My AKOT7K fics are now also available at AO3! All my other fics (mostly Tolkien) are there as well!
Same fic names and username if you want to search yourself!
Characters with written/upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon, Baelor Targaryen, Raymun Fossoway, Daeron Targaryen, Maekar Targaryen, Valarr Targaryen, Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard, Aerion Targaryen, Ser Dunkan the Tall
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This means so much to me! đ„°
I hope to see you soon with some new writing, Iâve been vacationing at my parentâs place and Iâve not had time to get any writing done.
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms & The House of the Dragon
Pairing/Characters: Daemon Targaryen x reader
Word count: ~ 1600
Includes: -
Warnings: death by dragonfire, unspecified and unsaid threaths, grabbing and bruises
Other: My first time writing for Daemon, and the HOTD fandom. I'm planning to watch it soon, but my brain would not leave me alone with this idea so I've been slowly working on it for a while now and it's finally finished. I've been getting a lot of HOTD edits on my FYP in addition to AKOT7K, so it's been on my mind a lot.
High Valyrian translations from valyriantranslate.com, they're in bold
An unknown woman wearing Targaryen colours and symbols is brought to Ashford Castle by the guards, and the situation quickly turns dire.
My AKOT7K Masterlist HOTD Masterlist coming soon!
One of the Targaryen guards rides to the yard, out of breath and dismounts with haste, leaving the reins dangling as he hurries inside. The Ashford guards tense as the man moves with a frantic pace, hinting at something being terribly wrong.
It is not long after that when the rest of the entourage that has ventured out to search for the missing princes returns, but they are escorting a woman, not the young princes they were meant to find. Her posture is straight and regal, eyes sweeping over the yard, making the men quickly tick their heads in. Theyâve never seen or heard of anyone like her, but she carries herself in a way that promises trouble for the people who disrespect her.
You stand with a rigid posture, very unnerved by the hostile behavior of the guards. Had something happened in your absence? Your mind is hazy, making it hard to grasp onto a memory youâve had last, but you do remember clearly speaking with your husband, your hand in his as you watched the scenery ahead of you.
Then, you see more men arrive at the yard, dressed in the familiar colors of the Targaryen house, but your nerves do not ease. You do not recognize one of them. They still see you standing there, the intricate dragon youâve painstakingly stitched cascading down the hem of your gown, in full view, the diadem of twisting flames on your forehead glinting in silver. The two eldest share a look, clearly unnerved.
âBring her to us.â It is a silent command, snipped and curt, but it is put into effect immediately.
You are accosted from both sides and forced forward, and your anger flares.
âSÈłzdaghonys nyke! (Release me!)â Your voice cuts through the cooling eve, the mother tongue of your husband slipping out in your outrage. You wrench your arm free from a guard's hold and give him a venomous glare while rubbing the spot where you know a bruise will form.
âMy husband will have your head.â You hiss, straightening your back and giving a withering look to the men still awaiting you ahead.
âIf you wish to speak to me, you can simply ask.â
You now stand in front of them, after making your own way, trying to keep your unease hidden. You do not know these people. They wear the same colors as you do, but you know nothing more of them. Theyâve introduced themselves, spoken their titles with ease and practice. You are simply staring at them, as the dark-haired one announces himself as the heir to the throne. Princess Rhaenyra is Viserysâ heir, has been for a time now. Your hand winds around the hilt of the knife Daemon had gifted you, the twists of the intricate dragon handle soothing your nerves as you stand there in front of the crowd, evaluated like a pig headed for slaughter.
Oh, how you wish Daemon were here with you. There would not be these prying eyes inspecting you, no whispers you are forced to pretend you cannot hear. They speak of you being an impostor, of dirtying the name of the royal family, and it angers you.
There is a long silence, but you abide it, not letting emotion show on your face.
âSparos Äegenkon DÄmalion dÄmassis? (Who holds the Iron Throne?)â The question comes from Baelor, quiet yet even as he inspects you from head to toe, brow drawn into a frown. The Valyrian makes you still, evaluating the man in front of you.
âViserys I Targaryen. King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. Last rider of Balerion, The Black Dread. The brother of my husband.â You speak his title with such ease that youâve clearly spoken it many times before. Baelor still evaluates you with a raised brow, and Maekar has stilled his pacing, now staring openly.
There is a screeching cry, and the people in the yard shift, glancing around in fright. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as it sounds again, louder and louder. You know that sound. It is as familiar to you as your own voice, and while it fills others with dread, it is a calming sound to you. Your husband grows near.
Caraxes slides out of the clouds, red wings taking over the sky, serpentine body twisting and turning as he evaluates for a place to land. His lithe body dives, and people yell in alarm as he approaches, another roar splitting the sky. The ground shakes as his hind legs meet the ground, gouging deep grooves, his wings folding in as his forelegs grasp onto the wall of Ashford Castle, the stone crumbling under his weight. Guards shout in alarm, stumbling backwards. The Targaryens stare as Caraxes screeches again, the sound deafening as his neck slithers lower.
The rider dismounts, climbing down from the saddle with agility, the gravel rustling as he drops down. You hear his steps, the rustle as he removes his helmet, and the bang it gives as he tosses it to the side. A startled murmur spreads in the crowd as his silvery hair falls to his back, violet eyes darting around the yard. You do not need to turn, you see him clearly in your mind. Instead, you keep your eyes on the Targaryens ahead, a brow now quirked, daring them to accuse you now.
Only when Daemon stills next to you, one hand coming to rest on your belly, while the other tilts your head up for a kiss, do you look up at him. His eyes inspect you in a glance, raving over you for any injuries. Your fingers wind around his wrist and give it a reassuring squeeze, shaking your head as you let your head drop to his chest, heaving a breath of relief. All is well now.
Caraxes reaches his head towards you, eyes darting between the men of the yard. They quickly drop their gazes as the sight of the blood-wyrmâs eye pierces them.
âSagon sÈłzorys, CĂĄârauxethnos. (Be calm, Caraxes.)â You coo, fingers sliding along his scales as the beast hums, nudging you gently with his head. Daemon resists the urge to shake his head, biting his tongue to remark about you turning his war-dragon into a kitten. Instead, he steps forward, inspecting the men with a glance. They are foreign for him too, but he has learned in his years to evaluate his opponents first (your influence, Viserys insists).
So, he offers a stiff bow, introducing himself while you lavish Caraxes with affection. You catch one of the younger Targaryens staring at the dragon with an almost divine adoration in his gaze. One of the guards makes the mistake of stumbling too close to Caraxes, and the dragon reacts immediately, his growl shaking the earth, hissing as the man backs away in a panic. The yard shifts as the dragon raises his head and releases a shrieking cry, stretching his body out to cry towards the skies. Caraxes, too, is disoriented and on edge of the strange situation, and it does not bode well.
Daemon calls for you then, gentle and loving, and you leave Caraxes as you make your way to his side, your favourite place in the world. He introduces you to the men properly, hand brushing on the skin of your bare arm in passing, making shivers race up your spine. His affection is warm, even if his exterior is hardened, posture stiff as he ponders over words.
But before he can gather the words, his eyes darken as they catch the bruise on your wrist.
âWho - did - that.â He demands, and the silence that falls across the yard is deafening. You shake your head, hand pressing to his chest, trying to soothe and calm him. He does suck in a deep breath, but the fire burns in his eyes, hot as ever, as his eyes meet yours.
âDaemon.â You plead, shaking your head.
âIt will fade by tomorrow.â He simply shakes his head.
âHe left a mark on you. I will not abide it.â His voice is even, deceptively calm, as his gaze finds the guard. Baelor speaks up for the first time in a while.
âI cannot allow you to harm Ser Grendling. He was acting under orders-â
âI do not give a fuck about orders. He laid hands on my wife, left a mark on her.â
The man has realized the severity of his situation and is now begging.
âPl-Please, m-my prince. Let me keep my head.â Daemon does not blink as the guard pleads for his life.
âYou will not part with your head tonight.â He promises evenly, and the man sags in relief.
âThank-â He begins, but Daeron pays him no further mind, speaking to his dragon.
âDracarys.â The command is silent, almost inaudible, but Caraxes hears it, head rearing up.
Your eyes close as the dragonâs head rises, eyes locked on the poor knight. You hear the anguished cry that cuts off, feel the heat of the fire, and the rustle as it fades away. The yard is covered in spots of fire that crackle while dying out, left by the intense heat of dragonfire. Caraxes crumbles, his head reaching down for the two of you, weight shifting on the wall, causing more stone to rain down. The ash shifts with the air, dancing on the black-stained stone, then the yard is silent still.
*****
Masterlists coming soon!
Leave a comment if you want to be added to Daemon's or for my masterlist for all characters, AKOT7K and HOTD alike.
Planning to start watching House of the Dragon tomorrow for the first time! Thought it was a good time after putting it off for so long now that season 3 is coming out soon.
See you on the other side, hopefully with some new fic ideas! Anyone you particularly want to see? Iâve been growing some affection for Gwayne Hightower from the edits Iâve been seeing everywhere, and I have been writing a Daemon Targaryen piece for a while now (planning to post it today/tomorrow), so theyâre definitely thereâŠ
Donât worry, I have new ideas brewing for AKOT7K too, and the old ones are under work as well. I hopefully get them out soon now that Iâm on vacation, yaaaay! I still have to get some stuff done for my doctoral research, but itâs measuring horses so it really doesnât feel like work when I get to spend time with horsies â€ïž Other than that, I will be reading a lot of books.
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms & The Pitt
Pairing/Characters: Baelor Targaryen x reader
Word count: ~ 2600
Includes: Modern!AU with The Pitt! Love, family love, fluff, Dana being the boss
Warnings: car crashes, injuries, head injuries, cuts, scrapes, stiches
Other: Long time no see! I've been sick and busy, but I have been getting new ideas in the past few days, so I hope to get them out soon! This fic is a Part 1 of the Crash of Seven - series, which is a crossover with The Pitt. This oneshot will also have a part 2!
Your serene life is turned upside down when you are involved in a pile-up accident. You walk away with some scrapes and bruises, but your husband is not so lucky.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Baelor's Masterlist
The gurney is wheeled into the Pitt, Robbyâs head snapping up at the frantic tone of the EMTs, their hands still working on the weakly moving man.
â39-year-old man, a crushing injury to the back of the head. In and out of consciousness, all extremities moving and tactile.â They ramble off the stats, gurney wheels quietly squeaking against the floor.
âYouâre okay, sir, weâll take good care of you. Can you tell me your name?â Robby prods him, moving some tubes out of the way, to get ready to move him onto the bed.
