#Daemon Targaryen an annoying little brother and an exhausted father

[godofstory]

last tweet's source: this post

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (flight of fancy)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: peace is a Targaryen illusion

- Next part: unplanned, unbroken

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @misspendragonsworld

The dining hall was filled with the clinking of silverware and the low murmur of conversation as your family finally gathered for a quiet meal. Tyland, visibly relieved to have everyone safely back at Casterly Rock, was halfway through his meal, savoring the rare moment of calm.

Young Daemon and Alyssa, fresh from their impromptu dragon race across Westeros, were seated across from you, looking a little too smug and, frankly, a little too energized. You had just leaned over to refill Tyland’s goblet when Daemon piped up, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“So, Mother, Father,” he began casually, his tone far too innocent, “you’ll never guess who we encountered on our way to Storm’s End.”

Tyland paused, fork halfway to his mouth, giving his son a wary look. “Oh? Do tell.”

Alyssa leaned forward, grinning. “Uncle Aemond. He was on Vhagar.”

The entire hall seemed to freeze for a split second. Tyland’s fork dropped back onto his plate with a clatter as he processed what his daughter had just said.

“Uncle... Aemond,” he repeated slowly, as if hoping he’d misheard. “On... Vhagar. And what, precisely, did you do?”

Daemon shrugged, taking a bite of bread with the most casual expression in the world. “Nothing much, really. Just raced him a little. Played with him in the sky. You know, family bonding.”

Tyland’s mouth opened, then closed, as if he was trying to find the right response and failing spectacularly. “Family... bonding? With Aemond? While riding Vhagar?”

Alyssa nodded enthusiastically, barely containing her laughter. “Oh, yes. Vhagar looked a bit annoyed with us, actually. At one point, she even crashed into one of Storm’s End’s towers. It was a... close encounter.”

Tyland visibly paled, his hand slowly lowering the goblet he’d been about to drink from. “You’re telling me that you... you crashed Aemond and Vhagar into Storm’s End?”

Daemon snorted, trying to hide a grin. “Oh, it was just a nudge, really. Viseron and Grey Ghost were simply showing her who’s faster.”

Alyssa leaned in, looking far too pleased with herself. “Uncle Aemond didn’t seem to take it well. He was shouting, something about us ‘interfering with his duties.’” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Honestly, he could stand to loosen up a bit.”

Tyland pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. “Loosen up… loosen up. My children ‘nudged’ the largest dragon in Westeros into a tower and left their half-uncle seething. This is what they call a ‘casual encounter.’”

You hid a smirk, nudging him gently. “They’re just proving themselves as true Targaryens, Tyland. It’s tradition.”

Tyland shot you a look that was half-amused, half-pleading. “Tradition? This family’s ‘traditions’ are going to be the end of me.” He turned back to the kids, his voice a touch more serious. “And what if Aemond had, oh, I don’t know... retaliated?”

Daemon scoffed, waving a hand. “Oh, please, Father. We had it all under control. Besides, Aemond doesn’t scare that easily. Well, he does when Grey Ghost and Viseron team up against Vhagar.”

Alyssa snickered, giving her brother a fist bump. “Did you see his face when he realized we’d turned back west and left him behind?”

Tyland let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. “Wonderful. My children are causing diplomatic incidents in midair and taunting their half-uncle on the largest dragon in Westeros. I can already hear the ravens arriving with complaints.”

You chuckled, placing a hand over Tyland’s and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Look at it this way, love. They’re just proving that they can handle themselves—and maybe teach Aemond a lesson in humility along the way.”

Tyland looked at you, his mouth quirking in a resigned smile. “Handling themselves is one thing. Turning Storm’s End into a battlefield because they thought it’d be ‘fun’ is another.”

Daemon and Alyssa exchanged grins, entirely unfazed by their father’s distress. Alyssa leaned back, stretching her arms with a satisfied sigh. “Well, I suppose we should be proud, right? Not every day you send Vhagar and Aemond scrambling.”

Tyland shook his head, but a reluctant smile crept onto his face as he watched his children, clearly too proud to stay mad. “Only my children would consider taunting Aemond and Vhagar to be an afternoon sport.”

