facelesspoet

i think out of the two sisters, baela would be more inclined to short locs rather than her long unstyled hair. even with their (often disastrous) wigs, hotd could do this to bring some book canon into her character while keeping some uniqueness 🤷🏻

my redesign of rhaena bc the stylists on the show have let down all of the black characters immensely . i think im gonna restyle all of the velaryon/targaryen characters to their fullest potential, doing baela next with her short hair and punk edge!

i am writing a fic with fem shane and ilya so of course i had to do a quick sketch of them. of course, jane (shane) is looking at lily (ilya) lips.

Argella von Sawyer

This is my very first commission! This is my friend’s original DnD character, Argella. She is a princess that has fallen from grace after failing a coup d’état to dethrone her father, and elf king. She craves power and wealth, and she has turned to a vigilante lifestyle. With her dagger belt and magic dice, she is a mischievous young woman with a pension for trickery.

A complete family tree during HOTD

Daenerys I Targaryen

Chapter Three: The Marriage of the Rider and the Ridden

Join Aegona and Daenys to the highest peaks of the Fourteen Flames, the treacherous volcanoes surrounding the city of Valyria, to the nests of wild dragons with the hopes of claiming Daenys a loyal mount. With deep lore and callbacks to the House of the Dragon series, this is a look into the ancient and forgotten practice of claiming a truly wild firebreather.

(i wrote this without the high valyrian commands used in game of thrones and house of the dragon, which is the 'common tongue' because everyone in this series would be speaking in high valyrian and thus not the translations! k thanks (:)

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The winds above the Fourteen Flames were harsh and unforgiving, testing even the most experienced of dragon riders when they soared through them. The highest points of the mountains, scarcely visited and rarely traversed by man, made the perfect home for the wild, untamed dragons of Valyria.

Though descended from domesticated beasts, the hatchlings borne from clutches laid far from men grew into feral fire breathers that protected their territory with rigor and violence when they felt threatened. This is where Aegona’s grandsire had claimed Pryjagis and her grandmother Bantagon. And today, this is where Daenys Targaryen was determined to find and bond to a creature that brought their nation to prosperity.

Atop Pryjagis, Daenys clung tightly to Aegona as she steered her mount towards the dozens of dragons waiting to be claimed. The weather in the city was always calm and pleasant, kept steady by the inhuman magic of Valyria, but this high above the world it was unpredictable and fierce. Moving as fast as they were, the breeze was icy against their skin as they bounded ahead. Petrified of losing grip and falling to the rocks below, she screamed so the wild-willed, silver-haired woman of gold could hear her. “Aegona, slow yourself! This is madness!”

Aegona whipped her head around, her short hair flapping fiercely in the intense wind. “That is not necessary, for we have arrived!” She faced forward again. “Landfall, Pryjagis. Now!”

With an earth-shaking roar, Aegona’s loyal mount changed direction, plummeting towards the ground below. Daenys gripped tighter, her nails digging deep into Aegona’s waist as she clung for her life. Soaring down through the clouds, leaving the cool air above, the heat of the volcanos greeted the pair as the Blue Beast landed heavily upon the Flames, a few hundred feet from the wild ones. Any closer could easily be a death sentence, magic blood or no.

The Fourteen Flames were made of a light-swallowing black stone, the rock rich with gold and precious stones. Molten rock flowed closely beneath the surface, with steam rising through cracks and feeding the dragon nests with the heat necessary for successful incubation. While the lower peaks and caves held mines and from them was carved Valyria’s wealth, the high peaks were another world of their own.

Aegona pulled the reins sharply, completely halting Pryjagis. “Steady, boy.” With a reassuring pat behind one of his enormous black horns, Aegona climbed down from the saddle, landing with a thud onto the terrain below. She reached her hand upwards, motioning for Daenys to follow suit. Running her hand over her tightly plaited white-gold hair, preparing herself for what lay ahead, she crawled down Pryjagis’s smooth scales carefully. Unlike her friend, Daenys was not confident enough to jump from a height such as that of Pryjagis’s back.

As Daenys set foot onto the jagged black rock, she reached for Aegona’s tanned hands to steady herself. Dragon riding left her legs tingling, needing time to ready herself to walk again. Aegona’s hands were rough to Daenys’s smooth, calloused from years of pulling on thick leather reins. If today went as intended, Daenys’s hands would soon convert. Their gazes turned to meet each other, and the Daezgygar smiled. “Are you ready to meet your future, Dream?”

Daenys turned, looking at the dragons, ranging from miniscule to monstrous in size. The pair and the beast were far enough away to not threaten them, their territory, or their nests, but there still was a knot in her gut. Only a few hundred paces separated them. If I do not do this now, I never will, she admitted to herself. She looked back at Aegona. “I am indeed.”

Aegona smiled. Pulling the dragon horn from her neck, she turned Daenys’s hands over, so her palms were facing up. The Dreamer had read about this sacred ceremony religiously in her youth, yet she had never had the privilege of witnessing it. It was only done when claiming a wild dragon, which had become exceedingly rare in the Freehold.

