#aelyx targaryen (before aegon i) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mononijikayu · 2 years

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chapter x.

chapter x.

Rating: Semi-M

Warning: Some depictions of explicit birth;

Summary: In which MELLARA TARGARYEN and DAEMON TARGARYEN are a few years older.

[white isle was one of the most favorite places that mellara targaryen yearns to venture. her mother dowager princess elaena was born in white isle and grew up there. secluded from the rest of westeros and even from dragonstone, it was the perfect place for a peaceful life to be lived. aegon the conqueror lived there too, for many years as he alternated from dragonstone, king’s landing and his royal processions. always with him was prince aenys and lady sara stark, daughter of tohrren stark, the king who knelt. aegon i was notably very happy in white isle and had been eager to return every winter moons. however, as lady sara passed, aegon the conquerer relinquished the keep. and later had given it to the second son of house velaryon - who married megara targaryen, his daughter by sara stark.]

- maester aeron targaryen; adust

A D U S T m a s t e r l i s t

< you and i burn together or we shall die trying >

chapter i / chapter ii / chapter iii / chapter iv / chapter v

chapter vi / chapter vii / chapter viii / chapter ix / chapter x

chapter xi / chapter xii / chapter xiii / chapter xiv / chapter xv

chapter xvi / chapter xvii / chapter xviii

The quiet dew of fresh morning glimmer shimmered about Prince Aegon Targaryen as he arrived early that blissful summer morning. The morning sun is rising in the east, its rays fall dappled through the blades of rare grass, and the glimmering dew is as bright as diamonds. The prince of Blackhall is the awe-inspiring image of light itself, a being of intense radiance and beauty. The sky glowed in the blossoming of morning dew around them, casting a warm light over the crenelated walls and turrets; almost like a promise of glory awaiting them beyond those gates atop a massive cliff. The sea danced against it, roaring just as much as his own mount, with waves that invited him further as he drew reins swiftly as Aelyx sped against the clouds.

Aemon flew by his side, laughing as Aelyx flew low against the hurl of clouds. Opening his arms wide, he joyously laughed as the wind pressed against his body in all directions.The thrill had remained, he knew that much. Before the fourteen flames had blessed him with life, they had always known that he would be a warrior, that he would be a dragon. Aemon Targaryen breathed in deeply, fully taking in the gleam of morning glory. This was true freedom – this was what it meant to be the restless blood of the dragon.

Three hours of flight was what had led them to their destination, as distance from the capital had not been too far. When his mount had been a little bit younger, the flight to Dragonstone from the capital was still troublesome. But now, his Aelyx was fully grown, he could fly farther than he could ever want. Though there was still much growing to be done, he knew. Aelyx was just as young as he was, still. Aelyx sheepishly glided past a rocky mount as Aemon pulled his reins to elevate, to avoid danger. Aemon turned his head, groaning slightly. His mount responds, a growling laugh bellowing from his deep caverns.

“Emā naejot keligon bona tymagon, Aelyx!” You have to stop that play, Aelyx!

His dragon flew higher once more, a playful roar escaped from his mouth.

“Kosti emagon kirimves tolī, ñuha valītsos. Yn tymagon ȳgha syt sir!” Aemon laughs at his mount, rubbing his scales with his gloved hand — We can have fun later, my boy. But play safe for now!

Within the next sweep into the battering sea wind, they were soaring above mighty High Tide. Aemon's heart swelling with pride as he watched his father's home come into focus below him. The sea called to Aemon, it was in his blood, the song of the sea. He was Velaryon through his grandmother. The same he knew would be the same within his sisters, young sea dragon just as his own mother was. Familiarity dawned as he flew lower, among its bellowing caverns. His blood knew, he remembers. Just as he understands his blood igniting into life when he steps through Dragonstone, his own blood knows that he too belongs to the sea.

This was the first he had ever thought to go to Driftmark on his own. In truth, Aemon Targaryen had longed to see the ancient halls dwelling with the memory of the sea. His grandmother princess dowager Elaena had grown up in this isle, her father being an uncle to lord Corlys. Yet he was certain that the keep of Driftmark could not compare with the marvel that the high reach of the echoes of the marvelous sight of High Tide’s sprawling towers glisten silver against the crashing blue sea.

The past year had found Aemon in the dwelling of the Red Keep as he had done in his youth. He and his lady wife Alys thought of the need to see his mother and step-father as their babe came. Princess Mellara had been invited by his cousin Rhaenyra to return to court once more, as part of her household. It was an honor that could not refuse and that had led to many moons of missives sent back and forth.

That did not trouble them as Alys had only recently found her health once more after the first few moons of ill health from the anchors of morning sickness. Mother had been delighted at the thought of seeing her eldest son, much more to know that she would witness the birth of her second grand-child. Though she had lamented not seeing Baelon by their side. But his grandmother had insisted young Baelon had no need to see such battles between warring factions. Still, it did not stop young Jacaerys and Lucerys from looking for their cousin.

Mother had flown to Driftmark numerous times within the year, to visit his father and lady Laena. At times, Rhaenyra would bring her children with Laenor and spend time with his step-mother and sisters. They had relished him with their excitable stories of such trips, for he had insight in the life of his father and sisters. Aemon had been happy to know that his father had settled down, far away from the war that had put him and his mother at odds. With Driftmark nearer than ever before, there had been thoughts in his head telling him that it was time to bridge the gap between him and his father.

Mellara Targaryen had encouraged her eldest son just as much as his lady wife had. Still they did not push further than their usual comments. They knew he still needed time to decide for himself. There had been no resentment on his part, that was easy to settle in his heart. Daemon Targaryen was doing his duty, as he always was. But Aemon would be a fool to say that he had not missed his father. Yet Aemon Targaryen had worried that he was yet to be prepared to do so, to meet his father as his son once more. To become the man his father had envisioned in his head for his only son. He was a boy once, he still was. He was after all, only seven and ten, still a boy more than the man he should be.

When his daughter had been born a week or so past, Aemon Targaryen had realized that this was such a moment he would not wish for his father to miss. He had two children now, two children who deserve to grow with the love of their grandfather by their side. There had been so many years taken from them by fate already. There was no more time to waste, he knew. He had kissed his wife goodbye and bid his mother well that early morning and soon departed for Driftmark atop his mighty Aelyx.

The morning sun blazed a trail of fire through the thick embrace of his mount, casting ethereal shadows that blanketed the path towards High Tide's keep. Aemon felt the way the smooth scales of his dragon hummed against his hands as he continued to embrace him. It was as though burning flames whispering lullabies in unison when he grumbled. Aemon whispers in return in his native tongue, thanking him for getting him through their flight.

The pair had been inseparable ever since Aemon Targaryen broke from the wombs that grew him and his dragon together. Even when he was a hatchling, no matter how many friends he made, no amount of companions or offerings could draw him away from his eternal companion.

Aemon Blackmace reached back and withdrew the thick leather glove over his right hand. The skin-tight suit was incandescent with heat. Aemon felt his mount growl, his echoes radiating a stream of devotion against his rider's exposed flesh. Aemon could only laugh as the playful beast hummed against his weight, almost like a child wanting to play. The thought of such a beast of nature being his best companion filled him with joy and gratitude in the deepest parts of him, like the root fibers of an old oak tree. Beyond words, he was grateful to his mount, as he always was as a boy.

When he had turned away from his dragon, he thought he had seen his father's figure awaiting him. Daemon Targaryen’s majestic features echo that of his own. His father has a strong nose, full lips, and high cheekbones. His eyes are bright with pride, his silver hair about as if floating on the wind like the moonlight.

Daemon Targaryen’s eyes as exuberant purple met deeper tones. The morning breeze was always fierce in High Tide, but such conditions would have blown any other vessel out to sea. Aelyx had bore with it all, his rumbling echoes against the rocky plains. From a distance, one could hear his father’s Bloodwyrm screech aloud, one which his Aelyx had responded from. Even then, their dragons were that of father and son like he and the rogue prince. Daemon couldn't help but laugh buoyantly as he stood before his son's dragon as he landed.The sight had been a breathtaking shine of coal-like scales interwoven in red tints sprawled against the hardened wings. One that would remind the older man of his wife's mount just as much as his own.

His father's eyes were the color of dark garnets, his irises were shades of deep vibrant purple mingled with azure, like the wild burst of the sea on a summer day. His eyes glowed with the passion of a warrior, and the wrinkles and dark circles that framed them were as caverns of wisdom.The eyes of the prince's father were the brightest purple, the color of the sky at noon and the finest amethyst stone. Mother had always loved such eyes, much more when they looked at her with wanting and devotion. Alys had said the same of him, when she prayed to her gods to gift their child with his eyes.

‘Why would you wish my eyes upon our child?’ Aemon questioned, his wife’s bright snow face glistening in his peripheral vision. ‘I liked your eyes more than my own.’

‘Because they are you.’ Alys says, a small smile etched on her lips. ‘So when I look at the child, I’ll think of the wonder you have given me, my love.’

His features had softened at her then.

“You’ve come.” Daemon Targaryen speaks, his eyes observing his son from head to toe. “You’ve grown taller since I had last seen you.”

Aemon blinked, ‘Have I?”

Daemon laughs, his hand patting his shoulder. “Ñuha tresy, vala isse these naenie jēdri, eman yet naejot ivestragon ao.” My son, a man in these many years, I have yet to tell you.

“Konir sagon daor drēje. Iksan vala kesrio syt hen ao, kepa.” Aemon’s lips slipped into a small smile. That is not true. I am a man because of you, father.

For a moment, there was longing silence between father and son. The two took in the moment they had always deemed a core of their life's needs. A moment later, he realized that his father seemed satisfied to end the silence, leaning towards his son and opening his arms to embrace his only son. Walking across the hard cobbled pathway, two pairs of feet excitedly captivated the force of one another. The wind whipped his scarlet silk coat into a frenzy as he walked and walked, until he realized that his father's arms suddenly curled themselves about him in a welcoming grasp. Aemon would be lying if he said he hadn't been waiting for this moment.

Aemon Targaryen breathed out, but the air could not enter his lungs at the joy he felt in him. All of the worries he had, his yearning, the distance had evaporated as his father ran his fingers through his silver hair. The prince of Blackhall clung to his father tightly, almost as though he was a child once more. He could feel his father’s own huffs of relief as he smiled against his son’s skin. For many years, he had longed to feel his father’s affections once more. Just as much he was sure his own father had done these many years. There was nothing like it, the warmth of a dragon against another dragon. The smell of his father’s scent dwelled in him, the stern iron and steel and flame on his flesh’s very musk. For a moment too, he could smell a dragon’s smoke and the rare lemon, his mother’s essence, in the fabric of his father’s clothing.

“Se izula ampā perzyssy maghagon īlva hēnkirī, hae kessi, kepa.” The fourteen flames bring us together, as they will, father.

Daemon parts from his son, his purple eyes still tracing him. “Ēdis taken bōsa naejot tepagon nyke skoros nyke jeldan, iksan zūgagon.” They had taken long to give me what I wanted, I'm afraid.

Aemon shakes his head. “That was my fault, father. Not the gods.”

“I do not blame you, ñuha tresy.”

“Neither do I, kepa.” Aemon retorts back to his father. “What matters is that we are together again, is it not?”

“Hm,” His father nodded back at him, satisfied. “We shall not be apart again, I promise you.”

“That is all I wish for, kepa.” Aemon admits, emotion washing over his young face. “Now more so that you are now grandsire to two children.”

Daemon’s eyes softened at his son’s words. “How is the child? How is your wife?”

“They are splendid.” He smiles candidly. “The child is a girl, father.”

“A girl.”

For a moment, his father trailed away in the depths of his mind as the words he spoke to him sunk in. Aemon had known that there had been a sister that had been born to his father and mother. The memory still haunted the rogue prince, that he was certain. He could see it all over the way his face reminisced with sorrow and relief. The thought of a young girl born to his father’s blood once more, just as much as his sisters, was a welcomed thought that warmed Daemon Targaryen. That the daughter he had lost lives on in the many young girls that would be born off his flesh and blood.

“Skoros iksis zirȳla brōzi?” His father wonders, looking at his son. What is her name?

“Daellara,” He responds to his father, laughing. “After you and mother, Alys and I decided to honor you both.”

Daemon’s eyes softened with pride. “Ao rigle nyke sȳrī, ñuha tresy. Hae gaomā aōha muña. Daellara, ānogar ānograro.”

You honor me well, my son. As you do your mother. Daellara, blood of my blood. —- At that, Aemon Targaryen felt joyous. More so that his father had proudly declared his daughter as the pride of his own blood and flesh. He has yet to meet his daughter and still, she was everything to his father as much as she was to him. That had been important, in truth, to any child of the dragon. The recognition of another dragon is an honor, more so when that dragon takes pride in you. Seeing you as a part of them. His grandmother had said that she had done that for him, as much as she did for his elder sister when she was born. Aemon had not known the feeling before, he had been but a babe then. This memory will be in his heart, he knows that for certain.

“She has mismatched eyes,” Aemon details to his father proudly. “An eye of silver and an eye of purple, just like my grandmother.”

“Your daughter shall be marvelous trouble then.”

Aemon laughs, “So she shall, father. But I would be proud of it, as her sire.”

“Is your wife recovering well?”

“Far better than the first birth, she could stand well enough now.” The son nodded at his father. “Maester Geraldys says she’s luckier than most women he knows.”

“The birthing bed is a battle, ñuha tresy. Your wife won against it, just as your mother has.”

The young prince nodded. “For that I am grateful.”

The prince watched his father’s eyes light up at the mention of his wife. “How is your dear mother, my son? You had come from King’s Landing, had you not?”

“Yes, she is well.” Aegon nodded at his father gently. “Busy tending to Rhaenyra, as of late she’s also to give birth.”

“Is that the only reason for her absence?”

“The politics at court has become….inflamed.”

As of late, his cousin Rhaenyra had been looking for support in his mother's arms. Queen Alicent's power grew in these many years, from the few years of absence by the heir to the throne and now that the queen had secured for the king four children of Targaryen blood. Three of those children were sons, painted in the very image of Valyrian coloring. The greens, as the queen’s faction had been called, boasts that so dearly as the very blood of the king. And in turn, these many years, Rhaenyra’s sons had been questioned for their coloring compared to their sire, ser Laenor Velaryon. There had been whispers of their bastardry across court, for each and every son of princess Rhaenyra had not looked Valyrian.

It was an outrageous accusation to make, that his cousin had not born any child with his cousins. Rhaenyra could not control what the fourteen flames would give to her child, nor was it Laenor’s wrong that the gods had not blessed his sons with his coloring. His own grandmother, princess dowager Elaena had been most furious at the accusation, her own coloring similar to his cousin and had birthed Mellara Targaryen, who earned every bit of her father’s coloring and features. Aemon had felt himself just as enraged at the thought, with his eldest boy blessed with his wife’s charcoal curls and light silver eyes. At the memory of his fist closing and shaking in incandescent rage, that sycophants at court would determine such judgment.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had the coloring of his lady grandmother, princess Rhaenys. Deep dark bits of hair bloomed when he was born from his mother’s womb. His deep blue eyes’s misty gleam shone with defiance and fury, as though he was more Baratheon than anything else. Princess Rhaenys had laughed deeply at the sight of her first grandchild, his eyes being the same as Jocelyn Baratheon’s own gaze. He was followed by his younger brother Lucerys, his purple eyes gleaming the moment he opened them. Laenor had laughed with joyous tears when he had seen his own lips across his son’s quivering lips as he cried for milk. Lord Corlys had been satisfied with the boy, proclaiming him to court as his heir. The pearl of Driftmark, he declared him to be.