Daemon shrugged with a grin. “We aim to keep things interesting, Father.”

With a sigh and a chuckle, Tyland raised his goblet in a toast, the last of his frustrations melting away. “To interesting times, then. May we survive them.”

And as laughter filled the hall, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for your children—and a little sympathy for Aemond, who was likely still picking pieces of Storm’s End out of his armor.

When Aemond returned to King’s Landing, the mood was anything but light. He stormed into the Red Keep, his one eye blazing with fury and his armor still flecked with bits of stone and dust from his less-than-graceful landing at Storm’s End. It was all he could do to grit his teeth as servants scrambled to clear a path for him, and more than a few cast nervous glances at the faint scorch marks on his cloak, courtesy of Vhagar’s impatient maneuvers.

By the time he reached the council chambers, where his mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, his grandsire Otto Hightower, and his brother, King Aegon, were gathered, Aemond was practically vibrating with frustration.

Alicent looked up, immediately noticing his disheveled appearance. “Aemond,” she gasped, rushing to him with concern. “What happened? You look as though you’ve flown through a storm.”

“Or into one,” Aegon snickered, lounging on his chair and looking thoroughly amused. He took in the state of his brother’s attire, eyebrow raised. “Care to explain why you look like a tower fell on you, dear brother?”

Aemond shot Aegon a glare that could have curdled milk. “Because a tower did fall on me, thanks to those meddling Lannister-Targaryen whelps,” he spat. “Tyland’s children. They intercepted me on my way to Storm’s End and decided it would be… amusing to taunt me and Vhagar.”

Otto leaned forward, his expression tightening. “Tyland’s children? Alyssa and young Daemon? What were they doing near Storm’s End?”

“Apparently using it as their personal racetrack,” Aemond growled, crossing his arms. “They swooped in, taunted me, and made a mockery of the whole situation. And Vhagar... well, she’s not exactly designed for their little games. The result was... less than dignified.”

Aegon burst out laughing, unable to contain himself. “So, let me get this straight—two Lannister’s on smaller dragons managed to rile up Vhagar and get you to crash into a tower?” He shook his head, chuckling. “Oh, Aemond, that is rich. I would have paid good coin to see that.”

Aemond’s glare deepened, his face turning a shade of red that would have made a dragon proud. “Laugh all you want, but Lord Borros was less than pleased to find half of his tower crumbled on account of my... ‘landing.’ He was ranting about ‘disrespect to his castle’ and demanded to know how I would compensate him for the repairs.”

Otto sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “Wonderful. So not only did you fail to complete your task without incident, but now we have a disgruntled Baratheon to appease.”

Alicent looked pained, glancing between her sons. “Aemond, I don’t understand why Tyland’s children would risk such an encounter. Surely they knew what... difficulties this could cause?”

Aemond threw his hands up in exasperation. “Difficulties? They were enjoying themselves! Laughing and darting around Vhagar like it was all a game. They even called it ‘family bonding’ as they maneuvered her into the tower.”

Aegon couldn’t help himself; he laughed even harder. “They called it ‘family bonding’? Gods, that’s brilliant. I’m beginning to like these two more and more.”

Otto’s face tightened with displeasure as he looked over at Aegon, his voice cold. “This is not a laughing matter, Aegon. These antics are not only reckless but a direct challenge to your rule. Tyland’s children mocking Aemond? What message does that send to our allies?”

Aegon shrugged, still grinning. “Perhaps that my dear brother needs to learn how to handle a bit of friendly family rivalry.” He smirked at Aemond, clearly relishing his discomfort. “Or at least learn how to keep his dragon from knocking down a tower.”

Alicent placed a calming hand on Aemond’s shoulder, though her expression was laced with worry. “Aemond, perhaps it would be wise to consider this an isolated incident. The Lannister children… well, they are still young like you. Surely they meant no true harm.”

Aemond huffed, his jaw clenched. “Young or not, they’re Tyland’s children, and they need to learn respect.” He shot Otto a look of simmering anger. “And if they’re this bold now, who’s to say what they’ll do next?”

