#daemon imagine

“Laenor is too old for you to be babysitting him, wife. He should be able to take care of himself.” Your annoyance grows at how cynical your husband is being. He saw how devastated your brother is over Joffrey’s death; you’re sure he also heard the way the court spoke of your brother. How could he be so insensitive?

“He’s my brother, and he needs me here. I’m not going to leave him alone just because you’re offended by Viserys again. You can come back when you’re past your temper,” you stated firmly, making it clear to Daemon that you weren’t going to change your mind. If he wanted to leave, then he’d leave without you or your son.

Your words only cause your husband's anger to grow. It's not just about Viserys disrespecting you, but about your safety and that of his children. How do you expect him to want to stay in King's Landing knowing that his brother wouldn't do anything if something happened to you or your children? How did you expect him to stay here and see Criston Cole's face every day without being able to harm him after that man dared to touch you?

“Do you care more about your brother than the safety of our children?!” he accused you, finally losing his temper and raising his voice.

Before you can lash out at him for daring to say that to you, you hear crying. Both Daemon and you fall silent instantly, paralyzed because you both know that cry perfectly well. It's Baelon.

“Baelon?” you call softly, and the crying continues. You hear him nearby, so you don't hesitate to get out of bed and bend down to look underneath. Your eyes instantly meet your son's violet eyes and and his face full of tears. “Can you come out, please?” you ask, feeling pain in your heart at seeing him so distressed.

You move away, and he's not long in coming out. You immediately take him in your arms and sit with him on the bed. “I'm sorry you heard this, Baelon,” you apologize as you rock him, hoping he'll calm down, but he keeps crying. “It's all right, I swear,” you say, trying to reassure him.

“I don't want Kepa to leave! Kepa, don't leave me!”

Hearing his son's cry and how his eyes looked at him, sad and desperate, made Daemon finally move, he sat next to you and didn't even have to ask you to give him the child because you were already giving it to him. You knew your comfort wouldn't be enough; your son wanted his father.

You looked at your husband attentively, waiting to see if he would take this opportunity to impose himself on you and tell your son that the three of you were leaving.

“I'll never leave you, Baelon,” Daemon assures him as he hugs him. He means it; he'd already missed enough when he'd been fighting at Stepstones, and he's not about to miss out on anything else in his son's life.

“Do you promise?” his son asks, still crying.

“I promise,” he replies without hesitation and kisses his forehead. “Don't be sad anymore,” he says, stroking his back, hoping he'll start to calm down.

“I don't want to leave either. I like playing with Aegon,” he whines, and Daemon sniffs as he watches you hold back a smile. Of course, you didn't listen to him when he told you he didn't want his son around Alicent Hightower's son. You thought your son should be around his cousin, no matter who his mother was. Besides, it seemed like the little prince didn't spend much time with the Valyrian side of his family.

“Maybe we can stay a little longer,” Daemon says, not wanting to give in completely. For a moment, it seems like he’s saying the right thing because your son’s sobs stop, but then he frowns and crosses his arms. “What now?”

“You yelled at Mommy and didn't say you're sorry,” his son reminds him, and Daemon smiles because, of course, Baelon wouldn't let that happen; he's a mama's boy, after all. He's proud to know his son would never let anyone treat you badly.

“You're right, it was wrong of me,” he admits, looking into your eyes. You don't look as upset as you used to, but he knows that later, when the two of you are alone, you'll have to continue this conversation. It wasn't right of him to accuse you of not caring about their children. “I'm sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, not just to make his son happy.

“I can only accept your apology if you bring me a cake from the kitchens,” you say. Daemon knows that you don't talk seriously, but he still decides to indulge your whim.

“It’s a fair request,” he agrees, placing Baelon back in your arms. “But before that,” he kisses you. It’s short because he doesn’t want to make a big scene in front of his son, but you can still feel the love he has for you. “I’ll be back.”

And you smile as you watch him leave, knowing he won’t go anywhere without you.

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hotd masterlist daemon's wife au

You didn't expect to spend the night this way. Sprawled in Daemon Targaryen's lap with Ormund Hightower's face between your thighs, but here you were, in the dimly lit club with bodies swirling around you. Lust palpable in the air. Desire seeping through every dripping pore. Who knew you would be the reason a temporary truce was proclaimed, bring the two powerful, controlling men to heel, and make them get along for five minutes? Ormund always said your pussy was a powerful little minx.

You made no secret of keeping both their companies. Daemon, with his alluring platinum hair and violet eyes, clad in Balenciaga, or when he was feeling more daring, would slide into Rick Owen's avant-garde designs. Ormund, with a red tint to his hair and piercing blue eyes, who preferred McQueen or Cucinelli. The two even had similar ear piercings: a golden hoop in Ormund's left ear and a Valyrian steel one in Daemon's right. Both men always dressed to the nines, except in the confines of their flats, where you witnessed them in buttery-soft loungewear. You loved to nestle in their soft t-shirts, curled against their sides while sipping some fancy beer, wine, or espresso.

Tonight, both men are bathed in Valentino in various shades of black, red, dark green, and gold, and the champagne flows like a waterfall. A thick golden chain dangles from Ormund's neck, gleaming in the dim light as his large golden ringed fingers slip up your thighs. Daemon presses the champagne flute to your lips, tipping the bubbling liquid down your throat, and some of it streams down to the corners of your mouth, which he eagerly licks away. Silver rings cling to his long, slender fingers, while one hand tangles in the hem of your dress, hiking it further up your hips to expose you to Ormund.

"I could smell you the minute you walked in," Ormund murmurs, kissing your damp inner thighs.

"No, you couldn't," you whisper, heat clinging to your cheeks as your lacy underwear is exposed.

"The man does have a particularly strong olfactory sense," Daemon hums in your ear before trailing his mouth over your neck. You wonder how much it killed him inside to compliment Ormund just then.

"No one can smell pussy across the room," you huff, and Ormund pinches your tender inner thighs before raking his short, manicured nails over the reddened spots.

"Stop overthinking it," he scolds, nuzzling his nose against the lacy crotch of your underwear.

"Mmm, he's right, just go back to being the dumb little whore you are and let us take care of you," Daemon purrs darkly in your ear.

All thoughts bleed from your head as you fumble for words. Daemon inches the thin strap of your dress down one shoulder, pulling the fabric down and exposing one breast. The cool air makes your nipple instantly harden. He licks his thumb before circling it over the stiff flesh while Ormund mouths you through the lacy fabric. You wonder if the intoxicated crowd has caught a glimpse of your almost woefully exposed body yet. It's a thrilling thought that made arousal pool through you, soaking your underwear further and making Ormund groan when he feels the wetness against his mouth even through the lacy fabric.

"Gods, you are a little whore tonight," he muses, lips twisting into an amused grin.

"When isn't she?" Daemon hums before pinching your nipple.

"Lift your hips, darling," Ormund instructs, and you obey, letting him slide the lace down your legs. He tosses the garment over his shoulder and landed on the blood red velvet banquette behind him. "There we go, good girl." He licks, nuzzles, and bites your inner thighs, leaving your lower half completely exposed.

Daemon's hand skims over your hip before letting his fingers stroke your damp pussy, making you writhe in his lap. You can feel his hard on pressing agaisnt the curve of your ass. Even Ormund's was visible against the lining of his designer trousers. Ormund lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, the heel of your red-bottomed shoe digging agaisnt his shoulder while you're spread open for him. Two of Daemon's fingers plunge inside, making you groan. He pumps them steadily for a few moments before withdrawing them, and Ormund closes the gap with his mouth.

Daemon's hand clamps over your mouth to muffle your wanton moans while Ormund's tongue dips inside you, feeling your walls flutter before he suckles gently on your damp flesh. Soon his attention turns toward your clit, tracing the sensitive bud with the tip of your tongue until you come, shaking in Daemon's lap. Ormund makes a show of sitting back and lewdly licking his glistening mouth clean. Dark chuckles vibrate through the air as they tumble from Daemon's mouth. He reaches under you to pull down his zipper and guide his cock out so fast and fluid that you barely realize until the tip of his cock presses against your dripping opening.

You whimper softly, lifting your hips and letting him guide you onto his cock until he's buried deep inside. Ormund stands in front of you, tugging down his fly and withdrawing his leaking cock. You shift forward and the angle makes Daemon's cock press perfectly against that sweet spot inside of you while Ormund taps his licking tip against your glossy lips. You're dizzy with lust as you part your mouth and draw him deep inside. Stuffed full of both men's cocks. It's intoxicating to be used like a little fuck toy, especially after a long week toiling away at work.

Your lips are stretched obscenely wide over Ormund's cock while Daemon's large hands take hold of your hips, guiding you into a rhythm. You close your eyes, letting them take control, and you sputter when you feel the warm gush leak down your throat. Salty, bitter, musky. Daemon's face presses against the back of your neck, his gentle panting spilling over your flesh, followed by a long groan as he comes inside you. You fall against Ormund's chest, momentarily exhausted.

Once their dicks are tucked away, the two men get to work, lifting you and using napkins to clean between your thighs. Ormund slips your underwear back on, and Daemon fixes your dress, making sure all your flesh is tucked away under the soft satin. You reached for a champagne flute, but Ormund pulls your hand away, tutting softly.

"Water for you," he says seriously, and Daemon places a fresh bottle in your hand. Blue and violet eyes fix intently on you as they watch you finish every drop.

"Champagne, please," you pout, reaching out your hand and batting your lashes.

"One more glass, then we are taking you home," Daemon says, before sliding the glass into your palm.

"Yes, daddy," you giggle teasingly, enjoying how the bubbles fizz over your tongue.

"Jesus, I didn't need to know that," Ormund complains, furrowing his brow.

"He likes it too," you wink at Daemon.

"Oh, I bet he does, the fucking repressed Hightowers are all secretly little perverts," Daemon sneers.

"While the Targaryens have their kinks spilled all over the tabloids," Ormund counters, ordering two glasses of whiskey.

Daemon laughs as he runs his fingers through his silvery-blonde hair.

"So whose place are we going to after this?" you ask curiously, downing the last of your champagne.

The two men exchange a look as the whiskey arrives, both taking a long swill as they contemplate the answer. Neither wants to let the other into their territory.

"Mine then. I have a flat in Highgarden," you reply.

"Interesting, I'm not paying for that one," Daemon says with amusement.

