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universe-of-heart · 1 year

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Heirs to the Iron Throne

A Rewritten History of Fire and Blood Ocs in fic

Previous chapter: The House a Dragon Built Author's note: There is a bit of LingoJam translated Valyrian (idk how accurate it is but I can't find any good translator and I myself am still learning it but it's accurate enough hopefully). Finally through the first episode tho! Jae Briarwood is @dreaming-of-illusory-flowers oc. See end of first chapter for a little more information on them!

Word Count: 8 words off from 4.5k

Warnings: Same warnings as the show, this includes the second half of episode one. There is angst, funeral moments, all that fun shit. Daemon being Daemon. It's real sad, honestly lmao I made my friend cry. Some scenes have been changed, tones and stuff, it just flowed better. A bit worried if characters are ooc but oh well

It was a beautiful day. The sun was warm, the breeze off the sea was cool and smelled of salt, and the grass at their feet was bright and healthy. Any other occasion would have been grand, bursting with joy and energy as the children chased each other over rolling hills or flew overhead on dragonback. However, it was not any other occasion and there would be no joy for a long time.

The queen and prince were dead.

It felt like a sea of black against the hills around them, funeral pyres built and laid out beautifully before the crowd. A crowd of family and friends that would miss their kind queen, that never got to know their prince. A heavy sort of grief hung over the family like a shadow, shoulders bowed under the weight. It had been felt before by the older generations and they grew to know the feeling that would dull but never fade, but at the front stood the young princess who had not known a loss like that before. It felt suffocating, a bitter pain that wrapped around her heart and lungs and squeezed until she couldn’t breathe and could only sob in the quiet confines of her bedroom, away from her father who had drifted even further away.

Rhaenyra couldn’t help the ugly head of green that reared in her heart as she thought of her father mourning his wife and heir. A son he’d so eagerly waited for, prayed to the Old Gods and New for, and had announced to the kingdom he would have. The tiny body she stared at, wrapped in cloth, laid just before her mother. Her mother, that he had taken from her without ever knowing her. How kind her eyes were, how softly she spoke, how she had nursed her when she was ill and had cared for her even when she acted out.

Rhaenyra wondered if you could hate someone who was dead. Someone you hadn’t even known and had never known you, but had stolen something invaluable without ever trying.

She stepped forward, pausing to see if her father would say anything, would look at her. His eyes were steady on the pyres, however, barely blinking. Her lower lip wobbled as her eyes stung and blurred with tears, looking back up at her dragon, Syrax, perched above them all on a small mountain. The wind blew past her, fresh and cool, and it made her want to gag.

Her voice faltered when she tried to speak, swallowing hard to push past the new wave of sorrow washing over her. She couldn’t do it, she wouldn’t. Giving the order was so final. It meant she’d well and truly lost her mother and that she would be alone. Alicent behind her watching her with sympathetic sorrow, memories flashing through her mind of her own mother’s funeral. How she had felt that day and had just wished to bury herself along with her.

Jaeda kept her head down, Jayse tucked close to her side.

“Dracarys!”

Syrax huffed softly, snaking her path down between the dragon keepers to stare down at the crowd of people, all watching, all waiting. Her head shook, scales clicking, before she looked at the wrapped bodies and opened her great maw.

Jae was glad dragonfire was hot enough to burn nearly instantly. If they had had to stand there with the smell of burning flesh, they doubted they could’ve stood it. Jaeda finally lifted her eyes to search for the princess, watching her turn herself away from the pyres and cry. The old advisor’s heart ached at the sight. A young girl, standing alone in her grief. Her father had all but shut himself away from everyone, even when he was mere feet from his daughter, and Jaeda knew truly what her promise had been to the queen.

The small, broken family would be protected, even if the world around them burned.

Rhaenyra hung silently from Jayse’s arm as both twins walked her back to her chambers. She hadn’t spoken a single word since commanding Syrax to set the blaze, only following after Jaeda when she had placed a soothing palm to the space between her shoulder blades to lead her back to the Keep. What she wanted to do was stay with the princess until the grief allowed her to sleep, however, she knew a council meeting would be called by nightfall and she couldn’t stay wallowing in her own pain before sitting in front of a group of men who didn’t understand it. To show pain was a weakness she couldn’t afford before the like of Otto Hightower and Grand Maester Mellos.

Jayse held the door to the princess’s chambers open, revealing the dark and cold solar. Rhaenyra hesitated for a moment when Jaeda’s hand left her back, turning quickly to look at the twins with wide, red-rimmed eyes. She looked every bit a child; Jae wondered when they forgot she was still one.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, quietly, voice thick in her throat.

