faenyra

[faenyra]

Flames

Chapter 1 | word count: 3.3k | The Priestess series

Synopsis: Upon arriving in the politically charged environment of King’s Landing, you navigate the complexities of loyalty and ambition, drawing attention as a mysterious figure. Your prophecies attract the interest of King Jaehaerys Targaryen, where you reveal the threats facing his house, fostering an alliance with Queen Alysanne, who sees the value of collaboration amidst ambition.

༺☆༻_☾✧ ✩ ✧☽_༺☆༻

You were a red priestess, hailing from the shadowy realm of Asshai, a place steeped in mystery and whispers of ancient sorcery. Born from a lineage that traces its roots back to the fabled city of Old Valyria, your blood pulses with the remnants of dragons and fire.

In your early years, you were immersed in the arcane traditions of your ancestors, the flickering flame of the sacred pyres became your first tutor. The flickering shadows whispered secrets only the most devoted could grasp, revealing the divine knowledge of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. The crimson robes you donned were not just garments, they were symbols of the weighty responsibility you bore as a vessel of flames and prophecies.

As you matured, your visions grew more intense, flashes of a world on the brink of chaos and a cycle of rebirth that echoed through the ages. You perceived the dance of fate as a tapestry woven from the threads of passion, ambition, and despair, with each moment pregnant with possibility. You understood that your destiny was not merely to serve the flame but to guide it, to forge paths for the lost and illuminate the shadows of doubt.

Often, you would stand upon the shores of the Shadow Lands, gazing into the swirling mists that concealed whispers of the past. Tales of dragons rising once again and ancient powers stirring from their slumber filled your thoughts. Many sought you out for guidance, hoping to uncover their own destinies or to find the strength to confront their fears. Each encounter strengthens your resolve, birthing an understanding that knowledge came not without sacrifice.

In a world plagued by darkness and treachery, you ventured beyond the borders of Asshai, journeying to distant lands where your teachings and prophecies could also flourish. You stood before lords and ladies, armies and peasants alike, offering insights that rattled their very foundations. Each flame you kindled ignited the hearts of the faithful and ignited fear in the hearts of those who sought power for themselves.

Driven by visions of both hope and despair, you walked a fine line between light and shadow, wielding your influence with a deft touch. 

Would you herald a renaissance of hope, or would you usher in a tempest that would consume all in its path? The weight of choice bore down upon you, a constant reminder that even the fiercest fire could burn those who could not command it.

In your heart, you harbored the knowledge that the shadows do not merely conceal, they reveal. For within the veils of night lay secrets long forgotten, waiting for a brave soul to unearth them and shape the world's fate anew. 

As a red priestess, the flame was not just power, it was a legacy, a chain that connected you to both the past and the future, waiting for the right moment to unleash its fire upon the world anew.

You had been chosen by the esteemed Red Council of Priests, a revered assembly of spiritual leaders and mystics, to undertake a momentous journey across the turbulent seas to the lands of Westeros. 

Your mission is of the utmost importance: to safeguard the growing Targaryen dynasty, for destruction. The flames had whispered to you, revealing haunting visions of destruction and despair that would soon loom over the mighty house. The Targaryens, a lineage ruled by the fire and blood of the dragons, were one of the very few families that had escaped the great destruction of Valyria. 

Their now growing legacy will be jeopardized by betrayal, war, and the relentless pursuit of power by rivals within the castle walls. The Council has foreseen another doom lurking in the shadows, and believed that only you possessed the wisdom, guidance, and determination necessary to steer the Targaryens away from annihilation.

To start your journey, you caught a merchant boat that swayed gently upon the waves, its course set firmly towards the bustling heart of Westeros, King’s Landing. The salty breeze whipped through your hair, a reminder of the journey ahead, and of the weighty purpose that drove you forth. 

As the boat crested a wave, the silhouette of the Red Keep began to emerge on the horizon, its tall spires piercing the sky, a symbol of both majesty and turmoil. King’s Landing was a city alive with ambition and treachery, where the very air crackled with intrigue. 

A place where alliances were forged in shadows, and the clinking of gold coins echoed louder than the songs of bards.

You understood the risks that awaited you. 

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

As the boat docked at the bustling port, the scents of spices, smoke, and sea salt wrapped around you like a cloak. The noise of merchants hawking their wares, the shouts of sailors unloading cargo, and the distant calls of gulls created a chaotic symphony that heralded the arrival of yet another day in the capital.

Stepping ashore, you felt the ground firm beneath your feet. Here, amidst the throngs of people, was your opportunity to weave the threads of destiny. 

The deep crimson dress you wore cascaded around you like a flowing river of blood, its rich fabric a bold statement amidst the muted colors of King’s Landing. Hood drawn low over your face, you became a figure cloaked in shadows, an enigmatic presence that sparked curiosity and speculation among those who passed.

As you navigated the bustling streets, the vibrant market square filled with vendors, mercenaries, and common folk, you could sense eyes upon you. Whispers rumbled through the crowd, casting curious glances your way, mingling with the shouts of merchants and the clatter of animal hooves against cobblestones. Your attire, the hue of sunset in a world often dulled by despair, drew attention, but it was the air of authority and determination in your posture that truly captivated those nearby.

As you approached the towering gates of the Red Keep, your heart raced with a blend of anticipation and trepidation. The air inside was thick with history, the stone walls whispering secrets of those who had sat upon the Iron Throne before, kings, conquerors and usurpers. Your crimson dress brushed against the polished marble floors, each step echoing with the gravity of your purpose.

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

The throne room stood vast and imposing, the high ceiling adorned with banners of House Targaryen, the three headed dragon depicted in vibrant shade of red on a field of black, an ever-present reminder of the legacy claimed by Aegon the Conqueror and his two sisters. 

The throne itself loomed ahead, a twisted monument of swords, embodying both power and peril.

You knelt before the Iron Throne, allowing a moment of stillness to wash over you as the guards looked on, their faces inscrutable. 

The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and the heartbeat of the room shifted as King Jaehaerys Targaryen entered, his presence commanding and dignified. He wore a crown of gold, and his long, silver hair fell gracefully about his shoulders, illuminating the regal yet weary expression etched upon his face.

As he took his place on the Iron Throne, the air seemed to thrum with anticipation, as if the very stones of the castle knew the gravity of the moment. The throne, a jagged mountain of swords forged in the fires of Balerion after the conquest, stood as a testament to both the glory and the burden of Targaryen rule.

“Rise, my lady,” he spoke, his voice resonating through the expansive hall. You stood, lifting your chin defiantly while keeping your hood lowered, casting your face in shadows to maintain an air of mystery.

“Your Grace,” you began, your voice steady despite the intensity of the moment. “I come before you not just as another subject of your realm but as a distant ember of House Targaryen,”

The king’s brow furrowed, his keen eyes scrutinizing the figure cloaked in crimson shadows before him. A hint of curiosity crept into his expression as he pondered the mysteries hidden beneath the fabric of your hood. The throne room, with its echoing silence and the weight of history in the air, became a backdrop for the unspoken questions swirling in his mind.

“What lies beneath your hood, my lady?” he inquired, his voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. “You present yourself as a foe, yet your countenance remains concealed.”

You felt the intensity of his gaze as though it could pierce through the layers of fabric and reveal your innermost thoughts. This was a moment of vulnerability; the king understood the significance of identity and the power it held in the realm. Sensing the gravity of his question, you reached for the cord of your hood, allowing it to fall back and reveal your face.

The fabric unveiled your features,the violet eyes of yours caught the flames of the torchlights, dancing with an ethereal glow. The shroud of mystery gave way to the authenticity of your presence, transforming the atmosphere in the throne room.

Your silvery hair, a hallmark of Valyrian blood, was intricately styled, woven into an elegant updo that crowned your head like a delicate masterpiece.

Your lips parted slightly as you took a breath, allowing the king to drink in the sight of you, a descendant of the dragon. You met his gaze with a steely resolve, intent on conveying the depth of your aspirations.

