking you in with the same focused intensity he’d used on your breasts. One hand held your hip down, the other slipped under you, fingers pressing firmly against the base of your spine. He knew your anatomy better than you did. His tongue found your clit and circled it, flicked it, then sucked it gently between his lips.

You cried out, back arching off the grating. The sensations from your breasts and your cunt merged into one roaring river of pleasure. He worked you with his mouth, relentless, until your thighs began to shake and a tight, coiling pressure screamed for release.

“I… I’m gonna…”

“Yes,” he commanded against your flesh, his voice vibrating through you. “Now. Come for me.”

It broke over you, a crashing, white-hot wave. You screamed, your body bowing as a gush of fluid, more than you’d ever produced, splashed against his chin and chest. You squirted, the orgasm wringing you out, leaving you gasping and boneless.

But he wasn’t done.

As the last pulses faded, he moved up your body, his thick, heavy cock dragging through your wetness, notching at your entrance. He kissed you again, deeply, and you could taste yourself and the faint, sweet hint of your milk on his tongue. It was shockingly intimate, filthy and perfect.

“Again,” he whispered, breaking the kiss. “I want you to come again. While I’m inside you.”

He pressed forward.

The stretch was immense, breathtaking. You cried out into his mouth as he filled you, an inexorable, stretching invasion that made you feel impossibly full. He had to go slowly, letting your body adjust to the overwhelming girth, his own breath coming in ragged pants against your neck.

“So perfect,” he gritted out. “Taking me so well. My brilliant wife.”

When he was fully sheathed, he paused, letting you feel every throbbing inch of him. Then he began to move. Not a frantic pace, but deep, rolling thrusts that hit a spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. His hands slid under you, around your waist, lifting your hips just so, angling you perfectly to take every inch of him.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his own control fraying. “Feel it. Feel everything.”

The friction, the fullness, the memory of his mouth on your breasts, the taste of him in your mouth—it all coalesced. Another orgasm, sharper than the first, began to climb. You clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

“Doctor, I can’t… it’s too much…”

“It’s never too much,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. “Give it to me. Let go.”

He captured your lips again, swallowing your cries as the second climax detonated. This one was deeper, a rolling, internal quake that milked his cock and sent another hot rush of fluid seeping out around where you were joined. Your body convulsed, a series of helpless, exquisite spasms that had him groaning into your mouth.

“One more,” he panted, his rhythm becoming erratic, brutal. “Come with me. Now.”

His thrusts turned frantic, pounding into that ravaged, sensitive spot. The overstimulation tipped into a third, shocking peak, a bright, shattering burst of pleasure that felt like it was in your very bones. You felt him swell even further inside you, then the hot, pulsing flood of his release.

He collapsed on top of you, his forehead resting on yours, both of you breathing in ragged, shared gasps. The TARDIS hummed around you, a contented witness.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Tik Tock Goes The Clock.

Isaac night x immortal female reader

Tw/cw: grotesque imagery of resurrection, the agony of immortality.

The silence had teeth.

You had lived with it gnawing at your ears, your mind, your soul for twenty-five years. Not silence like a quiet night, but silence that pressed in on every side, a suffocating weight, smothering the memory of air, of light, of sound.

You had not died.

Your flesh refused it. Even after the explosion tore you apart—bones shattered, skin melted, your blood turned to ash—the curse of your body had worked to rebuild. Slow, too slow. The damage was too great, the healing dragged out over decades. While others rotted to dust, you lingered in that coffin, buried beneath the Skull Tree, half-regrown, half-decayed, trapped in eternal dark.

At first, you had been too weak to move. You had lain there with worms threading through the hollows of your ribs, with roots cracking your sternum as they sought water in your chest. You felt everything. Your nerves, regrowing before muscle, left you in screaming silence, unable to claw but able to feel the gnaw of beetles against your marrow.

You tried to bite your tongue, to choke on it, to force the mercy of death. But it healed. It always healed.

Years passed.

When your arms were whole enough, you began clawing. Your nails split, peeled back, and grew again. You beat your fists bloody on the coffin lid until your wrists snapped like dry twigs, then reset themselves crooked, then snapped again. Dirt sifted into your wounds. You drank it. You breathed soil until it became a part of you.

You lost count after ten years.

When the coffin finally cracked, it was not triumph but rage that filled you. You tore upward, through the filth and rot of thirty years. Your head broke the surface, and night air poured in—cold, wet, cruel. You screamed. It was not joy, but a jagged cry of something dragged out of hell.

You collapsed onto the earth, heaving though your lungs did not need breath. Mud caked your body, blood streaked your arms in blackened smears. Your fingers dangled broken at odd angles, still twitching from the frantic clawing.

The Skull Tree loomed overhead, pale in the moonlight, branches crooked like the bones of a giant’s hand. The place smelled of damp rot, and you with it.

That was when you heard it.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Soft, muffled, almost mistaken for the insect-chitter of the night. But no—it was rhythmic, steady, wrong.

You froze. The sound came from beneath the tree.

Madness and hope tangled inside you. You crawled on hands that were little more than flayed muscle and shattered bone, dragging yourself to the roots. You dug with fingers that bled anew, splitting to the bone. Your knuckles popped as you forced them through stones, through roots, until you found it.

A heart.

Not flesh, not human. A heart of brass and glass, its tiny gears still grinding, its pendulum swinging, ticking. For twenty-five years, it had ticked here in the dirt, patient, waiting.

Isaac’s heart.

The boy you had loved. The boy who had died with you.

You pressed the heart to your own chest, sobbing. The steady tick echoed against your ribs, a sound more alive than your own silence.

“If your heart’s here,” you rasped through a throat scraped raw, “...then you are too.”

The dirt swallowed your words, but you answered them yourself: you dug.

You tore the ground apart. Your fingertips snapped off at the first joint, regrew, and snapped again. Your arms flayed open from wrist to elbow, exposing tendon and vein as you ripped at the earth like an animal.

And at last—wood. Another coffin.

You ripped it open, and the stench hit you first. Not of rot. Of preservation. A wrong stillness, as though death had passed him by. Isaac lay within, his skin pale but not decayed, his lips faintly blue, his body perfect as the day you’d last seen it, except for the hollow in his chest where his clock heart had once beat.

Your stomach lurched. This was not natural. Nothing about this was natural.

But still—you dragged him out. His limbs flopped heavy, dead weight against your lap. You laid him on the grass beneath the Skull Tree, brushing dirt from his cheek with a trembling, blood-slicked hand. His lashes were still long, still delicate, shadows against his white skin.

The heart ticked in your palm.

Your own hands shook violently as you pressed it back into the cavity of his chest. The brass gears fit with a sickening click, sinking into flesh that did not bleed. The heart twitched, shuddered, then spun to life with a shriek of grinding metal.

Isaac’s body convulsed. His back arched so hard his spine cracked. His mouth yawned open in a soundless scream as air, rancid with thirty years of earth, tore from his lungs. His eyes shot open—glowing gray, feral, seeing nothing.

He gasped, heaved, clawed at the dirt as if he too were trapped beneath it. And then his gaze locked on you.

You expected horror. Disgust.

Instead—recognition.

“Y/N…?” His voice was ruined, gravel dragged over glass.

You broke, sobbing so hard you nearly collapsed over him. “Isaac.”

His trembling hand reached up, fingertips skimming your cheek. His nails scraped blood and filth, but his touch was reverent. His eyes widened, wild and awed.

“You’re…still seventeen,” he whispered. “Not a day changed. As if…”

You shook your head, tears dripping onto his chest. “I don’t age. I don’t die. I stayed alive in that box, Isaac. I felt every second. Every worm. Every root tearing me open. I screamed until my throat split. Thirty years.”

His expression fractured. He pulled you against him with trembling arms, his grip both desperate and tender. His chest rattled with the tick of the heart inside, uneven, wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into your hair. “God, Y/N, I should have—should have been with you, should have…”

“No,” you hissed. Your teeth caught on a sob. “We died together. But my body wouldn’t let me go. It made me live through it. Made me remember every second.”

He leaned back, cupping your ruined face in his hands. His gray eyes gleamed with grief and awe.

“You brought me back,” he whispered. “You clawed your way out of death itself…for me.”

“I couldn’t leave you in the dark,” you rasped. “Not when your heart was still beating. Not when you were waiting.”

His lips trembled. Slowly, he smiled—a smile cracked with pain but radiant all the same.

“My immortal girl,” he said, voice breaking. “My miracle of rot and blood.”

You laughed, a choked, ugly sound, and pressed your forehead to his. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“And yet,” he murmured, his breath sour with earth, “here we are.”

The night air hung heavy with damp soil, with the scent of something wrenched from the grave too soon—or too late. The Skull Tree loomed above like a sentinel, its branches clutching at the stars.

Isaac’s body trembled as he sat fully upright. His movements were jerky, wrong, like a puppet yanked back into motion. The ticking inside him echoed in the silence. His gaze roved over you, tracing every line of your bloodied, unaging face.

“You look the same as the night we died,” he whispered. “But stronger. Hungrier. You clawed through death itself.”

“I’d do it again,” you swore, your voice raw. “I’d crawl through fire, through worms, through eternity itself.”

He kissed you then, sudden, desperate, his lips cold but alive, tasting of earth and metal. You clung to him, half in love, half in horror. His heart ticked wildly against your chest, mechanical and relentless.

When he pulled back, his smile was feverish. “What now? The world’s forgotten us. It’s moved on.”

You looked at the graves, at the soil you’d clawed through, at the faint lights of Nevermore glowing in the distance. The years yawned like a chasm behind you.

“We take it back,” you said. “The world, the time they stole from us.”

Isaac’s grin sharpened. His gray eyes glowed like stormlight. He pressed his hand over yours, over the ticking in his chest.

“Together?”

“Always.”

The Skull Tree groaned in the wind above, its roots twisted with graves. The ground stank of old death. But beneath it, two creatures who should have rotted held each other close, not alive, not dead—immortal and terrible, bound by love and the grave.

And for the first time in thirty years, you were not alone.

[marsi-is-depressed]

I Waited.

Isaac Night x fem! beloved reader

The Skull Tree loomed against the cold Nevermore sky, roots twisting like skeletal fingers clawing through the earth. Isaac Night stood beneath it, his reconstructed chest clicking and whirring, each tick of his mechanical heart reminding him of the decades he had lost. Thirty years. Thirty years since fire and betrayal tore everything from him — his sister, his inventions, and most of all… you.

You had died in the same nightmarish chaos that had consumed him. His memory of your last breath haunted him more vividly than his own death. The softness of your voice, the way your hand had clutched his as the world burned, the whispered promise you never got to keep. He had carried that ghost with him into the dark silence of the grave.

Until now.

The rituals, the forbidden alchemy, the science that straddled the line between madness and devotion — Isaac had devoted all of it to one purpose: to bring you back. He had tasted rebirth himself, pulled screaming from the earth by accident, stitched together by hunger and regret. But now he had the power to grant you the same.

He knelt beside the soil where your body lay hidden, the same place he had returned to day after day since he had returned from the grave beside her, whispering to bones. His fingers trembled as he brushed the dirt away, revealing fragments of you. Your name lingered on his tongue, soft and desperate.

“Y/N… my love. I’ve waited too long.”

When you stirred, when your body shivered and your eyes fluttered open for the first time in three decades, they were clouded, feral, and hungry. Not you yet. Not the woman who had once pressed her forehead against his and vowed to stand by him against the world.

Isaac knew what had to be done.

From within his satchel, he withdrew the offering — the thing that had allowed him to crawl back from death’s embrace. A glistening brain, stolen in secrecy. He cradled it in one hand, and with the other, he brushed dirt and tangled hair from your lips.

“Eat,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Please. I’ll feed you until you remember me. Until you’re whole again.”

You obeyed at first like an animal, gnashing, trembling. Isaac held you steady, murmuring soft words, the same way he once soothed you during sleepless nights. With every bite, every offering, clarity flickered across your face.

Your eyes locked on his mechanical chest, the steady tick-tick-tick that had replaced his weak heart. Recognition sparked, faint but there.

“...Isaac?” Your voice cracked, broken but real.

His breath hitched. Tears he thought his body could no longer make welled in his eyes. He pressed his forehead against yours, just like before, though now your lips were stained scarlet and his fingers shook with both dread and devotion.

“Yes,” he whispered. “It’s me. It’s always been me. I’ve waited… gods, I’ve waited.”

Your hands — still trembling, still half-dead — reached up and cupped his jaw. The mechanical heart inside his chest stuttered, skipped. For the first time in thirty years, Isaac Night felt alive.

“I’ll never lose you again,” he swore, clutching you to him. “I’ll feed you, I’ll keep you, I’ll do whatever it takes. We’ll be eternal, Y/N. Together. Even if the world burns for it.”

The Skull Tree shivered in the wind, its roots groaning. The night was silent except for the rhythm of Isaac’s clockwork heart and the ragged breaths of the woman he had torn back from death itself.

And for the first time since that cursed explosion, Isaac Night smiled.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Timeless Echoes

The TARDIS hummed gently as it spun through the vastness of the universe, the noise a comforting and familiar backdrop to the chaotic life of adventure. Inside, time itself seemed to bend, flowing in a way that could never be captured by any mere clock. It had been this way for centuries now, and to Y/N, her life with the Doctor felt as though it was both an eternity and a heartbeat in one.

Y/N and the Doctor had been together for 700 years, their love a constant, ever-evolving force in their shared journey through space and time. In all that time, they'd never stopped discovering new things about each other, nor had their passion for one another ever waned. The Doctor, in his eternal form, had lived so many lives, but with Y/N, he always returned to himself, to the parts of him that were timeless, that belonged to her alone.

Tonight, however, was one of those rare, peaceful moments. The TARDIS had landed on a quiet planet with no immediate dangers, just a simple night of rest. The Doctor had insisted they spend time together, away from the usual chaos and adventure. So, after a long day of laughter and exploration, the couple retreated to Y/N’s chambers—a room that felt like a world of its own, warm and filled with soft lighting and elegant time-locked décor.

The walls of the TARDIS were always alive with whispers of forgotten histories, the space itself echoing with voices of the past. But tonight, there was a special kind of quiet. The Doctor and Y/N were alone—or so they thought.

As they settled in, their clothes shed in the blink of an eye, both of them found themselves basking in the joy of simply being. The Doctor, with his eternal curiosity and boyish grin, was completely captivated by his wife, as he always was. He adored every curve of her form, every little movement she made, as though each one was a piece of a grand, beautiful puzzle. Y/N, for her part, couldn't stop gazing at him, the light of her own heart reflected in the warmth of her eyes.

“Are you sure about this, love?” the Doctor whispered with a playful smile, his voice low and filled with mischief. “The Ponds are just next door, after all.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a mischievous grin creeping onto her face. "Are you embarrassed, my dear Doctor?" she teased, her hands sliding across his chest.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. "Not embarrassed, no. Just... cautious. They might not appreciate the sounds that come with certain... activities."

At this, Y/N chuckled softly, her lips brushing against his as she pulled him closer. "Let them hear. We’re both adults. And it’s not as though they’ve never heard... strange things aboard the TARDIS before."

The Doctor’s breath caught as Y/N's hands explored further, igniting a familiar warmth within him. The Doctor's usual restraint began to slip away as the years of companionship, love, and desire between them blurred into an undeniable intensity. It had always been like this for them—an endless, passionate connection. Y/N knew how to keep the Doctor grounded, to make him feel things he’d forgotten were possible, even as he so often got caught up in the rush of adventure.

But what neither of them had noticed was that the Ponds, Amy and Rory, were just on the other side of the wall. Their own rooms, while separate, were close enough that the sounds of the TARDIS could carry. The Ponds had, in fact, stayed up a little later than usual, curious about the absence of their friend, the Doctor. They had decided to retire to their own chambers, though not without their own playful banter in the corridors.

However, the unexpected sounds from next door quickly piqued their curiosity. At first, it was the faintest murmur—just the rustling of sheets, an occasional giggle—but then it became unmistakable.

Amy shot a glance at Rory, raising an eyebrow. “Do you hear that?”

Rory groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I do. And I’m really not sure I needed to.”

“Come on,” Amy whispered, her voice teasing, “They’ve been married for centuries, you know. You can’t blame them for a little... private time.”

“I don’t mind that part,” Rory muttered. “It’s just the sounds... We’re practically right next door.”

There was a long pause before Amy gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine, we’re not gonna be able to sleep through this. We should just—"

Another, louder sound interrupted her. A noise unmistakably of the Doctor and Y/N’s affectionate nature, echoed through the walls.

Rory winced. “I’m just going to pretend this isn’t happening.”

“I wish I could,” Amy replied dryly. “But I’ll be honest, it’s kind of funny. They’re like teenagers, even after all these years.”

Meanwhile, back in Y/N's chamber, the Doctor had surrendered completely to the moment, his hands gently pulling Y/N closer, as their shared laughter and soft, intimate whispers filled the room. Neither of them noticed the Ponds’ discomfort—or perhaps they simply didn’t care.

Y/N’s breath hitched as the Doctor’s lips found their way to her neck, trailing soft kisses that left a heat in their wake. "You always make me feel like the universe is mine to conquer," she whispered breathlessly, her fingers tangling in his wild hair.

"That's because it is," the Doctor murmured, pressing a final kiss against her skin. "And so are you."

The moment deepened, and the world outside seemed to blur as the couple shared the timeless connection that had always been the heart of their marriage. A connection that no time or distance could ever sever.

Outside their chambers, Amy and Rory lay awake in their own quiet chambers, the sounds of the Doctor and Y/N’s intimate exchange still echoing in their ears.

Amy chuckled softly. "Well, it’s not like we didn't know what they were like."

“I really wish I didn’t know this much,” Rory groaned, his face red. “But it’s... it’s the Doctor. And I guess I’ll never get used to him having a wife.”

Amy snickered again, then shrugged. “Maybe we should let them be. They deserve this. After 700 years, I think they’ve earned a bit of peace... even if it is loud peace.”

As Y/N and the Doctor's passion deepened, the once-soft sounds that had escaped their chamber now became unmistakable. Every sigh, every soft gasp, every low moan reverberated through the walls with an intensity neither of them had fully realized.

Y/N's hands roamed, fingers tracing patterns on the Doctor's skin as the heat between them grew. Her breath quickened, her body responding to his every touch, and the sound of her increasing pleasure filled the air.

"Oh... Doctor," she breathed, her voice growing louder, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with the rush of her heart. "You make me feel so—"

Her words faltered as another soft moan left her lips, echoing in the quiet of the room, growing louder with every movement.

Back in the next room, Amy and Rory were both lying wide awake, trying to ignore the unmistakable noises coming from the room beside them. Amy was quiet, her face a mixture of amusement and mild embarrassment, her eyes wide as she stared at the ceiling.

Rory, however, had no such restraint. He sat up abruptly, his face turning a shade of crimson as another loud, almost breathless sound from Y/N broke the silence.

“Ugh, oh my—” Rory groaned, pressing his palms hard against his ears, his face twisted in discomfort. “Ew, ew, ew!”

Amy bit her lip, fighting back a laugh. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. You knew they were married, right? Married for 700 years.”

Rory gave her a horrified look, still desperately trying to block out the noise. “That doesn’t make it less weird. It’s the Doctor. And Y/N.” He shuddered at the thought, throwing himself back onto the bed with a huff. “Why is it always so loud when it’s them?”

“I don’t know,” Amy admitted with a chuckle, shaking her head. “But it’s kind of... endearing in its own way, isn’t it? I mean, they’ve been through so much together, and yet they still have this spark. It’s... it's nice.”

"Nice?!" Rory repeated, his hands still over his ears. “How is this nice? This is not how I imagined our nights would go after traveling with the Doctor.”

Amy snorted, unable to keep a straight face. "Get used to it. It's the TARDIS, Rory. It's always a bit... chaotic."

But Rory wasn’t done. Another loud moan from Y/N’s side made him freeze again, this time groaning loudly and tossing a pillow over his head in defeat. “I’m just... going to pretend I didn’t hear anything and hope it ends soon,” he muttered, still cringing.

Amy just shook her head in exasperation, though she couldn't wipe the smile off her face. “Poor Rory... You’re never going to escape the Doctor's adventures in any form, are you?”

As the sounds continued to fill the TARDIS, the Doctor and Y/N remained blissfully unaware of the chaos they were inadvertently causing just next door. The love between them, so deep and timeless, only grew stronger, as though the years and the distance between the two hearts had melted into one single, continuous beat.

The Ponds tried—and failed—to ignore the sounds from the next room, they couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

The tension in the room next door was thick with anticipation, and as Y/N took a deep breath, her confidence surged. She wasn’t going to let this moment slip away, not when she had the Doctor so completely by her side. He had been the one to always lead them on adventures, but tonight, she would take control, and she would make sure he remembered this night, this moment, forever.

Y/N’s hands slid down his chest, her fingers lingering along the edges of his ribcage before she gently pushed him back, urging him to lie on the bed beneath her. The Doctor’s eyes widened, surprised by the sudden shift in the dynamic, but he quickly gave in, the trust between them unwavering.

"You know, love," Y/N murmured, her voice low and sultry as she straddled him. "As much as I love it when you take the lead, sometimes it's my turn."

The Doctor's breath hitched, a mixture of curiosity and excitement filling his eyes as he watched her. "I didn’t think you needed my permission for anything, Mrs. Time Lord," he replied with a grin, but the teasing tone was gone, replaced by a deep sense of admiration.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled, her movements growing bolder. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "You’re right, I don’t need permission. I’m just going to show you how much I’ve learned in all these years."

As she took control, the room filled with the sounds of her actions—whispers of her soft moans, the sound of her lips against his, and the way she moved, in rhythm with a confidence that only came from years of loving and being loved in return. Each of her movements was deliberate, calculated, and intoxicating, and it sent shockwaves through both her and the Doctor, the intensity rising between them.

Meanwhile, in the room next door, Amy and Rory were utterly shocked, staring at the ceiling as the sounds from the adjacent chamber grew even louder. Amy could barely suppress her laughter, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel a little... impressed.

“What... what is happening over there?” Rory gasped, his face still bright red as he sat up again, struggling to keep his mind away from the sounds now practically echoing in their own room.

“I think we’ve crossed into a whole new level of... TARDIS awkwardness,” Amy whispered, her wide eyes never leaving the ceiling. "I didn’t know that was even possible between them."

Rory was almost in a state of disbelief, his hands trembling as he buried his face in his palms. “I thought they were just a couple. But now it sounds like... like this...”

Amy turned her head slowly toward him, arching an eyebrow. “You thought? Did you honestly think they were just holding hands and sharing stories in their room, Rory? They've been together for centuries. You really think it was all chaste?”

Rory shot her a look of pure exasperation. “I... I don’t know! I guess I didn’t think about it! It’s just... they’ve been so refined about things around us before.”

“Refined?” Amy asked with a raised eyebrow. “You’re really calling them ‘refined’ right now?”

Rory groaned, shoving the pillow over his head again as if trying to drown out the noise. “Why does it have to be so loud?”

But Amy, despite the discomfort, was starting to appreciate the deep, undeniable connection that the Doctor and Y/N shared. She gave a soft, almost wistful sigh. "It’s... kind of beautiful, isn’t it? They’ve been through so much, but they still have this... energy. Like it’s still new for them. They’re a bit like... like a couple of kids in love."

Rory didn’t answer right away, but he was starting to begrudgingly agree. Sure, the noises were... uncomfortable to say the least, but the Doctor and Y/N’s bond was undeniable, and it was something that had survived countless timelines and impossible situations. Maybe, just maybe, the TARDIS had its own magic that made the extraordinary extra intense.

Just then, the wall between the rooms shook slightly as another louder moan from Y/N echoed through. Rory, in sheer embarrassment, shouted, “I CAN’T! PLEASE, CAN’T THEY JUST...?”

But Amy, unfazed now, simply turned to look at him with an amused smirk. “You know, Rory, I think at this point... we’re going to have to let them have their fun.”

Rory glanced at her, horrified. “Let them? No one is letting them anything! I didn’t sign up for a front-row seat to this.”

But it wasn’t just Rory who was in shock. Amy, despite herself, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sounds of the Doctor and Y/N’s unrestrained connection. It was raw. It was real. It was something only they could share.

Meanwhile, back in Y/N's room, the Doctor’s breath hitched once more as his wife continued to take control, guiding them with a boldness he hadn’t seen in a while. Her every movement sent waves of pleasure rippling through him, and the deep connection they shared only grew stronger with every second.

"Y/N..." the Doctor groaned, his voice full of awe as he held onto her, his hands grazing her skin with a tenderness that matched the intensity of the moment. "I had no idea..."

Y/N’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “I’m full of surprises, my love,” she whispered, her voice dripping with playful confidence. “And tonight, I intend to show you just how much.”

The night was a slow dance of passion, each of them moving together in perfect harmony, but just as Y/N’s confidence had reached its peak, the Doctor’s hand found its place at her waist, his touch possessive yet tender. His eyes glinted with that familiar spark of mischief, and before she could fully comprehend what was happening, he flipped their positions, his actions swift and sure.

Y/N gasped, her breath catching as he expertly maneuvered them, his strength taking over as he leaned down, placing soft, teasing kisses on her neck. “You’re adorable when you take control,” he murmured against her skin, his voice full of warmth and playful teasing. “But let me remind you who’s the one who’s been around for several lifetimes.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, a mixture of shock and excitement dancing across her face. She could see the familiar mischievous glint in his eyes as he took her by the wrists, pinning them to the bed with a firmness that sent a thrill coursing through her body. The Doctor wasn’t rough, not at all, but his power was unmistakable. The room seemed to shrink around them as he kissed her deeply, completely in control now.

The sudden change in momentum caught Y/N off guard, but the desire in her heart only flared hotter. As the Doctor slowly moved with purpose, his lips trailing over her skin, she couldn’t help but let out a series of louder moans. She had long since lost herself to him, to their connection, to the magic of the moment. Every brush of his lips, every movement of his hands, only heightened her pleasure.

“Doctor... ohh, yes,” Y/N’s voice grew louder, more urgent, her breath ragged as she arched into him, the tension rising between them, impossible to ignore.

On the other side of the wall, Amy and Rory, once curious, were now trapped in an awkward and intense silence. Rory, however, was not as amused as his wife. His face was a shade of red that could rival a tomato, and his hands were once again pressed firmly over his ears, but the sounds from the next room were far too loud to escape.

“Oh no,” Rory groaned, his head sinking back into his pillow as if trying to retreat into the fabric of the TARDIS itself. “I can’t... I can’t...”

Another loud moan—one that echoed through the walls—caused Rory to sit bolt upright, his face a perfect picture of pure disgust. “Please, not again,” he muttered. “I thought we were done with this.”

Amy turned to him, biting back a grin. “You really are going to have to learn to live with this. They’re... married, Rory. They’ve been together for centuries. You think they’re just going to stop?”

Rory shot her an incredulous look. “I’m not complaining about them being married! It’s just the sounds. Why does it have to be so... loud?”

“Because,” Amy said, settling back into her pillow with a slight chuckle, “the Doctor and Y/N have passion. Have you noticed how good they are together? They’re like... well, like a couple of teenagers who never stop falling in love.”

Rory looked at her, horrified. “Do not compare them to teenagers! I can’t handle it.”

Just then, a particularly loud sound from the next room had Rory squeezing his eyes shut in sheer mortification. He couldn’t help himself; his body shuddered as he pressed the pillow over his face, trying to block out the echoing moans that seemed to seep through the walls. The noises were getting louder, more urgent, as if Y/N and the Doctor were no longer aware of the walls that separated them, as if they had forgotten—or perhaps, didn’t care—that anyone else existed.

“Ughh, please!” Rory nearly shouted into the pillow, his voice muffled but full of genuine distress. “It’s everywhere! I’m done. I can’t take it!”

Amy, trying to keep a straight face, turned toward him with a sympathetic look. "I told you the TARDIS has a way of making things... interesting. Just wait for the next adventure. You’ll be fine."

Rory’s eyes were wide, and his face was still flushed. “I’m just... I’m done.” He groaned loudly, staring at the ceiling as if he could will the noise away.

Meanwhile, Y/N, in her own chamber, was nearing the edge of something—something that made her body tremble and pulse with anticipation. The Doctor was in control, guiding her toward the brink with his every movement. Each of her loud gasps and moans sent shockwaves through her as she reached a new height of bliss.

“Doctor...,” she whimpered as her body quivered in response to his touch. “Oh... Doctor...”

Her voice grew even louder, as if no one else existed, as if the universe itself was holding its breath. Her back arched, and the walls of the TARDIS seemed to resonate with her energy, vibrating with the passion shared between them.

In the room next door, Rory, whose face was still buried in the pillow, felt his whole body tense, and he gave a low, muffled groan. "Nope, nope, nope, this is too much," he muttered desperately.

Amy turned on her side, now genuinely laughing under her breath. “You might want to learn to tune it out, love. It’s just the Doctor and Y/N being... well, the Doctor and Y/N.”

But the sounds only seemed to intensify, becoming an undeniable soundtrack to their night. Y/N’s voice—louder now, as she gave herself entirely to the moment—echoed through the TARDIS like a melody of pure, unfiltered pleasure.

And Rory, utterly mortified and defeated, muttered, “That’s it, I’m going to sleep in the corridor.”

[marsi-is-depressed]

Twenty-Five Minutes Too Long

The TARDIS hummed beneath her fingertips, the soft thrum of its ancient heart matching the rhythm of her own. Or… hearts, rather.

Y/N leaned back on the cool rail near the console, legs swinging slightly as she watched her father with the glowing eyes of awe and amusement. The Doctor was mid-rant — bowtie crooked, hair ruffled, gesturing wildly at Amy and Rory as he explained, for the sixth time, why the weapon they were about to retrieve couldn’t fall into the wrong hands.

River stood beside the monitor, fingers laced over her holstered blaster, eyes trained not on the Doctor but on Y/N.

Y/N looked like him — not exactly, not quite — but the fire behind her eyes, the shine of curiosity, the way her body moved like time itself… That was unmistakable. She had his defiance. Her intelligence. She was their daughter, born of two Time Lords. Two hearts. One legacy.

And today, that legacy was about to be tested.

“Right, gang!” the Doctor announced, yanking a lever and spinning around the console like it was a ballroom. “Destination: Tharos IX. Deadly alien weapon. Intergalactic peace treaty on the brink of collapse. If we don’t find this thing, Earth will be—”

“Dust. You said that already.” Amy raised a brow.

“Yes, well, it bears repeating! Dust isn’t very pleasant. Gets everywhere.”

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately. “So what’s the plan?”

“You, me, River — stealth team. Amy, Rory — crowd distraction. Try not to get vaporized. If anyone offers you snacks, say no.”

“Gee, thanks for the faith,” Rory mumbled.

Y/N pushed off the railing and joined her father at the console. “And me? What do I do?”

“You stick close. Very close. Don’t touch anything that glows, bites, or hums.”

“You do realize you’re glowing and humming right now.”

“Exactly.” The Doctor grinned at her. “Which means I know what I’m talking about.”

River smirked and holstered her blaster. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll be watching her.”

“I wasn’t worried. I’m never worried. Worrying is for amateurs.”

Amy leaned over to Rory and whispered, “He’s worried.”

Tharos IX was cold and dense, with skies like smoked glass and buildings that pierced the air like broken bones. The weapon — dubbed the Veil — was hidden deep beneath the surface, behind tunnels of light-sensitive rock and pulse-locked doors. It hummed with dormant power, waiting to be awakened.

They split up per the plan. Y/N stuck to her father's side like glue. River flanked them with her blaster drawn. Everything was smooth, quiet.

Until it wasn’t.

They reached the vault chamber where the weapon had last been detected. The Doctor’s screwdriver lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Got it. It’s in there,” he said softly. “Just a few more minutes and—”

“Wait.” River’s voice dropped, sharp. “Where’s Y/N?”

The Doctor turned. His hearts dropped.

She wasn’t there.

“Y/N?” His voice echoed down the stone hallway. “Y/N!”

No answer.

“Sweetie,” River said, urgency in her voice. “You were talking to her just now. She was right behind you.”

“She’s gone. She—she was here! I was talking, she nodded, I—”

Suddenly, over the comms, Amy’s voice crackled. “Doctor. Something’s wrong. We’ve got movement. Not human.”

And then—

A scream.

A child’s scream.

It was hers.

They found her minutes later, in a chamber adjacent to the vault, surrounded by three towering alien sentinels cloaked in metal armor, their skin a sickly shade of rusted silver. Their eyes glowed like coals. Y/N sat on her knees, arms bound behind her, tape over her mouth, a bruise forming on her forearm where she had clearly been grabbed too hard.

The Doctor’s hearts nearly stopped.

“Let her go,” he said, voice cold and cutting. “Right now.”

The lead alien — a Vorthak, judging by the crown-like spines curling from his skull — stepped forward.

“Give us the weapon, Time Lord,” it rasped, “and you get your offspring back.”

The Doctor hesitated. “There must be another way.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. She shook her head violently. Muffled sounds pressed past the tape. Her entire body strained as she tried to twist free.

“No,” the Doctor whispered, eyes locked on hers. “No, no, no—don’t. Please, I’m thinking.”

“Doctor—” River warned.

The Vorthak didn’t wait.

It pulled a blade — sleek and jagged like fractured obsidian — and plunged it into Y/N’s side.

She screamed into the tape.

“No!” River screamed, firing.

The aliens scattered in chaos, but the one holding Y/N stabbed again. And again. Red bloomed on her tunic. Her tiny frame trembled, wracked with pain. She was dropped, shoved roughly to the floor.

“Y/N!” the Doctor yelled.

Rory lunged forward, only to be knocked back by a pulse blast that singed his shoulder. Amy screamed his name, dragging him back.

The Doctor skidded to her side, hands shaking as he turned her over.

She was bleeding. So much. Too much. Her eyes fluttered, then closed.

“Y/N, no, no—please, please, stay with me!”

River screamed and opened fire, emptying her blaster into the alien flank until the chamber filled with smoke and silence.

The Doctor scooped Y/N into his arms, her blood soaking into his jacket, and sprinted back to the TARDIS.

The doors slammed behind him with a thunderous whoosh.

“Med bay, med bay, med bay—hold on, starlight, hold on—” he begged, barreling through the halls.

The TARDIS lights flickered in distress, guiding him with every turn.

The med bay’s doors opened just as he kicked them with his foot, laying Y/N down on the sterile white bed.

River appeared beside him, panting, gun still smoking. Her hands were bloodied too — not hers. Y/N’s.

“She’s still breathing,” River whispered, voice shaking.

“Her hearts — they’re failing. I need—” He grabbed the med scanner, eyes flicking back and forth as he activated the life support stabilizer. “Come on, sweetheart. Just hang on. You’re strong. You’re my girl, remember?”

He worked fast — faster than he ever had — stitching each wound, one after another, until his own fingers bled from pressure. River handed him vials, gauze, medical sealant, adrenaline.

But it wasn’t enough.

Y/N flatlined.

“No, no—nononono!” the Doctor slammed the override. “Not you. Never you!”

He pounded a fist against the chest monitor and activated the dual-heart defibrillator.

One jolt. Two. Three.

The monitor beeped once. Then again. Rhythm returning.

She was alive.

But she didn’t wake.

Hours passed.

The Doctor never left her side.

River cleaned the blood from her hair and tucked a blanket up to her chin. Amy sat with Rory in the console room, both pale and shaken, but alive.

The Doctor sat beside Y/N now, hunched over with his head in his hands.

“She’s so small,” he whispered. “She’s never been this still.”

River stood behind him, hand on his shoulder. “She’ll wake up.”

“I should’ve been watching her.”

“You can’t blame yourself—”

“She’s my daughter. I brought her into this. Gave her two hearts. Taught her to run. Taught her to fight. But I never taught her how not to be brave.”

His voice cracked.

River knelt beside him, leaning her forehead to his.

“She gets that from both of us.”

“She tried to escape, River. Even bleeding. Even bound. She still fought.”

River closed her eyes. “That’s our girl.”

He looked at Y/N’s face, pale and unmoving, lashes fluttering in some far-off dream.

He took her small hand in both of his.

“Come back, starlight,” he whispered. “The universe isn’t half as bright without you.”

The TARDIS hummed softly, a gentle heartbeat against the cold tension in the air. The med bay lights were dimmer now, per the Doctor’s request. Y/N needed rest. Her tiny body lay motionless, wrapped in pale sheets, one arm bandaged from shoulder to elbow, her torso rising and falling with shallow, delicate breaths.

The Doctor hadn’t moved in hours.

He sat by her side, his bowtie askew, his jacket long discarded. Blood—hers—still painted the cuffs of his sleeves. One hand held hers; the other hovered just above her brow, not quite touching, as if he could will the pain away.

River leaned silently in the doorway. Amy sat on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest, Rory by her side. None of them spoke.

Then it happened.

A tremor.

Barely perceptible—but the Doctor noticed it. Y/N's fingers twitched in his grip. His eyes shot to her face.

"Y/N?" he whispered, leaning forward.

But then her back arched.

Her body seized violently, both hearts skipping into chaos. The vitals monitor let out a wailing screech.

“No, no, no—” the Doctor leapt to the controls, scanning. “Come on, sweetheart, stay with me—!”

