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laurorne · 18 days

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༊*·˚ HE MADE A SLAVE OF ME | daemon targaryen x targtower!reader, minor aegon ii targaryen x twin wife!reader

summary: confined to the sullen walls of the red keep, there isn’t far you’re afforded to wander. entertained only by the people you silently watch, you find excitement in the visit of your older sister and uncle. though the latter is far more appealing to spend the night with, and more willing.

warnings: nsfw, minors dni, targaryen incest (uncle x niece), porn with minimal plot, p in v, rough sex, slapping, degradation, masochism, blood play?, praise kink, breath play/choking, breeding kink, a lil’ stomach bulge, cheating on both halves, swearing, inaccurate high valyian (i tried?), weird pure bloodline shit, fiending for that valyrian d, hightowerphobic daemon, bastardphobic reader

word count: 3.5k

a/n: daemon is so ugly but he’s so hot it’s so bad. okay, i can’t see daemon as a rough lover except maybe with a cunty targtower so this was the only way i could bring myself to write this 😭 (this was my inspo for this entire fic, bless tiktok editors 🙏🏼🙏🏼)

As a daughter of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen, you'd found that most people bent to your will regarding requests. The lords would bend over twice fold if it meant a chance at earning your hand, and the girls at court dared not step a foot before you in the case you'd remove them from your entourage of highborn ladies.

With eyes so doe-like and lips like honey, one would mistake you for just that, a doe, not the dragon draped beneath green silk that shifted like flames in a hearth.

That's how you'd created yourself. How you'd curated each step and each titter of laughter, every slow blink at every lord and all those tight lipped smiles at ladies of court who came too close to your family.

People at court had said that you were the best half of your twin brother, that he had taken all the bad traits so you could shine as the darling of the realm. Poor, sweet Aegon. Ever the scapegoat and always the perpetrator.

So as you sit across from your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, you find yourself rather... without.

He sits beside your half-sister. A beautiful glow on her skin as she laughs along with something your father had said. She's stunning, Valyrian in every sense of the word. With her pale hair and aquiline nose, you can see why she was adored.

Other than the Realm's utter Delight, dinner is less than… familial.

Everyone can clearly see the divide between both sides of House Targaryen. The Hightowers sat to the right of the King, the mix of Targaryen and brown-haired Velaryon to his left. You find no warmth in this arrangement, other than false pretenses of civility and feigned love for each other, the entire affair is only for show of the poor old King.

Though there is an affair that consumes your thoughts, a tryst that would no doubt end messily. So you opt to speak with your family, with a spare glance thrown his way just to divulge yourself after all these years of self-control.

Daemon understands the weight of your gaze on him. Even from across the table he can feel the way your eyes trace his features, the way you're devouring him without lifting your fork or grinding your teeth or even touching him. Your supposed indifference to the sides that the house of the dragons has taken makes his fingers twitch around his goblet. You're speaking with Baela and Rhaena as if you've sat beside them in court for years, doting on their new dresses and telling them snippets of what they've missed at the Red Keep.

Jacaerys' gaze is flittering over to your figure every couple of seconds, eyes dipping to your dangerously low neckline of your green dress, every time you laugh and your chest heaves he looks away like a wide-eyed virgin. Red at the ears as he scolds Lucerys for holding a fork wrong, Daemon guesses, with the way the older boy points to another utensil.

And your family, gods.

Your twin brother, Aegon, is attempting to drink away his sorrows but you're always quick to scoop the cup out of his grasp and palm it off to a servant. The fool simply allows you, resigning to watch everyone speak as you have him by the balls practically. And to still have him fawning over you, his pretty little twin-wife, is absurdity.

Aemond is glaring daggers at Rhaenyra's boys and Helaena is off in an entire world of her own.

When he looks back to you and finds those lilac-coloured iris' already poised on him, his jaw clenches and he takes another pass at his Dornish wine. The way your hair falls in pure white curls around your face and frames the heavy gorget necklace that adorns your neck, inlaid with moonstone and rubies that look eerily similar to the ones from the Conquerors crown. Spoiled Hightower brat.

Daemon is far from naïve. He's been apart of how many wars?

He's a seasoned veteran to these types of women, to their greedy plans and treacherous thoughts.

Though... that colouring that she has, so clearly a staple of House Targaryen, he's not so convinced that he's entirely immune. He's sure that his nephew is beyond stupid to not have made you a mother sooner. With tits like that and eyes so sweet? He'd have you swollen with babe two moons after your last birth.

He watches the way you lick a droplet of wine from the corner of your mouth, watches the way your eyes flicker from Jacaerys to him, and he can see it then. Something so wanton in your gaze.

Perhaps paying a visit to his dear, sweet niece tonight would not be such a bad thought.

You arch up into the touch —his touch— as shivers run along the length of your spine. His hand smooths over the swell of your breast in response, easing your ache as you squirm for more. It travels over the fat of it until his fingers pinch roughly at your nipple. A stuttering breath punches its way from your throat as he stares down at your face.

“So eager, aren’t we?” He admires the way your lips part, the way your eyes dance back into focus and meet his heated gaze. The way you seek out the eye contact. Want to know he’s watching the show you’re putting on.

Just as you’re forming the vowels on the tip of your tongue, he’s grabbing a fistful of your thigh and pushing his hips impossibly closer to yours. It makes you shudder, makes you want all the more. But there is no give to his press, he’s seated far too deeply inside you to move any further in. He’s pulling his hips back just the smallest fraction before he starts inching back in, heavy and hot and oh-so deep it burns.

Your tongue swipes over your lips, your hand moving to clutch onto the arm that props him up above you. The thickly corded muscle makes holding onto him all the easier, makes your cunt flutter and your chest heave and your eyes water. He’s so large, far different from your husband, this pure-blooded Valyrian —this man— he’s encompassing your body and stuffing you all at the same time, filling, holding and folding you how he wants.

You move to weave your fingers into the loose strands of his hair but the hand that was cradling your thigh is quick to grasp your wrist, tugging the appendage away as he begins dragging his hips back. “Where did all your words go, dōna riña?” (sweet girl)

You swallow thickly, fingers balling up as he oh-so slowly pulls out til’ just the tip rests in you. It’s agonising, having been so full not even moments ago, you feel empty. It’s involuntary, the way your hips lift towards him, cunt greedily taking him as you stifle the way your breath hitches. His thighs tense up as he groans, fingers tightening around your wrist as his hips rock forwards just the tiniest bit.

“Daemon, please.” It’s breathy, spoken from someplace in your chest that you feel with every inch of your body. “I want you.”

Your eyes only just catch the tic in his jaw as he drops your wrist, immediately grabbing a fistful of your tit and pushing back into you. Hips meeting flush as he glares down at you. The grip he’s got on your fit fucking hurts, but you’d be damned if it doesn’t set all your nerves on fire.

“Ilībio,” He all but snarls. (whore)

You don’t even register the next thrust before he’s pulling out again. He leans forward, large hand coming to press down onto your throat. His fingers curl around your neck —encompassing it entirely as he presses down onto you— using you for leverage as he fucks into you.

You moan, mouth falling open as he uses your body and paws at your tit messily. You can feel the flesh spill from between his fingers, feel the sensitive peak rubbing against his rough palm.

It’s driving you insane.

The hand leaves your tit, moving to the next and grabbing on just as roughly. He hits a particularly forceful thrust that has you jolting up the bed, back arching up as you whine. Your legs curl around his hips, thighs bouncing with each stroke, making a distinct slapping as he fucks you into the plush sheets of your bed. You roll your pelvis to the rhythm he sets, it’s practised, timed and purely filth.

“You belong in the,” He pauses as he sneers down at you, watching his cock sink deep into your tight little cunt. “Street of Silk.”

You can only sigh out a breath as his hand clamps down on your throat, your air coming in short bursts only when he pulls out to thrust back in.

“Your husband mustn’t have fucked you well enough.” He thrusts violently on husband, heavy cock bullying its way back into you as your cunt clenches.

His words are driving you closer to the edge, making you feel all the slicker as he fucks you, uses you like he’s your husband. Like you belong to him. Like you’re the sister he married in the ways of Old Valyria —in the ways of your house— in blood and fire.

The thick drag of his dick brings you back from your cock drunk haze, his words ringing in your brain as he watches your lashes flutter.

“Tight like a Lyseni virgin,” He buries himself into you until oxygen evades you entirely, all his weight resting on your throat as he leans in, licking a stripe up your throat and biting at your pulse point. “Wet like a pillow house whore.”

You writhe beneath him, fingers curling into the thickly corded forearm that presses you down into the bed, he teasingly slows to a stop only to rocks forwards. Watching your eyes turn hazy as your hips twitch up onto him. Jerkily grinding onto him as you struggle to take a breath.

“Struggling to breathe and you still want me to fill you, tala.” He smiles down at you, lifting a hand from your throat to caress the bone of your cheek. “So desperate for it.”

Oh, how badly you want to spit an insult at him. How badly you want to punch him and pull on his hair and suck marks into the muscled line of his shoulder.

He lifts the heel of his palm slightly, just when the edge of your vision was beginning to cloud. A quick respite of air before he’s pressing a bruising kiss to your pouty lips. Teeth digging into your bottom lip as he fully cups the side of your face. Tongue pressing into your mouth intrusively as he overwhelms you. Full of cock, his tongue, and being pinned to the bed by the entire weight of him.

The red hot coil in your stomach is cooling quickly, fading away into nothing as he devours you in the most deliciously possessive kiss you’ve ever had. His thumb presses roughly into the bone of your cheek as he thrusts gently into you. There’s a bloom of pain in your lip as he begins pulling away, teeth biting your bottom lip as he lifts himself back up. Blood smears your pearly white teeth, and you can taste it on your tongue.

Your chest heaves as you grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his face back down so you can kiss him roughly. You practically consume him with this kiss, wanting and needy as you fight to gain control. He pants out a chuckle, thumb pulling on your chin as he licks over the cut and your teeth. Your fingers tangle in his white strands and you give a sharp tug, the rasp that escapes him sends a needy throb through your cunt. But you take his unfocus as a chance to lick into his mouth, cunt throbbing as his lower half folds you over, sinking into you so deeply it makes your hips twitch and writhe in pain.

