#king7doms

@king7doms asked: “I will not die today.” / Laena

Daemon   watched   Laena   with   a   stillness   that   belied   the   storm   within   him.   She   lay   before   him,   sweat   glistening   on   her   dark   skin,   her   breath   ragged   but   steady,   her   violet   eyes   burning   with   a   fire   that   would   not   go   out.   Not   today.   He   did   not   answer.   Words   would   not   serve   him   here.   He   had   seen   women   die   in   childbirth   before—his   mother,   Rhea’s   mother,   Aemma,   countless   others   whispered   about   in   hushed   tones.

But   Laena   was   not   them.   Laena   was   a   tempest,   a   force   that   had   carved   her   own   path   through   the   world,   and   Daemon   had   never   known   her   to   surrender.   His   fingers   curled   into   fists.   He   should   have   been   able   to   do   something.   Slay   an   enemy,   cut   down   a   threat,   cleave   the   world   in   two   if   that   was   what   it   took   to   keep   her   safe.   But   all   he   could   do   was   stand   here,   useless,   and   watch   as   she   battled   for   her   life   and   their   child’s.

your muses on the left!

rhaenyra & ygraine

aegon ii & any one of the four storms

myrcella & tyene

rhaego & rhaenys

barristan & elia

She had been here before, once or twice. Helaena recognized the cellars of the Red Keep, but the rows of dragon skulls within were new. The sight filled her veins with dread. She tried to make sense of it, but the speed of her thoughts began to race beyond her control the more she theorized. The true interpretation mattered little, perhaps. The knot within her chest told her all Helaena needed to know: this was a bad omen. The putrid scent of death clung to the walls of this cellar. 

Hands fidgeting, she continued her journey in slow and tortuous steps. An inner voice rose from somewhere beyond Helaena’s conscience, whispering that she had to do this. The only other option was to freeze in fear forever on that very spot where she stood. The princess swallowed her dread like the bitter medicine that it was and carried on, skull after skull after skull, until at last she spotted someone standing at the end of the row.

A woman, with her back turned to her. Long, silver hair flowed down her back, almost familiar, but not quite. “Rhaenyra?”, she hesitated. No… That was wrong! Helaena could sense it even before the last syllable of her sister’s name came out of her mouth. Squinting, she took another step – but went no further. Her courage had faltered her, it seemed, just when she was on the verge of coming close enough to see her face. 

@king7doms sent: we have another problem . (For Daemon from Laena)

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄| Accepting

❝ hear me, my king. ❞ his voice echoes through dragonstone's lithic hall, proud he stands not unlike a dragon ⸻ rhaegar cared little for the five kings, adressed any of them with the proper respect if only it meant they would give their ear. ❝ the iron throne has cost me my boy. ❞ there is a darkness in aquamarine eyes, grief lurking like a predator in murky waters. ❝ it has cost me my sister, and her children. ❞ that hideous iron chair had cost him friends and family, man's foolish ambition paid for in blood and the doom of dragons. he has seen many share their lot with lord stannis, and the dragonseed does not expect to change his mind. ❝ what price are you willing to pay for it? ❞

@king7doms sent a raven : 🎁 [ #33 nonsense sabrina carpenter ]

she'd openly challenged him, because she knew, his hands were tied.

there was naught he could do with caraxes so far away. all the way in the dragonpit, where he'd be no help to daemon as his brother's men surround him. no, dark sister alone would not do to steal her... not on her wedding night, not right under the king's nose. so, for the remainder of the night, he sat, brooded, and he waited. daemon was going to orchestrate a situation, himself, but the gods smiled upon him: a situation arose, without the rogue prince having to lift a finger.

pandenonium broke loose. guests were at each other's throats, half of them too drunk to know what was happening. amidst it all, there was her. hand on his sword, he watched. she was pushed to corners, but she'd end up getting hurt, if she wasn't careful. he moves a foot, ready to step in, when he catches glimpse of ser harwin strong. great big oaf that he is, making his way towards her. daemon pushed in, all elbows. one calculated shove, and he had a man tumbling towards a rather pissed looking, taller man. the end result? ser strong out of the board, getting punched in the face. in the time it took him to recover?

