#stop thinking true targaryens only have silver hair and purple eyes

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

Could you write about Harwin strong being married to Rhaenyra's sister and they are in Drifmark and is their son who attacked Aemond to protect his little brother so when they are asking about what happens they stand up for him and at the end is the reader who stops Alicent from attacking her son?

(Gif not mine but oh, be still my beating heart)

Title: Strong Bonds

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Harwin Strong x Female!Targaryen Reader

Word Count: 7,610

Warnings: Grief, incest, blood, violence, childbirth, etc.

A/N: FINALLY A HARWIN STRONG REQUEST! For context, Y/n will be a year younger than Rhaenyra, and speaking of which, Rhaenyra will still be married to Laenor and their sons are all legitimate with mixed skin, silver hair, and purple eyes.

(I do not consent to my works being reposted/copied)

"Are you sure it's safe for you to be traveling at this extent?"

Y/n peered up from absentmindedly playing with her sleeping son's dark hair, her own silver locks falling over her eyes as she does so. The carriage rocks as it slowly made its way down a dirt road outside, swaying the Targaryen princess and her family in a calming moment of their chaotic lives. The son whose head rested in her lap, Osmund, stirred when the carriage hit a bump in the road but otherwise kept on dreaming. Y/n returned to petting his hair to keep him that way.

Her husband, Harwin Strong, closely watches her from across the carriage, their youngest son, Baelor, also slept but preferred his father's strong arms over his mother's small lap. No one could blame the five-year-old child since Princess Y/n's lap had shrunk over the months due to her ever-growing stomach, now barely giving ten-year-old Osmund room to sleep in peace.

She raises a sharp eyebrow at her husband, "Would you rather have me fly Qyraxes to Driftmark?"

"Gods, woman, no of course not," Harwin shakes his head, but couldn't help the small grin he bore, "You act like I want to be a widower. What I meant to say was that we didn't have to leave if it would be safer for you."

"This is my cousin's funeral, my love," Y/n spoke sadly, staring out the window while thinking of Laena, "Everyone is going to be there and we, alongside the rest of my father's family, are expected to be there. Besides... I have not seen or heard from Rhaenyra since she left for Dragonstone. I need to see her again."

"Your sister could easily fly back to King's Landing to see you."

A scowl forms on the princess' beautiful face, "Not when there are leeches always lurking about in the Red Keep."

She doesn't speak plainly, but the message was clear. Y/n always prided herself in acting similar to her uncle, Daemon, over her father, Viserys. Much like Daemon, Y/n always saw Otto Hightower as a leech, sucking the blood from the King's back. His daughter is no different. Queen Alicent is a thorn in Y/n's side. Like repeating history, the two women exchange poisoned words with each other, much like how Otto and Daemon once did. It brought Y/n comfort to learn that Lord Otto was dismissed and sent back to Oldtown, with her good father, Lord Lyonel, taking his place as the new Hand of the King, but the Queen still remained. Y/n may not have been friends with Alicent like Rhaenyra once was, but their personalities clashed and therefore formed a rivalry that matched the feud between Alicent and Rhaenyra.

Alicent's most recent jab was one spoken under her breath, but for the entire Small Council to hear. She had made a comment that only true Targaryens have silver hair, and although she never spoke plainly, everyone knew she was singling out Y/n and Harwin's black-haired children. Lord Lyonel Strong looked appalled and disgusted in defense of his son, and Viserys wanted to come to his youngest daughter's defense, but Y/n had always been able to hold her own. Her sharp tongue shuts the accusation down quickly when she pointed out that Alicent's sons and daughter must not be true Targaryens then since they're half Hightower and were just lucky enough to bear silver hair.

Y/n didn't like King's Landing any more than Rhaenyra because of obvious reasons, but unlike Rhaenyra, the younger sister didn't really have a choice in leaving when both she and her husband were part of her father's court. As much as Y/n would love to raise her children alongside her sister in Dragonstone, Rhaenyra had been named the princess of said keep and therefore she had every right to live there. Y/n, being the younger daughter of Viserys and Aemma, had no such claim and unfortunately had no rights apart from those she earned when marrying her now husband.

Not to say she was complaining, however, since she loved Harwin with a burning passion and was happy to bear his sons and heirs of Harrenhal. Y/n had never been happier, and made peace with the fact that she would never have claims to anything like Rhaenyra did as long as she wasn't Viserys' heir. Y/n was content in just being a Targaryen princess, a dragon rider, a wife, and most proudly a mother. Nothing more.

Harwin relents after a fashion of heavy, grieving silence, adjusting his younger boy's head to rest more comfortably on his chest, "Did the maesters say you'll be safe to travel?"

"... No," she flashed a shy grin as if she had been caught stealing sweets, "But when has that ever stopped me?"

Harwin huffs out a small, exhausted laugh, a fond tone in his voice, "Have you noticed how much I've aged since I married the trickster that you are?"

"I've never tricked you into anything," Y/n tilts her head and smiles fondly back at him, "If anything, you're the one who's been tricking me. Only you could persuade me from causing a little chaos."

"Then I should have tried making my case back at King's Landing before we even packed for Driftmark."