You fight against the pain, neck aching as you crane up against his weight, biting his lip harshly until you feel the break of his skin between your teeth. Blood mixing in your mouths as he pants into your mouth, thumb hooking into the corner of your mouth as he looks down at you with something akin to satisfaction.

“Smile, tala.” (niece)

You breath in shallowly, greedily taking in air that you neglected yourself of.

“Uh-uh,” He squeezes your cheeks together, until your lips pout and he presses down onto your jaw hard. “Smile.”

And you do, lips pulling up as best they can with his fingers holding your jaws apart. He lets his fingers loosen so he can watch your teeth peak out from beneath your abused and bloody lips. You can guess that you both look the same, blood staining your teeth a burning carmine. The colour of House Targaryen.

“Good girl.” His voice is condescending as he pats your cheek roughly, pushing himself back up, and sitting back on his knees as he stares down at you through wispy strands of platinum hair. Dick sitting heavy inside you, fill to the point of it being a bit hard to breathe. Your sheets reeks of sweat and sex, and the iron tang of blood sits in the air and on your tongues.

His hands smooth over your thighs, thumb running along a pink scar nestled closely to your knee.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, tits on full display while you look up at him through those pretty lashes, admiring the scars that mar the pale skin of his torso and the blood the runs a rivulet down his chin. “What are yo-“

He unwraps your legs from his waist, grabbing at the back of your thighs and pushing them towards you. You whine at the sudden movement, the blunt tip of him nudging against what the deepest parts of you. Pressing you in half with ease until he can hold your legs against his chest with one arm. The other coming to rest against the soft spot of your stomach as he hovers over you.

“Fucking an heir into you,” He presses a quick kiss to your calf before he’s snapping his hip forward and pressing down on your stomach. And that’s when you feel him. You let out a breathy moan as he fucks you, with your back arched toward him as you let him take you.

Like a virgin during her bedding ceremony.

His fingers leave pale prints in your skin as he grips onto the meat of your thighs so tightly. His thighs slapping against the backs of your legs while he fucks his length into you. With his arm wound tightly around your knees, there’s no way you can move or adjust or even move with him, you’re practically in his lap as he uses your hipbone for leverage.

Choked-out pants and whiny breaths are the only noise you can make as the hand that was holding your legs together drifts to your soaked pussy. Thumb slipping through until he bumps into your clit —he can tell by the way your tits heave and your cunt clenches impossibly tighter— and he can’t help but snicker as he presses down onto the poor thing. Hands used for more than just sword fighting, skilled in pleasing wives long gone that were no doubtingly three times older than you, are so deliciously textured.

“Hightower votrītsos nȳmagon wal morghūljagon.” Your maternal house is spat with hatred, he punctuates it with thrusts that grow more violent as he claims you. (hightower cunt calls men to die.)

“Iksā kempa isse nyke, issi ao daor, kepa?” You heave the sentence, attempting to speak without falter as he continues his selfish pleasure seeking manhandling. (you are heavy in me, are you not uncle?)

He grunts, nose scrunching up for a moment as a strand of hair dangles between his eyes. Silver locks messy. His thumb flicks over your clit again —a full-bodies shudder follows— so he can stare intently at your bouncing tits without the chatter.

“Aōha Valyrio Eglie jorrāelagon mirre.” (your High Valyrian needs work)

You admire the way his hair falls to his shoulders, undone from its hairstyle tonight at dinner, the slope of his shoulders to the plains of his front. A battlefield of cut muscle and scars that create ridges and valleys. Your eyes dart up as his nails cut into the skin of your calf, his lip curls up as his eyes finally drift from the harsh jerk of your pliable body beneath him, to your lilac eyes.

His eyes are dark, ringed by what little purple you can see in the darkness of your lonely chambers. The way he looks down at you, the look of curiosity, of lust, of hatred, it burns in your throat and makes your thighs quiver as he just stares.

You could nearly compare it to the way Aegon admires his cups, the way he drinks in every hitch of your breath, the way he huffs your scent, the stutter in his hips at every flutter of your cunt around him.

(Akin to Aegon’s lust for Dornish import wine, he drinks you in and savours the way your body begs for the extra inch.)

Your fingers tangle up in the silken sheets of your bed as you stutter, stomach quivering as he keeps his hips in motion, brining you oh-so close to your peak. Though it’s barely enough, used to the drunken fumble of your twin, you need a rougher edge, a little more pain. He’d just need a push.

“Iksā iā buzdari naejot kasta orvorta. Hae se dārys.” (you are a slave to green cunt. like the king)

He hums, brows pinching together as his thrusts grow sloppy and unpractised, like the green boy your husband had been on your wedding day.

“Kostilus ziry ūndan mirros hae bisa,” He circles your clit roughly, pad of his thumb rubbing deliciously against your slick cunt. “gōvilagon aōha muña grēza.” (perhaps he saw something like this, beneath your mothers dress.)

You let out a strangled moan, hips rocking up to meet his every thrust. The coil in your stomach is tightening and heating and making your thighs twitch and tense, and he doesn’t seem to take the movement kindly. The rhythm stutters when he forces one of your legs to his side as he surges forward to capture your mouth in a crushing kiss. Your other leg is caught over his shoulder as he moves in and it stretches muscles you hadn’t know existed in your legs as he bullies his way deeper and deeper, like he owns you, like your his to ruin.

“I would have loved taking your maidenhead.” He breaths the word into your mouth as the cuts on your lips open anew, smearing blood across your mouths, cheeks and noses. The kiss he pulls you into next is careless and messy, all knocking teeth and hot breathes.

“I- I’m,” He cuts you off by wrapping his hand back around your throat, pinning you down as his nose buries itself in the hair on the side of your head.

A blinding heat curls in your stomach and your cunt flutters around the abusive cock he fucks you with. The one leg that wasn’t pinned between you both is quick to pull his hips flush to you as you moan wantonly, though it’s smothered by his hand. Chest heaving and pale baby hairs sticking to your forehead as your lashes flutter closed. Taking the last few cants of Daemon’s hips as he finishes inside you, spilling deep inside you with heavy panting accompanied by a groan.

Everything is all warm, floating in your soft bed as the heavy man above you lets his weight onto you fully. Cock keeping you stuffed with his seed.

The hand on your throat drifts to your hair —you gulp down air as you feel an ache begin to form— deft fingers stroking at the loose strands behind your ear as he breathes in the perfume oil of the Dragons Breath flowers you'd chosen for tonight.

“I may take you to wife, with a cunt like that.” He murmurs, fingers tightening around those stray strands of hair as he lifts his face to meet yours. Pupils blown wide as he rolls his hips to nestle nicely between yours. That leg wedged between you both falling loose, and landing on the bed softly.

Oh?

That sentence shouldn't have made you so giddy, nor should it make a delighted grin pull across your bruised lips.

A plan well curated is always fruitful.

TAGS: @avalyaaa

#house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #targaryen incest

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damn-stark · 1 year

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Chapter 9 Travesty

Chapter 9 of Sandstorm

A/N- GET READY!!!

Warning- Y/N has a son, swearing, fluff, incest, ANGST, talks of pregnancy, ALSO THERES CHANGES THAT DRIFT AWAY FROM THE SHOW (not big, but there is)

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

Episode- 8x04 & 8x05 (only half)

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*2 MONTHS LATER*

“I will not give The Reach to some common sellsword,” Daenerys argues with Tyrion. “It doesn’t matter if he’s won battles or not.”

“The lords of the Reach won’t follow your friend, nor can we actually allow him to have HighGarden,” you defend her argument. “He’s not loyal, he knows nothing about leading a house.”

“Neither did any of our ancestors,” Tyrion tries to input.

You narrow your gaze on him. “No, but we aren’t talking about them are we?” You spat. “If it’s true that he’ll have your head if you don’t give him what you owe him, then he may come and face the wrath of the dragons. We’re not giving him the Reach.”

Tyrion glances at Daenerys for her opinion, and she sighs before giving her answer. “I agree. I won’t. With half of the Iron Fleet destroyed, with the Dornish warriors now at our disposal, we might gain the lead in the war once again. I won’t lose it for some sellsword who has no sense of respect or loyalty.”

Tyrion nods and keeps quiet, letting you continue.

“Beside,” you continue to add. “The Reach and HighGarden deserve to go to someone loyal, someone who’s lived in the land a long time, someone who knows it, cherishes it.”

Sansa hums and steps towards the table in the middle of the room to interject. “The Hightowers are an old house, but a proud one who pride themselves in their religion. A marriage proposal to them doesn’t sound beneficial. They won’t accept Rhaenar, nor the Queen.”

“But,” you add on after her whilst you place a wooden sun with a chevron over it. “Sansa and I think we can gain the support of House Ashford. They’re an old house, during the rebellion they stayed loyal to House Targaryen, they’re respected. If they accept our offer the other Lords will follow.”

“Furthermore,” you continue as you clasp your hands under your small swollen belly. “The Lord has six children, amongst them is a daughter of only five and ten years old. She's older than Rhaenar,” you sigh, “but she’s still unmatched. So with your permission Queen; Jon, Rhaenar, and I will go on dragonback and present the offer in person for you.”

Daenerys glances at Tyrion across the table for advice. And silently without a word, Tyrion nods before he interjects. “Going in person will show that we care, it’s smart. I would have advised it had you asked me.” He says and shoots you a pointed glare.

You offer him an annoyed side eye before glancing at Jon and offering him an urging nod now that your offer was approved.

“If all are in agreement then…Ser Davos will ride down the Kingsroad with the Northern troops, and the bulk of the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied,” he says and drags wooden pieces down the map. “While the Princess, Prince, and I fly on Eraxis and Rhaegal to the Reach to give our envoy to Lord Ashford. We will then meet up with the troops and accompany overhead.”

You nod in agreement, and Tyrion proceeds to add on to the plans.

“A smaller group of us will ride to White Harbor in the meanwhile and sail from there to Dragonstone with our Queen and Drogon accompanying us from above. Ser Jaime will remain here, as guest of the Lady of Winterfell. Questions?” He asks and looks around the table.

Alas, no one speaks up now, letting the meeting disband and everyone go their separate ways; Daenerys exits the room to get ready to leave, and all her people follow her. Everyone else who had been here, like Ser Brienne, Ser Davos, and Arya leave too, leaving Jon, Sansa, Bran the maester, and you in the room. And while the maester is still here you pull your scroll out of your sleeve and walk to the maester to hand it to him.

