ASOIAF WEEK 2026 ; day five, action // special talents [psd]
Prince Vaelor Targaryen had become the unofficial dresser to his family by 105 AC, taking to his tower for days at a time until the blackwork on a shirt which would not have been seen but for by those most intimate, was perfected. Nearly would he bankrupt the royal treasury with the extravagance he provided his wife and children through their clothes. Lady Genavene was often seen walking the gardens of her masterpiece—Swan's Neck—richly attired in shades of purple.
With the death of Lady Genavene, most of her wardrobe would be passed on to Rhea Graceford, the wife of Vaegon, their grandson. Lady Rhea would have the fashions altered as time passed, though not extensively.
A few years shy of a millennia, the castle of Swan's Neck would be opened to the public as a museum, becoming one of the first of the old castles that remained standing on the continent of Westeros to do so. Over the centuries, Vaelor's designs had been preserved, whether they be those in the planning stages, etched out on a page, or the scant garments that survived over time. They would be put on display in an exhibit in his old workshop, becoming a sensation.
Not merely was it for their craft, but for their honesty as to the person they were made for. Three known garments survive of Lady Genavene's, at least one recorded to have been altered by Lady Rhea, their sketches survive as well, riddled with notes on the receivers preferences. It brought a humanity to these historical figures that otherwise may have gone unforeseen.
Secondly I'm like starving for some Daenerys content and I struggle to find new stuff outside of you so I was wondering if you could do something super soft and fluffy with Daenerys teaching the reader to ride one of the other dragons (because all three are alive and well damn it) while at Dragonstone
Thank you in advance if you choose to write it 💖
𝐀 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭
Daenerys Targaryen x f!reader
warning(s): none all fluff
wc: 1.5k
(i’m always happy and love any request for dany 😭❤️❤️ and yes i’ve noticed it too, there’s barely any new content for her like where’s the love for my baby)
The ships came into harbor beneath a sky the color of a healing bruise, purple and gold at the edges, and you were already running before the gangplank had fully settled. You did not care that half of Dragonstone watched. You did not care about anything except the sight of silver hair catching the wind atop the deck.
Daenerys saw you first. Her face, so often schooled into careful stillness for the sake of lords and councils, broke open like a girl's. She came down to meet you rather than wait, skirts gathered in one hand, and when she reached you she did not stop to bow or greet you as a queen ought to be greeted. She simply pulled you into her arms and held you as though the whole ocean between you had never happened at all.
"You came back," you said against her shoulder, foolishly, because of course she had, because she always did.
"I told you I would." Her voice was rough with salt air and something softer underneath. She drew back only far enough to look at you, her hands framing your face like she meant to memorize it again. "Did you doubt me?"
"Never," you admitted, and she smiled that small private smile she kept only for you before she kissed you.
It was not a queen's kiss, careful and measured for an audience. It was slow and warm and a little desperate, her fingers curling into the collar of your coat, your hands finding her waist beneath her cloak. The world could have fallen away entirely and you would not have noticed.
A low rumble rolled across the courtyard, deep enough that you felt it in your chest before you heard it.
You broke apart laughing. Drogon sat perched atop the black rocks above the beach, wings half spread, his great head tilted toward you both with an expression that could only be described as unimpressed. He grumbled again, smoke curling faintly from his nostrils, as if to say he had seen quite enough affection for one homecoming.
"He is jealous," you said.
"He is dramatic," Daenerys corrected, though she was grinning now, unguarded in a way she rarely allowed herself to be outside of your company. "He has always been like this. He does not care for sharing my attention."
"With me, or with anyone?"
"With anyone," she said. "You simply get the worst of it, since you are the one I kiss most often."
As if summoned by the words, a second shadow passed overhead, and Rhaegal came gliding down from the cliffs with far less grievance than his brother, circling once before settling nearby with an easy grace, his green scales catching the fading light. He watched you both with mild curiosity, head cocked, entirely willing to be entertained rather than offended.
And then there was a third sound, softer, almost shy, a low croon that had you turning before Daenerys even had to point.
