My Love, My Life

Marie Antoinette (2006) dir. Sofia Coppola

You dance so beautifully.

Analogues I took at Versailles last Summer

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Requested by Anon

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Request: Anonymous asked: "I know that you’re bedridden but I came to bother you." Rhaenyra x sister reader please

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You sat up as the door to your bedroom opened. Rhaenyra in her nightgown, followed by her nervous handmaiden let themselves in.

“I know that you’re bedridden but I came to bother you.” Rhaenyra said with a smile. She had a large familiar book of stories under one arm, a jug and two cups balanced in the other hand, the cups clamped under her arm against her side. She threw herself down on the heavily cushioned seat that had a permanent place beside your bed. The cushions were own and thin from the many visitors that came to wish the poor dragon princess well.

“I find it a relief that you are not the maester.” You said honestly. Rhaenyra gestured at the small table between your bed and her seat. The foods set out from dinner, that you refused to touch, were cleared away and replaced with foods your sister knew you favoured.

You still believe that they make you sick?” Rhaenyra asked as she poured you a drink from the jug she had brought with her. Taking it gratefully you drank deeply before answering.

“I have noticed that when I begin to feel better they fetch a specific medicine that had me ill again.” you said quietly. Rhaenyra nodded as she opened the book she had brought with her. 

“Perhaps I shall stay here then. Refuse to leave you!” She said boldly. You laughed and accepted a plate of food from the handmaiden. “We could ask for you to… to rest at Dragonstone.” 

“I have tried that. Last time I was getting better. Father started spending a lot of time with me and let Lyonel Strong take over leading the council.” You muttered. Rhaenyra looked up from the book, she’d been thumbing through looking for the story she knew you liked that was in the first quarter of the book. 

“Every time you get better Father does spend a lot of time with you… Do you think they keep you sick to keep him focused?” Rhaenyra asked you seriously. 

“I do not know.” You admitted. She gave you a sympathetic smile and leaned over to hold your hand.

“Corlys and Rhaenys arrive in a few days for the tourney. Perhaps they will agree to take you to Driftmark. We could say the sea air helps you to feel better.” Rhaenyra offered. You smiled appreciatively. 

“I asked for that before. Corlys offered and assured Father that Laena would be my loyal companion. The maesters wouldn’t allow it.” You muttered. Rhaenyra scoffed and shook her head.

“I shall speak to father. We shall ask Corlys and Rhaenys. Their Maesters will see what they think they should do and we shall see what the maesters at the Keep are up to.” Rhaenyra said quickly. She gave you a smile and a determined nod before reaching to refill your now-empty cup. You could see her mind turning over her ideas and plans as she finally found the page she was looking for and settled in to read aloud.

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“To me the core element of the story is that she was a symbol of decadence and frivolity and end of an era for France. I wanted to build our own costumes and create our own look using a young girl’s candy-colored palette. Because we’re making a movie about Marie Antoinette I thought we needed lots of silk and macaroons, and I asked Milena the costume designer to make the whole palette of the film in the macaroon colors for the young part of her life, and when I visited the real private apartments of Marie Antoinette they had the fabrics that she liked which were turquoise and pink.” - Sofia Coppola

dragons' scars

summary: And after the events that happened during Lady Laena’s funeral at Driftmark, two dragons were left scarred.

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 6.4k

warnings: blood, fighting, grief, graphic description of wounds, vomiting, probably medical inaccuracies, representation of alicent and viserys' failmarriage at its best

author's note: whoof. this was a whole lot to write. sorry for the delay, I've been on vacation, but I still hope you all like it! in the next few chapters we'll see reader head first in her position as heir and enter a bit of a rebellious phase. i'm not sure i'm completely satisfied by this chapter, but i hope you all enjoy!

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The raven announcing Ser Harwin Strong’s death arrives at Dragonstone barely a day after the one announcing Laena Velaryon’s passing — as if moving to Dragonstone hasn’t already been hard enough on your family. Now not only is your father unresponsive, but your mother, too. 

Laenor had taken quite badly Lady Laena’s passing. He disappeared until supper, only to come back completely black out drunk after, carried by Ser Qarl. Your mother didn’t have the heart to get mad at him, and simply asked the knight to accompany him back to his chambers; she is closing off, too. 

You’re left to look after your brothers, since your parents are still barely at the start of their grieving; you visit them in the nursery, you play with them, you tell them how good they did with their lessons. You suspect Jace knows the truth about Ser Harwin probably being their real father and maybe he would like to drown in his own misery, too, but you won’t let him. Not when your parents are already going downhill. 

None of you knew aunt Laena, even if your father had promised multiple times to bring you to Pentos to visit her, but her death is still a tragedy. Burnt by her own dragon, per her own request, during childbirth. The fact that your mother survived the same thing not too long ago makes you shiver. 

It’s night when you hear the door of your chambers being opened, and you rouse, a bit alarmed, until you recognize the silhouette of your father under the moonlight. “Father? Is– is everything alright?”

He sniffs, standing beside your bed, then sitting down on the ground. “Do you mind if I stay here? Even for a little while will do.”

“I… sure. For as long as you think you need, father.” He reeks of wine, but you don’t point it out to him, turning in the bed so that you’re facing him. You give him your hand and he gladly takes it, squeezing it. “You know,” Laenor mumbles, “She would’ve loved you.” he wipes his nose with the back of his free hand, eyes red and cheeks blotchy. “I promised you that one day you would have met her, but I couldn't keep my promise. I was waiting for her to come back to Westeros — but I should’ve just flown to Pentos once you were born. Now my sister never got to know my daughter — nor any of my children.”

He laughs; a bitter, teary laugh. “She would’ve really loved you. You could’ve ridden Vhagar and Nādrēsy together — the biggest dragons in the world finally flying together.” another sniff, “I always wrote to her about you, and she said that she had bought some jewellery to give to you. That was years ago, though.” he lets out a choked sob, “I haven’t heard from her in what feels like a lifetime.”

You can’t even imagine being away from Jace and Luke for more than a sennight — Joffrey, maybe, yes, but that’s just because he only cries, eats, sleeps and poops. In a few years you won’t be able to part from him either, let alone grieve for him. You’ve known your brothers for most of your life, while they’ve known you for the entirety of theirs. Losing them, in such a way… you don’t even want to think about it. 

“Where’s aunt Laena now?” you ask him. She may have passed, but she has to be somewhere, right? How can a person just… stop existing?. She still has to be somewhere. Maybe she’s with Merrax.

Your father shakes his head. “I don’t know. For us Velaryons, once we die, the sea takes us back. We’re buried in it, so that it may take back all that we owe it. But Laena was also a Targaryen, and for Targaryens death means going back to Old Valyria with their dragons — but Vhagar’s still alive, so I don’t know how she could be able to reach Old Valyria. For the Faith of the Seven, there are Seven Hells and Seven Heavens, and everyone is judged for their sins and actions, and put where the Gods find adequate.”

