#ch: Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession

[stromuprisahat]

I’ve read some complaints about the events leading to Aemond’s loss of an eye. That in books it doesn’t make sense. I have to disagree.

Even for a son of House Targaryen, there are always dangers in approaching a strange dragon, particularly an old, bad-tempered dragon who has recently lost her rider. His father and mother would never allow him to go near Vhagar, Aemond knew, much less try to ride her. So he made certain they did not know,

Little children like to state the obvious, especially if “the obvious” means something you shouldn’t be doing (sneaking around to a dragon that’s not yours), therefore “I said it first, now you can’t tell ~I~ might be doing something I shouldn’t” (wandering by myself).

“You stay away from her!”

The voice belonged to the youngest of his half nephews, Joffrey Velaryon, a boy of three.

I’m curious why were the crossed out parts left out in Fire & Blood (Compared with The Rogue Prince novel.)

Afraid that the boy would raise the alarm, Prince Aemond slapped him, shouted at him to be quiet, then shoved him backward into a pile of dragon droppings.

Aemond bullies Joff, he comes for help to his “big” brothers, who are still much smaller than Aemond, so they take practice swords to make up for their age just like an ordinary child would take a stick. Just google what does three, five, six and ten year old look like.

Aemond fought back, breaking Luke’s nose with a punch, then wrenching the sword from Joff’s hands and cracking it across the back of Jace’s head, driving him to his knees. As the younger boys scrambled back away from him, bloody and bruised, the prince began to mock them, calling them the Strongs. Jace at least was old enough to grasp the insult. He flew at Aemond again, but the older boy began pummeling him savagely … until Luke, coming to the rescue of his brother, drew his dagger and slashed Aemond’s face, taking out his right eye. 

Experience seems to win- maybe originally unarmed, but with some four extra years of training on the oldest Velaryon, Aemond gains a weapon and seemingly victory. So he gloats and humiliates, just like mommy taught him.

Jace tries to protect their honour, only to be overpowered by the boy almost twice his age. The situation escalates for the last time when it turns out no one told a five-year-old not to bring a metaphorical gun into a knifefight, but even such a small child would understand being “pummeled savagely” after acquiring a head injury might be slightly life-threatening. He’s acting out of desperation, basics of self-defence ingrained deep enough to know what to do, yet too young to foresee practical consequences.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 31 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: All gather in the Throne Room to hear Ser Vaemond Velaryon's petition. Never a dull day at the Red Keep. Word Count: 6874 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Show canon scene. Violence, gore, slut-shaming/misogyny, bit of angst, canon death, fat-shaming/fatphobia, bullying mention, depression/mental health mention. Lots of fun things.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: I'm BAAACCKK. Hope everyone had happy holidays and a great new year. Mine was adequate, nothing to report other than get a lil annoyed at the bf. But that was overshadowed by a band I listen to dming a happy new years. I won't say who, because I'm trying to manifest something rn, and I don't want to jinx it. but hint: 😴🚶🐕🐈 Now, this chapter still is around the time I was really struggling to write. Re reading it, it's not entirely as bad as I thought it was, but you might be able to tell where I was getting frustrated and losing my muse. Or not, idk, maybe I hid it well.

There was nothing more intimidating than the Iron Throne when it sat unoccupied. It was almost like the ghost of Aegon the Conqueror still lingered there when the current king did not, watching and judging his dynasty before him. Valeana wondered if this is what he imagined for his line of Fire and Blood; had he predicted his grandchildren, and great grandchildren to fight amongst themselves? Did he predict that his heir to be a woman, where a son with his name stood idly by? Did he predict that his legacy would be put into question?

Valeana also wondered if Targaryens would have ended up this way, had it been Visenya’s line that survived, and not her sister’s. Perhaps their people would not see them as weak, as they once thought of King Aenys.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds,” The Lord Hand spoke after the King had descended upon his throne of iron and war. “We gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark.”

His words were not appreciated by those that suffered for this petition. Valeana stood by her family, who stood behind Alicent and her children. The Throne Room was not at full capacity, but the Lords of the Great Houses had gathered, some with their wives, some with their heirs. The Baratheons, the Starks, the Hightowers, The Arryns, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, the Tullys, the Greyjoys, even representatives from the Martells were present. The Realm knew what this moment meant – It was not just a petition over who would inherit Driftmark, it was a petition to prove or disprove that Rhaenyra’s three eldest were illegitimate. Bastards. It would not only take away Lucerys’ inheritance, but Jacaerys' and Joffrey’s. If that happened, the Realm may very want Rhaenyra to be removed as heir to the Throne as punishment for her carnal transgressions, and effectively move the line of succession onto Aegon the Elder, bypassing even her legitimate fair-haired sons she sired with Daemon. 

“The crown will now hear the petitions: Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon,” Otto stepped away, and all in the room watched with bated breath as Vaemond moved from the spot he stood next to his uncle’s wife and grandchildren and took his place at the foot of the dias. 

“My King,” he bowed, then looked upon Alicent and Otto. “My Queen, my Lord Hand.” His eyes return to Viserys, whose face was already set in stone, his lips thinned and already showing his disapproval. Alas, Vaemond’s confidence was bordering on delusion, and did not let that deter him in the slightest. Valeana took a step forward, putting herself just behind the backs of Aemond and Aegon, so she could have a better look. 

Aemond slightly turned to her, a silent look that communicated everything. He could not yet show his affections publicly – he had not taken the time to converse with Maris just yet to end their very public courtship (even if it had grown apparent that it was dwindling). Aegon, however, took pleasure in taking advantage of that fact, for when Valeana appeared at his side, he wove his arm around hers and laced her fingers with his own. 

Valeana wasn’t entirely sure what horror show she should dare to look at: Vaemond’s petition, Aemond’s fury, or her brother and father’s heated disapproval behind her. 

“The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria,” Vaemond began his speech, hands clasped in front of him as he not only spoke to his monarch, but to the audience, to the lords and ladies of Westeros. “For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas.” 

Not entirely true, Valeana mused. House Celtigar and House Velaryon ruled ceremoniously, while the latter was more naval and militant, the former was more in trade and piracy. Though that last bit was more of an unsavoury historical anecdote that her father will never acknowledge. 

“When the Doom fell on Valyria, House Targaryen, House Velaryon and House Celtigar became the last of their kind. Our forebears came to this land knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name

“I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my uncle’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins–”

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Leanor Velaryon,” Rhaenyra spoke up, interrupting the knight without remorse. Her face was remarkably neutral despite the bite of her words, reminding everyone in the grand room of her sons’ birthrights. With eyes trained onto the floor ahead of her, she went on, “If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir.” She said this now looking at him directly, and Valeana could only watch, enraptured and captivated by her strength and conviction. “No, you only speak for yourself, and for your own ambition.” 

“You have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra,” Otto interrupted, overlapping the princess’ words. “Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard.”

