BONDS FORGED IN FIRE

warnings: typical targcest/inc*st. DARK CHARACTERS; controlling behavior, manipulation, gaslighting. cursing. reader is a modern human. dance of the dragons did not happen. canon typical violence. yandere behavior!

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM OF ME

high fidelity clause. aemond targaryen

summary: silly girl, by now you should know that faithful men were a thing of the past. when will you let your feet touch the ground?

pairings: modern!aemond targaryen x reader.

warnings: CHEATING!! angst. political marriage implied.

notes: fAWK LMAO i don't remember writing this — but to be fair, this kind of writing was always a stress response 🙃 I MISSED U GUYS SAY HELLO!!!!!

Your smile was a touch stiff; a touch wrong and forced from the usual pleasantries, but you were graceful in your apprehension, nevertheless. Infallible in your false pretenses and perpetually unshakeable when it came to presenting yourself as the dignified wife of a politician.

There is penance, in sacrifice. A respite in duty. Eventually, the curtains will need to close, and you will no longer need to play your part.

You repeat the mantra uttered by your mother to placate your woes, over and over again, until you believe it. They were meant to abate your defiance, a string of lies to keep you placated and duty bound. To make you feel closer to your then, intended, who was under the same circumstances as you were.

Yours were a political marriage, borne out of necessity to appeal to more traditional masses. It was easier to sell the perfect politician package when it's accompanied with a docile wife from a respectable family.

Even if you hadn't loved eachother, you thought there would be some respect— a mutual understanding born from shared burdens and responsibilities, too heavy for a mere human being. You thought he was a kindered spirit just adrift in the sea of obligations; that even if he couldn't award you the barest of affections, he could atleast remain faithtful... to your union.

It turned out you had the whims of a petulant child.

He must find you amusing in your stupid devotion— he must have laughed at your whimsical nature when he feigns interest in your ramblings, or when he would indulge you with well placed affections, that made you pliant and starry eyed in his hold.  Aemond must find you ridiculously easy, writhing under him, mouth full of his name in a desperate chant.

What a stupid girl.

The infidelity was not brazen; Aemond, for all his education and pedigree, had enough wits about him to keep it as subtle as his wrongdoings were. Yet, it was the small slips that betrayed him—the lingering scent of perfume not your own, the faint lipstick stains on his collar.

Her haughty gaze on you, feigning subtlety about keeping your husband late at night for "work," was a constant reminder of your precarious position. You could see the satisfaction in her eyes, the silent taunt that she had what you could only dream of—a sliver of his undivided attention.

What a stupid girl.

You, who had to force a smile despite hearing whispers of his indiscretions, cutting through the fragile peace you had constructed. Despite being reared to be a trophy wife, you were unprepared for this torment. The lessons on etiquette and poise never included instructions on how to handle a heart shredded by betrayal. Your mother’s voice echoes in your mind, urging you to maintain composure, to uphold the image of the perfect partner. But inside, you are crumbling.

Aemond must take great pleasure in this game, toying with your affections, watching as you cling to the scraps of his attention. He must relish in your helplessness, knowing you are too ensnared by your feelings to walk away. Every touch, every whisper of sweet nothings, they were calculated, designed to keep you under his thumb.

Despite everything, you can't help but yearn for those moments of tenderness. You cling to the hope that somewhere beneath his cold exterior, there is a genuine affection for you. Perhaps it's foolish, a desperate grasp at a dream that will never be, but it is all you have left.

What a stupid girl.

Even as you stand beside him at the event, feeling the warmth of his hand on your waist, the doubt gnaws at you. Are his affections genuine, or is this display merely a way to ensure you remain within his grasp? The affection you thought you had seems to be nothing more than a facade, a cruel joke at your expense.

You smile and nod, playing the role of the devoted wife, but inside, your thoughts swirl in a relentless storm. You recall the nights you spent alone, waiting for him to return, telling yourself he was just busy. Each excuse you made for him, each lie you told yourself, added to the weight on your heart.

The cycle of hope and despair is relentless. Each time he comes home late, smelling of someone else, your heart breaks a little more. You wonder how much more you can take before you shatter completely. Yet, you stay, bound by the love you once felt and the hope that it can be rekindled.

