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Synopsis: Jacerys steals a final, heart‑shaking goodbye with his betrothed on Dragonstone before flying to the Battle of the Gullet — a moment full of love, fear, and the unspoken truth that he may never return.
Authors Note: Anyone else sob like a little girl… 🥺
The sea wind always found Dragonstone’s highest balcony, cold and salt‑sharp, but tonight it felt cruel. It whipped at your cloak, tugged at your hair, as if trying to pull you back inside — away from the truth you already sensed.
Jacerys stood there waiting for you, shoulders tense, jaw set, the torchlight catching the silver in his dark hair. He looked like a prince carved from grief.
And you knew.
You didn’t know the name of the battle. You didn’t know the hour he would leave. You didn’t know the danger he was flying into.
But you knew he was going.
“Jace,” you breathed, stepping toward him.
His eyes softened instantly — that familiar warmth, that instinctive pull toward you — but it didn’t erase the sorrow beneath it. He reached for your hands, pulling them to his chest as if anchoring himself.
“I wanted to tell you sooner,” he said, voice low, rough. “But I could not bear to see this look on your face.”
You swallowed hard. “You’re leaving.”
He nodded once.
Not denying. Not softening. Not pretending.
Just truth.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. “Where?”
His breath shuddered. “To defend the realm. To defend my mother. To defend our future.”
The words were noble, but his eyes were terrified — not of the battle, but of you breaking.
You stepped closer, pressing your forehead to his. “You promised me you would not go without saying goodbye.”
“I am keeping that promise,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “Even if it breaks me.”
Your throat tightened. “How long will you be gone?”
He didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
And that silence was the sharpest blade of all.
---
The Goodbye
Jacerys cupped your face with both hands, as if memorising every line, every freckle, every breath. His voice trembled when he spoke again.
“I will come back to you,” he said, but it sounded like a prayer, not a certainty.
You shook your head, tears burning. “You cannot promise that.”
“I can,” he insisted, leaning his forehead to yours again. “Because I must. Because I refuse to imagine a world where I do not return to you.”
Your tears finally fell, and he caught them with his thumbs, his own eyes shining.
“I am afraid,” you whispered.
“So am I,” he admitted. “But loving you has made me braver than I ever thought I could be.”
Your breath hitched. “Then stay.”
He closed his eyes, pained. “If I stay, I doom us all. If I go… I may yet save us.”
You hated that he was right.
You hated that duty had claws.
You hated that he was the kind of man who would always choose honour — even when it tore him apart.
He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you with a desperation you had never felt from him before. His heartbeat thundered beneath your ear, fast and uneven.
“Jace,” you whispered into his collar. “I cannot lose you.”
“You won’t,” he murmured, though his voice cracked. “You won’t. I swear it.”
You clung to him, fingers digging into his back, trying to hold him here, trying to freeze time, trying to breathe him in deeply enough to last a lifetime.
When he finally pulled back, his hands trembled.
“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his cloak.
He placed a small silver ring in your palm — simple, warm from his body heat, engraved with the tiniest swirling waves.
“The sea brought us together,” he said softly. “Let it bring me back.”
Your tears fell harder.
He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles, then the ring, then your lips — slow, aching, reverent. A kiss that tasted like goodbye and hope and fear and love all tangled together.
When he pulled away, his breath shook.
“I love you,” he whispered. “More fiercely than any dragon that ever lived.”
You pressed your forehead to his once more. “Then come back to me.”
He smiled — small, sad, beautiful. “I will. I swear it on my life.”
But when he stepped back, when he turned toward the stairs, when the torchlight caught the edge of his profile…
You saw it.
The truth he had hidden.
He didn’t know if he would return.
And you didn’t know if this was the last time you would ever see him.
Synopsis: Aemond grows up obsessed with his cousin, Vermithor’s chosen rider. When she returns stronger than ever, the pull between them becomes undeniable. Even after learning she’s Daemon’s daughter, he refuses to let her go.
You were born in the shadow of Dragonstone’s smoking cliffs, the daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon, though half the realm whispered otherwise. Your father was far across the Narrow Sea with Laena when you came screaming into the world, and by the time he returned, the truth had already been wrapped in layers of courtly half‑truths and political convenience.
So you grew up as Rhaenyra’s quiet, sharp‑eyed daughter, the one who preferred the company of scrolls and dragonkeepers to the court’s endless, poisonous chatter. And from the moment you could walk, you walked toward Vermithor.
The Bronze Fury had not taken a rider in generations. He was older than the halls of the Red Keep, older than the songs sung about him. Yet when you approached him—small, unafraid, your hand outstretched—he lowered his massive head and breathed you in like a long‑forgotten memory.
And he chose you.
The court never forgot that.
---
Aemond was twelve when he first saw you truly—standing in the training yard, your hair wind‑tangled, your cheeks flushed from a morning flight. Vermithor circled overhead, a bronze shadow blotting out the sun.
Aemond stared at you with something too intense for a boy his age.
Not admiration.
Not envy.
Something deeper.
Something hungry.
You laughed at something Jace said, and Aemond’s jaw tightened. He didn’t understand why it bothered him. He only knew that it did.