Otto nodded, looking thoughtful. “We’ll need to consider this carefully. An alliance with the Baratheons could be at risk if Lord Borros feels slighted by the royal family’s behavior.”

Aegon snickered, leaning back in his seat. “Perhaps we send Aemond back with a new tower for Lord Borros. Maybe he can make it there without another collision.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, and he looked ready to launch into a full-blown tirade. But before he could, Otto raised a hand to silence him. “Enough. We will handle the Baratheons diplomatically. And Aemond,” Otto added with a warning look, “perhaps it’s time to rethink how we engage with our kin in these... unexpected encounters.”

Aemond muttered something dark under his breath, but nodded reluctantly. Meanwhile, Aegon, still thoroughly entertained, leaned over to Alicent with a smirk.

“Mother, I do believe these Targaryen-Lannister whelps might just become my favorite relatives,” he whispered, chuckling as he watched Aemond sulk in his chair, stone dust still clinging to his armor.

And so, with a mix of frustration and laughter, the council dispersed, leaving Aemond fuming and Aegon thoroughly amused. Aegon couldn’t resist one last jab as they exited the hall. “Next time, dear brother, try keeping up with our nephew and niece, eh?”

The sun was setting over the gardens of Casterly Rock as you strolled arm-in-arm with Tyland. For once, everything seemed peaceful. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and Tyland was even smiling, a rare look of pure contentment on his face.

“Isn’t it nice?” he murmured, squeezing your hand as you walked down the garden path. “Just the two of us, no interruptions, no sheep falling from the sky…”

You chuckled, leaning into him. “Yes, it is rare, isn’t it? Just us.”

He paused, looking down at you with a soft smile. “I’ve missed these moments with you. Sometimes it feels as if we’re surrounded by chaos—dragons, children, Targaryen family politics…”

“Ah,” you teased, “but you love it. Admit it. Life would be dull without a little Targaryen chaos.”

Tyland gave you a look that was half amused, half resigned. “Perhaps I could manage with a little less of it.”

Just as he leaned in, ready to kiss you, a loud rumble shook the ground, followed by a resounding crash that echoed through the garden. Tyland froze, his shoulders slumping. “Please tell me that was just thunder,” he muttered, though he didn’t sound remotely convinced.

You turned toward the noise, sighing. “That was definitely not thunder.”

As if on cue, Viseron’s massive, bronze-scaled head appeared over a nearby hedge, his golden-green eyes gleaming with mischief. He was holding something in his jaws, and as he lowered his head, it became clear it was… the statue of some old Lannister ancestor, now missing its head.

Tyland groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for the love of… not again, Viseron!”

Viseron let out a low rumble that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, dropping the statue in the middle of the garden path with a heavy thud. Dust flew up, coating a few delicate rose bushes, which made the dragon’s antics all the more pronounced.

“Lovely,” Tyland muttered, waving a hand to clear the dust. “It was one of our finest statues, and now it’s... well, it’s headless.”

Viseron, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, nudged the statue’s decapitated head closer to Tyland, as if offering a gift. The dragon’s eyes sparkled with a hint of defiance, almost as if he were daring Tyland to scold him.

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. “I think he’s trying to say he’s... helping.”

Tyland gave you a long-suffering look. “Helping? How is this helping?”

You shrugged, grinning. “Who’s to say he doesn’t just appreciate a little remodeling?”

Viseron gave an indignant huff, his nostrils flaring as he nudged the statue head even closer, nearly knocking Tyland off his feet. Tyland stumbled backward, clutching your arm for balance, and muttered, “At this rate, he’ll take down all of Casterly Rock.”

You laughed, patting Viseron’s massive muzzle. “Well, maybe he thought your ancestor looked a bit too... serious.”

Tyland shook his head, clearly torn between annoyance and reluctant amusement. “He’s giving the courtyard a ‘Targaryen touch,’ isn’t he?”

You nodded, patting Tyland’s arm. “Consider it a new kind of alliance, love. Lannister architecture meets Targaryen... flair.”

Viseron let out a satisfied rumble, seeming very pleased with your endorsement. He lifted his head back up, looking around the garden with an air of triumph, as if assessing what else could use a bit of “improvement.”