âBaelor,â his voice is breathless, thin with pain. And yet he still utters your name, eyes flashing open to search for your figure in panic.
âMy wife, where is she?â He groans as he lands onto the bed with a thud, Santos flipping the flashlight into his eyes as he tries to dodge.
âPupils equal and reactive. The head wound is bleeding heavily, but I think I see some skull, so itâs definitely a neuro case. Iâll page them to send someone down here?â With Robbyâs nod, she hurries to it, speaking with a low voice into the phone.
But before he can think of the next course of action, Baelor captures his wrist in his hold, making the doctor still. The grip is strong.
âMy wife.â He repeats, his vision blurring, his muscles straining as he tries to rise, but his body refuses to obey.
âShe was in the car with me.â Every word feels like he is breathing through glass shards, but he must know. His head is muddled, everything a jumbled mess, but the thought of you is clear.
âMy colleagues are working on her. Sheâs in the best of hands. We must focus on you, now.â Robby assures him, a hand pressing onto Baelorâs shoulder to keep him lying on the gurney and possibly from doing greater harm to himself.
Doctor Conley enters then, and her face falls serious when he sees the damage to Baelorâs head.
âWhat have you gotten into this time, Robinawitch?â She sighs as she walks to take a closer look and pulls on a pair of gloves. Santos hurriedly approaches, ready to assist the surgeon in anything she can.
****
Santos is a bit annoyed that the patient went up so fast, but she knows you do not mess with head wounds. But her annoyance blurs when she spots the ring in Baelorâs right middle finger, the dragon wound around a bright red gem, and her eyes go wide. She hustles out of the room and lies down against the nurses' station, where Whitaker is working on his paperwork.
âYou know who I was treating just now, Huckleberry?â She drawls, eyes twinkling with excitement and newfound gossip. Princess senses this and hovers close by, pretending to read orders while eavesdropping.
Dennis does not look up, just hums, which earns him a punch to the arm.
âItâs Baelor fucking Targaryen. Heâs here, in the hospital.â
âWho?â Dennis, all the more the lost puppy with the confused look he is sporting, and Trinityâs huff of exasperation turns into a snort of amusement.
âOh, Huckleberry. You gotta get out into the real world, leave the farm widow to her life. The Targaryens own most of the buildings up-town, like two of them are some sort of high-and lawyers, and ⊠well, fuck do I know, but theyâre loaded. They even have their own Formula 1 racing team!â Her voice rises slowly as she speaks, and some eyes turn to stare just as Javadi arrives, a brow quirked.
âWhatâs got into you, know, Trin?â Her grin is wide, and a smile ghosts on Dennisâ lips before he returns to his papers.
****
The EMTs have just wheeled you into the Pitt, eyes wildly darting around, trying to make sense of it all. Your arm and leg throb, and tears brim in your eyes as the gurney slides over a seam in the floor, making your whole body jolt. You cannot quite understand how youâve walked away with a probably broken leg and a scraped-up arm while your husbandâŠ
There had been so much blood, screaming, and crying before the sirens. Finally, a burst of people, hurriedly assuring the two of you while extracting him, their faces grim as theyâd rushed him away. You were right behind him in the next ambulance, pleading for the EMTs for some details, Baelorâs name a desperate plea as they drove you towards the hospital.
Dread squeezes your chest as youâre moved to the bed. There is no trace of your husband anywhere, and you do not know if it is a good or a bad sign. You wipe the tear that escapes away with the back of your hand, but still manage to smear blood onto your cheekbone, but you donât notice.
It feels as if youâre freezing, like all the warmth had been sucked out of the world and youâd been left there, alone, to fend for yourself.
âMy husband?â Your voice shakes, either with cold or fright or shock, you do not know.
âI donât know, but I will find out for you.â One of the nurses gives you a sympathetic look and ducks out of the room. The remaining doctors and nurses move around you, poking and prodding, asking questions here and there. You sit still, answering as in a daze, your mind clear yet somehow muffled.
âMaâam, can you move your toes ?â You give them a wiggle, grimacing slightly when you move your left, and the doctor nods, tapping something into his tablet. A x-ray machine is wheeled in, and you lie still as they snap a few of your limbs, making sure everything is as it should be and that the glass shards have not penetrated deeper. Your leg is deemed broken, and an order for a cast is typed in, but they apologize as it might take a while, as the pileup is making the Pitt quite busy.
âPlease, call me by my name, maâam makes me sound so old.â They release the neck brace and help you sit up, their exam on you slowly finishing.
âOld? Sweetheart, youâre not old.â A nurse, a blonde woman with a do-not-fuck-with-me attitude, enters the room and gives you a warm smile.
âIâm Dana. I heard from Dr Robby that your husband was taken into surgery. Theyâre optimistic, and Dr Conley is one of the best in her field.â An exhale leaves your lungs, a small sting tugging your heart, as a part of you wishes that youâd been able to speak to him before. Just in case. If⊠if the worst were to happen.
Your sigh is shaky as your eyes drop to the arm they are still working on, and freeze with a grimace. It is somehow worse now, oozing blood, horrible and mangled, tears well in your eyes, as you begin to realize the severity of your own situation, as youâd been too invested in worrying over Baelor to think of yourself.
âDonât worry, weâll fix you right up. It looks worse than it is. Dr Langdon here will clean it, and weâll go from there.â Dana is quick to assure you and gives the doctor a look. His smile is tight-lipped, focused intently on your wound, but his smile is warm as he glances up at you.
âYouâll need some stitches. It will take a few weeks to heal, but itâs not broken. The glass shards need to be picked out first, but then someone will stitch you up.â More tears escape, and you wipe them away, trying to process the situation youâre in with your brain whirring a hundred miles a minute, thoughts reaching new extremes every few moments.
When Dana sees the way your hand shakes as you return it to your lap and squeeze it into the blanket, she places her hand on your forearm. But your thoughts are racing too fast for you to note her closeness or the warmth of her hand. Baelor had lost consciousness in the crash, not coming to even with your pleading. Youâd not been able to reach for him, squeezed between the mangled seat and door, hanging partly loose, not able to check his pulse, not able to touch him, reach him. What would you do if he wouldnât wake up? What would happen to you and the boys? How could you keep on living? Would it be-?
âCan you hear me?â Danaâs voice reaches you like through fog, and you blink rapidly, only now noting your racing heart and shallow breathing. Her hands squeeze yours even tighter, calling for your name again, and you take in a deep breath, even if they hitch before youâre able to fill your lungs fully.
But it helps, Danaâs touch. The sounds and smells of the Pitt are starting to reach you again as your breathing begins to even out slowly.
âIs there someone we can call for you?â Her voice is gentle and calm, her presence like a soothing balm over your worries as you begin to return to yourself.
âM-my sons. Their numbers are in my phone.â You glance at your purse, relieved that it has been brought here with you. You were in no condition to try and remember phone numbers.
For a moment, a heartbeat, youâd thought of Baelor, the only one whose phone number you DID remember. He has always been there, a beacon of light in any storm, but now, heâs having brain surgery. And you donât know how to feel. She fishes your phone out, and you give her the passcode as she scrolls through your list of contacts, scribbling down the numbers into a small notepad.
âYou might have trouble getting through, their managers look over the phone lines, but say itâs honey calling, youâll get through.â She quirks her brow in curiosity, and you breathe a laugh, a bit strangled but otherwise very welcome in this barrage of a day.
âItâs what my husband calls me. He does it so much that Iâm mostly honey now.â You only manage a hiccuped laughter, but Dana counts it as a win. At least youâre not spiraling anymore.
âIâll be back when Iâve gotten hold of your sons. Take good care of her, Langdon.â She flashes a look at the doctor next to you, who just shakes his head.
âYou know I will.â
âShe likes to give me a hard time.â He explains to you, voice a bit flat, and you manage a wavering smile.
âI donât see why. I think youâre doing a good job.â You see the corner of his mouth twitch as he catches himself, nodding solemnly. You sit in silence as he works, his focus solely on your arm.
****
Dr. Langdon continues his meticulous work for what seems like to you like hours, all the while you wait for news about Baelor with bated breath. Dana promised to check for you again and had ducked out of the room. She soon returns to report that she got in contact with your sons and that they are on their way, and that your husband is still in surgery, but the nurses there report that the surgery is going well.
âI have never been questioned so much in my life.â Her laugh is infectious, and you manage to hum, a smile tugging your lips too.
âTell me about them. Both sounded like such smart young men.â Langdon is almost ready to start sticking, Â heâd ducked out to get the supplies, and she hopes to distract you from your wound and worry for your husband. And you take the distraction, grasping onto it with an almost desperate focus.
You speak uninterrupted for a good while, so that Langdon has managed to stick you with the numbing agent, and it has had time to take effect, and now he is in the process of poking different spots to determine if you feel them.
âMatarys is 17, but he doesnât live at home anymore either, heâs so busy with basketball that heâs living on campus. And Valarr is god-knows-where, I never remember where he is playing on which weekend, the jet always takes us there, and-â You flush as youâre forced to suck in a deep breath of air, realizing that how much youâd been talking. Youâve not even noticed that the people inside seem to have doubled, a group of younger doctors now having a conversation in low voices in the corner.
âOh, Iâm rambling, Iâm sorry, itâs just-â Dana cuts you off with a laugh and a tap of her hand on yours.
âRamble all you want, darling. You were in a car crash. Itâs good to hear you speak. Letâs us know thereâs nothing going on in that head of yours. Langdon will stitch you up now, but keep talking, you wonât even notice.â She gives a wink that has you jolting in suprise as the needle pierces your skin, but as you look away and cannot feel it, you begin slowly relaxing. The rising bruise on your forehead catches Danaâs eye, and she gives it a brush of her fingers, but says nothing when you donât react.
One of the younger doctors speaks up then, hesitantly.
âJet?â A peal of laughter escapes you, despite it all.
âOh, yes. A private jet. Wife of a Targaryen.â You brandish your ring with a flush rising to your cheek as their eyes widen in recognition.
âI am perhaps the most spoiled woman on this planet.â An affectionate eye roll, which soon turns serious.
âHas- Has there been any news of my husband?â You glance at Dana with apology, embarrassed to be asking again , but she shakes her head, giving you a smile.
âNot yet, no. I can go ask again?â
âPlease.â Your words are a whisper, and she gives you a warm nod.
âOh, and rounds are going to be here soon, so donât mind the students. They ask a lot of questions, but theyâre learning.â She warns with a wink before slipping out.
But their appearance is a welcome distraction to your worrying, and you answer all their questions and listen to the doctors discussing your case and even if you do not understand much of it. They are almost ready to leave when someone glances at your chart again before turning to stare at you with wide eyes.
