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syrma-sensei · 2 years

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→ A Doe's Trap.

gif credit.

pairing: daemon targaryen x baratheon!reader.

rating: explicit.

word count: 3.9k

warning: daemon targaryen is a warning himself, usual westerosi agendas.

PART II: A GOLDEN LOCK.

masterlist | ao3

COURT IS INFINITELY BORING; the flashing red colour on the outside walls is merely a clever cover for the ennui of what's happening inside. And the Small Counsel is, Seven Hells, dreadfully, the most tedious place one can choose to spend time in. King Viserys, however, is persistent on having his younger brother in his counsel. His Grace has given his orders and nobody, not even the Rogue Prince, can refuse his liege's commands.

Nevertheless, even his royal duties and counsel obligations get habitually interrupted by certain cunts. After several replacements for his job —stirred by those cunts— the prince, eventually, takes the post of the Commander of the City Watch, and he isn't pleased one bit. The supposed city protectors are nothing but lost and lowly scum. But he knows better, that cunt of a Hand wants nothing but to offend the Prince and his potentials, such an elaborated attempt to irritate the hot-tempered prince; the current heir to the Iron Throne is nothing but a mongrels tamer. But if the bearded wanker thinks himself subtle, then he's terribly mistaken, thus, Daemon accepts the challenge. Because after all, if he truly wants to be King someday, conducting with the riff-raff is a good way to prepare himself for the role, rather than transacting with sickly old men who swagger through the glories of their ancestors and making none of their own.

Tonight though, to his bother, he has to take a break from his new duties, for King Viserys has blessed the court with yet another of his many festivities. Queen Aemma, his cousin and sister-in-law, is with child, again. The celebration is held in the Red Keep's grand yard under the full moon's glimmer. And to his surprise, Daemon finds himself rather enjoying himself in the fresh air.

His violet eyes are fixated on the table where the King and Queen are seated, two vacant chairs next to them. One is his, and the other is Rhaenyra's, his beloved niece. His gaze, however, is not, by any chance, drawn to the royal couple, rather, the ones who escort the Queen. That specific one, with the blue eyes and dark hair. The Baratheon Lady, his precious doe.

She stands next to her queen as one of her most trusted ladies-in-waiting. With a bright mind, and pure soul she has captured the hearts of most men, and the Prince is no exception. The niece of Lord Boremund Baratheon is sent by her lord uncle to represent their house at court in her aunt's stead, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, Prince Aemon's widow. Once the Prince saw her, she stirred something familiar within him. Something he thought he'd not feel as he fucked his way through almost every whore of the Street of Silk. The place that provides him maidens whenever he desires to claim their innocence. What's better than a whore maiden but a paramount and maiden lady?

Virtuous isn't a word one can label Daemon Targaryen with. Rather, the Rogue Prince has an equivocal proclivity for those of virtue, of purity. He cannot brush off the image of that beautiful doe clinging to his shoulders and sobbing in delight beneath him, while he rams inside her virgin hole as he deflowers her. He fantasizes her calling his name as she willingly gives herself to him, as he fucks Mysaria in the recent days, and his high would be unmatched. The only thing can outdo it is having the doe herself in his bed.

The doe senses his heavy gaze, and her sapphires lock with his amethysts, and she tries to hide her sheepish smile. Gods be good, he can't decide wether he likes that smile of hers, or the cries she'd be making when he's inside of her. His predatory eyes follow her slender figure after she dips in courtsy for the King and Queen, excusing herself. He traces her golden gown, the one he'll have much pleasure ripping it off of her and see what she's treasuring beneath it.

“Good evening, Prince Daemon.” The doe bows to him, then he sees clear blue eyes looking straight into his, the plumping heart between his ribs skips for a moment, “Congratulations on your new office!”

“Why, thank you, Lady Baratheon.” His tone is solemn.

“Please do not call me as such,” The doe bites on her lower lip adorably, “We're much more familiar with one another.”

Ah, the red cheeks, they're definitely his favourite, and perhaps what's more delightful is making them grow redder.

“Much more familiar? Hmm.” Daemon teases, “Then why did you not come and congratulate me when I first got appointed as the Commander of the City Watch, my lady?”

Daemon's grin goes wider as his tiny trick makes her cheeks flush with dark crimson.

Tearing her face aside, she says under her breath hotly, “Gods,” Then her eyes are staring back at his face again, adding hastily, “I'm terribly sorry, my Prince! The instant I heard of the marvelous news I looked for you everywhere to do so, but...”

Her blue eyes dart everywhere but his face now. Daemon purses his lips into thin line, tugging a dark lock behind her ear. “But what, my lady?” His tone is bored, unamused, supposedly.

“Please, let me explain, Your Grace.” He nods, granting her her wish. “I did want to be the first to congratulate you. But when I couldn't find you anywhere, they told me you're making new arrangements for the City Watch; to ameliorate the state of the soldiers.” She adds breathlessly, and Daemon can clearly imagine her breathing heavily after he sends to her highest high. “So, I presumed you were occupied with much more important matters, and I couldn't bring myself to take from your valuable time.”

Oh, isn't she delightful? So sweet, so caring. Does he deserve such consideration? Of course not. Should he take it? An absolute yes. How not? And she's practically showering him with it.

Daemon twists his lips, grinning. “In that regard, I should forgive you, my lady. But on one condition.”

“Name it.” Her answer comes immediately.

Ah, he does like those moments when her Baratheon blood rises, when she shows signs of challenging and daring, and the confident feature she wears is truly pretty.

So, Daemon indulges her. “I want you to honour me with a dance, my lady.”

“A dance?” She arches a dark brow quizzically, shockingly.

“Does it not rise to the doe's expectations?” He teases her again.

And for the second time, it remarkably works. “Did I give such an insinuation to the dragon?” The way her brow switches from puzzled to intrepid puts the Prince under a charm. The irony, how effortless and unintentional her gestures are, but oh, the way she wraps him around her beautiful fingers. How bewitching she is.

“It is said that dancing is much similar to battling.” She adds, “I dare not stand against you in the second, but dare I say, I enjoy doing the first with you. It is a sliver of reminiscent of what fighting by your side might be like on the battlefield.”

It's Daemon's turn to raise an eyebrow. “You wish to dance with a dragon, little doe?”

“Yes, very much so.” She says it with utmost thrill.

“Even if it might get you burned?” He asks her, eyes glistening with something menacing, but the doe does not see it.

“He won't hurt me.” The certainty in her eyes makes Daemon's head whirl. Perhaps he isn't the only one under a charm.