"I'm pregnant, my love, not dying," Y/n decides to change the subject upon looking out the window and seeing Driftmark's rooftops in the distance, "I hope Daemon makes an appearance. He tends to act more of a stranger than usual when grieving."

~~~~~~~~~

Daemon is not there to greet his family when they arrive, but Rhaenyra is, along with her husband, Laenor, and their children, Jacaerys and Lucerys.

The royal family and their court all spill out of their line of carriages, King Viserys being the first to greet his oldest daughter with a hug and a kiss before greeting Laenor with his condolences. Alicent and her children dutifully say their grievances, but remain stiff during the whole exchange. Harwin emerges from his carriage, helping his sons out and then his heavily pregnant wife. Y/n's feet barely touched the ground before Rhaenyra embraced her.

"You look stunning," the older sister comments while holding Y/n's face in her hands, "Have the maesters determined the gender of the child?"

"They think it's a girl," Y/n beamed, glancing over at her husband, "And I think he is far more excited than I."

"Marvelous. You must tell me what names you have planned out over tea," Rhaenyra links her arm with Y/n as they began to walk.

"How is Joffrey?"

"Restless, I'm afraid. I left him at home with the wet nurse so that I may gain some sleep out of all of this. You know, if you're truly having a daughter, perhaps we might get to wed our children after all."

"Wouldn't that be lovely? We would get to spend our elder years together, watching our children and grandchildren rule all of the strong houses of the Seven Kingdoms. And let's not forget the dragons they would all ride."

The beautiful vision fades when the Lord and Lady of Driftmark finally come out to greet their guests. Rhaena and Baela are with them and are momentarily distracted from their grief in exchange for fawning over Y/n's rounded belly. Y/n gladly answered their questions if it meant they could briefly forget about their mother's passing. She also secretly enjoyed the girls' company, excited with the idea of possibly having her own girl soon. Jace and Luke trail behind them, but try to act as though they were not interested. Y/n included her nephews in the conversation, wanting them to bond with Laena's daughters. They were family after all, and family shouldn't feel like strangers to one another.

The funeral itself is brought down to the cliffsides where Laena's coffin is to be thrown into the sea. Vaemond Velaryon said a wonderful eulogy about his family's house and finally, the heavy coffin was thrown from the cliffs' edge, sinking to the very bottom of the deep. No one ever said a word until they walked back up to the keep in order to help themselves to wine and food. Plenty of people took this time to give their condolences to the family of the dead, and Corlys and Rhaenys bravely took in their guests despite mourning for the loss of their child. Laenor mysteriously vanishes, but no one says a word, not even when Corlys angrily sent Ser Qarl Correy to fetch him. Everyone was tight-lipped, the tension filling the air with the threat to break. Who were meant to be family members barely knew what to do with each other.

Speaking of, Y/n finally spotted Daemon lingering on the outskirts of the growing crowd and briefly left the children with Harwin and Rhaenyra so that she may give her condolences, "Uncle. My sincerest apologies for you and your daughters."

Daemon accepts the kiss on his cheek but keeps his hands folded in front of him, leaning against the stone balcony overlooking the sea. His eyes travel over his niece's face before traveling down to her swollen belly, smiling slightly as he spoke in Valyrian, "Not as sorry as I am for you to make such a harrowing journey in your predicament. My own wife was dying from childbirth before she took matters into her own hands. One could only wonder if the difficult labor was the consequence of our family traveling so often."

"You can't blame yourself for what's happened," Y/n rests a hand on her uncle's shoulder, reverting to her mother tongue, "Women die of childbirth every day, our mothers were no exception. Laena was strong and determined to die a dragonrider's death, which she succeeded."

Daemon briefly looks down and then looks off to the side. Y/n follows his gaze and spots her father across the yard, eyeing the two of them before turning away and speaking with Corlys Velaryon. Lyonel Strong is standing beside the King, with young Baelor weaving between his two grandfathers, unbothered. Y/n looks back at her uncle and whispers in his ear in the common tongue, "Speak with him. He misses you."

She pulls away and gives Daemon his space, carefully hobbling over to her usual social circles. Harwin has a chair waiting for her as their friends and family are gathered around it. Harwin holds Y/n's hand to steady her as she sits, gratefully taking a drink from a servant girl. Osmund approached his mother once she was settled and she immediately grabs his hand with an encouraging smile.

"Why don't you go and see to your cousins, hm?" Y/n gently squeezed her son's smaller hand, her thumb tracing shapes in his skin, "They've lost their mother. They could use a kind word."

Osmund looked as though he was ready to pout and whine until he glanced up at his father. One stern look from Harwin and the little lord sighs and nods obediently, leaning over and kissing his mother's cheek before walking away to find Rhaena and Baela.

Rhaenyra watches her nephew walk off, a cup of wine in her hands, "Is he ill-tempered?"

"Not usually. It's been a long journey to Driftmark and he was sad he couldn't fly here. It's also the first time he's ever experienced loss. I don't think he knows how to properly react yet," Y/n absently rubs her stomach, playfully smiling up at her husband, "He does get his might from his father though."

"As one could expect from the son of Ser Breakbones," Rhaenyra chimes in with amusement as she now watches her sister's movements, "So for names, have you decided on any?"

"A few," Harwin answered from his stance behind his wife's chair, "If the maesters were mistaken and it is a boy, we want to name him Viserys," Rhaenyra smiles as he continued, "If it's a girl... we're still deciding on just one."

"We've been going back and forth," Y/n sighs, exhausted by the memory alone, "Alysanne, Alyssa, Nymeria, Visenya and... and Aemma."

Rhaenyra pauses mid-sip, slowly pulling the goblet away from her lips when she found she couldn't swallow, eyes blinking rapidly as she wordlessly gripped Y/n's shoulder. Neither sister said a word, but they understood each other all the same. Rhaenyra pardons herself, deciding she needed fresh air away from the crowds. Once she caught sight of Daemon leaving the gathering, she makes up her mind and sends her sons to bed before she, too, disappeared from the public eye.

Y/n watched her sister leave with her uncle and chose to ignore it, smiling and acknowledging the King when he slowly made his way to her after bidding the Queen goodnight.

"My child," Viserys took his daughter's hand and kissed it, "I'm retiring for the night. Do try and get some rest before the return journey."

"Yes, Father. If it is my king's wish."

Viserys smiles and nods to Harwin before exiting. Eventually, Princess Rhaenys walks up to the couple after consoling her granddaughters, and Harwin offers her a seat beside Y/n. Rhaenys accepts and leans close to her distant cousin while overlooking the crowd.

"I had hoped for your baby to be born by the time this gathering happened," the elder woman admits, "I had hoped new life would've outshined the loss of an older one."

"Laena was still young," Y/n held onto Rhaenys' arm, "And strong-willed. I would rather have people remember her life today instead of celebrating the birth of my child. Laena deserves that. I'm so... I'm so sorry, Princess Rhaenys."

Rhaenys only nods, unable to allow herself tears in a public setting, keeping her eyes fixed on Y/n's hand on her arm for a focus point, "No parent should outlive their child."

"And yet, we all wish for our mothers to be with us for the rest of our lives," Y/n looks off, heart-clenching, "I wish my mother got to grow old. I wish she got to meet her grandchildren and die fat and happy... But I wouldn't wish that for myself if it meant your granddaughters got to have their mother back. I wouldn't wish for Rhaena and Baela to go through the same loss I went through when I was their age. I wouldn't wish that for my sons or my nephews."

Rhaenys stands, feeling the emotions threatening to spill from her eyes and she couldn't bear to cause a scene. She squeezes Y/n's shoulder, nodding in thanks when the words couldn't come out, and then she left. A few hours pass and then both Harwin and Y/n round up their boys and bring them to their beds. Once their children are asleep, the parents turn in for the night as well, hearts heavy and exhausted.

Harwin had been quiet during most of the interactions at the gathering, but his thoughts were loud in his actions. While helping his wife undress, he couldn't help but kiss her bare shoulder and let his hands linger around her stomach, storms brewing in his eyes, "Years ago, I couldn't understand why your father was so... broken after the loss of your mother and brother. But now... as your husband and father to our boys... I can't even fathom what I would do if that were you in your mother's place."

Y/n quietly hushes Harwin as she turned to face him, letting her fingers graze over his beard, "It happens to women all the time, my love. It cannot be helped. You can't fight your way out of that. My mother used to say that a woman's battlefield is the birthing bed, and unfortunately, it's not a battle you can fight for me."

Harwin nods despite the look of defeat in his eyes. He had always been a man of action, able to protect those he loves with his might. However, Ser Breakbones always felt helpless whenever his wife goes through pregnancy. He felt useless and the only thing he could do was continue to be a husband and father, but not a soldier. Up until now, his family didn't need him to be a soldier.

The two of them go to bed, held in each others' arms as the moon moves slowly overhead and commanding the unforgivable waves to crash against the rocky cliffs outside the keep. It was soothing to listen to as sleep overtook the tired pair, more soothing than the sounds of King's Landing at night. It was easy to drift into dreams when a beautiful place such as Driftmark was so peaceful and quiet.

That is until a frantic knock is heard pounding on their bedroom door hours later, rudely awakening Harwin and Y/n from their slumber. Harwin crawls out of bed and walks to the door, "Who is it?"

"Harrold Westerling, Ser Harwin."

Y/n sits up in bed, alarmed as both she and Harwin exchange a worried expression. Harwin helps her stand up and throw a dark red robe over her nightgown before they beckon the Commander of the Kingsguard inside. The old man throws the heavy door open, straightening his posture and bowing in Y/n's presence as she addressed him.

"Ser Harrold, what seems to be the matter?"

"Forgive me for the late hour, Princess," Harrold appeared out of breath and possibly even horrified, further worrying the Strongs, "But there has been an accident and your sons are waiting for you in the Great Hall."

Neither of them questions it, both parents racing out of the room with Ser Harrold closely following them. They weave through the hallways of the dark keep, barely seeing a soul awake until they burst into the doors leading into the Great Hall.

Most of the souls that were once sleeping under the roof of the keep were all gathered in this one room, the lights of torches and the blazing fireplaces dancing over everyone's grave faces. Y/n first spots silver hair and finds Rhaenyra and Daemon, standing together off to the side and holding onto Osmund and Baelor. Both Y/n and Harwin run to their sons and gather the boys in their arms, worry filling their voices as they question why both of them had blood on their little faces.

"Ozzy, what happened? Are you alright?"

"Are you hurt? Let me see it, son."

"Why is your nose bleeding?"

"Tell us what happened, Bae."

Poor little Baelor was crying too hard to get a word out, clinging onto his mother's skirts like a lifeline even as his father was kneeling beside him and examining the bloodied and bruised knuckles on his tiny left hand. Osmund looked angry and defiant, a cut cracked over the bridge of his nose and bleeding along with his flaring nostrils as his mother's hands trail over his injured face. Finally looking around at the rest of the crowd, Y/n noticed Viserys and Alicent on the other side of the room, the Queen kneeling beside the maester as he tended to Young Aemond, the prince sitting beside the fireplace with half of his face stitched up. Rhaena and Baela were also present and bleeding from their faces, hugging either side of their Grandmother Rhaenys' waist and Corlys stands protectively in front of them. A few faces were missing from this picture, such as Laenor and his sons, but Rhaenyra doesn't acknowledge this as she stands close to her sister and answers her questions.

"The children were fighting each other. A knife was drawn--"

"Your son took my son's eye!" Alicent proclaimed hysterically, unshed tears in her manic eyes as she stood up and stepped toward the center of the room.

Y/n's eyes widen and looked down at her oldest child, "Ozzy?"

"Aemond stole and claimed Vhagar," Osmund explained, "He said horrible things about Aunt Laena when we all confronted him."

"She attacked me!" Aemond snarled as he pointed at Baela, thus starting a chain of children arguing over each other.

"He attacked Baela!"

"You insulted our mother!"

"He broke Ozzy's nose!"

"He stole my dragon!"

"He could've killed me!"

"It should be my son telling the tale!" Alicent roared.

"He was only defending himself!"

"He could've killed Baelor!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"Silence!" Viserys demanded, slamming his cane down against the cobblestone floor, "I am your king and I will have the truth of what happened! Who drew the blade?!"

"It was mine," Osmund admits, hanging his head when all eyes turned to him, "I drew it when I thought Aemond was going to kill Bae."

"He wouldn't stop hitting me," Baelor whimpered into his mother's swollen belly, thus shattering Y/n's heart and angering Harwin's as he stood, placing himself between the royal family and his own with a stern glare.

"Let me see the knife."

Ser Harrold brought the weapon forward as evidence but wasn't stupid enough to just hand it over to Harwin. Ser Breakbones noticed the knife and nodded, looking back at Princess Y/n, "It's the one I gave him."

"But Osmund didn't cut Aemond!" Baela yelled to her cousin's defense, "It was--"

Her voice dies once she noticed something in Osmund's eyes and Rhaena elbowed her. Y/n caught this exchange and gently pinched her older boy's chin, forcing him to look up at her.

"Osmund Strong. Did you or did you not attack Prince Aemond with a knife?"

Osmund's throat bobbed nervously, eyes trying to focus on anything other than his mother's gaze. Y/n found this bizarre, considering that he had been honest with her until now. Then, realization began to dawn on the princess as she slowly looked down onto a different child, not Osmund. All eyes follow her gaze until they all land on Little Baelor. Y/n's other hand ran through her baby boy's hair.

"Bae... was it you?"

Baelor continued to sob, shaking from head to toe, "Aemond grabbed a rock! He was gonna hurt Ozzy!"

"I lost the knife," Osmund finally admitted, trying to keep everyone's attention away from his little brother, "And I got pushed to the ground, but it wasn't Baelor's fault! He took the knife to protect me!"

Alicent scowled in disgust, "And so you cut Aemond's face--"

"Your son was hitting my baby boy!" Y/n screamed back, beyond all of the Queen's slander.

"Seven Hells, Your Grace, he's only five years old!" Harwin came to his family's defense.

"And yet he's capable of spilling my son's blood!"

"Is this what you condone, my Queen?" Y/n's voice drops, a clear tone of challenge, "To have your son, a prince, attack little girls when they defend their mother's name?"

"Your sons attacked mine!"

"To defend their cousins," Y/n reminds her and the rest of those in the room, "Surely you wouldn't raise your son to believe he could do whatever he wanted just because he's royalty. Surely, the good Queen herself wouldn't teach her children to mistreat women or smash a little boy's head in with a rock."

Alicent is momentarily struck by the mockery, quickly recovering with a small scoff, her top lip twitching, "Are you questioning how I parent my children, Princess?"

"I am not questioning your parenting, Your Grace. I'm denying its existence."

Daemon grins proudly at his niece as the room is filled with gasps of dismay, clearly being the only one amused by Y/n's retort. Alicent's face crumbled as though someone had just smacked her in the face. With the tension straining, Harwin stood closer to his wife and children, his arm hovering over Y/n's back as Viserys clicked his cane upon the floor.

"Enough, Y/n. Trading insults won't change what happened. Aemond, tell me the truth, boy," the King slowly limps over to the bloodied prince, "Did you hit Lady Baela?"

Aemond looked as though he had been caught red-handed, pale, and stubborn. Slowly, he grits out his answer, "Yes. After she hit me."

"Liar!"

"Silence!" Viserys roared before glaring back down at his son, "Aemond, did you grab a rock?"

"To defend myself!"

"I was already on the ground, you idiot!" Osmund snapped, spitting out blood and saliva.

"Osmund!" Y/n reprimands her son, tightly holding his shoulder as Harwin reverts his gaze onto the boy.

"Hold your tongue, son."

"But no one was attacking him by then! We were all on the ground!"

"It's true!"

"Silence!" Viserys slammed his cane again.

"This was clearly just an act of self-defense, Your Grace," Y/n bravely continued her defense of her children, against her father's order.

"All of this... over an insult," Alicent huffs out a breath of disbelief with her eyes rimmed with tears, "My son has lost an eye."

Viserys, distressed, tired, and angry, nearly threw his arms around like a child having a tantrum, "This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!"

The whole room froze, shocked with disbelief. Alicent appeared appalled as her husband slowly limped past her towards the door. Y/n witnessed something snap within the Hightower woman as she spoke, "That is insufficient."

Viserys slowly turns around to face her as the Queen continued, "Aemond has been damaged, permanently, my King. 'Good will' cannot make him whole."

"I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye."

"No, because it's been taken."

"What would you have me do?"

"There is a debt to be paid," the sentence alone sent a chill down Y/n's back, eyes dancing between her father and stepmother. Viserys stared at his wife in disbelief as the Queen strongly proclaimed, "I shall have one of her son's eyes in return."

Murmurs and gasps of horror filled the room; Harwin and Y/n's grip on their sons tighten protectively. Viserys tried to calm Alicent, wanting to defuse the situation, "My dear wife--"

"He is your son, Viserys," Alicent cried, the tears finally spilling, "Your blood."

"Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment."

Silence fell again and Viserys thought it was over. He turns to leave just as his wife spoke again, her tear-stained face straightening up as her eyes turn to another man in the room, "If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston... bring me the eye of Baelor Strong."

Criston Cole's eyes scan the room as Baelor begins to step back away from the crowd and from his parents, distraught and terrified as he spoke in his small, innocent voice, "Mother!"

"Alicent..." Viserys warned.

"He can choose which eye to keep. A privilege he did not grant my son!" Alicent snapped back while glaring down at the offending family.

"You will do no such thing." Y/n sternly stated, willing her voice not to shake in fear, but to be as powerful as the Queen's own demand.

"Stay your hand!" Viserys snaps to Ser Criston, to which Alicent pushes back.

"No, you are sworn to me!"

Ser Criston feels the eyes of Ser Harrold on him and finds his words, avoiding Alicent's gaze, "As your protector, my Queen."

Alicent reared back in betrayal, barely flinching as Viserys stepped up to her in challenge, "Alicent. This matter... is finished. Do you understand?"

She scans his face, unable to form a reply as he spins around and tries to meet the gaze of everyone else in the room, "And let it be known! No more fighting shall be done within the blood of my own family."

Y/n relaxed, her voice dropping its firm hold as she gently addressed the King, "Thank you, Father."

Both she and Harwin turn back to their sons, the father beckoning the boys to follow him as he tried leading his family away. The boys go to follow Harwin, still shaking in fear, while Y/n takes her time to follow, her hand gingerly caressing her stomach.

Viserys takes one more look at Alicent before turning back towards the door. He doesn't feel alarmed at the sound of her feet quickly following him, but it's not until he felt the empty space of his Valyrian dagger at his belt did his heart suddenly sink to his stomach.

Ser Harrold is the first to react, stepping towards the King, "Your Grace-!"

"Alicent!" Viserys spins back around, watching his wife's auburn hair disappear into the crowd with his dagger in hand.

Harrold sprints forward, shouting commands to his guards without turning back, "Stay with the King!"

"Hold your approach!" Criston Cole demands against his commander's wishes.

Others began to scream and shout a warning to others, pulling away and giving Alicent a wide berth with her newly acquired weapon. Y/n felt the hairs on the back of her neck before she heard the shouts of the Kingsguard along with her father's voice shouting Alicent's name. Spinning around, Y/n is met with a vengeful queen, Alicent screaming as she brought the raised dagger down on the princess.

Harwin spun around as the chaos began to rise, eyes widening as he immediately takes a large step forward, "Y/n, LOOK OUT!"

Y/n's arm rises and she's able to catch the arm Alicent held the blade in, trying to push the other woman away but they had both taken hold of each other's arms, pushing and pulling against each other, grunting under the weight of the force.

Harwin jolts forward in order to interfere, heart racing in fear and rage. Lord Lyonel steps in front of his son, however, forcing Harwin back just as the blade came down and Y/n had caught it, "No, son! Do not incriminate yourself!"

"Y/n!" Harwin yelled, struggling against his father. He was definitely strong enough to push Lyonel away, easily, hadn't two Kingsguard stepped forward and held onto Ser Breakbones.

It was pure chaos. Kingsguard held swords out to those who dared try to come to Y/n's aid, conflicted with their duties but wanting to protect their Queen if it meant letting her pursue the princess. Ser Harrold was easily just as conflicted, not knowing who he should order his men to protect as he tried pushing through the crowd. He makes it to the two women, but with his mind not yet made up, he instead circles them and pushes lords, ladies, and other soldiers back if they tried to step forward.

Harrold sees someone rushing forward and holds his arm out to them, "Do not, Ser Criston!"

"Alicent!" Viserys roared, but couldn't move much as he stumbled with his cane.

Baelor screams in terror as everyone who formed a circle around his mother and Alicent pushed him back as they grant the women space. Harrold tried yelling over the chaos as others also screamed in fear and protest, all trying to outscream the other.

"Do not, Ser Criston!"

Criston Cole, fierce and determined, tries getting into the circle, perhaps wanting to perform his duty and protect his queen. He pushes people away to get to Alicent and Y/n, but Daemon suddenly steps forward and is able to stop the knight in his tracks, keeping him in place as the two men glared at one another until two other Kingsguard took Criston by the arms.

"Alicent!"

"No!" Harwin shouts, desperately struggling against his bonds and giving the Kingsguard a workout in restraining him.

Rhaenys keeps her granddaughters behind her while she made a grab for Osmund and Baelor, pulling the boys to her body while Corlys shields them all behind him. Rhaenyra is left open and tries to make it to her sister, but Ser Harrold grabs her gently and keeps her back while simultaneously trying to get a hold of his men, "Stay your hand, Cole!"

Rhaenyra struggles against Ser Harrold's hold on her, shouting over at the Queen, "You've gone too far, Alicent!"

"I?" Alicent questions in distress, still fighting for control against Y/n while speaking between the two sisters, distraught and unhinged, "What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law! While you and your sister flout all to do as you please!"

"Alicent, let her go!" Viserys demanded from outside the circle.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?" Alicent's tears continued to fall down her face as her eyes search Y/n's while she screamed, "It's trampled under your pretty foot again!"

"Release the blade, Alicent," Rhaenyra demanded.

Alicent desperately tried to breathe, panting under Y/n's strength and her own despair, "And now you take my son's eye, and to even that, you feel entitled."

"Exhausting, wasn't it?" Y/n grunts, a jolt of pain running through her as she desperately tried to keep the point of the blade from her own eye, the flames of the fireplace dancing over the steel and her eyes, "Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness."

Her voice lowers, glare dead set on Alicent's face, "But now they see you as you are."

Alicent pushes all her body weight and any strength she had left into pulling her arm out of Y/n's hold, grunting in rage as she freed the blade and made a swipe at the princess. Shock settles the room, Alicent stepping away to observe her handiwork, only for her eyes to immediately widen once she finally settled on what she had done.

Y/n had taken several steps away, the pain not entirely making itself aware until she heard gasps from all around. Corlys had caught her by the shoulders to steady the princess, noticing the way she was unconsciously clutching her arm. Both of them look down at the offending arm, noticing the blood soaking through Y/n's dress sleeve and spilling through her fingers. The blood droplets splatter onto the floor as Viserys stands beside Alicent, watching in horror as his little girl bleeds because of a wound his own wife inflicted. In her shock, Alicent's grip on the dagger loosens and the blade clatters to the floor, paying no mind to it as all she could do was stare at the cut in Y/n's arm.

Harwin had paused in terror before finally realizing that Y/n was still standing and breathing, the blade now out of danger. Shock draining from him, he pushes the Kingsguard off of him, the two soldiers too stunned to react and let go of him. Harwin pushes past his father and rushes to his wife, gathering her up in his arms and holding onto her wrist so that Corlys could properly inspect the wound from the other side of her. Y/n doesn't speak or react to her husband's hold on her, too stunned to do anything but stand and stare, leaning into Harwin for support. Both Osmund and Baelor break away from Rhaenys and run to their parents, holding onto their mother for dear life. With Criston Cole backing off, Daemon slowly walks forward until he is at Harwin's side, his hand on one of Osmund's shoulders. Rhaenyra pushes Ser Harrold away from her and also joins the Strong family along with Daemon and Corlys, the princess stepping in front of her sister and inspecting Y/n's face and then her wound. Watching as the blood continued to flow, Rhaenyra's posture slowly straightened, the rage of a dragon and a protective older sister taking hold. Unable to calm her anger, Rhaenyra breathes harshly through her nose and spun back around, glaring daggers at Alicent.

"You dare attack my sister!"

The room felt cold, despite the fire blazing hot beside the opposing families. Alicent couldn't bear to look Rhaenyra in the eye, so the princess moves her gaze onto her father, "Your Grace, I beg of you to open your eyes. Your wife just attacked one of your daughters born of our mother and of true Valyrian blood. She meant to bring harm to the princess and her unborn child."

Viserys eyes move to watch Y/n and her family tend to her, sadness and longing evident on his face as Rhaenyra bravely continued, "I am your heir, Your Grace," Viserys looks back to his eldest child, "But should anything happen to me, Y/n would take my place. Therefore, this attack on my sister is a treasonous act against the crown and your bloodline! If you are the honorable king that holds those who commit treason accountable... then no exception can be made for anyone of any station if you value your family and inspiring your loyal subjects."

Y/n slowly begins to come back to her senses, feeling the warm blood run down her arm and another warm liquid run down her legs. She pales as she tried focusing on the sound of Viserys' voice, trying not to panic, "It was a foolish action, Rhaenyra. But even you, as a mother, understand what it's like to protect your children. Alicent was only trying to avenge hers."

"By what? Killing my sister?" Rhaenyra's voice broke, eyes slowly starting to mist, "Carving out the child she carries?" Viserys flinched at that, "What happened to Prince Aemond's eye was a tragic accident. But this... this was intentional. Queen Alicent intended on spilling blood."

Rhaenyra hears a small cry of a kitten behind her, but upon spinning back around, she only saw Y/n clutching her stomach and slowly bending over, soft cries escaping her lips, and the men surrounding her bent down to the princess in confusion. Rhaenyra's eyes widen when she noticed a clear puddle beneath Y/n's skirts slowly pooling against the cobblestone to mix with the blood. Rhaenyra rushes towards her sister, forgetting Viserys and Alicent.

"Y/n?" Harwin's stomach dropped as the wheels began to turn in his head, eyes widening in realization.

"Mother? What's wrong?" Osmund asked innocently, holding onto his little brother.

"She's started her labors," Rhaenyra explains while letting her sister grip her arms tightly, "I wouldn't be surprised if the harrowing events of tonight spurred this on."

Daemon stood back from the group aiding Y/n, keeping a hand on his sword and an eye on anyone who may take this opportunity to pursue his family in a time of vulnerability. He stands guard while Rhaenyra and Harwin frantically help Y/n stand straight again, holding onto both of her arms. They wordlessly follow Corlys as he leads them out of the room and down the hall, back to Y/n and Harwin's chambers. Rhaenys thought it best to take Rhaena and Baela to Jacaerys and Lucerys' quarters where they were no doubt still sleeping through all of this. The older princess beckons the Strong boys to follow so that she might keep an eye on all of the children, unconsciously -or perhaps not- leaving the royal children out. When neither of Y/n and Harwin's sons moves, Daemon takes them both by the shoulder and directs them to follow Rhaenys, the Rogue Prince becoming a protective shadow for the children as Rhaenys whisks them away.

Corlys opens the doors to Harwin and Y/n's chamber and the Targaryen princess is brought inside, the Sea Snake calling for the maester along with the midwives who had traveled with the royal company. Rhaenyra and Harwin help Y/n get comfortable as another wave of pain takes over, the hair near her face beginning to stick to her skin as she tried taking deep breaths, exhaling shakily.

"I will stay with her, Ser Harwin," Rhaenyra vowed while dabbing a cool cloth over her sister's forehead, "You may go."

"I'm staying here," Harwin states confidently.

Y/n quickly grabs his hand through a contraction, squeezing hard as she pushes out words, "No no no, you need to go stay with the boys. We can't trust anyone with our sons for as long as we stay here."

"Y/n--"

"Alicent just threatened to pluck out Baelor's eye and attacked me," Harwin tried not to look, but clearly there was still blood seeping out of the cut on Y/n's arm. Y/n appeared to ignore this, trying to catch her breath, "I don't want my sons left alone for even a second until we leave. Harwin, please, go protect the boys. There's nothing you can do for me now."

Dutifully, he nods, standing over his wife and lingering a kiss on the top of her head before slowly backing away and leaving the room, practically forcing himself not to turn back as he goes hunting down his children.

A maester arrives and first looks into fixing the cut on Y/n's arm while the midwives attend to prepping for the baby, hurrying around the room in search of fresh clean towels and Milk of the Poppy. As promised, Rhaenyra stayed by her sister's side during the whole process, letting Y/n squeeze her hand as hard as she liked, whispering soft words of encouragement, and dabbing her face with a cool cloth.

For obvious reasons, Y/n didn't get any sleep that night, but neither could anyone else in the keep. Everyone was restless, even those unaware of Y/n's labors. After the events of the night, everyone was high-strung and uneasy, and some were downright afraid. Alicent returned to her chambers, never wanting to see a soul until morning. Viserys went to bed, but lay awake at night, guilt and remorse running through his veins. The royal children retired to their respective rooms, but they all stayed awake and Aemond even sat at the window, watching Vhagar in the distance with a smirk.

Daemon, Harwin, and Rhaenys continued to stay and entertain the children, tending to their bleeding faces and trying to make them forget their worries. Jace and Luke, none the wiser for what had happened, gladly entertained the idea of everyone staying up and having fun in their rooms, putting a smile on everyone's faces as they ran around and played. Daemon even found himself teaching all the children small bits of High Valyrian, boys and girls alike sitting down all around him with Baelor and a book in his lap. Baela sat next to her father, her head on his shoulder, trying to rest her eyes after everything that had happened to her today, the only one too exhausted to repeat her father's Valyrian phrases unlike the rest of the children.

Rhaenys sat and quietly listened to these lessons with a cup of wine in hand, while Harwin stood at the door, sometimes pacing, sometimes entertaining the children with stories. But not once, the entire night, did he leave his post at the door, his hand always on his hilt.

The moon had not yet disappeared but the sky was starting to brighten into beautiful colors over the ocean when the door opens and Harwin held onto his sword a little tighter. Everyone looks up with bated breath as Rhaenyra walks in, standing tall and regal as if she had not been awake all night.

"Mother!" Luke gasped excitedly while standing up and running to the princess.

She practically beams as he tightly hugged her waist, her eyes darting up to Harwin with delight, "Y/n's delivered a girl, and they're both going to be fine."

The whole room relaxes with relief, the last of the tension finally leaving the air and leaving them all understandably exhausted. Harwin's whole stiff posture relaxes as one of his hands rises to rub his face. Rhaenyra silently laughs, joy still evident on her expression, "The maester asks for only you to go and see her. Your sons can visit their mother once she's rested."

Harwin nods and swiftly leaves the room, while Rhaenyra turns to the rest of the family, "The royal family leaves Driftmark today, but with your permission, Princess Rhaenys, I think it would be wise if the rest of us stayed a little longer for Y/n and everyone else to get some much-needed rest."

Rhaenys agrees just as Laenor pops into the room, disheveled and groggy. He looks at everyone's expression with a puzzled look, finally turning to Rhaenyra, "What have I missed?"

