#balerion the black kitten

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (26)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of sex, incest, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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Jace remembered perfectly the day his little sister was born. Laenor had led him into his mother's chamber that day, holding his hand, saying that she was very tired and they couldn't spend much time with her − he had insisted on seeing her because he was delighted to finally have a sibling, a brother to play with and be friends with.

His mother, the future queen, smiled softly at the sight of him, her white hair loose and in disarray, her face red from sweat and exertion.

She held out her hand to him and he hugged her, peering curiously at the infant she held clutched to her chest.

"He's so tiny." He said in disbelief, brushing the baby's finger with his own − he smiled when he saw the baby's hand clench into a small fist with its quiet purr.

"She. You have a little sister." He heard his mother's amused voice; he furrowed his brow at her words and rose, angry and disappointed.

"− wait, comrade −" Laenor called out after him, but he refused to look at her.

She was a disappointment to him.

For the first few months, he had pretended not to hear her cries or squeals from their mother's chamber − even though Rheanyra had spoken to him and encouraged him to meet her, he had refused to do so, recognising that no little girl interested him.

"It was supposed to be a boy." He muttered regretfully while playing with his large, wooden, black dragon, pretending that the stacks of books were the great hills over which he flew on Balerion. His mother smiled at his words and combed her hand through his dark curls.

"That is what the gods have decided. She may be your future wife."

Jace put down his toy, looking at her in surprise, not understanding what she meant.

"Am I going to have to kiss her?" He asked in disgust, recalling the stories Laenor sometimes read to him before bed, in which great knights freed beautiful women from the paws of monsters, only to fall in love with them later and be bestowed a kiss by them.

His mother smiled involuntarily.

"Don't think about such things until you're a grown man. No kissing for now." She giggled, pinching his cheek. He smiled lazily seeing her warm expression, the motherly love that beat from her.

That night he went to the chamber where she slept for the first time; he leaned over the cradle, glancing at her plump little figure wrapped in a white robe and a small headpiece. Her eyes opened suddenly and he was terrified that she would burst into tears − she, however, merely clutched her small feet and began to rock from side to side, looking at him curiously.

He smiled involuntarily at this sight and tickled her belly with his finger. Her squeal and loud giggle answered him, her eyes lit up in joy, her little body all the way up in euphoria. He laughed seeing this, repeating his gesture, thinking she was like a small animal, a puppy or a kitten.

He decided that at the end of the day she wasn't so bad and stopped pretending she didn't exist.

Until Luke was born he had treated her as if she were a boy, driving their mother to despair every time they both returned sodden with mud and sand after another battle with Aegon and Aemond.

He had always felt that his uncles disliked him, and even though they were of a similar age to him, he did not feel comfortable in their company − nor could he hide his jealousy at the sight of their snow-white hair, proof of who they were.

Looking at his father and mother, he could not comprehend why his hair was not that shade.

Rhaenyra explained to him that it was surely because of the Baratheon blood that also flowed through their veins, and although he was disappointed, the sight that he was not the only one, that his sister and Luke looked similar to him, comforted him.

The first time Aegon laughed sincerely at what he said occurred when he called his sister a hamster. The comparison came to his mind when she took air in her mouth and furrowed her brow − he uttered it thoughtlessly, and his uncle burst out laughing and patted him on the back.

"− gods, you're right − and those big eyes of hers −" He sneered, and although he saw that his sister lowered her gaze, embarrassed, he continued, eager to hear more words of praise from his lips.

"− she has just as much sense too −" He added, seeing his uncle throw him an amused, mocking look suggesting that he agreed with him.

He felt a squeeze in his heart when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that his sister had turned and walked away, passing through the cloisters towards their quarters without even giving him another glance.

He turned around and noticed to his surprise that he was not the only person to notice her leaving − his other uncle, Aemond, led her away with his eyes and then threw him a look full of despise, from which he felt discomfort.

He pressed his lips together at the thought that he was the heir to the throne and, unlike him, had his own dragon.

Who was he to look down on him with such superiority?

He decided to remind him of that and share that thought with his brother.

Aegon's involvement in their little joke surprised even him − his uncle thought it was an excellent idea. He argued that his younger brother was too sullen and serious for his age, that he was sapient and could use a little lesson.

As he listened to Aegon convince him that they had found a dragon for him, as he saw the hint of hope and the shy, embarrassed smile of excitement on his uncle's face, he felt for a moment that perhaps they should not do this.

However, it was too late to retreat − Luke ran deeper into the cave, and came out a moment later, leading by a rope a large pig to which they had attached self-made wooden wings early on.

"Behold! The Pink Dread!"

He saw that his uncle froze and turned pale as they burst out laughing, swallowing this humiliation with difficulty − his eyes glazed over and reddened, his gaze again blank and distant.

He knew they had broken him.

That same day he mentioned it to his sister, and her reaction angered him.

"You are cruel." She said resentfully.

Which side was she on?

"He's forever looking down on us because he has white hair. He's constantly making excuses and bragging about what he's read in those silly dusty books of his." He snorted, playing between his fingers with the gold coin their grandfather had brought him from another of his trips overseas.

He blinked when his sister simply rose from her seat and walked out, leaving him in a state of shock and displeasure − he decided, however, that these were just normal female emotions and would surely pass her until supper.

He loved his father, but he also greatly valued and respected Ser Harwin Strong. He was a stocky, tall, handsome man who could fight very well. He often spoke to him or helped him practice by sharing stories of his duels in tournaments and hunts.

