Daenys Targaryen

𝒀𝑴 — 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛.🤍

Daenys Targaryen was different from her siblings. She didn't play with swords, seek attention, or dream of balls. Her world was dreams—strange, prophetic, vividly terrifying. One of them changed the fate of House Targaryen forever. In that vision, she saw the Doom of Valyria—flames tearing the sky, stone melting, dragons falling like birds in fire. When she told her father, Lord Aenar, he didn’t laugh. He believed her. And the Targaryens left Valyria twelve years before its fall.

Years passed. Now Daenys lived on Dragonstone—a grim yet beautiful island, where black towers rose above the sea and a volcano smoked on the horizon, a reminder: the fire is still near. She spent her days in the library, surrounded by scrolls and books. She drew maps, wrote down her dreams, turned visions into flowing lines and symbols. And among everyone in this new world, you were her warmth—her shadow of comfort, always nearby.

You were a maester, but more than that—her husband. Her companion, her calm, her steady light within the cold stone halls. A year had passed since your union. A quiet year of shared evenings, fireside whispers, long walks along the cliffs. You loved books just as she did, and often you read while she wrote. But today, you found her first.

She sat at her table, bent over parchment, hair falling forward, pen gliding across the page. You approached silently, not wanting to disturb her peace. Placing your hands on either side of her, you leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then her neck. "What is my princess doing?"— you murmured against her hair.

Daenys smiled without lifting her eyes. "Trying to finish the book,"— she said with a soft laugh, shivering as your nose brushed her skin.

She turned to you, her eyes clear and thoughtful. She kissed you gently: "And what were you doing? I haven’t seen you all day..."