#dayne!reader

[kentstoji]

oh, to be dyanna dayne's younger sister.

life was a tumult. noisy. violent, even — you didn't anticipate the possibility that your second nephew, your sister's son, could be a potential maniac.

a little monster, wearing the face of a child.

oh, to be the only mother figure for so many broken children.

and a foundation for the worst of them.

the father.

oh, to be the aunt of a dreamer doomed to failure.

oh, to be the aunt of a mischievous little boy.

oh, to be kidnapped—or, as aerion's sharp tongue would say—by a poor hedge knight.

what was life to you?

a piece of crap.

[pizzapottah]

have a snippet of a new cregan story i'm getting out of my sistem 💔 featuring our favorite stark and dayne!reader (not proofread)

“She managed to make Rickon stop crying!” Lisa says hurriedly, gathering her skirts in her hands as she follows the man’s long steps — not without any difficulty. “I– I don’t think like you, m’lord, I didn’t even think about the implications– I left Anita with them– the dornish girl seemed so nice–”

“I am sure Rhaena Targaryen looked like a nice lady too, before she fed her husband to her dragon,” he replies angrily, “how did it even cross your mind that I would’ve been okay with some random woman taking my child? ‘Tis your duty to make sure Rickon is comforted, not hers!” 

“I am sorry, my lord!” the nursemaid is crying by now, struggling to keep up with his pace, “But the babe has been crying for days on end, and we’ve tried everything we could, and– and she managed to calm him down and played with him all afternoon and– how were we supposed to think it could’ve been an attempt to his life? Who tries to kill a babe?!”

“More people than you’d think!” 

When they reach the gardens, their breaths are ragged, also thanks to their complexions not being used to the heat of King’s Landing. Anita is sitting on a stool at the edge of the garden, embroidering a small blanket, a perfect picture of calmness and pure cluelessness. When she hears Lisa and Cregan approach, she turns and smiles happily, “Oh, m’lord! ‘Tis wonderful this silence, isn’t it? Rickon hasn’t been this calm in ages, aye,” 

Cregan doesn’t have time for this. His eye twitches, “Where is he?”

Frowning at his worry, the wet nurse points to the table full of noble women breaking their fast at the center of the gardens, surrounded by the well-kept flowerbeds and chatting placidly with one another. More specifically, she points to you — a woman dressed in purple and golden accents, with a lilac veil over the back of your head, covering your neatly braided hair. And as he looks at you, Cregan can’t help but think that Lisa was right: you don’t look like someone with bad intentions. 

You’ve got Rickon in your lap, and the babe is babbling incoherently — gripping at your square decolletage with the strength only an infant could possess — as you skin some grapes, remove the seeds and cut them into smaller pieces to feed to him. You caress his cheek and laugh softly as he munches on the fruit, and the other ladies coo at him and congratulate you for being such a babe-whisperer. 

Cregan has never believed in the Faith of the Seven — like every Stark before him, he has always believed in the Old Gods, and was raised with their ghosts and stories. But if he had to believe in them for just a moment, he’d picture you as the perfect image of the Maiden come to life. 

His son clings to you like he has only clung to him before, and with how he’s looking at you, one might wonder if you were his true blood mother. The babe is laughing and hiding in your chest as you hold him close, tending to him as if he were your own, and not a single pained peep is coming out of his mouth because of his teeth. He looks as calm as his father hasn’t seen him in a while, and if Cregan was raised in Oldtown rather than Winterfell, he’d probably start thinking you were a gift from the Mother herself, who took pity on him. 

The anger dissipates in the bat of an eye. Lisa, who has since wiped her tears, looks at him expectantly. “She is unwed, my lord!” she whispers again, “This kind of opportunity happens once in a lifetime! Yesterday, she saw me rocking the babe in the hallway and just stepped in without any question! And Rickon quieted instantly!” 

Cregan, a little ruffled from the fact that she still gave his son to a stranger without asking him first, sends her a half-hearted glare. “Quiet, woman. T’was your duty to calm him — don’t forget that.” He takes a long breath and tries to calm himself down. He’s going to get Rickon back, of course — it’s not you who should worry about him, but the nursemaids that have seemed to forget themselves — but by doing so he’ll probably have to entertain unfortunate conversations with the other, various women that surround you. 

He may not recognise you, but the rest of the ladies at the table are a whole other story: some of them have plagued him since he arrived, trying to understand — not-so-discreetly, might he add — if he would be open to the idea of remarrying, were Prince Aemond not interested in taking a wife so soon. Their advances have been the second most bothering thing in the Keep, right after Rickon’s constant cries; other than them, Cregan is pretty sure that the silver-haired woman beside you is a princess — Princess Helaena, probably, considering that Princess Rhaenyra is known to reside on Dragonstone and should be older than she is. 

