The Targaryen Wife

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♥ Requests and Commissions : Closed😉 ♥ Fandoms: AKOTSK (for now)

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I'm a fanfiction writer who specializes in crafting tooth rotting fluff, soft romance, and emotionally devastating comfort fics. If you've ever wanted to feel like you're wrapped in a warm blanket while reading about fictional princes being absolutely whipped for their wives, you're in the right place.

♥ What I Write:

Soft, romantic, and sometimes mischievous stories about love, devotion, and characters who would burn the world for the ones they adore. Whether you want reader insert fics or original character stories, I write both.

✦ Fanfictions

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (AKOTSK)

Maekar Targaryen

– Maekar Targaryen x his young wife (original female character) Mature Content

Baelor Targaryen

– The Prince Who Never Says No | Baelor Targaryen x Wife! Reader

Aerion Targaryen

• Aerion Targaryen x Wife!Reader – Only gentle with you

• Aerion Targaryen x Cousin! Wife – Inside his Shirt

– The Dragon Who Bent Series (Original Female Character Valarr Twin)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter ten

Next chapters are uploaded to Wattpad | Completed on Wattpad

Valarr Targaryen

• Valarr Targaryen x Wife ! Reader

– His Mischievious Little Love

– His Mischievious Little Thief

– When he is Sick

– His Precious ( Cousin Betrothed Aerion's Sister)

–  Two Cries in the Dark (Pregnancy)

– The dragon's justice

Valarr Targaryen x Daeron Targaryen x Aerion Targaryen (Reverse Harem )

– Chapter One

Duncan the Tall

• Duncan the Tall x Wife ! Reader – A Perfect place to rest

♥ ♥ If you’d like to support me outside of writing, I also have a small YouTube channel called My Kitchen where I upload cooking videos, simple recipes, and satisfying prep clips (onion cutting included). Only if you want to: https://www.youtube.com/@mykitchen-x1h (Completely optional—thank you for being here either way.) ♥ ♥

The Dragon Who Bent | Aerion Targaryen (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/409583154-the-dragon-who-bent-aerion-targaryen?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=ilikeme1234 

Aerion Targaryen was never meant to bend for anyone. Proud, sharp tongued, and feared by most of the court, he gives the world nothing but steel and dragonfire. But for Daenys Baelor's daughter, Valarr's twin, and the girl with brown hair streaked with silver he is hopelessly, dangerously devoted. 

From childhood to betrothal to marriage, The Dragon Who Bent follows the story of a prince who says no to everyone except the woman he loves. He would give her anything she asked for, panic at her tears, carry her when she's tired, and burn with jealousy whenever the world looks at her too long. 

Hi everyone !!

Episodes 11 and onward of “The Dragon Who Bent” will be uploaded on Wattpad from now on.

If youd like to keep reading, you can find it here => Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/409583154-the-dragon-who-bent-aerion-targaryen

Thank you so much for reading and for all the love you’ve shown this series. It genuinely means a lot ❤️😘

I’m tagging you below so you don’t miss the update.

Check out my profile on Wattpad,

Chapter 9

Aerion woke to weight.

Not the comfortable, ordinary weight of blankets and warmth and the dull press of sleep still clinging to his bones.

A living weight.

Daenys had wrapped herself around him sometime in the night like a vine that had decided it preferred princes to trellises. One leg thrown shamelessly over his hips, her face tucked against his throat, one arm locked around his middle with the stubborn conviction of someone determined to keep what was hers.

Her hair lay everywhere, brown silk across his chest and shoulder, with that single bright streak of silver at her temple catching the faintest early light. Her breathing was slow and soft, warm against his skin.

Aerion lay very still.

He had learned through hard experience that if he moved too quickly while Daenys was in this state she would wake half asleep and unreasonable and then he would never leave the bed again.

Part of him the worst part thought it might be worth it.

Dawn had come anyway. Duty had come. Court would come with its endless petitions and its endless men who thought their voices mattered. His father had made it plain the day before that Aerion was expected in the yard after court, and Aerion had made the mistake of agreeing, as if the realm had ever been allowed to matter more than the girl curled against his throat.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment and tried to become a man who could stand up.

Daenys sighed in her sleep and tightened her hold like she could sense betrayal through dream. Her leg hooked more firmly over his waist. Her hand, resting over his heart, pressed there once as if to remind it of its proper allegiance.

Aerion's chest went tight.

"My heart" he whispered, though she did not hear him.

His fingers slid up the length of her spine, slow and careful, smoothing as if he could soothe her even while plotting his escape. He kissed her hair just beside the silver streak and closed his eyes for one selfish breath.

She made a tiny contented sound.

It ruined him.

He tried anyway.

He shifted only the smallest amount, barely a change in the angle of his shoulder, barely a breath.

Daenys woke instantly.

Not fully. Not sharply. Just enough for her lashes to flutter and for her mouth to find his skin, as if she needed proof he was still there.

"Aerion" she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

"I am here."

Her eyes opened halfway. Brown and unfocused, drowsy and soft. She stared at him like she was trying to remember what year it was and whether the world was worth acknowledging.

Then her gaze drifted downward.