“In truth, Your Grace,” you began, your voice steady. "I have seen the destruction of House Targaryen, in the flames," you began, your voice steady but laced with the weight of history. The memories of the past, of loss and chaos, flickered in your mind like the shadows playing against the throne room's stone walls. "I witnessed the aftermath of betrayal and the devastation wrought by your own kin. The fires that will consume your house but of ambition, jealousy, and bloodshed, elements that threaten to eclipse your legacy."

King Jaehaerys, wise and just, regarded you with the discerning gaze of a leader keenly aware of the currents of fate that swirled around those with your lineage. His eyes, sharp and penetrating as the finest Valyrian steel, seemed to pierce through the facade of nobility and ambition to the raw strength that lay beneath.

There was a weight to his scrutiny, a recognition not just of your bloodline, but of the potential that simmered within you, waiting to be harnessed. In that moment, you felt both exposed and empowered, aware that Targaryen history was not merely a burden but a crucible from which powerful leaders had once emerged.

The king's brow furrowed ever so slightly, as if weighing the implications of your ambitions. "Bold words, indeed"

With a wave of his hand, he summoned a nearby servant. "See to her needs," he instructed. "Ensure she has a comfortable space to stay and recover."

As you followed the servant out of the room, a smirk grew on your lips, for you knew the old king did not wish to speak of destruction in a chamber so vast, where whispers danced like shadows and echoes traveled far beyond the stone walls. Jaehaerys, despite his wisdom and authority, was acutely aware that the walls of the Red Keep had ears, and tonight, those ears would not bear witness to the weighty burdens of the future or the fires of ambition.

In the hallways of the Keep, adorned with banners of dragons and adorned with the art of long-forgotten battles, you felt a spark of exhilaration. Here, amidst the grandeur of your ancestral home, you could feel the pulse of power running through your veins. The scent of history was thick in the air, mingling with the coolness of stone and the flicker of torchlight.

The servant led you through serpentine corridors, each step a reminder of the court's intricate web of alliances and rivalries. You relished at the thought that you were stepping into this world, a tapestry rich with potential. The king's caution only ignited your resolve.

But his admonitions about the fires of your lineage lingered in your mind, both a burden and a beacon. You would navigate these dangerous waters with care, for you understood that true power did not come from flame and fury alone but from the ability to inspire hope and unity amidst uncertainty.

As you reached your new chambers, the servant gestured for you to enter. The room was modest yet elegant, its windows framing a view of the sprawling gardens below, a reminder that even in the heart of power there was beauty to be found. You took a deep breath, allowing the scents of blooming roses and the distant call of songbirds to soothe your spirit.

With a determined smile, you turned to the servant. "Thank you," you said, feeling a surge of gratitude. "It is a lovely room."

He nodded, bowing respectfully. "If there is anything else you require, my lady, do not hesitate to ask."

Once alone, you moved to the window, peering out at the darkening sky. The sun was setting, casting hues of gold and crimson across the horizon, a fitting reflection of the Targaryen colors that flowed in your veins. As the last rays of light slipped away, revealing the twinkling stars overhead, you felt a sense of purpose ignite within you.

You would honor the legacy of your ancestors, but you would carve your own path, tempered by the wisdom of Jaehaerys and forged from your visions of a brighter future. You would wield your power not as a weapon, but as a flame to light the way, a beacon in the shadows, guiding those who wished to follow.

In that moment, with the weight of history behind you and a world of possibility before you, you knew that the old king's hesitations would not deter you. Rather, they would fuel your resolve to show that strength could be both fierce and compassionate, a force for unity rather than division. The winds of change were at your back, and you were ready to face whatever storms awaited.

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

The night was dark, the moon hanging high in the sky, your room illuminated by the flickering flames of candles. Suddenly, a knock at the door broke the silence, sending a ripple of unease through the quiet atmosphere.

You hesitated for a moment, curiosity and apprehension battling within you. Who could it be at this late hour? Gathering your courage, you moved toward the door, heart racing as you reached for the handle.

With a cautious turn of the knob, the door creaked open, revealing a silhouette against the dim light. The figure stood there, shrouded in shadow, their eyes glinting like embers. “I’ve been looking for you,” they said softly, their voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes scanned the face before you, and you realized it was Queen Alysanne, the wife of King Jaehaerys. Her presence was both regal and unsettling, the flickering candlelight casting an ethereal glow around her figure.

“Your Grace,” you stammered, instinctively lowering your head in respect. The queen, however, raised a hand, signaling a dismissal.

“Please,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle, “I need your help.” The urgency in her tone was palpable.

You stepped back, allowing her to enter the room, the door creaking shut behind her. “Why are you here, my queen? It’s ill-advised for you to be out at this hour.”

“Jaehaerys has told me of your whispers, of how House Targaryen will falter,” Queen Alysanne said, her voice trembling with a mix of resolve and fear. “But he does not wish to believe it. He thinks that these are mere tales spun by jealousy and bitterness.” 

“What I say is true, believe it or not, but my only purpose here is to try and stop it,” you said, your voice steady as you both settled into chairs by the dim glow of the flickering candles. The weight of your words hung heavily in the air, and you could see the tension in Alysanne’s shoulders ease slightly as she listened.

She analyzed your face carefully, a flicker of concern etching itself into her expression. “They whispered in court,” she began, her voice low and conspiratorial, “they all spoke of how you resemble one of my daughters. Dressed in that crimson cloak, it is no wonder Jaehaerys himself remarked upon it. He even said he thought you might be a Targaryen, one of our own.”

You leaned back in your chair, absorbing the gravity of her statement. “But I am not a Targaryen. I am loyal to you and your family. I have no claim to the throne, nor do I wish to grasp at the opportunity.”

“His Grace will make mistakes, and his descendants will too,” you said, your tone measured as you leaned forward, sensing the weight of the conversation pressing upon both of you. “I cannot say what those mistakes will be, but I can offer my guidance, like a flame guiding one through the dark.”

Alysanne’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she absorbed your words. “Every ruler is bound to stumble at times; it’s the nature of power and ambition. What matters most is how one learns from those missteps and whether they have the wisdom to heed the guidance of others.”

You tried to keep your calm, striving to choose your words carefully to avoid offending Queen Alysanne. Her poised demeanor and regal presence commanded respect, and you understood the weight of your words in this delicate moment. "Your Majesty," you began,and took a breath, trying to convey your thoughts without a hint of disrespect.

"The consequences of those missteps may not emerge until he has departed from his crown. How can he truly learn from them if he is not here to witness the ramifications of his decisions?" You paused, gauging her reaction, knowing that the truth of the matter could be uncomfortable but necessary

"And how do I know that what you speak of is true?" she questioned, her voice a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Her gaze searched your face for signs of insincerity, challenging you to substantiate your claims.

"I do not seek power, and will be your loyal and humble guide, if you'll have me, Your Grace," you said, your voice steady and resolute. You could feel the weight of the words as they fell into the silence that hung between you.

Her expression softened slightly, the skepticism giving way to intrigue. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, her tone more inquisitive now, as if she were trying to peel back the layers of your intention.

"I understand the allure of power," you replied, choosing your words carefully. "It can corrupt, blind, and lead even the noblest of hearts astray. My desire is not for authority or dominion, but rather to serve, to guide you,the King, with sincerity and wisdom. I believe that true strength lies in partnership and collaboration, not in one person wielding all the influence."

"Very well," she stated, rising from her seat, her demeanor underscoring the weight of her decision. You soon followed, standing with a mixture of hope and determination. "You may stay here for as long as you need," she added, her words both an invitation and a charge.

You made your way to the large wooden door, opening it with a graceful motion, allowing her to pass through first. As she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, a soft glow illuminated her features, highlighting the resolve etched in her expression.

"Thank you," you replied, your voice steady yet warm. "I hope you sleep well." The sincerity in your tone held the weight of your promise, a promise to support and guide her as she navigated the complexities of her reign.

As you walked out of the room, the flickering flames from the torches lining the corridor seemed to dance in tune with the intensity in your eyes. You felt a fire igniting within you, a mixture of purpose and determination that surged through your veins. Each step away from her chambers felt significant, imbued with the weight of your shared commitment.