Viserion came down slowly, deliberately, folding his pale wings with unusual care as he lowered his head toward you and only you. He nudged your shoulder gently, warm breath ruffling your hair, and made a small pleased sound low in his throat when you laughed and pressed your palm to the smooth scales beneath his jaw.
"He missed you," Daenerys said, watching the two of you with open fondness. "More than he missed me, I think."
"That is not true."
"It is entirely true. He has always favored you. Even Drogon has noticed it, which is why he grumbles so."
You stroked along the ridge of Viserion's brow, and he leaned into your hand like a great pale cat, eyes half closing in contentment. Something in your chest ached sweetly at the sight, at the trust of it, at the way this enormous creature had chosen gentleness for you without being asked.
"I have half a mind," Daenerys said slowly, stepping closer, slipping her arms around you from behind and resting her chin lightly against your shoulder, "to finally let you fly him."
You went still. "Truly?"
"You have wanted to since the first time he let you touch him." Her lips brushed the shell of your ear. "And he clearly wants it too. Look how he waits for you."
Viserion had indeed gone very still, watching you both with an almost hopeful patience, as though he understood every word.
"I am afraid," you admitted quietly, because there was no one else in the world you would say it to.
"I know." Daenerys turned you gently by the shoulders so you faced her, her thumbs smoothing along your jaw with the same tenderness she always used, as though you were something precious rather than something breakable. "But I will be with you the entire time. I will not let anything happen to you. I promise you that."
You searched her face and found nothing there but certainty and love, and something in you loosened.
"Then teach me," you said.
She kissed you once more, soft and quick, a seal upon the promise, before Drogon huffed loudly enough to startle a nearby gull into flight, clearly displeased at being ignored yet again.
"Yes, yes," Daenerys called over her shoulder without looking, "you are very important, I have not forgotten you," which only made you laugh harder against her collar.
The lesson began simply enough. Daenerys walked you through the placement of your hands, showed you where the scales grew smooth enough to grip and where they did not, guided you in how to settle your weight low and centered rather than perched like a bird about to bolt. Viserion lowered himself with remarkable patience, wing extended along the ground like a living bridge, waiting for you to climb.
"Talk to him," Daenerys said, standing close at your side, one hand resting steady at the small of your back. "He listens more than you would think."
"What do I say?"
"Whatever you like. He cares more for the sound of you than the words."
You pressed your palm flat against his neck and murmured something soft and foolish, thanking him, and Viserion rumbled low with pleasure, the sound vibrating pleasantly beneath your hand.
Mounting him properly took two attempts and considerable laughter, Daenerys steadying you both times with hands that lingered a little longer than strictly necessary, her mouth curving with quiet amusement whenever you wobbled.
"You are enjoying this far too much," you accused, once you were finally settled astride him.
"I am enjoying you," she corrected, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with unbearable gentleness. "There is a difference."
Then she climbed up behind you rather than mounting Drogon separately, choosing instead to ride at your back for the first flight, her arms bracketing yours along Viserion's neck, her chest warm against your spine.
"I thought you might want to fly alone eventually," she said against your temple, "but not today. Today I want to hold you the whole time."
You did not argue.
Viserion rose slowly, almost tenderly, as though he too understood this was a delicate thing, and the ground fell away beneath you in a rush of wind and salt air that stole the breath from your lungs entirely. You gasped, gripping tighter, and Daenerys's hands covered yours at once, steady and sure.
"I have you," she said into your ear, low and warm even over the wind. "I have you both."
Dragonstone unfolded beneath you in black stone and white surf, the sea stretching endless and glittering toward a horizon gone soft with evening color. Rhaegal rose to fly alongside for a while, keeping easy pace, and somewhere below Drogon watched from his perch with what could only be described as reluctant approval, though he did not bother to join the flight himself, apparently content to sulk beautifully from a distance.
You laughed, giddy and disbelieving, and felt Daenerys's smile pressed against your shoulder.
"You are doing wonderfully," she murmured.
"I am terrified."
"You are terrified and doing wonderfully. Both may be true at once."