“I don’t want to be judged when I die. Isn’t death a punishment enough as it is?” 

“I…” Laenor shakes his head. “I understand that for you it might be hard to comprehend, but death isn’t exactly a punishment. Truth is, men are executed just to prevent other people from committing their crimes by scaring them, and also to prevent them from doing it again; but death itself isn’t a punishment. Sometimes it’s a relief. I suppose that’s how your aunt perceived it.” 

You confusedly nod, still not understanding how she could find it a relief. She had two daughters, a husband, a good name for herself; some people would have given anything to be her. So, why? 

Your father has tears in his eyes. “There are fates way worse than death. I guess Laena thought she had enough.”

He leaves you to sleep with a choppy kiss on the forehead and a cracked goodnight, but you barely close an eye. You ask yourself if your mother would have ever left you and your brothers in favour of a quick death, had the situation been the same. 

Three days later, you depart for Driftmark on your dragons. Your parents carry one of your brothers each, while Joffrey is left on Dragonstone under the attentive care of the wetnurses and maids. The ride to Driftmark isn't too long, and you're one of the last ones to arrive for the funeral — as your grandsire, along with your uncles and his entourage, is already there, and so are many others. 

You see what probably is your uncle Daemon with his daughters, Baela and Rhaena, talking to your grandparents — Corlys a collected expression on his face, Rhaenys with teary eyes. There are a few Velaryon family members, who you recognise from your various visits to Driftmark in the last few years, and your grandsire, sitting on a makeshift throne under the gazebo of High Tide’s courtyard — where the tables with wine and refreshments are already placed. 

A guard announces the start of the ceremony, for Laena’s casket has been placed and is ready to be honoured, and you all move towards the cliff, where your aunt's body is ready to be dragged down and thrown onto the sea; you hold on tight to your father's hand as uncle Vaemond starts his eulogy. He squeezes back, sending you a tender glance full of tears. 

The eulogy is in Valyrian, and you are surprised to find barely any mentions of Laena's life. It sounds more like a praise to House Velaryon, of the thick blood that runs through it, and somehow an attempt at something. You can't decide if he's referring to your brother's not-so-Valyrian features or if he's simply trying to get on your grandfather's good side. Probably both.

“Salt courses through Velaryon blood. Ours runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin.”

Laena's casket is slowly dragged down the rocks, and soon enough, it falls into the waters below. 

You look up at your father, tugging on his vest. “Father, will we be buried like this too?” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “I will be. One day, I shall be united with my sister again and join her in the sea. But you'll be buried like a Targaryen, sweetling. You are destined to be something far greater than to be just a Lady Velaryon.”

You don't like it. You don't like the way he's saying it, like being a Velaryon is a curse. “Why? I want to be buried with you.”

He shakes his head again, almost stoically. It seems this is a talk that, at this moment, is too difficult for you to understand. “You'll be a Targaryen, sitting on the throne. You're destined to be burned by dragonfire.” he sniffs. “Or, or maybe you'll be buried by your lord husband’s family traditions; that's not unusual. I'll be a mere Lord, one day. I am your father, but I am not your duty.”

Your lower lip is trembling, and you bite it to hold in the tears that almost manage to escape. “Father, what are you even saying?” it isn’t fair that you can’t choose where to end up, even in death.

He grimaces. As soon as the ceremony ends, he lets go of your hand and simply disappears, as you all gather back in the courtyard stationed on the cliffside of High Tide. Your mother quickly comes to the rescue, holding you under one arm and your brothers under the others, promising you all lemon cakes and sweets once the ceremony is over.

You soon go to your grandparents, giving them your condolences like your mother told you to and then hugging them tight. Rhaenys almost bursts into tears, but actually, she’s great at hiding them for someone who just lost her only daughter. She pats you on the cheek and just stares for a moment, like she’s searching for something, before your grandfather brings her out of her stupor, gently nudging her to other courtesans. 

You greet your grandsire after that, who kisses your temple and hugs you tight, blabbering about how much he has missed you. “The Red Keep has become dull,” he murmurs, coughing a bit. “My children are in no way as bright as you are. Why don’t you come visit sometime? I could use some laughter, you know, and with your witts you often bring me to tears from it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Grandsire, I’ve been gone for not even a moon.”

He huffs. “Forgive this old man for missing his only granddaughter. You and your brothers are children, behaving like children; that's why your presence is dearly missed.” his gaze goes to your uncles; Aemond is staring dully in the distance, and Aegon is eyeing the maids while being on his… what? Fourth cup of wine? “Meanwhile, I’ve got… children behaving like forsaken adults. A drunkard, a spiteful brat, and… I don’t even know what to say about Helaena. At least she’s quiet.”

You’ve never understood why everyone describes Aemond as spiteful. He’s awkward, maybe even unpleasant at moments, but you wouldn't say exactly spiteful. “Grandsire, that is not a nice thing to say. Helaena is very good at embroidering, for one. Aemond is good with books. Aegon… well, I’m not really sure what, but there has to be something good about him.”

He lets out a disappointed noise, shaking his head. “They all excel at giving me headaches. But you know who’s best at it? Their mother.” he grunts, “She’s been insufferable as of lately. I fear I will go mad.”

You desperately try to take the conversation away from your uncles and aunt, not liking the way he talks about them. “If the Queen gives you trouble, I have a dragon. We could either run away on Nādrēsy or make sure he takes care of her.” as if on cue, a dragon roar is heard from the other side of the cliff.

Your grandsire chuckles and pinches your cheek. “Aren’t you a little rascal? That could be considered treason, sweetling. You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

Soon after you leave him, too, in favour of your cousins Rhaena and Baela. They stay out of the crowd, sitting on a little bench, looking completely inconsolable. You near them, not quite knowing how to start a conversation, since they must have heard condolences all day. 

“Uh, I, uh,” not really the best ice breaker, but you surely have their attention now. “I have some dresses — they do not fit me anymore. But I think that they’d fit you both nicely. If you ever need to take a breather, or, or, some time to think and have some fun, you could come to Dragonstone.” you try to smile, but surely it comes out crooked. “I’d be delighted to have you there. I’m always available if you need me.”

Rhaena tries to smile, too, while Baela barely nods. “Thanks, cousin.” 

Corlys comes up to you three, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Could you go fetch your father, dear?” He looks stiff, and you soon understand why: your father is standing in the waters below, on the beach, kneeling in the saltwater and looking completely lost. It does not take you long to join him, holding up your dress so that only your shoes and collants get wet. 

“Father,” you call out. You can’t go too much farther. “Father, are you alright?” He doesn’t reply. He just stares ahead of him, into the vastity of the Narrow Sea, like he can almost see his sister again. You’ve never seen your father so lost, so… unlike himself. It’s like Laena brought with her a part of him. Is he buried in the sea now, too? Am I destined to never see him again? Not even in death?