Still rumors had persisted. Those at court cannot forgive his cousin’s sons for not earning his coloring or his Valyrian features. Not even young Luke’s eyes had been enough for them to declare them his own. Not even his cousin’s words. Lest of all the queen, who has forced his cousin Rhaenyra to be shamed before court at each birth, to carry the babes to be observed by her before they were to be presented at court. Aunt Rhaenys had been furious, with the thought of the queen endangering her good-daughter. But Laenor had shown himself each and every time by Rhaenyra’s side, steadfast in defending her and their sons at each turn.

‘They know nothing,’ Daemon Targaryen had retorted to his son in his missive. ‘You ought to know more than anyone else that your cousin’s sons and your own are more Targaryen than that of that Hightower cunt’s runts. Never forget nor lower yourself to their desires, Aemon. You are the blood of the dragon and so are the dark haired hatchlings of your blood.’

His father had turned out to be right. His cousin Laenor had been the one to pick the dragon eggs for his sons. One had come from Syrax’s clutch and the other had been from Seasmoke’s own. His uncle, King Viserys, had commanded that an egg be placed upon each bedding of the young princelings. The court awaited and soon enough, the eggs had hatched – much to the queen’s dismay. Her own sons had not yielded their eggs to hatch, all having been unable to will them to life. Rhaenyra was delighted at the thought of it, now that she has proven her sons were dragons. Laenor just as much who beamed with pride at his young sons. Jacaerys had named his dragon Vermax. The young boy Lucerys named his own Arrax.

Daemon snickered. “Your mother will put that Hightower bitch in her place.”

Aegon sucked a breath before nodding. “Yes, but I worry that she is not resting.”

“I’m tempted to steal her away and bring her here to High Tide. Laena justas much is imploring me, with the lack of missives from your mother.” Daemon says to his son, placing his hands behind his back. “But if I interfere in such matters, she will tell me off. She is quite serious about the matter, as of late.”

“Well, it should be like this, father.” The son whispers teasingly. “A husband follows his wife’s desire and shall be happy.”

Daemon snickers, “I feel like you have much more to tell me.”

Aegon nodded, “Much has happened since we last saw one another, father.”

“Come to the castle.” Daemon urged his son, putting his arm behind his shoulder. “Tell me all about it.”

The prince of Blackhall nodded at his father.

Following him, Aemon Targaryen felt his heart flutter.

He was glad to be his father’s son once more.

High Tide had been made of endless slabs of pale stone, evenly gathered upon each other in seamless abandon. Aemon Targaryen had never been here before, but he heard tales of the wonders built upon the intrigues of far away lands. Exquisitely built from the lavish fortune of his uncle Corlys, he had wanted nothing but the best for this epitome of the vast spectacles after another in the Hall of Nine.

As though he had wanted it to be the white pearl that outshine all that stood before it with all of its passionate wonder. As they walked further in white alabaster stone slabbed against the hard sediment of the isle, Aemon found himself reminded of the Eyrie. When lady Jeyne had welcomed him and his mother as guests all those years ago, the familiar imagery of exquisite white stone resembling the pattern of endless white chalk had stuck with him. Yet in a way, the heir of Blackhall can admit that High Tide shined with endless light that the Eyrie could not.

Aemon felt his eyes memorize each figure of its slender towers that had been capped with lavishly hammered silver domes that easily spun a dazzling marvel as it glistened against the morning light. His father had written to him before, of how when the waters of Blackwater Bay are high, only one bridge links the castle to the island of Driftmark. Aegon had never seen it before. But his father had always remarked how incredible it was. Especially at sundown, where the light of the sun merges into the seamless sea.

When they arrived at the castle, numerous wonders from the myriad of trips the lord of Driftmark had greeted Aemon Blackmace. The moment he saw them, Aemon was reminded of Blackhall — of everything his grandfather, prince Aelor Targaryen, had built. He, too, had crammed Blackhall with treasures like these. Mother had told him that her own father delighted in making the lord’s hall into life with the treasures from far away lands. Yet there was nothing that perhaps could match the lavish magnificence of the Velaryon stronghold. As he saw the bright blue echo across the halls, among the fine pearls and shells that were etched with pure silver adornments, along the fine treasures and prizes his uncle had settled upon the magnificent hall, Aemon was left in awe.

“You look as though you do not hold a keep of such equal marvel, Aemon.” His father whispers to him as they walk through the Hall of Nine. “Blackhall has the Twilight Hall.”

“I am just amazed to see it with my own eyes.” Aemon admits to his father. “I have heard many tales of uncle Corlys and his voyages. To see its fruits with mine own two eyes, it is beyond me.”

“Oh, do not compliment my father so much, my prince.” The voice of his stepmother, Laena Velaryon, echoed as she greeted them at the edge of the turn away from the hall. “Ñuha kepa ēza olvie tolī naenie hoskagon. Konīr iksis daor jorrāelagon naejot tepagon zirȳla tolī naejot hīghagon hen.” My father has much too many pride. there is no need to give him more to scream of.

His father snorts at his wife. “Your father will always have much too much pride, wife. His blood will sit on the throne after my niece.”

“Then one should stop praising him too much, to keep him grounded.” His wife responds with a sly smile on her lips. She turns to Aemon. “I hope your journey was not too troublesome.”

“Not at all.” He tells them, smiling at his step-mother. “The flight was smooth, despite the strong winds. Aelyx enjoyed it, just as much as I did.”

Laena’s eyes twinkled as she nodded. “That’s good to hear. I should hope that you would be staying for a few days to enjoy a flight with me and your father.”

“If you would have me.” He responds with a tender nod.

“It would be our pleasure to host you, Aemon.” His step-mother whispers back, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Now, have you eaten?”

Aemon had forgotten all about it, but his stomach answered for him. Aemon felt his cheeks turn scarlet as his father snorted. Laena laughs. “His stomach has answered for him, wife. You ought to call the servants to prepare a meal as soon as they are able.”

Aemon had not been surprised at all when his father had engaged into another marriage. Mother had been delighted at the thought of having a sister-wife in her niece, just as much as it was following the tradition of Aegon the Conqueror. The thought had been taboo since the rule of Maegor. But his mother and father did not care, and it seemed Elmo Tully and Laena Velaryon shared their feelings. Years before, the king had been disgruntled with his father and mother marrying in secret, while his father’s first wife was still breathing.

Not even these few years had changed that. There are quite a few whispers, much more so that his mother and father's union is an open secret, proudly displaying their happiness at their house of four. The high septon had been heard to preach sermons once and a while about fidelity and faith in one marriage. Yet his mother nor father did not dare to hear it, for they were raised in the fourteen flames and its warmth.

Prince Daemon Targaryen had refused to placate his kingly brother regarding his marriage, refusing even more to answer for any supposed wrongs the king and his lap dogs had against him or his wives. Their lives in the house of four was well as any normal household should be, Aemon could say. Mother seems happier when Laena was around her, just as much when his step-father was. She adored Baela and Rhaena, seeing them as her own just as much as his own little brothers.

Though with the distance of many years and many leagues, he did not know Baela and Rhaena as well as he knew Kermit and Oscar. There were nights when he would lay awake, wondering if the girls liked dolls or preferred to play with wooden swords like he did in his youth. What colors they adored and what food they liked the most in the world. If they had the same fondness for watching the flames in the burning hearths to calm their nerves like he did.

Millions of thoughts poured here and there, a vast diverging of questions demanded answers in his head. His father’s letters could only do so much to quell his curiosity. He wanted to see them himself and these next few days, Aemon Targaryen was happy to have the chance to introduce himself as their elder brother. He wished he could show them that he had the same pride and for them as he had with his Tully brothers.

As they sat upon his father’s solar, he could not help but feel a manner of impatience at the thought of having to wait. The flash of servants coming through back and forth bringing in luscious food surplus. Aemon had told his father that he would not be able to eat each and every course, but his father had told him to bear with it — Laena Velaryon would not be satisfied unless she saw the table spotless.

Large stuffed ducks filled with buttered potatoes, a large salmon was cooked on a spit and devoured by sweetened sauce. A hefty plate of boar meat cooked over a spit, sprawled with vegetables in elegant shapes and sizes. Lemon cakes drifted through the tables, patterned like a small dragon hatchling mesmerizing with the bright golden glaze. In that moment, he could remember an echo of his mother in the young woman. Aemon thanked Laena for the food and started to feast upon the courses while she went ahead and brought his sisters to have the meal with them.

"You mustn't worry yourself too much." Daemon whispers to his son, dark eyes keenly reassuring him. "Se riñi kessa sagon bāne hen ao hae olvie hae pōja muña. Pōnta ao sȳrī hen se vestriarzira nyke ivestretan zirȳ.” The girls will be warm of you as much as their mother. They you well from the tales I told them.

The heir of Blackhall sighed, his hands fumbling against itself nervously. "How much of the girls know of me, kepa?”

Daemon smiled softly, shaking his head as he drank his fill of wine. “They had known you all their lives, ñuha tresy. Their fondness comes from all the tales of you I tell them.”

Aemon’s eyes filled with heavy emotion. “You….you talked about me? With the girls?”

Daemon placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Why would I not, Aemon? I never not think or talk about you, ñuha tresy. If your sisters are my joy, then you Aemon shall always be my pride. Never forget it.”

“Kepa….” Aemon felt his heart swell with such words. He did not know what to say. No other words would come out. How could there be, when his father loved him dearly? “I….”

"Our dearest young ones are here." Daemon whispers, eyeing the twin daughters as they grab hold of their mother’s hands. They walked through the lavish chambers, skipping about. “Ñuha zaldrīzes riñi, māzigon kesīr.” My dragon girls, come here.

Aemon’s attention was on the children who were a little loud as they marveled at the magnificent tiles, hopping across them with much vigor. Aemon Targaryen felt his eyes gazing at the young ones with glistening eyes. Father smiled, he knew, when he noticed the love in his son’s eyes. The same gaze he knew he had as he held his children for the first time. These two girls, his younger sisters, were beyond beautiful and bright children. Much goodness in life dwelled on them like vibrant flowers blooming in spring. The elder prince saw the sparkle in his eyes as he basked in the innocence of his younger sisters as they moved closer towards him.

"Kepa!" Daemon Targaryen smiled widely, catching his daughter as she rushed to him and kissed the cheek of young Rhaena as he caught her. Baela had soon joined in, the biggest grin on her beautiful features and rushed quickly from Laena’s gentle grasp to embrace her father’s side with babbling wanting. “Eman jeldan naejot ao!” I have wished to see you.

"Ñuha jorrāelagon zaldrīzes," Daemon said, his widening smile beckoning. My dearest dragon—-his father touted to his sister as he lavished little pecks on his Baela's brilliant porcelain cheeks. Soon enough, he took his younger sister and did the same thing, calling her Dōna embar zaldrīzes, sweet sea dragon. His sister Rhaena, laughed sweetly at their father. "Have you been nice while kepa has been away?"

"Yes!" The girl beamed once Daemon had stopped playing with her. "I had been learning my lessons well. Mother had praised me!”

Rhaena crossed her arms, pouting adorably. “But she praised me too! She said I spoke the best in Valyrian!”

“Ao se aōha mandia gōntan sȳrī, konīr iksis daor jorrāelagon naejot vīlībagon,” Laena reiterated, a small grin on her lips. You and your sister did well, there is no need to fight.

“Ñuha dōna zaldrīzoti, it is alright. You are both well versed in our tongue. Your mother had praised both of you, did she not?”

“Yes, kepa. But–” Baela and Rhaena tried to argue, but Daemon shook his head.

“What your mother says is final.”

“As it should be.” Laena says as the twins pouted. “Now, greet our guest, my girls. He has been wanting to meet you for so long. You ought not to keep him waiting.”

“Who are you?” Rhaena found herself in front of Aemon, who was taken aback and moved closer to his chair rest. Baela followed suit as she observed the man before them.

Aemon smiled warmly. “Who do you want me to be?”

The elder prince wishes he could have had a way to capture the way his sister’s eyes opened wide and her features turn bright at her sudden realization. He could feel her eyes judge him, flickering through him as though trying to figure through this, wondering if he was even real. Aegon felt like he would burst into laughter if the silence continued. Their father watched on the side, hands on his back watching what would happen next with much anticipation.

"Brother!"

Rhaena beams loudly, squirming loudly and thrashed slightly and along with her was her long platinum crown as her body crashed into her elder brother’s arms. Aemon finally laughed as Baela joined her sister, talking with much excitement as she took to her brother’s freed side and embraced him too. Daemon crossed his arms, his wife leaning against his shoulder as she sighed in contentment. There can only be the word paradise that could describe this moment, watching his three children gathered together with genuine affection. It has been his dream for a long time, to see this turn into reality. Daemon Targaryen drew in the scent of the sea water glistening against the rocky plains below. For a moment there was joy and peace.

HIs lively children filled his solar with laughter.

Yet even in the joy he felt, he was caged in longing.

He prays to the fourteen for Mellara in his arms again.

When Rhaenyra had seen her aunt that morning, there were tears in her eyes. Mellara Targaryen had never imagined Rhaenyra would ever curl into her arms against like the child she once was. Yet in the glow of the lowering sun, the princess of Blackhall had been so sure that the woman in her arms was a young girl again, yearning for comfort in the face ot the frightening shadows.

There had been much in her that was still grieving the child she once was, Mellara supposed. Rhaenyra had walked in the grace of all these challenges with a fearless face, showing all before them that she was a dragon. Yet even dragons are not without the feeling of fear and loneliness ━ that is what perhaps makes them living breathing creatures. Just as much as the feeling of pain. These ten years had not been fair upon anyone, but it had never been pleasant waking up every day in fear at a nest of vipers.

Rhaenyra Targaryen had been so brave, Mellara thought to herself quietly as she brushed the strands of her niece’s hair. Her own good-daughter Alys had yet to stop feeling pain, even when she could stand firmly after Daellara’s brith. Yet for her niece to stand firmly in such a state, bleeding through and through, the afterbirth still yet to pour off through her body.

The strength it took to get it all over with was painfully wrought, more so that the princess of Dragonstone had never quite expected that the friend she once had within the queen would be the cause of turmoil and grievous pains she now entures at court. The young woman in Alicent had been kind, to be sure. Yet that young woman has now grown to be a mother to three princes she now uses against Rhaenyra to vie for the throne and all the power that should come with it.

The queen was foolish for even demanding for the young babe to be brought before her, knowing that the young heir would be put herself to the task. Rhaenyra would not abandon her son to the touch of the queen, not this one who is capable of such harms. Mellara had not liked hating others, her father had always thought such a notion could ruin the unspoiled truth of anger. But she couldn't help it. Not when such a woman sits in the epitome of power burning corrupted. The queen had used the wagging tongues at court and used it to be vicious against young children innocent of the feuds that come between the queen and the princess.

