#|| young dragon || aenys

[rynnthefangirl]

Ranking the deaths of the Targaryen Kings:

17. Aerys I- unspecified cause of death, so can’t really be ranked. -/10

16. Jaehaerys II- nothing special here, just sudden illness. No pizazz. 1/10

15. Daeron II- again, just an illness, although this one is at least an infamous plague and he was accompanied in death by two of his heirs, helping mess up the succession. 2/10

14. Jaehaerys I- old age, points for living long enough to actually die of old age though. 2/10

13. Aegon I- some points because it reminds me of the Godfather’s death. Just a normal stroke. 3/10

12. Aegon III- also just illness, but points because somehow consumption feels so in character for him. 5/10

11. Aenys- possibly poisoned by Visenya, possibly just died of stress (same). Pathetic either way, but also a bit tragic. 5/10

10. Aegon II- poisoned by his own men. Pretty funny and well deserved and saved my baby Aegon III. 5/10

9. Viserys I- again, just illness. HOTD makes it pretty dramatic though, the scene where he walks to the throne to defend his daughter will always be iconic. Also being left to rot by the Greens is so horrifically morbid. 6/10

8. Maekar- hit by a falling rock, wtf Maekar. Kinda lame, but also a little funny. A rock?! 6/10

7. Daeron I- slain under a peace banner, pretty iconic of the Dornish tbh. The tragedy of a young man’s ego. 7/10

6. Viserys II- probably poisoned by his own son. The drama, the hatred, the kinslaying, the tragedy bc he actually would have been a great king. 8/10

5. Aerys II- pivotal moment in Jaime Lannister’s character arc, and Jaime is great. Basis for some of the best development and dialogue in GOT. 8/10

4. Baelor- starved himself to death because his sister had sex. Hilarious, this is your brain on religious extremism kids. Iconic of Daena to cause this. 9/10

3. Aegon IV- literally fell apart and rotted due to his own gluttony and morbid obesity. Everything Aegon IV ever did was so needlessly extra, including his death. Legitimized all of his bastards on his death bed as one final act of spite against his dead siblings and his own son. Ruined everything for everyone as his last act on this Earth. What an icon. 10/10

2. Maegor- murder? Suicide? Slain by the throne itself as a manifested condemnation of his corrupted soul? What’s more epic than an age old eternally unsolved Westerosi mystery? 10/10

1. Aegon V- answer: another age old eternally unsolved Westerosi mystery. The sheer tragedy of cute little Egg setting himself, Dunk, and most of his family on fire is enough, but throw in a spiraling mental state, the dark theory that he was attempting a blood sacrifice, and the ominous refusal by the survivors to speak of what they saw. Love us a good unspeakable horror. Rip Egg🕊🍳 10/10

[waitingforsecretsouls]

Who wants to bet the reason Daeron (son of Alicent) became the youngest known Targaryen to claim a grown dragon in the recorded history of their house might be related to his milk brother and bastard nephew being gifted with a cradle egg by Daeron's father whereas he himself was not?

[novococain]

.

[fearthhereaper]

Streets saying Vhagar is drawn to loneliness, abandonment and sadness, which is why she bonds with Laena and Aemond.

Imagine young Visenya feeling all of those things. She's the oldest but she's the one no one really cares about. She's overlooked as a daughter and heir because Aegon is the firstborn son, and later she's overlooked as a wife because she's not as sweet, as feminine, as playful, maybe even as beautiful as Rhaenys.

She overcompensates, takes it upon herself to do everything for the family. She grows into a fierce warrior and dragonrider. She becomes a stern and unforgiving ruler. Protects Aegon, ensures his taking of the throne and yet even all that is worthless when compared to Rhaenys simply existing in Aegon's eyes.

And then a moment of ultimate loneliness and failure when she is incapable, time and time again, of giving him an heir. So when she gives birth to Maegor (maybe even by blood magic as it was supposed) she has to watch as Aenys is favored by his father because he's not just a firstborn but the son of the sister he preferred. Even as her son (just like she had) proves to be stronger, more capable, more dominant than his brother.

And all that time, all those years, Vhagar was loyally at her side. Her first rider's true feelings, the ones only Vhagar could feel due to being supernaturally bonded — they stick with her for the rest of her life. Her bond with Visenya was the strongest because Visenya needed her the most. Even decades after Visenya's death those emotions stayed an integral part of her, it influenced which riders she would choose.

I like the idea of her bonding with Visenya when she was around Laena/Aemond's age, too. (even Baelon was 15 when he claimed her) All those young riders, those lonely children, reminding her of her beloved Visenya. Laena who feels inadequate and rejected by Viserys, as messed up as that is, because it's been drilled into her mind that she needs to marry well even at that young age. Aemond who is forever cast aside because he doesn't have his own dragon, because he's not the firstborn, because he's the irrelevant one of all the kids.

It would explain her being fiercely protective of Aemond the first night they bonded, her killing Lucerys and Arrax because she feels Aemond's life is threatened. Her refusal to kill Laena because that's her little lonely girl.

Just Vhagar being Visenya's only comfort. And as such, becoming maternally protective over her future little riders.

[floatyflowers]

The Fawn|| Dark! House Targaryen men (Maegor, Aenys, and Aegon II) various x Baratheon Reader

Meagor/Aenys

You are the daughter of Orys Baratheon, Rhaenys decided to take you in hopes of marrying you off to Aenys.

But she passed away before the arranged marriage could be annouced.

Aegon decided to keep you as a ward, and have Aenys engaged to Alyssa Velaryon instead

When Maegor was born, when you were six, you enjoyed playing with him, he reminded you of your dolls, that you treat like your babies.

As you grow up with Aenys and Maegor, you fall deeply in love with Aenys and viewed Maegor as your little brother, nothing more.

Aenys was also deeply in love with you.

But you got heartbroken when Aenys married Alyssa, and even though the first thing Aenys did was head to your chambers to claim that he still loves you.

You refused to continue your relationship with him, because you don't wish to ruin his marriage.

Even when Maegor grew up, becoming strong and skillful despite not owning a dragon.

Every tourney, he would win, you would become the queen of love and beauty.

Of course this is a scandal due to Maegor being already married to Ceryse Hightower which enraged many including Aenys.

After Aegon I passed away and Aenys became king, you were assigned with being a cupbearer.

Maegor didn't like that at all, and proposed to take you as a second wife, but you refused.

So he kidnapped you and forced you to marry him in a traditional valerian way, and when Aenys heard about that, he banished his brother.

Aenys dies, and Maegor returns from the banishment with you and his mother to take the throne, even if you hated the idea.

Yet you are too afraid to show refusal now that you are pregnant.

"I did this to save the realm from being ruled under a weak king just like what happened with Aenys, you must understand that I did it for us "

Aegon II Targaryen

You don't like Aegon for many reasons.

His sexual flirting, or his anger issues that comes out whenever you are with another boy.

Aegon pleaded with his grandfather to marry you to him.

And it worked, and you ended up marrying Aegon, despite both of you being young.

Aegon didn't give up his drinking habits but he gave up messing around with women for you.

And as time goes on you find yourself falling in love with him, especially after giving birth to the twins.

You realize that Aegon didn't have the best childhood, his father ignoring his existence while his mother and grandfather were harsh on him.

So, you tried to give him that love, and it worked as he found comfort in your embrace only.

He even began to reflect that love on Jaehaera and Jaehaerys and later on Maelor when he is born.

But when usurped the throne from his sister, though you pleaded with him not to do it, and he wasn't going to do.

But his mother placed fear in his head, the fear of you getting murdered along with the children after his older sister becomes the queen.

But with that choice, you decided to leave to Storm's End with your children in secret.

However the plan failed, as Aegon had spies around, whom inform him of everything inculding your handmaidens.

He locked you up and took the children away from you.

And when you try to apologize to get to see them, Aegon refused.

He even refused when you admitted that you are pregnant.

"After everything I did for us, for our family, you chose to betray me! You are not leaving those chambers until I die"

[ladyempty]

What do you think it would be like? Steffon Baratheon's second child and only daughter. She inherited all of her great-mother's Targaryen genes. How far will Yandere Rhaegar go to marry reader?

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. ° | pairing: Rhaegar Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader ° | English is not my first language

Foi uma surpresa para todos quando a segunda filha de Lorde Steffon nasceu. Uma menina saudável, ela nasceu gritando e chutando com força digna de um Baratheon, mas sua aparência era menos condizente com os outros membros da casa. Ao contrário de seu irmão mais velho, a menina nasceu com uma cabeleira loira platinada e grandes olhos roxos brilhantes.

An appearance so different that it made the midwives' eyebrows raise slightly and they looked at each other in obvious confusion. But everything was partially forgotten when Lord Steffon held his daughter in his arms and proclaimed loudly:

"A delight for the eyes like my Lady mother.”

Rhaegar's obsession would not take long to arrive, he was truly curious about the rumors spreading so quickly and was truly happy when his father demanded the presence of the Baratheon family to present the girl to the court.

For young five-year-old Rhaegar, the moment was as magical as the stories his mother told him and songs the bards sang. An overwhelming feeling that hit him like an arrow shot quickly and aimed at his heart.

Estamos falando de Rhaegar, limites são algo que ele não conhece. Ele tentará ser o mais sutil possível, mas falhará tão miseravelmente que pode ser engraçado. Quando ele quer algo, ele tem que ter.

As they grow up, the prince will try to win your heart at any cost, using his natural charm that made so many other ladies swoon, singing to you and playing beautiful and melancholic melodies on the harp. Countless gifts would be delivered to you in abundance, especially books that Rhaegar loved.

He has a lot of patience and will wait for his love, but if you are being too difficult... We know he will resort to kidnapping. Or if it is Aenys who refuses to cooperate... Then the king appears mysteriously dead a few days later.He simply had no limits when it came to the prophecy and you...

You would be his and he would be yours... a dragon had to have three heads, and only a dragon could love other dragons.

[misswynters]

The Bastard Daughter

Davos/Benjicot Blackwood x fem!reader

[ SYNOPSIS: You were born the bastard daughter of Prince daemon, and the elder half sister to baela and rhaena. Once you got married to your betrothed, Benjicot, you took your little brother, whom you shared a mom, with you. Aerys is ten years younger than you, however you raised him since he was a babe. Due to your mother, Lysa Tully, dying in childbirth.

[ WARNING: almost kidnapping, non-canon character death, mentions of blood, stabbing, kinda sloppy writing…

[ REQUESTED: by anonymous

The halls of Raventree Hall bustle with activity as preparations for the upcoming journey to Dragonstone are in full swing. You walk briskly through the corridors, your mind occupied with the heavy responsibilities placed upon your shoulders. As the recognized bastard daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, you have always been aware of the weight your lineage carries. Riding the wild dragon, Cannibal, only adds to the mystique and danger that surrounds you. But today, it is your duty as a mother and sister that weighs most heavily on your heart.

Benjicot Blackwood, your husband and the Lord of Raventree Hall, is in the courtyard, overseeing the preparations. His tall figure, with dark hair and a stern expression, exudes a sense of authority and protectiveness that has always comforted you. When he catches sight of you, his eyes soften, and he approaches you with a reassuring smile.

"Everything is almost ready," Benjicot says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Are you sure about this?"

You nod, though a knot of worry sits in your stomach. "Rhaenyra has asked us to send our son and my brother to the Vale with her own sons. They will be safer there, with their dragons."

Benjicot frowns slightly but nods. "If this is what you believe is best, then we will do it. They will be safe, I promise you that."

Your son, Eddric, and your younger brother, Aerys, are playing nearby, their laughter a small comfort amidst the tension. The younger one, Eddric was six years his junior. However both boys are strong and brave, with the fierce spirit of their Targaryen bloodline, but they are still young.

As the day progresses, you make your way to Dragonstone. The sight of the imposing fortress fills you with a mix of awe and apprehension. You know that not everyone will welcome your presence or the presence of your brother and son. Baela and Rhaena, in particular, have never hidden their disdain for you and Aenys.

Upon arriving, you are greeted by Rhaenyra herself. Her warm smile is a balm to your nerves. "Thank you for coming," she says. "As you know we must ensure the safety of our children."

You exchange polite greetings before making your way inside. As expected, Baela and Rhaena are there, their expressions hardening when they see you. The tension is palpable as you introduce Eddric and Aerys to Rhaenyra’s sons, Jacaerys and Joffrey.

"The Vale is no place for these boys," Baela says sharply, her gaze fixed on you. "They are meaningless, having no worth.”

Rhaena hesitantly nods in agreement. "We cannot risk our lives for them."

You step forward, your chin held high. "They are targaryens, just like the rest of us. They have a right to be part of this."

Before the argument can escalate further, Benjicot steps in, his presence commanding the room. "These boys are my family," he says firmly. "I have raised them, protected them, and I will not allow anyone to speak against their place here."

Baela glares at him. "This is not about you, Benjicot. It is about their safety."

Benjicot’s eyes flash with anger. "And I say they will be safe in the Vale. We also have dragons."

The room falls silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Rhaenyra steps forward, placing a calming hand on Baela's arm. "We must trust in each other," she says softly. "Our family will be stronger together."

Reluctantly, Baela and Rhaena nod, though their expressions remain tight. You take a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief.

As the preparations continue, you find a moment alone with Benjicot. He takes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Don’t pay mind to them" he says quietly. You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief.

The following day, the courtyard is a hive of activity as the handmaidens, servants and riders prepare for the journey. Cannibal, your imposing dragon, stands apart everyone, his dark scales absorbing the morning sunlight. Eddric and Aerys are wide-eyed with excitement and nervousness, as the elder of the two clasped his hands onto the reins of his dragon. Your son then made his way towards his father.

You walked towards aerys and kneeled before him, smoothing his unruly hair. "Stay close," you instruct him. "And listen to Benjicot and me at all times."

Aenys nods solemnly, his face set with determination. "I will, sister."

Eddric, standing beside his father, looks towards at him. "Will you fly like mother?"

Benjicot smiles, ruffling Eddric’s hair. "Sadly i cannot my brave boy. We will be riding the carriage together."

As you mounted cannibal, you watched as aerys soared through the sky following behind, the wind whipping through your hair. The journey to the Vale is long and arduous, but the sight of the mountains and the Eyrie in the distance fills you with a sense of purpose. Aerys, riding his dragon, was a sight to behold, his youthful enthusiasm blending with the raw power of his mounts. You smiled with pride as his older sister.

Upon arrival, you are greeted by Lady Jeyne Arryn, who welcomes you warmly. The Eyrie, perched high in the mountains, feels like a safe haven amidst the chaos of the realm. The children quickly settle into their new surroundings, as the dragons roosting nearby.

A few days have passed, and the children begin their training in earnest. Under Benjicot’s watchful eye, they practice their swordsmanship and horse riding, their skills improving with each passing day. You spend your time teaching them the history and traditions of House Targaryen, ensuring they understand the legacy they are a part of.

That evening, as the sun sets over the mountains, you find a moment alone with Benjicot. You stand together on a balcony, overlooking the Vale. The sight is breathtaking, but your thoughts are heavy with the weight of your responsibilities.

