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Chapter Text

The young queen’s screams echo through the halls and sends Rhaenyra’s vision blurry as memories of her mother’s births ravage her nerves. The resentment towards her ex-friend still ran hot but when she was informed that Alicent had begun her labours, not a single person interrupted her mad dash to the room. She had tried to enter, to be by Alicent’s side, but she was ushered out by her father and his Hand. As the door closed, the two girls were able to meet eyes for just a second and they shared an intense longing to be by each other's side.

Rhaenyra wanted to hold her hand as she had always desired to do with her mother. To give her the comfort of a person not wanting anything other than her survival. She wanted to be in that room to stop any Maester from making the same decision they did with her Mother. She wanted to hold Alicent and tell her she didn’t care if she birthed a usurping son or came from this chamber hating her, Rhaenyra just wanted her to live. But instead, she was forced to listen to her friend’s cries and pray to Gods she didn’t believe in.

Alicent wanted her best friend, her closest confidant before everything with Queen Aemma and her Father’s wishes happened. She wanted to weep in Rhaenyra’s arms, to beg for forgiveness, beg to survive, to confess she didn’t want this, that yes, she did want to escape on dragon back. That while she still lived, she wanted to say her deepest secret out loud, that she loved no other like she loved the princess. But instead, such thoughts are ripped away as her body forces her to push and another burst of pain runs through her.

Hours Later

Alicent’s screams quiet down and the strained wails of a newborn make their way through the closed doors. A nursemaid opens the door, curtsying and giving the King and the new grandsire, Otto, entrance in. The doors are left a crack open, giving Rhaenyra enough room to view in.

There she lays, her usually soft curly hair now slick and matted from sweat, her naturally blushing face now flushed but recently wiped as was protocol. Rhaenyra had seen the maids clean up her Mother many times after birth before allowing the men in, but seeing Alicent in such a position made her nauseous. Soon after, Otto leaves, a barely contained scowl on his face as he makes his way back to the Hand’s tower.

Rhaenyra watches him leave, confused as no one reacted like he did when her siblings were born ill or dead so there was no clear reason for his moodiness. She turns back to the chamber and meets Alicent’s staring eyes. They’re scarily empty yet all-consuming, the Princess feels like she’s being sucked in as the girls almost seem to communicate without words.

Alicent lives. She is in pain, but nothing she can’t recover from. Rhaenyra worries, she wants to come in but she doesn’t want to intrude. Alicent wants her by her side, please. Her eyes gloss and her lip trembles.

Rhaenyra looks away, scanning the awaiting court before swallowing a non-existent lump and entering the birthing chamber, closing the doors after her. Viserys looks up, a swaddled babe in his arms, “My dear, a girl,” his eyes fill with tears, “You always wanted a little sister.”

An unexpected weight falls off her shoulders, a girl, not a son to supplant her. Rhaenyra grins, scoping her baby sister out of their father’s arms, her hand coming up to wipe a rouge white curl out of her chubby sleeping face, “Hello, sweet Visenya,” she coos.

“Oh…” Viserys glances between Alicent and Rhaenyra guiltily, “I did not know you still wanted to name your sister after the Conquerer’s sister-wife, I had assumed you wanted that name for your own daughter.”

The heir’s smile falls from her face and Alicent feels a flash of dread, “What… What is her name then, Father?”

“Allow me to introduce Princess Alyssa Targaryen, named after my mother, your Grandmother.” Hearing his words, Rhaenyra doesn’t feel slighted anymore.

She pecks her sister on the forehead, “A sister. Oh, how I’ve desired you all my life,” an idea comes to mind with a gasp, she turns back and forth between her Father and Alicent, “May I take her on her first flight? Like Grandmother Alyssa did with you, Father?”

The young Queen tries to oppose but as weak as she currently is, Viserys easily speaks over her, “That is a splendid idea, I may not remember my first flight, but the story still holds a precious place in my heart. I am certain it will be the same for little Alyssa.”

A Month Later

While later than Rhaenyra would have wanted, she still managed to convince the Maester and Alicent that Alyssa was strong enough for her first flight. Which is how she got an infant strapped to her chest, wind in her hair and a dragon’s roar in her lungs. Since the princess had been told about her Grandmother’s practice, which was right before her own first flight on Caraxes thanks to her Uncle Daemon, Rhaenyra was obsessed. But babe after babe, she was either too young or the babe too weak to join her on top of Syrax, until Alyssa.

The baby squeals in delight, the high speeds causing her cheeks to jiggle, sending Rhaenyra into a laughing fit. To combined happiness of Syrax’s rider and her kin makes the dragon let out a pleased roar.

The scene was beautiful, if you were able to hear the cheer, but from the ground, it was terrifying.

Alicent watches on in horror, standing up from the chair she was given to observe. The beast flying recklessly, roaring as if taunting her inability to do anything. She had urged her Father to stand by her decision of not letting the Princess take her daughter on that death trap, but as she birthed just another girl and not an heir, he cared little for her concerns and told her in a barely veiled manner to get pregnant again, even though it had only been a few weeks.

Finally, Syrax lands, a laughing Rhaenyra and Alyssa sliding off her back. Alicent rushes over in a very unladylike way to them, hastily undoing the swaddling that held her daughter to her stepdaughter. Her mind half manic, Alicent doesn’t realise that she’d begun to heave as she struggles over the carefully done-up knots.

Rhaenyra grabs her hands, causing Alicent to freeze and look at her face, “She is alright, I would never let anything happen to her. Trust me.”

And there were the words Alicent had needed to hear from her for months. Rhaenyra won’t hurt her children… at least not the female ones.

A Little Over A Year Later

Here she was again, waiting impatiently outside the birthing chamber, forced to listen to Alicent’s screams. It wasn’t easier the second time, it was worse as if Alicent died, the young Alyssa would be without a mother, without having any memories of said mother. A nursemaid hurriedly opens one of the doors, sticking her head out and scanning the crowd. Everyone holds their breath for bad news, but instead, she gestures to Rhaenyra, “Her Grace requests your assistance, Princess.”

Not a second later, she was in that chamber and clutching Alicent’s hand, “You got this, I know you do.”

The Queen just lets out a painfilled and nonsensical yell in her face.

Later

Panting and shaking, Alicent sits up with Rhaenyra’s help, reaching out to her baby. The maester glances between the two and lets out a held breath, “It is a boy, Your Grace.”

The Princess feels like a bucket of ice water was poured over her, the tender reforging of their friendship feeling more strained immediately. The Queen suddenly feels nothing, like every nerve and thought was turned off. She has done her duty but… She looks at Rhaenyra, watching as she stares at the quiet, whimpering babe with an unreadable expression. She has done her duty, but what of her Rhae- Princess Rhaenyra and their friendship?

The Princess leaves her side, surrendering her hold on Alicent’s hand for the first time in hours and walks over to the son the realm always wanted. The babe wriggles as he’s handed to a nursemaid, letting out little noises, but doesn’t cry or wail like Alyssa did.

“Is… Is he meant to be… so quiet?” She mutters, reaching out a single finger to the small clutched fist.

By instinct, his hand opens and wraps around his eldest sister’s finger with a strong grip. The woman smiles, “He is just a gentle babe. In my personal opinion, he is aware that he doesn’t need to shout for attention, his sister is close by. Here, Princess.”

She hands the still slightly bloody baby over to Rhaenyra as she retrieves a cloth and wipes the prince, quickly swaddling and handing him back to his sister. The nursemaid curtsies and steps back. Rhaenyra stares at him, a healthy brother. Nostalgia hits her and she holds him close, her face turning red as she tries to stop herself from crying. It doesn’t work.

Alicent watches Rhaenyra cradle her son closely and ever so gently as near-silent tears fall from her eyes, soft whimpers escaping her lips between kisses on his cheeks and nose. She clears her throat, snapping the Princess out of her trance.

Awkwardly, Rhaenyra hands him over to his mother, the babe no longer weeping, but she is, sniffling to try and recover faster, “He’s wonderful, Alicent. Thank you, truly.”

She smiles, paying little attention to her son with her friend in her reach, “Mayhaps you can take him on his first dragon ride,” Rhaenyra’s face nearly splits in half with a smile, “And I know how upset you were about not being able to name Alyssa, so what should his name be?”

“You are… you are asking me to name your son?”

“Your brother, the one you wanted so badly, remember. That way you could ride Syrax and eat only cake?” She teases, which causes Rhaenyra to let out an unrefined snort.

“I remember you being included in such wishes, but you were too afraid to ride. Is this also you saying you’d like to have your first flight?”

“Rhaenyra…” She warns with a flash stern expression, which quickly switches to a soft smile, “I would like to know my son’s name now.”

“… Haegon.”

Chapter Text

Months Later

When Daemon returns to court, fresh from war and filled with savage stories to tell, he expects to find his niece awaiting with a sly grin and snarky words. Except, he doesn’t find her. After meeting with his brother, giving him the crown he won, he has to ask a passing servant who informs the Prince that Rhaenyra is in the nursery with her siblings and the Queen. The expression he makes sends a shiver down the servants spine. As he makes his way through the halls, numerous servants glance at him between their bows, a common sight but their gazes felt different, like they were hiding something.

Even from outside the room, the sounds his niece and his new goodsister laughing can be heard. He enters the nursery without fanfare and is nearly physically struck by the sight greeting him. The young Queen, pregnant again, lays on a cushioned couch, Rhaenyra resting her back against said couch while sitting on the floor, the Hightower intruder’s fingers in his only niece’s hair, filling it with delicate Reach-style braids. Together they watch a young Targaryen featured toddler, waddle around with a crudely-made toy dragon in its hand, making inaccurate roaring noises. Right next to Rhaenyra on a soft blanket sits an even younger child, wobbling as it lays on it’s belly, trying to push itself up by its fat arms to see who’s making the funny noises.

The tranquil atmosphere is disturbed when the toddler stops and gasps in fear at the sight of Daemon, clutching her toy dragon closer. She sloppily flees and crashes into her older sister for safety. All eyes, except the babe’s, goes to him, but at least Rhaenyra’s brighten.

“Uncle, you have returned at last. Does that mean the Step Stones have been reclaimed and you are victorious once more?” She asks, her hand unconsciously rubbing the toddler’s back.

Much less unconsciously, Alicent places a protective hand over her belly, but she puts on a soft diplomatic smile regardless, “Yes, much has changed, I am certain everyone would enjoy hearing about your time away. Mayhaps, a family dinner?”

Rhaenyra lights up in delight, but Daemon interrupts his niece accepting the offer on his behalf, “I have just returned from war, not a stroll through the Kingswood. Besides, in your… sensitive condition, hearing such bloody tales are likely to disturb you.”

“Alicent has given birth twice, believe me, blood no longer scares her like it once did,” she sends a mournful but teasing look to her friend, “I have tried and all I receive is a disapproving stare.”

“You received a small cut on your hand because of your own foolishness. Why would I be frightened when it came from making that silly toy for Alyssa?”

“Silly? What nonsense, you requested I not go on that marriage tour so I could assist-“

“Alyssa?” Daemon stops the playful banter, “She has been named Alyssa?” His tone low and filled with something deadly.

Rhaenyra, like usual is unaware of the dangers of her uncle, “Yes, not my choice, Father got to her before I. But this little beasty,” she lovingly runs a hand over her brother’s soft head, “was named by me, Haegon. A name all to himself without worries of any ancestor’s legacies.”

Alyssa stops cowering at this great insult to her character, “No, ‘nrya, Aly best no beasty.”

The girls coo at her, “Of course, Sister. Aly is the best, but his name isn’t truely beasty, you are aware of this.”

“I blame this on you, Rhaenyra, nicknaming my son that. Alyssa adores you, why would she not copy you?”

“Oh Alicent, look at him,” she carefully picks up Haegon, cradling him, “Is he not the most gorgeous beasty you’ve ever seen?”

The Queen groans in annoyance which sends Alyssa into laughter and a chant, “Beasty, beasty, beasty!”

Daemon takes this as an excuse to leave.

The Next Day

Rhaenyra walks through the Red Keep in her riding clothes, the stench of dragon thick on her and the babe on her hip. Together she and Haegon had gone on a flight and were returning to the nursery where Alicent and Alyssa were likely still residing. They pass a courtyard and from it, Daemon’s voice calls out, “Ao mittys.”

You fool.

This stops Rhaenyra in her tracks, “What was that, Uncle?”

“Kostā daor pāsagon bona tymagon lentor kessa mīsagon aōha dēmalion. Kessi nāpāsagon ao se henujagon ao daorun.

You cannot believe that playing family will protect your throne. They will betray you and leave you nothing.

She turns to face him, not trying to hide her anger, “Iksan daor hae ao. Nyke jorrāelagon ñuha lentor, daor sepār se dēmalion.”

I am not like you. I love my family, not just the throne.

Daemon marches up to her, “Those halfbreeds are no kin of mine. You are a fool to believe they will see you as anything other than an obstacle,” he pokes Haegon in the arm harshly, “Especially this mongrel.”

She turns, covering the babe with her body, his lip trembling but no cries escape, “You go too far. I advise you keep such sentiments to yourself from now on. You are barely tolerated in Father’s court, I suggest not injuring your position in mine own before I even become Queen. Because I will, no naysayers will take my birthright and place Haegon on the throne. He is my baby brother and he will be raised to protect my claim, just as any others Alicent birth.”

There’s a flash of understanding in Daemon’s eyes and a cruel smirk follows, “I understand now. That Hightower bitch has outdone herself, seducing the King and his daughter. How far this house has fallen in my absence.”

The sound of a slap echoes and a sharp stinging grows on Daemon’s cheek, his head turned slightly at the impact, “Hold your tongue, Uncle. She is Queen Consort and I will not have you ruining the fragile peace we have crafted. When I am Queen, I will have her on my council, your seat is much less secure.”

With the man stunned, Rhaenyra leaves with Haegon before he can recover and retaliate.

This action will have consequences…

Chapter Text

Hours Later

With the young royals long put to bed, the Crown Princess and Queen Consort sit side by side, sipping herbal teas with far too much sugar, talking about a lot of nothing. Until the words tumble out of Rhaenyra’s mouth.

“Do you think the realm will ever accept me as their Queen?”

Alicent sets her cup down to focus on her concerns, “The King declared you his heir, the lords made vows to honour his choice. If they truly cared to follow the set succession and not the King’s word, Princess Rhaenys would be Queen. I am sure that many lords will uphold their vows.”

“Many, not all?”

She takes Rhaenyra’s hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over her friend’s knuckles, “You will be the first Queen in her own right, we cannot be blind to the reality that some lords will have complaints about being ruled by a woman. It may even-,” she pauses, thinking back to her father’s words, “There will rebellion during your reign, you cannot deny this.”

“Deny it, I must. If my reign is already destined to break the peace brought by King Jaehaerys and my Father… that is not what I desire,” she brings Alicent’s hand up to her cheek, leaning into the warmth and comfort.

She runs her fingers over Rhaenyra’s cheeks, catching strands of silver, “How do you foresee your reign to be? What is it that you desire?”

The Princess cups the Queen’s face with both hands, “I want you by my side, like you have been since we were children. I want you on my council, assisting me in making the right decisions concerning our kingdom.”

“I suppose that is more realistic than the previous wishes you’ve expressed. However, I would be Queen Dowager, what place would I have in politics? Haegon would be better suited.”

“Haegon is babe whose favourite pastime is staring at the ceiling, none can say what his aptitude for such things will be. I do know what you are like. You may play the meek, devoted and respectful lady, daughter and now Queen, but I see your fire. I always have,” Rhaenyra runs a hand through Alicent’s auburn hair, “It is why I always sought out your company, I see you as you are.”