To his chest. To the way his arm was under her. To the fact, obvious now, that he was awake.

And therefore, in her mind, capable of leaving.

Her brows drew together in slow horror.

"No" she said.

Aerion did not answer at first because there was nothing safe to say. He only brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, gentle like she was something breakable and holy.

"Yes" he said finally, very softly. "I have to get up."

Daenys blinked once.

Then, with the solemnity of someone delivering a sentence, she tightened her arm around him and pulled herself closer.

"No" she said again, louder this time, as if volume could alter the laws of time itself.

Aerion's lips twitched.

"You cannot simply say no to time," he murmured.

Daenys yawned directly into his throat and without lifting her head said, "Watch me."

She pressed her face deeper into him, as if refusing to look at the world might prevent it from existing. Her leg tightened around his waist. Her fingers, warm and sleepy, curled into the fabric of his shirt like she meant to anchor him to the mattress by force of will.

Aerion stared down at her.

He could feel her heartbeat through her tight embrace.Slow. Confident. Certain she would win.

Gods.

This was what the realm wanted him to leave.

He bent his head and kissed the top of hers then lingered there breathing her in. When he pulled back she still had not moved. Her eyes were shut again. Her mouth softened against his skin.

As if she could simply go back to sleep and wake up in a world where Aerion did not have duties.

"My sweet girl" he whispered.

Daenys made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been a threat.

Aerion tried a different approach.

He slid his hand under her hair and gently scratched at the back of her head, the way he had discovered by accident made her melt completely. Her shoulders loosened at once.

"Mmm" she hummed, content.

"You are very clingy this morning."

"I am your wife," she mumbled, as if this explained everything in the world.

"It does" Aerion admitted, and it was the worst part, because it truly did.

His fingers stilled in her hair. He swallowed once and said carefully, "I have court."

Daenys did not open her eyes. "Tell them to leave."

"I cannot."

"Yes you can."

"I am a prince."

"You are my husband," Daenys said, voice still thick and slow.

Then she shifted her face slightly and kissed his collarbone, one soft sleepy press of her mouth, thoughtless as breathing.

Aerion stopped breathing.

It was not seduction. It was not even intention. It was simply Daenys half asleep being affectionate because she loved him and because she had never once in her life considered that Aerion might survive such things.

That made it worse.

Aerion's hand tightened at her waist, not painful, only helpless.

"You are trying to ruin me before sunrise" he said, hoarse.

Daenys's lips curved faintly against his skin. "Good."

Aerion let out a slow breath that trembled at the end.

He should not have been smiling.

He was.

"Look at me," he murmured.

Daenys shook her head without lifting it. "No."

"Daenys."

"No."

He slid two fingers under her chin and coaxed her face up. It took almost no effort. She yielded to his touch the way she always did when she wanted him to think he was in control.

Her eyes opened again heavy lidded and sweet.

And then, because the gods were cruel and because she was Daenys her lower lip pushed out.

Not much.

Just enough.

Aerion felt his heart cave in.

"Oh" he breathed, as if wounded.

Daenys stared at him with the faintest shimmer of moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Do not go."

Aerion's throat tightened so suddenly it startled him. He lifted his hand to her face, thumb brushing under her eye as if he could smooth the wetness away before it dared fall.

"You are not crying," he said, offended on her behalf.

"I am not," Daenys whispered.

"You are thinking about it."

Her mouth wobbled.

Aerion's eyes closed. "Sweetheart."

"I woke up and you were awake thinking of leaving me," she said, as if this were the deepest betrayal imaginable. "That is unkind."

"I did not mean to," Aerion said helplessly. "My heart, I did not mean to."

Daenys huffed a tiny laugh that turned into something suspiciously close to a sniff.

Aerion's chest ached.

He leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth, soft and slow, because he did not know how else to fix her. Daenys sighed into it, her hand sliding up to cup the side of his neck, keeping him close with sleepy grabby insistence.

When he pulled back she chased him by a fraction, lips parting like she meant to steal another kiss by force.

Aerion stared at her like a man watching himself drown.

"I will come back" he said again, trying to make the promise sound like law.

Daenys blinked. "Soon."

"As soon as I can."

She searched his face, still half asleep but sharp enough to know when he was lying.

Aerion added quickly, "I will make them move quicker."

Daenys's brows knit. "You cannot hurry old men."

"I can frighten them," Aerion said with absolute conviction.

That got a small smile from her. Sleepy, reluctant, precious.

Aerion seized on it like a lifeline.

"There" he murmured. "That smile is my permission to stand."

Daenys's smile vanished instantly. "No it is not."

Aerion laughed under his breath and pressed his forehead to hers.

"My heart" he whispered, "if I stay, my father will peel my skin off."

Daenys's nose wrinkled. "My uncle would not."

"He would" Aerion said grimly. "He has the look of a man who has imagined it."

Daenys's mouth twitched despite herself.

Then her arms tightened again, stubborn. "Five more minutes."

Aerion's entire body softened.

"Daenys."

"Five," she repeated, voice firm in that adorable sleepy way of hers. "Or I will be difficult all day."

Aerion stared at her.

He knew with perfect clarity that this was blackmail.