“The Small Council will be called to order soon,” Jaeda tried to keep her voice and expression from betraying anything, hands clasped in front of her skirts. “Your father requires my presence and support.”

A look crossed Rhaenyra’s face, violet eyes turning cold for just a moment. She scoffed as her lip wobbled again, face flushing red against her wishes. “My father…”

“Rhaenyra-”

“Leave me alone.”

The door shut, hard, in Jaeda’s face and she bit the inside of her cheek as tears pricked behind her eyes. A broken family, a broken kingdom. How were any of them to survive this when there couldn’t even be peace within the stone walls?

The walk to the Small Council chamber was long, much longer than Jae remembered it being. Each step felt like a rock was tied to their ankles, dragging behind them and making them wish to sit down and rest. There was another rock within their chest, solid and cold like a block of ice. It would no doubt stay there for a while, melting away slowly after years and years of feeding the fire under it.

Much of the Small Council was already there, sitting in their seats, except for two notable figures. At least she got her chair, Jaeda mused a bit sullenly to herself. The smallest thing Daemon could do was to be there to help support his brother, but no, he was no doubt either wallowing away within his cups or within a whore or celebrating his standing claim to the throne. Viserys…she would understand if he simply refused to make an appearance. The empty seat and marble plate were hauntingly, achingly empty. Just days ago, he had been the first one in the council room, joking with the members now somberly staring either at the table or the walls before them. Then, the doors swung open and the king entered with a lowered head and angry steps.

Everyone stood, even Jaeda, watching him with gentle, sorrowful eyes as he rounded the table to his seat. No one else dared to meet his eyes, though, all too afraid that a dragon had truly come to court that night.

Jaeda reached for his hand on the armrest of his chair, quietly slipping her hand in his as Jayse stood immediately behind her. Sorrow radiated outward from the three of them, all standing connected in some way; Jaeda holding the king’s hand, the king sparing a glance up to Jayse, and Jayse with his hand on the back corner of the chair. An unbreakable ring of understanding and grief held together with a single prayer that it would not ruin them all.

Viserys took a deep breath, steadying himself, before asking, “Where’s Rhaenyra?”

“Her room, my king,” Jaeda whispered, squeezing his hand before Otto turned to speak.

“Your Grace, this is the last thing any of us wish to discuss at this dark hour, but I consider this matter urgent.”

Jayse turned his stare toward the Hand, firelight glinting against the gold that nearly turned the irises the color of molten fire. There was a hidden bite to his expression as he pressed his lips into a thin line, smothering any comments he could make about how, if it was truly something no one wished to discuss, none of them would be there. He bit his tongue, choosing instead to watch. He was good at that.

The king’s brows furrowed, shaking his head. “What matter?”

Otto’s eyes briefly met that of both twins’, a mirrored golden glare that nearly had him stopping where he sat. “That of…your succession.”

“To hell with the succession,” Jaeda muttered under her breath, leaning to press her free hand to her temple. “Kustikāne merbugon orvorta.”

Behind Jayse, Corlys pressed his hand to his mouth before turning with his filled cup.

The Hand continued on, unphased and unknowing of the insult levied against him. “These recent tragedies have left you without an obvious heir.”

“‘Without an obvious heir’?” Jayse parroted back, shock evident on his face.

“The King has an heir, my Lord Hand.”

Otto ignored them both. “Despite how difficult this time is, Your Grace, I feel it important the succession be firmly in place for the stability of the realm.”

Jaeda’s eyes rolled behind her hand.

“The succession is already set by precedent and by law,” Lyonel Strong finally spoke, daring a look past the king’s advisor to the man himself.

Corlys stalked back to his seat, a bitter tone to his voice. “Shall we say his name?”

“My lord, please,” Jaeda hissed through her teeth.

“Daemon Targaryen.”

“If Daemon were to remain the uncontested heir, it could destabilize the realm.”

“The realm? Or this council?”

It was no secret that a small part of the council held the prince in high contempt. He’d been allowed a large amount of freedom within his brother’s rule, along with a large amount of forgiveness. The thought of him as king should anything happen to Viserys made their skin itch and minds work quickly to solve a problem that didn’t even exist yet. Jayse’s hand flexed tighter on the curved back of the chair.

“No one here can know what Daemon would do were he king, but no one can doubt his ambition.”