Strikingly similar to the rite of marriage, the ceremony required two dragonlords, one performing the ritual and one receiving it. With a dragon horn or claw, one makes a cut in the middle of the bottom lip, dipping their finger in the blood and rubbing it down the bleeder’s throat. After this, a jagged cut was made through both palms, positioned where the rider would hold on to their fire breather’s horns whilst claiming. Then, the prospective rider was to walk towards the beast they wished to claim while singing the Song of Fire, their palms facing forward. This blood ritual was said to be done so the beasts could smell the magic in the blood of Valyrians, that if the blood of the dragon flowed richly within the man, it had a calming effect on the dragons and made the claim swift and simple.

Daenys was beginning to worry what would become of her if the magic within her did not prove strong enough.

Aegona reached up, cupping Daenys’s cheek in her hand as she dragged the sharp end of the horn down her lip. Daenys inhaled sharply, the pain cutting deep. Aegona pressed her finger into the wound, drawing a heavy flow of blood. The deep crimson color was stark against her translucently pale, milky skin. She dragged her finger down Daenys’s throat, who was holding her breath, shuddering as her calloused fingers grazed her collarbone. The blood dripped onto her faint yellow stola, staining the fabric.

Aegona moved her grasp from Daenys’s face, steadying her companion’s hands as to make the perfect cut. With one swift motion, she opened both her hands in the center of the palms. Blood quickly started to flow, dripping down to the ground, sizzling upon impact.

The moment her blood made contact with the hot black stone, the nearby nesting dragons roared. It was not one or two, but dozens. A seemingly endless chain of screeches on which Pryjagis quickly joined in, his deep cry an explosion of power rumbling the mountain beneath their feet.

Daenys looked to Aegona, who had nothing short of wonder in her fiery green eyes. “They beckon you, Dae. Go claim your match.”

She looked towards the conglomerate of roars, beckoning her forward. The air was wrought with the breath of screeching dragons, becoming hotter as she neared them. Her Targaryen blood dripped down while she walked. As she came within a few dozen paces, she began to sing the song of her people.

Every child was rocked to sleep with the hymn of flame, the Song of Fire. Used to awaken the deep bond between dragonlords and dragons, it had been passed down for thousands of years. As Daenys began to sing, the soft melody reverberating off the rocks, the dragons went silent.

“Fire breather, winged leader. But two heads to a third sing. From my voice: the fires have spoken, and the price has been paid.”

A juvenile black dragon, his scales and horns black as night, stepped from behind a large green, walking closer to her as she neared. He was just large enough to ride, barely older than Daenys herself.

“With blood magic, with words of flame, with clear eyes to bind the three.”

The beast stepped directly into Daenys’s path, his eyes of melted dragonglass meeting hers of violet. He stopped her in her tracks, ever silent.

“To you I sing, as one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined. Beautifully, freely.”

The black firebreather bent his head to Daenys, eyes closed. She reached up to his forehead, her crimson blood leaving a perfect, stark handprint on the dark scales. A deep, hot exhale came from his large nostrils. Reminding her of the god of nighttime terrors, she knew precisely what to call him.

“Serve,” Daenys whispered. WIth that, the dragon flared his wings, unfurling them to reveal their full beauty. A high-pitched roar consistent with his youth came from him, and he spewed flame as dark as his scales above his claimant’s head. Kneeling, he beckoned her onto his back.

Climbing onto him, finding large horns on either side of his head easiest to grasp, she sank into his back. It was as if this fledgling’s back and her body had been molded by the gods to fit one another. “Serve and obey, Balerion. Fly!”

Shaking his head, and with a screech, Balerion started running towards Pryjagis. Aegona, recognizing the imminent flight, quickly climbed atop her blue mount. Just before Balerion and Daenys collided with Aegona and Pryjagis, the Black Beast pushed up and took flight. Pryjagis promptly followed.

As they soared higher and higher, Daenys had never felt so alive. The sensation of her hands on the smooth black horns, the open sky below her, the wind rushing past her ears. She could feel her heartbeat deep in her chest, the rhythm matching the beat of Balerion’s wings beside her.

In the clouds, she was free of her duties to her family, rid of her obligations to her House. She was the master of her own fate, just as she was the master of this dragon. The world belonged to her alone, and upon dragonback, she was utterly and wholly free.

“Dragonfire, Balerion!” Daenys Targaryen screamed as she and her newfound mount entered the skies above Valyria. Her beast obliged, his rich black flame peppered with spots of red. Daenys felt Pryjagis breathe flame behind her, hearing Aegona’s loud, hearty laugh as she and her dragon flew through the mix of black and orange dragonbreath.