He also knew he would pay it.

He kissed her forehead slow and reverent. "Five."

Daenys exhaled like she had won a war and immediately let her eyes close again settling against him with profound satisfaction.

Aerion held her unmoving for the promised minutes.

He watched the slow rise and fall of her breath. He traced the silver streak at her temple with his thumb once lightly like a private prayer. He let himself memorize the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her skin the way her hand rested over his heart as if claiming it.

It was ridiculous that he still needed reminders.

He needed them anyway.

When five minutes passed far too quickly Aerion tried again.

He shifted his hips slightly preparing to slide out from under her.

Daenys's arm tightened like a trap.

His head fell back against the pillow.

"Daenys" he said laughter and despair tangled in one breath. "My Sweet Sweet girl."

"Mmm?"

"I cannot leave if you are physically restraining me."

"Yes you can" she mumbled, eyes still closed. "You are strong."

"That is not the point."

"It is exactly the point," she said sleepily.

Then without opening her eyes, she kissed his throat again and whispered "Stay."

Aerion went utterly still.

His whole body stopped as if her mouth had pressed a seal into his skin.

Then his voice came out low and wrecked. "You are going to kill me."

Daenys smiled, barely there, and finally opened one eye.

"Later," she murmured. "Not yet."

Aerion stared at her.

He should have stood. He should have escaped. He should have remembered he was a prince and not a foolish man being undone by a sleepy girl clinging to him.

Instead he tightened his arm around her and kissed her gently.

"Alright," he whispered. "Two more minutes."

Daenys sighed victorious and curled into him as if she had always belonged there.

Aerion closed his eyes.

For two minutes he let himself pretend he had no duties, no court, no father waiting to scowl him into obedience. Only Daenys warm and heavy against him a leg around his waist, a hand over his heart her mouth soft against his throat like she was marking him as hers one kiss at a time.

Then because the gods had never once allowed him peace for long, those two minutes ended too.

Aerion drew a breath and gathered what was left of his will.

"My heart" he murmured.

Daenys hummed sleepily, already drifting again.

"I am going to stand" he said. "If you hold me, you will be stealing a prince from the realm."

Daenys did not open her eyes. "Let them suffer."

Aerion laughed softly, helpless. He pressed one more kiss into her hair.

"You are cruel" he whispered.

"I am loved" she murmured.

That landed so softly and so surely that Aerion's chest tightened.

He kissed her temple right by the silver streak and whispered back like a vow. "Yes."

Then he did the only thing he had any hope of doing without waking her fully into protest.

He shifted carefully and slid his arm out from under her, slow as a man disarming a trap. Daenys made a small displeased sound and tightened her hold at once, leg clamping more firmly, hand fisting in his shirt.

Aerion froze again.

He waited.

Daenys did not loosen.

Aerion bent and murmured into her hair, softer than court would ever hear him speak, "Sweet girl, please."

Daenys's eyes cracked open.

She blinked at him, still hazy with sleep, mouth in a pout.

Aerion looked at that pout and felt his soul leave his body.

He kissed it.

Just a soft press at the corner of her mouth.

Daenys sighed.

Aerion took advantage of the sigh like a criminal.

He slid out from under her at last and stood.

Daenys immediately made a plaintive noise and reached for him with grabby hands, fingers catching his sleeve.

Aerion's heart lurched.

He turned back at once, because he always turned back.

"Daenys."

She sat up a little, hair falling forward. "Do not go."

"I have to," he whispered. His hand went to her cheek again, thumb stroking gently. "But I will come back. I promise."

Daenys stared at him still offended still sleepy still entirely too capable of undoing him with nothing but her eyes.

Then she said quietly, "If you leave me bored I will become a menace."

Aerion's mouth twitched.

"You are always a menace."

Daenys's eyes narrowed. "An unattended menace."

Aerion sighed like a man facing the inevitable.

"What do you want," he asked.

Daenys blinked slowly thinking hard in the way only half asleep people did.

"Bring me back something" she said at last.

Aerion softened instantly, relief and devotion flooding him so fast it was embarrassing.

"What" he murmured.

Daenys's lip pushed out again, smaller this time. "Something that proves you remembered me."

Aerion stared at her.

Then he bent close kissed her forehead and whispered "I never forget you."

Daenys's eyes fluttered.

Aerion kissed her again, slower, and felt her relax.

"I will bring you something," he promised. "A ribbon, a sweet, a book, a dragon egg if you ask it."

Daenys smiled, faint and satisfied.

"Now" Aerion said, because he had to make this a bargain or he would never leave, "you will stay in this bed for a little longer. You will rest."

Daenys opened her mouth.

Aerion kissed her quickly, stealing the argument.

When he drew back he said, very softly, "Be sweet for me."

Daenys blinked at him, then nodded the smallest amount, like granting a favor.

Aerion exhaled, victorious.

He stood again, backed away as if she might lunge, and reached the door.

Behind him, Daenys called, voice still thick with sleep but carrying clear warning "Aerion."

He paused, hand on the latch.

"Yes my heart."

"If you are late" Daenys said, sweetly, "I will terrorize your brothers."

Aerion closed his eyes.