âWait. Targaryen- Are you related to Valarr Targaryen, the hockey player?â
âHeâs my son.â You beam with pride, and the small room bursts full with questions about his autographs and his future plans, and his dating prospects.
You are in the process of answering some while avoiding others when Dana appears and, with a single look, parts the crowd like Moses.
âGet to work! There are plenty of patients to take care of. There's no need to swarm here and overwhelm patients.â They leave, some with shoulders hunched while others are still talking frantically amongst themselves, glancing back at you. As the room falls silent again, you try to settle more comfortably onto the bed. Your room is silent now, regrettably alone with your thoughts. Youâre able to peer at the people passing by, the hustle of people only growing as more and more gurneys are wheeled by your room
*****
All AKOT7K characters taglist: @baelorandmaekarinparis @qardasngan @jtrstp @thatshadowintheuniverse
To join all characters' Taglists, leave a comment here!
Baelor Targaryen taglist: @flyinglama @kelssssxd @qardasngan @thorins-queen-of-erebor @f-wrtr @pear-1206 @tweebylamb @livesforloveotp @too-strong-to-lose
To join the Baelor Targaryen taglist, leave a comment on the masterlist!
I've been busy with my doctorate studies, the deadline for research funding was yesterday so I had to put in more work to get the applications out before it, and I got a flu to top it off, so I've not been feeling my best.
But I am finally feeling better AND after rewatching AKOT7K while sick, I have some fresh ideas brewing even if I haven't had time to write any of them down yet.
This weeks posting days: (hopefully) Friday! Edit: Sorry, no post, flu still kicking my butt :(
My asks and requests are open! Send ideas for anyone of AKOTSK!
Upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon:
Baelor's Daughter!reader and Lyonel fall in love at the Tourney, for this ask
Lyonel falls in love with a mysterious woman, who turns out to be a Targaryen princess. After recovering from the shock, Lyonel begins a persistently courting reader. Request, this ask!
Part 2 of Fear and reassurance with Lyonel and reader living a happy life, with pure fluff!
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot (Pitt/AKOT7K crossover). Lyonel is a succesful writer, returning home from a succesful signing event when the crash happens. Shamelessly flirts with reader (nurse/doctor?) but she is not charmed so easily.
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen:
Reader gets a prediction from a fortune teller that she will never be queen. She takes it to mean she will die before him, but little does she know. Angst? Inspired by this post.
Part 2 of Birth of a Princess with Helena, the People's Princess.
Baelor goes crazy when you take a knife meant for him
A sequel/companion piece to the fic above with the reader having nerves about planning a royal wedding.
Modern!Au, Baelor as a headmaster, and he has an unconventionally young (looking?) wife, whom someone mistakes for his daughter/student.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Baelor is a part of the crash, and suffers a quite severe head injury. Reader, his wife, was in the car with him but has lesser injuries.
Maekar Targaryen x reader
Grumpy x Sunshine trope, Maekar gifts reader flowers.
Maekar is required to marry again very soon after Dyanna's death, and he is not happy, and is quite cold towards reader. The king expects more children to come from the union. Reader gets closer to his children, especially the younger ones, and their relationship slowly warms with time. For this ask.
Reader encourages Maekar to get know his children better, and the relationships slowly mend with reader's help, and their relationships grows at the same time. For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Maekar is driving home from a company retreat with his coworkers, when they are a part of the crash. Reader and the younger children visit him.
Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Part 4 of Disparate dragons, where Eragon and Murtagh have had enough of reader's hiding, and come to fetch her home. But reader and Pherea strongly disagree.
Raymun Fossoway x reader
Baker's daughter!reader, meet cute! Sorta inspired by this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, but I am currently idealess for him :(
Aerion Targaryen x reader
Stark!reader who takes no shit from anyone and owns a direwolf catches Aerion's eye. Inspired by this post.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Very angry that his new car was totaled, and is a kind of a jerk to everyone before reader arrives and straightens him out.
Daeron Targaryen x reader
Baratheon!reader where Daeron dreams of her and she falls for him instantly. Lyonel is not happy (the only good dragon is a dead dragon), and his family isn't delighted either. For this ask!
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Robby's Daughter!reader, where her Pitt-family meets him for the first time. He comes in smelling of wine (he's in AA and has relapsed again), and security and police are suspicious, but he wasn't driving, he took an Uber (driver in surgery, he was texting while driving?).
Ser Roland Crakehall
Part 4 to Forbidden
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
Perhaps A "Crash of Seven" piece as well, but I am idealess as of now.
Ser Duncan the Tall
Modern!AU, where Duncan is getting a degree as an adult, and falls for a doctorate student when she holds a few lectures on the courses he is taking.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, where he comes to the hospital to look for Arlan, who'se "escaped" from the Pennytree nursing home.
yooo I just binged your entire "Forbidden" series and it's so sweet (Even tho it hurt meee= Roland doesn't get much love in the fandom, but please don't get discouraged from creating, it's SO Nice to see some variety and your writing is so very very delicious đžâšđđđđ«
Hiii, it's so nice to hear that you liked the series! Poor Roland definately does not get enough love and I want to write another series for him so baaad (if only I could get an idea for one).
I've been having diffculties with my writing so it's sooooo good to hear that you like it :3 <3
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Pairing/Characters: Ser Roland Crakehall x reader
Word count: ~ 2100
Includes:
Warnings: anger, the Trial of Seven of Ashford, injuries, blood, character death
Other: -
Your heartbreak has you bedbound until it is time for the Trial of Seven. Usually, you do not care for such events, but this time, you make an exception to hopefully witness your cousins downfall.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Roland's Masterlist
You remain in your chambers for the next day, silent, your whole body numb. You do not feel the warmth of the sunâs rays as they brush your skin, nor the cold stone as you sit hunched against the wall, knees pulled to your chest. Baelor tries to speak with you, but you do not answer him, refusing to even look him in the eye.
Only Valarr can coax a conversation out of you. And even then, it is in broken sentences and words here and there. But at least with him, youâre eating. He watches silently as you tear into the bread roll, dipping it into the broth of your soup, showing it into your mouth, and chewing as if you cannot taste it.
It is only at the morn when Valarr comes to tell you of the Trial of Seven to happen that you do perk up.
âIâll need to dress myself, then.â You straighten your back, and for the first time since Ser Crakehallsâ banishment, you begin to look like yourself. Valarr cannot quite discern where the chance is coming from.
âYouâve never particularly been interested in tourneys before?â Valarr questions you gently.
âI donât. They bore me half to death. But now I might get to witness Aerionâs death, and I am not wasting such a chance.â Your eyes burn with mirth as you all but shove him outside, calling for your ladies who hurry to help you dress. Valarr is left standing in the hallway, alone. He cannot decide if he is relieved or worried that you are beginning to return to your old self, at least partly.
***
You sit at the stands, solemn and silent as you watch your cousin brandish his forces as Duncan gathers his. You see Daeronâs pale face as they ride past, and wish to offer him a smile of comfort, but you will not show an ounce of companionship to the man riding behind him. Aerion is covered head to toe in Targaryen armor, and the sight almost makes you sick. How can a monster such as him be of your blood? Youâd hate him even if he hadnât forced the man you love into hiding.
Ser Duncanâs riders have gathered at the end, and you can recognize some of them. Ser Lyonel Baratheon is hard to miss, his antlered helm rising above everyone elseâs. Sers Beesbury and Hardyng in their house colours and the freshly knighted Fossoway, of course, his newly painted green coat of arms proudly on display. The two others you cannot place. One is an older man, without a helmet, while the other wears simple armor, much like Ser Duncan, and sits still and silent in the saddle of his horse.
You cannot ponder longer on their identities as Aerionâs voice rings above all else.
âI will not have a crippled knight fighting against me, it is unbecoming!â Aerion barks, and Maekar gives him a burning glare, but the prince does not see it, sitting proudly atop his horse.
âSo, hedge knight. Youâre still one rider short.â He mocks, and Duncan pleads with Lord Ashford for more time. When it is granted, your watch as Ser Duncan valiantly tries to rally the crowd for his sixth, only to receive silence and mockery in return. You feel Valarr shift next to you, but he cannot make it to stand before the doors burst open.
When the horse gallops in, you think for a moment that it is your brother. But as Valarr is sitting next to you, you watch with the others as your father removes the helm and announces that he will be riding for Ser Duncan.
âDid you know he was planning this?â You hiss at your brother, who is staring down at the field with a shocked expression, which tells you all you need to know.
You can barely watch as the trial begins, the forces slamming together, horses shrieking, and lances splintering. Aerion has unhorsed Ser Duncan, but is knocked off his horse by Ser Baratheon when the Prince takes a moment too long to revel in his supposed victory. He makes to attack the felled knight, but is interrupted by the unknown knight, unhorsed as well, and their blades crash with a deafening shriek. Your sight of them is blocked by Baratheon accosting the Kingsguard, forcing them to back away on their horses as Aerion charges Ser Duncan.
You can hear the cries of men and thundering of hooves, as your vision blurs for a moment, covering your face. But soon, you peek between your fingers when Valarr sucks in a breath, just in time to see Ser Dunca rise. Dark bloom of satisfaction rises in your chest as he attacks Aerion with newfound strength, wringing his shield out of his hold. Your uncle sees his son in trouble and tries to make it to him, but your father and Ser Baratheon grab him, forcing him back. The Fossoways are battling each other as the unknown knight rides past, helmet still on his head, and dismounts with fires and knocks right into Maekar just as he is about to strike your father. They land in a heap on the ground, the force knocking their helmets askew.
Maekar is stunned into silence for a moment but recovers soon at his sonâs pained voice, now facing three. The helms are thrust aside, visors distorted, and your heart freezes when you recognize the curly head of hair of the man standing against your uncle.
âRoland.â Valarrâs hand tightens on yours as your nails dig into the wood of the chair. He was supposed to be away, somewhere your familyâs ugliness would not reach him anymore. It had been your only consolation in your longing for him. You do not feel yourself rise or Valarrâs hold slip away from you, despite how it has tightened against your wrist. You head down to the field in a haze, determined.
When you make it down the stands, pushing past your brother yet again and onto the muddy and bloodied field, there are still raised voices on the field, despite the trial being over. Aerion had yielded, and Ser Duncan had been escorted off the field by his friends, your father limping to follow.
âYou attacked me! You swore an oath, to not harm a Prince of the blood!â Maekar growls, but Roland faces him with an even look, wiping his sword on his brown cloak.