༺☆༻_☾✧ ✩ ✧☽_༺☆༻

masterlist

[faenyra]

The Priestess

Synopsis: In a world where flames whisper secrets of destiny, you, a red priestess stands at the crossroads of fate. As fire flickers in your veins, your haunted by prophetic visions, shadows of a catastrophic war where dragons will dance, burning the mighty House Targaryen to the ground.

Will you steer them away from destruction, or towards?

༺☆༻_☾✧ ✩ ✧☽_༺☆༻

Chapter 1 - Flames

[faenyra]

Unbowed

part 1 of 3 | martell!reader x aemond | word count: 4.9k | unbowed, unbent, broken

summary: Aemond tries to rally Dorne's Army by meeting with the princess of dorne and during an intense dinner he asserts Aegon’s claim to the throne while dismissing Rhaenyra’s legitimacy, igniting a passionate debate between the two about tradition, loyalty, and power.

In the somber hours that followed the death of King Viserys, a heavy pall of grief enveloped the Red Keep. Shadows lay thick in the halls, where whispers of the late king's reign echoed like ghostly memories. Amidst these dark moments, Aegon was crowned king, an act shrouded in secrecy and deceit, executed without the knowledge of the rightful heir, Rhaenyra.

The coronation took place under the cover of night, a clandestine affair orchestrated by those loyal to Aegon, who saw in the chaos of mourning an opportunity to seize power. Cloaked figures moved through dimly lit corridors, their faces obscured, yet their intent was clear, appoint Aegon as the new ruler while the realm grappled with loss. The Iron Throne gleamed ominously, its jagged edges a stark reminder of the bloodshed and ambition that had always accompanied its seat.

As Aegon knelt before the throne, the weight of the conqueror's crown felt both a burden and a blessing. He had longed for this moment, yet guilt gnawed at him as he remembered Rhaenyra, his half-sister and the proclaimed heir. 

King Viserys had favored her, declaring her the future of the Targaryen line, but ambition called to Aegon, intoxicating him with dreams of glory and dominion. Her father had given her the confidence to rule, yet with his death, the very foundation of that promise felt uncertain.

It was in this oppressive stillness that Alicent Hightower, the queen consort, found herself standing alone in the king’s chambers. The weight of the moment hung heavily upon her, her heart pounding in her chest as she beheld the lifeless body of King Viserys I Targaryen. She had watched the king wane over the years, his health deteriorating like the crumbling stones of the castle. Yet nothing could prepare her for the overwhelming rush of grief that swept over her in that chilling instant.

Alicent’s mind raced, grappling with the implications of her husband's passing. She had never been naive to the politics that swirled like a tempest around the Iron Throne; she understood all too well the power struggles that lay just beneath the surface of the court. Rhaenyra, the king's firstborn and proclaimed heir, had been the subject of whispered machinations and political maneuvering from the very beginning. Alicent realized that if Rhaenyra learned of Viserys’ death before Aegon was crowned, the realm could plunge into chaos.

Without hesitation, a cold resolve took hold of her. She was a woman forged by the fires of ambition and loss, and she had no intention of allowing her son's claim to the throne to slip from their grasp. The Iron Throne was not just a seat of power, it was the viability of her family's legacy, a legacy she would protect at all costs.

A woman would never sit the Iron Throne, she made sure of it.

Due to Aegon's glaring lack of experience in ruling, Alicent understood that the stability of her son’s reign hinged not only on his ascension but also on the adept handling of the realm’s intricate politics. The weight of the Iron Throne pressed heavily upon Aegon, and Alicent was determined to ensure that he would not falter in his newfound role. To do so, she summoned her second eldest son, Aemond.

Aemond Targaryen was known for his fierce determination and sharp intellect, qualities that made him a worthy ally in the turbulent political landscape of Westeros. Though still young and brimming with ambition, Aemond had displayed an understanding of strategy and tactics that belied his years. He had learned from the whispers of the court, absorbing the lessons hidden in the shadows of his mother’s ambitions and the lessons from all his time spent reading. 

Aemond Targaryen understood the unique position of a second son in the realm, one that came both with opportunity and expectation. He was not the heir to the Iron Throne, but that did not lessen his ambition nor his drive. While Aegon bore the crown, Aemond devoted himself to a rigorous regimen of discipline, both in the art of combat and the pursuit of knowledge.

When he wasn't swinging a sword in the courtyard, his mind immersed in the clashing of metal against metal and the physical exertion necessary to hone his skills, Aemond could often be found in the castle’s vast library, poring over ancient texts, histories of the realm, and accounts of great leaders. He recognized that to rise in a certain way, a second son must cultivate both strength of body and mind.

He read accounts of kings and queens who had changed the course of history with their decisions, studied strategies employed in battles long past, and sought wisdom in the writings of learned maesters. He understood the importance of knowledge as both an asset and a weapon, one that could be wielded as skillfully as a sword. Aemond made notes, scribbling his thoughts and strategies, forging a foundation for his own ascent.

As Aegon donned the crown, it became clear to Alicent that Aemond’s counsel would be invaluable.

When Aemond entered the grand chamber, his demeanor was striking, proud and confident, yet tinged with a hint of curiosity as he approached his mother. He recognized the unmistakable tension that thrummed in the air, the palpable uncertainty that surrounded Aegon’s sudden kingship.

“Mother,” he greeted with a slight bow, his royal bearing on full display, his hands clasped behind his back. “You summoned me?”

“Yes, Aemond,” Alicent replied, her voice both commanding and nurturing. “Your brother is now king, but we cannot afford to let his inexperience jeopardize our family's standing. We must lay the groundwork for a strong reign, and I need your assistance.”

Aemond’s eye lit up with intrigue, his mind racing with the possibilities. “What would you have me do?”

“We must gather allies and bolster Aegon’s claim,” Alicent instructed, her tone firm. “There are those who will oppose us, and whispers of dissent already echo through the halls. We must secure loyalty among the lords and ladies, especially those who might turn to Rhaenyra in her grief.”

Aemond nodded, feeling the surge of purpose flow through him. “I will rally those who stand with us and ensure that our position is secure. Rhaenyra must understand that this is not just a fight for the Iron Throne, it is a fight for the very future of House Targaryen.”

“Indeed,” Alicent replied, the corners of her mouth lifting into a slight smile, a rare moment of pride shining through. “You have the fire of your ancestors within you. Bring our family into a position of strength, but tread cautiously. Diplomacy must accompany strength if we are to maintain the fragile peace in the realm, do whatever you must.”

“I will meet with the Princess of Dorne on Vhagar. I will return with an army,” Aemond declared, a fierce light sparking in his eye as he stood before Alicent. The determination in his voice was palpable, and he could feel the weight of his resolve pressing down upon him.

Alicent's gaze sharpened, the flicker of concern igniting in her expression. “Vhagar is a formidable dragon, but you tread dangerous waters, Aemond. Dorne is not to be underestimated. Their loyalty is fickle, bound more by pride and desire for autonomy than by allegiance to our family.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at her words, but he maintained his composure. “I understand the risks, Mother. But if we can secure the support of Dorne, we can strengthen our position against Rhaenyra's growing influence. They have deep grievances against the crown that we must acknowledge and address.”

“True, but remember Dorne has been hostile to the Targaryens for generations. Their pride is fierce, and their loyalty shifty. You will need more than promises to win them over. You’ll need to listen to their concerns, understand their desires. If you can’t do that, then riding in on Vhagar won’t be enough to earn their respect.” Alicent paced slowly, the ornate patterns in the carpet shifting beneath her feet.

Aemond's frustration surfaced, but he tempered it, recognizing the wisdom in her caution. “I know I must show them we are allies, not conquerors. I aim to offer them something in return for their loyalty, perhaps a stake in the governance of the realm or influence in the council. I’ve studied their customs; I can appeal to their pride.”

Alicent paused her pacing, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “It is good that you have proactive ideas. Still, be careful. They may see your offers as empty words if not backed by assurance of power. You must be ready for anything, political maneuvers, perhaps even outright treachery.”

“I will be cautious, but I cannot allow fear to cloud my purpose,” Aemond replied resolutely. “If we gain Dorne’s support, we will not only bolster our forces but also send a message to all lords of Westeros that our family stands strong. That will sway others to our side.”