He watched you everywhere after that.
In the library, where you read Valyrian histories with your lips moving silently.
In the courtyard, where you practiced High Valyrian with your mother.
In the stables, where you fed Vermithor charred goat meat with gentle, steady hands.
He memorised you the way other boys memorised battle tales.
---
When he loses his eye, you are the only one who doesn’t look at him with pity or horror.
You look at him like he is still whole.
“Does it hurt?” you ask quietly when you visit him, your voice soft as ash.
“Yes,” he answers, because lying to you feels impossible.
You sit beside him, close enough that he can feel the warmth of you.
“Then let it hurt,” you say. “Pain is a forge. It makes us stronger.”
Aemond never forgets that.
He never forgets you.
---
You spend two years away—training, studying, learning the old ways of Valyria from the keepers who still remember them. When you return to King’s Landing at sixteen, you are no longer the quiet girl with ink‑stained fingers.
You are a dragonrider in truth.
Vermithor lands in the Dragonpit with a roar that shakes the stone, and you dismount with the confidence of someone who knows exactly who she is.
Aemond is waiting.
He shouldn’t be—he has no reason to be—but he is.
And when he sees you, something inside him snaps taut.
You are taller.
Stronger.
Your eyes burn like molten gold.
Your hair whips around you like a banner.
You look like fire made flesh.
And Aemond feels the heat of you like a physical thing.
“Cousin,” he says, bowing his head slightly.
“Aemond,” you answer, your voice steady, your gaze unwavering.
He feels seen.
He feels chosen.
He feels undone.
---
He seeks you out constantly
In the library.
In the training yard.
In the godswood.
On the ramparts overlooking Blackwater Bay.
He asks questions he never asks anyone else.
“What do you read?”
“What do you dream of?”
“What do you fear?”
And you answer him.
Because with Aemond, you never feel the need to hide.
---
During a late‑evening flight—Vermithor restless, Vhagar ancient and irritable. The two dragons spiral around each other above the cliffs, their roars echoing like thunder.
Aemond lands first, sliding off Vhagar with practiced ease. You land moments later, Vermithor’s wings kicking up a storm of dust and heat.
Aemond approaches you, breathless, exhilarated.
“They respect each other,” you say, watching the dragons settle. “Old power recognises old power.”
His gaze flicks to you.
“Is that what this is?” he asks softly. “Recognition?”
You meet his eye—his one remaining eye, sharp and bright and burning.
“Perhaps,” you say.
The wind whips your hair across your face. Aemond reaches out—hesitates—then gently tucks the strand behind your ear.
His fingers linger.
You don’t pull away.
---
It happens in the library, late at night, candles burning low.
You’re reading. He’s pretending to read.
“You are the only one who ever looked at me without seeing a monster,” he says suddenly, voice low.
You close your book.
“You are not a monster, Aemond.”
He swallows hard.
“You make me believe that.”
You step closer.
“You should believe it.”
He looks at you like you are the only light in a world full of shadows.
“I think of you,” he says, voice trembling with honesty he cannot stop. “More than I should.”
Your breath catches.
“Aemond…”
“I know,” he whispers. “But I cannot help it.”
---
The revelation happens during a council meeting—whispers, accusations, a slip of the tongue from someone who should have known better.
Daemon is your father.
Aemond hears it.
Aemond freezes.
You find him later in the training yard, sword abandoned, chest heaving.
“You lied,” he says, not angry—hurt.
“I didn’t know,” you answer. “Not until recently.”
He looks at you, searching your face for something—betrayal, distance, regret.
He finds none.
“You are still you,” he says finally, voice rough. “And I am still… whatever I am to you.”
You step closer.
“You are Aemond,” you say. “And that has always been enough.”
His breath shudders out of him.
---
You stand together on the cliffs above the sea, Vermithor and Vhagar curled below like sleeping mountains.
Aemond turns to you, the wind tugging at his cloak.
“Tell me,” he says quietly, “that I am not alone in this.”
You look at him—truly look—and realise you have been walking toward this moment for years.
“You are not alone,” you say.
Aemond exhales like he’s been holding his breath for half his life.
He steps closer.
You don’t move away.
His forehead rests gently against yours, a gesture intimate in its simplicity.
“Good,” he whispers. “Because I would burn the world before I lost you.”
You close your eyes, letting the warmth of him settle into your bones.
“You won’t lose me,” you say. “Not now. Not ever.”
Below, the dragons rumble in their sleep—ancient, knowing, approving.
And above them, two Targaryens stand together, bound by fire, forged by fate, and finally—finally—no longer afraid to choose each other.
Synopsis: Daemon and his wife raise their dragon‑riding twins, Rhaegar and Rhaelys, on Dragonstone — a life of dawn flights, volcanic heat, and fierce family loyalty, where Daemon finally finds something worth protecting.
The sea wind always carried a bite on Dragonstone, sharp with salt and the distant rumble of the volcano’s heart. But the mornings — the mornings were yours.
