#theflowersflame

He didn’t want to be here right now. However, he received an urgent call to the Red Keep from his Hand Of The King, older brother, whilst residing at Summerhall. ‘A family matter of great importance to the future of the Kingdom and House Targaryen.’ He thought that their sick Father, The King, had finally joined the new Gods and that his brother was being ever so dramatic about it. Their King Father had been on his death bed for many moon turns now. The Great Spring sickness had been taking its toll on King Daeron The Good, second of His Name. So for a while, Maekar had been expecting his Father’s time to pass over.

He rolled his eyes at the delivered scroll, prepared for and made the journey to the Red Keep regardless of his own wishes to remain within the walls of Summerhall. 

“A winged shadow has been spotted across the realm, My Prince.” The Master of whisperers breathed deeply, addressing Maeker. His eyes drifted between both of the starkly different brothers and the rest of the small council seated at the table within the chambers. The Master of Whisperers continued, eyes filled with worry and locking with Baelor’s own heterochromic mix of light blue and dark brown. “First in Dorne, then The Reach, Riverrun, The Eyrie and even The North. Reports from farming establishments have been coming through frequently in recent weeks. Flocks of cattle left in ashes and embers without explanation. One Fisherman in The Arbor has even stated that he has seen this winged beast swoop down to the waters whilst expelling flames from its mouth. It is said to be a great winged beast of pale, shimmering colouring.”

The room was silent, save for sharp intakes of breath and the thrumming of heartbeats against the council’s ribcages. Baelor’s expression remained steady, ever the most poised and diplomatic but his eyebrows pinched together as he was processing this information.

These whispers carried a vast weight and could change the Kingdoms and House Targaryen as he currently knew it. As everyone knew it. A heaviness began to sit deep within his chest. Never did he think that such times would be possible during his reign of being his, actively dying, King Father’s Hand and Heir to the Iron Throne. Everything was about to change drastically. And for once, Baelor felt slighty at a loss. He was unsure of how to proceed, especially if this creature possesses a rider. 

“Brother,” Baelor spared a wary glance towards Maekar. His mixed irises were focused on the shining embroidery of their House’s sigil which was wrapped around his brother’s tunic in a display of fiery colours against black. “If many a people have witnessed such, then it may bear truth.” 

The council members tensed at this, knowing what it mayhaps mean for the future of the realm and their own Houses but most importantly… House Targaryen. Maekar remained rigid in his seat, eyes falling shut, as if a burst of aches had quickly begun to pound against his skull.

“I will send a ship to the Arbor to gather more information from this fisherman, Your Grace.” The Master of Ships piped in, face visibly panic-stricken and words swallowing through the air with stress attached. 

Baelor leaned forward, shaking his head at the man, elbows resting on the surface of the table whilst his aged hands reached for his face, his fingers rubbing on the sides of his temples. “This information is not to leave these chambers… we will continue to speak and operate on this matter within these four walls alone.” Baelor hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Have there been sightings of a Rider?” 

The Master of Whisperers gingerly took his seat at the table again and struggled to express the correct words next. “W-well, Your Grace, i-it seems t-that…”

Maeker grunted, eyes flicking open again, interjecting with no patience for the stammering man.. “So spit it out then. Yes, or, no.”

“A-a woman of silver hair has been seen riding this beast, My Prince. Your Grace.” The Master of Whisperers addressed both of the brothers. 

The rest of the Small Council’s expressions perked up at this description. Eyes drifting to each other’s sides, monitoring their peers' reactions. One Lord shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Another struggled to tame a biting smirk. And one other Lord even laughed. The thought of a random Valyrian woman bringing back a Dragon after decades of extinction, was entirely laughable to most of the Small Council. 

The Grand Maester shook his head and inhaled deeply. “A bastard girl, perhaps?” 

Balor hummed at the Grand Maester, it could be true. Targaryen King’s and Prince’s were not exactly known for their virtuous behavior. Seven Hells, The Dance of The Dragons revolved around Targaryen bastards with those bastards claiming their own Dragons. But then, where would a lowborn bastard even acquire a Dragon when there were no more living beings known?

Maekar scoffed in disbelief. “After fifty-six years of extinction? All this time passed and suddenly a Dragon is seen flying over the Realm. With a woman for its rider?” His rough hands slammed onto the table as a laugh escaped him. “It’s not fucking possible!” 

However, it was very much possible. 

𓏲ּ𝄢*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Your long silver hair whipped behind you as the harsh, fast winds blew around you. After years of dying your silver hair to blacks and browns, it was liberating to finally be released of that constriction. The blood of Old Valyria still ran strong through your veins. 

The heat beneath you was warming against the cool air. A loud laugh blessed your lips as you took in the freeing relief of riding your great creature. Shimmering, pearlescent, white horns and pale pink scales were fluttering with you through the skies. She was magnificent. 

“Rȳzys (fast), naejot (foward) my Rhaefyre!”  

The She-Dragon roared beneath you, the sound reverberating, making your body vibrate, radiating up from your legs where they laid either side across her back. Your skirts flipped and flapped against the wind along with the satchels homing your goods, which were strapped securely around your body. 

Large grey clouds began to filter through your vision. Your hands clutched tighter around her white spikes as she made haste and you suddenly felt raindrops scatter around you, rolling off your skin, dampening your hair and clothing. A storm.

For centuries since the Doom of Old Valyria, your family, House Alaerys, had been in hiding. For centuries, your family has masked their distinct dragonlord traits with hair-dyes and blood magic. The Histories had known House Alaerys to die with the rest of the mighty dragonlord houses in the Doom of Old Valyria. But those histories were mere assumptions. 

Initially your family’s House had fled west of Westeros and beyond, a great ancestor of yours had prophesied the Doom of Valyria and the extinction of your beloved dragons. The ancient dreamer of your family also happened to see a great resurrection of your bonded beasts, centuries in the future. And therefore, when House Alaerys had fled as the Doom began, six Dragon’s clutches were taken. Nineteen Dragon Eggs, totalled, were taken with your family as they escaped.

House Alaerys was one of the largest and most powerful in Old Valyria, with 43 members of your family fleeing before the Doom. Some members of your House chose to disregard what was prophesied however and perished in the molten rock, lava, flames, smoke and ashes that consumed Valyria. Since seeking refuge from the destruction, siblings, cousins and relatives alike consistently married each other, in tradition, over the centuries to ensure the bloodlines remained pure for the prophecy told.