King Viserys was rubbing his eyelids, already tired and weary. Valeana watched his face carefully as Vaemond continued his speech, claiming that Rhaenyra did not know a thing about Velaryon blood. Eyes darted around the room, as she watched Jacaerys catch Aemond’s eye, and Lucerys watched Vaemond with contempt. Daeron looked impossibly uncomfortable, eyes flickering around to everyone to gouge how he should react. And Aegon… Aegon simply shuffled in his spot, free hand moving to scratch his jaw. 

“This is bloody torture,” she heard him whisper. The only thing she could do was give his hand a squeeze in response and he gently squeezed back, rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm. 

When it was Rhaenyra’s turn to petition, her words were cut short when the King placed up his hand to halt her. 

“I must admit my confusion,” his words were laced with exhaustion, but with an underlying strength of a king. He had been patient, polite and courteous as he allowed Ser Vaemond to speak, since he did come all this way to do so. But now it was his turn, and he intended to speak on behalf of his daughter and Lord Corlys, the latter of which could not speak on his own behalf. “On why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

His statement was met with a second of strained silence before he continued, moving his head around the crowd before settling on his cousin. “The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.” 

“Indeed, your grace,” The Queen Who Never Was spoke once everyone had settled their attention onto her. Her eyes flickered from Vaemond to Rhaenyra, then she moved over to place herself at the foot of the dias, before the Throne that in another life, would have been hers. 

“It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Leanor, to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him.” 

Rhaenys’ confession garnered a group reaction of surprise. It was under the assumption that the older princess had always disapproved of Rhaenyra the moment each son she birthed looked nothing like hers, and the circumstances of Leanor’s death seemed to put a rift between the like-minded princesses. Though it now seemed that bygones had become bygones. 

“As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire for her son, Luke, to marry Lord Corlys’ granddaughter, Rhaena… A proposal to which I heartily agree.” 

Hushed chatter befell the Throne Room. Rhaena and Luke shared a look with each other, subtle smiles upon their youthful places. This development certainly put a wedge in Ser Vaemond’s petition. He cried about blood purity, and yet here the solution laid plainly in front of the Kingdom. For those who believed that Luke was a bastard, the seat of Driftmark would no longer belong to the Velaryons in name only. Rhaena held that blood from her mother, and what's more, their children would be dragonriders, with their matching Targaryen blood between them. 

Valeana was quick to notice Vaemond’s displeasure and shock. 

“Well…” Viserys lifted his hand dismissively, “The matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

Just when people believed matters were settled, and the chatter started up again, Vaemond stepped forward after Rhaenys stepped back. “You break law and centuries of tradition, to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon–No,” he shook his head minutely. “I will not allow it.”

The King furrowed his brow, mouth popping open at the man’s gall. “Allow it? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

This is where things had taken a turn for the worst. When Vaemond shook with anger, Valeana knew that all sense was lost. At the shout of “That!”, she startled next to the princes. Aegon turned to her slightly amused, and Aemond had moved closer to her until their shoulders touched. 

Vaemond pointed viciously at Lucerys, who surprisingly shrunk under the angered man. “Is no true Velaryon, and certainly, no cousin of mine.”

“Go to your chambers,” Rhaenyra whipped her head to her son, who also vibrated with emotion, lip curling over his teeth as if he wished to lash out on his own behalf. Then she turned to Vaemond, “You have said enough.”

Lucerys didn’t move, but his step father still kept a hand on his shoulder. 

“Lucerys is my trueborn grandson,” The King spoke lowly. “And you are no more than the son of the second son of Driftmark.”

“You may run your house as you see fit,” Vaemond bit back. Valeana held her breath, finding herself squeezing Aegon’s hand. “But you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom, and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned,” He swiveled back around to glare at the boy again, as if he were the reason for all his troubles, and not the adults that surrounded him. “I will not see it ended on the account of this–” His lips folded in between his teeth, and the air in the room stilled. Then as the slow seconds went by, Vaemond’s face relaxed, as if he could lose no more than he already had.

“Her children… are BASTARDS!”

“Seven Hells,” Valeana breathed out. The entire room was filled with loud murmurs, the King himself leaned forward on the Throne, his anger building in his chest, as weak as it was. 

“Oh, this is turning out to be quite the show,” Aegon whispered, his words laced with mirth.

A horror show. 

A very horrific, bloody show. 

“And she is,” Vaemond continued, punctuating every word as he burned his eyes onto Rhaenyra, then Daemon, and then finally the King. “A whore.”

The chorus of gasps filled the Throne Room. Everyone paced around, looking at each other in disbelief. Valeana glanced up at Aemond and saw his smirk, no different to Aegon’s. She knew of the princes’ animosity towards their half sister, who coveted all their father’s love, but as a woman, she could not help but feel disgusted by their reactions. With one glance of Helaena, she was relieved to see that she did not approve either, and when the two princes noticed their disapproval, their smirks dropped. At the very least Daeron had the decency to look scandalized, regardless of what his opinions were of Rhaenyra. 

The king ascended from his throne, his cane forgotten as he reached into his cloak and pulled out the cat’s claw dagger that was always strapped to him. 

“I will have your tongue for that–”

Valyrian steel sung in the air, swiftly and without mercy. The sound of blade cutting through flesh and bone dirtied Valeana’s ears, and the sight of Vaemond’s nearly headless body slumping on the floor now seared into her mind like a brand. Never before in her life had she seen such violence. Not even her fall down the stairs could compare. She had thought she would be impervious to such displays, having seen her own bone out of her flesh, and then watch her leg rot away before it was severed off with a saw. Though that was nothing in comparison to seeing a man’s head chopped off from his cheekbones, leaving his jaw and tongue atop what remained of his head. 

Helaena had turned away with her hands placed upon the sides of her head, her mother Alicent on her protectively to shield her from the gore. Daeron’s eyes widened in shock and horror, his hand flying to the sword on his belt as if it was muscle memory. Behind Valeana, Shyla and Floris both screamed, flying into the chest of Bartimos and their mother, with Clement shielding them from it. Arthor merely stood agape, the first time he, too, ever saw such an act. 

Valeana had jumped away, retching her hand out of Aegon’s in the pursuit to put herself as far away from the corpse as possible. It was Aemond who moved in front of her, hand upon her arm to keep her behind him, whilst Aegon stood like a statue, lips pulled into a frown and eyebrows up to his hairline, staring at Vaemond’s lifeless body as if he could not believe what he had just witnessed, what he was actively staring at. 

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon stood there, hand placed on the pommel of Dark Sister. 

“Disarm him!” The Lord Hand shouted, the Kingsguard poised to attack.  

“No need,” the Rogue Prince replied casually, using the ends of his black tunic to wipe the blood off his sword and sheath it back into its scabbard.

Valeana tore her eyes away at last, blinking away rapidly, as if that would rid her of the image. It was then she brought her attention to where her hands had found rest. She gripped onto Aemond’s sleeve, both of her forearms caging his arm to her chest like a shield or a life preserver. 

“Valeana,” Clement’s presence loomed over her shoulder, his large hand firmly on her bicep. 

