The Topics I Write :

Hi there :)

It’s just to give you some news about the future fictions I’m writing. And see if you’d like to read them.

There are two on Daemon.

In the first, the summary is "If before Rhea Royce, there was Y/n, the only one that Daemon really liked/loved."

The second fic would be that he would enamored a lady in waiting from Queen Aemma but she would not be receptive to his advances (poetry, songs, ...)

Anyway, I’m still working on it.

Leave your opinions, don’t be afraid I don’t bite:)

My sweet author, can I get #2 off your kinktober list (with some angst) Daemon x fem!reader, where she's been feeling insecure about her body lately (dodging his touches and asking him to turn off the light in moments of intimacy) He notices and decides to ask her what's going on, at first she doesn't talk and says it's nothing, but ends up telling. So he takes her into the bedroom and just adores her and shows her how much he loves her and that she doesn't have to feel insecure about her body (all this with the light on. With lots of praise kink and mirror sex) please ?

My dear anon,

Of course, I will add. Oh the insecurity, I think that I know how to write it right so. I hope you will like it 🙂

Reblog if your blog is boopable-safe so you can get all the (probably new) achievements. I don’t care about notes I just want boops

Imagine

Ps : English is not my birth tongue

(I have made some modifications in the imagine)

Imagine a modern AU, where the characters from game of throne, house of the dragon and a song of ice and fire, are just nerd. Where the events of got/hotd/asoiaf are legend or myth.

The skulls of the dragons haved been found, where there is a museum with them in it.

Some are more or less well know in the geek universe and the reader have developed a crush on one of them? Or even multiple of them.

As other character would have been in more artistic, they paint, sculpt and all.

Others are in business, etc...

Reader have just seen them once from far, and she/he/they (the reader) know that this crush is not logical, that she/he/they will never meet one or multiple of them. She/he/they repeat in their mind that this will never happen.

I can imagine reader having a huge crush over Daemon, (he's some kind of ceo, and have a huge community on social media) she/he/they have seen on his social media a lot of his content with woman/men's who don't look like the reader, When reader will find the courage to go to a meet up to meet him, she/he/they will see that Daemon is in a relationship with this superbe woman/men who look like Rhaenyra/male Rhaenyra. So reader just walk away before been see. Her/his/their heart would beat as fast then after running for a marathon.

For Maegor (know for his fighting post on social media) and Aegon II it would be like for Daemon but the two of them are well know to f*ck with their "fans" and reader who is just shy, have put their best outfits and are just laughed away, no difference if she/he/they are fit or on the chubby/plus size side.

Jacaerys, Baelon, Gwayne, Harwin, John Snow and Aegon I would feel awkward when meeting with reader, and try to calm her/him/them, and be kind in their reject.

Daenerys and Laenor who would not be into the gender of the reader.

Rhaenyra who would be in a relationship with Harwin. (Yes with Harwin)

The social media who would not help the crush as reader would see content from the character pop when she/he/they connect.

And so much more possibility

If you have read until there, thank you.

It would be great to have a little comment even a anonymous about what you think about this imagine what you would add to it, it could be little or not well write it's okay, just to have a little of interraction,

If you don't that right too,

I wish you a good day before begining to write the Daemon x wife reader fanfiction

Earenwen🌸

I have never think that I would have loved Gregor Clegane things. But this... sweet good, it was so good.

Good work dear Autor 👍 🫶

*slides over* heyaaaa how you doin? hope your doin great:], could i possibly ask for a gregor c fic maybe a smut maybe a fluff(possibly a continuation of the fic with the kids), okkkk now bye bye love ya!!❤

Warm Embraces and Warmer Beds

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

CONTENT: SMUT (underneath cut)- dub!con, Fingering, PinV, reunion! sex- Language, vague mentions of war + blood (it’s Westeros), discussions of SW

Big Greg… You know what you’re getting in to.

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Hey my pookies. Another day, another request, more regrets. Mistakes have been made, but I will do anything for my self-indulgent fics about a big ass man who’d probably turn me into a pavement pancake if we met irl (🤤)

Anyway…

Live long, prosper… I guess.

P.S. Als at some point (over) 50 of you silly geeses decided to drop a follow, so thank you sm my babies. I love you all.

