𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖉
ᛢᏌᛗᛗᚣᏒᚴ: King Visery distrusts his brother Daemon’s obsession with their younger sister — you. Daemon has loved and desired you since childhood, waiting for the day he could claim you as his wife. However, Viserys refuses to allow it and arranges a political marriage instead, betrothing you to a vulgar, aging lord to secure alliances.
ᛠᏒᛜᚹᛊ: brotherTargaryen!daemon x sisterTargaryen!reader
ᏔᛜᏒD ᛈᛜᏌᚺᛠ: 2,378
ᏔᚣᏒᚺᛨᚺᎶᛢ: incest, loss of hands, gore, daemon is Inlove with the reader, possessiveness?, almost forced marriage, king visery, mentions of rats, noncey Lord. (let me know if I miss anything)
ᚣᏌᛠꖾᛜᏒ ᚺᛜᛠᛊ: this is an OC reader, however you are very welcome to imagine another name if you must. This is my first time writing something along the lines of this so I hope you enjoy it! I do want to point out that I got this idea from character A.I! No mention of a name is used, however it’s still gonna be classed as a x reader.
ᛨᛗᚹᛜᏒᛠᚣᚺᛠ: no plagiarism is allowed, neither is translating or claiming my work as your own.
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King Visery had always been wary of Daemon’s affection for their beloved little sister - you.
Daemon had watched you grow up with an unmistakable hunger in his eyes, his need for you growing with each and every year that passed. You blossomed into a stunning young woman, all bright-eyed and innocent-faced, with silken locks that had a streak of brown and glimmered in the moonlight. You carried yourself with a grace that bellied your years, a shining diamond in the rough of King’s Landing. He had waited for this. He had waited for the day he might wed you.
Only that day never arrived — at least, not as expected. Viserys would never trust his brother with you. No, you were meant for other things. Whilst Daemon was away, he conspired in secret. He planned a marriage between you and some vassal lord, meant to strengthen the bounds of loyalty and obedience. The wedding had come about quickly — too quickly. before you knew it, you were standing before a septon with shaking hands and trembling lips. Your husband-to-be was naught what you had dreamed of. Fat, old and far too vulgar with his words. He eyed you like a predator, licking his thin lips while he held your hand like a vice, chubby fingers forcing you to stay in place. He looked at you like he owned you.
He was nothing like Daemon.
Your brother’s desires had been different. He was still a man, with needs of the flesh, but his love was an unbreakable thing. You were meant to be loved and cherished and claimed by him— not some old Lord who dared to think he had any right to touch you.
The septon spoke his words, though they were muffled against your ears. Hundred of pairs of eyes were upon you, but Visery’s was the strongest. You could not mess this up. You had to submit your duties as a woman. Your fear was a palpable thing, but adjust the noise of the ceremony, a deep and familiar whoosh hit your ears. A shadow crossed above head, encasing the dimly-lit sept a momentary darkness, a shadow in the shape of a dragon’s silhouette. Caraxes.
A mere moment later, the solid doors of the sept were swung open with the force of a thousand men, yet only one stood in view. Daemon hed come for you. News of your marriage had reached him. He had never felt so enraged — or betrayed — had you not been his all along? If not by right, then by destiny.
The crowd burst into gasps and murmurs, and your coward of a fiancé stumbled back from you as though your skin had burned him. Daemon stalked through the parted mass, armoured and ferocious. He met your gaze for a moment, eyes darkened with something possessive. You, dressed in the finest silks that coin could buy, and curls styled meticulously by your handmaidens, were a sight to behold. He could sense your desperation through the veil that obscured your delicate features.
No words were spoken, and Daemon stood in front of you, a shield and protector. Your brother. Your love.
He wielded his sword, blade extended. The Valyrian steel glinted in the candlelight. A thick tension rolled through the air, but no one dared to breathe. The point pressed against the old lord’s chest, piercing through the first layer of his doublet.
“Did you truly think you could take what’s mine? While I was away? In my absence, my brother thought he could play matchmaker.. but I don’t recall giving my blessing.” Daemon taunted. He sent an arrant glance to Viserys, jaw clenched taut.