âI am not of the Kingsguard any longer, my lord. Your brother forced me out this morning. I am a free man, able to choose what fights to partake in and for whom.â Roland cares little for what the people around him think. Heâs chosen a side and fought well, and the Gods have decreed Ser Duncan as the righteous winner.
Ser Baratheon limps closer and gives him a clap on Rolandâs shoulder, grimacing as his weight settles onto his injured leg.
âGood lad. If you need a new lording to serve, Stormâs End could always use a skilled man such as you.â Roland does not respond, just gives a stiff nod of thanks, not moving his eyes from Prince Maekar, who is watching him with an unreadable expression.
Only when the rustle of your gown catches Rolandâs attention does he turn, hand on his side to brace an injury. Maester Yormwell is still tending to Aerion, but you will have him see to Roland as well, your father be damned.
You break into a sprint and collide into his chest, his arms find your waist, and his embrace surrounds you tightly. His laugh is warm as he presses his forehead to yours, breathing deep. Tears run freely down your cheeks as he sets you down, your hands rising to cup his cheeks.
âYou came back.â An almost choked laugh bubbles free from you as you rest your head on his chest, fingers finding his clothes, winding tightly into the dirtied fabric.
âI never leftâ. He confesses, coughing, hands loosening on your shoulders as he staggers. You pull back, brow drawing into a frown, Â just to look down at the large red stain on your gown.
âR-Roland?â
His legs give out, and he tumbles down. Your strength is not enough to keep him upright as he fails. He lands with a thump, hand flying to his side, his clothing shifting to reveal a dagger buried up to the hilt in his side. Your head spins, cold waves rushing along your skin.
âMaster Yormw-ell!â Your call is frantic, and your voice breaks in the middle. But the pure terror in your tone has the tone of the field shifting.
Maekar stills as you land on your knees next to Roland, the kid squeezing, but you cannot even feel it covering your arms and legs. Your eyes are hazy with tears as Roland coughs, blood bubbling from his lips, and you wipe it away with the sleeve of your gown, one of your hands rising to cup his cheek. His hand rises to your wrist, eyes pleading as his breathing rasps, his mouth opening and closing without words escaping. You try to soothe him, sobs cutting off your words, tears falling to the ground, mixing with the mud and blood.
Maester Yormwell arrives then, aged bones popping as he kneels by Rolandâs side. Recognition and relief flood the young knight's eyes as he recognizes the man who has patched him up many times before. The clothing is peeled away, the wound is revealed, ugly and ragged, the knife pushed in all the way to the hilt. Its handle, shaped like a serpentine dragon, glints in the firelight. Rolandâs fingers twitch around your wrist, eyes flitting to yours.
To your terror, despite the maesterâs care, Rolandâs hold is growing lax and breathing turning shallow. He coughs again, weaker, breathing turning to a gasping rasp. The maester stills for a moment.
âSave him.â You hiss, hand finding his forearm and your nails digging deep as you force his hand to the wound. The blade is now removed, and cloths are shoved into the wound to staunch the bleeding, but they are already soaked through.
Your hands have taken the place of Maeater Yormwellâs, pressing the bloodied bandage to the wound. More tears fall, but you pay them little mind, praying to the gods to save him.
âPrincess.â A solemn voice sounds as a hesitant hand is placed on your shoulder.
âYou must step back.â Ser Baratheon stands there, solemn, an unreadable look in his eyes.* You shake your head but arms wind around your waist, and this hold you recognize.
âValarr, let me go.â You bewail, reaching for Roland in desperation as Maester Yormwell continues his work, moving so that he is blocking the wound from your gaze.
You struggle against Valarrâs hold, his hands tightly wound around your waist has he pulls you back, boots squelching in the sopping wet mud, balance faltering as you still fight against him, tooth and nail.
âLet - me - go!â You manage to shove your elbow deep into his side, hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs, and his hold on you releases as he nearly doubles over.
You land on your knees next to Roland, one hand rising to his cheek as your other captures his hand, squeezing tight.
âI am here-.â You coo, hiccuping with a sob, and his eyes flit to you, warmth washing on his face, fleeting and soft. Your name is a whisper on his lips as your thumb soothes his face, gentle, loving.
The wound has stopped bleeding now, and you think it's good. But Maester Yormwell rises, shaking his head slowly. And Roland, you realize that Roland lies in silence. Unmoving. His eyes seem glazed over. Chest no longer rising and falling. There is no thrum of life against your wrist on his neck.
He is still.
Gone.
Dead.
You shriek as the reality hits, animalistic and filled with grief. Your fatherâs arms encircle your waist now, having just arrived to witness the death of the knight and your sorrow. He pulls you back gently, bracing your head against his chest to spare you the sight any longer. You struggle and curse, struggling against him. But it is no use. Baelor glances over his shoulder only once to meet Maekarâs eyes. No words are exchanged, but the young knight will receive the honorable burial of the Kingsguard.
When you stumble in the mud, exhausted but still a mess of rage and some, Baelor kneels slightly and picks you up into his arms, just like when you were younger. His own wounds are forgotten as your heart is ripped open, pain blooming fresh and harsh now. Your hands pound against his shoulders and chest, still fighting to escape his hold. But slowly, the tears are starting to overwhelm your anger, your shrieks now damp with sobs as reality slowly sets in.
Roland is dead.
By Aerionâs knife.
*****
*Okay, so Lyonel does not like the Targaryens, we all know this. But heâs not heartless, and he knows that the young knight is dying. He wants to spare the young princess from witnessing her belovedâs death right beside him.
Happy Monday, I hope you have a wonderful week ahead of you!
Week 21, May 2026 Posting days: Wednesday and Friday. //Edit: Iâve been sleeping terribly, so writing is not working, so a post only on Wednesday :(
My asks and requests are open! Send ideas for anyone of AKOTSK!
The weather has finally gotten better and warmer so we can truly get to measuring horses for my doctoral research. So I've spent a lot of time at the stables lately, but I've gotten some writing done too.
Upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon:
Baelor's Daughter!reader and Lyonel fall in love at the Tourney, for this ask
Lyonel falls in love with a mysterious woman, who turns out to be a Targaryen princess. After recovering from the shock, Lyonel begins a persistently courting reader. Request, this ask!
Part 2 of Fear and reassurance with Lyonel and reader living a happy life, with pure fluff!
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot (Pitt/AKOT7K crossover). Lyonel is a succesful writer, returning home from a succesful signing event when the crash happens. Shamelessly flirts with reader (nurse/doctor?) but she is not charmed so easily.
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen:
Reader gets a prediction from a fortune teller that she will never be queen. She takes it to mean she will die before him, but little does she know. Angst? Inspired by this post.
Part 2 of Birth of a Princess with Helena, the People's Princess.
Baelor goes crazy when you take a knife meant for him
A sequel/companion piece to the fic above with the reader having nerves about planning a royal wedding.
Modern!Au, Baelor as a headmaster, and he has an unconventionally young (looking?) wife, whom someone mistakes for his daughter/student.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Baelor is a part of the crash, and suffers a quite severe head injury. Reader, his wife, was in the car with him but has lesser injuries.
Maekar Targaryen x reader
Grumpy x Sunshine trope, Maekar gifts reader flowers.
Maekar is required to marry again very soon after Dyanna's death, and he is not happy, and is quite cold towards reader. The king expects more children to come from the union. Reader gets closer to his children, especially the younger ones, and their relationship slowly warms with time. For this ask.
Reader encourages Maekar to get know his children better, and the relationships slowly mend with reader's help, and their relationships grows at the same time. For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Maekar is driving home from a company retreat with his coworkers, when they are a part of the crash. Reader and the younger children visit him.
Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Part 4 of Disparate dragons, where Eragon and Murtagh have had enough of reader's hiding, and come to fetch her home. But reader and Pherea strongly disagree.
Raymun Fossoway x reader
Baker's daughter!reader, meet cute! Sorta inspired by this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, but I am currently idealess for him :(
Aerion Targaryen x reader
Stark!reader who takes no shit from anyone and owns a direwolf catches Aerion's eye. Inspired by this post.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Very angry that his new car was totaled, and is a kind of a jerk to everyone before reader arrives and straightens him out.
Daeron Targaryen x reader
Baratheon!reader where Daeron dreams of her and she falls for him instantly. Lyonel is not happy (the only good dragon is a dead dragon), and his family isn't delighted either. For this ask!
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Robby's Daughter!reader, where her Pitt-family meets him for the first time. He comes in smelling of wine (he's in AA and has relapsed again), and security and police are suspicious, but he wasn't driving, he took an Uber (driver in surgery, he was texting while driving?).
Ser Roland Crakehall
Parts 3 and 4 to Forbidden
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
Perhaps A "Crash of Seven" piece as well, but I am idealess as of now.
Ser Duncan the Tall
Modern!AU, where Duncan is getting a degree as an adult, and falls for a doctorate student when she holds a few lectures on the courses he is taking.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, where he comes to the hospital to look for Arlan, who'se "escaped" from the Pennytree nursing home.
Lyonel loves you and your children fiercely, and he is unaimaginably proud of all of you, never wasting an opportinity to show you or them off.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Lyonel's Masterlist
Boasting and babies
Warnings: Childbirth, threats, reader insert
Lyonel Baratheon is a large man, both in appearance and personality. When his wife gives birth to their firstborn, a son, he is so very proud.
Raw Emotions
Warnings: difficult birth, mentions of dying in childbirth, childbirth and the pain associated with it, fear of losing a loved one
The healers predicted an easy birth, with the child being your third, and your belly being smaller than it had been with your sons. But when man plans, Gods laugh. Can be read as a sequel to Boasting and Babies.
As Many as You'll Give Me
Warnings: childbirth, Girl!Dad Lyonel, reader insert, female!reader
Your sons meet their little sister and the people of Storm's End celebrate the new heir.
Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard x reader (Baelor's Daughter, princess)
You fall in love with Roland, and despite his vows and your family, you cannot keep away from one another.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Roland's Masterlist
Forbidden
Warnings: forbidden love, secret romance
You'd not meant for it to happen, to fall in love with one of the Kingsguard, but it had happened anyway, and you are quite happy for it.
Forbidden II
Warnings: getting caught, Kingsguard's vows, forbiden love, lovebites, Aerion is his own warning, anger, sexism and period/canon-typical attitudes
Your relationship to Roland is revealed, and your father is not pleased with either of you, and repercussions will be had. You're not going to let your father treat Roland or you this way, so you make a plan.
Forbidden III
Warnings: anger, the Trial of Seven of Ashford, injuries, blood, character death
Your heartbreak has you bedbound until it is time for the Trial of Seven. Usually, you do not care for such events, but this time, you make an exception to hopefully witness your cousins downfall.