But deep down, you know the truth. You are nothing more than a pawn in his game, a pretty ornament to display. And no matter how much you wish for it, Aemond’s heart will never belong to you alone.

No matter what you tell yourself,

summary: There were many things you regretted doing; drinking milk on a hot day, letting your dickwad of a boyfriend lie to your face... and creating a dr after reading a dark romance and subconsciously modelling traits after morally grey men; because unlike Wanda Maximoff, they followed you to the real world.

warnings: morally grey characters. dark themes. typical targc*st. jace was supposed to be the love interest but aha! smut. cursing. oral.

pairings: aemond targaryen x reader, aegon targaryen x reader.

notes: this is probably an prologue or a synopsis or a test chapter one! just had to write it so the plot isn't lost!!

"Dōna mandia.." Aegon whispers, brushing a ghost of a kiss on your own; his breathing was slow, as if savoring your closeness, "let me drink wine from your lips alone." he uttered in a low voice, making a noise from the back of his throat as your lips part, wispy lashes brushing against his cheeks as you trembled beneath his fingers.

"Such a jumpy little thing, aren't you?" Aemond tuts, a hint of a smile on his lips. "We barely touched you and still..." your breath was caught in your throat at the feeling of his kisses on your neck; his arms wounding atightly around your waist, fingers splayed around your stomach.

You could hardly breathe from their seeking, probing touches, let alone move when they pinned you inbetween them. Your throat closed up and you struggled to breathe when Aemond's fingers breached your nightwear, his forefinger brushing against your folds, "Is this for us, dōna mandia? Our sweet sister, dripping... aching to be fucked by her own blood." He mocked, repeating your own words with disdain.

Aegon smirked, cupping your face with a firm grip, "What? That strong bastard not doing it for you? Do you regret choosing him already?" you whimpered as Aemond thrust a finger into you; slipping in with ease from your own wetness. You hated how your body reacts to their proximity, and their damn, filthy words! You were both humiliated and aroused. Ashamed and.. unbelievably turned on. Fuck. Wasn't this ironic? For all your unspoken convictions, when it came down to it, weren't you as weak and pliant in their arms? Your only consolation was weak; this was merely a fantasy. A fantasy. A fanta....

"Fuck!" Your cry was genuine, as you felt Aegon's lips suckling on your pearl; lapping up at your cunt with invigorated will, while Aemond worked in tandem, thrusting in and out of your sloppy cunt.

"Cry out, mandia. Louder. Let the servants hear you!" Aemond coos, nipping at a sensitive spot in your neck. Your breath came out ragged, leaning most of your weight behind Aemond, as his brother lifted your leg to his shoulder, opening you more to his mouth. Your eyes were half lidded from pleasure... a distant ringing echoing in the back of your head... an anxious purr... a clamor and a yelp escaped your parted lips as he flattens his tongue on your core—

You jolted awake, scrambling to turn off your screaming alarm, and cursing altogether. You didn't know wether to thank the alarm rang when it did, or be frustrated from being sexually frustrated. It was merely a dream, of sorts, yet you felt the uncomfortable heat inbetween your legs as if it was real.

Forget about it, you muttered to yourself. You hadn't planned for the plot to go south, when you'd imagined it; it was supposed to be wholesome, and sweet, a sort of fix it for your own relaxation. Something to comfort yourself as the series completely tore down any sort a happy ending for your favorite characters on television.

But as it stands, just like in the series, you had little control over what your characters did; it was as if they have their own free will, and desires independent from what you had thought them as. They could hold conversations properly, engage in witty banter, flirt— you were incredibly baffled when the first hint of attraction had come to light with your so called brothers.

Nevertheless, you chalked it off to circumstances. They were unloved; neglected and lost with the expectations of many before their shoulders. It was natural they would hold on to affection and tenderness without any sort of ill motive; it was human nature to seek love, afterall.

But your designs were clearly intended for Rhaenyra's oldest son... how come, there was a side plot, in the realization of your love story with Jacaerys? Was there some manual, you should have read when constructing a desired reality? You thought it was more on feelings!