He thought then that he would like to be like him one day.

He knew that he was a close confidant of his mother and often saw them together, however, his father seemed not to mind, so he considered this condition perfectly normal and did not bother.

After a few weeks, the will of their King fell upon them like a bolt from the heavens, and their mother informed them of it during one of their suppers together.

"− your grandfather and our King has decided today that, to strengthen our lineage, we will betroth your sister to your uncle, Prince Aemond − let us raise our cups for this −" She said, glancing towards her daughter, his sister smiling broadly at her words, happy.

What?

"− what do you mean? − why? −" He asked, feeling discomfort in his stomach and a cold sweat on his back.

They wanted to gift him his sister as a consolation because he didn't have a dragon of his own?

"− your grandfather wants peace to reign in the kingdom after his death − such a marriage in his eyes will strengthen our family and our bonds between each other − of course, the marriage will only happen when your sister is of the right age −" She said calmly, looking at her daughter with tenderness, taking an unruly strand of her dark hair from her face.

"− did you agree? −" He asked his little sister in disbelief, and she nodded quickly, as if it was the happiest day of her life.

"− yes − I'm very pleased − I'm fond of our uncle −" She said quickly, putting a piece of roast on her plate, describing how worried she was that she would have to marry someone much older than herself.

He stared blankly ahead, clenching his hands into fists, bitter and disappointed.

Had she really never considered him as her husband?

After all, he was her elder brother; in their lineage such marriages were obvious.

He dared not, however, defy the will of the King himself.

His resentment towards his uncle increased with each passing week seeing that, against his wishes, he was not being harsh and unpleasant to his sister − on the contrary, he seemed to have softened in her company, his face, though still pathetically proud, also expressing curiosity and affection.

He felt rage in his heart at the thought that they could really have wished to bring about this marriage.

However, the cup of bitterness overflowed the moment he saw his sister kiss him.

They were both too certain that no one could see them − he watched them from the corridor through a window overlooking the library.

His sister was standing by the bookcase, saying something to him, and he stood up and walked lazily over to her. He rose on his tiptoes and apparently reached for a book that stood too high for her. She smiled broadly as he handed it to her, her hand traveling to his shoulder.

He swallowed hard as her lips pressed against his, and as soon as she pulled away, her uncle grasped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her again, deeper and longer.

He fled to his chamber and burst into tears with rage, dropping all the objects standing on his table, disappointed and humiliated that although he was to become King in the future, someone else was taking away something that in his mind was his right.

He never wondered what kind of love he had bestowed upon her and whether it was the form of affection that usually bound married couples; he knew that he would care for her and be good to her and that was enough for him.

She was his sister and he would never hurt her.

She, however, looked only to her uncle and it was to him that she gave her heart and mind.

He didn't know what he felt when Luke slashed his face that night when their uncle stole Vhagar − horror, shame, satisfaction and relief all mingled in his mind into one.

On the one hand, he was overjoyed that he had taken back what in his mind should have been his, on the other he was embarrassed and distraught at the confirmation of his fears that had long smouldered in his mind.

It was Harwin Strong who was their father.

To his seed he owed his dark curls.

He was a bastard.

He tried to turn his thoughts away from considering what this meant for them, focusing on the fact that his sister would surely no longer want her uncle for a husband, and their paths would part.

This is exactly what happened.

Still, what he had planned did not happen, and his mother decided to change her plan and marry her off to their cousin, Lord Arryn's son, to strengthen her support in the North of the kingdom. Again, he felt a wave of disappointment, however, this time he was not so jealous − he knew that she had no love for their cousin and that he was certainly no threat to her.

"What's my little sister doing?" He asked with amusement, startling her completely, sitting bent over her desk − she quickly grabbed the parchment she had just been writing something on and tucked it under the table, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Are you writing a letter to someone?" He sneered, raising an eyebrow, standing over her with a smile. She swallowed hard and looked down, thoughtful.

"I write poetry. But I don't want anyone to read it." She muttered, and he sighed quietly and nodded, acknowledging that he wasn't going to force her to do anything.

"Would you like to go for a walk along the beach? It's beautiful weather." He encouraged her; she, however, shook her head, no longer bestowing a single glance on him.

"No, forgive me. I'm tired."

He pressed his lips together at her rejection, which he had faced again and again since they had moved to Dragonstone.

Even though he tried to get close to her, to understand her and comfort her, she still didn't want him.

He was ashamed to speak of his feelings with his mother or stepfather, much less Luke, however, to his surprise, his closest confidant turned out to be Baela.

"I don't understand her. It seems to me that she still misses him, even though he has certainly forgotten her by now. I have heard that he is a cold, vain, self-obsessed man. He's always been that way, treating her only as an object, a consolation prize. Now that he has a dragon he doesn't need her." He said angrily − his cousin sighed heavily at his words, looking at him with understanding.

"When people part in anger and don't close a chapter, it's hard for them to move on. Perhaps she knew him in a way that is unknown to us. He's always been withdrawn into himself." She muttered disapprovingly, fiddling with the wine cup in her hand, gazing thoughtfully into the blazing fire.

He smiled at the thought that he was certain she recalled the impetuosity with which her uncle had punched her in the face with his fist that night when he lost an eye. Baela looked at him, raising her eyebrows.

"What's that look?" She asked and kicked him under the table with her foot. He giggled at her reaction and shook his head, lowering his gaze to her fingers.