I really need a Masterlist…

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

To be married to a knight- Especially one who boasts his own keep- Is something most ladies of your standing can only dream of. Most low, noble girls are thrown off to a favoured squire, to old men and their older books, who couldn’t be bothered to find themselves a wife until it was much too late. But you? You are lucky. Your husband is feared, truly feared, you have no jealous lordlings come to take your land, and no threat to you, or your boys. Gregor Clegane is a name known across the Kingdoms, and you, as sweet Lady Clegane, are his responsibility. Not even the Lannister bannermen ask for voluntary contribution when they come for the tithes. You need nothing, and you are asked for even less.

But there are always sacrifices to be made. It is part of womanhood; the men hunt and drink and fuck as they see fit, and you are left to pick up the pieces, and tend to their wounds. You have never minded, though, Gregor is a sweetheart when he returns, like a kicked puppy, demanding a hot meal and a kiss to his cuts. His duty is to guard, and yours is to nurture, that is how it has always been.

It is not uncommon for he, Tywin’s greatest weapon, to spend months away from you. He is a knight, and that is how knights serve their lords. He leaves you with everything you could need and more in his absence: control over his land, his keep and, his prized possessions, your boys. Ronan and Finny are old enough to understand their expectations as the heir, and the spare, to the Clegane household. Armed with wooden swords and a promise to protect their lady mother, and the small, pink sack of flesh they call a baby brother. Something in you is glad they still idolise their father’s profession, that their heads are still filled with the notions of saving princesses and slaying dragons.

Still, even excitable little boys grow restless after so long without their father. There is a hush over the keep, and the land, and it is almost peaceful; not that it could truly manage it, with Gregor at its helm, but it is nice to see the pheasants running about, when the men are too busy fighting to hunt them down. One runs past, chased by a kitchen cat, in turn chased by Ronan. You grab him before he can reach the animals, he has a habit of staging races, and annoying the gamekeeper with the scratches across the lawns. The boy squeals, as he always does, caught in the act.

“Mama?”

Ronan is placated with a book and one of the very old, very fat cats he has no interest in racing. The thing, titled ‘lazy arse’ by Gregor, affectionately or not, sits across your son, with the bored expression you’d expect from the child himself. He, with his pages open at an illustration of the Valyrian dragons burning each other, is enjoying himself immensely. At least, you think, his studies are partially educational.

“Mh?"

“When’s Daddy coming back?”

You sigh, looking out the window as though the mustard banners would appear at any moment. You don’t know, in truth, Gregor could be a mile away, or halfway across the world, and it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Dead, or alive, or turned into a beast of cool flesh and ice, the distance is about the same no matter how you think about it, and double so for your boys. 

“I don’t know, sweet boy,” That’s all you can find yourself able to tell him. He looks at you, shrugs, and goes back to his book. You are glad he is not a girl, a girl would ask more questions, Ronan has always been happy with the simple. 

It is relatively calm, it always is on nights like these. Finny is beyond himself, refusing to go to bed, as always, and the babe is unreasonably fussy for no particular reason. Still, it is near surreally quiet. You do not know much about war, but you know what it sounds like, and in your world, it sounds like silence. Something in you tells you to let the boys sleep in your bed, instead of forcing them into the room the clearly do not want to go in. Finny is light, easy enough for you to lift up and plop on Gregor’s side, Ronan, with slightly more stamina, follows along beside you. 

The night has no major disasters, the babe is taken off by the nursemaids, and you wake to the sunlight streaming in through the window, you must have forgotten to pull the curtains, the staff would not have come in this early. Or perhaps they did; there is a bundle of daffodils upon your dresser, which you are certain were not there when you retired for the evening. Erra, one of your few handmaidens, enjoys making little displays, you assume she has snuck in some time before dawn to place them.

And then you hear it, those footsteps. No man alive can imitate the heavy, dull thud of them, you know it all too well. It stirs the boys, or, more likely, they were already awake, you aren’t particularly sure. You see the shadows change as the door opens, and you can recognise from the size of it alone who stands before you. 

“You awake?”

The response you give is somewhere between a hum and a groan, not quite aware enough to answer him, yet enough to know he’s there. You can hardly move, both for sleep, and the fact that Finny has clambered across your chest at some point in the night, but he still knows. He always knows.