“I was hoping you could send this to my sister Sarella, Maester, with secrecy.”

The maester nods in agreement without hesitation and tucks the scroll away in his sleeve. “I’ll do it right away, Princess.” He bows before he walks to Bran to take him out too. You then proceed to turn and face Sansa and Jon who had waited to walk out with you.

“Are you ready to leave, Jon? Or do you need to fix your hair?” You tease him as you fall at his side and walk out of the door.

Sansa giggles at your comment, and that makes you smirk deeper.

“Are you?” He counters. “Or do you still need to finish getting dressed? You tend to take forever choosing a dress to wear.”

You scoff and hook your arm around him, noticing Sansa fall at your other side as you now begin to walk down the hall. “Sansa helped get me dressed today actually.” You beam. “I am actually wearing one of the dresses she made me.” You glance at her and shoot her a sweet smile. “Besides my vanity is important, I need to fit my role as Princess.”

Jon scoffs softly in amusement but smiles sweetly as he studies your dress; noting the long white skirt that just perfectly stopped above your feet so you wouldn’t trip, he looks at the thin gold chains that ran down the front and connected to a choker around your neck; he looks at the warm soft brown fur top that was tight around your torso, letting the small bump shine.

“Does that mean freezing to death,” Jon points out to your exposed shoulders.

“Yes,” you retort.

“Did you wear your armor under your dress like I told you?” Sansa interjects, making you avert your gaze and nod speechlessly.

“Liar,” she quips and grabs your arm to pull you towards her.

You let out a dramatic sigh and groan. “It’s bulky, okay? And it doesn’t let me move freely when I’m on dragonback. I hate wearing armor under my dresses.”

Sansa side eyes you. “You’re carrying my niece and nephew in there…

You grin wide at her assumption.

“…I won’t let you leave unprotected,” she finishes saying. “Tell her Jon.”

“I've tried,” he mumbles in defeat. “Hundreds of times. She doesn’t listen to me.”

You smile and roll your head to the side to try and assure them since they’re being thoughtful. “I am wearing ringmail under this for all of your sakes, so rest assured.”

Sansa sighs and shares a look with her brother. “Well it is better than nothing,” she mutters in annoyance.

The three of you take a turn to walk to the courtyard to fetch Rhaenar. And it’s whilst you’re on the way there that you all run into Daenerys turning into the hall.

“Ah,” she mutters and takes note of the two at your sides before she offers you all a small smile. “I was hoping to run into you y/n before we both left.” She directs at you.

Sansa lets out a small sigh and lets you go to step back. Jon does the same, letting Daenerys join your side, and continue walking with you.

“I was just hoping to ask about your visit with the maester this morning,” she brings up almost hesitantly or timidly you can’t tell, you can just see her averting her gaze and giving you some space. “Is everything all right?”

You nod. “It is,” you assure her. “The babies are well, they’re strong, he says.”

Daenerys snaps her gaze to you and grabs your arm to stop you in your tracks, making the pair behind you stop too—“Babies?” She queries in disbelief.

You can’t help but smile even if you can’t tell if she’s happy or bothered by the news. “Yes,” you confirm. “He felt two heads.” Of course you had known before because of the dream, but you couldn’t be sure until they were older and the maester could confirm it for you.

Regardless, Daenerys offers you a happy smile, but she actually swallows thickly all in the meanwhile. You try to read her eyes, but she masks her emotions well.

“I’m happy for you,” she tells you and meets your gaze very briefly.

“Thank you,” you whisper and hope she really means it. Ever since two months ago when she first found out, you and her have not been the same. Conversations are shorter and stale. She can hardly look at you, and her smiles are always tightlipped. She hardly ever pays you a visit in your quarters to just talk; then again you did move into Jon’s room after you announced that you were married so you understand why she wouldn’t.

“Uh,” you continue in hopes you can find something to gain her trust again. “One baby is actually kicking right now like crazy…do you want to feel?”

Daenerys lets her eyes linger on you for a moment before her smile softens and she reaches her hand for your belly. Since she isn’t pressing on the right spot, you gently take her hand and guide it to the side where one of the babies was.

And right away she gasps and slowly begins to grin with joy as she’s able to feel the soft little nudges from the baby.

“They’ll be a fighter,” she mumbles softly. “They have fire in them.”

You glance at Jon and share a smile, whilst you also begin to feel your own heart at ease. You would have said something Jon said when he first felt the babies kick, but that will probably just upset her so you keep that to yourself and mention something else.

“The second baby is a bit more timid. They only kick at night and keep me awake until late.” You giggle. “But I love feeling the flutters.”

Daenerys keeps her hand on your belly and feels the baby kick for a moment longer—and it’s in that moment that she begins to frown with sadness. She doesn’t say anything in that regard though, nor do you want to push it, so instead you watch her pull her hand away and go serious again as her eyes linger on your belly.

“I wish you luck in your travel,” you tell her as you clasps your hands over your belly. “I will do everything in my power to gain the Reach again.”

Daenerys blinks and meets your gaze again. “I hope you do,” she mutters. “It’s important that you do. Just…be careful, okay?”

You nod and watch her turn the hall to head towards her quarters before you move back in between the Stark siblings and continue towards the courtyard. Once there, you all come to a stop just against the railing as you spot Rhaenar and a boy about his age sparring below.

“Great,” you grumble. “He’s going to be all sweaty now.”

“I think he will be fine,” Jon says.

You shift your eyes to the side and shoot him a pointed glare. “That’s what you say, but he might be meeting his future wife, first impressions matter.”

Jon scoffs and presses his hands against the railing before turning his head to look at you with a smile. “You know when I met you I had been on a boat for a month. I was sweaty too.”

You begin to smile and rebuttal. “We didn’t actually talk, we…shared longing glances. We officially met the day after. After you had a bath and brooded all day.”

Jon smirks. “And you smelled like a dragon,” he counters and stifles his laugh.

You gasp and almost take offense, but quickly find a counter and jab back. “You mean I smelled like a very mystical creature I brought into this world by hatching it? Thank you.”

Jon scoffs and rolls his eyes, choosing to focus back on Rhaenar and the boy below. “Well, I doubt you have much to worry about. He made the girl a flower crown from blue Winter roses.”

You snap your gaze to him and probe right away. “He did?” You ask in disbelief since your son hadn’t told you. “When?”

“Last night. He came to me and asked me for advice.” Jon begins to smile, and you glance at your son below whilst you begin to feel happy that he trusted Jon enough to go for him for girl advice. Albeit it is quite hurtful that he didn’t ask you too….just a bit.

“Well that’s good,” Sansa interjects. “It will distract the lady from his sweat.”

You laugh softly and nod, catching Rhaenar and the boy both notice the three of you watching from the railing. Rhaenar smiles up at you and waves quickly before he focuses back on his friend.

“Come,” Jon cuts in and grabs your hand. “Tormund is below. I want to say goodbye before we go.”

Before you follow him below you turn to Sansa to tell her goodbye too since you will be leaving soon. “I will see you after we take the capital,” you say confidently.

Sansa nods. “We will,” she assures you. “Write to me all right? Be careful too, please.”

You shoot her a grin and nod. “I will.” With one last lingering look you turn around and follow Jon down to the snowy ground to meet up with Tormund.

“Are you riding your dragon South?” Tormund asks as he walks to Jon.

Jon scoffs and nods. “I will try anyway.”

When they meet up halfway Tormund goes serious. “I’m taking the Free Folk home. We’ve had enough of the South. The women down here don’t like me.” He says as he leans towards Jon and you.

You scoff softly in amusement and interject. “You can always go to Dorne, I’m sure you’ll find lots of women there.”

Tormund shrugs. “Too hot. And right now you don’t have time for me. When you have won the war I will take you up on that offer.”

“Please do,” you encourage him.

“This is the North, you know,” Jon corrects Tormund. “And the Free Folk are welcome to stay.”

“It isn’t home,” Tormund says. “We need room to wander. I’ll take them back through Castle Black as soon as the winter storms pass. Back where we belong.”

Jon shifts and looks back. When you follow his line of gaze you see Ghost, his direwolf.

“It’s where he belongs too,” Jon refers to his direwolf. “A direwolf has no place in the south. Will you take him with you?” He looks back to Tormund, and the tall man looks at him. “He’ll be happier up there.”

“So would you,” Tormund counters, making you blink and begin to fiddle with your rings slowly.

“I’m happy here,” Jon says back and glances at you. “With my family. I finally found where I belong.”

Tormund scoffs. “Doesn’t mean you won’t miss it.”

You look to the ground and smile softly.

Jon scoffs and smiles softly. “Perhaps when the twins are born I’ll take them to go see the real North.”

“Aye,” Tormund agrees with a grin. “You will so I can give them giants milk and they can grow big like me.”

Jon and you both chuckle. However, Jon goes serious rather quickly as he remembers what this conversation is about. “This is farewell, then,” Jon says.

Tormund agrees, but adds something else. “You never know.”

They both then give one another an embrace, and when they pull back, Tormund holds onto Jon’s arms and continues to add one last thing. “You’ve got the North in you. The real North.” He lets Jon go and then steps towards you.

“I'll see you again Dragonslayer,” he says and grabs your arm to give it a gentle squeeze. “Protect each other. And you bring those babies up North, they need to know where they come from.”

You offer him a sweet grin and nod. “I will,” you assure him. “You take care all right?”

He nods and offers you a gentle smile before he walks away. You then look over at Jon and notice the sad look in his gaze and grab his arm to pull his attention to you.

Once he looks, you offer him a gentle smile and an assuring squeeze. He mirrors your smile and leans over to press a kiss on your forehead before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards his friend Sam, and Sam’s paramour.

Before anything can be said when you all meet halfway Jon let’s you go and embraces Gilly. However, soon thereafter he pulls back and looks down at her belly in shock.

Did he really not notice? Even with the cloaks she has on her pregnant belly is still noticeable.

“Yes, well, the nights have been getting longer,” Sam interjects, causing you to slowly smile at his unnecessary explanation. “And there wasn’t much to do in Oldtown. There’s only so many books a person can read, so we—”

“I’m sure he knows how it happens, Sam,” Gilly cuts him off before he can practically tell the story of how they made that babe.

It makes you stifle your laugh nevertheless.

“If it’s a boy,” Gilly continues. “We want to name him Jon.”