Tyland held up a hand, his voice rising slightly. “Oh no, that’s quite enough for one day, Viseron. Unless you’re planning to take on the pruning, I’d suggest you... find a quieter way to amuse yourself.”

But Viseron only tilted his head, giving Tyland a pointed look that seemed to say, You can’t stop me, before lumbering back through the garden, his tail knocking over a few decorative urns as he went.

You laughed, pulling Tyland close as you watched the dragon disappear. “There’s never a dull moment, is there?”

Tyland sighed, glancing down at you with a rueful smile. “Not with you, my love. And yet... I suppose I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As you watched Viseron disappear back into the depths of the gardens, causing a few more ominous crashes along the way, you turned to Tyland with a gleam in your eye. “You know,” you began, your voice playful, “since Viseron seems to have taken over the garden, why don’t we go somewhere he can’t interrupt? Silverwing’s nearby… we could go flying together.”

Tyland’s face went pale, his eyes widening in horror as he took an instinctive step back. “Flying? Now? With you… in your condition?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Tyland, I was on dragonback through both of my previous pregnancies.”

He swallowed, trying desperately to come up with a reasonable excuse. “Yes, but… that was different. You were… well, not at war, or… necessary travel. Right now, we’re just… at home. Grounded! Quite literally. No need to be… airborne.”

You laughed, taking his hand. “Come now, Silverwing is as gentle as can be. She adores me, and besides…” you leaned in closer, “she loves you too.”

Tyland gave a strangled sort of laugh, his expression dubious. “Loves me? I’m convinced she’s been eyeing me as a mid-afternoon snack ever since we fled King’s Landing.” He shuddered, clearly remembering the many close encounters with your dragon’s intense, unblinking gaze. “The last time she looked at me, I swear she was… sizing me up.”

“Tyland,” you teased, rolling your eyes, “Silverwing is not going to eat you. She’s sweet and patient. She’d never harm a hair on your head.”

“That’s what you think,” he muttered, his tone a mixture of resignation and barely hidden dread. “But every time I’m near her, she looks at me like… well, like she’s reconsidering.”

You stifled a laugh, looping your arm through his and giving him a reassuring pat. “She only looked at you that way because you were so tense the last time. You know, dragons pick up on fear.”

Tyland gave a resigned sigh, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting Silverwing to suddenly materialize behind him. “Fear or not, I can’t shake the feeling she’s just waiting for the right moment.”

“Well,” you said, unable to hide your amusement, “there’s only one way to get over that, isn’t there? A nice, peaceful flight together.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, and he gave you a pleading look, as if hoping you might reconsider. “Are you… entirely sure we can’t just go for a stroll instead? A grounded stroll. A quiet one. No dragons involved?”

“Tyland,” you said, leaning in close and giving him a playful nudge, “you’re my husband, the father of dragons. It’s time you embraced your destiny.”

He looked at you, his face a mixture of exasperation and reluctant fondness. “A stroll with Targaryens and their dragons always ends in flight, doesn’t it?”

You only grinned, taking his hand firmly as you began leading him toward the nearby cliffside where Silverwing often sunbathed. “Come on, love. She’ll be thrilled to see you. You might even find you enjoy it.”

Tyland let out a long-suffering sigh, following you with all the air of a man resigned to his fate. “If I end up in her stomach, please tell the children I fought bravely.”

You laughed, giving his hand a squeeze. “Trust me, by the end of this flight, you’ll wonder why you ever hesitated.”

But as Silverwing lifted her head, greeting you with a gentle rumble, Tyland shot her a wary glance, muttering under his breath. “Yes, thrilled to see me. Or thrilled at the thought of finally having me to herself in the sky…”

And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh as the three of you prepared for another unforgettable Targaryen-Lannister adventure.

As you and Tyland made your way toward the rocky cliffs where Silverwing was basking in the afternoon sun, Tyland’s steps grew slower and more hesitant. He shot you a sideways glance, his brows knitted with apprehension. “You know,” he murmured, “I think Silverwing looks perfectly comfortable here on her own. Perhaps it’s best we don’t disturb her…”

You laughed, tightening your hold on his arm and pulling him forward. “Tyland, she’s a dragon. If she didn’t want to be disturbed, we’d know it.”