Harwin makes it back to his chambers in record speed, trying not to appear hasty but also anxious to see his wife and their new daughter. Entering the room, a few of the midwives were cleaning up and leaving, the maester long since gone. Y/n was asleep in their bed, flushed with her silver-blonde hair curling around her head due to sweat, but a small bundle was nestled beside her, and it was squirming. Harwin stepped closer to the bed, making note of Y/n's arm now wrapped in bandages before inspecting the bundle of blankets, his smile softening by what he found.

The infant was small, her little cleaned face the only thing peeking out of the blankets aside from her tiny fingers slowly curling around the fabric as she slept. Like her brothers, she sported small fuzzy tufts of dark hair and even darker eyelashes. The baby girl's lips were slightly open, letting out soft hums as she dreamed. Harwin's heart had never fallen in love faster than it did at this very moment, his finger lightly caressing her cheek and amazed by the softness of her skin.

"My love."

Harwin's eyes drift over to his once slumbering wife, noticing her eyes have opened and she was tiredly smiling up at him. Overcome by relief and happiness, Harwin laughs under his breath before leaning over and kissing Y/n on the lips, taking her breath away. Eventually, he pulled away, his thumb running over her cheekbone.

"Amazing as always, my dear," he whispers, unable to resist kissing her forehead, "How are you?"

Y/n slowly blinks, humming, "Exhausted."

"You can rest. I say you've more than earned it."

Her eyes peek open again, "The boys?"

"Safe and sound. They are in good hands. Rhaenyra will bring them to you once you've healed," his hand grazes over her bandaged arm, "What did the maester say about this?"

"It was Valyrian steel. So the cut was clean. A scar will remain, I'm afraid."

"I will take a new scar over your death any day," Harwin kissed his wife's forehead again before carefully lifting the small bundle into his arms, attempting not to wake the baby. His smile widens once he's positioned her properly and naturally begins to rock, "Well, she's finally here. Have you thought about the names we picked?"

"I did... but none of them seem right now that I've met her."

"Well, do you have another one in mind?"

Y/n thought long and hard, fingers drumming against the feather pillow. She thought about tonight's events, how it had all started with Vhagar being stolen and Laena's memory insulted. To have those two things happen along with the attack in the Great Hall, it felt as though people had tainted the memory of a young and fierce woman who was taken from this world too soon.

"Laena," Y/n strongly announced, "I like to believe she was here with us this past night. I like to believe she protected us and she deserves to be honored now that I've delivered my daughter in her family's home."

Harwin stared down at their daughter, playing with the name on his lips as he watched her sleep, "Laena Strong. I like it."

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Osmund was named after King Aegon I Targaryen’s Hand, Osmund Strong, who was assigned the Hand of the King after Orys Baratheon’s death. Baelor was named to reference Baelor the Blessed/Beloved, but it’s obviously not him since the original Baelor won’t be born until after the Dance of Dragons. Laena is obviously named after Vhagar’s true rider, aside from Visenya. I would have named Y/n’s daughter after Visenya, but spoiler alert, Daemon and Rhaenyra eventually have a daughter already named that. She’s probably the baby in Rhaenyra’s belly in Episode 8.

[justinalovee]

𝑩𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Reader x Rhaenyra Targaryen

Word Count: 1246

Warnings: Incest, oral sex

Summary: Daella Targaryen, wife of Aegon and lover of Rhaenyra, does her best to try to help her husband adjust to life in Dragonstone

A/N: All characters are 18+! minors DNI. Aegon is a good guy in this universe

Your heart hurts.

It hurt to know your husband was in physical and emotional pain.

It hurt to hear him cry.

“Hush now, sweet boy; I’m more than happy to be married to you. Our life might not look like how we imagined it, but I wouldn’t change it or change you for anything in the world.” You say it softly while rubbing circles onto his back, soothing him as if he were a child. “We will be happy here, I promise. It will just take some adjusting.”

You desperately hoped that was true.

Aegon rests his head on your shoulder. You kiss his crown gently before running your fingers through his thick, wavy hair, careful not to touch the sensitive welt on his cheek. When Aegon announced you were moving to Dragonstone, his mother slapped him hard across the face, not only hurting him but humiliating him as well.

Alicent had never hidden her disgust at your unconventional relationship with Rhaenyra. She thought it was disgusting, and when the king declared you, his niece, were to marry his firstborn son, Alicent did everything she could to stop the wedding, but the Queen never got her wish, and your betrothal went ahead.

As the only child of Orys Targaryen, the younger brother of King Viserys and Prince Daemon, you had been doted on your whole life, but unlike Rhaenyra, you didn’t have the pressure of ruling one day hanging over you. Your mother, Dana, died on the birthing bed while bringing you into the world, so you grew up extremely close to your father until he died during the battle of the stepstones. He died while riding dragon back; he’d suffered many blows, but an arrow through his neck killed him instantly. The only things that helped you get through such a loss were Rhaenyra and your dragon Meraxes; that was until Aegon came into your life.

“Daella?” He says this, gaining your attention. “You seemed so lost in thought; what were you thinking of?”

“My father. I think he would have liked you; you enjoy a lot of the same things.”

Aegon wipes his nose with the back of his hand, shuffling back slightly so he can look up at you through his swollen eyes. Unconvinced, he asks, “Like what?”

“He enjoyed watching plays, sword fighting, dragon riding, and learning about other cultures.” To most people, Aegon was lazy and uninterested in anything other than drinking, but that wasn’t true. He just preferred to learn about things on his own rather than being taught. You smile at him and say, “And you both love me.”

He kisses your cheek and says, “That I can agree with, although I imagine it’s different types of love.” Aegon’s hand travels to your lower abdomen, drawing soft circles over it with the pad of his fingers. “One day, when the time is right, I’ll put a baby in there, a child that will know nothing but unconditional love.”

—

“Rhaenyra?”

You watched as Rhaenyra silently rose from the chair she sat in, leaving you momentarily confused in a crouching position. Rhaenyra had felt neglected the past few weeks with you spending so much time with Aegon, helping him adjust to life in Dragonstone. This was the first time you’ve had time alone together since arriving. The moment you got her to yourself, you practically latched your mouth to her nipples, making sure to give equal attention to each of her soft breasts, leaving a trail of purple marks scattered behind.

Bending forward across the table, Rhaenyra pulls her gown up to her waist, revealing her bare ass and pussy while her breasts press against the cool wood underneath. You smirk, noticing she had no small cloth on, and you move so you are now behind her. You grip her thighs while waiting to get the heads up to start pleasing her, flicking her silver hair over her shoulder. Rhaenyra gives you a small smile, then nods.

Gently, you scrape your fingers over her cheeks down to her perfect cunny. You spread her pussy lips and plunge your tongue deep inside her, tasting the sweetness of her arousal, your thumb rubbing circles on her clit. Her soft moans of pleasure fill the room while you continue with the same actions as before, occasionally smacking her ass, leaving a faint red mark.

“Oh fuck,” Rhaenyra moans as her legs begin to tremble. “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”

You continue lapping at her folds, delighted as her fluids cover your mouth and drip down your chin. You shuffle back as Rhaenyra straightens her dress, dropping her gown back into place. Taking your hand, she helps you stand, tasting herself by kissing you on the lips.

“I have missed you, Daella. It's not just us being intimate,” she says, handing you a napkin to wipe your mouth with. “But just us spending time together. We haven’t been dragon riding together in some time.”

“I know,” you say, kissing the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Nyra; I promise I will make it.”

She smiled and said, “Don’t apologize; you are just looking out for your husband. How is Aegon settling in?”

“He’s… adjusting. He wants to start a family soon.”

“I’m delighted for you. Motherhood is a wonderful thing; the love you experience is unlike any other,” she says brightly. “If there’s anything I can do to help make my brother feel more comfortable, please let me know.”

“Of course, thank you.” You thought it would be a good idea for you and Aegon to do more things together to slowly bring him out of his shell. He attended most family meals but remained silent throughout them. He found it difficult to be around loud children and laughing adults when he was used to small talk or silence.

The flapping of wings outside caught your attention, alerting you that your uncle Daemon had returned. Rhaenyra’s face lit up with excitement. Her relationship with your uncle was special; the love they shared was something out of a storybook, however unconventional it may be. “I will leave you to your greetings and see you tomorrow.”

—

You rest your head on Aegon’s lap while he reads to you in high Valyrian from The Volcanic Doom of Valyria, “flames shot sir eglie se bane bona sesir zaldrizoti zaltan.”

You repeat his words. “Flames shot so high and hot that even dragons burned.”

Aegon places the book down on the sheets beside him, careful not to lose his place. The fingers in his free hand brush your hair behind your ear. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking.” You sit up to face him. “Why don’t we do something fun tomorrow? I was thinking we could go see a play during the day then visit the street or will at night if you like.”

Aegon raises his brows, surprised by your suggestion; he seemed to be torn thinking about it. It saddens you how nervous he appeared. “I would like that, but... I don’t want my mother to know we are there.”

“I understand your love.”

“We could wear disguises,” he suggests. “With our silver hair hidden, we’ll blend in.”

“What an excellent idea.”

“So…” A mischievous glint appears in his eyes. “If we go to the street of silk, does that mean I get to fuck you in a brothel?”

Nodding, you pull him in for a kiss. “I want you to fuck me in all the brothels.”

[ophelieverse]

Babes can you please write an imagine where instead of Aegon iii is Y/n,his older sister,Rhaenyra and Daemon daughter to sit on the throne in the end?Also it can be a Aemond x reader where he puts the crown on her and he’s more than happy to become the Queen consort?

❥Forever may she reign: “little dragon”

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

I loved this request,i’ve decided to come back after the holidays with this so i hope y’all like it!💕💕I will make a part 2,cause i got a little carried away,sorry.Reader is a Targaryen so she will have their features,also incest(uncle x niece)if this makes you uncomfortable do not read,age gap and some spoilers.Thanks for requesting and let me know what you think💕

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Some children come to the world to change it forever,to leave their name behind in history others are simply born with tragedy in their veins.Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin.Her mother always used to tell her:

«Every time a new Targaryen is born,the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.»but every child knows that the Targaryens have always danced too close to madness.

Y/n had learned that in life there were things that she was looking for and others that come to look for her.She didn't choose them and she wouldn't want them either,but they came and at that point she was no longer the same.So now there was two solutions:either she run away trying to leave them behind or she would stop and face them.Whichever option she would choose would’ve changed her,whether for better or for worse depends on her,on how she would’ve reacted.

She wasn’t prepared for this,all the hours and days that she had spent studying wouldn’t made up for what she was named to face.It's was all about making a choice,choosing the right thing to do.It seems easy to say that,but,for her it was not at all.It involved taking full responsibility for the consequences generated by every single decision she would’ve made and accepting the risk.

In only three years everything she had knew and held dear to her heart,changed completely.But that’s how’s life was supposed to be wasn’t it?She changed herself and everything changed around her,sometimes faster sometimes more slowly,sometimes more obviously others in a more cautious,careful way, without realizing it.Every change was a kind of little death,she had found herself having to leave something,something that for her had become a reference to look at a future that seemed rosy to her.

In between madness and greatness,Y/n Targaryen was born nine months after the wedding between Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen,heir to the Iron Throne,and Prince Daemon Targaryen,the Rogue Prince,brother of the King.

The young princess was a beautiful girl,with dark purple eyes which looked almost black,and silver hair which was so pale that looked almost white.The gods gifted her with the beauty of a true Targaryen.She was born in King’s Landing,to grant the final wishes of her old grandfather the King,the first day of the Long Summer,giving her the name of “The realm sun”.

While everyone in the Capital were celebrating the birth of her only daughter,Rhaenyra had wrapped her in a dark cloth,keeping her warm and safe to her breast«Your brothers are sons of the realm»she had whispered,eyes foggy with tears and face hurting for the big smile on her lips,«but you,my Y/n,my beautiful daughter,shall be all mine.»words were not enough to express the unconditional love that existed between a mother and a daughter.

A mother’s treasure is her daughter and growing up from the sweet little girl that her mother had,so much,dreamed and wished for,Y/n knew that she was different.She was a bright girl and noticed thing rather quickly,while she had been born with the Valyrian silver hair, her three older brothers all had dark brown locks on their head.While Jacaerys and Lucerys,both betrothed to her older sisters Baela and Rhaena,were named heirs,to the throne and to Driftmark,Y/n was to be someone wife.

She wasn’t born to rule,to wear a crown on her head,to sit on some important chair and to hold an important position.She was born to be her mother’s daughter,the most precious thing that Rhaenyra had and always dreamt of.She had spent her days in the Red Keep,with her family,under the loving care of her mother who seemed to have eyes only for her,and when she wasn’t at the Dragonpit with her dragon Merax,she often found herself walking in the shadows of the throne room.

Her mother was named heir moons ago and after her the throne would’ve had passed to Jacaerys,then his children and so on.Y/n had just to look pretty,to be eloquent and kind to be married to a fine a suitable husband when her age would’ve come.

It was her duty,as the only daughter of the future Queen,she had knew that since she was just a child thanks to her mother tenderness,her father overprotection and for all the hours she had spent in her room with her Septa.She knew that,but he had ruined it all for her.

Aemond,her uncle,her mother younger half brother,a man who was much older than her,was the bane of her existence and the only object of her desires.She had thoughts about him that she couldn't control and he followed them all.Whatever she felt,whatever she wanted he followed her.And in that moment,all the things that she knew about herself disappeared.She acted like another person,yet she felt like she had never been so herself until then.

In the beginning she wasn’t actually in love with him,but she had always felt a kind of tender curiosity towards his dark a mysterious figure.Of his long pale hair,his sharp jaw,the shape of his beautiful,the way he stood there composed and quiet.

Her uncle had always been nothing but kind and tender towards her.In the long summer days he knew how to peal oranges neatly,her favorite fruits,the section came apart cleanly,perfectly in his hands.When Y/n,sitting next to him at the table,tried to peal her own oranges she would tears holes in it.Juice squirts in all directions,leaving her with a pout on her lips and teary eyes.

«Uncle»she would’ve cried«I don’t know how to do it!»

Aemond would’ve then gave her his oranges,completely without the peal,telling her that one day he would teach how to do it alone but she hoped he would never did.In the intimacy of little moments like that,she had soon realized that he was her favorite person.As a child she had always searched for the meaning of it all,the big “Why?”.Her father often told her that there was no big purpose,but that day she had the most delicious orange and kissed Aemond on the cheek for good night,being around him,she thought,was enough purpose for her.

The memory of the public rejection still rankled,even after all these years.Many a night she had watched prince Aemond in the halls,training with the sword and studying history and philosophy.Had any man ever been so beautiful?He was more than a man,though.Just like hers,his blood was the blood of old Valyria,the blood of dragons and gods.

When Y/n was just a little girl,her mother had promised her that she would marry Aemond. She could not have been more than four or five.«Never speak of it,my sweet girl.»her mother had told her,smiling her secret smile that only Y/n ever saw«Not until His Grace agrees to the betrothal.It must remain our secret for now.»And so it had,though once she had drawn a picture of herself flying behind Aemond on a dragon,her arms wrapped tight about his chest.When Jacaerys had discovered it she told him it was Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys.

She was seven when she felt it for the first time,the little vibrant spark in her chest,the sweaty hands,watching her prince in the flash again after her family moved from Dragon Stone back to the Red Keep.He was a handsome boy,almost a man with the most elegant demeanor she had ever the pleasure to witness.She had spent all her days in the Dragonpit with him,Y/n was still very young,just a little girl who eager to learn and to be able to fly to suppress Aegon cruel jokes about her not being a true dragon.

Her dragon,Merax,a dark blue female dragon with big horns on her head,was still too young to for the princess to ride her.But that didn’t seem to stop her,to put her desire to be like everyone else in her family.One morning as she tried to sneaking out from the Red Keep,a dark red cloak on her shoulders,a heavy hand was placed on her head.

«Little dragon,don’t go too far.»the beautiful voice of her uncle ringed in her ear,as she stumbled to walk away from his grasp.

«Leave me alone,i’ll go wherever i wish to!»she protested,now in the middle of the city chaos.

«Y/N… Don’t be so childish and come back here.»he called after her again with a sight.

«I don’t-»she tried to say,walking slower and bumping into people.

Aemond was finally able to reach for her,to grab her by her arm and keep her close to his body«Little dragon.I don't like to repeat myself. You stay where I can protect you.»gods be goods,he wouldn’t even imagine what could’ve happened to a child,a princess,in the streets outside the castle if he wasn’t there.

Thinking that she was in trouble and that her uncle was mad at her,Y/n sniffled in his arms«I’m sorry,i just wanted to fly like you.»she had cried out,pressing her hands on her eyes.

He smiled,understanding a little too well the feeling that was causing her such discomfort and,unlike his parents,he really wanted to do something to put a smile back on her little face.

«I’ll take you flying.»Aemond told her,holding her hand trough the crowd«Vhagar can’t wait to see her favorite princess again.»he continued making her giggle.

«She’s been following you everywhere like a lost puppy.»she had heard the same night,the drunken laughing of Aegon,the uncle that she despised the most«It’s seems like you got yourself a wife finally!»he jokes again,stinking of wine and with the cheeks redden by the alcohol.

Aemond didn’t drink that night,he was sitting with his older brother just because his mother forced him to«Are you jealous,brother?»he asked with a low voice.

Aegon almost choked,putting his golden cup on the wooden table«Jealous?She’s an idiot.»he answered,like he wasn’t already making fool of himself by spilling the rest of the wine on his chest.

«Y/n is young,but she is the most intelligent person i’ve ever met.»Aemond correct him,a stern look on his face lit by the candle lights«Unlike you she knows when its to speak or to keep her mouth shut.»he continued.

«That’s mean you are really considering the idea to marry her?»Aegon ignored the offense,too drunk to care,while a servant was fetching him another cup.

Aemond stayed quiet for a bit,she was still a child and he was a grown boy,he was her uncle and he brother had took his eye but«I will if one day they decide to betroth us,fulfill my duty to keep our Valyrian blood pure.»but what made her heart race in her chest with a new exploding sensation was«I’d tear down the whole sky for her,if she asked me.»

When she was eleven she finally understood,the sweaty hands,the heart beating fast,the nervousness in her veins when he was close to her.Her uncle had been away for one of his travels for just three days,flying to Essos,and she missed him dearly.She understood when its hard saying goodbye to that person,even for a short time,when everything seems to revolve around him,all that she could ever think is him.From when she woke up,til that time she was about to sleep,when everything about him feels so good and right,when even the worst days becomes great just cause that person is there.One single smile,melted her heart,one frown,made her heart ache.When even the things she used to hate,instantly becomes her favorites.Her patience becomes longer,times with him,feels time flies so fast,but hours without him feels like months.

«I brought you something.»Aemond had told her,his tongue rolling around each word he spoke in Valyrian.

He only spoke it with her,he had personal offered himself to the Septa,to be his niece teacher and it made her feel special.

«You didn’t need to.»Y/n answered in Valyrian,her cheeks were as red as the beautiful long dress she was wearing and she thanked the gods that no one was around,in the empty and cold halls of the castle,to witness that moment.

Her uncle had came back later in the evening and as soon as she heard the news from her sister Rhaena,she fled from her presence and ran trough the corridors to find him.She wanted to be the first one to greet him and he had the same idea,bumping in each other on the stairs as they tried to be with the other.

Aemond suppressed a laugh in his chest«I know»he said nodding,then switching to the Westerosi language once again.«But this made me think of you.»from his pocket,a shiny necklace was dangling in between his long fingers.

Y/n hand reached in front of her,tracing with her fingers the cold metal«Valyrian steel.»she noticed out loud.

«A little dragon for my little dragon.»Aemond murmured high enough,only for her to hear,addressing her with the nickname he always used to call her.

«It’s beautiful.»she breathed out,her heart was beating fast and a warm sensation was spreading all over her chest,her back and her neck when she noticed the little dragon pendant with red rubies on it.

He smiled,nodding his head,happy to know that she liked his present even though that a small steel dragon was nothing compared on her glowing beauty«Turn around.»he ordered then,moving her long pale hair to the side and placing the necklace on her pure and delicate neck«So that whenever i’m away,you’ll find me right here with you.»he said with a calm voice that put her at ease once again.

Thirteen and new to womanhood,princess Y/n wore a beautiful azure dress with golden embroiderers on it.Long streamers of red and gold and orange silk had been braided in her hair like flames,during her Name Day a tournament was hosted and Aemond,who never cared of these sort of things,attended as a knight,wearing a dark green plate over golden ringmail when he cantered onto the lists.Her two older brothers,Jacaerys and Lucerys,fell before his lance,along with a dozen of the finest jousters of the realm.

Her mother had confided that truth to her before the tourney«You must be especially beautiful,»Rhaenyra had told her,fussing with her dress,«for at the final feast it shall be announced that you and Prince Aemond are betrothed.»in her mother she could hear and feel the desire to bring the family back together as one.

Y/n had been so happy that day,but her laughter died at the tourney end.

By night she was alone with him in the gardens,while he read out loud one his books.When she was in his presence,Y/n had almost drowned in the depths of his sad purple eyes.He has been wounded,she remembered even though she was just a small child when it happened,but she would mend his hurt when they will be wed.Next to Aemond,even her brothers had seemed no more than callow boys.Her uncle was going to be her husband, she had thought,giddy with excitement,and they were going to be very happy together.

There had been no final feast,no toasts to celebrate her betrothal to Aemond.Only cold silences and chilly looks between the Queen and her mother.Later,when the Queen and her son and all her gallant knights had departed,the girl had gone to her mother in tears,not understanding.

«I proposed the match,»Rhaenyra told her,«but your father and Alicent refused to hear of it.»she explained.

Her father,Daemon,would’ve rather die or feed his youngest daughter to his dragon than see her married to one of the Hightower kids.Queen Alicent had the same idea,the thought of her favorite child being promised to what came out from her once best friend and the rogue prince made her sick.

«Dry those tears,my sweet girl.»her mother held her lovingly in her safe embrace.«Have you ever seen a dragon weep?Your father and i will find another man for you,a better man than Aemond.»she reassured her,caressing her back.

Princess Y/n was sixteen now,only sixteen,a child-woman of surpassing loveliness when she had realized that her mother lied.That her father failed her and that Aemond was failing her now.Her parents did not found a better man,they wanted to give her Cregan Stark,son of Lord Rickon Stark and heir of Winterfell.She had never seen him in o person,only heard stories about the young wolf in the north,but that’s was enough for her to know that he couldn’t compare with Aemond in any way.

Y/n wanted to be loved,she was supposed to.She was the most beautiful girl in the whole Westeros,she was kind,intelligent,full of life and brought light whenever she went.But how selfish it was for her to crave someone in that way,like he was hers to love at all.She didn't wanted to go through that awkward phase of getting to know to someone.She just wanted to lay her head on Aemond lap and feel his fingers running through her hair.

«I don’t want to marry some Lord son»Y/n said,she was standing in her father presence,the same touch of fire in her tongue«I want to chose who to be promised to.»she informed him.

«Silly girl.»her father told her the same night he revealed her his plan for her betrothal«You think this is what you want,but you don’t understand how much it will hurt.»shaking his head,refusing to her the name of one of Alicent children coming from her mouth.

For Daemon,his youngest daughter was just a little girl with a stupid crush.But it wasn’t just a crush and it wasn’t even stupid,she knew what she felt for Aemond and it was too big and too important to be called that.

«You married my mother for love.»she remained him,her voice firm and strong.

«Have you ever been in love?»her father asked her suddenly,sitting in his chair in his chambers.

Before Y/n could speak,her father did it for her«Horrible isn't it?It makes you so vulnerable.It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.»Daemon told her,sounding sour.

Not all love is gentle.Sometimes is gritty and dirty and possessive,sometimes is hurtful and rough.Other times it’s not supposed to be soft and carefully at all.Sometimes it feels like teeth,broken glasses and bloody knuckles.

But«I’m willing to pay the price if that mean i can love and be loved by who i want.»she said,swallowing the hard lump in her throat.

Her father scoffed«The problem with you is that you always want to be loved immediately.Cregan Stark will learn how to and you will give him the time to do so.»he firmly said.

Aemond had found her that same night,hidden in the library,sitting at their special place.Gone was the little girl that used to jump in her chair while he read for her,the whining princess whenever she couldn’t pronunce correctly a word in Valyrian.Princess Y/n was a young woman now,gifted by the gods with the most beautiful pair of rosy cheeks,the most bright smile and delicate and soft skin.

He wished he had both of his eyes,full vision to take in all of her beauty.He had witnessed her changing trough the years, “The realm sun”she is ever the beautiful one,as lovely as a flower and more vibrant than the sun.

«Are you enjoying the book i lend you?»his voice was warm and delicate,it surprised her when she felt him coming closer but she didn’t flinch,feeling safe around him.

Y/n was sitting in her chair,her back towards the door,a book in her hands«Not much.»she mumbled out,while her hand supported her head from falling on the table.

Aemond chuckled,taking a sit in front of her«It gets better i promise.»he reassured.

She huffed,only now he noticed,under the candle soft light,the way she was playing with her necklace.How her fingers traced carefully the cold steel,it made him feel warm on the inside and he knew it was wrong.He was her uncle,he was much older than her but even though he was ready to marry her if they had betrothed them,now he couldn’t.

Y/n was promised to Cregan Stark and he was promised to Cassandra Baratheon,the eldest daughter of Lord Borros Baratheon and one of the Four Storms of Storm End.

«I don’t think so.»Y/n said,turning another page«I’m almost at the end and they are still not together.»she informed him,her eyes not leaving her book.

«Sometimes,not matter how much we try,two people can’t just be together.»he admitted,his words were heavy just like the air in his lungs.

She shifted in her chair,her purple eyes were now on him and he felt himself lit on a flame.He was a dragon and dragons doesn’t burn,but she had bewitched him,body and soul,just a look was enough to start a fire in him,a touch to leave him in the ashes of what he was used to be before her.

«Don’t you find it sad?»Y/n was fidgeting with her fingers,her lips trembled a bit.

«What?»he asked,laying on the chair.

«That’s sometimes even love is not enough.»she stated,a melancholy veil covered her beautiful features.

«What its love for you?»he asked then suddenly,his fingers shook with the wish to know.

Y/n remained quiet for a few seconds,her eyes never once faltered away from his.She could fel her own heartbeat ringing in her ears,her throat dry and her lips glued to each other but before she could think,words came out from her mouth:

«Once i read in a history book about a woman who ran to pick up the severed head of her husband in her skirt.»she started to explain,pausing for a moment«When i was little it was too gruesome for me and i couldn’t understand,her husband was a horrible man who killed thousands of innocent people.»she remembered,watching the way her uncle was listening close,she continued«But now that I’m older I think that,yes,i would pick it up too.I have to pick it up,i can’t let it fall to the ground so i would’ve run to catch it with my skirt.»her words were full of tenderness and softness,it made her heart ache.

Aemond looked at her,amused and understanding completely her point of view but he had to ask«And why would you do that?»

«I think in the space that someone create in love,you can say and do anything and i will not abandon you.»she said«Tell me all the worst thing you have done and let me love you anyway.»she didn’t wanted to beg.She knew that Aemond could feel it,her longing,her need for love.She didn’t wanted to beg,but gods,couldn’t he just love her a little?

«What about you?»she asked when he didn’t said anything.

His idea of love was not as deep as hers,it was something simple,something daily that he experienced with her.While he was looking at her,sitting in front of her,he was thinking about back hugs,when someone comes up and hugs some else from behind,taking them by surprise.

The back is considered a weak point in the human body.It's unguarded,vulnerable,and there's a reason that a euphemism for betrayals is being stabbed in the back.

But then he imagined loving someone enough that when she hug him,enveloping him in her arms unawares,starting from the part of his body that is always dangerously exposed,and he was so comforted by the smell of her and the warmth of her and he felt so cherished and experience a sense of security so deep and so immense that even if he was in the world's most massive fortress nothing could make him feel safer than being in the arms of his lover.

«You.»he answered simply,without stuttering,without regret.

Y/n eyes became big like cups of tea,her mouth parted slightly and her cheeks were on fire just like the rest of her«Me?»she sounded surprised,making him winch a little.

«Yes.»he nodded,his voice just a mere whisper as he stood up walking towards her.

But love had always been something heavy for him.Something that he had to carry. However,his soul was so shaken that he never told his love,he never revealed how absolutely that girl,his niece,had taken possession of his soul.

Aemond cupped her cheek,stroking the soft and warm texture of her skin with his fingers.His thumb hovering on her bottom lip,he knew he had no right to touch her,crave her like air,but he did both.And when he put his mouth on hers,he recognized the taste of her,like she’s been made just for him.

«When we are together,life just seems so right..you know?»he breathed against her lips,his eye closed just like hers«Is it the same for you?I hope it is.»he felt her nod aggressively,placing her hands on his and pulling him against her for another kiss.

It started many months ago,a unrequited and secret love story that was destined to end together with the long winter,when both Y/n and Aemond would’ve married to different people.Invisible to everyone else,intimate touches.Touches without a reasons.Simple extensions of his love.He doesn’t think about it. His hand on her back,his lips on her shoulders.Temporary,brief gestures.That´s how he communicates.By these touches only she knew existed.

The first day of the summer,a sunny and warm morning,where the air smelled of flowers and fruits and everything shined under the glowing sun,Y/n held a old vase in her hands.The same vase that Queen Alicent had gifted her mother and that the young princess and her uncle had broken once,stumbling in her room while kissing each other and without noticing where they were going.

«Why do you enjoy walking outside so much?»Aemond asked,he trailed after her,his boots marching on pavement with every step he took.

«It gives me time to think.»Y/n simply stated,on her beautiful face a little smile that reflected the sunlight on her rosy cheeks.

He nodded,keeping his eye on her smaller figure.Memorizing every detail of her,barefoot walking in the nature,of the way her long pale hair bounced in the warm air with every step,the little flowers embroidered on her pink dress,the way her hands were holding the little porcelain vase as if she was afraid to drop it once again.

«And why did you ask me to come with you?»his voice was firm,hiding under his tongue and in his chest,the spark he felt whenever she was close to him,whenever she wanted him to be in her presence.

«My thoughts are much nicer when you are with me.»she shyly admitted,her voice was soft and he almost didn’t heard her,but he noticed the way her shoulder shook and how she tucked her head down.