“What you speak is true.” His smile is gentle this time, and what he speaks is also true. Lust did indeed blind him at first, and the desire to defile her has driven him mad for quite some time. But no, after getting to know this doe, his delicious prey, he cannot bring himself to hurt her. But has his craving for claiming her ceased within him? Not once. It's been like raging fire, huddling and jostling in his chest, and taking hold of his head. It's like a curse afflicted upon him. He's no patient man, and the gods have put him in a laborious test. But again, since when the gods are indulgent with man? But Daemon Targaryen is as unyielding as them as well. And he'll be so until the gods get bored of him and give him what he wants. Daemon, however, won't wait for gods to get lenient. He shall take it by himself.

They dance, the dragon and the doe. And the shy lady is back again as her face turn red as she is spinning between the Prince's arms, holding his hands. Their feet move in such harmony with the music, and they capture everyone's eyes. Her face is close, so close to his, and hers is as dark as blood. Her fresh breathing is on his face, and the dragon inside him goes feral. He wants her. Gods, He utterly and wholly wants her.

The music comes to a stop, and a cheered applause rages from around them. King Viserys is the strongest clapper, and the Queen shakes her head at her husband's excessive excitement.

The dancing comes to a pause, and the King raises a toast, and the feast for all is set. The guests eat, drink, and laugh. The King gets drunk soon enough, and the Queen becomes tired. Viserys keeps on drinking, while Aemma retires to her chambers to rest. The Prince is next to his brother and niece, thinking of the doe who's nibbling on her food ever so delicately.

It is a rare thig she is, to be born a Baratheon and have a tender character. It's known that the stags are of vigorous spirits and adventurous endeavour. But unlike her house and himself, she seems quite enjoying herself at King's Landing's court. That, however, does not nullify the hints of fury within her soul. She's a daughter of a stag after all, and stags have always attracted the eyes of dragons; his great-grandmother, Queen Dowager Alyssa Velaryon, married Rogar Baratheon, lord paramount of Storm's End, their wedding is known as the Golden Wedding. And Daemon's cousin, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, is half Baratheon herself from her mother's side, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon. Daemon still remembers how Caraxes was enthralled by his doe when they first introduced them to eachother; she has Valyrian blood after all. He smiles at the memory, she has the dragon and his rider enchanted.

“You're quite taken by her, uncle.” Daemon's ears prick at Rhaenyra's High Valyrian.

“Quite the woman she is.” He replies in their mother tongue.

“Indeed.” She nods. “She is quite taken by you as well.”

That piques his interest, his niece has all of his attention now. “Oh, really? How did you learn that, Princess?”

Rhaenyra chuckles. “Oh, uncle, you have no idea how much smitten she is with you.”

Trying to conceal the curiosity eating him up, he clears his throat. “How so?”

“You have a reputation, uncle.” Rhaenyra remarks, “But the lady refuses to believe it exists, claiming that she knows you better. She sees you as her knight in shining armour.”

A queer sensation clasps on the Prince's heart. And for a moment, he feels as if someone has kicked the air out of his lungs. He directs a wavering smile to his niece.

“How unfortunate.” Then he falls silent, and speaks very little for the rest of the night.

After an hour of feasting, the music replays, and a merry yet drunken enrapture sweep over the place. From his seat, Daemon looks for his doe and he finds her laughing at some stupid jest cracked by Ser whoever the fuck he is. When their eyes lock again, she smiles at him sweetly, but he doesn't return it. Instead, he stands up, and maneuvers his way through the drunken singing and wobbly dancing.

It was an ill decision to come here from the outset, but what choice he had when the King forces him to attend the banquet that's held in the next royal's honour. The one might brush him off from his current line to the throne. Daemon, sometimes, thinks that his brother taunts him deliberately, and perchance he's pulled by other hands.

He directs his indignation upon his royal brother as he threads his way to his private chambers; where he's going to drink himself till sleep, and maybe giving his cock a hand-fucking before falling asleep. Momentarily, he thinks of visiting Mysaria, but no. He needs some solitude away from everyone else.

Once in his chambers, he shrugs off his formal attire and slips into more comfortable clothing. Before he starts his drinking session, he hears soft knocks on the door; he grumbles. Perhaps the one behind the door wants to be the victim of his wrath tonight.

Striding down to the door, he opens it sharply. He freezes.

“Prince Daemon.”

Gods, how does she do it? Putting off that raging fire within him onto ice just like that. Mayhaps she is an enchantress after all.

“Lady (Y/N).” He responds.

“Is everything alright, my Prince?” The concern in her eyes tugs the strings of his heart.

“Yes.” For the first time, Daemon finds his lying unconvincing. Seven Hells.

“Then why did you leave the feast in such manner?” The doe inquires, brows knitted, “You made the King worry.”

Of course, she came here upon an order by his brother.

“You made me worry.”

Daemon regards her, then he retreats back to his chambers, leaving the door open. A private invitation for her to follow him inside which she obliges to.

“What caused you distress, my Prince?” The eager concern in her voice makes him melt. A strange mixture of sensations coil at the tip of his stomach. It is the first time she comes to his private chambers, and he feels as if he led her into a trap. The poor doe, she doesn't know she just entered the dragon's den, and in his current state, he has no guarantee of what he might do next. He is mad.

“You.” Daemon spins around and faces her, she stands a few steps away from him. “You cause me distress.”

Gasping, her dainty hand rises to her now heaving chest, and her blue eyes widen. “How could I ever do so?” Daemon takes a step towards her, and her eyes are focused on his figure. “My Prince, I implore you to—”

Seven Hells. His doe can be annoying when she becomes rather talkative, sometimes. And it is a perfect moment to silence her in the way he most desired; his lips on hers. And oh, they are much more delectable than he ever imagined, and he could've sworn he can sip wine from them.

The doe stands still, eyes as wide as saucers, as he claims her lips as if he is the thirstiest man alive. When realization casts upon her at last, she pushes him away. Daemon whips his mouth looking at her. She's horrified.

“Do forgive me.” Daemon looks at the floor, not bearing to gaze at her scared face. “But I've been wanting to do this for a long while.”

When she doesn't answer; he dares look up at her face again. A more questioning expression adorns her face instead of the terrified one moments ago. She doesn't flee, nevertheless. Which is a good sign, Daemon supposes. He narrows the gap between them, cautious steps as if he's afraid that the doe to run off.

“I desire you.” He confesses, “Gods, you're the one I lust for the most.” His hands reach for her reddened cheeks. “I want to have you. Let me have you... please.”

“How can I let you have me, and we're not wedded, Daemon?” He sees two thin strings of tears rolling down her cheeks. She tears her face aside. “Gods, they warned me about you.” She sobs, “They told me to steer clear of you, but I didn't listen.” A hand covers her mouth. “The Queen even promised my lord uncle to match me with another to prevent your dark reputation raising questions about my virtue.”

Any ounce of sense left in him until this very instance is blown away now. The Prince's hands latch onto her forearms, and he draws into a vicious kiss. He tastes the salt in her tears and he's fuming.

