#Rhaella Targaryen (twin)

[coldraindropsss]

Rhaena, daughter of Aenys, i

Rhaena, daughter of Daemon

Rhaena, daughter of Aegon iii

Tyanna of the Tower

Alys Rivers

Jenny of Oldstones

Rhaella twin to Aerea

Rhaelle married to Lord Baratheon

Queen Rhaella wife to King Aerys II

[stromuprisahat]

And thus it was there at Casterly Rock that Princess Rhaena gave birth to Aegon’s daughters, twins they named Aerea and Rhaella. ... The maester at Casterly Rock who helped deliver the children tells us that afterward Princess Rhaena begged the prince her husband to take them all across the narrow sea to Tyrosh or Myr or Volantis, anywhere beyond their uncle’s reach, for “I would gladly give up my own life to make you king, but I will not put our girls at risk.” But her words fell on stony ears and her tears were shed in vain, for Prince Aegon was determined to claim his birthright.

...

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.” Whereupon, fearing her uncle’s wroth, she gathered up her daughters, Aerea and Rhaella, and fled farther, first to Lannisport and then across the sea to Fair Isle, where the new lord Marq Farman (whose father and elder brother had both perished in the battle, fighting for Prince Aegon) gave her sanctuary and swore no harm would come to her beneath his roof.

...

... If Prince Aegon had truly been the king, by law his eldest daughter, Aerea, stood his heir, and might therefore claim to be the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms…but Aerea and her sister, Rhaella, were barely a year old, and Rhaena knew that to trumpet such claims would be tantamount to condemning them to death. Instead, she dyed their hair, changed their names, and sent them from her, entrusting them to certain powerful allies, who would see them fostered in good homes by worthy men who would have no inkling of their true identities. Even their mother must not know where the girls were going, the princess insisted; what she did not know she could not reveal, even under torture.No such escape was possible for Rhaena.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Rhaena Targaryen, twice Queen, never ruling. Bold and smart, more capable than her brother-husband.

[vaedar]

𝐎𝐎𝐂; 

       Hello everyone! So I am planning on doing an asoiaf multi muse ( Vaedar and Rhaegar will not be in there, they will keep their blogs ), and I am reading up on GRRM interviews stuff, and he’s pretty much confirmed more of my headcanons for Valyria, and I am too giddy to not share... so here I am, sharing. Multi muse will take a while to get ready but will ofc post here when it’s done. Hope you’ve all been doing good! 

[sarcasticsweetlara]

If it doesn't bother you I want to add some insight to the lives of Rhaena Targaryen's daughters: Leyla, Ceryse, Lianna, Aerea, Alyssa (in honor of Rhaena's grandmother) and Rhaella Hightower.

They are all so beautiful and resemble their mother one way or another.

They must have married Lyonel and Samantha's sons, the sons of Martin, and Hightowers from other branches and obviously must have been so charismatic.

Leyla, Lianna, Aerea and Rhaella had silver hair while Ceryse had a silver streak among her dark red hair (like her cousins Elaena and Valarr) and Alyssa mocha brown hair, and Lianna and Rhaella had dark brown eyes.

And while their dresses are beautiful, green is not exactly the color of House, that is only for war, the real color of the symbol of House Hightower is gray.

Rhaena's granddaughters must have married into House Velaryon as well in order to keep their Valyrian blood pure, also, they could have married into House Penrose as well if the theory Aelinor is a descendant of Rhaena comes true.

Leyla is like a mix of her mother and aunt, and Ceryse looks so elegant and poised.

Alyssa reminds me of her great-grandmother and namesake, it's her smile I guess.

Lianna, Aerea, Rhaella look so Princess like it's completely beautiful and a shame their grandparents and step-grandmother/first cousin-once removed didn't get to meet them.

I also bet Laena and Leyla like to gossip and spend time together.

Aegon IV surely lusted after his cousins, but Laena knew how to avoid him and always protected her sweet cousins.

I think for obvious reasons Leyla, Ceryse, Lianna, Aerea, Alyssa and Rhaella are the only Hightowers Aegon III and Viserys II liked.

Leyla, Ceryse, Lianna, Aerea, Alyssa and Rhaella would prove that just like their mother Rhaena and their great-great-great-great uncle Aegon the Uncrowned Prince of Dragonstone there is more to the Targaryens than riding dragons.

They would be brilliant explorers, cunning schemers of court where they protect their uncle's and cousins, and clever ladies.

Princesses in all but name.

They were archivists of History, of both their House of birth but also the House of their mother.

They also dressed in pink to honor Morning, the dragon of Rhaena.

In terms of personality:

- Leyla: vivacious

- Ceryse: bright

- Lianna: resourceful

- Aerea: able to see through the darkness and always scheming for the better of her family and loved ones

- Alyssa: mischievous

- Rhaella: curious

The legacy of Rhaena the last dragonrider

The perfect combination of House Hightower and House Targaryen (it is rumored Oldtown and the Hightower were built by Valyrians, which would explain why Jaehaerys confused Alicent with his daughter Saera due to a certain resembling as well as his regretful delirium) in which they help the dynasty that is related to them through their mother.

They also represented their mother in their willful and bold spirit, as Rhaena may have been calmer than Baela but still a Targaryen with fire in her veins.

Personally, I think Alyssa may have been the darling of the court, reminding everyone of her great-grandmother who was clever enough to be able to sneak out and be able to practice with the sword in secret and loved riding Meleys, and that her great-granddaughter was just as clever as her.

thank you again @riotarttherite!! i love these amazing portraits <33 this is how imagine the next gen after the dance to look like when their adults (im aware visenya was a still birth and we have no idea what happened to alys/aemonds son but imagine them here happy) the rest are mentioned in f&b but don’t get enough recognition 

From Left to Right—

Meagon Rivers bastard son of alys and aemond, Gaemon Palehair bastard son of aegon ii

Laena Velaryon daughter of baela and alyn, Visenya Targaryen daughter of rhaenyra and daemon

Leyla Hightower daughter of rhaena and garmund, Ceryse Hightower daughter of rhaena and garmund

Lianna Hightower daughter of rhaena and garmund, Aerea Hightower daughter of rhaena and garmund

Alyssa Hightower daughter of rhaena and garmund, Rhaella Hightower daughter of rhaena and garment

[vampire207343]

Helianthus Euphemia Potter

Lily & James Potter had twin daughters the oldest Helianthus Euphemia Potter as their oldest child their father named her his heir and then there is the youngest twin Mara Lily Potter.

Hometowner Queen would plan to send her youngest half brother to old town to protect it with his dragon so before the Hightower had that chance she had asked her father to be the paymate for Bealon which the king allow no matter how Alicent had tried to stop the king to sending Daeron to Claw Isle  but it was no use it was king's order so their nothing they could do but watch the one 1 month old Dearon leaves since they can't go against the order of the king.

Daeron was raised alongside Bealon like they are brothers instead of Uncle and Nephew. Even Brandon, Torrhen and Rickon also like him well enough. That unlike other children of Alicent Daeron was the only who grew up with love being away from his so called loving mother and his egg which came from Dreamfrye newest clutch during the time he was born hatch.

One day Dreamfrye had escape the dragon pit and had moved to Summerhall and made a new den being guide by the 14 flames no one has seen Dreamfrye since well unless your Rhaella then since the king never had ask if she saw either Dreamfrye or Vermithor & Silverwing for that matter but they never did so she hadn't say anything that they had made a. Den in Summerhall.

5 years later…

Daeron Targaryen & Bealon Targaryen-Celtigar are now 5 years old a Rickon Targaryen-Stark is now 9 years old and the twins are now 12 years old themself and Rhaella is now 25 years old and husband had died from some poison on his system and he never told anyone and with him gone Claw Isle now belong to Rhaella until Baelon is old enough.she may not had grow to love her second husband like she had with her first but they did before friends so she was saddened to his death. But as much as she would have if she had fallen in love with him.

And after the funeral she received a Raven that Leana Velaryon had dies so her family and herself had to travel to Driftmark for Leana's funeral where she saw that her father doesn't look someone his age in fact he look like Lord Rickon Stark when he was still alive and that's saying something since he came from the generation of her grandsire than her father. She kept her children away from Rhaenyra's children along with keeping them away from her other half siblings since who know what they are like they might even injure her children which the boys didn't mind since they don't want to be away her either and Daeron himself kept his distance from the family he himself doesn't even know since he was sent away as an infant.

And the night after the funeral a fight broke off between the Children of Rhaenyra & Daemon's girls along with Aemond who had claim Vhagar and the girls claim they stole Vhagar when no one own a dragon so Aemond can't have stole him if Rhaena had wanted to claim Vhagar she should done it already but she didn't so she shouldn't blame the boy when he decided to claim a dragon for himself. But Lucerys had taken one of Aemonds eyes so she was glad that she had kept her children and Dearon and it became obvious it was a great call because that could have been one of them. By that time Rhaella's twin boys are already master swordsmen and even Bealon and Daeron already began training in weapons unlike Rhaenyra's boys who had yet to learn how to properly fight.

After Leana's Funeral Rhaella and her family left and decided to travel around Essos and their dragon had even somehow taken them to Valyrian luckily for them whatever virus is the air they are immune especially Daeron since she had the blood ritual wto make him properly her son so he would one day be immortal as well they found a lot of Valyrian steel weapons and jewels and even dragon eggs left unhatch and only few had turn to stone which should be aa miracle at all they also found a lot of spell book that was left behind. All the thing that had found were purge of anything negative that had affected them during the doom before taking it back to Summerhall by then the Direwolf they have had multiple especially when Brandon and Torrhen Targaryen-Stark's Direwolf had mated each other had 5 pups together trusted dragon keeper that Rhaella allow to stay in Summerhall were taught how to take care of Direwolf as well so they also take of their direwolf when they are left behind.

300 years later….

The last Targaryen had died when Daenerys Targaryen, the daughter of the mad king, was killed by her lover and nephew Jon Snow/Jaehaerys Targaryen the son of her older brother Prince Rhaegar Targaryen with Lyanna Stark. Rhaenyra's line is gone but Rhaella's family are still alive living in Summerhall or Claw Isle along with the dragons that lived there.

During their travel they discover a land unknown to the rest of them for quite sometimes

Rhaella and Brandon had been living on one town from one such land they had discover a man who could turn to beast for every full moon but during their time in the New world Rhaella have fallen in love with a young worlock by the name Kol Mikealson and he to her the two of them have been courting for a year now. Before the two married by then Kol had been told the truth but he still accepted Rhaella and any children she may have from her first two husbands hundred years ago. Kol met Brandon's other brothers and he was accepted by them. Rhaella had even taught Kol Valyrian magic which is a lot more powerful than the magic he and his mother use. He had begun worshiping Balerion.

It wasn't long after Kol & Rhaella had married that Kol had become immortal like her and his new step children when his mother had turn all his children to a vampire who required blood to lived but luckily the only thing kol had gotten from that was the lost of magic over nature along with gaining Strength and speed of a vampire other than that he is truly immortal unlike the rest if his siblings who can still be killed. The reason their mother Easther had turned them to vampires was because she was afraid she would have more of her children but unfortunately for her husband discovered her affair with a werewolf that resulted in the birth of Klaus mikaelson.

Which Mikael went after the werewolf and slaughter them and before their father could return Klaus,Elijah and Rebekah made a vow between them always being their for each other but three of them left Kol and Finn from that vow so decided to leave his sibling behind and join his wife back to her home in Summerhall where he meet a lot of dragon that had survive the dance of dragons between Rhaenyra & Aegon II.While Mikael began hunting his own children after that but no one had ever seen Kol, not even their father, no witch they asked to locate him was able to reach him at all.

[miiroki]

𝘿𝙖𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 & 𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙘𝙚! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧/𝙤𝙘

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥'𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?

Warning: targcest, (niece and uncle) 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

one: ✶ two: ✶

It was in the wee mornings on a warm day that Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City, had been forced to partake in breaking fast with his family.