“Father,” you try again. You get a bit closer, the cold water biting your skin. “Please.”

Laenor barely turns his head to look at you. He looks like a shell of himself, and you think that maybe, it’s just now that he has realised that Laena’s never coming back. Earlier, he had you to ground him; but once he let go of your hand, he suddenly understood that he was alone. His sister is dead. There’s no one else with whom he has shared the same experiences he shared with her, no one else so willing to understand him as she was, no one else who will look at him as an older brother. 

Laena Velaryon is no more, and you are sure she has dragged your father with her in the depths of the sea. 

It’s well past midnight when you are rudely woken up. It’s Rhaena, you realise, and she is calling your name quite insistently. “What?” you hiss, softening once you remember that you were the one to tell the twins that you were always available if needed. You intended by day, but if they need you, then you’ll gladly get up and get going. 

“Someone has stolen Vhagar,” she murmurs, tears brimming in her eyes. You can hear the she-dragon roaring outside, and she doesn’t sound too happy. “Jacaerys, Lucerys and Baela are already going out — but you have a dragon. Can’t you just… follow her?”

She doesn’t have to repeat it twice, because you’re already putting on your riding pants and a tunic, going for the balcony and calling for Nādrēsy. The infamous Cannibal doesn’t take long to arrive, always at your beck and call, and you soon mount him, as Rhaena runs off — probably to where your brothers and her sister were headed. 

It’s almost impossible not to spot Vhagar: she’s an old, gigantic dragon, that in the years has lost all her spikes and now looks like a giant lizard. Her scales are green, fading into a deep bronze, and her saddle is vacant — not really, you think, as you see your uncle Aemond barely clinging to the ropes of the saddle, almost flying away. 

Nādrēsy roars, unhappy to see his mother, you imagine. He moves to turn away, away from her, and you try to hold tight on the reins, keeping him in place. “Daor, Nādrēsy, daor!” No, Nādrēsy, no!

He whines, rebelling against you for what is maybe the first time in over two years, and you can feel how unsettled he is. It radiates off of him, and before you can even understand what is happening, he’s turning back and going for the beach — searching for a landing. Every attempt to stop him, to make him obey, is vain; he roars over your voice, tuning you out, even when you punch and kick at his neck — it seems the only one hurt by this is you, actually. His spikes are not going to fall off for a while, it seems. Unlike Vhagar he still has them all. 

He lands on the beach, roaring loudly and huffing fire. Since now Vhagar is landing, too, and she is pretty far away, you decide to forget about the stunt your dragon has just pulled in order to catch up with the others — you’d hate to miss Rhaena and Baela, or anyone really, going ballistic against Aemond. 

Except, once you finally reach the entrance of High Tide, you find yourself in front of a scene that will surely haunt you in your dreams for a good while. 

Now, you don’t like Aemond. Not really, since he supports his brother in constantly calling your brothers bastards and mostly keeps to himself. That doesn’t mean that him being beaten up by four children way younger than him isn’t honestly pitiful. You had hoped for a fight, yes, but the kind with screams and insults, not the kind with punches and blood, where one of your brothers could easily get injured. 

Aemond is three-and-ten. The twins are a year younger than you, while Jace is six, barely a year older than Luke. The way they easily win against him almost saddens you, and despite the fact that you have nothing against seeing him beaten to a pulp, your mother is already having a hard time adjusting to the changes of the last few weeks — Joff’s birth, Harwin’s death, moving to Dragonstone — and, you think, your brothers and cousins killing your uncle surely wouldn’t help her. So, against all your best wishes, you stand up for Aemond.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?” you scream, prying them all off of him. You take Jacaerys and Luke by their ears, making them whine as you throw them around. “Is this what Ser Cole taught you? Four against one? It’s not a fair fight!” 

“Whose side are you on? He stole my dragon!” Rhaena screeches, outraged. “Vhagar was supposed to be mine!”

“Well, now it isn’t!” you find yourself saying. “I lost my dragon too, and guess what? I found another one! If he was able to claim Vhagar, then maybe she wasn’t meant to be yours. And I say that with the utmost respect and affection for you, cousin, trust me. If Vhagar accepted him, then maybe she’s not worth that much.”

You turn, leaving your brothers with red ears, looking at your uncle, left groaning on the ground. You offer him your hand, leaning a bit. “Uncle, let’s just go to sleep and forget about all that has happened.”

He glances at you, then at your hand. He takes it, and before you can react, he drags you down towards him. 

He’s got a pointed rock in his free hand. 

Luke and Jace scream before you even feel the impact of the stone with your temple, and it’s not a light throw. It’s one with intent, probably aimed to kill. The pain explodes and leaves you in shambles on the ground where your uncle was just a moment ago, and as he prepares himself for another hit, Jacaerys tackles him. 

Aemond lets go of the rock to fight against your brother, who apparently didn’t come here unprepared, because he’s got a knife that he promptly sheathes. “How dare you?” he roars. “My sister helped you! She reprimanded us about not fighting fairly and you maim her!” 

He tries to fight off the grip on his wrist, his knife pointed at Aemond’s throat. “She should’ve let us kill you!”

His uncle manages to shove him off, throwing him on the ground right next to you, barely conscious and hopefully still breathing. “Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” you never quite understood why people described Aemond as spiteful, but now, laying on the ground in a pool of your own blood, you incoherently understand why. “You will die screaming in flames like your father did, bastards!”

The knife is on the ground, too, but as Aemond reaches for it, Lucerys is quicker. 

When the Kingsguard finally comes to the scene, they find a disfigured prince and an unconscious — dead-looking — princess, both still bleeding, both in immense pain. 

The first to snap out of his daze is Ser Harrold, who immediately comes to your side, glancing at the open wound and reaching for his handkerchief, pressing on the bleeding gash with it. This seems to snap you out of your trance, too, because you let out a blood curdling scream, thrashing against him. “Princess!” he exclaims, trying to calm you down. “I am merely trying to stop the bleeding!”

But it looks like you don’t comprehend anything anymore, blood covering your face and teeth, you find yourself spitting it. All you can think about is the fact that Aemond was going for a second strike. And suddenly, you hold no more pity for him, and find yourself agreeing with your grandsire. A spiteful brat, he had described him. 

Your grip on Ser Harrold’s arm would surely draw blood if it wasn’t for his armour, and you can see the terrified gazes of your brothers and cousins, clouded with tears, as the guards keep them away. As your vision darkens and your head spins, you think you can hear Nādrēsy roaring from outside. 

You are unable to stay conscious for much, slipping between being completely passed out and being awake but quite comatose, and you barely register Ser Harrold taking you in his arms — a guard with a screaming Aemond right behind — and getting you out of there. The thundering from your dragon outside just keeps getting louder and louder, pounding in your ears and shaking High Tide. 

