run you down.

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerysvelaryon​:

“Don’t go,” she blurted out when he mentioned Essos. It had little to do with her need to be protected from the men of her council, and everything to do with the thought of him alone on foreign soil. She knew it was what was needed, but there was no way she would let him go alone. She was not dumb: she knew what happened to men who went on missions and never came back. Her lords were not children; they would certainly do it. They sought to strip Daenerys away until she was nothing more but a doll. Monford was the only who fought for her because he believed in her and would not so readily sacrifice her. “If we should sail, we will do it together. I won’t let you go alone.”

Resting her chin on his chest, she looked up at him with her lips pressed together. Daenerys was pained by his expression. Children should have been a matter of joy, but for them, it had always one that would brought about sorrow. With two elder brothers and a mountain of nieces and nephews, Daenerys had grown up being surrounded by blood. She did not feel the need to put motherhood as the forefront of her existence. But that changed when she became the wife of Monford whose lordship would have to be passed down to his half bastard brother, should she not given him a son. And the need for a little one increased tenfolds now that she had been crowned. “There will be no annulment,” she said firmly while looking at him. She wanted him to know she was serious on the matter. “We both know an heir would only temporary satiate their ever growing demands of us. They’ll always find a way to threaten my claim. So… there will be no annulment.” 

“My Queen,” Monford protested softly. Part of him, the part more boy than man as his father had always said, felt stirred that she would even consider the passage East. She knew what danger lie ahead, be it cut throats or tumultuous seas. It warmed him, but he knew it could not be. He could trust her with his guards, provided she kept her children with her at all times. Between the men of the Driftmark and the little beasts, perhaps he could bare to leave. “The voyage will long and treacherous. It’s no place for a Queen.”

She wriggled to see him, watching with sad violet hues and tight lips. He loathed to see the sad wash in her gaze, it reminded him so of his mother. Monford couldn’t recall seeing the woman happy at all in her final year, it had come with pain but no surprise that she had thrown herself into the sea. For all her grief, Monford had been determined that his wife would bare more smiles than frowns. He could be a better husband than his father had been. A vow he would’ve maintained for any woman, but the seven for once had taken his side when they had given him Daenerys. Of course he could keep his vow for her, he could swear it again each night for all the hold she had on him. “I love you,” He confessed, voice hushed and melancholic. “But we both know you may not have a choice.” Duty is the death of love.

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerysvelaryon​:

It was strange for her to don her house colors again, after years in ocean-colored garbs as Lady of the Tides. It was per Baelish and Varys’ request that she reminded the people of House Targaryen’s presence in her, as if she was any less of a dragon because of her marriage. For Daenerys, it was just fabrics – she did not care what color they were. But it left a bitter taste in her mouth knowing that her advisors wanted to parade her around like a doll in Targaryen hues “for the cause.” And she had not failed to notice how she was the only being asked to dress in red and black, and not her husband. They wanted there to be a clear division between her and Monford. He was a Velaryon, while she was the only true Targaryen and thus the only ruler they would take orders from. And even if they had wanted him to dress in red and black, they would not dare ask the man. Men, for one, did not discuss fashion among each other. And to ask a man to dress in his wife’s house colors was nothing short of a request to cockblock him. 

Daenerys leaned into his kiss but shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize, I would have done the same.” Only that she was not offered that option. Yet perhaps, if she was the only who stood up to leave, the lords would be more shaken up and finally realize her displeasure of their performance. Daenerys eased herself into an embrace of her husband. Her arms encircled his ribcage and her ear found his heart again. It was her favorite sound at the end of each long day. “They won’t listen to anyone but themselves. Sometimes I think they like my silence more than Viserys’ cruel commands and demands, because each of them could play King from their own lordly seat without the consequences.

“You are right about our need for an army. Right now Stannis and Robert are a team; they butthead but they are flesh and blood. Lady Arryn is more concerned with holding her ground against the flock of men rather than actually listening to me. Varys and Baelish shift back and forth however they see fit according to their moods and the weather. But at least, they would be the ones most likely to agree with you about the Tyrells.” She spoke into his chest as if she could hide from all the bullying lords altogether this way. What she said next, however, almost broke her heart because she had vowed to herself that she would not ask more of him than she already was. But it must be said. “And we must start trying again, Monford. They are already skirting around the topic of my heir… or more frankly, my replacement if we don’t sire and if I no longer fit as their Queen.” 

She wound herself around him and Monford felt some of the frost that had settled into his bones begin to thaw. His calloused fingers worked their way into her silver waves to cup the back of her head, bringing her in tighter against him. He knew it was wrong to be so grated lately; it certainly wasn’t fair to her, after all, she hadn’t asked for any of this. So much had gone awry, even more so since Viserys burned. He should think himself lucky to still have a head, he would certainly not if Rhaegar still lived. But he didn’t feel lucky. He felt collared and constrained. His disdain for politics had gone from an abstract problem of his visits to the capitol to a daily confrontation that he could not escape. Everywhere he went, people had words for him and rarely ones that didn’t vex him. He’d been a good Lord, he believed that. But this was not the same. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he was built for such a life.

“You are their Queen, we can’t give the impression that they are the one’s commanding you; or your seat will be lost before you take it,” The thought made him bristle. He knew each of them had their motives at the table and he would not bet a copper that any of them shared the same priority as himself; keep their Queen safe at all costs. How could he trust her with these men, when each of them would likely butcher her themselves to take what they wanted? Truthfully, who was here because they thought Westeros needed Daenerys? None, he imagined.

“I would sail east for you myself, but I cannot leave you here with them. None of these soliders are your men. They belong to Stannis... To Viserys... To Rhaegar. I don’t trust them with your life,” He admitted, brushing his thumb along the side of her skull. “Some I don’t trust not to hand you to Cersei themselves to claim the reward.” But if she sailed with him, took the few good men they had... Would she have any army to return to? He doubted it. They were damned if they did, damned if they didn’t.

At the mention of heirs Monford fell silent, keeping his chin atop her head so she would not retract and catch his frown. “Aye, how will I cope?” He joked in a lacklustre fashion, trying to relieve the tension he knew she harboured. Heirs had never been a comfortable topic, they danced around the truth of their struggles, both intent that the timing had just been wrong and that one day it would magically remedy. “Forced to bed the most beautiful woman in the world, will my turmoil ever cease?” He teased, though his lips remained downturned.

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerysvelaryon​:

Daenerys had not fathomed the full extent of Viserys’ death on her marriage, especially her husband. As a ruby and obsidian crown was placed on her head and declared her the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her council had made it their prime mission to craft the queen they deemed befitting of her ancestral throne. It was one thing for a King to wed a woman beneath his station. But as a Queen, Daenerys was not offered such a luxury. As Monford was stripped of his seat and title, he was no longer suitable a suitor for her. They preyed on him like her dragons and the flock of lambs running about the field, as if they could weed him out by making him look incompetent in council meetings. Daenerys had been quiet for the most part of these meetings. She was raised to be a Princess. Her hands trembled on the surface of their council table which had been shaped into the map of Westeros itself. She was a Targaryen but she knew not of war. Her mother had tried her best, but all of the men around her had more claim to experience, war, and even ruling than she did. 

She detested the way in which her husband was treated. But she did not know how to defend his suggestions without sounding like a girl playing pretend with straw figures and wooden horses. And she knew it had wounded Monford so. It was as if the more queenly she must learn to become, the less of a wife to him she would also have to accept. And she was already made aware of the whisperings: King Killer. Daenerys had swallowed her win in disgust; if anything, her husband should have been called a Queenmaker. How many had such a claim to that? The first queen of Westeros no less. 

Balerion quipped his head toward Monford when the latter reentered the room. Dragons learned fast; they were smart creatures. After the incident with Viserys, they had not felt the need to flare their noses around Monford anymore. Daenerys found it quite the irony that her dragons were smarter and had more manner than her lords. “A truth all of my advisors have either failed to realize, or are determined to keep from me,” she answered her husband with tiredness written all over her face. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she then removed the crown on her head. The thing weighed heavier than it looked. Setting it on the table, she stood to greet her husband. “My coronation feels like more like a sham now.”

Daenerys searched for Monford’s eyes. “You left, husband.” She stated as if she could gauge for an explanation, but only a fool would not see the reason for his early departure. Who would blame him? They spoke of an annulment as soon as he left the table, as if it was not an insult to him nor her. Varys even spoke of a marriage to boy-king Torrhen Stark as he might be younger than she was but they shared a common enemy. “I suppose I should learn how to hold my ground against the lack of Stannis and Littlefinger, but the presence of my lord husband would have made it easier.” She hooked a finger into his palm, while trying to lighten up his mood.