He laughed under his breath,just the night before she had kissed him and slept peacefully in his arms and now she felt embarrassed about her feelings.

The gardens were beautiful that time of the year,different flowers blossomed on the bushes,little birds chirped in the trees«It’s really a beautiful day.»he lied,he knew exactly why they were outside and what they were going to talk about.

«Everything is different with the sun.»she told him,placing the vase on the ground and starting to pick up some flowers for it.

«It’s warmer.»he sarcastically noticed,making her chuckle.

«And our armors will melt,revealing who we really are.That part of us that we keep in the shadows that search for light.»she quoted one of their favorite books,while holding two daisies and a orange rose in her hand.

«That’s mean that you are going to tell what’s been bothering you all morning?»Aemond said,crossing his arms behind his back and a serious expression on his face.

Y/n swallowed hard,she had breakfast with her mother only a few hours before.They were alone in the terrace,the round table filled with her favorite sweetnesses but she didn’t touched any.She and her mother understand each other but she doesn’t think that they want to.Rhaenyra sorrows and regrets,Y/n dreams and hopes,mirrored eachother like night and day but the mirror is cracked and god she wished she didn't see her mother face staring back from the mirror she tried to see herself.

«Before your father»her mother started with a calm voice«i was married for duty too and it was a happy and loving one.I’m sure that Cregan Stark will be an amazing husband one day.»she tried to reassure her with a loving smile and caressing her arm softly.

«But if you were really happy with Ser Laenor you wouldn’t needed Ser Harwin.»Y/n said,she felt terrible for aiming to that spot but it was the truth.

«Y/n!»her mother immediately scolded,looking around to make sure no one had heard.

The young princess took a deep breath«I apologize.»she said quietly«But loving someone,and being loved means so much to me.I always been like this,but isn’t everything we’re doing in life a way to be loved a little more?»she asked like as if her mother had the right answer.

«For you,it’s not just “loving someone and being loved by someone.»her mother made her noticed,«For you is to love him and being loved by him,trust me i’ve been there and i really wish i could change everything to see you happy.»Rhaenyra sounded like she was about to cry,nothing was more important for her than her daughter happiness«But i can’t,sweet girl,i’ve already tried.Cregan Stark will come here tonight to know you so that by the mid summer you can marry him.»both of their hearts breaking at her words.

Y/n was sitting on the warm grass,remembering her mother heavy words and feeling the tears coming to her eyes again.Of course her mother knew,she had knew her better than anyone else,she had been in her same situations years ago and kept her daughter secret close and dear to her.All the time that she would’ve look at her,sitting beside her younger brother,the lovesick expression on her face,the gleaming light in her eyes,it made her chest hurt to know that in just a little time that would’ve disappeared.

«The problem with me is that i always want to be loved.»she murmured out,keeping her eyes on the ground.

Repeating her father words,out loud and not just in her head like she did all the morning,made her heart ache in her chest and her lips tremble.

Aemond nodded,humming quietly as he took a place next her on the warm grass«Isn’t this what everyone wants?»he asked,not truly understanding his niece words.

She expected too much,from life,from Aemond,from her family,from everyone she knew.It was her curse,to want to be loved just as much as she did and having a sentimental view of life.

«Is it wrong to want to feel loved?»she asked,hugging her knees tightly to her chest as the steams of grass rubbed her bare legs.

«Not at all.»He replied,leaning back nonchalantly

She forced a smile on her lips«Then why does it feel like it is?»

He sighed,pondering the question for a moment before replying.«I think we all believe things that aren’t true to compensate for what we’ve been told to make it more believable.»he told her sincerely,the turned towards her,his gaze softening«It’s never wrong to want to be loved.»

She looked at him for a moment,a small smile spreading across her face.«I wish you were always this nice»she laughed quietly.

His gaze fell downwards as a smirk made its way to his mouth.«Only for you.»

And it was,all his comforting words,all the small gesture,the act of affirmation,the sweet way of making sure that she was always alright and safe in the room.All his heart was her.For him princess Y/n was a different matter.Aemond spent long hours in her company,enthralling her with tales of his journeys and reading for her.He gave her pearls and silks and books and a jade tiara said once to have belonged to the places he had visited,read poems to her,dined with her,hawked with her,sailed with her,entertained her by making mock of his brother drunken demeanor.He praised her beauty,declaring her to be the fairest maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.Uncle and niece began to fly together almost daily,racing Merax against Vhagar to Dragonstone and back.

He held her secretly,possessively,in his heart with such a strength of passion that at times it was hard to believe that she was a separate person with other concerns who will never knew about how he really felt.He had a secret in his heart that beats with her name and that agitation turns on his tongue like a thousand swallows eager for flight when laid his eye upon her. 

«Cregan Stark will come here today»she said suddenly,just like an harsh slap on his face,he jolted at her words.

«The flowers are for him?»was the only thing he managed to say,all the other words were stuck in his throat and burning his lips.

Y/n nodded,playing with the petal of a daisy«Father said i had look happy to meet him.»but her expression and her voice were far from it.

«Forgive me,princess,but you are not doing a great job.»he tried to sound like s jester,to crack a joke to light up her mood and to cancel the little pout on her pretty lips.

Y/n didn’t smiled,shaking her head«I know this is my duty.»everyone kept repeating that«but i’d rather serve the realm as a knight with a sword that marry someone that i don’t even know.»she said,keeping her eyes on the ground.

«I’ve trained you well enough»Aemond though out loud,a spark of pride in him«You can easily win a fight with a wooden sword.»he continued with a small smile.

This time she did it too,her perfectly white teeth shined under the sunlight remembering all the evenings that she had spent training with him in secret«I wish i could create a new order of things.My mother tried,but if i was to be the-»

Y/n stopped herself,her lips still parted,the next big word just on the tip of her tongue,her purple eyes widened at the thought she was about to reveal out loud for the first time.Ever since she was a small child her mother used to held her in her arms,walking in the halls of the castle till the throne room.There the young princess had heard stories,coming from her mother mouth,about all their ancestors.Kings and Queens that ruled Westeros before she was born,great warriors,black brides,death of children,legacies till her.She wasn’t born to be part of it,maybe her names would’ve been remembered to have been the daughter of the first female heir or because she would’ve become the Lady of the North.

She loved her older brother Jacaerys dearly,he was kind,dutifully,generous but sometimes she wished that she was born before him.She knew that like this her mother would’ve named her to inherit the throne after her and…but then Y/n remembered,that maybe it was just supposed to be like this.That was the order of things.

«Wearing a crown is a very lonely thing.»Aemond stated quietly«All thrones come at a cost.»he had the same desire once,hearing the whispers of his grandfather and his mother about his older brother when he,the perfect son,was there.

«Then why don’t we run away?»she asked him,her lips trembled and the tip of her nose was red,her hands caressing his.

Aemond force a smile on his handsome face,his heart hurts,clenching with every word that came out from her mouth«You know why,little dragon.Our parents-»but she didn’t let him finish.

Shaking her head«You are the only one keeping us from getting together.»she told him then,her voice sounded sour and her eyes were gleaming,holding back the little tears.

Y/n didn’t needed him to shout that he loved her to each of the four winds.She preferred the silent whisper voiced within his heart,reflected in his eyes.She didn’t needed to flaunt that she loved him and write it up in the sky;the stars have already granted her wish so she kept it hidden like a treasure within herself.What is held inside the world cannot taint.It is best for them to ignore what is a secret held only between their souls.But what she needed was to be free to love him without feeling guilty,without being afraid of being discovered,free to run to him and kiss him in front of everyone.

«It’s not like I don’t want to but you know-»Aemond tried to make her understand,the situation was bigger than both of them and maybe he shouldn’t moved towards her since the beginning but she had taunted his dreams every night in the last years.

«Don’t.»she shook her head,the flowers in her hands long forgotten on the grass«All those things,those excuses,they'll still be there tomorrow,next week and next year.Stop living in your head.Please.Let’s live.Live for us.For our dreams.Let's live our life.»she pleaded,she sounded ridiculous and pathetic but she didn’t care,that was her only demand.

Ever since he was a child,Aemond was very often full of rage and despair.He was always lonely.In spite of all that he was and is now in love with life.He made up stories and forgot about the cold and the dark.He knew these were ways of surviving,but maybe a refusal,any refusal,to be broken lets in enough light and air to keep believing in the world – the dream of escape.He wished he could catch this opportunity in his hands,to be with the person that he loved.

«I know how you feel,but you should marry him.»he said,his eyes was gleaming«i’ll always be here,you know that.»he reassured.

He tried to reach out for Y/n,to see the look in her eyes or to held her close to him.But she stood up,he saw her cleaning her dress and then her cheeks with the back of her hands,she had cried,he heard the little suffocated sniffing witnessed her shaking shoulders.

«I wish you never kissed me in the library.»she was hurt and he was hurting with her.

«Don’t say that.»he got up too,walking fast after her as she made her way to the fountain.

«Why?You said you know how i felt,well here’s another clue:I wish I never met you!»she choked out,not caring if some of the guards or someone else would’ve heard her.

Aemond grabbed her by the arm,spinning her around to face him again.Her nose was red,just like her watery eyes and a painful frown took place were her bright smile was used to be.It hurt him to see her like that,especially knowing he had caused it.

«Did you think I kissed you all these times because I was doing it for the shits and giggles?»he asked,raising a brow.

She scoffed,tried to free herself from his iron grip without success«You did have a lot of fun shoving your tongue down my throat in private.»she reminded him,her cheeks on fire at the thought.

Aemond had put his arms around her,she didn’t fought him this time,letting herself be drowned in his chest as he held her close lulling her to the rhythm of his heart«You know i love you.I’m never going to feel the same way for someone else but sometimes love is not enough.»he had whispered in her hair,a single tear falling from his eye.

That love wasn’t enough she had learned it at her own price.If it was enough to keep a family together,she wouldn’t be who she was now and she surely wouldn’t have to do all the horrible things that kept her up at night.

That day in the gardens was the last time that she saw Aemond and the last time that she seat down at a table with all her family reunited and alive.After her grandfather death,her uncle Aegon was proclaimed king in the Dragonpit,her mother Rhaenyra queen at Dragonstone.All attempts at reconciliation having failed,with the blood of innocent children the Dance of the Dragons actually began.

Y/n had fought nobly,gracefully and with greatness on top of her dragon along her siblings to defend her mother birthright.One by one she had watched all the people that she loved,fall to the ground like flies.After the death of her three older sons,Jace,Luke and Joffrey,the disappearance of her younger one Viserys,in King's Landing,each new betrayal left Queen Rhaenyra increasingly isolated with only her daughter and son,Aegon the Younger,to trust.

Helaena Targaryen,sister,wife and queen of King Aegon II as well as mother of his children,threw herself from a window of Maegor's Keep and died impaled on the iron rams along the surrounding dry moat.She was barely thirty.Queen Helaena had been murdered,it was whispered,and her children before her.Prince Daeron and his dragons would soon arrive at the city gates,and with them the end of Rhaenyra's reign.The elder Queen was hated for it,Queen Helaena was very loved and the people didn’t forget the cruel murder of Prince Jaehaerys by Blood and Cheese,and the terrible death of Prince Maelor.

The throne room was silent,dark and cold,Y/n was wearing her battle armor with her mother banner on it and a black cloak on her shoulders.Her once long hair were cut short and braided to not let them fall in front of her stoic face,her gleaming and loving eyes now distant and filled with all the moments of horrors that she had witnessed and committed.

«There is something that i need to tell you.It might be difficult for you to understand but you must hear it.»her mother was the ghost of what she once was,paler,thinner,her eyes always burning with tears as she spoke quietly.

«What is it,mother?»Y/n asked,her eyes still fixed upon the throne.

Rhaenyra was beside her,not sitting on that old chair anymore«Our histories,they tells us that Aegon the Conqueror looked across the Blackwater from Dragonstone and saw a rich land ripe for the capture.»she started to tell like an old fairytale that her father had told her once«But ambition alone is not what drove him and his sisters to conquest.It was a dream.»her mother swallowed,fidgeting with her fingers at each word.

«A dream?»the young princess echoed,she knew that her family was famous for having dreamers.

Her mother nodded quickly,tracing her eyes in the room to make sure that nobody was present to hear them«Just as Daenys foresaw the end of Valyria,Aegon foresaw the end of the world of men.’Tis to begin with a terrible winter,gusting out of the distant north.»she explained,taking her daughter hands in hers.

«Wh-hat?»Y/n didn’t even known what she wanted to say,stuttering words out as chilly shivers run down her spine.

«Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds and whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living.»her mother tried to mask the fear in her quivering voice with a serious expression on her face.

«How…how can we stop it?We are in the middle of a war!Mother,i don’t know-»Y/n brain was melting,in those long and cruel three years of civil war she couldn’t understand nothing anymore.

Rhaenyra shushed her immediately,caressing both of her arms with the same tenderness that she had never lost«When this Great Winter comes,Y/n,all of Westeros must stand against it.»she said,looking straight in her daughter eyes«And for the world of men to survive a Targaryen must seat on the Iron Throne.A King or a Queen,strong enough to reunite the realm against the cold and the dark.»revealing to her the secret the her own father had told her many years ago.

«Do you believe it?»Y/n asked her,letting go of her mother embrace to turn and look at throne once again.

«Of course i do and i’m telling you this,this secret passed down from Kings to heirs,because-»Rhaenyra words fell to deaf ears.

«You want me to your heir»Y/n breathed out in disbelief«You want to put this heavy burden on me.»she should’ve expected it,now that her older brothers were gone forever,she was the first in the line in her mother succession.

Even though Rhaenyra loved her daughter more than anything,only few months ago she started to see the woman she had become,the great “She Dragon”that fought in the war and every songs chanted about.She wished she could shield her for this truth,this life that she had found herself in but in times like that,the luxury of well being was something they couldn’t afford.

«Yes»her mother simply said,little tears forming in the corner of her eyes«You must promise me that you will carry it and protect it»she pleaded,but still holding the elegant demeanor of a true queen.

How can things change so fast?Not only three years ago she was supposed to be married off to the north,now,at nineteen,half daughter and half warrior,she was named heir to the throne.The sadness that was climbing through her,from her feet to the back of her neck,wasn’t only hers.It must been her mothers too,a sour farewell untold between the two of them.

Her mother always said sadness is meant to be felt,just as happiness is meant to be endured. She told her to inhale everything around her,every feeling like food to the hungry,every experience like she’s been starved for it all her life.It was her choice to make and she had to make the right one.

Swallowing the lump in her throat,Y/n reached out with shaky fingers,for her mother hand«I promise.»she firmly said.

Rhaenyra forced a smile on her face,enveloping her daughter in her arms,holding her close to her one last time«Take your brother and all the money you’ve found and go to find some peace.»she choked a silent sob in her hair.

Y/n shook her head,burning her face in her mother shoulder like she used to do when she was little and afraid of thunderstorms«I won’t have peace,i will be worried about you all the time.»she cried.

Her mother laughed through the tears«That’s just love.There’s nothing you can do about that.I’ve never loved anything the way i love you and i’ve never fretted on anything more.But this time…you can’t stay and i can’t go.Tell me you understand.»she whispered before kissing the side of her head lovingly.

«I don’t.»the young princess sobbed,clinging to her mother warmth.

«You will,trust me.»she reassured her.

That same night King's Landing rose up.

The bloody revolt began in the alleys and meanders of the Flea Bottom,where hundreds of men and women poured out of taverns, hovels and taverns.They were angry,drunk and scared.From the slums,insurgents swept through the city,calling for justice for the dead princes and their murdered mother Helaena.Wagons and carts were overturned, shops looted,homes looted and set on fire.

Y/n had fled the Capital with her younger brother Aegon,riding Merax,a dragon three times bigger and twice as faster than Syrax,that late evening to land in the Vale to their older sister Rhaena and Lady Jeyne Arryn who gave them refuge and protection.

The news of her mother death,burned and eaten alive by Sunfyre,her uncle dragon,came two weeks after.A month later,the real was now also mourning the death of King Aegon the Usurper,founded dead by his own mother,poisoned by the hand of his own brother.

The burden that her mother had placed upon her shoulders was a heavy one,especially since she had to be strong for her little brother.Every night Aegon,only nine years old,when she would’ve laid next to him in bed had asked her when their parents would come home.Y/n didn’t deserve know how does it feel to feel older before her time,wanting to say so many things and in the end never saying anything.To see things that others don't see,feeling alone in a room full of people she did't care about in a home that wasn’t hers.She didn’t deserves to know what that means admit what scared her without ever accepting it,hearing the voices of those next to her who told her how sorry they were and not listening to anything.Getting lost in her own life that is now filled with the ghosts of the people she once loved deeply.

She just have to accept that some people may be a part of her heart,but not her life.As time goes on,she’ll understand.What lasts,lasts;what doesn’t,doesn’t.Time solves most things.And what time can’t solve,she have to solve it herself and go through this life like they were all still there.

But right now she just wanted someone to come to het and embrace her into their warmth and say:«You did great,everything will be better soon.»and almost like a prayer,it happened.

Aemond came back for her one morning,in the beginning of another winter were the sky was dark and the air was cold.He was different,but at the same time it was still the person she had devoted her love to.When he came down from his horse,Y/n had excused herself from the company of her sister and Lady Arryn,reassuring both of them,and walking outside to him.Why had she pursued him?She had nothing to tell him.To have seen him was enough.He was a sign,a portent,a miracle.

He seemed taller,wrapped in a dark coat and leather pants.She noticed that he had difficulty to walk straight,his left leg seemed to pain him with every step he took.His pale hair were shorter and his sapphire eye free under the morning light.He was a bison,still the most beautiful man in the world.

«It’s you.»she breathed out,her lips trembled and her eyes started to get blurred.

«It’s me.»he nodded,his heart was beating so fast in his chest that he almost couldn’t breath.

From the base of her neck,the curve of waist,to the arch of her eyelashes her beauty made him a slave.Beauty slips inside her soul with every smile on her face,beauty must cram inside her heart cause she have a heart of gold,never fake,she have a touch of grace,and he had missed her with every breath he took.

«What are you doing here?»she sounded and looked like she was about to burst in tears,her body itching to be close to his.

«Come home with me.»he said,his voice was still velvety like she remembered.

The air was cold but in his presence she felt something lit up«Why would I do that?»she tried to sound convincing,when all the she wanted was to feel a familiar touch.

«We need someone to guide us,every one is chanting for the “She Dragon”to come back home.»he revealed,walking beside her in the Vale like they used to do in gardens on the Red Keep.

Y/n nodded,her lips forming a line«I will come home,because is my birthright.»she informed him«Even if i thought that by now you would’ve have the crown on your head.»her words were as harsh as the cold wind.

«You think that i would stole your birthright,little dragon?»he seemed hurt,but she had all the right to think so.

It had already happened and it was about to happen again.The Small Council was reunited that day,two Targaryens,a princess daughter of the Black Queen and a prince,brother of the Green King,were left to rule the real.And meanwhile Lord Corlys Velaryon and Cregan Stark demanded and supported Y/n claim,his mother and Tyland Lannister were suggesting to pass the throne to Aemond.

They even suggested a marrige,but Aemond refused to be wed to her only to share the crown.It belonged to her and he didn’t even wanted a touch of it,only her.It would have suited him to be anything,anything she needed to just be in her presence,by her side again.

«Tell me the truth.»she demanded,standing tall on the ground.

Aemond entire body shivered,his dark coat was shielding him from the wind but from the painful expression on his lover face«Some truths are hard to hear.Aegon was not a bad King,not a very good one but not a bad one either.He fought his own war,he was chivalrous,brave,he spared my life,and the lives of many others.»he talked quietly,his hands behind his back,swallowing every word.

Hearing him talking about his brother,the Usurper who killed her mother made her sick but she had let me carry on«Your mother lost herself in the way,her birthright was taken from her,many betrayed her and the safety of her children came first.I believe that she could’ve have made a good and diligent Queen,if things went differently.»Aemond confessed,looking at her filled with sorrow.

Y/n nodded immediately,her nose was burning like her throat,it was difficult to breathe when she just wanted to cry«She would have been,if your mother didn’t betrayed their friendship.»her voice cold and distant.

«For love»he said«we don’t always do the right thing.»it was clear,all over his handsome face,the painful look of regret.

«That’s why you poisoned you brother?»she asked,her chin was trembling just like her hands from the chilly weather.

Aemond went stiff for a second,this was certainly something he wasn’t proud of,something that will haunt him forever till the day of his death.He still remembered the way his brother genuinely smiled at him after he passed him the golden cup,the blood coming out from his mouth after he drank the wine and his mother heartbreaking screams.

«I did for us.»he answered,without thinking,speaking directly from his heart.

He knew Aegon plans after the war,to marry Rhaenyra daughter and make her life a living hell on earth.He couldn’t let his brother do that,not to his sweet Y/n that he loved more than anything.

«Because you want to be the King?»she suppressed a sour laugh,wiping her left cheek with her fingers where hot tears started to fall down.

«Because i want to be your husband.»he had said it with such a sincerity,that made her head spin.«I don’t want anything else.I want you»he whispered,his love for her shining in his eye.

Y/n had dreamed about hearing these words all her life,to have him proclaim his love for her and how could she become a stranger with someone who saw her soul.Aemond had poisoned her too,he made her weak for him. Not all poisons have an antidote.Some sneak into your soul,stun you with their smell,and have the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen.And there is no cure for them.None.

«It is my crown you lust over-»she had to make sure,he was asking her to choose if she still wanted him after all these years.

«No!»he immediately said,his voice echoing in the Vale«I’m just a man who poisoned his own brother to put an end at this war.It would take me years before i will be able to forgive myself and see me fit to rule.But,forgive me,my Queen,»hearing him calling her that made her belly tickle«you asked for truth,even as a child,you seemed more fit to sit upon the Iron Throne in ways that none of us ever did.»he took a step closer,now he was standing only a few inches away.

«You are saying-»Y/n started with a steady tone.

«That i don’t want the crown.»Aemond interrupted her«I want the person who will wear it on her head.»his hot breath was sending shivers down her neck,his sapphire never shined so bright.

Even after all these years apart,she couldn’t help but missed him.All in him for her was home,from his calmness,his never seen purple and sapphire eyes,the little frown on his forehead,their love for book,their chats.They were both horrible people forced to do horrible things,they killed people that the other cared about and stand in two different positions during the war.But now the war was over,the realm needed peace and someone to bring it.What piece of her heart would she choose?She can only live with one,because the other then inevitably dies.Which piece would she choose?She would have chosen him.

That is what love was,tell me all the horrible things you did and let me love you anyway.Unwrap the worst thing you have done,watch me hold them up to the light and never flinch.

Aemond opened his arms for her and she curled against him.He held her close and kissed her hair.She could feel his warmth.He loved her. He loved her a little too much.A love too calculated.Too thoughtful.A love a little too much.An awkward love that was meant to be natural.Like others.As impressive as others. More impressive.Too much.To captivate her.It takes a lot of giving to not be given up.It takes a lot of love.So he loved his little dragon as much as he could.And she felt cared for,safe in his arms and it was all that she ever needed.

«I was on my own…i was all on my own.»Y/n cried for the first time in weeks,in his embrace.

«Not anymore,we are going home together little dragon.»he promised her that.

[talestold-a]

( targaryen b / tom glynn carney / cis man and he/him ) hear ye hear ye — king matthos baratheon welcomes prince aerys targaryen of exile ! his great majesty is glad that the twenty eight year old appears to be adaptable while overlooking that it’s said they are also vindictive, as long as they are glad to celebrate peace in the seven kingdoms. fortunately for them, matthos remains oblivious that they aren’t happy with his reign and that their true allegiance lies with house targaryen.

i. background.

full name: aerys targaryen.

commonly goes by: aer, lord drako.

official title: prince of westeros, lord drako of lys.

age: twenty eight.

gender + pronouns: cis man + he/him.

orientation: bisexual.

allegiance: house targaryen / himself.

spoken languages: common tongue, high valyrian & low valyrian.

religion: the faith of the seven.

ii. appearance.

faceclaim: tom glynn carney.

eye color: a dark purple, almost indigo.

hair color: a natural golden silver, presently staining with berries to achieve a dark, muddy brown color.

dominant hand: left.

height: 5'10"

build: athletic.

iii. personality.

virtues: adaptable, educated, humorous, resourceful, opportunistic.

vices: vindictive, gloomy, scheming, aloof, selfish.

weapon of choice: a nice blade or heavy object, not too picky.

moral alignment: neutral evil.

inspired by: viserys targaryen ( got ), aegon targaryen ( hotd ), & anakin skywalker / luke skywalker ( star wars ).

common tropes: currently embodying ambition is evil, tragic elements of riches to rags, teetering the line of not being like father, like son and surprisingly, even evil has loved ones.

iv. relationships.

parents: king jaehaerys iii targaryen and queen casella targaryen nee bar emmon ( both deceased ).

siblings: visera targaryen & rhaella targaryen.

relationship status: currently involved with elora mooton.

children: none.

pets: a golden eyed, shimmering silver scaled with golden accents dragon - he's named balerion and is currently the size of a small house cat.

other relations: house bar emmon ( cousins ), more to come !

previous relations: none, let's plot to change that !

v. biography.

only two years old when the targaryens were shipped off to essos, aerys remembers nothing of westeros. when they first departed he could remember slight details - silver hair, those purple eyes - but in present time, all he has is what he's been told by others. he became obsessed with it in his youth for a time, wanting to learn every bit of information about the entirety of house targaryen before their demise. the history of ancient valyria became a fascination and though information never came easily, he didn't let them stop him for seeking out whatever possible. not only did he feel like he needed to know about his family, but he promised himself and his siblings they would not repeat the same mistakes that got them sent away in the first place. when they would return, he would be ready.

this is not the life they were supposed to have. the siblings should have known the red keep like the back of their hands as they grew up, surrounded by family alike in a home that kept them safe. instead, aerys looks at their time in essos as a necessary evil, something he despised but did not count out the opportunity it gave them to rebuild whatever was left. though never without an attitude, he found comfort in being able to trust his siblings and bond with them. if not for them, he knows he would have never made it out of essos and back to the home they should never have had to leave.

all he can think about now is how to make matthos baratheon and every single person who had a hand in the targaryen demise pay. he has found an obsession with history and aims to learn as much as he can with their time in riverrun, aiming to become the version of himself that can help his siblings take down any house that dares to threaten their survival. when their eggs hatched, something he believed never to happen, it lit a spark within aerys - a hope that they can return to their former glory. he doesn't care much for the glory, though, he just wants his revenge.

vi. wanted plots.

alliances - though not someone to work well with others beside his siblings, and he would absolutely turn on them in a heartbeat if it meant progress for house targaryen, aerys knows how important supporters are in their effort to gain back the throne. aerys is typically a good judge of character - or rather, is good at spotting those who seem like strong supporters versus weak cowards. perhaps he's just really judgy and has to see something beneficial.

betrothal - aerys has the intention of doing his part to help restore the targaryen name in westeros and one way to do that is by having little dragons !! he doesn't want to marry but wouldn't allow his offspring to be bastards, so he eventually will and would ultimately be picky so they would probably start off in a good place ! their relationship could go a million different ways but ( tw: cheating ) i can't promise he'll be loyal !

would eventually like to have aerys blackmail someone, have someone he's manipulating who doesn't realize, flings, someone he's learning more history from, i'm down for p much anything !

[fandomficsnstuff]

Little Dragon - Part 13

Summary: You were a child slave of Meereen, when one day a silver haired woman sets you free. Though your master isn’t too keen on letting you go, and Daenerys took personal action to see you freed and taken care of.

(Warnings: talks of former slavery, time skips and it’s a bit fast forwarded, Jorah’s death, lots of angst I think, let me know if I missed anything, stay safe out there ya’ll!)

High Valyrian is in cursive

And Dothraki in bold

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You kept your head down as you rode on your horse, a fairly new experience for you, but it was similar to riding Rhaegal, just smaller, less scaly and less windy, you had reigns to hold onto, and a saddle to sit in. You were broken out of your train of thought as you heard your name called, turning your head to see none other than Jon Snow, giving you a nervous glance “hello” he said awkwardly, making you look ahead, spotting Daenerys talking with Missandei, before turning back to him “Lord Snow, can I help you with something?” he grimaced a bit, but still gave you a smile “if it’s alright, I would prefer if you didn’t call me Lord” you nodded “forgive me, I don’t know what to call you then. All these… customs are new to me, I have only lived with them for a few years now” Jon frowned at your words “how long then?” you shrugged as you looked ahead again “around five, I was ten when our Queen Daenerys found me” you smiled at the memory, glancing at Jon who only gave you a look that silently asked you to explain further.

“You see, I was a slave, in Mereen,” Jon immediately frowned “but you were a child?” he sounded disturbed, and it brought a tiny sense of envy, envy that he didn’t grow up with such horrible things “yes, though that didn’t concern my former master. I remember the day that Daenerys liberated Mereen, I remember seeing her silver hair in the street as she walked with the freed children, but I was still a slave. My master had let his other slaves go but not me, he kept me locked up in his small pyramid… Daenerys saw me watching her in the window, so she waved at me. I remember being so scared of my master that I looked over my shoulder before I waved back, I was so scared of how many beatings I would get if he caught me, but he didn’t, anyway, I must have leaned over the edge of the window, because she saw my collar. I remember how angry she looked as she walked into the house, she immediately had my master thrown in the cells, and then she saw me, on the steps, watching her again” you smiled warmly at the fond memory, a few tears building up in your eyes, but as you looked back at Jon, he seemed horrified and confused, looking away from you as he thought over your words, as if he didn’t know what to say “it’s alright, Jon Snow, I wouldn’t want your sympathy” he looked at you with confusion, something that made you smile ever so slightly, he didn’t know why you didn’t want sympathy.

