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novaursa · 16 hours

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The Queen Who Was Not

- Summary: After Aegon broke his promise to you, he leaves you broken. You decided to take your fate into your own hands. But fate is a fickle beast.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Note: This is an alternative version of The Broken Crown, with another set of events. This story was another suggestion made by @renasd , with slight changes in the plot.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

You had loved Aegon since you were a child, when the world seemed small and the stars could be plucked from the sky with a word from your brother. He was the sun around which you orbited, his every word, every glance, every promise etched into your heart. When he promised you marriage, a union of love unlike any the realm had seen, you believed him with the fervor of a child who thinks dragons will live forever.

The bond between you and Aegon was forged in those early years, as strong as dragonsteel. You would watch him with wide, admiring eyes as he trained with Blackfyre in hand, his strength and determination unmatched. In turn, he would watch you with a quiet, almost protective affection, promising that one day you would stand beside him not just as a sister, but as a queen.

You thought that day would come when you turned sixteen. It was the age when a Targaryen girl came into her own, her blood singing with fire, ready to join with another to strengthen the family line. Your heart was aflame with anticipation, the promise of his words fueling the fire of your hope. Aegon was the Conqueror now, a king with two queens, but in your mind, you were always meant to be his third, his heart.

But then came the wedding of Visenya, the elder sister whose stern beauty and fierce loyalty had always been a shadow over you. You understood his duty to her, the need to cement the ancient bloodline with a union of strength. It was a bond of necessity, you told yourself, a marriage of fire and steel. And then, before you could even catch your breath, he took Rhaenys as well.

Rhaenys, the sister of the dawn, laughter always on her lips, her beauty a shining beacon that drew the eyes of the realm. She was the beloved, the one whom Aegon desired with a passion that left you cold. You saw it in the way he looked at her, the way his hand lingered on hers, the softening of his gaze that you had once thought was reserved for you alone.

The realization was a blade between your ribs, twisting deeper with each smile they shared, each touch that should have been yours. Aegon had taken Visenya out of duty, but Rhaenys he had chosen for desire. And what were you, then? A childhood promise, a girl left behind in the shadow of queens more radiant than the sun.

On the eve of your sixteenth name day, when the moon hung heavy and the sea whispered of forgotten hopes, you found yourself standing before Aegon. Your voice trembled as you spoke, asking him when it would be your turn, when he would fulfill the vow made beneath the stars of your childhood.

His answer shattered the last remnants of your hope. He wanted to marry you out of love, he said, and not out of duty or desire. He wanted to make you his queen, not because it was expected, but because he cherished you beyond all others. But not yet. Not now, when the realm was still fragile, when his conquests were still incomplete.

Your heart, already broken, turned to ash. Love. He spoke of love while he stood between his two queens, the weight of their presence suffocating you. He wanted you to wait, to be patient, to be his beloved someday, when the world was ready. But you had waited long enough. You could not be a shadow, a mere promise in the distance while he shared his bed, his throne, his life with others.

That night, you made your choice. Dressed in the colors of your house, your silver hair braided with blood-red ribbons, you climbed upon Tesaerix’s back. Your dragon felt your turmoil, your pain. She roared into the night sky, the sound echoing across Dragonstone, a cry of fury and sorrow that would not be contained.

You flew to Driftmark, the sea wind biting at your skin, tears freezing upon your cheeks. There, in the hall of High Tide, you found Aethan Velaryon, his eyes widening in surprise at your arrival. You barely knew him, this sea lord with salt in his veins and ambition in his heart, but that did not matter.

“I would marry you,” you said, your voice strong, unwavering. “I would marry you and be free of this cage.”

He looked at you, seeing the dragon fire in your eyes, the determination that could not be quenched. And he agreed. You were wed under the stars, the salt waves lapping at your feet, the cries of seagulls mingling with the distant roar of your dragon.

You were no longer the little sister left behind. You were a Velaryon now, a bride of the sea and sky, and Aegon’s hold on your heart was no more. As you stood there, your hand clasped in Aethan’s, you felt the first stirrings of something new—freedom, independence, the taste of a life that was your own.