Resigning himself to at least half an hour of women preying on him, he approaches the table, bowing to the princess once she notices him. “Princess,” he greets, a little gruff, sending a nod to the other women, “my ladies,” he then looks at you, and has no doubt that you’ve been sent from the Mother to bless the world. Your eyes are the same colour of irises in bloom and of the sky just before sunrise, and before he notices, he’s staring and the other ladies have stopped talking just to look at the exchange. 

You flush a little under his gaze, pretty brows furrowing softly in worry, Rickon still in your lap — still pawing at your dress’ decolletage, the scoundrel. Suddenly very aware of everyone’s eyes on him, Cregan stifles a cough in his fist, averting his eyes to the side. “Um– I am grateful for the help, my lady, but it’s better if Rickon goes back to his nursemaids now. ‘Tis no proper treatment of a maiden to have her care for a child that’s not hers.” 

You give him a soft smile, and his heart takes a tumble. “Oh, but ‘tis no bother. He’s quite the lively lad, really.” you hold Rickon up and he gurgles happily, trying to get a hold of your curls as if to prove your words. “I’ve a younger sister back in Dorne who’s just as demanding as he is, and I play with her all the time. I’m happy to ease some weight from the maids’ shoulders, if it’s to spend some time with this happy babe.” the latter finally manages to grab one of your strands and put it in his mouth, snuggling back in your chest. 

[ludwig-holy-blade]

The Eyes of the Beholder

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Male Dayne Reader

Rhaenyra Targaryen, the realm’s delight, did not feel beautiful today. It was the early morning on the isle of Starfall and Rhaenyra was sat upon the beach as she was oft to do every morning. Her gown had been soaked around her ankles and bum for the better part of an hour now, though she had hardly noticed. 

Her thoughts were awash with doubts as she stared out towards the Torrentine. It was only eight days ago that she had given birth to her fourth son and it had become strangely apparent to her that she was not the beauty she once was. After ten years of marriage Rhaenyra and Y/N had produced no less than eight children together. The thought brought a smile to her face. She and her husband had been rather over eager in their passions. 

The truth was however that those births had added weight to her once slender form. While Rhaenyra and her husband enjoyed the new size her breasts and bottom she had quickly become quite frustrated with the weight around her middle. This frustration was often made worse whenever she saw Alicent, still slender and slim despite having birthed four children of her own. She often feared that in time her husband would grow disgusted with her and in time would seek out others. There were so many after all in Dorne alone not to mention across the Narrow Sea and in Westeros itself. 

These thoughts liked to creep into her mind in the early morning and late into the evening. They would often leave her quiet and staring into the mirror, reminiscing on her once beauty. 

The sound of splashing dragged her out of her thoughts.

The reason for Rhaenyra’s love of watching the waves in the early morning was twofold. On one hand the sound of the waves and the cool air were calming and brought her a sense of peace. On the other, was her husbands love of swimming. Lord Y/N Dayne loved to swim around the entire length and breadth of his Island Castle and Rhaenyra loved to watch him. 

Y/N had also gotten bigger over the last ten years except unlike Rhaenyra Y/N had turned said weight into muscle. This was made easy due to her husband’s love of swimming and many other forms of exercise, he often spends hours training with his houses ancestral blade Dawn and loved wrestling and grappling. Rhaenyra loved to watch him train, not only was it incredibly attractive to watch Y/N’s muscle flex and move but it also made Rhaenyra more comfortable, it was a comfort to know just how well her husband could and in fact would protect her if needs be.

The sight before her was one she had seen many a time but still never grew tired of witnessing. Her husband came out of the water in naught but his small clothes and while a grin broke out across her face at the sight of him and thoughts of more amorous activities flooded her mind she couldn’t stop herself from covering her stomach. 

Y/N approached sluggishly, as there was no way possible to exit the water attractively. A smile broke out across his face as soon as he saw her, his true smile, the one that reached his eyes. The slow walk turned to a quick stride as he got closer. The sight of his approach made Rhaenyra’s heart beat faster and heavier, made her smile almost painfully wide and made a blush spread across her face and ears. 

He came and sat before her folding his knees under him. He looked nearly boyish in that moment, smiling like a fool without saying a word. The two of them simply sat there gazing at each other simply smiling. 

“Hello gorgeous.” Were the first words spoken, quietly, as if he was speaking reverently of her. Rhaenyra merely took him by the face brought his lips to hers. joy flood into her as it often did when they kissed. 