He watched her settle the crown upon table, rubies glinting in the torchlight, full of hope and treachery. Years ago, when he and Rhaegar had been little more than boys really, he remembered the glinting rubies of his chest plate as they whirred around one another in the courtyard. How magnificent he’d looked in the pristine blackened steel, it had been daunting. Those years had come so easily, Rhaegar had felt like the elder brother that Monford never possessed. It made his time at court pass by without friction, ghosting behind the Prince where he could. Years had come between them and his marriage had broken the final straw between them. Rhaegar died a stranger to him, but he still saw the best parts of him within his wife. The fire that had burned so graciously inside him in his youth, still evident in her eyes. His frown only deepened the longer he looked. He loved her, the thought struck him dumb as if it often did. He loved her enough to wage war, enough to kill a king, enough that it ached prematurely to think of it being for naught. “It shouldn’t, you wear it well,” He offered earnestly.

“I did,” He admitted, it wasn’t as though he could deny it. “Truthfully, I’d grown tired of their planning. The Tyrell’s will side as they always have. With the winners. They hold no oaths sacred, I promise you that.” If Daenerys was unwed, perhaps they might gamble. What was a little risk when your boy could become King of the Seven Kingdoms. But with Monford still on the table, of course they hadn’t reared their heads. If only they knew he were on the brink of being pushed out. If his status was not enough, nor his crimes... People talked. He and Daenerys had been wed for years now, still she bore no children. The maester had insisted to him that it was his wife’s failing not his own, but that had been based in nothing but ego. Monford knew the truth. His mother had struggled so with her pregnancies, only he had survived of eleven. If they were struggling to conceive, it was not a failure of his wife’s body but his own. “I shouldn’t have left,” He admitted, an apology on the edge of his lips. He knew better than to leave her stranded with the pack of them. His pride had gotten the better of him and not for the first time this week.

Her finger graced his palm and the frustration of his brow wavered slightly. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, leaning down to chastely press his lips to her temple, unsure if he were apologising for more than his noted absence. “I don’t know how you do it. Sit there and listen to them babble like children, arguing over what if’s and maybes. We need an army –– a real army, that’s not a maybe. If Torrhen wasn’t keeping Aegon so busy, they’d have sacked us already.”

[monfordvelaryon]

A month had passed since Daenerys impromptu coronation; and little had gone right since. Torrhen Stark, in one of life’s many little ironies, took up arms against the crown in open rebellion. Three hundred years ago, Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon to spare his country from fiery wrath. Now, Torrhen Stark declared open rebellion, demanding his sisters returned from Aegon and the capital, calling himself the King in the North with an army of thirty-thousand men at his back. To make matters worse, Robert had defected with a large sum of their men to declare for House Stark in memory of his Ned, leaving them a further thirteen thousand light. More men abandoned them by the day, with Viserys dead at his kin’s hand there was little faith left in the Targaryen camp, though Stannis remained steadfast despite his distaste for Monford. Men whispered Kingslayer behind his back, murmurs of conspiracies to seat his wife and appoint himself as King stirred through those who remained. Finally, Driftmark had been put to the flame at Cersei’s orders in the hopes of stirring Monford. Aurane, legitimised by the crown and appointed in his stead of what was left. Over all, their campaign had been weakened beyond anticipation, with enemies to North and the South now prowling, praying for another mistake.

They needed men. Should someone besiege Dragonstone, Monford doubted it would last the week. With the Greyjoy fleet in motion, even the sea was not safe. Few houses remained unclaimed by the warring factions, but they did not have the luxury of time. Jon Connington, however, had loved Rhaegar. Monford would wager his life that the man would put his sword to any cause that pledged to see the man avenged. Cersei Lannister had poisoned her King and sat her false dragon boy on the throne in his place. Soon, he would wed the Stark girl and hold the key to the North in his pocket. Let Jon have at it, he urged her council. Let his men come declare for the Last Dragon. They had dismissed his words, speaking of the Tyrell’s and other support from those still in the realm and not to trust their war to men who fight for coin. Monford had grown tired of the lies; if the Tyrell’s had any sort of interest, Loras would be here now. Not but the rigid Stannis had any of the council that sat to advise his wife ever fought a real war. Monford had wet his blade at fifteen during the Greyjoy rebellion, met them on the tides and sent one of Euron’s boys down to his drowned God’s. He’d knew the price of steel and honour, he expected Stannis to say the same until he rasped about Westerosi men and honour. He had grown exhausted of the conflict and left his Queen to discuss their other idle matters.

The council had dismissed itself an hour ago, but Monford had not returned to the room until now. His face still sat in unhappy lines, watching as Daenerys scratched Balerion beneath the chin, she herself staring out at the gloomy waves washing against the shore. “I know it is your responsibility to listen to those who advise you...” He said softly, folding his arms as he leaned against the stone dragon. She was beautiful as she turned to him, lilac eyes caught off guard by his sudden voice. He knew none of this was easy upon her. Not only had their dynamic altered once again, her husband no longer had an official title with the Driftmark stripped of him by the crown. He knew Varys had spoken to her of an annulment to better her standing in Westeros. To seperate her name from a King Killer. He couldn’t fault them, not truly. But the thought made him bristle, anxious in his uncertain position and truthfully, he had not felt content in her company from the day he kneeled. Always, the undercurrent lingered. They danced around it, but they both knew. Either he would be crowned or cast aside, one way or the other he would finally know his place. If she loved him or if he had been a means to an end that was no longer needed. Viserys was dead. “But we are losing this war.”

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys-first-of-her-name‌:

As the sister of the King and a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, Daenerys was supposed to bring blessing to whichever lord and house she was wedded to. Along with Rhaena, she was the most sought out woman in the kingdoms. Marrying her meant having the ear of the King and yet, when Monford agreed to wed her, a runaway Princess, she had brought him nothing but hateful, jealous sneers from lords of bigger houses and the wrath of the King himself. First was an exile. Then she dragged him along as she fled with Viserys and Rhaegar’s body to Dragonstone. She remembered vividly the look of pain and horror on his face as she climbed Rhaegar’s pyre with those dragon eggs and birthed three children of the myth and stories before everyone’s very eyes. And now, he was once again thrusted into a role he sure had never anticipated his whole life. It hurt her very core how she took and took and took from him, draining him of everything he could possibly give her. And she could not even give him her heart. For the longest time, she guarded it from him. She even had the audacity of letting his half-brother, Aurane, snake his way into her head, when he was the Knight she had spent her life dreaming of. Daenerys cursed at herself for her cruel she was and how she was more of a taker than a giver.

Clasping his hand with hers, Daenerys touched her husband’s face gently. Her trembling was not subtle; he could feel it quite clearly just by touching her. “We killed a King… We killed my brother. But had we not done so, millions would suffer under his reign.” She said as if she was trying to convince herself as well for who killed their own blood if not heretics and mad men? “We all know what Viserys is capable of – if he was capable of so much with his own sister, imagine whoever dares come and defy him. He was always more of my father than my mother.”

Glancing over to the charred bones of what once used to be her brother, more tears spilled from her face. “This is my burden to bear,” she said with her throat stuck and tight. “Had it not been for me, it would not have been your responsibility to execute him. Please tell me you’re never going to blame yourself for this. Please.”   

She grabbed his face with a gentle uncertainty, his own coming to cover her fingers reflexively. She didn’t love him, but that had never mattered much. He was content in loving her. Evidently, he was also content in escalating stupidity on his part. He could’ve bowed, Cersei would’ve given a lot to have the Velaryon desert his Lady Wife. The Driftmark would have been rewarded for his loyalty to the usurper Queen, but he was no oathbreaker–– no matter what Robert Baratheon called him. He’d vowed to love her, to protect her and he would, no matter the cost. Moments like this reminded him the cost was high; childless, far from home, in open rebellion to the crown. Now she was to sit on the throne, if he could not give her an heir, he would be replaced and what little power he had before their marriage would likely be thrown the waves.

“Aye, Viserys was no King. You will rule better than he ever could have, if that’s what you want,” He assured gently. Part of him wished she wouldn’t, it was a selfish, indulgent part, he knew, but still ever-present. He wished she might want to go home, or East, far from Cersei Lannister. But he had married the dragon, he knew better than to try to extinguish her. He grit his teeth at her words, shaking his head softly. He didn’t blame himself, nor would he blame her. He’d blame the fucking Lannisters. He’d curse Viserys remains, Rhaegar’s foolish apathy, Varys and Baelish’s schemes, but not her.

“There’s no blame to be had. We did what we must. But the dragons...” He kept his voice low, as if the animals might notice his words. “That was unforgivable. I never should’ve... Never again. As they grow, they’ll be more dangerous than anything we’ve seen in centuries. We can’t use them to win this war if we don’t want to destroy half the continent to do it. I know they’re you’re children, my love, and that it was my mistake to indulge them. But we can’t let them grow a taste.”

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys-of-the-tides‌:

Daenerys was born the youngest child of Aerys and Rhaella Targaryen. With two older brothers and a myriad of nephews and niece, she was never meant to rule and become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Because of her place in the succession line, Daenerys had the privilege to stay married to Monford. Though no King could do Gods’ works and force an annulment onto anyone, Rhaegar would have locked the two of them inside the Sept until they agreed to one had Daenerys been the heir to throne. There was no way Rhaegar or any of his men would allow his heir to marry a lord to a minor house. He was a brother but he was also the King who exiled her for marrying Monford after all.