“You're mine.” He whispers against her mouth, “Mine. You belong to the dragon, and anyone dares to think of having you, they'll have to deal with fire and blood.”

“Daemon, please...” She cries. “I do not want it.”

The Prince cradles her face softly, his hot breath licking her face. “Tell me, what do you really want, little doe?” He brushes the tears away, “Tell me what you wish for and I shall grant it for you.”

His fragile doe gulps, looking at him with the eyes of a prey begging for mercy between its predator's jaws. “Do not allow us to be separated.” She weeps, and her heart feels heavy.

“No, no, little doe,” He says in whisper, “Not a single soul can separate us, my little doe. Give yourself to me. Let me corrupt you...” He inhales, he's almost begging, “Let me defile you, and they'll have no choice but to let us be.” He leans to her ear, adding, “Let me fill your belly with my child.”

“Do not let another have me, my dragon, please.” She clutches into his chest, beseechingly.

Daemon's violet eyes dart over her face, before he plunders her lips again. His hands adroitly baring her, layer by layer, until she stands naked before him. Through her blurred mind, the realization of her nakedness casts upon her. She gasps and tries covering herself.

Daemon, on the other hand, laughs, shaking his head with such amusement. “Do not shy away now, little doe.” He makes her lay down on his bed, removing her hands from the parts she attempts to hide. “Let me see your beauty.”

Daemon has to pin her hands on the either sides of her head to make submit to his request. He looks at her body, and she turns redder and hotter than Caraxes's fire.

He has to admit, she exceeds any fantasy he ever had. And now she's all his to claim. The Seven be fucked, this is the one who deserves worshiping, perhaps she is The Maiden herself, and mayhaps he can be her Warrior.

“Fuck.” Daemon hisses, “You're beyond anything I've ever imagined.”

“Daemon...” Her voice is breathless, “I-I feel queer things in my stomach.”

The Prince laughs again, kissing her temple. “They are good things, my lady, worry not.”

She nods, unsure of what might happen next. Daemon isn't going to disappoint her. Although the strain in his loins is unbearable, he takes his time to spread what he dares to call... affections upon her. His rough-padded fingers massage her shoulders, his lips lavish her erected nipples, and his mouth leaves no spot of her soft skin neglected.

When his fingers reach her core to fondle, she asks him about the moistened sensation. He shushes her, and tells her it's normal and a good sign. He brushes her clit and her moans become uncontrollable, he enters a digit and she screams.

Daemon laughs and grins as she's innocently grinding against his fingers, chasing something building inside her belly, she tells him. He adds another, then another, and her virgin drawers can take no more and flutter around his fingers with a sigh of his name leaving her mouth.

“Is this why people lay with eachother, my Prince?” She asks when recovers from her high, sweat glistening on her forehead, “Even when they don't want to have children.”

Daemon chuckles amusedly. “People fuck for many reasons, little doe. Pure pleasure is what, sometimes, one only seeks.”

“The Seven forgive me,” She says in something akin to shame, “But I want you to fuck me, Daemon.”

The words, coming off her tongue so effortlessly, make the blood travel straight to his cock.

“It might hurt you, though.” He warns.

“No,” She raises her chin stubbornly, “You won't hurt me.”

Before he gets off the bed, he kisses her. Then, he starts to take off his cotton tunic. He glimpses at her, and he finds her tracing his moves, intrigued. She gulps when he slips his dark trousers off, her pure eyes witnessing a man's cock for the first time in her life.

He chuckles, and cannot let the chance slide without a tease. “You like my small dragon, little doe?”

“I wouldn't call it small, my Prince.”

The latter throws his head backwards as a loud laughter bursts out of his chest. “Yes.” He lands a knee on the bed, dipping further to her face, bringing her hand to touch him. She looks up at him then down at his cock, as her hand faintly brushes the dripping tip. She shivers and he grins. His hand never letting hers crawl away. She gathers some courage when she sees him delighted, and her fingers curl around his cock, squeezing gently as he twitches. Daemon grunts deeply as her inexperienced hand caresses the bulging veins of it, and he feels himself coming. With a groan, he removes her hand away. He didn't want to scare her off with loads of white strings slamming her stomach and face. Rather, he wants it deep inside of her. “Open your legs for me.”

She does so, but uncertainly. He positions himself between his legs, wrapping her legs around his sculpted waist. Inevitable tears pour from her eyes as he thrusts himself into her, and Seven Hells, her virgin cunt feels heavenly. How her walls suck him up greedily even though he's yet to move.

With a hoarse voice, the doe whispers his name over and over, as he takes her slowly while his hair is ghostly brushing her arms around his neck. She cries and begs, and he kisses and reassures her that he'll give her what she wants. She tells him it's building again, and he hits that innocent spot of hers again and again until the fluttering he felt around his fingers is now happening around his cock. He's already at his limits and his seed fills her waving cunt.

“Well done, little doe, well done.” Daemon eases her quivering body.

When he pulls out of her, the Prince is utterly surprised when the doe flips their positions, as she straddles him instead. Their liquids are oozing from between her legs onto his muscled stomach. Shock is blatant on his face as she bites on her lip unsurely.

“What is this, little doe?” He teases, “I supposed this was your first.”

She lolls her head down timidly. “I've always wanted to do this with you, everyday when I look at that painting in the Queen's chambers.”

Daemon is well aware of what picture his doe is referring to. That salacious portrait Queen Aemma has received as a gift from Lys. It's called: The Seven Arts of Love. Perhaps his sister-in-law has kept it as a mockery of the belief of the Seven. He'll never know, or perhaps the Seven made her keep it, so his doe would witness it and mock him with her straddling him on their first night. The notion stirs him to the bone, and his cock is painfully hard now.

“Perhaps another time.” He cups her breasts softly. “This position is not meant for the first time.”

A surprised yelp escapes her mouth as he flips her again beneath him, clicking his tongue. “If you want to ride a dragon, little doe, you have to tame him first.” He leans down, his silver hair dangling over his shoulders, “And believe me, it is not as simple as you might think.”

“We shall see, my dragon, we shall see...”

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auggusst · 2 years

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What I really like in HOTD even after just one episode is the sharp difference in life in Westeros between that era and GoT. Like... the tourney is so much more grand than Robert’s tourney, the clothes are more extravagant and in brighter colors, King’s Landing is clearly in better shape. Sure people are scheming but there seems to be more enjoyment/leisure time in the Kingdom. The Weirwoods are still in the south. Like for the first time you really understand what it meant that the Targaryen empire ended/the effect it had on the kingdoms

#this is from someone who didnt read the books #got #game of thrones #hotd #house of the dragon #king's landing #westeros #my shit #targaryens #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen

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visenya-den · 2 years

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SYRAX, DRAGON OF PRINCESS RHAENYRA house of the dragon, episode 1 season 1.