Forbidden IV
COMING SOON
Warnings: Vengeance, death, murder
Grief can make a person do unimaginable things. *evil cackling*
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen x reader (female!reader, mother!reader)
The story of the births of your three children: Valarr, Matarys and Helena.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Baelor's Masterlist
Fics are in a chronological order despite being posted in a different one.
Each chapter has specific warnings.
The Second Son
Warnings: childbirth, pain, unconciousness/coma, almost dying from childbirth, kinda broken!Baelor, family fluff, happy ending, female!reader
The birth of Matarys does not go well, and it leaves you unconcious, clinging to life. Baelor is distraught, desperately wishing you back to health.
Before the Princess
Warnings: miscommunication, fear and assumed betrayal, talk of taking a second wife, assumptions are made, female!reader, reader insert
Baelor is shaken by the way he almost lost you to the birth of his second son, and pulls away in fear. You suspect he might want a younger wife, the rumors around the kingdom flying wild. Luckily, Maekar decides there is space for only one emotionally stunted person in the kingdom (him) and has the two of you talk things out.Â
Birth of a Princess
Warnings: pregnancy, birth, and the birthing process, and the pain that comes with it. Fear for mother's and baby's lives, mentions of unconscious babies, but no death
You are not happy that your husband chooses to leave your side when your pregnancy is nearing it's end. When the babe decides to arrive when their father is in the middle of the fight, your eldest has to step up.
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
*Pairing/Characters: Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen x reader
Word count: ~ 2200
Includes: family fluff, happy ending, female!reader
Warnings: childbirth, pain, unconciousness/coma, almost dying from childbirth, kinda broken!Baelor
Other: Prequel to Birth of a Princess and Before the Princess.
The birth of Matarys does not go well, and it leaves you unconcious, clinging to life. Baelor is distraught, desperately wishing you back to health.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Sons and Daughters Series Masterlist
When you jolt awake in the middle of the night, clutching your stomach, you know something is wrong. Your hand flies to Baelorâs, who wakes in a flash, eyes darting around the room wildly before they land on you,
âMy love, are you alright?â The shake of your head, lips pressed tight to stop a pained wail, has Baelor on his feet in a heartbeat.
He disappears from the room after hastily pulling a shirt over his bare chest. Guards jolt as he sprints down the hall past them, shirt inside out, but the prince pays little attention. Your ladies enter as he disappears from your sight, assisting you into a robe and gently guiding you up from the bed and towards the Maesterâs, which proves quite difficult with your legs shaking with the pain.
Baelor soon returns and, upon seeing you have trouble moving, sweeps you up into his arms and carries you the rest of the way. You are shaking now, biting your jaw shut to keep silent despite the pain, and he can see the tears pricking in your eyes. It pains him to see you in so much agony. As he gently lays you to rest on the bed, he sits himself next to you as you pant on the bed, your nails digging into the back of his hand. He coos at you gently, brushing sweat off your brow with a towel provided to him as the Maester studies you, the frown on his face deepening as you scream when the next contraction hits. The pain is different than with your first birth*. It feels different, wrong.
The pain seems like it never stops. Your body feels as if it is on fire, waves of pain torturing you without any true rest in between. The Maester forbids you from pushing the babe in the wrong position, and the pain wrecks you again and again, unyielding.
Baelor winces with your screams, tears brimming in his eyes. He had not been allowed in the room with Valarrâs birth, forced to listen on the other side of the door. But sitting here, seeing your pain, breaks something in him. He refuses to let go of your hand, eyes locked into yours, trying to stop his voice from shaking as he whispers gentle words of encouragement.
You squeeze his hand tighter as the pain rolls over you, jaw tight in agony as he blinks away the tears in his eyes, brushing away yours as they flow freely down your cheeks. He presses kisses to your forehead as he brushes your hair off your forehead, cooing soft words of encouragement. You can barely lift your head anymore, shivering, face flushed with sweat at the heat, with a fever.
The maester finishes examining you again, his voice even, almost flat.
âMy Prince, I must insist that you leave now.â The maester decrees, his face grim though he is trying to hide it. The man holds his hand up to guide Baelor out, but the prince does little to move. But even the crown prince must cave, the Maesterâs face tells there is room for little argument, especially with the lives of you and the unborn babe at risk.
Baelor feels numb as he presses another gentle kiss to your forehead and gives a tight squeeze to your hand before he forces himself away from you.
âBe strong, my love.â His whisper rings in your ears long after he is gone, infusing you with a burst of energy as another scream bursts free just as the door shuts behind him, leaving him in the darkened hall of the early morning, forced to listen to your torment from the other side of the door. Your cries have dulled into whimpers now, your eyes barely open as you pant, sweat beading on your forehead.
It takes hours more work, but your second son is born, finally. But he is limp, lifeless, and the healers begin working on him as the Maester tends to you, trying to stop you from falling unconscious. Or worse.
âA son.â The Maester announces, and a shade of a smile brushes your pale lips.
âMy son.â You manage, voice weak as your head lolls, trying to get a glimpse of him.
âHe is alive.â The maester is quick to assure you.
âQuite weak, but there is strong hope that he will live.â He finishes when the babe gives a small wail, weak but present. Your eyes slip closed, and he taps your cheek, trying to keep you conscious.
âPrince Baelor has requested to see you. Should I send him in?â But he gets no response, your eyes having slipped closed again.
But this time, they do not open again, your exhaustion too great, your body too tired to fight, and unconsciousness has taken hold. The Maester prays and hopes that you will recover with rest as he hurries to prepare more herbs.
When Baelor is called in, his worst fears are realized, and his knees buckle, forcing him to catch himself on the doorframe. You are lying unconscious, your skin a sickly shade of grey. The healers have cleaned you up, changed you into a white nightgown, and tucked you into bed, supported slightly upright with pillows. One is currently tapping a wetted rag on your lips, but there is no response from you.
The Maesterâs words ring in his head. Of you going unconscious soon after the birth, or of your weak state. Of him not knowing whether or not you would live, of your body fighting to cling to life, trying to cleanse itself of the fever that had risen, quick and high.
In the first hours of your unconsciousness, he remains unmoving by your bedside, your hand clutched into his. He does not move, just stays there, his fingers drawing patterns onto your hand, following the slow rise and fall of your chest. He sees you shiver, and he tugs the blankets higher on your body before returning his vigil at your side, watching your face for the faintest implication of ⊠anything.
****
Baelor doesnât even try to tend to his duties. All his time is spent by your bedside, or resting in his chambers at night when forced to, and offering support to his elder son, his younger still under the tight scrutiny of the wet nurses. He has been to see him, but a part of him feels sick to even enter. What if birthing him killed you? He knows, deep down, that the boy is innocent, barely a week old now, but the fear for you shoves all his senses away. He is barely a shell of a man, nearly out of his mind with fear and worry.
Matarys has regained full strength in the loving care of the dedicated nursemaids, the prince demanding and hungry from the moment he was strong enough to voice his opinions. Valarr is delighted with his little brother, but it barely shows. The young boy worries over you. Baelor finds him at the door to your charred chambers most nights, Â face wet with tears. Terrified. For you.
You remain at the healing ward still, under the watchful eye of the healers, and Baelor allows the boy to sleep in your shared bed, curling into the familiarity of your scent. Baelor is just as scared, desperately holding himself together in front of his son, offering the gentle comfort of a father.
But the moment his son is out of earshot, returned to his bed by a familiar nursemaid, the strength Baelor has collapses. The prince finds himself, time and time again, on his knees as he prays to the gods for your health, that they do not take you away from him.
âPlease.â His voice is hoarse as he yet again kneels by your bedside.
âPlease do not take her from me.â Tears fall freely as he sobs, desperately clinging to your hand as you lie there. Your figure is still as death save for the faint rising and falling of your chest, the only mark that you are still among the living.
It is nearly a week later when Maekar dares to enter the room to try and coax Baelor to venture out to his chambers to sleep. The attempt goes poorly, as the usually calm eldest brother grows furious and almost throws his younger brother out of the room. Everyone who even tries broaching the subject of leaving your bedside to him is promptly dismissed with an icy demeanor.
*****
Your eyes blink as they open, trying to make sense of the world as it slowly becomes clear again. Your mouth is dry, and every bit of you aches as you try to shift, but the pain flares and stops you from trying again. You roll your head to the side and are greeted by the sight of your husband, who stares at a wall, unmoving and unseeing. His skin, usually flushed with the warmth of the sun, is sickly pale. Dark circles around his eyes, his cheeks sunken, the usual light in his eyes dulled as he sits there, his hand in yours.
Giving his hand a gentle squeeze causes his eyes to fly to your face as he hastily calls for the maester before a sob escapes him. He buries his face next to your shoulder on the pillow, scared to touch you.
âYou are awake, my love.â He whimpers, trying to hold in his sobs, the grip he has on your hand is
tightening. You try to smile but manage only a grimace, your lips dry and cracked with thirst.
âOur son.â You manage to croak, and he nods, giving you a cup with a splash of water at the bottom. You down it in a moment, eyes begging him for more as he refills the cup, movements gentle and hesitant.
âThe babe is alright. Healthy and eating. He is named Matarys, just as we discussed. Valarr is worried for you, but he is well, too.â Baelor breathes, his voice breaking with disuse from the days and days spent in silence at your bedside. Â
âYou scared me. You scared me so. The Maester did not know-.â Even now, he cannot voice the words, his worst fear, even to you.
The maester enters, heaving a sigh of relief to see you awake. Prince Baelor is usually a sensible man, but with your unconsciousness, he has been more unpredictable as days have passed. Maester could not be sure of his safety in the Targaryen court if something had happened to you. And after inspecting you swiftly, there is a collective breath of relief as you are healing well, the most major danger now past.
A servant brings you your infant son in after peering into the room and seeing you awake. All your pain is forgotten as you take him into your arms, his purple eyes meeting yours as he coos, your face unfamiliar to him, but your heartbeat soon soothes him, and he settles to rest against you. Baelor sits by your bedside, hand closing around your free hand as your son rests in the crook of the other.
Sitting there, in the comforting silence of your presence, Baelor finally allows himself to cry. He lets the tears flow freely, clenching his jaw to stifle the sobs. He lets the fear flood away to rid himself of the days of exhaustion and worry.
Ever so slowly, your hand rises to his cheek, cupping it. Your touch on his skin is so gentle and soft, slowly soothing him. His breathing is evening out slowly, only hitching every once in a while as he watches you, the healthy glow of your skin showing signs of returning.
