#targ!reader

The candles had burned low in the high tower chamber, their flames reduced to blue-eyed nubs that cast more scent than light across the room. You sat propped against the pillows, a book bound in cracked leather open across your lap, your violet eyes tracking the lines of text.

Your hair was unbound, falling in thick waves past your shoulders and down over the thin linen slip you wore to bed. The silver-gold of it caught the candlelight and held it, so that you seemed to glow faintly against the dark carved wood of the headboard.

The door opened. You looked up, and your face softened into a smile that reached your eyes before it found your mouth. The smile held for a breath, then faltered. Your finger stilled on the page.

Ormund stood in the doorway, his weight shifted onto one leg, his doublet still fastened but askew at the collar where he had pulled at it on the stairs. His hair was slightly disheveled, clearly raked back from his forehead with an unsteady hand. The candlelight caught the hard line of his jaw, and in the blue of his eyes there was something you had not seen there before.

"Husband?" You closed the book without marking your place. "What has happened?"

He did not answer at once. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a careful, measured motion, as though the click of the latch required his full attention. "My love." The word came out rough at the edges. His gaze found yours for a moment, then slid away, anywhere that was not your face.

You watched him move across the chamber. He walked past the foot of the bed without glancing at you, his boots heavy on the floor, and stopped at the basin stand beneath the narrow looking-glass. His hands went to the fastenings of his doublet and worked them open. The doublet came off and he draped it over the stand. Then the shirt beneath, pulled over his head and dropped beside the basin, until he stood bare to the waist, the candlelight tracing the breadth of his shoulders and the ridge of his spine as he leaned forward over the water.

The tension was visible in the set of those shoulders, in the way the muscles of his back bunched and held as though braced, preparing for something he would rather not do.

"Ormund. Why will you not speak?"

He plunged both hands into the basin and brought water up to his face, cupping it there for a moment before letting it fall. Droplets ran down his jaw, caught in the light brown stubble along his chin. He took the towel and dragged it across his face, and when he spoke, he spoke to the stone wall above the basin.

"Your father is dead."

You sat very still on the bed, the book a forgotten weight in your lap. Your face had gone blank in the silence that followed.

"I had not heard."

His eyes found you across the dim chamber, and whatever wall he had built seemed to crack, just slightly, at the corners. He came to the bed and sat on its edge. You had drawn yourself up onto your knees, looking down at your folded hands in your lap, your hair falling forward to curtain your face. He reached over and placed one finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward his. The touch was gentle, almost tentative. "I am sorry," he said. "All will be well."

"Of course," you said, and your voice was steady enough, though your fingers in your lap pressed against each other hard. "He was not much a father to me. But it is still odd to hear."

He opened his arms, and you crawled into them. It was a motion you had made a hundred nights, the same folding of yourself against the broad wall of his chest. His hand spread wide across your back, fingers splayed over the thin linen, and his lips pressed against the crown of your head, where your hair parted and fell in heavy curls. You breathed in the scent of him, felt his warmth, and the tension in your shoulders loosened slowly.

"And what of my sister?" The words spoken into the skin of his throat, muffled and close.

He pulled back. A scoff escaped him, sharp, involuntary. He turned away from you and reached for his boots, working the first one off with a rough tug. He had never hidden his contempt for Rhaenyra, had never seen the point in pretending a courtesy he did not feel.

"The King saw reason at the end," he said, his voice hardening. "He chose Aegon."

"Of course he did," you murmured, and there was something in the murmur; not surprise or bitterness, but recognition that you had expected exactly this and were tired of being right about disappointing things.

He stood, and you watched him. The candlelight ran down the length of him, the defined muscle of his chest, the flat plane of his stomach, the sharp lines of his hips, as he stripped off his breeches.

"Your sister," he said, straightening, his voice flat and measured. "She will not sit quietly for it. There will be war."

You nodded slowly. "Will you go?"

He tilted his head, and the ghost of amusement flickered across his features. "Will you?"

You gave him a small pout, and it drew from him the faintest suggestion of a smile, a twitch at the corner of his mouth that he could not quite suppress. "It makes no difference to me," you said, "who sits the throne."

