❝ 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐝. ❞ ⋆༺𓆩𓇼𓆪༻⋆ ╰─➤ 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 the Gods of Old Valyria halt the descent of Aerion Targaryen from death. The "Brightflame," he who died in madness after drinking wildfire, is granted one final chance. 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘 is cruel: to preserve his life, he must become the shield of his house and Rhaenyra's sword. Aerion must save his lineage from destruction. 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ ──────────── ⤷ 𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 @𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐭 ⤷ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝-𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 © 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔

𝑻𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑻𝒀 𝑳𝑶𝑵𝑮 𝒀𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑺 "I made a promise when I left for the coast, twenty long years ago" Baelor Targaryen x oc

"I think you slept here one too many times." 🦁 Amelia Baratheon has a new guard that needs some serious training if hes going to please her. ⚔️ Most characters belong to grrm Any mature content is bca

Prince Valarr Targaryen, son of Baelor Targaryen, was carefully sculpted to be the perfect prince. But the death of his beloved wife, Elayne Redwyne, left a hollow space in his chest that duty could not fill. In the cold wake of his loss, he found warmth in the one place he should have feared to look: the tempting arms of Lady Lysara Loraqen. Lysara is renowned for being clever, with a beauty that surpasses the muck of Westeros, and-most dangerously-the shackled wife of the volatile, Prince Aerion Targaryen. What began as a whispered confidence in a dark corridor has spiraled into a feverish obsession. For Valarr, Lysara is no longer just comfort; she is a necessity. But for Aerion, possession is the only law. Known for a temper that burns hotter than wildfire, Aerion views his wife as his absolute domain. The one thing no one can claim ownership over, but himself. In a court where every wall has ears, and every shadow has eyes, Valarr and Lysara play a lethal game of heated liaison. They dance recklessly on the edge of a blade, knowing that if Aerion were to suspect of their betrayal, the Dragonpit will run red with more than just old blood.

Oh, how does one stay afloat when the sea has already them? Ellyn Baratheon had lived untouched by real suffering, mistaking the absence of pain for blessing. Yet even blessings grow thin, and the gods are not known for their mercy when they finally choose to look away. Poor, sweet, foolish Ellyn. Did you truly think happiness was allowed to keep you?

Throughout the years the maesters of Kingslanding and Summerhall would both agree on one thing. Princess Naerys Targaryen desperately sought the attention of her parents; the reserved and pious Lady Aelinor, and her bookish father Aerys. What they could not agree on, however; Who was her great love... And why did she die? Akotsk x oc Targaryen So much smut sorry I do not own akotsk, I love it so much though! This book is desperate longing, pain, ache horror, I AM YET TO EDIT, SO BEAR W MY SHORT CHAPTER i wish only to entertain you, sweet reader, pff bless your heart

Vaenys Targaryen, Baelor's daughter, returns from Dragonstone as every inch a true Valyrian-silver hair, violet eyes, and already promised to another. But Aerion Brightflame has been dreaming of her, over and over, with dragons circling in the dark. The dreams grow stronger, and so does his certainty. In his mind, she was never meant for anyone else but him.

House Targaryen was forged in fire and remembered in blood. From that legacy, a prince was born who carried both like a birthright-Aerion Targaryen, a dragon in human skin. Exile did not tame him. It sharpened him. When Aerion returned, he came crowned in shadows, his smile colder, his wrath refined. The realm whispered his name like a prayer and a curse alike. To seal his power, he took a bride from his own blood-a cousin raised in light, obedience, and fragile hope. She was everything he was not. Soft-spoken. Unburnt. Untouched by darkness. He did not break her with chains. He bent her with fire. This was not a love story. It was a reign. Aerion Targaryen X Daenora Targaryen

my death does not scare me, but yours? oh that is my greatest deepest fear

Princess Visera Targaryen is Prince Baelor's only daughter, born on Dragonstone with silver hair like a promise and a curse, grows adored, indulged, and spoiled so thoroughly the realm itself seems trained to kneel when she merely lifts her chin. She is all velvet insolence and laughing defiance, a storm in pearls who expects the world to be handed to her, until she meets the one prince who does not bend. Aerion is fire given flesh: proud, cruel, and hungry for reverence, the sort of dragon-boy who would rather break than yield, and in him Visera finds the only refusal sharp enough to feel like desire. When King Daeron binds them in betrothal against the furious warnings of Baelor and Maekar, it is meant as a remedy, two tempests married to cancel each other out, but the gods do not bless such logic. What follows is a marriage like a dagger-dance: venom and laughter, denial and demand, courtly scandal and private hunger, two bright disasters locked together while those who love them watch with dread, knowing the realm has just tied silk to wildfire... and sooner or later, everyone will smell the smoke.