Gregor trundles in, washed and dressed in his nightshirt. You wonder where he slept, surely not beside you, you are certain he would have woken you, or the boys, getting himself into bed. The light blocks most of his face, but he moves with such power you assume he has no injuries. If he does, he is good at hiding them. When he reaches the bed, he pulls the quilts away from you, and you make a noise of complaint for the cold, even if the day itself is reasonably warm. Gregor pulls Finny from your chest, and Ronan from your side, and lifts them up, into his arms, and you are quickly reunited with your warm blankets. You hear one of the boys stir, though unsure which, and he is shushed by Gregor as they leave. For once, they may sleep in their own beds.

Your husband, your Mountain, returns to your side, and climbs into your bed. He is as warm as he left you, and just as willing to wrap you in his embraces. You feel the urge to go back to sleep, to rest in his arms as though he had never gone in the first place, and it is wonderful.

But of course, it is never that simple.

Big hands find your sides, sliding under your nightdress and scraping your bare thighs underneath. Gregor lifts you just slightly, enough so that when he bends his legs, you sit directly upon his lap. You make some sort of noise, some demonstration of complaint, but he has never listened, and he will not start now. 

The first kiss you receive, after months of doing without, goes softly to the plumped skin of your cheek. Warm, and smooth and uncharacteristically delicate, like something you would dream of. Part of you wonders if this is, truly, a dream, as Gregor rocks you back and forth, hands seeking grip on the flat surface of the meat of your thighs. And he does not stop there, he hasn’t stopped a day in his life. 

He grazes you, cool, rugged hands taking their place against soft, fattened skin. You wonder how many nights he has spent alone with his hands in the past months, just as you have. He would never take a whore, he tells you, he can’t be bothered with the effort. But you are no whore, you are soft, and delicate, and willing. 

It doesn’t much matter if the noise you make is of protest or of enjoyment. You are tired, and growing increasingly wet, and this seems to spur him even more. 

“Missed this…”

He murmurs against your skin, pinching fingers pulling up the skirts of your nightdress, so your bare arse rests upon those heavy, muscled thighs, sharp with a thousand tiny, black hairs. It shocks you, just enough for you to register it, but not so that you are fully awake.

You feel his cock immediately, of course you do. Its length, its width. He is a big man, and he has no lack of knowledge towards its usage. Even from within the confines of his nightshirt its outline is visible, and you are almost ashamed of the sudden desire which washes over you. At any other point you would feign shame, you would blush and whimper. But here, and now, there is only so much longing you can hold back. 

Gregor’s great hands come up to caress your face, and he almost laughs,

“You’re drooling, love,” His thumb swipes at your bottom lip, and you resist the urge to bite, to show him you are in no mood for teasing, but you are certain your reward will come soon.

And it does, as always. In his usual fashion, the hands come first. Pinches become long, deliberate waves of touch, and there is the understanding that all of his play, his teasing, has ceased. He wants what he wants, and he wants your cunt.

In your sleep-addled state, and probably in his fully lucid reality, it is gentle and sweeter than usual. Perhaps he is being deliberately gentle to aid your fragile mind, or, more likely, he knows you have forgotten just how big he truly is, and a broken wife is just about as good as no wife at all.

One hand keeps itself firmly upon your hip, in case you slip and slide away from him, as the other caresses your inner thighs, and, when he is satisfied you can handle it, to the true purpose of his invasions. 

He has never let you enjoy his hands solely for long, and this shall be no different. For such a big man, Gregor is shockingly agile in this regard, fumbling steps and harsh palms becoming light touches against your clit. At this time, in this situation, he doesn’t dare venture any further than the surface. From his grunts and, dare you say it, his whines, you can tell he may not last particularly long, the consequence of months away from you, you suppose. 

“Hey, hey- Sleepy girl,”

Gregor’s hands leave your body, and you find yourself pressed once again to the soft, inviting flesh of the mattress, still warm. The semi-shock you experience as your arse touches the cool air is dulled, instantly, as the big man pats it gently. Your hips are lifted, and he puts his own pillow beneath you, warm.

“Have you just the way you like, yeah?”

You affirm, face pushed into your own cushion. You can hardly breathe, but with the delicious tension, it doesn’t really matter. 

