- Summary: A story where Daemon's daughter falls from the sky. And by some strange events orchestrated by fate, Otto catches you.
- Pairing: targ!reader/Otto Hightower
- Rating: Mature 16+
- Next part: the daughter
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround
The streets of King’s Landing were alive with noise and color as the festival in the lower city reached its peak. Crowds pressed against one another, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats, honeyed wine, and the tang of the Blackwater rushing nearby. Musicians played bawdy tunes on lutes and pipes, their notes dancing over the clamor of merchants hawking their wares. It was a scene Lord Otto Hightower had no intention of witnessing firsthand.
Yet here he was, against his better judgment, striding through the chaos, his brocade cloak trailing through the muck of the streets. Beside him, Lord Jasper Wylde, known for his rakish charm and devil-may-care attitude, laughed heartily at Otto’s perpetual scowl.
“Come now, Lord Hand,” Jasper chided, slapping Otto’s shoulder with mock camaraderie. “Even the most dour of men must loosen their chains every now and then. You’re beginning to make Ser Harrold Westerling look positively jovial.”
Otto’s glare was as cold as the winds of the Reach. “I’ve no business in this rabble. My duty is to the Crown, not to trifling entertainments.”
Jasper waved a dismissive hand. “The Crown will not collapse because the Hand of the King partakes in a cup of mulled wine and watches a few fire-eaters. If anything, it might remind the people that their lords are not entirely made of stone.”
Otto sighed heavily but allowed Jasper to lead him further into the throng. He was keenly aware of the eyes upon him—common folk staring with mixtures of awe and suspicion at the austere man in his fine attire. It was rare for a lord of Otto’s stature to mingle so closely with the smallfolk, and rarer still for the Hand of the King to do so.
As they turned a corner, Jasper grinned and pointed toward a colorful tent pitched near the edge of the square. A sign hanging from its entrance read, Madame Lysara: Seer of Fates, Whisperer of Truths.
“You must be joking,” Otto muttered, his tone flat.
“Not at all,” Jasper replied, already tugging him toward the tent. “What’s a festival without a bit of harmless folly? Let’s see what the stars have to say about the great and mighty Lord Hightower.”
“I’ve no patience for charlatans.”
“And I’ve no patience for your endless brooding,” Jasper countered, shooting Otto a wicked grin. “Humor me, my lord. Consider it penance for dragging you out of your tower.”
Reluctantly, Otto allowed himself to be ushered inside the tent. The interior was dimly lit by flickering candles, their wax pooling onto an intricately patterned rug. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, sweet and cloying. Madame Lysara, a woman of indeterminate age with piercing eyes and a dramatic cascade of silver hair, sat behind a low table strewn with cards, crystals, and curious trinkets.
“Ah,” she purred, her voice low and melodic. “A man of great stature, though burdened by the weight of his own making. Please, sit.”
Otto remained standing, his expression carved from granite. Jasper, on the other hand, plopped down onto a stool with the enthusiasm of a man half his age. “He’s a stubborn one, isn’t he?” Jasper quipped, jerking a thumb toward Otto.
“Such men often are,” Lysara said, her gaze never leaving Otto’s. “But the stars speak even to the unyielding.”
Otto crossed his arms. “I’ll not pay coin for empty words.”
“Then you risk hearing the truth for free,” Lysara retorted smoothly, drawing a card from her deck and placing it face-up on the table. The illustration depicted a tower struck by lightning, figures tumbling from its heights.
Jasper leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “What does it mean?”
Lysara’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “A great change approaches—a shift that will shake the very foundation of his life. And at its heart, a woman.”
Otto’s brow furrowed, his patience wearing thin. “If this is your attempt at flattery, it’s wasted.”
“Not flattery, my lord,” Lysara said, her tone soft but insistent. She drew another card, this one showing a figure falling through the air, arms outstretched. “The woman destined for you will arrive as if from the heavens, a gift of fate. She will bring chaos, but also clarity. And you,” she added, fixing Otto with a penetrating look, “will catch her as she falls.”
Jasper let out a bark of laughter. “Falls from the heavens, you say? Well, Otto, I do hope you’re prepared to catch an angel.”
Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This is nonsense.”
“Perhaps,” Lysara allowed, gathering her cards. “But nonsense often carries a grain of truth.”
Jasper clapped Otto on the back as they exited the tent, his laughter echoing into the night. “Well, my friend, it seems your days of solitude are numbered. A woman falling from the sky—what a sight that will be!”