“I don’t want sympathy because that is not why Daenerys took me in as her own, at least I’d like to believe it wasn’t. Yes, she felt bad for me, but I remember seeing those purple eyes of hers… I remember how safe I felt. It was only later that I learnt of Rhaego. Perhaps she saw in me what she had lost, or maybe it really was just sympathy, whatever it was, I no longer wear a collar, my body no longer bears bruises except for those I earned in training. Daenerys may not have carried me, but she is my mother. That is why I do not want sympathy, Jon Snow, because I no longer need it, I am no longer in a position where it keeps me alive” you finished, speeding up your horse to join Daenerys and Missandei, leaving behind a sympathetic, but understanding Jon Snow.

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Your lips slightly parted in awe as you neared Winterfell, you felt as though the only grounding force that told you it wasn’t a dream was Rhaegal and Drogon above you, their roars and the sound of their wings let you know you were wide awake, and you finally turned to Ezzo, smiling amazed at him before looking back to Winterfell. You had read about it in Mereen, and you remembered how out of all of the cities, you wanted to see Winterfell the most, and here you were, approaching it slowly as people of the north watched you ride by. You felt Ezzo’s hand gently nudge your knee, making you look at him as he gave you a smile “what?” you asked as he just looked at you, he shrugged and just kept smiling “just wanted to look at you” you blushed at his words, the colour of you (Y/S/C) cheeks flushing red, and you looked away, much to Ezzo’s dismay, he thought it looked beautiful with your (Y/E/C) eyes. You shook your head, almost as if you tried to shake off the blush on your cheeks, but you couldn’t shake off the smile that graced your lips “I’ve read a lot about Winterfell, it was built so long ago, it’s said to be built over there natural hot springs, so even though it’s snowing, the castle is much warmer than it looks” you looked back to Ezzo, only to find him already looking at you, and you refrained from saying anything, just enjoying the soft look he gave you as you looked back to Winterfell.

You marvelled at how big it actually was, and Daenerys, upon seeing your face, couldn’t help the smile that found it’s way to her lips.

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You sat tense by Daenerys’ side, something she had noticed long ago. You were cold, colder than before. When you read about the hot springs under Winterfell, you had hoped it would have given more of an impact, but here you were, willing yourself to stop shaking, while your mother sat quite comfortably, since she was a Targaryen. Your eyes scanned the crowd as a way to distract yourself, and you noticed how everyone seemed to love Jon, everyone knew him, adored him, admired him, and you could see, out the corner of your eyes, Daenerys’ smile wavering, she noticed as well. Daenerys was so used to being loved back in Essos, in Essos she was the Breaker of Chains, the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, she brought wonder and awe to people’s lives as she entered them, but here, here she was the foreign queen who their king had knelt to, the daughter of a madman, leader of an army of savages, and you imagined how much it must hurt her, so turning to her you gently nudged her, giving you her attention, and you knew the smile she put on her lips were fake, it was forced and stretched, like a piece of leather being forced over shapes it wasn’t meant to embrace.

You got up, pulled your new arakh out from behind your back and sat back down, your whole body facing her as you showed it to her “Ezzo gave it to me” you let her hold it and study it, watching her smile fade as realization struck her “your name day…” your own smile fell, you hadn’t meant to force it upon her, she was busy, it was a time of war, you understood how she could forget it, so you quickly shook your head “Mhysa I-... I didn’t mean it like that I just… wanted to show you… he carved the handle himself and-”

“I’m so sorry, Little Dragon” she looked heartbroken and you quickly shook your head again, reaching out for her hands “no, no Mhysa, please don’t be, we’re at war, I nearly forgot it myself, as have Missandei, please don’t feel bad. We’re all busy, you most of all, and after Viserion-” you stopped yourself there, knowing you’d get nowhere with her, and mentioning Viserion would only bring the both of you pain, you could already feel the tears building up in your eyes “I will do my best to correct this, I swear, (Y/N)” you sighed, taking back you anakh, putting it on the table, leaning over and hugging her “you don’t have to, just be happy” you whispered the last bit, feeling her arms finally wrap around you to embrace you as well. Once you parted you saw how sad she still was, which made you feel a guilty, you hadn’t meant to force it upon her, you heard her give a short sigh, turning back to look at the different people, studying them and how they loved Jon Snow, you followed her gaze, and you couldn’t help moving your hand down to gently grasp hers, she was so warm compared to you, her Targaryen blood had fire running through her veins “you are so cold, are you freezing?” you turned to look at her concerned expression, making you smile slightly “no, no I’m just cold. Mhysa, you’re a Targaryen, you have fire in your veins” you giggled slightly, and she joined you, briefly, before looking back over the the northerners “they’ll love you, you know, they’re just scared, perhaps even a bit betrayed, they trusted their king to never kneel again and then he did it, they’re just angry, but I don't blame them, who wouldn’t be in this cold?” you whispered the last bit to her, making her grin and do her best to hold in a laugh that you knew wanted to tear it’s way out of her and make itself known to everyone in the room, a thought that kept you warmer than the fires your brother’s breathed.

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You frowned as you stared at her in disbelief, taking in her words, each time you tried to decipher it a new frown appeared on your forehead “but-...” you leaned back in your chair, your gaze off to the side, not looking at anything in particular. You finally looked back at Daenerys, seeing her being torn between worlds as well. You leaned forward, gently grasping her hand in yours “who knows, Mhysa?” she swallowed the lump in her throat before speaking up “his brother, Bran, Samwell Tarly, and he’s going to tell his sisters” you frowned at her last statement “but I thought he loved you?” at yours words Daenerys finally let a tear roll down her cheek, all her life she had believed she was the true heir to Westeros, and now, now all of the sudden she wasn’t, the goal she had worked her way towards her whole life was gone, snuffed out, like a candle in a storm. You sighed heavily and got up “and he says he doesn’t want the throne?” you looked out a window before back to Daenerys, seeing her nod briefly and weakly, making you sigh again “then that’s that, Mhysa, he doesn’t want it, you are the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, you are the Queen of Westeros, there is nothing else to it” you kneeled down in front of her, you knew how much this meant to her.

She gently shook her head “it doesn’t matter what he wants… he’s the rightful heir and the people-”

“No! Mhysa… you’ve worked towards this your entire life! He doesn’t want the throne, they can’t force him upon it, can they? I-... I know you love him… I know you haven’t said so but, the way you look at him, and the way he looks at you, he loves you as well, I’m not-... experienced in love but, you have to at least trust that, right?” Daenerys sighed and looked at you, raising a hand to gently hold your cheek, you leaned into her touch and she smiled at the gesture “my sweet little dragon” she whispered, leaning over and placing a kiss on your forehead, her eyes closed as yet another tear fell from them.

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You glared at your mother as she looked at you with a pleading look “I am not going into the crypt, I want to fight!” Daenerys sighed, you two had been at it for almost an hour now “(Y/N) there is nothing to discuss, please, my little dragon, do as I say. You have a responsibility, you’re the heir to the throne, my ONLY heir, please, I can’t let anything happen to you” you sighed as she used your nickname in Valyrian, mulling over her words before finally giving a weak nod, making Daenerys close her eyes in pure relief. You sighed heavily as you walked down the steps, mumbling annoyed, making Sansa frown as she studied you, looking down at Tyrion, who sighed “she wants to fight, a Dothraki has been teaching her for months now. I think she’s scared,” he whispered the last part, making Sansa lean in as he continued “I think she’s scared of losing yet another brother, or perhaps even her mother, she thinks that somehow if she fights with her, she could prevent it” Sansa frowned even more “but the dragons are not her brothers” Tyrion shrugged “she has grown up around them for the last five years, whenever she was sad and Missandei or Daenerys wasn’t around, the dragons comforted her, I’ve heard stories of how they flew up on her balcony and came close to her, let her lay up against them and cry. When they were locked in the pyramid, she visited them every day, Rhaegal was her dragon, and now Jon Snow is riding him, she may not be a Targaryen, but she understands those dragons, almost as well as their mother, so try to tell her, once a little girl, lost and afraid of the world, protected and cared for by these dragons and their mother, that they are not her family. She already lost one brother, forgive me, Lady Stark, but I do believe you can understand how she feels” Tyrion ended, looking back at you as Missandei sat down next to you, talking with you quietly.

Sansa watched you with sympathy now, she understood what it was like to lose family, and while she couldn’t see how you saw dragons as family, she could understand the bond and the grief you must have felt when Viserion died, especially now that it was known that he had joined the Night King as an undead dragon, no longer the brother you knew.

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You stared at the piles upon piles of dead bodies, blood covering your face, your akanh in your hand, a cut on your hand and leg, still bleeding, your eyes widening as you saw a white figure in the distance leaning over someone, crying. It was nearly dawn, the Night King was dead and so was his army. Your feet took off before you even knew it, you barely felt the wound on your leg as you ran across the body littered field, you fell to your knees, you arakh long forgotten as you stared at the body in Daenerys’ arms. You breathed heavily as you just stared at his pale skin, the blood splattered across his face and armor, and the small drops of tears from your mother’s eyes. You gently shook your head as you held your breath, at any moment he would wake up, right? He would wake up, let you know that he was alright, he was okay, he was wounded but alive, right? You let out a whimper as none of that happened, he stayed still and pale, and you leaned over his breastplate, resting your head on it, not caring about the blood smearing onto your forehead. You let a sob escape your lips, only one, you told yourself, but it was followed by another, and another, and another, and before you knew it you were sobbing against the cold, hard metal covering his chest.

You looked up at Daenerys to see her crying as well, holding Joarh close and you couldn’t help but lean down and hug his stiff form, your arms around his neck as you sobbed against his throat, silently begging him to wake up, and when that didn’t work you tried verbally “wake up, please Ser Jorah, please, please wake up, please no, no, no, no! Wake up!” you hadn’t even noticed how you had begun to speak Valyrian, it was your native tongue after all, even though Jorah never understood it. You shook him as hard as you could, tears streaming down your face as you shook your head once more, you could barely breathe, Jorah had been the one to cut off your collar, he had been the one you had talked the most with, even though none of you understood each other back then. You leaned against Daenerys’ shoulder as you both cried, tears streaming down your faces as you continued to hold the old knight.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, clinging to his corpse and Daenerys’ side as you cried over his body, praying that somehow he would wake up, somehow his eyes would open, or he would cough, say something, anything. But nothing happened, and nothing ever would, he was dead, cold and stiff, buried in metal as he laid in the cold snow, blood surrounding him, some of it his own, some of it not, that thought chilled you to the bone more than any wind ever could, he was bathed in blood, some not his own, it made you sick, and you felt the urge to throw up, leaning away quickly and throwing up over the side, making sure none of it touched Jorah or your mother. Afterwards you groaned, tears still streaming down your face as you glanced at Ser Jorah, another sob forcing it’s way through your body and out your mouth as you yet again fell to Daenerys’ side, holding Jorah. You felt Daenerys’ hand slowly place itself on your back as you sobbed, her own cries still spilling from her lips as you both just held him, not caring who watched or who was nearby.

[raisamariannas]

queen you shall be (12k)

Fem!Maegor x Aenys.

Maegara Targaryen is the only child of Queen Visenya and her husband, King Aegon. At birth, she was promised a crown and a husband.

Visenya is unable to stop her disappointment from growing, even a day after the birth. She had been so certain in her capabilities and made sure everyone knew it too. “It is my pleasure to announce that I carry the King’s son in my womb,” she had announced, only six turns before.

She recoils in distaste as she recalls how high her voice was, and how proud she sounded. She had felt great that day, as the members of Aegon’s court clapped politely, even as they looked at each other in uncertainty. Visenya knew why they were so hesitant. They frowned at her sureness and arrogance, for a woman who bore no children for twenty years of marriage couldn’t hope for a son so late in her life.

She told the world that she would bear a son. Not just the King’s child, but his son. A boy born from a dragonlord and a dragonlady, brother and sister bound together by oath. The child of her hopes and dreams.

The maesters at court told her not to be so determined of the child’s gender, as one can only know for sure at birth, but Visenya knew. She asked for it, her nostrils filled with the smoke of her glass candles. Her intentions at the conception had been for a son, a strong son who could inherit the throne if Aegon’s weakling failed to thrive. A son, not a daughter, and yet a daughter is what she was given. Big and strong, just as she prayed for, twice the size of little Aenys, but lacking all those parts necessary for a King.

She rubs her fingers over her curled lips, willing them to smooth down into a smile, and tells herself to take a deep breath. Visenya had prayed for a healthy child that would sire a long lineage of Kings, and mayhaps all hope is not lost. The King already had a son, and the prince would have need of a bride. His father married his sisters, so there would be nothing stopping Aenys from doing the same to the King’s only daughter. An age difference of five years is not so uncommon, or so bad as to prevent the match from happening.

A second son inheriting was too much to hope for, she tells herself, but a daughter had a chance of being queen. Aenys would be King of Westeros one day, and yet his Queen could not be a Westerosi. The Targaryens were from Old Valyria, the last of the dragonlords, and the bloodline must remain pure.

Visenya decides she is not disappointed because she bore a daughter, but rather, because of embarrassment that will arise. Until a name is decided, the girl’s birth will not be announced, but soon everyone will know, and everyone shall remember her promise. Her anger is only directed at the Westerosi nobles, not to herself, and least of all to her precious daughter.

And precious she is. Precious and beautiful. Or at least, Visenya thinks so. Her hair is soft, more silver than gold, and her eyes shine with the dark purple of her father, nearly black. Her face is still swollen and red like those of the newly born, but there are defined features in there, if one only knows how to look. She has Aegon’s nose, and a chin not unlike Orys’, and may even grow to look like her mother in time, if the gods will it so.

Her daughter sleeps peacefully in her cot, tiny hands closed into fists. She arrived during the night, an easy birth that came and went so quickly that she was born before the maester could even send a raven to King’s Landing to warn her father. She cried so hard and so strongly that Visenya was certain of her gender, even when the old man helping her deliver announced the birth of a daughter. A jape, she thinks. Her daughter came to this world mocking her.

But that hardly matters now. Visenya smiles her rare smile, true and big, and leans forward, stroking a long finger down the Princess’ cheek. Aegon will arrive soon, and he’d see the future of their family in there. A strong girl, who could erase all the weak parts of Aenys and sire a son worthy of the Targaryen name. Aegon’s true heir, his flesh and blood. The bells of Dragonstone still ring, and would ring until the end of the day, for their King was a father once more.

As if knowing she was thinking of him, the door opens and her lord saunters in. The older sister in her quickly worries over his pale skin and wide eyes, as well as the hand ever present on the pommel of his sword. Visenya feels regret, not glee, at seeing his carefulness certainly driven by her own warnings, and a sudden mix of sadness and mourning. Only the year before, the dornishmen twice attacked His Grace with intents to kill, and she was forced to create the Kingsguard to protect their family from the Toad’s creatures. After Rhaenys’ death, all hope for peace was lost, and Visenya would have burned Dorne seven times over if only to assuage the empty hole her sister left behind.

Her brother walks next to her, his purple eyes turning to the babe in her cot. If it were Rhaenys, he would have pressed a kiss to her cheek, and spun her around the room in celebration, but Visenya doesn’t allow herself to think about that. Extensive shows of affection were not the way of her and her husband.

And he looks happy, at least. A gentle smile takes his lips, soft and loving, and he places a hand inside the cot, curled thumb touching the Princess’ hand. The child sighs in her sleep, opening her hand and closing it again around the King’s finger. The chuckle that leaves Aegon’s lips is both unfamiliar and a comfort to Visenya, who feels her shoulders loosen with tension.

“A girl,” she murmurs, although her words feel stupid in her mouth. The raven sent by Maester Orwyle would have mentioned that and even if it didn’t, Aegon would have heard the truth from the gossiping servants on his way to the nursery, “Healthy.”

“Good,” Aegon whispers, “That’s good.” He shakes his head and looks at her fleetingly, purple eyes that match her own, “The realm must be noticed of the birth of a princess. I have names…”

Visenya interrupts him, “Where is Aenys?”

Aegon bristles rather visibly. After Rhaenys’ death, her son broke, losing whatever shred of confidence and strength he managed to acquire over his short life. The little prince returned to crawling around as if he were a babe, and many doubted he would live long enough to be King. Visenya was the one who suggested to Aegon that they conceive a child together, a son, in the possibility of a spare heir being needed.

But now she needs Aenys, or rather her daughter does.

“In King’s Landing,” her brother answers, mentioning the city that grew around the outskirts of his Aegonfort, “It was late, when they told me, and I thought riding on Balerion with him wouldn’t be safe. He will come later, by ship.”

Visenya nods, “That’s good. He must be here soon, to meet his future bride.”

Aegon looks at her again, but this time, his eyes are wide and shocked, his mouth hanging open. Visenya looks back at her brother, confused at his surprise, and frowns. Was it her wanting her nephew there that shocked him, or something else? Perhaps he didn’t expect her to speak so callously of a girl just born, but it was in her nature to think ahead, and plan the future.

“What is wrong?” she asks him.

 “I thought…” Aegon shakes his head and Visenya feels the need to roll her eyes in annoyance, “He’s five years older than her, and there are some reservations from the Faith about our own marriage.”

“And what? Father was ten years older than Mother.” Visenya says, “We are Targaryens. The Faith’s rules don’t apply to us.” She presses her lips together, angry at his hesitation, “Aenys will wait for a bride if he wishes to produce pure valyrian children.”

“Lord Velaryon has a daughter of age with Aenys,” Aegon retorts, “Alyssa. Like us, the Velaryons are of the dragon’s blood. The faith will not oppose and… I haven’t promised anything, but it’s what is expected.”

“Alyssa Velaryon would be a start,” Visenya says, “And then who would be next? A Hightower, a Tully, a Stark? We are Targaryens. We don’t mingle with lesser men.”

“I know,” Aegon bites back, and his worried eyes turn to the child in her crib. The babe doesn’t seem bothered by their high voices, or even close to being woken up. She only sleeps, stomach full of mother’s milk, “I know.”

“Why are you saying this?” she asks him, voice tense, “You are King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, but our line belongs to Old Valyria. Do you think the dragons will answer to a man of andal stock, even if he calls himself a Targaryen?”

“No.”

He looks away, ashamed of her chastisement, and Visenya remembers her mother, whispering sweet words into her ears.  A little brother may live to be a hundred, but he will always be a little brother.

Visenya sighs, and shakes her body, willing the tension to leave her shoulders. It was all too easy to argue with Aegon, but one can’t simply fight and fight and expect a clean victory at the end of it. She learned this the hard way, with Rhaenys and Dorne.

“I am only saying it for our protection,” she murmurs, “If my daughter grows to claim a dragon of her own and marries, say a Lannister, for example, then there is another Great House who can match your son on the battlefield, and with a claim on the throne to boot. Wars will arise that could be prevented from the right decision in this very room.”

“Fine,” he declares, looking back at her, “Fine. We’ll have it your way.”

It doesn’t feel like a victory, but Visenya will take whatever she can. She smiles a private smile to her brother, although he fails to see it, and turns to her daughter, still deep in slumbers. If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of her chest, the Queen would worry about her long nap, even after the maester at Dragonstone assured her that the Princess would live.

“She needs a name,” Visenya murmurs.

“Yes, she does,” Aegon answers, and smiles again. He removes his hand from the pommel of his sword and places it on the edge of the cot, looking over their daughter like a dragon protecting his most precious treasure, “Valaena, after Mother.” His eyes meet hers and he must have seen something in her expression, for he smiles tightly, “You don’t agree.”

It’s not a question. Visenya sighs. Let the singers wax poetry about Aegon and Rhaenys and their ten nights together, for the Queen has her own relationship with her brother. They know each other and understand each other in a way no one could ever understand.

“No,” she says, “I had my own name in mind.”

Aegon looks at her and his smile turns poisonous, and dark, “Do tell.”

Visenya smiles back at him, looking at her brother under her silver lashes. He will not like it, she knows, but she has done many things she didn’t like for his sake and he could very well pay her the same courtesy.

“Maegara,” she whispers, “Maegara Targaryen.”

Something twitches inside Aegon the First of His Name. He widens his eyes slightly, hardly anything that could tell her much, and Visenya could have laughed from the look on his face, if she were not being serious in her choice of name.

“Sister,” he murmurs, poison lacing his voice, “Please, do not tease me.”

“I’m not japing,” she answers, her words equally dark, “If I had a boy as intended, I would have called him Maegor. Is it so bad that I wish to continue my planning with my daughter?”

“The plans aren’t the problem,” Aegon says, his voice filled with anger. Visenya bristles at his tone, and feels her cheeks burn. It is all too easy to argue with her husband, “The name is.”

“What is the matter with it? Maegara is a lovely High Valyrian name.”

“With terrible connotations,” Aegon replies, “Maegara and Maegi. One only needs to see closely to understand.”

Visenya takes a deep breath, huffing, “And? I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done to protect the family and I don’t wish for her to be ashamed either. Our daughter should know her roots and how she came to be.”

Aegon presses his lips together, shaking in anger, and Visenya steps back. Not out of cowardice, but to balance her bodyweight better, if a proper fighting stance became necessary between them. Her husband looks at the babe in her crib and she does the same, a fleeting look to check on her wellbeing only to find dark purple eyes staring back at her. The babe is awake, and she hasn’t even cried from their harsh tones.

“Very well,” Aegon says, still looking at the Princess, “Do whatever you want.”

Visenya feels the anger at her chest deflate, her rage burning away to cinders in her veins, and she sighs, turning back to the cot. She is too old for sibling squabbles with her brother, too old and too motherly.

“Aegon,” she says. She tries not to make her words sound like a warning, but by the look in her King’s face, she must have failed, “I don’t want it to be like this.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Visenya sees the tension leaving his shoulders, his muscles loosening. If she were Rhaenys, she might have pulled him into a kiss, or even an embrace, but she is not. She is Visenya and Rhaenys is long dead.

It was always easier with her  , the Queen remembers. In the early days of their marriage, Rhaenys could assuage even the most terrible fights between her and Aegon, forcing them to make peace for the sake of the family,  Rhaenys was the glue that held us together.

“Me neither,” he says, opening his eyes. Aegon looks back at the cot and he reaches forward with his hands, gathering their daughter into his arms. He holds her expertly like he did Aenys a thousand times, with a hand behind her rump and another securing her soft head, “The Faith will never agree to the match.”

Visenya smiles, “We’ll simply tell them that their rules do not apply to the blood of the dragon.”

Aegon’s mouth twitches and he look at Maegara on his arms, who calmly stares back at him.

“I shall take her with me when I return to King’s Landing,” he murmurs, “She will grow by Aenys’ side. It will make the marriage easier for both.”

For the first time in her entire life, Visenya is at loss for words. She opens and closes her mouth, trying to form a coherent sentence that can define what she feels. Her mind goes to the capital, a stinking city without a touch of familiarity and home. She hates it, never spending more than a full turn in its vicinity, not even when Rhaenys was still alive.

Dragonstone is home. It’s the last remnant of Old Valyria, too far to be hit by the doom. A memory of times past standing still on the waters of the Narrow Sea. On their island, dragons would hatch and grow, filling the skies with their power. She had protested when Aegon refused to make their ancestral seat his capital and refused to even listen to his reasons.

And Aegon wants to take her daughter there. Visenya is old, having just turned forty, and it took effort for this one pregnancy. Maegara would be her only child, and Aegon wants to take her away.

“No,” she says.

“Why not?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

Visenya hesitates, scrambling to find a sensible reason to refuse.

“The Aegonfort is not secure for her,” she answers and, knowing that he’ll mention his son’s safety, continues, “Or Aenys.”

Aegon narrows his eyes until they are only purple slits on his pale face. He doesn’t trust her with Aenys, never has and never will. Visenya still remembers their arguments following Rhaenys’ death, how bitter and destructive they had been.

“He is weak,” she’d whisper, dragging him to the corners at Dragonstone, “The realm you built will shatter under his rule.”

“He is my son!” Aegon would answer, voice rash with resentment and mourning, “My son, my heir.”

“And if he doesn’t live?” Visenya asked. After Rhaenys died, many thought her child who’d always been sickly would soon follow her, “Who shall inherit your throne? Cousin Aethan?”

“He won’t die,” Aegon replied, “I will take care of him.”

It was only a sickness that led him to conceive with her. Before Aenys was gifted his hatchling, a fever burned through him. He almost died, and it took many weeks for him to recover after. At the time, some thought Visenya had poisoned him, and even Aegon considered the idea, although it didn’t stop him visiting her bedchambers a moon’s turn later, agreeing to her plans.

Aegon stares at her, rocking their daughter silently. Maegara is still too young to speak or smile, but she gurgles, tiny little fists struggling against her father’s chest. The King holds her close, and Visenya can’t help but see her as a hostage trapped with the enemy.

“You told me you plan on having Dragonstone as the title of the heir,” she says, “If this will be Aenys’ seat, shouldn’t he grow knowing it as a home?”

Aegon lowers his gaze and shakes his head slightly, a smile taking his lips. He looks at Maegara and gently sets her back on her crib. Visenya doesn’t speak, her words dying on her tongue, and she only watches her brother’s careful movements.

“We agreed we would always speak the truth to each other, didn’t we?” he murmurs.

“I am speaking the truth,” Visenya answers, feeling her skin itch with anger. Outside, she hears Vhagar roaring and she wonders if the dragon senses her rage, mirroring her own feelings, “I don’t want my daughter to grow up in that shitpile of a city.”

Aegon’s expression twitches. The mask of neutrality he so carefully cultivates slips off his face, exposing the rotting darkness underneath, “It’s funny.”

Visenya frowns, “What is?”

“I had forgotten how it’s impossible to deal with you,” he says, “But now I remember.” Aegon looks at Maegara one last time, before turning and walking back to the door from which he came.

Visenya is unable to stop her words from leaving her lips, spilling down her chin like wine, “Where are you going?” she asks and her voice is both angry and demanding, a mixture of regret and resentment.

“Back to King’s Landing,” he answers. Aegon doesn’t spare them a look of goodbye before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

She closes her eyes at the sudden noise of the door hitting the stone wall. It takes everything in her to not follow him, even if she must ride Vhagar to King’s Landing and pull him back from the ear as if they were children once again.

When she opens her eyes again, Visenya turns her gaze to the cot.

“Don’t fret,” she tells the child staring back at her, “We have no need of him. It will be just you and me, little one. Until the end.”

--

Maegara twists her lips, looking determinedly at the row of eggs in front of her. Silver, purple, black, bronze. They glow like precious stones under the sunlight, glimmering from different sides as she adjusts her bodyweight. She bites her tongue so hard she can taste blood, her eyes never leaving the dragon eggs before her.

“Do any of them feel warm to you?” Mother asks, standing behind her.

When Maegara looks at the Queen, she sees no gentle smile, or caring eyes, but rather a dutiful and serious expression. Visenya Targaryen has her hair bound up in a bun, turned white from age, and her old purple eyes still burn with the strength of a thousand victories on the battlefield. The great warrior has no spared time to coddle her child.

It doesn’t bother Maegara. She has no need for motherly pampering. If she did, she’d be like her older half-brother, weak and unprepared for the trials of life. Her mother doesn’t spoil her, hindering her abilities, but rather the opposite. Since birth, she has been raised to be Visenya’s mirror, her true legacy, prepared for the trials of a world filled with lesser men.

She still remembers her first sword, gifted to her at three. Wielding it became like second nature to her, and Mother quickly insisted that Ser Gawen Corbray teach her as he would a prince. Even when the septas at Dragonstone protested, claiming that a young girl such as her had no business in learning swordplay, Mother maintained her ground and Maegara would always be thankful for that. She had no business in learning how to play the harp, or how to embroider pretty pictures in a piece of fabric, even if half her day was destined for those stupid lessons.

“Why would they?” the Princess asks, her mouth twisting deeper and deeper into a pout.

Her mother only looks at her, not even saying anything, and Maegara feels her cheeks burn with shame. She smoothed down her expression, lowering her eyebrows in an attempt to seem as neutral as possible, and sighed, rubbing her palms down her skirts.

Dresses.  Another useless thing forced on her by septas and servants. Unlike with swordplay, Mother had no qualms about her following traditional fashion, even when the Queen herself preferred breeches to the rigid skirts and silks.

“Warmth means life,” answers Mother at last, pressing her lips in silent disapproval.

Maegara nods and leans forward, rubbing her fingertips against the metallic shells. It is cold to the touch, dead, and she wants to spit to the ground in frustration. She might have, if Mother’s careful eyes weren’t watching her intently, observing her every move. She walks along the row, touching every egg, feeling its sharp scales against her skin. A lesser woman might have feared a cut or a scrape, but she is no lesser woman. She is Princess Maegara of House Targaryen. She is of the Conqueror’s seed. Fear is not something that happens to her.

Minutes, or maybe hours, pass before she steps back, finally giving up. She looks at her mother and lets out a breath, frustration, and anger seeping into her bones. Visenya doesn’t tilt her head, reaching out with a hand to coo and drive away all hurt with a simple treacherous touch. She simply puckers her lips and turns around.

Mother and daughter are at the foot of the Dragonmont, the volcano that rose Dragonstone from the sea more than ten thousand years before. The servants spent hours bringing every egg laid by the more distracted dragons over the years to them, while Mother cancelled her lessons with Maester Orwyle and Septa Sylvia.

“Maybe your dragon has already hatched,” Queen Visenya suggests and tilts her head up slightly. Maegara does the same and sees the hatchlings of Dragonstone flying over them, fighting, and playing amongst themselves. Some are too young to breath fire, while others blow wisps of smoke streaked with curling jets of heat, “When it comes time to choose, choose well. There are no wrong choices, but a dragon is a lifetime companion.”

Maegara watches the creatures flying, spinning, and playing, some going as far as landing near her and Mother. Powerful, some would say, but still not the frightening beasts that helped Father conquer the Seven Kingdoms. It would take time for them to grow, and most would never come close to the Conqueror’s mount. The Black Dread was born in Old Valyria and came with the Exile to Dragonstone as they fled the Doom.

She frowns as she observes the hatchlings. Weak, and too free.  Out of control . None are worthy of the future Queen of Westeros. She looks at the eggs and the hatchlings, furious that they are her only options.