Her convulsions grew more violent. Her head snapped to the side. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

"What’s happening to her?" Amy cried out, on her feet now.

“She’s dying,” River said sharply. “She’s dying again.”

“No,” the Doctor growled. “Not again. I just got her back!”

The monitor flatlined.

Both hearts.

The Doctor froze. For a second, he didn’t move. Then he was sprinting—tearing open drawers, grabbing the defibrillator pads.

“Doctor, y/n is our daughter, she’s a Time Lord,” River said gently, stepping closer. “It’s her time.”

“She’s a child!” the Doctor snapped. “She shouldn’t even need a regeneration for another century—!”

He pressed the defib pads to her chest. Nothing. No pulse. No flicker. Just a pale, lifeless girl stretched across the bed.

The TARDIS dimmed. The room grew quieter. Colder.

Y/N was gone.

Minutes passed. Five. Ten. The Doctor didn’t move. His hands stayed clenched around hers, his forehead pressed to her wrist. Silent tears tracked down his cheeks.

“I should have taken the deal,” he whispered hoarsely. “I should’ve given them the weapon. I should have—”

But then—

A pulse of golden light surged through the room.

Her body jerked.

“Doctor—!” Amy gasped, stepping back.

Regeneration energy erupted from Y/N’s fingertips, her mouth, her chest—golden and glowing, furious and wild. The lights flickered. The TARDIS rumbled beneath their feet.

“She’s regenerating—” Rory said.

“Yes,” River murmured. “But… look at her.”

The Doctor raised his head. His eyes, red and wet, widened.

Y/N’s features… weren’t changing.

Usually, a regeneration was violent. Messy. Everything from hair to height to voice could change. But as the energy burned through her body, searing through cells and bones—Y/N remained Y/N.

Same soft brown eyes, same wavy hair.

But as the light died away, her body fell still once more.

The silence returned.

The Doctor rushed forward, kneeling beside her.

Her skin had color again. Her pulse—thready but there.

She was alive.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “Can you hear me? Please…”

She stirred. Her brow furrowed. Her lashes fluttered—then slowly opened.

“Dad…?”

He let out a choked breath and pulled her into his arms instantly, holding her like the world might shatter again if he didn’t.

“You’re alright,” he whispered into her hair. “Oh, my brilliant girl. You’re alright.”

Her hands clutched his jacket weakly. Her voice was slurred. “My—my chest hurts.”

“You were stabbed, remember?” River said gently, moving to the bedside now, scanning her again. “Multiple times. You lost a lot of blood.”

Y/N winced and touched her ribs. “Why do I feel… weird? Not bad, just… fuzzy.”

“You regenerated,” the Doctor said, brushing her hair back gently. “But… oddly.”

“Oddly?” she asked, blinking.

“Well, normally,” River said, stepping closer, “people look completely different after a regeneration. But you… you still look like you.”

Y/N sat up slowly. “I do…?”

River pulled a mirror from the med station and handed it to her.

Y/N stared at her reflection.

Same eyes. Same cheekbones. Her lips parted in disbelief.

But then—

She noticed the streak.

A single silver-grey lock curled through the waves of her brown hair, glowing faintly under the med bay lights.

She looked just a bit more like him now.

“Why didn’t I change?” she asked, quiet, but not afraid.

The Doctor hesitated.

River answered instead. “Sometimes, when a Time Lord has an extremely strong emotional tie to their current form, and a regeneration is rushed or traumatic… the body tries to preserve itself. It anchors to who you were. Who you loved being.”

“But I didn’t want to change,” Y/N whispered. “I wanted to come back. For you.”

The Doctor held her tighter. “You did. You came back. Brave girl.”

Her hand moved to her chest. Both hearts thumped steadily beneath her palm. A beat slower than before, but growing stronger.

“Everything’s louder,” she said slowly. “The TARDIS… she’s singing.”

“She missed you,” the Doctor said softly. “We all did.”

A few tears fell from her eyes. She laughed quietly, watery and warm. “Sorry for scaring you.”

Amy finally stepped forward, gripping Y/N’s uninjured hand. “Don’t do that again, alright? Don’t ever get stabbed for us.”

Y/N smiled. “No promises.”

“Cheeky,” the Doctor muttered, but he was smiling too.

Rory knelt at the side of the bed. “You feel okay?”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Just… dizzy. But not sick. Almost like… I’ve slept for a year but also ran a marathon?”

“Classic regeneration symptoms,” River said, tucking her scanner away. “Though… the fact that you didn’t morph might cause other things. Mood shifts. Energy spikes. Temporary memory lapses.”

Y/N blinked. “You mean I could forget what I had for breakfast?”

“No,” River said with a half-smile. “You might forget why you were crying.”

Y/N looked down.

Her arm still bore the faintest bruise. She remembered the alien’s hand wrapped around her throat. The sharp stab of the blade. The moment she thought her father had chosen Earth over her.

“I thought you were going to let them take the weapon,” she whispered suddenly.

The Doctor froze.

Everyone else quietly stepped back.

“I didn’t know you had a plan,” she continued. “I just heard you say, ‘there must be another way.’ I thought…”

“I would never sacrifice you,” the Doctor said at once, his voice low but firm. “You’re my daughter.”

Y/N nodded slowly, tears welling again.

“I just didn’t want to die thinking you picked the universe over me.”

He moved back to the bed, kneeling so their eyes were level.

“I’ve traveled the stars, Y/N. I’ve seen galaxies form and collapse. I’ve walked the length of time itself. But I’ve never loved anything the way I love you. And I would burn every world before letting you go again.”

Tears spilled over her cheeks.

“Promise?” she whispered.

He touched his forehead to hers. “Always.”

They sat in silence for a while, her hand resting over his.

The TARDIS gave a low chime, as if sighing in relief.

Eventually, Amy returned with tea. Rory brought a tray of sandwiches. River smuggled in a small slice of cake from the galley with a sly smile.

“I figured regenerating into yourself earned you sugar,” she said.

Y/N took it with a grateful grin.

The med bay felt lighter. Safe.

Later, when the others had gone to sleep, the Doctor stayed behind. Y/N was curled on her side in the bed, a blanket tucked to her chin. He sat in the chair beside her, staring at the curl of silver in her hair.

“Do you think it’s forever?” she asked quietly.

He looked up.

“The streak. The voice in my head that’s a little more like yours. The ache in my bones.”

The Doctor nodded slowly. “You’re a Time Lord now, Y/N. Fully. No more in-between. The universe knows it.”

She exhaled. “So do I.”

He reached over and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re still you. Clever. Brave. Always poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

She giggled softly. “Sounds familiar.”

“Indeed.”

There was a pause.

“Dad?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think I’ll ever regenerate again? Into someone else?”

The Doctor was quiet for a long moment.

“Maybe,” he said finally. “But no matter who you become—no matter what face you wear—I’ll always know you.”

Her eyes fluttered closed.

“Even if I change into someone completely new?”

“Especially then,” he whispered.

He stayed there long after she drifted off. Watching. Guarding.

Because death had come for his daughter once, and it would have to fight harder next time.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Fainting spell

Summary:

11th doctor x time lord wife reader, y/n has known the doctor since childhood and have been married for centuries, during her husbands speech to Akhaten, y/n goes unconscious due to the amount of energy. This fic feautures amy and rory instead of clara.

Eleventh Doctor x Time Lord Wife!Reader | Set during "The Rings of Akhaten"

The stars of Akhaten gleamed like shards of memory, suspended in the velvet canopy of space. The wind carried songs of the past—notes strung together by sacrifice and belief—and somewhere, at the heart of it all, stood a man with an ancient soul and wild eyes.

The Doctor.

And not far behind him, wrapped in soft cerulean robes that shimmered faintly with stardust, stood you—his wife, his oldest companion. Y/N, the Time Lady who had once raced him through the copper hills of Gallifrey, who had flown beside him when the sky burned red with war, and who had married him beneath the twin moons of Castallan IV in a ceremony only the stars could understand.

The bond you shared was unshakable. A union of minds, hearts, timelines. Centuries together, through regeneration and ruin. And still, even after all this time, he looked at you like you were new.

But today… today felt different.

You stood near the back of the amphitheatre as the Doctor stepped forward, his long coat trailing like the cloak of a hero worn from battle. Beside you, Amy and Rory exchanged a glance, sensing the swell of something great and terrible rising from the ancient god that slept at the center of this system.

The Old God. The parasite that fed on stories, on devotion. On souls.

And the Doctor… he was about to give it everything.

You knew what he was doing before the words left his mouth. You could feel the energy in the air shift. Something stirred in your chest, something raw and tangled in golden timelines. A thrum of the vortex itself.

"He’s going to offer it his memories," you whispered, staggering slightly.

Amy reached out, steadying you with a worried frown. "Y/N?"

You blinked, feeling the weight of time pressing down on your bones. It wasn’t just his memories. It was yours, too. Bound together in time, in soul, you were a mirror to his past—and when he offered himself, when he opened up his heart and mind to feed the Old God…

You felt it.

“Come on, then! Take it! Take it all, baby!”

The words rang out, furious and defiant, echoing off the ancient stones.

You gasped.

It felt like the air had been ripped from your lungs, like someone had cracked your chest open and poured molten starlight into your veins. Memories flashed through your mind too fast to hold—your wedding, Gallifrey's fall, your husband's laughter, the birth of time itself—rushing through you with a force no mortal could endure.

Your knees gave out.

Amy lunged forward with Rory right behind her. Together, they caught you before your head could hit the stone. Your eyes rolled back, lips parted in a silent cry.

“Y/N!” Amy shouted, gently cradling your head.

“She’s burning up,” Rory muttered, feeling your pulse racing like a warp drive at full throttle. “What’s happening to her?”

“She’s—she’s connected to him,” Amy realized. “He’s giving everything to that thing—and she’s feeling all of it!”

Back at the altar, the Doctor had no idea.

“I’ve seen whole worlds end. I’ve watched universes burn like paper. And I carried them all with me. Every moment…”

His voice cracked.

“Every second…”

Your fingers twitched weakly in Amy’s grip. You whispered something, barely audible.

“Stop… he has to stop… it’ll take too much…”

“I remember it all.”

A wave of psychic energy blasted through the amphitheater, knocking dust and debris into the air. Amy shielded your body with her own, Rory leaning in close to keep you from convulsing.

Then silence.

A soft, hollow silence.

The Doctor stood trembling, sweat on his brow, eyes wide and glassy.

“Did it work?” Amy called out, voice breaking.

The Doctor turned slowly.

And then he saw you.

Limp.

Unmoving.

Cradled in Amy’s arms like a fallen star.

His hearts stopped.

“No—no, no, no, no…” His feet moved before his mind caught up, tearing across the stone steps, leaping over ancient carvings. His hands found your face before he’d even dropped to his knees.

“Y/N,” he breathed, “no, please…”

You weren’t unconscious—you were deeper than that. Lost in the echoes. You had shared his burden for centuries, linked by time and love, but this…

This had broken through even your formidable walls.

“Wake up,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Come back. Don’t you dare leave me.”

Amy looked away, tears in her eyes. Rory’s jaw tightened.

“I felt her break,” the Doctor said, his voice shaking. “The second I gave it to Akhaten… she took the hit, too. I didn’t think—I should’ve—”

“She’ll be okay, right?” Amy asked, almost afraid of the answer.

The Doctor didn’t reply.

He just took your hand.

Held it against his twin hearts.

And did what he always did when he thought he might lose you: he told a story.

“Do you remember the Temple of Stillwinds?” he whispered. “You were so cross with me. Said I was flirting with the High Priestess just to get the last key. You hit me with a vase, and I regenerated two hours later. Thought I was being dramatic, but I really liked that face.”

A flicker of breath passed your lips.

He smiled faintly.

“We built a treehouse in the upper boughs of the Singing Forest, just to hear the lullabies at night. You said that was the closest thing to peace you’d ever felt. Even the TARDIS liked it. She still hums the tune sometimes when she thinks I’m not listening.”

Amy and Rory exchanged a glance, feeling the weight of his grief hang in the air like mist.

“Come back to me, Y/N,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly. “Please. I don’t know how to be without you. I’ve forgotten so much—but I could never forget you. You’re the reason I kept going. You’re my constant.”

And then—

You stirred.

It was faint. A twitch in your fingers, a flicker of golden light beneath your skin. Your eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

“…Doctor?”

He let out a shaky laugh that cracked halfway through.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

You tried to sit up, and he helped you, one arm supporting your back, the other cradling your hand as if afraid you might vanish again.

“I felt everything,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “All of it. You gave too much…”

“I had to,” he murmured. “It was the only way to save the girl. To save the world.”

“You should’ve let me share it properly,” you chastised gently. “Next time, don’t block me out.”

“You nearly died.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I’m a Time Lord, love. It takes a lot more than an angry god and a few million memories to take me down.”

He chuckled softly.

“Still… don’t scare me like that.”

Amy cleared her throat, stepping back as Rory helped her. “We’ll, uh… give you two a moment.”

As they left, the Doctor pulled you fully into his arms, burying his face in your hair.

The two of you sat like that for a long while, wrapped in silence, surrounded by the ashes of belief and the weight of eternity. It didn’t matter how long you’d lived, how many times you’d been broken and rebuilt. In that moment, the only truth was love.

“I never want to see you fall like that again,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

You turned your face toward his, brushing your nose against his. “Then don’t give yourself away without me next time.”

He nodded, lips ghosting over your brow.

“Deal.”

A pause.

Then he smiled.

“I did a pretty good job back there though, didn’t I? With the whole shouting at the god thing?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You scared the entire system into submission.”

He grinned. “Just another Tuesday, then.”

And together, beneath the light of a dying god and a reborn star, the Doctor and his wife rose slowly, hand in hand, two eternal souls forged in time, memory, and love.

Even gods could not consume them.

The air in the amphitheater had grown quiet. The songs had faded, the Old God silenced, and the golden glow of the Akhaten system was soft again—calm after the storm. The Doctor helped you to your feet, his arm firm around your waist as he kept you close.

“Let’s get you back to the TARDIS,” he said gently, still watching you with that same wide-eyed worry he always had when you were hurt. “You need rest. Proper rest. Time Lord or not, you were almost—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in softly, your voice rasping with fatigue.

He nodded, lips pressing together.

Amy and Rory followed behind silently, casting glances at you every few steps, still shaken by how close you’d come to falling into the void for good.

But you were alive.

You were always strong—but this had pushed you to the edge.

Back aboard the TARDIS, the Doctor led you to the console room, settling you gently on the jump seat. The TARDIS dimmed the lights instinctively, the soft hum of her engines lowering to a lullaby as if she too understood the fragility of this moment.

He knelt before you, hands on your knees, eyes scanning you for anything—anything at all—that seemed wrong.

“Pulse?” he murmured, tapping two fingers to your wrist.

“Still there,” you mumbled.

“Eyes?”

“Both present and accounted for.”

“Memory?”

You blinked slowly. “You once shaved your eyebrows off in your fourth incarnation just to see if it improved aerodynamics in high-speed chases.”

He smirked. “Yep. You’re all there.”

But as he started to stand, you swayed.

The jump seat seemed to tilt sideways and lurch beneath you. Your vision shimmered with threads of gold, fractured memories flying past your consciousness in a rush—visions not just of Akhaten, but of Gallifrey, of the Death Zone, of Earth’s future. Too much.

Too fast.

And then—

Darkness again.

This time, the fall was gentler, but no less frightening.

The Doctor caught you mid-collapse, sliding to the floor with you cradled in his arms. “No, no, no, come on—Y/N…”

Amy shouted from the corridor, “Doctor? Did something happen?”

“Stay there!” he called back, urgency threading through his voice.

He lowered your head into his lap, brushing your hair from your forehead as golden pulses of memory visibly flickered beneath your skin. The threads of time itself were swirling too fast inside you.

You were unraveling under the weight of it.

He laid both hands on your temples and closed his eyes.

“Shhh. Slow down, love. You don’t have to carry it all at once. Breathe with me. Anchor with me…”

His voice was soft, gentle, the rhythm of it syncing with your own scattered thoughts. Gradually, the storm in your mind began to settle. You weren't alone in the timeline—you never had been.

You had him.

When your eyes fluttered open, the Doctor was still beside you, seated on the floor of the console room with your head resting against his chest. His hearts beat steadily beneath your cheek.

“…Doctor?” you whispered.

His head jerked down in relief. “Y/N. Oh, thank Rassilon.”

You looked up at him, your body still trembling slightly from the overload. “I didn’t mean to scare you again.”

“You’re lucky I don’t regenerate from sheer stress,” he said, stroking your cheek. “What happened?”

You blinked, swallowing hard. “The memories… they came too fast. Not from now—but from before. I think Akhaten’s energy pulled something loose. Maybe your speech... the force of it knocked the vaults open.”

He nodded. “We’ve lived too long. Sometimes the mind forgets how to sort it all.”

You touched your temple gently. “I saw Gallifrey. I saw us as children. I saw you wearing your Academy robes backwards just to make a statement.”

He chuckled. “I was a statement.”

“And… I saw Akhaten. Again.” Your voice trembled slightly. “But not from my eyes.”

He paused.

You sat up slowly, still held in his arms. “I saw you. Standing there. Alone. All that pain in your voice… and then I saw you cry.”

The Doctor inhaled sharply.

“You never cry,” you said gently, fingers trailing up to his face. “But you did then.”

He looked away.

“I wanted to go to you,” you continued, reaching to cradle his face and guide his eyes back to yours. “The moment I saw that first tear, I tried to reach for you. But the energy hit me too fast, and I couldn’t…”

Your thumb brushed along his cheekbone. “You gave so much. Too much.”

He swallowed thickly. “It was the only way.”

“You never should have had to stand there alone.”

“I wasn’t,” he whispered, his hands tightening around yours. “You were there. Even if you fell, even if you couldn't reach me—you were still there. And somehow, that made it bearable.”

You leaned forward slowly, gently pressing your forehead against his. “We’ve carried the weight of time for so long. But you don’t always have to be the one to bleed first.”

He closed his eyes, letting himself fall into your embrace.

“You saw me cry,” he whispered, almost ashamed.

“I did,” you said softly. “And it broke my heart. Not because you cried—but because you tried to hide it. From me.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

“Doctor,” you breathed, taking his face in your hands, “that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen you do. You gave every part of yourself to protect a little girl, to protect a planet. That isn’t weakness. That’s who you are.”

A long pause stretched between you.

Then you gently tilted his head so you could press a kiss to his forehead.

He shivered at the contact.

Your hands moved slowly across his face—fingers ghosting over his brow, tracing his jaw, thumb brushing his lips. Each movement was soft, grounding.

“I remember our first century together,” you murmured, “when you still hadn’t stopped grieving for Gallifrey. You used to wake up screaming, saying you didn’t deserve peace.”

“I still don’t,” he murmured.

“You do. And you always did.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes now, and this time, it was you who let them fall freely.

“You are the most extraordinary being in this universe, Doctor. Not because of the battles you’ve won or the legends they sing—but because of your heart. And I’ve loved it across every incarnation. Every wound. Every tear.”

He looked at you as if seeing you for the first time.

And for the thousandth time all at once.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling you fully into his arms again.

You curled into him, resting your head beneath his chin, your arms around his waist. His fingers wove into your hair, and yours into the lapels of his coat.

Time bent gently around you.

Even the TARDIS was still.

Hours passed like moments.

Amy poked her head in once, saw the two of you curled together on the floor, and silently backed away with Rory in tow, offering you peace.

In the quiet afterward, you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes again.

“No more giving everything unless we both agree on it,” you said firmly.

He gave a wry grin. “Agreed.”

“And next time you cry, don’t hide it. I want to be the one who holds you.”

He nodded slowly. “You always were.”

You smiled faintly, then rested your forehead against his again.

“And next time I fall over from a memory overload, you are not allowed to blame yourself.”

He snorted. “Can’t make that promise. But I’ll try.”

You cupped his cheek again, gazing into his eyes. “We’ve lived through the worst things time has to offer. But we’re still here.”

“We’re still here,” he echoed.

And in the center of that console room, surrounded by the stars and the song of a healed system, the two of you held each other—not just as lovers or Time Lords, but as the only two people who could ever truly understand what it meant to live forever.

And still choose love.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a family series: Chapter 15: When the moon wanes.

The forest was hushed, the wind carrying whispers through the trees as the reader walked alongside Aemond, the white stag just ahead of them. The majestic creature moved with an ethereal grace, its glowing coat a beacon in the twilight. Rowena was safe with Daemon, leaving the reader free to focus on the ritual she had planned.

Aemond kept pace with her, his gaze flicking between her and the stag. “You’re certain this is necessary?” he asked, his tone laced with both curiosity and apprehension.

She nodded, clutching a small satchel of ritual tools. “The stag has been trying to guide me. I need to know what it wants to show me—and if it’s tied to the hooded figures or our fates.”

When they reached a clearing bathed in moonlight, the stag stopped and turned to face her, its dark eyes filled with an intelligence that seemed beyond the natural. The reader took a deep breath, her heart pounding as she set up a simple altar with candles and offerings of herbs and fruit.

“Stay here,” she told Aemond firmly. “You can observe, but don’t interfere. This is delicate.”

Kneeling before the stag, she lit the candles, their flames flickering in the gentle breeze. She murmured an invocation in High Valyrian, her voice steady despite the tension coiled in her chest: "Se dīnios hen se zaldrīzes, ēngos hen se trēsy, gevie se gevivot ānogar." (By the power of the dragon, the strength of the trees, grant me your sacred wisdom.)

The stag lowered its head, its antlers almost brushing hers as she closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply. She could feel its presence envelop her like a warm, protective embrace.

“Show me,” she whispered. “What do you want me to see?”

At first, there was only stillness. Then, faint images began to flicker in her mind—an old oak tree split in two, a river running red with blood, and the hooded figures standing in a circle, their hands raised as if casting a spell. She heard a voice, low and resonant, say:

"The balance is fragile. The child holds the key." But before she could process the words, a searing pain shot through her skull, as if her mind were being torn apart. Her eyes snapped open, and she clutched her head, a guttural scream tearing from her throat.

Aemond was at her side instantly, grabbing her shoulders. “What’s happening?!”

She couldn’t respond. The pain intensified, and another vision burst forth—a wildfire of images: Rowena crying, a great beast rising from the sea, flames consuming the throne room, and the hooded figures growing weaker, their forms dissolving into ash.

Her body convulsed, and the last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was the stag bowing its head in reverence.

When y/n awoke, her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish. She was lying on a bed in her chambers, with Aemond seated beside her. His expression was a mixture of anger and worry.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

She tried to sit up but winced, her head still pounding. “What... what happened?”

“You screamed like your soul was being ripped apart,” Aemond said, his tone sharp. “Then you collapsed. I had to carry you back here.”

The memory of the vision returned in fragments, and her chest tightened. “The stag showed me... something. It said the balance is fragile, and Rowena holds the key.” Aemond’s jaw tightened. “What does that mean? Is she in danger?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But it’s tied to the hooded figures. They’re weakening, but they’re not gone. Something... something terrible is still coming.”

For hours, the reader sat in silence, trying to piece together the meaning of the vision. Aemond stayed close, his presence a strange comfort despite their turbulent history.

“Why do you keep putting yourself through this?” he asked finally. “These rituals, these visions—they’re tearing you apart.”

“Because I have to,” she said, meeting his gaze. “If I don’t, who will? Rowena’s life, my life, maybe even yours... they depend on me understanding what’s coming.”

Aemond didn’t argue, but his expression darkened. “Then I’ll stay. Whatever happens next, you won’t face it alone.”

The next morning, the reader returned to the clearing where the stag had guided her. This time, she brought Rowena, the child’s bright laughter a balm to her frayed nerves. The direwolf followed closely, ever protective of its tiny charge.

She didn’t know what the future held, but she was determined to be ready. With Aemond by her side and her father’s unwavering support, she felt stronger than she had in weeks.

But the words of the vision lingered in her mind:

"The child holds the key."

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The sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting a silver glow over the castle and surrounding waters. The reader, having recovered enough from her last vision, decided it was time to teach Aemond the delicate art of a banishing spell. The darkness that loomed over their lives needed to be pushed back, and this ritual was essential to strengthen their defenses.

In her chambers, the reader explained the importance of banishing spells to Aemond as they prepared.

“Banishing isn’t about destruction,” she began, carefully gathering vials of black salt, sea salt, and herbs into a satchel. “It’s about clearing—removing what doesn’t belong, driving away negativity or energies that seek to harm us. It can even extend to people causing chaos, though we don’t name them directly in the spell.”

Aemond nodded, watching her intently. “And this... strengthens control?” he asked, his voice betraying a flicker of uncertainty.

“It strengthens protection,” she corrected. “Banishing is about creating space for light to flourish. It will help you regain control over what truly matters: your mind, your will, and your choices.”

He absorbed her words, his single violet eye narrowing slightly. Control was his fear, the reader knew that well. His temper, his passion, his desire for her—all were tightly coiled, threatening to unravel.

“And the stag?” Aemond asked, pointing to the parchment where she had scribbled notes about the ritual.

“The stag will bear witness,” she said. “Its presence lends power, as it’s a bridge between the mortal world and the divine. Its watchful eyes ensure the spell is pure.”

Under the light of a waxing moon, the two made their way to the shoreline. The reader wore her ritual robe, her hair loose and wild in the sea breeze, while Aemond carried the satchel of materials. The waves lapped gently at their feet, and the air was charged with anticipation.

The stag emerged silently from the shadows of the forest, its glowing antlers casting soft light onto the beach. It watched them, its presence solemn and steady.

“Here,” the reader said, gesturing to a spot where the waves met the sand. “The sea surrounds the castle, so this is where we’ll strengthen the barrier.” She handed Aemond the vials of black and sea salt. “You’ll sprinkle these into the water, but only when the stag is looking directly at you. It’s a sign that the energies are aligned.”

The reader stood knee-deep in the cold water, her arms raised toward the sky. She began to chant in High Valyrian, her voice steady and rhythmic, blending with the sound of the waves. "Jiōrāzma hen gēlȳn ānogar, sȳrī īlva gevive. Udrāzma ēngos hen gēlȳn ēngos, gevī gevivot ēngos hen perzys." ("Cast out the shadows from our souls, strengthen our light. Banish the fire from dark fire, let the fears be burned by flame.")

Aemond watched her, momentarily mesmerized by the power she radiated. He had never seen her look so commanding, so otherworldly.

“Now,” she instructed, nodding toward the stag, which had turned its piercing gaze directly onto him. Aemond stepped forward, gripping the vials tightly. He opened them one by one, sprinkling the salts into the sea with deliberate precision. The water fizzled and hissed where the salts dissolved, creating a faint glow that spread outward in ripples.

The reader’s chant continued, her voice rising with each wave that crashed against her legs. She raised her hands higher, the energy in the air crackling as the barrier around the castle solidified. “This is only one stage of the ritual,” she said, her voice strained but firm. “We’ll need to repeat it at each point of the castle’s border to complete the spell. Tonight, we’ve set the foundation.”

Aemond exhaled deeply, his gaze drifting to the stag. “It feels... different. Like the air is heavier.” “That’s the magic,” she replied. “It’s working.”

Unbeknownst to them, Daemon stood at the edge of the beach, Rowena in his arms. The little girl clutched her grandfather’s tunic as she watched her mother and Aemond with wide, curious eyes.

“What’s Mama doing?” Rowena asked, her small voice carrying over the sound of the waves.

Daemon kissed her forehead, his expression a mix of pride and worry. “She’s protecting you, little dragon. Everything she does, it’s for you.”

Rowena tilted her head, watching as her mother’s robe billowed in the wind and her voice carried on the night air. “Mama’s strong,” she said simply.

“She is,” Daemon agreed, his voice soft. “Stronger than she knows.”

As the reader finished the chant, the glowing ripples in the water dissipated, leaving behind an eerie calm. She lowered her arms, her breathing heavy, and turned to face Aemond. “It’s done,” she said. “For now.”

Aemond nodded, his eye searching hers for a hint of reassurance. “And the next stage?”

“We’ll tackle it when the moon wanes,” she replied. “For now, rest.”

She walked toward the shore, the stag following closely behind. As she reached the sand, Daemon stepped forward, Rowena reaching out for her mother with outstretched arms.

“Mama!” she called, wriggling in Daemon’s grip until he placed her down.

Y/n scooped her up, holding her tightly as Rowena pressed her cheek against her mother’s. The reader closed her eyes, drawing strength from the warmth of her daughter’s embrace.

As they walked back to the castle, Aemond lingered behind, staring at the water where the ritual had taken place. His mind was racing, the weight of his fears pressing heavily on him. He turned to the stag, its glowing form still visible in the shadows. “I’ll learn,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll control this.” The stag’s silent gaze seemed to answer him, its presence both a challenge and a reassurance. With one last look at the water, Aemond followed the reader and her family back to the castle, his resolve stronger than ever to protect what mattered most.

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

The days had grown shorter, the nights colder, and an unsettling chill seemed to seep through the castle walls. The reader felt the weight of her responsibilities more than ever, her thoughts constantly consumed with protecting her daughter from the dark forces that lingered just out of sight. Rowena, blissfully unaware of the full extent of her mother’s struggles, remained a bright and joyful presence, her laughter a much-needed balm to the reader’s weary heart.

One evening, as the wind howled outside her chambers, the reader decided to perform a protection ritual for Rowena. It was a simple spell, but one filled with intention and love—two of the most powerful forces in magic.

After settling Rowena with a small bowl of sliced fruit to keep her occupied, the reader gathered her supplies: a white candle for purity and protection, a bundle of sage for smudging, and a small vial of lavender oil to calm the energy in the room.

“Come here, little dragon,” the reader said softly, holding out her hands.

Rowena toddled over with a toothy grin, her eyes shining with curiosity. “What we doin’, Mama?” she asked, her small voice brimming with excitement.

“We’re doing something special,” the reader replied, lifting her daughter onto her lap as they sat on the plush rug near the hearth. “Mama’s going to make sure you’re safe from all the bad things in the world.”

Rowena’s eyes widened. “Bad things go ‘way?”

“That’s right,” the reader said, kissing her daughter’s cheek. “Mama will make sure of it.”

The reader placed the white candle in front of them and lit it with a match, the flame casting a warm glow that flickered gently in the dimly lit room. She wrapped her arms loosely around Rowena, who leaned back against her mother’s chest, mesmerized by the dancing light.

“Stay very still, my little one,” the reader murmured, stroking Rowena’s hair.

Taking a deep breath, the reader began to chant softly in High Valyrian, her words flowing like a melody: "Ābra gevīvā, gevīvā rȳ prūmia. Jorrāelagon ēngos daor, gēlȳn ēngos gevī ziry. Luon lēda gevī gevive, gevī jorrāelagon, gevī āeksio." (“Pure mother, protect this soul. Let harm not touch her, let light surround her. Bathe her in love, in strength, in guidance.”)

As the chant continued, Rowena relaxed in her mother’s arms, her tiny fingers playing absently with the edge of the reader’s sleeve. The room grew still, the warmth of the candle seeming to envelop them both in a cocoon of safety and love.

When the reader finished chanting, she blew out the candle, sending a wisp of smoke spiralling into the air. She kissed the top of Rowena’s head, the soft strands of her hair tickling her lips.

“You’re safe, my love,” she whispered. “Always.”

The reader gently moved Rowena to the side and picked up the bundle of sage, lighting the end until it smoldered. She fanned the smoke with her hand, wafting it around the room to cleanse the space of any lingering negativity.

“Why smoky, Mama?” Rowena asked, tilting her head as she watched the sage burn.

“This smoke helps make our home safe,” the reader explained, smiling at her daughter’s curious expression. “It chases away bad energy and keeps the good energy close to us.”

Rowena nodded solemnly, her wide eyes fixed on the tendrils of smoke swirling in the air. “Smoky good,” she declared, clapping her hands.

The reader chuckled, leaning down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Yes, smoky is very good.”

As the sage burned down to ash, the reader took Rowena back into her arms and held her close. She marveled at how small and delicate her daughter was, yet how much strength and light she carried within her.

“You’re my little light,” the reader murmured, resting her cheek against Rowena’s head. “You make all of this worth it.”

Rowena tilted her head up to look at her mother, her lips curving into a sweet smile. “Love you, Mama.”

The reader’s heart swelled, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I love you too, my little dragon. Always and forever.”

Unbeknownst to them, Aemond stood just outside the chamber door, having paused when he heard the faint sound of chanting. He didn’t mean to intrude, but the scene inside captivated him—the warmth between mother and child, the ritual steeped in love and devotion.

He leaned against the wall, his thoughts a mixture of longing and admiration. The reader’s strength and determination never ceased to amaze him, and the bond she shared with Rowena was something he had never experienced in his own childhood.

Aemond stayed there for a moment longer before quietly retreating, leaving the reader and Rowena to their sacred moment of peace.

When the ritual was complete, the reader carried Rowena to bed, tucking her in with a soft blanket and stroking her hair until she drifted off to sleep. The room felt lighter, the oppressive weight that often lingered in the air noticeably absent.

The reader sat by the hearth for a while, letting the warmth of the fire soothe her. She closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer of gratitude—to the gods, to the stag, to whatever forces had guided her thus far.

She was ready to face whatever came next, as long as she had Rowena by her side.

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

The great hall was bustling with life as the reader and Rowena arrived for dinner. The long table was set with an abundance of food, candles flickering gently along its length. The family was gathered:

Rhaenyra seated at the head of the table, her serene demeanor tinged with concern, and Daemon by her side, his sharp eyes always scanning for signs of discord. Aemond was already there, his gaze immediately drawn to the reader as she entered with Rowena balanced on her hip.

“Look, Mama! Big food!” Rowena chirped, pointing at the steaming platters before them.

The reader smiled faintly at her daughter’s excitement, but her own exhaustion weighed heavily on her. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her movements were sluggish, as though every step was an effort.

The grand dining hall of the castle was filled with the clinking of silverware, the murmur of conversations, and the occasional laughter of children. The reader arrived late, her pace slower than usual, Rowena perched on her hip. The toddler was dressed adorably in a pale green gown trimmed with gold, her face bright and curious as she looked around.

But it was the reader who caught the attention of the entire family as she entered. Her once-vivid energy was dulled, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. Deep circles marred her pale skin, and there was a weariness in the way she moved.

Daemon, seated beside Rhaenyra, was the first to notice. His sharp eyes narrowed, his expression darkening with concern.

“Y/N,” he called out as she approached the table. “Come sit down. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“I’m fine, Father,” the reader replied softly, setting Rowena in her designated chair before taking her own seat.

“You don’t look fine,” Rhaenyra said, her tone gentler but equally concerned. “What’s going on? Are you still not sleeping?”

The reader gave them a tired smile. “Just busy. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing further for the moment. He watched closely as his daughter helped Rowena with her food, the toddler babbling happily while the reader barely ate a bite.

When dinner concluded, the family began to disperse, but Daemon stayed seated, his eyes locked on his daughter. As Rowena ran ahead to chase after Joffrey, he rose and approached the reader.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” he said firmly, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder.

She sighed, too tired to argue. “What is it, Father?”

“You’re running yourself into the ground,” Daemon said bluntly. “You’re pale as a ghost, and those shadows under your eyes… you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

The reader looked away, not wanting to meet his piercing gaze. “I can handle it.”

“No,” Daemon said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ve been through hell, and you’re still clawing your way out of it. But you’re not doing yourself or Rowena any favors by refusing to rest.”

He softened slightly, placing a hand on her cheek. “Let me and your mother look after Rowena for a while. Take some time for yourself. You deserve it.”

The reader hesitated, torn between her instinct to keep pushing forward and the undeniable truth in her father’s words. Finally, she nodded. “Just for a little while.”

That evening, the reader retreated to her chambers. She drew herself a salt bath, adding lavender oil to the steaming water in the hopes of calming her restless mind. She slipped out of her clothes and eased into the bath, sighing as the warmth enveloped her aching body.

But her thoughts refused to quiet. Images of hooded figures flashed in her mind, interspersed with memories of her daughter’s laughter, the white stag’s knowing gaze, and the weight of the rituals she had been performing.

Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over as the stress and worry she had been suppressing finally broke through.

A knock at the door startled her. She quickly wiped her tears, pulling her knees to her chest. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Aemond’s voice came from the other side. “May I come in?”

The reader hesitated, then sighed. “Come in.”

Aemond stepped inside, his expression immediately softening when he saw her. She was curled up in the bath, her face streaked with tears, her vulnerability laid bare.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

“I’m fine,” she said weakly, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

“No, you’re not.” Aemond crouched beside the tub, his eye searching her face. “You’re carrying too much, Y/N. It’s written all over you.”

The reader broke down, sobbing openly as the weight of everything she had been holding onto came crashing down. “I’m so tired,” she choked out. “I’m scared for Rowena, scared of failing her. I don’t know how much longer I can keep going like this.”

Without hesitation, Aemond reached out, his hand brushing against her damp hair. “You’re not alone,” he said softly. “You have your family, and you have me. Let me help you, Y/N.” She looked up at him, her eyes red and filled with anguish. “How can you help me?”

Aemond held her gaze for a long moment, then leaned closer. “Trust me.”

His hand slipped down her arm, his touch firm but comforting. Slowly, he let his fingers trail along her inner thigh, his touch eliciting a shiver from her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice a mixture of surprise and hesitation.

