Tormented Spirit | 3
Part 1 2 3 4
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, noncon/dubcon, implied smut/cunnilingus, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: pls comment and reblog because 🥲 i wanna nuke this again and could use the reassurance | cross posted on ao3
tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat
You are changed after that, you both are. When Caraxes lands in the dragon pit, Daemon helps you down, something he's never done. The prince knits his brows in offence when you break away from his hold. You walk towards the two knights in white cloaks, gazing in wonder, "twins."
You look between them, smile spreading across your face as you tried to make out one for the other. You point to the one on the left, "Ser Arryk?"
The man smiles back and nods, "well met, princess."
You giggle and clap you hands, "tis dumb luck." You turn to the other, "greetings, Ser Erryk. A pleasant afternoon to you."
You feel someone come up behind you.
Erryk returns your smile and bows, "a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my princess."
You look over your shoulder as Daemon places a hand on your waist. He looks between them, "you need not follow. I will be with my wife until later this evening."
Your brows quirk, "you will?"
Daemon turns to you, lip curving upward, "don't you wish to know the pleasantness of fucking in one's bed?"
In unison, the Cargyll brothers turn away and clear their throats. Meanwhile, your heart leaps into mouth and your jaw hangs low. You cannot even speak as you feel your face burn. Your devilish husband chuckles and rubs your back, "worry not. You'll find yourself making noises soon enough."
With that, the twins step aside and you cower into Daemon's shoulder as he leads you off. He laughs, both in mockery and amusement, enjoying your reaction thoroughly. There was something in the way you retreated into him that made his chest uneasy. The feel of your forehead upon his arm was rather unnatural. He does not like the effect on him, so he pushes you away.
You squeak at the sudden action. Your features spare no reflection of your confusion and hurt.
Daemon grins at it, then pulls you back in, one arm snaking around you.
Your face falls back into a state of rest, that is until his hand begins to travel up your breast. You whimper at his squeeze, "D-Daemon."
He hums, "feels good, doesn't it?"
Your hands tremble as you bring it up to his. You slowly push him away, "later."
His brow quirks. Defiance?. He drags you across him, eliciting another squeak as he traps you between his body and the stone wall. Your heart begins to race when he gathers your skirts. You press your hand on his chest, "Daemon-"
"Is this not my right?" he hangs his head low to press his nose upon your jaw, "if I take you here in this hall, I would only be exacting the will of the gods for a married man and woman."
You squeeze his shoulders, "but there are peo-"
"People should know of my efforts to produce an heir."
Your body burns at the thought. But then, you both turn to the side upon hearing the sound of skidding and footsteps running off.
"Daemon!" you whine, hiding into his chest.
That's enough. He smirks then looks down at you. He releases your skirts in lieu of taking your hand. "Very well, prudish wife. I will claim you in our marriage bed, as you insist."
And Daemon does, right after he claims you against your chamber door and your vanity table. In truth, you do not understand how he had the wits about him to leave bed when it was all over.
The next morning was strange. It felt like a dream, in both parts that you enjoyed yourself coupling with your husband, and that you could not believe the turn of events. You get out of bed when your servants come to rouse you with a, "good morn, milady."
"Good morn," you stand, pushing your long hair behind you. Your servants giggling catches your attention. Your forehead curls inquisitively.
"The prince is a very passionate lover, milady."
You are bewildered by the sudden remark.
"Shall you wear a turtleneck today?" one says.
"Or perhaps a large necklace?" the other adds.
You look into the mirror and only then do you realize why they were offering such things. Red and purple blossomed on your throat, travelling even beyond the collar of your nightgown. Your body burns and you promptly cover yourself.
Your servants giggle and come to your side, "you need not hide from us, your grace."
"My cousin works in a brothel and she has— aw!"
You watch as one of them rubs their arm. The other who had pinched her turns back to you, "many apologies, your grace."
"Apologies," she mutters, rubbing her arm.