Shrugging off the night's exciting festivity, you rose from your bed, and took to the shower as swift as you could. You still had classes to attend, assignments, papers to write... dreaming was a stress relief, so you shouldn't think about it as deeply as you should. You couldn't dwell on it with normal, society accepted, morals. It wasn't real.

And the Targaryen brothers? Fucking easy on the eyes. Who can blame you from deviating from the plot? You would climb them like a tree, surely.

You had to laud the whole casting team for casting such delicious villains. Ewan Mitchell and Tom Glynn-Carney are so gorgeous, you could cry.

In a world where dragons did not dance and Rhaenyra reigns unchallenged on the Iron Throne, her legacy endures through her three valiant sons, with the Targaryens having bowed to their rightful queen. You, a traveller in this medieval tapestry, have at last discovered the opportune moment to seek solace in Essos, intending to live out your days unburdened and free. No longer are you compelled to mend the fragile bonds among feuding cousins, having already nurtured a brotherhood among the Velaryon and Targaryen youths. Freed from the duty of attending to Alicent, appeasing your father Daemon, or strategizing for the benefit of the realm and its beloved Rhaenyra, you stand on the cusp of true retirement... or do you?

warnings: typical targcest/inc*st. DARK CHARACTERS; controlling behavior, manipulation, gaslighting. cursing. reader is a modern human. dance of the dragons did not happen. canon typical violence. yandere behavior!

pairings: hotd x reader, daemon targaryen x daughter!reader (platonic)

CHAPTER TWO: NO LONGER A FREE WOMAN

Quiet and Commanding. Graceful and Bloodthirsty — you were both the calmness of the sea and it's tempest. In a desperate act of survival, you reshaped the fate of Westeros; a no ordinary feat by all means, and you bore the scars of fabricating this delicate peace.

You sought to end a war before it grew to become one. Tearing the heart of the dragon so it no longer bore heads, you suffered the consequences of your meddling, self-preserving nature, from the curse of Targaryens.

Madness. Delusions. Paranoia..

Paranoia is ever common among people of power, and in your whimsical rendition of the present, you found yourself ensnared in the very web you sought to untangle.

Your knowledge of the succession of events was vital in its formative years; you were the weaver of histories yet unwritten, the keeper of secrets that shaped destinies. In the quiet chambers of the Red Keep, where whispers carried more weight than steel, you stood as a sentinel of wisdom amidst the unfolding of ambition and intrigue.

Once, you navigated the tapestry of Westerosi politics with a sure hand, guiding alliances and decisions that now lay woven into the fabric of a new era. But the future you once knew, predictable as the turning of seasons, now unfolded with unpredictable swiftness.

The absence of war reshaped the contours of power, leaving uncertainties where once there were certainties... and you had become one of it's unfortunate casualties.

"If I may speak, my lady," she began, her voice a whisper that hung in the air like the fragrance of roses in bloom. You turned to face her, your expression calm yet attentive, silently inviting her to share the secrets that threaded through the underbelly of courtly life. A strategically placed informant, a madame you kept in your good graces, for her valuable informations.

With practiced ease, you gestured for her to continue as you returned to your preparations, the delicate clink of jewelry punctuating the quiet conversation between you. The madame hesitated, her words measured and cautious, betraying the weight of the information she carried.

"I've come upon certain... revelations," she finally ventured, her tone laden with the gravity of her disclosure. She recounted, with a waver in her countenance, the princes' preferences— their specific demands echoing through the chambers like whispers of scandal. Each word revealed a world hidden behind closed doors, where fantasies intertwined with the obligations of royalty and it's stifling constraints.

Your hands paused momentarily, the silver earrings poised between your fingers as you absorbed the implications of her words. You feared the unspoken consequences of such desires. One that transcended the boundaries of rank and decorum, casting shadows upon the noble facade that adorned the princes in public.

"They call for you," she had confessed in a hushed tone, her eyes troubled yet resolute. "Not just any women, but those with your likeness. They cry out your name in the throes of passion, seeking to recreate a semblance of what they know in the sanctity of their chambers."