Your amusement dies at the sound of her comment, and awe replaces it. Yet you notice Jon doesn’t feel the same.

“I hope it’s a girl,” he retorts softly before he gives an embrace to his friend. And while they do so, while they talk, you begin to think about baby names. You haven’t given it too much thought yet. You didn’t want to until a couple more months, but now that Gillys mentioned it you think about it too.

Maybe if one is a girl…Rhaenyra feels like a sweet name. If it’s two girls then the other one can be Rhaena. Just so they can have a similar name since they will be twins. If it’s two boys then, Eddard for one. The second one could be….hm…you’ll have to think about the second one further. Maybe they can have a similar name to one of your uncles?

If it’s one girl and one boy though, Rhaenyra, and Eddard sound nice, sweet.

You smile at the thought, and mindlessly press your hand against your small belly, not realizing Rhaenar had now joined you until he nudges you.

“Mother, I’m ready,” he breaks you from your stupor.

You blink and look down at him, seeing Helios perched on his shoulder, and his weapons sheathed on his back and hip.

“Are you?” You ask with a teasing look as you begin to leave the courtyard now that Jon is done talking with his friends.

Rhaenar nods rapidly. “Yes, I am…” he trails off and pushes his clock back to unhook the blue rose flower crown he had hooked on his sheath belt. “I even have this.” He shows off smugly. “For the lady I might get matched with.”

Your eyes water as he says those words, as you realize he's getting older now, but you manage to hold in your tears and smile sweetly. “I’m sure she’ll love them. It’s very sweet of you.”

Rhaenar’s smirk turns to a timid smile as he hooks it back where it was, letting you now focus on Jon walking by your side.

“Are you okay?” You ask him.

Jon drifts his dark eyes to you and nods softly. “I am…it’s just never easy saying goodbye.”

You hum in agreement. “I understand, but just keep in mind that you’ll see them again. It doesn’t have to be goodbye forever.”

Albeit sometimes for you goodbye was the last thing you got to say to those you loved…

“You’re right,” Jon whispers with a sweet smile.

You shrug and make the conversation lighthearted so his smile would grow. “I always am.”

Jon grins, but quips. “Are you?”

You throw your arm around his and nod with a pointed look directed at him. “I am.”

Jon holds your gaze and smirks at you. “Sometimes.”

You roll your eyes and huff in defeat. “Sure, sure. Anyway!” You change the conversation and look ahead as you walk out the castle gates, noticing now that the grounds outside the walls aren't littered with hundreds of people working like before, now only a few were off to the side fixing the outer walls.

It’s quieter now too. Hauntingly peaceful since the thousands of footsteps on the night of the battle are still marked on the dirt ground, leaving nothing but memories of what happened before.

“I thought of baby names when Gilly mentioned hers,” you continue excitedly.

“Ah, did you? Just now?” Jon queries.

You hold onto him tighter and nod. “I did. Of course they aren’t official, just ideas, so you can still think of them.” You let out an excited sigh and share your ideas. “For girls I have Rhaenyra, and the other one can be Rhaena.”

“They go together,” Rhaenar points out. “And they go with my name too.”

You glance down at him and nod. “They do,” you assure him happily. “The main choice will be Rhaenyra if it’s one girl though. I like the name, and admire one woman who bore it.” You smile and glance ahead again. “But anyway, it’s the boy name I can’t think of, I only have one…Eddard. Again you can share your own thoughts, Jon.” You glance at him, and when you meet his gaze you see the soft awed look in his eyes at the mention of his fathers name.

“You’d like that?” He questions.

You hum in agreement, and only see his gaze soften much more.

“I’ll have to think of some names,” Jon says to you. “I’ll have to get back to you about that.”

“It’s okay, you have time.”

“What about you, Rhaenar?” Jon involves him.

Rhaenar runs up the snowy hill to spin around and face the both of you. “Hm, well I quite like Rhaenyra. And I also like Daemon for a boy! Just like the Rogue prince, Daemon who rode Caraxes the Blood Wyrm! Daemon was legendary, he’s one of my hero’s!” He exclaims and spins back around. “Visenya was incredible too! But my mother is already named that, so…maybe Daeron, or Jaehaerys. There’s too many. I’ll make a list.”

You share a soft laugh at his enthusiasm, and find Eraxis beginning to walk down the hill where they had been perched. So you peel away from Jon and run to her to quickly embrace her snout since that’s all you can actually manage to get your arms around.

“<Hello my beautiful girl,>” you greet her and feel her scales under your touch as you caress her.

Eraxis, out of excitement spreads her wings out and nudges herself closer to you.

“<Yes I missed flying with you too.>” You whisper and grin brightly.

“What if Rhaegal doesn’t want me to ride him anymore?” Jon cuts off your moment with your dragon, making you pull back to see that Rheagal had walked down to meet up with him too. “What if it was a one time thing?”

You scoff softly and slowly jog to them. “Well there’s only one way to secure a bond with a dragon.” You grab Jon’s arm, pulling his gaze to you. You smile, and find his lips tempting up close so you lean in and kiss him whilst you stretch his arm out.

“Repeat after me,” you whisper against his lips a bit smugly. “<Serve me, Rhaegal,>” you share what you had read in journals and books of your ancestors and their dragons. “He already let you ride him. Approval from his mother or not Dragons are special creatures, he probably would’ve burnt you or dropped you…”

“How assuring,” Jon mumbles, making Rhaenar giggle.

“I’m sure he'll listen,” you continue, “just tell him what I told you in Valyrian.” You step back and Jon seems hesitant to watch you step back, but you shoot him a wink and watch from up close.

Jon lets out a deep sigh, and keeps his eyes lingering on you for a few more seconds just to take you in in case this is his last moment of life. He then proceeds to blink and looks back at the green dragon that has his eyes on Jon already.

Jon keeps his hand out and parts his lips to let out a small breath.

“What happens if he doesn’t bond with Rhaegal?” Rhaenar asks quietly.

You shrug as you keep your eyes on Jon and the green dragon. “I don’t know. Maybe he gets burnt or eaten?”

Jon snaps his head over as if he heard and retorts. “What?”

You shoot him an assuring smile and shake your head. “Nothing, love, just do it!”

Jon sighs and once again looks at Rheagal. This time he says the words. “<Serve me, Rhaegal,>” he butchers those words but he manages to make them sound somewhat coherent.

“Yes,” you exclaim and hold your hands up in anticipation of what would happen next. “Good.”

Rheagal leans his head closer to Jon and blinks slowly, as if trying to take in the person in front of him. Jon proceeds to slowly drop his hand, and glances at you. Rhaegal then lets out a soft whine and presses his snout against Jon, managing to push him back since he’s so big.

“Did it work?” Jon asks in confusion.

Of that you’re unsure, but he’s not being burnt alive, or getting eaten, so yes?

“Well,” you share your thoughts and walk to Jon. “You’re not being burnt right now, so I’ll say it did. I think he wants you to pet him.” You point out and watch Rhaegal stay pressed against Jon.

Jon lets out a nervous breath and pulls his glove off to carefully press his hand against the green scaled snout.

“When you want him to fly just say, <fly>,” you share that last bit in High Valyrian. “If he’s bonded to you he’ll listen without needing his mother closeby.”

“<Fl?>” Jon mispronounces the word.

You grin. “<Fly>” You pronounce.

“<Fly.>” He repeats slowly.

You clap and nod. “Yes! Exactly good! Now let’s go.” You shoot him one last smile before you spin around on your heels and walk to your dragon's side. “Come, Rhaenar, you’ll ride with me.”

“Aww, I wish Helios was big enough,” he whines.

You carefully step on Eraxis' foot and grab one of her horns. “Soon, my little Sunspot, don’t pout.” You climb up finally after two months, and feel your heart pumping fast at the thought of flying again. Gods know how you missed that feeling. The sight of the sky above the clouds. The fresh crisp air. That chill as you’re flying in the air. That freedom.

Nevertheless, once you’re on your saddle and Rhaenar is sitting behind you you turn around to help him get strapped on, but realize in that moment that you haven’t fixed your broken leg strap.

“Damn,” you grumble. “I forgot to fix it.” You let out a deep sigh and sit up straight up to face your son. “Just strap on one, I’ll fix the other one soon.”

Rhaenar nods and finishes strapping the one strap around his leg to secure himself on your saddle.

“Do I say it now?!” You hear Jon shout.

You snap your head around to face him, and catch him on Rhaegal’s bareback holding on for dear life even if they haven’t moved from the ground. “If you’re ready, yes!” You reply, and hold onto your handles as you keep your eyes on him.

“Okay,” Jon breathes out and looks down at Rhaegal. “<Fly, Rhaegal.>”

And without hesitation the dragon runs ahead a bit before flapping his big green wings and setting off, causing you to grin from excitement, and admiration to seeing Jon on that dragon; on the dragon he’s now bonded with.

Seeing him flying gets you excited and eager, so you too say those same words and fly after them.

——

*LATER*

The winds of winter were a familiar greeting once your feet hit the grass ground, but it’s the land, the castle that’s the stranger now.

“It was a much longer ride this time, how was it?” You ask Jon as you begin to walk down the green hill.

Jon sighs and shrugs softly. “Better than when I rode him during battle. And well you are right…flying is liberating.”

You share a short gaze and a small smile that gets pushed away by the sight of the upcoming White Castle standing below the green hill.

From above the sky the castle seemed relevantly small, the blue pointed roofs seemed short, as well as the tall towers. And their small garden of trees was its most outshining thing within the castle, then again it seems that way because most of the trees were dead due to the cold weather, most; the greenery still hangs on to the branches of the giant cypress trees.

Those same trees aligned the Kingsroad that you’re approaching, they’re neatly shaped adding elegance to the already white grande castle that had its gate covered by luscious greenery, and pink and white flowers that seem to sprout during the winter. The walls around the castle walls were blanketed by twisting vines too. It was really enchanting actually.

Yet that enchantment is soon destroyed due to the marching guards that hesitantly come out of the gate holding the house flag.

They stop just outside the gate and wait for Jon, Rhaenar and you to get close to address you all. “Halt there!”

Their eyes hidden behind their helmets wander around the space behind you, they lift to the sky and search for the beasts you flew on. Once they weren’t visible one of them stepped forward, lifted its visor and showed off dull green eyes.