"I would have been better for her. I would have really cared for her. Maybe I wouldn't have given her everything she needed, but at least with me she would have been safe." He said with a tiredness from which his companion sighed heavily. He lifted his gaze to her as her hand grasped his and squeezed it.

"I know." She replied softly.

He swallowed hard, feeling a pleasant warmth in his lower abdomen as he saw her soft, misty gaze, feeling her warm thumb stroke his palm. He grunted as he felt his manhood pulsate in his breeches at the thought that, indeed, his cousin was a very fine woman.

He had always liked her sharp tongue and confidence.

"Have you ever lain in bed with a woman?" She asked him suddenly, and he drew in the air loudly, shocked, feeling that his cheeks had certainly turned red with shame.

He didn't know what to answer.

He didn't want to humiliate himself with words that he had absolutely no experience in these matters knowing that she had a more liberated approach to these affairs.

Daemon, as her father, had expressed no dissent, so who was he to lecture her?

She sighed quietly, seeing his reaction, or rather lack thereof, and rose from her seat, turning her back to him, gripping the ties of her bodice with her hands.

"I need you to help me."

Baela was a calm and patient teacher − it seemed to him that she took great satisfaction in his lack of understanding of what she was actually doing to him as she sank down on his swollen manhood again and again with a moan of delight − her brown naked skin glistened wonderfully in the light of the blazing fire, her white curls falling over her shoulders in disarray, her full lips parted in obvious desire from which he felt his fulfilment approaching embarrassingly fast.

She made sure he didn't fill her with his seed, letting him instead come down on her abdomen with his low moan of pleasure, his length pulsating and twitching in her hand for a while longer. He licked his lower lip dry with emotion, looking at her in disbelief, a soft, shy smile on her face.

"− you're beautiful −" He whispered, and she giggled under her breath and kissed him in a way from which he felt hot in his heart.

She made him forget, at least for a moment, what was happening around them, finding in her both friend and lover, the confidante of all his secrets.

She was not jealous of his sister − on the contrary, he had the impression that she understood the source of his anger and disappointment, herself having no intention of explaining to him what she was doing and with whom.

It seemed to him that their relationship and its freedom suited them both.

Of course, they both knew that in the end they would experience a marriage that would inevitably be purely political, and they understood what that entailed.

Then their grandfather was injured on one of his expeditions, and Vaemond Velaryon challenged his younger brother's rights to the throne of Driftmark.

Knowing the truth about his parentage and at the same time refusing to accept it, he became enraged, sad and depressed at the same time − Baela's words of comfort that they would find a solution and not allow themselves to be intimidated did not reassure him.

Once again, his uncle and his family were trying to take their inheritance from them.

His return to King's Landing was a shock to him; to his disappointment, he felt like an intruder there, and it seemed to him that was exactly how he was perceived by everyone.

He felt a drop of cold sweat run down his neck, his stomach twisting with discomfort when he saw his uncle in the distance, wielding his sword as if it weighed nothing, easily defeating Criston Cole, pressing its blade against his neck.

He was tall, muscular, his long white hair, proof that he was in fact a Targaryen partly tied at the back of his head with a black ribbon, his jaw long and sharply defined, his gaze wild and cold, terrifying.

He smiled mockingly at the sight of them, playing with the hilt of his sword between his fingers as if he wanted to devour them.

He felt ashamed at the thought that he was terrified.

And then his uncle spotted their sister in the distance − his heart beat harder at the sight of their expressions.

It seemed to him that this reunion years later had caused them pain, as they both froze, breathing heavily, looking at each other as if there was no one else around.

His uncle hummed under his breath and turned away, nodding at Ser Criston, taking another swing with his sword.

Even though he hadn't cared what happened to her for so many years, even though he had humiliated her at supper by calling her Lady Strong, she had confessed in front of everyone that her place was with him.

He looked at her in disbelief, wondering what she was doing, why she had stooped to courting him when it was obvious that her uncle had neither respect nor affection for her.

After a moment, he heard his uncle's cold, trembling, deep voice.

"So it is decided, father. We will marry."

"How could our mother agree to this? How could she let her stay there?" He asked furiously, circling around his chamber in Dragonstone; Baela sighed heavily, turning her head away. She looked at him finally, hesitation in her gaze.

"I didn't tell you because I knew it would only enrage you and you wouldn't leave her alone." She said tiredly − he halted in half-step, looking at her over his shoulder, feeling his heart pounding like mad.

"You didn't tell me about what?" He asked dryly, frustrated and concerned.

Baela let out a loud breath, shaking her head. They were now betrothed, and although he thought they both seemed to have accepted their families' decisions with relief, he couldn't rejoice.

"My father told me that she had been sending him letters all these years. That the same night we arrived in the Red Keep she spent the night in his chamber."

He stared at her dully, feeling that it made him sick to his stomach, as if he were about to vomit, his face taking on an expression of disgust.

So she didn't write any poetry then, he thought with regret and pain.

"− how could she do this − expose our mother to humiliation and gossip −"

"Jace. She never stopped loving him. I think she's naive too, but you'd have to be blind not to see that she never really accepted it all. I don't know what I think about it myself." She admitted, running her hand over her face.

"You don't know what you think about it? I'll tell you. Our uncle will play with her and take advantage of her, and then he will put her up to ridicule and hand her over to us. He won't marry her." He growled angrily, burying his face in his hands, wondering how she could be so foolish, how she could believe that he had sincere intentions about her.