And when Tesaerix took to the skies once more, her wings cutting through the night air, you knew there was no going back. You would never be his third queen, the last to be chosen. You were a dragon, and you would forge your own path in a world that had tried to bind you in chains.

The news reached Aegon like a dagger to the heart. You, his cherished sister, his beloved, had wed Aethan Velaryon. The words were barely whispered before he was in the air, his dragon’s wings beating furiously against the sky. He had never known fear like this, not when facing the flames of battle or the uncertainty of conquest. But now, it gripped him like an iron fist.

As he descended upon Driftmark, the sun barely cresting the horizon, he saw Tesaerix circling above the Velaryon castle, her gold-cream scales gleaming in the early light. Her roar was a warning, a challenge that cut through the air like a blade. He knew she sensed his turmoil, but he had to see you, had to make you understand.

You were in the courtyard when he landed, your stance regal, your eyes cold. Aethan stood beside you, a protective hand on your arm, his presence a barrier between you and the king. Aegon dismounted swiftly, his eyes locked on yours, desperation etched across his face.

“Y/N, what have you done?” His voice was strained, the words tearing from his lips. “Why would you do this?”

You lifted your chin, the hurt buried deep beneath a mask of resolve. “I did what you would not allow me to do, Aegon. I took my fate into my own hands.”

His hands clenched at his sides, his frustration barely contained. “I wanted to marry you, Y/N. I wanted to wait until the realm was secure, until I could give you everything you deserved, without the shadow of duty or desire hanging over us.”

“You speak of love,” you said, your voice icy, “but you made me wait while you took Visenya and Rhaenys. You left me to watch, to wonder when my turn would come. I am not some prize to be claimed at your convenience, Aegon.”

He stepped forward, his eyes pleading. “You are not a prize, Y/N. You are my heart. I thought you would understand. I needed to take Rhaenys—”

“Needed?” You laughed, the sound bitter. “You needed her because you wanted her. And Visenya, because it was your duty. What am I, then? A symbol of your love? A trinket you can set aside until you are ready?”

Aethan’s grip on your arm tightened, his eyes darkening as he watched Aegon. “She is my wife now, Aegon. You cannot undo what has been done.”

Aegon’s gaze flickered to Aethan, anger flaring in his eyes. “You have no idea what you’ve done, Velaryon. You have stolen something precious from me.”

“I have taken nothing that was not freely given,” Aethan replied, his voice steady, though his hand shook ever so slightly.

You stepped forward, placing yourself between the two men, your expression resolute. “I made this choice, Aegon. I am no longer yours to command.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, his composure shattered. “Please, Y/N, come back with me. We can make this right.”

“No,” you said, the finality in your tone cutting through him like a sword. “You had your chance, Aegon. I will not be your afterthought.”

He stood there, the wind whipping around him, his fists trembling with suppressed rage and grief. He looked at you, his eyes searching, pleading, but you did not waver. Finally, with a choked growl, he turned away, climbing back onto his dragon.

As he flew back to Dragonstone, his heart was a storm of emotions—rage, despair, regret. He had lost you, the one he had always thought would be by his side. The bitter taste of his failure burned in his throat, and he knew that this wound would not heal easily.

Days passed, the silence between you and Aethan slowly thawing as you adjusted to your new life. He was kind, considerate, his presence a balm to the scars Aegon had left behind. Though your marriage had not yet been consummated, there was a growing warmth between you, a tentative affection that could have blossomed into something more given time.

But time was not on your side.

It happened one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sea in shades of crimson and gold. Aethan was found in his chambers, lifeless, his face twisted in pain. There were no marks, no wounds, nothing to suggest foul play, but you knew. In your heart, you knew.

Aegon.

The realization hit you like a blow, your knees buckling as you stumbled away from Aethan’s still form. The air seemed to close in around you, thick and suffocating, as if the walls themselves were pressing down. You fled to the sea cliffs, the roar of the waves below a distant echo to the storm raging within you.

Tesaerix found you there, her massive form looming behind you, a soft rumble in her throat. She could sense your anguish, your fury. You pressed your forehead against her warm scales, your tears mingling with the salt spray of the sea.