“Who goes there?!”

Jon and you share a short knowing gaze before you step forward and announce yourselves. “Princess…Visenya Targaryen….” It adds a sour taste to your mouth, saying the name your parents gave you, but it’s the name that most of the older people know you as. “…daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen. With me are my husband Lord Jon Snow, Warden of the North, and my son Prince Rhaenar Targaryen…”

The guard's eyes drift to your son, and then the orange dragon perched on his shoulder. He swallows thickly and stiffens whilst he looks back at you.

“…We’ve come to seek an audience with your Lord Ashford.”

The guard blinks and drifts his gaze to Jon behind you, as if asking for permission from him first.

It’s such a common thing, getting overlooked by both men and women in these parts of Westeros, even beyond the Narrow Sea. You’ve grown used to the cold treatment. Yet it still doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking bother you getting overlooked, especially when you’re higher ranked than Jon. Luckily Jon doesn’t say anything or do anything to answer the man, he makes the guard look back at you.

“Right this way,” the man says and turns stiffly on his heels, causing the other guards behind him to part to the side to let the three you pass by and follow the guard inside.

Once past the outer gate you’re welcomed with a long garden that seems to stop feet away from the entrance of the castle. It’s absolutely beautiful, it’s surrounded by tall green hedges. As you pass the archways that let you inside the garden you see more Cypress trees, you can spot a fountain that holds stone statues of women. There’s benches, and more fountains past the archways, albeit the second one doesn’t hold statues, just water.

“Gods,” you mumble to Jon and Rhaenar, “it’s beautiful here. Imagine this garden in the Spring and Summer.”

“Imagine it when it’s covered by a blanket of snow,” Jon says.

You hum and smile softly at the thought. “That would be beautiful,” you whisper. Now you reach the last archway on the hedge and peek in, catching a third fountain hold statues on the water too, but these statues aren’t just women, they’re statues of The Seven….It’s impressive.

“Wait here,” the guard cuts you off from your awe and pulls your gaze back to him a few feet away from the gates. “I’ll inform the Lord and Lady of your presence.”

You nod in comprehension and watch him walk in, noticing the other guards that had been following behind you march ahead and stay guard in front of the door.

Now however that you’re waiting is when it hits you, the fear and anxiety that make your heart race. No amount of training can actually prepare you for meeting other lords to sway them so that they follow your cause, so that they’ll give their children’s hand in marriage to your own son. Sure if you told Jon to do the talking he would, but it’s you that needed to talk for Daenerys, for yourself.

“I really hope he gets convinced,” you interject and look at Jon by your side.

Jon glances at you and sighs softly before he shifts around to face you. “He will, you’ll convince him. I know you will.”

You turn and face him too, feeling him grab your hands to cradle them in his for comfort.

“Listen to them too,” he says, “just how you tried to listen to me.”

You let out a soft huff and smile timidly.

“I believe in you,” he assures you and pulls one hand away from yours to cup your cheek and pull you in to press a kiss on your lips.

“Look,” Rhaenar cuts in, making you pull away and follow to what he’s pointing to.

That’s when you see three young brunette girls peeking behind the tall glass windows. They notice that you all caught them and seem to smile before quickly disappearing.

“Do you think one of them will be the Lady I’ll be married to,” Rhaenar wonders.

You drop your gaze to look at him and shrug. “Perhaps. What do you think of them?”

Rhaenar blinks and meets your curious gaze. “Well it’s hard to tell since they’re up high and behind glass.”

“Princess, My Lord Snow,” a voice gains your attention, making you look to the opened doors where the main guard now stands. “Right this way, the Lord and Lady Ashford are ready for you.”

Rhaenar lets out a deep nervous breath and glances at you once before he glances at his dragon on his shoulder, and then begins to follow you inside at your side with his chin up and his back straight.

You’re quite nervous too so you keep holding one of Jon’s hands as the guard guides you to the main hall inside the main tower—And just like the outside, the inside of the castle is marvelous too; there's high ceilings, glass chandeliers that twinkle as the light reflects off them. Beautiful stone floors that have a sun carved on them.

Yet the hall isn’t even for the most impressive part, it’s the main room that’s impressive. It’s bright thanks to all the tall windows that are against the walls; it’s almost like a glass room. And there’s tall vases of white flowers that align the pathway to the throne made of dark wood, making the room smell of flowers.

Nevertheless, just on the platform that the throne sits on are those same ladies that had been at the window; there's a set of twins that seem to be around maybe seven and ten wearing long yellow dresses, and at their side just at the edge of the platform is a younger girl, her hair is brown, long and straight, her eyes are dark, black perhaps, she wears a pink dress and sweet smile that lets a dimple show. Across from her is a young man, short but lean, his hair is long and wavy, brown like all the others from his family, he has blue eyes albeit and no welcoming smile; he must be the Lord's heir.

“Princess, Prince, Lord,” a gravelly voice greets, pulling your gaze to the throne to see a short bald plump man on his feet. “Welcome to Ashford.” He bows, and his wife behind him, and the children all curtsy and bow as well. Which is quite surprising considering you’re on “enemy” territory.

“I am Lord Ben Ashford,” he continues, and turns to point at his wife with the same dark eyes as the daughters. “My Wife, Lizbeth Ashford.”

The tall lady gives you a curtsy, so you offer her a sweet smile.

“My twin daughters, Anna and Belle,” he says and points to the girls in their yellow dresses.

You want to laugh at the irony of their names, but you hold it in and look to the last daughter he points to.

“My youngest, Melina…”

Ah, so she’s the girl you want Rhaenar to marry. She seems nice.

Jon and you both look at Rhaenar and smile faintly before looking at the boy who is the Lord’s heir, but don’t pay much mind to him, so he’s done introducing him you let out a small breath and speak. “I am sorry for the surprise visit, Lord Ashford, but I didn’t want to put your family at risk if the Raven was caught.”

He hums and shakes his head. “I understand,” he assures you. “The Kingdom is at war.” He hums and tilts his head. “The last time the Kingdom was at war you were but a babe…”

You blink in surprise and gasp softly.

“It was such a nasty war,” he continues. “I’m sorry for your losses. For the tragedy your family suffered…those poor children were innocent.”

You swallow thickly and nod softly.

“Yet…last I heard beside all the latest news, was that you died when the Lannisters sacked the city.”

You let out a deep sigh and hold his gaze without faltering. “It was said, yes, but I was saved that night by a gold cloak who had served the King. I was the only one he could save, by the time he wanted to save my mother and siblings it was too late, the beast that killed them had found them first. In order to keep me safe, my family, The Martell’s hid me in Sunspear and kept my identity a secret.”

He hums and glances out the window before focusing on you again. “I would have been hesitant to believe your word, but I saw those dragons, we all saw those dragons you flew in with. I would be a fool not to believe you now, so Princess why is it that you’ve come to visit?”

There’s no need longing the topic. Especially not when you’re needed back on Dragonstone. So with one last glance at Jon, you take one step forward and share the envoy. “On behalf of Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, I have come here to share an offer. You served House Targaryen faithfully until the King died. It’s for that loyalty that we ask for your swords, and your undying loyalty most importantly. In return we offer the title of Warden of the South, and Lord of HighGarden, if it pleases you.”

The heir gasps and snaps his head to his father.

“You’re an old house that’s stood in the reach for centuries,” Jon steps forward to interject. “You know your lands better than anyone, you know the people and history. We would want no one else.”

You look at Jon from the corner of your eyes and shoot him a thankful smile before focusing back on the Lord. You watch him take a step down slowly and put his hands behind him. He takes another step down and sighs, and when he reaches the floor you stand on he stops and looks at you with a pointed look.

“You ask me and the rest of the Reach to betray the crown?” He asks in a deep voice.

You swallow thickly and nod. “The Queen who sits on the throne now is doing nothing but losing money, letting her people starve. She’s weak now without her father, without her family, a weak ruler only serves to spoil everyone else. What happens when a flower spoils?”

“Withers,” the Lord answers. “Dies and turns to nothing.”

“Exactly, it would be a shame to lose your house and the Reach, Lord Ashford.” You continue to press with confidence now gleaming in your eyes. “That's why we came with our offer. If you accept, you won’t only save your family, but the entirety of the Reach.”

“My swords, and my crops I assume for the title of Warden?” He questions with a perplexed gaze.

Yes, truly there’s no need for a marriage pact, but it would be to his benefit, and a security for you too.

“Not only that but a marriage pact,” you reveal now. “My son, the Queen’s heir, Prince Rhaenar Targaryen, to your youngest daughter, the Lady Melina.”

Said girl's eyes go wide and fill with shock, whilst the mother fills with disbelief and sadness; which is understandable, you’re sad to marry off your son.

Nevertheless, the Lord looks to your son and then at Jon, probably noting that they look nothing alike and realizing what Rhaenar truly is, a bastard. Yet he says nothing about it, for one the boy is that, a man, they don’t shame bastard sons the same way as girls or those of low birth. And two, it would be disrespectful if he did point it out.

“A Queen,” he mumbles. “You would make my daughter a Queen?”

You nod. “If you accept yes.”

Lady Melina takes a careful step forward and bores her eyes on her father as if demanding with her look alone to accept the offer.

“My son is almost 11, but if you accept then the marriage would happen when he comes of age,” you add.

Lord Ashford looks back to his daughter looking at him with hope, and then looks to his wife to share one knowing look. When he looks back at you he remains serious for a moment before his lips begin to lift to a smile.

“I accept,” he assures you, letting you finally breathe properly. “On behalf of the Reach, and myself we accept your offer, Princess. It gladdens me that a Targaryen once again will sit on the Throne.”

You begin to grin happily and share that happiness with Jon and your son.

“On behalf of Queen Daenerys, and myself, thank you my Lord,” you curtsy and shoot him a beaming grin. “Thank you.”

The Lord nods and then looks back at his daughter getting shaken by her sisters out of excitement to what will be her future. “Melina, come,” he says.

You look at Rhaenar, and he meets your gaze, letting you point your head ahead so he’ll step forward.

He sighs shakily, and then looks over at Jon.

Jon shoots him an assuring look that lets the boy take a few forward towards the young Lady now beside her father.

“Hello,” she greets.

Rhaenar bows his head and then pulls out the Winter Rose flower crown to show it off to her. “It’s for you, my Lady,” he says in a timid voice. “Blue Winter Roses, they’re the most beautiful in the world, well they were…you seem to outmatch their beauty.”