Eventually, House Alaerys slowly relocated over the years, moving back to the East of Westeros until only 2 members of House Alaerys remained. When you were born with your parents in The Shadow Lands of Asshai only 4 of those, now stone-turned, eggs remained. Over the many years, your ancestors became desperate to bring back your beloved Dragons, having lost your living creatures in the Doom. The eggs were taken with blood magic practiced to revive the stone-turned eggs eventually and ensure hatchlings, although nothing ever succeeded. Until you. 

You and your parents were the only remaining members of the great House Alaerys when you came into this world. Your mother died very quickly after childbirth and your grieving father did everything he could with the dark magic sorcerers in Asshai to assure your success in this world. Your birth was one of Fire and Blood. Your mother bleeding out, an egg placed on a burning hearth in the centre of a dark room surrounded by flames, healers and sorcerers. 

Your father cried out as he held your newborn form in his arms and heard the egg cracking between the flames, with your mother’s body laying lifeless amongst the chanting sorcery. 

For the next fifteen years, you and your Father, both remained hidden with your dragon hatchling. Now a large She-Dragon, beginning to rival half the size of the Dragons of Ancient Valyria, it was increasingly difficult. Fifteen years of safety finally came at a price, it was not easy to hide such a grand creature in privy. The sorcerer’s demanded more blood to secure the secrecy of your Dragon and your Father sacrificed himself despite your screaming pleas and endless begging. The memory of your Father being split open and bleeding out on a large engraved, stone table surrounded by dark sorcerers to ensure your and Rhaefyre’s protection still haunts you and makes your heart ache deeply.

Five years later, without your Father to guide you any longer, and here you were. After two decades of living in secret with Rhaefyre in The Shadow Lands. Coursing through the sky’s above The Golden Empire of Yi Ti, The Red Waste, flying over the Summer Sea and eventually, it led you to the land of Westeros. It has been a few weeks now since you decided to stand your ground in Westeros, seeking shelter in the wide landscapes with Rhaefyre. 

“Quba (Low)! Tegon (Ground)!” Your voice commanded your gorgeous She-Dragon to land over an expanse of fields surrounded by forests, after your gaze reassured there were no households within a short distance.

As far as you knew, you were now alone in this new world. Despite the knowledge of a Dragonlord House claiming this realm, you had been informed that they no longer possessed any dragons within their grasp.

You were well aware of the histories of Valyria and the other Dragonlord houses of that time. House Targaryen was said to be the only surviving house of the Doom but, of course, you knew that wasn’t true. Although, now you were the only member left from House Alaerys. In the fifteen years you lived with your father, up until five years ago, he had taught you everything you needed to know about this world. He had well-paid spies across each region feeding information back to him in order to remain updated about current times, which he always shared with you.

The bond you shared with Rhaefyre as her rider was protected with Fire and Blood in Asshai, and it was a reassuring protection if the Targaryen’s dared to approach you with violence whilst you ventured in their Kingdoms. Rhaefyre was extremely protective of you. Your bond with her was unbreakable. 

Coming here was not a whimsical decision to you. You wanted to ensure that your family name lived on, and what better way to do that than to incite the power of your Dragon onto a lesser Dragonlord House of Old Valyria with no current living Dragons for themselves. 

The Alaerys prophecy was ringing around in your mind like sparks flicking from a fireplace.

A small chuckle left your throat as you wiped at some of the rain coating your soft cheeks. Rhaefyre landed swiftly and perched onto the damp fields. How shameful it must feel to have your own Dragonlord House be the very reason which you no longer process a single Dragon. 

𓏲ּ𝄢*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Daeron was deep in his cups trying to decipher and mostly ignore last night’s dream. Fire, Blood, Dragon Eggs, a silver haired woman with striking expanses of purple in her eyes. And so much more which he wishes to long forget. The images flashed through his mind no matter how much he wished, drank and attempted to ignore them.

“What is it today, brother?” Aerion stalked into the room, as if a Dragon roaming the wild, with a glare present as he eyed his older brother.

Daeron took a large gulp of the bittersweet red wine before slamming the now empty cup onto the small table beside him. The fire next to him crackled as he sprawled out on the cushioned chaise lounge. He didn’t want to tell anybody what he saw, let alone Aerion. It would complicate matters much more.

“Nothing that concerns you.” Daeron huffed, letting his eyes close softly as he settled into the plush lounge chair. Hoping that his demeanor would ward his troublesome younger brother off, he exhaled and leaned further into the plush velvets of the pillows beneath him.

But Aerion’s heavy steps only echoed through the tiled flooring in the room, amongst the crackling flames until he loomed over Daeron with a peculiar glint in his harsh lavender eyes. He wanted to know what Daeron saw. He had always dismissed his older brother’s dreams. Disregarding them for nothing but a drunken fool’s fancy. But that didn’t stop him from always wanting to find out. It was intriguing after all. 

One of the older brother’s eyes peaked open as the air grew heavy with the looming presence and he scrunched his nose up, hand motioning to his now-empty chalice. “Pour me another would you, Brother?” 

Aerion scoffed, arms folding over in agitation, a slight snarl leaving him as he retorted. “I’m not your wench. I am the Blood of The Dragon. It would do you well to remember that, Daeron. Now, fetch that red-haired serving girl instead.” 

Daeron sighed tiredly, “I told her to leave me be this evening.” He wasndesperately wanted to be alone. To be able to find his own distractions to ward off the festering visions that bloomed whilst he vulnerably slept. Closing his eyes he attempted to relax yet again, the alcohol making his head spin as he lay still, only to be met with the sight of the silver haired woman in his dreams standing with his cruel brother at her side. 

But, this time it was closer. Last night, Daeron saw this silver-haired woman in what appeared to be an argument with Aerion. And now, well, Aerion’s hands were wrapped possessively around her waist with a burning predatorial look seeping through his lavender eyes. Aerion’s sharp jawline slots into the crook of her neck, lavished by her warmth and scent. He inhales hungrily, muscles flexing beneath the expensive fabrics which adorned his body, and holds her tighter as if she will disappear at any given moment. 

Daeron choked out a sudden gasp, eyes snapping wide open. Quickly sitting upright and reaching for the crystal flagon of wine next to his chalice, he swipes the flagon up to his lips and drinks straight from it in large gulps. 