He nodded, the smile fading as quickly as it had come. "One is as good as another." But his face clouded then, the blue of his eyes going cold and hard. "They are all the same. Incestuous blood-magicking abominations whose very existence offends the gods."

You glared at him. The warmth that had been in your face a moment before was gone, as you shifted further away from him on the bed, the linen of your slip pulling taut across your knees. "How can you say something so evil?" Your voice had an edge to it now. "About me? About Daeron?"

He came to you, climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping and shifting beneath his weight, and he took your face in his hand, his fingers firm along your jaw, his thumb resting against your cheek. "Never you, sweet wife," he said. "You are a Hightower." You were not placated. Your eyes held his, unblinking, speaking with precise words. "I am borne from incest, am I not? I ride a dragon, do I not?"

You turned away from him, your hair swinging across your bare shoulders. The chamber was very quiet.

He knew he had erred. You could feel it in the shift of the mattress as he moved closer, in the careful way his hand found your shoulder, and then his mouth, soft and warm against the bare skin. He kissed your shoulder once, then again, his lips lingering at the curve where your neck met the joint.

"You, my darling, have been here since you were an infant. Raised right. Instilled with proper values." He paused, his mouth still close to your skin. "You are not one of them. Not in my eyes."

You let the silence stretch for a moment longer, letting him sit with it. Then, slowly, you settled back into his arms, letting your weight fold against his chest as he leaned back against the pillows, fitting there the way you always did.

"You are right about them, of course," you said. "Aegon is incompetent and a drunk. Aemond is wild and insecure. Neither fit to be king."

He shifted beneath you, and you felt the change in the set of his body; the way his breathing altered, the way his arm tightened around you by a fraction. "You wish to see a pretender and her line of bastards on the throne?" he asked sharply.

You rose, settling across his lap, your knees on either side of his hips, your hands light on the bare skin of his chest. His hands found your hips, his grip firm. You looked down at him, eyes holding a steadiness that matched his own.

"I meant only that perhaps your thoughts are aimed at the wrong princes."

He understood. You saw it in the way his eyes sharpened, the way his grip on your hips tightened.

"Daeron is a third son."

"Daeron is a good boy. He is your boy."

The shift in him was immediate. The hard line of his jaw softened, and something came into his eyes that he rarely allowed anyone to see; a tenderness that he kept locked away. His hand moved from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you closer.

"He would restore the proper order of things," you continued, your voice low and certain. "And if his cause is just, which it is, the gods will… intervene as necessary."

He looked up at you, and something caught fire behind his gaze.

"This is your purpose," you said softly, and lifted one hand to his cheek. Your thumb traced the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, back and forth, a slow and deliberate motion. "Why else would the gods have brought Daeron to you as a babe? Given to you, and no other, so the boy might be raised correctly, as I was, far from that den of sin. It is all so that he may be set on the throne when the time is right."

He pressed his mouth to your jaw, then to the side of your throat, and you felt the words against your skin as much as you heard them. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes. You are right." He leaned back against the pillows, and you moved with him, your body following the shift of his. "He is young," he said, and there was a thoughtfulness in it now.

"That may be, but you, Lord Hand, would guide him, would you not?"

He nodded. His lips moved, almost silently, tasting the words. Lord Hand.

"He is young," you repeated, leaning closer, your mouth near his. "He will need you to protect him, to guide him, to keep him from faltering."

His hands moved up and down your bare thighs beneath the hem of your slip as he nodded. He leaned forward, his mouth hovering a breath from yours, and when he spoke, the words came warm against your lips. "It is the will of the gods."

"It is," you breathed, and kissed him.

He gathered you closer, his arms banding around you, pulling you against the solid wall of his chest. The kiss deepened. The evening's distress, the news, the argument, the sharp words and the soft apologies, all of it burned away in the heat between you. Consumed and forgotten.

"How lucky I am," he murmured against your mouth, and there was a wonder in his voice that he did not often allow himself. "To have a wife of such foresight. Such conviction."

You kissed him again, slower this time, your fingers threading into the brown hair at the back of his head. "It is I, husband, who am truly fortunate to have you."