Benjicot takes your hand, his touch grounding you. "You’ve done well," he says softly. "Aerys and Eddric are safe, and they are learning. You should be proud."

You sigh, leaning into him. "I am proud, but I worry. The realm is in turmoil, and our family is scattered."

Benjicot’s grip tightens on your hand. "With time, we shall be together again. Your family and mine are strong, and we will fearlessly protect each other."

His words are a comfort, and you find strength in his unwavering support. Together, you watch the sunset, the promise of a new day bringing hope.

Tensions remain high between you and Baela and Rhaena. Despite Rhaenyra’s efforts to mediate, old wounds run deep. One afternoon, as you are helping Aerys with his dragon, you overhear Baela speaking with Rhaena.

"They don’t belong here," Baela says, her voice sharp. "They are not true Targaryens."

You feel a surge of anger but force yourself to remain calm. Stepping forward, you address Baela directly. "We are as much Targaryens as you. Our blood is the same, and we have the right to be here."

Baela’s eyes narrow. "Your mother was not a princess. You are a bastard."

“But she was noble, even so… share the same father Baela,” You told her as you rubbed your forehead due to stress. Benjicot steps in, his presence a wall of protection. "Enough," he says, his voice cold. "This bickering helps no one. We are here to prepare for the future. We need to stand as a family."

Baela looks ready to argue, but Rhaena places a hand on her arm, silently urging her to back down. With a huff, Baela turns and stalks away, leaving you and Benjicot standing together.

You turn to Benjicot, your heart heavy. "Thank you," you say quietly. "I don’t know what I would do without you." He pulls you into an embrace, his strength and warmth enveloping you.

The days turn into weeks, a sense of routine settles over the Eyrie. The children continue their training, and the bonds between them grow stronger. The hostility from Baela and Rhaena lessens, though it never fully disappears.

As you gather for dinner, Jeyne makes an announcement. "I have received word from Dragonstone. We must prepare for a council meeting. Our presence is requested by the queen to discuss the future of the realm." The news sends a ripple of tension through the room. You exchange a glance with Benjicot, knowing that this council meeting could change everything.

However journey back is fraught with anticipation. Cannibal is flying in a calm but steady manner. Upon arriving at the Dragonstone, you are struck by the gravity of the situation. The council chamber is filled with lords, their faces a mix of hope and fear.

Rhaenyra takes her place at the head of the table, her presence commanding respect. As discussions begin, it becomes clear that the realm is on the brink of war. Alliances must be forged, and plans must be made. When it is your turn to speak, you step forward, your voice steady.

"My husband and I have brought our family and dragons to support the cause," you say. "We stand with Rhaenyra, and we will fight for the future of the realm."

Your words are met with murmurs of approval, and you feel a sense of pride and determination. As the council meeting continues, you steal a glance at your husband. Benjicot meets your gaze, a small smile playing on his lips.

After the council meeting concluded, you flew ahead back to the Eyrie. It The moon hangs high in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the imposing structure of the Eyrie. All is quiet as the inhabitants of the castle sleep, unaware of the danger creeping closer. In the children's chambers, Eddric and Aenys sleep soundly, the fatigue from their rigorous training finally taking its toll.

Suddenly, a faint sound disturbs the silence – the creak of a door opening. Shadows slip into the room, figures cloaked in darkness, moving with the practiced stealth of seasoned kidnappers. They are after the children, seeking to exploit their value as dragon riders and Targaryen blood.

Aerys stirs, sensing the intruders, but before he can fully wake, a rough hand clamps over his mouth. His eyes fly open in terror, and he struggles futilely against his captor. Eddric is also grabbed, his startled cry muffled as he is lifted from his bed.

The kidnappers move quickly, their actions rehearsed and precise. They bind the boys' hands and gag them to prevent any cries for help. The children are carried through the darkened halls, the intruders avoiding patrols and sentries with an eerie familiarity of the castle’s layout.

In the courtyard, the kidnappers approach their hidden escape route. The dragons, knowing their companions are in danger, begin to stir restlessly in their nearby roosts. The beasts' low growls and shifting shapes go unnoticed by the kidnappers, who are focused solely on their escape.

One of the dragons, Cannibal, is particularly sensitive to the distress of its riders. The ancient, fearsome beast senses the peril its bonded humans face and lets out a thunderous roar that echoes through the mountains, shaking the very stones of the Eyrie.

The roar rouses you and Benjicot from your sleep. You leap from bed, your heart pounding with dread. "The boys!" you exclaim, already moving toward the door. Benjicot is right behind you, his face a mask of determination and fury.

Rushing into the courtyard, you are met with chaos. Dragons are roaring, their eyes glowing with rage, and guards are scrambling to understand the source of the commotion. You spot the kidnappers just as they reach the edge of the courtyard, your children still struggling in their grasp.

"Stop them!" you shout, your voice piercing the night air.

Benjicot draws his sword, his eyes blazing with fury. "Let them go!" he roars, charging toward the kidnappers.

The intruders, realizing they have been discovered, hasten their movements. One of them draws a dagger, pressing it to Aerys throat. "Stay back, or the boy dies!" the kidnapper threatens.

Your heart clenches with fear, but you refuse to back down. "You will not harm them," you declare, stepping forward with a fierce resolve. "Let them go, and you might live."

Cannibal lands heavily behind you, the ground shaking under his weight. The sight of the massive, menacing dragon causes the kidnappers to falter, their courage wavering in the face of such a formidable beast.

Benjicot takes advantage of their hesitation, lunging forward with a swift, precise strike. He disarms the kidnapper holding Aerys, pulling the boy to safety. You rush to Eddric, freeing him from his captor's grasp and shielding him with your body.

The remaining kidnappers, seeing their plan unraveling and the dragons closing in, decide to flee. They sprint toward the forest, abandoning their mission in the face of certain death.

With the danger passed, you hold Eddric and Aerys towards you, your heart still racing. Benjicot stands beside you, his sword at the ready, eyes scanning the surroundings for any remaining threats.

"You’re safe now," you whisper to the boys, trying to soothe their trembling forms. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Benjicot kneels beside you, his expression softening as he looks at the children. "We will always protect you," he promises, his voice firm and reassuring.

Eddric clings to you, his voice shaking. "They were going to take us away," he says, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Aerys, though shaken, lifts his chin defiantly. "We’re not afraid," he declares, his young voice filled with the courage of his Targaryen heritage. "We have dragons."

You and Benjicot exchange a look of profound relief, as the boy . Despite the terror of the night, the four of you had emerged stronger through fear.

The day came to a close and it was the next morning, a beautiful crisp autumn day at the Eyrie, the air filled with the rustle of leaves and the distant roars of dragons. You watch Aerys and Eddric from a distance as they train, their laughter and determination a constant source of joy.

The boys have become inseparable, their friendship growing stronger with each passing day. Suddenly, a commotion erupts near the main gate. You see a group of strangers, dressed in dark cloaks, pushing their way through the guards.

Your heart races as you recognized the danger. The attackers move swiftly, drawing swords and pushing past the guards with brutal efficiency.

"Stay here!" you shout to Eddric, who is standing frozen in shock. You run towards Aerys, who is closer to the intruders, your mind racing with fear.

Before you can reach him, one of the attackers grabs Aerys. The boy struggles, his fists pounding against the assailant. "Let me go!" Aerys screams, his voice filled with terror. The boy then grabbed tried to grab his dagger to stab his attacker on the leg. However it wasn’t enough.

You draw your sword and charge at the attacker, your heart pounding in your chest. But before you can reach them, the man uses the boys dagger and plunges it into Aerys chest.

"No!" you scream, your voice breaking as you watch your brother collapse to the ground.

You reach Aerys side, dropping to your knees and cradling him in your arms. His eyes are wide with pain and fear, blood staining his tunic.

"Aerys, stay with me," you plead, tears streaming down your face. "Please, don't leave me."

Aerys's hand reaches up to touch your face, his fingers trembling. "I... I'm scared," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

"I know, little brother. I know," you say, your voice breaking. "I'm here. I love you."

Aerys's eyes flutter closed, and his hand falls away. You hold him close, your heart shattered as you realize he's gone.

The courtyard is silent, the attackers having fled. Benjicot arrives, his face pale with shock as he takes in the scene. He drops to his knees beside you, his hand on your shoulder.

"We'll find them," he promises, his voice rough with grief and rage. "We'll make them pay for this."

But his words bring little comfort. The loss of Aerys is a wound too deep to heal, a pain that sears through your soul. You hold your brother's lifeless body, your tears falling onto his bloodstained tunic.

The sky is gray and somber as you stand beside Aerys's pyre, your heart heavy with sorrow. The dragons circle overhead, their mournful cries echoing through the mountains. The loss of Aerys has cast a dark shadow over the Eyrie, the grief palpable in the air.

You stand with Benjicot, Eddric by your side, his small hand clutching yours tightly. The boy's face is streaked with tears, his grief a mirror of your own. As the flames consume the pyre, you whisper a silent prayer for Aenys's soul, hoping he finds peace in the afterlife. The pain of his loss is a weight you carry with you, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the cruelty of the world.

The memory of Aerys's laughter, his bravery, and his love will stay with you always. And with Benjicot and Eddric by your side, you vow to honor your brother's memory by protecting them and fighting for the better of the realm.

You couldn’t help but place the blame of your little brothers death on someone, something. Why wasn’t there guards posted at Aerys and Eddrics chambers the night prior. How can two masked assailants just come into the courtyard unseen and unheard until it was too late. You wished you could blame someone, you really did.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @thornsandtulips

[a/n: sorry anon, i killed the readers brother :/, they really said let’s try again

[novaursa]

Fire and Blood (reader's choice)

- Summary: For as long as Maegor could remember, you were denied to him by others. By his own father, by his half-brother, by the gods themselves. They saddled him off with a barren bride and locked you away on Dragonstone. And once Aenys died and Maegor has returned from exile to take the crown, he also takes you, as was his right. But before the wedding could happen, you disappear. You never arrive at the capital with your royal procession. And Maegor tears the realm apart.

- Paring: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

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

The air was heavy with the heat of the afternoon sun, and the sky above King's Landing was an expanse of pale blue. The waters of Blackwater Bay sparkled under the light, and the wind carried the scent of salt and stone, mingling with the hum of the city behind. The Red Keep loomed in the background, a skeletal structure still rising from the hill, its walls unfinished, its towers yet to scrape the heavens as Maegor intended. The clatter of hammers and the creak of scaffolding were distant echoes, reminders of the power he was building, brick by brick.

But today, all of that faded into insignificance. Maegor Targaryen stood with his mother, Visenya, the only one who had ever stood by him. His bannermen, royal retainers, and lords stood at a respectful distance, their whispers nothing but gnats in his ears as he stared out at the empty horizon. You were supposed to arrive today, your royal procession expected any moment, the ships that carried you from Dragonstone cutting across the bay.

You. His bride. His blood. His right.

His gloved hands tightened around the pommel of Blackfyre, the ancient sword of his house, as his mind drifted, despite himself, back to all the times you had been denied to him.

His father, King Aegon the Conqueror, had made the first refusal. Maegor had been young then, but old enough to know what he wanted. You were young too, of course, but even then, Maegor saw the fire in your eyes, the way the blood of Old Valyria ran through you. You were his match in every way. He had stood before his father, demanding you be betrothed to him.

"It is not your place to demand, Maegor," Aegon had said, his voice calm, but his eyes cold. "Your brother's daughter is not for you. Aenys' children will be wed to strengthen the realm, not to satisfy your desires."

It was the first time Maegor had felt the sting of denial, but it would not be the last.

His half-brother, Aenys, had been no better. When he became king after Aegon’s death, Maegor thought surely now, with the crown on his brother’s head, he could finally claim what was his. You had grown by then, blooming into a woman with the beauty and strength of their ancestors. Maegor had approached Aenys, who sat upon the Iron Throne, looking every inch the weak ruler he was.

"You will not have her," Aenys had said, shaking his head. "She is promised elsewhere."

"To whom?" Maegor had demanded, his voice laced with barely contained rage. "Who could be more worthy of her than I, her blood and kin?"

"A match will be made in time, but not to you, brother," Aenys had answered, his tone patronizing. "I have other plans for her."

Other plans. The words still tasted bitter on Maegor’s tongue, as though they had been spoken only yesterday.

He had begged. Yes, even he, Maegor the Cruel, had begged. But only to one person. His mother, Visenya. The warrior queen, the woman who had conquered Westeros by Aegon’s side. The only person who had ever truly understood him.

"I will not be denied her," he had told Visenya, pacing the halls of Dragonstone in frustration. "Father, Aenys, the gods themselves conspire against me. They will not give her to me."

Visenya, regal and fierce, had looked at him with those sharp, violet eyes of hers, the eyes of a dragon, and she had smiled—a cold, knowing smile. "They fear you, my son," she had said. "They fear the strength of your blood. Aenys and his ilk think they can control you by keeping her from you, but they are fools. They do not see what I see."

"And what do you see, Mother?" Maegor had asked, desperate for the answer he knew only she could give.

"I see the future of our house," she had answered, stepping close to him, resting a hand on his armored shoulder. "And I see you at its head, with her at your side. The dragons of Old Valyria will rise again, Maegor. And no one—no one—will deny you what is yours."

Her words had kept him sane through the years of exile, through his marriage to Ceryse Hightower, a woman who had proven barren, and a marriage that had been nothing but a chain around his neck. All the while, he had thought of you. You, locked away on Dragonstone, hidden from him by his enemies, the gods, the world. But now, none of that mattered. Aenys was dead, the throne was his, and soon, you would be too.

And yet... the ships did not come.

The sun was sinking lower, casting ghastly shadows over the unfinished Red Keep, over the city of King's Landing, over the assembled lords and banners. Maegor’s patience was wearing thin, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface like wildfire ready to consume all in its path.

"They are late," he growled, his voice low, but his anger clear. "Where are they?"

Visenya stood beside him, silent and still as ever. Her presence was the only thing that soothed him, that kept him from mounting Balerion and flying to Dragonstone himself. But even her patience had its limits, and he could see the tightness in her jaw, the tension in her shoulders. She felt the delay, the insult, as keenly as he did.

"They will come," she said, though there was a note of uncertainty in her voice that Maegor did not like.

And what if they did not? What if something had happened? What if your brother, Aegon, or even that fool Rhaena, had interfered, whisked you away before you could reach him? The thought sent a surge of fury through him, and he gripped Blackfyre tighter, his knuckles turning white beneath his gloves.

"No one will keep her from me," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Not this time."

Visenya turned to him, her sharp gaze cutting through his anger. "If they try," she said, her voice cold and final, "then we will burn them all."

Maegor’s heart beat with the promise of fire and blood. They had all denied him for so long. His father. His brother. The gods themselves. But he was king now, and no one could deny the King of the Iron Throne.

You would be his, one way or another. The realm would tremble at his wrath if you were not.

But still, the horizon remained empty.