The scent of new blood trickling down the bed, her niece's shift once again soiled. The smell had been astounding to Mellara, even with her three battles against death in the childbed. The smell had remained lingering, familiar beyond compare. Rhaenyra’s lavender eyes growing steadily more dull from the pain, moaning and groaning against the pain. Her skin was as pale as vibrant snow, tears pouring against the salty sweep of sweat In the bucket in the corner, saturated in water, innumerable layers of fabric diluted the princess's dried blood. Her hand intertwined within her niece’s ample hands, filled with sweat and blood, Mellara did not hesitate to squeeze it gently, to tell her that she was there for her.

“You are doing so well, dove.” Mellara whispers, as the sound of her voice in Valyrian trailed like sweet lullabies. “You have been so strong.”

“I do not think I can do this any longer.” The princess whispers to her aunt, salty tears falling through her eyes. “This is too painful. I hate it. I hate it.”

“My dearest niece, you have done well.” Mellara leaned forward, kissing the glistening skin above her brow. “Only a little bit more pain.”

“How did my mother do this?” Rhaenyra yelped in Valyrian, her voice cut and dry. “How did you do it, aunt? Bear with all this nonsense.”

Mellara let a low laugh pass her lips. “With much pain. But it is all worth it. All children are worth it, dearest girl.”

Rhaenyra's purple eyes glistened as she moved her head to the little cradle near the bed's edge. Mellara mewled gently as she turned to face the serene newborn. The fire flickering across the hearth soothed the infant to sleep, much like a bard's soothing song. Mellara remembered the same for her Aemon, who craved the touch of fire just as much as he craved the attention of young Aelyx. The elder's lips curved into a smile, her free fingers dangling through the beautiful silk of her red damask robe cut in marvelous silver and black. The toddler had been the most peaceful of Rhaenyra's exquisite little babes. Joffrey had longed to breathe the fine air and had shouted his lungs out as loud as he could.

And then, all at once in this swift rush, his might gave way to exhaustion, to the calm air of stillness that beckoned them with such a firm grip. Mellara had already been terrified that such a newborn would be taken by the gods so soon. She had watched how they had taken her nephew Baelon from them, carefully wrapped in a small satin sheet. Mellara could not bear the sight of this, another babe dying without just cause. However the gods were kind this time, such mercy it was. Just as Mellara held her great-nephew, she saw the comforting curt grin that such a little precious jewel provided, so tranquil in plenty, had been everything Mellara needed to know that he would be a lovely young man with excellent calm strength. Rhaenyra's grandsire, like uncle Baelon.

“I suspect he will be the bookish one.” Mellara jests softly, turning to her niece. “He will cause me no headache.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly. “Thank the gods for that. At least one must be smart enough to reprimand his elder brothers.”

The elder princess raised a brow, amused. “Oh, then you think we might have a wise scholar at our hands?”

“Not when I am still alive and breathing.” Rhaenyra snickered, yelping in pain a moment after. “I’d rather not see him in Oldtown.”

“You do not have to.” Mellara says, smiling. “I can take him to Blackhall, make a scholar of him.”

A frail smile echoes on her niece’s lips. “I shall like that, aunt.”

These last few years have been an example of high unbeatable mountains spent in this manner. Mellara had become a familiar face at court once more after accepting the position at Rhaenyra’s household. Elmo Tully was extremely adverse about the situation, especially given how the queen had treated his wife. When she visited Daemon in High Tide, he shared her sentiments. He had advised her against it, saying that he would not be patient in repressing his rage there at Hightower faction in court. As was Laena, who had threatened to take her to the Velaryon seat herself, fearing for her safety. But, as her niece's urgent missives piled on top of each other, Mellara resolved to heed her niece's call to arms.

Elmo Tully, exasperated by his wife’s selflessness, had wanted to come with her. But his father, lord Grover, had forbidden him or his sons from leaving Riverrun. Not especially so to come and shift the balance of the royal court. Mellara had not been surprised, her good father had been a supporter of the queen and her son Aegon’s claim. He had never liked Mellara or her difference from the noble women of court either. Not especially so that whispers of her marriage to Daemon made rounds across the realm in the mouths of fishwives and tavern wenches, even the queen but Mellara did not care. Nor did Elmo. Their house of four had been a thriving commune of people who lived under their own wanting.

Mellara has noticed a change in her niece's motions ever since she came. She'd never seen her grin brighter than when she brought her lovely sunflowers all the way from Blackhall. No one has done this for her niece in years, for fear of provoking the queen's wrath. Mellara had come to personally present her with such lovely flowers. And soon, the two of them formed a stronger relationship. Rhaenyra had come to rely on her aunt for advice, service, companionship, and assistance. Among the ordinary people, particularly those who had been opposed to Rhaenyra being the successor to the kingdom ahead of the queen's son, prince Aegon.

Mellara performed exactly what was required of her. Mellara had ensured that food was supplied to the tiny folk. It had been difficult recently for those seeking alms to find themselves nourished by nourishment, since the difficulty of the Narrow Seas had once again posed a genuine threat, as the Martells had formed an alliance with the Triarchy. Mellara sailed ships from her estates through the city, loaded with bouts of wheat, grain, and meat brought in from around the realm as a gift for the lesser folk.

Scantily abandoned manses were seized and were easily obtained to be converted into public welfare centers across the city. There were many hastily brought featherbeds, bouts of spiced wine heated in kettles. Hot water for those who wished to clean themselves properly. Viserys had been enthusiastic of such an idea, providing his seal of approval for the matter personally, which Mellara had thanked her cousin for. The standard of a dragon in a black field was decreased in comparison to Rhaenyra's flag, which had been scaled to the highest peak of the buildings.

Alms had been wildly successful throughout the city. The entire court had already been muttering regarding it in whispers over many moons, many of them astounded. She'd even heard that the queen was rattled by such an act, given that she, too, had ambitions to woo the masses over here to her son. Mellara, on the other hand, had outwitted her simply by touching the ground where the people had been forced to stand. A dragon must land on the ground and feel the cobble stones just as much as anyone else, her father had said long ago.As she wandered the soup kitchens herself, Mellara had shaken their hands and encouraged them to thank Princess Rhaenyra for her generosity and amazement, as this was her gift to the people. For the gods blessing her with her third child. They had chanted her name heartfelt gratitude for days, ready to discover themselves in celebration for such compassion.

The king began to seek guidance from his cousin, which gained the approval of lord Strong, who saw these new aspirations for the kingdom as a good continuation of work left behind by old king Jaehaerys. Ser Otto had caused much delays to her plans all those years ago. It was refreshing to know that lord Lyonel was just as much pleased with these plans for the city. Mellara sometimes advises her royal cousin with ideas during clandestine meals that he begins by emancipating and pardoning individuals who committed minor offenses. Though these days with her cousin’s languishing illness and the queen’s interruptions, it was a rare occurance. But Mellara could only wish otherwise.

The princess of Blackhall finds herself attending all days when such audiences are scheduled. However, her cousin would occasionally be too ill to attend, giving the authority to the king's hand. At times, Viserys would find himself alone with his unfinished marble slabs of forgotten ruins of Valyria. He would be quietly sitting there, lamenting over the details he could not finish. Daemon would be distraught at the sight of his brother, that much she knew. These were moments she omits in her letters, for fear of his sorrow getting the best of him.

When her son and Alys entertain Rhaenyra, it is her and her Tully husband who has the pleasure of her cousin’s pleasure. Mellara will also play the harp for him and sing when he is in need of company. Much too often he would request for her to sing the songs that the long-dead queen Aemma had so fondly remembered. Despite his faults towards her throughout the years, he always has cherished the queen. Even if Mellara could never forgive her cousin for what he had done to Aemma, she would always have comfort knowing Viserys only truly loved her.

“The afterbirth is now out, my princess.” The midwife spoke, gazing over the princess’s lower regions. The midwife smiles. “The worst is over. You can rest now, my princess.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Rhaenyra says, lowering her head deeper into the pillow.

Mellara nods at the passing servant. “Bring the princess some hot water for bath and bring fresh sheets for the bedding.”

The servant bowed her head to Mellara and left.

“Are you alright, sweetling?” Mellara whispered to her niece, leaning forward to shift the moonshine hair hiding her features. “It will be over soon. You can get some rest later.”

“I wish the children were here.” She whispers to her aunt, emotion uncontrollable. “Laenor and Ser Harwin....Aemon too. I wish they were here.”

“I know, you have every right to want them here.” The elder Targaryen said softly, taking her niece’s hand and placing a small kiss upon the palm. “Shall I send for someone to fetch them?”

Rhaenyra took a moment, but she shook her head slowly. “No, never mind.”

“You have no need to be shy of wanting such affection, my sweetling.”

“I know….I just…” Rhaenyra purses her lips into a small line. “The people..”

Mellara shook her head. ‘It doesn't matter. Those people at court. What matters is you and your happiness. Those two are happy with being the fathers of our princelings. It is a beautiful thing.”

“How do you always know what to say to obliviate my pains, aunt?”

Mellara smiled gently at the girl, placing her free hand on her cheek. “Because I want for you to see my love more than you see their hatred, my love.”

The doors swung open with unexpected swiftness, causing both princesses to startle in surprise. Aemon Targaryen stood tall before them, his entrance stealing their breath away. As his steady exhale filled the air, it revealed a mix of emotions—anticipation, nervousness, and an unspoken connection between them all. Mellara noticed Rhaenyra's reaction, a slight flinch accompanied by a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. Aemon, still adorned in his riding leathers, possessed a handsome countenance that seemed to captivate the room. In that moment, Rhaenyra's request emerged, a delicate plea for assistance as she sought to sit up in bed. Mellara, ever caring, yielded to her niece's desire, carefully arranging pillows to support her against their comforting embrace.

“We thought you were still in Driftmark,” Mellara says, turning to greet her son in an embrace. “When did you get here?”

“Just a while ago.” He admitted to his mother, kissing her cheek. “Father and Laena received the missive about the birth. I thought I should be here.”

As Aemon Targaryen approached Rhaenyra, his steps deliberate and his smile warm, a sense of tenderness filled the air. Their bond was undeniable, an unspoken connection that Mellara had long observed. Aemon gently reached for Rhaenyra's hand, delicately intertwining his fingers with hers, and placed a soft kiss upon her palm. Rhaenyra's face illuminated with joy, mirroring the happiness that bloomed in Aemon's eyes. Mellara had always suspected the depths of their affection, a unique bond that transcended into a deep affection. A bond that was unique to their own.

Over the many years that had passed, the fondness that Rhaenyra had once held for her half-brothers had dwindled, much to Queen Alicent denying Rhaenyra the opportunity to spend time with her little brothers. It was that time where her son Aemon's true colors shone. He became Rhaenyra's solace in their youth, an unwavering source of comfort and support. With an effortless grace, Aemon orchestrated whimsical games and crafted enchanting skits, coaxing laughter and marvel from the princess of Dragonstone. Their laughter echoed through the corridors, like the sweet symphony of a love destined to withstand any challenge that may come their way.

“I heard about what the queen did.” Aemon whispered to her, his eyes swimming with worry. “You should not have stooped to her level, jorrāelagon dārilaros.”

Dearest Princess ━ that was what her son called his elder cousin. When he had been but a boy, Rhaenyra had found the term to be quite an endearing tune. A teasing one even. Yet with all that she had experienced, the voice of her cousin when he said such words to her with warmth; Rhaenyra felt like she had been so purely loved.

In the chaos of a world that had often been harsh and unforgiving, Mellara cherished those moments when her young son referred to her cousin with such endearing tones. Even as a child, Aemon had loved others that way. Names mattered, they echoed such love, such care. Such wonder that grows into the soul. His endearment held within it a special kind of magic to Rhaenyra. For when she heard those words, time seemed to stand still, and the weight of her burdens would momentarily dissolve. In the depths of her weary heart, she knew that her cousin's endearment was more than a simple play on words. It was a gentle reminder of the bond they shared, a connection that had weathered storms and stood tall against the test of time.

Rhaenyra remembered the days of their childhood, when they would run through sunlit fields, their laughter mingling with the sweet melodies of birdsong. Her cousin had always been there for her, a constant companion in a world that often felt uncertain and ever-changing. They had shared secrets under moonlit skies and dreams of castles in the clouds. And even as the years rolled by, their friendship had remained steadfast, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that life sometimes brought.

But it was when Rhaenyra had faced her greatest trials that she truly understood the depth of her cousin's love. Through the depths of despair, when her spirit threatened to shatter, his unwavering support had become her lifeline. In his eyes, she saw strength and belief, a reflection of her own resilience that she had forgotten. His voice, resonating with tenderness and sincerity, breathed life into her weary soul and rekindled the flames of hope within her.

Now, as Rhaenyra looked at her cousin, she couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of his person drowning her. The innocent adoration in his eyes mirrored the love and devotion that truly only belonged to her. No one else, not even his lady wife would have this. Harwin, even with his love for her, would never equate her cousin’s warm gaze.

“I am fine,” Rhaenyra reassures her cousin, squeezing his hand. “I have all but rested. And the midwife has looked me over. I am well.”

Aemon’s eyes glowered, pain still remained in his eyes. “The queen ought to be reprimanded for what she did to you, Rhaenyra.”

“I wish she could be.” Rhaenyra sighs against the pillow’s frame. “My father is adamant in keeping peace.”

“Peace cannot be had if one is too hungry for power.” Aemon retorts to his cousin, his thumb brushing against her hand. He turns to his mother. “You will tell him, won’t you?”

“I will try.” His mother vows to him, trying to appease him. “We may only hope for the best, ñuha tresy.”

“Very well.” Aemon nodded to his mother, turning back to his smiling cousin once more. “Has Laenor come? Harwin?”

“Laenor helped me to go to her grace.” Rhaenyra reveals to him, an echo of relief brushes over him. “He has told her off just as much.”

“Good,” Aemon snickers. “Let us see what happens when Rhaenys and Corlys hears of this.”

“Rhaenys would not be happy.” Mellara agrees, nodding at his words. “This is her grandson.”

“Harwin has yet to see you? Or bless the new princeling with his loyalty?”

Rhaenyra nodded. “He’s busy at the City Watch, zōbrie zaldrīzes. He will come.”

“Then all is well.” Aemon whispers softly, his hands slowly drifting against his cousin’s touch. Rhaenyra seemed disgruntled at the separation of their touch. “I am glad you are well, jorrāelagon dārilaros. But I shall leave you, to rest.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes whispers in pleading. “Will you stay with me, until I slumber?”

The prince of Blackhall nodded, eyes softened at the sight of her. “Of course, jorrāelagon dārilaros. I’ll be here till you fall asleep.”

Rhaenyra smiled warmly at him, eyes ready for slumber.

Mellara watched as her son hummed a softened tune.

There was nothing as devoted as the scene before her.

Aegon Targaryen could not help stare at the sight of her broken. The sheets drenched with blood, the beautiful winter in her skin grew lifeless in the absence of color. Even her eyes, the beautiful winter flower blossoming from them, had slowly been losing will to live. Childbirth had been too much for her, it had not been a wise decision. It was not a wise decision to listen to her, to let her do as she wishes.

