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witchofhimring · 10 months

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The Princess and her Knight

Elia Martell x Reader

Ps: reader is born from a previous marriage making the Stark siblings her half siblings.

Elia Martell had always dreamed of being someone's princess. Y/n Stark always wanted to be a knight.

In very unusual circumstances a viper and a wolf find themselves intertwined.

note: simply wish fulfillment for Elia to get the crown she deserves 😤

She was the Princess of Dorne. Descended from Nymeria and Meria Martell. You had heard these stories from the cradles. On cold winter nights Nan would tell you of far-off places where there was no snow and the days were hot. They unnerved your brothers, who felt that women had no business wielding a sword or holding power. But you were utterly transfixed. More than once you and your sister Lyanna would sneak off, swords in hand. When everyone was asleep, the two of you snuck around, pretending to be Nymeria on her journey to Westeros. As the oldest child, you were expected to set an example. Well, that would explain why Lyanna and Brandon were so wild. The three of you were fresh young wolves, eager for a taste of life. Those days, however, were short-lived. One day a message arrived from Kings Landing. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was going to marry Elia Martell of Dorne.

You wondered what this Princess was like. Was she fierce like Meria? Alive with unquenching fire like Nymeria? They called her youngest brother a snake. Perhaps she was one too. Half expecting to find a woman with slits for eyes and fangs, a normal woman was slightly more surprising. She was smaller than imagined. With bundles of silky black hair and warm brown eyes. Sun-kissed skin was draped in flowing orange garments. She smiled as you curtsied. And a warm hand touched your cheek.

Elia Martell knew little of the north. It was a cold distant place, quite unlike home. She heard of the Northern Kings, the great walls and mysterious creatures known as the Others. Born sickly, Elia spent most of her time reading. She was encouraged to read books with filled with history and numbers. At night, when Oberyn finally left her room, she pulled out the other books. These were not books her family approved of. Not that they belittled her for it, but a Dornish Princess was expected to be more practical. “We are Princesses of Dorne, not some silly little southern girl. We are descended from warriors, not maids.” Is what Elia’s mother told her. She knew her family loved her dearly. But she wished they could understand. She wanted a world where she could be loved and love back. The stories where love conquered all. Her favorite was Aemon the Dragonknight and Princess Naerys. Even if the Targaryens were their centuries-old enemies, the story of Aemon loving his sister so fiercely it a fire in her. Of course, she was loved. But Elia wanted someone to hold her dear, just as Aemon held Naerys. So even as Elia got ready to marry Prince Rhaegar, there was an ache.

The Stark Banners flew over the procession. Like your sister Lyanna, you chose to ride on horseback. It was the day of Rhaegar’s marriage to Princess Elia. The procession was an endless line of Westeros’s greatest houses. “Look!” Lyanna pointed to a minstrel show on the side. It was a reenactment of Prince Aemon crowning his Naerys the Queen of Love and Beauty. The sept of Balor was packed to the brim. The crowd roared outside. Luckily, as the eldest daughter of House Stark, you had the honor of seeing everything in person. Elia was just as small as you remembered her. Rhaegar looked as though he could dwarf her.

Your next interaction with the princess was during the dance. Dancing had never been your forte. So as your father and oldest brother were busy, you slipped away. Eddard sat glumly in a corner as Lyanna and Brandon made themselves the life of the party. They could take care of themselves. You moaned in relief as you loosened your corset. A warm wind came up from the city. Your place on the balcony allowed you to see every light below. “Thank the Gods.” You sighed.

Elia was relieved to take a break. She loved dancing, but could only take so much of it. Oberon had offered to accompany Elia, but she refused. She needed to be alone. Every woman knew what was expected on their wedding night. Elia was ashamed to find tears behind her eyes. She was supposed to be the perfect lady, the perfect princess. But she was so scared. This act would be the last bit of her childhood stripped away. Oberon would leave, and she would be Elia Targaryen. The dark halls offered a brief comfort. It was a blessed moment out of the glare of court. Up ahead she saw a balcony. Quickly, Elia picked up her pace. Being a lady be damned she was going to get air.

“Thank-” She was not alone. A woman dressed in blue straightened her posture. Elia was stuck. There was a sort of wild beauty about her. It was so unlike the ladies at court, or even her own. But something so free and spirited. The girls h/c hair was let loose to her waist. E/c eyes, wild as the free forests beyond the walls. Maybe these thoughts were overly romantic. But Elia couldn’t help feeling them. “Your Grace.” She quickly jumped into a curtsy. “May I inquire about your name?” “Y/n of House Stark, Your Grace.” “Well, Y/n of House Stark, would you accompany me to the gardens?” The girl looked shocked, but not displeased (much to Elia’s relief). Y/n offered her arm, much in the way a knight might to his lady.

“It must be a very long way from Dorne. Do you find it cold here?” “Not much. Dorne is not always so hot. Do you find this too warm for you?” “A bit. It has been a cold winter.” The two of you had walked to the Weirwood Tree. Elia walked towards the tree and placed thin fingers upon its branch. The bark was like nothing she had felt before. It was both rough yet soft to the touch. “Isn't it beautiful.” Y/n’s fingers brushed the leaves. “Are there many of these trees up north?” Elia asked. “They're not all that common. You know we have one up at Winterfell.” A longing look passed over the girl's face. “Is everything well Lady Stark?” “It's just that this tree looks so lonely here. Weirwoods belong in the north.” At that moment, Elia knew this girl was as homesick as she herself was.