Consisting of his father Prince Baelon the Brave, his mother Alyssa Targaryen, his elder brother Prince Viserys, and his lady-wife, Aemma Arryn.

For a young prince of merely 16 name days old, Daemons world was small, and only consisted of his family, sword fighting, and Caraxes. His thoughts of marriage and husbandly duties were of no importance to him, and held no precedence in his mind.

Daemon walked the bustling halls of the Red Keep, his head held high as the servants, guards, and common men alike showed respect by bowing slightly to the young boy.

Reaching the dining room, he was welcomed with the smell of warm food, his mother calling out to him and patting the seat next to her.

Daemon quickly situated himself, readying his stomach for the food and quickly pounced on the meat pies across the table, slightly splashing Viserys’ beige tunic.

—

The day seemed to drag on for far to long. It was late into the afternoon that Daemon was made aware that he was now an uncle to two Targaryen babes.

The news had him running to the birthing chambers, where his brother and his wife sat, cooing at the whining twin girls.

Feeling awkward, Daemon stood rigid near the entrance of the large room.

“Brother, come. Would you like to see them” Viserys had hollered. If Daemon didn’t know any better he would have guessed that Viserys himself birthed the babes, he looked even more elated than Aemma did, which was hard to achieve.

Daemon shuffled quietly near the couple, and peered down at the babes. He couldn’t help but poke the cheek of the one in Viserys’ arms.

“Be gentle Daemon” Viserys somewhat scolded him.

Before Daemon could retreat his finger, the babe had grasped it with both her tiny hands, babbling quietly.

When Daemon broke free from her grasp, she started to wail, and wail she did. So he quickly extended his finger to satiate the crying newborn.

Viserys and Aemma let out a shared chuckle, before offering the babe for Daemon to hold.

“What if I drop it” He whispered.

“It is not an ‘it’ brother, her name will be Rhaella” Viserys stated while softly stroking the girls head, “and the youngest will be Rhaenyra”

Daemon reluctantly held the babe awkwardly in his arms, adjusting to fit to the curve of the squirming girl.

Once settled Rhaella quickly found comfort in her uncles arms, and fell asleep, chest slowly falling up and down. Daemon kept his eyes on her, and his gaze never faltered. He wasn’t much for babies and children, but he knew he’d adore his new niece.

Aemma giggled from her position of the bed, “Rhaella seems to be quite fond of her uncle already” she rocked the sleeping Rhaenyra calmly. “Let’s hope young Rhaenyra will feel the same way”

—

“Rhaella, come out!” A man’s voice had echoed in the gardens of the Red Keep, situated behind the throne room.

Daemon was now 1 and 20, while his darling niece was only a mere 5 name days old. She was currently playing with him by hiding in the palace bushes, that littered the gardens of the Red Keep.

“I’m coming to get you…” Daemon said tauntingly, knowing that Rhaella can hear him well thanks to her frenzied giggles, that bounced off the stone walls.

Daemon slowly stalked deeper into the garden, while his eyes followed a girl shaped shadow that darted from bush to bush.

He sighed and stopped in the middle of the grassy area, hands on his hips. “Where is that little girl? When I find her I'm going to gobble her up” he dramatically stated to himself, making sure he’s heard.

Rhaella had wanted to move to the bush to his far right but before she could leave her spot she was caught and lifted into the air.

“I got you now!” Daemon declared, lifting her by her arms and bringing her closer to his chest while he pretend to eat her dramatically like a dragon.

Rhaella’s giggles and laughter could be heard all throughout the halls of the Keep, as she flailed her arms and legs out, trying to escape the dragons grasp. “Not fair uncle” she whined, when Daemon finally settled her on his arms.

He grinned and laughed slightly, brushing parts of Rhaella’s hair away from her face. “Don’t you think your uncle is mighty and clever enough to find you wherever you are?”

Rhaella huffed and flopped into Daemons chest admitting defeat.

Daemon laughed louder as he held onto her tightly, bundling her up in his arms even as she giggled and squirmed.

[darknight3904]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

129 AC

Her chamber is suffocatingly warm, the soft morning breeze that she normally was indulged in was missing today. However, it was not the stifling heat that bothered her today, the news that was being spoken to her was.

"How long have you known?"

Her voice is stronger than she thought it'd be.

"Since Rhaenrya and Laenor's wedding. His...face that night gave his actions away."

Rhaella could scarcely believe what Rhaenys had just said. She had known for so many years and chosen not to tell her? Every night at supper she had looked at Rhaella and chosen to withhold information from her?

Her hands shook with anger. Anger for what might've been her life, for a mother she did not know.

"I will not return to Driftmark with you and my cousins on the morrow." She said

"I am sorry." Rhaenys said. As much as Rhaella hated it, she sounded sincere

"Get out!" She yelled, hoping no tears had escaped her eyes yet.

"I thought that if I kept my silence he'd tell you himself," Rhaenys explained

"He clearly had no intentions of ever telling me of Lady Rhea." Rhaella yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Rhaenys, "Just like you he is content with keeping me in the dark."

"You were a little girl when you came to me, I did not want to burden you with such a truth." Rhaenys said, trying to take a step closer to Rhaella.

"I am not a child any longer! You have had every opportunity to tell me!" Rhaella cried

"I know...I was wrong in withholding it...If you might-"

Rhaella lets her hands come down on the trinkets and ink well that sit on the table that separates her from Rhaenys. Papers and a jewelry box go flying to the floor while the ink well smashes into the wall.

"No. You knew how much I yearned for a family, for kin that were related to me, that is why I accepted your invitation to live with you. Because Baela and Rheana are my blood, yet you stood by and let me build a relationship with the very man who murdered my mother!"

Rhaenys' lips press into a firm line and Rhaella feels her face twitch in anger and sadness.

"I never wish to see you again." Rhaella declares, "Leave. Go back to Driftmark and let the tides swallow you whole."

She turns so her cousin cannot see the tears that are beginning to fall. The clicking of heels and the sound of a door shutting let her know Rhaenys is finally gone. Rhaella lets herself drop onto her bed. The blankets are soft and comforting as she cries into them. She's not even sure why she cries, mourning for a woman she has never met, a woman she will never know.

Aemond takes note of Rhaella's absence in the training yard immediately. She had just a day left her in Kings Landing and now she was standing him up after he offered to show her how to hold a longsword better. His spine was tight with anger as he searched the Red Keep for her. She wasn't in the library, her chamber, or even with Heleana. He was ready to even check in Aegon's chamber when the sight of his own chamber's door ajar caught his eye. Surely he had shut it entirely before departing for the training yard this morning.

He pushes it open, expecting one of Heleana's twins to be riffling though his things again. He'd had candy on his desk one time and now they expected it every time, they were truly going to be the fattest Targaryens if they weren't careful. Fortunately, it is not his niece or nephew who is in his chamber but Rhaella herself. She sits at his desk writing something. She had stood him up in the training yard to invade his private chambers?

"What are you doing?" He asked, still upset about her absence, "You have your own quill."

He crossed the room quickly and his dexterous hands snatched the quill from her hand. He expects her to laugh and try to take it back, like she usually would but instead is met with bright violet eyes tear-filled eyes.

"What has happened?" He asks, suddenly fearing the worse," Was it Aegon? I'll kill him if he touched you."

His hand jumps to the thin dagger he keeps at his side, a practice he had adopted after he lost his eye.

"It wasn't, Aegon. It's Daemon." She says sadly

"What has he done?" Aemond asks

Daemon was not eve in attendance for his name day celebration, he and Rhaenrya had stayed on Dragonstone.

"Rhaenys told me the truth of my mother's death. She did it today, I do not know why she chose to do it now, after knowing for so long. But Daemon is the reason my mother was taken from me, not a hunting accident like I was told for so many years." Rhaella explains, a stray tear escaping her eye

Aemond's fingers twitch with the need to wipe it away.

"I'm writing Daemon to tell him what a terrible person he is for doing that to my mother. I want him to regret it for the rest of his life." Rhaella says, glancing at a half-written raven scroll.

"I am sorry, for your mother," Aemond said

He doesn't know what to do. He has no experience with tears or feelings, even his own are a mystery to him. Most of all though the tears of a woman are something he has never been trained to deal with.

He is even more unsure of himself when she suddenly stands and wraps her arms around him. He's sure her snot is now wiped in his hair.

"Thank you." She whispers

He can feel the movement of her lips on his neck.

"What can I do for you? Is there anything?" He asks, tightening his own arms around her.

"Ask your father if I can stay here again. I cannot go back to Driftmark with Rhaenys and my cousins. I'll die if I have to see her again." Rhaella confesses

"Of course. I'll make sure he agrees." Aemond says

Soft silence settles around them as Aemond gently runs a soothing hand up and down Rhaella's back. He had seen the wet nurses do it to his niece and nephew when they cried so it seemed appropriate.

"I also ask that you let me use your quill and ink...I broke mine." Rhaella confesses

"Use as much as you want," Aemond says, a smile forming on his lips.

Okay, now our filler chapters can begin. A fluff arc is incoming. Also for reference, As of this chapter, Rhaella is 14 and Aemond is 13.

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[syndrossi]

I'm not selfish by prompting more than once. I'm just giving you options. Write 100 words-ish of Jon meeting Rhaella -- be that a female!Rhaegar or a summerhalled!Rhaella-his-grandma or some other verse's Rhaella, 'tis your choice.

Okay, first a little snippet of Rhaella's POV in the AU ficlet I was writing for that (separate from the NYE ask game):

Dragons. She still had trouble believing that she lived in a time of dragons. Her son had one, she knew from gossip, and Daemon Targaryen’s own dragon was well known. And then there was her son’s twin brother, the one named Jon. Which of my babies would you have been? My little Daeron? It was not entirely the same, she knew. Prince Jon was dark of hair, like the woman who had birthed him and his brother here. How different would Rhaegar be? Would she still recognize him? Will he recognize me?

And now the definitely 100 words-ish 😂 of the prompt fill...

x~x~x

Worry stirred in Jon upon spying the distant, pale-haired figure of his brother alone in the godswood through the window of the library. At this time, Rhaegar should still be in arms training, and there wasn’t a Princesguard in sight, not even at the entrance to the godswood.

He slipped out of his lesson with practiced ease, opting not to employ the secret passage where his young cousins could see, and trotted across the yard to the godswood. His brother had been in plain view, which likely meant that he had intended for Jon to see him. Is there something he wishes to discuss in private?

Jon’s own Princesguard settled at the gate to the godswood, and Jon followed the familiar path to the heart tree. His steps faltered, however, as he drew near. It was not Rhaegar waiting beside the tree, nor even one of his cousins. It was a woman dressed in flowing blue silks that were too cold for the autumn weather, her silver-blond hair worn in a partial braid that half-reminded him of one he had seen Rhaegar wear once.

She even looked something like his brother, especially in the eyes and lips, though she was a woman grown rather than a child—and there was something of his wonder in her expression as she stared upward through the red leaves, taking in the beauty as the wind stirred her hair.

He watched her in silence, wracking his mind for who she might be. She was not Princess Rhaenyra, of course, who had returned home weeks ago. And they had met Lady Laena when she had come courting their father. And although Jon had not been a scholar of the Targaryen dynasty before finding himself here, Rhaegar had since instructed him in every last member of their family, living and dead.

A Velaryon, he decided at last. One of Laena and Laenor’s cousins, perhaps, come to try her own luck.

She noticed him at last, once he had turned to leave. “You must be Prince Jon.”

Even her voice seemed familiar, and there was a longing in it that stopped him in place. He turned back and gave her a nod. “I am. Who are you, my lady?”

“I am Lady Rhaella,” she said, rising to her feet to curtsy.

Jon’s breath caught. It cannot be. He stared at her, scrutinizing her features in search of Rhaegar, and finding pieces of both his brother and himself in her. The same could be said of Daemon, or Rhaenyra, he told himself. House Targaryen’s intermarriages ensured that even cousins could look as alike as siblings.