"The matter of succession is on a knife-edge. Perhaps our grandfather is right? A union between our mother and the Queen could really ease the situation." She muttered, clearly looking for anything comforting in the situation, which he completely failed to understand.

Had everyone around him lost their minds?

"My uncle who thinks we are bastards is supposed to alleviate the situation? He will never agree to let me sit on the throne and I am supposed to give him my sister?" He asked in disbelief; Baela tightened her lips at his words, frustrated.

"You speak of her as if she were an object. It's always been that way."

He felt an unpleasant shiver run down his spine at her words, every muscle in his body tensing like a string.

"What do you mean?" He asked coolly.

Baela sighed heavily, clearly trying not to explode and form her thoughts so as to be honest but not cruel.

"You think she was born to fulfil your whims? That the fact that you are her eldest brother gives you precedence to lie in bed with her?"

He felt himself blush with shame at her question, shocked.

Discomfort and arousal surged through his lower abdomen at the thought.

"Do you think that's what I mean? I'm just trying to…"

"Yes, Jace. I've never witnessed you ask her how she feels, what she needs. I am fond of you, but you are a selfish boy, not a man."

He felt ashamed at the thought as tears gathered under his eyelids at her words, a terrible, cold shudder shook his body, his heart began to pound like mad.

You are a selfish boy, not a man.

Her words so offended him that he stopped speaking to her despite her pleas, and then the thing he feared most happened.

The King was dead, Aegon had stolen her mother's throne and his uncle had imprisoned his sister.

They had made a mockery of them.

He had been right all along, but no one listened to him.

"Forgive me, Jace." Baela muttered, placing her hand on his shoulder. She knelt beside him, sighing heavily, laying her head on his thigh, and he involuntarily stroked her hair, feeling superiority, feeling strength.

He was going to fight for his mother's crown and bring his sister home.

In order to do so, at the behest of their mother, he flew to Winterfell to ask Cregan Stark for his support in this cause, reminding him of the oath his father had taken before her.

The North seemed to him a beautiful and wild place, so far from what he knew − the snow-covered hills, the austere fortresses of dark stone, the robes that looked only grey, black or brown around him gave him a sense of modesty and space.

Lord Stark's nature appeared to be similar to his, and the few days he had spent in his company hunting and riding horses had actually made him feel good − he felt like someone worthy with him, a true heir to the throne, not a bastard.

It was this feeling that, seeing the young Lady Snow from afar, he allowed himself to be enchanted by her charms and lay in bed with her.

Like a real man.

When he arrived back in Dragonstone he learned that Luke had just returned from Storm's End and that he had seen their sister.

"You flew after him? You flew after him knowing he could imprison you, use you as your mother's weakness? Fucking fool." Growled Daemon, shocked and horrified by his naivety, burying his face in his hands, unable to look at him.

"Daemon." Their mother rebuked him, all pale, her hand clenched on her womb. "What happened next?"

"He brought her. Someone hit her, mother, and I think she tried to take her own life. There were cut marks on her wrists." His brother muttered, and he felt his heart stop, he and Baela looked at each other quickly.

She had tried to take her own life.

Because of this bastard, his sister could be dead.

His hands clenched into fists at that thought.

"And then?" Pressed Daemon in an impatient voice.

"I told her to run away with me, but she didn't agree. She told me to tell you that she loves you and that she remains faithful to you, mother." He mumbled and he slammed his fist on the table, feeling fury and rage boiling up inside him.

"That fucking bastard purposely made her stay. He planned this, he never had any intention of marrying her!" He growled red with anger − Daemon threw him a single, drawn-out look.

"And then what? He let you just walk away? No one else saw you?" He continued, pretending not to have heard his outburst.

"N-no, I was surprised, but no. Forgive me, I had to see her, make sure that she is still alive." Luke said. Daemon sighed heavily and leaned over, placing his hands on the top of the stone table, thoughtful.

"Bring me a parchment and a quill. I need to speak with my nephew."

Baela followed him into his chamber in an attempt to calm him down.

"How can he want to pact with that fucking traitor? His brother stole my mother and his wife's throne!" He shouted in her face − his betrothed dropped her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"Since he let them meet, maybe there is something to it. My father knows what he's doing, I trust him. I believe he will bring her home."

"You're naive. You always have been."

"And you're vain. You always have been."

He pressed his lips together at her words, feeling his heart pounding like mad, feeling like something was about to explode inside him.

"I met a woman in Winterfell who I took to my bed." He muttered finally, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

Part of him wanted to hurt her, and part of him wanted to be honest with her.

That was what they had promised each other.

Baela laughed at his words in disbelief and shook her head − he had a feeling he saw a shadow of regret in her gaze, but he wasn't sure if it was because of his confession or because she understood why he said it now.

"If you wish, I'll relate to you how I spent my time in your absence, but I'm not sure you'll be able to look into this guard's face afterwards." She sneered, lifting her chin high, looking at him defiantly. He felt a wave of hot shame and anger surge through his body.

"After we're married…are you going to continue this?" He asked uncertainly and she cocked her head to the side.

"If you are not faithful to me, I will not remain faithful to you. You are dear to me, but don't think I will cry for you. Certainly not like your sister cried for her uncle. Part of me has always envied her that she experienced such a deep feeling in her life even if it burned her from the inside for so many years." She said with a kind of regret from which he felt a squeeze in his stomach, but he answered nothing to her words.

He knew that they did not love each other.

They were close and felt comfortable together, but they weren't mad about each other.