Aegona Daezgygar flew faster now, moving above and ahead of Daenys and Balerion. Pryjagis’s shadow engulfed the fledgling and his master, one blue wing being twice the size of the black’s whole body. The younger dragon was ever swifter with this size, however, and with a kick to his side by his rider, he barrelled up and ahead, cutting off the golden pair.

Looking back to Aegona as she moved above her, Daenys could not help but let out a laugh of pure joy, a smile plastered across her face.

Aegona winked at her companion, then yelled, “To the old bathhouse!” Pulling her mount’s reins harshly, she began plummeting towards the glimmering city below.

“Bank, Balerion!” The quick mount roared, changing direction, following the giant blue beast to the edge of Valyria.

As they approached the ground, Daenys pulled up on the horns to which she held, telling Balerion to gently land. He obliged, making landfall softly next to the ruins of the first bathhouse in the great city. Aegona leaned against her ancient dragon as Daenys landed, smirking. Her hair was now undone from its bun, a mess of silver thread atop her sunkissed olive face.

As Daenys steadied, readying to dismount, she removed her hands from Balerion’s horns. As soon as she did so, she looked down at them, no longer feeling the deep cuts made by the golden girl’s ancient dragon horn. The wounds were completely healed, not even a mark where they had once been. Reaching up to her mouth, she touched where there had been a gash in her lip. All her fingertips met was the smooth pink skin, no blood or scar to be found. She looked up towards Aegona, who was now walking towards her.

“You are a dragonrider now, Dae. How do you feel?” Aegona gave Daenys her hand, helping her off her newfound dragon.

“Somehow… complete,” she responded as she took her friend’s hand. Magical. As her feet made contact with the smooth cobblestone, she removed her hand from Aegona’s grasp, she reached up and stroked the smooth black scales of Balerion’s neck. “Aegona Daezgygar, may I be so fortunate to introduce you to the noble dragon on Daenys Targaryen: Balerion.”

“The lord of night’s terrors. What a beautiful beast,” Aegona said as she allowed Balerion to smell her hand. He then nudged it, motioning for her to stroke his forehead. She did so, huffing a laugh. “An infant beast, if I do say.”

Daenys smiled. “We are not all able to tame beasts of old. Balerion shall serve me well, even at his young age. We shall grow old and wise together.”

“Indeed, you shall.” With a pat, Aegona started backing away, towards the broken stone entrance to the broken building. “Shall we wash the day away, Dream?”

Daenys smiled once again. She looked to Balerion, stroking him lovingly. “We will shortly return, my boy. Rest now.”

With that, Daenys turned, following Aegona into the steaming bathhouse.

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Chapter Two: The Book and the Dragon

this is daenys's first chapter! please let me know what you think, do not hold back. im so sorry this took over a month for me to publish; i have had lots of things going on in my life but i finally finished this part. i will be writing lots this upcoming week so (hopefully) the next chapters will be published ever 1 to 2 weeks. i have also made a pinterest board made up of artwork to help you envision the story, settings, and characters, if you are interested. here is the link: Vision Board

k, enjoy :)

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Daenys Targaryen had always loved the sprawling libraries of her home, of the wondrous city of Valyria. Without a dragon of her own, she had all her life relied on the stories of adventurers past to show her the world. At the age of seven-and-ten, she had yet to bond to a magnificent beast and fly on her own, and being terrified of the imported horses of the Dothraki, she relied instead on her own two feet to explore.

She had not made it very far.

In the cavernous space lit by hundreds of fires, Daenys felt truly herself. The Great Library was almost as ancient as Valyria itself, a towering presence in the middle of the great city. Surrounded on all sides by rivers flowing purple with magic and teeming with beauty, the library was home to thousands of years of knowledge from all over the world.

Daenys, her brother Gaemon, and their father Aenar would often frequent the great edifice when she was a young girl, her and her brother perched upon the lap of their father while he read to them the history of their home. However, after the death of his third and last wife, Maegys Mataeryon, and their son Daeherion in childbed, he stopped reading to his children. He had gone from three wives and four children to no wives and two, and it utterly destroyed him into hermitage.

After Maegys’s death, Aenar became a sort of recluse, never straying far from the Targaryen holding, and definitely not going so far into the city as to get to the library. He encouraged his children to do the same, paranoid that harm would befall them and they would meet an unfortunate fate like his brides, that his remaining children would perish like his dear Daeherion and Aelyx had. But, no matter how much Daenys loved and revered her father, she would never stay away from the library.

Daenys was the second child of Aenar Targaryen, the only surviving of he and his second bride and cousin, Fahaera Saehaylor. Fahaera went mad and leapt from the top of the Targaryen holding after the death of her son Aelyx, when Daenys was just two years old. At just seven-and-ten, she died with a prophecy of doom upon her lips and tears in her eyes.