Silverwing lay sprawled across the rocks, her scales gleaming in the sunlight. Her head was resting on a ledge, one massive eye closed in what seemed to be a blissful nap. But as you approached, that eye cracked open, and she fixed her gaze on Tyland.

Tyland tensed, immediately taking a step back. “Ah, see? She’s looking at me again,” he whispered, his tone slightly panicked. “It’s like she knows I didn’t want to come.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging him closer. “She’s just curious, that’s all. Besides, she likes you, Tyland. She knows you’re part of the family.”

“Part of the family? Or part of the menu?” he muttered, eyeing Silverwing as she let out a slow, rumbling sound that echoed through the rocks.

As if sensing his discomfort, Silverwing tilted her head slightly, her eye narrowing with what almost looked like amusement. You stroked her snout gently, murmuring a few soft words in Valyrian, and Silverwing let out a low rumble, her gaze shifting from you to Tyland and back again.

“See?” you said, giving Tyland an encouraging smile. “She’s perfectly relaxed.”

Tyland looked anything but convinced. “Relaxed, yes. She’s probably thinking about how best to… savor the experience.”

You stifled a laugh. “Tyland, Silverwing is a dragon of peace. She’s sweet, gentle, and not at all inclined toward… dining on family members.”

He gave you a skeptical look. “Then why is she eyeing me like that? I feel like she’s assessing my… flavor profile.”

Ignoring his theatrics, you took his hand and led him closer to Silverwing, who watched his approach with mild interest. As he neared, Tyland took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. “Right,” he muttered under his breath. “Just a harmless, massive dragon. Nothing to worry about.”

Silverwing let out another low rumble, lifting her head slightly as if inviting you both to approach. You gave her a reassuring pat, then turned to Tyland, smiling. “See? She’s being welcoming.”

Tyland swallowed, casting a wary glance up at Silverwing. “Yes, welcoming. Very… welcoming. But forgive me if I don’t interpret ‘welcoming’ as hovering one’s teeth at face level.”

You laughed, motioning for him to take your hand as you prepared to mount Silverwing’s saddle. “Come on, love. It’s not so bad once you’re up there. Just… hold on tight.”

With a mixture of resignation and reluctance, Tyland climbed up behind you, his arms locking around your waist with a grip that could probably bend steel. “I’m holding on, alright,” he muttered. “You’ll be prying me off when this is over.”

Silverwing adjusted beneath you, her wings stretching slightly as she prepared for takeoff. Tyland’s breath hitched, and he muttered something about making peace with the gods. “I swear,” he whispered into your ear, “if we make it back alive, I’ll never complain about garden strolls again.”

You chuckled, reaching back to squeeze his hand. “Relax, Tyland. Silverwing’s going to give you the smoothest ride you’ve ever had.”

Silverwing let out one final, rumbling sound, as if to say Let’s show him, before launching into the air with a graceful leap. Tyland’s startled yelp was lost in the wind as you both soared over Casterly Rock, his grip tightening as he clung to you for dear life.

The servants and guards of Casterly Rock had grown somewhat accustomed to the unusual since the Targaryen family had made their “extended visit.” They’d endured dragons sunbathing on walls, sheep being used as airborne toys, and the occasional charred walls. But today’s spectacle was a new level of… chaotic entertainment.

As Silverwing soared above Casterly Rock, carrying both you and a very vocal Tyland, the courtyard below erupted with activity. Servants peered up, shielding their eyes against the sun, while guards squinted, some rubbing their temples as if questioning what they were seeing.

“Is that… is that Lord Tyland?” one guard murmured, his brow furrowing as he strained to see. “Is he… screaming?”

Another guard, stifling a grin, nodded. “Aye. Clear as day, that’s our lord up there. Not quite as regal as I’d have imagined him on dragonback, though.”

“Looks more like he’s holding on for dear life than enjoying himself,” a maid observed, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and amusement. “I didn’t even know Lord Tyland could scream that high.”