She was the wrong age. Rhaegar’s mother would have been nearing thirty. And I was nineteen.

He took a cautious step closer, studying her expression for greed or threat, but the intensity of her longing only seemed to grow, her hands clasping in front of her, as though to hold it back.

“Are you kin?” he asked.

“I am,” she said, her voice thickening for a moment before she cleared her throat. “I am your father’s cousin, daughter of his aunt Saera.”

She was the one who had been disowned, Jon recalled. And eventually ended up in Volantis. He tensed briefly, but the pain that the motion seemed to cause her made him relent, and he forced himself to relax. What if she thinks I view her as lesser for being a bastard?

Jon approached for a kiss to the cheek, and she dipped slightly so that he could reach, her lips pressing into his own. He was not prepared for the hug that followed, and she pulled back with an apology, blinking back tears. “I beg your pardon, my prince. I—you remind me of someone.”

She is. Jon stared at her in wonder. She must be.

Rhaegar’s mother. His own grandmother. And now their cousin.

He hugged her this time, and where her arms had been light around him before, as though frightened he might disappear, they tightened.

“Would you like to meet my brother?” he offered.

He felt her kiss his hair, something that no freshly-introduced cousin would dare, bastard or not. “Yes,” she breathed, and he let her hold him a moment longer so that she could compose herself. When he drew back at last, her smile was radiant. “I would like that.”

[alienoryva]

A targaryen name that only used by one person in the family ;

Aenar (Father of Daenys the dreamer)

Daenys (Daughter of Aenar the exile)

Maegon (Son of Aegon & Elaena/grandson of Daenys the dreamer & Gaemon the glorious)

Aelix (Son of Aerys/great-grandason of Daenys the dreamer)

Daemion (Youngest son of Aerys/great-grandson of Daenys the dreamer/father of lord Aerion/grandfather of the Conqueror siblings)

Aenys i (only child of Aegon the Conqueror & Rhaenys)

Aerea (Daughter of Aegon the uncrowned & Rhaena Targaryen/twins sister of septa-princess Rhaella Targaryen)

Maegelle (Sixth child of Jaehaerys i & Alysanne)

Vaegon (Seventh child of Jaehaerys i & Alysanne)

Viserra (Tenth child of Jaehaerys i & Alysanne)

Valerion (Twelfth child of Jaehaerys i & Alysanne)

Gael (Youngest/thirteenth child of Jaehaerys i & Alysanne)

Rhaenyra i (Daughter of Viserys i & Aemma Arryn)

Helaena (Daughter of Viserys i & Alicent Hightower)

Baela (Daughter of Daemon & Laena Velaryon/Twins sister of Rhaena)

Jaehaera (Daughter of Aegon ii & Helaena/Twins of Jaehaerys)

Daena (Eldest Daughter of Aegon iii & Daenaera Velaryon)

Naerys (Daughter of Viserys ii & Larra Rogarre)

Rhaegel (Third son of Daeron ii & Myriah Martell)

Maekar i (Youngest son of Daeron ii & Myriah Martell)

Aelor (Son of Rhaegel & Alys Arryn)

Aelora (Eldest Daughter of Rhaegel & Alys Arryn/Twins of Aelor)

Daenora (Youngest child/daughter of Rhaegel & Alys Arryn)

Valarr (Eldest son/child of Baelor the breakspear & Jena dondarrion)

Matarys (Youngest son/child of Baelor the breakspear & Jena dondarrion)

Rhae (Youngest daughter/child of Maekar i & Dyanna dayne)

Rhaelle (Youngest daughter/child of Aegon v & Betha Blackwood/grandmother of Robert i,stannis,renly Baratheon)

Rhaegar (Eldest son/child of Aerys the mad king & Rhaella)

Shaena (Second child/Eldest Daughter of Aerys the mad king & Rhaella)

🪻

NOTE: I didn't add the Targaryen name which only uses additional alphabet but the spelling is same (Saera & Shaera / Aemon & Aemond)

[amoratearte]

🐉 Rhaella Targaryen 🌟

Targaryen Family Tree

[…]the queen spent time with her daughter Rhaella, so like and yet so unlike her twin[…] “I have had the best mother any child could wish for, the Mother Above, and you are to thank for her”

No issue

[novaursa]

The Flames We Loved (to wake a dragon)

This is one of my darker works. If it's not your cup of tea, skip it. The story gets progressively worse with each chapter. You have been warned.

- Summary: It started with Harrenhal and the year of false spring, where you danced with a dragon trying to calm his flames.

- Pairing: daughter!reader/father!Aerys II Targaryen

- Note: Since people liked the intro posted, here is the first part of the official story before I retire for the night. Enjoy. ❤️

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: prelude

- Next part: to ignite an ember

The weight of the crown sits lightly upon your head, the soft petals of blue winter roses brushing against your brow as you sit, dazed, in the gallery. Rhaegar’s silent proclamation, his silver hair gleaming as he rode past, had left the entire court in stunned silence. It was you he had crowned Queen of Love and Beauty—not Elia, his wife. Not the Dornish princess who had been gazing at him with soft eyes and a knowing smile. It was you, Y/N Targaryen, your twin sister by two minutes, born of the same flame in the ruins of Summerhall.

You can feel the weight of their eyes on you, the court buzzing with whispers. The knights, the ladies, even the smallfolk watch, but none more intently than your father. Aerys. His gaze has been fixed on you for far too long, as if he sees something now that he hadn’t before. You shiver under his stare, but not from the cold.

Rhaella, ever pale and fragile, sits beside you. Her hand trembles slightly, hidden beneath her long sleeve, and she’s barely able to smile in congratulations. Her health has declined so much in these years, a thin shadow of the queen she once was. Still, she tries. She always tries.

“Rhaegar…” she murmurs, as though not quite understanding, her soft words almost drowned out by the rising murmurs in the crowd. “Why did he…?”

But she is cut off by the sound of your father’s voice, ringing louder than the court’s gossip. “My daughter! My beautiful, perfect daughter! Crowned by a prince! Crowned by the realm’s future king!”

He’s indulged too much in his wine today. You can tell by the way he sways slightly in his chair, the manic gleam in his violet eyes. Aerys has become more unpredictable over the years, his moods swinging like a pendulum, sometimes sweet as honey, sometimes as sharp as dragonsteel. And today…today he is not sweet.

Tywin Lannister, your father’s Hand, stands behind the king’s seat, his eyes narrowing as he senses the king’s growing unease. Tywin has always been cautious around Aerys, his patience thinning year by year. He tries to step forward, to whisper something in your father’s ear, but Aerys waves him away like a buzzing fly.

“No,” Aerys says, his voice raising, drawing more attention to himself. “No, Tywin, you think I don’t see your game. You’d crown your lioness queen if you could!” His laughter rings out, brittle and sharp, and it makes you flinch in your seat. His gaze slides back to you, hungry and fierce. “But it is my daughter who is queen today!”

A shiver runs down your spine as his eyes linger too long on your form, raking over you in a way that makes your skin crawl. The crowd is watching. You can feel their gazes burning into your skin, and worse, you can feel the whisper of rumors building, slithering through the air like vipers. Cersei Lannister, with her beauty and ambitions, glares at you from her place with her father. The resentment in her gaze is like a dagger, but it is nothing compared to the weight of your father’s stare.

“My king…” you murmur, standing slowly from your seat and approaching your father with a gentle, careful grace. “Perhaps we should—”

“Sit,” Aerys commands sharply, pulling you down into Rhaella’s seat beside him. His grip on your arm is tighter than it should be, and the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by those around. The court falls into a nervous hush, the once-lively tournament atmosphere now tinged with unease.

“Father, please…” You try to smile, to ease his mood, but the grin he offers in return is unsettling. “The tourney—”

“Do you think they care about a tourney?” Aerys interrupts, waving his hand dismissively at the field, where knights have now ceased their contests, all eyes on the royal box. “No! They’re here for us, for you! My daughter—more beautiful than the moon and stars. More radiant than any queen this realm has ever known.”

“Perhaps we should retire,” Rhaella murmurs, her voice barely audible. “The day has been long, my love…”

“No!” Aerys snaps, his fingers still gripping your arm as he leans closer to you. The sour scent of wine is heavy on his breath, and his words become a low hiss, meant for your ears alone. “Do not leave me.”

You swallow, trying to remain calm. You can feel the dread building in the air, see the way Tywin shifts uncomfortably, his calculating eyes watching the king’s every move. You know you need to de-escalate this, to calm your father down before he makes an even greater spectacle. His moods have been worse lately, more erratic, more dangerous.

“Father,” you whisper, leaning in slightly, trying to ease him, as you always have. “Let us enjoy the rest of the tourney. The people are watching.”

“They watch you,” Aerys breathes, his voice softer now, almost tender. His gaze is too intense, too focused on your face, your lips, your eyes. “You are the jewel of the realm. You shine brighter than Rhaella ever did.”

Your breath catches in your throat. His words feel like a dagger, sharp and cutting, and Rhaella flinches beside you, though she says nothing. She has grown used to such wounds, silent and enduring as ever. But you are not Rhaella. You have always been your father’s favorite, the one who could soothe his tempers, calm his storms.

But now, something has shifted. The way he looks at you is not the way a father should look at his daughter.

“My king,” Tywin speaks up again, his voice cautious but firm. “Perhaps it is best if we retire for the day. The tourney can resume tomorrow, under more favorable circumstances.”

Aerys’s eyes flash with anger, and he releases your arm, turning to Tywin with a sneer. “I do not need your counsel, Lannister. You think you can control me? I am the king! I am fire! I will burn you all before you take what is mine!”

The court falls into an uneasy silence, the tension so thick it is suffocating. You feel the weight of the crown on your head, a crown you did not ask for, a crown that has become a noose. You stand slowly, trying to pull yourself from the chaos that swirls around you.

“Father, please,” you whisper, your voice steady but soft. “Let us leave the field. For now.”

Aerys looks at you, his eyes narrowing as if he is trying to decide whether to listen or lash out. Finally, after a long, tense moment, he rises to his feet. “Yes,” he says, his voice low, but still audible to the crowd. “We will leave. But remember this, Tywin.” He turns to the Hand of the King, his gaze burning with fury. “No lion will ever rule this realm. Only dragons.”

You follow your father as he sweeps out of the gallery, your heart heavy with the knowledge that the rumors will only grow after today. The court will talk, the whispers will spread. And you… you will bear the weight of a crown you never wanted.

You follow in silence, the cold stone of Harrenhal looming ahead, as your father grips your arm with a possessiveness that makes your skin crawl. His steps are uneven, the wine clearly affecting him more than usual, but it’s not just the wine—it’s something deeper, something more dangerous, festering inside him. You’ve seen this before, but never like this.

Aerys leans heavily on you, as though you’re his anchor, his lifeline. His fingers press into your skin, more confident now, more brazen. His touch lingers too long on your arm, sliding down to your wrist, and you feel the weight of his gaze on you, even as you keep your eyes forward, leading him toward the darkened halls of Harrenhal. Behind you, you can hear the footsteps of Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell trailing at a respectful distance, their presence both a comfort and a burden.

“You always know how to calm me,” Aerys murmurs, his voice slurring slightly as he pulls you closer to him. His hand slips to your waist, and you tense, heart racing, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Rhaella could never…not like you.”

You force a smile, the one you’ve perfected over the years, the one that hides the storm brewing inside. “We should retire to the castle, Father. You need to rest. The tourney will continue tomorrow.”

“Rest?” Aerys laughs, a sharp, brittle sound that echoes through the corridor. “Rest is for the weak, Y/N. You think I don’t see how they look at you? At us? They whisper and plot, but they are nothing. Nothing.” He pulls you even closer, his breath hot against your neck, and you fight the instinct to pull away. “You and I… we are fire. We are the blood of Old Valyria. No one else can understand.”