Gaemon, her elder brother, was the son of Aenar and his sister-wife Elaena. She died when Gaemon was aged seven and Daenys three, sick with sweat and never bearing her brother another child. Her dragon, Tyraxos, was left for her son to claim, which he did promptly upon his mother’s death. Her own mother’s mount, the small and swift she-dragon Abraxes, had fled to the skies after her rider’s death, taking with her Daenys’s hope of a loyal beast. The young woman had often dreamt of the lost dragon, had seen the beautiful red-and-cream beast atop a nest or flying over land and sea. She liked to believe Abraxes was guarding her from within since her dear mother no longer could, keeping a watchful eye on the blood to which she had once been bound.

Despite the innumerable fires lit throughout the gargantuan house of knowledge, the Great Library was always delightfully cool. Even though she, like all dragonlords, were born from the fiery Fourteen Flames, Daenys had always felt whole in the cold. Maybe it was because she had a cool fire within her instead of a red-hot one like the rest of her family had, one that was much smaller than that of her father and her betrothed.

The Great Library was magnificent. There was no better word to describe it. Made from ancient dragonstone, gold, and iron and forged with dragonfire, it was the very heart of Valyria. With hundreds of rooms, each holding thousands of books, and housing texts hailing from every country past and present, there was no place in the world that could rival it. Even the Citadel of Oldtown in faraway Westeros was like a sapling to the Great Library’s towering and ancient oak. One day, Daenys liked to tell herself, she would accomplish the feat of reading all the books it housed, no matter how long it took her.

Daenys had a day of reading ahead, determined still to find the Shadow Texts of Asshai. Today marked day five of searching for them, every day seeming to pull them farther from her grasp. They were said to be somewhere within the Vault, the deepest room beneath the towering library. Poised at the bottom of a thousand-step spiraling staircase and hidden behind a door so heavy it required a dozen men to move, there was a strange air in the iron-and-dragonstone room. A rich shadowy magic stalked the stacks, akin to that of the Warlocks of Qarth, like the magic flowing in the veins of dragonlords. Daenys knew from this presence that the Shadow Texts rested somewhere amongst the shelves.

As the youngest Targaryen entered the main hall of the Library, hugging her red silk shall tight, she was greeted by the Read Ones and the smell of warm vanilla and jasmine, the smell akin to that of a mother’s welcome embrace.

The Readers were ancient beings, born men but men no longer. Having given their lives to the great knowledge of the Valyrian Freehold, they used ancient magic to keep themselves alive in order to keep reading. Having been consuming beating hearts of dragons, bathing in the blood of children, and drinking flame for hundreds of years, they had become something else, something other.

Revered in Valyria and relied upon heavily by the Lords Freeholder for advice and mentorship, they were almost as old as the Library itself. Dressed in rich blue silks lined with white lion fur, studded with rare and expensive gems and stones, they had become some of Daenys’s closest companions throughout her years spent reading with them. If she could have her way, she would join them, devoting her life to their immortal knowledge.

“Good morning, mistress. The Shadows call still?” Master Student Qoral greeted her as she approached his escritoire at the very back of the great hall. Seated in a wooden chair said to be carved from the first tree felled during the Founding, Master Student Qoral was currently partaking in his yearly updating The Great Forty.

“Indeed, Master, they do. Unfortunately, my father is especially nervous today, so my search must conclude before midday.” Upon her leaving at sunrise, her father had demanded she be back before the sun reached the middle of the sky. As the days went on, he became ever increasingly paranoid. Daenys had only her brother to thank for this.

Daenys had been growing increasingly irritated with Gaemon as of late. In her opinion, he felt no duty to their father and no loyalty to his small family. The older he became, the more reckless and flippant the Targaryen he had grown. Just four days past, he fled with his lover, Rhaegelle Qerlaetygis, on dragonback, leaving Daenys to gather their father’s wits alone. Aenar had become a man of weak spirit and even weaker body, with the almost constant absence of his heir making him even more so.

The night before his most recent escapade, she had tried to speak with her brother about his disastrous doings. He quickly turned the conversation onto her, however, and made her out to be a jealous maiden who could only hope to lead a life as great as his and who could only dream to share his bed. Though she would never let him see, she was deeply wounded by his words. When she left his chamber, she went to the right to the roof. Here Daenys often fled when she longed for her mother, feeling here was the only space to connect to her. She fell asleep there, dreaming of Gaemon and Rhaegelle on dragonback flying above the Painted Mountains. Surely enough, when she woke, Gaemon and Rhaegelle, along with their dragons, were gone.

When there had been many belonging to the family Targaryen, Gaemon had been meant for their aunt, Laelyra, who was just days younger than he. A fortnight before Laelyra was to wed Gaemon, however, she eloped into disgrace and fled north to Ib. Daenys had been meant for her brother Aelyx, and then, Daeherion. After their deaths, she was betrothed to be the second wife to their father’s elder brother Aerys Targaryen. Just before Daenys reached three-and-ten and set to marry, Aerys and his two sons were killed in a slave revolt. In almost an instant, Gaemon was left the only heir left of the noble Targaryens, and it was now he and his sister’s duty to carry on and keep their house alive.