It’s unclear who went in first, but before any thoughts of prosperity or duty could stop them, Rhaenyra and Alicent’s lips connect, slow, slight movements as they attempt to feel every spark possible. Not rushed or hungry, it was like a waking up after a long rest, each spark of pleasure like a stretched muscle after hours of disuse.

They part, resting their foreheads together like the very notion of no longer touching was impossible. Their breaths tangle, the smell of sweet tea and each other filling their noses. Finally there’s a break in the moment. Alicent pulls away, fear consuming her features, but before panic can step in, Rhaenyra snatches another kiss.

“It’s just me, sweet Alicent. Please, stop pulling away from me. I cannot cope with losing you again,” Rhaenyra pulls her closer, eyes searching for rejection.

She finds none as Alicent nods, tugging her down into a wetter kiss. Rhaenyra silently urges her to lay down on the couch and from there, their kisses become what is best described as filthy and definitely not how a lady should kiss. Careful of Alicent’s bump, Rhaenyra trails a hand up her skirts, exposing soft milky skin.

***

To give these girls some privacy for their first time together, this Author has decided to leave the smut to the Reader’s imagination.

***

The Next Day

The early morning air covers the castle in a calm blanket, especially the King Viserys as he awoke early and had wanted to thoroughly enjoy this time undisturbed, but the duties of a King and a Father can strike at any moment. With his wife being pregnant for the third time, she had begun shying away from his chambers far sooner than she did the last two. Nonetheless, he gave her leave as he noticed an improvement in her relationship with Rhaenyra and knew that this time was better spent bonding than fussing over her older husband.

His wife’s father, his Hand however, did not hold the same sentiments as he entered Viserys’ room quietly, “I apologise for the early hour, Your Grace. I have… um… discomforting news. I thought it best shared discreetly before the council convenes.”

“The Sea Snake,” Viserys says with a sigh, his statement sounding almost like a question.

Otto pauses for a few heavy moments, preparing himself for any possible reaction the King may have, “I’m afraid it concerns the princess.”

“Has she been harmed?”

The man’s obvious weakness for his daughter causes Otto to hold his tongue, but the possible benefits he could reap from this situation outweighs his friendship, “It is no easy thing to tell a father of his daughter’s exploits. I had considered saying nothing but-“

“What has she done?”

“The Princess was spied last evening beyond the walls of the keep,” and to go for the kill, “in a pleasure house.”

“What of it?”

“Your Grace,” Otto decides to lay it on thick as it seems the man isn’t getting it, “Prince Daemon was spotted with a girl with remarkable resemblance to the Princess. And I have been informed that when her personal guard went to check on her this morning, she was no where to be seen.”

“So, they decided to sneak out. Rhaenyra is not a prisoner, she is allowed to explore the kingdom as she wishes.”

The Hand steps towards him, lowing his voice, “They were seen coupling by multiple trusted sources.”

Viserys turns away, his eyes scanning his room for any kind of escape from this personal hell, “Find my daughter, make certain she is safe… And bring me my brother, I don’t care what state he is discovered, I want him in the throne room awaiting judgment.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Chapter Text

Later

The Prince Daemon is dragged into an empty throne room, sloppily dressed in clothes barely better than rags. He is dropped unceremoniously onto the floor by two Kingsguards who leave him there, partly disgusted, other part annoyed with being called for duty so early in the morning because of him. Instead of regaining some self-respect and getting up, Daemon merely adjusted to a comfortable laying position, pressing more of his pounding head against the cool stone.

The King enters the room from a side entrance, taking steady and quiet steps as anger boils within him. The pathetic sight of his brother, withering on the floor after ruining Rhaenyra, “My daughter,” Daemon tries to watch Viserys circle him, “Won’t you even deny it?”

“I need to understand the charges before I can attempt to discredit it.”

Viserys kicks Daemon’s side, causing the younger to let out a pained groan and cough as he rolls onto his back, “Where is she? Do you even know if she’s safe?”

“Rhaenyra is a woman grown, I am sure she is fine wherever she resides,” he states, his words half-mumbled.

“You-“ Viserys grabs Daemon’s shirt collar and pulls him up, “You take her to a whore house, you ruin her and you don’t even have the decency to make certain she is safe.”

From the same side entrance that Viserys came in through, Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra enter, clearly having rushed over from getting dressed. At the same time, they greet the sight before them,

“Father!”

“Your Grace!”

He lets go of Daemon, sending his head to the stone, causing him to groan again, “Rhaenyra,” Viserys walks over to his daughter, herself meeting him halfway, “Are you alright? Did anything happen? Did anyone harm you?”

“Father, what are you talking about?” Rhaenyra glances over to Alicent, who can only send her an equally confused look.

Her Father lets out a tired sigh and pulls her into a hug, “There is no point in lying, I know. I am just glad you have returned home safe.”

“… Know of what, Father?”

He pulls away, holding her upper arms with a serious face, “I know you snuck out and were tricked into doing… indelicate things.” A soft gasp accidentally slips from Alicent’s lips, turning Viserys’ attention to her, “Thank you for bringing her here, my dear. Any longer and I would have gone mad with worry.”

“It… was no trouble, Your Grace. But I do not understand what you claim Rhaenyra has done. I am quite sure that she did not leave the Keep last night.”

The expression he gives her is disgustingly condescending and pitying, “I know you see the best in many, especially Rhaenyra, but you are mistaken. Her own guard reported her missing from her chambers this morning.”

“Of course she was, Rhaenyra was…” Alicent pauses before her voice hardens and she steps forward in confidence, “The Princess was comforting me all night. I requested her presence in secret as I did not wish to worry anyone as I was experiencing stomach pain.”

This gets Viserys’ full attention, “Stomach pain, is it the babe? Have you had the Maester look over you?”

The married couple continues to converse, Viserys calling for Maester Mellos and a few other healers, the matter of Daemon forgotten. Except not by Rhaenyra. She turns to him, seeing him watching the conversation unfold, his eyes dancing between Rhaenyra and Alicent. He lets out a harsh chuckle and falls back onto the floor.

She struts over to him as the King and Queen leave, “Is angering our family humorous, Uncle?”

“I laugh not at Viserys’ wrath, I laugh because I was correct. Painfully so,” Daemon runs a hand through his dirtied white hair.

Rhaenyra tilts her head, her lips scrunched up in annoyance, “You know nothing and after your display of trying to vandalise my reputation and purity, none will believe any further claims you make.”

“I made no claims. It is well known I enjoy Valyrian beauty. The rumours being spread that you were the one who kept me company last night was not started by me,” Daemon props himself up by an elbow, “But it may prove advantageous.”

She frowns, taking a step back, “To whom? Otto? Because with my honour besmirched, only he gains as it weakens my standing.”

“I am believed to be the one who ruined you, it would be only right I take responsibility. You would gain a husband who truly understands the pleasures of sex and would not contain it. I would be willing to share you with a certain… good sister of mine.”

Rage burns in her veins, setting them alight, “Share me? Funny how you have not had a single taste, where she has enjoyed my company to a very satisfying degree. She taught me the pleasures of sex, as you say, when you have done nothing but remind me why I despise marriage,” she leans down to spit out her final sentiment, “I would rather have my inheritance stripped from me before I agree to marry you.”

Daemon is forced to watch from the floor as his Twin Flame in countless other lives, walks away, leaving him behind to love another. Something inside him goes out, leaving him to stare at the throne room ceiling, realising his actions are the ones with consequences.

Later

The setting sun barely manages to peek through windows, shrouding the halls in a cool darkness as servants go around lighting candles in preparation for nighttime. Behind Rhaenyra walks Ser Criston Cole, a step too close as his failure that very morning was a blunder to his pride and vows. He let the princess out of his sight and she was very nearly wrapped up in a ruinous scandal, from what he’s been told by his brothers in white cloaks. He opens the door to the King’s chambers, allowing her in with his eyes not leaving her until it was closed once more.

The main feature of King Viserys’ room was his stone remake of Old Valyria’s main stronghold which he’d spent years working and refining from old texts. On it rests a brazier, filled with hot coals, a burning fire, and the dagger her father often kept by his side in the heat, the metal turning an angry orange. Rhaenyra reaches for it, another physical object of her inheritance she would one day claim as well as her throne.

“That dagger once belonged to Aegon the Conqueror, it was, Aenar’s before him and before that… Well, it is difficult to know,” his words give her a start but is quickly replaced by intrigue. It was rare for him to make conversation that did not end with one or both mad at the other. Viserys takes the dagger out of the flames carefully, “Before Aegon’s death, the last of the Valyrian pyromancers hid his song in the steel.”

He rotates the blade and Rhaenyra notices that writing appears in Old Valyrian. He hands her the dagger and she translates, “ ‘From my blood… come the Prince That Was Promised… and his will be the Song of Ice and Fire.’ “ Rhaenyra looks up at her father as another piece of her family’s history falls into place.

“The responsibility I have handed to you, the burden of this knowledge, it is larger than the throne, the king. It is larger than us and our desires,” Viserys puts the blade away and turns back to his daughter, placing a hand on her shoulder, “I know this has not been easy for you, it was no easy feat for me when I was in your position. But your actions, comforting Alicent and sending Daemon away, prove that I was correct in choosing you. It will be our blood that the prince comes from.”

“But there is Alyssa and Haegon, why would I want for heirs when I have them? Was that not why you had them?”

Viserys steps away with a tired sigh, “You must have children of your own, Rhaenyra. You cannot rely on your siblings when it is time for you to pass on the throne.”

“Were I born a man, I could choose to be celibate and let the nobles squabble over which of my siblings or their children will follow after me. I could dedicate myself to the faith or the family I have now and no one in your court could stop me,” She defends, the thought of birth scaring her more now that she had Alicent to worry about.

Her father gives her an easy smile, “You are right…,” his face turns sharp, “but you were born a woman.”

“So you would deny me the same freedoms as you experienced, Father. Fill my days, not with duties and preparation, but with a husband and babies. Do I not do that enough as is with Alicent?”

He steps towards her in an attempt to intimidate her, “You grow too comfortable, Alicent and I coddle you. A Queen cannot be without heirs of her own and a consort to help keep the peace. I am sorry, Rhaenyra, but your courtship is at an end. You shall wed Ser Laenor Velaryon and you will do so without protest or so help me.”

“Or what? You’ll strip me of my titles and name Haegon in my stead? I did not know you were so cruel as to fill my head with prophecies and promises of greatness, only to take it away when I do not concede to every one of your wishes,” as the blood of the dragon, a dragon rider is hard to scare.

Viserys shuffles away as he lectures her, “We all must sacrifice in the name of duty. Your marriage to Ser Laenor would unite the two most powerful houses in the realm. With the combined strength of our shared dragons and naval fleets, no one would dare stand against us. The House of the Dragon will stand together for another generation.”

She snorts and turns away, “If only that were enough to keep the vultures off the throne.”

He stops and turns to his daughter, “What vulture? Who do you speak of?”

“Your Hand.”

“Otto Hightower has served two kings loyally and faithfully.”

“He has never served a queen. It is convenient that a vicious rumour is started about me and Daemon when they have never been even the slightest of friendly to each other. Otto brought you the allegation, did he not? Told to him by unnamed spies or common folk? He means for you to denounce me, or disinherit me so that Haegon will be named heir. If he is willing to ruin my reputation, send his only daughter to a fresh widower’s bed, what will he do when you weaken and my reign nears?” Rhaenyra walks towards him, her self-assurance clear in her eyes as firelight reflects off them.

Viserys seems lost, another betrayal hitting him as he accepts her words, “If Otto is truly against you, and the Velaryons are not enough to convince him to stay loyal, what would you have me do?”

“I will do my duty as heir and wed Ser Laenor, fix the bond you broke. But you must first do yours as king. Every day he lingers is another he schemes and strengthens my opposition.”

With a grim reluctant look, he nods.

Satisfied, Rhaenyra leaves, unknowingly to Viserys, she heads to Alicent’s chambers to comfort her about her father being fired and perhaps a light interrogation on when she actually started meeting with her Father.

Chapter Text

Later

Rhaenyra enters just as a sleeping Haegon is being carried out of his mother’s chambers by his wet nurse. She runs a hand over brother’s head gently with a soft smile as he passes. The smell of Alicent hits her like a boulder and the princess has to shake her head to remember what her task is.

Alicent looks up with that puppy dog mixed with a baby fawn expression she usually wears unconsciously, and it sends heat to Rhaenyra’s cheeks without fail, “Princess? What brings you at this hour?” She asks, her eyes nervously glancing over at the door where Ser Criston and another white cloak stand guard.

“I have news from the King, Your Grace,” Rhaenyra’s serious tone causes Alicent’s face to shift uncomfortably, “Your father, Ser Otto Hightower, has been relieved of his duties as Hand for his involvement in spying on the royal family and spreading rumours about the Crown Princess.”

Alicent stands up, stiff, as a single order slips from her lips, “Close the door.” Without further prompting, the knights follow her command, leaving her and the Princess alone in a suddenly suffocating room.

“Alicent?” Rhaenyra starts, her voice softening as she approaches her lover, “I understand this is a shock but this is for the best.”

“The best? How can this be for the best? My father has been stripped back to being just a second son and is likely banished from the capital. I don’t- yes, the chance he started that rumour is high, but could it not be overlooked this once?”

“This once? Alicent, his transgressions go back years. Don’t play the fool, a traitor’s blood holds no pull on their kin if they don’t allow it to.”

“Now you call him traitor? This is too much, I must speak to the king, convince him to show my father mercy.”

“It was not the king who decided Otto’s fate.”

Alicent freezes at her words.

“I am not blind, Alicent. I have forgiven your part in Otto’s plan to place his blood on my throne, but I have not forgotten that you willingly seduced my grieving father instead of being there for me.”

“Rhaenyra, plea-“

“How long after my mother’s funeral did you go to his chambers?”

Alicent shakes her head as she retreats back and Rhaenyra advances.

“My uncle says you seduced me along with my father, that your position is less pawn and more player.”

Alicent ends up against the wall, her heels hitting the stone first. Rhaenyra slaps her hands beside the Queen’s head, trapping her.

“It burns me inside, to think I am just another hapless fool you charmed, that I mean nothing because I cannot give you the throne as a fellow woman. Tell me, Alicent, did I ever mean anything to you?”

“How can you say that? Rhaenyra, you mean… everything to me. I have lived without you once, I could not survive it happening again. Please, do not hate me, I love you.”

Rhaenyra leans forward, her voice lowering into a threatening tone, “When did you first go to my Father? Answer me, Alicent.”

For multiple tense seconds, the only sound in the room is the crackling from the fire and short strained breaths. Alicent frantically searches Rhaenyra’s face for any sign of mercy or humour, unsure which she’d prefer at the current moment.

“I- please, I was only obeying my Fath-“

Rhaenyra slams her hands against the stone beside Alicent’s head, “When!”

The princess shakes with barely contained rage and the queen in fear, not of being hurt but of being rejected and abandoned once more.

“…the funeral…”

Something breaks inside of Rhaenyra, “…What?”

“The night of Queen Aemma’s funeral- I truly did not expect things to go as they did- I just- I was obeying my Father, doing my duty- Rhaenyra!” As Alicent tries to defend herself, Rhaenyra slowly steps back, a haunted look in her eyes. She turns away from her lover, swinging open the doors and leaving the room without a word, ignoring Alicent’s call.

The Queen tries to follow after her, but Ser Criston intercepts with a bow, “Your Grace, the Princess is tired, please excuse us.”