You had only been back at Winterfell for two months when Queen Rhaella sent for you. Lyanna had snuck up some lemon cakes from the kitchen. Benjin, Lyanna, and yourself were quite happy to finish. “Do you think we should share these with Brandon and Eddard?” Benjin took a bite out of the cake. Lyanna shook her head vigorously. “They’re too old for lemon cakes anyway.” Said you, older than Eddard and Brandon. That was when it happened. All three of you heard your father's footsteps down the hall. “Quick!” You covered the lemon cakes and shoved them under the bed. Not a moment later Lord Rickard Stark burst in, pride all over his face. “Y/n, you have been summoned to serve Princess Elia.” All three of you stood there, thunderstruck. It was Lyanna who burst out first. “What!?” She howled. Richard sent her a look and focused on you. “Y/n, may I speak with you?” It was with ill grace that Lyanna and Benjin left. Your father took a seat by the fireplace. You followed his example. “Y/n, as much of an honor this is, I want to make sure this is alright with you.” Lord Richard had always intended to sow roots in the south. But giving his eldest daughter to that pit of dragons, known as the Red Keep, made him pause. This was to be expected. You always knew one day you would leave. The court was stifling. You didn’t want to go. But you also didn’t want to let down your father. And then there was Princess Elia. She seemed sweet the last time you met her. “If it is your wish, so be it.”

Elia didn’t know why she was fussing over her appearance. Today she wore a Targaryen red. Elia didn’t like the colour. She wanted her oranges, yellows and whites back. King Aerys had a habit of giving unwanted comments regarding her Dornish style. She sat on a throne-like chair in her quarters, surrounded by her ladies. Among their numbers were Ashara Dayne, Malaria Sand and Nymeria Martell. At least she had been allowed to keep three of her friends. The doors swung open and Y/n entered. This time, her hair was done up. She wore soft blue fabric with wolves along the edges. “Your Grace.” You dipped into a curtsy. Elia stood up. “Lady Y/n, it is a pleasure to see you again.” Elia’s lips touched Y/’s cheek. It was cold as ice.

Despite how cold Y/n may have felt, everything else about her was warm. There was something about her voice, eyes and gentle hands that reminded Elia of the warm wind rolling over the sand. She was quiet, rarely voicing her opinion. But there was a tenderness Y/n showed that Elia had rarely felt. Perhaps it was the way Elia was used to being treated in Kings Landing. Y/n seemed to know what she needed. What she wanted. It was the small things. Like Y/n brushing her hair after a hard day, or making her a crown of Weirwood leaves.

Elia had never enjoyed rude health. That was what Nymeria Martell had told you. Though Elia tried to hide it, you could soon tell. She got exhausted quickly, sometimes had a delicate stomach and every month her period nearly made her collapse. Despite this all, she kept strong. That was what you admired about her. She truly embodied the words of her house. Unbowed. Unbend. Unbroken. She was a true lady. But you could tell that Elia wished for something more. One time, you had been training when Elia chanced upon you. At first you thought her angry. But you came to realize it was a longing. A longing to not be so constrained. So one day you decided to take her out for a ride. The rest of the ladies watched nervously as you helped Elia onto a steed. You had chosen a big northern horse. One that was stable and wouldn’t bolt. You got on behind Elia. Elia relaxed against you, black hair let loose. The wind whistled past you. Elia giggled as her fingertips brushed the leaves overhead. “Can you take me to the meadow?” “I am yours to command.” A laugh passed your lips. Just beyond this forest was a meadow owned by the royal family. “Over there!” Elia pointed to a warm spot with soft grass. Elia sat on the blanket you laid down. “I do think we have lost the rest!” It was another few minutes before the rest galloped into the clearing.

Later that night Elia found herself alone with Y/n, yet again. Elia, feeling better than most days, went for a walk with her. With laughter on her lips, Y/n gushed over the thrill of horse riding. Elia’s head rested against your shoulder, tired-eyed. Y/n sat down under the tree, bringing Elia with her. “Thank you Y/n.” Elia tangled her fingers with Y/n. “Would you like to do it again?” Elia nodded. Suddenly, she shivered. A wind had blown from the north. Not used to the cold, she shivered against Y/n. Immediately Y/n tossed off her cloak and put it over Elia’s shoulders. Her fingers went over the fine needlework. Despite their differences, one thing both girls were good at was sewing. On the back was the head of a dire wolf, the sigil of House Stark.

Elia’s first birth had been hard. You were woken by the feeling of something warm and wet against your thighs. At first, you thought Elia simply had an accident. But the metallic smell that reached you told a different story. Quickly you lit a candle and pulled back the sheet. Blood pooled between Elia’s legs. Gently so as not to alarm her, you woke Elia up. Before you could say anything Elia clutched her pelvis and moaned. You shook awake Lady Ashara and she in turn woke the midwife. Soon the room was bustling where once it had been quiet. You weren’t sure how long it lasted. Elia clutching your hand all the time. She bore the pain remarkably well. That was the price one paid with Elia’s condition. The midwives had Elia walk from one end of the room to the other. The sun was well in the sky when the midwife laid Elia down. “Y/n… if I die..” Your hand smoothed her black hair back. It burned to the touch. “Don’t say that. You’ve done so well.” Under your breath, you muttered old Northern prayers. Even a few to the Seven and Mother Royne. Finally, the baby came. A little girl, small and perfect. The midwife placed her in your trembling arms. “Elia, you did it.” Too weak to hold her baby, Elia touched the baby's chubby cheek. For one blessed moment, it was just you and Elia. Together in your world with the baby. Your serenity was broken. Rhaegar burst in. “My daughter! It’s a girl, right?” Relief swept through your veins. At least he would not be disappointed. Rhaegar took her from your arms. “We shall call her Rhaenys.”

Was it alarming how quickly Rhaegar had chosen the baby's name? Elia liked Rhaegar, perhaps even loved him. She took pleasure in their couplings, and he was kind. But recently something dark had settled over their lives. He spent more time at his desk reading rolls upon rolls of paper. Elia had tried to help, but he rejected any attempt. Rhaegar naming Rhaenys without her consent was the most startling. While most wives did bend to the will of their husbands. But even so, to make a decision like this without so much as consulting her was worrying. It also tickled her pride. Was she not his wife, a princess, and future Queen? Elia didn’t voice her frustrations, but the beginnings of resentment were starting to take root.

Elia had been absolutely bedridden. While Elia slept, you took Princess Rhaeneys outside to the courtyard. A wet nurse and nanny followed in your wake. The baby was swaddled in layers of soft fur. The baby took after Elia the most. With delicate features and short black hair. “Aren’t you the cutest little thing, hm?” Your finger brushed her forehead. “Lady Stark.” It was the King. The three of you sunk down into a curtsy. “Lady Stark, how is my wife?” “She is getting better, your Grace. Though still very tired. Would you like to hold your daughter?” You held out the baby. Rhaegar pressed himself very close. So close in fact that his nose was just inches from yours. Uncomfortable, you stepped back.