He advanced a step, forcing your groom backwards. His voice was calm, but each word was edged with a sharpened threat. “Do you know what happens to men who touch a dragon’s treasure?”
You and your brother had always been close, spending every inch of your childhood together. From reading books to learning how to handle a sword; he was there for it all. Never a beat behind, always knowing what’s happening in your life and making sure no one hurt you. He showed you what it was like to be in love before you even knew what true love was.
“Daemon.” You mumbled. Eyes looking from him to the man you were supposed to be wed to. “Don’t let his blood drip onto the floor.”
Daemon’s gaze flickered to you, a smirk playing about the corner of his lips. He revelled in how sweetly his name fell of your tongue, like a prayer in a godswood.
His attention swiftly returned to the old lord, who seemed to be trying to sink into the ground. Cowards, a plague that was not worth his time. Even the septon was shrinking back, no doubt realising the folly of his involvement in this farce.
“Your concern is noted.” He said. His tone caudal despite the sword inches away from the frightened man’s flesh.
You knew there wasn’t anything Daemon cared about apart from you, you were his since birth. Since you drew your first breath. You were his to claim all along and now was that time. He had just saved you from being wed to a disgusting, foul pig of a man.
“It’s not that I’m concerned.” You started, grabbing onto your veil and throwing it over your head so your face was not only visible to everyone, but to him. “But merely because I like these floors.”
A low chuckle rumbled in Daemons’s chest, his gaze lingering on your face, taking in your elegant features; from the blue in your eyes, to the freckles on your cheeks. He couldn’t get enough. How many nights had he dreamed of this? To see you standing before him, unwed and untouched by another? It took all his willpower to not scoop you up in his arms and have you right then and there.
“Ah,” he murmured, his smirk growing. “the floor is lucky indeed to have captured your affection.”
Throughout your life people had talked, not only about the streaks of brown that adorned your crisp white Targaryen hair, but to the way you seemed to be a female version of your brother, Daemon. The way you seemed to think so violently, unlike any other woman in this town. The certainty of hurting the ones who disrespected others, including the ones you loved.
“Cut off his hands.” You stated, no hint of remorse evident in your tone. “He doesn’t get to touch those in which he finds merely good looking nor does he get to touch himself to the thought of being around someone so ethereal.”
From up above, the familiar found of Caraxes wings echoed through the room. Obviously your brother had to make a dramatic entrance — as always.
As a Targaryen, you also had your own dragon.
Vaerithra. She was a sleek, silver scaled dragon whose hide shimmers with a pale lavender undertone, like moonlight rippling on water. Her eyes, a deep violet, said to glow when lightning splits the sky. Smaller and more agile than many of her kin, Vaerithra is known for her unmatched speed and her tendency to circle above storms, revelling in thunder and wind.
“Such pretty cruelty,” Daemon muttered, eyes gleaming with pride as he glanced back at you. “My blood in your veins speaks louder than any septon’s prayer.”
He had turned fully to face the trembling lord now, Dark sister pressing harder — just enough to draw a bead of blood. The man whimpered.
“Did you hear that?” Daemon sneered. “The Princess has spoken. And in this family, her word is law when I stand beside her.” He leaned in, voice dropping like smoke over flame. “Lose the hands… or lose your head. Choose quickly.”
Above them both, Caraxes roared — a thunderous crack that shook the stained glass windows — and somewhere beyond the rooftops of King’s Landing, Vaerithra answered with a silver cry of her own.
The storm wasn’t coming. It had already arrived.
A grin tugged on the corner of your lips, much different than the way you had been prior to Daemon’s arrival. He had been right , of course, you had Targaryen blood running through your veins and there’s nothing anyone could do about it.
Visery was worried that you would be corrupt by Daemon as you grew older, that’s why he had wanted to wed you to another so quickly. Yet little did he know, you had already been corrupted.
“He’s taking too long to decide, dear brother.” You spoke after minutes of silence. Stepping forward so you could now see the trembling man you were going to call fiancé from over Daemon’s shoulder, you leaned forward speaking words that could make one shiver. “Take his hands — both of them. If he tries to say no, take his head too.”