The Grand Maester looks horrified when Ser Harrold brings you into his chambers, screaming about needing immediate help, but soon gets to work. Him and his apprentices work overtime, roughly patching Aemond up for the meanwhile because they have a dying girl in their hands, and it doesn’t take much for you to be mostly drunk off of milk of the poppy. 

When you wake, your head is in a tight bandage, and you’re laid down on a daybed, Rhaenys and Corlys by your side along with your brothers, still covered in blood. Their little butchered faces make you want to cry — you failed. As an older sister, you have one job — protecting your brothers — and you have failed. 

“Mummy,” is the first word that comes out of your mouth — like the scared little girl you are, you are searching for the comfort of the same person who has always given it to you, ever since you were but a blob in her womb: your mother. It’s rasped and barely a whisper, but Luke hears it. 

“Sister!” he screams, jumping on the daybed. “You are awake!”

Your head is pounding and your vision is blurred, but you recognize this room to be the best guest chambers of High Tide, the ones your grandparents sometimes let you to sleep in. If you are correct, right now it’s your grandsire who resides in them. There are murmurs around you, a maester nearing, and a heavy hand settling on your shoulder. 

“She’s not here, sweetling,” it’s your grandfather Corlys, but you don’t recognize him. “Daddy?” you ask, as the maester puts in your trembling hands a calice. You hesitantly drink from it, but as soon as the liquid touches your lips, the first instinct is to spit it out. Corlys grimaces. “He’s… he’s not here either, but we sent for them. They both should be here any moment now.”

“I thought you had died,” Jace sobs, “I could see your skull.”

“It will surely scar,” the maester murmurs, tightening the bandages. “Hopefully, it will do only that.”

A wave of nausea comes over you. The maester seems to notice, and he’s quick to ask for a bucket, passing it to you and patting your shoulder as you vomit in it, ears ringing. “That’s normal. She’ll probably have constant nausea for a while.”

The people around you murmur, and another voice makes itself known in the crowd. “—re’s my granddaughter? Where’s my granddaughter?!”

It’s your grandsire, the King, and he stops once he sees you, bandages bloody and bleary eyes, skin pale and covered in sweat. “What have they done to you, my girl?” he whispers, shaking his head in disbelief. He looks at the maester, “Is it serious?”

“I– we have no actual idea of how much it’ll affect her in the long term. In the best scenario, it’ll only scar and leave her with migraines every once in a while,” he grimaces, probably fearing for his life as the King looks furious, “I– in the worst… it, it could have some… permanent effects. Intellect-wise.”

Your grandsire shakes his head. “If you really value your head, dear maester, then you’ll make sure she doesn’t have any repercussions. Don’t forget you have the heir to the Iron Throne in your hands.”

The maester gulps, and Viserys sits by your feet on the daybed, gently placing a hand on your knee. “How are you feeling, sweetling?”

You whine, too nauseated at the moment to speak. The door is thrown open, your mother and uncle Daemon running in, Rhaenyra screaming your names. “Jace, Luke– dear Gods, my girl, what has happened to you?”

Her trembling eyes are frantic, looking at your bandaged wound and the blood splattered on your face, but she is quick to compose herself, putting up a facade in front of the whole court. Later, in the privacy of her chambers, she will hold her three babies and weep as much as she needs, but for now, she has to stay strong. 

Unexpectedly, it is you who starts crying first. Just a little girl crying for her mother, covered in blood and scared for what’s to come. Are you going to be ridiculed for your scar as Mushroom the fool is for his height? You sure hope not.

This enrages your grandsire even more, and he raises back on his feet, throwing his hands in the air. “Gods be good, how could this happen?” he turns to Ser Harrold, “How could you allow such a thing to happen?”

“The princes were supposed to be abed, my King,” the knight replies, tense himself. 

Viserys snarls. “And who had the night watch?”

The Lord Commander’s eyes dart towards Ser Criston, who speaks before he can even be interpelled. “The Prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace.”

Viserys barely spares a glance at Aemond, sitting by the fireplace, his left eye socket being stitched by the Grand Maester. “The Prince?” he says in disbelief. “The Prince? The heir to the Iron Throne could've been killed! You swore to protect my blood!”

A moment of silence. Ser Harrold speaks up. “I’m very sorry, Your Grace.” 

Ser Criston straightens. “The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from other princes, Your Grace.”

“That is no answer!” your grandsire yells, shaking his head. He looks at the Grand Maester, who is now almost finished with Aemond. “It will heal, will it not?” 

“The flesh will heal, but the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

The King sighs. Rhaenyra nods. “That is not even near enough punishment for what he has done to my daughter.”

Alicent’s eyebrows raise up to her hairline. “What he has done? My son has lost an eye. Over what? An innocent scuffle?” “That’s not true!” Jace screams. “He attacked Baela!”

“He broke Luke’s nose!”

“He stole my mother’s dragon!” 

“He tried to kill our sister!”

“Enough!” Viserys rages, immediately shutting down the children. He looks over to you, eyes softening. “My dear, dear girl, are you able to tell me what has happened?”

You sniff. The tears have stopped by now, but the ringing is persistent. “I arrived a bit later than the others.” you murmur, eyes downcast, to your hand, tightly held in your mother’s grasp. “I… I tried to help Aemond. Gave him my hand.” 

You raise your eyes, still full of fear and regret. “Grandsire, he went for another strike.”

“It should be my son telling the story!” Alicent interrupts, voice cracking. “Lucerys Velaryon had a knife– Aemond was ambushed! They meant to kill my son!”

Before your grandsire can reply, you shake your head. Your mother is surprised to find no rage in your words, only… confusion. Disbelief, maybe. “Your son maimed at me when I was simply trying to help him.”

She scoffs. “He was merely defending himself.”

“I gave him my hand to help him off the ground. I had no bad intentions nor weapons with me.” 

You are just discovering one of the bad traits of the human species, Rhaenyra realises. Betrayal, and the worst kind. The one that comes when the intentions are the purest, but the receiver takes advantage. She wonders if after this you’ll be able to help anyone without doubts or second thoughts ever again. 

“He aimed for a kill.”

Viserys turns to his son. “Aemond, I will have the truth of what has happened, now.”

He looks lost. A little kid coming up with a lie. He’s older than you and yet so stupid. “T… they attacked me.”

“That's not true!” Jace bursts. “You called us bastards!”

Silence falls upon the room; you stare at your brother. Had you known that was the motif of the whole ordeal, you would have happily let them beat Aemond till he was no longer recognisable. Your mother pales, and opens her mouth to speak again. “Your Grace, my sons were attacked and forced to defend themselves and their sister, already struck down. My daughter is heir and my sons are in line for the Iron Throne; this is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might know where he heard such slanders from.”

