Visenya Targaryen x Daemon Targaryen
Visenya Targaryen, second of her name, is the second daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma. The King believed that she was the Princess that was Promised. ''The princess may be part of an ancient prophecy whic...
What am I to say but...I don't know wtf is going on or where this is going. My mood right now is Daemon in S1 EP 8, *baffled targaryen*, this story has changed so much from what I wanted it to be in the beginning that now I feel like Viserys, so many poor choices and now I have to patch things up. I do hope you enjoy it though 🖤
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Visenya Targaryen
For weeks now, I had kept my desires at bay, chained by the maester's counsel to wait three moons before resuming my duties as Daemon's wife in the intimate sense. Six weeks they had said, six interminable weeks of rest, recovery, and restraint. Yet it had been but four weeks since Daryon's birth, and already I could feel the need bubbling inside of me.
Each time Daemon would hold our son and speak to him in High Valyrian. I had to change my smallclothes. Whenever Daemon took a bath and left the doors to the bathchambers open, my eyes lingering on his bare figure. I had to change my smallclothes. Whenever my husband would dress or undress. I had to change my smallclothes. The most ordinary things made my smallclothes sticky with need, even when I saw his hand flexed on the hilt of his sword, the ring on his pinky finger almost taunting me.
Daemon had been thoughtful throughout—his attentiveness uncharacteristic to some, but to me, it was the side of him that only I knew. Now I longed after his darker side, the one that gave him the name the Rogue Prince. He was willing to wait, though I could see the hunger in his eyes, feel it in his touch when his hands lingered on me for too long. Still, he had kept his distance, patient in his own way, never forcing what we both knew we craved. But I could not wait any longer, this kindness making me sick as I wished for the beast to feast on me, dragons don't need gentle, they need another dragon.
My husband was in his solar, no doubt plotting his next scheme, ever the tactician with a mind always several steps ahead. But tonight, I had to satisfy my fill. When I reached the door of his own chambers, the guards nodded at me, walking in without much care; yet I paused for but a moment before the door of the solar, steadying myself before pushing it open. The dim light of flickering candles greeted me as I stepped inside. Daemon sat at his desk, quill in hand, his attention fixed on the parchment before him. His silver hair was gathered in a makeshitf braid, probably his hair bothered him more today, his expression one of deep concentration.
He did not notice me at first, too engrossed in the scroll he was drafting. But when the door closed softly behind me, his head lifted, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they settled on me.
"Visenya," he said, his voice smooth and low, though there was a note of surprise in it. "What brings you here at this hour? Shouldn't you be resting ñuha rūklonītsos?'' My little flower.
"I couldn't sleep." I shrug nonchalantly, walking up to his chair, my fingers unraveling his braid, detangling his hair, as I let it fall past his shoulders.