Dunk stepped through the flap of the rather grand and dimly lit tent hesitantly, one of his large hands fiddling nervously with the handle of his sword. Not in a threatening manner of course he just needed some way to rid some of the nerves from his body. Most men would be nervous in this situation, summoned in the middle of night by two kingsguard who simply said "The Princess summons you to her tent," so Dunk was predictably on edge. Admittedly, he was also a bit excited as he had not been able to keep you from his thoughts after he first laid eyes on you a few days ago. He knew it was ridiculous and shook the thoughts from his head once again, or atleast tried ro.

"Your Grace, you asked for me-" He regrets pulling his eyes from the floor second he lays his eyes on you. You, a Taragryen princess, laid fully naked on the large lavish bed swirling a goblet of wine in your hand. "Gods, please forgive me. I-I did not- I was told-"

"It is okay, Ser Duncan. As you said youself, I asked after you." You place the cup on a small ornate table and move yourself to stand walking over to the giant man stood by the entrance of your tent. He could see the seductive movement of your hips out of the corner of his eye prompting him to screw his eyes shut and try to think of anything that might redirect the blood flowing to his cock. He also makes note of how your tits bounce slightly with every step and how soft they look. You stop barely a foot infront of his looming figure, voice teasing. "I am sorry that my body is so unpleasant you feel the need to blind yourself."

"What? No! No that is not- not that- I- that is not accurate." You wonder if his cheeks can get any redder.

"Then why dont you open them Ser Duncan?" It seems they can. He does open them, barely, but the beautiful blues still completely avoid looking at you. You place a hand on his broad chest and turn your head slightly to catch his eyes. "Would you like some wine? Its the good stuff, Dornish."

He literally cannot form a single word. Was he dreaming? He mourns the feeling of your hand on his clothed chest as you saunter over to the jug of wine and pour him a glass before grabbing your own.

"Its much better than any ales you drink on your travels." You hold out the cup to him and he takes it with a shaky hand. You feel a heat burn harsher inside of you at how big his hand looks in comparison to it, thinking about how good theyd feel inside of you, gods know that one finger of his is more than most could handle. "Tell me, Ser Duncan, have you ever fucked a princess before?"

He chokes on his wine, spitting some back into the glass and coughing away what was caught in his throat. "I- no, no I have not, Your Grace."

"Have you ever wanted to?" You step dangerously closer to him, a delicate finger drawing shapes onto his chest and smirking to yourself when you spot the rather large tent in his trousers. "Have you thought about it, Ser? I cant help but imagine that you get lonely on your travels. Unless you are one to indulge in whores?"

His eyes flick sporadically between the cloth walls of the tent, the floor and your lips. "Uh- no, no Your Grace I do not."

"Hmm." You take a sip of sweet wine noting how he only answered your last question. "Ser Duncan." Your tone is sharper than before. "Look at me." You smile when his eyes finally meet yours, taking a moment to stare into his eyes before his gaze runs away from you again, and snake a hand up to his neck to pull him down and kiss him. Its messy, unpracticed, and you assume that since he doesnt visit brothels he does not have much if any experience. You hum against his chapped lips loving the way his slight stubble scratches at your soft skin.

After a moment he pulls away, eyes going wide as he takes in what hes just done. "Forgive me, Your Grace I did not-"

"Shut up." You say with a clear finality. "It was me who kissed you, why would you apologise?"

"I just- surely this is not… noble. Youre a princess, such things are saved for- for marriage."

"You wish to be noble? To be a good knight?" He nods. "Then surely the best thing to do is as the royalty says." Your hand moves to cup his bulge, squeezing softly as you bite your lip. "And it seems you are rather eager to do so. Would you like to fuck me, Ser Duncan?"

He feels like hes burning under your gaze, and your touch which sits heavy against his equally heavy cock stroking it lightly through the fabric. "I-… yes, Your Grace."

You connect your lips again, tongue licking over his bottom lip as one of your hands threads through his messy hair. You pull him with you over to the bed, pushing his large frame to sit down so you can stand infront of him between his thick legs. Your hands grasp his and bring them up to your chest, putting your hands on the back of his and encouraging him to touch them.