Valeana followed Aemond’s arm until she reached his face. He stared at her with a wide eye and a gritted jaw. His fingers flexed at her own sleeve, not wanting to let go either, but they were not in the privacy of their library. It took all her courage to let him go from her vice and allow Clement to pull her into his orbit. 

But when Valeana tore her eyes from Aemond, she landed them on Aegon, who saw the whole thing. His face was crestfallen, but only for a moment before his features pulled into a scowl, eyes glaring up at his younger brother. 

The petition had inevitably delayed the anticipated dinner of the Valyrian Houses, of which Vaemond had been invited to, mostly out of respect. It would be pushed to the next evening, as everyone was collectively in a state of shock and displacement. 

Valeana longed for solitude, she wished to be tucked in the reading nook of the late Aemma Arryn’s library, or laying in a nest of cushions and furs on the secret platform amongst the cliffs. Though for now, she settled on her bed chambers. Shyla was absent, she seemed to disappear after the Throne Room, along with Daeron it seemed. She was particularly distressed and the prince was concerned for her, leaving poor young Floris in the wind. Gods, Borros Baratheon is going to absolutely loathe the Celtigars after this Conclave was over with. 

Valeana was sitting cross legged in the middle of her bed, embroidering an image of a milkweed plant on a dark grey canvas. She intended to give the loop to Helaena as a thank you for her part last night. It was still such a bizarre recollection, that now felt like it was eons ago. Seeing a man’s head lopped off from the middle would do that to someone. 

Still, she wove every memory she made that night into the fabric of her mind. From the moment she saw Aemond splayed on the chair at the table, to that very morning when the warm orange glow of the dawn reflected against the silver tresses of his hair and pearlescent complexion of his skin. Valeana had woken up before him, and she took that privilege gently, savouring every moment. 

Aemond had tucked her under his arm at some point, and she was nestled on his upper arm, hand slayed on his chest while his nose nestled in the crown of her hair. They were both lying on their sides, legs tangled with each other, his hand resting on her hip and thigh. With gentle fingers, she traced the lines of his jaw, his nose, his scar, the gnarl frame of his sapphire eye, and brow, and then his lips that were parted as he breathed gently. Valeana noted how the skin around his perfect lid was red, the corner had a little sandy crust as if his eye had been tearing up during the night. 

With boldness, her hands moved southward, running along the muscles of his chest and stomach, humming in satisfaction at the warmth and feel of his body. It was art, truly; every ridge and curve, every bone and muscle, expertly carved by the Smith himself, designed in the likeness of the Warrior. 

Aemond roused from his sleep when her fingers trailed over the area below his belly button. He blinked away the sand from his good eye and gave a soft, grumbly hum. 

“Still not convinced I am a man?” He questioned softly with a hoarse, sleepy tone before his hand moved to her wrist and guided her to the crotch of his breeches. Valeana gave a soft gasp, or more of a hitch in her throat. She could feel him through the fabric and while he was soft, the muscle twitched at the contact. 

“Aemond–” He interrupted her with a peck on her lips, moving his hand up to the curve of her jaw to keep her there, so he could stare into her eyes. And that is where they remained until there was a knock on the library door, and Helaena’s gentle voice reminded them it was time. 

Valeana sighed contently down at her embroidery. Basking in the perfect evening and the perfect morning was enough to drown out the macabre events of that midday. Now the image of Aemond’s hardened body and Aegon’s thick cock permated her mind, creating a warm stir in her core. Alas, she was still bleeding, and she was not going to risk getting blood under her fingernails and all over her sheets to satiate her carnal hunger. Besides, there was a knock on the door, effectively ending her lewd thoughts. Clearing her throat, she called out: “come in.”

Clement entered the room, closing the door behind him as he did, “How are you doing?”

She offered him a half shrug, “Fine, I suppose.” 

Her brother took a seat at the edge of her bed, his body twisted so he rested his knee on the mattress, where he could look at her properly. “You’re doing remarkably well for someone who just witnessed their first execution.” 

“I do well with gore, I suppose. Finding severed feet on the beach on a regular basis could desensitize you to it,” her jest came out awfully stoic, as if she was serious. Though Valeana tended to joke when she was on the verge of anxiousness or sadness, if she wasn’t already thrown into the maelstrom of a fit. 

“And watching yours decay whilst attached to your body,” Clement added, his dark humour similar to her own. 

“Hm, that too. Perhaps the Stranger’s mark on me still lingers.” 

He hummed in agreement, unserious in his consideration for the statement. But then his face fell, and Valeana geared herself up for the real reason why he was there in her room. 

“Valeana…” He looked down on the bed, where his hand laid flat. He drummed his fingers on the duvet, like he was stalling so he could find the right words, or to rein in his censure. “I feel like you have become a stranger since we arrived at King’s Landing. You have been pulling yourself away every day from our family…and I can’t help but believe it is because of the princes.” 

Valeana leaned back into her headboard with a sigh, her loop forgotten in her lap. “Clement, I have been a stranger to this family for years…” Her eyes drifted over to the balcony. The Hydrangeas that Aemond left her were now placed in a vase next to her bed. 

“Not to me,” he shook his head vehemently. “We are full blooded siblings, Valeana. You and I have a bond that cannot be separated.”

Val tilted her head at him, a single eyebrow raised, “Clement, for half my life we were separated. I was here, and you were on the Isle with Ursula and Arthor. I am twenty, and yet I’ve only ever spent half my life with you, brother, and during that time I spent the better part of it locked in my rooms, despondent and longing for death.” 

Clement let his head sag at that, then raked his fingers through his short silver hair. He did not like dwelling on that dark part of her past, it still made him feel like a failure of a brother that he was not there for her when it happened, nor was he able to coax her out of the abyss in the aftermath. He reached out then, placing a hand on the ankle of her prosthetic, and although physically she could not feel it, the phantom of his touch tickled in the back of her mind as if she could. 

“You are the closest thing I have to mother, you know,” he said quietly, thumb moving along the ball joint. “I might have lost her, but I gained a sister in her stead, in her very image. I vowed over her grave that I would protect you, and I have failed thus far… I do not wish to continue that path any longer.”

When Valeana felt her eyes begin to water, she shut them immediately and bowed her head till her chin laid on her sternum, “Clement–”

“I saw you,” he said a bit forcefully. “You held Aegon’s hand one moment, and then clung to Aemond the next. Whatever it is you are doing, you must know it will end in heartbreak. Please, for your sake, sister, let them go… Jacaerys is an honourable man, who can offer you a great future–”

“I do not love him,” the words came out before she was able to filter them. 

Clement furrowed his brow as he tilted his head at her disbelievingly, “Then who is it you love? Aemond the Blackhearted or Aegon the Whoremongerer?” 

Sorrow was quickly being pulled into frustration. Valeana shook her head, “You only know the princes by their reputation, you do not know their character, the way they are with me–”

Clement pulled away, scoffing loudly, “I know Aemond is the cause of your first heartbreak, the reason why you walk with a wooden leg, and I know Aegon is the cause of your self hatred and the reason why you hide yourself from the world. This is all I need to know… So excuse me if I cannot fathom why you wish to consort with either of them, let alone harbour feelings.”

