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A Fanfic Ramble

What’s funny is, I never even liked Rhaegar Targaryen from A Song of Ice and Fire. And yet here I am, wrote an entire fanfic diving into his psyche, his nuance, his complexity. I swear, if George R. R. Martin ends up revealing him as just some love-struck prince with no real depth in the upcoming books, I might actually vomit.

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Fanfic Authors Note on Old Valyria

Alright, saying I’m obsessed with the Valyrian Freehold is kind of an understatement…

I basically crafted the version of Valyria I wish existed in an HBO series. I’ve built more lore than what’s in Fire & Blood but not by rewriting anything. Instead, I’ve taken the existing material from the world of ice and fire and Fire & Blood as a foundation (like bibles, honestly), and expanded on the parts we don’t get to see.

This story is told through the eyes of an original Valyrian noblewoman from the Freehold era, and it explores both the grandeur and the rot of that world. It’s not just about lore or dragons (though there’s plenty of both) it’s a character driven narrative full of contradictions, internal conflict, growth, and legacy.

I just uploaded the latest chapter, where the protagonist finally comes face to face with a truth she’s been sheltered from her whole life. I’ll leave a little passage below…if it speaks to you, check out the fic.

In that brutal, unforgiving moment, Aelyria’s innocence shattered completely, replaced forever by the raw, harsh truth of a world she had been sheltered from, a world whose cruelty was now indelibly carved into her own flesh.

A Song of Dragons and Destiny

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Fanfic Author’s Thought on an AU Daenerys Targaryen

So… I was (and still kind of am) deeply jaded by what happened in Season 8 with Daenerys Targaryen. I loved her. I loved her in the books, I loved her in the show, and I still love her and watching her story get butchered haunted me for a long time.

Knowing The Winds of Winter may never come, I started building my own continuation, first by imagining Dany’s arc beyond where the series left her. I sketched it out all the way through the end, filled in the basically all the blanks, even drafted parts of it. At some point, though, I started wondering about her origins, what if she was more than just a descendant of Valyria? What if there was a deeper legacy?

That’s how my OC Character Aelyria was born.

She started as an alternate vision of Daenerys, someone shaped by similar pain, power, and prophecy, but she became her own person. An immortal Valyrian woman from before the Doom. A character forged not to replace Dany (never—Dany is my girl), but to honor the elements I loved most. Her strength, devastating tenderness, her internal fire, getting back up while the world continues to try to burn her. She carries shades of Daenerys, yes, but also Aelin, Katniss, Rand al’Thor, even a bit of Paul Atreides (minus, you know, the dark messiah stuff).

It’s been one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever written and continue to write. Even if not many people read it, even if it stays small, I’m just grateful to be telling her story. She’s changed the way I think about love, power, grief, and myth.

So if you’re here—thank you. Truly.

This one’s for the ones who never got the ending they deserved.

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My collection

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The Prince and the Scribe

Rhaegar x OC Fanfic - AO3

Summary

In an alternate universe of A Song of Ice and Fire, a mysterious ancient Valyrian woman named Aelyria survives the Doom, forgotten by time, cursed with immortality, and drawn to the edge of history once more.

Disguised as a scribe, Aelyria arrives in King’s Landing with no intention of being seen. Until she is summoned by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen to assist with ancient Valyrian texts. He expected a weathered scholar. She wasn’t prepared for a prince with eyes full of mystery and prophecy.

What begins as scholarly work quickly becomes something else.

A story for fans of A Song of Achilles and Targaryen canon history.

“Many consider the tourney to be the first stirrings of Robert’s Rebellion. Much has been written of Prince Rhaegar crowning Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty… yet the reasons remain unclear. Was it love? Honour? Or something more?”