Gasps emitted from the crowd, looks of horror like someone had just been beheaded taking form on peoples faces. This wasn’t normal, a woman had to be obedient and yet you were the complete opposite. Cruel, demanding.. everything a woman shouldn’t be.
Daemon’s breath was hot against your ear as he turnt his head after hearing your command. “Good girl.” He purred, low and wicked -- praise from a dragon always tasted like fire.
Without hesitation, he moved.
Dark Sister flashed — a single brutal arc — and the lord screamed as both hands tumbled to the marble floor, blood pooling like wine spilled at a feast. He collapsed into a sobbing heap, but no one dared moved to help him. Not with two dragons circling overhead and madness glittering in the eyes of the Rouge Prince and his truest match — you.
Daemon turned then, gloved hand catching yours as he pulled you flush against his armoured chest. His voice rang out over gasps and prayers:
“Then let it be known — she is mine. By blood, by bond, by right of fire and steel! No other man shall claim her. No decree of kings or mummers in robes will stand between us.”
He lifted your hand to his lips, kissing each Targaryen finger slow — “We’ll burn anyone who tries.”
You had completely forgotten of the bond you and Daemon had. The way you both fit perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. Yet you loved remembering every second of it.
Your eyes scanned the room once again before settling on the ugly, horrible, disgusting Lord you were supposed to marry. His deceased hands laying upon the floor like a gift to a dog, red blood squirting from his wounds like rain falling from the cloudy skies.
“My dearest brother, didn’t I say not to ruin the floor I liked so much?” You mumbled, tilting your head to the side amidst him kissing each of your fingers.
Your eldest brother, King Visery, had a look of pure anger on his face; not only from Daemon’s entrance but because he realised you had been corrupted for ages, he just hadn’t noticed. Yet he made no move to speak.
With the tut of your tongue, you allowed each of your fingers to be kissed, a reminder of who you loved; who loved you and cared about you enough to stop a wedding ceremony that would have binded you for the rest of your life.
Daemon chuckled darkly against your fingers, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Years apart and you scold me for a little mess?” He turned his head just enough to glance at the writhing lord, then back to you — smirking.
“You always did hate disorder.”
He released your hand slowly, deliberately, before stepping over the blood pooling near his boot. With a flick of his wrist, he signalled two gold cloaks — one from each side — who moved swiftly not to aid the man, but to drag him out by the stumps.
“Let him bleed on the steps,” Daemon said coldly. “A warning.”
As you stood there, you didn’t feel the slightest bit remorseful for the loss of the man’s hands — however, you did feel slight agitation at the blood trail running out of the room.
“Daemon, brother dearest, how many times do I have to tell you about the mess?” You mumbled softly, stepping over the blood and towards him. “I don’t want to find blood on the floor everywhere I turn.”
Daemon hummed thoughtfully, his voice low and mocking as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Maybe I enjoy making messes, sweet sister.”
He pulled you closer, so the sharp edges of his armour pressed hard against the soft silk of your blue dress. “Maybe you enjoy cleaning them up for me.”
His eyes glimmered, as if he had some secret to share. When he spoke up again, his voice was a silken whisper right next to your ear. “And if I make another, will you come lick the blood from my fingers?”
Your eyes darkened just the slightest bit, your brother always had a way with words — especially when it came to teasing you. “Lick the blood from your fingers I would.”
Your arms encircled around Daemons neck as he pulled you against him, you were meant for eachother in a way that no one would understand.
“Make sure not to get blood on my floors again.” You said softly, leaning forward to press a delicate kiss to his cheek. “I don’t want to be putting up with rats in the castle.”
“For you, I’ll be sure to spill blood outside.” He murmured against your ear, voice thick with promise. His hand slid down to the small of your back, heart pounding. “But if rats come sniffing.. I’ll be sure to feed them piece by piece.”
You could both feel the weight of the stares — Visery seething from his seat, the court trembling — but Daemon didn’t care, and neither did you.
He turned his head just enough to capture your lips in a kiss — fierce and claiming — as Vaerithra and Caraxes circled above like a storm.
The message was clear;
No decree. No septon. No king would ever tear this bond apart.
You were his. Now and always.
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a/n : do not plagiarise my work, claim it as your own or translate it. I do, however, take requests!!