“You must hurry then, we wouldn’t want your half-sister to get to Dorne before us,” Alicent replied, her tone laced with urgency. The name Rhaenyra was like a burn to Alicent's tongue, each syllable a bitter reminder of the fractures that had formed within her family. It stung not just because of their rivalry, but because it symbolized all of the chaos and heartbreak that had stemmed from the struggle for power.

A curse.

With that, Aemond took his leave, a sense of duty obliging him forward.

The morning sun was hot and high in the sky, illuminating the Dornish marches in a blaze of gold and amber. The vibrant colors of the desert landscape stretched far beyond the horizon, dotted with the occasional olive grove and the shimmering surface of a distant oasis. Within the great hall of Sunspear, the atmosphere was a dichotomy of cool stone and the heat that enveloped everything outside.

You sat in your seat of power, the raised dais offering a perfect view of your assembled lords and ladies. The great hall was adorned with rich tapestries depicting the history of House Martell, stories of sun and spear, of honor and vengeance. The air was heavy with anticipation as the sound of animated conversations filled the room, blending with the faint rustle of silks and the clinking of goblets filled with Dornish red wine.

A messenger had arrived just that morning, spreading news of the impending arrival of a Targaryen prince. Aemond Targaryen, you had learned. His reputation as the dragon rider who bore the weight of ambition on his shoulders preceded him, and while some murmured of treachery, others whispered of potential alliances.

The lords of Dorne were restless, eager to discuss what this unexpected visit could mean. You watched them from your seat, the sunlight casting long shadows across the hall, highlighting the skin and dark hair that marked your lineage. An air of intrigue hung around you as well, for the decision of whether to ally with the Targaryens, or stand against them, was a matter of personal and familial honor.

“I say we should not entertain any visitor from King’s Landing,” bellowed Lord Santagar of Spottswood, a stout and balding man from the northern reaches of Dorne. His voice rose above the murmurs, drawing your attention sharply. “They come to us only when it suits them, always seeking something they cannot claim on their own!”

Others nodded, sharing glances thick with skepticism. Yet you knew the heart of Dorne better than to dismiss the potential at play. There was a distinct allure to a Targaryen alliance; the dragons and their blood could shift the balance of power. But at what cost?

“And what of our trade routes?” countered Lady Sariya, a shrewd merchant from the southern coast. Her voice was calm but insistent. “If this prince brings an offer instead of just threats, we must be open to dialogue. There are possibilities here.”

The debate surged like the tides, and you felt the weight of your position settle heavily on your shoulders. As the Princess of Dorne, you had a duty to weigh the welfare of your people against the dangers of meddling with the dynasty that had instigated strife for generations.

You cleared your throat, drawing the attention of the hall to your presence. As you rose, the chatter hushed, all eyes turning to you. "My lords and ladies," you began, your voice steady and confident, "we cannot ignore the political currents that sweep through our realm. Aemond Targaryen arrives in search of allies. The question we must confront is not whether we should distrust him but how we can navigate this moment to ensure Dornish interests remain at the forefront."

They looked to you expectantly, a mixture of curiosity and caution evident in their expressions.

"I will meet with the prince, and do what is best for Dorne,"

“The hall is dismissed,” you proclaimed, your voice firm but inviting. “Take this time to rally your families, gather your thoughts, and prepare for the prince’s arrival. We must present a united front, and our strength lies in our unity.”

A small group of your trusted advisors gathered nearby, discussing logistics for the impending visit. You could feel the pulse of your people, the quiet strength that coursed through the land. You had spent years cultivating a resilient spirit among them, and it was time to see how that spirit would hold up in the face of dragons.

As the hall emptied, you remained on the dais, contemplating the weight of the decisions that lay ahead. The great hall, once a venue filled with animated debate, now felt almost sacred in its silence. The shafts of sunlight streaming through the high windows cast intricate patterns on the floor, and you felt invigorated by the promise of the future, no matter how uncertain it might be.

With a final look towards the horizon, you began to plan for the prince’s arrival. Determined and resolute, you walked with purpose towards your chambers, ready to prepare both mind and heart for the meeting ahead. The fate of Dorne rested upon your shoulders, and though the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, you felt an ember of hope igniting within you.

You would meet Aemond Targaryen and in doing so, you would ensure that Dorne remained unbowed, fiercely independent, and as ever resilient.

As you travel atop a horse, your heart beats in rhythm with the footsteps of the horse. You could see the flickering torches being lit along the road that led to the gates, each flame a beacon of both welcome and vigilance. Guards who flank you on either side whilst your atop a horse, ready to defend against threats or welcome the prince as a guest.

As you ride atop your horse, your heart thrums in sync with the rhythmic cadence of its hooves against the cobblestones. The evening air is thick with anticipation, and you can see the flickering torches being lit along the winding road leading to the gates, each flame a dual beacon of welcome and vigilance. Shadows dance playfully in the glow, the flickers illuminating your path and whispering of the night’s unfolding dramas.

Flanked by steadfast guards on either side, their presence a reassuring silhouette against the twilight, you scan the horizon with keen eyes. Their armor catches the light, reflecting the amber hues of the torches, and you sense their heightened alertness, an unspoken camaraderie blending duty and trust. In this moment, you are not just a solitary rider; you are a shield, ready to defend against any encroaching threat or extend a hand of courtesy to the prince, should he arrive as a friend.

Upon reaching the massive gates, you paused to take in the scene. The banners of House Martell fluttered proudly above you, and a crowd had begun to gather, farmers and merchants, children, and elderly folk alike peering through the iron bars, their faces alight with intrigue. Whispers filled the air, speculation about the prince, the Targaryens, and his intentions.

The resounding roar of the dragon echoed through the valley, its massive wings beating against the air like thunderclaps, sending ripples of both awe and trepidation through your heart. As it circled above, the setting sun caught its iridescent scales, basking the magnificent creature in a golden light that made it seem almost ethereal. When it finally descended, landing firmly on the sun-kissed earth, you felt a tremor beneath your horse’s hooves, as if the very ground acknowledged the power of the beast.

Despite being astride your noble steed, you couldn't shake the sensation that the dragon loomed far above you, casting an imposing shadow that stretched across the landscape. The air crackled with anticipation, and a mixture of respect and wariness washed over you. Dragons, after all, were not just mere beasts; they were embodiments of strength and chaos, symbols of their riders’ will.

You turned your gaze to your guards, their expressions a mixture of determination and concern. "Stay by the gates," you commanded, your voice firm but steady. "I will greet the prince alone." They exchanged glances, understanding the significance of the moment, and nodded in silent agreement, ready to protect you from afar.

With a steadying breath, you urged your horse forward, each step bringing you closer to the towering figure of the dragon and its majestic rider. The sun sank slowly in the sky, casting long shadows and bathing the scene in a fiery glow, as if the heavens themselves acknowledged the spectacle unfolding before you.

As you approached, the Targaryen prince dismounted with a grace that spoke of royal blood, his presence magnetic and formidable. 

Clad in regal attire, adorned with symbols of his house, he radiated confidence, the complexity of his lineage evident in the air around him. With every beat of your heart, you knew that this meeting could alter the fates of realms and that you stood on the precipice of a new chapter, one that could either forge an alliance or ignite a conflict.

Steeling yourself, you gathered your resolve, preparing to meet the prince's gaze, ready to navigate the intricate dance of diplomacy and power that awaited you.

"Dorne welcomes you, my prince," you began, your voice carrying a mixture of formality and warmth as you looked down from your horse, aware of the height that set you apart.

"I'm honored to be received by you, Princess," he replied, his tone smooth yet tinged with a hint of mischief, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

"I hope your journey wasn't too rough," you continued, feeling an urge to ease the tension that hung in the air like heavy clouds before a storm.

"Vhagar was restless, the Dornish heat riling her," he remarked, his gaze piercing as he removed his gloves, fingers stretching out as if to savor the warm embrace of the sun. His singular eye, sharper than any blade, locked onto yours, assessing and studying, as if trying to decipher the intentions behind your words.