He speeds up his usual pass to catch up to Rhaenyra, leaving Alicent to stare blankly as a coldness sets in, an old friend she had forgotten.

A Few Days Later

Rain falls from the sky, casting a wet and miserable air over Kingslanding. The ex-hand Otto Hightower waits by the gates of the Red Keep, watching as his personal effects are escorted out of the city.

As he prepares to follow, a familiar voice calls out from behind him, “A moment!”

It’s his daughter, Queen Alicent, clad in red like usual in feeble attempts to fit in and make herself seem part of the Targaryen family. However, the colour clashes with her hair, making her look washed out and out of place next to the Gods’ blessed beauties of Valyria. Otto usually appreciates her doing what she can as a woman, subtly declaring her loyalty and love for the king through her outfits, but at the moment, it irritated him.

“I do not wish to see you go,” she states in that clearly false strength tone she’s learnt the last few years.

Otto adjusts his riding gloves and moves towards her, giving off an air of nonchalance, to set an example for his daughter, “Such is the King’s decision.”

“A decision I most vehemently regret.”

His eye twitches in annoyance and he steps closer, “And yet you made it possible. You choose Rhaenyra.”

And he means it, Alicent can see it, he knows or at least suspects, “Father-“

“Speak none of it to me, I do not wish to hear it,” He lowers his voice so only she can hear, “You must know that she is not a strong tether. The Princess is at Driftmark this very moment, getting approval from the Velaryons to be betrothed to their heir. With that boy, she’ll have heirs of her own and your children will mean nothing. She may claim to care for you and her siblings now, but when war comes and it will, she will have to dispose of all possible threats to her claim. A… passing affection means nothing in the presence of the Iron Throne. You are no fool, you’re my daughter, and you are in great danger. The time is coming, Alicent. Either you prepare Haegon to rule or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.”

Tears slip from her eyes at his words full of caution, paranoia or manipulation, she knew not which, just that her greatest fears being spoken out loud was more terrifying than when her mind darkly whispered them late at night. Otto hugs her instinctively, to hide her weakness and give her the last comfort he can. Parenthood never came easy to the man, but he knew how far a simple hug can go.

With a nod, mostly to himself at doing more than his father before him did, he turns and gets onto his horse. Otto rides off, stopping himself from lingering or looking back, knowing that the actions would likely result in him giving into his pesky personal feelings when he needs to focus on regaining the King’s favour.

Thus Alicent is left more alone than ever, the cold more physical yet more painful emotionally. At least when Rhaenyra was ignoring her, the young Queen still could speak with her father, even if for a few minutes that left her feeling ashamed and small. Rhaenyra had gotten her Father fired and banished from the city, yet Alicent couldn’t bring herself to be upset at her.

Instead of anger, Alicent felt guilt. If she hadn’t given in to her impure thoughts, she wouldn’t have spent that night with Rhaenyra. If that hadn’t happened, Rhaenyra would have been in her room that night and none of those rumours would have spread and her father would still be here. Viserys had explained it, Rhaenyra has the blood of the dragon, it runs hot, she can’t be blamed for being seduced. She was right, Daemon was right. Alicent had seduced Rhaenyra like she did Viserys. Pretty dresses and kind words were all she required for the task, proof that she was a temptation and innately sinful. This must be how the Gods are punishing her for it and what a cruel punishment it is.

And now they were going to make her watch as Rhaenyra gets married to a young, handsome knight who could stand beside her in front of the crowds instead of being a secret full of disgusting pleasures like it was with her.

Chapter Text

The Same Time, At Driftmark

Syrax circles the castle, letting out a screech at the sight of other dragons along the waterline, fellow dragons she hadn’t seen in years. She lands in the courtyard and Princess Rhaenyra slips off her back, running a hand along the beast’s yellow-gold scales, trying to calm her out-of-control nerves. With her Father and his court a few hours behind, Rhaenyra had been given the privilege of arriving first and cooling any tempers that still ran hot and by the lack of a crowd, that was indeed the case.

Lady Laena and a Velaryon relative of some kind, make their way down the steps to her. They both lower their heads in respect then Laena flashes a brilliant smile, “Greetings, Princess. You are welcome on High-Tide.”

“Am I, cousin? I half thought I had flown to The Wall with how cold a reception I received,” Rhaenyra asks in a calm, but scathing manner, until it slips away to a smirk, “I take it Lord Corlys means to make a statement, does he not? Try to provoke a reaction out of my Father? But unfortunately for us all, I have arrived first and no performance of clashing egos shall happen on this day. We have things of more importance to discuss.”

The girls share a knowing look and immediately fall into place beside each other, arms linked together and pleased smiles between the two as they walk inside, “My Father waits in the Hall of Nine, we had expected His Grace so this will be a shock to all,” she squeezes Rhaenyra’s arm, “A pleasant one. As my brother will likely agree.”

“Perhaps not, if rumour is to be believed,” Rhaenyra states, not unkindly but bluntly.

Laena’s face turns unsure and nervous, “That you will have to discuss with Laenor yourself, I am not comfortable speaking on his behalf. But he remains the kind boy you once knew, he is just a man now.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

The Lady takes careful observation of Rhaenyra, her eyes tired, shoulders tense and words harsher than how their correspondence led her to believe the Princess spoke, “Has something happened, cousin? We heard that Lord Hightower was fired for slander, does it have something-“

“It does not, thank you for your concern, but my troubles are of great personal issue. If it becomes less so, I will confide in you. Until then, please respect my wishes and not probe further.” Her words were short, stern and full of a maturity Laena had not seen before in the girl.

She nods with a small smile, “Of course, but do know, I am capable of keeping secrets if such a time where you wish to share your burdens occurs.”

Rhaenyra’s face softens and a small invisible weight is lifted off her shoulders, “Thank you, Laena, truly.”

“Of course, Rhaenyra. We are family and mayhaps, even sisters someday.”

Their conversation ends as they reach the doors to the hall and in a kind of power-play, only Rhaenyra is given entrance, making her leave the comfort of Laena’s side.

The walls are covered in paints, tapestries and other such of previous successes in Corlys’ voyages. Skulls of defeated foes decorated with helms and headdresses of status they once carried. And around the curved corner, on a driftwood throne sits an all too pleased Lord Corlys, who at the sight of Rhaenyra, stands up in confusion.

“Princess, where is your father? We were sent notice that he would be arriving today, has he not accompanied you?” His tone slowly shifts to one of agitation.

Rhaenyra approaches, calm and steady, “My Father, the King is arriving today. However, he allowed me to ride Syrax here and everyone knows a dragon is faster than a boat.”

“Yes, of course. My apologies, Princess,” Corlys bows, a little lower than expected to make it up to her.

As he straightens back up, doors to the side of the hall burst open, revealing a grinning Princess Rhaenys, but at the sight of Rhaenyra, she dims and defaults into a respectful cheer, “Princess, how good of you to join us. I had expected my cousin, but his daughter will have to do. What brings you here this day? My family has kept a distance from the happenings of court the last few years, but we have been informed of Lord Lyonel becoming Hand so mayhaps a new position could be it.”

“Much has changed at court and more is to come. I have come to present myself as a contender for your son, Ser Laenor’s hand in marriage,” Rhaenyra explains, her words shocking the already shocked couple.

Corlys stumbles to question, “You are offering marriage to Laenor, our son? And you do so, yourself?”

At the unrefined method of answering her husband gives, Rhaenys interrupts, “Apologises, we are just surprised to hear you propose, is all. We were not aware you were in search of a husband. Many, including us, were under the assumption that you were holding off on such things.”

“You would have been correct in your assumption. I have been busy with my duties as heir and newly elder sister of two, going on three. Notions of marriage had been cast aside.” Rhaenyra responds gracefully, the years since their last meeting showing itself clearly to Rhaenys. From a naive little girl given a far too heavy crown, to a young woman who may actually have the strength to do this.

“Then why now? What has changed?”

Rhaenyra drops the generally happy look off her face and the air turns serious, “My position as heir was shaken and I was reminded how easily it can be taken from me if I do not possess the right pillars to hold it up. You of all people should understand, Princess Rhaenys.”

“So, you wish for my son to be a pawn, a bargaining chip to force our hand to support your claim?” Her tone harsh and cutting, but low.

Corlys places a hand on Rhaenys’ back to try and calm her, but before he can say anything, Rhaenyra replies to the accusation, “I wish to make your son my King Consort, reunite the family once more and bring the dragons close together. We are meant to learn from history and you have been in a similar position as I, so help me not make the same mistakes. If I, the king’s chosen heir, cannot be an exception to the rules of inheritance because I am a woman, then no woman will ever rise and we will all be stuck as broodmares and trophies.”

Her words hang, changing how the couple look at her and something shifts in Rhaenys, “Is that how you view marriage?”

Her question causes Rhaenyra’s confidence to snap back down, “I apologise, I got carried away-“

Rhaenys places her hand on the princess’ cheek, “Dear girl, what have they been teaching you in that Keep?”

Her lip trembles slightly, “I am nine and ten, hardly a child anymore. I ask you to ignore my careless words.”

“I am afraid, I cannot. How my blood, mine own kin sees something that has brought me such joy as a curse… I worry. I did not before, but now I realise how little you know of life. Come, walk with me, my dear,” Rhaenys waves off her husband, “We will discuss your proposal later.”

The older princess leads the younger one out of the hall and into a private chamber. Corlys flops onto his throne with a long sigh. So close to the iron one, yet so far. This time thwarted by his own wife’s kindness and his work as a good husband…

…Mostly good.

A Few Hours Later

The Princesses return to the hall and see King Viserys and Corlys conversing, “I would like to know how the succession will be handled.”

Understanding this is about her marriage, Rhaenyra steps in, “It is quite obvious if one thinks about it. The eldest of my children with Laenor will inherit the Iron Throne after me, our second born, or the next born son, will be your’s, Lord Corlys.”

“And I am to presume, that keeping in Westerosi tradition, the children will take their father’s name? That they will be born Velaryons,” the man doesn’t hesitate to turn his attention to her.

Rhaenyra has to stifle a laugh, “I don’t recall much of my circumstance to be traditional. Why would my marriage and children be any different? My heir will be a Targaryen, they will rule with that name and so will their children after them. However, the others I may have, will not hold that same obligation and I am willing to concede and have them be named Velaryon to ease your concerns regarding your house.”

Feeling the rising tension, Viserys coughs, his lungs seemingly not being able to handle it, “Wonderful-“ cough, “When Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor have children, they will be born bearing the name Velaryon, but when the time comes and their eldest ascends the Iron Throne, they will so as a Targ-“

“No, when they are named my heir,” Rhaenyra interrupts and all heads turn to her, “My eldest will bear the name Targaryen when I officially recognise them as my heir, no later.”

“Right then,” Viserys looks to the couple to see if they have any disagreement, but they seem busy holding a wordless conversation, “It’s settled then. Dragons will rule the Westerosi skies for another hundred years, as they did the last.”

Ignoring the King, Corlys and Rhaenys turn to Rhaenyra with a nod, “We agree to your terms. As Lord of Driftmark and father of Ser Laenor, I accept your offer on his behalf, let us rejoin our houses once more.” They lower their heads at the same time at her.

Later, on the Beach

With their dragons playing in the skies above them, Ser Laenor and Princess Rhaenyra walk along the coast, leaving footsteps in the freshly smoothed sand. They turn their heads up to watch as Syrax and Seasmoke dive and screech at each other playfully, unaware of the terminal within their riders.

“In truth, if it had to be someone, I am glad it is you. I know this union is not what you would choose,” Rhaenyra remarks, carefully keeping her voice light to not start anything.

He turns to her and gives her an earnest face, “I hold nothing against you, cousin.”

“No… I-” Rhaenyra pauses as she figures out how to phrase it, “Rather, dare I say, it is a matter of taste? I enjoy both roast duck and goose. I cannot say why, I just do.

Her meaning clicks and causes Laenor to shift uncomfortably, “It’s not for a lack of trying. There are those who like goose very well.”

“I agree, there is a particular goose I have my sights on. Thus I know this betrothal will not change your appetites, nor will it change mine,” she asserts, Alicent’s betrayal is still fresh but not relationship ending… yet.

“What do you propose?”

Rhaenyra smiles, almost teasingly, “That we perform our duties, to our fathers and the realm, and when it’s done… each of us dines as we see fit. You with your duck and me with my goose.”

The pair share a knowing look and their shoulders loosen as they come to an agreement and understanding.

Later on The Ship Back to Kingslanding

Rhaenyra rests her arms against the boat’s rallying, watching as High-Tide fades from view, swallowed by the waves. There’s the sound of shuffling armour behind her, Ser Criston. Previously just a loyal guard, now her near-constant shadow. Part of her reason for riding on Syrax to the Velaryons was to get away from him for a moment, but with her head full of questions and uncertainty, she couldn’t help herself.

“Are you religious, Ser Cole?” She starts simply, her eyes on the water, trying to gauge his reaction.

He lets out a contemplative hum and steps towards her, “As much as any man is, Princess. I pray when I feel in need of their guidance, and celebrate the holidays when they come, but my true devotion is to the crown, to you. Why do you ask?”

“The Seven’s doctrine states that homosexuality is a sin and those who indulge in such things are of rotten mind and soul. However, neither the Old Gods of the North, nor the Fourteen Flames say anything like it. Why would one claim it as evil when the others do not?” She turns around, her brows furrowed as she tries to understand her own question.

Criston’s eyes widen, there’s a flash of something in them and his face turns serious, “I will do everything in my power to prevent Ser Laenor from bringing you shame or showing you disloyalty, you have my word, Princess.”

“That’s not what-“ Rhaenyra sighs, “He has my leave, as he has given me. As my guard, I can trust you with my safety, life and secrets, can I not?”

“Of course, but by leave, you mean-“

“You needn’t concern yourself with whom I spend my time with. I was just informing you, that in case you see something… unseemly regarding Ser Laenor or I, keep it to yourself. Take what you know to your death and beyond, can you do that?”

After a few seconds of Ser Criston clenching and unclenching his jaw, he kneels, lowering his head, “On my honour, I vow to protect your secrets and share them with none.”

“Thank you, Ser. That means more than you know.”

Chapter Text

Days Later

It’s late, approaching the usual time when the Princess retires for the night. However, instead of being in bed, she stands outside of the Queen’s chambers, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Let Rhaenyra argue her future with old men or discuss topics of deviancy that could bring her to ruin. At that moment, either would be preferably to this.

The doors open and there she stands, Queen Alicent in a dark blue, form-fitting gown. More conservative than what she’s been prone to wear, but the collar and sleeves have rectangular cutouts along the fabric smoothly designed to draw attention. If it was a deliberate choice of dress to endear herself to the Princess… Rhaenyra couldn’t claim at being totally unaffected.

She dips her head slightly, refusing to show full respect so Alicent knows the dress isn’t cutting it, “Your Grace, you summoned me.”

“Yes, I did,” her eyes glance over the Princess’ shoulder to Ser Criston waiting just outside the room, “That’ll be all, Ser.”

Instead of obeying immediately, he looks to Rhaenyra and with a nod of her head, only then does he close the door, giving the girls privacy.

Alicent sits down on one of the couches, picking at her nails for a few seconds before looking up at Rhaenyra with those large puppy dog eyes, “… Rhaenyra, I am so sorry.”

“Is that so.” She observes her friend coldly, not giving away a single emotion, “What is there for you to be sorry for? You were merely following your father’s orders.”

Hit with another wave of guilt, Alicent stands up and tries to take Rhaenyra’s hands in her own, but is rejected when the girl steps back, causing the Queen to meekly and awkwardly interlock her own fingers, “It is not just that. While you were away, I realised this was all my fault. My marriage, Father getting sent away, you being corrupted, it’s all my fau-“

“Corruption? What are you talking about?”