"Neither am I," Ormund quips.

You had your lips pressed together and head turned away.

Your hand gripped the edge of the table tightly, anger controlling your senses and you felt so heated that you just wished for a cold rain soaking your body.

"I said no, Daemon.", you hissed at him.

Your husband had his eyes closed as if he tried to calm himself but it clearly didn't worked because he pushed himself away from the wall against which he had rested and restlessly walked back and forth.

"And I'm asking you once again, why?! Why, y/n?"

You exhaled loudly and threw your hands in the air.

"Because she is too young. I can't believe I even have to discuss this with you. Visenya is 8 years old. Not old enough to climb on a dragon on her own. She can fly with you but she is not going to take off with Sirmai alone."

He rolled his eyes.

"Gods be good, y/n! Our daughter is made of fire. She belongs on that dragonback. It's where she is alive."

You laughed out madly and approached him with quick steps.

"Yes. I want her to be alive. And if she is on that dragon alone nothing can assure me that she'll get back on the ground alive."

Daemon shook his head and lowered his head. "Visenya claimed Sirmai, she is not going to get her in danger."

"But she is eight, Daemon! Saena was 10 when we first let her fly on Cloudchaser and Wyllam as well."

Your husband raised his chin and defiantly chewed on his buttom lip. "Visenya is tough. And she wants it too."

You threw your head back.

"This is so stupid, Daemon. I said no. I'm her mother and I'm not going to risk my daughter's life because you act irresponsible and emotional and without reason."

"Oh so I'm the bad father now, is that what you're trying to say?"

You crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"No, but it in this case, yes. You're putting your honor as a Targaryen and as a dragonrider above Visenya's well-being."

Now it was Daemon who laughed and rubbed his tired eyes.

"I can't believe you just said that…"

He abruptly turned around and lifted his finger to point at you.

"I love our daughter as much as a father can love his child. But she is ready and maybe you can't see that but I can. I'm telling you, we should allow her to mount Sirmai."

You shook your head, trying to make your expression look as cold as possible.

"No, Daemon. I will not allow it and so it's not going to happen."

He exhaled loudly and shook his head in disbelief.

"And I can't believe you are always coming up with 'she's meant for it as a Targaryen'. Yes, the blood of the dragon runs in her veins but that doesn't mean that you can use that fact as a justification. She is still my daughter and as much as I respect Targaryen tradition, she is still half dornish and sometimes I have the feeling that you think of your side as superior and more distinctive."

He turned to walk away from you.

"This is stupid…"

You glared at him and narrowed your eyes. "No it's not, Daemon."

"It is and I have no desire to listen to any more of your childish outbursts. I'm going to bed now."

You watched him with flashing eyes as he hasted through your chambers but before he passed you you held out your arm to stop him. Your head hit his chest and his eyes shot down to meet yours.

"You will not sleep in here tonight," you whispered dangerously and Daemon frowned.

"You're not being serious, are you?"

But you remained persistend and gestured to the door.

"I am. I don't want you in here."

He grinded his teeth and his eyes twinkled and yet he did as you had demanded and was quick to leave your chambers.