Aerion rolled his eyes, crouching to level his brother and meet his wine-hazed gaze. “You’re a mad, pathetic, drunkard.” The words spit at Daeron as Aerion mocked him. 

“And you brother,” Daeron began, wiping some spilled red wine on the corner of his mouth with his dark velvet sleeve, “will be far more pathetic than you ever intended to be in the next weeks to come.” 

Daeron was struggling to decipher his visions. Does this mean Aerion will find love? It never seemed likely to him. He had always seen his brother as more of a possessive, deceitful, demanding and cruel type. The type to fuck his way through life with blood, riches and entitlement. Certainly not gentle, understanding and loyal, as love should be. Daeron thinks that Aerion would run from love or feverishly grapple in obsession, if it approached him.

Aerion scoffed at these words, shaking his head and standing from his crouched position. Making way towards the large oak doors of the room, he turned to face his brother before taking his leave. “Forever speaking the most profound shit within our family, Dear Brother.” 

𓏲ּ𝄢*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Loud, rumbling chirps awoke you. Your light lilac eyes were adjusting to the brightness of the clear sky as Rhaefyre stretched her sheltering wing above you. She always released sweet, heavy chirps when she was content or trying to communicate with you. You suppose she was hungry now. By the positioning of the sun, it appeared to be midday. You slept in. The grass beneath you was slightly dampened from the rain but Rahefyre’s wing provided shelter for you over the night. The grey stormclouds have fled the sky now and passed over to the sun shining like you had witnessed often as of late. Weather in Westeros was always unpredictable it seemed. Unless you’re in The North, then there was only cold and snow. Rhaefyre didn’t like it there. 

“Alright, my friend. Apologies for keeping you waiting,” a small smile appeared on you as Rhaefyre hummed back. You rose from the ground, stretching your stiff limbs before shifting the wool blanket from your warm body and into the large leather satchel beside where you were resting. You peered into the bag, wrapping the blanket around the three shining dragon eggs, safely. 

Warmth flushed your cheeks. Would your dragon ever have the opportunity to ever have her own clutch? Would you ever know what it is like to ride with a lover? All these silly thoughts were just that at the moment. You were here to bring House Alaerys back to its former honour and glory. You were here to revive your ancestor’s beloved Dragon’s with Rhaefyre by your side. ‘Come now,’ you thought to yourself, ‘I am here to keep my House alive. Not to indulge in childish fantasies.’ 

Rhaefyre chirped again, then let a loose low growl escape her giant jaws.

“Lykirī umbās (wait calmly), Rhaefyre.” You were also hungry, stomach now aching and rumbling. 

Striding into the nearby wood, with wet leaves and twigs crunching under your boots, you approached a blackberry bush and plucked a handful of the bittersweet berries. Along with the berries, you also plucked some edible mushrooms by some of the tree roots, which you placed in a small pouch attached to your waist by a piece of thick twisted silk. It was then that you spotted a nest upon a low branch and you decided to pinch two bird eggs from that nearby tree. 

Unfortunately, on your way from descending the tree, your skirts got caught and a large scrape broke the soft skin of your knee. A loud yelp bounced around the bark in the woods as you quickly cursed yourself for being too loud, wincing from the pain. “Shit!” You stumbled slightly from the damage to your knee after rising but tried your best to shrug it off and continue persisting on. Hoping there were no living souls around to hear, you promptly set off back to the direction you came from. 

Once you reached Rhaefyre with your forest foods, she shifted loudly, the ground shaking slightly, as she smelt the blood from your leg.

“It is okay. I am okay.” You tried to reassure her, reaching up and gently rubbing your hand on her large pale, scaly snout before placing the small white eggs on the ground in front of where her head rested on the grass. 

“Perzītsos (little flame), Rhaefyre. Kostilus (please)!” 

Rhaefyre raised, perching off the ground as you rushed to the side to shield yourself behind one of her wings. A deep guttural noise ripped through the air as small flames flew from her mouth and onto the patch of grass where the eggs lay. The green shards of grass now presented crisp, black and smoking. But at least, you could have two freshly cooked, soft eggs along with your blackberries and mushrooms. 

This had been routine for you now, since remaining in Westeros. Every day on the morrow, but midday today, you would forage to break your fast and then ride Rhaefyre until deeming a low populated area for her to feast on the cattle in farming fields. 

You had remained in this stagnant routine for a moon’s turn now and you had begun to ponder on why no royal soldiers were sent to deter or even capture, question and potentially torture you. After everything your Father had warned you about this land, maybe there was far more cowardice than expected. Mayhaps they simply did not know what to do or even feared approaching you with your dragon. It has been decades since The Last Dragon was alive and seen here. 

𓏲ּ𝄢*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Aerion was growing increasingly bored within the stone walls and stained glass windows of Summerhall. His Father had left Daeron in charge of his leave and yet, that drunken fool did nothing but steep further into his cups and attempt to isolate himself. Aemon was long gone in the Citadel and Aerion was happy to be rid of him. Why would a Dragon stoop to such a lower level? Egg was far off at some lower-Lord’s Tourney with that bumbling giant of a Hedge Knight, so he couldn't even torment them for his own amusement. 

And then there was Daella and little Rhae. Ever so floundering and wrapped up with their expensive jewels, playing pretend tea parties, potion-making and wreaking havoc in the kitchens by stealing an endless amount of sweet cakes instead of attending their embroidery lessons. Aerion couldn’t fault his sisters for the latter, he supposes. 

Most of the time, Aerion felt as if he was the only worthy and honourable Dragon in his family. He was born for greatness in Fire and Blood. Destined to be a mighty Dragonlord but instead, he was riding off far into the woodlands on his Destrier with a set of sharp pointed arrows and a large bow slung over his back.

He gave a hard kick to his horses behind, commanding, “Faster!” The light brown horse rose on its hind legs before galloping off with a loud ‘neigh’ ripping through the humid air. 

As he was riding further into the woodlands, Aerion suddenly halted the reins, forcing his Destrier to stop. A loud, higher pitched shriek bounced through the trees and moments later the trees shifted with a rumble. Water droplets fell from the leaves, birds quickly vacated into the skies desperate to exit the woods and his Destrier spooked, began to take off in the opposite direction of the commotion. Aerion huffed angrily, jaw clenching and attempting to control the animal beneath him, was knocked off in a rush. Luckily, he was quick, shifting his black lathered boots from the stirrups and pushing his legs off to one side of his horse. He hit the wet, jagged ground and groaned in pain as the solid quiver containing his arrows broke beneath his back from the fall. 