The Prince Who Was Promised. It was the prophecy passed down from ruler to heir for three hundred centuries. One day the Song of Ice and Fire would come, and the night of darkness driven away. He had correspondents in the North. And things were not looking peaceful beyond the wall. In fact, events progressed alarmingly fast. Wildlings were starting to form groups, and corpses rose where the sun did not dare shine. He needed the three heads of the dragon. He needed the Prince that was Promised. Elia had done well to fall pregnant quickly. And better yet, it was a girl. From the delicate look of her features and gentle purple eyes he knew her to be a Rhaenys. But there was always one part that bothered him. It said the Song of Ice and Fire. The fire aspect came in. But where the ice? Perhaps it would be his future Aegon’s wife, an ice bride. But could they wait that long? Would the Song of Ice and Fire come true in time? It had been another long night of scroll searching. After only a little sleep, he set out. The cold hair did well to rouse him from exhaustion. Rhaegar was strolling in the courtyard when he saw her. He recognized the lady as Y/n Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Stark. The second their eyes met, Rhaegar's chest contracted. Now this was a Visenya. With a wild, harsh beauty and muscles defined by years of training. Almost without thinking he walked up to her. He didn’t even hear what she had to say. This was ice.

Rhaegar was visiting more frequently. It was sweet to see him hold his daughter and sing to her. He even spent time with her ladies, dancing and singing to them. At first, like many, you found this change quite nice. Who wouldn’t want to be sung to by a prince? But Rhaegar had an ulterior motive. You never liked the way he gripped you. It was like vines over brick. Like he might bind himself to you. At first, you convinced yourself it was all in the head. But Rhaegar had a habit of suddenly popping up in unexpected places. Before, you had hardly exchanged a word. Now, he seemed to be everywhere.

“I hear blue roses grow in Winterfell.” Elia had gone to change for bed, leaving you and Rhaegar in the same room. He had stopped you from leaving. It was awkward to say the least, sitting here so closely to the Prince, a married one at that. “Yes, they grow in our greenhouse.” You replied. He was looking at you so intently. “And I assume they are very beautiful.” “I think so. My sister likes to make them into crowns.” “Tell me about your sister.” “Lyanna has only just turned thirteen. You saw her at the wedding, brown hair and gray eyes.” “And does she use a sword like you do?” “Yes, and horse riding is a passion of hers.” Suddenly, Rhaegar’s hand came up to your face. He brushed strands of hair out of your face. “I wouldn’t mind bringing blue roses to Kings Landing, My Lady.” Your heart dropped.

You now knew what his intentions were. Despite your lack of romantic interaction, it was obvious. And why in the name of the Old Gods did it have to be you! Rhaegar, unlike most previous Princes, had the reputation for being faithful to his wife. So why is he focused on you?! Your greatest fear was that Elia would find out. Would she hate you? The thought made you puke.

Elia was pregnant six months after her ordeal. That was when Rhaegar had the brilliant idea that the best place for Elia was Dragonstone. And my Gods was it the worst place you had ever visited. It was damp and cold. Elia spent most days bundled under the furs of her bed. For once her work remained undone. Elia had truly hit her limit. One night, you had finished singing a sleeping Elia a Roynish lullaby, when Rhaegar came in. Your hands tightened. “Lady Y/n, I see my wife is asleep.” “Yes.” You hoped he would leave. Instead he walked over and sat on the bed. You didn’t know whether to leave or stay. “I hear you are unmarried, My Lady.” You knew where this was going. “My father intends for me to marry Lord Baratheon.” You wanted to squash any ideas he might have. “You need not marry him, or is that your wish?” Was he serious!? Of course you would! At that moment it became too much. “Please Your Grace, I am very exhausted and am unable to entertain you any longer.” Your voice trembled with suppressed fear and rage. Something in Rhaegar’s Valyrian purple eyes changed and he gripped your hand. “Meet me in the caves, tomorrow after breakfast.”

Breakfast was hard to stomach. You could feel Rhaegar's eyes on you. It became too much. You vomited. That was all you could do after breakfast. Stumbling to the lavatory you hunched over. “Y/n!” Elia caught you by the arm. Steadying yourself against her, it was hard to walk. She walked you out of the room. Unfortunately, someone followed you. “Lady Y/n, I’ve been seeking your company.” Of course, it was Rhaegar. Because he couldn’t help turning up at unpleasant moments. “I think Y/n better rest.” Elia lead you away. “Wait.” Rhaegar had seized your arm. What happened next shocked you. The second Rhaegar had you, Elia tore his hand off. “She is unwell.” There was a steely bite to her voice. Before Rhaegar could do anything more, Elia led you away.

Fire and Blood. The famous saying of house Targaryen. But what of House Martell? Was their sigil not the sun? Perhaps Rhaegar was under the assumption that the blood of Martell was not as hot as his. Well, he was about to discover otherwise. Rhaegar had been reading his scrolls when Elia burst in, without ceremony. Never in her life had Elia felt so enraged. For the first time it was impossible to bottle her feelings up. Her fingers itched to tear at his face. She actually hated him. Elia had noticed a change in Y/n’s demeanor as of late. Where once she had been happy and cherrful, now Y/n was like a shadow. How when Rhaegar visited Y/n shrunk away. Every time Rhaegar approached Y/n, which was alarmingly often, she recoiled from his touch. The day when Elia had fallen asleep in her arms, she woke to Rhaegar storming off. Y/n, still clinging to her, sobbing openly. Something akin to jealousy stirred up in Elia’s chest. But much stronger like a storm. It had a grip on her heart. It kicked at her stomach. This was a different sickness. Instead of being laid low, it made her want to rage “You keep away from her.” Elia’s hands slammed into the table, fingernails piercing its surface. “Whom do you speak of?” Rhaegar looked up at her coolly. “You know who. Do not play a fool with me, Rhaegar Targaryen.” Rhaegar set down the scrolls. “Elia, the purpose of this matter is much greater than you and I.” Elia let out a derisive snort. “Getting your prick wet is hardly a great matter.” “I believe it is time to tell you. Elia, I must tell you the Song of Ice and Fire.”