Once he was outside you inhaled deeply and sat down on a chair. You closed your eyes in a desperate attempt to make your boiling blood calm down but it took you some time until you opened them and you were able to think normally again.

~~~~~~~~~~

You saw your husband again the next day for breakfast. Your children were playing by the fire surrounded by maids and servants and septas and when you entered Daemon was just reading a piece of parchment but lowered it when he saw you.

You on the other hand completely ignored him and didn't look at him for a mere second. You had decided to give him the silent treatment and just act like he wasn't there. So instead of giving him a morning kiss like you usually would have done you walked to your children and caressed your daughter Saena's dark hair.

Your children were a mixture of your husband's and your features. While Visenya, Wyllam and Meradith came more after Daemon and his Targaryen looks, your eldest daughter Saena and Orlyn had your thick brown hair and darker eyes and skin as their siblings. Meralith on the other hand was the pure image of her father. Silver straight hair, light eyes and the only difference to Daemon was her darker tan. The girl would soon turn 6 and you lovingly watched your children while ignoring your husband's presence.

Orlyn, your youngest just brought you a little dragon that his uncle had gifted him for his name day and pulled it through the air.

"I called him Aero, mother. And when I have my dragon one day I'll call him Aero too."

You smiled softly and caressed your son's shoulder.

"That's a name fit for a fierce dragon, my darling."

Your son smiled contendly and babbled something while shifting his attention to his toy again. You straightened up again now and walked towards the breakfast table, still not giving a glance at Daemon. He on the other hand watched your every move but when he realized what it was you were doing he lowered his head as well and folded his hands in front of him.

He was way too proud to give in and talk to you. He was pissed and hurt (even if he wouldn't admit it) but definitely wouldn't communicate with you about his feelings now that you seemed so indifferent. So his expression changed to cold as well and he leaned back in his chair grabbing the parchment once more and fixed his eyes on the letter beneath him. If you were to treat him like this he would play along.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next days you spent almost entirely ignoring each other. Of course you saw Daemon during the meals and when you spent time with your children but you didn't say more than necessary, never looked at him and especially never exchanged any sort of loving affection. You were stubborn and still furious and wanted him to feel that.

In your head Daemon had acted unreasonable and childish and you just hated it because you felt like he didn't actually listen to you. Why was it that you always had to keep a light head while he came up with dangerous ideas and plans and acted as if you were too controlling and scared. You weren't scared, you simply wanted your children to be safe, seven hells.

Daemon on the other hand was equally angry and couldn't understand your behaviour any better. To him, his suggestion was the perfect proof of his love to his children and he simply knew that Visenya would be perfectly fine on her dragon. He felt like you were controlling him and taking part in a piece of his family history that you just couldn't understand that well because you weren't a dragon rider yourself. Daemon was secretly hurt because in his understanding you were trying to claim that part of his identity and that translated in his anger.

And yet through all of his fury, he couldn't help but glance at you when you entered a room. Just like you also took care of him from afar, he had to make sure that you were alright, that you were eating enough and that you weren't overwhelmed with taking care of the children.

One time you didn't attend supper and Daemon had been worried when he found out that you had a headache. Everything inside of his screamed to approach you to take care of you but he couldn't get over his pride and he also wasn't sure whether you would even want him there.

So instead of visiting you, Daemon sent servants to your rooms every 10 minutes and ordered them to make sure you were fine and ask you whether you needed anything. In the meantime the prince walked up and down in his chambers and nervously nibbled at his nails. He hated this so much but what was he to do? He was a stubborn and proud person and remained angry with you. He certainly wouldn't be the first one to give and come apologizing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Four days after your fight, things shifted though because while Daemon tied his hair in the morrow there was a knock on the door.

A part of him hoped that it was you who finally wanted to discuss things but once he had ordered the person to come in the door slowly opened. He turned to see who it was and his face softened when he saw his daughters one by one peeking into the room. Daemon smiled gently and gestured them to come in. The three girls walked to their father who sat down on a chair and lifted his eyebrows at their careful and uncertain expressions.

"What is it, girls? You seem serious."

Saena, your eldest daughter nibbled at her thumb while glaring at her sisters.

"I-Is there something wrong?"

Daemon frowned. "What do you mean, darling?"

Now it was Meralith who stared at her father with big eyes and seemingly was sad.

"You almost haven't spoken to mommy yesterday. And the day before. And the day before," she mumbled and Daemon felt a little stitch in his heart.

He reached down to grab the girl under her arms and lifed her onto his lap. Then he caressed her silver hair out of her face and determindly looked into his daughters' eyes.

"Everything is fine, girls. Your mother and I have been very stressed the past days and sometimes there isn't a lot of time to talk to each other. But we cherish and love every second we get to see each other, alright?"

The only one who looked a little more relieved was Meralith on his lap but Saena and Visenya frowned and pouted.

"But it's never like that," Visenya claimed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You never talk to mother or kiss her or even look at her."

Daemon shook his head.

"I promise you that we have everything under control. In a few days there will be less things going on and your mother and I will have more time for each other again. You on the other hand – " He caressed his daughter's head. "Don't need to worry about anything."

Visenya sighed while Saena still looked suspicious but the three girls decided not to uphold the discussion any longer and told their father they would go in the gardens to play now. Daemon nodded feeling relieved and told them he would have to attend a small council meeting and reminded them of their lessons with their septa later.

What the rogue prince didn't know was that you just had had quite a similar conversation with your sons only a few feet away. Because Wyllam and Orlyn had knocked on your door even earlier. Orlyn with his four years was your youngest child and Wyllam had come to you with him because his brother had felt very anxious the past days because just like his sisters, he had sensed that his parents weren't on good terms with each other.

And so you had assured your sons that everything was perfectly fine, just as Daemon had your daughters. Of course you knew that you shouldn't lie to your children but this whole situation was already exhausting enough so you didn't additionally need your children to suffer from this. It was easier that way. Telling them that mommy and daddy were fine and they didn't have to worry about anything. And perhaps you would be. Maybe.

But Daemon and you didn't know that your children were way too smart to be tricked like that. They had left the both of you alone and pretended to believe you to some extent but once your three daughters had left Daemon's room and walked outside the castle to sit on a bench in the gardens Visenya looked at her older sister with a deep frown between her eyebrows.

"Do you believe father, Sae?" she asked and Saena thoughtfully bit her buttom lip.

"I don't know. I can't believe that we imagined this."

Tears were glistening in Meralith's eyes as she pulled at her sister's sleeve.

"I-I want mommy and daddy to love each other," she whimpered and Saena caringly wrapped her arms around the little girl.

"It's fine, Mera. They do love each other."

But then she turned to Visenya again.

"But if father says so we are to believe him. He says we shouldn't worry and maybe – "

But her sister crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"I don't care what he says. I know that something's wrong."

Meralith stared at her other sister now and pouted.

"B-But no… Please Sae, do something."

Her eldest sister sighed and chewed on her lower lip. She wanted to say something when they were interrupted by their brother Wyllam who had sneaked up on his sisters from behind a tree.

"Arghhh," he made and Saena shrieked. "Oh Wyllam, stop it!"

Her brother laughed and held his stomach while Visenya angrily flashed her eyes at him.

"Not funny at all," she hissed.

Orlyn stumbled towards his sister behind his brother and as with his sister Meralith tears swam in his eyes. Wyllam turned to him and then sighed.

"He is sad all the time and I wanted to play with him but he didn't want to so I thought you could take him."

Visenya reared up in front of him.

"So you thought you could just bring him to us whenever he bores you?"

Her brother rolled his eyes and attempted to pat her head but the girl pushed away his hand.

"Relax, sister. You are… girls. You are better with emotions."

That made Visenya jump at Wyllam and her fists came down to hit him in his stomach.

"I make you feel emotions now, you little – " Saena came forward and wrapped her arms around her sister to pull her back.

"Oh stop it, the both of you."

Being older and stronger Saena was able to separate the fighting siblings and then once everyone was at calm again and Wyllam and Visenya only angrily glared at each other the eldest sibling kneeled down in front of Orlyn.

"What is it, little brother?"

The boy sucked on his thumb and stared up to his sister without bringing out a word.

Wyllam shrugged. "It's because of mother and father. He believes they are fighting because they haven't spoken that much and now his whole world has been destroyed."

He rolled his eyes and indifferently plucked an apple from a nearby tree which he examined closely for holes or worms.

"Oh Orlyn," Saena sighed and hugged her brother.

"I don't think there is reason to worry though," said Saena then. "We've spoken to father and everything is fine between them."

Visenya cleared her throat while her youngest brother looked from one sibling to the other.

"At least that's what he said. I believe that they have fought. It's always like this when they fight."

Saena shifted her attention from Orlyn to her sister. "What do you mean, always? They don't fight often."

Visenya rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I know. But when it happens they always ignore each other. Like today and the day before."

Saena tiredly rubbed her eyes.

"I mean… Maybe you are right after all. I sensed something as well but I thought now that father has claimed that we shouldn't worry…"

Wyllam had started to eat his apple but now that even his eldest sister doubted their parents' reassurances he also looked a little worried.

"I've taken Orlyn to mother in the morrow. He was so sad that I thought if we spoke to her, mother could calm him. But though she did, Orlyn remained panicky."

Visenya lifted her eyebrows. "You've spoken to mother? And she said that as well?"

Wyllam nodded. "Yes. She said that her and father were perfectly fine."

Saena put a hand to her lip and hummed to herself. "What should we do now?"

Everyone stared at each other as if they would find a solution in their sibling's faces but no one came forward with a suggestion. It was Meralith who opened her mouth first.

"I want mommy and daddy to love each other again," she whispered again with her eyes dropped to the ground.

Saena, who felt the most responsible and caring towards her siblings took a step towards her sister and pressed the girl's head to her chest.

"They still love each other even when they're fighting, Mera. They are just not talking at the moment but they are still in love, do you understand me?"

Saena kissed her hair and felt her sister nod slightly. So she pulled back, having made sure that Meralith was fine and questioningly looked around in the circle. Visenya cleared her throat and rested her hands on her hips.

"We should do something. Give them no choice but to talk to each other."

Wyllam agreed and nodded.

"We could lock them in the same room," he suggested, but Saena shook her head.

"That goes too far, brother. And how would you even do it? No, we have to come up with something else. Though I'm not sure if we even should interfere…"

Visenya rolled her eyes and walked back and forth.

"Of course we should interfere, sister. Otherwise they're never gonna speak again."

Her youngest siblings looked shocked at her words and fearfully stared at her with big eyes.

"Stop scaring them," complained Saena.

"She is not being serious," she then spoke to Meralith and Orlyn. "Of course mother and father are going to speak again."

Then the eldest girl sighed and looked at Visenya.

"Fine. Maybe we could try it. We should make them talk again."

Her sister nodded contendly and clapped her hands. "Perfect. I already have a plan."

Wyllam frowned. "You do?"

She nodded and pointed at Orlyn. "What is your favourite game?"

The boy widened his eyes and his gaze wandered over his sibling. "Hide and seek."

Visenya nodded. "Exactly. Mother and father will notice that Orlyn is feeling a little weary and sad. So he will go them, perhaps separately and tell them that he would love to play a round of hide and seek with the whole family." She smiled mischieviously. "And then we will manipulate the game so mother and father are in the same team. Then they will have no choice but to talk again and everything will be fine."

The girl smiled proudly and looked from Saena to Wyllam waiting for their admirations but her sister frowned.

"What if they don't have the time? Or they don't want to? Father said it himself, they're very stressed at the moment."

But Visenya shook her head and sighed. "You forget that this was only an excuse, sister. And Orlyn just has to be persistent with them."

"I can do that," her brother claimed and raised his chin.

Wyllam also thoughtfully hummed.

"But what if they won't talk? They can play the game with us and still just ignore each other…"

Visenya realized that he had a point and his sisters remained silent for a moment. Then it was Saena who shrugged.

"We could try it though, right? It's not a perfect plan but it's better than doing nothing."

Visenya nodded enthusiastically while Wyllam hesitatingly tilted his head but it was decided. Meralith and Orlyn were seemingly merely glad that something was happening to make their parents reconcile and so in the afternoon Orlyn shyly knocked at your door while your handmaidens were brushing your hair that always got so messy over the day.

When you saw who it was you smiled softly and sent away your servants. Your son still looked a little sad so you took him into your arms, lifted him and caressed his dark hair.

"My sweet boy," you purred while holding him closely to you.

Orlyn crouched against your neck which made you close your eyes simply enjoying the closeness to your youngest child.

"Mommy?" he then hummed against your neck after a while and you felt the vibrations in your whole body.

"Yes, love?"

"Can we play a game in the gardens? Please."

You sighed and drew your face in a painful smile.

"Oh Orlyn, it's really… I have so much to do…"

Your son pouted at you and you felt a little stitch in your heart at his dissatisfied expression. "Please mommy."

You chuckled at his dark puppy eyes that looked so much like your little sister's and suddenly you remembered the way she had looked at you as a child when she used to ask you to play with her and so you knew you couldn't refuse your son.

"Alright, sweetling. What do you want to play?"

Your son shrieked excitedly which made you deepen your smile and his hands grabbed your shoulders.

"I want to play hide and seek. With Meralith and Wyllam and Visenya and Saena."

You nodded and put Orlyn back to his feet. "Fine. As you wish, love."

And so the two of you walked out of your chambers and to the gardens where your other children were already waiting. You hadn't lied when you said that you had a lot of things to do, but when Orlyn had come to you earlier to ask about Daemon and you, you had sensed that your son was feeling a little worried and anxious, even after you had assured him that everything was the way it was supposed to be. And so you had decided to make some time for your youngest son to give him your love and affection and make sure he didn't feel sad and concerned anymore.

Now you stood with your children but just when you were about to ask them what teams each of you were playing in Orlyn excused himself. You didn't see the wink that was exchanged between your son and Visenya because their plan was it to get your husband now and in that way give Daemon and you no choice but to talk about your differences.

You didn't know that though and just watched your son haste inside the castle with a surprised expression but were quickly distracted by Meralith who showed you a bunch of beautiful flowers she had collected. You admired and complimented each of it and were leaned down to closely examine the flowers when suddenly your daughter shrieked and twitched. A bee had stung her on her arm and tears filled her eyes at once.

"Owww," she cried and you were shocked when you saw the sting starting to swell.

"Oh no no," you made and grabbed your daughter's arm to look at the sting. The girl cried in panic while your other children gathered around their sister.

"What is it, mother?" Wyllam asked, his voice thick with concern and you kneeled in front of Meralith.

"Saena, get the grand maester. Quickly."

Your eldest daughter looked equally shocked as your other children and swiftly ran off inside the castle.

"It's alright, sweet girl," you tried to sooth Meralith even though you felt really scared yourself. Her whole arm was swollen by now and your daughter looked pale in her face though you weren't sure if it might be caused by her shock.

"Everything will be fine, Mera. Just look at me and breathe."

You had to keep a clear head and clam your children who all nervously wandered around and Wyllam had started nibble at his thumb, a habit he had since he was a young boy.

"Mother, what's happening? It looks so scary," he asked.

You caressed Meralith's shoulders and tried to breathe steadily.

"It's just a bee sting. Saena will be back soon with the grand maester and then everything will be fine."

Your daughter's cheeks were coated with her tears and you just prayed that your words would turn out to be truthful. And then finally your eldest daughter returned, old grand maester Simon hasting behind her. He was breathless and held his chest as he kneeled down in front of your daughter.

"Oh gods be good. What happened here?" the old man asked and Meralith's lower lip trembled.

You took a step back to let Simon take a look at the sting and wrapped your arm around Wyllam and Visenya. Anxiously you bit your lip and waited while watching the grand maester doing his work when there was suddenly someone else entering the gardens. You had totally forgotten about Orlyn and the fact that he had mysteriously left the scene to get back to the castle but now your son walked out with Daemon.

All of a sudden there was a tightness in your throat and you felt the need to cry and just hug your husband. He narrowed his eyes when he understood the scene and hurried to Meralith who was still crying.

"Darling! What happened?"

It wasn't you who answered although you wanted to. Simon explained it to Daemon while your youngest frightened son ran to you and pressed himself to your legs. You petted his hair while you watched Daemon talking to his daughter with his eyebrows drawn together. His hands held hers tightly and then you head Simon speak again.

"First she should go to bed now and rest. I'll bring the medicine that she might require."

And so your husband picked your daughter up from the ground and carried her inside with Simon following close behind. For a brief moment Daemon and your eyes met and all he could see was the worry and angst on your face. Then they were inside and as much as you wanted to hurry inside too to by at your daughter's side, you had to calm and be there for your other children now.

~~~~~~~~~~

And that you did. You stayed with Orlyn, Wyllam, Saena and Visenya by the fireplace, read them from their favourite books and assured them that their sister would be fine.

It had gotten late and soon Wyllam expressed that he was tired and wanted to go to bed so that was what you did next. It took some time bringing each child to their rooms, covering them up with their blanket (the only exception was Visenya who insisted that she was old enough to do it herself), wishing them a good night and promising them that in the morrow they could see Meralith.

It was the hour of the owl when Saena drifted off to sleep and you sighed as you left her chambers. Your plan was to finally look after Meralith but just when you were about to enter her rooms grand maester Simon opened the door and put his finger to his lips.

"Shh. She has just fallen asleep."

He closed the door behind him so you didn't have a chance to peek inside the room.

"How is she? Please, I need to see her."