Valeana took a steady breath through her lips, her eyes closed to ground herself in the darkness behind her lids. “They have both reconciled with me.”

“Oh, they have, have they? When will they seek out father’s forgiveness then?” His question took her off guard. “Father was just as hurt as you were. He ended his friendship with the King over it… let go of his position on the Small Council, and left King’s Landing. Do not think you are the only victim here, sister.” 

“Please leave, Clement,” she ran her fingers over her eyes, where a headache was starting to bloom.

“I will not. I am not going to let you ignore the truth, Valeana… You have been causing an immense amount of stress on not only Ursula and father, but our sisters and brother as well. Everything has been revolving around your scandals, your love life, and it has put poor Shyla and Floris on the backburner. Floris, the poor thing, weeps at not being married still at her age. How do you think she feels seeing her step sister being the centre of attention? To have this many men flock to you and not her?”

“Floris,” she nearly yelled her name. “Floris is the reason why people whisper about me! Her insecurities are not my bloody problem, Clement! She could have been married off years ago, but she lets her pride and narcissism get in the way of it.

“She envies me, that is the truth of it. It’s always been like that – do you even notice the comments she makes of me? Floris is just as terrible as Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys was to me, even worse because we are family! It has been like that my entire fucking life with that woman… And you, father, mother, Arthor, and Shyla choose to ignore her belittling comments about my figure, because of what, Clement? Because you do not wish to cause strife among family? To choose sides? Or is it because you all believe her? You all agree I’m too fucking fat, but unlike Floris you keep your opinion behind your buttoned lips and avoidant eyes?”

Valeana did not give him room to respond, if he had any intention to, if he had any strength to. She pulled herself from her bed, embroidery loop forgotten, and slipped her feet into her shoes. Then, she bent down and secured the shoe’s strap around her wooden ankle, mindful to not run off on insecure shoes like last time.

“Where are you going?” 

“Since you refuse to leave, I will,” she marches over the door, and pulls it open with a violet jerk. 

“And which prince will you flock to?” He is standing up now, looking at her retreating back.

She paused in the threshold, her hand flexing on the handle of the door. “Neither,” she replied flatly, then slammed the door on him. 

When Valeana left her family’s wing, she had spotted Ellyn and Wylla walking in the gardens arm in arm from the loggia above. She fled to find some corner of the Keep for solitude, but when she saw them, she craved friendship more. They were whispering about something, giving each other looks that Valeana could not quite make out from where she stood. When she called out for them, they looked up, completely startled. Their bodies pulled away from each other as if they were caught committing a crime. 

Valeana tried not to think too much about it, especially since her thoughts were already at full capacity. Though as they sat in the grass, underneath a cherry blossom tree, away from courtiers and servants, Valeana couldn’t help but feel suddenly paranoid. The two were sharing looks with each other that she could not decipher, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they had been talking about her. 

Eyeing them warily, she decided to test the waters, “You two seem quiet.”

They looked at her slightly surprised, with Ellyn the first to speak, “Sorry… That nasty business in the Throne Room, it… it was just not expected.”

Wylla hummed in agreement, “I’ve seen a few executions, done by my father… Never seen anything so savage, however.” 

Valeana nodded, still unconvinced. Did they see her cling to Aemond after it happened? It was possible, though she was behind the Targaryen princes at the time, and she was fairly certain that people were more preoccupied by Ser Vaemond’s scalp rolling around the floor. 

Narrowing her eyes, she decided to press further, a little more boldly, “Are there any more whispers about me?” At their collective confusion, she added, “Only because you two seem quieter than usual, and I’m starting to wonder if you’ve learned something unsavoury that I should be concerned about.” 

Ellyn’s cheeks went pink, her eyes darting from Wylla, to the grass she was picking and peeling. They both shook their heads and cleared their throats. 

This time, Wylla answered, seeming genuine.  “No, nothing new. Only that bets have been challenged now that Jacaerys is in the running for your hand.”

Valeana rolled her eyes, “He isn’t. It was simply a brief moment in order to appease our parents.”

Ellyn raised an eyebrow mockingly, “So there we are back to two princes?”

Wylla tilted her head, “Or just one? I saw you and Aegon holding hands in the Throne Room.” 

“Is that all you saw?” They both looked genuinely confused. It was a bit of a relief, at least she knew they weren’t gossiping about her clinging to both Aegon and Aemond so publicly and judging her for it. As of right now, Aemond and hers reconciliation was not public knowledge; as far as the court is concerned, he was still courting Maris, and it was only the whispers that breathed life into the rumour of him yearning for Valeana. It was…  true, and well observed, but Valeana knew better to encourage the truth. Aemond needed to gently rid himself of Maris Baratheon, now more than ever. Having noticed how Shyla was slowly usurping Daeron Targaryen from Floris Baratheon, the tensions between Celtigars and Baratheons were becoming very tense, and it did not bode well for Valean’a own precarious circumstance.

Wylla’s eyes narrowed, “What else was there to see, Valeana?”

Val’s eyes flickered to Ellyn, who stared at her expectedly. She trusted this Baratheon with her past with Aemond, her feelings for him, but she did not know Ellyn’s relationship with her sisters very well. Did she approve of Maris’ match with him, or merely tolerated it? Would she choose Valeana or her sister? And the issue with young Floris and Shyla was a whole other added problem. The last thing Val wanted was to put Ellyn in a position of choosing between friendship and family. 

After kneading her lip with her teeth in thought, Valeana tentatively asked: “Ellyn… Is Maris… quite fond of Aemond?”

Ellyn seemed quite taken back by the question, but otherwise she appeared almost like she was harbouring knowledge she had yet to share. With a great sigh, the brunette nodded remorsefully, “She is. I’ve never seen her quite smitten but… She seems a bit agitated lately. Ever since the Hightower dinner, which…I know you’ve told me about. Maris has given me her own version of it, as did Daeron when he visited Floris one afternoon. My sister was quite affronted. Her intelligence is her biggest pride.”

“So suffice to say she isn’t my biggest fan.”

Ellyn huffed a soft laugh, “An understatement really. Um, she has also noticed… Aemond has become distant with her, and she has deduced it may be your doing. From what I overheard from her and Cassandra yesterday, your step-sister has been insinuating that you’ve been trying to seduce him.” 

Valeana sighed, rubbing the spot between her eyebrow and nose, “Of course she’s doing that. I somehow wonder if my beloved step sister has a plan, or she is simply lying freely, trying to see what people will believe and if it will ruin my character.” 

“I am surprised you aren’t trying to seduce him,” Wylla admitted thoughtfully, regarding Ellyn’s statement, “Given what you’ve told us. Didn’t you want him back? Or…has Prince Aegon snuffed that flame?” 