Maegara turns to her mother, “Where is Balerion?”

For half a second, she thinks she sees an angry shadow cover her mother’s face, her lips twitching. It comes and goes quickly, a movement so fast that she might have missed had she blinked. Her mother’s pale face returns to its usual emptiness and she says, “In King’s Landing. With your father.”

Maegara pouts without meaning to and looks away, not wanting Mother to see the expression on her face. She has failed, clearly, and Visenya Targaryen places a hand on her shoulder, squeezing her flesh.

“Is it possible for a dragon to have two riders?” she asks the Queen, trying to make her voice sound sweet and not at all as envious as she feels.

Mother presses her lips in a tight line. Disappointment is clear on her face, as well as something else that Maegara can’t recognize. Anger, perhaps, mixed with distaste. Not an emotion one wishes to evoke on Visenya Targaryen.

“No,” she murmurs, “If you wish to ride upon Balerion, you will have to wait for your father’s death.” Mother looks at her with such an intensity that she almost looks away, unable to hold her gaze, “And, if the gods are good, that will not happen until he is old and grey, laying down in his bed surrounded by the grandchildren you shall give him.”

Maegara gulps down, “Of course. I only meant…”

“I know what you meant,” Mother interrupts her, sharp eyes fleeting, “But it doesn’t matter. You will claim a dragon before your father dies, and that will be that. No rider has ever bonded with two different dragons, even if one is already dead.”

The Princess nods, her cheeks burning with shame. She thinks about a time when she was eight, barely a girl, or a dragon. Maegara remembers her mother’s voice, and how tightly the Queen held her, fingers squeezing hard enough to leave purple marks that took weeks to fade away. It was after the palfrey, she recalls, and the boy, with his face slashed by the dagger she sneaked from the armory.

“You are out of control,” Visenya said and chills run down her spine as she thinks on how her mother didn’t raise her voice. Never even shouted as the guardsmen explained what she had done to the horse, “I will have none of this. No more cruelty. No more games. You will have to be perfect. Do you comprehend how your actions are scrutinized? Your father may yet change his mind and crown Alyssa Velaryon in your place. Would you see that simpering girl with a crown that should be yours? Continue to behave this way and you will all but hand it to her.”

Maegara’s answer, a meek  no too foreign for her tongue, did little to assuage her mother. Since then, the Queen seemed to take more interest in her studies, from assuring her that she would attend her lessons with the septas to overseeing Maester Orwyle’s correction of her exercises. Mother wanted her to be perfect in every sense of the way, from how to wield a sword to needlework and singing. A monarch worthy of sitting on her father’s throne.

And Maegara would surely be that.

“Don’t worry,” Mother says, taking her away from the inner corners of her mind, “I rode Vhagar for the first time a little before I married your father.” Her mother gives her one of her rare smiles, tight and straining against her cheeks, “There is still time.”

Maegara nods, even as her heart races inside her chest. She thinks about her grandfather, who never rode a dragon, and then, not for the first time, to the prince in King’s Landing. Aenys has a dragon, Quicksilver, given as a hatchling to him when he himself was a hatchling. Merchants coming from the capital claim that her half-brother would spend more hours on dragonback than not, the perfect Targaryen.

It’s not fair  , she tells herself,  I will be Queen. I should have a dragon of my own.

But it doesn’t matter. It is best if she doesn’t compare herself to Aenys, even if she is his clear superior in every way  other than dragon riding. To think about her half-brother standing beside Father in King’s Landing will do her no good, but rather the opposite. Mother says that she shouldn’t think about Aenys, or else her mind will be muddled in anger and she will be distracted from her own learning.

“How did you know which dragon to choose?” Maegara asks, placing her hands in front of her body.

Mother frowns, looking away for a brief second.

“I don’t know,” she says, “When I was a girl, we had many eggs, but little of dragons big enough to ride. Maybe that helped me, not having such a vast arrange of choices.” She smiles, softer and more relaxed, “My sister Rhaenys used to say that she felt like Meraxes was an extension of her body. Not a mount, but rather, herself.”

Maegara nods. Mother rarely talks about her aunt, the deceased Queen and Aenys’ mother. The Princess knows very little about her father’s second wife, other than what transpired in Dorne when the Conqueror tried to bring the savages into his control. Maester Orwyle had hesitated to broach the subject, thinking it a crass affair not fit for the mind of a young princess, but quickly lost his fears. She needed to know history, after all.

And yet, she hated that part of history. King Aegon sent his sister-wife to Dorne to bring them peacefully into their fold, and yet Rhaenys failed. When they declared war, the Dornishmen fought back and dared to kill a dragon before deeming themselves high enough to sue for peace with the Iron Throne. Often enough, Maegara wondered why her father didn’t burn the Rhoynar where they stood, letting their defiance sink into the sand. Instead, the Conqueror allowed them to consider themselves equal to the Targaryen. Monarchs, in their own right.

Deria Martell assured King Aegon I Targaryen that Dorne wanted peace, but would not swear fealty to the Iron Throne. King Aegon's counselors argued against this, claiming Aegon would look weak if he agreed. In addition, they believed the lords of the Reach and stormlands would feel offended by such a peace.

King Aegon was ready to refuse the offer when Princess Deria presented him with a letter from her father. Aegon read the letter, his hands clenching it so hard they started to bleed. Once he was done, he burned the letter and immediately flew to Dragonstone upon Balerion. When he returned the next morning, he agreed to the peace and signed a treaty.

After reading such passages in her books, Maegara rose her head and looked at the old Maester in Dragonstone. He had wrinkly and stained skin, with white hair and unfocused eyes. He would die soon, she knew, and a new maester would have to come to Dragonstone. Although she was looking forward to being rid of Orwyle, she didn’t want any newcomers in her family’s castle.

“What was in the letter?” she asked in an uncharacteristic sweetness. Maester Orwyle frowned, stopping his reading of a piece of parchment where she wrote the extensive details of the Last Storm the previous day, “The letter sent by Prince Nymor to my father.”

“I don’t know, Your Grace,” he told her, “The King never told anyone.”

“Not even to my mother?”

The maester shook his head, “I’m afraid your royal mother and father aren’t as close as you’d hope, Princess.”

Maegara looks at Visenya Targaryen and there is nothing in her mother’s face that could show her feelings to anyone else, not even her daughter. Maegara tries to mirror her expression, setting her lips in a tight line, and smoothing down her brows.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mother says, pulling her by the shoulder, “We can try again another day.” They turn away from the Dragonmont, and towards their horses, being held by a servant under the shade of a tree, “It’s your nameday. We can’t very well spend the entire morning looking at dragons.”

The servant helps Maegara to climb her ride, a fine black mare from the Reach, while Mother, an expert rider, does it herself. They don’t talk as they return to the castle, the stormy clouds hanging above Dragonstone.

Maegara can’t help but feel like she has disappointed her mother for not claiming a dragon of her own, but how can Mother understand her troubles? Mother has been riding Vhagar since before the Conquest and would ride her for ever more. Meraxes is dead, alongside her rider, and Balerion  The Black Dread that destroyed Harrenhal and burned every Hoare alive is not yet available to her.

When they enter Dragonstone, the castle named after the island, Mother walks ahead, without even looking behind her shoulder to see if her daughter is following. Maegara runs after her, holding her skirts in one hand as she is led by the Queen to her solar.

As she arrives in the solar, Maegara’s eyes go to the wrapped package in her mother’s table. Her heart races as she approaches, her hands itching to grab what most likely is a present for her. She looks at her mother, purple eyes meeting, and sees that the Queen is smiling.

“Go on,” she says, “Open it. It’s not every day that you turn three and ten.”

Maegara can barely contain her eagerness as she undoes the packaging, ripping open the fine parchment used to wrap her gift. Her chin drops as she reveals a glorious sword with a dark gray pommel, a golden dragon engraved on the handle with rubies for its eyes. The blade is slim, she sees, and designed for a woman’s hand.

Maegara knows the name of the sword, for she has seen it in her mother’s hip a thousand times before. “Dark Sister,” she responds in a hushed and amazed tone. Her hands fly to the pommel of the sword and she holds it, not surprised with how right it feels on her hand.

Mother had let her train with the weapon occasionally, but this was different. This was a gift. Dark Sister would not be Visenya’s sword, but rather, Maegara���s. It would look lovely on her hip, and even more so later, when she would drive the blade into an enemy’s chest and watch them die in front of her.

“I’m old, child,” Mother says, “I am not as strong as I used to be. I can’t wield it effectively, and its high time that I accept the new order.” Mother’s smile turns darker, and poisonous, “You need a blade of your own, and what better than one of the ancestral swords of our house?” Visenya walks around the table until she is standing in front of her daughter. Maegara has always been tall, and strong, even in her early childhood, and she towers over her mother. The Queen, however, shows no sign of noticing it, as she places her hands on her face, caressing her cheeks, “This sword is only the beginning. Soon, your fate will catch up to you, and everything I have done will not be for naught.”

“I will make you proud,” Maegara whispers.

Mother presses her lips together, “You are Maegara Targaryen, daughter of the dragons, and one day, you will be Queen.” She brushes a lock of silver-gold hair behind the Princess’ ear, “Repeat it.”

“I am Maegara Targaryen, daughter of the dragons, and one day, I will be Queen!” she says, her voice rising and Mother smiles.

One day,  she tells herself, excited at the prospect,  I will sit on my father’s throne and everyone will have to bow to me, for I will be their undoubted Queen.

Even Aenys. Her weakling older brother will be the first to accept her rule, or else she will make him rue the Gods that made him a Targaryen.

--

Septa Sylvia hums as they weave, dark eyes focusing on the half-finished tapestry in front of her. Maegara taps her fingers against her thigh, willing herself to not snap at the woman at her side, and continues plucking the fabric with her needle.

It is supposed to represent the Conquest, a long work that will be presented to the King on his nameday, if Maegara is deemed worthy enough to attend the feast. It was Mother’s idea, and she quickly announced it in front of the court of Dragonstone, stopping Maegara from somehow preventing this entire nonsense.

They had been working on it for an entire fortnight, depicting every major event from her parents’ war. That day, not surprisingly, Septa Sylvia has chosen to work on Father’s coronation at Oldtown, when he knelt in front of the High Septon to be anointed as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

Maegara embroiders Balerion’s scaly black, wings flapping as he flies over Harrenhal, unleashing a black jet of fire with red swirls. She bites her inner cheek, concentrating, and Septa Sylvia continues her annoying humming.

“Your work is finely done, Princess,” the other woman murmurs. She had protested about the image at first, but when Maegara replied that the destruction of Harrenhal was a pivot moment in the war, she shut her mouth, “And to think how much Her Grace has advanced in her needlework in such little time.”

“My mother insists that I practice,” Maegara responds, hoping to convey how much she hated embroidery, and how she only did it to please her mother.

“The Queen has the right idea,” Septa Sylvia says, “And you would be much better if you’d practice more, instead of spending half your day on the courtyard with the boys, Princess.”

“My mother says that I must also learn how to wield a sword,” she replies, knotting her black thread just under Harrenhal’s Widow Tower, “And my mother is the Queen and the lady of this castle.” She turns to Septa Sylvia, “Isn’t she?”

Septa Sylvia gulps visibly. She has been working in Dragonstone since before Maegara’s birth, when King Aegon converted and built septs around the volcanic island to showcase his loyalty to the Faith. She saw Maegara grow and yet, there is still something in her that fears the princess, she knows. Mayhaps because her royal parents are siblings, and the Faith considers its product to be an abomination. Perhaps because of something else.

“Yes, she is,” Septa Sylvia says. She turns back to her square, tying her silver thread to finish King Aegon’s hair, “But a lady has no need for an ability with the sword. The guards here at Dragonstone will keep you safe.”

“But I am not a lady,” Maegara bites back, angry at her stubbornness, “I am a Princess.”

She is distracted for barely a second, and it’s all it takes. The needle in her hand pricks her index finger, and globs of blood slide down her skin, staining the tapestry’s fine fabric. Maegara looks at her sore finger, watching as she slowly stops bleeding.

Her eyes go to Septa Sylvia, who is still sewing as if nothing has happened.

“One day, you shall wed a man worthy of you, maybe one of your Baratheon cousins, and he will not a want a wife who knows how to wield a sword,” the Septa admonishes.

“Maybe so,” Maegara says, “But I will be Queen one day and no man will rule me.”

Septa Sylvia clicks her tongue disapprovingly, shaking her head. “Her Grace has an older brother and sons come before daughters.”  Half-brother, Maegara thinks, anger coursing through her veins, “Prince Aenys will inherit your father’s throne and you shall marry a Great Lord to secure an alliance for your family.”

“Aenys is weak,” Maegara answers, her entire body shaking, “He is not fit to sit on the Iron Throne. Mother says so.”

“Your mother says many things,” Septa Sylvia murmurs, “You shouldn’t heed her every word.”

Maegara turns to the woman, ready to say that her mother is the greatest woman in the entire world. A dragon rider, and a warrior from the blood of Old Valyria, the only remaining Queen of King Aegon. Visenya Targaryen took the Eyrie without bloodshed, securing the Vale for her husband, while her sister failed in Dorne, and her brother was crowned in Oldtown.

Before she can, however, the door opens and one of her mother’s guard enters, tall and broad. Maegara can’t remember his name, only that he’s a dragonseed, with dark brown hair and light violet eyes. He looks at them for half a second before bowing his head.

“Her Grace the Queen wishes to speak with the Princess,” he says.

What could Mother want?, Maegara thinks, standing up. Septa Sylvia looks at her as she brushes her palms down her blue skirts, but doesn’t say anything when she leaves, following the guard to her mother’s solar.

She passes servants in her way, who bow in sight of her, and a sudden sense of pride takes her stomach. Maegara has her silver hair braided in a ring around her head, mimicking a crown, and she wears a dress made of Volantene silk, wrapping her body in the old Valyrian style. Some say she has her mother’s look, an austere and harsh beauty, softened by her age and innocence — even if Maegara would be quick to refute that. A beautiful princess who would grow to be a mighty Queen, with kings and lords bowing before her.

As she enters Mother’s solar, she sees that Queen Visenya is standing behind her desk, holding a piece of paper in her hand. The door closes and still, Mother doesn’t look at her, reading silently, violet eyes going from one side of the parchment to the other. Maegara places her hands in front of her body, waiting as her patience runs thin.

Minutes pass and Mother still doesn’t say anything, simply standing there and reading her papers. She doesn’t even acknowledge Maegara’s presence, acting like she’s not there.

“Mother?” Maegara calls, unable to keep her frustration from seeping into her voice, “You asked for me?”

“Yes,” Queen Visenya Targaryen says, still not looking at her, “I have been summoned to King’s Landing. I’ll leave tomorrow.”

Maegara nods, already turning to leave, “My things will be packed before nightfall.”

 “No, no, no,” her mother says, shaking her head, “You are not coming with me.”

“What?” Maegara asks, meeting her mother’s eyes. Violet and dark purple, swimming together with emotion, “Why not?”

“Your presence isn’t requested,” Mother answers, “So you are not coming.”

Maegara steps back, mouth hanging open. She struggles to find words to convey her feelings of anger and rejection, and only stares at her Mother, who doesn’t show any sign of recognizing the effect her words had on her daughter.

She swallows down her feelings and opens and closes her mouth, trying to say something neutral and princessly.

“What does the King want with you?” she asks, finally finding her voice. Maegara sets her back and posture as firmly as possible, not letting her legs shake beneath her weight.

“He claims to have grown tired of the Aegonfort, and wishes for a new seat for our House in King’s Landing,” Mother says, “I am to oversee the construction, while your father and his court move here to Dragonstone.”

Maegara blinks and surprise overflows her stomach, threatening to spill over to her insides.

“Father…” she hesitates, “Father is coming to Dragonstone?”

Visenya sighs, shaking her head, “Yes, I’ve just said that.” She presses her lips together, taking a deep breath, “They will arrive after I have already left, but be assured that I expect you to be on your best behavior, and that I’ll know if you are not.”

“Yes, Mother,” Maegara says.

Visenya smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She turns her eyes to her parchments again, reading another one, “You shall be obedient to your father, and sweet and charming to your brother. If the heir likes you enough, you and Aenys will be wed on your fourteenth nameday.”

Maegara widens her eyes. Her stomach drops and her heart races, threatening to slip out between her ribs. She feels her mouth run dry as her hands shake, clammy and cold. Her and  Aenys ? The simple idea of it is too much for her, bouncing in her brain and mind until a sharp headache takes over.

And Mother called him ‘the heir’.  Mother, who would lay her down to sleep as a child and promise her a throne, braiding her hair in rings around her head to resemble what she would once be given. Mother who promised Maegara that she would sit in her father’s seat as the High Septon placed his crown on her head, and the lords of all Seven Kingdoms would bow before her.

Didn’t she?

“What?” she asks, shocked, “What did you say?”

Mother puckers her lips in sight of her insolence, and disappointment is clear on her pale face.

“Watch your mouth, Maegara. I may be leaving, but I’m still the Queen, and your mother,” she says, “I deserve respect.”

“But-But,” Maegara stutters, “But you said…”

“I said what?” Visenya raises an eyebrow, silver and white in color.

When the worlds die in her throat and she chokes in the truth of what’s happening before her, what has been happening since her birth, her mother loses her patience.

“Speak, Maegara!”

“You said I’d be Queen!” she cries out, voice rising in sadness and anger.

Mother smiles again and walks around the table until she is standing in front of her. Her old hands stroke Maegara’s cheeks, a gentle touch so foreign that her hands struggle by her sides, fingers twisting in themselves, and her skin burns.

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” she whispers and Maegara can’t help but feel like her mother is mocking her, “Everything I have ever told you since the day you were born was nothing less than the truth.”

“But-But…”

“Aenys will be King after your father dies, and you will be his Queen,” Mother says, tapping her cheek. Her smile is meant to be perceived as gentle and promising, but Maegara can only see Vhagar in her mother’s expression. The deadly she-dragon with black fangs and a hundred battles in its history.

“ His ,” Maegara repeats, poison lacing her tongue, “His property, you mean. His wife.”

“His sister-wife,” Visenya corrects, twisting her lips in displeasure, “Targaryens have been wedding brother to sister for a thousand years. Since before the Doom.”

“You always said Aenys was weak,” Maegara says, not knowing why she’s still fighting against it, “Unfit to rule. And now you want me to wed him? To bear him children?”

“I said that, because I knew he’d need you,” Mother murmurs, “Aenys is insecure. Unreliable and ever-changing. He lacks the strength to rule others. When the time comes for him to ascend to the Iron Throne, he shall need true protectors. And you will be one of them, or he will lose his crown and your son’s.” She presses her lips together, “To protect the King is a Queen’s duty, as well as a sister’s.”

Were she a weaker woman, Maegara might have fainted. The world spins around her and her head feels heavy, stubborn tears burning her eyes. She looks at her mother, who has always told her the truth, and sees resignation in her eyes, the type of resignation brought from years of mulling the same subject over and over. Maegara sees that this has been planned since the moment she came out from the womb, possessing the parts that could be used to produce another Targaryen of pure Valyrian blood. Mother and Father have planned this, together, in the same way they planned the conquest.

Fire and Blood, she thinks as her heart slows down.

Maegara takes a deep breath, willing herself to relax. She looks at her mother as if it was the first time. Visenya has large eyes and a thin nose, turned upwards. Her features are chiseled, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. As a child, Maegara thought her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, but she quickly learned that beauty is not all that matters. In fact, it matters less and less as a person grows.

“And what if I don’t want to marry him?”

Mother makes a face, as if what Maegara is saying is completely unbelievable and even slightly funny. She smiles, arching her eyebrows, and her thumbs rub Maegara’s cheekbone gently.

“Then I suppose you shall remain unmarried, for who else would you marry?” she asks, “And who else would  he marry when the perfect candidate stands right before me?”

Alyssa Velaryon, Maegara thinks and her stomach fills with hate at the name. Her entire life, Mother had warned her about Alyssa Velaryon and Father crowning the young Lady in her place. For ages, she thought Alyssa was the best option for Queen after Maegara, for her Targaryen blood, even if diluted, gave her a claim to all lands held by Aegon. The idea never sat well with her mind, it didn’t make sense, but Mother’s words make everything fall into place in her head.

Alyssa Velaryon was Father’s next option in a bride for Aenys and, being the same age as Maegara’s half-brother, maybe even his first, before the Princess was born.

“Don’t you want children?” her mother asks, “I remember how happy I was when you were born, how joyful that day was. I thought you would want the same.”

Maegara shakes her head, “Yes.”

Mother’s smile tightens, but her eyes still glint, tiny dimples appearing at the corners of her cheeks.

“Then it’s settled, my child. You will marry Aenys when the time is right,” she says, and she must have seen something in Maegara’s eyes for she adds, “Don’t worry, for I see great things in your future, Maegara Targaryen.”

--

Maegara could count on one hand the number of times she has seen her half-brother and father and still have fingers left to spare. Father rarely comes to Dragonstone, and Aenys never did, so the opportunities to see the other half of her family are sparse. King Aegon came to her sixth nameday, and she visited King’s Landing for the celebrations of the twentieth year of Father’s reign with Mother when she was eight.

As the bells ring to welcome Father, she tries to picture his face in her mind. Her memory is muddled and rough, covered by a milky cloud of time, but still an image comes to her eyes. She thinks of a rough beard and short silver hair, covered by his Valyrian steel crown adorned with rubies. Maegara can’t recall the exact shade of purple his eyes are, but she remembers he brought her a doll on his personal visit and had her seat between him and Mother at the celebratory feast.

Aenys, however, is a mystery in her head. She last saw him when he was three and ten, all courtesies and insecurities, kissing her hand awkwardly and whispering, “Dear sister,” to her with stilted pleasantries, as if they were strangers. Maegara is unable to remember his face, much less the color of his hair, and she twists her fingers in her skirts in annoyance.

She stands in the Great Hall of Dragonstone, beside her mother’s empty seat, as every servant, minor noble, and person of importance waits for their King. Maester Orwyle is on the other side of the chair, and Septa Sylvia stands behind her, watching her posture with black focused eyes.

Maegara is wearing her finest black gown, with tight sleeves and flowy skirts, but she feels out of place in it. The lace on her collar rubs wrongly against her skin, like tiny little nails, and her necklace, made of a long silver cord that hangs low on her chest and an enormous ruby the size and shape of an egg, feels heavy on her neck. Her hair, more silver than gold, has been brushed into a hundred braids, pinned to her head with small rubies that reflect the candlelight as she looks one way and then another. Her head hurts like she has fallen during training and she can barely breathe with the pressure of her corset on her ribs. Or maybe, it’s due to something else. Maybe she is nervous.

Impossible,  she tells herself, as the herald announces the arrival of King Aegon, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,  It’s just Father and Aenys. There is nothing to worry about.

Maegara takes her skirt in hands as she curtsies, looking pointedly to the ground. She hears heavy steps walking inside the hall, more than two men, and the sigh of a King looking to his bent people. Her heart races as the footsteps come closer to her and two black boots come into her vision, someone who is standing right in front of her. She maintains her posture even as her heart races, beating so hard that her chest aches from it.

A hand enters her sight, a gentle finger curling under her chin and Father raises her head until their eyes meet, purple to purple. Maegara opens her mouth to say something, anything, but the words die on her throat as she looks at her father.

His face is different than what she had imagined, softer and older, and she tells herself not to be disappointed by it. Although he is taller than her, it’s not by much, and Maegara thinks there will come a time where she reaches him. There are crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes that become more pronounced as he smiles, looking at her with loving dark purple eyes.

“Sweet child,” he says, and her skin smarts from hearing it, “How much you have grown.”

“I’m sure I look very different from the last time His Grace saw me,” she tells him, “As I was only eight-years-old then.”

He frowns slightly as if trying to understand the true meaning of her words but quickly smooths down his expression. He takes his hand off her chin, opening his arms to embrace her, and Maegara hesitates before stepping forward.

A chill runs down her spine as he hugs her, unused to such gentle moments, and she tries not to let go of him, despite every fiber of her being telling her so. Maegara lays her head on his shoulder as she has seen others do a hundred times, her mouth set in a tense line. She looks around the room, to all those who are still curtsying, and she sees a young man standing.

He is tall, and slender, looking at her and Father. His eyes are pale lilac, moving nervously on his face, and his curly hair falls to his shoulder in ringlets. His fingers are covered in expensive rings of silver and gold, and he has two earrings of silver adorned with rubies. He is dressed in a black doublet with the Targaryen red dragon embroidered on it, hands clasped behind her back. She knows just by looking at him that he is her half-brother Aenys, the heir to the Iron Throne and, if Mother has her way, her soon-to-be husband.

After what feels like hellish hours, King Aegon lets go of Maegara, clasping his hands on her shoulders. “Rise!” he tells the others, eyes still turned to her, and those in attendance stand from their bent knees.

Maegara looks at her father, the man she hardly recognizes and doesn’t know, and realizes she doesn’t want him there. Nor does she want Aenys. Everything was going well when they lived in King’s Landing, why did it have to change? Why did Mother have to leave Dragonstone and Maegara? Five years passed without even as much as a visit and she didn’t care. She had Mother and training and her dreams of a future where men called her Queen. Things were the way she liked, why did they have to change?

She has no need for a father. Once, perhaps, she might have, but not anymore. The Conqueror made sure of that when he failed to see her for five whole years.

You called me sweet, but I was never sweet,  she wants to tell him, so he will go back to the capital,  You would know that if you cared.

Mother cares. Mother has always cared. She nursed Maegara at her own breast, taught her everything she knows. Why did Mother have to leave so Father could come?

King Aegon presses a hand to her cheek and she leans away from his touch without thinking. He looks at her, widening his eyes ever so slightly, and Maegara sets her mouth in a tense line, not averting her eyes from him.  

“You look well,” he tells her.

“Thank you,” she answers, remembering how her mother told her to be obedient to Father, “His Grace’s words are very kind.”

“Please, child,” King Aegon says, and she wonders if he has forgotten her name, for it’s the second time he calls her a child. It would certainly offend her less than the simple idea of him seeing her as a simpering little girl, “There is no need for formalities between us. We are family.”

Are we?, she thinks as a pleased and fake smile takes her lips.

But she doesn’t say anything. Father lets go of her arms and turns, looking at Aenys standing behind him. With the wave of a hand, the heir walks in their direction, directed by the King. He is quiet and insecure, uncomfortable on his two feet.

“I don’t have to introduce you to your brother, Aenys,” Father says, planting a hand on Aenys’ shoulder, fingers curling.

The heir to the throne curtsies slightly, and Maegara’s smile dies.

“Don’t bow to me,” she says, the words leaving her lips before she can stop them, “You’re not my inferior.”

Aenys frowns and Father widens his eyes more than subtlety. They both look at her, father and son, king and heir, and she wishes Mother were there to agree with her.

Her half-brother nods, cheeks flushing red, “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

Before she can tell him not to apologize, Father places his free hand on her shoulder, the smile returning to his face.

“My two children are with me once more,” he says, happiness overflowing his words, “As it should have been all along.”

Maegara frowns at his words, lips twisting into a pout.  As it should have been all along?

Catching her error, she quickly relaxes her expression, hoping no one caught it. She looks at Father once more, and then at Aenys, whose lilac eyes are turned to her in a questioning gaze. Without a doubt, she knows he has seen her distaste at Father’s phrase, and if he saw...

Not one to be outdone, Maegara returns his stare, setting her chin down in defiance. Aenys looks away, to Father, but he still watches her from the corner of his eye.

He is scared of me,  she thinks to herself, feeling proud.  Good. He should be.

Maester Orwyle, perhaps sensing the air in the room, steps forward, hiding his hands in his bell sleeves. The man is old and wrinkly, with white hair that falls on his shoulders and milky eyes that get more and more blind with the passing months. Mother left him in charge of the castle for the few hours between her leaving and Father arriving, the castle and Maegara.

“Your Grace,” he says, bowing his head slightly, “Please, allow me to escort you and the prince to your rooms.”

King Aegon looks at Maegara once more, before nodding, removing his hand from her shoulder. She takes a deep breath and steps back, settling her hands on each side of her body. Father and Aenys look at her, perhaps expecting her to ask to go along, and she only looks back at them, trying to maintain her face as neutral as possible.

They leave before she says anything, leaving the Great Hall from a side door. Maegara watches as the other members of her mother’s court leave as well, surely disappointed from the lack of attention from the King. Soon she is alone, looking around in an attempt to decide what to do now with her father and half-brother there. She doesn’t want to meet them by accident in one of the corridors, but Maester Orwyle and Septa Sylvia cancelled her lessons for the day due to the royal arrival and there would be a feast later to celebrate it.

Maegara is not as fond of riding as her mother, especially not after the palfrey incident, and she isn’t too keen on books and reading. Her dress is too restricting for sword fighting, and she would have to go all the way to her rooms to change it if she wanted to train, even if just for a bit.

She starts walking without a direction in mind, moving aimlessly around her home. For her entire childhood, she had explored these halls enough to know them expertly, like an invisible map inside her head. She knows every nook and corner, every crevice.

He will never have this,  she thinks, Aenys’ face coming to her mind,  He may be the future King, but he will never hold Dragonstone like I do.

She arrives in her chambers just a few minutes later, a fresh ocean breeze sweeping inside the room. Maegara sits in front of her vanity, looking at her reflection in the looking glass. She places her hand on her cheek, supporting her head on her elbow.

The girl that stares at her is beautiful, as all valyrians are. Maegara looks like her mother, but she can still see some of her father in her features. She has his long nose and the sharp curve of his chin, and her eyes are as dark as his, a purple so deep that it almost passes as black. And she notices, not without a sense of disgust in her heart, that her pink lips are like Aenys’, heart-shaped and full.

“It’s normal,” the girl in her reflection says, “Siblings are meant to be alike.”

Maegara frowns, her entire body shaking, and she feels her skin ache with anger. Her face burns, flushing red from embarrassment. It’s not a pretty look and if Mother were there, she’d tell her to relax, and calm down, or else face the consequences for her lack of restraint.

But Mother is in King’s Landing and there’s nothing holding her back.

“I am nothing like him,” she tells herself, “He is weak and I’m…” Her words fail her, disappearing completely from her mind, and she blinks.  He’s weak, but what am I? She may be strong, but she was a girl, and younger, nonetheless. Father had Aenys by his side every day, while he never visited her and Mother, rarely sent letters. He wouldn’t do that to a child he considered to be his heir.

Because she was never his heir. Even if she had been born a boy, Father still wouldn’t displace Aenys. Would never even consider it, much less give the idea anything more than a passing thought. Her half-brother would always come before her in the line of succession, not just because of his status as the firstborn, or the cock between his legs, but because of who his mother was.