“He did this,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “He took him from me.”

Your dragon growled low, her eyes flashing crimson in the fading light. You knew she would burn the world at your command, that her wrath would mirror your own. But what good would that do now? Aethan was gone, his life snuffed out before it had truly begun, and you were left adrift, your heart shattered anew.

The days that followed were a blur of mourning, the Velaryons gathering to pay their respects, their faces shadowed with suspicion. They whispered of poison, of dark magic, of the king’s wrath descending upon them in secret. But there was no proof, nothing but the aching certainty in your heart.

And Aegon... Aegon was silent. No message, no word from Dragonstone. But you knew he was watching, waiting, his presence a looming shadow you could not shake.

As you stood before Aethan’s sarcophagus which his family lowered into the sea, you made a vow. You would not be broken, not by Aegon or anyone else. He had taken too much from you already, but he would not take your spirit. You were a Targaryen, a rider of dragons, a daughter of fire and blood.

And if Aegon thought he could bind you to his will, he would soon learn just how fierce a dragon’s wrath could be.

The months of mourning were a blur of quiet pain, the weight of grief settling like a mantle across your shoulders. Driftmark’s salt-soaked shores had been both refuge and prison, the sea wind a constant reminder of the life that had been stolen from you. But as time passed, sorrow hardened into resolve, and your thoughts turned to vengeance. Aethan’s death would not go unavenged, and the one who had wronged you would pay dearly.

You returned to Dragonstone in the dead of night, Tesaerix’s wings cutting through the dark sky like a blade. The castle loomed before you, a silhouette of ancient stone and flickering torches. It had been your home once, a place of childhood dreams and broken promises. Now, it would be the stage for your retribution.

Your father, Aerion Targaryen, the stern and unyielding Lord of Dragonstone, greeted you with a wary gaze. His hair, a crown of silver, seemed to catch the light as he watched you approach, your steps echoing in the great hall. There was no warmth in his eyes, only the cold calculation of a man who had seen too many battles, too much bloodshed.

“Why have you come, daughter?” His voice was gruff, suspicion lacing his words.

You met his gaze unflinchingly, your chin held high. “To make amends for my folly and to serve our house.”

His brows knitted together, curiosity mingling with doubt. “And how do you intend to do that?”

“By wedding Rhaegel,” you said, each word measured, deliberate. “It is time I returned to my family, to my duty. A union with my brother will strengthen the bloodline, bind our house tighter.”

Your father’s silence was heavy, the air between you charged with tension. You knew he would see the logic in your words. The union would solidify the family, secure the power of House Targaryen, and—most importantly—draw a line that Aegon would not be able to cross without dire consequences.

“Rhaegel is a gentle soul,” he finally said, his tone thoughtful. “He would not refuse you, and such a match would indeed serve our house well.”

The words were a victory, though they tasted bitter on your tongue. Rhaegel was a quiet, kind brother, one who had never sought power or conflict. But he would be your husband, and through him, you would strike back at the man who had shattered your world.

The wedding was held in the shadow of Dragonstone’s volcanic peak, the sky above churning with clouds that threatened rain. The hall was filled with the banners of your house, the air thick with the scent of burning incense and dragonsteel. Rhaegel stood beside you, his eyes soft, his hand trembling slightly as he took yours. He had not questioned your intentions, had not hesitated to join his fate with yours. He was a lamb led to slaughter, and you were the wolf at his side.

When you spoke your vows, your voice was steady, unyielding. Each word was a vow not only to Rhaegel, but to yourself, a promise that Aegon would never hold you again, never bend you to his will. The ceremony passed in a blur, the faces around you fading into insignificance as you sealed your fate.

And then, the news reached King’s Landing.

The ravens carried the message to Aegonfort, their wings a dark omen against the pale sky. Aegon’s rage, when he learned of your marriage, was a storm that shook the very foundations of the newly built keep. He was a dragon unleashed, his fury visible even from afar. The courtiers whispered of his madness, of the destruction that followed in his wake as he stormed through the halls, his voice a roar that sent servants scurrying for cover.