“He’s as mad as his father.” Elia lay awake that night. Did he truly need Y/n for this “prophecy”. No wonder the Targaryens went mad, if they all followed this. Elia turned over to where Y/n lay. This past year Y/n had been the one to sleep beside her when Rhaegar was nose-deep in scrolls. While it was not required, Elia hated being alone. Y/n turned, facing Elia. She looked so calm, so peaceful. Elia held her cold hand, she then moved closer. That night, Elia swore nothing would ever happen to Y/n.

And so Elia kept her word. She always had someone report on Rhaegr’s whereabouts. Elia’s first thought had been to dismiss Y/n. It would be painful, but Y/n would be safer there. Perhaps Rhaegar would forget about her and one day Elia could invite Y/n back. But Rhaegar would never let her. There was one alarming change. Rhaegar was now letting Elia in on his research. How there would be a great Prince to vanquish the Others. Elia hated thinking about it, but at least she knew what Rhaegar was up to.

“Elia look!” The morning you received a gift from your sister. Lyanna had taken blue winter roses and tried them, pressed between two pieces of glass. The picture was lovely.

Sister,

I hope you are well. I hope these roses find you soon. Given you are stuck on Dragonstone. There are many this year. When you visit, there will probably be more. Dad has currently grounded me because I poured wine on Brandon’s head. Which was unfair because he was making fun of me. The only satisfaction I have is that Brandon can no longer visit the whore houses, at least for the next week. But I don’t see why I need be punished.

Everyone is doing well. Benjin is still annoying, father and Eddard send their love. Ps. There are socks for the Princess Rhaenys.

Love,

Lyanna Stark

You pulled out a pair of socks. They were actually quite nicely sewn.

“Your sister wrote to you? What did she say?” Elia looked over. “She sends me her love. And socks for the Princess.” “Well I am very grateful. I shall send my thanks.” Elia picked up the Princess from her colt. “Shall we?” The two of you liked to take walks by the ocean. It was nice and soothing and briefly banished all your troubles. You had taken off your shoes, sand between your toes. “Would you like go to back to Winterfell?” Elia asked. “I do miss home. Father may call me back for my marriage.” You said. But you wondered if Rhaegar would let you. While he had left you alone, it was still scary. The fear that Rhaegar might resume his advances was frightening. “If at any point you wish to.” Normally you would have not thought twice about saying yes. But something didn’t sit well with you. Why was Elia so eager for you to leave? Usually, Elia was hard put to have you leave her side. And the timing was suspect in itself. You finally voiced your fears.

“Rhaegar’s been confronting me as of late.” You had to get it out. As much as you loathed it. The secret was banging against your chest, begging to get out. “I know.” Elia sighed. Your legs buckled, tears bringing themself to the surface. “I didn’t want it.” You sobbed. Your shoes dropped as tears spilled over. Your hands clutched at your chest as if that might alleviate the pain. Your body fell to the ground. Elia came down with you, one arm around your shoulder. Her lips brushed against you hairline. “I know my dear, I know.” But you couldn’t stop crying. The relief you felt was enormous. As stressful as the situation had been, at least you knew Elia didn’t blame you. The sea crashed in the distance and seemed to come to a standstill as you rested against Elia. You cried into her shoulder for what felt like ages. “I’m sorry. I’ve gotten my tears all over your dress.” You sniffed. Elia laughed and pulled you further into her embrace. “It’s just a dress, you're more important.” Baby Rhaenys cooed between you two. Elia ran a finger down the bridge of her nose. “I think Rhaenys needs to go inside.” Both of you stood up. “Elia, could I have a moment alone?” Her hand stroked your cheek. You wanted some time alone. Your emotions were so on edge you might explode.

You watched Elia walk back inside. It was only when Elia went inside that you continued on your way. Getting cold feet, literally, you slipped on your shoes and went to the cliffside. The wind whipped around like a tempest. You allowed the wind to ruffle your hair. Maybe this is why Targaryens came here. There was a sense of peace you got from the elements. It was as if the wind might carry your pain away. Your eyes closed, letting emotion take over. You fell, fingers digging into cold, tough soil. Your nails cried out from the strength in which they were forced into the ground. A cold, hard breath left your body, carried away by the wind. Throwing your head back, you sent a prayer to the wind. Only the gray sky above was witness to your cry. Or so you thought.

“Lady Stark.” A cold, shaking hand clasped on your trembling lips. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. He came closer, one footstep after another, the ground giving way to his wake. Legs became stiff as lead. A strong hand seized your shoulder. “Lady Stark, please turn.” Only doing so when he put pressure on the shoulder that you unwillingly turned. Acid rose up in your throat. “Your Grace…please.” Tears fell freely. You didn’t care about dignity anymore. Right now all you knew was exhaustion and fear. “Y/n, I know this is unprompted, but there is information I must divulge.”Rhaegar’s eyes looked desperate and wild. There was a flame in those dark purple eyes. It was like you could feel the heat emanating from them, like wildfire. “Elia is not ice. I need a child of fire and ice." “You’re Grace, the Princess has already given you a healthy daughter. And it would be beneath my honor to have a bastard.” “Not a bastard My Lady, a prince.” A wild laugh burst from your lips, arms breaking free from his grip. Alarmed, Rhaegar stepped back. You must have looked mad yourself, hair freely flying behind you, eyes wide and savage. “Make no mistake My Prince. You will never have me or my love if that is what you are after. And when I bear a child it shall not be with a dragon. Dragons do not fare well in the cold.” “Ice is just what I desire. The Prince that was Promised, the Three-Headed Dragon. Elia can not give me that.” You feel to your knees, angry tears tearing at your skin. “You would…… you would abandon your wife for what!? You are mad!” Rhaegar knelt down to your level, hand on your chin. You broke. Rhagar howled as sharp teeth drove into his pale skin. You were thrown to the ground with the state of blood overcoming the scenes. “So this is how it is. I shall leave you to your own devices then.” He spat. Rhaegar walked away.