Daenerys was rarely put in position when she had to play the Game before Rhaegar’s death. And even then, her role was minimal due to Viserys’ controlling ways. But with just one word, she became the sole heir to the Iron Throne and she was truly left with one chess move: to play or to die. And her death could easily meant Monford’s. Her accusations tasted strangely on her tongue. She understood why she must do it but she wondered if her husband would see her the same when he had seen what she was capable of. The moment Viserys turned to blackened bones and dust under their dragons’ fire, she had to cease being the Princess he married. She knew she was already morphing into the kind of person Monford despised in King’s Landing - the kind that lied and deceived. 

It pained her to see her husband kneeling in front of her. The thought of being Queen terrified her endlessly because she had seen what being King had done to her brothers. And she feared what it would do to her marriage and her husband. And here he was - her Queen Maker. Varys and Baelish wasted no time in following Monford’s example. They sank to their knees: “Long live the Queen.” Lady Arryn was next but it was the Baratheon brothers who needed more encouragement. With her gaze drifting toward them, Daenerys made sure she did not use any form of threats. She understood she must earn their loyalty. Thus, it could not start with a threat. She held her gaze longer and unyieldingly until the two lords also came to their knees in front of her, muttering the same words. 

Daenerys, for a second, did not know how to proceed but once she saw how her husband still knelt before her, she knew. “Rise, My Lords and Lady!” She commanded the steadiest voice she found within herself. “I, Daenerys of House Targaryen and Velaryon, solemnly swear to serve the realm and only the realm. As the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I shall make sure Cersei Lannister is stopped and removed from my ancestors’ throne and bring back peace in place of this current turmoil.”

Monford had known from the moment Daenerys Targaryen had set foot upon the Driftmark, pleading for his hand, that he would die for her. That he would risk the wrath of Rhaegar and the realm to wed her. This evening, he had murdered a King for her. He’d always sworn that he’d kill to protect her, and tonight he proved his words were more than wind. The day they married, whether he’d known it or not, she had become the lone soul in this world that he answered to. His vow to her was the only one that he’d ever sworn that mattered, for he’d break every other to uphold it. He’d defied a King, executed another. Daenerys had commanded him long before any notion of a crown.

He remained on his knee, watching as the room followed suit. He used to say if Rhaegar had any sense, that he’d appoint her to his council; but here stood, a Queen instead. He was as proud as he was terrified of what was to come. He bowed his head in respect, hiding the half-smile on his lips at the sight of her. Though steady, he could feel the anxiety roll off of her in waves. Like it or not, they were in the great game now. They would never be Lord and Lady of the Driftmark again. She would sit on the Iron Throne, or they would perish. It made what came next very simple: They must win.

She commanded him to rise. Of the dragon’s only Balerion lifted his head from the soft crunching of bone to watch his mother with curious eyes. For the first time since they’d hatched, Monford saw a calmness to the creature, as though he understood. The hissing and soft shrieks had been silent throughout the words exchanged, rather uncharacteristic for the overzealous children, something that caused him to glance at his wife cautiously. Had they known not to interfere? When had she taught them? When did they begin to listen?

The other lords rose as did he, his lips finding her temple gently as he came to stand at her heel. What came next? Word to the other houses? How many men would abandon the war efforts now that it was Daenerys at the reigns instead of her brother? How many would join now that the foolish snake was removed? “Lord Varys, I trust you’re capable of sending word to our bannermen?”

“Of course, My Lord.”

“Invite them to Dragonstone. To declare for their Queen.”

It took time for the room to filter out, he did not miss the pointed Kingslayer that escaped Roberts mouth as he passed him by, but Monford was grateful to be in her company without the intrusions. His eyes roamed the room, from the heavy stone dragons to their sleeping ancestors curled in a pile where Viserys remains had once been. Queen. In only a night, she’d gone from a princess to the Queen. 

“What have we done?”

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys-of-the-tides‌:

There was a deep, quenching part inside Daenerys to cuss and slap the eldest Baratheon lord. How dare he called her girl? He was a lord but who was he to call a Targaryen Princess a girl as if she was one of the milkmaids he took to bed and left with a bastard? Her balled up fists in front of her chest turned her knuckles white in anger. But had she learned anything from growing up in the capital, it was that a Targaryen anger never worked well with Baratheon lords. Though it was easy to keep quiet when he called her girl, it was achingly more trying when he branded her husband “Kingslayer.”

Daenerys muttered a word of gratitude to her husband as she took his overshirt and draped it over her exposing body. With much more cover, confidence came to her more willingly. Words were about to come but Varys’ and Baelish’s clever mouths had already run a mile before her. Their swift defenses of her husband, however, did not sit right with Daenerys. She was just a child when Rhaegar would sit her on his laps in his council meeting. Her brother would whispered little advice he thought would never be of sense to the toddler Daenerys: Don’t trust your advisors so easily, Dany! They are always more vultures than falcons – ready to feast on your dead flesh when you are no more. It was true Daenerys did not take notice of the words as a child but she was in the Great game now and the Great game was dangerous. 

They wanted something, Daenerys thought when she saw Varys’ pleading eyes and heard Littlefinger’s reassurance of Monford’s loyalty while the brute and hard-hearted Baratheon brothers were ready to tear her husband apart. Her violet orbs bounced between three targets: the Baratheon brothers who were willing to execute Monford given the slightest chance; the spider and the weasel looking at her as if they could bore their eyes through her figure; and the Lady Arryn who respected her enough to wait for her command. It only took another whiff of burned flesh for Daenerys to finally understand: They were already crowning a new monarch, cunning little bastards. 

While the two Baratheon lords still moaned about Monford having committed regicide and kidnapping of a princess, Baelish and Varys had already taken ten steps ahead of their two denser colleagues. They knew Viserys was truly dead and if there were to be a new King, it would be Daenerys as their Queen. And they had every intention of pleasing their new ruler. What would be a more fitting tribute to their Queen than their devotion in making sure she had her ways around? Daenerys never excelled at the game of gambling but this was her chance to see if she could reuse her brother’s advisory men. 

“Need I remind you that I am not a mare that could be stolen and forced into submission by a man.” Daenerys began. All the shakiness seemed to have evaporated from her voice. “No man has stolen me and no man can: not even lords of great houses such as yourselves, My Lords.”

“And as the matter of the crown, since you are my brother’s advisors, I do desperately need to ask,” Daenerys continued as she stepped forward with her husband’s shirt over her. “Did you know?”

“Know what, Your Grace?” Lord Robert had had the grace to call her by her rightful title as a baffled look took over his red, meaty face. 

“Now, don’t be coy with me, Lord Baratheon.” Daenerys stood tall despite being the shortest in the room. “You all were his advisors after all.”

“Speak plainly.” Daenerys could tell Stannis’ patience was running short but it was exactly what she needed him to do: get impatient. Such drag of conversation intrigued Lord Baelish and Lord Varys enough for them to stay silent. Such a rare occasion!

“Did you know about my brother’s plan to assassinate your true King with the help of our sister in law, the Lannister woman?” Daenerys’ heart was thumping so loudly in her ears as she began laying her cards on the table. She watched and watched and watched and waited for a response. It was an all or nothing move that Daenerys herself could not believe she was playing. But for her husband, she must. Whatever she did, she must protect him. 

Stannis’ face was a stark contrast to his brother’s red one. The famed stoic look of his melt into shock as his eyes stared at hers unblinking. “What in Gods’ name is this, Princess?”

“You tell me, My Lord!” Daenerys did not back down. Her feet were rooted in her spot and her head held high. She might be small but she was not going to let them get to her husband. “How come you sit at his council and not know about this? Or is it because you are also knee-deep into this plan? One moment you were Rhaegar’s men and the moment he died, you were willingly following Viserys’ army back to Dragonstone?”

“We would never commit such a heinous crime… That’s– that’s treason!” Robert had already spat out the words for Daenerys, which she gladly took up. 

“And shall I hang you all…” Daenerys glided her eyes over the four lords and Lady Arryn. “… for treason and regicide? You murder one King to crown another. It all make sense now why you wanted my husband’s death so fervently. If he dies, your faux King can finally get his wish of marrying me. It all makes sense now why Viserys was so ready to place his hand on me again.”

Her voice broke as she let the lords and Lady Arryn see the bleeding wounds on her arms and some on her chest. Even the words were nothing but horse shit, it was exactly how Viserys would have wanted things. The moment Monford died, she would become his just like how her mother was trapped by her father. Daenerys turned and walked to her husband again; her hand immediately clasped onto his for now all of her cards were truly on the table.  Seeing the Princess in tears and being accused of treason did strike a nerve in Lord Robert. He was about to lash out when Varys came to Daenerys’ side. 

“The Princess spoke hardly out of truth, My Lords.” The bald headed man began with his hands stuffed inside his long sleeves. “His Highness had never forgiven his elder brother for denying him his rightful bride, the Princess. Though he and Cersei Lannister have different vision for who to follow Rhaegar’s footsteps, one favoring himself and one favoring her bastard son, the two agreed that King Rhaegar and Crown Prince Jon were to be killed before they can set lions and dragons upon one another.”