And it comes, just as you expected it, perhaps more than you expected it. You see only darkness, but you feel so much more. He moves with poorly veiled desire, a necessity to touch you as only he can. You are his and, more importantly, he is yours, all yours. After all, who else is he taking with such delicate fervour?

You are kissed, you are held, and you are loved. Gregor’s cock finds its way, with simple instinct, to your cunt, and you wince and whine. He had expected it, of course, and gets no more than the tip into you before he has to stop. Not the desired reaction, but the realistic one.

“Shh, shh…” It seems a foreign sound for such a harsh creature. To hush, to comfort, “That’s my girl…”

You keen, your hips shift upwards and you let him in further, despite the uncomfortable stretching. You have always loved his praise, always loved to be his sweet, good, wife. 

Gregor’s movements are gentle. When he takes you like this, after months apart, he allows himself to be gentle. He is your returned knight, your handsome, precious husband, and there is a time and a place for him to be the Mountain. Now, here, is not that place.

When he is certain you are comfortable, that it is not too much, he helps you sit yourself between his cock and your hand. Big fingers return to your clit, and he almost laughs as you squeal, the sudden stimulation, apparently, a shock to the system.

And, naturally, it does not take particularly long for him to reap the rewards of this uncharacteristic gentleness, as you let out your long, low moans, muffled by your face pressed into the cushions, and he feels you clench around him. It is something he has longed for, there is nothing quite like it, and it always brings forth his own finish.

So he does. Thick and hot, everything you might expect from a man of that stature, with such a glorious cock. The world does not give you many pleasures, nor does it anyone, but to be here, warm and filled, is certainly a pleasure worth noting. 

Gregor stays in you, he likes to stay in you. In his brooding moments he likes to say it helps a child come forth, but you aren’t quite sure of the legitimacy to that claim. Not that it matters. You see the sunlight again, staring out your bedroom window with a wall of flesh at your back. And it is beautiful. 

He has killed men, you know that, he will have rampaged through the Vale, or wherever it was he had been sent, destroying everything in his path and laughing as he did it. You see his great breastplate stained with blood, and the image turns you in some, not entirely unpleasant way. But you say nothing, you are too tired for a second round, and your Mountain seems to have spent his energy.

Later, once you are suitably cleaned of all remnants of your adventures, and Gregor is both awake and dressed, you sit around the table, the boys clinging to their father and desperate for tales of their father’s quests around Westeros. Not much of it is suitable for children, you gather.

They spend all day play-fighting, with their swords, and insist that you must watch, to referee, and you must give your favours to both of them, because every knight has their favours. They, as little knights-to-be, are satisfied by leaves you pick from the ground.

Finny wins, to everyone’s amazement, and as his reward is given first pick of pudding. Not substantial by any means, but enough to satisfy a small boy with a love of blackberries. Everyone is happy, all is content, and Gregor fits back into the family with no trouble, making your boys cringe as he kisses you before supper is served. You deserve your rewards too, after all.

EPISODE 4 ICONS.

Some more! Let me know if you want another color for the background!

Like or reblog if you use!

I don't read fanfics about plus-size because I don't fit the body type, so it doesn't make sense to me since the descriptions and related problems don't fit me.

However, I think your work is incredible and I know that many girls who fit this body type must be very happy with your stories. Don't stop doing them, I'm sure you've helped many girls see themselves in your stories and feel better about themselves.

Write some without descriptions, so the general public can enjoy your work too, but don't stop doing what you like the most, the Internet is already a very sad and mean place for chubby girls, people who put them in the place of protagonists are essential, of course this is not my place to speak, but this is my opinion.

Good luck with your stories, my dear. ❤️

Hello,

I have take time to watch and response, i needed time away from tumblr.

Thank you for your response,

I love writing, and sometime, it's a very lonely activity. Even more when you write for a niche (chubby/plus size) in a niche(Characters x reader).

I have feel that, it was like people's where ashamed to read what I have write. Yes some have sub on my tumblr, there was a few reblog. And the likes. But even less people's that have interract with me.

When I have begin to post, it was to share, and try to have interractions, but I feel, that if I go to people's who have likes. It's too much. If they wanted to interract with me, they would have done it before. And I cannot be angry at them, not that I want to be. It's just that...

It's hard and lonely,

I don't bite, i don't attack or anything like this. I'm just happy to have interractions. And have live rejections so much in my live that... I don't go to people's, so I'm even more alone, in my niche in a niche.