"Gods-" He sounds breathless already- this was going to be fun.

"Do you like that?" You ask with a smirk watching him be seemingly hypnotised by them.

"Yes. Yes, Your Grace."

"Have you ever touched a woman like this before?"

"N-no."

"Hmm, I thought so. Ill take good care of you Ser, do not worry." You kiss him again. He was kind of getting it now though it was still messy but that seemed to be more a result of his neediness than anything else. "Take your shirt off."

His large hands fumble with the clasp of his cloak he was still wearing and the laces at the too of his shirt, but eventually he gets it off and pulls it over his head mussing his hair in the process. If you thought his size to be impressive through his clothes it was something entirely unbelievable without them. He was strong, built. Not the kind of lean muscular that most men at the Red Keep have, no this was true strength built through hard labour and survival. His arms, gods his arms, youre sure could crush your head between his bicep and forearm with little to no effort and the thought sent a rush down to your core. You kneel between his legs and begin peeling his pants away revealing his leaking cock.

You cant hide your delight when you finally see it, eagerly spitting in your hand before moving to stroke over his thickness slowly. He whines at the feeling, strong hands gripping the edge of the mattress so hard your worried he might rip it, gods you want them around your neck. The noises that leave him are choked and needy- noises youd never expect to hear from a knight of his stature.

"I knew youd be big Ser Duncan, but this… this is a weapon."

"Uh- im- im s-sorry Your Grace." He stutters out, eyes once again screwed shut as he leans his head back.

"No im sorry that is hasnt been put to use until now. Many women would die to be fucked with a cock like this, and many would die trying." You giggle to yourself at the thought. "But theyre never going to get the chance are they? Because its mine. Youre mine."

A strangled whimper leaves his throat as he tries not to cum on the spot and let you down.

"Say it, Ser Duncan." Your thumb brushes over his thick tip and collects the drips of precum there. "Youre mine. No one elses."

"Gods I-Im yours, Your Grace."

"And?" You stop your hand until he speaks again, smiling when you see a stray tear roll down his face.

"My cock, its yours. N-no one elses."

"Good boy." You hand starts its strokes again, only faster this time. Truthfully youd hoped to have sex with him but theres always time for that, right now you are more than content to watch this giant of a man fall apart just from your hand. "Does this feel better than your hand?"

"Yes, Yes- so much better." He mumbles under his breath and you watch how his stomach tenses as he tries to stave off his orgasm.

"You can cum Ser Duncan." Not a second later does he do exactly that, thick rooes of cum sourting from his reddened tip costing your hand and his lower stomach which heaves from the intensity of it. You continue moving your hand until he twitches against you and his moans sound more pained than pleasured.

"Im sorry that I-" He pauses, embarrassed to speak the words. "You know- before you got to."

"Nonsense," You say before continuing to lick his cum off of your hands. "I enjoyed it, I never expected those noises to come from a man like you. Besides, we have all night, unless you have somehwere to be?"

"No, no I have- nowhere to be."

"Good. Because I plan to fuck you in every position imaginable." You stand up and cup his face, kissing him deeply before flopping down onto the bed next to him and waiting for him to catch his breath.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, visibly worried as he stood up from the snow leaving the two boys behind, "You should be resting…"

A small chuckle left you as he placed his big hand on top of your swollen belly, you looked down at it for a few seconds before looking up to his face. The love in his eyes was visibly obvious as you felt, once again, bewitched by his deep brown stare. The same butterflies that were present the day of your wedding, were flying in your stomach as you felt his loving touch on you. So protective and caring.

"It's time for Rickon to go to his classes with the Maester," you informed. The older child looked at you with puppy eyes, begging for you to not send him away from his little brother, "go on, pup, he's waiting for you… you can play with Aelor after you've finished."

The brown haired boy stood up from the snow and walked half-hearted towards the castle. Once he passed right beside you, you stopped him to kiss him softly on his forehead before letting him go. As a response, he wrinkled his nose and left obediently. Cregan saw the tender scene with a smile on his face,

"He was comforting his brother," Cregan said, "Aelor needed his company."