Maegor’s patience shattered like glass underfoot. The stillness of the harbor, the absence of the royal procession, and the delay that felt like a deliberate insult boiled within him until he could bear it no longer. His fury was a living thing, a fire in his chest that demanded release.

Without a word to anyone, Maegor turned sharply on his heel and stalked away from the gathered lords and his waiting bannermen. Visenya's gaze followed him, but she did not call him back. She knew what was coming, and she would not try to stop him. No one would.

He marched through the half-constructed Red Keep, past the workers who hastily moved out of his way, their eyes wide with fear at the sight of him. His blood thundered in his veins, his mind consumed by a singular thought: you. You were not here. Someone had kept you from him again, and he would have answers. One way or another, he would have answers.

Balerion waited for him, the great black beast shifting restlessly as though sensing the storm of rage within his rider. Maegor did not hesitate. He approached the dragon without a word, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he climbed onto Balerion’s back. The dragon’s scales were hot beneath his hands, and the air filled with the smell of smoke and brimstone as Balerion opened his massive jaws, letting out a low growl that reverberated through the air.

"To Dragonstone," Maegor commanded, his voice sharp and cold as steel.

With a mighty beat of his wings, Balerion launched into the air, and the city of King’s Landing fell away beneath them. The wind roared in Maegor’s ears as they ascended, higher and higher, until the Red Keep and the harbor were nothing but distant specks below. His eyes narrowed against the rush of air as they flew toward Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, a place that should have been your prison but was now the key to your disappearance.

The journey was swift. Balerion’s immense wings cut through the sky, and soon, the looming shape of Dragonstone appeared on the horizon, its dark, foreboding towers rising from the volcanic island like jagged teeth. The familiar silhouette of the castle did nothing to soothe Maegor’s fury. If anything, it fueled it. Whoever had dared to take you from him was hiding here, he was certain of it. And they would pay.

Balerion descended with a roar, his massive form casting a shadow over the castle courtyard as he landed with a thunderous crash. Maegor dismounted swiftly, his boots hitting the ground with purpose, and strode toward the keep without hesitation. The guards, clad in the black and red of House Targaryen, scrambled to stand at attention, but Maegor paid them no mind. His eyes were fixed on one figure—Alyssa Velaryon, Dowager Queen, widow of his late half-brother Aenys.

She stood at the entrance of the great hall, flanked by her own royal guards, her expression calm but her eyes wary. She had been expecting him.

"Where is she?" Maegor’s voice was thunder, echoing across the courtyard as he approached. His gaze was locked on Alyssa, his hands still resting on the hilt of Blackfyre at his side.

Alyssa’s lips thinned, but she did not answer immediately. Her silence was an insult in itself.

"Where is she?" Maegor demanded again, his tone darkening, his patience long gone. "The ships have not arrived. My bride is not here. Where is she?"

Alyssa lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his with a quiet defiance. "I do not know," she said, her voice steady, though her guards shifted uneasily around her. "She is not here, Maegor. I swear it on the blood of my children."

His anger flared like a flame doused in oil. He stepped closer, towering over her, his eyes burning with rage. "You lie. Do you think me a fool, Alyssa? Do you think I will believe your false words? You know where she is. Someone here knows."

Alyssa did not waver, though there was a flicker of fear behind her eyes. "I do not lie, Maegor," she said, her voice firm. "Your niece is gone, but I do not know where. You think you can demand answers, but the gods have taken her from you."

"The gods?" Maegor spat the word as if it were poison. "The gods have no power here. I am king. I am the only god that matters in this realm."

He drew Blackfyre from its scabbard with a vicious hiss of steel. The sight of the ancient Valyrian blade, its edge gleaming in the waning sunlight, caused Alyssa’s guards to stiffen, their hands moving to the hilts of their swords. But Maegor did not care. He had faced armies and dragons alike; these men would not stand against him.

"You will tell me where she is," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Or I will take this castle stone by stone and burn it to the ground. I will burn you all."

Alyssa stood her ground, but her defiance was waning. Still, she did not answer.

Maegor’s grip on Blackfyre tightened. "Very well," he said, his voice cold and final. "If you will not speak, then I declare war on you, on this entire realm, and on the gods themselves. I will rip the truth from your dying lips if I must."

He raised the sword high, and Balerion let out a deafening roar, his fiery breath licking at the sky, as if in answer to his rider’s fury. The ground beneath Maegor’s feet trembled as the beast’s wings unfurled, casting the courtyard into shadow once more.

"Do you hear me, Alyssa?" Maegor shouted, his voice carrying across the castle walls. "I will bring fire and blood to this land until she is returned to me. Every house, every banner, every village will burn. No one will be spared."

Alyssa’s face paled, but she held her tongue, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his rage.

With one final, furious look at her, Maegor turned and mounted Balerion once more. The dragon’s wings beat against the air as they took to the skies, leaving the castle of Dragonstone behind, but not forgotten.

War was coming. The realm would know the full wrath of Maegor Targaryen, and nothing would stand in his way.

Not even the gods.

The sky had darkened with storm clouds, a fitting shroud for what was to come. Maegor could feel the death in the air as Balerion, the Black Dread, flew low over the countryside, the sound of his massive wings beating like the drums of war. Beneath him, the land stretched out in peaceful ignorance—green fields, small villages, and the occasional hamlet, all unaware of the doom that was about to descend upon them.

His fury had not abated. If anything, it had grown, simmering inside him like the flames that Balerion carried in his belly. For days, he had waited—waited for some word, some message, some whisper of where you had been taken. But there had been none. Not from Dragonstone, not from King's Landing, not from any corner of the realm. Silence. It was as if the earth itself conspired to keep you hidden from him.

And so, Maegor had decided to speak in the only language he knew would reach them all—fire.

The town below was small, insignificant in the grand scheme of his rule. It had no great lords, no strategic importance. It was nothing more than a farming village, its people simple, its streets quiet. But that did not matter to Maegor. He was no longer a king seeking strategy. He was a dragon in search of blood.

Balerion let out a growl as they descended, and the townspeople, who had begun to gather in the streets, looked up with wide, terrified eyes. They had heard tales of dragons, but few had seen one in the flesh, let alone the Black Dread himself. Some screamed, others fled, scattering like ants before a boot.

But it was too late.

Maegor did not speak as they approached. He did not announce his arrival or give them time to prepare. His rage did not allow for such mercy. Instead, he gave the only command he had come to deliver.

"Dracarys."

Balerion unleashed his fury with a deafening roar. Flames erupted from his jaws, a torrent of fire that engulfed the first row of houses in an instant. The wooden structures went up like kindling, the dry summer heat making them burn even faster. Screams filled the air, high-pitched and desperate, as people fled their homes, only to be caught by the flames that licked at their heels.

The fire spread with terrifying speed, consuming everything in its path—roofs, walls, fields. The village was alight, a beacon of destruction visible for miles around.

Maegor watched from above, his face cold and impassive, his grip on Balerion’s reins tight as the dragon circled over the burning town. The people below looked so small, like insects scurrying for cover, trying to escape the inevitable. But there was no escape. Not for them.

A handful of soldiers, likely from a nearby lord's keep, arrived, rushing into the chaos with spears and shields. They might have hoped to protect their people, to fight off the monster in the sky, but it was a hopeless effort. Balerion roared again, and another wave of fire descended, swallowing the soldiers in flames before they could even raise their weapons.

Still, Maegor felt nothing. No satisfaction, no relief, just the same gnawing fury. This town was but the first of many. If no one would give him what he demanded, then they would all burn.

Balerion landed in the town square, his massive form crushing the few remaining carts and stalls beneath him. The fires crackled and raged around them, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Maegor dismounted, his black armor gleaming with the reflection of the flames, and strode through the smoldering ruins. The people who hadn’t already fled or died in the fire cowered at the edges of the square, their faces streaked with soot and tears, their eyes wide with terror.

One man—a farmer by the looks of him, his face blackened with ash—dared to stand before Maegor. His legs shook, and his hands trembled as he held out a crude pitchfork, a pitiful weapon against the man who wielded Blackfyre.

“Please!” the man cried, his voice cracking. “We’ve done nothing! We don’t know where she is!”

Maegor’s gaze fixed on him, cold and unfeeling. “Then you are of no use to me.”

With a swift motion, he drew Blackfyre and swung. The blade cut through the air with a whistle, and the man’s head rolled to the ground, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings severed. Blood pooled at Maegor’s feet, mixing with the ash and dirt.

He turned to the remaining villagers, their tear-filled eyes pleading for mercy. “Where is she?” Maegor demanded, his voice cutting through the crackling flames. “Tell me, and you will be spared.”

But there were no answers. Only silence, punctuated by the occasional sob or gasp. They knew nothing, and he could see the truth of it in their frightened, helpless faces. These people had never laid eyes on you. They did not know your name. They were caught in a storm that was not theirs, a storm they could not hope to survive.

“Then burn,” Maegor said, his voice flat, his heart devoid of pity.

Balerion roared once more, and fire swept across the square, swallowing the villagers where they stood. The screams of the innocent echoed in the night, but they were distant to Maegor, drowned out by the roar of the flames. He mounted Balerion again, his mind already turning to the next town, the next village. There would be no end to his wrath until you were returned to him.

As they lifted into the air, the once-quiet town was a sea of fire below, the smoke rising in dark plumes that would be visible for miles. The next town would see the flames and know what was coming. They would know the price of silence.

But as they flew over the burning ruins, a grim thought gnawed at Maegor’s mind: even this, even the screams of the dying, had not brought forth any word of you. No ravens, no messengers, no spies. It was as if you had vanished from the face of the earth.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes hard as stone as he looked out over the darkened horizon. Let them hide you. Let them try to keep you from him. He would burn every inch of this realm to ash until they had no choice but to deliver you back into his hands.

War had come, and the realm would know the full measure of his wrath before it was over.

And still, you remained lost to him, as distant and unreachable as ever.

The halls of Oldtown’s grand keep were filled with the scent of burning torches and incense, the air heavy with the weight of old stone and old gods alike. Maegor strode through the corridors, his armor clinking with each step, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. The lords of the Reach had gathered in the great hall ahead, awaiting his arrival, their banners lining the walls like silent witnesses to the war he was bringing to their doors.

He would have their armies. He would have their swords and their oaths. And soon, the realm would bleed for keeping you from him.

Yet, as he approached the towering doors of the hall, he was intercepted by a voice that grated on his already thin patience.

“Maegor.”

He halted but did not turn immediately. He recognized the voice, the cold, haughty tone that had once filled his ears with promises of alliances and power. Ceryse Hightower, his wife—the woman the Faith of the Seven deemed his lawful bride. The one who had failed him, who had borne him no heirs, no strength. She was a chain, an anchor from a life he despised. And now, she stood between him and the destruction he sought to bring upon the world.

With a slow turn, he faced her. She stood in the narrow corridor, her expression as cold as the marble pillars that flanked her. Her gown was white and gold, as befit a woman of her station, but there was no warmth in her. She had never had any warmth for him, nor he for her.

Ceryse’s eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her chin lifted in defiance. "This madness must stop, Maegor. What you are doing—it is unholy. This war you wage for your niece, this obsession, it will bring the gods’ wrath upon you. Upon us all."

Maegor’s eyes, dark and brooding, bore into hers. "The gods?" he scoffed, his voice laced with venom. "Which gods, Ceryse? The Seven who gave me nothing but a barren wife? The gods who have denied me my rightful bride and my throne time and again? They are nothing to me. I am the king, and I will take what is mine."

"You are the king," she snapped, stepping closer, her voice rising, "but I am your wife. The only true wife you have before the gods. I was wed to you under the light of the Seven. I am your queen, not some girl you lust after because she shares your blood and your fire."

Maegor’s lips curled into a sneer. "Do not speak of things you do not understand. She is more than fire. She is mine by right, by blood, by destiny. You are nothing but a symbol of a failed marriage and the weakness of the Faith. Your gods mean nothing to me, Ceryse. They have never meant anything."

Ceryse’s face flushed with anger, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “The Faith is all that holds this realm together. The Seven bless our rule, and you spit on their favor. Do you truly believe this war you’ve started will end with your niece in your arms? The realm will turn against you, the Faith will rise—”

“The Faith?” Maegor’s laughter was dark, a cruel sound that echoed off the stone walls. “The Faith cowers beneath the strength of dragons. I have already broken their High Septon, and I will do it again if they dare stand in my way. Do not speak to me of the Faith when they have already bled under my blade.”

Her eyes flashed with fury. “And what of me? Do I mean nothing to you, Maegor? I am your queen. I stood beside you when the world was against you, when you were exiled, when you returned to take the throne. I have endured your temper, your ambitions—everything. And yet you throw it all away for her, for a girl who should never have been yours.”

Maegor stepped closer, towering over her, his voice low and filled with menace. “You have never stood beside me, Ceryse. You have stood in my way, like all the others. The day you failed to give me an heir was the day your use to me ended. You are not my queen. You are a symbol of weakness and failure.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but her pride would not allow her to shrink before him. She held her ground, her chin raised defiantly. “This war is blasphemy. Even your late father would not stand for it. You break every sacred vow for this—this madness. And for what? For a girl who may be dead already, taken by the gods to punish your arrogance.”

Maegor’s hand shot out, gripping her throat, though not enough to truly harm her. His eyes were burning coals, his patience long gone. “Speak of her again,” he growled, his voice dangerously low, “and I will end you here and now, wife or not.”

Ceryse’s eyes widened, but she did not flinch, even with his hand at her throat. “Do it,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. “Do it, and see how the realm turns against you. They already whisper of your cruelty, your madness. Kill your wife, and you will become the monster they fear.”

For a long, tense moment, Maegor said nothing. His grip tightened slightly, the temptation strong, but he released her with a shove, sending her stumbling back a step.

"You are a fool if you think I care for their whispers," Maegor said, his voice filled with disdain. "I will rule through fear if I must. The realm will submit to me, whether they love me or hate me. And you will stay out of my way, or you will burn like the rest of them."

Ceryse straightened, her hand to her throat, her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and fear. She had pushed him as far as she could, and she knew it.

“You will destroy yourself,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to hide it. “This war, this rage... it will consume you.”

Maegor turned his back on her, his cloak swirling in the dim torchlight as he moved toward the doors of the great hall. "Then let it," he said coldly, without looking back. "I would rather burn the world to ash than live in a world where I am denied what is mine."

The heavy doors of the great hall swung open before him, and Maegor strode inside, leaving Ceryse standing alone in the darkened corridor, her hands shaking, her heart pounding with a fear she had never known before.

The lords inside turned as one to face him, their faces pale with the knowledge of the man they served. Maegor took his place at the head of the long table, his eyes sweeping over the gathered men like a predator surveying its prey.

"You will gather your armies," he said, his voice echoing through the hall, "and you will march with me to war. I care not for the gods, nor for the Faith. Those who stand against me will burn, and those who submit will live. But I will have my bride, or I will see this realm consumed by fire."

The lords exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared defy him. They knew the price of disobedience under Maegor’s rule.

"Are there any who would challenge me?" Maegor demanded, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light.