He laid there for a few moments, twisting and grunting in pain. “Fuck!” he screamed out, pushing himself up from the woodland floor. “Stupid horse,” he murmured, “I deserve better. I deserve a bloody Dragon.” 

With his eyes squinting, his head felt slightly dizzy as his gaze drifted upward and spotted smoke rising in the distance. It would maybe be a short walk before he could pinpoint the source, he was too far from Summerhall now and would not return ‘til darkness fell. 

Who would deny a Prince of the realm a steed? He set out, limping slightly, in aims of seeking people to give him means of return to Summerhall whether they liked it or not. 

As he drew closer to the source, the smoke simmered out and guttural noises began to fill the air with a soft spoken voice. Aerion’s brows furrowed as he treaded lightly behind the large bark of the trees, his legs still limping slightly. A sense of fear from the unknowing filtered through his veins. He could see a giant pale, scaled creature shifting between the treeline gaps. Was he imagining things now? Perhaps his head hit the ground harder than he remembered. 

𓏲ּ𝄢*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Uneven footsteps crunched through the treeline, making your ears perk up. You quickly dropped the second egg that you were picking the shell off, the cooked egg white bouncing on the ground as if it were rubber, and Rhaefyre’s neck snapped around facing the woodlands. She was huffing heavily out of her nostrils and took a protective stance before you. Smoke was filtering out of her nostrils as she began to groan, as if readying herself for an oncoming onslaught. 

Heartbeat pounding in your ribcage, you whispered lightly to your dragon. “Lykirī (be steady/calm down), My Rhaefyre.”

Despite your nerves, you did not want to instantly meet whatever was awaiting and watching with instant death by dragonfire. If you wanted a place to call home with Rhaefyre and to resurrect House Alaerys along with your three dragon eggs, then you could not damn well start by conquering Westeros with Fire and Blood, not knowing the full extent of other motives. 

“It can not be.” A deep, well enunciated voice rang out as the damp crunch of footsteps drew closer. A slender man with Valyrian features and a sharply attractive bone structure stepped out into view. Mouth slightly agape and lavender eyes wide, as he took in the sight before him. His gaze simmered over Rhaefyre before drifting towards your figure, floating up your body until he reached your own lilac eyes. He appeared to be around the same age as you, around two decades into life. His skin glowed against the skylight, beyond the small blood and mud splatters scattered around his face and body.

He appeared to have been rolling in the mud and mayhaps injured in some way. But his Valyrian features and the expensive silks, leathers and velvets adorning him were a clear indicator that he was no ordinary man. Then you noticed it, the embroidered red dragons on the black arms of his doublet.

An awestruck look passed over his slightly dishevelled features before he abruptly raised a strong hand to settle his spikey silver hair and narrowed his gaze. “What type of witchcraft is this, wench?”

Holding back a small laugh at his words, you raised your chin to him and kept your gaze steady.

You expected hostility. “You must be a Targaryen.”

The slender, silver haired man clenched his jaw. “You will address me as ‘My Prince’, Witch.”

“I will address you as such when you earn it.” You responded, stepping forward with a smirk gracing your lips. Rhaefyre glowered at him and he stumbled back in shock which spurred on the upwards curl of your lips. “She will burn you alive, if I command it, you know?”

The Targaryen man’s eyes opened in slight and he swallowed thickly. 

“But of course, my Prince, you would not know. Where is your Dragon?” Smugness was starting to overcome you as you mocked him. 

He was still in a dishevelled and startled state, like he was having a mental battle with himself as if contemplating whether this was real or not. He was dumbfounded by the sight before him. A Dragon. It looked as if his blood was beginning to boil within. 

“How dare you meet The Blood of The Dragon with such tricks and mockery. You must be a filthy Witch. Who are you?” He commanded your response, anger flowing through his vocals. He took a step forward, intending to close the distance between you both, but abruptly recoiled back again upon the movement and glare of Rhaefyre.

You had come to learn that Aerion ‘Brightflame’ Targaryen, was a mad menace amongst his family. The arrogant, entitled young man was continuously attempting to provoke you after what you had put him through at your initial meeting. It was clear to you that whilst he had a cruel and vain nature, his behaviour towards you must have stemmed from some feelings of inadequacy. You also knew that your refusal to yield before him, only spurred his rage on which you took slight satisfaction from knowing you were also getting under his own skin.   

Maekar was beyond his limits, after years of herding his unruly flock of children. He was tired. So tired and lonesome. And itching to keep his disorderly children contempt so that he may find some peace for himself. And it was going well… until you dropped his second eldest son into the gardens of Summerhall by the foot of Rhaefyre. 

Out of all the Houses in the Kingdom, of course the mysterious silver-haired lady and her dragon showed up to his home first. Fifty-six years of extinction and the first Dragon to be alive, swoops down near the grounds of Summerhall with one of his fuming sons caught between its sharp, gigantic, white claws.

You were having a marvelous time, you admit. Seeing the fear and chaos that flew around you and your dragon, did elevate your internal pedestal. You couldn’t help but enjoy the power that came with your dear Rhaefyre and your pure Valyrian blood.

A few days had passed since you met Aerion and dropped him into his home gardens. The memory of his vexed shouts echoing through your memories. Of course, you weren’t going to kill a Targaryen princeling you had just met, you had authority and power to inflict. To ensure the stability of House Alaerys. To ensure that your House does not die with you. To ensure that Dragon’s once roamed this world again. To have a home.  

𓏲ּ𝄢*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Does this satisfy you for ‘real enough’, My Prince?” Your taunting flowed through the winds as Aerion’s shouts bursted out like a ship’s cannons. 

“PUT ME DOWN YOU BASTARD! FUCKING NOW!!!” He was thrashing and wriggling between Rhaeyfyre’s large, sharp, white claws. His strong arms held tightly at Rhaefyre’s claws as he looked down at the soil of Westeros from the height above. 

This was incredibly amusing. You couldn’t help but giggle along the ride to Summerhall. What a sight this would be to those already on the castle grounds. What an enjoyable entrance for you to make! 

“Please!” Aerion shouted, frustration and something along the lines of embarrassment bubbling up his throat. 