“Over an insult?” Alicent asks, voice trembling. “My son has lost an eye.”

“Your son has permanently damaged the heir to the Iron Throne,” Viserys corrects her. “Now, you tell me, boy. Where did you hear these lies?”

“The insult was but a training yard buster,” his wife interjects, again. “The lot of boys. It was nothing.”

“Aemond,” your grandsire presses firmly. “I asked you a question.”

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? Where is the children’s father? Perhaps he might have something to say on the matter.” 

“I…” your grandsire seems to agree, even if doubtfully. “Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” your mother quickly replies. “ I... could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.”

“Entertaining his young squires, I would venture,” the Queen mumbles. The King chooses the best strategy — just ignoring her. “Aemond, look at me. Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

This is turning messy, you think, too many cards on the table. Your injury, Aemond’s lost eye, your brother’s questioned legitimacy, your father’s absence. For what specific thing are you here? For the fight that broke out or the years of bottled up rage and hatred? 

Aemond’s trembling too, you realise. Yet, for the first time in your life, you can’t find it in yourself to hold even a little bit of pity for him. “It… it was Aegon.”

His brother stands straighter beside him, taken aback. “Me?” 

“And you, boy? Where did you learn such calumnies?” the boy hesitates, “Aegon! tell me the truth of it, now!”

“I…” your uncle sighs, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “We… we know, Father. Everyone knows. Just look at them,”

Your grandsire is silent for a moment, shaking his head. “This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it!”

You’ve never seen him so enraged — Viserys The Peaceful, the smallfolk calls him, and not as to jest. He really is a calm and collected person; he has simply had enough, it seems. 

“That is insufficient,” Alicent declares. “My son has been damaged permanently, my King. ‘Good will’ cannot make him whole.”

Your grandsire sighs. “I cannot restore his eye, Alicent. He has wound the heir to the throne. He should repute himself lucky to not have lost his head.”

His wife shakes her head, bewildered. “He is your son, Viserys, your blood! There is a debt to be paid!”

“My granddaughter has already paid more than enough for your son’s thoughtlessness!” Viserys screams. “He wounded an innocent child who was acting in good faith! She helped him and he spat in her face! That is how you are raising your children, Alicent? Aemond is three-and-ten, almost a man, and yet he attacked a girl not even nine summers old! He should be ashamed of himself.”

The Queen looks dazed. “He has paid more than it is acceptable.” her eyes flicker to you; a glimmer of greed, typical of HIghtowers, sits in them. “We… we could wed the children. Who would want the Princess, now that she has been ruined? My son would have a bride as consolation for the lost eye and she wouldn't have to worry about her future husband finding her… hideous, or worse, not finding a husband at all.”

Viserys takes a deep breath. “Alicent, the girl is only eight…”

Rhaenyra's eye twitches. The only thought of one of Alicent’s spawns getting on the throne by marrying you would've been enough to send her on a rampage. "So that she can say that her husband abused her even before the start of their marriage and you can have one of your children on the throne? I would rather my daughter die a spinster than to see that happen. Besides, she’s a Princess — a scar inflicted by your animal of a son could never manage to taint her beauty. It surely won’t help him in the search for a bride, though, so I can’t say I’m really surprised by this proposal.” your mother is trembling in anger as she says this, “I had already proposed something like this, Your Grace, so I don’t see why my proposal should be denied while you expect yours to be happily welcomed.”

A piece of information is missing, you realise, because you have no idea what your mother is talking about. “Very well,” replies Alicent, voice stone cold. “There is still a debt to be paid, and if the King doesn’t bring justice, the Queen will. I shall have one of your sons’ eyes in return. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Luke screeches and you jump up from the bed, fighting nausea and headache, just to try to keep him safe. Your mother is already making sure of that, hiding him behind her, grabbing you too in the meanwhile, holding you close to her. “Mother!”

“Alicent,” your grandsire chastises.

“He can choose which eye he wants to keep — a luxury that was not granted to my son.”

“You will do no such thing,” the King commands to the knight, who looks conflicted. “Stay your hand.” 

“No, you are sworn to me!”

It seems Ser Cole is not that much of a fool to cut a prince’s eye out of his socket, and he takes a step back. “As your protector, my Queen.” 

“Alicent,” your grandsire starts, “this matter... is finished. Do you understand? And let it be known, anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra's sons should have it removed.”

Your mother takes a breath, and her grip on you and your brothers loosens. “Thank you, father.” 

It all happens so fast. 

In a second or two, Alicent has a knife in her hands — snatched from your grandsire’s belt — and your mother has bolted forward, holding her wrist in place, preventing her from attacking any of you. “Stay behind!” she yells, barely looking at you all — and before you can move to obviously disobey and try to smack Alicent as hard as you can, it’s uncle Daemon who comes up behind you to hold you back as the guards do the same to your brothers. 

You shriek, “Let me go, let me go! I’ll cut her eye out since she wants one so bad!” 

“And then what?” he taunts, putting a hand over your mouth. “For this all to escalate even more?”

“Stay with the King!”

“Alicent!”

“Hold your approach!”

“Stay your hand, Cole!”

Your trashing and turning against Daemon’s hold doesn’t cease, only worsening as your mother grunts in fatigue. “You’ve gone too far,” she grits, glaring at the Queen, steadily holding her wrist and preventing her from wounding her. 

“I?” Alicent asks. “What have I done but was expected of me?” she shakes her head, trembling. “Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law, while you flout it all to do as you please!”

“Alicent, let her go!”

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It's trampled under your pretty foot again!”

“Alicent, release the blade!”

“And now you take my son's eye, and to even that, you feel entitled!”

“Your son almost killed my daughter!” your mother screams, her rage finally exploding. She snickers, but it’s clearly sarcastic. “Exhausting, isn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” she shakes her head, and her voice softens. “But now they see you as you are.”

Alicent manages to free herself from your mother’s grip; Rhaenyra is sent tumbling behind, but luckily there’s your grandfather to catch her. Her arm is profusely bleeding — the wench managed to cut her — and the dagger falls on the ground with a loud thud. 

Daemon finally lets you go, and you sprint to your mother, holding her wounded arm tight and sniffing into her dress. Despite everything, she still manages to hold you close — as she always does — pressing her nose into your hairline, murmuring sweet nothings and reassurances. 

Your grandsire is speechless; his eyes dart to your mother, then to Alicent, then to your mother again. In the end, he looks at his wife, an unreadable gaze in his eyes. “I accept Princess Rhaenyra’s proposal of marriage,” he declares, the room eerily silent. “and I declare my youngest daughter, Helaena, and my oldest grandson, Jacaerys, betrothed, to put an end to this rift between our family. They are to be married once the boy reaches the age of sixteen.” 

His face holds something you’ve never seen in his face, as he looks at the Queen. Is it disdain? You are too young to really know. “I hope you are happy now, wife.”

