House of the Dragon. Imagines and One Shots

Dragon slayer - Part 2 - Viserys x Daemon x Reader

(Y/n) hissed at the guards as they pushed her into the cell. A small chuckle leaving her lips, as they quickly closed the door and secured it firmly. Both of them giving her a final disbelieving look, before leaving her alone. The daughter of Baelon Targaryen pushing her back up against the wooden pillar in the middle of the room and allowing herself to slowly slip down it until she was sat in the hay that covered the floor.

She knew that she would end up in the dungeons when she had allowed the idiotic bannermen of the Targaryens to "capture" her, so her current situation was no surprise. And despite it being a dungeon, she had to admit that she had been in worse places. And it wasn't the first time that she had found herself in manacles either. But as she carefully pulled a thin sliver of metal from under the skin on the palm of her hand, she also knew that that wouldn't last long. The young woman expertly using the metal to unlock the cuffs. Rubbing her wrists, as the restraints fell to the floor.

To say that she had had an interesting life, would be an understatement. Her thoughts drifting back, as she looked up at the barred, tiny window that led to the outside world. A slight hint of blue sky just peeking through.

Most of her life had been spent in Essos. She and her mother, Myra, would follow the caravans that took goods from one Free City to the next. That would travel between Braavos in its northernmost point, and Volantis. And between Tyrosh and Qohor. Her mother peddling her abilities, her sewing skills and healing capabilities to all that would make the long journeys. And along the way, (Y/n) had picked up many a skill of her own. Everything from fighting, whether it be with her fists or a sword, to how to best pick the purse of some noble without being caught. And obviously, how to pick your way out of a pair of manacles. All of which she had found useful over her life. But it wasn't until her mother die, that she came to learn of her true abilities. Her true nature.

(Y/n) had always known that she was a little different. That the white hair that her mother would often shave from her head, meant something. But she had never asked what. In truth, she really didn't care. Nor had she ever asked about a father. She had always known that she was a bastard and had never been ashamed of the fact. (Y/n) not needing the name of someone to know who she was. To be who she was. She had her mother, and her mother had her; or that had been the case until her mother had fallen ill. Myra quickly succumbing to her sickness. Handing (Y/n) a letter, and telling her that she loved her, before her eyes had closed for the last time.

Through her tears, she had opened the note. The words, written in her mother's hand, telling her that she had always been her mother's greatest gift and that she was special. (Y/n)'s eyes growing wide, as she had read what came next. Her mother's voice audible in her head, as she explained in the text that (Y/n) was in fact the daughter of Baelon Targaryen. The son of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, king of the Iron Throne in Westeros. And that when she had been born, her mother had left Westeros out of fear for what might be done to her child; travelling across the Narrow Sea, then across all of Essos until she came to Asshai, where she had sought out one of the magical priestesses that was said to reside in the mystical land. And when found, she had presented her pale haired child to the old women; the priestess declaring that (Y/n) was a true daughter of Old Valyria. But not just any daughter of Valyria. She had been born a dragon slayer. A processor of the knowledge of blood magic. One of the only people that could ever kill a dragon. One that could never be harmed or killed by a dragon in return. A woman that even the most fearsome of beasts would tremble before.

(Y/n) had to admit that it had been a shock. It wasn't every day that one found out that they were from a noble line, never mind that you were probably the only person living, that dragons were scared of. But then, then she had become angry. Angry that she and her mother had had to wander the length and breadth of the Free Cities, doing their best to make ends meet, while her father and his legitimate children lived in great castles across the Narrow Sea; eating food from golden plates and drinking down the finest wines that the Seven Kingdoms could provide them. (Y/n) promising her mother, as she had watched her funeral pyre go up in flames, that by the time she had finished, every dragon there was, would tremble at the mention of her name. Be they beast, or human.

The next day, as the embers of pyre had still burned, (Y/n) had wished her mother goodbye for the last time before making her way out into the world on her own. Determined to learn all she could, before setting foot back on the shores of Westeros. Before she would let the House of the Dragon, learn of her existence. And now, here she was, in Westeros, with the hearts of three dragons hidden away, locked in one of her brother's cells. (Y/n) chuckling to herself at the notion of it all. At the idea of just how far she had come. The dragon slayer making herself a little more comfortable before turning her attention to the cell door. She knew that she wouldn't have to wait much longer. She knew that the king and the rogue prince would want to know more. Would want an explanation. Would want to know where she came from, and how she could kill the creatures that they loved so much. The creatures that had allowed them to rule for so long. (Y/n) chuckling to herself, as the faces of two guards suddenly appeared at the barred opening of the door.