“Let me speak,” Alicent snaps and immediately regretting it as Rhaenyra flinches. She softens her voice and lowers her head, “What happened between us was immoral, I understand that now. Just like my marriage to your father. I lied and I conspired. I did seduce him and I did the same to you. I didn’t intend to, but all my life I have had these thoughts and feelings- I was born vile, Rhaenyra. Mind full of images and desires completely unbecoming of a lady, of anyone. I thought it was your Targaryen ways that made me love you, but it was me, I was born sinful. It was I one who corrupted you, that made His Grace choose me over the Lady Laena, it was all me. I cannot blame anyone else for my wrongdoings, unintented or otherwise, not anymore. And for that,” Alicent collapses to her knees, clutching onto Rhaenyra’s skirts, “I am truly sorry. You do not have to forgive me, you can hate me all you want, just know that I wholeheartedly regret all I’ve done.”

Alicent keeps her head bowed, incapable of looking up and seeing the disgust and loathing surely residing in Rhaenyra’s eyes. A tear slips down her cheek without her permission. After all, a sinner doesn’t deserve to cry, they should accept punishment with a stiff lip and dry, but remorseful eyes.

“… You regret loving me?” Rhaenyra asks in a soft voice, breaking the room’s tense silence.

Alicent looks up from the floor, her grip weakening, “Is that all you gathered from my confession?” Her tone incredulous and vexed.

“It’s the only part that matters,” she explains, helping Alicent off the ground, “But mayhaps I should disregard it, as everything else you said was nonsense.”

Quick to make fun and lighten the mood, the Princess dawns a smaller version of her signature smile, her hands resting on the Queen’s upper arms, holding her steady and trapped at the same time.

Her dark red curls bounce in that beautiful way Rhaenyra admires as Alicent shakes her head and begins to speak, “You cannot brush this off, not this time. We must face the truth and never again…”

.

.

.

“Have sex?”

“… be intimate in ungodly ways. We must vow to live as family and never again give into temptation,” she clarifies coolly, not finding Rhaenyra’s good humour entertaining at present.

The Targaryen princess tilts her head in a considering manner, until she settles on a reply, “It is quite traditional for me to show interest in family, Alicent, you know this.”

“That is exactly why you were so eager to fall into lewdness. Your queer breeding and my innate beguiling nature has made a match fit to set the Seven Hells ablaze.”

Her words snatch Rhaenyra’s breath right out of her lungs, “Alicent, I am certain you are unaware of the impact your words bring, but the image you paint is… awe-inspiring.”

Alicent rips away from her in guilt, pacing to and from in frustration, “Again, I have done it again. You must leave, it is worse than I had believed. We should avoid each other at all costs if my mere words send you spiralling down the wrong path.”

One moment calm, excluding the Queen’s movement, then the next she finds her mouth pressed against Rhaenyra’s. Unable to help herself, Alicent gives in immediately, becoming a placid conduit for Rhaenyra’s passion. It lasted physically only a few seconds but felt like a lifetime of promises.

Rhaenyra pulls her face away, keeping their noses brushing up together, “Who are we to say what the Gods want? If they truly despise us for what we’ve done, then let them strike us down while we share impure air.”

They stare into each other’s eyes, panting not out of exertion or heat, but because they knew if the scent of one another made its way into their nose, their brain could not be held accountable for what happened next.

Half a minute passes and no righteous punishment is set upon them, causing Rhaenyra to let out a breathy laugh, “It seems the Gods don’t care as much as you believe they do.”

While not the outcome she had hoped for her soul, Alicent’s heart couldn’t feel fuller as she sighs in defeat, dropping her forehead onto Rhaenyra’s shoulder, “One day you will heed my counsel.”

“I will, when you start giving me some without the religious prattle and unfounded self-doubt,” Rhaenyra grabs her face and steals a quick kiss, “Oh, I have missed you greatly, my sweet flame.”

“And I you, ‘nyra.”

Chapter Text

A Few Months Later

The Keep is swept up in preparations and excitement, a royal wedding for the heiress of the Iron Throne to the son and heir of the Sea Snake. Both dragon riders, blessed with Valyrian beauty and wealthy fathers happy to finance a celebration so grand, it would put the generation before and ensuing, to shame. While still a bit away, every servant, common folk and noble talked about it in anticipation, all ready to enjoy the splendour that was already confirmed to be happening. Days off after the wedding for the servants, a once in a lifetime royal event for the nobles and all the leftovers, of which there would be plenty, had been promised to feed the smallfolk for possibly weeks after.

What few spoke of was the rapidly approaching due date of the Queen. Granted, she was fussed over and pampered by her attendants and most of all, the crown princess. However, this would be her third pregnancy and she had never experienced any complications during or after, so tensions were low. Ridiculously low when compared to late Queen Aemma’s, but in half a decade, the castle had already adjusted to life with a healthy young queen.

Had people been paying attention, maybe they would have seen the signs. Because nearly a month ahead of schedule, Queen Alicent began her labours in the middle of the garden, surrounded by clueless and concerned highborns, unequipped to handle the Queen collapsing in pain.

The baby was coming early and suddenly everyone was thrown back to the countless years of struggle Queen Aemma experienced until childbirth finally killed her. Would it also kill this girl, only a few years into her maturity? A mother of two and whilst an upstart, with the strong support of the Realm’s Delight, the people had begun to respect her.

The news reached Rhaenyra far later than she would have liked, which would have been immediately. But a Small Council and the men on it demanded attention often and as heir with the support of the Queen, King and new Hand, she had to live up to their expectations. Not a single meeting missed, even on the day her third sibling began entering the world. Although, it was more so the fact the meeting had started before Alicent’s labours and Rhaenyra wasn’t informed until after they concluded, leading her to run down halls, past servants who’d grown used to her behaviour and right into the birthing chamber, past the gathered nobles awaiting the outcome.

Inside was just as frightening as it had always been, nursemaids, Grand Maester Mellos and his understudy, Maester Orwyle attending to the Queen. She appeared to be in between contractions so Rhaenyra rushed to her side, snatching a cloth from a maid’s hand and wiping the Queen’s sweating forehead dry.

“What happened? Did someone cause this?” Rhaenyra’s voice raises, eyes scanning Alicent’s for any sign.

She shakes her head, one of the few parts of her body not in agony, “It just happened, nothing prompted it,” she glances at the others before whispering to Rhaenyra, “Do you believe it is because of us?”

“Of course not, Alicent. You must stop blaming yourself, especially for this. You can never expect how a pregnancy will go,” she counters, unapologetically projecting her voice so the others in the room and possibly outside can hear.

A slight facial twitch is the only warning Rhaenyra gets before Alicent clenches into herself and lets out a sound similar to Syrax. This is the sound needed to spur the Maesters into action. Thus, one of the longest day and a half in Alicent’s life started.

Nearly Two Days Later

Shoving Mellos out of the way, Rhaenyra positions herself between Alicent’s legs, a hand holding the bloody babe’s nape, the other ready to catch it when it slipped out. With a final push, Alicent gives birth to her third child, but unlike her brilliant Alyssa, the babe did not scream, nor was it like her sweet Haegon, did the babe whimper. It was silent.

The room held its breath, watching the Princess held the still babe in her hands. It was noticeably smaller than her other two living siblings, this one reminded her more of the ones her mother birthed. Small, quiet, sickly. That couldn’t happen here, Alicent would be devastated. And so would she as a quick glance down told Rhaenyra she had another sister and per her and Alicent’s conversation a month ago, a boy would be named Aemond and a girl…

Aemma.

The princess started wildly grasping at a maid, not taking her eyes off the little light burning out clutched to her chest, “Cloth, napkin, dress, anything! Give me something to clean her with!”

With shaky hands, Rhaenyra is handed a cloth, an off white which highlighted the unnatural colour of her sister. A putrid purple made from her blue skin and red blood, the sight made Rhaenyra sick. But she couldn’t hesitate and started wiping her clean.

Her face, sharp where her other siblings were plump. Her head, bald and smooth compared to their tuffs of Targaryen white. Her arms, clenched, not even shaking. Her stomach, worryingly thin. The thought made Rhaenyra ill. Losing another sibling was- There was a soft gasp of breath followed by a grunt.

Everyone watched as the babe started to breathe with all her might, rapidly and loudly, her whole chest moving. They all sighed in relief as she turned to a move. Everything was fine until Maester Orwyle sprung into action, basically snatching the baby away from Rhaenyra and swaddling it not once but twice.

The room erupted in outrage, only the tired, strained voice of the Queen silences them, “I am confident in saying Maester Orwyle wouldn’t act without cause. Please do share it with us.” Her tone sweet but stern, an act she had quickly mastered after her coronation.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I worry the child has fluid in its lungs, the fast breathing, blue skin and grunting, all symptoms. It happens in premature births and the only known cure is time and warmth,” he turns to Rhaenyra and dips his head, “I greatly apologise to you, Princess. It was not done to slight you, only out of concern what a few more moments of cold could bring.”

Rhaenyra stands, reaching out to her sister, “She is covered now, may I hold her?”

He nods nervously and hands the baby over immediately. She walks over to Alicent, kneeling onto the bed to show off the grunting and panting discoloured babe. The only thing Alicent is able to vocalise is, “Hideous. Are you certain I made it?”

She quickly gasps and covers her mouth, shocked by her own words, “I didn’t mean tha-“ She’s cutoff by Rhaenyra laughter, shaking the bed and sending pain shooting through Alicent’s aching body.

“I saw her come out of you. Yes, she is yours,” Rhaenyra replies jovially, the terror of her baby sister dying in her arms giving away to euphoria.

This manages to bring a smile to Alicent’s face, “She? Another girl?”

“Another princess for the realm. Oh, how the lords will rejoice at the chance to marry her… even if she is blue.”

They giggle, pressing their foreheads together, watching the baby struggle to survive, but still living anyway.

Their peace is broken by King Viserys entering the birthing chamber. He stares at his wife and daughter indulgently but expectingly. They glance at each other, remembering their conversation that covered all bases of names as such, Alicent was to tell the King and Rhaenyra the lords outside.

“Her name is Aemma, Your Grace.”

His eyes glisten instantly, “Aemma?” He looks to Rhaenyra who nods, walking over and handing him his newest daughter, “Princess Aemma Targaryen… Is she alright?” He is momentarily snapped out of the trance.

Maester Owryle interjects, “Fluid in the lungs, Your Grace. Should clear in a few days if cared for properly.”

Viserys accepts this answer and returns to gazing sadly and lovingly at a face not even her mother could really love.

Rhaenyra takes this chance to slip out. The noble lords and ladies take in her appearance, disheveled, bloody with bags under her eyes. They wait anxiously and stiffen as she opens her mouth.

“We welcome another princess into the royal family, Princess Aemma of House Targaryen!”

They erupt into claps and cheers, the loudest from those who held the late Queen dear and disliked Alicent the most. Then the congratulations begin,

“A sister, how lovely.”

“One can never have too many.”

“Happy days for you and the realm!”

“May she be as beloved as her namesake.”

“With her eldest sister like the Maiden herself and Queen Alicent the Mother reborn, Princess Aemma will be cherished.”

“The Maiden Princess and Queen Mother!”

“May the Gods bless her with good health.”

“And a wealthy, well-bred husband.”

The courtly chirping continues, the men and women entertaining themselves by trying to appeal to Rhaenyra and outdo their best wishes and compliments.

Back inside the room, Alicent watches closely as Rhaenyra leaves and when the sound of applause makes its way through the door, she turns to the now openly weeping King. She clears her throat, momentarily catching his attention, “Husband, may I ask that Aemma be our last? She is our third in five years. This labour was hard on me and I do not wish for this to happen-“

“Yes, of course, my dear,” he brushes her off, watching his youngest was more interesting, “You have done your duty, thank you.”

“Yes, my duty. Thank you, Your Grace.”

Viserys would later remember that the Faith of the Seven hold the belief that sex without the intention of creating children was sinful. He despaired his lost lovemaking, but he couldn’t go against his word of no more children and he married a pious woman, he should have expected this. So late at night, when that unmistakable ache grew, he could only rely on his hand. While in another room, his wife and daughter found pleasure in each other over and over again.

Chapter Text

A Few Weeks Later

With the wedding only a month away and a new member added to the royal family, Rhaenyra and Alicent could barely find a moment alone together and just when it seemed they’d be able to steal away a few hours, news came that Ser Laenor was coming to assist in the preparations and begin slotting into his role as Prince Consort. So, instead of a lovers layabout, Rhaenyra found herself sitting across from Laenor in her personal chamber, Ser Joffrey standing behind him and Queen Alicent beside the Princess with a sleeping Aemma in her arms, as chaperones. But that was not the real reason Alicent and Joffrey were the ones to watch the betrothed couple.

“How is this going to work exactly?” Laenor starts the conversation, his eyes nervously shooting between the two women.

Rhaenyra pours herself and Alicent cups of tea, putting on an air of nonchalance, “We will need to have heirs, at least two, but after that, we need not see each other for the marital act again. I believe I speak for all of us when I say, that there is another we would find more pleasure in and should not deny ourselves after the realm is satisfied. Ser Joffrey, please sit, you will impact this marriage and your voice will be heard.”

He nods, his armour clattering as he moves to sit beside Laenor, the sound causing Aemma to wiggle and scrunch her face in annoyance, “Thank you, Princess,” a charming smile graces his face, “When I was told of you having a lover, I had not realised the lucky woman would be…”

“Targaryen appetites, good ser, and in no close manner are Rhaenyra and I blood,” Alicent interjects, “It is better than most other relationships in the royal family.”

“Except us both being women,” Rhaenyra unhelpfully adds.

She nods with pursed lips, “Yes, except for that. However, no one is perfect outside of the Gods so our imperfections can be forgiven.”

“Forgiven, but hidden, Your Grace?” Laenor asks, still off kilter after finding out his cousin has laid with her step-mother, the Queen, “Because this must be kept as a secret of the highest degree of import. Should His Grace find out…”

Rhaenyra holds a hand out to stop his fear from setting in, “That is why we are here. I have learnt that sharing power and responsibility with trusted others can lessen the load on the individual. We are not just going to be a married couple with paramours, we will be allies, friends. In particular, I see a white cloak spot eventually being open for a certain Knight of Kisses who I’ll require watch over my King Consort closely and,” She looks over at Alicent, “Mayhaps a advisory position beside me or a more official title should you prove yourself.”

Alicent gives her the softest, most disgustingly in-love smile, but before she can respond, Laenor interrupts, “What of me? I will be your husband, why do I not get a reward?”

“You will be King Consort, which means you fill the role of Queen but I’ll also do that job as I will be birthing the heirs, you just need to supply the seed. You get to indulge, enjoy and look good, can you do that, beloved,” she tone isn’t questioning, but painfully flat and sarcastic.

Joffrey barely tries to hide a snort, clasping Laenor’s shoulder, “That’s all he’s ever done, Princess.”

Laenor lets out an offended squeak and goes to grab Joffrey but is stopped by Alicent, “Can we get back on topic? There is a time limit on nap time,” She lifts the sleeping Aemma slightly to emphasise her point.

“Of course, my apologies, my flame,” Joffrey coos at the nickname while batting away Laenor’s hands, “Can I rely on you to be able to fulfill your marital obligations to me?” Rhaenyra’s fiancée gives her a half confused, half uneasy grimace, “Your seed, Laenor. Can you get me with child?”