Valeana has done nothing but disprove the whispers about her and Aegon, particularly after the Hightower dinner when they publicized their (fake) courtship just to make Aemond jealous. It worked, though faster than she anticipated, and now she gathered how confused her two new friends probably were, given how much she had not shared with them since their last conversation about Val’s lovelife. The context between that drunken night to the present had not been divulged to them, and that was not just because she simply hadn’t the opportunity, but because she wasn’t accustomed to sharing vulnerable secrets. Valeana never actually had friends she could trust, she painfully realized; not since Aemond, and look how that turned out. 

She glanced around them, making sure they were very much alone. They had trailed far from the path, hidden in the grassy knolls, underneath the cherry blossom tree, surrounded by hydrangea bushes of various colours. The bushes and florals do a good job at muffling their voices as well as the noises of the world outside of their little sanctuary.

Licking her dry lips, Valeana geared herself to confess her sins, hoping that they would not judge her too harshly for her weaknesses. Hoping that Ellyn would at most be impartial to Valeana’s hand at effectively ruining Maris’ chance at a royal betrothal. 

“There is much I should– no, need to tell you. So much has happened…I do not know where to begin.”

Ellyn reached out and patted her arm, “Start from the beginning then?” 

With a harrowing sigh, Valeana nodded and began her complicated, long tale. She tripped over her words and backtracked when she remembered information that added more context, but she recounted everything. From the moment Aemond pulled her drunken self out of the Throne room, to her eve spent with Aemond in Queen Aemma’s old quarters. Yes, she even told them of Aemond’s apology on Maiden’s Day eve. Valeana even admitted to Aemond ravishing her tits that drunken night in the passageways, the morning before the Hightower supper. Even told them about the night at the secret terrace with Aegon. She also mentioned how she lost her maidenhead to a bloody horse, which was her attempt at humour and alleviating the tense conversation. 

In the end, her fingers were pressed in the corners of her eyes, head bowed over her crossed legs in exhaustion. Her head felt dull and heavy from a steady headache, one that began with Clement earlier. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she confessed defeatedly. “This is all so new to me… All my life, I was prepared to either be a spinster, a septa, or a despondent wife to a lord that did not care for me. I never even entertained the idea that a man might… desire me at all, let alone two.” It was addicting, she admitted to herself. Selfishly she thought perhaps she could have them both, like Catelyn Redwyne’s story, but she knew that was impossible…Aemond and Aegon would never share her. They would spend the entire time trying to lay claim on her, like two opposing conquerors. 

Wylla’s hand patted her knee comfortingly, “Your life never ceases to amaze me, Valeana. Most women would kill to be in your position.”

“I am not one of those women,” Ellyn commented good naturedly. “Though I admit that it is a privilege to be fought over by two princes of the Realm.”

Valeana pulled her hands from her eyes and blinked tiredly at both of them, “What would you two do if you were in my position?”

“Choose neither and become a Septa,” Ellyn shrugged dismissively, but at Valeana’s pointed look, she sighed. “Honestly, I do not know. I suppose I would try to figure out who I could not live without.” 

Wylla nodded her agreement, “You will be spending the rest of your life with this man… I personally don’t think it is disgraceful to explore who you are compatible with, both emotionally and physically. Most of us do not get the leisure of testing the waters before we are thrown in.” 

Val nodded, because she had no choice but to agree. It still did nothing to ease her stresses, though. “The problem is that my decision will be at the expense of the other’s pain. And I do not wish to cause anyone pain… Not even your sister, Ellyn. Even if – and forgive me for saying so – even if she is a pretentious bitch.” 

Ellyn huffed, shaking her head, “Oh, do not worry, I don’t take offense to that. Maris loves to call me stupid whenever she gets a chance, so she deserves the insult.” Suddenly the brunette looked down at her hands for a moment, brow furrowed as if she was in a battle with her own thoughts. “I love my sisters, truly… I wish to see them contented. Though… I do not believe that the princes would ever give them the happiness they hope to have with them. I think Maris and our Floris both are blinded by their titles, of the little fairy tale of becoming princesses rather than actually understanding the gravity of it all.

“I saw immediately that Daeron is far too self-centered to care for my little sister truly, and she is far too meek to stand up for herself. He never asks questions about her, and if she does not ask questions about him, then there is no conversation to be had. As for Maris, well…she likes the idea of Aemond. Of someone who actually enjoys her mind, and shares academic conversations, but,” Ellyn lifted her shoulders in a shrug, “As far as I’m aware, they have not shared anything deeper. Though, I dare say, with all my sister’s intelligence, she isn’t particularly educated in matters of the heart. If it wasn’t Aemond, any man that showed an interest to her intellect and mind would be enough to convince her that they are in love with her.” 

“That does not make me feel any better, Ellyn,” Valeana picked at the grass too, covering her skirts with it. 

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I’m trying poorly to convey something… What I mean is… Do not feel guilty about it. My sisters are not compatible with either Aemond or Daeron. Floris is young, beautiful, she will not suffer singledom long. However, I do worry about Maris, but not for reasons you think. Maris is not stable.” 

With a furrowed brow, Valeana peered at Ellyn carefully, “What do you mean?”

“She does not like being insulted, which you did, but she also sees Aemond's sudden distance from her as an insult too. Maris is calm most of the time but, when she feels like she has been aggrieved, or humiliated, she is… reactionary, for lack of a better word. And with your step sister’s ill counsel… I fear she plans on doing something explosive to get back at you. I just do not know what, or when, or if it’ll happen at all. I just know my sister… And since you are my friend, I only wish for you to be cautious. Perhaps do not make your affections for Aemond so obvious, until the sky is clear, until Maris cannot do anything.” 

Tentatively, Valeana gave a soft nod, “Thank you for telling me. Though now I have to deal with your sister on top of my own. Is there anyone else out there that is trying to sabotage me for reasons unknown, that I should be aware of?” She turned to Wylla, “Do you have a sister I do not know about that is plotting to kill me?”

Wylla softly laughed, “Gods, no. Well, I have a half sister. She is baseborn, but she is not here, anyway. Besides, we northerners have no interest in pretty white-haired princes with soft bellies or thin waists. We like our men towering, hairy, and smelling like a campfire.” 

Ellyn wrinkled her nose at that, but otherwise said nothing. 

Valeana hummed, lifting up her leg to rest her arm on her knee, “Your brother smells cedarwood and raw masculinity, which also smells a bit like roasted venison. It does things to me.”

“You still try to covet my brother even with two Targaryen princes at your beck and call?”

“Key word is try,” Valeana shook the grass from her skirt in exasperation. In total unseriousness, she continued, “Though he seems too preoccupied with Alysanne Blackwood, and I cannot compete with a woman who breaks horses and looks like she can kill a man with her thighs.” 

“And I am sure she has!” 