They parted for a mere moment and Y/N stopped to look at her. “What’s wrong Rhaenyra.” She averted her eyes though she knew she couldn’t hide her upset. She never could, not from Y/N. “It’s too early in the morning to be so distressed.” Rhaenyra had turned her face into her shoulder, a vain attempt to hide herself but Y/N had followed her turning his face with her. No longer desiring to hide from her husband, it was to want to she knew, Rhaenyra steeled herself. Taking a deep breath she spoke. 

“Do you still find me beautiful Y/N?” The shock that over took his face would have been funny if Rhaenyra was in a joking mood but she remained stoic. Y/N appeared almost offended by the very question when he answered. “Why wouldn’t I Rhaenyra, your as beautiful now as you’ve ever been.” His response was earnest and yet still Rhaenyra’s face was still downcast. “Who would call you anything but lovely Rhaenyra, tell me they’re name, I'll strike them down with a god’s wrath.” A laugh bubbled up from Rhaenyra. “No one Y/N I swear no one had offended me so.” A laugh interrupted her and she brought her hand to his cheek once again. “Though thank you for caring so much as to kill someone for my pleasure.” The two of them laughed quietly. 

“I will be honest with you then my love but please try not to judge me,” Rhaenyra breathed deeply again. “Over the past I have begun to notice, after the children have been born, I have kept more weight on my stomach than I should have been.” Y/N once again began to speak but Rhaenyra’s raised hand stopped him. “I simply do not feel as beautiful as I once did, I know you love me but it does worry me that perhaps one day you will decide to seek out another younger woman.” She wove her hand through his long dark hair, Y/N closed his eyes and took her hand. 

“Rhaenyra I want you to listen to me and hear everything I say.” She nodded. “I have loved you since the moment I first saw you as a boy. You are as beautiful as you could possibly be.” Y/N came forward, making Rhaenyra lie on her back. He settled his hands in her splayed out hair, as he loved to play with her silver locks. Y/N locked eyes with his wife before he spoke again. “There may younger women, prettier women, women with larger tits, tighter asses and the like.” He brought his hand down to stroke her cheek. “There will never be a woman more beautiful than you in my eyes, no one. And there shall never be another woman as beautiful as you to come.” 

Y/N began to kiss Rhaenyra’s neck, long deep kisses which pulled moans deep from within her throat. He descended slowly kissing a trail down her body. He opened her night gown, revealing her breasts to the early morning air, he kissed both of them for some time before moving on. He made his way downwards to her belly and stopped. He kissed it once, twice, thrice then over and over and over again. It was obvious what he was doing but Rhaenyra had not married him for his wits but rather for his honesty and frankness. It was not to say his kisses were ineffective either. Rhaenyra became hot once again, warmth flooding through her chest as Y/N’s kisses continued. 

After much time and many more kisses Y/N finally stopped. Crawling back upwards he sat between her legs, Rhaenyra wrapped them around his waist almost instinctively, and he kissed her lips again. “You may grow as big a house if you so desire Rhaenyra Targaryen and should any man call you anything less than beautiful I’ll kill them and the next generation of their families. No man or woman will demean you in my presence, not even yourself.” 

He brought his lips to hers once again, passion colliding as they embraced. Rhaenyra knew in that moment that no more words need pass between them, Y/N intended to prove his loyalty the best he could. It was long into the morning that they loved each other and Rhaenyra in that moment, could not have felt more magnificent. 

[ludwig-holy-blade]

Rhaenyra Targaryen Headcannons: Male Dayne Reader: Part III

War In The Step-Stones: All your life you had been raised to understand the true price of war. Your father made certain that you understood that war didn’t mean glory, honor or heroic song, war only brought death, violence and suffering. Good men would turn to butchery, rape and theft because they could before departing for home as though they hadn’t changed. Cruel men would take pleasure in every waking moment of the war, laughing and killing and burning their way across the realm. Your father, the Sword of the Morning ensured you knew this in your heart of hearts before you were even young man. However nothing could have prepared you for the true brutality of seeing War in the Step-Stones. 

Your ship had been sunk before you could even arrive at the Step-Stones. Ships of the Triarchy had appeared suddenly and destroyed the multitude of ships moving to reinforce prince Daemon and Lord Corlys. Had you not leapt from the ship moment’s before impact you would have died. Your armor nearly drowned you but you had just enough time to grab on to a ships fallen mast. If Laenor Velaryon hadn’t of come in suddenly and burned the attacking ships with Seasmoke, the ships would have crushed you as they pushed forward. 