“Helping you relax,” Aemond murmured.

At first, she wanted to protest, but the gentle rhythm of his movements began to draw her focus away from her chaotic thoughts. Her body responded instinctively, her breath hitching as he continued.

Aemond’s other hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Let go, Y/N. Just for a moment, let someone else take care of you.”

He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, his free hand brushing over her cheek, her throat, the curve of her breast—until he pressed forward, slow at first, as if savoring the first slide of their connection.

Y/N gasped into his mouth, her fingers tightening around his. Aemond stilled, forehead pressed to hers.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I want all of you.”

His lips parted in a sharp inhale, and then he moved—pulling back only to thrust his fingers forward with more urgency, more force. His pace was quick, intense, his control unraveling with every breathless moan she gave him.

Their hands remained locked, the other inside her. He whispered praises in her ear between deep kisses—how beautiful she looked, how good she felt, how he couldn’t get enough of her.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, voice strained with pleasure. “Mine. All mine.”

She felt it in every movement, every thrust, every kiss that stole the air from her lungs. He moved fast, relentless, every angle finding the deepest part of her, sending her spiraling again into something breathless and wild.

She closed her eyes, her head falling back against the edge of the tub as she allowed herself to surrender. Aemond’s touch was both grounding and electrifying, a reminder that she wasn’t as alone as she felt.

When she finally opened her eyes, her breathing uneven, Aemond was watching her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

“You’re incredible, Y/N,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve endured… I’ve never admired anyone more.”

She searched his face, her own emotions swirling in a confusing mix of vulnerability and disbelief. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I love you,” Aemond said simply. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. And I’ll keep loving you, no matter what.”

The reader’s breath caught in her throat. Part of her wanted to push him away, to protect herself from the risk of getting hurt again. But another part, a quieter part, longed to believe him.

“I don’t know if I can give you what you want,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond smiled faintly, his fingers brushing against her cheek. “I’m not asking for anything, Y/N. Just let me be here for you, however you’ll have me.”

The reader nodded, her heart heavy yet somehow lighter than it had been in days.

After Aemond left, the reader stayed in the bath a little longer, letting the warmth seep into her bones. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, her mind was quiet.

She knew the road ahead would be long and fraught with challenges, but for the first time, she didn’t feel like she had to face it alone.

Rowena’s laughter echoed faintly in her mind, a reminder of what she was fighting for. And as she stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a soft robe, she felt a renewed sense of purpose.

For her daughter, for herself, and perhaps even for the man who had just poured his heart out to her.

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The water in the tub had grown lukewarm, but the reader couldn’t bring herself to leave. She sat there, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them as sobs wracked her body.

Tears blurred her vision, streaming down her cheeks as an overwhelming tide of exhaustion and fear consumed her.

A faint knock came at the door.

“Y/N?” Rhaenyra’s voice was gentle but firm. “May I come in?”

The reader didn’t respond, too consumed by her despair to care who saw her like this. The door opened, and Rhaenyra stepped inside, her expression immediately softening at the sight of her daughter curled up in the bath, her face streaked with tears.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Rhaenyra murmured, crossing the room quickly. She knelt beside the tub, her hands resting lightly on the edge. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

The reader lifted her tear-streaked face to meet her mother’s concerned gaze. “I’m so tired, Mother,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m trying so hard, but it’s never enough. I feel like I’m drowning.”

Rhaenyra reached out, brushing damp strands of hair away from her daughter’s face. “You’ve been carrying so much,” she said softly. “Far more than anyone should have to. But you don’t have to do this alone, Y/N. You have me, your father, your family.”

“I don’t know why I feel this way,” the reader admitted, her voice barely audible. “I look at Rowena, and I feel this… need. Like I have to give her everything, even if it means sacrificing myself. I’d die for her, Mother. Without hesitation.”

Rhaenyra’s breath caught, her own eyes filling with tears. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead gently against her daughter’s.

“I know exactly how you feel,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I felt the same way with you, with all of my children. It’s the fiercest kind of love, and it’s both beautiful and terrifying. But,

Y/N, you can’t pour from an empty cup. You need to take care of yourself too. For her sake, as much as for your own.” She let out a shuddering breath, the weight of her mother’s words settling over her. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to lean into Rhaenyra’s comforting presence.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

After helping her daughter out of the bath and ensuring she was settled in bed, Rhaenyra quietly left the chambers. Her heart was heavy as she made her way back to her own rooms, her mind racing with worry for Y/N.

When she entered, she found Daemon sitting on the floor with Rowena in his lap. The toddler was giggling uncontrollably as her grandfather made exaggerated faces and noises, clearly delighted by his antics.

“Again, Papa!” Rowena squealed, clapping her hands.

Daemon smirked and tickled her sides, eliciting another round of laughter. But his expression shifted when he looked up and saw Rhaenyra standing in the doorway, her face etched with concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone serious as he rose to his feet, lifting Rowena effortlessly into his arms. Rhaenyra closed the door behind her, crossing the room to stand beside him. She reached out to brush a hand over Rowena’s soft curls, her gaze softening momentarily before she met Daemon’s eyes.

“It’s Y/N,” she said quietly. “She’s not doing well, Daemon. She’s overwhelmed, exhausted. She’s carrying so much, and it’s breaking her.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his grip on Rowena shifting protectively. “What can we do?”

“She needs time,” Rhaenyra said. “Time to heal, time to rest. We have to be there for her, even if she tries to push us away.” Daemon nodded, his expression grim. “I’ll speak with her.”

Rowena, sensing the shift in mood, looked up at her grandmother with wide eyes. “Mama sad?” she asked softly. Rhaenyra’s heart ached at the question, but she forced a reassuring smile. “Mama just needs some rest, little one,” she said, kissing Rowena’s forehead.

The toddler nodded solemnly, then nestled against Daemon’s chest, her small arms wrapping around his neck.

As Rhaenyra and Daemon discussed how best to support their daughter, the reader lay awake in her chambers, her mind refusing to quiet. The conversation with her mother had offered some comfort, but the overwhelming weight of her responsibilities still lingered.

She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts a swirling storm of worry and self-doubt. But amidst the chaos, she found herself thinking of Aemond. His words, his touch, his unwavering presence… it was both a comfort and a complication she wasn’t sure how to navigate.

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The fire in their chamber had burned down to quiet embers, casting a soft orange glow across the room. Outside, the night was hushed, the kind of stillness that wrapped around the Red Keep like a velvet blanket.

The reader lay on her bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as her mind refused to quiet. The faint light of the moon filtered through the curtains, casting silvery patterns across the walls, but even their soft beauty couldn’t soothe her restless thoughts.

Aemond’s face lingered in her mind, unbidden but persistent. She thought of the way his hands had brushed against hers, strong and steady, yet capable of the gentlest touch. Her breath hitched slightly as her thoughts wandered to his presence, the weight of his words, and how he always seemed to look at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

But the chaos within her wouldn’t relent. It pressed against her chest, leaving her yearning for relief, for comfort, for an anchor.

A soft knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts.

“Come in,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible.

The door creaked open, and Aemond stepped inside, his usual composure tempered by a hint of concern. His gaze swept over her, taking in her pale features and tired eyes.

“I came to check on you,” he said simply, closing the door behind him.

The reader’s lips curved into a faint, weary smile. “I can’t sleep,” she admitted.

Aemond hesitated for a moment, then moved closer. “Is there anything I can do?”

The reader’s heart raced slightly, her exhaustion loosening her usual reservations. “Stay,” she said softly, patting the empty space beside her. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Aemond blinked, clearly surprised by the invitation, but he nodded and removed his boots before sliding into the bed beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the reader turned slightly to face him, her tired eyes meeting his.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Aemond reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “I’d do anything for you.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she shifted closer, seeking the warmth and comfort of his presence.

“Aemond…” she began, her voice faltering as she tried to put her thoughts into words. Instead, she leaned into him, tilting her head so her lips brushed against his neck.

Aemond stiffened slightly, but his hand came to rest on her waist, grounding her. “Y/N, are you sure—”

“Please,” she whispered, her voice raw with need. “I just… I need to feel something else.”

Aemond’s lips ghosted over her neck, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses that sent warmth coursing through her. The reader reached for his hand, guiding it down her body, her breath hitching as his fingers brushed against the hem of her nightgown.

Her hand covered his, urging him toward the heat pooling between her thighs. Aemond hesitated for a brief moment, his gaze searching hers, but the unspoken plea in her eyes left no room for doubt.

That made something in his expression soften. He reached up, his fingers brushing back a strand of hair from her face, then lingering at her jaw. His touch was gentle, reverent—more worship than want.

“May I touch you?” he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s heart fluttered—not from surprise, but from the sheer care he always showed her. She nodded, threading her fingers through his. “You never have to ask… but I love that you do.”

He kissed her softly before shifting slightly, letting his hand travel slowly over the familiar terrain of her body—down her side, across her hip, and gently over the curve of her thigh. His palm was warm and open, grounding her.

But he didn’t rush.

His fingers moved with tentative care at first, exploring her folds with a reverence that made her ache even more. Her soft moans filled the quiet room, mingling with the sound of her quickened breaths as he found a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her.

She gripped his wrist, her nails digging into his skin as her climax built, and when it finally crashed over her, she bit her lip to stifle the cry that threatened to escape. As her breathing slowed, she turned her head into his chest, her body trembling slightly from the release.

He watched her the entire time, studying every little breath, every flicker of response across her face. When she leaned into his touch, sighing quietly, he smiled against her skin and nuzzled into her neck.

“You’re so beautiful when you trust me,” he murmured. “When you let go.”

Her breath hitched slightly at the sound of his voice, deep and husky near her ear. “It’s because you make it so easy to.”

They stayed like that for a long while—touching, caressing, not chasing anything beyond connection. Aemond took his time, never once breaking their gaze for long, ensuring she felt seen, loved, and known.

He eventually wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close again, her head resting comfortably under his chin.

They drifted into silence again, the kind that only came from being entirely at peace in someone else’s arms. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible as sleep began to claim her.

Aemond stayed by her side, his arms wrapped around her protectively as he pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

Outside, the castle continued its rhythms—footsteps echoing down distant halls, servants clearing the last of the supper dishes—but inside their chamber, it was only them.

The first light of dawn crept into the room, painting the walls in soft hues of gold and pink. The reader stirred slightly, her body warm and comforted by the solid presence beside her. Aemond was still there, his breathing even as he slept, his arm draped loosely around her waist.

The moment of peace was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“Y/N, are you—” Rhaenyra’s voice cut off abruptly as she took in the scene before her.

Aemond stirred, his single eye snapping open as he became aware of their visitor. He sat up quickly, though he made no effort to leave the bed.

Rhaenyra’s gaze flicked between her daughter and Aemond, her expression unreadable. “I see you’ve had company,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

The reader flushed, pulling the blanket higher around herself even though they were both fully clothed. “It’s not what it looks like,” she began, but the words felt hollow even to her. Rhaenyra held up a hand, silencing her. “We’ll discuss this later,” she said, her voice firm. Her gaze softened slightly as she looked at her daughter. “You should get dressed. Rowena will be looking for you soon.”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

As the door closed, the reader let out a shaky breath, burying her face in her hands. “Well, that was humiliating,” she muttered.

Aemond reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “She’ll understand,” he said quietly.

The reader shook her head. “She’s my mother. Of course, she’ll have something to say about this.”

Aemond’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N. Whatever happens, you’ll handle it.”

She looked at him, her heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and something deeper. “Thank you,” she said softly.

As she prepared to face the day, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a family series. Chapter 14: Visions

When she arrives in her chambers the pain blossoms and crashes onto her eyes making the reader drops her toddler out of her arms.

The quiet of the castle halls amplified the gentle sound of Rowena’s babbling as the reader carried her toddler toward her chambers. Rowena, happily oblivious to the world, tugged at her mother’s hair and muttered incomprehensible words. The reader managed a faint smile, though her temples throbbed with a dull ache that had been building steadily.

As they approached her chambers, the pain sharpened suddenly, like a knife pressed to her skull. The reader stumbled, her breath hitching as her vision blurred momentarily. She squeezed her eyes shut and took deep, measured breaths. Not now, not here. The pressure eased slightly, enough for her to regain her composure. She tightened her hold on Rowena and continued forward, but her steps were slower, more deliberate.

When she reached the door to her chambers, she fumbled with the handle, managing to push it open. The moment they crossed the threshold, the headache bloomed into a full-on assault. It was as though fire had ignited behind her eyes, radiating out to every nerve in her head. The reader let out a strangled gasp, her knees buckling under her as she fell to the floor. Her hands caught her weight, but Rowena slipped from her grasp, landing on the thick rug with a startled cry.

The toddler’s wail cut through the haze of the reader’s pain like a blade. “Rowena,” she croaked, trying to reach for her daughter, but her arms shook violently, and her vision swam with dark spots. She collapsed fully onto her hands and knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her head pounded as flashes of imagery filled her mind, chaotic and disjointed.

The cottage.

The hooded figures.

The bloodied dagger.

Rowena’s screams.

The visions were almost too vivid, as if she were reliving the horrors of that night. The reader grunted in pain, clawing at the floorboards as though trying to escape the memories clawing at her mind.

Rowena’s cries grew louder, a frantic wail of distress as she crawled toward her mother and tugged at her arm. “Mama! Mama!” the toddler shrieked, her small hands pulling with desperate strength.

The commotion reached outside the chambers, catching Alicent’s attention as she walked down the hall. She stopped, frowning at the muffled sounds, and quickly changed her direction. Pushing open the door, Alicent’s face fell into a mask of concern as she saw the scene before her: the reader on the ground, trembling and clutching her head, and Rowena sobbing beside her.

Alicent crossed the room swiftly, her skirts rustling as she knelt beside Rowena. “Shh, it’s all right, little one,” she said gently, reaching out to soothe her. But Rowena, clearly distraught, pushed Alicent’s hands away and clung to her mother’s arm, crying harder.

“Rowena, please,” Alicent murmured, trying again, but the toddler was inconsolable. Alicent realized she would be of no help here and rose to her feet. “Stay here, little one,” she said softly, though she doubted Rowena would move. Alicent hurried from the room, her steps quick and purposeful as she sought out Rhaenyra and Daemon.

Daemon was the first to react when Alicent burst into the room they were in, her face pale and voice urgent. “It’s Y/N,” she said. “Something is wrong—she’s collapsed. Rowena’s with her, but— Daemon, please.”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He was already moving, Rhaenyra close on his heels. The pair moved through the castle with speed, their footsteps echoing in the quiet halls. As they neared the reader’s chambers, they could hear Rowena’s cries, a heartbreaking sound that made Rhaenyra quicken her pace.

When they entered the room, the sight stopped them both in their tracks. The reader was slumped on the floor, her body trembling as though fighting an invisible force. Rowena sat beside her, her tiny hands patting her mother’s face as she sobbed.

Daemon was the first to act. He crossed the room in three strides, dropping to his knees beside his daughter. “Y/N,” he said, his voice rough with emotion as he gently touched her shoulder. “Look at me, daughter.”

The reader’s head lolled slightly, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Her breathing was shallow, and her body shuddered with every intake.

Rhaenyra scooped Rowena into her arms, holding the trembling toddler close as she whispered soothing words. Rowena buried her face in her grandmother’s neck, her sobs muffled but persistent.

“She’s burning up,” Daemon said grimly, his hand brushing against his daughter’s forehead. “Get the maesters.”

Alicent, who had followed them back, nodded and hurried off to fetch help.

Daemon gently shifted the reader onto her back, cradling her head as he looked into her face. “Y/N, stay with me,” he urged, his voice low but commanding. “Don’t you dare leave us.”

The reader’s lips moved again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Rowena… they… they tried to take her…”

“She’s safe,” Daemon assured her, his voice fierce. “You protected her. She’s here, safe and sound.”

The reader’s body gave one final shudder before going completely still. Daemon felt his chest tighten, a wave of dread washing over him. “Y/N?” he called, shaking her slightly.

Rhaenyra knelt beside him, her face pale as she placed a hand over her daughter’s chest. After a tense moment, she let out a breath. “She’s alive,” she said. “But barely.”

The maesters arrived moments later, and Daemon reluctantly relinquished his hold, allowing them to lift the reader onto a nearby bed. They worked quickly, checking her vitals and preparing remedies for her pain and fever.

Daemon remained at her side, his jaw clenched tightly as he watched them work. Rhaenyra sat in a nearby chair with Rowena still in her arms, the toddler finally calming but still sniffling.

“Is she going to be all right?” Daemon demanded, his voice hard.

The lead maester glanced at him briefly. “She’s stable for now, my lord, but we need to determine what caused the episode. This… is not a simple ailment.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not an ailment. It’s something else. She spoke of hooded figures—visions.”

The maester nodded, his expression grim. “We will do all we can.”

Hours passed before the reader finally stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a weak groan as consciousness slowly returned. The room was dimly lit now, and the scent of herbs lingered in the air.

“Y/N?” Daemon’s voice was soft but insistent as he leaned over her. Relief flooded his features as her eyes met his. “Thank the gods.”

The reader blinked slowly, her throat dry as she tried to speak. “Rowena…”

“She’s fine,” Daemon assured her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “She’s with your mother. Safe.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded, the memories of the pain and visions still vivid. “I saw them,” she whispered hoarsely. “The men who… who came for her.”

Daemon’s expression darkened, his hand tightening on hers. “You don’t have to talk about it now. Rest.”

But the reader shook her head weakly. “They’re still out there. I know they are.”

Her father’s face was a mask of determination. “Then we’ll find them,” he promised. “And they’ll pay for what they’ve done.”

Y/n let out a shaky breath, her eyes drifting shut again. This time, however, she found some measure of peace, knowing her family was by her side and Rowena was safe.

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The air in the reader's chambers was heavy with silence, broken only by the soft breathing of her sleeping toddler. Rowena lay curled up on the bed, her chubby arms wrapped around a stuffed wolf, her small face serene and peaceful. The reader sat nearby, her mind anything but at ease. The visions had haunted her since the night of her collapse, and no amount of reassurances from her family or the maesters could dispel the sense of foreboding they left behind.

She knew she needed answers—answers that the maesters couldn’t provide. Something deeper was calling to her, something beyond the reach of logic and medicine. Witchcraft. The idea had lingered in the back of her mind for days, whispered to her like a beckoning shadow. She had heard of the old ways, of rituals and spells that could peel back the layers of the unseen world. If her visions were trying to tell her something, perhaps this was the way to uncover the truth.

Late one night, while the castle was cloaked in sleep, the reader slipped from her chambers. She wore a dark cloak, its hood pulled low over her face. The soft patter of her bare feet on the cold stone floors was the only sound as she made her way to the library. The ancient shelves were lined with dusty tomes, many of which were forbidden to most. It took some time, but she found what she was looking for: The Secrets of the Old Tongue and Mysteries of the Shadow Lands.

Back in her chambers, she lit a cluster of candles, their flickering light casting eerie shadows on the walls. She placed the books on the table and opened them carefully, the brittle pages crinkling under her fingers. The texts spoke of sigils, chants, and rituals—methods for unlocking the hidden truths of the world. It was intimidating, yet exhilarating. For the first time in days, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Her first attempts were clumsy. She whispered the incantations haltingly, unsure of her pronunciation. She drew crude sigils in chalk on the wooden floor, but the lines were uneven, and the patterns felt incomplete. Still, she persisted. Rowena often watched from the bed, her head tilted curiously as her mother murmured strange words and lit fragrant herbs that filled the room with smoke. The toddler didn’t seem frightened; if anything, she was fascinated.

Weeks passed, and her efforts grew more confident. One night, as she meditated within a circle of carefully drawn runes, she felt it—a flicker of something beyond the veil of her understanding. It was faint, like a whisper carried on the wind, but it was there. She opened her eyes, her heart racing as the room seemed to grow colder. The shadows in the corners of her chambers lengthened, and for a moment, she swore she could hear faint voices.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the presence faded. The reader sat back, breathless and trembling, but triumphant. She was on the right path.

Her progress brought a new kind of determination. She scoured the tomes for more advanced rituals, ones that could help her delve deeper into her visions. Her nights were consumed by her studies, and even during the day, her thoughts lingered on the practice. Daemon noticed the change in her, his sharp eyes narrowing as he watched her during meals. “You’ve been quiet,” he said one evening, his voice low. “What are you hiding, daughter?”

“Nothing, father,” she replied smoothly, though she could tell he didn’t believe her.

Her mother, Rhaenyra, was more direct. “You’ve been distant,” she said one morning as they sat in the gardens. “Your mind is elsewhere. If something is troubling you, you can tell me.”

But the reader couldn’t. This was something she had to face alone.

One night, she prepared a ritual meant to reveal the truth of her visions. She waited until Rowena was asleep and the castle was silent. She laid out her tools: a silver bowl filled with water, a black candle, and a strand of her own hair. She carved runes into the candle and lit it, letting the wax drip into the water as she chanted softly in High Valyrian.

As the final words left her lips, the water in the bowl rippled, though there was no breeze. Her breath hitched as an image began to form on the surface—a dark forest, the trees gnarled and looming. She saw hooded figures moving among the shadows, their faces obscured. One of them held a bloodied dagger, its blade glinting in the faint light.

Then, she saw herself. She was standing in the same forest, Rowena in her arms. The hooded figures surrounded them, their weapons drawn. The image sent a chill down her spine, but before she could process it, the water stilled, the vision disappearing as quickly as it had come.

The next morning, the reader sat in the council chambers with her family. She had called for the meeting herself, though the weight of her decision to reveal her practices pressed heavily on her shoulders. Her parents, Daemon and Rhaenyra, sat at the head of the table, their expressions curious but wary. Aemond was there as well, his intense gaze fixed on her.

“I’ve been having visions,” she began, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Since the night I collapsed. They’re not dreams—they’re something else. Something real.”

Daemon frowned. “What kind of visions?”

She hesitated, then decided there was no point in holding back. “I see the hooded figures who came for Rowena. I see them in the forest, waiting. Watching. They’re planning something.”

Rhaenyra’s face darkened. “And you’ve kept this from us? Why?”

“Because I didn’t know what it meant,” the reader admitted. “I didn’t want to worry you without answers.”

“And now?” Daemon pressed.

“Now, I’m starting to understand. I’ve been practicing witchcraft—old rituals and spells. They’ve helped me see more clearly.” She paused, bracing for their reactions.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “Witchcraft?”

Rhaenyra’s expression was a mix of concern and disbelief. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? The risks you’re taking?”

“I do,” the reader said firmly. “But I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. These visions—they’re a warning. The hooded figures aren’t done. They’re coming for Rowena again.”

Aemond, who had been silent until now, spoke up. “And what do you plan to do with this knowledge?”

“Protect her,” the reader said, her voice hard. “Whatever it takes.”

Despite their initial resistance, Daemon and Rhaenyra reluctantly agreed to support her efforts, though they insisted on keeping a close eye on her practices. Aemond, however, surprised her. He began accompanying her during her rituals, offering his silent presence as a form of support. Though their relationship had been fraught with tension, his steady companionship was oddly comforting.

One night, as they sat by the flickering candlelight, Aemond broke the silence. “You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” he said quietly.

The reader glanced at him, surprised. “Why are you here, Aemond?”

“Because I care,” he admitted, his voice soft but earnest. “Whether you believe that or not.”

She didn’t reply, but for the first time, she allowed herself to believe he might be telling the truth.

The reader’s practices finally bore fruit during a particularly intense ritual. She had prepared for days, gathering rare ingredients and meditating to focus her mind. This time, the vision was clearer than ever.

She saw the hooded figures in the forest, gathered around a fire. Their leader held a map, his finger pointing to a location she recognized—it was near the castle. They were planning an attack, their sights set on Rowena.

When the vision ended, the reader sat back, her heart pounding. She knew what she had to do.

She gathered her family, sharing everything she had seen. Daemon immediately called for heightened security around the castle, while Rhaenyra began rallying their allies. Aemond offered to lead a scouting party to the forest, determined to find and eliminate the threat.

The reader, though exhausted from her efforts, felt a sense of purpose. She had unlocked the truth, and now, she would do whatever it took to protect her daughter.

The hooded figures would come—but this time, they would find her ready

The weight of the vision pressed heavily on the reader as she stood in the council chamber, her family gathered around her. The hooded figures were real, and their threat loomed closer than ever. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she relayed the final details of what she had seen, her voice steady but strained.

“They’re coming,” she said, her eyes moving from Daemon to Rhaenyra. “Not weeks or months from now—soon. The forest is their staging ground, and they’re planning to move against us.”

Daemon’s expression hardened, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his blade. “Let them come,” he growled. “They’ll learn what it means to cross House Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra, more measured, placed a calming hand on his arm. “This isn’t just about us,” she said. “They’re after Rowena. We need to be strategic, not impulsive.”

The reader nodded. “If we act rashly, we could endanger her even more. But we can’t ignore the threat. We have to prepare.”

Aemond, standing at the edge of the room, stepped forward. His face was a mask of grim determination. “I’ll go to the forest,” he said. “Scout the area and find their encampment. We need more information before we act.”

Daemon bristled. “You won’t go alone. If something happens to you, we’ll be blind to their plans.”

“I’ll take a small group,” Aemond replied, his tone firm. “Enough to be safe, but not enough to draw attention.”

The reader met his gaze, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Be careful,” she said, her voice softer. “We can’t afford to lose you.”

The following days were a whirlwind of preparation. Daemon and Rhaenyra coordinated the castle’s defenses, while Aemond led his scouting party into the forest. The reader spent most of her time with

Rowena, her heart heavy with worry. The toddler, blissfully unaware of the danger, giggled and babbled as her mother read her stories and sang lullabies.

One afternoon, as they sat together in the garden, Rowena looked up at her mother with wide, curious eyes. “Mama,” she said, her little hand tugging at the reader’s sleeve. “Bad people come?”

The reader’s heart clenched. “Not if I can help it, sweetling,” she said, pulling Rowena into a tight embrace. “Mama will keep you safe.”

Rowena nodded solemnly, as if she understood. Then, with a small smile, she said, “Avy jorrāelan, Mama.”

Tears pricked the reader’s eyes as she kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Avy jorrāelan, Rowena.”

Three days later, Aemond returned from the forest. His party looked weary but unscathed, their expressions grim. The reader met him in the courtyard, her stomach twisting with anxiety.

“What did you find?” she asked, her voice low.

“They’re close,” Aemond said, his jaw tightening. “Too close. Their encampment is less than a day’s ride from here. They’re heavily armed and well-organized.”

Daemon, who had joined them, let out a string of curses. “They’ll regret setting foot on our land.”

Rhaenyra arrived moments later, her face pale but resolute. “We need a plan,” she said. “If they’re that close, we don’t have much time.”

Aemond nodded. “I’ve already sent word to the watchtower. They’ll increase patrols and set up traps along the forest paths. But we need to be ready for an attack on the castle.”

The reader swallowed hard, her mind racing. “And Rowena?”

“She’ll be protected,” Rhaenyra said firmly. “We’ll keep her in the safest part of the castle, surrounded by guards.”

The reader’s chest tightened. “I’m staying with her,” she said. “If they come for her, they’ll have to go through me first.”

Night fell over the castle, the air thick with tension. The reader stayed in her chambers with Rowena, cradling the toddler in her arms as she sang softly. The wolf lay at their feet, its ears pricked for any sign of danger.

Outside, the castle was alive with activity. Guards patrolled the walls, their torches casting flickering light across the stone. Daemon and Aemond stood together in the courtyard, their swords at the ready.

The attack came just before dawn.

The first sign was the distant sound of horns, followed by the clash of steel. The hooded figures had breached the forest traps and were advancing on the castle. Daemon and Aemond led the charge, their dragons roaring as they took to the skies.

Inside the castle, the reader clutched Rowena tightly as the sounds of battle grew closer. She could hear the shouts of guards and the clang of weapons, each noise sending a spike of fear through her chest.

Suddenly, the door to her chambers burst open. A guard stumbled in, blood staining his armor. “They’re inside,” he panted. “We need to move you and the child.”

The reader nodded, grabbing a dagger from her bedside table. “Stay close,” she said, holding Rowena tightly as they followed the guard through the dimly lit corridors.

The hooded figures moved swiftly through the castle, their intent clear. They were here for Rowena, and they wouldn’t stop until they had her. The reader’s heart pounded as she and the guard navigated the twisting hallways, each turn bringing them closer to safety—or danger.

They reached a hidden passageway, but before they could enter, a group of attackers appeared at the end of the corridor. The guard stepped forward, his sword raised, but he was outnumbered.

“Run!” he shouted, his voice desperate. “Take the child and run!”

The reader hesitated for only a moment before turning and fleeing down the passageway, Rowena clutched tightly against her chest. The toddler whimpered, her tiny hands gripping her mother’s dress.

As they emerged into a small courtyard, the reader came face-to-face with one of the hooded figures. The man lunged at her, his blade glinting in the pale light. She dodged to the side, her instincts taking over as she slashed at him with her dagger.

The fight was brutal and frantic. The reader’s movements were fueled by sheer determination to protect her child. Finally, she managed to drive the dagger into the man’s side, and he collapsed with a pained groan.

The battle raged on, but the tide began to turn in the castle’s favor. Daemon and Aemond fought with unrelenting ferocity, their dragons wreaking havoc on the attackers. Rhaenyra rallied the guards, her leadership a beacon of strength.

The reader, exhausted but alive, made her way back to the main hall, where her family was regrouping. Rowena clung to her mother, her face buried in her shoulder.

“They came for her,” the reader said, her voice shaking. “They won’t stop.”

Daemon placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “They won’t get another chance,” he vowed. “Not while I’m breathing.”

In the days that followed, the castle began to recover from the attack. The hooded figures had been defeated, but the threat they posed still lingered in the reader’s mind. She knew they would return, stronger and more determined.

But for now, there was peace. The reader spent her days with Rowena, cherishing every moment of calm. She continued her studies in witchcraft, determined to uncover more about the hooded figures and their plans.

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

The morning after the battle dawned quiet, the storm’s wrath giving way to a pale sun breaking through thinning clouds. The castle was alive with the sounds of repairs and mourning—dragons roared in the distance, the clatter of stone and metal echoing in the halls. The reader moved through it all like a ghost, her exhaustion deep but her mind restless. She carried Rowena on her hip as she walked to the kitchens, hoping to find something to distract her child.

The toddler had grown unusually quiet since the attack, her bright curiosity subdued. The reader worried about the lasting effects of so much chaos on her daughter’s young mind. She whispered reassurances as they passed a group of guards repairing a collapsed section of the wall, trying to shield Rowena from the bloodstains that still marked the stone.

Rowena clung to her, her small voice breaking the silence. “Mama sad?”

The reader froze mid-step, her heart sinking. “What makes you say that, sweetling?”

Rowena pressed her face against her mother’s shoulder, mumbling, “Mama no smile.”

The words were simple, but they struck deep. The reader held her daughter close, kissing her temple. “Mama is just tired, my love. I’ll be better soon.”

Later that day, the reader left Rowena in her chambers with a small pile of toys and her favorite stuffed direwolf while she went to speak with Daemon and Rhaenyra. The toddler’s sharp wits and curiosity often made her restless, though, and it wasn’t long before a pair of soft footsteps padded into the hall.

Aemond found Rowena sitting on the floor near the library, her small hands fiddling with a piece of broken chainmail she’d likely picked up from the armory. She looked up at him with wide, stormy eyes that so resembled her mother’s.

“What are you doing here, little one?” Aemond asked, crouching to her level.

Rowena studied him carefully before standing and reaching for his hand, pulling him along. “Come,” she demanded.

He chuckled, letting her guide him down the corridor. “Where are we going?”

She didn’t answer, her focus intent. Finally, she stopped by one of the tall windows overlooking the training yard. Aemond knelt beside her, his curiosity piqued. Rowena turned to him and spoke with a seriousness that belied her age.

“Mama sad,” she said, her tiny hand clutching his tunic. “You fix?”

Aemond blinked, startled. “Your mother is... strong. She doesn’t need me to fix her.”

Rowena frowned, shaking her head. “Mama no smile,” she repeated, clearly frustrated that he didn’t understand.

The weight of her words settled over Aemond. He glanced out the window, his gaze distant. “Your mother carries more than most. But I don’t think she wants me to help.”

Rowena tugged his arm, her small brow furrowed in determination. “Try!”

Her insistence brought a faint smile to his lips. “You’re just as stubborn as she is,” he muttered, standing and lifting her into his arms. She giggled, delighted at the sudden movement, and patted his face as if to say, good job.

When the reader returns to her chambers, she finds Aemond sitting cross-legged on the floor with Rowena on his lap. They were surrounded by an odd assortment of objects—books, toys, and scraps of armor—and seemed to be engaged in some sort of game involving building towers that inevitably toppled.

The sight gave her pause. It was rare to see Aemond in such an unguarded state, and even rarer to see Rowena so at ease with someone besides herself or Daemon.

“Busy?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.

Aemond looked up, his gaze steady. “She insisted.”

Rowena turned at the sound of her mother’s voice, scrambling to her feet and running to her. “Mama!”

The reader scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “What have you two been up to?”

“Fixing Mama,” Rowena said matter-of-factly, pointing at Aemond as if he were a tool she’d borrowed.

The reader raised an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to Aemond. “Fixing me, is he?”

Aemond stood, brushing off his tunic. “She’s more perceptive than you give her credit for.”

The reader sighed, shifting Rowena on her hip. “She’s too perceptive sometimes.”

Rowena reached out, tugging at her mother’s sleeve. “Smile, Mama.”

The reader managed a small one, though it was tinged with weariness. Rowena beamed, satisfied, and wriggled free of her arms to return to her makeshift game.

Aemond watched the exchange, his expression softening. “You’re allowed to let others share the burden,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him, her walls firmly in place. “And what would you know of burdens?”

“More than you might think.” His voice held no malice, only a quiet truth that left her momentarily disarmed.

She didn’t reply, instead watching as Rowena babbled happily to herself, arranging her scattered treasures into patterns only she understood.

That evening, the reader decided to seek answers to the questions that still plagued her. She left Rowena in Rhaenyra’s care, the toddler already half-asleep in her grandmother’s arms, and slipped out into the night.

The forest was alive with whispers, the wind rustling through the trees as if carrying the voices of the past. The reader walked with purpose, her steps crunching over leaves and twigs. She carried a small satchel of supplies—candles, herbs, and the ancient book that had become her guide in magic.

She reached a secluded glade where the moonlight filtered through the trees, illuminating a circle of mossy stones. It was here that she had first felt the stirrings of power, and it was here that she would find clarity.

Lighting the candles, she arranged them in a circle and sprinkled the herbs at the center. She knelt, opening the book and whispering the incantation she had memorized. The air grew heavy, and the flickering light of the candles seemed to bend and twist.

Her vision shifted. She was no longer in the glade but standing in the ruined cottage where Rowena’s life had been upended. The hooded figures were there, chanting in a language she couldn’t understand. They surrounded a central figure—a man with a cruel smile and eyes like ice.

He turned to her as if sensing her presence. “You should have stayed away,” he said, his voice echoing unnaturally. “The bloodline will end, one way or another.”

The vision shattered, and the reader gasped, collapsing to the ground. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she struggled to catch her breath. The warning was clear: they would not stop until Rowena was gone.

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Days passed since the reader's latest vision, and the air in the castle seemed heavier with every moment. The hooded figures haunted her thoughts, their cryptic message a constant thorn in her mind.

She spent hours in the library pouring over ancient texts, desperate to find anything that might shield her daughter from their reach.

One night, deep in the dim light of her chambers, she stumbled upon an old tome, its cracked leather cover inscribed with a sigil she did not recognize. The pages within spoke of blood rituals—practices that had long been forbidden but carried great power. These rituals, the text explained, could be used for many purposes: healing, protection, and warding off evil spirits.

The reader's pulse quickened as she read on. The descriptions were vivid, the steps precise, and though the magic was ancient and demanding, she knew it might be the key to shielding Rowena from further harm.

As the castle settled into the stillness of night, the reader set to work preparing for the ritual. Her chambers were quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth. Rowena slept soundly in her small bed, wrapped snugly in her favourite blanket.

The reader placed a basin of water at the center of her room and lit several candles, arranging them in a careful circle. The air grew heavier as she crushed herbs into a fine powder, sprinkling them into the water. She unwrapped a small, sharp dagger, its blade gleaming in the candlelight.

Just as she was about to begin, the door to her chambers swung open. Aemond stepped inside, his expression dark as his gaze swept over the room.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp.

The reader didn’t look up. “What does it look like? I’m protecting my daughter.”

Aemond took a step closer, his presence towering. “With blood magic? Are you mad?”

She finally met his gaze, her resolve unyielding. “If madness is what it takes to keep her safe, then so be it.”

Aemond moved closer, his hands clenched into fists. “This magic comes with a cost. You can’t just play with forces you don’t understand.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Do you think I haven’t considered that? Do you think I haven’t weighed every risk? I saw what those hooded figures want to do to her, Aemond. I saw it. I will not let them take her.”

He reached for her arm, his grip firm but not harsh. “Let me help you another way. There has to be another way.”

She pulled free, her voice rising. “There isn’t! This is my choice, and you don’t get to stop me.”