You stifle your laugh and share a teasing look with Jon. He albeit shares a smug look with you. Was he the one who told him to say that?

“Thank you, Prince Rhaenar,” Lady Melina says and crouches slightly so Rhaenar can put the flower crown on her head. Once she stands up to her given height Helios, leans forward and tilts his head to study the girl before Rhaenar.

“This is my dragon Helios,” Rhaenar says. “He’s only a hatchling now, but soon he will be big enough to ride. When the time comes you can ride him with me too. The skies above the clouds are the most beautiful in the world.”

Lady Melina giggles. “I will look forward to those days then.”

Rhaenar nods and turns to walk back to your side.

“Will you join us for lunch?” The Lord asks. “To celebrate our alliances?”

Jon and you share a speechless look, and without needing to converse Jon answers for you. “That sounds great, we still have a long flight ahead of us.”

——

*LATER. DRAGONSTONE*

Half of what remained of the Iron Fleet surprise attacked the Queen's fleet and captured Missandei; Daenerys' most trusted advisor and best friend.

They knew how much Missandei meant to the Queen since they have no one else to hold over her, no kids, no siblings. She has you, but Cersei knows not to mess with you; she needed someone who wouldn’t bring her immediate demise, so she got sweet Missandei, and…killed her in front of Daenerys instead of giving her surrender.

A stupid mistake. Three dragons against a scared army; An upside to this sudden stoop.

Yet, by seeing Lord Varys waiting on the beach for Jon, Rhaenar, and you to climb off your dragons, it seems like there’s only more bad news to come.

“The Northern armies?” Is the first thing Lord Varys asks the moment you all walk over to him.

“Just crossed the Trident,” Jon shares. “They’ll be at the walls of Kings Landing in two days.”

Lord Varys hums and then looks to you. “Congratulations on securing the Reach, my Princess.”

My princess? Hm. Okay?

You sigh nonetheless, and continue walking towards the castle. “Thank you, Lord Varys. It seems it wasn’t as hard as I thought, not only because we had a lot to offer Lord Ashford, but Cersei doesn’t have any love in the Kingdoms.”

“All we need now is the Westerlands. Which won’t be so hard now, even if Cersei is a Lannister,” Lord Varys says.

You hum and look up at the castle as Daenerys' well-being comes to mind. “How is she?”

“She hasn’t seen anyone since we returned,” Lord Varys says, making Rhaenar curious enough to slow down and listen in as well. “Hasn’t left her chambers, hasn’t accepted any food.”

You let out a deep breath and retort. “Missandei was her best friend, she’s grieving. She shouldn't be alone.”

“You worried for her,” Lord Varys adds, as if it isn’t obvious why. “I admire your empathy.”

“She’s my aunt, my friend,” you quip. “Of course I am. Aren’t you?”

“I’m worried for all of us,” he interjects, making Jon and you share a confused look. “They say every time a Targaryen is born the Gods toss a coin and the world holds its breath.”

A stupid belief made up by people who don’t know what ruling really is.

“We’re not much for riddles where I'm from,” Jon interjects to try and understand what he means.

“We three know what she’s about to do,” Lord Varys continues, causing you to stop in your tracks, and making the others walking at your side to do the same.

When Rhaenar does it though, you turn to him. “Rhaenar, why don’t you go on ahead, hm? Get settled, maybe go give your aunt your sympathy, yes?”

Rhaenar hesitates as he wants to keep listening to what you’re all talking about, but he doesn’t argue and goes on to do as you asked.

“We’re at war Lord Varys,” you mutter with displeasure once Rhaenar is out of earshot. “We can't just sit and do nothing. If the Queen wants to act, we act, it’s her decision to make, she is our Queen.” You turn and face the man with a narrowed gaze.

Lord Varys stays nonchalant and responds. “Men decide where power resides, whether or not they know it.”

Jon steps forward and snaps, “what do you want?”

“All I ever wanted,” Lord Varys says and looks between Jon and you. “The right ruler on the Iron Throne.”

You blink in disbelief and shake your head slowly.

Why is this getting brought up again? Daenerys is harsh, but isn’t every ruler? They need to be so. So why is it a problem now? Why want you to betray her?

“I still don’t know how her coin has landed,” Lord Varys continues. “But I’m quite certain about the both of yours.”

You drop your gaze, and let out a deep frustrated breath and share an annoyed look with Jon before focusing on the man before you to counter. “She’s my aunt, Lord Varys, my Queen. You speak of betrayal. Why?” You ask. “She’s done nothing wrong, not yet. She may be harsh, but what ruler hasn’t been? I won’t betray her for something I don’t want, for something neither of us want.”

“I have known more Kings and Queens than any man living,” he rebuttals. “I’ve heard what they say to crowds, and seen what they do in the shadows. I have furthered their designs, however horrible.” He shakes his head. “But what I tell you now is true. You both come from great houses, and have been raised by good people, you are both loved by many. You will rule wisely and well, while she—”

“Stop,” you cut him off before he can finish his sentence. “She is your Queen. Let us speak of this no longer.” You grab Jon’s hand and break away from your spot together.

Yet before you can go far, Lord Varys stops you with the right words. “I saved you from the fate that awaited you in your quarters that night, I sent that man to save you those years back…gods know I wanted to save the others…”

You gasp and stiffen.

“…but fate had a hand at saving you. You. Will you really let their deaths mean nothing? She speaks of Destiny, but it is your true birthright, your fate. Do you really think she will let those children you carry inside you live?”

Jon snaps around and takes a long stride towards the man. “You keep my children out of your mouth, Lord Varys.”

“Think about it, Lord Snow,” Lord Varys continues, knowing Jon won't do anything. “Do you want your wife and your children to suffer the same fate y/n’s mother and siblings did?”

You slowly grab your small swollen belly and continue to stand there in disbelief and tears gleaming in your eyes. He’s not right. Even if Daenerys was angry for what fate brought Jon and you, she’d never do that. She’s not a monster.

Why can’t they see that? She’s not a bad person. She’s just…she just needs guidance.

“Y/N,” Jon calls out as you make your way inside the castle. “Y/N, talk to me.”

You huff out. “How dare he bring up my mother? How dare he use their deaths, my vulnerability about them against me?” You grumble and quicken your pace. “He’s, he’s…” you groan out in frustration and stop to take a deep breath. “Why,” you mutter. “Why do they want me to betray her? Sansa, Arya, him? What has she done wrong? People die all the time, Lord Tarley was a cause of war. He didn’t want to bend the knee so he had to die, and the son…I,” you pause and shake your head. “Aegon the Conqueror did the same thing and he gets praised for it, so,” you stammer out instead of continuing your previous comment. “So why judge her? Why be angry at her?”

You hear Jon come to stop behind you, you hear his deep sigh before you feel his gloved hand on your arm.

“They just don’t understand,” Jon says and turns you around so you’ll face him. “Leaders must make hard decisions. Decisions some won’t like. And Sansa is just angry it will pass, with time she’ll see what you see in Daenerys.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod softly as his words assure you. Yet there’s still that thorn, that fear that was getting fed more and more. “And the babies…Jon? Varys knows about you,” you mention now that you’ve settled down. “I try not to, but I know he’s right. I know Daenerys is right as well, about the baby's claims.” Tears gleam in your eyes. “Jon….If the realm finds out they will try and press their claims, not Rhaenar’s, not mine, there’s.”

Jon grabs your face with both hands. “I will tell you again what I have told you before, I will not let anything happen to our children. Not her or anyone else. I will not let them try and control them. They will be fine. You will be fine. And if…anything happens…we can leave to the North. To Dorne. We can go far, I won’t let them take my family away. I won’t let them hurt you, my love.” He then pulls you in for an embrace and holds you tightly.

You hold onto him almost like you’re afraid to let go, you close your eyes and nuzzle your head in his neck.

“Talk to her,” he whispers. “She needs you now. You might be the only one who can talk to her.”

It might also work in your favor considering her cold shoulder.

However, once you reach the meeting quarters where she’s in, you hesitate to even knock on the doors out of that…fear you don’t want to actually feel towards her. One you can’t help, and one that has been in the back of your head since you found out about the babies.

But that’s it isn’t? They want you to doubt her, but it’s not true, she’s not that person…you can’t let yourself be convinced by them. So you knock on the door and wait.

Yet you get no response, so you slowly open the door regardless and poke your head in, seeing her standing at the other side of the room staring out at the ocean past the high balcony. Her hair isn’t braided back or brushed like how she wears it. She’s not dressed in a big dress, she’s unkept.

“Dany,” you mumble and walk in slowly.

Said woman sighs and looks at you over her shoulder with an upset frown. You close the door behind you and slowly walk in closer to her, noticing now the eyebags under her eyes from lack of sleep.

“Tyrion was just in here,” she cuts to the chase and turns to face you. “Someone’s betrayed me.”

You stop a few feet away and clasps your hands together to wait for who she’d say in case she was told the wrong person.

“Varys,” she reveals.

You drop your gaze and sigh deeply.

“You knew?” She asks as she immediately detects your hesitation to react.

You nod stiffly. “He….talked to me just as I arrived…” you look up at her and meet her gleaming gaze. “He spoke of betrayal.”

If no one knows who Jon really is, no one presses your children’s claim, no one tries to push Daenerys from her throne and she won’t have to—They might be safe.

That’s why you say it with ease now, Varys' betrayal.

“He wanted me to betray you,” you reveal and clench your jaw.

Daenerys steps down and looks into your eyes in case she sees doubt, and even if you feel fear, and…an inkling of doubt that does make you hesitate, you don’t show it to her because you have to believe she’s good.

“I know you told the others to keep quiet, but you can’t blame them,” you try to talk her out of her anger towards Sansa, since she was the one who couldn’t keep quiet. “Varys is the only one to blame, he wants to press Jon’s claim as well as mine, over yours. The others just shared the news but did nothing. You understand?”

Daenerys swallows thickly and narrows her eyes. “I told you that I didn’t want his secret revealed. I gave you a second chance after you kept secrets from me. And I’ve come to find out now that everyone in my court knows.”

There she goes. You try so hard to defend her against all they say about her, and she goes to say this shit. Yes she’s angry, but this…can’t go on.