He believed it just had to be this way.

He waited impatiently along with his mother and the others gathered for Daemon to return from his meeting with their uncle, simultaneously terrified and angry that they were speaking with traitors instead of fighting.

When they heard the squeal of Caraxes in the distance his mother stood up, pale, holding her hand on her womb again, as if remembering the time when she had carried her only daughter under her heart.

His other sister had died before she was even truly born.

When Daemon stepped into the main hall everyone was already waiting for him; he sighed heavily, placing his Dark Sister on the table top, folding his hands in front of him, straightening.

"Your daughter married her uncle of her own free will. My nephew has conveyed to me that his brother-cunt will relinquish the throne he stole from you if it is your daughter's children and his who become heirs to the throne or, in the event they do not conceive a son, ours − Viserys and Aegon. He demands the exclusion of Jace, Luke and Joffrey from the succession." He said dispassionately. He looked at his mother seeing that she had run out of words.

"− mother − this is −"

"− leave us − all of you −" She ordered.

"− mother − this is my inheritance − mine −" He began, but felt Baela's grip on his arm.

"− Jace − that's enough −"

He sat in his chamber thinking only of the fact that his mother was just contemplating whether or not to agree to deprive him of his inheritance, to acknowledge that he was her bastard despite the fact that he was her firstborn son, despite the fact that Laenor Velaryon had acknowledged him as his heir.

"− Jace −" Baela muttered, seeing his condition.

"− leave −" He said. He heard her sigh heavily as she approached him with a rustle of her gown, kneeling at his feet.

"− Jace − I'm on your side − I always have been − don't you see me as your companion? − your friend? − your lover? −" She asked with a pained expression that startled him. He lowered his hands and looked at her − his palm rose to her cheek, which he stroked with a tender, slow gesture.

"− you resent me − you don't see me as a man, but as a child −"

"− that is not true −"

"− I don't want your pity −"

"− Jace −"

"− you were right − I don't want to frustrate you and I understand all the accusations about me that you've made − my whole life I've been trying to be someone I'm not −" He finally replied, his betrothed's fingers grasping his hand and squeezing it.

"− that's what I mean − stop pretending − be honest with yourself −"

"− do you want me to be honest? − very well then − my mother has never asked my opinion on any important matters − Daemon treats me as if I am an imbecile and mocks me − I am both a first-born son and a bastard − my uncle wants to deprive me of everything, he wants me to be a nobody and why? − because when I was a child I gave him a pig? − god, I regret it, it was a cruel joke − I regret that he lost an eye, I regret that a dragon didn't hatch from his egg − but even if I had said that, what good would it have done − he would have laughed at me saying I am a weak cunt −" He muttered and burst out sobbing like a small child, hiding his face in his hands. Baela embraced him and cuddled his face into her oil-scented neck, stroking his hair.

"− I am grateful to you − I am grateful to you that you are honest with me − I am grateful to you that you have never lied to me −" She whispered and he wept softly, tightening his hands on the material of her gown feeling that the closeness of her body brought him solace.

"− I am grateful to you too − forgive me for not being what you deserve −" He mumbled, sniffling loudly, trying to calm the convulsions of his body and his ragged breathing.

"− I forgive you − I forgive you and ask for your forgiveness −"

When his mother came to his chamber that evening, he knew what decision she had made even before she opened her mouth.

"− Jace −" She began, and he turned his head away, panting with rage, burning tears of humiliation under his eyelids.

"− after all this − after all you've sacrificed − are you going to let them win? −"

"− how would I be a just Queen if I thought only of myself instead of the good of the kingdom? − any other solution will mean war with our own kin − is there anything else more displeasing to the gods? −" She muttered in a breaking voice in which he could clearly hear that she herself was suffering immensely.

"− you let them dictate their terms −" He said in disbelief, looking at her at last. His mother pressed her lips together at his question.

"− no − I intend to impose my own demands on them – none of them will be allowed to sit on the throne − none of them will wear the crown − they will be rulers-regents until their son, the rightful heir, is born −" She replied, forcing herself to be calm.

"− and if no son is born to them? − will you exclude me from the succession then? − your first-born son? −" He mumbled in pain, hitting his chest with his palm. Rhaenyra drew in air loudly, her eyes red from tears of pain and grief.

"− it's my fault − not yours − me and Laenor really tried, but −"

"− I don't want to hear it − I won't listen to it − why did you let me come into the world? −"

"− Jace −" She mumbled − he heard the rustling of her gown as she took a step towards him, but he held up his hand showing that he didn't want her to come near him.

"− I will leave Dragonstone to you − it belongs to me and I can give it to whomever I wish − no one will challenge your rights in this case, you will finally be able to live the life you deserve −"

"− I was meant to be King −" He hissed, and she swallowed hard.

"− as was I − but perhaps we are not meant to be − pride steps before a fall −" She said drily, her chin lifted high.

"− what does Daemon have to say in the matter? −" He asked lowly.

"− he is furious, but he will do as I command − just as you −"

[midnight--sadness]

Giving dragons to non-dragonriding Targaryens.