"Do not" he said, already knowing she would.

Daenys smiled into her pillow. "Go"

Aerion left.

And as the door shut, Daenys's quiet little laugh followed him down the corridor like a prophecy, warm and dangerous at once.

Aerion walked faster.

Not because he feared his father.

Because he knew, with absolute certainty, what happened to the Red Keep when Daenys was bored and unattended.

And because no one in the Seven Kingdoms, not king or septon or knight, could handle his wife quite as well as he could.

Certainly not his brothers.

.....................

Update: The Dragon Who Bent (Aerion x Daenys) moving to Wattpad

Hi everyone !!

Episodes 11 and onward of “The Dragon Who Bent” will be uploaded on Wattpad from now on.

If youd like to keep reading, you can find it here => Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/409583154-the-dragon-who-bent-aerion-targaryen

Thank you so much for reading and for all the love you’ve shown this series. It genuinely means a lot ❤️😘

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Chapter 8

The first thing people saw when they looked up at the high dais was King Daeron II Targaryen on the Iron Throne, with his queen beside him.

The second was that almost no one else on the dais behaved as though they were particularly impressed by thrones at all.

On court days the royal family sat flanking the Iron Throne in a long, gleaming line. To the king's right, a step below, sat Baelor Breakspear, grave and calm, the king's heir. Next to him sat Valarr, neat and princely, the picture of composed expectation.

On the queen's other side sat Maekar, solid and stony faced. Beside him lounged his eldest son Daeron, half turned in his chair with habitual indolence. Next to Daeron was an empty seat, its carved arms waiting.

And then came Aerion.

He sat straight, all edges and restrained energy, black and red catching torchlight, silver hair pulled back, one hand resting easy on the arm of his chair. To the hall below, he looked exactly as a Targaryen prince ought to look cold, dangerous, and very far away.

To Daenys, he looked like a very handsome toy being wasted on politics.

Her own chair was right beside his, because they were married and the keep had learned that placing her any farther away only resulted in her moving herself. Baelor's daughter. Valarr's twin. Brown hair braided and pinned, one clean streak of silver bright near her temple, spine straight, hands folded.

She looked perfectly proper.

For the first five minutes.

A minor lord from the riverlands was standing before the throne, explaining in excruciating detail why his neighbor's cows represented an intolerable threat to his honor. Daenys tuned him out almost immediately.

Her focus, as ever, drifted sideways.

Aerion was watching the petitioner, his profile severe. Jaw set, mouth firm, fingers still. The rings on his hand glinted as he flexed them once.

She stared at those fingers.

"Aerion," she whispered.

He did not look at her, but the corner of his mouth eased. "Yes my heart"

"I am bored."

"I know."

"Entertain me."

"I am governing."

"You are glaring at a cow story," she corrected softly. "That is not the same."

He very nearly smiled. "What would you have me do, little menace."

She brightened faintly at the indulgent tone. Her gaze slid back to his hand.

Two rings. One signet. One slender band.

One opportunity.

Her hand crept over and brushed his, first as if by accident, then with clear intent. She turned the narrower ring with her thumb. Slowly. Testing.

He let her.

"Daenys," he murmured.

"Yes."

"Do not."

"I am doing nothing."

"You are thinking."

"I always think."

"In this case, stop."

She did not.

With one deft twist she slipped the ring off his finger and onto hers.

It looked ridiculous too large, loose on her hand. She held it up anyway, tilting her wrist so the light caught it.

"How does it look," she asked.

He should have said foolish.

Instead he stared at her hand as if she had just put part of his soul on.

"It suits you," he said.

Daeron, on Aerion's other side, made a strangled sound and clapped a hand over his mouth. "He is finished" he muttered. "Utterly."

"Be quiet," Aerion replied, still looking at Daenys like the ring were exactly where it belonged.

Below, the lord reached the part of his complaint that actually required an opinion. Aerion tore his attention away long enough to answer coolly, question, measure, offer a solution, his voice flat and efficient.

Then Daenys's fingers returned.

This time she played with his hand itself. Straightening each finger. Smoothing the knuckles. Tracing idle loops over the palm with a gloved fingertip. Her touch was light and absent-minded, like a child doodling in the margins of a page.

From anyone else, it would have been maddening. From her, it was simply how she occupied herself. And how she reminded him, wordlessly, that he was not only made for swords and signatures.

He let her.

Her mischief, however, had only begun.

As yet another petitioner came forward this one droning on about tariffs from the Vale Daenys's attention floated higher.

Toward his hair.

It had been tied back neatly at the nape of his neck for court, but a single pale strand had come loose near his ear.

She stared at it.

She stared at Aerion.

She stared at it again.

"Aerion," she whispered.

He did not look at her. "No My heart"

"You do not know what I was going to say."

"Yes, I do."

"You are not that clever."

"Yes, I am."

Her fingers were already reaching up.

She smoothed the stray lock back with exaggerated care. Then twisted it once, twice, into a tiny coil and held it against his temple, as if testing the idea.

He turned his head slightly, eyes cutting toward her. "What are you doing."

"Improving you."

"This is court."

"Yes."

"Not a dressing table."

"Why should you not have both," she mused.