Gaemon had years ago petitioned their father to allow him to wed his dear Rhaegalle, but their father refused to allow it. Not only was she not of his blood nor he of hers, but she was a woman over twice his age who had not bled in years. She was also once married, to her brother Viserys who had long since passed, her son Aemys now the head of their wealthy house. Despite Aenar demanding his son banish his lover from their holding, he refused and now Daenys was subjected to her brother’s nightly whining with his concubine interrupting her while she read.

“The Shadows remain vaulted, child. The door is open. Your goldenflame awaits within.”

Daenys raised her brow, surprised. “Aegona is here? When did she arrive?”

Qoral looked up at the young Targaryen. “Indeed. She arrived just before you, her blue beast almost toppling the north tower.”

Daenys Targaryen’s spirits immediately rose. “Thank you, Qoral!”

Walking hurriedly through the flame-lined hall, passing dozens of robed Read Ones, she finally reached the winding staircase to the vault at the opposite end of the grand room. As she ran down the stairs as if her life depended on it, she could feel her heart light in her chest. Daenys had not seen her Aegona in weeks.

As the end of the stairs met her, Daenys leaned against the cold wall to catch her breath, then walked calmly down to the opened room.

The room, like all in the Library, was illuminated with heatless flame, but somehow remained in constant shadow. With its walls thick with dusty books almost as old as life itself and taxidermied harpy of the Ghiscari hanging from the ceiling, it was Daenys’s favorite place in the entire structure.

In a corner, perched upon ancient cushions from Valyria’s tribal days, her face pushed into a book and scrunched in confusion, was Aegona Daezgygar. Her molten silver hair was done into a half-up, half-down style like always. She was dressed in a loose blue cotton tunic made to match the scales of Pryjagis, tight black leather trousers, and boots almost disintegrating off of her feet. She wore her ancient dragonhorn around her neck, looking as wild as ever.

“You have found the oldest recorded YiTish collection of recipes, I see,” said Daenys as she leaned against the entryway.

Aegona looked up, smiling. “Oh, is that what this is? I seem unable to understand any of it.”

Daenys walked over to her friend, sliding down the wall until she was seated beside her. “Well, dear, that is most likely due to the fact you are holding it upside-down. And, of course, there is the issue of your only speaking High Valyrian.”

Daenys was fond of no one more than she was of Aegona. Friends since three-and-ten, they had been inseparable ever since the funeral of her uncle Aerys and cousins Faeryll and Baelon, where Aegona comforted the distraught Daenys. Daenys could not put into words her feelings for Aegona, or what she would do for her. She would quite literally go to the ends of the earth for her, and she would do the same.

Aegona tossed the book aside, horrifying Daenys, and wrapped her arms around her. She nuzzled her head into the crook of her companion’s milky-pale neck, sighing. “Oh, Dae, I cannot go back. Father is punishing me for Gryr. If he has his way I will be forced to wed Vhaelor before the month is ended. It is ridiculously unfair; Vhaelor bedded dozens without punishment before he chose Alaesys as his bride. I only bedded one, once. I should have known he would not keep it to himself, however. I was just too wonderful.” Aegona looked up to Daenys, winking.

Daenys greatly disliked hearing about Gryr Daezgygar in any sense, but especially so when his name came from Aegona in the context of sharing her bed. Aegona had told Daenys weeks before her cousin’s visit that she planned to discover if men were as good as her sister made them out to be, and that Gryr would be who she tried. Once she set her mind on something, there was no stopping her, no matter how much Daenys discouraged her.

“Must you speak of this imbecile? We have finally been reunited after weeks apart. Let us speak of ourselves, not of idiot men. We have our entire lives to give to them, they do not deserve this time as well.” Daenys shrugged Aegona’s head off her shoulder, looking away. The eldest Daezgygar daughter’s talk of her cousin reminded her of her own idiot brother whom she was destined to marry, and she did not want to think of him now. She honestly did not wish to think of him ever.

“I shall give my life to no man, Dream. I will give it to you or to no one at all. I will swear this upon every altar, mark my words.” Aegona reached for Daenys’s hand, clasping it between hers. She turned to face her. “We are destined to see the world. You are destined to experience life firsthand, not solely in these texts.”

“Gods, how I would love that. If I am ever to tame a mount, Aegona, I will fly beside you for eternity. You will earn glory in the sky, and I shall reap the knowledge of the world.”

Aegona’s eyes lit up. “Are you serious? You would fly beside me?”

Daenys shrugged. “Of course. I do have a duty to my family, yes, but I need not wed and have children for some time. I will be unable to until Gaemon surrenders his wandering lifestyle and whoring and decides to care for the family as much as I have, which will undoubtedly not occur for years. Until then, I would prefer nothing more.”

“Well, then. It seems we have one very difficult and specific task for the day. One that will surely raise your spirits and bring about our adventures immediately. Unfortunately, your books will need to wait.” Aegona promptly stood, pulling Daenys up with her.