Aemond hesitated, his jaw tightening as he weighed his options. Finally, he stepped back, his gaze burning. “If you do this, I won’t leave. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be here to stop it.”

The reader nodded curtly, grateful in spite of herself.

The reader sat cross-legged on the floor, her breathing steady as she picked up the dagger. Aemond stood at the edge of the circle, tense and watchful. She murmured the incantation from the tome, her voice soft but firm.

When the time came, she pressed the blade to her palm and drew a shallow cut. Blood welled up, and she let it drip into the basin of water. The candles flickered, their flames dancing wildly as the magic began to take hold.

The air grew heavy, the scent of herbs mingling with something ancient and raw. Shadows seemed to shift on the walls, taking shapes that whispered of long-forgotten power.

Aemond’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword as if on instinct, his eyes darting around the room. “Is it supposed to feel like this?”

The reader didn’t answer, too focused on the ritual. She dipped her fingers into the bloodied water and painted symbols onto the floor, each stroke precise. The symbols glowed faintly, pulsing with an otherworldly light.

As the final words of the incantation left her lips, a wave of energy rippled through the room. The candles extinguished all at once, plunging them into darkness.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then the reader felt it—a shift in the air, a loosening of the oppressive weight that had clung to her since the vision. She opened her eyes, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“It’s done,” she whispered.

Aemond stepped forward, kneeling beside her. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, wiping her bloodied hand on a cloth. “No, but I think... I think it worked. I can feel it. They’re weaker.”

He studied her face, searching for any sign of doubt. “You’re sure?”

She nodded, her voice steadier now. “Not gone, but weakened. It’s enough for now.”

When dawn broke, the reader felt lighter than she had in weeks. The air in the castle seemed clearer, the shadows less foreboding. She spent the morning with Rowena, who was blissfully unaware of the danger that had loomed over her.

Later, Daemon sought her out, his expression uncharacteristically grave. “Something’s changed,” he said, his sharp eyes studying her.

The reader nodded. “I performed a ritual last night. I weakened them.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow. “Blood magic?”

She didn’t answer, but her silence was enough.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, though there was no judgment in his tone.

“I know,” she replied. “But it’s a game I have to win.”

That evening, Aemond found her in the gardens, watching Rowena chase a butterfly. He approached quietly, his expression unreadable.

“You scared me last night,” he admitted.

She looked at him, surprised by his candour. “Why?”

“Because you were willing to sacrifice so much.”

She sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “That’s what being a mother means. Sacrificing everything, if it comes to it.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “Then I’ll stand with you. Whatever comes next, you won’t face it alone.”

She offered him a small, tired smile. “Thank you.”

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The reader’s newfound use of blood rituals weighed heavily on her mind, not because she doubted their power, but because she feared the judgment of those closest to her. Her father, Daemon, was especially perceptive, and though he hadn’t openly confronted her about her nocturnal practices, she could feel his watchful gaze whenever they crossed paths.

It was a week after the ritual when Daemon finally cornered her. Rowena was playing in the gardens with the direwolf, her laughter carrying through the halls as Daemon gestured for his daughter to join him in the library.

“I know that look,” she said as she entered, closing the door behind her. “You have something to say.”

Daemon leaned against the edge of a table, arms crossed. “I always have something to say. But this time, it’s about you.”

The reader sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Go on then. Let’s get it over with.”

“You’ve been dabbling in blood rituals more and more,” Daemon said bluntly, his eyes narrowing.

The reader froze for a moment before exhaling. “How did you find out?”

“I know you better than you think,” Daemon replied. “And the energy around you has shifted. There’s power clinging to you—something ancient and dangerous.”

She didn’t deny it. Instead, she moved to sit in one of the high-backed chairs, her fingers tracing the carved armrests. “I did what I had to do, Father. You saw what happened. You saw what they tried to do to Rowena.”

Daemon’s expression softened, but only slightly. “And you thought blood magic was the answer?”

“I didn’t choose it lightly,” she said, meeting his gaze. “But the vision of those hooded figures, the attack in the night—it’s all connected. They want her, and I don’t know why. All I know is that I’ll do anything to keep her safe.”

Daemon paced the room, his boots thudding softly against the stone floor. “Do you even understand what you’re dealing with? Blood rituals are not a game. They take as much as they give, if not more.”

“I’m learning,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ve read everything I can find. I’ve followed the steps precisely.”

Daemon stopped, turning to face her. “And what will you do if the magic turns on you? If the cost is more than you can bear?”

She hesitated, her resolve wavering for just a moment. “Then I’ll bear it. Because the alternative is losing her. And I won’t let that happen.”

Daemon sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. “I understand why you’re doing this. I even admire it, in a way. But let me tell you something about power: it’s a hungry beast. The more you feed it, the more it demands.”

He moved to sit across from her, his gaze piercing. “You think you’re in control now, but blood magic doesn’t bend to anyone’s will. It’s chaos, and chaos always finds a way to consume.”

The reader swallowed hard, Daemon’s words striking a chord. “What would you have me do? Stop? Leave her vulnerable?”

“No,” he said softly. “But you need to be careful. You need to have limits. And you need to be prepared for the day when the magic asks for something you’re not willing to give.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them.

“Do you think I’m a fool for doing this?” she asked quietly.

Daemon shook his head. “No. I think you’re a mother. And mothers will do anything for their children, even if it means losing themselves.”

He reached out, placing a hand on hers. “Just promise me one thing. Whatever you do, don’t shut me out. If this magic spirals out of control, you’ll need someone to pull you back.”

She nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “I promise.”

That night, as the castle settled into its usual quiet, the reader returned to her chambers. The tome lay open on her desk, its pages filled with spells and rituals she had yet to attempt. She stared at the text, Daemon’s words echoing in her mind.

Rowena was already asleep, her small body curled up against the direwolf. The sight brought a faint smile to the reader’s lips, a reminder of why she was doing all of this.

But as she turned the pages, her resolve hardened. She couldn’t afford to stop now. The hooded figures were still out there, weakened but not defeated. She needed to stay ahead of them, to protect her daughter at all costs.

The next day, as the reader studied in the library, Aemond found her. His presence was almost silent, but she had grown accustomed to sensing him.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m busy,” she replied without looking up.

Aemond moved closer, his expression thoughtful. “Busy with blood rituals?”

She shot him a sharp look, but he didn’t back down.

“Daemon told me,” he said simply.

“Of course he did,” she muttered, closing the book in front of her. “And let me guess—you’re here to lecture me too?”

“No,” Aemond said, surprising her. “I’m here to help.”

She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Help? Why?”

“Because I care about you,” he said, his voice steady. “And because I care about Rowena. If this is the path you’re taking, then I’ll walk it with you.”

The reader studied him for a long moment, searching for any sign of insincerity. But Aemond’s gaze was unwavering, his determination clear.

“Fine,” she said finally. “But if you’re going to help, you do exactly as I say. No questions, no arguments.”

“Agreed,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a Family series - Chapter 13: Avy jorrāelan

CW: masturbation

Y/n paced back and forth in her room, her chest tight with panic. Her hands trembled as she tried to steady her breathing, but the reality of what her father had told her loomed too large to ignore. A rightful queen. A symbol of the gods’ favor. The weight of it pressed down on her like an iron chain.

“I don’t want it,” she whispered to herself, her voice cracking. “I just want peace. I just want to be free.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and uncontrollable. She gripped the edge of the table in her room, her knuckles white as she fought to contain the storm of emotions swirling inside her. She thought of Rowena, of the quiet mornings they spent together, of the laughter they shared with the animals. That was her life. That was all she wanted.

A soft knock at the door startled her. She quickly wiped at her tears, trying to compose herself, but before she could say anything, the door opened to reveal Aemond. He stepped inside, his expression unreadable, though his single eye immediately flicked to her tear-streaked face.

“Get out,” she snapped, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair. She turned away from him, not wanting him to see her like this.

Aemond didn’t move. Instead, he closed the door behind him and took a step closer. “You’re upset,” he said simply, his tone softer than usual.

“Go away, i’m fine!” she hissed, spinning to face him.

Aemond regarded her for a moment before speaking. “What’s wrong.”

“Then why are you here?” she shot back, glaring at him through her tears.

He said firmly, stepping closer. “I’m here because I heard your cries, you’re hurting.”

The reader froze, her anger faltering as his words sank in. She looked away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Aemond took another step closer, his gaze steady. “I may not know whats happening but you fight. You fight to keep what’s yours.”

She looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but found none. For a moment, she let herself believe that maybe he understood.

When he reached out, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder, she didn’t pull away. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said quietly. “And you’re not alone.”

She nodded stiffly, unable to find the words to respond. Aemond gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts,” he said, turning toward the door. Before he left, he glanced back at her. “If you ever need someone to stand by your side, you know where to find me.”

When the door closed behind him, the reader sank onto the edge of her bed, her mind racing. She stayed there for what felt like hours before finally rising, her resolve hardening.

The dragonpit was dark and quiet as she slipped inside, Rowena safe with her grandfather for the night. The massive stone structure echoed with the sounds of dragons shifting in their sleep, their low rumbles filling the air like distant thunder. The white stag followed her, its graceful movements almost ghostlike in the moonlight.

“This way,” she whispered, leading the stag deeper into the pit. Her steps were quiet, careful, as she made her way to Caraxes’s lair. The massive dragon lay curled in his chamber, his crimson scales glinting faintly in the dim light. His head lifted as she approached, his glowing eyes watching her with curiosity.

“Good boy,” she murmured, reaching out to touch his snout. Caraxes rumbled softly in response, his warm breath washing over her. She turned to the stag, gesturing for it to follow her behind the dragon’s immense form. The stag hesitated for a moment before obeying, stepping into the shadowed space behind Caraxes.

“No one will find you here,” she said, crouching down to meet the stag’s gaze. She ran a hand along its neck, her voice trembling with determination. “You’ll be safe, and no one will know. I don’t care about the iron throne or what the gods think. This is my life, and I’ll protect it.”

The stag let out a soft grunt, as if understanding her words. She stood, her hand lingering on its side for a moment before turning back to Caraxes. The dragon watched her intently, his head tilting slightly as she met his gaze.

“Watch over him,” she said softly. Caraxes rumbled again, his tail curling protectively around the stag’s hiding place.

As she left the dragonpit, her heart felt a little lighter. She had made her choice. The gods may have sent her a sign, but she would decide her own fate. Her peace, her freedom, and her family were all that mattered.

The quiet of the night was shattered by the low, rumbling growl of the direwolf at the foot of the reader’s bed. She stirred, half-asleep, until the sound became more menacing, pulling her fully awake. Before she could react, a gloved hand clamped down over her mouth. Her eyes flew open, meeting the cold, dark stare of an assassin looming over her.

“Where is the child?” he hissed, his voice low and threatening.

The reader’s heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to show fear. She glared at him, her lips sealed beneath his hand.

The assassin’s patience quickly wore thin. “Tell me, or I’ll make you wish you had.” He produced a sharp blade, pressing the edge against her cheek. Pain flared as the steel bit into her skin, a thin line of blood welling up.

The direwolf growled louder, teeth bared, but the assassin ignored it, focused on his target.

In that split second of distraction, the reader’s hand darted under her pillow, her fingers closing around the hilt of a hidden dagger. With a desperate cry muffled by the assassin’s glove, she plunged the blade into his neck. The man staggered back, blood spurting from the wound as he crashed into the small table near the bed. The sound of breaking wood and clattering objects filled the room, jolting Rowena awake.

The toddler’s frightened wail cut through the chaos, and the assassin, clutching his bleeding neck, lunged toward the crib.

“No!” the reader shouted, throwing herself at him. But before she could reach him, the direwolf attacked, leaping onto the assassin with all its weight. The wolf’s teeth sank into the man’s throat, ripping and tearing until he went still. The room fell silent, save for Rowena’s terrified cries and the reader’s ragged breathing.

Blood pooled around the assassin’s lifeless body, staining the floorboards crimson. The direwolf stood over the corpse, growling softly, its muzzle bloodied.

The reader staggered to her feet, her hand pressed to her bleeding cheek. She stumbled to Rowena’s crib, scooping the toddler into her arms. Rowena clung to her, sobbing into her mother’s shoulder. Y/n sat down heavily in the rocking chair, cradling her daughter close as she gently rocked back and forth, trying to calm the child. Her eyes remained fixed on the assassin’s body, her mind racing.

The crash and commotion had woken Daemon and Rhaenyra. They shared a brief, alarmed glance before springing out of bed, grabbing weapons on their way out. Daemon’s face was a mask of fury, his sword gleaming in the torchlight as they ran down the corridor toward their daughter’s chambers.

When they burst into the room, the sight before them froze them in their tracks.

The reader sat in the rocking chair, blood streaked down her cheek and splattered across her nightclothes. Rowena was curled against her chest, her small body trembling as she sniffled into her mother’s neck. The direwolf stood by the chair, its teeth bared, blood dripping from its muzzle as it growled at the intruders.

On the floor lay the body of the assassin, his throat mangled, blood pooling beneath him.

The reader’s eyes slowly lifted to meet her parents’. Her voice was calm but tinged with an edge of hysteria.

“They tried to take her away from me,” she said, her words trembling but resolute. “They came for Rowena.”

Daemon stepped forward, his face ashen with rage and concern. He sheathed his sword and knelt beside his daughter, his hands trembling as he inspected the gash on her cheek.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We need to get the maester—”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted sharply, though her hand trembled as she stroked Rowena’s hair. The toddler’s cries had quieted to soft whimpers, but her little hands still clung tightly to her mother’s nightgown.

Rhaenyra approached slowly, her eyes darting between the corpse, the blood, and her daughter’s pale face. She crouched beside Daemon, her expression a mixture of horror and determination. “Who sent him?” she asked. “Did he say anything?”

The reader shook her head. “He only asked where she was. He didn’t say who sent him.” Her voice cracked, and she pressed a kiss to Rowena’s hair. “I don’t care who it was. They’ll have to kill me before they touch her.”

Daemon stood abruptly, his fury boiling over. “This was no common assassin. This was deliberate. Whoever did this will pay.” He turned to Rhaenyra, his voice cold and decisive. “Double the guards. No one gets in or out without our approval.”

Rhaenyra nodded, rising to her feet. “I’ll handle it.” She placed a comforting hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You’re brave,” she said softly. “But you need rest. Let the maester tend to you.”

Y/nhesitated, her arms tightening around Rowena. The toddler had finally drifted off to sleep, her face tear-streaked and nestled against her mother’s neck.

“I’m not letting her out of my sight,” the reader said firmly. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Daemon crouched again, his expression softening as he placed a hand on his daughter’s knee. “We’ll protect her,” he promised. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

y/n’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away, nodding silently.

Later that night, after the maester had tended to her cheek and the guards had been doubled around the castle, the reader lay in bed with Rowena curled up beside her. The direwolf was sprawled across the floor at the foot of the bed, its ears twitching at every sound. The reader stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.

The image of the assassin’s face haunted her. The sound of his voice, the weight of his hand on her mouth, the feel of his blood on her hands—it all replayed in her mind, over and over. But above all, it was Rowena’s cries that echoed in her heart, a reminder of how close she had come to losing her daughter.

As her eyes drifted shut, a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?” she called, her voice hoarse.

“It’s me,” Daemon replied from the other side.

She hesitated before getting up, careful not to wake Rowena. She opened the door a crack, finding her father standing there, his face shadowed and somber.

“I just wanted to see if you were all right,” he said quietly.

She nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Daemon’s eyes flicked past her to the sleeping toddler. “She’s safe now. And she’ll stay safe. I swear it.”

The reader’s lips trembled, and she looked down. “I don’t know if I can do this, Father. Every time I think we’re safe, something happens. Someone tries to take her from me.”

Daemon placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’re stronger than you think. And you’re not alone in this. We’ll find whoever’s behind this, and we’ll end them.”

She nodded again, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

Daemon gave her a small, reassuring smile before turning and walking away. As she closed the door, she looked back at Rowena, her heart aching with love and fear.

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

Y/n needed time—time away from the overwhelming presence of family, animals, and responsibilities. Though she adored her daughter more than life itself, the constant worry and tension since the attack had left her emotionally raw. She decided to visit Rowena’s biological mother’s resting place, a quiet, secluded spot on the edge of the woods.

Standing before the unmarked grave, the reader knelt, her hands tracing the earth. She spoke softly, as though the spirit of the woman could hear her.

“She’s beautiful,” the reader said, her voice trembling. “Rowena’s learning so quickly. She talks so much now. She’s fearless, just like I imagine you must have been.” Her fingers dug gently into the soil, anchoring her to the moment as tears welled in her eyes. “I’ll keep her safe. I swear it. But—” She choked on her words, wiping her cheeks hastily. “Now I understand. I understand what it must’ve felt like for you, knowing someone could take her away. I can’t imagine the fear you must have lived with every day.”

Her tears fell freely now, spilling onto the earth. “I’ll protect her for both of us,” she promised, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m so sorry you couldn’t be here to see her grow.”

After a long moment of silence, she rose, brushing her hands against her dress. As she turned to leave, she cast one last glance at the grave, her heart heavy with sorrow and resolve.

Returning to the castle, the reader felt the weight of the day pressing down on her. She craved solitude—a chance to collect herself away from everyone and everything. Entering her chambers, she locked the door firmly behind her, ensuring no one would interrupt her.

The room was quiet, dimly lit by the fading light of the evening. She sank onto her bed, lying back as her breathing grew shallow. The events of the past days, the constant vigilance, and the unrelenting fear for Rowena had left her body tense and restless.

She closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting as her hand trailed down her stomach. Lifting the hem of her dress, her fingers brushed against her bare skin, seeking some form of release. The touch sent a shiver through her, and she bit her lip as she slid her hand lower, beneath her knickers, where she felt the warmth and wetness of her desire.

Her breaths became uneven as her fingers worked in steady circles, her body responding to the sensation. The tension she’d been carrying began to ebb, replaced by a mounting heat that overtook her senses. She rubbed faster, her lips parting as soft gasps escaped her. The climax built within her, each motion drawing her closer to the edge until her body arched, and she found her release with a shuddering sigh.

For a moment, she lay still, her chest rising and falling as she savoured the brief relief.

Unknown to her, the door to her chambers had opened quietly during her most private moment. Aemond had entered, intending to speak with her, but the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

His breath caught as he realized what she was doing, her face flushed and her body taut with pleasure.

He stood frozen, torn between retreating and his inability to look away. But as her breathing evened and she began to stir, he quickly and silently stepped back, pulling the door closed behind him.

Leaning against the wall in the corridor, his mind raced, conflicted between guilt and an undeniable pull he couldn’t ignore. Whatever feelings he harbored, he knew this was something he could never speak of.

Inside her room, the reader remained unaware, lost in her moment of solitude. But as the stillness returned, a part of her couldn’t shake the sense that something had shifted—something unseen and unspoken.

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

The white stag was found.

The news travelled swiftly through the Red Keep, causing a stir that could not be ignored. The creature, a symbol of divine favor and a rare omen in the history of Westeros, had chosen the dragonpit—a place of Targaryen power and history—as its sanctuary. Whispers spread like wildfire, reaching the ears of nobles, courtiers, and even the smallfolk who worked within the castle walls.

A summons went out from King Viserys himself. Every Targaryen in the Keep was to attend a meeting in the small council chamber to discuss the unprecedented arrival of the legendary creature.

The reader stood in her chambers, Rowena in her arms, as she processed the news. Her heart raced as she tried to prepare herself for what was to come. The white stag had been her secret, a silent companion she had hidden in the dragonpit to shield it from prying eyes and ambitions. She knew the truth would come to light eventually, but the weight of what this moment represented was almost too much to bear.

Rowena tugged gently at her mother's hair, breaking her train of thought. “Mama,” she babbled, her little hand reaching for the reader’s face.

The reader kissed her daughter’s forehead. “It’ll be fine, little one,” she whispered, though the words felt more like an attempt to reassure herself than Rowena. Handing her to Daemon, who had come to escort her, she took a deep breath and followed him out of the room.

When she entered the council chamber, the white stag was already there. It stood proudly in the center of the room, its magnificent antlers brushing against the high ceiling. Its pristine coat gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and its calm demeanour commanded the attention of everyone present.

The room was filled with Targaryens—Rhaenyra, Daemon, Aemond, and Helaena stood near the table, along with Alicent and the king himself. The air was thick with curiosity, awe, and an undercurrent of tension.

As the reader stepped inside, the stag’s head turned sharply toward her. Its dark eyes seemed to light up as it recognized her, and without hesitation, it strode gracefully across the room to her side. A collective gasp echoed through the chamber as the creature nuzzled her hand, an act of affection and trust that left no doubt about its connection to her.

King Viserys rose from his seat, his expression a mixture of disbelief and wonder. “Why does the stag come to you?” he asked, his voice carrying a weight of both curiosity and authority.

The reader hesitated, glancing at Daemon and Rhaenyra for reassurance. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. “The stag came to me, Your Grace. It was injured and sought help. I bandaged its wounds and cared for it. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Alicent repeated, skepticism evident in her tone. Her sharp gaze swept over the reader, as if searching for hidden motives.

Daemon stepped forward, his hand resting protectively on his daughter’s shoulder. “She has always had a way with creatures,” he interjected, his tone firm. “The stag is hardly the first to be drawn to her. Look around, and you’ll find a direwolf, a kraken, and even my dragon, Caraxes, favor her presence. Animals sense what humans often cannot.”

Viserys seemed to mull over this explanation, but his eyes remained fixed on the stag. “The white stag is a symbol of the gods’ favor. It is no small thing that it has chosen to seek shelter here, in the

Red Keep, and now aligns itself with you.”

“I never asked for this,” the reader replied, her voice soft but resolute. “The stag came to me of its own will. I only did what any decent person would do—helped an injured creature.”

The room fell silent for a moment as the implications of her words sank in. Then, Aemond stepped forward, his tall frame a steady presence beside her. His hand brushed against hers briefly, a subtle gesture of support that didn’t go unnoticed. “If the stag came to her, then perhaps the gods have spoken. But that does not mean she seeks power or influence. Let us not jump to conclusions.”

The reader glanced at him, grateful for his intervention but also wary of how his words might be interpreted.

Viserys finally spoke, his tone heavy with both authority and weariness. “This is not something we can ignore. The presence of the white stag will raise questions—questions we must answer. For now, we will treat it with care and respect. And you,” he said, looking directly at the reader, “will tell us if anything else happens. The gods’ favor is not a thing to take lightly.”

She nodded, though her heart sank at the thought of the scrutiny she would now face.

After the meeting, the reader made her way out of the chamber with Aemond by her side. Rowena, who had been with Daemon throughout the discussion, toddled over to her mother as soon as she spotted her. The reader scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“You handled yourself well,” Aemond said quietly, his tone lacking the teasing edge it often held when they spoke. “Though I imagine this isn’t what you wanted.”

“Not at all,” the reader admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just want peace—for me, for Rowena, for all of us. But it seems the gods have other plans.”

Aemond hesitated, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “If this becomes too much, you don’t have to face it alone.”

The reader met his gaze, searching for any hint of ulterior motive, but all she found was sincerity. “Thank you,” she said simply, though she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust him.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the reader retreated to the dragonpit. The stag followed her as it always did, its steps silent and graceful despite its size. She knelt beside it, her hands running gently over its smooth coat.

“What am I supposed to do now?” she murmured, more to herself than the stag. “I don’t want a throne. I don’t want power. I just want to live my life without fear, without—”

Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands. The stag nuzzled her gently, as if offering comfort. Its presence was a reminder of the bond they shared, a connection that went beyond logic or explanation.

After a while, the sound of footsteps reached her ears. She turned to see Daemon approaching, his expression unreadable. He stopped a few paces away, his gaze shifting between her and the stag.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t want it.”

Daemon stepped closer, kneeling beside her. “I know,” he said softly. “But sometimes, we don’t get to choose our paths. The gods have a way of steering us where they want us to go, whether we like it or not.”

“That’s not comforting,” she muttered, though a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Daemon replied with a faint smirk. “But whatever happens, you won’t face it alone. You have me, Rhaenyra, Rowena—and even that stubborn wolf of yours.”

“And Aemond,” she added, surprising herself with the admission.

Daemon’s smirk faltered, replaced by a more serious expression. “Be careful with him,” he warned. “He’s loyal to his family, but his ambitions might outweigh his better judgment.”

The reader nodded, understanding the caution behind her father’s words. “I’ll be careful,” she promised.

Together, they sat in silence, the stag lying beside them as the stars began to fill the sky. For now, at least, there was peace. But in her heart, the reader knew it wouldn’t last.

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The midday sun bathed the reader’s chambers in warmth, the soft glow reflecting off the bookshelves and casting gentle shadows on the floor. It was a quiet, peaceful moment, one of the rare instances when everything felt right. The reader sat cross-legged on the rug, her daughter Rowena nestled in her lap, a book propped open in front of them.

“Once upon a time,” the reader began, her voice gentle and melodic, “there was a brave little girl who loved the forest.”

Rowena, barely more than a toddler, pointed at the illustration of a forest on the page, her chubby finger pressing against the paper with a delicate curiosity.

“Forest!” she exclaimed, her bright eyes sparkling.

“Yes, that’s right, my clever girl,” the reader said with a warm smile, pressing a soft kiss to Rowena’s head. “Can you say, ‘The girl went into the forest’?”

Rowena scrunched her little nose in concentration, her lips forming each word slowly. “The... girl... go... forest!”

The reader chuckled, pride swelling in her chest. “Close enough,” she said, kissing her daughter’s chubby cheek. Rowena giggled in delight, clapping her small hands together as if she knew she had done something remarkable.

The peace of the moment was disrupted by a sudden knock on the door. The reader’s smile faltered slightly, and she turned her head toward it.

“Come in,” she called, her voice steady though her heart sank slightly at the thought of what might interrupt this serene moment.

The door creaked open, revealing Aemond standing in the threshold. His tall figure was backlit by the dim light of the hallway, and his face bore an expression that the reader couldn’t quite place—somewhere between determination and vulnerability.

“We’re just reading,” the reader said calmly, turning her attention back to Rowena and gently adjusting the toddler in her lap. She kissed the top of Rowena’s head and whispered, “Why don’t you go play with your blocks for a bit, sweetling? Mama needs to talk.”

Rowena pouted slightly, reluctant to leave her mother’s side, but after a few moments of coaxing, she toddled over to the corner where her favorite wooden blocks were stacked neatly.

Once the toddler was occupied, the reader stood, her expression hardening as she folded her arms across her chest. “What do you want, Aemond?”

Aemond stepped into the room fully, closing the door softly behind him. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said, his voice low but steady. “About us.”

“There is no ‘us,’” the reader replied firmly, her tone sharp enough to cut through the air. “And I’ve made that very clear.”

Aemond took another step closer, his single eye searching her face. “But why not? You know how I feel about you.”

The reader let out a humourless laugh, the sound bitter and filled with years of pent-up emotion. “Why not?” she repeated incredulously. “Aemond, do you think I’ve forgotten? That I’ll ever forget?”

Aemond’s expression faltered, confusion mingling with guilt.

“You killed my baby dragon,” she said, her voice trembling with restrained anger. “It was barely out of its egg, and you killed it. Out of jealousy.”

“I was young,” Aemond said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “Reckless. I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t care,” the reader interrupted, her voice rising. “And when I confronted you, you didn’t stop there. You pushed me off the cliffs, Aemond. I could’ve drowned.”

Aemond looked away, shame etched into every line of his face. “I regretted it the moment it happened,” he admitted.

“Regret doesn’t change what you did,” the reader snapped, her voice breaking slightly. “It doesn’t bring back my dragon, and it doesn’t erase the terror I felt when I hit that freezing water.”

She stepped closer to him, her eyes blazing with fury and sorrow. “So tell me, Aemond. After all that, what makes you think I’d want to be with you?”

Aemond opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. For the first time, he seemed genuinely at a loss. His eye flicked to Rowena, who was still blissfully unaware of the tension filling the room, and then back to the reader.

“I’ve spent every day since trying to be better,” he finally said, his voice barely audible. “Trying to prove to you that I’m not that person anymore.”

“And yet, here you are,” the reader said, shaking her head, her tone cold. “Still trying to convince me to give you something I’ve told you I won’t give.”

She turned away from him, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield herself from the weight of his words. “Please, Aemond,” she said softly but firmly. “Just leave.”

Aemond hesitated, his eye lingering on her back as though hoping for a change in her resolve. But it didn’t come. With a heavy sigh, he nodded—though she couldn’t see it—and turned toward the door.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the reader let out a shaky breath, her composure crumbling. She glanced at Rowena, who had paused her play to watch her mother with wide, curious eyes. Forcing a smile, the reader knelt beside her daughter and pulled her into her arms.

“Mama?” Rowena said, her small voice full of concern.

“It’s nothing, sweetling,” the reader whispered, holding her close and pressing her lips to Rowena’s forehead. “Just... nothing.”

But as she rocked her daughter gently, the weight of the past and the lingering shadow of Aemond’s presence bore down on her. Peace, she realized, was always just out of reach.

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

The evening light in the chambers grew softer, the sun dipping low behind the horizon. The reader paced back and forth, Rowena nestled in her arms, her little fingers curling into her mother’s hair. The toddler’s wide eyes followed her mother’s movements with quiet affection, her small mouth occasionally parting in a yawn as the soothing rhythm lulled her.

The reader whispered softly to herself, her voice tinged with emotion. “Avy jorrāelan.” Rowena blinked up at her, her tiny brows furrowing in confusion. She tilted her head as if trying to decipher the unfamiliar words. “Mama?” she asked, her voice curious.

The reader paused, looking down at her daughter’s puzzled face. A soft smile broke through her own thoughtful expression. “It means ‘I love you,’ sweetling,” she explained, her voice warm and steady.

“In a language called High Valyrian.”

Rowena’s face lit up with wonder. “Av... Avy jor... jorr...” she babbled, her small tongue stumbling over the unfamiliar sounds.

The reader’s eyes widened in shock as she heard the little girl attempt to mimic the phrase. “Avy jorrāelan,” Rowena repeated, surprisingly clear for her first attempt.

“Oh, my clever girl!” the reader exclaimed, her heart swelling with pride. “You said it perfectly!” She kissed Rowena’s chubby cheeks, making the toddler squeal with delight. “That’s High Valyrian, and you’ve already learned your first words in it. You’re so smart, my love.”

Rowena giggled, her tiny hands reaching up to pat her mother’s face.

The next morning, the castle was alive with the sounds of the waking day. Servants bustled through the halls, and the warmth of the rising sun began to spread over the stone walls. The reader walked through the corridors with Rowena at her side, the toddler toddling excitedly on her own sturdy legs.

“Are you ready to see Caraxes, sweetling?” the reader asked, smiling as her daughter let out an enthusiastic squeal.

“C'raxes!” Rowena chirped, her small voice filled with anticipation.

The dragonpit loomed ahead, the familiar structure casting long shadows on the ground. Rowena’s pace quickened, her little feet padding against the stone path. But before she could reach the pit, she spotted someone else—Daemon, her grandfather, standing tall near the entrance with his usual air of quiet authority.

“Grampy!” Rowena squealed, her voice echoing through the space.

Daemon turned, his stern expression softening immediately at the sight of his granddaughter running toward him. He crouched down and opened his arms just in time to catch her as she barreled into him. Despite her growing weight, he scooped her up with ease, holding her close as she babbled excitedly.

“My little dragon,” Daemon said fondly, kissing the top of her head. “What brings you here so early?”

Rowena placed her tiny hands on his face, her eyes searching his with a curious intensity. Her lips pursed as if she were trying to remember something. Finally, she said, “Avy jorrāelan?”

Daemon froze, his violet eyes widening in surprise. He stared at the toddler, a mixture of astonishment and affection washing over him. “What did you say?” he asked gently, his voice softer than usual.

Rowena grinned, clearly proud of herself. “Avy jorrāelan,” she repeated, this time with more confidence.

A rare, broad smile broke across Daemon’s face. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, his heart swelling with warmth. “Did your mother teach you that?” he asked, glancing toward the reader, who had just caught up to them.

The reader nodded, a small, proud smile on her lips. “She heard me say it last night,” she explained. “And somehow, she picked it up immediately.”

Daemon chuckled, his gaze returning to Rowena. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” he said, his voice brimming with pride. “Avy jorrāelan, my little dragon.”

Rowena beamed at his words, hugging her grandfather tightly around the neck. The moment was tender, a rare glimpse of unguarded love shared among their complicated family. The reader watched them, her heart full, though a twinge of worry lingered at the edges of her mind.

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The afternoon sunlight filtered through the forest canopy as the reader and Rowena made their way toward the cliffs where the kraken resided. Rowena’s giggles echoed softly as she rode on her mother’s hip, the direwolf trailing faithfully behind them. The toddler occasionally pointed at the trees, babbling nonsensical words as her mother indulged her curiosity with a warm smile.

As they followed the winding path, the reader suddenly froze. Up ahead, the white stag emerged from the underbrush, its presence commanding yet serene. It paused, lifting its regal head to meet her gaze. For a moment, the world seemed to still. The stag dipped its head in a deliberate bow, an action that felt deeply significant, though its meaning eluded her.

The reader furrowed her brows. “What does that mean?” she murmured to herself.

Rowena tilted her head curiously at the stag, her tiny fingers reaching out as if to touch it. Before the toddler could babble anything more, the stag turned and began to walk away, its steps graceful and purposeful as it disappeared deeper into the forest. The reader stood rooted in place, torn between following the stag and continuing on to the kraken.

Rowena squealed, pointing at the stag. “Deer, Mama! Deer!”

Eventually, she sighed, shaking her head. “Let’s go see the Kraken, sweetling,” she said softly, adjusting her grip on Rowena.

When they reached the cliffs overlooking the water, the direwolf had already arrived, pacing near the edge. The kraken's immense form shifted just below the surface, its powerful tentacles occasionally breaking the water to bask in the sun. The reader placed Rowena next to the direwolf, brushing a kiss on the toddler’s head before slipping off her boots.

“You stay with the wolf,” she told her daughter firmly. “Mama will be right back.”

Rowena nodded, her wide eyes fixed on the kraken. Satisfied, the reader walked to the water's edge. Still wearing her deep red dress, she leaped gracefully into the cold, bracing sea. The shock of the water hit her like a jolt, but she quickly acclimated, her strokes strong and practiced. The kraken joined her almost immediately, its massive presence both protective and familiar. The reader patted its leathery skin and smiled at the creature as they moved through the water together.

“You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?” she murmured, stroking the kraken gently.

After swimming several lengths, her muscles began to tire. She paused, floating on her back and letting the water cradle her for a moment of peace.

Suddenly, she heard a familiar sound cutting through the serenity—Rowena’s small voice, sharp and insistent. “Ag! Ag!” the toddler shouted, her voice filled with urgency.

Her heart jumped. Aemond.

Panic surged as she swam swiftly toward the shore. Before she could fully pull herself out, the kraken, sensing her urgency, lifted her out of the water with one of its massive tentacles and placed her gently on the rocky ground. Dripping and shivering, the reader quickly scanned the scene to find Aemond sitting casually next to Rowena. He was speaking softly to the toddler, who seemed to have forgotten her panic and now babbled at him animatedly.

The reader placed her hands on her hips, exasperated. “What do you want, Aemond?”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, his sharp features unreadable. “I might ask you the same thing. Why in the seven hells were you swimming in freezing water?”

The reader shrugged, wringing out her soaked dress. “I felt like it. I’ve always enjoyed swimming.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t always know how.”

The reader wrung out her hair, ignoring the goosebumps rising on her skin. “I was just swimming,” she replied nonchalantly, though her lips trembled from the chill. “I’ve done it plenty of times since you pushed me in all those years ago. I had to learn, after all.”

She snorted, shooting him a pointed look. “You pushed me off a cliff, remember?”

His jaw tightened, guilt flashing briefly across his face. He opened his mouth to respond, but the reader cut him off. “Forget it, Aemond. Just leave it.” She stepped past him, scooping up Rowena.

As she settled the toddler on her hip, Rowena waved at Aemond with a cheerful “Bye-bye, Ag!” Aemond watched them leave, his gaze lingering longer than it should.

Inside the castle, the warmth of the halls contrasted sharply with the chill still clinging to the reader’s skin. Rowena snuggled against her shoulder, her little fingers playing with strands of her mother’s damp hair. The reader moved quickly, eager to change into dry clothes and avoid further interactions.

As she turned a corner, however, she spotted her mother, Rhaenyra, speaking with Alicent in hushed tones. Her heart sank. She quickened her pace, hoping to pass unnoticed, but Alicent’s sharp gasp stopped her in her tracks.

“Y/N,” Alicent said, her voice tinged with both surprise and concern. “Why on earth are you dripping wet?”

The reader turned slowly, her expression neutral. Rowena whimpered softly, burying her face in her mother’s neck at the sight of Alicent.

“I was swimming,” the reader replied flatly, her tone making it clear she wasn’t interested in elaborating.

Alicent’s eyes widened slightly, clearly unaccustomed to such bluntness. “Swimming?” she echoed, glancing down at the puddle forming around the reader’s feet.

“Yes,” the reader said simply, shifting Rowena on her hip. She cast a brief glance at her mother, who gave her a small nod of understanding but didn’t intervene.