Silence fell over the hall, thick and suffocating. Not a single voice rose in opposition.

"Good," Maegor said, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Prepare your men. The realm will bleed until she is mine again."

And with that, the great hall of Oldtown descended into preparation for war, while outside, Ceryse Hightower stood in the shadows, her heart heavy with the knowledge that her words had fallen on deaf ears.

The battlefield stretched wide before Maegor, a patchwork of torn earth, trampled grass, and bloodied banners. His army stood in sharp contrast to the smaller force across the field, led by his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a bloody hue over the land, as if the gods themselves had abandoned all hope of peace.

Balerion, the Black Dread, shifted beneath him, his great black wings stretching wide as the dragon growled, sensing the impending battle. Maegor’s grip tightened on Blackfyre, the weight of the ancient sword familiar in his hand as he surveyed the field below. The banners of House Targaryen and Velaryon fluttered in the wind, a cruel mockery of what should have been unity between their blood. But unity had long been shattered.

On the opposite side of the field, Aegon sat astride Quicksilver, his dragon a flash of silver-white scales that shimmered in the dying light. Aegon’s army was smaller, but it was fiercely loyal—men who believed in the legitimacy of his claim, men who called Maegor a usurper and a tyrant. Men who were willing to die for a boy who had been denied his crown.

Maegor’s jaw clenched as he gazed across the field at his nephew, the boy who had dared to raise arms against him. Aegon had your blood running through his veins, and that alone made Maegor’s rage burn hotter. But it was not just Aegon’s challenge to the throne that stoked Maegor’s fury—it was his insolent defiance in keeping you from him.

The armies stood still for a breath, the wind carrying the sound of clinking armor and the distant neighs of restless horses. Maegor’s soldiers waited, their faces grim, their hands tight on their weapons. His bannermen were eager for the bloodshed to begin, eager to crush the boy who dared challenge their king.

But Maegor had eyes only for Aegon, who met his gaze across the field with the same cold intensity. Even from a distance, Maegor could see the steely resolve in the young man’s face. Aegon was no longer the boy he had once dismissed, and that truth gnawed at him.

Without a word, Maegor spurred Balerion forward. The great dragon let out a thunderous roar, his massive wings lifting him from the ground in one powerful sweep. The air around them seemed to hum with tension as Balerion soared into the sky, circling high above the battlefield, casting an enormous shadow over the armies below.

Aegon wasted no time. With a sharp command, he urged Quicksilver into the air, the silver dragon shooting upward with graceful speed. The two beasts circled one another in the sky, the gathered armies below looking up in awe as dragon met dragon.

Maegor’s eyes locked onto Aegon, his blood boiling with the need for victory. He would crush this boy, as he had crushed all who had stood in his way. Blackfyre was already in his hand, the sword gleaming as he prepared to strike.

Quicksilver let out a high-pitched roar and dove toward Balerion, claws outstretched. Aegon, no doubt thinking speed would be his advantage, urged his dragon forward with a deadly precision. But Balerion was no ordinary dragon—he was the Black Dread, the most fearsome of all Targaryen dragons, and his size alone was enough to instill terror in any opponent.

With a bellowing roar, Balerion met Quicksilver head-on, jaws snapping as the two dragons collided in a flurry of wings, fire, and claws. The sky around them lit up with dragonflame, bright orange and yellow in the fading light. The sound of their clash echoed across the battlefield like thunder, and Maegor felt the familiar thrill of battle pulse through his veins.

Aegon swung his sword at him, their blades clashing as Quicksilver veered away, trying to outmaneuver Balerion. But Maegor was relentless. He urged Balerion onward, following the silver dragon, breathing down its neck with every beat of its wings. Aegon was skilled, but Maegor could see the hesitation in his strikes, the uncertainty in his eyes.

"You will never have her, Uncle!" Aegon shouted over the roar of the wind and the battle below, his voice laced with both fury and desperation. "She is free of you! The gods will never let her fall into your hands."

Maegor’s face twisted into a snarl, his fury consuming him as he swung Blackfyre toward Aegon with all the strength he could muster. Their blades met again, the force of the strike sending sparks flying between them. "The gods be damned!" Maegor roared. "You think they care for your claims, boy? I will have her, and no man or god will keep her from me!"

Aegon’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his eyes flashing with defiance. "You’re a fool if you think she would come to you willingly," he spat. "She despises you. She will never be yours."

Maegor’s rage flared hotter than dragonfire. He urged Balerion forward, closing the distance between the two dragons, but Quicksilver darted away, its speed giving it the advantage. Maegor’s strikes were powerful, but Aegon’s precision allowed him to evade, always one step ahead, always just out of reach.

Below, the armies had clashed. The sounds of battle—clanging steel, screams, and the thunder of hooves—rose from the ground, but Maegor cared little for what happened below. His focus was entirely on Aegon, on the boy who had denied him his rightful bride, on the nephew who dared to defy him.

Suddenly, Quicksilver darted upward, high into the clouds, and Aegon disappeared from sight. Maegor cursed, pulling Balerion up after them, but by the time he broke through the clouds, Aegon and Quicksilver were gone.

A howl of frustration escaped Maegor’s throat. He scanned the skies, his eyes searching for any sign of the silver dragon, but Aegon had vanished, leaving nothing but the roar of the wind and the distant sounds of the battlefield below.

"Damn you, Aegon!" Maegor bellowed into the empty sky, his voice echoing across the heavens. His blood boiled with fury, his vision clouded with rage. Once again, Aegon had slipped through his fingers, just as you had been denied to him time and time again.

He descended with Balerion, landing amidst the chaos of the battlefield, his soldiers still locked in fierce combat with Aegon’s forces. But it was not enough. The battle, the bloodshed, the cries of dying men—all of it paled in comparison to the rage burning inside Maegor. He had come for victory, for vengeance, for you—and he had been denied once more.

The soldiers around him fell to their knees, their faces streaked with blood and mud, their eyes filled with terror at the sight of their king. But Maegor’s gaze was distant, his thoughts consumed by the promise Aegon had made before vanishing into the clouds.

You were free of him, Aegon had said. You would never be his.

But Maegor was not a man who accepted defeat. Not now. Not ever.

The realm would continue to burn until you were in his hands, and not even his nephew’s empty threats would change that.

With a final, chilling glance at the battlefield around him, Maegor mounted Balerion once more, his mind already racing with thoughts of what was to come. The war was not over. Aegon may have escaped, but Maegor would hunt him down. He would tear the realm apart, piece by piece, until there was nowhere left for his enemies to hide.

And in the end, you would be his.

Whether you wished it or not.

The second clash between Maegor Targaryen and his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned, was inevitable. The gods had no place on this battlefield; only dragons, fire, and blood would decide the victor. Beneath the clouded skies of the God's Eye, the two riders faced one another atop their colossal beasts. Quicksilver, the pale silver dragon, hovered in the air with Aegon astride him, eyes blazing with defiance, while Maegor sat atop the mighty Balerion, the Black Dread, a shadow over the land, a force of destruction waiting to be unleashed.

Aegon was no child, but neither was he the match of his uncle. And yet, as they circled high above the waters of the God's Eye, you could almost feel the weight of his resolve. Maegor could sense it, too—a determination to stand, to fight, to protect what little remained of his claim. But Aegon was a fool to believe he could stop what was coming. Maegor had returned, stronger than ever, and no man, no dragon, no usurper would deny him what was his—neither the throne nor you.

The dragons roared and circled, Balerion’s immense shadow darkening the sky. Maegor’s heart was black with fury, the rage of the denied, of one betrayed by his own kin. For years, he had been denied you, stolen from him by a weak brother and a cowardly nephew. Aenys had never been strong enough to hold the kingdom together, nor had he the will to make the hard choices. Now Maegor would show Aegon the price of such weakness.

“Tell me where she is,” Maegor bellowed, his voice a force of its own, carrying across the winds between them. “Tell me, and I’ll make your death quick.”

Aegon’s expression hardened, but his lips remained sealed. He said nothing, his jaw tight, the defiance in his eyes unbroken. It was clear that he would rather die than betray your whereabouts, and for a brief moment, Maegor almost admired the boy's stubbornness. Almost.

But that would not save him.

Quicksilver lunged first, his bright scales gleaming like molten metal in the dim light. His teeth snapped, his wings beat the air, and Aegon drove him forward, spear in hand, hoping to catch Balerion’s flank. But Balerion was no ordinary dragon, and Maegor was no ordinary rider. The Black Dread twisted mid-air with terrifying speed, jaws snapping shut around Quicksilver’s wing. The smaller dragon shrieked, a sound that echoed over the lake like thunder, and his body faltered as he was dragged downward, closer to the earth.

Balerion's fire erupted, black and red flames that swallowed the sky. Quicksilver was engulfed, his silvery scales turning black as smoke and ash filled the air. Aegon fought back, his dragon resisting, but it was clear to all who watched that there could only be one outcome.

With a final, sickening crunch, Balerion’s teeth sank into Quicksilver’s neck, tearing through flesh and bone. The dragon screamed, a high-pitched, agonizing cry that seemed to go on forever. And then, with a sickening crash, Quicksilver and Aegon were flung into the earth below, the ground trembling from the impact.

Maegor descended slowly, his eyes never leaving the crumpled form of his nephew. The once-proud Aegon, Uncrowned and unbroken, now lay battered and broken beside his dying dragon. Maegor dismounted, stepping down from Balerion’s back as if descending from a throne. The grass beneath his feet was scorched from the battle, and the air smelled of death and fire.

Aegon coughed, his body shattered, blood pouring from wounds too numerous to count. His breaths were labored, each one a struggle. Maegor stood over him, the weight of his fury and triumph heavy in the air.

“Where is she?” Maegor demanded once more, his voice like steel.

Aegon lifted his head weakly, his eyes meeting Maegor's with the last of his strength. Blood bubbled on his lips as he smiled—a bitter, bloody smile.

“You’ll never find her,” Aegon rasped, defiance even now.

The anger that surged through Maegor was all-consuming, a wildfire burning through his veins. He had half a mind to rip his nephew’s head from his body then and there, but he knew Aegon would welcome such an end. No, his death would come soon enough. But it would not be swift, nor merciful.

With a final look of disgust, Maegor turned his back on the dying boy, mounting Balerion once more. There was no more time to waste on the Uncrowned. He would find you, with or without Aegon’s cooperation. And when he did, nothing and no one would ever separate you from him again.

After the battle, as Maegor's forces regrouped, a rider approached him. The man, bloodied and worn from the fight, bowed low before his king.

“My lord, we have received word,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “It is said... she is being held in Lys.”

Maegor’s eyes narrowed, his blood roaring in his ears. Lys. So far away, beyond the sea, beyond his immediate reach. But no distance was too great. He would cross oceans, burn cities, and tear apart entire kingdoms if need be.

“Prepare the fleet,” Maegor ordered, his voice like iron. “We sail at once.”

Balerion let out a low rumble, as if sensing his master’s intent. There would be no peace until you were his, no rest until the blood debt was paid in full. The dragons were coming, and all of Lys would burn if it meant bringing you home.

The sun had long begun its descent when the black sails of Maegor's fleet appeared on the horizon, darkening the waters that surrounded Lys. The city, gilded with beauty and wealth, stood as a gleaming jewel in the far east. But to Maegor, it was a den of thieves—those who had dared to steal what belonged to him. As Balerion descended from the skies, casting a vast shadow over the city, panic spread like wildfire through its streets. The people of Lys had never seen the likes of such a beast, nor the wrath of a king who had come to reclaim what was his.

You had not expected him so soon.

The small tower in which you were held offered little more than a view of the sea and distant freedom, but you knew that no bars or walls could hold you forever. You had seen the men sent to guard you, faces hardened by greed and violence, yet even they had begun to whisper in hushed tones over the past days—of dragons, of black sails, of the King who would come. Maegor.

For weeks, you had wondered if it was only a matter of time before your captors sold you to another—or worse. But it was not the men of Lys who had taken you—it was Aegon. Your own brother. He had sent you here, far away from Maegor, far from the throne. He believed it was for your own good, to keep you safe from the king who had burned through the realm to take the Iron Throne. To keep you from the man who had claimed you as his.

But your brother had gravely underestimated the lengths to which Maegor would go to have you back.

And now he had come.

The tower trembled beneath your feet as Balerion’s roar split the sky, shaking the very stones of Lys. The dragon’s fire lit the horizon, the harbor a hellscape of flames and destruction. You could hear the distant cries of men fleeing from the wrath of the Black Dread, and in that moment, a strange calm settled over you. You knew Maegor. You had known him since childhood—his strength, his darkness, and above all, his possessiveness. He would burn this city to the ground for you. He would raze every last building, tear every stone apart brick by brick, until he had you back in his grasp.

The door to your chamber flew open, splintering as it slammed against the wall. The guard who had been stationed outside was gone, replaced by men bearing the black and red sigil of House Targaryen. They moved aside without a word, and there, standing in the doorway, was Maegor.

He was just as you remembered him, but now there was a fierceness in his gaze that you had never seen before. His armor, still streaked with blood from battle, glinted in the dim light. His silver hair, windswept from the flight atop Balerion, framed a face carved from stone, hard and unyielding. And his eyes—those dark violet eyes burned with a hunger, an obsession, that had only grown stronger with time. He had come for you.

Without a word, Maegor strode into the room, his presence filling it like a storm. He did not wait for pleasantries, nor for explanations. He reached for you, his hand closing around your arm with a grip that was firm but not painful, his eyes searching your face as if to assure himself that you were real, that you were truly here.

"You’re coming with me," he said, his voice low and rough. There was no question, no hesitation, just the ironclad certainty that had always driven him.

"Maegor," you began, your voice quiet but steady. The words you had rehearsed in your mind seemed to dissolve as you looked into his eyes. The fury, the relief, the need—it was all there, laid bare. He was not a man to be denied.

"You will never be taken from me again," he growled, his fingers tightening slightly around your arm as if to emphasize his point. "I’ve burned half the world to get to you. No one will stand between us now."

You had heard tales of what he had done—of how he had torn through Aegon’s forces at the God's Eye, of how he had set the seas aflame in his pursuit of you. But you never imagined that it would come to this—that your own brother would try to keep you from him. And now that he stood before you, towering, unyielding, you realized that there was no escaping the inevitability of what came next.

"You were mine from the moment you were born," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And they kept you from me. All of them—my father, your brother, the gods themselves. But no more. You will be my queen, and no one will ever take you from me again."

His words, raw and fierce, echoed in the space between you, and for a moment, all you could hear was the distant roar of Balerion outside, the great beast that had carried him across the skies to find you.

You met his gaze, and in that moment, something shifted within you. You had known Maegor your whole life. You had seen the violence in him, but you had also seen the man beneath it—the one who, for all his ruthlessness, had always looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. And now, standing before him, you understood that there was no escaping him, not now, not ever.

"Then take me," you whispered, your voice soft but clear. "I’m ready."