Otto ignored him, his mind already dismissing the fortune-teller’s words as the drivel they were. Yet, as they walked back toward the Red Keep, a faint unease settled in his chest. He told himself it was the incense clinging to his clothes, the noise of the city, the sheer absurdity of it all.
But the image lingered: a figure falling, and his arms reaching out to catch her.
The day began like any other, the city bathed in pale sunlight, the streets bustling with their usual chaos. Lord Otto Hightower stood on the steps of the Great Sept, flanked by a small retinue of guards. A heated discussion with Lord Beesbury over tariffs had drawn him away from the Red Keep, and though Otto’s attention was fixed on matters of governance, his thoughts were distracted by the open sky above. The festival's fortune-teller, and her ridiculous prediction, had faded into the back of his mind. Yet, when his gaze drifted upward, he found himself momentarily lost in the endless expanse of blue.
“My lord,” Ser Arryk interrupted, snapping Otto from his reverie. “Shall we return to the Keep?”
Otto adjusted his cloak, nodding briskly. “Yes, the king waits on no man.”
The party began its descent from the Sept, Otto leading the way with measured steps. He barely noticed the city around him, his mind preoccupied with the endless demands of his position. But then, a shadow passed over the sun. A large shadow.
Above the city, a dragon’s roar pierced the air, its deep, bone-shaking timbre sending the smallfolk scattering. Otto froze, his head snapping upward as a magnificent beast streaked through the sky—a dragon, its scales glinting like molten bronze in the sunlight. It swooped low, its rider clinging tightly to the saddle.
You had taken to the skies on a whim, your dragon restless and your heart yearning for the open air. Vermithor’s powerful wings carried you effortlessly above the city, the wind tugging at your hair. Below, the world seemed so small, so inconsequential, and you reveled in the freedom that came with flying. But then, as Vermithor banked sharply to avoid an incoming flock of ravens, the unthinkable happened.
The saddle strap—worn from battle and flight—gave way.
You barely had time to gasp before you were tumbling, the air rushing past you in a deafening roar.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sensation of falling. Panic clawed at your chest, but instinct kicked in. You tried to right yourself, arms flailing, the ground rushing closer with terrifying speed. Vermithor’s roar echoed somewhere above, the dragon circling back too late to catch you.
On the ground, Otto saw you before anyone else did—a figure hurtling toward him from the heavens. The memory of the fortune-teller’s words hit him like a physical blow.
She will bring chaos, but also clarity. And you will catch her as she falls.
“Seven hells,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the commotion.
The guards around him shouted, some scattering while others moved to shield him. But Otto stood rooted to the spot, his eyes locked on the falling figure. Instinct, or perhaps fate, took hold. As you plummeted toward him, he stepped forward, bracing himself.
You collided with him in a tangle of limbs and motion, the force of your fall driving him backward. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, and the two of you tumbled to the ground in an ungraceful heap.
“Gods,” Otto groaned, his body aching as he struggled to push himself upright. “Are you—”
“Get off me,” you hissed, shoving at his chest.
Otto blinked, stunned. He hadn’t expected the woman in the prophecy to be so…fiery.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he bit out, his tone clipped. “But you are the one who fell from the sky.”
You scrambled to your feet, brushing yourself off and glaring at him. “I didn’t ask you to catch me.”
“Should I have let you splatter against the cobblestones, then?”
Your retort died on your lips as Vermithor landed behind you with a thunderous roar, his massive frame dwarfing the surrounding buildings. The dragon’s eyes burned with protective fury as he lowered his head toward you, his hot breath ruffling your hair.
“Easy, boy,” you murmured, placing a hand on his snout to calm him. “I’m fine.”
Otto watched the exchange with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “You… you’re Daemon Targaryen’s daughter.”
You turned to him, your silver hair catching the light. “And you’re Otto Hightower.”
He inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “I suppose that makes us…acquainted.”
“Hardly,” you replied, your gaze flickering over him. “But I suppose I owe you thanks.”
“Thanks?” He raised a brow. “I’ve just saved you from death, my lady. I’d say you owe me more than that.”
You smirked, a spark of mischief in your dark violet eyes. “A debt I shall repay. Perhaps I’ll save you one day, Lord Hightower. If you’re lucky.”
Before he could respond, you swung yourself onto Vermithor’s back with practiced ease. The dragon let out a low rumble, his wings unfurling.
Otto stepped back, watching as you rose into the sky, the dragon’s powerful wings stirring the air around him.
Jasper Wylde appeared at his side, his face alight with amusement. “Well, Otto,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “It seems the fortune-teller was right. She fell from the heavens straight into your arms.”