Sorry for the long response (time and length)

I hope you a good day/night

Earenwen

Hello,

How do I ask that?

It’s been a while now, I write fanfictions, mainly on "House of the dragon" and "a song of ice and fire" and I’m looking for a beta reader.

I’m not too familiar with that. I probably have to say why I’m in this research.

So my mother tongue is French and when I write, I often leave mistakes in my fanfictions, and although I read after writing. The faults pass through anyway. (Some very large others smaller) sometimes I have trouble knowing if I post a fanfiction or not because I feel it is not good to read. At other time it is boiling in my mind and I publish, but yeah.

I mainly write my fan fiction in "x reader" and with chubby/plus size/fat reader (so yes, not everyone reads them) and I try to make it as neutral as possible, so that everyone can read my fanfiction regardless of their skin color, hair type. Etc...

For now I have not posted or written because... here, feel that it is not good enough, it does not make you want to write or post. (I have difficulty with the nsfw of the kinktober, yes I know I'm a lot lot late)

You can contact me by private messages on tumblr.

Have a good day or night.

Earenwen

(Oh and if you know where I could ask this, can you told me?)

"Breathe, everything will be fine"

Part 2

 Abstract : A young woman coming from a small noble house offering her favor to Daemon shortly before the start of a tournament. 

Pairing : Daemon Targaryen x Chubby Fem!reader 

Disclaimer : Just to warn you that I haven’t written fanfiction for a little less than 10 years, so my writing is a little rusty, and English is not my mother tongue, so if there are mistakes I’m sorry, I continue to learn and the correction sites are not without mistakes either 

You and your father have been visiting King’s Landing and other small towns for several years.  

To be more precise, you have visited these cities since you reached the age of your marriage, your father has as hope to marry you to a person of a house more noble than yours. It is not uncommon to see this type of unions occur, they are even more frequent when the conflicts between the regions of Westeros and often its unions are also a way to consolidate the alliances passed many centuries on the screen. 

What is more rare is to have a house where there is a refusal of alliance of this type, often it is a house whose reputation is very bad, and that the nobles are treated like peasants by the other nobles.  

But the y/h/n house, though of low nobility and running a small area of the northwest of Westeros, under the tutelage of the Starks, has a good reputation and that in times of conflict, it always answers the call of the Starks, it directs people under its control with accuracy, and respect. 

Your house has a good reputation for it, so in theory you should have easily had a husband, in theory only, because the girls of the noble houses are very often thin and in the latest fashion of Westeros for the rich of them and can be real vipers for some and at the least imperfection,  tried to demoralized you.  

We couldn’t say that you are a young woman like any other, you’re not inclined to want to participate in the worldly life of King’s landing, you’re not in the latest fashion, your clothes being essentially adapted to the harsher life of the north, And although your body has gained weight more easily than other young girls,  which may cool some lords into marrying you to one of their sons, gossip tends to get tough. 

The first visit to King’s Landing was because our father had followed Lord Starks at a birthday party for a member of the royal family.  

As a child, you didn’t pay attention to the adults' looks or their whispers, all you wanted was to see one of the creatures that the nanny in your house was telling you stories about. But obviously, it was unthinkable for your parents, it was far too dangerous for them and then if you were here, it was first of all to be able to envisage an alliance with one of the houses present. 

And this did not happen, either during this evening, or the following. 

That’s how you first met him on your third visit to King’s landing.  

Prince Daemon Targaryen, was present at one of these festivities, at the same time it was dedicated to him, of what you could understand from the gossip of corridors, king Viserys wanted to reconnect with his brother. 

In the large buffet room, the houses entered one after the other, expressing their respect for the prince and the royal family at the same time. In the corridor Lord Stark and your father were discussing during the waiting, a matter of the night watch. 

Your mother, standing beside you, was trying to smooth out a non-existent fold of your dress that was in the colors of your house, while whispering the same tips from every meeting/evening spent.  

"Don’t forget, remain polite, speak only when you are spoken to, be kind, smile, be warm..."  

"Yes mother" was all you could say. 