Without waiting for further questions, the reader turned and walked away, her daughter clinging tightly to her. As they entered the chambers, Rowena let out a relieved sigh, finally relaxing now that they were away from Alicent’s presence.

The reader kissed her daughter’s head, whispering softly, “I’ve got you, sweetling. Always.”

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a Family series - Chapter 12: I don’t care what the gods have chosen!

The dining hall buzzed with the low hum of conversation as the Targaryen family gathered for yet another formal dinner. The reader sat near the end of the table, Rowena perched on her lap as the toddler busily grabbed at the edges of the tablecloth, babbling in her own little language. Normally, the reader cherished these moments, but tonight, a strange heaviness had settled over her chest.

She felt the edges of her composure fraying, and her breathing grew shallow and labored. Rowena tilted her head, looking up at her mother with concern as if sensing something was amiss. The reader kissed her daughter’s forehead and murmured, “It’s all right, my love. Mama just needs a little air.”

With a practiced calm, she turned to Daemon, who sat on her left. “Father, could you take her for a while?” she asked, her voice steady despite the growing tightness in her chest.

Daemon immediately obliged, scooping Rowena up with the ease of someone who’d long mastered the art of cradling children. Rowena let out a soft giggle, her small hands reaching for his silver hair as she nestled against his shoulder. The reader smiled weakly, smoothing down Rowena’s dress before excusing herself.

The air outside was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the warm and stifling atmosphere of the castle. The reader made her way toward the cliffside where she knew the kraken would be waiting. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the rocks was soothing, and as she approached the water’s edge, she saw the familiar glow of the kraken’s orange eyes just beneath the surface.

The creature emerged partially from the water, its massive head and tentacles rising gracefully. The reader sank to her knees, reaching out to pet its smooth, glistening skin. “Hello, old friend,” she whispered, a genuine smile lighting up her face for the first time that evening. “I needed some peace. These family dinners are exhausting.”

The kraken tilted its head slightly, almost as if listening. The reader ran her hand along its massive head, her fingers tracing the strange patterns of its skin. “I feel like everything is piling up,” she said, her voice soft. “Rowena’s growing so fast. She’s so brave, but there are moments when I worry she’s carrying a burden too heavy for someone so small.”

The kraken let out a low, echoing hum, one of its tentacles curling gently around her hand in what felt like a comforting gesture.

“You always know how to listen,” the reader said, laughing quietly. “Thank you for that.”

For a few more moments, she simply sat there, basking in the creature’s silent companionship. Eventually, she stood, brushing off her dress. “See you soon,” she said softly, giving the kraken a final pat before turning to head back to the castle.

When she returned to the hall, the warm buzz of conversation was still ongoing. She scanned the room, her eyes immediately finding Rowena. The toddler was in Aemond’s arms, her small hands clutching the fabric of his tunic as she buried her face against his chest. Aemond’s expression was uncharacteristically gentle, his single eye focused solely on the child as he bounced her lightly to soothe her.

Rowena let out a small sniffle, and when she caught sight of her mother, her tiny arms stretched out desperately. “Mama!” she cried, her voice wobbling with the remnants of her tears.

The reader hurried over, ignoring the stares of the family as she took her daughter into her arms. “Oh, my darling, what’s wrong?” she asked, holding Rowena close as the toddler clung to her like a lifeline.

Daemon, who had been observing from his seat, leaned forward with a concerned frown. “She’s been like that since Alicent arrived,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with an edge of suspicion.

The reader’s brows furrowed as she kissed Rowena’s forehead, murmuring soothing words into her hair. “It’s all right, my love. Mama’s here,” she whispered, rocking her daughter gently. She glanced at

Aemond, whose expression had returned to its usual stoicism, though there was a faint glimmer of something softer lingering in his gaze.

“Thank you,” the reader said, her voice sincere despite her exhaustion.

Aemond nodded curtly, his eye flicking briefly to Rowena before returning to his plate. “She has a strong will,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “Like her mother.”

The reader offered a small, tired smile before taking her leave, Rowena still clinging to her as they stepped into the quieter corridors of the castle. The toddler had calmed significantly, her little head resting against her mother’s shoulder as she mumbled sleepily.

The reader held her daughter tightly, her heart heavy with love and a gnawing sense of unease. Something about the way Rowena had reacted to Alicent unnerved her, and the lingering presence of the bloodied catspaw dagger weighed heavily on her mind. As she carried her daughter back to their chambers, she silently vowed to protect Rowena at all costs—no matter what dangers lay ahead.

The salty air brushed gently against the reader’s face as she strolled along the cliffs, Rowena balanced comfortably on her hip. The toddler was fascinated by the rolling waves below, pointing and babbling excitedly as the direwolf padded alongside them. It was a rare moment of peace, and the reader savored it, focusing on the rhythmic sound of her boots against the gravel path.

Just as they rounded a bend, Aemond appeared, his lean figure silhouetted against the horizon. His single eye locked onto the reader, and he approached with a measured stride. “Where are you going?” he asked, his tone curious but laced with the usual edge of formality.

The reader adjusted her grip on Rowena, offering him a wary glance. “Just walking. Clearing my head.”

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to the toddler, who looked at him with a curious pout. “May I join you?” he asked, surprisingly cordial.

Before the reader could respond, Rowena reached her tiny arms toward him. “Ag!” she babbled, clearly associating him with safety. The reader hesitated but handed the toddler over. Rowena immediately clung to Aemond’s tunic, playing with the fabric as she cooed softly.

The three continued walking, the direwolf trailing close to the reader while Aemond carried Rowena. After a few moments of silence, he broke the quiet. “You’ve built something of a family here,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

The reader glanced at him, unsure where he was going with this. “Yes,” she replied simply. Aemond’s expression was contemplative as he shifted Rowena in his arms. “Have you ever considered... marriage? For Rowena’s sake, if nothing else.”

The reader stopped in her tracks, turning to face him fully. Her eyes were sharp, her voice firm. “No. I’ve seen enough to know that I don’t need a man telling me what to do, Aemond. I’ve built a life for myself and my daughter. We’re free, and that’s all I want.”

Aemond seemed taken aback by the vehemence in her voice but quickly masked it with a nod of understanding. “I see,” he said quietly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

Rowena, sensing the tension, tugged on Aemond’s tunic and patted his chest. “Ag!” she exclaimed, her bright smile breaking the moment’s tension.

The reader couldn’t help but smile at her daughter’s antics. “She seems to like you,” she said, her voice softer now.

Aemond’s lips twitched into a faint smile as he looked at the toddler. “She’s... spirited. Like her mother.”

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

The cool night air wrapped around the reader as she slipped out of the castle, the faint glow of torches casting long shadows against the stone walls. With Rowena tucked safely into bed and everyone bidding their goodnights, she had seized the opportunity for solitude, her mind heavy with the events of the day. The path to the cottage was well-worn in her memory now, and she moved silently, her direwolf absent for the first time in her nocturnal excursions. It wasn’t long before the dark silhouette of the cottage loomed in the moonlight, its eerie stillness matching the chill that settled in her bones.

But the moment she stepped through the broken doorway, the unmistakable sound of boots crunching against the earth reached her ears. She turned swiftly, her heart hammering in her chest as The hooded man emerged from the shadows, his face devoid of his usual composure.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice low but firm, masking the unease bubbling within her.

The man’s face twisted into a smug sneer. “I could ask you the same, my lady. Always poking around where you don’t belong.”

The reader squared her shoulders, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “Why did you kill them?” she asked bluntly, her voice shaking slightly but steady with resolve. “What could possibly justify murdering an innocent woman and her child?”

His expression darkened, his features hardening. “She knew too much. Rowena’s mother was privy to secrets that could unravel the very foundation of the realm,” he said coldly. “She would have betrayed the religion—my duty was clear.”

“And the little boy?” the reader shot back, her voice rising in anger. “What threat could he have posed to you?”

The mans lip curled. “Collateral damage. Necessary to ensure silence. And you think anyone would believe you, with no proof? Your accusations mean nothing, girl.”

The words struck her like a slap, but before she could respond, he surged forward, his hand closing around her throat and pinning her to the wall with brute force. She gasped, clawing at his arm as he leaned in, his expression twisted with malice.

“You’re the thorn in my side,” he hissed, his grip tightening. “It’s time someone reminded you of your place.”

Panic shot through her veins, but she forced herself to focus, driving her knee into his stomach with all the strength she could muster. He stumbled back, momentarily stunned, and she followed up with a kick to his chest, sending him crashing into the wooden table in the center of the room.

Before she could take another step, a shadow moved in the corner of her eye, and then Ser Criston was yanked backward, the cold steel of a sword pressed against his throat.

“Enough,” came Daemon’s voice, low and deadly, y/n’s father stood there, his face a mask of controlled fury, Dark Sister gleaming in the moonlight. “Whatever it is you’re hiding, it will come to light.

And when it does, there will be no place for you to run.”

The man glared at Daemon, his jaw tightening. “You think you’re above the all mighty?

Daemon interrupted sharply, his voice dripping with disdain. “And you’ve crossed a line. A very, very dangerous line.”

The man’s eyes flicked to the reader, who stood nearby, breathing heavily and clutching her side where her wound from the earlier attack still throbbed faintly. She met his gaze with unflinching defiance, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Leave,” Daemon ordered, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Now.”

Daemon turned to his daughter, his expression softening as he sheathed Dark Sister. “Are you hurt?”

The reader shook her head, though her hands were trembling. “I’m fine,” she said hoarsely. “But I know now. It was him. He killed Rowena’s family because her mother knew something....”

Daemon pulled her into a firm embrace, his hand resting protectively on the back of her head. “You’re not alone in this,” he said. “We’ll protect Rowena. Together.”

As they stepped out of the cottage into the crisp night air, the reader glanced back at the darkened building. She felt a renewed sense of determination coursing through her veins.

The warm evening moon bathed the castle grounds as the reader walked through the courtyard, the breeze tugging at her loose hair. She had just returned from speaking with her father about the unsettling encounter with that man, determined to put the pieces together for Rowena’s sake. As she leaned against the stone wall, catching her breath, she noticed Aemond approaching, his strides purposeful and his one-eyed gaze locked onto her.

The reader sighed internally. She had noticed a shift in Aemond’s behavior over the past few days—his teasing glances, the lingering pauses when they crossed paths, and the way he seemed to gravitate toward her and Rowena more than usual.

“Y/N,” Aemond greeted, his voice smoother than usual, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Aemond,” she replied, raising an eyebrow as he stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I was wondering,” he began, tilting his head slightly, “if you’ve ever thought about... expanding your little family.”

She gave him a wary look. “I think I’ve expanded enough. Rowena keeps me plenty busy.”

He chuckled, and there was something almost boyish about the sound. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You’ve built something remarkable, I’ll admit. But it could be... better. With a partner by your side.”

The reader crossed her arms. “You think so?”

“I do,” Aemond said earnestly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’ve always admired your strength, Y/N. You and Rowena deserve someone who will protect and care for you both.”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Aemond, we’re family.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but his resolve didn’t falter. “It’s not unusual in our house—”

“No,” she interrupted firmly, her gaze steady. “I don’t want to marry. Not you, not anyone. I’ve made my choice, and it’s Rowena and me. That’s all I’ll ever need.”

Aemond’s eye softened, but there was a flicker of desperation as he reached out, his fingers brushing her arm. “Y/N, at least give me a chance—”

Before he could finish, a high-pitched voice cut through the air. “No!”

They both turned to see Rowena wriggling out of Daemon’s arms, her tiny legs moving as fast as they could carry her toward her mother. Her little face was scrunched up in determination as she planted herself protectively in front of the reader, her arms outstretched as if to shield her.

“My mama!” Rowena declared, glaring up at Aemond with all the fierce defiance her small frame could muster.

The reader couldn’t help but smile as she bent down, scooping Rowena into her arms. “Well, that settles it,” she said lightly, brushing her fingers through her daughter’s hair. She glanced back at

Aemond, her tone softening. “See? I’m destined to be free.”

Aemond’s expression faltered for a moment, a mixture of disappointment and understanding flickering across his face. Before he could respond, Rowena reached out with her tiny hand and tapped her mother’s cheek, as if demanding her attention.

“Mine!” the toddler said pointedly, her gaze flicking to Aemond with a clear challenge. “Mama mine.”

The reader chuckled, pressing a kiss to Rowena’s forehead. “Yes, I’m yours,” she said softly, swaying slightly to comfort her child. “And you’re mine.”

Aemond let out a quiet sigh, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a hint of self-mockery. “It seems I’ve been overruled.”

“It seems so,” the reader said, her tone teasing but firm. “Aemond, I appreciate your... feelings. But this is the life I’ve chosen, and it’s one I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

He nodded, his eye lingering on her for a moment longer before he stepped back. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” she said, her voice carrying an air of finality.

With that, Aemond gave a slight bow and turned to leave, his posture as composed as ever, though the reader could sense the weight of his disappointment. She sighed softly, holding Rowena a little closer as the toddler buried her face in her mother’s neck.

From across the courtyard, Daemon stood watching, his arms crossed and a smirk on his lips. As Aemond walked away, Daemon approached, his gaze flicking between his daughter and granddaughter.

“Well,” Daemon drawled, “I see Rowena has taken her stance on the matter.”

The reader laughed, shaking her head. “She always does.”

Daemon grinned, reaching out to ruffle Rowena’s hair. “Smart girl.” He turned his sharp gaze in the direction Aemond had disappeared. “Though I’ll admit, it was satisfying to see him humbled for once.”

The reader rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as she turned back toward the castle, Rowena’s small arms wrapped tightly around her neck. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she knew one thing for certain: her daughter would always be at the heart of everything she did.

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

The sun hung high over Westeros, casting a warm, golden glow over the cliffs where the reader and Rowena sat. The toddler giggled as she ran her tiny fingers through the direwolf’s soft fur, her other hand gently patting the stag’s side. Half of the Kraken's massive form rested above the waterline, its orange eyes watching attentively as one of its tentacles patted Rowena's head with surprising delicacy. The scene was tranquil, filled with the laughter of a child and the rustling of the sea breeze.

Caraxes was absent today, accompanying Daemon on a flight, leaving the group with a rare moment of solitude. That peace was interrupted by the sound of boots crunching on the gravel path. The direwolf’s ears perked up, and it let out a low growl as Aemond approached, his figure stark against the sunlit horizon.

“Aemond,” the reader greeted, placing a calming hand on the wolf’s neck. Its growls softened but didn’t stop entirely.

“I mean no harm,” Aemond said, raising his hands in a show of surrender. “Though I see I’m still not entirely welcome.”

The reader patted the dire wolf firmly. “He’s just protective. Don’t take it personally.”

Aemond nodded and stepped closer. “I’m not here to argue or push my case, Y/N. I just... thought I’d check in.”

“Good,” the reader replied, her tone even. “Because I don’t want to have that conversation again.”

With a slight smirk, Aemond glanced at the Kraken and then down at Rowena, who was now toddling around, holding a handful of flowers she had picked. “Quite the family you’ve built,” he said softly.

The reader followed his gaze, a gentle smile spreading across her face. “They’re everything I need. Now, sit down, Aemond. Enjoy the peace for once.”

He hesitated but eventually relented, settling onto the grass near the group. The direwolf huffed, keeping a watchful eye on him, while the Kraken shifted slightly in the water, its presence a looming reminder of the reader’s unique bond with the world’s creatures.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats in the distance. The reader’s head snapped up, her sharp gaze scanning the horizon until she spotted a figure emerging from the treeline. It was a white stag, its graceful form trotting toward her, its coat shimmering in the sunlight. But as it drew closer, the reader’s smile faltered. The stag limped, and when it reached her, it bowed its head, letting out a soft, pained whimper. A gash on its side, still bleeding, glistened against its pristine fur.

The reader’s heart clenched, and she knelt down, gently running her fingers along the stag’s neck. “You’re hurt,” she murmured, her voice filled with concern.

Rowena toddled closer, her tiny hands reaching out toward the stag, but the reader caught her gently and scooped her up. “Not now, little one,” she whispered, her eyes scanning the wound. She turned to Aemond, her expression serious. “I need to tend to this. Can you watch Rowena for me?”

Aemond hesitated but saw the urgency in her eyes. “Of course.”

She handed Rowena to him, and the toddler, though initially resistant, settled in his arms after a moment. The reader stood and motioned for the stag to follow her. “Come on, boy. Let’s get you patched up.”

The stag let out a soft grunt and limped after her as she led it toward the dragonpit, where she kept her supplies. As they disappeared over the hill, Aemond shifted Rowena in his arms, her small face scrunching up as she whimpered softly.

“Mama will be back,” Aemond assured her, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “She’s just helping the stag.”

Rowena, still clutching her flowers, regarded him with a wary expression before laying her head on his shoulder. For a moment, Aemond was struck by how small and fragile she seemed—so different from the fiercely protective child who had staked her claim on her mother just days ago.

Meanwhile, in the dragonpit, the reader worked quickly, her hands steady as she cleaned and bandaged the stag’s wound. The creature remained remarkably still, its dark eyes filled with trust as she murmured soothing words to it.

“There we go,” she said softly, patting its neck. “You’ll be okay now.”

The stag let out a low rumble, bowing its head again in gratitude before nuzzling her shoulder. The reader smiled, her fingers brushing through its soft fur.

When she returned to the cliffs, she found Aemond sitting on the grass with Rowena in his lap. The toddler was playing with her flowers, babbling happily as if she had forgotten all about her earlier distress. Aemond glanced up at the reader’s approach, his expression unreadable.

“She’s quite attached to you,” he said as he handed Rowena back to her mother.

The reader smiled, holding Rowena close. “She’s my world.”

Aemond stood, brushing off his tunic. “You’re remarkable, Y/N. Truly.”

The reader raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with humor. “Flattery won’t change my mind, Aemond.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I know. But it’s the truth.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the reader to her peaceful moment with her daughter and their unusual family. Rowena, now cradled in her arms, rested her head against her mother’s chest, her tiny fingers clutching the edge of the reader’s tunic. The direwolf stretched out beside them, the Kraken's watchful eyes never leaving their forms, and the newly bandaged white stag stood tall at their side.

The reader sighed contentedly, pressing a kiss to Rowena’s head. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she knew they would face them together

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

The dragonpit was quiet save for the soft sounds of the reader humming to Rowena, who sat contentedly on her mother’s lap, gently patting the white stag’s side as it stood patiently for its wounds to be tended. The sunlight filtering through the massive arches illuminated the stag’s pristine coat, the stark white contrasting beautifully with the dark stone around them.

The reader’s hands moved deftly as she re-bandaged the stag’s side, murmuring soothing words to it. “There we go, boy. Good as new,” she said softly, tying off the last knot and running her hand down its neck. Rowena giggled, reaching out to mimic her mother’s gesture, her tiny hand stroking the stag’s fur.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by the sound of heavy boots on stone, followed by the unmistakable rumble of a dragon’s growl. The reader turned her head to see her father, Daemon, entering the pit with Caraxes trailing behind him. Caraxes’s serpentine neck swayed as his glowing red eyes locked onto the white stag, but he made no move, seemingly intrigued rather than hostile.

Daemon stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth slightly agape as his eyes fixed on the stag. “Seven hells…” he breathed, his tone laced with awe.

The reader, noting his expression, raised an eyebrow. “What? It’s just a stag.”

Daemon took a cautious step closer, his gaze never leaving the creature. “That’s no ordinary stag, Y/N.”

The reader frowned, continuing her work as Rowena babbled happily at her side. “It came to me for help. It was hurt, so I’m helping it. That’s all.”

Daemon shook his head, his voice hushed but filled with urgency. “Do you know what this means? A white stag is a symbol of the gods’ favor. It’s said to appear only to the rightful ruler of Westeros.”

The reader froze, her hand stilling on the bandage. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Daemon stepped closer, his gaze now shifting to her. “The gods are declaring you their chosen. The rightful queen.”

Rowena, oblivious to the weight of the conversation, clapped her hands and cheered, “Mama!” as if confirming her grandfather’s statement.

The reader shook her head vehemently, her heart pounding. “No, no, no,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t want this.”

Daemon’s expression softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what the gods have chosen.”

“I don’t care what the gods have chosen!” she snapped, her voice rising before she caught herself. She pressed a hand to her forehead, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “You don’t understand. If people think I have a claim, they’ll come for me. They’ll fight me. They’ll fight each other.” She paused, her eyes wide with fear. “Great. I’m going to get killed.”

Daemon crouched in front of her, his piercing gaze meeting hers. “You’re my daughter. You’re not going to die. Not while I’m breathing.”

The reader bit her lip, torn between the enormity of his words and her own rising panic. “But I don’t want to rule,” she said, her voice cracking. “I don’t want a throne or a crown. I just want to live my life, raise Rowena, and be free.”

The stag let out a soft grunt, nuzzling her shoulder as if offering comfort. Rowena mimicked the motion, pressing her small head against her mother’s chest. The reader hugged her daughter tightly, finding some solace in the child’s innocent warmth.

Daemon stood, his face unreadable as he looked down at her. “You may not want it, but if this is what the gods have decreed, it won’t matter what you choose. Others will see the stag as a sign. You’ll need to be ready.”

The reader looked up at him, her eyes fierce despite her fear. “I won’t let anyone take my peace away, Father. Not for a throne. Not for anything.”

Daemon nodded slowly, respect evident in his gaze. “Then you’ll fight for it. For your peace. For Rowena. And I’ll fight with you.”

Caraxes let out a low growl of agreement, his head lowering to the stag’s level as if acknowledging the divine creature’s presence. The stag remained calm, its luminous eyes reflecting the sunlight as it stood tall beside the reader.

The reader closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the weight of her father’s words and the reality of the situation. When she opened them, her gaze was steady. “If anyone tries to come for me or Rowena, they’ll regret it.”

Daemon smirked, a glint of pride in his eyes. “That’s my girl.”

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a family series. Chapter 11: Still jealous?

It's a peaceful morning when Rowena the reader, the stag, the dire wolf, the Kraken and Caraxes are all sitting in the place where the Kraken is, everything is peaceful until aemond stumbles upon everyone.

A hooded man stuck a dagger in the reader. She is in and out of consciousness, lying on Caraxes' back while her father Daemon brings her home. The reader properly wakes up to Rowena nuzzling and kissing her mother. The reader's face, the toddle points to the door and babbles, 'Ag, Ag.' The reader asks who she's talking about.

The castle was silent under the blanket of night, the flickering torches in the halls casting shadows that danced along the cold stone walls. In her chamber, the reader lay in a deep slumber, the day’s emotional weight finally giving way to exhaustion. The direwolf was curled near the bed, its heavy breaths a rhythmic reminder of its constant presence.

She stirred slightly, half-awake, when she felt something soft patting her cheek. Groggily, she muttered, “Go away, not now.” She assumed it was the wolf, nudging her as it sometimes did for attention.

But the patting persisted. With a sigh, she opened her eyes, ready to shoo away her companion—only to freeze at the sight before her.

Standing next to her bed, gripping the sheets with tiny fists for balance, was Rowena. The baby—no, the toddler now—was wide awake, her big eyes shining with triumph as she looked up at her mother.

“Mama,” Rowena said softly, her small voice breaking the stillness of the night.

The reader bolted upright, her heart racing. “Rowena?” she whispered, stunned. “How did you get here?”

She glanced toward the cot, realizing it was empty. Understanding dawned on her—Rowena hadn’t walked her first steps like most babies. She had climbed her way out of her cot and made her way across the room, her determination as fierce as her spirit.

A proud, incredulous smile spread across the reader’s face. “You climbed out?” she murmured, leaning forward to lift the toddler into her arms. Rowena let out a happy squeal, clearly pleased with her achievement, and clung tightly to her mother’s neck.

“You didn’t just walk your first steps,” the reader said, her voice thick with emotion. “You climbed your first steps. You brave little thing.”

Clearly proud of herself, Rowena gave a toothy grin and snuggled against her mother’s chest. The reader cradled her close, her heart swelling with love and awe at the little person Rowena was becoming. It felt like a moment of magic, the kind that would etch itself into her memory forever.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered into Rowena’s hair, her voice soft. She kissed the top of her daughter’s head and gently swayed back and forth, soothing her. Rowena’s small fingers found their way into the reader’s hair, clutching it tightly as she began to drift off.

The reader adjusted her position, lying back against the pillows with Rowena curled up on top of her. She watched her daughter’s eyelids grow heavier until they finally closed, her breathing evening out into the soft rhythm of sleep.

The room fell silent again, except for the occasional huff from the direwolf at the foot of the bed. The reader felt a warmth in her chest, a deep contentment she hadn’t known she needed. She wrapped her arms securely around Rowena, her hand resting gently on the child’s back.

As her own eyelids grew heavy, she whispered, “You’re going to be unstoppable, little one. Just like your family. Just like me.” The two of them drifted into peaceful sleep, their bond stronger than ever, as the quiet castle stood guard around them. The direwolf lifted its head momentarily, then settled back down, its watchful gaze ensuring their safety through the night. The reader dreamed of a bright future, with Rowena’s first “steps” symbolizing the strength they both carried forward together.

The warm morning sun bathed the castle grounds in golden light as the reader stood outside in the training yard. She practiced her swordsmanship with focused determination, her strikes swift and precise. Sweat dripped down her brow, but she was relentless, the blade in her hand an extension of her will. The direwolf sat nearby, watching her movements intently, its head tilting slightly with each swing of the sword.

Inside the castle, Rowena stirred from her nap. Her little eyes fluttered open, and she let out a small yawn, but her contentment quickly faded. The room was quiet, and the familiar presence of her mother was absent. Panic set in, and Rowena began to wail, her cries echoing through the chamber.

“Mama! Mama!” she shouted between sobs, her tiny fists clutching at the blanket in frustration.

Daemon, who had been passing by, immediately entered the room. His usually composed face twisted with concern as he scooped the crying toddler into his arms. “Shh, little one,” he murmured, rocking her gently. “Mama will be back soon. Don’t cry.”

But Rowena was inconsolable. She squirmed and wriggled, tears streaming down her cheeks as she continued to call for her mother. “Mama! Mama!”

Daemon sighed, his attempts to calm her proving fruitless. He could feel her little body tense with frustration, and her cries only grew louder. He paced the room, trying to think of what to do when

Rowena began to squirm even harder, reaching toward the floor.

“You want down?” Daemon asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “Alright then.”

Carefully, he placed her on the ground, watching as she steadied herself on her chubby legs. The moment her feet touched the floor, she turned toward the door and began toddling determinedly, her cries still echoing in the halls.

Meanwhile, outside, the reader paused mid-swing when she heard the faint sound of Rowena’s cries. Her heart clenched as the sound grew louder, accompanied by the unmistakable shout of “Mama!” She quickly turned toward the castle, the direwolf immediately standing at her side as if sensing the urgency.

From the castle door, Rowena appeared, her tiny legs carrying her forward as fast as they could. The toddler’s face was red and tear-streaked, but her determination was unwavering as she headed straight for her mother.

The reader gasped, dropping her sword in the grass. “Rowena?” she called, rushing toward her daughter. She knelt down just as Rowena reached her, scooping the child into her arms and holding her close. “Oh, my brave little girl,” the reader whispered, wiping away Rowena’s tears. “What’s wrong? Were you looking for me?”

Rowena nodded, clutching her mother’s tunic tightly. “Mama,” she said again, her voice trembling but filled with relief.

Daemon, who had followed closely behind, stopped in his tracks, stunned by what he was seeing. “She... she walks,” he said, his voice filled with astonishment.

The reader glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “She’s been walking a little, for a little while now,” she admitted softly. “But that’s not the most surprising thing.”

“What do you mean?” Daemon asked, still staring at Rowena with wide eyes.

The reader chuckled, adjusting the toddler in her arms. “She didn’t walk her first steps, Father. She climbed them.” She kissed the top of Rowena’s head, her pride evident. “She climbed out of her cot to find me. She’s always been brave, just like her family.”

Daemon crossed his arms, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Climbed her first steps, did she?” He looked at Rowena, who was now snuggling into her mother’s shoulder, her little hand playing with the reader’s hair. “That’s a true Targaryen for you. Bold and unyielding.”

Rowena let out a small, content sigh, her earlier distress forgotten in the comfort of her mother’s arms. The reader stood, cradling her daughter, and walked back toward the castle, Daemon following closely.

“You’ve got quite the spirit, little one,” Daemon said, his tone fond. “And your mother’s resolve, it seems.”

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It was a serene morning, the kind where the air was cool and carried the scent of salt from the sea. The reader sat cross-legged on the grassy cliffside overlooking the waters where the kraken often surfaced. Beside her, Rowena toddled around, occasionally falling into the soft grass with giggles. The stag stood nearby, chewing on patches of grass, while the direwolf lay lazily at the reader's side.

Caraxes, ever protective, loomed nearby, his massive form casting a long shadow. The kraken occasionally broke the surface, its bright orange tentacles rippling through the water as if to say hello.

The scene was peaceful, a picture of a peculiar but loving family. Rowena’s laughter blended with the gentle crash of the waves, and the reader leaned back, basking in the tranquility of the moment.

That peace was interrupted by the sound of boots crunching against the gravel path. The reader turned to see Aemond approaching, his expression a mix of curiosity and his usual disdain. He stopped a few feet away, taking in the strange assembly before him.

“Well, well,” Aemond drawled, crossing his arms. “What a delightful little zoo you’ve gathered here. Do they charge you for admission, cousin?”

The reader frowned, about to retort, but before she could, Rowena stood up on her tiny legs, wobbling slightly before walking directly toward Aemond. The toddler’s determination was evident in her small steps as she closed the distance between them.

Aemond blinked in surprise. “What are you—?”

Rowena reached up, her small arms outstretched, silently asking to be picked up. The reader’s jaw dropped slightly in shock, as did Aemond’s. The usually stoic prince hesitated, glancing at the reader, then at the watchful eyes of the animals surrounding them.

Caraxes let out a low rumble, and the direwolf raised its head, ears twitching. The stag stood still, its large eyes focused on Aemond. Even the kraken’s tentacles rippled more intensely, sensing the tension.

“Fine,” Aemond muttered, clearly aware of the audience. He leaned down and carefully lifted Rowena into his arms. The toddler immediately patted his face with her tiny hands, her attention drawn to his eyepatch. She traced its edge with curiosity, her small fingers gentle as she explored.

Aemond stiffened at first, but Rowena’s innocent touch seemed to disarm him. She tilted her head, silently asking about the patch in her own way. “It’s... nothing you need to worry about, little one,” Aemond said softly, his tone far gentler than anyone had ever heard.

The reader, watching the scene unfold, couldn’t help but smirk. “I’ve never seen you so calm, cousin,” she said, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Perhaps Rowena has a magic touch.”

Aemond shot her a glare, but there was no real malice in it. Rowena, oblivious to the tension, giggled and patted his cheek, as if approving of him.

“She likes you,” the reader noted, folding her arms as she leaned back against Caraxes. “That’s rare. I suppose even she sees there’s some good in you.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Aemond muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a faint smile.

Rowena began to babble incoherently, her little voice filled with excitement as she gestured toward the stag and the Kraken in the distance. Aemond followed her gaze, his single eye narrowing slightly as he observed the unusual group of creatures.

“Your little menagerie is quite... unique,” he said, his voice laced with grudging respect. “And you’re quite the odd mother to them all.”

The reader chuckled. “I take that as a compliment. They’re family, just as much as anyone else.”

Aemond didn’t respond, his attention drawn back to Rowena, who had started tugging on a strand of his hair. He sighed but didn’t stop her, allowing the toddler to entertain herself.

The reader leaned her head against Caraxes, watching the unlikely pair with a mix of amusement and genuine surprise. “You know, Aemond,” she said after a moment, “you’re not half as terrible as you pretend to be.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, focusing instead on balancing Rowena in his arms. The direwolf let out a soft huff, almost as if agreeing with the reader’s statement, and the kraken’s tentacles waved gently in the water.

As the morning stretched on, the peaceful atmosphere returned, albeit with an unexpected addition. The reader couldn’t help but marvel at the moment: her baby girl, a collection of unusual yet loyal creatures, and even Aemond—standing together in a rare harmony. Perhaps, she thought, family wasn’t always what you expected, but it was always what you made it

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the grassy cliffside as Rhaenyra and Alicent stepped out of the castle, their gowns billowing slightly in the breeze. They paused at the edge of the stone path, their eyes falling on the scene before them: Aemond, typically stoic and detached, holding little Rowena in his arms while the reader leaned casually against Caraxes. The stag grazed peacefully nearby, and the direwolf sat alert yet calm at the reader’s feet. The kraken’s orange tentacles occasionally broke the water’s surface, a quiet, watchful presence in the distance.

Rhaenyra crossed her arms, a small smile playing on her lips. “Would you look at that,” she murmured. “It seems Rowena has managed to do what no one else could.”

Alicent glanced sideways at her former friend. “And what would that be?”

“Softening Aemond,” Rhaenyra replied, her tone both amused and reflective. “She’s turned him into a nursemaid, no less.”

Alicent couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “It is... unexpected,” she admitted. Her expression turned wistful as she watched her son adjust Rowena in his arms, the toddler babbling and occasionally tugging on his hair. “I’ve never seen him so patient before. That little one has a gift.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her gaze shifting to the reader. “And my daughter,” she said, her voice soft with pride, “has built a family entirely her own. She didn’t need a husband to find love and purpose—she created it herself.”

Alicent sighed. “She’s resilient, I’ll give her that. Though I can’t help but wonder if she’s taken on too much. Caring for Rowena, that strange collection of animals...”

“Her animals are her family,” Rhaenyra interrupted, her tone firm. “Just as Rowena is. And you see how well she’s done. I have no doubt she’ll continue to surprise us all.”

As they spoke, Rowena began to squirm in Aemond’s arms, her small face scrunching up in distress. Aemond frowned, bouncing her slightly in an attempt to soothe her. “What’s the matter now, little one?” he muttered, but his efforts were in vain.

“Mama!” Rowena cried, her voice rising in urgency as tears welled in her eyes. Her tiny arms stretched toward the reader, fingers grasping for her mother.

Aemond, clearly out of his depth, looked helplessly at the reader. “She wants you,” he said, a touch of frustration in his voice.

The reader straightened from her position against Caraxes and stepped forward, reaching out to take Rowena. The moment the toddler was in her arms, she calmed, sniffling softly as she buried her face in the reader’s shoulder. The reader gently stroked her daughter’s hair, murmuring soothing words.

“It’s all right, my love,” the reader whispered. “Mama’s here.”

Rowena turned her head slightly, her tear-streaked face catching sight of Alicent. The toddler’s eyes widened, and she immediately clutched tighter to the reader, her small body trembling. “Mama,” she said again, but this time, her voice was tinged with fear. She pointed a tiny finger toward Alicent and whimpered.

The reader’s brows furrowed, and her gaze snapped to Alicent. “What’s wrong, Rowena?” she asked softly, though her voice carried an edge of suspicion.

Rowena didn’t answer, but her reaction was clear. She buried her face again in the reader’s shoulder, trying to hide from Alicent’s gaze. The animals nearby seemed to sense the toddler’s distress. The dire wolf stood, its ears perking up as it let out a low growl. The stag stopped grazing, lifting its majestic head to watch the queen with unblinking eyes. Even Caraxes shifted slightly, his large form tensing as he let out a rumbling huff.

The reader turned fully to face Alicent, her expression guarded. “She’s frightened of you,” she said plainly. “Why?”

Alicent raised her hands in a placating gesture, her eyes wide with surprise. “I don’t know,” she said quickly. “I haven’t done anything to her. Perhaps she’s just unfamiliar with me.”

“Perhaps,” the reader replied, though her tone suggested she wasn’t convinced. She glanced at her animals, their protective stances reassuring her. “But Rowena doesn’t scare easily.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward, placing a hand on the reader’s shoulder. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” she said, though her sharp gaze didn’t leave Alicent. “Rowena is young. She may simply be overwhelmed.”

The reader nodded slowly but remained unconvinced. She pressed a kiss to Rowena’s temple, whispering comforting words to her daughter. Whatever the reason for Rowena’s fear, the reader resolved to stay vigilant. Her family—both human and animal—was her world, and she would protect it at all costs.

As the group began to disperse, Aemond lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the reader and Rowena. “If she dislikes people as much as her animals seem to, she’ll grow up to be a fierce one,” he said, his tone a mix of jest and genuine observation.

The reader smirked, meeting his gaze. “She’s my daughter. Fierce is in her blood.”

With that, she turned and carried Rowena back to the safety of their quarters, her loyal animals trailing behind. The stag paused to glance at Alicent one last time before following, its presence a silent but powerful reminder of the family’s strength and unity.

___________________________________

The castle seemed to echo with Rowena's cries, her inconsolable wails pulling at the reader’s heart. Despite her best efforts—rocking her, singing softly, and even offering her favorite carved stag toy—nothing seemed to calm the distressed toddler. Rowena squirmed in her mother’s arms, her tiny fists pounding in frustration as her tears fell unabated.

Even the stag, who had been a calming presence since Rowena’s arrival, seemed to add to her distress. When it approached, gently lowering its massive head in an attempt to nuzzle her, Rowena only cried harder, clutching at the reader’s gown and burying her face in her shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do,” the reader murmured, her voice tinged with panic as she looked at her father, Daemon, who had arrived moments earlier. His face was tight with worry, but he simply gestured for her to follow her instincts.