#house of dragon #syrax #king's landing #landscape #dragons #got #asoiaf #asoiafedit #hotdedit #hotd #dragon #targaryen #fireandblood #preasoiafsource #hotdgifs #gifs #fantasy

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thewatcher0nthewall · 7 months

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How Cruel can The Gods be?

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racefortheironthrone · 1 month

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So, in a very brief aside when you mentioned the spoke-and-wheel model for King's Landing. You also mentioned public housing in flea bottom, sewer and water systems, and public hospitals. I'm a little curious, what would that look like in a medieval setting? How would a system with a less developed administrative system handle public housing?

Administratively, it would be a lot simpler than our modern public/social housing system. It would probably look more like charity housing than a state system that provides comprehensive services above and beyond a roof over one's head, but it could be done in the period.

This is the Fuggerei, the world's oldest continually-operating public housing that dates back to 1514. A 52-unit walled complex, these apartment buildings were a charitable donation by the famous Fugger banking family (it's good to be the personal bankers to the Hapsburgs when the Holy Roman Emperor doesn't quite understand international arbitrage in silver prices) to the poor people of Augsberg, Bavaria.

Eligibility criteria hasn't changed: in order to be eligible, residents must be living in poverty but not have debts, they must have lived in Augsburg for two years, and they must be Catholics. Likewise, rents haven't changed much: residents of the Fuggerei pay one Rhenish gulden (roughly 1 euro) a year, must say the Lord's Prayer, a Hail Mary, and the Nicene Creed once per day for the souls of the Fugger family, and must work at least part time.

So that's what public housing in Flea Bottom might look like.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #king's landing #public housing #hapsburgs #early modern history #renaissance history

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witchthewriter · 6 months

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𝐓𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝟹𝑟𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑀𝑎𝑒𝑔𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠

INTJ

Slytherin (the most Slytherin Slytherin to ever exist)

Chaotic Evil

Scorpio Sun, Scorpio Moon, Capricorn Rising

Trigger Warning: mentions of torture, death, death of babies and miscarriages.

Tyanna was the daughter of a magister of Pentos. She began as a tavern dancer and rose to become a courtesan, although some claimed she was also a poisoner and a sorceress.

When Prince Maegor Targaryen returned from his exile to claim the Iron Throne, the Faith Militant was in near full control. They challenged his rule with a trial of seven, in which Maegor won but was left grievously wounded.

Maegor's second wife, Alys Harroway, returned twenty-eight days later. In her company was Tyanna, rumoured to be both Maegor's and Alys' paramour. After meeting Tyanna, Visenya gave her full care of Maegor; which troubled his supporters.

Awakening from his coma, Maegor burned the Warrior's Sons at the Sept of Remembrance atop the Hill of Rhaenys and waged war on the Faith Militant.

It was after his victory at the Great Fork of the Blackwater that Maegor returned to King's Landing and announced his intention to take Tyanna as wife. When Grand Maester Myros objected, claiming that the only true wife of Maegor's was Ceryse Hightower, Maegor killed him.

Maegor married Tyanna atop the Hill of Rhaenys, and it is said that Alys joined them on their first night of marriage.

Tyanna was mistress of whisperers on her husband's small council and was titled, 'The King's Raven.' It was said that discussing secrets in the Red Keep was foolish, as even rats and other creatures were her spies.

In 44 AC, two years after Maegor returned from exile, Dowager Queen Visenya died. In the confusion after her death, Aenys I's widow, Queen Alyssa Velaryon, fled from Dragonstone with her children and the Targaryen sword, Dark Sister.

Alyssa and Aenys's second son, Prince Viserys had been under Maegor's thumb at the Red Keep. He served as his squire, however, he was punished for his family's escape. Tyanna questioned him. For nine days straight. He died on the last day and his body was left in the town's square.

That same year, Queen Alys gave birth but it was "to a monstrosity." Queen Tyanna convinced Maegor that it was because Alys had been having secret affairs. Maegor did not believe it and called Tyanna a barren, jealous witch.

So, Tyanna gave Maegor a list of twenty men she claimed slept with Alys. This led to the extinction of House Harroway, as well as the torture and execution of dozens of alleged lovers. Tyanna tortured Alys herself. It went on for nearly a fortnight until the queen died.

Tyanna could not give Maegor an heir.

So the King wed three 'Black Brides'; Elinor Costayne, Jeyne Westerling and his niece, Rhaena, three years later.

Tyanna had to force Rhaena to be obedient by threatening her daughters, Aerea and Rhaella. Some stories claim that Tyanna gave Jeyne a fertility potion the night of the wedding but the new bride tossed it into Tyanna's face.

A year later, Queen Jeyne birthed a stillborn 'monstrosity,' and rumours spread that Maegor was cursed.

In his anger, Maegor bid two of his Kingsguard; Ser Owen Bush and Ser Maladon Moore, to bring Tyanna to the dungeons. As the torturers prepared their tools, she confessed.

Tyanna had been responsible for both Alys and Jeyne's 'abominations', claiming she had poisoned the babies in their mother's wombs. She then promised that the same fate would befall the pregnant Elinor.

Tyanna was killed by Maegor himself. He cut out her heart with Blackfure and threw it to his dogs. Two moons later, Elinor did in fact birth a stillborn 'monstrosity.'

That same year, Maegor died on the Iron Throne. His headsman, gaolers and confessors were all condemned by King Jaehaerys I Targaryen for having aided Tyanna in the death of his elder brother, Prince Viserys.

According to some rumours, Tyanna was not loved by her mother-in-law, Queen Visenya Targaryen, or by anyone else for that matter. She is remembered as a black-hearted woman who was hated and feared.

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silverflameataraxia · 1 month

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"You'll find someone," Jon promised her. "King's Landing is a true city, a thousand times the size of Winterfell. Until you find a partner, watch how they fight in the yard. Run, and ride, make yourself strong. And whatever you do..."

Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together.

"...don't...tell...Sansa!"

Job messed up her hair. "I will miss you, little sister ."

Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. "I wish you were coming with us."

"Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?" He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. "I better go. I'll spend my first year on the Wall emptying chamber pots it I keep Uncle Ben waiting any longer."

Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together:

"Needle!"

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.

AGoT, Jon II

No one talked to Arya. She didn't care. She liked it that way. She would have eaten her meals alone in her bedchamber if they let her. Sometimes they did, when Father had to dine with the king, or some lord or the envoys from this place or that place. The rest of the time, they ate in his solar, just him and her and Sansa. That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her "little sister" and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn't even talk to her unless Father made her.

She went back to the window, Needle in hand, and looked down into the courtyard below. If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and down the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they'd return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn't feel so alone.

Arya chewed her lip and said nothing. She would not betray Jon, not even to their father. All she could think of was the lesson Jon had given her. "Stick them with the pointy end," she blurted out.