She kept repeating all kinds of advice, that you only listened with one ear, lost in your thoughts, you had already come to King’s Landing but of all your visits you had never crossed paths with the prince, It was even more intriguing to know that he was present who was not participating in the usual festivities and your parents had warned you. If you meet the prince, be polite, but do not stay close to him, he has a bad reputation", you did not understand why they ordered you this, while they did not judge people without having met them. 

Thus, lost in your thoughts you advanced, a knight of one’s name escaped you, announced the name of the house Starks, which was advancing in the direction of the king and the prince while his family stood at a table to feast, your family was waiting a while before the knight announced your home. When you entered, your father walked alone, for the first time, of all the festivities/meetings you had, your mother stopped you slightly holding your arm. This gesture put your feet on the ground, you looked at your mother, her eyes were full of calm but something was also hidden there, like a touch of severity. You went to the free spots between the Starks and Bolton family. 

In the large room lit with torches and candles, the last families had just arrived, your father was setting up exchanging a look with your mother, conversations between houses this ass in a good mood, The meal began when King Viserys began a speech. 

"To my brother Prince Daemon, may the years to come bring us closer..."  

Not hearing half the king’s speech, you looked up towards the royal table you could see the king standing up raising a golden cup towards the centre of the room, to his left was the queen, and by her side the very young Princess Rhaenyra, who at the time was only a few years old. To the right of the king was a man younger than him, with silvery hair, whom you presumed to be Prince Daemon, but from the posture there seemed an urge to be somewhere else but within these four walls. 

Later in the evening, the music and songs animated the evening, some couples it was started to dance, others spoke while drinking. The approach of some guests showed the number of glasses of wine drunk by them.  

Your mother manages to convince, Lennart the young son of Lord Bolton to dance to you despite his obstinacy not to dance of the evening, ah what a wonderful idea, to convince two people to dance together, your mother can be persuasive, The tone of his voice would scare away an ill-licked bear. 

Among the dancers, you began to "dance", to be more fair, Lennart began to walk on your feet, you barely touched your hands during the movements asking for dance, feeling your mother’s gaze you were trying to obstinate and remain polite, trying not to step on your feet, while avoiding a collision with other people around you. 

"You’re stepping on my feet"   

"I didn’t want to dance!"  

"Please try." 

Lennart’s black gaze set you back, you had stopped dancing, the couples continued to turn around you, a chill crossed your spine.

"If you weren’t as fat as a cow, I would have tried! You wouldn’t be the shame of your house." 

It wasn’t the first time that words like these were said against you, whether it was young men or young women, if he wanted to stop dancing, he could just express it. What made you leave the room, was the moment when you realized, that the closest couples were stopping in their dances and looking at you, their looks let show what you could define with pity, turning to your parents, their faces let show a restlessness and a form of lacement, continuing to look around you, you saw that more and more people were watching you,  whispers began to echo, of shame you set off towards the great door, You ran as far away as you could into the red keep corridors. 

Stopping your race in the corridor leading to the apartments that had been designated to you and your family, you sat on the ground catching your breath, you did not cry, in any case, you tried to persuade yourself not to cry anymore for this type of remarks. Time passed, calmly, immersed in your thoughts. 

"What are you doing here?" 

You didn’t recognize that voice, raising your head you saw one of the people you didn’t imagine seeing.  

"P... Prince Daemon..."   

"Answer" the tone of his voice was rather harsh.

"I... you... you did not attend; the scene created by Lord Bolton’s son?" To say that you were surprised was an understatement.   

"I don’t care about his festivities," his voice was filled with a form of disdain. 

You looked at him, wondering why a prince would not want such feasts and worldly life. Leaving him unanswered he began to get impatient.  

"What did Bolton’s bastard do?"   

You lowered your head, calmly explaining the events of the last, minutes, hours you had lost the notion of time, Daemon remained calm, listening to the course narrative.  

-"He hurt you" was more of an affirmation than a question.

Along with your explanation, the prince sat down at your side and raised his head in his direction, you could see that he was staring at the wall, you were trying for a long time, although badly, to explain that it was not the first time that such words had been said, that it was not the words that hurt you the most,  that the pitiful looks were the most painful. Not being convinced that the prince was really listening to you, you stopped talking, leaving a peaceful silence. 