You swallow hard, glancing back at Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell, who remain a discreet distance behind. Their faces are expressionless, their duty unquestionable, but you know they can see. They can hear. The walls of Harrenhal have eyes, ears, and mouths ready to spread stories with each passing breath.

“Father,” you whisper, your voice low but firm. “The guards are watching. The entire court is watching. We must be careful.”

“Let them watch,” he growls, his hand sliding lower, his touch no longer hidden by the guise of fatherly affection. “Let them see how perfect you are, how you were born to rule with me. They don’t understand, but you do. You’ve always understood.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the once-familiar warmth of your father’s affection now twisted into something dark and possessive. And it feels like you’re losing control, like the storm inside him is growing too powerful for even you to quell.

“Father, please…” you say, more quietly this time, your eyes darting to the guards behind you again. Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell keep their distance, but they’re there, always watching. You need to remind him, to make him understand the danger in his actions.

But Aerys is not disheartened. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you to a stop as you near the entrance to the castle. His eyes, wild and fevered, lock onto yours, and for a moment, it’s as though the world around you fades. His breath is heavy, his gaze piercing, and he no longer sees you as his daughter—not in the way he should.

“They think they can take you from me,” he whispers, his lips too close to your ear, his voice dripping with possessiveness. “But they can’t. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

A shiver runs down your spine, not from fear—no, not yet—but from the realization that you are losing him. Losing the man you thought you could save. Losing control over the only thing that ever made sense in this madness. The father you once loved and idolized has become something else. Someone else.

“We should go inside,” you murmur, forcing your voice to remain calm. “Away from prying eyes.”

Aerys laughs again, a high, unhinged sound that makes your stomach twist. “Yes… inside. Where no one can see. Where it’s just us.”

His words hang in the air, and you nod, leading him forward, praying that once you’re behind the walls of Harrenhal, you can regain control—praying that you can pull him back from the brink before it’s too late.

But as his fingers dig deeper into your waist, you know that prayer might not be enough.

You walk through the halls of Harrenhal, Aerys still holding onto you as though he might crumble without your support. His hand still lingers on your waist, too tight, too familiar, but you keep your pace steady, knowing that any hesitation, any sign of discomfort, might set him off again. The weight of his touch feels heavier than it ever has before, each step echoing with the sharp reality that you’re losing the father you once knew.

Behind you, Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell follow at a distance, shadows in their silent vigilance. You are keenly aware of their presence, of the eyes watching from the corners of the great castle, waiting for another spectacle to unfold. You must get him to the royal quarters, away from the prying eyes, before his madness consumes him fully in public.

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, and engage him in conversation. "Father… how are your nightmares?" Your voice is gentle, coaxing, as if you’re speaking to a wounded animal. "Is Pycelle’s tonic helping at all?"

For a moment, you wonder if he heard you, his gaze still fixed on you, his fingers tightening briefly before loosening again. But then he laughs softly, leaning more heavily into you. His breath, tainted by the wine, is warm against your ear as he speaks. “The nightmares? Ah, Y/N, my sweet, my perfect daughter… the dreams have changed.”

You stiffen, your stomach twisting. “Changed?” You try to keep your voice light, unassuming, but there’s a tremor of unease that you can’t quite suppress. You’ve never heard him speak of his dreams like this, not with such… intensity.

He nods, his head resting against your shoulder for a moment as if he finds comfort in your presence. But his words are anything but comforting. “They’re not nightmares anymore. No… they are visions. I see us, Y/N. You and I—together. In fire and in blood, we are unstoppable. No one can take you from me. No one.”

You feel his words sink into you, cold and suffocating. His descent into madness has been long and gradual, like watching a star fall from the sky, knowing it will burn out before it hits the earth. But this—this talk of visions and dreams—it feels different. Darker. More dangerous.

You force yourself to keep walking, though your legs feel heavy, leaden with the weight of what he’s saying. “Visions?” you echo softly, trying to keep him talking, to calm him, to pull him back from whatever dark place he’s slipping into. “What do you see, Father?”

Aerys stops suddenly, turning toward you with a manic gleam in his eyes. His hand moves from your waist to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek in a way that feels far too intimate, far too wrong. “I see you beside me. Always beside me. As my queen. As my fire. The world will burn for us, Y/N. They don’t understand, but they will. I’ll show them. We’ll show them.

You stiffen, unable to hide your reaction this time. The words coming from him are not those of a father—they are the delusions of a madman. The way he speaks of you, the way he looks at you, makes your skin crawl, but more than that, it fills you with a deep, aching sadness. You’ve known for some time that Aerys’s mind was slipping, that the father you loved was disappearing beneath the weight of his paranoia and his madness. But this… this feels like something more. Something worse.

“Father…” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “These are just dreams. Just… dreams.”

But Aerys shakes his head, his grip on you tightening again. “No, no, Y/N. They are not just dreams. They are the future. I see it. I feel it. The dragons are speaking to me again. Just as they did in the days of old. I am the last dragon, Y/N, and you—you are my fire. Together, we will bring the realm to its knees.”

The words make your heart race, but not with fear—at least not yet. It’s the sadness, the overwhelming sorrow of watching him unravel before you, that grips you most. You’ve always known there was something more to his madness, something beyond the paranoia and the cruelty. The way he speaks now, of visions, of dragons… it’s as though he truly believes he is touched by something divine, something ancient. And that makes it all the more dangerous.

“You must rest, Father,” you say, your voice trembling slightly as you try to lead him toward the royal quarters. “Let us get you to your chambers, where you can lie down. You need to rest.”

Aerys doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on you either. His eyes are still fixed on you, wild and intense, as though you are the only thing tethering him to this world. “I don’t need rest,” he mutters, his voice lowering to a whisper as he leans in closer. “I need you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve always been the one to calm him, the one he relied on when no one else could reach him. But now, that reliance has twisted into something else entirely. Something you’re not sure you can control anymore.

As you finally reach the entrance to his chambers, you gently pull away, forcing a smile even as your heart pounds in your chest. “You’ll feel better after some sleep,” you say softly, guiding him inside.

But as he releases you, his eyes linger on yours, and the words he speaks next send a chill down your spine.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, stepping inside. “Yes… but the visions will come again. And when they do, Y/N… I will make them real.”

As the door to Aerys’s chambers closes with a soft thud, you stand there for a moment, the cold stone walls of Harrenhal pressing in on you. Your chest feels tight, each breath shallow and shaky as you replay his words in your mind. The visions. The way he spoke to you. The way he looked at you. It had never been like that before—not like this.

You’re lost in your thoughts when you hear a voice beside you, low and gentle, yet full of concern. “Princess,” Ser Gerold Hightower speaks, his brow furrowed in quiet worry. “Are you well?”

You turn to him, forcing a small, tight smile. “I am… fine, Ser Gerold. I just—” Your voice falters, the exhaustion of the evening catching up to you. You’ve spent so many years keeping up this facade, being the only one to soothe Aerys’s temper. But tonight, you feel as though the weight of it all might crush you.

“If it pleases you, Princess,” Ser Gerold continues carefully, his eyes kind but watchful, “I could escort you back to the festivities. Perhaps it would help you clear your mind.”

The thought of returning to the tourney, to the laughter and the noise, makes your stomach churn. You cannot go back out there, not after what just happened. Not after the way Aerys’s gaze lingered on you, how the court must be whispering even now, waiting for the next scandal to unfold.

“No,” you say quietly, shaking your head. “No, Ser Gerold. I think I should retire for the night.”

Ser Gerold nods, his expression softening with understanding. “As you wish, Princess. I will escort you to your chambers.”

You allow him to lead the way, his presence a steady and silent comfort as the halls of Harrenhal stretch before you. The castle feels oppressive in its vastness, the shadows long and deep, like ghosts of the past watching your every step. You feel raw, exposed, and the weight of what just happened with your father hangs heavy on your shoulders.

When you finally reach the door to your chambers, Ser Gerold bows his head respectfully. “Should you need anything, Princess, I will be near. Rest well.”

“Thank you, Ser Gerold,” you reply softly, offering him a faint smile. “Good night.”

He waits until you’ve safely entered your chambers before he steps away, his heavy footfalls fading down the corridor. Once inside, you allow yourself to breathe—really breathe—as the door clicks shut behind you. The stillness of the room is suffocating, but also a relief. You’ve been holding yourself together for so long, keeping your composure for the sake of appearances, for the sake of the court, for the sake of your father.

Now, in the solitude of your chambers, you finally let the mask slip.

You move to the window, resting your hands on the cold stone sill, and stare out into the darkened sky. The stars glitter faintly above, distant and unreachable, much like the peace you seek. Aerys’s words echo in your mind—visions of fire and blood, of you at his side, as his queen. It is madness. You know this. You’ve always known his mind was slipping, but tonight, it felt different. Darker. More certain.

And the worst part? Some small, nagging part of you wonders if there’s truth in his visions, if the madness of the Targaryens is something far more ancient than you ever realized. Could Aerys’s madness be a reflection of something real? Or is it simply the ravings of a mind long broken?

You lean against the wall, your head resting against the cold stone as you try to calm your racing thoughts. But no matter how much you try to rationalize it, to push it away, the weight of his words lingers.

When sleep finally claims you, it is shallow and restless.

Hours pass, though it feels like mere moments, before you hear it—Aerys’s voice, loud and frantic, piercing through the silence of the night.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

You bolt upright in bed, your heart pounding in your chest. His voice is ragged, desperate, echoing through the halls of Harrenhal. You hold your breath, listening intently, hoping it was just a dream. But no—the sound comes again, louder this time, closer.

“Y/N!”

He’s calling for you. Again and again, his voice cracks with desperation, sending a chill down your spine. You can feel the familiar panic rising in your chest, the fear that he’s slipped further into his madness, that he’ll come for you, that his delusions have become too strong for even you to quell.

You sit there, frozen in the darkness, your hands gripping the edge of the bed as you try to steady yourself. But the sound of your name, repeated over and over, claws at your nerves.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, the sound begins to fade. His cries for you grow distant, muffled by the thick walls of the castle, until finally�� silence.

You exhale a shaky breath, your body trembling with the effort of holding yourself together. But sleep will not come again. Not tonight.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, your mind too heavy with worry, with fear, with the inescapable truth that the father you once loved is slipping further away from you. And no matter how hard you try, you cannot pull him back.

As the night drags on, you wonder if anyone else heard him. If anyone else knows the truth of what’s happening behind the closed doors of Harrenhal. But even if they did… what could they do?

Nothing can save Aerys from his descent. And nothing, it seems, can save you from the weight of it all.

In the dead of night, with the echoes of his voice still ringing in your ears, you wonder how much longer you can carry this burden.

The grand hall of Harrenhal buzzes with quiet murmurs and the clink of cutlery against silver plates, but there’s an invisible weight that presses down on everyone seated at the long tables. You sit among the courtiers, doing your best to appear composed, regal. Your hands rest in your lap, still, despite the storm churning inside you from the events of the night before. Your father’s words, his cries for you in the dead of night, echo in your mind like a ghost that refuses to fade.

You’ve had no sleep, and it shows in the subtle stiffness of your movements, the way your fingers grip the stem of your goblet just a touch too tightly. But you keep your head high, your face calm and composed as you’ve always been taught to do. The princess cannot be rattled, not in front of the court. Especially not after yesterday.

To your right, Rhaegar sits beside his wife, Elia Martell. Her head is bowed, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup absently, her mind clearly elsewhere. You can feel the rift between them like an open wound, one that you know is your doing. When Rhaegar placed that crown of winter roses on your head instead of hers, you could feel the fracture it caused, the hurt in Elia’s downcast eyes, the murmurs that spread like wildfire across the tourney grounds.

But it is Rhaegar’s eyes you feel most acutely, burning into the side of your face, seeing through the mask you wear. His indigo eyes, a mirror of your own, have always had that unsettling ability to see the truth in you. And now, as you glance at him from the corner of your eye, you can see the concern in his gaze, the unspoken questions hanging between you. He knows. He saw what happened last night, how Aerys’s grip on you lingered too long, how his words were too intimate, too possessive.