AGoT, Arya II

Sorry for the long post, but I love how Jon said goodbye to Bran, Robb, and Arya, but not his other sister. Sansa who? 🤣

I love that Jon and Arya know each other so well that they finish each other's sentences. I love how they're comforted by the thought of the other.

I find it interesting that Arya's second POV is a stark contrast to Sansa's. Arya thinks about her brothers all the time, about how much she misses them...and Winterfell. But Sansa only thinks of Arya a handful of times and it's either hating on her or wishing she wasn't there, but Sansa never thinks of her brothers.

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daenysthedreamer101 · 26 days

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Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Ch 2 - Claiming your birthright

HOTD x Targaryen!OC, eventual Targaryen!OC x Harwin Strong

Warnings: none, fluff, Nyra and Daena being adorable besties

Masterlist

"In 105 AC, Prince Daemon claimed Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, for himself. Caraxes was previously ridden by Prince Aemon, Daemon's uncle. This fact made many people at court wary, especially Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand, for Prince Daemon was hotheaded and quick to anger. It seemed he found his equal in Caraxes. Prince Daemon was also the wielder of Dark Sister, one of the ancestral swords of House Targaryen. As for his daughter, her egg never hatched. Nevertheless, this would not stop the Prince in his journey to make his beloved Daena a dragon rider like himself."

(Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros, by Archmaester Gyldayn)

The next day was the first official day of Rhaenyra's name day celebration. The whole of the Red Keep was bustling with excitement - from the cooks in the Royal kitchens to the stable boys and of course, the Royal family. Daena was expected to be there for her cousin and make this special day even more special. Today at noon the celebration would officially begin with a great feast in the Great Hall.

She was woken up by Amanda and told that Rhaenyra had called for her for a visit. They were to break fast with the Queen. Daena liked the idea of that. Queen Aemma was kind, soft-spoken, loving, and nothing but caring. She was always nice to Daena. But Daena felt bad for her. Every time Daena saw her, which wasn't a lot but still, she was pregnant. And as far as Daena knew, none of the babies the Queen was pregnant with survived. Daena, dressed in a simple silk dress decorated with bronze and silver threads, was now being escorted to the Queen's chambers.

There, she was greeted by Rhaenyra who pulled her in a tight hug. "Cousin! You're here! We're going to have the best time today!" Nyra exclaimed happily.

"And why is that, dear cousin?" Daena asked. Nyra giggled, pulled her closer, and whispered in her ear.

"Because...I convinced Father and Uncle Daemon to let you see Syrax! I know how much you wished for it. So I thought we could do it after the feast!" Nyra said.

Daena's eyes widened in shock. Daena couldn't contain the squeal that left her mouth. She and Nyra jumped in delight. Aemma was chuckling in the back.

At noon the great feast began. She had the honor of sitting next to Rhaenyra. "You're the closest thing I have to a sister. I think you deserve to sit next to me." Nyra told her when they sat down at the high table. From there, Daena could see the entire Hall and all the lords and ladies who came for the celebration.

Uncle Viserys was in the middle. To his right was Queen Aemma and next to her was Ser Otto Hightower. To the King's left was Rhaenyra. To Daena's left was her father, Daemon. After the first course, Rhaenyra got up and danced with their cousin, Laenor Velaryon. Daena never interacted much with him. She preferred his sister, Laena. Laena was a year younger than Daena and was lively and fun to play with.

During the feast, Daena could see many people looking her way and whispering to each other. The daughter of the Rogue Prince was making her first official appearance at court. She didn't understand why they all feared her father. He was always kind and gentle with her. He would braid her hair and teach her High Valyrian.

He would sing her lullabies in the ancient language. Most importantly, he would comfort her anytime she was sad about not having a dragon. But apparently, other people thought he was "dangerous" and "cruel as Maegor". She wanted to roll her eyes at those ridiculous words.

After the feast held in the Great Hall, Daena was tired. Well, not tired per se, she felt heavy and sleepy from eating so much food. She yawned quietly and saw Nyra looking at her. "Issi ao ēdrugī, hāedar?" (Are you sleepy, little sister/cousin?) Rhaenyra asked Daena.

Daena smiled sheepishly and nodded her head. Nyra chuckled and took Daena's hand in hers. "Nyke tolī. Māzigon va. Ivestragī's jikagon se gūrogon iā adere ēdrugon." (Me too. Come on. Let's go and take a nap.) The two young princesses walked happily hand in hand toward Rhaenyra's bed chamber.

There, they took off their dresses and were left only in their small clothes. They unbraided each other's silver hair. Daena pulled the big, heavy velvet curtains over the windows. They crawled into Rhaenyra's bed and slept with full bellies and happy hearts.

Daemon couldn't wait for the feast to be over. The only reason he was there in the first place is because it was expected of him, as the King's brother. Also, he knew just how much it meant to his niece, Rhaenyra, and his daughter Daena. The two girls were inseparable and were sisters in everything but name. His primary goal in coming to the capital was to secure a dragon for his precious girl. Even now he could hear people whispering around the court about how his daughter's egg didn't hatch. How it's too late for her.

"Lies. All lies." He claimed Caraxes when he was 24. His daughter had plenty of time to claim one for herself. But Daemon was anything but a patient person. So, of course, he was planning on speeding up the process. He planned on suggesting to the King that, since Daena was down South, she should visit the ancient ancestral seat of their House - Dragonstone. There, she could explore the island and its many caves. Hopefully, she would bond with a hatchling.

"Where is that mischievous little girl?" Daemon murmured to himself as he walked down the halls of the Red Keep. He checked her room. She wasn't there. She must've snuck somewhere, away from the buzz of the court. And if his instincts were right, she wasn't alone.

He quickly turned to the other hallway, which housed Rhaenyra's room. In front of her door was her sworn shield, Ser Harrold Westerling. "Prince Daemon." The knight greeted him.

"Ser Harrold...did you by any chance see my daughter? I can't seem to locate her." Daemon inquired. The knight nodded, opened the heavy oak door, and gestured for Daemon to walk in. So he did. The sight that greeted him warmed his rogue heart.

On top of the big oak bed, his little girl was curled up with her favorite cousin, the two blissfully asleep. Their silver hair was loose, their round cheeks red from the heat of the fireplace. The room was barely lit and the air was stuffy. Their little hands were intertwined. They seemed to be hugging each other, their breaths mingling. He originally wanted to scold Daena for sneaking out of the feast with Rhaenyra, but he didn't have the heart to wake them up now.

At the foot of the bed, he saw a book, lying open. It seems the girls were reading before taking a nap. He picked it up. It was in High Valyrian. This particular chapter was about commands riders would use on their dragons. "My little dragon...always eager to learn." Daemon thought to himself with a smile on his face.