Meanwhile, Alyssa and young Daemon were in the courtyard, preparing to take off on their own dragons. They both looked skyward, watching with glee as Silverwing swooped and glided above, their father’s increasingly desperate yelps echoing down to the assembled crowd.

“Do you think Father’s enjoying himself?” Alyssa asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Young Daemon shrugged, grinning. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it once he’s back on solid ground. Besides, Mother’s with him. What could go wrong?”

One of the stable boys shook his head, unable to suppress his laughter. “Your father looks like he’s just seen the Stranger himself up there. If he survives this, I’m betting he won’t be eager to go flying again anytime soon.”

Just then, another particularly loud scream floated down, followed by what sounded suspiciously like “Put me down!��

A few of the castle cooks, who had ventured outside to witness the commotion, exchanged knowing looks. “He’s braver than I gave him credit for,” one said with a chuckle, “but I wager he’ll be needing a strong drink after this.”

The older castle steward, who had seen his fair share of Lannister antics over the years, folded his arms, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Well, it’s not every day we get to see our lord acting like a nervous kitten. He’ll be back with his feet on the ground soon enough. Though… I don’t suppose anyone’s told him about the dragons his children are preparing to take out next?”

At that moment, Alyssa mounted Grey Ghost, giving a final check of her saddle before looking up at her father with an impish grin. “Good luck, Father!” she shouted, her voice barely carrying to the airborne figures. “You’ll be a true Targaryen in no time!”

Young Daemon climbed onto Viseron, offering his own enthusiastic wave. “Hang on tight, Father! The second flight’s always the hardest!”

The guards stifled chuckles as Tyland’s scream floated down again, this time with a barely coherent, “This isn’t… necessary!”

One of the handmaidens leaned in toward her friend, snickering. “I’ve never seen Lord Tyland look quite so… vulnerable. Poor man thought marrying a Targaryen would be the end of his adventures. Little did he know.”

The steward chuckled, shaking his head. “I dare say he’ll survive. And I suppose we’ll be dealing with dragon antics for a long while yet. Best get used to it.”

As Silverwing circled once more, Tyland’s final desperate shout of “Ground! I need ground!” echoed over the entire castle, met with the resounding laughter of his children and the barely concealed smiles of every servant and guard below.

In the end, Casterly Rock’s staff had one more tale to tell about their lord and his Targaryen wife—a tale that would undoubtedly grow in amusement with every retelling.

[asoiafdrabbles]

I.37

Rheagar greets his new son.

Rhaegar/Elia (Rhaegar Won AU)

A son. He had another son.

Rhaegar took the boy from the wetnurse, staring down at his long face. He already had tufts of dark hair and his eyes were very dark, though they seemed more grey than purple. Lyanna's son.

She'd jokingly told him it would be a boy more than once, but he'd dismissed it, sure of his interpretations of the prophecies.

He'd been wrong before, thinking he was the Prince That Was Promised and he has been wrong again, thinking the three heads of the dragon would perfectly mirror the Aegon I and his sister-wives.

Perhaps it was Rhaenys who was the promised one, meant to turn Westeros on its head by marrying her two brothers? He did not know, perhaps would never know, what having a second son meant.

Half-brothers were often trouble in their family's history, though the same could be said about full-siblings, he supposed. Certainly comparisons to Daemon Blackfyre would not be allowed, or valid, as Rhaegar had married Lyanna before the High Septon himself and he would not be favoring this boy over his heir nor allowing any rumors to fester that Aegon wasn't legitimate.

"We've been calling him Jon, your grace. Lyanna...she...wasn't sure what to name him."

Rhaegar looked back up at the other adults, eyes locking on the cold face of Eddard Stark. He'd gone to fetch his sister and instead found her dying. Rhaegar had only lost his father to the war (and that was a beneficial loss that few would mourn), he could not imagine what Lord Stark was going through.

"Jon? Is there a reason for that?" Certainly his Jon, Lord Connington, on his way back from exile in Essos, could be a namesake.

"For Jon Arryn, your grace, and King Jon Stark, our ancestor."