Resolving to try something else, the reader carried Rowena to her private chambers and began to draw a warm bath. The room filled with the soft scent of sweet herbs and flowers as she added the soaps she knew Rowena loved. The warm steam curled around them as the reader gently undressed her sobbing daughter, whispering soothing words the entire time.

“It’s all right, my little star,” she cooed, carefully lowering Rowena into the water. “Mama’s here. Let’s wash away all those tears.”

At first, Rowena’s cries persisted, her small fists splashing angrily in the water. But as the warmth enveloped her and the soothing scent of the soaps filled the air, her cries gradually subsided into soft hiccups. The reader carefully poured water over her daughter’s curls, washing them gently while humming a lullaby. By the time she kissed Rowena’s chubby cheek, the toddler was calm, her wide eyes gazing up at her mother with curiosity.

The reader sat back, wiping the stray strands of damp hair from Rowena’s forehead. “There now,” she said softly, smiling. “Much better, hm?”

Rowena reached up with one tiny, wet hand and placed it on her mother’s cheek, her small fingers gripping at her. The reader’s heart melted as she leaned into the touch, pressing another kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“Now,” the reader continued, wrapping Rowena in a soft towel and cradling her close. “Can you tell Mama why you were so upset? Why did you point at Alicent earlier?” Rowena’s small face scrunched up in concentration, her voice barely more than a whisper as she replied, “Bad man.”

The reader froze, staring at her daughter in shock. “Bad man?” she repeated, her voice laced with concern. “What bad man, sweetheart?”

Rowena clutched the towel tighter around her, burying her face in her mother’s neck. “Bad man,” she said again, her voice trembling.

The reader’s mind raced. Rowena was too young to explain clearly, but her words couldn’t be ignored. Someone—someone associated with Alicent—had frightened her. But who? And why? The reader held Rowena tighter, her resolve hardening. Whoever this "bad man" was, she would find out, and she would ensure he never came near her daughter again.

Meanwhile, in another part of the castle, Rhaenyra and Daemon sat together in her chambers. Rhaenyra’s expression was tight, her hands clasped as she recounted the events from earlier, when

Rowena had pointed at Alicent and burst into tears.

“She was terrified, Daemon,” Rhaenyra said, her voice filled with both anger and worry. “She clung to Y/N like her life depended on it. And the way the animals reacted—it was as if they sensed her fear, too.”

Daemon frowned deeply, leaning forward in his chair. “Do you think Alicent did something to her?” he asked, his tone dark.

Rhaenyra shook her head. “No, I don’t think Alicent herself frightened Rowena. But there’s something—or someone—connected to her that has. Y/N said as much when she left. She believes Rowena is associating Alicent with someone else.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his protective instincts flaring. “Then we need to find out who it is,” he said firmly. “If anyone in this castle has hurt my granddaughter, they will answer to me.”

Rhaenyra placed a calming hand on his arm, though her own gaze was fierce. “We will figure it out,” she assured him. “But we need to tread carefully. We can’t afford to escalate tensions between the families without proof.”

Daemon let out a low growl of frustration but nodded. “I’ll speak with Y/N in the morning,” he said. “Perhaps Rowena will tell her more.”

As the two strategized, neither noticed the small figure listening just outside the door. Aemond, who had been walking past, had stopped to eavesdrop when he caught mention of Rowena’s distress. His single eye narrowed as he processed their words, and a faint frown tugged at his lips. He had always dismissed the animals’ protectiveness over Rowena as a strange quirk, but now, he couldn’t help but feel there was more to it.

For once, Aemond found himself silently rooting for his cousin. Whoever had caused Rowena’s fear, he thought grimly, deserved to face the wrath of the Targaryens—and their dragons.

__________________________________________________

The morning sun filtered softly through the trees as the reader set off toward the small cottage in the woods, her heart heavy with the weight of unanswered questions. The stag trotted beside her, its elegant steps crunching softly on the underbrush, while the direwolf lingered slightly ahead, its nose to the ground, alert as always. The peaceful forest seemed at odds with the tumult in her mind as she thought of Rowena and the mystery surrounding her origins.

As she approached the clearing, the direwolf stopped suddenly, its ears swiveling toward the dense trees. A sharp crack of a stick breaking sounded in the distance. The reader froze, her hand instinctively going to the small dagger she had strapped to her belt. She scanned the tree line but saw nothing, the forest unnervingly silent.

“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice steady despite the unease creeping up her spine.

No answer. After a few tense moments, she exhaled and pressed forward, stepping into the cottage. The air inside was stale and heavy, the faint smell of decay lingering despite the growth of wildflowers outside. She hadn’t been able to shake the image of the mother’s body cradling Rowena, and now, standing where that moment had played out, she felt a lump rise in her throat.

The direwolf followed her inside, but the stag hesitated near the doorway, stamping a hoof uneasily as if sensing danger. The reader turned to reassure it but froze when something caught her eye in the dim light—a dagger, its blade stained with dried blood, lying forgotten in the corner of the room.

The sight sent a chill down her spine. She knelt cautiously, reaching out to examine the weapon when a sudden crash shattered the tense silence. The door flew open, and before she could react, a hooded figure lunged at her from the shadows. Pain erupted in her side as a blade drove into her flesh. She gasped, her vision swimming, but instinct kicked in.

With a fierce cry, she swung her fist, catching the man’s jaw with enough force to stagger him. He stumbled back, but her strength was fading fast. She clutched the wound at her side, her blood seeping through her fingers.

The direwolf, now fully panicked, lunged at the intruder with a snarl, snapping its powerful jaws. The man slashed at the animal with his dagger, forcing it to back off momentarily. Seeing her protector faltering, the reader tried to rise, but her legs gave out beneath her. The world blurred around her, the edges of her vision darkening.

The direwolf let out a heart-wrenching howl that echoed through the forest, a sound of pure desperation. The stag, sensing the danger, reared up, pawing at the air with its antlers lowered. The hooded figure hesitated, realizing that reinforcements might soon arrive, and fled into the woods.

The direwolf wasted no time. It turned and bolted toward the castle, its frantic howls carrying the urgency of its mission.

Back at the castle, Daemon had been in the courtyard, entertaining Rowena as Rhaenyra watched with a fond smile. The toddler squealed with delight as she tugged at his hair, babbling in her incomprehensible but enthusiastic way. Suddenly, the direwolf’s howl cut through the peaceful moment like a blade.

Daemon immediately stiffened, his sharp eyes narrowing as he turned toward the sound. The direwolf barreled into the courtyard moments later, its fur bristling and its eyes wide with panic. It let out another urgent howl, pacing and snapping its jaws as if demanding attention.

Rhaenyra’s expression turned from amused to alarmed. “Daemon,” she began, but he was already moving, handing Rowena into her arms with careful urgency.

“She’s in trouble,” Daemon said grimly, his voice taut with determination. He didn’t need to know the details—he trusted the direwolf’s instincts. “Stay here with Rowena.”

Before Rhaenyra could protest, he was mounting Caraxes, the massive red dragon letting out a low growl of anticipation as he took to the skies. The direwolf led the way below, its frantic pace guiding him toward the forest.

When Daemon reached the clearing, his heart nearly stopped at the sight before him. The stag stood near the cottage, its body tense and ready to charge, while the direwolf hovered protectively over the reader, who lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath her.

“Y/N!” Daemon shouted, leaping from Caraxes before the dragon had even landed fully. He rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he assessed her injuries. Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, her face pale and damp with sweat.

“Father,” she murmured weakly, her voice barely audible. “I… I found something…”

“Save your strength,” he commanded, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed a cloth to her wound to staunch the bleeding. “We’ll get you home, and we’ll figure this out.”

The direwolf nudged her arm gently, whining softly, while the stag let out a low, mournful bellow. Daemon looked up, his expression a mixture of fury and despair. Whoever had done this would pay dearly.

“I’ll get you home,” he repeated, his voice steely with resolve. “You’re safe now. I swear it.”

The wind roared in her ears as Caraxes soared through the sky, the rhythmic beat of the dragon’s wings a constant lull as the reader drifted in and out of consciousness. She could barely feel the steady warmth of her father’s hands as he held her securely on Caraxes’ back, his arms wrapped protectively around her limp body. Blood still seeped from her side, and the pain flared every time the dragon shifted, but her mind was elsewhere. Somewhere through the haze, the sound of her daughter’s cries pierced her dulled senses. Rowena’s desperate screams of "Mama!" echoed in her mind, yanking her from the dark abyss threatening to pull her under. "Rowena…" the reader mumbled weakly, her voice barely audible over the roar of the wind. "Hold on," Daemon urged, his voice raw with fear and determination. "I’m getting you home. Don’t you dare leave her. Don’t you dare leave me." Her lips moved again, but no words came out. The last thing she saw before slipping back into unconsciousness was the blurred sight of her father’s white hair, stark against the darkening sky, and the comforting silhouette of Caraxes as he raced toward the castle.

When they arrived, chaos erupted. Maesters flooded into the room where Daemon carried his daughter, barking orders as they worked feverishly to stop the bleeding and save her life. The direwolf, covered in dirt and panting from the frantic run to the castle, paced just outside the room, letting out occasional low whines.

Inside, Daemon stayed by her side, refusing to leave as the maesters stitched her wound and applied poultices. His usually fierce demeanor cracked, and his hands trembled slightly as he brushed damp hair from her face. He muttered reassurances she likely couldn’t hear, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Rowena’s cries filled the castle halls through the chaos, growing louder with every moment. It was Rhaenyra who appeared first, cradling the distressed toddler, trying to soothe her as tears streamed down Rowena’s chubby cheeks. Aemond entered shortly after, his face unreadable as he stepped in, his eyepatch hiding any flicker of emotion.

“Aemond,” Rhaenyra whispered as she tried to keep Rowena calm, “take her to Daemon. She won’t stop crying for Y/N.”

Reluctantly, Aemond took the squirming toddler into his arms. Rowena immediately buried her face in his chest, her small fists clutching at his tunic. Despite his stoic nature, Aemond didn’t pull away or show his usual disdain. Instead, he walked over to where Daemon stood beside his daughter.

Rowena’s cries seemed to soften slightly at the sight of her mother, even as she remained unconscious. The toddler reached out a tiny hand, her tearful face breaking everyone’s hearts in the room.

The reader stirred faintly, her hand twitching before her eyes fluttered open just enough to see the people around her. Her voice was weak and raspy as she grasped Daemon’s hand tightly.

“Father…” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. Daemon leaned closer, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “What is it?”

“The man who… who attacked me…” She paused, fighting through the pain. “He had a black cloak on and his hood was up… And I found a dagger. A catspaw dagger… stained with blood.”

Daemon’s expression darkened immediately. He could feel the weight of her words, the implications settling heavily on his shoulders. “A cloak?” he repeated, his voice sharp. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she murmured. Her grip on his hand tightened, her next words filled with quiet desperation. “If… if I don’t wake up, promise me—promise me you’ll protect Rowena. Don’t let them take her.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched as he nodded firmly. “You will wake up. But I swear it, I will protect her.”

With that, her strength gave out, and she slipped back into unconsciousness as the maesters continued their work. Daemon stayed rooted to the spot, his mind racing with thoughts of revenge, suspicion, and the promise he had just made.

Hours later, when the maesters had done all they could, the room finally quieted. Daemon sat at the bedside, exhaustion etched into his face. Rowena, who had been inconsolable earlier, had finally cried herself to sleep. She lay curled up beside her mother, her tiny body rising and falling with each steady breath. Her small hand clutched at the reader’s hair, as if afraid to let go.

When the reader finally woke, it was to the soft warmth of her daughter beside her. The pain in her side was sharp and unrelenting, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sight of Rowena’s peaceful face nestled against her.

She reached out, brushing her fingers through Rowena’s fine hair. The movement stirred the toddler, who yawned sleepily and blinked up at her mother with wide, tear-streaked eyes.

“Mama,” Rowena whispered, her voice full of relief.

The reader smiled weakly, her own eyes misting as she cradled her daughter close. “I’m here, my sweet girl,” she murmured. “Mama’s here.”

Daemon, who had fallen asleep slumped in a chair nearby, woke at the sound of her voice. His relief was palpable as he stood and approached the bed.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with genuine emotion.

“Barely,” she teased lightly, though her voice was weak. “But I’m here.”

Daemon nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at Rowena, who had now fallen back asleep against her mother. “You’ve been through hell, and yet, here you are,” he said. “Stubborn as ever.”

She smiled faintly but then grew serious. “The cloak… it means something, doesn’t it?”

Daemon’s face hardened. “It does. But that’s not your concern right now. Rest. I’ll handle it.”

The reader didn’t argue, too tired to press further. As Daemon turned to leave the room, she called out to him softly.

“Father?”

He paused, looking back at her.

“Thank you,” she said simply, her voice full of gratitude.

Daemon nodded, his expression unreadable, before stepping out of the room. But as he closed the door behind him, he vowed silently to uncover the truth and ensure that neither his daughter nor his granddaughter would ever face danger like this again.

The soft morning light filtered into the room, bathing it in a warm glow. The reader stirred slowly, her body still aching but feeling lighter than the night before. As her eyes fluttered open, she was greeted by Rowena’s small face mere inches from her own. The toddler was nuzzling against her cheek, pressing sloppy little kisses on her mother’s face.

“Rowena,” the reader mumbled with a sleepy smile, her heart swelling at the display of affection. “Good morning, my love.”

The toddler giggled, her bright eyes sparkling as she pointed toward the door and babbled insistently, “Ag! Ag!”

The reader raised a brow, still half-asleep. “Who’s ‘Ag,’ my little troublemaker? Are you telling me stories already?” she teased, her voice laced with affection.

Rowena clapped her hands, bouncing slightly on the bed as she continued babbling, “Ag! Ag!” Her tiny finger jabbed toward the door again, clearly wanting her mother to follow.

The reader chuckled but winced as she shifted in bed, the sharp pain in her side flaring up and reminding her of the ordeal she’d just survived. Still, she pushed herself to sit up, gently kissing Rowena’s forehead before swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“All right, sweetheart, let’s get moving,” she said softly. “But first, Mama needs to pee.”

She stood carefully, her hand immediately going to her side as a fresh wave of pain hit her. Gritting her teeth, she took a slow step forward, using the wall for support. Rowena, ever watchful, toddled along beside her, still pointing at the door and babbling “Ag!” with increasing urgency.

The reader shook her head with a small laugh. “Who are you talking about, Rowena? There’s no one there—”

Her words trailed off as the door opened, revealing Aemond standing in the doorway. His single eye flicked between the reader and Rowena, his face as stoic as ever, though a faint crease in his brow betrayed a hint of concern.

“Aemond?” the reader asked, surprise evident in her tone. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on the way she clutched her side for support. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said instead, his voice clipped but not unkind.

“I needed to—” The reader started to retort but was cut off as another sharp jab of pain made her grip the wall tighter. She hissed softly, her breath hitching.

Before she could protest, Aemond stepped forward and offered his arm for support. “Let me help,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

The reader narrowed her eyes but ultimately relented, too tired to argue. She leaned on him as he guided her toward the adjoining bathroom. As they reached the door, she smirked faintly, unable to resist a jab.

“Still jealous now?” she quipped, her voice soft but laced with amusement despite the pain.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he helped her to the edge of the washbasin, where she could steady herself. Just as she was about to dismiss him, Rowena waddled into the bathroom, her little face determined.

“Rowena!” the reader exclaimed, half-laughing despite herself. “You can’t come in here, love.”

Aemond turned to the toddler, his expression shifting into one of stern authority. “Out,” he ordered, his tone firm but not harsh. “This is not a place for you.”

Rowena, however, stood her ground, planting her little feet firmly and crossing her arms in a mimicry of adult defiance. Her eyes locked onto Aemond’s as if daring him to make her leave.

The reader chuckled weakly, leaning against the sink for support. “Good luck with that one,” she said, her voice tinged with admiration for her daughter’s spirit. “She’s got her grandfather’s stubbornness.”

Aemond sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She takes after you,” he muttered.

Rowena, sensing her small victory, toddled over to her mother and grabbed the hem of her tunic, babbling happily again. “Ag!” she exclaimed, pointing at Aemond with a cheeky grin.

The reader laughed, ruffling Rowena’s hair. “She likes you, Aemond,” she said, her tone light but laced with genuine surprise. “You must have done something right.”

Aemond gave a small, almost imperceptible smile before quickly masking it. “She’s a bold one,” he said, watching Rowena with a mix of respect and amusement. “Like her mother.”

The moment was unexpectedly tender, a rare pause in the tension that often simmered between the two. Rowena, seemingly satisfied with her triumph, settled herself at her mother’s feet, happily babbling nonsense as if she hadn’t just staged a miniature rebellion.

The reader glanced at Aemond, her expression softening. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice sincere. “For helping me.”

Aemond inclined his head slightly, his eye flicking to Rowena before returning to the reader. “You should rest,” he said. “For her sake.”

“I know,” the reader replied, scooping Rowena up into her arms with a wince. She kissed her daughter’s head, smiling softly. “But she’s worth it.”

As Aemond stepped aside to let them leave the bathroom, Rowena reached out a hand toward him, babbling “Ag!” once more. Aemond hesitated for a moment before gently brushing his fingers against hers, earning a delighted giggle from the toddler.

The reader raised a brow. “Looks like you’ve made a friend.”

Aemond didn’t respond, but the faint smile that ghosted across his lips said more than words ever could.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a Family series. Chapter 10: She has a daughter?

The reader finds a baby in the woods

The night was cloaked in a quiet stillness, the kind that amplified the faintest of sounds. The reader ventured out under the cover of darkness, the dire wolf and Caraxes both left behind, much to their visible displeasure. This was her time—time to roam the common parts of Westeros without the weight of expectation or constant eyes watching her. She walked briskly, keeping to the shadows, her steps soft against the uneven ground. The distant hum of insects and the occasional rustling of leaves were her only companions.

As she neared a clearing nestled between the trees, the faint cry of something caught her attention. It wasn’t the cry of an animal, yet it wasn’t quite human either—or so it seemed in her mind. Her heart clenched as the sound vaguely reminded her of Ember’s final cries. Compelled by curiosity and a gnawing sense of dread, she followed the sound, her steps quickening as the crying grew louder. She froze as the clearing opened up before her, moonlight casting a pale glow over a scene that made her blood run cold. A body lay slumped against the base of a large tree, lifeless and battered, cradling a small, squirming bundle. The cries grew louder as she approached cautiously, her hand instinctively reaching for the bundle.

A newborn.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked down at the tiny, helpless baby wrapped in tattered cloth. Its cheeks were red from crying, and its little fists flailed against the air. The reader’s heart ached as she crouched down, gently prying the child from the lifeless arms of its mother. The baby quieted almost immediately, its cries turning to soft whimpers as she held it close, cradling it against her chest.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

The reader quickly swaddled the baby as best she could with the fabric she had, rocking it gently to soothe its remaining distress. Her mind raced with questions. Who had left the child here? Why? And why did she feel such a deep, almost instinctive need to protect it? Realizing she couldn’t linger in the clearing, she adjusted the baby in her arms and began the trek back to Dragonstone, her heart pounding as she thought about what she’d say to her parents—especially her father.

Arriving at the castle, she kept her steps quiet as she moved through the halls. The baby had fallen asleep, its tiny head resting against her shoulder. She felt a strange mix of calm and urgency as she made her way to her father’s chambers. Reaching the heavy wooden door, she hesitated for a moment before knocking softly.

“Come in,” came Daemon’s voice, groggy but alert.

She pushed the door open, stepping inside with the sleeping baby still cradled in her arms. Daemon, seated by the fire with a goblet of wine in hand, immediately straightened when he saw her. His eyes flicked to the bundle in her arms, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. “What’s this?” he asked, setting the goblet aside and rising to his feet.

The reader walked over to him, her movements deliberate as she carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal the baby’s face. “I found them,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “Out in the forest. Their mother… she was gone. Dead.”

Daemon stared at the child for a long moment, his face unreadable. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly against the baby’s soft cheek before looking back at his daughter. “And you brought it here?” he asked, though his tone wasn’t accusatory. It was curious, perhaps even a bit awed.

“I couldn’t leave them there,” she said firmly. “They were alone. They needed someone.”

Daemon’s lips pressed into a thin line as he studied her, his gaze softening. He could see the fire in her eyes, the fierce protectiveness that mirrored his own when it came to her. “You did the right thing,” he said finally, his voice low. “But this… this will raise questions.”

“I don’t care,” she replied, her grip tightening around the baby. “They’re mine now. I’ll take care of them.”

Daemon chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re stubborn, just like your mother,” he said, though his tone was laced with affection. “And you have my heart, my brave little dragon.”

At that moment, the baby stirred, letting out a tiny whimper. Daemon reached out again, this time holding his arms open. “Here,” he said, his voice gentle. “Let me hold them.”

The reader hesitated for a brief second before carefully passing the baby to her father. Daemon cradled the child with surprising ease, his expression softening as he looked down at the tiny face.

“Strong little thing,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“What will we tell Mother?” the reader asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Daemon looked up at her, his smile widening. “Leave that to me,” he said. “You’ve already done enough for one night. Get some rest. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The reader nodded, her exhaustion finally catching up to her as she watched her father hold the baby. For the first time in what felt like days, she felt a sense of calm. She had done something good, something right. And with her father by her side, she knew they could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As she turned to leave, she glanced back one last time. Daemon was still holding the baby, his gaze full of warmth and pride. It was a sight she’d never forget, one that made her feel stronger, braver, and more capable than ever before.

The following morning, Rhaenyra entered the chamber where Daemon and their daughter had spent much of the night with the newborn. Her expression was one of mixed confusion and concern as she laid eyes on the tiny bundle in Daemon’s arms.

"Whose baby is that?" she asked, her voice sharp and demanding. Her gaze shifted between Daemon and their daughter, trying to make sense of the scene.

Daemon, calm as ever, gestured toward the reader. "It’s hers now," he said simply. "She found the baby in the forest, abandoned and alone. She saved her life. Now, she’s made it clear that she won’t leave the child’s side.”

Rhaenyra blinked, momentarily speechless. She turned to her daughter, whose protective stance over the child left no room for argument. "You... plan to keep this child?" she asked, her tone incredulous.

"Yes," the reader replied firmly, her eyes narrowing slightly as if daring anyone to object. "She has no one else. I’ll take care of her."

Rhaenyra looked at her husband, searching his face for some sign of opposition, but Daemon merely shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "She’s a Targaryen through and through," he said, pride evident in his voice. "Stubborn and determined. There’s no talking her out of this."

Rhaenyra sighed, clearly torn. While she admired her daughter’s fierce loyalty and protective nature, she couldn’t help but worry about the burden such a responsibility would bring. But she also knew there was no arguing with her family once their minds were made up.

The next day, the reader took the baby from her father, her heart swelling with warmth as she looked down at the little girl’s tiny face. She decided it was time for the child to meet the creatures who had become her closest companions. Wrapping the baby securely in a soft blanket, she set out with a sense of purpose.

Her first stop was Caraxes, who lay basking in the morning sun. The red dragon lifted his massive head at her approach, his sharp eyes softening when he saw the bundle in her arms. The reader stepped closer, carefully unwrapping the baby just enough for Caraxes to see her.

“This is Rowena,” the reader said softly, the name having come to her in a moment of clarity the night before. “She’s part of our family now.”

Caraxes sniffed the baby curiously, his hot breath ruffling the child’s blanket. The baby let out a tiny coo, and to the reader’s delight, Caraxes lowered his head, letting out a gentle rumble as if welcoming Rowena into their strange little circle.

Next, the reader introduced Rowena to the direwolf, who had been lounging near the great hall. The wolf’s ears perked up as the reader approached, its sharp eyes immediately fixating on the small bundle. The reader knelt down, allowing the wolf to get a closer look. The direwolf sniffed the baby cautiously before letting out a low, approving whine. With a wag of its tail, the wolf seemed to accept

Rowena without question.

Finally, the reader made her way to the cliffs, where the giant squid often lingered near the water’s edge. She approached carefully, holding Rowena securely in her arms. The sea was calm, and as if sensing her presence, the squid’s bright orange eyes appeared just below the surface. Slowly, a single tentacle rose from the water, reaching toward them. The reader held her breath as the tentacle brushed gently against Rowena’s blanket. The squid seemed to examine the child with a surprising amount of care, its movements slow and deliberate. When the baby let out a tiny giggle, the reader couldn’t help but smile. The squid let out a soft, resonant hum, its tentacle retreating back into the water after a final, gentle touch.

Later that day, the reader sat in her chambers, cradling Rowena as she prepared to feed her. Daemon entered, watching silently for a moment before clearing his throat. "You should give her to a wet nurse," he suggested, his tone neutral but firm. "It’s how things are done. She’ll need proper nourishment."

The reader shook her head stubbornly, holding Rowena closer. "I’ll feed her myself," she replied. "She’s my responsibility, and I want to take care of her. I’ll find a way."

Daemon frowned, crossing his arms. "And how do you intend to do that? She can’t survive on stubbornness alone."

The reader sighed, setting Rowena down in a small makeshift cradle she’d prepared. She fetched a small bowl of cow’s milk and a spoon, determined to make it work. Sitting back down, she carefully spoon-fed the baby, her movements slow and deliberate to ensure Rowena didn’t choke.

To her relief, the baby took to the milk, her tiny hands clutching at the blanket as she drank. The reader smiled, a sense of pride welling up inside her. "See?" she said, glancing up at her father. "I can do this."

Daemon watched her for a long moment, his stern expression softening. He walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You’re more like me than I realized," he said quietly. "And that’s both a blessing and a curse."

The reader looked up at him, her eyes filled with determination. "She’s mine, Father," she said. "And I love her."

Daemon nodded, his hand lingering on her shoulder. "Then you’ll have my support," he said. "But know this—raising a child is no easy task. You’ll need more than just love. You’ll need strength, patience, and a willingness to make sacrifices."

The reader nodded, her gaze never leaving Rowena’s tiny, peaceful face. "I’ll do whatever it takes," she said firmly. "She’s worth it."

Daemon smiled faintly, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. He could see the fierce love and determination in his daughter’s eyes, and he knew that Rowena was in good hands. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, as a family.

The night was still, the castle bathed in the pale light of the moon. The reader woke to the sound of soft, plaintive cries filling her chambers. Instantly alert, she moved to the cradle where Rowena lay, her tiny face scrunched in distress.

“It’s alright, sweet one,” the reader murmured, lifting the baby into her arms. She swayed gently, humming a lullaby, but the baby continued to fuss. Deciding a change of scenery might help, she wrapped Rowena in a warm blanket and stepped out into the quiet halls of the castle.

The walk was peaceful, the soft echoes of her footsteps the only sound aside from Rowena’s occasional whimpers. The reader found herself wandering toward the dragon pit, drawn to the comforting presence of Caraxes. When she arrived, the massive red dragon lifted his head, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. He rumbled a low, welcoming sound, his tail curling closer as if to shield her from the cool night air.

“Hello, Caraxes,” the reader said softly, stepping closer. She settled onto the ground near his side, resting her back against his warm scales. Rowena, soothed by the dragon’s presence, let out a soft sigh and drifted back to sleep in her arms.

The reader gazed down at the baby, her expression a mix of love and uncertainty. She gently adjusted the blanket around Rowena, ensuring she was snug and warm. Then, with a heavy sigh, she looked up at Caraxes.

“Am I doing this right?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Am I a good mother?”

The dragon tilted his head slightly, as if he understood her question. He let out a low, resonant hum, the sound vibrating through the ground beneath her. The reader smiled faintly, taking the sound as reassurance.

“It’s hard sometimes,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I love her so much, but I keep wondering... will I be enough for her? Can I protect her the way she deserves? She’s already been through so much, and she doesn’t even know it.”

Caraxes shifted slightly, his massive body curling closer around her in a gesture of comfort. The reader leaned into him, drawing strength from his presence. She looked down at Rowena, her heart swelling with a mixture of love and determination.

In the distance, hidden in the shadows, Daemon and Rhaenyra watched the scene unfold. They had woken to find their daughter’s chambers empty and had followed her tracks out of concern. Now, as they stood together, observing her with Caraxes and Rowena, they felt their hearts swell with pride.

“She’s remarkable,” Rhaenyra whispered, her eyes glistening with emotion. “I always worried about her—about how she’d handle the expectations placed on her. But look at her. She’s doing this her way, and she’s thriving.”

Daemon nodded, a rare, soft smile crossing his lips. “She’s strong,” he said. “And stubborn as hell. She didn’t need a husband to step in and do this for her. She’s proving that every day.”

Rhaenyra rested her head against Daemon’s shoulder, her smile matching his. “It seems she didn’t need a husband after all,” she said softly.

Daemon chuckled, pride evident in his voice. “No, she didn’t. She’s Targaryen through and through. Fierce, independent, and capable of anything.”

As they stood together, watching their daughter and her makeshift family of dragon, direwolf, squid, and now Rowena, they felt an overwhelming sense of peace. Their daughter was carving her own path, one filled with love, courage, and determination. And they couldn’t have been prouder.

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

The sun was beginning its slow descent when the reader found herself returning to the clearing where she had first discovered Rowena. The air was cool, carrying with it the faint rustle of leaves and the scent of wildflowers. She approached the spot cautiously, her heart heavy with unspoken gratitude and sadness. The body of the woman who had cradled Rowena in her final moments was no longer visible beneath the soft blanket of nature. Grass and wildflowers had grown around her resting place, creating a serene, almost sacred atmosphere. The reader paused, marvelling at how life had embraced death in such a tender way. Kneeling down, she reached out a hand to touch the flowers, intending to pay her respects. Just as her fingers brushed a delicate petal, a rustling sound from nearby startled her. She froze, her head snapping up to see a stag stepping gracefully into the clearing.

The animal was magnificent—its coat sleek and shimmering in the dappled sunlight, antlers reaching skyward like the branches of a great tree. It seemed to regard her curiously, its dark eyes calm and intelligent.

Uncertain at first, the reader rose slowly and, remembering stories of old Valyria, offered a respectful bow. To her surprise, the stag lowered its regal head in return, as if acknowledging her gesture. A soft laugh escaped her lips, the moment so unexpected yet oddly comforting.

“You’ve been watching over her, haven’t you?” she murmured, stepping closer. The stag didn’t move, standing still as she reached out to touch its warm, smooth coat. Its body radiated a comforting heat, and she felt an overwhelming sense of peace as her fingers traced along its fur.

“Thank you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around its neck in an impulsive hug. “Thank you for keeping her safe until I could find her. She gave me Rowena, and I won’t ever forget her sacrifice.”

The stag remained still, almost as if it understood her words. When she stepped back to leave, she felt the weight of its gaze on her. As she walked toward the edge of the clearing, the soft sound of hooves followed behind her. She turned to see the sandy-coloured stag trailing her, its serene demeanour unshaken.

“Are you coming with me?” she asked, smiling faintly. The stag flicked its ears, as if in affirmation. “Alright then. Another friend, I suppose.”

By the time she reached the castle, twilight had begun to paint the sky in shades of gold and purple. The stag still followed her, stopping only when she entered the gates. Its calm presence gave her a strange sense of reassurance, as though it were a guardian sent by the gods.

Inside, Rhaenyra stood at her window, as she gazed out at the grounds below. When her eyes caught sight of her daughter returning, followed by the elegant stag, she laughed in disbelief.

“Daemon!” she called, still chuckling as she motioned for him to join her. “Come see this!”

Daemon entered the room, Rowena cradled protectively against his chest. “What is it now?” he asked, only to stop short when his gaze followed Rhaenyra’s pointing finger. His brow rose in amusement as he spotted the stag standing just beyond the gates, its regal form perfectly silhouetted against the evening light.

Shaking his head with a soft laugh, he looked down at the baby in his arms. “Rowena,” he said with a smirk, “it looks like you have another friend.”

Rhaenyra leaned against him, a smile playing on her lips. “Our daughter seems to have a gift for collecting the extraordinary.”

Daemon nodded, his expression softening. “That she does.”

As the stag settled itself outside, content to remain near the castle, the family watched with quiet wonder. The reader, unaware of their observation, turned back to the stag one last time, offering a small nod of gratitude before stepping inside to check on her baby.

The presence of the stag, like all her newfound companions, was yet another testament to her unique connection with the world around her—a bond forged by compassion, courage, and the strength to embrace the unknown. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The grand dining hall was filled with the hum of voices, the clinking of goblets, and the scraping of silverware against plates. The entire Targaryen family was gathered once again for what should have been a peaceful dinner. The reader, seated beside her father Daemon, was mostly silent, trying to focus on her meal and avoid the glares and whispers she often felt from certain family members. The dire wolf lay quietly at her feet, its large head resting against her knee for comfort, while the stag had stationed itself just outside the hall’s open balcony, its presence still a topic of awe and confusion for the others.

But peace was never guaranteed at a Targaryen dinner.

Aemond’s sharp voice cut through the chatter like a blade. “It’s truly remarkable how you’ve surrounded yourself with beasts, cousin,” he said with a sneer, looking directly at her. “A dragon, a wolf, a stag—and now I hear whispers of some mythical sea creature you call a friend. It’s almost as though you’re collecting animals because you can’t connect with people.”

The reader tensed but didn’t look up, choosing instead to cut her food into smaller and smaller pieces. Daemon, seated beside her, narrowed his eyes at Aemond but held his tongue for now, his hand resting protectively on the arm of his chair.

Aemond wasn’t done. “Tell me, cousin,” he continued, leaning forward with a mocking smile, “is this your grand plan? To live out your days surrounded by animals, so you can avoid the inevitable truth?

That you’ll die alone, just like the beasts you seem so fond of?”

The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to slice with a blade. All eyes turned to the reader, some filled with curiosity, others with pity.

She opened her mouth to respond, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt, but before she could say a word, a faint cry echoed through the castle halls. Rowena.

The reader’s heart leapt in panic as she immediately pushed back her chair, the direwolf standing to follow her as she bolted from the room. She didn’t bother excusing herself properly, her sole focus on the baby.

The sound of her hurried footsteps faded, leaving the dining hall in stunned silence.

Aemond smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “What was that noise?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

Daemon’s chair screeched as he stood abruptly, his expression one of barely restrained fury. “Careful, boy,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

Rhaenyra, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally spoke up, her tone sharp. “That cry,” she said, her gaze fixed firmly on Aemond, “was her daughter.”

The collective gasp that rippled through the room was nearly deafening.

“Her what?” Alicent exclaimed, her voice incredulous.

“She found a child,” Rhaenyra continued, her voice steady despite the surprise around her. “A baby girl. She’s named her Rowena, and she is her daughter now. Aemond,” she added, her eyes narrowing, “you would do well to remember that when you speak about her life.”

Back in her chambers, the reader burst through the door, breathless and worried. Rowena’s cries filled the air, frantic and piercing, and the reader quickly crossed the room to the crib. The dire wolf followed closely, sniffing the baby protectively before lying down nearby.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the reader cooed, scooping Rowena into her arms and cradling her gently. “What’s the matter? Did something scare you?”

As she rocked the baby, whispering soothing words, Rowena’s cries began to subside. The reader kissed the top of her head, marveling at how small and fragile she seemed in her arms.

And then it happened.

“Mama,” Rowena said, her tiny voice soft but unmistakable.

The reader froze, her eyes wide with shock. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined it, but then Rowena’s lips moved again, repeating the word as she reached out a tiny hand to touch her mother’s face.

“Mama.”

The reader’s heart swelled, tears springing to her eyes as she smiled down at the baby. “Well done, you clever girl,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “You said your first word!”

She kissed Rowena’s cheek, holding her close as joy replaced the hurt and frustration that Aemond’s words had stirred in her earlier.

Meanwhile, back at the dining hall, the room was buzzing with murmurs as the family digested the revelation about Rowena.

“How does your daughter have a baby?” Alicent demanded, her voice laced with confusion and judgment. “Who is the father?”

“There is no father,” Daemon replied bluntly, his tone daring anyone to question further. “She found the baby abandoned and brought her home. She has taken on the responsibility of raising her, and as far as I’m concerned, Rowena is as much a Targaryen as any of us.”

Aemond scoffed, his jealousy and bitterness still simmering beneath the surface. “So, she’s playing mother to a child that isn’t hers? How noble. Perhaps she should focus on herself before pretending to be fit for such a role.”

Daemon’s hand slammed against the table, the sound reverberating through the hall. “Say another word about my daughter, Aemond, and I’ll show you what it means to cross a dragon.”

Rhaenyra placed a calming hand on her husband’s arm, though her own patience was clearly wearing thin. “Enough,” she said firmly, silencing the room. “We will not discuss this further. Rowena is family, and that is the end of it.”

As the dinner continued in strained silence, the reader sat in her room, Rowena now sound asleep in her arms. The direwolf watched over them both, its golden eyes glowing softly in the dim light.

The reader couldn’t help but think about Aemond’s words, how they had cut so deeply despite her best efforts to ignore them. But as she looked down at Rowena, her heart swelled with love and determination.

“I’m not alone,” she whispered to herself, pressing a kiss to Rowena’s forehead. “And I never will be.”

The dining hall was still a flurry of murmurs and whispered conversations when the reader reentered, cradling Rowena in her arms. The baby, now calm and content, nestled against her chest, her tiny hand gripping the fabric of her mother's dress. The direwolf followed closely behind, its quiet but commanding presence silencing anyone who dared to whisper too loudly.