(Note: this makes no sense in terms of timelines, it is just for fun! 😊)

Daenerys: Morning -- no great philosophical reason, I just think my girl deserves a pretty pink dragon

Daella: Viserion -- he is such a gentle dragon, she would (probably) get over her fear of them if she had him contantly cuddling her

Saera: Syrax -- a spoiled dragon for a girl who always desired attention

Viserra: Sunfyre -- the most beautiful of Alysanne's daughters must have the most beautiful dragon in the known world

Aemma Arryn: Tessarion -- the Blue Queen would match with Meleys the Red Queen, whose rider Rhaenys is Aemma's cousin

Viserys II: Rhaegal -- I feel like between Drogon and Viserion, sometimes Rhaegal is forgotten, which is also something I feel happens with Viserys, particularly in the midst of the tragedy of the Dance

Aegon IV: Syrax -- both very fertile and pampered

Naerys: Dreamfyre -- both of Dreamfyre's previous riders, Rhaena and Helaena, had twins, so I wanted to have that connection to Naerys

Daeron I: Meraxes -- the obvious Dorne connection and both Queen Rhaenys and Daeron have Velaryon mothers

Daena: Caraxes -- the Blood Wyrm being ridden by Daemon's wild granddaughter OR Meleys

Elaena: Arrax -- his coloring perfectly matches her hair OR Moondancer -- she "stole" her aunt Baela's husband and also her dragon

Daeron II: Silverwing -- only appropriate that Good Queen Alysanne's dragon is ridden by King Daeron the Good

Daemon Blackfyre: Balerion -- the Black Dread for the Black Dragon

Aegor Rivers: Vermithor -- the Bronze Fury for a perpetually angry man

Brynden Rivers: the Cannibal -- known for eating other dragons and Brynden is a supposed kinslayer OR Caraxes -- the Blood Wyrm for Bloodraven, both lean and formidable

Shiera Seastar: Seasmoke or Silverwing -- a silver dragon that matches her aesthetic

Baelor: Sunfyre -- golden like the sun of Dorne and his name "sun" like the Martell sigil, in honor of his mother Myriah Martell, and "fire" connects to the Targaryen words

Maekar: Vhagar -- a war dragon

Aemon: Viserion -- Daenerys' sweet boy for the man who so desperately wanted to protect her

Aerion: the Cannibal -- the dragon's menacing green eyes are the color of wildfire

Rhaegar: Grey Ghost -- a wild dragon, known for his elusiveness, is mysterious and avoidant of people, and would be a good companion to Rhaegar and the way no one really knew him

Rhaenys: Balerion -- she named her kitten after the Black Dread, so it is only fair that she gets to ride him

Please let me know what you think!

Do you think there is another dragon/rider combination or is there someone here you would assign another dragon?

[highgardenart]

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen

“She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know?”

[zathura-art]

"She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door."

[salialenart]

She loved music, dancing, and poetry. Rhaenys loved flying even more; it was said that she spent more time flying on her dragon, Meraxes, than her siblings did combined.

She was a clever, capable, spirited, proud, fierce and fearless woman. She had a fiery temperament.

“Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar’s daughter. A precious little thing, younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion.”

.

I will stay this piece unfinished because I like it in this way.

[starogeorgina]

Ten ASOIAF quotes that make me emotional

10. The crown is crushing him, she thought. He wants so much to be a good king, to be brave and honorable and clever, but the weight is too much for a boy to bear.

9. “As ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about them.”

8. “Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and I... my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid?”

7. “The blood of my sweet sons is on their hands.”

6. “Are we going home? I want my horse. And I want applecakes and butter and honey, and Shaggy. Are we going where Shaggydog is?”

5. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

4. Robb, who had been more a brother to Theon than any son born of Balon Greyjoy's loins. Murdered at the Red Wedding, butchered by the Freys. I should have been with him. Where was I? I should have died with him.

3. “It was Ser Amory who brought me the girl's body, if you must know. He found her hiding under her father's bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her.”

2. “Egg? Egg, I dreamed that I was old.”

1. “Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar's daughter. A precious little thing, younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion , did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door.”

[hopestrope]

Poll of the Dragon #14

“Vhagar, the greatest of the Targaryen dragons since the passing of Balerion the Black Dread, had counted one hundred eighty-one years upon the earth. Thus passed the last living creature from the days of Aegon’s Conquest,”

-Fire and Blood, George R.R. Martin

This doesn't make much sense, but I don't like Vhagar. All the other dragons, no matter which side their rider is on, amaze me in a way and I enjoy them. But I can't bring myself to like Vhagar. She is too old, too wild, too uncontrollably large, causes too much damage. And I know she is a war dragon, she has been through so many battles and conflicts, so I know we can't expect her to just be a cute kitten rolling on grass. It's only natural that she behaves this way, and her abilities are admirable when you think about it. But I just can't stop not liking her. Does anyone else feel this way or is it just me?

P.S. Sorry Vhagar. It's not you, it's me.

[asoiafgotcollections]

Whenever I think about Balerion, the little black kitten, being cuddled and loved by little Rhaenys Targaryen who was murdered in the Sack of King's Landing in front of her mother and little brother, and then growing up to be the ornery old black, one-eared tomcat that little Arya Stark chases and kisses while he tries to claw her, I just cry and cry and cry

[untilmynextstory]

Elia Week 2024: Day 1: Elia + Her Children, Jealousy (Modern AU)

Summary: When Rhaegar first mentioned it, she brushed it off. However, when her children conspired to drown her husband, she realized maybe her husband was right. Her kids were exposing their jealousy. 

Motherhood was a glorious, frightening challenge. Elia had sunk her teeth into it and didn’t look back on it. Every day was a discovery when she had two little dragons discovering the joys and wonders of life. 