A soft knock sounds from the door, the familiar voice of Valarrâs nursemaid sounds from the door, hesitant and gentle.
âValarr wishes to see you, my lady, my lord.â Her head peers in, and she curtsies in the doorway with difficulty.
âShall I send him in?â You nod with enthusiasm, working to push yourself upright against the pillows. She backs away, and in the next moment, a flurry of moments enters, launching himself at you. Baelor manages to catch Valarr in the air and gently sets him on your bed.
âCareful, Valarr.â He reminds, and Valarr crawls to you, winding his arms around your neck, the babe resting against your chest. Valarr says nothing, his hold tightening by the moment as you feel wet tears against your skin.
âIâm okay, little love.â You coo gently, rubbing his back.
Baelor watches the three of you, a sense of calm flooding him as you coo over your sons, Valarr slowly calming down and smiling down at his brother, who has fallen asleep. At your inviting gesture, Baelor seats himself on the edge of your bed, Valarr scampers up into his lap, leaning against his chest, eyelids drooping. He winds his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before resting his forehead against your temple, slowly breathing in your scent, listening to the silent breathing of you and your sons in the room, even and stable.
*****
All AKOT7K characters taglist: @baelorandmaekarinparis @qardasngan @jtrstp @thatshadowintheuniverse
To join all characters' Taglists, leave a comment here!
Baelor Targaryen taglist: @flyinglama @kelssssxd @qardasngan @thorins-queen-of-erebor @f-wrtr @pear-1206 @tweebylamb @livesforloveotp
To join the Baelor Targaryen taglist, leave a comment his masterlist!
Happy Tuesday, I'm a bit late, but I hope the start of your week has been wonderful!
Week 20, May 2026
Posting days: Friday and possibly Sunday.
My asks and requests are open! Send ideas for anyone of AKOTSK!
I have gotten the fly of the century, and feel like a wet rag. I've been binge watching tv-shows (AKOT7K included) and writing motivation is building, but I do not trust my brain at the moment to produce anything worth... anything.
Also, I have been thinking of watching House of the Dragon, but something is holding me back... It could give me new characters to write for, tho... Daemon has been popping on my FYP a lot lately... ;)
Upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon:
Baelor's Daughter!reader and Lyonel fall in love at the Tourney, for this ask
Lyonel falls in love with a mysterious woman, who turns out to be a Targaryen princess. After recovering from the shock, Lyonel begins a persistently courting reader. Request, this ask!
Part 2 of Fear and reassurance with Lyonel and reader living a happy life, with pure fluff!
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot (Pitt/AKOT7K crossover). Lyonel is a succesful writer, returning home from a succesful signing event when the crash happens. Shamelessly flirts with reader (nurse/doctor?) but she is not charmed so easily.
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen:
Reader gets a prediction from a fortune teller that she will never be queen. She takes it to mean she will die before him, but little does she know. Angst? Inspired by this post.
Part 2 of Birth of a Princess with Helena, the People's Princess.
A Prequel to Before the Princess with broken!Baelor, where reader almost dies in childbirth and is unconcious and weak for weeks after.
Baelor goes crazy when you take a knife meant for him
A sequel/companion piece to the fic above with the reader having nerves about planning a royal wedding.
Modern!Au, Baelor as a headmaster, and he has an unconventionally young (looking?) wife, whom someone mistakes for his daughter/student.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Baelor is a part of the crash, and suffers a quite severe head injury. Reader, his wife, was in the car with him but has lesser injuries.
Maekar Targaryen x reader
Grumpy x Sunshine trope, Maekar gifts reader flowers.
Maekar is required to marry again very soon after Dyanna's death, and he is not happy, and is quite cold towards reader. The king expects more children to come from the union. Reader gets closer to his children, especially the younger ones, and their relationship slowly warms with time. For this ask.
Reader encourages Maekar to get know his children better, and the relationships slowly mend with reader's help, and their relationships grows at the same time. For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Maekar is driving home from a company retreat with his coworkers, when they are a part of the crash. Reader and the younger children visit him.
Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Part 4 of Disparate dragons, where Eragon and Murtagh have had enough of reader's hiding, and come to fetch her home. But reader and Pherea strongly disagree.
Raymun Fossoway x reader
Baker's daughter!reader, meet cute! Sorta inspired by this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, but I am currently idealess for him :(
Aerion Targaryen x reader
Stark!reader who takes no shit from anyone and owns a direwolf catches Aerion's eye. Inspired by this post.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Very angry that his new car was totaled, and is a kind of a jerk to everyone before reader arrives and straightens him out.
Daeron Targaryen x reader
Baratheon!reader where Daeron dreams of her and she falls for him instantly. Lyonel is not happy (the only good dragon is a dead dragon), and his family isn't delighted either. For this ask!
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Robby's Daughter!reader, where her Pitt-family meets him for the first time. He comes in smelling of wine (he's in AA and has relapsed again), and security and police are suspicious, but he wasn't driving, he took an Uber (driver in surgery, he was texting while driving?).
Ser Roland Crakehall
Parts 3 and 4 to Forbidden
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
Perhaps A "Crash of Seven" piece as well, but I am idealess as of now.
Ser Duncan the Tall
Modern!AU, where Duncan is getting a degree as an adult, and falls for a doctorate student when she holds a few lectures on the courses he is taking.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, where he comes to the hospital to look for Arlan, who'se "escaped" from the Pennytree nursing home.
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Pairing/Characters: Lyonel Baratheon x reader
Word count: ~1000
Includes: fluff, affection, GN!reader (let me know if any gendered language is used!)
Warnings: reader is angry, trial of Seven, slight teasing
Other: A short piece, I should write a longer one for Lyonel soon too!
My AKOT7K Masterlist Lyonel's Masterlist
The trial of Seven is over, and you are not impressed with how your husband handled the decision to fight for Ser Duncan. You are not angry that he did, you're angry that it seems he did not think of you.
You felt dazed. The trial was over. Youâd been holding your breath for the whole time, eyes fixed on your husband, beside yourself with worry. He had managed to stay on his horse longer than most, his skill undeniable. But that didnât mean you worried for him any less, especially after he rode to face off with Prince Maekar. Your heart leapt into your throat when the prince struck down your husbandâs horse, sending him to the ground. When he rose, the antlers of his helmet had snapped off, but he seemed uninjured and stormed over to help Prince Baelor in pushing back his brother.
Youâd snuck away from the arena when youâd tracked down your Maester and sent him to tend to his wound before making him swear that he would send him straight to your shared tent. You wait while plucking at the sticking of one of the throw pillows, some of the threads beginning to fray. When he finally makes his way back to the tent, limping, holding his side, eye darkening with a bruise, you simply stare. He steps in, gestures for the squire to place his armor. Only then does he collapse into the chair youâve tucked close to the hearth.
You still remain silent as you make your way to him, smoothing your hand over his cheek to inspect him. He hums, eyes sliding closed with your touch. It seems that he is in no immediate danger.
So, you yank the pillow out from behind his back and begin beating him with it.
âYou - absolute - bloody - idiot!â Lyonel yelps in surprise and in pain, trying to dodge your blows.
âOw! Stay back, you crazy- ! Iâm your husband, not some robber!â
âSo now - you remember - you - are - fucking - married!â More blows rain, and he doubles over to protect his injured side. As he winces from a particularly hard blow, you hiss the end of your sentence, pausing your barrage, still gripping the pillow with your knuckles white. Your anger has not  been quelled yet.
âYou just went and signed up for a Trial that could have meant your death!â Another whack of the pillow, your eyes boring into Lyonelâs with fury. Your deeper feelings are betrayed as your eyes begin to fill with tears, even if you try to will them away.
âDid you even think of m-me?â Despite how hard you try and force your voice to be even, it hitches. The pillow falls against your thigh as one of your hands angrily wipes the tear that has fallen away. You are angry at him. You want to be angry at him. But you were also so scared.
Lyonel captures your hand into his, and your eyes snap up to him, the pillow falling to the ground.
âOf course, I thought of you, my dove. You never left my mind when I was in that field. I kept praying that the seven would let me get back to you, that they would give me the strength to fight and continue so I would return to you safely.â He presses a kiss to your hands, smoothing his thumb over the backs. The love in his eyes burns so hot that you can feel the heat it gives on your skin, and the sharpest edge of your anger melts away with it, whether you want it or not.
The silence swirls around you, staring intently at him as you take him in fully. The bruise under his eye is even darker now, his stance crooked as he is wary of his ribs and injured leg, a dark stain of blood soiling his thigh. A stab of guilt has tears pooling into you, at your barrage of him with the pillow, despite his injuries.
âIâm sorry for hitting you with the pillow.â The laugh you let out is shaky, no matter how you fight the tears.
Lyonel joins you in the laugh, shaking his head, standing with a groan.
âI suppose I deserved it, for not asking your opinion.â He grumbles as you gently guide him to the bed.
âI am alright, my dove.â He assures as he sees your assessing eyes.
âThe Maester inspected me already. Cleaned up my wounds and bound them.â
âHe is a shit maester.â You mumble as you continue running your eyes over him.
âShirt off.â You demand, and he flashes you a grin. Familiar and roguish.
âSo impatient to get me undressed, my dear dove?â The lilt of his voice sends heat through you, pooling into your stomach and cheeks, but you refuse to let him see the effect he has on you, pretending to inspect his injured face closer.
âImpatient to see you arenât dying of your wounds.â You huff, gently pulling the shirt off him as he groans in pain, and your fingers brush his skin in apology, softening your movements with your waning anger.
You inspect the bruises that litter his skin, already dark blotches marring his skin. The armor has done its job, as has the chainmail. There are no open wounds, just blooming bruises, none looking too deep.
âPants next.â You call over your shoulder as you head to the chest youâve stored his clothes in, and pull out a clean shirt and pants, and throw them promptly into his face.
âGet dressed.â Next, you unwind the golden cloak hanging on the wardrobe door (Lyonelâs clothes never make it back inside), smoothing out some creases.
âYou are not very careful with your poor, injured husband.â His complaint is half-hearted, and his gaze filled with affection.
âMy poor, injured husband is an idiot.â Is your clipped response, as you tug him to rest next to you on the mattress.
âDonât we have matters to attend to?â
âNot at the moment. I told the servants to hold back the people for at least an hour. We need the rest.â You close your eyes and tuck your head under his chin, winding your hand into his tighter. He smiles and presses a kiss to the top of your head, breath hitching with pain as he breathes deep, settling in for a comfortable nap.
*****
All AKOT7K characters taglist: @baelorandmaekarinparis @qardasngan @jtrstp @thatshadowintheuniverse
To join all characters' Taglists, leave a comment here!