As she approached the table, all eyes turned to her. The once-familiar stares of judgment and curiosity were now mixed with something else—shock, disbelief, and for a few, a hint of admiration. She held her head high, ignoring the tension as she took her place between her parents, Daemon and Rhaenyra.

Rowena, seemingly unaware of the heavy atmosphere, lifted her head slightly, her big, curious eyes locking onto Daemon. A wide, toothless smile broke across her face, and she let out a delighted giggle, reaching her small hand toward her grandfather.

Daemon, who had been wearing his usual stern expression, softened instantly. A rare smile spread across his lips as he reached out a finger for Rowena to grab, her tiny fingers wrapping tightly around his. “Well, aren’t you a charmer,” he said, his voice low but warm.

Before anyone could comment, Rowena suddenly turned her head and waved a small hand in Aemond’s direction. The gesture was innocent and childlike, but it immediately drew the attention of the entire table. Aemond’s expression shifted from his usual cool indifference to something closer to unease, as if he wasn’t sure how to react. Alicent, seated beside him, looked equally startled.

“Even the baby is more courteous than her mother,” Aemond muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glare from Daemon.

“Enough,” Rhaenyra snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Alicent, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere, cleared her throat and asked, “And what of the mother, dear? You said you found her. What happened to her?”

The reader hesitated, her fingers brushing over Rowena’s soft curls as she gathered her thoughts. “The mother was… gone when I found her,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the somber memory. “She was lying in a clearing, and the grass and flowers had grown over her. It was as if the earth had claimed her, wrapping her in beauty. It was… peaceful.”

The table fell silent at her words, the vivid imagery leaving a mark on everyone present. Even Alicent, who was often quick to judge, looked contemplative. Rowena shifted in the reader’s arms, her small hand clutching at the fabric of her mother’s dress as she let out a small, sleepy mumble. The reader glanced down, brushing a gentle hand over the baby’s cheek. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked softly.

Rowena’s head tilted upward, her drowsy eyes meeting her mother’s. Then, clear as day, she mumbled, “Mama.”

The reader froze agin still suprised when hearing her speak, her small voice a mixture of tiredness and affection. “Mama.”

The room collectively held its breath.

Rhaenyra’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with astonishment. Daemon, equally stunned, looked between his daughter and the baby, his expression softening into something uncharacteristically tender.

“She spoke,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice trembling. “Her first word…”

She pressed a kiss to Rowena’s forehead, holding her close. “Well done, my clever girl,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re so smart.”

The baby nestled against her mother’s chest again, her tiny fingers gripping the edge of the reader’s dress as her eyes fluttered closed, clearly worn out from the excitement.

At the table, the reactions varied. Rhaenyra’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, her heart full of pride for both her daughter and her granddaughter. Daemon, though outwardly composed, couldn’t hide the pride and protectiveness radiating from him. Alicent, on the other hand, looked conflicted, her lips pressed into a thin line as if she was wrestling with her feelings. Aemond remained stoic, though his jaw tightened at the sight of the tender family moment.

“I suppose that settles it,” Daemon said after a moment, his voice breaking the silence. “Rowena is family, through and through. There’s no questioning it now.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her hand resting on her daughter’s shoulder. “She’s one of us,” she said firmly. “A Targaryen in every way that matters.”

The reader smiled softly, her gaze fixed on Rowena’s peaceful face. Despite the tension and challenges she had faced, this moment made it all worthwhile. Her daughter’s first word was proof that she was doing something right, that the love she poured into Rowena was making a difference.

The direwolf, sensing the calm that had settled over its mistress, rested its head on the floor beside her chair. The stag, though still lingering outside, stood tall and vigilant, its presence a silent reassurance.

As the meal slowly resumed, the reader stayed seated, her focus entirely on Rowena. The weight of Aemond’s earlier words still lingered, but they felt distant now, overshadowed by the love and support surrounding her.

Daemon leaned over, his voice low enough that only his daughter could hear. “You’re doing well, little one,” he said, his tone filled with pride. “Don’t let anyone make you doubt that.”

The reader looked up at him, her eyes glistening with gratitude. “Thank you, father,” she whispered.

As the evening unfolded, the reader gently handed Rowena to her father, Daemon, who took the baby with surprising ease. His movements were tender, a far cry from his usual fiery demeanour.

Rowena’s small hands immediately reached up to his face, exploring the strands of his silver-white hair, tugging them with curious fingers. Daemon chuckled softly, a sound that was rare and cherished.

“You’ve taken a liking to my hair, haven’t you, little one?” Daemon murmured, cradling Rowena closer. The baby giggled, her head resting against his neck as she continued her playful exploration.

The reader sat back, her gaze fixated on the scene before her. Watching her father interact with her daughter filled her heart with a warmth she couldn’t quite put into words. Daemon, so fierce and untamed in most circumstances, held Rowena with the gentleness of a man entirely smitten.

Rowena eventually shifted, her tiny body moving to sit on Daemon’s lap. Her big, curious eyes darted around the room, taking in the faces of the Targaryen family members seated at the table. When her gaze landed on Aemond, the room seemed to hold its breath.

The baby and her second cousin locked eyes, both wearing expressions far too serious for such a small child. It was as if they were engaging in a silent battle of wills, a staring contest that neither seemed inclined to lose. The reader bit back a smile, her eyes darting between the two.

Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, Rowena stuck out her tiny tongue at Aemond, the playful gesture utterly unexpected. The room erupted into soft laughter, and even Daemon let out an amused chuckle.

To everyone’s astonishment, Aemond’s stoic facade cracked for a fleeting moment. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in what could only be described as a reluctant smile. The reader’s eyes widened, and her astonishment must have been palpable because Aemond immediately schooled his expression back to its usual detached demeanour. His single eye darted to the reader, and when he noticed her, along with the stag and direwolf silently watching him from the corner of the room, his jaw tightened.

The reader arched a brow at him, her amusement evident. “Did you just smile at my daughter, Aemond?” she asked, her tone teasing but warm.

Aemond huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I did no such thing,” he said curtly, though his ears reddened slightly, betraying his embarrassment.

Daemon, still holding Rowena, smirked at Aemond’s discomfort. “Admit it, brother. You’re smitten with the little dragon.”

“I am not,” Aemond retorted sharply, though his gaze flicked back to Rowena, who was now babbling and clapping her hands on Daemon’s chest.

The baby’s antics seemed to diffuse the tension in the room, her innocent joy infectious. The direwolf, sensing the calm, padded closer and lay down at the reader’s feet, its watchful eyes fixed on Rowena. The stag, still standing by the window, observed with quiet dignity, its presence a reminder of the unusual but undeniable bond the reader shared with her growing family of creatures.

As Rowena continued to babble and explore her surroundings from her perch on Daemon’s lap, the reader couldn’t help but marvel at how naturally her father had taken to being a grandfather. His gruff exterior melted away in Rowena’s presence, replaced by a side of him the reader rarely got to see.

“You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, haven’t you, my clever girl?” the reader said softly, leaning forward to brush a stray curl from Rowena’s forehead. The baby responded with a delighted coo, her small hand reaching out to grab her mother’s fingers.

Daemon glanced at his daughter, a rare softness in his gaze. “She takes after you,” he said, his tone carrying both pride and affection. “Strong-willed and utterly unyielding.”

The reader smiled, her heart swelling with love for both her father and her daughter. Despite the challenges and the constant pushback from certain family members, moments like this reminded her that she had created something beautiful, something worth protecting.

As Rowena shifted her attention back to Aemond, the reader leaned back in her chair, watching the silent exchange between her daughter and her uncle. She couldn’t help but wonder what the future held for her little girl, but one thing was certain: Rowena was already leaving an indelible mark on everyone around her.

Even on Aemond, whether he wanted to admit it or not

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The moon cast its soft glow over the gardens as the reader carried a fussing Rowena in her arms. The baby's cries were growing louder, and the reader gently rocked her, humming a lullaby under her breath. The large stag followed silently, its regal form illuminated by the pale light, and the reader glanced at it with curiosity.

“Do you think she’s drawn to you?” she asked quietly, almost as if speaking to herself. “Or is it me? Either way, I think you might mean something to her, old friend.”

Rowena’s cries softened as they reached a quieter spot by the cliffs. The stag lowered itself to the ground nearby, its watchful eyes fixed on the mother and child. The reader let out a small sigh, grateful for the calm. However, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, her sharp gaze cutting through the shadows, and her suspicion was confirmed when

Aemond stepped into view.

“Are you following me again, Aemond?” she asked, her voice tinged with annoyance. She adjusted Rowena in her arms, shielding the baby from the cool night air. “I don’t have time for your comments tonight.”

Aemond tilted his head, his single eye gleaming in the moonlight. “You misunderstand me,” he said smoothly, his hands clasped behind his back. “I only wish to speak with you.”

“I doubt you have anything to say that I want to hear,” the reader replied curtly, turning away from him and walking further toward the cliffside.

Aemond’s footsteps followed close behind. “I mean no harm to you or the child,” he said, his voice steady. “But surely you can see that this... arrangement is unusual. You carry a baby not your own, one you found under circumstances that would raise questions. You cannot expect the rest of the family—or the court—to accept this so easily.”

The reader stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face him. Rowena stirred in her arms, letting out a soft whimper as if sensing her mother’s irritation. “I don’t care what you—or anyone else—think,” she said sharply. “This baby is mine now, and no one will take her from me.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “Even if it invites danger? Even if it puts a target on your back?”

The reader narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening protectively around Rowena. “I’d rather die protecting her than live a life dictated by fear and judgment,” she snapped. “If you have nothing helpful to say, leave us alone.”

With that, she turned and walked toward the cliffs, seeking the one place where she felt truly at peace: the sea. She knew the kraken would come if she called, and tonight, she needed its calming presence more than ever.

As she reached the edge of the cliffs, she looked down at the dark waves crashing below. The stag stood a short distance behind her, its antlers gleaming in the moonlight. Rowena was quiet now, her small hand clutching at the reader’s dress as if seeking comfort. The reader took a deep breath and murmured softly, “Come to me, old friend.”

The water rippled unnaturally, and moments later, the familiar orange tentacles emerged, followed by the Kraken’s massive head. The creature’s glowing eyes locked onto her, its presence both imposing and strangely comforting. Rowena let out a delighted coo, reaching a tiny hand toward the Kraken as if recognizing it. The kraken responded by lifting a tentacle gently toward them, its movements slow and deliberate.

Behind her, Aemond stood frozen, his mouth slightly agape as he watched the massive sea creature interact with the reader and the baby. “Seven hells,” he muttered under his breath.

Unbeknownst to Aemond, Daemon was not far behind. The moment he had noticed the reader’s empty seat at dinner, he had excused himself from the table. After a brief conversation with Rhaenyra, they both realized Aemond’s absence as well and exchanged a knowing glance. It didn’t take long for Daemon to follow the trail of his daughter, his instinct sharp and unerring.

When he arrived at the cliffs, his breath hitched at the sight before him. His daughter stood confidently at the edge, holding Rowena close while the kraken loomed in the water below. The stag stood nearby like a sentinel, and Aemond was to the side, his expression torn between shock and something like awe.

Daemon’s protective instincts kicked in immediately. “Step away from the edge, both of you,” he called out, his voice firm but laced with concern.

The reader turned, her face softening when she saw her father. “We’re fine, Father,” she assured him. “The Kraken wouldn’t hurt us.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he approached, his gaze flicking to Aemond with a hint of suspicion. “And what are you doing here?” he asked sharply.

Aemond straightened, his usual confidence returning. “I was merely ensuring your daughter wasn’t putting herself—or the child—in harm’s way.”

Daemon scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk. “How noble of you,” he said sarcastically, before turning his full attention to the reader. “You should’ve told me where you were going. You scared your mother half to death.”

“I needed some air,” the reader replied, her tone defensive but not unkind. She glanced back at the kraken, which had retreated slightly but still lingered near the surface. “I needed to see it again. It... calms me.”

Daemon’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly. “But next time, don’t go alone. You’re not the only one who loves that little girl. We’re a family now, and we protect each other.”

Rowena chose that moment to let out a happy squeal as if agreeing with her grandfather. Daemon chuckled, reaching out to take her from the reader’s arms. “Come here, little dragon,” he murmured, cradling the baby against his chest. “You’re far too young for these late-night adventures.”

The reader smiled, her heart swelling with gratitude for her father’s unwavering support. Even as she faced the challenges of her unconventional life, she knew she could always count on him to stand by her side.

As the family made their way back to the castle, the stag followed at a respectful distance, its silent presence a reminder of the strange but undeniable bond that had formed between them. And though

Aemond trailed behind, his thoughts remained conflicted, his gaze lingering on the kraken’s glowing eyes as they disappeared beneath the waves.

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The day was calm, with the soft golden light of the afternoon casting a serene glow across the landscape. The reader had set out once again, the loyal stag and direwolf following close behind. This time, she was determined to find more information about Rowena’s origins, to piece together the fragments of the life the baby had been torn from. The spot where she had found Rowena was overgrown with grass and wildflowers, a quiet and somber beauty.

The reader knelt by the spot, her fingers brushing the petals of a wildflower as she whispered, “I’m sorry you had to go this way. I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

The stag stood silently nearby, its antlers shining in the light, while the direwolf sniffed the air, ever alert. The reader moved to explore further, her boots sinking slightly into the soft ground as she made her way through the glade. She paused at the crest of a hill, scanning the area for any signs of human presence, but the landscape stretched on, untouched. Just as she turned to move downhill, her foot caught on a loose patch of grass.

She stumbled and let out a surprised yelp, tumbling forward. The hill was steep, and she rolled down awkwardly, landing in a heap at the bottom. Groaning, she pushed herself up, brushing dirt and blades of grass from her dress. The dire wolf had already made its way down, sniffing her as if to ensure she was unharmed, while the stag remained at the top, watching her descent with its usual serene gaze.

“Of course, I had to fall,” she muttered, shaking her head. She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, then froze as something in the distance caught her eye—a small cottage, nestled in the trees.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Is this where you lived?” she whispered, more to herself than to her companions. With a sense of foreboding, she walked toward the cottage, the direwolf padding silently by her side.

When she reached the door, it creaked loudly as she pushed it open. The air inside was stale, carrying the unmistakable scent of death. The sight that greeted her made her breath hitch. Two more bodies lay inside—a man slumped over the table and a small child curled up near the hearth, their presence a grim testament to tragedy.

The reader pressed a hand to her mouth, fighting back tears. She took a shaky step forward, her gaze scanning the room. The cottage was humble but had the clear marks of a family life once lived: a simple wooden table, worn chairs, a hand-carved crib in the corner.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers brushed over the table’s surface, lingering on a small wooden carving that had been left there. It was shaped like a stag, its edges smoothed from wear. She picked it up, a lump forming in her throat.

“Rowena will love this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ll make sure she knows it came from you.”

She searched the cottage for anything else that might hold meaning—a blanket, a keepsake—but most of the belongings had been too worn or ruined to salvage. Clutching the wooden stag, she stepped outside, the weight of the family’s loss pressing heavily on her chest. The stag was waiting for her by the door, its calm presence a strange comfort.

When she arrived back at the castle, the sun was beginning to set. Daemon was outside, holding Rowena in his arms as he paced the courtyard. The baby was cooing softly, one tiny hand reaching for his long, white hair. When he saw the reader approaching, his eyes widened in alarm.

“What the hell happened to you?” he demanded, his tone sharp with worry. “You look like you’ve been wrestling boars.”

The reader glanced down at herself, realizing how dishevelled she must have appeared—her dress was wrinkled and dirt-streaked, her hair a tangled mess. She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said lightly. “I just fell down a hill.”

Daemon narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. “You’re not usually this careless. What were you doing out there?”

“I was looking for answers,” she admitted, holding up the small wooden white stag, different to the one behind her. “I found the cottage where Rowena’s family lived. It was... hard to see, but I found this. I think it might have been hers.”

Daemon’s expression softened as he looked at the carved toy. Rowena, as if sensing the moment, reached out her tiny hands toward the object. Daemon carefully placed it in her grasp, and the baby immediately brought it to her mouth, gnawing on it with a toothless grin.

The reader couldn’t help but smile. “She likes it,” she said quietly.

Daemon studied his daughter’s face, his gaze flicking to the stag and the dire wolf that stood nearby, ever faithful. “You’ve taken on a great deal of responsibility,” he said, his voice tinged with pride.

“More than most would.”

The reader looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. “She deserves it,” she said simply. “She deserves a family that loves her.”

“You’ve given her that,” Daemon said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “And you’ve reminded me what it means to protect what we love.”

Rowena giggled, clutching the wooden stag tightly in her small hands, and the reader felt a sense of peace settle over her. Despite the hardships and the unanswered questions, she knew they were building something beautiful—a life worth fighting for.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a Family series. Chapter 9: Now everyone knows.

The reader wants to go back to sea, she wants to dive in to find that squid, she asks her father to help her.

The morning sun glistened on the waves as you stood at the edge of the rocky shore, the tide lapping at your boots. Your heart raced with anticipation and curiosity. The image of the glowing squid, its bright orange eyes gazing at you in the depths, had been haunting your thoughts since the night of the fall. You needed to see it again. To know it wasn’t just a dream or a trick of your frightened mind.

Daemon stood behind you, his arms crossed, a mix of wariness and protectiveness in his expression. “This is madness,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “The sea is dangerous, and you nearly died. Why would you tempt fate again?”

You turned to him, determination lighting your eyes. “It saved me, Father. I know it did. I just need to... thank it. To understand why.”

Daemon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He hated saying no to you, especially when you looked at him with such conviction. “And what if it’s not there? Or worse, if it is and it’s no longer friendly?”

“It helped me once,” you said confidently. “I don’t believe it would hurt me.”

Rhaenyra appeared beside Daemon, her expression one of concern. “Daemon’s right. You don’t know what you’re diving into. The sea is not kind.”

You stepped closer to your father, your hands gripping his arm. “Please. Just one dive. You’ll hold the rope. If anything happens, you’ll pull me back.”

Daemon looked at you for a long moment, then sighed heavily. “Fine. But if I feel even the slightest tug of trouble, I’m pulling you up.”

You grinned, relief washing over you. “Thank you.”

Minutes later, you stood at the edge of a cliffside inlet, a long, sturdy rope tied securely around your waist. Daemon held the other end, bracing himself against the rocks, his jaw tight with nerves.

Rhaenyra stood a few paces back, her arms crossed, watching with a mixture of apprehension and pride.

“Remember,” Daemon said, his voice sharp with authority. “You signal if you’re in trouble. No exceptions.”

“I will,” you promised, your heart pounding with both excitement and trepidation. With one last look at your parents, you dove into the water.

The chill of the sea enveloped you, and for a moment, all was silent except for the muffled sounds of the ocean. You opened your eyes, squinting through the saltwater, and began to swim deeper, your legs kicking steadily as you scanned the murky depths.

Minutes passed, and doubt began to creep into your mind. What if it wasn’t real? What if—

A sudden flicker of movement caught your eye. Then, from the darkness, the glowing orange eyes appeared, followed by the enormous form of the squid. Its luminescent tentacles moved gracefully, their glow illuminating the water around you. Your heart leaped in awe and recognition.

You raised a hand, waving at the creature. To your amazement, one of its massive tentacles reached out, brushing gently against your arm. The touch was warm, almost soothing, and you could feel the faintest sense of acknowledgement—as though it was saying hello.

For a moment, everything else faded. The world above the water, the danger of the sea—all that mattered was this moment of connection. You smiled, your lungs beginning to burn with the need for air. But as you turned to swim back, the heaviness of the water pulled at you. Panic surged as your legs tired, and you began to sink.

The squid reacted instantly. One of its glowing tentacles wrapped around your waist, lifting you with surprising gentleness. It propelled you upward, guiding you toward the surface. As you broke through the water, gasping for air, Daemon and Rhaenyra’s panicked shouts reached your ears.

From the shore, your parents watched in stunned silence as an enormous orange tentacle emerged from the water, holding you securely. It gently deposited you on the rocks before retreating. The squid’s glowing eyes surfaced for a brief moment, and it lifted a single tentacle in what looked like a wave goodbye before vanishing beneath the waves.

Daemon rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms. “What in the Seven Hells were you thinking?” he demanded, his voice shaking with both anger and relief.

Rhaenyra knelt beside you, her hands fluttering over your face and shoulders. “Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you managed, coughing up a bit of seawater. “It helped me. Again.”

Daemon glanced at the water, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. “That... thing. It lifted you.” You nodded, your voice was soft but steady. “It’s not just a thing. It’s... it’s intelligent. It saved me. Twice now.”

Rhaenyra exchanged a stunned look with Daemon. “A creature like that... it defies everything we know.”

Daemon pulled you close, his grip firm but comforting. “No more diving into the sea, do you hear me? I don’t care if it’s the Mother herself swimming beneath those waves. You stay on land.” You smiled faintly, leaning into his embrace. “I promise.”

As the three of you sat together on the rocks, the mystery of the glowing squid lingered in your minds. But for now, the only thing that mattered was that you were safe, surrounded by those who loved you.

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The rain fell in a soft, steady rhythm, cool droplets rolling down your face as you lay on the damp ground near the cliffside. The spot where the enormous orange squid had placed you felt like a strange sanctuary now, a place tied to the mysteries of the sea and the creature that had twice saved your life. The rain soothed you, calming the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. Beside you, the direwolf lay curled up, its thick fur slicked with water but unbothered by the weather. On your other side, Caraxes rested his massive head close to you, his body a looming, protective presence. Their shared comfort in the rain mirrored your own, a silent unity that made you feel, for a fleeting moment, not entirely alone.

You shifted slightly, your arm brushing against the damp grass. Slowly, you stretched it toward the cliff’s edge, your fingertips grazing the rocky ground as if reaching for the memory of the squid’s warm, glowing tentacle. A small part of you hoped it might rise from the depths again, even in this storm, just to remind you that the connection had been real.

Behind you, the sound of footsteps on wet grass reached your ears, and you glanced back to see your father approaching. Daemon’s dark hair was plastered to his face from the rain, his expression softened by concern as he crouched beside you. Without a word, he lowered himself onto the ground, stretching out beside you, the rain pooling in the folds of his clothing.

“Are you cold?” he asked quietly, his voice almost lost in the sound of the rain and crashing waves.

You shook your head. “No,” you replied softly, staring up at the gray sky. “I like the rain.”

Daemon turned his head to look at you, his piercing gaze catching yours. His face was unreadable for a moment before a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re a strange one,” he said, not unkindly.

You let out a small laugh but didn’t respond. Instead, you hesitated, biting your lip before finally speaking the thought that had been gnawing at you for days. “Father,” you began, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

Daemon frowned, his expression immediately serious. “What do you mean?”

You gestured to the direwolf beside you, its large head now resting on your stomach as its golden eyes flicked up to watch you. “The wolf,” you said. “Caraxes. Even the squid. It’s like they... understand me. Like they’re drawn to me. I know it’s not normal.”

Daemon was silent for a moment, processing your words. He turned his gaze to Caraxes, who let out a low, rumbling sound as if responding to the conversation. The dragon’s crimson eyes blinked slowly, his long neck stretching to nudge your shoulder with surprising gentleness. The direwolf, too, let out a soft whine, nuzzling your side as though reassuring you.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Daemon said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of conviction. “You’re my daughter. You have fire in your veins, the blood of dragons in your heart. That connection to these creatures—it's not something to fear. It’s a gift.”

“But why me?” you pressed, your voice trembling slightly. “Why do they come to me and not anyone else?”

Daemon exhaled deeply, his gaze returning to the sky. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his honesty cutting through the usual bravado he wore like armor. “But I do know this: these creatures, they see something in you. Something strong. Something worthy.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond to that. For so long, you’d felt isolated, even among your family. Different. And yet here, with Caraxes and the direwolf at your side, with your father lying in the rain beside you, you felt... seen.

Daemon reached out, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face. “If anyone makes you feel like there’s something wrong with you, they’ll answer to me. You understand?”

You nodded, a small, grateful smile breaking through the rain-soaked melancholy on your face. “I understand.”

For a while, the two of you lay there in silence, the rain continuing to fall as the direwolf shifted closer to you for warmth, and Caraxes let out a low, contented rumble. The storm seemed to wrap around you like a cocoon, the sound of the waves below blending with the steady rhythm of your father’s breathing.

Daemon finally broke the silence, his voice softer now. “You know, when I first brought Caraxes to the Dragonpit as a boy, I thought he was the ugliest creature I’d ever seen.”

You glanced at the dragon in question, whose large crimson form radiated an almost regal intensity despite the rain. “He’s not ugly,” you said defensively.

Daemon smirked. “No, he’s not. But I didn’t see it then. I didn’t understand what he was, what he could be.” He looked at you, his expression serious again. “Sometimes, we don’t understand our own worth, either. But that doesn’t make it any less real.”

His words settled over you like the rain, soothing in their weight. You closed your eyes, letting yourself lean into the warmth of the direwolf and the steady presence of your father beside you. For now, you didn’t have all the answers, but you had this moment—and that was enough.

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The reader sat cross-legged at the edge of the cliff, her fingers gently wrapped around the warm, textured tentacle of the orange squid that had become something of a secret friend. The creature’s massive, glowing eyes peeked just above the water’s surface, its head bobbing slightly with the waves. She whispered to it softly, her words carried away by the sea breeze, though the squid seemed to understand her without needing to hear every syllable.

Caraxes lay sprawled protectively behind her, his long neck stretched lazily, but his sharp crimson eyes remained watchful of his rider’s daughter and the mysterious sea creature. Every now and then, the dragon let out a low, guttural rumble, as if conversing with the squid in his own way.

Meanwhile, back in the great hall of the castle, Rhaenyra was seated with the entire Targaryen family for dinner. The direwolf lay quietly at her feet, its golden eyes scanning the room for signs of its mistress, but it remained obediently still at her side. Rhaenyra looked to Daemon, her expression tinged with exasperation.

“She’s not here,” Rhaenyra said, glancing at the empty seat meant for her daughter. “Go fetch her, Daemon. We both know where she’s gone.”

Daemon smirked slightly, but he didn’t argue. As he pushed his chair back to rise, Aemond’s sharp voice cut through the murmurs of conversation.

“Why waste your time?” Aemond sneered, his one eye gleaming with derision. “She’s probably out there playing with her sea monster again. Perhaps she thinks it’s a kraken.”

Daemon froze mid-step, his jaw tightening. The rest of the family turned their attention to Aemond, the room falling uncomfortably silent.

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Enough, Aemond,” she said coldly. “You’d do well to hold your tongue.”

“Oh, come now,” Aemond continued, ignoring her warning. “We’ve all heard the legends. A kraken—great beast of the deep, capable of sinking ships and dragging men to their watery graves. Fitting, isn’t it? A beast for a girl who always seems out of place here.”

Before anyone could respond, Daemon’s sharp intake of breath silenced the room. He was standing by the window, his eyes wide as he stared outside. “Seven hells,” he muttered, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra asked, rising from her seat.

Daemon turned, his face pale but his expression determined. “She wasn’t lying,” he said simply, pointing to the cliffside.

The entire family rushed to the window, crowding around to see. There, perched dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, was the reader. She was leaning forward, her hand outstretched to the massive squid whose vibrant orange form glowed faintly even through the rain-dappled mist. Its head had emerged partially from the water, and it moved gently in response to her touch, as if drawn to her presence.

“She’s talking to it,” Viserys murmured, his voice laced with shock. “It’s real.”

Without a word, Daemon turned on his heel and hurried out of the hall, Rhaenyra close behind him. The rest of the family followed, some out of curiosity, others out of disbelief, and Aemond out of simmering resentment.

As they reached the cliff, the scene before them stopped them in their tracks. The reader was still seated, her fingers lightly tracing the squid’s tentacle. She spoke softly, her voice a mixture of comfort and gratitude, though her words were too quiet for the others to make out. Caraxes watched them approach but did not stir, his massive frame coiled protectively around the girl.

The squid, noticing the approaching group, withdrew slightly, its glowing eyes narrowing warily. The reader noticed the movement and turned, her expression shifting from peaceful to defensive as she saw her entire family standing there.

“What are you all doing here?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Daemon stepped forward, his face unreadable. “We came to see if it was true,” he said simply. “And it is.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened as she took in the sight of her daughter and the mysterious creature. “You’ve been telling the truth all along,” she said quietly, guilt flickering across her features.

The reader frowned, still clutching the squid’s tentacle protectively. “Of course I was,” she replied. “Why would I lie about something like this?”

Before anyone could answer, the squid released her hand and let out a low, musical sound that resonated through the air. It turned its glowing eyes toward the group, then dipped its head slightly, as if acknowledging their presence.

Aemond sneered, his hands twitching at his sides. “It’s just a beast,” he muttered under his breath, though his words carried enough for everyone to hear. “Nothing special.”

Daemon shot him a warning glare. “Careful, boy,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re speaking about both the creature and my daughter.”

The squid seemed to understand the tension, retreating further into the water, but not before brushing the reader’s hand one last time. She turned back to it, whispering a soft goodbye as it slipped beneath the waves.

The direwolf arrived shortly after, trotting up to the reader’s side and sniffing her hand as if to reassure itself she was unharmed. She gave it a small, distracted pat, her mind still on the squid.

As the family stood in stunned silence, Viserys finally spoke, his voice filled with awe. “Whatever this creature is, it has chosen her. Perhaps it’s time we stopped questioning that and started trusting it.”

Daemon smirked, proud as ever of his daughter’s strength and uniqueness. Rhaenyra, too, looked on with a mix of pride and regret, knowing she had doubted her child when she should have believed in her all along.

The reader stood slowly, her wet clothes clinging to her as she turned to face her family. “It’s not just a beast,” she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. “It saved me. Twice.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier scepticism now replaced with a sense of wonder—and, for some, jealousy. Aemond turned away sharply, his expression dark, but he said nothing more. The reader, her father, and her mother shared a quiet, understanding look before heading back toward the castle, leaving the mysterious bond between her and the creature of the deep undisputed.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a Family Series. Chapter 8: The creature in the water.

a/n: Long one, 3768 words

The first rays of dawn painted the sky in soft hues of pink and gold as you quietly slipped out of your chambers. The castle was still and silent, the usual bustle of servants and lords yet to begin. You had woken earlier than usual, a restlessness pulling you from sleep. Ember’s absence weighed heavily on your heart, and the peaceful stillness of the morning seemed like the only remedy.

As you made your way to the stables, you passed by Caraxes, who was coiled in his usual resting spot. His golden eyes opened, tracking your movements.

“I’m just going for a short walk,” you whispered, placing a gentle hand on his warm scales. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t wake Father.”

Caraxes let out a low rumble, his breath brushing against your hair as if acknowledging your words. He watched as you disappeared down the path leading toward the forest, his gaze lingering for a moment before he settled back down.

The forest was serene, the only sounds coming from the rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds. The cool air kissed your cheeks as you walked, your boots crunching softly against the damp earth. You’d always found solace in nature, and today was no exception.

As you rounded a bend in the trail, you froze, your breath catching in your throat.

A massive dire wolf stood in the clearing ahead, its silver-gray fur glistening in the morning light. It was larger than any creature you’d ever seen, its piercing amber eyes locking onto yours.

You had heard stories of direwolves—of their strength, their intelligence, and their loyalty—but you had never expected to see one in the flesh. Fear coiled in your chest as the creature took a step toward you, its movements slow and deliberate.

You thought to run but found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

The dire wolf paused a few paces away, tilting its head as if studying you. Then, to your surprise, it lowered itself to the ground, its ears flattening slightly in a gesture that seemed... non-threatening.

Your fear began to ebb, replaced by curiosity and something else—a sense of connection. Tentatively, you extended a hand, your heart pounding in your chest.

The dire wolf moved closer, its massive head nudging your palm. Its fur was surprisingly soft, and you couldn’t help but run your fingers through it. “You’re beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. The direwolf let out a soft whine, leaning into your touch. For the first time in what felt like forever, a small smile tugged at your lips. But as you continued petting the creature, the weight of your grief resurfaced, and tears began to spill down your cheeks.

The direwolf seemed to sense your sorrow. It let out a quiet squeal, bumping its head against your hand as if to comfort you. The gesture was so gentle, so earnest, that it broke the dam holding back your emotions. You sank to your knees, your fingers still buried in the direwolf’s fur as you sobbed. The creature stayed by your side, its warm presence a balm to your aching heart.

Back at the castle, Caraxes stirred, his keen senses alerting him to something amiss. He had let you leave, but the absence of your familiar presence was unsettling. With a low rumble, he unfurled his wings and let out a call that echoed through the stone walls.

Daemon, already awake and preparing for the day, heard the dragon’s cry and immediately went to investigate.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice sharp as he approached Caraxes.

The dragon let out another low rumble, his eyes shifting toward the path leading to the forest. Daemon’s gaze followed, and his jaw tightened.

“Y/N,” he muttered under his breath. “Of course.”

He set off immediately, following your tracks with practised ease. Though he trusted you to handle yourself, he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at his chest. You were still grieving, still vulnerable. The thought of you wandering the forest alone filled him with dread.

When he found you, his heart stopped for a moment.

From a distance, he saw you kneeling in the clearing, your shoulders shaking as you cried. The direwolf stood beside you, its massive frame towering over your kneeling form. For a split second, panic surged through him.

“Y/N!” he called, breaking into a run.

You looked up, startled, and the dire wolf turned to face Daemon, its stance protective but not aggressive.

“Father?” you said, your voice thick with tears.

Daemon slowed as he approached, his sharp eyes assessing the situation. His initial fear gave way to relief when he realized the dire wolf wasn’t a threat. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing?” he asked his tone a mix of exasperation and concern. “And what is that?”

You wiped at your face, standing slowly. “A dire wolf,” you said softly, gesturing to the creature. “It found me. It’s... it’s not dangerous, I promise.”

The dire wolf let out a soft huff, its amber eyes meeting Daemon’s. The dragonlord tilted his head, studying the creature with an almost begrudging respect.

Daemon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve got your mother’s talent for attracting trouble,” he muttered, though there was no real anger in his voice.

You managed a small smile, your fingers brushing against the dire wolf’s fur once more. “I just... I needed some time,” you admitted. “And then he came along.”

Daemon stepped closer, his expression softening. “You should’ve told me, Y/N,” he said gently. “I know you’re hurting, but you don’t have to face this alone.”

Your gaze dropped, guilt flickering across your face. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Daemon placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You’re my daughter,” he said firmly. “It’s my job to worry.”

The dire wolf nudged you again, and you let out a quiet laugh, the sound lighter than before. Daemon smiled faintly, glad to see even a small spark of joy return to your eyes.

“Come,” he said after a moment. “Let’s go back. Supper is waiting, and I’m not about to let you miss another meal.” You hesitated, glancing at the dire wolf. “Can he come?”

Daemon raised a brow but ultimately nodded. “If he doesn’t eat the servants,” he said dryly.

The three of you made your way back to the castle, the direwolf at your side and Caraxes waiting in the distance. For the first time in days, you felt a glimmer of hope—a reminder that even in the depths of grief, there could still be moments of connection and healing.

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The dining hall was alive with the chatter of the gathered Targaryens. The long table gleamed under the flickering light of chandeliers, laden with food and wine. The family had been summoned for a rare supper together, though the undercurrent of tension was unmistakable.

Daemon walked beside you as you entered the hall, the direwolf padding at your side, its massive paws silent against the stone floor. The murmurs and laughter at the table ceased instantly as the wolf’s presence registered. Gasps and wide-eyed stares followed.

Rhaenyra was the first to rise from her seat, her brow furrowed. “What in the Seven Hells is that?” she asked, her tone teetering between concern and incredulity.

The direwolf stopped at your side, its amber eyes scanning the room. You instinctively placed a hand on its head, offering a silent reassurance to both the wolf and yourself.

Daemon smirked at the stunned expressions around the table. “A gift from the gods, perhaps,” he said nonchalantly, gesturing to the direwolf. “Y/N found him on her morning walk.”

“A wolf?” Alicent said sharply, her tone laced with disapproval. “In the castle?”

“He’s harmless,” you interjected softly, though your voice wavered under the weight of so many stares. “He’s been kind to me.”

“That is no pet,” Viserys said, though his tone lacked the venom it once held. His health had been failing, and his voice was softer, his gaze more contemplative. “It is a wild creature. Dangerous.”

Daemon stepped forward, resting a hand on your shoulder. “He’s as dangerous as a dragon, Father. Yet we keep them, do we not?” The comparison made a few heads turn, some in agreement and others in discomfort.

“It’s ridiculous,” Aemond muttered, his single eye narrowing as he watched the scene unfold. “Bringing a filthy beast into the hall as if it belongs here.” Your grip on the direwolf’s fur tightened, but you remained silent. The tension in the room was palpable.

“He belongs here because I say he does,” Daemon said, his tone calm but edged with warning. Aemond scoffed, rising from his seat. “And now we allow wolves to sit among dragons?” He looked directly at you, his disdain clear. “You disgrace yourself, cousin, playing with a beast as if you’re some common child.”

Your face burned with a mix of anger and embarrassment. Before you could respond, Aemond’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword, the sound of steel ringing out as he drew it.