Monford had been raised to be a Lord. A title he would inherit upon his father’s demise, that he would hand to his son upon his own death. Not something to be won or negotiated. He was never bred to play the game of thrones. That wasn’t for lack of his father's attempts or ambition, his son had spent years at court and come away no better for it with the exception of his wife’s affections. He had no head for politics, nor any desire for one. Scheming and squabbling, were not skills he thought highly, as ignorant as it was. When Daenerys had married him, she’d kept the title of a princess only in name. Functionally, she was the Lady of the Driftmark. He never thought this would be his life, a kingslayer being guarded by his wife while the room played Queen Maker without knowing it.

Varys watched him carefully, there was no love lost between him and the spider. He respected Monford’s ethics but his inflexibility had been in open criticism since he’d met the eunuch as a boy. Good rulers were not always good men, or so he’d been told. Monford wondered how many times that had been whispered before Aerys had moved from authoritarian to mad man. These Lord should’ve learned long ago the results of crowning a mad man. They hadn’t; not in earnest. If they had, Viserys would have never been an option.

Daenerys took another step in front of him, shield him away from the Baratheons calling for his head. To his surprise, her words took a turn. She didn’t beg, not for his life or forgiveness. Instead, she attacked with open defiance, accusing treason as spontaneously as small talk. He barely stifled his shock as his gaze whipped onto the back of her head, brows knitting together as Baelish cleared his throat expectantly. Whatever game Daenerys was playing, she was doing so on a dangerous whim. A whim he was shocked to see the two slimiest of advisors backing.

Viserys was many things, most of them terrible. But he was not a conspirator. For all his malice, his brother's murder and mother’s imprisonment were not his intentions, Monford knew that. Daenerys argued it all the same with a defiance that even him question the truth of what he knew.

His Lady wife flipped the room again as she pulled the shirt away, exposing the damage left by her brother, causing Monford’s jaw to set again. The burning had been atrocious, the smell still lingered like toxic clouds billowing throughout the room, but it felt good to know what he could smell was a guarantee that the false king would never touch her again. As she turned back to him, he was reaching for her hand before he’d even registered her doing the same, her fingers sliding between his assuredly. As Roberts's eyes turned to the Spider, he brought her knuckles to his lips briefly, a quiet nod shared. She’d done all she could for him, for that he was grateful. He’d known the risk of ending Viserys, no punishment could make him regret the choice.

“He’s still a Kingslayer,” Robert interjected harshly.

“As would have you been, or Brandon Stark, had Jaime Lannister not reached Aerys first,” Baelish reminded him. All men were ready to kill a King under the right circumstances. And Robert had salivated at the thought during the Rebellion, a rebellion for which he was pardoned. Stannis too. “Would any man here vouch for Viserys honesty?” His voice was thick with amusement as if Lord Littlefinger was utterly unmoved by it all. At least Varys had the good sense to still appear shocked by the unfurling events. Littlefinger however, was quite content in the chaos. “Who better to know his intent than you, Lord Varys?”

Monford switched his gaze back to the eunuch, still silent as the lord’s bickered over his fate. "Would you ignite further chaos to deny the Princess her claim?” Varys argued at the brothers, who fell uniquely silent. “She’s the only one here with the power to sentence Lord Velaryon. He did what he must to protect the Queen.”

“She’s no Queen,” Stannis denied.

“She will be,” Littlefinger rejected, in a purr. Monford fell to one knee without instruction, her hand still twisted around his as he stared up at her. Daenerys was Queen of nothing until someone kneeled. He would declare for her.

“I pledge to you, as I always have, to serve House Targaryen from this day, ‘til the end of my days.”

[aftenrose]

Charlie Hunnam in King Arthur: Legend of the Sword. 

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys-first-of-her-name‌:

Daenerys had known a fair share of men in her relatively short life time. Being a Princess of the royal family, men had lined up outside of her chambers even before she flowered. Countless had sworn to fight in her name yet cowered before even the mention of Viserys let alone know to the fullest extent his mistreatment of her. Even more had vowed to love and cherish her. Empty words, all of them. All of them claimed to have mastered the art of sword-fighting and archery and jousting and horseback riding and many more. But none of them matched Monford in his sense of justice. Her Sea Serpent could snap her brother’s neck if he chose to do so but he would never allow himself to take a life not meant to be taken by his hands.

It always amazed Daenerys how no matter how storm-like her husband was, he was always gentlest with her. The softness of his touch and kiss made her temporarily forget about the open wounds on her chest and arms. Clinging to his side, she watched as her lord husband sentenced her abuser to death. “DANY! Dany… please!” Viserys never excelled in his Valyrian lessons but the King knew what it meant for him when Monford declared dracarys. “Please, Dany! I am your brother – I love you, please, don’t do this!”

Truth be told, his declaration of love for her in his most desperate moment did tug a string of Daenerys’ heart. She did not know when tears came to his eyes but hers were soon clouded by a veil of tears. And when they fell from her eyes, she saw her violet-eyed brother sob and scream as Merexas and Vhagar poured fire from his two sides. Her hand clasped onto Monford’s so tightly as if she was trying to draw strength from her hold on him. Despite the streaks of tears rolling down her cheeks, her face remained stoic and there was a part of him that hated herself for crying. He assaulted her. He touched her. He violated her. And yet, there were only but a few Targaryens in this world right now. And she, as a Targaryen, just watched as Balerion joined in with his brothers to rain fire down Viserys. His blonde hair turned black and his skin began to melt from his bones. And before long, the only sound that bounced across the stone-clad walls was the crispy sound of bones succumbing to the heat of fire. Her brother was nothing but a pile of blackened bones before the throne. 

Daenerys felt tight in her chest. It was true, Viserys was no more. He would no longer touch her ever again. Yet Daenerys ached for the thinning of her bloodline. For how it had come to a point when Targaryens started waging war among themselves and killing blood of their blood. The heat from her dragons’ fiery breath had dried the tears on her face. Daenerys turned to wrap both of her arms around her husband’s torso so that she could bury herself in his embrace. 

Viserys’ screaming and the flare of dragons’ fire must have been the reason for the sudden reappearance of all of Viserys’ councilmen. Lady Arryn was covering her mouth softly with her hand when Lord Baratheon had managed to burst into the room. Baelish and Varys were no better as both tried to prevent the smell of burned flesh from assaulting their nostrils. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Robert Baratheon boomed in his deep, loud voice. Even the sight of Daenerys’ dragons scared him none. His face was already red and he seemed to have thrown every courtesy out of the window since he did not address Daenerys and Monford by their formal title. Such insolence would not have been looked passed by Viserys had he been the one standing there and Daenerys the one in coal-like blackened bones before them. 

With her hands, Daenerys gathered as much of the now-torn dress together in order to stay appropriately modest in front of the lords and lady. Swallowing hard, she stepped forward instead of waiting for her husband for she doubted the lords would take kindly to a lord executing the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. “My lords and lady, it is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that my brother, Viserys, had committed a heinous crime. As Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, I have ordered my lord husband to help me carry out justice for realm.”    

The smell of flesh burning away made Monford’s stomach turn, as Viserys screams pitched higher, it took all he had not to avert his eyes from the blackening blisters as his skin split and scorched like a pig on a spit. It was an awful sight, had he not wished for his Lady wife to see him as a craven, he’d have averted his gaze from the horror of it all. The rage that had fueled him, spurred him and begged for the blood owed shrank away. Monford had taken a life before, by the rope and the blade, but nothing like this. The sound, the smell, the vision. Burning hair putrified the room and Viserys screams were no more, though the dragons continued to burn what was left of his carcass. They’d done so at his command. His orders. Viserys had earned his death, ten times over. But this wasn’t an execution, it was a monstrosity. Her fingers clasped at him desperately as he sobered whatever part of him that thought this would be a welcome sight. He’d murdered his King. But more than that, he’d used fire to do it, terrible and slow. He was no dragon, he knew better than to submit to the beast in his belly.

Finally, it ended, his charred bones half-melted on the stone. Daenerys curled into his desperately, his arms instinctively winding around her, burying one of his hands into her curls to cradle her head close. He should’ve slit the skink's throat, spared her the sound of it all. But he had no way to turn back time, no way to undo the violence she’d witnessed. Balerion and Vhagar squabbled over a bone, hissing and squawking at one another, Merexas turned his burning eyes upon him, clicking and chuffing at his mother. Monford foolishly reached his free hand towards the creature, unsure of what he aimed to accomplish. He skittered back suspiciously, before slinking forward, the heat of his skull indescribable as he momentarily leaned into the touch before ducking from his grasp and brushing against Daenerys legs.

Their solemn peace was interrupted abruptly, the door swinging open with a violent slam against the stone wall. Thoughtlessly, he pulled Daenerys tighter to him, staring over his head with cold eyes. He’d known most of these men since he was a boy, for the first time in his life, Monford felt unrecognisable. Who was he after that word? Robert Baratheon entered as any stag would, loud and furious, a wild accusation in his eyes. Monford cast his eyes down, unable to look at him knowing it was true. His Lady wife stepped forwards, had he been in the right mind, he’d have stopped her. Stepped between her and the horrified eyes of the councilmen. Bleeding and immodest, she was in no state for their imposing eyes.