The next few days were spent in silent terror. You had harmed a Prince, treason. Even the daughter of Lord Rickard Stark was not immune to the rules. Hiding under the covers at night, you expected guards to come in at any moment. But to your surprise and delight, Rhaegar had left you alone. However, that didn’t mean this was the end. Elia suspected something was wrong. She was constantly by your side, more than usual. In public you were side by side, arms linked. But soon news came that caused a flurry of excitement. A tourney was being held at Harrenhal. Soon everything was being packed up and ready to leave that dreary rock. Maybe you would feel better once off Dragonstone.

Arriving at Kings Landing was a blessed relief. Even the tall red walls were better than windswept Dragonstone. Two days later, your family arrived. “Lyanna!” Forgoing courtesies, you left Elia’s side to hug your sister. Since you had last seen her, Lyanna had gotten taller. Her dark brown hair was long and tidy, cheeks a rosy glow. Lyanna practically jumped on you in her excitement. “Y/n! I’ve missed you so!” One of Elia’s ladies made an “ahem” noise and the two of you quickly broke apart. “Princess, this is my sister, Lady Lyanna Stark.” Lyanna curtsied, you noticed she had improved. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lyanna. Your sister tells me much.” Lyanna blushed. “Good things, I hope.” Elia laughed at the jest. “Very. Now how about we enjoy these lemon cakes and you tell me stories about Y/n when she was younger.” The rest laughed as you groaned.

The mood in Elia’s solar was pleasant. Lyanna seemed to enjoy eating cake and telling ever embarrassing stories about your childhood. “And then she fell right into the pigpen.” Lyanna laughed. “Only because you pushed me.” You snorted, giving her a gentle swat. Elia looked happier than she had in a long while, baby Rhaeneys situated on her lap. For that short time, no one had any worries. Until Rhaegar arrived. Elia’s smile faded and the sun was put out. The rest of you shrunk back as if confronted by the plague. The only person who seemed to be unfazed was Lyanna. “Your Grace.” She said and then sat back down. He walked over and pressed a kiss to Elia’s cheek. “My Love, I hope you are well.” But Rhaegar’s eyes were not on you, but Lyanna's. “Fire and Ice.” You had not known what Rhaegar meant by those words. It was only now that he was looking at Lyanna did you realize. If he could not have you, he would have her.

Your maid had just finished brushing your hair when a knock sounded at the door. “Who is it?” The maid called out. “It’s me.” Lyanna’s voice called out. “Let her in.” The door opened and a muddy, flushed Lyanna stumbled in, a grin wide over her face. “Prince Rhaegar let me join in on the hunt.” Your blood froze. Even breathing took great effort. “Please leave us.” The maid curtsied and departed. It was only when her footsteps faded did you speak. “Lyanna, what exactly did he do?” “Well, I was in the courtyard practicing my archery when he saw me! Honestly, I thought he would tell me off, but instead, he let me hunt some stag! It was so much fun!” Poor Lyanna. At fourteen, the girl did not realize the Prince’s intentions were not so innocent. “Lyanna, I believe he is trying to court you.” Your insides squirmed at the words, but she needed to hear them. The thought of Rhaegar taking advantage of your innocent sister made you physically ill. At first, Lyanna laughed. But when she realized you weren't jesting, those laughs turned into sobs. You pulled your sister into a hug, hand brushing her hair. "I swear I didn’t do anything.” Her tears stained your nightgown. “It’s okay, I don’t blame you one bit.” You let Lyanna sleep in your bed that night. After a cup of hot milk and honey, she went to sleep. But you stayed awake all night, thinking about what to do next.

Lyanna was in your presence at all hours. However, your duties conflicted with your plans. During dinner, you had to leave with Elia. Ever since her second pregnancy quickened her breasts had been swollen and red. You had only left Elia when she was in bed. You’d gone for a walk when Lyanna ran into Y/n. She was pale with red eyes. Wordlessly she flung her arms around your waist, fingers clutching the fabric. “Has Rhaegar bothered you again!” “Yes, yes he has! I was riding by myself when he came up to me. I tried to shake him off when he caught up and insisted we ride together.” “Did he do anything?” “He touched my hand. “And that is all?” “Yes, I promise.” Relief. At least he had not taken her maidenhead. But that did not mean you weren’t angry. “Go to bed Lyanna, I will deal with him tomorrow. It was time for the dragons to realize wolves too had fangs.

Requesting a meeting with the Prince terrified you. But Lyanna being in danger was far more horrifying. So that was why on a cold night, you stood in front of Rhaegar’s large oak door, the three-headed dragon carved into its surface. The torches gave the entrance an eerie atmosphere. You heard him call you in. Into the dragon's den, you went.

You had never been to Rhaegar’s solar before. It was a quiet, mysterious place. The circular wall was lined with shelves. The only light came from the fireplace, above the mantel held a curved blade. “Lady Y/n. I admit, I had not expected you to request an audience.” Dangerous. That was the only word you could describe his voice. Each syllable dripped off his tongue like poison. A predator ready to strike. “I wish to speak to you regarding my sister, Lady Lyanna.” Your fingernails dug into your palms. “ Yes. Your sister is quite lovely. A credit to your house.” A slight smirk made its way onto his face. “I am aware, My Prince. But I worry that your attentions may be taken as…..something more than they should not be.” Rhaegar’s eyes flashed something fierce and a malevolent smirk stretched over his lips. “So now that another has my heart you want me?” Flabbergasted. Was Rhaegar so enraptured by the prophecy that he could not see sense?! “My Prince, she is my sister and engaged to Lord Tyrell. If you pursue her Lyanna;s prospects will be ruined.” Rhaegar’s purple eyes hardened as his elbows rested on his knees. “Lady Y/n, if you accept my proposal I would not need to pursue Lady Lyanna.” You seemed unable to breathe through your mouth. Lungs barely able to circulate air. Rhaegar got to his feet, walking towards you. His large hands placed themselves on your shoulders, his lips inches from yours. Warm breath hits your chest, the skin heating up. “Please…..she’s so young.” You clutched his hands imploringly.There was not even room to cry, every organ in your body was ice. His hand cupped your cheek, getting closer. You could now taste his breath. Before Rhaegar knew it, you had fled.