But she was a mother, a mother who loved their child more than anything. He regrets it all now. Of having a dream. Of wanting all too much. To prove this prophecy, this song. And now, he was losing what mattered. It was her, it was she that mattered. Not this babe, not this dream. Not this realm nor its future. It was her. It had always been her.

Leaning against the bedpost, Aegon realized it was his mistake, and he felt the sorrow in his heart as he realized she was paying the price for a prophesy. He didn't want to believe it, but he had no choice. It was accurate. But how would the truth play out against the person you'd grown to adore more than life itself? More than just duty? So, what does it have to do with anything else?

He didn't know anything anymore, he didn't know. But he knew...he knew he'd burn in the seven hells. He understood that for such a transgression, for allowing himself to be tempted. The gods are stealing all he's found, everything he would have loved and cherished dearer than life itself. He could feel the entire world collapsing around him.

She had not uttered a single word to anyone in the past hour. And perhaps she would never do so again. But she is holding on. That's what he's been hearing from the servants. No one would talk to him about what had been wrong with his wife, not even when he demanded the truth. He hated it, that they were hiding it from him. That they were treating him how they would a child, as if he was not their king, their sovereign lord. He gripped the sheets tightly, feeling his heart pound with endless worry.

It’s because he knew.

This was it.

This was the end.

He couldn't sleep since he knew he had to be at her side. He had to convince her that she was the one woman in his heart. He felt compelled to tell her everything. Nothing came to him when he walked in to discover her there, covered in freshly changed bedding. He couldn't help but think about what his wife had gone through. He couldn't help but think about how much anguish she had to endure because of him. Because of what he had done. The memories of losing Rhaenys returned to him. It was occurring again and again.

From all those years ago, Rhaenys still haunted him, had still yearned to call him as a ghost yearning to be human again, to be what they can never be once again. Soon enough she too would be the same, she knows it as well as he does. But time it was her, the one he actually loved. His eyes welled up with tears once again. He lacked the strength to prevent what the gods had intended. Even this wasn't enough for him when he demanded more time.

Just one more day.

One more moon.

A year.

Forever.

"You arrived," her voice was faint, hoarse, and lifeless. It was as if a ghost had summoned him instead. Her voice had always carried the warmth of a winter fire. It had always been a grand voice, full of color, and...it was dazzling. She'd lost everything. "As well as bruised..."

“I punched a wall.”

A weak sound releases from her. “Oh you ill tempered fool.”

He tries to laugh, but tears block his eyes. “Yes, this man. He is your ill tempered fool.”

Her pale hand moves slowly towards his own. “Yes….yes you are.”

"I will always come for you," he said, a tinge of grief and weariness about his voice. With a sorrowful grin on his lips, he tried to reassure her. "You can count on it."

"Our daughter….” She says to him, finally looking at him with those pleading eyes. “Promise me.”

Those eyes that were always full of life now resembled desolate winters, dark storms that raged, and hard sands that wandered through the wind. They were crimson from the previous three days of sadness and sobbing. But the look on her face that moment begged him. Pleading with him to make a commitment, a vow that will bind his heart for years after she is gone.

She had every reason to be concerned about him. She would like their daughter to be safe. To be looked after. Away from the court, away from the public knowing what they had shared over the years. Their daughter did not belong to the realm in the same way as Maegor or Aenys did. Their daughter was evidence of their affection.

They just have their own. Only theirs to enjoy for the rest of their lives. They had been overjoyed at the chance to possess something that was uniquely theirs. So many hours were spent anticipating the excitement that was to come. Instead of celebrating life, they must now mourn this terrible separation. A fatality that was completely needless.

"I know," he mumbles, his voice cracking as he hears powerful screams from a newborn. His heart had broken even more. "I told you, I intend to keep my promise. I told you."

"I do not want to leave." She whispers as she pursues her dried lips, her already tired eyes releasing more tears. “I do not want to face the gods knowing what I leave behind.”

"I do not wish to see you leave either." Aegon spoke the truth for the both of them to hear, placing his hand over her own pale ones."I do not want you to go.”

"But I must, my dragon." He heard her say to him and that made him frown. "I must go and part ways with you.”

"I never planned for this to happen," he said, his eyes meeting hers, sadness in his gaze. "We were supposed to grow old together."

"It's not your fault," the young woman said tiredly, her fingers resting on the ring he had given her. “It never was.”

After they wedded, he made it from the key to the fortress to show her that this, too, was hers. Dragonstone belonged to her as much as it did to him. To stare back at the wonder that had been his truth. It symbolized all the joy they had together, all the beautiful wonderful years that they had faced, all the beautiful moments with one another. She could not bear to look at it, to tell him goodbye for the rest of all time.

"However, everything now must go. That is why you have to live. Without me."

Aegon watched as she removed it carefully and placed it carefully on the palm of his hand. He looked at her as she smiled sadly with tears in her eyes. “How can you ask me about this? To live without you?”

“Because you must.” She whispers to him, feeling her throat as the air leaves her. Her eyes drifted into a soft sumber. A ghostly sound releases from her. “Promise me….”

“I promise.” Aegon Targaryen lowers his head against her hand. “I promise.”

Sara Stark smiled at him, ghostfully.

“I love you.”

Maegara Velaryon let out a gasp.

Tears fell through her eyes.

She pierces her lips.

“Even now…” Maegara’s oldened voice cracked dry. “You long for mother, father?”

#house of the dragon #hotd #daenerys targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #rhaenyra targaryen x oc #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #aegon the conqueror #house targaryen #house stark #house hightower #house velaryon #house tully

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sebeth · 2 years

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The World Of Ice And Fire: House Targaryen (Pre-Conquest)

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

I will be bouncing between “the World of Ice and Fire” and “Fire and Blood” to cover the early years of the Targaryen’s reign in Westeros.

The World of Ice and Fire was written by Maester Yandel and Fire and Blood was authored by Archmaester Gyldayn.

Yandel’s tome was a gift for the Baratheon kings while Gyldayn’s book is a history of the Targaryens in Westeros.

“Aegon’s Conquest” contains material I’ve covered in the “World of Ice And Fire” so a quick recap:

· Dates in Westeros or AC (After the Conquest” or BC (Before the Conquest).

· Such dating is imprecise as there is no specific ending date for the Wars of Conquest.

· Aegon the Conqueror dated the start of his reign from “the day he was crowned and anointed” and not the day he began his conquest two years earlier.

· Most of the actual Conquest took place in 2 – 1 BC.

· Valyria was the greatest city in the known world, the center of civilization.

· Dozens of rival houses “vied for power and glory in court and council”.

· The Targaryens were pure-blooded Valyrian dragon lords of an ancient lineage but far from the most powerful of the lords.

· Twelve years before the Doom of Valyria (114 BC), Daenys “the Dreamer” Targaryen had a dream that foretold the destruction of Valyria.

· Aenar Targaryen, the father of Daenys, sold his holdings in the Freehold and the Lands of Long Summer, gathered all “his wives, wealth, slaves, dragons, siblings, kin, and children” and moved to Dragonstone, an island off the coast of Westeros.

· Dragonstone had been the “westernmost outpost of Valyrian power for two centuries”. The Targaryens along with the Velaryons of Driftmark and the Celtigars of Claw Isle (two Valyrian houses of lesser descent) used Dragonstone to dominate the trade traffic of the middle reaches of the Narrow Sea.

Did Aenar forewarn anyone else of the upcoming destruction of Valyria? Was he doomed to be a Cassandra-type figure – warning of destruction only to be ignored? Or did he simply not care and used the future destruction of Valyria as the most ruthless move in the “game of thrones” ever?

Were the Velaryons and the Celtigars located on Driftmark and Claw Isle before the Aenar’s migration of did they arrive with him?

Back to the recap:

· The hundred years after the Doom of Valyria is called the Century of Blood. House Targaryen ignored Westeros.

House Targaryen’s leadership during the Century of Blood was as follows:

1. Aenar “the Exile” Targaryen

2. Gaemon “the Glorious” Targaryen & Daenys “the Dreamer” Targaryen (Aenar’s children)

3. Aegon & Elaena Targaryen (Gaemon & Daenys’ children)

4. Maegon Targaryen (Aegon & Elaena’s son)

5. Aerys Targaryen (Aegon & Elaena’s son)

6. Aelyx Targaryen (Aerys’s son)

7. Baelon Targaryen (Aery’s son)

8. Daemion Targaryen (Aery’s son)

9. Aerion Targaryen (Daemion’s son)

Aerion would wed Lady Valaena Velaryon, who was half-Targaryen on her mother’s side. They would have three children: Visenya, Aegon, and Rhaenys.

Aegon wed his elder sibling, Visenya, as custom dictated, and Rhaenys, his youngest sibling, because he felt like it.

“The custom amongst the dragonlords of Valyria to wed brother to sister to keep the bloodlines pure.” I understand the reason for the post-Doom inbreeding (lack of Valyrian options) but why was it the custom pre-Doom? Wouldn’t another non-related pure-blooded Valyrian dragon lord work as well as a sibling minus the nasty inbreeding aspects? Was it really a custom in Valyria or was it simply a falsehood stated by the Targaryens to justify the ongoing sibling marriages?

· Only one of the five dragons that accompanied Aenar to Dragonstone survived to the beginning of the Conquest: Balerion the Black Dread. Vhagar and Meraxes hatched on Dragonstone.

· A common myth states Aegon never stepped foot on Westeros before the Conquest but it is untrue. There are reports of Aegon and Visenya visiting the Citadel of Oldtown and as guests of Lord Redwyne on the Arbor. Aegon may have visited Lannisport as well.

Up next, the differences between Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys.

#asoiaf #game of thrones #twoiaf #House Targaryen #Targaryens #Aenar Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen #Aegon the Conqueror #A song of ice and fire

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dwellordream · 3 years

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How would things turn out if the genders of Aenys's children were swapped? Rhaena is Rhaegar/Rhaegel, Aegon Junior is Aerea, Viserys is Viserra, Jaehaerys is Jaehaera, Alysanne is Aelyx etc. I imagine Rhaegar/Rhaegel would take a more cautious approach as Rhaena wanted to, and just wait for Maegor's court to implode.

Under the cut:

Rhaenar Targaryen was the eldest son and heir of Aenys. He was considered a shy and dreamy boy much like his father at a young age, who did not have many close friends and preferred the company of animals and books. There was some concern over his hesitance in the training yard, though he could never be considered cowardly.

However once he bonded with the dragon Dreamfyre his shyness seemed to melt away, and while always a quiet man, he became much more assertive and active after that. Rhaenar was known for his musical talent; like his father he had a fine singing voice and played several instruments. He was also known for a group of male favorites, leading to much speculation about his sexuality, though he was wed to his younger sister Aerea as according to tradition.

Aerea Targaryen was the eldest daughter of Aenys, an attractive girl with a charming and even flirtatious demeanor who was said to be the very image of her grandmother Rhaenys. She was was a popular and charismatic young woman much admired by her peers who excelled in dancing, embroidery, riding, hawking, and numerous other ladylike pursuits.

Aerea was seen as much more outgoing and lighthearted than her brother, but the siblings were very close from a young age and got along well. However Aerea was much more hesitant to claim a dragon for herself, and did not until she was 17, after her father’s death claiming his mount, Quicksilver.

Rhaenar and Aerea wed to much condemnation from the Faith in 41 AC. After the wedding there was a royal progress, though Aerea’s lack of a dragon meant she must ride with her brother. While the sight of the young Rhaenar on dragonback quelled some of the crowds, the young couple was largely rejected and jeered at by the commons, whose fear of fiery reprisal had faded over the course of Aenys’ ineffectual reign.

The Faith continued to preach against the marriage as sinful and debauched, and by 42 AC and uprising had begun across Westeros against Targaryen rule. Rhaenar and Aerea were besieged at Crakehall. When Aenys heard about this he collapsed and died. Visenya meanwhile flew to Pentos to bring Maegor back from exile.

While this was happening, Rhaenar and his sister flew from Crakehall back to King’s Landing. Though menaced by mobs and a city on the verge of anarchy, they made it to the dragonpit where Aerea claimed her father’s mount, Quicksilver. Despite this triumph the siblings realized they could not hold the city without an army, nor could they trust the panicking courtiers.

That and Aerea’s suspicions that she was pregnant caused Rhaenar to decide they must fly to Casterly Rock and seek guest right from the Lannisters. They reunited with the rest of their household there, and Aerea gave birth to twin girls, Aerea and Rhaella. Meanwhile Maegor claimed his right to the Iron Throne from Dragonstone.

Realizing a bloody war of dragon against dragon would ensue, Rhaenar is said to have seriously considered fleeing into exile in Essos, not for his own sake but to protect his infant daughters from Maegor’s brutality. However his wife Aerea convinced him otherwise, and the couple resolved to stay and fight, despite the Faith declaring their children abominations and Lord Lannister’s refusal to declare for them.

Rhaenar assembled an army at Pinkmaiden in late 43 AC, largely of men from the Riverlands and Westerlands willing to risk it all for ‘Rhaenar the Uncrowned’. Rhaenar followed the advice of his counselors to attack and defeat each of Maegor’s forces separately.

He first defeated Lords Harroway and Tully, then Ser Davos Darklyn of the Kingsguard, and then Lords Peake, Merryweather, and Caswell. Though all the enemy forces were half or less the size of his own army, Rhaenar was an inexperienced commander and the victories were hard won.

By the time he advanced on the capital with Aerea, who had fought alongside him all the while, he had only ten thousand men remaining . Now they reached the God’s Eye, where Maegor waited with Balerion the Black Dread.

Rhaenar’s forces plunged into battle with the loyalists but Maegor fell upon Rhaenar and Dreamfyre with Balerion. Only his wife Aerea’s bravery saved the young man’s life. As Balerion and Dreamfyre grappled, Quicksilver attacked from above, distracting the larger dragon.

Rhaenar escaped with Dreamfyre and Balerion ripped off one of Quicksilver’s wings. Though he raced after the falling dragon and rider, it was too late. Aerea, his beloved sister and wife, was killed in the plummet to the battlefield below.

Enraged and heartbroken, Rhaenar attempted to reengage Maegor in battle, but Dreamfyre was weakened by her own injuries and Rhaenar collapsed from exhaustion and shock besides his sister’s corpse. The fleeing rebels dragged him to safety before he could be incinerated by Balerion’s flames.

Over the six months that followed Rhaenar lived in hiding with the rebels on the run while Maegor consolidated his claim and terrorized the court with a series of trials and executions. Meanwhile Alyssa and Rhaenar’s younger siblings were being held captive by Visenya on Dragonstone, with his brother Aegon a hostage and page to Maegor himself.

Yet in 44 AC, nearly a year after the battle at the God’s Eye, Visenya died, and in the chaos Alyssa fled with her daughters Viserra and Jaehaera, along with the sword Dark Sister. In return, Maegor had young Aegon, all of eight years old, tortured and mutilated by his wife Tyanna before finally killing the boy.

Rhaenar had now lost his sister and his brother to his uncle. When he heard the body had been staked out in the courtyard of the Red Keep for their mother to claim, Rhaenar is said to have coldly announced to the Farmans of Fair Isle who were harboring him, that he would gladly reclaim his little brother in his mother’s stead, and replace his corpse with Maegor’s.