He tore through the council chamber, Blackfyre drawn, the gleaming blade slashing through the air. His advisors cowered, their faces ashen with fear as he raged, his words incoherent, his eyes blazing with a fire that seemed to burn from within. He cursed your name, cursed your defiance, the betrayal he felt like poison in his veins.

“How dare she!” His voice echoed through the stone halls, a thunderous bellow that seemed to shake the very walls. “She belongs to me, and she weds again another under my very nose!”

The destruction was swift, catastrophic. He smashed the great table that had been carved in the shape of Westeros, his wrath reducing it to splinters. Tapestries burned, the flames licking hungrily at the stone, and the Aegonfort quaked beneath the weight of his fury. The court trembled, for never before had they seen their king so unhinged, so consumed by rage.

From Dragonstone, you heard of the chaos, the whispers carried on the wind. Each word was a balm to the wounds he had inflicted, each report of his anger a testament to your victory. He would not have you, not now, not ever. Your marriage to Rhaegel was a shield, an unbreakable barrier between you and the man who had tried to claim you.

Rhaegel, sweet and oblivious, took no notice of the storm he had unwittingly become part of. He treated you with gentle kindness, his shy smiles and soft words a stark contrast to the tempest you had unleashed. He did not ask why you had chosen him, did not pry into the reasons behind your sudden return. Perhaps he was content to simply have you by his side, a sister and now a wife, his world made brighter by your presence.

But beneath the calm exterior, your heart was a roiling sea. You had won a victory, yes, but the cost was high. You had bound yourself to Rhaegel, a man who could never be more than a shield against Aegon’s wrath. The knowledge was a cold, sharp blade, but you wielded it with purpose, with a determination that burned hotter than dragonfire.

You would not be owned, not by Aegon or any man. Your life was yours to command, your choices your own to make. And if Aegon thought he could bend you, could break you with his fury, he would soon learn that a dragon does not bow to anyone.

In the halls of Dragonstone, you walked with your head held high, the whispers of the courtiers following in your wake. They spoke of your defiance, your strength, your unyielding will. You were a force to be reckoned with, a storm in human form, and you would not be swayed.

Aegon could rage and destroy, could tear down kingdoms and burn cities to ash. But he could not touch you, not now. You were beyond his reach, a dragon in flight, your wings spread wide against the sky. And you would soar, higher and farther than he could ever imagine, leaving him behind in the ruin of his own making.

The birth was a struggle from the very beginning. As the night waned and the dawn crept over the horizon, the air in Dragonstone was thick with tension. The cries from your chambers echoed through the stone halls, a haunting symphony of pain and desperation. The maesters and midwives worked frantically, their faces drawn and pale, their hands slick with blood and sweat.

When the infant’s wail finally pierced the silence, it was not the sound of triumph. The child, small and frail, struggled to draw breath, its cries weak and fluttering like the wings of a dying bird. And you, spent and broken, lay still upon the birthing bed, your skin ashen, your breath shallow. The life that had burned so brightly in your eyes was now a dim flicker, barely holding on.

Rhaegel sat at your bedside, his hands clutching yours, tears streaming down his cheeks. He called your name, his voice breaking, but you were already slipping away, your spirit drifting like smoke on the wind. As the sun rose, you drew your last breath, the light fading from your eyes as the shadows claimed you.

Grief settled over Dragonstone like a dark cloud. Rhaegel, the gentle brother who had loved you with a quiet devotion, was inconsolable. He held the child—a daughter, her silver hair fine as silk, her tiny chest struggling with each shallow breath—and he wept for the life that was already slipping away. She survived only a day, a brief flicker of existence that faded into darkness before she could even know the world.

The news reached Aegon in King’s Landing, carried by a raven whose dark wings seemed an ill omen. He read the message once, twice, his mind struggling to grasp the words. You were gone. His fierce, defiant sister, the one he had always thought would stand beside him, had been taken by death’s cruel hand. And the child—his niece, his blood—was gone as well.

The rage that gripped him was like nothing he had ever known, a tempest that tore through his heart and mind. He mounted Balerion without a word, the Black Dread’s wings spreading wide as they soared into the sky. The flight to Dragonstone was swift and furious, the great dragon’s roar echoing across the Narrow Sea as if the heavens themselves were protesting Aegon’s wrath.