You woke before the sun, as you always did, the chamber still dim and warm from the night’s fire. Daemon slept beside you, sprawled like a great cat, silver hair loose across the pillows, one arm thrown over your waist as though even in sleep he refused to let the world take you from him.
You brushed a hand through his hair.
He didn’t stir — not until a shriek split the air.
Not human.
Not dangerous.
Just… impatient.
Daemon groaned into the pillow. “Your children are awake.”
“Our children,” you corrected, though you were already smiling.
He cracked one violet eye open. “They only scream like that when they want you.”
“Or when they want you,” you countered.
He scoffed. “They respect me. They want you.”
Another shriek — louder, echoing off the stone walls.
Daemon sighed dramatically, rolling onto his back. “Seven hells. They sound like hatchlings again.”
You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Come. Before they set the courtyard on fire.”
He grumbled, but he followed.
---
The Twins of Dragonstone
Rhaegar and Rhaelys were already waiting in the training yard, armored in leather and dragonsteel, silver hair whipping in the wind. Sixteen years old, tall, fierce, and entirely too much like their father.
Rhaegar paced like a caged dragon, restless energy radiating off him.
Rhaelys leaned against a pillar, sharpening her dagger with bored precision.
When they saw you, both straightened.
“Mother,” Rhaelys greeted, voice cool but eyes warm.
“Finally,” Rhaegar muttered. “We’ve been waiting.”
Daemon stepped beside you, arms crossed. “If you’re impatient, boy, you should rise earlier.”
Rhaegar rolled his eyes. “We were up before dawn.”
“Then you should have trained,” Daemon said.
“We wanted to train with you,” Rhaelys said, chin lifting.
Daemon’s expression softened — barely, but you saw it.
You always saw it.
---
Morning Flight
The dragons waited on the cliffs:
• Caraxes, Daemon’s great blood wyrm
• Aelyx, your sleek silver she-dragon, fiercely protective and endlessly loyal.
• Stormfyre, Rhaegar’s dark blue dragon, temperamental and fast as lightning.
• Silverwing II, Rhaelys’s pale, elegant dragon, gentle until provoked — then deadly.
The four of you mounted in practiced unison.
Daemon leaned toward you across Caraxes’s neck. “Race you to the Smoking Sea.”
You smirked. “You’ll lose.”
He grinned — that wicked, boyish grin that made you fall in love with him years ago. “Prove it.”
You didn’t need to say a word.
Aelyx launched into the sky with a roar that shook the stones.
Daemon cursed behind you.
The twins whooped and followed.
The wind tore through your hair, the world dropping away beneath you. Dragonstone became a dark shape against the sea, the sky opening wide and endless.
Daemon pulled ahead for a moment — Caraxes’s wings were sleek, powerful — but Aelyx was faster, more agile, and you leaned into her movements like you were one creature.
Rhaegar tried to cut you off.
Rhaelys dove beneath you.
Daemon surged forward again.
You laughed — loud, wild, free.
This was your life.
This was your family.
This was the blood of the dragon.
---
The Heart of the Volcano
You landed near the volcanic ridge, heat rising in shimmering waves. The dragons curled around each other, rumbling contentedly.
Rhaelys knelt to touch the warm black sand. “It feels alive.”
“It is,” Daemon said. “Dragonstone breathes. It remembers.”
Rhaegar tossed a stone into the lava pool. “Do you think we’ll rule from here one day?”
Daemon’s gaze sharpened. “Rule? Perhaps. But ruling is not the same as living.”
You stepped beside him, brushing your fingers against his. “And what do you think they should learn first?”
Daemon’s voice softened. “That power means nothing without loyalty. Without family.”
Rhaelys looked at you. “You and Father… you make it look easy.”
You laughed gently. “It was never easy. But it was always worth it.”
Daemon’s hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer. “Your mother tamed me.”
“You were never tame,” you said.
He smirked. “Only for you.”
The twins groaned in unison.
You and Daemon ignored them.
---
An Evening on Dragonstone
By nightfall, the castle glowed with torchlight. The dragons slept curled around each other near the cliffs, their breaths rising like smoke.
You and Daemon walked the battlements, the sea crashing below.
He slipped his arm around your shoulders. “They’re strong. Fierce. Clever.”
“They’re ours,” you said.
He hummed. “I never thought I’d have this.”
“Have what?”
“A home. A wife who challenges me. Children who are dragons in their own right.”
You leaned into him. “You deserve it.”
He stopped walking, turning you to face him. His hands framed your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.
“You are the only thing I have ever truly chosen,” he said quietly. “Not for duty. Not for legacy. For me.”
Your breath caught.
“And our children?” you whispered.
“They are the proof that even a man like me can build something worth protecting.”
You kissed him — slow, deep, full of the fire that had always burned between you.
When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.
“Dragonstone is ours,” he murmured. “Our kingdom. Our sanctuary. Our legacy.”
“And our children will carry it forward.”
He smiled — soft, rare, real.
“Let them try,” he said. “But they will never outfly their mother.”
You laughed, and the sound echoed across the ancient stones.
Daemon kissed you again, the sea roaring below, the dragons dreaming above, and the fire of your family burning bright at the heart of Dragonstone.
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