Before he could decide whether throwing her off the bench would be worth the trouble, she plucked a slim silver pin from one of the braids above her own temple, where the silver streak ran.

In one swift, decisive movement, she pinned his little coil of hair into place.

Aerion froze.

He could feel the light weight of it there. Her pin. Her piece. Holding his hair where she wanted it, above his cheekbone.

Daeron made an unholy noise behind his fingers. "We are truly living through an age of wonders."

Valarr, from across the throne, did not even bother hiding his sigh. "You are both children," he said across the gap.

"You say that," Daeron murmured, "but does anyone decorate your hair, Valarr?"

Valarr looked as though he would happily accept exile to avoid this conversation.

Aerion lifted his hand and touched the pinned strand.

Something in his chest, some hard, clenched thing, melted.

"Handsome," Daenys said quietly, watching him.

"Do you like it," she added, softer.

He looked at her.

At the silver pin that was hers, now sitting in his hair.

"Yes," he said. Truth, simple and stupid and far too easy. "I do."

Her whole face lit.

On the throne, King Daeron cleared his throat, amusement clear in his voice. "Does my grand son intend to hear this man's plea," the king said loud enough for the hall, "or is he too occupied with his wife's improvements to his person."

Laughter rippled below.

Aerion didn't flinch. "The petitioner, Your Grace," he answered.

"We shall hope so," the king replied.

Daenys hid her smile behind her hand.

Court crawled on.

By the time the chamberlain had called the sixth supplicant of the day, Aerion's hand was missing one ring and the lock of his hair was neatly, ridiculously pinned with a bit of Daenys his fingers had become her personal puzzle, turned and curled and pressed absentmindedly whenever the talk grew too dull.

He did nothing to stop her.

He only watched her with the steady, embarrassingly soft gaze of a man who would happily let her write her name on him in ink, if she ever thought to ask.

And then came the envoy from the Vale.

His voice was somehow both thin and droning. Even Baelor, master of patience, went a shade blank around the eyes.

Aerion's attention slipped.

His gaze drifted to the pillars. To the banners. To the door. To anything, anywhere, that was not this man's complaints about grain and narrow passes.

His hand slackened around Daenys's.

For three heartbeats, she endured it.

On the fourth, she made a decision.

Daenys quietly slid her hand from his, rose, arranged her skirts, and stepped past Aerion's knees to the empty chair between him and Daeron.

"Daenys," Aerion said low.

She pretended not to hear.

She sat down beside Daeron with a prim little sigh, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

Daeron's grin was sinful. "Have you abandoned him."

"He abandoned me first," she said. "He has fallen in love with the sound of that man's own voice."

Daeron glanced around her at Aerion. "That is a betrayal, truly."

"It is tragic."

"It is an opportunity."

She blinked. "For what."

"For me to be your favorite," he whispered.

She scoffed. "Cousin you are funnier, not prettier."

"I will take what I can get."

She laughed.

Her hand drifted toward his sleeve.

Daeron went very still. "What are you doing."

"Seeing if your rings are as nice as your brother's."

"nuh nuh I like my fingers," Daeron said. "I would prefer to keep them attached."

"He lets me steal his."

"Yes" Daeron said, "and he is a lost cause. I am not yet so far gone."

She rolled her eyes and flicked lightly at his wrist. "Coward."

Aerion watched all of this from his seat like a man watching a fire catch on very old wood.

He heard none of the Vale envoy's words now.

He only heard Daenys's quick laugh at something Daeron muttered. Saw the way she leaned, shoulder bumping Daeron's arm. Watched her reach for his brother's sleeve again, fingers now determined.

"Do not encourage her," Aerion said, half under his breath.

Daeron's eyes sparkled. "Why ever not?"

Daenys gripped Daeron's wrist. "Hold still."

"I will not survive this," he whispered.

The envoy droned on.

Daenys found the buttons at Daeron's cuff and began fastening and unfastening them purely to annoy him. He tried to tug away she clung harder.

"Little menace," Daeron hissed. "He is going to see."

"That is the point," she replied.

Down the bench, Aerion rose.

It was not a violent motion, but it had impact. The bench creaked faintly under his weight. Several faces below turned up with immediate interest. King Daeron's brow arched a fraction.

Aerion stepped two paces.

Enough to stand over the empty chair and the one Daenys now occupied between him and his brother.

He held out his hand. "Wife."

She looked up, perfectly unrepentant. "Husband."

"Come back."

"I am here."

"Here," he said, "is not there."

"You were not looking at there."

His jaw flexed.

Daeron leaned back, only somewhat shielded by her small frame. "She has a point."

"You," Aerion informed his brother, "are not helping."

"I am a victim in this."

"You are smiling."

"I suffer beautifully."

Daenys tugged at Daeron's sleeve again. "Let me see your ring."

"No."

"Aerion lets me."

"Aerion is out of his mind," Daeron hissed. "He has been for years."

Aerion had had enough.

He reached down, took Daenys neatly by the waist, and lifted her.

The hall gasped as Baelor's daughter and Aerion's wife was unceremoniously relocated from her stolen seat back to the one beside her husband in full view of the crownlands.