You stare at the two of them, feeling something bitter creep up your throat. "Did you..." you take a deep breath, "mean to say your cousin has... lain with my husband?"
She give you an apologetic expression, "forgive me, I-"
You cut her off with your nod, "you need not say more. I would like never to hear about this in future."
The two curtsy and speak no more as they ready you for the day.
By the time you're dressed in a modest turtleneck dress, and your brown hair is braided and adorned with silver pins, there is a knock on your door. You open the door yourself, dismissing your servants on the way.
"Ah," you smile at the sight of Cargyll, "good morrow, ser."
He bows, "good morrow, princess."
You rub your hands together as you examine his face, "... is it Erryk before me?"
He smiles, shaking his head, "tis Arryk with you this morn."
"Ah," you raise a finger, "you misheard me, ser. I clearly said Arryk and not Erryk."
Arryk chuckles softly and nods, "apologies, your grace."
"Perhaps you might teach me how to tell you apart," you mutter, "as a twin myself, I would be most offended if someone mistook me for my brother."
His laugh is more pronounced this time. He links his hands together as he thinks momentarily, "well, I would say he is uglier than I, but then again, he has my face."
You giggle under your breath. You bring a hand to your lips, "I understand you completely."
"As of late," he rubs his chin, "my beard has become longer."
You hum, "good to know." You exit your room, closing the door behind you, "have you broken fast, ser Arryk?"
"Indeed."
"Oh," you pause, "... you... would not happen to know where Prince Daemon is, would you?"
He turns to his feet.
You raise your brows.
"Would you like to know the truth?"
You stiffen at the thought, "...yes, ser. Always."
"Last I heard he was drinking with Gold Cloaks in Fleabottom," he mutters before looking up at you.
"I see," you say softly, "I— thank you for your honesty."
He nods, "of course, my princess."
You needlessly inspect your fingers, "my siblings would be eating with my father," you turn to Arryk, "and I do not wish to face him. I am sure he would say the same about me."
He clenches his jaw. He remembers the argument yesterday, and how Lord Otto moaned and hissed as Arryk escorted him out the maester's ward.
"Do you mind accompanying me as I break my fast?" you mutter, "I do not like eating alone."
He bows his head, "it is my duty to accompany you wherever you may go."
"... Ah," you look to your feet. You meant to offer that he drink a cup of tea with you, but the thought becomes preposterous the longer it lingers. He is not your friend. You have no friends in the Keep, "yes... it is."
Arryk knits his brows then finds himself correcting, "but I do not mind it at all. It is my pleasure to serve."
You offer him a soft smile. He is taken slightly off-guard by the sadness he catches in your eyes, which is why he does not smile back.
As you masticated your first meal of the day, you absentmindedly mashed your food while looking out the window. You longed to seek refuge in your twin, but you knew it would not be long until your father came around to chew you out. It would only be worse if you went to your sister, though, if she was under the refuge of her princess, perhaps not.
You decide it would probably be better for you to look for your husband, for after all, you were no longer a Hightower.
Arryk watches how your hair blows with the wind. He remains five paces behind you at all times. You were a lonesome thing, he thought, fragile and melancholic. You appeared as though you were searching for someone, and yet your gait felt rather aimless. Suddenly, your back straightens when you spot something— someone from across the hall, in turn, so does his.
Before you could speak his name, he calls out yours and smiles at you. Daemon even adds, "there you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."
Your brows quirk as you walk towards each other.
Arryk allows an extra five paces to come between you.
You examine your husband's face, the dimples on his cheeks, the silver hair tickling his curled lips. You simultaneously feel the urge to push his hair away and debate whether or not his fair expression is truly borne form the fact he was searching for you and has now found you.
Your brows furrow as he tucks his hair behind his ear.
Is this what sex does to a man?
"Come," he says, grabbing you, "we mustn't delay."
Your heart races as you look at your arm. He tucks it underneath his own and hastily leads you off somewhere. You do not know where your feet take you, but you do know that the prince looks lovely when he speaks through a grin, just as he does now.