A snake and a wolf lay together in the darkness. The heaviness of your situation suffocating. “Lyanna needs to go back north.” Elia’s hand held yours. “I know. The tournament will be over tomorrow.” Elia attempted to console you. “But what if he tries to harm Lyanna before then?!” Tears choked your lungs. Elia hushed you gently and wrapped her arms around you. The snake coiled herself gently around her wolf.

It was only by pure chance that you figured out Rhaegar’s plan. You had woken early that morning, clad in a simple blue dress and shawl. This morning had a cold touch in the wind, reminding you of Winterfell. Oh how you would like to go back to those days. Harenhall still bore the marks from Aegon’s attack all those centuries ago. A man whose belief in his divine right to rule was so strong he took over six kingdoms. This castle was just a remnant of this pride. Targaryen's had always been this way, taking what they want. You walked out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Looking down below, you recognize a familiar curtain of silver hair. With haste, you made to disappear before he might look up and see you. That was until something caught your eye. Rhaegar had in his hands a crown of blue winter roses. Roses that only grew in Winterfell. This did not sit right with you. He must be making it for the tourney today. But why would he go to such lengths to get blue roses for this one occasion? Most would believe that this was a touching gesture from Rhaegar to Elia. But why winter roses? Why not flowers from Dorne? Rage choked you. How dare he. How fucking dare he! You wanted to claw his eyes out and feed him to the wolves. No matter what, Rhaegar would pursue his desires. He was a dragon. A dragon you wanted to defang. You looked down at the young prince. Had he cared to look up, Rhaegar would have seen a she-wolf staring right down at him.

You had gained sickness when Elia woke up. The sad look on her face made you ill, but this needed to be done. Once everyone was gone, you slipped out of bed and hurried to Benjin’s room. Only Benjin and Lyanna knew what you were up to. “I think this will fit you.” Lyanna held up a breastplate. Benjin helped put on your armor as Lyanna handed him pieces. “All done!” Benjin admired his handiwork. You ruffled his dark hair. Lyanna was rummaging under the bed. “Lyanna? Everything alright?” “Yes.” Lyanna grunted. She hauled out a shield and turned it over. On its surface was a Weirwood tree. “Shall we start?” Lyanna asked. Grimly, you and Benjin nodded.

All that could be heard were the horse's thundering hooves. All your energy was put into defeating this latest opponent. Though you had jousted before, never had your limits been pushed thus. Your left arm was screaming in pain. Every time the pain became too much to bear, you looked up to Elia, Lyanna and Benjin. Only Lyanna and Benjin knew the truth. Yet the way Elia’s eyes followed you made you think she knew. Finally, you made it to the final round. In all honesty, you hadn’t expected to make it this far. But this was it. This was why you had entered the arena and this fight. “I announce, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen!” A roar louder than the waves against Storm’s End came up from the stands. He was clad in true Targaryen armor, making him look like the dragon he was. But even dragons were not invincible. The Dornish had brought down Meraxes, and by all the old Gods you would take down this one. Your lances lowered, it had begun.

You and Elia saw under the Weirwood Tree. Elia’s head lay in your lap while you made a crown of weirwood leaves. You told her the story of Aemon the dragonknight and his love Naerys. Whether it was romantic or the love a brother had for a sister was unknown. But it comforted you to think that the sad Queen Naerys had someone by her side. The path of a Queen or princess was lonely, as you had witnessed. Elia had always been a princess from the day of her birth. In Dorne there were the vipers that never harmed their precious princess. The same could not be said of Kings Landing. Elia opened her brown eyes and smiled at you. “What's this?” She asked, eyeing the leaf crown. “Something for the tourney.” “For Brandon?” You gave her a sly smile. “Not so your grace.” If the vipers could not protect Elia, then this lone wolf would.

It all happened in one moment. People in the audience were not even sure what had happened. Two great beasts had launched at each other. In the end, it was the mysterious Weirwood tree knight who remained standing. And then a shriek arose from the crowd. Of shock, surprise, excitement, and wonder. This knight with no name had unhorsed the prince. The knight's white stallion trotted over the squire who handed her a crown of Weirwood leaves and orange Dornish flowers. And went right up to the Princess. Elia stood on the balcony. Instead of shock or horror, her face held something no one but the princess and her knight knew. Their eyes met and at least for that day, as Elia set the crown upon her brow, everything was right in the world.

#elia martell #Elia Martell-centeric #Elia Martell Deserves Better #Queen Elia Martell #because there are hardly any elia x reader fics #elia martell x reader #elia x reader #Got #asoiaf #dorne #Dorne #anti rhaegar #lyanna stark #benjin stark #elia martell deserves better #pro elia martell

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 8 months

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let me wrap my teeth around the world (Rhaella gets a dragon)

Title is from "Eat Your Young" by Hozier. A dragon is born at Harrenhal, but it's not Rhaegar or Aerys.

Aka Rhaella Targaryen GETS A DRAGON!

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At first, those that survive the blaze believe that the dragon hatched for the babe.

Of course, they say. Two royal lineages, began again. In fire and in blood.

Of course, Rhaella's half-mad husband says, our son is the Prince Who Was Promised. The product of our line. Our family might have perished, but he will bring us glory.

But Rhaella knows different.

The tiny creature is not born quite right. The tiny, silvered she-beast looks, for the most part, like the dragons of old. It has a mane of small spikes to its nape. It has two fully functional wings, guaranteed to grow wild and fierce. It has sharp claws and teeth and a snarl that even at its birth, no more than three feet in length, strikes fear in hearts.

But it is half-blind, one beady, black eye intelligent, one ice blue and clouded over. It is tarnished. It is defected.

It is not a mount for the prince that is promised. It is a dragon, a monster, made for a queen forced into her duty and broken by her brother husband.

And it is a gift like no other.

Nearly every member of the family has died at Summerhall, but she has secured the Targaryen family's might for generations, by birthing a babe and a beast in the same hour.