daemon had made his way to the princess. he said nothing. no words were needed. she knew that it was him; daemon tossed her over his shoulders as if she was naught more than a sack of potatoes. funny thing was, she weights less. he kept a hand on her back to hold her in place as he pushed through the crowd. no one knew ways in and out of the castle better than him. and no one notices as he escapes the crowd into one of the servant's entrances. it's a poorly lit, otherwise deserted hallway that leads into one of the lower kitchens. there's no one there, but he glances around to make sure. only then, he sets her down, eyes doing a quick scan of her face and her arms. she was fine.

❝ iksan stealing ao, dārilaros. ❞ i'm stealing you, princess. daemon smirked at her, cupping her cheek as he stole a passionate kiss from her lips. a kiss that promised her a lot more. rhaenyra was not going to marry some boy, no. rhaenyra had been his from the moment she had been born. he didn't give her a chance to think, or to protest. and if she did, he paid her no mind. he grabbed hold of her and led her outside. his other hand was on dark sister, ready, just in case. most of the castle's guards were indoors, but the few stragglers outside were of no importance ot him. daemon managed to avoid most of them, although a few had been at the receiving end of his elbow or his fist. eventually, hurried foosteps led them to narrow steps leading down to the dragonpit. he scoops her into his arms, again, and is unsurprised to find that both syrax and caraxes are there: waiting. the bond daemon shares with his dragon is special.

caraxes never needed spoken commands. and it seemed that he, too, had seen it fit to steal syrax. he led her towards caraxes, and only set her down to help her up onto the saddle. syrax would follow. now?

she is flying with him. he may not have cut down many men, but he was stealing the princess right under the king's nose. this, could cost him his head. but daemon does not care. he can hear the distant and faint sounds of footsteps, shouting. ah, so they finally took notice of her missing. the rogue prince merely smiled, climbing atop caraxes. his dragon screeched into the night, and before long, daemon and his soon-to-be-bride were flying to dragonstone. he made her wrap her arms around him, and held her dainty hands firmly there. she'd be his, before the night was through. and no one, would take her from him.

𝕿𝖍𝖊   𝖑𝖎𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖗𝖞   𝖜𝖆𝖘   𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖊𝖙,   𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖊   𝖋𝖔𝖗   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌   𝖔𝖋   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊   𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙   𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖉   𝖎𝖓   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖍,   casting   flickering   shadows   across   the   rows   of   ancient   tomes.   Sara’s   gaze   remained   lowered,   her   fingers   tracing   idle   patterns   on   the   armrest   as   she   silently   grappled   with   the   weight   of   the   moment.   Though   she   had   been   granted   this   audience   with   the   Queen,   words   felt   heavy   on   her   tongue,   as   if   the   very   air   in   the   room   conspired   to   keep   her   silent.It   was   only   when   her   eyes   wandered   to   the   nearby   shelf,   its   worn   spines   a   testament   to   countless   years   of   use,   that   something   caught   her   attention.   @king7doms ft. rhaenyra.

Nestled   among   the   volumes   were   several   books   written   in   the   Old   Tongue   of   the   North,   their   titles   faded   but   still   legible   to   one   who   had   grown   up   in   the   shadows   of   Winterfell.A   flicker   of   recognition   sparked   within   her.   Sara   leaned   forward,   reaching   for   one   of   the   books.   Her   fingers   brushed   the   rough   leather   cover,   and   as   she   drew   it   closer,   she   glanced   at   the   Queen.   "These   books...   they’re   written   in   the   Old   Tongue.   I   believe   they   might   be   from   Torrhen   Stark’s   time."   She   turned   the   book   in   her   hands,   revealing   the   intricate   patterns   that   adorned   its   spine,   symbols   she   had   been   taught   to   recognize   since   childhood.