Otto scowled, brushing Jasper’s hand away. “Not a word of this to anyone.”
But as the dragon disappeared into the horizon, Otto couldn’t help but wonder if fate had just played its hand—and if he was ready for what was to come.
The Great Hall of the Red Keep buzzed with conversation as courtiers gathered for the day’s proceedings. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, but the warmth of the room was undercut by the ever-present tension that came with power games and politics. Lord Otto Hightower stood near the dais, his face a mask of composure as he observed the assembled nobles.
He was in the middle of a conversation with Lord Beesbury when the heavy doors swung open, and the clamor in the hall faltered.
Daemon Targaryen strode in, his presence commanding and unmistakable. His long silver hair caught the light, and the black-and-red tunic he wore bore the three-headed dragon of his house, the fabric rich and imposing. His dark violet eyes scanned the room with a mixture of boredom and disdain, and the edges of his lips curled in the faintest smirk as courtiers parted before him like leaves before a storm.
Otto’s spine stiffened.
It had been moons since the incident with you—Daemon’s daughter—had left him both bemused and bruised, and while the Hand had worked to compartmentalize the events, he knew well that Daemon had likely heard of them by now. Targaryens, after all, had a way of knowing things they shouldn’t.
Sure enough, Daemon’s gaze landed on Otto. The Hand braced himself, his grip on his staff tightening as the Rogue Prince began to make his way toward him.
“Ah, Lord Hightower,” Daemon drawled, his tone dripping with mock civility as he approached. “Still alive, I see. Good. I was beginning to think the gods had finally grown tired of you.”
Otto inclined his head slightly, his expression carefully neutral. “Prince Daemon. What an unexpected pleasure.”
“I’m sure it is,” Daemon replied, his smirk widening. He glanced around the hall before leaning in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make the exchange feel intimate—and pointed. “Tell me, how are your arms? I imagine catching my daughter must have been… taxing.”
Otto’s jaw tightened, but he refused to take the bait. “Your daughter is fortunate to have been spared a far worse fate. Though I must say, her impulsiveness is… troubling.”
Daemon barked a laugh, drawing the attention of nearby courtiers. “Troubling? Coming from you, Hightower, that’s rich. Impulsiveness is a Targaryen birthright, or have you forgotten?”
Otto met Daemon’s gaze evenly. “A birthright that often ends in disaster.”
Daemon’s expression hardened for a moment, but then he smiled, sharp and wolfish. “And yet, here she stands—alive and well. A miracle, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps the gods themselves decided to spare her and gift you the privilege of her company.”
Otto resisted the urge to roll his eyes, keeping his tone measured. “I consider it my duty to protect the realm, regardless of who requires aid.”
Daemon tilted his head, studying Otto as though he were some peculiar creature on display. “Duty,” he mused, his voice dripping with disdain. “You wear that word like armor, don’t you? As if it can shield you from everything—including the truth.”
Otto’s brow furrowed. “And what truth is that, Prince Daemon?”
“That no matter how high you climb or how tightly you clutch your precious titles, fate will always find a way to humble you,” Daemon said, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, the words meant for Otto alone. “And if fate doesn’t… I will.”
The two men stood in tense silence for a moment, the air between them charged. Finally, Otto straightened, his face carefully impassive. “If that is a threat, my prince, I would advise you to reconsider. The king does not take kindly to such talk.”
Daemon’s grin widened. “Oh, it’s not a threat, Lord Hightower. Merely a promise.”
With that, he stepped back, his posture relaxed once more as he cast a casual glance around the room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find my daughter. I hear she’s taken a liking to… wandering.”
Otto’s lips thinned, but he said nothing as Daemon sauntered off, his presence drawing the eyes of every courtier he passed. The Hand of the King remained where he stood, his thoughts swirling as he replayed the conversation.
If there was one thing Otto Hightower knew, it was that the game of thrones was never without its challenges—and Daemon Targaryen was one of the most unpredictable of them all.
The private solar of Lord Otto Hightower was a haven of calm compared to the bustling chaos of the court. The Hand of the King sat at his desk, a pile of correspondence before him, his quill moving steadily across parchment. Outside, the muffled sounds of King’s Landing filtered in—distant voices, the clatter of hooves, the occasional toll of bells. It was the sort of environment Otto found productive. Or at least, it usually was.
Today, however, Lord Jasper Wylde’s persistent presence threatened to unravel Otto’s carefully maintained composure.
Jasper lounged in a chair across from Otto, sipping from a goblet of wine and grinning like a man with a secret. For the past few minutes, he had been circling the same topic with infuriating persistence, and Otto’s patience was wearing thin.