Rhaenar was now older and grimmer, wizened by terrible experience and an attractive alternative to Maegor’s wildly unpopular reign. Even the Faith seemed less notably hostile. He flew to Storm’s End to reform a new army, with the simple message that they could either fight together against his uncle, or die apart. The great houses pledged to his banner and with a larger and more fearsome Dreamfyre the rebels advanced on King’s Landing once more.

Two of Maegor’s Kingsguard absconded to join them. By the time they sieged the city, Maegor was dead, reportedly having committed suicide. The city’s defenders quickly switched sides and it was less of a battle and more of a somber procession to the Red Keep.

Rhaenar was crowned king at last, and under considerable pressure to remarry, either to his 15 year old sister Viserra or a lady of a great house, and sire sons. However he would refuse, citing his firstborn child Aerea as his heir.

#ask #anon #rhaena the black bride #aegon the uncrowned

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tomakeitbeautifultolive · 5 years

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What bothers me is the saying that when a Targaryen is born, god flips a coin on whether they’re good or mad. So how many known mad Targaryens are there? Is it truly 50/50 or is it heavily inflated?

Short answer: Very heavily inflated.

Long answer: There are a few things to clear up before I start compiling the list. ‘Madness’ is classified as 'the state of being mentally ill’:

So, those who make my 'mad’ list are going to fit this definition, whereas Targaryens who, say, took lives due to participation in medieval wars or battles, will not fall into the 'mad’ category.

So what’s the quote, exactly?

“King Jaehaerys once told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Now, let’s bust that ‘Targaryen Madness’ myth!

Depending on the type of coin used, the probability of a coin flip differs. It’s either 50/50, 51/49, and in some more extreme estimations, as high as 55/45. Which, according to the above quote, means Targaryen madness has a roughly 45-55% chance of occurring.

Even in the Wiki of Ice and Fire, Targaryen Madness has its own entry, stating that:

“It must be observed that of the Targaryen kings who ruled Westeros for almost 300 years, only Aerys could be considered truly mad.”

List of 'Mad’ Targaryens (6):

Maegor I 'the Cruel’ Targaryen

Baelor I 'the Blessed’ Targaryen (this one is debatable)

Prince Rhaegel Targaryen

Aerion 'the Monstrous’ 'Brightflame’ Targaryen

Aerys II 'the Mad King’ Targaryen

Viserys 'the Beggar King’ Targaryen (this one is debatable)

(To better understand why these Targaryens are classified as mad, visit the Villains Wiki for a nice description for each character)

Possible ’Mad’ Targaryens (4):

Helaena Targaryen (became depressed and descended into madness, committed suicide)

Aelora Targaryen (driven mad with grief after losing her husband, committed suicide)

Daenerys 'Stormborn’ Targaryen (no madness in books, yet show made her 'go mad’ from grief and ‘bells’, apparently)

Maelys I 'the Monstrous’ Blackfyre (not actually a Targaryen. Ruthless and cruel, not necessarily mad, did possess a physical deformity)

List of non-Mad Targaryens (80):

Aenar Targaryen

Gaemon 'the Glorious’ Targaryen

Daenys 'the Dreamer’ Targaryen

Aegon Targaryen

Elaena Targaryen

Maegon Targaryen

Aerys Targaryen

Aelyx Targaryen

Baelon Targaryen

Daemion Targaryen

Aerion Targaryen

Visenya Targaryen

Aegon I Targaryen

Rhaenys Targaryen

Aenys I Targaryen

Rhaena Targaryen

Aegon 'the Uncrowned’ Targaryen

Viserys Targaryen

Jaehaerys I 'the Wise’ Targaryen

'Good Queen’ Alysanne Targaryen

Rhaella Targaryen

Aerea Targaryen

Daenerys Targaryen

Vaegon 'the Dragonless’ Targaryen

Maegelle Targaryen

Viserra Targaryen

Saera Targaryen

Gael Targaryen

Aemon Targaryen

Daella Targaryen* (maybe had anxiety?)

Baelon 'the Brave’ Targaryen

Alyssa Targaryen

Rhaenys 'the Queen Who Never Was’ Targaryen

Viserys I Targaryen

Daemon 'the Rogue Prince’ Targaryen* (maybe suffered narcissism?)

Baela Targaryen

Rhaena Targaryen 'of Pentos’

Viserys II Targaryen

Aegon III 'the Younger’ Targaryen* (Had a temper, I guess?)

Jaehaera Targaryen (committed suicide, maybe? probably murdered)

Jaehaerys Targaryen (born with six fingers and toes?)

Aegon II 'the Elder’ Targaryen (Was cruel?)

Aemond 'One-Eye’ Targaryen (Was a shitty person, I guess?)

Daeron 'the Daring’ Targaryen

Elaena Targaryen

Septa Rhaena Targaryen

Daeron I 'the Young Dragon’ Targaryen

Daena 'the Defiant’ Targaryen

Aegon IV 'the Unworthy’ Targaryen (Was a shitty person, I guess?)

Naerys Targaryen

Aemon 'the Dragonknight’ Targaryen

Daemon I Blackfyre

Daeron II ’ the Good’ Targaryen

Daenerys Targaryen of Dorne

Maekar I Targaryen (Had a temper I guess?)

Aerys I Targaryen

Baelor 'Breakspear’ Targaryen

Matarys Targaryen

Valarr 'the Young Prince’ Targaryen

Brynden 'Lord Bloodraven’ Rivers (Was kind of a shitty person, I guess?)

Shiera Seastar (Was rumored to be a murdery sorceress?)

Aegor 'Bittersteel’ Rivers (Had a temper, I guess?)

Rhae Targaryen

Aegon V 'the Unlikely’ Targaryen

Daella Targaryen

Maester Aemon Targaryen

Daenora Targaryen

Aelor Targaryen

Maegor Targaryen (fears that he would inherit his father’s madness, I guess?)

Daeron 'the Drunken’ Targaryen

Vaella Targaryen (simple-minded or low IQ, I guess?)

Prince Duncan 'the Small’ Targaryen

Jaehaerys II Targaryen

Shaera Targaryen

Rhaelle Targaryen

Daeron Targaryen

Queen Rhaella Targaryen

Rhaegar 'the Silver Prince’ Targaryen

Rhaenys Targaryen

Aegon Targaryen (👶?) (or… may be Young Griff?)

Non-'Mad’ Offspring from Targaryen Mothers (11):

Laena Velaryon (gave birth to a deformed son, I guess?)

Jacaerys Velaryon

Lucerys Velaryon

Joffrey Velaryon

Joy Penrose

Jon Waters

Jeyne Waters

Viserys Plumm

Robin Penrose

Laena Penrose

Jocelyn Penrose

Targaryens who died as babies (11):

Vaella Targaryen 👶

Aegon Targaryen 👶

Gaemon Targaryen 👶

Valerion Targaryen 👶

Aegon Targaryen 👶

Maelor Targaryen 👶

Baelon Targaryen 👶

Jaehaerys Targaryen 👶

Aegon Targaryen 👶

Daeron Targaryen 👶

Shaena Targaryen 👶

Targaryen babies born with physical deformities (2):

Visenya Targaryen 👶 (twisted and malformed)

Rhaego 👶 (born deformed… likely the result of magic)

Equations and Conclusion:

If we want to get VERY generous and say that EVERY Targaryen baby who died young would end up mad, we’d be at 23 Targaryens out of 114 known Targaryens, or a madness rate of about 16%. That’s nowhere near the 45% chance of a coin toss.

Still being a generous, we’ll lump together all the mad Targaryens, possibly mad Targaryens, all the non-mad ones with footnotes, and the deformed babies - we get 27 total, which would be about 24% - but this is including people who just have bad attitudes, anxiety, rumors spread about them, or FEARS of madness… is that fair? No, it’s not. Then literally every character in Westeros or Essos would be classified as mad.

If we aim to be a little fairer, including only the known 'mad’ Targaryens, the four debatably 'mad’ Targaryens, and the two babies who were born deformed but died young… then we’d be at a whopping 12 cases of madness out of 114 Targaryens, or about 9%.

However, provable cases of genetic madness? Fuck, I’ll even throw in Daenerys! That brings us up to SEVEN cases of madness out of 114 Targaryens.

…SEVEN ‘MAD’ TARGARYENS.

OUT OF ONE-HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN.

Which means that about *SIX PERCENT* of Targaryens have shown any actual 'madness’ in the hundreds of years they’ve inhabited Westeros.

#answered #house targaryen #daenerys defense squad #daenerys targaryen #targaryen madness #mad targaryens #madness myth #MADNESS ISN'T EVEN A REAL THING!

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samwpmarleau · 5 years

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Hello how are you? I have read many of your stories here on Tumblr and I dared to send you this message. You write so perfectly to Elia that I wanted to ask if you could write a little story with her as queen regent of Rhaenys as future queen of Westeros. I know it's a bit strange since Aegon would have been the king, but I believe faithfully that Elia would have fought for her daughter to be the queen, without marrying her brother. Thanks for the incredible story you upload, they are great.

Thank you so much!! Hope you enjoy and that this isn’t too contrived :)

It takes days of negotiations, just the two of them, before they reach an agreement. Neither of them likes the deal, but then, that’s what compromise is. The little things take no time at all; it’s the sticking point that takes the dragon’s share of their time.

Rhaegar would not be moved on his demand that Aelyx, his Stark-looking infant bastard, would be raised in the Keep. He had not pressed for legitimization or princehood, but just the thought of the child being raised here had turned her stomach. Even with acknowledgement and residence being the only benefits the babe receives, it is far too much of a reminder of Daemon Blackfyre for Elia’s comfort.

And so she had had to declare her own dealbreaker: Rhaenys must be named heir. It didn’t–and doesn’t–matter to her whether he adopted Dornish primogeniture for good or whether he used a kingly proclamation, only that once all is said and done, Rhaenys would in due course be queen in her own right. He had balked, though she had expected that.

Refuse, and I will take the children away in the middle of the night and you will never see them again, mark my words, she had warned. Refuse, and your prince that was promised, two of your heads of the dragon, will be plucked from your grasp.

He must have seen the murderous sincerity to her face, or else even the possibility fo his prophecy being thwarted was too much of a risk, for eventually, he had agreed.

And he follows through. The next day, he informs the Small Council, and later the court, of his will. There is uproar to the highest degree, as predicted. Not only is Rhaenys a girl, they all complain, but she resembles a Targaryen no more than Elia herself.

Yet somehow Rhaegar quiets them, at least for now. He reminds them that Rhaenys’s namesake had been a queen in her own right, and had King Jaehaerys not skirted previously established law, the next Rhaenys would have been queen, too.

But perhaps Elia should not be surprised that he would convince them. Rhaegar’s silver tongue had managed to mend the realm, more or less, after the civil war he had helped start; this would have been simple.

The ravens fly that very day.

Rhaenys is far too young to understand the gravity of the decision, barely four as she is, yet every time Elia imagines the future, her half-Dornish daughter ruling from on high, it gives her vindicated pleasure.

She is not an ambitious person by nature, but if Rhaegar could parade his bastard in front of her, putting her children in danger by the boy’s very existence, spur talk of whether Rhaegar would favor his northern child over his trueborn ones, then by all the gods she will ensure her position. She will remind the realm that Dorne is not powerless. Dorne will not be threatened. More importantly, Rhaegar could never underestimate her nor try to set her aside–were that his inclination, or even a possibility, though she doesn’t think it is–nor think his role is the only one that matters.

Naming Rhaenys his heir, even if he only does so in defense of his prophecy, would remind him until he breathed his last breath that she, Elia of Dorne, would always hold sway.

It does work, in the end. Oh, there are always rumblings of dissent, fervent enough to make her uneasy, but nothing ever truly materializes. As the years pass, almost all of those who had opposed Rhaegar’s edict finally resign themselves to it, switching from staunch opposition to putting forth their sons or brothers or cousins–or even themselves–as a potential consort.

Elia never comes to accept Aelyx–how could she?–never mind that he has no title and that he claims he’s sworn his sword to his half-siblings. But much like the citizens of Westeros have accepted Rhaenys’s heirship, so has she accepted that he is here to stay. At the least, he seems as uncomfortable around her as she is around him.

She is profoundly skeptical when on his sixteenth nameday he approaches her and says that when there is an opening, he wishes to don a white cloak, whether for Rhaegar’s Kingsguard or Rhaenys’s Queensguard.

It would give me a purpose, he tells her. And mayhaps it would show you once and for all that I intend never to threaten my brother and sister. I love them, Your Grace.

It seems too grand a gesture, too good to be true–and yet when Lord Commander Hightower passes in his sleep, the boy indeed presents his case to Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold’s successor, who in turn presents it to Rhaegar. So it is that nigh on his nineteenth nameday, Aelyx Waters takes the oath just as he’d promised.

She doesn’t know what to make of it, is only able to give him a nod, but he embraces it all the same.

Eight years hence, the moment Elia had envisioned for so long arrives. Participating in his umpteenth joust, a piece of wood that had splintered into the unprotected joint of Rhaegar’s breastplate festers, and within the week, he perishes, sending shockwaves through the realm.

Allaying Elia’s worst fears, one by one each lord paramount and each chief vassal sinks to his knee before the throne on which Rhaenys sits, swearing to her his fealty. Her consort, Prince Garlan, is seated in the chair at the base of the throne, pride his only expression, their twins at his side.

(That had certainly been a lengthy negotiation, too. Everyone knew the Tyrells were only nominally loyalists during the Rebellion, and as a Martell of Sunspear, she had not enjoyed the idea of marrying her daughter to a Reacher. But alternate options were few and undesirable, and Ser Garlan had been as charming as his uncle, so finally she had relented. That Rhaenys is besotted, now if not at the beginning, is a balm.)

Her daughter is a vision, Elia thinks with joy. She is clad in rich Targaryen crimson and black, her gleaming golden crown matching the dozen bangles on her wrists and the bands tying back her hair. She looks eminently content and confident on that mound of swords, eliciting the image of a dragon warming itself in the sun.

Her reign would not be without challenges, Elia knows–but no matter the rest, it is Rhaenys of Houses Targaryen and Martell, the First of Her Name, who is Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, for now until the end of her days.

#rhaenys targaryen #elia martell #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #gotfic #rhaegar targaryen #jon snow #my fic #compliance: canon au #francesca salazar #i apologize that this is kind of light on elia being queen regent and more about her supporting rhaenys #so hopefully it's all right!#btw as it says on my blog i'm not taking new prompts #i'm filling old ones

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goodqueenaly · 6 years

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I don't know if you've been asked this before, but how do you think Rhaenys felt about marrying Aegon? Did she return his feelings, even though he and Visenya were betrothed? How do you think Aegon convinced his parents (or whoever was in charge of his and Visenya's betrothal pact) that he should be allowed to marry both his sisters, given that it was a rare thing to do?