Simon looked pitiful as he shook his head.

"She is fine, my lady. She will be fine. But you shouldn't disturb her now, it has taken hours until she was calm enough to drift away to sleep."

You exhaled bitterly. Everything was just so overwhelming and the worry about your daughter restricted the air coming to your lungs.

"Fuck," you breathed because you had held back your emotions all evening and now all you wanted was to see that Meralith was fine and not even that you could do.

"I'm sorry. But she needs her rest, I recommend you come and see her first thing in the morrow."

You nodded though you felt disappointed and sad. Simon bowed his head and then turned to walk away from you. You were left feeling cold and lonely and in desperation. You inhaled a few times and then unwillingly returned to your chambers.

Once you were there you felt empty and numb but knew that you wouldn't be able to sleep now. You wished you could fall asleep next to your daughter because you were certain that her presence was all you needed right now to be calm. Knowing that you were denied that, you walked up and down in your chambers so close to tears but they just wouldn't spill for some reason.

Suddenly there was a knock on your door and absently you called "Come."

Only after the words had left your mouth did you realized what you had done. You couldn't bare the presence of anyone who was not Meralith right now and you wanted to slap yourself for not thinking before speaking.

But when the door opened your eyes rounded and it felt as though a weight dropped from your heart.

Daemon stood in the door watching you with tired eyes that in an instant made a warmth spread in your body. The lump in your throat seemed to somehow increase in size and now you felt that the tears started to form in the corner of your eyes.

You saw him gulp and then walk towards you and without speaking a word Daemon wrapped his arms around you. You held him equally tightly and for a moment you felt so relaxed and at calm that you forgot every worry or concern and the comfort of his body so close to yours made a few tears escape your eyes.

"She'll be fine, y/n," Daemon hummed against your hair and you nodded against him.

"Yes. Yes, she will be."

Then you pulled away from him but still had your hands on his shoulders.

"Did you see her? Is she in pain?"

Daemon smiled softly and caressed your back.

"I did see her. She was scared, but… no, she wasn't in great pain."

Then he pressed you against his chest again so you felt the warmth of his body and now you realized how much you had missed him these past days. Gods, how had you done it? How had you survived without laying next to him at nights, without smelling his familiar scent?

"I'm sorry, y/n," he now whispered against your ear and your thumb soothed his collarbone.

"Me too," you said and then once again pulled back to watch your husband.

"I know that all you did was act out of love for Visenya. I'm sorry for what I accused you of and I know that I perhaps was too hasty and I… I didn't think about what I was asking of you," Daemon stuttered and you smiled softly.

"And I shouldn't have said that you were acting like a bad father. I know that you're not."

He grabbed your hand while watching you with these puppy eyes that immediately made you melt.

"I know that you're right. Our daughter should always be safe and I-I don't know what possessed me. There's nothing wrong with waiting another year until she will mount her dragon and I want her to be safe too. I just… I guess I just felt hurt hearing you speak about how dangerous it is to be on dragonback. It felt like you thought of dragonriders as ridiculous and imprudent. And then... I thought you were trying to take this part of me and my identity away. And then maybe I was scared that you would never allow Visenya to mount her dragon and that made me act irrational and emotional. Gods… I know that it was so childish of me to come forward with this idea and stubbornly insist on it."

He kissed the back of your hand and then you reached up to hold the side of his beautiful face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to feel you like that. And I know that you acted out of love as well. I know that you're proud of your family and your traditions and I respect that so much, love. I know that you want Visenya to carry this tradition as well and share it with her and just like you, I can't wait until she will. I don't think of dragonriders as imprudent. I think of them as fierce and brave and I know that Visenya will do an amazing job."

His eyes lovingly looked into yours and he squeezed your hand tightly.

"Thank you," he merely spoke and then you leaned forward to kiss Daemon on his lips.

That night you didn't throw out Daemon. That night you didn't feel cold or lonely.

That night you held your husband tightly with his arms wrapped around your back while your hands were buried in his hair. You both knew that it would probably get way too warm in the night because a thick blanket was additionally covering the both of you but you didn't care. All you wanted was to feel Daemon again and so you drew patterns on his scalp while the both of you drifted away with your thoughts.

"I love you, y/n. So much."

You smiled with closed eyes. "I love you, too, Daemon."

She has scarcely been able to take her eyes off of Daemon since he first arrived at the Red Keep. He possesses the classically handsome features bestowed upon those of Valyrian blood, carries himself with self assured confidence, and embodies an air of dangerous unpredictability which both frightens and excites her in equal measure. Though it is none of these qualities that keep her gaze fixated upon him.

Her interest is piqued by how utterly devoted he is to his wife. When she stood beside her husband, Aemond, in the Great Hall, as Vaemond Velaryon challenged the succession of Driftmark, her attention was focused solely on Daemon and Rhaenyra. He had been glued to her side, his gaze always seeking hers, and when Vaemond had dared to call her a whore and her children “bastards”, he had not hesitated in unsheathing his sword and slicing the man’s head in half. She wonders if her own husband would defend her so staunchly.

She is not blind to their starkly different situations; Daemon and Rhaenyra’s union is one of love, it is plain for all to see. Her and Aemond’s is one of political necessity. Although they have grown fond of each other over the last six months of their marriage, and he has never been unkind to her, she cannot help the jealousy that swirls, ugly and acrid, within her chest at the ease of which her husband’s half sister and his uncle interact with one another.

The two children they have together already, and the one that currently grows within the swell of Rhaenyra’s belly are proof enough of their passion for one another. However, the looks they exchange at the dinner table this evening are smoldering and filled with intent. Their fingers brush against each other as they pass dishes of food between them, and Daemon’s hand seems to find its way to her stomach, caressing her lovingly, unaware he is even doing it.

Her and Aemond’s intimacy is not so effortless, though it is not from a lack of trying on her part. He beds her frequently, and she greets his advances with enthusiasm, yet his stoicism renders him incapable of ever fully losing control. He is receptive to her pleas of “harder”, “faster”, but she is always left with the dissatisfaction of feeling he is holding something back, and outside of their shared bedchamber it is rare that he ever touches her. She has attempted to broach the subject with him before, framing it as a means for them to find greater satisfaction within their marital bed, but he always waves her away dismissively, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

She can sense something dark and urgent bubbling beneath the surface of him, and longs to draw it out, to experience the full force of the fire of the dragon that runs through his veins, but she does not know how to entice it. 

It had appeared prominent in his seeing eye as Dark Sister had cleaved the Velaryon man’s skull in twain, a potent mixture of bloodlust and desire, as his pupil had dilated ever so slightly. It had sent a shiver up her spine, heat pooling between her thighs, causing her to squeeze them together to fend off the dull, throbbing ache.

She longs for that look to be cast upon her, for her to be the recipient of whatever wrath that follows, and now she is sure that it is Daemon that holds the key to coaxing the darker side of her husband out to play.

The dinner is a tense affair. Aemond sits beside her, so tightly wound she is sure the lightest of touches would cause him to shatter like glass. When he finally loses his cool, throwing barbed words towards his nephews, resulting in an exchange of blows, the evening draws to an abrupt close, with each of them being dismissed to their respective quarters. As they depart the dining hall, her husband and his uncle lock eyes, a smirk of amusement flashing briefly across Daemon’s features as Aemond’s nostrils flare in irritation.

She can feel the heat of his anger radiating from him as he strides through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, scurrying alongside him in an attempt to match his pace. That look has returned and with it her desperate feeling of lust. If she doesn’t seize the opportunity now, then she is unsure of when it will present itself again.

Reaching out for her husband, she grasps his elbow, her fingers taut against the leather sleeve of his tunic. His steps falter and he turns to look at her quizzically, chest heaving with the laboured breaths of his barely concealed rage.

“What is it?” He snaps.

Instinctively, she shrinks back, second guessing her decision as she sees the way he glares down at her, lip curled into a snarl. Despite her fear, she reminds herself that this is the side of Aemond she had been seeking, and leans into him, placing her hands upon his chest.

“I want you,” she whispers, gazing up at him pleadingly.

“Not here,” he sighs, his expression softening, as he gently grasps her hands in his, moving them back to her sides.

Though she remains outwardly calm, in spite of her disappointment, internally she feels so frustrated she could scream. The look she craves is gone, he has rebuffed her advances and she knows that once more she is destined to an evening where he will treat her as though she is made of bone china.

“I believe you were told to return to your quarters.”

The intrusion of Daemon’s voice causes Aemond to take a quick step backwards, away from her, as she turns to look. He stands before them in the corridor, posture rigid and chin raised up ever so slightly, giving the impression that he is looking down his nose at them both.

“We are on our way,” Aemond responds icily, drawing himself to his full height and staring down his uncle.

The smallest of smiles tugs at the corners of Daemon’s mouth, clearly unphased by his nephew’s hostile demeanour. “I shall escort you both, to ensure there is no further delay.”

Before either one of them has the opportunity to protest, he steps forward, one hand reaching for Aemond’s shoulder, while he places the other at the small of her back. Aemond wrenches away, huffing irritably as he continues walking. She makes no such effort to struggle away from Daemon’s touch, his fingers feeling like a brand against her flesh through the fabric of her dress. 

The three of them walk in uncomfortable silence, the only sound is the echo of their footsteps against the flagstone floor. Her eyes widen in surprise when they reach her and Aemond’s shared chambers and, instead of bidding them goodnight, Daemon follows them inside, closing the doors behind them.

Aemond stares at him quizzically, eye narrowed. “What are you doing, Uncle? If you are here to reprimand me for what was said at dinner then–”

“I am here for your wife, actually,” he interrupts, turning his head towards her as his eyes move from her head to her feet and back up again.

She feels her skin grow hot under the intensity of his gaze, swallowing thickly as he regards her as a cat would a mouse.

“What do you want with my wife?” Aemond asks, his voice lowering in quiet threat.

It is the first time she has ever heard her husband speak of her so possessively and it makes her pulse race. She wants more of this, there is an intense thrill to having the attention of two Targaryen men placed solely upon her.

“Do not think I have not noticed,” Daemon says to her, ignoring Aemond as he continues to stare at her. “You have been ogling me all day. Why?”

Embarrassment prickles at her, and she lowers her gaze. Her voice is small and pitiful sounding to her ears as she answers. “Forgive me, My Prince. I did not mean to stare.”