“What do you mean? Where are we going?”

The silver-haired girl stopped, turning to face her white-haired counterpart with a sly smile upon her lips. “We, my dear girl, are going to claim you a dragon.”

Before the Doom, before the lady Daenys foretold the destruction destined for her home and fled with her family, before the great topless towers of Valyria were built, before even the ancient magic of Valyria bound dragon to man, there was a song. A song so old, it was sung by those who had not yet written, in a language now lost. 

This song, called “The Lovesick One”, was about a young sheepherder girl who loves another, and it brings to her destruction. The protagonist, who is never named, watches her lover, a girl called Aeril, marry and leave her. These doings leave the protagonist in ruin until she can no longer take it; she walks into the pits upon the Fourteen Flames, becoming one with the fires which later bore dragons. The song ends with Aeril herself doing the same, eternally returning to her lost love.

Aegona had always felt a kinship to The Nameless Girl. Felt the sorrow the fires around Valyria held, the hopelessness within the molten rock. She always felt connected with the mountains surrounding her homeland, bound to the fires that birthed her nation’s success. At just seven-and-ten, Aegona Daezgygar was a promising young woman of Valyria. She was the rider of the formidable dragon Pryjagis, a determined stateswoman, and fiercely loyal friend. The second child of the powerful Raeon Daezgygar and his lady-wife Syrax Belaerys, she was highly educated and regarded with pride by her father. That is, until she grew independent and strayed from her Valyrian traditions, from her father's plans for her.

Daenys Targaryen, the youngest child of Aenar Targaryen, had always felt different. The only girl in her household, she had always known what was expected of her. Like wed her brother Gaemon, and to blindly support him and their father no matter what. What she had always wanted, however, was someone to blindly support her. Daenys had been plagued with visions of the future since birth, scaring her into a lonely, simple life. Dragonless, she had spent most of her youth in the ancient and sprawling libraries of Valyria instead of flying over it on dragonback. That is, until she met Aegona. Daenys Targaryen and Aegona Daezgygar became inseparable at three-and-ten, spending all their available time with each other. Aegona would take Daenys all over the Valyrian Freehold on her dragon Pryjagis, and Daenys would recant for hours the hundreds of stories she had ever read to her friend. Then, tragedy struck.

This is where this story begins.

Set in 115 BC, thirteen years before the Doom, comes this imagined story of love between the famous Dragon Dreamer, Daenys, and a long forgotten Valyrian girl, Aegona.

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Chapter 1

“You cannot do this, Father. I will not do this!” Aegona recoiled at her father’s demand. The gall of him. She had already given up her political ambitions at his behest, had stopped riding to preserve his strong image, had relinquished her position on the Council in favor of her weak brother. She refused to wed for him.

“I can and you shall! I will not allow you to bring any more dishonor upon us.”

Sitting in the great hall of Goldstone, the holding of the noble family of Daezgygar in the city of Valyria, Aegona faced her father. Next to her at the dragonstone table, seated amongst the dozens of blood marble chairs in the roofless hall flanked with dragon skulls and made of magnificent purple-and-blue arches, were her brother, Vhaelor, and her sister, Alaesys.

“Father, why may I not be wed to Alaesys alone? We together shall continue our pure and noble line. I do not need Aegona.” Vhaelor was the epitome of Valyrian pride. He was a gorgeous man of three-and-twenty, with flowing white-gold hair, deep purple eyes, and skin so unblemished and pale it was almost translucent. Alaesys, too.

Despite being twins, Aegona and Alaesys looked far from similar. Where Alaesys looked like Vhaelor, like their parents, Aegona boasted shoulder-length silver-gray hair, green eyes, and a surprisingly boring face when compared to her siblings. Vhaelor had always preferred her sister to her, primarily due to Aegona’s lack of Valyrian looks.

“Alaesys is a worthy bride indeed who shall fulfill you, yes. You will continue our line. But you will wed Aegona. What will others say if Aegona remains unbound? If not even her own brother will take her?” Raeon Daezgygar was a ruthless, fearless man of the Lords Freeholder of Valyria, being one of the wealthiest men in the entire Freehold. He owned hundreds of gold mines across the peninsula, deep underneath the Fourteen Flames; he controlled with three other families almost a tenth of Valyria’s wealth, and almost twenty-thousand slaves.

Despite his age of five-and-fifty, Raeon looked to be as young as his children. The noble Daezgygars had practiced sorcery and blood magic since they herded sheep instead of gold, and upon its members it shone brightly.

Aegona stood, pounding her fists on the table. Alaesys and Vhaelor flinched, yet Raeon remained still. He turned his head slowly to his daughter, menacing. She glared at her father. “They shall say nothing. I will take to the skies and prove my worth as a dragonlord. I shall fly upon Pryjagis to war, bring glory to Valyria like Uncle Maeron. I will not be tamed upon a marriage bed. Least of all Vhaelor’s.” She believed Vhaelor to be an arrogant, brainless sot who knew not how to think for himself. Just like their father.

