Quirkeh

26th March 2012

Post reblogged from Fuck Yeah Reactions with 99 notes

*le me writing smut scenes*

fuckyeahreactions:

AND YET I ENJOY IT OMG I AM A PERV I KNOW IT. xD

Source: fuckyeahreactions

29th January 2012

Post

Someone Like You

Title: Someone Like You

Rating: soft R

Pairings: Daenerys*/Daemon, Daenerys/Maron

Summary: In which the princess gets a prince.

Note: *The Daenerys of the story is not present-day Dany, but Daenerys, daughter of Aegon IV (the Unworthy). This fic was inspired by the song “Someone Like You” by Adele. I was reading the wiki entries for some of the older generations of characters, and this struck me as a sad fate that turned better, so I wished to write. ALSO: This does not follow canon timeline!

.

.

.

The red castle was as desolate as it had ever been, it held no wonders for her but the people who lived in it. She had been dying to go home ever since she had left for Dorne to be wed. She felt as if she shed enough tears, they might carry her back here, back to her love. It had been two years since she had been out of the sands, and yet her heart remained unchanged. Her pulse beat like war drums, and her mouth went all dry. Was this how the lovers in the songs felt? How she wished sometimes there were some to ask, but they were long gone if not figments of imagination. Daemon. Two syllables whispered as she pulled back the curtains of her litter to peek out at the starlight. Those were real enough.

Their party had come upon the capital late of night, when a great deal of the castle slept. Her husband Maron, he had told her not to expect the usual courtesies until the morning, when they broke their fast, but her feet were as anxious as her heart, and the lie about wanting to see a girlhood friend was passing easy to tell.

She crept, seeking his chambers with determination befitting a dragon. Her silks brushed against her skin, as if preparing her for the encounter she hoped to have. Soon. A one word prayer to the gods and to her own heart.

Close she was when a torch lit up the dim and caused her to slow her pace to something more respectable. She all but had her excuses ready at the moment where the fire revealed the walker.

“Brother,” she breathed, fully caught off guard. “Your Grace, you are up very late this evening.” And far from your chambers, has my dear brother found a mistress he likes better than his dear wife?

“As are you, Daenerys. I had not hoped to welcome you to the castle until the morning, but now is as good a time as any. Will you walk with me? I daresay we have much to catch up on.” Dareon noted her eyes flicker past him, down the hall, and smiled a sad smile.

“I did not do it to slight you, you know. It was good for the realm.”

“You are a fine king, but a cruel brother,” she stated, the words coated with regret.

“I married for you, why must you still keep me from my beloved?”

“Of answers, there are many. Adultery is treason. He may get you with child. And-“

“You cannot know that. Two years I have done my duty by my princely husband, that is ample time, and I may yet carry his whelp in my womb. Daemon could not give him a twin - there is no danger.”

“Uncertainty colors your response, sister, which serves only to bolster mine own. Furthermore, there is another.”

She recoiled instantly as he let that word hang in the air. She could not, would not, hear of it.

“You go too far to prevent me my happiness, your Grace. You tear my fragile heart apart and then salt the wound for pleasure. You, brother, are a monster of no feelings. Had I not been at your wedding and seen your love played out I should cry many tears for your wife, to share the bed of such a beast. My own blood - how unfailingly different are we!”

With his free hand, he shackled her wrist, pulling her in even as her hysterics continued.

“It is no lie on my part. Daemon has taken a wife. You will look upon her face in the morning and know it is so. Perhaps you shall even stare across the table at each other during our feast. She is a good wife to him, and he treats her tenderly. In time, he may love her as even he did you.”

“You lie!” Daenerys spat at him, if only her fervor could make it true.

“This is the way of things, sister, you could learn from it for your own sake. He would not want you to be unhappy, and your husband is noble and generous. Could you not try to devote yourself to him? It would make it all hurt a bit less, I assure you. You are a princess, this is what princesses do.”

“Some,” she did not argue, “but not me.” She wrenched her hand away from Dareon’s grip and stalked back to the chambers prepared for her arrival. Sleep would not come.

When the dawn broke, she rose and dressed as if for her own execution, anxious now for a different reason. If she saw with her own eyes, the truth could not be denied. She had to look. She must. She would be brave, beautiful, and Daemon might look on her, he might remember the girl he had kissed a thousand times and ten, who taught him to know his courtesies, and who taught her her strength in difficult situations. If this was so, she must be all that he needed to be reminded of. She wore her best dress and summoned a smile despite her misgivings. She joined her husband and the members of their court, and the masque with masks began.

They were presented to the king and his bride, Queen Myriah, the sister of her own husband. The siblings greeted each other warmly. Maron was like that - familiar with his close ones. Her own reunion was less genuine, given her bile, and waiting for what she had been agonizing about through all the hours of the night.

He must have glimpsed her before she did he, for as the procession to the feasting chamber began, she and her spouse were halted both as the last stragglers moved past them.

He was better than she remembered. Lean, strong. Tall, silver-haired, the Valyrian look. That was all she had ever wanted. It did not seem so much for the gods to grant.

“It has been too long, Daenerys.” His first words to her, and all her maturity went out the window, it seemed. It was a considerable struggle for her to keep a sisterly expression.

“You have been missed, but I trust you have been in good hands these past years.”

“My lord has been most dutiful and gentle of a husband to me,” she spoke, her eyes meeting Maron’s as she talked of him. Brown they were, a soft rendition of the color that did not hold a fire in them, as her Daemon’s did, but instead seemed to wrap around a person, to lull them.

It was true, she supposed, what she said. Far worse husbands were there than one who’s singular fault was not being someone else. But, it was said out of courtesy, not passion, and it allowed her to ask a question in return.

“I do not believe I have had the pleasure of knowing your lady, Daemon. We had not heard of your marriage in Dorne.”

The woman by his side was fair enough of face, golden haired, more soft of body than she would have thought he preferred, but otherwise no prominent fault to her. She seemed docile, plaisant. The more of the introductions Daemon made, she felt her venom drying up in its stores. After a while, she had none left to spare.

“Let us go in, I am sure the feast is a hearty one,” she prompted. The two couples followed the suggestion.

Her day seemed quiet after that. The sun was out, shining on the Red Keep, and her chambers airy. At sunfall she stole off to her husband’s suite, dismissed his servants, and climbed abed with nothing to cover her. She thought she might give up on waiting, but she kept herself there until he returned from the celebrations. This is what a princess does.

To say he was surprised to find her so was an understatement, but he was a man, even if a quiet and peaceable one, and he could not refuse such a gift. He came to her with nary a moment’s hesitation, his hand brushing over her stomach, her breasts, and at last her cheek even as his kiss stirred her. For a moment when he was inside of her, their eyes stayed locked on each other’s, as if seeing for the first time.

She could not speak a true word, but she cried out in her release and that seemed to satisfy whatever question he had wanted to ask of her. Afterwards was quiet as well, tangled in sweaty bedsheets yet so remarkably cool, nestled in his tanned arms. She had no complaint.

Their son was conceived that very day.