With a nod of dismissal, the madame withdrew, leaving the chamber with a bow of deference. Alone once more, you resumed your preparations, the morning light seeming dimmer now as you contemplated the delicate balance between power and discretion within the heart of the Red Keep. Yet, the madame's parting words lingered, her voice tinged with an urgency that unsettled you.

"Forgive me, if you must call me insolent." she had said, her eyes wide with concern, "Leave this place once you get the chance. These princes... they are not what they seem. Their love is a dangerous thing."

The weight of her warning wasn't missed, nor unrewarded. Leave, she said. And you almost wept at your desire to do so. The thought of escape had always been present, but now it seemed more pressing, more necessary.

The Targaryen madness... a curse that had plagued their bloodline for generations, was not a mere myth. It was a living, breathing beast that lurked within the halls of the keep, a beast that had ensnared even the most unsuspecting hearts.

The tales of their ancestors, the whispers of dragons and fire, echoed in your thoughts.

You had seen the cracks in their facades, the fleeting moments when the mask slipped, revealing the turmoil beneath. It was in the soft utterance, in a mad whisper of devotion.

with me, no harm shall come your way; rhaenyra, whispers.

i would kill anyone who tries to take you from me; daemon, vows.

you must always have me in your heart. it must have only me; aegon pleads.

It was devotion that threatened to consume you. It was in the quiet plea for acceptance. It was in the vulnerable displays, where the attachment grew into something you could no longer control.

never leave me; jacaerys utters with conviction.

tell me you need me; aemond, grips you.

tell me you love me; heleana whispers.

tell me you're mine...

The madness was not just in their blood; it was in their very souls, a consuming fire that threatened to engulf all who drew too close.

As you finished your preparations, you pondered your next step. To outmaneuver the most powerful people in the realm; to extricate yourself from their grasp, required more than just cunning. It required a keen understanding of the intricate dance of power and madness that played out within these walls.

As you stepped into the corridor, the weight of the madame's warning heavy upon your shoulders, you knew that your journey was far from over. The road ahead was treacherous, but with each step, you inched closer to the freedom that lay beyond the reach of the dragon's fire.

The small council was filled with nobles loyal to Rhaenyra's claim. People who were wise, honest, and unbearably scheming. Aemond was among the council, a concession to allow for unity and to placate those who supported his family. Yet, his presence was more than strategic; Aemond had always been smart and decisive, qualities that made him a valuable asset in matters of governance and warfare. His sharp mind and keen insights often cut through the labyrinth of political machinations, bringing clarity and resolution to complex issues.

Jacaerys, the crown prince, also held a seat on the council. As Rhaenyra's eldest son, it was imperative that he learn the intricacies of rule and the delicate balance of power within the realm. His participation was both an educational experience and a symbol of continuity, showing that the future of the realm was in capable hands. Though Aemond and Jace had a fraught history, they had reached a tenuous truce, understanding the necessity of cooperation for a shared cause. Their interactions were civil, even if not genuinely friendly, a testament to their shared commitment to the greater good.

Aegon, noticeably absent from the meeting, was occupied with securing an allegiance with a rich noble visiting. His transformation from a reckless youth to a responsible leader was a surprising deviation from the expected path, proving that even the most unlikely individuals could rise to the occasion when the realm demanded it.

Where there was once dignified discussions had unravelled into a heated one...

"A marriage allegiance, to the North?" Daemon repeats incredulously, a frown marring his features at the absurd suggestion from one of the lords in the small council.

The man, while relatively small in stature, held his stance despite receiving hostile glares from multiple pairs of scathing gazes. He was certain they wished to command his head off, but the loyalty to your cause remains in him. "The princess is of the right age to marry; it would strengthen our ties with the North and ensure their loyalty," the lord persisted.

Aemond tensed, repressing the urge to draw his sword and cut the insolent bastard's tongue for his brazen suggestion. His dear, sweet cousin, would not debase herself to a mere wolf when she had the blood of a dragon coursing through her veins!

Jace had a similar, quiet indignation. You would not marry to distant mountains, let alone to a foreign man. It was one thing to share your affections among their family, an entirely different one, should it be directed to another entirely.