“I can’t control them,” you argue as you furrow your brows. “I can’t control Sansa, nor the other Starks. Jon told them because they’re his family, it wasn’t my choice. Yes, I supported him and his choice because he’s my husband. If you want someone to be angry at, blame Varys. Not me, not Jon, and not Sansa. Varys and him alone. But,” you scoff. “If it’s me you want to be angry at then…” you hesitate. “I can’t control you. I just hope you know that I support you, I love you.”

Daenerys clenches her jaw and her breath trembles. She holds your gaze for a few seconds before she averts your gaze and queries. “What is it you think we need to do about Varys?”

You let out a small sigh and answer without hesitance. “Have him meet a traitor's end.” You lift your chin and gently stroke your swollen belly with your thumb.

Daenerys hums and walks to the fireplace to watch the flames dance. She stays quiet, and remains…grief stricken and angry.

You know how that feels. You understand that pain, so you drop the tension that was just built and walk towards her slowly.

“Daenerys,” you call softly. “I’m sorry about Missandei,” you whisper and stop just a bit before her to gently grab her arm. “She was good. I’m sorry you lost her.”

Daenerys draws in a deep breath and closes her eyes as she’s hit with more pain. She sighs deeply, and opens her eyes to glance at you with a watery gaze.

And right now for the first time in a few months she left herself vulnerable to you, she let you see her cry, and let her shoulders fall. She lets you pull you in for an embrace, and returns it tightly.

You smile softly and clutch onto her tighter.

“If it’s a counter move you want to do, I support it,” you tell her, making her pull back to meet your gaze. “We can’t let Cersei think she has the upper hand. We can’t let her get away with it.”

Daenerys sniffles and begins to smirk.

“We can’t hurt the people though,” you continue. “They’re innocent, they’re just a product of bad ruling, so our war is not against them, it’s solely against her.”

Daenerys turns away from you to add her suggestion. “Her brother, and lover, Jaime.”

Your own smirk falters and you begin to shake your head, but she interjects with more.

“We caught him trying to sneak past our lines, he was going back to her. We kill him in front of her and she’ll lose that smirk on her face.”

One man, it’s just one man—But it’s exactly because she loves him, or cares for him that you can’t kill him! You still need him as a pawn against her. Yes, that's it.

“No,” you cut her off. “Not him. If she cares about him then we can use him against her. I just need to talk to him.”

Daenerys squints slightly and investigates why you sound so insistent on helping him from a fate she thought he deserved. “Why would he listen to you?”

You want to smile out of pride for what you want to say, but you notice her pointed gaze and just answer seriously. “He…sort of swore fealty to me. I say sort of because he just promised to make up for the promises he broke.”

Daenerys' gaze hardens, and her eyes drop to hide her glare.

“And what a great job he's doing,” she quips.

You sigh and nod. “Yes, I understand it doesn’t look good, but I’ll talk to him.” You lower your gaze to try and read hers, but she quickly looks up unfazed.

“Fine, but that won’t stop us from striking,” she makes clear.

“I know,” you assure her. “I’m with you. We will make the city surrender. we will win this war.” You grab her hands and cup them gently.

Daenerys lifts her chin and swallows thickly before she nods stiffly. “Fire and blood,” she says with a very faint smirk.

You smile slowly and nod. “Fire and blood,” you repeat. Daenerys' smile falters, but she nods, not letting you see what she truly thought.

“Talk to Ser Jaime,” she deadpans. “Only you.”

You pull your hands away and nod. You leave her chambers blinded with hope that she took in your words and listened, that she cherished your comfort. You believe it, and keep believing that she isn’t a monster others paint her out to be. You believe she won’t be the threat that you fear.

You believe it all blindly in that moment because she’s your family. Even after she had told you to paint the babies as bastards, even after that threat you can’t—you don’t want to think of her any other way. Because if you did then…

——

*LATER. KINGS LANDING*

“<I want to talk to the prisoner,>” you tell the unsullied guard posted in front of the tent that they had chained Ser Jaime in.

The guard nods stiffly and steps aside, letting the others do the same and clear a path towards the tent. Once inside you see him there sat against a post, looking quite pathetic you have to admit.

“Lady Sansa says that you and Ser Brienne have made quite the pair,” you make yourself known. “It would be a travesty that you broke her heart.”

Jaime slowly peers over his shoulder as best as he can, and right away you catch his surprise.

You walk around him slowly to stand before him, and he follows you with his eyes.

“I’d grab a seat for you, but well,” he sighs dramatically and drops his gold hand against the ground.

You draw in a deep breath and keep piercing your unamused glare into him. “You know,” you interject as you grab a seat and sit across from him. “I really wanted to trust you. I mean who goes all the way North to fight the dead after his Queen said he was spared from fighting that war? A stupid man, or a rather brave one. I wanted you to keep your promise, truly,” you scoff and shake your head. “But here you are.”

Jaime sighs and drops his head. “Here I am. Have you come to kill me?”

You cross your leg over the other and shrug. “Eraxis is out there, waiting for me, one word and she’d eat you leaving only that horrible golden hand left behind.”

Jaime scoffs. “As far as deaths go, getting eaten by a dragon wouldn’t be so terrible.”

You smile softly and laugh. “I suppose not.”

Jaime snaps his eyes up at the sound of your laugh and doesn’t know whether to be proud or scared that you laughed.

Nevertheless, you go serious before he can decide.

“What are you doing here, Ser Jaime?” You ask. “Are you going back to her?”

Jaime slowly rolls his head up to meet your gaze, and exhales deeply. “I suppose the answer is quite difficult.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Jaime swallows thickly and whispers. “I love her.”

So you’ve been told. Yet you can’t have much say in that anymore considering….

“She says she’s carrying another child,” he continues, making you sit up and blink in surprise. “I want to save her. But on the other hand I know that can’t happen, Cersei walked into her own death and there isn’t anything I can do about it. There isn’t anything I want to do about it,” he whispers. “Kings Landing may be a shitty place, but…the people don’t deserve what can unfold because of her stubbornness and pride.” He licks his lips, throws his hands out and huffs out.

“So that’s where the problem lies, Princess.” He continues and drops his hands. “Do I betray the women that I love, do I betray my family? Or do I betray the thousands of people in this city, and my oath?”

“Well,” you sigh and hold his gaze with a pitiful look. Not because you are now moved by his words, you won’t tell him to spare her or risk people’s lives so he can live some fantasy with her, but it’s his own struggle that you pity. It’s one you never want to struggle with.

“You know what my answer will be, Ser Jaime,” you say. “I just hope you can make the right choice and help me capture her. Not for me, but for the lives you swore to protect. Because I may not want to admit it…” you pause and hesitate. “But…I know what Daenerys is capable of, I know what Cersei is capable of. And if capturing Cersei from the castle helps avoid the bloodshed of innocents shouldn’t we take that?”

Ser Jaime tilts his head slightly and looks into your eyes for a moment before he smirks. “You’re much wiser than your father ever was, has anyone ever told you that?”

You scoff and shake your head. “No, but I’m glad you did.” You smirk faintly for a second before you go serious again. “Ser Jaime, I don’t want to kill you, I don’t want to see Daenerys kill you. Maybe there are bad things that you have done in your life, yes, but as far as people go, you aren’t such a bad person. You’re one of the good ones, Ser Jaime.”

Said man looks at you with disbelief before he drops his head and scoffs.

“I know it won’t be easy,” you continue and stand up from your seat to get closer to him. “I can’t imagine what it will feel like, nor do I want to ever feel it. But you are one of the only people who can get close to her. You may be here, she may have taken that as a betrayal, but if she loves you then at the end of the day, she won’t renounce you. Giving me the chance to end the war there by taking her and letting the city surrender.”

There’s silence, deafening silence that makes you grow nervous over what he might say, and if he might make that promise to you.

“It’s kind of poetic isn’t it? Funny?” He interjects and keeps his head down. “That I have to face this choice again?” He forces a small laugh and slowly lifts his head up. “I will do it. I’ll help you, I’ll help these people.”

You sigh in relief and crouch down to be at his eye level now. “Thank you,” you tell him softly.

Jaime shakes his head and queries, “why are you so kind to me now? I don’t get it.”

“Well,” you mutter and begin to fiddle with your rings. “You did save my life, my children’s life.” You smile faintly. “That has to be worth an attempt at forgiveness?”

“No,” he argues. “It shouldn’t after the pain I caused you, but…I am thankful.”

You smile wider and give your last explanation to leave him alone. “I’d let you free, but I can’t have one of Cersei's scouts spotting you, it’s best if we use the element of surprise. I’ll let you out tomorrow and share the plan with you.”

Jaime lets out a deep sigh, but nods in agreement nonetheless.

“I’ll have some of my guards bring you supper and water.” You say and stand to your given height. “Goodnight Ser Jaime.”

Said man offers you a nod and redirects it. “Goodnight, princess.”

You walk to the tent's exit and stop to look back and say one last thing. “I really appreciate your loyalty and what you have to do. Thank you.”

Due to the night being so late Jon made you swear not to fly back to Dragonstone, he said “you’re too close to the castle, you can get attacked.” You fought him against it, arguing that someone can sneak in at camp and kill you anyway. But he said that the Northerner men, and the Dornish men you have here now would protect you, so you stayed.

You lay in bed but just stared at the ceiling the entire night thinking about Daenerys, and about everyone’s concerns, your own naiveness towards the situation—but then again it’s like everyone wants her to blow up and destroy everything. They say they can’t trust her, but they never try to guide her. She’s hurt, grieving, and she’s trying to rule over a broken kingdom that desperately needs her, over a sexist kingdom that needs some show of power or else she’s vulnerable. Why can’t they understand that?

You groan and squeeze your eyes shut to hopefully stop thinking about it and get some sleep, but it only takes you under for a moment before you’re woken up by the announcement that a ship is on their way. After that you’re up again and waiting by shore for Jon to dock.

Once he sees you his eyes soften. You get lost in his gaze and offer him a smile until you notice that Lord Varys is not traveling with them. It’s only him, Tyrion, and Rhaegal flying in from above.

She ended up killing him…

He would have put your children at risk, Everyone at risk. It was for the best….

Regardless, once Jon lands his feet on shore you both meet each other halfway in an embrace, as if you had been apart for months.

“Hey,” he whispers.

You grin and pull back to meet his gaze. “I missed you,” you whisper.