Lyonel Baratheon taglist: @nerdypinupcrystal @shoxji @jaybeefoxy @madlyimmortalnerd @umadirectioner
To join the Lyonel Baratheon taglist, leave a comment on the masterlist!
Fandom: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms / Inheritance Cycle
Pairing/Characters: Valarr Targaryen x reader
Word count: ~3400
Includes: dragonrider!reader, reader is the daughter of Eragon, Pherea is a menace, ancient language, Baelor is featured quite heavily
Warnings: injuries and attacks, wounds, blood, dragonfire and off-screen death, Pherea is angry (and an angry dragon is never good)
Other: Inheritance dragons talk with their readers through their minds, which is indicated with cursive
Your relationship with Valarr is slowly developing, but you come to learn that this new world is not without peril, even with a dragon by your side. You're ambushed and seriously injured, and Pherea is forced to come to Valarr for help.
My AKOT7K Masterlist Disparate Dragon's Masterlist
Baelor has noticed a curious change in Valarr. At first, he suspected that the nerves of the rising responsibility being stacked on his shoulders with the Kingâs illness, but now, he cannot be sure anymore. His son has been increasingly secretive and often tired in the mornings, but the guards have not noted any visitors to his rooms at night. Perhaps he worries over the increased appearances of the grey dragon, âThe Silver Spiritâ, as the people have begun calling it. It has not taken livestock or people (thank the gods), but its presence still unnerves the people as it appears and disappears as on a whim, gliding along the sky silently, not making a sound. Truth to be told, itâs near presence bothers Baelor too, and he has exchanged a multitude of letters with his brothers concerning the matter.
Valarr's strange behavior does indeed have to do with the grey dragon, but it is not a worry. It is pure elation as he waits for the eve with bated breath. You and Pherea fetch him from his secluded balcony as the sun has dropped behind the horizon nearly every day. Your ancient magic charms the guards close by into a fit of magic sleep as Pherea lands as silently as she can, making sure your presence at The Red Keep remains a mystery. Valarr fastens the straps around his legs with familiarity now, hands hovering close to your waist as he settles onto the saddle while Pherea takes flight.
The first time he had flown with you (while not being kidnapped) had been a terrifying shock and an exhilarating joy. The darkened surroundings of Dragonstone had looked foreign from the air, the distance from the earthâs surface making his head spin as the steady wingbeats had taken the three of you higher and higher above the city.
But now, most of his days are spent on wishing that eve would rise already so he can find himself in the saddle again. And in no small part, that he gets to be close to you, speak to you, while enjoying the silence and freedom from responsibilities. And you understand what he speaks of.
You are, he has learned, the princess of elves and the future leader of the Dragonriders, even if you do not wish either title. That is why you and Pherea are here, trying to organize your thoughts and give your father a clear sense that you are serious about not wanting any throne or responsibility. It has always been obvious to Valarr that he is to inherit the throne after his father. He has not even considered other possibilities for his life. But then again, he does not have a dragon or ancient magic assisting him and offering him other opportunities in life.
Valarr has wondered many times how he should tell his father and grandfather of the dragon, of you. But he has not found the words, found the right moment. He knows the people are worried, but they have little to fear. Pherea prefers sea creatures, and she hates lambs (which is what most people raise), and she will not eat humans.
âYou smell so horrible, I wonât even imagine what you taste like.â She had gagged as he had once asked, earning him a playful tap with her paw. He had long lost most of his waryness of the silvery dragoness. She is fierce and proud and beyond wise, with her patience thin, but she is also loyal and gentle if her trust is earned. She is also irritatingly cryptic at times. Which, you tell him, is not unique to Pherea, but rather a trait shared by all dragons.
****
But the gods or the universe or whatever higher force there is does not let Valarr find the opportune moment to reveal this unconventional alliance, nor his trips outside of the Castle, while technically not setting a foot outside of it.
As he sits in a meeting, bored nearly to death, he reaches for your presence with his mind, his ability still clumsy despite your teachings. But instead of your calm thoughts and teasing tone, a wave of rage washes over him that has him snapping the quill in his hand. Baelor glances at him, the anger on Valarrâs face displaced by the conversation (breeding counts of lambs).
The rage cuts away as quickly as it came, leaving Valarr shaking, confused, and frightened. But before he can reach out to you to ask if everything is okay, Phereaâs voice rings in his mind, shaking with rage.
âGet your healer to the yard now.â She flashes him the image of the Godswood. He dares not ask what has happened, his heart jumping to his throat in fright as he storms off, leaving the court staring after him.
Baelor apologizes and hurries after his son, furious and worried over the unusual behavior. The Kingsguard follows him, white capes pillowing, throwing looks at the servants and other guards who stare in wonder as the princes whiz past.
Valarr arrives at the Godswood just as Pherea banks out of the clouds, a deafening roar ringing across the skies. Valarr watches as she pulls her wings into a dive, heading for the city with an alarming speed. The people scream and cry in fright as she approaches, the booming roar still ringing in the air. But Valarrâs attention is on the small figure he can just see, clasped in her front claws. You are unmoving, and his worry rises, Phereaâs fury still burning in cinders at the back of his mind.
Pherea lands with speed, claws digging into the stones and knocking them loose with the force. Her jaws open as she breathes a sweltering jet of fire, the stones hissing and popping with the heat, the scorching air rippling in the wake of her breath. Her tail swings wildly, shattering a tree into splinters, stone walls vibrating as she roars again, so loud that peopleâs ears ring for minutes afterward.
Maester Yormwell tries to flee when faced with a furious dragon (as many sensible men would), but Valarr grasps his arm to stop him, eyes still locked onto your limp form, safe between Phereaâs forelegs.
âRun, and I will have you executed.â Never has the young prince spoken such words and with such intensity that the Maester freezes in place, despite his fear. The dragoness is still growling, her lip still curled as she snaps her jaws, staring at the guards that are presently (and smartly) covering in a nearby alcove.
âPherea?â Valarrâs words are gentle as he addresses the dragon, trying to reach you again with his mind. But all he feels from you is a muddled darkness, surrounding you like oil, suffocating and thick.
âHelp her.â The dragon growls with her words, the sound vibrating in Valarrâs bones. The she-dragonâs head brushes your body as she has set down onto the stones. Her soft hum of worry has Valarrâs heart stilling, as he sees the blood pooling under you.
Blood is spreading into the ground below you in a sickening stain, ever expanding. Valarr pays little mind to his fatherâs panicked call to his name as he steps closer. Pherea presses herself closer to the ground, her nose still pressed to your shoulder, neck stiff as she tries to coax a response out of you. He cannot hear the words, but he knows she is trying to reach you.
Valarrâs heart stills for a moment when he sees the full extent of your injuries. Arrows have pierced your side, clustered tightly, the shafts now snapped, the sharp tips still in your flesh, and there are slashes of a blade on your shoulders and arms. Blood is flowing freely, as your head lolls, unconscious from the blood loss or shock.
The prince shifts you gently, making to lift you in his arms, but he soon abandons such plans as Pherea growls, her jaws snapping in his direction.
âYou are not taking her anywhere.â And because he isnât an idiot, Valarr eases you back onto the ground, guiding you to lean against his side.
âMaester Yormwell!â The prince does not take his eyes away from you as he calls for the maester. Pherea has settled again and lies her body down, tail trashing against the ground with unease, knocking the loose stones around. She is still furious, but her worry has her focusing on you, her snout pressed to your side. Valarr can feel the heat of her scales, smell the blood in her breath, and for a moment, he wonders what has happened. But now is not the time.
The Maester hesitates as he eyes the beast, and Valarr snaps, Phereaâs fear in his head scouring his patience thin.
âCome here and heal her!â With little power to fight a straight command from a prince, the man slowly limps closer, terrified of the dragon, but Pherea barely notes him. She continues pushing her strength into you when she feels as yours is waning, willing and urging you to fight with gentle words you cannot hear. The Maester begins working, hands frantic as he works under the watchful eye of Pherea, who keeps a close eye on the man treating the partner to her soul. You whine as the arrows are tugged free, and Phereaâs lip rises slightly, but she settles as she feels the flutter of your consciousness.
Another wave of her strength floods you, and your eyelids flutter open, much to everyoneâs relief.
âPherea?â You speak with your mouth and your mind, and Valarrâs knees would give out in relief if he werenât already on the ground, his hand grasping yours.
âI am here, little one,â She hums, her head resting against your back, voice gentle.
âTake my strength, heal your wounds.â And you raise a shaking hand, the GedwĂ«y ignasia on your hand glowing as you whisper the words, over and over, feeling the strain in your strength all the more even, with Phereaâs own flooding through you still.
âWaĂse heill. WaĂse heill. WaĂse heill. (Be healed)â The injuries slowly folds its edges together, leaving behind a raised pink scar as you finally sigh and slump against Pherea, hands shaking with the effort. But you are not bleeding anymore, and your body will be able to heal the wound now, from the inside.
Valar stares, in shock and in relief. You blink up at him, only now realizing his presence, despite his hand in yours.
âValarr?â You blink, trying to see if he is a haze brought on by blood loss, but he truly appears to be there, a look of worry in his mismatched eyes.
âYou are alright.â He breathes, and you shift, grimacing.
ââAlrightâ is a relative term. I am alive, yes.â You huff a broken laugh and wince, pressing your hand into your side, and Pherea chides you gently.
âCareful, little one. You only healed what was at the surface, your body still needs time to recover.â You roll your eyes and support yourself on one of her horns, making to stand.
âYes, mother.â Her teeth snip at your hip playfully, warm smoke brushing the stone with her huff, but she says nothing, allowing Valarr to push himself up by her side so he can support your attempt to stand.
Baelor, who has been staring in stunned silence, finally gets his wits back when he sees his son moving. He takes a step closer, but Pherea is not having any of it, not with you so weak, and her head drops, her growl shaking the earth.
âNot one step closer.â Your hand presses to her snout, the heat of her scales now almost too much to endure on bare skin as her breath threatens to heat. And even if Baelor cannot hear her, her words are only addressed to you and Valarr, the message cannot go unheard. The elder prince stills as Valarr backs away to stand by his fatherâs side.
Phereaâs varyness wars with her curiosity, and she regards Valarr and Baelor in turn.
âYour sire?â
âMy father, yes.â
âHumans are simply curious creatures.â Her neck cranes as she takes in their scents.
âCurious and fetid.â Lip furling, she huffs, hoping a puff of fire might chase away the smell, her words hidden to anyone but you.
âRude.â
âI am simply honest.â Barbed tongue rasping, she begins to clean her scales, washing her claws of your blood and her snout of the blood of your attackers.