Their laughter pulled their outing to a lighter conversation about this or that, leaving the stress of courtships and family behind. Though despite the change, something dreadful settled in Valeana’s gut as Ellyn’s warning about Maris echoed in her mind like a bad omen. She couldn’t shake the feeling; it felt like she was an animal, sensing the impending doom of a large, disastrous storm. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO SNEAK PEAK Valeana flipped back over, only to see a shadow looming on the right side of the bed. Her heart leapt in her throat, momentarily gagging her as she jumped and gaped, a scream nearly escaping her lungs. His hand flew to her mouth.  “Shh, shh,” Aemond crouched down next to her bed, his grip over her mouth softening when he saw her shoulders cave. “It’s only me.” When he removed his hand from her mouth, she gave him a sharp whack on the shoulder, “Aemond, I swear to the old gods and the new, the next time you do that I’m going to throw you down a flight of stairs.” “Wouldn’t that be an interesting sight,” Said another, causing Valeana to jostle a second time. She and Aemond whirled their heads towards the door with wide and alarmed eyes. And there in the dim light she could make out the short wavy silver hair of Aegon. 

Notes: I hope that was worth the 2 week wait )x I still didn't do as much as I wanted in the last two weeks. Didn't realize how much I just needed to unplug during the holidays, what with work stress, among some other things and stuffs. Though the chapter I'm currently working on is nearly done. I just hope the one after doesn't take me just as long, otherwise I may need to do another two-week wait. Also I just wanted to point out...the amount of times I had to watch that Vaemond and dinner scene just to write this chapter, and the Fem!Aegon one shot was so absurd. It used to be my favourate episode, but now I can't even watch it again XD Anyway, once again, I hope everyone had good and safe holidays, <3

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

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Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[kylandara]

Nice little fanfic

—————

A reenactment of the Dance of the Dragons. All this would happen in the aftermath of the slaughter at King’s Landing.

Daenerys and Jon argue in increasingly antagonistic terms about her actions and she threatens to have him burned if he questions her again.

Tyrion is condemned to executed, but is saved by Jon, who kills some of the Unsullied who try to stop him from rescuing Tyrion. Daenerys takes this news as proof that Tyrion has chosen Jon’s side and that the latter has chosen to pit himself against her. Daenerys marshals her forces and attacks Jon before he can stake his claim.

Jon’s army is decimated in the retreat but he, Tyrion and Davos reach the Neck, which has been repaired and fortified by Sansa. Arya returns to the fold as well. Sansa has also declared Jon’s claim and called the royal banners on his behalf.

Tyrion rallies the remaining strength of the westerlands by promising them revenge against Daenerys. The riverlands, the Vale and the Reach also rise against Daenerys after the slaughter at King’s Landing. The assembled lords demand that for Jon to be acclaimed King, he must wed the right woman to rule alongside him.

Arya and Tyrion bring Sansa forward, and after much convincing, Jon agrees to a political marriage. Sansa is confirmed as Jon’s queen and co-monarch, as Daenerys’ army marches north. The towers and curtain wall of the Neck are fortified with some of those scorpions and the crannogmen are ordered to prevent crossings through the swamps.

Daenerys arrives and there is a parlay between Daenerys on one side and Jon and Sansa as co-monarchs on the other. Daenerys is enraged beyond measure to see Sansa as Jon’s wife and closes all avenues of a peaceful resolution.

Grey Worm takes the main group of Daenerys’ army to cross the river at a different position while Daenerys attacks the Neck from the front. Daenerys starts her attack and it goes pretty well in the beginning, with Grey Worm’s element seemingly taken Jon’s army by surprise.

It goes awry when the scorpions are revealed to be a distraction to force Daenerys to fly over the swamps, where Meera and the other crannogmen are waiting with weirwood arrows, constructed with the guidance of the green men on the Isle of Faces.

The crannogmen take their shot and Bran wargs Drogon for an instant, making sure that the dragon gets hit. Drogon plummets to the ground, making sure to get Daenerys on to dry ground with his final exertions.

Simultaneously, Jon’s main army is revealed to be held in reserve, commanded by Tyrion, who leads them into battle, while Sansa watches the battle from high ground, with Arya and Brienne on either side of her. The two armies combined slaughter the Unsullied and the Dothraki are driven into the swamp and killed to the last man. Grey Worm is captured during the battle and is personally executed by Jon for facilitating and exacerbating Daenerys’ slaughter.

Daenerys seems unharmed as she mourns the death of her last dragon, but is revealed to be been struck by three weirwood arrows herself. She removes the arrows, bleeds out and dies leaning against Drogon’s corpse.

A rider discovers her corpse and soon the victorious nobles assemble to debate what should be done with it. Some propose that her head be mounted on a spear as punishment for what she did at King’s Landing, but Jon and Sansa firmly shut down this kind of talk.

Jon has Daenerys and Drogon cremated before someone can desecrate their bodies, just as Eddard Stark did with Rhaegar Targaryen’s body. Then, everyone rides off to King’s Landing, where Jon is crowned king and resettles many of the northerners who fought for him in the shattered city and pledges that it’ll be rebuilt.

Arya goes north to be the Stark in Winterfell, acting head of House Stark and Jon’s Warden of the North, while Tyrion serves as the Warden of the West. Bronn is appointed Lord Protector of the Vale to watch over Robin Arryn and is given Harrenhal as his seat, though Edmure Tully remains Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.

Samwell Tarly is commanded to return to his home, Horn Hill, and assume his position as head of House Tarly. He names little Sam his heir and becomes Jon’s Warden of the South.

Epilogue

Jon and Sansa have entered the history books and are now equally as revered as Jaehaerys I and Alysanne. They are both much older now and their children are about to come of age and rule Winterfell as well as the Seven Kingdoms. Arya has become a veteran warrior and respected commander (just like her idols Nymeria and Visenya) who has fought at Jon’s side and held Winterfell and the North for decades.

Jon and Sansa abdicate their rule and give the reins to their children and ride for Winterfell. Brienne stays behind to protect their children. Gendry joins them and Arya welcomes them all. The four of them then venture beyond the Wall, where Jon reunites with a much older Tormund, who is now a wise old clan chief, and Ghost, who finds Nymeria and leads her to where the Starks are. They spend the rest of their days in quiet anonymity as members of Tormund’s clan, and get occasional raven messages about the state of the realm.

Tyrion has gone into the winemaking business and created the Imp’s Delight, which is such a roaring success around the world that he manages to refill Casterly Rock’s coffers with the sale of his wine range. As Lord of the Rock, he marries and has twin children of his own, who look exactly like Jaime and Cersei. He names them after his own siblings, but Jon and Sansa advise him against it, and he relents. Davos has returned home to his three remaining sons and his wife, served for many years as Jon’s Hand and died content in his own bed, with both the king and queen by his side at the time of his passing.

As all this time has passed, Bran has built a new lair and has passed on his legacy to another greenseer, following which he asks an older Meera Reed to escort him back beyond the Wall and the two are never heard from again. They find the center of the Others’ homeland, the heart of winter, and Bran is transformed into the new leader of the Others with Meera as his first lieutenant.