After this evening, during a visit to King’s langing, which was becoming more and more frequent at your father’s detriments you tried to see if the prince was at reed keep, of rare evening you crossed, talk a little to the shelter of the looks according to your request, Not wanting to worry your parents, you learned to know each other,  no matter what gossip was circulating about him in Westeros, you didn’t tell him about it, prefer not to take it into account. A form of friendship had become established, in any case that is what you saw from your rating, the more time passed in his presence and the more moments when you were separated, a form of lack appeared, whether from his voice, his look, his walk. 

One morning, you were walking in the gardens of the red dungeon with your servant Suzanne, the fresh air of the beginning of the day contrasted with the heat of the late noon, the flowers had just bud everything was quiet except some servants who rushed to finish the preparations for breakfast, and guards post in key places.  

"My lady, we should not be here without at least telling your father."  

"Don’t worry, Suzanne, there is no one there, and I doubt that anyone would end our lives now." you replied, smiling gently. 

Suzanne became your servant three years ago, of a nature to be worried, she saw with a bad eye these morning or night outings, what would your parents think, if they learned for these escapades? How would they react? Were your lives in danger? All her questions were asked almost daily. 

"You know they don’t want you to approach the prince."  

"Of course."  

"What will the others think?" Suzanne had just stopped, her anxiety was most visible.  

"I don’t care what they think out loud or secretly, they only judge, without knowing a person" 

"But the prince could manipulate you." She had just whispered to him, his gaze peering around you. 

-"Manipulated me for what reasons? Our lands are far to the north west and we have no huge wealth of gold or silver" 

You tried to keep a calm tone of voice, you didn’t take his words badly, watching Suzanne, you could see her eyes widen, turning towards her gaze, you could see the silhouette of a man with long silver hair at the entrance of the garden. 

"Suzanne, you may go."  

"Madam, I didn’t mean..."  

"I’d like to be alone, please" 

Suzanne seemed hesitant but ended up leaving you alone, you would talk about it later, you did not want to hurt her, she was a nice girl. When it was no longer visible, you would turn to see the Targaryen advancing in the garden, it was heading towards the weirwood. You could recognize Daemon as he approached.

"I’m scaring off your servant now?" He was smirking 

"No... I fired her"  

-"You’re always afraid someone will see us talking." That was more of a statement than a question  

"It's not that"  

-"Ah, in which case?"  

"I wanted to ask you something"

Plunging yourself into her purplish look, you tried to stay calm, not to have a shaky voice, you thought about the little speech you had been repeating since the beginning of the week since the announcement that a tournament was going to take place, in honor of a birthday or a union? You didn’t really pay attention to the reason you already had another idea in mind. 

The tournaments were kind of interesting to you, it was always a festivity that came out of the meals, lessons in manners (how to be a good wife), moments of reading and boredom during the day when there was not much going on-Aside from the conflicts between some house members and the few people who tried to be unpleasant even though you didn’t talk to them. (It seems that some people did not appreciate those who did not resemble them so much the level of the physical as of the mentality.) 

According to the rumors, Daemon would participate and although you spoke quite frequently, you did not think that he asked you for your favors, he would probably have asked another lady, or a maiden, wanting to anger Viserys or a lord, for whatever reasons would be his.  

For several years you had been embroidering a ribbon, the nanny who took care of your education, it was put in your head to have your ribbon embroidered, so that it could give you the feeling of "pride" to have been chosen and that it would show the perseverance that you could show. But none of the participants in the jousts in which you participated asked for your favor. 

This time, it would be different, it would be you who would ask the person you wanted, regardless of the reaction, whether positive or negative. 

Lost in Daemon’s gaze, you could no longer remember the preparation speech, a feeling of warmth and shyness awakened in you. How could a look be so mesmerizing? Your heart was palpitating, all this was beginning to seem absurd to you, whether it was your y/f/c dress that Daemon had complimented one evening, or the ribbon that was lying in the palm of your hand. You were slowly breathing all the courage that suddenly seemed to have left you. 

-"Prince Daemon..." A glimpse of surprise shone upon his gaze, no doubt, by the formality of his title 

"I would like... Did... I embroidered this ribbon... It.... It’s..." your voice had become trembling, inspiring you one last time refocusing on your request mentally repeating "Breathe, all will go well, at worst, he will refuse" 

"If it is true that you are in the tournament.... I would like to offer you my favor..." you raised your hand, unveiling a black ribbon, embroidered with motifs representing your house, except on one end, the last part of the ribbon that was embroidered, on this one, a red silhouette in the shape of a dragon.  