A flicker of amusement danced in his expression, suggesting he found some amusement in the struggle of the mighty dragon against the clime of Dorne. It was a reminder that even the fiercest creatures could be unsettled in unfamiliar realms.

As the moon ascended steadily in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the Dornish lands, the warmth of the day gave way to the cool caress of the evening breeze. The darkening sky lent an air of mystery and introspection, perfect for the delicate business of diplomacy.

Once the prince had settled into his guest room within the palace, his belongings meticulously brought in by your attendants, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. You knew that the complexities of his visit reached far beyond mere pleasantries. This was a crucial opportunity to establish rapport, perhaps even to ensure that the currents of fate could flow in a direction favorable to your house.

Sending word through the palace, you invited the Targaryen prince to join you for dinner. It was an invitation steeped in diplomacy, a gesture meant to soften the tensions that hung in the air between your families.

You chose a gown of crimson red silk, which shimmered like the stars themself, its brilliance reflecting the warmth of Dorne. The fabric hugged your figure, flowing with every movement, while large suns adorned the material, intricately sown with golden thread, an unmistakable symbol of House Martell. Each sun was a reminder of your strength, your heritage, and your determination.

With your hair cascading down your shoulders like wild dunes, soft waves framing your face, you reflected the fierce beauty of your homeland. You adorned yourself with delicate jewelry, golden pieces that glimmered gently, reminiscent of the stars that dotted the night sky. Your reflection in the mirror offered you a sense of confidence; you had prepared well for the task ahead.

As you descended through the stone corridors of the palace, your heart raced with anticipation. The dinner table was set in the grand dining chamber, adorned with fine linens, gleaming glassware, and a cornucopia of flavors that would celebrate the bold culinary traditions of Dorne. The inviting scent of spiced lamb and roasted vegetables wafted through the air, mingling with the fragrant notes of wine prepared for the occasion.

When the prince arrived, you could sense the weight of the moment swaying between you. He entered with a composed demeanor, his attire a contrast of dark elegance against the golden hues of your gown. His entrance was magnetic, and you could feel the unspoken tension fizzling with potential like the air before a thunderstorm.

"Princess," he greeted, his one eye glinting in the candlelit chamber. "You look as radiant as the sun at dawn."

Was his admiration genuine, or was it a strategic maneuver, a calculated charm meant to disarm you in the pursuit of his political aims?

You offered a gracious smile, extending your hand in greeting. "And you, my prince, carry the weight of your lineage with admirable grace. Please, join me at the table."

He sat across the table, his eye glimmering with intrigue and amusement, as though he were relishing the evening just as much as the exquisite meal. When you took your first bite of spiced lamb, a burst of flavor ignited your senses, but the tension between the two of you was palpable, infusing every mouthful.

You glanced up at him, your brow raised in an inquisitive challenge. “Prince Aemond,” you said, pausing briefly to savor the richness of the dish, “I hope you've adjusted well.”

“Of course.” His response was swift, confidence lacing his voice.

You hesitated for a moment, enjoying the way a coy smile played at the corners of your lips, but your curiosity drove you to plunge deeper than mere pleasantries. You found yourself suddenly bold. “Forgive me, my prince, but… why are you here?” you abruptly asked, the directness of your words cutting through the ambiance like the sharp edge of a dagger.

What political advances was Aemond truly seeking? You understood that noble houses were constantly maneuvering for power and influence in Westeros.

Aemond placed his wine cup down with an almost measured deliberation, the sound of porcelain against the table resonating like a tolling bell. The atmosphere shifted as he leaned back slightly, a caution creeping into his posture that hadn’t been there before. It was as if the air between you thickened with unspoken tensions.

“I’m sure the news of King Viserys' death has reached you,” he replied, his voice steady, but a flicker of something darker danced in his eye, perhaps a shadow of frustration or resentment.

“Yes,” you responded carefully, noting the change in his demeanor. “Is your sister Rhaenyra not the ruler? I’ve heard that the Late King had the lords and ladies of the realm proclaim her as the heir to the throne.”

As the words fell from Aemond’s lips, the air between you thickened with a mix of tension and disbelief. His conviction was palpable, and the atmosphere in the room shifted like a sudden storm darkening the horizon. You could feel the weight of tradition and expectation pressing down, though part of you bristled at the harshness of his words.

“Aegon is the true king,” he elaborated, voice rising slightly with fervor. “A son comes before a daughter, Rhaenyra cannot rule. A woman has never sat the Iron Throne. Having her rule is like plunging the realm into the seven hells.”

His expression hinted at a deep-seated frustration, as though he wrestled with not only the expectations placed upon him but also the legacy of his family. A mix of honor and obligation swirled together, obscuring his true desires. You felt the heat of his proclamation, even as a part of you recoiled from the implications.

“Is that truly your belief?” you questioned, challenging the foundation of his assertion. “Or is that merely tradition speaking for you?”

Aemond scoffed lightly, a bitter twist to his smile. “You may call it history, but the realm has long upheld its customs”

“Is that so?” you said, raising an eyebrow at Aemond's pronouncement. There was a firmness in your voice, but also a hint of defiance.

“Believing that Rhaenyra is the true heir is treason and treachery against the king,” he replied, his tone resolute, reflecting the unyielding loyalty he felt toward Aegon.

You felt a surge of frustration at his unwavering stance. “I don’t remember Dorne bending the knee to Rhaenyra, nor to Aegon either. Dorne has always played by its own rules, and the notion that allegiance must come solely from a direct bloodline is one they are unlikely to accept without question.”

"Dorne believes that a daughter will rule if she is the eldest, even if there is a son," you stated proudly, the conviction in your voice echoing off the stone walls of the room. You felt the weight of that truth, one that had been evident in the way Dorne had historically operated, a culture that valued merit over blood in matters of succession.

Aemond's response was immediate, his expression tightening as his hands curled into fists. "Targaryen traditions are different," he bit back, irritation flashing in his eye. "We are not Dorne, we are a house built on the dragons' legacy. Our customs are steeped in the belief that male heirs are paramount."

“Refuse to see Aegon as King, and you have committed treason against the crown,” Aemond stated, his voice cold and fierce as he pushed his chair back, causing it to nearly topple over. The finality in his tone was unmistakable.

He stood tall, looming over you, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, a tempest restrained by thin threads of decorum. “I will burn this place down if I have to, but I will not leave empty-handed.”

Your heart raced at the threat in his words, but you refused to let fear dictate your response. Instead, you drew yourself up, meeting his gaze steadily.

“Do you think threats will sway me, Aemond? If it is power you seek, you will find that intimidation breeds resistance, not loyalty.”

He leaned closer, the air between you thick with tension. "You are playing with forces far gre-”

"Try and burn this place down, you will see that Vhagar meets the same ending as Meraxes, a spear through the eye," you declared, your voice steady, matching his intensity with defiance, cutting him off mid sentence.

An empty threat, perhaps, but it felt good to remind him of the fragility of even the mightiest dragons, a reminder that pride often had its consequences.

Aemond's eye flared with fury, but there was a flicker of interest beneath the anger. You couldn’t help but smirk; the tension crackled between you, thick as a summer storm closing in. “You threaten destruction, but destruction does not frighten me. I have seen the cost of that path, Aemond. You would condemn not just your enemies but your allies and your family to a future of ruin.”

Aemond's eye blazed with fury, but beneath that anger flickered a spark of intrigue, a glimmer that caught you off guard. You couldn’t help but smirk; the tension crackled between the two of you, electric and thick, like the air before a summer storm.

“I hope you know my house words: unbowed, unbent, unbroken,” you declared, the conviction in your voice steady despite the tempest brewing in his gaze.

His jaw tightened, the muscle working as if he were contemplating a response that could easily erupt into conflict. For a moment, the air hung heavy with unspoken challenges, and you braced yourself for his retort. Instead, he pivoted, his long strides carrying him towards the door, a powerful figure moving through the fragile silence.

"Remember mine, princess, fire and blood," he replied, breaking the silence, his voice low and laced with a dangerous intensity, before he stepped through the doorway, leaving you alone with the reverberations of your exchange.