Rhaenyra, at the head of the council, was first to voice her dissent, her expression calm yet resolute. "The realm is at peace. What need have we for an alliance with the North? We do not need to complicate matters with alliances that may bring more harm than good."

"Peace reigns now, the future is uncertain. Strengthening our ties with the North ensures stability in times of unforeseen turmoil. The marriage alliance is a precautionary measure, one that could safeguard the realm," the lord insisted, gathering murmurs of support around the table.

Daemon slammed his fist on the table, his voice booming. "We have dragons! We should be the ones feared, not groveling for alliances like beggars. The North should be seeking our favor, not the other way around. This talk of marriage is a distraction, a needless concession."

"We do not need to rally more support. Our house is strong enough without resorting to such measures," Jacareys adds, stoic though his eyes blazed with unspoken fury.

The defiance in the room was palpable, a wall of resistance against the idea of your marriage to a northerner, the famed Cregan Stark warden of the North.

Every time the notion of marriage was presented, they always had an excuse, a reason to dismiss it. Their hatred for the idea was unmistakable, rooted in their desire to keep you close, to maintain the unity of the family within the confines of King's Landing.

You never much bothered to disagree. Marriage was never your priority; you were trying to stave off the extinction of the Targaryens, where could you find the energy and time to please a husband?

However, this time, you decided to break the pattern.

"I agree," you said, your voice steady and calm. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to you in shock.

"You what?" Daemon's voice was low, dangerous, a silent threat hung in the air as if begging you to repeat your agreement.

"I admire Cregan Stark," you continued, ignoring the rising tension. "He is known to be handsome, domineering, strong, and capable. Such a match would be beneficial for our house."

And he lives in the desolate cold. Far from King's Landing. Come winter, and no dragon, however mighty, could cross its threshold.

Rhaenyra was speechless, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find words. Daemon's face turned a deeper shade of red, his anger barely contained. Aemond and Jace looked as though they were on the verge of losing their composure, their fists clenched tightly.

"You would leave for the North?" While emotionless and composed, Aemond was anything but.

"This is absurd. You can't possibly mean this," Jace added, his tone equally tense.

You met their gazes with unwavering resolve. "This alliance is strategic. It ensures the realm's continued prosperity and stability. It is a decision made for the greater good."

Daemon's expression darkened, his frustration palpable as he struggled to reconcile his paternal instincts with sound reason, and not violent tendencies. He thiught it much easier to wield a sword and conquer cities.

"Whoever wove these tales, planting fairy-tale notions of a prince charming into my daughter's head, is a deceiver. They think they can trick her, make her believe in an idyllic fantasy. My daughter is naive and innocent in their eyes, easy to sway. But I will find this manipulator and have his head for daring to poison her mind with such nonsense!" He uttered, voice laced with venom, a final threat to whoever disagreed with his judgement— Daemon thought you naive, and gullible to suggestion, believing it was not your own will, but a treacherous cunt's ideas.

Afterall, you would never desire to leave him; your poor father... and the rest, whoever they may be. He still has no idea which was whom; he kept a tally of one or two silver haired kid, and the rest were lost to him.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her composure returning as she placed a hand on the table, grounding herself.

"We must weigh all options, think of the ramifications. A marriage... it is not a decision to be taken lightly."

Despite her words, you knew her mind was already made up. She had always been fiercely protective, and the idea of you leaving King's Landing, leaving her side, was something she could not easily accept.

The path to freedom was fraught with peril, but you had come too far to falter now. Your nod to the Arryn lord, was subtle— indicating he back down from his duel of wits. It was an issue for another day. Rhaenyra had made it so.

With a determined breath, you resolved to tread carefully, to gather the strength and allies needed to break free from the chains that bound you.

The Targaryen curse was a formidable foe, but you were no stranger to battles fought in the shadows.