“That’s… I have tried- before and, I managed… sort of…” The subject causes shame and humiliation to burn inside the man.

Ever his valiant knight, Ser Joffrey swoops in, “He finished with my assistance. Before I stepped in, by the Gods, it was a miserable sight. But,” he places his hand on his chest like he’s making a sullen vow, “with a few minutes of smart hands and a cleverer tongue, my Lord’s mission was complete… And kept his father off our backs for a couple peaceful months.”

“Then we have an idea of what is to come,” Rhaenyra slowly nods her head, taking in the information, not realising that Alicent sits beside her with a bright red face, “The wedding night we will spend alone, mayhaps the first few weeks of marriage we try by ourselves and begin acting like the perfect pairing. If our work is unsuccessful, then we call in assistance,” She looks to Joffrey, then Alicent, who gets a peck on the cheek.

Laenor stands up with a grin, “Then it’s settled,” he nudges Joffrey, “The marital bed doesn’t seem so intimidating knowing you’ll be with me.”

“Sit back down, we’re not yet done.”

“Oh…”

Rhaenyra crosses her arms and leans back, “You disturbed what would have been private time between me and Alicent. You wanted my attention, you have it now and will keep it until I’m satisfied with this conversation’s outcome.”

The light in Laenor’s eyes dim as he slowly sits back down, years of his Mother’s scoldings coming back in troves, “Yes, Rhaenyra…” Joffrey rubs his back in sympathy.

“I want you involved with our children,” he goes to agree to her crazily easy demand until, “That includes the ones Alicent has birthed. They are my siblings, but I love them as my own. You will do the same because my Father will not and they need a man they can look to for guidance and protection.”

All three, excluding the Princesses, look to Rhaenyra with various degrees of bewilderment,

“He does not need to do that, they’ll be fine.”

“They’re so small, what if I accidentally hurt one?”

“Why can’t his Grace parent his own children?”

The questions overlap and Rhaenyra lets them, the sound of discontentment reminding her of the Small Counsel, causing her to yawn, “… You finished?”

“I…” Laenor turns to Alicent and Aemma, his face pinched in concern until it smooths, “Yes, I can love your siblings and care for them as if they were mine own children.”

The lingering tension is washed away with Joffrey input, “I love babies, and children. I would also like to raise the royal babes. Prince Haegon and any sons the Princess has, will be in need of a swordsmanship mentor eventually, and as a White Cloak, or White Cloak to-be, who else would be better?”

“Their own father?” Laenor vexes.

“I hear the man is a chronic pain in the backside, who never admits he’s wrong, hogs the bed and never shares his good wine. Why in the Gods name would anyone want a mentor like that, or even as a lover?”

“I believe for the ‘pain in the backside’ you just spoke about.”

Rhaenyra sets her cup down a tad too hard, the ceramic clacking, drawing the men’s attention, “There are little ears and religious ears in the room. Please keep such talk to the tavern or your private rooms.”

“Of course, Princess,” they both say, Joffrey actually meaning it.

“I want honesty between us. We are in no place for secrecy. While most wives would despise having knowledge of their husband’s infidelity, I do not. I will need to know an uncomfortable amount about your relationship, and you us. We can’t be caught off-guard or our stories misaligned. I always knew, even as a child, marriage would be a difficult and unpleasant thing, but the closeness we four will have with each other, will take that to another extreme of awkwardness,” Rhaenyra pauses, taking in their expressions one by one, “Do you believe yourselves capable of such a long lasting task?”

Sounds of agreement fill the room, disturbing Aemma from her sleep, bringing the ‘conversation’ to an end.

Chapter Text

Weeks Later

Ships pull in on the harbours, dragon’s song fills the open sky, the sight of true Targaryen revelry. Houses flock from around the continent, all brandishing their invitations like they were made of solid gold and not just an excuse to spend an exuberant amount of coin, dress unjustifiably lavishly and indulge in the overflowing refreshments.

Ser Harrold Westerling stands by the open doors to the celebration, lords and ladies already making themselves comfortable as others enter. The announcement of their introductions barely audible over the other party guests, “House Lannister, with their Lord, Jason Lannister. Lord Paramount of the West and Master of Casterly Rock!”

A folk of blondes, gold and red breeze in.

“House Hightower, with their Lord, Hobert Hightower. Beacon of the South, Defender of the Citadel an…”

The rest Rhaenyra doesn’t catch as Jason Lannister and his family bow, the man walking up to the main table, like he paid for the damn thing, “Congratulations, Your Grace. You have made a fine match for the Princess.”

“Thank you, Lord Jason. I could think of no other better man than Ser Laenor,” She responds, a sharpness to her smile.

He huffs softly at her snip, “Well if this is only the welcome feast, I admit I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding.”

The King’s face lights up in joy, “My daughter is the future Queen,” his words bring Rhaenyra a rare warmth, causing her to lower her head in appreciation to her father, “I wanted this to be a wedding for the histories.”

“Where is the Queen? I had hoped to pay my respects,” his tone polite but something about it set Rhaenyra on edge, like it was more than courtly manners.

She knew where Alicent was. She was recovering from a difficult labour and Rhaenyra had near commanded she not attend. Her Flame’s health and comfort were more important than a show of support on the first day of festivities, there would be other opportunities to show that they are a united force.

Viserys, as an actual husband was neglectful when it came to his wife’s happenings, but nowadays, his knowledge of her came more often than not, from his daughter or gossip. About? Nothing much, Alicent learnt quickly from her father, that rumours bring ruin and thus, she became totally uninteresting to them. The King liked that, drama was tiring on good days and there hadn’t been many of those lately.

“I understand the Queen is still readying herself for the celebration,” He explains, Rhaenyra shooting a confused look his way.

“This is why men wage war. ‘Cause women would never be ready for the battle in time,” Jason’s words were for Viserys, but his eyes never strayed from Rhaenyra’s, his stance clear on her position.

Her lips purse for a moment in annoyance, “Tell me, My Lord, when was the last time you saw battle? It must be the same amount as I, being that word of mouth from others. Men like my betrothed, Ser Laenor, or my Uncle, the Rouge Prince. Men who protected our kingdom and trade routes east while you…?”

“I was busy, Princess,” he snaps, quickly smiling to hide it, “I am Lord Paramount, I could not be pulled away from my duty to play at being a warrior.”

“Nor I. It is most pleasant knowing we share that in common. Court and its comforts fit us well, does it not, Father?” She turns to Viserys with a grin, who, like usual, didn’t pick up on or didn’t care enough to notice the vocal fight right in front of him.

He nods and raises his goblet, “Indeed, my dear. Best leave such things to others, folk like us are better suited in keeps, that is where we are most needed.”

Jason opens his mouth to argue back, but smartly holds his tongue with a thin smile, excusing himself to lick his wounds away from the irritatingly complimentary duo. One bites while the other pats your head in condescension, both with friendly expressions and untouchable statuses.

Next to greet the royals is a figure rarely seen in court, Lady Rhea Royce, the wife of Daemon, thus Aunt to Rhaenyra and good sister to Viserys. In a simple brown gown with silver detailing, she curtsies to them, but her lips barely twitch to a smirk, “My congratulations, Princess. May your marriage be more fruitful than mine.”

And just as she appeared, dousing them in awkward tension, she leaves, her low tolerance of Targaryens extending to all of them after over a decade of marriage to one. Yet, her timing is eerily connected to them because as she steps away, the drums start up and silence falls over the room.

“Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark and his Lady Wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. And their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future King Consort.”

The crowd erupts into applause, the King and Crown Princess standing, prompting the others to as well. Velaryon House approaches and the young couple sending each other reassuring smiles. Laenor’s parents part so he may bow and Rhaenyra can make her way around the table to him.

He takes her extended hand just as they are in reach, bringing it up to his lips, “My betrothed.”

“My betrothed,” she confirms, a grin overtaking her face at the sound of claps for the union.

The couple and Laenor’s parents move around the main table to stand by their chairs. Ser Joffrey and the rest of the Velaryon family lower to a bow, Joffrey’s eyes lingering on Laenor’s a touch too long. Viserys clears his throat and everyone returns to their seats.

Finally, a calm washes over the room as a successful royal match- footsteps echo and a figure appears in the doorway.

Daemon Targaryen.

Rhaenyra half believed she jinxed it by saying his name earlier but comforted herself by remembering he never needed an invitation to intrude.

He struts past the people, his eyes locked on his brother. Daemon smirks, his expression amused and expecting, perhaps duller than usual. Fortunately, he doesn’t speak and Viserys rewards this with a flick of his wrist, a servant setting a chair at the end of the table for him. Not the place he should be in the hierarchy, but at least he still has a place in this family. Rhaenyra watches him with a scowl, unconcerned if others see her disdain.

Viserys turns to the room, ignoring his brother as the proven best way of managing him, “Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honour the Crown’s oldest and fiercest ally, House Velaryon, reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons. With House Targaryen and Hou-“ he stops. For seemingly no reason.

Everyone looks around for an answer or cause, until all eyes are pulled to the doorway once more.

There stands Queen Alicent. Her curls free, with only a few confined and used to hold a gold laurel wreath crown. Her gown was not of Westerosi style, but of a more traditional Old Valyrian style. Fine dark blue fabric sitting loosely over her chest, sprawling out after hugging her waist. A deep purple shawl hung over her shoulder and around her body. Yellow-gold embroidery along the edges of her dress, along with large detailed bracelets fashioned to look like dragons. All of it was a statement, but what she said was believed as one thing by most and another by the intended audience.

To bystanders, she was claiming to be a true Targaryen Queen, regardless of blood or house. She was shedding her shroud of a Hightower and was blooming in the dragon fire. They believed the Queen was stating her loyalty to her husband was stronger than to her kin. That she claimed no side, purple and blue being relatively neutral colours to both dragon and tower. Traditionalists and those who wanted Hightower blood on the throne now understood that whichever direction the King went, she would follow.

But Rhaenyra knew the real reason she dressed as she had. Alicent’s hair was in its natural state, Rhaenyra’s favourite style on her. A laurel wreath symbolising victory, like she came here already having won. The Valyrian toga with Westerosi touches, unique, and eye-catching, yet complimentary to the culture. Purple, Rhaenyra’s favourite colour. The blue, House Arryn’s colour. Most of all, her bracelets, large like shackles binding her, were shaped like…

Syrax.

Every part of the outfit was to lay claim and seduce Rhaenyra, and Alicent came to the feast dressed as the champion, as if the competition for the Princess’ heart had been won long ago.

And with how well Alicent was pulling it off, it most certainly had.

Chapter Text

Lords and Ladies raise to their feet as their Queen walks past them, towards the main table. Whispers follow her, faces with mixed reactions blur to Alicent as she stares head-on. She stops in front of the table and lowers her head to Rhaenyra in reverence, the action silently echoing throughout the hall.

“Blessings be upon your marriage, Ñuhys raqiros.”

My beloved.

The endearment snatches the breath from Rhaenyra’s lungs. Alicent had used a term usually meant platonically, however, combined with their previous relationship and her outfit, it was anything but.

To non-speakers, Alicent was showing off the level of her integration into the family. To those who spoke High Valyrian, but were unaware of their love, like King Viserys and Lord Corlys, it was a heartfelt moment between old friends.

And to those who knew or just had suspicions, it was a confirmation and a declaration. That this wasn’t one-sided by Rhaenyra with her young, wild Targaryen ways, it was reciprocated and perhaps even outdone by the seemingly pious girl.

Viserys flounders as she walks to her seat beside him and he loses his placement in the speech. With a look to his Hand, Lord Lyonel, the man quietly whispers and the celebration is back on.

“With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second age of dragons in Westeros.”

The room bursts into applause and cheers.

“And after tonight’s small affair,” that gets some chuckles, “seven days of tournament and feasting. At the end of it all, a royal wedding, between my daughter, my heir, your future Queen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark.”

The dancing is commenced by Rhaenyra and Laenor, as their lovers and admirers watch on with thinly veiled jealousy and sadness. Joffrey and Alicent had agreed to the arrangement, but the pain of watching the one you love marry another still stings.

“I was never much of a dancer.”

“It’s not much different to combat.”

“I shall hope for a different outcome.”

As Joffrey stares at the Queen, her eyes catching his a few times, an unfortunate connection is formed between them without a word said. The other eyes watching the couple, Joffrey catches as well. Too many are filled with envy and lust, especially towards the Princess and it hits the knight in an instant. He won’t just be protecting Laenor in this marriage, he will also have to shield Rhaenyra and from the looks of it, by a lot.

Rhea Royce observes this too, uncomfortable at the main table, too close to her husband who is leering at his niece, all with no fucking ale, when an idea comes to mind. She stands and approaches the Queen, who is technically her good sister, “Your Grace, might I have this dance?”

Alicent is momentarily stunned, hesitantly placing her hand in Rhea’s, “You may, Lady Royce.”

The women join other pairs on the dance floor, Rhea taking the lead, a happy expression on her face for the first time since she left Runestone. Slow turns and swift spins cause them to pass by the betrothed couple and with intentional manoeuvres, they switch partners. Rhea ends up with Laenor, who is technically her… good nephew or cousin? She doesn’t actually care and doesn’t plan to speak to him again, hopefully never will if she can do so.

But her goal to sow some chaos in the House of the Dragon seems to work as Rhaenyra and Alicent immediately fall into step with one another, barely blinking and never taking their eyes off each other.

Laenor catches on quickly and a smile slowly grows on his face, but the sight combined with that silver hair causes Rhea to scowl, “Who are you again?”

“… Laenor Velaryon, the Princess’ betrothed? The man everyone has been talking about this evening?”

“Right,” she barely tries to hide her eye-roll, “You being called a ‘man’ is debatable,” he lets out a quiet but highly offended squawk, “You cannot fathom what it is like marrying these people. They will use you for your name and land, spitting you out when it stops meaning anything or when they don’t find you entertaining. My advice, get a hobby, a time-consuming one.”

As she breaks away, Laenor finds himself by the Velaryon’s table, his eyes going to Joffrey’s in an instant. Rhea, now a courtly appearance richer and a dance with the future King Consort under her belt, she can finally make her escape back home away from these inbreds.

Lady Laena watches a sulking Prince Daemon from the far ends of the table, wondering if he’ll be the solution for her current annoying engagement. She runs her finger around the rim of her cup, slight nips at lips with fluttering lashes yet he barely spares her a glance. With a hint of confusion and annoyance, Laena joins the dance floor in hopes of enticing him so they can speak.

But unlike rumours previous, he doesn’t take the bait. He sits there, a flat sneer on his face but otherwise, nothing. Where was the Rouge Prince she was warned of? The man who was more beast than not, who would happily slay a man to claim a beautiful Valyrian-featured virgin like her? If not Daemon, who would kill that pesky and entitled son of a dead Sealord?

With her sights set on the Prince, she accidentally stumbles into another dancer. A man, by the feel of his frame- “Terribly sorry, my lady,” and that voice, low but gentle and concerned.

Laena recovers, shame filling her veins, “No, I apologise. I should have watched where I was going, my mind was elsewhere.”

“And where was that, may I ask? On the Prince?”

She snaps her head towards the man, ready to deflect, but stops at the sight of who she bumped into. Ser Harwin Strong, Ser Breakbones. Now this is a man who would kill for a lady, and she wouldn’t half mind rewarding him for the efforts.

“My betrothed, Ser. He is more unsavoury than a Greyjoy, if that possible to believe, but neither I nor my father can be rid of him,” she explains, a pouty lip and hand placed on his pec, ‘for comfort’.

Instead of being beguiled, Harwin looks amused, “I do find it hard to believe, not because so few are worse than those oversized squids, but that the rider of the largest living dragon cannot deal with it herself.”