Will you choose to negotiate and seek an agreement with him for the sake of the people of Dorne, or will you refuse and instead pledge your loyalty to the rightful authority, standing with Rhaenyra?

masterlist

Dividers: @cafekitsune @targaryen-dynasty

[faenyra]

Prophecy

chapter 2 | targaryen!reader x helaena + aegon | word count: 2.4k | princess series

summary: Helaena's prophecies about the future are revealed. Aegon invites you to future picnics.

This can be read as a one shot.

It was a sun-drenched day at the Red Keep, the kind that made the sprawling gardens bloom with life and colour. You and Helaena had chosen this enchanting landscape for your midday stroll, seeking peace.

As you walked, your arms hooked together, a sense of sisterly love had enveloped you. Helaena’s whispers floated through the air like music, a welcome sound amidst the whispers of the court. She seemed to draw energy from the beauty around her, her long, flowing dress swishing gently with each step.

On either side of the cobblestone path, vibrant rose bushes flaunted their blooms, their petals kissed by the sun. Various flowers danced in the gentle breeze, their colours a vivid tapestry that delighted the eyes. Helaena paused occasionally, leaning down to peer closely at a delicate blossom, her fingers brushing the petals with a tenderness that reminded you of how fragile beauty could be.

At the end of the cobblestone path lay an outdoor gazebo, its intricate wooden structure entwined with climbing vines and bursts of colourful blossoms. The soft rustle of leaves danced with the gentle breeze, creating a serene atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the chaos behind you.

Sunlight filtered through the lattice, casting playful shadows on the stone floor beneath. The gazebo was a refuge, a sanctuary where whispered secrets and quiet conversations echoed, sheltered from the world outside.

The table was covered in an array of exquisite sweet treats, vibrant confections carefully arranged as if they were jewels sparkling in the sunlight. Tarts glistened with fresh fruit, delicate pastries were puffed to perfection, and chocolates were artfully crafted into whimsical shapes. Each morsel beckoned, waiting to be devoured by you and Helaena.

As you sat down, the inviting scene brought a smile to your face, momentarily lifting the cloud of anxiety that had settled over you. Your eyes wandered over the tabletop, absorbing the colours—golden browns, rosy pinks, and velvety whites—all harmonising beautifully against the worn wooden surface.

The comforting aroma of sugary pastries mingled with the fragrant blooms cascading from the garden. Sweet notes of jasmine and lilac wafted through the air, intertwining with the scent of honey and vanilla, creating an enchanting sensory experience that felt almost magical.

You glanced over at Helaena, her eyes sparkling with delight as she reached for a delicate vanilla cream puff.

“I can’t believe how beautiful everything is,” she exclaimed, her voice filled with childlike wonder.

You reached for a cake slice, which was topped with a strawberry.

One of your favourites.

"It truly is a delight to spend time with you," you said after swallowing a bite of your cake.

As you attempted to gently blow the tiny bug away, a fleeting flutter of annoyance flashed through you. The little creature buzzed insistently, drawn to the sweet treats laid out before you. The warm sunlight illuminated its delicate wings as it danced around, seemingly oblivious to your attempts at dismissal.

Helaena's attention shifted from her treat to you, her eyes lighting up with curiosity. 

“Look at that one! Isn’t it beautiful?” she exclaimed, completely enchanted. 

She had always been the sister who felt a kinship with creatures great and small, and her fascination was often a source of amusement—and sometimes exasperation—for you.

“Helaena, it’s just a bug! Can’t we enjoy our treats without an audience?” you protested light-heartedly, trying to wave it away once more.

“But it’s so interesting!” she insisted, her eyes glowing with wonder.

“It must’ve smelled the sweet pastries just like us. Look, it’s a damselfly!” She leaned in closer, her face alight with excitement as she pointed out the iridescent colours of its wings. 

“They’re harmless, you know," she carried on, her voice laced with sympathy.

Though you appreciated her enthusiasm, you felt a wave of irritation mingling with the sweetness of the moment. 

“Maybe so, but everyone loves a good dessert, and I’d prefer not to share mine with a bug,” you replied carefully, trying not to hurt her emotions, playfully swatting at the air.

With an exaggerated pout, Helaena tried to coax the tiny creature back toward the flowers of the vines instead. 

“Come on, little friend, there are plenty of sweet flowers over there. You don’t need to join us for tea,” her voice now low, almost a whisper.

Aegon’s voice carried a blend of urgency and frustration as he approached the gazebo.

“Jaehaerys won’t stop crying, can’t you help out?” he pressed, his tone shifting from protest to something more commanding, as if expecting an immediate response from his sister-wife, Helaena. The weight of his words hung in the air demanding action rather than a response.

Helaena's eyes met Aegon's, and a flicker of understanding passed between them, one steeped in the shared weight of their family’s plight.

As she stood up, her hands instinctively clenched together, the fingers intertwining in a nervous dance. Anxiety enveloped her, a palpable tension that seemed to amplify the heaviness in the air.

“Aegon, what if…” she started, her voice trembling slightly as worry clouded her brow. 

“What if we can’t protect him? What if whatever darkness has come here is beyond our control?” The tremor in her voice revealed a vulnerability that contrasted sharply with the fierce determination he had just declared.

Aegon stepped closer, instinctively reaching out to steady her.

“We can’t think like that, go on Helaena,” His words were meant to comfort, laced with command before he shooed her away with a wave of his hand, a desperate gesture.

As Helaena's footsteps faded into the distance, Aegon muttered a curse under his breath, the tension in his shoulders evident. He welcomed himself and sank into the chair she had just vacated, momentarily letting the weight of the world rest on his weary frame.

His gaze drifted across the table, lingering on the remnants of half-eaten cakes and pastries, the wine goblet glinting invitingly in the dim light. A bemused smile tugged at his lips. 

“Why don’t you spend time with me like you do with Helaena? You know, indulging in cakes, pastries, and wine?” he mused aloud, his tone light yet laced with a hint of longing.

"Well, why have you never asked?" you replied, meeting his gaze with a slight challenge in your eyes.

Aegon looked at you, a mixture of surprise and amusement flickering across his face. 

“I suppose I figured you were too busy enjoying Helaena’s company to even think about me,” he retorted playfully, leaning slightly forward, his interest piqued.

With a smirk, he rose from his chair and reached for the wine goblet. The heavy crystal captured the light as he poured himself a generous drink, the rich, dark liquid swirling inside. He took a moment to savour the aroma, his demeanour shifting ever so slightly as he relished the familiar comfort that wine brought.

"Maybe I should change that," he said, casting a sideways glance at you. 

“Perhaps we can make a habit of it—cake, pastries, and a bit of wine, just the two of us.” His tone was teasing, but the underlying invitation was unmistakable.

"I'll have to think about it," you replied, a playful smile spreading across your face as you rose from your seat. As you stood, you brushed off any crumbs that clung stubbornly to your dress, a whimsical gesture that lightened the mood.

Aegon watched you, an amused glint in his eyes, curiosity raised by your coyness. 

“Just think of the lemon tarts and wine,” he encouraged, the warmth of his voice inviting you to consider the possibilities.

With a playful flourish, you twirled back to face him, pretending to ponder deeply. 

“Well, you do make a compelling case,” you teased, your smile widening.

He looked down into his cup, swirling the wine.

“Forgive me, brother,” you curiously said, 

“Was Jaehaerys truly upset, or were you merely here to pitch your idea?”

A smirk played across his face, which gave the answer away.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, yielding the sky to the moon, which she unveiled herself gracefully from the clouds, casting a silvery glow across King's Landing.

You made your way to Helaena's chamber, one where you'd spend a lot of your time.

With a candle flickering in one hand, you reached for the doorknob with the other, its cool metal sending a shiver up your arm. You paused for a moment, taking a breath, before turning the knob. Helaena was expecting you. The faint glow of the candlelight danced across her face as the door creaked open, illuminating her eager smile.

She opened the rest of the door, her smile widening as she gestured for you to step inside, inviting you further into her sanctuary. The room was adorned with delicate trinkets and books scattered about, each corner revealing more of her personality

Her shyness would flutter away, like butterflies, in your presence.

Her room was aglow with the warm light of numerous candles, their flickering flames casting soft shadows that danced across the walls. The inviting, golden hues created a cosy atmosphere, enveloping the space in a serene, almost magical ambiance.