“Crime?! Crime, girl! He is a King!” Robert’s booming voice brought Monford back to his body, a defiant tilt to his chin. This was not a girl. If Robert meant to keep his tongue he should not be so eager to forget himself. 

“Was a King,” Monford corrected venomously. Aerys had raped Rhaella. A now known story, that had come from castle gossip. No one had ever stepped between them, not the Kingsguard, nor her sons. Rhaella had been his wife, thus in the eyes of his subjects, his to torment. Viserys had no claim on Daenerys. No right to her, pleasant or otherwise. Monford by law could kill the man who touched his wife, but what was there to do when the man was a King? What was there to do when his wife was the Princess? What could be done when it wasn’t any knife of Monford to kill him, but a Dragon? What fool would be brave enough to try and take the creatures head?

“I didn’t ask you, Kingslayer!” Monford almost lunged for him, but thought better of it. The Spider interrupted, soothing the men with his unsettling calmness.

“We must give the Princess time to speak, surely she has a reasonable explanation.” Monford loosened his overshirt, passing it with a quiet thoughtfulness to his wife. She’d lost so much already. Even today, even a snake, he was her brother. If he was to be hanged for his crimes, let it be tomorrow.

“Lord Velaryon has been a loyal subject to the crown–– we have no reason to doubt...” Lord Baelish’s unsettling contribution in his favour was interrupted once more.

“Loyal? When he stole away the Princess and married her against the wishes of her King? He’d ought to have had his head mounted on a pike years ago for his insolence,” Stannis clipped. Still, the spider looked to her with prompting eyes, as though he were begging her to save her husbands life.

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys-first-of-her-name‌:

Daenerys knew all too well what her brother could do to her once left alone to their own devices. Yet she let the lords exit the room one by one - she could have reached out to her lord husband and asked him to wait for her. He was her shield - the arms she curled up in every night, and the warmth she shed her clothes for. Daenerys never thought she needed anyone until Monford. And now, in this moment, she needed him more than ever. The sight of her own blood seeping through the silk fabric of her dress made her head spin. Memories of continuous abuse flooded her nerves and paralyzed her. She felt her muscles turning into stones and she couldn’t move. Her mind was becoming hazy due to Viserys’ choking. 

It did not register to her right away that her fair-haired husband had bursted into the room. The tears were fogging up her vision that she thought it was a dream. She had even accepted the fact that this might be what men had been telling her about when they came close to death. The faces of the people she loved were going to flash before her eyes as if they were there to part ways with her for the last time. The silver haired princess was already making peace with the cold touch of death and how it cruelly showed the things she loved most before taking her away forever from them. 

Her love seemed angry. He even drew his blade. And Daenerys was too weak to ask him way. Why was he angry? Did I do something wrong, my lord? She wanted to ask but all he did was inching closer to her in that murderous rage he donned. It was not until Viserys’ cold blade touched her neck did the clouds on her mind clear up. It took her a few blinks before she comprehended the altered situation now that Monford was here, having witness what Viserys was about to do to her. Her body still ached underneath the thin material. “Monford!” she managed to cry out as her brother’s hold on her tightened. Her voice soon arched into a high pained pitch when she was pushed to the ground. The coldness of the stone floor did little to smooth the sting on her wounds. The torness of her dress exposed her further to the cold and made the blow all the more more upsetting

Coughing violently, Daenerys sucked in air. Viserys continued to scream in his obnoxious screeching voice. Grabbing onto the back of a chair, Daenerys tried to pull herself up but stopped when the familiar growl emerged into the room. The air seemed to heat up at the presence of her three children: Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes. Her dragons bore out their teeth almost immediately once they smelled their mother’s blood. Dragons were intelligent beings – the children took into the situation right away. They knew all too well who the enemy was. They smelled the fear in the other Targaryen’s voice and tasted the cowardice in his trembles. Meraxes licked the blood on Daenerys’ hand tenderly and eagerly followed her as she made her way back onto her feet. Seeing both her husband and her children flying to her rescue made Daenerys instantly calm. She was no longer alone. Viserys was no longer alone to do what he liked. Monford’s and her beasts’ presence reminded her of something she forgot as Viserys’ claws dug into her skin a moment ago: she was no longer his to torment. 

Daenerys was of House Targaryen and Velaryon, Wife to the Lord of Tides, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and Mother of Dragons. Viserys might have been the rightful king but his blood was spoiled and any goodness in him died a long time ago when Rhaegar denied him her hand in marriage. The likes of him should never have been allowed to touch her. Daenerys learned this a long time ago in the protection of Monford and House Velaryon. 

The Princess walked slowly but steadily toward her raging husband, whose sword was pinning the silver haired king to the table. With all the gentleness that she championed, Daenerys grabbed onto Monford’s tensed arm. “My love,” was all she said to Monford. 

Her time with Monford had made her more dragon than anything else. She made a mistake of trusting her safety in her brother’s hand. She made a mistake of supporting his claim to the throne. And she made a mistake of letting him touch her in the first place. Her fear of him, which was still all too evidently present a moment ago, turned to hatred. Never again. Never again. Never again would he touch her. And never would she ever let Viserys hurt anyone else. Looking back at her brother whose lips were open due to his own biting and his orbs shaking from fright, Daenerys bore nothing for him but violet eyes turned hard steel. “I should have left you to root in King’s Landing with our sweet sister-in-law, brother. I should have left you army-less, loveless, and lonely under the lion’s paws.” Daenerys reached out and brushed a strand of silver hair off Viserys’ forehead. “I was a stupid girl, as you have constantly been eager to remind me. But, dear brother, the only stupid thing I have ever done was denying my husband the chance to kill you for striking his lady wife. And now, I must be smart.”

Her lilac eyes drifted back to her lord husband. “He is yours, my love! I only ask you to make him feel every pain he has ever made me feel.” 

       for an ugly moment, monford thought rage may consume him, bury into every pore and burn him from the inside out as though flame had filled his belly like her beasts. it felt unnatural and perverse, to be filled with such hate. he hadn’t know the depth of despair until plunging head first, he hadn’t even thought himself capable of it. but love was madness and she’d driven him blind. however as fast as monford had rushed to the brink, her touch hauled him back to his heart. to his mind and honour. he was not viserys, no matter what loathing pulsed through him, monford would not allow himself to enjoy this. a well-deserved execution was no less sincere, he didn’t own the false king his dignity, but he owed it to his gods not to relish in brutalities. daenerys was at his side, her hand wrapping around his arm in comfort, gentling the war inside him as she coaxed him back her with a softness that made his jaw grit so tensely that his teeth risked cracking.

she shouldn’t be comforting him, she was hurt and frightened, in need of her lord husbands comfort now more than ever. he wished to turn, shield her with his arms until the aching ceased but there was a far greater comfort he could give. the reassurance that the snake would never again worm himself around her, he’d never touch her again. that his offence would ensure that he would die screaming and when the shrieks finally softened, she would know that she was free. his grip on the targaryen king didn’t falter, but his hard eyes did momentarily as he turned to press his lips to her temple reverently. balerion screeched, beating his wings loudly as he scrambled with a terrifying gracelessness over the throne, perching with hungry eyes as his brothers joined the cry. soon, monford thought, you will have what you desire very soon.

his wife’s words cut as sharp as daggers, exciting something primal in him. she was as much a dragon as her children and monford saw that more clearly than he ever had. it delighted him, it frightened him. the coldness of her voice contrasted the heat burning behind her eyes, reaching out to touch her brother one last time. his eyes looked as though they may burst and his thrashing had faded from wild to sluggish. for every breath monford allowed him to draw, he then constricted tighter until it felt as though he could crush his windpipe to a pulp.

daenerys was finished talking and the time for words had come to and end. his free hand reached around, pulling her tightly behind himself as he dropped viserys in an instant, letting him collapse to the floor, heaving breaths so heavy that he gagged as thick spittle drooled down his purple chin. " you, viserys, of the house targaryen, stand accused of treason. you have betrayed your family and so you have betrayed your throne. you have placed hands on another man's wife, and honour demands satisfaction. ” he snake had morphed into a frog, croaking for mercy, beaded eyes boring into his sister as though she might save him. “ i, monford, of the house velaryon, do hereby sentence you to die. i promised to slit your throat, may the gods have mercy on me for breaking that oath today, but you will not die by steel. ”

viserys tried a final attempt, screaming his sister’s name, begging for a mercy that was no longer hers to grant. he looked pitiful, and monford supposed he couldn’t blame him. father of the tides, mother of the flame, had the snake ever really stood half a chance between them? the dragons slithered closer as monford stepped back, daenerys behind him though her eyes were trained ahead. the beasts did not look back, their attention wholely focused on their prey that begun attempting to crawl. monford did not know if they would listen, but these were no common hounds. a dragon knew more than man could fathom and he suspected they were more than inclined to head his word when it was what they were practically purring in anticipation to hear. monford steeled himself, his hand reaching to find hers. “ dracarys. ”

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys-first-of-her-name:

Daenerys should have known. She should have known. There were glaring hints. From his prolonged gaze to his slightly tighter squeeze on her flesh. She should have stayed close to someone… anyone. And now she reaped what she failed to act on. The last time Viserys had raised a hand on her was years ago. Her brother drove her off from King’s Landing with the constant bruises and torn tissues. Daenerys thought she had grown up and broken free from Viserys at last when she married Monford. Her only remaining brother did not even express the same intense feelings he had for her when she returned from her exile. She thought she was free at last. And yet she had found that she was still the naive, innocent, fragile girl many years ago when she felt his back hand gracing her on her cheek. The dragon on his ring cut into her skin as he slapped her. Daenerys could not even remember what he was so furious about but she remembered how her muscles locked in when she heard the haunting words: “You’ve woken the dragon.”