He walked closer to the edge of the bed and looked at the sleeping figure of his little girl. She was so beautiful, she looked like a little angel - now even more so. He caressed her rosy cheek and moved a silver curl from her face. "Ñuha gevie riña." (My beautiful girl.) He whispered and pulled the covers over their small bodies. He left the room silently.

"Inform me when the Princesses wake up." He told Ser Harrold and went in the direction of the stables to get his horse. He was going to the Dragonpit with a plan in his mind.

They were awakened by the harsh afternoon sunlight. Daena could feel the light hitting her eyes. She groaned and turned around, almost colliding with Nyra's face.

"Princesses...It seems you fell asleep. Prince Daemon told me to wake you up. Have you forgotten about your little arrangement in the Dragonpit?" Amanda told them with a small smile on her face.

"Oh Gods! Yes, of course! Come on Daena, get dressed!" Rhaenyra said with a gasp and urged her cousin to get dressed quickly.

"But my clothes are in my room...Besides...I don't have any clothes for dragon riding..." Daena argued.

"That's not a problem. Take one of my suits." Nyra offered graciously. This made Daena smile a wide smile.

The trip to the Dragonpit was short. The two girls chatted the whole time so the time went by quickly. Once they arrived, Daena could not believe her eyes. The Dragonpit was a huge, cavernous building made to house the dragons. And the sight that greeted her brought a smile to her face. Her father, Daemon was scratching the scales of his monstrous red dragon, Caraxes, known as the Blood Wyrm. She could see that Caraxes was restless to fly.

"Come, sweet girl. He won't hurt you." Daemon called for her. She looked at Rhaenyra who was beside her. Nyra just smiled a mischievous smile.

"But what about you? You told me I would see Syrax." Daena questioned.

"Don't worry. I will introduce you two later. Now, go!" Nyra said and pushed her deeper into the Pit.

Daena slowly approached her father and his dragon. She has seen the dragon many times. Her father took her hand and pressed it against Caraxes's hot scales. For a second she thought her skin would melt off her hands, but it didn't. The dragon clicked and whistled, happy to see his rider's child. He could sense the little being was a Targaryen, that she was Daemon's offspring, and that she too had the blood of the dragon. His big yellow eyes bore into her lilac ones.

"He likes you. He can tell - you're a dragon too." Daemon told his daughter. She smiled shyly, happy that her father's dragon liked her.

"Now. Climb up." Daemon ordered her. She whipped her head.

"What!?" Daena said, shocked.

"You heard me. Climb up. I will be right behind you." He assured her. She took a deep breath and started climbing the ropes to get to the saddle, her father right behind her.

"Sōvēs Caraxes!" (Fly Caraxes!) She heard her father say behind her. And then, they flew.

High Valyrian:

Issi ao ēdrugī, hāedar? - Are you sleepy, little sister/cousin?

Nyke tolī. Māzigon va. Ivestragī's jikagon se gūrogon iā adere ēdrugon. - Me too. Come on. Let's go and take a nap.

Ñuha gevie riña. - My beautiful girl.

Sōvēs Caraxes! - Fly Caraxes!

***

In this chapter we see more of Daena's bond with both Nyra and her father. It was mostly filler but next chapter will be a crucial one for Daena.

Hope you liked it, and thanks for reading! ❤❤❤

If you have any opinions feel free to comment!

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

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Source: u/laughingboy on Reddit

King's Landing is the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, located in the crownlands on the east coast of Westeros. It is situated along the kingsroad at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush and overlooks Blackwater Bay. King's Landing is the site of the Iron Throne and the Red Keep. - A WIKI OF ICE AND FIRE

#hotd writing resources #king's landing #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction

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game-of-style · 9 months

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Queen Margaery in mourning - Jean Paul Gaultier Couture Fall 2023

#margaery tyrell #house tyrell #king's landing #jean paul gaultier #haute couture #black #velvet #red #headwear #accessories #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire

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asoiafreadthru · 1 month

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A Game of Thrones, Catelyn IV

Visenya’s Hill was crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers.

Across the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its huge dome collapsing into ruin, its bronze doors closed now for a century.

The Street of the Sisters ran between them, straight as an arrow. The city walls rose in the distance, high and strong.

And above it all, frowning down from Aegon’s high hill, was the Red Keep, seven huge drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts, an immense grim barbican, vaulted halls and covered bridges, barracks and dungeons and granaries, massive curtain walls studded with archer’s nests, all fashioned of pale red stone.

Aegon the Conqueror had commanded it built. His son Maegor the Cruel had seen it completed. Afterward he had taken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it.

Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed.

Yet now the banners that flew from its battlements were golden, not black, and where the three-headed dragon had once breathed fire, now pranced the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

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merlot-and-chardonnay · 4 months

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons:

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

----------------flashback------------------

You ignored Daemon's question and continued to gather your clothes. You huff a little when you collected your stockings and noticed they were ripped into shreds. You look at your dress and noticed it was slightly torn in the back too.

"You didn't answer my question, Little Lark," the prince speaks again. You huff once more and turn to Daemon in annoyance, "you have any idea how much money I spent on this?" you exasperate, gesturing to your dress. "I'll get you another," Daemon assures. "The fabric that was used to make this was imported from Kovir," you point out, "you plan on going all the way there to bring back more to fix it?"

"Point me in the right direction and I'll be there on my dragon," Daemon shrugs.

"Ugh," you groan, rolling your eyes and got your small clothes on.

Daemon got up, still naked as the day he was born, and approached you.

"What's you hurry? Stay awhile," he insists.

"I can't," you shake your head, getting your dress back on, doing your best not to look below the waistline of the man you fucked, "the princess will be expecting me soon." "The princess can wait," Daemon says, stepping in front of you.

Based on the look on his face, you could tell this man had no shame whatsoever in what he did last night. "I can't stay," you tell him, "I shouldn't be here any longer then I need to. I shouldn't even had done this in the first place." "Why not?" "Well for one, you are a married man," you point out. "Yet, you let that particular detail slip past your mind last night," Daemon says with a smirk.

He was right about that. You felt like a hypocrite, thinking back to the times you've scolded Jaskier for carrying on with married noblewomen back on the Continent. You've seen how many times your half-brother had gotten in trouble for such trysts, and you had sworn you wouldn't put yourself in a similar situation.

So much for that.

"I'm going," you insist, hastily pushing him to the side, "and don't be getting any ideas, prince" you tell him before you leave, "this is not going to happen again anytime soon...ever."

Looking out to make sure the coast was clear, you quietly slip out of Daemon's chambers and sneak your way back to your own.

You slipped out of your torn dress and put on another. You were in the middle of brushing your hair when you hear a knock at the door.

Your heart skipped a beat, hoping it was a summons to see the princess, but thinking it might be Daemon attempting to seduce you for another round. To your relief it was just the servant had come to give you breakfast.