Jaeda’s jaw clenched. Daemon was not the usurper they thought he was. They acted as though Aegon the Conqueror had come again for his throne, that he would stop at nothing until he himself was seated upon the Iron Throne and the realm was at his mercy.

No, they simply did not understand.

Viserys remained quiet, eyes closed or downcast as the men around him spoke in old gossip as if it was new facts. The weight of Jaeda’s hand in his was heavy, heavier than he ever thought something so loving could be, and he felt like he was suffocating within himself. It was all too much and yet he must bear it. All because a crown had been placed on his head and he did not have a son.

“Look at what he did with the ‘gold cloaks’.”

Gods above, did she want him to stop talking.

“The City Watch is fiercely loyal to him. An army 2,000 strong-”

“An army you gave him, Otto,” Viserys bit back, finally raising his gaze to look at his Hand. “I named Daemon Master of Laws, but you said he was a tyrant. As Master of Coin, you said he was a spendthrift that would beggar the realm.”

Otto didn’t flinch under the king’s gaze, purposely ignoring the way Jayse’s burned into him.

“Putting Daemon in command of the City Watch was your solution!”

“A half-measure, Your Grace.” His tone was bordering on patronizing, condescending even.

“Then, perhaps you should not be making suggestions on what to do with the prince,” Jayse all but growled, the leather of his gloves creaking from how tightly he gripped Jaeda’s chair.

Otto tilted his chin up ever so slightly before dropping his eyes again. There was something about the intensity of the knight’s eyes that kept him from holding his gaze.

“We only worry that, if the gods should visit some further tragedy on you, either by design or by accident-”

“‘Design?’” Viserys questioned cruelly, exhaustion and pain lacing his voice.

Jaeda’s head snapped up, making direct eye contact with the grand maester with such a look that he fell deathly silent. “If you do not mind your tongue, Mellos, it shall find its place with the dragons.”

The grand maester swallowed hard, eyes dropping to his lap.

The king sighed, heavily, falling back into his chair. “Daemon has ambition, yes, but not for the throne. He lacks the patience for it.”

Jayse’s eyes briefly flickered over to a wall behind the king before continuing his watch - death glare, really - of the Hand. The very man who decided to begin speaking again.

“The gods have yet to make a man who lacks the patience for absolute power, Your Grace.”

“You’re beginning to sound like you speak from experience, Lord Hightower,” Jaeda snapped, empty hand now gripping the armrest of her chair like it was his throat beneath her fingers. “Be mindful that even helpful council can be treasonous, despite how you dress it up.”

“Perhaps you speak from it, as well, my lady,” he replied cooly, barely sparing her a glance.

Her hand shook under her rage.

“Under such circumstances, it would not be an aberration for the King to name a successor.”

“Well, who else would have a claim?” The Master of Laws asked, seemingly genuinely.

“Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

All eyes looked to Jayse, who stood tall before the sudden attention and scrutiny for his contribution to a cyclical conversation.

“She is direct blood, my lords,” Jaeda continued for him, her words sounding strained despite her efforts. “Rhaenyra is the firstborn of the King and has been included on many Small Council matters already at her age. She has an idea for this world and it would be cruel to strip her of the chance simply because it would not follow a tradition that was never set into law.”

“If order and stability so concerns this council, then perhaps we shouldn’t break one hundred years of it by naming a girl heir.”

“Then, you are for Daemon.”

Eyes turned to the king’s advisor. Her eyes were glassy, raw with anger, and red-rimmed from grief. However, her voice was clear and steady, though heavy in the air between them all.

“I-I didn’t mean-”

“You are either in support of Daemon’s claim or Rhaenyra’s, unless, perhaps, you are vying to see if your blood can sit the throne, Lord Strong?”

He shrunk back in his chair.

“Daemon would be a second Maegor, or worse.”

“A second Maegor is what he wishes he was, Lord Hand, do not speak of things you do not know,” Jaeda hissed.

Viserys nearly snarled towards his Small Council, hand slipping away from Jaeda’s. “I will not be made to choose between my brother and my daughter.”

“You wouldn’t have to, Your Grace,” Corlys spoke up from the end of the table, appearing to be the only one at ease, though the fidgeting of his fingers on his goblet betrayed him. “There are others who would have a claim.”

Lyonel Strong gave a humorless laugh. “Such as your wife, Lord Corlys?”

Jaeda fixed such a look at him that the title Princess Rhaenys was known as died on his tongue.

“Rhaenys was the only child of Jaehaerys’ eldest son. She had a strong claim at the Great Council, and she already has a male heir.”