Her mouth slips open at his insinuation. Of course, she’d thought of feeding her betrothed to Vhagar hundreds of times before, but he never came close enough, and also, Laena didn’t expect a near stranger to suggest such a thing so brazenly.

“How could I feed my girl such a poor meal? She has enjoyed much pampering these past few years, I would hate to ruin her diet. Not when my problem can be so easily resolved by a valiant knight such as yourself, mayhaps?” Her hand runs up onto his shoulder, no longer trying to seduce.

He takes her wandering hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, “I hope an end of your problem comes swiftly.”

Pleasantly surprised, and a little loosed tongue by the heady feeling of those deep brown eyes focused solely on her, the words tumble out, “What are your thoughts on dragons?”

“Intimidating, but… enticing. I have never had the pleasure of being close to one before. Why do you ask, my fine lady?”

“Vhagar is large enough to fit two,” this causes him to chuckle and Laena quickly rebuffs, “She’s large enough to fit a small army, yes- but most comfortably her rider and… a companion who helped ease her rider’s burdens?”

“You would allow me a ride in return for ending your engagement?”

Laena may have hit him, if not for Harwin looking equally shocked by his own words, a soft pink on his cheeks as he looks away.

Feeling emboldened, Laena states her interest, “If we find time after you meet Vhagar, and she doesn’t eat you. Her eyesight is going, might mistake you for a bison.”

He lets out a short nervous chuckle but isn’t totally dissuaded.

And so the evening comes to a close, not a single major scandal in sight, only whispers of oddly close friendships, which disappear by morning. A week of celebrations is had, with more drinking and food than half the participants had ever indulged in. Lord Beesbury had to excuse himself on day three after realising they needed to buy more wine. Servants say they saw him sobbing over the ledgers that night. The ones once called ‘Greens’ were forced to watch the festivities, awkwardly shuffling as they come to the realisation that Otto was wrong, Alicent hadn’t been holding down the foundation in Kings Landing, she had jumped ship long ago.

New romance, a new marriage, old loves still burning, a man’s inner fire going out as he watches his soulmate slip away and in the shadows, a Kingsguard watches and stews- all week long.

Chapter Text

A Week Post-Wedding

Multiple attempts on multiple nights leave the couple unsatisfied with humiliation growing stronger with each hour the cock stays limp. Rhaenyra and Laenor quickly come to the conclusion, they need reinforcements already. This was not a task they could complete by themselves.

Much like their first double-couple meeting over a month ago, Alicent sits next to Rhaenyra, clutching her hand in support, Laenor across from them, Joffrey resting his palm on his lover’s forearm. None of them have been able to spend more than a couple minutes with their paramours since the wedding, too many eyes. Combined with the shame of an unfulfilled duty, both Rhaenyra and Laenor’s spirits were low.

The Princess clears her throat, “Alright, let us begin,” she looks to Joffrey, “I believe your assistance is required at once, the sooner I am with child, the better.”

“If that is what you desire, Princess, but how am I supposed to get to the marital chamber without gossipers spotting me?” He asks as Laenor puts his head on the knight’s shoulder.

Rhaenyra gestures around them, “The Keep has tunnels, from Maegor’s time, few know they exist, and fewer use them,” she turns and brings Alicent’s hand to her lips, “I would like you there too, if that isn’t too much. I know you are quite reserved with such matters and may not wish to see-“

“I’m a mother, Rhaenyra. I know what sex between a man and a woman looks like. Yes, I want to be there, I want to support you in any way I can. Even if…” she trails off, her face turning a soft pink, “the circumstances will be more… social than my previous experiences.”

“… As you wish.”

That Night

Joffrey steps into the Crown Princess’ personal chambers, holding his hand out for Alicent who stands in the secret doorway. She takes it with a nod, entering while holding a small bag in her free hand. Laenor sits on the bed awkwardly, his shirt off, but sleeping trousers on loosely. Rhaenyra is shuffling around her bookshelves, scanning the spines to keep her mind off it all. They each try to start up the conversation, but each attempt dies on their tongue.

Only Alicent, who came here with a better sense of a plan, manages to stumble out, “I spoke to Maester Orwyle,” every head turns to her in betrayal, “Worry not! He is a friend, I trust him. Even then, I kept my questions vague so as to not give him a direction to point, should he speak out- which he is very unlikely to do. He is loyal to me, not my father, please.”

She opens up the bag in her hand, pulling out… a kitchen utensil?

“I asked about alternative methods of impregnation when a man has trouble… staying at attention. I am certain he believes I was speaking of His Grace, and suggested this.”

Joffrey, the closest to her, looks at it with confusion, “A baster? Do you mean to use it to oil them up? Make them more appealing to one another?”

“No, Ser,” Alicent holds it up so the others can see it better, “It is specifically a turkey baster. Maester Orwyle explained that a man’s… uh is not required to be stiff to produce seed. The process is to somehow make the man spill, catch it and use the baster to replicate the… pollination.”

The more she speaks, the more red she becomes and the more different the others view her.

Laenor lets out a strangled chuckle, “Why would he know that? Why do you know that?”

“Because-,” she snaps, but catches herself, glancing over at Rhaenyra, “It is in all our best interests that your marital duties are fulfilled sooner than later.”

This causes a laugh to burst out of Joffrey unexpectedly, “You’re jealous. Don’t play coy, Your Grace. You are jealous that Laenor, her husband, is laying with the Princess. Worry not, I understand, sharing the Realm’s Delight must be torturous.”

“How dare yo-“

Before she can defend herself, Alicent is interrupted by Rhaenyra grabbing her face and kissing her hard, “You are brilliant, My Flame. My one and only.” They stare into each other’s eyes lovingly.

“Hey!” Laenor exclaims, but quickly gets over being left out when Joffrey tackles him onto the bed.

They roll around on the sheets, wrestling to hold each other down. The sound of their playful grunts and shoves tare Rhaenyra and Alicent away from each other to look at them in unimpressed silence. Joffrey manages to win, pinning Laenor down.

He grasps blindly in the direction of the women, his eyes not leaving his lover’s, “Give me the baster, I’ll get the noble seed you require.”

Perplexed and mildly disturbed, Alicent hands him the tool and is quickly pulled away by Rhaenyra, over to the conjoined room. Wine is poured as they play the game, ‘pretend you can’t hear’.

Nearly Two Months Later

Rhaenyra lays in bed, Maester Mellos looking over her as the Queen quietly observes from the sidelines. He checks her pulse, feels her stomach and after a few questions, comes to a conclusion.

“Congratulations, Princess, you are with child,” He excuses himself to go tell the King and Prince Consort.

As soon as he leaves, Alicent strides over, nearly smothering Rhaenyra with her lips, “I love you,” she whispers.

“And I you,” she wraps an arm around Alicent’s waist and uses her hold to pull her onto the bed, the pair basking in the warmth between them. Rhaenyra pulls back, her body suddenly tense, “I’m scared, my flame. I do not want to part with you on the birthing bed. Losing Mother nearly destroyed my Father, I would not wish that upon you.”

Alicent shakes her, vehemently refusing, “You won’t die, you cannot leave me. You are strong, you are the blood of the dragon. If I can handle childbirth three times, I know you will survive it too, and thrive in ways I do not.”

“It is impossible to truly know, my Mother, her mother, my father’s mother. Two generations of women in my family have died due to childbirth. None would be surprised if I were to become the next.”

The Queen digs her nails into Rhaenyra's shoulders, “Don’t speak like that, I command you to never say such horrible words again. You won’t die because you promised to love me forever. I am your Flame, remember? As long as I live, you cannot die, you cannot leave me here. I cannot do this without you.”

“You command me?” Rhaenyra questions with a sly grin.

Her lover huffs, “Yes, as your Queen, I command you to not die, not to childbirth and not anytime soon. I command you to follow in the Good Queen’s footsteps and die of natural causes at an old age.”

“Well if my Queen commands it…” she moves forward to take another kiss when the doors burst open.

The pair jump apart, luckily it was Laenor who first comes in and when the King enters, Alicent is standing up once more.

“My congratulations, my dear,” Viserys exclaims, his eyes already wet with proud tears. He clasps Laenor’s shoulder, “Good work, my boy.”

Laenor smiles like he did all the hard work, savouring the praise, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Chapter Text

Around The Same Time, on Driftmark

When a beautiful lady begs a knight to kill an innocent man, he should hesitate. Is the affections of one woman truly worth sullying one’s hands? Should the cries about an unwanted engagement warrant murder? If you had asked Ser Harwin Strong before he met Lady Laena Velaryon, he would have said something about his duty to righteousness and honour outweighing that of a stranger’s comfort.

But here he is, sea air in his lungs, on his way to Driftmark, a hand on the hilt of his sword and the other clutching a single letter.

‘𝓘 𝓾𝓻𝓰𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓸 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓪𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓮, 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓢𝓮𝓻. 𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓾𝓷𝓼 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓮𝔁𝓬𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓘 𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓶𝔂 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓘 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓪 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓑𝓻𝓪𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓼𝓲 𝓢𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓭.

𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓽. 𝓹𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓻 𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓱𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓶𝔂 𝓬𝓲𝓻𝓬𝓾𝓶𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼, 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓓𝓻𝓲𝓯𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓹 𝓶𝓮 𝓻𝓲𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓮.

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼, 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓮𝓭,

𝓛𝓪𝓮𝓷𝓪.’

Harwin could still see his father’s expression when he was told of his plans. Go to Driftmark without a formal invitation, challenge a guest of House Velaryon to a duel and… pray for a warm reception when the deed is done? The more Harwin thought it over, the stronger his seasickness felt, which is odd because the man usually didn’t get seasick.

Were he a lesser man, one that didn’t grow up with a brother like Larys and a half-sister like Alys, he might have accused Laena of bewitching him. When the thought crossed his mind, he could almost feel his sister slapping him up the back of his head, lecturing him that witchcraft is far too complex for most people, especially him, to even comprehend. She had never been wrong and no other cared for his nightmares like she did. Alys had 6 years on him, yet she had somehow managed to understand and thrive in Harrenhal far better than any true-born Strong did.

The differences between Alys and Laena were like night and day, however, they could both steal the words from his mouth and make him sound like an idiot. Perhaps, he tells himself, that’s why he’s going to help, because he always came running to help Alys, fists swinging, but he couldn’t fool himself. When a beautiful lady begged him to kill a man, Harwin didn’t hesitate to come when she called.

As the ship docks, a House Strong flag flies from its mast, signalling to Laena, that her saviour has arrived. Not a moment too soon as she spots it while conversing, or better described as being talked at, with the problem, Yrda Belma. Meaning ‘Tight Chains’ in High Valyrian, well-fitting as that’s what marriage to him would be like.

“Issa dōna,” he holds out a small bouquet of pale purple flowers with great enthusiasm, a blinding toothy smirk, “Scorpion grasses, for you.”

My sweet

Laena manages to give him a smile that looks more like a grimace than any type of joy she shows others. Flowers he likely picked from the gardens, as that is the best Yrda can afford, her father’s riches claimed to be his own, “Forget-me-nots, how thoughtful.”

Ironic, she thinks, as the moment Harwin walks into view, the tight chains are forgotten and she feels lighter than she has in months.

His steps alert Yrda just seconds before Harwin opens his mouth, “Who-?”

“I challenge you to a duel,” he unsheathes his sword and points it at his opponent, “to the death.”

“I reiterate, who-“

Laena steps between them, her eyes focused solely on her saviour, “Ser Harwin Strong… took you long enough.”

“My enteral apologies, my Lady, the water was disagreeable, as was my father,” his attentions no longer on Yrda, but Laena, still as gorgeous as the last time they spoke, her tongue just as sharp too.

Understanding clicks and Yrda lets out a harsh chuckle, mocking and full of disbelief, “So this is your family’s newest attempt to be rid of me, this, doru-borto jaos?”

stupid dog

“My lady, please move aside, I may not understand High Valyrian, but I know an insult when I hear one,” gone is the soft expression Harwin had while staring at Laena, replaced with a nasty glare, one that sends a bolt of fear through her and causes Yrda to take a step back.

The moment Laena is at a safe distance, Yrda barely has enough time to take out his sword when he is thrown back into the dirt. As he looks up, Yrda finally notices the size difference between the two of them with Harwin towering over him, weapon raised to strike.

The smaller man rolls out of the way. Harwin’s sword stabs into the ground, stopping him for just enough time for Yrda to stand up and get into a defensive position. He gulps as the so-called ‘dog’ stalks his prey, a coldness in his eyes.

The next few seconds blur in Yrda’s mind, only coming back to full comprehension when pain shoots through him. Looking down, blood seeps from the side of his ribs, a large slice on his skin. Fortunately, not a stab through the gut, Yrda reasons to himself, until a flash of iron crosses his vision. He blinks, finding himself unable to breathe and the world around him rapidly going dark.

‘That beast cut my fucking head off’, is the last thought Yrda has while alive.

A wet thud echoes through the courtyard. The sound of a jaw-dropping nearly follows, but Laena catches herself just as Harwin turns to her. He sheathes his sword and bends his body at the waist to give her a worshipful bow.

The guttural roar of Vhagar breaks the pair out of their trance and a wide grin spreads across Laena’s face, “I do believe I promised you a ride should you help me.”

“My lady, I would never assume th-“

“Laena. ‘Yours, should you succeed’, remember?” She corrects, her approach purposeful.

Her words leave him gulping down his protests. He had come here to help, but not on the terms that she must become his. But how can he reject her advances when her arm slots itself so perfectly around his and pulls just right as she leads them in the direction of Vhagar?

An Hour Later

The Queen of All Dragons lands in Driftmark’s courtyard, sending dust and sand flying. The sky turning beautiful shades of oranges and pinks as the sun starts to go down. Not that Harwin cares as he throws himself off the great beast, trying to get far from Laena before he-

He makes it only a few metres away before collapsing to his knees and emptying his stomach, his head spinning as he dry heaves. Laena takes pity on the poor knight, rubbing his back till his breathing evens out once more. Mourning his chances with her, Harwin slowly looks over his shoulder to him, misery coating his face. Misery, vomit and tears.

She has to stifle a laugh, clearing her throat and giving him a merciful smile, “Sorry, Harwin.”

“Did you have to do all those spins and drops?” He softly asks, not even upset, just grasping at anything to keep her attention a moment longer.

Laena glares over at Vhagar, “That was not my idea. Someone wanted to express their opinion on my companion.”

“So your great lady does not like me. My fate is sealed then,” Harwin murmurs, wiping his face clean as best he can as he shakily stands up.

Stepping around to look him straight on, Laena frowns, “What fate is that? Vhagar may have tried throwing you off, but you need not worry, I won’t require a repeat if you have no desire for one.”

“That is kind of you, my lady-“

“Laena.” She corrects.

“… My lady. There is no need to indulge me further. You are free of your betrothed and can now have your pick of worthy lords and knights. I thank you for your time and consideration,” he bows his head and turns to leave.

A quick hand grabs his, stopping him, “Who said I was done with you? I did not give you leave, you must stay.”

Her words confuse him to no end, an annoying spark of hope ignites within him as he looks back at her. Harwin doesn’t understand why, perhaps it is because Lady Laena is just that perfect, to show him kindness after making a complete fool of himself. Her dragon doesn’t even like him, she could never marry a man Vhagar doesn’t like. The whole kingdom knows how long she struggled to become a rider, and only succeeded a little over a year ago. Harwin may not understand dragon claiming, but he didn’t want to risk spoiling the relationship between the two, not when it’s still so new.