Maegor’s eyes darkened, and in one swift motion, he pulled you into him, his lips crashing against yours with all the pent-up fury and longing that had driven him to Lys. His kiss was fierce, possessive, and you knew then that the man who had come for you was not just the king, but the dragon itself—untamable, unstoppable, and wholly yours.

When he pulled away, his hand still cradled the back of your neck, his eyes locked on yours. "We leave now," he said, his voice a low growl. "There’s nothing for you here. Nothing but ash."

He led you from the room without another word, the tower and all its horrors fading behind you as you stepped out into the night. Balerion waited, his massive form dark against the sky, and as Maegor helped you onto the dragon's back, you knew that whatever fate awaited you, it would be by his side.

And so, with a single command, Balerion’s wings unfurled, and together you soared into the night, leaving Lys in flames behind you.

[visenyaism]

Okay so what *would* the line of succession look like if it starts with Visenya??

well complicated because absolute primogeniture would change who is getting married to who. also disclaimer i am making all of this shit up. here are my thoughts.

- so assuming that as the eldest visenya still has to marry aegon out of obligation maegor is born as the heir from the beginning. earlier in he was in canon. aenys is rhaenys and ???s child

- since the order is switched i think it makes more sense to have maegor marry alyssa velaryon and aenys marry ceryse hightower. Judgement call for thematic reasons here: Maegor and Alyssa have Rhaena, the heir, and Viserys (this is Aegon uncrowned but Maegor will be naming his son after his mommy and not his dad come on.) Aenys and Ceryse have Jaehaerys and Alysanne.

- Maegor isn’t king for too long since Visenya lives forever. Viserys still dies after the birth of Rhaena’s twins due to slipping on a banana peel or maybe getting like Ivan the terrible’d by his own dad or something you know how it is with them.

- After Maegor dies, brief succession dustup where the more traditional southern reacher houses all back jaehaerys (half hightower, raised in the faith, male) over Rhaena but they lose their political momentum when Jaehaerys marries his younger sister and loses his “pure westerosi princeling” cred. Oops. Conflict resolved when Rhaena agrees to let Jae and Aly onto her small council, send one of her daughters to the faith, and betroth the other to some reacher family or another. Doesn’t matter because Aerea dies very young and Rhaella becomes a septa still.

- This leaves Rhaena in a bind trying to figure out which of her cousin’s kids to designate as heir. Kind of a problem since Rhaena never remarries and puts the succession question off until all of them are old.

- Alysanne backs Rhaenys, eldest child of their eldest child and bearer of Dark Sister.

- Jaehaerys backs Baelon and his son Aegon (Viserys I but in this universe since Visenya was king the function of the names Aegon and Viserys are switched) because he still hates women.

- This is already self-indulgent so I’m going to say bitter jaded elderly Queen Rhaena pivots at the last minute and backs Saera, Jaehaerys’ willful maligned daughter who miraculously returned from essos where her own Aerea did not. (she made it to the dragon pit and claimed Balerion in this one. just for fun)

- Dance of the Dragons happens earlier and has 3 major factions. Stormlands and Crownlands back Rhaenys, the Reach, Westerlands, and Vale back Baelon, and the Triarchy backs Saera. After that literally who knows.

[carolinemoon]

George's new post made me realize that there are people with very little criteria, people who are supposedly knowledgeable about this universe who were defending the adaptation tooth and nail and insulting those who argued that the season was bad and who now drastically changed their opinion because George himself very politely said that it's crap and will get worse, seriously didn't people see for themselves that the series is awful and that it took unnecessary liberties?

How many times have I read that this is the true version of the facts when they don't respect something as basic as the ages of the characters and their declared enmities. Most of the characters are the opposite of what George wrote, incoherent caricatures that don't even act like normal human beings.

The public has to start being more demanding with the content they consume, otherwise they'll just sell us crap as if it were gold, which is what's happening with this series. Having to see people say that it's the best thing they've seen in years when it's not even coherent with itself in the transition from one chapter to the next is painful.

People who still expect faithful adaptations of the original material written by George and who are looking forward to The Conquest should assume that what they'll see will be a bad fanfic, where Aegon is an evil creature that stands between the love of Rhaenys and Visenya, where of course Rhaenys hates him and is forced to marry him and where Aenys of course is not his son. One thing is to have faith in humanity and another is to be naive.

That said, I hope George continues to express his opinion, he has every right to do so, and even more so if his advice and recommendations are not listened to and they have the arrogance to think that their ideas are better when he is the author and the one who has a career as a writer. He's been polite and restrained, he hasn't gone into detail about the massacre of characters like Rhaenyra (I can't stand her she is just a selfish hedonist and she's a character I love in the book), Alicent (she's a caricature of true Alicent, flat and unambitious who just wants to be with her great love aka ShowRhaenyra) and Daemon (who's supposedly his favorite and is a pathetic and ridiculous character in the series,without a single redeeming quality). Aside from overlooking other butterfly effects that he doesn't specify, Ryan's excuse for not hiring young children is so ridiculous and contradictory when you remember that Aegon and Viserys were 7-9 years old in the book and not 2-4 like in the series (he used the excuse that it's very difficult to work with children of such a young age to eliminate Maelor) that you realize that this guy thinks he's very smart and that anyone will accept his reasons as logical and coherent.

Aegon will never ride his dragon, he will never feel guilty for not being able to take Viserys with him nor will he start to get depressed about it, Aegon will not suffer from the constant memory of his brother and will not instantly recognize him when they meet again 5 years later and the same will happen with Viserys who will not even remember who he is, much less his family. In short, many toxic butterflies are coming and if you thought that season two was bad (and it was and a lot) what is coming is a sequel to what was already very bad.

[fantasybabygirlslutsworld]

---- The Prophecy - 2 ----

After the evening celebration, all the nobles and the royal family retired to their chambers except for the patrolling guards and maids.

Princess Mariana was seen sleeping under the care of the maids and wet nurses assigned by the good Queen in the chamber adjacent to her parents.

However, The tranquillity in the Redfort didn't last long. At the hour of the wolf, Something mysterious was happening in the King's chamber.

The king and the queen have had separate chambers since the death of Lady Daella Arryn and Princess Viserra Targaryen and the disappearance of Princess Saera Targaryen.

She believed that her brother-husband was the reason for all of her daughter's fates which made her fly to Dragonstone two times in which the now Septa Maegelle had convinced her to reconcile with the King both times.

Even though the queen forgave her valzȳrys for his mistakes, they now no longer shared a chamber.

___________________________________________

It seems that even the sky seems to know the significance of the night for the moon and the stars were hiding behind the dreary clouds which made the palace look more ominous than usual.

In his chamber, King Jaehaerys could be seen thrashing in the bed due to some unpleasant dreams with Sweat glistening on his pale skin.

No guards stationed outside seemed to hear the commotion inside. Suddenly, a bright red mist slowly started to occupy the chamber.

Soon, the thrashing on the bed stopped as the King finally slipped into a comatose sleep only to see a place looking like the exact place told by his ancestors - The Old Valyria.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

In The Dream,

King Jaehaerys glanced around him in a daze. He saw the beauty of the land where his ancestors once lived as wealthy Dragonlords in peace.

From afar, he could see the people living in harmony without any worry in their lives. Young children were seen flying on their dragon's back without any saddle, unlike his family.

He could also see some of the dragons flying in the sky without any riders to control them.

The wise King was so immersed in his surroundings that he almost didn't hear a voice calling him continuously.

" Come here, Son of the Dragon. Come here to know about your house's future.

"Come here to save your family from destruction."

"Come here, son of the Dragon "

A hypnotic voice full of wisdom called to him from a direction. As if in a trance, the rider of Vermithor followed the path where the voice was coming from.

After some time, the King abruptly stopped in front of a cave. A huge dragon with an elongated neck like Caraxes was carved out on the top of the cave. Cautiously, he entered the cave to see a wide hallway built inside.

Suddenly, the same hypnotic voice which called him here could be heard behind his back.

" You have reached here on time, Son of the Dragon." Turning around, King Jaehaerys was startled to see the owner of the voice standing near a cauldron.

Standing in front of him was a lady older than the King himself whose hair was the same colour as a Targaryen.

However, it was her eyes which caught his attention most. They were like sapphire gems glinting brightly in the dark cave.

" Welcome to Old Valyria, the Son of Aenys Targaryen "

the old lady said with her eyes trained on him. The king couldn't seem to turn his gaze away from her vibrant eyes.

" Who are you?   What am I doing here?  why did you summon me here? "

The wise King repeatedly questioned her.

" I am Daenys of House Targaryen from the past. I am a seer which means I could see the future because of the magic in our dragon blood."

If what she said was true, then she was the one who sensed the future of Valyria and told her dragonlord father to move out from Valyria before the great Doom. 

While thinking about this, the King suddenly snapped out of his stupor by hearing what was said next.

" You are here to know about what will happen to your house in the future. The gods have given our family another chance to change the future of our house from self-destruction"

Hearing this, King Jaehaerys's face turned stiff. He couldn't believe his family members would kill each other in the future.

" And before answering your last question. Shall we see the fate of our house in the next 30 years ?"

His ancestor asked him with a tiny smirk on her face.

Part 6

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[fireismine]

DAENERYS TARGARYEN APPRECIATION WEEK 2023

Day 4: Character Parallels → Rhaena the Black Bride and Daenerys Stormborn

The Queen in the West:

In the Red Keep of King’s Landing sat the Queen Regent Alyssa, widow of the late King Aenys, mother to his son Jaehaerys, and wife to the King’s Hand, Rogar Baratheon. Just across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone, a younger queen had arisen when Alyssa’s daughter Alysanne, a maid of thirteen years, had pledged her troth to her brother King Jaehaerys, against the wishes of her mother and her mother’s lord husband. And far to the west on Fair Isle, with the whole width of Westeros separating her from both mother and sister, was Alyssa’s eldest daughter, the dragonrider Rhaena Targaryen, widow of Prince Aegon the Uncrowned. In the westerlands, riverlands, and parts of the Reach, men were already calling her the Queen in the West. - A Surfeit of Rulers, Fire and Blood

~

Dany knew she would take more than a hundred, if she took any at all. "Remind your Good Master of who I am. Remind him that I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, trueborn queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. My blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and of old Valyria before him." - Daenerys II, A Storm of Swords

Three Husbands:

Rhaena was married to Aegon the Uncrowned, Maegor the Cruel and Androw Farman.

~

Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . – Daenerys IV, A Clash of Kings

The Queen in the East:

“Done,” the king said…mayhaps too hastily, for it must be remembered that Aerea Targaryen, a girl of eight, was his own acknowledged successor, heir apparent to the Iron Throne. The consequences of this decision would not be known for years to come, however. For the nonce it was done, and the Queen in the West at a stroke became the Queen in the East. - A Time of Testing: The Realm Remade, Fire and Blood

~

"The best calumnies are spiced with truth," suggested Qavo, "but the girl's true sin cannot be denied. This arrogant child has taken it upon herself to smash the slave trade, but that traffic was never confined to Slaver's Bay. It was part of the sea of trade that spanned the world, and the dragon queen has clouded the water. Behind the Black Wall, lords of ancient blood sleep poorly, listening as their kitchen slaves sharpen their long knives. Slaves grow our food, clean our streets, teach our young. They guard our walls, row our galleys, fight our battles. And now when they look east, they see this young queen shining from afar, this breaker of chains. The Old Blood cannot suffer that. Poor men hate her too. Even the vilest beggar stands higher than a slave. This dragon queen would rob him of that consolation." - Tyrion VI, A Dance with Dragons

Refusing to Cry

When word of the battle reached the west and Princess Rhaena learned that both her husband and her friend Lady Melony had fallen, it is said she heard the news in a stony silence. “Will you not weep?” she was asked, to which she replied, “I do not have the time for tears.” - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

~

His business done, the captain of the Indigo Star bowed and took his leave. Dany shifted uncomfortably on the ebony bench. She dreaded what must come next, yet she knew she had put it off too long already. Yunkai and Astapor, threats of war, marriage proposals, the march west looming over all . . . I need my knights. I need their swords, and I need their counsel. Yet the thought of seeing Jorah Mormont again made her feel as if she'd swallowed a spoonful of flies; angry, agitated, sick. She could almost feel them buzzing round her belly. I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears. "Tell Belwas to bring my knights," Dany commanded, before she could change her mind. "My good knights." - Daenerys VI, A Storm of Swords

Gains Confidence After Bonding with a Dragon:

At the age of nine, however, Rhaena was presented with a hatchling from the pits of Dragonstone, and she and the young dragon she named Dreamfyre bonded instantly. With her dragon beside her, the princess slowly began to grow out of her shyness; at the age of twelve she took to the skies for the first time, and thereafter, though she remained a quiet girl, no one dared to call her timid. - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

~

Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night … Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce. And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods had heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. "Khaleesi," Jhiqui said, "what is wrong? Are you sick?" "I was," she answered, standing over the dragon's eggs that Illyrio had given her when she wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the shell. Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt strangely warm beneath her fingers … or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand back nervously. - Daenerys III, A Game of Thrones

[duchess-of-oldtown]

Crowns, Tiaras, Diadems of A Song of Ice and Fire

This is a comprehensive list of every crown, tiara and diadem mentioned in the entirety of A Song of Ice and Fire and related books, because I'm insane. This is a very long post so enjoy.

The Rights of Inheritance

Royal crowns, Tiaras and Diadems are usually inherited by the next monarch and destributed at their whim. Certain crowns in canon are symbolically important, lending credence to a claimant's claim to the throne. During the Dance, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror became of of two relics to confirm Aegon II's right to the throne throne at a time it was disputed. Even during the short Regency of Aegon II, Prince Aemond wore the circlet as an affirmation of his power.

The Fate of Royal Jewelry

Many of the Crowns on this list haven't been seen in a while. I suspect as in royal jewels in real life, many of the pieces have either been sold off to afford wars or lavish livestyles or have been broken down to create newer pieces. It may be that the families are still in possession of these crowns but they have taken a new shape.

Crowns of Westeros

Crown of Aegon I - The Conqueror's Crown

The Conqueror's Crown is an open circlet of Valyrian Steel and large square cut rubies. Aegon's crown was of the trappings of legitimacy for House Targaryen, worn by some of her more martial minded Kings. It's notable wearers are Aegon I, Aenys I, Maegor I, Aegon II, Daeron I "The Young Dragon" and unusually, Prince Aemond for a period during the Dance. The crown was lost in Dorne during the campaign of The Young Dragon.

Crown of Aenys I

The crown of Aenys I was a large, ornate circlet of yellow gold inlaid with pearls and jade. It also depicted the faces of each of the Seven gods. Aenys' crown was worn by Aenys and later, for a time, his son Jaehaerys I. It's current whereabouts are unknown, likely broken up for the gems or kept in storage.

Crown of Jaehaerys I

The crown of Jaehaerys I is an open circlet of gold set with seven coloured jewels to represent the Seven and the Seven Kingdoms. This crown was worn by Jaehaerys I, Viserys I, Rhaenyra I. It was sold by Rhaenyra during the Dance to pay for passage abroad a ship.