"Let's play some cards," you suggested, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you. 

Her eyes lit up with a spark of enthusiasm, and for a moment, her shyness melted away completely. She reached for the  pack of cards that were placed in a bag upon a shelf.

"Sure! I haven't played in ages," she replied, moving towards a small table in the corner, taking her seat.  As she shuffled the cards, the sound of them sliding against each other filled the air, a soothing rhythm that matched the growing excitement in the room.

You settled into your seats, and the game began. With each dealt hand, laughter bubbled up between you—playful banter and friendly competition replacing any lingering awkwardness. 

The card set was no ordinary deck, it was a cherished gift that you had bestowed upon her on her 17th name day, a day that held significance and warmth in both of your hearts. You had poured countless hours into hand-painting each card, infusing them with intricate colours and vibrant designs that reflected not just your artistic flair but the deep bond you shared.

Each card featured a different type of bug, meticulously rendered with an eye for detail. From the delicate wings of a butterfly in shimmering pastels to the fierce elegance of a dragonfly in rich, saturated hues, every image told a story. The beetles glistened with hints of metallic pigments, while the ladybugs boasted cheerful spots of red and black that seemed to leap off the card. 

The cards were not merely a means to play; they were a tapestry of memories, laughter, and creativity woven together.

She revealed more of herself with each play, her laughter ringing like music, and you felt a warmth spreading through the space, transforming the evening into an unforgettable moment of connection.

Though few words were ever exchanged between the two of you, a profound connection lingered in the silence, one that transcended the need for conversation. You had both bloomed in the same womb, sharing a space that nurtured both your lives before the world ever got the chance to separate you.

From the very beginning, there was an unspoken understanding—a bond woven from the tapestry of shared memories and experiences that only those who had once existed as one could truly comprehend. The rhythm of heartbeats, the gentle sways of anticipation, and the warmth of early life had forged an invisible thread between you, connecting your souls in a way that words could never encapsulate.

In the moments you spent together, whether stacked in laughter or enveloped in introspection, the weight of this history hung in the air like a cherished secret. A glance or a fleeting smile often spoke volumes, echoing the depths of your relationship. The world around you buzzed with noise, but within your small universe, silence spoke louder than anything you could articulate.

In shared experiences, a simple touch or a knowing look could ignite a flame of understanding that no amount of chatter could hope to replicate.

It was a deep-rooted familiarity, the kind that only those who had once been intertwined could recognize—a silent language that thrived in the spaces between your words.

In this way, your bond was as rich and complex as the array of colours on the cards you had gifted, each a vivid reminder of the connection that still flourished quietly, even in the absence of dialogue. Your minds were alike, a shared rhythm that flowed between you like an unbreakable bond.

You often found that in the quiet moments, you could sense when she was about to speak, a barely perceptible shift in the air that preceded her words. It was as if you could feel the thoughts gathering in her mind, ready to blossom into speech.

Helaena played with a strand of her hair, her lips parting slightly as if she were rehearsing something profound in her mind. You could see the way her brow furrowed, the way her breath quickened, and you knew that whatever was about to come forth would be something important.

She paused you, her violet eyes reflecting the golden hues that are casted across the room.

A moment of silence stretched between you, thick with a sense of anticipation.

“It’s strange,” she began, her voice almost a whisper, “how certain things seem to align in ways we cannot fully understand..."

Her eyes lit up with a strange mix of excitement and trepidation, a flicker of something wild sparking within her. 

“They were circling above, and I felt their power so vividly. I think…” She hesitated, her gaze settling on yours, and in that moment you felt the weight of her words hanging between you, electric and heavy.

“You think what?” you prompted gently, your curiosity piqued.

“I think they are coming,” she continued, a fierce intensity burning into fear, now visible in her eyes. 

“Not just for me, but for you as well. I have always known that our destinies are intertwined, but these dreams feel like a warning… a promise. There is an awakening on the horizon, a call for those who are meant to be more than just whispers in the dark.”

"Do you ever dream of soaring?" she asked softly, her voice like a whisper carried on the wind.

Helaena had always had a way of seeing beyond the surface of things; there was a depth to her perception that often left you in awe.

After finishing the card game, you returned to your room, reflecting on her words. 

The only way you could truly soar through the skies was on the back of a dragon, something you didn't yet possess.

masterlist

Dividers: @cafekitsune @targaryen-dynasty

[faenyra]

Princess

Targaryen!reader

synopsis: You are the daughter of Alicent Hightower and King Viserys, delve into the events that have shaped your life

Chapters can be read stand alone.

Chapter 1: A distant memory

Chapter 2: Prophecy

[faenyra]

A distant memory

chapter 1 | targaryen!reader | word count: 2.4k | princess series

summary: you're summoned to break fast with the family

This can be read as a one shot.

The sound of knocking at your bedchamber door pulled you from sleep. You hesitated, torn between answering and feigning sleep in the hopes of deterring whoever was behind the door. To your surprise, the handle turned, and the door creaked open, disrupting your morning peace. You quickly sat up, pretending to have just awakened from the intrusion, your mind wondering why your knight had allowed anyone to enter when you had specifically instructed him to deny access to everyone until midday.  As you turned your gaze toward the doorway, there stood your mother, Alicent Hightower.

"You've slept long enough, princess. It’s time to rise," Mother said, her voice soft yet carrying an undeniable undertone of sternness. 

As you focused your eyes on her, you couldn't help but admire the forest green gown she wore, adorned with intricate golden embroidery that cascaded from her shoulders down her arms. Her deep red hair was elegantly styled, twisted into a sophisticated updo made up of intricate braids which wounded their way around the base, their smooth strands glinting softly in the light. The updo was finished with a few delicate tendrils escaping to frame her face, with pins holding her hair braids to her head. Around her neck hung a golden chain which held the star of the Seven upon it, a symbol of her family's unwavering devotion. The Hightowers were renowned for their commitment to the Faith of the Seven, with many members of their house serving its holy order.

"Mother, you look lovely today," you said, your words dripping with sincerity as you flashed her your sweetest smile. You hoped your innocence would sway her to indulge your desire to stay in bed all day, though deep down, you knew it would be an uphill battle. Your mother was well aware of your little tricks, yet she always seemed charmed by your innocent façade, falling for the act time and again.

Today was different.

"Fetch her maids," Alicent commanded the knight stationed at your door, her gaze still fixed on you.

"Yes, your grace," he replied, quickly obeying her orders.

“Get ready and come down, today I want us all to break fast together today,” she said, her voice firm with her face playing a half-smile. With that, she turned and walked out, leaving the door wide open. A sigh escaped your lips as her footsteps faded into the distance. You sank back against the soft pillows of your bed, knowing that you couldn't disobey the commands of the Queen.

A few minutes later, your maids entered your chambers, only to find you outside, gazing over the balcony. The rising sun painted the sky with its golden hues, casting a warm glow over King’s Landing, and into The Red Keep.

"Princess..." one of your maids called softly, prompting you to turn away from the view and step back inside your room. You were greeted by the sight of another maid tidying your bed.

Melina, your devoted maid, approached with a gentle smile, ready to assist you in dressing. As she expertly helped you into the gown, you admired the rich blue fabric, crafted from a sumptuous satin-like material, flared gracefully from the waist, while the sleeves, wide and elegant like bishop sleeves hung low. The ensemble was completed by a delicate pearl necklace, its beads shimmering gracefully. 

After finishing tying the strings of your dress, Melina turned her attention to your silvery hair, gently brushing away the knots that had formed overnight from your restless turning in bed. Her fingers worked through the strands, the silvery locks with each stroke of the brush, gently passing between your strands. You could feel a sense of serenity wash over you as the process unravelled not only the knots in your hair but also the lingering traces of sleep from your mind.

The look was complete, each detail had turned you into an embodiment of innocence.

As you made your way down the grand staircase, the soft rustle of your blue dress drew the attention of the members of the court, their chatter fading momentarily as you passed. You weaved your way past them with each step leading you closer to the dining room.