“Look at me when you speak to me,” he commands, “and answer the question.”

She exhales shakily, lifting her eyes to meet his. His stare is piercing, his eyes darkened and predatory in the low lighting of her and Aemond’s apartments.

“I found myself…rather taken by how you engage with Princess Rhaenyra. You are quite affectionate with one another.”

Daemon’s brow furrows slightly as he cocks his head in curiosity. “Does your own husband not show you affection?”

A wave of sadness washes over her, causing her shoulders to sag at the reminder of the lack of intimacy between her and Aemond. She spares him a glance, noticing he has not moved from where he stands. His expression could be mistaken for neutral were it not for the fury that rages tempestuously within his seeing eye as he glares at his uncle.

Drawing in a deep breath, she looks back to Daemon, answering simply, honestly: “no.” Shame shrouds her, suffocating and dense, feeling the overwhelming urge to cry, her head dipping as she focuses on the spot where the hem of her skirts meets the stone floor. She cannot bear to look at either man, knowing she has spoken out of turn about her husband, not just in front of him, but to his uncle as well.

She gasps as Daemon steps forward, crowding her space, his finger crooking beneath her chin to lift her face up towards his. The touch of him makes her knees buckle slightly and she leans back against the table behind her for support, no longer trusting her legs to keep her upright. “What a brave little thing you are,” he whispers, an edge to his voice that twists her stomach into knots.

“I–I am sorry,” she stammers, eyes flitting nervously between her husband and his uncle. “I should not have–”

“There is nothing wrong with expressing your wants, your desires,” Daemon reassures her. “Perhaps my nephew just needs a little help in learning how best to please his wife?”

She squeals in surprise as he grasps the backs of her thighs, lifting her until she is seated upon the edge of the table she had been leaning against. Lips parted and eyes wide, she turns her head towards Aemond, and though his fists are clenched at his sides, his breathing accelerated in silent fury, he makes no move to stop what is happening. That look from earlier has returned, ravenous and half crazed, she interprets it as silent consent, wanting to do all she can to keep it fixed upon her.

“What of your wife? Will she not mind you…helping us?” She asks timidly, as Daemon’s hands make quick work of rucking her skirts up around her hips.

He chuckles drily in response, dragging her smallclothes down her legs, allowing them to dangle from a single ankle. “You and Aemond have much to learn, sweet girl. Fucking is a pleasure, and Rhaenyra does not mind how or with whom we seek it, as long as our loyalties do not falter.”

The very idea seems scandalous to her, yet wetness gathers between her legs all the same. Aemond has now taken up the seat beside the fireplace, watching them both intently, his stare unblinking and fiery. 

Daemon’s fingers travel up her legs, until they reach the insides of her thighs. His fingers are thicker than Aemond’s, his touch is calloused and rough, where Aemond’s is deft, yet hesitant. His fingertips dig into her soft flesh, hard enough to bruise as he pries her legs apart, a hum of approval rumbling in his throat at the arousal he finds glistening there.

“Does your husband make you this wet?” He asks with gentle curiosity.

She nods enthusiastically, looking over at Aemond and seeing a small, prideful smile ghost quickly across his lips before disappearing.

“Good,” Daemon tells her. “No problems there then.”

His fingertips swipe through her sodden folds, his middle finger quick to locate her pearl and circle it with precision. The movement makes her tense, a jolt of pleasure causing her hips to buck as she mewls helplessly.

“Does he touch you like this?”

“N–no…” she whimpers in response.

“Hmm,” Daemon glances over his shoulder, before looking back at her. “Well, ensure he does in future. I am sure he will; he is paying close attention.”

Looking back over at Aemond, she feels herself clench around nothing, her desire building with a steady, rhythmic ache as she sees the lacings of his trousers strain against his hardness. He is enjoying watching this, lips slightly parted and eye hooded. The sight of it rids her of the last of her inhibitions as Daemon moves his focus away from her bud and dares to push his two forefingers inside of her. She tilts her head back, gripping the edge of the table tightly as she feels her muscles stretch to accommodate him.

“You must be prepared, thoroughly, before you are fucked,” he murmurs against the shell of her ear.

Her mind is foggy, struggling to comprehend Daemon’s words as he presses the pads of his fingers upwards, dragging them against a spot inside of her that causes her toes to curl and moisture to trickle down onto the tabletop. Does he really mean to fuck her? Surely that would be a step too far? Yet she finds it difficult to care when he is pushing her towards the precipice of pleasure itself with simply his fingers. Her mind reels with the possibility of what it would feel like to be stretched out around his cock.

As his fingers pump faster, she moves her hips in tandem, chasing the urgently building pressure that is growing inside of her. He pulls them from her suddenly, causing her to whine in frustration at being robbed of her peak.

Daemon grins wolfishly as his hands move to unfasten his breeches. “I think we have learned enough in that regard, and are ready to move on.”

She averts her gaze as he frees himself, her eyes finding Aemond’s, another silent check in for consent. His throat bobs as he swallows, his knuckles almost white with the force of the grip he has on the armrests of where he sits, but he makes no move to stop what is happening.

Her hands grasp at Daemon’s shoulders as he sheathes himself inside of her, knocking the air from her lungs. Aemond and his uncle are similar in many respects, but this is a matter in which the pair of them could not be more different.

It is odd to her that, despite being between her thighs, he has not tried to kiss her. Whether it is a mark of respect for hers and Aemond’s marriage, or simply because he does not want to, she is unsure, but she is grateful for his abstinence. A kiss seems too intimate a gesture, there is nothing sweet about this.

Daemon sets a brutal pace, once she has had a moment to adjust, rocking into her with a force that causes the table legs to scrape loudly against the hard floor. He is so much more self assured than her husband, utterly unafraid to violate her, and it is freeing to be handled so roughly.

She moans wantonly as he moves a hand to wrap around her throat, applying gentle pressure at the sides. “Do not be afraid to be a little unrestrained,” Daemon grits out, a statement clearly not meant for her, even though his eyes bore into hers. “I have yet to bed a woman who does not enjoy it.”

He has the right of it. The hand around her throat, coupled with the almost violent manner in which he thrusts inside of her is dizzying and, as he slips a hand between them to stroke at her pearl once more, she knows she will not last long. It has never been this intense with Aemond before; a lack of experience, coupled with a fear of hurting her means he is always gentle, hesitant where he need not be. 

The grip on her throat tightens, the ministrations against her bud grow more insistent as she feels Daemon pulsate inside of her, his jaw clenching at the telltale sign that he is close. With a final, harsh thrust of his hips, she cries out in ecstasy as the warmth of his seed spills inside of her, triggering her own release as she tightens around him in rapid, successive pulses.

“Good girl,” he mutters quietly.

He is quick to pull out of her, as she leans back against her palms, pliant and breathless from the experience. She barely registers Daemon tucking himself away and slipping out of the chamber doors, as Aemond moves into view, standing before her.

Under ordinary circumstances, the wrathful insanity she sees reflected in his blue eye would frighten her, but tonight it has butterflies fluttering ceaselessly in her lower belly. His hand moves to the back of her head, gripping her hair tightly by the roots, tugging her head forcefully backwards. Her yelp of pain is stifled by him pressing his lips firmly against hers, his tongue licking against her own in a kiss that is more a desperate display of possession than a loving embrace.

“You are mine,” he breathes, letting go of her momentarily to tug at the lacings of his trousers.

“Yours,” she whispers back, satisfied excitement causing her pulse to thrum at the knowledge she has unleashed the side of Aemond she has always longed for.

Daemon’s spend has begun to dribble out of her, and as she watches the head of her husband’s cock push it forcefully back inside of her, she knows he will remind her every night from now on exactly which Targaryen Prince it is that she belongs to.

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More Aemond fics

​The Cradle and the Cliffs of Driftmark

​In the stifling, hearth-warmed nurseries of the Red Keep, there had never been a separation between Aemond and Y/N. They had been born with their small hands tangled in each other’s silver hair, crying the moment the mid-wives attempted to place them in separate basins. As they grew into small children, they walked through the grand, dragon-carved corridors of the castle as a singular unit. Where Prince Aegon was loud, drunken, and cruel, and Helaena spoke to the stone walls in riddles of silk and spiders, the twins built a fortress of absolute silence between themselves.

​"They look at us as if we are the outsiders," Aegon had sneered one afternoon in the dragonpits, his arms crossed over his chest while a young Jacaerys and Lucerys giggled behind him. "The sister with no crown, and the brother with no dragon. A matched set of useless silver."

​Aemond’s small fists had clenched so tightly his knuckles turned a bloodless white, his gaze fixed onto the stone floor. But Y/N had stepped immediately in front of him, her violet eyes flashing with an ancient, dangerous heat.

​"Our fire does not need a pit to burn, Aegon," Y/N had said, her voice low and venomous despite her youth. "Mind your tongue, or I will let Ignis remind you of how flesh smells when it rots."

​The court mocked Aemond relentlessly for his lack of a beast, but Y/N spent every evening sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his trembling hands. "The right one will come, Aemond," she would whisper, her forehead pressed against his. "A dragon of true fire, not a hatchling given in a cradle to make you soft. We will fly together. I swear it to you."

​The test of that vow arrived on the wind-swept, desolate nights of Driftmark, following the solemn funeral of Laena Velaryon. While the rest of the castle slept or drowned their grief in wine, Aemond slipped out into the howling salt air, drawn by the terrifying, low-frequency rumble of Vhagar—the oldest, largest, and most lethal dragon alive.

​Y/N did not let him go alone. She ran through the dunes after him, her boots sinking into the wet sand, her breath coming in ragged gasps. When they reached the towering, cliff-like silhouette of the old she-dragon, the air grew thick with the scent of sulfur and old leather.

​"Aemond, no," Y/N breathed, though she did not pull him back.

​"I must, Y/N," Aemond said, his voice shaking but filled with a sudden, desperate resolve. "If I do not take her tonight, I am nothing."

​He stepped into the massive shadow, shouting his commands in High Valyrian, his voice cracking against the wind. Vhagar roared, a sound that shook the very foundations of High Tide, her massive jaws opening to reveal a cavern of white-hot fire. But Aemond did not flinch. He climbed the ancient ropes, his fingers bleeding against the rough fiber, until he sat astride her massive neck.