“Once you are well reassured that I am in fact, no witch and that I possess the only living Dragon with the roots of Old Valyria in my blood, then we shall return to your palace.” Your voice was firm but teasing and it was driving his outrage like nothing else. Rhaefyre circled the grounds of Summerhall four times after that. 

You sat pleased on your great She-Dragon with a swirl of emotions running around your chest. Ignoring the curses which the Targaryen Prince spewed towards you, it was a rather nice evening-fall. The sun was setting over The Red Mountains near the palace grounds and the warmth of it was refreshing. Summerhall was quite a beautiful place. At least, from the outside you assumed so. Floral’s bloomed within the surrounding gardens and water fountains and ponds were scattered around the property. 

“Alright!” Aerion huffed out, enraged and tired from everything that occurred within the past few hours, finally gave in. “I will introduce you to my family, Lady Alaerys!” 

“Pykās (Let go/Release)!” The Valyrian word, softly spoken from your plush lips, brought relief to Aerion’s struggling body before panic quickly rushed over him. Rhaefyre was still too high from the ground. Before he could rectify anything, Rhaefyre’s large claws loosened their grip around him. He had attempted to cling on, however the sheer force of Rhaefyre’s flight had him quickly stumbling down through the air straight towards the ground.

You weren’t stupid. It just seemed as if this rude, arrogant Prince was in need of a reality check. It is laughable that this Dragonless Prince dared to insight his entitlement over you. 

Your Father has taught you to be strong. He had taught you that you would be able to grow yourself and resurrect House Alaerys into something mighty and utterly compelling. Mayhaps not in the same manner as House Alaerys was before The Doom, but certainly exceeding the majority of the Houses in Westeros. But, you needed The Crown’s aid for that. And The Crown needed you too. You just needed to express your potential in a somewhat less violent and hostile way than you had heard of King Aegon ‘The Conqueror’ and his Queens. You were one with Rhaefyre, not three with three dragons. There was only so much you could do with no formal title in Westeros, yet. 

So, Rhaefyre was above a small pond in the gardens of Summerhall when you made the command and Aerion’s yells rang through your ears. 

Aerion’s body was enveloped by the cool waters with a colossal splash that shot water droplets in all directions. Spent and exhausted, he hauled himself out of the pond. He was groaning in pain as his body ached from the movements. He was drenched, dripping everywhere with water running down him and through his soaked clothing. 

He screamed your name, lividness consuming him as he limped through the once peaceful gardens. He saw Rhaefyre land and perch on the expanse of grass nearby. He watched as you elegantly slid down your She-Dragon’s shimmering wing and stroked her scales, muttering something that he couldn’t hear before you dropped your bags and began to walk in his direction.

He was storming over to you, red faced, drenched and breathing harshly. 

“Did you enjoy the ride?” The question rang through the air amongst the sloshing of his wet steps and heavy breaths. You approached him with a small grin, Rhaefyre now far back in the distance from you with her attention turned to the trip of goats residing near the Red Mountains. 

Even after the treachery which he had endured from you, you were still smiling lightly. Silver hair flowing with the evening breeze, skin radiating under the golden glow of the sun setting, lilac eyes darkening to match his lavender ones, and a certain gracefulness with your body language. Something dark, destructive and desirable stirred within him. Who the fuck does she think she is?

You awaited his response, lips in a slight tilt as his visible outrage.

Unexpectedly, Aerion surged forward. Despite his injuries, he was still incredibly fast. Gripping your wrists with his large hands and pushing you back into the nearest wall of the Castle which extended around, blocking Rhaefyre’s vision of you. A choked gasp escaped you as the Targaryen Prince caught you within his strong grasp. The strength he exuded, muscular arms powering over your smaller form, as your back hit the stone wall was nearly enough for you to forget where you were. 

“Do not,” he seethed through pointed teeth, his tight grip crushing you further against the wall with your own arms. Your elbows were bent and your wrists were being roughly pushed against your heaving chest. “Do not ever do that again! Putting a Prince of the Realm in harm’s way is treason.” His arms flexed as he spoke, his body was feeling heavier on yours as his wrath fuelled him further into you. His words spat at you like flames. “Play like that again and I will take your pretty little Valyrian head myself, Lady Alaerys. Learn your place here or I will teach you.” 

You inhaled sharply, heart jittering in anticipation. You didn’t yet know what he was capable of right now. His lavender eyes were set alight with fury. 

“One word,” you muttered, chest rapidly rising and falling against your arms and Aerion’s weight. “One High Valyrian word and Rhaefyre will come and turn you to ashes to protect me. Threaten me and you threaten her also. She will not take kindly to anything happening to me.” 

His hard grip loosened slightly at this. The rest of his wet clothes were starting to seep onto your own due to the close proximity of his body nearly flush against yours. The strength and heat radiating off him mimicked your own Dragon and it was becoming too much. 

At his loosened grip, you raised your leg and your boot went straight into his shin, effectively kicking him away from you. He groaned and grunted as the pain hit him, releasing your wrists from his hold, nearly folding over until he steadied his stance. The corners of his lips quirked up and low chuckled left his mouth. His tongue dragged along his inner cheek, then darted out across his lips, slowly swiping across his lower lip. His silver wet hair dripped down his forehead and he swiped some drops away with his damp doublet sleeve. His lavender gaze focused on you, burning with flames. He breathed deeply, torso expanding with each breath as his soaked clothing clung tightly to his form.

“You need to be humbled.” You explained with venom laced between your teeth, rubbing your sore wrists, in an attempt to sooth them. “Too much fire and not enough Dragon in you.”

𓏲ּ𝄢*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Since then, you have been staying in Summerhall. The poor staff were petrified once they saw Rhaefyre on the grounds and over these few days, you had met Aerion’s Father, Prince Maekar, his brothers and sisters and even the Heir to the Iron Throne. 

Prince Baelor was evermost kind, yet he remained apprehensive which you ultimately understood. You assured him that you were only here to raise your great ancient house back up. A high and noble place in court is what you wanted for now. And a property where you can live comfortably with Rhaefyre. However, you can not receive in this world without giving too. You offered yourself and your Dragon to aid any battles or political matters in the name of The Crown. You swore fealty to The Crown and were now a guest at Summerhall until your own future home was to be established, after much debate. 