Consort Crown of Alysanne

Alysanne's crown is described as a more feminine and slender version of Jaehaerys' circlet. Its unknown if any other Queen Consort wore this crown or where it is now.

Tiara of Rhaenyra I

Described as a jade tiara once owned by the Empress of Leng and gifted by Daemon Targaryen. Worn by Rhaenyra, its whereabouts are unknown.

Crown of Aegon III

The crown of Aegon III is a an open circlet of gold. It was worn by Aegon III, Viserys II and Aegon V. Its current whereabouts are unknown.

Crown of Baelor I

The crown of Baelor was a crown of vines and flowers.

Crown of Aegon IV

The crown of Aegon IV was a large circlet of red gold with each point fashioned into the likeness of a dragon with eyes of gemstones. It was worn by Aegon IV, Daeron II, Aerys I and Aerys II. Current whereabouts unknown, very likely to have been destroyed after Robert's Rebellion.

Crown of Maekar I

The crown of Maekar was described as "warlike". It is an open circlet of red gold with large points of sharp black iron. Notable wearers were Maekar and Jaehaerys II. The whereabouts of this crown are unknown, likely in storage at the Red Keep.

Tiara of Daenerys I

Described simply as a tiara. Gifted by Illyrio of Pentos, worn at the Princess's wedding to the Khal. Its whereabouts are unknown, likely lost after the death of Khal Drogo.

Crown of Daenerys I

A crown featuring three dragons wrought of jade, onyx and ivory, with coils of gold and wings of silver. Daenerys is its first and current owner.

Consort Crown of Hizdahr zo Loraq of Meereen

Described as a gold crown, accompanied by a jewelled sceptre. First wearer and current owner is Hizdahr zo Loraq.

Crown of the Kings in the North

An open circlet of bronze inscribed with ancient runes with nine longsword-shaped points fashioned from black iron. Notable wearers include perhaps every King in the North until Torrhen who offered it up to Aegon. Whereabouts unknown.

Crown of Robb Stark

An open circlet of bronze inscribed with ancient runes with nine longsword-shaped points from black iron fashioned after the ancient and lost crown of the Kings in the North. Robb Stark was the original owner and it has since then been passed through many hands, now in possession of Lady Stoneheart, Lady Catelyn Stark (née Tully)

Consort Crown of Jeyne Westerling

Undesribed, only noted as small. Made for Queen Jeyne and likely offered up to House Lannister after the surrender of Riverrun. Whereabouts unknown.

Crown of the King of the Rock

Description unknown. Surrendered after the field of fire. Notable wearers include the Kings of the Rock.

Crown of the Kings in the Reach

A crown of fresh flowers in peace time and a crown of iron thorns and bronze during ear time. Notable wearers include Garth the Gardener and the Gardener Dynasty. Likely burned to ash on the field of fire.

The Falcon Crown of the Eyrie

Undesribed. Worn by the Kings of the Vale. Handed up to Visenya after the supplication of the Vale.

Sharra Arryn's Regent's coronet and Ronnel Arryn's Small Crown

Both undesribed. Likely the boy King's crown was a smaller version of the Falcon Crown. Both surrendered after the boy King's trip around the Eyrie on the back of the dragon Vhagar.

Driftwood Crowns of the Iron Kings

The traditional crowns of the Iron Kings were created on the ascension of each King and then destroyed after their death, always fashioned out of driftwood.

The Crowns of the Grey Kings

A tall pale crown fashioned from the teeth of the ancient sea dragon, Nagga. Worn by the legendary figure, the Grey King. Whereabouts unknown.

Crown of Euron Greyjoy

Breaking tradition, Euron Greyjoy wears a crown of iron with points fashioned from the teeth of sharks. Euron is the first and only wearer. It's origin is unknown.

Crown of Theon Greyjoy

A slim band of iron set with nuggets of gold and black diamond. It was made for Theon Greyjoy. Its whereabouts are unknown.

Crown of Princess Arianne Martell

Described as a band of copper suns worn across the brow. Owned by Arianne, Princess of Dorne.

Crown of Cersei Lannister

Described as a sparkling crown or spun of pale gold spun with emeralds. Worn by Cersei, origins unknown.

Crown of Cersei Lannister

A crown of gold described as heavy. Worn by Queen Cersei, origins and whereabouts unknown.

Crown of Margaery Tyrell

Described as a slim golden crown. Worn by Margaery, origins and whereabouts unknown.

Crown of Joffrey I and Tommen I

A golden crown of rubies and black diamonds. Worn by Joffrey I, possibly created for him. Worn later by Tommen I though it is said it is too large for him.

Crown of Stannis Baratheon

A crown in the fashion of flames cast from red gold. Made for Stannis and likely currently in his possession sonewhere outside Winterfell.

Consort Crown of Selyse Baratheon

A twin to her husband's, of red gold with points resembling flames. Currently in her possession at the Wall.

Crown of Renly Baratheon

Renly's crown is a circlet of golden roses with the head of a stag carved out of jade arising at his forehead. Made for Renly, whereabouts unknown, likely in the possession of House Tyrell or handed up in surrender to House Lannister.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Birth of Dragons Pt.2

Pairing(s): Aegon i Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader, Aegon i Targaryen x Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon i Targaryen x Visenya Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: canon Targcest, rivalry, jealousy, targaryen kid ocs

Words: 7167

Summary: Aegon the Conqueror’s family has grown to a substantial size. But with so many young and cocky dragons, someone is bound to be burned. 

Part 1

*Also it’s raining like a motherfucker in CA rn

The birth of your twins had been a joyous occasion for the Targaryen king. You’d given him two heirs who were strong and robust babes. 

The seed of the dragon would prove to be resilient. Two years later, you gave birth to another son. A beautiful boy named Rhaelor. He reminded you of your Renoxa for he possessed the pale lashes and resplendent crimson irises. When Visemarys and Baelyx first met their baby brother, they were terrified of Rhaelor’s eyes and burst into tears.

Another year passed before Rhaenys would be round with Aegon’s third child. Everyone expected her to be the next one to bear the dragon king another heir. The third son of Aegon was named Aenys. He, unfortunately, had not been blessed like his older brothers in health. Aenys was a sickly baby. Small and his limbs unbelievably stick thin. It was a wonder how he survived through infancy. You and Rhaenys would stay up so many nights watching vigil over the babe. She was beside herself and for the first time you were her pillar of strength. Fiercely supporting her, you treated Aenys as your own and did your best to care for him when you forced Rhaenys to rest. By the grace of the gods, he thrived.

Visenya however took longer to produce a child. Not until the year your twins turned seven did she finally conceive. Even then, she absolutely hated the entirety of being pregnant. Loathed the restrictions it put on her body. While Rhaenys hadn’t been too thrilled about the rounding of her body, you had absolutely adored your pregnant belly for it housed your boys who were the greatest joys of your life. At the same time she was pregnant with her first child, you were already showing symptoms of your fourth pregnancy. Visenya gave birth to a large boy she named Maegor. His screams into the world shook the glass in the windowpanes and had Aegon flinging his hands up to his ears in a vain attempt to block out the ear piercing wail.

A few months later your only daughter Aella was born. The first contractions hit you when you were flying in the air alongside Visemarys’ small dragon, teaching him how to direct Rahu to where he desired to go. Neither Renoxa or Rahu were too far off the ground in case an emergency landing was needed. A good thing considering you would have to land quickly to alert your family who had been watching from the ground. Aegon was quick to get to you with Rhaenys and Visenya (little Maegor was back at the High Hill with plenty of nannies since he was to young to be out and about) running after him. Baelyx watched with wide eyes but also kept vigil over his smaller brother Rhaelor and half-brother Aenys. You were hauled back to Aegonfort.

To your surprise, Aegon was absolutely thrilled to FINALLY have a daughter. Sons were revered above all in both Valyrian culture and Westeros. For him to be so joyous over having a daughter to call his own was heartwarming. 

“I have enough sons to hold up the Targaryen legacy.” He earnestly told you. “Five to be exact. I want to gift Westeros with another you though. A Targaryen princess will be much loved indeed.”

You and your family learned early on though that beneath her sweet and innocent countenance, there lay a headstrong and spirited personality that was as delightful as it was unpredictable. Aella was a remarkable blend of her family's qualities: tenacious like Aegon, valiant like Visenya, playful like Rhaenys and. . .

Aegon had put his hand to your chest. “She has your heart.”

A mighty heart.

As much as you were scolding the boys, you had to discipline Aella just as much. She happily got the skirts of her dress dirty when playing outside with her brothers. Little spitfire would even lick at any scrapes she got and carried on her merry way as if nothing happened. Falls did not phase, not even as a baby when she was first learning how to walk on stumbling feet. Visemarys and the younger twin Baelyx thought it was the funniest thing to teach their sister how to be an absolute gremlin. And she adored her older brothers for it. They were the ones to teach her words that were not something a lady should say (although you and your sisters said plenty of the same words). Aella got herself into many brawls with the young sons of different lords who dare say a harmful thing toward Rhaelor’s odd eyes or Aenys’ weak constitution. She would always be there to rouse them up and offer her support in any way possible. 

Then there was Aella and Maegor. . . Gods help anyone who fell upon their mischief. They were especially close having been born but months apart. If you were being honest, you did not particularly like Maegor’s influence over Aella. You loved your sister, but her son was another story. He was made of grittier material than the other children of Aegon. You knew if the throne ever fell into the hands of Maegor, well, that would be a dark day for the seven realms. Maegor would not be a kind or virtuous ruler. Thankfully, Maegor’s way to the iron throne would be a long way. Something terrible would have to happen to Visemarys first and as he grew, it was becoming unlikely that anyone besides his own father could defeat him in a sword fight. He was tall with broad shoulders and lithe limbs. You’d seen your son unarm many men who were twice his age and more seasoned a warrior. Motherly pride made you glow every time you watch him train with the others. For being the youngest son though, Maegor grew like a weed. Resilient like one too. When sparring against Rhaelor or Aenys, Maegor was the usual victor. Rhaelor despite his adventurous heart was not much of a fighter. Instead of honing his skill at the blade, Rhaelor would take off on his dragon Imorth. The dragon’s serpentine body, sinewy and elegant, stretches to an impressive length across the sky. Imorth shimmered with a myriad of greens, from deep emerald to a vibrant jade green. Many times, there would be sightings of your son and his dragon all over Westeros when he became an independent young man. He was your diplomat in spite of his odd appearance. His fair complexion and red eyes tend to spook people on the first meeting but he had quite the charming personality and managed to win over even the biggest skeptic. And Aenys, poor Aenys would never be the swordsmen the twins were or even young Maegor. Not even like Aella who had been loudly vocal on her desire to learn whatever her brothers were learning. But he was a kind boy and a scholar and had the sweetest voice when he sang. Even not being a warrior like his brothers, he still managed to receive his own female admirers.

Perhaps it was for the best she learned. Both you and your sisters were trained with a blade and fought alongside Aegon when he called upon you for assistance. Aella would be able to protect herself if the occasion called for it. She wouldn’t have to rely on any man and could fight atop of her mount, Yldri. Yldri boasted a mesmerizing appearance, scales shimmered with the softest lilac hue, like the petals of the most exquisite flowers in the kingdom. If anything, at least Aella would have a traditional Valyrian dragon rider death like her aunt Rhaenys. Rhaenys died in the war with Dorne when Aenys was just three years old. Both her and her silver dragon Meraxes. You kept yourself together for her son. You were the closest thing he’d have to his mother even though you ached for the loss of your beloved sister. 

There were moments in your grieving when you would momentarily forget her death and turn to say something to her, only to be painfully reminded that she was no longer there. Neither Visenya nor Aegon knew how to console you when you’d grow quiet in realization at your own blunder. The tears that would prick at your eyes fell without Rhaenys there to wipe them away as she always did. It was considered an honor though for one to die atop of their dragon. A fate that you and the remainder of your siblings desired. 

Your grief for Rhaenys lasts for years as you’re slow to come to terms to her no longer being by your side. Late at night you longed for her arms and her kisses. The way she completely molded to your body. She was the one you always turned to as both your sister and lover. Constantly your bedmate whether it be in a sexual way or just to sleep and protect one another. Aegon’s presence was a comfort but by no means a substitute or replacement. No one could take Rhaenys’ spot in your heart. 

**

After the Dornish War, there was a long time of peace where the children grew and prospered under its influence. The skies were filled with dragons as was the High Hill. 

**

Two dragons fly side by side with ease. The beautiful, sleek body of Imorth is larger than that of the younger Yldri. Even so, both dragons boast the most magnificent scales among the Targaryen’s seven dragons. 

Atop of the lilac mount Yldri rode the only Targaryen princess, Aella. Her silver hair grew tangled among the beating of the wind but her smile was ever prominent and cheeks bright pink. Yldri felt her joy and released a happy crowing noise as her wings beat against the open air. In response, Imorth shrieks out his own noise of enjoyment. He dives underneath the she-dragon, giving Aella a perfect glance of the top of Rhaelor’s snow white head. His emerald robes billow behind him, almost fusing with Imorth’s color. The two dragons spiraled around one another, a beautiful dance of dragonkind, their wings brushing against each other in a show of camaraderie. All the while, their riders laugh in a carefree spirit. Their responsibilities were not like those of their elder twin brothers: Visemarys and Baelyx. They were freer to goof off and spend their days in the skies with their dragons. They were not bound by the constraints of the world below. Roars reverberated across the open horizon, not in aggression but in exuberance.

An ear piercing dragon’s cry has their laughter dying down and turning in their saddles to see the larger form of Zypheros, Baelyx’s smoke gray dragon, advancing on them. Stilling their dragons into a steady gliding in place, Zypheros easily catches up with them.

Baelyx’s bangs whip around his face, his long ponytail like a ribbon behind him. When he smiles at his younger siblings, the indentation of dimples grace his face. “Both of you are requested by mother.” He calls over to them. Speaking so high up in the air tend to be difficult, especially on blustery days. “Aunt Visenya and Maegor will be arriving soon.”

Really, all Baelyx had to do was mention Maegor to get Aella’s attention. She can’t help but perk up at the prospect of seeing her other half-brother. Maegor lived on Dragonstone with his mother Visenya. Unlike herself and her other brothers, Maegor had no dragon. For as long as she could remember, Maegor always said the only dragon worthy of him was Balerion. Maybe it was true, maybe not for Balerion was a fine mount; the largest in the continent. 

Rhaelor knew his sister better than he knew anyone else. He rolls his scarlet eyes at her obvious excitement to see him though he was not as keen to see his aunt and half-brother. 

Her face plastered with a wide grin, Aella urges Yldri to land just outside of the newly constructed capital of Westeros: King’s Landing. The populace still jumped at the cry of dragons above but were slowly getting used to being around them. Aella tries to squint her eye in an attempt to see across Blackwater Bay to Dragonstone in hopes of catching sight Maegor atop of Vhagar with his mother. 