[stromuprisahat]

Meanwhile, back in Westeros, Princess Rhaenyra had given birth to a second son late in the year 115 AC. The child was named Lucerys (Luke for short). Septon Eustace tells us that both Ser Laenor and Ser Harwin were at Rhaenyra’s bedside for his birth. Like his brother Jace, Luke had brown eyes and a healthy head of brown hair, rather than the silver-gilt hair of Targaryen princelings, but he was a large and lusty lad, and King Viserys was delighted with him when the child was presented at court. These feelings were not shared by his queen. “Do keep trying,” Queen Alicent told Ser Laenor. “Soon or late, you may get one who looks like you.” And the rivalry between the greens and blacks grew deeper, finally reaching the point where the queen and the princess could scarce suffer each other’s presence. Thereafter Queen Alicent kept to the Red Keep of King’s Landing, whilst the princess spent her days on Dragonstone with her champion, Ser Harwin Strong. Her husband, Ser Laenor, was said to visit “frequently”.

The Rogue Prince, or, A King’s Brother × Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

History and Greens just hate happy non-traditional family, don't they?

[stromuprisahat]

Lady Aemma had suffered several miscarriages and the death of one son in the cradle over the course of her marriage (some maesters felt she had been married and bedded too young), but she had also given birth to a healthy daughter, Rhaenyra (born 97 AC).

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Shocking!!!

Thirteen y/o too young to carry and deliver one healthy child after another?

Y'no what? She could've looked like her show!self, when she died at ripe age of twenty-three... Ten years of miscarriages might age a woman up...

[stromuprisahat]

On the third day of the third moon of 129 AC, Princess Helaena brought her three children to visit with the king in his chambers. The twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, were six years old, their brother, Maelor, only two. His Grace gave the babe a pearl ring off his finger to play with, and told the twins the story of how their great-great-grandsire and namesake Jaehaerys had flown his dragon north to the Wall to defeat a vast host of wildlings, giants, and wargs. Though the children had heard the story a dozen times before, they listened attentively. Afterward the king sent them away, pleading weariness and a tightness in his chest.

The Rogue Prince, or, A King’s Brother & Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

I'm curious why did HotD writers decided to portray Viserys as absent, neglectful father to his Green children, when I don't remember any mention of his paternal qualities, aside from insistence on the order of succession. And he literally dies after playing with his grandchildren by those children he allegedly did NOT care about.

[stromuprisahat]

Alicent: Stop it! Rhaenyra: Stop what? Alicent: You've named another of your spawn like my son! Joke's on you. Because I figured out you made another only to offend me. Ha! Rhaenyra: Yeah. That's what we did. In our very limited free time, we went and got a nanny to keep any eye on our five living kids, fucked like rabbits to add another one to the collection, picked only the positions most likely to produce a son and once he was born, we went through all Valyrian names and chose the most common one in our family just because it will be shared with your kid. [Rhaenyra to the camera] Rhaenyra: Yup. That's exactly what we did.

[stromuprisahat]

In 111 AC, a great tourney was held at King’s Landing on the fifth anniversary of the king’s marriage to Queen Alicent. At the opening feast, the queen wore a green gown, whilst the princess dressed dramatically in Targaryen red and black. Note was taken, and thereafter it became the custom to refer to “greens” and “blacks” when talking of the queen’s party and the party of the princess, respectively.

The Rogue Prince, or, A King’s Brother & Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Once again, take note of the age. Rhaenyra's 14 y/o "dressed dramatically in Targaryen red and black"- an Heir on the cusp of womanhood, a year away from eligibility to ascension. Probably conscious enough of her position and duties to make it into a statement- SHE is the future of Targaryen rule. It even sounds like an action of a clever, yet properly dramatic youth.

And if we go with the show's canon- green being the colour of distress fire in Oldtown- Alicent decided it's time to gather allies to get rid of Nyra.

This isn't some poor teen mother desperately trying to protect her children, because her father told her she has no other choice. This is an adult woman, deciding she's got enough of that teen brat, who's in the way of her plans for her son.

[stromuprisahat]

Afterward, King Viserys tried to make a peace, requiring each of the boys to tender a formal apology to his rivals on the other side, but these courtesies did not appease their mothers. Queen Alicent demanded that one of Lucerys’s eyes be put out for the eye he had cost Aemond.

I know the focus is (understandably) on Aemond and Luke, but what about the other boys? Three-year-olds bruise easily, and Jace should be black and blue all over, but somehow no one minds them?

There are three badly beaten children, and Alicent insists on mutilating one of them further, even though they visibly had a pretty good reason to defend themselves?

Rhaenyra would have none of that, but insisted that Prince Aemond should be questioned “sharply” until he revealed where he had heard her sons called “Strongs.” To so name them, of course, was tantamount to saying they were bastards, with no rights of succession … and that she herself was guilty of high treason.

I've seen people arguing Rhaenyra means to torture Aemond. Being "questioned sharply" suggests that, but let's be realistic- he's the ruling King's son. Considering Viserys' personality she wouldn't expect more than stern talking-to. And it's not like that would change her step-borthers' minds, I'd guess it's more about making another statement.

To re-assure Rhaenyra of her and her children's position that was questioned by such prevailing rumours. Position that certainly wasn't cemented by her forced re-location to Dragonstone. Viserys half-succeeds in that, as is his custom.

When pressed by the king, Prince Aemond said it was his brother Aegon who had told him they were Strongs, and Prince Aegon said only, “Everyone knows. Just look at them.” King Viserys finally put an end to the questioning, declaring he would hear no more. No eyes would be put out, he decreed … but should anyone—“man or woman or child, noble or common or royal”—mock his grandsons as “Strongs” again, their tongues would be pulled out with hot pincers.

Good job, no one will say anything... out loud... in his earshot...

His Grace further commanded his wife and daughter to kiss and exchange vows of love and affection, but their false smiles and empty words deceived no one but the king. ... To prevent further conflict, and put an end to these “vile rumors and base calumnies,” King Viserys further decreed that Queen Alicent and her sons would return with him to court, whilst Princess Rhaenyra confined herself to Dragonstone with her sons. Henceforth Ser Erryk Cargyll of the Kingsguard would serve as her sworn shield, whilst Breakbones returned to Harrenhal.

... but Viserys failed to support Rhaenyra resolutely, by keeping Alicent in capitol, fully aware it means Nyra won't follow there. An indisputable Heir should be a part of everyday working of government. Just look at how many served as the Hand! He even considers that particular option later, so on some level he has to understand that:

The governance of the realm was a daunting task; the king needed a strong, capable Hand to shoulder some of his burdens. Briefly he considered sending for Princess Rhaenyra. Who better to rule with him than the daughter he meant to succeed him on the Iron Throne? But that would have meant bringing the princess and her sons back to King’s Landing, where more conflict with the queen and her own brood would have been inevitable.

Historians agree the seeds of The Dance were sown when Aemond lost an eye, I'll add Rhaenyra- although unaware- asked her father to stop it. She wanted him to stand by her once and for all, when the hatred for her and hers caused the first unnecesary bloodshed.

[stromuprisahat]

Her first act as queen was to declare Ser Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent traitors and rebels. “As for my half brothers, and my sweet sister Helaena,” she announced, “they have been led astray by the counsel of evil men. Let them come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask my forgiveness, and I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart, for they are of my own blood, and no man or woman is as accursed as the kinslayer.”