Raeon leapt from his chair, sending a magical gust to his daughter. Flung to the ground, pinned upon the glass floor by an invisible force, Aegona thrashed, screaming in frustration. Raeon walked over to her, kneeling. The golden fire in his eyes was cold. Terrifying.

“I will kill that beast for how you speak to me, then you shall be bound here forever. You will be tamed, and it will be by Vhaelor. You shall sit wed before the year is over. If you flee, so help me gods, I will hunt you down myself.”

Aegona grinned at him, taunting. “Hunt me with what, Father? You shall find me flying above the Narrow Sea while you sit upon, what? A mule?” she spat in his face.

Raeon’s mount, the ancient and monstrous she-dragon Leriod, had recently taken ill and would soon be dead. Raeon had barred the women of his household from riding their dragons, for fear of public opinion. He could not have his daughters and wife riding fearsome beasts while he sat emasculated in his keep, bound to a horse.

He growled, raising his hand to strike.

“Father, do not do this. By giving her your energy, you are giving into her,” Vhaelor said from behind him, his face expressionless.

Raeon turned his head to look at his heir, then back down at his daughter. “You are lucky your brother has sense. Next time, you shall not be so lucky.” Standing, he walked back to his seat at the head of the table. Finally released, Aegona also stood, looking to her siblings. Their hands were clasped together upon the table.

“This is it, then? You shall sit here while he plays you like pawns upon a board?”

It was Alaesys who spoke now, her voice as soft as the snows that fell in the infamous Lands of Always Winter. “That is enough, Aegona. Please do not be difficult about this. Marriage shall not be so bad.”

Aegona scoffed. “‘Difficult’? Is that what we are to call a woman having an opinion in the matters of her own life? Fine. Sit here and take this, but I will not.” She did not wait to hear their responses. Bounding out of the great hall, Aegona sent a gust of hot wind behind her, slamming the carved doors as she exited.

Goldstone was an immense building, a feat of architecture older than Valyria itself. With walls of arches, floors of glass, halls lined with sculptures of the great members of the Daezgygar dynasty, carved from the gold of their mines, it was magnificent. The fires upon the walls, contained within intricate dragonstone cauldrons, were golden and kept alight by the sorcery thick in the air.

There were five towers of Goldstone surrounding the main keep, named after the great founders of the family. To the north, Gael; to the east, Aeragon; to the west, Jahaer; to the south, Vhagar; and to the south-east, across a bleak and sorrowful wooden bridge that was scarcely crossed, stood Laerys, with a roof of dark dragonstone that swallowed even dragonflame that stood stark against the other towers’ golden.

Gael, Aeragon, Jahaer, Vhagar, and Laerys were siblings, children of sheepherders that had discovered dragons only generations before, who lived in poverty amongst the Fourteen Flames. One day, as they were bringing an offering of sheep to their dragons among the smoldering pits, they discovered something. Within the caves where the dragons nested was gold, waiting for someone to discover it, begging to be released from its stone prison.

After chipping all the gold they could from the cave opening, amassing more wealth than anyone in their village, they were hungry still. Aeragon and Jahaer, worrying for the safety of themselves and their sisters Gael and Vhagar, sent their youngest sibling, Laerys, into the hot depths of the cave to find more. Beneath the burning lava of the Mother Mountains, something horrible had happened. Laerys did not return. His siblings waited for weeks at the cave mouth, yet he did not emerge.

Years went by, and with no sign of the young man, they moved on. By this time, the family had mastered the use of indentured servitude to mine their gold. They adopted the name “Daezgygar”, meaning “Those of Golden Wool” in the Old Tongue. They had become kings in their own right, had given their blood to the gods for prosperity and promise.

After twenty years, the holding of Goldstone was built. Each sibling, Gael and Aeragon now wed along with Jahaer and Vhagar, built a tower in their honor. They had discovered gold. They had mastered an efficient way to harvest it. They had curried the favor of the gods. What they had not managed, however, was to tame the dragon. They yet remained unridden, unbound by men. That is, until day five of the eleventh month of year twenty-two of Laerys’s absence.

That morning, as the sun rose above the horizon, a monstrous roar shook the world. The walls of the newly-completed Goldstone rocked with such force that the wooden roofs fell and the towers almost toppled. Gael, Aeragon, Jahaer, and Vhagar fled to the ground from their stories-tall keep, wrought with terror. As they reached the ground, a shadow enveloped them. Looking up, they saw the impossible. Above them, riding a ghastly beast thought untameable, was a man.