Getting closer to the Red Keep, the other dragons of her family rouse their heads as Yldri screeches her greetings. She glides by the training yard where she spots Visemarys, Aenys and Aegon the Conqueror. Their father was the picture of masculinity and authority. Already Visemarys stood at the same height as his father and only required a few more years before his muscles matched Aegon’s. Compared to them, Aenys could be a waif. Not as skinny as he used to be, he still lacks the bulk of his brothers and father. That was okay. Aenys made it up with his kind nature, smarts, and singing voice. Aella appreciated each brother for who he was. She didn’t think any less of Aenys for the fact that he was never going to be a great fighter. 

Aegon lifts his head up first to catch his daughter’s lilac dragon pierce through the sky like an arrow. He smiles to himself. She shined brightly, just like Rhaenys and (y/n). Catching even Visemarys gazing up with an expression of pure softness and affection. He’d been seeing it for some time now since Aella came of age. Visemarys AND Baelyx. 

(y/n) had noticed it as well and concern flashed on her face when she took note of her twins squaring the other up when Aella was between them. She didn’t want there to be strife among her children. Especially fighting over another sibling. Something like this would certainly prove to be a problem when Aella decides when she is ready to marry for even her mother was loathe to have her marry. After all, the mother and daughter duo was always close. As a babe (y/n) would strap Aella to her chest and take her on flights with Renoxa. Aella would be full of giggles the entire time, loving the open air and wind brushing against her fat cheeks. Her family’s pride and joy despite how often she’d be naughty. 

Taking into consideration both of his son’s interest in Aella, Aegon had thought about the perfect match for her. A union between her and Visemarys would be beneficial. She’d be queen once Visemarys was crowned king. She wouldn’t have to face any major life changes. The Red Keep would still be her home and she’d still be near (y/n) and Aegon. But he took into consideration Baelyx’s feelings as well. He was second son, youngest of the twins and the closest in line to the iron throne. An excellent marksmen with a bow and a well phrased in politics. The perfect weapon in the Targaryen belt. Baelyx even wield an assassin’s marked blade. Visemarys was brawny in strength but Baelyx was sleek like a predatory cat. Each movement he made was calculated.

Neither parent had an idea if Aella was aware of the twins’ affections for her. They’d try to support their daughter any way they could though. Whoever she chooses. Similar to his wife, one thing Aegon would never be able to get behind was Aella with Maegor. Thinking of it didn’t sit well with him. Maegor would never hurt Aella, that was not what concerned the conqueror. She’d sooner have his head on a spear if he tried to force himself onto her. His youngest son’s ambitions worried him. He saw the hunger in those eyes, the hunger of another conqueror. Westeros didn’t need one anymore. They needed a king who could continue to keep the peace and balance of the land. He’d be an amazing general were he able to be satisfied with just that. No, Maegor longed for the pinnacle of authority. Aegon didn’t want to scare Visemarys with the potential of an assassination by his own blood. That was the reality. He hoped he would be wrong in the end and perhaps Visemarys and Maegor could work things out civilly. 

A few miles away, Yldri finally lands her feet firmly upon the earth. Easily sliding off her back, Aella dusts off her skirts and pats her she-dragon on the neck. They walk the rest of the way to the mouth of what would become the Dragon Pit, a place where her family’s dragons could call home after long hours of being with their rider. Workers were still buzzing around, building the walls higher and higher to especially accommodate Belarion’s great size. 

She inhales deeply, happily. Her home was a beautiful one. Her kingdom even grander all thanks to the efforts of her father and his sisters. Aella felt immense pride in being a Targaryen, even more for being the daughter of the conqueror himself. 

Yldri playfully shakes her neck, bumping the girl in the back with her large snout. Her giggles are light as she watches her she-dragon make her leisurely way to the entrance of the Dragon Pit, already knowing that as her home. Workers scramble immediately at the sight of her and make way.

Aella scampers down the hill where the pits were situated to the outer walls of the Red Keep itself. The iron portcullis groans and lifts up from it’s stationary position in the ground. She waits patiently, waving to the guards on duty who greet her cheerfully. Above she hears the screech of Imorth and Zephyros gradually catching up to the trail she’d blazed with Yldri. 

“Welcome back, princess.” A knight smiles at her. His own eyes glance up to the smoke gray and jade green dragons twirling in the sky.

“Did you hear Maegor’s coming?” She excitedly replies. The reminder makes the knight grimace in response. There was little love for Maegor in the Keep. 

She doesn’t pay attention to the disgruntled grunt he gives her. Aella moves right past him but not to the front door of the castle. Walking around the outer bailey leads her to the training grounds where knights and soldiers alike practiced the dance of swords. The shrieking sound of steel against steel rings in her eardrums like the beginning of a song. That’s how she felt whenever she held a sword and trained with her brothers. It was all so much like dancing except more fun. There was a thrilling element to it. The dance of swords was also the fine line between life and death. One balanced on the razor’s edge when performing the intricate steps that were required to assure your life was safe. 

Men from either side of her stop what they do to give her the briefest of bows or acknowledgment. Not many men in Westeros approved of a woman taking up a weapon. But she wasn’t any woman. She would be like her mother and aunts, who didn’t need a man to protect them from danger. They could very well take danger by the horns and force them into submission. Although Aella had only seen her mother use a sword once in front of her it made a lasting impression. She became a different person when there was a sword in her hand. In that moment, (y/n) had resembled her eldest sister Visenya. 

Aenys’ hair, with pieces of hay sticking out of it, looked like a porcupine when he noticed Aella happily wandering on the training grounds. His watery hyacinth gaze crinkles as he smiles. “What has you all smiles, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)?”

Chipper as a bird, Aella grabs his hands and twirls him around now drawing the attention of her father and Visemarys. “Maegor and Aunt Visenya are coming!  Mother sent word out to me and Rhaelor. Isn’t it exciting!”

He shared the sentiment of everyone else as his own smile dimmed. Forcing his mouth to keep the shape of a smile, Aenys attempts to sound as lighthearted as his sister. “Is that so?”

At that moment, (y/n) Targaryen appears. Normally when she went to watch her husband and sons train, she’d shed her lovely gowns and dawn her leather trousers and tunic. Not that day. She was dressed in a gown of the softest green, perhaps thinking to match her son Baelyx. This was something endearing (y/n) did. Often she wore colors that matched those of her children’s dragons. Yesterday had been burgundy, taking after Rahu’s dark red hue.

Immediately Aegon catches the emergence of his youngest sister-wife. If possible, there were hearts in his eyes when he gazed upon her like it was the first time. Every edge of his face softens and he pats Visemarys’ back before sprinting to the stone steps that led up to the door. (y/n)’s grin is wide as she lets him sweep her up in his arms. The affection they showed to one another publicly tend to make the boys uncomfortable but Aella loves seeing her parents still enamored with one another after so many years. That was the kind of love she wanted. One to last a lifetime. Visemarys turned his face away when Aegon captures (y/n)’s lips in a passionate kiss. When he spots Aella giggling, he pretends to gag. Aenys chuckled at his family. While his mother was no longer alive, (y/n) became his surrogate mother. She cared for him the same as with her four other children. In Aenys was the last piece of her beloved sister Rhaenys left to the world. 

(y/n) whispers something to her husband that has him drawing away partially. “So Visenya is finally returning.”

His sister nods enthusiastically but her smile was stiff and Aella, from the shapes her lips moved in, knew her mother was talking about Maegor being with her as well. Aegon’s long silver-blonde hair had been tied into a braid for sword training, courtesy of (y/n)’s skilled fingers. It trailed down his back, almost to his rear. Swaying as he steps back and holds (y/n)’s hand as they both descend the stairs. 

Periwinkle eyes take in her daughter who bounds up to her. She chuckles and smooths the hair on Aella’s head even though the girl was almost the same height as her. “I see the news has reached everyone.”

“Baelyx is an efficient messenger.” Aella happily nods and holds her mom’s hands in her warm grasp. “I’m happy that Aunt Visenya and Maegor are coming after being away for so long, but is there a specific reason?”

The males of her family pay even more attention. This was something they had all been wondering. Four years ago, Aegon cut off contact with Visenya and subsequently Maegor. A big fight tore the elder Targaryen siblings apart. To begin with, Aegon held almost no romantic feelings towards Visenya. That was well known. Evidence being that (y/n) gave birth to four of Aegon’s children while Visenya only conceived one son. (y/n) however still kept in contact with her last sister. 

“It has been too long since I’ve seen my dear sister.” (y/n) confesses. By then Baelyx and Rhaelor were now entering the grounds and caught the last words of what their mother had said.  

“How long until they get here?” Rhaelor asks after giving his mother a kiss on the cheek which always delighted her. 

In return she pats Rhaelor on the cheek. “I can’t imagine it will take them long. Possibly within the hour. All of you are to wash and dress in your best. And boys, please, try your best to get along with Maegor.”

All of the Targaryen boys, even Aegon, look down at their feet. All having been guilty (except for Aenys) of antagonistic tendencies toward Visenya’s only child. 

Their maids were already waiting for them each to assist in anything they needed as all five of them were already young adults. Aella would require actual help for putting on her dress as it was many layered with ties that needed to be secured. 

They obey their mother’s instructions, but for Visemarys and Baelyx, they in particular were unhappy with Maegor’s arrival. 

**

Aegon was always handsome, whether streaked with dirt and blood or cleaned up like he was now he was exquisite. 

Reclined on the chaise lounge in his dressing room, you watch the strong muscles of his shoulders as he puts his arms through the sleeves of his clean tunic. Your eyes helplessly rove to the tapering of his waist and down to the perfect lift of his rear. 

Later. You tell yourself as you’re already imagining wrapping your legs around that delicious waist as he pounds into you, perhaps pump another child into.

For now, you had to remind your husband. “Do try to be gentler with Maegor. He already knows that he is not the favorite son. You don’t have to rub it in.”

He pauses before shoving his other arm into the corresponding sleeve. “He’s different than our boys (y/n).”

Pursing your lips, you acknowledge what he says as the truth. Maegor was definitely not like your four boys. Something unhinged about Maegor that made even you wary of him. “Regardless, you are his father.”

Turning around, his mauve eyes turn soft in regard to you. You’d voiced this before, the anticipation of discourse between the sons of the dragon dangled above your head the more Maegor was isolated. Aegon kneels in front of you, pressing your knuckles against his silky lips. “I’ll be as gentle as a lamb.”

A laugh bursts out of your chest. “Yes, gentle as a lamb coming from the dragon king himself.”

His grin curls to show off his sharp canine. “I can be gentle.” 

Yes, he was capable of being sweet and gentle to you and the rest of the kids but that was the extent. Visenya and Maegor were not granted the same kindness. He still wouldn’t tell you what exactly he and Visenya had argued about before she relocated to Dragonstone, but it must have been big. The two of them never got along, not as much as he got along with you and Rhaenys. Childhood had been no different. The eldest of the Targaryen children bickered nonstop and would even be reduced to brawling out in the courtyard. 

Lightly, you drag your lips down the bridge of his straight nose that seemed to have been sculpted by the most talented artist before placing a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. He’s practically purring at all the affection you lavish on him. Sometimes it goes to your head how he immediately becomes pudding in your hands. No one else would ever see Aegon like this. Only you. An incredible power that you alone possessed. 

The shrieking of dragons that pierce from outside alert your family that Vhagar was here.

Before allowing any of your children out into the yard to greet her, you double check their attire and move a few stray strands of silver hair that was hanging in Baelyx’s face and to tamper down Rhaelor’s naturally wild hair. A brooch on Aenys’ cloak was askew and you promptly fixed that too. He smiles down at you and you can’t help but lovingly pinch his cheek. He’d been born the weakest, but nearly towered over Aegon now. 

Prim and proper, you nod to yourself. Your wildlings, Aella and Rhaelor, could clean up nicely when they actually put their minds to it and weren’t on their dragons. Aella especially was radiant in her cream gown. Maybe too radiant. The twins were gazing adoringly at her, you could practically read the lovesick thoughts going through their head in that moment. If everyone got through today without any bloodshed, you would count it as a success. You just had to get through it then hopefully it would be smooth sailing from there once Visenya and Maegor settled in.

In the distance you could make out Vhagar’s mighty size descending to the entrance of the Dragon Pit. They’d be here shortly.

Aegon laces his fingers with your’s. “Breathe my love. You’re making the children nervous.”

So many things could go wrong. Tragedies of all sorts pierce you so that you listlessly pace in the courtyard. You miss Visenya, but you were ultimately scared of what her arrival would bring.

You give Aegon’s hand a vice-like squeeze. “Good. Maybe they’ll be on their best behavior then.” Particularly Baelyx. He had the shortest temper of all your children. His surliness could match Maegor’s which led the two to constantly butting heads when they were smaller. It didn’t take much to set off either boy. 

Shouts from guards atop of the guard tower shout the arrival of your sister and nephew. You press yourself closer to Aegon in both excitement and nerves. 

The gate rises and there stood the firm figure of your sister Visenya and the young man beside her. His hair and eyes scream Targaryen. Maegor. Unlike his brothers and father, Maegor wore his silver-blonde locks short. Suits the harsh features of his face much better in all honesty. 

They stride past the threshold, movements in perfect synchronicity that you wonder if they intended for that or if mother and son were just that much alike. 

Regardless of the bruised feelings among your elder siblings, you smile and open your arms wide to embrace Visenya. Usually she detested physical contact. She didn’t even like holding or carrying Maegor around when he was an infant. For you though. . . 

A rare and beautiful smile makes her regular stoney face crumble as she enters your arms, her own arms encircling around you. She presses you close to her body and you could practically hear her sigh in relief. “Ñuha prūmia (my heart).” She nuzzles her face against your hair. “Skorkydoso eman bōsa naejot ūndegon aōha laehurlion (How I have longed to see your face).”

Tears burn behind your eyes but you’re still smiling, even more now after her words. “Ao kesīr leghagon nyke (You here completes me).”

Before she could completely break in front of everyone, Visenya tears herself away first and rapidly blinks her eyes clear. Her stoic expression returns when she glances at the rest of the family behind you. Specifically at the King of the Seven Kingdoms himself. 

“Aegon.” Her voice is frosty.

Your husband returns the sentiment in kind. “Visenya. You and Maegor appear to be doing well.” For Aegon, that was as friendly as he could be with her right now. Looks like he hadn’t forgotten nor forgiven whatever transpired between them. 

To break the iciness, you beckon your children forward. Happily, Aella is the first to greet Visenya and Maegor. Her aunt pleasantly hums and pats her on the head. “How grown you are.”

“Welcome home.” Aella tells her earnestly. Then she turns to Maegor who already has a cocky smirk plastered on his mouth. You chew on the inside of your cheek at the look he gives her. “Hello, Maegor.” She tilts her chin up to dazzle him with a smile. 

His voice is a deep rumble. “Aella.”

The other boys politely greet them in turn. You bid everyone to retire inside so that your sister and nephew could relax from their dragon ride although Visenya didn’t know the first thing about relaxing, always alert and ready for battle. War time was over but the way Visenya was, you’d think  conflict was still array in the land. Rhaelor worked well as a diplomat and was constantly going to visit all of Westeros’ wardens. Not even a whisper of friction. A few bandits here and there but nothing dire. 