"We've talked about this, this is usual, this happens to everyone… My brother, Aemond, went through the same thing and now he rides Vhagar," you shrugged.

"He's ten, he doesn't understand it, he feels unworthy," he turned around to look at him.

Aelor Stark, a beautiful brown haired boy who carries his mother's eyes. The first born son product of your love for Cregan. He was bigger than the other children of his age, and his only friends were his half-brother, Rickon, and his younger sister of five, Lysara.

And while Lysara's egg already hatched, Aelor's hasn't been so lucky to say the same. The poor boy spent the prior night crying on your lap as Cregan looked at you with pure distress in his eyes, knowing that he wasn't able to do anything that could cheer his son up. That same night, you told Aelor that he could claim a dragon of his own once he was old enough… but, as your husband said, his sadness was not only because he didn't have a dragon yet, he felt sad because he felt as if he was unworthy of having one.

"I can't bear to look at his saddened eyes," Cregan said, "he has your eyes, everytime i see sadness in them is as if I'm seeing sadness in yours. I can't allow my family to be miserable."

"We're not, my love," you quickly answered, placing your hand on his cheek, "you have given us nothing but pure happiness. What is happening is beyond our control, is what nature desires."

"We need to do something," he spoke sternly, "I will not sit back and see our son suffer."

You couldn’t help but smile genuinely at his sweet words.

"There's nothing left to do, we just need to wait and take him to King's Landing so he can claim an already hatched dragon… there are plenty of them."

"Is it my fault?" Cregan asked suddenly with a soft voice. You quickly frown, visibly confused.

"Your fault?"

"What if my- my genes are too strong and his Valyrian blood is not working… he already has brown hair, and-"

A chuckle was heard as you stood on your tiptoes to silent him with a soft kiss. He immediately grabbed your waist as he sighed once you captured his lips in a touch that made him forget about everything for just a couple of seconds. That was the power you had on him.

Once you pulled back, Cregan's eyes slowly fluttered open until his eyes met yours. He took a deep breath and you smiled,

"This is not your fault," you said slowly, trying to make him understand, "you're a wise man, husband, it surprises me that you were able to think such a foolish thing."

"I apologize," he muttered, a bit embarrassed.

"No need, my love," you softly shook your head and sighed before pecking his lips, "now, Lysa is asking for her father, she said you promised her to help her with her Valyrian classes."

Cregan smiled embarrassed, a soft tone of pink covered his cheeks as he looked down at the snow beneath his thick boots. You bit your own bottom lip as you let out a breathy laugh, seeing your husband being so flustered was a bit amusing for you.

Especially because you knew you were the only one who was able to make him feel that way.

"She told you, she betrayed our pact,'' he said between soft chuckles.

"I told you it wasn't necessary…"

"I want to be able to teach them, my love. They're my children too, I need to be part of their culture."

"That's very kind of you," your arms wrapped around his waist as you kiss him again.

"You won't be able to gossip about me in another language," he joked between pecks.

"I would never gossip about you, you fool," you laughed.

Cregan placed his hands on your face and took a look at your features for a long time. He would always do that; hold your face between his big hands and stare at your beauty for a few seconds, admiring every single bit of you. He sighed, completely enamored by the view in front of him, and then he gently rubbed his nose against yours, closing his eyes but still being able to perceive your small smile.

"You're the most beautiful woman in the world, my love," he whispers, pressing his forehead in yours, "I love you more than words can tell, my princess."

Your heart, filled with joy, skipped a beat as you heard that nickname that he now uses only in intimate moments like this, for he wanted to let you know how you had all the control of him. You opened your eyes, looking at those gleaming dark eyes that you loved so dearly.

Those tiny little moments made you think about how lucky you were.

Later at night, when the crackling sound of the fireplace was the only thing you were able to hear, you were laying in bed with Aelor under one arm and Lysara kissing and caressing your belly as she spoke to her new sibling growing inside of you. You looked at the scene, with tender eyes and a giant smile decorating your face.

"Sagon gīda, zaldrītsos," Be careful, little dragon, you told her gently, caressing her curly brown hair, "Your little brother or sister is too small yet, so you have to be careful, okay?"