That’s a very good question, and one I’m curious whether Fire and Blood Volume 1 will address at all. Certainly, we don’t have much in terms of the pre-Conquest lives of Aegon and his siblings, and even less of that involves Rhaenys herself. Indeed, I think Rhaenys might have been something of a third wheel to the Targaryens on Dragonstone in the years before the Conquest. Visenya and Aegon seem to have been, to use an ethological term, the alpha pair of the clan: they each received one of the two named Valyrian steel swords belonging to the family, they traveled together to see Oldtown and to be feted by Lord Redwyne on the Arbor, they were expected to carry on the Targaryen incestuous tradition and “rule together” on Dragonstone, just as Gaemon and Daenys and Aegon and Elaena had before them. Rhaenys was, by contrast, an extra, her extraneous position perhaps even more underlined by the apparent dearth of male-line Targaryen relations to whom she could be conveniently wed (TWOIAF gives no indication that Rhaenys’ grandfather Aerion had other brothers, and given that his father Daemion succeeded after his brothers Aelyx and Baelon, I doubt Rhaenys’ Targaryen great uncles had sons of their own, or male Targaryen descendants).

So for Rhaenys, the opportunity to marry Aegon might have seemed unexpected but very welcome. This was, after all, a woman who had mastered a very large and very fearsome dragon, who would prove no slouch in the business of war, and who would take to the role of queen with energy and zeal (even more so, in some ways, than Visenya did). Becoming Aegon’s wife meant that Rhaenys could take part actively in the Conquest and the business of ruling thereafter, instead of watching from the sidelines - or being dangled as a marriage prize for her brother’s allies or potential allies. She would have the ultimate female role in the realm, as a co-ruling monarch more equal to the king than any of her queenly successors, with the added distinction of being the matriarch of the new dynasty (since Aegon made it very clear that he expected his heirs to come only from Rhaenys, not from Visenya too).

This doesn’t answer how Rhaenys felt about Aegon personally, of course, and again, I would be curious if Fire and Blood Volume 1 will discuss this in more detail. I do not believe that Rhaenys took other lovers during her marriage to Aegon; even if she was not romantically devoted to her husband, engaged in an affair that could easily be made obvious with the birth of a non-Valyrian-looking child seems too great a risk for Rhaenys to take. That doesn’t mean she loved Aegon, though, especially with their personalities seeming to be so different - Rhaenys “playful, curious, impulsive, [and] given to flights of fancy”, Aegon serious, determined, and focused, particularly on establishing a lasting Targaryen state. Too, it could not have been easy being a co-queen and co-wife with the elder sister who had every reason to expect she would be Aegon’s only bride.

As for how Aegon managed it, my guess - though it’s only a guess - is that Aegon was already Lord of Dragonstone when he wed, and that he simply said he was going to do it and did it, expecting that his authority (and his mastery of the colossal and fearsome Balerion) would smooth over any questions. Yandel calls his decision to marry Rhaenys as well as Visenya “unusual, though not without precedent”, so presumably there was some history among the dragonlords in general, and perhaps the Targaryens specifically, to take multiple wives. It may be indeed that the lack of close male Targaryen relations actually helped Aegon’s argument; if the Valyrian expatriates were in agreement to “keep the bloodlines pure”, perhaps it made sense, in some way, for Rhaenys to be wed to her indisputably Valyrian brother too, so that she would not be forced - the horror - to marry among non-Valyrians (that’s assuming, of course, that there were also not obvious or suitable candidates for her among their Velaryon cousins).

#asoiaf meta #fire and blood #fire and blood volume 1 #rhaenys targaryen #aegon i targaryen

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alaynemoonstone-blog · 6 years

Text

Fire and Blood - German Preview Translation Part 1.

Disclaimer: it's been a while since I studied German, there's bound to be a few mistakes, any corrections are appreciated.

The Maesters of the Citadel, who preserve the history of Westeros, have been using Aegon's conquest as the starting point of their era for three hundred years. Births, deaths, battles and other events are either dated before Aegon's Conquest or after Aegon's Conquest.

The true scholar knows how imprecise such information is. Aegon Targaryen's Conquest of the Seven Kingdoms did not take place in a single day. More than two years elapsed between Aegon's landing and his coronation in Oldtown... and even after that the conquest was not yet complete because Dorne was not yet subjected. Occasional attempts were repeated during King Aegon's reign, even during the reign of his sons. Therefore, it is impossible to give an exact date for the end of the Wars of Conquest.

Even the start date is based on an erroneous idea. It is often mistakenly assumed that the reign of King Aegon I Targaryen began the day he landed at the mouth of the Black Water, at the foot of the three hills around which the city of King’s Landing would later rise. That's not true! The day of Aegon's Landing was celebrated by the king and his descendants, but the conqueror himself actually counted the years of his reign after the day he was anointed and crowned king in the Starry Sept of Oldtown by the High Septon of Faith. This coronation took place two years after Aegon's Landing, some time after the Targaryens defeated and won the three major battles in the Wars of Conquest. As you can see, most of Aegon's actual conquest took place one to two years before Aegon's conquest.

The Targaryens came from the purest Valyrian blood and were dragonlords of an old sex(?). Twelve years before the Doom of Valyria, Aenar Targaryen sold his possessions in the Free Hold and in the Land of the Always Summer and moved with his consorts, his possessions, slaves, dragons, siblings, children and relatives to Dragonstone, a desolate island citadel under a smoking mountain in the Narrow Sea.

At its peak, Valyria was the largest city in the known world, the center of civilization. Behind its glittering walls, forty rival houses vied for power and glory in court and council, and rose and fell in the endless, volatile and often violent struggle for dominion. The Targaryens were by far not the most powerful of the Dragon Lords, and their rivals condemned their flight to Dragonstone as an act of capitulation and cowardice. But Lord Aenar's virgin daughter, Daenys, who forever made history as Daenys the Dreamer, had foreseen the Doom of Valyrias by fire. And when, twelve years later, the fatality came over Valyria, the Targaryens were the only dragon lords to survive.

Dragonstone had been the westernmost outpost of Valyrian power for two centuries. It’s position across the throat allowed it’s masters to strangle the Blackwater Bay, so both the Targaryen and their close allies, the Velaryons of Driftmark (a lower house of Valyrian origin), were able to enrich trade in the region. The Velaryon fleet, along with another Valyrian house, the Celtigars of Claw Island, controlled the middle area of the Narrow Sea, while the Targaryen ruled the sky with their dragons.

Nevertheless, for most of the first hundred years after the Doom (which is aptly called the Century of the Blood), Targaryen's eyes turned eastward rather than westward, showing little interest in Westeros. Gaemon Targaryen, brother and consort of Daenys the Dreamer, followed Aenar the Exile as Lord of Dragonstone and became famous as Gaemon the Glorious. Gaemon's son Aegon and his daughter Elaena reigned together after his death. They were followed by their son Maegon, his brother Aerys and Aerys' sons Aelyx, Baelon and Daemion. The last of the three brothers was Daemion, whose son Aerion eventually became Lord of Dragonstone.

Then Aegon, known to history as Aegon the Conqueror and Aegon the Dragon, was born in 27 B.C. on Dragonstone. He was the only son and second child of Aerion, Lord of Dragonstone, and Lady Valaena of House Velaryon, who was half Targaryen through her mother. Aegon had two siblings, an older sister, Visenya, and a younger sister, Rhaenys. For a long time it had been the custom of the Valyrian Dragonlords to marry brother to sister to keep the blood pure, but Aegon took both sisters to wife. By tradition, he would only have had to marry his older sister Visenya; Taking Rhaenys as a second wife was unusual, if not without historical precedent. Some said Aegon married Visenya out of duty, but Rhaenys because he desired her.

All three siblings had already proved themselves as Dragonlords before their wedding. Of the five dragons that had flown with Aenar the Exile to Dragonstone,only one lived in Aegon's days: the great beast Balerion the Black Dread. The other two, Vhagar and Meraxes, were younger and first hatched on Dragonstone.

Among the ignorant, is the myth that Aegon Targaryen never set foot on the continent's soil before the day he set sail to conquer Westeros, but this cannot be true. Years before this voyage, at Lord Aegon's behest, the painted panel had been carved and decorated: a huge wooden panel, about fifty feet long, in the shape of the landmass of Westeros, painted with all the forests and rivers and cities and castles of the Seven Kingdoms. Apparently, Aegon had long been interested in Westeros long before the events that drove him to war. There are also reliable accounts of a young Aegon and his sister Visenya's stay in the Citadel of Oldtown, as well as a visit to hawk on the Arbor as guests of Lord Rothweyn. He could have also visited Lannisport. Here contradict the sources.

In Aegon's youth, Westeros was divided into seven contentious kingdoms, and there were hardly times when two or three of these kingdoms did not wage war against each other. The wide, cold and stony north was ruled by the Starks of Winterfell. In the deserts of Dorne, the word of the princes of the House Martell was law. The gold-rich Westerlands dominated by the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, the fertile expanse the Gardener of Highgarden. The Vale, the Fingers and the Mountains of the Moon belonged to House Arryn. But the most wary kings of Aegon's times ruled the two kingdoms closest to Dragonstone - Harren the Black and Argilac the Arrogant.

From Storm’s End, the Storm Kings of House Durrandon once ruled the eastern half of Westeros from Eagle Cape to Crab Bay, but their power had been dwindling for centuries. The Kings of Reach had taken over areas in the west, the Dornish pressed them to the south, and Harren the Black and his Ironborn drove them away from the Trident and from the lands north of the Blackwater. King Argilac, the last Durrandon, was able to stop this decline for some time as a boy when turning back a Dornish invasion. Then he crossed the Narrow Sea, where he joined the great alliance against the "Tigers" of Volantis; Twenty years later he killed Garse VII, the King of the Reach, in the battle of Summerfield. But then age had caught up with Argilac: his famous black mane had turned gray and his strength in the fight had diminished.

North of the Blackwater, Harren the Back from House Hoare, the king of the Iron Islands and the Rivers, dominated the Riverlands with a bloody hand. Harren's grandfather Harwyn Hoare, an Ironborn, had taken over Trident from Argilac's grandfather Arrec, whose ancestors had cast down the last River King centuries before. Harren's father had extended his rule east to Duskendale and Rosby. Harren himself dedicated nearly forty years of his rule to building a huge castle on the God’s Eye, but as Harrenhal neared completion, the Ironborn were ready for new conquests.

No king in Westeros was more feared than Harren the Black, who was known in all Seven Kingdoms for his legendary cruelty. And no king in Westeros felt more threatened than Argilac the Storm King, the last Durrandon - an aging warrior whose sole heir was his virgin daughter. And so it came about that Argilac turned to the Targaryens on Dragonstone and offered Lord Aegon the hand of his daughter, with a dowry of all land east of the God's Eye from the Trident to the Blackwater.

Aegon Targaryen rejected the offer of the Storm King. He already has two wives, he explained, and do not need a third. In addition, the offered dowry of the lands had already been part of Harrenhal for over a generation, so Argilac could not give it away. Obviously, the aging Storm King wanted the Targaryens on the Blackwater to be a buffer between his own lands and those of Harrens the Black.

But the Lord of Dragonstone made him a counter offer. He would take the lands offered to him if Argilac additionally left him Massey's hook and the forests and plains south of the Blackwater to the Wendwater and the Manders. The pact was to be sealed by the marriage of Argilac's daughter to Orys Baratheon, Lord Aegon's knight and childhood friend.

Argilac angrily rejected this proposal. It was rumored that Orys Baratheon was an illegitimate half-brother of Lord Aegon of low birth. The Storm King did not want to dishonor his daughter by giving her hand to a bastard. But the suggestion angered him beyond measure. Argilac cut off the hands of Aegon’s messenger and sent them back to him in a box. "These are the only hands your bastard will get from me," he wrote.

Aegon did not answer. Instead, he called his friends, vassals, and allies to Dragonstone. Their numbers was small. The Velaryons of Driftmark were bound by oath to House Targaryen, as well as the Celtigars of Claw Isle. From Massey's Hook came Lord Bar Emmon of Sharp Point and Lord Massey of Stonedance, both of whom were bound to Storm’s End by oath, but had closer ties to Dragonstone. Lord Aegon and his sisters conferred with them and even visited the castle sept together to pray to the Faith of the Seven, though Aegon had not been known for his piety until then.

On the seventh day, a flock of ravens flew from Dragonstone's towers, carrying Lord Aegon's word into the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. The birds flew to the Seven Kings, to the Citadel of Oldtown, to lords large and small. All of them carried the same message: From that day on, there would only be one king in Westeros. Anyone who would bend the knee to Aegon Targaryen will keep his lands and titles. Those who raise arms against him will be cast down, humiliated and destroyed.

The reports of the number of men that started with Aegon and his sisters on Dragonstone are contradictory. Some call three thousand, others count only hundreds. This modest Targaryen army landed at the mouth of the Black Water, on the north shore, where three wooded hills rose above a small fishing village.

In the days of the One Hundred Kingdoms, many petty kings had claimed control of the estuary, including the Darklyns of Duskendale, the Masseys of Stonedance and the Ancient River Kings, whether Mud, Fisher, Bracken, Blackwood or Hook. Time and again, towers and festivals crowned the three hills, only to be destroyed in this or that war afterwards. Now only broken stones and overgrown ruins welcomed the Targaryens. Although both Storm’s End and Harrenhal claimed the estuary, it was not defended, and the next castles were held by lesser lords without great power or military strength, and Lords, who had little reason to love their lord, Harren the Black.

Aegon Targaryen fortified the highest hill with a wood and earth palisade and sent his sisters to subjugate the neighboring castles. Rosby surrendered to Rhaenys and her gold eyed Meraxes without a fight. At Stokeworth, some crossbowmen shot bolts at Visenya until Vhagar's flames set fire to the roofs of the castle. After that, they also surrendered.

The first real challenge for the Conqueror was represented by Lord Darklyn of Duskendale and Lord Muton of Maidenpool, who banded together and marched southward with three thousand men to throw the invaders back into the sea. Aegon dispatched Orys Baratheon, who was supposed to ambush her while he was on the move, while he himself plunged from the air with the Black Dread. Both Lords fell in unequal battle. Then Lord Darklyn’s son and Muton's brother handed over their castles and swore their swords House Targaryen. At that time, Duskendale was the most important port of Westeros on the Narrow Sea and rich in trade. Visenya Targaryen forbade the plunder of the city, but did not hesitate to claim its riches, which filled the conquerors' chests.

This passage might be worth a few words about the different characters of Aegon Targaryen’s his sister-wives and queens.

Visenya, the eldest of the three, was as ferocious a warrior as Aegon himself, and felt as much at home in a chain mail as in silk. She wore a Valyrian steel longsword, Dark Sister, whom she could handle with great expertise because she had been practicing weapons with her brother since early childhood. Although she was blessed with the silver-gold hair and violet eyes of Valyria, her beauty was rather harsh. Even those who loved her described Visenya as stern, serious and vindictive. Some even said that she played around with poisons and was involved with dark magic.

Rhaenys, the youngest of the three, embodied the exact opposite of her sister. She was playful, curious, impulsive, and was fond of reverie. Rhaenys was not a true warrior, but she loved music, dance and poetry and supported singers, mimes and puppeteers. Still, it is said that Rhaenys spent more time on the back of her dragon than her brother and sister together, because she loved flying over everything. Once she is said to have said that before she died, she wanted to fly to Meraxes over the Sunset Sea to see what lay on its west coast. While no one ever questioned Visenya's loyalty to her brother's consort, Rhaenys surrounded himself with handsome young men and, it was whispered, had fun in bed with some of them when Aegon spent the night with her older sister. Despite these rumors, observers at court did not fail to notice that for every night Aegon spent with Visenya, he spent ten with Rhaenys.