Platonic yandere Rhaenyra as your mother...

~ The moment she laid eyes upon you, she helplessly fell in love. All the anger and shock towards Daemon took a backseat to her emotions the moment she saw you- her breath stuttering in her throat as her own amethyst eyes settled upon the wailing girl in the mad prince's arms. No woman is keen upon the idea of their other half returning with a child that they've had behind their back, but the sight of a girl- a daughter, for her, settled her decision at once. It's unlikely for her to take out her frustrations out on you, and something about your tearful little face and upset cries for your mother made her want to take you into her arms at once to soothe you. She didn't care at all about you being a bastard, all she could see was a daughter. Hers.

~ Rhaenyra would spoil you. Gifting you dresses and jewellery and books and fine silk threads, and always wearing an adoring twinkle in her eyes whenever she sees you. Rhaenyra herself loves her precious gems and fine luxurious dresses, and now with her own little girl, you bet you're getting spoiled. She'd also love seeing her dear boys get along with you, further fueling her delusions that you're her own child. She'll call her 'my dearest love' and 'sweet girl' , a cautious protective arm always within reaching distance of you if things get heated at the dining table during rowdy family dinners.

~ she's often the one to smoothe your anger and sadness over when it comes to your conflict with Daemon, your father. He is always the one to dish out punishments and restrictions, and in his stead, she'll be the one to lather you with comfort and alternatives. As a child she'd carry you in her arms, wiping away your tearfulness and promising you a ride with Syrax after Daemon forbids you from riding your own dragon for a week. That dynamic fits well with them. Essentially, Daemon is The bad cop, and she is the good cop.

~ as a child, you were very against this woman mothering you when you missed your one mother at home. However you may eventually grow soft to Rhaenyra, even if it's unintentionally done. She's so attentive and gentle towards you, it's hard not to seek out her comfort- even if most of it is dismissive and performative to keep you calm. She'd happily braid your hair if you wish to go riding upon horse or dragon-back, and always with a smile upon her face.

~ Rhaenyra soothing you whenever you fights with her father, Daemon. She is firm, but gentle, the perfect salve to Daemons cruelty and coldness. He has always stood strong and confident, and the powerlessness you'd feel around him would both infuriate you, and make you feel hopeless. Rhaenyra is always there for the aftermath, to distract you from the sadness brewing in your chest. Squeezing your hand beneath the table as you all eat your meals together, your presence always insisted upon by Viserys and Daemon.

~ she'd be a fiercely protective mother. As you grow older, transitioning from her little girl to a young woman, she'd be very against any arranged marriages. If she could, she'd keep you at home forever, single and happy- or free to love whoever you like as long as they are approved by her and Daemon and that you remain at home with them.

Thankfully, due to your bastard heritage, you have no political duty to marry, and are therefore free from being wed for gain. (Sure, you'll never seat the iron throne, but as a woman in those times everything was cut-throat. You may as well have a taste of freedom)

~ Syrax is just as doting. You're her riders little girl, and that maternal feeling would come through both Rhaenary, and syrax. The large golden dragon will chirp and purr in your presence, bowing her head to sniff and gently prod at you- like a doting mother.

"Darling, are you joining us for lunch?"

"For the afternoon".

Rhae smiled warmly, watching you pet Syrax- who gazed upon the princess with passive golden eyes. Crooning gently into your touch, before retreating softly. Rhaenyra approaches soon after- peeling her riding gloves off before taking your face within the cradle of your palms and kissing your brow. 1...2...3, a mantra of soft kisses laid upon your face before she steps back to look at you. Her smile is genuine and warm.

~ As the dance of the dragon approaches, the more protective and demanding she becomes. Suddenly your dragon riding time is limited, especially after Luke's death :( the moment you even suggested leaving upon dragon-back to get some fresh air in the clouds she snaps almost tearfully, composing herself shortly afterwards, and then sending you outside upon the balcony with a guard. A pleading look in her eyes begging you not to disobey her, for her sake, please. She cannot lose you as well.

~ She becomes especially paranoid about team green snatching you away, as both teams are obsessed with keeping you on their sides amidst the approach of war. The amount of kingsguard that stand position outside your chambers every night, hell, even accompanying you around the castle increases. You seldom have a moment to yourself without a lady in waiting heel-to-heel with you, or a towering armoured knight breathing down your neck.

Even with Daemon gone, you're still trapped within the castle.

~ Bastard!princess reader wants nothing to do with this war, and although she may have created a connection to Rhaenyra and Jace and her twin sisters, she may see this as an opportunity to finally leave. Escape would be difficult, near impossible, but not out of the question. You still have your dragon at your call, so you may find a way to slip away and find a way to get to your dragon to escape.

Everyone would go mad however, almost putting a pause on the conflict to go out and find you. Be warned that Daemon and Rhaenyra would immediately go seek your hometown and mother and brothers (that is, if they are still alive), so you'd have to be smart with slipping from their grasps.

~ To the end Rhaenyra will hold onto you dearly like her life-line, committed to being your mother, regardless of your feelings or circumstance. Even as she is burnt, she will not cry or scream- only thinking of everything that she has lost. How she failed you, and everyone she ever held close.

(under the scenario that in the end you did leave and vanish, or worse, got killed in the conflict).

Hello, can you do a headcannon Yandere (father) King Henry and Yandere (mother) Anna Boleyn with their only surviving son?

❝ 👑 — lady l: I really like the idea of ​​them being platonic yanderes for a son, so I hope you like it! Forgive me for any mistakes and good reading! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, overprotection, mention of miscarriages, murder and implied cheating and toxic relationships.

❝👑pairing: platonic yandere!henry viii/anne boleyn x son!reader.

Anne was desperate to conceive a male heir, her only hope of staying alive and maintaining the interest of the King who, after some miscarriages and the birth of a daughter, has already began to wander towards one of her ladies-in-waiting.

So when she discovered a new pregnancy, she desperately prayed for a son and that she wouldn't suffer another miscarriage. She could not bear the loss and pain. Henry was pleased with the new pregnancy, but worried. Anne had already had several miscarriages and was only able to produce one healthy child, a daughter.

Anne took great care of herself during her pregnancy, taking care of what she ate and drank and trying to maintain good health. The first few months were the most tense, with fear enveloping both Anne and Henry. As the pregnancy progressed and there was no miscarriage, Anne became more confident.

When the day finally arrived to give birth, she was anxious. Henry was also anxious and he was so nervous when he heard Anne screaming outside the room, he didn't know what to think. When a baby's cries finally came after what seemed like hours, he entered the room.

Anne held her baby on her lap and cried softly and when a doctor approached Henry and said, "Congratulations, Your Majesty. You have an heir", it was the first time that Henry felt complete happiness. When he picked you up, he was smiling from ear to ear. Not only were you the much-desired male heir but you also saved your mother's head.