She gave a startled squeak of laughter, clutching at his shoulder, then landed in her proper chair with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

"Aerion!" she whispered.

"Yes."

"You cannot just... move me. In front of everyone."

"Yes, I can."

"That is mortifying."

"For you," Daeron called lightly. "For the rest of us, it is a rare and blessed performance."

"Hush," Aerion said without looking at him.

He turned fully toward Daenys.

"You went to my brother," he said quietly, voice low enough not to carry, "while I was one seats away."

"You were not  seat away," she protested. "You were three worlds away, talking to yourself about ledgers in your head."

"That is too poetic for me to object to," he said. "But I still dislike it."

She tried not to smile.

"I like when you look at me" she said, simply, almost shyly for all her mischief.

That demolished him more effectively than any arrow.

He drew a breath, used it to say, "I am looking now."

"Good," she said.

Her hand found his again without thinking. Fingers twined. Thumb resumed its slow, soothing stroke over his knuckles.

He let her take what she wanted.

He always would.

Behind her back, Daeron leaned forward, voice pitched low. "She is right" he said. "You disappear into your temper. Someone must keep you human."

Aerion did not deny it.

His eyes were on Daenys, on the pin in his hair that had been hers, on the ring loose on her hand that had been his, on the way she clearly did not even realize she was still touching his sleeve as if to make sure he stayed.

"Are you content," he asked her.

"Yes."

"You will stay."

"Yes."

"With me."

She smiled, softer now. "Yes."

Below, the petitioner from the Vale continued to mindlessly beat a corpse of an argument.

On the high bench, Prince Aerion Targaryen sat with his cousin wife tucked at his side, wearing her pin in his hair and his ring on her finger, her hands all over his as if she had ever had any doubt to whom they belonged.

Dangerous, they called him. Cruel. Dragon hearted.

Maybe.

But anyone truly watching the dais that day saw only a man quietly revolving around the girl beside him, hand in hers, as if the rest of the hall were nothing but an unpleasant noise between one heartbeat and the next.

And the moment she wandered even a little toward his brother for mischief, he rose like a long suffering parent and brought her straight back.

Where she belonged.

Right there.

Next to him.

................

Update: The Dragon Who Bent (Aerion x Daenys) moving to Wattpad

Hi everyone !!

Episodes 11 and onward of “The Dragon Who Bent” will be uploaded on Wattpad from now on.

If youd like to keep reading, you can find it here => Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/409583154-the-dragon-who-bent-aerion-targaryen

Thank you so much for reading and for all the love you’ve shown this series. It genuinely means a lot ❤️😘

Read Next Chapter Chapter 10

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The Dragon’s Justice : A Bloodied Nose and a Father’s Fury

The puppet show was a blur of colorful wood and laughter until Aerion arrived. Your brother was in the throes of one of his dragon dreams, seeing treason in the simple movements of marionettes.

"Aerion, stop!" You rushed forward, your heart leaping into your throat. He had the puppeteer girl, Tanselle, by the hand, his fingers twisting with a cruel, rhythmic pressure.

"She must be taught, sister !" Aerion cried, his eyes wild and unseeing.

"You’re hurting her! Let her go!" You reached out, grabbing his shoulder to yank him back.

In his manic state, Aerion reacted with a blind, panicked violence. He felt a hand seize him and swung around with a heavy, backhanded lash. He didn't see it was you until the moment his hand connected with your cheek.

The force was staggering. You hit the grass hard, the world spinning in shades of red and violet.

"Y/N!" A voice screamed. It was Aerion. The horror on his face was instantaneous as he realized what he'd done. "No, I..."

But he was cut off as a mountain of a man slammed into him. Duncan the Tall had arrived, tackling the Prince to the ground to save the puppeteer.

Through the ringing in your ears, a shadow blocked out the sun. Valarr was there, but the usually composed Golden Prince looked as though he were coming apart at the seams. He didn't just kneel he hit the ground with a frantic desperation, his hands hovering over you as if he were afraid you might shatter.

"My love, my life, look at me!" he choked out, his voice cracking with a raw terror that silenced the surrounding crowd. His fingers were trembling so violently he could barely tuck a loose lock of hair behind your ear. When he saw the dark bruise blooming across your skin, he made a small, broken sound in his throat.

Valarr didn't wait for you to stand. He slid one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, hoisting you against his chest with a strength born of pure adrenaline. He held you as if you were the most fragile, precious thing in all of Westeros, pulling you into the cradle of his lap while he remained on the grass. He tucked your head beneath his chin, his heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ear.

"I've got you," he whispered, his breath hitching as he rocked you back and forth. "I've got you, sweetheart. I'm right here."

"I'm fine, Valarr" you hissed, the shock turning into a cold, sharp rage.

The guards were pulling the hedge knight off Aerion. Your brother stood up, shaking off the dirt and trying to regain his princely composure, though his eyes kept darting to you in guilt stricken fear.

As the guards prepared to lead everyone toward the castle, you pushed against Valarr’s chest. He didn't want to let go, his arms tightening instinctively to keep you shielded, but the fire in your eyes told him you weren't finished and you break free from his tightened hold.