In truth, you catch not a single word from his mouth, which is why you are turned to stone when he begins kissing you. However, whatever rigidness your form holds quickly melts as his lips urge yours to a slow dance. You go putty against the window sill he pushes you against.
There is peace in the warmth he radiates. Your fingers finally find what they had longed to touch and unabashedly crawl up his nape to tangle in the roots of his hair. When he moans and pulls away, you stiffen and come back to reality. Had you hurt him?
"Daem-"
He turns about and says, "ah, Lord Hand."
Your stomach drops. You feel sick as you peak past Daemon's shoulder to see exactly him, glaring at the both of you.
"Or shall I call you father?" the prince grins, as to show the venom on his teeth.
"It would do you good to comport yourself," Otto blurts, face calm, but you knew better to believe he was anything but.
He tilts his head, "what for?"
Your heart squeezes when Daemon takes your hand and brings you to his side. You cannot bare to look at your father as your husband speaks, "you have created such a desirable creature. It would be more tactless of me not to worship her body with my own."
You feel your breath quicken as you hear your father grumble.
Daemon is victorious to see the old man walk away with a dark cloud over his head. He chuckles, "do not be so sullen, my lord. Tis a fine day!"
You feel your palms go sweaty. You lick your lips frantically. You screw your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself.
He chuckles as he turns back to you, "very goo-"
Your brows tighten.
Daemon catches your chin between his fingers. You are forced to open your eyes and you see the glimmer in his violet ones as he repeats, firmer this time, "very good."
Your heart does not calm though he rubs your back.
"You did well for me."
Your eyes begin to water, "Daemon, I-"
"Shh," he shakes his head, "there's no need for this."
"I—'ve upset him. "
He feels your body begin to tremble beneath his palm.
"But-"
"You spoke the words yourself, he's tormented you, has he not?"
"D-Daemon-"
"Shh, shh, shh," he leads you back to the window sill and sits you down.
You are gasping for air at this point, but he does not stop hushing you. He even begins to rub your cheeks with his thumbs. He pushes himself into your skirt, making room for himself between your legs. You gawk at him as he mumbles in a language you do not understand. He is impossibly close, as though you were kissing without kissing.
You do not know how many minutes pass, but you do know his timbre is just as serene as the voice of water. You only realize you had been crying when you take his wrists and feel water drip to your fingers.
He speaks that language again and you shake your head, "I do not understand."
"It does not matter," he mutters, pulling away to examine your face, "you are calm, no?"
You cannot reply because the sensation of his rubbing your cheeks is far too arresting.
"There is magic in the High Valyrian," he says, pulling away. It is so abrupt and unwanted that you chase after his hold and involuntarily attempt to stand.
Of course, Daemon is in the way and prevents you from doing such a thing. His head inflates ten sizes bigger upon unveiling how deeply affected you were of him. But as he looks at your wet cheeks, he thinks, how could such a pathetic creature not be so affected by one such as he. He further amuses himself by tracing your collarbones.
Your body tingles at his gentle thouch.
"Think of it as revenge."
Your lips part and brows knit, "r-revenge?"
"Yes," he taps your nose, "to your tormentor."
You gulp and clench your jaw. Daemon grins, but you are no longer blinded by it. "I- I do not-"
"Your very existence is torment to him, is it not?" he tilts his head, "must I remind you of your own words, my love?"
You are flabbergasted by the pet name, but before you could even tell yourself he did not mean such words, his airy chuckles tells you himself. You turn to your lap.
Daemon takes your chin again, "look at me."
Your heart races and your breath heavies.
"You want to be a dutiful wife, yes?"
Your release a deep sigh through parted lips, "... yes."
"It pleases me greatly to watch your cunt father suffer," Daemon rubs your chin before releasing it, "that is all I require of you."
Your brows furrow.
"Then you are free to do all that you desire, notably all those that your father has forbade."
"I-" wait, what?