With the physical discoveries came the internal ones. She found her children to be very expressive of their feelings. She never had to guess what her children felt, which she thought was surprising, considering her husband worked hard to keep his emotions under the service. 

Her oldest child, Rhaenys, was the most expressive of the two. Her young, rambunctious daughter was like a wrecking ball. It was hard to keep her still in one place, especially now that Rhaegar had gotten her a large black kitten that she affectionately named after the fabled dragon Balerion from one of her father’s many fable tales of their ancestors. 

The young toddler and cat were always close to each other. Elia supposed her daughter having such a small friend helped with the transition when Aegon, the spitting image of Rhaegar, joined the family. 

Aegon wasn’t so energetic as much as he was curious. 

Elia and Rhaegar quickly invested in nanny cams and plenty of baby gates. Aegon had been an overachiever, as he was walking at nine months. 

Now, at six and four years old, they become persons with vibrant personalities. In her opinion, their growing too fast meant their relationships with each other shifted. 

When Rhaegar first mentioned it, she had brushed it off. 

It was common for the kids sometimes to get moody or pouty when Rhaegar and her showed each other affection, and the kids sometimes weren’t included. She had become accustomed to little bodies wedging between them, or if she went to kiss Rhaegar, her two babies would quickly demand one, too. 

If they were going somewhere, the kids wanted to stay with her—each of her hands held in possession of theirs. 

They only wanted her to read them stories and tuck them in at night. She took that one slightly more seriously, but she thought it all a phase. After all, Elia worked from home and was the kids’ primary caretaker while Rhaegar worked. They were growing and realizing their father had odd hours of work and would be gone for a couple of weeks for work. 

And it wasn’t always that the kids would be more demanding of her. She noticed it was more evident once Rhaegar came home from a long trip. She thought it was a byproduct of them getting used to the fact that they needed to share her. 

She should have listened to her husband when he thought their children were plotting against him. 

She had gone into the house to grab a drink, and when she returned, she found two toddlers in floaties with all their might trying to submerge their father under the water of their newly installed pool. 

She didn’t know whether to laugh as she stared in bewilderment at her precious babies, who looked up alarmingly at being caught in their plot. 

Now, her kids were waddled in large beach towels and looking up at her with large deer eyes. The sight was almost comical. Yet, they did just try to drown their father in the pool. She was grateful that only she was around to see them even attempting such a thing.

Rhaegar went from alarmed to amused once he hacked out all the water he inhaled. Who knew her tall,  lithe husband could be taken out by two small children? 

She pressed a kiss to their foreheads before sitting down in front of them. She had respectfully asked Rhaegar to wait in the living room. 

“Do you understand why what you two attempted to do was wrong?” She asked gently. Who knew she would have to have a talk to her children about premeditated murder? 

Both children frown but don’t speak. 

“You could have seriously hurt your father,” she added. 

Rhaenys offered a deeper frown while Aegon bit his lip. 

“Is he okay?” Aegon asked softly. Between Rhaenys and him, Aegon had very much inherited the physical traits of their father. Her son had the same look as his father when he realized he had made a mistake he couldn’t take back. 

“He is okay but a little hurt that his two babies would try to hurt him.”

Tears began lining Aegon’s wide eyes while Rhaenys clutched onto her towel. 

“Is Kepa mad at us,” Rhaenys asked, horrified. 

Elia frowned. “No, just hurt, sweetling,” she answered, pushing back some of her daughter’s hair behind her ear. “No one is in trouble, but you two must tell me what happened.”

The two looked at each other before Rhaenys sighed and moved off the bed and into Elia's arms. Elia kissed her forehead.  

“Kepa is always kissing you,” Rhaeyns stated with a pout. Aegon nodded in agreement. 

“You don’t like Kepa kissing me?”

Both scrunched up their noses. “It’s gross,” Aegon stated seriously. 

“I give you two kisses all the time,” she replied. 

“Yeah, you’re supposed to. You kiss Kepa too much.” Rhaenys replied. 

“You think so?”

Both kids nodded their heads.

“You know I love both of you so much, but just because I show your Kepa love doesn’t mean I love you a little less, like when your father showers you with hugs and kisses. That doesn’t mean he loves me any less.”

“So you’re not going to have a new baby?” Aegon asked. 

Elia’s eyes skyrocketed to her hairline. “What?”

“Vissy said when Kepas and Munas kiss, it makes babies. We don’t want another baby,” Rhaenys stated stubbornly. 

Elia shook her head before kissing her daughter’s forehead. She grabbed Aegon and hugged her children tightly. 

“You two will always be my babies. Nothing or no one will change that. Now, I want you to apologize to your father with many hugs and kisses.”

AO3

[tqwnw]

“and a yardlong iron bolt caught the queen’s dragon in the right eye. (…) Whether Rhaenys Targaryen outlived her dragon remains a matter of dispute.”

“Meleys was dead, broken by the fall and ripped to pieces upon the ground. (…) A body believed to be Rhaenys Targaryen was later found beside the carcass of her dragon, but it was so blackened that no one could be sure it was her.”

“She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door.”

AKA. don’t name your child rhaenys

[esther-dot]

"She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire."- Sansa(ACOK VII).

There was battle going in KL with wildfire. Tyrion using wildfire as weapon on behalf of tyrant king Joffery sounds like a Targ nod. And then a knight tried to assault Sansa covered in blood. And his cloak which he left is covered with fire and blood. Do you think it's foreshadowing for what Elia has gone through under Targ and Lannisters?