​As Vhagar took to the sky, a massive surge of ancient magical energy rippled across the cliffs. The raw power of the dragon-bond tore through the air, and from the jagged, uncharted caverns near the base of the island, a second roar answered.

​It was Ignis—a wild, copper-scaled beast with wings like hardened leather and eyes like molten gold, a creature that had eluded the dragon-keepers for decades. Drawn by the sheer majesty of Vhagar’s awakening, the wild dragon descended upon the sands, its tail whipping the surf into a frenzy.

​Y/N stood alone before the copper beast. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but the blood of Old Valyria roared in her ears. She did not have a whip; she did not have a saddle. She stepped forward, her arms outstretched, her voice ringing out in a piercing, authoritative Valyrian command.

​"Dohaeras, Ignis! Lykiri!"

​The dragon lunged, its massive snout stopping a mere inch from her chest, its hot, smoky breath melting the edges of her velvet cloak. For a long, agonizing heartbeat, it looked as though the beast would swallow her whole. Then, with a low, vibrating purr that shook the earth, Ignis lowered its head into the sand, submitting to the unyielding fire in her eyes. By the time Aemond landed Vhagar back on the shore, his face flushed with victory, Y/N was already mounted atop the copper dragon, her fingers buried deep in its rough scales.

​But their triumph was instantly choked by blood. As they slipped back into the low, torch-lit corridors of High Tide, they were ambushed by Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena.

​"You stole her!" Baela shrieked, tears streaming down her soot-stained cheeks. "She belonged to my mother! Vhagar was mine!"

​"Your mother is dead," Aemond countered coldly, stepping in front of Y/N to shield her. "And Vhagar chooses her own rider. She does not care for the tears of little girls."

​"You prince of nothing!" Jacaerys shouted, lunging forward with his fists raised.

​The confrontation shattered into a brutal, chaotic brawl. Fists collided with flesh, and the children rolled across the stone floor in a frenzy of old hatreds. Lucerys, seeing his brother pinned beneath Aemond’s heavier frame, drew a sharp steel dagger from his belt.

​"Aemond, look out!" Y/N screamed.

​She threw herself across her twin’s body just as Lucerys slashed downward. The blade cut clean and deep through Aemond’s left eye, spraying hot blood across Y/N’s face. But the momentum did not stop. Jacaerys, lifted by a feral rage, swung a heavy stone ornament down onto Y/N’s temple, while Lucerys’s blade tore through her clothes, burying itself deep into her ribs.

​Y/N collapsed instantly, her world turning black before she could even hear Aemond’s piercing scream of agony.

​The grand hall of High Tide became a chamber of horrors. While King Viserys groaned and Queen Alicent demanded an eye for an eye, drawing the Valyrian steel dagger in a frantic attempt to maim Lucerys, Y/N lay on a stone table in the maester’s quarters, utterly still, pooling in her own blood. She remained completely unconscious through the screaming, through the threats of treason, and through the low, protective growls of Prince Daemon as he stood before Rhaenyra.

​It wasn't until the pale, gray light of dawn broke over the Narrow Sea that Y/N’s eyes finally flickered open. Her head felt as though it had been split by an axe, and every breath brought a searing line of fire to her ribs.

​Sitting on the edge of her mattress was Aemond. His face was wrapped in thick, blood-stained linen, his left eye gone forever, replaced by a jagged, raw seam of flesh. His remaining eye was red, wild, and unfocused until he saw her move.

​"Y/N," he choked out, his voice breaking as he threw his weight over her uninjured shoulder, his hands trembling violently as they gripped her hair. "You're awake. By the Gods, I thought... I thought they had killed you."

​"Aemond..." she whispered, her throat dry as ash. She reached up, her fingers gently tracing the edge of his bandages. "Your eye..."

​"A fair exchange," he whispered fiercely, his lips pressing hard against her temple, right beside her own stitched wound. "We have our dragons, sweet sister. We have Vhagar and Ignis. They cannot touch us now. They can never take us apart."

​The Dragonstone Plot and the Secret Consummation

​Years drifted past, and the physical scars of that night hardened into permanent symbols of their shared destiny. The childhood love between the twins had mutated into something far more intense—a possessive, deeply romantic devotion that left no room for anyone else. They rode the skies together, Vhagar and Ignis blocking out the sun over King's Landing, their riders bound by blood and an unspoken vow of eternal fidelity.

​But across the black waters, on the carved tables of Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon watched the growing might of the Greens with severe apprehension.

​"The girl’s dragon is a wild rogue," Daemon said, tracing a finger over the painted map of the Riverlands. "If she remains with Aemond, their combined strength will tear our vanguard to pieces. We must separate them."

​"We offer a betrothal," Rhaenyra decided, her eyes narrowing. "We send a raven to my father. Y/N will marry Jacaerys. She will be the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and her dragon will belong to the Blacks."

​When the raven arrived at the Red Keep, the Small Council chamber erupted into a fury. Otto Hightower slammed his palms against the wood. "It is a trap to strip us of our teeth! If the Princess secures Y/N’s beast, our claim is dead before the King draws his last breath."

​"They will not have her," Aemond snarled from the corner of the room, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His single sapphire eye—which he now wore in place of his missing sight—gleamed with a terrifying, absolute possessiveness. "I will butcher Jacaerys in the yard before I see him lay a finger on my wife."

​Alicent looked between her twins. She saw the way they leaned into each other, the way Y/N’s hand rested against Aemond’s lower back, their movements perfectly synchronized. Though the Faith she held so dear forbade the old Valyrian marriages of brother and sister, she knew that political survival required the sin of fire.

​"We will marry them tonight," Alicent whispered, her voice trembling but firm. "Before the King can read Rhaenyra's proposal. We will present the court with an accomplished union, blessed by a Septon under the cover of darkness."

​The wedding was a hurried, tense affair in the private sept of the castle. The air was thick with the scent of burning myrrh and crushed roses. When Aemond lifted the heavy, gold-and-green cloak of House Hightower and Targaryen, draping it over Y/N’s bare shoulders, his hands did not shake. He looked down at her with a look of pure, unadulterated hunger.

​"With this cloak, I bind your flesh to mine," he murmured in High Valyrian, ignoring the Septon’s traditional Westerosi vows. "No bastard will ever have you."

​"I am yours," Y/N replied, her voice steady and clear. "From this night until the sky falls."

​The Consummation

​The moment the heavy oak doors of their bedchamber clicked shut, locking them away from the scheming eyes of the court, the restraint Aemond had held for years shattered entirely. He grabbed Y/N by the waist, slamming her back gently against the carved wooden door, his mouth crashing down onto hers with an intense, breathless fury.

​"Aemond..." she gasped against his lips, her hands immediately flying to the laces of his leather doublet, tearing at the fabric to feel the heat of his skin.

​He didn't speak. He groaned, a low, animalistic sound from the back of his throat as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her neck, leaving dark red marks that would show above her collar the next morning. His large hands slid down her spine, gripping her thighs and lifting her completely off the floor. Y/N wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, her fingers tangling in his long, silver hair, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

​He carried her to the massive, silk-draped bed, tumbling down over her like a predator catching its mate. With frantic, rough movements, he tore the white silk wedding gown from her shoulders, his sapphire eye raking over her exposed skin with a reverence that bordered on worship.

​"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his voice deep and raspy as his hand slid down between her thighs, finding her already slick and hot for him. "My twin. My wife. My dragon."

​Y/N arched her back, a loud moan escaping her lips as his long fingers began to move inside her, driving a sharp, agonizingly sweet pleasure through her core. "Aemond... please... now. I want you inside me."

​He unbuckled his trousers, his chest heaving as he positioned himself between her legs. He paused for only a fraction of a second, his single eye locking onto hers, ensuring she saw the absolute possessiveness in his gaze before he drove himself deep inside her in one heavy, unyielding thrust.

​Y/N cried out, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back, her teeth sinking into his shoulder to muffle her screams of ecstasy. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect alignment of blood and desire. Aemond began to move with a brutal, rhythmic urgency, his hips slamming against hers with a force that made the heavy bedposts groan. Every thrust was a declaration of war against the world outside their door.

​"You are mine," he growled, his pace quickening, his sweat dripping onto her collarbone as he buried his face in her hair. "Let them try to take you. I will burn them all."

​Y/N moved with him, meeting his frantic pacing with her own desperate hitches, her climactic release building rapidly like a storm over the Blackwater. The pleasure broke over her in waves of white-hot fire, her inner muscles tightening around him so tightly that Aemond lost his own control. With a sharp, guttural roar, he threw his head back, his silver hair flying wild as he spilled his seed deep inside her, his body trembling with the force of his release.

​They lay tangled together in the damp sheets for hours, their hearts beating in a synchronized rhythm, completely unaware that within a few years, this very bed would witness the births of their two beautiful sons, Aegon and Daeron.

​A Son for a Son

​The storm of war broke across Westeros after the tragic death of young Lucerys Velaryon at Shipbreaker Bay. The realm bled, and from the ancient stones of Dragonstone, a terrifying decree was issued by Prince Daemon: A son for a son.

​Daemon did not target Helaena’s children in this timeline. His spies had informed him of the true heart of the Green faction—the inseparable bond between the One-Eyed Prince and his twin wife. To break Aemond, Daemon sent his two most ruthless cutthroats, Blood and Cheese, into the Red Keep with a singular mission: to butcher the trueborn sons of Aemond and Y/N.

​It was a moonless night when the two assassins slipped through the hidden passages of the walls, entering the grand, silk-lined nursery. Young Daeron was sleeping soundly in his crib, while older Aegon lay nearby.

​What Daemon and his agents had failed to account for was Y/N’s absolute vigilance. She did not sleep soundly while her husband was away commanding armies. Furthermore, they did not know that Aemond had spent every spare hour of their youth training her in the masteries of the sword, teaching her how to shift her weight, how to find the weak seams in armor, and how to kill without hesitation.

​The faint, wet click of a latch warned her. Y/N opened her eyes in the dark, her hand instantly slipping beneath her velvet pillow to grip the hilt of a Valyrian steel dagger Aemond had gifted her for her name day.

​"Hold your tongue, Princess," Cheese sneered, stepping out of the shadows with a heavy, rusted meat cleaver raised high. "Give us one of the boys, and the other stays breathing. A son for a son."