— Maester Yandel, Chronicle of the Year of the False Spring

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Rhaegar Targaryen

Midjourney Rendition with light photoshop edits

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Ancient Valyrian Marriage Ritual

A Midjourney Rendition & light photoshop edit

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A quick note as I continue writing and revising future chapters of The Prince and the Scribe

This story isn’t meant to romanticize or villainize characters or relationships, especially when it comes to Rhaegar and Elia. While I’m careful not to portray Elia negatively or diminish her worth, I’m also not romanticizing her relationship with Rhaegar beyond what feels authentically human and complex. My goal is to show the characters as nuanced, flawed, and deeply human, staying as close as possible to what might genuinely fit within canon ( or what I hope to strive for)

Balancing this emotional realism with canon compatible storytelling has been a bit challenging, but i feel it’s deeply rewarding. Since I feel that’s what the fandom misses slightly in Rhaegar’s story. I hope whoever reads continues to enjoy the journey ahead and see the upcoming chapters for the honest portrayal of complex individuals.

Don’t worry Rhaegar still effs things up just like he did in Canon but it’s the journey not the destination.

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Chapter 22: The Masked Ball

Late 279 AC, We’re back in King’s Landing. Aerys II stages a masked ball, the timing slots cleanly into canon.

The Prince and the Scribe

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I would know him in death, at the end of the world

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Blood and fire scenes

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Hot take on the Justin Sweet calendar cover:

Everyone keeps sighing over “Rhaegar + Lyanna star-crossed lovers under a heart-tree! 😍✨ but y’all, that weirwood isn’t set dressing. It’s the point.

The heart-tree is basically a two ton neon sign that says “PROPHECY BUSINESS, NOT DATE NIGHT.”

 Weirwoods are the Old Gods’ data centers basically carved faces, red sap “bleeding,” greenseer wifi Rhaegar grew up drenched in Valyrian scroll-dust basically dragging Lyanna (a Stark, old-gods blood) to a heart-tree is him crossing the streams. Fire meets Ice in literal plant form.

 Sweet paints the roots like pale tentacles wrapping the couple. That’s not cozy romance. That’s destiny wrapping a choke chain.

Location, location, location (and why it matters more than smooches).

 Most likely setting = Harrenhal godswood: the only southern heart-tree big enough to dwarf them. It’s the same tourney site where Rhaegar crowned her Queen of Love & Beauty. Blue roses → blue rose crown → blue rose offerings in perhaps a snow vision he has. Foreshadowing? Scribbled in giant red letters.

Runner-up = Isle of Faces. Supercharged weirwood zone guarded by Green Men. If Rhaegar wanted a place to seal an old-gods marriage or get a cosmic confirmation on his “dragon has three heads” theory, that island’s basically the wifi router of Westeros myth.

What was going through silver-boy’s head? Probably this

If I bond Stark wolf-blood to dragonfire, prophecy = solved. Azor Ahai? Prince That Was Promised? Check, check. Visenya maybe (He did see dany when she was in the house of the undying I stand by that) The weirwood witnesses the oath, the old gods sign the contract, everyone goes home happy… eventually.

Translation: Rhaegar isn’t courting he’s making a sales pitch to the universe. Lyanna’s standing there open-palmed, half lit like dawn, half in shadow. He’s half turned, hand on the sword hilt, still a prince, still weighing risk vs. reward. Romance is the garnish the entrée is cosmic calculus.

Symbolic cheat-sheet for anyone who wants to stop calling it a “forbidden love scene”

Alright im going to get dragged i know..

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New chapter’s up.

rhaegar returns. aelyria waits. they find each other again in the quiet.

this one means a lot to me, it’s soft, slow, and filled with the kind of intimacy that speaks in breath and not words.

if you read it, thank you. if you feel it, thank you even more.

harp notes. pears. a kiss between thoughts.

The Prince and the Scribe AO3 Link

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Elia Martell for @archamion <3

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Excerpt from Chapter 3 of my Valyria-era ASOIAF fic, “A Song of Dragons and Destiny.” Read the story on AO3.

The door burst open.

“Have you risen at last, moon-maid?” Vaelior called, grinning like a fox.

“I was composing art, not slaying straw men at dawn,” Aelyria replied without glancing up.

Rhaelys followed, leaning in the doorway with his usual dreamy expression. “She’s at it again, Val. Third firelily this week.”

“It’s because we never give her peace enough to finish one,” she shot back, tossing a cushion toward them.