“Viserys, please…” was all she could muster. Her feet brought her to the stone table but she soon realized that was a horrible decision because now she was trapped between the table and her brother’s rage. Viserys seemed to sense the fear and realization in her eyes because he immediately went for her neck with his hand. 

“You think marrying that low-life fishmonger husband of yours is going to save you? Oh no, sweet sister… I am the King!” The last male Targaryen heir to the throne screamed at his sister. His free hand went for the familiar place it had too often been on Daenerys’ body. Viserys grabbed onto Daenerys’ left breast and dug his fingernails down her silk dress. Daenerys cried out and tears already welled up her eyes. It did not take long before the pain became unbearable and she was weeping. “And the King does what he likes. When I sit on the Iron Throne like our father and brother did… I will annul your sham of a marriage and take you like all the Targaryens have done for thousand of years. You’re never going to get away, sister!”

@monfordvelaryon 

              for the first time in far longer than he cared to admit, monford felt useful. those who had rallied to dragon stone in support of the last true targaryen claim needed leadership now more than ever. since he’d first agreed to attend kingslanding with daenerys, he found himself with more to do than he had time. people needed food and suitable wood for burning, war preparations needed counsel, the lords needed to be coaxed constantly into loyalty. he’d been lord for many years and somehow it felt like it had merely been practice leading up to this. so he could better serve his queen. if the gods had a plan for him, surely this was it. he walked with lord baratheon through the vast imposing stones of the castle walls, listening to the man’s complaints with a patient expression though his insides felt anything but. he hated leaving his lady wife for longer than a moment, though these days it was nearly impossible to avoid. with spies and assassins and gods only knew what else cersei lannister had waiting in the shadows, he felt soothed at her side, knowing that he would stand between her and whatever fool attempted. the only thing more imposing than himself were the three maturing beasts that protected her with equal fury, so much so that keeping them close struck the fear of the seven into even the bravest lords chests. his wife had decided it was best not to keep them around in their presence.

monford excused himself as the lord finished speaking, promising that he would speak with daenerys and report back to him when he had an answer to give. he climbed the steep steps, stone dragons that should’ve unnerved him monitored his path, making him feel slightly more at ease. the blackness swelled around him as the flames offered dim comfort, the smell of sea rot deep in the walls that should have repulsed him. it was a smell he’d grown accustomed to in his youth. he heard something, not entirely unfamiliar but wholely unwelcome. in an instant the calmness of his strides changed to urgency, feeling as though he’d fallen head first into the dragon's gullet. the sound of his wife’s sobs bounced down the long halls and he broke into a sprint. his hand gripped the handle and set the door reeling backward, half off of its hinges.

he was certain that madness took over his mind. a foggy rage unlike any other that made his skin feel as though he were made from blistering flames. the heat fuelled his menace, causing the good man inside of monford to burn away until nothing but ashes and loathing remained. her dress was torn, spotted with blood. her faith swelling, cut and tearstained. monford wasn’t even sure the bad man inside him remained. his fury no longer felt human. viserys looked up at him and the velaryon registered the fear in his eyes. the last trueborn targaryen male, nothing more than skink that could be crushed under a fisherman’s boot. he stepped back from his weeping sister, unsure of how to proceed. monford knew what came next, he’d vowed to viserys, to the old gods and the new. should the snake touch his wife again, he’d promised, no one in the seven kingdoms could save him. the man pulled a short sword from its sheath, desperation setting in behind his hooded lids.

monford weighed his next move carefully, gaging how quickly he could reach viserys before the pale lizard thought to place the blade against the princess’s throat. he drew dagger, thick steel that was almost the length of his forearm. wanted to be close when he drove it into the false king’s belly. he wanted to look him in the eye and watch the realization that he’d ended his pitiful existence. he took a step to the left, hoping that the cretin would be fearful enough to keep the distance between them and step away from daenerys. cowardly, he placed the flat of his blade against her throat and for an awful moment, he feared he meant to open it until a low rattling sound filled the room, a creaking sort of growl that morphed into a soft shriek as wings as black as the sky beat loudly outside. normally, even monford who’d come to adore the creatures would’ve been struck afraid of such a terrible noise, but instead, the prospect filled him with delight. taking advantage of viserys sudden horror as he rushed him, pushing his wife aside with more force than intended as he grabbed the man around the collar throwing him up against the uneven stone.

another soft shriek joined, and one quieter still as haunting eyes peered in from the balcony. monford paid the creatures no mind as he perried hard and knocked the short sword down, piercing viserys forearm as he twisted the dagger in his hand, hearing the satisified sound of steel hitting stone as he the man dropped his weapon with a cry. monford’s strong arm barred against the wincing monarchs throat, feeling his pulse beating erratically. “ i am your king. ” he snarled meekly, monford pushed against his windpipe with more force than before, watching the skin of his face begin to redden.

“ the only oath, i ever swore to you, your grace... was should you put your hands on my wife, i would open your throat for the seven kingdoms to see. ” the dragons let out sharp wails. i understand them more than ever, monford thought, he wanted nothing more than the ability to rip him apart with nothing but his teeth and talons. the deep rattle sounded again from belly of the black beast as it slithered through the entrance to join them in the room. perhaps monford had truly lost his mind, but he felt as though the dragon knew not to approach. that this was meat that was not available until offered. the father gets the first claim on the flesh. he spared a look over his shoulder, after watching viserys turn an ugly shade of purple. the silver dragon curled around her legs in a protective manner as she remained huddled on the floor. he pulled his arm back a little, allowing air to rush into the man’s lungs before blocking his airways again once more. “ i intend to break that oath today. ” he said sincerely, watching the confusion in viserys bloodshot eyes as he continued to weakly claw at monford’s hand. like a kitten’s scratch, he barely noticed the nails raking at his skin.

[daenerys-first-of-her-name]

The Dragon and Sea Serpent || A Wedding

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys-first-of-her-name:

Daenerys saw Monford’s grin and could not help but try and decipher the meaning for this outstretch of the lips. And now that they were wedded, she would have a lifetime to do so. She took the offering glass and nodded. The moment her lips and tongue was flooded by the Dornish wine, her body burned. The gulp was larger than her usual sip at King’s Landings’ feasts. The Royal Family had molded their children, especially their daughters, to never make a fool of themselves in front of the lords and ladies at court. Aside from Viserys, her older brother, all Targaryens only wetted their lips at feasts. Of course, some followed the rules more than others. Daenerys could not recall Daemon being any better than his uncle. Once she had had her fill, Daenerys set the glass down to where it belonged. 

She took a deep breath before turning around to face her undressing husband. Shirtlessness and bare skin did not bother her for she grew up with boys. She had played in mud with her nephews until she was forbid to join them for a lady could not engage in such boyish play. Monford’s hard body, however, brought in a new feeling – one she had not quite figured out. The Princess moved closer to him to see the scars on his body. She wanted to touch them, to smooth them, and to kiss them. But nerves clouded over her that she could only watch with blushing cheeks as her lord husband discarded his clothes in front of her. So this was the man with whom she shall spent the rest of her life with? As each piece of clothing left his body, Daenerys felt the awkwardness ease. 