Naming a Targaryen prince who looked like a Stark after a King of Winter didn't really sit well with Rhaegar. His son was ice and fire, would be needed in the coming war, but he could never be allowed to forget he was a dragon.

"I do not know if it would be wise to name him such, my lord. Though certainly as a nickname it could suffice."

Lord Stark gave no indication as to whether that displeased him, though there was some unnameable emotion in his eyes whenever he looked at the babe.

"You will, of course, be welcome to visit to know him as he grows, and his other uncle and future cousins, as well."

That gained a shaky nod. "My thanks, your grace." Stark looked behind him, at the exhausted looking band of Northerners and Kingsguard. "If it pleases you, we could all use a chance to clean and rest."

"Of course." Rhaegar waved them on, exchanging a glance with Arthur that meant they had much to talk of, then retreated to the nursery.

Rhaenys was most likely with her mother or perhaps having an adventure with her caretakers, but Aegon was resting fitfully in his crib.

"I bring you your little brother, my son," Rhaegar murmured, holding the babe in his arms out to his curious heir.

After a bit of poking and prodding, which Lyanna's son took as stoically as he had everything else, Aegon seemed content to simply grip the babe's foot and watch them.

"I think I shall name him Aemon, after our uncle, would you like that?" Neither of them gave any response. "Many Aegon's have had an Aemon for a brother and many Aemon's have been great brothers at that." He hoped their relationship would be far different than Aegon IV and the Dragonknight's, but even that Aemon had sacrificed himself for his king.

"That's Lyanna's child?" Elia's voice startled him and he turned, pulling Aemon away from Aegon and causing the older boy to whine. "Yes, I can already tell how much he takes after her."

Rhaenys was there now, too, and she demanded to hold her newest brother. Once they'd gotten her seated, Rhaegar carefully set him on her lap and went to speak to his first wife, a nursemaid watching over the children.

"Your third head of the dragon. I thought you wanted a girl." There was an edge to her voice and he winced.

"Lyanna thought she was having a boy. She was right, as she normally was with these things."

"Would that it was men that died from childbirth and she and I could rule together."

The humor was dark, wry, hiding the grief in Elia's eyes. She had only met Lyanna briefly, but she had liked her, more than Rhaegar himself had. To him, she was the ice to his fire, the woman he was destined to have a child with. Elia had accused him of not seeing her as a person, as a naive child, and it was only now, knowing her bones laid in a box traveling North and her child would grow up never knowing her that he knew Elia was right.

He'd thought their grand destiny meant Lyanna would be here with them, but he'd also thought it meant she would give him a daughter.

"It will be good for Aegon to have a brother so close to his age. It is difficult to make friends, as heir to the throne."

Elia nodded, collecting her son and watching her daughter and step-son. "We will need to tell him of Lyanna, others won't let him grow up thinking I am his birth mother."

"But you will be a mother to him?"

She gave him a scathing look, the one that always made him feel as though her family sigil was close to the truth, as well. "We already agreed to that. Lyanna and I had agreed we would work together. I will not go back on my promises to her."

Not because you've ruined everything, went unsaid.

Rhaegar simply nodded, stroking Aegon's hair one last time before seeing himself out. He still had to meet with Arthur and the others, find out all the details of what happened, and...and hear of Lyanna's final days. She had been a Queen for a time, even if she'd never gone through the coronation, and she deserved the respect that entailed.

Notes: While there are plenty of them that I like, I tend to get annoyed at the seemingly accepted premise that Rhaegar would be disappointed Lyanna had a son instead of a daughter. Even if there was a prophecy pushing for him to have a second daughter, he'd canonically readjusted his views on prophecies at least once before with the PTWP. Anyway, I think he would have just rolled with it.

I also find it hard to believe he, who was seemingly at least somewhat political savvy, wouldn't have gotten some sort of agreement from Elia about having a mistress, if not a second wife. And she, who surely must have been politically savvy herself given her mother and siblings, would have probably known when it's better to give in to have leverage later. And Lyanna was like fifteen and Elia doesn't sound like a monster, and a Dornishwoman would surely know to blame the married, older, way more powerful dude instead of the weaker, younger girl.