“Vhagar will just have to get over herself. I quite enjoy your company and I won’t have her getting in the way of my love,” Laena exclaims, verbally jabbing at her dragon, who just huffs at her antics.

Harwin finds it difficult to remember- well anything because just as he goes to protest, Laena goes on her tippy-toes and smooshes her lips against his. It lasts just a second and he doesn’t manage to move for multiple seconds following.

Vhagar growls, turning slowly to warn him of making any more advances, but Laena interrupts her, “Iōragon ilagon. Issa ñuhon.”

Stand down. He is mine.

“I… don’t understand, my lady?”

“Laena.” She corrects again.

“… My Laena, I mean-” he shakes his head at the miswording, “I do not understand why you show me favour.”

The response he gets is her stepping back, looking him enthusiastically up and down with a pleased smirk, “See if you can feed Vhagar my previous betrothed, that may endear you to her.”

Dumbstruck, that’s exactly what Harwin does. He drags Yrda’s rapidly cooling body over to the dragon. She opens her mouth, probably more than necessary to scare the puny human and-

“What in the Seven bloody Hells is this!?”

Just entering the courtyard stands Princess Rhaenys, her mouth open in shock, confusion and horror. Corlys follows shortly after, his face mirroring his wife’s until he picks up on the details.

Ser Harwin Strong, heir to House Strong and Harrenhal, knight with a court position and his father is Hand to the King. In his arms, a headless corpse about to be fed to Vhagar and a good distance away, the head of the continuing pain in the ass, Yrda Belma, dead by what seems Harwin’s hand. His daughter, Laena doesn’t seem even the slightest bit concerned, she’s blushing and her hair is dishevelled like when she flies on Vhagar. So is Harwin’s hair. Laena took him flying, Corlys realises, as a reward maybe? Or maybe a test for the knight? Both?

Regardless, a polite and welcoming smile grows on Corlys’ face as he wraps an arm around Rhaeny’s waist, “Once you are finished there, Ser Strong, please do join us for dinner. There seems much we must speak about.”

“Corlys, you jest?” Rhaenys beseeches in a hushed tone.

“When we are free of that Sealord’s son and potentially richer a son-in-law, whose father is the second most powerful man in the realm? No, I do not,” he utters, watching as Harwin drops the body into Vhagar’s mouth and hesitantly pats her scales as she chews.

Chapter Text

Seven Months Later, Kingslanding

The last month of 116 AC brings much joy to the Targaryen and Velaryon Houses. A wedding between Laena Velaryon and Harwin Strong, who succeeds at not vomiting after their celebratory flight on Vhagar, much to the beast’s dismay. Both children of Corlys had succeeded at securing advantageous marriages, which he couldn’t be prouder of. Rhaenys, while side-eyeing her son’s marriage, couldn’t deny the happiness both matches brought her children and that couldn’t make her prouder.

And as the celebrations came to an end and the royal family returned to the Red Keep, another happiness came. Rhaenyra’s water broke just as she stepped into the throne room. Suddenly any exhaustion from the wedding disappeared and hundreds of people were moving about in a hurry.

The heir’s first child, the future ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Everyone could tell from the size of her stomach, the babe would be big and it caused everyone to suck in breaths of fear.

Long, loud ‘discussions’ were had in preparation for this day, which all cumulated to Rhaenyra squatting while being held up by a midwife and Alicent, not a Maester in sight and Ser Laenor alongside Ser Joffrey standing outside the doors, armoured with hands on their swords, barring entrance to all, even the King.

Shouting could be heard from outside the doors, but Rhaenyra couldn’t focus on it as her body screamed at her to push again and again. After hours of this, she understood her mother in a way she never did before. The Princess grips Alicent’s hand painfully, her link to life, her unbreakable and stead pillar through it all.

“I’m here, ‘nyra. You can do this, I know you can. Push.”

Another instinctive squeeze of her guts, pushing the baby further out. Tears stream down Rhaenyra’s face as a sense of hopelessness falls over her, “I can’t, it’s not coming-“

“It is Princess, you must push,” a midwife interrupts and so, she pushes.

Just when Rhaenyra thinks she can’t anymore, something inside makes her push again, until a weight exits her and the room is filled with a newborn’s cries. Finally, she collapses into Alicent, peace washing over her. Something feels off, but Rhaenyra brushes it off as the afterbirth until a different midwife speaks up.

“There’s another, you must continue, Princess. You cannot rest yet!”

Rhaenyra is hit with fear and astonishment. She isn’t done with childbirth yet, but she’s managed to carry two to term. Pulling herself up with assistance, Rhaenyra returns to her squatting position, ready to endure another ten or more hours of labour. But instead, after less than five minutes, the babe is pushed out and its scream can be heard.

Perplexed and in no little amount relieved, Rhaenyra is helped onto the birthing bed and is given a baby to hold in each arm.

“Both healthy boys, Princess. Congratulations,” the midwives, five in total, curtsy and step to one side of the room to give the new mother privacy.

Alicent stays, looking almost as half wrecked as Rhaenyra, staring at her in reverence, “You look…”

“Terrible, yes, thank you,” The princess replies sarcastically with a little hostility in her voice.

“No…” Alicent pushes the hair out of Rhaenyra’s face, “You look like the Mother in mortal form.”

The soft sounds of the babies bring their attention down to the pair. The first to come out had pure white hair with his father’s curls, Alicent had seen it. The second, his hair was looser, more gold in its colouring, like his Mother. Their skin was a soft brown, not as dark as Laenor’s, but nowhere near as light as Rhaenyra’s. They were…

“Perfect,” their mother concludes.

The peace is disturbed by the doors bursting open, Viserys storming in as Joffrey and Laenor are held back by Kingsguard, both bruised and a bit bloody. The King’s angry expression evaporates as he sees his daughter, two babes in her arms.

“…Twins?” He breathlessly asks.

Rhaenyra nods, “Twin boys, Father.”

A shout of joy comes from Laenor as he escapes his guard and tackles Joffrey to the ground, “I’m a father!”

His lover tries to push him off as they’re surrounded by people, but that just causes Laenor to squeeze him tighter. Joffrey quickly gives in with a sigh, patting his back, “Yes, my Prince Consort. But may I and every else at court know their names?”

Laenor’s eyes light up even brighter somehow and just as he goes to blurt out names, Rhaenyra interrupts him, “Jaecerys and Lucerys Velaryon.“

Viserys nods approvingly, “Good names, Lord Corlys shall be pleased once he hears them,” he walks over to his daughter and jokingly whispers, “Couldn’t have gone with something more Targaryen, my dear?”

This just gets a snort from Rhaenyra, “Best be satisfied with my choices, Gods forbid whatever my Lord Husband would have chosen.”

Laenor gasps at the mocking, but no one cares to listen to his rant of why his baby names would have been just fine, perfect even. Except one and that person being Ser Joffrey who found it very sweet that Laenor wanted to name a child after him.

A Few Months Later

News of twin Royal princes spreads across Westeros and half of Essos. That’s how the news finds Daemon, drinking his sorrows away in Pentos, leeching off those who allow him stay as to win his favour, his dragon and his blood. None succeed or even manage to achieve any long-term happiness as every passing day, the man becomes more and more a shadow of his former self.

Rich wines or cheap swill, he’ll drink. Food scarcely interests him most days and even as attractive women, men, girls and boys are paraded around him, hoping to snag even just a touch from those long Targaryen fingers, he can barely manage a twitch of his cock.

Daemon understood what was happening, he had read about it in old Valyrian tomes about marriage rituals and other beginner guides to blood magic. The Fourteen Flames must have been promised his soul combined with Rhaenyra’s, but because of the actions he took, any chance of that is lost and thus, so is he. The Gods are always cruel and efficient with their punishments.

His fire was going out, dimmer every day. He could feel it, Caraxes could feel it and would rage for hours on end, only calming once Daemon goes and soothes him with a lullaby. It just added to the self-pity Daemon felt, no dragon should be forced to watch it’s rider slowly lose that which made them so appealing as a rider in the first place. Along with everything else he had done that got him in this position, Daemon would stay up at night imagining a world where Caraxes no longer recognises him and rejects him, like everyone else Daemon loves.

The news of becoming a great uncle is the only thing that gets Daemon up and dressed in riding leathers for the first time in weeks. He was going to see his family, he wasn’t going to fail or disappoint them this time. Regardless of it all, he needed to return to Westeros, or at least Dragonstone. When the time inevitably comes, likely sooner than later at this rate, Daemon wanted Caraxes cared for, his body burnt and his ashes put with his relatives. It disgusted him to think what these Essosi cunts would do if they found a withered Targaryen prince and an unclaimed dragon ripe for the picking.

Chapter Text

A Few Days Later

A long guttural howl from the sky is followed by a deep, wall-shaking roar as parts of Kingslanding are covered in shadow. Small folk and nobles alike look up to see Vhagar and a significantly smaller Syrax flying together. Between the dragon cries, the sound of laughter can be heard from their riders.

Rhaenyra waves at Laena as she zooms forward, diving down just above the buildings and then back up to the clouds, showing off her superior speed. Lowering back down to fly beside Vhagar’s head, the Princess yells, “How was the taste of my dust!”

“Likely the same as my cinders! Dracarys!”

Vhagar’s large maw opens and a smoky clicking noise is the only warning Rhaenyra gets as the skies in front of her burst into flame. The larger beast ducks below it, protecting her rider from the fire. Syrax, however, has no time to shift directions at her speed and lets out a warning shriek as both dragon and rider brace for impact, Rhaenyra hiding her head behind her saddle’s shield.

The heat disappears in seconds and as the adrenaline calms in her veins, Rhaenyra hears a familiar cackle coming from Laena. Syrax growls at Vhagar while her rider playfully glares. The elderly dragon just huffs some smoke in the younger’s direction, causing an undignified shout of outrage to come from Rhaenyra.

Laena doesn’t stop giggling even as they land outside the city walls and Rhaenyra continues struggling to clean the soot off her face and hair. Finally feeling pity for the princess, Laena climbs down Vhagar and helps Rhaenyra as she nearly falls off Syrax.

“I now understand why Rhaenys refuses to fly with you anymore. You are a terror, you become more beast than woman on the back of your Queen of All Dragons,” Rhaenyra harshly teases, the grin gracing her lips the only sign it’s in good fun.

Laena pushes her shoulder, the other hand coming to rest on her swollen stomach, “Mother does not ride a war dragon, she rides a voyager and you, a breeder. Both perfectly lovely breeds, but one must understand that battle does not leave mine nor Vhagar’s soul.”

“Battle?”

“She is also your elder, so show some respect. My sweet lady might have not seen battle since long before our bond, but that doesn’t stop her from passing on her vast knowledge. Vhagar is simply,” Laena pauses, her eyes straying over to her dragon who has already started napping,” …enjoying retirement. She approaches the last phase of her life, if she is to follow Balerion’s example. My one true love must be spoiled like your Syrax is, how else will Vhagar know she is loved for more than her prowess in war?”

“‘One true love’? Your lord husband may weep if he heard you,” Rhaenyra challenges, leaning against her dragon, who turns to face them and coo.

“Like you view Syrax any different, do I even need ask of my brother’s placement in your heart?”

“That’s differ-“

“I know,” Laena interrupts at the first sign of distress in her friend’s demeanour, “Rhaenyra. I know… and just like with Laenor, it is not my place to judge, only to love you and wish you every happiness.”

The girls embrace, Rhaenyra pressing her face into Laena’s curls, “You will never understand how much that means… to all of us.”

“I would never betray my brother,” she cups the Princess’ face gently, “Or my sister. You care for one another, respect and protect each other, that is more than I could ever envision Laenor having. Thank you, and bless you for giving me nephews.”

“I shall return the blessing,” Rhaenyra places a hand on Laena’s stomach, “Once he has arrived.”

“He? You believe I am to have a boy?” She shakes her head, “I am to have a girl, I can feel it in my very makings. I am to be the mother of a girl, multiple girls in fact. Just watch.”

“Fine, I did not intend to contest you… but I do happen to have more experience in this field.”

Laena groans while rolling her eyes, throwing her hands up in exasperation, “Arrogance of unseen heights. Time will come when I am proven right.”

“Say what you need to rest easy. Gods know I hated being contradicted while I was with my twins.”

Suddenly, an echoing screech, almost like a disturbed alarm, rings in their ears. Turning their faces to the sky, a red dragon graces their sights. Syrax raises her head and lets out a longing call to her mate, Caraxes.

Daemon has returned to Westeros after a year of self-imposed exile. The girls watch him land nearby and both individually think the same thing.

“This can’t be good.”

The sight of an unexpected and far too well-known dragon prompts the servants, guards and dragon keepers to approach the Ladies, carefully placing themselves in positions to protect their charges.

The youngest of Rhaenyra’s handmaidens, Lady Elinda Massey, barely into her adulthood at age seven and ten, nervously glances towards the advancing Rouge Prince, “Princess?”

“It’s alright, sweet thing. Might you go prepare the carriage?” Rhaenyra gently comforts her, sending the girl away from the man who scares her.

Just as she scurries away, Daemon reaches them, giving them a mock bow with a rakish smirk, “Niece. Good niece. Our time apart has served you both well. You two have only grown ever more enchanting. Especially you, Lady Laena, it seems the seed is strong indeed.”

“Hilarious,” Laena states without a hint of amusement, “I would happily give the compliment in return, except you remain childless. At least, with your lady wife.”

Instead of raising to the bait like he normally would have, a single huff escapes his nose. Whether from mirth, irritation or agreement, is unclear. He turns his attention solely to Rhaenyra, giving her full view of his appearance.

It’s… haggard. Not dissimilar from when he would return after days of drinking in Flee Bottom, or after a joust that lasted far too long for anyone’s liking, but he still participated at every opportunity. His eyes were sunken, looking to be experiencing a shortage of rest or even general cheer. His cheeks and body were slimmer too, giving him an almost skeletal look.

“… Has something happened, Uncle? You look unwell,” Rhaenyra hesitantly asks, walking up to him and placing a hand on his face, her fingertips grazing his cheekbones.

Insult caused or attempted exploitation in unfavourable circumstances, all forgotten when her only uncle, the man who was more influential in her childhood than her own parents, stands before her, looking… weak. Daemon never allowed himself to appear weak. He believed it was unbecoming of Targaryens and their duty to be untouchable, akin to the Gods.

He pulls her hand away like it caused him pain, “I just ate some spoiled food. Nothing some time and rest around family can help.”

“Then let us return at once, Father will rejoice at your return. I am also certain there are two more who will be glad you have come,” a small smile grows on her.

“The Hightower my brother decided to marry and you choose to-“ the smile disappears.

“No, not her, and have no worries about her, your feelings for one another are the same, she just handles it with more dignity. I meant my sons, perhaps you heard about them during your travels.”

“Why else would I be here? You said yourself, there would be no chance for us,” the words seem to age him before her very eyes.

“I stand by that decision, but that doesn’t mean I want you gone, banished from the family. You hurt me, but you are my uncle. Is it not the Targaryen way? We cause each other harm but still care, in our queer way.”

They stare into each other’s eyes, appreciating the same purple being reflected back. This softer Daemon, one capable and willing to reflect and repent was almost-

“I see the carriage, can we depart now?” Laena inquires in an unfriendly tone after watching the display before her.

“Yes, of course. Come, uncle, I wish for you to meet my children.”

Chapter Text

A Few Hours Later

A knight falling for his Lady, a story as old as knighthood itself. A story of tragedy, forbidden love and lots of pining. Criston thought he had all that. Of course, he would never dare overstep, one-sided affections for Princess Rhaenyra were as common as bastards in Flee Bottom. That was just how perfect she was as a woman, a noble, a princess.