You offered coin to the Iron Throne Heir and his brother to help pay for your stay at Summerhall which Baelor politely refused, expressing his appreciation for that to be of your concern. Honestly, you had two pouches of gold dragons and silver stags filled to the brim with the circular metals, stashed away in the same satchel that you stored your dragon eggs in. 

They couldn’t have Rhaefyre in the capital so suddenly without official announcements first. So you were to stay here until the King’s Small Council prepared some arrangements for you… they couldn’t really say no to a Valyrian girl and her living Dragon. They needed you. They needed Rhaefyre. Having you there with Rhaefyre benefitted the Targaryen’s, this you knew well and weren’t ignorant to. Everybody was playing to get what they wanted. 

You knew why they were keeping you there and being a ‘guest’ was a kinder word for it. Baelor assured that he had no plans to discourage your wishes of residing in Westeros, yet he wanted you to remain in sight, with his family and away from plenties of the smallfolk. You were told that the King was sick and dying and that is why he did not come to Summerhall with his sons. But the King still wanted to meet you and your darling She-Dragon. After the public announcements are made, of course. Baelor appeared for a day and then disappeared back to King’s Landing. 

Egg was still moaning about not wanting to meet Rhaefyre with Aerion near. 

“Nobody is feeding anybody to Rhaefyre.” Your lilac eyes narrowed towards Aerion as he sat, opposite of you, across the dining table. He had boredom plastered on his Valyrian features and you fought the urge to roll your eyes before you faced his younger brother next to you. His stubbly silver-haired head was reflecting the candlelight. You’d have to ask him why he wished to be rid of his Valyrian hair. “I’ll introduce you after dinner if your Father allows it, Egg.”

Maekar paused the movement of his knife and fork scraping across the fine plate. He raised his brows. “If he must.” He straightened himself, posture tight as he loomed over the head seat of the table before proceeding to announce. “Now, this goes for all of you, my children. Do not step a single fucking foot near Lady Alaerys’ Dragon without her present. Do you hear me?”

To approach a dragon without its rider was a near death sentence. As magnificent and loyal as Rhaefyre was to you, she was still wild and unpredictable around others like every Dragon can be. Or at least, that’s what you were told by your Father. And it seems that knowledge was well known as Maekar ordered his children not to go near your dragon, unless they were with you. 

A murmur of excited responses rippled through the dining hall from the younger children. Aerion turned, leaning down to his youngest sister beside him and whispered. “Maybe the Dragon will eat you first because your name is like hers.” 

Rhae, the youngest Princess, panted and let a small shriek fill the room as she shoved her small arms onto her larger brother in an attempt to push him away. Aerion barely shifted. 

“Aerion, enough!” Maekar’s raspy voice commanded. “Or you’re coming back to the Red Keep with me, boy!” 

Aerion sighed. He did not wish to go back to King’s Landing now. Perhaps a few days ago, but now? He didn’t want to even consider having you out of his reach. Purely tactical, he reassured himself. Somebody had to keep a watch on you. You could betray his Family and the Realm at any time!

“My apologies, Father.” Aerion tucked his head back onto the high back of the dining chair, his eyes dancing around the sight before him. Your silver hair was braided up, leaving your jaw and neck bare and the new dress which adored your figure was rich and deep with red and black. The neckline dipped slightly into your cleavage but he did not stop himself from staring. The colours of His House. The last dragonrider of an ancient Valyrian House, wearing his colours. 

Your lilac irises caught his lavender ones and the tip of his tongue swept across his lips like a serpent. Like he was tasting the air. Like he was trying to taste you. 

“Lady Alaerys,” Daella’s sweet voice interrupted your thoughts. “What was it like in Asshai?”

“Well, I was the only babe ever born there. Living in hiding was easy until Rhaefyre grew bigger. The Shadow Lands are exactly as they seem. Lawless and filled with many magics, chaos and somewhat scary at times. I had never been around children until you and your siblings, My Princess.” Addressing the Princess, you looked towards her younger siblings too, Egg and Rhae. A smile graced your lips. 

There were still lots which Baelor and Maekar did not know about you. Of course, you enlightened them with the vague story. They still did not know that you had three dragon eggs within your possession or the extent of the full prophecy which your ancestor dreamt of. There were certain things you had to keep close to you, for your own self preservation. You were still unsure whether to fully trust these dragonless dragonlords or not. 

But sitting here, amongst this dysfunctional family, this was the first time in your life where you were surrounded by an actual family and you didn’t know any difference. You never knew what it was like to have siblings, to grow up with someone around your age. You never interacted with children until these past days at Summerhall. 

The Princess listened to you, purple eyes growing wide with your words. “Are there sweet cakes over there at least?” 

“Always about the cakes.” Egg huffed at his older sister as he stuck his fork into the cooked vegetables on the sharing platter in the middle of the table.

“Only if you find the right person to whip some up for you.” You grinned at the older Princess.

“And who was that for you?” Aerion interjected, his stare heavy on you. Unsettling. 

“My late Father,” exhaling calmly, your gaze lifted to meet him. He was watching you. Waiting. Looking for a point to crack between. A point of weakness. A point where he could get under your skin, just where you were consistently getting under his. “My Mother taught him before I was born… It was a family recipe.”

As if Daeron felt you trying to strongly, not falter in front of his cruel brother as you spoke about your deceased parents, he joined the conversation. “Our Mother used to bake us sweet treats from Dorne. She was Dornish.”

Daeron went on to swallow his cup of wine, whole. “If it wasn’t a day for Dornish treats then it was sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of the night for a midnight feast in the gardens.”

The mention of Prince Maekar’s dead wife and the children’s Mother, made the table grow silent. Maekar and his children, visibly not over the loss, all lowered their heads or shifted anxiously. Grief was a strange thing, but Aerion kept his sight steady on you. 

Your expression softened. “I’m sure that you all miss her dearly.”

“How would you know?” Aerion scoffed, rolling his shoulders casually as he played with the slab of bloody steak on his plate with his knife. “You cannot miss something you never had.” 

SMACK!

Before you even had time to react, Maekar’s hand met the polished wooden table in a fist with a loud thud, shocking everyone at the table.. 

“Aerion, I have fucking had enough of your behaviour! She is of Old Valyria and has a bloody Dragon! And dragon or not, you will respect and show honour to Lady Alaerys. Unless you suddenly raise The Black Dread from the dead to claim him yourself, then we can dismiss your fucking manners!”