The king’s eyes closed as if in prayer. Perhaps asking whatever gods were listening to silence everything around him. Perhaps bargaining to join his late wife and son.

“Just moments ago, you announced your support for Daemon!”

“If we cannot agree on an heir, then how can we expect-”

“MY WIFE AND SON ARE DEAD!”

Jaeda covered her mouth as a sob threatened to escape, shoulders curling inward. The walls were crumbling and she hated that the men around her would see it, would see how broken her heart truly was over the loss of the queen. Though, with how focused they had been on sorting out the succession, something only the king should truly have a say in, they all seemed to neglect just how deeply this had affected those closest to the royal family. Jayse stood like a marble statue behind her, eyes fixed on the wall behind Otto, though his vision blurred behind unshed tears.

The king took a ragged breath. “I will not sit here and suffer crows that come to feast on their corpses!”

With that, a sob ripped from Jaeda’s throat before she could stop it. A flurry of movement and Jayse stepping back a pace was all that was seen before she was halfway out of the room, hands bunched into her skirts tight enough to turn her knuckles white. It caused even Viserys to pause a moment before he followed suit.

It took all of their will and strength to carry them into the heart of the godswood before Jae truly let sorrow overtake them. The smooth white bark of the weirwood was almost comforting as they kneeled before the tree, pressing both palms and their forehead against it. They did not often ask for comfort from gods, it had never made a difference when a dreamer had foretold the end of their first home. The old gods had not cared then and they no doubt cared less now that the new gods of the Seven had filtered into the Targaryen house. Still…perhaps if any gods would listen, they would listen at the silent, watching weirwood.

Jae simply sat there, crying, uncaring how much time would pass before they stood. Part of them wished the tree would swallow them into itself. They had lived such a long time. The rest of eternity within the heart of a tree sounded peaceful.

A smaller, cool hand covered their right hand and their body flinched before they could brace themselves. Rhaenyra gave a watery, shaking smile when Jae looked at her, kneeling beside her father’s advisor - her friend.

Jaeda swallowed back another sob as she opened her arm to the princess, allowing her into an embrace as they sat before the tree. She could feel how the young girl’s body shook in her arms, falling into the comfort of someone who would finally allow her to mourn what she had lost.

The fire beneath the block of ice sparked to life.

“Gevie riña,” she whispered against Rhaenyra’s hair, cradling the girl close to her. “Nyke kivio naejot mīsagon ao.”

“Nyke gīmigon kesā, Jaeda,” the girl’s voice was muffled but soft.

Alicent found them like that much later, guilt growing in her chest at the sight of her friend beneath the weirwood. Her hands were still shaking, skin picked thin around her nails, and she hated the feeling of her dress so tight against her arms and sides, she felt as if one look at her would tell them where she had been sent to by her father. However, Rhaenyra instantly opened her own arms from her place against Jaeda, welcoming her companion into the embrace with them. She was all but too happy to comply. With Alicent’s head against Rhaenyra’s shoulder and Jaeda tracing a seam on the back of the princess’s dress, it felt like the world could be right again, eventually.

Which, of course, the world took as a challenge.

The heavy doors shut behind Daemon as he walked into the throne room to see his brother on the throne, sword in hand, and Jae standing before the stairs. An instinctual part of his mind immediately reared its head, like a stag catching wind of a predator before it struck. The lack of kingsguard should have been enough of a warning; a lack of both twins being there should have been another.

The room was dimly lit, the braziers in the corners only casting shadows across the carpet of swords around the throne. The fire still glinted off the gold of Jae’s eyes, locked on him as he moved forward, further into the room.

“You cut the image of the conqueror, brother.”

Jae didn’t move, didn’t speak, and Viserys tilted his head back to stare down his nose at his brother.

“Did you say it?”

Daemon glanced at Jae, keeping his expression light and open. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Perhaps the drink addles your mind,” finally, they spoke, spitting the words through their teeth.

“‘They Heir for a Day’. Did you say it?” The king asked again, grip on the hilt of his sword tightening to white his knuckles.

He had the decency to drop his eyes to gaze at the floor, almost mimicking how a child may look when scolded by a parent. There was silence, such a long stretch of silence before he sighed softly to himself and met the eyes of his brother again.

“We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace.”

Jae’s lip curled into a snarl.

“My family has just been destroyed,” Viserys’ voice cracked, betraying the emotion that had threatened to spill over at every waking moment. “But instead of being at my side, or Rhaenyra’s, or Jae’s, you chose to celebrate your own rise! Laughing with your whores and your lickspittles!”