Daemon catches the way your face shifts when his words finally click. His grin only deepens as he nods, "yes, yes. If he did not let you go out and play, oh, I do so beg you to play at your heart's content."
Your lips part further at the thought.
"But be sure to always play with me when I so desire," he says, cupping your cheek, "I do not like to be kept waiting."
Your heart skips a beat when he swipes your lips before walking off. He nods once at ser Arryk, who you had no idea was still here.
The said man then walks over to you, offering you an arm, "princess."
You look at his armored limb and feel sheepish. He must think you uncouth and ill-bred upon witnessing what he did. You take his arm— amongst sickly and feeble. You weakly mutter, "thank you."
"Would you like me to escort you to the maester's office?"
"W-wha- why?" you stand.
His brows tighten, "you were having an attack, were you not?"
You release his hand and step away from him. You smile softly and shake your head. He watches as you clasp your hands together. "They would only supply me milk of the poppy to ease my pain. There is no medicine for my affliction, Arryk."
He nods, "I see. Th-"
"Apologies. May I call you Arryk?"
He nods once more, "you may call me whatever you so desire, princess."
You smile, "very well," you turn to your feet, "I desire to call you by your name. You may do the same with me," you lift your gaze but do not turn to him, "I admit, the title princess does not suit me."
As you walk, Arryk follows closer this time, "it suits you well for you are a princess."
You sigh and smile at him from over your shoulder.
For the rest of the day, you retreat to your chambers and lay in bed. You stare at the ceiling, repeating over and over what had happened to you. As much as your father's searing glare burned in your mind, it was somehow not as hot as Daemon's gaze. You could do nothing but go between dread because your father and- and... affection because of your husband.
You rub your chest as you feel it tighten, thinking of your prince. You begin to fight your own breathing though, and sit up to calm yourself. You screw your eyes shut as you bring to mind things that calm you: swimming, Gwayne, Alicent, you-
Your eyes open when you hear the door swinging. You straighten up as Daemon walks over.
"Mmm," he chuckles, "did you wait because I asked?"
"I-" but your words are cut off by how the bed dips when he crawls over to you.
"I would prefer you with less clothing next time," he says, leaning into you, pressing a hand on your thigh.
Your heart quickens at his kisses. He smells and tastes of wine. He pushes your skirt up and comes down to kiss your knee.
You gasp when he pushes you back. And then you realize your breathing is heavy, but not strangling. You squeal when he kisses up your thigh, "D-Daemon-"
He gives you a warning look and mutters in a foreign tongue.
Suddenly, your smallclothes are being removed and your husband is sinking between your legs. You yelp, "D-Daemon, you're drunk!"
He holds you in place by your thighs. "No," he dismisses, "but I will be once you let me taste your cunt."
Your eyes widen and you immediately try to sit up.
All he has to do is lift your legs and speak your name for you to- "cease your needless wrangling," Daemon grunts, "you will quite enjoy this."
"P-pl-"
"You enjoyed my fingers did you not?"
Your mouth goes dry.
"Then you will more so enjoy my tongue, shaky thing. Quit trembling."
The strangled moan that is pulled out your throat is more confirmation than any word you could have ever told him.
By the time Daemon was satisfied playing with you, you were sticky and sweaty and naked lying next to him on your bed. You tense when he stands and you immediately cover your body with your blanket, "w-where are you going?"
"Mmm," he walks towards the drawer and pours himself a cup of wine, "to my bed."
You turn to your lap, unable to help the pinch you feel at the confession he does not see this as his bed.
You watch him as he grabs his clothing, then quickly stand, "let me-e help you!"
Wrapped in a blanket, you come to Daemon's side and help him get dressed. He lets you, slight amusement falling on his features as you so ardently assist him.
He allows you and stares at your glowing face, glowing because of how good he fucked you. The blanket rests heavy on your shoulders, but your neck is bare to him. He finds himself reaching out after you tie his breeches.