Vaelior ducked. “Biarves iā ñuhys mandia (blame your own mind). It is not my fault your muse has poor stamina.”

“More like you steal every thread and ruin every brush,” Rhaelys said. “One might think dragonriding would tire you out.”

“Aelyria loves me best,” Vaelior said loftily, plucking a plum from her tray. “For I keep the world interesting.”

“You keep it in disarray,” Rhaelys corrected.

“Isn’t that its natural state?”

Vaelior was tallest among them, with the classic, chiseled features of an old Valyrian prince and silver-white hair kept unusually short. He carried himself with the confidence of one well aware of his charms, and though his gaze often lingered where it should not, he bore no malice. Outgoing to a fault, quick to laughter and quicker still to flirtation, he remained deeply kind, beloved by retainers and siblings alike.

Rhaelys, a touch shorter, wore his long silver hair like a banner of quiet defiance. His face was beautiful rather than handsome—finer-boned, with a solemn grace that mirrored Aelyria more than their brother. He was introspective by nature, sharper in mind than in manner, with a tongue that cut not through volume, but through precision. Though less seen, he was never less felt.

“You two might try embroidery,” Aelyria said sweetly. “It teaches patience.”

“Rhaelys tried once,” Vaelior said with mock solemnity. “Pricked his finger and wrote a lament about it.”

“A moving ballad,” Rhaelys added with dignity. “Titled The Crimson Thread of Betrayal.”

Aelyria laughed—pure and sudden—and for a moment, it was as though Perzysot Ānogros had never known silence.

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Ancient Valyria

Midjourney Rendition + Photoshop edits of Old Valyria

These visuals draw from Roman grandeur and the brutality of the Colosseum, but with the arcane edge of Valyrian culture.

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Chapter Sixteen Teaser - The Road to Sunspear

Rhaegar in Dorne to discuss a Marriage Alliance with Princess Elia Martell

I will be dropping the next chapters this week. We will be in Dorne and honestly these have been my favorite to write. I’ve made so many edits i think i’m confident to say i’m happy with these chapters

AO3 Link

Teaser

They reach Sunspear under the red-sun, gold-spear banners.

Past the dusty harbor, Sunspear unfurls—a maze of three sand-yellow walls that spiral inward like a conch. To seaward, the bright flatness of the Sea of Dorne glitters; landward, the Shadow City’s alleys breathe spice and clamor into the heat. Beyond the sun-dazed terraces the golden Spear Tower leans skyward, yet the mud-brick Old Palace within lies muted, its shaded colonnades cool despite the flagstones outside that could blister through a boot-sole.

A row of date palms guides Rhaegar’s company to the Spear Tower. The fronds rattle in a dry wind laced with salt and orange blossom. Bronze basins spill a constant trickle of water, each drop ticking on warm stone. High shutters blink open, shut, open again.

Inside, the ruling Princess of Dorne waits. She wears plain dun robes edged with orange; her silver-white hair is coiled tight. Her face shows nothing. To her right stands Prince Doran, leaning on an ebony cane, careful and still. To her left, Prince Oberyn, hands behind his back, dark eyes bright with interest—and warning.

Princess Elia holds her place a step behind her brothers, violet silk catching stray light. Her greeting is brief, her voice soft, her smile small and cool.

Close by stand Lord Anders Yronwood, sun-browned and broad-shouldered; Lord Franklyn Fowler, his cloak the color of pale sand; and the Lady of the Tor, narrow-eyed and silent. Their presence says what no one voices: Dorne is watching.

Two files of spearmen kneel, copper helms lowered, spear points kissing tile.

Rhaegar steps forward and delivers each courtesy as protocol demands—bow to the ruling princess, measured nods to Doran and Oberyn, a softer “Princess” for Elia. His voice does not waver. His face does not slip. The Dornish lords answer in kind, polite phrases echoing across the tiles.

But behind his eyes the frozen field lingers: white ground cracking under his boots, a dragon’s broken cry, two pale lights watching him from a helm of black ice. He forces the image down—buries it beneath titles, arrangements, and the heat of Sunspear’s sun.

Not now. Later.