You marched straight up to Aerion. He opened his mouth a frantic apology on his lips. "Y/N I didn't see you, I swear..."

You didn't let him finish. You put every ounce of your fury into a closed fist punch. Your knuckles connected with the bridge of his nose with a loud, sickening crunch.

Aerion shrieked, collapsing into the dirt and clutching his face as blood gushed between his fingers.

"Don't you ever lay a hand on me again," you spat, your chest heaving.

The Solar

The tension in the solar was thick enough to choke on. Aerion sat in the corner a maester desperately trying to set his mangled nose while Maekar stood by the window like a brewing storm.

Valarr refused to let you sit on a separate chair. He sat on the wide bench and pulled you directly onto his lap his arms winding around your waist like iron bands. He seemed obsessed with your proximit, burying his face in the crook of your neck every few moments as if to ground himself.

"He attacked a Prince of the Blood !" Aerion muffled through the bandages his voice high and pathetic. "The knight struck me! And then she... Father, look at my face! I demand a trial! I want that knight DEAD !"

Maekar finally turned. He ignored Aerion entirely, walking straight to where you sat in Valarr’s protective embrace. Maekar was a man of iron, but as he reached you his expression softened into something pained. He cupped your face, his thumb brushing over the bruise.

"My girl, My darling girl" he whispered, his voice thick with the protective rage of a father. "He struck you."

"It was an accident Father," you said firmly, "but a consequence of his own madness."

"There will be no trial, Aerion," Valarr interrupted, his voice ringing with absolute authority. He didn't move an inch, keeping you tucked securely against his chest. "The knight did not attack you. He was following an order."

Baelor Breakspear looked up. "An order?"

"Aegon," Valarr called out. The young boy Egg, stepped forward from the corner.

"I told the knight to stop him" Egg said clearly, looking at his father. "I gave the command. He was acting as a protector of the realm under the order of a Prince."

Valarr looked at Maekar. "The knight acted to defend your daughter, the Princess, and he did so with Aegon's permission. Duncan the Tall is not a criminal he was the only one in that meadow acting with the honor of a King’s Guard."

Maekar looked at his youngest son, then at you, then at the sniveling, bloodied mess that was Aerion.

"You have shamed this house for the last time" Maekar growled at Aerion. "You struck your sister and terrorized a child. There will be no trial. You will stay in your quarters until I decide where in the world to send you so I never have to look at your failure again."

"But my nose..."

"Get out!" Maekar roared.

As the room cleared Maekar lingered pressing a rare heavy kiss to your brow. "Good punch, daughter. You have a better aim than your brothers."

Later in the quiet of your bedchamber Valarr’s composure finally evaporated completely. The moment the door was bolted he swept you up into his arms again carrying you to the oversized chair by the fire. He sat down and settled you across his thighs, his hands moving over your arms and shoulders as if he were still checking for injuries he might have missed.

"I thought I lost you" he whispered, his voice trembling as he pressed his forehead against yours. "When you fell the world went dark. I couldn't breathe, My love."

He was completely focused on you, his thumb tracing the curve of your lip with a worshipful touch. He spent the rest of the night refusing to let you set foot on the ground carrying you to the window to watch the stars and then back to the warmth of the fire. He brought you chilled wine and fed you bits of sweet bread, his eyes never leaving yours for more than a second.

"You're quite terrifying when you're angry, you know," he murmured against your skin, a soft, swoonworthy smile finally breaking through his worry. He leaned down pressing a lingering tender kiss to the unbruised side of your jaw. "I’ll have to make sure I stay on your good side, my heart."

"Just keep the honeyed cakes coming, My sweet prince" you teased, leaning back into his warmth and letting his steady heartbeat soothe the last of your anger. "And we’ll be just fine."

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The room was too warm. Too bright. Too full of voices that kept saying the same words as if repetition could make the pain smaller.

Breathe. Again. Just like that.

You could not remember when it had started feeling like this, only that it did not stop. The sheets beneath you were damp with sweat, your hair stuck to your temples, and your body was trembling with the kind of exhaustion that turned time into something thick and cruel.

Valarr was behind you on the bed, braced like a shield, your back supported against his chest. His arms were under yours, locked tight enough to hold you up when you could not do it yourself. He had been there for hours. He had not moved. Not once, not really.

“Look at me” he whispered, voice breaking on the edges in a way you had never heard from him in all your marriage. “Please.... Just look at me.”

You turned your head and found him close, close, close. His face was pale, lashes wet, jaw clenched so hard you thought he might shatter a tooth. His forehead pressed to your temple as if he could anchor you to the world by touch alone.

“I have you,” he breathed. “I have you. You’re safe. You’re doing so well. You’re… gods, you’re so brave.”

A contraction grabbed you again, sharp enough to steal the air from your lungs. You made a sound you did not recognize as your own.

Valarr’s arms tightened instantly. He kissed the side of your head, over and over, messy with desperation.

“I’m here,” he said. “I’m right here. Crush my hands if you need to. Hurt me. I don’t care. Just stay with me.”

The midwife’s voice cut through the haze. “Now, my princess. Now. Push. All of it.”