You can feel Rhaegar’s stare, but you don’t meet it. You can’t. Not with the eyes of the court upon you, waiting for something—anything—to confirm the rumors that have begun to swirl. Rhaella, sitting further down the table, looks paler than usual, her eyes darting nervously toward the door as though she expects Aerys to burst in at any moment. She has always known the worst of him. She lives with the consequences of his madness every day.

And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, the grand doors open with a creak, and a hush falls over the hall.

Aerys enters.

The tension in the room settles immediately, the subtle sounds of the hall fading to nothing as all eyes turn toward the king. He is dressed in his usual dark robes, his silver hair hanging loose and wild around his shoulders. His eyes—those bright, fevered eyes—scan the room, and for a brief moment, they land on Rhaella, who shrinks under his gaze. Then they move to you, and your breath catches in your throat as his lips curl into a twisted smile.

He strides forward with purpose, his presence commanding and unsettling all at once. No one speaks as he moves through the hall, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. You can feel the weight of the room’s collective gaze, watching, waiting, wondering what will happen next.

Aerys reaches your side, and you feel the shift in the air as he stops behind your chair. His hand rests on the back of your seat, a touch that feels like a brand on your skin. You force yourself to stay still, to keep your breathing steady as the room holds its breath.

Then, without warning, Aerys leans down, his lips brushing against your ear in a way that makes your skin crawl. His voice is a low, dangerous whisper, meant only for you.

“Did you sleep well, my sweet?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Or did you miss me in the dark?”

You stiffen, your fingers clenching in your lap as you will yourself to remain composed. He knows. He must know how his calls in the night haunted you, how the sound of your name on his lips was enough to keep sleep far from your reach. But his words are not filled with concern. No, there’s something darker in them.

The hall is silent, the court frozen as they watch the king’s every move. Rhaegar’s eyes are on you, you can feel them burning into you, filled with a quiet fury, a protectiveness he cannot show here. Not now. Not with all these eyes upon you.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Aerys’s face from the corner of your eye. His smile is sharp, his eyes gleaming with something you can’t name—something unhinged.

“I—” Your voice catches in your throat, and you force yourself to swallow the fear, the unease that threatens to bubble to the surface. “I slept well, Father,” you manage to say, your voice steady despite the weight pressing down on you. “Thank you for your concern.”

His fingers brush the back of your neck, and you fight the urge to flinch, to recoil from his touch. “Good,” he says, still leaning close. “You’ll need your strength, my daughter. The dragons demand it.”

With that, he straightens, his presence still looming over you for a moment longer before he moves away, walking toward his seat at the head of the table. The court watches him in silence, unsure whether to speak, to breathe, to act.

You can feel the weight of the moment, the whispers that will follow this breakfast, the eyes that are already on you, waiting for a sign, a crack in your composure. You sit there, your heart pounding in your chest, but outwardly, you appear calm. Regal.

It’s only when you glance at Rhaegar that you see the truth reflected in his eyes—he knows. He knows what Aerys is doing to you, what this descent into madness is costing you. His gaze, filled with sorrow and silent fury, makes your chest tighten. But this is not a fight that can be won with swords or crowns.

You turn away, focusing on the empty plate before you, your mind spinning with the weight of what has just happened, and what might come next.

You are the daughter of a king, the jewel of House Targaryen, but today, more than ever, you feel like a prisoner in a cage made of fire and blood.

Aerys settles into his seat at the head of the table, his presence as heavy as a storm cloud over the grand hall. Silence lingers in the air as everyone watches him with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Then, suddenly, his voice cuts through the quiet like a blade, sharp and commanding.

“Music!” he calls, his voice booming across the hall. “We are not at a funeral!”

The court startles, eyes darting toward the musicians, who scramble to lift their instruments and fill the hall with sound. It’s a jarring shift, the mournful silence replaced by lively music that seems wholly out of place after the events of the previous day. But Aerys seems pleased, his grin spreading as he leans back in his chair, as though he’s basking in the uneasy energy of the room.

The music provides a brief reprieve, a distraction, and Rhaegar takes the opportunity to lean closer to you. His voice is low, meant for you alone as he keeps his eyes trained ahead. “Y/N,” he says, his tone soft but laced with concern. “I saw what happened last night… with Father. Are you—” He hesitates, searching your face for any sign of what you’re feeling beneath the mask of calm you wear. “Are you alright?”

You force a small smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine, Rhaegar,” you murmur, keeping your voice even. “You don’t need to worry.”

Rhaegar’s frown deepens, his indigo eyes—the same as yours—piercing as he looks at you. He knows you too well to be fooled by your reassurances. “I know how he is with you,” he says quietly. “What he wants from you. It’s not right.”

You glance around the hall, feeling the weight of Aerys’s gaze on you even before you hear his voice. “We all do what we must,” you reply softly, your voice laced with an edge of resignation. “It’s the only way to keep the peace.”

But Rhaegar shakes his head slightly, his jaw clenched in frustration. “This is not peace. This is madness. If you keep indulging him—”

Before he can finish, Aerys’s voice booms once more across the hall, cutting through the music like a crack of thunder.

“Y/N!”

The entire hall goes still. Your breath catches in your throat as all eyes turn toward you, including Rhaegar’s, filled with alarm. Slowly, you turn your gaze to your father, who is standing now, his wild eyes fixed on you with a strange intensity.

“Come,” he says, his voice carrying across the hall with a commanding force. “Dance with me.”

You feel the air leave the room, the shock rippling through the courtiers like a wave. Aerys hasn’t danced in years. Not since before the madness began to consume him. You hear the whispers rising from the tables, hushed murmurs of confusion and disbelief. But it’s Rhaegar’s voice, low and urgent, that cuts through the noise.

“Don’t,” he says, his hand reaching out to gently touch yours beneath the table. “Y/N, don’t indulge him. You know how he gets with you.”

You turn to your twin, seeing the worry etched in his face, the same worry you’ve seen so many times before. He knows. He’s always known, even if he’s never spoken of it directly. He’s seen the way Aerys’s affection for you has twisted into something else. But you also know what happens when Aerys is denied what he wants. The court has seen it, felt the wrath of his temper.

You place your hand over Rhaegar’s and offer him a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine,” you say quietly. “If I indulge him, it might lift his spirits. And if he’s in a good mood, the court will breathe easier. We all will.”

Rhaegar’s lips press into a thin line, his hand tightening around yours as if he doesn’t want to let go. “Y/N…”

“I’ll be fine,” you repeat, your voice firmer this time. You withdraw your hand gently from his, rising to your feet and smoothing the folds of your gown.

The hall watches in stunned silence as you make your way to the center of the room, the music continuing but softer now, as if even the musicians are unsure of what to do. Aerys waits for you, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling hunger that makes your skin prickle. But you keep your expression calm, collected, as you step toward him, your head held high.

When you reach him, he holds out his hand, and for a brief moment, you hesitate. But then, with a deep breath, you place your hand in his.

The dance begins.

At first, the steps are simple, the movements slow and measured. Aerys’s hand rests on your waist, his grip firm but not yet inappropriate. The court watches, their shock evident, as they witness the spectacle before them—the king, who hasn’t danced in years, leading his daughter in a dance that feels far too intimate, far too close.

You feel the tension in his body, the way his hand tightens on your waist as the music swells. His touch lingers, his fingers brushing the small of your back in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. You try to focus on the dance, on the steps you’ve memorized from countless royal functions, but it’s impossible to ignore the way he leans in, his breath warm against your neck again.

“I see it, Y/N,” Aerys murmurs, his voice low and possessive. “The fire in you. Just like me.”

You stiffen, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips brush against your ear. The entire court watches, their eyes wide with disbelief. They’ve seen Aerys’s madness, his erratic behavior, but this—this is something new.

You want to pull away, to distance yourself from him, but you know you can’t. Not here. Not with all these eyes upon you. So you force yourself to continue the dance, to match his steps, to keep the illusion of control even as his grip tightens and his whispers become more unsettling.

The music crescendos, the dance moving faster now, and Aerys pulls you closer, his hand sliding up your back, his fingers grazing your neck. His lips hover near your cheek, too close, too intimate, and you can feel the court’s gaze burning into you like flames.

“Together, we will burn this world,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

The music swells around you as the dance continues, your body moving in rhythm with Aerys, though your heart races with each step. His hand, once resting lightly on your waist, has crept lower, his touch lingering in a way that makes your skin crawl. But you don’t flinch. You can’t. You’ve always known how to handle him—how to soothe his temper, how to pull him back from the edge when no one else could. It’s always been your role, to keep him tethered to some semblance of sanity.

Today, though, feels different. The madness in his eyes is brighter, more intense, and his gaze has lingered on you in ways that make your stomach twist. You try to focus, to keep him engaged, to steer him away from the edge once more. You’ve done it before. You can do it again.

“Our blood,” Aerys murmurs, his voice low and thick with the weight of years of delusion, “is pure, Y/N. We are the last dragons.” His grip on you tightens, pulling you closer until there is barely any space between your bodies. “No one else can understand that. No one but us.”

You nod, keeping your face serene, though your mind is racing. “Yes, Father,” you whisper, your voice soft and coaxing, just as you’ve always done. “Only we understand. We’re the last of our kind.”

His eyes gleam with that fevered madness as he searches your face, looking for something—what, you’re not sure. “You understand,” he breathes. “You’ve always understood.”

Rhaegar watches from the side of the hall, his hands clenched into fists as his gaze follows every movement, every touch. His concern is visible, his eyes filled with worry, but you avoid his gaze, knowing that if you acknowledge it, if you let yourself show any weakness, Aerys will sense it. He will know, and you cannot afford that. Not now.

Instead, you keep your attention on Aerys, smiling softly as you’ve done a thousand times before, as though you are indulging a wayward child rather than a mad king. His hand slides up your back, and you allow it, letting him take these small liberties, knowing it will keep him placated. If you can control this moment, you can control the situation. That’s what you tell yourself.

But as the dance proceeds, you feel his touch become more brazen. His fingers trace the curve of your spine, his other hand coming to rest at the small of your back, pulling you even closer, until you’re pressed against him. The court is watching with wide eyes, uncertain of what they’re seeing. They’ve never seen the king like this—so close, so affectionate.

And neither have you.

You lean into him, as you’ve done in the past, resting your head lightly against his shoulder, hoping that the familiarity of the gesture will calm him, remind him of who he was before Duskendale, before the madness truly took hold. The king who was once kind to you, the father who looked at you with pride and love. You’re trying to reach him, trying to coax that man out of the depths of his madness, as you always do.

But today once more, there is no reaching him.

Aerys leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “I’ve starved for months, Y/N.” His voice is raw, edged with something dark, something that makes your heart pound with a new kind of fear. “But you… you are my fire.”

You stiffen, the meaning behind his words sinking in, and you realize, with a sickening lurch, that you’ve gone too far. You’ve played your part too well this time, given him too much liberty. You thought you could control him, could keep him in check by indulging him as you’ve always done. But now, it feels as though you’ve let the dragon out of its cage, and he is far more dangerous than you anticipated.

His hand slides to your hip, and though you try to remain calm, your body stiff. You feel trapped, ensnared in this dance, unable to pull away without causing a scene that would ripple through the court. The eyes of everyone in the hall are upon you, watching, waiting, and you know that any misstep could lead to disaster. You glance toward Rhaegar, whose expression has shifted from concern to something far more alarmed, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Father,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the music, “perhaps we should—”

“Shhh,” Aerys murmurs, his lips grazing your cheek now, his breath hot against your skin. “This is where we belong, Y/N. Together. Always.”

You feel the blood drain from your face as his words settle over you, their meaning as clear as the fire in his eyes. He is not just indulging in a dance; he is making a spectacle, a claim—one that the court will remember. One that they will whisper about long after this day is over. And you realize, too late, that you’ve given him too much.