Both of them would be extremely overprotective of their only son and those close to you will be scrutinized. Henry has become very paranoid about your safety and takes every precaution possible.

You are always by your mother or father's side, you cannot be alone at any time with a stranger. Anne, especially, would like to keep you sewn to her side all the time. She cares about you a lot and is always checking up on you. When you get sick, she becomes paranoid that you will die.

You are your parents' greatest pride and Henry doesn't try to hide it. He neglects all his other children and gives you all his love and affection. He takes you for walks, hunting and spoils you with all the perks that a future King deserves. In addition to showing you off before the Court. After all, you are the future King.

They are both very proud of anything you do. Any milestone, no matter how small, will be applauded by them. Your first words, the first time you walked and everything else will be treated with great celebration. Expensive parties are thrown in your honor all the time.

As you grow up, they become even more overprotective and controlling. Anne does not want you to leave the Court under any circumstances and Henry allows you to do so, but only with many guards. There were many threats lurking and they couldn't let anything happen to you. May God forbid anything from happening to you as the results will be disastrous.

Anne hates it when you spend time with other people, especially if they are women. The only women you need in your life are your mother and your older sister, Elizabeth. Although she understands that's a part of a man's life, she still doesn't like it and any potential mistress or love interest will be dealt with quickly. She is your mother, so no one has more right to you than her.

Henry is more than aware of his wife's actions and although he doesn't encourage them, he doesn't reprimand her. In fact, he's probably the one who encourages you to enjoy your life even if it always leads to fights with Anne. It was worth it when you looked happy. And your happiness is very important to him.

Your potential friends will be scrutinized and if your parents don't like them, they will leave. Henry and Anne won't sentence them to death at first, but if you or they are stubborn, they will be tried for treason. Don't you understand that you shouldn't trust anyone other than your own family? Your parents are the only ones who want the best for you.

Henry and Anne are smothering and protective parents but they only have your best interests at heart. They want you to live a full and happy life, but with them by your side. You were everything they both wanted and they would be damned if they let anything happen to you. England still does not know the fury of its monarchs nor the overwhelming love they feel for their only son.

𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺

Daemon targaryen X reader Daughter (Father and daughter relationship)

Word Count:1719

Warning: just daddy issues I guess

You never had the close relationship others might expect between a father and his daughter. The memories of your childhood, especially the first five years of your life, are marked more by the absence of that paternal figure. It was just you and your mother, living a life you knew well, without the presence of a man whose existence you barely imagined.

The first time you saw Daemon Targaryen was when you turned five. You vividly remember a tall man with silver hair and violet eyes, who lifted you into his arms with a mix of curiosity and distance. He took you outside, where an imposing dragon awaited. Although the encounter left you confused, you couldn't help but wonder who this stranger was who suddenly seemed interested in you. You didn’t recognize him as your father until you heard him call you his daughter.

Despite the surprise, there was a spark of excitement in that moment, especially when you descended the skies together. From that visit on, Daemon began to appear more frequently in your life. On one occasion, he arrived with a gift that left you breathless: a dragon egg, in delicate shades of pink and blue, which you held in awe in your small hands.

But life has cruel ways of changing the course of things. The sudden death of your mother marked a turning point. It was then that you were told that your father would now take care of you. You remember clinging to your grandfather’s cloak, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded with him not to let you go with that man who, although your father, still seemed like a stranger.

The cold and gloomy stone walls of Dragonstone never ceased to intimidate you. The imposing statues of dragons carved into every column and wall seemed to watch you with their empty eyes, always managing to scare you. There was no possible comparison between Dragonstone and Runestone, the home in the Vale where you had been raised. There, the air was lighter, the colors more vivid, and the mountains and forests offered a sense of protection that you never felt in this dark fortress.

Daemon, aware of your distress, did everything he could to provide you with comforts. He gave you the finest clothes, feasts that rivaled royal banquets, exquisite toys, and dazzling jewels, all in an attempt to make you feel at home. However, none of those luxuries managed to dispel the sense of loneliness that enveloped you. Each passing day, you felt more distant, more trapped in a place that was not your home and never would be.

You always insisted that Daemon allow you to return to Runestone, to complete your education in the home you so longed for. Every time you mentioned the possibility, his response was the same: "You are a dragon; you must be among dragons." Those words, repeated with a mix of firmness and conviction, seemed like an increasingly untenable excuse. Deep down, you knew you did not share the same lineage as the Targaryens in such a visible way. You did not have the distinctive silver hair or violet eyes that marked the royal family. Even your dragon egg, the symbol of your heritage, remained inert, a silent reminder of the distance between you and them.

The news of his marriage to Laena Velaryon took you by surprise. You had assumed that if he ever decided to settle down, he would do so with one of the dubious women he frequented in the darker corners of King’s Landing. The idea that Daemon, always unpredictable and volatile, would opt for such a strategic and respectable alliance as Laena Velaryon seemed inconceivable.

When your new sisters, Baela and Rhaena, were born, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. The girls were everything you were not: beautiful, with silver hair and an unbreakable bond with the blood of the dragon. Every time you looked at them, the difference between them and you became more evident, like a chasm that kept growing.

It’s not that you hated them, not at all. Laena Velaryon, always kind and affectionate, treated you like one of her own daughters, and the twins looked at you with the same devotion they would a big sister. However, despite all the affection they offered, there was something deep-rooted that kept you separate from the rest, an invisible but unbreakable barrier.

The birth of the twins awakened a paternal side in Daemon that you had seen only distantly before. With Baela and Rhaena, he was attentive and dedicated; he spent hours teaching them High Valyrian, telling them ancestral stories, and making sure each night they were well tucked in before sleep. However, with you, that tenderness and dedication never manifested in the same way. He never came to your room to give you a goodnight kiss or took the time to share with you the secrets of the tongue of his ancestors.

You tried to ignore the void that Daemon’s absence left in your life. Every time you saw him diligently care for Baela and Rhaena, you told yourself that you didn’t need him. You didn’t need his stories, his affection, or his teachings. You had learned to be self-sufficient, to find solace in your own strength. But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but feel the chill of his indifference.

Laena’s death affected you more than you would have liked to admit. She had been a kind figure, a link that connected you in some way to a family that had always seemed distant. Her passing left a void in Dragonstone that felt like a heavy shadow over everyone. The twins, devastated by the loss of their mother, sought support from you that Daemon no longer seemed capable of providing. You tried to be strong for them, even though sadness also enveloped you.

Daemon, for his part, fell into a silent grief, transformed by the tragedy into an even more distant figure. But just when you thought that sorrow had consumed him completely, he made an announcement that left you stunned: his engagement to Rhaenyra Targaryen. For you, it was yet another of your father’s madnesses, another impulsive decision that defied the norms and expectations of the world around him.