Dutiful, but mellow. Kind, but not blindly so. Aware of her own greatness, yet not prideful. She rode a fire-breathing beast, yet treated it like a spoilt pet and it acted accordingly. How wondrous is a dragon so tame just because it belonged to the very Princess he served? Every day he became more certain of his loyalty and faith in her, it was unshakable.

Or it was until she commanded him to hide her betrothed’s sodomy. An arranged marriage was expected of the Princess, but for her to knowingly endure the humiliation of an actively homosexual husband, a man incapable and unwilling to give her the great love she deserved. Oh, how Criston burned and raged on the inside.

Watching her dance with her stepmother during the welcoming feast of her wedding celebration, all because her husband was standing beside his lover. Ser fucking Joffrey Lonmouth. He had watched the man wordlessly gloat all evening, all week actually because the cunt never stopped.

He would watch the Princess and her husband interact with a pompous smirk, almost like he was daring Her Grace to call him out. Joffrey even asked Laenor’s favour during one of the tourneys, while the man was sat next to his wife. The Princess, brilliant as she was, handled it gracefully, giving her favour to an Arryn relative of some relation, and no spectator was the wiser.

But Criston prevailed, it helped that the cunt never talked to him or Joffrey would likely be a red puddle by now, if he had. Lonmouth still sparred with Laenor, touches lingering too long and eyes undressing each other, even during the Princess’ visits to the training grounds. As her personal guard, Criston went where she went.

She was only given reprieve from leering eyes, searching for flaws in her or her marriage, when she was with the Queen. The women often spent hours in each other’s company, their privacy protected by Criston. The Princess needed all the support she could get when trapped in such a miserable marriage and the Queen was respectable and devout, exactly what she would need when facing such struggles.

Then the Princess was with child. Ser Criston had seen her to her private chambers countless times and her husband followed after her nearly every night. How such a thing happened with Laenor’s condition must have been a miracle. Criston thought that was it, Laenor would be a father and would be a worthy spouse to the Princess. Except after the pregnancy announcement, the pair immediately stopped sharing bedchambers.

Most women were given the ‘all clear’ for the first few months of pregnancy to continue bedroom activities, Criston half believed Maesters said so to help them keep their husband’s attentions, but the Princess immediately took to sleeping alone. Perhaps out of fear for what happened to her mother, but the words she spoke on the boat ride back to Kinglanding when the betrothed was confirmed came to mind.

The Princess, likely knowing she could not stop Laenor without humiliation, gave the man leave to sleep with who he pleased. And her betrothed, in return gave his. She pulled away from the bridal bed knowing he’d fall into past habits, but what of her? Had the Princess taken a lover and Criston hadn’t noticed? Such a thought was ridiculous, she was watched at all hours of the day and he made sure she got to her rooms every night. The only time she wasn’t sleeping and there weren’t countless eyes on her, was when she was with the Queen and she’d never allow anything wanton to happen around the Princess. It also helped that her children came out with Velaryon skin and curls.

Criston was comfortable that Rhaenyra only took comfort in the Queen, her handmaidens and the Lady Laena after she married Ser Harwin. No man, other than the King, was closer to the Princess than her Ser Cole. That was until Prince Daemon returned.

The man had left on the second day of the Wedding Celebrations and few were more pleased than Criston, but now he was back. Sure, he looked ill, but that only worked in his favour as Daemon’s poor health endeared him to the Princess and King, the only one who openly showed a distaste for his resurface was the Queen. If not for his loyalties to the Princess, Criston was certain that he would suit well as the Queen’s protector.

While standing outside the Queen’s chambers, guarding the precious riches of true friendship, Daemon approaches him with his usual swagger.

“So you remain my niece’s shadow, Ser Crispin. How fortunate for you,” because, unlike Lonmouth, Daemon didn’t hesitate to speak with Criston.

Staring straight ahead, he tries not to look at the Prince to help his restraint, “My services have been noted and my duties assigned accordingly.”

“By who? Rhaenyra, my brother… or perhaps, Alicent Cunttower?”

His words cause Criston to pull his sword out and point it at Daemon, “Hold your tongue, insults to the Queen will not go unanswered, especially by a man as vile as you.”

“I don’t believe you even know, do you?” The Prince chuckles, pushing the sword aside with the back of his hand. The blade cuts him, leaving a thin bleeding slice, yet the man appears unaffected.

Daemon’s face morphs into an expression of pure malice and devilry and without hesitation, grabs the door handle by Criston’s side, swinging it open. The man immediately turns to slam the door shut when his eyes unconsciously glide over to the Princess. Criston’s eyes widen in horror and betrayal as he sees her and the Queen in states of undress on the bed, limbs tangled.

Rhaenyra springs away, pulling the front of her dress up, but it’s too late. Before a word or sound can escape Criston’s lungs, a sharp pain shoots from them. Looking down, he sees the end of a sword sticking out from his chest.

Daemon pulls Dark Sister back out, wiping it clean and sheathing it. All Ser Cole can do is fall to his knees as his strength bleeds out of him, his eyes meeting Rhaenyra’s and not leaving her even as the world around him starts to darken. He slumps to the floor and the world is without Ser Cole.

The Prince drags the body into the room, kicking the door closed behind him, while Alicent and Rhaenyra fix their clothes. His niece rushes over to him, whispering with only sharp edges, “What were you thinking? Why would you do that?”

“I was protecting you,” Daemon doesn’t lower his volume at all, “I could see the way he looked at you, at your husband and his dear knight. He was ready to strike, a trap ready to be triggered at the lightest of touches. I just did you a favour.”

The sound of a slap bounces off the walls and Alicent has to stifle a gasp. Rhaenyra’s hand stings, leaving an angry red mark on Daemon’s face, “You did that to fulfil your own desires, to avenge a years-old grudge. Do not claim to be dispassionate. You are like a cat bringing its owner a dead bird, brandishing it like a grand tribute. You did not think of me, only of yourself, like you always have. Iksan iā mittys. Kesā dōrī arlinnon, Kepus.”

I am a fool. You will never change, Uncle.

“Īles iā nāpāstre. Daorun ruarza iksin ȳgha. Nyke mīsagon ao se aōha jorrāelagon. Iā kirimvose nyke hae naejot rȳbagon hen aōha relgos .”

He was a traitor. Nothing hidden was safe. I protect you and your love. A thanks I like to hear from your mouth.

“We want you gone,” Alicent’s voice pierces the tension, “If one of us must say it, I will. Leave, Prince Daemon, your help is not needed or desired here.”

His eyes slowly migrate over to her, “And you believe you speak for Rhaenyra? You?”

“She does,” Daemon turns back to his niece, dumbfounded, “Do not appear before me again, unless you are a wholly changed man, no sooner.”

A burning pain starts coming from Daemon’s heart causing him to shake, a cold sweat breaks out across his skin and his breaths speed up, coming out in short bursts. Nausea and dizziness grow, causing his face to turn a sickly white. That’s when a feeling washes over him, the Gods have decided his time was up.

He looks into his niece’s eyes and sees apprehension, a little fear and worry, but not enough. Daemon stumbles back, tripping over Criston’s body. He fumbles with the doorknob until he finally manages to open it and slip out into the hallway. Alicent and Rhaenyra watch dazed and puzzled, before glancing at each other and then following after him at a distance.

He passes doors, people and hallways, his eyes set on one thing. Entering the throne room, Daemon’s gaze lands on the Iron Throne and with a bit more searching, finds Viserys standing nearby talking with his Hand. Slowly, painfully and as his vision starts to blur, Daemon muddles over to him.

“Lēkia,” he grasps onto Viserys, who gasps in concern.

Brother

“Daemon, what is the matter with you? Maester! Someone get Maester Mellos!”

The Rouge Prince collapses into the King’s arms just as Rhaenyra and Alicent enter. All bear witness as tears slip from the brothers’ eyes, falling down their cheeks.

“I’m sorry, brother. I was nothing but problems for you.”

“Stop this nonsense, at once I tell you.”

“You can’t command me just not to die.”

“I can, because you are not dying, Daemon!”

“I only ever wanted your attention.”

“You have it, you have it now.”

“I curse the Gods for making me the way they did.”

“I do not, brother, you are just as intended.”

“I have always been second, to everyone. Mother, Father, you, Rhaenyra. I am not even wanted by the Gods, they want my soul combined with another, and that is the only way they see me as worthy.”

“Daemon, you must stay calm. Don’t fall for any delirium your mind cooks, you must stay present.”

“I wanted… I always wanted you. I used to wish the Gods made me your sister, not your brother so that I could be your wife. I could be the one by your side always.”

“Please, stop this, I can’t lose you too.”

“Rhaenyra could have been ours, but not even she wants me now.”

“Daemon… please…”

“Viserys… just hold me, I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Never, I won’t ever let you go. Never again, you just have to live.”

“Lēkia… Avy jorrāelan…”

Brother

I love you

Viserys presses his forehead to Daemon’s, his tears falling onto his younger brother’s cheeks,

“Avy jorrāelan tolī.”

I love you too.

For the first time in decades, Daemon exists without pain, his soul full as acceptance wraps around him. His heart had stopped before the Maester could reach him. The Rouge Prince a rapidly cooling corpse sapping warmth from his wailing brother.

Something light and wet hits Rhaenyra’s collar. She looks down, confused to see a damp spot on the fabric. She’s crying, she realises. All anger having disappeared with Daemon’s last breath, Rhaenyra shuffles over to her father and collapses alongside him, her arms holding her uncle as best as they can.

Daemon is dead and everything is worse now.

Chapter Text

Months Later

The Year 117 AC sees the end of Prince Daemon and welcomes the eldest son of Laena Velaryon and Harwin Strong.

Caraxes’ cries were reportedly heard from Gulltown to Kingslanding. His grief caused many to cover their ears in fear of the beast bursting their eardrums. In a sight similar to that Queen Aemma had years ago, only now on Dragonstone, Rhaenyra commanded Syrax to burn Daemon’s body.

As the cinders still ran hot and burned orange, Caraxes flew down, wrapping his unnaturally long body around the ashen remains of his second rider. The people attending Daemon’s funeral then got to experience a dragon singing.

It was different from when he sang to Syrax, to charm and entice his mate, this was lower and slower. Caraxes was trying to sing the lullabies Daemon used to sing to him. But his disfigured vocal cords make it come out in a whistling gargle. So once again, Caraxes feels like he failed his rider. Couldn’t even sing him goodbye properly.

Daemon was far too long gone to find any comfort in the action of his dragon, but Viserys did. Caraxes’ mourning mirrored his own, it made him think of Balerion. Now watching the reverse of what happened to him, Viserys was certain that the only good way a rider could die was alongside their dragon.

A new member in the family isn’t enough to replace the pain Viserys feels, retreating into his rooms and his Old Valyria reconstruction. In fact, great extensions were made during that time, prompting the table and a couple of others designed as other cities from the lost empire, to be moved into a separate spare room. The King takes to sleeping on a few blankets and pillows on the floor in there most nights.

The Hand, Lord Lyonel Strong handles it, for a few weeks, but the work quickly overwhelms him and he asks for assistance from Rhaenyra. The loss pained her, but didn’t cripple her like it did her father. Together with Alicent, the three of them were able to rule the Seven Kingdoms effectively. Rhaenyra’s success at the task quieted a few traitorous whispers, not that she knew.

Heavy is the head that holds the crown and Rhaenyra understood the sentiment quickly, but a few kisses on her brow from Alicent certainly lightened it. As expected, an advisory position fit her Flame like a glove and the realm was better for it.

The girls became women, and the women became rulers and mothers. Few can balance the two efficiently, but that’s not their problem. Right now they have toddlers and babies, the real struggle comes later.

But that’s a story for another time.

During the Year 119 AC

Life, death and mourning is a rigorous cycle that Viserys had become greatly accustomed to. He had five uncles, and six aunts yet by adulthood he had one living uncle in the Citadel and two aunts in Kingslanding. At six and twenty, he became king without any aunts or uncles, no parents or grandparents.

He had his cousin, Rhaenys and her children. He had a wife and child, sweet Aemma and Realm’s Delight, Rhaenyra. Last of all, he had his brother, Daemon.

He mourned Aemma and married Alicent. From her, he got three children and he was at peace. But then Rhaenyra started having children and so did Laena. Suddenly, the Red Keep was overrun before he could realise what was happening.

There has never been a time more peaceful and chaotic within Viserys’ time as king. Eight children 5 years old and younger. Three were his and Alicent’s, two were Rhaenyra’s and another three were Laena and Ser Harwin’s.

Alyssa had taken a nurturing role, caring for the twin babies Baela & Rhaena, but it seemed she was treating them like highly realistic dolls rather than tiny people. Laena didn’t mind, she appreciated all the help she could get as her biggest problem was her eldest and only son, Valarr Strong, who had taken ‘terrible twos’ as a checklist rather than a suggestion of behaviours expected for his age.

The three 3-year-olds, Aemma and the twin boys were inseparable, where one went, the others followed. Which was great when they were playing, eating or sleeping, but if one started crying or having a tantrum, they all were. A scrapped knee would always result in screams, buckets of tears and a bit more of Viserys’ hair turning from white to grey.

That leaves… Haegon, who… No one was sure what Prince Haegon did most of the day. At age four, the boy still hadn’t expressed much interest in anything. He barely even spoke, not that he had a problem speaking, he just wouldn’t unless prompted. The only thing that would make him ‘act his age’ was when he found a new bug in the Keep or its grounds and the limited options were quickly being found with every passing day.

As if to add another layer to why Viserys felt out of his depths and old, all the children called him ‘Grandsire’ or ‘Gramp’ by the younger ones, even his own children, like Rhaenyra was their mother and he not their father. Maybe it was for the best as his health deteriorated with every passing day and he knew, he likely wouldn’t be there when his youngest reaches adulthood. That hurt almost as much as losing Aemma did. Now the Red Keep has another Aemma running about and every time she greets him, it heals his mind and hurts his soul.

Gods, he missed his baby brother.

AND THATS A WRAP!

My first completed fic, took me long enough. 

I hope you all enjoyed this read and if you’re interested in the story continuing, focusing on the children, let me know.

The children in question;

Alicent + Viserys;

Yr: 114 AC Alyssa

Yr: 115 AC Haegon

Yr: 116 AC Aemma

Rhaenyra + Laenor;

Yr: 116 AC Jaecerys & Lucerys

Yr: 121 AC Joffrey

Yr: 123 AC Aegor

Yr: 126 AC Viserys & Visenya

Harwin + Laena;

Yr: 117 AC Valarr Strong

Yr: 118 AC Baela & Rhaena

Yr: 121 AC Jocelyn

A hint of what could occur:

• Alyssa runs away to Essos to escape marriage to Haegon.

• Haegon dreams of his life in Canon and joins a witches coven?

• Aemma claims Caraxes and becomes a master swordswoman

• Jaecerys gets to become the king he was meant to be

• Lucerys becomes Lord of House Velaryon with Rhaena as a power couple 

• Valarr rebuilds Harrenhal to woo a princess 

• Baela ascends to Queenhood as she should, no cheating husbands here

• Rhaena runs the oceans with an iron fist and dragon as a parrot

• Jocelyn becomes a witch and un curses Harrenhal

• Joffrey follows in his namesake’s footsteps and joins the Queensguard

• Aegor admires Alyssa too much, runs away and somehow brings Dorne into Targaryen rule

• Viserys is adored by his namesake and gets the man’s Lego set after he dies

• Visenya fails to break the cycle of Targaryen princesses getting pregnant too young so that’s not fun

Thank you all for your support during the writing and after completion.