Her small, pale hands went up to touch his torso when hips lips caressed her face and neck. She wanted to touch him as well. It was partly girlish curiosity that fueled her actions. She wanted to know how a man felt like underneath her tiny finger tips. His toned abdomen felt like rock to her. Daenerys’ breath fanned over his shoulder as the strings holding her dress together in front of her chest began to loosen under his fingers. The more loosened they became, the more she could breathe and the more she came to relax. As the material began to uncling from her body, the straps on her shoulders fail to remain where they were supposed to be. Daenerys’ hands retreated to her body and with a flick of the wrists, the material fell from her small frame. Her lord husband could see the slight tremble of her body as her wedding dress slipped from her body, leaving only the naked Daenerys Targaryen in sight. Her arms unsurely reached out again to untie the strings of Monford’s breeches. Her eyes trailed down to where her hands were at work because it was quite embarrassing to be naked in front of her husband at this moment. “Kiss me again… please!” She finally said despite her eyes not meeting his. 

      he felt the muscles of his stomach twinge slightly under her touch, partly due to her cool fingertips, but mostly in anticipation. the edge of her fingernails brushed against his skin, her breath tickling against the bareness of his shoulder as she stood a head shorter than himself. his fingers brushed at her, absentmindedly. her hair, the soft skin of her arms and throat, the sharpness of her jaw. every part of her felt sacrilegious, the sort of feelings that sprouted along every stroke made him doubt the seven, eager to worship his wife instead. tears the walls of his sept to rubble, he would simply mumble his prayers to her. as the dress slid down her pale frame, he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. her slender fingers were at strings of his breeches as his calloused thumb grazed the side of her breast reverently.

he didn’t need his lady to ask him twice, he noted as he leaned down to press an eager kiss against the corner of her mouth before finding her lips fully. his hands skimmed at her sides, resting on the sides bare hips, feeling the slight shaking of her body in his hold. he broke the kiss to plant soft warm trails down the length of her jaw bone, nuzzling his nose for a moment against the hollow of her cheek. he felt the strings give way and her hands push the fabric down. his hands moved to assist her, not able to simply slip from his clothes as she had, instead, having to step outside of the pants.

“ i am truly, and inarguably the luckiest man in the seven kingdoms. ” he expressed with utmost sincerity on his tongue. “ it is an honor to give you a lifetime to repay that. ” his hands found her skin again as he was finally freed from his clothing, standing as exposed as his lady wife. he didn’t move to rush her, allowing her to do as she will. a naked woman, was not a foreign sight to monford, but he knew his bride was less seasoned than himself.

[anarchyarchived]

who would ever dare to love a D R A G O N ?

[daenerys-first-of-her-name]

The Dragon and Sea Serpent || A Wedding

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys.

King’s Landing’s breeze paled compared to Driftmark’s. Her mother called her a summer child - never been touched by the harshness of winter. Daenerys’ skin needed to grow thicker if she were to withstand Driftmark – if she were to be their Lady. The Princess knew and she knew her husband knew to. Some might loathed her for bringing Rhaegar’s wrath onto their peaceful island. Monford deserved to be loved by his people; not detested because his bride brought more troubles than profits. Daenerys’ heart broke for her husband – she had spent her whole life being told that whoever she married would be endowed with the privileges none could obtain from a common bride. For she was the Princess, the King’s beloved sister, a red and black dragon behind violet hues for eyes and ivory for skin. Monford, the True and  the Brave, was more than deserving. Rhaegar would have been proud to have him as a brother. The childishness in Daenerys still fervently hoped that her brother was still the benevolent king and brother that he would understand and forgive her after she emerged from her wedding night with Monford. 

His kiss was sweeter and surer than before. The Princess welcomed it with her own kiss. She wished for such tender kisses every day from this man she had just married. She longed for them even for his gentleness toward her had always enchanted her gentle little girlish heart. Men like him were hard to come by. Blinking her eyes open, she was puzzled by his laughter. Fear stroke down her spine for she was afraid she might have made a fool of herself. But his explanation eased her into a soft chuckle of her own. “Ah, your brother.” She smiled softly. “I would life if I said I did not notice the unusual long gazes he bore for me when you two were in the capital.”

As he led his bride inside, Monford seemed more of a green boy than he was of an seasoned man. Daenerys was both grateful and worried. Gratitude blossomed because then she knew he was not going to ravish her like a piece of meat. Worrisome seeded because she still could not shake the idea that she was taking advantage of him. Once they were inside, the newly-made bride closed the door behind them. The candles were lighting up the room which was soon to be eclipsed entirely by darkness. Daenerys could smell the burning wax of these candles. Under the golden light, her husband looked even more handsome and radiant than he was when he pledged himself to her. She turned to look at him – limbs starting to tremble slightly. “I would very much appreciate it if my lord be the voice of guidance this eve… I-I don’t know the procedure to the consummation.”

      Her hair shone like stars made strands under the soft glow of the candlelight. No man was luckier than he. None. Should his head be mounted on a pike, he’d still have died the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. His head would leave his shoulders with Daenerys Targaryen as his Lady Wife. When he began to rot, he hoped the bastards still festered with jealousy that she had been his and much more; that he had been hers in return. She had chosen him, Rhaegar could behead him, strip him of his lands and titles, march him through the streets to be shamed and he still couldn’t change that fact. An ungentlemanly grin arose at the knowledge that not even a King had the power to strip his woman’s will. Her violet eyes watched him with a wary curiosity as he walked towards the table, pouring a rather large glass of wine. He took a long sip before he crossed back to his bride, placing it in her palm. “It’s Dornish. My father always told me there were no nerves that a good wine could not settle.” He smiled down at her momentarily before taking a step back.

Maybe it was a nervous sort of paranoia that made him lock the doors and window. Maybe it was whatever fragile sense he had left, either way, he did not want the risk of an intrusion tonight. Finally, there seemed nothing left to distract himself with, nothing more to procrastinate and fiddle with, only his waiting wife. His rough hands begun to unfasten his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders to leave his chest bare. Perhaps if he were exposed and vulnerable first, she would not seem so frightened. His shoulders held scars, a rather deep one where Aurane had could him with a fishing spear another ragged irregular pattern where his father had belted him something fierce when he’d taken a ship out on a joy ride to impress a visiting lordling and his sister. The rest of him was littered with marks of a man who had known what it was like to wield a sword, a man who knew that sometimes ruling meant violence.

“Procedure might be the wrong word.” He smiled, stepping closer to her as he brushed her fingers down the length of her neck. His other hand undid his belt, letting the leather fall to the floor with a soft thud as he studied her face, looking for signs that she was unwilling despite her words. Leaning down, he brushed his lips to her cheek, to her jaw, below her ear and finally against her neck. “It’ll only hurt for a moment,” He promised against her skin, feeling his stomach twist nervously at the thought. He hadn’t taken a maiden since he was sixteen, little more than a fumbling boy. He knew how to take his time now, he would do his best to dull any pain. He pulled his face back a little, making sure he paid attention to the strings of her dress as he began to untie them.

[daenerys-first-of-her-name]

The Dragon and Sea Serpent || A Wedding

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys.

Daenerys had made an effort to simplify her husband’s task of undressing her. She had instructed her maids to attach layers together and the only binding the dress needed was the silk string lacing the garment from side to side behind her back. The Princess wanted the consummation of their marriage to be private and intimate. She wanted no maid having to undress her for her husband. Daenerys Targaryen might have been a princess but she was a virginal bride. And her husband was a seasoned man in the chambers. The fear of displeasing her husband ran high and hot in her mind as she made her way to Driftmark.

The casualness in his speech calmed her. It eased the awkwardness in the air. It eased her very own nerves as they stood outside of what held her wedding night’s chambers. The silver-haired princess let out a soft sigh – out of relief and nerves. Her husband was offering an alternative route to the traditions. As it was not the wedding of her dreams and not the wedding they should have shared together, the circumstances would have pushed Daenerys to opt out of shedding her clothes and being bedded by Monford. And Daenerys would have done so if it were some other ambitious lord with their eyes set on the possession of her body. But she asked for his hand in marriage and she brought a storm with her. Their marriage was supposed to bring Driftmark the divine attention from the royal house. Monford could have been named Prince if Rhaegar was generous. House Velaryon would regain the power they used to wield before Monford’s time. But now, the least Daenerys could do was to not deny him of his rights as a married man. 

Daenerys’ lips turned into a soft smile. A genuine one, only for him – her kind, sweet lord. She clasped both of his rough, callous hands in her smoother ones. “My list of suitors was almost as long as Rhaegar’s when my sister in law, Lyanna, died. I had more choices than any other lady in the whole Seven Kingdoms. And my mother and brother would have preferred a lord from a bigger house. But I chose you, Lord Velaryon. I wed you out of my choice. I might not bear the love I want to bear for you at this moment. But you are one of the kindest man I have ever known and for that, I offer you myself.” Daenerys stepped closer to her husband, until their toes were touching. “Lay with me for I am your wife – willing and hopeful. Don’t do it out of duty. Do it because I am your wife and nothing is going to change that.”

          As she took his hands, he moved to intertwine their fingers, feeling the coolness of her skin. The Driftmark wasn’t as warm as the capital, the sea breeze often dulling the scorching nature of the sun. It made winters more difficult, but a breeze compared to places like The Twins and Riverrun. Her words soothed him, calmed the parts of him wondering if he was now complicit in the abuse and exploitation of a runaway princess. She had chosen him, not because he had armies to protect her or Lannister wealth to compete with Rhaegar, but because she trusted him. To be worthy of that, made him the richest man in the seven kingdoms in Monford’s eyes. A lovesick fool, his father would call him. No woman is worth the wrath of a King. Your infatuation will turn house Velaryon from crippled to ruin. She moved close enough that he could smell the sea in her hair and he smiled gently, freeing one of his hands to trace his thumb along her jaw bone.