The Princess and the Queen & Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

The princess always took care to refer to Queen Alicent’s sons as half-brothers, never as brothers.

While Rhaenyra doesn't like her male replacements more than Daemon, she doesn't seem to mind her sister. It could be because Helaena doesn't threaten her position,- as far as we know- unlike Aemond or Alicent she doesn't insult her, or her children (Aegon).

The difference between always-HALF-brothers and SWEET sister is so noticeable, interpreting it as some level of fondness isn't that much of a stretch.

[stromuprisahat]

Princess Saera herself was still alive and well in Volantis, and only thirty-four years of age; her own claim was clearly superior to those of any of her bastard sons, but she did not choose to press it. “I have my own kingdom here,” she said, when asked if she meant to return to Westeros.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

[stromuprisahat]

He [Daemon] began by giving her [Rhaenyra] kissing lessons, Mushroom claims. From there the prince went on to show his niece how best to touch a man to bring him pleasure—an exercise that sometimes involved Mushroom himself and his alleged enormous member.

The Rogue Prince, or, A King’s Brother × Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Mashroom: "Did I mention I have a HUGE dick, and the Princess Queen I ~love~ SO MUCH was TOTALLY jerking me off on regular basis?!"

[stromuprisahat]

Prince Daemon had at last returned to court. Wearing a crown and styling himself King of the Narrow Sea, he appeared unannounced in the skies above King’s Landing on his dragon, circling thrice above the tourney grounds … but when at last he came to earth, he knelt before his brother and offered up his crown as a token of his love and fealty. Viserys returned the crown and kissed Daemon on both cheeks, welcoming him home, and the lords and commons sent up a thunderous cheer as the sons of Prince Baelon Targaryen were reconciled. Amongst those cheering loudest was Princess Rhaenyra, who was thrilled at the return of her favorite uncle, and begged him to stay a while. Prince Daemon did remain at King’s Landing for half a year, and even resumed his seat on the small council, but neither age nor exile had changed his nature. Daemon soon took up again with old companions from the gold cloaks and returned to the establishments along the Street of Silk where he had been such a valued patron. Though he treated Queen Alicent with all the courtesy due her station, there was no warmth between them, and men said that the prince was notably cool toward her children, especially his nephews Aegon and Aemond, whose birth had pushed him still lower in the order of succession. Princess Rhaenyra was a different matter. Daemon spent long hours in her company, enthralling her with tales of his journeys and battles. He gave her pearls and silks and books and a jade tiara said once to have belonged to the Empress of Leng, read poems to her, dined with her, hawked with her, sailed with her, entertained her by making mock of the greens at court, the “lickspittles” fawning over Queen Alicent and her children. He praised her beauty, declaring her to be the fairest maid in all the Seven Kingdoms. Uncle and niece began to fly together almost daily, racing Syrax against Caraxes to Dragonstone and back.

The Rogue Prince, or, A King’s Brother × Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

... whose birth had pushed him still lower in the order of succession...

... or perhaps he just didn't like the tools his sister-in-law popped up to replace his beloved niece with? It's not like Daemon showed some kind of political amibtion ever. He's attention whore, not powerhungry conspirator.

[stromuprisahat]

Death visited the court again a short time later, when Grand Maester Mellos collapsed one night whilst he was climbing the serpentine steps. His had always been a moderating voice in council, forever urging calm and compromise whenever issues arose between the blacks and the greens. To the king’s distress, however, the passing of the man he called “my trusted friend” only served to provoke a fresh dispute between the factions. Princess Rhaenyra wanted Maester Gerardys, who had long served her on Dragonstone, elevated to replace Mellos; it was only his healing skills that had saved the king’s life when Viserys cut his hand on the throne, she claimed. Queen Alicent, however, insisted that the princess and her maester had mutilated His Grace unnecessarily. Had they not “meddled,” she claimed, Grand Maester Mellos would surely have saved the king’s fingers as well as his life. She urged the appointment of one Maester Alfador, presently in service at the Hightower. Viserys, beset from both sides, chose neither, reminding both the princess and the queen that the choice was not his to make. The Citadel of Oldtown chose the Grand Maester, not the Crown. In due time, the Conclave bestowed the chain of office upon Archmaester Orwyle, one of their own. King Viserys did seem to recover some of his old vigor once the new Grand Maester arrived at court. Septon Eustace tells us that this was the result of prayer, but most believed that Orwyle’s potions and tinctures were more efficacious than the leechings Mellos had preferred. But such recoveries proved short-lived, and gout, chest pains, and shortness of breath continued to trouble the king. In the final years of his reign, as his health failed, Viserys left ever more of the governance of the realm to his Hand and small council.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

It's nice Viserys likes to honour rules and traditions (especially if it means the responsibility would fall on someone else), but how likely it is his new Grand Maester will be impartial? Being sent from the seat of Hightowers?

His ability to ignore brewing troubles, and leave Rhaenyra to her own devices is almost astonishing.

[stromuprisahat]

During that same fateful year, Ser Criston Cole was appointed to the Kingsguard to fill the place created by the death of the legendary Ser Ryam Redwyne. Born the son of a steward in service to Lord Dondarrion of Blackhaven, Ser Criston was a comely young knight of three-and-twenty years. He first came to the attention of the court when he won the melee held at Maidenpool ... Afterward, he gave the seven-year-old Princess Rhaenyra the victor’s laurel, and begged for her favor to wear in the joust. ... With his pale green eyes, coal-black hair, and easy charm, Cole soon became a favorite of all the ladies at court … not the least amongst them Rhaenyra Targaryen herself. So smitten was she by the charms of the man she called “my white knight” that Rhaenyra begged her father to name Ser Criston her own personal shield and protector. His Grace indulged her in this, as in so much else. Thereafter Ser Criston always wore her favor in the lists and became a fixture at her side during feasts and frolics.

The Rogue Prince, or, A King’s Brother & Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Somehow 23 y/o knight becoming "favourite" of a 7 y/o leaves completely different impression than young guy and a teenager...

There is a difference between childhood crush and teen thirsting after a guy.

[stromuprisahat]

The amity between Her Grace and her stepdaughter had proved short-lived, for both Rhaenyra and Alicent aspired to be the first lady of the realm … and though the queen had given the king not one but two male heirs, Viserys had done nothing to change the order of succession. The Princess of Dragonstone remained his heir, with half the lords of Westeros sworn to defend her rights. Those who asked, “What of the ruling of the Great Council of 101?” found their words falling on deaf ears. The matter had been decided, so far as King Viserys was concerned; it was not an issue His Grace cared to revisit. Still, questions persisted, not the least from Queen Alicent herself. Loudest amongst her supporters was her father, Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King.

The Rogue Prince, or, A King’s Brother × Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Viserys "I rarely make a decision" Targaryen: "My daughter is my heir."

Viserys "I rarely make a decision" Targaryen after his first son is born: "My daughter is my heir."

Viserys "I rarely make a decision" Targaryen after his second son is born: "My daughter is my heir."

Greens: ArE yOu SuRe?!