King Aegon married Visenya out of duty, and Rhaenys out of desire, the singers said, claiming that for every night Father spent with her mother, he’d spend the next ten with Aunt Rhaenys. When his queen died, Aegon burned every seat and holding in Dorne twice in what was called the dragon’s wroth.

Maegara would listen to the stories with a sense of annoyance to her, angry at something that happened many years before the conquest. It isn’t fair, she would think. Father ought to not have married Rhaenys. The old valyrians rarely did, only when it was necessary to assure the future of a dying family, and the Targaryens had enough hope for a fertile marriage between her parents. Rhaenys belonged to Uncle Orys, or maybe one of the Velaryons, while Father and Mother were meant to be together.

But Father defied his father’s wishes and married both sisters. Maegara thinks that Mother should have produced a son, and Rhaenys a daughter, as to make things right, but the gods were never fair. Their mockery had made Maegara and Aenys, twisting their insides whilst they were in their mother’s wombs to entertain them.  I should have been a boy,  she thinks,  then he’d be my sister-wife.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

She feels tears prickle her eyes, burning her lids as they threaten to spill over, and Maegara looks at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, and she is pouting without meaning to, but her purple eyes fly from her face to her hair.

A hundred times before she had asked her handmaidens to make it look like Mother’s, thinking she had the face of a ruler in a girl’s body, but now she realizes how silly it truly is. That morning, when she sat in this same vanity and gave orders to her maids, she thought she would look like a Queen in Father’s eyes, to remind him of his true wife and the true lady of this castle, but instead, she looked like a little girl caught playing with her mother’s clothes. Silly and infantile. Stupid.

She raises her arms, trying to take every little pin from her hair with her trembling fingers. It’s harder without the maids, or even someone behind her to guide her efforts, but she slowly gets it done. As the pins come off, and chunks of silver hair fall to her shoulders, Maegara feels her throat burn with unshed tears of anger and sadness. There is a knot in her heart, making every beat hurt between her ribs, and she remembers her brother in the Great Hall, nervously looking at her. It wasn’t just fear in his eyes, she realizes, it was also curiosity.

Father must have told him. Maybe just before they left King’s Landing, or perhaps Aenys has always known that they would be wed one day.  Aenys will be King after your father dies, and you will be his Queen, Mother said, and Mother never lied, especially not to her.

When she is done, Maegara looks at her reflection once again. Her hair falls in waves, more silver than gold, and she looks ragged. Her face is pale, but her lips are bloodred.

“You are Maegara of House Targaryen, daughter of dragons,” she tells the girl in the mirror, “And someday you will be Queen.”

[daenerys-targaryen-moved]

viserys manipulated and abused book!dany and show!dany so either way he deserved his fate and the fact that she still named HER DRAGON after him and said ''he will do what my brother could not'' like..........how is that madness??? she had every right to say ''fuck you viserys i will never mourn for you or think of you again'' but she didn't because she is so compassionate and forgiving. she could've let the world forget him. i love dany so sorry for this ramble

She definitely mourned him. 

Here is the scene you’re talking about in A Clash of Kings

Dany hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her day by day until she was lean and hard as a stick, yet it was her dragons she feared for. Her father had been slain before she was born, and her splendid brother Rhaegar as well. Her mother had died bringing her into the world while the storm screamed outside. Gentle Ser Willem Darry, who must have loved her after a fashion, had been taken by a wasting sickness when she was very young. Her brother Viserys, Khal Drogo who was her sun-and-stars, even her unborn son, the gods had claimed them all. They will not have my dragons, Dany vowed. They will not.

[....]   

“Aegon’s dragons were named for the gods of Old Valyria,” she told her bloodriders one morning after a long night’s journey. “Visenya’s dragon was Vhagar, Rhaenys had Meraxes, and Aegon rode Balerion, the Black Dread. It was said that Vhagar’s breath was so hot that it could melt a knight’s armor and cook the man inside, that Meraxes swallowed horses whole, and Balerion . . . his fire was as black as his scales, his wings so vast that whole towns were swallowed up in their shadow when he passed overhead.” The Dothraki looked at her hatchlings uneasily. The largest of her three was shiny black, his scales slashed with streaks of vivid scarlet to match his wings and horns. “Khaleesi,” Aggo murmured, “there sits Balerion, come again.” “It may be as you say, blood of my blood,” Dany replied gravely, “but he shall have a new name for this new life. I would name them all for those the gods have taken. The green 102 one shall be Rhaegal, for my valiant brother who died on the green banks of the Trident. The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not.” - Daenerys ACOK

“We should rest here until we are stronger,” the knight urged. “The red lands are not kind to the weak.”

“My handmaids say there are ghosts here.”

“There are ghosts everywhere,” Ser Jorah said softly. “We carry them with us wherever we go.”

Yes, she thought. Viserys, Khal Drogo, my son Rhaego, they are with me always.

Viserys’ name is mentioned a total of 23 times in A Clash of Kings, 41 times in A Storm of Swords, 6 times in A Feast for Crows, and 29 times in A Dance with Dragons. More times that not, it’s Daenerys remembering when he was a good brother to her, when he would tell her stories or when they would sneak out in the dead of night, or when she’s thinking about how he died, or when she’s thinking about how he would react to certain situations. Here is a converstaion between Tyrion and Illyrio;

The fat man grew pensive. “Daenerys was half a child when she came to me, yet fairer even than my second wife, so lovely I was tempted to claim her for myself. Such a fearful, furtive thing, however, I knew I should get no joy from coupling with her. Instead I summoned a bedwarmer and fucked her vigorously until the madness passed. If truth be told, I did not think Daenerys would survive for long amongst the horselords.”

“That did not stop you selling her to Khal Drogo …”

“Dothraki neither buy nor sell. Say rather that her brother Viserys gave her to Drogo to win the khal’s friendship. A vain young man, and greedy. Viserys lusted for his father’s throne, but he lusted for Daenerys too, and was loath to give her up. The night before the princess wed he tried to steal into her bed, insisting that if he could not have her hand, he would claim her maidenhead. Had I not taken the precaution of posting guards upon her door, Viserys might have undone years of planning.”

“He sounds an utter fool.”

“Viserys was Mad Aerys’s son, just so. Daenerys … Daenerys is quite different.” He popped a roasted lark into his mouth and crunched it noisily, bones and all. “The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen. When I sent ships to bring her home, she turned toward Slaver’s Bay. In a short span of days she conquered Astapor, made Yunkai bend the knee, and sacked Meereen. Mantarys will be next, if she marches west along the old Valyrian roads. If she comes by sea, well … her fleet must take on food and water at Volantis.” - Tyrion ADwD

The floppy ears she chose today were made of sheer white linen, with a fringe of golden tassels. With Jhiqui’s help, she wound the tokar about herself correctly on her third attempt. Irri fetched her crown, wrought in the shape of the three-headed dragon of her House. Its coils were gold, its wings silver, its three heads ivory, onyx, and jade. Dany’s neck and shoulders would be stiff and sore from the weight of it before the day was done. A crown should not sit easy on the head. One of her royal forebears had said that, once. Some Aegon, but which one? Five Aegons had ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. There would have been a sixth, but the Usurper’s dogs had murdered her brother’s son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him. Aegon would have been closer to my age than Viserys. Dany had only been conceived when Aegon and his sister were murdered. Their father, her brother Rhaegar, perished even earlier, slain by the Usurper on the Trident. Her brother Viserys had died screaming in Vaes Dothrak with a crown of molten gold upon his head. - Daenerys AdWd

Daario shrugged. “Most queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him. If that’s the sort of queen you mean to be, best marry Hizdahr.”

Her anger flashed. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“No. Have you?” Viserys would have his head off for that insolence.

Dany wrapped her arms about the girl. “Tell me of him.”

“He taught me how to climb a tree when we were little. He could catch fish with his hands. Once I found him sleeping in our garden with a hundred butterflies crawling over him. He looked so beautiful that morning, this one … I mean, I loved him.”

“As he loved you.” Dany stroked the girl’s hair. “Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath.”

“I would sooner stay with you. On Naath I’d be afraid. What if the slavers came again? I feel safe when I’m with you.”

Safe. The word made Dany’s eyes fill up with tears. “I want to keep you safe.” Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. “No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don’t always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …”

“… mother,” whispered Missandei.

“Mother to dragons.” Dany shivered.

“No. Mother to us all.” Missandei hugged her tighter.

Here is another scene that I find particularly interesting from the books;

She dreamt of her dead brother.

Viserys looked just as he had the last time she’d seen him. His mouth was twisted in anguish, his hair was burnt, and his face was black and smoking where the molten gold had run down across his brow and cheeks and into his eyes.

“You are dead,” Dany said.

“Murdered.” Though his lips never moved, somehow she could hear his voice, whispering in her ear.

“You never mourned me, sister. It is hard to die unmourned. “I loved you once.” Once, he said, so bitterly it made her shudder. “You were supposed to be my wife, to bear me children with silver hair and purple eyes, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. I took care of you. I taught you who you were. I fed you. I sold our mother’s crown to keep you fed.”

“You hurt me. You frightened me.”

“Only when you woke the dragon. I loved you.”

“You sold me. You betrayed me.”

“No. You were the betrayer. You turned against me, against your own blood. They cheated me. Your horsey husband and his stinking savages. They were cheats and liars. They promised me a golden crown and gave me this.” He touched the molten gold that was creeping down his face, and smoke rose from his finger.

“You could have had your crown,” Dany told him. “My sun-and-stars would have won it for you if only you had waited.”

“I waited long enough. I waited my whole life. I was their king, their rightful king. They laughed at me.”

“You should have stayed in Pentos with Magister Illyrio. Khal Drogo had to present me to the dosh khaleen, but you did not have to ride with us. That was your choice. Your mistake.”

“Do you want to wake the dragon, you stupid little whore? Drogo’s khalasar was mine. I bought them from him, a hundred thousand screamers. I paid for them with your maidenhead.”

“You never understood. Dothraki do not buy and sell. They give gifts and receive them. If you had waited …”

“I did wait. For my crown, for my throne, for you. All those years, and all I ever got was a pot of molten gold. Why did they give the dragon’s eggs to you? They should have been mine. If I’d had a dragon, I would have taught the world the meaning of our words.” Viserys began to laugh, until his jaw fell away from his face, smoking, and blood and molten gold ran from his mouth. - Daenerys ADwD

It’s very safe to say that Daenerys mourned Viserys. She mourned the relationship they had as children, she mourned the potential future he would have had with her if he’d lived. Throughout her journey so far, she thinks back to those she’s lost, she thinks back to how it felt to be treated by him, abused emotionally, physically and psychologically, someone who would have raped her had he gotten the chance, someone who looked her in the eyes and told her that he would happily let thousands of men (and their horses) fuck her if it got him his crown. She thinks back to what he was to her, not a sister, but a piece of property, a bargaining chip to be sold off to the highest bidder.

She mourns him, but she mourns him because she loved what they once had and because he was her last family in the world (so she thinks). She could have let the world forget him, but she didn’t. She named her dragon after him, her fucking dragon. She loved him. She mourned him. But her showing no emotion when he died wasn’t a sign of “madness” lmao.

[asoiafdrabbles]

I.35

Mance reveals his true identity.

Gen, Mance & Jon (Secret Identity AU)

"I know who your mother is."

Jon whipped around, staring at Mance. "How? How could you out of all people know that?"

The King-Beyond-the-Wall gave a mysterious smile, his eyes locked on Jon's face. "I...might not be entirely who I say I am." Silence greeted him, as Jon had no idea what to say to that. "I'm not Mance Rayder. I...met him, while running from my enemies, while he was still in the Watch. He was dying, I needed somewhere to hide. Taking up his identity made sense."

"Why not just join the Watch? Why pretend to be a black brother?"

"The Watch isn't half as safe as you think it is. Do you think, if anyone had remembered Maester Aemon was at the Wall, that he would have truly been left alone after Robert took the throne?" He leaned in closer and Jon found he couldn't look away from the man's eyes, which seemed to be reflecting the light in the oddest of ways. "He wouldn't have been. I wouldn't, if anyone knew who I truly am....You wouldn't, if anyone had known who you truly are."

Breathing harder, unsteady, Jon tried to put together what he was being told. "So...who are you? And what does that have to do with my mother?"

Mance--or the person who was using Mance's identity--sat back with a smile and reached into his tunic, pulling out a cord with a pouch tied to it. "Your mother was brave, beautiful, daring. She rode like a centaur and fought like a knight. She was the greatest woman I ever knew and I have mourned her for nearly your entire lifetime."

Jon didn't know where to start with that--knowing his mother was apparently a great woman, a unique one (just as much like Arya, surely, as their father always claimed), the confirmation that she was dead, that she must have died when Jon was a babe and maybe would have been in his life otherwise, or that this man had been so close to her.

"Who was she to you?" he rasped, finally, deciding that the mystery of Mance himself had to take precedent.

"She was my wife."

"What? But...then she and my father they...shouldn't you hate me, then?"

"You're confused because you're still trapped in the lies you've been told. She was my wife and you are our son." Mance smiled and tugged off the cord, letting it, and the pouch, drop to the ground.

For a moment, the light around the room seemed to ripple and then, sitting in the spot Mance had been just before, was another man entirely. Still fit and lean, but with long silver hair, pale skin, arresting dark purple eyes.

He looked like the Targaryens in the books.

"Lyanna and I fell in love as she ran from my father's men. I took her as my second wife at the Sept on Dragonstone before we fled again to Dorne."

Targaryen looks, Lyanna Stark as his wife, Dragonstone.

Jon felt like he couldn't breath, like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs.

"Hey, now, it's okay, calm down, son." He stopped, then gave a soft chuckle. "Son, how I've wanted to say that ever since I heard of you. Ever since I saw you in Winterfell all those years past. It was all I could do not to steal you away, but life in the True North wasn't what I wanted for you, wasn't what your mother would have wanted."

"No, this isn't...this is lies. Ned Stark is my--"

"Uncle, he's your uncle. He took you from Lyanna's arms as she died and promised her that he would preserve your heritage. That he'd tell you the truth. But he never got that chance."

"You're Rhaegar Targaryen?" Jon's voice dropped into nearly a whisper, the name feeling like blasphemy on his lips.

Rhaegar died, at the Trident, before Jon had even been born.

"I had long dabbled in magic, you've seen yourself what that Red Witch of Stannis' does. I acquired the means to do the same." He nodded at the pouch. "I was injured, but not dead. A few loyalists managed to nurse me back to health and by the time I was ready to reveal myself...everyone was dead."

Old grief was clear on his face and Jon thought of everyone that Rhaegar would have lost in the war--his wife (both his wives, if his ridiculous seeming story was true), his daughter and son, his father and mother. Countless friends, surely, as well. The Rebellion hadn't been kind to loyalists.

"...What makes you think I'm your son?"

"Besides knowing that Ashara Dayne had a stillborn daughter? That Ned Stark had kept no mistress, had no lovers, despite years in Robert Baratheon's company?" Rhaegar, and Jon was willing to believe it if only because there was no good alternative for why a man looking like this, knowing all this, would be here, leaned forward and tapped Jon on the nose with one finger. "That's mine. Your cheekbones are my mother's. Your brow, my father's. If you shaved your head as Aegon V used to and closed your eyes, you'd look a Targaryen to anyone who knew what to look for."

Jon his hands up to his face, cupping it with a growing wonder. All this time he'd wondered about his origin, had it really been written so clearly on his very body?

"Lyanna was pregnant when I had to leave for the war, I didn't want to go, but there was no other choice at the time. I'd made contingency plans but one after the other were ruined, by enemies known and unknown. I didn't know you'd survived until much later."

He could remember his first time meeting 'Mance', as he'd been reminded, of the prank he'd played with Robb and the secret Mance had kept. What must it have been like for the man, to look upon a boy and see his son?

"...Can anyone else confirm any of this?"

Rhaegar gave a shaky smile and Jon realized he must have been expecting far worse denial from him. "Maester Aemon knows who I am, knows who you are. Not just because I told him, but because he knew Lyanna was pregnant at the end."

"This entire time, he's known?" Was that why he seemed to favor Jon so strongly?

"We can trust him. Perhaps no one else here, but him."

"There's loyalists here, sent here after the Rebellion."

"There are, but it's been a long time and the Wall changes a man. We both know that."

Jon grimaced, then his eyes widened. "If you're not truly Mance...then you're not a man of the Night's Watch at all. You've broken no vows."

"I haven't," he agreed, smile turning into a grin. "And you took yours under false pretenses."

"No, I took them, it doesn't matter if I didn't know who I was--"

"What you are. My surviving son, my heir."

"...You...you're the...you have a claim on the throne. The strongest claim."

"And once we've taken care of the white walkers, I plan to press it."

Jon was too distracted to protest as Rhaegar gathered him into his arms, clutching him close. He'd never wanted a part in such politics, but he didn't think he'd get a chance to avoid it now.

Notes: There's a silly theory that Mance is Rhaegar (or like five other characters) because of the emphasis on him wearing rubies on his armor and how the red priests/priestesses use rubies in their glamours. Just thought I'd play around with it.

[writings-of-bored-gal]

Teaching a Lesson

Request: Jon/Dany & Robb. He sends Jon to Essos to hire mercenaries, but his Idiot brother comes back with a dragon queen and her dragons. Not only that but he promised Robb's hand to Dany even though it's clear Jon and Dany are in love. Robb has no problem with that but he can still have some fun with them and tease them.- @simke01 

Author’s Note: This was really fun to write! Not my usual stuff but I had a lot of fun doing it and hopefully I can do some more in the future! I know the point was Jon and Dany’s relationship but as I was writing I saw more fun in playing with Robb and Jon and their brotherly dynamic that we really only get to see a little bit of in the show! I hope you you it!

Masterlist

____________

Robb sat on the throne, staring down at his half-brother and the woman he’d bought back with him. Jon stood close to her his hand softly resting on her back as a reassurance. Robb’s lips turned upwards. Jon had never shown a lot of interest in girls, until this one. Robb was happy for him, until he proposed that Robb were the one to marry the young queen.

“Her Targaryen blood would help you secure the throne, brother.” Jon said. “If you married her, the realm would have no choice but to crown you as king.” It pained Jon to say it, but he knew it was true. He’d known Dany for many months now but he was just a bastard and he couldn’t provide her with the position she needed to conquer Westeros.

“Daenerys.” Robb says, and she looks up, her purple eye meeting his blue ones. “You would be a beautiful queen.” She smiled shyly and Jon’s jaw visibly clenched.

“Thank you, your Grace.” Dany smiled at Robb, but Jon’s hand on her back. It was a reassurance, she reminded herself, but she couldn’t stop thinking of him as she had done for the last few weeks, what those hands had made her feel.

Robb was impressed by the girl’s confidence. “I’ll take my dinner in my chamber.” He said as he stood up to go to his room.

“You won’t join us?” Jon asked, surprised as his brother’s sudden dismissal of his brother he hasn’t seen for months and his future bride.

“I’ll allow you some time to yourselves.” Robb smirked, turning away as he began to go up the stairs. He saw the affection between the two, and why not? They’d spent a lot of time together the past few months. Jon had only gone in order to hire some mercenaries, so she must have been incredibly special to him for him to abandon this mission for her.

Daenerys was beautiful, there was no denying it; her long silver hair that ran down her back, her bright purple eyes that seemed to shine out of her face, her quiet confidence. Every time he glanced at her, Jon couldn’t help but be mesmerised. Snow had begun to fall around Winterfell, prompting the household to light fires but Dany was never cold, she radiated warmth. One of the dragons sat by her feet, the others by the fire. Jon could not bare to sit with her, unable to tough her bare skin that glowed in the firelight.

“Is there something wrong?” She asked, gently touching Jon’s arm. He flinched away.

“We can’t do that anymore.” He sighed, his head falling onto his arms on the table. Dany wanted to comfort him, but he was right, she was betrothed to Robb now.

____________

Robb smiled as Dany sat next to him, her hand over his as they ate breakfast. Jon sat across from them, chewing silently, staring at the table with a strange determination. Robb smirked. He would of course allow the two to be together, he wanted happiness for his brother more than the realm, but not to tease him for his idiocy would be an awful shame.

“So, brother,” Robb began, “Did you per chance meet any women on your trip that you took a liking too?” Jon looked up silently, his eyes glancing over to Dany. She moved her head, shaking it   slightly.

“I am still searching for my perfect woman.” Jon replied, stoic.

“And how would you describe her?” Robb asked, raising his eyebrows in question to his poor brother. Breaking Jon was harder than Robb had believed; perhaps he was his father’s son after all.

“She’s-“ Jon began but couldn’t finish, not when the woman he truly lived was sitting opposite him.

“Daenerys?” Robb finished for him. Jon’s mouth gaped open, unable to hide his emotions any longer. Dany’s spoon dropped from her hand, evidently shocked at Robb’s findings as well. She took her hand off of his.

“Robb I don’t understand what it is that you’re implying.” She stated, attempting to keep her composure as Jon remained in shock at the statement.

“It’s been evident ever since you came before me a few days ago,” Robb smiled softly, trying to reassure them both that he meant no harm by his accusation. “I’ve never seen Jon take to a woman so much before. I could never take that away from him.”

“So what are you saying, brother?” Jon finally managed to ask.

“Be together.” Robb said. “Be married and I would be happy to give you away, Daenerys, to Jon.”

Jon was shocked for a moment, but his lips broke into a wide grin and a chuckle escaped his mouth. “So you’ve been winding me up this whole time.?”

“Well,” Robb matched his grin, “I wasn’t going to let you get away with letting her go so stupidly.” They both laughed and Dany joined.

When a few months later, Jon wrapped the marital cloak around Dany’s shoulders, Robb knew he’d been right. He’d find love eventually, but for now he was just happy that Jon had found his happiness.

[queeenpersephone]

daensa drabble for @ohmelisandre (sorry this took so long I was v unmotivated last week lol)

The first time Sansa Stark saw a dragon, she was anything but afraid.

After all, she had already killed, lied, been betrayed, been used, and watched two different members of her family die. What could a dragon do to her that she had not wanted to do to herself?

Jon had brought the Dragon Queen back with him to Winterfell after swearing to her the allegiance  of the North. Most of the North had been furious in return, even Arya, who had forsaken her brother in favor of Sansa after hearing the news. Though Arya had hugged him tightly upon his return, she came quickly to Sansa’s side afterward, her eyes cold.

Sansa had suddenly been very glad that she did not choose Baelish over her sister.

The Dragon Queen had been beautiful, of course. Long silver hair that was styled as crisp as ice with glinting purple eyes, the color of royalty. The boys of the castle had fallen over themselves to aid her, but the Queen only watched Sansa with an amused glint in her eye. Maybe she realized it was Sansa she had to convince to gain true support of the North, not her bastard half-brother.

Jon, who she loved to death, but was not a Stark.

She had snuck out of the castle at daybreak, ditching Brienne and her sister to get a closer look at the dragons over the hill. The day was remarkably clear with no snowfall, only pure white blankets covering the ground. When she cleared the top of the hill, she gasped at the sight before her.

The two dragons nested close together, dark scales shining in the sunlight. They were obviously unused to the cold. One was slightly smaller than the other and had found solace underneath the the wing of the larger one. They were close to the Godswood, which had been Sansa’s original destination, but now she felt drawn in their direction.

She managed to get within about twenty feet of the giant beasts before the smaller one opened a lazy eye to gaze at her. She jumped in surprise, but could not summon up even an ounce of fear.

Instead, she stood her ground and did the strangest thing she had ever done in her strange life: stared down a dragon.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but soon a voice called out from behind her: “They are beautiful, are they not?”

Sansa broke eye contact with the dragon, turning slowly to meet the eyes of the Dragon Queen. “Yes, my lady. Sublime.”

Daenerys moved to stand next to her. “They sense fear, but they feel none from you, Lady Stark,” she observed. “I have met few that have no fear of my children.”

Sansa laughed, but it was dark and sad. “Men terrify me much more easily than dragons, my lady.”

Daenerys nodded. “Men are greedy; they act out of anger and malice.”

“Men rape,” Sansa said bitterly.

“They do,” Daenerys replied quietly. “I know that intimately.” There was a long silence. “Come,” the Targaryen queen finally added. “I think my dragons would like you.”

She offered Sansa her hand, and the girl took it, allowing herself to be led closer to the huge creatures. Both had woke upon seeing Daenerys, reaching forward to nudge her hip and her outstretched arm. Sansa laid her free hand on the small dragon’s snout, and it gazed up at her in return.

With one of her hands on a dragon and the other clutching the hand of someone with a name she had grown up fearing, Sansa realized how much and how little she truly knew of the world.

Daenerys smiled a true smile at the look of awe on Sansa’s face. She had traveled outside that morning to endure another tedious meeting with someone she desperately needed to trust her, and had instead found a kindred spirit. “Would you like to ride one?” She asked before she could stop herself.

Sansa’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure… I… Could I?”

Daenerys’ smile widened to a grin as she climbed upon Drogon. “Maybe with me, for your first time. Are you coming?”

Sansa debated for a moment. It was certainly not safe, nor what was expected of her.

Within a minute, she was scrambling up behind the Dragon Queen, and the dragon was lurching off the ground. Sansa yelled in surprise, wrapping her arms around Daenerys’ small waist. Her eyes were alight and the wind whipped around her. She never felt more alive.

Daenerys turned back to look at her, eyes sparkling. “You look beautiful,” she told the Lady of Winterfell sincerely before facing forward again.

Sansa stared at Daenerys’ back in shock, before blushing.

After all, she had said that the Dragon Queen had been beautiful. But now, Daenerys seemed to be the most beautiful woman she had ever met.

—

Weeks of war, diplomacy, and stolen kisses later, Sansa found herself before the door of the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She knocked lightly, and Daenerys opened it almost immediately. She smiled at the sight of Sansa, but it faded when she took in the Winter Queen’s expression.

“Sansa?” she asked quietly. “Has someone been cruel to you?”

Sansa shook her head, finally letting long overdue tears fall. “He told me that I had to enjoy it,” she told her, voice low and filled with suffering. “That all women enjoyed it. That I deserved it.” The tears fell faster, and Daenerys brought her into her rooms, pulling her down onto the sofa. She curled her arms around Sansa, this strong, sad girl she had started to love. “But I didn’t enjoy it,” Sansa sobbed.

Daenerys’ arms tightened. “And you didn’t deserve it,” she whispered, but her voice was strong and sure.

“I hated it. I hated him,” Sansa wept. “I hate that you went through it; I hate that men think that they can do this to women.”

“I know,” Daenerys told her gently. “And I am sorry for all the pain you went through. But I am the Queen of Fire, and you are the Queen of Ice. We will change it all, I swear it to you.”

But then she went quiet, and Sansa wept, finally safe in the arms of someone who loved her.

[rhegar]

Dearly Beloved, Chapter 7

Fic Summary: Elia Martell passes away after giving birth to Aegon from complications. Rhaegar Targaryen, now widowed, realizes how fatal his mistakes were to his family.

Chapter Summary: Rhaegar must stop his father’s threat, or doom faces everyone in King’s Landing.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: TW for rape + This chapter includes graphic imagery and descriptions of gore

This is Chapter seven. Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 or Read on Ao3 here

"Your grace, what should we do? Your grace?"

For seconds, Rhaegar couldn't answer. He couldn't even tell how he felt. Was it anger? Sadness? Doom? All he could knew he felt was his heart beating almost out of his chest, his frozen feet on the floor, his breaths going in and coming out heavy and painful like a sword in the chest, and his father's laughter. Even his vision became blurry.

If you don't speak, your mother and brother will die. Arthur will die. You will never see Rhaenys and Aegon again, if your voice does not come back.

He turned around. "Catch Rossart. He can't be very far away. Surround all the known secret passages, the great gate, and the dungeons. Go. Ser Jonothor, accompany them and organize their movement." He found himself breathless, almost screaming the words, but his screams sounded suffocated.

The castle guard ran off with Jon Darry, but Barristan, Pycelle and Arthur remained.

Barristan was looking at Aerys in horror while the king laughed and danced, while Pycelle's hostile gaze was still directed at Rhaegar. Arthur was standing behind Rhaegar; he felt him there. He turned around to face him.

"Arthur… listen. I need you to go as well. To the guild of pyromancers. Pick some men, as many as you think you need, and go. Get all of them here to me, living."

Arthur shook his head. "I will not leave you. I will not."

"Yes, you will. You have sworn to obey your king. Ser Arthur, I trust you to stop it. I trust you."

Arthur looked angry. "He said the wildfire is under the entire city, we cannot stop it. You need to escape the city along with the queen and Prince Viserys, ring the bells to wake the people up and evacuate as many as possible."

Rhaegar shook his head in frustration. "There's not enough time, Arthur! We will only be able to evacuate so many, and if I abandon my people here, then I am a coward and not worthy of ruling them. Our only hope is to find Rossart and the pyromancers before they start the blaze."

"Then send Ser Barristan, I have vowed not to leave you."

Rhaegar found himself taking Arthur's hands. They were both wearing fingerless gloves; Rhaegar's black and Arthur's white. Their fingers touched, and they felt slippery with sweat, but soft and warm. I might not be able to kiss Arthur, but if the city burns… I will not die without touching him one last time.

"I need Ser Barristan here. You go to the pyromancers and bring them to me living. They will remove the wildfire from the city or they will burn with it. It's our only hope, do you understand? Go."

For a moment, their eyes locked. Arthur's eyes were a lighter purple than Rhaegar's; lovely and kind. The prince's eyes widened. I don't want you to leave me, but I don't want your honor to be tarnished by what is about to happen here, and I trust no one else with the task. Arthur finally turned around and left. Rhaegar felt as if his spirit was taken from his body and attached to his white knight; when he left, he felt as if a part of him was dead, and when he thought of how it was possible that he would never see Arthur again, he felt as if he was a body and a beating heart completely devoid of a soul. Good. Perhaps it is required of me to let go of my soul to do this. Oh, Father Above… please forgive me.

"Treason," Pycelle said, still in his place by the side of the throne. "This is treason. Ser Barristan, you should seize this treasonous prince and throw him in a black cell."

Rhaegar almost laughed. "My father plans to burn the city, and I'm the traitor?"

"The king is merely defending himself! We need to stop the fire from happening and arrest you, traitor." Pycelle said, and seemed to fully believe in what he was saying. This time, Rhaegar laughed. He looked at the ground, laughing hysterically, and then rose his eyes to Selmy. "Ser Barristan," he said, "Seize the Grand Maester and the king from his mad dance, and bring them in front of me here."

After a frozen second, Barristan went to do as he was told, while Rhaegar went to the nearest wall and picked up a torch. When he was in front of the iron throne again, Barristan had seized the two old men and brought them forth, one more gently than the other.

"So, father… since you seem to so love bonfires and the scent of burning flesh, might we play a little game?"