Balerion, her husband names the dragon, the Silver Dread.

It evokes Targaryen might. It summons images of burnt fields and extinct houses and Valyrian apocalypse.

Bitterwing, Rhaella names it, something strange and ferocious rising in her chest. It is not a royal name, but she does not give a damn.

The little whelp is the first thing she can call her own, and Rhaella will cling tight to her scales.

She hands Rhaegar over to a wet nurse, but she visits Bitterwing as often as she can, whenever her husband is busy with his mistresses. He might fuck every flowered girl in King's Landing, but she doesn't care. She doesn't need his loyalty. In fact, she would love to see him never spend a night in her bed again.

Because these moments, these nights, with her dragon are hers.

Her officially sanctioned visits to the Dragonpit always include her son. She knows that Rhaegar visits the Dragonpit without her, accompanied by his monstrous father. Aerys sees the prophecies fulfilled in his son.

Bitterwing tolerates Rhaegar, because Rhaella holds some fondness for her son, but she holds none for her husband, and therefore does not constrain her dragon to politeness.

Her dragon can rage as she cannot, and it is considered natural. Dragon-like.

Dragons are monsters, she hears the servants whisper, and they're not entirely wrong.

Bitterwing is a monster, yes but she is such a beautiful one.

No matter how many times her husband summoned her to his bed, no matter how many times she emerges bruised and bloody and broken-boned, she is not bowed. She is not bent.

Because for the first time in her life, Rhaella cradles power. Not within her and her womb, but within her first friend.

Rhaella lets out her first laugh since her wedding the first night that Bitterwing lets out a jet of flame. It stutters after seconds, and Bitterwing hiccups, and Rhaella can't help the giggle that emerges from her lips. Bitterwing's eyes glitter, something curving her snout. Rhaella reaches out and snuggles into Bitterwing's neck, Bitterwing's scales warm and smooth and comforting against her bruised cheek.

Bitterwing grows long and and sinuous, more serpentine than dragon-like, but she is graceful and loves Rhaella's hand against her snout and snaps at Aerys when he gets too close, and that is all Rhaella could wish for.

***

Years pass. Rhaella is raped into birthing her second son, and Aerys announces before the court that he will give up his mistresses for his Queen, and Rhaella cannot stand to be the only outlet of his bites and his bruises and his burns.

She is no warrior. She is no knight. Her arms are too thin and weak to wield a sword. She has been told she is too delicate to study tactics or ponder war.

But she is a survivor.

And she will be a dragonrider.

Rhaella steals down to the Dragon Pit and climbs Bitterwing's back for the first time. She is sore- she is always sore- but her legs clench around her dragon's back and the warmth soothes some of the ache away.

And Rhaella rides her best friend in this wretched world through the roof of the throne room.

Rhaella is not wearing armor, but Bitterwing dives in such a way that her armored belly takes the brunt of the damage. Rhaella ends up with some scrapes and a cut across her lower leg, but it is worth it for Bitterwing to land in front of the Iron Throne, Aerys ' head in her maw and his corpse beneath her legs.

They will call Rhaella the Kingslayer, the Kinslayer. Many will want to take her power from her. They will want to execute her for her crimes. They will want to rebel.

But everyone fears another Field of Fire, and so they will not.

She is a Targaryen. She is the only person in the world with a dragon. She will never have to lay beneath a man again if she does not want to.

She steps to the throne and sits herself upon it and for the first time in her entire life, she does not fear it.

Rhaegar is her heir, but he has no dragon. Not yet. And without a dragon or her abdication or her death, he cannot hope to be King.

Queen Rhaella, First of Her Name, Kingslayer, Kinslayer, Abomination, yes- but also Queen Rhaella the Just, Queen Rhaella the Breaker, and the only Rider of a dragon in the known world takes the throne and the crown of the Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.

She declares crafty, clever Olenna Tyrell her hand of the queen, reaffirming the Riverlands' loyalty to the crown, and attends Council meetings with Bitterwing by her side until Bitterwing grows too large to fit into the castle. Then Rhaella moves the Council out into the courtyard, erecting a series of stone seats for the Council to meet under the watchful gaze of her beloved Bitterwing, her hand on Bitterwing's scales a constant reminder to the Council of her power.

She is the only one with a dragon. Thus, she is the only one with power, and it tastes oh so sweet.

She passes laws regarding the welfare of wives and the punishments upon men that dare to lay hands on their Brides. The realm thinks her delicate, unwilling to enforce her laws, but Bitterwing snaps her teeth and the Lord's head goes flying and none dare question Rhaella's iron grip on justice. She destroys male primogeniture in favor of the eldest child inheriting, as in Dorne.

And years later, she will take a queen consort. She has an heir and a spare; she has no need to marry a man that she has no desire for. She has no need to give some man the power of Targaryen kings. She will marry a widowed Meria Martell, who came on a visit in the name of her mother's Dayne house and her husband's Martell house. She is woman with a harsh face, all long lines against dark skin, but has a sparkle in her eye, a clever wit, and a quick laugh. She shrieks with joy the first time Rhaella takes her up on Bitterwing in a saddle crafted for two souls, a wedding gift from the leather workers of the North.

(Rhaella does not give a shit what the Faith says about homosexuality. The Stranger was the only one of them to ever treat her kindly, and she has no desire to embrace any of the others. There is already one Targaryen exception; let there be another until she can persuade the Council to expand the freedom to all.)

Meria leaves her sons in Dorne—heir Doran and the vivacious Oberon- but she brings young Elia with her to court, where she becomes one of Rhaella's ladies.

But in the meantime, Rhaella raises her unruly boys not to be violent, to insist on control, to understand gentleness. To be tender with their women while being stern enough to be fair and just leaders of the Seven Kingdoms. She slaps Viserys the first time he lays a hand on a woman in a way he shouldn't. She does it right in front of the court, and raises the baseborn girl, a bastard of her husband's, to one of her ladies. Ceryse and Elia get along like a house on fire, and it is to no one's surprise that Elia and Ceryse elope. It ends up a scandal that will be remembered for decades, the two of them disappearing off to Essos without a second glance, but Rhaella and Meria receive letters at least thrice a year updating them on the adventures of their daughters-turned-explorers, and they don't mind the mark on their legacy. Neither Ceryse nor Elia will ever die on the birthing bed nor under the hand of a man, only as a consequence of their own ventures, and that is the greatest fate they can ask for.