​Y/N did not scream. She did not plead. She rose from the bed like a wraith of Old Valyria, her silver hair flowing behind her. Before Blood could even react to her movement, she lunged low, sliding beneath his guard with the lethal grace of a dancing water-sword. She drove the Valyrian blade upward through the soft tissue beneath Blood’s jaw, the metal slicing through his tongue and piercing directly into his brain.

​Blood choked, a spray of dark crimson exploding from his mouth as he fell to the floor like a sack of wet stones.

​"You bitch!" Cheese screamed, swinging the meat cleaver in a wild, frantic arc.

​Y/N sidestepped the blow effortlessly, the training of her youth taking over her limbs. She swung her leg out, catching Cheese behind the knee to break his balance, and as he stumbled, she brought her blade down across the back of his hamstrings. He collapsed into the pools of his partner's blood, howling in agony. Y/N did not give him a second to breathe; she stepped onto his chest, pinning him down, and drove the dagger deep into his throat, twisting it until the gurgling stopped.

​When the Kingsguard finally broke through the doors, alarmed by the noise, they found Y/N standing in the center of the room. Her nightgown was drenched in dark, steaming blood, her eyes wide and feral as she stood directly in front of her sons' cribs, her blade dripping onto the stone.

​When the raven reached Dragonstone detailing the failure, Daemon Targaryen sat back in his heavy chair, a slow, dark smile creeping onto his face despite the loss of his agents.

​"The sister fights with the same black fire as the brother," Daemon mused to Rhaenyra, his eyes gleaming with an appreciative malice. "She is no mere lady of the court. She is a true dragon. We must be careful how we handle her."

The Curse of Harrenhal and the Great Betrayal

​The tide of the war dragged the royal forces toward the Riverlands. With Cole’s army marching north, Aemond mounted Vhagar to reclaim the massive, melted fortress of Harrenhal. Y/N remained behind in King's Landing, tasked with protecting the capital and the young princes with the formidable power of Ignis.

​Harrenhal was not a normal castle; it was an active curse, a sprawling mass of black, twisted stone that whispered to those who walked its empty halls. It was within these haunted chambers that Aemond met Alys Rivers.

​She was a bastard of House Strong, a woman of indeterminate age with dark, endless eyes that seemed to see through the fabric of time itself. She did not approach the Prince with threats or weapons; she approached him with sweet, unholy medicines. She brewed him teas of nightshade and rare herbs, casting strange, iridescent powders into his hearth fire until the chambers were filled with a thick, hallucinogenic smoke.

​"You are the dragon of prophecy, Aemond," Alys would whisper, her cool, pale fingers tracing the jagged skin of his empty eye socket while he lay paralyzed by her drafts. "Your sister is a chain. She binds you to the mortal squabbles of King's Landing. Your true destiny lies here, in the ancient earth, with a child born of blood magic and the Old Gods."

​Under the constant, heavy sedation of her potions and the dark psychological weight of the cursed castle, Aemond’s mind began to unravel. The deep, lifelong devotion he had shared with Y/N was systematically overwritten by Alys’s subtle witchcraft. He began to see his twin not as his soul's counterpart, but as an obstacle to his ascension.

​He fell into Alys's bed night after night, his hands gripping her dark hair while he whispered names that were not his wife’s, completely forgetting the vows he had taken in the sight of the Seven.

​When Aemond finally returned to King's Landing months later, he was a stranger. His sapphire eye was cold, empty, and entirely unseeing of the family that waited for him. When Y/N ran to the courtyard of the Dragonpit, her heart bursting with relief as Vhagar landed, Aemond climbed down the ropes and walked straight past her. He did not look at her; he did not look at his trueborn sons who reached up for his hands.

​For months, the ignorance was an agonizing torture. Aemond moved his things to the far tower of the Keep. He refused to sit beside Y/N at feasts, and when she entered his chambers to demand answers, he kept his back turned to her, staring out the window at the sea.

​"The war requires my full devotion," he said, his voice flat, devoid of the raspy warmth that used to drive her wild. "I have no time for the chatter of the nursery."

​"Aemond, look at me!" Y/N cried, her hands reaching out to grab his shoulder.

​The moment her fingers touched his leather jerkin, he flinched away violently, his eye flashing with an uncharacteristic disgust. "Do not touch me," he hissed, leaving the room without another word.

​The court watched his descent with growing alarm. King Aegon, sitting broken on his throne, called Y/N to his side during a small council break. "He looks at you as if you are a phantom, sister," Aegon said, his face lined with pain. "Something has broken his mind in that black castle."

​The final hammer fell on a grey, rain-slicked afternoon. The heavy iron gates of the Red Keep opened, and Alys Rivers walked into the Great Hall. She wore coarse, mud-stained woolen robes, but her posture was queenly, her hands resting proudly upon her heavily swollen belly.

​"I come for the Prince," Alys announced, her voice carrying through the rafters of the throne room, her dark eyes finding Y/N with a look of pure triumph. "I carry the true seed of Vhagar. The boy who will inherit the fire."

​The hall fell into a dead, horrified silence. Queen Alicent dropped her prayer beads, the wood clattering against the floor, while Otto Hightower’s face turned completely white.

​Aemond stepped down from the royal dais. He did not draw his sword; he did not call her a liar. Instead, he walked straight to Alys's side, his arm wrapping securely around her waist, his large hand coming to rest over her pregnant stomach with a tenderness he had not shown Y/N in a year.

​"She speaks the truth," Aemond said to the court, his voice completely clear, entirely lacking any shame or regret. "This child is my blood."

​Y/N felt the last lingering thread of the twin bond inside her chest snap. It felt like a physical tearing of flesh, leaving her hollow and cold. She stepped forward, her heels clicking loudly against the stone floor, her face a mask of absolute, unyielding stone.

​"I demand an annulment," Y/N said, her voice echoing off the walls, never once wavering. "Before the gods and the realm. On the grounds of gross treason, open adultery, and the absolute abandonment of our holy vows."

​"Granted," King Aegon barked instantly, slamming his staff against the floor, his face twisted in utter disgust at his brother’s dishonor. "The marriage is void. The names are wiped from the book."

​What broke Y/N’s heart completely was Aemond’s reaction. He did not object. He did not even look up to see the tears that finally slipped down her cheeks. He was entirely focused on Alys, leaning down to whisper softly in the witch’s ear, asking if the long journey had harmed the baby, treating his true wife and his trueborn sons as if they were nothing more than dust on his boots.

​The Defection and the Fall of the City

​That evening, a secret council was held in the dark of the Queen's apartments. Aegon, Alicent, Otto, and Y/N sat around a single candle.

​"He is no longer a prince of our house," Otto said, his voice hollow with the realization of their political ruin. "The woman has hollowed him out. He will not fly Vhagar to protect our crown; he will only fly to protect her."

​"You must leave, Y/N," Queen Alicent wept, holding her daughter’s hands. "Take your sons. Fly to Dragonstone. Give Rhaenyra our terms."

​Aegon slipped a heavy parchment scroll across the table. It bore the royal seal of the King. "A peace deal," Aegon said weakly. "We surrender King's Landing to Rhaenyra. We open the gates without a fight, in exchange for our lives, our liberties, and our lands. Let her take the throne. We will not die for a brother who has forsaken his own blood."

​Under the cover of a midnight storm, Y/N strapped her two young sons into the double-saddle of Ignis. The copper dragon rose into the dark sky without a sound, leaving the city behind.

​When they landed on the damp, dragonglass shores of Dragonstone, they were immediately surrounded by Black guards. Y/N walked into the Great Hall, her sons held tightly to her sides, and laid Aegon’s scroll upon the painted table before Rhaenyra and Daemon.

​"Aemond has betrayed us all," Y/N stated, her voice cold and hollowed by grief. "He has taken a woodswitch to his bed and abandoned his sons, his honor, and his kingdom. The Greens offer you the city. The gates will open tomorrow at noon. We want an end to the blood."

​Daemon Targaryen stepped forward from the shadows, picking up the scroll. He read the terms, his dark eyes shifting from the ink to Y/N’s face. A slow, predatory respect kindled in his eyes. "You have brought us the realm on a silver plate, sweet cousin," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

​With the internal defenses dismantled by Otto and Aegon, the Black faction executed the transition with flawless precision. Within forty-eight hours, the gold cloaks opened the gates, and Rhaenyra’s host marched into King's Landing without a single drop of smallfolk blood being spilled.

​The first order of business was the dungeon. Daemon himself led the guards into the private quarters where Aemond and Alys had barricaded themselves. They were dragged down into the deepest, blackest cells beneath the Red Keep, separated by heavy iron bars.

​Weeks passed in the dark dampness of the cells. The conditions were brutal, and Alys’s labor came weeks too early. Her screams of agony echoed through the stone passages for two full days, a sound that drove Aemond into a frantic, scratching madness against his cell doors.

​By the time the Grand Maester emerged into the corridor, his apron was soaked in dark blood. Alys Rivers was dead, her fragile body unable to withstand the violent, magical strain of the birth. The child, a sickly, pale boy with silver hair and dull eyes, survived, crying weakly in the maester’s arms.

​The Judgment and the Royal Bedchamber

​Aemond was brought into the Great Hall in heavy irons, his clothes ragged, his long silver hair matted with dirt. In his trembling arms, he clutched the swaddled, crying bastard child.

​Upon the Iron Throne sat Queen Rhaenyra, looking magnificent in black and red velvet. Standing beside her, his hand resting casually on the pommel of Dark Sister, was Prince Daemon. To the left of the throne stood Y/N, dressed in royal silks, flanked by her two healthy, beautiful sons, Aegon and Daeron, who looked at their biological father with complete indifference.

​"Aemond of House Targaryen," Rhaenyra’s voice boomed through the high hall. "For your crimes of high treason against your family, your open violation of your holy vows, and the complete desertion of your duties to the realm, you are stripped of all titles, honors, and lands. You are no longer a prince of this realm."

​Daemon stepped down the stairs, his eyes locking onto Aemond’s solitary sapphire. "You are hereby exiled from the continent of Westeros. You will take the bastard child of your dead witch, and you will sail for the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea. You are dead to this house. If you or your spawn ever set foot upon these shores again, you will be fed alive to the dragons."

​Aemond did not look up at the throne. He did not look at Y/N, nor did he spare a single glance for the two trueborn sons he had left behind. His eye was glazed over, completely unfocused, staring at the empty air before him, his heart and mind entirely broken by the death of Alys. He was nothing more than a hollow shell, trapped forever in the delusion the witch had woven for him.