In the private sitting room of the Red Keep is where your get together was reconvened. Refreshments and sweets were offered as mainly you and Aella kept up conversation. Aenys helps as much as he could as does Rhaelor so that tensions may be eased but it’s difficult when the twins and Maegor are having a staring contest. Visenya and Aegon were no better. You felt the chill coming off of them. 

“Your children are of proper marrying age.” Visenya brings up randomly as the conversation lulls to just you and your older sister. “When will you be arranging prospective partners?”

You’re caught off guard back her sudden question. You glance at the five of them. Visemarys and Baelyx will be four and twenty come the next season while Aella had just turned seven and ten two months ago. 

“We’re in no rush.” You tell her tentatively. Visenya had certain ideals that you didn’t share with her. She always thought you and Aegon coddled your children and that they grew up spoiled. 

Her eyes narrow. “What about Visemarys? He should get a start on producing future heirs.”

He stiffens next to you in his seat, uncomfortable with his aunt’s scrutiny landing fully on him. Vis was not one to be easily intimidated though, especially not by an aunt he hadn’t seen in years. She held no sway or authority here. Not like you did as the official Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. 

“I have already decided on my bride.” 

That stuns everyone and Visenya’s eyes visibly round at him. He keeps his face cool and collected with a slight smirk curling at the corner of his lips. You and Aegon wordlessly gape at each other before addressing Visemarys. 

“You have?”

“Who is it?”

“Have we met her?”

Dozens of questions flew from you and your husband. You should have known though. There was only one girl he’d ever wanted to take for himself as a wife. 

“Aella.”

Baelyx jumps to his feet and growls at his twin. “You can’t just claim her as your’s.” He gestures to their sister who sat completely perplexed that Visemarys had named her his bride. Without even discussing it in her. Her face grew red with both embarrassment and discontent. 

You put a soothing hand on Baelyx’s arm but it’s too late. He’s furious and you fear that Maegor will feed off of this negative energy as well. But he’s still sitting, perfectly restrained and smirking at his half-brothers in an arrogant way that had you wondering what he was thinking. Or plotting. 

Aegon leans to breathe something into Visemarys’ ear. Father and son stand. “Excuse us.” Without another word, they leave with Baelyx right behind them still fuming and yelling at his brother who seemingly became deaf to his irate brother. 

Heaviness still hung in the air though as the rest of you flounder for something to say. Aella angrily trembled as Aenys consoles her. He knows when a battle has been lost though as Aella, just as quickly as her father and brothers, storms out of the room.

**

The vile audacity to claim her in front of everyone. He’d never even mentioned any sort of feelings that would hint that Visemarys felt something more for her other than brotherly love. Aella would be a fool not to notice how Baelyx and Visemarys looked her way. She knew but she wanted to hear them say it to her directly, not be sneaky but abruptly bringing it up with the rest of the family. Baelyx wasn’t really mad on her behalf. He was mad because he hadn’t been the one to publicly claim her first. 

Rage boiled her from the inside and heats up her checks with the fires of all the Seven Hells. When she got ahold of them, Aella would throttle both brothers into the ground. Didn’t matter that they were stronger and older than her. She would find a way to bring them down to their knees and BEG for her mercy. If only they weren’t so consumed with their alpha male bullshit to even asked her who she favored more. Were she to be faster to leave the sitting room, maybe Aella could have followed them to wherever they went off to. This involved her after all. Who she chose as her husband was her decision. Her parents promised her that she could choose whoever she wants to take as a partner. They said they would support her. This was a discussion that required her presence as well. She’d smother the flames of her fury in order to put up her petition to remind Aegon that she was in charge of choosing.

First she went to the chambers of the king and queen. Empty.

Stalking through the halls of the Keep, Aella realized that they weren’t in the main dwellings of the family. Aegon must have took them where he carries out all important duties. The throne room that housed the infamous iron throne, built by her father the conqueror. He was always wary when the young ones were too close to it. The swords were still sharp like they were freshly pulled from their owner’s hands. Swords of his fallen enemies. It wasn’t uncommon to receive small cuts from it. Aegon was never maimed when he sat on the throne since it was made for him. Not even his own chair would harm him. 

This forces her to leave the Keep and cross through the outer yard to get to the throne room which also housed a granary and a kitchen. Each step she took, Aella let out another curse toward her brothers. She’d give them the tongue lashing of the century. It will be ringing in their ears even as they lay on their deathbed. The never ending presence of soldiers milling about didn’t garner a second glance at them though even they noticed her wrath filled strut. Their princess rarely grew as impassioned as she was in that moment. Whatever argument was had in the Keep was enough to stoke her fire. 

The soldiers standing at the front bow at her presence and let her easily pass through. Aegon had been in the middle of saying something until the clacking of her heels hit against the ground. Visemarys smiles as if nothing of interest was going on while Baelyx’s seething lightened up. She walks straight up to Visemarys and shoves him with a house. 

“What kind of power trip are you on?” Teeth grit down hard as she goes to push him again despite her father calling her name.

Her anger toward Vis and not Baelyx as his glare turning into a self-righteous sneer. “See! I was only speaking up in Aella’s interest.”

Wrong thing to say.

She whips around and smacks Baelyx across the face. “You’re no better! You caused a scene.”

“Aella.” That stern command has Aella balling her hands into fists but obeys to face her father. She knew when to pick her fights and she would not win a fight with her father no matter how much Aegon loved his daughter. When he used that tone with her there was little choice but for her to simmer down. But her rage was still heavy in her mouth. She couldn’t even look at either brother who are positioned on either side of her. Baelyx, though his cheek was turning red, he sadly glances at his sister before pressing his lips firmly together. 

Aegon sighed, lines running across his face in the light of the throne room. A blessing he thought his children were. They behaved with the common childish mischief that arose with many kids in proximity. Never really caused him any real problems. But this was very much a problem that Aegon dreaded addressing. 

“Is it true you didn’t even speak this over with Aella, Visemarys?” He knows the answer. 

Visemarys being the eldest tend to let that go to his head. Crown Prince of Westeros and Heir to the Iron Throne, he thought whatever he said would be law. At least he has the common sense to shift his eyes away from Aegon with shame. “Yes, your grace. I figure it was inevitable though. Who better for me to take as wife and queen?”

His sister scoffs in disgust but keeps quiet under Aegon’s intimidating glare. 

“You do not have immediate claim of Aella just because you are first born.” Aegon sternly informs his son. In response his heir flinches. He’d been hoping his father would be on his side. Really, who would Aegon rather Aella marry? Visemarys would make her a queen. “She was promised she could choose her own husband. You’d be wise to respect that.” 

Newfound admiration blossoms for her father. She hadn’t expected him to take her side in all of this. But she realized she would not be exempt from being scolded as well. 

“Baelyx may have deserved your words but he didn’t deserve your abuse.” Aegon gazes from one pair of lilac eyes to another. Their father cast quite the shadow. “All of you are to go to your rooms for the rest of the night. Your dinner will be brought to you. You’re to reflect on how your actions may have harmed the other. Put yourself into their body and empathize. We’re family first and foremost. The house of the dragon cannot survive if we’re squabbling amongst one another.” He appeared to catch his own words. Momentarily he hangs back to gather his thoughts. “Tomorrow morning report straight to the throne room. No breakfast.” 

They bow to their illustrious father. His final words were law and even his offspring must bend the knee to their sovereign. 

Guards were sent along with them to make sure the trio went to their respective rooms.

In her room, Aella seeks out a distraction in the form of embroidery, to darts, hells she even tried to practice the lute but even boredom couldn’t help her enjoy that monstrous instrument that her teachers insist her learn to play. By the second hour, Aella was near ready to smash her lute into a thousand pieces against her bedpost. Were it not for the playful knock at her door, she may have gone through with her destructive impulse. A quizzically arched brow, Aella stares at the door. 

“Who is it?” She called out.

“Jaesa (Goddess).” That fine serpent’s voice has her heart fluttering.

“Maegor. Unfortunately I have been banished to my room for the night.” She chuckled and tents her fingers on the door. “I don’t think father intended for me to have any visitors.”

His laugh is a low baritone that has Aella smiling fondly at the door. “Open the door, Jaesa.” 

She doesn’t bother to think about the consequences and pulls on the handle of her door. Maegor is by himself, and easily manages to squeeze his way through the slim opening she offered him. Four years didn’t change Maegor’s personality, but it certainly transformed his body into swelled muscles and a proud stance. 

Still furious with her brothers, Aella eyes him up and down with a coy grin that mirrored her half-brother’s. He read her mind easily, always had. He’s already lifting her up by her rear as she grabs for his face to kiss him. 

Only she could say who were husband would be. 

[reignof-fyre]

I believe that Valyrians of old practised equal primogeniture, and the only thing an heir had to be was a dragonrider. Think about it. They practice incest, so the eldest (say, a daughter) inheriting meant that the firstborn son (say, the second eldest) would be a ruler anyway. Why overlook the dragonriding daughter for a dragonriding son when they'd both end up rulers anyway?

Also, in Old Valyrian, the world's "prince" "princess", and "heir" are all the same: dārilaros, as in, it isn't gendered. This is the biggest clue that they practised equal primogeniture in Valyria and likely gave that up in Westeros to please the misogynistic bastards there.

(Click for better view, from this site)

Also, they were in close proximity to the Rhoynar, and they are confirmed to practice equal primogeniture.

From what we know, Visenya was a warrior and this was accepted by her father and brother-husband as normal. She rode a dragon, which is, again, their normal. It's also heavily implied that Aegon wed Visenya to strengthen his claim to dragonstone, meaning she was the named heir of their father as the eldest no matter her gender.

The Targaryens conceeded a lot when they became Kings and Queens, one being their faith (as far as we know; they could have secretly worshipped the 14 flames of Old Valyria) and they had to have a literal contract written by Jaehaerys and the Faith to be able to continue intermarrying to keep the bloodline pure.

From this, we can extrapolate that Valyrians likely practiced equal primogeniture and it was Jaehaerys, whose best friend was a Septon, who began the trend of being a misogynistic piece of shit to the women of House Targaryen, what with how he disregarded a lot of what Alysanne said to him, disinherited Rhaenys, and allowed Lord's not of House Targaryen to choose the heir to the throne rather than let Rhaenys inherit. He also treated his daughters like absolute shit, calling Saera a whore and barely mourning Viserra, etc.

I definitely think that Jaehaerys, due to his trauma from Maegor, was slowly manipulated by Septon Barth and the men he surrounded himself with to see women as less than, and he alone planted the seeds of rebellion by giving the lords a choice in who would inherit after him when they never should have had the option because in the world of ice and fire the monarchy is absolute and the King's word is absolute law.

Jaehaerys' many mistakes gave the Hightowers a foothold and meant that the realm would undoubtedly be split when it came to the Dance because a previous king (jaehaerys) planted doubts. And also Otto schemed and plotted with alicent and likely the maesters and faith.

In naming Rhaenys heir, Jaehaerys would then have to answer the question as to why he took the throne when Rhaena and Aerea were still alive and the wife and daughter of the last King (Aegon). Jaehaerys was, in actual fact, a usurper if you looked at it at a certain point of view.

The Rightful line of succession should have gone like this going by cannon deaths etc

Aenys > Rhaena > Aerea (died)> Rhaella (if she gave up her septas's vows), or Jaehaerys > daenerys (she died young) > aemon > rhaenys > laena (dies) > Baela (jacaerys as consort) > their firstborn > so on and so forth

But it didn't. Because jaehaerys is a cunt, and so are the women hating, misogynistic andals + faith and maesters.

[floatyflowers]

The Adopted Princess| Dark! Targaryen and Velaryon Boys x Reader (Aegon II, Aemond, Jacaerys, Lucerys) Part III

(Don't own the gif)

Part II

You look one last time at your chamber, which was filled with many memories in here, memories that gave you nostalgia.

The memories of your adoptive mother braiding your hair or giving you your first dragon egg which still hasn't hitched up till today.

And you are sure that it would never hitch because you are not a Targaryen, but you are keeping the egg around for the little hope that it might hitch.

"Her highness, your mother, is waiting for you so you all could leave together, my princess" 

One of the servants enters your chamber to inform you, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"I will be on my way, you could leave now, thank you" the servant bows in respect before taking his leave.

You walk out of your chamber, but the sight of Aemond walking towards you, holding something, stops you in your tracks.

"What is the matter, Aemond?" you inquire, surprised to see him.

"I came to say my farewells, and give you this to remember me by it"

The young Targaryen prince shows you the necklace with the red crystal in the middle.

"Aemond...it is beautiful" you take the necklace from him, looking down at it with admiration.

The said boy blushes at your acceptance of his gift, liking the way you smile.

"Can I also request something of you?" you look at him with your red eyes, nodding your head as a sign for him to go on.

"Can we exchange letters through ravens?" 

"Of course, I would keep that in my mind," you say cheerfully.

Yes, you find it strange that Aemond just gave you such a precious gift, and also requested to write letters to each other. 

But, he is way better than his older brother, who didn't even bother to apologize for his inappropriate behavior.

"Thank you for the gift, I will wear it every day, Aemond," you say, before leaning close and kissing him on the cheek.

With that, you walk away, leaving behind a flustered Aemond whose whole body feels warm from embarrassment.

You kissed him on the cheek.

That means you love him the same way he loves you, right?

꧁𑁍꧂

You stare down at your dragon egg eagerly, after noticing the big cracks all over the egg. 

After you arrived in Dragonstone with your family, strange things been happening with your dragon egg, like how it would shake roughly.

To be honest, you thought it was impossible because you believed the myth that implies that the egg only hitches if you are a true Targaryen.

However, it seems like it was just a myth after all.

When the egg finally hatched, you let out a happy gasp after your baby dragon breaks through the shell.

It was a light blue colored dragon, matching the color of his shell.

His wings are long, just for a baby dragon.

"Mother, Father!"

You shout out loud, as you rush out of your new chamber while being careful not to startle the small creature, that is laying comfortably on your hand. 

"What is the matter?"  

Rhaenyra inquires as she stands with her husband, Laenor, discussing some matters.

Their eyes grow big in shock upon seeing what you are holding.

"It finally hitched" Laenor chuckles, happy for you.

Rhaenyra walks over to you, and looks down at your dragon, examining it, only to discover that it is a male, before looking up at you with a proud smile.

"What are you going to name him?" 

"Quicksilver, just like King Aenys' dragon name" 

Many belittle Aenys Targaryen, but you admire the man for his kindness and justice unlike his brother, Maegor the cruel.

Suddenly, the guards announce the arrival of one of the messengers from Driftmark.

Announcing the death of Laena Valeryion.

She committed suicide after failing to give birth.

You watch as your adoptive father breaks down while your mother comforts him.

Hearing those news made you realize that you might meet the same fate.

You have always feared childbirth.

Nevertheless, you don't know that four future admirers would do anything to make you have their children.

Especially Aegon II who loves to fetishize about it while standing on the edge of the widow.

Part IV

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