Still supporting yourself on Phereaâs shoulder, you turn to the two men in front of you.
âI am the daughter of Eragon Kingslayer and Arya Dragonslayer.â You give your name and attempt a bow, but stop short, your hand flying to your side with a grimace. Valarrâs eyes flash with worry, and Pherea snips her jaws, but she is mostly annoyed at you.
âBe careful.â She growls in your head, but you pay her little mind.
âHow is it you were attacked?â Baelorâs eyes shine with genuine worry as he takes a hesitant step forward, and Pherea, who is watching the exchange like a hawk, allows it, but her eyes narrow as her gaze locks onto the elder prince.
âI ventured out to a nearby village for food and while Pherea was hunting. I think they thought me a member of your house as they kept yelling something about death and dragons, but I was too busy defending myself to truly listen.â Your hand arches in the air as you tell the tale.
âThey had archers at a nearby hill, and their aim was true. I am not quite as adept with a blade as I am with ancient language, so with seven of them, I found myself at a disadvantage.â You feign little interest, but inside, you are quite rattled. Your wards had held up for quite a barrage of arrows, but in the end, youâd still gotten shot, your strength failing under attack.
âYouâd lost consciousness when I arrived.â Pherea supplies and Baelor jump as her voice rings in his head, for the first time.
Valarr smiles and gestures to the silvery dragoness.
âFather. Meet Pherea, the daughter of Shruikan.â The young prince reaches out, and Pherea allows his touch, steady fingers working on the muscles of her jaw, and she grumbles in delight. Baelor is astonished for a good moment before he bows slightly towards Pherea.
âIt is an honor.â Pherea huffs, pleased, and cranes her neck forward to gather their scent again.
âI cannot quite understand what it is about your smell I find so intriguing. It has not happened with any other people weâve met.â She sounds as if sheâd continue, but cuts herself off with a yawn.
Her teeth are still red with blood, and her tongue scrapes against her scales as she cleans the last of the blood off of them with a languid brush.
âWhat happened to the attackers?â Valarr questions, although he has some idea.
âWe must find them and punish them. They cannot go free, not after this.â His anger is building the more he thinks about the matter. Not only was your life in danger, but there is a blatant threat to his house.
A rumble of Phereaâs amusement has Valarr confused, and he glances at you, still standing close to her side, supporting your balance off her side.
âYour riderâs life being in danger amuses you?â
âNo. What amuses me is that you think that I let the people who hurt her live.â She huffs smoke, but the heat still burns the leaves off a nearby bush. Baelor jumps, even if he tries to hide it.
âSo they are dead.â Valarr wishes to make sure and you bark a laugh of your own, only to fight a grimace again.
âVery dead.â
âAsh.â Pherea clarifies, breathing a large plume of flame.
****
You are welcomed into the Red Keep as esteemed guests. Pherea is small enough that she can comfortably fit inside the Great Hall, where you meet the King. He is overjoyed that dragons have âreturned to house Targaryenâ, but Pherea is quick to correct him that she is here for you and you only. She states that she is a visitor and will expect to be treated as such, her neck arching with elegance as she lies down, orange eyes watching the people around with curiosity, but her stance is heavy with warning. You meet Valarrâs brother, Matarys, who is completely in awe of Pherea.
When they realize your mind cannot be swayed, Valarr takes you on a tour of the fortification, presenting you with the centuries of his familyâs history strewn around the buildings. You take it all in with a smile, but the enormous skull of Balerion has you silent, Phereaâs curiosity warring with anger and wonder at the back of your mind.
Valarr takes you to his motherâs urn, and you give her your respects, pressing one knee to the floor, allowing Valarrâs hand to grasp yours.
âAtra du evarĂnya ono varda. (May the stars watch over you.)â He doesnât ask, just smiles as he leads you away, towards dinner that had been announced some moments ago.
When you arrive, Pherea is already lying in the corner of the dining hall, nose scenting the air, licking her lips at the smell of roasted meat. Your stomach twists. Neither of your parents eats meat, and neither do you, but you can certainly enjoy the roasted vegetables served, and they smell equally as mouthwatering. There is polite conversation, as you gently pile the pieces of meat onto a separate plate, not wanting to call such attention to yourself. And if anyone notices your hesitation, they say nothing of it, even when you gently ask them to take the plate to Pherea.
âWhat delicious morsels.â The meat disappears into her jaws in the blink of an eye, and you laugh, which earns you a few choice looks. But theyâve gotten used to your conversations with Pherea and being privy to them. Some dragons, such as Saphira, share their minds and words openly, but Pherea is private and shares words with others than you rarely.
You regale them with the stories of AlagÀesia, the history, and the fight your father had for the freedom and future of dragons, and how you and Pherea came to be one. It feels good to speak of your family. You miss them, despite everything.
When night begins to fall, Valarr and Baelor try to convince you that you would be more comfortable in one of the bedchambers they have for guests, but after what happened, Pherea will not part with you. And you do not particularly care where you sleep, be it on a feather mattress or hard ground. You unfurl the bedroll to Phereaâs side like on many a night before, settling down to sleep. Her wing covers, and you settle under it, embraced by the warmth of her chest.
With time, you two settle into Kingâs Landing quite comfortably, the city offering you both plenty to see, and a vast ocean for Pherea to fish in to keep her hunger sated. The people of the court slowly warm up to you. Especially the children, despite their parents' forbiddances, soon climb all over Pherea as she naps, sliding down her sides and climbing along her spines.
****
But on the morning of your eleventh night at Kingâs Landing, people wake to panic as horns sound in alarm, guards scrambling around in fright.
âA Dragon! A Dragon at the horizon!â Everyone in the castle storms to see, and it is true. Their huge forms are traced as a silhouette, enormous wings beating steadily.
You arrive slower, sighing deeply as you recognize the dragon, scales a deep shade of ruby red. Of course.
âIt appears my family has come to fetch me home.â You grumble, and you hear Phereaâs roar from the yard, announcing her presence to the dragon approaching. She has now shut her mind to you, so you cannot feel her thoughts or emotions. Thorn is the sire of her single egg, protected in New Vroengard with the other unhatched and unbound eggs.
*****
Valarr Targaryen taglist: @xxvelvetxxxx @todd-harper @thorins-queen-of-erebor @r-3dlips @jamera-ash
Fan of Valarr? Join his Taglist here!
Disparate Dragons Taglist @talilosha @sasahzs @hddncjc @pebblethedog @jjubilee-fluff
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Happy Tuesday, I'm a bit late, but I hope the start of your week has been wonderful!
Week 18, April 2026
Posting days: Tuesday and Thursday, and possibly Saturday.
My asks and requests are open! Send ideas for anyone of AKOTSK!
Are you particularly excited for a one fic in particular? Is there a part 2 to one of my fics you'd like to see?
Upcoming fics:
Lyonel Baratheon:
The trial is over, and an unimpressed reader helps to patch Lyonel up
Baelor's Daughter!reader and Lyonel fall in love at the Tourney, for this ask
Lyonel falls in love with a mysterious woman, who turns out to be a Targaryen princess. After recovering from the shock, Lyonel begins a persistently courting reader. Request, this ask!
Part 2 of Fear and reassurance with Lyonel and reader living a happy life, with pure fluff!
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot (Pitt/AKOT7K crossover). Lyonel is a succesful writer, returning home from a succesful signing event when the crash happens. Shamelessly flirts with reader (nurse/doctor?) but she is not charmed so easily.
Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen:
Reader gets a prediction from a fortune teller that she will never be queen. She takes it to mean she will die before him, but little does she know. Angst? Inspired by this post.
Part 2 of Birth of a Princess with Helena, the People's Princess.
A Prequel to Before the Princess with broken!Baelor, where reader almost dies in childbirth and is unconcious and weak for weeks after.
Baelor goes crazy when you take a knife meant for him
A sequel/companion piece to the fic above with the reader having nerves about planning a royal wedding.
Modern!Au, Baelor as a headmaster, and he has an unconventionally young (looking?) wife, whom someone mistakes for his daughter/student.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Baelor is a part of the crash, and suffers a quite severe head injury. Reader, his wife, was in the car with him but has lesser injuries.
Maekar Targaryen x reader
Grumpy x Sunshine trope, Maekar gifts reader flowers.
Maekar is required to marry again very soon after Dyanna's death, and he is not happy, and is quite cold towards reader. The king expects more children to come from the union. Reader gets closer to his children, especially the younger ones, and their relationship slowly warms with time. For this ask.
Reader encourages Maekar to get know his children better, and the relationships slowly mend with reader's help, and their relationships grows at the same time. For this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Maekar is driving home from a company retreat with his coworkers, when they are a part of the crash. Reader and the younger children visit him.
Valarr Targaryen x Reader
Part 3 of Disparate Dragons with Reader getting attacked and Pherea being forced to come to Valarr and the Targaryens for help.
Part 4 of Disparate dragons, where Eragon and Murtagh have had enough of reader's hiding, and come to fetch her home. But reader and Pherea strongly disagree.
Raymun Fossoway x reader
Baker's daughter!reader, meet cute! Sorta inspired by this ask.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, but I am currently idealess for him :(
Aerion Targaryen x reader
Stark!reader who takes no shit from anyone and owns a direwolf catches Aerion's eye. Inspired by this post.
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Very angry that his new car was totaled, and is a kind of a jerk to everyone before reader arrives and straightens him out.
Daeron Targaryen x reader
Baratheon!reader where Daeron dreams of her and she falls for him instantly. Lyonel is not happy (the only good dragon is a dead dragon), and his family isn't delighted either. For this ask!
A "Crash of Seven" oneshot. Robby's Daughter!reader, where her Pitt-family meets him for the first time. He comes in smelling of wine (he's in AA and has relapsed again), and security and police are suspicious, but he wasn't driving, he took an Uber (driver in surgery, he was texting while driving?).
Ser Roland Crakehall
Parts 3 and 4 to Forbidden
Reader pines between Roland (personal guard and her first love) and Lyonel (her betrothed). The trial has her worrying for both. She has a banterous relationship with Lyonel, who is not a big fan of Roland, who is forced to accompany them on their courting trips, much to his dismay. Perhaps a split part 2, one piece for each of the men? For this ask.
Perhaps A "Crash of Seven" piece as well, but I am idealess as of now.
Ser Duncan the Tall
Modern!AU, where Duncan is getting a degree as an adult, and falls for a doctorate student when she holds a few lectures on the courses he is taking.
A "Crash of Seven" piece, where he comes to the hospital to look for Arlan, who'se "escaped" from the Pennytree nursing home.