The king’s voice was a roar, mirroring a dragon’s as he nearly rose from the chair to shout down at the rogue prince. The dragon at the foot of the throne rose as well, golden eyes now reflecting how thin their pupils were.

Daemon balked at the sight.

“We are your only allies, Daemon, yet you exhaust our resources each time we defend you! Do you know how the council talks of you when your seat stands empty?”

“Defend me? All you have done is try to send me away!” Pain was evident in his voice, expression breaking into one of desperation. “To the Vale, to the City Watch! Anything to keep me from your side, Viserys-”

“You will address me as ‘Your Grace’ until I say otherwise,” Viserys hissed.

His brother swallowed hard, silently bowing his head at the rebuke. “Ten years, Your Grace, you have been king and not once have you asked me to be your Hand.”

“That would require you to attend the council meetings,” Jae nearly scoffed, arms crossed over their abdomen. “Something you lack the patience for.”

Daemon’s eyes reflected a hurt that nearly surprised them if they hadn’t already seen him begin to crack. “I am your brother, I would protect you and help council you, better than Otto Hightower ever could!”

“We are not here to discuss Otto-”

“He is an unwavering and loyal Hand-”

“He is a cunt! He is a second son who stands to inherit nothing he does not seize for himself and he preys upon you to get what he wants like all of the leeches on your council!”

Viserys sighed, watching his younger brother with ever-growing sorrow. Even Jae’s anger had abated, seeing the grown man in front of them nearly revert back to the same young man who had lost his parents, lost his uncle, lost his grandsire. His pain mirrored Viserys’, it mirrored Rhaenyra’s, but there was anger there that prevented anyone from seeing how deeply it ran. Sorrow and grief were tattooed into the very bones that created a Targaryen, they decided, turning to look up at the king.

“I have decided to name a new heir.”

Daemon blinked, vision blurring. “I am your heir.”

“Not anymore.”

Another slivering crack in the stone walls.

“Jae has advised me to set aside your marriage to Lady Rhea for her sake as much as yours,” he continued, coldly, simply staring at the prince. “However, you are to travel to Runestone to deliver that order. After, you are free to return to drowning in your cups as you mourn in your own way, but I would advise you to rethink your actions deeply and sincerely. Rhaenyra still looks up to you and the news of your celebrations destroyed what little light she had left after her mother…”

The prince merely gave a jilted nod, looking to Jae briefly for any notion of their thoughts. Their eyes were back to staring at him, though their pupils had returned from the draconic slits they’d been, blown wide in the dim lighting.

“We will revisit your position on the council at a later date,” they said, quietly, the tension in the room slowly fading. “Do as your king commands.”

Daemon set his jaw, tightly, as if he was restraining from setting off another outburst. Instead, he nodded again, shoulders dropping under an invisible weight.

“At once, Your Grace.”

It was only after he had passed through the doors again that Viserys fell back into the throne, a shaking, heavy breath leaving him as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. It felt as if everything around him had finally finished falling, dust no longer stealing the air from his lungs. All he wished for was just a moment of peace.

“Jae,” his voice broke the heavy silence, heavy with the responsibilities of the crown, “send a kingsguard to bring Rhaenyra to Balerion’s skull.”

“Your Grace?”

“I have made my decision, as I should have done years ago. She will be the first to know. I am done with wasting time.”

It was months later that Jaeda stood with the crowd of lords and ladies, princes and princesses, as each took their turn to swear fealty to the new heir to the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra, dressed in the finest gown and cloak with embroidery fine enough that she was certain Lord Beesbury had complained about the coffers endlessly behind closed doors, stood tall and stoic before the sea of people. She was the image of a perfect heir, taking in the sight of each house bending the knee to her before the throne, giving acknowledgment to each with just a look. Jae felt their heart swell with pride, watching as a small smile pulled at the corners of the king’s lips. The first smile they had seen in a long time.

Rhaenyra turned to bow her head toward her father as he stood, Blackfyre in hand. All eyes fell to him, the entire room a sight for history books to come.

“I, Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, king of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.”

The princess couldn’t help but smile at her father before the crowd bowed their heads again.

The succession was set, finally and solidly, with Rhaenyra.

#a rewritten history of fire and blood #jae briarwood #my writing #house of the dragon fic #i am trying to imply rhaenyra/alicent soooooo badly please #no actual ships yet but we'll get there

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