​"Take him away," Rhaenyra commanded. The Gold Cloaks dragged him from the room, his heavy chains clanking against the stone until the sound died away.

​That evening, after the court had cleared and the heavy doors were sealed, only Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Y/N remained in the quiet majesty of the throne room.

​Rhaenyra descended the steps of the throne, walking over to Y/N. She reached out, her soft, warm hands taking Y/N’s fingers into her own, her thumb gently tracing the back of her hand. Her violet eyes were soft, filled with an ancient, sensual comfort.

​"The war that threatened to consume us is finished, Y/N," Rhaenyra whispered, stepping closer until their skirts brushed. "But your story does not end in the shadow of his madness. We have watched you protect your children, and we have seen the true fire that burns within you."

​Daemon stepped up behind Y/N, his large, scarred hands resting heavily upon her bare shoulders, his thumbs slowly caressing her collarbones through her gown. His chest was pressed firmly against her back, his warm breath fanning across her neck as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

​"Years ago, we offered you a marriage to Jacaerys to bring you to our side," Daemon murmured, his voice a low, seductive vibration that sent a sudden shiver down her spine. "But you are too much dragon for a boy. The offer stands tonight, sweet cousin... but it is for us. Share our throne. Share our council. Share our bed. Let us show you what it means to be loved by those who understand your fire."

​Y/N looked from Rhaenyra’s inviting, full lips to Daemon’s fierce, protective gaze. For the first time since the night at Harrenhal, the freezing void in her chest melted, replaced by a sudden, consuming heat. She looked at them both and gave a slow, decisive nod.

​"Yes," Y/N whispered, her hands tightening around Rhaenyra’s. "Let us burn the old world away together."

​The Triad Consummated

​The royal bedchamber was vast, illuminated only by the deep amber glow of a roaring hearth. The air smelled of expensive wine, crushed lavender, and the musky, unmistakable scent of anticipation. Y/N stood near the foot of the massive bed, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm—not of fear, but of an intense, long-dormant desire that had finally found its true match.

​Daemon closed the heavy oak doors, the lock sliding home with a heavy, definitive thud. He didn't waste a moment. He walked toward Y/N with the smooth, lethal stride of a predator, his dark eyes locked onto hers. Behind her, Rhaenyra approached, her hands already reaching up to slide the golden pins from her own hair, letting the silver-gold waves cascade over her shoulders.

​"You have been starved of a real fire, sweet girl," Daemon purred, stepping directly into Y/N's space. His large, calloused hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb wiping across her bottom lip with enough pressure to part them. "The boy-prince gave you duty. We offer you passion."

​"Let us heal the wounds he left behind," Rhaenyra whispered, her voice a velvety caress as she stepped up behind Y/N.

​Rhaenyra's hands slid over Y/N's shoulders, expertly unlacing the back of her royal silk gown. The fabric pooled at Y/N's feet, leaving her standing in nothing but her sheer silk shift. Y/N shivered as Rhaenyra's soft, warm palms pressed against the bare skin of her back, tracing the line of her spine with a slow, agonizingly deliberate touch.

​Daemon groaned, a low rumble in his chest as he took Y/N’s mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. It was completely unlike the desperate, frantic kisses of Aemond’s youth. Daemon’s kiss was calculated, masterful, and entirely consuming. His tongue slipped past her lips, claiming her mouth with an authority that left Y/N breathless, her hands automatically flying up to grip the lapels of his tunic.

​While Daemon kept her mouth occupied, Rhaenyra’s hands slid around to the front of Y/N’s shift, gently pulling the thin straps down her arms. The silk slithered down to her waist, exposing her breasts to the warm firelight. Rhaenyra leaned forward, her lips grazing the sensitive curve where Y/N’s neck met her shoulder, her teeth gently nipping the skin until Y/N let out a ragged gasp into Daemon’s mouth.

​"Look at her, Daemon," Rhaenyra murmured, her eyes dark with desire as she reached around to cup one of Y/N's full breasts, her thumb stroking over the sensitive peak. "She is perfect. A true dragon."

​Daemon broke the kiss, his heavy breathing fanning across Y/N’s wet lips as his gaze dropped down her body. "She is a queen," he growled.

​With swift, fluid movements, Daemon stripped out of his tunic and trousers, his scarred, muscular chest glistening in the firelight. He lifted Y/N effortlessly, tossing her onto the center of the soft silk sheets. Rhaenyra followed immediately, crawling up the bed like a cat, her own gown discarded, her voluptuous body completely bare and breathtaking.

​Rhaenyra positioned herself above Y/N, her silver hair brushing against Y/N's cheek as she leaned down to kiss her again, her tongue sliding against Y/N’s in a soft, wet rhythm. Y/N arched her back, her hands tangling in Rhaenyra's hair, completely overwhelmed by the intoxicating scent of her.

​Meanwhile, Daemon knelt between Y/N’s legs. His large hands gripped her thighs, pushing them wide apart. Y/N whimpered, the cool air hitting her center, which was already slick and throbbing with a desperate need. Daemon looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers as he slid two long, calloused fingers deep inside her.

​Y/N’s head fell back against the pillows, a loud, unbridled moan tearing from her throat. Daemon's fingers were thick, moving with a relentless, teasing pace that drove her crazy. He stroked the hyper-sensitive wall inside her, while his thumb found the swollen bundle of nerves at her entrance, applying a firm, rhythmic pressure.

​"Daemon... ah! Rhaenyra!" Y/N cried out, her hips twitching uncontrollably against his hand.

​"Hush, sweet girl," Rhaenyra whispered against her ear, her own hand sliding down to stroke Y/N’s belly, her fingers dipping lower to join Daemon's. "Let it take you. We have you."

​The dual sensation of Rhaenyra’s soft lips on her neck and Daemon’s masterful fingers stretching her inside was too much. Y/N’s inner muscles tightened violently around Daemon’s hand as her first orgasm crashed over her, a wave of intense, blinding pleasure that made her sob out loud.

​Daemon didn't let her rest. He pulled his fingers out, the wet sound filling the quiet room. He positioned his thick, fully erect length at her entrance, the tip dragging through her own abundant moisture.

​"Look at me, Y/N," Daemon commanded, his voice raw and gravelly.

​Y/N forced her heavy eyelids open, looking past Rhaenyra to see Daemon’s fierce, unyielding gaze. In one heavy, deliberate motion, he drove himself entirely inside her, filling her completely. Y/N let out a breathless shriek, her legs tightening around his waist as the sheer size of him stretched her to her absolute limit.

​"By the Gods," Daemon gasped, his head snapping back as her tight, hot walls clamped down around him. "You are so tight."

​He began to move, his strokes long, deep, and heavy. Every time his hips slammed against hers, Y/N felt the impact ripple through her entire body. Rhaenyra leaned down, capturing Y/N’s mouth to drink in her groans, her own body moving rhythmically against Y/N's side, her fingers playing with Y/N’s nipples to heighten the agonizing pleasure.

​Daemon’s pace turned feral. He gripped Y/N’s hips, lifting her slightly off the mattress to drive even deeper into her core, hitting her deepest spot with every relentless thrust. Y/N was completely lost in a sea of friction, heat, and raw Valyrian power. She arched into every stroke, her own voice joining Rhaenyra’s soft moans in a beautiful, chaotic symphony of ecstasy.

​"I’m coming... Daemon, I can't..." Y/N sobbed, her fingers digging deep into the muscles of his arms.

​"Come for us, dragon," Daemon roared, his pace reaching a deafening crescendo.

​The second climax hit Y/N like a lightning strike, her entire body shaking as her walls pulsed frantically around him. The intense friction pushed Daemon over the edge. With a loud, guttural shout, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his body freezing as he spilled his hot seed deep inside her womb. Rhaenyra cried out alongside them, her own release triggered by the raw intensity of their union, collapsing down onto Y/N’s chest as the fire in the hearth slowly crackled into embers.

​Epilogue: The Rebirth of the Dragon

​Ten years passed, and the Seven Kingdoms entered an era of unprecedented prosperity and peace under the rule of the Triad. The unconventional relationship between Queen Rhaenyra, King Consort Daemon, and their beloved Consort Y/N became the bedrock of the new dynasty—a union built on absolute political brilliance and an insatiable, fiery passion that kept the royal bedchamber filled with laughter and love.

​Y/N bore Prince Daemon two beautiful sons—Viserys and Baelon—both born with the thick, silver-gold hair and striking violet eyes of ancient Valyria, boys who grew up riding the skies alongside their elder half-brothers.

​In the damp, rain-slicked port city of Tyrosh, a ragged, forgotten man with a leather patch over his left eye sat on a wooden crate near the docks. Aemond worked as a low-ranking sellsword, his body broken by minor skirmishes, his clothes smelling of sour ale and fish. Beside him sat a pale, sickly boy of ten years, who spent his days begging for scraps of bread from the sailors.

​Aemond reached into his pocket, pulling out a newly minted gold dragon coin that had arrived on a trade ship from King's Landing.

​He looked down at the pressed gold. On the face of the coin were three profiles beautifully stamped together: Queen Rhaenyra, King Daemon, and their radiant Consort Y/N.

​Aemond stared at the face of his twin—the girl who had shared his crib, the girl who had saved his life at Driftmark, the girl who had loved him with a devotion that could have conquered the world. And there, in the bitter, cold exile of his own making, Aemond Targaryen finally realized the absolute depth of what he had thrown away, and the eternal fire he had allowed to turn to ash.

He lets you stay in the Underworld for the moment, but you find out that he cannot interfere since you are a mortal, and starting a war with other gods is forbidden since the Dance that nearly caused their end.

Daemon wouldn't tell you the punishment for breaking this rule, so you start thinking about how to get around it, even if the fact that the God of War and Death shows fear whenever you bring it up freaks you out a bit.

The solution comes a few weeks later, when he has to deal with your quite frankly insane attempts to get rid of the consequences of what Aemond has done to you. The process is painful and almost kills you, but there's an aftermath, a spark ignited in you that can be nurtured into great power to transform you into a goddess.

As for now, still a mortal with increased magic, you can offer Daemon something no other could. To be an instrument in starting a war and getting his revenge for all the losses Aemond and his side caused during the Dance.