His mother would’ve liked her, he thought proudly. He thought of the children they’d have; the blood of old Valaryia shining in their silver hair and eyes. At the thought, he bent down to press his lips to his wife’s. Targaryen and Velaryon were once again bonded, even at the risk of destruction. Not breaking the kiss, Monford stepped them a few paces closer to the door, almost laughing against her full lips. “My brother will be furious.” He mumbled, voice thick with amusement as he broke apart from her. “I think the boy has taken more than a little fancy to you himself.” Monford lacked the foresight to see the threat that would bring to his marriages doorstep.

“Have I told you today, that you are breathtaking?” He asked, stepping closer to the door again but unwilling to completely let her go. “Because you truly are a sight to behold.” The braids in her hair caught his eyes as he lifted his fingers to softly trail them, following the intricate lines with his gaze. Women never failed to amaze him, he surely would lack the patience for such things. “Tomorrow, we can return the castle. I’ll announce you as my Lady Wife for all of Driftmark to see. You may write to your brother if you wish, your mother too.”

[daenerys-first-of-her-name]

The Dragon and Sea Serpent || A Wedding

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys-first-of-her-name:

More than once, Daenerys had thought about marching up the deck and asking the captain to turn the ship around. She even contemplated asking when Driftmark was already in sight. She was asking a man to commit treason for her. Her tender heart wanted to burst even now that they were married. Out of all her suitors, Monford was the one she cared about the most. Her affection for him was the most genuine – greatly departed away from the simple politeness that was expected of her. She cared for him enough to personally bid her farewell when he left King’s Landing port to sail back to his homeland. Should she have condemned another for whom she cared less? That was when selfishness bubbled inside Daenerys. How could she possibly spend her life with a man without having a drop of affection for him? The thought of another Viserys touching her body detested her. Daenerys thus closed her eyes and asked Lord Velaryon, knowing he would never lay a hand on her without her permission. 

Monford’s words were sure – surer than the fearful thoughts that were eating her up inside. They were married. Before the Seven. Her faith. His faith. Rhaegar’s faith. Her eldest brother was a religious man - he believed in a higher truth. Surely, he would not bury the truth that was Monford and her wedding ceremony. But knowing her brother, Daenerys was not paranoid to worry. Ever since her first sister-in-law died, he was said to be a different man. Kind still, but his tolerance was not of an older man. If it ever came to the point where Monford’s life was on the line, Daenerys would beg and plead for her husband for she was the one who brought the wrath. It broke her heart that he was the one swearing her protection and yet she could hardly do the same for him. 

Tears welled up at the bottom of her violet eyes. These were not the kind of tears that should be shed on her wedding day. But they were here and all she could do was to lean back against his chest, letting herself be enveloped inside his arms. Her lord husband, the Sea Serpent. His heart was so much braver than hers. Daenerys nodded with a long sigh as she placed her smooth, pale hand on his. “You know how I wish I could promise the same to you, Lord Monford.” She liked how her name fell from his lips with such devotion and affection. She liked how he abandoned her title the moment they were married. She was his wife and he was her husband. From this day until their dying days. What was done was done. Now Daenerys could only focus on what was to come next. “Say… I hope I will not disappoint you in the bedchambers, My Lord! I fear I am only educated through books of what happens between a man and a woman on their wedding night.” 

      Her hand rested atop of his as she leaned back into him, his pulse thudding almost embarrassingly hard in his veins to the point he was concerned that she may feel it. He wondered, should his wife be anyone else, would he have been just as nervous? When Monford attended brothels, only the very first time had he felt such a rush of emotion. Quickly, he’d grown used to women, not so easily shaken by their charms. His bride was putting him through his paces now, seemingly without even knowing it. For all his uncertainty, he remained the picture of calmness. They weren’t far, though the dense woods did their best to throw his sense of direction. Should the time expanding ahead of them not look so grim and foreboding, he might’ve enjoyed that they were alone without a kingdom waiting for their consummation.

“Disappoint me?” He asked incredulously, leaning back from her as he gave the back of her silver skull a dubious look. Daenerys could be a great many things to her husband, but the word disappointment would certainly never be one of them. Should they not... connect intimately, there was a lifetime to learn. “Don’t be daft.” He spoke, perhaps a little too crudely, not sure how to convey the lunacy of her words with more poise. Monford had seen women from all over Westeros, and each of them paled next to the Princess. Her beauty was unparalleled, her heart radiated goodness. If he knew nothing else of her, that would be enough. But she was so much more. He would not have risked his lands, title and life for anyone less. “Your Grace could never disappoint me.”

As they approached the worn structure of the cottage, Monford pulled the reins to bring the animal to a halt. The mare let out a loud huff, her hooves stomping in place for a moment before she settled still. He shifted back before bringing his leg around to slide, taking a moment to ensure he was steady before offering his hands up to his lady wife to assist her to the ground. As she stood in front of him, Monford rubbed the back of his neck with an air of awkwardness surrounding him. “I should not have to say this, but for good measure, I will. I understand that we are under time restraints, but if you are not ready, we need not do it tonight.” He tried to be understanding, tried to speak as though he knew what it was like to marry under the circumstances that she had, circumstances she hadn’t revealed in its entirety to him, but he didn’t. He could only pretend. “I didn’t wed you to take you, Daenerys. Understand that.” Did he want to lay with her? Of course, every man of sound mind in the seven kingdoms would. But he hadn’t done with for a woman to bury himself in, he had taken a wife not a whore.

[daenerys-first-of-her-name]

The Dragon and Sea Serpent || A Wedding

[monfordvelaryon]

daenerys-first-of-her-name:

Daenerys had been kissed before. The Targaryen boys placed chaste and innocent kisses on her lips every time they met. Viserys’ kisses would linger a little too long. They scared her most of all because they were cruel and lustful rather than sweet and lovely. Monford was the first man she had ever truly kissed. It was no polite greeting peck nor forceful bite. This was her first real kiss. It filled her with the strange kind of warmth that she thought only existed in her mother’s bedtime stories. His kiss was gentle yet so passionately fiery. She definitely had to reconsider if she was the one who was Fire and Blood. When he pulled back, Daenerys almost stumbled forward for more. But she soon recomposed herself in the face of their septon. Daenerys Targaryen was no more. In her place was Daenerys Velaryon, Lady of Driftmark, Lady Wife of Lord Monford Velaryon. She was a married woman. It was only when her husband’s attention shifted away from her to the septon did she realize how lonely it was marrying without her family. A mixture of fear and sadness washed over her body. But it did not last long for she knew what were to come once they had arrived back at the cottage. 

She was glad that only three persons knew of her wedding. Her lady mother spared her no details of what was to be expected of her on her wedding night. The Queen Dowager knew too well of the many wrong turns a wedding night could take. Being her only daughter, Daenerys knew what she must do with Monford once they were back at the cottage. Looking up at her silver-haired husband, Daenerys took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, My Lord! The quicker, the better!” Daenerys responded - her voice was surer than she thought she sounded. Untangling the rope that bound their hands together, the Princess fell into steps with her husband as they headed back to their horse. The night was still young and darkness had not befallen upon them but both of them knew a moment spent doing nothing was a moment to waste and a moment to risk Rhaegar undoing their sacred ceremony. “My eldest brother would not be so kind once he’s learnt of what we have done, My Lord.” 

    With haste, his bride unwound their rope and Monford found himself reaching to take it to from her palm before burying it into the depth of his pocket. It seemed wrong to discard it, though what he’d ever do with it he had no idea. He never saw the rope of his parent's marriage, had he not known better he never would’ve known they were married at all. He did not want such a bond with Daenerys. Their children would know that their father adored their mother, he prayed to the gods that the same would be true in reverse. She did not love him yet, nor did she pretend to. But it would come. He had faith in that. At her mention of Rhaegar, his jaw tightened. He had betrayed a sworn oath, he’d pledged his fealty at sixteen to the Targaryen’s and gone behind the back of their crowned king. No matter what the future held, he would never be proud of that. A man’s word was all he had and his remained worthless in the shadow of his marriage.

“We are married, in the sight and blessing of the Seven. No man, not even a King can break that.” He answered, holding his hands out to assist her onto the mare once more. Monford hoped that would be enough, surely the god’s could overpower a King. He was but a man, one with power certainly, but blood and bone. Pierce Rhaegars flesh and then Monford’s and the men would bleed the same. His hands released her waist as she settled onto the steady horse, coming down to briefly pat the animal’s side reassuringly. His heel found the stirrup and he hauled his body up behind the woman, taking the reigns in front of her as he settled into the saddle.

His bride was between his legs and he seemed suddenly aware of that fact. His boyish demeanour in her presence now seemed juvenile. This was his lady wife. Even still, he tried to ignore the nervous knot in his stomach, equal parts intimidation and anticipation. He gave the animal a gentle tap to its side, not in any particular rush that a canter would be necessary for. “Daenerys?” He muttered softly, asking for her attention. When he saw her face over her shoulder he continued. “I promise you, swear it even, by the old gods and the new... I’ll protect you until the end of my days.” And he meant it. If Monford was to die a thousand deaths, let each be at the tip of a blade defending the woman he loved. He didn’t know what has sent her running for his arms nor was he sure he wanted to. But be it King or God that come knocking on his door in search for her, he would return the question at sword point.