Strangely enough, Aegon Targaryen himself was just as much a mystery to his contemporaries as he is to us. He was one of the greatest warriors of his time and wielded Blackfyre, a blade of Valyrian steel. Nevertheless, he had not much love for weapon acts and rode neither in the tournament, nor he fought in buhurt. His dragon was Balerion the Black Dread, but he only rode it for battle or to travel over land and sea. Thanks to his commanding manner, he found it easy to gather men to his banners, but apart from Orys Baratheon, the companion of his youth, he had no close friends. Women were attracted to him, but Aegon remained faithful to his sister-wives. As a king, he entrusted many tasks to his Small Council and his sisters, leaving them with much of the day-to-day affairs of government, but he did not hesitate to take matters into his own hands whenever he thought necessary. He went to court with rebels and traitors, but he was always generous to former enemies who bent the knee.

He proved this for the first time in the Aegonfort, the simple wooden and earth ramp he had erected on the mountain, which was now to be called Aegon's High Hill. After taking a dozen castles and securing the mouth of the Blackwater on both shores, he commanded the defeated lords to his side. They laid their swords at his feet, but Aegon helped them up and confirmed them in their lands and titles. He gave his oldest followers new honors. Daemon Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, called him Master of the Ships and gave him command of the Royal Fleet. Triston Massey, Lord of Stonedance, was appointed Master of Laws, Crispian Celtigar the Master of Coin. And he called Orys Baratheon "my faithful shield and retainer, my strong, right-hand man." Therefore, Orys Baratheon is considered the first Hand of the King.

Coat of arms had long been a tradition among the Lords of Westeros, but the Ancient Lords of Valyria had never used such a thing. When Aegon's knights unrolled his great battle standard of silk, showing a red, fire-breathing dragon with three heads on a black background, the lords took this as a sign that he had truly become one of their own, a worthy High King of Westeros. When Queen Visenya set her brother a ruby-studded Valyrian steel hoop on his head and Queen Rhaenys proclaimed him as "Aegon, the first of His name, King of all Westeros and Shield of His people," the dragons roared, and the lords and knights cheered ... but the loudest among them were the fishermen and field workers and women.

Only the seven kings Aegon intended to dethrone the dragon did not rejoice. In Harrenhal and Storm’s End, Harren the Black and Argilac, who had already called the arrogant, called the banners. In the west, King Mern rode from the Reach up the Ocean Road northward to Casterly Rock, to meet King Loren of House Lannister. The Princess of Dorne sent a raven to Dragonstone and offered support to Aegon in the fight against Argilac the Storm King ... but as an equal ally, not a subject. Another alliance offer came from the child king of the Vale, Ronnel Arryn, whose mother offered to support Aegon against Harren the Black, and in return demanded all lands east of the Green Fork of the Trident. Even in the north, King Torrhen Stark of Winterfell sat with his lords and advisors late into the night and discussed how to deal with this would-be conqueror. The whole kingdom was anxiously awaited Aegon's next move.

#fire and blood #fire and blood vol 1 #aegon the conqueror #house targaryen #aegon's conquest #asoiaf #my post

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mononijikayu · 2 years

Text

chapter xvi.

Rating: M

Warning: Targaryen Incest, Depictions of Violence;

Summary: In which AEGON BLACKMACE returns home to his family and claims his second dragon;

[many moons after his return, the question came regarding his loss of the dragon. duty had always been primary to him, but at the loss of his dragon to war, it was as though madness came to him, anger came to him. it was unexpressed, hidden away for the sake of his family. his princely father, prince daemon who had poured time and effort into the knowledge of dragons, had urged his son to claim another, to find himself a calming influence. it was suggested he claim the old king’s dragon, the bronze fury, vermithor. but he would not do such a thing, unable to accept the loss of his bonded. however, the cannibal, who had been a wild dragon of dragonstone for many years before the conquest, helped himself to aelyx’s corpse - the prince consort was furious. he hurried to the cave and fought the she-beast with only his anger. in the end, the unthinkable had happened. aegon blackmace claimed the she-beast and renamed her aerax, after the goddess of death in old valyria. the she-beast would remain loyal only to his beckon and call for the rest of his life.]

- maester aeron targaryen; adust.

A D U S T m a s t e r l i s t

< you and i burn together or we shall die trying >

chapter i / chapter ii / chapter iii / chapter iv / chapter v

chapter vi / chapter vii / chapter viii / chapter ix / chapter x

chapter xi / chapter xii / chapter xiii / chapter xiv / chapter xv

chapter xvi / chapter xvii / chapter xviii

When he dreamt, he screamed. Delirious from the milk of the poppy, they shoved down his throat as they drifted along the sea, the healer whispering to him in his native tongue. Each dream was accompanied by the heaviness of summer fever, a wound that never closed, and a grief that had never come to pass. Each shrill was etched in horror, notes drifting in all the mournful tunes that came with someone who had lost himself. The same song haunted him in his dreams, the same hymn of panic that filled his beloved Aelyx as she drowned through the sky, bleeding and broken with fear of death.

The whole of himself was broken, filled with endless stripes of loose arrowheads creating new constellations on his skin. The battering hiss of his painful wounds sustained from the crash, the wounds that had reminded him of that same day. He could recall how hot the flames had been, how much Aelyx’s fire had burnt men.

The same smell of burning flesh of his beast collapsed under him in heavy slowness as Aelyx breathed her last song to her bonded, eagerly wishing for his touch as they fell across the sky. His dreams always ended the same way. The tears poured from his eyes, the sweat mixed against his flesh, and his last thoughts were of home, a sight that Aelyx and he would never see again. In each dream, in each nightmare – he was haunted. And he can never escape them. Not even when he wanted to.

When Aegon Targaryen opened his eyes once again, he was in pain. The detestable metallic taste of potions and herbs bitter at his lips. The sun had all but left them. He was sure of it. A haggard breath left his lips as he felt the familiar scent of fire, the coarse scent of fish and sea. The smell of volcanic ash drifted through his body as though he had belonged within its confines. Heavy-lidded eyes shone in bright purple against the candlelight.

Her warmth was familiar, the soft grip only his mother could give him. When he had tried to open his eyes wider, he had seen her clearly. Her lilac eyes were full of relief, her weary figure hunched over his and soon had drifted to slouch as she laid her body to his. Squeezing his cold corpse hands with her own warm touch, she leaned to kiss them.

A kiss that brought him back to life, as though she had once more birthed him into the world. It was poignant that in the very dragon keep where he had been born, she welcomed him once more to life, with her own loving touch gathering him into the cradle of her arms. Mellara Targaryen had come to be that mother who had cherished her eldest son, the only child she would ever have alive and breathing with her beloved rogue.

"It is good to see you once again, mother." He whispered softly, forcing his voice forward as his mother huffed a soft breath, relief passing through her body. "After all this time."

"When I had birthed you in this very keep, it worried me that I would also see you out of it."

Aegon laughed, coughing in pain. "That would be the most poetic way to pass. Though it is not an honorable way for a dragon to die."

Mellara felt her tears prickle at her eyes, returning her son's laugh. "No, it would not have been. That would have been a maester's death."

"Then perhaps I should have been one, mother. Like old uncle Vaegon."

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around her son tenderly as the tears poured from her eyes. Aegon did not speak, allowing both his arms to return her affection as the sobbing continued with a vengeance. The thought of anything happening to him had always worried his mother. Significantly when he had grown into a man, into the dragon warrior, his father had always been. They had lost children through the many years his mother and father had been together. They had never spoken of it. He did not bring it up, respecting their grief and privacy. After all, it could only truly belong to them, parents who couldn't be mothers or fathers to a dead child. To him, but he had learned it by himself.

The sight of a small crypt in Blackhall beside his grandfather Aelor's tomb had always been clear. Each time his grandmother had taken him to the vault to pay respects to the departed prince, the small effigy of a healthy babe filled with dragons guarding her, scorpion grasses etched in lilac blossoms. There also has been an egg below it. An egg of red scales filled with white edges beautifully brandished. It had been too small for any other family member, nor had any Targaryen besides his own family dwelled in the keep.

He had been sure of who the babe had been. Who she had been to, his mother and father. The dream that had always been, the dream that could not be with the body of his mother failing to blossom into living proof of motherhood. He and his Tully brothers were miracles, the miracles of life. As such, his mother had permanently been attached to him, so loving.

She wanted him to outlive her, to be her legacy on the earth that she would leave in old age. Alyssa Targaryen could not fulfill their mother's dream. But he had to. He could not die, not even when prepared to do so. Not when she still lives. It would crush his father, indeed. But it would kill his mother eternally; Aegon knew it. She was his mother, after all.

“Do not ever do this to me again.” His mother begs. “Nor to your father as well. Your father grew mad with grief at the sight of you.”

“Had he beaten my men?”

“To death.” His mother nods, sorrow dwelling in her eyes.

“Did he survive?”

His mother did not answer.

He did not expect her to.

He knew who his father was.

Aegon could only imagine the sight of his father’s calloused fists filling the knight’s face with flowering bruises and endless blood flowing like a river. The taste of metallic red poured through the bruised teeth, the anger on his father’s face. Aegon had known who his father had been. He always had. Violent and restless he was. Even quicker to anger, eager to grief, and eager for vindictive vengeance. His rogue of a father, this prince of fire, had a hard time with his anger. Daemon Targaryen loved his family bitterly, too much to the point of madness.

Prince Aegon Targaryen knew it too well. He was his father’s only son, the only legacy that pours through the truth of his heart embedded with Mellara’s love. Whatever the cost may be, his father was willing to pay. He knew his father would do anything to prevent its loss. Daemon Targaryen had waited years for peace, to be with his mother and to have him, his son, by his side.

His daughters are growing beside the familiar dwellings he had once done as a boy. To have the life he had always wanted, away from the vipers of court with their lies and games. He will not risk it all this time, not this time. Anyone who dares try, he would kill. There is nothing that would be had other than such a truth. Both of them know it. And they loved him for it, despite what horrors may come through its ends.

Opening his mouth, the young heir of Blackhall wished to say something to his mother. But once the doors whisked open, he could not help but beam in joy. In the long year that has passed, he had dreamt of this. The sight of her beautiful round face decorated with a broad smile and eyes widened with pouring tears. She gripped her chest as though wishing her heart would not beat so loudly, beat with wild abandon. But he knew she could not help it.

A year of worry, of sorrow, of parting. It all but shaped the two of them. It gave them a longing for this moment. This moment is where the fire of their zeal gives way to the burning passion for the reunion. The relief delved into him like a spring that had blossomed from yielding summer. All is well now, he was sure. The prince of Blackhall had not suffered in vain. This pain will soon go. She was here, just like he knew she would be. A small smile came to his lips, widening at the gasp she released.

Rhaenyra Targaryen gripped both sides of her long black gown into a fist and rushed to him. Her body fell into a kneeling position, sobbing taking over her as she took both hands and kissed both of his palms repeatedly. The warmth of her joyous tears poured against the coldness of his body. He did not mind. Not when she was right beside him in the flesh.

No longer was she a hallucination of the trickery that his mind gave him. She was there. She was real. His wife, his dear beloved wife. Beside him at last with all the fire of warmth in her to warm him. Mellara smiled happily, wiping tears off her cheeks. Their family was complete once more. Her son was alive, and her son was home. And he was here, breathing well and happy. Healthy.

“I think it is my time to leave,” Mellara whispered in High Valyrian, standing. Kissing her son’s brow, she beamed at him. “I shall see you in the morrow, my son.”

He returned her warmth with a grateful smile.

“It is good to be home, mother.”

He was eager to get himself to work on his pregnant wife's behalf. He is sitting on the throne stiffly, his body leaning forward. On his side, his mother and the other young prince Jacaerys, watching the proceedings to learn. Aegon Blackmace had wished he had been beside Rhaenyra, whispering sweet nothings to the child growing within her womb. To care for her, her body could not intake any food he had servants bring to her. Yet there must be work done. They cannot abandon their duties. Not even when he wished to do so.

Aegon frowned at the thought, her willful features determined that he should sit on the dragon throne to listen to petitions. She had been like a dragon; her purple eyes grew inflamed with stern determination. His heart panged at it, repeating in his head her use of her claim as heir to her father to command him. He could not argue with her. He would not. Not especially when she suffers from this pregnancy. However, he did not want his wife to be alone. Even at his insistence to leave his mother at her side, she did not bulge either. She had determined his mother to be at his side, guiding him regarding the petitions. Mellara Targaryen kept her mouth shut, nodding at her son's dearest wife and leaving Rhaena and Daena to accompany her.

His mother had told him of her hardships in the child-bed, but he could not imagine it for his wife. She had been older than he. Many had already advised them that pregnancies at Rhaenyra's age would be harder on her, and the assumption had been correct. The thought made his heart drown in regret, in guilt. He had been the one who had left his seed inside of her at her ravenous urging. She had wanted his child growing within her belly, which would be part of them and outlast them for years to come.

Aegon would not admit it, but he wished for that just as much as she did. For years, he had thought of it. But seeing it become a reality terrified him. The silver prince would instead grow old with his wife without worries, even if they did not have a child together. They already have a brood to watch over, after all. The thought of seeing her suffer, it drowned him in grief. Gripping the blackened ash of the throne once more, he pursed his lips. He wished to be beside her right now, to hold her. To reassure her that he will stand by her, whatever happens. That he would not allow them to do anything, to hold her hand through the pain. Aegon Targaryen will not abandon her. Not ever, he promised to the wind. Never.

'Only a few more moments, Aegon.' He reassured himself tenderly. ‘You will be with her once again. All will be well.'

However, as tired he was, he was not willing to succumb to himself, to his whims. He swore to his wife. He promised too well that this was one thing he was ready to do. She has done much more than he. This is the least he could do as a husband. And so he sits there and listens to the two disputing low lords before him, arguing with one another for greed, for duty. It did not matter. They were here to hear his words on behalf of his wife. Commitment comes first, after all.

The prince had lingering memories of Dragonstone. He could recall it all too well. The first years of Aegon Targaryen’s life had been spent in these halls. As the lords and ladies pushed each other through the vast spaces of the awesome ashy gallery, the prince could vividly point out where his father had started as he sat on the volcanic throne, the same dark purple beaming with pride. Aegon had been five years then, and his father had just returned. It was odd to sit on the same throne where his conqueror of a namesake once sat. His great-grandmother had sought him out, Megara Targaryen had been too sickly, and still, she lived.

Her eyes were still evident, and emotions poured from her dark gaze. She whispered that he looked exactly like her father. Her kingly father had once sat on this throne, the father who shunned the only daughter he would ever have. To protect her from the prophecy that came from ice and fire, a burden he selfishly removed her from. Many whispered about it. As he sat there with a round crown with bright beaming rubies, people whispered that he looked more like the conqueror himself than ever. A worthy heir, a worthier heir with the name than his cousin Aegon the Drunken.

The thought of being king terrified him. Now even just being a king consort had been a comfort. Many had come to put their hopes on him, just as they had put their hopes on his grandfather, prince Aelor, that he would be a worthy king. Aegon had the dragon's blood twice over through his mother and father. His father had been willing to think of his future on the throne when he had first met him. Daemon Targaryen had said that each Aegon born would bear a crown. After all, each Aegon had been the blood of the conqueror. Especially his only son.