***

In a world where dragons did not dance and Rhaenyra reigns unchallenged on the Iron Throne, her legacy endures through her three valiant sons, with the Targaryens having bowed to their rightful queen. You, a traveller in this medieval tapestry, have at last discovered the opportune moment to seek solace in Essos, intending to live out your days unburdened and free. No longer are you compelled to mend the fragile bonds among feuding cousins, having already nurtured a brotherhood among the Velaryon and Targaryen youths. Freed from the duty of attending to Alicent, appeasing your father Daemon, or strategizing for the benefit of the realm and its beloved Rhaenyra, you stand on the cusp of true retirement... or do you?

warnings: typical targcest/inc*st. DARK CHARACTERS; controlling behavior, manipulation, gaslighting. cursing. reader is a modern human. dance of the dragons did not happen. canon typical violence. yandere behavior!

pairings: hotd x reader, daemon targaryen x daughter!reader (platonic)

CHAPTER ONE: RETIREMENT, SWEET RETIREMENT

CHAPTER TWO: NO LONGER A FREE WOMAN

In a world where dragons did not dance and Rhaenyra reigns unchallenged on the Iron Throne, her legacy endures through her three valiant sons, with the Targaryens having bowed to their rightful queen. You, a traveller in this medieval tapestry, have at last discovered the opportune moment to seek solace in Essos, intending to live out your days unburdened and free. No longer are you compelled to mend the fragile bonds among feuding cousins, having already nurtured a brotherhood among the Velaryon and Targaryen youths. Freed from the duty of attending to Alicent, appeasing your father Daemon, or strategizing for the benefit of the realm and its beloved Rhaenyra, you stand on the cusp of true retirement... or do you?

warnings: typical targcest/inc*st. DARK CHARACTERS; controlling behavior, manipulation, gaslighting. cursing. reader is a modern human. dance of the dragons did not happen. canon typical violence. yandere behavior!

pairings: hotd x reader, daemon targaryen x daughter!reader (platonic)

CHAPTER ONE: FREEDOM, SWEET FREDOM

"You look beautiful, Your Grace." Your voice is a soft utterance, the title rolling off your tongue in a smooth, familiar way despite her change in station.

Rhaenyra glances at you, a gentle reproach on her lips. "Muñnykeā, my dear daughter. How many times must I tell you?" Her voice is as gentle as the morning rays of the sun, and her smile is ever present, hinting at the countless times you’ve shared this dance.

"Old habits die hard, I suppose." You respond with an air of nostalgia, your hands placing the finishing touches on her head of silver. This was your routine; a common rhythm that had intertwined your lives through the chaos and calm alike.

Her eyes, reflecting the soft light of dawn, study you with a mixture of affection and concern. "You seem distracted today," she notes, her piercing gaze softened by the intimacy of your bond. "Is something troubling you?"

Taking a deep breath, you muster the courage for the conversation you've rehearsed in your mind so many times.

"Muñnykeā, we've discussed this before." your tone is edged with a hint of desperation, "I've done all I can here. It's time for me to leave, to find peace in Essos."

A shadow flits across her face, quickly masked by a serene smile. "Essos? But it's only been two weeks since my reign began. I need you here, by my side. The realm needs you."

"Mother," you begin, striving to keep your tone gentle yet resolute, "I've served faithfully for so long. You promised me this, remember?"

Her hand reaches out, clasping yours with an almost desperate grip. "And I meant it, truly. But the realm is still fragile. I can't afford to lose you now, not when everything is so new and uncertain." Rhaenyra voiced tersely, "You've always been my anchor, my guiding light. Please, stay a little longer."

The plea in her eyes, the silent fear of navigating the treacherous seas of politics without you, tugs at your heartstrings. Yet, you cannot ignore the growing yearning for freedom within your soul.

"Mother, you have become so strong. You no longer need me as you once did. Jacaerys has blossomed into a remarkable man, a champion of your cause and your rightful successor. Luke, steadfast and courageous, is maturing into his responsibilities. And father—Daemon, your wise counsel and formidable hand. Your need for me has diminished."

Rhaenyra’s gaze softens, yet the flicker of resistance remains. "But you underestimate your worth. You are the heart of our family, the glue that binds us all. Your presence brings peace, your wisdom guides us. Without you, we would be lost."

Her words strike a chord within you, the heavy burden of duty and affection weighing down on your soul. But you have given so much, sacrificed countless dreams and desires to ensure this very moment of her triumph. Isn't it time you sought something for yourself?