"I hope is a girl…" Aelor whispered on your side. You turned to look at him, asking him to explain his answer, "maybe she'll be able to have a dragon if she's a girl like Lysa."

You pressed your lips in a thin line as you cupped your son's face and caressed his chubby cheeks. A soft kiss was left on his forehead as you shook your head,

"Listen to me, zoklītsos." Little wolf, you called him, "gender has nothing to do with it, and you will have a dragon."

"But-"

"In a few months we'll visit your grandmother, and once we're in the capital we'll go to the Dragon Keep, where you will choose a dragon to claim," you spoke softly, but sternly at the same time, "so, just be patient and wait."

"I'm sorry, muña," he said before he cuddles under your arm once again.

"No need to-"

Your words were interrupted as the door suddenly opened with a deafening sound as it smacked against the wall. Your first instinct was to grab Lysara and Aelor, and place them behind you as you grab your small dagger from under your pillow.

However, your body relaxed once you saw Rickon entering the room with a suspicious big smile and laughing as he covered his mouth. You took a deep breath and you hid the dagger under the pillow once again.

"Rickon, darling, you scared me," you said, scolding him but keeping your voice as soft as you could, "what is it that has you so cheerfully laughing, huh?"

"We have a surprise for Aelor!" He said happily.

"We?" You asked.

Cregan walked inside the room as soon as those words left your mouth, and your eyes widened as you looked at the half grown direwolf between his arms. It looked quite small in them.

Your husband had the same smile as the one his first child had, two pairs of eyes gleaming with excitement as they looked at your eldest son. Soon you realized what was going on, and a horror look was seen in your face as you grabbed Lysara and held her close to your body.

"Absolutely not!" You said, trying to grab Aelor too but he already stood up from the bed, "Aelor!" You scolded him.

"What is this?!" The small child asked as he caressed the soft fur of the wolf.

"Your new pet, my boy," Cregan said, kneeling so Aelor was at the same height as the animal.

"Cregan?" You asked, confused and astonished, "mind to explain what is the meaning of this?"

You stood up from the bed, your daughter hanging from your arms as you walked back, far from the animal that started to move its ears each time Aelor would touch its belly.

Cregan left the wolf on the floor and walked towards you, removing the girl from your arms and holding her in his instead.

"Be careful, my love," he warned you, "you cannot strain yourself, not with our little pup growing inside you."

"Cregan, what is this?" You asked again, yelping as the wolf started to howl.

He laughed softly, "my love, you ride a dragon, how can you be scared of a wolf?"

"I'm a Targaryen, we bond with our dragons, they would never harm us."

"Starks bond with direwolves, love…" he explained softly, "Look at them, they already love each other and they've just met."

You looked at your son as the wolf licked his cheek and he laughed gleefully. Rickon was looking at them with excitement, for now he had another thing in common with his little brother. Your heart lighted up after seeing Aelor smiling like that after days of only seeing saddened eyes on him. That mere thought softened your heart, and made you sigh.

"Cregan…"

"Listen, I will take care of everything, okay?" He said, grabbing your hand and kissing it gently, "And I assure you, my love, nothing will happen to you because I will always be here to protect you."

"Whose idea was to get this… thing?"

"Uh… mine," he muttered, smiling shyly, "I told you I had to do something about it, I can't bear to see my family being miserable."

Your haze softened at his words; you were Cregan's weakness but he was certainly yours too. The only one that can make you bend.

"Alright, he can keep his pet, but it will stay away from me," you warned, "I don't want that thing being close to me, I feel that it will chew my face off."

Cregan only laughed at your words before kissing your lips.

Aelor stood up from the floor and ran towards Cregan, hugging him tightly as he cheerfully yelled, "thank you, kepa! thank you!"

You would've looked at the tender scene being displayed in front of you, but your eyes were fixed on the animal sitting on the carpet. The wolf made eye contact with you, and tilted its head as it sighed. With your lips pressed in a thin line, you heard at your daughter saying,

"Can I have one too, kepa?"

With widened eyes you looked at your daughter, seeing how her eyes shone with the sight of the direwolf just a few meters away from you.

"Oh, Gods…" you muttered, caressing your belly.