The news filled you with a confusion that quickly turned into indignation. You had barely begun to come to terms with the painful loss of Laena, and now Daemon, in what seemed like an absolute display of insensitivity, announced his intention to marry again, this time to Rhaenyra Targaryen, his niece and the future Queen. You couldn’t help but bitterly think about how quickly he had moved on.

How could he, having just lost his wife, dive so quickly into another engagement? The idea that Daemon, with his unpredictable and defiant nature, would make such a controversial decision at such a delicate time seemed to you like another display of his recklessness. You were surprised that he hadn’t even taken the time to honor Laena’s memory before plunging into what seemed like yet another of his craziness.

The wind whipped at your face, cold and biting, as it often did on Dragonstone. Your hands, numb from the island’s relentless climate, clutched your cloak as you watched Valarr fly in the distance, his pale pink scales glowing softly in the sunset light. The roar of Caraxes, resonant and powerful, made you turn your head. Daemon approached the dragon with a look of anger etched on his face.

Seeing you, he stopped for a moment, clearly surprised. "Y/N," he said, his tone more controlled than his expression suggested. He hadn’t expected to find you there.

Daemon cast you a brief but piercing glance before answering, as if weighing how much he should reveal. "To Harrenhal," he finally said, with a bluntness that only fueled your suspicions.

You were not satisfied. "Does the Queen know?" you insisted, searching his face for any sign that would confirm your fears.

Daemon avoided your gaze, focusing on preparing Caraxes, as if simply ignoring the question could dissipate the growing tension between you. But you were not willing to let it go.

"Was it you, then?" The question slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself. "Was it you who ordered the death of Prince Jaehaerys?”

Daemon stared at you, his eyes as dark as a stormy sea. "It was an accident," he replied brusquely.

"How can that be an accident?" you retorted, disbelief and anger mingling in your voice. "I don’t have time for questions," Daemon snapped, his tone sharp and cutting, clearly expecting you to be silent and drop the subject.

Despite his command, you stood firm, crossing your arms and challenging the silence that had settled between you. The tension was palpable, each unspoken word carrying an imposing weight in the air. Daemon watched you, his expression initially hardened, but after a long moment of silence, his eyes revealed a glimmer of something deeper, something he had been hiding. He sighed, resigned. "Y/N, some things are better left as they are. There aren’t always answers you want to hear.”

Your thoughts remained unsatisfied, but before you could respond, Daemon took a step toward you. The unexpected warmth of his hand on your shoulder was a stark contrast to his usual coldness. His demeanor, though still somber, softened with a note of fatigue and concern.

"Take care of your sisters," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "They will need you now more than ever.”

With those words, he leaned in and placed a kiss on your forehead, a gesture that, although brief, was surprisingly tender and protective. It was a moment of vulnerability that sharply contrasted with his usual hardness.

Daemon quickly pulled away, his face hardening again as if the act of tenderness had been a slip he could not afford. Without another word, he turned and mounted Caraxes. The dragon soared into the sky with a roar that echoed through the cloudy heavens, taking your father away into the distance, disappearing among the gray clouds of the sunset.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen-Velaryon!Reader. Yes, this is targcest!! Mostly centered around Everyone x Reader, tho. Set in HOTD S1x7: Driftmark.

Traits/Features: i usually keep the readers descriptions ambiguous/unspecific but for obvious reasons, reader is mixed (though, her skin color - as well as her eye color -- isn't mentioned, it's heavily implied) and she has the traditional Targ/Velaryon white hair.

Warnings: Includes the use of Y/n. As it says above, this contains TARG-CEST, arranged by marriage!!! You have been warned. Twice. You're responsible for your own media consumption. Though, unlike other fics, I don't find it necessary to point out how they're related (if that makes sense). Brief mention of a major character death!! (Aka Laena's death). As this is set in the episode Aemond's eye was taken, his mutilation is also included (nothing too graphic tho). Despite all these warnings, the fic as a whole is more on the fluffy/general side.

Disclaimer: I dont own ASOIAF/HOTD or it's characters, nor do I claim to own them. Nor do I own the dividers/images used. All credits goes to their respective owners.

Targ Divider Credits: @/dingusfreakhxrrington.

Inspo for this chapter: [X] | Click this Link to see more Velaryon!Reader works.

Imagine... Being Rhaenyra and Laenor's trueborn daughter and earning the title, 'The Realm's Light'.

Or... In which, everyone witnesses the first acts of diplomacy, displayed by the makings of a future Queen.

To say, you were the last bit of light to grace the stone walls of Driftmark and its peoples, was an understatement.

The fight that broke out between the two Targaryen houses, was enough to test anyone's patience, but with the death of their only daughter - and unborn grandchild - still fresh in their hearts, Corlys and Rhaenys had little energy to fight back with, much less, to attempt at settling a score that had long-sinced been brewing.

But it's with the collective gasps of shock, emitting from those closest to the entrance of the halls' double doors, did everyone evert their eyes from the damage Viserys' ignorance and his daughter's entitlement was gonna ensue, in favor of looking upon the beauty, whose sleep was just rudely interrupted by her families' quarreling.

A gasp of her own, leaving her lips. "What's going on here?!"

There, at the center of all the chaos, came an angel in the form of Rhaenyra and Laenor's only true born daughter, and rightful heir, Y/n Velaryon.

The array of candles that lined the walls of the great hall, lit the path behind her, and formed a halo-like glow around the silver of her hair -- the sight akin to that of a dragon hatching from the flames, of its incubation chamber.

This dragon, however - although young and just a girl - was one many adored, and favored the most, over her siblings, not just because she was the only legitimate child of the Princess and her Lord Husband, but for her compassion and devotion to those who needed it.

Her betrothed, especially, being the one of many to be graced with such kindness.

Though, it had been a union, cultivated by King Viserys, purely on the bases that his crumbling and dying house be better fortified, it wasn't until now, did people - and Aemond, more importantly -, realize that initial kindness you paid the king's second son, wasn't out of obligation but out of the kindness of your heart.

The level of protectiveness and empathy you had shown the mutilated boy, and even better, the diplomacy you'd shown your brothers and cousins, and your good mother, Queen Alicent, in letting them each speak their truth - as the adults had lacked to do - in getting to the root of the problem, having turned every ill thought, Otto had engraved into Alicent's mind - and by extension, into Aemond's - about Rhaenyra and her brood being 'entitled little pricks', completely on its head.

The events that followed the infighting at Driftmark, having convinced everyone well enough, that the true Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, lie not with Rhaenyra, or even the kings firstborn son, Aegon ll, but with you.

The Realms Light.

A/N: Sorry for the month long wait (wait-- A MONTH?!! HOW TF DID THAT HAPPEN, lol?!), I was in the middle of moving. More chapters will be out soon.

(This fic was written and posted by ©️noonesgoneuntiltheyregone, between: 28/05-27/06/23).

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