However, he did not want it. Least of all, he will not usurp his wife on her rightful inheritance. Each time others watch him in these chambers, Aegon is reminded of who he is and despises it. Yet, he realizes this must be all there is for him. Aegon Targaryen was bred for duty. It came first. As it always has been. He could not help but sigh. Perhaps that was human nature in itself. Aegon admitted it was as human as he was going to get. With this fear, he is only truly human, after all. Though he sometimes forgets the moments, he remembers well that a dragon can be a breathing human being.

Heart beating fully, blood and flesh existing, Aegon is a man who knows he is not immune to the sorrows his position has for him. That was what people did not know about him genuinely. People think he is continuing this man who is no fault, is righteous in everything, and loves his work above all. The prince sighed, adjusting his sitting position. In days such as this, he wished he still was the heir of Blackhall. That he was still that young boy who enjoyed the pleasures of isolation. He was no longer that boy, he can no longer be that boy. He is both husband and father, the one who is leading his family forward. Their pillar and shield. There was no longer any way for him to be himself.

There were too many people watching. Too many people would be disappointed should he find himself unwilling to be dutiful. Aegon had never been willing to let others have displeasing thoughts of him. And more so if the reality of others relied much upon his actions. He fixed his position, the weight of the round crown heavy on his head.

"I told you that it is my land your son was prowling about, you scoundrel!" The older lord, a lower vassal of lord Sunglass, exclaimed loudly. It brought him back to conscious reality.

The bearded lowly lord gawked angrily. "My son has been given that land by the old king Jaehaerys to thank him for his service! You better have clearer words than this before, his highness, you fool!"

Aegon's conscious gaze spotted his father, standing in a long black doublet decorated with silver dragons with a wine-colored cloak matching his mother. His father stood in the corner of the room, giggling silently, aware of his son's disgust of politics. Daemon Targaryen had always known his son had detested politics but had laughed even more when he had to be involved. There had none been patience for his son in politics. It was also why his father had left years before to settle across the narrow sea. But it cannot be helped now. A smile of sympathy echoed through his father's lips despite the mischief in his eyes.

Aegon sighed; he always found audiences something he could mock, even when they were children. His father used to get in trouble for it; today, he may find himself so. But he had no heart to punish his father. He was right to laugh. The matter is laughable. It could have been solved eagerly by lord Sunglass himself. Yet these lords think it would be best if he were to decide that he should have the last say. It wasted time, time that one could be used for something else. Yet it was the time to be a ruler who could be an excellent example to his young stepson Jacaerys, who watched eagerly at the lord's before him with his chestnut eyes gazing with curiosity.

The prince's lips threatened to form a smile, remembering when his father called Otto Hightower an annoying cunt at his mother's name-day celebrations years before in Blackhall. The king had been furious as he watched his younger brother shake Otto Hightower's hand, smiling so widely in all his Valyrian perfection. Everyone laughed then. He could not help but laugh as his father was scolded by the king. But he explained he had no means to feel guilt as he did not care whether or not Otto liked him. He pondered more that Otto had ruined the occasion for his wife by existing and left to join his mother by the dais, where she sat with his stepfather, ser Elmo.

His father has yet to change.

And he perhaps will never do so.

He smiled at his father.

"Your royal highness, my prince!!" The bearded lord suddenly exclaimed, causing Aegon out of his trance once more. He broke eye contact with his father and faced the lords. "I came to you as our overlord and prince of Dragonstone. I urge you to seek my word and believe in justice!"

"Lies, such lies that fall off your tongue easily!" The older lord shrieked loudly. "You mustn't believe this unbelievable dunce of lies. He has born himself in lies in his mother's cunt!"

Mellara Targaryen gasped, stunned, as her husband prince Daemon followed, laughing loudly.

Prince Jacaerys blinked, unsure of what he had just heard.

The prince consort groaned, having heard enough.

"Enough!" Aegon stood authoritatively, looking towards his two lower vassals. His eyes felt like daggers to the two lords as they lowered themselves and bowed. Mellara glared at her husband, who shook his head and tried to stop his laughter and, for a moment, stared at her husband more intently. "I have heard enough from the two of you."

"Your royal highness-"

"Your prince is speaking." Mellara reminds them sternly. "Listen to him."

"This matter shouldn't have been this severe in the first place had you come to lord Sunglass first to clarify the matter before coming to me." The prince consort's voice echoed like a cold winter, freezing them aflame with snow. Daemon could only grin at his son. His only son's tone often feels like a cold fire, freezing every person present. A true king within him. That was his making. His blood.

"But you and princess Rhaenyra are our overlords." The lesser lord reasoned. "This matter is your duty, my prince!"

"I understand such a conscious thought, my lords. I am aware that the princess and myself have a responsibility to you. But you did not follow the proper procedures and wasted important time, which I could use to work for the betterment of the kingdoms."

"Perhaps....your royal highness would be better if they sent their complaints on paper?" The olden master exclaimed as he stood there at the steps of the dragon throne. "To judge their complaints fairly and come up with a decision that would be fair."

"Yes, I would prefer that." He replies, calmer now. Aegon was a little furious at the maester for a moment. He could have suggested that matter of solution earlier, and he did not. That was one more reason to hate the maester. Aegon distrusted him. He had come from Oldtown, after all.

He turned back to the lords, "I will not have this matter repeat again. You will go first to your own liege lord before me, your overlord and prince. This will be the last time you will make this matter interfere with more pressing matters."

The two lords both bow to the prince, a sense of fear could be felt as Aegon's eyes glimmered viciously, and as his lips twitched into a sharp line, he continued to look down at them. It felt that, for a moment, the rogue prince was glaring at them. They share the same eyes, everyone knows. Such dangerous dark eyes, eyes who have uncertainty written for all those who gazed.

The court could feel the prince's presence in his son in the room through the prince. Though the prince can be considered Maegor the second in the flesh, it was not that of Aegon Blackmace. This conqueror in front of them was baptized in fire and was reborn. His word was law. It was the law of the land. Unchallenged and unbroken.

When the two lords disappeared from his sight, the prince sighed and dismissed the court.

Aegon turned to the mother. "Are we finally finished? Or is there more that needs to be settled?"

Then his mother nodded with a small smile. "Yes, your royal highness. That is all.”

“Then I shall depart.” He tells his mother, walking over to her and taking her hand. The prince allows his lips to press against her palm. “Jacaerys is mine to teach today.”

“Truly, father?” Jacaerys questions in High Valyrian with excitement lingering in his voice. Aegon laughed. The boy was learning fast. He let his hand ruffle the boy’s head softly.

The prince nodded. “Yes. I have told your mother I will be your teacher, dear boy.”

The young prince cheered. “Then that means you will help me with my sword!”

“You are lucky it is not me today, young grandson,” Daemon exclaims, walking towards them. A grin on his face. “You would be in the mud today at Dragonmont. We would be studying and collecting the dragon eggs from Syrax.”

“Instead, you will be talking with me,” Mellara exclaims, a displeased look on her face. “You can’t laugh at your son’s words!”

“It is a whole of entertainment unmatched by Pentos.”

Aegon raises a brow at his father. “Entertaining that I am being forced to be in such games, father?”

Daemon smirked. “You routed the roads of fools. You were a delight to watch, my son.”

The prince consort rolls his eyes jokingly. “As you say, father.”

Mellara shook her head, wrapping her arms around her grandson. “I cannot believe our dear Jacaerys has you both for fathers.”

The sound of doors opening had dismissed whatever response Daemon Targaryen was going to give as soldiers came in, guiding the dragon keepers within the hall. Their clothes were in tatters, broken and full of ashy smoke. Blood dripped from their flesh, as did cuts that danced along their body lines. Their sunken eyes filled with fear and horror. This was a rare sight, not when the dragon keepers were all impeccable at duty. Aegon walked forward as his father’s playful gaze dropped away into the corner of his mask. Mellara pursed her lips, concern etched all over her features, as she held her grandson tighter. Jacaerys looked afraid, uncertain of what to make of such a situation. For the dragon keepers to be in such a state. It must be a horrible situation, indeed.

“What is it?” His native tongue came rolling forward, concern on his face. “Why are you wounded?”

“It is horrible, my prince.” The elder keeper exclaimed, bowing his head with distraught. “I beg for your forgiveness.”

Daemon’s sharp eyes drifted, his fingers on the pommel of Dark Sister. “Your prince consort asked you a question, fool. Answer it first.”

Aegon pursed his lips, eyes curious. “Answer my inquiry. Why are you apologizing?”

The other dragon keeper bowed his head, but he came with the truth.

“It was my fault, your highness.” The boy cried to him, words slurring through wavering courage. “I had left the tomb of Aelyx open and…and… that wild beast! That…that! That cannibal!”

Aegon felt his eyes open wide.

Daemon looked at his son, walking towards him.

Aegon Blackmace’s face contorted into anguish.

“Don’t.” His father whispers to him.

“Aegon.” His mother calls him.

“Father,” Jacaerys begs of him.

He does not listen.

Aegon rushes outward, running.

She needed him.

Aelyx needed him.

Tears fell from his eyes, bitterly so.

He ran madly and viciously.

Guards called him, but he did not care.

Aegon Targaryen rushed and rushed.

Then there he stood.

His dark purple eyes glared.

The massive head of a dragon gleamed.

Fire shot out in fierce heat.

Aegon did not care.

“You will pay.” He promises. “You will pay.”

The rumbling of the island had been felt by now. But Aegon Targaryen did not care for fear of ordinary men. Not at this moment. He screamed as he rushed forward, eager for retribution. Another breath of fire beamed like morning light against him, the corpses already burnt before burning once more as though candlelight. Yet he did not care. He could care less for the heat, the burns that he already has on his body. He could care less. Aegon Blackmace felt like he was going mad, mad with life.

Mad with his position. Infuriated with his grief. Maddened with what had come to be of his life. He did not regret it, yet there was sorrow in his heart. Unshakable sadness within him. Aegon knew that he could not let it all out. Duty hid all the flaws of a dragon walking. He had always been good at lying to himself. His father knew it best. He was his father's son. That is why he laughed; he knew the truth. Aegon Targaryen is an imposter. A fool who lies to himself. A joker who hides all his humanity in the cold, calculated duty. And now he has exploded, turned to the coin of madness.

At the sight of his Aelyx's well-preserved body, now in endless tatters as the black beast's fangs dwelled with the frozen blood within its body. Hot tears poured through him. He refused to let this go unpunished. He refused to let one more hurt come to his special bond. She should be resting now, unbothered by any sacrilege of humanity upon her. Yet this beast, this Cannibal.

Not even her kind would leave her be, not even in her death. He growled with anger as he stood up again, dodging the breath of dragonfire. Turning his body to hide against the Valyrian steel shield, he viciously pushed against it. The Valyrian steel in his hand from that of a corpse, his tired feet standing towards the fire. He could care less about it all. He could care less if he burns here.

But he will get retribution. He screamed as he walked with anger in his heart, determination pumping through his veins. The prince focused all his strength in his body on this push, the heat burning him through the steel. Vhagar managed to burn knights in their armor freely. But this one, he was sure, could burn another dragon to ash. This Cannibal of a beast, this ugly black creature with her green eyes and vicious scales - he was sure she was worse. A nightmare to be wrought upon humanity, a punishment for vanity.

He thought of it all, and yet it all did not matter. He would make this beast pay. This beast would answer for her crime, and he would ensure it. Gritting his teeth, he tried to feel the heaviness of the Valyrian steel sword in his grip, and as the dragon stopped her rampage, he let the shield down and discarded it.

He rushed over to another corpse, taking a long metal chain and gripping it challenging. As the she-beast readied another barrage, Aegon ran as though the volcanic lava was about to eat him whole. A blood-curdling scream left his lips, a mad dash as he ran towards the beast's stomach. The Cannibal, in her massive size, hissed and turned at the sight of him, but he did not fear her. No fear has ever crossed his mind in front of a dragon.

Raising his sword hand, he leveled it to the sky and stabbed it.

The great she-beast cried as he went even more profound.

She was rattled, shaking her body with anger as he held onto the hilt.

"You want to cry now, huh?" He screams hoarsely in their tongue. "You will see, you bitch. I will make you pay. You will pay!"

Grunting, he tried to steady himself and screamed as his flesh felt like getting torn apart at the dragon's strength against his own. He cursed and cursed, not letting himself go. The she-beast roared another hot speck of dragonfire across the muddy ground. As a growl left his lips, she had stopped. Crying, he watched as she hissed and turned her head to look for him. He bit his lip harshly, taking the opportunity. Yelling curses at the beast, he climbed her and did so viciously. The dragon angrily screamed back as though complaining, but even more so as he let his arms open widely to tightly attend the chain across the dragon's neck.

Gripping it hurriedly together, he did not let go. There had been no one that had ever done this successfully. Much of this company had died, perished into the ashes of the great she-beast. The she-beast is rumored to have been Aurion's dragon, the fearsome dragonlord who had declared himself emperor of Valyria. But that did not entice him. Not when he is here to decree his revenge. The she-beast rampaged, moving about the small confines of her cave, and hissed fire at his tightening of the chain.

"I told you I would make you pay, didn't I?" He hissed at her throat, the nerves of his body feeling the weariness. "You will pay. And this is how you will do it, you she-beast. You will serve me. You will do so till the end of your days, you foul wretched. You will serve me!"

Aegon Targaryen did not know what he was saying. Perhaps it was the emotions, or perhaps his weariness - to get this done with. He did not know. But the dragon roared back at him and bowed its head as though it acknowledged defeat to serve him. To repay the debt she now owes him. He lets the chain loosen, but just enough that he would be able to stir her. A struggling breath releases from him. He could feel bruises already dampening his body.

The blood of his blood poured through the she-beast and her own bruised body, feeling the anguish of the Valyrian steel cutting through her. He could feel it as he surrendered to weariness. The sweat across him poured like tears on his face. She could feel it now too. Now that they are bonded, bonded in anger and grief. And solitude and madness. She cries to him, almost as though begging for a command. A wild dragon he had conquered and cried out for him to command her. He pursed his bleeding lip, a small sick smile on his lips. There was much to learn now, but there will be time for this. But now, he had done something others had never done before. The debt he is owed is now to be repaid.

"All men must serve, you fool." He whispers to her, putting his hand on her flesh. "But you are no man, are you? You she-beast?"

Her green eyes glimmered as she roared.

He laughed, the last of his tears falling away.

He gazed at what remained of Aelyx's body.

"I shall give you a new name." He whispers to her as though she is hearing his secret for the first time. "You love death, the death of fools, and the death of your kind. It is perfect, my sweet. This name."

She whimpered at his coarseness.

The she-beast sang a song briefly, a question.

She hadn't had a name in a long time she liked.

"Dohaeris!" He screamed to command. "Aerax, sōvegon!"

The she-beast roared and walked to her command.

Bearing the name of the god of death, she flew.

In many moons, he felt the wind in his face for the first time.

First, in known history, a dragon rider claimed a dragon - twice.

#house of the dragon #hotd #house targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x oc #targaryen

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