As you pushed your way to shore and claimed your bearings you began to look around and notice. Men around you pale from blood loss. Gown men, frightening and devastating warriors all, begging for their mothers. This was war, the war you were warned of. There was no glory to be found here. But there was work to be done. You had promised Rhaenyra you would return and you had every intention of honoring that promise. 

The Quagmire: War was hell, that much had become obvious but it became worse when you realized how much of a horrendous slog it would be day in and day out. Battle was not constant much of your day was spent marching with the men. You were Dornish, so few of the nobles showed you much favor and while Lord Laenor, Lord Corlys and Lord Vaemond were polite for the most part Prince Daemon took every opportunity to demean you. So you marched rather than ride, you fought with the infantry which bought you good will with many small-folk and landed knights. This did however only make it worse, when you did engage the enemy and your newfound companions were cut down, butchered and captured. This weighed on you and you knew little help would come from Westeros though you knew Rhaenyra would be petitioning her father day and knight trying her damndest to get you and the war front the help you needed. Help would arrive however sooner than expected but from a singularly unexpected source.

Dawn's Arrival: It was two years into the war when aid arrived. Sixty dornish ships appeared on the coast bearing the sigil of House Dayne upon their sails. At their head was your father Lord Maladon Dayne, Lord of Starfall and Sword of the Morning. With the aid of your father and the near fifteen thousand men he brought the tide of the battle turned in favor of Westeros. While House Dayne is famed mostly for their chief office of Sword of the Morning few and far between now about the sheer strength and skill of the men of Starfall. Most trained from childhood to be ready to fight at a moments notice. Many forget that the Dayne's were kings once like the Starks and the Durrandon's of old and to this day the family and their men at arms give testament to that bloodline.

Arise, Sword of the Morning: It had been some time since you had seen your father and you couldn’t have been happier. When you had left you had expected him to turn against you, rage against you and disown you from the family. You were surprised when he embraced you and declared you his son and heir before all his men, reaffirming your position. For months after the two of you would battle together, side by side like the stories of old. A Dayne lord and his heir cutting down the enemies of peace with dragons in the air and battle roaring around them, you had never been happier. But it was not to last.

A year after his arrival you and your father had fallen into a trap laid by the Crabfeeder. Drawn into a valley you, your father and seven hundred men were surrounded on all sides and pelted with arrows. Your plate armor protected you from the majority of the arrows, and you soon found yourself taking cover behind a large boulder with a shield covering what was left exposed. When you saw your father desperately dragging Vaemond Valeryon to cover you rushed to aid them earning yourself three arrows in painful but not lethal areas your father was not so lucky receiving four arrows to an exposed gap in his armor, piercing his lung. Had Daemon Targaryen not arrived so soon after you and Vaemond would have surely died.

Through some miracle your father lived long enough to be returned to the maestar who could do nothing but make him comfortable as he died. In his dying breath your father, Lord Maladon Dayne declared you worthy of his office. Not only of Lord of Starfall but of Sword of the Morning. You had passed every trial of strength, spirit or flesh that life had thrown at you and so as dusk fell that day you rose with Dawn in hand and swore a third vow to the moon and stars that you would not rest until you killed the Crabfeeder.

The Wars End: Two more years of war followed your fathers death. Two years of hunting and killing any man who was even remotely close to the Crabfeeder. Oddly this finally caused a bind to grow between you and Prince Daemon who likewise hated the Crabfeeder and wished to see him dead more so than anything at that time. The time finally came however when supplies were running low, men were demoralized and no amount of dragon fire or Valyrian steel could keep the campaign going. So Daemon Targaryen got clever.

It was during the siege of Bloodstone that aid from Westeros finally arrived. Both yourself and Daemon had grown tired of Viserys's negligence of the situation and perused the Princes plan to end this conflict quickly and to your own benefit. You and Daemon went alone under white flag to feign surrender and when Crabfeeder showed himself you struck. Wielding only a dagger Daemon rushed towards him while you followed behind with Dawn on your back, a shield in one arm and Dark Sister in the other. The sight was glorious the two of you cleaving through a truly ungodly amount of men to get to the Crabfeeder. You found him the dark of a cave struggling with Daemon, you tossed Daemon Dark Sister and took up Dawn. In two motions, the Crabfeeder died, You drove forward impaling the man who killed your father and Daemon removed his head to take for himself.

You left the Step-Stones quickly after. You had your revenge, Daemon would settle things there with the aid the Velaryons and you. You rushed by ship back towards Kings Landing you had made a promise before you left to marry Princess Rhaenyra you intended to keep it.