You tried. You did. Your body bore down and shook, and Valarr held you upright when everything inside you felt like it was coming apart.

“That’s it,” he choked, lips at your ear. “That’s it, my love. Give them to me. Give them to me and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never suffer alone again.”

“You’re crowning,” the midwife announced. “One more, girl. One more.”

Valarr’s breath hitched. His hands were trembling where they clasped yours. “I love you,” he said, like a confession ripped out of him. “I love you so much it frightens me.”

You pushed.

For a moment there was only heat and pressure and the terrible stretch of it and then a sudden shocking release.

A wet new sound filled the room.

A cry

Thin at first then angry then strong enough to make the candle flames seem to jump with it.

The midwife lifted your baby up, red faced and perfect and wailing like they had been insulted by being born. “A prince” she said brisk and proud.

Valarr made a broken noise. Something between a sob and a laugh. He reached as if to take the baby, then caught himself hands hovering helpless because he could not decide which of you to hold first.

He chose you.

He pressed his face to your hair. “You did it,” he whispered. “You did it. I’m so proud of you. I’m so...”

The maester’s voice, tight. “There’s another.”

The relief that had flooded you ripped away so fast it made you dizzy.

Yes. Another. You had known. You had known for months, felt two separate flutters beneath your ribs, listened while everyone spoke softly of risk and blood and difficult births as if gentleness could tame the truth.

But hearing it now, in this room, with your strength draining away, was terror made real.

The midwife’s hands moved again. The maester leaned in, eyes sharp. “The second is not coming as easily.”

Valarr went rigid behind you. You felt it, the instant his fear turned into something fierce enough to burn.

“What do you mean” he demanded, voice low, dangerous in a way that would have frozen knights.

The maester did not look up. “I mean she must push and she must do it soon.”

You tried to gather yourself. Your body felt empty and still full. Shaking and heavy. Every breath scraped.

Valarr slid one hand to your belly, gentle as prayer, then to your throat, thumb brushing your pulse like he was checking you were still here.

“Sweetheart,” he said, softer now, right into your skin. “Listen to me. Dont leave me. Dont you dare leave me.”

You turned your head, barely able to focus. “Valarr…”

His eyes were shining, furious with love. “I need you. The children need you. I can be brave for war, for court, for my father and the realm and all of it, but I cannot…” His voice cracked. “Not this. Not without you.”

Another contraction hit, uglier than before.

You cried out and his arms tightened around your ribs, holding you up, holding you together. He kissed your cheek, your temple, your jaw, like he was trying to press you back into the world.

“That’s it” he murmured. “That’s my love. That’s my heart. Breathe with me. Breathe. Good. Good.”

The midwife’s voice turned urgent. “Push, my princess. Push hard.”

You pushed. Your vision sparkled at the edges. The room tilted.

Valarr’s voice stayed steady even when his hands were not. “Look at me. Just look at me. You’re not alone. You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

You pushed again.

The midwife swore under her breath. The maester said something you did not catch. You felt panic rise, hot and choking.

Valarr pressed his mouth to your ear. “You can do this,” he said, fierce and pleading at once. “You can. I know you can. You’ve already done the impossible. Do it again, love. Do it again and I will never ask the gods for anything ever again.”

You dragged in a breath and pushed until your whole body shook with it.

For a heartbeat nothing happened.

Then the pressure shifted. Moved. Gave.

A second cry, weaker than the first, a thin little sound that made the room go suddenly still.

“No,” Valarr whispered, immediate and terrified, and you felt his chest heave against your back. “No no no.”

The midwife worked fast, rubbing, clearing, coaxing life with practiced hands. “Come on, little one. Come on.”

The baby made another sound. Stronger.

Then, like a door finally flung open, the second cry rose full and indignant, loud enough to shame the first for ever being doubted.

Relief hit you so hard you started sobbing, the kind of sobbing that hurt your throat.

Valarr’s arms locked around you like iron.

“A princess,” the midwife said again, breathless now with triumph. “Twins.”

Valarr made a sound that was pure worship. He turned your face gently with shaking fingers and kissed you, careful, reverent, as if you were something holy and bruised.

“You stayed,” he whispered against your lips. “You stayed. You stayed with me.”

The midwife placed the first baby against your chest. A warm, slippery weight. Tiny fists. A furious little face pressed into you like they already knew you.

The second followed, squirming, loud and alive.

You could barely hold them. Your arms felt like they belonged to someone else.

Valarr slid in closer, curling his body around yours so all three of you were supported by him. His hands covered yours over the babies, steadying, protecting, claiming in the gentlest way.

He kissed your hair again, and his voice was ruined with love. “Look what you made,” he whispered. “Look what you gave me.”

You laughed weakly through tears. “They’re… loud.”

Valarr huffed a breath that might have been a laugh if it didn’t break in the middle. “Targaryens,” he murmured, and kissed your brow. “Perfect.”

Outside the room, someone knocked softly, a cautious sound, as if the whole castle was afraid to disturb the miracle.

Valarr did not look away from you.

“Go away,” he said, quiet and absolute.

Then he lowered his head and pressed his cheek to yours, holding you and your children like he had been made for it.

“You rest now,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. All of you.”

.....

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