Eggs with bacon and a cup of tea. The tea, you noticed had a unusual taste, but you didn't really think much of it. It was still decent

Just when you thought you could settle down some, you hear another knock at the door and another servant came in, "the Lord Hand, Otto Hightower is here, my Lady," he announces, "he wishes to see you."

You had a look of confusion on your face, "...me?" you frown a bit, "What for?" "He didn't say," the servant answers.

This was perplexing. You didn't know Otto Hightower all that well; in fact, you dare say you've only met him once when he was present at Rhaenyra's nameday feast. You did recall how very unimpressed he was with your songs and ballads that night, but he applauded when the other nobles had, though it seemed to be out of respect more than anything. What could the Hand of the King possibly want with you?

Said Hand didn't seem to wait for your permission as he walked past the door.

You stand up and curtsy lightly as Otto enters your rooms, "Lord Hand," you greet, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I'm afraid this is no social call, (y/n)," Otto says, looking you up and down with what to be contempt, "there is something I wish to discuss. Some rather...troubling rumors."

"Uh, rumors?" you frown a bit, taking a seat.

"It seems some...certain individuals, servants, have spotted the prince last night," the Hand explains, "romping about in the halls near his private chambers...with a woman. And, you'll have to forgive me, Lady troubadour, for the indelicacy of this situation, but some of them could've sworn that woman was...you."

"Oh," you say, feeling your face turn hot. It struck you as weird though as you didn't recall anyone being present when Daemon took you in that hall last night. And if they were present, why go to the Hand? Wouldn't it have made more sense to talk the king, Daemon's brother?"

Otto raised an eyebrow at that simple answer you made. You were caught in a compromising situation, yet you didn't seem to realize how this could affect your standing with the royal family. Then again you were a foreigner to this realm, he surmised, and therefore not accustomed to the ways proper women, especially highborn women, were supposed to behave in this part of the world.

"I know you are not from this realm," Otto explains, "you hail from this Continent to the East, across the Sea. I understand your sort are not as...restrained when it comes to indulging in certain vices." "MY sort?" you look at the man with a glare. "Women," Otto says matter-of-factually, "you may have been give more reign on the Continent to engage in such indecent acts, but here in Westeros, the women are raised to be proper paragons of virtue. To keep themselves as such until they are married and have bared children for their husbands."

"That must explain why there's so many brothels on the street of Silk," you mutter. "What was that?" "Nothing," you shrug, casually sipping your tea, "is there any particular reason why you're so fixated on my nighttime activities, Lord Hand?"

"You serve the princess Rhaenyra," Otto states, "she is an impressionable young woman who seems to be under the spell of your morbid, and rather vulgar ballads and siren's calls. It is imperative she does not have certain...ideals planted in her head, especially when she's yet to be betrothed and her virtue not yet called into question."

You were then able to put two and two together on what this was really about, "you want to ensure my 'foreign ways' don't corrupt the pure and virtuous princess," you sarcastically surmise, "...along with your daughter the Lady Alicent, the princess's companion."

"So we understand each other then," Otto says, small smile on his face like he'd won some kind of victory, "I do hope you enjoyed your tea. It was specially made for such...awkward situations. But don't expect it to happen again the next time you decide to think with your snatch instead of your head."

You were internally seething at this point; this man practically barged into your chambers (and you could've been naked for all he knew) and had the gall to control you by shaming your sexual choices. And top it all off, he had your tea spiked with contraceptives without your consent; granted, the fact your drank it gave you some peace of mind, but it still didn't change the fact this misogynistic son of a bitch made choices for your body without your knowing.

Daemon may be a rogue and a Lothario, but at least he was straightforward and wasn't one to beat around the bush, unlike this jackass.

Still, you decide to be the bigger person and stand up to face this man, speaking with a sincere voice, "Rest assured Lord Hand, I shall be discrete and will henceforth set an example for the princess and not let my certain non-Westerosi 'lifestyles' influence her in any way."

Satisfied with your answer, Otto nodded in approval and left.

You down the last of your tea, albeit reluctantly as you felt violated but still grateful as even on the Continent, a woman pregnant out of wedlock was generally frowned upon.

Right after another servant came to let you know Rhaenyra had summoned you to play for her.

You nod and grab your lute, "Paragons of virtue my ass," you mutter.

As soon as your time with the princess was over, you quickly walk out, and just as expected Daemon was there waiting for you to run into him again.

"Ah, my Prince," you greet, "Just the man I was looking for." Daemon was surprised, this was not like you to say something like that him, regardless of what he did last night; he expected insults, curses, you insisting that you had no desired to be bedded by him again (maybe some unsavory comments about his manhood while you were at it).

He was not prepared to hear say you were actually glad to see him.

You surprise even more when you pull him in for a kiss, the push him against the wall for another kiss, feeling him up as you did so.

Daemon pulls away for a brief moment, "Not that I'm complaining," he says, "but this cannot possibly be the Little Lark who had made very clear only this morning this would not happen again."

"I had a change of heart," you shrug leaning into him, "you really going to turn me down right now, Prince? I've heard the tales of your exploits on the Street of Silk. You can be quite...insatiable." "What about me being married? You were so adamant to bring that up," Daemon points out. You stop for a bit, but then decided to brush it off; you've already made your bed, you may as well sleep in it.

Sooner rather than later.

And you did drink the contraceptive tea, you may as well make good use of it while you still can.

"I've also heard you don't really like your wife all that much," you attempt to justify, "your Bronze Bitch, that's what you call her right? Besides, marriages like this, even on the Continent, are nothing more than political arrangements. Never stopped anyone from doing what they will."

Smirking, Daemon now pulls you in to kiss him. You moan as he did so, "my prince," you whisper as he moves to kiss your neck. "Call me by my name, Little Lark," you hear him whisper into your ear. "Only if you call me by mine," you say back.

-----------Present Day: Kaer Morhen---------

You were sleeping, something that was really considered a luxury these days since Aemma was born. You found yourself slowly waking though in the middle of the night. This was normally the time your daughter would be fussing about in her crib mostly likely to be fed.

It was quiet right now...too quiet. You feel the bed dipped on the side and look to see Geralt was sitting on the edge, cradling little Aemma to his chest as he did so.

"I didn't hear her fussing," you say, leaning on your elbow and rubbing your eyes.

"I heard her right as she started," Geralt admits, "I thought comforting her would allow you more rest." "I was wondering why I was sleeping so well tonight," you joke, "thanks for that, Geralt. You've really been a big help with Aemma." "No trouble at all," the witcher says, looking at the little bundle in his arms in awe.

Geralt may not be the father, but he seemed to adore the babe. Aemma seemed to feel the same way; Geralt would help out at night when she'd start fussing, and she seemed to settle quicker in his arms then she did in yours.

If anyone had looked and knew Geralt wasn't a witcher, they would almost mistake Aemma as his biological daughter.