“I’ll put it down myself,” he snarled, stepping toward you. Everything happened in a flash. The direwolf moved faster than anyone expected, placing itself between you and Aemond with a deep, menacing growl. Its hackles rose, and its amber eyes burned with a feral intensity.

“Aemond!” Rhaenyra shouted, her voice echoing in the hall. Daemon was already moving, stepping in front of you and the wolf, his hand resting on Dark Sister’s hilt. “If you so much as take another step,” Daemon said, his voice dangerously calm, “you’ll lose that hand.”

Aemond froze, though his grip on his sword remained tight. His face twisted in frustration, his pride clearly bruised.

“This is absurd!” Alicent exclaimed, rising from her seat. “You bring a wolf into this hall and then threaten my son when he tries to do what’s right?”

“What’s right?” Daemon echoed, his voice laced with mockery. “Your son just drew a sword on my daughter over nothing. That wolf has shown more restraint than he has.” The direwolf let out another growl, stepping closer to Aemond. The young prince hesitated, clearly debating his next move.

“Enough!” Viserys’s voice, though weakened, carried authority. “Aemond, put the sword away.” Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he reluctantly sheathed his blade. The direwolf relaxed slightly, though it remained alert, its protective stance unchanged.

Viserys turned his gaze to you and the wolf. “If this creature is to remain, it must be controlled,” he said. “The last thing we need is another fight in these halls.” Daemon inclined his head slightly, a faint smirk on his lips. “You heard him, Y/N. Keep your wolf in line. Though I’d argue it’s more disciplined than certain Targaryens.” The jab was not lost on Aemond, whose glare could have set the room ablaze.

You placed a calming hand on the direwolf’s head, whispering softly to it. The creature responded with a low whine, settling at your side once more. As the tension in the room began to ease, Daemon leaned down and whispered, “Well done, my dragon. You handled that beautifully.” His words warmed you, even as your hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline of the encounter. You sat at the table with the direwolf at your feet, its presence a silent reminder of the bond you had forged—and the strength you were discovering within yourself.

But across the table, Aemond’s eye burned with unresolved anger, a dangerous glint promising that the matter was far from over.

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The chill of the night air whispered through the castle as the moon hung low, casting its silvery glow across Dragonstone. The direwolf lay curled near the edge of the cliff, its chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep. Far above, the shadow of Vhagar loomed, and atop the ancient dragon sat Aemond, his single eye gleaming with malevolent satisfaction.

He whispered to himself as he tightened his grip on Vhagar’s reins, his voice dripping with spite. "Let’s see how your pet fares against the true might of a dragon, cousin."

The plan was cruel, calculated to not only eliminate the direwolf but to break your spirit entirely. As Vhagar circled lower, Aemond muttered vile remarks under his breath. “A wolf among dragons,” he sneered. “How laughable. It won’t last the night.”

Unbeknownst to him, you had risen from your chambers, restless and uneasy. The bond with your direwolf was deep; an unshakable instinct told you something was wrong. You hurried to the cliffside, your heart pounding when you spotted the massive shadow of Vhagar above.

Aemond was already in position. Vhagar’s massive maw opened, flames curling at the edges. The night air filled with the acrid scent of sulfur.

“No!” you screamed, your voice breaking through the silence as you sprinted toward the direwolf.

Aemond caught sight of you but didn’t relent. A wicked smirk twisted his lips as he shouted the command.

“Dracarys!”

Time seemed to slow as Vhagar unleashed a torrent of fire. You reached the direwolf just in time, throwing yourself over its body and shoving it away from the cliff’s edge. The flames engulfed you, but instead of the searing pain of fire, you felt only its warmth, harmless against your Targaryen blood.

Aemond’s smirk faltered as he witnessed the impossible: the fire swirled around you, dancing like an obedient pet before dissipating into the night. You stood unscathed, glaring up at him, fury burning in your eyes.

But Vhagar was not finished. With a guttural growl, the great dragon nudged you with its massive head, the force sending you teetering over the edge of the cliff.

Your scream tore through the night as you plummeted, the sound echoing across the castle grounds. The direwolf’s mournful howl followed, a piercing cry that carried far and wide, reaching every corner of the Targaryen stronghold.

Inside the castle, supper was abruptly interrupted. Daemon’s head snapped toward the sound, his face paling as he recognized your voice. Rhaenyra stood frozen for a moment before bolting toward the source, her heart pounding with dread.

When the family reached the cliffside, they saw the direwolf pacing frantically, its howls growing more desperate. Aemond stood nearby, feigning innocence, but the smirk playing at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

Daemon’s gaze locked onto his brother’s son, fury igniting like wildfire in his chest. “What have you done, boy?” he growled, his voice low and deadly.

Rhaenyra fell to her knees near the edge, her hands clutching the ground as if she could somehow reach for you. Tears streamed down her face as she screamed your name into the abyss.

“Y/N!”

Daemon didn’t wait for an explanation. He advanced on Aemond, his fists clenched. “If she’s dead, so help me, I will make you suffer.”

“She fell,” Aemond said, his voice devoid of remorse. “It’s hardly my fault if she couldn’t control her wolf.”

The direwolf snarled, its teeth bared as it lunged at Aemond. Daemon caught its collar just in time, though he was tempted to let the beast have its way.

“You’ll answer for this,” Daemon hissed, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

Below, your body was cradled by the turbulent sea. The waves carried you toward the rocky shore, where the salt stung your skin, and the cold seeped into your bones. Your consciousness flickered, but the thought of your parents, of their faces twisted in grief, pushed you to fight.

Above, Rhaenyra’s screams grew more desperate. Daemon stood silent, his eyes scanning the dark waters, his heart heavy with fear. The Targaryens were fire made flesh, but water was an enemy they could not conquer.

Suddenly, a glimmer of movement caught his eye. “There!” he shouted, pointing to the shoreline where your form lay motionless.

Without hesitation, Daemon began descending the cliffside, his movements swift and reckless. Rhaenyra followed, her heart pounding as they reached you.

“Y/N!” Rhaenyra sobbed, falling to her knees beside you. She cupped your face, her fingers trembling. “Wake up, my love. Please, wake up.”

Daemon pressed his ear to your chest, relief flooding him when he heard the faint rhythm of your heartbeat. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if his embrace alone could shield you from harm.

“She’s alive,” he murmured, though his voice was thick with emotion.

You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering open. The sight of your parents’ tear-streaked faces greeted you, and a weak smile tugged at your lips. “I’m okay,” you whispered, though your voice was barely audible.

Rhaenyra pressed her forehead to yours, her tears mingling with yours. “You’re safe now,” she said, her voice trembling. “We’ve got you.”

Daemon lifted you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he began the climb back to the castle. His eyes burned with unspoken promises of vengeance for what had been done to you.

As the direwolf followed closely, its mournful whines softened into quiet whimpers, its loyalty to you unwavering. Daemon glanced back at the creature, his expression softening.

He murmured. “ She’ll need you now more than ever.”

As they reached the top of the cliff, Aemond’s smug expression had vanished, replaced by unease as he saw you alive. Daemon’s glare was like a storm, his wrath barely contained.

“This isn’t over,” Daemon said, his voice low and menacing as he passed Aemond. “Not by a long shot.” Rhaenyra followed closely, her protective instincts stronger than ever. She placed a hand on the direwolf’s head, silently thanking it for its loyalty before they retreated into the safety of the castle walls.

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The soft glow of dawn seeped through the heavy curtains of your chamber as you lay in bed, swaddled in thick furs. The direwolf was curled beside you, its massive paw resting protectively on your stomach. The rhythmic sound of its breathing was a comforting balm against the memories swirling in your mind.

Your parents, Daemon and Rhaenyra, sat close by. Rhaenyra’s hand gently stroked your hair, her expression a mix of worry and relief. Daemon, ever the vigilant father, sat rigidly at your side, his eyes scanning your pale face for any sign of discomfort.

You stirred slightly, your lips parting as a soft whisper escaped. “It... it wasn’t just the waves.”

Rhaenyra leaned closer, her heart tightening at the faint, dreamlike quality of your voice. “What do you mean, my love?”

Your gaze unfocused, you stared at the ceiling, the memory of the cold sea washing over you like a tide. “There was... a creature. In the water. It looked at me... bright orange eyes... so big.”

Daemon’s brow furrowed, his hand reaching for yours. “A creature? What kind of creature?”

You swallowed, the memory becoming sharper in your mind. “It was like... a giant squid, but not just that. It glowed. It... it pushed me. Up. I would’ve sunk without it.”

The room fell into a stunned silence as your words hung in the air. Rhaenyra’s hand froze in your hair, her breath catching. Daemon’s grip on your hand tightened, his sharp mind working through what you had just revealed.

“A giant squid,” Daemon echoed, his tone carefully measured. “It saved you?” You nodded weakly, the effort leaving you winded. “I think so. I was sinking... I could feel it. But then I saw it. It wrapped around me and... pushed me toward the surface. It saved my life.” Rhaenyra exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Daemon, her worry now tinged with disbelief. “Are you certain, my love? Perhaps the sea’s current—”

“It wasn’t the sea!” you interrupted, your voice stronger now, though still hoarse. “I saw it. I felt it.”

The dire wolf shifted beside you, sensing your rising distress, and let out a low, comforting whine. It nuzzled your hand, grounding you once more.

Before Rhaenyra or Daemon could respond, the door to your chamber creaked open, revealing the rest of the Targaryen family. Viserys, Alicent, Aegon, and even Aemond entered, their faces a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“What’s this I hear about a sea creature?” Viserys asked, his tone both intrigued and doubtful.

Daemon stood, his posture protective as he addressed his brother. “Y/N claims a creature in the sea helped her survive. A giant squid-like being with glowing orange eyes.”

Aemond’s single eye narrowed, his lip curling. “Another tale to make her seem special, no doubt.”

“Enough!” Daemon snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. His glare pinned Aemond in place, and the younger man wisely fell silent.

Rhaenyra, ever the voice of reason, turned to you gently. “Tell them, my love. Tell them what you saw.”

You pushed yourself up slightly, your direwolf staying close as you spoke. “It wasn’t just something I imagined. It was real. It was huge, glowing, and... kind. It didn’t hurt me. It saved me.”

Viserys frowned, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “A glowing creature of the deep. Remarkable, if true.”

“Why would it save her?” Alicent asked cautiously, her tone edged with skepticism.

Daemon’s voice was cold, his patience wearing thin. “Does it matter why? It did. Without it, she wouldn’t be here.”

Rhaenyra placed a calming hand on his arm. “Perhaps we should consider the possibility that the creature meant no harm. The seas around Dragonstone have always held mysteries.”

The room fell silent again, tension thick in the air. Aegon broke it with a lazy shrug. “If it’s true, it’s a shame it didn’t stay around. Could’ve been a fine addition to our legends.” Your voice, soft but steady, cut through the chatter. “It was alive. It wasn’t a beast. It looked at me like it understood.”

Viserys finally nodded, his expression one of reluctant acceptance. “If Y/N says this creature exists, then we must consider it. She has no reason to fabricate such a tale.”

Daemon knelt beside you, his hand brushing your cheek. “We’ll speak no more of this tonight. You need rest.”

Rhaenyra leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll be here, my love. Always.”

As the family dispersed, Aemond lingered by the door, his face twisted in thought. Though he said nothing, the anger simmering in his eye was evident. You watched him leave, the memory of the squid’s glowing eyes still fresh in your mind.

As you lay back down, the dire wolf nestled closer, its warmth a comfort against the cold memory of the sea. The mystery of the creature lingered, but for now, you closed your eyes, letting sleep take you once more.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a Family series. Chapter 7: Death of a Dragon.

Aemond Targeryens's jealousy spreads when he hears that his cousin the reader has found a dragon, how shes fireproof, a true dragon, his anger spreads and takes it out on the reader's dragon Ember.

The morning air was crisp, the sea breeze carrying the familiar salty tang as you walked along the cliffs outside Dragonstone, Ember perched comfortably on your shoulder. The little dragon had become your constant companion, a source of warmth and comfort. Its wounds were healing well, and you’d started imagining a future where the two of you would soar through the skies together, as a bonded pair.

Unbeknownst to you, jealousy burned like wildfire in Aemond Targaryen’s heart. He had always been envious of your family’s connection to dragons, his own journey to claim Vhagar as much about proving himself as it was about power. But hearing that you, his cousin, were fireproof—a true dragon in every sense—was the final straw. It gnawed at him, fanning the flames of his resentment into a full inferno.

Aemond paced furiously in his chambers, his single eye glaring into the distance. “She doesn’t deserve it,” he muttered to himself. “A dragon of her own, unearned. She’s nothing but a spoiled child.” The idea took root, twisted and dark, and he acted on it without hesitation.

Later that day, you felt a strange sense of unease as you made your way toward the cliffs where Caraxes often rested. You couldn’t hear Ember’s usual chirps or feel its small talons digging into your shoulder. Instead, there was an eerie silence, broken only by the distant crash of waves against the rocks. As you rounded a bend in the cliffside path, Caraxes let out a deafening, mournful roar that sent a shiver down your spine. Your heart dropped, and you quickened your pace, fear clawing at your chest. What you saw next made the world tilt on its axis.

Ember lay motionless on the ground, its tiny body limp and bloodied. You gasped, your legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed to your knees.

“No,” you whispered, crawling forward and gathering Ember’s lifeless form in your arms. Its once-vibrant scales were dull, its golden eyes closed forever.

“Fuck!” you screamed, the word tearing from your throat as waves of anguish and rage crashed over you. Hot tears blurred your vision as you cradled Ember, rocking back and forth.

Caraxes, towering nearby, let out another guttural roar, its head dipping low as if mourning alongside you. From a window of the castle, Daemon caught sight of you. His heart seized at the sight of his daughter collapsed on the ground, clutching something in her arms. Without a second thought, he bolted from his chambers, his mind racing with fear.

By the time Daemon reached you, you were still on your knees, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed into Ember’s lifeless body. Caraxes loomed protectively behind you, its massive wings half-spread in a gesture of shared grief. “Y/N!” Daemon called, his voice sharp with panic as he rushed to your side. You didn’t respond, too lost in your sorrow. When he reached you, he knelt beside you, his eyes darting between you and Ember. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and desperation. “Who did this?” “It’s Ember,” you choked out, your voice barely audible. “Ember’s gone. Someone killed him.”

Daemon’s face darkened, his jaw clenching tightly. He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch steady despite the fury simmering beneath his calm exterior. “Who?” he asked again, his voice low and dangerous. You looked up at him, your tear-streaked face filled with despair. “I don’t know,” you whispered, though deep down, a part of you suspected. Aemond’s glares, his biting comments about you being unworthy—it all pointed to him. Daemon’s eyes flickered with a dangerous light. He could see the suspicion in your expression, and it was enough for him. “Aemond,” he growled under his breath. “Father, I—” you began, but Daemon silenced you with a shake of his head. “This is not your fault,” he said firmly, gripping your shoulder. “This is the work of a coward, someone who envies what they can never have. But I swear to you, Y/N, whoever did this will pay.” You clung to his words, finding a small measure of solace in his unwavering support.

Daemon gently helped you to your feet, careful not to disturb Ember’s lifeless form. He gestured to Caraxes, who lowered his massive head and nuzzled you softly, a low rumble vibrating through the air.

“Caraxes will help me,” Daemon said, his tone resolute. “We’ll give Ember the burial he deserves, as one of us—a true dragon.” Tears filled your eyes again, but this time, they were mixed with gratitude. Despite the pain, you knew you weren’t alone. As you stood there, supported by your father and Caraxes, the grief began to settle into resolve. Ember’s death wouldn’t be in vain. And if Aemond was responsible, he would regret ever laying a hand on your dragon. Daemon’s voice broke the silence, low and menacing. “Aemond will answer for this.” And you believed him

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The sky over Dragonstone was painted in muted shades of gray, the sun hidden behind thick clouds. You sat alone on the cliffside, knees tucked to your chest, staring at the spot where Ember had taken their last breath. The bloodied ground had been washed clean by the tides, but the memory lingered, fresh and vivid in your mind.

The grief was heavy, pressing down on your chest like a weight you couldn’t lift. You traced absent patterns on the ground, your fingers brushing over the cold earth as tears blurred your vision. The world felt hollow without Ember’s warmth, their tiny chirps, and their eager flutters.

A low, rumbling sound pulled you from your thoughts. Caraxes had appeared, his massive red form moving with surprising grace as he approached. His golden eyes regarded you with an intelligence that was almost human, and a soft whine escaped his throat, a sound of mourning and concern.

“Caraxes,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

The great dragon curled up beside you, his long body forming a protective barrier between you and the cliff’s edge. His warmth enveloped you, a silent reassurance that you weren’t alone.

You leaned against his scaled side, your fingers tracing the ridges of his skin. “I don’t know what to do,” you confessed, your voice cracking. “Ember didn’t deserve this. They were so small, so innocent. And now they’re gone because someone was angry... because they were jealous.”

Caraxes let out a low rumble, almost as if he were agreeing with you. You could feel the vibrations through his body, steady and comforting.

“It’s not fair,” you continued, tears streaming down your face. “I just want things to go back to the way they were. I want Ember back.” Your voice broke, and you buried your face in your hands, sobbing openly. Caraxes nudged you gently with his snout, his warm breath brushing against your hair. It was as if he were telling you to let it out, to grieve in whatever way you needed.

Exhaustion eventually overtook you. The emotional toll of the day, coupled with the comforting presence of Caraxes, lulled you into a fitful sleep. You rested your head against his side, his rhythmic breathing lulling you further into slumber.

Meanwhile, Daemon searched the castle for you, his mood growing increasingly tense. Supper was being served, and your absence hadn’t gone unnoticed. When he checked your room and found it empty, his concern deepened.

“Where is she?” he muttered to himself, his steps quickening as he moved through the corridors.

The servants had seen nothing, and neither had Rhaenyra. Worry gnawed at his chest as he made his way toward the cliffs, a place you often went when you needed solitude.

As he approached the edge, his heart stopped at the sight of you lying motionless on the ground beside Caraxes. For a terrifying moment, he thought the worst—that you’d collapsed in your grief, or worse still, done something irreversible.

“Y/N!” he called, rushing toward you.

His panic dissolved into relief when he reached you and saw your chest rise and fall with the steady rhythm of sleep. Caraxes opened one golden eye to regard Daemon with a low rumble, as if to say, Calm yourself. She’s fine.

Daemon let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair as he crouched beside you. “You scared me, little one,” he murmured, his voice soft.

You stirred slightly at the sound of his voice but didn’t wake. Daemon gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gaze softening as he took in your tear-streaked cheeks and furrowed brow.

“She’s grieving,” he said aloud, mostly to himself. “Of course, she’d come here.”

Caraxes shifted slightly, his protective posture tightening around you as if to shield you from the world. Daemon gave the dragon an appreciative nod, resting a hand briefly on the creature’s side.

After a moment, Daemon carefully scooped you into his arms, mindful not to wake you. Your head lolled against his shoulder, and you let out a soft sigh, your body still heavy with exhaustion.

As he carried you back to the castle, Caraxes followed closely, his massive form casting a long shadow over the cliffside.

Daemon made his way to your chambers, where he gently laid you on your bed. He covered you with a blanket, brushing his fingers against your forehead in a rare display of tenderness.

“I’ll make this right,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For you. For Ember. No one will harm what’s yours again.” With that vow burning in his heart, he left your room, his mind already turning to the steps he would take to ensure your safety—and to make those responsible for your pain regret ever crossing you.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a Family series. Chapter 6: I just want to be free.

After finding out the reader is fireproof daemon takes his daughter out, she rides on caraxes with her dad, when they land her father goes off to find Rhaenyra, she goes to follow but hears a small squeal, she follows the noise and finds a small bashed up dragon. Y/n and her mother talk about marriage.

Daemon was still in awe of what had happened with you and the fire. The realization that his daughter shared the true Targaryen gift filled him with pride. The moment you emerged from the flames unscathed, he knew you were destined for greatness—just like the dragons of old. As the days passed, Daemon decided it was time to bond with you in the way only a father and a dragonlord could. One morning, he invited you to join him for a flight on Caraxes.

The experience was exhilarating. The wind whipped through your hair as Caraxes soared high above the Red Keep, his massive wings slicing through the clouds. Your father sat in front of you, one hand firmly on the reins while the other rested protectively over yours. “You feel that, my little dragon?” he called over the roar of the wind. “Yes!” you shouted back, a smile breaking across your face. For the first time in weeks, you felt truly free, as if the skies themselves belonged to you.

Caraxes let out a deep, rumbling roar as he dove toward the ground, landing with a thud on the outskirts of Dragonstone. Daemon dismounted first, helping you climb down before patting the great dragon’s side affectionately.

“I need to find your mother,” Daemon said, turning to you with a smirk. “Stay here with Caraxes. He’ll keep you safe.”

You nodded, but curiosity soon got the better of you. As Daemon disappeared into the distance, you wandered off, the stillness of the area contrasting sharply with the chaos of the castle.

It was then that you heard it—a faint, high-pitched squeal, almost like a cry for help. Furrowing your brow, you followed the sound, weaving through the rocky terrain until you stumbled upon a small, shadowed alcove. Your heart caught in your throat at the sight before you: a tiny, battered dragon lying on its side. Its scales were dull, patches of them missing entirely, and one of its wings looked twisted and mangled. “Oh, no,” you whispered, crouching beside the creature. The dragon flinched at your approach, letting out a weak growl, but its movements were feeble. It was clearly in pain. “It’s okay,” you said softly, reaching out a hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The dragon’s golden eyes met yours, and something passed between you—a connection, as if it understood your words. Slowly, it stopped growling and allowed you to gently stroke its head. “I’ll help you,” you promised, glancing around to make sure no one was watching.

The task of sneaking the dragon back to your chambers was no easy feat, but you managed to wrap it in a large cloak and carry it through the quieter corridors of the castle. Once inside your room, you carefully set the creature down on your bed and began tending to its injuries.

You gathered scraps of cloth to bandage its wing and brought water from the basin to clean its wounds. The dragon let out occasional grunts of discomfort, but it didn’t resist your care. “You need a name,” you murmured, brushing your fingers over its battered snout. “How about... Ember?” The dragon blinked at you, and you took that as approval.

Days passed, and you devoted every spare moment to Ember’s recovery. The dragon grew stronger under your care, and you formed an unbreakable bond with the creature. However, it wasn’t long before your behavior began to raise suspicions.

Daemon noticed the way you seemed more guarded, slipping away during family meals and avoiding his questions. He’d also caught glimpses of you sneaking out to the castle kitchens, returning with extra meat wrapped in cloth.

One evening, as you carried a bundle of food to your chambers, Daemon intercepted you in the hallway. “And where are you off to with that?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp. You froze, clutching the bundle tightly. “Nowhere,” you said quickly.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Nowhere?” he repeated. “Strange. ‘Nowhere’ must be a very hungry place, given the size of that bundle.” Your cheeks flushed, and you took a step back. “It’s nothing, Father.” Daemon’s gaze narrowed, and he folded his arms across his chest.

“You’ve been sneaking around for days. If there’s something you’re hiding, I suggest you tell me now.” “I’m not hiding anything,” you insisted, though your voice wavered. Daemon stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, whatever it is, you can trust me. You’re my daughter. I won’t be angry.” You hesitated, torn between your loyalty to Ember and your trust in your father. Finally, you sighed and lowered your gaze. “Come with me,” you said softly, turning toward your room.

When Daemon entered your chambers and saw the small dragon curled up on your bed, his eyes widened in surprise. Ember lifted its head and let out a soft growl, but you quickly moved to its side, soothing it with a gentle touch. “You found a dragon,” Daemon said, his voice filled with both amazement and concern. “It was hurt,” you explained, glancing up at him nervously. “I couldn’t just leave it. I’ve been taking care of it.”

Daemon approached slowly, his sharp eyes studying the creature. “This is no ordinary dragon,” he murmured. “It’s young, but its injuries... someone tried to harm it.” You nodded. “I think someone left it to die.”

Daemon crouched beside you, his expression softening as he watched you stroke Ember’s head. “You did well, my little dragon,” he said quietly. “You saved a life.” “You’re not angry?” you asked, glancing at him uncertainly. “Angry?” Daemon chuckled, shaking his head. “No, Y/N. I’m proud. You have the heart of a true Targaryen.” He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “But we can’t keep this a secret forever. Ember deserves a chance to grow strong, to fly free. We’ll need to tell your mother—and decide what’s best for it.”

You nodded reluctantly, knowing he was right. Still, a part of you ached at the thought of letting Ember go. “Until then,” Daemon said with a smirk, “keep up the good work. Just... maybe don’t let your mother catch you sneaking meat out of the kitchens.” You laughed softly, the tension in your chest easing. For now, Ember was safe—and so were you, under the watchful eye of your father.

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Rhaenyra sat across from you in her chambers, her expression calm but serious. It was the kind of look that always made your stomach twist with unease.

“My love,” she began, her voice soft yet firm, “we need to talk about your future.”

You already knew where this was going. It wasn’t the first time your mother had broached the subject, and it wouldn’t be the last. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, avoiding her gaze.

“You’re of age now,” Rhaenyra continued. “Sooner or later, you’ll need to marry. It’s not just about you—it’s about the strength of our house, about alliances—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice trembling with frustration. “I don’t want to marry. I don’t care about alliances or strengthening the house. I just... I just want to be free.”

Rhaenyra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re being childish, Y/N,” she said, her tone growing sharper.

“I’m not!” you snapped, rising from your chair. “Why does everything have to be about duty? Why can’t I live my life the way I want?”

“Because you’re a Targaryen!” she retorted, standing as well. “You carry the weight of our family’s legacy on your shoulders, whether you like it or not. You can’t live your life alone, hiding away from the world!”

“Get out!” you screamed, your voice cracking with emotion.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your laboured breathing. Then, without another word, she turned and stormed out, her shoulders stiff with anger.

You stood there for a moment, trembling with rage and despair. The pressure of your mother’s expectations felt like a crushing weight, suffocating and relentless. In a fit of frustration, you grabbed the nearest object—a delicate vase—and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall with a deafening crash.

Ember, who had been curled up in the corner of your room, let out a startled squeal. The small dragon darted toward the door, clearly frightened by your outburst.

“Ember, wait!” you called, but the dragon was already gone, slipping through the partially open door.

Meanwhile, Daemon was in his study, reviewing plans for Dragonstone’s defenses when Ember burst into the room. The little dragon let out a series of distressed chirps, flapping its wings frantically.

“What is it, Ember?” Daemon asked, standing from his chair.

The dragon tugged at the sleeve of his tunic with its teeth, pulling him toward the door.

Daemon frowned, his heart sinking as dread crept over him. “Y/N,” he murmured, quickly following Ember down the corridor.

Back in your room, you stood amidst the wreckage of the vase, clutching a jagged shard of porcelain in your hand. Your thoughts were a whirlwind of anger, sadness, and hopelessness. The argument with your mother had dredged up feelings you’d tried so hard to bury—feelings of inadequacy, of being trapped in a life that wasn’t your own.

Tears streamed down your face as you stared at the shard, its sharp edge glinting in the light. A dark part of your mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, this could make it all stop.

Before you could act, the door to your room burst open, and Daemon strode in, his eyes immediately locking on the scene before him.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice steady but laced with concern.

You turned to him, startled, the shard still clutched tightly in your trembling hand. “Go away, Father,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Please, just go.”

Daemon ignored your plea and crossed the room in a few quick strides. Gently but firmly, he took hold of your wrist, his grip strong enough to stop you but not enough to hurt.

“Let go,” you protested weakly, tears blurring your vision.

“No,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

The shard slipped from your fingers, falling to the floor with a dull clink. You collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you protectively.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you choked out between sobs. “Mother doesn’t understand. She doesn’t listen. She wants me to be something I’m not.”

Daemon held you tighter, one hand gently stroking your hair. “Tell me everything,” he said quietly.

You took a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “She keeps talking about marriage, about duty. She says I can’t live my life alone, but I don’t want to marry, Father. I don’t want to be tied to someone just because it’s what’s expected of me.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, anger flaring in his eyes—not at you, but at the situation that had driven you to this point.

“I feel like I’m losing myself,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just want to be free. Is that so wrong?”

Daemon pulled back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands. His violet eyes bore into yours, filled with a fierce determination.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” he said firmly. “You are my daughter, my blood. You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be. Not for your mother, not for anyone.”

“But what about our family? Our legacy?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Daemon’s expression softened, and he brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Our legacy is built on dragons and fire, not on forcing you into a life that makes you miserable. You are a dragon, Y/N. You were born to be free, to soar above the expectations of others. Never forget that.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, soothing the ache in your heart.

“Thank you, Father,” you whispered, leaning into his embrace once more.

Daemon kissed the top of your head, his grip on you never wavering. “You’re stronger than you know, my little dragon,” he said softly. “And I’ll be here to remind you of that every day, no matter what.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a glimmer of hope—a spark of the strength that your father had always seen in you.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a Family series. Chapter 5: She's a true dragon.

The king finds out about her and Aemond's fight

Word of your altercation with Aemond spread quickly through the Red Keep. While your parents were proud of you, not everyone shared their sentiments—least of all King Viserys. By mid-afternoon, the frail king had heard of your fiery confrontation and summoned you to his chambers.

You entered cautiously, your head held high, though a knot of unease twisted in your stomach. Viserys sat on the Iron Throne, his posture slumped with the weight of years and his failing health. His expression was not one of understanding or amusement but of thinly veiled anger.

“Your Majesty,” you greeted, bowing your head slightly. Viserys wasted no time. “So, it’s true,” he said, his voice sharp despite its raspiness. “You struck your cousin.”

“He deserved it,” you replied, unable to keep the edge from your voice.

Viserys’s gaze hardened. “You are Targaryen, girl. You must act with dignity and restraint, not like some... common street brawler!” Your fists clenched at your sides, and you met his gaze with a defiance that mirrored your father’s. “Aemond insulted me, humiliated me. I defended myself.” The king rose slowly, leaning on his cane as he descended the steps of the throne. He stopped directly in front of you, his imposing presence doing little to intimidate you. “You think that excuses your behaviour?” he hissed. Without warning, he grabbed your arm, his grip tighter than you would have expected from a man in his condition. “You broke his nose. Perhaps I should break yours to teach you a lesson in control.”

Fear flashed through you, but it was quickly overtaken by anger. “Let go of me!” you shouted, wrenching yourself free of his grasp. Viserys stumbled back, his face a mix of shock and outrage, but you didn’t stay to see his reaction. You turned and ran, your heart pounding in your chest as you fled through the halls of the Red Keep.

Once inside your chambers, you slammed the door shut and leaned against it, your breathing shallow and erratic. The fear, the anger, the humiliation—it all bubbled to the surface in a chaotic torrent. Before you could stop yourself, you began to lash out. You grabbed a vase from a nearby table and hurled it across the room, watching as it shattered against the wall. The sound was satisfying, but it did little to calm the storm inside you. Tears streamed down your face as you turned to the wall and punched it with all your might. Pain shot through your hand, but you didn’t care. You punched again, and again, until your knuckles were bruised and bloodied. A scream tore from your throat as you sank to the floor, clutching your injured hand and sobbing uncontrollably.

Daemon had been in the training yard when he heard the commotion. The sound of shattering glass and your anguished cries reached him even from a distance, sending a chill down his spine. Without a second thought, he abandoned his sparring partner and sprinted toward your chambers. He reached your door in moments, his heart hammering as he heard your screams. “Y/N!” he called, banging on the door. “Open the door!”

There was no response, only the sound of more crashing and your sobs.

“Y/N, I’m coming in!” he shouted.

With a swift kick, Daemon forced the door open and rushed inside. The sight before him made his blood run cold. You were on the floor, your hands bloodied and your chest heaving as you struggled to breathe. Broken glass and shattered objects littered the room.

Daemon dropped to his knees beside you, his hands gently gripping your shoulders. “Stop, my little dragon,” he said, his voice both firm and soothing. “It’s me. I’m here.” You tried to push him away, your panic still consuming you. “I can’t—I can’t do this anymore!” you cried, your words coming out in gasps.

“Yes, you can,” he said, pulling you into his arms despite your resistance. “You’re strong, Y/N. You’re stronger than this.” You sobbed against his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him before you finally collapsed into his embrace. Daemon held you tightly, one hand stroking your hair as he whispered calming words.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

When your breathing finally began to steady, he pulled back just enough to look at you. “Tell me what happened,” he said softly. You hesitated, your voice barely a whisper as you recounted the encounter with Viserys. As you spoke, Daemon’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching and his eyes burning with fury.

“He... he grabbed my arm,” you said, your voice breaking. “He said he’d break my nose.” Daemon’s grip on your shoulders tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm for your sake. “He dared to lay a hand on you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. You nodded, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I just... I couldn’t take it anymore.” Daemon cupped your face in his hands, his thumb wiping away your tears. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “What Viserys did was wrong. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of this.” You nodded weakly, the weight of his words slowly sinking in.

“I’ll handle this,” he promised, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “No one threatens my daughter. Not even the king.” Your eyes widened. “Father, don’t—” He silenced you with a shake of his head. “You let me worry about Viserys,” he said firmly. “Your only job is to focus on healing. Do you understand?” You hesitated before nodding, the warmth of his protection giving you a sliver of comfort amidst the chaos. Daemon helped you to your feet and guided you to sit on the edge of your bed. As he inspected your injured hand, his touch gentle despite his simmering anger, he made a silent vow: no one would ever make you feel this way again—not while he still drew breath.

Daemon stormed into the throne room with the fury of a dragon unleashed. Viserys was seated on the Iron Throne, his face pale and weary, though he tried to project authority. The guards shifted uneasily as Daemon approached, his steps heavy with purpose and his hand resting on the pommel of Dark Sister. "You dared to lay hands on my daughter," Daemon hissed, his voice low but venomous. Viserys sighed, leaning on the throne's armrest. "She needs discipline, Daemon. She cannot behave as she pleases simply because she bears our name."

Daemon's eyes narrowed, and he took another step forward. "You may be king, Viserys, but if you ever touch her again, I swear on our house’s name that I will make you regret it. Not even the throne will protect you from me." The tension in the room was palpable. Viserys waved a hand dismissively, though the flicker of unease in his eyes betrayed him. "Daemon, enough. I will not hear this." But Daemon leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for his brother. "You will hear me, Viserys. She is my daughter, my blood, and you will not lay a finger on her again. If you do... there won't be a throne for you to sit on."

Later that evening, a commotion broke out in the castle courtyard. Rhaenyra and Daemon were in their chambers with you when the distant sounds of shouts and crackling flames reached their ears. The three of you rushed to the windows to see a fire raging just beyond the castle walls, its orange glow illuminating the darkened sky.

"What's happening?" you asked, your voice trembling. Before anyone could respond, the door to your chambers burst open, and two guards grabbed you roughly by the arms.

"What is the meaning of this?" Daemon roared, drawing Dark Sister in an instant.

"The king’s orders," one of the guards said, dragging you toward the door.

"Let her go!" Rhaenyra shouted, but the guards were already pulling you down the hallway.

You were thrown to the ground just outside the blazing fire. The heat was intense, the flames licking at the air as if hungry for more. Viserys stood nearby, his expression cold and unyielding.

"Perhaps you need a reminder of what it means to be Targaryen," he said, his voice devoid of warmth.

"Father, please!" you cried, trying to back away, but the guards shoved you closer to the flames. Daemon and Rhaenyra arrived just in time to see Viserys push you into the fire.

"NO!" Rhaenyra screamed, running toward the inferno, but Daemon grabbed her arm, holding her back. His face was pale, his eyes wide with horror.

The flames roared around you, swallowing you whole. You braced yourself for the pain, for the searing agony that should have come—but it never did.

Instead, you felt... nothing.

The fire danced around you, its heat a strange comfort rather than a torment. You looked down at your hands, watching in amazement as the flames licked at your skin without leaving a mark. Slowly, you stood, the inferno parting before you as if bowing to your will.

Rhaenyra and Daemon stood frozen, their expressions a mixture of fear and awe as you stepped out of the flames, unharmed and glowing with an otherworldly light. "She's... she's fireproof," Rhaenyra whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Daemon’s shock quickly morphed into pride. "She's more than that," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "She's a true dragon."

You walked toward them, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and wonder. "I—I didn’t know..." you stammered, looking down at your unscathed skin. Rhaenyra pulled you into a tight embrace, her tears soaking into your hair. "You’re safe, my love," she whispered. "You’re safe."

Daemon approached you both, his hand resting on your shoulder as he turned to glare at Viserys, who stood watching with a stunned expression. "You tried to destroy her," Daemon said, his voice dripping with contempt. "But you only proved her strength. You’ll regret this, brother."

As the fire burned itself out, you stood between your parents, their protective arms around you. The whispers of the courtiers and guards who had witnessed the event spread like wildfire through the castle. The girl who emerged unscathed from the flames. The dragon reborn.

And though the pain of what had happened lingered in your heart, the knowledge of your strength—and the unwavering love of your parents—kindled a fire within you that would never be extinguished. Daemon leaned close, his voice a quiet promise in your ear. "No one will ever harm you again, Y/N. Not while I’m alive. Fire and blood, my little dragon. Fire and blood."