Laerys Daezgygar touched down upon hundreds of screaming men, women, and children atop the conglomerate of mines, grinning widely at his siblings. He looked as young as he did the day he vanished-- younger even. He wore naught but the torn cotton robe he had when he entered that cave, but gods did he look ever so different. Gone was his brown hair, his olive skin, his green eyes. He now boasted a head of long white hair, not that of age but of some unnatural power; his skin was a white so bright it seemed he had been poured of liquid sun. His eyes had become a purple of the lavender flowers in the north, with a mystical fire burning within. His face looked the same, but somehow shone with a beauty so radiant it could have stopped even the gods in their tracks.

“Miss me?” His voice had not changed, but somehow it had. The sound was the same, but there was something within. Something magical.

Within the caves, after he could not find his way out, Laerys had lay dying in the intense heat below the volcanoes of his homeland. He was come upon by a nesting she-dragon, who took him into her clutch. He became one with the family, the formidable beast he now rode being his mother. With her own milk she nursed him from the brink, with her magic fire she bathed him. Over the years, he learned their language, the mysterious one later known as High Valyrian. The magic of the caves, the dragons themselves, entered his very cells and became a part of him, turning him from a man. Turning him into something… other.

Aegona’s chambers were in Laerys. Before she became the thorn in her father’s side, she resided in Gael with Alaesys, the biggest tower. But then Gryr happened, and she was shunned to the bleak tower made for the familial outlier. Alas, she had to make room for her brother to take her place at her sister’s side.

She and Alaesys had always been close. From birth, they were inseparable. Riding their dragons together, Bantagon and Pryjagis. Running and laughing amongst the Great Flames of the Gods while they were meant to be praying. Playing in the ancient libraries when meant to be reading. They were the best of friends, and Aegona was happy. Then her sister matured, blossoming into a great beauty while Aegona retained a boyish figure, flat where her twin’s curved. Vhaelor had never cared too much about his sisters, least of all Aegona. He had always proved impartial at best, tending to avoid the laughing girls. Yet when Alaesys became a woman, he made up his mind.

Vhaelor and Alaesys had not left each other’s sides since, begging their father to allow their pairing. Raeon was apprehensive, having always meant the elder Aegona to wed his heir. Then she ruined herself, as he would say, and he gave in to Vhaelor. They were to be wed before the end of the month, and if Raeon had his way, the wedding would have two brides.

Aegona walked hurriedly to her chambers, angry heat radiating from her. If her father would not heed her, she would show him the same courtesy. Coming to the swaying bridge, she stopped midway to her tower. As she grasped the rope railing, she took the horn hanging from her neck in her hands. Aegona would show the great Raeon Daezgygar that she was destined to be greater than he would ever be. Blowing into the ancient dragonhorn, she beckoned her beast.

Pryjagis was a menacing creature of old. He had been old when her grandfather had claimed him, having fought the harpy of the Ghiscari centuries ago. Pryjagis boasted scales of blues of all shades, with horns the black of night. His flame was a magnificent orange with swirls of yellow and red, almost as bright as the sun. Alaesys rode the sister of Pryjagis, born from the same clutch all those years ago. Bantagon had scales of orange, red, and yellow, horns of white what had yellowed with age, and a flame of dark blue with streaks of black. Aegona missed riding with her sister dearly. As children, she dreamt that they would ride alongside one another to war, bringing glory to their homeland. That was before she saw the truth of the world.

Pryjagis landed atop Laerys with a roar, greeting his rider. The sun shone on him, revealing his whole beauty.

“Hello, handsome.” Aegona walked to him, climbing upon his saddle and grabbing the reins. There was only one person she wished to see at this moment, and she knew exactly where she would be. “To the libraries, Pryjagis.” To Daenys Targaryen.

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Thank you for reading! I (stupidly) got into a car accident yesterday and had time to finish this.

for i have faltered-

just like how i fell for you

the chill in the air

no longer to be warmed by you

the salt of your tongue on my body

your hand on my neck

my fists of ecstasy in your hair

the bite of teeth

a dance of pleasure

the taste of your love soaked into me

the sounds of success all under me

you told me you weren’t over her

but we could still be us

just without a name

and i didn’t make a fuss

i knew you weren’t mine

but i was wholly yours

i would have given anything

for you to feel the same

you went back to her

during that fateful summer

not telling me

until i unmasked you, mummer

i should be upset

should raise my standards

but i know i would crawl back to you

if you asked me to

no matter your manner

you’re the one who made me understand my body

and now it will be yours

whether you want it or not

upon the moors of my homeland

i mourn what was never mine

your object of scorn

there are cracks

where you once lived, in my heart

and when they’re filled i will be happy

boarded from a life unused

until the intruder came

tore the door off it’s hinges

splintering inside me

entered and made his home

just for a fleeting fit of pleasure

leaving, he left his mess

the clean walls now dirty,

the holy ground desecrated

the stain growing

spreading to poison my being

they won’t let me remove it

this mark of a man uninvited

the festering reminder of the intrusion

they say it is murder

that it is gods will

but he was not god

he was a man

they say it was my fault

that i looked too inviting

but how could i have looked inviting

when i did not look at him at all?

of course in their minds, i am always inviting