You still when he pushes the blanket off your shoulder. He tilts your head to the side to behold his work. You begin to breathe through your mouth when his thumb rubs over the new and previous purple marks he's put on you. You gasp when he makes the blanket fall to the floor. Instantly, a shiver creeps up your spine.
He rubs your sides and kneads your breasts. He's made such pretty marks all over your chest.
"Come to me tomorrow," he rubs his hands down your bare bum.
You whimper as he squeezes you there.
"I will be with my Gold Cloaks," he tilts his head, "I wish to parade my prize, so wear something pretty," he rubs your shoulders, "something that shows my good work."
Your lips tremble, from both the cold, night air and his words, "I do not think it-"
"It is not a question, wife."
Your skin breaks out in goosebumps.
He leaves after and you scramble to wrap yourself in your blanket.
The next morning, Erryk Cargyll assumes his station and knocks on your door to announce himself. When the door opens, he is pulled inside before he can speak.
"Good morn," you clasp your hands together as you look him up and down, "Erryk?"
He smiles softly and bows, "yes. Good morn, my princess."
You smile back and him and motion to yourself, "I must enquire your opinion as a man and not a knight sworn to serve me."
Erryk straightens up and nods, "very well."
You rub the cowl upon your shoulders and sigh, "what do you think of my attire?"
The man looks over your red dress and black cowl. He takes a moment to think of what might be out of the ordinary with it, but finds nothing, so he says, "it suits you very well, my lady."
You sigh at this and untie the bow of your cowl. You remove it, revealing your décolletage and his eyes widen at the sight of the marks on your skin. He clears his throat and looks away.
Your face falls and you cover your shoulders with your dark curls, "is it very tasteless?"
Erryk opens his mouth but he cannot form more than a stutter.
You shake your head, gripping your cowl tightly, "Daemon wishes to... parade his work."
The man's brows furrow and jaw clenches.
"Perhaps the cowl should stay on," you mutter, feeling your breath begin to shorten. You turn to the said object and feel your hands shake. You try to put it on, but it feels as heavy as a boulder.
He catches your cowl just before you drop it.
You release a deep, shaky breath, looking up at him with watery eyes, "will you help put it on, Erryk?"
A line forms between his brows as he nods. He takes your cowl then circles around you. He gathers your hair and places it upon your shoulders one side at a time. As he circles back to fix the piece, he feels your trembling, but says nothing as he does the bow.
"What is a wife supposed to do?" you mutter, tears becoming too heavy to remain unshed.
Erryk feels a pinch in his chest upon seeing your pink eyes. He feels rather helpless as he retorts, "I confess, I am unsure."
Your throat tightens. You rub your lips and shake your head, "forgive me. It is a cruel question to ask a kingsguard."
"Did you not say you ask this of me as a man?"
You fiddle with the ring on your finger.
"I do not imagine it oft, for I will never have one, but I imagine still, if I had a wife, she would wait on me and help me out of my armor once I return. She'd nurse me to health whenever I'm beaten. She'd trim my beard and braid my hair. She'd give me children as fair as she."
Your brows raise at his solemn words.
"And in return, I would honor her. I would worship her like the gods," he motions, "I would not allow harm, or shame to befall her, not if I could help it."
You chuckle at the way he says this. You shake your head, "you are man of honor. It is both a blessing and a curse that you are kingsguard."
You feel light headed.
Erryk hovers when you lean your face into a hand.
You barely turn to him as he takes your arm. You mutter, "this is what he requires of me."
His brows knit.
"That I be a conduit of his chaos," you gulp, "and in return... I will have my freedom."
"Freedom?" he leans his head forward.
You finally face him fully and shrug, "many a thing my father forbade me to do. I once believed he did it with love... now, I am not so sure."
The line between his brows only deepen.
"I should like to do most of what I could not before I die," you chuckle, as if it was a jest, to soften the mood. It does not work; it was not a jest.. You rub your chest and walk towards the door.
He guides you, but grows wary upon noticing how you lean your weight into the knob, "perhaps you should take a seat?"