The music swells again, and Aerys pulls you even closer, his hand sliding to your waist as he spins you in a way that feels possessive, claiming. You’ve danced with him before in your girlhood, but never like this. Never with this kind of intensity, this kind of hunger.

The hall is silent save for the music, but you can feel the eyes of the courtiers following your every move, their shock and unease unhidden. The whispers will spread by the next morning, you know that, but in this moment, all you can do is continue the dance.

You rest your head against his shoulder again, though this time it feels like a surrender, like you are giving him something you cannot take back. You close your eyes, trying to block out the sensation of his hand on your waist, of his breath on your skin, of the court watching this spectacle unfold.

The music plays on, and you continue to dance, locked in this twisted waltz with a king who has long since lost himself to madness.

And as the day stretches on, you wonder how much longer you can keep playing this part. How much longer you can keep the dragon in check before he burns you alive.

[daemonsdivorcerock]

THE HEIR WHO NEVER WAS || d.Targaryen

IN WHICH: a decade after the two rogues of house targaryen run away, they live a content life in pentos until they are invited to laena velaryon’s funeral on driftmark and are forced to reunite with their dysfunctional family.

REQUESTED: yes/no

PAIRING: daemon targaryen x fem!reader

AUTHOR’S NOTES: sequel to “taming of the shrew”. i advise that you read that first. also reader is described as having silver hair. meraxes, the dragon of the first rhaenys targaryen, is alive for selfish reasons/j. sorry if this is shit.

WARNINGS: incest (bucket loads), westerosi shenanigans, mentions of death, childbirth, children, daemon being daemon, otto hightower, maiming/bodily injury, angst, fighting, dysfunctional family, targaryen shit etc

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

“THAT’S IT, PRINCESS, ONE MORE PUSH!” the young Pentosi midwife joyfully encourage, crouching at the end of a double bed, the white sheets tarnished with the crimson blood of the Heir Who Never Was.

(Name) panted, chest heaving. Sweat clung to her brow, eyebrows knitted, eyes closed and nose scrunched as her features contorted with pain. Her hands were occupied. One gripping Daemon’s alarmingly pale one in a vice-grip and the other holding her swollen baby bump.

“I AM PUSHING YOU CHILD-LOOKING CUNT!” (Name) shrieked hysterically. Daemon covered his mouth in a failed attempt to conceal his snicker, “DAEMON, SHUT THE FUCK UP! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU ARE NOT BEDDING ME EVER AGAIN, YOU STROPPY SMALL-COCKED GIT!”

The room was soon filled with the loud set of shrieks that the whole castle could here. (Name) began to son happily as Daemon kissed her sweaty brow. “A boy, my Princess,” the midwife happily said, holding the naked, squirming, blood-stained babe in her arms.

“It is all over now, my shrew,” Daemon softy whispered, kissing her temple lovingly, “The babe is safe. He is healthy. He is kicking like a goat. Our son,”.

Minutes later, the Rogue Prince and the Shrew of King’s Landing sat on the bed, doting on their new son. The sound of subtle whispers, odd for their daughters, came from the corridor. The door softly opened, revealing their brood of silver-haired daughters in tow with a servant, Elaine.

“Come here, girls,” (Name) beckoned, smiling happily at her daughters, “Come and meet your younger brother,”.

Their eldest, Daenerys, was mature for an almost eleven-year-old and led her younger sisters. After an encounter in a brothel in the weeks leading up to Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor Velaryon, (Name) refused the Moon Tea from the Grand Maester and she hadn’t regretted it.

Daenerys was the eldest of now six children. Aemma, Rhaenys, Alyssa and Rhaella followed their eldest sister. “Girls, this is your brother,” Daemon said, holding three-year-old Rhaella on his lap, whilst five-year-old Alyssa climbed onto the bed with the help of nine-year-old Rhaenys.

Seven-year-old Aemma sat closest to (Name), doting on her brother. “This is Baelon,” (Name) told the girls, gesturing to the slumbering babe in her arms, fondling smiling at the sleeping baby boy.

The girls gushed over their new brother, each getting a turn to gently hold the babe. For none of them knew what the future held for them in the days coming.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Laena Velaryon was dead. Set herself aflame after failing to give birth. The funeral was in to be held on Driftmark, as she had wanted. She’d left behind her husband, Ser Harwin Strong, and their twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena.

The funeral was teemed with tension and was a sombre occasion as Laena’s stone coffin was lowered into the sea. Laena’s mother Rhaenys looked devastated. Ten years it’d been since (Name) had seen her family. And much had occurred in ten years.

Alicent had bore her father two more sons, Aemond and Daeron. Rhaenyra had bore three sons, Jacaerys, Lucerys and the infant Joffrey, who were in no method possible Laenor’s biological children and had an, as Daemon put it, “entirely coincidental and unmarked resemblance to the Commander of the City Watch”.

After the initial funeral procedures, (Name) had noticed how the girls had made Baela and Rhaena smile a little and how her daughter Rhaenys had taken a shining to Aemond. Daenerys and Aemma were in deep conversation with Helaena. The interactions made her smile.

The girls had yet to meet their cousins, Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Or their aunt, Rhaenyra. Rhaella clung onto (Name)’s skirts, hiding behind the thick, black velvet of the dress’ material.

Baelon was a heavy sleeper, currently residing in his mother’s arms, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took and gave. She’d reunited with her cousins, Rhaenys and Corlys Velaryon, offering her sympathies for what happened to Laena.

As children and teenagers, (Name) had shared a sweet friendship with Laena, comforting her after the events at the Heir’s Tournament all those years before. They’d danced at the celebrations for Laenor and Rhaenyra’s wedding ceremony.

Her father looked terrible. His hair had thinned and he looked frankly horrible. Yet, he somehow gave his eldest daughter a smile. “(Name),” Viserys spoke. His voice sounded heavy as if it pained him to utter the word, “It is…good to you, my daughter,”.

(Name) gave him a half-curtsey, careful not to wake Baelon. “As it is equally good to see you, father,” she spoke, half-smiling, “Ten years. It certainly has been a long time,”.

Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aemma, Alyssa and Rhaella trailed behind their rogue of a father. “Brother,” Daemon greeted, “Time hasn’t been too kind on you,”.

(Name) thought he’d be upset but Viserys laughed slightly at Daemon’s comment. “These are your granddaughters,” (Name) said, “Daenerys, she is ten. Rhaenys is nine. Aemma is seven. Alyssa is five. Rhaella is three,”.

Viserys fondly smiled at each of his granddaughters. “They have their mother’s beauty,” the King mentioned. (Name) noticed how he’d visibly tensed at hearing Aemma and Alyssa’s names but smiled, “Is this my grandson, who cried a little during the precessions?”.

Daemon smirked. “His name is Baelon,” he casually mentioned, causing the king to visibly tense again, “After Father. He was born but three weeks ago,”.

“That was around the same time as when Joffrey was born,” a voice chimed in. Rhaenyra, with her sons,“Sister. Uncle. It is good to see you both again. And meet my nieces and nephew,”.

(Name) was elder than Rhaenyra by a year. Their relationship soured when Rhaenyra was named the heir to the Iron Throne, despite (Name) being Viserys’ eldest child. “Sister,” she smiled, “Those must be my nephews. Jace, Luke and…Joffrey, he’s inside, is he not? They will be good knights, so…Strong,”.

Viserys’ face blanched. Rhaenyra glared whilst the boys looked confused. “Do not take is as an insult, boys,” (Name) spoke in a manner that bordered on mocking, “It is good to be Strong, is it not, sister?”.

Daemon began to snicker. (Name) handed Baelon to Viserys, who held him in his remaining arm. (Name) sharply elbowed Daemon in the ribs, causing him to spill his cup of wine slightly.

Rhaenyra huffed, walking away to speak to Laenor. Luke followed Rhaenyra suit. Jace lingered. “Aunt,” he asked, catching (Name)’s attention, “May I ask you something?”.

“Of course, dear boy,” (Name) spoke, smiling at the brunette boy, “You may ask me whatever you wish,”

“Mother will not be honest with me about this matter…” Jace spoke, nervously fiddling with his fingers, “Am I a…bastard? Is Ser Harwin my father?”.

(Name)’s eyes widened in horror. Was Rhaenyra truly planning to put a bastard on the Iron Throne? She always knew her father was metaphorically blind, but not this blind. She was blatantly aware of her father’s favouritism to Rhaenyra. But she never knew it was this bad.

“Yes,” she spoke quietly, “I cannot believe your mother is not being honest about this to you. Harwin Strong is your father. Laenor is not your father. Nor is he Luke or Joffrey’s father. I am so sorry, dear boy,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Earlier in the day, whilst Daemon was holding Baelon, (Name) found herself skulking around in black velvet after Laena’s casket had been lowered into the ocean.

“Hand turns loom…” the dreamlike voice of her younger sister, Helaena Targaryen, uttered, letting a spider crawl across the skin of her hand, “Spool of Red…Spool of Black…dragons of flesh…weaving dragons of thread,”.

(Name) crouched next to Helaena. “Sister,” Helaena greeted, smiling at her older sister, “May I tell you something?”.

The older woman smiled at her younger sister. “Of course, Hel,” (Name) spoke, “Anything,”.

As an infant, Helaena was restless and cried with her whole being unless she was held by (Name). “I have…strange dreams,” Helaena confessed, “And those dreams…become real as time goes on…do you think that is normal?”.

(Name) placed a hand on Helaena’s shoulder. “My dear Helaena,” she spoke, catching Helaena’s attention from the spider, “It is. You see…many years ago, before the fall of Old Valyria, our ancestor, Daenys, had a dream. She dreamed of the fall of Old Valyria two and ten years before it actually happened,”.

Helaena’s eyes widened, beckoning her sister to continue. “As Targaryens, we are known for our ability to ride dragons. Some Targaryens had the ability to dream of the future. Dragon Dreamers. I am a Dreamer, just like you. My sister, don’t ever let Aegon make you feel inferior without your consent. You are a marvel,”

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

The sun was barely setting when she discovered a horrific sight. Otto Hightower, who’d been reinstated as Hand of the King, was roughing up Aegon, who was half-drunk and slumped against the wall.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Lord Hand?” (Name) spoke, glaring at hole into Otto Hightower’s soul. Her voice had a frightening steeliness to it.

Otto bowed. She truly resented Otto, as a man and as Hand of the King. “Princess,” he greeted, “There is nothing to see here. I suggest you rejoin Prince Daemon inside,”.

She scoffed. “I would rather feed myself to Meraxes than listen to a word you have to say,” (Name) spat, folding her arms, “I know a few dragons who would gladly set you alight, akin to a torch. Caraxes, Meraxes, Vermithor and Silverwing, for instance,”.

Otto visibly tensed. He bowed and walked past her. “Sister,” Aegon drunkenly slurred, as (Name) heaved teenager up from the ground, “-Nice to see you again! I missed you!”.

“I missed you too, Egg,” (Name) smiled to the boy, placing his arm across her shoulders for support and guiding him up the stairs. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, sweet Prince,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

It was the late evening when (Name) had been approached. The events following Laena’s funeral had been drastic. Young Aemond had claimed Vhagar as his mount, causing a fight between him, Jace, Luke, Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aemma, Baela and Rhaena.

It was an honest accident when Daenerys maimed Aemond and caused him to lose and eye. Alicent understood that. What she did not understand was that it was in defence of Jace and Luke’s legitimacy.

It’d blown up into a full-blown fight between Rhaenyra and Alicent, one of which had come at the other with a Valyrian Steel Dagger belonging to Aegon the Conqueror. (Name) had stepped in and gotten cut across the bridge of her nose.

There was a sharp knock at the door, catching both the attentions of the Rogue Prince and the Shrew of King’s Landing. “Enter,” (Name) spoke. The doors opened, revealing the visage of Otto Hightower.

Daemon blanched. “Lord Hand,” he bitterly spoke, “Have you come to darken our door for the ordeal earlier?”.