"It’s not traditional but.... I just wanted to have the opportunity for once..."   

A sound took you out of your monologue, Daemon laughed, a laugh that was not loud, plus a laugh buried in his chest shaking his shoulders, he shook his head slightly, bringing back a whole part of insecurity that had left you when you were at his side. A feeling of discomfort arose in you as the seconds passed. You lowered your head waiting for its refusal. 

"How can you be that lovely shy?“ 

Your heart skipped a beat, you didn’t realize what you just heard, you wondered if your ears were working properly. Feeling a hand placed under your chin, a pressure lifted your head gently, the feeling of warmth became more and more present in your body, when you looked at his face, he had smirk. But not in a snide, or unpleasant way. 

"What makes you think, that I could accept?" He bowed, his look gave you the impression that he could read you.  

"Nothing..." I just wish for once... someone would do me a favor" your voice was just a whisper, carried away by the features of her face, the way her eyes stared at you.  

"Wouldn’t that be a hint of selfishness that I hear in your words?"  

"I didn’t stop doing what my parents wanted of me, but nothing... *Sigh* Nothing to help... I know what I’m called, and you, too, have already heard his nicknames..."  

"Hm" There was pressure on your chin but not enough to hurt you. 

"I am the shame of my house... the fat cow or sow according to their moods. The one who’s nice to everyone, even when she gets humiliated... I’ve lost count of sleepless nights trying to figure out why people hated me so much... You’re the only one I can talk to, be myself... The young woman, too kind, who just asks for a little company without being judged on the person I am without even knowing myself.” 

Daemon did not stop you, letting you catch your breath, you had become accustomed to not talking about yourself, your feelings, your nanny had taught you, “a good wife, don’t talk about her feelings all that matters is having children and being there for your husband, no one will want a crybaby.” Years passed and the pain that ran away inside you threatened to explode one day. Like the day Jason Lannister made a comment about why you didn’t have a husband. The same evening, you meet with Daemon, the desire to talk to him about it was strong but in your heart, you thought that he would not listen to you, that it would bother him. 

Yet that night, he saw that something was wrong with your less enlightened and distant gaze. Something troubled you, it annoyed him and a dull anger burned in his veins, suspecting the reason for this disorder. 

-“For the first time in a long time I just want to be selfish to be in control of my life, even if it brings my family’s wrath, I want you… You»  

The words got lost in your head, your mouth would get them out before you even thought about it, you realized what you had just said to Daemon, it was far from the speech you were repeating in your head, and closer to a statement.  

The silence finally reigned and it is to the feeling of tasting flowing on your cheeks, that you understood that you were crying, your sight blurred, you were not looking at the face of Daemon. If you had looked down on Daemon, you might have seen a flame glowing in his purple eyes, his clenched jaw. 

-"Mēre tubis nyke would jiōragon ao pōja bartos" you did not understand what Daemon had just said, although it was not the first time he spoke in that language.

He let go of your chin to hold you in his arms, his head resting on yours. Then he resumed in the common language. 

"No one will ever hurt you again."  

“Prince Daemon…”  

"If you want me, show me."  

"How?" You weren’t sure how to take his words.  

“Come with me to the pre-tournament meal, stay by my side.”  

He kept his head close to your ear and whispered  

"Oh and for the tournament, having your favour would only guarantee my victory."   

You stuck your head in Daemon’s chest, a mixture of gene and joy ran through you. It was going to be a long day. But at least you were near Daemon and for the first time, you felt free from a weight, you were really looking forward to the tournament. 

Translation : Mēre tubis nyke would jiōragon ao pōja bartos “One day I would offer you their head” Head and not heads because the word heads was not  translated into the high valyrian translators I found 

P.s: if I continue to write, I would go in search of a beta reader everything depends on the reviews ^_^

Tag liste : @moonmaiden1996

This must have been terrifying for Aegon and quicksilver, facing Balerion 😨

⚔️Battle beneath the Gods Eye⚔️

The fight for the Iron Throne between King Maegor I Targaryen and his nephew Aegon the Uncrowned, the Prince of Dragonstone, where they faced both their dragons, Balerion and young Quicksilver.

Of course she didn't stand much of a chance against the Black Dread himself...