“When will you act, my lord?” Jasper asked at last, setting his goblet down with an exaggerated flourish.
Otto didn’t look up from his parchment. “Act on what?”
Jasper chuckled, leaning forward conspiratorially. “The prophecy, of course. The fortune-teller. The princess.”
The scratch of Otto’s quill stopped abruptly. He slowly lifted his gaze to meet Jasper’s, his expression carefully neutral but his tone as cutting as a blade. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, don’t be coy,” Jasper replied, waving a hand dismissively. “The gods themselves have practically handed her to you on a silver platter. A Targaryen princess—Daemon’s daughter, no less—falls from the heavens and into your arms, and you mean to tell me you’re not even considering the possibility?”
Otto set his quill down with deliberate precision. “Considering what, Lord Wylde? That I should ‘act,’ as you so vaguely put it? On the basis of a festival charlatan’s ramblings?”
Jasper smirked, undeterred. “Oh, come now. You and I both know it wasn’t just ramblings. The woman spoke true, did she not? She said a woman would fall from the sky and into your arms. And lo and behold, the princess did exactly that.”
Otto’s jaw tightened. “The circumstances of her fall were nothing more than a cruel twist of fate. There is no grand meaning to be found in it.”
“Isn’t there?” Jasper pressed, his grin widening. “You’ve spent years advising the king, orchestrating alliances, and navigating the treacheries of court. Yet when fate hands you a moment as undeniable as this, you choose to ignore it? Why?”
Otto leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Because she is a princess, Lord Wylde. A Targaryen princess. The daughter of Daemon Targaryen, a man whose disdain for me is well-documented. To approach her in any manner beyond what is strictly required by duty would be… unwise.”
Jasper raised a brow. “Unwise, or inconvenient?”
“Both,” Otto snapped, his voice low but firm. “She is not some court lady to be wooed with flattery or gifts. She is a dragon’s daughter, bound by blood and fire to a family that would see me undone given the slightest provocation. To involve myself with her would be folly.”
“And yet,” Jasper countered, leaning back with an infuriatingly smug expression, “she has already involved herself with you—whether by fate or accident. Tell me, Otto, has it occurred to you that this could be an opportunity? A chance to strengthen your position, to bind House Hightower even more to the blood of Old Valyria?”
Otto’s eyes narrowed. “At what cost? My life, perhaps? Daemon would kill me before I could so much as utter a word of intent.”
“Daemon wouldn’t dare,” Jasper said with a dismissive laugh. “Not openly, at least. He may be reckless, but even he wouldn’t risk the consequences of spilling the blood of the king’s Hand.”
Otto stood abruptly, the movement silencing Jasper mid-laugh. He placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward as he fixed Jasper with a piercing glare. “Listen well, Lord Wylde. Whatever foolish notions you have conjured up regarding myself and the princess, I suggest you abandon them at once. I will not jeopardize my position, my life, or the stability of the realm on the basis of a prophecy whispered in a smoky tent.”
Jasper met Otto’s gaze evenly, though the amusement never left his eyes. “Very well,” he said, rising to his feet and brushing imaginary dust from his tunic. “But mark my words, Otto. The gods are not so easily ignored. And neither, it seems, is the princess.”
With that, Jasper turned and strode toward the door, leaving Otto alone in the quiet of his solar. For a long moment, the Hand stood motionless, his thoughts a tempest of frustration and unease. At last, he sank back into his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Foolishness,” he muttered to himself. But as he resumed his work, he couldn’t shake the memory of you falling from the sky—and the strange, inexplicable feeling that his life was no longer entirely his own.
This is a list of the fanfics I have written for House of the Dragon and A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.
Main Masterlist
The Silver Dragon (WIP)
Aemond Targaryen x OC 18+
Series Masterlist
Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, Lady of Runestone, was not born of love. Nor passion. Nor even a sense of duty. She was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge. But even a child born of such darkness can find her way to the light. With her mother dead, and father flown across the Narrow Sea with a new wife, the girl is taken in by her Aunt, the Queen Alicent Hightower, to be raised among the little family she has left. There, she finds her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. The two spend long nights in the palace library together, studying the histories of both Old Valyria and the First Men, seeking to understand who they are and where they fit in the world. But finding that place proves more difficult than in the fairy tales they read. The seeds of disaster were laid long before they were born, and as tensions in the family rise, it seems as though their places may begin to diverge. Will they let themselves be pulled apart as the dragons dance?