Biting your lip, you now lowered your own head. 

Maekar’s defence of you made something swell within your chest despite the beration of his son. The latter was well needed and supposedly an ongoing concern that has only grown in recent years, you had gathered. Maekar’s gaze moved onto you, easing off as he gave you an apologetic look. He knew how his son could be and he knew that you had been the one to put up with it in recent days. 

Maekar’s words rung through your ears loudly. As they also did through Aerion’s. 

𓏲ּ𝄢*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

A long couple hours later, post dinner, after taking Little Egg, Daella and Rhae to meet Rhaefyre in the Gardens, you excused yourself once you had safely made sure of their return to their bedchambers. 

Sighing, your sore feet carried you through the grand halls of Summerhall. You had grown so used to wearing your boots that these new slippery turnshoes were uncomfortable. The hallways were dimly lit now as night had fallen. Flickers of candle flames danced along the walls in shadows, over paintings and many various extravagant household objects. 

There were few guards littered around the halls as if patrolling but one stood out to you in particular. He was not dressed like the other Knights and serving guards. He was also absurdly tall and large, but his face was kind. His nervous gaze fixated on you as you drew further down the hall until you reached him.

“M-my Lady.” He greeted you and fumbled to bow with his large build. 

“I think the young Prince told me about you. Ser Dunc, is it?” Your tired expression passed over to a small smile as you looked up at the man.

He nodded, nervously shifting on his legs. “It’s an honour to meet you, My Dragon Lady.”

A small laugh escaped you. Maybe that is why he was nervous. He knew of you and your dragon. “I believe the honour is mine, Ser Dunc. Egg has told me of some of your adventures together.”

The hedge knight’s face flushed with warmth. “Only the good ones, I hope.”

A small giggle escaped your mouth. “They were all good! Worry not, Ser Dunc. My favourite in particular is when you met at the Ashford Tourney.”

“O-oh! But, My Lady, that was a mess.” He gazed down at his shoes, shame and embarrassment consuming him.

“Not from how Egg tells it,” you grinned. “And I enjoy that you beat Aerion at his own game. May the Gods bless us for no tremendous injury that day.” It was true. How a Trail Of The Seven left all participants alive, you could not believe. Surely, it would have ended with at least one death. 

Dunc let out a small, awkward chuckle. “Yes, it was a blessing.” He paused for a moment, lips faltering as he hesitated on his next words. “My Lady, I hope this is not too forward in asking b-but P-prince Aerion… is he not harming you? I have noticed the way he talks to you, it is not nice nor how a Lady should be spoken to.” 

This you had grown accustomed to since you met Aerion. You had learned of his brooding and cruel temperament. He yearned for his own dragon for many years only to start believing that he himself is a dragon. And when Dragons are raised in royalty with everything but one thing at their spoon, entitlement and arrogance ruled over. It was just him. Some of his Father you could see but other parts of him remained enigmatic. Aerion had you in a constant state of whiplash with his moods already and it hasn't even been a full week since you arrived at Summerhall.

“He can be cruel, I’m aware. But I can handle myself,” You began smirking up at the tall knight. “And I have a Dragon. I know how to tame them.” 

Dunc flushed further, his cheeks now bright red at the insinuation of your tone. 

“Ser Duncan!” A deep, smooth voice rippled through the near empty halls. 

Dunc quickly jumped back into a well-postured stance, away from you. You fought off rolling your eyes at Aerion’s interrupting voice but stilled, watching as Dunc’s easygoing expression fell. His heavy steps appeared closer, louder. And suddenly, they stopped behind you. 

“I think our Lady has gotten lost, I shall escort her back to her chambers.” Aerion’s presence loomed over you, the warmth radiating onto your back. His breath, hot by your ear. 

“I am quite fine conversing with Ser Dunc. Thank you.” Holding your ground, you stepped forward and turned to face the Targaryen Prince. 

Aerion’s gaze floated between the large hedge knight and you. His eyes were scanning over your Targaryen dressed figure and then a distasteful expression appeared on his features when he stared at Dunc. Clearly, a grudge was still held. 

“I have been waiting for you, Lady Alaerys. You must come.” Aerion lifted his chin, catching the curiosity in your lilac irises as he waited for your response. 

A sigh escaped you before you turned to the kind knight and bid him goodnight. You wished that you could keep speaking with him. There was something endearing surrounding him and you felt his good heart. He flashed you a quick smile and waved goodbye after Aerion began walking away, to which you quickly waved back at the large man before following the Targaryen Prince. You didn’t want to follow Aerion right now but as you were in his home, under his family’s care until you had your own home, you were obliged. 

Although, there was an intense burning within you, wondering what this was leading to.

The hallways became larger as Aerion stalked through Summerhall, heading for your chambers which were located in a separate section of the Palace. Children in the North Wing, adults in the East Wing, guests in the West Wing and staff in the South Wing. Your chambers were in the Guests wing of course, to the West. Opposite to where Maekar, Daeron and Aerion resided. 

As of now, Rhaefyre was currently lurking around the grounds of Summerhall, resting in the expanse fields next to the Palace and feasting upon the goats of The Red Mountains.

“What is this regarding?” You asked, anxiety beginning to bubble through your veins at being alone with him. He was too unpredictable, you had learnt over these last few days and it set you on edge. 

“I have a gift for you, My Lady.” The latter words tasted mockingly to you. 

“A gift?” You questioned him, his pace still slightly ahead of you. 

“Yes, which I had been waiting for hours in your chambers with.” His tone was irate, dark and dripping with irritation. “Only for me to later find you giggling away with that stupid hedge knight.” 

“Aerion, I apologise. I did not know.”

“No!” His sudden outburst had stunned you as he spun around to face you with a hard expression. Your legs stopped moving and you froze. His shout echoing off the stone amongst the soft fabric of the house banners hung along the walls. “You will call me, My Prince.”

“When you earn it, Alberzeys (Brightflame).” You calmly repeated your words from when you met, holding your head upright as you stared up at him. His lavender gaze darkened further as he clenched his jaw tight, the muscles in his neck rippling as he moved toward you.

“You are insufferable,” he sneered, taking another step closer. “Zaldrīzītsos (little dragon).”