"I have given my all," you say, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "I need to find my own path now. Essos calls to me, a chance to rediscover who I am beyond the confines of this court."

Rhaenyra’s grip tightens, her eyes darkening with a mix of desperation and possessiveness. "You speak of paths and discovery, but what of the family we have built? What of the bonds we share? You are more than just a counselor, you are my heart, my confidante. Without you, this throne feels empty."

Her plea echoes in the room, a symphony of love and entrapment that tugs at the deepest corners of your heart. The weight of her reliance, the years of shared struggles and triumphs, all seem to bind you tighter to this place, this duty.

"Just a little longer," she whispers, her voice carrying a soft, almost pleading tone. "For me."

Your resolve wavers, the desire for freedom clashing with the love and duty you feel for Rhaenyra. "Alright, mother. For now," you concede, the words a reluctant promise.

Her smile returns, though a shadow of doubt lingers in your mind. "Thank you, my dear daughter," she says, her voice imbued with a mix of triumph and relief.

As you leave the room, her words echo in your mind, a reminder of the chains that still bind you. The corridors of the Red Keep seem narrower, the promise of freedom slipping further from your grasp. The weight of your duty and affection presses down on you, the bonds of your heart not easily severed.

Why is it so hard to leave? Haven’t I earned this? After all the machinations, the alliances forged and broken, the tears shed to ensure Rhaenyra's ascension? I’ve watched over her, protected her, and now I want—no, I need—to find myself again.

As the corridors stretch out before you, every step feels heavier, each echo of your footsteps a reminder of the freedom that remains just out of reach. The walls of the Red Keep seem to close in around you, the chains of duty and affection tightening, pulling you back to the heart of the throne.

Rhaenyra’s final words linger in your thoughts: "Just a little longer."

It wasn't supposed to be like this. You were merely an avid watcher of the series, a spectator of Westeros' intricate tales. Though you loved and hated the characters brought to life by actors, you never expected to be so deeply entangled in their world.

You didn't foresee when the lines of familial bonds and friendships blurred into their possessive need to control your affections.

Daemon is no different. Your father in name, his illegitimate offspring from a chance dalliance with a common whore.

At first, he was careless; indifferent to fatherhood's demands. Yet, over time, a fondness bloomed, blossoming into a fatherly love that bound you tighter than the chains of birthright.

His protectiveness, once a comforting shield, now borders on stifling obsession, each gesture a testament to his desperate need to shelter you from life's harsh realities.

His love had become a dual-edged sword, cutting deep with its intensity, weaving an intricate web of familial bond and a gripping embrace that defines your every step within the shadowed halls of power.

Daemon's love was worse than his neglect, for where his loyalty, once a sanctuary, now feels like an unyielding shackle upon your soul.

Jacaerys and Lucerys, too, have grown possessive. Their admiration has morphed into an unwavering need for your guidance and presence.

Baela and Rhaena, your sisters by Daemon, mirror this dependency, their sisterly bond entwined with an underlying possessiveness.

Aegon, in his search for affection he never received, has clung to you with a desperation that leaves you breathless.

Aemond, with his solitary nature, has found solace in your company, his rare smiles reserved only for you. And Helaena, sweet helaena, with her gentle inquiries, constantly seeks your reassurance: "Do you love me?"

The boundaries of fiction and reality have long since dissolved, leaving you ensnared in a web of duty, love, and possession that is not easily escaped.

The Red Keep, once a place of intrigue and power, now feels like a gilded cage. You tread carefully— aware that any misstep could tighten the bonds further making your escape impossible.

For now, you play the part. You smile, you reassure, you remain. You bide your time, hoping that eventually, they will change; that their grip will loosen. For now, you are their rock, their comfort, their confidante. But deep down, you nurture a quiet rebellion, a hope that one day, you will find the strength to break free.

For now, you walk the familiar path, the dream of Essos and freedom slipping further into the distance, as the bonds of your duty and love continue to hold you captive within the walls of the Red Keep. Every step a reminder of the freedom that remains just out of reach, and every glance a silent plea to stay a little longer, the weight of their desires pressing heavily on your heart.

You will wait, you will endure, and someday, you will reclaim your life.

***