Jon smiles softly and cups your cheek. “Me too.”

Your heart flutters, and your smile widens.

“How are you feeling?” He asks with deep concern.

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “Just anxious for what’s to come.”

Jon sighs and frowns. “You should rest until we leave, it will be good for you.”

You scoff. “Rest? I cannot, I have to be briefed, I have to keep my cousins up to date.”

“Are they here?”

You look around and make sure everyone is minding their business to lean in and whisper. “Hidden under the castle.” You pull back and smirk briefly. “My son? How is he?”

Jon scoffs and smiles in amusement. “Upset he couldn’t come.”

You laugh softly. “Expected he would.”

Jon smiles for a second longer before it begins to fade, and you read the dread and concern in his gaze that makes your heart slowly skip a beat as you can tell something is wrong.

“Let’s talk later?” He says.

You try to read him by his look alone, but you can’t tell what he was holding back. “Of course.”

Jon sighs and glances down at your belly to caress it gently before he breaks away and lets you turn to face camp and the two men who stood close, Ser Davos and Tyrion.

“My brother?” Tyrion asks.

You draw in a deep breath and keep your face serious so as to not give anything away. “He’s fine. Locked away.” You abruptly end that conversation there and turn to Ser Davos. “May you share the news to Jon, please.”

See Davos nods and does as you say. “The rearguard should be here by daybreak.”

“She wants to attack now,” Tyrion adds.

Of course she does, she’s impatient. It’s why people can’t trust her.

“Daybreak at the earliest,” Jon says and turns to look at you one more time. “I have to make a few rounds around camp, let’s meet for supper?”

You nod eagerly, and let your gaze linger on his until he turns to talk to some of his men, leaving you to turn to talk to Tyrion, but ending up seeing him and Ser Davos talking—no murmuring to each other a few feet away.

It’s probably about Jaime, fuck hopefully he doesn’t try anything before you can let him out.

“Tyrion,” you interrupt his conversation and walk over to him and Ser Davos.

Both men stop talking and turn to face you.

“May I get the briefing from the Queen?”

Tyrion spares one last glance at the old knight beside him before stepping away to walk with you instead.

“Lord Varys died last night,” Tyrion shares. “For his crime of treachery.”

“Yes,” you nod stiffly. “I told her to.” You grab Tyrion’s hand and stop him from walking. “Considering what he was asking of me and Jon. Why did you tell him?” You whisper.

Tyrion glances around before meeting your gaze. “He had a right to know.”

You swallow thickly and let out a deep sigh. “No, it was meant to be kept a secret. You should’ve kept it at that.”

No one needed to tell you who had told Lord Varys, it was obvious it was Tyrion. He’s the only one who would share something like that to him.

“Now he’s dead….do you know if word got out?”

Tyrion shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

You let his arm go and continue walking. “Well, we’ll know soon enough if it did.” You clasp your hands together to begin fiddling with your rings. “Anything else?”

Tyrion nods and adds on. “Tomorrow when you hear the bells ring it means that the city has surrendered, don’t attack after those bells ring.”

“Yes,” you say. “I know. I was hoping it would be that way.”

“It was hard to convince her to do it,” he admits, making you drop your gaze and swallow thickly out of…slight fear. He kept talking about the rest of the plan for tomorrow, but that’s all you could think about, that slight twinge of fear.

Still though, you keep telling yourself they’re wrong about her.

“About your brother,” you add after he’s done speaking. “You may not go talk to him, I’m sorry but I can’t risk you letting him go free.”

Tyrion stops walking, so you stop too and turn to face him.

“But,” he tries to rebuttal.

“No,” you cut him off. “I know sibling love, Tyrion. My sisters may not be my actual sisters, but I was raised alongside them, I love them as such. I know the lengths I would go to to save them too. That’s why I’m telling you to please leave him alone. For your sake and his.” You keep your eyes on his own perplexed and upset one’s for a second, before you turn on your heels and head to Ser Jaime yourself before Tyrion could eventually go.

The moment you’re inside you make yourself known right away. “Ser Jaime,” you greet as you walk into the tent.

Said man sits up from his seat against the post and peers back. “Princess,” he greets in return. “I almost thought you wouldn’t come.”

You slowly walk over to stand before him, noticing the dirty plates and cups they had yet to pick up from the ground.

“I said I would,” you tell him as you pick up the utensils. “Just so you know you’re brother just arrived. I’m certain he’ll come to try and get you out later. I hope you know how to drift him away. I mean only if I can’t get you out before then.” You put the stuff down on the table at the far corner and then turn to face him.

“Well, I’ll try my best,” Jaime says. “But my brother is quite stubborn.”

“Runs in the family then?” You snap back with a smirk.

Jaime scoffs softly and nods.

You blink and look down to let out a small breath before you walk over to him to crouch down and whisper your plan. “If you are true to your word by tomorrow. Go down to the caves where the dragon skulls are kept, past there will be a stairwell that leads down to a cove, I’ll wait for you there with my sisters.”

Jaime blinks and furrows his eyebrows. “Sisters?” He probes.

You hum. “My sisters have come to save Ellaria, Cersei didn’t kill her so my little sister has come to save her mother in the chaos that will be tomorrow.” You smirk as you share. “We’ll meet you there while Daenerys is attacking the walls.”

Jaime looks down at the ground and nods slowly. He begins to pick up dirt and adds to the conversation with his own questions. “And if your Queen attacks the castle?”

You sigh. “Then Eraxis and I will fly up, meet you there inside.”

“And how am I meant to get in the castle?” He continues to ask.

“Someone I trust will let you out later, they will have a cloak and a uniform you can wear. Use that.” You answer his question. “You can use the cover of night to hide.” You narrow your gaze and press him as you sense some uneasiness. “I know it won’t be easy, but I can count on you, right?”

Jaime lingers in silence that makes you doubt, but he soon mutters. “Giving her up will help end the battle?”

You shrug. “I hope,” you answer with the truth. “At the moment things change, but I do want that battle to end there.” You nod and gnaw on your lip out of nervousness. “Will you help me then?”

Jaime finally meets your gaze and swallows thickly before he nods in agreement, making you offer him a soft smile. “Thank you, Ser Jaime.” You whisper to him sweetly. You stand up to your feet and step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember don’t speak to your brother about anything if he catches you still here.”

“I understand,” he assures you.

You offer him one last smile before you walk out and head back to your tent to write ravens and go over plans. You sat but didn’t rest, didn’t calm down with the chaos that is preparing and planning for battle. A sense of peace doesn't come until Jon enters the tent with bowls of supper.

“It’s not all five courses, but it will keep you full,” he breaks the silence of the room.

You put your pen down and send your friend away that is going to help Jaime.

“Remember tell the guards that I command them to get a break.” You tell him.

The man nods and turns to leave Jon and you alone.

“Finished?” Jon probes.

You stand up from your chair and nod as you walk over to the small square table where he sets down the plates. “How have you been today?” You ask as you sit down across from him.

Jon sits down and picks up his spoon. “All over the camp. It’s been stressful. Did you talk to Ser Jaime yet?”

You nod and pick up your spoon to begin scooping up some supper. “I did. Hopefully it all goes smoothly.”

He hums. “You’ve gotten some sleep yet?”

You take a bite first and swallow before shaking your head. “Not yet hopefully now once I’m done with supper…if you’ll join me.”

Jon smiles faintly at his food and nods. “I will.”

“Good,” you whisper and take a few more spoonfuls of your food in silence, peaceful silence that has been lacking all day.

Yet it’s as that is happening that you begin to notice his look turn more and more somber, his frown deepens like before, and your heart feels as if it’s skipping beats.

“You remember that I wanted to talk to you?” Jon breaks the silence.

You slowly put down your spoon and nod slowly. “Hm.”

Jon sighs deeply and sits up to meet your gaze. “Well…it’s about…Daenerys.”

You blink in disbelief and keep quiet so he can continue.

“Last night when she executed Lord Varys, I noticed that she had no remorse…she had no guilt.” He says, making you feel a pit on your stomach and even more heightening disbelief at what you imagine he’s trying to get to—“I understand what happened..but Lord Varys was with her for a long time, and she looked as if she enjoyed it.”

You set your hands on your lap to discreetly fiddle with your rings, and repeat what he’s saying in your mind over and over again to try and fully understand.

“What if Sansa is right? What if Lord Varys had some reason?”Jon asks.

You shake your head and get up from your seat to face the doors of the tent. “It’s….hm. Why should she show remorse?” You counter and turn to face him with perplexity. “Would you show remorse for a traitor?”

Jon shakes his head. “No—”

“Exactly,” you cut him off and turn around to pace to the bed. “That can’t be the only reason why you doubt her now, she’s not like what they want her to be.”

“And if she is?” He probes regardless. “Perhaps we’ve been too blind. She doesn’t listen, she’s too hasty, impulsive. She can hardly even look at you, how long will it be until she turns on you? I told you I want to keep you safe, I want to have my family live,” he argues and gets up from his chair to slowly step towards you.

You shake your head and keep trying to fool yourself that they’re all just being too judgmental.

“Last night,” he continues as he now stands behind you. “She told me that if it’s fear that they want to feel towards her, then she welcomes it, she doesn’t care if the people love her not anymore, not after Missandei.”

You blink repeatedly and that pit deepens until you begin to feel nauseous because you know you have no reason denying his words, Jon is not a liar, he’s honest. His words would never be a lie.

You turn and sit down on the edge of the bed to drop your head and get lost on the ground as you sank it all in, as you keep trying to deny it.

Jon sighs and sits next to you, he takes your hand and interlaces it with his.

“I know she’s your family, but sometimes duty is the death of love…she’s lost…” he trails off, and you keep trying to deny it.

“I can’t accept it,” you whisper in her defense. “We’re supposed to win together. Bring back what our family lost, together…” you pause and close your eyes to sigh slowly and shakily.

Jon swallows thickly, and doesn’t argue he just says one last thing. “Tomorrow if things change, if she doesn’t follow the plan. If she tries anything, you fly the other way, swear to me.”

You open your eyes and slowly lift your gaze to meet his.

“Nothing is worth it if I lose you,” he whispers and cups your cheek with his other hand. “So swear to me that you won’t fight her. I can’t lose you.”

Without hesitation you nod to assure him. And you mean it because you have faith in her that she won’t become what they fear.

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