By the time Viserion circled back toward the courtyard and landed with a gentleness that still managed to jolt your stomach pleasantly, your face ached from smiling and your hands had finally stopped trembling.
Daenerys slid down first and turned to help you, though you hardly needed it, catching you loosely at the waist and simply holding you there a moment once your feet touched stone.
"Well?" she asked.
"I want to do it again."
"Tomorrow," she promised, laughing softly. "Tonight I would rather have you to myself."
Viserion nudged your hip affectionately, seeking one last touch, and you turned to press a kiss to the warm scales of his snout before he finally allowed himself to be shooed off toward the cliffs, clearly pleased with himself.
Daenerys caught your chin and turned you back to her, kissing you slow and thorough this time, no audience left to mind but dragons, her hands sliding into your hair with unhurried tenderness.
Drogon grumbled loudly from above regardless, deeply offended on principle, and Rhaegal let out a sound suspiciously like a laugh, and you and Daenerys simply kept kissing anyway, entirely unbothered, entirely home.
En serio los Rhaelyas se creen que lo que Maegor no pudo hacer teniendo un dragón, Rhaegar lo va a hacer sin dragones?
La comparación con Maegor es especialmente demoledora MUAJAJAJ: Maegor tenía a Balerion, la Corona, el precedente de Aegon el Conquistador y Visenya, y estaba dispuesto a utilizar una violencia brutal para imponer su voluntad. Aun así, su poligamia no se convirtió en una norma aceptada. Rhaegar, en cambio, no tenía ninguna base remotamente comparable para esperar que una segunda unión fuera aceptada. Además, los libros no presentan a Elia como una mujer libertina y despreocupada que que hubiera consentido alegremente ser reemplazada (IBA A SER LA REINA DE PONIENTE, RESPETEMOS LOS RANGOS). Rhaegar seguía casado con ella y tenía dos hijos con ella. Cuando Aerys exige que Elia permanezca en Desembarco del Rey durante la Rebelión, precisamente porque los hijos de Rhaegar estaban allí, vemos que su matrimonio y sus hijos constituían una realidad política fundamental. Y está Lyanna. En los libros tenía dieciséis años cuando murió y CATORCE cuando la empezó a groomear. No es una mujer adulta con una posición política independiente capaz de presentarse ante el reino y negociar una solución dinástica. La idea de que Rhaegar podía simplemente convertir aquella relación en un matrimonio legítimo sin provocar una crisis gigantesca ignora por completo las circunstancias políticas que conocemos. Lo más importante es que tampoco tenemos evidencia textual de que Rhaegar hubiera descubierto una especie de mecanismo mágico y fantástico por el cual podía ignorar las leyes, los derechos de Elia y las consecuencias políticas de sus actos. Lo que sí tenemos es a un príncipe casado que abandona a su esposa e hijos, se marcha con una niña y cuya desaparición contribuye directamente a desencadenar una rebelión. Y el argumento de “pero Rhaegar necesitaba hacerlo por la profecíaaaa” tampoco resuelve el problema. Las profecías en Canción de hielo y fuego son deliberadamente ambiguas (el mismo gordito lo dijo) y los personajes pueden interpretarlas erróneamente. Que Rhaegar creyera que necesitaba cumplir una profecía (xd porque serías vos hermano? y si no sos vos entonces porque tus hijos? jasjajsja) no convierte automáticamente sus decisiones en correctas, legales o políticamente viables. Por eso la comparación con Maegor funciona tan bien: si incluso Maegor con Balerion, el Trono de Hierro, la fuerza militar y una disposición aterradora a emplear violencia... no consiguió hacer de la poligamia una institución estable y aceptada, resulta bastante difícil sostener que Rhaegar podía simplemente declarar a Lyanna su segunda esposa y esperar que Poniente aceptara el asunto. Y encima tenemos el pequeñisisisimo detalle de que Aerys, Jon Arryn, Robert Baratheon, Brandon Stark y Rickard Stark no parecen haber recibido la noticia con un “bueno, si es por una profecía, adelante diva OMG she's so special 💅🏼".