In the night, King's Landing's old stone buildings looked like small mountains; the market was empty; the streets almost so, except for the few men returning home from brothels or taverns. The city smelled somewhat less of piss and fish than it did in the morning; the sea breeze and the smoke from the torches that lit the streets cleansed the city and readied it for a new day to come. Or will this day come at all? Ser Arthur Dayne wondered as he rode a horse as white as his cloak to do what he was ordered to do, galloping so fast he was afraid his horse would collapse. He heard the four men that he picked try to keep up with him behind him.

Rhaegar's task was no easy feat, Arthur thought. The secret passages to the castle were not few, and not all of them were known by everybody. The gods help them all if Rossart was familiar with entrances not known to them. All the worse if one of those passages led straight to a place near the Guildhall on the Street of the Sisters. Arthur could not gallop any faster to get there, and he had hoped that his road was shorter than Rossart's, and that him being on a horse will make him faster than the presumably unmounted old man enough to make up for him being late to the pyromancer's steps.

Arthur could feel the blood drain from his face; it felt tingly and it was covered in cold sweat. If he doesn't hurry, he might never see his prince again.

If I let Rhaegar down, he will burn. We will all burn.

As he rode, he thought of Rhaegar long and hard. Any moment, the city could go up in flames, and he wanted to die with his silver dragon's picture in his mind. In the last months, Rhaegar's beauty had turned from a violent, awe-inspiring beauty that used to hit his heart and incapacitate him from thinking, to a delicate and pallid beauty. His short-cropped hair spoke of his grief, and his pale and bony face reminded Arthur of tales of Queen Naerys. Thank the gods that Rhaegar was not as sickly and frail, but he was no more what he used to be than Queen Naerys was Queen Visenya. And what was there on this earth that Prince Aemon the Dragonknight would not have done for Queen Naerys?

What Rhaegar was, was an isolated man who ignored all those around him and his family because the gods chose him for a higher purpose. What Rhaegar has become is a man who realizes that the higher purpose was to protect his family, love the realm and protect it. It was not to sit alone in a library for days on end interpreting old prophecies, but to do what he had to do to ensure the safety of those he loves. And while his body had thinned down and weakened, he had never seen Rhaegar any stronger than he had become now. How he was responsible for so much, and did what he had to do… I have to save him, and save all of these people. I have to save the city, and to save my prince.

When Arthur finally arrived at the Guildhall, he descended from his horse and unsheathed Dawn. As he had expected, the wooden gate was locked. He could go looking for a rock or a hammer of some sort to knock it down, or he could try the easy way first. He knocked on the door; only three calm knocks, far apart. He concluded that, if the knocker seemed calm enough, the pyromancers will assume they're not Rhaegar's men; that is, if they knew that Rhaegar's men were coming to take them in the first place.

The door was opened, and a young boy with peachy cheeks stood behind it in a black robe. "Yes?" he said. An apprentice, no doubt.

Arthur pushed the boy back and entered, and then locked the door from the inside again, and took the key from the boy's hand. "Stay here and don't do anything stupid," he told the boy.

In the darkness lit only by a few torches, he spied a round table that a group of men was standing around. A few other young boys, three older men, and Rossart. Arthur lunged at him.

"You," Arthur said, "you criminal. You will be punished by our king for your treason."

First, Rossart looked terrified. And then he laughed. "And which king is that, Ser? The true king I serve or yours? Because both of them are about to go up in flames."

Arthur tried to calm himself. "You will stop this right now, or you will be burned in your own green poison. King Rhaegar summons you at the Red Keep, and you will come."

"It is too late to stop it, I'm afraid."

Arthur looked around in terror. There were ten apprentices, and four masters. He remembered that there can't be many more of them who went to execute the plan; the numbers of the alchemists had dwindled over the years.

"You try to frighten me, but all of you are here. The city is not about to burn, because I have all of you, criminals."

"Not all of us, no," one of the other two masters said. And that's when Arthur heard the explosion.

Arthur's heart went mad with the sound. He had heard a canon once; and this sounded like it, though he knew that if he were nearer, it would have been stronger.

"Ser Arthur," one of his men said in a panic, "What should we do?"

Arthur took a deep breath. I am the sword of the morning. I must be wise. I must be brave. And, I must save my prince.

"You will escort these traitors to King Rhaegar in the Red Keep. I will go and find those of them who fled."

A blaze swallowed a group of houses on the Street of the Sisters, and the screams almost pierced Arthur's ears.

When he approached on his horse, he saw the inhabitants of the houses look from their windows, screaming for help, and behind them, he saw the flames lick their bodies, hungered for flesh. Some smallfolk had gathered in the streets with barrels of water, others stood by watching their neighbors burn. Arthur felt the most let down in his entire life; this was caused by the monarch I swore myself to protect; by the dynasty I chose to stand for. He saw a woman in a window carrying a newborn babe out of it as low as she can to keep it away from the fire, and then she threw it to a man standing nearby who barely picked it up. After that, the woman disappeared behind a wall of smoke.

If I don't catch those necromancers fast enough, they could set more fires.

Nearby, he saw a dozen golden cloaks, and the captain of the city watch, whom he knew; a short and stocky man with golden hair. Arthur descended from his horse to meet them. Before the captain could speak, Ser Arthur said, "Take a large portion of your men under the city, to the tunnels. King Aerys has filled them with wildfire and he has sent a group of pyromancers to set up explosions and burn the city. Catch the pyromancers, and don't touch the wildfire. Another portion is to evacuate as many people from the city as possible to the Kingswood; should we fail to take the wildfire out safely, we want as few casualties as possible.

The captain opened his mouth in shock and said nothing for seconds, while his men started whispering to each other with panic in their eyes. Arthur wasn't certain that all of them understood the word "casualties."

"Worry not. Prince Rhaegar is arriving from Dragonstone in hours, and he will declare a regency over his father once the wildfire is safely removed from the city by the pyromancers. Until then, the ones who set this fire could be elsewhere and setting more fires as we speak. Hurry now."

"Yes, ser." The man turned around and gave instructions to his soldiers. As for Arthur, he knew what he needed to do: Return to the Red Keep and send reinforcements.

He was climbing his horse when the bells of the Red Keep rang. He didn't stay for long enough to see how the people at the scene would react to that, but rode off to the castle. Rhaegar. If he were hurt…

As he rode, the story became clearer.

He rode by guards and servants spilling out from the Red Keep, gold cloaks hurrying to carry orders, women speaking to one another while their children were crying, but the louder of them seemed quite certain, somehow, of what had happened:

"King Aerys is dead; he burned himself saying that he will become a dragon."

"A fire in the throne room…."

"They say he tried to burn the city, the bastard, and Rhaegar sent his men to stop it."

"Long live King Rhaegar!"

The next few days were exhausting.

The rogue pyromancers were found as they were about to set up a second explosion, and shot with arrows. Rhaegar appointed Barristan, Gerold, Jaime and Jon Darry to oversee the evacuation of the city. The Kingswood turned into a massive camp for the people of King's Landing, including most of the usual inhabitants of the Red Keep, starting from the kitchen wenches and stable boys and ending with Queen Rhaella herself along with Prince Viserys. Only Rhaegar and his close guard remained in the Red Keep to oversee the operations. The city watch's manpower was divided into two; half of them surveyed the camp to ensure that no murders or rapes or thievery ensued as a result of the chaos, and the other half manned the streets to ensure that the houses and belongings that the King's Landers had left behind were safe. And, of course, they oversaw the pyromancers' evacuation of the wildfire.

The plan to rid the city of the wildfire was simple, and orchestrated by Rhaegar himself: The barrels of wildfire would be loaded into a massive ship, and the ship would be launched into open sea, only manned by a few trustworthy (and very careful) men. When the ship was far enough from the shore, the men would set up an explosion of the wildfire by lighting a tall candle in a pool of it, and evacuate the ship right away in a boat. Should the pyromancers' calculations be correct (and Rhaegar ensured them that they had to be, otherwise they would be drawn and quartered) the men should be far enough from the ship when it explodes, and the ship should be far enough into open sea to not harm anyone.

The day that this evacuation occurred, King Rhaegar stood watch at the port of King's Landing along with a crowd of people who were there to witness the bonfire; the death of this old evil. When the ship exploded, the people cheered, wine was poured, and a celebration was held. Rhaegar was not yet officially crowned, and yet he sat at the high table and heard people toast to his health; a drunk old man from the attendance even presented him with a laurel of white roses and leaves of fragrant basil and rosemary, which Arthur insisted on touching first to ensure there were no thorns. After that, Rhaegar wore it, and chuckled when the crowd repeated "Long may he reign" after the old man. It was not the real coronation, but it made him feel stronger than any high septon or noblemen ever could. Nevertheless, he went back to being solemn shortly after.

The day after the celebration, King Aerys the Second's funeral pyre was held at the sept of Baelor.

The body had been moved to the sept in the dead of night to avoid the angry crowds desecrating it. The silent sisters had their work cut out for them; a large portion of the king's body was charred, including his face, which was beyond recognition.

In funerals of members of House Targaryen, it was customary that the funeral pyre be lit in the center of the sept, with the head pointed towards The Stranger's disfigured statue. After the body was embalmed by the silent sisters, it would be set on fire with a torch held by another member of the house. Rhaegar held the torch, and when he lit the body on fire and watched the last traces of it turn to ash, he looked around to see no one too sorry. Pycelle was dead, and so was Rossart. The remaining members of the guild of pyromancers were all in black cells where they'd die and the secret of the wildfire would die with them. The rest of the king's small council was pretending to stand behind Rhaegar now; but Rhaegar knew that he wouldn't keep any of them for long. As for the other nobles of the court who were in attendance, their faces were respectful, but cold. Rhaegar imagined that they were not very fond of the fact that Aerys had planned to burn them all.

After the funeral, Rhaegar oversaw the restoration of the people of King's Landing to their homes, and then announced that his coronation would be delayed for three weeks, for he needed to travel to Dragonstone and move the belongings of his family into court in order for them to be there when Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys were returned from Dorne. A large crowd of nobles and smallfolk stood to bid farewell to the prince before his journey, but he only took Arthur and a few other men that he trusted from his guard. After all the men were boarded, a five-feet tall wooden box was lifted into the ship, carrying cargo that Rhaegar would have transported to Dragonstone.

The journey took a week at sea that served as time for Rhaegar to process everything that had transpired since the day he landed in King's Landing. The wildfire plot, the lords of Westeros's letters of congratulations to King Rhaegar for stopping the plot from taking place and showing their support, the smallfolk's crowning, and the fire. Oh, Father, the fire most of all. For days on end, Rhaegar's stomach had churned when he remembered the sight of the fire, and when he remembered that he was the one to light it.

Oh, Father Above, forgive me, for I have committed many sins of late. The pyromancers (even the young apprentices) who would all live and die in black cells, Pycelle, Rossart (who was beheaded) and Aerys…

For as long as he had stayed on the ship, Arthur had not spoken a word to him about what had happened, only held him as he tried to sleep until he went calm and slumbered peacefully. On the last night on the ship, right before they reached Dragonstone, Arthur finally asked the question Rhaegar had dreaded.

"Did you do it? Did you kill Aerys?" Arthur whispered, with their heads on the same pillow, looking straight into each other's eyes. "I would understand if you did. He would have killed us all. I would not trust him to be alive."

Rhaegar bit his lip. "Arthur…"

The knight took a deep breath. "If you wish not to speak of it…"

"I do not. I have committed a great crime in the eyes of gods and men, and should it be known, no one would wish me to be king, ever. I sent you away because I wished not to tarnish your honor by having you witness it. You will get a better answer than this soon, but tonight is not the time."

Arthur nodded. "Fine, then." He reached up with his fingers to brush Rhaegar's hair and the back of his neck. The prince eventually fell asleep.

When they woke up, they were on the shore of Dragonstone. Rhaegar and Arthur dressed and met with their men on deck, where the ship was evacuated from men and cargo quickly. Rhaegar was surprised when he found that he had missed Dragonstone; he had missed the grey sand and the heavy walks he had to take in it, he missed the rocks, he missed the fearsome castle and the stone beasts it was made of, he had missed its clear smell and the clean water of its beaches.

In the castle, he ordered breakfast prepared for his men. Arthur insisted hotly that the prince must eat before he would perform any tasks he had come to perform. "Your face is beginning to look like a skeleton," he said. Rhaegar gave him a small smile. "Are you saying I'm ugly?" he asked, bemused.

"No," Arthur replied, "I'm saying if I were your maester, I'd forbid you to move until you've got some flesh on you. You're going to collapse any day, your grace."

At the great hall, Rhaegar sat by Arthur's side and chewed on hard bread absent-mindedly, and Arthur passed him a plate of fried bacon and eggs. "Your grace," he said politely, but his eyes looked at Rhaegar firmly. He smiled and ate. When breakfast was finished, Rhaegar ordered wine brought to the men, and ordered Arthur and two others to finish quickly, for they had a job to do.

Deep beneath the castle, there were tunnels so deep under the earth and so dark that Rhaegar didn't know if anything could survive there. The cells were carved into rocks in the shape of gaping mouths of dragons, waiting to swallow their enemies. Even the spikes that closed the cell doors were shaped like dragons' fangs. If my ancestors have built this with the intention to keep prisoners here, it would have been more merciful to just have them beheaded. But, some prisoners, he knew, deserved no such mercy.

The two men accompanying him and Arthur carried the five-feet tall box that was their cargo from King's Landing. When Rhaegar entered one cell, they all entered behind him and dropped the box on the floor, gently. Arthur looked at Rhaegar in confusion still. "Ser Arthur, please light the fireplace. And you," he pointed towards one of the two other men. "Open the box, please." Rhaegar ordered. While Arthur lit the fire with two stones left near the wood for use, the man took out of his pocket a key and opened the lock that kept the box shut. When he was done, the front side of the box fell, and revealed its content.

"All of you, please leave, but stand nearby for when I call on you," Rhaegar said. "I would like a private audience with my father."

Aerys was bound by the hands and feet and gagged. Before putting him in the box, Rhaegar had forced him to bathe: "You're going to further rot in there," he said to the old man during his imprisonment in Maegor's Holdfast. He had kicked and screamed while his two loyal guards carried out Rhaegar's every order, but he had no other choice. If people were to know he was alive, they were to kill him slowly, and seven hells with all the laws of gods and men.

But his face… his face was one of the things that gave Rhaegar nightmares since that night.

Rhaegar would not have his father be recognizable, and so, he had had his face disfigured. With a hot knife, he had ordered his father's face carved almost all the way across, and several scars were placed on different parts of his face. His hair and nails were cut, and he was stripped of his House Targaryen garb and placed in robes. As for Grand Maester Pycelle… he took the king's place, the king's clothes, and the fate that the king deserved, and only did not get because Rhaegar was too afraid to kill his own father.

Beneath the gag, Aerys was making muffled, choking voices; in the past week or so, he had been trying to scream, until he lost his voice. There was no use. Rhaegar had confined him in a lone cabin as far from the other men as possible, and the gag and box muffled his voice enough.

"You know, father, Lord Varys was brought here in exactly this manner. My dear friends Doran and Oberyn Martell have had him brought to me, delivered in a box like this one, and he was delivered by my mute friend also. But he died, father. Quite quickly; I'm not fond of torture, and he was only looking out for his own good, like most of us are. But you…" Rhaegar's fist closed so forcefully his fingers hurt. "You hurt my mother, and you almost hurt my brother. You almost killed my children. You almost killed Arthur, and you almost burned my city, my people."

"You see, with Varys, I also removed his gag and let him answer me; explain his crimes. I asked him: Why, Lord Varys? Why did you support an obvious madman? Why not help me ascend the throne and save the realm from his folly? Why did you let him hurt all of those people, and help him do so? Did he know, father? About the wildfire, that is? I imagine he did. But you… I doubt you have any explanation that a sane man could swallow."

"Before I go, let me ease any fears you might have about the future of our house. I will rule Westeros. I will do all that is in my power to erase your legacy. I will end the tradition of incest and I will ally the Targaryens with the paramount houses of the realm by marriage. My son will marry a Stark or a Baratheon, most like, my daughter a Tully, and Viserys will marry another princess of Dorne. They will grow to be strong and kind and worthy of what a Targaryen should be. My children are half Dornish, and I am proud of them, as is Dorne. When we set that ship on fire, we set the past of our house on fire also; we will no longer isolate ourselves and rule from a superior place; we will rule because we will deserve to rule, and I will make sure that my son is worthy of ruling, and that he teaches his son to so be, and his son teaches his son… and House Targaryen will be a strong and fair dynasty till the end of days. But that is of no concern to you, is it? You almost burned half a million Westerosi alive. You care naught for the good of the realm. You are no dragon, father, you are little more than a serpent. Ser Arthur," Rhaegar called, "Come and bring your companions."

When they arrived, Rhaegar pointed towards one of them. "Let me introduce you to my good friend here, father. I do not know his name. He is mute. And I'm sure you're familiar with Ser Ilyn Payne. One day, you cut out his tongue because he said something you didn't like. Today, Ser Ilyn will return the courtesy. Ser Ilyn, heat your dagger in the fire."

Aerys stared at Rhaegar in horror. Apparently, he doesn't mind being burned alive, but having his tongue cut out inconveniences him. Rhaegar returned his father's gaze with a gaze like steel: Sharp, cold, unfeeling.

When Ser Ilyn's blade was finally orange, Rhaegar looked at Arthur. He looked at him because if Arthur's eyes told him not to do it, he will leave the old man alone and be done with it. But Arthur only gave him a slight nod. Rhaegar's eyes went to Ilyn Payne.

"Remove his gag and return his courtesy, Ser Ilyn."

The first few months of Rhaegar's reign went smoothly.

Rhaegar finally got the time he had craved with his mother and brother. Rhaella was hurt, and she would need time to heal. Viserys was a bit quiet; Rhaegar gathered that, because the only other man he knew was so fearful and volatile, he was not quite comfortable around his older brother. So, Rhaegar decided to take him training with him in the yard to carry swords, and made sure to constantly be reassuring. He would tell him not to be afraid, pat his shoulders and his face tenderly, and laugh with him. Eventually, Viserys had warmed up to him and would even start their conversations when they met. Arthur also did his best with Viserys; Rhaegar noticed. He later exchanged letters with Lord Mace to arrange for his mother and brother to go and stay at Highgarden for a bit; the beauty of the reach was healthy for them, after months of imprisonment with a madman.

The coronation went well. Rhaegar had found that he did not look forward to it, but did not particularly dread it either. It was merely one more task; just another day. But after the crowd chanted "Long may he reign," Arthur turned around to him and gave him a look that made his blood run heated and his heartbeat quicken.

As promised, Rhaegar dismissed Lord Chelsted and appointed Jon Arryn as his hand. Most of his father's small council was dismissed and replaced. When the new master of whisperers, Oberyn Martell, arrived to King's Landing, he had expressed his satisfaction with Rhaegar living up to his part of the bargain. "Why, your grace," Oberyn had smiled and said, when Rhaegar invited him to a private setting, "You have done well. Certainly my brother is happy with the match with Prince Viserys. Should he grow up to be a capable man like you, my niece will be a lucky woman."

Rhaegar smiled back. "I'm glad I did not disappoint. May our friendship last for as long as our names remain on this earth. For my brave and kind wife, your sister."

Earlier that day, Rhaegar had received Rhaenys and Aegon in the castle yard. He had held Rhaenys and spun her around, both of them chuckling, and then he kissed her hair. It smelled of roses. She held on to him, tying her arms around his neck, and telling him stories of the Water Gardens. Of Arianne, Nymeria, Tyene, Prince Doran…

"Uncle Oberyn assured me that he will teach me how to carry a spear."

Rhaegar smiled. "Ser Arthur and I will be responsible for the sword part of your training, then, I suppose."

Aegon, he had grown just a tiny bit. His head felt more solid when Rhaegar slightly pressed on it, and his eyes could open wider. When Rhaegar held him to his chest, he was so calm. After that, the royal children were taken to meet their grandmother, the queen, who embraced them just as tenderly, told Rhaenys sweet stories, and introduced Viserys to them. Viserys seemed to think that Rhaenys was young and silly, but he played with her and corrected her silliness nonetheless.

Weeks after that, Rhaegar found himself in need of some time alone, and "alone" meant him and Arthur, for there was nowhere in the world where Rhaegar could feel at peace without him. Without Arthur, the prince had felt as if he were missing a part of himself, rather than simply being without a friend or even a lover. Before leaving to Summerhall, Rhaegar had opened his drawer to give a look of farewell to the box of black wood with the three-headed dragon on it. He opened it, and caressed Elia's lock of hair gently. "The children are safe," he whispered. "I hope wherever you are, you are not further disappointed in me."

They lay on their backs on the cool marble floor, which eventually warmed up under their skin. The roof of the great hall of Summerhall had fallen; that's how destructive the fire that came with Rhaegar's birth was. Nevertheless, the stars had made him feel at peace. He had once read a book by a maester whose name he had forgotten, that theorized that the stars were faraway planets that burned with fires so hot they shone at us as such. Rhaegar wondered if one day, the same will come of this planet. He hoped it was not while he and his children and their children lived.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur asked him.

Rhaegar smiled. "I'm thinking that the stars look like your eyes. You?"

"I am thinking that I might never know what you truly think. Whenever I'm thinking of something smart and I think I might be catching up with you, turns out I'm only halfway there. It did not occur to me to replace your father with Pycelle, it did not occur to me to appoint Oberyn master of whisperers… but that is alright, because whatever you end up doing always amazes me."

Your father. The memory of the man troubled him. Arthur read that, and instantly sought to ease his mind. "I know you feel guilty. At lease you did not murder him, and believe me, he deserves to be dead."

"I…" Rhaegar's voice was almost choking. He cleared his throat. "I had to cut his tongue and mutilate his face, to ensure that…"

"I know. To ensure that no one recognizes him, and that he speaks to no one. And I'm telling you this: He deserved worse. I still can't believe Barristan helped you do it, though."

"He is no idiot," Rhaegar replied. "He swore to protect the king, and my father's actions threatened not only himself, but his heirs, his queen, and the entire population of King's Landing. It was him or all of us."

"I'm glad he made the right choice. I didn't want to stand against him."

Rhaegar turned his gaze away from the stars to Arthur. "You know… you do know what I'm thinking. You're always here to tell me not to worry, it's alright, I did well."

"I know enough to love you."

They both smiled and kissed. After they broke the kiss, Rhaegar lay his head on Arthur's arm. Arthur squinted. "You know, you are slowly returning to what you used to look like. Your hair is growing longer again, your face is growing fuller… things are getting better."

Rhaegar snickered, and then took a deep breath. "It is over. My family is no longer in danger. Now my attention can go to other things, such as my own health. I don't want to know how my family would fare with me dead. I still need help with the children, though, especially when my mother goes away to Highgarden. The grand maester says there is a chance she might be pregnant. I don't know which to give more care, my family or the realm. Will you help me?"

"Of course, I will. Now that you are king, you get to command me, your grace."

Rhaegar moaned in protest, and Arthur laughed, and then he stopped laughing. "You are a good king. A kind, fair, wise king, and I vow to serve you with my life." His hand was caressing Rhaegar's chin, and then it went down to his neck, then to his chest, then down under that… "Long may he reign," the knight whispered. Rhaegar laughed, and laughed, and then they kissed, and kissed, and kissed… until all the thirst was gone from them.

The End.  

[madaboutasoiaf]

But wait, I thought that Young Griff IS Rhaegars son? What evidence proves otherwise?

Anonymous said: I agree that Young Griff is not the true Aegon. So, who do you think he is? His look is just so rare and specific, if not a Targaryen who could he be? Or am I reading too much into the way he looks? Thanks! Love your blog!

Thanks Anon

I’m going to answer both of these asks together because otherwise I’ll be typing out quite a few things twice. Yes, Young Griff/Aegon is very likely not Rhaegar’s son. I tend to think of it as a certainty these days but that’s me rereading until bits of text stick more than they did when I started reading ASOIAF.

I don’t think Anon is reading too much into the way he looks. I’m certain he is descended from Daemon Blackfyre. 

When Maelys the Monstrous died upon the Stepstones, it was the end of the male line of House Blackfyre.

That specific wording gives a hint in my opinion. The male line is extinguished. There could still be a Blackfyre claimant from the female line. This would account for Aegon’s “Targaryen look”. The Blackfyres descend from Targaryens. Daemon Blackfyre had the silver-gold hair and purple eyes, and in their exile in Essos, his descendants would not necessarily have diluted their valyrian blood. They could have chosen partners who were themselves descended from valyrians, hence Aegon still having Targaryen features so many years after the end of the Blackfyre Rebellion. That’s all speculation mind you, but it’s possible. It’s also why I don’t buy arguments that the dragons will reject Aegon. He’s still a candidate to ride a dragon, adding to his appearance of legitimacy, even though he’s certainly not going to be one of the three heads of the dragon.

Getting back to your actual questions. I’m going to put the rest under a cut because it got long and includes some not very short extracts from the books.

There are these hints in the books:

“…Later [the inn] passed to a crippled knight named Long Jon Heddle, who took up ironworking when he grew too old to fight. He forged a new sign for the yard, a three-headed dragon of black iron that he hung from a wooden post. The beast was so big it had to be made in a dozen pieces, joined with rope and wire. When the wind blew it would clank and clatter, so the inn became known far and wide as the Clanking Dragon.”“Is the dragon sign still there?” asked Podrick.“No,” said Septon Meribald. “When the smith’s son was an old man, a bastard son of the fourth Aegon rose up in rebellion against his trueborn brother and took for his sigil a black dragon. These lands belonged to Lord Darry then, and his lordship was fiercely loyal to the king. The sight of the black iron dragon made him wroth, so he cut down the post, hacked the sign into pieces, and cast them into the river. One of the dragon’s heads washed up on the Quiet Isle many years later, though by that time it was red with rust.

A black dragon turned red. It’s been interpreted by quite a few people as a hint of a Blackfyre disguised as a Targaryen. Then there is the Golden Company

“Sellswords break their contracts all the time.”“Not the Golden Company. Our word is good as gold has been their boast since the days of Bittersteel. Myr is on the point of war with Lys and Tyrosh. Why break a contract that offered them the prospect of good wages and good plunder?”“Perhaps Lys offered them better wages. Or Tyrosh.”“No,” she said. “I would believe it of any of the other free companies, yes. Most of them would change sides for half a groat. The Golden Company is different. A brotherhood of exiles and the sons of exiles, united by the dream of Bittersteel. It’s home they want, as much as gold. Lord Yronwood knows that as well as I do. His forebears rode with Bittersteel during three of the Blackfyre Rebellions.”

The breaking of their contract is the first red flag, and the “it’s home they want” may be held forth as an argument by Illyrio in ADWD as to why they would side with Daenerys, but he’s lying.

“If truth be told, I did not think Daenerys would survive for long amongst the horselords.““That did not stop you selling her to Khal Drogo…”“Dothraki neither buy nor sell. Say rather that her brother Viserys gave her to Drogo to win the khal’s friendship. A vain young man, and greedy.”

He never expected Dany to live so his plan was never truly for the Golden Company to aid her. He says the Golden Company is siding with her now, but Illyrio and Varys are quite alike in that they mix lies with truth so that the truth makes it seem that the lie isn’t a lie at all.

“The Golden Company marches toward Volantis as we speak, there to await the coming of our queen out of the east.”Beneath the gold, the bitter steel. “I had heard the Golden Company was under contract withone of the Free Cities.”“Myr.” Illyrio smirked. “Contracts can be broken.”“There is more coin in cheese than I knew,” said Tyrion. “How did you accomplish that?”The magister waggled his fat fingers. “Some contracts are writ in ink, and some in blood. I say no more.”

The writ in blood does not mean Targaryen blood. The vow Bittersteel made, the whole purpose of the Golden Company, is to seat a Blackfyre on the Iron Throne.  Yes the Golden Company is awaiting Dany but not because of Dany herself, not because they want to serve her, they want her to lend legitimacy to the cause.

The captain-general looked as if someone had slapped his face. “Has the sun curdled your brains, Flowers? We need the girl. We need the marriage. If Daenerys accepts our princeling and takes him for her consort, the Seven Kingdoms will do the same. Without her, the lords will only mock his claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender.

It was always about Aegon, because Aegon is the person the Golden Company owes allegiance to, he is the descendant they can put on the throne to fulfil Bittersteel’s plans.

Daemon Blackfyre had perished on the Redgrass Field, however, and his rebellion with him. Those followers of the Black Dragon who survived the battle yet refused to bend the knee fled across the narrow sea, among them Daemon’s younger sons, Bittersteel, and hundreds of landless lords and knights who soon found themselves forced to sell their swords to eat. Some joined the Ragged Standard, some the Second Sons or Maiden’s Men. Bittersteel saw the strength of House Blackfyre scattering to the four winds, so he formed the Golden Company to bind the exiles together.

All the skulls were grinning, even Bittersteel’s on the tall pike inthe center. What does he have to grin about? He died defeated and alone, a broken man in an alien land. On his deathbed, Ser Aegor Rivers had famously commanded his men to boil the flesh from his skull, dip it in gold, and carry it before them when they crossed the sea to retake Westeros. Hissuccessors had followed his example.

Fighting for Aegon Targaryen is the equivalent of bending the knee to the Targaryens the Golden Company fought for decades. It amounts to a capitulation, and says that their struggle in exile for more than 100 years ends supporting those they wished to remove.

Aside from the Blackfyre and Golden Company hints, there is also Tyrion’s description of Young Griff

He was a lithe and well-made youth, with a lanky build and a shock of darkblue hair. The dwarf put his age at fifteen, sixteen, or near enough to make no matter.

Young Griff stumbled up onto deck yawning.“Good morrow, all.” The lad was shorter than Duck, but his lanky build suggested that he had not yet come into his full growth.

Aegon Targaryen would be older than Jon Snow. Unless Tyrion’s estimation is wrong (possible), the boy is younger than Rhaegar’s son would be. The story of his survival is also odd. Are we to believe Elia Martell, a Dornish woman, valued her son’s survival over her daughter’s? Westerosi patriarchal standards might value the male heir over the female, but I don’t see Elia agreeing to a baby swap for one child and not the other. I could go on but I think I’ve covered the stronger evidence already.

Anyway, wrapping this up because I did not mean to ramble on so much. I firmly believe that Aegon is a Blackfyre descendant who has been raised to believe he is Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Elia. He is an unwitting pawn in the final Blackfyre plot and this time I expect they’ll succeed, and their invasion will put their claimant on the Iron Throne, fulfilling Bittersteel’s dream when he created the Golden Company.