“And you are nothing but a vengeful Dragonless Prince,” frustratingly, you huffed out whilst placing your hands on your hips. His face flashed through something unidentifiable for a mere moment before he was clenching his jaw again and his fists were balled up at his sides. “It is pitiful that your ancestors would ruin such great creatures with your own fanciful family affairs. And I will not continue to entertain you with the idea that I will simply bend the knee to you because you are a Prince in this realm. You claim yourself a Dragon Lord but you have no Dragon. I will not bow to a lesser Dragon Lord who consistently disrespects me.”

It felt like fire was coursing through your body. The heat, about to make you succumb to something much less tamed. You hadn’t realised how much anger had been pent up within you these last few days. 

Aerion was eerily still, listening to your words. His focus was sharp as you stood there, eyeing you through narrowed brows. Your chest was heaving from the words which shot out of your mouth. You hadn’t realised how loud you were either. 

His fists relaxed and his jaw went slack, providing the perfect escape of his serpent-like tongue to slowly stretch across his lips. His long, muscular legs stalked over to you like a Dragon would swoop down to catch its prey between its claws. And you were between his claws.

Aerion’s large hand lifted to your face, fingers resting under your jaw whilst his thumb steadied your chin. You tried to shake your head away from his hot grasp but it only tightened as he forced you to look at him. 

“I may have no dragon,” he began, vocals low and scarily calm. “But I am The Dragon. And dragons do as they please. The blood of old Valyria runs through me.” 

“But more so in me,” you spit out, swatting his hand away from your face. He only gripped your forearms instead, manhandling you to stay in position in front of him as you squirmed under his hot touch. His hands burned on you, like fire dancing with smoke. And it was illuminating. “You are jealous of that, Aerion. Yes, I will call you so. Aerion. You wish to be of blood as pure as mine and you wish to ride with your own Dragon. But you were dealt in the wrong path. And now that I’m here, you will constantly be reminded of that as if you weren’t already before.” 

Aerion sighed dramatically, fanning your face as he still held you close. It was as if he was expecting some of those words on your part to be spoken. “What a sad evenfall this has become.” 

“I’m glad you see it too,” you exhaled deeply, responding to his latter words. His expression only hardened with his grasp on your arms. You attempted to pull away, eyebrows furrowing as he refused to release you.

He opened his mouth, poisonous words on the tip of his tongue before you cut him off. 

“Do not make me kick you again, I will aim higher this time!”

Aerion begrudgingly released you from his hold. The loss of warmth from your body, striking him back into the cool air of the night. He pivoted on his foot, contemplating his next steps. You expected him to raise his voice again, in a fury at the words you had spoken to him, spat at him. But instead of fighting with you, he stood back, elegantly gesturing down the hall to your chambers. Like a noble prince would if escorting a Lady.   

“The gift is on your bed, Lady Alaerys.”

Your eyes drifted down the dark, dimly lit hall. And when you turned back, Aerion was gone. 

You felt like you wanted to hit your head against the stone walls of the hallway as you strode through, heartbeat bouncing against your ribcage. Why would he just disappear like that? Why was he so cruel and mean? And why is he always still so composed after such outbursts?

His behaviour made your head spin. Head pounding from the questions you had and the heightened emotions you just experienced, your body shook with relief as you swung the door open to your chambers. 

It was a large space, a huge four-poster bed, luxurious furnishings scattered around, a marble wash basin, a lounging area and a dressing area. At the edge of the bed, nestled a big chest with a lock, holding your possessions inside. And on top of that bed was a small stack of three very old books, wrapped together neatly by a piece of string and a piece of parchment beside it. The gift.

Sitting into the soft, comfortable edge of the bed covered in various fur blankets, you reached for the books and untied the string.

‘House Alaerys of Old Valyria’

‘The History of Westeros’

‘A Dragon Lord’s Claim’

It was happening before you realised it. Tears rolled down your cheeks. Hot, salty and unforgiving. Your fingers drifted over the syllables etched onto the leather binding of the first book. It was written in High Valyrian and about the history of your house before The Doom. The second book was written in Westeros’ native tongue, revolving around Westerosi history. And the third book was something that you had never expected. A Romance, written in High Valyrian, about a Dragon Lord in Valyria who falls in love with an already betrothed Princess. A tale of passion and affairs.

You wiped your tears away with the backs of your hands and picked up the note which was left next to the books. You unfolded the small piece of parchment and began to read. 

“ For you, zaldrīzītsos (little dragon).

One for your birthright.

One for your new home.

Another for your own pleasure.

Your Prince, Aerion Brightflame ”

His voice rang through your brain as you read his words and for some reason, you found yourself wishing to rectify your recent argument despite everything. Empathy began to seep through you. You couldn’t imagine being born into this, being promised a life with a bonded dragon and the greatness of your House ruling over Kingdoms, only to be left a dragonlord with no living dragons due to ancestral fighting. You suppose that must have been some motivation for his unstable temperament, which you certainly were not helping. A small part of you began to regret your words spoken to him. 

Groaning in annoyance, you fell back onto the overwhelmingly soft bed. Has he really picked these books out for you? Where did he find them?

‘Another for your own pleasure.’ Shivers went down your spine. A romance book? What in the world was he thinking? You couldn’t help but wonder if there was some secret implication until you flicked through the pages to land on some very vulgar and inappropriate High Valyrian language that made heat rise to your cheeks. 

A woman moaning, a man burying himself inside her as he bent her over a balcony overlooking the Old City of Valyria where Dragons constantly roamed the skies. Whimpers and pleasured grunts filling the air.

‘His hands were gripping my hips tightly, pulling me back onto his thick length as a mixture of wetness met us both where we connected. “You will take what I give you, little dragon.” He whispered heavily, panting between thrusts.’

Zaldrīzītsos. Little Dragon. What he had begun to call you… You slammed the book shut, flushing at the heat pooling between your thighs. 

˚.⋆꒰১ AKOTSK ໒꒱⋆.˚

Aerion Targaryen

Series:

𓏲ּ𝄢 The Dragoness and The Dragonless: 1 , 2 , 3,

Summary: Valryian F Reader! Westeros and House Targaryen are shaken when you suddenly arrive with your Dragon and a clutch of stone-turned eggs after fifty-six years of extinction.

One-Shots:

More Coming Soon...

˚.⋆꒰১ HOTD ໒꒱⋆.˚

Coming soon...

˚.⋆꒰১ GOT ໒꒱⋆.˚