It wasn't long though till Aemma started fussing again, nuzzling Geralt's chest.

"Uh, (y/n), I think she might be hungry again," Geralt tells you. "Yeah, babies do get hungry," you say, reaching out so Geralt could hand you your daughter. You give her a kiss on the head and arrange your night shift so you could feed her.

Geralt averted his gaze so as to give you privacy, something that didn't go unnoticed by you, "you're allowed to look Geralt," you chuckle, "we spent many an intimate night together before this, it's nothing you haven't seen before."

"This is different," Geralt insists. He wasn't really embarrassed or anything, but this felt like something of an intrusion; from what little he's heard about babies and mothers, this was their special moment of bonding. The way you'd looked at Aemma during this time felt intimate and private, and it was something Geralt didn't want to disrupt.

You kiss the top of Aemma's head as she stops nursing. You rub her back and rock her till she falls asleep.

"Let me take her," Geralt offers, and you hand her to him. Geralt gets up, carrying Aemma to her crib.

You lay back down admiring the view. For a man with a rough exterior he could be surprisingly gentle; it shouldn't really surprise you, given how well Geralt has been doing raising Ciri. Actually if anything, parenthood really seemed to bring out the witcher's softer side.

Geralt joined you in the bed afterwards. He pulls you in and you give him a kiss, which you return.

Things start to get a little more heated. You feel him up as he hovers over you. He starts to kiss your neck, but he pulls away before things could get any further.

"Geralt?" you speak. "I uh, I didn't want to get carried away," the witcher admits, "I know you're still recovering from your past labors."

You smile a bit. You and the witcher had continued to share a bed since Aemma was born, and though you and him had started to fool around a little more, you hadn't gone all the way with him yet.

"I, uh, I think I want to do this," you tell him. "Are you sure?" Geralt asks. "It's been almost two months, I think I'll be fine," you assure, finding it sweet that Geralt was considering your needs first.

"Alright," Geralt says, placing you on your back, placing a kiss on your forehead, "if this becomes too much, let me know."

You give a sweet smile and place your lips to his again before he works his way down your body.

He lifted your shift slightly and makes ready to spread your legs, however, you stop him. "Are you okay?" Geralt asks, concerned that he may have somehow gone overboard with the stimulation.

"I am," you assured, "but uh...it's just..." "You're not ready?" "No I am," you insists, "it's just...*sigh* things may not be quite the same down there since last you saw it. My body, it hasn't quite been the same since giving birth."

Geralt gives a small smile, leaning down to press a kiss near your thigh, "you're beautiful, (y/n)," he assures, "you're not the first mother to go through this. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

You smile, and you could've sworn you felt a tear escape your eye. Geralt has been nothing but kind to you since you came here. Whatever happened in the past, both with him and the time you've been apart, he accepted you into his home when you were in most need. He went above and beyond to help you out during and after the pregnancy, and he didn't have to. He didn't owe you anything. Aemma wasn't his daughter, yet he was still there for you and for her.

You feel the witcher dive in between your legs, getting you ready for what was to come this night.

----------------flashback----------------------

"Twice in one day and it's not even high noon," Daemon comments in slight laughter as you and him lay in his bed naked and staring at the ceiling. The prince had a content smile on his face as he placed a hand behind his head.

You weren't really listening to him though, you were still reeling from the fact you allowed this man to take you to his bed once again for another tryst.

Why, you wonder. What possessed you to do this again?

It felt good, there was no denying that, but it didn't change the fact this man was still insufferable.

This also may have been a way to get back at Hightower for pissing you off and indirectly slut shaming you, and infantalizing you when he gave you the tea without your informed consent. But since you drank the tea, you made sure it didn't go to waste; it was well put to use.

"What say we make it a third time?" the sliver blonde prince suggests, bringing your attention back to him.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea," you tell him, sitting up. "Why not?" Daemon asks, somewhat confused.

"I uh...oh gods, I did it again," you groan, getting out of bed again, "I actually did it again. Why? Why do I keep doing this?" "Because it feels good?" Daemon suggests, "did I not satisfy you?" "No, you did," you assure, "well, you did a lot more then that, it's just...I'm not sure how long that tea is supposed to last."

"Tea?" "Yeah that strange tasting tea that I guess prevents pregnancy, the one Otto Hightower had the servants bring me." "Otto?" Daemon's ears perked up. "Yeah," you nod, "he...some people apparently caught us together last night and...they went and told him." "Oh, that twat," Daemon mutters, getting up to face you, "did he threaten you in any way?" "Only to keep my legs closed lest I somehow corrupt the impressionable princess," you admit, looking down, "the Lord Hand seems to be under the impression us Continental women are fast and loose compared to Westorosi women. I'm not. Yes I've known other men, but I don't just go throwing myself at every single one I chance across. I have standards."

"I know that," Daemon jokes, lifting your chin so you could face him, "Listen, Otto Hightower is a cunt. He's never been fond of me, and he's spent the last ten years or so poisoning my own brother against me with his little network of spies around King's Landing. If you are worried about him causing you harm or threatening your standing with Rhaenyra, I won't let it come to that."

"As for your worries concerning unwanted consequences from our clandestine trysts," the prince continues, "I can have the kitchen servants bring moon tea to your quarters every evening if you wish. They'll be discrete if I command them to be so. That is..if you wish to continue this little arrangement."

"Arrangement?" "You continue to entertain my niece whenever her whims wish so," Daemon explains, "and then you come entertain me afterwards."

You scoff a bit, turning your back on him. "Why deny yourself this?" Daemon leans in to press kisses to your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you, "I think it a fair arrangement. I can give you whatever you wish. You'll be want to for nothing should you accept." "I'm already want for nothing," you say , fighting the urge to moan from his ministrations, "I'm paid well for my services for the princess."

"Ah, but surely the princess doesn't give you this," Daemon smirks into his next kiss, hands starting to roam, caressing your waist and breast. You couldn't help but let out a loud moan, making the prince smirk even more.

"So, what do you say?" he asks.

You sigh a bit, feeling some self-loathing for even considering this offer. But there was no denying that despite how insufferable this man could be, he sure knew what he was doing when it came to pleasuring his partner. You cup his neck and turn to face him. "I shall take some time to consider this offer," you say, tone turning rather seductive, "in the mean time, how about going a third round as you suggested my Prince, I mean...Daemon?"

Smirking, Daemon picks you up, you wrap your legs around him as he carries you back to the bed.

You don't stay on your back for long as soon as he wraps your legs around him, you put your hands on his chest on push him around till you were sitting on top of him.

Chapter 4

Masterlist

#geralt of rivia #geralt #witcher geralt #ciri #triss merigold #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #geralt x reader #hotd #the witcher #otto hightower #eskel #lambert #coen #vesemir #kaer morhen #king's landing

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