Rhaegar doesn't turn prophecy into madness. His mother has a dragon. He has no reason to go seeking for a way to save his house and his world. Rhaegar marries Robarra Baratheon, the closest cousin he has, while Viserys crowns Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty at his brother's engagement tourney.

Meria suggests matching Cersei Lannister with Stannis Baratheon, an entreaty to Tywin Lannister to darken the gleam in his eye when he learned his daughter would be passed over for Princess of the Realm.

Neither Rhaegar nor Viserys hatch a dragon, but when Rhaegar and Robarra place one of Bitterwing's eggs in the cradle of their eldest daughter and heir, silver-curled Argella Targaryen, who has eyes as dark as ink, it hatches, a squat dark blue she-beast with a nasty snarl, guaranteed to be a mighty war beast. Robarra chooses Elenei, the storm goddess, as the name of her daughter's dragon.

Argella grows stubborn and quick with a sword and even quicker to learn. She is no delicate flower like her Targaryen grandmother; if she falls down, she bounces right back up. If she wasn't a Princess and the heir to the throne, Rhaella suspects she would spit on the ground.

And Argella and Elenei bond like none in modern history. While Bitterwing was as melancholy as her Queen at first, Elenei is a rambunctious dragon who loves to spin in the air, seemingly taking great joy from the shrieks of laughter and urging towards speed that her Princess desires.

Robarra births a son next, but he is not an heir; Argella will be the Iron Queen after Rhaegar. Rather, dark-haired and blue-eyed Jaehaerys is betrothed to Margaery Tyrell. He hatches no dragon, but does make a name for himself in tourneys. Some day, he will be the Prince of Dragonstone and sire heirs for House Tyrell; for now, he squires for his father, as his sister did before him.

Robarra's third child, golden-haired and sallow-faced Steffon, inherits his father's love for books, and becomes a maester. He is curious but lacks all Targaryen or Baratheon temper, and will do well integrating Rhaella's new laws into the beliefs of Oldtown.

A year after Jaehaerys's birth, Viserys and Lyanna's raven-haired, long-faced babe Lyarra hatches her own crimson-scaled beast. Night Breaker, they decide to name him.

Lyarra does not have her cousin's temper. But she does have a mind for tactics, for history, for politics and diplomacy that Argella's storm blood sometimes lacks. She and Steffon get along well, debating war tactics and history and politics in the solar. Someday, she will be her cousin's Hand. For now, she gets the best training in the world and embraces Night Breaker as her trusted mount for traveling the Realm, learning everything she can about the people.

Rhaella presides over all of her grandchildren, satisfaction burning in her chest at the knowledge that none of their mothers were pressed into the marriage bed unwillingly. She checks in with Robarra and Lyanna regularly, treats them as Princesses and ladies in her family. Family banquets are joyous affairs, full of boisterous laughter and japes and healthy debates and good-natured needling. Fear does not make itself any of her family’s bedfellow.

Meria holds Rhaella’s hand and kisses her cheek in front of the children and grandchildren and Rhaegar teases them for being too scandalously affectionate. Viserys rolls his eyes at his brother and japes that nothing a Targaryen does can be scandalous- they are the exception, not the rule. Viserys’ she-wolf wife flicks him on the upper arm, and Viserys offers her a chagrined smile.

And above it all, Rhaella smiles, unburdened by abuse and fear.

Rhaella is not Visenya or Aegon or Maegor. She does not know how to wield a sword, how to command an army. She is no warrior. She never becomes one. She never wanted power for its own sake; she wanted it to guarantee safety and happiness for herself and those she loves.

But she commands a dragon, and her family, and that will win her the Realm.

***

When the Others begin to rise in the north, the women of House Targaryen will be ready. Lyarra, Argella, and Rhaella will soar through the sky, the three violet-eyed heads of the dragon. Baratheon and Stark and Targaryen, Elenei and Night Breaker and Bitterwing. One silver, one blue, one red.

They will write songs about this battle. About the swinging of uncovered Valyrian steel, about the roar of dragonfire, about the Storm Queen, the Princess of Ice, and the Queen of Fire and Blood.

A song of ice and fire indeed.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #rhaella targaryen #bamf rhaella #bitterwing #rhaella gets a dragon #canon divergent au #canon divergence #elia martell deserves better #elia martell lives #rhaella targaryen lives #sapphic rhaella #game of thrones #abusive relationship #recovery #aletterinthenameofsanity #fanfic #crossposted on ao3

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katshuya · 2 months

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I always thought that my first post or the post about if Elia and Lyanna's positions were reversed would get many hates and fights. It turned out the winter rose crown.

Now everyone is suffering.

To the anon who keeps entering Elia's support blogs. Neither Elia nor Lyanna haunts the narrative as much as you haunt our inboxes.

Refrain from humiliating yourself farther. You really need to calm down.

This feels like a troll.

I don't know if I should laugh or feel sorry for the others.

#anti rhaelya stans #anti Rhaegar #elia martell deserves better #lyanna isn't faultless

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blueroses789 · 1 year

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The Princess and her Knight

Elia Martell x Reader

Ps: reader is born from a previous marriage making the Stark siblings her half siblings.

Elia Martell had always dreamed of being someone's princess. Y/n Stark always wanted to be a knight.

In very unusual circumstances a viper and a wolf find themselves intertwined.

note: simply wish fulfillment for Elia to get the crown she deserves😤

“Elia look!” The morning you received a gift from your sister. Lyanna had taken blue winter roses and tried them, pressed between two pieces of glass. The picture was lovely.

Sister,

Everyone is doing well. Benjin is still annoying, father and Eddard send their love. Ps. There are socks for the Princess Rhaenys.

Love,

Lyanna Stark

You pulled out a pair of socks. They were actually quite nicely sewn.

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