He arrived on the day of your pyre, the castle’s courtyards filled with the somber faces of those gathered to pay their respects. As he dismounted, his eyes blazed with fury, his expression dark and terrifying. He stormed through the crowd, his presence a force of nature that parted those before him like a wave crashing against the shore.

Rhaegel stood beside the pyre, his face hollow, his eyes red from weeping. He looked up as Aegon approached, his grief turning to fear at the sight of his brother’s wrath. Aegon’s hand shot out, gripping Rhaegel by the front of his robes, dragging him close until their faces were inches apart.

“What did you do to her?” Aegon’s voice was a low, dangerous growl, each word trembling with barely restrained violence. “She was never yours to take.”

Rhaegel’s hands clutched at Aegon’s wrists, his voice shaking as he tried to answer. “I—she was my wife, Aegon. I loved her, I would never—”

“Your wife?” Aegon spat, his grip tightening, his eyes blazing with a fury that seemed to burn hotter than the flames that would soon consume your body. “She was mine! She was always mine, and you took her, you stole her from me! You killed her!”

The accusation hung in the air, raw and brutal, and those gathered around the pyre fell silent, their eyes wide with shock and fear. Rhaegel’s breath came in ragged gasps, his face paling as Aegon’s words struck like blows.

“Aegon, please,” he choked out, his voice desperate. “I did nothing to harm her. I tried to love her, to make her happy—”

“You are a fool,” Aegon snarled, shoving Rhaegel away so violently that he stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. “A weak, pathetic fool who let her die, who couldn’t protect her! She was too strong for you, too fierce, and you crushed her spirit with your weakness!”

Rhaegel fell to his knees, his shoulders shaking as he wept, his cries soft and broken. “I tried, Aegon. I tried to save her.”

Aegon’s laughter was a bitter, hollow sound. “Save her? You were never strong enough to save her. You should have let her be, let her come back to me. I would have protected her, would have given her everything. But now—” His voice broke, and for a moment, the fury in his eyes was eclipsed by a grief so deep it seemed to tear him apart from within. “Now she’s gone, and it’s your fault.”

Their father, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward, his face lined with sorrow and weariness. “Aegon, enough. This is not the time—”

“Not the time?” Aegon rounded on him, his rage flaring anew. “You let this happen! You let her marry him, let her throw herself away on someone too weak to protect her. You were supposed to be our father, supposed to keep us safe, and you failed.”

The old man’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Aegon’s words bearing down on him like a crushing tide. “I did what I thought was best. She made her choice, Aegon. She chose her path.”

Aegon’s face twisted with pain and anger, his voice a roar that echoed off the castle walls. “Her path should have been beside me! You should have made her mine, should have stopped her!”

The silence that followed was deafening, the air thick with the tension of words that could not be unsaid. Aegon’s chest heaved with the force of his emotions, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His eyes, wild and haunted, turned back to the pyre where your body lay, wrapped in the white shroud of death.

He took a step forward, his gaze fixed on your still form, and the rage seemed to drain from him, leaving only a hollow emptiness. “You were mine,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You were always supposed to be mine.”

And then, with a choked sound that was part sob, part growl, he turned and stormed away, the crowd parting before him in silence. He climbed back onto Balerion, the great dragon’s wings unfurling as they took to the sky. The wind whipped around him as they flew, the cold air biting at his skin, but he felt nothing but the gaping void where you had once been.

In the days that followed, the fire of Aegon’s wrath spread across the realm, his fury a wildfire that consumed everything in its path. He was a king unchained, his grief and anger a deadly combination that none dared challenge. The Aegonfort, now a place of ashes and ruin, stood as a testament to his pain, the once-proud symbol of his reign now crumbling beneath the weight of his loss.

And through it all, the memory of you lingered, a ghost that haunted his every step, a reminder of what he had lost, of what he had destroyed with his own hands. The realm would remember this day, the day a dragon’s heart broke, and the world trembled beneath the shadow of its rage.

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