Upon entering the room, your gaze immediately found your older sister Helaena seated at her chair, her lips curling into a bright smile that illuminated the otherwise opulent atmosphere. In that moment, a sense of comfort washed over you—Helaena had always been a beacon of warmth in your life, the only sibling with whom you shared an unbreakable bond.

You felt a swell of sympathy for her, the world often seemed to overlook her gentle spirit. While others engaged in trivial courtly pursuits, Helaena immersed herself in simpler joys, often escaping to the gardens where she tended to her beloved plants and embarked on adventures in search of new bugs.

Beside Helaena sat Aemond, his single eye lingered on you for a moment longer than what felt comfortable.

Aemond was not one for idle chatter—his words were often few, but they carried a gravitas that drew you in. His melancholy aura casted a different light over the dining room, contrasting sharply with Helaena's warmth. You respected his silence; it felt as though he carried the world’s burdens on his shoulders, a weight that only sword-fighting could momentarily alleviate.

In the yard, he transformed into a whirlwind of skill and precision, each clash of steel echoing with the fervour of his spirit. His dedication to the art was evident in the way his brow would furrow in concentration, as if each duel was a battle not just against an opponent, but against the memories that haunted him. 

You took your place on the seat between the two often wondering what he pondered when the weight of the court pressed down. Would he share his burden with you, or would he remain a solitary figure wrapped in his shadows?

Helaena broke the silence, her tone light and awkward as she spoke of one of her latest garden encounters, and you felt grateful for her companionship. You glanced back at Aemond from the corner of your eye, hoping for a flicker of interest to break through his stoic facade, perhaps an acknowledgment that you were not merely figures in a court but siblings bound by more than blood.

Helaena's tale came to a halt when the Queen strode into the room, accompanied by her eldest child, Aegon, who seemed to carry a weight of discontent that clung to him like a shroud. Aegon’s reluctance was noticeable, everyone knew that he would much prefer to hide away in the depths of his chambers, drowning in a sea of wine rather than partake in the lively exchange occurring around the table.

His mother’s insistence had undoubtedly dragged him from his sanctuary of solitude, where the shadows wrapped him like a comforting embrace. If it weren’t for the Queen commanding his presence, he would have likely postponed his exit until the last of his wine cups had been emptied.

As he entered, the broken state of his appearance was evident. His once-lustrous hair was unkempt, strands falling haphazardly over his forehead, and the faint, lingering scent of wine emanated from him, mingling with the air and making his poor presentation all the more apparent. It was a stark reminder of the duality of his life: as a prince, expected to embody grace and decorum, yet as a man, often overwhelmed by the heavier burdens of his existence.

Aegon glanced around, his gaze flitting from face to face, until it landed on his siblings. There was a flicker of recognition there, For brief moment where the discomfort of his circumstance seemed to lighten, before he retreated once more into the familiar folds of indifference.

The Queen, ever composed, gave Aegon a gentle nudge, a subtle encouragement to engage. “Come now, Aegon, it’s important for us all to be together,” she urged, her voice a melodic blend of authority and warmth, before taking her place at the table. You could sense the undercurrents of tension, a quiet hope that perhaps Aegon would find his way back from the darkness that had so often ensnared him.

He sat beside his mother, slumping back into his chair with a weary sigh, as if the weight of the world pressed heavily upon his shoulders. His posture spoke volumes, an unwillingness to engage, a quiet rebellion against the expectations that surrounded him. Aegon leaned his head back, letting it rest against the cool wood of the chair, eyes half-lidded, watching the room with a detached gaze.

Servants entered carrying plates of food, before placing them upon the table. The rich aromas of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the sweet scent of pastries. Aegon immediately sat up attentively, peering to see who would walk in with a flagon of wine, earning him a side glare from the Queen.

Your attention was diverted from your brother's behaviour to the mouth-watering lemon cakes that were placed in the centre of the table.

Without a moment's hesitation, you reached over the table, grasping one of the delicate cakes in your hand. The tangy zest of lemon wafted toward you as you brought it down into your plate.

As you bit into the cake the burst of sweetness combined with the sharp citrus made your taste buds tingle with delight.

“Mmm,” you mumbled through a mouthful, the cake was everything you had hoped for—light, fluffy, and utterly delicious, making you regret the thought of staying in bed this morning.

Helaena followed after you, also reaching for a lemon cake. Aemond has already claimed a piece of bread and cheese whilst the Queen sipped on her herbal tea.

"Will Father join us for breakfast, mother?" you asked, after swallowing your cake, then bringing up the perfectly folded napkin to your face to wipe off any unwanted crumbs.

"The King is a busy man; he has his duties to attend to today," she replied, setting her teacup down delicately on the plate, trying to not make a sound. Deep down, she longed for her children to be more engaged with one another, as the breakfast had turned out to be filled with an undercurrent of awkwardness.

Aegon had sat slumped in his chair, with his arms crossed against his chest after realising that there would be no wine served at breakfast.

"Aegon," Alicent spoke, turning to him, and when he battered an eye, she gestured towards the table by slightly tilting her head and raising her eyebrows.

"You will lose your wine privileges if you do not eat," she carried on with a tone firm,

"Of course, mother," Aegon sighed, with his response laced with sarcasm, before sitting up and finally grabbing something to stuff into his mouth.

You and Helaena shared a look, before giggling to yourselves.

Before long, Aemond was the first to finish his meal, rising from his chair with a swift motion. "I’ll be outside," he stated to anyone who was listening, excusing himself before striding out of the room. Aegon followed soon after, his lingering irritation evident in his hurried departure back into the darkness of his chambers. Helaena, after a brief moment of hesitation, murmured something about the gardens before departing as well.

Soon, it was just you and your mother left at the table. A silence filled the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, she whispered, "What am I to do?" you understood that she wasn’t necessarily seeking an answer; her eyes reflected a mixture of concern and longing.

"Pardon, my Queen," you replied, your voice soft but steady, unsure of what else to say, as you made your way towards her. You wondered what exactly she was asking of you—what burden was weighing on her heart in this moment?

"Is something bothering you, mother?" You asked with general concern, as you placed your hands on top of hers in a comforting gesture. Her head raised up to look at you, meeting her brown eyes with your violet ones.

"I do not know how to keep this family from falling apart," she responded with a sigh.

To Alicent, you reminded her of her younger self, with your innocence and naivety, a reflection of a time when life felt less complicated. Yet, amid that familiarity, there was also a stirring resemblance to a distant friend—Rhaenyra Targaryen. It was in the way you carried yourself, the strength you exuded even in vulnerability, and the deep, abiding sense of loyalty to your family.

For that reason, your mother held a special place for you within her tender heart.      

"You already have done a lot; there is no need to worry," you reassured her, knowing that she had given her all into raising the four of you. 

"Do you miss her?" The words slipped from your lips, referring to your half-sister, Rhaenyra, the firstborn of King Viserys.

But as soon as the question left your mouth, her eyes filled with disgust rather than love, with her hands pulling away from yours. 

"Do not speak of her, for you do not know anything," she hurriedly said in a stern voice, before getting up and striding out of the room.

This reaction caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

Everyone at court who knew Alicent and Rhaenyra, in their youth, knew that they had been inseparable. Their bond was a source of fascination and envy among the courtiers, as they laughed, shared secrets, and explored the grand halls of the Red Keep together. Yet, the passage of time and the weight of their family's ambitions had turned their closeness into a chasm of rivalry and resentment. 

She longed to live those days again, when they'd walk arm in arm intertwined where innocence once hung in the air like the sweet scent of spring blooms. But alongside that longing was a fierce desire to bury each memory, to bury the remnants of a broken bond. The conflicting emotions twisted within her—nostalgia for the joy they once shared and a yearning to erase the bitterness that had seeped into their relationship. She wished that those days could fade into lost history.

The memories of those days seemed to haunt Alicent, twisting the joy of her past into a painful reminder of what had been lost.

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[faenyra]

Masterlist

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Princess (targaryen!reader)

The priestess (valyrian/red priestess!reader)

Aemond Targaryen:

unbowed, unbent, broken (martell!reader x aemond targaryen)

[faenyra]

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Hello and welcome to my page ♡

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Masterlist

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Cregan Stark

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