Houseofthe Stories

The Drowned God does not forget his people. Thyra Greyjoy has always understood what others do not: that the Old Way was never about mindless reaving, but survival. Strength. Adaptation. To drown is not to die, but to be remade. Married to Daemon Targaryen, she stands between two worlds: the salt and storm of the Iron Islands, and the fire and ambition of House Targaryen. As war brews in the Stepstones, Thyra begins to build something dangerous; a new future for her people, one that does not abandon the Drowned God, but fulfils him. For if the sea takes, it also returns. And Thyra intends to return the Ironborn to power not as raiders of a dying age, but as rulers of the Narrow Sea itself. OC x Daemon Targaryen House of the Dragon Fanfiction

It is the women that bear the burdens of the realm with heads held high and charming smiles. It is the women that bring life forth from blood and horror. It is them clad in pretty dresses pulling strings and whispering words into the ears of the foolish. It is the eldest daughters that get married off to please their parents whims and abitions. House of the dragon fanfic

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴡʀᴇᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ʜᴏᴍᴇ, ꜱʜᴇ'ᴅ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀ ʜɪꜱ ɴᴀᴍᴇ. ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ, ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ, ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ. "ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ," ꜱʜᴇ'ᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʜɪᴍ, "ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴋɴᴇᴡ, ᴛʜᴇʏ'ᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ-ᴜꜱ." ᴡɪᴛʜ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ, ꜱʜᴇ'ᴅ ᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴇᴀʀ. "ɪ ꜱʜᴀʟʟ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴀᴡᴀʏ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀʀᴍ. ɪ ꜱʜᴀʟʟ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ...ᴍʏ ᴀᴇɢᴏɴ."

What if Laena and Harwin come back from the dead and getting married how will rhaenyra and daemon reaction "Laena?" Daemon's voice was barely above a whisper, disbelief etched into every line of his face. Rhaenyra's eyes widened, her hand dropping from Daemon's arm as she took a step back. Laena stood there, her hair still wild and her clothes charred but unmistakably alive. "Yes," she said, her voice carrying through the hall. "It is I." The room erupted into chaos, voices overlapping as people scrambled to understand what they were seeing. Daemon pushed through the crowd, his face pale as he reached for her. "How?" he breathed. She didn't answer, her gaze flickering briefly to Rhaenyra before settling back on Daemon. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I am here. And I will not be forgotten." The same night, far away in Harrenhal, another fire burned. Harwin Strong emerged from the ashes, his body battered but alive, his first thought of his sons and the woman he had loved but never truly claimed. "Rhaenyra," he murmured, his voice hoarse. The gods, it seemed, were not yet done with the lives they had claimed.