Otto sent a steely glare Daemon’s way, causing the Rogue Prince to mockingly smirk at him. “I have not, Daemon,” Otto spoke. Alicent stood behind him, guiltily staring at (Name), “I have come to speak to Princess (Name),”.

This caught (Name)’s attention, who was rocking Baelon softly in her arms, their daughters had since retired to the guest chambers with Baela and Rhaena hours prior. “Speak plainly, Lord Hand,” (Name) commanded coolly, briefly making eye contact with Ser Criston Cole, “What brings to you my chambers at this time of night?”.

“I believe we are…aligned,” Otto mused, adjusting the pin on his emerald-coloured lapel, making Daemon scoff, “In our beliefs in regards to the legitimacy of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons and the line of succession,”.

He was putting salt into the all the right wounds. (Name) was still evidently bitter about her younger sister being named heir over her and her plans to put her bastard son on the throne.

“My father is a fool,” (Name) confessed, softly stroking Baelon’s silver-coloured tufts of hair, “Nothing would change that. He is blind to the truth. Rhaenyra is his favourite child and nobody can deny that. He cannot accept the truth that Jace, Luke and Joffrey are bastards,”.

Otto smirked. “What if it did not have to be that way?” Alicent asked. This made (Name) glance at her stepmother, “What if another were to inherit the throne after the King’s passing?”.

“How would you like to be Queen, (Name)?” The Hand of the King quickly asked, making (Name) glance at Daemon, holding Baelon closer to her chest.

[aelenavelaryon]

Robert Baratheon x Reader (pt.2)

Summary: in which the Queen gets her revenge on her husband

The return of dragons came to a surprise for the realm. It was unexpected yet a blessing, especially for Rhaenyra. Finally, dragons returned to the world. Robert was not on board with having them in King's Landing at first but after watching Rhaenyra be happy after the loss of their child he agreed. Robert, despite marrying her without love came to enjoy her company as the two enjoyed making children.

Rhaenyra choose to let her dragons roamed free in a place where they were all away from people, to avoid harming innocent people. Prince Daemon was born in the year 283, near the end of the year. His brother Orys came days after his first name day in 284. In the year 286 came the twins, Aemon and Aemond. Just a year later in 287 she lost a child, it was then that Dragons were reborn.

By 290, Rhaenyra's dragons had grown a lot. The year prior they disappeared and when they returned they were the size of an adult dragon. So, for the first time in centuries a Targaryen finally took to the skies on dragonback. Balerion, the dragon she rode flew her to a part of the Keep that was abandoned and where he kept dragons eggs.

Rhaenyra brought Dragon Keepers to the Keep to help with the dragons and their eggs. The eggs, which were enough to give to each one of her children and brother, were kept warm and ready in the children's room. Finally, after five years of trying for a daughter, a girl finally came. Well, more like two. Rhaena and Helaena came during the summers of 290. By then, her children all had dragons eggs. Prince Daemon had claimed Caraxes, while his brother's hatched their eggs. Orys named his Eros. Aemon named his Moonfyre and Aemond named his Meraxes. Princess Rhaena and Helaena's dragon eggs hatched the same day of their birth.

King Robert threw a feast in honor of their first name day. By then, queen Rhaenyra had given him four sons and two daughters. Princess Rhaena was said to be as wild and defiant as her mother in her youth. Rhaena had the Targaryen hair and eyes, while her twin, princess Helaena had black hair and blue eyes like his father but she was as quiet and calm as her late grandmothers, queen Rhaella and Lady Cassana Baratheon. Robert was a decent king who took the input of his queen. They had a quiet a decent marriage.

Since the day they married Robert kept to his wife's and his own chambers. He slept with no other woman that was not his wife. Some had said he changed for the better and Eddard Stark could attest to that. Rhaenyra's life was good. She had no worries. Everything was just perfect.

The news reached her a few weeks later. Robert Baratheon had slept with Cersei Lannister or so she claimed. Cersei was a girl of three and twenty. She was yet to be married as her father hadn't found her a good match yet. Rhaenyra when she heard said nothing. Robert even thought she hadn't heard but she had. She knew, thanks to her little birds that Jaime was Cersei's lover. So, her plan was to take Jaime from Cersei. It was her goal to make him loyal to her.

Her plan began the very next day. She had asked Robert for a new guard. Stating that with six children it was better for them and her to have extra security. The king agreed. She smiled and acted as if nothing was happening. When Cersei was forced to move the keep by her father's order, Rhaenyra was forced to confront her husband.

Robert entered their shared chambers. "Nyra" she looked away. Rhaenyra was two and twenty. She had given her husband six children. She never complained nor did she cause him any problems. She simply did her duty, ever the dutiful her mother used to say. "I have never asked anything of you, nor have I ever caused you trouble or any problems. I have stood by you for the last seven years. I married you despite everything. I am no saint, nor have I ever been. I brought a son into a marriage that was not yours. You loved him and took care of him as if he was your own. And in return I gave your four sons with your blood and two daughters with your blood" there was a brief silence. "Where our children not enough?" she asked. "Was I not enough?" she asked.

Rhaenyra had never been insecure. How could she? She was a Targaryen, their beauty seemed to be god like and now, with her dragon being a god seemed far more possible than before. "I love you, Robert. But I will not be the person you treat like a common whore. If Cersei gives you a bastard child I will give you one too. And if she gives you another so will I" she said. Robert was too stunned to speak. She gave him on chance to speak before she left their shared chambers, Arthur and Jaime following behind.

Rhaenyra knew Cersei's greatest love was Jaime, and she rarely even allowed him to wonder far from her. Jaime didn't mind, watching over her gave him some sort of relief as he felt guilty for killing her father years back. He also wanted to keep her safe as he could not keep Elia and her children. Jaime was also avoiding his sister, as much as she would try to find him but he would walk the other way or ignore her pleas to talk. Over the months the good relationship between the queen and king perished in the blink of an eye. King Robert returned to his drunken and whoring ways.

Cersei Lannister gave birth to a son who she named Joffrey Baratheon, a boy with black hair and green eyes, he seemed to be all his father but the eyes. A year later, in the year 292, queen Rhaenyra gave birth to a son, a boy she named Rhaegar Targaryen and a daughter who she named Rhaella. The boy had blonde white hair. His eyes were the same eyes of princess Alyssa Targaryen, wife of Baelon Targaryen. One green eye and purple. Her daughter, princess Rhaella had a her grandmother's looks. Ser Jaime Lannister was the first one to hold his two children. A little princeling he used to call him and his little baby girl. Jaime and Rhaenyra were the ones who picked the names.

Robert knew but he said nothing as the guilt of returning to his old habits returned. Prince Jacaerys came four years after his sisters, then, a year after him came Lucerys. Princess Rhaenyra had always loved those names and had always wanted to name one of her sons like them. Prince Jacaerys had dark brown hair and purple eyes, his brother Lucerys was just like his brother. Queen Rhaenyra bore thirteen children at the short age of thirty. Her last two children were girls. Daughters. Visenya and Daenerys, daughters of Ser Arthur Dayne.

Eddard Stark never married, instead he served his queen Rhaenyra his entire life. And of course he took care of their two sons. Ned had became her closest companion alongside Arthur and Jaime Lannister. She had no other allies at court but them. At least, she didn't trust anyone else but them. Cersei gave Robert three more children. Tommen, Myrcella and Joanna but they were known as bastards since they were not married.

On the queen's name day, a thirtieth name day celebration was made in her honor. Every house in the realm attended, including Dorne, Driftmark and the North. By then, Prince Jaehaerys was nearly six and ten, Daemon was five and ten, Orys three and ten, Aemon and Aemond were one and ten, Helaena and Rhaena were eight, Rhaegar and Rhaella were nearly six, Jacaerys was four, prince Lucerys three and his sisters had just turned one.

Queen Rhaenyra, despite birthing thirteen children looked far better than most, she was grateful, she also took care great of her figure, she wanted to preserve herself as much as she could. Robert knew that seven of those children where not his. Jaehaerys had been claimed as a Targaryen despite Tywin's insistence to keep him as a bastard. Rhaenyra did not wish for her son to bear the name Baratheon or Stark. Brandon had written to her often wanting to know about his son but he not once had asked for the boy to visit him nor to be claimed as a Stark. She knew Catelyn did not like the idea of Brandon's bastard sons being in their home and possible taking Robb's birthright.

During the Queen's name day celebration things are said and revenge is plotted. They say when you play the game of thrones you win or you die, there is no middle ground. Queen Rhaenyra is going to win, no matter what. The question is, will she succeed or will she fail?

[melrosing]

What actually is the evidence for Tyrion Targaryen? I’ve seen the bits about Joanna from A World of Ice and Fire but don’t know if there is more? What is the bit in GRRM’s blog post?

I can’t remember if I did an answer for this before but in any case I can’t find it so summary below

THE JOANNA SIDE OF THINGS

Joanna spent her youth at court as a lady in waiting to Rhaella, and Aerys always had a thing for her. Rhaella ultimately dismisses Joanna from court, saying she wouldn’t have Aerys making a whore of one of her ladies, but it’s unclear whether whatever was taking place between them was consensual or not/how far it was taken. Joanna marries Tywin around this time, Aerys gropes her during the bedding ceremony, then presumably they don’t see each other for a few years, in which time the twins are born.

After that they meet again maybe twice on record: once for an extended period when Aerys moves the court to Casterly Rock having named Tywin hand, one year after the twins are born. Then again at court in KL when the twins are six, which is the time Aerys makes a derogatory comment about Joanna’s breasts. And….. this is around a year before Tyrion is born.

So as far as the Joanna stuff goes… if Tyrion is indeed Aerys’ son biologically, it’s unclear what kind of relationship his parents had. There are three possibilities:

The relationship was always nonconsensual, and Joanna has always loved Tywin (or it’s possible even that she never loved either of them idk)

The relationship was initially consensual but later it was not: maybe Joanna loved Aerys in her youth but then fell in love w Tywin instead, and Aerys forced himself on her in the latter years

They were in love the whole time but there were abusive and/or toxic elements to the relationship, with Aerys humiliating Joanna at court before/after they slept together in KL in 272AC.

I kind of tend towards 3. I don’t think Aerys and Joanna were star crossed lovers, it’s obvious he has publicly humiliated her a number of times and that a big part of her appeal is that she ‘belongs’ to Tywin, and Aerys wants what Tywin has, and relishes the opportunity to humiliate him more than anything. There’s definitely some humiliation by proxy shit going on here. Joanna is sometimes the middle man between Tywin and Aerys, and maybe Tywin is sometimes the middle man between Aerys and Joanna.

And the reason I think it’s 3 is specifically bc of how Tywin himself is written. Tywin is fucking deluded, and everything he thinks is gold is shit. If the thing he prized the most (his romance w Joanna) was the biggest lie of them all, that would be some kind of poetry.

Then it’s a matter of whether Tywin knew. And I think he did? Tywin almost never talks about Joanna, except to accuse Tyrion of killing her. And whilst this is quite an emotive thing to say, the way he says it has a level of remove - it’s another in the list of Tyrion’s sins. As for how his grief for Joanna looks from the outside, we’re told that 1) whatever joy he had in him was gone and 2) he tells Jaime at the age of about 8 (I.e. maybe a year after Joanna’s death) that love is worthless.

This could be bc he’s a wife guy and misses her terribly in his usual deeply dysfunctional way. But my suspicion is that Tywin despises Joanna for the affair, but cannot tell anyone about it. No one can know that this grand romance of his was tarnished, and that he was a cuckold. So everyone assumes his coldness is his grief from the outside, but we don’t know that. And it’s possible the sheer hatred he feels for Tyrion has to do with not only having to raise the child of this affair, but that that child, being disabled, leaves him to suffer a fresh ‘humiliation’ that he has to claim as his own.