Warnings: Mentions of rape, m/f smut, violence
Studious (Completed)
Aemond Targaryen x Reader 18+
Series Masterlist
Your marriage to the One-Eyed Prince is not as romantic as you hoped. The wedding night is beyond awkward and confusing, and afterward, your husband seems more than content to ignore you. But you keep finding yourself drawn to him, and the strange way he makes you feel. And though you don't know it, he is drawn to you as well.
Warnings: SMUT, p in v sex, masturbation (m and f) bad sex (these kids have no idea what they're doing), Aegon saying Aegon things, all the awkwardness in the world
What is Broken (Completed)
Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Sister-wife!OC (Unnamed) 18+
Series Masterlist
The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...
Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, traumatic childbirth
When It Breaks (WIP)
Aemond Targaryen x Sister-wife! OC; Daemon Targaryen x Aemond's Sister-wife!OC; a little bit of Aemond x Alys; little bit of Daemon x Nettles and Daemon x Rhaenyra 18+
Series Masterlist
Though he avoided it for as long as he could, the time has come for Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen to fly to war, forcing him to leave his beloved sister-wife, the Princess Aella Targaryen, behind in the Red Keep, where he thinks she'll be safe. Little does he know that his uncle, Prince Daemon Targaryen, has already learned of his plans and is prepared to take King's Landing for his faction. When he does, Daemon takes a keen interest in Aella. He's always had a soft spot for his neices, after all. Meanwhile, Aemond meets a witch in the castle of Harrenhal, and finds himself entangled in her schemes...
Warnings: Violence, infidelity, smut, Aemond being the dumbest motherfucker around, and so, so much angst. More detailed warnings will be on each chapter.
My Fair Lady's Maid (WIP)
Prince Aemond Targaryen x Lady's Maid!Reader
Series Masterlist
Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.
Warnings: Aemond being an entire cunt
A Companion (WIP)
Otto Hightower x Young Widow!Reader
Series Masterlist
At the suggestion of Princess Rhaenyra, King Viserys Targaryen had commanded that his Hand, Otto Hightower, find a new bride. Preferably at the King's own wedding to Otto's daughter Alicent. While the Princess intended the suggestion as a form of revenge for Otto's machinations which led to the royal engagement, he intends to make the best of it. While he has always known that his late wife, Madelyn, is the great love of his life, he welcomes the idea of finding a tolerable companion. What he doesn't expect is you, a lady widowed far too young, who begins to spark feelings within him he thought long extinguished.
Warnings: Partner loss, marriage of convenience, verbal abuse (not by Otto, don't worry)
BOOM (On Hold)
1920s!Aemond Targaryen x Cowgirl!OC (Unnamed)
1928. Targaryen's, the foremost business conglomerate in Europe, is seeking to establish a foothold in the United States - and the mass of wealth and resources it offers. Viserys Targaryen has dispatched each member of his family to a different city to oversee the company's expansion into various new industries. His second son, Aemond, has chosen Dallas, Texas as his destination to take advantage of the continued prosperity of the oil boom. But getting Targaryen Oil & Petroleum off the ground may be harder than he anticipated, all thanks to the determined efforts of a single, stubborn, spellbinding cowgirl.
Warnings: Language, Aemond is a cunt but so is the OC so it evens out?
Part I - Part II - Part III
Inconceivable (On Hold)
Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader
Part I - Part II
Westeros has been at peace for nearly a year, and a wedding has been planned to celebrate the anniversary. King Jacaerys will marry his aunt, the only surviving child of the Greens, and unite both Targaryen bloodlines at last. It is a fairy tale ending, but this is no ordinary fairy tale...
Warnings: Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles... Angst, grief, forced marriage, more to be added
Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne)
Warnings: Canon typical sexism, canon typical violence, angst, smut, age gap, power imbalance. Individual warnings will be applied to each chapter.
Summary: Lia Costayne, childhood friend of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower, has always had lofty ambitions, and is all too happy to use Alicent's father to advance her position at court. Otto sees greatness in Lia too, however, their visions of what success looks like for her could not be more different.
Author's note: Header image by @foxinthegodswood. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.
Read on AO3
More Otto fics
Act One
Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter four | Chapter five | Chapter six | Chapter seven | Chapter eight | Chapter nine | Chapter ten
Act two - coming June 2026!
Drabbles
To Walk the Old Path
Such Fire
Artwork
Gif set by @foxinthegodswood
Artwork of Lia by @mermaidslabyrinth
Gif by @rottengrowls
Photo manipulation of Otto and Lia by @foxinthegodswood