You smile and shrug, "it matters little if I sit or not, Erryk."
You open the door and step out. He links your arm into his. You lean into him and sigh, "apologies-"
"There is nothing to-"
"-I have been calling you by your name."
He places his hand atop yours, "you may call me whatever you so desire."
"Mmm. You truly are quite like your twin," you lead down the hall, "you should do the same for me."
"Very well, princess."
"Hopefully not princess, and simply my name."
He shakes his head, "too late. You told me I could call you what I desire, and I desire to call you my princess."
"Except princess."
"Once more, too late."
"Hmp. You are less kind than your twin."
His jaw drops, "you wound me so deeply, my princess."
"I am glad to hear it, Erryk."
"My princess is quite cruel."
"Relent, I beg."
You realize you unconsciously walked yourself to the training yard by the time you got there. You also realize then how famished you were. On cue, your stomach grumbles, making Erryk look to you in concern.
"Have you not broken fast, my princess?"
"I- no."
"Then why did you walk us here?"
You were about to explain that your body had a knack of going to the areas in which your brother frequented, but before you could speak, the said man was calling your name.
You instantly come alive at the sight of your twin walking over.
"Good morn, sister," Gwyane nods, "Cargyll." He looks at him for a moment, "I wager... Erryk?"
You gasp and chuckle, "how could you tell?'
Your twin turns to you, "mmm, it might have to do with the fact I passed Arryk, who was stationed at the gate today."
"Oh, bother," you swat Gwayne, "I thought you could tell them apart."
"I just did, simpleton," he raises a brow.
"No, you're the simpleton, you nincompoop."
"No, you're the nincompoop, you daft sod."
"No, you're the daft sod, you freakish dunderhead."
"No, you're the freakish dunderhead, you ratty ninnyhammer-'
"You dare speak to the princess this way?"
You all turn and see Daemon's severe expression. He steps between you and Erryk, imposing upon Gwayne.
You tense and take his forearm, "Daemon, tw-"
He silences you by raising a finger. He narrows his eyes at your brother, "I should have your tongue for that."
Your twin chuckles in disbelief, but whatever amusement he might have had instantly melts into irritation, "a jest, prince. You act as though you are not capable of doing the same to your older brother."
"There is a time and a place for jests, yet I doubt there is a time or a place to publicly slander the Princess of Dragonstone."
"Daemo-"
"Believe me, I would be the first to demand satisfaction to whomever dare slander my twin sister," Gwayne grits his teeth.
Your husband laughs loudly, "then perhaps you should go shove a-"
"Daemon, please," you quip, finally raising your voice enough that you could not be ignored.
Both Daemon and Gwayne turn to you. You grab the former's arm and undo the ties of your cowl, "my silly brother is not worth the headache he's about to give you."
Gwayne's jaw tightens as he looks at the face you pull as you look at Daemon.
"He's not, but I can-"
His mouth goes dry when you remove the cowl and hand it to Erryk. Daemon's eyes rove over your cleavage. The marks on your skin were more apparent than he remembered, but then again, he had only seen it in candle light.
"I... dressed so prettily for you," you mutter, pushing your hair back, "perhaps we should go for a stroll instead?"
Daemon's lilac gaze falls upon your pleading eyes. For a moment, he's so distracted he'd forgotten all about your brother, but when he remembers, he turns to him with a chuckle and grins, "yes, you're quite right, wife."
When you look at Gwayne and he immediately turns away from you. Your throat constricts because of it.
"A good stroll would do us good," Daemon turns to you, "then I will shall show you the might of my City Watch. Tis far more entertaining than whatever you could behold here."
With that, the prince leads you off, turning to Erryk as he did, "that is all, Cargyll. I have her now."
You watch as the kingsguard nods at the instruction, stepping back to let you pass. You look over your shoulder, finding Gwayne already looking at you. You give him a sorry expression before looking away.

