I’ve also always found Jaime’s dream of Joanna very strange in that it tells us a lot about how insecure Tywin was, and how Joanna knew that - but nothing about how she herself felt about him. She's a very ambiguous character, and have only the most fleeting glimpses of her as a person apart from Tywin. How do we know she ever loved him as much as he loved her?? I've said before I think it's notable she never told him about what the twins had been doing, and her plot to send one of them to Dorne. She was clearly a woman with thoughts and plans quite separate from her husband's, that she let him in on only as she saw fit. There is a tangible distance in there somewhere, it's just hard to say how great that distance might be with what we have so far.

And finally, when Tywin's last words are literally 'you are no son of mine' - was he like. telling the truth? lol?

THE DRAGON SIDE OF THINGS

So obviously this also goes way beyond just the possibility of an affair between Aerys and Joanna - Tyrion is also tied up with a lot of dragon imagery, as well as bits of foreshadowing etc. First off, his interest and affinity with dragons is established several times over:

Tyrion had a morbid fascination with dragons. TYRION II, AGOT

"When I was your age, I used to dream of having a dragon of my own [...] Oh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he's seated on a dragon's back [...] I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I'd imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister." TYRION II AGOT

When he was still a lonely child in the depths of Casterly Rock, he oft rode dragons through the nights, pretending he was some lost Targaryen princeling, or a Valyrian dragonlord soaring high o'er fields and mountains. Once, when his uncles asked him what gift he wanted for his nameday, he begged them for a dragon. "It wouldn't need to be a big one. It could be little, like I am." His uncle Gerion thought that was the funniest thing he had ever heard, but his uncle Tygett said, "The last dragon died a century ago, lad." That had seemed so monstrously unfair that the boy had cried himself to sleep that night. TYRION II, ADWD

And there's a fair bit of foreshadowing in these passages alone, e.g. in the second passage, Tyrion is talking to Jon, ALSO a secret Targ, and in the third imagines himself 'some lost Targaryen princeling', which he may well fuckin be. sort of.

There's also this passage that has always stood out to me.

[Tyrion:] "What do you see in those flames?" "Dragons," Moqorro said [...] "Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all." TYRION VIII, ADWD

Like oh, right. So what's Tyrion doing amidst all those dragons lol. well, I think it's going to be a whole lot more obvious in hindsight; this is very Melisandre searching the flames and seeing 'only snow' - Moqorro has seen something but no one knows enough to take its meaning.

Then there's the fact that we basically know there will be two dragonriders joining Dany, because 'the dragon has three heads'. One of them is obviously Jon, but who is the other? It's not going to be Aegon/Young Griff, because ya boy's a Blackfyre. It's going to be Tyrion. There are imo three main characters in ASOIAF, and they are Jon, Dany and Tyrion, and it's what connects them that's the twist. They're also distinct in that their mothers all died giving birth to them, and each comes from what I think are functionally the three main houses - Targaryen, Stark, and Lannister. Dany is Targaryen-Targaryen, Jon is Stark-Targaryen, Tyrion is Lannister-Targaryen. There's a weird little rhyme to it.

So having established that Tyrion is one of the three heads, I'm referring back to GRRM's recent blog post. There's not a whole lot that's new here, except that I think it comes close to affirming that whatever affinity it is that Valyrians have with dragons, it's in the blood.

I did once prefer the idea that hypothetically, a dragonrider could be anyone (e.g. Nettles), because it seemed kind of just idk. dull that the Valyrians hold all the power here, and kind of romantic that a dragonrider could be almost anyone.

However, I have changed my mind lol. Thinking about it now, it's like.... if indeed the dragons are products of bloodmagic etc, as Septon Barth's GRRM-endorsed theory goes, there is something weird and manmade about them, and indeed about whatever connection the Valyrians have with them. It's not a natural feature of the Valyrians that they just get along great with dragons, it's an affinity intentionally created by their ancestors to grant them access to the power a dragon represents. This isn't an equal relationship between man and beast - man messed with something here. That is why the Valyrians can connect with dragons, and the whole 'blood mages were doing freaky experiments to create a connection for the use of dragonfire' is a fair bit less romantic than 'Valyrians and dragons are one and the same'. There's a deep cynicism in it.

That said, I don't think that means that the dragons can't be used as a force for good. They can and will be. It's more that, taking control of any creature that powerful has consequence, and what are the limits of that blood connection etc.

ALL that to say, if Tyrion's going to ride a dragon he needs Valyrian blood. It can't be enough that Viserion/Rhaegal just think his one liners are killer.

and finally no Tyrion Targ post complete without mentioning that his hair is paler than Jaime and Cersei's and he has one dark eye that who knows could be a deep purple??

WHY DON'T I LIKE TYRION TARG THEORY

Because I like Lannisters lol and I think for all that's interesting about the above, the messy relationships between Tywin and Tyrion and Cersei and Jaime are a whole lot more engaging for me, and I feel like it's some kind of cop out if the one son Tywin never wanted wasn't really his anyway, proper yer a wizard tyrion. It's just. why mess w a good thing, you know. but as i've said before, if it happens i'll just go to therapy and talk it out. i will live. whereas if jaime and cersei were secret targs i WILL jump out a window

[atopvisenyashill]

THE HISTORY OF MARRIAGE ALLIANCES BETWEEN HOUSE VELARYON AND THE SUMMER ISLANDERS OF ESSOS

The more I think about Corlys and the Dragon Twins as characters, the more I really like the change to book canon that their heritage isn't quite so strictly Valyrian. They seem to be this middle ground between the Celtigars, who imo likely "went native" very quickly, and the Targaryens, who, ya know, *gestures at that mess* because they seem to have more Valyrian marriages and their Valyrian heritage is taken more seriously than the Celtigars.

I settled on this idea that being a house of seafarers, they often intermarry with various Essosi nobles and that’s part of why ~the blood of valyria~ is still strong with them despite not partaking in incestuous marriages; like Larra Rogare or Serenei of Lys, many Essosi do have Valyrian looks and Valyrian heritage and the Velaryons are in a position as adventurers to meet and fall in love with these nobles.

One thing I noticed about the Summer Islands is that they seem to have a healthy diaspora, not just in King’s Landing but in Braavos - Arya mentions Bellegere Otherys still resembling a Summer Islander despite it being several generations since Bellegere Otherys the First. It also seems like there’s Summer Islanders that live long term in Braavos; there's 50 Summer Islanders in the Golden Company, Arya mentions seeing many Summer Islanders, and Sam and Gilly travel on a boat crewed largely by Summer Islanders. This all makes sense world building wise - they're a culture of seafarers and we usually see them at large hubs like King's Landing and Braavos.

So really, folding show canon Corlys into book canon is incredibly easy when you think about the high number of Summer Islanders at port cities. My thought here is - Corlys is a proud man and very insistent on how he built his own fortune, both in the show and in the books. I thought of the type of parents he could have had and settled on a man who becomes angered at the comments he and his mother get for being darker skinned and Essosi/Summer Islander and deciding to just double down by marrying a rich Braavosi Summer Islander. So first Daemon meets a Sumemr Isles princess on his own travels, Salata Xam, and falls in love, then Corwyn, like Corlys, attempts to build a fortune through his own accomplishments, including his marriage to the rich Sarissa Jaedosys, and passes that stubborn streak onto his son.

Then, similar to how Sybell uses her new connections to get her brother some land (though he’s still kinda fucked there lol), and the Lyseni Spring, the House of Jaedosys ("jaedos" means "summer" in Valyrian, so while the family is Braavosi and has considered themselves Braavosi for some time, their house name is a reference to their origins in the Summer Isles) uses their new connection in Westeros to build their own fortunes up as well. Corwyn’s (canon) brother, Victor marries a cousin of Sarissa's, Doreah Jaedosys. In canon, Daemon and Corwyn have several children - Daemon’s names here are all canon (AND he has some daughters), and Corwyn has an unknown amount of kids. I think this explains why there’s so many Black Velaryons - there’s just like, a shitton of Velaryon cousins right now!

So once I established Corlys and his brothers as being mostly Summer Island descent, from there I moved onto who is likely a descendant of the Dragon Twins (and Corlys). For Rhaena’s many daughters, I thought of Targaryen names that sounded Andal-ish/Reacher-ish and Andal names that sounded Targaryen-ish; there's a pattern in the Reach of using the more religious-affiliated Targaryen names as Reacher names (Aemon, Aegon, and Baelor have all come up!) so I think at least part of this is Rhaena's influence. I decided on Alyssa, Leyla, Victaria, Aelora, Denyse, and Rhaella.

I also combined this with my “Elaena marries Baela’s grandson” theory, which I feel makes a lot of sense - not only the Penrose-Valyrian connection and story implications, but notably the name “Laena” is a Velaryon name. I think if Ronnel’s mother was also a Laena, and both of them were half Velaryon, this little bond between them of choosing a Velaryon name for their first born daughter feels very sweet and romantic even. PLUS, if a Targaryen descended girl marries into another house, I can see people wanting to show that off every once in a while through a name. This is why Rhaena’s girls marry a Costayne and a Hightower!

Then I started thinking about the timeline and what was happening politically as all these descendants of Corlys start marrying. Given that the Tarlys were staunch supporters of Rhaenyra, I can see Rhaena wanting to reward that, and Garmund agreeing due to them being a powerful Reacher house. Since there is mention of the Blackfyre Rebellion ~pitting brother against brother~ and the Costaynes sided with Daemon, I thought having a Hightower-Targaryen involved in that mess would be thematically fun; either Aelora sides against her husband or Aelora marries a Costayne that sides against the main branch. Either way, when the rebellion is over, Daeron punishes the main branch Costaynes by taking most of their lands and giving it to Aelora and her daughters. As for Denyse, I thought it would make sense, once again, for her to turn back to the Braavosi Sumer Islanders for a husband; a First Sword of Braavos, perhaps, who use Hightower grey and a pink dragon to represent Denyse's heritage in their sigil.

Also Alyssa Hightower was originally supposed to marry Leo Hightower (Lady Sam and Lyonel's oldest son) but when she found out Leyla was in love with him, she committed herself to the Faith. Why? Because I think that's absolutely hilarious. Septa Alyssa is making Daemon roll over his grave lmao.

[nightingale2004]

The daughter of Khal Drogo and Daenaerys Targaryen

Khalakka Rhaella Targaryen

Faceclaim: Alycia Debnam-Carey

She was originally a twin to Rhaego, but after he passed shortly after he was born, Rhaella was born shortly after, alive and healthy

Rhaego was prophesied to be the stallion who mounted the world, but what they missed was his sister, the dragon who would've flew the skies by his side while they mounted the world together

Rhaella has her father's savage and wild spirit that no man or woman can tame. Dany would describe it as the soul of a true dragon

Rhaella also inherited her mother's confidence, strength, determination, honor, and compassion

Despite looking like her father, she is her mother's daughter

She has some silver white streaks in her hair and purple eyes in which she inherited from Dany.

Daenerys was the mother of Dragons, but Rhaella was their kin. Their sister and dragon master

When she was a child, she always wanted to wield a sword. Her mother didn't allow it until way later

Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal love Rhaella and are completely soft for her and Dany.

Rhaella rides Viserion

She is a master swordsman and a part of her mother's council

Loves Missandei and sees her as family

Despite not knowing her twin or her birth father, she feels like their spirits are within the dragons

Rhaella loves flying on Dragon's back

She practices her Valyrian a lot to communicate with the dragons

Loves playing with the Dragons

The Dothraki and the many soldiers and servants who are truly loyal to Daenerys love Rhaella and consider her a fearful wild spirit but also a true delight

Tolerates Tyrion

Despite being skilled in a fight, she is actually very strategic and intelligent to understand politics

Has never bedded anyone

Knows her history of both her Dothraki and Targaryen heritage

She made a promise to herself that she would help her mother sit on the iron throne, and dragons would soar the skies freely along with House Targaryen being restored to their might once again

Wants to be a strong leader like her mother and father someday, who can also carry a sword and restore peace to the realm. She also wishes to be fair and different from the Lannisters (especially Cersei)