I got an anon once before about the Hound assaulting Sansa compared to Gregor raping and murdering Elia:

Some fans have pointed out the parallels between Sansa and Elia, but it hadn't clicked for me before that Elia was raped and murdered by one Clegane and that the other wanted to do the same to Sansa. That’s a great point though because Martin is very interested in how characters can become like abusers. It  isn't an accident that Tyrion is so much like Tywin, that Dany starts to  adopt some of the beliefs and even the language of Viserys…For the Hound to intend to do the same as his brother there, it fits. Horrifying. (link)

We have very little info about Elia, so it's hard to know what she experienced as Rhaegar's wife beyond a few moments. The cloak covering dead kids (or in Sansa's case, a kid who escaped rape and murder), comes up several times in AGOT though, so that's what draws my attention. I wrote about the contrast between Ned's use of his cloak and the Hound's/cloak imagery before, so my tendency would be to agree that, well, it's not exactly foreshadowing as their fates were already discussed, but that it is a connection to what has befallen innocent children before, especially as Sansa is compared to Rhaenys by Varys back in AGOT, meaning, that's on the author's mind:

"Surely you did not think I'd forgotten about your sweet innocent, my lord? The queen most certainly has not." "No," Ned pleaded, his voice cracking. "Varys, gods have mercy, do as you like with me, but leave my daughter out of your schemes. Sansa's no more than a child." "Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar's daughter. A precious little thing, younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door." (AGOT, Eddard XV)

I'd say this is about the obligation certain characters have towards children, their failures or guilt they feel (or share) in their fates. I'm not sure how much I can safely extrapolate about Elia's experience from this, but I can't argue with the connection there.

[inlovewithquotes]

Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar's daughter. A precious little thing, younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door.

-Lord Varys

[durrandons]

balerion the black dread

“balerion was a kitten belonging to princess rhaenys targaryen, who liked to pretend he was the great dragon, balerion the black dread After rhaenys was killed in the sack of king’s landing in 283 ac, it was not known what became of her kitten. many believe that balerion grew up to be the vicious black tomcat with a torn ear that still lives in the red keep.”

[queenofsarcazm]

Rhaenys Targaryen fix-it fic

Rhaenys Targaryan, daughter to Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryan, was murdered at 1 year old by Gregor Clegane, or was she? A fic in which Rhaenys grows up in the Modern world only to be brought back to Westeros before it all goes to shit. Who will she save? Who will she kill? Who will she court?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41624250/chapters/104406582

Excerpt from ch 6

Rae had just woken up from a nap and quickly saw she was not alone. “I assume you’re here because you found something at the library?”

“Yes,” the Waif replied, though stayed put where she was sat at the table, watching Rae with great interest.

“Are you going to show it to me?”

The Waif did get up then, bringing a book that resembled a fancy bible to Rae’s bedside, flipping to the right page before she gave it to Rae, who was relieved to see that it had been written in common English and not in Valyrian.

Rae found the small part about the Princess and read out loud, “Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Daughter to Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Nymeros Martell, of Dorne. Dark of hair hair with white streaks and golden eyes, taking after her mother. Rhaenys was born on Dragonstone and presented to the court by her father Prince Rhaegar while her mother lay bedridden. Hmm...” Rae frowned, reading on, “whilst her grandmother Queen Rhaella Targaryen embraced her warmly, her grandfather King Aerys II Targaryen refused to touch or hold her, claiming she smelled ‘Dornish’.” - “What the fuck?” Rae looked to the Waif, but the woman just shrugged.

Rae went on, “Rhaenys had a small kitten named Balerion, after the great black dragon of Aegon I Targaryen.” -”How is that relevant?” she asked, shaking her head before continued, “Rhaenys, five years old at the time, died during the Sack of King’s Landing, and her dead body was presented to King Robert Baratheon and his court by Lord Tywin Lannister alongside her mother, Princess Elia, and her infant brother, Prince Aegon…”

Rae took a deep breath. People who killed innocent people, and especially fucking children, deserved to burn in hell, so she was glad she’d already sent someone out to murder Tywin Lannister. If it hadn’t been for the fact that his absence would cause chaos, she would have sent someone after Robert Baratheon too. Gods knows he fucking deserved it after allowing the stuff he’d allowed. She was about to close the book, feeling sick, when the Waif pointed further down the page, at a somewhat smudged footnote. “Look here.”

Rae looked, and then read that part out loud too. “The dead body of the Princess Rhaenys that was presented to Court had recently dyed black hair, which led some to believe that the child was a decoy, and that the Princess Rhaenys is still alive.”

Rae slammed the book shut.

[jonsnowwesterosworld]

Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar's daughter. A precious little thing, younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old.

[dornishdragcn]

closed starter; rhaenys & harwin. ( @mischiefxmuses​ )

        the small, black kitten who scampered around by her side was truly rhaenys’ dearest and most loyal companion. the strange happenings in the town had made balerion, who had been with her ever since she arrived as a child, seemingly a forever kitten and yet he was mature and intelligent enough to walk by her side down the street without straying into danger. usually, at least. as the two walked with rhaenys occasionally glancing to her side to smile at her tiny companion, there was a moment when balerion took an interest in another as they passed by ad began to pad over to their direction.  “  balerion, no  !  ” before he could get too far away rhae swept the kitten into her arms, offering a small smile of apology to the stranger for cutting them off in their path.  “  i am terribly sorry, ser, he is not usually so bold.  ”